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lady-raziel · 2 days

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and alright, here's my last (let's hope) and boldest take yet. lots of people have been talking about the level of staff (around 25-ish people) at watcher, and whether downsizing that number could have been a potential avenue of reducing costs before just jumping to a subscription model. at first i was like yeah, i'm not sure that there needs to be 18 people involved in making a lets play. i was in the fucking trenches in the unus annus days and i'm still amazed how markiplier and ethan nestor managed to put out pretty well edited videos every day for a whole year with only a handful of editors and a couple people filming. what unus annus was trying to do and what watcher is trying to do are obviously pretty different, but the point is that you really don't need a whole crew of people to make lots of different types of content and do it well.

i still think there probably doesn't need to be a whole production crew involved with the creation of some of the simpler types of content watcher puts out. however, i don't think the size of the staff is the real problem. in fact, i think the staff of watcher probably should have been larger.

let me explain. if i begrudgingly go to one of my most detested websites (linkedin. *bleeegh*) and look up watcher, i can see that pretty much every person on staff is in a creative role of some sort by their own admission. at first glance, its like, oh, that makes sense. they're making creative products, it's natural that they should all be in creative roles. however, once you think about it for a little longer from a business perspective, that fact is really concerning.

after all, by watcher's own definition, this is a production studio. this is a company. So in this sea of creative roles, who's doing corporate planning? Who's managing finance? Who's doing payroll? Or brand outreach? Or human-freaking-resources??? you can hire outside groups for all this. i'm aware. but those services cost a lot of money to contract too. i'm just finding it concerning that there is pretty much no one on full time staff that is there to at least do some of this stuff. if watcher wants to be a big-boy company, that's fine, but that means you have to pay some people to be part of your company to do the not-fun business stuff like accounting. or resource management.

if they want to be a real company, they should actually have a lot more people on staff to deal with all the non-creative parts of running a company. even if they contract out most of it, you want at least a few people that are your people and don't actually work for someone else. that's how you don't get screwed over or end up in a contract you can't get out of.

which leads me to my last train of thought. like, as i go through the staff of watcher and look at what they do, it really seems like one of the ONLY people who's job it was to look at the business side of things WAS steven lim in his role as CEO. and thinking about that, i'm like god, can you imagine?? here's a guy who just wants to create cool stuff too but as one of the few people who has to think about the realities of Brand and the Business, HE has to be the one to burst the bubble. He as CEO has to say no to people and make decisions to make sure the company survives. In a group of creative people who just want to make things they're interested in, no expense spared, he was probably the guy who had to stay at least a little tethered to reality.

I'm not about to say that steven lim isn't to blame here. everyone involved in making the decisions that have led up to this point is part of this. but shit, it absolutely sucks to have to be the person at the end of the brainstorm session when everyone is coming up with their best ideas and to have to say "guys, i don't think any of these things are possible unless we make some big decisions."

is that what happened at watcher HQ? i don't know. at this point, with radio silence from everyone, speculation is all we've got. but if you follow the thread of a bunch of creatives striking out on their own to make their own business after being burned by their former employer, despite not knowing really how to run a business, and then only hiring fellow creative people and not other people who actually run business things... well, all of this starts to make slightly more sense in WHY none of watcher's actions make sense. everybody wants to stick it to the man and be their own boss with their own business, until it actually comes to the hard parts of doing that. at that point people start to realize, "oh, maybe some of the things that existed at my old job were there for a reason, actually."

all this is why lots of creatives striking out and starting their own businesses don't work in the end. they're thinking about in terms of creative products still, when they really need to be focusing more on the "business" part of the "creative business." it's sad. it sucks. it destroys a lot of good ideas and good people, because one person in every company like that has to be the one who thinks practically. could this have been avoided if watcher had been hiring people all along to manage this business and not just adding people to add to the creative output? maybe. even then it might not have been enough to curb other predictable impulses that led us down this path.

i feel bad for watcher, and i feel bad for the fandom. but i can't help but wonder if this was always the kind of situation we were going to end up in, and we just missed some of the warning signs because ALL of us were thinking, "well, that could never happen to us. we're different. not the Ghoul Boys."

#watcher #watcher tv #two stupidly long thinkpieces in one morning? wow! what a bargain!#just don't ask which of my responsibilities i'm ignoring by typing all this out

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 9 months

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Peeped the horrors

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #a-qing #xue yang #A-qing went 'there are horrors he is committing and I am going to peep them' and then faced horrors that she could not fathom #The fact she sees the evidence first hand but it genuinely is too much to handle is a lovely tragedy that betrays her youth #It is interesting that she clearly does have more knowledge than the lay person about cultivators and night hunts (possibly from xxc?)#she does mentally call out xue yang for using the right terminology (betraying his 'no one important' façade)#but corpse poisoning is...well....probably not something she could have known about #so instead she has to encounter this horrible and suspicious event and justify it to keep herself sane #Ah....that's not going into the really interesting ambiguity of xue yangs targets #the people he kills specifically slandered *all three of them*#Was it just for himself? Was there a sense of protectiveness over his two blind companions?#I don't want an answer. I love that it is ambiguous #And oh man. having the noble XXC do the killing is so deviously evil. What a loaded chekov's gun.#you know xxc is gonna have a breakdown over it *when* he finds out. Its all a matter of timing #ok ok funny tag time #I think little apple and xy should meet up so they can swap arson tips. Truly the power team nobody wants. Not even them.#they would fight to the death and little apple would *win*#EDIT: HAPPY BIRTHDAY XUE YANG

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canarydarity · 5 months

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(Thought a little bit too hard about Romeo and Juliet ranchers...)

Keeping his head low and his tread light, Tango ducks from tree to tree under the cover of dark from the canopy, protecting him from the spotlight of the moon and therefore his discovery. Behind his back, leftover laughter from Skizz and Etho drifts further away; the volume of Skizz’s last protests, however, remains annoyingly the same as it continues to plague his mind, as does the memory of Etho’s agreement that Tango was—for lack of a better word—fucked.

Louder than all of that, though, more insistent, more pressing, was the ghost of Jimmy’s lips against his. The sole force of it drove him on, his heart tripping in anticipation when around the trunk of a tree he’d glimpse the stone of the house of Solidarity, or through a break in the leaves he’d catch a glimpse of light from a brazier.

Voices draw near just as the treeline breaks at last, and Tango ducks behind the nearest trunk as two servants meander by, following a worn path toward the back of the manor; his courage returns to him as they fade, and as if pulled by some rope falling taught or some string being coiled, Tango draws as close as he dares to the base of the stone without giving up the shade of the last tree. He kneels.

Now that he’s here, he must admit, his mind draws blank of any possible plan for continuing on. It’s not like he can wander the house of Solidarity unattended, making it clear in every way that he did not belong, and, on top of that, with one of Verona’s most recognizably unwanted faces.

Idiot, Skizz had called him; blinded, his friend had laughed. Always the most cautious of them, Etho had recalled that even a masquerade hadn’t been enough to conceal his presence from Grian.

And Tango hadn’t really until now heard a word.

Movement in the far window, the unmistakable shifting of the curtains, drawn by an imaginary force—the manmade wind of someone passing through. After a moment, a more permanent form takes shape, and Tango finds himself wondering how he could have stayed still for so long, how the sun could possibly have risen while he had been unaware.

But it of course is not the sun. He blinks and darkness is restored around him as his eyes adjust to the sight.

Jimmy, framed in beiges and creams and white—the masonry, the curtains, his blouse—fair as any portrait, as any bolt of silk, as any fine jewel. The slightly damp flop of his hair, the color like spun gold; the curve of his shoulder, the tan glow of skin shimmering beneath the cotton—he’s breathtaking, breath-robbing, even at such distance away, and Tango wobbles enough in his stance that he places a hand on the ground for stability.

How clear it is that this is a setting in which he doesn’t belong; how envious must be the moon for how dull it shines in comparison. Its colors—silver, the cool tones it usually accompanies—they were despicable in their wrongness. Tango thinks he’d be suited more enveloped by heat; in open fields of flowers, stranded in miles of wild wheat and tall grass, in places without trees, without shade, without reprieve.

The masquerade, Tango thinks, was not to foster intrigue amongst the guests, but to shield them from such raw beauty, to protect them from its temptation.

Jimmy’s chest bellows with what Tango imagines a sigh, and he continues on, momentarily disappearing from Tango’s view only to appear again in the following window, and then the one after. Tango follows, and they walk together along the length of the manor, albeit separated by its walls.

Bound, tethered, Tango’s heart tugs him along.

A corner is turned, and instead of a further row of windows through which to watch, Tango finds a balcony jutting out of the stonework, grand and open to the air. He swallows as Jimmy steps out onto it; stares, enraptured, as Jimmy wanders over to the railing, balances his elbows on top of it, and then drops his head into his hands.

Through the stillness of the moment comes an unmistakable and truly inspired groan, and Tango startles and glances around expecting to be caught by a rather resentful servant before realization alerts him to its source.

Jimmy drops his hands and sighs again, and this time Tango can hear the puff of his breath as he exhales.

“Stupid,” he mutters, “so incredibly stupid. Why did I…” He shakes his head and decides better than finishing the thought, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as if he can will the arrival of more to a complete halt with just enough concentration.

Tango is familiar with this method, and, he’s gotta say, it is not as successful as he’d like it to be.

Jimmy’s lips move again, but too little sound comes out for any of it to be heard, and Tango finds himself wandering closer before he can arrive at any of the reasons why he absolutely should not—too distracted by the thought of those lips touching his mere hours before.

Just as he’s braving closer ground, Jimmy’s voice rises to exclaim “Tango!” and Tango’s foot finds false purchase over a well-placed root and he slips, catching himself on the cool dewy grass. His head raises slowly, ready to be forever expelled from the grounds—or more likely stuffed and made to decorate Grian’s quarters—but Jimmy’s gaze remains safely away, off into the distance beyond. “Why did it have to be Tango?”

Tango does not dare move.

Jimmy grabs the balcony railing with both hands and leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. When he opens them, he draws himself back in and lets his arms go slack. His brow furrows in thought, his nose forming a little scrunch by the action, like his tutor’s just posed him a particularly troubling set. “But…it’s not Tango that’s the problem, is it? It’s just his name…Tek.”

Should he be listening to this? Tango doesn’t bother thinking about it, he already knows the answer; not that that stops him, or compels him to turn around and proceed the way he came—for how could he when he’s hearing the echo of his own musings? An utterance of reciprocation for the feelings to which he’s fallen victim? Shared dismay at the grandeur of their circumstance?

“Maybe…maybe if he weren’t Tango.”

Even before Jimmy drops his head in defeat, Tango knows that line of thinking is for naught. Maybe if he wasn’t Jimmy, maybe if his cousin wasn’t Grian, maybe if his name wasn’t Solidarity and his very existence meant to be an offense. Maybe if the sun didn’t shine, or the moon didn’t beam, or resentment didn’t flow through the streets like blood spilled. Maybe did not stand the test of time nor outlast the memory of a grudge.

“Perhaps, should I not call him Tango, but assign him some other name…”

If only Skizz was there to witness Tango blurt out, “You can call me anything you’d like.” Idiotic and blind would not have been the only adjectives he was assigned if he had. A few immediately come to Tango’s mind himself—stupid, insane, absolutely and completely screwed.

He has no memory of deciding to speak, but the words have undeniably come out of his mouth, and there’s no hope of them not having been heard based on the way Jimmy rises to attention.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Alert and understandably perhaps a little frightened, Jimmy's eyes scan the treeline in which Tango dwells.

Intelligently, Tango replies, “uhh.”

“Who are you?”

Tango flounders, his voice raising a dozen octaves, becoming high and stringent as he at once wheezes out, “God, why has that question become so complicated all of a sudden?”

Jimmy shuffles to the corner of the balcony, his waist pressed against the perpendicular juncture of stone as he leans over the railing to squint into the orchard. “Wait—Tango?”

Tango is left with no other option than to abandon his haven of trees and shade and step into the torch light of the Solidarity’s garden, lest he’d rather Jimmy lean so far over the balcony that he falls. He catches the moment that Jimmy sees him—the softening of his features, fear being overtaken by the more welcome feeling of surprise, the nervous tightening of his jaw, the biting of his lip.

If he thought revealing his presence would mean less of Jimmy’s precarious balancing act, then he thought wrong; Jimmy doubles over more, if possible, and Tango throws his hands out in a gesture he hopes is universally interpreted as stay put while some sort of alarmed squeaking comes out of his mouth. But Jimmy just fervently whispers, “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?!”

“Are you?!” Tango whisper-shouts back. “You’re giving me a heart attack here, lean back wouldya?”

Jimmy thankfully returns his upper body to a standing position safely behind the balcony’s edge, but his voice gets no less intense, his words no less urgent. “They will kill you if they see you here, you know that right?”

In return, Tango can only nod as if this realization has only just, for him, come to light. Of course, it hasn’t—Skizz and Etho had been trying to tell him since they left him outside the Solidarity’s walls, and by instinct alone he knew to hide if he suspected someone walking too close by, and yet. His frantic nodding does not cease as he says, “You know, I hadn’t really thought about it…to be quite honest.”

“You hadn’t thought about it?!” Jimmy grabs at his hair, incredulous, and Tango is momentarily distracted for the amount of time it takes to imagine doing it himself and wonder at what it would feel like. “I can’t believe this.”

Shaking his head, desperately trying to restore function, Tango delivers the only defense with which he’s come equipped. “I just—I had to see you!”

Once more, Tango curses the moon for its inadequacy, for what must be its deliberate hindrance to the wonder of this scene. Because, though it’s too dark to really tell, firelight falling much to short, Tango swears that Jimmy begins to blush.

Since he can’t completely be sure, he’ll have to make due with admiring this: the way Jimmy tucks his head down, closer to his shoulder, the shifting of his weight from one foot to another; how his eyes seemingly impossibly get a fraction of an inch bigger, wider.

He doesn’t quite look back at Tango when he says, “You really mean that?”

Tango smiles, “I do, I swear it.”

Whatever modesty was held in his expression before disperses and Jimmys face holds room for little more than mirth when he turns back and demands, “On what?”

“On…” Tango draws his shoulders higher, his hands raising with them as if attached by puppeteers string. They suspend there momentarily, waiting to be released by the arrival of a coherent thought that unfortunately never comes. “I don’t know…”

Tango bites the inside of his cheek. “What would you want me to swear on? Name it and it’s done.” He holds his hands up in pure complacency, a promise and an offer; take me, im yours.

Jimmy laughs at his near madness, and Tango swears that it moves like wind through the orchard, rippling across all the branches and leaves of all the trees; he sways on his feet to the music of it, doesn’t bother to curb the urge to smile harder at it—his face a perfect mosaic of every feeling he’s every felt.

With a shake of his head, Jimmy admits, “I dont know either.”

“Ah, an impasse.”

Though his head doesn’t move, Jimmy’s eyes duck away again, seeking safer purchase as he instills the night sky with his reply. Tango doesn’t mind, for it’s easier then for him to continue to to watch. “Maybe just…say it again then. Instead.”

“I came because I had to see you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s eyes dart back and then away again, needing to see Tango to truly be sure, but needing privacy to be able to comprehend. “Alright…” He glances back into the room behind him, whatever is beyond the curtains that are all Tango can see. “They’ll come looking for me soon, you really should go.”

Playfully outraged, Tango sputters, “What! That’s it, I don’t get anything in return?”

The dramatics earn Tango an eye roll, but Jimmy also begins bouncing a little in place—resevoired anxiety that lets Tango know he was serious about the chance that someone would soon seek him out. Whatever stolen time they had managed to accrue was fleeting and not a second more.

Even so, Jimmy plays along. “And what am I supposed to give?”

“I don’t know, something!”

“You’re very helpful, has anyone ever told you that?”

Tango laughs, “A fair hit.” He watches as Jimmy turns around again to assure their privacy once more, understands for both of their sakes the importance of not overstaying his welcome, and his hands tucked behind his back, comes up with, “alright, just tell me this: are you glad I came?”

Jimmy turns back to him, and this time Tango is absolutely certain of the blush present on his cheeks by the way Jimmy raises a hand as if to feel his own temperature on instinct, or to hopelessly pat it away with the back of his hand. He’s smiling, but it’s clear he’s trying not to, and that’s all the answer Tango needs.

Before Jimmy can, in his bashfulness, form a verbal reply, from inside a voice does indeed call “Jimmy?”

Bliss turns to panic in an instant, and instead of earliers soft tone Jimmy near hisses when he says “Tango!”

If he was smart, he would heed the warning and go, but Tango is still drunk on their proximity alone, on the events of the night—all of which were set in motion by the taking of a chance on an innocently shared kiss. He figures if this is where one chance has gotten him, then he can stand to risk another.

“I mean, I’m perfectly content to wait, Jimmy.” Tango steps to the nearest tree and leans against it like he’s planning to stay for some time, tries not to laugh as Jimmy’s eyes practically bug out of his head.

“You—” Jimmy’s head swivels back and forth, caught between the harmlessness in the tease and the actual realistic harm in its consequences if Tango legitimately followed through. Of course, he isn’t going to—the second Tango sees another silhouette in the window he’s out of there, blending back the way he’d come into the trees—but where was the fun in it if there wasn’t just a little bit of real life pressure? “You’re insane,” Jimmy berates, but before he turns and disappears behind his walls that are meant to keep out Tango and Tango specifically, he whispers, “Yes, I’m glad you came.”

Jimmy’s already gone, but when Tango says, “That’s all I needed,” its more to himself than anything as he turns to go back the way he’d come.

He did not imagine when the night began that he’d find himself betraying the one rule his family had ever demanded he follow, nor did he expect to feel little concern for himself in spite of this fact, but he did know he’d be helpless but to do it again had the situation started anew, because Tango doesn’t know what greater purpose he could have than to love this man. It wasn’t just the remembrance of a kiss that drove Tango to Jimmy’s window, but the sense that it was only the first, and where there was one would come more. Of this, Tango was certain: attending the masquerade, glimpsing Jimmy through the party-goers, risking following him through the crowd and delighting in that first, perfect kiss had set off more than the events of tonight, one singular night, but rather of whatever was in store for him—for them—all the rest of their lives.

(gonna put "can translate Shakespearean English into gamer speak" on my resume under special skills. [read on ao3 here])

#worm writes #so this is what i was doing. in that blissful period where i hadnt yet learned jimmy died btw.#this is where thinking jimmy is alive and well gets me #and now its just incrdibly funny that instead of mourning i was straihgt up like giggling to myself like haha rancher balcony scene !!!#like...oh my god #team rancher #team rancher fic #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #tango tek #double life fic #romeo and juliet au #edit:#realized I should probably also tag this —>#trafficshipping #just in case

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starflungwaddledee · 3 months

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lost a bet with @eliastheownerof0axolotls, so here's today's starstruck shipaganza entry (and also a belated birthday present for elias) featuring his oc flower dee and the rather absurd "blush off":

#starstruck dee #others ocs #my art #you've heard of toxic yaoi now get ready for: super wholesome yuri #for the record i am not... 100% sure that starstruck would even understand what marriage was. joint bank account???#but i didn't write this dialogue so i claim no responsibility #however i do think this is probably her 'flirting' mechanic.#like totally unintentionally on her part but she blushes cutely at you and suggests you could be in love with her #then you're just like 'ohh uhhh hmm well i guess i *could* be...' for days #🎀💖#edit: auughh i should have saved this for waddle dee wednesday! damn! shit! oh well.

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m1ssunderstanding · 3 months

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Eight

So Ringo walks in first thing in the morning carrying not one, but two drinks. Either he’s being very gentlemanly to MLH (likely) or we’re getting a peek at his alcohol problem (also likely)

Ringo your boooots! Ugh, I want them so bad. And paired with the shiny red shirt and jeans? Like if Dorothy was rodeo royalty.

Paul’s defense-mechanism overdone charm coming in strong today. Playfighting with some random old man, winking at someone else as he walks by, all chipper and bouncy, boyish and cute.

“If it came to a push . . . between Yoko and the Beatles, it’s Yoko, you know . . . ‘Why do you build me up, build me up, buttercup baby, just to let me down?” Linda grabs his hand and he shuts up. Another on my list of covers with *meaning* and if this one isn’t obvious, I don’t know what is. Even Linda was embarrassed for him. But here’s the thing. He’s so sure that if he pushed John to choose between Yoko and the band, that John’d choose Yoko. And he’s probably right there. But what John wants, IMO, whether he knows it or not, is for Paul to push him to choose between Yoko and HIM. Not the band. I really do think that’s what John wants and the fact that Paul’s not doing that confirms John’s belief that Paul doesn’t love him.

“Permanently engaged?” *literally starts to vibrate with anxiety* *whistles to self-soothe*

Okay, but, if I’m remembering correctly, actually in the nagras Paul’s answer to MLH’s “Do you think if you put any pressure on him that he’d go your way a bit more?” is actually “I don’t know, you know . . . can’t be bothered.” Not. “I don’t know, you know . . . and then there were two.” As AKOM said in one of their Get Back episodes, that line is actually a joke not even from that moment. So the tears? Real. The line? No.

Ringo is Not a fan of Paul just casually planning ways to announce the breakup.

Couldn’t even get a picture of Paul jumping out of his chair to talk to John because he moves so fast. Poor baby.

I wonder how early on Linda and Paul developed the “she says what he can’t say while he’s gone” play? You know? I definitely don’t think this early, but this moment does remind me of that little strategy of theirs.

“He’s coming in.” Just now takes his coat off. Meaning he's just now decided to stay? Or he's just now remembered he's still got it on? Either way, Paul's suddenly all easy smiles, relaxed, joking. John’s coming in. What could be wrong?

I was literally so pissed when I first watched this lunchroom conversation. I won’t claim to be a nagras expert or anything, but I was very familiar with the secretly-taped conversation, and it was just so butchered and spliced. Also, even if it was just them talking, it’s still not a private conversation. They’re in a crowded public space. So it’s still coded and veiled and layered etc. MLH you should’ve bugged their coats for the meeting at George’s if you’d wanted a private convo. (obvs I don’t condone that sort of thing don’t come at me)

Paul and John invite Ringo to go see George. Ringo: I was going anyway. Of course you were. Ringo’s the glue, everyone. Lewisohn can think it’s John that everyone had their closest relationship with in the group, but actually, it’s Ringo.

Ringo and Mal’s little two-step. Adorable!

See, and Ringo being the one to suggest they rehearse. It’s not just Paul being bossy all the time, kids, and it’s not just John being a leader all the time, kids. Sometimes it’s Ringo.

“Why don’t I leave my favorite guitar here as a sign?” “Look, look, what greater faith could a man have than to leave his list?” You know, like when that mean teacher makes you give them a shoe or your phone or something when they let you borrow a pencil just to make sure you won’t steal it?

#Not much to say today I guess #It was kinda a blah day for everyone I think and I'm more aware of the editing today so that throws me off a bit too #Ringo is the highlight for sure today #I should be a Ringo girl probably #Oh well #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back

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spottedenchants · 1 year

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might expand this into a full blown lore/timeline breakdown later, but in short, ludinus does not have a dynasty beacon- the one he has is most likely from Pride's Call, as that was the one the assembly was still in possession of at the end of c2

essek never touched that beacon

#skimming through the tags and this really isn't essek's fault xD #edit: i probably should have phrased this as 'ludinus does have either of the two beacons essek traded away'#but oh well xD #essek thelyss #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #chanse chatters

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peridots-pixiwolf · 11 months

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[Start ID. Four drawings of Hollow Knight ocs, in a dull green tone on a small canvas. Taking up the right half is a render of Caramel, a bee wielding a mantis claw across her shoulder and donning a cape in the colors of the aromantic flag. On the left are three colored sketches: the first at the top shows Caramel with her trio of friends, green-mantled bug Hawksbeard talking with her and gray millipede Molini curled around them both. The caption to the right says "Friends who love her" in all caps. In the center-left is a drawing of a tan and brown slugcat with a vulture mask on her face and a spear on her back, captioned "caramel slugcat, what will she do". Last is a sketch of Caramel and the bee nosk Pollux, who's dressed in an asexual flag of their own, and who has taken Caramel's mask to hold it up to its face. Caramel looks at her cheerfully, arm around her back. End ID.]

[Start ID. A rough drawing of Caramel and Hawksbeard in Rain World. They're now a tan slugcat and green scavenger, respectively, seeming less familiar with each other in the image than they are in canon. Caramel now has two spears on her back, holding another spear in one hand and a pearl in the other. Hawksbeard wears a sash of pearls, and offers a lantern to Caramel, the only thing lighting up the drawing in the dim Shaded Citadel. End ID.]

[Start ID. Another drawing of Caramel and Hawksbeard together, sitting down on a blank, dull green background. A cropped tweet by Caramel's head reads "Why are girls allowed to say girlfriend to refer to a platonic friend, but I can't say 'this is my boytoy twink malewife Hawksbeard'", with a spur indicating she's saying it, and the Hawksbeard part being a write-over. Caramel gestures with one hand in a sort of wave and has her other arm around her friend, while Hawksbeard looks at her in slight concern, simply stating "what". End ID.]

Small doodles of Caramel to commemorate the first-ever aromantic visibility day :]

#peridots-art #caramel hk #hawksbeard hk #molini hk #pollux hk #hk ocs #peridots-ocs #hollow knight #'small' i say as if i didn't spend several days on these regardless #i'm fairly sure i'm aro/spec of some sort so the silliness of these shouldn't outshine my delight at an aro day #unfortunately i'm not sure of much to say! rain world brainrot has started settling in though (oh yknow after. 4 months) if it wasn't clear #i have so many feelings on fp and on arti... right i should probably add that tag #rain world #bugs #slugcat rain world #scavenger rain world #also have a few doodles of molini (iterator + scug versions as well as a head shape guide) but this is a caramel-centric appreciation post #ALSO also i need to update past oc tags to include the source material and i've skipped ahead trying to p-rank 6-2. best is 1:04min/Arank #wanted to add crass+heath but didn't have the time! cara's also alloaro so those two can wait until ace day. or like. later this month #*edit from 12 minutes later: nvm i DID p-rank gabe and had to do a victory dance in the other room. 1:13.099 minutes and 3001 style #last edit hopefully: this is my 100th post tagged with bugs. that's pretty cool

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mattodore · 9 months

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decided i'm just going to spend all day in blender making mattodore poses. pic unrelated

#river dipping #love u jerm.......#but i just ripped blank versions of mattodore in some briefs that way i can just make like... general poses for them #i just need like an entire set of poses for them with their actual height difference #i'm gonna make soooo many hugging poses #also theo's favorite way to be touched which is by a gentle hand on his cheek.............................. ugh #and !!! need matthias pulling theo down to sit on his lap too #i actually already have a pose like that in game i think i posted pics in one of the oc extras posts... idk. i want more #but first i'm going to do that final pose w/ matthias in a muzzle that i mentioned before i went to sleep #i should probably go in-game and test out the other two i made last night but. i will just end up getting distracted #so it's just gonna be me and blender and jerma playing saw ii the video game for the next few hours #OH . i also should edit those pics i took yesterday as well while i was playing.........

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heartofspells · 5 months

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Happy Thanksgiving/Thursday, everyone! I'm here to distract you from your own families by giving you a better one okay bye

(under cut because loooooong)

Harry is on the ceiling, hands and knees seemingly attached by some charm James had cast. There are glowing hoops scattered around the room, some of the ceiling with him, others sticking out from the walls, more planted on the floor. Sirius follows their pathway, eyes trailing them into the kitchen where they wind in the same twisting way over various surfaces. He loses sight of them for a minute but locates them again where they disappear towards the bedrooms and bathroom.

Turning his perplexed attention back to his godson, Sirius watches silently from the doorway as Harry scuttles across the ceiling, rolling through a hoop and bolting forward quickly as the next one begins to rock from side to side. With an eager, determined expression, Harry pauses before lunging through it at the perfect time, James clapping loudly to join in with his boisterous cheers. The next ring begins to bounce like a ball in an evenly paced rhythm, Harry leaping from the ceiling, his body detaching at his will, hands sticking straight out as he soars through the hoop, some sort of altered gravity bringing him to the ceiling again in what appears to be a natural way.

"Huh," huffs out Sirius, tilting his head to the side as he studies their game. James and Harry both look around at him, their faces lighting up happily. "Care to explain the rules behind this? I might want the next go."

"Padfoot!" calls Harry excitedly, standing on the ceiling, hanging upside down. "Watch what I can do!"

He takes off running, flinging himself at the connecting wall. At the last second, he twists his body in a graceful maneuver, kicking one foot against the wall before he collides. Flipping in the air as though he weighs nothing, Harry straightens the right way around, arms lifting over his head as he slips cleanly through the protruding ring that's attached to the wall below him, Harry landing on his feet easily, a wide grin on his face.

"Holy fuck," says Sirius, eyebrows raised in wonder. Shifting closer to him, James nudges an elbow into his ribs, but Sirius only rolls his eyes. He mutters, "Like this is the first time he's heard it," before beaming at his godson. "That's brilliant, Haz! This what you've been doing to entertain yourself in my absence?"

Nodding eagerly, Harry launches into an explanation about how it works and their devised point system, telling Sirius all about his different moves, Sirius smiling at him warmly as he prattles.

"Clever," he utters under his breath to James beside him. "Intuitive sticking charms coupled with weightlessness and gravity tweaks. It's impressive."

Leaning sideways a little, James' shoulder presses into Sirius' own. "Figured you'd appreciate it. It's kept him occupied for the past hour. He did all his homework already and got bored with the telly pretty quickly. You've not got a lot of stuff around here yet, so I had to get creative."

"He seems pleased."

"Hungry, though. We've been waiting for you before we ate."

"How thoughtful and kind of you, Prongsie. I'm touched."

"Touched in the head," mutters James, pushing forward and breaking into Harry's babbling before Sirius can spout off with a retort. "How about some food, Hazza?"

"But I wanted to take Padfoot through the course," complains Harry, his bottom lip sticking out in a dramatic pout. Sirius bites the inside of his cheek when James rolls his eyes, thinking about how very similar in appearance they are no matter what they do.

"We'll leave it up," promises James, arm coming down over his son's shoulders, guiding him to the kitchen. "Let Uncle Pads clear his head out from all those daisy growing patients at work before you start demanding physical exertion from him. He's an old man, after all."

"We're the same age, you twit," calls Sirius from behind them, rushing to catch up.

James only shrugs as Harry snickers under his hold. "You're still older than me. By four whole months. That makes a difference. You were born in an entirely different year! Doesn't that make him old, Harry?"

"Yeah," agrees Harry, grinning boldly when Sirius squawks, "but so are you, Dad."

"What?" cries James in outrage, Harry quickly darting out from under his arm and racing forward. "Oi! Get back here! How old do you think I am?"

"One hundred and three," answers the boy boisterously, clear humor filling out his voice.

"So close!" yells Sirius, quickly catching up with his godson as James grumbles from the doorway. "I think I even saw some grey hairs earlier, mate." Sirius bounces his eyebrows at his friend, James snorting as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"I wear them with pride."

"You would," mutters Sirius. "Lunatic."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asks James in a huff, finally moving into the room and around the counter to dig through a waiting bag of food he'd obviously brought with himself and Harry.

Sirius flaps his hand at him as he transfigures a bent spoon into a third chair for the table, not bothering to look at James. "You always were the sort, that strange kind. Dreaming about blissful married life and growing old when we were still kids. Couldn't wait to reach your old man years so that you could start wearing those buffer trousers that come up to your tits."

"I didn't even know those were a thing back thing," mumbles James with a faint pout. "How could I be dreaming about trousers?"

"It's a euphemism. You didn't seem to like me calling you a lunatic. I embellished a bit."

"I'll embellish your face," grumbles James, launching a wrapped log in Sirius' direction. He catches it with ease.

"Ah, ah," scolds Sirius with his chin held high, large grin spread across his features. "Now you're acting childish. What would the bad trousers club think of you if they heard? Oh, shawarma! My favorite."

"You're the worst," announces James without feeling as Sirius drops into one of the chairs, Harry already settled and watching them with wide eyes from behind his glasses in amusement. He's got chicken dangling from his mouth and Sirius winks at him.

Their dinner spent gathered around the table is enjoyable in Sirius' opinion. He and Harry continue to attack James about his age and various things, James grunting and lobbing his own insults in Sirius' direction which don't hit very well, only making what he gets in return worse. Sirius laughs, joining in with his godson, never thinking about his previous reservations or doubts, that squirming feeling not settling into his stomach. It feels easy, natural, just as it should and almost always has with James.

After they eat (Sirius going overboard and regretting it immediately) James says they need to work off their food, shoving a groaning and whinging Sirius towards the obstacle course he'd created, Harry aiding by grabbing one of Sirius' wrists and hauling him through the door into the sitting room. After his first run, Sirius thinks he might throw up, but he battles it back, forgetting about it soon enough when James has a go and falls on his arse from the ceiling because he'd bungled the sticking charms.

Nearly an hour later finds Sirius sprawled across a safe section of his floor, James with him. They're breathing heavily, covered in sweat, James halfway stretched over Sirius' legs, his head pillowed on Sirius' abdomen. Harry is still going, leaping and rolling, like a machine instead of a kid.

"What the hell is he made of?" demands Sirius in astonishment. "Does he never tire? Look at him!" James shrugs above him, one shoulder nudging Sirius' hip with the action, his head digging in a bit harder, causing Sirius to grunt before he settles. "Do you remember what it was like to have energy like that? We were always all over the place, too."

James hums, sounding more than a little sleepy. He's warm where his weight presses over Sirius' body.

"I think we might actually be getting old, Pads," he says a bit mournfully. "I can't hardly keep up with him anymore."

"Imagine if you'd waited ten years before having him."

"Gods, don't speak that into the universe. I wouldn't have survived." James goes quiet for a minute, watching his son as he skirts around the room. "I think he's happy. Do you think he's happy?"

Eyes tracking his godson, Sirius smiles serenely. "Seems to be, yeah," he murmurs, fingers working their way into James' hair, plucking at the strands, scratching across his scalp, and old and familiar habit. "He hasn't been moody at all like I've seem him a lot recently."

"This was a good idea," states James in a decided way. "I think it's doing him some good. He needed this. I needed this." James tilts his head backwards until he can meet Sirius' eyes, his smile clear in their gleam without Sirius seeing his face at all. "You're the best."

"Don't you forget it," returns Sirius, warmth blossoming in his chest under the words and that hazel gaze.

"How could I ever?" poses James, dropping his chin again, continuing to watch Harry where he's now dangling from the ceiling. "So. Where's Fenwick tonight?"

Sirius stiffens instantly, his fingers going still in James' hair. He doesn't answer, but James speaks before Sirius can figure out how to approach the matter.

"I'm not trying to start a row," he says with a weighted sigh. "I'm only curious."

Tongue sliding across his lips slowly, Sirius finally replies, "Home, probably. I'm not sure. He was here when you sent the owl. He knew you two were staying the night, so he said he'd steer clear while you were here."

"He didn't have a problem with that, then?"

"I don't think he was pleased about it, not after what you pulled the night the three of us went out, but what's he going to do? You're not going anywhere no matter how much of a dick you are." James doesn't say anything in response, and Sirius pauses, his brows pinching together. "Why would he have a problem with it, Prongs?"

James' weight presses down more firmly over him as he shifts a little, Sirius watching him now instead of Harry, though James doesn't look at Sirius again. He sniffs, a sharp sound that narrows Sirius' eyes.

"Dunno. Guess he wouldn't," says James dismissively. "Figured I'd check to make sure. Last thing I want to do is ruin a good thing for you, if that's what you're convinced this is."

#CRuSH #(previously known as)#prongsfoot epic #(not an epic)#prongsfoot #sirius black #james potter #harry potter #snippet #my writing #holli writes #posting in four days!#who's excited? because i am #i should probably start editing...#oh well

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inafieldofdaisies · 11 months

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WIP Wednesday | Tagging @thesingularityseries @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @strangefable @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @madparadoxum @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @euryalex @sstewyhosseini @detectivelokis @purplehairsecretlair @jinfromyarikawa @shegetsburned @clicheantagonist @locustandwildhoney @fourlittleseedlings @poisonedtruth @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @wrathfulrook @jacobsneed @voidika @harmonyowl @henbased @schoute and anyone with something to share <3

Sharing another snippet from Chapter 10: Calahan and Leslie's first meeting. A rocky start of a bromance. Sprinkling some Mary May x Hartley breadcrumbs in there, too. <3

Hours after discovering Harker passed out on the side on the road among two other dead Resistance members, Calahan found himself parking his truck in front of the Spread Eagle. Arguably, he had never needed a drink more. Not only had he lost two recruits, no matter how difficult they had proven themselves to be, while the third was still recovering from the Bliss bullet he was hit with, but he had discovered his biggest fear to be true: Sabrina was in the hands of John Seed, just like Hudson. He couldn't come up with any other explanation for what Justin had seen on that road after Charlie's group had ambushed the bastard. The woman sparing a life, the child in the car, every detail he had received from the woozy teen further confirmed his theory about the identity of the woman John had with him. And Savannah. His gaze darkened at the thought of the kid that called him uncle anywhere near that goddamned bunker. "Gray wouldn't allow it. She would fight like hell.", he whispered to himself as he finally exited the Eden's Gate truck he had recommissioned from a capture party recently. "Rest in peace, NOT, fuckers.", he said out loud as he slammed the door shut and turned in the direction of the bar. A couple of minutes later he was sitting in his usual seat inside, nursing a glass of whatever liquor Mary May still had in stock after John Seed had his men confiscate her main stash few days back. Bastard is quickly climbing up my shit list. Calahan didn't care much about what she was serving him as long as it took the edge off, calmed him down after finally getting news on Sabrina and her sister. His eyes fell down on the handmade rainbow bracelet Savannah had gifted him few weeks back, something he hadn't taken off since she had tied it around his wrist with the biggest grin on her freckled face. It was another reminder of what needed protecting, why he fought as hard as he did even before the Reaping's start. Why he argued with Whitehorse so often, why he lashed out at the damned Peggies as a result, why he didn't give a single fuck about protocol when it came to the Project. As he ran his fingers over the white beads that spelled out his actual name, not "Rookie", he told himself this is what Joseph should never get his claws into: the innocents he could so easily poison with his deadly ideas. And yet John had done just that- gotten his hands on Savannah, too. Where are you, Tiny? You better be alright or he will be paying in blood.

"Something's on your mind, Rookie. I can tell.", Mary May stopped in front of him. He let out a dry laugh, "Just the usual bullshit, gorgeous. Don't worry." "You sure?", she eyed the way he was gripping the glass in his hand as he willed his anger to settle down, to retreat, "You seem out of sorts. I've seen that look before, you know, then seconds later you were punching a customer." "He was asking for it." "Didn't say he wasn't. But still… what's up?", Mary May raised an eyebrow and leaned against the bar, her hand coming to rest on top of his. Calahan found himself unable to process the unexpected touch after months of her ever only being annoyed with his flirting. He opened his mouth, wishing all his worry would pour out as easily as she poured his next drink, knowing she was good at listening to people. Her soft blue eyes assured him of it in that moment, hinting that maybe she actually cared for him. Was willing to hear him out. But the words never came, instead the bell above the door chimed, putting an end to the brief moment between them as she returned to her post to greet whoever had entered. Calahan didn't bother turning around, instead he released a tired sigh and took another sip. He reveled in the familiar burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, in the promise it would get him closer to feeling numb, even for a short while. "I will be damned.", Mary May exclaimed suddenly. Her tone made him look towards the bar's entrance sharply, his hand immediately reaching for his pistol on instinct in anticipation of trouble. It took him seconds to register the sight in front of him, seconds where he wondered if he was imagining things, if the liquor was hitting him harder than expected. Certainly that was the only explanation for seeing John Fuckface Seed standing in front of him. Before he could think twice, he practically flew from his chair, almost knocking it over as he charged at the bastard. His hand wrapped around his neck before he slammed him into the wall next to the door with all his might.

"Where is SHE?", Calahan screamed, the anger he was struggling to keep under wraps escaping at the unexpected appearance of the man that fucked with him daily. The man that paraded Hudson on his broadcast as a cautionary tale for what's to come. The man that he suspected had Sabrina and an innocent child as prisoners, too. Deep blue eyes stared at him in confusion, betraying his panic. Good. You should be afraid. "I'm-", the bastard tried to croak out, the force of Hartley's hold on his windpipe made it impossible for him to get anything else out. Calahan knew he had to loosen his grip, that he'd get no information from a deadman, but his hate for the Seeds had reached a boiling point with the missed opportunity to save Sabrina still fresh on his mind. "CALAHAN! Stop.", Mary May pulled at his shoulder, trying to bring him back from the edge, at the same time the man grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back swiftly. "I am not JOHN SEED.", came out as a frustrated shout as he restrained him, the words making Hartley blink in surprise, his face no doubt mirroring Mary May's. "Let go of my arm, bastard, if you don't want me to break yours.", he gritted out and whoever the man was finally released his arm. "Rookie. You okay?", Mary May whispered as she put a hand on his bicep, her gaze a mix of shock and concern. "He attacked me, m'am. And you're asking if he's okay?" M'am? Fuck me. Definitely not John Seed. Calahan turned around, scanning the man that stood in a defensive pose in the doorway from head to toe. The dark hair, beard, blue eyes… he could pass for John's fucking double. "I will be damned.", he parroted Mary May's words from earlier, "Who the fuck are you?" The stranger rubbed his throat before answering, "Detective Leslie Parish. I'm here looking for, well, you." Calahan couldn't help the shocked laugh that escaped him, "Isn't my day just getting better and better?", he returned to his seat and pointed to the chair next to him, "Sit."

Mary May sprung back into action, retreating behind the bar as she addressed what she considered now a potential customer, "Anything to drink, Detective?" "Whiskey. On the rocks, uh-", Leslie responded in a low tone as he sat down and rubbed his face, "Sorry, I didn't catch your name…" "Mary May." She wasted no time pouring him a drink which he downed immediately the second she put it down in front of him. "Thank you." "Now you've officially passed the test. Definitely not John Seed.", Calahan spoke up, making the detective next to him laugh. "Sorry for almost choking the life out of you.", he added and reached a hand to him, "Deputy Calahan Hartley, though most call me Rookie." The man accepted the handshake with a raised eyebrow, "You're new to the Sheriff's?" "No." "Should I call you Rookie, then?" Calahan paused, not many had bothered to ask him that question, not since Sabrina had shown up on her first day months ago. "Calahan or Cal would be nice." Leslie nodded, "Noted." "I gather you're aware you look like a certain someone?", Mary May interjected. "My last few days have been hell. Fuck, the moment I arrived in your beautiful County, I had a shotgun pointed at my face. Lost count how many times I had to explain to people I'm not John Seed, or say I'm not related to him or his brother in any way." "Have to admit, it's kind of a challenge not to punch you in the face, no offense.", Calahan eyed him with curiosity, "Why are you here?" "I planned on visiting someone when all hell broke loose. Haven't managed to find her yet." "Who?" "I thought if anyone would know where she is, it would be you, Deputy.", Leslie took a deep breath, his blue eyes filled with worry as he muttered, "I'm looking for Sabrina Donovan. She used to tell me stories about you anytime we talked over the phone, then people mentioned your name as the one in charge of things out here, and it all clicked. I knew who I had to track down." Well, fuck me, ain't that a plot twist.

"I don't know what to say, aside from that I'm looking for her as well. Have been for days now.", Calahan took out his zippo, flicking it open and closed in attempt to soothe his nerves. "Where is she, Calahan? What happened?" "You might need another drink before I tell you that story." Leslie's eyes narrowed while Mary May poured him a second glass. "What happened?", he repeated in a low tone. "On the first we got called in afterhours by the Sheriff himself, Sabrina included, weren't told much about why until a Federal Marshal walzed in announcing we'd be arresting Joseph Seed. He was so giddy, too giddy." "Sabrina didn't tell me anything about the cult, how serious things were…" "Sounds just like her, too independent for her own good.", Calahan gave him a sad smile, before continuing, "So, we flew over to his compound, entered the fucker's church while he's holding a service in the middle of the night. Like what the hell, right? Sheriff had decided Sabrina would have the honors to slap the cuffs on him. At the last second, she backed away, all frantic, saying something's wrong." "She's never afraid of arrests. I've known her for years. She has chased down all sorts of questionable characters… not once have I seen her flinch.", Leslie's face darkened, but he didn't say anything else, waiting for more. "My thoughts exactly, but this family, Detective… They're different.", Calahan lowered his voice, "The second we walked in John fucking Seed was eyeing her with interest. Got even worse when she hesitated to arrest his brother while the Marshal lost his shit at the delay. I jumped in, cuffing him. We managed to escort him out… but his people refused to let him go, crashed our chopper." "Sabrina… is she dead? Is this what you're trying to tell me?" Hartley shook his head, "Last time I saw her, she was alive. I insisted to get her out, to help with that fucking seatbelt. Joseph's men were all around, took away the others from the chopper. Sabrina demanded I run, promising she'd be right behind." He was close to losing his cool at the memory of that cursed early morning.

Mary May put an ashtray in front of him then, whispering, "I'm making an exception this one time." Calahan gave her a grateful smile, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag of it before adding, "We never reunited, I bumped into the fucking Marshal instead, bastard left me to drown after we tried to make a run for it and a freaking plane sent our truck flying off a bridge." "Fuck." "Yeah. A good samaritan saved me. Dutch. Helped me get back on my feet, offered we start a resistance seeing how the cult has everything on lock down and no help is coming." "Good call, with everything gone to shit." He nodded, "We had a mole, you know. Fucking Nancy. Loyal to the "Father", as Joseph likes to call himself. Didn't get us the reinforcement Whitehorse asked for." "And Sabrina?" "Have been looking for her ever since the goddamned Reaping started. It's what they call this shitshow. "Reaping". Think they're saving our souls, that the world is about to end…" Leslie looked lost in thought as he uttered out, "I saw John's broadcast with the other Deputy." Hartley lit another cigarette, his anger bubbling as he kept reminding himself the man in front of him wasn't John, despite how much he resembled him. "Yeah, he has Joey. Has been calling me daily too, railing me up with her capture, but hasn't said anything about Sabrina." "I went to her house. Cult trucks were parked at the front, no sign of her or her sister, it's why I've been trying to find you, Calahan." "I might have something, but I doubt you'd like it. I sure as hell didn't. Are you sure you're ready?" Leslie downed his drink, "Yes." Mary May winced, "Yeah, maybe avoid saying that word," she gestured to his head, "with that face." "Sorry.", he sent her a knowing smile.

"Earlier today, a trainwreck of a recruit showed up here with his buddies, claiming he has intel on John's next move, was planning to ambush him. I didn't believe it, so I turned down their invite." "Something tells me they were right?" "Sadly. Hour or so later, I get a call from the youngest guy, saying they have him, listing off their location before he went silent. I drove there and found quite the bloody scene." Leslie's hands formed fists on the bar. "Bastard killed two of the three guys, slashed their throats, the one that contacted me got shot with a Bliss bullet, but he's recovering." "Bliss bullet?" "Potent shit. It's a drug the cult makes, knocks you out in seconds, the things they use it for… pure hell, Detective." "How are things this bad?" "They've been preparing. Joseph claims to see the future, you know. Visions from God, he calls them. When we showed up at the church, he said he knew we'd come, that we'd try to take him away, but "God" won't let us." "Fuck, and Rina didn't think to tell me any of this. Assured me it's all fine.", Leslie muttered in frustration. "She does that a lot, doesn't she?" "Who shot Harker with a Bliss bullet?", it was Mary May that spoke up, her voice curious. Calahan took a deep breath, revealing what he had planned on keeping a secret. "Sabrina.", he said quietly, glad the bar was empty. "What the fuck, Rookie?" "She saved the bastard, gorgeous. He has her sister, from what Harker told me." Leslie slammed his hand on the bar, "Savannah. Where are they?", he got up from his chair, but Hartley caught his arm, stopping him from storming out. "Sit down, Les. As much as it pains me to say this, to be the voice of reason… we have to be rational about this."

"I should have come with her.", he said darkly, but followed Calahan's advice. "I've been down that road, too. Thoughts about what I should have done keep me up at night. But if I know one thing about Sabrina… she's resourceful, resilient." "She is.", he smiled. "I don't know for certain where she could be, it kills me to think he dragged Savannah into that bunker.", his fingers touched the bracelet again absently, "But we can't storm it, not with how much manpower and resources he has, not without a solid plan or people we can rely on, especially when we have no eyes inside to be sure she's even there." "Fuck. I- I know you're right, Deputy." "He hasn't mentioned her once, Leslie. Not once in the radio calls to me, she's not in the broadcast, it's like he doesn't want people to know he has her. Anytime I ask about her, he dodges my question." "He's planning something." Mary May looked between the two with a unreadable expression, "You don't think he turned her?" "Fuck no, Mary May. You know Sabrina. I just told you she saved Harker." "Fuck.", she pursed her lips, "Rookie, I know the games John plays, how he breaks people. And after Nancy… what if Sabrina's on his side, too? Maybe has been all along." Calahan shook his head sharply, "She's not turned. She's not a fucking Peggie. I know her." "Fine. For what is worth, you know I trust your judgment.", Mary May crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a stern look. "Peggies?", Leslie seemed lost in thought as he asked that. "Project at Eden's Gate, Peggies for short. It's what locals call Joseph's men." "Noted."

Hartley took a deep breath, putting out his cigarette before he turned to Leslie, "Look, I know there's not much to do right now about Sabrina, not without more information… but seeing how you're here, that you found me, maybe it's all for the best. I sure as hell can use another helping hand against the Project." Leslie's eyes darkened, a look of determination coming over his features, "Your battle is now my battle, too, Calahan." "Good.", Calahan raised his glass for a toast before asking, "You got a gun, Detective?" Leslie nodded, "My service weapon.", he opened his leather jacket, showing off a holstered pistol. "We're gonna get you more serious firepower ASAP.", Calahan pointed to the gun, "You had to use it yet?" "A few times. The "Peggies" are everywhere. Even tried to take over the motel I was staying at. I tried to help people along my way here as much as possible.", he said the nickname with uncertainty. "Learning fast. The only good Peggie is a dead one, Les, because chances are they'd try to take you back to John's bunker or dunk you in the river to cleanse you.", Calahan's voice became lighter, "Hell, now that I'm thinking of it, you have an advantage, if you ask me. They see your face and start to wonder if they're not about to shoot their precious leader, giving you an extra second to strike." Leslie chuckled humorlessly, "What a way to spend my vacation days. I will keep it in mind." "Is Abeline okay?", Mary May questioned, her tone laced with worry. "She was when I left, she's a fighter. Who do you think pulled that shotgun on me? Never have been more confused in my life. She went from wielding a gun to making me coffee." "Good old Abby.", Mary May laughed, "Thank you, Detective. For looking out for our people." Her words made Leslie look away, "Just doing my duty." "We got a shy one on our hands, gorgeous.", Calahan slapped him on the back as he got up and headed for the door, "Come now, there's some people you need to meet." Leslie finished his drink, muttering a quiet "thank you" on his way out. "Leslie." Mary May called out before they could exit, reaching under the bar and pulling out a Spread Eagle branded hat that she threw at him, "Might want to cover your face as much as possible. Spare yourself a "friendly" welcome or two."

#hehe; new WIP banner; so happy with this one <3 #(and spent way too long editing a bracelet with cal's name and you can't even read it in the header but oh well :D)#Leslie should so sue John for damages; but then again he'd probably hit him right back worse #Leslie when finally meeting John: “YOU KNOW HOW HARD LIFE HAS BEEN SINCE I STEPPED A FOOT IN THIS COUNTY? It's all your fault.”#John be like: I have an easy solution... *offering him free a haircut; shave or facial surgery*#Yes.. the Peggies have no pictures of Leslie; and I imagine them using a John picture as placeholder and going: “similar but different”#cue the *angry noises* from both men #I'm wishing luck to Sabrina to stop Calahan from annihilating John when the 3 are finally in the same room if he goes off like that at Les #wip wednesday #wip: in hope of tomorrow #oc: calahan hartley #oc: leslie parish #fc5 ocs #mary may fairgrave #far cry 5 oc #ocs #original characters #wip stuff #wip snippet #dialogue snippet #my ships #wip #wip excerpt #fc5 fandom #snippets #wip sneak peek #current wip #fc5 deputy #far cry 5 deputy #wip whenever

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