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redvelvettel · 1 year

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DRENCHED IN GLORY ☆ CL16

Charles leclerc x f!reader

Warnings: it might be a bit obvious how much I need want Charles to win the wdc, but should be fine other than that.

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He had done it. He had finally done it.

Years and years of dreaming. Staying up at night wondering where he was going wrong. Spending hours on end in the simulator perfecting every turn and curve until it was etched in his memory. Crying on the phone because he couldn't be with the love of his life when he was most vulnerable and needed her the most.

Midnights where she held him to her chest and let him cry his heart out because he was frustrated with the car. She had been through it all with him. Cried with him when they lost people who were supposed to be there forever. They've never left each other's sides ever since that fateful day his mother came over to the new neighbor's house to give them a housewarming present.

6 year old Charles felt like he was going to throw up. The girl hiding behind her mother's gown in front of him peeked at him with her doe eyes. Yep. There was something definitely wrong with the poor lad. Because honestly, that's what he felt like. He followed her around like a lost puppy, never leaving her side until she reluctantly agreed to play with his toy cars. And they've been trapped in their own little bubble ever since.

His brother, Arthur had tried to steal her countless times but to no avail. It was like there was some invisible string holding them together. And neither of them ever dared to complain.

Charles won his first ever race mere weeks after meeting her. Ever since she learned that her new friend was racing in fast cars, she had been nagging her parents to let her go to a race with him. After some persuasion from the two children, they had finally let her attend a Karting race after being promised by Lorenzo that he wouldn't let her out of his sight.

She was fascinated with everything. She didn't care that it was just a Karting race, she was so happy and amazed that her friend could drive a fast car so bravely.

So she stood with his brothers and his father proudly cheering his name with her whole heart until her lungs burned, and she didn't stop until he started getting out of the little kart after crossing the finish line first. She ran up and crashed into him with the biggest smile and Charles couldn't help but feel like he was on top of the world.

Neither of the kids cared that it was a Karting race, to her he was the best to ever do it and he would always be on top of the world if she was by his side. Charles knew he wanted her in his life forever, then. As much as a six year old could want anything. That still hasn't changed, and he was positive it never will.

Somehow, Charles had convinced himself that she was his lucky charm, and begged both of their parents to let her attend as many races as she could. She was there with him for every single step as he climbed up the ranks and made it to the big leagues. She held his hand in hers as they walked into the paddock on his first ever official day as a formula one driver, with his name and number on the back of her shirt standing proudly.

It was many years later, and the thirst for glory had only deepened in Charles. When Charles told her when they were little that his dream was to be a world champion, she promised him that she would be right there cheering him on like always, waiting for him when he gets out of the car. He had been dreaming of the moment ever since, and it was about to come true.

She stood in the Ferrari motorhome, arms locked with Arthur, and all the mechanics surrounding them. Her and Pascale, who stood on her right, wore bright red headphones and were leaning onto each other, silent prayers escaping their mouths as they nervously glanced at the screens.

There were 4 laps left and Charles Leclerc could be a world champion at the end of the race, and the team was positive that he would be.

She reached out for Pascale's hand as they all started moving out of the motorhome with the rest of the team, excitement and hopefulness filling her. She knew he was going to win. He had to. This was his dream, and everything he has ever worked for was going to come true. She held on to Arthur and Pascale like her life depended on it, praying to all the gods she could think of. Tears started to fall onto her cheeks, out of happiness for how proud she was of the man she loved. She turned to look beside her and saw that Pascale has also started crying, hugging her tightly as they waited for what felt like eternity.

When he was finally a world champion after he crossed the line, she screamed his name at the top of her lungs, exactly like she did the first time he had won a race.

She felt everyone around her hugging eachother and people on the stands roaring out of happiness, and she couldn't see anything from the tears blurring her eyes.

He was a world champion. The champion of the world. He had finally brought back glory to the most historic team the sport has ever witnessed, and he was the love of her life. She sobbed looking at him as he got out of his seat and stood on the halo of his car, arms wide open as he was drenched in glory. His name was going to be written in the books, immortalising him. His name was going to be noted down in the history of the sport. He was finally a world champion.

His feet finally touched the ground, body shaking with sobs and he look around for his family, frantically taking his helmet off.

He ran into his mother's arms, letting her hold her not so little boy. He called out for her, looking around until he finally spotted her. Everyone with eyes could see how his whole face brightened when he saw her, the whole world other than the both of them disappearing.

He crashed into her, just like she did all those years ago. They held each other so tight it made people wonder if they could breathe, and they didn't seem to care. Everything he has ever wanted in his life had come true and he wanted nothing but to hold her in his arms and not let go.

She could feel his tears drenching her shirt, both of them shaking from the sobs they let out. "You're a world champion Charles, you've done it". He let out a snort of laughter, pulling her closer if that was even possible.

"I love you, I love you." He felt so much love for her at that moment that it felt like his heart was gonna burst if he wasn't careful.

As he slightly moved away so he could look at her, he knew he wanted her forever. He wanted her to be there when he wins championships, when he dnf's, he wanted her by his side during all the happy moments, and all the ugly ones too. His lips were on hers in an instant, with no care of all the people and cameras around him. All they'd ever need was eachother, and he would tear hell apart to keep her by his side forever.

#f1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 imagine

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niphredil-14 · 3 months

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hiii requests are open right?? I have this silly idea— rottmnt lads (+April and Cass) with a reader that's an underwater creature yokai thing. It can be a fish, an octopus, sea bunny, anything just basically a water breather but if you wanna make them be able to breathe surface air that's up to you too. Canbe romantic or platonic too idm either. Sorry for how vague this is but I hope you can have fun with it :DD either way thank you and have a great day!!!

i tried a new hc format for this because I was struggling, hope that's okay, but feel free to lmk if you want me to change that.

I feel like the turtles would most likely have either a comically massive bathtub, or a very large pool. Probably both, though I imagine the pool area would most likely be an amalgamation of different parts of their species' natural habitats. I could also definitely see them having ginormous heat lamps for basking.

You would be more than welcome to use the pool! If you were over often enough/used the pool often enough, Donnie would probably do some research about your species and add some stuff to the pool/pool area to mimic your species' natural habitat!

I feel like for the most part, you being a yokai wouldn't change how they viewed or treated you! You're you, and that's all that matters to them.

The biggest thing I can think of is Donnie inventing things for you to make things easier (for example if you can't breathe oxygen, and need to be submerged in water to breathe, he would make some kind of contraption so that you could, etc.) and Mikey being obsessed with drawing you.

When I did art more often, I found myself often looking at different things and people and almost analyzing the parts of it/them to see how I could draw it. It turned into a fascination with the build and mechanics of almost everything that caught my eye, so that I could learn to mimic it in my drawings, and I feel like that's something Mikey would do a lot. Just staring at you, or your arm, or fin, or head, or whatever. If you're okay with it, I think he would love to have you model for him!

I think Leo and Donnie would love your company when they're hanging out in the water or basking. Both of their species spend decent amounts of time in water, so being somewhat water based is something that you'd have in common.

Nothing in particular really jumps out at me about Raph and April, I feel like what you are won't make a difference to them, they like you for you c:

Cass would absolutely try to rope you into helping sell her brownies to underwater creatures so that her brownie empire wouldn't be limited by terrain, and she would probably have Mikey (or her girls) come up with an underwater-creature-safe brownie recipe.

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harrysmimi · 1 year

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Little Lad

Synopsis: One where Harry has to take care of his baby on his own for the first time

More of my work

Little Emir was just nine months old and already a big mama's boy.

Harry was very jealous of that really, both ways, that little stole away his wife, and he clearly loves his mum more. But he also cherishes that, seeing his bany have such and amazing relationship with his Mummy already.

YN owned one of the most busy and known Bakery Cafe in the city, which meant her being busy with work most of the time though she still made time for her family. She had a last minute client come in with a huge wedding cake request, which her and her team of course did not deny. But that meant she sad to spend all night at bakery to het the order ready. His anxiety started to settle in when she called in after lunch to tell him she will home very late.

Harry can get through this, right?

He have been on a break since he wife was eight months pregnant. He has been there tending to his little lad along with bis wife. But god did he not except for a full breakdown from his nine month old boy.

All day Harry spent his time, cleaning up after the little boy. It seemed this much when he'd gotten so used to help of his wife. The laundry was a hassle. Washing up the poopy diaper and tiny clothes without anyone by his side.

He had Emir sat by the side on a little blanket with his toys to keep him busy as he did the laundry and dishes for the day. Hearing his little baby talk.

"What are you doing?" He asked, watching his lad be all fascinated by this new toy his mum got him, wood measuring spoons which he could chew on too. He threw it across the room, bunch of spoons went straight to the electronic appliances and started crawling his way to the toy. Harry didn't understand his play time one bit. "No, don't go there!" He picked him back up and fetched his toys.

But is Emir going to listen? He's a little baby!

It happened once, twice, thrice. Harry gave up and moved up all the appliances on the counter. Did it make a huge mess in the kitchen? Yes! At least his little boy isn't going to hurt himself.

There were house chores he had to get all done so his wife can come home and rest after working for hours and hours straight. Being a pastry chef is hard enough. He just wanted to help but he couldn't when he has a baby who is full of energy and adrenaline being introduced to his new toys this week.

Emir takes up after him for that, he would agree.

Harry's the same whilst on stage performing to his fans.

But this was exhausting for him to do everything on his own, plus his anxiety was doing nothing but add fuel to the fire. The boy kept running into things or getting himself stuck in things. He never noticed how easy it is to have another person around to help. It's usually him and his wife doing all the mundane things together, it is easy that way as there is always someone with a baby who had just learned to crawl. And he's a quick crawler.

Harry was becoming more and more tired having to run around after him, or calm him down after very fifteen minutes when he'd go to wash some dishes or get the laundry all sorted, or get the cats fed and clean up their litter boxes. Or when he prepared for dinner for himself and the boy.

Emir had a nappy burst when Harry thought he had gotten five minutes to sit down and breathe. The bath time was traumatising, with Emir screaming and crying for no reason. That's when Harry realised it was long after his nap time and he was sleepy and tired and hungry as well.

"It's okay my love, Papa's here for you." He assured his little boy after he had calmed himself down, which wasn't for more than three minutes. "I love you." Harry wiped his teary eyes with the pads of his thumbs, wrapped him up in a towel burrito before taking him to the master bedroom. He got the little lad dressed in his sleep onesie and brought him downstairs.

"I'm so sorry, Papa is having a hard time with your Mumma gone." He shared as he had him settled into his highchair, "I'm trying my very best, I promise." He felt bad.

Seeing Emir's tired eyes teary, as he was almost dozing off to sleep without having been eaten, it was his fault that he couldn't look after his son when his wife is stuck at work. Only if he could keep track of time properly and have fed him first than getting distracted by cooking and cleaning and doing the laundry. He felt a heavy pit in his stomach of guilt.

"Come on, Emir eat up then we can go to bed." Harry was feeding the little boy his dinner. He was all strapped up in his high chair, busy playing babbling and smacking his hands on the table still tired and worm out to the fullest.

"Mumma-mumma-mumma." He started his squealing. He learned to call both his parents recently.

"Mummy is working, my baby," Harry talked to him, "is that good?" He cooed watching him take a bite of the little rice porridge he made from YN's mum's recipe. "I know it's not as good as your mum makes it, but we can make it due."

His phone started ringing, "oh look, it's your mummy!" Harry answered the face time call from YN and perched up his phone against Emir's water bottle.

"Hello boys!" YN chirped. Harry saw she was kneading some pink fondant. "Are my lads doing lad things that lads do cause lads are cool?" Harry laughed at that.

"Mamma!" Emir squealed.

"Hello my love, are you eating your dinner?" YN said.

"I don't know how you do this." Harry spoke up.

"What?"

"Feed him, he's so wiggly!" Harry exclaimed trying to give Emir another little spoon full of food. "See! This is why I took up on bottle feeding." YN just laughed. Harry's very afraid to spoon feed him because he's afraid that the metal cutlery is going to hurt his boy somehow. He loves to sit with his with a bottle of milk or formula, that's a good bonding activity as well.

"I probably sound like a horrible person, but — Emir come on, darling!" Harry was close to having a breakdown.

"Harry, it's okay, love. You're doing good he just looks a bit tired." He watched her take her phone and head out of the kitchen telling her employees what to do next whilst she talked for a minute on the call. "It's okay!"

"I don't know, I've been anxious all day." He shared, "you do it all so flawlessly."

Honestly she doesn't. He had seen her make mistakes too but she knows how to quickly move on and fix her mistakes. He didn't know how she does that, really. He reckons it's because she lived with her older brother who's got three kids here in London until she married. She always talked about baby sitting the babies when her brother and his wife would go out, for work or whatever it was.

"And that's okay, okay?" She assured him, "I am so sorry I can't come back home right now. You're already doing so good."

"I hope so, he hasn't eaten anything, I forgot to put him down for a nap earlier as I got caught up with the chores." Harry pouted still trying his best to have his little boy fed. "What do I do!?"

"Harry, look at me," she demanded so he did, "play with him for a bit and then try again. If that doesn't work then give him some formula."

"Okay." He nodded. Emir knocked off the bowl of rice, spilling it all over himself. "Oh god, I'm gonna cry!"

The little boy started laughing finding it humourous.

"Yeah, you find it funny huh?" Harry scoffed. Can he be mad at that adorable face? He placed a kiss on his boy's head.

"Anyway, Harry I'll be home after midnight so please don't wait up for me okay?" YN shared.

"Do you have too much work?" Harry looked concerned looking at his tired wife. Yeah, she hasn't been working that much since Emir's birth, but the breast feeding and everything which comes post delivery was taking a toll on her, physically. He hated to see that. He felt bad to even ask that question.

"No, almost done here." She shared, looking down at her work station, "just a handful of things to sort out then, Jay and Kat will be delivering the cake tomorrow at the venue."

"Okay, drive home, yeah?"

"Mhmm, I will." She nodded, "please don't be hard on yourself. Give him some formula and he'll be off to sleep."

"Yeah. I love you."

"I love you too!" YN blew a kiss each to both her boys before she hung up.

"You're a proper lad, aren't you?" Harry sighed and scooped up his son out of his highchair carefully. "Being so rowdy today."

Emir just laughed and shied away, hiding in his dad's chest. Harry chuckled and brought him in the kitchen with him, propping the baby on his hip he made a bottle of formula. "Let's go lounge on the sofa, hmm?"

Harry got comfy with his baby on the sofa, draping the fluffy throw on the boy to keep him warm. Emir just lied on his chest having his meal all sleepy yet it didn't seem like he wanted to sleep.

"Mumma!" He squealed looking at his dad.

"No, baby I'm Papa." Harey laughed. "Can you say Papa?"

"Papa!" He squealed again.

"Yay!" Harry celebrated, pressing sloppy kisses on his chubby cheeks. "I'm really sorry, my love. I was having a bad day today." He felt guilty for having him wait up for dinner. "I hope you aren't mad at me. Mumma is a really good help, isn't she? But she's stuck at work today. I know we shouldn't rely on her but this was the first time were together, isn't it? We had a lads day in today. Well, more like you had a proper lad day. Where did you get all the energy from, hmm?"

Emir just sighed dramatically, resting his head back on his dad's chest. All snuggled up he was starting to fall asleep.

Harry adores his little boy. He worried the day he was born because he didn't had that love-at-first-sight connection with him. It took him time to learn about him. His little boy was a new human and he felt like he needed to get to know him first, but there was no doubt he would protect the little bundle of joy with his life. It took some time to make peace with it all, that it was okay to feel that way.

Now they're both inseparable. Even though Emir is more of his Mumma's boy, he still manages to have fun with his Papa.

Today just added to that all that guilt for him.

The next thing Harry knew was feeling gentle taps on his arm. "Harry, do you wanna go sleep in our bed?" It was his wife he found when he finally opened his eyes and found his boy missing.

"Where did Emir go?" He panicked.

"I put him in his cot." She shared, "do you wanna go upstairs and get comfortable?"

"Yeah, sorry I fell asleep here." He sighed, "when did you get back?"

"Just fifteen minutes ago."

"Hmm, let's go upstairs and sleep. I am so tired." He got up to follow after her, "did you manage to get the order done?"

"Yeah, we did." She yawned making him giggle, "sorry I'm very tired."

"So am I, love." He draped his arm around her waist, tuck her closer to him.

"How did your day go?"

"Oh, don't ask!" He sighed dramatically. "I still feel bad, you know." He was walking straight to bed giving her space to go get ready to join him but, she stopped him.

"It's okay, Harry." She cooed, "come sit here. Please?"

"Come on." He walked her to their bed.

"You don't have to feel bad, okay? I know you tried your best, he knows you did." She assured him, stood in between his thighs to hug him.

"But I don't know if he ate properly." His voice was low as he sniffled, his face buried in her chest. "I got so distracted."

"Harry he's a baby, he'll wake us up if he's hungry." She said, running her fingers through his hair, "you know it's okay to make mistakes I'm sure he isn't even going to remember anything in the morning. We'll do one thing, let's bring him over to sleep in our bed tonight, yeah?"

Harry doesn't like that. He'd insisted on sleep training their baby since he turned six months old, but he agreed today.

"Yeah!" He nodded.

"Harry? You're crying?" She cooed and bent down to look at him. "It's okay, I promise."

"I, I know. I just can't help it." He chuckled sheepishly. YN smiled and wiped away his tears with her sweater paws, press a few sloppy kisses on his either of cheeks.

"I brought made your favourite cake pops." She reminded him, "kept them away in the fridge for you."

"You did?" His face lit up instantly.

"Mhmm." She nodded, "the ones with chocolate cake and coffee butter cream."

"Oh I love you so much!" With his arms wrapped around her middle he pulled her down, flipping them over he buried her down in the mattress.

"Oh my..." She laughed, "I should have told you that earlier."

"Yeah!" He agreed. "You should have!" Lifting his head up from her neck to look at her, he pressed sloppy wet kisses all over her face.

"Now don't go eat them all cuz I used a lot of coffee in it." She explained, "you won't be sleeping tonight then."

"I'll go bring our little lad in then, leave you to relax and do your skincare and stuff." He gave her another peck on the mouth before he lifted himself off her.

"Mhmm."

When YN returned from taking a shower and doing her skincare, he found her boy fast asleep. Emir lied on his side in the middle spooning his small teddy tucked under his arms. Harry lied just behind him with his hand rested on his little tummy.

......................................................................

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tremendouscreationperson · 10 months

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So are there any fics where people just assume Arthur is batshit crazy?

Bradley who isn't called Arthur in this timeline was always a promising young lad, his parents helped him with his somewhat odd hobbies of archery and fencing and even just playing strategist games with him

He is fascinated by the Greek and Roman Gods, Ancient Egypt and Camelot

His dad takes him to book stores and he becomes somewhat of a history buff

One day (idk say he's like 22-25) he gets these odd dreams and at first it's just the odd comment "no Gwen was black not white" he has no proof, no evidence, but he knows his dreams aren't wrong

They become more vivid and eventually lead to a breakdown because he is confused about his place in this modern world

He doesn't know why but he drives to Wales, he has to, something is calling him there

Merlin had decided this time around he was going to be a doctor, he had studied when he lived in Ireland (even picking up the accent again) but had stayed too long there and people weren't believing he was 40

Moving to South Wales wasn't the worst idea because he got to visit his lake

The lake

It wasn't his

It hasn't been his for longer than he dare think

Merlin had settled his way into a medicinal career, having been a hacker of sorts to not exactly falsify information

He WAS trained, just under a different name

Merlin hated being back in Wales

He missed everyone

Even Uther

Even Morgana, even after the turn

He just felt so hopeless

Lonely

Just plodding through the new world, learning new skills to distract himself from that

He was perhaps overqualified for the entry level job but who would believe a 20 year old had 30+ years of experience?

The younger he pretended, the longer he could stay in one area

He had made a few friends but always stuck to himself, what was the point in friends these days?

Fingerprints on an abandoned rail

He trudged into work receiving a few "hello Colin"s

He was a carer

Essentially a glorified Merlin

But he'd take it for a few years before he could start mental and physical therapies

Was this a stupid idea

He had just plonked his bag into his locker and placed his lunch in the fridge before he was officially late on the ward

"Col' there's a new patient coming in today." Becky told him between scribbling notes "a fighter, from what I've been told, be careful"

"okay, any other information?"

"no, just a breakdown, probably a few months in here with some meds and he'll be gone." She looked up. "He's not actively hurting himself, but he wanders, he was found just walking into some lake. Obsessive behaviour with history too."

Merlin nodded, it wasn't unusual

He'd seen worse

The patient in question did arrive when Merlin was dealing with Mrs Davies, she had had an episode and needed sedation

He didn't like manhandling a 70 year old but she could punch when needed

He just exited her room when he heard a familiar voice

Becky was informing the new patient of the rules and that number 12 was his room

Merlin thought it only right to say hi whilst he's standing right there

She introduced him to the man, who actually had his back to them and was staring out the window

"Bradley, this is Colin."

"Hello, I'm one of the nurses in charge of your health, be careful of your neighbour in number 13. She's a handful." Queue the awkward chuckle

Merlin had spoke as his brain processed what his eyes were seeing

The man was so familiar

The shoulders

The hair

Even the posture

Curse him for standing Infront of the window because when he turned he was haloed by the golden sun

Merlin's heart stopped

"Merlin?"

The recognition in Arthur's eyes broke Merlin's heart

He was quick to stop himself from running up to the King as Becky was examining the patient's reactions

"hello." Merlin nodded to Arthur "Becky I'm just gonna ask some questions," before mouthing "he thinks I'm part of it"

She gave a look but there was always so much to do so if Colin was offering to finish Bradley's orientation so be it

Once she had left and the door was closed Merlin smiled so widely at Arthur

"you took your time, clotpole"

Tears pooled in Arthur's eyes, "I knew I wasn't crazy. Merlin where have you been?"

Merlin sat on the neatly made bed, Arthur following suit, and explained the past thousand years

He ended it with "had to wait for my King."

Arthur placed a hand in Merlin's knee, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I acted back then, I'm sorry that you had to hide yourself, why are you here? You're a warlock?!"

Merlin did chuckle at that. "Doesn't exactly pay the bills. I mean it helps but there's also boredom."

Arthur smiled back, the visible ease he had with Merlin vs Becky was comforting

"I'll help you survive this place, you'll be out soon."

"thank you, I don't know why but I kept having these memories, I drove from London to Wales, went to the lake and then I was being pulled out by strangers. I don't remember getting into the water."

"has anything happened like that before or since?"

"no."

"then that's fine."

"why am I back? Why did you stay?"

"Our lives were never our own. Destiny was woven through us. I don't know what we do but we are needed." Merlin hoped Arthur didn't read that as the cop out it was

"you'll stay with me? Even after this place?"

"of course."

"good."

#merthur #merlin tv #merlin #arthur pendragon #arthur x merlin #prince arthur #gwenivere #morgana #uther pendragon #sir uther #lady morgana #modern au #merlin bbc #fic #king arthur

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quietpagan · 11 months

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What if Vimes couldn’t go home?

AO3

In belated honor of the Discworld fandom’s ‘Feelings Day’, and in order to cause some more Feelings, I’m curious about a version where Vimes doesn’t go home. The hole opened and closed, and will stay closed; the cards are shuffled and cannot be unshuffled. The Glorious 25th of May happens and keeps happening, and Vimes lives by the skin of his teeth and sees the dawn of the less glorious 26th of May, and the cleanup of its bloody yesterday. There are six new graves to be dug up in Small Gods, and Vimes looks at the grass where the seventh should be and feels sick.

The monks are very sorry that this has happened to him, and endure his raging and his ranting with the sad patience of people who know the volcano is going to erupt and where the pyroclastic flow will have to land, and have to deal with it anyway.

And Vimes does the only thing he knows how to do, and goes to work. He weathers the punishments that come with laying his captain out and fields the rest that come with commanding a barricade against the military in a city-wide demi-revolution, and is commended for his efforts toward the future of the new administration. He stands before the newly-appointed Lord Snapcase and salutes as best he can without wincing, and leaves as soon as he’s allowed, twitchy and eyeballing every guardsman all the way back to the watchhouse. Sam Vimes the Current follows him all the way and he realizes that he has a responsibility to this boy, one that now lasts more than just a few days. The only watchman who knew his secret was dead; the monks keep to themselves. John Keel lives now, and Vimes has thirty years of knowledge to try and put things right.*

*Or, at least, thirty years give-or-take the two decades where his memories swam in a sea of alcoholic blurr. He’d just have to fish out whatever bits he could from there.

He makes a List. There are various watchmen who die who don’t need to, crimes remembered that he can now predict, and as time goes on Sergeant Keel of the Night Watch gains a reputation for being disconcertingly there, present at just the right time. He catches a young lad before a cart runs the boy over; Sergeant Maroon doesn’t take an unfortunate dive onto the upturned pike of a belligerent thief, because Keel is there, grabbing the back of his armor just in time to haul him up. He sees the directions the city turns in before it even moves its head; Madam and her friends are fascinated with him but he denies her anything, right up until it’s suddenly five years into the past and he sees Sam take his first drink outside of the social sphere, and realizes that he’s actually allowed to change, really change things. Big things. And personal things, as well.

Vimes watches Sam like a hawk and steers him well away from the bottle when failed romances (Vimes watched with cringing sympathy, but the poor bastard had to learn somehow) or the dirty hands of the city begin weighing on him; they talk, instead, and Vimes desperately looks around for something he had never seemed to have time to acquire before: a hobby. It leads him to Schoone Avenue where, upon the notice of the death of Lord Ramkin and the beginnings of the dragon sanctuary, Vimes drags Sam along to inquire about getting a watch-dragon for Treacle Mine Road. He’s worked hard to see to it that watchmen are no longer back-door visitors, but he shines Sam up just the same.

Sybil looks so young; at twenty-five she already towers over Sam Vimes the Younger and Older both, and hasn’t quite acquired that middle-aged forthrightness of someone who knows it’s late and is determined not to care. Sam is enthralled, and Vimes takes the opportunity to volunteer him to help at the sanctuary, extracting himself as quickly as he can before anybody notices his eyes getting red.

He’s built up the reputation as a dedicated husband; everybody knows that his cigar case was a present from his wife, and he’d mentioned once that when he’d arrived she was about to have a baby. But there are no letters, no notes saying how the baby is and when is he coming home and what the big city is like. Ol’ Sarge didn’t like to talk about his wife, and looked rather wretched when she was brought up. So the men decide that Mrs. Keel had died in childbirth, and that ol’ Sarge was still too heartbroken to tell about it. Vimes has to go up to his room and sit in the dark for a very long time upon hearing that rumor, clutching the silver cigar case until his hands ache.

Carcer is a problem. He’s stuck, same as Vimes, and has no compunctions whatsoever about doing absolutely anything he wants to anybody who gets in his way. Vimes works and works and works, night and day until he nearly collapses, trying to find something to pin the bastard with, something to tear him down from the pillar of terror he’s affixed himself to, and can’t. The city isn’t ready for a watchman who can arrest the unnerving head of the remains of the Particulars, even when the man comes up for murder. Nobody cares about murders; certainly not when an Authority is doing them, and particularly not when said Authority is known for making people disappear. But the Particulars, though they’d been granted another base and were endorsed by Snapcase, were just as much afeared of Sergeant Keel as they were Captain Carcer, and when the time comes and it’s Sam, of all people, who manage to arrest Carcer for murder, nobody stands to speak for him. Poor Constable Battock exits life almost twenty years too early during that mess, but they have Carcer for his murder and for an attempted murder on Vimes himself, and Snapcase, who is insane but at least could read the mood of a mob, sentences the man to swing.

Sam the Younger is making rather some headway into his gentle Understanding with Lady Ramkin the Younger when she introduces him and his mentor to her very good friend, the bastard himself: Havelock Vetinari, fresh from his Grand Sneer and ready to grab Ankh-Morpork by the horns or, knowing Vetinari, to gently steer it by way of a sharp instrument on a more sensitive body part.

Vimes isn’t expecting the black-clad kid in front of him to watch him with an admiring eye, and he certainly isn’t ready for him to call Vimes ‘sir’. And Havelock and Sam get along, all under the smiling eye of Sybil, who’s looking entirely too smug at what’s supposed to be a friendly tea and chat. And Vimes knows the boy now as Havelock, because that’s what Sam keeps calling him. His new friend. It’s eerie.

And there’s the good bits about being stuck in the past, and the bad bits too – and then there’s the very bad bits. Sam wheedles and huffs and side-eyes Vimes until the man finally gives in and lets Sam drag him to Cockbill Street for dinner, under the aching need to put the horrible rumor of him being Sam’s runaway father to rest, and the even more painful ache of getting to see his mum for the first time in nearly twenty years. The familiarity is awful; Vimes had moved out of Cockbill Street when he’d first taken the badge and had only visited briefly over the years, in the bare, somewhat put-upon dutifulness of a son who didn’t realize that his mum wouldn’t be around forever. His mother – younger now than Vimes is, and isn’t that just the worst realization – serves everything that he’d been dying to taste just one more time, and it all turns to ash in his mouth. Young Sam is visibly disappointed to find that Sarge is completely unknown to his mum, and Old Sam finds that lack of recognition distressing for another reason entirely. He urges the boy to take better care of his mother, and sees that he visits her at least once a week.

It's about this time, or a little while afterward, that the silver cigar case disappears. Vimes had built a nervous habit of patting his pocket, and took it out just to look at it often. Twelve years through the past runs by and Rust has finally seen to boot (Vimes’s cardboard-soled boot, to be specific. He’d caught the bastard having indecent and altogether unwilling relations with a maid in the man’s manor, and Vimes had worked very, very hard to impress upon the city that being a nob didn’t mean you were free to fuck around and not find out. Rust, being nobbier than most, wasn’t arrested, Ankh-Morpork just wasn’t there yet, but he was encouraged to leave the city in disgrace, and Vimes supposed that it would just have to do for now). The office upstairs is Vimes’s once more, and has already accumulated a familiar forest of paperwork. It’s late, and he’s alone, and that’s what makes it hit so hard. If he’d been on the street, or even downstairs in company, and the possibility of the case being pinched was even fractionally available, he would have kept hope. He would have grabbed that possibility with both hands, treading red-eyed through the city year after year, holding onto the notion that he’d eventually find it. But he’s in his office alone, and when he habitually reaches down to pat it he feels the solid weight of it disappear under his hand. He checks his pocket, checks all of his pockets, nearly tears his trousers checking, and then throws up. He pulls on his cloak and runs into the night without a lantern, dodging the hustle of the city with unseeing eyes as he lets his feet walk him up to Schoone Avenue, where Sam is having dinner with young Sybil. Vimes can see only vague shadows in the windows from his spot on the distant street, only hear muffled laughter, and feel only lint and broken pencil lead in his pocket, and that’s it. That’s the only future now, up in the huge house ahead. The anchor that Vimes had held onto, even after Sweeper had told him that he could never go back…that one shining, delicate thread connecting him to his world, is gone. It’s all gone.

Vimes walks. He walks over the bridges, across the streets, and the shadows welcome him home. He notices nothing of the city around him; a thief from the newly appointed Guild hops in front of him, waves a knife, and then says ‘Er…sorry, wrong person,’ and hops all the way to the other side of the street; Vimes has pulled the night in around him, let it seep into his bones, and it shows on his face.

Everything is gone. Sybil, the baby, Detritus, Carrot, Vetinari, Angua…even Dorfl and his slowly-growing army of free golems, even Buggy and Cheery and Willikins and the little old lady who brought them biscuits on Hogswatch because they’d carried her husband to the hospital after he’d fallen, it was all gone gone gone. Was it all disappeared? Was everybody dead, an entire future erased as if it had never been? Or was Sybil waiting for him in a distant dimension, alone in that house with the baby, telling it stories about a father who disappeared into a storm, never to return? He doesn’t want to know. Each is as horrible as the other, and it doesn’t matter now because it’s all gone…

Sergeant Keel returns to the watch house at noon, several hours after he was supposed to have signed out for the day, and when he returns the watchmen note that he’s missing something, like a layer of skin has been flayed away. And in the cemetery of Small Gods, the tiniest plot has been paid for. It’s nothing but a small box, empty and the size of his hand and damn had Leggy First objected, but it was there, filled with the remains of Sam Vimes the Elder, and the future he had left behind.

He digs in, the way he had held off digging in before, because what else was there, now? Captain John Keel becomes nearly a force of nature. Thieves walk on the other side of the street, licenses clearly visible. The Assassin’s Guild raises his fee to over a half-million dollars, after the incident with the last fellow and the ornamental topiary. The Watch opens its arms to its first dwarf officer several years before Cuddy’s time, and with it comes the call for a troll officer, and though it’s not Detritus yet Vimes feels something slot into place. A female officer (human) follows, and it’s like the opening of a floodgate; suddenly the Watch isn’t just some rude men, but your neighbor Thor Thorsson’s in uniform now, and your daughter’s making noises about getting some chainmail. Vimes feels the familiar headache that comes with new recruit chittys coming in every week, but this time without Carrot here to prod him into organizing the files. And Havelock takes power far earlier than he had originally; Lord Snapcase had yet to commit something that Vimes could stick him with without getting nailed to a dungeon wall by his ears, but the guild leaders and even some of the nobs could sense how the wind was blowing through the streets, away from the idea of a cruel, insane tyrant who deplored upon a city that was opening its doors to new people and new ideas and, most importantly, all the money that they brought in. Havelock took up the robe of office nearly ten years ahead of time, right from the cooling body of its previous occupant, backed by the majority of the guilds and, for the first time, the surprisingly reputable City Watch.

Things are going well for Sam. There’s no way to avoid being torn down, when you’re a person with such an open heart and all the anger required to want to kick the gods for trespassing, but in this time he has a support system and a mentor who don’t let him do it alone. Vimes feels like he’s given the young man a proper education on all the reasons why the nobility as a whole is a festering parasite on the populace, and now he’s marrying one and is, uh, very good friends with another. Very good friends. Vimes wouldn’t have noticed except that he went to pick up Sam from the big house a bit early one shift, and noticed Havelock there, just relaxing in the sitting room with a cup of tea and a book, in the middle of the settee with Sybil on one side and a recently-vacated spot on the other. Vimes tried and failed to work his way around the question of ‘Are you and your wife fucking the Patrician, Sam?’ and instead spent the entirety of his patrol examining every ‘Ah, Vimes’, and every covered smile or invitation to stare thoughtfully out of the window and that one time where Vetinari had called him ‘my dear Vimes’ and how often he’d visited with Sybil and – and – how to possibly compute all of that while remembering this Havelock asking him, Sam Vimes/John Keel, for tips on how to disappear better into the shadows. He still takes in their invitations to dinner or tea on the regular and little details suddenly start to make sense, especially when Sybil looks at him over her teacup the next day and simply remarks that it was about time. Her and Sam have a baby well ahead of Vimes and his Sybil, and the little boy is dark-haired like neither of his parents, at opposites to his fair-haired sister, who comes a few years after. Vimes is named godfather to both, to his proud disquiet, his heart wrenching somewhere in the region of his stomach as he holds the children that, if not for a freak storm, would have been his own.

It all comes to a head, of sorts, when it’s been twenty-five years and Sybil says ‘Sam, dear?’ and Sam and Vimes both answer. He’s about two weeks from retirement, everybody knowing full well that ‘retirement’ for Ol’ Sarge will actually mean remaining exactly where he is, just with helping the new Commander Vimes (and doesn’t that just stab his proud, proud heart) with the paperwork instead of wrestling with it himself, and being less shy about falling asleep in his chair. He’s pushed it off for as long as possible, but even Havelock has started to become gentle in his persistence, and Vimes is…tired. Policing is hard on a body and soul, and Vimes has policed Ankh-Morpork for sixty damn years. Completely incognito, too, until that one tiny little misstep, and now Sam’s looking at him funny. It should be an easy enough mistake to attribute to age and familiarity, but Vimes knows the look of having Figured It Out when he sees it on his own blasted, blasted face, and Sam is coming up to it fast. The mannerisms. The voice. The way they look like father and son, if father and son happened to look and age and smile and frown exactly alike, with the same color of eyes and hair, the same hands, the same knob on their right pinky from a broken finger in childhood. Sam’s mother hadn’t recognized it but Sarge looked so stricken when he’d met her, like he’d seen a ghost. Sam had sneaked a look at Sarge’s cigar case once, had seen the writing and never made sense of it. Sarge had introduced him to Sybil. Sarge had met Havelock without surprise, Sarge had figured out that whole Leshp business before anybody could even organize an army, Sarge knew things. Sarge had nearly started weeping when they swore in Sergeant Detritus, and had made friends with him instantly. Sarge was the only one not surprised by Captain Carrot’s indelible manner, or by young Cheery’s fashion choices. Sybil and Havelock sometimes looked between Sam and Sarge like they were waiting for either to answer a question, like the answer would be the same no matter which man it came from, and Sam realized – probably thirty years behind everybody else, dammit, that it really wouldn’t matter which man the answer came from, because they were the same. Damn. Man.

Sam corners Sarge in his little room above the watchhouse, shoves a chair under the door, and asks him what his name is.

And Sam Vimes, after a very long, long moment, sighs, and answers him.

#discworld #glorious 25th of may #sam vimes #night watch #sybil ramkin #havelock vetinari #i wrote this in a haze so sorry if the tense changes im not used to present-tense #but it nagged at me all day because it HURT #sorry but I needed to spread the hurt with y'all

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s-c-g-s-c-g · 8 months

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Friday Fic Recs

Some ongoing/incomplete fics I've been reading this time around, exclusively batfamily and dp x dc in no particular order. Quick note: this was written and queued in mid-August but I don't think any of them will be finished by the time it goes out.

take these broken wings and learn to fly by fishingclocks - Dick & Bruce & Alfred

Battinson gets a Robin, as he should. Full disclosure, I have not seen the movie yet, it is on my list. That said this is such a wonderful look at all of these characters. Dick is delightfully insightful and emotional and smart. Writing children is hard and this fic definitely hits what I consider fundamental and essential: treating them as humans with thoughts and feelings above anything else. Bruce is competent and struggling and I love how he tries. The relationships are wonderfully thought out and I've loved watching them develop over the fic so far.

Some Who Wander by LeafyNib - Tim & Jason, Tim & Damian, Tim & Bruce, Bruce & Damian

Reverse Robins! I'm not a Reverse Robins person normally so let me tell you this is a good reverse robins fic. It follows a resurrected angsty Tim, sad about Tim's death Bruce and Damian, and of course, very excited and tiny Jason who's got himself a brand new brother! I love the thought put into it all. Tim isn't just a colder version of Red Hood, he has his own hangups and flaws that make sense for his character. Damian is going through it the poor lad and honestly so is Bruce. Jason is adorable and trouble and smart which I always love. Tim and Jason are a really fun duo! It's a great time so far!

The Business of Family by Spaced_Ace - Oswald Cobblepot & Jazz Fenton & Danny Fenton

There are some fascinating AUs happening in the DP x DC fandom. This one has Oswald Cobblepot as a distant relative of the Fenton kids and maybe their last shot out of Amity before it's too late. There's a lot of scheming happening on all sides, especially the kids, Oswald is mostly just horrified and hoping this helps his PR issues. The way Danny and Jazz's abuse shapes each of their actions is interesting. The worldbuilding is really intriguing and the POV switches are fun as we get to see different perspectives.

#friday fic recs #fic recs #batfamily #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #batfam fanfic #batfam fic recs #dp x dc fic recs

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yakuzacanons · 9 months

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This is more of a silly one but the Minecraft one has me thinking

The lads being forced to play Roblox with their kid/kid they're babysitting

I actually love these kinds of silly asks so keep 'em coming! Nothing like finishing a Majima angst post and seein the next ask if big silly, makes me go heehee. Headcanons under the cut as per usual.

Kazuma Kiryu

Kiryu has a lot of experience with kids so when the Morning Glory kids ask him to participate in Roblox, he's at least down to give it a shot. He will learn very quickly that he has no idea what he's doing.

The boys will have the most fun playing Roblox with Kiryu. He's a little sore whenever he loses but keeps up appearances for the kids and eventually grows to enjoy it regardless of winning or losing.

He's fascinated that you can program Roblox, even though he doesn't know any programming. The kids have expressed some interest in it but none of them know how to do it yet either. They all like to watch videos on it though and go "ooh" and "ahh" at what other people do.

Majima Goro

Majima will spoil the hell out of his kid/kids, so before they can even finish asking if he will play with them, he's already at the computer saying "Alrighty, show me what to do".

Honestly the most enthusiastic gamer dad. Did he lose? Who cares. Did he win? Who cares! He's just having fun as long as his kids are having fun too.

You honestly may even catch him playing the game just on his own after a while. Majima's a pretty flexible and adaptable guy so he even if he isn't personally into the game, he may take a little time to play by himself to improve at the game.

Saejima Taiga

Although Saejima is good with kids when it comes to being a parent or teaching life lessons, he doesn't really know how to "play" or game with kids. Physical games like hide and seek he can manage but he can hardly manage using technology on his own, let alone with people.

However, Saejima is the biggest softie and cannot say no to someone he cares about. He will give his most earnest effort but undoubtedly he will become very confused. He won't let his frustration show in front of children though.

What he DOES enjoy is watching let's play videos of the game with his kids. Not only can he take more a backseat role and not be on the spot for gaming but it's something he understands easily and can therefore be in on the jokes with the kids.

Akiyama Shun

Type of guy who never expected to be a dad so most of the time he's winging it. However, his good nature does make him a bit of a natural with people. At the very least, if his kid asks him to play Roblox, he will give it a hearty attempt.

What Akiyama prefers to do is actually just watch his kid play. He loves to hype his kid up and will ask questions like "So what're you trying to do now?" and encourage his kid to try new things in the game.

Even though Akiyama may not be a good or enthusiastic gamer by himself, he will totally try to rope you into it too. When your kid asks for Akiyama to play, he'll say "Why don't we BOTH play Roblox with you?". Akiyama loves a little friendly family competition.

Tanimura Masayoshi

He might actually ask his kid if HE can participate in Roblox with them. Either way, his answer to playing is definitely yes. He'll say things like "I bet I can go longer without dying than you" only to lose on purpose at the last minute to give his kid the win.

Definitely a competitive gamer if playing against others his age but always lets kids win, even if kids know it. When kids catch him letting them win, he won't try to cover it up, he'll just get shy and say "Ah, yea, ya got me."

Probably the only one of the boys who knows anything about programming and might even be able to do some in Roblox either with or for his kid. If he does end up doing this, he does feel a bit proud of himself and loves making things in game for his kids.

Ryuji Goda

Absolutely dotes on his kids when he gets the chance. You can bet his kids have the latest technology, nice tablets and laptops and all. However, Ryuji is still a dad with limits and won't let his kids have uncontrolled game time.

Although work keeps him busy, he loves to just lounge on the couch with his kids after a long day and see what games they're playing. Won't always say yes to trying out something in Roblox but when he does, his kids absolutely love it.

Totally camps up his behavior and acts extra confused or surprised when playing. Whenever he's done, he gives his kids a giant bear hug before leaving.

Nishikiyama Akira

Nishiki honestly doesn't seem like the type to understand kids at all. This is not to say he isn't loving with his children but he's not as natural as someone like Kiryu is. Having said that, he is decent at video games so it's one of the few activities he feels he can actually participate in with his kids.

Type of guy to sit criss cross apple sauce when spending time with his kids. You think it's super cute which embarrasses him a little, making him blush, but he'll get you back by making you play with him and the kids.

It's cheesy but he always gives his kids a high five when they succeed in a game. If he's only watching instead of playing, he tends to munch on snacks, occasionally tipping the bag of chips towards his kids and shaking it at them as an offering.

Daigo Dojima

Kiryu gets all the dad credit but Daigo is actually dad of the year. It doesn't matter how busy he is, the second he has a kid, he's just smitten. Does his kid have a sports event? He'll skip out on a meeting. Is it his kid's birthday? Everyone is going to know it. His kid wants to play Roblox? He has zero clue what that is but ok!

Daigo is the cuddliest dad. He'll have his kid sitting in his lap while they both hold the tablet, for some reason they're trying to play the game at the same time on the same tablet. You don't know why they don't just have two tablets since you can totally afford it but they're both giggling and smiling all the way, so you let them be.

If you walk in on Daigo playing Roblox with his kid, he'll totally smile at you, beaming, and say "Look what we're doing". If he's ever too tired to game, he'll just say "You go ahead, daddy's feeling too oomph for Roblox today, okay?" while mimicking the death sound effect from the game.

Mine Yoshitaka

Probably has never owned any form of gaming system in his life but as soon as his kid expresses a mild interest in gaming, he is already on the phone with his secretary asking what the heck a Roblox is and how to get it as soon as possible.

Really good at engaging verbally with his kids. Mostly a backseat gamer, watching intently. Will ask questions like "So where are you trying to go" or "Have you tried this map before". Has a great memory of what his kids have done in game and remembers all their achievements.

Out of all the boys, he's the most likely to buy his own individual tablet, laptop, or desktop so he can game with his kids. It's also practical since he can use it for work at other times. Takes a bit of pride in getting the nicest technology for his kids and actually cares about things like hardware and software. Just because a piece of tech is pricey doesn't mean it's good and he's very conscious about that. Type of guy to build a desktop for his kids when they're older.

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kix-mm · 1 year

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Hey! I saw you made a QnA a bit ago, and I have a question. We know a pretty fair amount about Branch himself, but i remember you mentioned he had siblings and parents, could you tell us a little bit about them? Thanks!

Of course! This is picture is a small hight chart from the time Branch was about 5.

Jacob, Robin, Roy, Barron, Allen & Elliot, Vincent, Dusty.

Info is here below!

Jacob, the eldest

He’s the one that’s considered the most responsible of all siblings, at time being more of a father to them than a brother, he was often the man of the house whenever his farther was traveling for work. He was one that followed the rules quite closely and yet wouldn’t be afraid to bend them or stray from the path even going as far as to stand up to his very own father and question the reason for certain rules. But as years went by there was a certain dread felt when they had to call for Jacob… He was a sweet soul despite how fearful his brothers were of him, maybe something about him was just unsettling? He never dared to ask… "Even mother seemed a little intimidated.

Robin, second eldest

Robin is one of the favorites of many, including Branch. He was born with scoliosis and never had it treated as the procedure was expensive and, in his eyes, quite unnecessary. He had a certain charm to his character, a great listener, and quite playful. He always had a calm tone and was known to be quite flirty both with men and women. He tends to drink a lot more than his family knows to keep his silly stories to himself...

Roy, third eldest

The troublemaker of the family. Drugs, fighting his family and dissappeaing for days without contact. He has no filter and can be quite a narcissist. He put very little effort into showing that he cares... The only person he seems to have any consideration for is his canary, not letting anyone near it, especially his younger siblings. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about his family, he yearns for Jacob's approval despite his rebellious actions and never spends a day thinking about how he almost lost Allen in a blind rage over as stupid accident...

Barron

Barron is the adventurous type. Usually, he was the one to make up the games so they wouldn't die of boredom. He was fast, strong, and brave. A hero to his little brothers and a knight in armor to his little sister. He was usually the one that got between people when things started getting physical, except when the adults were involved, then he'd make sure the little ones were distracted so they wouldn't have to hear all that he did when he was their age... Barron became blind in one eye but somehow sees things nobody else can... he sometimes struggles with what is real and what isn't, maybe it was due to his near death experience... that's the only thing he's scared of...

Allen & Elliot, the twins

Elliot was the first of the two, a bright and sunny boy who always had something to do. He was rarely bored and easily distracted by just about anything, taking the saying "watching paint dry" to a whole new level. Allen, on the other hand, was a sensitive lad. He had pretty severe autism, and he had trouble talking with most of his words slurring or lisping, he had a unique way with communicating with Elliot, since the two were inseparable they learned to communicate with each other that the others to this day have no clue on how they do it.

Vincent

He was born with several health complications, asthma,a poor immune system, and sensitive eyes. His “disabilities” are what got him so interested in medicine, reading countless books that were on a far higher level than the rest of those his age. His fascination, however, is what also leads him to severe germophobia and thanatophoia, a fear of dirt, infection, bacteria & fear of dying. Not only did this cause him to be far more anxious then the rest of his brothers but he also started becoming a household doctor of some sorts, giving his brothers regular checkups at first for fun, but eventually out of fear for their safety…

Dusty, the youngest and only sister

Dusty was everyone's little princess, the sunshine of the household, everyone adored and cared for her. She loved all her brothers and would always do her best to make them smile. She is mostly mute, only becoming verbal when she was feeling very high levels of emotions. Due to being the youngest and most loved everyone was always on the lookout for her and being extremely protective of her. She had a special kind of freedom the boys never had, but they worked hard for her to have it. It was all worth it just for her...

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annachum · 9 months

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Some Soft Goth Cosette HCs cuz I LOVE Soft Goth Cosette :

. As she grows, Cosette seems to sometimes sense spirits around her and in her head

. Several people at the Petit Picpus Convent call her a ' Spirit Whisperer ' cuz Cosette sensed that it is as if she can hear the voices of the saints presented in statues and portraits of the convent

. She came to have a heart-wrenching yet beautiful spiritual relationship with her mother after Fantine died. She regularly tells Valjean and her friends that it is as if she can regularly sense her mother's spirit consoling, guiding and speaking to her. 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭

. She defo loves black dresses, catholic and gothic shawls and veils, beautiful headscarves, flowers on her hair, and has several rosaries and becomes a devout Catholic, all the while becoming to have a collection of gothic novels and poetry books

. She actually becomes not scared of ghosts in general. Rather, she believes that there are friendly ghosts as well as nasty ghosts ( like people in general, really )

. She defo learns to reconnect with herself and re open to make new friends ever since Valjean saved her entire existence

. She first saw a certain dark haired lad in a dark coat across a street and her heart can't help but pitter patter at the first sight of seeing her eventual husband

. Her friends all love her for who she is and love her quirky goth tendencies

. She came to have a mix and match of Valjean's goth styles ( he is more edgy goth, but still ) and Fantine's predominantly pastel cottagecore styles.

. She defo encourages her loved ones to embrace their uniqueness. Bless.

. She defo spares no expense in laces and pretty black dresses in Post Convent Eras, and actually ENJOYS regularly styling herself CUZ SHE DIDNT EVEN GET TO DO THAT DURING THOSE HORRID YEARS AT THENARDIER INN?!

. Also also she defo loves visual arts related matters and regularly likes to visit art museums and such since she and Valjean left the convent, and I can totally see her eventually becoming an art teacher after she and Marius got married. AAAAAAAH

. And and she definitely sees a number of things so new and exciting after she left the Convent and becomes fascinated with the summer fairs of Paris, the clothing stories in Paris and thinks so many things are just so exciting and thrilling. And then Marius who is more law and journalistic geared gets just REMINDED how wonderful and exciting the world can be?! Cosette defo gives her post convent era friends a more unique outlook of life and is a reminder for Marius to EMBRACE THE BEAUTY OF LIFE. And that is so beautiful

. Cosette defo becomes an associate of children's rights activists in France after she left the Convent, especially considering all she been through as a kid.

🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭🤩🥺🥺🥺

#soft goth cosette #some more Cosette hcs cuz I love her sm she is one of my fave characters #defend cosette #goth cosette

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btm-txt · 1 year

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wow been a while since i've met a new person who's also into those weird echidnas of those knuckles comics I love your art of them! nice to see new stuff of them after a long time of it being pretty barren-

Yo I did not realize that there was a little community that also liked those weird little dudes!

I used to read the comics back when I was in high school and like I wasn’t huge knuckles fan but I grew really fascinated with how much lore his family line had. All the drama, family feuds, echidna weirdness, I ate that shit up like breakfast. And Lien-da holy shit Lien-da just her like..liek..oof I won’t even get into that rn. I would even say that it’s those comics that really got me into drawing and posting my art on DeviantArt all those years ago, back when I was a wee lad with a sonic ripoff oc and ms paint drawing bases. (I could possibly dig up some of those old drawings actually…hmm maybe later)

You can imagine my heartache when I came to revisit these old comics and characters recently only to learn about the whole Ken Pender’s shit. It wasn’t until I went digging for fan art of these characters and reading about them that I realized that there’s still people creating art and stories of them, and they were still actively posting on this niche little corner of the internet. So then my two brain cells got together and were like “yo you’re an artist why don’t you just like draw them..like how you used to back in the day??”. So now I’m here of all places creating fan art of my faves and feeling nostalgic about it hehe.

I’m really glad that you like my artwork and I can only hope that it makes that wasteland less barren 🥰

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk 💖

Also also also! I couldn’t help but notice your Echidna bear man and…umm.. well.. I have found a new weakness 🫣sorry homie I couldn’t help myself but doodle Rhett

#✨+2 Serotonin #thanks for asking uwu #don’t @ me ken penders #ramble ramble rambl

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theimpossiblescheme · 1 year

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In a Different Form

Inspired by another prompt from the wonderful @the-cat-at-the-theatre-door, I decided to write a companion piece to one of my old fics and expand upon my Skimble-Cass Friendship headcanon. I hope everyone likes how this one turned out!

Jellicle lives were funny things, when you really stopped and thought about them. Sometimes they mirrored each other perfectly, and sometimes they were so wildly different you had to wonder if the Everlasting Cat had gotten bored and decided to mix in an entirely new soul for the fun of it. And if you did really stop and think about it for too long, the twists and turns in your own brain would drill a hole in the earth below you.

It was hard for Skimbleshanks not to think about it these days.

He remembered the elder Bill Bailey, grandfather of the younger… before he’d become Old Deuteronomy’s first Jellicle Choice, the old tom had been something of a mentor to Skimble and his friends. A true jack of all trades, but master of none, he’d taught Jenyanydots how to tap dance, dear old Asparagus how to tell the most spellbinding stories without ever truly coming to the point, and Skimble himself how to better study humans. Young and impetuous as Skimble had been then and having lived with humans for most of his life, he thought he had a pretty damn good idea, thank you very much, about what made humans tick. But instinct was no substitute for experience, and Bill Bailey had that in spades. He could tell just by listening to a man’s voice not only where he was from, but if he’d slept the night before, if he’d been arguing with his wife, if something he’d eaten disagreed with him. He could look at a woman’s dress and talk about what party she’d come from, how much she’d saved for it, whether she ever planned to go home after such a whirlwind of wonder and romance. Now, whether Bill Bailey knew any of this for certain or if he was just extrapolating into what he thought made a good story, Skimble was never sure. But it did help him sharpen his own observational skills—he learned how to spot an impending argument, how to follow the smell of drink and chase it away, how to herd lost children back to their parents. And if they sensed that one of his passengers was having a really miserable time of it, both toms would sit on either side of them and purr for a while. Bill Bailey always insisted he didn’t lead a very exciting life, but by all accounts, it was certainly an eventful one. He found everything fascinating, found so much to love in the most minute details… been in love many times, with places and cats alike, but never settled for too long. Wherever he lingered, a touch of that quiet whimsy remained, and Skimble tried to retain some trace of it years later.

Which made it all the more wildly ironic that his friend’s eventual rebirth came, not in the form of his son or even his grandson who shared his name, but the Rum Tum Tugger, of all cats. If he’d ever wanted a more exciting life, he’d certainly gotten it, although Skimble suspected Tugger’s idea of excitement clashed horribly with the elder Bill Bailey’s. Not that he was a bad cat, certainly not—somewhere underneath all that brash swagger and utter disregard for propriety, Tugger had a heart. But a little of him went a long way. Even the younger Bill Bailey took more after Tugger and tried to imitate him to the best of his ability; however, the lad’s propensity for tall tales and uncanny ability to remember the smallest, most seemingly meaningless things brought those nights on the Midnight Mail to the forefront of Skimble’s memory.

Yes, it was a funny thing, wasn’t it… how these things never worked the way you expected them to.

He tried not to dwell on it too much. Past lives were no longer his concern, and his current life was busy enough. And he wouldn’t change that for all the stars in the sky. He loved the Midnight Mail, his stationmaster, and his three lovely girls who were quickly growing up into young women. He loved his own children, who grew up just as quickly and even had mates of their own now. He missed his sisters across hills and borders, and he missed his parents and his mate across… wherever the Heaviside Layer was supposed to be. Work had been the best antidote for grief, and he had enough to do between evening errands and afternoon visits that he was never in any rush to give it all up. But when everything slowed down, and Skimble was left alone with his thoughts for too long… he’d never been the melancholy sort, always thinking of it as a bad habit, but habits were hard to shake off if you indulged even once. Every time he started the morning with shaking paws, struggling to do up the buttons of his vest and trying to remember just where the devil he'd put his spectacles last night, hearing everyone in the house already awake, he couldn’t help but indulge a bit.

Would he be so different in being reborn? Would he forget all the people, all the places he’d loved most? When he finally retrieved those memories, sometime in the distant future, how would he look back on them? What regrets would he have? Skimble never believed in having regrets—do what you know in your heart to be best and chance the consequences, that’s what he believed. Would he still hold to that as a different cat entirely? Would he still have that wanderlust in his heart, that love of new faces as well as the old, or would that be gone, too? Would he ever spare a moment for any stray kittens he found along the road? Would his blasted paws ever stay still for five seconds? Silly, irrational thoughts, every single one of them, but he couldn’t shake them out of his mind. By and by, he’d be the only one left in their little group of friends… he felt that more and more keenly with Asparagus gone. And he hated the idea of them, too, disappearing from the fabric of time.

There were certain cats he knew who understood. It was plain to see just in their eyes how many lives they’d already passed through, how many mountains climbed and loves lost. Coricopat and Tantomile were two such cats—they looked like they had danced at Stonehenge when it was first built. So did Mistoffelees, if you caught him in the right mood, although there was an ominous amount of fire and frenzy there as well. And Hathor, gentle and unassuming Hathor, seemed to hold a galaxy each in her eyes.

And then there was Cassandra… another one of those funny things. You could live right down the road from someone most of your adult life, and you could never know any more about them than when you’d began. Skimble always thought of Cass as a friend, looking out for her when her Protector duties took too much of a toll and her unflappable demeanor risked falling down around her ears; but outside of those spare glances, she was still something of a cipher. A riddle in a gold collar, just the way she liked it. So he tried not to step on her mystique if he could help it. Even if he wondered at the eerie timelessness in her eyes and even her voice. He never asked before. Never thought it was any of his business.

But there was one evening, before the patrol could depart, that he managed to corner her. He tried to keep the conversation light at first—talking about the weather, the day’s events, the night’s expectations, how things were doing at home, little nothings that didn’t matter. That was, before Cass mentioned Electra being promoted to a proper Protector in Training, pride for her stepdaughter fluffing up her sleek shoulders. And all at once, Skimble felt unbearably old all over again.

“Well, she seems to have all her affairs in order—remind me to congratulate the lassie when I see her again.” He didn’t quite feel the laugh in his voice, but he definitely felt the warmth as he patted Cass’s paw. “We should all be so lucky, I suppose.”

At this, Cass gave him a split-second look of confusion before it cleared from her face. “You’re still worried about your nomination for the Ball, aren’t you?” It was barely even a question with the amount of certainty in her voice.

Another tiny, half-hearted laugh. “Still that obvious, am I?”

Cass just smiled her tiny crescent moon-sliver of a smile at him. “You know, if Rumpleteazer could nominate you for the Choice three times, she would. And if I were a betting queen, it certainly wouldn’t be against you.”

Skimble’s smile turned to a grimace. “It’s… not the nomination itself that worries me, m’dear. It’s… well, it’s the whole matter of… departing this particular mortal coil for the next one.” He forced a deep breath into his chest. “You would understand, I’m sure.”

For a moment, he feared she would freeze him out, turning away with an expression like granite as she so often did to cats who annoyed her. Instead, he marveled as a kind of thaw took place—not an obvious one, but there was something in the way her posture relaxed and her face softened, tail curling around herself as if she still needed some protection. “I would,” she said coolly before letting out a quiet sigh. “It isn’t… an overly pleasant process. For most cats, anyway.”

Most cats? “If I might be so bold… was it for you? Easy, I mean… to retrieve it all, I suppose?” Skimble supposed he should feel ridiculous, asking these things from a cat so much younger than him, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb Old Deuteronomy, tired as he was recently. And what was that poem Asparagus liked so much? Something Shakespeare, about the stages of man and old age as a “second childhood” of sorts. Surprising insight from a human. And for all he knew, Cassandra could be eons older than himself.

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know for sure. But probably a trifle easier.” A long pause followed as she brought a paw to her collar, and Skimble sank against the steps of the tire, thinking that might be the end of it. But before he could relax too much, she spoke again. “My lives are precious to me because I know how rare they are.” She lifted her chin. “I have never been forced to wander the streets or depend on the kindness of beggars. I have always had beauty and love and light beyond the sun. I have been extraordinary… but circumstances may change. They always do. And who else will remember the days before if I will not?”

“…Does it ever trouble you, having… so much within you? Or… have you ever feared you would forget?” He had to tread carefully—this was a delicate topic for any cat, and doubly so between friends. So often he would see Cass in deep meditation on the Junkyard wall, no doubt pondering that vast well of memory… Skimble never had time for that sort of thing. There were always trains to catch, people to wrangle, kittens to tend. Too much packed into every second to worry about the ones he’d missed—he’d pop like an overwound watch otherwise.

“No.” Cass’s answer was plain. “I have always been myself, regardless of name or country or language. I know what I have loved, what I have hated, and where my lives were bound to lead. At the end of everything, we are nothing but our memories… if we lose them, what are we? To ourselves or to each other?”

She had him there. “Precisely what I’ve been wondering myself…”

For another long moment, Cass just sat there. Scrutinizing him with eyes that looked at kings, pharaohs, and tsars. Then she gently flicked at his ear with one paw as if trying to get it to perk up manually. Or scolding him for being an idiot—he couldn’t really tell which. “I have always been who I am. You shall always be who you are. It’s as simple as that.”

“Simple as that, eh?” If only he could fully believe that. “I hope so… I don’t suppose you’ve ever… has anyone from your past lives ever… recognized you? Really recognized you, that is?”

“Most of the cats from my past lives have died. Or been reborn themselves, somewhere across the world—I was never sure.” The way she said it was so stubbornly unsentimental, as if she’d long since run out of tears and refused to shed any more, that Skimble’s own eyes stung, and he suddenly felt even more foolish.

“I’m… sorry, m’dear, I… I hope you don’t think—”

“I think you’re worrying too much.” Cass hesitated before putting a paw lightly over his. “Ultimately, the Choice isn’t Old Deuteronomy’s. It’s the Everlasting Cat’s. And She doesn’t make mistakes for any of us. Wherever you go if you are Chosen… I can at least promise you’ll be well taken care of.”

“And what about you? All of you?”

“We’ll manage.” Cass gave him that crescent moon smile again, and her grip over his paw tightened. “I wish I could get to see this new cat, whoever he might be,” she said softly. “I hope I will… but perhaps we shall all miss our old friend.”

“Oh, well… at least you’ll miss me.” Skimble didn’t know if he felt comforted exactly, though he did feel… lighter. Steadier. Or at least able to breathe a little easier, now that it wasn’t all piled on his chest like so much lost luggage. It didn’t seem like the kind of matter for simple platitudes, and Cass was never one to give them. And he still had some time to contemplate, he was in no hurry—perhaps one afternoon’s meditation wouldn’t go amiss. But for right now, he just smiled and nudged Cass’s ear right back. “You’ll be wanting to follow your girl out on patrol, I’m sure… better not waste the evening listening to an old man ramble on.”

“I do like to take breaks every so often, you know.” And Cass pressed an honest to goodness nuzzle against his shoulder as she descended to join her fellow Protectors, leaving Skimble to smile even brighter and shake his head. He’d always had rather interesting taste in friends… perhaps that would carry over to another life as well.

Dear Heaviside, he certainly hoped so. Where would he ever be without them?

#This one ended up more or less writing itself even if I had to spur it along a few times...#There's a chaser of Bill Bailey Sr. headcanons in there Zach Bravo-style as well. <3 #cats the musical #skimbleshanks #cassandra #fanfic

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pauls4all-zambia-trip-2023 · 10 months

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Day 4 - Jolly Phonics

The day started at 7am with a delicious breakfast consisting of eggs, bacon, toast and a Zambian twist on baked beans. We swiftly changed into our pink Pauls4All polo tops and went to the Limanpela school. We were welcomed with a tour by the head of primary school and were impressed by the infrastructure - all funded by New Zealand.

We were then introduced to some local teachers and had a day of intense training around Jolly Phonics. Jolly Phonics is a programme which helps children learn the English language and helps them understand the different sounds more easily - this is a particular challenge for non native speakers and as most Zambians speak local languages at home, it can be difficult to learn the sounds and words in English. The Jolly Phonics trainers, Matthews, Kirsty and Daniel, taught us the 8 stages of Jolly Phonics and all pupils engaged very well in the fun activities, conversing with local teachers and learning a lot. Over just a few hours, we learnt over 40 distinct sounds, including numerous digraphs like /ai/ and /ch/. For lunch we had the local staple, nshima - an exciting experience that involved eating this traditional maize dish with our hands!

In the afternoon, we continued our training and then Matthews, always full of energy, ran through a sample lesson using the principles of Jolly Phonics we had learnt. It was a lot to take in in a short space of time, but it will be extremely useful when we return to support in Limanpela school at the start of next week.

Tired after a day of training, the lads had enough energy left for a football match with a few locals. The match ended in a 5-4 win for captain Kanyin’s team after a late finisher from the captain himself and a hat trick from Kian K. Before our dinner of chicken and rice, we gathered round the fire for our evening debrief. We reflected on a fascinating day: the various ages of school enrollment, the differences between community and government schools, the dangers of putting a child down a grade and the difficulties of teaching English by non-fluent teachers…

Tired after a full and informative day, we all hit the sack awaiting an eventful Saturday. 😁

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clariongradiation · 1 year

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31, 10, 22 for the ffxiv gods ask :)

alsooo as a bonus: do you have a main class and is it the same class you envision your wol to be as a character (e.g. you like playing one class in raids but you see your character as the master of another art when thinking of their lore)?

SOMEHOW THIS GOT LONG SO ITS UNDER A CUT THANK YOU FOR THE ASK

(It didn't add the cut my life is over sorry for the long post everyone)

CG: Hello hello, today we are here with the (almost) full party to answer some questions posed by a lovely friend. First off, how connected do you feel to nature?

Yuki🌸: when I first came to Eorzea it was fascinating to learn about the art of conjury from E-Sumi-Yan. The way they commune with nature and the elementals reminded me of how we speak with the kami, and it helped me to grow my healing art in ways I wouldn't have been able to if I had stayed in the Ruby Sea

Twi🐰: I may be from the forest, but I was never much of a treespeaker

Negi🍚: when you gather your ingredients from nature, you can't help but feel connected to it right? I may not speak to the elementals, but if you wander the woods long enough you pick up a thing or two

Popoto🥔: yes yes, and collecting the seeds to grow and nurture at home is another great way to be nature-y. It always feels so nice when something you've grown from a little seedling starts putting out flowers and fruit :)

CG: Great, thank you everyone. Next, do you believe in fate?

Kai🐱: it's a little hard not to, when the Spinner decides to have her way with you. Still though, it's not like we are incapable of making decisions for ourselves

Punch👊🏽: yeah, fate isn't really something I think of as a hard line or anything. I'll do my deeds and walk my path, and I'll get weighed at the end same as everyone else

Popoto🥔: I think so too, but isn't it nice to sometimes think that things were meant to be? Meeting a new friend, choosing one road over another, maybe these sort of things aren't random but little nudges from the goddess

CG: wao, so it's as deep or not as you want it to be, huh? Alright, next, at the peak of your fury do you tend to be destructive? If so, how?

Kai🐱: haha, this one is for those three

Punch👊🏽: don't mistake me, I may get destructive but not because I'm mad. I'm Ul'dahn; there are much more satisfying ways to deal with anger

Twi🐰: destruction doesn't have to be satisfying, sometimes it just seems the only appropriate way to respond. When someone has wronged you, when injustice happens and there's nothing else you can do, it can feel like the only way to get through it in the moment is to rage

Crystal🦎: one doesn't need to be furious to destroy? Destruction is as natural as creation. It is part of the cycle

Kai🐱: we haven't had any major incidents for quite a while. Adventuring and long hunting trips are good ways to keep property damage as low as possible

CG: some very interesting perspectives here. Last, our bonus question: do you have a main job, and is it different than the one you consider your true job?

Yuki🌸: healing was ever my calling, so white mage will always be closest to my heart. I cannot deny, though, that becoming a dark knight has helped me greatly with regards to certain other aspects of my life

Kai🐱: like romance, right?

Yuki🌸: [does not respond]

Punch👊🏽: I picked up the axe from some Lominsan lads we had employed for a while. It's a great way to defend yourself on the road, and I've never met an axemaster I haven't liked (eventually). Still, when it comes down to it, you can't go wrong with your own two fists

Twi🐰: in the forest, the spear was just part of life; its the tool and weapon I grew up with. But seeing the way Lyna wielded her chakrams was, um, inspiring. Learning the art during my time on the First is an experience I'll never forget

Negi🍚: similar to Twi, I grew up with the bow. Hunting game is a natural way of life in the mountains, and meeting Jehantel just seems like it was fated (haha). I cannot deny, though, that axes and knives are essential tools to know when gathering and cooking

Crystal🦎: bows and magic may be useful on the steppe, but the axe is the only weapon I require.

Popoto🥔: I may not have learned from everyone like Kai

Kai🐱: you just pick things up when you wander around

Popoto🥔: but I know enough to be able to fill any role I need to at the time. Though at the moment I've been learning about the sage's art while we're in Sharlayan, and it's been pretty fun :)

Kai🐱: I wouldn't say I know everything [a couple of the others scoff] but when you've inherited a legacy of millennia, it's not difficult to learn new things. However I am, and ever remain, a summoner.

CG: sounds like everyone has different things they like to do, huh? But that's what works best for a party! That's all for now, thank you everyone for coming~ We'll see you next time in the tumblr ask box!

#long post #ffxiv #ask meme #my blorbos #black-novas #idk why i turned it into an interview it just seemed right #ty for the ask ily <3

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lisbetadair · 1 year

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Hello Lisbet! A small idea for skullface murderblorbo that had popped up in our head, a long time after I sent you the ask, "What job/occupation would Mr. Riley have?"

Perhaps in the comics, we can take it into consideration that Simon chose to be a butcher's apprentice as a teenager, maybe to earn a bit on the side and help his family keep afloat and to learn new skills. But it doesn't really sit with us right that Mr. Riley terrorized Simon by bringing dangerous animals at home, because that brings up many questions. Like where did he even get those animals?

Then our wife brought something up. Animals, you say?

Maybe Simon was influenced to become a butcher because of his father, and it could be that his father worked as a trapper, or a taxidermist. After all, it would be believable that maybe Simon thought the taxidermied animals were real, due to being a child and perhaps his father was a bit entertained in watching his child be afraid of the dead animals he worked with. (Simon got over his fear when he was around eight, when his father let him touch the antlers of a deer.)

Generally speaking, I think that Simon's father was portrayed as an unpleasant, neglectful man in the comics, though as an Avid Ghost Comic Heretic, we think that a one-sided, abusive father is just lazy writing, and there is so much potential on portraying the complications that come with writing about a difficult and sensitive subject.

Maybe Simon was raised in a family where both his parents worked with animals. He was frequently brought to museums, where his father would excitedly show the lifelike animals behind the glass screen, and he would take the time to read the information on the plate--and his mother would be immersed in piles of documents she procured, perhaps working for the British Pest Control Association.

Because of this, a deep fascination about animals stirred in him ever since a young age, and now that he was sixteen, he could become a proper apprentice of a local butcher (who ran a farm and was good friends with his mommy and daddy) and learn some useful skills while he was there. His mother and father bonded over their shared taste for rock music, though both were respected and revered by their colleagues.

This is the good ending of the Ghost comics, where Simon is Not traumatized and doesn't sign up for the army to run away from his family's problems, as we think that even if the comics were a cheap cash grab by Activision, it's effort in showing that Simon is a uniquely ambitious lad who went back to his family and tried to help them with their problems, leading to his brother Thomas going into rehab for his drug addiction and comforting his mother--though as we all know, tragic backstory no.9678, his family is dead and he has a spiteful argument with his father in the hospital and he's a badass motherfucker who got revenge on Manuel Roba and now has anxiety (and probable depression + C-PTSD on the side with a dose of anger issues.)

We'd love to hear your thoughts on this! Thank you for taking the time to read it!

Much as I'm also not crazy about the Ghost comics, I do also agree with you that there are some nice themes and points that I do think can continue to be of value in creating a background for the character.

I definitely like keeping the apprentice butcher thing, because Hereford is definitely known for high quality food and farming, and whilst I do see Ghost as having predominantly an urban upbringing, I like to think that where he worked was somewhere that valued their craft and that's something he carries with him now that he's living in a rural area with access to farm-fresh produce.

Taxidermy is a craft thing, so I guess if you see his Dad as being someone who has artistic talent, then that might be a good choice to have animals in the house, and a weird studio area filled with partially completed pieces? Working as a gamekeeper is a really niche occupation here, and we'd be talking about a seriously rural upbringing attached to a landed estate, so personally, because I see Ghost as having an urban upbringing (as that fits with East London voice acting) that doesn't appeal to me.

I like the idea of Ghost not coming from a tragic background, but equally, working as I do in an area with high levels of social deprivation that brings me into contact with people who have suffered from parents who have been neglectful or abusive, seeing how hard their lives have been as a result and how challenging it has been to move forward from that trauma, I'm wary of discounting that background as being too clichéd to be of value as a whole as a whole given that I think it does reflect reality in some of its themes. I know the comics do deal with those issues in a very superficial way, and I can also agree with just removing those themes wholesale to do something completely different, because that is also interesting to theorise other ways for Ghost to end up as he is.

The whole Manual Roba thing can, in my opinion, get in the bin. I am torture-brainwashed weary at this point.

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christiangrest · 2 years

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This is my very first blog post. I plan to do a series focused around my experiences with different firearm projects, the parts I’ve used, both good and bad as well as the various tools that while many times aren’t necessary, they make the end product much easier to produce. Of course my experience is just that, my experience, opinion and knowledge. I am not a professional, although I have a lot of background and depth. So a little background on me…I am a lifelong gun enthusiast…even back to when I was just a young lad at 5 years old, I remember following my dad around on some of his hunting trips. Marveling at the tool for the job, whether it be a shotgun, an old Belgium Browning Auto 5, a rifle like his Marlin 1895 saddle ring .44 magnum or a muzzle loader. I was always interested in what my dad was using to hunt and shoot. Unfortunately I lost my dad in 2017 unexpectedly, but so fortunate as both a child and as an adult to have such great influence from him. Truly would not be who I am today if not for my dad. One of my projects led to him getting a chance to shoot an old Japanese Type I rifle my grandad, his dad had brought back from the Pacific after WW2. That rifle was damaged during the shipment home.

So in my younger days I spent many of my days as a young lad roaming around the woods wearing surplus camouflage and other milsurp items like packs and belts. I even had some bayonets, although in todays society, it’d probably be frowned upon if a youngster was walking around dressed like that with a military bayonet. In high school is was a member of the NJROTC unit and was even part of their air rifle team. We shot postal matches which were a ton of fun. The local National Guard unit had a place set aside for us to shoot our matches. My fascination of all things military led me to join the Navy right after high school. Although my direct position wasn’t with small arms, I did qualify with various small arms such as the M14 and Beretta M9 I’m order to stand watch. I was also a part of the ship’s security force. After leaving the Navy after 9.5 years, my yearning to learn even more about firearms truly blossomed.

I started shooting some matches; service rifle, CMP and Garand matches. Reloading my own ammunition for matches was almost a necessity, so off I went…ordering a Lee Classic turret press from Brownells. I later picked up the infamous Dillon 550 to speed things up. Reloading my own ammunition taught me a lot, especially in regards to quality control and how important it must be. In the case of reloading…we all know what bad quality control can lead to…disastrous results. A gunsmith friend of mine was teaching an AR15 platform armorer and maintenance course in which I attended. I had already been tinkering and building some rifles at this point, so this was only natural to attend. There was never an AR15 task I would shy away from. Often times offering my help to fiends and family to build, modify or troubleshoot an AR only made sense to keep my knowledge base growing. Thoroughly enjoying the aspect of learning anything new that could be learned. So at this present moment, I feel that I have accomplished a lot, but there is still always something new to learn and experience.

For my tools and parts, the very first place I look has been and always be the good folks over at Brownells. I can’t tell you how much I’ve acquired from that great company in Iowa over the years, but it’s hard to look at any of my past projects and not find a part or a tool from a Brownells that has graced it. The majority of the tools that I’ll be discussing in this blog series will also be from Brownells, but I hope to hear from you as well what your experiences are and what tools/parts you recommend. After all, much of the enjoyment I have with the firearms community is learning something new! So sit tight, and I truly hope you can get something out of my experiences.

#brownells #brownellsinc #bureau of propaganda #ar15 #gunsmithingtools #christian Grest

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