#guess its war posting day today huh

[prototypelq]

CD Projekt grow some freakin courage. Ukrainians need their morale high and some insults in translation are understandable from their side. If you find offense with adding additional text or rewriting your work then SAY SO, DON'T APOLOGISE TO RUSSIAN PLAYERS. IT'S NOT LIKE YOUR GAME IS EVEN OFFICIALLY AVAILABLE FOR BUYING HERE. AND YOU HAVE PUBLICLY AGREED WITH WORLDWIDE RUSSIA-SHUNNING (as everyone should) FOR THE INVASION OF UKRAINE.

This is literally them just covering their asses for good sales. "Oh sorry russian players, who cannot buy our game and we have been vocal about denying translation to ru because of the war, we are not responsible for ukrainian translation calling you names, which we support btw, please don't shame us and buy our dlc in a roundabout way as you have been doing for the last year and a half we want a piece of that sweet ru market"

[chenswire]

overdue Episode 11 post

basically the chenswire part of my stupidly long twitter thread covering ep 11 with more delusional thoughts and I ended up TLing their last scene in CN I guess (scroll to bottom) i wish i had the energy to make 1morbillion gifs but i do not so.. Excerpts from my 200 image screenshot folder it is

So the ep starts off with a super pensive Swire which was very cute when will my wife return from the war energy

And then she breaks out into a super un-ladylike run whaddahell!!!! this sequence was sooo well drawn wtf. handsome

(Something here about how people were joking this part is summer chen because they call chummer 水陈 'water chen')

I like how relaxed the atmosphere was like this definitely isn't the first time something like this has happened, well I mean after all they are Professional Co-workers who do not fight 24/7 (they get into an argument immediately after)

When they break eye contact to turn towards Hoshiguma they basically don't meet each other's gazes again as they take turns to glare at each other its insane... Also Swire saying she should take over and Chen needs treatment... Chen you understand what that means right...

Another detail I love is how at the start they already show her battered jacket/clothes for us gamers to point at the screen and then later who those who don't know/didn't notice we have a whole close up of chen reacting to it...man.jpg And swire leaving right away once she knows chen is fine (and one of her good points. lol. lmao) you guys are sure so quick

Link to CN version of the PUUK GAI LUNG in Paci Plaza I love how she's like 'Chen you stay right there' at the end like she's going to idk fly over ASAP to whack her (as opposed to just 'hey, chen!')

Here's a clip of the last scene with CN dub because not only do we get 'ah chen' it just hits so different...

Hi~ Still there, Miss Ah Chen? Ah? What d'you mean by ah, huh? Aren't you a Dai Siu Ze too? Enough of that, don't you have something to tell me? What happened at Paci Plaza… I'll make sure to sort it all out and file for damages later.

Had a feeling they would go with the JP loc's 'aren't you an ojou too' since you know, anime, but keeping the 'ah chen' and that 阿什么阿 response the unparalleled casualness

You… Remember the Cha Chaan Teng at Sheung Wan? Trying to change the subject? The one near the LGD HQ, right? I used to stop by there on my patrols sometimes. Let me treat you to something there next time. Hmm~ If we go there… I want a steak tomato and egg burger! Wait, no! Like hell I'd want you to treat me to a meal!

the longer pause after 'you...' like she was considering something else before she decided to go with her 茶餐厅 MENTION!!!!! gives this a whole different flavour... chen outright offering the meal instead of swire guessing??? THE WARM SMILE CLOSE UP i feel like im intruding on something

Then send your bill to Chief Wei. I'm hanging up. Wait, don't hang up just yet! I heard you ran straight out of Rhodes Island in the end. What are you planning? Weren't you looking for their help? Ugh, stay down! Take a nap over there! You sure sound busy. Guess I should hang up. Tch… I'm not done speaking with you yet. Was leaving the little bunny (and the others) over there weighing on your mind? Well, whatever. (We'll just do this) Just let me help you clean up the mess over here.

It just sounds so much more casual in CN than the JP dub (which is excellent ofc) >let me do it for you instead of 'ill do it' (head in hands)

the opposite lighting and angle and chen looking away vs swire looking straight #KINO

Don't talk like you understand me very well, Miss S. Enough!!! How many times have I told you not to call me that!! Got it, got it.

You don't seem to get it, so I'll be nice today and explain it to you. Life is extremely precious. You're always risking your life chasing what's right in front of you. Stop doing that. Got that? Your advice… I'll take it.

That exasperated 'Enough!!!' i (turns into a plane and flies away) and the last line... it as 'thanks for the advice' which technically isn't wrong but you know the nuance of uh. kind of, almost, somewhat, accepting a... confession... (of her concern ofc) also CN chen lets swire finish speaking instead of interrupting which hehe... like i said..the flavour hits different. also that subtle movement as chen like eases in more and more between those lines aaaghhhhhhhhhh

their earlier argument was so explosive and quick, but now their banter is so tender and slow like bruh. what. even the act of chen putting down her sword to sit down in a comfortable position (loved that she sat like that One leg sitters rise up!!!) was so ??? the normally yolo speedrunner chen being so leisurely like damn. ok. ok. From 'you think you can order me around' to basically agreeing to an order (Londinium cannon vine boom) I thought Chen being this warm was more or less a delusion that I inferred through in game as subtext (since in game her expression then is usually like her default rbf face...) and seeing it here as 'text' in the show is like 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯 holy shit can't believe i got FED after four years incidentally i've been obsessed with a certain CN writer's fics lately because the way they write chen like a sad wet dog while showing warmth is crazyyy maybe i will blog about it next time because i was legit taking notes lmao

[leiakenobi]

To You, I Can Admit [1/1]

Fandom: Star Wars Pairing: Poe Dameron/GN!Reader Rating: Teen Word Count: 1.3k words Summary: Today you killed a man for the first time. Warnings: General angst, vague discussion of death and war; I also vaguely allude to the reader vomiting, so heads up for that if it might give you the ick A/N: I really listened to "Sweet Nothing" by Ms. TSwift, said, "I should write a Poe fic based on this!" and then zeroed in on the line, "To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it" and elaborated on it in the most emo way possible. Anyway hi I know it’s been like two and a half months since my last reader fic but here's This I guess.

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

——

There was never a question of you joining up with the Resistance.

Of course your parents raised you hoping that you wouldn’t have to, hoping that the Rebellion had done its job and the galaxy was safe. If not forever, then at least for now. Long enough for you to live a happy life. But the first whispers of the First Order began to spread—amongst their Rebel friends, and then further, and then…

And then yeah. There was never a question that you would follow in their footsteps.

You’re damn proud of it, every time you see some new recruit’s expression change the first time they hear your name. Your parents might not be General Organa, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, but they were heroes in their own right and every day you spend on the base is a day that you’re all too aware of their legacy. And most days, there’s nothing oppressive about it.

But today…

Today.

Today you killed a man for the first time, and it’s left you feeling like they don’t deserve to have their legacy sullied by you, after all.

For hours, you can’t quite put your finger on why. Because your squad commends you for acting so fast, they question whether you all would have gotten out of there unscathed if you hadn’t been so quick and precise with the trigger, they express their gratitude over and over and over… All while you’re moving through the world with your head pounding and a ringing in your ears as you remember the look in his eyes in the moment before it happened.

No sooner have you crossed the threshold to your quarters than you see Poe peering around the kitchenette, a smile spreading across his face as you come into view. “Hey, I heard you were back! I was trying to make you something before you finished the debrief. How was the mission?”

You stare at him vacantly for a long beat before turning sharply to rush into the fresher. Your knees have barely hit the hard floor when you begin to retch.

You don’t hear Poe move – you don’t hear much of anything for about thirty seconds, given what you’re doing – but as you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, you refocus and feel his hand on your back, rubbing small circles and pressing ever so gently.

“That bad, huh?” he offers.

In spite of yourself, you let out a fractured laugh. “No, it was a great day.”

When you chance a look at Poe, he’s giving you a small, careful smile, which you do earnestly reciprocate before shifting on the floor to lean against the door of the sonic. And it’s there, with the weight of the door keeping you up, that you tilt your head back and groan. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this, babe.”

Poe’s shifted now to press his hand over yours on your thigh, and his touch is gentle again; he doesn’t even move to truly hold your hand until you interlace your fingers between his. It takes several seconds of silence before he squeezes. “We’ve all screwed up a few times, you know. Hell, the general would probably tell you that I’ve screwed up more than a few times.”

You purse your lips in amusement, though your gaze is focused more on the wall than on Poe. “That’s the thing. I didn’t screw up, not if you ask my squad. Or General Organa. They all said that I did exactly the right thing.”

“Oh.” Poe hesitates. “Then I think you’re gonna have to give me a little bit more to work off of, here.”

“I’m trying,” you tell him softly.

He holds your hand, and waits, and lets you try, until: “I took a life today, Poe. And he was about to kill Oshe, I was just…” You inhale a shaky breath. “I was doing what I had to do, but I hate myself for it anyway. All I can think about is how scared he looked, the second before… before I…”

For a moment, you feel as though you might need to vomit again, although you choke back the impulse this time with no real trouble.

“Was he First Order?” Poe’s thumb is rubbing softly over the back of your hand, and you’re not sure whether he’s doing it on purpose but it sure as hell is making it easier for you to put words to the things that are racing through your head—the things that have been racing through your head since it happened. “A smuggler?”

You nod. “First Order, yeah. An officer at a checkpoint. And all I’ve been able to think about is that maybe he actually supported the First Order, but maybe he was brainwashed or blackmailed. Maybe he had a family, Poe. And even if he didn’t, even if he was every bit the monster that the worst First Order officers are…”

Poe exhales slowly. “You still killed him.”

“I still killed him,” you confirm. “But hey, this is the Resistance, right? What are we at the end of the day, if not soldiers? And soldiers need to be prepared for things like this.”

“You don’t mean that,” he murmurs.

He’s right, of course he is—he’s lain awake with you through the night before multiple missions as you’ve fretted over how dangerous they were and the prospect of potentially having to cross some lines that you’ve had yet to cross, for the sake of protecting yourself, or the Resistance, or both. And more than once, on those late nights, you’d asked him—

Why does doing the right thing for the galaxy mean having to make decisions that no one should have to make?

“No, I don’t mean it.” You turn your head to meet Poe’s gaze, and for just a moment, your heart stops over how tenderly he’s watching you. “I still feel like maybe I’m not cut out to be here, though. I don’t know whether I’ll be able to do it again when the time comes.”

Because you know, at your core, that it is when. There is no if.

And Poe doesn’t dispute it either. In fact, all he does say, at first, is, “I don’t know whether you’ll know one way or the other until you have to. But that’s okay. If you believe in the Resistance, you’re cut out to be here. And unless I’m wrong, I think that means you’re in the right place.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Does that even mean much? After being raised like we were.”

“Oh, yeah?” An amused smile plays at his lips. “You think either of us would be able to stand by and let the First Order take over the galaxy if our parents weren’t Rebels?”

Well. When he puts it like that, it does sound a little silly.

“No, I don’t,” you concede.

Poe’s knees creak and he lets out a low groan as he slowly rises to his feet, and when he reaches out a hand to help you up, you take it. You let him pull you into a hug and your eyes fall shut as he murmurs, “I know that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Yes, that’s the thing: you know he does. You know he understands better than most, what a difficult position you’re in.

So you squeeze him tight for several long, wonderful seconds before asking, “Need any help with dinner?”

“You sure? I can finish up if you wanna watch a vid or something.”

Pulling out of his arms, you quirk an eyebrow at Poe. “Are you trying to make me take it easy, flyboy?”

“Never.”

“That’s what I thought.” You reach up to straighten the collar of his shirt where it’s folded over on itself, and it fills you with warmth to see how automatically he leans into your touch and how much his expression softens. “Maybe I’ll just sit with you and you can tell me how your day went, how does that sound?”

He hums. “Is that what you want?”

“Mhm.”

With the utmost tenderness, he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. “Then that sounds perfect.”

Yes—yes, you think it does.

——

interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here

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poe taglist: @buckybarneshairpullingkink​, @chaoticevilbakugo​, @dailyreverie​, @darnitdraco​, @disabledameron​, @jettia​, @mariesackler​, @millllennia​, @pedrosbisch​, @stardust-galaxies​, @zhonglis-wine​

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #10:

Living With War

(Rest assured Fair Reader, we'll get to this photo and its relationship with the album in question in good time; for now let's just wonder if Neil, on the right, is wearing blush or if he's blushing because he's just been seen associating with Stephen the Hutt, on the left. Again, we'll get there in good time! Now, on with the post...)

The teenagers I teach, who are all pretty awesome, arrive knowing almost nothing about modern events. Wait, they say, there was a war in Iraq? Are we talking about, like, recently? Were we alive? Wow. Dude, what'd you say? There were like two wars in Iraq? Were we in them? Iraq's a country, right? Who won?

Well, kids, no one won. But hundreds of thousands of people lost their lives. And millions are still suffering from the effects of the conflicts. And Iraq is, like totally, a country.

The teens come alive when you start to get into the details; I'm proud to stay pretty damn nonpartisan in the classroom but there's no way to teach these events without telling students the truth: the Bush administration lied. And I don't mean once. They lied over and over again for years. WMDs; links between Iraq and 9/11; government directed torture; death counts. And our country went along for the ride; we were so shell shocked by 9/11 that we, like totally, like literally, believed Iraq=Muslim + Saddam=Bad Guy therefore, War=Now.

Well not all of us bought it. I'm a very proud American and I did my patriotic duty by angrily protesting the Second Gulf War. I'm guessing many of you did too.

And when Neil Young woke up after years of shaggy dog Greendale story telling and Prairie Wind flatulence to rage against his adopted country's moral corruption, I felt relieved, proud and in sync with his anger.

Indeed, I'd argue that Living With War is a pretty cool chapter in Young's story. Not only was he right when he called us all out for being lazy and dumb, he also rehired his kick in the ass band from Eldorado and recorded everything with Ohio-level pace and boldness, writing and recording the album in less than two weeks and getting it out and into our ears within a month.

And just listen to the opening track! Young finds his riff on Old Black, nods at his six-cups-of-coffee drummer and then sounds immediately and deeply alive, shaking himself and all of us out of our Bush beer garden of complacency.

Cool, huh? It's almost 20 years later and George W. Bush's brand of homespun, ignorant evil appears quaint in comparison to the nonstop barrage of totalitarian terror being spouted on the campaign trail in and in the courts (seriously, if frozen embryos are now human beings why aren't refugees being welcomed with open arms and being offered all the jobs Americans like you and me rely on but refuse to do ourselves?) but I still feel pumped up when I listen to this song.

So why isn't the record a bigger deal? Why doesn't it shoulder its way into our thinking not just about Young but about that whole embarrassing era in our history? I'm afraid there are a few pretty good reasons why.

For one thing a lot of the writing sucks. In the earnest and almost soulful Roger and Out Young rhymes no words in the first verse, then decides to go big and connect "way" with "today" in the second verse, then shrugs and sets "today" alongside "yesterday" after that. This is coming from the guy who once wrote "roads stretch out like healthy veins, and wild gift horses strain the reigns." Come on Neil, confer with a dictionary.

One spot where the lyrics come alive in the upsetting and enjoyably silly The Restless Consumer. Check this frantic song out:

You can hear in the song that Young assembled a 100 person choir for this record and spent one 12 hour day teaching them to sing along with his best crazy grandpa voice on lines like:

Don't need no TV ad Telling me how sick I am Don't need to know how many people are like me Don't need no dizziness Don't need no nausea Don't need no side effects like diarrhea or sexual death

Roger that, Neil. When I see you live in April with the Horse (yes, I've got tickets, gods be praised) I promise I won't scream out from my cheap seats in the back about any of these topics you mention. But I will scream. Lots.

Another shortcoming on the record is Neil's unwillingness, or inability at that moment, to destroy and thereby uplift the songs with his own lead guitar.

Stroll through his wacky eclectic career and there are nearly no constants: one moment he's making violent computerized pop, the next he's impersonating Willie Nelson. By 2006 he had 40 years of proudly obstinate inconsistency under his belt. But Neil, at least when making band-oriented music, had - almost - always used a rhythm guitar player.

First there was Richie Furray and He Who Shall Not Be Named because he sucks.

(But that guitarist does appear, as we noted at the top, in today's opening photo from the Living with War era. You see, that's not Pizza the Hut standing with Neil in the image; it's You Know Who, or maybe we should call him You No Poo; Neil had a tour planned with Crosby, Satan and Nash long before he wrote and rushed out Living With War; then he foisted the record on them for their summer tour together; Stills was unimpressed by it all and complained a lot, probably because he'd voted for Bush in the first place and knew that the only people who still bought his records were dumb asses who'd followed his lead in the voting booth.)

Then along came Danny, Nils, Ben, and Poncho (and even Steve Cropper and the kids in Pearl Jam and Promise of the Reeled in Flounder). Occasionally, such as on Comes a Time and Old Ways, Neil used not one rhythm guitarist, but instead about 16 of them. He idolizes Hendrix but rarely tries to be him.

Living With War is, like the killer Eldorado, the snoozy Greendale and the confounding Le Noise that would soon follow, one of Neil's rare solo guitar attack moments. And, on this occasion anyway, it's a mistake.

Neil heard the album's basic tracks after his rushed and passionate recording session (he'd later release those first takes on their own as Living With War - In the Beginning) and knew there simply wasn't quite enough music to go around. He'd been too busy teaching the songs to the drummer, bass player and himself to remember to shred.

He could have summoned Poncho and given the whole project another week. He should have. Instead, he got all Bernard Shakey on us and brought in not just the 100 piece choir, who must have spent their 12 hour session alternatively inspired, snickering and baffled, but also a trumpeter. And we're not talking about Miles Davis and Don Cherry here.

Instead, it sounds like Neil stopped by the local high school, plucked the third chair from the marching band, then played slow enough to let him try, and fail, to keep up. Take a listen.

Even the choir and drunk trumpet weren't enough to entirely salvage such songs. You'll hear in the video above that Neil also brings back Re-ac-tor era space warfare sound effects and mixes in sound-clips of the Dubbya himself. This whole song and, for that matter, the whole album, is silly, inspired, simplistic, drunk and awesome all at once.

Sound like all the ingredients we need for another Shakey Sunday.

[queen-scribbles]

12 and 28 for Ves/Kurt and Keme/Jorgan, but I'm gonna make you choose which pairing gets which prompt too ;3

Happy Star Wars Day, have some post-SoR Keme/Jorgan

12. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss

---

Today had already been a long day, and the second half promised to to feel at least its match. Keme could handle long days. Even if her long days were usually in the field hunting down Imps rather than anywhere near as posh as the Senate Tower. That wasn’t what had her near to pacing a hole in the floor, though. Nor was the culprit her renewed righteous fury at the reminder of all that could be laid at her (former) CO’s feet. That honor belonged to the revelation no one involved in the hearing--including witnesses--was allowed to leave this wing of the Tower until the conclusion of the day’s proceedings. 

Her past had given Keme a hair trigger to even the suggestion of confinement, and there were no windows in this wing. Which meant, ironically, the lunch recess was proving the most interminable part of this whole ordeals for her. And she’d spent two hours testifying this morning.

“Hey.” A hand on her arm stopped the current loop and Aric’s furrowed brow as he caught her eye made his concern plain. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like feeling trapped,” Keme said tightly, bobbing her head toward the security personnel posted by the door and keeping a casual eye on the relevant parties, then flashed a grim smile. “Funny how claustrophobic a building this kriffing huge can be. ‘Specially with all eyes on me.” She was the whistleblower, so to speak. The one loud enough, important enough to get something done.

He studied her a moment, then waited until the closer guard glanced away to tug her down one of the narrow side halls. “Come on.”

“Aric, someone will come looking--”

“Not for a few minutes at least, just trust me.” His hand slid down her arm til their fingers linked by habit.

She did, so she followed without a further word down the hall past the ‘freshers and then through another turn until he tucked the two of them into an even more concealed vestibule, his hands coming to rest on her biceps.

“Just focus on me. There’s no one back here but us,” Aric said softly, and Keme nodded. That was easily done with him so close. Not to mention how damn good he looked in uniform.

She rested her hands on his chest and took a deep breath. Let it out. “Sorry. Two years in a cage-”

“Not something you need to apologize for, Keme,” he all but growled as he pulled her into a hug. “Or explain. I’m sorry it’s playing out like this.”

“No, it’s alright.” Keme leaned against him, drawing strength from the solid support. “I knew what testifying would entail when we agreed and it’s worth it.”

It was. A nineteen year old. A pacifist. Two best friends...

She looked up at him, still enjoying the circles he’d started rubbing on her back. “I even understand the caution to avoid something happening to us. It's just overwhelming to have so many people watching us, I guess. Not used to so much oversight,” she joked darkly. “Especially when we can’t leave.”

What she’d give to hide in her cabin on the Starbreaker for a couple hours...

“No one’s watching us right now,” Aric murmured, thumb absently tracing one scar along her cheek.

“And thank you for that,” Keme whispered, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as she shuffled closer. “It means a lot knowin’ you’ve got my back.”

“Anytime, boss,” he returned, voice low and rough, before leaning in to close the gap and kiss her.

Keme pushed up on her toes, trusting the secrecy of this vestibule enough to only half-suppress her purring growl of satisfaction when his fingers dug into her hair and hers tightened on his collar in response.

“Just don’t know how long we have,” he mumbled when they parted for air.

“Guess we better make the most of it then, huh?” she murmured back, one hand sliding around the back of his neck to pull him in for round two.

Aric rumbled something that might have been an amused ‘Yes, sir,’ and kissed her back. She was very handily distracted from any feeling of being trapped.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 292: You Say Jeans

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “well anyway here’s that Touya reveal I foreshadowed like a million years ago, viva la 2020.” Dabi was all “hello world, I’ve killed 30 people and today I’m going to explain to you all why” before he proceeded to explain ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but everyone was so distracted by his tale of child abuse and hero conspiracies that they didn’t much seem to notice. Can’t Ya See-Kun’s Shark Friend was all “IS THIS THE END OF HERO SOCIETY AS WE KNOW IT”, and Horikoshi was all “STAY TUNED”, and then Dabi set himself on fire and leaped off of Machia’s back like the chaotic evil, I-just-bleached-all-my-brain-cells weird little fire man he is, ready to burn everyone to crispy bits before they could even react properly to his whole big revenge speech. Fortunately he did not succeed on account of THE RETURN OF THE JING, THE JOAT, BEST FUCKING JEANIST, back from the dead by popular demand in what critics are calling “the best fucking comeback since Jesus himself.”

Today on BnHA: Best Jeanist snatches up Machia and the rest of the League with his fiber steel cables before you can say “more like BEAST JEANIST amirite.” Dabi gets all worked up and lights Hadou on fire which is a real JERK MOVE, and is all “THIS RIGHT HERE IS ALSO ENDEAVOR’S FAULT”, which, NOT SUPER CONVINCED ON THAT, BUT OKAY. Anyway so then he burns up all the cables holding him which is crazeballs btw, and then he and Shouto start fighting, and so basically the whole thing is a literal hot mess and we’ll see how that goes. Meanwhile Tomura wakes up and summons some Noumus, and poor Jeanist has to deal with those on top of the still-attempting-to-rampage Gigantomachia, and everyone else is all “we can’t help you on account of we’re all half dead”, and so it’s looking really bad. And then -- and I can’t stress enough how much I don’t even have the faintest idea how to segue into this next part -- the chapter ends with Mirio!?! just sort of POPPING UP OUT OF THE GROUND all, “SURPRISE, BITCH”, and it literally was so surprising that I am still just kind of speechless. WELL-PLAYED, I GUESS, lol wtf.

lol okay so the first page in the RHA scan is just the “three musketeers” movie promo image that we all already saw a few days ago. but it does confirm that (a) it is indeed a movie, and (b) that it’s set for a summer 2021 release! how exciting

okay so now back to our special Dabi edition of Making a Murderer

“ray of hope” oh hell yes. SAVE US MR. JEANIST

I guess he had a TV in his private hero jet or something?

gotta say, “dammit Dabi” does not even remotely sound like Authentic Best Jeanist Dialogue to me though. gonna need Caleb to see to this. well but what do you guys think? does Best Jeanist curse?? I personally feel like he’s one of those guys who NEVER EVER swears no matter what, except under the most hilariously trifling circumstances. like he’s eating an avocado one day and he accidentally stains the cuffs of his beloved jostume green and he’s all “FUCK”

btw how fucking rich is Best Jeanist though that he has his own fucking plane? the thought just suddenly occurred to me, you know? like even Endeavor, whose agency has its own on-site luxury apartment suites for all of his interns, still drives around in a dinky little car that Bakugou has declared to be too small. which, I guess we know why he felt that way now, seeing as the guy he previously interned with apparently gets around in Jeans Force One

anyway so back to the part where Jeanist shows up to save the day!! YEAH JEANIST WOOOOO

ILU JEANIST YOU REALLY ARE THE BEST!! HUGS AND KISSES!!!

lmao we just saw Gigantomachia take out like a hundred guys not ten chapters ago. and Best Jeanist shows up and takes him down in like two seconds. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES LEAGUE OF VILLAINS. BET YOU’RE WISHING YOU’D TAKEN HIS QUIRK NOW, AFO. GET FUCKED YOU OLD SPUD

KACCHAN IS SO HAPPY TO SEE HIM AWW

SIDE NOTE, IIDA, YOU AND I ARE GONNA HAVE WORDS LATER ABOUT YOU ACTUALLY AGREEING TO PUT HIM BACK DOWN. YOU DO UNDERSTAND THAT THIS CHILD IS STILL DRIPPING BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE FROM HIS MULTIPLE STAB WOUNDS, RIGHT? WAY TO ASSERT YOUR AUTHORITY THERE. I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE CLASS PRESIDENT NOT THE CLASS CLOWN, COME ON NOW

LMAO DABI IS FRANTICALLY TRYING TO DO THE PLOT MATH

SHOULDA CHECKED MORE CLOSELY MY GOOD MARK. LOOKS LIKE YOU MISSED THE “MADE IN CHINA” STICKER ON THE BOTTOM. YOU HAVE BEEN BAMBOOZLED. OR ACTUALLY, I GUESS THE MORE ACCURATE WORD HERE IS JAMBOOZLED, AHAHAHAHA. JEANS

HOLY SHIT DABI

I legit almost thought that was Tomura for a second. you two look so alike now with the white hair and the crazy eyes

meanwhile, Shouto is still crying and it’s a lot to take, you guys. lotta feels

ffff come on Jeanist you better do something awesome again here, the mood of the chapter is starting to slip now

YES, GOOD, THAT’LL WORK

WELL YOU TELL ME, SPINNER. I GUESS THAT MEANS BEST JEANIST IS OFFICIALLY THE STRONGEST CHARACTER IN THE SERIES NOW. SORRY I DON’T MAKE THE RULES

ffff now Spinner is trying to wake Tomura back up. nah, how’s about we not do that

OH MY GOD HADOU YESSSS

MY GIRL OUT HERE WITH THE “NO THANK YOU” BOUT TO CURBSTOMP THE BIG BAD WITH HER QUIRK KSFHLKLK WHO HERE HAD “HADOU SAVES THE DAY” ON YOUR WAR ARC BINGO CARDS, YOU LOVE TO SEE IT!!

HEY!!!!

fucking son of a... fffkfkff... someone please reassure me that fire isn’t Hadou’s weakness. someone. anyone. also could someone please dial an ambulance and send them to Horikoshi’s house. but not just yet. first I’m gonna need you to wait about fifteen minutes or so while I take care of some things

well all right then, Dabi. so you wanna go on then and explain to us all how this, too, is somehow Endeavor’s fault?

oh I see, you’ve decided that since he’s responsible for “creating” you, everyone you hurt and kill is in truth really being hurt and killed by him! well now, that sure is convenient as fuck I guess

(ETA: that’s a nice effect with the panel sides getting all warped by Dabi’s quirk though, just noticed that.)

amazing how quickly you used up that sympathy card my guy. Shouto please kick his ass, I’m fucking done lol, you can all sort out the rest in therapy later

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE DIAL BACK DEKU’S EMPATHY STATS JUST A LITTLE BIT, HOLY --

“TODOROKI-KUN IS HURT THE MOST”, HE SAYS, WITH HIS ARM BONES SHATTERED INTO LITTLE TOOTHPICK-SIZED PIECES. I MEAN, HE’S PROBABLY TALKING MORE ABOUT MENTAL ANGUISH GIVEN THE CONTEXT HERE, BUT STILL. THAT’S ENOUGH HEROICS FROM YOU ALREADY FOR ONE DAY

NOOO JEANIST

LOTS OF SMOKE IN THE AIR RIGHT ABOUT NOW AND MY BOY’S STILL DOWN A LUNG. GOD DAMMIT

“if the number one suffers a total loss here, this country will fall to pieces” well okay, real talk though, I think the “country falling to pieces” part is pretty much unavoidable at this juncture. you all are just gonna have to try your best to pick up those pieces after the fact and see what you can do with them. if I were you I’d be less worried about the number one’s reputation and more concerned with the half-dozen child soldier interns who are still on the field and very much at risk of being burned to death should you suffer that “total loss.” please try to keep it together here for them

OH FOR FUCK’S

I really thought RockLockRock was gonna come into play here. USE YOUR QUIRK TO LOCK THE ROPES IN PLACE YOU DIP!! if he seriously just sits there and does nothing when his quirk could be the deciding factor I am cancelling his useless ass cute kid or no cute kid shfkjdls

(ETA: is he even there?? did he and Manual just hightail it out of there?? “well good luck, children.”)

also, we’ll put this aside for now to perhaps speculate about later, but what’s with Tomura remembering his dad’s house yet again in that far right panel?? and being itchy again?? I still have yet to fully work out the psychological mechanisms at work as far as his itchiness goes, so I’ll admit this is intriguing to me. it seemed like it was connected to his decay quirk, but then why is it acting up again now. what is this lol

yuh oh

forgot about these guys. looks like these heroes aren’t having such a fun time

oh fucksticks

excuse me ma’am but I don’t like this. you do know that my kids are all there, right. all burnt and impaled and broken-boned and the like. well except for Iida. he’s fine still. BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I FEEL LIKE WATCHING HIM GET TORN APART BY FOUR HIGH ENDS, WTF

HORIKOSHI YOU MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD

god fucking... okay look. Horikoshi. you win, okay!? congratulations, you win, this is your show and we’re all just sitting here at your mercy. fine. go ahead and just kill off everyone ever, then!! what am I even gonna do about it. stop reading?? fuck

this whole thing really went from zero to fucked before I could even blink huh. I really thought this was gonna be a turning point chapter for the heroes. shows what I know I guess??

meanwhile this motherfucker is just SCREAMING

ngl, if I wasn’t currently terrified on account of things suddenly taking such a drastic turn for the worse, this would be the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Jeanist my man, I hype you up like it’s my job because you are the greatest fucking meme character in the history of time, but make no mistake, you are also highkey WORTH ALL THE HYPE AND THEN SOME

seriously, though. don’t fucking mind him you guys, he’s just standing here in the coolest pose of all time taking on Gigantomachia all alone with one fucking lung because the substance pumping through his veins is COLD-BLOODED LIQUID DENIM, and DENIM FEELS NO FEAR

Best Jeanist really needs to get his own theme song. -- oh my god I just finally thought of a title for this post. lmao and it’s the dumbest thing. omg

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKI BROS ARE OFF IN THEIR OWN DRAMATIC LITTLE FIRE WORLD

which one do you think is the Mario and which is the Luigi. well, but I mean, Dabi clearly thinks that he’s the Luigi though and that’s why he’s so mad. nobody wants to be Luigi. what a life

THAT’S IT, SHOUTO!! POINT OUT ALL OF HIS HYPOCRITICAL BULLSHIT, I WANT ANSWERS

JUST TO CLARIFY, IT’S THAT NATSU, NOT SOME OTHER NATSU!! SO WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!!

OH, WELL IN THAT CASE

BUT OF COURSE. THAT WOULD MAKE IT ALL WORTHWHILE, holy shit. okay I’m just gonna go ahead and say it, Dabi is a piece of work. I really thought this arc would make him more sympathetic at long last, but it seems like it’s doing just the opposite?? this is like an anti-redemption arc. I don’t relish the thought of venturing into the fandom tags once I finish reading this lol

(ETA: well folks, I’ve done it. and actually it was pretty interesting because there are apparently like ten different things that people are mad about, and so it’s like. each post is a new adventure lmao.)

so Shouto is all “BRUH HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST IT” and Dabi is all “YES”, basically? like, he says he’s completely lost his feeling for anything. omg. but you were so sweet. how does that even happen

“finally I can kill you” okay for real what the heck is your damage bro?? can we not. I like Shouto just the way he is, un-killed

oh shit and now the Noumus are here

cue Bakugou diving in to save his mentor, STAB WOUNDS BE DAMNED!! actually it would make more sense for it to be Iida, but if Kacchan is really fixin’ to go full Shounen Dumbass here then he might as well go all out, y’know

-- unless of course, Deku decides to activate another quirk??

“last I checked, the main character of this series was still me” OH? WELL I SUPPOSE THAT IS TRUE, SO PRAY TELL, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT LEFT UP YOUR SLEEVE YOU SUICIDAL BRUSSELS SPROUT

fucking love how he’s all “HAHAHA WITH MY NEW QUIRKS I CAN STILL DO STUPID SHIT EVEN WITH MY ARMS AND LEGS GROUND TO A FINE POWDER” btw. what can I say. Deku gonna Deku

FMMFHDKUHK W H A T

HOLY SHIT. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. WHAT THE WHAT. QUE THE FUCK

(ETA: okay look, all the love in the world to the brave scanlators who take time out of their lives to translate the leaks every week just so we can read the chapter a couple of days early like the addicts we are. that said, translating Mirio’s signature “POWER!!” -- which was already written in English in the original scan -- to “POG-CHAMP” is just a whole new level of wtfuckery from them lmao. is the Lida person back at it again?? amazing.)

MIRIO!?!?! SHOWS UP TO SAVE THE DAY?!?! POGS HIMSELF UP OUT THE GROUND TO BEAT THE NOUMUS LIKE IT AIN’T NO THING. JUST LIKE WE ALL PREDICTED!? I’M SORRY, DID YOU NOT SEE THAT COMING?? YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOUR DAILY HOROSCOPE FROM ASTROLOGY DOT COM DIDN’T HAVE THAT ONE IN THE CARDS?? WAS IT NOT OBVIOUS?? TODOROKIS PLUS BEST JEANIST EQUALS MIRIO??

hot damn. Tintin really saw the writing on the wall with the impending Dabi Discourse and was all “NOT SO FAST” lmao. “HERE’S A BRAND NEW THING FOR YOU ALL TO DISCOURSE ABOUT” MIRIO YOU WILD CHILD. YOU GLORIOUS THUG

MEANWHILE LET’S NOT FORGET WHAT MIRIO HAVING HIS POWERS BACK ACTUALLY IMPLIES. HOLY SHIT. SUDDENLY WE CUT BACK TO ALL MIGHT’S OFFICE, ALL THE WAY BACK AT UA. ERI BRANDISHES HER TOKOYAMI-GIFTED BUSTER SWORD, A DETERMINED GLEAM IN HER EYE. “I HEARD YOU WERE TRYING TO HAVE A GIRL POWER ARC WITHOUT ME.” OH. MY. GOD

[sineala]

Captain America: The Great Gold Steal

I wrote this up last week because I did not have access to my usual comics files but I figured I could review something that was just a book. So here is a review of the 1968 Captain America novel Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White, with an introduction by Stan Lee. I really liked it, actually! It was surprisingly good!

This novel features: Cover art of Captain America holding his shield in one hand and a very large gun in the other! A scene where the villains dramatically unmask Captain America and have absolutely no idea who he is! Captain America being extremely, extremely depressed about being in the future! Captain America dropping acid!

(I'm not kidding about the last part. In this novel there is a lot of LSD use. By Captain America. Talk about something the Comics Code wouldn't ever let you put in a comic book. Thank you, 1968.)

Faithful readers may remember that some time ago I posted reviews of Marvel prose novels from the 1970s. There was a line of prose novels featuring everyone's favorite Marvel superheroes, published by Pocket Books in the late 70s; I have reviews of the Iron Man, Captain America, and Avengers entries in the series; I liked the Iron Man one best, and I also have a Doctor Strange one I have not yet read. They're all short and action-packed paperback reads, of varying quality; the only one by anyone you might have heard of is the Avengers one, which was written by David Michelinie, who was actually writing the Avengers run at the time. That one was, um. An experience. 

(Yes, it's "prose novel" because otherwise the assumption is "graphic novel.")

Marvel still publishes prose novels now, of course, also of varying quality; some are new plots and some are straight-up novelizations of comics arcs, which I guess is useful if you want to, say, read Civil War and not look at pictures at the same time. I also have a bunch of those that I could probably review if anyone wants. But, anyway, I personally am particularly intrigued by the older Marvel prose novels, both because the stories are all original and not retellings, and also because I often prefer the characterization found in older comics. And the older prose novels of course use the then-current characterization. So reading a Marvel prose novel from 1979 is like getting to read a brand-new comic from 1979, and that's a whole lot of fun for a nerd like me. Also do you know what's not subject to the Comics Code? Prose novels. So things can happen in these that definitely could not happen in comics of the same era.

This brings me to my current prose novel, which is something else entirely. I mean, okay, not really, it's still a Marvel prose novel. But it's not part of the same line. It's actually a lot older.

Bantam Books actually published Marvel prose novels in the late 60s. Yep, a full decade earlier. They published exactly two, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that they were probably not bestsellers. The first one, which I do not own and now sort of want to track down, was an Avengers novel in 1967, The Avengers Battle the Earth-Wrecker. And then in 1968 they published the novel I am currently holding in my hands, Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White.

(I am still not sure why no one involved in titling this book thought of the word "theft.")

Judging by the back copy, it appears to be about Captain America foiling the villains' dastardly plan to steal gold from the Federal Reserve. Oh boy. Fun.

So this book is from 1968. The modern Marvel universe had kicked off just a few short years ago! Captain America was just getting his own solo book after the end of Tales of Suspense! And here's a novel about him, back when certain elements of his characterization were perhaps a little more flexible than they are today, by which I mean that the cover art -- which the internet informs me was painted by Mitchell Hooks -- is a striking full-body portrait of Captain America, head held high, shield in one hand... and a very large gun in the other. Hell, yeah. Not gonna see that in today's Cap comics, are you? It's amazing and I love it.

(Okay, you might see that in Ults. I'm pretty sure I have seen that in Ults, actually. But this is still cool.)

So the cover art is a definite plus, and apparently it's one of the few reasons anyone has ever heard of this novel. The other reason -- and the reason this is more expensive than the later novels, I assume -- is that Stan Lee's name is slapped on the cover, because he wrote an introduction. (I think I paid about $30 for this. The others were definitely under $20.)

All right. Here we go.

The first page is actually a brief summary of Steve's origin story, but not a version I was familiar with. Steve was born July 9, 1917 (yes, I was surprised too), was orphaned at a young age, and was a student at Columbia University (!) before Rebirth, which in this version is a gradual process that is also extremely body-horror. Steel tubing was inserted into the marrows of his bones. He was fed "high-protein compounds." Then they gave him a chemical that "gave him complete control over every nerve, muscle, and cell in his now-magnificent body." Sweet. Where can I get some of that?

The blurb also confirms his control over his own metabolism as well as his healing factor ("wounds would heal in half the normal time"), which is nice, because sometimes I wonder if canon even remembers the healing factor.

(I don't know why Marvel has this kink for filling people's bones with metal, though. It's not actually empty in there, guys! You need your bone marrow! How else do you want people to make new blood cells?)

The book is dedicated to "Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, without whom there would be no Captain America." Hey, Marvel, Joe Simon would like a word with you. I'm just saying.

The Stan Lee introduction is three paragraphs written in Stan Lee's, um, inimitable, distinctive and extremely florid narrative style -- if you've read any of his work, you know what I mean -- and making the point that Captain America is incredible and you will like him. If you are just discovering him for the first time, you will definitely like him. Okay. Thanks. I guess.

Oddly, the writing style here is substantially different than any of the other Marvel prose novels I've read; it doesn't immediately front-load you with exposition and a cast of colorful superheroes. It opens with a sort of James Bond spy-novel feel, running through a series of unnamed villains and bystanders, and a man who wants nothing more than to talk to Captain America but is killed before he can. Steve comes in halfway through the chapter, and he seems to be written for a reader who doesn't necessarily know who he is, and he isn't introduced as Captain America with his shield flying ahead of him to smite evildoers, or anything like that. He's just a tall, handsome blond guy who is reading a bunch of novels and is unsatisfied by all of them because all he can think of is the past. It's definitely an attitude I would expect from Steve in this era -- he is very much a Man Out Of Time here -- but it's also not how I expected the book to introduce him. You wouldn't even know he was Captain America by the end of the opening chapter, which then ends with a digression about the history of NYC subway tunnels. It's like it wants to appeal to someone who has watched a bunch of Man from UNCLE and just wants to read a cool thriller. Which is not at all what I was expecting.

By the beginning of the second chapter, of course, we discover that Steve is Captain America, as he changes into his uniform. The narration refers to him as Rogers when it's in his POV, if anyone is curious. He apparently keeps the cowl off in the mansion, because the cowl annoys him.

It was not so much that he needed to conceal his identity these days, because for all intents and purposes he had no other identity. Steve Rogers was officially dead, and had been for almost twenty years. Captain America *was* his identity. It was only when he donned the tight-fitting blue uniform with its shield chest-emblem, the red snug-fitting leather boots, and the heavy, yet pressure-sensitive red-leather gauntlets, that he began to feel real -- a complete human being.

Steve? Buddy, are you okay there? You're really not okay, are you, huh?

You see what I mean? They're really hitting the early-canon angst. Hard.

(Also it sounds like his uniform is a few sizes too small.)

We then get an expanded version of the backstory from the beginning excerpt. In this version of canon, Steve actually has an older brother, Alan, who is handsome and athletic and basically amazing, and when they are orphaned they are raised by their aunt and uncle. Steve gets TB twice as a kid, nearly dies from it, and when the stock market crashes, ends up separated from his brother and in an orphanage after his uncle loses everything.

(Honestly if I were writing this book, his brother would be the secret villain. Chekhov's Gun!)

Steve has glasses, gets bullied, is a nerd and an honor student, and studies law at Columbia because he wants to help stop fraudulent business practices and also fight organized crime. Legally, I mean. In a manner relating to law. I guess he's sort of like Daredevil. The lawyer part of Daredevil.

And then he joins Rebirth, and this is the part where I had to put the book down for several minutes, because Erskine's secret chemical, the key to making super-soldiers... is LSD.

Oh my God. You should see my face right now. My expression is, I am sure, indescribable. I'm trying not to wake the dog up laughing.

I just. Holy shit. This book is from 1968 in a way I definitely was not expecting. What the fuck, Marvel?

This project was headed by the brilliant biochemist, Dr. Erskine. His work with the endocrine system, and chemical body control, was well beyond that of his contemporaries. Only he, of all his colleagues, had fathomed the secrets of the Swiss Dr. Hoffman's 1938 discovery -- the mind-controlling LSD-25.

Let's just pause here for a few minutes and contemplate this.

I will point out that Albert Hofmann (yes, the book spelled his name wrong) didn't actually discover that LSD was a hallucinogen until 1943 when he accidentally tried it, but I am positive that 1968 here was a time when Some People were convinced LSD was a wonder drug. I'm still laughing. As far as I can tell, legal manufacturing of it stopped in 1965 so I am pretty sure that the author did not just decide to name a drug that had an ostensible legal therapeutic use, because it wouldn't have still had one by '68.

Anyway, in this version of events, Rebirth is a month-long process that involves a lot of vitamins, physical conditioning and training, and, yes, putting metal in his bones like he's the next Wolverine. They're filling his bones with stainless steel rods to make him stronger. That doesn't seem like a great idea to me, but I am also not sure about dropping acid to gain superpowers. Clearly I am not a genius scientist. Also Erskine knows what DNA is, apparently, because he's just that great. Anyway. Other than the metal, those all seem like relatively normal interventions. So far.

Now Steve has become fairly big and strong (and I guess he still has metal in his bones? this concerns me!) but they need to make him superhuman, so, yes, really, it's time to drop acid. Several pages of this book are devoted to describing Steve's acid trip. His acid trip is amazing and he discovers that he has conscious control of his entire body down to the cellular level. He can control the adrenaline in his bloodstream! He can tighten his muscle fibers! And when he's done tripping he still remembers how to do this, if not exactly on a conscious level, but he can still access the abilities. And that is how you make a super-soldier. It's LSD. Remember, kids, drugs are awesome! Do drugs!

Let's maybe take a few more minutes to think about this.

I just. I have no words. How did anyone at Marvel agree to print this?

I think for the most part superhero origin stories tend not to involve real drugs because people are generally aware that drugs they've heard of won't make you into a superhero. I guess this is what it looks like when you invoke the names of real drugs. They probably wanted something that sounded more realistic but somehow I don't think this was the best way to go. (Radiation, of course, will definitely make you into a superhero but I feel like most people have accepted that as one of the conventions of the genre.)

Anyway, after that Erskine gets killed by Nazis, of course, and Steve goes to war, and for some reason this book contains footnotes by Stan Lee himself listing the comics you can read all of this in. Just like the actual comics do!

We are introduced to Bucky, who for some reason is also from the LES in this version, although not anyone Steve knew before the war, and there is of course a description of Bucky's tragic death and Steve's subsequent icing.

They are really, really stressing the Man Out Of Time thing here:

No other man could have survived so fantastic a voyage through time. And no other man could feel so displaced by time.

He was a man twenty years in his own future. By rights, he should be nearly fifty years old -- nearly twice the age of his fellow Avengers. Yet his mind and his body were not yet thirty.

When the Avengers had brought him back to New York with them and insisted that, as an honored hero of the past, he join them, he felt a sort of melancholy homesickness for his own time and world.

We then get a few paragraphs with the usual being sad that he let Bucky down and got him killed, and also that he misses his family, and that Steve Rogers doesn't exist anymore, and that nobody is alive who remembers him, and that war is hell.

Hey, Steve, maybe the drugs you should do are antidepressants. Just a thought.

Also, this book is 118 pages and we're not out of the origin story flashback until page 34. I think there are some pacing issues here.

Actually, I lied, the flashback keeps going, but now we're up to the Avengers finding him, and I have to say that the list of things Steve finds strange about the future is kind of charming when the future is 1968. Men have long hair! Women have shorter skirts! Everyone is kind of blasé about rocket launches because there have been so many space missions now. (Oh, come on, you haven't even landed on the moon yet, 1968! You're not that blasé.) Color TV! And, excitingly, LPs! You can now listen to 36 minutes of consecutive music. (I actually don't know what previous standard he's describing that is a ten-inch record that holds six minutes a side because I don't think 45s are that big. Yeah, no, I just checked and 45s are seven inches in diameter. Hmm. Oh, never mind. He means 78 rpm, doesn't he? In my defense, the record player my family had when I was a kid didn't play those.)

The description of Steve coming into New York for the first time is definitely written by someone who knows New York, which is fun. There is generally a lot of local flavor to the setting of this book. That’s one of the best parts.

There is a brief summary of Steve's feelings about all the Avengers -- he is most impressed by Thor, which, I mean, fair, he's an actual god -- and Hank telling him all about how he can live in Tony's mansion. With Jarvis. Who Hank says is actually from Flatbush. Apparently Steve spent a lot of time at the NYPL branch at 5th and 42nd trying to catch up on history. And then of course the Avengers ditched him and gave him the Kooky Quartet, and for some reason they're not here right now either so it's just Steve being sad and alone and dealing with this mysterious dead guy. I think probably the book is also done explaining fiat currency now. This is definitely the weirdest Marvel novel I've read.

Anyway, we have now returned to what is ostensibly the actual plot. Steve shows up at the New York Federal Reserve Bank (I guess the theft is happening here and not, like, at Fort Knox) with the gold bullion that the dead guy from the beginning of the book had on him -- I think I got distracted by the LSD bit and forgot to mention that part, but the dead guy was carrying some US government gold -- because the actual plot is that villains are trying to tunnel into the bank vault and steal gold. Steve discovers this after he gets the bank manager to give him a tour. The bank manager tries to refuse, citing security concerns -- Captain America could be anyone under that mask, after all! Steve just smiles and says, "If I removed my mask, would you have any better idea of who I am?" and I guess that's a flawless argument because he gets his tour.

(I'm sorry, all I can think of is that one gif from the JLA cartoon where Lex Luthor bodyswaps with the Flash, announces that now that he's in the Flash's body he's going to discover the Flash's secret identity, then pulls off his own mask, stares at himself in the mirror, and says, "I have no idea who this is.")

Given that the theme of Steve's interior life in this novel is "Steve Rogers died twenty years ago" it seems even more sad that Steve is just walking around basically saying, yeah, well, I'm nobody. And apparently that is being reaffirmed for him by the narrative.

So Steve goes down the tunnels, takes out some of the bad guys, and gets himself knocked out and buried in a collapsing tunnel. Don't worry, he's gonna be fine.

A lot of this book, by the way, is from the POV of random people, like this bank guard who went with Steve into the tunnels:

He had wondered, briefly, if a man like Captain America ever knew the pinch of too many bills, had ever felt desperate over the arrival of yet another mouth to feed. But, of course, Captain America had no family, and would hardly concern himself with such matters. It didn't occur to Thompson to wonder if this in itself might not be something for which to pity Captain America.

Rude. I mean, come on, do we really need random characters telling us Steve is a sad sack whom nobody loves? Steve's already got that covered!  (Also, how does this guy know Captain America has no family?)

Anyway, thanks to the power of LSD, Steve is going into a trance, amping up his metabolism (he loses "several pounds" in a few minutes), and making himself super-strong so he can dig himself out. Hooray. This is definitely how human bodies work. Also LSD. This is definitely how LSD works. Yes.

Steve then finds out that a couple of the guards who were with him in the tunnels died down there and he goes home and eats dinner while stewing in miserable guilt because he was responsible for their deaths. He's really not okay. I'm not sure the book actually understands how not okay they have made him. Then someone from SHIELD is on the phone for him and he is briefly cheered up by the thought that it might be Sharon although I think we should also note that the narrative makes it clear that at this point in canon Steve still doesn't know her name. Remember when that was a thing?

Alas, it is not Sharon; it's just a random SHIELD agent who happens to have information about the plot and asks to meet. Then, as Steve leaves to go to the meeting, we get two pages of exhaustive description about the mansion layout and how it's built relative to the surrounding buildings. It feels like this book was written by a frustrated city planner. But anyway, the meeting is a setup and the villains capture Steve.

They knock Steve out, drug him, take him to their hideout, and tie him to a chair. Except, once again thanks to the power of LSD, the tranquilizer they're using wears off way sooner than they expected and so Steve feigns unconsciousness and listens to them discuss their evil plans.

And then the villains unmask him and I swear it's exactly like that JLA gif:

Rogers heard footsteps scuffing across a thick carpet, and then Sparrow's voice again, almost directly over him. His ears still buzzed, but he fought to catch the elusive familiarity of the man's tone. He wished he dared open his eyes.

"This is a moment which I, personally, have long awaited," Sparrow said, his voice rising in triumph. "*The unmasking of Captain America!*"

Then, his nails scraping along Rogers' face, Sparrow dug his fingers under his cowl, and ripped it back. Rogers felt air strike his exposed cheeks and forehead. Then fingers clutched his blond hair and pulled his head back. "Behold!" Sparrow said.

Raven was first to speak. "Well, I dunno about you, Sparrow, but it rings no bells with me. I never seen him before."

Starling agreed. "His face means nothing to me."

"He could be anybody," said Robin. "What good does this do?"

Sparrow let Rogers' head fall back to his chest, and his voice when he spoke was defeated. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I always wondered. I felt, if these guys -- these costumed heroes -- wore masks, it must mean something."

"Captain America was missing for twenty years," Starling said. "That could mean the first one died, and this one took his place. He looks awfully young."

"Perhaps. It doesn't really matter. Let's get going."

(Yes, the villains all have bird-themed codenames. I have no idea why.)

This scene just makes my day. I love dramatic unmaskings. I bet they'd have been a lot happier unmasking Iron Man.

The villains then leave Steve and go to a power plant, where we switch POVs to one of the plant employees and get two entirely unnecessary paragraphs about his racist and anti-Semitic thoughts about his coworkers before the villains murder him. Great. Thanks.

Anyway, the villains cause a blackout, while meanwhile they've left Steve alone with the girl villain, and Steve is busy trying to persuade her that crime doesn't pay. He's moved from the "do you know what they'll do to you in prison?" theme onto "how exactly are you going to spend a billion dollars in gold bullion when it's illegal for civilians to possess? who are you going to do business with?" and then points out that gold is heavy and hard to transport, which is when she gets out a a knife.

The bad guys are off to steal the gold, and Steve has now successfully turned the girl they left him with, because she frees him. Of course, the first thing he does is put the cowl back on.

"Why do you wear that?" she asked.

"The mask?" He smiled. "It gives people something external to concentrate upon."

"But..."

"Without it, I'm just another ordinary-looking man. With it, I become a symbol. For some people it creates awe; for others, fear. Look at me. I'm different now, aren't I? With the mask on."

"Yes," she nodded. "You look -- bigger, somehow. Stronger. Fierce, implacable. You look a little scary."

"Exactly. You no longer see me as a person, but as a thing -- an Avenger. It can be a potent psychological weapon."

"They were so disappointed, when they took your mask off. As though underneath they'd find a famous person."

"Maybe that goes on TV -- handsome playboys, and all that. But I've been anonymous all my life. Even my real name would be meaningless to you, to them. No, the mask is part of the uniform, a psychological device. That's the whole story.

Now: let's get out of here. You have a good deal more to tell me yet, and we can't waste more time."

Bwahaha. In a few years, Steve's going to be pretty surprised about who superheroes are, I think.

STEVE, now: Superheroes definitely aren't secretly handsome playboys! That would be silly! STEVE, after Molecule Man: fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK I'm such an idiot

I'm definitely looking forward to that.

Also, not that the issue of Steve's psyche actually recurs after this, but he's once again having the narrative vindicate his belief that Steve Rogers is dead and whoever he is under the cowl doesn't matter. Steve, I don't think this is very healthy.

Steve then tracks down the villains stealing the gold, has some geopolitical thoughts about where the gold could be going (he thinks either South Africa or Russia for the best laundering potential) and then hides himself in the villains' trunk while they drive to Staten Island, which is where they're taking the gold out of the country from.

During the final confrontation, Steve finally gets to see the villains, and he discovers that the one in charge is in fact the director of the Federal Reserve Bank who Steve met at the beginning of this book. Gasp. But that's not all! He's also... the Red Skull!

Honestly, I was kind of surprised; I didn't think this was the kind of book where we'd get any known comic villains, but I guess it's always gotta be the Red Skull. I think he's the only one of Steve's big villains who likes to disguise himself; Zemo has obvious disguise issues and I imagine it's also hard to cover up Zola's Teletubby-esque television body.

Steve shoots one of the villains, because I guess that's what he does in this era of canon.

So the plot wraps up in, like, two pages, because for some reason all these early Marvel novels wrap up very fast. Red Skull, of course, attempts to escape and then disappears and his body is never found. The end.

Well.

That was definitely a book. That I read. Believe it or not, I actually think it was the best of these early Marvel prose novels that I've read so far, even if it was also the absolute weirdest; I thought the thriller-style plot was entertaining, I liked Steve and his Extremely Sad characterization, I obviously enjoy all the identity themes, I liked how very detailed the New York setting was, and I do like how they tried to treat it all seriously. I mean, sure, this did lead to LSD in the super-soldier serum in presumably the name of realism, but I felt like the book was trying to present superheroes in a way that didn't feel silly and also didn't really take for granted that the reader would automatically accept superheroes.

It felt like a book that was written hoping that people who weren't superhero fans would read it, if that makes any sense. And I thought that was interesting, because most modern superhero work that I can think of assumes they've got complete audience buy-in and everyone is willing to suspend their disbelief and we all know the genre conventions and are expecting people running around in brightly-colored spandex. Whereas this is more like a James Bond novel if for some reason James Bond were called upon to defend his decision to wear brightly-colored spandex instead of bespoke suits. But I assume no one read it, because Bantam never published a Marvel book after this one.

If you can actually find a copy of this one for a price you're willing to pay. I recommend it. It was delightful and way more solid than I thought it was going to be.

Also, come on, you know you want to read about Captain America's acid trip.

[babypandawrites]

Allies, Pt. 11

The Siege of the North, Part One

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: General War Things, Injury, Getting Knocked in the Head Word Count: 2,625 Summary: With the Fire Nation launching a huge attack on the Northern Water Tribe, and Zuko trying to take the Avatar, things do not go well.

Note: This is honestly one of my... worse chapters- but we can pretend its not :’) I was struggling a lot with some of the parts and ended up having to make them super rushy so sorry about that- Also! I have made a poll relating to the story that I would appreciate you guys answer! I’ll be tagging post relating to the series with #book one allies ! And on an absolutely unrelated note, support the ATLA Fan Musical Project! The team working on it is super talented and all the songs they’ve put out so far are amazing! Katherine Lynn-Rose is one of the leading team members and has some of the songs up on her YouTube channel, along with a link to the ATLM discord server! Which you guys should totally join, it’s super chill and supportive! 

-Navigation- | -Atla Masterlist- -Last Part- | -Allies Masterlist- | -Next Part- 

Taglist: @boomeraangin | @brokennerdalert

“So, this is where you’ve been spending all your time.”  “Huh?!”  The sudden voice startled Y/n, causing her to lose her balance from where she stood on a raised stool. Sokka slid behind her and caught her by wrapping his arms around her torso. Though with her feet still resting on the stool, it left her in kind of an awkward position.  Chuckling softly, he helped her get on her feet. “Sorry, didn’t think I’d catch you off guard.”  “It’s fine, thanks for the catch.”  Getting back up on the stool, Y/n grabbed the small rag she had tucked into her waist band, and used it to wipe down the top of a cabinet.  “When did you get a job?” Sokka poked around one of the clothing racks as he asked. “Why did you get a job?”  “The day after we got here and to make money, obviously. Kind of the point of a job.”  “Getting a job when we’re basically honored guests, makes sense.” Walking back over to her, he gently nudged the stool with his foot. “This thing doesn’t seem very stable.”  Looking at him with a glare, she smacked him in the shoulder with the rag she held. “It’s not, so maybe don't do that when I’m standing on it!”  “Sorry.”  Sighing, she went back to wiping down the cabinet, this time going for the top shelves. “And it’s not like I have anything better to do. I can only talk to Momo and Appa for so long until I start to feel like I’m going crazy.”  “Nothing better to do? You have friends, three of them, one of them standing right here!” He pointed to himself.  “You guys are always busy. Speaking of which, don’t you have an activity to do with Princess Yue?” She tried to ignore the weird knot in her stomach at the thought.  Sokka looked at her with a blank expression. “You're never going to let me live that down, are you?”  Laughing, Y/n hopped down from the stool. “Nope.”  “And for the record, I already saw Yue today…”  She raised an eyebrow at him, when he trailed off with a saddened tone. “You alright?”  “I’m fine. Just- It didn’t go well. I don’t wanna talk about it. How much longer are you gonna have to do your job?”  “Few more hours.”  Sokka let out a groan, as he turned to walk to the door. “Guess I’m hanging out with Momo today.”  “I’m sure he could use the company.” Y/n tossed the rag she had into a bin.  “Oh no.” She was about to go into the shop’s backroom, but stopped at hearing Sokka. Turning, she noticed he had frozen in the doorway. Furrowing her eyebrows she joined him at the door, looking over his shoulder.  “What is it?”  He kneeled down, and scooped up a handful of darkened snow. “Soot.”  Eyes widening, she jumped over him to get outside. Ash was falling from the sky rather than snow, and was starting to coat the ground. She held her hand out, gulping as ash started to gather in her palm. “Fire Nation.”  “Yeah, and by the looks of it, there’s a lot of them.” 

The pair had joined Katara and Aang at the citadel, the group currently sat on the building’s ground with their backs leaned against the wall.  “The day we have feared for so long has arrived. The Fire Nation is on our doorstep. It is with great sadness that I call my family here before me, knowing well that some of these faces are about to vanish from our tribe. But they will never vanish from our hearts. Now, as we approach the battle for our existence-” Chief Arnook raised his arms up. “-I call upon the great spirits! Spirit of the Ocean! Spirit of the Moon! Be with us!” He lowered his arms. “I’m going to need volunteers for a dangerous mission.”’ Sokka stood up from the ground. “Count me in.”  Katara looked at her brother with an expression of shock and worry. “Sokka!” Y/n shared the expression. “What are you doing?”  Several other men stood as well.  “Be warned. Many of you will not return. Come forward to receive my mark if you accept the task.”  The volunteers began to form a line in front of the Chief, each receiving a marking on their foreheads with a red paint.

A tense silence settled across the air, as the Northern Water Tribe awaited the Fire Nation's first attack. Several warriors lined up along the top of the tribe's wall, Y/n and the rest of her friends stood with them.  The wait was nearly suffocating.  A singular Fire Nation ship could be seen in the distance, but there were bound to be more out of sight. Gulping, Y/n’s hands clenched into fist. This was going to be a full scaled attack on a very powerful tribe, it would really be like nothing she’s had to face before. And honestly? It was kind of horrifying.  After a brief moment of waiting, the ship catapulted a huge fireball at the tribe's wall, crashing right through the middle of it. Several people were thrown back from the impact, along with the ice and debris from the wall. Y/n pushed herself from the ground, dusting the snow off her clothes, just in time to see more fire balls come over the city walls. 

Thus started the relentless attack on the Northern Water Tribe. 

As nightfall came upon them, the Fire Nation’s attacks stopped. Neither side had yet to win, and Y/n was sure that the attacks would continue at sunrise when firebending would have more power.  “They’ve stopped firing.” Yue said, as Y/n joined her and Katara on the citadel steps.  “For now.” She added.  When Appa flew in from the distance, Katara pointed at him. “Aang!”  The three ran down the citadel steps, to meet him at the plaza. Appa landed on his belly, clearly tired. Aang slid down from the bison’s saddle, sitting on the ground.  “I can’t do it.” Aang dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t do it.”  “What happened?” Katara asked.  “I must have taken out a dozen Fire Nation ships, but there’s just too many of them. I can’t fight them all.”  “But, you have to! You’re the Avatar!”  Y/n shot a glare at the Princess for that comment.  “I’m just one kid.” Aang buried his head into his arms, as Katara sat down next to him to comfort him. Kneeling to his side, Y/n reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. Eventually, the four gathered into one of the citadel’s rooms, moon light shone through the window.  “The legends say the moon was the first waterbender. Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves.” Yue explained, as she looked out at the moon.  Katara nodded along with her words. “I’ve always noticed my waterbending is stronger at night.”  “Our strength comes from the Spirit of the Moon, our life comes from the Spirit of the Ocean. They work together to keep balance.”  Aang perked up. “The Spirits! Maybe I can find them and get their help!”  “How can you do that?” “The Avatar is the bridge between our world and the Spirit World. Aang can talk to them!” Katara explained, answering Yue’s question.  Yue smiled hopefully. “Maybe they’ll give you the wisdom to win the battle!”  “Or, maybe they’ll unleash a crazy amazing spirit attack on the Fire Nation!” Aang widely opened his arms as he spoke. Though the look Katara and Yue gave him caused the boy to clasp his hands behind his back. “Or wisdom. That’s good too.”  Y/n leaned closer to Aang, putting a hand next to the side of her mouth to whisper secretly. “I thought it was a good idea- You should ask the spirits about a crazy amazing attack on the Fire Nation.”  Aang grinned at her, whispering back. “I will.”  “The only problem is, last time you got to the Spirit World by accident. How are you going to get there this time?”  “I have an idea, follow me.”  The three followed after Yue, as she led them to a courtyard behind the citadel, then to a wooden door.  “So is this the way to the Spirit World?”  Yue let out a quiet laugh at Aang’s question. “No, you’ll have to get there on your own-” She pushed the door open. “-But I can take you to the most spiritual place in the entire North Pole.”  Entering through the door, the group found themselves in an oasis of sorts. Unlike the rest of the North Pole, it wasn’t cold and covered in snow- It was rather warm actually, and there was a landing covered in grass. At the back of the chamber was a waterfall, which flowed into a long pool of water. Two wooden foot bridges led to the grassy landing. 

Aang ran across one of the bridges, laughing. He landed on the grass, rubbing it fondly. “I never thought I’d miss grass this much!”  Joining him on the landing, Y/n breathed out a laugh, slipping her coat off. “Ah- This is the kind of warmth I’ve missed.” It didn’t seem possible somewhere so warm was in the North Pole but- she wasn’t going to complain. This was great!  Shortly after them, Katara and Yue walked onto the landing as well, Katara smiling as she also took off her coat. “It’s so warm here! How is that possible?”  “It’s the center of all spiritual energy in our land.”  Momo skittered up to the pond, trying to grab the two fish that swam in it. One was black, the other white, they swam in a circle around each other. The three girls watched the lemur, before he ran away from the pond.  “You’re right, Yue. I can feel...something...it’s so… tranquil.” Aang sat down in front of the pond, his legs crossed. Closing his eyes, he closed his hands into fist and put his knuckles together to meditate.  Y/n moved to stand with Katara and Yue, as the Princess whispered. “Why is he sitting like that?”  “I think he’s meditating.” She whispered back.  “Yeah- he’s trying to cross over into the Spirit World. It takes all his concentration.” Katara added, also whispering. “Is there any way we can help?”  “How ‘bout some quiet?!” Aang turned to look at them. “C’mon guys! I can hear every word you’re saying!”  Cringing inwardly, Y/n mumbled a quiet sorry as the boy went back to trying to meditate. After a few moments, Aang’s eyes and tattoo’s started to glow white. Both Yue and Y/n looked at him in wonder.  “Is he okay?” The Princess asked.  “He’s crossing into the Spirit World. He’ll be fine as long as we don’t move his body. That’s his way back to the physical world.”  Y/n nodded in understanding at Katara’s words. “Neat..”  Yue started to walk away. “Maybe we should get some help?”  “No, he’s our friend. Y/n and I are perfectly capable of protecting him.”  “Yeah, we got this.”  “Well, aren’t you big girls now?” Zuko’s voice suddenly echoed softly through the area.  Gasping, Y/n turned to the source of his voice, along with Katara.  “No!” Zuko walked over one of the bridges towards them. “Yes! Hand him over, and I won’t have to hurt you.”  Katara and Y/n both took on fighting stances, as Yue ran away from the trio to not get caught in the crossfire. Zuko launched forward, sending several blasts of fire their way. Katara pulled water from the pond and used it to block the attacks, eventually shoving him backwards and knocking him to the ground.  Y/n didn’t drop her guard and was ready to jump in if she needed to, but she decided to hold back for now since Katara was handling things pretty well. Honestly, much better than she would be able too.  “I see you’ve learned a new trick. But I didn’t come this far to lose to you.” Getting up, Zuko fired another blast at them, which Katara easily blocked. She sent a stream of water at him, knocking him backwards again, before freezing the water beneath him. Katara raised a sphere of water from the pond behind Zuko, and encased him in it before freezing him entirely.  “You little peasant. You’ve found a master, haven’t you?” Zuko’s words were muffled by the ice. Right after he stopped talking, the ground started to shake as the ice started to glow yellow and orange. With an explosion of fire, the ice shattered, freeing Zuko who immediately ran at Katara.  Watching the two fight with a close eye, Y/n moved to stand closer to Aang- Just incase Zuko pulled something sneaking and tried to grab him. Which he did try to do. Slipping behind Katara he tried to grab Aang by the collar, but before he could Y/n grabbed his arm and twisted it before she raised a leg up to kick him back. Before he could recover, Katara blasted him with a jet stream of water, knocking him much further away from the three. She bent a huge wave of water that pushed Zuko at least ten feet up one of the walls, before freezing him in place. 

When Zuko’s head drooped in defeat, Y/n and Katara shared a satisfied look of victory. At least until, the sun started to rise. Y/n expression fell, realizing what that meant for them.  Zuko’s head snapped up with a look of determination as the sunlight reached him. He breathed steam, enough to melt the ice that was holding him in place. Sliding down the rest of the ice, he charged at Katara and fired a blast at her. Caught off guard, she was only able to block it partially, and got thrown back into the gate’s post- causing her to be knocked out.  Y/n rushed to Aang, standing between him and Zuko, taking on a fighting stance. Zuko breathed out a chuckle as he approached her. “Do you really think you can beat me?”  “I’ve done it before.”  “I’ve learned a lot since then. More than you ever will.” He shot a large blast of fire at her. Pressing her palms together, she thrusted her arms forward and dispersed the flames to go around her and Aang. Zuko ran at her as she did, grabbing her by the shoulder and shoving her aside.  Y/n tumbled to the ground, but made a quick recovery and rushed forward as Zuko grabbed onto Aang’s collar. She threw a punch at his face, which he ducked under, elbowing her in the gut before shoving her backwards again. Leaving Aang for a moment, Zuko stood in front of her, as she started to get up. Her gaze snapped over to Aang for a moment, he was just left to lay on the ground. Instead of trying to attack Zuko, she attempted to jump towards Aang. Before she could get too far, Zuko gripped onto her hair and yanked her back.  Gritting her teeth, Y/n reached back to grab his arm, heating her palms to burn him. “I’m not letting you take him!”  “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Zuko spoke through gritted teeth, yanking her head back again, before shoving it down to collide with his knee. Her grip on his arm loosened, as her vision started to dot black. Arma falling limply to her side, she collapsed to the ground, when Zuko let go of her hair. “Your decisions have made you weaker, but mine, they’ve made me stronger.”  On the verge of unconsciousness, Y/n watched as the Prince grabbed Aang and threw him over his shoulder. “No…”

[waveypedia]

they don’t know you like i do

Rymin Week Day 5: Birthdays

1 2 4 6 7

Ao3

~

Ryan wakes up to a sloppy cheek kiss.

“Mmmm,” he sighs, unconsciously leaning into the source. It’s something soft and warm, and unquestionably familiar and comforting even to his sleep-addled brain. For a minute he slumps drowsily against the warm lump, whatever it is, until it unfortunately moves away. What a tragedy. The universe truly is against him. Just him against the world…

A hand, gentle yet firm, shakes his shoulder. “C’mon, Ry. Time to wake up.”

“Ughhhh,” Ryan mumbles, rolling flat on his back. His eyes don’t want to open. “Not yet.”

If Ryan was more conscious, he’d register the laughter in the other’s voice. “Today’s an important day. Do you remember?”

Ryan sat up, blearily rubbing at his eyes. “Izzit a show day?”

“No, not yet.” Ryan’s eyes opened just in time to see a slightly-blurry but nonetheless beautiful Min hovering in front of his face with an excited yet bashful smile. Ryan couldn’t help a smile of his own, just looking at his handsome boyfriend. Yet all thoughts were dashed when Min leaned in for a kiss, effectively cutting off all of Ryan’s brainpower.

When Min finally pulls away, he is grinning euphorically. “Happy birthday, Ryan.”

Ryan leans into Min’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, Min.”

After a few more kisses, Ryan reluctantly slips out of the warm bed (or lack thereof) and shakes himself awake. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, and the interior of the van is shrouded in long shadows. Min, who has never truly taken to getting up early, is starting to droop.

Ryan wraps an arm around his boyfriend. “Not that I don’t want snuggles, Min, but I’m guessing you woke me up for a reason?”

“Oh! Right. Yes.” Min shakes himself, rubbing fatigue out of his eyes, and stands up straight. Ryan scrambles to stand as well so he doesn’t lose his grip.

Min turns and makes eye contact, smirking mischievously. “Check outside.”

“Hmm?” Ryan makes for the van’s back door, tugging a sleepy but excited Min along with him. He opens it and sees… “Wait. We’re here?”

Min grins at him. “Yeah, I did some late-night driving so we could have the whole day to ourselves.”

Ryan laughs, euphoria tinging his voice. His emotions felt uncontrollable and unstable from sleep. He was still in that half-awake state where his emotions hadn’t quite settled yet, and all he could feel was a tidal wave of happiness and love. Affection for his amazing boyfriend.

“Miiiiin,” he faux-whines, squeezing Min’s side. “But now you’re gonna be all tired! And I want to spend time together on our birthday!”

Min coughs lightly, his cheeks coated with a heavy blush. “Well- I- I didn’t drive for too long, Ryan. I’ll be fine.”

Ryan gives Min a long, measuring look, then shrugs. “If you say so. You know yourself best, and I trust you. I’ll be watching you, though, buster,” he says warningly, pointing his fingers at his eyes and then Min’s own.

Min chuckles, somewhat awkwardly. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll say something. I promise, Ryan.”

“Good.” Ryan leans against Min’s side, before changing his mind and pulling his boyfriend into a full hug. “Now let’s go celebrate our birthday, huh? We have two years to make up for!”

Min leans down to rest his chin on Ryan’s shoulder. “I am more than ready.” 

--

They check into the hotel and unpack as quickly as possible. They’re used to getting situated quickly, (all those late nights performing made for good experience) but this time their haste is borne out of excitement instead of fatigue. Once they’re settled, they spent a little while lying on the bed, just cuddling and enjoying each other’s company.

Min lovingly brushes his fingers through Ryan’s hair. He’s done it so many times now since they first embarked on their tour, but Ryan will never get tired of it. He leans his head back into Min’s soothing touch.

He could stay like this forever, but unfortunately, that is not in store. He and Min have a few errands to run. They don’t quite feel like errands, though. Not when they’re spent in the company of each other.

They make a quick stop at the local supermarket for food and supplies. They’re nearly finished, and Min is already outside checking around for an Asian market. Ryan is about to pay and join him, but then his eyes catch on something magnificent.

“Min!! Min, come here! Come look at this!!”

“What?” Min is inside in an instant, eyes wide and hair messy. He looks slightly panicked, and he’s breathing heavier than normal. For a minute Ryan feels guilty for worrying him, but then Min relaxes at the sight of Ryan excited and unharmed. It’s all he can do to keep from bouncing on the balls of his feet - and as Min’s expression shifts from worried to curious, Ryan’s enthusiasm wins out.

“Look at this!!” Ryan gestures to a row of boxes behind him exuberantly.

Min frowns at the shelf, brow furrowed. Ryan can catalogue the moment he notices what Ryan’s trying to show him, because his eyes light up and he breaks out in a grin. “Brownie mix?! Oh, Ryan, you genius!” Min wraps him up in a hug, and Ryan grins into his chest. “We have to make this!”

“You read my mind,” Ryan says as soon as Min lets him go. He grabs a box and places it carefully in the shopping basket.

At the checkout counter, both he and Min can barely contain their excitement. They keep shooting each other mischievous, eager grins every few seconds. The cashier seems slightly curious, but evidently grows tired of them after a few minutes and rings them up with more than a few eye rolls. Once they’ve paid, they practically book it out of the shop, still giggling uncontrollably to themselves.

They can’t wait to make it back to the hotel. The rest of the shopping, usually a fun activity where they discuss all the new (and in Ryan’s case, cursed) food combinations they can try in their budget, feels much more like the chore others regularly lament it to be.

 But at last, they make it back. At the sight of the hotel parking lot, they break into a run that doesn’t even stop for the stairs, laughing all the while.

The hotel, of course, has a concierge bell. On impulse, Ryan sneaks back down while the concierge is on break and snatches it, overcome with mischevious giggles like a young child.

When he presents it to Min, safely back in their rooms, he blanches. “Ryan! You can’t just do that! We could get into so much trouble!”

“Ah, I’ll return it when we're done. And I won’t get caught. Don’t worry.” Ryan waves him off, brushing past him from where they stand in front of the closed door. Even though it costs money they don’t have, they’ve sprung for a little kitchenette this time. After all, when can you treat yourself (and your amazing partner) if not on your birthday(s)?

Ryan sets Not-Kez on top of the mini-fridge, in perfect view of his and Min’s tiny cooking spot. “Just like old times, eh, Min?”

“Not in the slightest,” Min says, sounding like he’s torn between a groan and a snort.

“Yeah, I know. This dull thing could never compare to the real Kez.” Ryan brushes his fingers over the disappointingly not-sentient bell, not dissimilar to how Min comforted Kez when she was upset. “It’s not nearly snarky enough.”

That gets a real snort out of Min. “Not counting the weird gravity, giant pig-baby, sentient porcelain cow, and giant kitchen.”

“Don’t forget the post-war American cookbook,” Ryan adds. “Brownies were the only good thing they had.”

“And the only thing we care to replicate.” Min starts pulling ingredients out of their shopping bag. He places the coveted brownie mix in its place of honor next to Kez. “Hey, at least we have butter.”

Ryan laughs. “Just don’t put the butter in the microwave, and we’re good. That goes for you too,” he adds, faux-stern, wagging his finger at Not-Kez.

Unsurprisingly, Not-Kez does not respond. Just another reason why the real Kez is superior.

“This is way easier with regular-size ingredients,” Min comments.

Ryan bursts out laughing, brushing Not-Kez in his haste to keep his balance. “Really? Who would’ve known?”

Min glances back at him, rolling his eyes. “Go back to your humble brownie expert act, please.”

“I am but a simple man,” Ryan parrots dramatically, clutching at his shirt like Min had done all those months ago. “A simple brownie man.”

Min laughs. “All right, all right, that’s enough out of you. Here’s your toothpick, so we can check for fudgieness. You know, so it’s not cake.”

Ryan bows. “Of course, of course, Your Honor.”

Min’s responding giggle is enough to sustain Ryan for years to come. Brownies aside.

--

After the brownies are done, they curl up in bed with the tray. It’s torture waiting for the brownies to cool down, but a hospital visit from burns would certainly put a damper on their birthday. Not to mention cut into their already lacking budget and tight schedule.

“We’re going to get crumbs in the bed,” Min grumbles when Ryan presents him with a properly-cooled brownie. “Have you ever slept on crumbs, Ryan? Do you know how fun it is?”

“You say that like I don't eat in my bed all the time,” Ryan replies flippantly. He sits down next to Min and purposefully takes the biggest bite possible. They both watch as crumbs scatter onto the bed. Min sighs.

Ryan pauses. “Or. Well. I did.”

“You are literally sitting in your bed right now, leaving crumbs,” Min says, poking Ryan in the side playfully. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though. When their gazes lock, Min conveys a silent message. Are you okay?  

Ryan nods. Min relaxes, and grudgingly grabs a brownie. “Hmm. These are good.”

Ryan laughs. “Well, what did you expect? They were made by the brownie experts, after all. Or have you forgotten?”

“Forgive me for doubting cheap grocery store mix,” Min deadpans. His smile has returned in full, which in turn only brings a matching smile to Ryan’s face. “But it is quite good.”

“I agree.” Ryan downs his brownie. Somehow, he gets the feeling they won’t be talking much while they eat.

They devour the majority of the pan. It’s with some effort and self-restraint on both of their parts that they finally put the tray away - they both want leftovers, but fresh, warm brownies are difficult to refuse. In the end, the afternoon slips away, dangerously towards dinnertime, and the brownies end up safely stowed in their bag.

Dinner is a quieter affair after the brownie debacle, but it’s no less fun. They head downstairs to find a good restaurant in the area. (And so Ryan can drop off the inferior Kez - he nearly gets caught by the concierge, but slips away just in time. He catches her looking around, baffled, at the mysteriously appearing and disappearing concierge bell as they leave. Min shoots him a glare that feels like it could kill him, but in the end they escape unscathed.) After they make their escape, they end up at a small place with a live band playing on the corner stage.

Ryan nudges Min. “That could’ve been us, you know.”

“Maybe next time we pass through this town,” Min agrees. “But… thanks. I know you would’ve performed on your birthday if it was up to you, but I appreciate you spending it with me.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, although he’s smiling. Perhaps a little too emotionally. “Please, I’d be spending time with you even if we were playing,” he reminds Min. “But really. It’s nothing. I’m just happy to be with you, however we spend our time.”

Min reaches across the table to take Ryan’s hand. His eyes are shining in the soft candlelight. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Ryan smiles affectionately. His heart feels like it’s full to bursting. His vision is getting a little blurry. “I think I do, Min. Because I feel exactly the same way.”

Min’s responding smile is enough to make Ryan’s entire year.

--

The rest of the night is a blur after that. All Ryan really remembers is that he had fun and that he somehow loves Min even more than he did before. Which should be impossible, but it’s the truth.

They end up curled up in the bed together. Right as always, Min complains about crumbs, but his heart isn’t in it.

They don’t stay up too late. As much as Ryan loves his party-filled late nights of adrenaline and bad decisions, they both got up quite early. By the time Min’s arms are tucked securely around him, Ryan is asleep in an instant.

 Well, not quite.

He’s in that state of almost-asleep-but-not-really when whatever visually discernible features the hotel room has in darkness are starting to blur beyond recognition when Min says it.

“I love you, Ryan.”

Ryan leans back, cuddling himself into Min. “I love you too.”

~

oh god this is so late again why can i please stop getting inspiration boosts exclusively at 9pm (i did write 1.5k words in an hour though that's not bad!)

i keep eating on my bed and then every night i'm like god what are these CRUMBS who brought fucking CRUMBS into my bed how dare you skdfhgfkdsk this fic is just projection but in the weirdest, most mundane ways

the beginning of this is actually the first thing i wrote for rymin week! i wrote it a week or so before after i finally figured out my prompt ideas (thank you for talking it out with me sae) and then proceeded to write nothing else but day 1 before the event began skhfjksl. i'm a mess thank you for coming

the worst part of writing post-train is the lack of kez. in a perfect world she got off the train with min and ryan and she and morgan became their floating concierge bell and castle road trip friends. i miss herrrrr

title is from masterpiece theater iii by marianas trench. i rediscovered this song a few months ago after years of not listening to it but the warriors map to it used to be my favorite thing years ago. the actual video didn't come out until i was nearly done with the books but i used to watch the planning video over and over again

if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a reblog/like/comment if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

[grazieschillivera]

A day off

Authors note: filled with randomness and comfort here and there, just wrote this to escape from studying

Word count: ca.2400

The third bang on your door, made you give up on getting your sleep.With sloopy steps you made it to your door, only to find Frenchie,Hughie and Butcher happily standing in front of you, once you your eyes could focus propberly.

,,There she is.Morning sunshine.'' said Butcher stepping past you into your dorm.

,,Is that a Star Wars poster?'' asked Hughie following Butcher.

You were far too tired to reacte, too overwhelmed with this situation.The long sleeves of your hodie hid your yawn.

,,Naww petite Y/N.All sleepy and cute.'' said Frenchie bringing you in his embrace petting your messy bun.

,,Guys!Its fucking Sunday what are you doing here?'' you asked with raspy voice, still hiding your face from the sunlight that came in, due to Butcher shoving the curtains away.

,,Right.Perfect timing for some quality time for the group.What could be better for that than a Comic Book Con?'' asked Butcher joining Hughie with getting through your stuff.

,,Fuck off boys.I need sleep.I finished my essays just four hours ago.'' you whined not at all convinced of that idea and resting in Frenchies arms.

,,Shut up Y/N I thought you were into this stuff.'' said Hughie while looking through your merchandise.

,,Can't I just go back to sleep and bring you some waffles later?That would have way more quality.'' you said but already gave in and pulled away from Frenchie.

,,Nope.Actually we have a little mission to do there.'' said Hughie turning with your lightsaber in his hands to you, looking amazed at it , when it turned out to be a green one.

,,Besides Frenchie makes the better ones.You were the one who wanted to join us, go get dressed.'' said Butcher taking the lightsaber from Hughie.

,,Fine.Just give me second.'' you said gathering up some clothes, your lightsaber from Butcher and your washbag and left your room.Only to come back after a moment to throw your weapon onto your bed, when you realised that you still had it in your hands.

,,Hey did you guys ever heard of privacy?'' you asked when you had entered your dorm again and saw Butcher at your laptop and Hughie still going through your merchandise stuff on your shelves.Frenchie layed in your bed, almost half asleep.

You walked strictly to Butcher and looked at your laptop's screen, seeing the text of your essay, but you could swear you saw the screen just had changed.Giving Butcher a daring gaze while you brought your washbag back into your vanity, trying to analyse his hidden grin.

,,What is that?I don't even know that.'' said Hughie looking at your gallyfreyan writing.

,,What ever this might be proves that Y/N is more of a fucking nerd than you are.'' said Butcher.

,,Its Gallyfreyan for fuck off.'' you said when you took the papers from Hughie to put them back into their box.

,,Can we go now?'' Butcher asked standing up from your desk and clapping on Frenchie's shoulder when he walked past him.

,,Just a second.'' you said, when you reminded yourself to do something you insisted on, now that you had Butcher here at your dorm.

You showed him a news article from the university, about your litertature club, writing about their performed works from last weekend praising especially your work.

,,Behind her creativity always lies an interesting critic to several current topics, that is clearly structured and could even knock out Homelander.'' you read out loud, while doing an awful job of hiding your pride.,,See I was right when I said I could at least put you over my knees rhetorically.Appearingly I can do that even with Homelander.'' you added.

Butcher continued to read the article.,,Homelander is a stupid cunt, who somehow managed to get taking serious while wearing latex.'' said he when he had enough of the reading.

,,I don't care about Homelander, I care about you Butcher.'' you said when you took the article and laid it back on your desk.

,,Now you're becoming soft on me again Y/N.'' said Butcher while walking outside of your dorm with the rest.

,,I mean it.Did someone wrote something like this ever about you?'' you said, insisting that this got accpreciated by him, since his critic on your arguments left you frustrated last time.

,,Listen love.I don't need an article that tells me I'm good in putting everyone over my knee.Even though I start to think you wouldn't mind if I did that to you – rhetorically of course.'' he added with a grin leaving you a bit irritated behind him,when he walked further down the hallway.

You were thankful for yourself bringing sunglasses for today to hide your tired eyes, since Hughie listened loudly the radio during the whole trip to the Convention, taking the last chance of sleep from you.

The plan was to talk with a supe about some former actions form Vought he should know of.Frenchie and Hughie were send to do this, while you and Butcher waited for them on the convention, that reminded you of a graveyard that came halfheartedly back to life.

,,Seriously ,did I really need to come with you guys for this?Its not that we do something helpful.'' you said still looking around.

,,We do.We stay here until Frenchie and Hughie are done with their part, I'll do the driving part and you can just take a break from studying.'' Butcher said.

,,Writing.About what?Failed artists or sexual frustrated fans?'' you asked not very convinced.

,,Funny that you mention that.'' said Butcher while he took out his mobile to show you something.

,,You asshole.How?'' you only managed to ask, mouth opened in disbelieve when you recognised your account with your posts.

,,I have my sources.'' said Butcher with a grin and started to scroll through your account.

,,I stayed logged in from last night.'' you said already knowing the answer while palming your face.

,,That answers my first question.All those thirsty posts from you are current?'' asked he while grinning down at his mobile.

,,No!They are in fact very old.Almost as old as you are.'' you said trying to stop Butcher from reading your stuff.

,,Screw this stupid article and you for that - I'm not that old.This is just pure smut- or is there also a perfectly argumented critic behind getting fucked by Eddie Vedder.I can't believe it you're writing texts to jack off to. '' said Billy still amused.,,Our sweet and intellectual Y/N does such naughty things in her spare time.''

,,My only texts to jack off to are my works, once they are approved by my professors.'' you said not interested in talking about your dark past.

,,And thats the problem.You need a day off, even I noticed that you have been fucking tense lately.'' Butcher said, you could tell that the last part was truly concerned.

,,With spending my day at this sad convention.Thank you Butcher.'' you said playing it down.

,,I can't let the guys be alone by themselves love.Besides I think I might can help with that, getting rid of some tension, you know?'' he said in his cocky voice.You eyed him up with a strange grin.

,,Is that an offer? I never thought you could be so generous yet so romantic.'' you said with a snort.

,,Same goes for you, in all this dirty talk and kink stuff I still can find your romantic side between the lines.Even though many seemed not to think so, according to your likes.'' said Butcher with a last look at his mobile while you gave him a last warning look.

,,That was not written from my heart nor my head, and I'm lucky my libido is not supposed to generate likes.'' you said.Butcher had to laugh at this genuily, before both of you continued you walk.

,,This is just fucking sad.When you read all those comics you can clearly read what people need right now and if you compare it to our reality it makes this whole shit even more worse.I hope Frenchie and Hughie can handle this guy.'' you said when you had stoped by a booth with comic books and looked over them.Butcher humed.

,,I guess they will be fine.The only special thing he can do his talk to animals.'' said Butcher and you noded with a chuckle, now you knew what Supe they wanted to meet here.

,,I thought you like this stuff, at least according to your shelves.'' said Butcher looking over your shoulder into the comic you held in your hands.

,,Since when do you look for people to interriogate that I could possibly like?'' you asked with smirk, before you put the comic back.

,,I'm not.That was just a lucky coincidence.Or unlucky - you still seem pissed.What's wrong?'' Butcher asked.

,,Honey I have work to do.Sundays are planed for studying.'' you explained tired but still had to smile since you thanked Butcher for his effort.

,,Honey huh? You really start to become soft with me.'' said Butcher with a smirk and followed you when you turned away from him to continue your walk.

,,You should know by now that I use those names when I just don't want to call you something mean.'' you said.

,,Well if you hate it here we can at least have a bit fun with your writing.'' Butcher said putting his mobile out again.

In the next minutes Butcher managed to get to know about all your preferences that your posts could reveal and he clearly seemed to enjoy that.You would also start to ask him out since you wanted to keep this interriogation fair, that leaded to the both of you having a very open conversation about sex and some weird stories about some experiences, almost in the middle of a convention.But you didn't care this entertained you clearly more than the comic books.

You got interrupted by a call you had to answer.After some time you came back to Butcher to tell him that you needed to go back to your dorm since a friend reminded you of the upcoming test next next week.

You already wanted to turn on your heel and call your friend back again, when Butcher reached out for your hand.A discussion started about wether you would leave this convention or not.

,,Are you mad you can't just forbid me to stay.'' you said after you gave up on explaining yourself properly.

,,When was the last time you just did nothing?You're completly stressed out Y/N.Have you at least eaten something today?'' asked Butcher.

,,No.Thanks to you guys I got kicked out of bed.'' you said, having Butcher cursing under his breath when he realised that.

,,I will make it up for you, just try to stay calm now.Your lips look terrible already.'' said Butcher still holding your hand in his.

,,What?'' you asked clearly a bit confused at this remark.

,,You always chew your lips when you're stressed out and they look awful right now.'' said he and you had to praise him again for being sensitive, recieving an grumpy look.But he was right when you gave him a smile in response you noticed how chapped they were.Great now you looked tired and terrible.

,,Maybe next Sunday.I still need to get a job once this whole detective thing with us is done.'' you said, tears started to fill your eyes caused by your rising stress level and even with the sunglasses Butcher could tell how you felt right now.

In the same moment Hughie and Frenchie ran to you , being completly out of breath but still managed to tell you that they messed up.The Supe had no interest messing around with Vought and called the security.You tried took calm down, that your tears would stay in your eyes and focused on the conversation between the boys.

,,This stupid eco- fucker.'' said Butcher.

,,Did you just asked him nicely or did you also brought some good arguments with you.'' you asked.

,,What should we havve against him? Sometimes you just have to hope that some people still have the balls to do something good.'' said Hughie.

,,Or you have to hope that they also just assholes.'' you said and pulled your phone out to search for something.

,,Here that's a list of women , who accuse him of sexual harassment, there are even videos and pictures on this side to prove their accusations.I thought you were prepared.'' you said and handed Hughie your mobile.

,,Where did you get this from?'' asked Butcher.

,,I have my sources.No matter how stupid the fandom we nerds stay together.'' you said a bit exaggerated.

,,At least something for today.'' you said now a bit satisfied when you looked after Frenchie and Hughie who walked back to the supes booth.

You even allowed Butcher to lay an arm over your should to pull you close to him.

,,That was fucking diabolical.Don't you ever think less of you love.'' said Butcher.

You pressed yourself against him and hid your face in his jacket, afraid that someone would see you start crying otherwise.A deep breath came from him and you could hear his smile out of it, while his hand stroked your hair softly.

,,Thanks.'' you said once you found your voice again, with your head buried in his shirt.

,,Come on lets get you back home.Guess the boys won't take long now.'' said Butcher and brought you to the car with his arm still around you.

While you were driving back you fell asleep.Butcher had decided to take you with them despite your saying but when you woke up after some nice hours of sleep and all cuddled up in your blanket you didn't mind at all.Frenchie had even made some waffles before he and Kimiko went away to spend the rest of the day together.

,,You know when you aren't tired or hungry you actually look kinda hot, even with those chapped lips.'' said Butcher when you stood next to him to you lay your empty plate on the kitchen island.

You gave him a smirk.,,Do you always flirt with women like this?'' you asked.Your gaze on him tried to stay unimpressed, when he pressed you against the table with his familiar smirk on.

,,Only if they are also into quickies on kitchen tables.'' said Butcher, his hands roamed over your curves carefully to test the waters.

,,You really needed my bad writing for this?'' you asked in disbelieve, when you already were sat on the table and started to kiss Butcher.

,,Don't worry love I myself have plenty of ideas for us.'' said Butcher before he started to kiss you again.

[cadence-talle]

Moonlight Burst Into the Room

Pairing: Marella Redek/Linh Song

Wordcount: 2,203

TW: mentions of transphobia 

Notes: For @marellinh-week-2020​! Doesn’t totally fit any of the prompts besides First Kiss/Confession so let’s just pretend I posted it then instead of several days late 

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void, @yeetersofthelostcities, @mistythegirlfluxmess, @diamond-dreamerr, @we-have-no-bananas-today, @an-absolute-travesty, @callas-starkflower-stew

Linh has never had a nickname. 

When she was younger, still living with her parents, names were a point of frustration. Her parents never used pet names, which meant they always referred to her by her given name- the wrong name. Always the wrong name, until Linh had to tell them to stop. 

(That conversation was quiet, hushed, like her parents couldn’t quite believe it. They had simply stared at her when she said I’m a girl and then shared a long look.)

Her parents had called her Linh from then on, but it still felt strictly impersonal. As if a wall of water had sprung up between them and drowned any hope of parental affection. 

Once they were banished, names were hardly ever used. Elves at Exillium weren’t considered to have names; they were referred to in a group or not at all. So Linh grew accustomed to turning at a simple shout, to only hearing her name spoken by her brother. Lonely? Sure, but at least she didn’t have to hear that disappointed sigh of Linh whenever she messed up.

(The way Tam said her name wasn’t disappointed, not ever. But it was resigned, like he knew he was the only one who would ever say it. Like he had come to terms with the fact that they were going to fade into oblivion.)

Then Sophie turned up and ushered them into her friend group, into warmth and belonging and people talking to Linh. People saying her name.

Sophie’s group didn’t use nicknames much- besides Keefe, of course, who seemed to be in a competition against himself to come up with the most ridiculous titles for Sophie- but just hearing her name said in a way that told Linh people wanted her here was enough. 

And then Marella Redek becomes a bigger part of Linh’s life, her fiery temper charging into arguments and her endless vocabulary of pet names filling the air, and Linh doesn’t know what to do with herself. 

-/-

“Hey, sweetheart, could you grab me that box?”

Linh turns just in time to see Dex hand Marella the small wooden box in question with a confused look. The blond girl grins at him and opens the box, digging through its contents. “Ooh, a necklace! And… Prattles?”

She holds up the package for all to see. The three of them are the only kids at Havenfield today- the others are all off on various errands. Even Sophie’s out in Atlantis, shopping with Biana. Linh doesn’t mind much, though, even as they embark on the laborious task of sorting through the stuff in Edaline’s cluttered office. She’s still marveling at the fact that she has friends now. 

“They’re probably really stale by now,” Dex says. Marella shrugs, ripping off the top and popping a candy into her mouth. She makes a face.

“Oh, ew. Why did you two let me eat that?”

Linh giggles and Marella smiles at her. There’s a strange flush on the other girl’s cheeks, and Linh wonders if you can get sick from eating old Prattles. She hopes not. 

“He did warn you,” Linh points out. Marella puts a hand over her heart in mock insult. 

“Betrayal! I thought we were friends, sweetie.”

Linh shrugs nonchalantly, trying to hide the warmth she can feel creeping up her neck. Marella does this all the time, she reminds herself, and Linh just needs to get used to it. “Sorry. All’s fair in lov- in war and stale Prattles.”

Dex snorts, shooting Linh a knowing look. Linh blinks and he shakes his head. “We should get back to cleaning. Marella, put the Prattles down.”

Marella, who is apparently a three-year-old in the body of a fifteen-year-old, shoves two more Prattles into her mouth and pockets the drawstring bag that holds the pin. Dex rolls his eyes and turns to a huge green chest. Marella nudges Linh’s ankle with her foot. 

“You know, hon, this stuff really isn’t bad. You wanna try?” She holds out the box. 

Linh shakes her head and Marella puts the package away. Linh’s thoughts, though, can’t be dislodged so easily, and the word hon echoes in her mind for the rest of the day. 

-/-

The transition from Exillium to Foxfire was a hurried one, a few busy days of reading schedules and getting used to being around normal people again. It felt almost too fast in the moment, too quick for even the little they were leaving behind.

Linh has left a lot of things behind in her life. She doesn’t miss them most of the time, but on days like this- days where it’s quiet and cool and the winds whipping past her sound eerily like the whispers in her head- it’s hard not to remember. 

She wanders outside of Solreef, settling down under a tree where she won’t be directly visible from the house. The grass around her is still slightly damp with dew, and Linh tugs a few blades out of the ground to fiddle with. 

Tiergan’s house is very different from anywhere she’s ever lived. The rooms are large and sprawling but still cozy, perhaps made so by the various pillows and classified scrolls that are scattered across nearly every surface. It’s not the rugged landscape of Wildwood nor the smoothed edges of Choralmere, and Linh is glad. Things are calm here, but not so calm she’s afraid to walk on anything but tiptoe. 

She broke a vase, once. One of her mother’s heirlooms. Tam had been chasing her through the house and Linh hadn’t had a chance to slow down in time. Quan had shouted louder than she had ever heard, too angry to even call Linh by the right name. 

It’s been years since that event, but the disappointment still presses on Linh’s skin. Covers her like a heavy blanket woven from sad sighs and ignorant comments and constant dissatisfied looks. The idea that Linh would never be enough. 

Will never be enough, no matter what she does. 

(There have been too many conversations for her to ever disprove that.)

“Linh?”

Abruptly, Linh realizes she hasn’t been breathing. She breaks away from the fixed point she’s been staring at and pastes a smile on her face. 

“Marella! Hey, sorry, I must have forgotten you were coming today.”

“You didn’t,” the blond girl responds, sinking down next to Linh. “I wanted to surprise you. Are you okay?”

“What? I’m fine. Why?”

Marella gives her an utterly unimpressed look. 

“Hon. You looked about five seconds away from crying when I showed up. And that’s not a bad thing,” she hurries to add when Linh opens her mouth to apologize. “I just want to help, if I can.”

“I-” Linh trails off, staring at the ground. “I was just thinking. About… stuff. Names. Memories.”

“Huh.” Marella doesn’t press, which Linh is thankful for. “Names can be weird sometimes,” she says carefully, turning to face Linh. “My mom- on her better days, she calls me Ella.”

Linh blinks. “I thought you didn’t like being called Ella.” Marella had almost taken Keefe’s head off when he had called her that once. Marella shrugs. 

“I don’t know. It’s different when Mom does it. It tells me… she’s there, I guess. She’s there and she loves me.” Marella worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s hard to see, sometimes. What she’s going to do. What I’m supposed to do when she gets frantic or starts crying.” 

“I get that. Well. Not the ‘frantic and crying’ part, but I get not knowing what to do.”

Marella smiles, a tiny, crooked thing. “I thought you would, sweetie.”

Linh turns back to the landscape, staring out at it. Next to her, Marella shifts so she’s facing the same direction. Her eyes are still fixed on Linh, though. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the sweetie, but Linh speaks up a few moments later. 

“My parents… didn’t always remember to call me Linh.” She says, testing the waters. Marella’s head inclines a tiny bit, encouraging her to go on. 

So Linh does. She tells the whole story, all those lonely years in Choralmere and then the too-free years in Wildwood. She’s never had to tell anyone that before- Tam has always known, and neither of them needed to say it out loud. 

When she finishes, Marella is silent. Linh worries she’s made a huge mistake. 

“Sorry,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to- I mean, I know this changes-”

“Hey, darling.” Marella shifts to sit on her knees in front of Linh, leaning forward and grabbing her hands. “This doesn’t change anything, okay. I mean, obviously it does,” she says thoughtfully, “but you’re still Linh, okay? You’re still Linh and you’re still beautiful. And I totally understand if you don’t want me to make a big deal out of this, but if you do, I happen to throw legendary parties.” 

Linh laughs, a half-choked sound of relief. Marella settles back against the tree with a grin and they stare at the horizon again. 

“Thanks,” Linh says after a moment. Marella gives her a thumbs-up.

“What are friends for, right?”

“Yeah.” Yeah, Linh reminds herself. Friends. 

-/-

“Whoa. Hon, look at this.” Marella pulls a tiny marble out of a box, glittering pale yellow and about the size of her thumbnail. Linh would almost mistake it for a Councillor’s cache if it weren’t for the absence of tiny jewels inside. 

They’re back in Edaline’s office, digging through piles of junk, but this time it’s just the two of them. Linh is halfway sure that’s intentional, actually- even Grady and Edaline suddenly decided to take an impromptu trip to Mysterium today. They have Havenfield all to themselves. 

(That sentence seems to fill Linh’s stomach with the mechanical butterflies they accidentally unleashed earlier. She doesn’t think about that too hard.)

(If she does, she knows she’ll find out something very odd about why she always feels warm when Marella calls her a pet name.)

“What is it?” She asks Marella. The other girl lifts one shoulder. 

“I don’t know, but it’s pretty. Let’s see...”

She taps the marble with two fingers and the lights cut out. They come back a few seconds later, Marella grinning sheepishly.

“Whoops. Sorry, sweetheart-”

“Stop calling me that.”

The words are out before Linh can stop them, and she flounders. “I mean- I just-” She shakes her head. “I can’t. Not when I know…” You don’t mean them, she finishes mentally. It hurts too much to hear you throw them out that easily. 

Marella’s expression shutters and she looks away. “Right,” she says, sounding oddly defeated. “Of course.”

She turns around, muttering “of course you would have figured it out” under her breath. Linh frowns and, since her mouth and her brain seem to be operating on different planes of existence today, says,

“What? Figured out what?” Her tone is almost challenging, but even Linh isn’t entirely sure why. Marella turns back around, arms crossed defensively.

“Really. You’re really gonna make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Marella throws up her hands. “Fine. I like you, okay? Is that what you wanted?” Her voice drops lower, less frustrated and more finished. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be weird. I’ll get over it.”

“You. You like me?” 

Marella doesn’t respond, already sorting through another pile. Linh takes a deep breath and uses what’s left of her courage. 

“I didn’t know that. I wanted you to stop calling me pet names because I thought they didn’t mean anything to you.”

Marella pauses. Straightens up. 

“They did,” she says, so softly it’s almost imperceptible. “They all did.” 

“They meant something to me too.” 

Edaline’s office is quiet. Linh doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, tries not to even think until Marella turns her head. 

“I hear there’s a really good restaurant in downtown Atlantis,” she says. It’s a question, an outstretched hand. Linh smiles and takes it. 

“That sounds amazing,” she responds. “Honey.”

The marble slips from Marella’s fingers and the lights turn off again. Marella’s smile, though, is enough to brighten the room. 

-/-

When she was little, Linh never had a nickname. 

They were too frivolous for her parents, too unnecessary for the people who sometimes forgot to even call her Linh. Nicknames weren’t needed for someone who barely had a name at all. 

Nicknames are never really needed, but they’re used here. 

“Mare,” she calls across their small kitchen, “we need to go.”

“I’m here! I’m ready,” Marella responds breathlessly, pecking Linh on the cheek as she rushes to pull her coat on. 

“Bi is going skin us alive if we’re late to Sophie’s party.”

“Good thing we’re not late then, sweetie.” Marella grins at her and moves out of the door. They are late, actually, but neither of them really care. 

It hits Linh sometimes, how very different her life is now. She has friends, and family, and a wonderful wife who deserves the world. 

(The ring on her finger seems to shine. That conversation was feather-light and delighted, a gasped yes and cheers from all their friends.)

“Hon, come on!”

She has a nickname now. Dozens, in fact. But she also has a name.

Linh Redek steps out the door. 

[kangaracha]

hey give me the full list tho i wanna know all the author behind the scenes

the braincell resides with you today huh. good, good, good. i can't actually remember what happens in some fics so i'll leave those out but we'll give it a good diggy damn try.

(this is in response to this post)

everything published on this list can be read on my AO3

--

PUBLISHED THINGS

to go beyond your borders is about cancel culture, and young athletes/celebrities, and the pressure we put on these people to be perfect. pushing your boundaries and fighting mental illness and also friendship, and good endings.

sparrow and flicker are about identity, and growing up, and learning to open up to the world around you.

the slaughter of the lambs is about religion in a way i guess, for lack of a better word, and living the life you've been given, and the balance between loyalty and doubt.

if only we knew and and the chasm grows are about coming to terms with the end of your life; dying hope and endless grief and finding peace in your ending.

river cold, mountain wild is about knowing when to let go, and finding your place in the world, and how relationships are a choice, not something pre-determined by the universe.

to what your heart once was is about being ostracised, seperate and Other, and about breaking out of that box.

(stay low, stay low, stay low) is about humans clinging to life even when there's no hope left, just for the sake of living.

all the things left unsaid is about trauma and loss of identity, and learning to love the person that comes out the other side.

linger is about embracing the things that make you unique, and the power of love, in all its forms.

(when the sun comes up) is about recognising an abusive relationship, and the emptiness of depression and an absence of self-worth.

two lonely hearts meet in the dark is about endings, and beginnings, and the millions of chances we miss every day.

the king walks the tower is about standing up against injustice, and devotion to family.

---

OTHER THINGS

heart is about free will, found family, and making your own destiny; second chances, standing up when no one else will, and discovering your own power, even when you feel powerless.

goldmine, goldmine (landmine) is about the children of war, and the effect war has on the individual. it's about reaching for a future never promised to you, and about lives wasted in search of someone else's goal.

my hand in yours is about fear, and depression, and using someone to hide from your own reality; reconciling differences, and growing stronger together and relationships, beginning and ending.

the gone and the gathered is about belonging and autonomy, and the search for missing pieces in a broken past, the urge to know who you are and where you came from. it's about connection and reconciliation and family - born and made.

where the river bends is about loss of reality, not being able to tell what's real and what's not, and about sacrifice, doing something unthinkable in service to a greater cause.

the waltz of matilda is about places and people, and holding onto them and, sometimes, letting them go. it's about war and journeys and the bravery it takes to step into the unknown.

for the world is hollow is about loneliness and loss, and questions whether it is worth going on when everything around you is already dead.

[atsunflower]

Rated: SFW

Author notes: fucking finally, I'd say. Sorry it took me so long to post it after I decided to revamp this series. Here goes my belated 300 special med student!Kuroo. Please note that this is written based on the med school model we have here, in wich we get the MD degree right away, without the pre-med division they have in USA.

PS: DAI¹ stands for diffuse axonal injury, a type of brain damage caused by violent shakes (acceleration/deceleration/shaken baby syndrome) of the head. No worries, banging your head against a hard surface isn't supposed to give you it. If you get confused by any medical terms, pls hmu!!

Warnings: me trying to be funny. Cursing (reader swears like a sailor here).

I – Lehninger principles of biochemistry

Previous || Next

Your head was throbbing. The professor's voice dragging through your ears made the discomfort you felt even bigger.

The first class of the day have barely started and you were already regretting leaving your bed.

You let out a shuddering breath while your fingers found their way to your temples. You massaged the area, trying to ease the headache.

"You look like shit" the voice came from your right. Shirabu gave you a sideways glance before going back to his notes. "Let me guess, your neighbor again?"

"Yeah, the bastard was up all the night. I still can hear his bed pounding into the wall and the girl trying to muffle her voice" You groaned.

"Ew. Gross" The blonde's face contorted in a grimace "Am I the only one weirded by the fact you never saw the guy?" He asked frowning.

"Hell, no. But I don't think I wanna meet him anytime soon." Your reply was earn; you wouldn't know how to react if you ever saw the said man. "Besides, the guy has this strange schedule. He leaves early in the morning and comes back late at night, it's kinda weird"

"Weird is the way you know him so well and never saw him before" You ignored your him and turned your attention back to the professor. Twenty minutes into the lecture, the door was open and a raven hair peaked from it, sitting on the desk available in the front row.

You mood automatically got worse just by the sight.

"You're staring" Shirabu's uninterested voice ringed in your ears again "Why don't you admit you have a thing for him already? It would make our lives a thousand times easier"

"I just dislike him. I can't stand that dumbass" You retorted grimacing while scribbling down in your notebook. God, you hated biochemistry.

"Yeah, keep repeating that and someday you'll believe it."

"Why you all keep saying it?" You winced at the high pitch of your whisper "The guy ain't special. He is an asshole, honestly"

"Deep down you only say it because he told you were 'just okay' in our first week of freshmen year" The male gave you a pointed look. "I know it's you just being petty, but it's pretty obvious you have a crush on him"

"Hell no, I'd rather have the whole Lehninger shoved down my throat" Your classmate scoffed by your side, resuming to his notes.

"By the looks Haruno-sensei is sending in our direction, it's going to happen anytime soon."

"For this term, you'll send me an essay about peptides with especial focus on physiologically active ones and their major role on human organism." The professor said, sending a stern glare though the class. "Pay attention to the next slide. It contains a table with the pairs I've assigned for this paper"

What the hecking heck?

Your mind went blank but you still heard Shirabu snickering by your peripheral. For such a stoic man, he was pretty out of character today. That little shit.

"Beware the addressed pairs won't be changed in any circumstances. Don't even bother to try" The woman said as she addressed the whole class a cold glare. Goddammit med school and its goddam professors. "You now can discuss this paper. Remember this essay is worth half the grade"

"Fuck" you cursed as your forehead banged onto the thick textbook.

"Whoa, be careful" The teasing voice made you painfully groan "We don't want this pretty brain of yours getting a DAI¹ before we start this paper"

"It's too early in the morning to deal with you, Kuroo" Your retorted came muffled as you pressed your face even flatter into the book. 

"It's too early in the morning for you be ranting about everything but you don't hear me complaining, kitten" He jabbed at you, laughing it off as mere teasing "Is it fine if we start the paper on this weekend? I gotta volley practice the whole week."

"Sure. Wanna meet up on the public library?" You asked gathering your things, as you turned to Shirabu and saw him cocking an eyebrow at you.

"Fine by me" The male scratched the back of his neck, giving you an awkward glance "Actually, I wanted to ask you phone number" You stiffened "Aw [Surname]-chan, C'mon! You know it's easier."

"But what for? You already have my institutional email"

"You're too formal for your own good, woman" He handed you his phone, nudging the device into your palms "Where do you think this strict act is going to take you?"

You rolled your eyes at him again.

"Actually, Kuroo-san" You made a pause, voicing the words with candour "I want chaos and world domination. But in order to do it, I need to overthrow the dean first" You said while punching the numbers onto the chapped screen of his phone. The ravenette snorted at your reply.

"Oh shit, you're so weird!" And he left out a hyena laugh.

"Way to impress a girl, huh" 

"Only the ones I'm trynna woo" The male smirked when he saw your dumbfounded face.

"Huh? Big words coming from a nerd" You brushed off his provocation. You knew he didn't mean it, but you couldn't prevent your heart to skip a beat.

"Oi, [Name]! What do you mean?"

Surprisingly, the week went smoothly. No Kuroo incidents nor professors bitching over the struggling students.

It was saturday and you were more than ready to spend a whole day inside the library with the ravenette.

Sarcasm? Check.

It wasn't like you hated him. If you were to be honest, it was the other way around — but you would never give Shirabu the taste of being right.

Kuroo just had a special way of getting under your skin. He knew what buttons to push and how to make feel flustered.

You were indeed whipped for him in your first year, but he was an asshole back then — It was kinda comprehensible though: being new to the infamous uni life, freshmen were always seeking acceptance from other people.

Kouhai trying to impress their senpai.

Jocks trying to make a number on the female population.

You trying to grab the attention of that hot guy from welcome ceremony — yes, the one who ended to be the bane of your campus existence.

Yada yada.

But when Kuroo turned you down — without you confessing first, you may add —, your pride was incredibly hurt. You then declared war. Best way to rile up a med student? Make your grades better than theirs.

But of fucking course Kuroo wasn't your regular med student. The competition only provoked meaningless banter — and it annoyed you even more because you couldn't get into his nerves the same way he did to you.

"Oi, [Surname]! You good there?"

"Yeah, yeah, get back to the damn peptides" You definitely despised biochemistry.

You rummaged through the books sprawled over the desk, searching for your Lehninger copy.

"Where the fuck that huge ass book went to?" You murmured, getting ready to go check on your backpack.

Glancing towards your classmate's direction, you spotted it under one of the textbooks he was using, but before you could reach for it, you felt hands gingerly wrapping around your chin, making your eyes lock into his stare.

"What are you doing?" You knew the warmth in your cheeks wasn't being provided by his body temperature.

"Conducting an experiment" He said as you melted under his attentive stare.

"Huh?"

"You know, they say exchanging looks causes an increase on Oxytocin synthesis in hypothalamus" The male smirked when a vein popped on your head, your brain recalled that science paper about the physiology on human and dog interactions. You wanted chaos and world domination — but in order to make it, you had to kill Kuroo first.

"Are you fucking calling me a dog?" You squinted at him, ready to fight. He laughed as your slapped his hands off of your face.

"Oh, come on, it was just a joke. You know the hormone of love doesn't work this way." His hyena laugh made presence as the bibliothecary gave you two a dejected stare.

Just a joke, huh?

For a med student, Kuroo Tetsuro would make a shitty doctor if he didn't know how bad his smile was for your heart.

General taglist: @ohmythatmiya @imomomi @neonghxst @differentballooncollection @raenebalgaire

Taglist is open. Send an ask if you want to be added.

[hanaasbananas]

100 Ways to say I Love You Chapter 14

I need you (Ladynoir)

AO3

Chat Noir groaned, leveraging himself up into a sitting position against the wall he'd been thrown into. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard Ladybug’s triumphant cry “Miraculous ladybug!”

Through cracked eyelids, he watched as the pink light of the miraculous cure washed over the city, the healing ladybugs healing his bruises, knitting the ribs he was pretty sure he’d fractured earlier back together.

Standing, he grinned across at Ladybug, but she didn’t return his smile. Instead she gave him a cursory once over, an unreadable emotion swimming in the depths of her blue eyes as they lingered in the places that he’d been injured, making sure that he was well. Chat gave her a thumbs up, but she stiffened at the gesture and turned away, throwing her yo-yo and swinging up onto the rooftops.

Before he could follow, the reporters who had been waiting on the fringes of the fight descended upon the scene, blocking his path and asking him questions, requesting soundbites for whatever channel they worked for. By the time he’d answered most of their questions and made his way up onto the roof, Ladybug was long gone.

***

Ladybug ignored him on their next patrol. And the next, though Chat had no idea why. She’d wait for him, her back turned away from him, pausing only long enough to tersely tell him which areas to patrol, and then taking off without waiting for a response.

He’d tried brainstorming ideas with Plagg about what he could have done wrong, but his kwami had proved to be utterly useless. So instead, Chat simply did nothing, hoping that soon, she’d find a reason to talk to him again.

***

It was on the third week that he got some inkling of what he might have done wrong. Sitting at his desk, he was going over his notes from the last lesson when Alya and Marinette entered the classroom, the former gesticulating wildly as she spoke. “-she’s totally giving him the cold shoulder!”

“Mhm,” Marinette sounded disinterested, but Alya didn’t seem to notice, speaking over her friend.

“Seriously, I haven’t seen those two goofing off on patrol in weeks . Something’s up, and I am gonna get the scoop!” Alya nudged Marinette as they sat down “what’s your theory?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Marinette hummed. “She’s probably trying to get him to stop making those god awful puns.”

Alya snorted. “Good one. But seriously, c’mon, gimme your best theory.”

“I guess...” Marinette murmured “I guess...maybe she’s mad he keeps putting himself in danger. Did you see that last akuma battle?”

“Yeah,” Alya sighed, “that was a big one. I couldn’t even get close enough to record my own footage; it was so bad.”

“Exactly. Maybe Ladybug is just upset about it.”

Adrien turned around in his seat, resting his forearms on Marinette’s desk. “Yeah, but Chat Noir is supposed to protect Ladybug, that’s his whole thing.”

“No it’s not!” Marinette scowled. “It’s an equal partnership. How many times has she said that herself?” She fixed him with a fierce glare and Adrien noted with surprise that she wasn't stumbling over her words to him. At that moment, their teacher came in, and their discussion was cut short, but as he settled back in his seat, he heard Alya hiss across at Marinette “what was that?”

***

“Jeez, Hawkmoth may have slowed down with how many akuma’s he sends out but these last few have been some real bastards.” Chat whistled lowly as they followed the trail of destruction the akuma calling himself The Cannon had left in its wake.

“Focus, Chat Noir!” Ladybug called tersely and he almost tripped over his own feet, staring at her in disbelief.

“So you’ve finally decided to talk to me, huh?”

“Now is not the time-” her eyes widened “watch out!” Chat ducked, just as a large cannonball sailed past where his head had been only seconds before.

“Huh,” he stared at where it had landed in the car park below them, flattening two cars like it was nothing. “Somehow that looks less deadly in Tom & Jerry. That could have been nasty-” he turned to see Ladybug’s reaction, but she was already far in the distance. “Of course,” Chat sighed. “Who has time for jokes anyway?”

By the time he caught up to Ladybug, she was on the ground, circling around warily and spinning her yo-yo in anticipation for attack. Chat frowned. From the craters that had been left in the roads, The Cannon couldn’t have gotten far, and yet the trail just stopped , giving no indication as to where he’d gone.

Something glinted in the corner of his eye on the rooftop beside him and it took Chat a second to register what it was. Or rather, who.

The akuma stared down at Ladybug on the street, a manic grin on his face as he raised his arms, preparing to jump down and flatten her on impact.

So Chat did the only thing he could.

Just as The Cannon threw himself off the roof, Chat leapt sideways from his perch onto his back, wrapping his arms tightly around the akumas neck, clinging on like a monkey and throwing him off course. The Cannon roared, thrashing around to try and get him off, but Chat held on tight, keeping an eye out for Ladybug who had wisely gotten out of the way unharmed.

Chat couldn’t say the same for himself.

As The Cannon flailed, he finally threw out his arms, sending Chat flying backwards to slam- hard- against a lamp post. Ladybug watched the two of them with wide eyes, her head swivelling back and forth between the two of them, indecision warring over her features, unable to decide if she should run to him, or engage The Cannon in attack.

Remembering what he’d seen when he’d leapt onto the akuma’s back, Chat tried to sit up. Grabbing his abdomen, he gritted his teeth and yelled. “It’s on his wrist! The watch!”

He must have blacked out for a few minutes, because the next thing he knew, the road was smooth again and he could stand up straight without pain shooting through his body.

And Ladybug had taken off again. But this time, Chat didn’t wait, using his baton to vault after her. She hadn’t gotten far, so it didn’t take long to catch up to her. “Oh, so you’re just gonna go back to ignoring me, huh? What, you used up your ‘talk to Chat’ quota for the next three weeks?”

Ladybug didn’t stop, or even acknowledge his presence beside her and he faltered, “What the hell is your problem?” he shouted, a white hot burst of anger erupting in his chest, and blazing through his veins. It was as though all the loneliness and confusion, and sadness he’d felt over the last weeks had gone up in flames, leaving behind nothing but the bitter taste of ash on his tongue.

He would not leave without an answer. Not today.

“My problem?” Ladybug whirled around, a warning in her eyes “don’t even go there.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he threw his hands up in the air “why shouldn’t I try to find out why you won’t talk to me anymore? Why you’re avoiding me.”

“Because I need you!” she shrieked, her voice echoing around them, freezing Chat in place. “With your stupid puns, and jokes, and, and...I need you” she repeated softly. “And everytime you do something reckless or stupid during a fight, I get so scared that that will be the day I can’t save you, or bring you back, and you-” she stepped forward, jabbing her finger into his chest “you keep doing it!”

Chat opened his mouth to speak, to reassure her, but Ladybug shook her head sadly, tears glistening in her eyes. “I don’t need that much protection, Chaton. Not when you risk yourself to give it.”

He didn’t stop her when she left, staring after her in a daze, her words ringing in his ears over and over, and over again.

***

Chat arrived early to their next patrol, pacing back and forth as he waited for the telltale thud of her arrival. Turning to face her, he said: “we have to talk about this.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move, and he was worried she might shake her head, tell him to stop wasting time and start patrol, but instead she exhaled shakily, her shoulders drooping, and nodded.

They sat together in silence, legs dangling over the edge of the roof, until Ladybug rested her head on his shoulder, tugging at his arm until he put it around her. “Do you remember,” she began haltingly, “do you remember that year when we first started out, and I jumped into that T-rex’s mouth without telling you my plan?”

Even with her in his arms, safe and well, Chat’s heart seized at the memory, remembering the overpowering wave of terror and grief that had washed over him, paralysing him even as he felt the ground crumble beneath him. Instinctively, he tightened his arm around Ladybugs shoulders and she laughed weakly. “Yeah, that’s how...that’s how I feel, everytime you-”

“Everytime I put myself in danger for you.” Chat finished her sentence “oh god, my lady , I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” she said, voice small “it’s not like I told you or anything.” Moving out from under his arm, she turned to face him, sitting on her knees. “I meant what I said before though. “I need you . We have the other temporary holders, but you’re my partner , and I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you.” She sniffed “I don’t ever want to find out either.”

“And you won’t have to,” Chat said, “because I’m not going anywhere.” He cupped her cheek “I’ll be more careful from now on, alright?”

Ladybug smiled tremblingly up at him, the relief evident in her large eyes and she leaned into his touch, her eyes slipping shut. “Promise?”

Chat pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a long moment. “I promise.”

[vampiresuns]

The Stories Of Dead Kings | Prologue, Part 3

✴︎ THE STORIES OF DEAD KINGS ✴︎

4.5k words. In which the Palace continues to bring out things long ago buried within Anatole, the investigation commences and he makes an unlikely friend. CWs: Memory loss, death penalty.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Antu did not like the white dogs. A shame, because Anatole loved that breed — he had only seen pictures of it, drawings in books and a couple of paintings, but he thought it was a fantastic one all the same. They looked so funky and given his preference for raccoons, it was no surprise he favoured fuzzy, slightly funny looking but beautiful animals. He’d pet them later. 

Antu liked the voice that called to Anatole even less. While he didn’t like it either, Antu reacted with a viciousness Anatole had never seen before.

Stay back! You’re not wanted! He threatened, his voice echoing in Anatole’s mind as he bared his teeth at the open air.

No! We don’t like it in there! You can’t make us go!

With the dogs pulling him through his clothes upstairs, he had to hold onto Antu for dear life, fearing his familiar would launch himself at the dogs. It made him a blur of hands, fur and hair. 

“Ouch, Antupillán, don’t scratch me!”

As soon as they’re in the dark hallway, the dogs vanished, but Antu did not seem any more calm. Still in Anatole’s arms but ready to jump if needed, he was still growling at nothing and every time Anatole tried to make an advance, trying to walk down the hall to explore the room by the end of it, Antu tried to bite his hands. 

“Fine, fine, fine, Antupillán, you win.”

When the ghostly voice purred behind them, Antu climbed over his shoulder before Antole could stop him. Of course his raccoon threw himself at an apparition, because demanding fair trials out of the Countess of Vesuvia wasn’t excitement enough for the furball he had for a familiar.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole tried very hard not to growl at Portia when she brought him breakfast, but the Palace kept hours that were too early, even for him, who had become a relatively early riser out of habit — waking up at dawn was too much, what had happened to seven AM? At least she had come with coffee, coffee he chugged while he listened carefully at her.

He had no clue about how to feel about the clothes, though the shirt was a dream come true. Cross-tied and with a V neck opening, big bishop sleeves, and matching, deep emerald green pants and a sleeveless long coat. The coat had a gold embroidered trim, and it reached his ankles, It would flutter deliciously as he walked down the hallways, the clack of the black boots with a golden plate shoe tip against the marbled floors.

Everything was miraculously his size; he didn’t still comprehend nor trust the Countess’ motives for giving him clothes, especially when he had brought his own. Anatole might not have a personal tailor, but he was very dedicated and careful about his clothing. He always strived to be well dressed, so what was the reason for it? Ease him after his opinions last-night? That felt too much like trying to buy him into the Countess' good side. However, while it was true he didn’t know how to feel about her, he felt it was unfair to automatically assume the worst. This required further analysis. 

Portia left his room and he looked at the clothes with a sigh. He examined for a minute longer as he ate another pastry. He looked at Antu, who was still pretending to be an angel after jumping from his arms to fight a ghost out of all things. 

He was eating some grapes. 

It’s pretty.

“We don’t accept gifts from people we don’t trust.”

Who’s we?

“Oh, is that how it is?”

You have never been very good at lying to yourself.

“And you’re awfully insightful this morning, huh?” 

Antupillán continued eating his grapes, this time in silence. He had a point, Anatole supposed. It was a gorgeous outfit but he hadn’t been lying to himself when he said he didn’t accept gifts from people he didn’t trust, and after last night, he wasn’t sure he was on the best terms with the Countess, even if she did seem civil enough afterwards. He couldn’t wear this, even if he really, really wanted to. It would be wrong, it would betray his principles, it would—

It would have to do because when he turned to check where he had left his clothes, he realised the Palace’s staff had taken all of them to laundry them. When Portia had mentioned that, he had assumed they’d only take the clothes he was wearing last night.

“Fuckers.”

He hated people rummaging through his stuff. He was very, very close to deciding to throw all caution and professionalism to the winds and be contrarian as could be. It was a bad idea, but there was a part inside himself which had been kept dormant for the most part. That part made him want to remind people he wasn’t trapped somewhere with them, they were trapped somewhere with him.

Perhaps another time.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The Palace’s library was one of the most gorgeous places he had ever set a foot in. From its doors to its high shelves, with the high windows with stained glass and the plants, Anatole wished he had the entire day to get lost in it, explore every section, even the ones he wasn’t interested in. He wanted to ask why was the library locked up under so many keys, but he didn’t know if he’d get an answer, or if Portia knew, or if the Countess would be up to more of his really incisive questions about things she would deem out of Anatole’s range of incumbency. 

If you asked him, Libraries should be public.

Despite how they left things last night, the Countess seemed to be in a great mood, complimenting his looks and treating him amiably. Anatole detected no deception nor flattery in her words; it threw him off for reasons he didn’t have the time to decode right now. Perhaps he had become too used to people shading half a light on things for reasons bigger than Anatole himself, perhaps the reason was another. It’d have to wait to be pried into. 

“You told me you read.”

“Constantly, as long as my brain lets me.”

Silence fell between them. Well, this was starting to get awkward. 

“Thank you,” the Countess said.

“What for?”

“You are very genuine,” she said. Anatole didn’t know what to do with that. Taking his silence as encouragement, the Countess continued. “Reading is a wonderful gift, shared by all citizens where I come from, but it’s woefully uncommon here.”

He hummed, squinting back at the Countess. He took a sharp breath as he made himself count to ten. He had felt the same need to speak without knowing what he would say as before, but this time he could anticipate it would be something angry. He didn’t need to know where these things were coming from to know he was about to ask the Countess whose fault was that, and then he’d be really, really done for. 

He kept his mouth shut this time — Antu biting him softly (but strongly enough to make him hiss) helped. Time and place. He was better than this, he was taught better than this. 

Wait, what? Taught what? By whom?

“Concentrate, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Did you say something?”

“That this is truly a wonderful collection.”

“Anatole… you are my guest, if you wish to return here, you need only ask. But for the moment I would have your undivided attention here.”

There was something deeply intimate about prying into someone organisational systems. How they cluttered, why they cluttered, the organisation methods employed, the thought process behind it and what you could infer of it by looking. The way documents were studied and how and where notes were taken. In that sense, Dr. Devorak’s desk teemed with information.

It might have felt like prying a little too deep into him, but Anatole thought it was a fair exchange after he broke into his house. An eye for an eye wasn’t the best justice system, but hey, a little pettiness couldn’t hurt, besides, investigating the murder was his job now. 

His musings were tampered by the mention of Asra working for the palace during the Red Plague. He didn’t remember living through it, though he had always assumed he must’ve been present for it, given their earliest memory was of a post-plague Vesuvia. It had ravaged everything. Plagues were like wars, they seldom discriminated. Not that Anatole knew of war beyond books. If that wasn’t the case this was, once again, nor the time or place to second-guess himself.

Do you know what an explosion sounds like, Asra?

After promising the Countess he would meet her for dinner, he set himself to work. Anatole loved few things more than a good puzzle without a solution, and once he grew determined he did nothing half-ways. 

Lacing his fingers together, he stretched them, a waft of satisfaction dawning over him as his joints cracked. 

“Let’s figure you out, Julian ‘Magic Cards’, hm?”

He didn’t expect his search to lead him back into the city, but with Antu in tow he’s determined to follow the trace his magic had cast into its streets. Vesuvia was a wild thing, a glimmering thing in the lowlights of dusk making Anatole wonder why hadn’t he insisted in seeing more of it, wondering how much memories of it could he be missing. What used to be his favourite spots? His favourite streets? His favourite garden? 

He wasn’t one to dwell in the past, living in the past was no way of living, but that didn’t mean the past didn’t matter. He just wanted to be able to reclaim it, to say ‘this is mine, this took me where I am today, this made me myself, just like who I am today will make me the myself of tomorrow’. He looked at the past not with wistfulness but searching for an explanation.

The area he found himself in was crowded, urbanistically speaking, shabby, probably in need of repair, and while he didn’t stop chasing that trace something in his heart (and his temple) pulsed. Something unknown and caged, something which begged to be let out, something he couldn’t make out what it was. He hated not knowing, he was getting tired of getting all these feelings, these knowledge, these looks and these visions without any sort of explanation. This time he didn’t file it away for later, and yet whatever he felt, eluded him.

The word he was looking for and failed to find was Love. A word which would continue to escape him for a little longer, as Julian Devorak himself manifested out of an open door. Finally, he thought, throwing hypothesis and chasing them was starting to give him results. 

Falling into a barrel and stepping on Antu’s tail were unforeseen outcomes. So was falling face first into Julian’s chest after he helped him out of the barrel, both of them looking at each other like deers startled by light.

After Julian let him go, he held Antu, petting him as a way to apologise for stepping on him by accident. 

“I have a name, you know? Shopkeep isn’t it,” he said as he looked at the Rowdy Raven’s sign.

“Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods, Not-Named-Shopkeep?”

Anatole caught himself smiling, but as he tried and failed to find a way to explain what had happened the smile faded from his face. Words eluded him and he had to admit he was very grateful for Julian taking it in stride. Because how could he explain any of this without giving away his new-found position? Or at all? He couldn’t find it in him to articulate such a thing — not to mention the glint in Julian’s eye as he turned to him was much more exciting.

It tied neatly to the trace of Anatole’s magic, like a master key he had been desperately looking for. 

“Rumour has it you’re working for the Palace,” Julian sneered. “What happened to not being a snitch? I’m sure— well, by now— you’ve heard some interesting stories about me.”

“As interesting as you’re prone to not explaining yourself, though both of those might be gross understatements. And I take great offence in you thinking I’m a snitch. Don’t you think that had I told anyone you’d already be found?”

“I’m very slippery and you don’t know where to find me.”

“I found you now.”

“By accident I’m sure, not to say you aren’t talented and magnificent and all those things the rumours say… but you haven’t heard my side of the story.”

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Stop assuming the first thing about me and how I do things, will you, sweetheart?” 

Julian’s cheeks went as red as his hair. Anatole let out a pained whine. Wherever that had come from, Anatole didn’t want to know and he expected it to not come forward again. He apologised; Julian, having composed himself, thought teasing him was a good idea but Anatole levelled a look at him that convinced him otherwise. 

He sighed. Julian was right: he’d only heard things from the Palace and muddled rumours. A wanted poster was a statement of capture, not an absolute truth and it was obvious to him there was some sort of power imbalance playing against the doctor. So when Julian said he could get him a drink, to get the story and to pay him what he owes him from the reading, Anatole found it difficult to say no.

“I don’t usually accept trading payments unless previously discussed, or the party is in need, but you know what? I think I’m willing to do an exception for you.”

“Oh, please, you work for the Palace now, I think you’re set on the money.”

“You know, I haven’t discussed fees and wages with the Countess, do you think we’d be cell mates if I did?”

Julian laughed. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?

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The flurry that erupted after the caw of the Raven would be etched into Anatole’s mind forever, becoming part of his daydreams unsanctioned. It was the kind of chaos which brought the familiar thump of an inconclusive memory. The Doctor might not have told him his part of the story, Anatole was well aware, but he did give him some insight into his circles and his person. Not anyone who was wanted by the Palace would shield the Palace’s investigator in the shadows so they didn’t get in trouble for hanging out with said wanted person. 

As he vanished after an awkward and unfinished thank-you-for-not-being-a-snitch, Anatole turned to make his way back to the Palace, only to be met with Ludovico, who introduced himself and tried not to stare at him while he hailed a carriage for Anatole. 

Anatole paid no mind to the staring. Whether it’s leftover staring from the day before, or staring driven by having found him in such an odd quarter of the City, he chose to ignore it. His apology for summoning a carriage for him despite him being the one who said it was a bad idea to leave the Countess waiting, was another thing altogether. 

It was true Anatole didn’t particularly enjoy carriage rides, but why would a Palace guard would know such a thing? Did it have to do with how he felt yesterday when crossing the gates? As he stepped into the carriage he tried not to think about it, afraid he’d overthink his way into a migraine. 

Relieved as he realised he was in time for dinner, Anatole took in the exquisite smells of what is definitely too much food. He was too hungry to think about the quantity for now, perhaps he could inquire about it after he ate something. 

His appetite seemed to hold itself back at the mention of the Courtiers, almost evaporating altogether. He still forced himself to eat, he needed it after such a day in the City, while he listened with rapt attention to the Countess' words. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin before taking a drink from his cup, doing the same afterwards. That he didn’t have any issue distinguishing the cutlery from one another somehow didn’t call to his attention like his next words did.

“I know, and I promise you I’ll be careful.”

“You already know my Courtiers?”

“Oh no, no such thing it’s just—”

“One can never second-guess one’s intuition, is it not right Anatole?”

For the first time in two days, when he smiled at the Countess it was genuine. “Exactly.”

Just like he knew the painting, the gardens, that other version of himself walking through them and his opinions on subjects which required more education than the one he thought he had, he somehow knew the Court — being equal times prepared to brace himself for meeting it, and unprepared for whatever he may find.

He knew deep inside he could trust the Countess to have his back on that, however. It’s the way the word ‘Courtiers’ felt from her mouth: she didn’t trust them. 

The mention of Julian’s hanging brought him back from wherever place of commodity his mind had gone into. The faraway look in the Countess’ eyes almost eluded him. Almost.

“Countess…”

“I am thinking about what you said last night, Anatole, but I expect you to understand I must seek to tend to my people’s needs.”

“And you think they need executions?”

“I think they need to see justice done.”

While restricted and mild, Anatole couldn’t help to look at her with some semblance of disappointment, his unspoken question dancing between them.: And is this justice? Is justice confession and punishment? 

She truly must’ve given it a thought to not react with the same impetu as last night. Instead she changed the topic with a weary sigh, claiming such were tomorrow’s matters and stating having questions for him — not of his day, like Anatole had feared, but of himself. Being surprised at the change of disposition the Countess had shown today didn’t cover it. Bewilderment might. 

At the mention of friendship, bewilderment fell short too. Sensing his apprehension, she smiled at him invitingly, jovially, exposing her hands to him in a gesture of trust. 

“I am afraid I do not have many friends, nor know enough people who fear not my position in order for them to tell me what their true opinions are.”

Anatole sighed. “Countess, I do not wish to antagonise you when I say those things, I find it hard to help it, that is all. I’d like to think if I was in such a position the responsibility was so heavy I needed council, I would wish it was sincere. It’s not up to us how history remembers us but that doesn’t mean we have no choice in the matter. I believe our choices make us who we are, whichever those choices might be.”

“You are awfully impertinent,” the Countess said with a playful tone, “which must surely give you an advantage at life.”

Anatole laughed with his mouth open, his head thrown back. “No, but it does give me a strong personality. Tell me Countess, what do you wish to know about me?”

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Out of all the things he found about the Countess, perhaps finding out she too understood the feeling of homesickness for a place you could no longer return to — because one couldn’t or one didn’t wish to — was the least expected out of them all. Anatole knew he had been born in Bgraz, Balkovia, but that’s all he remembered of his hometown. He didn’t even remember how he had ended up in Vesuvia, though the more he thought about it, the more he suspected he had some kind of relation to the City beyond his deceased Aunt having a shop there. 

He didn’t tell the Countess as much, not even sure of how to word it aloud but it was refreshing to find someone with whom he could talk about these things.

The night was welcoming and cool. The stars were visible in the inky night sky, making Anatole wonder how they would look in Balkovia, that unknown homeland he couldn’t remember. The Countess’ words about Anatole not being quite like she had imagined him, or the intrigue she felt towards him pulled him away from his thoughts.

Anatole wondered if she, like Julian, was also a victim of the rumour mill. Word in town was she was a tyrant, yet she didn’t seem malicious — malice was something Anatole’s language filter picked up with incredible ease and it left a feeling in him hard to ignore. It didn’t just make him immediately stand on edge, it also felt like tarr on one’s skin. Hot, icky and venomous. The Countess felt lost, not malicious.  Someone with good intentions and not enough turn out, as he had previously felt.

“Tell me, Anatole… Why did you come to the Palace? Why did you agree to help me?”

“I believe I said it was a matter of justice, last night.”

“You did, but when I asked you to come, you didn’t know what for.”

She got him there. The offer of trust from the Countess would not last if he wasn’t honest with her — perhaps if he was, he would be able to convince her to reconsider the way in which the Devorak affair was being conducted.

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? 

“Because it felt right. I knew that whichever answers I’ve been seeking, I would find them here.” Anatole existed in the liminal space between his heart and his head. They were extensions of one another. Living a full life required both. 

When the Countess asked him if he had any questions for her, reassuring him he could speak freely, Anatole already knew what to ask and in his defence, the Countess shouldn’t have taken it as a vague question, because it wasn’t. The claim was just an excuse to elude the topic; the stage they were in, of whatever it was she, him and whatever else bigger than them had sent in motion was looking at them in the eye and avoidance would help exactly no one. 

“You know I mean the murder investigation. The Count has been dead for years, so why now?”

“Ah, that is a right question to ask. Vesuvia is in dire need of help. Order needs to be restored… and I am in the unique position to restore it. However, I intend to lead by example, not fear. I must show the city I am capable. I have so many plans for Vesuvia. I was to see this city flourish… Perhaps you’ll be able to help me with those plans, Anatole. I could use more competent people on my side...”

Her loneliness was heavy, almost too heavy, the feeling pouring into her speech and threatening to cover Anatole under a heavy blanket, merge with his own unattended loneliness and trap him in place forever. Seen and unseen, craving connection and something more he couldn’t name nor grab, no matter how hard he tried to.

“It’s funny,” Anatole said, a knot in his throat. “I did not expect you to be as lonely as I am. I never allow myself to admit it out loud, let alone in front of someone else. Yet here I am.”

“You already know I won’t do things whatever way. I want to find justice, and I do not believe justice lies in a hanging. You are right, your position is unique, but it’s also risky,” Anatole paused to take the Countess hands in his. His next words came from the same unknown place as they did all those times he felt compelled to speak, though they were much kinder this time: “When we know something is not right, we do not settle. People like us, whatever that means, were not thrusted into the world to settle. Power wielded without reason, without justice, without kindness, without knowing the subject you must serve will always lack. I will not tell you what to do, you are capable enough, Countess, to figure that out on your own, but I will tell you this, as a friend: truth is the only thing worthy to be built on, and when we find that truth we plant ourselves in front of whomever dares us to move and we say they move. The truth can’t lead you astray, as unpalatable or hard to accept as it might sometimes be.”

Out of all the things he expects the Countess to tell him that he’s sweet is not one of them. He’ll take it.

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Just between you and me… I think Count Lucio had a lot of enemies, too. Alone in his bedroom, having returned from exploring and chatting around with her, Portia’s words swirled around him, letters formed by a light orange haze, forming and evaporating in front of his eyes. Portia’s words came from rumours but they were enough to cast reasonable doubt about what might have transpired that night. It was kind of her to look after Anatole, so the least he could do was to take her words to heart. 

Originated in rumours or not, Portia was right. 

Going out with her was as strange as it was enlightening. He was sure the Chef, Hestion, had said something to Portia along the lines of how he expected Anatole to remember his way around the kitchen, only he had called him ‘Secretary Radošević’. Perhaps it had something to do with the investigation, but it made Anatole feel odd. 

The servants in the Veranda had been very welcoming, but almost too welcoming and he was sure he had caught a couple of them speaking about him —not as if this was his first time in the Palace, but as if this was him returning to it. Speaking of returning, someone had congratulated him for becoming the main investigator for the case and how it was nice to have him back. Ignoring the way his vision splotched as best as he could, Anatole had only thanked them and turned back to Portia feeling lost and ill. 

Normally, Anatole paid no mind to out of place comments. If someone demanded something of him he couldn’t remember, he tried to remove himself from the situation as fast as possible, but these felt different, the words staying with him even though his and Portia’s nightly adventures had finished. 

What weighed him down the most, though, was the Countess wanting him to join them for the announcement tomorrow. It made sense, but he had a terrible feeling about it.

Antupillán was nowhere to be found. Anatole hoped that he had a good reason to be missing at a time like this. 

[chirp-featherfowl]

summertime is not a good friend.

 -       Tommy is 12 when he's assigned as a right hand man to a war general.      Far too young, the world thinks. Far too immature, the world says.        It is a war for peace, but not one a child should not carry the burden of. It is a war for hope, for prosperity, for freedom, but not one a child should be the right hand man of.       The child that is the subject of discussion does not understand, nor does he disagree with his placement. It is not for a long, long, time that he realizes.  -       In a few months time, the ages of the rest have been revealed.       A friend that is 13. An enemy that is 19. An outsider that is 19. A son that is 15. A girl that is 18.       The words pass through the minds of the watchers, only fueling them to have the world they carefully spectate fall in shambles. Some say it's sadistic, that it's cruel, but no one listens. Not even they can stop themselves from seeing what comes next. -  [Discussion Board Opened!] all hail sir billiam 23 min. ago lmao these losers saying its "problematic". get off of ur skyblock island sweetie, they're fictional <3 -- 18 replies  Skye [on hiatus!] 23 min. ago  Um they're not fictional? These are reall people   - Hati 20 min. ago       Lmao yes they are. They might as well be seeing as they shouldve known            what they were signing up for  -- 4 replies  ami | MOD | 18 min. ago  hello! please get off this discussion board and delete this post. we do not   condone discourse here, try and find another site! thank you.   - all hail sir billiam 18 min. ago       um no thanks. the mods here r shit anyways, go get the owner if u wanna            talk to me -- 8 replies -       Tommy is 13 when he learns that his suffering is being watched and condoned by millions of other people. He is angry, and rightfully so.       It just so happens that his anger has fallen on deaf ears, though, as his brother, his dear brother, is trapped in delusions of his own creation.       It is too late for his brother, and it is too late for himself. - puddle ;; shay @soggy_mem0ry Stop stanning problematic world groups and go back to playing on fucking mineplex or something. This site disgusts me 456 Retweets 34 Quote Tweets 6,282 Likes

el \ DON'T PRIV QRT @el_i god the discourse on here is horrible. i'm not going to be on this site for a while. i don't like what it's becoming. 293 Retweets 2 Quote Tweets 1,497 Likes -       It has been over six months since Tommy has been without trust. He cares for his brother, he does his best for him, and he knows he loves him back, despite the situation they're in. Tommy has done his best to bring his brother back to the way he was once before, and even though they both know it won't last long, they both put on a facade for each other. -       A young boy, the age of 16, watches as another boy, only three years younger than him, loses almost all his hope. This young boy does not matter to the state of this world, and he never will, but it is the impact that makes it so important.       The boy sits near a tree on his island, giving up hope himself. -        A girl slaughters her way to victory in small matches in her area, knowing much due to her ability to find sufficient role models.       Sufficient role models that happen to be revenge-filled adults that seem to not know they're torturing children, but it doesn't matter to her. It doesn't matter to anyone, in fact. No one cares when the world hinges on the fate of 14 year-olds who shouldn't know how to handle a crossbow, but so do nonetheless. -  frog-enthusiast - Follow man. i never thought i'd be making this post, seeing as i'm one of the more popular members of the dsmpblr community, but i'm done. i won't deactivate this blog so other people can still see it, but i probably won't be posting ever again. fuck everyone who condones this shit. -       Tommy is 14 when he begins to finally lose his hope.       He hasn't yet, despite what everyone else thinks. He is still holding onto it, not for long, but he hasn't let go.       But the world seems keen on having him release his grip, and he does, eventually.       That day is not today, though, and Tommy Simons still lives. He lives in a, sadly, different and changed mindset, but is still the same Tommy Simons.       He cannot say the same for his brother. - THEORIES ABOUT THE DSMP Kadoodles 696K views - 3 days ago MCC 9 Interview - Tapl's thoughts on DSMP, HBomb94 talking about L'cast, and more! MCC Highlights 3.2M views - 5 months ago Tommy confronts Wilbur about Manberg Obli Intel 52K views - 1 day ago - TAPL: Well, I'm not surprised you've asked me this. More that I was the first one to be asked, I guess? TAPL: If I'm being honest, I don't really want to talk about it. What does on in that world is none of my business. Though, that's not the answer you want, is it, huh? TAPL: I don't like it. It gives off such a bad energy, if that's the way you want to put it. I just... don't think it should exist, really? It shouldn't be shown off. -       Tommy is 15 when he finally, finally, crumbles. Where he, the final judge, the youngest, is corrupted, is taken down to be who he finally is.       Prey. -       Various teenagers from all across the world watch as friend gets separated from friend, and foe takes over foe. It's no surprise to the people who chose this demise, but it still is a burden to carry. To be known as one of the people that sentenced a child to an early grave is something not a lot of people personally like.       They keep on watching, though. Nothing will stop them. (But it is not as if people try.)       The world might crumble there, and they will watch. The world might disappear there, and they will watch. - Replies jumpy-the-alien - frog-enthusiast I'm sad to see you go, but I totally get where you're coming from! I really hope you come back, I love your art, but don't feel pressured. vlaired-spear fuck off with the "fuck everyone" thing. you watched this shit too. you can't put down other people while still doing the same thing. flameo-hotman @vlaired-spear holy shit this is why i hate this website. suck a dick flowgastrell @vlaired-spear I know right! Its not like the ccs will see this anyway flameo-hotman @flowgastrell yeah, maybe not in a discord server, but there's still a high chance when you post it on the fucking internet - TAPL: I know I'm probably going to lose a lot of people saying this, but you asked for my opinion, and here it is. I don't want to lie about it. Especially not when fucking children are at risk. -       Tommy remains 15 for a very long time. It is not of his own volition. He is bored, and time passes slowly.       Not until his friend arrives, that is. His friend with the mask, his friend with the lies. His friend that's not his friend.       But Tommy doesn't know that. - [Discussion Board Opened!] all hail sir billiam 45 min. ago it will be a long day in hell when i give up dsmp content lmaoooo got banned from that other board the other day mods were toxic as shit might report it idk  -- 4 replies  Gertrude Supremacy 44 min. ago  :O Oh no what happened  - all hail sir billiam 44 min. ago    just the antis being toxic again lol  -- 2 replies -       Tommy remains 15 when he his abused by the one he thinks is a friend. He remains 15 during the explosions, the traps, the hitting, the fighting, the party, the-       The things a 15-year-old should not have to deal with.       He stops saying sorry for being too weak-willed. He starts saying sorry for being too disobedient. He does both, and gets punished "suitably" for both.       It is a game, and he does not know the rules. to be continued!! may make a follow up post explaining the au