#I had to google a lot of words to make it less... dead

[neo-neos]

So I might have written a thingy... Ehhh I'm nervous about this... It's a JereJean fic where Jeremy helps Jean overcome his fear of showering.

Here it is

oki bye <3

[froggiewrites]

Hi again, Froggie! Glad to see that your requests are still open ^^ (btw, I'm not caught up with OP yet, but your live reaction posts feel so relatable already sdhjhjdfg) That said, I did thought of something bittersweet... and yes, this is again for our beloved Ace. If you have the time, could you do a hurt/comfort piece that deals with GN!Reader dealing with Ace's death post-Marineford? One day, reader was visiting Ace's grave in Sphinx Island and was weeping, but then a stray calico cat comes up to them seemingly with the intent of grabbing reader's attention. Let's just say reader makes a new furry friend who awfully reminds them of Ace (look through pictures in google and you'll see what iI mean ;_;) and thinks the cat is a manifestation of him somehow... ~ 🍂 ace's widow ♠️

Ah ace's widow anon, nice to hear from you again!! This was very bittersweet, I hope you enjoy it 💙💙

Companion in Grief

Pairing: Ace x Reader

SFW

Summary: You're lost in your grief after losing Ace, but you think you might have finally found something to live for. Warnings: Marineford Spoilers, Major Character Desk (past), Angst, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 1.6k

You’re still waiting for it to get easier.

You’ve been given a lot of platitudes: that time heals all wounds, that he’s always with you, that he died a hero. Like the way he died somehow makes him any less dead.

You much preferred what an old woman had told you, once, when you had shared that you were both widows. You had asked her if it ever stopped hurting.

She smiled sadly. “No, it doesn’t. But it…dulls, sometimes. It’s like an old wound that never heals quite right; sometimes you can go days, weeks, even years without feeling it. But it always comes back. Sometimes it’s a small ache, sometimes it’s just like the day you lost them. But it always comes back.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better, honestly.”

“No, it doesn’t. But…one day, you’ll wake up, and realize it’s been a while since you broke down, and you can think of the happy times without feeling like your heart’s been torn from your chest. And maybe that doesn’t make it better, but it’s maybe a little easier, a little kinder, than what came before it.”

You’re still waiting for that realization.

You’ve tried not visiting him everyday, after a couple concerned friends told you they were worried you might be making things worse for yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. You know he’ll never be lonely with Pops nearby, but you don’t want him to think you’d abandoned him. You know he wouldn’t want you to wait for him, but he’d never really wanted you to love him, either, always convinced he was a burden, some horrible cross for you to bear. You’d spend the rest of your life sleeping next to his grave if you thought it’d bring you closer to him.

But you don’t feel him here, not really. You just feel the cold ground beneath your feet, the gentle heat of the sun against your cheeks. There isn’t anybody here with you, no matter how much you wish it were different.

So you talk to the air, pretending you can feel his warm hands holding yours, pretending you feel his spirit and warmth around you. “I still miss you.”

There’s no response.

“This morning I woke up, and for just a second, I forgot. I forgot what happened, and I reached out for you next to me.” Your throat tightens, but you force out the words anyway. “You weren’t there, obviously, and then I remembered, and I–” 

You don’t know if the noise that escapes you is a laugh or a sob. “It’s so stupid, right? To forget? I know you’re gone, but some part of me is convinced that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll just…be there. And I’ll get to tell you about this awful nightmare I’ve been having, and you’ll tear up despite yourself because you’ve always been a lot softer than you like to let on. And you’ll tell me that it’s okay, because you’re here, and you would never leave me. And you’d be lying, and we’d both know it, but you’d say it anyway. For me.”

You lean your face down, pressing it into the dirt, inhaling the earthy scent, trying to ground yourself. “It's so strange. I feel so lucky to have known you, but I almost wish I hadn't. It's so cruel to have loved you and lost you.” 

You think of his smile, so warm and bright. Once you’d thought looking at him was like staring at the sun. “It'd be easier if I didn't know how good life could be.” 

You think about his hands on yours, his lips pressing gently against your skin. “It'd be easier if I didn't know how deeply I was capable of loving.” 

You think of the way he had slid the ring on your finger, hands shaking. He had been so nervous, more frightened than you’d ever seen him. “I don't think I'll ever do it again.” 

Your hands dig into the dirt, the small rocks and pebbles digging into your skin. “I hope you hold it against me if I see you sooner than you expected. I can’t do this without you. I never could.” The words pour out until they can’t anymore, the sobs finally overtaking you.

You want to sink into the ground, lay beside him, hold his hand one last time, no matter how cold. It’s just not fair. It isn’t right. This isn’t how things were supposed to be. You had a life you were supposed to live together, and he had so many things left to do, and now they’re just going to be left undone? How could that possibly be true?

Then something brushes against your hand.

Something soft and cold. A feeling other than pain, for the first time in months.

You manage to look up, and for a moment the big eyes staring at you seem almost familiar. The little cat, covered in dirt, is sniffing your hand, investigating you. He can’t be more than a year old, still in that awkward lanky state between kitten and cat. The sniffs continue for several seconds before he seemingly deems you worthy, and you feel the smallest hint of warmth as he licks your hand.

Before you realize it, you’ve moved your hand to scratch between his little ears, and his eyes close as you hear the sweet sound of his purrs. The corner of your lip twitches. What a sweet little thing.

“Hey, little guy,” you murmur, your throat still tight from your tears. “What are you doing here?” 

He mewls in response, headbutting your hand, as though demanding you continue your affections. A small sound escapes your throat, sharp and foreign, and after a moment you realize it’s a laugh. How long has it been since you laughed?

He headbutts you again, letting out a noise of discontent. For a moment you’re reminded of a sleepy Ace, grabbing your hand and pathetically begging you to lay down with him, for you to run your hands through his hair, to give him anything you’re willing. You give in to the cat, reaching over to pick him up and hold him against your chest, to his delight. He curls in immediately, purring louder, and you can feel his warmth seep in through your shirt. He’s like a little furnace, instantly banishing the cold ache that had been plaguing you all morning.

“You’re friendly, huh?”

He lets out a little trill, snuggling further into you.

“You should probably be afraid of strangers, buddy.”

A gentle breeze brushes against your cheeks, carrying the faint smell of cedar and smoke, so familiar it makes your chest ache. You almost fall to your knees again, but the gentle rumble of the creature laying against you brings you back. You’d hate to hurt him if you fell.

Your eyes linger on the gravestone for a moment, before you nod and turn around. You want to get this baby home, maybe give him a bath and some food. Ace would understand.

You enter the little cabin you’ve been staying in, ready to fill the sink with warm water. Your new companion doesn’t seem terribly pleased at the sound of it, and is even less pleased by the feeling of it on his fur. You try to be as gentle and quick as you can, making sure to check him over for ticks or flea dirt as he lets out one long, uninterrupted cry.

He decides you’re the worst person alive after you dry him off.

He forgives you after half an hour.

You don’t have any cat food, or anything you think he could eat, so you’ll have to go to the market later, once he’s settled. You do find some stray blankets you throw over a chair to make a good hiding space for him, which he instantly throws himself into.

As you maneuver around, preparing to leave as your new friend demands sustenance, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You don’t look quite happy; there are bags under your eyes, and you look a little sickly. But you realize that at some point, something almost like a smile snuck its way onto your face.

You can’t help but recall a conversation you and Ace had, back when you had cried when he told you he was leaving for a long mission, wailing that you couldn’t stand life without him for that long.

“Aw, sweetheart, you don’t need me. You just need something to live for.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need a reason to wake up in the morning. A goal you’re working toward, something you want to achieve, or something you’re looking forward to. Something, anything, that makes you want to get up each day. Do you have that?”

You don’t remember what your answer was. You don’t remember who you used to be, before. But for the first time in recent memory, there’s a smile on your face, no matter how small, and the loud, demanding cries of a hungry cat make you think that perhaps you’ll have a reason to wake up tomorrow.

Maybe things don’t need to be good to be better. Maybe they can be just a little less bad. Maybe that can be enough, for now.

[lemotmo]

I have nothing to add but wow

Q. You all are doing an awful lot of celebrating considering Lou literally said Buck is the love of Tommy's life. Sorry to rain on your premature party but those aren't the words of a man not sticking around. And making fun of him because he was clearly nervous during the interview is next level gross.

A. And then later he said he couldn't really say what Tommy feels for Buck. Stop it, anon. I have basic reading comprehension skills. I read the interview the first time through the lens of fandom and my utter disbelief at what I was reading. I reread it again last night (you're welcome btw because rereading it did not help him. It actually made him look even less important, if that's possible). This is the last ask I will answer about this because based on his own words he's no longer relevant to or even involved in Buck's story.

The first thing I will say is he clearly has no PR training or PR handler. If he does they're a relative, and that's the worst hire a person can make because a relative is only concerned with that person not being mad at them. Which means they turn into 'yes' men, and a PR person cannot be a yes man. You cannot be concerned about feelings. Your sole purpose is image. A PR person with only one semester of schooling would never have allowed that interview to be released. I was not familiar with this particular outlet so I had to Google them. They are very small and not affiliated with any larger better known media outlets. So their legal department can't be that robust. Probably wouldn't have been hard to squash the entire thing. However even if he did sign some kind of legally binding document they could have and should have made sure the video at least never saw the light of day. He was not nervous, anon. He was drunk. You can be delusional about it, but at minimum he was drunk. Any real PR person would have intervened. Because not only was he inebriated but the woman interviewing him, who had to have realized he was under the influence of something, was clearly flirting and had a personal agenda. No part of her behavior was okay. It was disturbing, unprofessional, sad and embarrassing for everyone involved. Period.

From a show perspective though he let a couple of really interesting tid bits slip. The most interesting thing he let slip was how uninformed and uninvolved he actually is with regards to the show. I was fully expecting at least one scene between Buck and Tommy, or Eddie and Tommy, or Buck, Eddie and Tommy in episode 16. Based on that interview, it doesn't sound like that happened. He said very matter of fact that he is not involved in anything outside of the Bobby storyline. A couple of things are interesting about that revelation. Number one being that if Bobby is in fact dead (which he's not) and his funeral is episode 16, what Bobby related thing would Tommy be there for in episode 17? He then went on to reveal that he had no idea what the storyline is outside of his LAFD/helicopter (his words) role in episodes 16 and 17. Which not only means his role in Buck's storyline is finished, but more glaringly it means the man wasn't even getting complete scripts. He only saw the pages that contained his scenes. I promise you Tracie got complete scripts. Anirudh got complete scripts. Gavin probably got the complete script. This is not Severance, anon. They're not safeguarding major plot secrets. They are potentially sitting on one unrelated to Bobby secret though. And he has demonstrated since he arrived that he is not capable of shutting up. They didn't send him any part of the script other than his scenes, which by his own admission were only Bobby related. He serves no true storyline purpose. He serves plot point purpose to move the storyline forward. But even the show only shares hos plot points with him. He sees nothing else. He doesn't know the storyline, anon. If he was relevant to the outcome of the actual storyline, he would know the storyline. That is not a man who is relevant to this show at all. You can stay in your delusion bubble, no one doubts you all will do that. But that does not change how unimportant he truly is to this show. And on a human to human note. You should want him to get the help he clearly needs. Because as funny as it was in some ways. It was also a cry for help. Maybe focus on what he actually needs to happen, anon. He needs help.

Thank you Nonny!

Yeah, I didn't rewatch that interview video nor did I read the text again. But I have read it once and watched big parts of the video once yesterday.

I agree with Ali here. On a show level it's very clear that his role is finished on 911. So YAY!

On a personal level? When I read that interview I thought it was hilarious and I laughed out loud, because he didn't make any kind of sense and it was funny.

But then I watched the video and yeah, I stopped laughing. I felt very uncomfortable watching how he struggled to answer. The guy obviously isn't doing very well and the fact that this website decided to still bring out that interview or at least the video? It's distasteful and it doesn't sit right with me. Sorry. 🤷‍♀️

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[noxiatoxia]

hihi hihi sooo looks around... ur translation posts have made me wonder more about certain scenes across the game - specifically the ones featuring nagito. i seen the post where it's said that the translators just happened to throw in the word hope for no apparent reason and that really made meeeee curious........ so i was wondering, is this another example of a scene like that? it kinda felt clunky to read whenever i saw it but thought it was just a wording issue but now im wondering if this is a translator just pulling shit out their ass ^_^;;

Hi! So, let me write out my own TL and give some notes.

Komaeda: it's also just a very miserable display. It doesn't promote hope at all. It only serves to piss me off.

Calling it a "hopeless object" is a very direct translation. In theory, at least. The word 絶望的 (zetsubou teki) - which literally translates as "despairful" - is defined as meaning "hopeless" in most English dictionaries.

This is kind of why I advise NOT to use Japanese to English dictionaries if you can help it. They're fine if you want a basic translation, and are helpful springboards to get an idea of what a word means esp if you're a beginner in the language, but the fact is, giving one or two English words for a Japanese word rarely encompasses the meaning of said word.

So while Komaeda technically uses hopeless/despairful in his first sentence, the way "zetsubou teki" is used here means something along the lines of "miserable" or just devoid of positivity. It's a "win" point for the Japanese team because it happens to include the word "zetsubou" (despair) in it, and the word despair in Japanese is a lot more flexible than it is in English imo. But keeping it as "despair" or "hopeless" in English just to keep the brownie points of mentioning le funny despair/hope I think is a sort of inaccurate translation, even if it's "literal". I hope that makes sense.

As for "object", he literally DOES say "オブジェ" or "obujee" which of course is a shortened way to say "object". However again this sounds unnatural in English. Komaeda is simply saying "that thing over there sucks". "obujee" also carries the nuance of art pieces (google オブジェ and look at images) so I think changing it to "display" makes more sense than keeping it as "object" to keep the artsy nuance. Commonly English words are borrowed and used in Japanese, but they get transformed to have their own meaning over time and you can't reasonably rely on being like "oh, it's borrowing the word "object" so it must mean the same as the English word object."

Oh, and the reason I had him say "also" is because he's clearly responding to Tanaka in this scene, who says "This is yet an evil attempt to besmirch Koizumi even after death! We will be dragged under with her if we look it dead on!" <- translation from the Japanese text (I don't know what the official English makes him say...)

I don't know why the team didn't catch that Komaeda was adding on with "also". If it's a situation where translators were given specific characters to translate text from and didn't swap notes, I can see how the また would be interpreted as him emphasizing instead of saying "also".

Okay! On to the second bit!

"It doesn't belong in a hopeful place like this at all" this is pretty literal, but not wholly inaccurate. I don't know why but something in my brain is telling me the wording is off. Maybe it's him calling this a "hopeful place". 希望益れる場 means something like "a place that is of use to hope" so it's less that this "place" is hopeful itself but more so that it can be useful to hope...I don't know if that nuance means much to anyone, but I think it matters. Komaeda does talk about how hope is on this "very island" but never once says the island itself is hopeful.

The second part is a mistranslation of sorts. I think the translators mixed up 忌々しい with 忌まわしい because they're pretty similar (and because a lot of English dictionaries/online translation softwares will tell you they are the same). But 忌まわしい is the one that means malice, abhorrent, morally bad etc. 忌々しい (what Komaeda uses) is more subjective and is more akin to "annoying" or "irritating". It's basically going "this personally pisses me off".

Yeah, that's basically it. All in all this is basically the same quality as most of the official translations (sighs), no egregious outright mistranslations mostly but just a lot of fumbles on nuance and wording. Thank you for the ask!

[skysometric]

Skysometric Design Retrospective, Part 1

Where It All Started

somehow, after a decade on the internet, i've become one of those people who has a whole Personal Brand™. at first i leaned into it on purpose, partly because i wanted to make videos as my shtick (until i didn't), and partly because i didn't really know how else to express myself on the internet early on. these days, however, keeping up a personal brand is less about Who I Am and more that i just enjoy graphic design. making this stuff is fun!

so over the past few years since coming out and rebranding as Skysometric, i've put a lot of work into a new logo, website design, icons, video thumbnails, and even more besides. i'm pretty proud of how it all turned out! and now that most of the heavy lifting is done, i'd like to write about how it went and some things i've learned along the way. there's a lot to talk about, so strap in for a pretty long series!

but, to start, i can't talk about Skysometric without a quick history lesson about WillWare, the old me – the one who got the ball rolling on graphic design in the first place.

———

maybe this is obvious to the trained eye (or maybe not!), but i'm an entirely self-taught graphic designer. i've never taken any classes, studied design styles, learned the fundamentals, or even so much as had a single course teaching me how Photoshop works. (not that i use Adobe anymore, but you get my point!)

instead, everything i know, i learned by doing. i learned how image editing software works by making tiles and backgrounds for Mari0 levels. my fundamentals are deeply rooted in drawing mazes as a kid, so i quickly discovered how to set up grids in every image editor i got my hands on. i picked up other design techniques by attempting to imitate their logos or styles for personal projects over the years.

on the one hand, this means that i've developed a style and workflow that is wholly and uniquely my own! on the other hand, anytime i get stuck, i don't always have the tools to get un-stuck... or even the words to google it.

so instead of googling it, i used the tools i had to make all of this:

rest in peace, WillWare (the brand). clockwise from top left: logo, social media banner, video end slate, stream archive thumbnail.

what started as just a fancy logo to replace my old Sonic profile picture, snowballed into an entire branding suite across web and video! i learned a lot about graphic design as i gradually expanded these designs into my other creative pursuits. you can see so much of that self-taught style i described above in these few examples – geometric grids and graph paper, simple shapes and layers like my Mari0 work... and imitation of Google's Material Design guidelines, like drop shadows and color choices.

in fact, i leaned so hard on Material Design that, after some time, it no longer felt like my own style. anytime i wanted to branch out, i felt constrained by somebody else's design standards! so i challenged myself to find my own design style from scratch, which I called "New WillWare":

this neon light grid is still pretty dang inspired, but it's not "me" anymore.

it took a couple years of slow iteration to arrive at this neon-looking "light grid," and while it rocks, it also painted me into a corner. i had no idea how to make anything more than pretty promotional pictures in this style – i couldn't figure out how to make it work with video, webpages, or even just text, no matter how much i tried to go back to the drawing board. and my lack of formal experience made it that much more difficult to solve these problems!

so after a while, i felt pretty stuck. my old design didn't feel like my own, my new design was a dead end, and i felt like i was too invested in both to start completely from scratch again. i was simultaneously too burnt out to continue, and too scared to throw everything out and start fresh!

and then i transitioned, and started calling myself Sky.

in case you missed the *cough* subtle indicators, both of my old designs are centered around the letter W (being part of my old username and all). "Sky" does not have a W. so, uh, none of this fits anymore! even though i love this old work, and still consider it part of my history, it no longer accurately represents me or my identity. ready or not, it's time to design something new!

on one side, i felt pressure to get away from my old look, the product of a younger designer whose efforts were still the standard for my online presence. on the other side, i felt pressure to rise from the ashes of my redesign, make something of all the failures, successes, and lessons that i learned.

and thus, shedding my old brand identity and donning my new gender identity, i hit the sketchbook running.

to be continued...

[dedalvs]

Is there something up with the High Valyrian wiki?

https://wiki.languageinvention.com/index.php?title=High_Valyrian_language

I've had this link bookmarked since ages. I can't seem to load the page. I've tried all sorts of browsers and it is still not working. i wanted to get back into actively learning HV again and duolingo is kinda annoying so. Is there a different page/resource the wiki has moved on to? I also seem to recall an old forum for HV with a bunch of really good resources for it. is it possible for you to provide a link? Thanks so much anyway!!

Good question! This wiki, which you can find here..

...is a labor of love—not just from me, but from a team of dedicated individuals who want to get information about my languages up somewhere more or less permanent, editable by many, and all in one place.

For years I have had a hosting plan from DreamHost. For a fixed fee, DreamHost allows you, essentially, infinite storage. I've got a dozen or so websites hosted by the same DreamHost account. I have to pay for the urls (a yearly fee; everyone pays these), but the hosting itself is covered, no matter if I had one website or a hundred.

Creating a wiki that would function like Wiktionary was my idea. I love Wiktionary, and love the idea behind it. For example, let's say you wanted to look up mate. This is an English word. It's also a subjunctive form of matar "to kill" in Spanish. It's also the word for "saliva" in Swahili. It's also "dead" in Tahitian. It's also a word in several other languages. It's kind of cool to take an abstract form—going just by spelling—and seeing that it's a word in a bunch of different languages, all with different etymologies (some related, of course. For example, mate has something to do with death in a lot of Oceanic languages. In Hawaiian it's make, which looks like an entirely different English word!).

In Dothraki, the word tor is the number four. It comes from Proto-Plains *tur (and so would be tur in Lhazareen). It's also the word for "tower" in Hen Linge (this is one of the words coined by Andrzej Sapkowski, not created by me). In Noalath, from The Shannara Chronicles, it's the word for "wolf", and in Shiväisith, the language I created for the Dark Elves from Thor: The Dark World, it's the word for "sword". While it's true I didn't create the Hen Linge word, I created the others, so you can see it's a form I'm fond of, where the shape is possible.

Anyway, that's kind of cool! And that was the point of the site.

As it happens, the High Valyrian section of the site is…massive. To give you an idea, at the moment, the wiki has over 220,000 pages. Most of those are High Valyrian pages. This is because there's a dedicated team for High Valyrian that has added pages for every single noun, adjective, and verb inflection for every existing word on the wiki. To give you an idea, every verb of High Valyrian has around 200 forms (ipradagon "to eat", ipradan "I eat", ipradā "you eat", ipradas "s/he/it eats", etc.). Every single form for every single verb has its own page. This was accomplished primarily with a program that populated the inflectional pages, but however they got there, they're there.

Certain things on the wiki are templates that need to go through and "check" every single page. Additionally, a webcrawler goes through and checks every single page on the wiki. This requires a lot of RAM. As a result, periodically, the entire website just...shuts down.

Obviously this is not cool. I asked DreamHost about it, and though we have infinite space, we don't have infinite RAM. The first step was to disable all web crawlers. You know about SEO, and how you can do things to increase the page rank of your site? Well, we needed to do the opposite. We needed to make the site disappear from the net, effectively. And we did. This is why even if you type "David J. Peterson wiki language invention" into Google you get nothing. It's like we don't exist. We're there, but you have to know we're there and go to the site specifically. That helped, but our own programs still shut things down.

The second step was to get a private server (technically a virtual private server) for the site. This cost me an extra $25 a month ($300 a year) from what I was already paying. This definitely helped, but sometimes things get to be a bit too much, and so the site still shuts down. This is what you experienced.

You know how Wikipedia begs you for money every year? It's because of this. It's one thing to create an awesome resource; it's another thing for people to actually use it.

Hosting already costs me about $250 every two years, and every year I renew the urls for about 15 websites, which is another $300 a year. If I upgrade the VPS to the next level, it's even more money every year. And that's just me paying it.

Right now, we're in an okay spot. The site shuts down every so often, but most of the time it's more or less stable. Unless I start making a lot more money regulary, that's the way it's going to stay.

So if you go to the site and it's down, I'm very sorry, but it will be back. May take a few days, but it'll come back (as long as I'm alive, anyway).

[kerubimcrepin]

LIVEBLOG: Dofus Novel 4, The Thirsty Beheader

I apologize for my absence. Translating this novel has burned me out from the fandom in a pretty major way, and I also got into a different fandom in the meantime and am, like, three 4k word chapters deep into a longfic for said new fandom. Besides that, I had a depressive episode and went insane for a while. Basically, I've been a bit busy.

At the same time I release this post, I have uploaded the new, updated versions of both translations (since this liveblog is mostly a reason for me to reread and fix stuff) to MEGA and VK, so I recommend you download the new versions!

I will mostly be copying the text directly, to bypass tumblr's image restriction, but some screenshots will be provided. For example:

If pride is a sin, then the typesetting and cleaning I went through with this book will have me go to hell after I die. (I don't think I'm a master, but I did a pretty good job, ok?)

A cart had just entered the District of the Lost Steps. It stopped in front of the store, as two Srams* got out.

I love the internal consistency of the street being named here. Thank you, author of this book, for caring.

“Are you sure about this,” asked the little guy, “Is this really the right place?” “Yeah,” replied the tall one, “There aren't thirty-six Shushu* houses in the neighborhood.”

LMAO this is something Kerubim is actually known for, huh?

At the time that this book takes place in, joris can't read very well. Cute...

Also, hehe... I am pretty proud of the way this part of the book was cleaned + the font + the layers and colors and opacity I applied to the text, to make it fit in with the paper.

^^^ This is me btw, during this entire post. ^^^

The entirety of the epilogue and prologue are typed on top of cleaned backgrounds sourced from the scan. The rest of the book is typed in front of a digital background. This artistic choice was made because....... You can't set different pages to be different colors in word. You have to overlay some image or a textbox, if you want a page to be a different color.

Anyway — I had a lot of fun searching for the fonts from this book! (and far less fun searching for appropriate fonts for the Russian translation since none of the fonts this book uses have cyrilic versions...)

The fonts this book uses are: Dimbo, Chelsea Market, and Aleo. Google them for all your Dofus Aux Tresors de Kerubim related needs.

The fonts I chose to use in the russian translation are: Brydan Write, Correction Brush, Curinn, and Itim. I just had to make do with what I had, ok?

“My Papycha said it's urgent!” exclaimed Joris, “He could be in danger. Maybe he's being attacked by the Thirsty!” Even Pupuce looked worried. Simone reread the message, thinking out loud: “The Huffing Bow Wow tavern is in the Pandawa district... There's plenty of bamboo milk there. Maybe the neighborhood is overrun by the Thirsters?” “And soon, the whole city will be under attack!” concluded Joris.

Nobody knows how to escalate a situation better than a 7yo with anxiety. God bless <3

The Ecaflip goes full "war machine" mode: he cuts and slices through the living dead for the entire night, and when the golden disk of the sun finally rises over the horizon, the scenery is carpeted with the Thirsty. The region is saved. Kerubim becomes a legend. To thank him, the local lord offers him the... “Hey... Joris? Are you listening?” asked Simone. She began shaking the boy, who, abruptly snapping out of his reverie, mumbled: “Huh? What?”

Joris is so normal. So sane.

“Bye-bye,” added Bowiknif. But Luis slammed the door in their faces, roaring: “You're not going anywhere!” “Oh yeah?” hissed Bakstab, “Is that so?” “Would you like us to chop up your friends with a Brakmarian steel sword of Chouque?” questioned the other, “Or with Samuel J. Axe?” Luis muttered what sounded like a string of expletives, before reluctantly opening the door to the two robbers, who bolted out without further ado.

I'm LITERALLY fucking insane about this.

“I'm sorry,” said Luis, “I tried to hold them back, but...” “We know, we saw everything,” the girl cut him off, “You did your best, Luis.”

Actually deranging. Also explains why Luis did fuckall about Sipho, Harebourg, and Ush — there's just not much he can actually do.

She spotted a Dragoturkey standing near a trough. In two strides, she reached the animal, untied it, and climbed onto its back like an experienced Dragogirl*. “Let’s go!” she said to the boy.

This once again raises a some questions about Simone's past — when did she learn how to ride dragoturkeys? Is it the same reason why she knows how to fight, at least a little?

Then again, maybe she's just being an Osamodas here.

I love, love, love the Simone&Joris content in this book. Their bond is so important to me... She's the aunt who stepped up.

This art is so nice...

They had run like mad through half the city, arrived at the wrong address, turned back just as a thunderstorm broke out, wandered around in the rain in the Pandawa district, and FINALLY arrived at the Huffing Bow Wow Tavern, a large, long building with a thatched roof.

They're so fucking stupid. I love them.

“Ah, there you are!” called out Kerubim, “I almost thought you’d make me wait some more!”

I wish english also had the phrase "I almost thought you'd be late" as a cunty response when someone's an hour or three late to an event. I don't think the english translation I made conveys the sheer frustration.

Kerubim raised an eyebrow — a perfect copy of the circumflex accent:

I struggled with this part a lot in russian sjfkgdfg. It made me nerd out a little bit too.

I didn't have a lot of comments here, but eh. It was nice to finally get this over with dfjgkdsfg.

[littlemspeachy]

I'll Sleep Later (Battinson x reader)

Summary: After the floods, you start taking care of people with your limited background in medicine. And one night Bruce walks in through your window.

Note: There's mentions of the reader wearing a bonnet and putting her braids into a ponytail, but outside of that reader looks is not mentioned. Also, sorry if this is a bit heavy, but it's Gotham and a massive flood occurred in a densely populated city.

Warnings: Medical Knowledge acquired from Greys Anatomy and Google. Arguing about the ethics of killing, cursing, mentions of drug overdoses, mentions of human trafficking, melatonin usage, mentions of bullet wounds and internal bleeding, drinking, mentions of people dying or dead.

Word Count: 3.8K

-------

You never knew why he came to you. You were no one, a nobody another working class body in a city where ultra rich people got wealthier. A part of you wished they got wealthier by just basic corporate exploitation. Underpaying workers and jacking up the prices of essential needs to rise profit margins. But nooo, it was through means of human trafficking and heavy drugs.

You lost your roommate due to those drugs. She was a dancer at one of the local clubs. It was good money, you used to bartend at the same place. Ran a token system so the men couldn't outright give girls drinks. They could claim it after their shift or just take the money if they didn't want the drinks. Unfortunately, a lot of men complained, and your job was gone.  

A part of you believed in the Riddler and what he was doing. They deserved to pay. Pay for their crimes and not just the monetary. But wiping out the city? Letting the disabled, elderly, and poor just be swept away into the rivers. Forcing the poor and working class to pay the already high insurance deductions to clean up his mess. If he was smart enough, he would've just assassinated those who he knew was responsible. But noo he had to think he was some sort of God bringing in the next big flood. Stupid. Your neighborhood was destroyed. Because you knew emergency medicine from training as a nurse before dropping out due to the rising cost of med school, you brought people in your home and became a small clinic. Stole from the local convenience stores and other houses that were abandoned for medical supplies and food. 

You took in small cats and dogs that came by your house. Young boys occasionally dropped someone off with medical supplied in exchange for some food. You barely got any sleep, making sure no one died. And luckily no one has. This was you and your life now. 

Which is why you were confused when he came through your window one night. You were attempting to get in a small nap before doing rounds on your patients. 

You stared at him and turned on a small light. Most of the water had receded but with you being so central the streets were still cold and wet. A foot of water still in the streets. Luckily the backup generators were held on the third floor, so two weeks after the flood you were able to use the electricity. But depending on the usage it goes out fast. Small lamp meant less electricity.

You internalized his helmet and ripped cape. "What do you want?" You asked cooly. 

"I need help." He whispered before beginning to fall sluggishly.  

You rushed towards him eyes wide. The last thing you wanted and needed was to operate on this man in your bed. Clean water was hard to come by in your part of time and the last thing you needed was dirty sheets. 

You dragged him carefully through your halls and into the guest room. Your last patient just left that morning, so the room was empty.

You internally cringed but turned on the main light so that you could see better. 

Blood pooling in his undershirt, making the black look wet and darker than usual. 

You took in a deep breath stilling yourself before walking over to your assorted medical cabinet and a cabinet full of vodka. You pulled a liter bottle of vodka and some gloves and scissors. 

A question on the tip of your tongue being cut off by the sound of a walkie-talkie. "Ayo (Y/N) we got an injury here should we bring them up?" A young male voice asked through a walkie talkie situated on a three-tier rolling cabinet next to the floor cabinets. 

You took a glance at the man on your bed before grabbing the walkie with your ungloved hand. "What the situation looking like?" 

"We got a potential drug overdose, a shallow breather, and one whose got a nasty wound." 

"Administer Naloxone to the drug overdose and bring in the nasty wound. Pick up any more supplies that you can find and ring the bell when you get in, we got a patient." 

"But what about the shallow breather." 

You let out a deep sigh. "It'll take around 20-30 minutes to bring anyone in unless your right at my door. They ain't gonna make it kid. I don't know what to tell you anymore." 

The line stayed quiet. You and the boy on the other line knew it was impossible to save everyone. Some days were better than others but, as time went on you knew you could only try to save those with the highest chance of living. And at the moment you didn't have any help. 

"Understood. We'll be back in 3o mins." 

You nodded in silent confirmation and sat the walkie down before going back to the situation at hand. 

"Ay, I need you to stay awake as long as physically possible." You said tapping his helmet lightly. 

You cut open the shirt too see three bullet holes and crazy bruising. Internal bleeding.

You laid your hands on his body and looked up at the ceiling before getting to work. You ran to your cupboards and pulled out some medical kits. A perk of the flooding was that the national guard was in and so your kids managed to steal medical supplies at night and at really busy times. 

You pulled out a tongue dampener and a numbing spray before walking over to the man. 

You pulled off a glove before taking off your bonnet and wrapping a braid around the rest to make a makeshift and tight ponytail before putting the glove back on. 

You grimaced slightly realizing what was about to occur. "Sorry, this isn't the most sanitary place. But based off of where the bruises and the bullets are you have some internal bleeding. I'm going to have to flip you slightly to make sure they didn't go through." You said softly, adrenaline kicking in. 

After loud groan and cutting through the rest of his shirt you noticed that the bullets didn't get through and that there were only punch marks on the back. You laid him back down and pushed him up enough to drink a shot. 

He looked at you, pupils blood shot and black surrounding his eyes slowly fading to reveal the white skin underneath. 

"Listen this is about to hurt, and alcohol works as a depressant." He nodded silently before you poured him a drink from an unmarked bottle. 

You passed him a shot glass before grabbing the tongue dampener and you bit back a small laugh while you watched the man almost throw up the liquid. 

You shrugged as his gave you a glare. "I'm sorry, that was moonshine. Not vodka." 

He laid back down and you sprayed the numbing spray on the first bullet before making a small cross over the first bullet and grabbing a pair of clamps to dig around and find the small piece of metal. Luckily that one wasn't that deep. Which was good for you but that means another one broke into something causing the bleed. 

You slowly took it out and dropped it into the trash before grabbing a suturing kit and sewing it shut. You ignored his groans and muffled screams while rolling your wrist and starting again. 

 You moved on to the next bullet and repeated the same steps. Spray,Cut, pull, sew. Unfortunately, like the other bullet, it was lodged right under the skin. Meaning the third one was deeper and lodged into something that was going to require much faster movements and quicker thinking. 

You let out a deep sigh before throwing down your supplies and ripping off your gloves. If the internal bleeding was due to it being lodged in the small intestine, then as soon as you cut it open blood was going to pour, and because you weren't an actual hospital you had no suction. So, the next best things were some tampons, a syringe, and some extra lap pads. You also dragged over a floor lamp with an LED light that you had before the flood for extra lighting. 

You sat the supplies down on him lap, before grabbing a new pair of gloves. "This is gonna hurt. I am so sorry but you're going to get lead poisoning if I leave this in you." 

He stared at you with blank eyes before nodding and grasping the side of the bed. You touched the massive bruise gently just to confirm that there was bleeding and when he let out a loud groan you knew you had to act fast. 

And acting fast you did. Stuffed in the lap pads and sucked all the lose blood that you could. Cursed to high hell and managed to do the best you could do with internal sutures and a tampon, closing him up and throwing your gloves and the bullet into the trash. 

You wiped the sweat off your head before roughly grabbing the bottle of moonshine and taking a deep swig. You collapsed in a corner trying to control your heartbeat before getting up and grabbing a big bandage and putting it on him. 

You took one last glance of him before leaving and going into the living room to deal with the people the young man over the walkie talkie picked up. 

The next time he came to you he wasn't injured, just with supplies. A lot of supplies. 

"What is this?" You asked watching him walk around your guest room and gently put away supplies. 

He stayed silence and brush past you on the way to your living room and to the kitchen before walking out of your house. 

A part of you wished he stayed, you could've asked him what he's doing here, how he's healing. But instead, it's just short words and more action. 

And that's how it was, for a while. Silent dropping of supplies and leaving without a word. A small note about updates on repairs. 

A part of you was deeply thankful, but another part was curious, almost too curious. So, you set up a small trap. Well not really a trap, you were just going to sit in your living room until he came. And come he did. 

He came in again, 4.30 am sharp. Bags of an assortment of things. He acknowledged you sitting on the couch and headed towards your guest room. 

"You can't go in there, someone there's some people grieving, and I want to leave them alone." You said to his back.  

He paused hand inches away from the door handle before dropping it back to his side. Silence filling the apartment before bootsteps made their way into your kitchen. 

"You need to get sleep, there's people out there that might need your help." He stated deadpanned. His voice rough and raspy sounding like it was the first time he used it all day. 

"Why did you come here that night. You're a hero to Gotham. You could've gone to anyone." You asked, eyes never moving from his dark figure. 

"I've listened to your conversations with the boy, Pedro, I knew you wouldn't ask questions. I know you still don't." He said still busying himself with the mix of supplies he brought. 

"I could've killed you." 

"Yet you didn't, you saved me. I healed. You have good hands; the scars are almost fully healed." He said voice softer. 

"You know some think it's your fault," You stated plainly. "Some think you caused it. You were working with the Riddler to get a name out for yourself." 

He stopped his movements and stared at you. He grit his teeth causing his jaw to flare but remained silent. "Do you believe that?" 

"No. But I do think you're hiding. No one around here has enough money to be walking around with that kind of armor. Because why would a crazy man be so obsessed over you? As far as I'm concern you've done no wrong. Except for not killing him." 

"Killing him and anyone else is not my job. It's not my position to do so." He responded.

"Oh, but he's in the position to do so. Why because he's angry at a couple of some dead rich couple?" You argued back, walking towards the bar counter in your kitchen. 

"He's mentally deranged, but ultimately he should be tried. It is not my judgement to decided that." 

"Oh, the same judges that have been bought out by the same fuckers in drug pushing and human trafficking. Get the fuck out of here." You said angrily. A part of you was happy that there was a kitchen island separating you two. 

"So do you agree with him?" He said slamming down a can of corn. His voice stayed even but the slam said otherwise. 

"No, I think he's some deranged lunatic white boy, who just like you are playing God, the only difference is one person is stupid enough to think that killing everyone was a great fucking solution and the other being some rich white boy believing in a system that put us in this situation in the first place! Do you know how many people have died in this house? That guest room belonged to my best friend that was killed because someone thought it would be funny to slip drugs into her drink. And now I-" You stopped quickly, your breath coming out in shudders and tears threatening to fall. 

You looked up at the ceiling to attempt to make the tears not fall. "She died due to the floods. We couldn't get to the Narcan in time, and she stopped breathing. We couldn't get her upstairs fast enough and I couldn't carry her and by the time I managed to get back downstairs her body was already under the water. We were supposed to make it, she was dancing to pay her way through nursing school. The only good thing about Gotham is the hospital, but it takes the most expensive schooling to get there. So no, I do wish that you killed him, I wished that you forced him to see all the suffering then forced him to drown the way many others did. You don't get to decide to kill hundreds if not thousands then get to see justice." You spat before angrily wiping the tears that came down your face. 

He stayed and stared at you before walking around the corner and doing something even unfamiliar to him and hugged you. It wasn't tight, it wasn't loose, but it was just enough. He gently grabbed a walkie talkie and a random bottle you had sitting by the door before leading you outside your apartment and up the stairs. A part of you wanted to protest but another part just didn't care anymore. So, you followed him up to the rooftop. The two of you walked to the center of the roof before sitting down. 

The brisk air filling your lungs and bones, the odd dark blue lighting up the sky and prepping for the day. 

Brue took off his cap and sat it on your shoulders before handing you the bottle.  You took it and glanced sideways at the man. 

"I can't I have people to deal with. Care never ends." You said shaking your head and placing the bottle down beside you. 

"You need to rest (Y/N). No one can heal that many people and stay sane or healthy." He said softly looking at you. Blue eyes somehow brighter in the light of the early morning. 

"And do you rest? Mr. Super-Hero," You asked back looking into his eyes, a battle of who would look away first commencing. "I see your eye bags, your bruises that have been there for weeks. You know if you rested properly, you would be able to heal faster." 

He continued looking into your eyes before breaking away. "Gotham never sleeps and neither do I." 

"Welp, I guess that makes two of us. Sick people don't stop being sick, and violence doesn't stop either." You said sarcastically. 

"It's not the violence anymore, it's just getting people to safety. The national guard has been clearing people out in dangerous areas. You would be a good help to them." He stated softly, his voice was so rough it dropped in and out of being a whisper. 

You shook your head in disagreement. "The national guard is just evacuating people. I help the people who can't access help. By the time the national guard rolls in, they would be dead." 

The two of you at in silence, the only thing heard is the gentle blowing of the early morning wind. 

Bruce pondered what to say to you. You were safe with your crew of rag tag teens running the streets and picking them up. Moving you, or recommending you move to the manor didn't make sense. He knew you would argue. You would've liked Celina he thinks. You were both strong, angry at the world. He was stupid to not see this all going on. What was the point of all this money, all the donations. Wasn't there someone in charge, someone to- Yes there was someone in charge. Him. He was Bruce Wayne. The last living Wayne member, if he cared this much, he could've checked and made sure everything was running smoothly. She was right. He was just another white guy that believed that the system could change, believed in the same systems that made Gotham this way. 

"I'm sorry." He admitted suddenly. Shocking the both of them. 

You frowned and looked over. "Sorry about what? What did you do." 

He let out a deep breath, a strange weight being lifted off his shoulders, a weird lightness in his heart he hadn't felt in years. 

"Do you really think I should've killed him." 

You moved your eyes to the sky. Thoughts swirling through your mind. You mouth opening and closing again. "No. I-" 

You chuckled at the strangeness of it all. "I would've probably beat the shit out of him. But you're not... You have a slight point. As angry as I am at all this, The guilt of knowing I have blood on my hands, that I'm no better. Not saying that killing can't be justified it very much can be. It's sometimes the only right thing you can do. But.. Killing some guy that honestly had nothing to do with her death. I wouldn't know what to do with myself." 

You stated to the sky. Your ego too high to look at him. 

"I don't sleep." 

You raised a brow at the admission not shocked at all. 

"I lied. I can't fall asleep. All I hear is crying and people looking for loved ones. I.. I only get a few hours a night. I haven't slept for more than 5 hours since the floods." 

"To be fair I usually pass out, I try to get sleep but it's never any good, too on guard." You admitted grabbing the bottle of vodka and twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig before passing it. 

He hesitated before taking several swallows. You looked at him amused. "Drink up babes, I got more than enough to go around." 

He winced and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"I give you the supplies because I feel guilty. For so long I just assumed that everything was fine, and that this city was a dump because that's just what it was. But it's... everywhere.. And it's not just petty crime. It's everywhere." He gasped, a lump evident in his voice. 

You stared at him. Everything clicking into place. Bruce Wayne is Batman. huh.

"I wouldn't take Brue Wayne to be an optimist." You stated. 

He quickly whipped his head around, shock evident in his eyes. 

"I'm not stupid, who else would have enough money to be stomping around in that costume. Plus, all the wealthy people in Gotham are old. And you're obviously not. Plus, your parents got shot when you were younger and now you go around saving people." You said with a shrug. 

Bruce stared at you in pure shock and watched you roll your eyes. 

"I won't tell anyone. Not that anyone would believe me."  You said before chuckling and grabbing the bottle. 

"Stay," You whispered after two minutes of sitting in silence. "Just for the day. Eat something and I'll get some sleep meds for you, and you sleep. Take a shower and go sleep." 

"You need sleep, you actually care for people. You sleep, I can take care of people." 

"You can't take care of people looking like that." 

"Sleep with me." 

You stared at him with wide open eyes. Shock very evident. 

"I mean. In the sense that. I trust you, and I need someone I trust around me to feel comfortable sleeping. So, sleep with me. And before you argue, I've seen the streets before I came in, there's nothing going on out there, that Pedro can't handle." 

You closed and opened your mouth a couple times before his ask started to make sense. He was right, the walkie that he brought with him has stayed silent.

You nodded your head. "Sleep.. OK." 

You shrugged off his cape and stood up with a groan. Your legs cramped from siting on the cold concreate for so long. 

He followed your actions and headed back into the building. The heating warming up the building slightly. Bruce helped your guest bring their now deceased friend to Pedro before telling the young boy that you weren't taking anyone today and giving him the address for the coroner. The two of you watched the truck drive off before heading back inside. 

You gave him one of your oversized sweaters and a pair of pants that belonged to your father that you meant to tailor but never got around to before sending off to the shower.  Hotdogs, eggs, toast and a random fruit that hadn't gone bad was cooked. More food than usual but he was a grown man and you guessed he hadn't eaten in a white. You ate in silence before putting down two melatonin gummies in front of the man and going to take a shower. 

You locked your doors and turned down the volume of your walkie before slipping into bed next to him.

"Thank you." The two of you said at the same time before heading off to sleep. 

Anger and healing are non-linear and painful. But with goodnights sleep and a friend you trust, it's a bit easier. 

[ultraviolet-cello]

Aw man. Today's the last day of @tristampparty and I am surprisingly sad about it. I'll be catching up the days I missed at some point, but I've chucked all that I've written, including today, into a google document and I apparently wrote 7.5k words over the course of episode 6 to today.

That's! A Lot!

I really wanna thank everyone who reblogged and gave me their additional thoughts/commentary, and special thanks to Revenantghost for organizing this whole thing! you do good work for this fandom i am giving u a gold star

With that, here we go into Episode 0 - High Noon at July. CWs for pregnancy discussion and a less detailed than last time but still present analysis of sexual assault and transphobia, marked with a [CW] Ofc, spoilers for Trimax and Tristamp

Cowboy kid Knives is something u can pry from my cold dead hands but it's also,,, I don't watch a lot of westerns, but the way Knives describes it seems like he likes the high action and justice. Which yea. yeah.

A lot of ppl interpret Vash then saying that he doesn't like that sorta stuff as him having always had pacifistic tendencies but I don't really read it that way? I just see him being rather similar to Trimax Vash - chill kid with his own interests and hobbies and Knives being the very oversensitive kid so outshines him initially.

Regardless of version of Trigun (except 98. 98 didn't know shit about knives lmao), Vash and Knives have always started off wanting to coexist and be peaceful; it's just how they reacted to it later that differs. In this case, Knives wants to stand up for his friends and make a peaceful world through that, and Vash is more passive in that he just wants to have faith in humanity.

Not to mention they are kids. Young, idealistic kids. This is pre-Tesla, they don't know the extent of how horrible the world is. The loss of innocence and subsequent breakdowns relating to The Horrors is yet to come.

[CW] Mmmmm they really don't make the pregnancy imagery subtle now do they dfgkjdfjk

I also think there's like - merit in also interpreting Knives as trans. Not Just because i think he's also very trans coded (A lot of his breakdowns and story arcs have reflections in how some trans men overcompensate masculinity in a Bad Way. That's a very small subsection of trans guys btw but I am speaking from experience. I got better tho). Anyway it makes the fact that Knives is disregarding Vash's bodily autonomy very much Worse if you take the male plants are trans analogy into it.

He's so far gone that he's willing to do to Vash what would be the worst thing to be done to him; Violating his body to rebuild and make him a perfect independent ("remind him of biological reality"), physically overpowering him ("taking the aggressor, commonly masculine role in sexual assault") to do what he wants. Disregarding the wants and needs of the Plants ("women +fem-presenting ppl that he originally set out to protect because he knew their experience and wanted to help and still has that trauma from witnessing that trauma")

Ofc that's just a reading of the scene, but I quite like it as a trans guy because that makes a really good villain with trans themes/motifs! I hate him so much (affectionate)

No, no she doesn't. Meryl is making a choice and she's gonna damn well stick to it! She's been given agency and she's gonna spend it in the most eldritch horrific scene that someone on that planet could spend it lmao. Well, no Knives takes most eldritch and horrific. Meryl's second tho

Okay this fucking scene drives me INSANE. This is a memory, clearly, but it's one that's being tampered with. Vash asks Knives if they can get along with humans, and then Knives immediately messes with the memory to make sure that he says that he'll protect Vash no matter what. But that is very clearly not what was originally said, so... What did he say? What was present day Knives so desperate to cut off?

I've talked about the narrative being biased against Knives a lot, but something I haven't talked about is that Knives kinda tries to contribute to that narrative a lot. He wants to seem like he never cared about humans, he wants to seem like he always planned this and was going for justice ever since he was a kid. He tells Vash the Tesla incident was just a small grain of sand, he uses Luida to tell everyone he wants to kill Rem, he's unbearably cruel to Vash to make his point. The only difference is that he wants to be right.

So he doesn't let us see what the kid version of him says, because that would contradict the narrative he's built for himself.

I really wanna give props to Studio Orange here for both the design and way they modelled the wing here, that's a really difficult task when the guy you're putting a wing on has a tight as hell bodysuit. But the anatomy holds up surprisingly well!

Also many people have pointed out that the plant mech looks a lot like Rem, and Knives staring into the face of a Plantish representation of his mother that is created and controlled subconsciously by his brother and saying he was rejected is. It sure is a scene!

ONCE AGAIN. INCREDIBLE EFFECTS. I also would like to once again point out the angelic motifs of Knives' design here.

Also Vash saying this is SO important because Meryl!!! is so important!!! I see a lot of people brush Meryl's space in the story off and it Enrages me because Meryl is one of the most important people to Vash. Aside from our frontline yaoi soldier Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Meryl has one of the most tangible impacts on Vash's character.

When Vash is in his breakdown in Trimax, Meryl is the one to kneel at his side and believe in him; When Vash is having his god awful horrible mindscape time in Tristamp, Meryl does the same. When Meryl is kidnapped in Trimax, Vash instantly jumps out of a window in the chance of getting her back. Vash trusted her enough to fire the ion cannon in the sand steamer episode. He immediately went to July the moment she and Roberto were kidnapped.

Meryl has so much faith in Vash and she's insane for that, but Vash recognizes her and that faith pays off in giving him the strength to carry on. He heard her voice, too :]

Also oh to be floating slowly down to the floor while you're a meter away from a cube with the power of an atom bomb while someone named Millions Knives is summoning millions of knives in front of u. Meryl has guts, man.

And now that Vash has gotten his gun back, he's back to using it as a tonfa! (check I think my analysis of episode 7 for more on that). Watching for the swing blocks, the forearm guard, and thwacking the knife tendrils out of the way

This fight scene has soooo much love and care and detail in it I love it so much actually. From seeing Vash's bullets to all the expressions and beautifully detailed firing, there's so much detail in a quick space that you really have to slow it down to see everything.

Seriously how strong is Knives to be able to have a feasible chance again Vash's prosthetic - and Vash matches him! Also the chomp

Now something that I have the shakiest of theories on is that after summoning The Cube, Vash starts moving in a far more controlled manner, he stands still when reloading, he has his movement flurries and then stands still to aim. Which uh. Studio Orange works in 3d, but those are 2d animation techniques. He's moving like 98 Vash.

There's a lot I admire about Studio Orange's use of 3d (I am a mid-tier 2d artist lmao) but I love love love that they're able to get all these really nice, creative camera shots that would be impractical in 2d (all those overhead shots, for example, have a chance of turning about bad/looking weird in 2d, and puts more strain on animators, but 3d you have the models from every angle already. 3d isn't easier by any means, but it does have its strengths)

Also. how Did Wolfwood get over here, dare I ask. mans climbed a tower in just a few minutes what is Wrong with him

Also a nice detail, Vash usually has perfect trigger discipline, but he falters here against Knives, probably because he's been already shooting, but hey, he's stressed. I'll give him a break.

I also appreciate exactly how superhuman Wolfwood is now. Tristamp Wolfwood is on a different level. Like 98 Wolfwood is just some (attractive) guy, Trimax Wolfwood has a lot of gory body horror going on and a subtle kind of endurance/strength, but Tristamp Wolfwood just jumped off a very tall building holding a grown woman and the Punisher and was fine.

Oh hey, same symbol on the tower as was on the sandsteamer and on Vash's wanted poster - symbol of July, probably

Very horribly, Knives probably did just save Vash's life here. But also the rest of July's life (though ofc he just extended the timer)....

I'm not quite sure When Vash started using plant bullets, but he's definitely using them now. Also the nails on his prosthetic are a nice touch!

THE FLYING SAUCER STRIKES AGAIN. I wonder if that's gonna be the basis of the Ark, if that's the route season 2 goes.

I also. Was that allI the Plants collected that escaped in this, or were there a bunch still running in July that get obliterated too? Did Knives inadvertently cause the death of more plants? I mean, when Knives gets revived in Trimax he definitely causes the death of at least 2 plants (there are a couple of bulbs in the background of the blast radius, plus the one that was used to revive him... she uh. Didn't look like she was doing so hot)

Vash's little speech is always so,,, intense. He has such a strong sense of character and it's admirable how well he sticks to his morals despite it all.

On a more body horror note, Knives can survive a long fucking time trying to grab The Cube. In Trimax he gets hit with the angel arm and practically disemboweled instantly, but Tristamp Knives can take over a minute of just like. being right in the direct path of fire. They're really gonna have to work to reconstruct him. Good luck, Legato!

UFO SPOTTED !!! LEAVING JULY AS IT IS DESTROYED !! NOT CLICKBAIT !!!

^ I made that long ago and needed to use it somewhere dfgkjdfg

[RAUCOUS CHEERING]

And ofc I have to bring up Eriks :] I don't actually have too much to say abt him. Studio Orange strip this man and make him bark like a dog next season or we will riot

CHRONICA MENTION!!!!! YAYYYYYY

And that's kinda. It.

Man I have had such fun over the last 12 days, I've really discovered a love for analyzing and theories and putting that out there and chatting with people about Trigun :] I should do this more often lmao but I do want to get back to drawing. I'll find a balance, then!

Thank you all for coming, and Wow if you made it this far I must be doing something right lmao.

[darling-i-read-it]

Sorry

Phillip Graves x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: mw2 spoilers, spoilers for the new packs and online campaigns and things, (me knowing NOTHING about the military. I just be googling words. I am very sorry if they are wrong! I also didn’t play the online stuff so I had to read on that too. So much work for u philip), the reader leaving price and ghost behind technically, grief, heavy insinuation to smut, VIOLENCE like a lot. Reader kills people and has a mini extensional crisis about it, let me know if I missed anything! 

Author’s Note: me: i’m so normal about him.  Also me: writes a six thousand word fanfiction about my delusions 

Summary: You and Phil had been together when he ‘died’ in the tank. You’ve been grieving him ever since, not knowing he was still out there. 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

When he was up in the air, sometimes Phil Graves thought about home. He thought about the way the air felt in the south. The heavy humidity of a late night around a fire with family and friends. His childhood home, a two story house with some land. The feeling of flannels over his shoulders, wind against his face when he rode the truck late at night, stupid country songs playing through the radio. He only let himself have these moments briefly. When he was up in the air and everyone was quiet with anticipation. No one wanted to talk about the moments before a descent, the seconds before disaster. 

That was when he let himself think of home. 

He thought of the world he used to call his own. He loved his job and he thought he was doing good with it. But sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened had he stayed back after high school, instead of hoping on the military like it was a moving train. 

Whoever that was, he was gone now. 

Shadow 0-1. Commander. That’s who he was now. That’s who he was always meant to be. That’s who he had been when he betrayed 141’s trust. That’s who he was when he got out of it. That’s who blew up in the tank in South America. That’s who misses you. 

“You good boss?” Phil snapped out of his thoughts. He nodded once. 

“Golden, Sparks. Thinking about dinner when we get back tonight.” 

“You makin barbecue?” 

“I sure am. Got a damn fine steak to cook.” 

“You really oughta have more get-togethers, like old times.” Phil gave his subordinate a thin lipped smile. He fondly remembered the times when he would bring his closer soldiers around, cook for them, listen to shitty music, drink beers. In the back of his eyelids he could see you, handing him the tongs, making a joke about his dad barbeque. He would tease you about children. 

He had stopped having them after the mission where he left some behind. He hadn’t wanted to; the strain in his voice was clear. But he had. 

“Maybe when I’m legally back from the dead,” he countered. Sparks chuckled and Graves stood up. It was far better to be back in the commanding position with his guys, the same ones who would follow him into fire. It distracted him from the rest of it. The house he lost, the home he no longer had. 

He had this. 

-

You brushed your hair out of your face. You messed with the glass in your hand, rolling it around the ring on the wooden table. The ice had melted into the alcohol, making it watery and less effective. It was cold outside, fall finally taking hold. You were wearing a thin jacket that seemed useless. 

This drink was Phil’s regular. You remembered it like the back of your hand, ordering it when he was caught up behind the crowds. It tasted like his lips after a long night out. It was warm, like his breath on your skin. 

“You listinin’?” You lifted your head. You had been staring at your half drank glass. Simon Riley’s eyes met yours. They were objectively beautiful. You would never understand why he kept them mostly covered up. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought. What were you saying?” 

“I was asking what you thought about Price going back out there so soon.” 

“You of all people know what it’s like to be married to your work.” 

“You aren’t irked he’s going without you?” His accent was thick. It was rare to get him to talk like this but you had known each other so long, it felt ormal now. He seemed unnatural when he clammed up in missions. 

You shook your head. 

“I’ll get back into it,” you told him. You cleared your throat. His eyes narrowed down, staring at you. His long face felt threatening, though you knew better. You stared back at him, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow. “Stop staring at me like that.”

“How many times does Soap have to apologize for you to get over it?” You bit the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. 

“Stuff it Simon.” 

“I won’t. It’s been a year. We’ve given you your time, we’ve apologized, we’ve been nice and cordial about it. You need to realize who Graves was and that what happened to him was warranted. There’s only so many times we can spell it out for you before we stop babying you.” As he spoke, your head continued to shake. It felt like the words were rattling around in your brain, bouncing off your skull. He was right, you knew that. But the words still stung.  

“You don’t understand,” you protested. He cut you off. 

“I know I don’t. You’ve told me.” You leaned back in your chair, your glass landing with a light clang. “Love,” he muttered, leaning forward. “It’s time.” 

You wished you could be done with it. You wished that his words could will all the pain to subside. You wished you didn’t have to suck it up when Soap followed Phil to the tank and blew it up. You wished you could forget about the moment you held your tongue, knowing that if you spoke up you would be a traitor too. You wished everything was different.

You didn’t want it to hurt anymore. You didn’t want to wake up and think he was next to you, even now. It got better as the time passed but it never fully went away. You knew it was never going to subside completely, always stuck to you like a stain you couldn’t get out. 

“I’m trying,” you promised. “I’m trying.” 

“You need to come to the next one.” Everytime you put on a headset you could hear Soap's words. Graves is KIA. How’s Price? He moved past it with such grace you almost missed it the first time. 

“I’ll try.” 

“You need to do more than that.” You swallowed hard. 

“I know.” -

“I’m glad you’re here.” Price's voice was low but gentle. Careful. Like you were an object that would break if he spoke to you the wrong way. 

“Me too,” you said, nodding. Your voice sounded fake and you knew it. You only agreed to this because you knew you had to. You had Price here and Ghost promised he would do all the heavy lifting. It would be nothing. The men you trusted would have your back when you flew out to enemy territory. “You didn’t have to lobby for me, you know.” You had become a liability the second Graves became a traitor. The already rocky relationship with the Shadows was broken clean in half. You were a problem now. 

“I wanted to. You’re one of my best shooters.” 

“Did Simon tell you to?” 

“He gently nudged me.” He had his helmet on, the strap under his chin. It had been a while since you saw him in uniform. 

“Where are we going again?”

“You should really read the debriefs.” You shrugged. You used to, religiously. You would tell Phil classified information like it was pillow talk. He would give it back to you after coffee in the morning. You cleared your throat. 

“I do. I just trust you more than the papers,” you joked halfheartedly. 

“Don’t worry too much. It’s all scouting, no shooting.” 

“Why’re you bringing me and Ghost then?” 

“I like hanging out with you guys.” You laughed, this time for real. He gestured forward. “Let’s head out.” 

-

You could only see the blocks of land below you in the plane. You wondered who was living in the little houses the size of dots. You wondered if they were happy. You could feel the sweat piling in your uniform. 

“There’s some guns held in a storage facility. They shouldn’t be heavily guarded but will be servilenced,” Price said. He spoke above the noise in the plane, loud and rumbling. “Ghost, you’ll go ahead. I’ll be down there outside the building, watching your six. Y/L/N, you’re up here on guns.” 

“It’s boring up here,” you complained. “Can’t I come with you guys?” 

“We need you on your A game to be on the ground,” Ghost said, coldly. You gave him a look but couldn’t read his expression with the mask. Price was avoiding your eyeline on purpose, you could feel it. It almost felt like a fake mission, something to get you back out there without putting you in real danger. Though you were vaguely insulted, it was nice to know they cared. You tried to shove your feelings aside. 

“Alright,” you said finally. “Fine.” 

“You’re good on guns,” Price said. “An Eagle eye will ensure everyone's safety.” 

“I already said alright Price,” you said as gently as you could manage. The plane started to slow down to a hover. Price stood up, using the railing above to steady himself. 

“You ready?” Simon questioned, coming up behind you as you stood up. You nodded once. Muscle memory would kick in before your panic would. Everything would be fine. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know.” 

Ghost gave you one last pat on the back before he walked towards the back of the plane. You watched him go, his hand on his side, looped around his belt. Price followed behind. He turned back to look at you, the wind rushing towards the front. You tried to keep your face neutral, professional. Your bones ached with familiarity. This was okay. This would be okay. 

You turned towards the guns. The plane had a designated corner for them, buttons lining the walls. You zoomed in on the house that was holding the guns, turning it to infrared. You sat down at the chair, leaning over it. You didn’t need to put on all your gear to push some buttons but you refrained from complaining. 

“You hear me clear up there?” Ghost’s voice came through your ear piece. 

“Yes sir. Loud and clear.” You could see Ghost’s little figure as he landed. “I’m seeing two hostels outside of the building. On either side of the doors, they both have guns.” “Roger,” Ghost said. You followed his heat signature. Price had also made his way to the ground.

“What’s the house looking like?” he asked. You moved your camera along, narrowing in on the building. You could see men walking. Patrolling. You couldn’t help but wonder how many guns were being held there. The building was larger than Price made it seem. Were they in the heart of the building, with the clump of men? 

“Lots,” you admitted. 

“Give me a ballpark,” Price responded. You could see Ghost down there, taking out the men. He was always quick with it. Sometimes you forgot that the man you shared drinks with was a cold blooded murderer. You would not want to be at the other end of his knife. 

“Ten upstairs. Can’t tell how many downstairs. Probably 20?”

“That’s quite a few people for some guns,” Ghost chimed in. 

“No kidding,” you muttered. “I can see some on the balcony. I’m ready to hit whenever Cap.” 

“Roger,” Price responded. You went to hone in, aiming just in case Ghost needed back up quicker than you could aim.

The plane jerked right, causing you to lose focus. You cursed, shutting one eye to get a clearer view. You painlessly lined it back up. Just as you had it, the plane jerked again. 

“Hey man!” you called to the front. “Steady!”

“You seein this?” the pilot called. You turned back towards the infrared. Ghost hadn’t made it inside yet. You got out of your chair and pushed aside the door to the cockpit. Through the large window you could see another plane making its way towards you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. How could someone know you were here? 

“Enemy plane?” you asked. 

“Not on any paths,” he admitted. “I’m willing to bet.” You quickly pivoted back towards the infrared. 

“Hey boys, we got some company up here.” 

“We need to secure this area,” Price said. His voice had gone rough. Professional now.

“If they’ve got more men, we aren’t securing shit,” you told him. 

“I’m going through the downstairs,” Ghost added. With his voice you could hear gunshots and commotion. You cursed and sat back down. 

“Do I have permission to shoot Price?” 

“Yes,” he responded, quickly. You pushed down on the trigger, taking out the men on the balcony. They fell with ease. You looked back towards the cockpit. The plane was only getting closer. You could hear the pilot trying to contact it, like it was a civilian plane. The menacing figure loomed in the air. 

“How much longer?” you asked. 

“Five minutes,” Ghost responded. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. “We don’t have five minutes.” 

“Make five minutes.” You stood back up and went back to the cockpit. You put your hand on the chairs. 

“It’s an AC-130,” the pilot called. “Military.” 

“I’m going down,” you yelled. “Get me down there.” There was little protest from the pilot. You grabbed your gun off the chair. The back hatch lowered. The wind rushed towards you. The air was threatening with how fast it blew. It was like the whole world was going to be sucked into the plane. 

You took a deep breath. Life or death. Your friends would die if you didn’t do something. 

You turned back towards your safe spot in the plane. It looked more dangerous by the second. Each moment you hesitated was a moment wasted. 

You turned back towards the entrance. You grabbed the leftover parachute and buckled it tightly. 

And you jumped. 

There was a moment of sheer panic. You forgot the reason you were in the air, you just knew you were freefalling. You were rushing towards the hard ground, towards the sound of gunfire. Everything felt fake for about ten seconds. 

Then you pulled on the parachute line and drifted towards the ground. 

“What’re you doing down here?!” Ghost said in your ear. You wondered if he could see you through the window. 

“Helping!” you called back. Price was right. You were one of his best shooters, handicapped or not. You rushed forward, shielding yourself with a large rock. You looked down at the gun, the familiar feeling in your hand. You took a deep breath, checking to make sure it was loaded and ready. Then you turned around and started to shoot. 

There was so much going on that it was almost simple. You couldn't focus on one thing so you tried to just breathe. Each shot was a breath. You didn’t think about how that was a person's life. Each shot a family member, a father, a sister. You forgot all of that as you focused on your breathing and your aiming. 

“They’re deploying from the plane!” Price said in your ear. You still had no idea where he had gone. 

“We should call for backup!” you said back. “Gaz’ll be here in twenty minutes!” 

“Soap is closer,” Ghost said. He was in the house. You could tell by the amount of silence around him. He must have cleared the floor. 

“Call someone!” you yelled. Price’s voice started to drone on but you didn’t pay much attention. You moved closer to the house, sticking close to cover. Blood was smearing your clothes now. How many people were here? How many people would come? 

You looked up at the enemy plane. There had been a constant train of people but now they were slowly diminishing. 

You came to a startled stop beside a body that had landed next to cover. You reloaded, your back against the wood, your eyes looking towards the body without thinking. Your head snapped back up but when it registered something familiar, it looked back at the body. 

You kneeled all the way down. Your fingers brushed a Shadows patch, engraved on the lifeless soldiers' clothing. Your head started to blur. You hadn’t seen that symbol in months. Its patchwork was now smeared with blood, likely your doing. You ripped off the soldier's helmet. 

You recognized him. 

Sparks. He had come over for a barbecue. He helped Phil cook. The taste of brisket hit your tongue. The smell of a campfire. 

You scampered onto the ground, almost falling over to get away from him. The sounds of gunfire started to muffle. Your breathing grew ragged. Was someone speaking? You held your gun tightly, like it was the only thing holding you to the ground. Was that Price’s voice? You looked around, the sun suddenly blaring. You should’ve come at night. There were clouds. How dare there be clouds when people were dying? You wanted Simon. You wanted Phil. 

Someone came around your cover. You raised your gun, a fumble really. You raised it to the soldier in front of you, finger on the trigger, fully intending to shoot. The man in front of you had halted completely. His gun stayed on you, capable of killing you easily, but it remained. He had a helmet on. The glare of the sun covered his face. 

Your hands were still shaking. 

Suddenly things felt very quiet. A subtle movement of the soldier revealed a glimpse of his face. A face you knew very well. 

It all flashed in your mind. His morning snoring, the shitty dad jokes, his guttural laughter. The sound of his truck starting. His mom’s phone number. The first thing you bought for your shared apartment. The taste of his lips. The feeling of his hands on your skin. HIs eyes in the moonlight. The feeling that you could never shake when he died. 

He turned and ran. You stood up. You gathered your bearings and followed him, almost slipping on yourself to do so. He couldn’t get very far. People were shooting at you but you had him as a cover. You shoved him down and disarmed him. It usually wouldn’t have been easy to do. Maybe he let it happen. You pulled his collar so you could land behind a discarded car. He struggled against you as you ripped off his helmet completely, disconnecting whatever comm he was using. 

His hands reached forward for yours and he took it off, not even bothering to unbuckle your chin strap. His touch felt like a ghosts. The same calloused hands that promised you the world. Your eyebrows furrowed, recognition in your eyes. You reached forward, not thinking. You cupped his face, your fingers sprawled on his cheek and neck. 

“Phil?” you whispered. He couldn’t hear you over the commotion but he could read your lips. He knew what his name looked like coming from your mouth. 

He didn’t know you were going to be here. If he had, he never would have come. He can’t do this, he can’t blow his cover like this. He had been told maybe Price would make an appearance but you had been out of the field since his death. He was breathing heavily. He couldn’t come near you because he would cave. It was hard enough being without you, checking his phone like you would text him. 

“Y/L/N?! Y/N!” Your comm was going insane. It was on the ground though, forgotten. 

He was alive. Phillip was alive. His face was there and it was moving, all flesh and blood. You never thought you would see him again except in pictures and videos, ones where you had memorized all his movements. 

“Phillip Graves?”

“Yeah baby. Yeah.” His voice was quiet, like he was in disbelief too. You fought the tears rising to your eyes.

“How..how are you here?”

“Long story. “

“I wanna hear it.” 

“Your men are shooting my men right now,” he said, like it was a minor inconvenience. 

You snapped back into reality. Suddenly all the sounds became crystal clear again. Time resumed. You grabbed your comm and put it to your ear. 

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” you said. 

“Come back with me,” Phil said quickly. 

“What?” He grabbed your comm, putting it in his back pocket.. You reached for it like a child, even letting out a gentle unintentional whimper. 

“Come back with me,” he repeated. “Get in my plane.”

“You’re dead. You died in a tank in South America!” 

“You should know MacTavish couldn’t take me out.” He cupped your face with both his hands. You had never felt something so good. “Quickly. Yes or no.” 

He dreaded a no. He knew Shepherd would have you killed or kidnapped. You couldn’t go back to your friends, knowing what you now knew. They could come up with a retaliation before Graves had even gotten on his feet again. 

You had been waiting months for him to come back to you. The answer, despite your morals and your stress, seemed to slip off your tongue easily. 

“Yes. Yes I’ll go with you.” He smiled, a genuine smile, covered in dirt and grime. 

“C’mon baby. Follow me.” He put his comm back in his ear and grabbed your hand. He held it tightly, like you would slip away. “I’m going back up. How’re we lookin?”

“Significant casualties. The shooter on the edge is killing us.”

“I got her,” he responded. He looked back towards you and you both stood up. He nodded towards the plane, which still had the latter hanging down. “The guns?” 

“The house is being defended. We haven’t been able to break through.” 

“We can’t afford to lose those. Do what you have to.” He held your hand tightly, dragging you through the battlefield. You passed those that had died in the rubble. You wondered if you had been the cause. Your head was spinning, looking towards the house. You couldn’t even think yet, things were going so fast. All you knew was Phil and his hand in yours. 

He grabbed your hips, helping you onto the first step of the ladder. 

“I’m comin back up,” he said into his comm. “Someones ahead of me, foreign. Do not shoot. I repeat, do not shoot.” There was a muffled reply. He climbed all the way to the top with you, helping you up onto the plane floor. You pulled yourself up and stood in the middle of the hanger. There was barely anyone left up there. You looked towards the window. 

Price. Simon. 

You had left them. You hadnt’ meant to. You hadn’t even thought for longer than a moment about it. You put your hand flush against the glass, looking down. You wanted them to make it out okay. They would surely think you had died. 

You hadn’t thought this through. 

Your favorite ghost had returned and asked you to go to hell with him. You hadn’t even thought.

“Price. Ghost,” you said, quickly. You turned to Graves, panicked. “Let them go. Don’t hurt them.” 

“I need those guns.” You had heard his work voice before, the slur between charming and serious. At that moment, his voice was all game. He was giving you an order. 

“I need them to live.” 

“They shouldn’t have come.”

“I came.” Phil pursed his lips, chewed the inside of his cheek. He looked towards the pilot and the men still in the plane. Your eyes were back out the front window, seeing the plane you had just come out of. You had just been there, standing in that cockpit. The feeling was eerie, tingling in the back of your neck. “Phil please.” 

Graves thought for a moment. He looked towards you, your pleading puppy dog eyes. He could see you in the morning, when he said goodbye before work. He could see your back in the bathroom mirror, foggy from a shower. Your favorite cereal on his taste buds. The way you had your coffee. 

“We’re losing numbers down here!” a voice came in his ear. He looked back down towards the house. Ghost was taking his men out one by one. Price was likely sneaking behind them, sniping from somewhere. 

But Phil was a proud man. He wasn’t going to let those people die for no reason. 

“Those men are dead down there,” he said, evenly. He approached you. His hand gripped your arm. “They can’t have died for nothing.” 

“Let me call them off. Give me something to call them off,” you pleaded. He groaned in retaliation but gave you your comm back. You put it in your ear.

“I’m getting overwhelmed here!” Ghost exclaimed. 

“Get out of there! Get out of there!” you said, desperately. You turned back to the window. “There’s too many of them. They keep coming.” 

“She’s right,” Price said, voice gruff. “We need an exit. Soap is on his way.”

“To help?” 

“Not enough manpower right now. We have to take this loss.” You could practically hear Ghost’s annoyance. He had done all this and it would’ve been for nothing? He groaned. You stood there, deathly still. “Get to the southside of the building,” Price demanded. “Both of you.” You looked back at Phil, who was staring eagerly. You nodded once. He patted your back, turning back to the pilot. 

“Set up post.” 

-

Some men made their way back up to the plane. Others stayed down below to hold down the fort. The ones you recognized starred as they passed you, sitting in the front seat, just behind Graves. He made no comment on you being there. Didn’t talk on the way back to base. 

He knew he would have to face Shepherd about it. He just happened to figure he would win. Shepherd couldn't do shit with the Shadows until Graves got back. He was useful and he was a good soldier. Breaking this rule would be okay, he was sure of it. 

You followed him onto the tarmac, your body close to him. The plane landed unceremoniously. People gently spoke about their win. Most mourned their losses. No one had managed to get it in their head that you had probably killed their best friend. Most everyone just ogled you in confusion. 

“We’re going back to my room,” he explained. You wanted an explanation. You wanted to yell at him. You wanted to scream. 

“Okay.” 

He led you through the twisting turns of the facility. You had never been in the Shadows main buildings before. They were high tech and likely dangerous. 

Graves opened the door to his room. It was larger than the others, for being the Commander. He didn’t have to sleep in bunks or share a room when he was on base. He had called you from this room dozens of times. The phone he used had been crushed, unable to receive anything. He missed it. It had all the pictures of the two of you. 

The door clicked shut behind you. You wanted to fight him but in the moment, you could only melt. You wrapped your arms around him and he held onto you for dear life. His touch was fiery and aggressive. He was digging his fingers into your sides, breathing in the scent of your hair. He had missed you so much. More than he had been able to let on. He never wanted to live without you again. 

“I thought you were dead,” you whispered. You hadn’t realized the tears had steadily made their way back until you felt them on your cheeks. Graves had his face buried deep into your neck. “I mourned you.” 

“I know baby,” he muttered against your skin. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” 

He was crying. When was the last time you had seen him cry? He sniffled, though he tried to make it subtle. He pulled back, turning away to rub his eyes. You grabbed his shoulders, not letting him. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly. Speaking any louder than a whisper seemed like a crime. 

“Shepherd.” 

“You weren’t in the tank?” He shook his head. You let out a sigh of relief, despite the horrors you had been through over the months you had believed he was in there. He grabbed your hand. 

“I never wanted to leave you,” he promised. His eyes were red, stuffy. He wasn’t sobbing but there were clearly tears forcing their way through his hard exterior. “I did it because I thought it would keep you safe. It would keep you out of the way.” 

“You’ve just been out there?” you asked, voice hinting of betrayal. It broke his heart. 

“Missing you every second of every day.” 

“Did you know where I was?” 

“I wasn’t allowed on missions with you confirmed to be in it. It was supposed to be Price, maybe Ghost, maybe Soap today. It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

“I was a last minute addition.” 

“And thank God for that.” His hands were staying on you, lingering. “Bringing you back was selfish,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t leave you again.” 

“When they told me you were dead,” you started, swallowing your emotions. “I couldn’t eat for a week. Simon had to come force me. I had to pack up all your clothes in the closet, give them to your mother. I had to go to your funeral, the funeral of a federal traitor. I had to see the man who killed you everyday in the hallway,” you spilled. Your voice felt fluid. “I had to..I had to tell Price I was getting better when I wasn’t. I had your drink every time I went to the bar. I haven’t had barbeque in months. I had to go on shitty first dates with people Soap set me up with. I slept in your flannel. I..all my plants died.” 

Phil’s voice was quiet. He was pleading, lips wet. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He tried to grab your hands. Ground you. You let him. You stared at him, breathing heavily, reliving every moment you had without him. “I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t…I can’t do that again.”

“Me neither. Trust me.” You both were still covered in blood and dirt. You could feel the grime between your fingers. You could see the muck on his face, his perfect face. You put your hand on his cheek. 

“Promise me.” 

“I promise. I swear to God,” he whispered. 

And you kissed him. 

And things had never felt so right. 

His lips were frenzied, desperate. He had never tasted something so good in his life. You were all he had been craving, every moment of every day. His hands were practically shaking as he touched you. Long lost was his Commander front. He was just Phil. 

You hadn’t been so desperate for him since you first had him. Your anguish pushed forward onto his skin, holding him as close as you could get him. He tasted like beer and cologne and dirt. 

Phil turned you on your heels so he could sit down on the bed. You straddled him, hands cupping his face, running through his hair. You were both too bulky for this kind of making out. You hadn’t stripped of any gear, still wearing weapons of mass destruction. You pulled away, to verbalize this, but he spoke first. 

“Baby I need you. I need you,” he breathed. He kissed you chastly. “Please don’t stop.”

He used to hold back his pleading. He thought it made him look weak in front of you, unattractive. But he couldn’t do it now, when his defenses had been long shattered. 

“We need to take all this off,” you said. You looked down into his eyes. They were so beautiful and needy that it hurt your chest. You kissed his lips again, as a promise. “We gotta take off the grenades at least.” He chuckled. He had forgotten all about that. You brushed his hair back, out of his face. “Phil,” you muttered. “Philllip Graves,” you mumbled, a borderline moan. He groaned in need. 

“Quickly. Quicker than that.” You laughed. It was the first time you had heard your laugh in months. It was genuine and filled with life. It felt good. You slid off him and started to strip. 

He studied you with such intense eyes it felt like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. 

-

You almost couldn’t fall asleep. You traced his features with your gaze, even with his closed eyes. The scar on his cheek. You traced it lightly with your finger. His hair was still wet from the shower. You had both slipped and slid around the bathroom, limbs remaining intertwined. He had made it a point to always be starring or always be touching. You were his. You would never be anyone else's. 

He had an arm lazily around your side. You had so much to worry about, so much to do. Were you technically behind enemy lines? What would happen when you woke up in the morning?

Phillip groaned and pulled you closer, smushing you against his chest. 

“Woah there cowboy,” you whispered. He smiled, eyes still closed. 

“You remember when you used to take my hat?” he asked fondly. You did. The cowboy hat rule. If you wear his hat, you ride the cowboy. You giggled, nodding against the pillow.

“I do.”

“We should do that again.”

“We can do whatever you want,” you told him. “Whatever you want.” He nodded. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll figure it out in the mornin.” He put his chin on your head. “I got you.” You believed him. 

You hadn’t had such a good sleep since he died, exhaustion over taking your body and forcing you into darkness. 

[fcthots]

ok so this is clearly self-indulgent but what Reader x canon stuff isn’t?? 😤 anyway I’m finally submitting a thing because your portrayal of him & all these ficlets have done wonders for the world—

Italian!Jason (and/or just Jason Who Speaks Italian) & you have used Italian as sort of a “comfort language” since you were growing up together as teens. Yeah, you speak English, but your nicknames for each other, the curses you tend to use, just a lot of specific words because English isn’t always properly descriptive…& there was always a sweet Italian old lady who made the best bolognese & arancini!

anyway, he dies & you’re obviously heartbroken. Skip to Jason finding you (he might be in costume or not) & revealing that he’s alive. He’s too tall, his eyes are too green, he’s too tired and sad-looking. Not that he’s not attractive, but—what if it’s not true? There’s clones, alternate dimensions, dreams…

Then he’s speaking your language. Just partly because you were never fluent. He’s slowly coaxing you into a hug. (Or maybe this is much less angsty & you went from suspicious to in love & ready for a sexy reunion in seconds, lol.)

anyway, have a great weekend!! ♥️ 👌🏽🇮🇹

I'M SORRY THIS IS LOW KEY FUNNY AS HELL BC I'M ITALIAN BUT I'VE SLOWLY LOST ALL MY HERITAGE LMAOOOO

Also I google translated everything bc despite my last name looking like an Italian masterpiece even I say it the English way.

He rotated through every nickname in the book. You were his "principessa", "Tesoro", "cara", "bella", "mia amata", "mostriciattola", etc (princess, sweetheart, dear, beautiful, my loves, and little monster). He called you every sweet name under the sun, all in the language he said "was more fit for your beauty. It sounds much better in Italian."

And one day he stopped calling you anything. One day you just stopped hearing his voice for what you thought would be forever. One day he's calling you "puttana" for stealing his food and then the next day he's dead, laying in a coffin six feet under. You put a red, green, and white rose by his grave because you think he would have found it funny. You don't go back.

You're not the same after, haven't even jokingly attempted to speak a lick of something other than English. You keep quiet, keep to yourself, and think about Jason's spiel about americanized food when you pass by a Dominos pizza.

This all changes, though, when you're walking home by yourself late at night. You have to pass through the bad part of town and maybe you should have been more careful, but it was too late for that now. There were two men and one had a gun; you stood nom chance of making it if you ran. You attempted to back up, just to put some space, but you backed into a trash can and it loudly knocked over. You assailants don’t seem to have appreciated that: one grabs your arm and the other levels the gun at your head. You're shaking and slightly crying, scared out of your mind.

That is until a tank of a man with a bright red helmet drops in. He takes out the man with the gun first and the other pulls a knife to put to your neck. The Red Hood freezes when he looks into your eyes. After the knife starts digging into your skin, he springs back into action. It all happens so fast, you're not even sure what really happened.

But the next thing you know, there's two unconscious bodies on the floor, and the Red Hood is kneeling before you, taking off his mask.

"Principessa?" (princess?)

"PUTTANA?" (BITCH????)

[damistrolls]

Goodbyes

helo ive been sitting on this noboru write for a little while

its gone thru a lot of revisions but i think im finally happy, so!!! here it is!

now read my silly self-indulgent drabble, boy

(google doc link)

—

“I loved you once, you know.”

The statement hung in the crisp air for a few moments. Noboru took his eyes off of the grave, glancing over his shoulder, as though he feared someone was listening to him speaking to a plot of disturbed ground. After he confirmed he truly was alone, he rolled his shoulders casually, and looked back at the hunk of white marble sticking out of the soil. 

“I don’t know when that changed, if it ever did. We were distant towards the end, and we disagreed on more things than we agreed on, but…”

He trailed off, words failing him. Noboru sighed and glanced over his shoulder once more, before carefully kneeling down on the damp grass with a grunt. He always felt his age most when he sat or stood. He remembers a younger Magpie telling him he made old man noises when he moved, and now he can’t help but notice every time he makes said ‘old man noises’. 

“… You’ll have to forgive me. I don’t have anything written and practiced. I didn’t want to come here with some kind of speech. I just wanted to talk, I suppose, since I refrained from saying anything during the funeral. Everyone there already wanted me dead, the last thing I wanted to do was rock the boat more.” 

The stone in the ground was silent and still, if a bit wet from the rain that had come down the previous day. Noboru nodded in the direction of the grave.

“Magpie insisted on the marble. I thought granite would be more practical, since it lasts longer, but he said you would want it to be beautiful.” 

Noboru goes quiet for a few moments, waiting. It was as if he was expecting a response, though he knew none would come. This was probably the most personal death he’s experienced. Every troll loses a friend or two when they’re young, but losing a long-term matesprit, even if an estranged one, was different. His lips press together in a thin line as he tiredly looks down at his lap.

“He asked me not to touch your hive. There isn’t much I can do if the Empire chooses to reclaim the land, but for now, it’s as it was. Though, it may be collecting some dust now. I think the only one who’s been in and out of there is Magpie. He still keeps things in that room of his, even if he doesn’t ever sleep there anymore. Apparently, he’s staying with this teal. And Lupo, of course.” 

The violet plucked a blade of grass from the ground, toying with it in his fingers idly as his eyes stayed trained downwards. 

“I’d like to say he’s happy, but frankly, I wouldn’t be able to tell. I don’t know how to talk with him. I feel as though I lost my opportunity to ever meaningfully be a part of his life. Yahiro was more of a father to him than I was. I wish I could blame you for that, like I blame you for everything else, but I can’t.”

Noboru’s chest ached and his throat felt tight, but he simply rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and straightened his back.

“… There’s too much I could say to you, Fansia... I could fill a novel with all of the things I’d like to say. But I don’t have that kind of time, and I’m sure you have some kind of afterlife to get on with. You never wanted to hear me whine about this-or-that while you were alive, gods know you give even less of a damn now. So I think now’s a good time for me to… say goodbye. Officially. To stop… dragging what happened around with me. It’s a weight I’m tired of holding.” 

He hesitated, before patting the pocket on his chest, making sure something was still in there. Noboru then retrieved a small, shiny object from the pocket, holding it out as if the marble grave could see it. 

“They buried you with yours, but I won’t let them bury me with mine, no matter how much I loved you. It’s been a few perigees already, and I need to stop carrying this piece of you around with me if I ever want to move forwards.” 

The grass near the stone was still loose enough that he could dig at it with his nails and pull back just enough to drop a gold ring into the dirt. It was a waste, but Noboru would have felt worse selling it. He pressed the grass back down over the ring. 

“… I’m not going to visit after this. You had a tight grip on my life these past thirty or so sweeps. More, if you count the time we spent when we were younger, with me trailing after you like a lost pup. I’m done centering my life around you, Fansia.” 

Noboru carefully got off of his knees, standing with some effort. He brushed the grass off of his shins and sighed. 

“Despite everything, I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. You take care.” 

And after a moment of hesitation, Noboru turned and left. 

[pinchinschlimbah]

Thank you again for the message, and the references, the "Melty-chan" info (I thought it was just another overpriced ugly toy he was trying to sell, my bad!)

I admit, I didn't check on Kyo's other bands or any recent interviews. Just social media (with google translate) and live / PV. So yeah, my general opinion is 20 years old (shame on me!) like : "arrogant and full of himself and seeking out mindlessly devoted followers" it's definitely from 20 years ago and that toxic person I used to hang out with. They were my "Kyo channel" since I was "to dumb" to understand "his incredible talent" and "too obtuse to even grasp an atom of the sheer and fathomless poetry of his lyrics he was kind enough to throw to us, mere mortals." (It was not said in english, this is translation, but you get the idea) And you know? they were right. He was just another screaming, jumping, vomiting and self cutting edgy singer for me :/ I was just waiting for him to go full GG Allin and take a dump on stage.

I've talked with someone about him a few month ago and they had the feeling he's on the spectrum too, this would explain the clumsiness in M&G and the difference of attitude on stage and out of stage. Because a lot of autistic people are mistaken for asshole while they're just not socially adapted. Considering his age, if this hypothesis is true, he might be exhausted of "masking" or diagnosed... But, no idea about japanese feeling toward atypical persons. So this remains pure speculation.

About the infamous dango episode, I didn't managed to form an opinion. It was funny if he was doing it for fun, cringe if he was drunk or high and absolutely embarassing if he was just not giving 2 fucks. I felt bad for the director of the movie. But since he did the promo tour in other cities I finally came to the conclusion it was either a meltdown or a strange way to be funny and nothing malicious. Ok, I'm going to burry the hatchet and cut the guy some slack (for now…, still have my eyes on him, just in case). And for the sake of my feeble sanity because I have spend too much time (yours and mine) projecting IDK what on a dude I will never meet. LOL!

Talking in private crossed my mind, but maybe someone else is interesting in the topic and might want to join the talk. Use another account and I'll make one too and we'll talk shit 'til we drop dead.

No problem! I'm glad I was able to help you find some peace, and I definitely recommend looking into Kyo's more recent work and interviews because it's clear he's in a much better place now. Sukekiyo is a pretty solidly queer/femme-centered project and it seems having that new space to explore those sides of himself where there are less eyes on him has been really good for him and then has had those sensibilities reflected back into Dir en Grey once he became more comfortable with them. He's even spoken recently about that dark ages era, that he wishes he could give his past self a hug for being so angry at the world and handling it in such a damaging way and that "despite coming close to accepting his past self, he still feels like it committed something against his present self." Sounds like the people you used to hang out with were indeed toxic assholes, I'm glad you got away from them! I personally don't feel comfortable making commentary on whether Kyo might be neurodivergent or not since I myself am (probably) not autistic, but its an interesting theory and it's possible that that's the case! However, I also think it's a lot more common than people realize for performers to be completely different on and off stage...no one can be at 100% power like that all of the time and are often expressing something through their art that they don't feel capable of expressing in normal conversational words, so that larger than life performance persona can only come out during those times and in fact many iconic performers are quite shy and reserved and awkward off stage. In the same Metal Hammer interview I posted screenshots of in my previous post, Kyo says this

It's my understanding that this is still the case, since Kyo said in an interview about Sukekiyo that he specifically picked members who also weren't into drinking or drugs (can't currently find where I saw this one I'm sorry), and fairly recent Shinya channel videos and interviews with other members have indicated that Kyo does not join the rest of the band when they drink backstage or go out after their shows.

I truly do think the dango incident was just him being stupid and silly, if you watch the video you can tell the other members were also entertained and actively humoring it so I wouldn't worry too much about what was going on there!

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Nine

Summary: Things don’t go as well when Em takes her turn at Dieter’s new game, and angst ensues.

Rating: R (reference to sexual acts and several f-bombs)

Word Count: 6500

My own attempt at the game was not as successful as Dieter’s. The massage portion went well. It was magical being able to run my hands over Dieter’s body and he truly seemed to appreciate my limited skills as a masseuse. And the second half of the game started out nicely — until I worked my way below his waistline.

”I’m so sorry,” I apologized for the hundredth time. 

Dieter caressed my face. “It’s fine, babe,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

”It’s just … I used to always gag when the doctor used a tongue depressor on me. I have to be careful brushing my back teeth.” I was absolutely mortified. 

Dieter kissed my forehead. “I get it. I understand. We’ll just put that on the list of ‘not gonna happens’. No biggie.”

It felt like a biggie. I’d tried it once before, years ago, with similar results. The guy in question had made a federal case out of it. We’d broken up not long afterward. 

“I just … wanted to make you happy,” I mumbled.

”I am happy,” he said. “Any time I spend with you makes me happy. And there are still a lot of ways you can make me extra happy.” 

****************************************************************************

It didn’t help that Dieter left on a press junket for his latest movie that Monday. The cast was doing group interviews as well as single interviews, taking turns appearing on various talk shows, and recording promo spots for local entertainment news programs. They were spending most of their time in New York, but would fly to Chicago and a few other cities for media blitzes. It would end in Los Angeles, where they would do the rounds of the West Coast based talk shows and attend the premiere, but that wasn’t for almost three weeks.

He managed to call me most evenings, but we didn’t always get to talk for long. Sometimes he was in between interviews and only had a few minutes to spare; other times, he was back in his hotel room but exhausted from the day and not really in the mood to talk much. I understood, but I missed him.

About a week into the junket, my phone pinged. I picked it up and saw a text from an acquaintance.

Have you seen this?

I tapped on the link and opened a video on YouTube. It was an interview for a New York news outlet, with Dieter and one of his co-stars, a very attractive young woman named Erica, who played his character’s lover in the movie. They were somewhat minor characters, and of course, his character ended up dead by the end, killed by her jealous husband. Dieter was still working his way back to the leading man role.

The video started off innocently enough, with the interviewer asking them a few generic questions about the film. Then they cut to a clip, a steamy love scene between the two of them, which I hadn’t seen before. The interviewer asked if it was hard to shoot scenes like that. Erica giggled and shook her head. “Not with him,” she said. Dieter put his arm around her and laughed. 

I clicked the pause button. I’d seen enough. This particular “friend” liked to stir up trouble, so I wasn’t surprised that she’d sent me this video. 

I put the phone down, then picked it back up. I Googled Dieter’s and Erica’s names as well as the name of the movie and found several more video interviews online. Two were of just the two of them, and while one was innocent enough, in the second, Dieter laid his head on her shoulder while laughing over something the interviewer has said. The rest of the interviews featured the entire cast, and in all of them, he was seated right next to Erica. He had his hand on her knee in one, laid his hand on her arm in another, and leaned against her in a third. 

I closed the browser and put the phone down again. Less than a minute later, I picked it back up again, and pulled up the first video again, the one my co-worker had sent me. I copied the URL and sent a text to Dieter:

explain this?

I had no idea when he’d have a chance to answer. He was terrible about texting, and most likely wouldn’t get back to me until he had a chance to call. It was just after 5:00, which meant it was just after 8:00 in New York, and he’d been getting back to his hotel closer to 10:00 most nights. Or at least, that’s what he’d been telling me when he called me. 

Calm down, I told myself. Wait until he has a chance to explain himself. It was hard, though. It had been over two weeks since I’d seen him in person, and things had ended on a slightly sour note, at least for me . I missed him, and he said he missed me, but …

I tried to watch a movie but couldn’t pay attention. I read the same paragraph a dozen times before giving up and putting my book down. In the end, I just sat and stared at my phone, willing it to ring but simultaneously dreading it.

Finally, just before 7:00, it rang. It was a FaceTime call and I took a deep breath before I accepted.

“Hey,” he said when the app opened. “What did that text mean?” He looked tired, but that day I had no sympathy for him.

“It meant what it said,” I told him.

He frowned. “It’s an interview,” he said. 

“With Erica,” I said.

“Um, yeah, she’s in the movie, too,” he said. “So what?”

“Oh, please,” I shot back. “Just tell me, are you sleeping with her?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, “where is this coming from?” He really did look surprised, but I was tired and had been fretting over this for hours and I had the bit between my teeth.

“I’m not blind,” I said. “You’re all over her, and not just in that interview. And I’ve seen the film clips.”

“First of all, I am not ‘all over her’ …”

I cut him off. “I don’t think there’s one interview where you aren’t touching her,” I said. 

“I touch everyone,” he protested. “You know that. Hell, I’m touching Rick in half those interviews. Do you think I’m sleeping with him, too?”

“You aren’t kissing Rick in the movie,” I said.

“Okay, back up,” he said. He was starting to get angry now. “We shot that movie before I ever even met you, so you can’t be jealous about that. And there were probably thirteen people in the room when we shot those scenes, so there was absolutely nothing erotic about it, trust me. Besides, you knew I was an actor, you’ve seen some of my previous work, this can’t come as a surprise to you. It’s my fucking job.”

“Yeah, okay, so you didn’t know me when you shot those scenes,” I shot back, “but you know me now and people are sending me these videos showing you flirting with another woman …”

“I am not flirting with her,” he shouted. “For fuck’s sake, she’s married. I’ve met her husband; in fact, he was here last weekend and he was sitting just off camera for half those interviews. They’ve got two kids.”

“Then why are you acting like that?”

“Because I’m bored as hell with these fucking interviews? Because she’s my friend? Because I miss you?”

I snorted. “Oh, yeah, right, you miss me.”

“I do,” he insisted. “Well, maybe not right at this moment …”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Hey …”

“Just stop pretending, okay? We both know you can do way better than me, so why do you even bother?”

I hung up before I started crying. I had always known in the back of my mind that this wouldn’t last long. Our lives were too different, and I was nowhere near good enough for someone like him. Our last weekend together had proved that.

My phone rang but I ignored it. After it rang five more times, I turned it off. It wasn’t even 8:00 yet, but I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.

****************************

I avoided my co-workers the next morning, and the day dragged on and on. My eyes were still puffy from crying when I woke up, and no amount of makeup could completely disguise it. Finally, the day ended and I headed home, wanting nothing more than to take a huge dose of ibuprofen for my headache and eat a pint of ice cream, the traditional cure for a breakup.

I had known going in that things with Dieter wouldn’t last. How could it work? He was an A list actor (well, currently B list but working his way back up to the top tier) and I was a nobody. Our lives were too different. Still, there had been moments when I truly thought we could do it, that we could exist in a bubble where he was just Deet and I was Em and Dieter Fucking Bravo was a character he played sometimes.

When I got home, there was a strange car in front of my house, but I figured the neighbors had company and didn’t think anything of it, until I unlocked the door and stepped inside. There was a bouquet of roses in a vase on my coffee table and the kitchen light was on.

“Hello?” I called out tentatively, my phone in my hand, ready to call 9-1-1.

Dieter stepped out of the kitchen. “Hey,” he said softly.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you were in New York.”

“I flew home,” he said. 

“What about the press junket?” I knew those things were usually written into the contract when an actor signed on for a movie, and were nearly impossible to get out of.

“Told them I had a family emergency,” he said. “And I’m flying back on the red eye, so I’ll only miss one day of interview hell.”

I shook my head. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” He had a key to my place; maybe he wanted to return it in person and get my key to his place.

“Well, you wouldn’t answer my phone calls, so I figured this was the only way to get you to talk,” he said. “And we definitely need to talk.” He took my hand and led me to the couch.

“I think we said everything last night,” I said, pulling my hand away from him.

“No, you said everything last night,” he said, grabbing my hand back. “You didn’t want to listen to me.”

“There’s not much to say,” I said. “It’s pretty clear it’s over.” My voice caught a little in my throat but I managed to keep myself from crying.

“Why do you say that?,” he asked sadly.

I sighed. “Because it’s true,” I said. “I saw the videos.”

“And I told you she’s married,” he said. “And we’re just friends. I hadn’t seen any of them since we wrapped. These press junkets are stressful and we’re all thrown together for hours and hours day after day.” He took my hand and started stroking my palm. “You know I’m pretty touchy-feely, especially with people I know. That’s just how I am. It doesn’t mean anything.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

“I wish I could believe you,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said.

“Because why?”

I guessed I’d have to spell it out for him. “Because look at me! I’m not like Erica. I’m  not a size two, I don’t have perky boobs, I don’t look like I stepped off the cover of Vogue.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” He frowned. “I don’t give a shit about any of that. I don’t want Erica, or some fake-ass model. I want you.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “I can’t even give you a blow job.”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “Listen to me,” he said. “Look at me.” He hooked a finger under my chin, lifting my face so I was looking him in the eye. “I. Love. You. You understand?”

I wanted to believe him. I really did. I said so.

He pressed his forehead against mine. “Sweetheart,” he whispered. “You can believe me. You have to believe me. I love you. I love you so much.”

”But …”

”No buts.” I knew he was being serious because he didn’t make a butt joke. “Sex is great. I enjoy it a lot. But I’d rather be celibate with you than have a fucking orgy with anyone else in the world. Got it?”

“What did I do to deserve you?” I whispered back.

“Hell if I know,” he replied. “I’m still trying to figure out what I did to deserve you.” He chuckled and slid his arms around me. “I missed you so much,” he said in my ear. “These press tours suck. I wish you could go with me, baby.”

“Stupid job,” I said.

“Yours or mine?,” he asked. I laughed.

“Both,” I replied.

“My flight doesn’t leave until 1:00 am,” he said. “What do you want to do until then?”

“Oh, you think you can say you love me and I’ll tumble into bed with you?” I teased.

“Pretty much,” he said, winking. “But you haven’t said it back yet, so maybe I don’t want to.”

I grabbed his chin and held his face still. “I. Love. You,” I said, punctuating each word with a kiss.

“Now was that so hard?,” he asked.

”That’s what she said,” I teased. He laughed so hard he started wheezing. 

“That’s my smart ass girl,” he said once he could breathe again. “Anyone could suck me off, but only you can make me laugh like that.” He kissed me, hard. “Now, how about some dinner? I haven’t had anything to eat since last night. My stomach has been in knots since you hung up on me.”

”Would some In-n-Out be a sufficient apology?”

“You know I’d do anything for In-n-Out, baby.”

”So would I,” I admitted. 

“But I won’t do that,” we both sang, off-key. 

************************************************************************

The day after our reconciliation, I was dragging at work. A student commented that I looked tired, and I wouldn’t have said anything, except Eileen was standing right there.

“Yeah,” I said, “I didn’t get much sleep last night. My boyfriend’s been out of town on business and he flew back yesterday to surprise me. But he had to fly back to New York on a red-eye, so by the time he left for the airport and I got to bed, it was well after midnight.”

I turned to Eileen. “By the way, that reminds me,” I said casually. “I’ll be taking a couple days off the week after next.”

“Oh?,” she asked. Even though she wasn’t technically part of the library team, she was very interested in our comings and goings. I think she even kept a spreadsheet of how often the textbook clerk and I were out so she could complain about our doors being locked.

“Yeah, Dieter’s movie premieres that Thursday, so I’ll need that day off to get ready for the red carpet, and then there’s at least one after party that night, so we’ll probably spend Friday sleeping.” I smiled at her and then turned away to help another student. Take that, you gossipy bitch.

Before he’d gotten into his rental car to drive back to Ontario Airport, Dieter had asked me if I’d accompany him on the red carpet. It wasn’t something we’d planned on doing, but he said that he wanted to prove to me — and the rest of the world — that he was officially off the market. “Taken. No longer in circulation. Unavailable. End of story,” had been his exact words, each one accompanied by a kiss on the tip of my nose. How could I say no?

**********************************

Dieter had gotten back in town Sunday night. The cast had spent every day since doing interviews in L.A. and I hadn’t had a chance to see him, but after work on Wednesday, I drove to his house. He wasn’t home yet when I got there, but I let myself in and rummaged around in the kitchen to see if there was anything worth cooking for dinner. It looked like he hadn’t had time to go shopping since he’d gotten back, though.

I texted him to ask what time he thought he’d be home so I could arrange for food delivery. Surprisingly, he texted right back.

Maybe 7, not sure. If too late I’ll call you. Eat when u want, save me leftovers. Love u.

I opened up GrubHub and browsed through the restaurants that were available. I decided on Chinese food, since that was easily reheated or could even be eaten cold. I placed an order to be delivered at 7:30. If Dieter wasn’t home by then, I’d go ahead and eat if I was hungry.

I flopped on the couch and turned on the TV. He had cable and subscribed to almost every streaming service there was. I opened up Disney+ and started a binge of my favorite old school animated Disney movies. I’d made it to Robin Hood when I heard a key in the door.

“Hey,” Dieter said, his face lighting up. “What are we watching?”

I paused the TV and crossed the room to hug him. “Old Disney movies,” I said. “Dinner should be here in about twenty minutes. Golden Pagoda.”

He kissed me. “Good, I’m starved. Did you remember to get those cream cheese wontons? I love those things.”

“Yes, I did,” I replied. “And egg rolls, and that horribly spicy chicken you love.”

We settled on the couch and he unpaused the TV. “Oh, man, I remember this one,” he said.

“It was my favorite when I was little,” I said. “I had the hat and everything.”

“You aren’t one of those girls who had a crush on the fox, were you?”

I shrugged. “Guilty,” I admitted. 

He shook his head. “What is it with that fox? Is it because he doesn’t wear pants?”

“Half the classic Disney animal characters don’t wear pants,” I pointed out. “Nobody’s crushing on Donald Duck or Winne the Pooh, though. I think it might be the accent. And the hat.”

“I’m gonna get me a hat,” he said.

It felt good to just be together, watching a movie, being silly, and waiting for our food to arrive.

“I’m glad you’re home,” I murmured in his ear.

“Me, too,” he said, pulling me a bit closer. He kissed my cheek. “And I’m glad we’re good.”

I laid my head on his shoulder. I’d done a lot of thinking since our fight and reconciliation. “I’m sorry. I was an idiot.”

“Nah, you were just being human,” he said. “Love makes people crazy sometimes. I’ll probably do some dumb shit at some point, and then we’ll be even.”

We snuggled and watched the movie until the doorbell rang. Dieter fetched the food while I got some plates out of the kitchen and we covered the coffee table with takeout containers. We ate until we were full and there was still a ton of food left.

“This’ll last us the whole weekend,” he said as we packed everything back up and shoved it into the fridge. “Which is good, because after the premiere, I just want to crash for a few days.” He yawned and stretched his back.

I glanced at the clock; it was only 8:35. “What time do you have to be up in the morning?,” I asked.

“We have an interview at ten, so I need to be out of here by nine, so … 8:45?”

“Let’s make it eight,” I said. “I’m not sending you out into the world without a shower and a decent breakfast.”

“But I don’t wanna get up that early,” he whined.

“I’ve got to get up early, too,” I said. “I have an appointment at the spa at ten for a mani/pedi, facial, and something called a seaweed wrap?” I checked the calendar on my phone. “Then home to change, makeup at one, hair at three, and we have to be there at what, five?”

He nodded. “Have you decided which dress to wear?” 

I’d spent the previous weekend with a stylist who had overwhelmed me with designer dresses in a million colors and styles. We’d narrowed it down to three choices, which I’d taken photos of and sent to Dieter for his vote. Annoyingly, he’d said he liked them all and to pick the one I liked best.

“Yeah, the green one,” I said. I stepped into the bedroom and took the dress, in its garment bag, off the back of the door where I’d hung it when I got in. I unzipped the bag and pulled the dress out. It was a deep hunter green satin, sleeveless, with a fitted waist and a deep slit in the skirt. The back of the skirt trailed on the floor in a short train, and there were two drapes of material hanging from the shoulders. It was elegant and simple but the color and the satin made it look horribly expensive, which it was. I’d about fainted when I saw the price tag, but the stylist had assured me we were only renting the dress and anyway the designer was giving us a break on that just to get her name out there. 

“I even got you a little something,” I said. The stylist had rummaged around in her closets and found a silk tie that almost exactly matched the color of the dress. I pulled it off the hanger and handed it to Dieter.

“I love it!,” he said. “It’ll go great with my brown suit.” He disappeared into the bedroom and I heard him digging around in the closet. He reappeared with a gorgeous chocolate brown suit that I hadn’t seen before.

“Where have you been hiding this?” I asked. 

“In the closet, duh,” he replied. I smacked him and fingered the fine wool cloth. “I bought it in New York. Bespoke splurge. We are going to look so good tomorrow,” he said.

************************************

I had been poked and prodded and pampered until I wanted to scream. At first it had been fun, lounging in a chair while three different aestheticians worked on my hands, feet, and face, but then I’d had to go lie in a hot room with slimy layers of seaweed wrapped around my body to “reduce puffiness and draw out the toxins.” I was sweaty and gross by the time the spa attendant came back for me and shoved me into a freezing cold shower “to shock the system and kickstart the metabolism.” 

I barely had time for lunch — a salad with no dressing and cucumber water; spa cuisine sucks — before heading back to Dieter’s place to get dressed. He’d arranged a driver so I didn’t have to worry about traffic, at least. I struggled into the Spanx and uncomfortable push up bra the stylist had made me buy, then gingerly put the dress on, afraid of tearing it. It had been altered to fit me and while that made it look much better, it meant there wasn’t much leeway. I’d just gotten into it when the doorbell rang and I shuffled to the door, holding up the long skirt that dragged on the floor when I was barefoot.

It was the makeup artist. She schlepped in several tackle boxes of supplies and a fancy lighted mirror. She set up a workstation in the kitchen, spreading her things out all over the island. 

“Okay, sit down, relax, and let me do my magic,” she said with a grin. She swathed me in a sheet and clipped my hair back away from my face. The kitchen chair wasn’t the most comfortable seat in the house but every time I squirmed, she gave me a look and I did my best to sit still while she powdered and painted and blended and smudged and plucked away at my face. Every once in a while, she’d frown a little and get out the makeup remover and start over.

Finally, she nodded. “Voila,” she said, turning the mirror so I could see what she’d done.

Holy shit, I thought. That can’t be me. I looked like I’d stepped off the cover of a magazine.

She laughed. “Yeah, the magic of makeup,” she said. “You wouldn’t recognize half the women in Hollywood if you saw them without professional makeup. The photographers are going to eat you up.”

She was still packing up her things when the doorbell rang again. She motioned for me to stay seated while she answered it. The hair stylist bustled in, hauling her own array of equipment.

She moved me to the kitchen stool, which was taller than the chair, and draped me in a tie-dyed cape. She spritzed my hair with water, and started to blow it dry, working it with a round brush. She paused, worked in some mousse and went back to work with the hair dryer. Next came the curling iron, then the hair dryer again, then the curling iron yet again. She sprayed me with hairspray until I sneezed, then kept fussing and teasing and pinning and curling until I was ready to scream. Finally, she seemed satisfied and gave me a hand mirror. 

My hair fell in soft, sexy ringlets around my face. The sides were swept up just a bit and held with glittery bobby pins. I had insisted we not do any color or add extensions, but it was amazing what she’d been able to do with my hair. My gray streaks looked like fancy highlights and my hair had a bounce to it instead of just hanging there like it usually did.

“You like it?”

“I love it,” I said. 

She packed up and left, just as Dieter was coming home from his last round of interviews.

“Wow, you clean up good,” he said when he saw me. 

“Shut up and get dressed,” I told him. “We have to leave in forty minutes.”

He laughed and disappeared into the bedroom. He’d had his hair done that morning before the interviews, but I’d probably have to fix it before we left, since he had a bad habit of running his hand through it and messing it up.

Twenty minutes later he reappeared in the brown suit, with a tan shirt and that vibrant green tie. He hated wearing a tie, and I knew that by the end of the evening it would be in his pocket and he’d have the top few buttons of his shirt undone, but for now he looked like a proper grownup.

I slipped on my shoes (beautiful strappy heels that were incredibly painful after five minutes) and found my purse. It was a tiny clutch that barely held my eyeglasses but I knew that if I didn’t take them with me I’d have a headache by the end of the movie. I could see without them, but I very rarely took them off. Walking the red carpet without them, and in brand new heels, was going to be an adventure.

“Ready?” Dieter offered me his arm and I took it.

“As I’ll ever be,” I said. 

***************************************

“You look amazing,” he said softly when we were tucked into the back of the town car. The partition was closed, so the driver couldn’t see us as Dieter kissed my neck.

“Stop it,” I chided him. “You’ll mess up my makeup.”

“That’s why I’m kissing your neck,” he said, trailing little kisses down from my ear to my collarbone. “I’ll mess up your makeup later.”

“This isn’t fair,” I complained. “I can’t kiss you back because I’ll smear my lipstick.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, face buried in my throat. When he was done, he lifted his head and said, “Life’s not fair, get used to it.”

“I hate you,” I said with a laugh.

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You love me. You said it and you can’t take it back.”

“You’re in a good mood,” I said, fixing the stray strands of hair that were falling into his face. 

“It’s almost over,” he explained. “These promo tours and premieres are a pain in the ass. We do the red carpet, watch the movie, go to the party for a while and then we’re done.” He threw his head back and laughed. “We can just relax for a while. I’m turning my phone off this weekend, it’s just you and me and all that Chinese food.”

I laid my head on his shoulder, careful not to disturb my hair too much. “That sounds wonderful,” I said. My feet already hurt and I was counting the minutes until I could get out of those damnable Spanx.

We arrived at the theatre. The studio had gone all out, booking the Chinese Theatre (formerly known as Grauman’s; we were both old enough to think of it as that) in Hollywood. Our car pulled up to the curb and a smartly dressed young man opened the door for us. I slid out as gracefully as I could and waited for Dieter to climb out after me. There were hundreds of people lining the walkway to the theatre, which was actually covered with a red carpet, albeit one that had seen some use. There were a few threadbare spots and stains scattered over it but it was still nice.

“Dieter!!” Fans were screaming his name as he emerged from the car. 

“Show time,” he whispered to me before turning to the crowd with a brilliant smile and starting to wave at the fans. “Just follow my lead,” he said out the side of his mouth.

We walked slowly along the red carpet, as fans shouted and cheered. Some had signs, others waved autograph books or photos or Cliff Beast action figures at him, begging for a signature. I watched him as he graciously acknowledged everyone he could, signing things, asking how to spell names so he didn’t make a mistake. I just stood beside him, my hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, mostly ignored by the crowd.

When a young woman asked for a selfie, he obliged, even though it meant I had to let go of him. She giggled and kissed his cheek while they took the picture. He looked up at me and winked. I rolled my eyes and he laughed. “Get in here,” he said, pulling me into the next selfie, his arm tight around my shoulders.  After that, he declined any more selfies, except for a young boy with a Cliff Beasts t-shirt and the hairless head of a cancer patient. We stopped and chatted with him, took several pictures, and I asked his mom for their address, which I typed into my phone while Dieter was moving down the line. 

“I’ll make sure he gets something really cool,” I promised the boy’s mom, who had tears in her eyes. Then I hurried to catch up with Dieter; we were almost to the wall of cameras, as he’d called it.

There was a huge backdrop covered with the logo of the movie, the name of the studio and several sponsors. Opposite it was a horde of photographers, all jockeying for position to get the best shots of the arrivals. “Here we go,” Dieter said as we stepped into the line of fire.

Photographers were shouting his name, all trying to get him to look directly at their camera. Others were calling out directions. “Turn to the left! Look up!” An assistant gently guided us to the first of several marks on the carpet, predetermined places where the photographers could get good shots. I’d been practicing poses in the mirror, trying to keep my chin up so my neck looked longer, turning my body slightly so they would get a three-quarter angle, smiling until my cheeks ached.

“Look at me!,” one photographer shouted.

“Look at her!,” another demanded. 

“Look at him!”

“Look at each other!”

I was confused and Dieter laughed. “Just do whatever the hell you want, they’ll figure it out,” he said. He ducked his head down and kissed me, very lightly so as not to mess up my lipstick too much, and I heard a barrage of shutter clicks. “That’ll make ‘em happy,” he said.

We finally made our way past the gantlet of photographers and into the lobby of the theatre, where everyone was gathering to wait for the doors to the auditorium to open. Dieter dragged me over to meet the director, and one of the producers. “Always talk to the big shots first,” he’d told me earlier. “You have to do a fair amount of sucking up in this business, even with people who don’t like suck ups.”

We exchanged pleasantries, Dieter’s arm comfortably around my waist. I knew I was just there for decoration.  This was part of his job, and my job was to smile and nod and shake hands and make him look good.

Then we walked over to Erica and her husband. Erica was wearing a gorgeous beaded dress that skimmed over her curves and shimmered when she moved. Her husband was in a navy blue suit with a spotless white shirt and a navy tie.

“Hey!” Dieter said, hugging Erica and shaking hands with her husband. He introduced me and I shook hands with both of them. It was a bit awkward for a moment, but then Erica took over.

“It is so good to finally meet you,” she said to me. “He would literally not stop talking about you the entire press tour.” She tucked her arm through the crook of my elbow and leaned in. “I’m sorry about the interviews,” she whispered. 

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I overreacted. I’m new to all this.”

“You’ll get used to it,” she said. “He really is crazy about you, you know. You have nothing to worry about.” 

She let me go and Dieter and I moved on to chat with some of the other cast members. Finally the auditorium doors opened and we were ushered inside to our seats, then the rest of the audience was let in. Friends and family and others with sometimes extremely vague connections to the studio and the cast filled out the audience. Dieter and I both put on our glasses as the lights dimmed and he pulled my hand into his lap, playing with my fingers as the movie started.

I really couldn’t pay attention to the film, between my aching feet, the Spanx that made it difficult to take a deep breath, and Dieter doing things to my hand that made me look forward to the weekend.

After the movie ended, Dieter and the other cast members had to go up on the stage, while the director, producers, and several studio execs gave speeches.  Finally, we were free to go, but only to drive a few blocks down the street to the party venue. As I predicted, once we were in the car, Dieter undid his tie and unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt.

“Not fair,” I said. “I don’t have anything to undo.” I squirmed as my Spanx started to ride up and give me a wedgie.

“We could skip the party and go home,” he said.

“You know we can’t,” I said. There would be more photographers at the party and more people to schmooze with. 

He sighed. “Yeah, I know, but we don’t have to stay too long, I promise.”

The party was loud and without my glasses on, I quickly developed a headache, but I gallantly followed Dieter around and smiled at everyone while I sipped on a weak drink. I couldn’t blame them for watering down the drinks, because these people were hard drinkers. I watched one studio exec down seven drinks in the space of an hour.

Finally, Dieter whispered, “Ready to go?”

“I’ve been ready,” I whispered back. He smiled, and pulled out his phone to text our driver. We slipped out and dodged a few die-hard photographers before piling into the back seat of the town car for the ride home. The car had barely pulled away from the curb before Dieter was shrugging out of his suit coat and I had my shoes off.

“Oh, that helps,” I said, rubbing at the blisters and pressure spots on my feet. Dieter pulled my feet into his lap and started massaging them. It was sweet but also an excuse to slide my dress up so he could run his hand up my thigh. It didn’t take long before I was in his lap and half my lipstick was on his face and throat.

When the car pulled up in his driveway, we stumbled out and into the house. 

“Get me out of these Spanx,” I said, throwing my shoes into a corner. I never wanted to wear them again. Dieter obliged, helping me carefully take off the dress. I wrestled myself out of the shape wear and unfastened my bra. They joined the shoes in the corner of shame.

We left a trail of discarded clothing from the front door to the bedroom until we finally collapsed onto the bed. “Can we just run around naked for a few days?,” I asked, as I stretched, exhilarating in the freedom to just breathe and move without the constriction of foundation garments.

“Sounds good to me,” Dieter said. He started to pull me close but I shook my head. 

“I’ve got to get this makeup off before we go to bed or I’m going to ruin your pillowcases and my face will be a mess,” I said. I staggered into the bathroom and scrubbed at my face with cotton pads and makeup remover. By the time I got back to the bedroom, Dieter was asleep, sprawled on top of the comforter. 

I pulled the pins out of my hair, laid them on the nightstand, and crawled into the bed. I tugged at the covers and shoved Dieter around until I had him under the covers as best I could. I didn’t want him to get cold during the night. It was still warm during the day but the nights were starting to get chilly this close to the ocean. Finally, I gave up when he was mostly covered up and let my own head drop onto the pillow. There would be plenty of time to fool around during the next three days. Right now, what we both needed most was sleep.

[alliskit]

I finally finished a play through.

800hrs later...

In the spirit of being proud of my accomplishments let me introduce the OC that finally got me there:

Pänna

Pänna is based on the Hindi word: Panna, which means “emerald”. (If Google is wrong let me know!)

I liked the idea that emeralds represent fertility and life. It’s also green like the color of necrotic magic which is the opposite of life-giving. So the irony of a Durge named Emerald who is a death bringer turned life saver was a fun twist.

I wanted to create an OC I was less invested in (backstories are a writer's curse). But, by the end, I actually really liked her.

Tav/Durge: Resist DUrge Race: Wood Elf (Bhaalspawn) Class: Rogue - Wizard: Necromancy Romance: Astarion

Pre-Bhaalist Cult: She is "spawned" then dropped by Sceleritas on a poor elven doorstep in Rivington. She spends a lot of her days much like the tiefling kids in and out of trouble. (She loved Mol and Mattis) When she was early teens, she started having her urges after seeing a dead body for the first time. It inspired a 'curiosity' of the dead. Of course, this would move to actually killing and dissecting animals and later humans. After a terrible spat with her parents -- teenage girl shit -- she kills them. This is when Sceleritas reappears to "save" her and take her to the cult.

Bhaalist Cult/Absolute Plans: She is introduced to her real father and starts her mentorship to become the cult's leader under Sceleritas, Saverok, and Bhaal himself. As she comes into her magic, she is trained in Necromancy under Balthazar (loved the "Oh, it's you", as if he really does remember her and could give a shit). As she is made the true heir and head of the Bhaalist cult, she is given Bhaal's mission: to be the cleansing and rebirth of the world. She would cleanse it of life, for it to be reborn anew. She believed she was essentially ragnarok for Toril. This is when Orin is introduced. She sees Orin as a younger sister/daughter. As time goes on, Orin begins to copy her style (which starts off artistic, then grows to calculated, Orin never quite moves on to the calculated, but the artistic is rebirthed in her after the crash). As a 'joke' for a culling, Orin transforms into Panna's twin. It becomes a staple part of their ritual for a while, until Orin starts pretending to be her back at home. Then, Panna changes her staple look (the one Orin wears) into a green version to represent her Necromancy (super fun visual when I did the Orin duel!). As Gortash comes into the picture, it is a fight for dominance between them, until the heist. Then, Panna sees his competence and starts to actually have feelings for him and consider defying her father, or at least keeping Gortash alive for a romeo-juliet style ending. Orin is jealous of the responsibilities and preference of Panna from Bhaal and Gortash. She feels like a third wheel, thus her plan to become the chosen instead of Panna is born. Thus, the rest is history.

Post-Cult/Netherbrain: She is Chaotic Neutral to start. Arabella dies (she is basically sits back and watches Kagha while the snake attacks, it wasn't her problem). Didn't talk to Wyll, found Karlach first. Almost killed Wyll when he showed up. Did kill Alfira, though and covered it up. Never had a bite night from Astarion and he told her he was a vamp. She knew (I HC that the first time she meets him, the line "he would make a beautiful corpse" is more "he is a beautiful corpse" because as a necromancer she would know, even if she wasn't multiclassed yet.) Grows back into her magic even if all she can remember is her time on the streets as a rogue before the Bhaal cult. Act 2, she is true Neutral. She is vicious in her violence, but it starts to have purpose. Hearing Astarion talk about the cult and her realizing she started it, she has second thoughts about absolute power. Though, she is more than willing to use the tadpoles to her advantage. Act 3, she is Chaotic Good. She tries. Bhaal is after her, but after meeting Gortash she is like "the fuck did I do?" And she is saddled to the good team. It's hard. She is tempted by Sarevok before making her final decision, but she takes out Orin and denies Bhaal. With painstakingly amount of re-loads, all the companions are safe.\

Post-Netherbrain: She and Astarion choose to go to the Underdark. Seeing the Gur kids really messed with her and she almost broke up with him right then. But, she also saw a piece of herself in that she was left alone with her urges as a kid without any help, thus they will go and help. Wyll and Karlach go to Avernus, Gale decided to become a god despite being encouraged not to, Halsin is rebuilding Rethwin, Shadowheart is taking care of her parents, and Lae'zel is fighting for her people while raising Xan.

Fun details: - Her eyes get more and more necrotic green as she leans into her magic, even while she gets more and more good aligned. - Starts off with ratty armor and finishes looking hot as shit. - Hair gets longer over time. She had a long braid like Orin before Kressa cut it all off.

[lilyliveredlittlerichboy]

1 - Nine months before

Oh we are back to second person narration <3 my beloved.

Harrow throwing up from lifting a sword.... oh honey. oh honey. where's Gideon when we need her??

... Oh Harrow. Oh my darling girl. Away from all the comforts of home, with only strangers to surround you, saddled with a new, unknown duty, not even managing to lift a sword. A sword which hates you, hates you more than even Gideon used to hate you.

Oh, Harrow.

I so deeply want to give her a hug right now.

With only your old hallucination for comfort... grief weighing you down so much, you barely know if you're alive or dead -

Of course no one else is allowed to touch your sword.

Oh, Harrow.

2

You said, with difficulty: “What is happening to me?” “You’ve had a shock,” said the Emperor, which was not an answer, actually. “Does this happen to all new Lyctors?” “Some of them,” he said vaguely, which did not fill you with relief.

It's grief, Harrow. Grief for your only friend and constant companion, one whose company you never were without. Sudden, drastic change. Losing all that is familiar to you.

Oh, Harrow.

I enjoy the thanergy/thalergy (they're different?!) empathy from Harrow. Feeling seven hundred other bodies must be so intense for her, though - she wasn't ever in the company of more than, a few dozen at most, at the Ninth and at the First.

No wonder she can't feel her own feelings and sensations. Oh, Harrow.

The writing does so well to convey the acheing disparity between the shiny, polished spaceship and Harrow's numbness, inability to adjust. It makes my soul scream.

“Oh my God,” you said, forgetting that the deity in question was right there. “The ancient dead. You’ve committed resurrection.” He said, “No. I haven’t truly resurrected anyone in ten thousand years.

So you can?????? SO YOU CAN?????? It's a - a crime, a taboo perhaps, but he is GOD, so who cares????

Bring Gideon back this instant, motherfucker.

(And they're all necromancers anyway, so truly - who cares? I guess the intricacies of necromancy still escape me. But also. I want Gideon back so bad. For Harrow. Let my girl have SOME relief!!!!)

You took the chilly metal stairs two at a time, feeling your heart ram against serous pericardium,

Anyway, people who DON'T happen to have a degree in human anatomy, I want to hear from you. Were you googling things constantly while reading? Were you just accepting that these were some kind of Body Words and trying to guess from context what was meant? I want to know.

Oh, I see now. Thanergy is dead-energy, Thalergy is life-energy. That makes a lot of sense, somehow.

(WAIT. Harrow can sense BACTERIA????? How loud is her world, at the best and quietest of times?????)

... the plain grey-sheeted hexagons intended for the Sixth, though there were pitiable scraps and remains in one: leavings only, much less than a corpse. Something flickered in your nervous system that was a bit like an emotion, but it struggled and died, much to your relief.

Oh Harrow. PLEASE allow yourself to feel things.

“You could resurrect them,” you said, without bothering to filter much between thought and speech. “You alone are capable of it. But you won’t. Why?” “For the same reason that I haven’t for ten thousand years,” he said. “For the same reason that I cannot come back to the Nine Houses. The cost is too great.”

...

An Emperor-God with MORALS? Could it be?

Sounds fake. I reserve my judgement.