#bizarro smoke
abcdfed1234 · 1 year
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bogusfilth · 19 days
ipa discourse ignoring the fact that all enjoyment is just consuming something that is awful and you hate until you love it
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petalsbleedingbeak · 10 months
This bizarro/weird menace pulp is turning out to be my worst/least publishable work... not in the terms of writing, but topic-wise... PLFB is pushing the limits further than The Thing... and I thought that there is nothing to top the shokusu goukan guro...
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strangestcase · 1 month
"Jekyll is the most mentally stable of the mad scientists" what are you smoking? do you live in a bizarro world in which everything is the opposite? this man literally needs to do fantasy cocaine every 3 hours to keep himself lucid lest he attempts to eat people's faces
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greyghoulclub · 2 months
mungrove week 2023 - prompt 1: Upside Down
Written for @mungroveweek
Edit with the Ao3 link: Memories like knives, so I run to you
Billy antis DNI. 2.3k words
When Billy died, he expected to see nothing. He didn’t expect to be in a parallel version of Hawkins where monsters with no face roamed and the air was thick with mystery spores. Was this his version of Hell? Maybe. Living in the real Hawkins certainly was.
He didn’t even know what the hell was that thing that killed him was. A twisted mess of amalgamated flesh with teeth and claws. He remembered Max’s screaming as he faced it down to protect the girl who had reached out to him while he was under its control. He remembered the searing pain when its teeth ripped into his forearms and when it plunged more of its arms into his sides and finally into his chest. After that, it was a blur of neon lights and the sounds of fireworks exploding.
Next thing he knew, he had woken up in this bizarro version of Hawkins.
Night or day didn’t exist here, it was always dark with occasional flashes of red lighting in the sky. The monsters with no faces had sniffed at him but eventually left him alone. Maybe he smelled too dead to be their lunch. He aimlessly walked around, maybe this was his punishment for being a dick in his short life, to walk around a town he hated for eternity and to think about what he did. He’d never get the chance to apologise properly, to show Max and the others that he was trying to be better. Maybe she’d never forgive him, but he thought he probably deserved that. He just prayed that Neil didn’t turn to Max after he was gone. He thought about his mom, how she would maybe never know what happened to him, did she know he was buried in Hawkins? Would she visit his grave?
He eventually found the house on Cherry Lane, but it didn’t look like the Hargrove-Mayfield family had ever moved here. No truck or Camaro in the driveway, just an old SUV. When he entered the house, the first thing he saw was a calendar for November 1983 with red crosses up until the 6th. Billy was pretty sure he died on the 4th of July 1985. Wait, wasn’t November 1983 when the Byers kid went missing? He remembered Susan saying that she had heard something about it from her friends at work. Had he gone back in time? But then shouldn’t he be back in San Diego? Too many questions that couldn’t be answered.
He walked through the hallways of his house, it wasn’t his house, but he didn’t know what else to call it. The walls were pristine, with no signs of fists or bodies being driven into them. No signs of Neil Hargrove’s wrath. He reached what would’ve been Max’s room, the door was slightly ajar and he looked inside. There were posters of pop stars, stuffed toys on the bed, a full-length mirror and a vanity with the remnants of a teenage girl getting ready to go out. He could believe this could’ve been Max’s room if she had never crossed paths with the Hargrove family.
Then he reached what would’ve been his room.
It wasn’t as lifeless as his had been. There were no signs that anyone had been thrown into the walls or that anything precious had been broken by angry hands. Whoever had this room before Billy had been happy. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away, feeling a little embarrassed. Fucking crying for what he could’ve had if he had been able to go with his mom. He’d never have it now.
He left the house before he could break. He ran from the unhappy memories of the house on Cherry Lane, ran from the thought of who he had left behind, and who he could’ve been. He ran until his lungs burned, remembering the coach’s words about his smoking. He ended up in front of the Palace Arcade. He’d dropped off Max many times here before, usually ending in a screaming match about her needing quarters for the machines.
He leaned against the arcade wall and cried. He felt his chest heave with the sobs that racked his body. He felt the phantom pains from where that flesh monster got him.
“Max, Sinclair, everyone, I’m so goddamn sorry…” he hiccuped between words, “I’m sorry I was the monster you had to run away from. Max, I’m sorry I wasn’t the big brother you needed.”
He cried until he couldn’t anymore, he felt kind of lighter afterwards even if he was stuck in twilight zone Hawkins. But he couldn’t shake the thought that he maybe wasn’t dead. He didn’t know how he couldn’t be dead, that thing had pierced him all the way through. He had lost way too much blood. Hell, the last thing he remembered from the Starcourt Mall was Max crying over his body, and Steve Harrington in a dumb sailor costume. He had come to the realisation that this version of Hawkins didn’t play by the regular rules.
Was this place the reason why Max was always looking over her shoulder? Was this the reason why she never left the house alone? What the hell did Max get involved in? Was the thing that possessed and killed him part of this?
He thought about that night at the Brimborn Steelworks, the thing that pulled him down the stairs by his ankles and shoved something into his mouth. Bile rose in his throat. If he spoke about this with anyone, who would believe him? But he got away right? No, he didn’t. Not really. It made him swallow something and that something controlled him. It made him do stuff he didn’t want to. His chest felt tight, and his breathing shallow. Oh god, he really didn’t want to think about what it made him do. All those people, they- they were melted together to make that flesh monster. He kidnapped Heather and her family to make that monster. Did that mean he was a monster too?
He could hear his heartbeat and his fingers and toes felt tingly. Was he dying for real now? Were the spores in the air killing him? His throat felt like it had closed up when he tried to swallow. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe.
“Ok, Billy,” he forced out a shaky breath, “remember what mom told you when you fell off your board. Stay calm and breathe.” His inhales were still shaky but his mind wasn’t racing anymore. A flash of the red lighting made him jump, but this time it was at a specific place, not just generally over the sky, but at the Forest Hills trailer park. That was weird for this place, right?
“What the hell is going on?” but still Billy started to trudge his way to the trailer park.
When he got closer to the park he could hear some music. Music? What the hell? And it wasn’t like, the creepy music that you hear when Micheal Myers is after you, it was metal. Who the hell is putting on a concert in fucking Mordor?
He heard voices as he got closer, he couldn’t tell who they were from where he was in the bushes. He could see a platform with some amps set up over Eddie’s trailer. Wait was Eddie here? Did he get involved too?
Billy didn’t want to think how Eddie did, Eddie was his sense of normality in the chaos that was his life. If Neil had been particularly angry one night, Eddie was always a 10-minute walk away if he climbed out his window. Eddie would make him laugh and they’d get high and listen to whatever cassettes each other would bring over. Billy would never admit to it, but Eddie’s cafeteria antics made him laugh. Like Eddie was his jester.
Eddie had this way of worming his way through even the most guarded of people’s walls. He hadn’t even flinched when Billy had snapped and snarled at him. It was like Eddie had just decided that he would be Billy’s friend as soon as the blond had pulled into Hawkins blasting Metallica as loud as his car speakers would allow.
Along the way, Billy started developing a crush on Eddie, the was just something about this goofy Tolkien nerd who was also a metalhead that got Billy’s stomach infested with butterflies. The way he scrunched his nose when he laughed, or his dumb tier list of sodas that he drank in his stupid goblet. Billy still thought mountain dew was gross but Eddie seemed to live off the stuff.
The night before Billy got possessed, he had nearly worked up the guts to tell Eddie how he felt. It had taken a lot of cheering himself on and some rapid fire acceptance that he was, in fact, gay. He had the Dio tape that he had saved to get in his back pocket, messily wrapped in some old wrapping paper that Susan insisted on saving. Deep breath, in and out.
Eddie had been happy to see him as always, and invited him into the trailer. Eddie said Wayne would be at work late tonight so they had the couch all to themselves. Billy accepted but he was still wound tightly, ready to run if this went wrong. Even if Eddie was his closest friend, scratch that, Eddie was Billy’s only friend, Billy still couldn’t settle.
“Billy? Are you ok?” Eddie looked at him with eyes full of concern. Billy figured that he looked like he was waiting for a bomb to go off.
Might as well bite the bullet.
“Uh Eddie, I wanna tell you something,” Billy pulled the parcel out of his pocket, “Ireallylikeyouok?” he thrust the tape at Eddie, his face burning. Eddie took the tape and unwrapped it, he was overjoyed at the new Dio tape Billy had given him.
“What did you say Billy? You were talking so fast I didn’t understand you,” Eddie scratched the back of his head, doing that little half grin that made Billy’s heart pound.
Billy stuttered his way through his confession again, he was sure most of the blood in his body was in his cheeks at this point. He didn’t expect Eddie launch himself in a flying kiss at Billy from the other end of the couch. They were a tangle of limbs, both trying to kiss the other as much as possible.
“Wait, do you like me too?” Billy was breathless from the kisses, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Eddie, with the living room light shining off his hair like a halo. Maybe this was as close to heaven as Billy would ever get.
Eddie laughed and answered that of course he did and kissed Billy again. Neither of them wanted this moment to end. They lay there, lazily kissing each other while Nightmare on Elm Street played on the TV. Neither of them heard the trailer door open.
“Oh, uh, sorry if I’m interrupting something boys,” Wayne Munson stood awkwardly in the doorway. Billy’s blood turned to ice in a second. He wiggled himself out from under Eddie.
“Billy where are you going?” Eddie sounded heartbroken from the couch. He looked as if he was about to cry.
“I’m sorry Eddie I have to go,” he squeezed past Wayne, “I’m sorry Mr Munson, I won’t come around here again.”
“Son I don’t mind-” Wayne started to say but Billy was already pulling away in the Camaro.
Now seeing Eddie on that platform playing his absolute heart out to ward off the winged monsters, he was just as beautiful as Billy remembered. His fingers flew over the frets, Billy didn’t know what Eddie was playing but it sounded good. Billy could also see Steve, the curly haired kid- Dustin, Nancy Wheeler, and the band kid Steve worked at scoops with alongside Eddie but Billy was fixated on the guitarist.
Red lightning flashed and the bat-monsters swirled around Eddie, he seemed to be making a distraction for the others to get away. But then how was Eddie getting out? Billy wanted to run over and help but he didn’t think the others would take too kindly to an undead Billy Hargrove, especially Steve. He could hear Dustin and Eddie whooping “Most metal concert ever!” until the bats swarmed again. Dustin managed to get away. Eddie didn’t.
“No!” Billy yelled and ran over to where Eddie lay as fast he could. The bats had taken chunks out of him left and right, he lay in a pool of his own blood. Eddie’s eyes looked glassy but still focused on Billy. A shaky hand reached out to touch Billy’s cheek.
“Eddie, why are you here?” the tears fell before Billy realised. Eddie smiled and leaned up to press his lips to Billy’s.
“Could ask you the same thing sunshine. I never forgot you,” Billy held Eddie’s hand to his cheek.
“I’m sorry for running away Eddie. I was scared.” Billy grabbed Eddie’s hand and kissed the knuckles. He blinked the tears out of his eyes and hoped to any gods or deities out there that Eddie would forgive him.
“It’s ok Billy, I understand now why you ran, Max told us what happened when we visited your grave.” Eddie wiped a tear from Billy’s cheek. “I had a gut feeling that you might not be dead after what Steve and Dustin told me about this place.” Eddie shuffled himself up to a sitting position and pulled Billy close to him. “I don’t know why but I just knew that the fire at the mall wasn’t true. It seemed too convenient.”
“It was the monster, it was me,” Billy held Eddie tightly, not wanting to lose him again.
“It wasn’t you, you got possessed. I know you Billy and I know you’d never do that,” Eddie kissed his forehead, “I love you Billy Hargrove, and I’d like for us to try again.”
“I’d like to try again as well Eddie Munson.”
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nancydrewwouldnever · 5 months
Like, okay, my cousin is already out of surgery and had one stint put in, because apparently one artery was completely clogged. He has to be in the hospital for about three days while they monitor for arrhythmia. But they're hopeful because he's young. But, oh, apparently this is probably because he smokes! STOP SMOKING PEOPLE!
I just wanted to post a SIR STOP BEING SO SEXY WHILE BEING VICIOUS post about Namor.
What the hell, Universe. Fuck it, I'm doing it anyway. We have to give the Universe the middle finger! We have to give idiots at ski resorts the middle finger! We have to give Death the middle finger!
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ALSO - Thank you to all of you for your kind words and thoughts and messages! It's awesome, you are all so awesome, and I really appreciate it all! ❤️
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istumpysk · 9 months
Operation Stumpy Re-Read
AFFC: Samwell V (Chapter 45)
Thrice longships were sighted by the crow's nest. Two were well astern, however, and the Cinnamon Wind soon outdistanced them. The third appeared near sunset, to cut them off from Whispering Sound. When they saw her oars rising and falling, lashing the copper waters white, Kojja Mo sent her archers to the castles with their great bows of goldenheart that could send a shaft farther and truer than even Dornish yew. She waited till the longship came within two hundred yards before she gave the command to loose. Sam loosed with them, and this time he thought his arrow reached the ship. One volley was all it took. The longship veered south in search of tamer prey.
Samwell and a Summer Islander are shooting arrows again.
In case it matters, Sarella Sand was using a goldenheart bow in the prologue.
"It's very tall," said Gilly.
"Wait until you see the Hightower."
Bizarro jongritte.
Dalla's babe began to cry. Gilly pulled open her tunic and gave the boy her breast. She smiled as he nursed, and stroked his soft brown hair. She has come to love this one as much as the one she left behind, Sam realized. He hoped that the gods would be kind to both of the children.
When he says gods he means George R. R. Martin.
Born-in-battle has a new mommy. Say goodbye to Mance and his sister-in-law, I'm not sure they make it.
"Who would be so mad as to raid this close to Oldtown?"
Xhondo pointed at a half-sunken longship in the shallows. The remnants of a banner drooped from her stern, smoke-stained and ragged. The charge was one Sam had never seen before: a red eye with a black pupil, beneath a black iron crown supported by two crows. "Whose banner is that?" Sam asked. Xhondo only shrugged.
Euron Greyjoy, you little rascal! What am I going to do with you?
"My apologies," the captain said when his inspection was complete. "It grieves me that honest men must suffer such discourtesy, but sooner that than ironmen in Oldtown. Only a fortnight ago some of those bloody bastards captured a Tyroshi merchantman in the straits. They killed her crew, donned their clothes, and used the dyes they found to color their whiskers half a hundred colors. Once inside the walls they meant to set the port ablaze and open a gate from within whilst we fought the fire. Might have worked, but they ran afoul of the Lady of the Tower, and her oarsmaster has a Tyroshi wife. When he saw all the green and purple beards he hailed them in the tongue of Tyrosh, and not one of them had the words to hail him back."
Ironmen dressed like a Tyroshi! How clever.
Wouldn't it be funny to see Euron dressed like a Tyroshi? Imagine Euron wearing Daario's clothing! Hilarious.
"The Hightower must be doing something."
"To be sure. Lord Leyton's locked atop his tower with the Mad Maid, consulting books of spells. Might be he'll raise an army from the deeps. Or not. Baelor's building galleys, Gunthor has charge of the harbor, Garth is training new recruits, and Humfrey's gone to Lys to hire sellsails. If he can winkle a proper fleet out of his whore of a sister, we can start paying back the ironmen with some of their own coin. Till then, the best we can do is guard the sound and wait for the bitch queen in King's Landing to let Lord Paxter off his leash."
Lynesse Hightower shoutout.
Lynesse was awkwardly spotlighted in Catelyn V, ASOS, so I wouldn't be surprised if she became a factor.
As for the rest of the Hightowers, all I can think about is that random story we heard in Jaime's first AFFC chapter.
"Ser Jaime, I have seen terrible things in my time," the old man said. "Wars, battles, murders most foul . . . I was a boy in Oldtown when the grey plague took half the city and three-quarters of the Citadel. Lord Hightower burned every ship in port, closed the gates, and commanded his guards to slay all those who tried to flee, be they men, women, or babes in arms. They killed him when the plague had run its course. On the very day he reopened the port, they dragged him from his horse and slit his throat, and his young son's as well. To this day the ignorant in Oldtown will spit at the sound of his name, but Quenton Hightower did what was needed. Your father was that sort of man as well. A man who did what was needed." - Jaime I, AFFC
The bitterness of the captain's final words shocked Sam as much as the things he said. If King's Landing loses Oldtown and the Arbor, the whole realm will fall to pieces, he thought as he watched the Huntress and her sisters moving off.
Counting on it.
Someone has to assist Oldtown, but who? Cersei, Aegon, Daenerys, or Stannis.
It has to be Horn Hill, Sam finally decided. Once we reach Oldtown I'll hire a wagon and some horses and take her there myself. That way he could make certain of the castle and its garrison, and if any part of what he saw or heard gave him pause, he could just turn around and bring Gilly back to Oldtown.
Probably what happens.
How else is he getting Heartsbane?
Sam used the time to explain his plans to Gilly. "First the Citadel, to present Jon's letters and tell them of Maester Aemon's death. I expect the archmaesters will send a cart for his body.
It's not clear whether this happened.
Then I will arrange for horses and a wagon to take you to my mother at Horn Hill. I will be back as soon as I can, but it may not be until the morrow."
"The morrow," she repeated, and gave him a kiss for luck.
Until the morrow. The morrow.
"How long will you remain in port?"
"Two days, ten days, who can say? However long it takes to empty our holds and fill them again." Kojja grinned. "My father must visit the grey maesters as well. He has books to sell."
Who can say how long they'll stay? Hopefully they're still there on the morrow.
Those books* Sam brought from Castle Black get referenced in almost every single one of his chapters.
*Maester Thomax's Dragonkin, Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis, with a Consideration of the Life and Death of Dragons.
"Can Gilly stay aboard till I return?"
"Gilly can stay as long as she likes." She poked Sam in the belly with a finger. "She does not eat so much as some."
Gilly's staying aboard until he returns. On the morrow.
The day was damp, so the cobblestones were wet and slippery underfoot, the alleys shrouded in mist and mystery. Sam avoided them as best he could and stayed on the river road that wound along beside the Honeywine through the heart of the old city.
Is that a joke about Samwell avoiding Pate's fate?
The gates of the Citadel were flanked by a pair of towering green sphinxes with the bodies of lions, the wings of eagles, and the tails of serpents. One had a man's face, one a woman's.
Is that a joke about Sarella Sand?
The path divided where the statue of King Daeron the First sat astride his tall stone horse, his sword lifted toward Dorne. A seagull was perched on the Young Dragon's head, and two more on the blade. Sam took the left fork, which ran beside the river. 
If this fork in the road means anything, I'm not the person to tell you.
The man glanced up and did not appear to approve of what he saw. "You smell of novice."
"I hope to be one soon." Sam drew out the letters Jon Snow had given him. "I came from the Wall with Maester Aemon, but he died during the voyage. If I could speak with the Seneschal . . ."
"How much longer will it be?"
"The Seneschal is an important man."
After minor mentions here and there, this is the first time in the series we're assaulted with the word seneschal.
I'm not done with this thought.
"How could you tell I was of noble birth?"
"The same way you can tell that I'm half Dornish." The statement was delivered with a smile, in a soft Dornish drawl.
Sam fumbled for a penny. "Are you a novice?"
"An acolyte. Alleras, by some called Sphinx."
The name gave Sam a jolt. "The sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler," he blurted. "Do you know what that means?"
"No. Is it a riddle?"
"I wish I knew. I'm Samwell Tarly. Sam."
Could Maester Aemon have meant this Sphinx? It seems likely.
"Well met. And what business does Samwell Tarly have with Archmaester Theobald?"
"Is he the Seneschal?" said Sam, confused. "Maester Aemon said his name was Norren."
"Not for the past two turns. There is a new one every year. They fill the office by lot from amongst the archmaesters, most of whom regard it as a thankless task that takes them away from their true work. This year the black stone was drawn by Archmaester Walgrave, but Walgrave's wits are prone to wander, so Theobald stepped up and said he'd serve his term. He's a gruff man, but a good one. Did you say Maester Aemon?"
Alright, follow me here.
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No theories, just thoughts.
Every single year an archmaester serves as Seneschal of the Citadel. I checked the appendix, there's 21 archmaesters at the Citadel.
Despite all his travels, there is a possibility Marwyn has been the Seneschal of the Citadel before.
"No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal." - Daenerys II, ADWD
Unfortunately, no mention of perfume or any other scent appeared in this chapter. I'm not sold, but we'll keep Marwyn in mind.
"Aemon Targaryen?"
"Once. Most just called him Maester Aemon. He died during our voyage south. How is it that you know of him?"
"How not? He was more than just the oldest living maester. He was the oldest man in Westeros, and lived through more history than Archmaester Perestan has ever learned. He could have told us much and more about his father's reign, and his uncle's. How old was he, do you know?"
"One hundred and two"
Weird she knows about Aemon Targaryen.
Laughing at the thought of Aemon having any good insight on his family.
"What was he doing at sea, at his age?"
Sam chewed on the question for a moment, wondering how much he ought to say. The sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler. Could Maester Aemon have meant this Sphinx? It seemed unlikely. "Lord Commander Snow sent him away to save his life," he began, hesitantly. He spoke awkwardly of King Stannis and Melisandre of Asshai, intending to stop at that, but one thing led to another and he found himself speaking of Mance Rayder and his wildlings, king's blood and dragons, and before he knew what was happening, all the rest came spilling out; the wights at the Fist of First Men, the Other on his dead horse, the murder of the Old Bear at Craster's Keep, Gilly and their flight, Whitetree and Small Paul, Coldhands and the ravens, Jon's becoming lord commander, the Blackbird, Dareon, Braavos, the dragons Xhondo saw in Qarth, the Cinnamon Wind and all that Maester Aemon whispered toward the end. He held back only the secrets that he was sworn to keep, about Bran Stark and his companions and the babes Jon Snow had swapped. "Daenerys is the only hope," he concluded. "Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late."
Yeah, let's have Samwell Tarly parroting these ideas of Daenerys being The Great White Hope. That won't blow up in his face. Or Dickon's.
"How far do we have to go?"
"Not far. The Isle of Ravens."
They did not need a boat to reach the Isle of Ravens; a weathered wooden drawbridge linked it to the eastern bank. "The Ravenry is the oldest building at the Citadel," Alleras told him, as they crossed over the slow-flowing waters of the Honeywine. "In the Age of Heroes it was supposedly the stronghold of a pirate lord who sat here robbing ships as they came down the river."
They should rename it the Isle of Crow. Hee.
It was cool and dim inside the castle walls. An ancient weirwood filled the yard, as it had since these stones had first been raised. The carved face on its trunk was grown over by the same purple moss that hung heavy from the tree's pale limbs. Half of the branches seemed dead, but elsewhere a few red leaves still rustled, and it was there the ravens liked to perch. The tree was full of them, and there were more in the arched windows overhead, all around the yard. The ground was speckled by their droppings. As they crossed the yard, one flapped overhead and he heard the others quorking to each other. 
We've got eyes on the Citadel.
Not that it matters, Bran doesn't appear to need a tree.
"Samwell. A new novice, come to see the Mage."
"The Citadel is not what it was," complained the blond. "They will take anything these days. Dusky dogs and Dornishmen, pig boys, cripples, cretins, and now a black-clad whale. And here I thought leviathans were grey." A half cape striped in green and gold draped one shoulder. He was very handsome, though his eyes were sly and his mouth cruel.
Sam knew him. "Leo Tyrell."
Yay, the asshole's back.
"Are you still a craven?"
"No," lied Sam. Jon had made it a command. "I went beyond the Wall and fought in battles. They call me Sam the Slayer." He did not know why he said it. The words just tumbled out.
He owned it!
Slayers slay dragons. That's what they do. They're dragonslayers. These are the rules.
I'm working off my own, you know, karma here, because I'm George, and what's he known for? He killed the dragon, you know, come on. Come on, I was almost abolished at one point when the Catholic Church was reviewing all the saints, I was terrified that George would be abolished, because they abolish a lot of fiction, I said George is only known for killing a dragon, how can they keep him in, but they did so, that was, that was good. - George R. R. Martin
George is Sam! It is known.
Marwyn wore a chain of many metals around his bull's neck. Save for that, he looked more like a dockside thug than a maester. His head was too big for his body, and the way it thrust forward from his shoulders, together with that slab of jaw, made him look as if he were about to tear off someone's head. Though short and squat, he was heavy in the chest and shoulders, with a round, rock-hard ale belly straining at the laces of the leather jerkin he wore in place of robes. Bristly white hair sprouted from his ears and nostrils. His brow beetled, his nose had been broken more than once, and sourleaf had stained his teeth a mottled red. He had the biggest hands that Sam had ever seen.
These are the characters that chew sourleaf:
Chett -> dead.
Emmon Frey -> going to die. duh.
Masha Heddle -> dead.
The pious dwarf -> dead.
Snatch -> sellsword introduced in ADWD.
Yoren -> dead.
Are you noticing a pattern here?
"Call it dragonglass." Archmaester Marwyn glanced at the candle for a moment. "It burns but is not consumed."
"What feeds the flame?" asked Sam.
"What feeds a dragon's fire?" Marwyn seated himself upon a stool. "All Valyrian sorcery was rooted in blood or fire. The sorcerers of the Freehold could see across mountains, seas, and deserts with one of these glass candles. They could enter a man's dreams and give him visions, and speak to one another half a world apart, seated before their candles. Do you think that might be useful, Slayer?"
I hate these stupid candles.
The archmaester peeled a sourleaf off a bale, shoved it in his mouth, and began to chew it.
Oh no.
"Tell me all you told our Dornish sphinx. I know much of it and more, but some small parts may have escaped my notice."
He was not a man to be refused. Sam hesitated a moment, then told his tale again as Marywn, Alleras, and the other novice listened. "Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy . . . her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall."
That other novice is a Faceless Man, and probably not a huge fan of Valyrians or dragons.
"Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy." Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor. "Not that I would trust it. Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is . . . and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time." He chewed a bit. "Still . . ."
He seems to be sensible? I don't get Marwyn.
Alleras stepped up next to Sam. "Aemon would have gone to her if he had the strength. He wanted us to send a maester to her, to counsel her and protect her and fetch her safely home."
"Did he?" Archmaester Marwyn shrugged. "Perhaps it's good that he died before he got to Oldtown. Elsewise the grey sheep might have had to kill him, and that would have made the poor old dears wring their wrinkled hands."
"Kill him?" Sam said, shocked. "Why?"
"If I tell you, they may need to kill you too." Marywn smiled a ghastly smile, the juice of the sourleaf running red between his teeth.
Oh dear.
They wouldn't kill Maester Aemon. That's ridiculous. This whole conversation is weird.
"Who do you think killed all the dragons the last time around? Gallant dragonslayers armed with swords?" He spat. "The world the Citadel is building has no place in it for sorcery or prophecy or glass candles, much less for dragons. Ask yourself why Aemon Targaryen was allowed to waste his life upon the Wall, when by rights he should have been raised to archmaester. His blood was why. He could not be trusted. No more than I can."
That's some world class bullshit from Marwyn. The Targaryens clearly destroyed themselves, it wasn't a society of elderly scholars. Surely he knows that. What is going on?
Loving the talk of dragonslayers killing dragons though!
The world the Citadel is building has no place in it for sorcery or prophecy or glass candles, much less for dragons.
If he has a problem with that, why is he there? Why is he encouraging Samwell to forge his chain?
Marwyn glanced at Sam again, and frowned. "You . . . you should stay and forge your chain. If I were you, I would do it quickly. A time will come when you'll be needed on the Wall." He turned to the pasty-faced novice. "Find Slayer a dry cell. He'll sleep here, and help you tend the ravens."
Didn't happen that way on the show, but I believe him.
"B-b-but," Sam sputtered, "the other archmaesters . . . the Seneschal . . . what should I tell them?"
"Tell them how wise and good they are. Tell them that Aemon commanded you to put yourself into their hands. Tell them that you have always dreamed that one day you might be allowed to wear the chain and serve the greater good, that service is the highest honor, and obedience the highest virtue. But say nothing of prophecies or dragons, unless you fancy poison in your porridge." Marwyn snatched a stained leather cloak off a peg near the door and tied it tight. "Sphinx, look after this one."
Am I crazy? This is nonsense, right? I refuse to believe a maester would poison a novice. If that were the case, why would they let Marwyn the Mage serve? Why would there be a Valyrian steel link for expertise in higher mysteries?
Other than Pycelle and Qyburn (who lost his links), I can't think of a single morally corrupt maester in the story, and we've met dozens. Don't even talk to me about Cressen, that was justified, okay? Lol.
Look at the people who hate maesters: Aeron Dam-phair, Qyburn, Cersei Lannister, Barbrey Dustin. That's not the side you want to be on.
"What will you do?" asked Alleras, the Sphinx.
"Get myself to Slaver's Bay, in Aemon's place. The swan ship that delivered Slayer should serve my needs well enough. The grey sheep will send their man on a galley, I don't doubt. With fair winds I should reach her first." 
"Where has he gone?" asked Sam, bewildered.
"To the docks. The Mage is not a man who believes in wasting time." Alleras smiled.
Finally, here we are.
We can only assume Gilly, Dalla's baby, Aemon's rum corpse, the horn, and the Castle Black books are still on that ship.
It's possible the ship won't set sail until the next day, and there's nothing to worry about.
It's also possible the ship left once impatient Marwyn arrived, forcing Gilly to get off, and spend a rough night alone in Oldtown.
He hoped he still remembered the way to the Citadel. Oldtown was a maze, and he had no time for getting lost.
Sam had sent Gilly out to get some, forgetting that the wildling girl had lived her whole life in sight of Craster's Keep and never seen so much as a market town. The stony maze of islands and canals that was Braavos, devoid of grass and trees and teeming with strangers who spoke to her in words she could not understand, frightened her so badly that she lost the map and soon herself. - Samwell III, AFFC
I don't know.
Side note, I never noticed Marwyn predicting the other maesters would send someone too. I wonder who?
"I have a confession. Ours was no chance encounter, Sam. The Mage sent me to snatch you up before you spoke to Theobald. He knew that you were coming."
Alleras nodded at the glass candle.
I suppose I can't deny they work, but I loathe most glass candle theories. I don't want to read about Leyton Hightower having a glass candle - it's stupid, and I hate it.
Maybe Quaithe has one. I don't even care.
"There's an empty sleeping cell under mine in the west tower, with steps that lead right up to Walgrave's chambers," said the pasty-faced youth. "If you don't mind the ravens quorking, there's a good view of the Honeywine. Will that serve?"
"I suppose." He had to sleep somewhere.
"I will bring you some woolen coverlets. Stone walls turn cold at night, even here."
"My thanks." There was something about the pale, soft youth that he misliked, but he did not want to seem discourteous, so he added, "My name's not Slayer, truly. I'm Sam. Samwell Tarly."
"I'm Pate," the other said, "like the pig boy."
Prologue Pate! Strange seeing you in the first and last chapter. I thought you died.
How much do we hate Jaqen being anywhere near Samwell? Lots.
I'll trust the process.
Final thoughts:
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elirandom · 3 months
There's this thing people say about bright lights and dying. About finding comfort in it. For Buck it only hurts and scares him shitless. What if he can't not go into the light, what if it steals him away as the white lightning did with his body, his breath, his heartbeat.
He's not finished yet, he's barely past the starting blocks. And the idea of leaving Christopher another dead parent(al figure) is more horrifying than he can express. He wants to scream no, let me stay, he wants to yell out his please into the vast whiteness around him. This empty nothingness that is worse for its bright starkness than if it'd been dark, because in the darkness there may be things hidden. Like an exit out of this limbo.
There's this thing people say about bright lights and dying. About finding comfort in it. For Buck it only hurts and scares him shitless. What if he can't not go into the light, what if it steals him away as the white lightning did with his body, his breath, his heartbeat.
He's not finished yet, he's barely past the starting blocks. And the idea of leaving Christopher another dead parent(al figure) is more horrifying than he can express. He wants to scream no, let me stay, he wants to yell out his please into the vast whiteness around him. This empty nothingness that is worse for its bright starkness than if it'd been dark, because in the darkness there may be things hidden. Like an exit out of this limbo.But he likes to imagine the 118 visiting him, he's sure they would be. Pretty sure. Right? He doesn't let his thoughts wander too far, too many monsters from childhood abandonment down that road and it's not fair to the (better) family he's found all by himself.
Family, yeah.
There was one building with him, Eddie and Christopher. He wonders if Eddie has let Chris visit him, or if it's better for Chris to not see Buck like this. Maybe it would be better.
He wonders how long he's been here, stuck like this. He wonders what his body looks like, is it very burnt? Or did he just get a Lichtenberg figure? In another situation he'd be fascinated, now he's just scared. And alone.
Time passes but he can't say if it's minutes or days, the light keeps getting brighter and he feels smaller and smaller. Like he's concaving in on himself. But sometimes he imagines he can almost feel a small hand in his, hear someone's voice he knows he loves but can no longer name.
He tries to hold onto it, the vague feeling like smoke
Then the door opens and the stark whiteness is exchanged for uncomfortably bright hospital lights. But everything feels bizarro-land. He's never felt more alone surrounded by people who say they know him.
Some moments he can't help but think, is he actually awake?
Was the child's hand in his a dream? The comforting voice in his ear? Is this the nightmare or is it like Daniel says that he just needs to relax.
But he can't, it feels too much like letting go of something he's not sure what it is but feels precious to him.
They find him a therapist who prescribes him pills but he only tries it once, the void he fell into just turned into loud beeping and he woke with a sore chest and a vague nightmarish feeling of wrong wrong wrong.
He goes for a drive and even his little Prius feels wrong and he keeps looking over at the empty seat in the back. As if he's expecting someone to look back in the mirror.
The pier is teeming with tourists and families and feels like he's walking against a current. Everyone knows where they're going except him and everytime he tries to reach the Paris wheel he finds himself out on the edge of the pier, waves batting the scaffolding under his feet. This feels wrong too, he collapses on a nearby bench, head in his hands. Shouldn't he be happy that he's healthy after his accident? Why is he acting like this, he knows he's worrying his parents & his siblings keep telling him to take a vacation and have some fun. Take his girlfriend out on a trip. But he hasn't met her since the hospital and he hasn't realized till now that he didn't even miss her.
But he's missing something, there's that gnawing feeling in his chest that won't give up.
A kid bumps into him and yells sorry as it stumbles by the bench, too busy eating cotton candy to look where it's going. "This cotton candy is so good!"
The deja vu moment grips Buck by the belly, the voice is wrong, the child is wrong but he's so sure his brain is looking for a real memory he can't place. It's like a ghost on the bench beside him talking about dreams about being a firefighter, but it's wrapped in dread. He has to stand up to look at the water, it's like he suddenly feels it's about to attack & his hands are clutching empty air expecting a child sized yellow shirt.
He's hyperventilating & he can feel that echo of a child's hand in his again, screaming for Buck in his ear.
Maybe he faints on that bench. Next time he wakes it's mellow lights & hospital smell in his nose. But he's too tired to stay awake, his body feels too heavy and his throat thick with something. He falls away again before he can figure out what's wrong.
He's thirsty before he's really awake, his tongue feels thick & dry in his mouth, his eyelids feel like there's weights attached to them. But his left hand is warm, the small weight of a hand in his and he remembers a curly haired boy again. It's like reality dropped on him like an anvil overnight, his mind caught up with the body in the hospital bed. He's not sure how hurt he is but he knows the hand in his. "Christopher?"
The name is barely a croak as it stumbles across his heavy tongue, but there's no tube in his throat anymore. Just the rough memory it left.
"Buck? Are you awake enough to drink this time? Small sips."
"Hey, welcome back." Eddie's hand stroking through his hair almost makes Buck cry with the feeling of it, it's like he's finally tethered back to himself again. "You've been trying to wake up several times the last hours or so but the doctors said it may take a while for you to be conscious enough to remember."
He can feel Christopher's hand clutching his & he squeezes back, relieved he can move his hand. "Hey Buck, missed you."
"Missed you too", Buck croaks in some semblance of sound but Christopher's body slumped across his giving an awkward hug makes the meaning come across enough. He wishes he could hug back as hard as he wants to but instead he feels his energy zap away. "T'red"
"Go back to sleep Buck, your body needs the rest." Eddie says as he helps Chris sit back up. "Yeah, dad says the doctors said your coma is over. Now it's just sleep & we'll see you soon"
Buck mumbles what he hopes come out as "Soon", as he falls asleep. This time sure he'll wake up again in the right place, his anchors right by his bedside.
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jabbage · 2 years
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Theory: Lupin III is the anti-Tintin. Bizarro Tintin. Watintin, if you like.
Imagine a metaphorical comic book protagonist coin. Tintin is on one side, Lupin III is on the other.
Tintin: Stops the trade in illegal antiquities
Lupin III: IS the trade in illegal antiquities
Tintin: Squeaky clean boy scout, his body is a temple.
Lupin III: Smokes! Drinks!
Tintin: has possibly never met a girl.
Lupin III: has definitely met girls.
Tintin: Hangs around with a morose guy with a beard
Lupin III: Hangs around with a morose guy with a b... wait.
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halfofmysoulsblog · 6 months
Drawn to You: Chapter 18
“I think I’m gonna get out of the city for a little while,” You murmur, zipping up your suitcase. “What? Why? I can’t keep an eye on you if…” You sigh, turning around, leaning against the bed. “I get it. You’re doing what Clark asked of you, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t. I can’t stay here and…everywhere I go…I’ll be okay. I’ll check in if that’ll make you feel better, but I can’t stay…” You whisper. Batman is standing across from you, sighing heavily. “Stay in Gotham then,” He offers, and you scoff. “In the now second most dangerous city? No thank you. New York is constantly being attacked by alien forces, and they have the Avengers. Gotham is rampant with insane criminals, some of whom Clark put away with you. And here? Everything I loved about it is being destroyed. It’s a constant reminder that what I had is gone,” You turn around to grab your suitcase, and as you do so, your body freezes as a hand is being placed on top of yours. “I need you to stay. Please. You’re the only one who seems to care about what happens, and I need your help. I think I’ve found more blue kryptonite,”
You turn your head, rearing back slightly as he was closer than you expected. He clears his throat softly before stepping away. “Where?” He starts to dig in his pocket, but he’s suddenly stopping, tilting his head. “What is it?” You question, slightly alarmed by the way he seems to tense. “Get down. Now. Now,” He’s bracing an arm at your back, pushing you down to the floor just as the whole wall of your bedroom crumbles in. You cover yourself with your arms as he clambers on top of you, shielding you from larger debris. As the smoke settles, your eyes widen, taking in the two red dots. Bizarro is standing there, breathing heavily, staring down at you.
You shut your eyes tightly as he emits the laser beams from his eyes, and it takes a few seconds for you to realize that nothing hurt. Peering through your fingers, you could see that his beams were barely grazing you, stopping at some invisible wall. Batman lifts his head just slightly before reaching out an arm, a copious amount of blue dust sprinkling from a gadget. Bizarro readers back as it settles in the air, holding his face in his hands as he inhaled some of it. The floor shakes as he comes to his knees, and Batman is getting off you, pulling you to a stand. “Get up, let’s go,” He urges, and your feet barely touch the ground as he pulls you over the crumbling cement and plaster. He’s pulling you to the batmobile, all but shoving you inside. He’s getting in himself, the car modifying to adjust to sky travels. “Hold on,” He commands before pressing a button. Your body jolts back into the seat as the car jerks forward and up.
“That’s a lot more than Clark had before, but I don’t know how long that’s going to stun him. I’m getting you back to the Fortress where you’ll be safe. He hasn’t come for you before, why now?” You snap on the seatbelt as he goes as far as the clouds allow. “Oh god,” You murmur. You can almost hear Batman’s head snap in your direction. “What did you do?” You look down below as you could see lightning pockets, and the bright white illuminated your face briefly. “I might’ve…beat Lois’s ass,” You wince as he doesn’t respond right away. Silence usually said a lot about the type of person someone was. “Might’ve?” He asks shortly after. You shrink down in the seat just slightly. “Okay…I uh…I fucked her up,” “I told you not to do anything rash,” He replies, and his calm voice is slightly irritating. “Believe me, killing her would’ve been rash and what did you expect me to do? She deserves more than a few punches in the face,” You retort, irritation settling in your tone. What did he expect you to do? What would he have done?
Before you can ask him anything of the sort, there’s this chirping noise coming from the console. He passes a hand over it before something came on the small screen. “What’s that?” He fiddles with a few switches before answering, “That folder locked on Clark’s ship. It’s…it’s not a folder. I was wrong. It’s a failsafe,” You stare at him in confusion, not understanding what he meant. “I’m confused,” He glances over at you before pressing a button, and to you, it feels like you were going even faster than before. “A failsafe is a protocol in which is started by some event. Kind of like a backup. The failsafe was activated two minutes ago. Right when Bizarro came for you,” Your brows furrow. “Let’s say you’re right. What does that mean?” His lips pull into a frown. “I’m not sure,”
As Batman lets the mobile fly to its destination, he’s occasionally looking around to be sure the coast was clear. “He’ll be on us soon, but if we make it into the Fortress, you should be safe,” You glance at him at his lack of including more than one. “You mean we will be safe,” He shakes his head at you then, looking down at the ETA. “We’ve got five minutes. Clark helped me modify this thing to travel almost as fast as him. Bizarro is after you, and I need to find the rest of that kryptonite. It’s the only way to stop him. I’m confident that I can mold it into a weapon or shard. You’ll be safe there,” There is no point in arguing as he seemed adamant on that plan, the last few minutes are spent in tense silence.
Once the car lands, the snowy blizzard before you is freezing, and Batman assists in pulling you towards the door as you shut your eyes against the wind. He’s leading you towards the entrance where you grab the key from around your neck. The door is slowly opening, and you’re bouncing with nerves the longer it took. Once it was open enough to your height at least, you’re making your way inside, pulling on Batman’s cape. Even if he tried to leave now, there wouldn’t be much time. What the two you planned to do here; you didn’t know. As you turn to face the rest of the ship, you’re frozen at the figure before you. This wasn’t the hologram you were used to. His back was to you, but the cape…it looked…real. “Clark?” You whisper, your heart practically pounding out of your chest as you waited for him to turn around. “I’m Clark A1. A clone created by the ship in the event of the failsafe,” You were tired of clones at this point. It turns around, and of course it looks like him. Why wouldn’t it?
“The real Clark is in the chamber. We have approximately 15 minutes and 25 seconds before he wakes from cryo sleep. Until then, please brace for impact,” The door is shutting with a loud crackle that shakes the floor slightly. You turn your attention past him, your breath catching at the sight of Clark. Your Clark. His eyes were closed, his body resting against the chamber he was in, standing upright.
You walk around the two bodies, heading towards the chamber. You raise your hand, cool glass touching your palm and fingers. Your vision blurs slightly as you stare at him. That curl just there on his forehead sat where it always had been before. “How come his body hadn’t…” You trial off, not needing to say the word. “It takes longer for a Kryptonian body to decompose,” You hum softly, staring at the one thing you couldn’t live without.
“I don’t understand. Why…this failsafe…why was it just activated?” Your eyes flicker to the clone behind you as you can see its reflection. “When Clark died, the ship needed a way to thrive, and it could not do so without him. However, the ship can initiate its own failsafe, but only upon a certain command, not of which can be programed by itself. When you were temporarily disabled by the service robot putting you to sleep, it injected you with a device. When your life was being endangered beyond normal capabilities, the failsafe switched on, which programed me to retrieve Clark’s body and put him in the healing chamber. He will be as he was before, intact, the way you knew him. By then, my services will be of no use, and I will shut down until I am needed again,” Your brows crinkle slightly, but you turn your attention back to Clark, seeing his chest slowly rise and fall.
“He’ll need clothes,” You murmur softly. “Taken care of,” You frown slightly, this feeling creeping within you as you looked at him. “Will he be strong enough to beat Bizarro? He can’t go up against him alone,” You turn around to face the clone, and it smiles at you. “He’ll be fine. I promise,” The clone is walking past you and to the computer console, and you follow behind, your brows furrowing as it seemed to be fiddling with controls. “What are you doing?” You question, taken by surprise as the ship suddenly moves, and you hold onto the edge of the console as it jerks forward. You look at the console, seeing beyond to what you now realize are windows, and you’re a mixture of emotions. Apprehensive, awed, slightly worried as the ship was being brought in the sky.
“Hold here please,” It takes your hand, showing you where to hold the lever of sorts, and you grip onto it with both hands giving it an incredulous look. “You know, a warning would been handy next time,” You grunt at how heavy it was to keep in the position it was currently in but bracing your feet and pulling with your body weight seemed to help.
“Make sure he stays in the chamber until the last second, and then I’d advise you to move immediately,” You’re about to ask what the clone was going to do while giving both you and Batman specific orders, but the sudden feeling of cold air whipping past you told you all you needed to know. You’re not sure where the clone went as you were facing the front of the ship, but you knew that you were keeping the ship at a steady altitude as it glided in the air. “How much time?!” Batman calls, and you turn to look at him, trying to see past your whipping hair. “Um, I don’t…I don’t know! Not too much longer I don’t think!”
You turn back towards the map in front of you looking for some sort of clock. You look at all corners, seeing some things in English, but everything else were in symbols. Batman is suddenly appearing next to you, taking out some sort of elastic band. He ties a part of it around the lever before pulling as hard as he could before signaling to let go. As you do so, he’s taking the other part and wrapping it by a nearby notch in the floor, effectively keeping the lever in place. “Keep Clark in the chamber! I’m going to help!” You follow him at his words, grabbing onto his arm to stop him from doing something stupid. “You can’t see out there! We’re in the sky!” Before he can speak, a quick and heavy mass soars past, Clark A1 crashing into the console. There’s nothing to hold onto as the ship starts to sway sideways before slightly evening out.
Almost as if caught in one of those Western standoffs, Bizarro appears, the dark, almost blood-red cape blowing violently, and Clark A1 comes to a quick stand. Batman holds out an arm, keeping you behind him, and for a moment, you’re unsure how this was going to play out. If Bizarro managed to get Clark A1 before Clark could fully wake up, it was over. Batman is backing up, pushing you further away from the fight that was about to happen, and you’re grateful for his presence. Even now, knowing that even he was incapable of doing much in this moment, he was trying.
As if triggered by the sound of hydraulics, you’re turning your head at the sound of the chamber door lifting. There’s this warmth filling the cold emptiness that took residence in your body as you laid eyes on him. It was brief, too quick for your eyes to follow. He was moving faster than your eyes could see, and you saw the reason for the warning. Batman would’ve been obliterated on impact. At the same time, Clark and his clone are moving in sync, crashing into Bizarro, pushing him out the way he came before following after him and into the sky, disappearing from sight.
You could do nothing but stand there, blinking. You had to take a moment to process. “Finally,” Batman murmurs to himself before turning towards you. He’s wobbling slightly the more the ship swayed, and you hold onto him for leverage, snapping from your brief mental reprieve. “We need to get this thing upright before we fall from the sky,” With unbalanced uncertainty, you follow behind Batman, gripping onto whatever you could reach in order to keep from sliding. “I think that’s going to be much more difficult!” The console was halfway destroyed, and the lever was barely holding on at this point, but you both reach for it just as it starts to tip towards the left.
With Batman pushing and you pulling, you’re able to briefly stabilize it, letting out a breath of relief as you could stand upright. The relief is quickly short lived as something is crashing through the side of the ship, straight between the console and the windows, blasting in colder rain and wind. Parts of the ship are falling, and it’s no longer much use to hold something that was no longer stable.
Despite the cowl on his head and his durable suit, Batman is being knocked into you violently by a piece of debris, and with his added weight, the both of you go sliding into a hard surface. Your grunt painfully as it knocks the wind out of you, your hands reaching out to grab at his cape as he slid downward towards the entrance. Bracing your foot against something, you’re able to hold onto his cape, hooking one of the ends to the edge of a corner. Unluckily for you, your foot loses grip with the item you were holding yourself against due to the rain, and you’re sliding down and past Batman, reaching out a hand for anything to hold onto. You caught nothing, unable to even really scream as you slid right out the larger opening. Before you could completely fall off, Batman’s grappling hook is making way past your hand, and you grab it as soon as your fingers are able, your body now dangling off the edge.
You can feel yourself being pulled up, but something tells you it’s no use. That something being the dark, violent, mass barreling towards you. You had the option of letting go and praying to God that one of them caught you or being torn to pieces. At the last moment, you let go, having no idea how high you were in the sky, but you were putting your faith on something. You couldn’t go out like this. Right?
The ship is veering above you, flowing with gravity, and as you try to keep your eyes open enough to see against the violent wind, the lights from the underside of the ship allows you to see that below you was nothing but water. Freezing water, and the only luck you seemed to have was that the ship wasn’t that high which meant the fall into the water would sting, but you’d be alive. You hold your breath, bracing yourself, limbs tensing before you crashed into the icy water, the cold envelops you so instantly it was shock inducing.
You immediately start to swim to the surface, your skin burning through your jacket, and you’re sucking in a deep breath as you break the surface. It was still very dark, and hard to see anything, but you can see the ship spiraling down, and you have to duck under the water just as it crashed above, narrowly avoiding debris as it crashed around you. A sharp piece of metal narrowly misses you, but still tears through your jacket, nicking your side, digging into the side of your flesh for a quick moment. The cold water was already numbing your limbs, so it didn’t hurt as much, but you felt the brief sting it created. Holding your side, you swim up to the surface, or at least attempt to. You couldn’t tell what it was, but your coat had snagged on something. You weren’t the best of swimmers, but you knew enough to move your body about. However, the cold water made you run the risk of needing air sooner than needed. You struggle pulling on your coat, but whatever it was hooked on wasn’t budging. You kept your mouth shut even as your chest started to burn. With both hands, you’re tugging at the zipper on your coat, frantically trying to unzip it or shrug out of it. Panic was starting to settle in now despite trying to keep yourself calm, and the fear of the ocean, drowning, and being stuck, all started to overtake your senses.
This isn’t how you imagined dying.
Before all this, you thought that you’d die of old age one day. Blissfully happy on your deathbed in your 90s. Old, wrinkled, but happy. Was the world this cruel to kill you now? Right on the cusp of having him back? Was this karma? Before your brain could shut down from lack of oxygen, a strong arm is snagging around your waist and jerking your coat free, shooting up through the water, and the ship itself, which would’ve hindered you from reaching the surface anyway.
It takes a moment to realize that just as quickly, you were on ice and soft snow, warm hands holding you to an even warmer chest as you sputtered and coughed, trying to suck in as much air into your lungs as possible. “Breathe,” This was his voice. Soft, but urgent. You try, taking in deep breaths. “Take him back to Gotham! Your service is no longer required!” Clark is yelling over the wind, and you try turning your head just a little, though it’s hard with the way Clark was holding you, shielding you from the cold. You were already shivering as it was. You catch a small glimpse of Batman’s cape before it was being zipped from your eyesight in a blink of an eye.
Clark is grabbing something before placing it on his chest, and you can feel the soft material of his suit against your head. An emotion that felt like elation passes through you, but so much stronger, and you’d cry happy tears if it weren’t for the searing pain at your side. He comes to a stand, holding you with him, but you could tell that he wasn’t 100%. You look around in the semi-dark, spotting the still corpse whose body looked to be decomposing before your eyes. “Is it dead?” You question though, needing reassurance that this was over. Finally over. “Yes,” Clark is pulling you next to him tightly, keeping you as warm as he could. “I’m too weak to fly, but I can carve out a makeshift cave for the night,” You didn’t care where you slept, as long as you were with him, it didn’t matter.
The two of you walked for what felt like forever, but it’s apparent he’s not finding the structure he’s looking for to carve out a cave without too much snow or too little ice. Without much warning, he’s lifting you slightly and leaping off the ground. He’s doing something he’s never done before by jumping from this current position and to the next, closer to actual caves that were miles out. There was one that was deep enough. “In here,” He urges you, having to duck a little bit, ushering you first. You can hear a ripping of fabric before a small fire was being illuminated in front of you.
He used part of his cape to light and burn a small fire, but big enough to emit a bit of warmth. You step away from him slightly, going a bit deeper seeing that it was enough room in the back to lay down. His slight grunt of confusion has you looking towards him, and he’s looking down at his hands. “Are you bleeding?” You’re confused for a moment before you remember that you had a gash in your side. “Oh, yeah,” He’s coming towards you, and your heart almost leaps as you were getting used to not seeing this again. “Let me see,” He murmurs, and you pull off your jacket, staring at him as he takes it and sets it down. He gently lifts your shirt, his eyes darkening for just a moment before he’s looking back at you. “This is going to hurt,” You nod slowly. You’d take this every day than ever having to go through that emotional pain. He’s healing the wound with his laser beams, closing the skin. You grunt in pain, leaning your head against the icy wall. It was over before it began, and Clark briefly assess you for further injury, finding a few nicks and cuts.
As your head leans against the wall, and with his close proximity, your emotions are almost tenfold as you stand there. It’s like you were finally realizing that he was alive, and that it all had been worth it in the end. You were happy and upset all at once, and as you’re being tugged into his chest, his arms circling around you, all you could do in this moment was hold onto him for dear life. “I’m here now,” He soothes into your hair, kissing the top of your head repeatedly. “I’m right here,” He whispers, his lips brushing against your temple and then your cheek before he’s meeting your lips in a soft, long overdue kiss. Your soul felt complete again. You felt complete again, and you melt into his mouth, pouring the things you couldn’t say into this kiss. He pulls away first, pressing one final kiss to your forehead, and you sigh softly.
He’s moving with you towards the back of the cave where you sit against the warm wall. He’s settling alongside you, laying his head on your lap, and your fingers go straight to his hair. “Wake me up if I’m not awake by daylight, I’ll get us home then,” You didn’t have the energy to tell him half of it was destroyed, but you nod, watching the entrance as his warmth seeped into your legs. He kept his arms around your bottom half to keep you from being cold and completely wet. As his eyes start to close, so do yours.
“Clark?” You whisper. “Hmm?” You relish the sound of his voice, taking it in. “I’ve missed you,” You murmur, letting this moment lull you to sleep. “This will never happen again, I promise,” He whispers back, squeezing your legs slightly, nuzzling into your lap. However, there was one thing still on your mind that you wanted to get off your chest, as tired as you were. You wanted him to know the person you became while he was gone before he saw what became of his beloved city. “Clark, I…I did something…something…not horrible but…” He presses closer to you, semi-listening, semi-not, but you take his silence as a means to continue. “I almost…I almost killed Lois, and I was kind of okay with that. I wasn’t as strong as you needed me to be either. It was...hard,” You trail off, feeling like you failed him. At the time, it seemed natural, but now…
“I love you regardless of what you did or did not do, and I don’t blame you for whatever actions you may have taken. As for Lois, she’s no better than Lex or Bizarro. I’ll fix whatever is waiting for me in Metropolis. Rest. You can tell me everything tomorrow,” He whispers, settling into your touch.
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gblghb · 1 month
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ao3feed-brucewayne · 4 months
I don't know why I'm like this, I don't know
by Bean_Cc
Jason tood is in his junior year of high school but when he meets Roy Harper his life is turned upside down. Will he be able to navigate through his teenage feelings and years ?
Words: 824, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: DCU (Comics)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Characters: Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne, Koriand'r (DCU), Wally West, Raven (Teen Titans), Kon-El | Conner Kent, Bart Allen
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Rose Wilson, Artemis of Bana-Mighdall & Bizarro (DCU) & Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Additional Tags: Asexual Character, Trans Character, Bisexual Jason Todd, Bisexual Tim Drake, Stoner Tim Drake, Jewish Bruce Wayne, Jewish Dick Grayson, Jewish Tim Drake, Hispanic Jason Todd, Coming of Age, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Crush, Mute Cassandra Cain, Disabled Character, Autistic Jason Todd, Autistic Tim Drake, Autistic Damian Wayne, Autistic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Has ADHD, Stephanie Brown Has ADHD, Lesbian Character, Jason Todd Has Feelings, Jason Todd Has Mental Health Issues
source https://archiveofourown.org/works/44902990
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ao3feed-jasontodd · 4 months
I don't know why I'm like this I don't know
read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/44903005 by Bean_Cc Jason tood is in his junior year of high school but when he meets Roy Harper his life is turned upside down. Will he be able to navigate through his teenage feelings and years ? Words: 824, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Underage Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne, Koriand'r (DCU), Wally West, Raven (Teen Titans), Kon-El | Conner Kent, Bart Allen Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Rose Wilson, Artemis of Bana-Mighdall & Bizarro (DCU) & Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent Additional Tags: Asexual Character, Trans Character, Bisexual Jason Todd, Bisexual Tim Drake, Stoner Tim Drake, Jewish Bruce Wayne, Jewish Dick Grayson, Jewish Tim Drake, Hispanic Jason Todd, Coming of Age, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Crush, Mute Cassandra Cain, Disabled Character, Autistic Jason Todd, Autistic Tim Drake, Autistic Damian Wayne, Autistic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Has ADHD, Stephanie Brown Has ADHD, Lesbian Character, Jason Todd Has Feelings, Jason Todd Has Mental Health Issues read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/44903005
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nehswritesstuffs · 5 months
Baratie: Home to Chefs, Strays, and the Occasional Sword Goblin - Part 3
There are so many Good Nehs Dopamine Hits in this chapter that it’s almost unreal, ha.
First chapter on [tumblr] - [FFN] - [AO3] 
Prior chapter on [tumblr] - [FFN] - [AO3]
With Usopp about to arrive with reinforcements, Sanji wonders if really can handle taking care of his sister’s kid and all the things that would entail. [4503 words]
The remainder of the day passed without much incident. Sanji kept Asido with him as he concentrated on the chunk of paperwork that, if he was honest, he had been pointedly ignoring up until late. There were some children’s books in the lost and found, so he was able to hand them over and allow his nephew to read to himself while he finally was able to tackle the geezer’s bizarro accounting system. Once that was cracked, he was able to move on to the rest of the work, which was decidedly going to be less frustrating and more boring and trite. It would likely take him the entire time he was waiting on Usopp to finish everything up, especially how his mind kept on wandering while he was working.
There was so much that he did not know the answer to, and that bothered him most of all, he supposed. This kid came out of nowhere, reportedly having been off the radar of a man who was completely and entirely all about how much control he exerted over his children and his subjects. It was even likely that Reiju had been followed to the Baratie, and that their father was exacting his revenge on her at that very moment before handing her over to a different sort of captor. He even burnt himself while lost in thought, cigarette sitting idly between his fingers as he watched his nephew bounce around on the back deck. Hissing at it, he threw the stub in the ocean, more pissed that he forgot about it for half the smoke than anything.
“You alright, Uncle Sanji?” He glanced up and saw Asido staring at him, brows furrowed curiously.
“Yeah—I need to cut back on those things anyhow,” he shrugged. “Say, you’re pretty good at playing by yourself. Who did you play with back home?”
“Mom and Miss Cosette, and they couldn’t always play,” Asido admitted. “I had my own secret room, and when I had to be in there, I played by myself a lot.”
That piqued his interest. “How often were you in this secret room?”
“Sometimes a lot, sometimes not—it depended on Mom and Miss Cosette’s works.” The boy did a cartwheel and almost landed in the ocean, which his uncle deftly stopped with grace only brought on by having minded the Pirate King. “It was okay though, because there was a magic door that Miss Cosette made food appear in, and there was a Den Den that Mom would check with me on, and windows like sunglasses so I could see out and no one could see in.”
“My sister knows how to keep her son safe, after all,” Sanji said. The smile on his face did not reach his eyes—just another thing he needed to ask about. “Say, your mom didn’t teach you anything about fighting, did she?”
“Fighting? Only that it’s bad.”
“Well, yeah, it’s bad, but what if someone bad tries to fight you, or steal you, and there’s no other choice?”
“Oh…” The boy went quiet and still, attempting to think clearly. “No… why?”
“This ship gets attacked by bad guys sometimes, and I was thinking that you need to make sure you know how to fight if you’re gonna stay here.”
“Fight like Sora?”
Somewhere inside Sanji, a knife twisted ever so slightly.
“No, but I was thinking that maybe I could help you. That cartwheel you did reminds me of stuff I can do, stuff I can do while fighting, even if it’s just for fun.”
“Why would fighting be fun?”
Sanji didn’t want to tell Asido just yet about the dangers of the seas, how there would be people willing to kill him, to kill for him, to love him, to drive him to ruin, and he needed to be prepared for them all. He thought about petty squabbles with a living scrap of moss, but also a lone, odd night where they made certain they were alive in a very different way. That was once though—a slip—and it wasn’t like it was brought up ever again.
“It can be, because it gets you moving, and your blood pumping, and sometimes in order to not fight-fight, you got to pretend-fight so that you don’t get cranky and grumpy.”
“Ah.” He watched the gears in the boy’s head crank slowly yet methodically. “What can you do, Uncle Sanji?”
Chuckling, Sanji used Skywalk to hop up to the very top of the ship, coming back down again to a very excited Asido. The boy had stars in his eyes as he stared at his uncle, as though he’d just met the hero from the comic pages.
“Wow! When can I learn how to do that?!”
“You gotta master a bunch of other stuff first,” Sanji laughed. Asido pouted, looking like he was going to cry. “Since you seem to be good with cartwheels, do you want to work on flips first? I think you’d do pretty well with those.”
...and so they worked on tumbling for the better part of the afternoon, Sanji guiding the boy’s body as he slowly went through motions his own limbs were well-practiced in. They eventually went inside when it was time to make dinner, with Asido quietly watching the kitchen work in tandem as he stayed in the corner, safe and out of the way. Carne kept staring at nephew and uncle, wondering what it was that he believed, though it also meant that he was being glared at by Sanji, the other man making himself loud and clear without uttering a word.
Anyone were to question the boy and they would see the flaming side of his heel. No exceptions.
Rain moved in while they were eating, and that ended up being the end of training for the day. Thunder rumbled lowly in the distance, though the waves did not become too terribly high; it was the benefit of being in shallow waters with light wind, the crew knew, and they went to bed knowing the ship was strong and the cupboards were sealed tight for a reason.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Asido wondered as he looked all around the bedroom. It was one of the spares that dominated Zeff’s floor of the crew’s quarters, the dresser of which Sanji was currently placing the majority of his nephew’s things.
“This room should get used anyhow; there could be ten visitors up here, me included, and the geezer would still have more than enough room to swing his peg around,” Sanji explained. He didn’t say that it was because Zeff anticipated more than a few comings and goings of his foster son’s crew, but that was a fact better left unsaid for the time being. “I think next time we go into port, we should get you some more clothes.”
“…but I like my clothes.”
“I’m sure you do, but you also didn’t come with very many, and I don’t want to be doing laundry constantly.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, mussing it so his eyebrows peeked out from under his bangs. “Besides, you look like you’re about to grow soon, so we should get you stuff in bigger sizes too.”
“How can you tell?!” Asido’s eyes were wide, making Sanji chuckle.
“It’s a power grownups have,” he only half-lied. “Now climb into bed so you can get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”
“We do…?”
“Yeah—there’s some special guests coming, one of whom I haven’t seen in a long time. He’s kind of an idiot, but very, very nice. I think you’ll like him.”
Asido climbed into the bed and settled in under the covers. The entire thing seemed to engulf him, as it was a mattress meant for a full-grown adult more than a little kid. He stared at Sanji expectantly, unsure of what to say.
“What is it, azuki?”
“Do uncles give goodnight kisses?”
“Of course we do.” Sanji went into his memory of every time his mother kissed either him or Reiju, trying to remember what it was like. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead, which elicited a content squeak. “Better…?”
“Yeah. Thank you, Uncle Sanji. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, azuki bean.”
Another check of the room and Sanji left for his own, deciding it had been a busy enough day for him to turn in a bit earlier than usual. Light was still peeking out from under Zeff’s door, and he left the old man alone. Instead he went and showered, letting the spray run so hot it burned his skin a deep pink.
He wondered if he was strong enough to do this.
Fucking hell, what did Reiju just do to him? He went through the motions slowly, not getting out of the shower until after his skin was starting to prune. Taking him for a week or a month would have been one thing, a fair warning would have been another, but… how did she know to send him there? Did she know he would look at the boy and see a happier version of himself? She had to—his elder sister knew what manipulation was and how to use it to her advantage. He was going to have to go through Zeff’s newspaper collection and see what sort of things Germa had been up to the past six years, as much as it pained him to think of it. Maybe it could give him some clues without writing Reiju some very direct questions… or Cosette for that matter… and that didn’t even get into the fact of he had so little to give the child now slumbering in the other room that he would even need to consider turning to public records for answers.
Towel-dried and in pajamas, Sanji laid down in bed, taking comfort in the act of being horizontal. It had been a long day and he needed to relax. He tried to unwind his brain by going into a list of all the things that Usopp enjoyed eating, since he was presumably staying for at least a dinner and a breakfast. It was just beginning to work when he heard his door creak open—it was Asido, the boy quietly closing the door behind him.
“Hey, why aren’t you in bed?” he asked. The boy’s eyes reached the floor in embarrassment.
“Uncle Sanji…? Can I stay with you…?”
He exhaled heavily and pulled back the blanket. “C’mon kiddo, get in here.” Asido immediately launched himself into the bed and snuggled up against Sanji’s chest, making his uncle frown. “Hey, hey, what’s this about? You alright…?”
“I had a bad dream,” the boy whimpered. Sanji tucked the kid in and laid his arm atop the blanket, hugging him protectively. After all, when it was said and done, he was still just a scared little boy without his mom for the first time.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“…no.” A pause. “Is that okay…?”
“Sometimes, you can’t talk about things like that for a long time,” Sanji mused. He thought about his own childhood nightmares, and how he hoped his nephew’s were nowhere near as bad. “I’ve had my fair share of bad dreams—I get it.”
A nod. “I miss Mom.”
“I miss her a lot too.” Sanji stroked the boy’s hair, reminded of the way Zeff used to calm him down. “You know… I think I remember a lullaby from when your mom and I were kids. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes, please,” Asido whimpered.
Sanji reached back into the recesses of his memory and began to sing softly. He certainly was no Soul King, but the words passed over his lips as though he had last heard it a fortnight prior, not twenty years. Tears silently fell from his eyes as he blinked in the darkness, emotions he thought he had worked past bubbling to the surface.
By the time the song was done, the boy was fast asleep, if still trembling, and it was all his uncle could do to not give in himself. The pain had been dulled with time, he thought, except having Asido curled into him, desperate for his protection, made it all flare up as though the wound was still open and raw. To make it all worse, Sanji wasn’t even entirely certain who to be angry with—his father? His sister? His nephew’s father, whomever that was? The rich dipshit over in Notice who was likely attempting to canoodle with the wrong woman? He didn’t know, but then again… how could he?
Another low rumble of thunder punctuated the fall of the rain and Sanji felt himself drift off towards sleep as he thought about menu options, grounded to the child shivering in his grasp.
The storm broke overnight and, came with it, a gentle dawn with calm seas and a clear sky. Sanji let Asido sleep in his bed while he went and made breakfast, allowing him and Zeff to eat alone.
“Look at it this way: at least you know the likelihood they are the same nightmares you had as a kid is low,” Zeff shrugged. “I’d take that as a win if I were you.”
“A hollow victory, since I still don’t know what’s going on,” the younger man replied. “At least Usopp will get here today—I don’t like this waiting bullshit.”
“It could be worse—he could be bringing your captain over.” Sanji shuddered at that.
“The kid needs to adjust first before he meets Luffy. Fuck, it’s a risk just bringing Usopp into all this.”
“They’re your friends, eggplant.”
“Yeah, who I made with no thoughts of ever running into anyone from before the Baratie ever again.” He looked at the small photo in the society section of the paper and frowned. “She looks so miserable.”
“She’s smiling.”
“I know that smile—that’s not a good smile.”
The air sat heavy between them as Sanji continued to look at the paper. As much as he wished he could wholly sever himself from his childhood, the fact remained that he was still terribly attached no matter how hard he tried. One look at Reiju and he saw their mother, and with her, a life they could have had all this time. What sort of resistance there would have been were she still breathing, what could have changed if he weren’t the only one who left, what paths their lives could have taken…
“Son…” Zeff placed his hand on Sanji’s wrist, the act pulling the latter back into the room. He felt his face and realized it was wet with tears.
“She’s not coming back for him, is she?” Sanji asked quietly. “She left him here because neither of us fit in and never will, even if we try. He’s been abandoned.”
“Part of me completely agrees with that,” Zeff frowned, “but only part. Without her around to show the family resemblance, he looks enough like your kid to where snoops won’t ask the wrong questions, and I think abandoned is too strong a word to use if he got brought to the only other member of his family that knows what it’s like to be on the outside.”
“It’s not fair to any of us.”
“I didn’t say anything about fairness, eggplant.”
“…but what happens when Chopper clears you to take back the restaurant? What then?”
“Don’t think about that shit—we’ll get there when we get there.”
“…but I don’t know…!”
“Uncle Sanji…? Grandpa Zeff…?” The two men looked to see that Asido had finally woken up and had shuffled into the room. “Why didn’t you get me up?”
“Nightmares need a little extra sleeping time to go away,” Sanji said, passing the newspaper to Zeff for safekeeping. Asido went red and looked down at the carpet, though Zeff let out a laugh instead.
“He knows from experience, azuki,” he chortled. “I used to let him sleep in the morning after a nightmare too. Seems to me it’s like uncle like nephew.” He watched as Asido slowly raised his eyes and looked at him, squeaking in terror before going to sit at what was now his place at the table. “Come now—no reason to be scared here. That dream can’t hurt you when the sun is up and we’re around.”
“He’s right; it can’t,” Sanji agreed. He watched as Asido nibbled at his toast with jam. “Hey, what’s wrong, Asido? Still the dream?”
“What don’t you know?” the boy asked. Sanji glared at Zeff for a moment before turning back to his nephew.
“I don’t know when our visitor is coming later,” he only semi-lied. Fuck—at this rate, he was going to need to take pointers from Usopp while he was on the ship. “Do you remember me telling you last night? About our visitors?”
“Yeah… but I thought you did know when he was coming.”
“Maybe later today, maybe tomorrow if the wind is bad,” Sanji explained. “Now let’s hurry up so I can get a cigarette in before we pop in the office for the day.”
“That stuff makes you stinky,” Asido giggled, wrinkling his nose. Zeff his a laugh behind a cough, earning him a glare from his son.
“Maybe figuring out what I can do instead can be a project for the two of us, hmm?” Sanji posed. His nephew brightened, sending a shiver down his spine.
“You can teach me more of the flippy stuff!” Zeff raised an eyebrow curiously. “Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you last night at dinner! Uncle Sanji’s teaching me how to make sure I can fight enough so I don’t get stoleded if bad guys come here!”
“Stolen,” Sanji corrected, tips of his ears turning pink. “So you don’t get stolen, Asido.” He didn’t need to see Zeff’s face to know the bastard was grinning nearly as wide as his mustache. “That might be something for you and Grandpa Zeff to do once he is allowed to move around a bit more. He was the one who taught me the basics.”
“Feeling better or not, I’m still an old man,” Zeff chuckled. “I can supervise and make sure that Uncle Eggplant is teaching the azuki properly, but my fighting days might just be a thing of the past, aside from putting the odd greenhorn or two in line.”
“Fucking troublesome,” Sanji growled. “Either you’re done or you’re not.”
“Gotta keep him on his toes,” Zeff told Asido, giving the boy a wink. The child giggled—mission accomplished.
“Alright, breakfast’s over; get to your room and pick out your clothes for the day. I’ll be in to help you wash soon.”
“Oh, I can do that, Uncle Sanji!” Asido claimed. “I did it myself all the time at home!”
“Then go show me how big of a boy you are and get ready—I’ll be in to check on you in fifteen minutes.”
At that, Asido hopped off his chair and ran from the room. Sanji gave Zeff an exasperated look and the older man chuckled.
“Yes, you should be tired just watching him,” Zeff chortled. “I went through the same shit with you.”
“I wasn’t that bad, was I?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny, brat.” The older man could not help but give the younger a shit-eating grin—fucking bastard was enjoying this. “Now get going, or the kid’ll beat you to the punch.”
“Sounds like you know from experience.”
Zeff glanced down at his newspaper and pretended to not hear Sanji. Rolling his eyes, the blond took the dishes with him to the kitchen and made sure all the shifts were covered and roles assigned before heading back to his charge. Sure enough, it was fifteen minutes nearly to the second, and Asido was struggling with getting his shirt on correctly. Sanji disengaged the boy from the garment and eased it on him, a bright smile as his thanks.
“What are we going to do today, Uncle Sanji?” Asido wondered.
“Well, we are mostly going to stay in the office until our visitors get here, and then we’re going to be with them until the end of the day.” Sanji left the room and started walking down the stairs to the deck, his nephew close behind. “You know, my friend is bringing someone to help out with you… to watch over you while I work, since the kitchen is too busy for you right now and the geezer can’t physically keep up for long.”
“Oh, like Mom and Miss Cosette taking turns watching me?” Asido asked. Once they were out on the deck he began to bounce around and try out some of the moves he was shown the day before with disturbing accuracy.
“Exactly… I…” Sanji watched the boy as he tumbled about, marveling at his ability to pick things up. His Lineage Factor might not have been altered directly by Judge’s hands, but the boy was still showing the effects of the fucker’s tampering with Reiju. “You know that I’ll still be easy to find, right?”
“Well, yeah—you’ll just be in the kitchen working.” Asido looked at him, head tilted, and seemed nearly Luffy-like in his ability to appear as though he knew everything that Sanji wanted to say. “It’s part of being an adult, right? Working?”
“I normally work a lot of hours, and there might be days where you don’t see me for anything other than meals, if that.” He choked down his emotions, making sure to seem strong and resilient for the lad. “I just don’t want you to think that I’m sick of you, or don’t want you around.”
“Mom said we were going to a fun place,” Asido claimed. “Why would she say this is a fun place, but then you want me to leave?”
Oh, the things he wanted to tell the boy, that he wanted to instill in him; it was neither the time, nor place, however, and he simply offered a wan smile instead.
“Just covering my bases,” Sanji claimed. “Now let me adjust your form—you’re really-super close to getting this right…”
About half of the morning passed with Sanji helping Asido tumble and flip on the deck before they went inside to the office. Once the shopping list for the dry goods run was complete, it was time to make lunch, and they returned to the tiny room after what was thankfully an uneventful meal. They worked quietly, with Sanji tackling payroll and Asido kept busy with books and crayons from the lost-and-found, until about an hour before the dinner rush, when a waiter poked his head in nervously.
“Uh… sir…? You have a visitor.” Sanji glanced at him, trying not to seem hopeful.
“Long nose, more hair than he seems to know what to do with, nervous knees?”
The waiter paused at that. “Braided until about here…?” He awkwardly chopped the base of his own skull with his hand. “Otherwise… well… yeah…”
“Thank fuck, it’s Usopp.” He put his pen down and looked at Asido. “C’mon—our visitor is here. Let’s go meet him.”
“Oh, cool!”
The boy eagerly abandoned his coloring project to grab onto his uncle’s hand and get led through the restaurant to the back deck, where all the varying small craft the staff used was moored up. As Sanji approached the small boat with a familiar jolly roger, he noticed three pint-sized terrors running up to him.
“Uncle Sanji!” the children gasped. Asido hid behind the blond while the other children slammed into the man’s legs, the combination nearly knocking him over. Give him a ship full off attacking pirates any day, but preschoolers? He was dead.
“...and how are you ladies doing?” he laughed. He looked at the girls and tried not to scream—this was not what he asked for, no matter how precious they were. “Did Mom come with you?”
“Nuh-uh!” the eldest said, shaking her blonde curls exaggeratedly. “She needs to stay home annacanta the baby making her feel gross!”
“Do you mean ‘on account of’?”
She thought about it. “Yes!” Her twin sisters giggled—oh, their father was in for it.
Speaking of, Sanji glanced up and saw Usopp ducking behind the supply boat, which caused him to frown. “Get out here, you coward, and meet my nephew.”
“Oh, I wasn’t hiding—what gave you that idea?” Usopp laughed nervously as he walked into view. He visibly cringed as Sanji gave him a look questioning the presence of the children, though didn’t offer a verbal reply. Instead, he let his daughters flock to him, the girls bringing him over to the chef. “So, where’s the lucky kid?”
“Right here,” Sanji said. He looked behind him at the child clutching the back of his trouser legs and pat his head. “Come on, Asido—meet Usopp and the girls. Merry’s just a little older than you. I think they’ll be great cousins.”
Cautiously, Asido poked his head around his uncle’s legs and stared at the newcomers. He balled the pants fabric in his fists, unsure about how to greet the strangers, specifically the ones more his size. The eldest girl approached him, a big smile on her face.
“Hi! I’m Merry!” she said brightly. “I’m almost five, and these are my sisters, Montie and Lea! They’re two and a half! Montie looks like Mom, and Lea looks like Dad, but I look like them both! You kinda look like Uncle Sanji, don’t you? Your eyebrows kind of give it away! Dad says you’re Uncle Sanji’s nephew-nephew, which is different from him being my uncle because him and Dad are friends, and…”
“Merry, give the boy a break,” Usopp sighed. He knelt down in front of Asido and gave him a gentle smile. “Hey, kiddo, you get Sanji taking care of you and you gain a whole ship full of extra bonus aunts and uncles. I’m the best one: Captain Usopp!”
“Uncle Sanji… I don’t feel so good…” Asido mumbled, reaching to be picked up. Sanji scooped the boy up in his arms and rested him against his hip, allowing him to cling to him and bury his face in his chest.
“He’s still a little shy—a lot of this is new to him,” he explained. Merry pouted sourly, while the twins looked confused. Usopp nodded in understanding, however, as he rose to his feet. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing the ladies… or that Kaya is stuffed… again…”
“Yeah, well, we thought some Mommy Alone Time would be nice, and it gives the girls a chance to meet the little guy. Plus, well, they wanted some more time with their babysitter.”
“…and who the flip might that be?”
Right on cue, a familiar yawn came from Usopp’s boat, making Sanji’s stomach drop. He looked towards the craft and saw Zoro stepping out, looking as though he was fresh from a nap.
Oh, fuck.
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lordeemailarchive · 1 year
(24/05/2022) (Solar Institute Bulletin No. 14) (From Leeds)
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5 minutes post show, taking it all off 
Bonjourrrrrrrr to all the cuties in my e address book!!!!!!! It’s been two weeks and two days since the final curtain fell in the U.S. Feels both like ages ago and yesterday. I lay around in Santa Barbara for a few days after everyone went back, complete solitude feeling bizarro after five weeks of bus life, walking along the beach deep in thought about you. I can’t get over how generous and loving and supportive an audience you were each night. I’ve honestly never had such a good touring experience. I met Annie-B for a drink in New York and she kept talking about what she called the chanting, all of you singing every word of every song with me, it isn’t normal, all my colleagues whose first tour with us it is are in disbelief like, they really know EVERY word. You do. I’m so lucky to have you. Thankyou for coming — I’ll come again as soon as you’ll have me.
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Some of Lauren’s pics from the last couple days — our first outdoor SP show 🌙😮‍💨
In the break, my priority was to rest. Two nasty sicknesses in two weeks and a gross wet cough hanging around, had to dry it out, get better for you. I didn’t fully rest, if I’m honest, there’s a fire lit under me at the moment, did some secret things in NY and LA for a week or so before getting to London last week. I get fucked by the jet lag coming this way every time, so I decided to be nice to myself for a change and fly a week early. I got in at midday, sun shining, arrived at the hotel feeling nauseous and corpse-adjacent, but I grabbed a sugar free Red Bull (it makes no sense to me that caffeine-wise I cannot drink so much as a strong black tea yet a RB gives me jitterless wings, deeply off brand but leaning in) and got on the move, walking fast, music in my ears, feeling this fizz of excitement growing being back in London finally after 3 (!!) years. I honestly had one of the best afternoons I’ve had all year, just walking with music loud in my headphones, the same thing I’ve been doing since I was a teen, still feeling as good as it ever did. Spent days like this, blissing out on the very specific UK energy of people in pubs, people playing football or sprawling out in the parks, a boy flying past me on a bike screaming “YASS METHOD ACTING” at dusk on a Wednesday, smoked mackerel salad at Cafe Deco. So happy to be stepping over British gobs of spit once more.
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Jetlagged but joyful in london, a little magic trip out of town, before that 3 days in NY, bought this Balenciaga shirt what do u think
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Me in Paris…. The ORIGINAL ‘can u reach me?’ queen
I’m feeling really good, really open. Possibility all around. Puuuumped for Europe. Can’t believe I’ll be seeing you all again, so special coming to your cities, each one so different and offering us so much in the way of food, art, language. Gonna try to sightsee as much as I can.I think you’re gonna fall in love with Marlon. If you haven’t heard his music before, start with Come To Me, Nobody Gets What They Want Anymore, his new song My Boy, Dark Child, and Vampire Again. Few tickets left for these shows.
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THE RUMOURS ARE TRUE…………….IN VERY EXCITING NEWS WE ARE COMING TO MEXICO IN OCTOBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Our shows are in Mexico City, Guadalajara and Monterrey, and it would mean the world to me if you came!!! I adore playing in Mexico, and I’m so happy this is happening…. Think I’m gonna add some special mx-only setlist moments… watch this space… The tickets go onsale Monday May 30 at 11am your time, and the presale code is strangeairlines Reading Fleur Jaeggy’s Sweet Days Of Discipline, Ernaux’s A Girl’s Story, Saunders’ A Swim In a Pond In the Rain, which I bought when it came out and didn’t get round to but a friend is currently reading it and inspired me to get it out. Lauren gave me Shine Bright: A Very Personal History of Black Women in Pop by Danyel Smith which I’m hyped to hit next. VERY happy that Elif Batuman has released Either/Or, the follow-up to The Idiot, which you may remember me recommending previously. Suitcase is basically full of books at this point. I’m loving Kendrick. I cannot get over the most popular and influential artist in modern music displaying a working nervous system, admitting mistakes, trying to process intergenerational trauma and prejudice. I love the way the album opens, the pace and heat of the first few songs, and later Count Me Out, the build and strings in Auntie Diaries … special.
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Checking in on my SCsWWtS… Look at Katia’s sunshine caprese, and Connor’s focaccia. SP as food is really a zone of great delight to me— always send these to Ophelia. 
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Check out Alexander’s server who is a DEAD RINGER FOR ME????? 
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Love seeing Seth’s merch on the beach — please send me pics of merch in nature this summer, I really love seeing it. Should add that i forgot to pack a cap on this trip and am wearing this cap every fucking day, kind of embarrassing, if you have an old cap you are parting with and think i’d like send me an email hahaha
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Ash’s gorgeous tattoo, and a sliver of her Melo one above. 
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DEVON CAME TO ELEVEN SHOWS ON THE U.S. RUN, THAT MUST BE SOME KIND OF RECORD, THANKYOU DEVON I AM NOT WORTHY!!! Alright, that’s all for now….. Leaving you with a paragraph from this brilliant New Yorker essay on parenting by Jia that’s staying with me: “The work demanded creativity and intuition: spending a day alone with my infant daughter reminded me of shepherding a friend through a first-time acid trip, continually gauging whether she needed to look at a flower, or listen to music, or sob for ten minutes, or be alone in the dark.” Can’t wait to be shepherding each other again in a few days. Loving you, always, forever, L xxxxxxx
(source: received this email)
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easeknee0 · 1 year
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