#but its still absurd. and he should probably still not be given that kind of power

[qoldenskies]

what would happen if someone gave cc Donnie Uranium?

Specifically during cl and CW, would there be differences? If yes, how so

i think in both cases it would be confiscated from him immediately.... 😔 SICK AND TWISTED BEHAVIOR HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING!!!!

[hawkinasock]

Hihi! I’m back you should not have pointed me back to the ask box if I had more questions I fear I’ll never shut up

Okay onto the question. So, if I understood correctly, you mentioned that Yanqing’s death was ruled an accident(?) on fault of the emanator due to supposed Mara, but like what was the general consensus of the emanator’s claims? Like did the Xianzhou just like not believe it at all? Was it a mixed reaction? Did they just go with it? Accusing someone of even being associated with Abundance is already a heavy accusation on the Xianzhou, and I doubt “he smelled funny” would hold up in court for the Emanator-that-cried-Abomination over here (to be fair, it was right), especially for someone as beloved on the Luofu as Yanqing. Sorry I know I keep dragging this thing poor guy was just trying to do its job it just ate the wrong kid oops

Side question/musing: Random thought but I know its probably more plausable that someone gave him the shirt he’s wearing in the design but I just keep picturing his shirt just somehow surviving the digestion fully intact. Like Yanqing himself eh he’s like there buts he’s missing bits of himself (rip human legs you’ll always be famous) but his shirt doesn’t even have a hole in it Yaoshi might’ve just liked the shirt more than him at that point (deadbeat strikes again) they didn’t want a nice shirt to go to waste LMAO

Okay thank you bye <3

Long time no see, anon!

Don't worry about asking too many questions, I love getting asks, especially about my work. It tells me people are interested enough to want to know more. A lot of the times questions actually help me find and fix plot holes, so I welcome them wholeheartedly.

So, the general consensus among the Xianzhou natives was in Yanqing's defense, although there was some mixed feelings.

On one hand, this is Yanqing. He's absolutely beloved and trusted among the Luofu, so no one would want to believe he's an abomination of all things. Its also an absurd claim, considering the nature of abominations as almost always aggressive and having visual indicators of their allegiance to the Abundance. Yanqing is just... not that.

On the other hand, this is an emanator of Lan, one known for detecting abominations through smell. It's hard to believe they could possibly mistake a Xianzhou native for an abomination.

Most people are of the belief that this was a careless mistake and the emanator was in the wrong, but there's still a lingering doubt. If borisins can disguise themselves as foxians, then who's to say any abomination can't infiltrate the Luofu in the form of a human or vidyadhara too? That's what's going on through people's heads at throughout the story, and this kind of civil unrest and paranoia is exactly what Phantylia had been hoping for.

You do make a good point with his shirt. Apparently, fabric is actually really hard to digest, so it may not have been completely destroyed, but he wouldn't have regrown with it on, either. The doylist reason, however, is that I just never decided to give him a new shirt.

The watsonian reason is actually pretty simple. It's not the same shirt. It was given to him by Jing Yuan.

That's all for now. Until next time <3

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Tales of Wolves - Eddie Munson

Eddie Munson x OC | Eddie Munson x Karmen Jones

Summary: Eddie is still recovering from his ordeal in The Upside Down and now he's being forced to watch Teen Wolf. Worst year ever. He's not happy about it but Karmen decides after the movie reminds her, to tell him about the time she saw a werewolf. Eddie doesn't believe her... Until she describes it.

Tags: S4 spoilers, Fluff, Joking, Banter, Mentions of Eddie's time in the Psych Ward and mental health struggles, being medicated etc, mentions of toxic relationships (not Kaddie), Eddie's titty tatts.

Words: 3k

Notes: Just another little lore drop. This sits somewhere between Diffident and Flashback.

~~

1986

Teen Wolf was possibly the most absurd movie Eddie had ever volunteered to watch. Regardless, Michael J. Fox was a treasure and in this juicy chapter of the young actor’s career, he wasn’t playing a character flirting with his own Mother. So all in all, there wasn’t much to complain about. 

Except for the fact that Eddie hadn’t actually volunteered to watch it. It was a ‘ balls in baskets’ kind of movie and he’d been avoiding it since its release a year prior.

He’d heard nothing but good things even from his decidedly ‘Not Jock’ friends but Eddie wasn’t really in the headspace at that particular point in time to concede that he enjoyed a sports movie even if it was really more slice of life.

He’d been recovering at home for a few weeks now after his ordeal in the upside down or as his closest loved ones knew it:

‘The car accident’

He’d also spent some time in the Psych Ward and was now heavily medicated and learning above all else, how to be himself again.

Unfortunately for him, regardless of his fragile mental state his loved ones had apparently decided that what was best for Eddie was to be treated completely normally and as if he was not on the verge of a breakdown at any given moment.

He was displeased that it was working.

Karmen had gone back to teasing him playfully in the last few days. It was payback for the times he had pulled her leg during his healing journey and she had been too afraid to retaliate for fear of him taking it personally and setting his recovery back.

He knew he deserved it but it didn’t stop him being frustrated with himself every time he fell for a silly ploy he might have seen right through months earlier.

He had missed her playfulness for the most part. But such instances of toying with him included her holding a Back to the Future VHS in her arms in Family Video and asking him pointedly if he’d liked to watch a movie starring the aforementioned Mr. Michael Andrew Fox.

He had agreed excitedly without looking at what else she was browsing. Ignoring the smirk on her lips as she dumped the contents into their basket. Figuring she, like him, was just excited to watch the DeLoreon reach 88 miles per hour together for the fourth time since last August.

She knew full well he had been avoiding Teen Wolf and took the opportunity to finally watch it when it was presented to her so readily. Now he was stuck watching the decisively good movie and being annoyed that he was enjoying it when he should probably just be grateful that he was enjoying anything at all at this point in his life.

He was still in the thick of pretending to hate it when Karmen leaned towards him. Not taking her eyes off the hairy man on the screen as she whispered conspiratorially from the corner of her mouth.

“You know, I saw a werewolf once.”

Eddie sighed deeply, reaching for the remote. His interest was piqued but he refused to show it. She knew he wouldn’t be able to resist asking thousands of questions about the casual statement. 

He stopped the movie. Clasping his hands together as he turned to her with a tired expression.

“A werewolf?” He asked simply. Waiting patiently for her to elaborate. 

She would have to be pretty damn convincing to have him fall for it.

“Yeah!” She insisted, nodding earnestly as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Are you fucking with me?” He asked flatly, feeling like he already knew the answer. “Because you already have my attention, you don’t need to make things up.” He added sarcastically as if he was talking to a child. 

Karmen scoffed at his mocking.

“No!” She exclaimed defiantly. .”Ask John, he saw it too!”

Now that was interesting. He would ask John. Her best friend loved to pull the wool over people’s eyes as well but there was something he loved more than that which Eddie could count on almost infallibly. 

He enjoyed pretending he had no idea what Karmen was talking about and making her look stupid. Gas-lighting, Karmen would call it in the future after she learned about it on TikTok. But in the jovial banter kind of way where he later admitted he was just being silly. Not in the kind of way Eddie’s Dad did, where he doubled down until the other person believed him and started to think they were crazy.

Eddie wasn’t sure it was really any better but he’d heard enough stories about the more colorful moments of Karmen’s friendship with John over the years to understand that she hadn’t exactly been all roses, no thorns the entire time either. Mostly he believed that it just wasn’t really his business.

He would ask John about the ‘werewolf’ before giving any kind of satisfying reaction to Karmen. Whether the man felt like playing or not in the moment, Eddie would find out the truth definitively within the week. 

The other man always showed his hand eventually, unlike Karmen. For as bad as she was at lying when it mattered, she could keep up a ruse for weeks if it brought her enjoyment. 

“Where were you then?” Eddie questioned, refusing to fall for her trickery for a second time in one day.

She was tatting his tits or whatever the saying was. Not the good kind of tit tatts either like demons and spiders.

“Over near the trailer park actually. It was super late at night. We were the only ones on the road.” She explained simply, making Eddie snicker.

“Okay so you’re definitely fucking with me.” He said knowingly, rolling his eyes as she shrugged her shoulders at him adamantly.

“I’m not!” She laughed, tapping him on the arm as he held up the remote, ready to restart the movie. “It wasn’t too long before I met you.”

"Convenient." Eddie smirked, hitting play and jumping when she snatched the remote from him and stopped the movie again. He reached for it, fingers coming just shy as she lobbed it over her shoulder. The sound of it thumping into the cushions behind her drowned out by Eddie’s groan.

“Look. I know what I saw!” She argued, crossing her arms over her chest as he resigned himself to taking the bait.

“Alright, tell me about it then.” He said half-heartedly, not wanting to sound too curious but being hit with a stab of guilt as the smile on her face faltered. “What?” He asked after a moment of silence. Suddenly regretting his choice of indifference. “You know I’m just fucking with you, right?” He asked quickly, placing a reassuring hand on her thigh. “I’m actually very interested.” 

It was insane how fast she could catch him in her snare with a small pout.

Karmen chuckled at that. Nodding that she knew he was just playing.

“It’s not you.” She explained, biting at her lip as she turned to look at him with dark eyes.

“What?” He asked again, confused this time as he studied her face and she shrugged. Her smile slipped back into place as if it had never left.

“Well, I actually don’t know what I saw.” She admitted softly. “But ‘werewolf’ was as close as we could come up with.” She said scandalously, widening her eyes as he stared at her with intrigue. 

“What does that mean?” He asked, with a shake of his head. “What did it look like?”

Karmen huffed at the question.

“You’re going to think I’m mental.”

~~

1984

“You know you can always call me but Jesus Christ this is getting ridiculous.” John sighed, his hands tight on the steering wheel of his 70s pick up as he navigated the dark winding roads that lead them from the outskirts of Hawkins back into the town center.

“You didn’t have to come.” Karmen replied bitterly, not looking up as she stared blankly out the passenger side window.

“No?” John asked incredulously. “And where would you have ended up if I didn’t?”

She didn’t answer. John rolled his eyes at her silence.

“That’s what I thought.” He murmured, making her sniff. 

“I’ll call someone else next time.” She mumbled, frustrated by the lecture. She’d called him specifically because he was the least likely to lecture her.

“No, don’t do that shit!” He exclaimed.

“What?” She hissed as he shook his head at her.

“That toxic crap.” He answered simply. Putting on a voice as he continued. “Guess I’m just the worst Mom ever then.” He said dumbly. “It’s bullshit. You know you need to calm down and you’re mad because I’m pointing it out.”

“I don’t need your opinions John, I need a ride.” Karmen snapped, finally turning in her seat to face him.

“The stipulation of the ride is that you have to listen to my opinions.” He retorted, screwing up his face at her as she huffed defiantly.

“You know what!” She said angrily. “Pull over! I’ll just wal–”

A flash of gray darted in front of the headlights. Both occupants of the car gasped in unison as John slammed his foot down on the break. The tires screeched against the asphalt as they came to a grinding halt in the middle of the country road on the outskirts of town. 

They lurched forwards in their seats, both sitting back up and blinking in confusion as they started out the front of the car. The bug-sprayed windscreen suddenly all too clear as the silence in the vehicle consumed them.

Disbelieving eyes were wide, gazing towards the fog that rose from the road in front of them. Swirling in the beams from the headlights and encircling the reason they had come to such a sudden stop.

The creature stood about thirty inches tall. The vague shape of a dog with strange backward knees and long feet that looked more human than paws.

It was smooth like one of those hairless cats. Slick rolls of skin covering the entirety of its body.

Karmen inhaled shakily in the silence of the car. Bottom lip trembling as she started at the road in front of them. Her blood had run cold. Fear tingled along her spine, making goosebumps appear all over her body as her tongue darted out to lick at her dry lips.

She exhaled shakily, body quaking as a cloud of fog blew through her lips and her eyes flicked towards John to make sure he could see it too.

“What is…” He breathed, still staring out the windscreen as the creature moved suddenly and they both jumped back in their chairs. Their hands scrambling to find one another as they watched it bend its long strangely shaped legs.

It knelt down, giant head tilting as if it was inspecting the headlights but… It didn’t seem to have eyes.

Karmen’s hand shook in John’s and he squeezed it tighter, revealing to her as he did so that he was trembling too.  

They both moved their heads along with the animal. Two sets of wide eyes, unblinking as they observed it nod its head several times towards the direction of the car as if sniffing the air. 

Its large cumbersome head seemed too big for its body. Strange folds came to a point in the middle where its nose should be. It reminded Karmen of a flower ready to bloom.

Its janky movements continued to startle them as it suddenly stood up straight. Reminiscent of a dog that heard a whistle on a frequency they couldn’t and suddenly as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. 

It bounded away towards the side of the road. Disappeared from the streaks of light emanating from John’s car and blended with the shadows. Leaving them aghast, frightened and questioning for years to come if they had actually seen what they thought they had or if it had been a late night trick of the mind.

~~

1986

“I think if John hadn’t been there I would have convinced myself I didn’t actually see it. I was pretty drunk.” Karmen admitted softly. “But every few months I ask him if it really happened and he assures me it did.” She laughed bitterly. “I Kind of wish he’d lie to me to be honest.” 

Eddie stared at her with hard eyes. His jovial demeanor had disappeared completely as he listened to her story. The familiarity of the description made his own blood run cold.

It wasn’t a werewolf.

It was a Demodog. 

Described by her just as Dustin had described them to him.

The realization that Karmen had experienced even a slither of the horrors he had. The horrors he continued to keep from her…

That she had unknowingly been so close… So goddamn close to being ripped apart. If John hadn’t picked her up. If she’d had the chance to get out of the car before he could stop her... 

She would have been eaten alive. Named another unexplained missing person. More backstory to his own Lore without him ever actually meeting her. 

Never getting to know her as he did now.

It made tears brim at the edges of his vision. 

The knowledge that for the year before they actually met, they had been so close and yet so goddamn far. 

Always intertwining. As though they were meant to meet and endure this together.

He was glad she didn’t have to live through the things he did. Although he had an inkling she would have handled them just a touch better than he did. But there was a selfish part of him that wished they had met even earlier. That perhaps if they’d been together longer, something would have rubbed off on him and he would have somehow avoided the entire mess in the first place as she always seemed to manage without even knowing she was doing it.

Even though he knew deep down that not being together on the night Chrissy died had been pure coincidence and regardless of the length of their relationship, he probably would have played that stupid game the same way and won the same stupid prize.

It was nice to think that maybe there was an alternate universe version of Eddie out there that hadn’t gone back to his trailer with Chrissy that night and instead had told her he had somewhere else to be. Returning to Karmen’s place and going to bed at a reasonable time. Waking up in the morning and watching the news together about the Hawkins High Student that had been murdered in their own home overnight and theorizing with each other about who had done it.

Although he supposed that probably meant there was another alternate version of himself out there that never woke up again after passing out in Dustin’s arms.

He wondered what the Karmen in that universe was up to right now.

“Eddie?” Karmen asked softly. 

“Huh?” He asked dumbly, being wrenched from his thoughts by a soft hand on his cheek, covering the scars he’d acquired from a creature so similar to the one she described. But instead of a giant head with seemingly no features it had sharp little fangs it bared readily as it prepared to sink into his flesh.

She chuckled in a way that he could tell was belittling of herself. A spiteful sound as she dropped her hand and shook her head in his direction.

“You think I’m crazy right?” She asked, a murmur of a question as Eddie gasped at her statement. 

Another parallel. His own words parroted back at him unknowingly.

“No.” He assured her, a whisper of a word. He wanted to say more. To reassure her whole-heartedly that he believed her. That he understood in a way she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

That he knew she was telling the truth.

Was this it?

The moment where he finally let his mask slip?

Where he cracked and divulged all of the dreadful, nasty secrets that plagued him. The horrors that he suffered through alone in the dead of night and resealed the lid on in the light of day. Using all his strength to shove the door to his memories closed and leaning his back up against it as he caught his breath and prayed that one day it would stay locked on its own.

“Ask John about it.” Karmen said again, sounding defeated and seemingly oblivious to his plight. “Although there is a chance he will take the opportunity to make me look crazy for fun.” She admitted with a laugh, fishing for the remote she’d thrown behind her and settling back against the couch.

“I believe you.” Eddie said earnestly, his throat dry as he forced the words forward. All he could think of to say without stepping away from the door and accidentally letting it fall open in a way he had wanted to since he’d woken up in the hospital weeks earlier. 

“Sure.” Karmen said half-heartedly. Reluctantly choosing to believe, that he believed, for her own sanity. “Anyway.” She segwayed feebly, pressing play on the remote once more and turning back to the movie as Eddie continued to stare at her with a deep set frown on his features.

“You know I–”

“Do you think his dick gets hairy?” Karmen asked frankly, cutting him off to avoid hearing any more of his fawning. He could not believe her all he liked, she knew what she saw. 

Sort of.

He didn’t have to keep reassuring her she wasn’t insane.

Eddie shut his mouth at the question. Feeling a strange mix of frustration and yet relief, that he’d been interrupted as he turned the key. Having time to let it go and back away from the door before it was his turn to speak again. Choosing once more to leave it locked and not let her inside.

“Werewolves have dog dicks don’t they?” He asked after a moment, turning himself back to the TV too as Karmen shrugged in reply.

“What about when they’re human?” She queried, watching as a good looking blonde threw herself at the handsome young man that she was struggling to believe was ‘the school nerd’.

Maybe art really did imitate life.

“Mm.” Eddie hummed. “Probably a normal human schlong with an abnormal amount of pubes.” He conceded leaning in to whisper conspiratorially as she had done earlier.

“You know I saw one of those once.” He murmured, making her laugh.

“Sure you did Eddie.” She grinned sarcastically.

“I know what I saw.” He countered quietly, raising his shoulders as he wrapped an arm around her and settled in to watch the rest of the film.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep the door closed but he’d decided one thing over the last few treacherous weeks of recovery. That if he ever did decide to open it, he needed backup.

~

Read the rest of the series here :)

This series is so personal to me, so it means the world to me when someone let’s me know they enjoy a work from this series. If you guys liked this please pleaseee consider letting me know via comment, reblog, message, anon ask etc.  

Tags: @3ddi3-daydreamer @micheledawn1975 @munson-blurbs @wheels-of-despair @browneyes528 @stevemunsons

[bloodgulchblog]

Important question.

Which halo book is the most gay

Sorry this took a minute, I've been dying on the job lately and this ended up longer than intended. (I am under so much stress and writing absurd amounts about Halo canon is enrichment for me.)

First of all: Is anything in Halo hard-canon, completely undeniable, text-only no subtext, gay? The answer is: not much.

Cards on the table, jokes to the side, Halo is overall very sexless and, when it remembers sexuality exists and maybe a character would have a feeling about that, it's usually heterosexual. Halo was born in the early 2000s and is one of those properties that wears a "mature" coat of paint but knows that a huge percentage of its audience is probably teenagers and thus it's very scared of what would happen if their parents got mad. (This was even true when they were still making the games M rated.) The games have a lot of incidental dialogue with the marines and sangheili allies but it's the kind of thing of thing you know people let skate in 2007 because lol gay, hilarious.

It's one of those things where the only way to square it with, you know, the fact queer people exist in reality, is that queer people existing is commonplace and not taboo ergo it's not brought up. This isn't a great patch job and fixes nothing, but these are the hoops available to jump through if this is your chosen circus and you're trying to have a good time. Do the tigers at the circus have a good time? Probably not, actually. Let's move on.

There are two instances of the written Halo canon specifically and undeniably mentioning gay characters. (...Or at least there have been two for the longest damn time. If I blinked and missed something recent y'all should yell in the notes. The gay couple they kill in the TV show doesn't count.) They are both supporting cast characters in short stories written by the same author, Tobias S. Buckell, for each of the two short story anthologies.

The older story is "Dirt" in the Evolutions anthology, and there are two gay women in it. The first is Felicia:

The second is Allison:

Both of these characters die (Allison dies in an attack that happens literally seconds after this moment, but Felicia is important through the story until she goes). "Dirt" is good, contains the first mention of the Rookie, the most detail we've been given on ODST training, and is a love letter to Contact Harvest so it's following up on the messy pre-Covenant insurrection vs CMA vs UNSC tensions we haven't seen in as much detail since.

The second story is "Oasis" in the Fractures anthology and there is much much less here. The protagonist of "Oasis" is a girl whose remote desert community is being ravaged by a virus, and she's the only one able to set out across the desert in search of help (where she gets caught up in some infighting among the planet's Sangheili).

Nearer the start, she finds one of her neighbors burning the body of his partner, who has died of the virus. I'm not going to post it, it's very sad. They're one-scene characters and one of them is dead before we meet him.

Tobias S. Buckell is the only Halo writer who has given us canonically gay characters, and they're only supporting cast in short stories. I can't know why exactly (fuck if I know what has happened internally on Halo) but the why socially (society homophobic) is pretty obvious.

Honestly, I think the only other direct mention is there's a bit in the first YA novel where one of the kids teases another about whether a third is "his boyfriend" because they've been talking a lot and he's like no stoooop!! about it.

Anyway.

If we have to choose a gayest Halo book based on actual mention of gay people, the award goes to Halo: Evolutions because it has one story where a lesbian is a major character.

Having crowned this dubious king, let's move on to the subtext. It's fine. We're all on tumblr, we all understand having to descend into these mines to have fun.

There are a lot of very gay moments in some Halo stories. Certainly not enough to recommend a whole book to someone, because these are always incidental, but hey. I'm a master at chewing the scraps off the bones.

I'll lead with trying to answer the original question: What is the gayest Halo book?

I think to me, the most sustained gay vibe in a written-out Halo story is whatever was going on between Romeo and Dutch in the short run comic Helljumper.

The actual text of Helljumper is: Dutch has put in for a transfer to a non-combat post in order to be closer to his wife, Gretchen. Romeo is really upset about this and they have conflict about this through a big high octane ODST adventure that ends with Romeo saying "hey Dutch I've put in for a transfer too" while Dutch goes "oh uh, I talked to Gretchen about it and I canceled my transfer request..."

It's the intensity of Romeo's hurt feelings, and the obvious fondness between the characters. I'm not saying "Romeo/Dutch real." I don't like Romeo a whole lot (mostly due to later outings in the Buck novels) and Dutch is definitely very married to Gretchen. I don't actually care that much. But for the space of time where I was reading Helljumper thinking about it that way added more emotional interest and made sense.

For things that only last for moments, I have a little collection of bits and pieces.

First: The essence of the Lord of Admirals Forthencho oversharing with our poor boy Chakas about his Didact feelings. (From Primordium.)

A moment where you know how bad the Arbiter and the Rtas 'Vadum wish they could be reunited one day, from Shadow of Intent:

Also I think the strongest "oh you could build a romance out of that" moment with the Arbiter about the Chief is actually him fully prepared to tell Locke to fuck off over him in Halo 5, but having that conviction in the Arbiter's warrior crush on the Master Chief makes passages like the below (in Outcasts) fun:

Uhuh Thel you are commissioning art of him in your home? Tell us more.

(Yes, I'm playing, I know the saga wall is an important Sangheili cultural piece, I know-)

Zita, you may ask, do you have even a crumb for the lesbians?

Alright boss, best I got is probably Adriana-111 making tea for Melody Azikiwe after the Big Stressful Book Events have concluded (from Halo: Envoy)

Okay.

I think there might be more, so everyone feel free to use this post to shout out your favorite spots that you think are better if you read them gay.

[randomvarious]

Had kind of a big, intriguing realization last night right before bed about something that's probably just one major coincidence, but might bear some further investigating or explaining given what's currently going on. For those who've been living under a rock, Kanye West has been embarrassingly touting himself as a nazi as of late, maybe partially as a way of just trying to garner attention like he so frequently does, but it doesn't really seem to be just a gimmick either. Like, it actually appears that he really might firmly believe in the things he's been saying the past handful of years. I mean, he literally had a prominent neo-nazi on his campaign team for his absurd, failed presidential run.

But anyway, the reason I bring him up—and most of you probably won't see this part coming—is because of Swedish pop and dance group Ace of Base, who managed to score themselves a whole bunch of hits in the 90s across the globe, including what was probably the most tolerable hit from the otherwise awful genre of Euroreggae, with their signature catchy 1993 single, "The Sign." Most of you are probably not aware of this, but they themselves have had a very suspicious nazi past too. Member Ulf Ekberg was publicly outed as once having been one and he's tried to downplay, but has also apologized repeatedly, for his past involvement in Swedish nazi and far-right groups as a youth.

But what's weird about all of this is that that's usually where all the investigating has stopped; 'hey, one of the guys from that 90s group Ace of Base was once a nazi, isn't that interesting and kind of peculiar? Hmm, what do you think "The Sign" was actually referring to? Could it have been a swastika?!? *chortles*'

But there's actually more to this story that I uncovered years ago that I had never seen anyone else report on at the time: Ulf Ekberg is not the only member of this group who was once a nazi or far-rightist. Here, let me explain.

Before Ekberg joined Ace of Base, he was in two nazi bands as a teenager called MRP and Commit Suiside with a guy named Anders Karlstrom, who would go on to become a prominent figure in an extreme right-wing political group called the Swedish Democrats. Ekberg would be on the group's board and become its treasurer, and a guy by the name of Johnny Linden, who himself was a prominent nazi with a criminal past, was a member of the Swedish Democrats too.

Now, one of Ekberg's childhood friends before he joined Ace of Base was Jonas Berggren, who formed the first iteration of the group with Johnny Linden when he was either 18 or 19 years old. Only after Linden left in 1989 did Ekberg join, but some of Linden's fingerprints still ended up appearing on their 1992 debut album, Happy Nation, which I should mention*holds the Guinness World Record for the number one bestselling debut album of all time.* Not only did Linden actually co-produce a song on this album, but he was also responsible for designing its album art too! 😯 And so, one lingering question I have about all of this is that, given that all of this information has been freely available on the internet and just needed some yarn, corkboard, and thumbtacks to all be put together, how has Jonas Berggren, the other male member of Ace of Base, managed to escape that same level of scrutiny that Ulf Ekberg was given for so long? Jonas had known Ulf since he was a kid, but he originally formed his band that would become Ace of Base with another nazi too! Why no questions about him?

OK, but now back to Kanye West for the reveal of what is probably just one *very big coincidence.* In 1998, Ace of Base released what would end up being their final big hit in the United States, a cover of UK new wave-pop girl group Bananarama's "Cruel Summer," which peaked at #10 on Billboard's Hot 100 chart. Fourteen years later though (uh oh), the record label that Kanye West owned, GOOD Music, released their own compilation called Cruel Summer too 🤔.

Now, I don't think Kanye West's turn towards nazism dates all the way back to 2012, and I also don't know if he knew about Ace of Base's own nazi origins back then either. But, given that the original cover art for his Vultures 1 album that he released in 2024 with Ty Dolla Sign incorporated artwork by Adolf Hitler's own favorite artist (yup), and the typography on that album also looked like it was referencing notorious nazi black metal project Burzum's, I really can't help but wonder at this point if the name of that Cruel Summer comp may have been quietly making some sort of nazi reference to Ace of Base too. Like I said, I really doubt it, but I mean, given all that's transpired since, what a huge coincidence, right??

And by the way, I conducted all of this Ace of Base research years ago at the height of covid and just worked off of the notes that I took back then in order to compose this post today. All of that information was thoroughly researched at the time, but since I found it all before the quality of Google searching had proceeded to downgrade so precipitously, I don't think I'd ever be able to find that same information again today 🤷. This stuff's not easy to find now, but I swear to you all that I did find it once.

[zutraeumen]

The Second Course

Darkness descended. The restaurant's bay windows glowed warmly from afar. Out here, amidst the water and trees, the world was silent, save for the lonesome, distant call of a loon.

Adele, ever the skeptic, was ready for the next clap! of hands from the Chef. No way he'd catch her off guard again.

"Is he going to keep doing that?"

I fear so, dear Margot.

This time, the Chef didn't even wait for the guests' attention before launching into another grandiose monologue. "Bread has existed in some form for over twelve thousand years. It was once the sustenance of the poor—flour and water, the simplest of meals. Even now, grain represents 65% of all agriculture. Fruits and vegetables? Only 6%. Ancient Greek peasants dipped their stale bread into wine for breakfast. And how did Jesus teach us to pray if not to beg for 'our daily bread'? It has always been the food of the common man. But you, my dear guests, are not the common man. So tonight... you will have no bread."

Now that was how you politely said, "fuck you," to the rich kids.

Adele couldn't help but grin. That was a move straight out of a dark comedy—utterly wicked, and she adored it.

"He must be joking..." one of them whispered.

"What?"

"It's gotta be a bit... wait, are you serious?"

The best part? They still didn't get it. They thought it was all a prank. Oh, how wrong they were. The Chef continued, "In this spirit, please enjoy the unaccompanied accompaniments."

This was better entertainment than any reality show.

Watching the guests stare, stunned, at their plates while the Chef had just given them the most subtle jab—priceless. They hadn't even realized the Chef had humiliated them, all while displaying a level of pretentiousness and obliviousness that could only be described as 'next level,' as Tyler would say.

The plate in front of them looked more like a painter's palette, full of delicate little garnishes. And where there should have been bread, there was only a note: "The bread you will not be eating tonight was made from a heritage wheat called Red Fife, crafted with our partners at the Tehachapi Grain Project, devoted to preserving heirloom grains."

Slipping a piece of chewing gum into her mouth discreetly, Adele watched as the chatter at the table doubled, fueled by the outrage over the evening's absurd events. Her amusement rose so much that she could almost forget the fact that the Chef probably wanted her dead.

"This is insane," Felicity muttered, letting the paper fall from her hands and shaking her head in disbelief.

"Hmmm... because the total absence of bread is so good?" Adele couldn't help but quip.

How could anyone enjoy savory oils and emulsions on their own when bread was supposed to accompany them? George could, and Tyler did as well—but he insisted it was all part of some grand theme no one else could quite grasp.

Strange, wasn't it? It was almost as if Tyler knew something the rest of them didn't. But then again, Tyler was the kind of person who probably knew exactly how Slowik liked his coffee in the morning.

"I mean, it's a little outrageous, isn't it?" Ted mused conspiratorially, leaning forward in his seat.

"That's fiendish, really," the blonde food critic added, her voice tinged with admiration. "He's always been keenly aware of food and its history with class. As have I..."

Adele rolled her eyes internally.

She could practically hear the sycophantic tone dripping from Ted's words as he agreed with everything she said.

"...though I will say," the critic continued, adjusting her glasses, "this emulsion does look slightly split."

At this point, Adele couldn't take anything that woman said seriously. The food critic was a joke—always insatiable, always full of herself. She had to criticize something just to fuel her own ego, especially when she was the one who had discovered—and then later "rediscovered"—the famous Julian Slowik.

Madam Elsa had clearly had enough of this charade. Without a word, she abandoned her temporary post beside the hearth and marched over to the critic, placing a whole bucket of the orange, 'broken' emulsion in front of her, the very same one she had so viciously criticized. The critic's face fell into a state of shock as she stared at the dish, too stunned to do anything but force a strained smile.

"Um, excuse me," the critic stammered.

Madam Elsa, undeterred, was quickly beckoned by Bryce to the larger table where the finance bros sat.

"Is everything to your liking, sir?" she asked, ever the professional.

"Well... actually no, thanks for asking," Bryce said, leaning forward with a look of feigned patience. "Look, the food's great, we get the whole conceptual thing, but can we please get some bread? Some gluten-free for my friend, too?"

"No," Madam Elsa replied, her voice flat and unwavering.

The table froze in disbelief. "No?" Bryce echoed, taken aback.

Madam Elsa's polite demeanor dropped in an instant, and her gaze turned cold, saying more with a look than words ever could—there would be no bread, no matter how many times they asked.

The table exchanged glances, growing more agitated by the second. Finally, Bryan spoke up. "This is clever, but I didn't want to pull this card, but... you do know who we are, right?"

The oldest trick in the book.

"Yes," Madam Elsa replied, unfazed.

"You do? You know who we are?" Soren chimed in, his voice patronizing.

"I know who you are," she answered, her tone polite but clipped, like she was speaking to children.

Soren let out a childish noise of disbelief, his tight-lipped expression a perfect display of his entitled nature.

"You know we work with Doug Varrick, right?" he pressed, his tone dripping with superiority.

"No," Madam Elsa retorted coolly. "You work for Mr. Varrick."

The viper's strike had landed. Yikes.

"Exactly," Soren grinned, leaning forward. "So, just slip us a little bread, yeah?"

"We won't tell a soul, lady, promise."

Adele couldn't help but snicker internally. The nerve of these people. There was no way in hell they were getting what they wanted.

"No," Madam Elsa repeated, unflinching.

"Did you say no?" Bryce asked, incredulous.

"I said 'no,' yes," she replied firmly.

The tension in the air deflated as they resigned to defeat, sinking back into their seats with pouts of undignified rejection. Adele couldn't help but smirk at their misfortune. Served them right. But then, Madam Elsa leaned in and whispered something into Soren's ear. Whatever she said, it hit him like a freight train. He went pale as a ghost in a split second.

Adele would have paid money to know what Madam Elsa had whispered to him.

Meanwhile, Chef Slowik presided over the kitchen with a hawk-like gaze, his eyes scanning both staff and guests. And then, without warning, a loud crash broke the tension in the room—a glass shattered.

The Chef was on it in a flash, moving with the speed and precision of a predator.

"You haven't touched your food," he remarked flatly, his eyes devoid of passion. His earlier malice had disappeared.

"There is no food," Margot shot back, hitting the nail on the head.

"No, this is food," Slowik retorted coldly.

The chatter around the table picked up again, but Adele couldn't keep listening. She looked around, trying to gauge if anyone else noticed how bold Margot was being with the Chef. Tyler, clearly uncomfortable, fidgeted in his seat, visibly mortified that he had somehow offended his idol.

But then, a truly dour expression crossed Chef Slowik's face. He half-smiled, half-grimaced—a look that no one had seen before. No one talked to him like that. And then, just as suddenly, he turned and walked away, leaving the pair with an uncomfortable silence.

Adele had said it before and would say it again—Margot had some serious guts to tell the Chef off like that, even though Adele agreed with her entirely. The courses may have been empty of substance, but they were filled with bitterness, a soured experience that left everyone unsettled.

And as if on cue, Adele's thoughts were interrupted by a startling presence. The Chef suddenly stopped at her table. Alarmed, she feared he would confront her as he had with Margot, but instead, he did something unexpected.

With a quiet, almost tender gesture, the Chef lowered his forehead to the madam sitting across from Adele, his touch surprisingly warm and filled with genuine affection. The moment was over so quickly, it felt almost like a dream, and before she could even blink, the Chef was back at the kitchen, barking orders as if nothing had happened.

"I want plating in three, my friends!" he called out.

"Yes, Chef!" his staff responded in unison.

[oatmealaddiction]

Because someone came at me for defending the Comedian a few months ago, I just want to say also that

Maurizo Cattelan is an extremely talented artist who makes way better work than I ever could. He actually *is* in fact a sculptor. Here's a 2021 piece he made entitled "Breath."

2. The Comedian is intended to be funny. It's supposed to make you laugh. Most of Maurizo Cattelan's work is funny, and out there. Like this sculpture he made of the Pope being hit by a meteorite.

Not everything in the art world is so serious. People have this conception of art that if it hangs in a museum, it is "important" and in that way antithetical to comedy—which is unimportant by definition and considered "low-brow". The banana taped to the wall is absurd, but it's also tying into bananas a general slapstick symbol. You're supposed to feel like you're getting teased a bit.

3. The Comedian raises interesting questions for its absurd price tag of $6.2 Million. The original piece does not exist in its primary form (obviously). A Crypto Giant Justin Sun bought the artwork and ate it to prove that the art piece's value was "the concept", and to prove he could own the idea of a banana taped to a wall—not realizing of course the Comedian stipulates that it can be displayed as any banana taped to any wall with any kind of duct tape—meaning that Justin Sun unintentionally showed the issue with Cryptocurrency and NFT's in his purchase of the work, and that even paying millions of dollars for it can not give him what he wants—which is the idea of a banana taped to a wall. What's more, it's interesting to think about the comedian in the relation to how its value sparks outrage. Nazi Germany of course would display Modern and Avante Garde art in museums of the degenerate—and would draw attention to the price the art was valued at, to intentionally outrage museum goers at galvanize them into acting against Jewish and Non-White Art Movements. That said, the value of "The Comedian" in specific is interesting in that we know a banana costs $1 at the grocery store, and yet we're seeing billionaire tech giants spend millions on a craft they can make at home. Maybe in that way it galvanizes you into noticing a class difference in this art. Maybe it makes you wonder if your anger should be directed at the artists, or the fools who waste money on the art. Like, this piece is doing a lot if you actually sit and think about it.

4. Is this person *seriously* suggesting that artists in the 1500's, 1600's and 1700's were more valued and given time to do their art than now in the 2020s??? SERIOUSLY???? Art was fucking gatekept to hell and back in these time periods. Michelangelo got to paint and make sculptures because he hung out with the Medici's and was richer than actual princes. If you were some serf dying of the plague, I guarantee you, you did not get to make any kind of art. All these centuries were marked by war and enormous class divides where art was a leisurely pastime only for the richest of the rich. Van Goh was literally starving trying to afford his paints, and here in 2020 any preschool in America probably has access to *some* art supplies. We have a huge literature and music industry, public art museums, libraries with hundreds of catalogues of famous art pieces that can be accessed for free, and stores on the corner that will sell you water colors for $10 a tray. I'm not saying it's easier to be an artist than like, an accountant, or that there aren't still class barriers to being able to create great art, but—in fact the comedian breaks down those class barriers and expands the definition of art, where fancy sculptures make it harder for working class people to access art spaces that were formed by rich white men hundreds of years ago.

Anyway, this post is like, hella reactionary. I'd say the biggest threat to art right now is all these people demanding we return to the "good ol' days."

[whumpeesblog]

Beneath the Hollow Oak

Content Warnings: (for the full fic) Emotional trauma, captivity, medical experimentation, body horror (mild), violence, PTSD, chronic illness, anxiety, grief, supernatural themes (vampires, werewolves, ghosts), found family, recovery, and healing after trauma

Part 4 :

---

The Hollow Oak was at its cosiest tonight. The kind of warmth that clung to your jumper and made your drink taste stronger. Issac sat tucked into his usual spot at the corner of the bar, half-sipping something pink and fizzy in a glass that definitely wasn’t meant for men trying to look serious.

“Is there actual candy in this?” he asked, turning the drink in his hand.

“Two jelly babies, a cherry and a cursed amount of grenadine,” Vinnie called from behind the bar, tossing a bottle back onto the shelf like a circus act. “It’s called a ‘Vampire’s Nipple.’ House special.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“You did,” Vinnie grinned.

Issac smiled despite himself, and leaned back against the bar’s worn paneling, glancing around the pub. The crowd was the usual mixed bag—locals who looked like they’d always been part of the woodwork, nursing pints and chatting in low tones. No one ever really stared at Vinnie, no matter how flamboyant he was, no matter what colour eyeliner or strange earring he wore that night. It was weirdly comforting.

Or it would be, if it weren’t… weird.

Issac was just starting to zone out when a figure slid into the seat beside him. Broad shoulders, an earthy scent like moss and smoke, and eyes that flicked to him too fast.

Tom.

He’d seen him before—tall, gruff, often loitering outside as if allergic to staying still for more than ten minutes. He was the kind of man who looked like he’d been carved out of a forest stump and given an ill-fitting hoodie.

“You’re Issac?” Tom said. Not asked. Said.

Issac blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“I’m Tom.”

Silence.

Issac glanced toward Vinnie, who was pretending to mix a drink while keeping a sharp eye on them both.

“Oh. Hi.”

Tom’s gaze swept over him like he was doing some kind of checklist. “You’re the one Vinnie’s been spending time with.”

“Is that… a problem?”

“Should it be?”

Issac’s fingers tightened around the glass. “I don’t know. You’re the one asking questions.”

Tom tilted his head slightly, nostrils flaring like he was smelling something. Which was absurd. Probably.

“You’ve got asthma,” Tom said.

“Right,” Issac said slowly. “What gave it away, my subtle wheeze or my weak, anxious aura?”

To his surprise, Tom smiled. Just briefly. “Both.”

Issac shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the way Tom looked at him—not threatening, exactly, but like someone assessing the risk of something fragile.

“I just mean to say,” Tom continued, voice lower now, “Vinnie’s not what you think.”

Issac’s mouth went dry. “What do I think?”

Tom didn’t answer. He leaned closer, eyes serious now.

“He’s old. Older than you know. He doesn’t live in the same world you do. People get close to him, they get… pulled in. And he forgets to let go.”

Issac frowned. “You talk like you’ve known him forever.”

“I haven’t,” Tom said, voice sharp. “But my gran did. She said he saved her life once. Said he was chaos wrapped in charm. Said he’d burn down your house just to stand in the warmth.”

“Sounds poetic,” Issac said, trying to cover the spike of fear with sarcasm.

Tom looked at him for a long beat. “It’s not poetry. It’s warning.”

Before Issac could reply, a loud clatter interrupted them.

Vinnie had dropped a shaker, very much on purpose, and came sauntering over, grinning. “You two getting along? Planning my intervention?”

Tom stood, barely looking at him. “Just catching up.”

“Sure,” Vinnie said, eyes sharp under the joke. “Why don’t you catch up somewhere else, Tommy? You’re scaring my favourite regular.”

Tom looked at Issac again, like he wanted to say something else, but only nodded once. “See you around.”

As he turned and headed for the door, Issac noticed something strange—none of the locals even looked up. As if Tom didn’t exist, or at least didn’t register.

Vinnie slid into the seat beside Issac, bumping their shoulders lightly. “Sorry about the pub dog. He sheds and thinks he’s clever.”

“He said you saved his gran.”

Vinnie sighed. “Old story. Probably exaggerated. She got a splinter or something.”

“He also said you burn things down.”

Vinnie smiled without showing teeth. “Only when it’s too cold to stay still.”

Issac looked at him, really looked. At the perfectly tousled hair, the slight glow to his skin, the weird warmth in his chaotic eyes. He thought about the photos. The antiques. The nights that never turned into days.

“I don’t care if you’re weird,” Issac said finally. “Just don’t make me forget you.”

For a second, Vinnie went very still.

Then he reached over, plucked the cherry from Issac’s drink and popped it in his mouth. “I’ll do my best. But you’ll have to remember me extra hard, yeah?”

Issac gave a quiet laugh. “That sounded way less creepy in your head, didn’t it?”

“Not even slightly,” Vinnie said, grinning.

And for now, at least, the strange warmth between them held.

---

Issac tries to solve the puzzle that is Vincent.

It started with a stupid search.

Vinnie pub attic got him nowhere—just a TripAdvisor review about "the most flamboyant bartender in rural England" and a blurry photo of a man in silver eyeliner doing karaoke in a fur coat.

Issac chewed the inside of his cheek, typing in new terms. He didn’t even know Vinnie’s surname. Did he have one?

Strange local deaths, he typed.

It spiralled from there.

The pub’s village had a long history—most English villages did. But among the expected news of fêtes and livestock competitions, there were oddities that prickled beneath Issac’s skin. Newspaper scans with yellowed edges and absurd headlines:

1924: ANIMAL ATTACK OR SOMETHING WORSE? LOCAL FARMHAND FOUND DRAINED OF BLOOD.

1948: HANGED MAN SURVIVES EXECUTION. "HE JUST SMILED," SAYS SHOCKED PRISON GUARD.

1971: MORGUE MYSTERY—BODY GOES MISSING HOURS BEFORE AUTOPSY.

They weren’t all in this village. But the areas circled it like a bruise. One article, barely more than a column inch, had a photograph with a man at the edge of the frame. He looked... familiar. Just the shadow of a jawline, a smirk that might’ve belonged to Vinnie, or might’ve belonged to someone long dead. Issac didn’t know what he wanted to find. just that every answer turned into another question.

He closed his laptop as the front door slammed downstairs.

It was nearly seven.

Vinnie would be working the bar.

Issac made his way down the hill to The Hollow Oak, hoodie zipped to the chin. The lights of the pub were warm against the misting evening, the buzz of conversation spilling out like comfort. As always, Vinnie was behind the bar, shaking something violently in a cocktail tin like it owed him money.

Issac slid onto his stool.

“I looked up murders for you,” he said by way of hello.

“Oh, romantic,” Vinnie grinned. “Did you at least look up murders with nice cocktails?”

Issac glanced sideways, but before he could answer, the pub door opened.

It was like a pressure shift. Conversation dipped. The warmth stuttered.

His dad stood in the entrance like a misplaced chess piece. slick grey coat, black scarf, tailored to the point of arrogance. He surveyed the room like he was cataloguing bacteria, then moved towards the bar.

“Shit,” Issac muttered. “Why is he here?”

Vinnie leaned in. “Is that your dad?”

“Yeah. Just .. ignore him, please don’t let him be weird.”

“I mean, we’re all weird,” Vinnie winked. “Some of us just accessorise better.”

But Issac’s stomach was curling inward. His dad’s presence in the pub felt... off. Like mixing oil with water, or someone in a lab coat showing up to a birthday party.

Vinnie stepped out from behind the bar, heading toward Issac’s dad with an easy grin. “Evening, sir! Fancy a Vampire’s Nipple?”

Issac choked on his drink.

His dad ignored the offer. “I’d like a moment of your time, Mr…?”

“Just Vinnie,” he said, breezing past the formality. “And I’m working, unfortunately. Health and safety, you know. Can’t leave Issac unattended, he might alphabetise the coasters.”

He grabbed Issac by the wrist, not hard, just insistent and tugged him back behind the bar with a theatrical spin.

The move was ridiculous. Unnecessary. Utterly Vinnie.

But it worked.

His dad blinked at the gesture, lips tightening slightly, before turning toward the door. “Very well. I’ll see you at home, Issac.”

As the door clicked shut, Issac sagged against the back wall.

“Kill me,” he groaned. “He thinks I’m being babysat.”

Vinnie tossed him a packet of peanuts. “He’d be right. I’m charging hourly.”

“God. I’m sorry. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Everyone’s welcome in the pub,” Vinnie said lightly. “We’ve had actual ghosts before. One of them drinks gin.”

“But you ran off.”

“Correction: I swirled off with flair. Besides—your dad has the kind of face that probably reported jazz to the police in 1936.”

Issac snorted.

Then quieted.

“You know a lot about me,” he said softly. “My family. My socks. But I don’t know anything about you.”

Vinnie stopped drying the glass in his hands.

“Well, that’s just rude. You know my hobbies.”

“You told me you like makeup and art and music and booze. That’s not—”

He trailed off.

That wasn’t the same.

He didn’t know where Vinnie had come from. How old he was. If he had family. If he even had a bed or just a pile of scarves and empty bottles in that attic.

Vinnie smiled, but it was faint this time.

“I’m not that interesting,” he said.

“You’re a walking paradox in eyeliner,” Issac muttered.

They sat in silence for a while, the soft rumble of the pub carrying on around them. Vinnie eventually pulled out a small, battered cassette player from under the bar and pressed play. A tinny, warbled version of “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” filtered out, warm and nostalgic and almost painfully on the nose.

Issac didn’t say anything.

He just sat there, beside someone who was either hiding everything or had already given more than he could.

Somewhere in the distance, the wolves howled.

[cloudbattrolls]

And Then He Kissed Me

Jameth Abnale | Present Night | Abnale Civitrecce Apartment

Hours later, Jamie dabbed at his face with the wet washcloth and blinked blearily at his blurred reflection in the mirror.

He’d kissed Sharle.

He’d…he’d actually done it.

Confused, but willing Sharle. Sweet, oblivious Sharle, leaning in obediently to meet his lips because of a silly excuse about chapstick. Oh, he could have done so much more than kiss him, but it wouldn’t have been right. His lips had been cool and slightly strawberry, just like that little thing that had given him the excuse. 

The kiss alone had been…well, honestly, Sharle was hardly amazing at it, but that hadn’t even really mattered. It hadn’t mattered because he’d still done it, he’d come close, he’d wanted -

Had Sharle wanted it? Or had he just gone along with it?

Jamie’s ears drooped as the thought struck like a rock to the face, but he shook his head at himself impatiently as he dabbed behind them as well to finish cleaning himself up. Then he put the washcloth down, dropping it on the edge of the sink absently rather than hanging it up on its hook.

Did it matter? Was he really…no, he wouldn’t, he wasn’t that stupid. Believing Sharle actually wanted him was absurd. There probably - no, there definitely wouldn’t be anything else.

He should just call this a win and try to move on.

Yet that felt sour, his lips curling back at the very idea. 

He didn’t want a ‘win.’ 

He wanted -

“Stop it.” He told his reflection sharply. “You think he wants to be matesprits with anyone? He’s not interested. If you push him - ”

The blueblood took in a sharp breath, pressing down hard on the molded plastic handles of the chair he sat in when he washed up. Good, a reminder.

Sharle would not want Jamie anyway. For myriad reasons. 

“I refuse to lose him.” He muttered. “I won’t - I won’t mess this up. I’ll get over it. I always do.”

Sharle was good that way. He flowed like a river, making his way down whatever paths he was asked to follow. He didn’t have the kind of mind that judged; he didn’t care about such things. He probably…probably had no idea what Jamie really felt. It was irrelevant to him.

The kookaburra troll envied the falcon-potoo. How painless a life. His friend - yes, his friend, that’s how he had to think - approached things with a somewhat laughable yet admirable simplicity. 

If only he could laugh at it more…think less of him…but that was impossible. The very thought disgusted him. Thinking less of Sharle? Dear, dense, genuine, funny Sharle? 

He learned, that was the thing. He listened, even if he was silly and foolish sometimes. 

The athlete did know some things, he cared so much for his field, for his hobbies and passions…

Jamie groaned. What an idiot he was. All this stupid, starry-eyed endearment! 

He ought to dunk his head with cold water while he was here. 

That would help him remember he lived in reality, where indifferent celebrity racecar drivers did not date, or even look twice at, crippled engineers with enough longing to write two dumb Eirish folk songs about. 

It was better that way! For everyone! 

Yes, Sharle’s one true loves were racing and video games. Just as well! What, was Jamie expecting a kiss back? For Sharle to hold his hand?

No, he wasn’t, because he hadn’t completely lost his mind. Reason remained within him yet, thank goodness. Sharle just wasn’t that kind of person. 

This way, he wouldn’t look like a moron or have to deal with more media attention, and Sharle, well, he was perfectly happy as he was. Bless him for never wanting more beyond racing achievements, it must be a peaceful existence.

“Clearly I need to work more.” He said with a sigh, steadying himself as he eased his way up and grabbed his crutches. “That, or see my friends. I wonder if Dearth would like to go shopping, or maybe Paxton…” 

No better cure for silly lovelorn thoughts than good company, after all. He knew so many wonderful people now, of all castes and species. Let that buoy him up, and let this pass into nothingness.

He paused as he stood again. Well, he had still wanted to make Sharle those fritters…he’d gotten the recipe from Sanata and everything, he’d asked him for pointers and he’d already had the ingredients delivered…

Then he remembered Velour’s little comment about the plushes and scowled. Well, no fritters for his damn moirail, that was for certain. He’d keep the spares for any friends who wanted them. Maybe Crimew, she was often hungry. Or Railey. The drone didn’t have to eat, but he liked to.

Sharle loved trying different foods. He’d been so happy when Jiji had invited him over for dinner…

I guess it’s different when different people say it.

Do you like it when I say it?

Uh, yeah, I guess I do.

Oh no, he wasn’t going to be tricked by his brain trying to tell him there was hope, or something. That Sharle had actually enjoyed when he’d called him kissable. There lay madness. 

Sharle had been surprised! It hadn’t…it hadn’t mattered to him, not really…he’d just been glad Jamie wasn’t some stupid fan, it wasn’t personal…

Fritters! He needed to make fritters! 

He made his slow way into the kitchen, glasses back on, and set out to grate the vegetables, settling into his kitchen chair instead, one that had a cutting board built into it, and took out a shiny new grater. 

As an afterthought, he spoke aloud to activate his radio, and while he was absorbed in his grating initially, he paused as he realized what the song was.

I wanted to let him know

That he was more than a friend

I didn't know just what to do

So I whispered, "I love you"

“Ha, ha, ha.” Grumbled the kookaburra. “Having a chuckle at me, are we, universe?”

And he said that he loved me, too

And then he kissed me

Jamie grated the carrots like he had a personal grudge against them, finishing in record time as he practically mushed them into near shreds against the holes of the implement.

He kissed me in a way that I've never been kissed before

He kissed me in a way that I want to be kissed forever more

“He wasn’t even that good!” Shouted the blueblood. 

He heard his lusus laugh at him and looked over to see the lusus giving him as smug of an expression as a bird could manage.

I knew that he was mine

So, I gave him all the love that I had

Then the damn bird started chirping along to the notes.

And one night, he took me home

To meet his mom and his dad

The avian looked expectantly at his son.

Jamie stared back with his two-tone eyes.

Then he asked me to be his bride

And always be right by his side

I felt so happy I almost cried

And then he kissed me

“Fine!” He said mutinously, and got back to fritter prep. “I’ll invite him over, happy? He’s very busy, you know!”

The white bird’s laughter rang through the spacious apartment as the freckled blueblood continued his cooking prep with as much dignity as he had, face burning blue. 

[impinged]

One thing you're willing to share. Haha, well, if that's the case... Nothing comes to mind~!

That's a joke you don't voice. Again, not even all that funny either. You promised! You're going to answer!! What's a little internal commiserating before you do? It's healthy! Probably!

"One thing…" You echo, before a lap of frustration has you going, "Isa, there were hundreds—" Oh, that's not... You kind of just let that out, huh. Well, it's good thing you remember each one then! You do not tell him this. "But... Okay."

Urgh. Of course he would throw the question back at you. Suddenly, even if he says otherwise, one question doesn't feel very fair if you can only offer up one thing in return. You bury your face in the pillow while you contemplate. Argh, well played, Isabeau…!

Okay then. Good or bad. Well, you can say right away don't really want to talk about the bad. But something good feels too lighthearted given he clearly knows what happened. You rattle off a few frivolous things in your head, things you think barely satisfy such a question.

You told me about wanting to become a fashion designer! Did you know Odile wasn't really researching anything? We saw a ghost. You kept running straight into that blinding tear in the hallway and I had to pull you away. Okay definitely not that one. Ahem. Think harder, something has to be good enough…

"I'm allergic to pineapple." Despite its absurdity, you look up at him as if all the bones in your body are terribly serious. And they are. "Did we know that?? Did I ever mention that...??? Bonnie brought pineapple slices for snacks. And I..."

Well actually you don't have to say that part he probably gets it!!! You shake your head and sputter out an apology. This doesn't count. This is just something he should probably know to make sure it doesn't happen again (they were kind of good before they killed you!) A tangent to distract him from the real answer when you get to it. Very intended.

"Sorry, that's... not my answer. I'm thinking..." Let's see... We built a bomb to throw at the King, and we did, and yes it felt just as cool as you can imagine it did... Oh! You met the Change God...? Ehh, maybe not that one. Yet. Um...

"You took me to see the stars, the night before we left for the House." Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, this one is nice, but, you didn't really mean to say it out loud. What is with you? You keep slipping up! Saying things you're supposed to think!!!

You suppose it works though. If anything, it brings it full circle. He mentioned it earlier too, didn't he? Although the way he phrased it made it sound like it was your offer, but you definitely remember it being something he did for you.

"It, uh... It happened a few times. The same time. Just, during different loops." Stars this is a pain to describe. You still remember how you felt the first time, and start to regret how jaded you felt on repeated events. He didn't know. Does now, but you won't tell him it meant any less as it continued... You don't like thinking about it like that, actually. It meant and means a lot still. No matter how your overall circumstance made you feel. No matter the repetition.

"It was nice." Your grip on the pillow tightens. You don't know if you should say anything more. It feels like cheating. Just saying the joke at the tree here earlier felt like cheating. But it suffices as an answer, right? No follow up questions, right? Would you even allow those...? Uh... No comment.

"oh!" his laughter clipped and unsure (stunning performance, sif; bonkers timing, though!), squeezing his pillow like a lifeline trying to muffle the drum in his chest, "looks like we want the same thing, then. me staying, that is. yay us!"

alright, isabeau, he moved on! you should, too! stop making it weird.

so he does! slowly, fluffing the cushion before he sinks into it. while sif's eye is elsewhere, he takes the opportunity to study them again. an accident at first, but he lingers in silent, wistful appreciation... up until he outlines their discomfort and the blanket becomes a lot more visually inviting by comparison.

he nearly jolts, agape, "you will...? o-of course, that's more than okay."

one question... that's a toughie! deep in thought, he looks down to the hand between them, nail-painted fingers slightly curled, still experiencing the little phantom memory of sif-- how nice it felt to hold them steady, like he would've with mira or bonnie.

and the absence of feeling when he pulled away, scathed, all because isabeau overstepped, well-intentioned or not.

his skin burns suddenly, but he tries not to show it. just chock the subtle wince up to him thinking suuuper hard!

'thennn, are you free tomorrow?' he almost blurts. it's unexpected! silly! and... a bad idea if he wants sif to confide in him. there's plenty he could ask: 'why'd you go into dormont's House alone?,' 'why didn't you tell us?', 'was there anything i could've done to help?,' 'would you have let me help?,' 'please let me help'--

oops. not a question. still wants to say it, though, the way it lodges in his throat; forces him to squeeze his tired eyes before he reopens them with an equally tired smile.

"i'm lost on how it all works, but... mm... tell me something that happened during the loops? whatever you feel like, big or small! good or bad," assuming there was anything good. he points for languid emphasis, "one thing you're willing to share with your pal isa. you set the starting point for later!"

that's the intent, anyway. a start. open-ended to offer as much, or little, as sif wants! isabeau can't be too direct (not yet). can't overwhelm him, like before! can't send him into another spiral, because that slope's really crabbing slippery! with good reason!

if only there was a magic question that'd clear things up now, before it worsens (how? he doesn't want to know, but the suggestion churns his insides). it feels impossibly out of reach (they're out of reach), but... he wants to get there. trying to.

[killerfrostisme]

A/N- This one takes place when Lucy gets stabbed during TCS. Enjoy:) The italicised parts of the dialogue have all been taken from The Creeping Shadow by Jonathan Stroud.

Jessica was visiting him again.

She always danced in his mind when he couldn't fall asleep. His mind would be running on overdrive and she'd come and haunt his thoughts and poof! He'd be distracted. She featured in his dreams as well, how she was in life. Vivacious, energetic, smart, kind and alive. Not how he'd found her that horrible evening. Blue, swollen and very dead.

If only he'd come to help her when she asked him to, maybe things would have been different.

Maybe she'd be alive.

Lockwood aggressively fluffed up his pillow and flopped down into a more comfortable position. This was NOT a rabbit hole he should be going down when he was trying to sleep.

He closed his eyes and thought of Lucy. No matter what was happening in his life, thinking about Lucy always calmed him down.  She was his anchor to the mortal world (quite literally). Without her, he felt he would’ve given in completely to his reckless nature a long time ago and fulfilled his desire to meet his family before his time. When she was around, the hole in his heart felt full. Without her he felt-

There was a shrill sound that cut through the night (and his thoughts). It was the Portland Row bell that was reserved for clients. He frowned in the dark, who the hell was calling on them at this hour? They had had a relatively easy case that night, dealing with a Type One, so both he and George had enjoyed a quiet night and had hit the sack early. Clearly, the universe was hellbent on disturbing their peaceful night. He had half a mind to just ignore the unexpected (and unwelcome) visitor and to deal with them in the morning, but good manners prevailed. 

He got up, putting on his bathrobe (which substituted as his dressing gown) and shuffled out of his room, onto the landing. Curse the bell. If it hadn’t rung then he would be-what would he be doing exactly? Lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Lucy.

He reached the front door, and grabbed a spare rapier from the rack next to it. Whoever it was a client, a ghost or a random murderer on the loose, he wouldn’t meet them without a weapon at hand. 

 

He undid the locks and pointing his rapier at the door cautiously opened it, swinging it inwards on its great, creaky hinges. 

At first he thought there was no one there, just a swirl of inky darkness. Then, gradually he saw a figure standing just beyond the “Stay beyond the line” sign. A figure that looked remarkably like-

“Lucy?” 

He could hardly believe his eyes. He was sure he was dreaming. But there she was. Lucy Carlyle. Standing on his porch in the middle of the night…looking exhausted and (he squinted) hurt.

“Lockwood-” she started, and then began to sway. 

He stepped over the threshold, crossing the distance between them and wrapped his arm around her. “Lucy, what’s happened? You’re shaking. Come on. Come on inside.” he said, ushering her inside the house, and leading her towards the kitchen. She said something about not wanting to disturb him and he almost scoffed in her face at that;- she occupied a lot of space in his mind, she was beyond the point of ‘disturbing him’. He dismissed those absurd notions immediately and took her to the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea, Lucy?” he asked, busing himself with the kettle. He turned around and saw her, collapsed on a chair. She hadn't registered a word of what he’d said. It was only then that he noticed the dried blood on her arm. 

He froze. Time stood still. It seemed as if it were only him and Lucy with her bloodied arm. His brain went haywire and all he could think about was the fact that she was standing in his kitchen with her injured arm. The congealed blood seemed to taunt him, as if to say ‘This was also probably your fault. Why did you let her go?’.

“What is this?” he asked her, in a slightly choked voice.   He couldn’t quite explain the jumble of thoughts hurtling through his brain at the speed of light. 

“It’s nothing. Just a cut.” she said, dismissively.  

 

Like hell it was. 

He knelt down beside her and slowly, with the utmost care, pulled up her sleeve. A deep cut ran along the length of her forearm, from her elbow to her wrist. It was gushing blood, most of which had dried up but some of which had not. 

He drew in a shaky breath, this was definitely caused by a knife. There were no two ways about that. Who the actual hell had hurt Lucy like that? And why? 

“A knife made this, Lucy. Who-” he began and then stopped. She probably hadn’t even gotten it treated. Questions and possible plans for murder could wait. 

He told her so, and then went to get George. They had to fix her up and then plot gruesome deaths for whoever it was that had tried to hurt Lucy. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even though it was an extremely dreadful occasion and he really wished they had been reunited again in better circumstances, he couldn’t help the little ball of happiness from blooming in his chest. She was here. She was alive. It was just like earlier-before she left the company-the three of them discussing cases and theories. As he joined in on the discussion about Harold Mailer and the Winkmans, he felt that familiar spark of electricity flare up inside him. They had a new goal in sight-get the mouldy old skull back and take revenge on the men. And of course, helping Lucy. Because at the end of the day, that’s always what it was about with him;- being there for Lucy. 

He gazed at her and smiled peacefully. His missing piece was back. 

A/N- Thank you for reading! Hope you liked it!

May post the same on my collection of one-shots about Locklyle on Fanfiction.net

It's called Moments in Time and my username is MissPotts01. Check it out if you'd like:)

[autisticsupervillain]

Tavros Nitram vs Taylor Hebert needs to be a Death Battle: A Thread

Thematic Connections:

Two teenagers with the power to telepathically control animals who lives were radically changed by one particular case of abuse and bullying gone to far. (Vriska breaking Tavros's legs for Tav, and the locker incident causing Taylor's trigger event for Taylor)

Said torment continues for a large chunk of their adolescent lives, with both characters receiving little respite and few supporters (aside from their dads, who are powerless to help)

While both characters started out as heroic and optimistic, both wind up falling from grace as a result of their culminated trauma. (Taylor slowly becoming a supervillain as the story progresses and Tavros developing Stockholm Syndrom for Vriska).

Both characters wind up leading an army to combat a god in the face of the end of the world. (Tavros forming an army that dwarfs Vriska's to fight Lord English and Taylor controlling an army of capes to battle Scion)

Debatability

This is suprisingly very debatable. Assuming it's the base forms for both, then Tavros should outstat considerably (him surviving his trip to Alternia on the back of a falling meteor is far more physically impressive than anything Taylor herself has done and scaling off the other trolls, he should be slightly faster too) and his animal telepathy should be generally better (both because it can control all members of the animal kingdom and because it has the range to control beings in other universes)

However, Taylor is considerably smarter and more tactical, so she should be smart enough to plan around these disadvantages. (Durability doesn't help if you're choking on poisonous bugs) Furthermore, her powers can control more bugs at a time than Tavros can, so even if Tav turns some of her bugs against her, she'd still have some on her side to defend herself with.

Ultimately, I'd probably give this to Tavros? None of his advantages are insurmountable on their own (the flying wheelchair can be dealt with by gunking up its components. Tav's wider variety of animals can be matched by her usual tactics when fighting stronger opponents, allowing her to take out bears and the like by poisoning them with her insects and other such tactics.) but the fact that they all stack on top of each other makes this a rough time for Skitter. It's hard to pin down a faster, flying opponent that you can't directly hurt when you have to deal with bears, wolves, and bits of your own swarm at the same time. Doubly so when considering that Tav's absurd telepathic range would let him utilize any animal in the city when convenient, giving Skitter little place to hide or plan. That said, Taylor tends to work best in unwinnable circumstances.

The verdict changes wildly depending on what you give them. If both sides have absolutely everything, then Gcatavrosprite thinks her out of existence before she can think to ready the Interdimensional Ram, but Khepri vs base Tavros is just as big a stomp. Base to base is probably the most debatable version this fight.

Interactions:

Given how connected Taylor is to most of her bugs, I do kinda wonder if Tavros attempting to control them would allow the two to banter? It could create an interesting dynamic, especially given the whole "sorry I have to do this" attitude that both would be carrying throughout.

I feel like this fight should probably be set at a zoo, as it plays naturally into their powers and could set up some cool exchanges.

The fight should start either because Tav got caught up in some of Taylor's villainous antics or because of some kind of misunderstanding. Taylor's already been mistaken for a villain while acting as a hero before, thanks to her powers and costume, and Tavros is a vaguely demonic humanoid with sharp teeth and giant horns, so a misunderstanding wouldn't be too difficult to set up if done right. It should probably be the latter, because the former would raise the question of why the Undersiders or Taylor's followers don't step in to help.

Now if this were to actually be a Death Battle, we'd have to somehow contrive a way for these characters to kill each other. Because simply put, they probably wouldn't in most circumstances. While Taylor is ruthless, she's very rarely willing to commit outright murder outside of very extreme circumstances and Tavros is even less willing. You could make the kill accidental, but that runs the risk of feeling pretty insulting to the loser. Death Battle kinda has this issue a lot.

I kinda like the idea that both characters would get more and more ruthless as the fight escalates, before immediately feeling remorseful and horrified when the kill actually happens. It'd be a good way to reflect their in story character development.

So, yeah, expect to see this as an FTF eventually.

[sonnenreich]

With  confidence  came  laxity.  Zeev  didn't  need  to  have  been  in  contact  with  many  people  to  know  how  easily  they  could  fall  prey  to  arrogance.  And  he  was  certainly  no  exception—any  other  assertion  would  be  pure  irony.  Still,  there  was  nothing  sacrilegious  about  pride.  There  was  a  reason  why  his  kind  was  rare  and  why  he  had  survived  as  long  as  he  had.  MeriTech's  interest  in  him  would  have  been  shorter-lived  had  he  performed  poorly.  In  retrospect,  this  might  have  been  the  tactic  he  should  have  gone  for.  Would  they  have  let  him  out  into  the  world? Probably  not. 

The  mind  game  was  dismissed  again  and  tainted  with  a  realism  that  would  have  been  more  likely.  MeriTech  would  have  found  another  use  for  him—even  if  it  had  only  been  in  the  study  of  his  kind.  They  must  have  drawn  enough  blood  from  him  in  the  past  to  fill  entire  storage  units.  Zeev  didn't  want  to  imagine  what  else  they  would  have  asked  of  him  if  he  had  stayed  any  longer. 

Admittedly,  in  view  of  what  the  friendly  family  had  revealed,  the  urge  to  explore  was  a  good  thing  in  principle.  There  was  a  bleak  indifference  in  the  stoic  acceptance  of  things  that  Zeev  couldn't  get  anything  out  of.  From  what  he  still  knew  about  humanity—most  of  the  time  he  wasn't  even  sure  why—man  had  always  shone  with  its  inventiveness  and  adaptability.  It  was  remarkable  how  the  pair  had  developed  a  solution  that  entire  nations  would  benefit  from.  They  knew  they  couldn't  change  the  circumstances—not  them,  who  were  just  worrying  about  their  survival  on  a  farm,  with  limited  resources  and  a  fragile  mortality—so  they  had  to  accept  the  circumstances  and  embrace  what  was  and  not  dwell  on  what  would  no  longer  be.  They  had  not  given  up  in  the  hopelessness  and  grief.  That  is  why  humankind  would  endure,  no  matter  what  came. That’s  what  Zeev  was  most  fascinated  about.

Zeev  had  listened  to  the  conversation  in  silence.  In  an  absurd  way,  he  felt  not  only  compassion  but  also  envy  during  this  undoubtedly  poignant  story.  They  longed  for  their  child,  for  an  integral  part  of  their  family  and  memory.  A  person  who  had  left  a  mark.  Even  if  these  were  only  felt  on  the  soul.  They  were  still  as  real  as  the  scar  tissue  of  all  piercing,  but  not  fatal,  injuries. 

How  nice  it  would  have  been  if  this  had  been  the  destination  of  his  journey—but  it  didn't  take  a  particularly  broad  comprehension  to  know  that  he  wasn't  the  son  they  mourned  and  they  weren't  the  parents  whose  faces  were  never  really  that  clear,  no  matter  how  hard  he  tried  to  remember.  He  felt  phony  and  deceitful  for  projecting  his  own  desires  in  their  display  and  openness  of  their  pain  and  loss. 

Does  his  mum  talk  about  him  like  that  too?  Did  she  meet  strangers  and  looked  longingly  out  of  the  window  while  reminiscing  about  him  and  talking  about  what  he  was  like  before  the  blackout?  The  few  scraps  of  memory  he  still  possessed  could  only  give  a  meagre  picture  of  what  kind  of  personality  he  might  have  had.  He  knew  that  he  had  spent  a  lot  of  time  in  nature  when  it  had  still  been  safe, that  he  had  always  felt  closest  to  the  sun.  He  remembered  warm  hugs  and  love,  but  as  he  looked  at  Sarah,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  forgotten  one  aspect.  A  detail  that  was  in  the  blind  spot  of  his  periphery.  A  shadow  that  slid  across  the  glistening  light. 

Zeev  had  never  questioned  his  mother's  love,  but  had  always  known  that  it  existed.  That  somewhere  a  sister  was  waiting  for  him,  longing,  as  he  was,  to  embrace  him  again—and  yet  the  sight  of  Richard  and  Sarah  was  so  much  more  than  his  memories  could  provide.  They  were  tangible,  clear.  Zeev  gazed  at  them  intently,  smiling  and  interested,  incidentally  assessing  how  they  completed  the  picture  of  a  family.  Now  and  then  his  gaze  drifted  to  Isaiah,  who  was  sitting  diagonally  across  from  him  and  had  become  strangely  silent  during  their  stories  of  their  son. 

A  little  later,  he  helped  Sarah  clear  the  table  and  restore  order,  for  which  she  thanked  him  with  a  smile  that  contained  more  than  gratitude.

“I'm  sorry  for  your  loss,”  he  announced  to  her  and  gave  her  back  the  towel.  The  kitchen  was  in  a  organised  disarray.  There  were  utensils  everywhere  that  had  probably  not  been  used  since  the  blackout  because  they  simply  didn't  have  the  ingredients.  Treacherous  moonlight  shimmered  past  the  crocheted  curtains  in  silver  threads,  the  stitches  casting  a  multitude  of  patterns  on  the  walls  and  the  kitchen  counter.

“Don't  be,  honey,  it's  not  your  fault,  but  I  appreciate  it.”  She  smiled  gently  at  him  and  rubbed  his  shoulder.  For  a  moment,  Zeev  felt  like  crying.  Still,  he  smiled. 

“We'll  be  out  there  for  some  time,  perhaps  I  can  be  on  the  lookout?”

Something  that  he  could  only  describe  as  hope  glimmered  in  her  eyes.  “That—Oh,  sweetie,  if  you  see  my  boy,  please  tell  him  to  come  home…  Please  bring  him  back  to  us,  wherever  he  is.” 

The  thought  of  her  son  seemed  to  overshadow  the  spark  of  a  happy  future  with  pain,  and  as  quickly  as  the  hope  had  appeared,  it  was  shattered  again.  Zeev  couldn't  make  her  any  promises,  couldn't  tell  her  a  lie,  even  if  it  might  make  her  sleep  better  for  the  next  few  days,  believing  that  he  was  back  at  the  door  with  their  child.  The  emotional  fall  if  he  didn't  would  be  so  much  greater  than  before.  He  didn't  want  to  open  her  scars.  He  didn’t  want  to  give  her  too  much  hope.

Besides,  he  harboured  no  intention  of  returning,  not  if  he  was  successful. 

And  the  likelihood  of  a  human  surviving  the  condition  out  there  was  almost  non-existent.  There  was  also  the  possibility  that  he  might  not  even  want  to  return  home.  Though  the  witcher  found  it  hard  to  imagine  that  there  was  anything  better  than  having  these  parents. 

Zeev  smiled  faintly  at  her,  took  her  hand  in  his  and  squeezed  it  weakly.

“If  I  happen  to  come  across  him,  I'll  point  him  the  way.  All  he  needs  to  do  is  follow  your  light,  so  don't  you  ever  stop  shining  your  brightest.”  At  that  moment,  Zeev  realised  another  thing: he  had  never  seen  a  mother  cry—until  now.  He  wasn't  sure  whether  this  was  a  good  thing  or  something  he  should  question.  She  embraced  him,  suddenly  and  quite  abruptly.  Zeev  stiffened  for  a  moment,  unsure  of  how  to  behave.

Finally,  she  thanked  him  and  rubbed  his  back  until  the  tension  left  his  body  and  he  melted  against  her.  Tentatively,  he  mimicked  her  gesture  and  stroked  her  back  too.  She  seemed  to  regain  her  composure,  most  likely  equally  aware  of  the  effect  loneliness  could  have.  She  broke  away  from  him  and  rubbed  her  eyes,  embarrassed  by  her  emotional  faux  pas.

“I'm  sorry,”  she  apologised  meekly. 

“No,  it's  fine…  It's  okay.  Don't  suppress  your  emotions.”  Tentatively,  he  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  stroked  her  upper  arm,  his  warm  smile  seemingly  receiving  her  immediate  approval.  Surprise  appeared  on  his  face  when  she  suddenly  caressed  his  cheek  and  squeezed  his  chin.  The  smirk  on  her  lips  assured  him  of  the  tender  intentions  behind  the  gesture. A  motherliness  that  was  somehow  alien  to  him.  How  odd.

“You're  such  a  lovely  boy…  My  son  would  have  liked  you,”  she  told  him  openly  and  Zeev  didn't  know  exactly  how  to  react.  On  the  one  hand,  because  she  was  paying  him  a  heartfelt  compliment,  and  on  the  other,  because  she  was  suggesting  that  somewhere,  hypothetically,  there  was  someone  who  might  like  him.  In  a  world  where  everything  was  fine. In  a  world  where  having  friends  was  something  realistic.  Something  that  wasn't  threatened  by  survivalism  and  hostility.

“Uhh,”  he  replied  eloquently.  “Thank  you.”

As  he  turned  away  from  her  and  wished  her  a  good  night,  Sarah  tilted  her  head  and  watched  him  hurry  away.  Despite  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  the  sparse  light  from  her  lamps,  the  farm  owner  thought  it  had  become  strangely  darker  since  he  had  left  the  room.

 Rattling,  he  placed  the  rucksack  against  the  bedpost  and  pulled  the  belt  from  the  loop  of  the  overall.  They  were  given  a  meal,  a  cosy  sleep  and  a  warm  bath  to  get  rid  of  the  sweat  and  dirt  of  the  last  few  days.  Zeev  shook  his  damp  hair  and  slipped  into  a  change  of  clothes,  which  was  a  diminishing  commodity  as  the  journey  continued.  Perhaps  he  could  wash  them  the  next  day  before  they  left?  He  couldn't  imagine  that  Sarah  would  object.  His  gaze  travelled  around  the  room  and  he  looked  at  some  of  the  posters  and  pictures,  which  weren't  that  old. 

“Unbelievable,  isn’t  it?”  Zeev  initiated  the  conversation  after  he  felt  the  other's  gaze  on  him,  but  received  no  explanation  as  to  why. 

“What  do  you  mean?”  his  companion  mumbled.

“To  leave  a  place  like  this  behind  and  never  to  return,”  he  continued.  His  fingertips  brushed  over  a  few  toys  and  mementos.  Small  planets  that  had  obviously  been  crafted  by  them.  He  weighed  them  in  his  hand  like  juggling  balls  and  then  put  them  back  on  the  dresser  in  the  correct  order. Mercury,  Venus,  Earth,  Mars,  Jupiter,  Saturn,  Uranus  and  Neptune.  They  rolled  back  and  forth  on  the  unevenness  of  the  wood  and  didn't  quite  want  to  follow  their  orbits.  It  was  also  strange  that  there  was  one  ball  too  many.  A  yellow  ball  with  dents  and  scratches,  colourful  lines  that  no  doubt  must  have  rubbed  off  because  it  had  bumped  into  other  surfaces.  Zeev  turned  it  in  his  hand  and  felt  a  pain  in  his  chest.  The  other  half  had  been  painted  messily  with  a  dark  pen,  so  hastily  that  it  was  still  possible  to  see  the  yellow  shining  through. 

“Do  you  truly  think  he  left?  Without  a  word?”

Isaiah's  question  made  him  think  as  he  continued  to  turn  the  sun  in  his  hand.  Slowly,  he  moved  towards  him  and  sat  down  next  to  him  in  the  moonlight,  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  sky  alongside  him. 

“I  don’t  know,”  he  confessed.  “I  wouldn’t  have,  but  then  again…  I  don’t  even  remember  how  I  got  separated  from  my  parents.”  There  was  something  sad  about  his  nonchalant  shrug,  an  involuntary  acceptance  that  there  was  something  he  couldn't  change.  “But  his  reasons  or  not-reasons  are  of  less  importance,  hm?  He  either  tried  to  return  to  his  parents  and  died  horribly  or  he  got  lost  and  they’ve  been  looking  at  the  same  sky  for  years  now,  either  way…  he’s  gone.  Why  he  left  will  never  change  what  is  left  behind.”  He  pulled  up  his  legs  and  rested  his  arms  on  his  knees,  turning  the  sun  in  his  hands  from  the  black  side  back  to  the  golden  side—repeat. 

“Hm,”  resonated  from  Isaiah’s  chest.  “Memories,  for  example.”

There  was  something  in  his  eyes,  as  Zeev  looked  to  the  side  and  at  him,  that  he  couldn’t  understand  or  interpret. Something  hidden  from  his  comprehension.  Instead  of  his  body  language  the  witcher  concentrated  on  his  words. 

“Memories  will  fade  one  day,”  he  whispered.  “I  don’t  know  what  the  voice  of  my  sister  sounded  like  or  how  my  mother  smelled.  If  I  ever  did…”  His  words  broke  off.  Guilt  washed  over  him.  If  his  memories  truly  were  the  only  thing  that  kept  him  connected  to  his  family,  the  only  part  of  him  that  no  corporation  had  claimed  and  used  like  a  lab-rat, why  was  he  so  terrible  at  protecting  it? 

“That’s  impossible,”  the  blonde  tried  to  reassure  him,  his  smile  weak  however.  “You  might  not  remember  it  upon  calling  for  it,  but  memories  can  be  triggered  by  many  different  stimuli.  Smell  is  one  of  the  strongest  even.  No  matter  how  faint,  you’ll  always  remember.”

Zeev  shrugged.  “You’re  saying  this  to  someone  who  has  literally  woken  up  after  the  Eclipse  with  no  memory  whatsoever.  I’m  not  even  sure  if  Zeev  is  my  name  or  just  something  I  had  heard.”

“Does  it  feel  like  it  is?”

“I  suppose.”

“Then  it  is.”  Slightly,  he  swayed  to  the  side  and  nudged  his  shoulder.  “Or  does… Steve sound  better?”

The  witcher  scrunched  up  his  nose  and  made  a  sound  of  disgust.  “No,  nope,  that’s  a  big  decline  from  my  side.”  He  couldn’t  help  but  laugh  at  that,  his  shoulders  shaking  with  slight  amusement. 

“That  seals  it  then,”  Isaiah  smiled.  “Besides,  you  remember,  don’t  you?  The  picture  you  drew…  That  was  from  memory,  wasn’t  it?”

Zeev  lowered  his  gaze  and  kept  on  fumbling  with  the  ball.  Had  Richard  crafted  this?  Perhaps  a  present  for  a  son  he  wished  to come  home?  The  joy  of  before  fleetingly  as  the  blink  of  an  eye.

“I  assume,”  he  whispered.  “But  I  don’t  know  my  sister's  name  or  her  age.  I  don’t  know  what  she  likes  or  dislikes.  I  remember  playing  chase  within  the  woods  with  her,  tying  flower  crowns  with  her,  bathing  in  the  sun…  When  mother  asked  us  to  come  eat,  she’d  always  be  the  one  to  convince  me  of  staying  longer.  Of  course  I  would…  I’d  have  never  left  her  in  the  woods,  alone…”  After  that,  Zeev  fell  silent  for  another  moment,  eyes  fixated  on  the  sun  in  his  hands.  Zeev  wondered,  not  for  the  first  time,  what  he’d  do  if  he  were  not  able  to  find  them. 

“I  never  would  have  left  them…”  he  added,  pushing  himself  onto  his  feet,  eyes  narrowed  with  sadness  and  sorrow.  “So  why  did  they  leave  me?” 

The  question  wasn’t  one  for  Isaiah  to  answer  nor  would  he  be  able  to.  It  would  remain  unanswered  till  he  was  successful  in  his  endeavor  and  his  quest  to  find  his  happiness  in  a  world  that  didn’t  feel  like  his  own.  All  else  would  follow  after.

He  sat  down  at  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  suddenly  he  felt  uncomfortable,  but  he  didn’t  want  to  seem  ungrateful  either.  Friendliness  was  rare  as  it  is,  to  treat  it  like  a  burden  would  just  serve  as  a  hotbed  for  egoism.  So  he  laid  down,  eyes  towards  the  door  and  his  head  rested  on  a  cold  pillow  that  hadn’t  been  touched  by  the  right  head  in  ages. 

To  the  faint  smell  of  lavender  he  fell  into  a  slumber  and  became  a  victim  to  his  exhaustion. 

 The  next  day  offered  a  thunderstorm  disguised  as  breakfast  in  bed.  That  was  nothing  to  worry  about  for  their  current  journey,  but  it  was  a  hindrance.  Zeev  did  not  have  a  certain  time  frame  for  reaching  his  destination.  He  didn't  know  where  his  family  was,  nor  whether  they  even  existed.  Maybe  they  were  already  in  a  colony,  maybe  they  were  part  of  MeriTech's  network—maybe  they  had  put  him  in  the  hands  of  the  Corporation  in  the  first  place.  The  thought  shook  him.  No,  he  refused  to  believe  that  this  would  be  the  rude  awakening  of  his  desperate  optimism. He  refused  to  consider  disappointment,  no  matter  how  painful  it  would  be  if  it  turned  out  to  be  the  truth. 

The  only  positive  thing  about  the  changing  weather  in  the  new  world  was  its  volatility.  The  strong  wind  and  acid  rain  might  be  demotivating  now,  but  it  was  not  impossible  that  in  the  next  second,  glistening  sunshine  would  fall  on  them  and  warm  them  up  as  if  it  were  summer  in  2015.

Zeev  helped  Sarah  with  breakfast  and  learnt  a  little  more  about  the  artificially  created  ecosystem,  emphasising,  now  that  he  was  not  too  consumed  by  his  envy,  how  utterly  remarkable  he  found  this  technology  and  was  glad  that  the  ingenuity  would  make  a  future  possible  for  many  people.  Not  like  back  then,  but  different. 

Towards  afternoon,  the  weather  changed  as  expected  and  fine  rays  of  light  filtered  past  the  fast-moving  dark  clouds  as  if  to  erase  and  dispel  the  pain  they  unleashed  upon  the  earth.  The  sun's  rays  lashed  like  whips  towards  the  chariot  of  destruction  before  them  and  chased  them  away  into  finitude. 

“Thank  you  for  your  hospitality,”  the  witcher  thanked  him  and  smiled  good-naturedly  at  Sarah  and  Richard,  while  the  former  wrapped  him  in  a  friendly  hug  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for  years. Interestingly,  Zeev  didn't  find  their  closeness  strange  either.  Sarah  had  prepared  some  food  for  them  and  topped  up  their  water  rations.  She  didn't  have  to  do  any  of  that.  But  she  had.  “And  thank  you  for  your  company.”

She  stroked  his  cheek  sweetly  and  nudged  his  chin  lightly,  for  a  while  she  just  looked  into  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  read  something  that  unsettled  him.  He  turned  away  and  held  out  his  hand  to  Richard,  who  took  it  tightly  and  firmly,  but  not  exuberantly  or  imperiously.

While  he  waited  for  Isaiah,  Zeev  trudged  out  onto  the  porch  and  stuck  his  nose  out  into  the  fresh  air.  The  sun's  hot  beams  would  vaporise  the  rain,  and  breathing  would  be  difficult  for  the  next  few  hours.  He  rummaged  around  in  his  rucksack  and  pulled  out  the  breathing  mask  that  was  connected  to  the  O2  canister.  Unfortunately,  he  doubted  that  the  contents  would  last  until  the  next  shelter,  but  it  would  still  be  enough  for  the  acid  density  in  the  respiratory  air.  At  least  for  a  few  hours  until  they  reached  dry  areas. 

When  Isaiah  came  to  a  halt  next  to  him,  he  also  seemed  to  notice  the  circumstances.  He  wrinkled  his  nose  slightly  and  seemed  to  be  concentrating  on  breathing  less.  Something  they  wouldn't  be  able  to  do   once  the  exertion  of  the  journey  set  in. 

Zeev  shook  the  rucksack  off  his  back  and  removed  the  bottle  from  his  backpack.  Before  the  tall  blond  could  complain  about  it,  he  attached  the  canister  and  pressed  the  mask  into  his  hand. 

“Please,”  he  insisted,  shaking  his  head  when  Isaiah  made  an  effort  to  give  it  back  to  him.  “We  can  share.  You  start.”

Just  as  they  were  about  to  set  off,  Sarah  stepped  outside,  despite  her  husband's  best  efforts.  She  turned  to  the  witcher  and  suddenly  grabbed  his  hand.  He  looked  at  the  small,  but  not  petite  woman  in  confusion. 

“You’re  one  of  them,  are  you  not?”  she  wondered  uncertainly.

Zeev  swallowed  heavily.  “What  do  you  mean?”

“Sarah,  please…”  her  husband  tried  to  intervene,  gently  placing  a  hand  on  her  shoulder.

“He  had  seen  it,”  she  tried  to  explain.  Her  voice  suddenly  cracked.  “He  had  always  looked  at  the  sky  and  he  had  always  known  things  no  one  else  knew,  he  was  so  clever…  I  wish  we  had  listened  more  closely.”

“Sarah,”  Richard  urged  more  sternly,  but  his  wife  didn’t  seem  to  care.  “Please  let  the  boys  be.”

“Why  did  you  say  he  should  follow  the  light?”

“What?”  Admittedly,  Zeev  had  understood  her  fairly  well,  all  of  her  words  however  left  him  confused.

“You  said  he  should  follow  the  light… That’s  what  he  did  when  I  lost  him…”

Zeev’s  eyes  widened,  deep  lines  drawing  across  his  forehead.  Whatever  Sarah  had  wanted  to  tell  him  it  died  on  her  lips  and  she  nestled  herself  against  the  chest  of  her  husband.  Compassion  etched  itself  into  his  features  and  he  whispered  quiet  soothing  words  into  her  ear  all  while  gesturing  to  the  former  guests  to  keep  going. 

 After  so  many  weeks  and  months,  one  would  think  that  Zeev  would  be  tired  of  the  sight  of  nature.  So  far,  however,  he  had  not  been  to  any  place  twice,  and  each  one  provided  new  impressions  and  realisations  that  he  had  not  made  before.  Apparently,  a  certain  sensitivity  was  anchored  in  his  perception  that  related  to  more  than  the  mere  ability  to  foresee  dangers. 

The  world,  regardless  of  the  change,  was  still—or  precisely  because  of  it—a  beautiful  place.

“You're  getting  more  secure  with  your  footing  in  this  terrain.  Good,  we'll  be  faster  then.”  Still,  he  wouldn't  risk  pushing  the  moment  to  the  last  minute  before  they  scrambled  to  find  shelter.

The  Appalachians  had  harboured  a  certain  mystique  even  before  the  blackout,  as  did  most  large  forests  where  people  not  only  disappeared,  but  may  never  return.  The  narrow  paths,  the  rocky  slopes  and  the  slippery,  swampy  areas  at  the  foot  of  the  countless  mountains  were  no  habitat  for  humans,  but  offered  protection.  Zeev  didn't  know  which  direction  he  was  really  following,  but  if  he  could  trust  his  instincts,  the  path  seemed  brightly  lit.  If  the  Appalachians  had  been  an  example  of  a  self-sustaining  ecosystem  back  then,  now  it  was  a  patchwork  quilt  of  the  old  days.  One  kilometre  of  forest  was  followed  by  three  kilometres  of  flatland.  It  was  both  fascinating  and  frightening  how  the  new  weather  conditions  seemed  to  mould  the  earth. 

“Do  you  smell  this?”  Zeev  asked  from  his  elevated  position  on  the  assortment  of  boulders.  They  had  decided  for  a  break,  still  Zeev  remained  on  alert,  eerily  resembling  a  groundhog  than  a  human  as  he  looked  around,  eyes  on  the  surroundings  constantly.  Occasionally  drifting  down  to  Isaiah,  interested  in  what  he  was  drawing  and  writing,  but  too  reluctant  to  ask.

He  watched  as  Isaiah  stuck  his  nose  into  the  air,  pulling  his  legs  closer  to  secure  his  notebook  and  sniffed.  Saddened,  he  shook  his  head.  Zeev  smiled  lightly  at  his  attempt.

“A  large  body  of  water,”  he  explained.  “It’s  a  different  scent  of  dampness,  less  warm  and  rich.  Perhaps  a  sea.  We  need  to  avoid  it.  Walking  around  might  cost  us  hours  otherwise.”  He  raised  his  head  towards  the  sky,  squinting  through  the  narrow  spaces  of  the  treetops.  The  sun  had  been  covered  by  clouds  for  hours  now,  leaving  them  with  a  cunning  coldness  that  gnawed  on  their  bodies  till  reaching  the  center,  settling  and  impossible  to  get  rid  off  easily.

Without  complaint,  Isaiah  followed  Zeev  and  did  so  for  hours  upon  hours,  days  over  days.  More  often  than  not  they  rested  in  dilapidated  buildings,  pulled  back  into  the  heart  of  nature,  overgrown  and  covered.  A  memento  of  humankind. 

They  shared  their  meals  and  quietly  fooled  each  other  into  eating  a  little  more  the  next  day—no  wasting  of rations,  right? 

This  time  around,  they  were  sitting  in  a  narrow  spaced  cave,  a  few  nauseating  feet  above  the  ground.  The  path  they  had  wandered  wasn’t  even  visible  from  their  current  position,  covered  by  a  green  canopy  carpet,  dusted  in  golden  specks  through  the  setting  sun.

The  rather  sad  looking  campfire  crackled  quietly  as  it  tried  to  bite  through  the  wet  twigs  and  branches,  trying  its  best  to  serve  warming  results. 

Softly,  Zeev  pulled  on  Isaiah’s  sleeve  as  he  sat  by  the  fire  and  scribbled  something  into  his  journal.  His  blonde  companion  followed  him  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave,  glancing  outside. 

“Look”,  Zeev  exclaimed  softly,  a  fine  smile  grazing  his  lips.

Pinkish  and  violet  hues  cut  through  the  sky  like  brushstrokes  on  a  canvas,  fluidly  transitioning  into  the  gold  of  the  sky  as  it  turned  darker  and  darker,  the  day  falling  asleep  right  in  front  of  their  eyes.  A  sight  he’d  never  get  used  to  nor  be  bored  by.  Like  an  apology  for  the  doom  she  had  brought  without  her  intentions.  Zeev  couldn’t  have  been  mad  at  her  for  things  she  had  no  say  in.  She’d  never  be  responsible  for  the  cosmic  event,  she  was  a  victim  like  the  rest  of  the  world. The  reasons  weren’t  of  little  importance,  weren’t  they?  It  only  mattered  what  has  been  left  behind.

“Beautiful,  isn’t  it?”  Zeev  mumbled,  resting  his  head  against  the  cave’s  frame,  the  edges  of  the  rock  piercing  slightly  into  his  skull  which  he  ignored  in  favour  of  the  current  sight.  “No  matter  what,  she’ll  always  be.”

“The  sun?”

“The  earth,  but  the  sun,  too.”  He  kept  his  eyes  on  the  horizon.  Watched  the  huge  celestial  body  sink  deeper  into  her  peaceful  slumber,  hiding  in  shame.  A  thought  that  made  his  heart  follow  her  motion;  sinking.  The  witcher  looked  over  to  the  Technician.  Watched  as  the  warm  tones  caressed  his  skin,  gifting  his  tired  eyes  a  liveliness  he  had  missed  since  their  meeting.  Zeev  had  to  admit,  it  was  nice  to  have  someone  around.  To  share  his  thoughts.  To  receive  an  answer  to  a  question. 

To  not  be  alone.

“Why  do  you  want  to  return?”  he  suddenly  asked.

Throughout the night, Isaiah had lain awake for most of the time. The harsh weather conditions were undoubtedly one reason for this, the sheer sequence of shadows and noises that constantly impacted the Distribution Center. Isaiah had no concerns though. The acid rain had little effect on the exterior. And yet he lay awake, thinking about the day, reviewing it. Zeev. What were the odds that they would meet here again? Ten to the power of 2.68 million, if he was precise, but that wasn't the point. Regardless of how unfortunate his 'vacation' had turned out to be, all of this was somehow... surprisingly pleasant. A variety of new impressions, a relatively taciturn but fresh, exciting conversation partner, whose talks months ago had always been one-sided. Even though he yearned for sleep and safety, Isaiah noticed how the corners of his mouth kept turning upwards and he kept smiling as he drifted off into a nap every now and then.

When the Memory Technician finally got up, his body was heavy and sluggish, and his mind was in turmoil and calm at the same time. It was a feeling he wasn't necessarily familiar with, which worried him. Zeev's door was ajar as Isaiah approached. He knocked cautiously, although he wasn't really waiting for an answer. The witcher had probably left recently, having been given false promises. Isaiah silently hoped that he had actually left him some food. When he entered, his eyes immediately fell on the wall opposite the bed. The night before, Zeev had let him know that he was looking for his family. I know you do, he thought. And Isaiah's gaze fell again on the female figure he had drawn with long, blonde hair. The chalk painting was simple, almost childlike in its depiction, but there was an underlying quality of hope in its simplicity. And with this hope came guilt. A large sun, with powerful rays that spread over the entire area. The colors were limited, buildings were blue instead of gray, improvised from what Zeev had apparently found, but the effect was undeniable. The sun radiated a warmth that Isaiah could almost physically feel. It was a symbol—of hope, of light, of life. And all of this was a testament of how MeriTech had instructed him to reinforce the few memories Zeev had of his family, which had to exist somewhere out there, outside the megacorporation's network.

Once again, Isaiah just stood there, unable to move. His gaze wandered over the lines, the colors, the intensity. And in that moment, he didn't see the man MeriTech had turned into a tool. He saw the small, blonde boy he had made memories for. The boy who played hide-and-seek in a forest, wove wreaths of flowers, and knew the love of his family—at least in the images Isaiah had planted in his mind. Was it better to live in a lie and have hope for something better, or to know the truth and realize that there was nothing actually worth living for in this world? His heart tightened, a painful knot of guilt and longing. You stole a past from him, he thought. You made him believe in a future that never existed. And yet... There was something real here. Something that had survived despite everything. Maybe he hadn't taken everything from him. Perhaps there was still a spark that could not be extinguished. A spark that, he hoped, would never turn into a forest fire.

Zeev stood at the window—or rather the opening in the wall, behind which a fake reality was running on a continuous loop—and seemed to be watching the “storm” outside. Fundamentally, the Capitolite liked the innovative spirit of the past and this way of depicting the weather outside the Distribution Center. By clearing his throat, he announced his presence. Zeev turned to him wordlessly and Isaiah just kept silent as the other stared, kneading his hands and looking at the floor. “Do you think we should get going in an hour or so? The clouds look like it's going to brighten up soon.”

The storm had subsided, but the world outside was still filled with an overwhelming heaviness. Crushing, really, when Isaiah thought about it. The sky was an endless gray, as if it were a concrete floor, only occasionally pierced by bright rays when the sun managed to break through the dense clouds. Those were the good moments. When Isaiah felt the warmth of the large celestial body on his skin in the humid air. Wordlessly, he followed Zeev, who moved through the barren landscape with a confidence that Isaiah could only admire. He himself felt like a stranger in this world, an intruder in a reality that did not belong here. Belong with him. And yet he found beauty in the little things he discovered.

Among the rugged rocks that made up most of the landscape, he spotted a few daisies. Their white petals were intact, protected from the acid rain by the natural shape of the rocks. Isaiah knelt down and looked at them, his fingers carefully stroking the delicate petals. It seemed like a miracle that they could grow here, in a world that was so hostile, alienated and anyonymous. The sun that had warmed Isaiah's skin a moment ago faded and he looked up at Zeev, standing in front of the sun. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice firm but not impolite. Isaiah looked up at him, then back down at the flowers, feeling like a little kid who'd done something wrong. “Look... They survived.” Zeev took a quick glance at the flowers, then offered a shrug. “There's always something that survives.” The words sounded sober, almost cold, but Isaiah heard something else in them. A truth that gave him hope. Hope that had recently withered deep inside him. Maybe it really was like that. Maybe there was always something that survived, no matter how adverse the circumstances.

As they walked and Isaiah attentively took in everything around him, his focus kept returning to the picture Zeev had painted. It was so simple, so pure and simple somehow, and yet it carried a meaning that stayed with him. It reminded him of what he had taken from Zeev—and of what he had tried to give him. And as Zeev navigated these lands as if he had never done anything else, Isaiah found himself thinking back to the scenarios he had created for him. How he was navigating Zeev's past, even though the witcher was, in fact, a stranger. A strange thought that triggered guilt and shame in him again. He remembered the nights he had spent at Zeev's bedside while he was unconscious. How he had held his hand and apologized to him, over and over again. I'm sorry, he had whispered, even though he knew Zeev couldn't hear him. I wish I could give you more... Hope that you can find in the truth and not in the lies I'm creating for you. Now that Zeev was awake and with him, Isaiah felt utterly helpless. He wanted to say something, to explain himself, but he didn't know what to say and how to make Zeev believe he wasn't a bad person. How could he tell anyone that he had been part of the system that had destroyed him? How could he expect Zeev to ever forgive him? And how could he make him believe that the family Zeev dreamed about day and night was actually real and that he had only enriched the memories?

“So, uh, what do you like doing, uh, like from day to day?” he asked him at one point and had caught up with him, his backpack firmly back on and he stumbled down the slope next to the witcher. The latter looked over at him, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as if Isaiah's question suggested an alternative answer to “Surviving” was even possible. The age of hobbies and leisure had faded into oblivion. As Isaiah thought about it further, the boyish smile faded and he apologized, dropping back a bit and simply walking behind Zeev again, keeping quiet, trying not to slow him down too much, but falling back every now and then to look at the beauty of the outside world. Distance he quickly made up for and caught up to the man most likely to ensure his survival.

Isaiah had read a lot about how to tell when it was about to rain, but theory only helped so much. Abruptly, Zeev stopped and turned around. “It's going to rain soon,” he said curtly, his eyes fixed on the sky. The wind had died down, but the air was thick, heavy with the hint of a change in weather. At least that's what Zeev seemingly observed. Isaiah followed his gaze. The clouds above them had indeed darkened. “How do you know?” he asked, although he already suspected the answer. “Routine,” was all Zeev said. There they were again. One to two syllable answers. The witcher turned and began to climb up the slope of a hill without an explanation or an invitation to follow him. Isaiah hesitated only a moment, then hurried after him. The climb was steep, his muscles quickly starting to burn, but he gritted his teeth and kept pace. Zeev hardly seemed to have to exert himself, his movements were smooth and effortless, he made it look easy to climb up to the viewpoint he had decided on, as if he had been traversing this landscape all his life.

When they reached the summit, Zeev stopped and let his gaze wander over the surroundings. Isaiah did the same and wanted to make himself useful. “There,” he finally said, pointing into the distance. Zeev's gaze followed his finger and recognized a slightly larger building in the distance, nestled at the foot of another hill. A farm, as far as he could tell, with a large main building and several smaller adjoining buildings that stood like forlorn chess pieces in the landscape. “That's a MeriTech farm,” Zeev stated, his voice softer than Isaiah had expected. There was hesitation in the way he had said it. Then Zeev looked to him. “And you think this is a good idea?”

Isaiah raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I know what you're thinking, but not everyone who works for MeriTech is loyal to them. Many of the outside contractors and suppliers don't have a choice. They've been forced to work for the regime because there's no other way to survive. I also work for MeriTech and I wouldn't call myself the— most loyal employee of the month.”

Traitors were sent into exile, he remembered. If Zeev told anyone about Isaiah's thoughts, his days would be numbered. The stranger crossed his arms in front of his chest, the skepticism in his expression reaching his eyes beneath the mask. “So you're sure these people will help us?” Isaiah hesitated and chewed the inside of his cheek, then shook his head. “I'm not sure, no. I'm just saying... most of them have no reason to betray us. They don't benefit from pleasing MeriTech. The farms are often understaffed, the workers badly treated, the requirements way too high. They— hate the regime, but they have no power to fight back. If we're polite and don't do anything threatening, we might have a chance.” Zeev snorted, a sound somewhere between frustration and amusement, at least that's how Isaiah interpreted it. “Might have a chance,” he repeated, adding to snorting. “Or do you have a better idea? The rain won't wait. There's nothing else here. Not even a cave.” Zeev glanced back in the direction they'd come from, then forward to the farm again. Finally, he nodded reluctantly. “Fine, but if this goes south, that's on you.” A moment of silence. “Okay...,” Isaiah said, though he felt anything but confident. Putting Zeev in a tricky position was the last thing he wanted to do.

The ground beneath his feet was loose and slippery as they both made their way down. Isaiah had to brace himself more than once with his hands on nearby boulders to keep from falling. Zeev continued to move with a composure that Isaiah admired—if he hadn't been so tired. Perhaps they would get shelter for the night, and perhaps he would finally get some shut-eye this particular evening. The sky was getting darker, a clear sign that the rain was about to start. Isaiah glanced over his shoulder, up at the clouds gathering over them like a threatening surge. It was as if the earth was holding its breath. A worrisome thought. “Hurry up,” Zeev called over his shoulder without turning around. His voice was calm, but Isaiah heard the undertone of urgency. “I'm doing what I can, sorry,” Isaiah muttered, gritting his teeth to keep from complaining. His legs felt heavy and numb, the wind, which was now picking up, drove the dust into his eyes. But he knew they had no choice. The acid rain was merciless and even brief contact with it could be lethal. After all, he didn't wear suitable clothing for dealing with such harsh weater conditions.

When they finally reached the valley that led to the farm, Isaiah slowed down. Suddenly, he aware of the silence that surrounded them, broken only by the sound of their footsteps against the dry ground. The buildings in front of them looked abandoned, but he knew that appearances could be deceiving. All at once, his self-confidence faded. What were they going to do now? Just knock on the door? In a post-apocalypse? Hm.

Zeev paused, his eyes scanning the surroundings with an almost daunting preciseness. “Looks empty,” Isaiah commented. Zeev nodded, though the Memory Technician knew he wasn't convinced. He was about to say something, but paused. Zeev's mistrust was understandable. The Capitolite thought about how Zeev moved somewhere in the darkness, always alert, always on guard. It was understandable that he was cautious, but it also pained Isaiah. He knew the apostate didn't trust the outside world or MeriTech, and he couldn't blame him. Not after everything that had happened. Instead, he pulled his gaze away from the buildings and looked for signs of life. A movement, a sound, something. Anything. But there was none. “Come on,” Zeev finally said and started moving again. Isaiah followed him, his eyes still watchful. The closer they got to the farm, the clearer he could make out the details.

The main building was a large, rectangular structure, its metal walls eaten away by rain and time. Rust stains were clearly visible on the corrugated metal and the roof was dented in several places. The outbuildings were smaller but in similarly poor condition. When they reached the main building, Zeev paused again, then put a hand on the door, hesitating to open it. Instead, he glanced at Isaiah. The heaviness of the unspoken and the uncertainty lay between them. Isaiah tried to force an encouraging smile, it felt false, but Zeev didn't seem to notice his attempt in the first place.

Before either of them could knock, a burly man with partially graying hair opened the door. His blue eyes scrutinized the two strangers attentively. A woman stood slightly behind him with a warm but wary look. Her hair was reddish-blonde, her green eyes observant as she hid slightly behind her husband. She had tied her hair in a loose knot. She was beautiful, Isaiah thought. “You're out late,” the man said, his voice low and calm. He left the talking to Zeev, but always tried to appear intent and friendly. Even though he said nothing. The man hesitated while the woman gently placed her hand on her husband's shoulder. “Richie...” she spoke to him calmly. The man nodded, his eyes scanning scrutinizingly over Isaiah and Zeev. “Come in,” he finally said. “But no nonsense, understand?” Isaiah nodded hastily. “Of course. Thank you.”

Isaiah had the distinct feeling of warming up as he stood in the farmer couple's living room. It was warm, a stark contrast to the merciless weather outside. The house was unpretentious but comfortably furnished. A fireplace burned quietly, and the smell of burning wood smoke and something cooking hung in the air. Sarah handed them dry towels while Richard led them to a table with plain but sturdy meals on it: Bread, cheese and a large pot filled with steaming stew. “Sit down,” Richard said, pointing to the chairs. “You look like you could do with a break.” Isaiah sat down gratefully, while Zeev moved a little more cautiously, his eyes still watchful. “Thank you,” Isaiah began, rubbing his shins. “We've been on the move for a good while and the incline is really tiring. I haven't moved this much in ages,” he chuckled, looking up at Richard, then at the woman who was eyeing them both. Isaiah felt his heart swelling. A way only a mother could look at someone. “You have it nice here...” he continued, looking around. The farmer's smile grew warmer. “Thanks, it took us a long time to make it homely. But Richie's good at tinkering... He made a lot of what you see here.”

“How pretty,” Isaiah commented, eyeing the ceiling lamp and smiling wider. “Sometimes I wonder if my husband is really a farmer or secretly a mechanic.” Richard laughed softly. “You learn what you have to if you want to survive.” Glancing at Zeev, who had been silently observing the situation so far and still, in fact, standing, the Memory Technician kneaded his hands and looked at the woman again. “Why are you helping us? You don't know who we are.” “Because we know what it's like to need help,” she replied, picking up two more bowls and putting some stew in them as well, smiling invitingly at Zeev. ”And because we believe there are still people who can trust each other. I'm Sarah,” she introduced herself. “I'm Steve,” Zeev said and Isaiah looked to him, not letting his irritation show. “This is Isaac. We're both escapees and we just came from the old Distribution Center, about a day's walk from here.” Ah, of course. Who knew if Isaiah had been reported missing yet. The rewards MeriTech was dishing out meant a way out for a lot of people.

“That's so good, fuck,” Isaiah smiled broadly, apologizing a moment later for swearing. Sarah shook her head and smiled encouragingly at him. The Capitolite sat upright and neatly, his hands wrapped around the bowl as he paid close attention to Sarah and Richard's words. Next to him sat Zeev, his posture more tense than Isaiah's, his eyes watchful, but he ate and seemed to listen as attentively as Isaiah did.

“In the end, that right there is like a greenhouse,” Richard began, drinking some of his water and vaguely pointed outside. “The acid rain has made the soil practically barren. MeriTech doesn't really care about that, of course, they're not really interested in our craft, but they're trumpeting in the media all about what they're doing for the agricultural industry. But I also don't see us transferring our production into our own home. The harvest would be too low and we wouldn't be able to meet the Capitol's resource requirements. So we use mycorrhizal networks, symbiotic fungi that extract nutrients from dead material and pass them on to the plants. These fungi neutralize the acidity in the soil and make it fertile again.” Isaiah nodded eagerly and ate some of his stew, thinking for a moment and scratching his beard. “You've practically created an artificial ecosystem.” Richard nodded: “That wasn't easy. We had to find species of fungi that were resistant to the conditions out here. MeriTech had a few approaches, but their methods were too sterile. They wanted to control nature. We learned to work with it.”

“You said that nicely, Richie...,” Sarah complimented him, smiling proudly. “We use multi-stage filters made of activated carbon, ion exchangers and a biological filter made of algae that break down pollutants. That filters the acid rain.” “Algae?” Isaiah asked. “Yes,” Sarah replied with a smile and ate something, then leaned back. “They're amazingly efficient and when they've absorbed enough pollutants that they've had their day as filters, we use them as biomass for energy.” “Clever,” he smiled. “Aren't the panels MeriTech supplies enough for the energy supply?” “Not in diffuse light. We have thin-film solar cells that use a broader spectrum of solar radiation. We also combine them with small wind turbines and, as Sarah said, the biomass from the algae.” “We use special light, which has to be powered,” Sarah explained. “Spectrally optimized light?”

Richie's eyes lit up and he smiled broader. A genuine, warm smile. “Exactly. It provides the wavelengths the plants need for photosynthesis. That saves energy and maximizes growth.” “Amazing what you've taught yourselves,” Isaiah finished the verbal tour of the farm's supply system and ate some more of the stew, but noticed something shift in the room when Richie said they had help with it. 

“Our son helped a lot back then, before the eclipse. He knew what was happening before it happened. A clever boy. He was already working out how humanity could have survived back then.” “And where is he now?” Isaiah continued to ask, Richie's face scrunching up a little, but Sarah joined in more enthusiastically instead. “Somewhere out there, he— disappeared, but... he's out there somewhere.” Her smile was a wistful one, but Isaiah saw hope in it, too. Richard silently placed his hand on his wife's. Apparently he didn't like to talk about the subject. “You know, he was always an explorer, even as a child,” she began, her voice gaining a little volume. As if she was blossoming. Isaiah suspected she hadn't talked about it for a long time. “Always outside, always looking for something. Bugs, stones, leaves—everything was fascinating to him. The stars especially, remember, Richie? That's what he always talked about the most. Stars, stars, stars. But I also remember how he once came into the house with a handful of ants because he thought they were lost and he had to save them.”

Isaiah smiled sadly, while Sarah laughed. And they were crawling all over the living room, he completed the story silently, it took a good week for them to finally get outside completely and stay away. “He was a wonderful boy,” Richard spoke, squeezing Sarah's hand. “Is, Richard, he is a wonderful boy,” she corrected, her voice breaking momentarily before she caught herself again. A barely perceptible sigh of the man across from Isaiah, speaking volumes, spread across the room. “His childhood room was always a mess, but it was... his mess. Books, toys, drawings—he wanted to see the world, understand it. He drew all his life and always wrote a lot, the most creative boy I know.” And in his childhood room there were posters of aliens and spaceships, as well as torn-out pages from his own notebook.

Sarah didn't describe anyone's childhood bedroom, but Isaiah's. A realization that made his stomach turn. The stew in front of him was suddenly less inviting, but he forced himself to take a spoonful, to bring it to his mouth. The taste was warm, rich, but he could barely register it. “I know he's still out there,” Sarah finally said firmly, her voice tight, longing. “He always wanted to see the world. Maybe he does now. Maybe he's still exploring.”

Isaiah swallowed hard, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly as he set the bowl down. The words echoed inside him, like an echo that would not fall silent. The stories Sarah shared about her son felt familiar. Too close. A boy who collected bugs. A nursery full of chaos. An eclipse, the night he had been separated from his parents. A childhood. His childhood. These memories, these stories were not her own. They were artificial, created, like his own past. Like the stories MeriTech told him when they picked him up on one of their missions—unconcious, lost and malnourished—and provided him care, accomodation and work. He vaguely remembered his childhood, the day of the eclipse and then only life in his ivory cage.

He felt the guilt wrapping itself around him like a leaden cloak. This was also his fault. Sure, the Memory Technician had at least sowed the hope in Sarah to carry on, waiting for her son to come home one day. He had planted these stories in their heads, this hope, this longing. And they were now living with this phantom, a son who wasn't him, a son they never had, a son they would never get back. “If you ever see my boy, can you tell him—” “Sarah.” “But maybe—” “Sarah, please.”

The woman fell silent and Isaiah nodded, promising they would keep an eye out for this explorer, but as he spoke he couldn't look at her. Instead, he stared at his hands clenched in his lap. “It's nice how you remember him,” he finally murmured sadly, smiling through his own pain, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes it feels like he's still here,” Sarah said quietly, her eyes fixed on the dark windows against which the rain kept pattering. “Like he's about to come in the door and tell us about his discoveries.” Isaiah wanted to say something, wanted to find the words so as not to shatter her hope, but all he felt was the crushing weight of his own guilt. Instead, he kept silent and listened to them talk about their son—about his favorite books, the songs he used to sing, how much he disliked dancing, the dreams he had. It was nice to see them so alive, reminiscing about memories that weren't real. And at the same time it was cruel; a wound he had inflicted himself without knowing it. As they spoke, he felt his throat tighten, and he could only hope that he was actually as composed on the outside as he was desperately trying to be.

The rain had eased and night had fallen. Sarah led them to a small room at the back of the house. It was simple, with a bed, an old wardrobe and a small window through which the moonlight fell. On the walls were self-painted posters of aliens and spaceships. “It's not much, but it's warm. And dry,” she said. ”Get some rest. Tomorrow you can move on.” Isaiah thanked her sincerely and waited until Sarah had left before turning to Zeev, setting down his backpack. “You can take the bed,” he said with finality. Zeev shook his head. “You need it more than I do.” Isaiah smiled weakly. “You need it more. I'm sure you don't get to enjoy this often.” Zeev hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Thank you.”

The Capitolite sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall and pulling his jacket tighter around him. The ground was hard, but he didn't care, looking outside instead. He thought of the farm, of Sarah and Richard, of their stories. They had created something that radiated hope despite the harshness of this world. And for a moment he felt lighter, as if the weight on his shoulders had eased a little. Perhaps the guilt he felt was only partially justified: Maybe the thought of this ominous son being out there somewhere, discovering the world, wasn't wrong in it's entirety. Perhaps, like the farm, it was a testament to the sheer power of life out here against all odds. It was as if he had turned to a page that he thought had long been lost. A chapter he had never really understood because he had never been allowed to see it. How often had he thought in recent years that the world was broken? That the beauty of the past was just a memory, a deceptive echo that appeased everyone? And yet... Here it was. Not in the form he had expected, not in the perfection he might have wished for, but in something real. Something alive.

The mycorrhizal networks they proudly told him about, fungi that neutralized the acid, healed the soil, brought life back. An organism that created something new from decay. Something better. Perhaps that was the true strength of mankind: not the ability to conquer nature, but to work with it, to learn, to grow. Everything he had experienced, seen and was now reviewing was as if nature and humanity were saying: “I'm not giving up on us. And neither should you.” Isaiah witnessed this silent rebellion that seemed to be sweeping through the land. A quiet but determined response to a world that had long since given up on them. His gaze went to Zeev, who was gradually removing his equipment. A response to a world that, despite everything, offered beauty and charity in the many moments of ordinariness.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

<He couldn't help but laugh at the question because he knew it sounded just as absurd to her as it did to him whenever he thought about it. He shook his head a little afterwards and took her hand in his own but did not answer for the moment as he contemplated his answer and what would be the correct way to word it. There were a lot of variables to consider in this explanation, but he wanted to make it as easy as he could for the moment so as to not confuse her more than she already had become.>

My family ... wasn't really much of anything that was worth talking about. Disappoinment and...tragedy. But that's not a subject for now. Anyone from anywhere can technically come from "magical background", should they choose to take the time to learn and open their minds it. I myself - as you have probably figured out by now - used to be a doctor and in that stage of my life I had no interest in metaphysical knowledge or abilities. But then...well, life finally broke down the walls of the "perfect life" I was building for myself.

<He smiled as he watched her look at the surroundings while he spoke, until the last part had drawn her attention back to him. Slowly, he held up his free hand to show her the scars she had noted on them earlier which were now more of a deep red than they were before due to the coolness of the afternoon air settling in on the Sanctum. He was still self-conscious about them, even years after the accident, but this was his Soulmate, the woman he loved before than even life itself. And if he trusted anyone to not judge him or their history, it was this beautiful woman in front of him.>

I was in a car accident that left me no longer able to perform my job, I was told of a place called Kamar-Taj, where I would be able to gain the ability to use my hands again. It was there that I studied - and continue to learn on many occasions - about the Mystic Arts. It was there that I met my two teachers: The Ancient One, who we lost to battle, and Damon Renner.

<He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as he looked into her eyes while he spoke once more. He thought about it and began to realize things now that he hadn't been emotionally prepared for and it made him look away.>

He's the one I was getting the medical books to help when I found you. He's also the one who sent his familiar to me to lead me to your side. He...just lost his Soulmate to a very large battle and is very badly wounded. Of course...of course he would lead me to the one I'm meant to be with.

@sobeautifullyobsessed

*Our paths to here and now couldn’t be more different! Beauty’s heart, connected to Stephen’s through numerous lifetimes, discerned what he left unspoken. An unhappy childhood, marked by a painful loss. A family that may have been at odds with his sensibilities. A loneliness which he sought to fill with a brilliant career and the financial success it granted him. And then a sudden, tragic turn that changed his world—or rather, set him on the path he had been born to travel. She had to wonder if, in all that time, anyone had given him even a bit of unconditional love—whereas her cup of such had been filled to the brim. Surely this was by Design, and she was meant to bring that gift to Stephen’s life.*

I wish I could’ve known you then, Stephen. Not to change the course of your life, but perhaps to soften its edges. I think I had a luxury of kindness given me that I’d have been very happy to share with you…

*Beauty’s eyes reckoned the reddened weals that ran the full length of his fingers, and the slight tremor as Stephen offered her an unforgiving view of them. Even scarred, there was an undeniable elegance to his hand, and she could easily envision his confident dexterity as a surgeon. A mighty blow, that must have been—and his bones must ache as those of her arthritic grandmother’s. Her voice was hushed in soft consideration.*

Do they hurt, Stephen? Can your magic dull the pain? How…how do you manage? And…and how can I help? *she lowered her gaze a moment, carefully arriving at her next observation* Your hands...they’re beautiful despite your injuries, you know. Like something a great sculptor might have made. Those scars just can’t erase their grace.

*He extended that same hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear--a simple enough act, but eloquent in its own way, for its gentleness and familiarity. Something like uncertainty seemed to flicker in his eyes a moment before he went on to explain about his teacher and the loss he had endured. Moving Beauty to her next, natural suggestion.*

But about your friend, Damon—if he’s been badly injured, shouldn’t you be seeing to him now? I don’t want to keep you from where you belong, Stephen. I mean, we’ve lived our whole lives so far without even knowing each other. I can wait whatever time it will take for you to do right by him. I promise I’ll be here when your duty to your teacher and friend is done.

@the-eldritch-sorcerer

[makeste]

BnHA 323: “I Don’t Know How to Explain to You That You Should Care About Other People”

Previously on BnHA: Kacchan was all, “Izuku, I’m sorry.” Bakugou Stans were all, “[sobs for a week straight and tearfully awards him the Nobel Prize for character development].” Deku was all, “[faints in Kacchan’s arms].” Iida was all, “[trying to decide if Ochako genuinely tried to kill him a few minutes ago].” Horikoshi was all, “NO TIME FOR HUGS WE MUST GET BACK TO UA.” The civilians holed up at U.A. were all, “WE TOOK A VOTE AND DECIDED THAT WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE JERKS ABOUT THIS AND MAKE A BIG FUSS ABOUT YOU LETTING DEKU BACK INTO THE SCHOOL.” Deku was all “[stands there looking like he expected nothing less and breaking my heart more and more with each passing moment].” Ochako was all, “that does it, looks like I’m gonna have to do something about this... next chapter, that is.”

Today on BnHA: Flashback!Rat Principal is all “I just want you all to know that I spent nine million dollars turning U.A. into a giant Battleship-style grid that can burrow underground and zoom around in a giant subway maze because Horikoshi lacks a grounded understanding of both civil engineering and economics.” Back in the present day, Jeanist is all, “EVERYONE TAKE HEED, MY COMRADES AND I HAVE DEEMED IT EXPEDIENT TO CONVEY THIS AUSPICIOUS YOUTH BACK TO THIS STRONGHOLD. WE ANTICIPATE THAT WE MAY DEPEND UPON YOUR GOODWILL AND ACQUIESCENCE TO THESE TERMS.” The civilians were all, “NO.” Ochako was all, “EMPATHY, MOTHERFUCKERS, DO YOU SPEAK IT?!” The civilians were all, “oh shit.” Anyway so Ochako is a giant badass, but I’m a little worried that she’s going to get struck by lightning. Please come down from there.

so before we start this chapter, I would just like to apologize for having not posted the ch 321 recap yet, and would like to reassure everyone, and especially Iida who is staring at me with Sad Wobbly Guilt Trip Eyes, that I will get to that as soon as I can

OMG FLASHBACK??

yes please Horikoshi please show us more of class 1-A and their Deku intervention strategy jam sessions

oh dear

Iida you are too pure and good for this cruel world. [sprays the U.A. civilians with a water bottle] NO. BAD CIVILIANS! NO OSTRACIZING SCARED AND EXHAUSTED CHILDREN IN THE HOUSE

EXCUSE ME RAT PRINCIPAL WHAT’S WITH THESE MIXED MESSAGES

???

RAT PRINCIPAL: he’s free to return to us at any time!!

ALSO RAT PRINCIPAL: but it’s too risky for him to return to us

?? ??????? ?????????????????????

so now he’s going on about how strong the U.A. Barrier is, and how it’s comparable to the defensive capabilities of Tartarus. this would have sounded a lot more impressive before chapter 297 lol

OH!!!! HELLO, WHAT’S THIS!!!

A TIMELY CALLBACK TO A CERTAIN MYSTERIOUS EVENT WHICH HASN’T BEEN REFERENCED SINCE USJ? [U.A. TRAITOR MUSIC INTENSIFIES]

so now Rat Principal says he upgraded U.A.’s security systems with his own “modifications”, whatever the fuck that means. I mean look, I’ve been saying for a long time now that U.A. is the best place for everyone to hole up, don’t get me wrong. but that was mostly on account of there not being any other practical alternatives. but you’re making it sound like you figured out a way to actually make it Decay-proof or some wild shit like that

-- hold up, DID YOU ADD A FORCE FIELD. DID YOU TRICK THIS SCHOOL OUT WAKANDA-STYLE YOU CRAZY MARSUPIAL. HOLY SHIT. because that would actually be perfect

LMAO

WHAT KIND OF GALAXY BRAIN BULLSHIT. “NAH THERE’S NO NEED FOR A FORCE FIELD, LET’S JUST PUT WHEELS ON IT”

oh okay so the whole campus is basically capable of burrowing itself underground. that’s insane lol I wonder how they pulled that off. probably got poor Cementoss working overtime

blah blah blah so basically the entire campus is split into a grid and each section of the grid is capable of its own independent movement. lol this is just the Merone Base from KHR. you thought no one would notice this casual plagiarism ten years after the fact, but YOU UNDERESTIMATED YOUR AUDIENCE, HORIKOSHI

“joke’s on you imma just lampshade it” WELL ALL RIGHT THEN

“look at me I’m so fucking self-aware” fucking swear to god. I can’t believe this man is my favorite mangaka of all time smdh

“excuse me, I wasn’t finished describing all the rest of this bullshit yet,” Rat Principal breaks in impatiently. “we also added a steel wall all around the underground of the campus that’s 3000 steel plates thick. that’s fifteen fucking meters of solid fucking steel just fyi. and if anyone fucks around with any part of it the defense system will activate immediately! and also all of the plates are independently motorized, whatever the fuck that means!! in conclusion you’re gonna need a fucking tower crane to suspend all of your disbelief by the time I’m through with this paragraph”

“also Shiketsu is almost as reinforced as U.A. but not quite because we still had to make sure we were better.” but of course. and apparently the two schools are connected via a secret tunnel as Hagakure mentioned earlier

LSDKFJLSDKJFLK

“WAIT WHAT” LMAO YOU HEARD HIM, NOW INASA CAN VISIT YOU BOTH IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND TELL YOU ALL ABOUT THE WEIRD DREAM HE HAD. GOD BLESS YOU HORIKOSHI

(ETA: moment of appreciation for Shouto and Katsuki having the same thought at the same time and making Knowing Eye Contact and saying the exact same thing out loud in perfect unison like the best friends they are. what a blessed day.)

so Tokoyami is all “but wait if you engineered all this shit all the way back during the Band arc how did you even know that Tomura’s quirk awakening would become a thing, Horikoshi -- uh, I mean, Principal Nezu”

and Rat Principal is all “lol idk”

“basically I just woke up one morning and was all ‘say, you know what this school really needs? a fifteen-meter-thick underground steel wall, and the ability to break up into little pieces that individually zoom around wherever the fuck they want.’ jesus christ. lol if money and common sense were apparently no obstacle why didn’t you just teleport U.A. to the fucking moon or something. maybe I should shut up before I given him any ideas

dsfaelkjldkjgl

you heard it here first, folks, all of this cost a grand total of nine million U.S. dollars. well technically it cost “more than” nine million dollars. never has that distinction been more important lmao. are we sure this barrier was really made of steel and not cardboard? who the hell sold it to them, Ea-Nasir??

this is my favorite manga series of all time. yes I am ashamed

“in conclusion please do your best to reach Deku-kun” SO WHAT WAS ALL THAT NONSENSE ABOUT IT BEING TOO RISKY THEN. anyway thank you for this super informative and edifying flashback, Horikoshi. I will cherish it always. I don’t even want to read another translation of this absurdity lmao, there’s something special about it just the way it is. pretty sure Horikoshi just had a cracked out fever dream one night and transferred it to the pages of the manga verbatim

anyway so back to the unruly mob

not their finest moment. please excuse me while I cover poor Deku’s ears and give him a good shoosh pap

oh wow the parents are out here too

is Mitsuki trying to hold Inko back?? that’s the last thing this fandom needs right now is more Mitsuki discourse fffwlkjs. and even Jiroudad, scientifically proven to be the best dad in all of BnHA, is just standing there silently looking vaguely unhappy. way to rise to the moment you guys

MONOMA

so this settles it for me that Aizawa is not at UA. I know a lot of people have been wondering about his whereabouts, and if I had to wager a guess it would be that something happened with Shirakumo/Kurogiri. I can’t think of anything else -- even the loss of an eye and a limb -- that would keep him from his kids at a time like this

anyway but this is excellent Monoma content right here though. I love that he apparently adopted Eri after a single interaction with her. also WHERE IS SHINSOU DAMMIT. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW

and Kouta’s there too looking like he wants to run over to Deku but Ragdoll won’t let him :/

it’s gotta be pretty upsetting for him to see his hero like this and not having anyone stand up for him. [taps megaphone] IS THIS THING ON. OKAY YEAH IT SEEMS TO BE WORKING. AHEM. PAGING URARAKA OCHAKO. GONNA NEED YOU TO GET OVER HERE ALREADY AND MAKE THAT BIG DRAMATIC SPEECH WHICH YOU ARE CLEARLY DYING TO MAKE. IF YOU DON’T DO IT SOON I’M GONNA HAVE TO STEP IN, AND YOU REALLY DON’T WANT ME TO DO THAT SINCE MY SPEECH WILL NOT BE VERY GOOD OR INSPIRING, AND WILL PROBABLY JUST CONSIST OF “HELLO, YOU ARE ALL STUPID, PLEASE SHUT UP AND GO AWAY”

so now Mic is telling them to calm down. at least someone’s speaking up here, geez

OH MY GOD

MY MAN JEANIST OUT HERE DOING WHAT HE DOES BEST: MAKING EVERYONE FEEL GUILTY AND JUDGED

OH MY GOD HE IS GIVING SUCH A LONG AND BORING SPEECH LMAO IS YOUR STRATEGY TO PUT THEM ALL TO SLEEP OR WHAT

truly in awe of this man’s ability to take messages which could easily be conveyed in ELI5-speak, and stubbornly convert them into incomprehensible language the likes of which you need a graduate degree in order to understand

“hey guys, so originally our plan was to use Deku as bait for the villains, but that didn’t really work and also we realized it was kinda dumb and was probably gonna get him killed, so we brought him back here instead.” was that really so hard, Jeanist. also are we all really just gonna sit back here and watch Jeanist take full credit for Bakugou’s plan just like that lmao

(ETA:

WHERE DID ENDEAVOR GO AND WHO IS THIS DIABOLICAL MASTER OF DISGUISE. lol I genuinely didn’t notice this because I was too busy digging through thesauruses trying to rewrite Jeanist’s speech; many thanks to @class1akids​ for pointing it out and making my day immeasurably better. take it easy there Dick Tracy.)

“anyway so please stop being dicks and let him fucking rest so he can save all your ungrateful asses” what an impassioned and inspiring plea. time to see if the masses will listen to reason

narrator: they did not listen to reason

oh my god finally Ochako is doing something. YEAH OCHAKO WOOOO SHOW THEM HOW IT’S DONE

hmm

this entire chapter is truly and utterly nonsensical to me lol

(ETA: on my second readthrough I’m fucking dying at how she stole the megaphone right out of Mic’s hand lmao. and how Kacchan is all “fuck yeah nothing I appreciate more than some quality fucking larceny.”)

oh I see she was jumping on top of the main building so as to scream down at them all more impressively

“ANYWAY DEKU IS PRETTY COOL ACTUALLY, YOU GUYS ARE JUST MEAN” couldn’t have said it better myself Ochako

lol uh

gotta say I did not have “Ochako reveals the secret of OFA to the entire U.A. Citizen Clown Parade” on my bingo card for this week. it’s a bold strategy cotton let’s see if it pays off

SDLFKJSL

“NO, SERIOUSLY, HAVE YOU LOOKED AT HIM YOU GUYS. YOU THINK HE LIKES RUNNING AROUND DRESSED LIKE A RUSTED OIL DRUM?? HE DID THAT FOR YOU YOU UNGRATEFUL SLOBS”

so she is basically explaining the entire Deku Angst arc to them and explaining what a good and selfless protagonist Deku is, YES, PREACH

OMG IT’S THE GIGANTIC FOX LADY

not to insinuate anything, but what exactly were you doing standing out here with the hysterical mob, Gigantic Fox Lady? you’re better than that

-- KACCHAN SIGHTING!!

sdlkfjl. thanks for weighing in with that helpful and important observation. where have you been for the last five minutes. were you asleep. was it Jeanist’s speech

never mind, now he’s yelling at the civilians so I instantly forgive him

THE FUTURE NUMBER ONE HERO, EVERYONE. THANK YOU, THANK YOU. HE’LL BE HERE ALL WEEK

“anyway so I’m just going to end the chapter here” lmao seventeen pages truly do go by so fast. at least he didn’t try to force in a cliffhanger at the end this time. dare I say, growth

so I guess the civilians are either gonna have a Kamino and/or Fukuoka-esque moment where they remember how to be decent people and apologize to this poor young man, or else they’ll remain unpersuaded, and so Kacchan will have to knock a few of their heads around until they become more inclined to be reasonable. either option is fine by me lol

[transandersrights]

The Failure of Kirkwall's Templars

Okay so in part this is about the absolute absurdity of da2's plot in relation to Anders, but I also want to make a point: while the ultimate, individual responsibility for the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry lies in Anders' hands, the Templars are overwhelmingly to blame for what happened. But not in the way you might always think.

There are all kinds of reasons you can blame the Templars for the escalation of the conflict: the abuse of Tranquility, Meredith's increasing paranoia, and the system that oppresses mages in general. But what I don't think we consider enough is that they cannot stop Anders, and that is a condemnation of their effectiveness in Kirkwall as a whole.

Anders is in Kirkwall for seven whole years before the explosion of the Chantry. In that time, he operates semi-openly as a mage in Darktown, and he's known to multiple individuals (Varric, Lirene) within a year. He also kills Templars (Tranquility, Dissent, and any other Templar-killing quests Hawke may take him on), helps free mages from the Gallows, and publishes anti-Circle literature in Kirkwall. This isn't an apostate attempting to completely hide himself from the Templars - if they're unaware of his activities, they're immensely incompetent. Assuming that Hawke brings Anders along to various places, Anders can use magic in the streets of every part of Kirkwall bar the Gallows, including in front of not only the nobles of Kirkwall (in the Keep at the end of part 2) but also in front of Meredith. His banter, which can be activated in the Gallows itself, involves discussions with multiple characters about how he shares his body with a spirit. The Templars really should know.

Similarly, it should be noted that Anders is technically a maleficar. While we don't know exactly how much the Order knows about his time in the Grey Wardens (or how he left), they did send someone to watch him, and that Templar subsequently died at Anders' hands, along with several others. Given that Anders is known to Varric as a former Grey Warden from Ferelden who is also a mage? That should be a clue to the Templars; providing they had access to information about apostates. Which they clearly don't. Which is funny, seeing as that's their job. If they have no clue of the potential danger Anders poses, that's not just a condemnation of Kirkwall's Templars but of the Order as a whole, which is seemingly unable to communicate this information.

Even more damning to the Templars is that they actually do know that Anders is in Kirkwall, because they intercepted his communication with Karl, made him Tranquil, and then had him lure Anders into a trap in the Chantry. They're still unable to do their jobs at this point. Anders only has 1-2 fixed residences over the course of the game, depending on whether he lives with Hawke at any point during the game (which, by the way? Apostate living in a noble's house?? And the Templars still can't find him???), but he's left completely unapprehended over the course of seven years. Seven years!!

There's even an option, if you're playing a super ultra bootlicker, to have Hawke inform Cullen that they're suspicious of Anders. Anders can be present during this interaction and the Templars still do nothing. If he's not present, Cullen will say that they've tried - and failed - to apprehend him. Bear in mind that Anders failed to escape the Circle seven times; he didn't return the seventh time, but he was still caught. He's not actually that good at evading Templars, even during a Blight when there's large movements of people, but Kirkwall's Templars can't catch him for seven whole years.

Now, technically this is because the game exists as it is with a plot that must reach its end point. However, there are many other writing decisions that make the probability of Anders being able to reach that point so, so unlikely; unless you accept that the Templars in Kirkwall were just utterly incapable of doing their jobs when it actually mattered for saving people's lives. When you combine this with On the Loose (the act 3 quest in which Hawke is asked to track down three escaped mages), it starts to look like Templars are incapable of finding mages unless they have access to their phylacteries. Not a good look.

I think that, as much as every abuse they commit against mages and their loved ones, is an argument in favour of the ultimate uselessness of the Templar Order as it stands.