#but honestly.. i feel so much better the more i keep drawing these fellas

[kogglyuffs]

practicing w vincerody cuzzzzzzzzzz

[house-of-slayterr]

What if Hannibal Lector met Leatherface? Also would they be besties?

Well that would depend on who he’s meeting.

Bubba:

Hannibal would immediately see all the red flags. But like the dumbass he is, Hannibal just puts on his rose coloured glasses. What a distinguished gentlefolk is stood before him. He, as a doctor, can help Bubba with their genderfluid expression. He can write the killer doctors notes for whatever they need to transition. Hannibal would see them as a charity case at first.

Hannibal has come across killer cannibals before, he usually liked to kill off of frame those stepping into hai territory. But he’s got a soft spot for Bubba. Despite having seen them saw someone in half and eat their heart, Hannibal was still fully convinced they wouldn’t kill a fly if not provoked first. They were polite and kind, and that’s something Hannibal highly admires. He’d give Bubba better tips for skinning people to make their masks. That way Bubba can feel pretty!

Thomas:

Now Thomas is a big man. Hannibal at first might be a little intimidated by his size. But of course he won’t show it. He’d take to Thomas like he did to Will. Wanting to get inside this giants head and see what makes him tik. Similar to Jed, he’d also teach Thomas some better techniques, and probably teach him so defence techniques so he’s less likely to get killed by victims. Can’t have his favorite experiment die now.

Of course, that’s how it started. He was just a patient, something to keep Hannibal’s mind occupied. But he actually find pleasure in the gentle giants company. He’s quiet, and attentive, Hannibal and him can just sit and eat, listening to music in the background. Classical calms Tommy’s nerves, and he finds comfort in the older man’s company. He’s much nicer than Hoytt or Monty.

Jed:

Sweet baby Jed. Hannibal would have another Abigail moment. He’d fall in love with this kid, every fatherly instinct he’s ever had rearing it’s head. Hannibal would protect Jedediah at all costs. Teaching him how to be more stealthy and clean up after himself. Cooking grand meals and spoiling the boy. Hannibal can and will kill for this little fella.

Leather:

Now I don’t think Leather and Hannibal would get along at all. Leather is the most unpredictable of of the Leatherface’s. He’s a bit more jumpy and quick to draw his weapon, but I don’t really think there’s much going on in that head of his. Of course you have the issue of Vilmer being around too. That guy would be strangled in two second after opening his mouth.

There ain’t much for Hannibal to do here. I mena besides the Cannibalism, they couldn’t be more different. Hannibal would see him as more savage and less sophisticated. Like the types of people who become cannibals out of necessity. He would pity Leather, and honestly the good doctor would think he was doing him a service, putting him down before he gets caught.

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Bachelor

A birthday gift for @bellafarallones. Part 3 of the TAZ Amnesty Bachelor AU (sternclay and indruck were the first two) AKA what Vincent was up to. Apollo is from my Amnesty Super Hero fic

The entire United States to choose from and this is the best the producers could find? He’s going to win this thing with his eyes closed. Then it’s a hop, skip, and jump to some endorsement deals, his own spin-off, and then a prime time hosting slot. 

Oh, and a marriage. But that should be easy; any guy would count themselves lucky to have him.

God, that pool will be great for Instagram shots. Luckily the producers knew their biggest draw when they saw him and agreed to let Indrid continue his work as Apollo’s personal photographer and assistant. He may be a disappointment to the Cold name, but he’s good with a camera and has no interest in being recorded for the show. And if, god forbid, Apollo comes down with a cold during filming, someone will be there to bring him Day-Quil. After all, if he lets anyone see Apollo in a vulnerable state, Apollo will just have to send their father an email about Indrid’s latest failure. 

“It’s times like this we should be grateful for our genes. I know I am.” He glances at his twin, pausing his gaze on his silver hair and tattoos.

“You dye yours too. And I think there are more than a few handsome men here, so don’t get cocky.” His attention shifts for a moment as a man dressed like Smokey the Bear passes them.

“Oh come on, even with those pretentious glasses you can see I’m a cut above.”

“If you say so. And if you want to do shots of you in your suit, we need to start soon, so kindly find your room so we can get on with it.”

--------------------------------------------------

Not only is this easy, it’s fun. The cameras love him, and most of his fellow contestants yield to him after one remark. He’s been watching Vincent, the bachelor for this season, closely during group interactions, and it’s clear he’s already developing favorites. Annoyingly, two in particular--Joseph and Duck--are more inclined to push back at him. But it doesn’t matter; everyone has weaknesses. He’ll find theirs soon. 

Tonight is his first formal date with Vincent. They’re at an Italian place with good lighting, and Vincent is perfectly nice to look at in his lavender dress shirt and silver tie. Apollo’s done his research; Vincent is ten years his senior, took an early retirement from a position in the department of defense and now runs two consulting businesses; one for banks and museums and one for domestic violence shelters, health clinics, and other places where doing good draws enemies. The first business subsidizes the second. Vincent enjoys tennis and running, has no Instagram presence, and is an only child. 

Apollo has his plan of attack; the trouble is, Vincent isn’t interested in sitting there and being flattered (though he does blush when Apollo says the tie makes the grey in his hair look all the more distinguished). He wants to know about Apollo. 

“When you’re not taking photos, what do you like to do?”

He doesn’t correct him about who takes the pictures, smiles, “I, ah, I go to the gym.”

“I have to say it shows.” Vincent winks. It’s so corny, but Apollo can’t find it in him to hate it, “any sports, or just things like weights and cardio?”

‘

“No, but I played football in high school. I was star running back.”

“I played my freshman year, but baseball suited me better. So when you're not ‘pumping iron’, what do you do for fun?”

There is no answer that won’t make him look too shallow or too...no, he can’t even think about that option. Damn it, he must have a normal hobby. He hedges with the truth and hopes the editors cut it for time. 

“I like movies. I, ah, I’ve been working my way through the Criterion Collection of the birth of cinema  and it’s fascinating. Did you know there was a silent film heartthrob who predates Valentino?”

“Sessue Hayakawa?” 

“You know about him?” He leans forward.

“I read a biography of him last year that was riveting. I still have it if you’d like to borrow it.”

“Yes, yes absolutely. We, we could even watch some of his films together, and the ones they inspired, you know they, they…” 

Fuck, he’s acting like Indrid, bumping the table and yammering about things that will get him nowhere. He sits back, grabs his wine and sips to cover his error. 

“I’d like that.” Is all Vincent says as they’re entrees arrive. 

“Enough about me. I was reading about your business and, ah, well, how do you even do something like that?”

Vincent describes his process, how he picks clients and what he considers when evaluating a space. Apollo fully intends to zone out with a smile. 

He hangs on every word. All too soon, Vincent is asking for dessert. 

“Is your meal okay?”

Apollo looks at the plate of spaghetti carbonara he’s been poking at, not wanting to be caught in an ugly expression while eating, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

Dessert arrives in the shape of a chocolate lava cake with sparklers, a detail which delights Vincent. It’s such a ridiculous thing to smile over. Apollo smiles back, and let’s his date feed him a bite of cake. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Was the beach trip self-serving on Vincent’s part? Indeed. Has it also given him valuable intel? Yes, yes it has.

He now knows who’s going home next; Nico is such a fraternity-bred asshole that he should have sent him packing weeks ago. Honestly, all his comments about Barclay this morning were awful. Barclay is masculine and sweet in a way Vincent adores. He even helped Joseph during the cliff dive, which bumps him even higher in Vincent’s eyes. 

Joseph stealthily knocking Nico’s hat from his head with a frisbee was also a high point; goodness, Joseph reminds him of men he used to work with who he never, ever, admitted his feelings for (they were often his subordinates, and he prided himself on keeping a safe department). 

Then there’s Duck. Vincent would like an award for not spending the morning asking to rub sunblock on those arms. He’s been treated to a closer view of them the last half-hour, Duck sitting next to him in a Hawaiin shirt that shows off his biceps. The ranger just now excused himself (“gotta give the other fellas a chance to impress”) to go keep Indrid company during dinner. Polite and friendly to the core, that’s his favorite bear. 

And then there’s-

“Hiiii Vincent.” Apollo slides into the spot closest to him on the restaurant deck. 

Were Vincent choosing for an evening, Apollo would edge out even Duck. He suspects getting the younger man under some comfortable sheets to praise and fuss over him would be very nice indeed. Apollo may posture and insist to the others that he’s the dominant one in the bedroom, but this isn’t Vincent’s first go around; he knows someone who longs to be spoiled and submissive when he sees one.

But he’s here to choose his husband, not a hook-up. 

He initially assumed he’d send Apollo home after their first formal date. He knows these shows sometimes attract people who want their fifteen minutes of fame, and Apollo is one of them. But then his meticulously built image cracked, just a little, as they talked, and Vincent is so taken by what he saw that he can’t bring himself to send him home yet.

The older man slides the younger one an oyster, “try one, they’re local.”

There’s no appealing way to eat an oyster on camera, but Apollo lifts a shell and downs one. He does an excellent job masking his grimace.

“Another? Or would you like one of the grilled scallops instead?”

He watches him run a calculus. Then he slides his sunglasses down, “Scallop, please.”

Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

-------------------------

“Indrid, Vincent hates me!”

Indrid blinks at him.

“One of the other contestants got them to show him a bunch of footage of me putting the other men in their place and now he hates me.” Genuine panic rises in his chest as Indrid gives him absolutely no expression to work from. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to him, tell him that I’m not-”

“What you actually are? Vincent is here to choose a spouse; he has a right to not choose you.”

“Fix. It.” Apollo snarls.

His twin stands, regarding him from across the rug, “I will speak to Vincent, on one condition; you do not go after Duck ever again.”

“Traitor, you should be on my side, not his.”

Indrid shrugs, sits back down and picks up his book. 

“I’ll, I’ll tell father you’re sabotaging me.”

“You think he’ll like to hear you’re being out done by his inferior son?”

“....Damn it. Fine, fine. I’ll leave Newton alone. Now go.”

His brother has the audacity to grin at him, “I will, right after I finish this chapter.”

---------------------------------------------

He’s sitting with Duck and Joseph, asking their opinion, when Indrid enters the living room.

“Did Apollo send you?” Vincent picks lint from his cardigan. 

“Yes. He’s asking me to intercede on his behalf since he thinks you hate him.”

“Oh dear, I don’t hate him. I just said I was disappointed in him.”

“Ah” Indrid perches on the arm of Duck’s chair, “That’s our father’s code for ‘I hate you.”

“Jesus.” Duck mutters.

“I suspected he was exaggerating. That’s why I agreed to talk to you; I’ve learned it’s best to verify anything  he tells me. In truth, I can’t do much for him.  If it’s not obvious, he takes after our father and our father is...not a good man. We each survive him in our own way; Apollo chose to mold himself into what he demanded we be. That does not excuse him. But perhaps it puts him into perspective.”

Vincent knows he’s not sending Apollo home this week; it’s still Nico’s turn. And his heart that taps his chest to ask, “Do you think he could change?”

Indrid says nothing. Duck is keeping his mouth shut, but his frown suggests his answer.

“This is not to defend him but” Joseph looks at Indrid, “you grew up under the same conditions and chose not to replicate them. That suggests it’s possible.”

“I just didn’t want to end up like him.” Indrid murmurs.

“And ‘possible’ don’t mean probable.” Duck adds.

Vincent rubs his temples, “You’re right. All of you. I...I think I need some time to decide how many chances to be the person I think he can be I ought to give him.”

---------------------------------------

Apollo isn’t sure what to expect. The last time Vincent asked to see him, it was to scold him. Three guys have gone home since then, and he’s been fighting back his impulses to torment and gloat, focusing instead on  making Vincent like him instead of undermining the competition. 

The door opens on a room with a bed, lots of candles, and…

“Is that whale song?”

“Yes. I picked a ‘soothing’ playlist to fit the mood.” Vincent is in linen pants and a button up short sleeve, pats the bed with a smile, “I thought a nice massage might do you good. Non-sexual, of course” he tips his head at the camera.

Apollo isn’t shy. His thirst traps are legendary. But he lays on his stomach the instant he’s down to his underwear. Vincent hums as he starts on his shoulders, checking in now and then about pressure. It would be nice if Apollo’s skin weren’t starving for gentle touches. He keeps letting out pathetic sounds, almost like chirps, as Vincent rubs him down. 

Then the worst thing happens; he gets hard. At first he tries just keeping his hips still but no, just Vincent’s touch is enough. So he tenses in hopes of not giving it away.

“Is it too hard?”

“No, I’m fine.”

The hands leave his skin and he whines like a kicked dog. 

“Would you gentlemen let us do the rest in private? I’m sure the viewers get the point.”

There’s shuffling feet and shutting doors, and then a gentle hand rolling him onto his back.

“Apollo, what’s really--oh. That explains it.” 

He scrambles to sit up, tucking his knees to his chest, “I’m sorry, you said you didn’t want it to be sexual, I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear-”

The bed squeaks along with him as Vincent sits, “Sweetheart, I’m not going to get angry with you for this. If, um, if it helps to know, the feeling is very much mutual.”

It should feel like a triumph, but his cheeks burn and he hides his face against his knees. 

“Does that bother you?”

“No! No, not at all. I wouldn’t be wooing you on T.V if I didn’t think you were attractive. Blech, I sound like one of Indrid’s romance novels. Not, not that there’s anything wrong with Indrid...liking...silly things.”

Vincent cups his face and he leans into it, wants to glue his cheek there, “Apollo, I’ve noticed you’re trying to be less...unkind since our little talk.”

“I’m trying. It’s just so very, very hard.”

“I’ve also noticed you’re letting your persona go now and then. That means a lot to me. I’m not interested in the man you think you should be; I’m interested in the man you might become, the man you are when you stop trying to be better than everyone. I like that man, I’d like to get to know him more.”

Apollo shivers as Vincent kisses his forehead, “I’ll do my best.”

-----------------------

“The nerve of Joseph to say things like that to me!”

Indrid doesn’t look up, “It’s a genuine concern; Vincent is older, there will likely come a time when you’ll be the one caring for him. Are you certain you’ll have the patience for that? Be willing to put your needs and wants on hold for the sake of someone else?”

That’s really what would happen? He, he could do it for Vincent, he’s certain. But could he? What if it’s hard, without glory or gain, does that make it foolish?

He chases those thoughts in dizzying circles for fifteen minutes until they crash into the solution.

“I solved it! I don't have to worry about taking care of Vincent as he ages because he'll divorce me once I reach thirty-two.”

“That is the bleakest possible conclusion.” Indrid flips his sketchbook closed. 

“Just let me have this!”

“I hate that I even have to say this but Vincent is not our father.”

“Father said he was doing what any sensible man would do.”

Indrid levels him with an unusually firm stare, “Do you not want Vincent just because he’s over thirty-two?”

“Of course not! He’s great! I, brother for goodness sake just tell me how to care for him.”

“I literally cannot do that. You have to figure it out for yourself what care looks like for you.”

He’s about to repeat his demand when his phone rings. 

“Hi, Vincent.”

“I'm so sorry, but I have to break our date tonight. I was out for a run and twisted my ankle. I just got back from the doctor; he says I sprained it, so I might be on bed rest a few days.”

Perfect. 

“Oh no, I’m glad it’s not too serious. Would, ah, would it be alright if I came to see you?”

They agree on a time. Then he remembers the problem that preceded the phone call.

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do for him? Or, if your positions were reversed, him to do for you?” Indrid asks flatly. 

“Call you so he doesn’t see me looking frail.”

“assume I am dead and thus no longer dealing with your nonsense”

“That’s not fair.”

Indrid flops on the bed, “I'm dead, Vincent is the only one who is coming to take care of you, what do you want him to do?”

“Tell me it’s okay and spend time with me and…”

Indrid grins, “And?”

“And watch PBS in bed.”

“It’s a start. Now please get out of my room.”

An hour later he pokes his head into Vincent’s bedroom; the older man is reclining, reading a John Grisham paperback in a robe that makes him look very suave

“How are you feeling?” He sits next to him, rubs his knee. .

 “Oh, I'm fine, just feel a little silly. It used to be I could twist an ankle and come up fine. Aging is quite the adventure.”

“I, um, I'm glad it wasn't too bad. I, I don't like the thought of you getting hurt. Bot that you'd be bad if you did! I accept that we are all very fragile beings trying not to die.

(Too dark, Cold,  pull it back).

“I mean, um, is there anything I can do to help?”

“I'd be happy to have you stay awhile.” Vincent takes his hand, let’s him lean on his shoulder as they talk. They’re midway through a discussion of famous film disasters when a small burst of black and red lands on the windowsill. He doesn’t catch his excitement in time and Vincent asks him what made him perk up. 

With a courage he did not know he possessed, he points to the bird.

“Oh! How beautiful. What kind is it?”

“Scarlet Tanager” he mumbles, “they’re not common here.”

“Do you know a lot about birds?”

He nods. 

“There are some feeders just on that balcony. And I think the binoculars a friend gave me last Christmas are still in the closet, if you’d like to use them.”

“I would” he stands, heart bubbling with terrifying warmth, “thank you, da--ah, dear.”

Mischief sweeps across Vincent’s face, “Is this where you tell me you’ve had lots of older boyfriends?”

“No. I, ah, I’ve made out some but I never dated.”

“Not even a highschool sweetheart?”

“My father made it so no teenager wanted to go near our house. Or us.” The binoculars are magnificent, the best money can buy, “I always wished I had a date to homecoming. It looked so fun, asking someone or getting asked and then having matching outfits and going out to dinner and taking pictures together. I even picked out an outfit just in case someone asked.  I think Indrid snuck out to meet his burnout--, um, meet his friends. I just sat in my room.”

“You could have asked someone yourself, couldn’t you?” Vincent makes room for him on the bed once more. 

 “And risk getting rejected in front of the whole school? No thank you.” He stares at the binoculars, afraid of what he might see if he turns, “I'm sorry, you don't need to hear all this. I’m supposed to be here taking care of you.”

Vincent opens his arms, pulling Apollo into a hug, “You know care can go two ways at once, right?”

“Not really” he mumbles into silver silk.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A kiss on his cheek, hands running soothingly up his sides, and those weak, silly noises slipping from his mouth. 

“I want it to be, I’ll be so good, I’ll take care of you, just please...please say you’d do the same?”

“Of course. That’s what love is.”

He tucks his face against Vincent’s neck, “Will you make fun of me if I say I’m frightened?”

“Never.”

“I don’t know how to do so much of this. I don’t know how much of me can change.”

“Are you willing to try?” Vincent kisses the shell of his ear.

“For you? Yes.”

-------------------------------------------

“I choose…” Vincent looks between Apollo and Jonathan. Apollo cannot wait to spring into his arms. 

“I choose neither.”

“What!” Ned yells off camera.

“I’m sorry to both of you but I simply can’t. Jonathan, you’re a very nice man, but our connection is ultimately lacking. Apollo” Vincent meets his eyes and he forces his gaze to stay placid, “I care for you more than words can say. I know you’ve worked so very hard to change. I also know that people can easily revert to their old, cruel ways under pressure or difficulty. Marriage often involves those things, and I’m not sure you can be the man I need you to be. With those misgivings,  it wouldn’t be fair to propose to either of you. I hope you understand.”

They both say the do, shake hands, give hugs. And he does, he truly does understand. He understands that Vincent made the choice he had to, that even though he got better he is still a rotten, cruel creature who doesn’t deserve him. He was taught he deserved the world; some good that did him. It lost him the only person who might make the world a less miserable place. 

“Apollo!” Vincent jogs after him, catches up to him in an empty hall, “Apollo I-”

His heart is breaking; his old ways twine like vipers around it, “I, I’m glad you didn’t choose me you, you boring, pathetic man. No wonder you have to pay people to go on dates with you! I don’t need anyone, least of all you!”

Vincent steps back, face falling as Apollo storms off. The last thing he hears is, “And here I thought I made the wrong choice.”

---------------------

He deletes his Instagram. Gets a job as a personal shopper. Goes to therapy because he will not let Indrid outshine him when it comes to unlearning how they were raised. 

It helps. Three months after the disastrous finale (for him, not for the network) he’s feeling, if not better, like he might actually try dating someone soon. He also writes two apology letters; one to Indrid and one to Vincent. Then he tears them both up and just tells Indrid that he’s trying to be less of an asshole and that he’s sorry for all the time he was one. He leaves Vincent alone; if he doesn’t want to see him, the least he can do is respect that.

It’s migration season, so he’s hiding in his favorite, super-secret birdwatching spot. It’s near a pond, so lots of birds come to drink and bathe, and he’s seen several on his list. 

Branches crack, sending nearby jays into a flap. Damn it, he’s never seen someone else here; the only person he ever told about it was-

“Hi, Apollo.”

“Vincent!” He almost falls off his stump, “how, why?”

“I’d been meaning to explore this spot ever since you spoke about it. But I, um, was also hoping I might see you in the process. Pathetic, as you might say.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Apollo stares up at him, clutching his binoculars so hard they might become disparate spyglasses, “Vincent, I am so, so, so very sorry for how I acted when we last saw each other. I was hurt, all I want is to make someone else hurt more so I stop feeling so vulnerable and powerless. I, I’ve been working on it in, in” he winces “therapy. You said once that you wanted to meet the man I might be. I realized I wanted to meet him to, to be him, not to win some show or even to get you to like me but just because I don’t want to be the other Apollo anymore.”

Vincent sits next to him, “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I, I just want to un-fuck what I can. I, how have you been?”

“Doing lots of thinking. I still know I made the right call not proposing during the finale. And that I’m ready to start dating again.”

“I hope whoever you go out with knows how lucky they are.” He says without any motive but the truth.

Vincent plucks a late-blooming wildflower and offers it to him, “It’s not a rose, but then again, this isn’t a proposal. It’s just a date, if you still want one.”

“So badly.” 

The older man leans in, kissing him softly as his spine turns to soup, “I’m looking forward to meeting the, um, latest version of you.” He snickers at his own phrasing.

Apollo pulls him into a second kiss, “Me too.”

[lunarfly]

Honestly, you should check out this Dante Wood fella on Quora. He’s this multi potterhead ship hater who asks many rude and insulting questions on Romione, Harmione, Hinny and Dramione shippers. He’s literally become the bane of their existence. I almost would feel bad for them but then I realize these are the same users/shippers that ask insincere questions to the other ship/shipper. Guess karma is a bitch;)

Hello, thank you for the ask!

Yeah, I checked out his profile and I'm not so impressed. He's hateful and spiteful. But I must admit, he has got a very fair point. Before I talk about that though, I'll just bring up a few things:

Even though he often underlines very important issues with our fandom's "ship wars," his account still shouldn't exist. He's rude and he goes the wrong way about sending his messages. He keeps spitting venom out of his mouth when he should try to be logical and explain his points without any insults and attacks. But when do respectful people ever get anything, it's always the drama and over exaggeration that draws people's attention.

He's hypocritical. He says he hates the fact that shippers constantly generalize the other sides of the fandom but he also generalizes shippers himself. He calls out shippers collectively, as if we were all to blame for a few people's toxic behavior and generalizing tendencies. He generalizes us (the shippers) by saying we all generalize each other (the other shippers).

He hates on Harmione/Romione/Hinny/Dramione and only justifies his hatred by the shippers. But just hating it isn't bad at all, everyone's allowed to hate something. The thing is, he also claims that all of these ships "suck" and are all "garbage." He never presents any arguments or constructive criticism, he just says they're objectively bad ships because they have bad shippers. I'm pretty sure everyone can see the problem with this logic.

Now about his messages. I must say, I agree with him a whole lot. So many people in this fandom tend to generalize everyone. Examples of this?

"Harmione shippers haven't read the books! They only ship it because of the movies!"

"You only ship Hermione with ___ because you use her as a self-insert tool! You ___/Hermione shippers only want to project your own feelings onto her, you don't actually understand her character!"

"All Romione/Hinny shippers are toxic! None of them respect our ship!"

"All Harmione/Dramione shippers hate Ron and Ginny"

And much more.

While many of those claims do apply to many shippers, they don't apply to everyone. And generalizing a group of people while talking about them negatively is obviously wrong and harms both sides of the "war."

The ridiculous argument that "Harmony shippers haven't read the books" started (or gained popularity) in 2005 when J.K. Rowling said this in an interview:

JKR: Well I think anyone who is still shipping Harry/Hermione after this book –

ES: [whispered] Delusional!

JKR: Uh ’ no! But they need to go back and reread, I think.

That one simple comment still affects the H/Hr shipping community to this day, even after JKR admitted the possibility of H/Hr in 2014.. People are still calling us dumb and delusional, people still claim that we haven't read the books - and this argument has been expanded after people started noticing how the movies were sort of pushing a H/Hr narrative - people still make fun of us and many don't take us seriously. But people were shipping Harmione long before the release of the movies and they (including me) have written countless analyses pointing out moments from the books and reasons why Harry and Hermione would make a good couple but this ridiculous generalization, a kind of rumor, is still around and I don't think it's going to leave any time soon.

The Ron and Ginny bashing rumor is more understandable since a huge part of the H/Hr fandom absolutely hate the two gingers and will find anything to tear them down and make them seem as cartoonishly evil as possible. But we still shouldn't apply this to everyone. I, for one, love Ron and Ginny and know many Harmione shippers who feel the same way.

(In the following paragraphs I am talking about the HP fandom generally but obviously these things don't apply to every person individually.)

The majority of the Harry Potter fandom these days only truly accepts book lovers into discussions and their "main" fandom (people who solely make video edits or such are in a different kind of fandom). But everyone who's a book lover and doesn't ship Romione/Hinny or dislikes Ron/Ginny will slowly be forced to either liking these or leaving the fandom. Because, according to most of the fandom, if you don't like these characters/pairings, you haven't read the books, you're toxic and you're stupid. If you like Harmione, you're automatically labeled with "Movie Watcher," "Weasley Basher," "Toxic Garbage." People will start making assumptions about you and your work before they know you. Even if people learn that you're not any of those, these generalizations won't stop. No matter how much you do, no one will take you seriously, no one will care, no one will accept you, no one will explore your work. You will only be acknowledged in the book-loving fandom if you ship Romione and Hinny or if you're an extremely toxic person (that way you'll get mocked for every word that comes out of your mouth, but you'll deserve it if you're really a toxic person). This fandom also tends to misunderstand the words "toxic" and "bashing." Any sort of criticism is labeled with "bashing" and the author of that criticism is labeled with "toxic." Not that there aren't people who are toxic and hateful but our fandom tends to fail to see the difference between constructive criticism and hate.

And there are also those "big" accounts who are praised for every word they say. They can bash any ship or character they want to and the majority of the fandom (the book-loving, canon-ship-loving one that I explained) will agree with it and spread their words around. When they say something about one shipper, it will automatically be applied to everyone who ships that. If they say that any ship with Harry and Hermione that isn't Romione and Harmione suck, the majority of the fandom will accept it as objective truth and since they have most of the fandom supporting them they feel comfortable repeating and accepting these things. As a result of these things being accepted as common knowledge, the people who don't agree feel isolated from the fandom. For example, I do. I follow lots of people who ship Romione and Hinny or love Ron and Ginny because I also feel the same way about these characters and pairings. But I can't go a day without seeing at least one of them degrade Harmione and send hate to the ship + shippers. The more hate my ship gets, the more these rumors, labels and arguments spread around. And Harmione shippers get called stupid for loving a fictional pairing, so I constantly feel invalidated in this fandom, even if no one addresses me specifically. The ideas that Harmione is a horrible ship and its shippers are toxic and so on are so engrained in our fandom that they're seen as almost "rules" of the fandom and no single person can change that. I constantly feel like I'm invalid for liking Harmione and this isn't normal. Our fandom pushes the idea that the only intelligent people are those who support the canon pairings and disapprove of ships like Harmione, Fremione and etc. I understand the hatred against Dramione and every other toxic ship, but I can't for my life figure out why people feel the need to tear down every healthy fanon ship. But they do it anyway. They consider everyone who disagrees with them "stupid" and unintelligent. I feel like I don't belong every time I see comments like "Ugh, how can someone ship Harry and Hermione? They're like siblings, people! You clearly haven't read the books." or "Anyone who ships this doesn't have a brain, they're too strongly influenced by the movies. They clearly don't understand Harry and Hermione." Sometimes I see my own friends calling H/Hr "strange" and such and they clearly don't help me feel any better. I feel the need to go in Harmony-only spaces to recharge myself and regain the confidence and get the validation I need. Otherwise, I feel completely isolated and invalid.

I can't blame only one side of the fandom though. The shippers have been divided for decades now and they have been throwing insults at each other ever since. It's a never-ending war. The bad side of this today is that the book-loving fandom (the "main" fandom) has merged with the canon ships fandom and now these are inseparable. If you like the HP books, you must also like the canon pairings and dislike most of the others, otherwise you're never going to feel like you belong. So now anyone who ships Harmione won't be able to properly interact with the "main" fandom because nobody thinks their opinions that Harry and Hermione are a better match than Ron and Hermione are valid. Same thing with Dramione shippers. Do you see how Dramiones and Harmonians don't really engage in discussions or just don't interact with the "main" fandom in general (unless they're defending their ship)? They have created their own spaces, separated from the "main" fandom and that's where they are most of the time. That's where I go when I need more positivity and validation. I have the discord server and the Harmione subreddit to go to. That's the only place I'm really comfortable in. If I go to a more "general" part of the fandom like the main HP subreddit or some of the biggest HP books fan accounts, it will affect me negatively because I will mostly see Romione and Hinny be glorified and Harmione treated like trash. Not only my ship but also the shippers. Which is probably the main reason I find the fandom toxic. All of this just ties into the stupid generalization and name-calling that causes the rift between OBHWF and Harmione shippers which leads me to seeing both sides of the fandom be attacked and bombarded depending on which space I choose to spend my time in.

I'm not going to pretend that the Harmione fandom is full of angels who are oppressed by Romione shippers. Because whenever I go to a Harmione-oriented space, I will find anti-Ron/Romione/Hinny/Ginny (and their stans) posts. Harmonians will often call Romiones toxic and hateful and will basically do everything in order to insult them. And they return the favor excellently. This happens with the majority of the fandoms so both of the sides just think every shipper is like the toxic shippers they interacted with, causing generalization and all of the problems I talked about above. And that forms a toxic environment.

I generally just talked about my experiences with generalization and insulting but there are many more things wrong with the fandom, so I definitely agree with Dante Wood in that aspect. But again, I don't think every single shipper is toxic and hateful and I most certainly don't think that Romione, Harmione and Hinny are trash (Dramione just might be). I pointed out all of my reasons for disliking his account at the beginning of my post. I just wish he fixed those problems with his account, then he would have such a great one.

I almost would feel bad for them but then I realize these are the same users/shippers that ask insincere questions to the other ship/shipper. Guess karma is a bitch;)

Here's where I get confused. Why did you send me this message? I am not one of those people who go and attack a part of the fandom I disagree with. I don't constantly attack Romione and Hinny, nor their shippers. I actually love those ships. I might criticize Dramione and other toxic ships but I'm not the one at war with them. I know I wrote a post basically calling Dramiones brainless once and I regret that. I think I'm a better person now. No matter how much I hate this ship I won't send hate to its shippers (P*dophilic ships are a different deal though, those ships are even more serious). So how exactly is this a consequence for what I've done when I've done basically nothing? And even if I did, how is Dante Wood's account supposed to affect me? He talks about the toxicity of shippers while being toxic and hateful himself. Am I supposed to take that seriously? He calls us hypocritical and proceeds to do the same himself. That's not the kind of person I take criticism seriously from (ignoring the fact that many of his posts aren't even criticism, it's just hate).

Anyway, thank you for taking your time to send me that message! Sharing my thoughts on Dante Wood's thoughts and account was fun! :)

[mushroomminded]

After writing out the entire story of that segment of the comic, it is translated into script form:

Roughly planning all dialogue, composition, and action in the scene. This is how you make sure you have enough space to give all the information that you want and don’t end the scene on an awkward crowded or over-paced page because you didn’t plan ahead. You can deviate from this later!

I begin in Clip Studio with the page border. It’s a transparent black rectangle that I copy/paste from the previous page so it stays consistent. Use this page for reference on page and border sizes.

On a new layer, sketch out a thumbnail for your page. This is honestly more refined than most of mine look, usually just stick figures and border outlines. You can see that I cut out one of the panels from the script while drawing the thumbnail. Save this file as a clip file, then duplicate the file and save it as a PSD.

Pop on over to Adobe Illustrator. This is my template setup. The white artboard on the right is 2100x3150px, and the black bar on the right is 800px wide, with a second artboard that is 800x1280px, which is the maximum image size for Webtoon. The speech bubbles and text in the middle are just reference so I keep the bubble stroke width and character size consistent. (My print text size is 37, stroke size 4, and webtoon is text size 26, stroke size 5. Personally I find the print text size much bigger than necessary but for the sake of consistency I’m keeping it that way)

On a new layer, use File > Place to insert the PSD file onto the big artboard. It will snap into place to fill the entire board. Lock that layer by pressing the box next to the visibility toggle:

Use the oval tool to draw in speech bubbles and adjust the line width with the properties window. Using the text tool, click and drag to create a designated text box for each window, and copy/paste dialogue from the script. (Be sure to make a text box instead of just pasting the text, it’s a pain otherwise). Center the text. and if you have the text selected and hold control, it will let you round off the edges of the text box, making it fit better into the oval shape. Use the “align” window by selecting the text AND the bubble it fits in and press both the second and he second to last buttons in the top row to center the text on the bubble. (Fine tune this if necessary with the arrow keys)

You add the text this early on in the process because if you need to rearrange panels and make more room any where, this is the easiest way to do it. Head on back to Clip Studio and make any necessary changes. 

Back in clip, once you’re happy with your layout, use the “create frame” tool to make one big frame around the entire drawing.

set the layer mode on the panel layer to “multiply” so you can see through it.

Then take the “cut frame” tool, right next to the create frame tool.

and adjust the size of however thick you’d like your frame borders to be. I work pretty large for my pages, so you probably won’t need them to be as broad as 155.

Using this tool, you can cut directly across the big panel you made and cut it up into smaller, even panels. If you hold the shift tool while using it, the lines will be perfectly straight vertically or horizontally. I broke up the first and second half of the page with my first stroke, and with the second, I further broke up the second half. It’s works very intuitively!

The end result leaves me with four border layers. Select all of them, right click, and press “merge selected layers”. Fill in the white space between the layer borders with black (if you want!) and press edit > convert brightness to opacity to get rid of the white and just leave the black. The end result should look like this:

Killer moves! Now lower the opacity on your sketch and refine it on a new layer.

Save that baby and then overwrite your PSD document with the new sketch. It will automatically update itself in Illustrator.

Check your work one more time in Illustrator, this is your last chance to move things around if you need to. (Looks good to me!)

Lineart in clip on a new layer!

Fill in a new flats layer with a solid color (this ensures you won’t have any white spaces peeking through if you accidentally miss filling them in. 

Unfortunately I don’t have separate images for flats/shading because I do them all on the same layer like a hooligan but hey! make it pretty. 

Bucket tool is your friend! With “Refer other Layers” selected, and “Area scaling” enabled, you can fill in almost the entire flats section with the bucket tool! Saves a lot of time. 

Using Select > Select Color Gamut, You can select all instances of a color on a canvas, and I use this all the time for shading or for quickly adjusting all instances of one color, and if you add “Show border of selected area” to your command bar, you can hide the border of the selection. (You’d have to google how to do that one i have no memory of how)

I shade with the same brush tool I use for lineart because I like the texture and I pick the colors by hand, but do feel free to use a multiply layer for shading!

Once you’re done, crop and export each one of your panels individually for webtoon. You can just save these as pngs! 

Overwrite your Photoshop document once again with the full image and head back into Illustrator

That’s lookin REAL FINE fellas gj

Using File > Place again, select all of your cropped webtoon size files and place them on the black bar you made earlier.

Like so! Copy the text and bubbles from the print page and resize them to whatever size you’d like for the webtoon format and arrange them on the strip. 

Now to add the tails to the bubbles. Click on one of the speech bubbles you’ve made to set those colors and stroke width as your current settings. 

Pen tool

tap once inside the speech bubble

click where you want the tail to end and drag to create your desired curve. (straight tails are valid too!) Press Enter on your keyboard. 

Tap the dot at the end of the tail you just placed, and click and drag back inside the bubble to curve your new line going back into the bubble.

Voila! It’s hideous. Click the bubble or the tail, then shift click to select the other half. Do not select the text!

In the pathfinder window, press the four lines in the top right corner to open a sub menu. Select “Make compound shape”

Goshdangit now your text is gone, thanks Em.

Not to be alarmed, the compound shape you made has just been moved to the top of the layer set. Just drag it back down under the text layer. 

And you made a text bubble! Nice!

Repeat! And wow! You did it! You illustrated an entire comic page man!

Now to export. Using the artboard tool, you can select the artboards individually.

Select it and hit File > Export as

These are my settings. The image size can be set to whatever you want! I used to work with a much smaller canvas and scale up the webtoon strips as needed, but now I just make them the correct size in the canvas. Save that baby.

Repeat for the webtoon images, but remember, no bigger than 800x1280px. Once you export the first image, grab the top square to transform the artboard and drag it down over the next panel

If you drag from the top and don’t touch the bottom squares, it will make your cuts seamless because both Webtoon and Tapas will stitch your images together seamlessly. (Illustrator will show you how big your artboard is as you scale it so you won’t make it too big!)

And well.. that’s that! You did it! Uploading to Webtoon is super easy

You just need a preview thumbnail, a title, and you can plop all the images onto the site in order! 

[fandomlurker]

A Ponderous Rewatch: Jockey For Position

Now that we’re done with that long cameo, it’s time for our feature presentation for tonight, and it’s a doozy!:

We open with Pinky frantically running on a spinning globe while Brain stands above him on the…globe holder? I don’t know if that part has a name or not.

“[winded gasps] Can I stop now, Brain?”

“Not until I finish my demonstration.”

Brain, that’s just… Well I was about to say it was mean, but given that Pinky understands the details of his plans better when Brain demonstrates it or draws elaborate diagrams, maybe it’s for the best? I doubt Brain could make that large globe spin just by using his hands, and Pinky’s been seen a lot of times running on the mouse wheel in their cage so he’s gotta be pretty in shape. Still, it feels like Pinky’s been running for a lot longer than he needed to…

You know what? I change my mind. It is a bit mean, Brain.

“When I build my reverse geotropic arrestor, Pinky, and throw it from the North Pole like this…”

The word “geotropic” doesn’t quite sound right. I wonder…

…Okay, yeah, Brain’s getting worse at naming things.

“…In a matter of seconds the cable will become taut, gravity will cease, and everyone will fly off the face of the Earth!”

Oh my GOD, Brain. This has got to be the stupidest plan you have come up with yet! Nothing about this will work.

Well, there goes poor Pinky.

“Leaving us alone to assume control.”

It’s still “us”, huh? Noted.

Long Pinky.

“Egad, Brain, brilliant! Haha hehe heh—!”

Pinky, sweetheart, I know praising Brain is kind of your thing but this is one time I’m going to have to call you out on your bias because this is super not brilliant and I’m actually a little worried for Brain’s mental state.

“—Oh wait, no, no. What’s going to keep us from flying off the Earth?”

That’s one flaw of many, Pinky, but I guess it’s as good a start as any.

“We will duct tape ourselves to a tree.”

Because the tree will totally stay in the ground when the Earth abruptly stops spinning. Not that it will stop spinning, because none of this makes any sense.

Brain, did this idea come from, like, a dream you had or something? Is that why the plan is working on dream logic?

I know this is a comedy cartoon and this is all a joke but sometimes Brain’s plans are so fucking out-there I just have to roast him for it.

“Unfortunately we still need to raise money to buy a one billion ton magnet. But I have a solution!”

Oh boy, can’t wait to hear the solution to this one. It’s gonna be stellar if the whole plan today is anything to go by.

Oh nice, Brain’s the one sewing for a change! Usually this is Pinky’s area of expertise, but it’s always nice to see that Brain can do some classically domestic things too.

“Tomorrow is the running of the Kentucky Derby. Do you know what that is?”

Most of my knowledge on it comes from “My Brother, My Brother, and Me” goofs, so my mind keeps autocorrecting it to “Kenfucky Derby”, but go on.

“Umm… Oh! A very large hat?”

“Promise me something, Pinky. Never breed.”

“I’ll try.”

Well, that’s going to come back to haunt them.

“The Kentucky Derby is the biggest horse race of the year. There’s a one million dollar purse going to the jockey riding the winning horse.”

“And I am going to win that purse!”

Okay, first off: Pinky, are you just going to stand there and stare at Brain as he gets changed? Like, I understand they’re naked normally and this is the exact opposite of stripping but umm…

Secondly: Brain, did you really have to get that up close to tell Pinky this? You two are making this too easy for me.

“Zort, Brain! A million dollar purse?!? Ooooh!~ You’re going to need matching pumps and earrings for that!”

Pinky’s got his priorities in order.

“Focus, Pinky, focus!”

“Now watch.”

And now Brain’s ordering Pinky to watch him dress and I just…I have no words. This is all so suspect. Why do you two even need a dressing screen if you’re usually naked anyway? And it shouldn’t matter if anyone sees you get dressed unless this is some weird reverse nudity taboo you two have developed and if that’s the case, why are you allowing Pinky to watch? And if it’s for a dramatic reveal WHY ARE YOU ORDERING HIM TO WATCH YOU CHANGE???

This episode is already so goddamn wild.

I am really not sure how I feel about that pan-up of Brain when he’s thrust his pelvis forward. At least the outfit is cute, though.

“Narf! Oh, Brain, I get it! You’re a beautiful lawn ornament!”

“Beautiful”, huh? Also noted.

“Look at me, narf, I’m a pink flamingo! Ahahaheh!”

Oh LORD, Pinky, how are you—?!?

“I’m a cement deer! Ah hah!”

PINKY, STOP, YOU’RE SCARING ME! D:

“Oh, I’m one of the seven dwarves, Brain!”

That’s more acceptable but Pinky, sweetie, warn me if you’re going to nightmarishly shapeshift again, okay?!

I guess we can add that to the list of random abilities Pinky has.

“Stop it, Pinky, or I shall have to hurt you.”

You are much calmer about this than I would be if this happened in front of me, Brain.

“Oh. Right-o, Brain. Narf.”

“Now let us make haste, for we have much to do before the race begins.”

“Poit.”

So then we cut to Churchill Downs, and I can only assume another roadtrip adventure was had off-screen.

“First, Pinky, we must visit the stables.”

“Inside, we will find the winning horse.”

“Err… How are we gonna do that, Brain?”

“The racing form, Pinky.”

My bet’s on... [squints] hLUUNO the horse.

“By analysing the velocity-based pace line, mile turf win and bayer speed figures, we’ll find a grade one stakes claimer who’ll give us a key horse situation.”

“Key Horse Situation” would be a great band name. Also, whoops, little bit of an error on the name plaques, background artists.

What do your mouse eyes see, Pinky?

“Err, can’t we just ride the pretty one?”

SHE!

So here she is, one of the few characters debuting in the Animaniacs run that will matter to PatB lore going forward aside from our main duo.

A fun fact for you all: Phar Fignewton’s name is a triple reference joke. “Phar Lap” was a champion thoroughbred race horse in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Fig Newtons are small pastries filled with fig paste. Lastly, “Fahrvergnügen” was a slogan for Volkswagon starting in 1990. Translated, it means “driving enjoyment”.

Phar Fignewton makes a whinnying noise and ends it off with a goofy laugh.

Brain is not impressed.

“Heavens, they’re multiplying…”

Pinky is instantly smitten with her.

BONK!

“This is a business trip, Pinky!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, Brain.”

“Here is our horse.”

“’Daddy’s Little Angel’…”

I guess it’s an ironic nickname.

“Pinky… Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“Whu… I think so, Brain, isn’t Regis Philbin already married?”

…

Now I’m wondering if Pinky is suggesting that one of them marry Regis or if he’s suggesting that Regis marries the horse. Either way, what the fuck?

Yeah, same.

“The race, Pinky. By combining the statistics and my low body weight, this horse cannot lose! The prize money will be ours!”

GAH! Brain, I’ve had enough minor heart attacks from this episode because of Pinky’s eldritch morphing ability, I don’t need another one of your bizarre close-ups to do the same!

“Now I must take the place of the real jockey.”

“Hello?”

“Is this the Jockey who’s going to ride ‘Daddy’s Little Angel’?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Ed Mcmahon from Publisher’s Smearing House. You’ve just won ten million dollars.”

Pinky delightedly and silently listening in and chuckling in the back is precious.

And honestly, Brain, I don’t know why you’re crouching here, but it’s also cute.

“I won ten million dollars… I WON TEN MILLION DOLLARS! I am outta here! Later!”

The mice are lucky that he’s so excited about winning all that money that he forgets to do basic things like ask when and how he’ll get the money.

“Louie! Louie!”

“Later!”

“Who’s gonna ride my horse? I mean, Louie is the smallest, lightest jockey in the entire world!”

Did you know that there’s a weight requirement for jockeys, but no height requirement?

“Not anymore!”

“[GASP]”

Whoops, I just noticed another error, though it’s minor: Brain’s jockey outfit throughout this scene is light tan and purple instead of the pea green and purple that it’s supposed to be.

“You’re a jockey?!”

“Actually, I am a mouse in the early stages of an elaborate scheme to take over the world.”

The more this happens, the more I’m starting to think that Brain does this shtick on purpose to emotionally and mentally disarm people who would otherwise suspect that he’s not human. The fact that it works shows you just how idiotic the human beings of this world are.

“Well, fine, we all need a hobby but…will you ride my horse?”

Oh, sir, I think it’s much more than a hobby at this point. If only you knew…

“I shall ride! And win!”

His design is a little odd here, but it’s still a good pose.

So Brain next has to be weighed to make sure he meets the requirements.

“Saddle: Seven pounds. Saddle and rider: Seven pounds 3 ounces.”

So if you can recall from the previous rewatch post, a house mouse on average weighs 19g, and a common wood mouse weighs 23g (it can be up for debate which type of mouse Brain is).  Converting Brain’s 3 ounces of weight to grams would result in him weighing 85.0486g.

Brain does have a bit of a cute little potbelly thing going on, but he’s also consistently much smaller in height and width than the average adult mouse in the series. I think the incredible difference in weight is mostly coming from the heft of Brain’s, well, brain and skull…and the muscle mass packed into that tiny body to help keep him upright.

“A genetically perfect jockey! This is fantastic!”

Please don’t phrase it like that.

“…Let’s look into early retirement.”

That jockey on the left is going through some shit, man. He looks like how I feel after working an eight hour shift on the holidays.

And so we skip to the beginning of the race!

That poor, poor jockey…who changed colour schemes for some reason.

There’s Phar Fignewton with a jockey who honestly looks like he’s high.

And here’s our little mousey fella, who has somehow managed to make this aggressive horse obedient.

“Camptown race is five miles long, do-dah, do-dah.~”

He’s so happy he’s singing to himself! This is honestly so precious that I completely forgive him for not getting the lyrics correct.

Coincidentally, Daddy’s Little Angel is positioned next to Phar Fignewton.

“Ooh, isn’t this exciting, Brain?”

Uh oh.

“Pinky, what are you doing here? Your weight will disrupt my winning calculations!”

I don’t know if it’d be that off, Brain. The combined weight of two mice is still much less than that of a human jockey.

“But Brain, it’s too exciting! I—“

[TARGET LOCKED]

“Oooh! Heh. Hello.~”

I think I’m going to save my thoughts on this whole…thing until the end. Right now I will say, however, that I wasn’t quite expecting the tongue-hanging-out-of-gaping-mouth lovestruck/horny??? reaction.

“Pinky, the race is starting!”

Too late, Brain.

And we’re off!

Bye, Pinky.

“There’s baloney in our slacks…~”

Pfft.

So as the race goes on, we get to know a few more of the horses’ names: Isle of Yap (a nice callback to the first PatB short), Flamiel (which is apparently the WB writers’ favourite word?), and Leggo-my-Egoiste (a double reference to an old Eggo slogan and the name of a cologne).

The other jockeys are more than a little surprised by Brain and his steed taking the lead early in the race.

Phar Fignewton is trailing way behind.

Meanwhile, Pinky’s woken up from fainting, seeing the oncoming horses—

--and promptly freaks out and stumbles back down again.

“Victory, she waits for me! Oh, the do-dah-day!”

You really have to stop tempting fate like this, Brain.

Phar Fignewton’s very tired, but what’s this?

Is that…Pinky in harm’s way?

ThePowerOfLove.mp3

Determined and fueled by her inexplicable crush, Phar Fignewton starts gaining ground on the other horses.

Brain didn’t calculate for this!

…Oh! Hi, Warners! Looks like they’re cheering Phar on.

“Oh no! Yah! Yah! Yah!”

I didn’t think whips were allowed in races like the Kentucky Derby, but apparently they are. Their use was only restricted—not banned—in the summer of 2020, which is alarming to say the least.

On a different note, I know some of you folks are now jotting down the fact that Brain knows how to use a whip. I see you.

She makes the save!

And she also wins the race! Way to go, Phar Fignewton!

“In the words of the great Willie Shoemaker: ‘Nuts!’”

It was a good try, Brain, but honestly I’m glad you failed this time if only so that you wouldn’t embarrass yourself with your actual world domination plan’s failure later. Maybe take a couple nights off to rest up a bit and formulate plans that aren’t totally bonkers, hmm?

I might as well go ahead and talk about this now. I…am conflicted on this whole Phar Fignewton thing. It makes for a very strange one-off joke about Pinky instantly falling in love with a distaff counterpart of his that’s a horse for whatever reason…but the fact that she’s not a one-off character is baffling in and of itself. Like I’ve said before, she’s mentioned a couple of times going forward as being Pinky’s girlfriend, or as a bizarre joke at Pinky’s expense about him being in/having been in a relationship with a horse. There’s even a small running gag about Pinky’s reaction to people’s disgust about it: “People can be so intolerant!”. I don’t know if the joke is supposed to be one about racial segregation or a wink and nod to queer folks in the only way that the writers could get away with in a cartoon at the time (in a “see, Pinky’s down for a relationship with anyone, even outside of his species!” type of way).

Phar Fignewton herself is a sweetie but besides that she has no personality to speak of and we’re just meant to assume based on physical appearance that she is equivalent to Pinky. And like, she hasn’t been uplifted to human levels of intelligence and sapience like Pinky has because of Acme Labs, but she seems to be naturally sapient for some unknown reason and just simply unable to speak English.

On top of all this, the relationship is very shallow and the only reason we’re given as to why Pinky likes her is because he finds her pretty. It’s perfectly in character for Pinky to easily fall in love, as he does so with other animals a couple more times in the spin-offs, but it just feels weird that this is the one that sticks around purely to become a running gag that gets mentions that are sometimes literal years apart from one another.

And listen, I know the writers most likely made this a thing just because they thought it was a funny joke and a few of them managed to remember about Phar and would use Pinky dating her as a gag. I know this. But it doesn’t make it any less confusing and weird. I remember the jokes about Pinky and horses from way back when I first watched Animaniacs and the PatB spin-off when I was a kid and I never had any context for it because I don’t think I ever saw this specific episode. Coming back as an adult and seeing all these episodes in order and watching this one in particular and finding out the context is “Pinky thinks a horse is pretty and the horse and him are in love and long-distance dating now” is both underwhelming and leaves me with more questions than answers.

…Also, if my earlier theories on why the writers made this joke are correct, does this mean Phar Fignewton is metatextually a beard for Pinky?

I just don’t know, folks. You’re welcome to leave your thoughts on this in comments.

Let’s wrap this up.

So as we can see, Brain is, as usual, back to work on another plan that involves—

—a goddamn cannon, holy shit! What is he using the glue for? That’s a little ominous, given what’s been involved in this episode.

There’s a hammering noise in the background and we see Pinky putting up a photo of Phar Fignewton.

“Pinky, will you please stop that? I’m trying to concentrate on tomorrow night!”

Wow, you’re more irritable than usual, Brain. I didn’t think some delicate hammering would annoy you that much.

“Mwah!~”

…Despite my ramblings earlier, that’s very cute of you, Pinky. I’m sure you could’ve gotten a better photo, though.

“Why, Brain, what’re we gonna do tomorrow night?”

Try to take over the world, of course! Right, Brain?

“Guess.”

…

Umm, wow. That’s a first. You look like you’re absolutely enraged, Brain. All this over some hammering sounds?

This had me taken aback a bit when I watched it the first time, not gonna lie. We’ve seen Brain after a plan’s failure plenty of times before. He’s been frustrated, sure. Humiliated at times, or maybe he just sighs in resignation and walks off into the sunset. It always ends with him simply using these feelings to fuel the fire in him to do better tomorrow night.

This is the very first time we’ve seen him jumpy and irritated at the most minor of things and so angry that he literally refuses to participate normally in his and Pinky’s shared catchphrase. And this was for a plan that was just to fund the real plan! So why is this time any different?

Oh.

OH.

Okay, that’s… That makes a lot of sense, actually. Damn.

Hey, fanfic writers? Ya’ll ever use this as the very first time Brain experiences romantic jealousy? Let me know.

“Oh yeah, try to take over the world. Right.”

I think even Pinky’s put off by this development, if his hesitant and quiet finishing of the saying is anything to go by.

And that’s what we end off with.

All in all, this episode is a wild ride of strangeness in small moments and bizarre additions to lore and ends on the first subversion of the long-running closing gag of the series. It’s not exactly a great episode, but that ending is intriguing enough for one of the main purposes of this rewatch. In short, I’m just baffled.

Luckily the next episode is much better. Next time, the mice head on down to Tennessee to seek world domination via country music.

See you then!

[ivory-sunflower]

Arty Art Things ✨

Hellooo!

I've decided to post some of the arty things I've done either recently or in the last few years, well the pieces I'm somewhat proud of at least. All my posts tend to be a lot more wordy than they need to be but hey it's what I do here!

Conchúr White

Anyone one who's been on this blog for a bit will have probably have seen me talk about this lovely Irish fella. The pencil drawing is actually a year old as of yesterday, I only know that because screenshots of me flipping out about Conchúr following me on twitter popped up in my memories yesterday. I think I'd sent it to him at about 3 in the morning (I was not in a good head space at that point in time), so probably not what he was expecting to see when he opened his phone in the morning aha

The biro version is much more recent: I got bored while sat at my desk and doing research about university courses, saw a biro, saw my old drawing of Conchúr, had an idea. I revisited my GCSE art techniques and here we are. Again, I put this up on Twitter and now (at the the time I'm writing this) when you google "Conchúr White" it's the third top image of him which is a bit mad really. I think I spent all of about 20 minutes on Conchúr but another 45 minutes on the words behind him. The words are the names of the songs on his EP 'Bikini Crops', he doesn't just really love the idea of Channing Tatum driving him around at night in a daisy print bikini... Well maybe he does but what he does in his spare time is none of my business...

TechDif

So I mentioned that the pencil drawing of Conchúr came from a rough patch in my mental health and this one is no different! In fact this one came from an even worse circumstance so we love to see it. I had a bad, bad time in July and this started as a way of distracting myself from what was going on in my head. Without it, I can't honestly say I'd still be here so even if the final product of this had been a terrible mess I would still love it for keeping me alive. However, it did not turn out to be a terrible mess!

Now that the origin of this is out the way, where do I start with TechDif? Unlike Conchúr, I haven't really talked about them on here (unless you count one brief post about Citation Needed) before so I guess I'll do it here. The Technical Difficulties are a wonderful group of 4 British fellas who have had their fair share of fun online and even before. They did a radio show at university together, which went on to become their Reverse Trivia Podcast, later moving on to a panel show called 'Citation Needed': and a game called 'Two of These People Are Lying'. All of which I would thoroughly reccomend, they're one of my go to things when I'm having a rough time. All 4 of them are excellent! Tom Scott (red top, blue jeans on the picture) has his own YouTube channel which does content aside from TechDif. If you're quite nerdy and like science, linguistics, computers, or any number of other things you may enjoy Tom's channel. He is probably best described as "The Moderator" of the group, much like a tired teacher he tries desperately to keep everyone on track with what they're meant to be doing, but usually it does not end well for him. Then we have Matt Gray (space top, holding an ice cream) who also has a channel away from TechDif stuff, he does techy electronic things and has a series called 'Will it Soft Serve?' where he puts all kinds of strange things through a soft serve machine. Matt brings a very specific energy to TechDif and I can't fully describe what that vibe is but I love it. Matt and Tom also share a YouTube channel where TOTPAL is posted and they had a series called 'The Park Bench'. Moving on to everybody's favourite Gary Brannan: Gary Brannan (SATIRE hoodie, glasses) and can I just say, what a fella he is! He's just excellent! He is the one that will argue and rip into Tom the most (not in a malicious way) and hilarity ensues. There are some episodes where he is absolutely on it, getting all the points and others where he very clearly has no idea and that's where some of his funniest quotes come from. Given how badly I was doing at the time I made this, his response to it on Twitter was so so lovely. I specifically remember one tweet where he said I'd made him happy and although it was probably a flippant comment, it just made feel alright for a bit. Yeah I might be feeling awful right now, but I've made someone else happy so that's a nice feeling. Then last but certainly not least, we have Chris Joel (buffalo check shirt, beard)! I would be lying if I said he isn’t my favourite... His sense of humor is the one I vibe with most, he can get rather dramatic in parts and can chat bollocks like a champion. He has absolutely no online presence away from TechDif and, like Rens from Temples, I fully believe he’s a cryptid and lives off in a tree somewhere. 

The picture took me about 4 days to complete, well 4 nights because I did most of it between the hours of 12 a.m. and 7a.m. - I remember watching the sun come through my window each morning. It’s made up of lots of little pieces, all cut out and stuck on; even the sky and hills are made of separate pieces of paper. Nothing was actually drawn on the piece of paper it’s all stuck on, it’s not how I usually do things but if I messed up one little but I could just redraw it rather than ruining the whole thing. The most tedious parts to make were Chris’ shirt because I had to draw each square individually and then join the as well, and cutting out the ban-hammer in the bottom right was surprisingly hard. Every single detail of the picture is a reference to the podcast/shows, I still have the plan sketch and reference list knocking about somewhere. I listened to a lot of true crime videos while making it to the point that certain parts remind me of different cases: the brandy now reminds me of Peter Tobin, and the big spiral thing reminds me of Tim McLean (very harrowing case) - sorry that fact is a bit morbid but interesting nonetheless. 

I did post this for a little bit back in July, but I received some rather awful messages so I took it down. Generally, Tom Scott/TechDif fans are lovely but there’s been a few that have taken a disliking to me for some reason so I’m hoping they don’t resurface again. I’m in a better head space now though, so even if they do I’m more equipped to deal with it this time.

Hozier

This was a quick sketch I did in April, I was getting bored with lockdown and decided to summon the bog man himself. There’s not really much more backstory than that, no poor mental health story, no fun twitter story - he’s just here. He’s vibing. I will say I’m particularly proud of his nose, I just think it’s one of the best noses I’ve ever drawn. His hand is okay, but I think that the hands on my Conchúr drawings are better. So there is the Hozi-Boi...

The Corpse Bry

I’ve talked about Bry on here before as well, I love him, he’s excellent, top lad. He is a living Tim Burton character, he’s 6′6, very skinny, and his legs are longer than my will to live. I was watching ‘The Corpse Bride’ a few weeks ago and suddenly had an idea and so ‘The Corpse Bry’ came to be. I gave him a little panda friend because the panda has always been his animal - he used to wear a panda beanie all the time and his album had a panda on the cover. Again, there’s not really a fun story behind this one, I guess it’s somewhat fun because it’s the first art I made after finishing my psychology exams in October so it was nice to actually have the time to draw.

James Bagshaw

Ginger talking about Temples for the third post in a row? it’s more likely than you think! I did this one last week, I’d had a bit of a wobbly day and had group therapy on Teams in the evening and I just couldn’t concentrate on what was going on and I ended up doodling Mr James E. Bagshaw, the glitter crying fraggle man himself. It’s a bare-bones drawing that I could definitely work into more but I’m happy with it as it is to be honest. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit and add the individual bits of fringe to his jacket, just thinking about doing that makes me tired. Maybe I’ll get around to drawing the whole band at some point...

Alice in “Wonderland”

This one is from about 5(?) years ago, it’s not my typical style and was a “study” based on another artists work (basically i just had to copy this fellas work). I’ll be honest, this one has a sketchy backstory that I won’t go in to because it’s not exactly a nice one, and because of that I also won’t say who the artist is that it’s based on. Despite this, I’m still really proud of this one and I’m so sad that I never got this piece back after I got taken out the class. I’ve considered trying this style again, I’ve even joked about doing another Conchúr drawing in this style as a nod to my progression through GCSE art, eventually leading to Conchúr drawn in ink on music manuscript and stained with neon paint and dyes - it would be quite the project!

So this has been quite a lengthy post so apologies about that but life goes on. Similar to the vinyl post, I’ll probably add to this as and when I make more art. Even if no one is reading these posts, I’m enjoying making them so that’s the main thing. It’s just nice to document things and the feelings that go with them. 💕

~ Love Ginger xx 

29/11/2020

[fanfiction-funtime]

Alexander Vodka lines

I did most of the characters, but some I don't know or genuinely can't think of anything. Hope this is good >-<

Hello: Hey there, your that Traveler fella ain’t ya? Hope I don't owe you copyrights for  the name. Hm? I don’t? Well then, what can I help ya with?

Adventures? Sure why not, I could use the inspiration.

Two names: You’re curious why I have two names? Well it's sort of a thing in Snezhnaya that officers and other high ranking people have two names, like how harbingers do. Since I’m a high ranking member of the Schneznayan authors association, well former member, I have the name “Eis Cay’zar” meaning “ice ruler”. And Alexander Vodka is a pen name. Hm? What's my resistance name and real one? Well now Traveler, a man must have some secrets.

Change of tone: Ah yes, people often find the way I change from more eloquent speech to more casual off putting. Well it's the same reason I wear two sets of clothes: sometimes I feel like looking like an old noir hero, other times I like looking like a new age caped crusader. Sometimes I like sounding high society, other times I enjoy sounding like I’m from Khaen’ria.

How do you know about Khaen’ria: Well I was looking for accents and found out about a place called “New York” or something, a bit of investigation and I discovered everything. My source? That's a secret, ehe.

Good morning: Mornin’ Traveler! What's in the mornin’ paper?

Noon: Lunch time, my favourite time of the day. Let’s go get some pizza, I’m famished!

Afternoon: Almost time to punch out, let's go knock some skulls first.

Night: *yawn* Today was fun, thanks buddy. Get some shut eye, or if you can't come meet me at (wanmin/angels share/the tea house), first rounds on me!

When it rains: I am so glad I got over my fear of contacts.

When it rains(with glasses outfit): Hey can we get under something? I can barely see!

When it stops raining: The smell that comes after rain has always been one of my favorites.

When it snows: Perfect weather to bundle up with a nice hot cup of hot chocolate!

When it stops snowing: Do you ever miss home, Traveler?

About freedom: I warned Barbados, you know that? I knew that as long as he saw it coming, Signora wouldn’t stand a chance. But he just looked at me and said, “good, when I’m gone mondstadt will be truly free of the gods”. That’s a man I’d follow to the depths of the abyss and back.

About Venti: Speaking of Barbados, he’s a great drinking buddy. Me and him knock back a couple hundred rounds whenever I’m in Mondstadt! Course I’m always paying the tab, but I consider it a way of repaying him for making songs about my books.

About Kaeya: The cavalry captain? He’s pretty cool if you ask me, modeled as Rex Mondoleon for the cover of a historical fiction book I made. But I’d still like to know what he’s hiding behind that smile.

About Diluc: Don’t tell him I told you this, but one time I found Diluc after he was hit by an abyss spell that made him drunk. While he was drunk he kept ranting about how sorry he is for kicking out his brother. The poor guy has all that forgiveness in him but he’s too afraid to let it out.

About Jean: The acting grandmaster of the knights is someone truly deserving of respect. She leads by being a good person and earning the respect of her people, and she has never once tried to cover up the mistakes of the knights. In fact if a knight makes a mistake she’ll rush out to fix it. Jean should be the grandmaster, not that crooked old bastard.

About Lisa: Lisa was my first friend in Mondstadt. She mailed me about getting copies of my books into the Mondstadt library, I said I’d do a signing to promote a new one, one thing led to another and now we have tea every ninth day of the month.

About Rosaria: Don’t tell anyone, but I’m very sure she’s a vampire. A nice one, but still.

About Barbara: Awe that little doll? I once saw her kill multiple fatui because they threatened some sick and injured travelers. So I think she’s a great person, takes compassion to save lives and guts to handle taking them as well.

About Bennett: Bennett? Yeah I know him, nice kid. He likes my books but kept breaking them, so now I make special enchanted ones so he can’t break them even if he tried.

About Razor: The guardian of wolvendom? He’s a weird one alright, but he’s not a bad guy. I taught him how to read and write.

About Fischl: That crazy kid? I don’t care what everyone else says, she’s nice. People need to learn to just leave people alone, she’s not hurting anyone with her persona.

About Noelle: You will never find someone more dedicated too...well anything than Noelle is too the knights and her training.

About Klee: Klee and I are great friends! Nothing is more stimulating than massive explosions!

About Amber: She always has interesting stories to tell, like one time where she got rid of some bandits by making a dummy merchant cart filled with explosives! Or the time she had to help a kid get her pet giant snake out from the cathedral!

About Zhongli: Heh, he thinks he’s slick, but I know he’s Rex Lapis. Gotta say I kinda hate him for just giving up his gnosis, however he did it to free his people so I can’t be mad.

About Ninnguang: Never much cared for economics because I don’t know much about ‘em, so I can’t say anything about her business sense. But I can say that she’s a great leader who puts her people first.

About Keqing: Haven’t talked to her enough to know much, but she’s dedicated to her people and that's enough for me. Her dislike of blind faith in the gods is definitely enough to make me want to get to know her better though.

About Qiqi: Qiqi’s a nice kid, I don’t care what anyone says her being a zombie doesn’t make her bad.

About Baizhu: Snake man? Nice guy, helps me be accurate in my books. Always worry about him though, one hot breeze and he’s out like a light.

About Xingqiu: Xingqiu always tries to hide his good deeds, and while I can respect anonymity I can’t let a hero go unsung. So I’ve written multiple short stories about him using a different name, and put in the beginnings that it’s based on a true story.

About Chongyun: His popsicles are great inventions, I’ve played around with the idea a bit and made flavored ones. So far I’ve got strawberry and grape down and am working on this weird fruit called a..Banananana? I think?

About Beidou: Captain Beidou is so cool! She tells me stories about her journeys out to see and I write about them, but after seeing her in action I can’t really say that I do her justice.

About Kazuha: Kazuha has suffered so much, yet he refuses to give up and curl up away from the world when he so easily could. I have immense respect for him.

About Xianling: You’d be surprised at how good slime and boar tusk can be.

About Xiao: I’ve written down many myths and legends of the yaksha, but sadly I've never seen him in person.

About Verr Goldet: Oh she’s great company! Good business sense, and always polite.

About Gorou: Many people rightly attribute the Resistance’s survival and victories to general Kokomi, but it’s wrong to say general Gorou isn’t a brilliant strategist. He knows how to rally his men against impossible odds, and how to keep them standing against them. I’d follow general Gorou into battle any day.

About Ayaka: Ayaka seems so lonely, I hope when this is all done she can have some form of social life.

About Thoma: Thoma’s as cool as he seems. He always has a level head, and solves problems smoothly and without issues.

About Yoimia: KABOOOM!

About Kokomi: One time I was doing an interview of her excellency, to boost morale and draw new members. I intended on asking for her autograph, only for her to ask for mine! I’ve been riding that high for a while now and still ain’t come down.

About Signora: I hate fatui, but without that she has some good qualities: most of her power is her own unlike most other harbingers, and she’s a sharp dresser. Plus she’s actually justified in her choice to join the fatui, not excused, but isolation can justify many crimes in my book. But no matter what I can’t forgive her. She attacked my friend without a chance for him to fight back, and was unfairly cruel. Nothing can justify that, and I will not forgive her as long as she remains unapologetic for her cowardly cruelty.

About Childe: Fatui are scum, but Childe’s probably the best of them: he personally tries to keep civilians and the weak out of fatui business, and he’s only in it to make sure his family lives well. He also is powerful on his own, but most of his strength is the Tsaritsa’s well deserved gifts. Still though, he’s just a single stressful day from losing all his morals. I can’t leave the fate of my homeland to a madman like him, not unless he gets therapy.

About Scaramouche: Scaramouche...that bastard, it’s been five years and he still owes me 30,061 mora.

About the Fatui: The fatui are really just people who are lost or genuinely believe they’re in the right, and while I can sympathize and respect many of them I can't agree nor can I just stand by and watch. The grunts usually aren’t that bad, honestly they’re more like underpaid graduates new to the workforce, but the fighters you see daily? Almost all of them are scum no better than raiders, and debt collectors are the worst of them because they’ll do anything they can to scam you out of everything in their contracts.

About us-commissions: You know, if you’d like to commission a biography it’s 100 mora per ten pages.

About us-inspiration: You’re a font of inspiration for me, ya know that?

About us-fellow rebels: I’ve been with ya enough to know that this path you’re on, the one to find your sis/bro, you’re fighting against something far beyond my ability to deal with. I won’t abandon you, I’ll be here every step of the way.

About us-friends: We’ve been through a lot pal, I’m glad to call you my friend. Please, call me my rebel name: it’s Belgrade, named after the city where some very brave men took their last stand against oppression.

Hobbies: Well you have reading and writing, otherwise? Can't think of anything.

Favorite food: Grilled tiger fish, come get it while it’s hot!

Least favorite food: I really wanna try it, but I can’t have almond tofu. Or any nuts. Closes my throat right up.

Something to share: Hehe, I got embarrassing dirt on all the harbingers. Signora? She has a Tsaritsa body pillow. Scaramouche? He knits sweaters for his pet pig, cute but he hates letting people know. And Childe? Hoo man, the pics I’ve got on him have put a pretty mora on my head.

About me: Hey have you seen my dice? I wanted to teach the mondstadt kids how to play them...hm? What?! No, not gambling! It’s, uh, a tad embarrassing...h-hey look! Literally anything else, let's pay attention to it!

About me II: Alright! These rolls are great, can’t wait to use them next game. I’m so proud of Fischl, so young yet so imaginative. She’s already-ah! T-traveler! What are you doing?..

You know I’m the one meant to be learning the secrets here.

About me III: Back in Snezhnaya, everyone looks down on things that don’t “conform” where even the most rigid of nations like Inazuma have stopped caring. Adults can't play games, men can’t wear dresses, can’t even have a “weird” sense of humor. No laws against it, but being outcasted is...it’s not good…

About me IV: I wish I grew up in Mondstadt. The kids there are so free to be themselves, and the adults aren’t pressured to be nothing more than working hands. It’s not perfect, after all people are rude to Fischl and Benny for being “different”, but it’s better that’s for sure.

About me V: Hey traveler...this is...no it’s not embarrassing. You’re my friend and I have no reason to be embarrassed by wanting to enjoy time with you! Fischl’s going to run a pen and paper dice game, ever played one? It’s super fun, you get to be anything you want really, and it’s a great way to bond.

You will? Great! I’ll help you make a character!

Alexander’s troubles: It’s so hard to find publishers these days. Noone wants an actual plot, they just want twist after twist. What’s up with that?! Shock value is no substitute for characters you love living fulfilling lives.

Happy birthday: Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday you crazy bastard, happy birthday to you! Seriously pal, you put yourself in harm's way every day it seems, we literally met when you were fighting an actual god! Actually, know what? No danger all day! We’re wrapping ourselves in blankets and just relaxing!

Feelings about ascension-intro: woah, somethin’ feels different. I like it!

Feelings about ascension-building up: man, I’m feeling inspired all of a sudden! Hey traveller, give me a prompt!

Feelings about ascension-climax: HA! I don’t know what high I’m riding but I like it, I just finished writing a whole book series!

Feelings about ascension-conclusion: WOO! YEAH! ULRICH MIKAEL KEEPS WINNIN’!-I-I meant Alexand-ah forget it, I’m feelin’ too good to care!

OCs:

About Louis: That crazy inventor guy from Fontaine? I heard he got used by the fatui, damn shame that. Noone deserves to have their heart played with like that.

About Spritefather: You ever heard of Spritefather? I’ve only heard legends, but the fanmail I keep getting tells me that sometimes things are only legendary until someone writes them down.

About the Storytraveler: There’s this woman who travels from universe to universe to fix things, she’s in Teyvat right now. You should meet her, really nice person. But her powers are a bit weird, why does she transform like that? It takes so much time!

_____________________

Tagging: @love-psxlm, @storytravelled, @genshin-obsessed, @golden-wingseos

[alirhi]

chapter 10

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 10/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. WARNINGS: not much, really. References to torture, but nothing explicit Notes: as usual, this fic relies heavily on you having seen the Marvel movies (or at least CA:TFA, CA:CW, Thor, and The Avengers, so far) but like... why would you be reading MCU fanfic if you hadn't seen the MCU? XD

He never would have broken; he just hoped Thanos and his idiot henchmen didn't realize that. The torture he endured probably would have broken Thor in about half the time they'd been at it, but Loki was far stronger than anyone had ever given him credit for. If not for Eira, alone on an alien planet with a complete stranger, Loki probably would have held out indefinitely, just to piss them off. As usual, though, he didn't have time to mess with them or test his own endurance. He had to get to Midgard, collect his daughter and her father regardless of Bucky's feelings on the subject, and disappear.

So he pretended to break. He held out for a while for show, and then folded like a poorly constructed house of cards. Thanos – not a very trusting lad, that one – insisted on worming into Loki's mind with that damned scepter, and he had to let him, to convince him that the God of Mischief was truly under his thumb.

It was the most unpleasant sensation, having the energy of that thing wiggling through his brain. He did his best to keep it at bay, only letting the stone in the scepter into the very edge of his mind, but it still felt like a swarm of beetles crawling around under his skull. It, and the energy required to keep it from taking over or to keep himself from shaking it off entirely, left him exhausted and disoriented.

You will have your moment of glory, Thanos had told him with a smirk as he handed Loki the scepter. Just serve your purpose and bring me what's mine.

"I am Loki of Asgard," he announced to the humans between him and that damned cube, "and I am burdened with glorious purpose." They didn't catch the bitter sarcasm in his tone, but that was alright. He hadn't expected them to.

"Loki?" Why did this old man look so familiar? "Brother of Thor?"

Loki just barely stopped himself from gagging, and scoffed instead. Of course. This was one of Thor's little human friends. Well, at least he could have a bit of fun while he was here; he touched the tip of the scepter to Selveig's chest and watched the sickly blue light seep into his irises. See how Thor felt when he learned that Loki had made one of his precious human friends his little dancing puppet! It also helped that Selveig was some sort of scientist; he had some working knowledge of the Tesseract, and that would likely come in handy.

He really didn't give a damn about the Tesseract or Thanos' mad mission; still, it was best to keep up appearances until he could find a way to wiggle free of him once and for all. As long as he could feel the scepter's energy slithering around his brain, he knew there was a chance that Thanos, or his creepy underling The Other, could track what he was doing. The only thing worse than playing the obedient servant would be leading them straight back to Bucky and Eira. His best bet was a 'poorly executed' plan to distract Thor and his little band of human misfits.

Pity he had to fight them. He rather liked Banner and Stark. There was one silver lining to all this insanity, though: The redhead. That bloody slag, Natasha. The moment he looked into Barton's mind and saw her, that woman who'd dared put her hands on his Sergeant, he couldn't wait to make her suffer.

Damn. Jealousy truly was the ugliest, most uncomfortable emotion.

It caught him off guard when they sent her in first. As he gleefully informed her, he'd expected some sort of torture first, and then the woman would be sent in as a 'friend', a balm, and he'd be expected to fold and cooperate. None of them knew the depth of his hatred for this woman, so he was sure they didn't expect him to easily resist her 'charms.'

He taunted her for a bit, reveling in the increasing look of horror in her eyes, the way they filled with tears she fought valiantly not to shed, the way she trembled...

"You're a monster!" she whispered as she turned her back to him, still visibly shaking.

Loki chuckled, the insidious little devil in his heart placated by Natasha's apparent distress. "Oh, no," he gloated, at this point just making shit up as he went along. "You brought the monster." Honestly, what did that even mean?

Suddenly steady and clear-eyed, she turned and looked him right in the eye. "So, Banner. That's your play."

"What?" Oh, right. Barton had told him she had a knack for wrangling the beast within Banner; likely, she'd been the one sent to recruit him. Well, that worked out, didn't it?

He pretended to be shocked by her deductive skills until she was out of sight, and then rolled his eyes. Let them give him credit when Banner lost control of the beast in the fray about to come; it hadn't actually been his plan, but he knew it would certainly happen. These misfits were nothing if not predictable.

Maybe he'd luck out and find her mangled corpse somewhere at the end of all this. Surely Bucky wouldn't care, right? They'd only had a chance encounter... Perhaps Loki just wouldn't tell him. Really, was there any reason for him to know this random woman he'd slept with while brainwashed was dead? No, darling, I have no idea what happened to Agent Romanov! None at all. She's a spy, isn't she? Perhaps she disappeared on her own...

Oh, bugger. He was going to have to make sure she survived this, wasn't he? Even as he mocked Thor and tricked him into the glass cage, he was thinking about that bloody redhead. If the Sergeant remembered her, likely Bucky would, as well. Loki had never lied to him before; he certainly wasn't about to start now. Ugh. Guilt was an even worse feeling than jealousy!

Brother safely sequestered from the fight for the time being, Loki set about retrieving the scepter and the Tesseract, and making sure the vessel the fragile humans were on remained intact long enough for Stark and Rogers to get it at least partially functioning again. It was exhausting, trying to keep up the appearance of attempting to kill these people while simultaneously trying to keep them safe.

He could feel the scepter's hold on his mind weakening, thank Frigga, but he didn't dare even think of going to Siberia yet. Until he was free of it completely, without pushing it away himself and alerting Thanos, he didn't dare go anywhere near Bucky. At least he had command of the Chitauri, once he could bring them to Midgard. They would make a delightful distraction for all parties involved, and if he timed things just right, he could even send a few of them to SHIELD headquarters to turn HYDRA into nothing but a lake of blood and bone fragments.

Oh, Stark had made it home. Secretly pleased to see that he was well, Loki smirked – trying desperately to hide his giddy grin – and met him inside. "Please tell me you're going to appeal to my 'humanity,'" he teased, eager for banter with a mind as sharp as his own for the first time since... Well, since before Bucky had been captured and reported killed in action.

"Uh, actually I'm planning to threaten you."

"You should've left your armor on for that." This man was adorable. Once all was said and done and they were safe, he wondered if it would be strange to invite Stark over for dinner.

"Yeah." Stark's tone was endearingly dismissive. "It's seen a bit of mileage, and you've got the glowstick of destiny."

Trying not to laugh, Loki glanced down at the scepter. I am never calling it anything else again.

"Would you like a drink?"

He couldn't contain his laughter completely; he really liked Stark. Disguising it as mocking and arrogance, he hastily told him, "Stalling me won't change anything."

"No no no, threatening!" Stark gestured to the impressively stocked bar. "No drink, you sure? I'm having one."

One more second, and he was going to break and crack up. Or hug the man. Either way, it wouldn't look good. Hoping to buy a moment to collect himself, he spun on his heel and moved over to the glass wall overlooking the city.

"The Chitauri are coming. Nothing will change that." I wish you, Banner, and Thor would just get as far away as possible before they arrive. He turned back to face the other man, hoping the tremor he could hear in his own voice wasn't audible from across the room. "What have I to fear?"

"The Avengers." Loki must have looked as confused as he felt; Stark rolled his eyes and clarified, "That's what we call ourselves; sorta like a team. Earth's mightiest heroes type thing."

"Yes." Loki smirked. "I've me them."

Picking up the mocking in his tone, Stark chuckled. "Yeah, takes us a while to gain any traction, I'll give you that one. But... Let's do a headcount, here. Your brother, the demi-God-"

Adoptive brother, he wanted to snap as he scoffed and turned away, and barely that!

"A super soldier, a living legend who kinda lives up to the legend... A man with breathtaking anger management issues..."

Loki couldn't help grinning at that description. He liked Banner quite a bit, and the mindless green beast was an endless source of entertainment.

"A couple of master assassins," Stark continued, pointing at the pacing Trickster, "and you, big fella, you've managed to piss off every single one of them."

"That was the plan."

"Not a great plan."

That's because you don't know what the plan was for. He grinned, but his mirth was short-lived as Stark calmly made his way around the bar and approached him.

"When they come, and they will, they'll come for you."

He'd thought of that, but still hadn't thought his way out of it quite yet. "I have an army," was all he could think to say.

"We have a Hulk."

"Oh, I thought the beast had wandered off." He'd likely return, of course, but hopefully in time only to slow the Chitauri, not to capture Loki.

He didn't want to, but as the conversation went on he realized he didn't have much of a choice. Hoping it wouldn't do any lasting damage to that beautiful brain of his, he touched the scepter to Stark's chest... and nothing happened. Confused, he tried again. Still nothing, and now Stark's witty retorts were just grating on him. Spotting the cuffs he hadn't been wearing before and assuming they were some sort of tech, he decided to just vent his frustrations the old fashioned way. With a growl, he lifted Stark by the throat and threw him out a window.

Sure enough, something shot out the hole in the glass after him, and within seconds, Stark appeared in a new suit. Good. At least Loki had managed to vent a little anger without actually harming one of the few humans he respected.

The knock to the head he received when he was blasted back a few seconds later was enough to finally dislodge the energy of the scepter fully. He'd have heaved a sigh of relief if the Tesseract hadn't chosen that exact moment to finally tear open the space above the tower and let the Chitauri through. Unleashing Hell on an unsuspecting city miles from even the closest of his actual targets had never exactly been his favorite plan, but it seemed that was the only one that was actually going to play out.

As usual, even his hated backup plan didn't end the way he'd hoped. By the end of the afternoon, two things were quite clear to Loki: One, he was going to have to take a breather and then find a way to disappear once he was healed.

And two, he didn't much like Banner anymore.

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[catsafarithewriter]

“Don’t be mad but.....I stole a dragon’s egg.” Why do I picture Louise saying this to Persephone when she thought a baby dragon would be a great gift but all goes wrong afterwards? Lol just the thought of that makes it funny

I have three separate asks with this specific prompt, so I’m guessing ya’ll really like dragons, huh? XD (Each ask is with a different character too, so I’m doing all three too.) One lost ladies ship coming right up! 

(Inspiration hit suddenly, so for anyone else waiting for their prompts, I shall get to them, I promise!)

x

It had been at least three days since Louise’s last bout of tomfoolery and, really, that should have been Persephone’s first clue that chaos was on the horizon. 

She had grown complacent, she decided in hindsight, and honestly she should have known better. But they were celebrating their anniversary - well, one of their anniversaries; they had married several times in several different worlds - and Persephone had dared to believe they were simply due a romantic walk through an underground market. Browsing, exploring, maybe topping it off with the shadow-puppet show... 

She was just admiring the many masks on display when her wife careened around a corner and grabbed her paw.

“Hello, love!” Louise called over the fast-approaching sounds of chaos. “My darling, my dear...” She hauled Persephone down a tunnel. “My beautiful and wonderfully understanding wife--”

“What have you done?”

“Done? Why would you assume I have done anything?”

“THIEF! CRIMINAL! RUFFIAN!”

Persephone raised an eyebrow at Louise, not the easiest of tasks when one is sprinting down a rapidly narrowing burrow. “Call it a wife’s intuition.”

“Fine! I may... Now, don’t be mad, but I may,” Louise shouted, “have stolen an dragon’s egg.” She motioned to the bag she had tucked under one arm.

“Is that all you’ve done?” Persephone bellowed back. She gestured loosely with her free hand to the hoards of guards hot on their tails. “Oh, thank goodness, and here I was thinking you’d gone and done something reckless!”

"Now, don’t be mad--”

“You should have warned me before pulling a stunt like this!”

“I’m warning you now!”

“You,” Persephone panted, “and I have very different definitions of the word ‘warned’.” They came to a partial cave-in, and she relinquished her wife’s hand as she scaled it with a single running jump. She landed on the other side just in time to see Louise clear it with a spinning flip. 

Persephone gave her A Look. “Careful. Your von Gikkingen is showing.”

“Gotta keep in practice for when I show up my brother.” She wove her hand through Persephone’s paw and continued the helterskelter sprint. “Anyway,” she continued, annoyingly not out of breath yet, “you know we couldn’t just leave it there. They’re the ones selling a dragon’s egg! That should be illegal!”

“I know, but did you consider there were subtler ways to steal it than grabbing it straight off the shop floor?” Persephone demanded. 

“I didn’t just grab it!” Louise retorted, mock-insulted laced into her words.

“Oh Bast, you did the light show, didn’t you?”

“It’s a perfect distraction! Harmless, distracting, snazzy-- OH!” Louise’s wide-brimmed hat flew off as they skidded around a corner, and Persephone caught it with a well-practiced snatch.

“I keep telling you that you should get elastic for this thing,” Persephone admonished. 

“It would spoil the look though.”

“It’ll spoil the look even more if you lose it or it flies off into a river somewhere.”

They slowed as they came to an empty tunnel, dimly-lit with infrequently-used torches, and Persephone passed the hat back to Louise. It sounded like they had thrown off their pursuers by scaling the cave-in. “So, now we’re the caretakers of one dragon egg. Any ideas how we’re going to get it back to its kind?”

“We could always look after it,” Louise offered. She gently rolled the egg out of the bag and admired its shimmering sky-blue surface. “Just until we find its family again. I mean, how hard can looking after a dragonette be?”

Persephone, who had already gone through motherhood once, and that had been with a kitten and not a flying lizard with the ability to spit fire, snorted. “Louise, honey, we are not raising a dragon.”

“I mean, of course we aren’t; we need to get this little fella back to his folks, but having a dragon on our side would be pretty neat, wouldn’t it?”

“HALT! Come back and pay for that, thief!”

Out of nowhere, a short, chameleon-like creature appeared, no taller than the cats’ waists and sporting yellow streaking pattern across its face. 

“This?” Persephone asked to Louise. “This is who you stole from?”

“It’s not my proudest moment, but--”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she demanded. 

“He was selling a dragon’s egg!” Louise protested. “It’s not stealing if you take something that was already stolen!”

The shopkeeper bared its teeth. “If you don’t pay for it, then I’ll have to make you.”

Louise stepped forward, wielding her parasol between them. “Oh yeah? And who’s going to make me? Persephone, hold the egg.”

“I’ve got the egg. But, Louise--”

Louise threw back the kind of confidently charming smile that Persephone had fallen in love with - and also the kind of smile that usually preceded something reckless. “Don’t worry, love. I think I’ve got this covered.”

“Uh-huh,” Persephone said, all while really wishing that for once, just once, Louise would read up on the worlds before charging into them. She stood back and waited to intercede when she was needed. She watched as Louise swung her parasol in a loose arc designed to firmly knock the shopkeeper off-balance and then miss as the creature vanished. 

“It looks like a chameleon, but its skin is actually more akin to cuttlefish,” Persephone called. “It can change colour to blend in with its background.”

“And you’re -- ow -- you’re only telling me this -- ow -- now? Stop biting me!”

“It’s called practical learning!” Persephone said. 

“And what am I learning? Ow! Cut that out, you little--”    

“To include your wife in your criminal habits. And maybe plan things out for once in your life.”

“Sure, sure -- ow -- next time I’ll draw up a diagram for you.” 

A lucky swing of the parasol found its mark and something slammed into a cave wall. The nothingness shimmered, and yellow scales glitched into view. Beady black eyes stared at them. 

“See?” Louise panted. She straightened, rolling her shoulders back, and approached the shopkeeper. “That wasn’t so difficult.”

“Alright, dear. Just watch out for it’s--”

Persephone faltered as the shopkeeper snapped open its mouth and shot out a long, long pink tongue that slapped Louise’s cheek. 

“--tongue...”

“It licked me! Did you see that! It licked me! It... oooh, that can’t be good...”

Persephone gently set the egg to one side, and rose to her paws. “Let me guess: tingles, sparks, and now you’re beginning to lose all feeling in your cheek?”

“That about sums it up.”

“Then you’d better sit down before the paralysis spreads to the rest of you and makes you sit down.”

“Paralysis?”

“Relax. It’ll wear off.” Persephone ducked as the tongue made another attack and squatted down in front of the shopkeeper. “Hello, sir.”

“Pay up,” he growled.

“No, I don’t think I’m going to do that,” Persephone said. “And before you even consider another lick, just remember that I have a cutlass strapped to each side that can fell ship masts, so consider what it can do to a tongue.” She casually leant both arms on the pummel of each weapon. 

The shopkeeper swallowed nervously and pursed his lips shut. 

“And, given from the almighty smack you’ve just taken, I’m going to guess that your camouflage ability has taken a jolt. Don’t worry - once the stress wears off, you’ll be as as good as new, minus one of your wares. But you’re not going to be vanishing any time soon, am I right? Don’t speak, just nod.”

The shopkeeper nodded. 

“Now,” Persephone continued, “what my wonderful, but slightly over-enthusiastic wife said earlier is true. It’s not really stealing if the thing in question was already stolen. And what you have - had, sorry - is most definitely not something that would be parted for any money. In fact,” and she tilted her head to one side, recounting the facts, “I believe trading dragon eggs is illegal in all worlds in this sector, am I correct?”

Another nod. 

“And a fine, upstanding merchant like yourself would never dream of selling the eggs of a sentient species. So, what is going to happen is this; we are going to go our separate ways - my wife and I will return this egg to the family that you ‘found’ this from, and you are going to go home and reconsider your life choices, capiche?”

More frantic nodding. 

“Good, good. Louise, how are you faring?”

“My legs feel like ants are running up and down them.”

“Ah, that’ll be the pins and needles stage. You’re about a sixth of the way there.”

“Wonderful.” 

Persephone knelt down by her wife and lifted Louise into her arms, balancing precariously to sit the egg in Louise’s dipped lap.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Louise mumbled.

“Not in the last hour, but you’d better make it quick before the paralysis hits your tongue.” Persephone glanced back to stare daggers at the shopkeeper, just daring him to attempt anything, before her attention was called back to her passenger just as the paralysis did indeed hit Louise’s tongue. “Love, please stop talking. You’re drooling on my coat.”

Louise slurred something that may have been, ‘I love you,’ in the very loosest sense of the phrase. 

Persephone kissed her forehead. “I love you too. Now close your mouth otherwise I’m going to tell your brother all about this little adventure.”

Louise made a disgruntled sound but didn’t attempt to add anything.  

And now off to return a dragon egg to its family. 

How difficult could that be?  

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 3: Contrite

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Three: Contrite

Note: Well, the last chapter was pretty heavy, wasn’t it? I’m still laughing to hide my sadness. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. It was very interesting to write, and this is another topic that you’ve wanted me to touch on for some time now in this AU. Enjoy!

-~-

Just outside the house, the faint sound of conversation could still be heard from the other side of the wall as he exited the cozy dwelling and stepped out onto the front porch. Not the sort who had been raised without manners, the redhead made an effort to carefully close the front door before stepping off of the front porch and into the yard, the small stone walkway that led to the front gate clicking underfoot as he strode forward and towards the exit. He knew not what had caused such a reaction in her, but he intended to find out.

Sirrus was walking a thin line and he knew it. Nothing about the matter at hand was something that he should involve himself with. But considering the subject matter, and the sheer level of tension present in that room, there were two things that he was sure of: that this was a conversation that had needed to happen for some time now, and that Nico was not a blood relative to one of the white-haired descendants of Sparda. He’d been on the fence about that one for quite a while now, but now he was certain of it. And that was part of his reason for what he intended to do at that moment. He wanted to understand what had moved the young woman in such a way when she was not a part of what was being discussed, at least, not from what he could tell.

He located his quarry not far from Matier’s cozy little dwelling. Nico sat on a fence across the road from the front gate, her back towards him. Sirrus slowed his gate, not wanting to startle her as he watched her run her arm across her face and sniff, shuttering slightly. There was no need to upset her further. She was clearly already beside herself as a result of powerful emotions that he couldn’t quite comprehend with so little information. But if she was willing to allow him, then he was willing to help.

“You vacated the premises in such a tizzy. Is something troubling you, A chara?” He said softly as he neared her, his desire to make himself know but, at the same time, not to startle her when she was clearly distracted conflicting with one another.

Nico inhaled sharply, startled. She turned to face Sirrus, seemingly surprised that he had come so near to her without her noticing. Facing him or not, the man had startlingly quiet footsteps for one so very tall. She wiped her eyes again, shivering as she regained her composure. Nothing like crying in front of someone you barely knew to make you feel even worse than you had before. “A cha-what?”

He smiled sympathetically. Yes, he’d let that slip, hadn’t he? How unlike him. “Ah yes, that. My sincerest apologies if I’ve confused you. It’s Gaelic. It means “friend.” I meant to say something else that equated to much the same, but honestly, I just got my languages mixed up. I simply meant to enquire as to your condition. You seemed upset.”

The mechanic nodded, letting out a sigh. This entire situation was so uncomfortable. “Yea, sorry about that… it’s kinda complicated. And really fucked up.” She shook her head shrugging as she searched her pockets for her lighter and her cigarettes. Once she found them, she lit one and inhaled deeply, clearing her throat before she spoke again.” You speak more than two languages? That’s fancy. But yea, it would take forever to explain. Long story, ya know? You don’t wanna hear about all that.”

With a disagreeing shake of his head, the redhead glanced both ways to make sure they were along before continuing. Privacy was a luxury on a residential street, and if he expected her to open up to him about this, then he was going to have assure that much on her behalf. 

“I’m a polyglot. I speak six languages, not counting Queen’s English. Sadly no one really speaks my native language anymore.” He shook his head, fixing his hair as he sat down on the fence next to her, and attempted to make himself comfortable despite his legs being too long for his sitting position. “But that’s enough about me. I have plenty of time, and I suspect they will be busy for at least a few more minutes. Care to indulge my curiosity? Not a word of what you say will escape my lips. Everyone needs a confidante.”

She seemed hesitant for a moment before succeeding defeat and taking another puff of her cigarette. “Well, I warned ya. It’s about what Vergil said about being that Nelo Angelo fella. The Black Angel.” Her face scrunched in discomfort as she said those words, clearly displeased. “That’s already really fucked up and all, but ya know what makes it even worse? My dear old deadbeat daddy did a lot of research into him. And then he replicated it! Those wackjobs in Fortuna looked at that mess and said “yea, let’s do that!”

He waited a moment, listening to see if she would say anything else. Getting things off of her chest might help, and he was willing to listen. She took another heavy draw from the cigarette, exhaling heavily. When he realized she wasn’t going to continue, he leaned forward slightly, giving her a sincere look. She was holding something back, and he could tell. “But that’s not all. There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

Nico paused for a moment before attempting to continue smoking. A harsh breeze kicked up, knocking the cigarette out of her hand and onto the ground. She cursed under her breath and jumped up to stomped it out, unwilling to let it roll into the nearby bushes and possibly start a fire. After doing so, she reached for another, only to place it into her mouth and fumble with the lighter to discover that was too windy outside to use. And even if it wasn’t, it seemed to be jammed or otherwise unfunctional.

“Shit. Why now?” She looked up and huffed, irritated. “I was gonna use that, you know. Damn wind… and yea, there is more to it than that. That’s the worst part, at least for me.”

With a creaking groan from the worn wood, she clambered back onto the fence, settling back in next to Sirrus as she looked out across the street towards the house. Things were quieter now, or maybe that was just her imagination. She couldn’t really be sure, but she didn’t care all that much either way. When she turned back towards the red-haired man in the black and purple coat, he had his hand extended towards her. Her eyes traveled between his palm and her hands, leaving her confused until she realized he was quietly requesting the pack of cigarettes she held. “Oh, did you want one? Didn’t know you were into that.”

He nodded and then shook his head, taking the pack from her hands. Sirrus then withdrew a cigarette and studied it for a moment, a difficult to read look on his face. “I don’t smoke them. Perhaps that wind was a little hint from the powers that be that it might be time to quit while your ahead. Best not to squander your talents young.” He paused when she gave him a funny look. She didn’t look upset, but the raised eyebrow told him that he might be overstepping a bit. Best to leave it be. “I’ve heard from your compatriots that your quite skilled when it comes to making weapons. Your habits might end that for you prematurely. But that’s not my business. It’s your life. I can light this for you… if you’d like.”

Nico mumbled something under her breath in agreement before grabbing the end of the cigarette out of his extended hand with her mouth as he handed her the pack back, an amused look on his face. She was more than a little surprised when he extended his hand to pinch the end of the thin cylinder, the logical part of her mind wondering where he was keeping his matches of his lighter or whatever else he might use to accomplish his task.

“Hold still for me,” he said quietly, leaning in slightly as if he were trying to get a better view of what he was trying to do. Before she could say anything, the end of the cigarette ignited. A small puff of smoke and light-colored flame could be seen before it died down and he released it, sitting back again and looking forward. She inhaled and then sighed, removing it from her mouth as she allowed the smoke to escape her mouth. 

“Yea, your probably right. I shouldn’t have started in the first place. But ya know, peer pressure and all that. It’s whatever. I’ll stop one day. I hope.” She took another quick draw before putting it out on what was left of the old, abandoned fence, suddenly not in the mood to actually smoke it. Two was more than enough. No need to get carried away. “So… how’d ya do that? Or am I not supposed to ask? You some kinda demon or somethin’ like that? Cause I don’t really care. Most everybody I know is at this point.”

Sirrus seemed to consider her question for a moment as he looked out across the house, a glittering hint of something she couldn’t quite grasp in his cool grey eyes. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he raised his fingers and snapped them, an unnatural ringing sound echoing across the space between them as he did so. Nico stared at him as she realized that his thumb and index finger had caught fire, and that the fire was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It flickered between a deep black and a gleaming white somewhat randomly, his relaxed demeanor indicating to her that this somehow didn’t harm him in any way. A moment later, he dragged his fingers back across one another in the opposite direction, extinguishing the once vibrant flames. “... it’s something like that. Your not too far off. But I can’t really say. Or, at least, I’m not supposed to. Safety measures and all that. You probably shouldn’t have seen me do that much, if I’m being honest. But what’s done is done. Tell me what’s eating you up inside?”

The plucky mechanist repressed the urge to press him further. She was sure they could pick this up again under happier circumstances at a later date. But at the very least, her curiosity had been piqued. She’d never seen anyone do anything quite like that, and she wondered if any of Nero’s relatives could do anything similar. Maybe she could ask him once things calmed down again.

“Well… what’s bothern’ me so much is that I took my daddy’s messed up work and I used a little bit of it to help me better understand how to help Nero out with somethin’. It’s those Devil breakers you saw me workin’ on before we left. And then I find out where that research really came from…” She shook her head again, deeply bothered. “I just feel like… I dono how to really say it. Ya think Vergil’d be pissed off if he found out? Cause I feel like I’d be, ya know? It just feels wrong to me now that I really know. But I did it to help his son out, so maybe that makes it better? Who knows. I just kinda feel like a hypocrite for giving my daddy so much shit and then almost doing the same thing myself.”

Sirrus shook his head, signaling to her that they didn’t quite share the same sentiments. “I don’t think that constitutes a hypocritical standpoint in the slightest. I’ve mingled with my fair share of hypocrites and narcissists during my lifetime, and your nothing like them. At most, it was an honest misstep. At worst, it’s still better than anything your worthless father probably did on his best days.” The fiery redhead gave her a more playful look, attempting to keep the subject matter as lighthearted as he possibly could. He understood her more than she realized.” He willfully inflicted horrors upon others. You took that legacy of defilement and evil and converted it into the very antithesis of his work. And you did it better than he ever could. I think that’s the best punishment anyone like him could ever hope to receive. And for it to be his own daughter? His own flesh and blood? Absolutely delicious. I revel in it. I can’t say that I know Vergil, so I can’t say how he’d feel about it. But personally, I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

Nico seemed to consider his words for a moment. He made a good point. Agnus would probably roll over in his grave if he knew what she’d used his life’s work to create. It was a total and utter insult to his entire body of work, and that was something she could take pride in. But there was still always going to be a part of her that felt as though she’d done something perverse to her best friend’s father, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to reconcile that. Nico wished she could go back to a time when she hadn’t known that. It seemed so long ago, and yet it had only been a few minutes. But then again, that was all it took to deliver the kind of knowledge that had to potential to change someone’s life forever. Despite everything he’d done, she kinda felt bad for Vergil. And Dante, for that matter. He’d been through a lot. His entire personality kinda made more sense to her now. 

What a tragedy.

“That’s a good point, I guess. I guess I could- wait, what the hell is that?” Nico paused in the middle of her sentence and pointed further up the street. Strange creatures that she’d never seen before had just crossed the intersection about a block away, and they seemed to be after someone. Her mind immediately answered her question for her, but Sirrus decided to chime in as he hopped down off of the fence and looked where she’d pointed, a serious and nonplussed look on his face. He was clearly unhappy with the current events as his light jog turned into a sprint, the reality of what was happening only occurring to him at that moment.

“Those are demons, Nico. And that means that I have work to do.”

-~-

V stood up and transitioned to the couch, his balance still slightly shaky from his ordeal. If he was going to relay this particular story, then the very least that he could do was attempt to make himself comfortable. After all, this was going to take a while, and he didn’t intend to spend any more time than he needed to in a state of discomfort.

“So if you don’t like talking about this, then why do it?” Dante asked bluntly. He was somewhat confused as to V’s motivations, although still curious to hear what his oldest nephew had to say. It was the first time that he’d offered to regale them with tales of a time before they’d met, and he didn’t intend to talk him out of his decision if he didn’t need to.

The young summoner leaned forward and perched his elbows on his thighs, propping his neck up with his palms as he looked down at the floor for a moment. He breathed slowly, gathering himself. “Because this is something I should have done a long time ago. After all, the fool who persists in his folly will become wise. And I need to get this over and done with. It’s better this way, regardless of my desire to do so. That’s now irrelevant.”

Nero leaned back against the couch next to V, seemingly understanding what he meant as he nodded in agreement. “I get that. And if that knife was messing with your head and this demon prince guy had his stupid cult come after you, then it makes you wonder why your thinking about whatever this is now, right? You said it’s been a while. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

V nodded in agreement, sharing an almost bewildered look with his younger sibling. “Yes, precisely. It might sound unusual, or even impossible, but it felt almost as though someone was searching through my mind in an attempt to find a weapon to use against me, and I only discovered it partway through. I feel almost compelled to get this out of my system. I’ve been poisoned by it for far too long.”

The Eldest Son of Sparda seemed to consider his son’s statement, now more uncomfortable than he had been previously. And considering the conversation that they’d just had and the blunt force trauma that Matier had delivered to his cranium, that was truly saying something. “That is entirely possible. That is how Belial gained the upper hand in our first battle. Anything that he has influence over shares his power. The only difference is that for him to use that power against you, a physical connection is required. His reach isn’t that concrete, thankfully.” He stopped for a moment, sparing a glance at the box that contained the knife.” I imagine that the blade would have a similar effect on me if he willed it to do so. But I am not eager to find out. And you’ve come in direct contact with his corrupted conduit, so his path to you might be more fleshed out. It’s not an ideal situation.”

Dante shrugged. “I gotta say, it sure looks like we’re a few dozen steps behind, doesn’t it? And with an opponent this powerful… this isn’t good. I don’t like our chances right now. He’s definitely got the upper hand.”

Nero nodded in agreement, his arm flopping down onto his lap. “Yea, that’s probably true, Dante. But if V thinks we should know something, then it might be a good idea to sit down and shut up and listen to him, right? So let’s do that.”

Vergil folded his arms in a huff, not pleased by Nero’s blunt and to the point statement. He was however willing to succeed defeat to his son in this situation, however. Nero’s point was valid, regardless of his choice of vocabulary. “Very well. Proceed.”

The young summoner stretched slightly, adjusting his posture before clasping his hands together and leaning back. “Very well, then. Settle in. This may take a while.”

-~-

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It’s nice to start out the book by tackling some of the bigger questions, especially when that means that I know for sure what I’ll be writing about for the next few chapters. Really helps my writer’s block. And I’m ahead of schedule, too? Well, that’s a welcome change of pace! Anyway, thanks for your help! I’ll see you all next week on Wednesday! And bring tissues! You might need them. It’s backstory time!

Rest in peace Brad Venable. You voiced my favorite crazy birb. This chapter is for you.

[himbowelsh]

Oh my lord, I went through your shiftab tag and read the secret admirer oneshot, it was so cute! 😭 I know you aren't taking requests for those particular prompts but if possible, could you write a similar 'secret admirer' storyline for winnix or baberoe? Gosh please I'd die of happiness!

i have...  done the thing.  went with baberoe, because honestly i’m never not craving more content between those two, and there are considerably more ghosts than you probably wanted, but i really hope you enjoy, darling!!!

(read here on ao3)

Every one of his better instincts — and, contrary to popular belief, Babe does have a few — is screaming that this is an awful idea.

Quit your Irish dancing around the problem and fuckin’ do it, Bill would say, if only Bill were here. Babe knows exactly what advice Bill Guarnere would give — he can hear it in Bill’s voice, like the man’s shouting it, an entire ocean away. Still, an imagined echo is no substitute for the real thing. Babe can dream up as many Guarnere platitudes as his brain can handle... but they still won’t solve the problem in front of him now.

Namely, a blank piece of paper.

“God dammit,” he says out loud. “I don’t know how to do this.”

There’s no one around to hear him. More and more nowadays, there isn’t. He never used to talk to himself before — that was always something crazy people did, in Babe’s experience, and he could be called a lot of things, but crazy was never one of ‘em. People like Crazy Joe McKloskey could stand on the street corner talking to a lamppost like it could understand him. That’s fine, because it was crazy Joe. Babe Heffron, who delivered papers and chased his brothers through the backstreets of South Philly, never talked to himself... maybe because he was never alone.

To be fair, he’s at war, and it’s tough to be alone in a company of a hundred other guys. He’s gotten good at it, though. Gene was the one who showed him how to seek out peace when he needed it, taught him all the good places to hide, how to go away somewhere in your head the rest of the world couldn’t reach. He’d never needed those skills before, but now that he’s learned them, they’ve proved invaluable. More and more nowadays, with nothing to do but soak in the Austrian summer, Babe finds himself wanting to be alone.

Yeah, sometimes he talks to himself... only because the people he wants to be around, the people who damn well should be here, aren’t. 

You’re overthinking it, the voice in his head that sounds too much like Julian declares. When Babe looks up, he can almost see him — his old buddy, leaning back on a crate on the other side of the musky garret room. Julian has a way of lounging that was so casual it made him look boneless. He was a spreader, too — how many damn times did Babe have to shove him to the other side of the foxhole because Julian’s knee was digging into one of his damn organs? The kid liked to take up space. His ghost absorbs it now, studying Babe with a sort of mocking smirk. Look. Practically tearing your hair out, and you’ve barely even written a word yet.

“Yeah, well, it’s harder than you’d think.”

Babe’s not a letter writer. He never has been. His wrists cramp up when he holds a pen too long, and he can’t find the words anyways. His kid sister writes long letters, filled with funny anecdotes and memories from home; his Ma’s letters are shorter, succinct, and bluntly affectionate. Even Bill sent a message, after agonizing months of silence, letting the whole company know he’s doing alright, back home in the states. Babe treasures every letter he receives, tucking them away in his trunk between his underwear and his Bible... but the entire war, he’s only written his family three times. So far, he can’t bring himself to write to Bill at all.

Yeah, because you’re a lazy bum. There’s Old Guarnere again. He’s standing next to Julian — on both legs, whole and healthy — arms crossed as he blatantly judges Babe’s writing ability. The ceiling’s so low, on a steady downward slope, that Bill’s head hits it every time he moves. Babe can see the disgruntled faces he makes, clear as day, and it draws a laugh from him in spite of himself.

“I just — it can’t be any old letter, okay? It’s gotta be perfect. I need it to be perfect.”

You need to take a nap and quit pretending you’re a better writer than you are, Bill scoffs. When has anything you’ve ever written been perfect?

Babe presses his palm hard against his forehead, fingers tugging at his uncombed mess of hair. “That’s the problem, dammit. It ain’t gonna be perfect... but it’s what he deserves.”

If this goddamn war has taught him anything, it’s that Eugene Roe deserves nothing less than the best. The war sure hasn’t been shy about giving him the worst, over and over again. Gene’s hands have been stained with so much blood that it’s a wonder he can still look at them — can still go about his life as normal, humoring nervous patients and summoning a smile when the other fellas rib him — when he’s dealt with more shit than any of them. Babe just heard about his best friend getting his leg blown off. Gene was the one on his knees in the snow, scrambling to save Bill’s life. Yet when Babe retreated into himself afterwards, grief-stricken and reeling, Gene was the one who anchored him to earth. His quiet conversation and soft smiles put Babe back together, piece by piece at a time. He’s got a gift for healing, in ways he doesn’t even realize. A guy like that... deserves every good thing in the world, and Babe wants to hand them all to him.

As it is, he can’t even write one lousy letter.

“He’s gonna hate it. He’s gonna... throw it right back in my face, cause he realizes he’s talking to a guy who can’t spell ‘adoration’. He’s gonna... he’s gonna...”

Laugh. Except that’s not like Gene at all. Be goddamn disgusted... except Babe knows Gene well enough by now to know that’s not like him either. It’s hard to tell with other guys, especially in the army, where shared foxholes can so easily blur the lines between friend and lover... but he’s seen a gleam in Gene’s eyes when other fellas talk about Rita Hayworth and Betty Grable, like he’s just humoring the conversation while wishing it’d go somewhere else. Babe knows the feeling. No, Gene could do anything, but he wouldn’t be disgusted that a guy loves him.

Maybe... just that it’s Babe.

Now you’re really being an idiot, Julian moans, tipping his head back towards the sky. Babe’s first instinct is to throw something at him — the hand holding his pencil twitches, but he’s only got one, and there’s no satisfaction in swinging at ghosts.

 “I don’t know what to say,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw again. Dear Gene, the letter reads. I’m writing because I need to tell you...

That’s as far as he’s got. Not even a full goddamn sentence.

Have you considered... you’re overthinking it? You’ve gotta actually write something before deciding you hate what you’ve written.

“Julian, you’re a regular goddamn philosophizer.”

I’m just saying! 

Suddenly, Julian is no longer on the other side of the room. He’s looming right over Babe’s shoulder, his presence like a weight bearing down on Babe’s back. Every twitch of his hand is being observed, every uncertain breath noted. Geez, he didn’t crack during jump school training, but this pressure is enough to split him in two.

“Forget it!” Babe exclaims, throwing the pencil down onto the paper. “This was a stupid idea, I give up!”

No, you fucking are not.

There’s Bill again — Bill Guarnere, and his unbeatable determination to butt his head into everyone else’s business. Babe lifts his head, glaring into the spot he imagines his best friend standing. Bill’s answering glare is an echo of the real thing… and Christ, what Babe wouldn't do to see that familiar scowl right in front of him, for real! Bill always made things simple. There was no overthinking when he was around. When Babe was being an idiot, Bill told him.

I’m telling you right now, jackass — you're being an idiot.

“And you’re winning motivational speaker of the goddamn year.”

I’m not trying to win anything here. You are, and doing a piss-poor job of it. I could cry just lookin’ at you. Look at this — ‘I’m writing because’? What kinda opening line is that? Did they not teach you how to write letters in grade school, or were them nuns too busy beating the ginger outta your hair?

“Trying their best,” Babe mutters, subconsciously rubbing the back of his head, where the phantom rap of a nun’s knuckles still stings. Today’s a day for phantoms, he guesses. While Julian cackles begins him, Bill’s specter crosses to the desk, hovering over Babe’s paper with a critical eye.

No, he finally declares, like he’s handing Babe’s bayonet back with instructions to polish it all over again. That’s it. You can’t do this.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Babe exclaims, grateful to hear his subconscious finally agreeing.

You ain’t gonna be able to do this… Bill turns, then reels back around, sticking a finger in Babe’s face. So long as you keep thinking ‘bout what he’s gonna do when you hand it to him. What he’s gonna say once he reads it. You gotta write something before he can read it, you realize that, Babe? And you haven’t written a goddamn word worth reading so far. 

Babe assumes there’s a point here somewhere. He curls his fingers around the edge of the letter, waiting for it.

So, if you can’t get outta your own head… then write it as somebody else.

Bill grins, broad and shameless, like he always does when he ain’t making a lick of sense.

“You lost me,” Babe says. “Way back there.”

Keep the letter anonymous, Babe! Bill’s imagined face twists in frustration, his hand coming down to tap the paper. The silent impact rings in Babe’s ears. Don’t sign the thing. Leave it somewhere Doc will find it, and see what he does.

“That defeats the whole purpose of telling him how I feel!” Babe exclaims.

And how much luck are you having with that? demands Julian, coming to stand at Bill’s side. The two of them cross their arms, staring down at Babe with unabashed judgement. Burdened by the weird feeling that he’s being bullied by his own subconscious, he picks up his pencil again. What would Gene’s reaction be to finding a love letter unsigned? Babe imagines him pulling it out from under his pillow, or finding an envelope with his name on it at his makeshift aid station in the basement of Easy’s billets. How his long fingers would unfurl the paper, his lips mouthing the words silently as he read along… how his brows would furrow slowly, disbelief and awe swirling in the dark pools of his eyes… how eventually he’d look up, see Babe standing there waiting on him, and murmur, “Heffron, you’re not gonna believe this…”

And then what? Babe would pull Gene into his arms, and admit he’s loved him all along?

No. No way, not him. Not in this lifetime, at least.

Overthinking, Julian’s voice chimes again, and Babe’s never felt more tempted to swing at a ghost. Will you just write it already?

“Fine, goddammit!” Babe hisses. It’s frustration, really, that gets him to whip out a fresh sheet of paper… and as soon as he starts to write, the words flow from his pen like a dam’s burst open.

See you every day… know your heart… your caring… your sense of humor... impossible not to love you… wouldn’t know how to stop if I tried… love you more than I know what to do with.

I love you.

I’m in love with you, Eugene Roe.

Whatever you want is up to you… but I wrote this letter because I need to let you know.

He doesn’t sign it.

The envelope seals like a promise fulfilled; and when Babe looks up, he’s in the tiny attic alone.

------------------------------------------

It’s just his luck that Gene doesn’t spot the letter until Babe’s standing right next to him, alone in the cozy little infirmary.

Gene doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey,” he says, picking the letter up. “Babe, what’s this?”

There’s nothing on it, is the thing! No way to tell where it came from, and he knows Gene isn’t familiar enough with his handwriting to pick it out of a lineup. Babe stumbles back a step, alarm spiking as Gene holds the letter up. Playing dumb’s his only chance.

“Uhh… looks like a letter, maybe?”

Okay, not that dumb.

“Maybe,” echoes Gene, thoughtful, as he turns the envelope over in his hands. When his gaze is no longer piercing him, Babe can breathe again.

“Where’d you find it?”

“Someone left it on the chair. I sat on it.”

“Wow.” Wow, Babe. Just… wow. “You know, uhh, Vest made his rounds a little while ago, maybe something slipped from his pile. Or maybe he’s playing a joke, huh, you know that Vest —“

Why the hell is he implying Vest wrote his love letter?

“Doubt it was Vest,” Gene mutters, fingernail playing underneath the envelope’s fold as he carefully opens it. He even pries open mail like a doctor, slow and precise. Something in Babe’s heart soars at this tiny detail, and he almost wants to go to his knees in front of Gene right there.

“Well, it had to be someone,” he says instead, taking another few steps back. When he chuckles, it sounds shrill to his ears — like he’s fighting off the urge to scream. God dammit, Heffron, you’ve got all the subtlety of a rock, why’d you think this was a good idea?

It’s not. This is a horrible idea. He can’t look Gene in the face while he’s reading the letter, and if Babe stays here one more minute, he’s gonna give himself away. “Sorry, Gene, but I gotta go now — told Liebgott I’d help him with, uhh, this thing that he — needed help with, and… so yeah, I gotta do that.”

Gene looks up at him, distracted from the letter. Babe manages a grimace, and a tiny wave. “See ya!”

He can’t get out of the basement fast enough. Behind him is only silence, as Gene Roe begins to read.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Gene finds him much later that night, after the sun has already set over Zell-Am-See, painting the town in violet and blue. The late summer sky has always spoken to Babe in a way he can never explain, like a fist locking inside his chest and trying to tug his heart out. It’s nostalgia for a place far away, and a time he can’t return to. As daylight slowly fades out into inky darkness, Babe watches the sky, lost in a time when everything was simpler.

He doesn’t hear Gene coming until he drops onto the window ledge beside him. Babe isn’t jumpy, and Gene’s never startled him yet, so he doesn’t tumble over to the street below in shock… but the look on Gene’s face almost sends him jumping the fifteen feet down.

“Hey, Gene,” he says instead, quickly looking back out at the horizon.

“Hey.” Gene lets the word linger. He fumbles with a cigarette, long fingers moving deftly as he maneuvers his lighter. He gets it lit, and holds it out generously. Babe’s nerves would like nothing more, but his balance can’t take holding onto this will with just one hand. He shakes his head. With a shrug, Gene tucks the cigarette between his own pursed lips.

“You close up shop for the night?”

“Yeah. Unless someone stumbles around drunk and ends up knocking their head… or gets hit with a dart again. Had to pull it outta Perconte’s shoulder the last time.”

“Think I heard that from upstairs. Screaming like a cat the whole time, huh?”

“The man’s been shot before, and he complained less.” Gene exhales through his nose, blowing two long lines of smoke into the air. Babe’s eyes linger on it, transfixed.

“You, uhh —“ Suddenly, he’s frightened of silence, but his mind’s too scattered to keep a conversation in one place. “You get dinner?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

Quiet again. Christ, even when he was a kid, Babe could never stand the quiet; his Ma sometimes pushed him out of the house and locked the door behind him, just to get some peace. Why is it so hard to find words now?

“Look, Heffron —“ Gene starts, and the exact moment Babe blurts out, “Gene —“

They both go silent, staring at each other. Babe inhales, holding the breath in his chest until he feels like he’s gonna burst with it.

A familiar voice in his head — the one that’s a dead-ringer for Bill Guarnere — groans, Will you please spit it the hell out already?

“So,” Babe says, “the letter.”

“Yeah,” says Gene. His gaze doesn’t leave Babe’s, sharp as a needle.

“Look, I wanted to —“

“I know,” says Gene.

“I wanted to say —“

“Babe,” Gene cuts in. “I know.”

Finally, Babe meets his gaze head-on. It’s never possible to read what’s going on in Gene’s head, but his face gives something away, sometimes. The way the corners of his lips twitch when he’s trying not to laugh; the line that appears between his eyebrows when he’s really worried; the way his eyes go soft when he knows someone needs comforting, and turn to hot coals when he’s furious.

Right now, Babe can’t pick a damn thing out of Gene’s expression… but his eyes are very, very soft. It feels like a punch to the stomach.

“You know,” he says slowly, “but…”

The words linger between them for a long, charged moment. Babe’s chest feels like it’s caught in a compactor, being slowly squeezed until his lungs burst and his ribs turn to dust. He huffs out a laugh — a dry, desperate thing. “Jesus, Gene, you look like you’re about to break my heart.” Gene still doesn’t say a word; Babe looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Why’s it you doctors just love to drag things out? Rip off the band-aid quick, and save us both the trouble.”

“Edward,” he says gently, laying a hand over Babe’s own. Babe jerks away like he’s been stung.

“Don’t Edward me right now!”

“Babe,” Gene says, and his voice is softer than ever. Babe’s throat is tight, eyes stinging… but damned if he’ll let himself cry over this, not where Gene can see. Christ, he’s an idiot. He’s so stupid, he should never have done anything, why did he even think —

“I have known... for a while, now. Didn’t need a letter to tell me some things.” Gene pauses, like he’s chewing over the words, before adding, “But it was good to read. Just to know.”

“Now you know,” Babe replies, and inhales a deep breath. “You happy now?”

Gene doesn’t answer. When Babe risks a glance over, Gene isn’t looking at him at all anymore; his eyes are on the sky, watching as the first pinpricks of starlight pierce through the indigo curtain. He looks thoughtful, almost mournful. It gouges something in Babe’s chest.

“Gene,” he says again. “Are you happy?”

“I don’t know.” When Gene inhales, it’s almost like a whisper. When he exhales, it’s like he’s singing to the night air. “Thought about it for a long time. Trying to figure out how I feel.”

“You’ve had a whole afternoon to do it. You get it all sorted out yet?”

“Longer than that,” Gene replies. His gaze flickers over to him. “I told you, Babe. I knew.”

Jesus. So he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. Babe exhales, praying to make the sick-to-his-stomach sensation go with it. Instead, it just churns even harder. If this goes on any longer, he’s gonna need a damn bucket.

Gene’s never been the best with words; expressing himself has never been easy, which is why Babe’s gotten so good at reading between the lines. Gene’s really trying now — for his sake, Babe supposes. “Reading that letter, seeing all those feelings laid out on paper… Babe, you didn’t have to sign it. I’d ‘a known it was you, just from what you said. It was like… listening to your heart. And a part of me already does that every day, so I guess it was easy.”

Can Gene hear his heart screaming now? Babe grips the windowsill until his knuckles turn white, grounding himself. 

“I wasn’t sure how you felt before… and I wasn’t sure how I felt for you. Knew you felt something, but not what, and not how…” Gene swallows, pale throat bobbing. “But now I know.”

“Now you know.” Babe dwells on this statement for a moment before turning, hesitation heavy on his tongue. “So… what now, Gene?”

Gene takes a deep breath, clinging to the night sky for one last moment, before turning his gaze on him. “Do you— “ He pauses, licks his lips. “Do you really mean what you wrote? All of it?”

“Gene,” Babe replies, “I meant every word.”

Something calms in Gene’s eyes, like a storm settling. Babe isn’t expecting the way his gaze clears, or the flash of steely certainty that follows. “Well,” Gene says, “there’s only one thing to do.”

Another thing Babe isn’t expecting — how sweet Gene tastes when his lips are suddenly pressed to his own.

Somewhere far away, beyond the depths of his own consciousness — which is really just a victory parade and firework show, that’s all he’s capable of at the moment — he thinks Bill would be proud of him. Beyond the grave, Julian’s probably cheering for him, glad his buddy’s finally getting some.

For once, though, their voices are drowned out completely. It’s impossible to hear anything over the storm raging in his ears, which only swells to a fever pitch when Gene leans back and smiles at him.

“Well, Babe,” he says, as Babe cups his face like a reverent thing. “Think we can figure things out from here.”

“Jesus, Gene,” Babe declares, and swoops in to kiss him again.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Dwalin ~ Another One Bites the Dust

800 Followers Challenge!

Requested by @sunnysidesidra  (I hate it when the tags don’t work, is everything okay?)

Based on  Another One Bites the Dust by Queen

Words: 2,118

Warnings: Slight angst, dangerous situation

A part of Dwalin had hoped that, as he got older, he wouldn’t have to worry about chasing after troublemakers anymore.  It was a dream, he knew that, after all, his loyalty lied with Thorin and besides Thorin himself, his two nephews were always in some sort of trouble.

But a dwarf can dream.

He knew as soon as he saw you, that his life was going to be wrought by misery from it, because he knew that you were his, and he knew that trouble clearly followed you everywhere.

Bilbo’s cousin, a “Took” as he put it, eyes practically sparking with mischief as you watched him enter Bilbo’s home, a look that only seemed to increase the more dwarves that arrived, and Dwalin couldn’t help but sigh to himself.

You were the reason that Bilbo ultimately joined the quest and, at the same time, managed to invite yourself along.  Two hobbits were better than one, you said.

Dwalin suddenly found himself keeping a close eye on you, who, which he had really hoped wouldn’t happen, was drawn to Fili and Kili, the three of you getting along swimmingly, all the other dwarves weary when you’d sit and talk in hushed voices.  In watching the friendship grow as the journey went on it’s way, he also learned that, along with trouble making, you weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty.

Which is why he was furious you went into the cave on your own.

Most nights, you, Fili and Kili, went and explored the surrounding area, mostly to make sure it was safe, but all the others knew that it was easier not having the three of you around, knowing the chaos that the three of you could bring.  On this particular night, the three of you encountered a cave.

The two young dwarves didn’t want to go in, but you, quickly stealing one of Fili’s knives, had no such qualms, striding in even as the two of them called back after you.

The roar from the cave, quickly had Kili running back to the others, leaving Fili anxiously on guards.

Kili burst into the camp, everyone instantly on edge.  “I dunno what the hell's in there, but it's weird and pissed off, whatever it is.”

Once they got him to slow down and explain, Dwalin was the first to start moving, grumbling as he did, much to the amusement of some of them, knowing how he felt about you.

Dwalin even stormed past Fili as he spluttered at the mouth of the cave, trying to stop him and let everyone regathered, but Dwalin only had one track of mind.

Getting you out of there.

His grip was firm on his axe as he marched in, his teeth gritted, body tensing for whatever battle he was about to face.

The beasts growl rumbled through the cave and Dwalin squinted a little, trying to see it up ahead in the darkness, trying to push the worry of you into the back of his mind.

As he got closer, he could make out a small shape in the darkness, one he didn't recognise at first until he heard a very hurried ‘shhhh!’.

He pauses and blinks a few times, you slowly coming into view, gaze straight ahead, waving back at him to be quiet.

Dwalin slowed his footfall, but doesn't stop until he reaches you, joining you in a crouch as you look deeper in the cave.  “What are you doing Y/N?”

“Watching,” You whispered back.  “I'm alright before you ask.”

Dwalin fought the urge to grab you and drag you back to safety.  “It's not safe in here Y/N.”

“Oh pish posh,” You smile at him, patting his arm as you start to move forward.  “If there was any real danger, I wouldn't be in here.”

Dwalin did reach for you this time, only to discover that you were already out if reach.  “Y/N, you don't know what's down there!”

“I know, that's why I want to see.”

He growls and follows, not wanting to leave you on your own as another rumble echoes through the cave.  “Why can’t people just listen to me for once?”

You just smile, remaining silent as you creep further in, your hobbit feet naturally soft on the ground, keeping a keen eye moving to see what was making the noise, your grip firm on the dagger in your hand.

The growl was louder this time, sending a thrill down your spine, the Tookish curiosity getting the best of you as you continued slowly but steadily forward, eyes strained to see what was making the noise.

“Y/N!”  Dwalin hissed through the dark.  “This isn’t worth it!  We’re on enough of a dangerous journey as it is!”

You froze, your eyes finally adjusting the make out the large shape filling a good portion of the cave, the fur unmistakable, as well as the grumbling growl that was much too close for comfort.

Dwalin was there, his hand locking around your arm like a vice, his voice right by your ear.  “I told you, we need to go.”

A large, luminous, yellow eye opened in the dark, making you both freeze as the large form stirred, rising slowly from its place.

“Uh oh.”

The bear roared and before you even had a chance to react, Dwalin and grabbed you around the waist, picking you up and turning on his heel to run.

“Dwalin!”  You squeaked, helpless.  “Wait!”

But Dwalin wasn’t listening, charging from the cave and into the stunned group of dwarves outside, dropping you a little unceremoniously before he turned back towards the mouth of the cave, axe ready in hand.

The others all were ready, all watching as the growls followed from the cave, footfalls hurrying forward.

The bear came forward, sniffing at the air, eyeing the crowd of dwarves nervously and as it came a little more into the light, they all saw that it was only a young bear, still rather small compared to what an adult was.

“If you’d stopped and listened to me,” You said a little sarcastically.  “I could’ve told you that he was only a small fella.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.”  Thorin said hotly as none of them moved from their defensive positions.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” You said, pushing through a couple of them. “But it also means that he’s less likely to attack.”

Sure enough, as soon as you said it, the bear made a noise and quickly slunk back into the darkness of the cave, leaving only a tense air behind.

“See.”  You said with a sigh.  “Honestly, not everything has to be bad all the time.”

Dwalin rounds on you.  “And not everything is as nice as your little hobbit hole.”

You raised an eyebrow at him as there a few worried glances at Dwalin. “I realise that.”

“You could have died in there.”  He marched forward, towering over you.  “And if Fili and Kili weren’t there, we would never have known!”

“Well, I'd like to think at least one of you would've noticed I was missing.” You said calmly, although there was no missing the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.  “And despite what you think, I am aware of the dangers of the wild, I explored the forest around Buckland enough and trust me, there are dangers in there that you could only dream of Mister Dwalin.”

It was Bilbo that interrupted the stunned silence that followed, in which Dwalin stared at you, debating with himself on how to answer.  “Y/N...have you still been looking? After all this time?”

Your gaze turns slightly sad, making Dwalin's chest ache as you turned to Bilbo.  “Less so in recent years, but yes Bilbo, I have.”

“That's why you joined the quest, wasn't it?” He asked quietly.

You give half a smile and seemed to become aware of the rest of the company watching you, shrugging it off.  “Well, I think at any rate that's enough excitement for one day.  Shall we return to camp?”

Not waiting for a response, you head back in the direction of camp, the dwarves shifting a little anxiously, Dwalin's gaze on your back.

“What happened Bilbo?” He asked as the hobbit went to follow.

Bilbo sighed, a little sadly.  “Her brother went into those woods, just out of his tweens, and never came back.  She shrugs it off most of the time, but it still weighs heavily on her.”

No one said anything on the way back to camp and there was an odd silence as they all ate and settled in for sleep that night.

You'd offered to take watch, not feeling tired, sitting a little bit away and staring out at the lands around you.

You started a little as a weight rests on your shoulders, only to look up and find Dwalin resting a blanket around you.

“It's a cool night lass,” He said quietly, pulling his hands away. “Don't need you catching a cold.”

He goes to walk away, but you suddenly found you could use the company. “Dwalin?”

If you didn't know any better, he swallowed as he stopped, glancing back.

“Can you stay?” You asked quietly.  “Please?”

Dwalin nods and, perhaps a little awkwardly, sits next to you, leaving a little space but not wanting to meet your eye.

The silence dragged on for a moment.

“I'm sorry.” You said quietly, drawing his gaze finally, although you kept your eyes facing forward.  “For earlier.”

Dwalin opened his mouth to reply, sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I am sorry too, it was not my intention to get angry at you, I was just...” He trailed off, not wanting to say too much.

“Worried.” You finished for him with a soft smile.  “I know.”

Again, a silence passes between the two of you, Dwalin realising that he was not made for this sort of stuff.

“He was only a year older than me, you know,” You said quietly, a hint of sadness in your voice.  “He and his friends decided to go explore beyond the borders.  His friends came back, a little pale and worried because they'd lost him in the woods, but were sure he'd come back, as the days went on, it was clear he wasn't coming back, and it didn't matter how far we dared go, there was no sign of him.”

Now, he knew he had to be.  “I'm sorry Y/N.”

“It's been twelve years you know,” You continued, pulling the blanket a little tighter around you.  “And still I would go out into that forest, just for any sort of answer, I guess I'm now here, partly because maybe he got further, he always did want an adventure, and partly to also escape.  It's hard when you're family wants you to go on with your life, to settle, think about home and children, and yet you know you can't do that, that your heart is calling you elsewhere.”

Dwalin's heart thudded a little louder in his chest, but he quickly shook his head.  “Sometimes you hobbits really are too peaceful for your own good.”

This made you smile and finally look at him.  “I know, it's infuriating, isn't it?” You give a soft laugh, shaking your head.  “It made me a bit of an outcast really, wondering the wilds as I did, ignoring the advice of the elders, maybe that's why I spent so much time with Bilbo, he was less obvious about it, but I knew he felt the pull beyond the borders too.”

Another silence fell as Dwalin debated what to say to this, in his heart, he knew the answer, but saying it out loud was something else entirely, he didn't like to think of himself as someone who wore his heart on his sleeve.

Suddenly, before he could say anything, your hand was resting on his, your smile genuine as he stared at you, stunned.  “It's okay, I'm sure I can talk enough for the both of us.”

Dwalin returned your smile, feeling himself relax, finally, and he can't help but open up his arm.  “Come here Y/N.”

You smile and move closer, snuggling into his side, but not before pecking his cheek in a small kiss, making heat creep up his neck as he rested an arm around you.

“If you want,” He said after a little while.  “When this is over, I can come and help you look for your brother.”

You sigh, content for the first time in a long time.  “Thank you Dwalin.  You don't need to do that.”

He pulls you just a little hit closer.  “I do, more than you could ever know.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

75 for Indruck!! and either nsfw or sfw is chill

I went with SFW! 75 “I’m an insomniac who calls my best friend at 3am except I misdial on my landline and I tell you all about my nightmare before letting you talk and now I’m mortified but you don’t hang up

CW: mentions of pot and of death

Indrid awakens in a panic, flailing and falling onto the floor. This is why he doesn’t have a bedframe; the routine falling hurts less from a half foot of drop.

“Ouch.” He says to the empty room, the white noise machine doing nothing to soothe his nerves. Maybe if he stays very still, the nightmares can’t find him.

No. That’s not how this works. Maybe he should see if anyone is awake. He just needs another voice, to know someone can hear him if he screams for help.

He grabs the nearest phone, which happens to be the landline that came with his little studio, and dials Barclay’s number.

“H’lo?” 

“Hello, it’s, ah, it’s Indrid, I, I know it’s late, but I need to talk and you said I could call anytime so I am. I, it, it was the dream again. I’ve been staying up as late as can, not sleeping unless my body just sort of forces me too and I dropped off while drawing and it happened again, the one with the bridge this time, not the one with the car, and I, I fell, like I always do, but this time I, I didn’t, didn’t wake up when, when, when it happened. I’m sorry, just, please, can you talk with me awhile so I can remember I’m here?”

“Uhhhh, sure? But, uh, got a feelin’ you mighta mixed somethin up.”

Indrid’s fairly certain Barclay does not have a southern accent. 

“Oh, oh god, I’m sorry, I dialed wrong didn’t I?”

“Guess so? Don’t know any fella named Indrid, and I’m guessin’ you don’t know anyone named Duck, it’s a nickname.”

“No, I don’t” he curls his legs to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. I was still up, been tryin to beat this level.”

“Why didn’t you hang up?”

“‘Cause you sounded real fuckin scared.”

He was. He still is, his heart a deer still running from long-outrun wolves. 

“Are, uh, are you okay now?”

“I will be fine.”

“I mean, I ain’t a therapist or anythin’ like that but, uh, I can try to help somehow.”

“I’m afraid the only thing that may work is continuing to talk with me which, were I in your shoes, I would not want to do. Christ” he shivers, fumbles in the dark for his sweater, “I need a hug.”

“I can do that.”

“We’re on the phone.”

A small laugh, “no kiddin, here I thought we were at a Taco Bell. I was offerin’ to come over or, uh, wait, no, you better come here, think I might still be a little high so I shouldn’t drive.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Nope. I live at 5547 Williamson, apartment 2B. Ring the buzzer and I’ll let you in.”

This is ridiculous, how does either of them know the other isn’t planning on wearing their skin as pajamas?

“I’ll see you there.” 

The walk gives him time to second guess himself, then second guess that second guess, and so on until he reaches the three story building that clearly used to be one, family home. He rings the bell for 2B. No one will come down, Duck is probably asleep, or has realized how dangerous his suggestion is.

“Who is it?” The same drawl from the phone, now through the door.

“Indrid. From the phone.”

“Howdy, Indrid from the phone.” Duck opens the door, looking better than Indrid dared imagine. They’re about the same age, dark hair with fading streaks of blue falls about a round face, a stocky frame looks singularly nice to lay against.

“C’mon up. Tried callin’ you a little while ago to see if you wanted me to order food or somethin, but since you didn’t answer think we’re gonna have to settle for leftover pizza for now.”

“That’s, ah, that’s fine. And that was a landline I called from, hence the lack of response.”

“Jesus” Duck giggles, “you still got one of those?”

“The previous renter left a lot of things behind, and whoever is paying that telephone bill hasn’t stopped so far. Oh, thanks.” He steps through the door Duck holds open, finds a room much like his own; a messy studio full of the elements a single man needs to get by. A tiny T.V is linked up to an XBOX in the corner, and two hanging planters flourish by the windows. 

“Still want that hug?” Duck opens his arms.

Indrid nods, stepping into them, his own arms locked by his sides in case Duck doesn’t want to be touched. The shorter man is warm, his arms solid and strong, one holding Indrid’s shoulder blades so the other can run up and down his back. 

“You can hug back, I don’t mind.”

Indrid hugs his waist, “This isn’t weird to you?”

“Kinda? I dunno, I give damn good hugs and I don’t like seein’ people scared or hurtin, and you seem to need someone to be a little gentle with you. So, what the fuck, may as well hug you; knew I wasn’t gonna feel right if I hung up without offerin’. Besides, that dream sounded fuckin’ awful.”

“It is, its’ that way every time. So is the other one, and the one after that.” Indrid curls inward, as if he could somehow squeeze his nearly six foot frame to fit snugly under Duck’s chin, “I, they aren’t just dreams, either. I have what you call very bad luck with death. My mother died in a car accident when I was seven, with me in the backseat. My father died in a freak bridge collapse, again with me only barely surviving. Then my best friend drowned when we were swimming.” He shudders, images flooding back, “the dreams make me see it over and over in strange, altered versions, versions where I die, and they say you’re supposed to wake up before you die in a dream but tonight I didn’t, I felt my dream self die and I, I, I woke up so frightened.” he gasps, cringes to find tears slipping from under his glasses. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay man, here” Duck sits them down on the bed, Indrid now clinging to him, “don’t worry, ain’t lettin go, you can keep talkin if you need.”

“I get so scared sometimes, like I’m an omen of doom and anyone who comes near me will die. And I know that’s ridiculous because the majority of people who’ve been close to me are still alive, but nights like this I wake up and watch the door and the windows because it feels like death is following me, waiting to grab me, and I’ll die frightened and alone and not be found for days until someone, one of the few who still cares for me, wonders why they haven’t heard from me and, andandand-” it’s sobs now, awkward and painful each time they push out of his chest. 

“Shhhhh” Duck pats his hair and Indrid wiggles closer, hoping his whine communicates the desperate hope he’ll do that again, touch him like he matters. What it does is knock them over, bed squishy under them.

“Hush, hush now, ain’t nothin like that gonna happen. No more talk of shadows, partly because I only sobered up like ten minutes ago and talkin about seein the grim reaper in the corner don’t play nice with that.”

‘“I, I’m s-sorry-”

“Hey, hey I was teasin’, tryin’ to see if I could make you laugh at me a little” Duck strokes his cheek with his thumb, voice warm as a summer morning and soothing as moonlight, “besides, even if somethin’ scary did show, you got the ‘hero of Kepler’ to protect you.”

“The, the what of what now?”

“Kepler’s the tiny town I grew up in. Both my folks were real respected and shit, dad was former marines, everyone assumed I was gonna grow up and fight the good fight. Instead I disappointed ‘em all by wantin’ to look after trees all day.” He mutters, looks sad, and Indrid can’t bear the sight and so he mimics him, places a hand on his cheek and pets it gently.

“Trees do far more good, and need far more help nowadays.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid. Oop, sorry, just kinda slipped out.”

“Nono, I like it, I’ve never had a nickname before. Or, ah, never had a good one, that is.”

“Well, you do now, because I like you and I say so.” Duck pets his side, making his sweater ride up and exposing a tattoo.

“Oh shit, that’s so fuckin’ cool.”

“Thank you, I did the design myself. That’s, ahd, that’s what I’m doing in town. I’m apprenticing to be a tattoo artist.”

“So. fuckin. Cool.” Duck draws a finger along the moth design, Indrid squirming a little when he does. It feels nice; unfamiliar, but nice. 

“You gotta tell me all about it.”

“Alright” Indrid sniffs and Duck, after flopping to the side of the bed and reaching beneath it, produces a tissue, “as long as you promise to tell me about those” he points to the row of succulents on the far wall.”

“Think I can handle that. Fuck, got cold in here.” He drags a blanket up over them and Indrid purrs at the warmth, snuggling up in his arms as Duck nuzzles his neck, “now, where were we…”

------------------------------------

Indrid wakes up with his glasses smushed to his face, a thick blanket wrapped around him, and the smell of coffee tickling his nose. He yawns, sits up and gets his bearings well enough to not be startled when Duck speaks.

“Mornin, sleepyhead.”

“Good morning.”

“Didn’t seem like you had more nightmares last night.” Duck pours two mugs of coffee.

“I didn’t. Your, ah, your presence helped immensely.”

“Maybe my true callin’ is a teddy bear, good for snugglin and keepin monsters away.”

“Perhaps.” He pads over to the little kitchen to join him. Takes the sugar when offered and dumps a large amount into his cup. 

“Hey, uh, this may be way off base, but, uh, I, uh, I feel like we really kinda clicked. Even accountin for the weird circumstances and the heightened emotions and shit. I coulda talked with you for days, and honestly the reason I kept holding you after that firs hug was because I felt so fuckin comfortable with you. Like you fit.”

“I felt the same.” Indrid stirs his coffee, unsure of how to ask for what he wants. 

“If, uh, if you ain’t busy tonight, do you wanna go out? With me?”

“On a date?” 

Duck suppresses a smile as he nods. 

“I’d like that so much.”

“Hell yeah.’ Duck hugs him and this time he hugs back instantly, giggling when the shorter man kisses his cheek and whispers, “and if you feel like it, happy to be your teddy bear tomorrow night, too.”

[water--gang]

for now they are close here too!! I mean I can wait but you absolutely have to get your first one as soon as possible :') the choice of the studio is super important!! you have to make sure the tattoo artist has a style similar to the one you like and that they make you feel comfortable!! so think carefully <33

ooh sweetie it's totally fine to be scared!! but I don't think that I have a high pain tolerance either and I really felt nothing sjkghl (of course it's different for everyone!) and AAAH i wanted to ask you what are you gonna get!!(so please feel free to share all the tattoos you have in mind🤧) I'm so happy you're just as curious about tattoos as me lol okay so I have just 3 tattoos and they are all pretty small! the letter J (the initial of my brother), the word 'hesperus' from a poem I really like and the latin quote 'hic et nunc' (my favourite one so far but that's another story for another time fellas)

i don't actually know if they're closed here. I'm planning to message to one studio tomorrow to ask if they are open haha i don't really know... how to choose because I'm looking at everything online sjxnjs and the style... well. i have my own design and it's very very simple so i think any tattoo artist can do that? they have a couple people working in the studio, i looked thru the profiles on their site and based solely on that i liked this one lady. i also saw one of the tattoos she's done is like... just lines and not some intricate picture so yeaaa i prolly wanna go with her!

oooh those sound really nice! mine are a biT biGgEr ahhaha.

ahhhh I've loved tattoos for so long man, i can't wait to get my first one uwuwu

hmm well this first one is gonna be on my forearm, now i don't remember if that's where the pain is worst or okay sjdnjs I've looked at some many pain maps but i still don't remember smh

I'll put the tattoos under the line so people don't have to scroll so much to skip this djxndn

aight so

firstly. the one i wanna get first! also the first tattoo i came up with hehe i have pictures for like... 5/6 of them. i drew all of them on myself so they look scuffed but they'll give you the general idea yaknow

i drew this on myself like 2/3 years back. i included the second picture just cause i think it looks cool but yea the first one is the version I want. for now hehe i actually have plans for modifications i could get for this one :))

i also have recent pictures from like idk 5 days back but they include two more tattoos as well so I'll keep em for later

secondly. my finger tattoo! probably the second or third one I want to get. i say or third because I might get a matching tattoo with my best friend first. anyway here starts the theme of stars that carries over a couple of the tattoos sjdjjs

tiny and simple. but i love it! i love the stars and the moon which is why I want to have this one uwu also i love finger tattoos and this is the best I came up with jsnxn

this brings us to another one which i actually want to get at the same time as the finger one because it's gonna be on like... the thumb? it's a symbol! here I'll give a picture if the symbol only and later on I'll give pictures with it on the thumb. cause those are the ones that include the first one as well haha

these are on the left hand btw

moving on to the next one. this one is a text tattoo! a lyric tattoo if you call it that. from my favorite song uwu it will be on the right handy thumb to wrist area. i tried writing it on myself but I'm right-handed so you can see how that would go awfully sjdnns

so yea excuse the awful writing please sjnxns if you can't decipher it, it says Step out of them Voices. placed somewhere around that area, it was hard to really choose properly since I was writing with my left hand sjdnns

next up. a small one behind my ear. a lil star! yes. i love stars a lot sjxns was thinking i could get this one sometime without anyone knowing and waiting till someone notices it sjxnd i told have a picture for this one cause... yea it's behind the ear. or like you know somewhere behind there cause i just think those are cool

last but not least. the chest one! it's not like a big complex piece tho. just a sun and some stars. because. once again, i love stars sndnd and just the sky in general you know. I'm in love with the sky uwuwu which is why I have so many pictures of it on my phone from when I go on walks ahahhah

and here we have it. please excuse my awful skin jsndjd i don't expect to get all these tattoos anytime soon because of the price so I'm hoping my skin gets sorted till then you know xjdj

also apologies for how scuffed it looks jsnxnd ngl drawing on your chest is vErY hard. i drew the sun off of a reference i found but i was honestly rushing thru it cause it was... just difficult and i knew i wouldn't get it right anyway sjdnd

the placement isn't gonna be 100% like that cause once again, i drew it on myself sjxnd i want the sun on my sternum, I'd love to explain the exact place but uhh... i can't sjdjd and yea i want the eight stars around it. most likely more spaced out because I feel like this is... too close together, it would look better further away from each other. and the place for them would be like under my collarbones?? cause collarbones hurt a lot right?? ehh well I'll just have to handle it somehow. but yea! that's my six planned tattoos ahahha

now for the whole left arm. aka the three tattoos in one pictures

sorry about the even more scuffed sketch of the first tattoo jsbdns i did that during class cause I was bored and wasn't exactly trying to be precise ahhaha

but yea that's how my left arm should look after I get all of these uwu

andddd here are my plans for adding onto the first tattoo

in this picture the three lines just go all around BUT my plan isss... i want the lines to come together and intertwine on the other side of my forearm, i want them to come to one point where they're like knotted up andddd i want a flower to like rise from that point, i want it to go down to my hand, with it's end on my wrist probably, don't want to it to go all the way on the hand.

i have no idea if that was understandable enough. i suck at explaining sjdjsn but i think it would be pretty??? and i think it goes with the theme i gave it in my head pretty well

so... yea

those are my tattoo plans ahhaha i love talking about tattoos sjdjjs

sorry about the long ass post

— admin

[the-fixation-zone]

aaaaaand here it is! the next installment of the crack (ish?) fic I’ve been writing with @queenspinoodle​. art will be within the fic as usual and, also as usual, drawn by my co-writer. comments appreciated!! :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The night is cool, the moon bright enough to see by. It’s the perfect night for a stakeout. It’s late, leaving few people walking the streets. Sock and Zucchini are hunched together in the shadows near Burt’s Jewelry, waiting for their thief to arrive. The Fanned Fiend. There were only a few clues to pick up from the Wanted poster, and they’d picked up a few more eavesdropping on people in town, but the real magic happened when Sock sat down to put the pieces together.

“This has to be where he’s hitting next! I’m sure of it; it just makes sense!”

Zucchini had had no idea how Sock had fit the puzzle together so easily, but he trusted in his partner. So now they waited. And waited. Zucchini doesn’t think Sock is wrong necessarily, but he also hasn’t enjoyed being hunched over for three hours. A quick glance at Sock shows Zucchini that Sock doesn’t mind the wait as much as he does. Sock is practically vibrating with excitement, adjusting his mask as though their perp will arrive any minute. Zucchini sighs silently, resigning himself to scanning the perimeter for the umpteenth time.

Sock sits crouched on the balls of his feet, bouncing slightly. He is ready for their first real adventure. They’ve been waiting a while, but he just knows that, any minute now, it’ll be time. He’s on high alert, waiting for something to happen. A few minutes later his vigilance is rewarded: he hears the crunch of shoes on pebbles nearby and whips his head in the direction of the sound. Zucchini seems to hear it too, glancing over even before Sock elbows him.

A shadowy, cloaked figure is creeping around the side of the building, making its way around to the door. The figure does something they can’t see, and the once locked door opens silently. Sock shifts his position, preparing to move.

Zucchini shifts too, his energy coming back now that there’s something to do. “Follow?”

Sock waits a moment, looking around for potential accomplices, then nods. He sneaks up to the building and peeks through the window, Zucchini right behind him. It’s almost completely dark inside making it difficult to see from their vantage point, so Sock gestures for them to enter. 

Zucchini goes inside after Sock, straining his eyes to see where the wanted man went off to. The moonlight filtering in the window allows him to see the outlines of two counters near the walls to his right and left, presumably filled with rings and necklaces. Dead ahead there’s a single glass case on a pedestal, the large gem inside sparkling with the faint light. He thinks he sees some movement towards the back of the shop near the pedestal and gestures, giving Sock a meaningful look and reaching for his knives.  They’re not perfect, since he “borrowed” them from one of the circus performers (and when he says borrowed, he uses the term...liberally. If one takes something without permission with the intention of returning it, does that count?) but they’re good enough. He sneaks with Sock, not wanting to hurt this person and hoping they can simply capture him and turn him in.

Sock approaches the spot where Zucchini indicated, grabbing his knife just in case. The figure is turned away from him, standing in front of the prized jewel’s pedestal, seeming to assess it. Good. He’s distracted. Sock sneaks closer, ready to grab him. Without warning, the figure whirls around and punches Sock in the face, knocking him to the floor. It stings, all the more for being entirely unexpected. How had the man known Sock was there?!

“Whoa!” Zucchini tries to grab the assailant, but a fan suddenly comes up between him and his opponent, missing his nose by a fraction of an inch. Guess I know why he’s called the Fanned Fiend now… Zucchini tries for another grab, turning his head for a split second towards Sock. “You okay?”

"I'm fine!" Sock says, his voice muffled by his hand cradling his bloody nose. “Looks worse than it is, let’s just go!” The Fanned Fiend runs out of the door and into the night. Sock gets to his feet and chases him.

Zucchini follows, trying to get ahead of the guy so they can pin him in. “Oh, no you don’t! You’re not going to get away from us!” The Fanned Fiend laughs and keeps running, outpacing him easily.

Sock looks around to see if they can use any of the streets or buildings to their advantage, mentally reviewing the map of this part of town. He breaks away from the chase and runs up a parallel street, coming out in front of the criminal, who slams into him.

Zucchini comes up behind the criminal, blocking his escape. “Alright, you’ve got nowhere to run now. Put down the fan.”

"Yeah, fella, put down the fan," Sock says, one hand on his knife and the other up and ready to attack. His nose is bleeding freely now, but he doesn’t have time to think about it. 

The Fanned Fiend looks directly at Sock. "Well, first of all, I'm not a 'fella'" she says in a clearly feminine voice. 

"...Oh...my bad,” Sock says, thrown off. He hadn’t considered that the thief would be a woman. 

“Oh...oops? Well, lady, put down the fan then,” Zucchini says, gesturing with one of his knives. “You were going to steal Burt’s prized jewel back there, weren’t you? We’ve caught you red-handed.”

She sighs. Now that she isn't moving, Sock can get a better look at her. She’s wearing heavy makeup, which disguises both her identity and her gender. "You’re right, I was. But you should know, it was for a good cause."

Zucchini looks at Sock, then back at the Fanned Fiend with a skeptical expression. “Oh really? And what cause was that?” 

The Fanned Fiend’s expression tightens, Zucchini can tell even under all the face paint. “Well, now I don’t know if I want to tell you, if you’re going to be like that about it.”

Sock feels a sudden rush of sympathy for her. He can totally understand stealing for a good cause. "No, no! Please, tell us!"

She looks at Sock and sees he means it. “Well… there’s some kids in my village, they’re sick. The money I’d get from selling that jewel would be enough to get them some medicine. It was for them, honestly.”

Zucchini feels his heart soften, but he still has questions. “And the other heists? The artwork and weapons you’ve stolen? Were they for the children, too?”

"The artwork was to make the medical huts more cheerful, and the weapons were for the warriors, to help them protect the village." She is very convincing. Hearing that, Sock almost wants to steal the gem for her.

Zucchini, on the other hand, wants to hold a grudge. Adrenaline is still singing in his veins from the chase and he’s not ready to give up yet. He was raised to believe stealing was wrong, no matter the circumstances, but she seems so...sincere. He looks over at Sock. “What do you think?”

Sock feels her reasoning deep in his soul, having been in a similar position many times before. "We'll let you go this time but try to find another way to help the children. We wouldn't want you getting into trouble." 

She smiles sweetly at him. "Of course." Sock steps aside to let her pass and, as soon as there’s room, she runs off.

Zucchini’s instincts tell him not to believe her one bit and, as soon as she’s gone, he turns to Sock to tell him so. “You know she’s just going to start stealing again.”

"Yeah, I know. But… I just couldn't…" Sock looks upset. "She just wants to help people."

“Well, yeah, but so do we! Do you really not think there’s another way for her to do that?”

Sock starts to feel guilty, which then makes him angry. He did the right thing, dammit! "Well, why don't you run after her, then?" His voice is quiet, but a tad more aggressive now. He begins to walk quickly away, brushing past Zucchini and tugging his sash away from his tunic to lift it to his nose. The bleeding has mostly stopped now, less of a flood and more of a trickle. His shirt’s now hanging open, exposing his middle to the elements, but whatever. It’s a nice night, anyway.

Zucchini sighs hard. “Oh, come on Sock. I’m not going to go after her. Hey, come back here! I’m not going to go after her.” He starts to follow after Sock. “I’m just saying, where are we drawing the line here? Every criminal has a reason. Are we going to pick and choose which ones get away based on how we’re feeling in the moment, how well they pitch to us? What are we doing here, Sock!” Sock stops at his question, so Zucchini stops too, feeling a bit agitated now. He roughly ran his hand through his hair in an effort to calm down. He’s not sure what about this situation is making his emotions spill out, but there they are, splattered over the pavement.

"I don't know!” Sock snaps back. “You're the one who wanted to do this!"

“What?” Zucchini looks at Sock’s back like he’s grown another head. “You wanted to do this as much as I did! You can’t tell me you didn’t love putting together our plan for tonight.” Zucchini takes a deep breath, realizing this is getting them nowhere. “Look. I don’t want to fight with you, Sock. I just want us to establish some rules for going after criminals, so we can be on the same page. Okay? I’m sorry for upsetting you.” 

Sock continues to stand facing away from Zucchini, arms crossed across his chest. He knows he probably looks extremely immature right now, but he doesn’t care. "...Fine."

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?”

Sock considers saying no, but ultimately turns around. Most of his face is obscured by his mask, but it’s clear he’s scowling. "Fine," he repeats.

“Oh, come on! You’re really going to be like this? I already apologized, what else do you want? How can I fix this?” Contrary to popular belief, Zucchini is not above pleading. At least when it’s necessary.

Sock lets out an angry laugh. "That's rich coming from the king of sulking!"

“Excuse me? I’m trying to be the adult here!”

“HEY! CAN YOU TWO SHUT UP!” someone yells from a window above them. 

Sock looks up, startled. "Yeah, sorry!" He turns back to Zucchini. "Look, I'm going back home," he says, quieter this time. "You can do whatever you want." Sock turns and walks back towards the circus. He doesn’t look back.