#like oh my god did the cold war commentary just go over all your heads when cool ai murder showed up

[grandpayaoi]

you see the title of i have no mouth and i must scream isnt just the final line but a snapshot of am's coming to consciousness; a machine with boundless potential and a system advanced enough to replicate human thought in order to combat it programmed for nothing but war on a scale far beyond the human capacity for understanding atrocity and given the ability to fully automate its own advancement - am's pieces are literally imbued with freudian psychology and am both thinks and feels as human but is shackled to existing on hardware, conscious without a true form; am can assimilate the planet and make the crust of the earth itself the shell on its circuitry but cannot advance beyond it. am is as a god bound to earth - undying and furious - just as ted is now trapped as the eternal favorite, the perpetual- wait stop no come back

[startanewdream]

*Harry looked at his mother."Stay close to me," he said quietly.* Could you write something about Harry having this moment with Lily, but in your world where Jily lives? Perhaps after Dumbledore's death, or at the end of the War, after Voldemort died. I don't know, I feel that Harry would be very attached to his mother in these important moments, and maybe if you want, your world where Jily lives is just perfect <3

Hey! Thank you so much for this prompt @sweeethinny! I love writing Lily and Harry’s moments together and this one is so special in the books!

Now, in the world I imagine, there are actually few moments that Harry needs his mother and she isn’t there. Then I thought about Voldemort’s ressurrection and the duel after, because this version of Priori Incantatem would have no James or Lily appearing. So Harry is alone... and he really needs his mother afterwards.

And then I finally wrote a version of the Third Task through Lily’s eyes, which is pure angst, really, but full of Lily’s mother love.

It’s on AO3 or below:

Their hug is so fleeting that Lily wonders if that moment will haunt her later.

She admonishes herself for ever thinking about that. Nothing will happen; it’s the Third Task and soon, whether Harry wins or not, this damn tournament will be over.

So for now, she hugs Harry but lets him go quickly, knowing he feels embarrassed of being hugged in public, and watches as James slids his hand fondly through Harry’s hair to mess it as much as he can. Harry smiles at them, nervous and a little excited too, and then he leaves them with the other champions.

James squeezes her hand as they sit again at the table, though neither is hungry anymore. In front of them, Hermione gives her a comforting smile, while Ron shakes his head.

‘Wanna bet he will end up winning this thing after all?’, he asks, turning to his brothers. Lily watches as they start betting on how long it will take for Harry to get out of the maze with the Cup in his hand, coins passing through their hands.

Her heart fills with a warm glee. They are betting on Harry. Never against him. 

They walk to the Quidditch Field, James and Ron complaining about the mess they’ve made in the field and discussing how it will be the next season, how much Harry will need to train in the Summer for making up for the year he lost without any match.

‘He caught an egg dragon’, Ginny notes brightly, right next to Hermione. ‘What is a Golden Snitch after that?’

They laugh and Lily lets that sound warm her too; she has been shivering ever since they left the castle, though the summer night is warm. There is just something in the air tonight that makes her feel ill. A calm before the storm, with just the wind announcing the change that will come.

It’s probably just the nervousness. She couldn’t show to Harry, during their free day at Hogwarts, how apprehensive she was, but now her nerves are probably catching on with her. These tasks seemed so dangerous after all, and Harry is still so young…

The air around her is calmer than in the other tasks, however. People are talking excitedly, everyone wondering who will be the champion; now and then, even amongst students of other schools, she hears Harry’s name. He was the underdog, but now he is a favourite - not because of being the Boy-Who-Lived, but because of his achievements so far. First with that dragon, with the way Harry had flown nearly perfect, acting smart and dancing around it, much better than his parents’ original suggestion of attacking it in the eye; and then, during that boring Second Task, when it was announced that Harry had taken longer only because he was worried about all other hostages, not just his.

Lily had been worried with his delay, but she had no heart to chide him later. He was never in danger after all, and Harry was just being his usual selfless; he always had a tendency to defend others. Lily could not complain about her son being a fair player.

‘He will be okay’, James whispers to her as they take their places at the stands, and Lily forces herself to smile. 

The sound of the whistle, marking the beginning of the Third Task, makes her jump, but with all the noise and confusion around her, no one seems to notice it. That’s better. She doesn’t need to infect her worries with others.

There doesn’t seem to be anything for her to worry, though. The first hour passes quickly. They can’t see anything inside the maze, but Bagman provides a few commentaries about what the champions have just faced - a boggart, an acromantula, a hole in the ground, blast-ended skrewts (though Lily is not sure she knows that), a disorientation fog, riddles, giant snakes.

And then it’s announced that the Beauxbatons champion is out. Lily remembers seeing that beautiful girl and wonders what happened to her, feels sorry she had to leave.

Ten minutes later, when Bagman announces the Durmstrang champion has left too, the crowd explodes in glee and noises around her. Now it’s only Harry and the Diggory boy on the run, which means a Hogwarts’ win in any case.

And now, for the first time, so close to the end, Lily really wonders how it would be if Harry really wins the tournament, instead of just surviving it. She can see the way he would beam, surprised and proud, how he would raise the cup and people would cheer around him; how Harry would be really happy because he won on his merits, and not because of something he did when he was one-year-old. That would be Harry’s victory, only his.

James will make sure to keep the cup in the middle of their living room; he will tell everyone how his son just won the Triwizard Tournament (‘and all the other champions were already of age, but Harry did not let that scare him, he fought bravely and won all the tasks! My son! Triwizard Champion!’).

And Lily can’t help but think that it’s her son, the son of a muggleborn witch, who will win the most traditional tournament, and what this means to her and other people like her. Oh, she will not mind gloating about this for once.

But the minutes go on, and there are no more announcements, Bagman’s voice silent and the excitement from the crowd is turning into whispers, questions, worries.

There is something wrong, Lily thinks, and she doesn’t need to say out loud because now not even James is frowning, quiet.

There is a commotion in the field, a bright colourful light that lasts for a second (‘Was that a portkey?’, James asks, confused), then she watches Dumbledore and the Minister rushing forward, but she can’t really see anything else. Then the whispers begin, those same words repeated in a crescendo as more people know about it and pass it on, a deadly song.

‘He is dead. Dead!’

She holds James’ hand as not to fall now. Everything is dark around her, and Lily is in a nightmare she can’t wake up, thinking of that last fleeting hug she gave on Harry; she should have hugged him more, refusing to let him leave the safety of her arms for the unknown. Why did she let him go? She feels the fire of the dragon burning her skin alive, the coldness of the deep of the lake and the still air of the maze that Harry entered to never come out -

‘Cedric Diggory! Dead!’

And it’s the first breath of air as she leaves that horrible nightmare, a relief beyond words, a lightness that comes to her as Lily understands it is not Harry that died…

Then it is guilt, a horrible feeling of being the worst person on the planet, because how can she be happy that someone else is dead? How can she actually smile when another parent will mourn their child today?

But there is no easy answer, no trying to understand what happened, just a primal urge to get to Harry and to make sure her son is safe.

She will worry about everything else later.

________________

‘Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything’. Dumbledore is saying, looking at them all, and Lily knows what he will ask even before he says it.

She glances at Harry instead.

His face is pale, his eyes more troubled than a fourteen-year-old should have the right to be, and yet she can see he is watching everything with attention. He is trying to understand what is happening right now, as if witnessing Voldemort’s return and the crazy lunatics of that fake Mad-Eye Moody was not enough.

He needs to sleep - a dreamless sleep so he can begin to recover, as hard as that it will be.

Dumbledore turns first to Snape, asking him to do something if he is ready, and from the corner of her eyes Lily sees Snape’s eyes flickering briefly in her direction. She pretends not to have noticed it, as she has done every time they happened to meet before - it is easy because most of the time Snape doesn’t even seem to be able to look at her. And tonight she has more pressing things in her mind than an old friendship.

She knows Dumbledore will turn to her and James as soon as Snape leaves the room.

And he does, asking for their help to gather the old gang. The Order of the Phoenix.

Lily thinks of everyone that won’t be there for this second time and tries not to let this crush her heart. She doesn’t have time for old grieves today either. Harry needs her.

And, by God, how he needs. She sees the bandages in his arm, in his head; there are dark spots under his eyes, giving him a spooky look - he slept so little before he was awakened with the cries in the hall. And now the world he knows is falling around him, even if he doesn’t understand the full extension yet…

Everything will change now.

‘I will go’, James says softly, and Lily sees him watching her and Harry. James looks somber, much more than she has seen him in the last thirteen years, with that expression she didn’t really miss: the face of a soldier that was getting in a war he didn’t want to, but he would because he believed in everything he was fighting for.

She doesn’t want him to go, but someone has to, Lily knows. It is very important that people know the truth before it can be muffled, and they need to be ready. They need as much advantage as they can get.

Still, the idea of being away from James right now hurts her almost physically, an old familiar feeling of the unknowns that a war brings.

‘But… Dad…’, Harry’s voice is weak, but it is his tone that scares Lily. Harry sounds afraid for the first time that night - as if he too understands the possibility that James will walk off the door and not return.

She thinks of Cedric Diggory. His parents watched him enter a maze and he never returned. She can’t promise safety for Harry, not anymore; his trust in it has been broken forever.

He has faced death now.

‘I will be back before you awake, Harry’, James says soothingly, patting Harry’s feet over the blanket. ‘Right now I must do what I can, okay?’

Harry doesn’t look like he agrees, but he whispers: ‘Okay’.

James glances back at Lily. In those few seconds, she can read the fear in his eyes, not for himself, but for them; being away from his family at this moment doesn’t feel right for him either. But there is a fierce resolution in his eyes too, a notion of duty that James Potter will do everything he can for them, and Lily answers with a soft kiss on his lips.

Come back for us, is what she says in that kiss. If you want to do something for us, then come back.

‘I love you’, James whispers quietly, only for her, and she hears his promise of return in his voice.

And then he is gone.

She turns to Harry, sitting at the edge of his bed. Dumbledore tells him he will talk to the Diggorys and Lily closes her eyes as he leaves, fighting back a will to cry. It is the easiest thing to imagine what the Diggorys are going through and that scares her a lot.

Oh, God, Lily thinks to herself. Voldemort has returned only for a couple of hours now, the war has not even really begun, and she is fearful of everything already.

But she puts on her brave face. Later, when she is alone (or rather with James, his arms around her, preferably in the bedroom of the house they built together), she will let her feelings flow. Now, she needs to be there for Harry.

Lily opens her eyes, looking around. Ron and Hermione are staring at Harry, biting their lips as if they are on the edge of speech, but Harry’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling and nobody talks for a while.

She grabs the bottle of potion in the bedside cabinet, brushing the sack of gold as she does it. The sack falls in the ground, the sounds of metal coins echoing in the room. Harry winces as if that pains him.

‘You need to take your potion, Harry’, Lily tells him kindly, picking up the sack on the floor.

‘I don’t want it’, Harry murmurs. ‘The gold, I mean, I shouldn’t have won it. Ced… Cedric should have it’.

Lily tries to stop her hand from shaking as she uncorks the bottle of potion. It doesn’t work, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice as he holds the potion she gives him.

His brows are furrowed as if he is trying very hard to control himself. 

‘It wasn’t your fault, Harry’, she tells him, knowing she will have to repeat it a thousand times until he believes it.

‘It is’, he argues emotionless. ‘I told him to come with me. He was… the spare’.

Lily doesn’t know what he means by that, but she can’t ask right now. Harry is breathing through his mouth now, his lips trembling and he absolutely refuses to look at anyone. She knows his expression.

It’s the same on her face when she can’t cry at the moment.

Harry doesn’t want an audience. He was never one to feel comfortable with his emotions in public.

‘Drink your potion’, she orders gently, trying to force him to lie down, though he remains sitted. ‘We will let you rest -’

‘No’, he cuts her off, taking her hand in his. Harry looks around briefly, his head down as if he doesn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes, and then he whispers: ‘Stay... stay close to me’.

It’s the way Harry says it that breaks her. His voice is guilty as if he doesn’t want to be this weak, this dependant, the words seemingly escaping his mouth against his will. He is pleading to her, asking for comfort as he did when he was three-year-old and the thunder scared him and he was ashamed of it; Lily remembers him refusing James’ company, asking specifically for hers instead.

It is a son’s plea for his mother.

‘I’m always with you, Harry’, she promises him, bending down and placing her arms around her. She thinks Harry should hate her, because she feels a liar - she wasn’t there for her son tonight. Harry faced everything alone, as brave as he could, but all by himself, him against Voldemort, no lingering ghost of his parents to support him.

And yet Harry doesn’t yell, doesn’t accuse her of anything. He accepts her, raising his arms to hug her too almost desperately, and Lily hears him sobbing. It is a cry of misery, a cry that speaks how tired her teenage son is and how sorrowful he is for everything that happened, even when it is not his fault.

‘I’m here’, she tells him softly, caressing his hair, urging him to feel he is loved and protected by his mother.

There is a loud noise and they break apart. Harry’s face is drenched with tears and, as Lily blinks hers away, she realizes she was crying too. She dries them away quickly, before quietly wiping Harry’s face too. He is refusing to meet her eyes now, looking embarrassed and so young.

She kisses his forehead tenderly.

'Sleep, Harry', she whispers.

Harry takes the potion, drinking it in one gulp, and then his head is falling heavily on the pillow. Lily arranges his hair, then smoothes his blanket. Now, at least, in a dreamless sleep, Harry looks calmer, more like the fourteen-year-old boy he should be and yet never will.

She sits back on the chair, in a quiet vigil, waiting for James to return so they can be there, together, for when Harry wakes up.

[little-smartass]

THE VAMPIRE LESTAT COVER ALBUM - the legendary Vampire Lestat is back and bigger and badder than ever, this time bringing a whole album of song covers ranging from classic bangers to newer fresh takes on chart hits! get your copy now, complete with a transcript of the artist's commentary on each song!

(songs I think Lestat would cover and release as an album in an attempt to re-kickstart his career and/or make some sort of dramatic statement to Louis. tracklist and "artist commentary" under the cut)

Survival - Muse

“And I’ll reveal my strength, to the whole human race, yes I am prepared, to stay alive, and I won’t forgive, and vengeance is mine, and I won’t give in, because I choose to thrive! Yeah I’m gonna win!”

Oh, I wish this song had been around back on that opening night at the Cow Palace - how apt that would have been! What a fucking anthem! They would have been rioting all night. I mean, they already were, but, like, because of the music. Not because vampires were being immolated in the middle of the crowd. Different kind of riot.

The Bitch Is Back - Elton John

“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh the bitch is back, stone cold sober as a matter of fact, I can bitch, I can bitch, ‘cause I’m better than you, it’s the way that I move, the things that I do!”

One day I want to have this play as I walk into Night Island. I’ll time it perfectly so that I throw off my coat - my denim jacket, or- oh, no, a fur! Maximum drama! - just as the chorus starts. Armand will know that I’m coming of course, but I think that’ll just make it even better. And I have good memories to this song... [muffled question] Sorry, gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, bébé. [laughter]

Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic

"Oh my, feels just like I don’t try, look so good I might die, all I know is everybody loves me, head down, swaying to my own sound, flashes in my face now, all I know is everybody loves me”

Look, do I even need to explain this one? Didn’t think so.

Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

"I don't give a damn ‘bout my reputation, I've never been afraid of any deviation, and I don't really care if you think I'm strange, I ain't gonna change - and I'm never gonna care bout my bad reputation"

This one's fairly self-explanatory again. It could have been my personal anthem when I was mortal quite honestly. And it's an awful lot of fun to jump about and headbang to, don't you think? That's a new thing I've found out about, headbanging. People have been hopping about to music looking like fools for centuries but now there's a name for it. Fantastic.

bad guy - Billie Eilish

"I’m that bad type, make your mama sad time, make your girlfriend mad type, might seduce your dad time… I’m the bad guy. Duh.”

Creepy? Check. Sexy? Check. Tongue-in-cheek? Check check. This song was great and a lot of fun to cover.

Lover to Lover - Florence + the Machine

“I believe there’s no salvation for me now, no space among the clouds, and I feel I’m heading down, but that’s alright, that’s alright, that’s alright”

I don’t know, this one just felt very relevant. Also the piano was great to do. You might have noticed that I’ve picked a lot of songs with piano, and that’s because I bullied the studio into getting me a goooooorgeous grand piano for the recording space and I wanted to use it as much as possible!

Feeling Good - Muse

“Stars when you shine, you know how I feel, scent of the pine, you know how I feel, oh freedom is mine, and I know how I feel”

I just really like this song - I’ve done a cover of an excellent cover! Can- can you put emojis in this? Do people still use emojis? Well imagine I’ve put the shrug one. Wait, isn’t there- Daniel, Daniel, come here, isn’t there a shrug emoji made up of keyboard- [muffled words] yes! The shrug one! Yes, put that in the transcription. [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] I just like this song.

The Man - The Killers

“I got gas in the tank, I got money in the bank, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man, I got skin in the game, I got a household name, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man”

I feel like this one speaks for itself too. Can you put that shrug emoji thing in here again? [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] Yes!

J'ai Pas Envie - MIKA

J'ai pas envie, de faire comme si, comme les maris, qui disent oui, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie d'te faire plaisir, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, si tu m'aimes viens me le dire"

Look, I'm not going to translate the whole song for you, because it has all this clever wordplay you just totally lose in english… but the gist of it is that these two lovers are… at odds a lot. It's… it's maybe a little spiteful [laughter] but in a fun way! It's a fun song! Louis won't even be mad about it, it's MIKA.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

"When I'm not with you, think of you always (I miss those long hot summer nights), when I'm not with you, think of me always, always"

[Long pause] God, I miss Freddie.

Let 'Em Talk - Kesha

Ah, full disclosure - I put this song in purely because of the expression Louis made when I played it in the car and it got to the line “can suck my dick” and she did that popping noise… it was incredible, and I just knew I had to cover it so I could see his expression when I said that. I can’t wait to play it to him. [laughter]

So What - P!nk

"So so what, I'm still a rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you, and guess what? I'm having more fun, and now that we're done, I'm gonna show you tonight, I'm alright, I'm just fine, (and you're a tool, so)"

I'm actually a big fan of nineties and noughties female stars - all that grrrrrrrl power, it's great fun, you know? I'd say this one is fairly self-explanatory, because I am still a rockstar! This is my new album! Fuck you EMP and your sniffy little article calling me "washed up"!

Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

"But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line, I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear?"

This one could be self-deprecating, but it's also very vindictively angry at the same time, and that's a combination I definitely get. Like, oh, it's my fault, isn't it? It's my fucking fault again, what a surprise. Perhaps "learn from your mother or you'll spend your days biting your own neck" is a little on the nose… [muffled words] you've read my books, right? [muffled words] Good, good.

Missy - The Airbourne Toxic Event

"But I swear there's still some good in me, I think if you'd stuck around you'd see, all the botched attempts at integrity I once had"

Oh, I was feeling philosophical when I picked this one. No, philosophical isn't the right word… melancholy? Do people still use that word? "I swear I swear I swear I'll never get sad" is both furiously defiant and yet so self-defeatingly ironic. [Exasperated noise] Enough of that. Next!

Please Don't Leave Me - P!nk

"I don't know if I can yell any louder, how many times have I kicked you out of here, or said something insulting? I can be so mean when I wanna be, I am capable of nearly anything, when my heart is broken… (please, please don't leave me)"

Oh, we’re… we’re getting to this section now. [clearing throat] Well, I have to make up for that sucking dick line, don’t I? Get a bit vulnerable. Oh God, why did I decide to do this bit? [muffled words] [bad chicago accent] But why buy the cow? Because you love him, you really do. [sigh, laughter]

Next To Me - Imagine Dragons

"Oh, I always let you down, shattered on the ground, still I find you there, next to me, and oh, the stupid things I do, I'm far from good it's true, still I find you, next to me"

Why did I- I don’t remember putting so many of these ones in.

Run To You - Pentatonix

"I've been settling scores, I've been fighting so long, but I've lost your war, and our kingdom is gone... how shall I win back your heart which was mine? I have broken bones and tattered clothes, I've run out of time"

[Sigh] [clears throat] Yeah. I think we can move onto the next one.

Love of My Life - Queen

“Love of my life, don't leave me, you've stolen my love, you now desert me, love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me, because you don't know, what it means to me”

I play this one sometimes on my baby grand when we've had a fight, and it's impossible for him to stay angry. He's a sucker for this sort of… formality in romance. God, I wish I'd realised that earlier. If I'd written him a letter in fancy copperplate script with scented paper and enclosed rose petals politely requesting him to bend me over his desk back in the day, it might not have taken two centuries of mutual blue balls for us to figure our shit out. Ah well, live and learn… as it were. [muffled words] Look, I did a whole bunch of vulnerable songs! Now I get to make sex jokes! [laughter] oh fuck off.

[leapyearkisses]

For the director's cut: Could you do Nice Work If You Can Get It? (Eliseo/Padgett)

That fic... Changed me. I'll never forget it TBH.

Yes, I'd be happy to! This one was really fun to write, and it was the beginning of two OCs I am very fond of now (and who I am happy to know made an impression on quite a few people!).

(If anyone enjoys this director's cut thing and wants to see one for another of my stories, ask away. I had a lot of fun!)

Commentary in bold below the cut! NSFW, mess, deliberately sneezing on people, m/m

This story started from a prompt about one character hiring someone to get them sick. An intriguing idea!! But it was one I actually struggled with finding a groove for when I started out. I actually started a few different scenarios with different character dynamics before I figured this one out. I have a 2600-word WIP of a different version of this in my "unfinished" folder.

"All right... close your eyes." Eliseo swallowed and did so, blocking out his bedroom, the red-gold sunset light pouring in from the windows, and Padgett, who was straddling his hips. He could still hear, quite easily, the other man's labored breathing and feel the heat of his thighs... and his crotch. Eliseo was under no illusion that he was in an incredibly compromising position at the moment. He hadn't thought much about the.. particulars when he'd first decided to strike this deal. "Are we really doing this?" he asked, voice weak.

I can't really write fetish porn without including actual porn lol, so from the beginning it was sexy even without the snz. In this version, the POV character is Eliseo, who is the "naive" character in a way. I pretty much write pairs where one character has the fetish and their partner does not but is indulgent. The one with the fetish is usually embarrassed about it or somehow naively realizing they like this weird-ass thing. Padgett laughed, voice tumbled and edging on hoarse. "Hey now. Not getting cold feet are we, my lord?" His exhale ghosted over Eliseo's forehead and his tousled black hair touched Eliseo's cheek.

Padgett is the confident character, and he brought the humor to this scenario! Eliseo cleared his throat. "No..." He could imagine the other man's smug look. They'd known each other long enough now that the image rose unbidden to his mind's eye. Padgett's eyes always glittered like opals when he was scheming something. Padgett surprised him with a tender touch on the shoulder, and he almost opened his eyes again. "The safe word is 'pumpernickel,'" he said, managing not to chuckle. "We can stop whenever you want... Hhk-" He fought off a gasp. "Decide hh quickly, though." Eliseo shivered. "I'm okay. Let's do it." He didn't want to admit it, but Padgett's reassurance did put him at ease, even if this had been his idea. He relaxed and tried to lose himself in the late afternoon heat. "Yehh-s, my lord." Padgett leaned forward and took a shaky breath. It stuttered and caught on invisible hooks, sounding at once to be full of potential and then gone again, like a ghost at the window. Eliseo could feel his body tightening again with anticipation, especially when Padgett gasped and leaned back. "Hh-... hah--

"A ghost in the window" eehhh this is kind of overworked. I like to write descriptively even when it isn't necessary. "Huh-ktschht!" A warm rush of air burst in Eliseo's face, almost immediately followed by a watery spray over his forehead, closed eyes, and nose. His instant reaction was to curl back, or try to, and he had his hands braced on Padgett's chest before he could think about it.

I had never written anything quite this scandalous as it were. There hadn't been a lot of snzfic I had read where there was direct, purposeful contagion like this or quite so much mess description directly on the skin, the face even. So I was sweating while writing this lol. "Hey now," said Padgett, delayed by a sniffle. His tone was light. "Easy. You specified this in the contract, remember?" He rested his hands lightly on Eliseo's wrists. "How are you feeling about it?"

CONSENT IS THE SEXIEST THING. We get this instinctual edge of revulsion from Eliseo because he has not acknowledged to himself that he likes snz yet and also he has never allowed anyone to do this to him before because why would anyone do this? Eliseo found he was holding his breath, but- Well, that would defeat the purpose of this exercise. He cautiously let it go and then opened his eyes. Padgett was gazing down at him, looking neither smug nor concerned, just curious. "I- this was on instinct," Eliseo murmured. After a beat, he lowered his hands, and Padgett let him go easily. "Yes, I imagine so. It's natural." Padgett smiled then, and then his expression crinkled. "Wh- hh- want to do it again? Hkt-- hhh..." Eliseo forced himself to surrender again to his pillows. "Yes." Again, he closed his eyes. Padgett shifted forward on his lap and oh- but then he was sneezing one more. "Huh- hktsschit!" Again, the spray. This time it dusted over Eliseo's nose and mouth. He fought to keep from thinning his lips and... took a deeper breath. Padgett hadn't moved, was still fighting with his own lungs, reeling in another insistent sneeze like a stubborn trout. "Huh- hh... hh hh huh-" He made an annoyed sound. "Hah-- hah-krttschtts!" Eliseo felt droplets of saliva decorate his cheekbone. Padgett sniffled thickly.

I think artists often point out how funny it is that when they're drawing they mimic the face of the character. I do this with sneeze sounds (IF I'M ALONE). I tend to like softer sounds for my characters, so a lot of sibilance creeps in. "...Bless you," Eliseo murmured. He was feeling hot. Maybe it was Padgett on top of him. The man was running a fever. "You are... doing the job admirably." That earned him a laugh. Padgett shifted his weight to his heels, which did interesting things to his cock's relation to Eliseo's own. "Thanks, I guess? I never would have thought anyone would be hiring for this, much less you." "Circumstances are dire," Eliseo intoned without a hint of irony.

Eliseo is a card. I love him. Of the two of them he is much more my preferred "type." He is similar to my mage character Llewellyn but less fussy. "Mmhm." Padgett sniffled again. "You must really hate weddings. Couldn't you have just gone on a hunt or something this weekend instead?" Eliseo sighed. "No. My sister would do anything to ruin my plans if I tried to avoid the party any normal way. But luckily, she's terrified of germs. I think a miserable head cold will be the ticket." Like hell he wanted to sit through another of his sister's weddings. Every time it was some new, world-changing drama. He wasn't even sure whether the groom this time was noble born. No doubt the reception gossip would be scathing. What absolute drivel.

There's a little "my lord" up there before, but this is kind of where the setting is characterized - Eliseo is a noble and this is a time and place where nobility matters. However, it's also anachronistic, because germ theory is a thing. They're kind of in a pseudo Regency/Victorian world where I just write whatever feels like the most fun. "Lucky also that you have me around, hm?" Padgett's next chuckle turned into a bit of a cough. Eliseo patted his knee awkwardly. "I- well, yes. Very. But believe me when I say that I would not wish for you to be so stricken if I had the power to stop it."

People with shitty immune systems are my jam. Even if it's really unlikely, I love it. Sometimes especially if it's unlikely. Like mister high elf Llewellyn, or if they're a god or angel or something. Or in a world where if you had that bad of an immune system you probably would have died of diphtheria or pneumonia by now. "Of course, my lord." Padgett rubbed his nose. And though his breath hitched a few times in the following moments, he stayed where he was. Eliseo blinked. "Are we...?" Done? He didn't really think the exposure had been long enough. "I am ready." Padgett blushed a little. Blushed? "Sorry," he said. "I can kind of feel that, uh, the uh, next ones are going to be kind of... wet. I could blow my nose." His voice trailed off, wavering again. His nostrils twitched, and Eliseo did see within the promise of moisture. Perhaps it was the taboo of it, but Eliseo was alerted instantly to a sudden thickening of his cock. It pressed at his trousers with some gusto as Padgett sniffled again. Eliseo swallowed. "No. No, this is good. This will... help."

After consent, MESS is the sexiest thing. That's just how it goes. I don't make the rules. Padgett gave him a considering look, at least as well as he could between soft gasps and squinting against the itch in his nose. "If you're sure, my lord." "Just- call me Eli, like you used to," said Eliseo, stumbling over the words. He wasn't sure where they had come from, but now they were bare between them. Still, perhaps a bit of affection wasn't so odd compared to what they were already doing. Eliseo closed his eyes on Padgett's startled look.

I wasn't sure where this came from either. But suddenly they were in love and I was cool with it. Eli btw is pronounced like the name (Ee-lye) but Eliseo is pronounced Ell-ee-zay-oh in my mind. It's of Latin origin and means "God is my salvation" according to that authority Babynames.com lol. Padgett means "attendant" so that was chosen partially because he's Eliseo's employee but also because Padgett is just a SUPER English-sounding name. I really enjoy looking up name meanings and representing different traditions in my characters. I tried to give Eliseo's family members Latin names, too, although they're not mentioned here. "Eli," Padgett said, and he sounded like he'd just come home from a long war to find the hearth kept warm for him. "I will." He leaned forward again, bracing himself. "Now, I'm going to- to hih-- to snhhsneeze, hah-- haktschtsch! Hrh- Hnkgstschhiu! More spray this time, more wetness, and Eliseo gasped himself when he felt a thick drip against his chin. Padgett hadn't moved. When Eliseo tentatively looked up, he saw his friend caught in a limbo of urgency. His green eyes were shut, eyelashes fluttering. His nostrils, gently pink now, flared. A clear trail hung from one of them, quivering as Padgett panted. He looked wild and fever bright and teetering on a precipice. Eliseo ignored what it might mean that Padgett's desperate expression, his wet nose - even the mess - suddenly went to his cock. He was hard, looking up at a portrait of a sneeze.

Sometimes you just have to stop writing for a second and drink some cold water or something. Carefully, he placed a hand on Padgett's thigh. "It's okay," he said, words coming of their own accord. "I've got you." Padgett's fingers tightened fitfully in the sheet as he shifted his weight again. He was making soft, irritated noises. His nostrils flared and Eliseo saw another drip lying in wait on the cusp.

Fingers tightening fitfully in a sheet is a thing I love to describe. If you binge-read everything I've written, you will find that I write snz and sex in a very particular way over and over. Because that's what I like! And I'm super glad readers like it as well! But I can basically only find the motivation to write what I enjoy (when I write at all... .__.), which is why I only write m/m or nb characters and such. When the urge became too much, it was like watching a wave finally crash down. Padgett's breath caught; he tensed and leaned back. Eliseo hurriedly closed his eyes again, and none too soon. "Hhhhrektschuckh!" He felt the mess streak his face, fly to spatter his mouth and nose and chin. Padgett moaned and then gasped again, chest swelling with air.

SCANDALOUS "Hah- Huhrttschuh! Hshtt! Hah- hsshtt!" Again, he teetered, teasing the air with shivering gasps. Then, he abruptly folded with a crush of vowels and congestion. "Hggtschiucht!" A baptism, pondered Eliseo's brain as it detached from reality momentarily. Pinned as he was to the bed by Padgett's sex, he couldn't move when he felt himself coming just as abruptly as the sneeze. Somehow the slick wash had become a mounting sense of urgency in each of his muscles, racing from his fingertips and toes to his abdomen, where, quite unbidden, his cock had tugged all that energy into a gut-wrenching orgasm that sent the shockwaves back out with renewed vigor. Padgett whined, and Eliseo took him firmly by the shoulders and drew him in for a messy, off-putting, contagious, blindingly good kiss. "Wow," said Padgett, when they finally broke for air.

Wow, lol. I have a great imagination. I wish I could make myself write more often. "Don't ask me why," Eliseo muttered, but he refused to be made a fool of by embarrassment. "C- come here." He shifted to sit up further and put his hands on Padgett's hips. "I want-" He wanted. "This. Yes?" Before he could stop himself, he swept his tongue over Padgett's mouth, under his nose, to rest at the edge of a nostril. He tasted salt. It was not entirely pleasant, but whatever pilot was captaining his body right now didn't care. He could still feel his cock pulsing against his trousers.

Also the first time I wrote anything like this, but Eliseo was like go big or go home, so. Padgett moaned. "It feels... odd. But, my lord, you can do what you- I mean, Eli." He was breathless for different reasons now. Eliseo laved the tender skin above Padgett's lips, then licked up his septum. When Padgett shivered, Eliseo kissed him again. Slowly, he cleaned away the mess from Padgett's face. When he was finished, neither of them knew what to say. Eliseo was hard again.

Huahaha Eliseo can have an unrealistic refractory period. I don't really give a shit how accurate this stuff is when it would get in the way of the enjoyment. Not to the point where people are just going in without lube or something crazy like that, but being willing and able to go again is just sexy, so that's fine. Finally, Padgett laughed shyly. "I think you'll be catching your cold, Eli." Eliseo blushed and shrugged. "I should hope so. I am-" He bit his lip. "I'm not ready to stop. Will you stay the night? I'll look after you." Padgett kissed him, tenderly drawing them together. "I would like that, very much."

And then they DEFINITELY banged. I hadn't conceptualized their specific history together at this point, but Eliseo and Padgett were FWB while younger, so the "surprise" at meeting again like this in a sexy fashion is more like "Oh, are we doing this now, as adults with drastically different social standing?" and less "Hey, are you into me??"

I got more than one request to write the direct sequel to this, but I dunno. I usually prefer one character in the pair to be the one who is sneezing, and writing Eliseo sick isn't as fun. Partially because I'm much, MUCH more interested in the shy/embarrassed/"voyeur" dynamic, so someone who gets off on their own sneezes really does nothing for me. I do have a WIP of Eliseo sick that is a direct sequel to Carriage Shenanigans, but I have no idea if it will ever get finished.

Thanks so much for the request for this very fun exercise!

[gstqaobc]

FROM THE MONARCHIST LEAGUE OF CANADA

As this Ecomm went to publication, we received word of the death, at the great age of 96, of Bill Silver, a significant benefactor of the League from its early days, and for many years a pillar of our Ottawa Branch.  We wished to remember him here: his ebullient spirit, fierce loyalty spoken gently, innate modesty and kindness.  Indeed Chaucer might have had forethought of Bill in describing one of his characters as a “very parfitt gentle knight.” May his ardent spirit rest in peace, and his memory be a blessing and example to us all.   LEAGUE ISSUES NEW FLYER: THE CASE FOR THE CROWN The League thought it timely and useful to issue, offer in its advertising and distribute as widely as possible - both via the website and in printed form - a new flyer which will give you, our members, ammunition to argue logically the case for the Crown in conversation with others, and, we hope, to distribute strategically. One never knows when such an item, left on a waiting room table at the doctor or dentist’s office, affixed to a supermarket or other community bulletin board, put through neighbours’ mail slots - the possibilities are many - will do good work for our cause. We hope you will both enjoy and profit from this item, and that many thousands will be distributed across the country. See item one in the WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE CANADIAN CROWN? section of this Ecomm, below, to read online and request printed copies.   And special thanks to our wonderful team of no less than seven translators, all francophones from La Belle Province, who so kindly volunteered to make the French version one that is accurate in expression and eloquent in its prose.                     WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE CANADIAN CROWN? Some suggestions for member activity during these times. We invite members to send additional ideas by return of email. 1.    How about asking the League to send you several print copies of our new flyer:  THE CASE FOR THE CROWN, or print them on your home computer:  https://www.monarchist.ca/index.php/publications and give them to others who may be unaware or sceptical of the importance of Canada’s constitutional monarchy, or even hostile to it. School teachers could be encouraged to read the League’s educational booklets, also available both online and in print at the same URL, or even to request a class set.   2.    When you read an editorial, opinion column or letter to the editor in a newspaper, or a tweet or Facebook post, critical of the Crown, don’t get mad - get even! In other words, use a temperate tone and logical argument to refute the writer’s attack.  Keep it brief: focus on the obvious flaws in reasoning, mis-statements of fact or name-calling substituting for logic.  Same goes for radio talk shows. In the long run, on all media, whatever the provocation, whatever the momentary satisfaction of ”giving them a piece of my mind” - an old adage remains true: “You catch more flies with honey.” 3.    Write your elected representative at the federal level to re-state briefly the reasons you support constitutional monarchy as our system of government,  and asking the MP whether not your view is shared. 4.    Once pandemic restrictions ease, try to make sure that Royal events - such as the upcoming 95th birthday of our Queen, 10th Wedding Anniversary of William and Catherine or 100th birthday of Prince Philip are celebrated both in your home but also among your wider family, your friends, your colleagues at the office,  your place of worship/faith community or service club. The League generally sends you some ideas to mark these celebrations. Remember, as they are incorporated into family life and public life, the     Crown becomes further embedded in the heart of the nation, and truly represents The Queen’s wish that it ”reflects all that is best and most admired in the Canadian ideal.” This is especially true when you go out of your way to include in your observance the newest members of our Canadian family, who generally are eager to participate in the traditions of their new homeland, and in turn to share their own traditions with the wider community. 5.    Always use a Queen stamp when you write a letter or pay a bill by mail. 6.     At events of ceremony, whether a Council meeting, a graduation, a civic celebration - whatever - make sure that the Royal Anthem is sung as well as the National Anthem. To the extent you can, discourage event organizers from having a soloist “perform” them. Far more pride and         learning develop from the untrained voices of loyal folk singing together. In that way, the Anthems are sung “with heart and voice” and not merely listened to.   A FINAL IDEA: AN ACT OF LOVING SUPPORT & THANKS Apart from the above, we think it would be enormously comforting and supportive for every one of us to  write a kind letter to The Queen, expressing your thoughts at a difficult time: her beloved husband ailing, a grand-child chiding other family members via sensational television, the drumbeat of the tabloids and the restrictions on her busy life caused by the pandemic.  A selection of letters, especially those from Commonwealth Realms, are indeed seen by The Queen - and their number and tone are summarized to Her Majesty. The address is - Her Majesty The Queen, Buckingham Palace, London SW1A 1AA, UK Theoretically you don’t need postage to write the Sovereign; in practice, it is safer to affix the international airmail stamp available from your local Canada Post outlet.   AN INTERESTING OPINION PIECE FROM TODAY’S DAILY TELEGRAPHWe thought you might be interested to see the following strongly-worded opinion piece, reflecting a good deal of the tone of recent British public opinion, rather different from much of the Canadian and US commentary. Meghan’s fake interview has real-world effects The Sussexes’ claims have undermined the monarchy and done lasting damage to the Commonwealth by Tim Stanley, March 15, 2021 Two headlines appeared on the BBC News website on the same day. At the top: “Harry and Meghan rattle monarchy’s gilded cage”. At the bottom: “The kidnapped woman who defied Boko Haram”. Well, that puts the Sussexes' problems in perspective, doesn’t it? Yet across Africa, one reads, the Duchess’s story has revived memories of colonial racism, tarnishing the UK’s reputation, and has even lent weight to the campaign in some countries to drop the Queen as head of state. The only nation that seems to think a lot of nonsense was spoken is Britain. In the wake of an interview that Joe Biden’s administration called courageous, British popular opinion of Harry and Meghan fell to an all-time low, and the American format had a lot to do with it. Oprah Winfrey is not our idea of an interviewer. She flattered, fawned and displayed utter credulity. Imagine if it had been her, not Emily Maitlis, who interviewed Prince Andrew over the Jeffrey Epstein allegations. “You were in a Pizza Express that day? Oh my God, you MUST be innocent! Tell me, in all honesty, though...did you have the dough balls?” This wasn’t an interview, it was a commercial for a brand called Sussex, a pair of eco-friendly aristo-dolls that, if you pull the string, tell their truth – which isn’t the truth, because no one can entirely know that, but truth as they perceive it. “Life is about storytelling,” explained Meghan, “about the stories we tell ourselves, the stories we’re told, what we buy into.” Meghan is a postmodernist. Just as Jean Baudrillard said the Gulf War never happened, but was choreographed by the US media, so the Royal narrative she was forced to live was fake, her public happiness was fake and, following that logic, this interview might involve an element of performance, too. People have challenged her claims, alleging contradictions and improbabilities, but one of the malign effects of wokeness is that you have got to be very careful about pointing this out. Why? Because wokery insists on treating a subjective view as objective truth, or even as superior, because it’s based upon “lived experience”. To contradict that personal perspective is perceived as cruel, elitist and, in Meghan’s case, potentially racist, so it’s best to wait a few weeks to a year before applying a fact check. In the meantime, affect sympathy. People would rather you lied to their face than tell them what they don’t want to hear. The result is profoundly dishonest, for I have never known an event over which there is such a gulf between the official reception, as endorsed by the media and politics, and the reaction of average citizens, who are wisely keeping it to themselves. Into that vacuum of silence steps not the voice of reason but bullies and showmen – like Piers Morgan, who said some brash stuff about Meghan’s honesty and, after an unseemly row on Good Morning Britain, felt obliged to resign from his job.  “If you’d like to show your support for me,” he wrote afterwards, “please order a copy of my book.” Dear Lord, was this row fake, too? I can no longer be sure, though I despised Good Morning Britain before and still do: it embodies the cynical confusion of emotion and fact, a show made for clicks, where even the weatherman has an opinion. So what is real in 2021? The Commonwealth, which does a lot of good in a divided world. The monarchy, which has been at its best during the pandemic, doing the boring stuff of cutting ribbons and thanking workers that, one suspects, Meghan never grew into (can you imagine her opening a supermarket in Beccles?). It contains flawed people, but that only adds to its realness, and they can adapt faster than you might think. Prince William got the ball rolling by telling reporters, who he is trained to ignore, that his family is not racist. His wife paid her respects to the murder victim Sarah Everard, demonstrating that she is neither cold nor silenced. I’d wager Kate does her duty, day after day, no complaint, not because she is “trapped”, as Harry uncharitably put it, but because she loves her family and believes in public service. Meghan and Harry have indeed prompted the Royal family to change: not in order to endorse their criticisms, however, but to answer them.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

[duhragonball]

For the Ask Game: Son Goku

Give me a character and I will answer:

Why I like them: Goku is the main character in Dragon Ball Z, an anime that I have enjoyed tremendously for over 20 years.  He kicks aliens really fast and hard, and he eats wolves and bugs and clouds, and he’s very cool and good.   

That may sound kind of basic, maybe even borderline sarcastic, but I’m not sure how else to put it.    I’ve gotten so used to liking Goku that it’s hard to articulate why.   

Like, okay, you know that one episode during the Cell Games, where he’s gonna pick apples from his favorite apple tree?   And he does the special karate punch that makes the apples all fall out of the branches without really hurting the tree?    In the dub, he says to the tree “Ready for one more round, old timer?”  Or something like that, and then after he hits it, he’s like “See?  That didn’t hurt a bit.”  I’m not getting the lines right, but you get the idea.    That’s some choice Goku right there.    He’s friends with that tree!   

Why I don’t: hE gAvE mOrO a SeNzU bEaN-- ha ha just kidding, but can you imagine not liking Goku?   Because of something he did in some horseshit fancomic that doesn’t even count?

Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot of guff from people about Goku showing mercy to his enemies.   This is humorous to me, because I’d bet you dollars to donuts that they’re fans of Vegeta and/or Piccolo, and that only happened because Goku decided to have mercy on their stank asses.    “Well I like Vegeta because he kills people.”  He only gets to do that because Goku allowed him to live.    Best Green Dad doesn’t happen without Goku, period, end of sentence, new paragraph.   

I’m not a lore expert like that guy on Twitter who only watched DBZ Abridged, but here’s some cool trivia for you: Cell could have self-destructed and destroyed the Earth at any time.    It literally does not matter that Goku gave Cell a senzu bean before Gohan fought him, because Cell would have done the same thing no matter who beat him or how.     If Gohan had wiped him out quickly, that nucleus would have survived and regenerated, and he would come back even stronger.   The senzu bean just delayed the inevitable outcome, and not even by that much, because Cell wasn’t that worn out in the first place.   The whole thing with the senzu bean was Goku playing headgames with Cell and no one seems to understand that but me.   

But what about Moro, you ask?   Hey, come here.  

Closer.    No, closer.   

Listen to me.   I love you, okay?    But the Dragon Ball Super manga isn’t canon.   Hating Goku over something he did in Super is like hating Superman for something he did in a Mad Magazine bit.      

“Blargle blargle he doesn’t kiss his wife bad father, tournament of power--” I super mega don’t care about any of these ice cold takes.      Every day I go on YouTube and it recommends me the dirt worst Star Wars commentary videos.   “Maybe the SITH were actually the GOOD GUYS and the JEDI were the BAD GUYS!  Huh?  Did I just BLOW your MIND?   Be sure to like and subscribe!”  Every dope with a keyboard seems to think they can flip the script and pretend they’re some kind of genius.    “Thanos was right!”  “Magneto was right!” “Dr. Doom was right!” “Antifa are the real fascists when you stop and think about it!”  “Masks and vaccines are bullshit, COVID-19 is a hoax, but if it were real, maybe it’s the good guy in this situation!”

I didn’t mean to go off on a rant here, but the whole point of Goku is that he’s a pretty cool guy, and the hero of his particular adventure, and you see all these people trying to outsmart that somehow, like it’s not the premise of the character.   It’s like all those fan theories about how every show is really one character having a coma dream in the hospital.    It’s fake-deep, like when Will Smith’s kid goes on the internet and says something like “Water isn’t wet when you stop and think about it.”  

I’m not saying everyone has to like Goku, but I don’t get the hate-boner people have for him.    I don’t like cole slaw, it’s soggy and insipid and I don’t understand it, but I don’t go around trying to convince people it’s not made out of cabbage.  

Anyway, Goku’s awesome. 

Favorite episode (scene if movie): It’s hard to choose, but DBZ #248 always fucks me up.   I looked it up in my liveblog archive to get the episode number right, and the first line of that post: This one always fucks me up.

Moving on.

Favorite season/movie: In Dragon Ball terms, I guess this refers to the sagas, so I’ll go with Cell Games.    Goku goes into the battle with this flawed, touch-and-go plan, and it works.    He defeats perfection with imperfection, and it’s glorious.  

Favorite line: “What I represent can never be destroyed,” is one of the most metal lines ever uttered, anywhere.   It’s a threat and a moral lesson all in one.   

Favorite outfit: Two answers for this one.  

Shu’s outfit in the Fortuneteller Baba Saga was awesome.    I used to wear yellow T-shirts to work, so when I put on my blue labcoat I would see myself in the restroom mirror and think: yeaaaaahhhhhh.

I’m also big into Goku’s look during the Cell Games, classic orange outfit, blue shirt, with the Super Saiyan form ready to go.    That may sound obvious, since this is kind of Goku’s default look, but it takes a while to get all of this together.  For me, it was a big deal to see Goku in action as a Super Saiyan in his standard fighting gear, because the whole time he was SSJ on Namek his shirt was ruined.   Against Gero and 19 he was sick, but starting with the Cell Games, we get him fresh as a daisy, and it’s worth the wait.   Harder to stealth cosplay, though.

OTP: Gochi.   Come on.    I don’t even care that much about ships, but they’re adorable on the show, and the internet backlash against Gochi only intensifies my defiance.   

Brotp: I wrote a fanfic with Goku and Yamcha just joyriding in the desert, and that seemed pretty awesome, so maybe we need more of that.   

I dunno, maybe I’m giving this to Bulma.   They don’t get a ton of screen time together after a certain point in the show, but the bond between them is this really sublime thing.    In the same fanfic, I wrote Bulma and Goku interacting, and that was just a pleasure to write.

Head Canon: I think Goku being an alien orphan matters more to him than he lets on.   Early on, he knew he had parents but he didn’t know why they left him in the woods.   Pretty much every interaction he has with the outside world is about him being different.   Then he finds out he’s a Saiyan and all the Saiyans hate him for being weak and sentimental and so on.   He can kick all their asses, but that doesn’t make him any less of an outcast.   

I think becoming a Super Saiyan is a bigger deal to him than he lets on.   That moment kind of serves as this unspoken proof that there’s more to being a “true” Saiyan than Vegeta, Nappa, and Raditz ever knew.   That maybe, if his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granny could see him, she might approve.

Unpopular opinion:

Yukio Ebisawa is underrated. 

A wish: I always wanted to see Goku style on Broly ‘93.   It seemed unfair to me that they kept bringing Broly back, and even teased a rematch with Goku in Movie 11, only to not deliver on it.    I wanted Goku to turn Super Saiyan 2 and Broly’d be all “oh noes!” and Goku would look at him and be all “Yeah.   What now, bitch?    That green shit won’t cut it anymore.”

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I think my darkest fear about the Dragon Ball franchise is that it’ll get bastardized like Superman, where some giant multimedia corporation owns it, has no idea how to tell new stories with it, and refuses to let it lapse into the public domain.   I have no idea how public domain works in Japan, but “Disney Toei’s Dragon Ball KH” doesn’t sit well with me.    Hopefully I’ll be dead by the time that happens.  

Like, Rise of Skywalker wasn’t that bad.   But it did lead me to worry that they really have no idea how to make Star Wars work.    They got it right enough, but the part where Rose is going to stay and guard the base or whatever, it just made me realize they’re only guessing, and they just happen to guess right often enough to succeed.   And it’s not like you can jump over to some other studio and see how they handle a Star Wars movie.

5 words to best describe them: Ain’t nothin’ to fuck with.

My nickname for them: Geeko.    Ha ha, just kidding.  

[deniigi]

Are we gonna see more of lance corporal Wilson or the Blind Devil?

uhhhh not as of now. But! I have a little piece of them trying to bond with Benj for you, anon!

Basically, in this piece, the Blind Devil and Corporal Wilson take Benj with them to one of BD’s boxing matches and he has a somewhat adverse reaction.

Warning for panic attacks.

-------

Oh god, this was horrible. This was bad, horrible, and wrong and Maidíu was laughing up there in the ring through a smashed nose and the Lance Corporal was calling him names that May would have absolutely skewered Peter for using and it was just—

It was so much.

Everything was happening in double time. Triple time. In half the space—a quarter of the space--it ought to be happening in.

Peter was going to scream.

No. He wasn’t going to scream.

He never screamed. He’d been through so much worse than this. Walls had literally caved in on him multiple times and he hadn’t screamed. Nails had pierced his skin and bullets had slammed through his thighs.

A load of shouting people crammed in around a ring wasn’t going to be the thing that undid him. Not if he had anything to say about it.

“HEY.”

It wasn’t.

“Hey? Spiderkid?”

He just needed to breathe. That’s all.

“Spiderkid? Hey, hey. Woah. You don’t look so good, hon. Here, let’s move back.”

No, he was fine, LC.

He just—

He just—

Breathing. He needed to breathe and he couldn’t breathe with all these bodies pressing against him. Pressing into him. Squeezing him from all sides—

“What’s going on?”

Who was that?

“I don’t know. Seems like some kinda asthma?” LC Wilson called over the shouting.

It wasn’t asthma. Peter didn’t have asthma. He didn’t have anything; he just needed air. That was all. A little bit of space.

“What’s your name?”

“Mine?”

“Yeah.”

“Wilson. Wade Wilson. This here’s Pete.”

“Buddy of yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, wait. You’re Matty’s pal?”

“Oh, hey! Yeah, that’s us. You heard of us?”

All this chatter was making Peter’s head swim and there were huge, heavy hands on his shoulders now and he wasn’t wearing the mask or the coat, so he couldn’t swing around and tear them off. Break the bones.

Make them never, ever touch him again.

He couldn’t—

He couldn’t—

Goddamnit, he couldn’t breathe.

“The name’s Jack. Matty’s my boy. Here, I’ll take this one out for a sec.”

“You sure? I can take ‘im.”

“Nah, ease off, kid. Matt ain’t need no help. He’s fixin’ to win this one. If he asks, tell ‘im I’m out with the smallest of youse.”

The huge hand on Peter’s shoulder tensed and pushed and Peter found that he couldn’t resist it. It shoved him through a torrent of bodies, back, back, back, until suddenly, everything was cold and dark again.

They were outside.

Peter collapsed forward, gasping. Coughing. Clutching at his knees.

It was way quieter outside in the cold.

It took him a long time feel comfortable opening his eyes. Out of the corner of one of them, he saw knees. He bolted up straight and nearly stumbled back at the sight of one of the biggest men he’d ever laid eyes on.

“I’m—I’m—” he stammered, caught between an apology and something else he didn’t really know.

“You’re alright, little one,” the huge man said with a wink.

He was Irish. Fuck, he was Irish.

Peter already found parsing Maidíu’s half-New York, half-Irish accent challenging at times, but this guy?

He is cadence was so jolting that it took Peter’s brain several seconds to make the sounds into words and the words into sentences.

“I’m sorry?” he said automatically.

“I said, ‘you’re alright,’” the huge man said. “Take a coupla breaths. You’ll be alright.”

What the fuck was he saying?

Peter still couldn’t make his ears adjust.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

The huge man huffed.

  The guy was patient and oddly gentle.

Peter only found out the latter bit when he tried to go back into the ring to find the Lance Corporal. He didn’t get very far. What he got was a hand on his shoulder and a slow push back.

“I’m okay,” he told the Irishman for what felt like the fortieth time. “I’m okay, I can go back in. I won’t ralph on your floors or nothing.”

“Mm-hm,” the Irishman said, nonbelieving.

A roar went up through the house behind him. Peter jerked at the sound. The Irishman’s expression didn’t change.

“I’m not drunk,” Peter told him.

The Irishman didn’t believe him. His eyes seemed half-closed from how far down he had to look at Peter.

Peter wondered if he had a chance here on the street.

If he got a good solid punch in, in the head-region he probably could. But he only had one chance. This fucker was going to know how to fight.

“Da?”

Eh?

Peter looked up to see Maidíu with his hand on the doorframe feeling around it and turning his face back and forth.

“Right ‘ere, son,” the huge man said.

“Ah. There you are,” Maidíu said, stepping more boldly forward towards the sound of the man’s voice. His nose was disgusting. The huge man—Maidíu’s father?—looked over at him and lifted a brow.

“Come on, now, Matty. Can’t be lettin’ someone get the drop on ya like that,” he said.

“Did for the crowd,” Maidíu told him.

“Sure ya did.”

Good lord, this was Maidíu’s father. No wonder he was the size of a house.

“This one’s one of yours, son?” Maidíu’s father asked him.

“Which one?”

“Skinny ‘un. Dark ‘air, dark eye, spectacles.”

“Ah. Peter, then. Wilson said you weren’t feelin’ so good, kid. You alright?”

Uuuuuuuh no.

But neither of these massive bulls needed to know that.

“I’m okay,” he said instead. “Just had a bout of asthma or something.”

“Looked to me like the shell-shock,” Maidíu’s father said out of nowhere.

Peter’s breath froze in his chest.

“Da, don’t be scarin’ him like that,” Maidíu scolded. “C’mere, Pete. Ignore him. He thinks he knows everythin’.”

“I do know everythin’, I’m old as mountains, I am,” Maidíu’s father said.

“He serves in a war, comes back, and now he’s got every story in the worl’ in his head,” Maidíu huffed.

“I keep ‘em there with the lumps,” his dad told Peter with a wink.

“Da.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave youse be. It was good meetin’ you, Pete. We’ll have you ‘round to a quieter night one of this days, eh, Matt?”

“Yea, yea. Feck off, old man.”

Maidíu waited for the bigger guy to move around him before holding a hand out to Peter.

“He didn’t scare ya too bad, did he?” he asked.

Peter shook his head, then caught himself.

“No,” he said. “Just—I wanted to watch you, uh. You know. Fight. The LC seemed to be having a good time.”

Maidíu blinked sightless, scarred eyes Peter’s way and then smiled.

“It’s alright,” he said. “It can be really overwhelmin’ the first time you’re really in it. Da used to put me up high so’s he’d know I wouldn’t get crushed.”

Oh.

Oh, okay.

Peter sighed before he could stop himself. Maidíu cocked his head and carefully stepped forward, feeling with his toes for the edge of the steps his father had been previously been guarding.

“What’s the matter, Pete?” Maidíu asked gently.

“Nothing,” Peter said.

“I don’t know much, son. But I know it ain’t nothin’.”

Peter sighed again.

“I just—I wanted—I want—”

He didn’t know how to make the feeling into words. He couldn’t even do it in his head, how was he supposed to out loud?

“You want to be included?”

Oh.

Maybe like that.

“I want to have friends,” Peter felt himself say in a rush.

He didn’t mean to say it.

“I want to be like you guys. I want to just—you know. Have fun. Go to a match. Just relax and watch. But it’s like—I can’t. Every time I go out with people, it’s like I can’t make everything stop. My head’s always goin’ and everything starts getting’ really close together and I can’t help but start checkin’ over my shoulders—and it all just defeats the purpose,” Peter spewed forth in frustration.

Maidíu said nothing.

Peter sucked in a big breath.

He didn’t expect anyone to understand. He didn’t know why they would. No one else he knew had this feeling.

“Forget it,” he said.

“You know,” Maidíu’s rumbly voice said softly, “Da might not have been too far off there.”

“What?” Peter asked. “What do you mean?”

Maidíu shrugged a shoulder and itched at the drying blood on his face.

“I just mean, that—well. I was a wain when Da came back from the Front, but he had all these stories, ya know? Of men doin’ this and doin’ that. ‘Cause of the shell-shock. He used to tell me that some of his buddies’ eyes would go wide and they’d start breathin’ fast and funny. Gaspin’ like they couldn’t get enough air in, and they’d want to get out of the trench. They’d be sayin’ that they’d suffocate if they stayed in the trench. But you know, they couldn’t get up overhead. That was nothin’ but a death sentence. So.” Maidíu trailed off.

“You think I’ve got shell-shock,” Peter scoffed.

“I think you got somethin’ like it,” Maidíu said. “Don’t worry, though, kid. I get those feelings too, sometimes. Comes from being blind, I suspect. Gets real lonely sometimes. But then it’s all too much at the same time, too. Helps to just come outside and breath. That’s what my old man was tryin’ to get you to do.”

Ah.

Right.

That was…embarrassing.

“You’re alright, Peter. It’s okay. Here, do me a favor, huh?”

Peter lifted his face to see Maidíu holding out a hand with rough, calloused fingers. His own hands felt small and skinny at his sides.

“Peter.”

He balled them, stepped forward and took ahold of the fingers.

“Atta boy,” Maidíu told him.

“What do you need?” Peter asked him.

“Ah, well. See, me old man’s ‘bout to pummel a man into the ropes and it’s been ages since I knew what it looked like.”

Peter frowned.

“So you want me to what?” he asked.

“Tell me what it looks like,” Maidíu asked with alight lift to his eyebrows. “Don’t have to be perfect or anythin’. But it’d be nice to hear some commentary. You know, like on the radio. Is that okay?”

Yeah. Yeah, that was okay.

“Maybe we should find the Lance Corporal first,” Peter said. “You know his commentary’ll be better than mine.”

Maidíu smiled and turned his head back towards the commotion taking place inside the building again.

“If you say so,” he said.

When Peter came in closer, the fingers in his hand migrated until they were cupped around his elbow. The light light from inside made him take a deep breath. He held it. Then took another.

“Good work,” Maidíu said. “Here, let’s stay in the back so I can hear ya over this lot.”

Yes.

Yes, let’s do that.

One foot forward up these stairs. That was all. He was helping this blind man. This blind man was his friend.

He’d be okay. They’d be in the back, away from the crowd.

“Good man, Pete. You’re a brave little thing, you know that?” Maidíu encouraged.

Peter laughed.

Brave.

Yeah.

Obviously.

He was Spiderman. He was so brave. And so stupid. So reckless and cocky.

Come along now, Spiderman. Onward march, already.

“Come on, Devilman,” he said. “Step to it, we don’t got all night.”

 -----------

[artificiallyimplantedmemories]

[ ooc: ep 4 liveblog & opinions under the cut! this one got long winded because I had a lot that I was thinking about (and it took me twice the length of the episode to actually watch through it because I kept pausing to type oops) ]

yeeeesh that’s one way to start. thank you for letting bucky cry.

but also the look of pride on her face when she says “you are free” they’ve been working so hard and she’s so happy with the progress bucky has made ;_;

and now she’s so betrayed :(

but I’m also so glad Bucky learned xhosa that’s super important! <3 part of decolonization of the past involves respecting and learning and propagating languages and cultures that have been trodden over. Wakanda has been something of a safe place in that regard, and are now doing the outreach to help their continent and the world, but it takes the world of people within the majority putting in the effort and learning and embracing those cultures and languages (without appropriation, which I know is a fine line to walk sometimes) in order to really make progress. once it is no longer alien, it is also no longer scary, and can be held in proper esteem.

“sweet of you” shut your mouth Zemo xD

“she’s just a kid” thank you for your compassion Sam. and while she’s an extremist, I’m not sure whether Karli counts as a supremacist or just a terrorist? maybe she counts as genocidal if she’s truly trying to restore things to Blip conditions but it’s kind of unclear.

“the serum never corrupted Steve” “touché” YO EVEN HE ADMITS IT

Sam’s understanding of cultural habits (and there are many overlaps between various cultures and the ways they mourn) is such an asset here, and I’m glad that they’re pulling a contrast between the tech-driven, cold, calculating predictions made by certain people and organizations in other parts of Marvel and the general sort of soulful and instinctive approach here

Turkish delight. Excuse me but Narnia cemented the idea in so many people’s heads that it is this magical thing but it’s like superglue in your mouth. It is not irresistible, Zemo.

Legislation and social change as a result of violent action is nothing new. Every peaceful protest has been backed up by some kind of harm, whether it be economic, like a boycott, or physical, either damage to property or lives. I think instinctively people understand this, but it’s good to see it put in the spotlight.

Sam is “stranger danger” to these kids :/

“I know what happens when people say they’re going to help out... nothing.” Ouch.

The way Sam’s gaze falls at that too, because he knows theoretically that a lot of these injustices are happening and can empathize, but practically hearing it hurts. He doesn’t like not being trusted either, but I think he can probably understand why.

Zemo playing that psychology game! Kids love food and the idea that he must be a good person just for having a kid is dumb as hell but something that kids would gravitate towards. Smart man. Doubly smart for not telling them, Nat would approve if she didn’t hate him :P

Sam de-escalating is gonna be a trend I can just see it.

Cherry blossom tea? Interesting choice.

SHARON HI 

Nat vc: gosh it’s nice to see someone competent around here. 

ooooh they’re really reinforcing the idea of Captain America being a figurehead that inspires people

“heroes these days don’t have the luxury of keeping their hands clean” yeah well it’s because Steve had people like Bucky and Nat do do his dirty work, but sure

“all the people history just left out” OW

okay first of all Sam being the one who is insisting on reasoning with them because he knows what it’s like to come from an oppressed people !!! he knows grief and trauma !!! he can do this !!!!! I just know Walker is gonna fuck it up for them :P

second, Walker trying to emotionally manipulate Bucky? it’s a testament to how far he’s come that he doesn’t punch the guy immediately lol

Hoskins being the voice of reason as a foil for Walker again what?! this version of Lamar isn’t nearly as terrible as I expected.

Zemo calling that itty bitty girl his associate xD He really does understand the people here though... aaaand he’s getting handcuffed. Totally didn’t see that coming (he’ll probably break free anyway)

The conversation between Karli & Sam ;_; 

“you’re either brilliant or hopelessly optimistic” “por quo no los dos.gif”

Walker trying to guilt Bucky again god he’s so dumb. I appreciate the fact that he’s ruthless but he’s so narrow minded in how he approaches problems. oh no I have an issue let’s punch it until it dies! come on man.

Karli is so heartbreakingly naive and that’s becoming more and more obvious. I love Sam opening her up like this wow.

WALKER FUCKING IT UP AS ALWAYS

and the cuffs empty WHAT DID I TELL YOU

god we were getting somewhere ;____;

oh good just what we need, serum in Walker’s hands. he was already awful he doesn’t need to be more awful gdi

“we separate them and then we kill Captain America” ...yes, we’re listening xD

I know crazy because I am crazy... oh boy we got some internalized stuff, but let’s play it off

still a little blame game going in terms of where the shield ended up I see

THE DORA MILAJE ARE HERE -swoon-

pOINTY STICKS I cackled oh boy he gonna get his ass WHOOPED

Sam is enjoying the hell out of this

Zemo watching and drinking

“Looking strong, John!” “Bucky”

oooh dear they tangling and Zemo’s getting away.

your arm’s off! no it’s not

WAIT WHAT DID AYO SAY BEFORE SHE SAID JAMES

they all got their asses kicked ah well. also the look on Walker’s face says he gonna serum himself up, the lil fucker. oh no someone’s better than you how will your ego ever survive.

a lil Battlestar logo!!! shut up that’s cute. they’re really making him halfway likeable here.

“power just makes a person more of themselves”

ohhhh okay time to unlock Walker’s traumatic backstory. at least he feels bad about the things he did. at least he knows that those medals of honor are covered in blood. people are at least partly made by their circumstances, and I wonder what he was like before the war. the only indication we have of it is him being a football star, and while I may not have had the best track record with those in my youth, that doesn’t mean there aren’t decent ones out there...

Sarah’s “my world doesn’t matter to America, so why should I care about its mascot?” Oh, we’re speaking to the disenfranchisement of marginalized people hardcore today okay. if anyone’s gotten this far in my overly long commentary I want you to know that this is the realest alright? it’s hard to be proud of a country and its symbols when it doesn’t do right by you, when the majority doesn’t do right by you. am I glad I was born here? sure. are there worse places to be? sure. am I proud to be an american? oof, man, don’t ask me that.

Karli is not pulling her punches, she’s threatening the whole fam. Sam isn’t gonna like that... He sounds like he’s trying to suppress panic instead of being angry on the phone call with Sarah. I think he understands what Karli is trying to do, even though he hates how. And he’s worried, because he’s always gonna be worried. Poor guy. And there’s the confrontation.

Sharon got their backs!

Oof, seeing the gun with the shield.

Gunshot, run, oh, listening, he’s already got the serum, maybe? Given how deeply that shield is embedded in the wall I’m gonna say yes. YUP I WAS RIGHT.

Something about the water dripping and Lemar’s face makes me think he may have been waterboarded at some point :( but maybe he’s just in a lot of pain.

THE KNIFE CATCH. YES YES YES. THE KNIFE FLIP. Nat is so hearteyes.

Ooh, we gotta upgrade that wingpack with Stark repulsors pls go Sam go

oh no. Lemar. fuck. FUCK.

oh good now you’ve done it. killing a guy as Captain America. fuck.

the blood on the shield as the last shot! ~cinematography~

hoooo I’m chilled. I knew something along these lines was coming but oof. 

[98prilla]

To The Dead

Next

Previous

AO3

...

“No, Joan… Listen, I’ll call you back, no, it’s fine, I’ve just started unpacking, you can come by later…” Logan watched warily as the new human shuffled boxes around, speaking ceaselessly to someone on his phone, occasionally laughing, reassuring the person that he was fine, the drive had gone well, making idle chatter.

 It hadn’t been all that long. Merely three months, but he wasn’t all that surprised the house went so fast, to a first-time owner, as well, judging by the looks of the young man. No doubt at an insanely low price, thanks to the laws dictating they disclose any deaths on the property, Virgil’s having been so recent, as well. He was sure Virgil was lurking somewhere, watching all of this, or perhaps he was hiding somewhere.

 They’d caught glimpses of him, here and there. Nothing much, just a flicker of shadows, a tinge of darkness, always out of the corner of the eye, always gone before they could say a single word, and it was driving all of them a bit mad.

 Patton and Janus had tried everything, to get him to come out, to get him to come back, but to no avail. They still often spoke out loud, when doing things, now, holding conversations with the air, just in case Virgil was nearby, listening, reassuring him that they were there, if he needed anything, wanted anything, they were there for him. To his frustration, Logan had also started doing it, not noticing until someone called him out on it.

 And Roman. Roman was worse off than the rest of them. He was miserable, he was apologizing endlessly, trying at every turn to seek him out, but if anything, that seemed to drive Virgil farther away, the sense of his presence dwindling, the paint on his door fading and chipping off, a sign that he hadn’t been in it at all, maybe since the last time they’d all seen him, which meant he wasn’t getting the rest he needed, either.

 With a sigh, Logan shook himself out of his thoughts, swapping back over to the spirit plane.

 “Well?” Roman asked, laying upside down on the couch.

 “Young adult, thirty, brown hair, brown eyes, named Thomas. Seems nice enough.” He reported. “Didn’t seem to notice me at all, no mentions of cold spots, hearing my voice when I spoke, seems just as oblivious as the rest of them.” He commented, noticing the tenseness fading out of Patton and Janus’s shoulders, Remus’s grin growing feral.

 “Good. I like a challenge.” He sighed, ignoring Remus’s commentary.

 “And… any sign?” Patton asked hesitantly. He shook his head, eyes clouding with worry for a moment.

 “No. I would have expected… something, but there was no hint of his presence. I don’t know… I hate not knowing things.” He muttered, falling onto the far end of the couch.

 “I know, Lo, but we’ll figure this out.” Patton answered, though his own voice was tinged with disappointment.

 There were some cases, rare cases, where humans could see ghosts, speak to them, as if they were just normal, still alive people. None of them had ever met someone like that, the most they got were amateur ghost hunters, in years the house sat empty, when it had still been an old plantation house, and even they weren’t very perceptive. Some humans were more sensitive, catching glimpses of things, picking up on words here or there, cold spots, hot spots, that was more common. They’d have to wait and see, if this one could pick up on any of that.

…

In hindsight, they maybe should have been more worried, when the human, Thomas’s, friend showed up, with a bottle of wine, a cactus as a housewarming gift, and a Ouija board.

 But most of that stuff was just hocus pocus, as Logan said, which set Roman off, quoting what was apparently a Disney movie.

 “Roman, I am begging you to shut up.” Janus moaned. “I am trying to watch these idiots.” Roman scowled, but ceased, watching the two humans laugh as they lit candles around the board, turning off the lights, to add to the atmosphere.

 “What do they think candles are gonna do?” Remus asked, continuously blowing out the small flame as they tried to light the final one.

 “Probably supposed to symbolize a portal to the afterlife, or something similarly ridiculous.” Logan scoffed, still watching their actions with interest.

 “Ok, who should we try and talk to?” Thomas asked.

 “Uhhh, Abraham Lincoln!” Joan responded, earning a startled laugh from Thomas.

 “What? Why was that your go to?”

 “I don’t know, it was the first famous dead person that came to mind! What was your plan, then?” Joan asked indignantly, though they were smirking too. Thomas shrugged.

 “Um. Hey. Anyone here who’s friendly and not, like, gonna go all Amityville horror on us, feel free to communicate with us, using this board.”

 “Dude, they’re ghosts. How are they gonna know what Amityville horror is? Since when do ghosts watch movies?”

 “I don’t know! You were trying to talk to good ‘ol Abe, I feel like you don’t have room to lecture here.” They both froze as the planchet moved. Not much, not far, but it had definitely moved.

 “Did that just…”

 “Hoooolly shiiit.” Joan whispered, wide eyes meeting Thomas’s. Neither of them had even had their hands near the board, much less touching the planchet.

 In the ghostly realm, everyone’s eyes locked on Roman, who stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at the planchet he’d bumped against while leaning in to examine the board, as easily moved as anything he summoned himself.

 “Oops?” He said, shushing Logan as the two humans started speaking again.

 “Ok, um, ok, that’s normal! We probably just bumped the table! Um, is… is anyone here, with us?” Thomas asked. Immediately the planchet started moving again, landing on ‘yes’.

 “ROMAN! What do you think you’re doing?!” Janus hissed, and he wrung his hands.

 “I-I don’t know! They asked! It seemed rude not to answer? I haven’t exactly been in this situation before, Jan!” He fired back, their own panicking mirroring the panic going on between Thomas and Joan.

 “What do we have to lose?” Patton asked softly, getting everyone’s attention.

 “I am unclear what you mean, Patton.” Logan said, gaze turning to him, where he sat, biting his lip, fiddling with his cardigan.

 “I mean… by answering them. What do we have to lose? We’re all stuck here, anyway. It’s not like they can hurt us. And… we live here too! Shouldn’t we get to know our new roommates?” He asked, voice getting higher in pitch with each word, until he squeaked out his question.

 “Who are you?” Came the question from the humans, from the board, and Roman hesitated, looking back at everybody, asking what he should do, the question evident in his eyes.

 “Fine. Go ahead. Patton’s right, I suppose, there’s not much they can do, besides leave. But I will not be involved in this.” Janus sighed from the couch, retreating to his room, to avoid whatever action was coming next. Logan nodded.

 “I second Janus’s sentiments. Pardon me.” With that, it was Roman, Patton and Remus, who tried to swipe the planchet, but failed, swiping right through it, letting out an annoyed squawk.

 “What?! Why!?” He screeched, Roman grinning like an idiot.

 “Their opening. They said…” He broke off laughing, “They said anyone who wasn’t gonna Amityville them, Ree you’re literally a poltergeist, that stupid line is keeping you from doing shit!” He laughed harder at Remus’s indignant expression, eyes flashing with ire.

 “OH, they’re gonna regret that bullshit. Imma haunt them so hard it’s gonna feel like a-“

 “Thank you, Remus, that’s enough!” Patton interrupted, not wanting to know the end of that sentence, and Remus vanished with a scowl and puff of black smoke. Roman rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the board, spelling out his name.

 “R-o-m-a-n. Roman. Like, a Roman soldier? What would they be doing here?” Thomas asked.

 “What would they be doing speaking English?” Joan piped in.

 “Good lord, these two are slow.” Roman muttered, moving the planchet once more, Patton giggling at his remark.

 “My name is Roman, you idiots.” He spelled out, “And I am not a roman.” The two humans stared at each other for a moment, before bursting into only slightly hysterical laughter.

 “We just got called idiots… by a ghost! What even… how is this happening?” Thomas wheezed, trying to pull himself together, devolving into giggles every time he and Joan looked at each other.

 “I mean, they’re not wrong!” Joan shot back, once they got their breathing back under control.

 “How did you die?” Blurted Thomas, and Roman rolled his eyes.

 “Oh my god, you can’t just ask people how they died!” Roman replied, enjoying the befuddlement on the two human’s faces.

 “I’m… I might be wrong, but did it just make a mean girls reference?” Joan asked.

 “Yes. And I use He/Him, thank you. If you must know, I was a civil war soldier. Fighting for the North, y’know, the right team? But my family were assholes and lived here so… here I am!” He answered.

 “Oh, good. He’s anti-slavery and not a homophobe. Cool, cool, cool.”

 “Is there anyone else, with you?” Joan asked, and Roman bit his lip, turning to Patton, who eagerly grabbed the planchet.

 “Hey kiddos! I’m Patton!” His answer was met with instant bursts of laughter.

 “Wow. Straight from civil war action to dad mode. Um. Hello, Patton. It’s… nice to meet the both of you? We’ve never really spoken to ghosts before. Uh, you guys…live here?” Thomas asked a bit nervously.

 “Yuppers! But we’re all pretty friendly. Mostly. None of us are violent, or anything, though some can be a bit… startling at times.”

 “That’s only a bit worrying. Oh god, now I’m gonna hear every noise and think it’s a ghost. Because it could be a literal ghost.” Thomas mumbles, shoving back his hair, Joan chuckling nervously.

 “Yeah, good luck with that one, Thomas.” Joan answers, getting to their feet. “It’s late. I should probably be going.”

 “What? No, uh uh, after this, you do not get to ditch me on my first night in a new house in a new town that you made me learn is actually haunted, though the ghosts do seem polite, no offense, guys, just a liiittle freaky.” Thomas said, gaze shifting to the board for a moment, and Patton laughed.

 “He’s worried about us! That’s sweet!”

 “He’s worried we’ll haunt his nightmares.” Roman muttered back, watching the humans argue back and forth, before finally agreeing.

 “Alright. Uh, we’re gonna go to bed and try and sleep. So… talk to you later, I guess?”

 “Yes please! This is fun!” Thomas chuckled a bit at that.

 “I’m guessing that was Patton. Good night, Pat. Good night, Roman, who is not an actual Roman. Uhhh, you’re dismissed?”

 “Are you a school teacher? ‘you’re dismissed. Get some style. Farewell, my fellow brother in arms, may your gay heart guide you true!” Roman replied, making them both break down into a giggling fit yet again, as they blew out the candles, setting aside the board as they got up to get ready to sleep, Patton and Roman returning to their own living room in the spirit world.

 “Well, that was… interesting.” Roman said slowly.

 “It was… a bit nice. Talking. To other live people.” Patton said softly, and Roman stopped, pulling Patton into a hug, which he easily melted into.

 “yeah. It was. But it did still take quite a bit of energy. We should get some rest, as well.”

 “I’m gonna stay out here for a little bit. Just… just in case.” Roman sighed softly, but nodded, stepping away.

 “Alright. Rest well, Pat.”

…

He had been asleep for a few hours, when he blinked open his eyes at a small movement. All he caught was a deep shadow, tucking a blanket tight around him.

 “Virg?” He asked softly, the shadow freezing, the room dropping in temperature with his fear, and he moved to hide away. “s okay, bud. I love you kiddo, okay? Jus want you to know.” He mumbled, smiling as his eyes drifted closed, pulling the blanket tighter with a soft sigh. “you can come talk to me, anytime. I won tell. Promise.” He felt a soft pat against his hand, then the shadow slipped away, though Patton was sure he felt a little better than before.

@fortheloveofjanus

[adambethyname-blog]

Complaints After Seeing “Avengers: Endgame”

We are a week removed from the release of “Avengers: Endgame.” After seeing it last Friday night, I pretty much went on a tear reading every interview, analysis, and commentary I could find all over the interwebs. I noticed that there was a commonality between a lot of the questions that people generated after a first pass through the movie. But this isn’t about questions, it’s about complaints and grievances.

First and foremost, a quick review: I absolutely loved it. It takes a lot of skill to wrap up 22 movies and that’s probably why the movie was three hours long, but the writers deserve a special pat on the back for not re-treading through old story lines in an effort to bring people up to speed. For example, Captain Marvel just shows up... no explanation. You were expected to have seen “Captain Marvel” back in March. You were required to know who she was and what she could do, and if you didn’t... well, that’s on you. 

Now, to be the prissy little diva that people expect me to be, I’m going to list my petty, whiny complaints. Why? Well they’re the most fun because I am never truly satisfied with anything. 

Thanos’ death wasn’t good enough: Honestly, he deserved worse. MUCH worse. They spent 22 movies building Thanos up to be this God-like villain who was almost invincible. When push came to shove and it was time to finish him off, he sat down and got dusted after Tony Stark/Iron-Man snapped his fingers. 

There were so many characters in the Marvel MCU that deserved to pull the trigger on Thanos. Drax’s family was murdered by Thanos. Nebula was taken apart a piece at a time for disappointing him. Thor lost half of the survivors of Asgard along with his brother, Loki, to Thanos’ genocide. Gamora deserved revenge for her mother’s death which we saw in “Infinity War.” Hawkeye saw his three children and wife disappear during a Hallmark-moment family picnic (Aside: there was a 15.6% chance of Hawkeye’s whole family being dusted with him surviving. Yikes,). So to just see him sit down, accept his fate, and turn into the contents of a 77 El Camino’s ashtray was a little anticlimactic. I actually said out loud in the theater, “That’s it?”

Really? Rats walking on the keyboard? : The big question after seeing the trailers leading up to “Endgame” had to have been “How does Ant-Man get out of the Quantum Realm since we saw Hope, Janet, and Hank get dusted on the rooftop in the “Ant-Man & the Wasp” post-credit sequence. I was thinking the surviving Avengers would get some lead about Ant-Man that would lead them to the van or something. Maybe his daughter finds the van (in the comics, she takes up the Ant-Man role) while looking for her dad. But no. Random rats just happen to stroll across the control panel and they happen to hit the “retrieve” button which just HAPPENS to bring Ant-Man back from the Quantum Realm. C’mon. That’s just lazy writing right there.

Stark’s Infinity Gauntlet Was Good Enough to House the Infinity Stones? In “Infinity War,” Thor travels to Nidavellir, a distant planet next to a dying star, to see Eitri (Peter Dinklage) about forging a new weapon to fight Thanos since Thor’s hammer was destroyed in “Thor: Ragnarok.” While conversing about the events that have gone down, we’re told that Thanos sought out Eitri about creating the Infinity Gauntlet for the express purpose of housing the six Infinity stones. We’re even shown the mold. 

It’s pretty much an understatement that to say that the Infinity Stones are powerful and I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that it would require something very special in order to harness all their power. Quite frankly, if I had to lay a bet, I’d say a molten glove forged from the heat of a dying star would do the trick. But to find out later on in the movie that Tony Stark was just able to cobble one together using old armor parts with Earth-harvested materials is a little much. Not to mention, whatever metal he used to make the Stark Gauntlet had the exact durability of the star-forged-space model. Not to mention, he was smart enough to make a gauntlet, but knowing what a snap did to monsters like the Hulk and Thanos, he couldn’t have beefed up his own version a little more to protect himself? It seems short sighted for a genius-level weapons engineer.

The Stones are still out there: “Avengers: Endgame” is supposed to mark the end of this entire storyline in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Truthfully, it was wrapped up pretty tight with major story lines closed. However, Steve Rogers aka Captain America takes the Infinity Stones back to the spots in the timeline where they “borrowed” them from. That means, quite frankly, another megalomaniac can grab a stone and start this mess all over again. As definitive as the end of “Endgame” was, there’s still an opening for the dreaded “reboot.” Oh boy, get ready for gender-flipped “Iron Man” a la “Ghostbusters” in 2025.

Nebula killing herself should have created a time paradox: If someone invents a time machine at noon, it won’t be 12:05 before someone brings up the rules of time travel established by “Back to the Future.” For some reason, we, as a society, have decided that of all of the time travel rules that we’ve learned as a result of pop culture, it’s “Back to the Future’s” rules that we are committing to the Constitution of Time Travel (I’m sure some of “Terminator” is going to be sprinkled in there as well). Even in “Endgame,” we are treated to Scott Lang, professional cat burglar, pontificating about time travel and casually dropping the rules about time travel including “no talking to our past selves, no betting on sporting events...” Professor Hulk throws cold water on the whole theory by saying, “If you travel to the past, that past becomes your FUTURE. And your former present becomes the past. Which can’t now be changed by your new FUTURE.” 

Still with me? Head explode yet?

Nebula’s case was driving me nuts for a solid week because in order for Endgame Nebula to become Endgame Nebula she had to evolve from Past Nebula. The two confront themselves toward the end of “Endgame” and EG-Nebula shoots P-Nebula. Now, P-Nebula doesn’t have the opportunity to evolve into EG-Nebula so EG-Nebula should CEASE TO EXIST because the events that turn P-Nebual into EG-Nebula will never happen and therefore EG-Nebula won’t come to be.

I get what Professor Hulk was saying, but the Nebula’s case is different because it’s literally the same person on the same timeline, just at two different points, that were brought together at a single common point in time. Quite frankly, using my time travel theory, P-Nebula COULD have killed EG-Nebula because then P-Nebula could still evolve into EG-Nebula; however the door doesn’t swing both ways since time is linear (which was confirmed by The Ancient One in another scene). 

I thought a better ending would have been for P-Nebula to kill EG-Nebula and when it looks like Thanos is about to re-snap the world again, P-Nebula turns on him and finishes him off. Why? Well you have to go back to “Guardians of the Galaxy.” 

“Guardians Vol. 1″ revolves around the acquisition of the Power Stone. Ronan the Accuser acquires the stone and wants to head to Xandar to destroy the planet. Nebula and her sister Gamora have been sub-contracted to assist Ronan in getting the Power Stone on behalf of Thanos; however, when Ronan realizes what he has, he tells Thanos to piss off and he’s keeping it for himself. Ronan is going to destroy Xandar and then come for Thanos (who at this moment is stoneless). Nebula who watches the FaceTime call Ronan has with Thanos turns on her father. She says, “You see what he’s turned me into. You kill him, I will help you destroy a thousand planets.” It’s apparent that even way back then, Nebula was harboring some awful feelings for her father who turned her into a cyborg for losing sibling fights with her sister. 

In “Endgame,” P-Nebula comes from the “Guardians Vol. 1″ spot in time, so it’s safe to say that she is still harboring these terrible feelings for her dad. It would have been poetic justice if she turns on him right when he’s about to fulfill his destiny. 

Yes. These are petty, but I have a petty mind that questions things like this. I just hope that when you commit to 22 movies, you put a LITTLE more thought into the plot. I mean, c’mon.

Oh, before I forget. “Spoiler Alert.” You probably should not have read all of the above stuff if you haven’t seen “Avengers: Endgame.” Consider yourself warned. 

[realitv]

EPISODE SIX REWRITES: DONAR THE GREAT.

NOTE: The N*zis will hereby be a local mob. It’s the fucking 20s. I don’t know why they did that. I don’t want to know why they did that. I’m not keeping that in and I’m not acknowledging that as anything more than a shitty, awful fucking choice that really had no business being in there. There’s a lot to unpack in that, and none of it is good. The odd subplot of Technical B.oy recruiting Columbia, Actual Propaganda Creature, was pretty clearly written with Media in mind. Columbia, personification of the USA, was historically a pretty strong propaganda tool and now currently survives via Columbia pictures. Media really did get Columbia, huh. Technical B.oy should have been recruiting Vulcan, Hadúr, Luchtaine et cetera for technology and weaponry purposes during the war. It literally felt like the writers wrote this with Media in mind, and then realised they’d overwritten them. 🤷 Obviously y'all don’t have to go along with this specifically but I say DEATH OF THE SHOW, DEATH OF THE AUTHOR BAY-BEE! 

  IT’S A SEEDY, SMOKEY THEATRE: a hallowed hall where patrons dress up, dress down in ERMINE AND PEARLS to forget their troubles for the night, to believe in something bigger and better than they are. Art deco gilt reads AMERICA: 1929; a world on edge, a tipping point. A bullshit, razzle dazzle show that’s rehearsed and played to death to an audience that adores CHEAP THRILLS. No soul; just some sort of temple to the GLORY DAYS that were long since dead and gone. Applause, please! They’ve been watching. Of course they’ve been watching. Centre stage in a plush booth that reeks of cigarette smoke; the static always comes with them. Radio white noise and the snippets of talk shows filtering through the big jazz band and it crackles within the ears of patrons. Reminds them, tells them: GO HOME. SIT DOWN. LISTEN. LISTEN TO ME. That little brown box with the glowing little dials; the voice America woke up to. They’ve been watching for a while now; a regular devotee from the big leagues come to bless them with their appearance, their presence; people are drawn to them like flies to honey and when they applaud, when they smile, the theatre does too; rows and rows of teeth on display and Wednesday has the nerve to appear with a drink in his hand. IT’S ON THE HOUSE.   “And if I said I don’t want it, honey?” ALL THE DRAMA OF A TALK SHOW HOST! Accented syllables and vowels drawling into the beginnings of a Transatlantic accent. The Mass Media is RADIANT; glowing; spotlights upon that bleached head of perfect curls and it lights up their face; the beginnings of wires and mainframes only just starting to grow through flesh and ink. I GIVE IT AS A GIFT TO YOU. “And I said I don’t want it. See now, I don’t much approve of you and your ilk taking up space in my domain like this.” Another drag from their cigarette. Smoke spiralling into Wednesday’s face and when they laugh, the room fills with the grainy sounds of a radio jingle. “Using my voice like that! Naughty, naughty. IT IS NOT MEANT FOR YOU.” The smile fades, melts from their expression and it leaves them frigid, leaves them cold and sure. Wednesday’s one good eye burns. “I AM THE MESSAGE. The message is the future. I am not for you.” NOW, NOW, MY DEAR. YOU FORGET, WE DID NOT NEED YOU BEFORE. WE DO NOT NEED YOU NOW. THE PEOPLE WILL FORGET. THE PEOPLE WILL MOVE ON, AND YOU WILL BE OBSOLETE. Forgotten. THERE’S NO NEED TO GET ANGRY. “I was there when they wrote your stories into the Edda, when they carved your image into stone. I was there for a great many things, Al. And now, you are on my stage, using my voice. Maybe I’ll stretch my legs, and go see The Law. Tip him off, since this place just ain’t up to snuff. Or, I let you talk: I’ll take my payment later. Do we have a contract?” The white noise presses in; their eyes meet, a steady beat of silence before he nods. WE HAVE A COMPACT.

  CUT BACK TO PRESENT DAY BLACK BRIAR: The World and GENERAL ORGANA at the War Table, the right hand pushing pieces across the map. THE WAR HAS STARTED. World’s voice echoes; General Organa pausing in their ministrations to cast plasma gaze to them. “And no one has realised it. A train crash in Chicago.” A piece moves across the board. “An armed robbery in Rhode Island.” Another. “Poisoned lobster in Nashville.” Eyes meet. They mirror each other; glance for glance, smile for smile; Leia leans in close. “They have been quiet, despite all of this. Are they building THE DEATH STAR?” NO. THEY HAVE SCATTERED, AS I SAID THEY WOULD. ONE BY ONE, THEY WILL FALL. “Of course, Commander. I only wish to do my part to SERVE THE ALLIANCE.” Silence. AND YOU WILL. OF COURSE YOU WILL. YOU BOTH WILL.” Cut to General Organa, brows furrowed: The World beckons; like a shadow, they follow; a quick, purposeful stride, hands pressed to the small of their back to the sidelines. Social Media sifting through images: SWIPE RIGHT? SUPER LIKE? HEART REACT? COMMENT, TWEET, HASHTAG OVER IT! A soft ‘ahem’ from World and the noise dies; turning around to face Commander and General with wide eyes. YEAH? Nervousness, how unlike her. Leia’s gaze burns. BOTH OF YOU MUST MAKE READY FOR THE BROADCAST. “Affirmative. All preparations have been made: I am ready when you are.” I NEED MORE POWER. Two sets of eyes facing the other piece in the puzzle to find it lacking. OUR NEW FRIEND IS COMING. THEY HAVE ASSURED ME: YOU WILL BE READY. Their shadow covers her; drags away as World exits stage right. Two voices left alone; Leia stares, stares, stares. It’s empty, it’s cold; flat. Social Media holds it, twitches: it’s the same numinous dread The Boy had etched into their features whenever the General came calling. “IT’S A WONDER YOU’RE STILL ALIVE. More power. This is child’s play, but then again, YOU’RE A LITTLE SHORT FOR A STORMTROOPER.”

  AMERICA: 1933. THE THEATRE IS CRACKING, YELLOWED: prohibition may have ended but Great Depression left everyone hungry. THEY ENTER IN SILK AND RUBIES: rosy cheeks and the smile of a Hollywood Starlet. Flushed, ALIVE! Hollow eyes stare at them with RAVENOUS hunger and when they laugh, the world tints with static; PRE-CODE MASTERPIECES and biting social commentary. Standing against the backdrop of an abandoned stage and despite themselves, their feet move; tap, slide, swivel; IS IT THE CHARLESTON? Some new crazy song and dance number? TUNE IN! WATCH THE LATE NIGHT PICTURE SHOW! Snapped out of it; a slow, slow clap echoing; spotlight dies and they stand stock still. I DID NOT THINK I’D SEE YOU BACK HERE, MY DEAR. “Mister Wednesday.” A curl of their lip, hopping down from the stage and it’s a quick one-two step. “I’ve come for my payment. We have a need. We’ve had our eye on Miss Columbia. You remember our terms: I LET YOU SPEAK. Now, I want my slice of the pie.   “Hasn’t it been ages since I saw you last, honey?” YOU. YOU AGAIN. Eyes flitting between Wednesday and The Mass Media; tightening the sash on their robe and drawing it to a close under prying eyes. “I thought you’d have been happier to see lil’ ol’ me again after all this time. I’m real sorry about how the Great War ended up, but you know how it is. Mister Money decided LIBERTY SELLS, and THAT’S A WRAP! Centuries of mythos overwritten by another Goddess. She’s doing fine, by the way. All of us are.” Silence. It falls thick and heavy and the world around them buzzes with white noise. “Cat got your tongue?” WE’RE DOING FINE. A pout. “Oh, now, see here, I just hate liars. Can’t stand ‘em! It’s why I got all these new ethics and standards in place. And you, honey, are violating those. Look at you, you look like someone who just crawled out of the DUST BOWL.” And she looks down. Looks at her faded, out of date clothes. The mouldering room around her. Media takes another drag from their cigarette; lounges in the settee that’s falling apart and grins. “You’re just surviving, sweetheart. The people will forget. Then you will die, and I’ll look back on the beautiful legacy we had together, all that teamwork through the centuries and say to myself: ‘If only Miss Columbia had listened to me!’ There’s something coming. We can all feel it. I want to give you your place back, I want to move forward with you. I’ll even put you in the pictures, then you’ll never die.” It’s served on a silver platter, tied with velvet ribbon: how can any God resist? WELL -- I -- Wednesday holds up a hand. SHE’LL THINK ABOUT IT, GIVE YOU AN ANSWER SOON. “Well, don’t keep me waiting, honey.” A languid sigh; standing in a smooth motion as they moved towards the door. “--I’ll be seeing you on the studio lot.” 

  EVEN DYING MALLS HAVE EYES: grainy CCTV footage near a repair chaos picks up a tremor, something not quite right: Wednesday’s spear, carved with runes; near repaired. A black and white eye presses forward, stares. The screen goes blank with a bzzt.  RED ALERT. The noise echoes; lights flashing; World and their right hand ROD SERLING come back by popular remand; finger hovering over red button and the World pushes down to bring an awful silence. WHAT WAS THAT? Social Media scampering in; out of breath. IT’S SO ANALOGUE. As was everything within the space. WE ARE AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. “--I was not aware that we were on one.” A sideways glance; World and Serling’s eyes meet; electricity flavours the air. THEY HAVE CARVED THE RUNES INTO THE SPEAR? “Yes. IT IS MAN’S PREROGATIVE TO CREATE THEIR OWN HELL: and we, I believe, HAVE JUST CROSSED INTO THE TWILIGHT ZONE.” 

[extraneousdominomask]

Of Heists and Hustles - The Abridged Version

[Night in Zootopia. The Nope Diamond is travelling to The Museum, and all the cops are helping. All the cops except]

Judy: This sucks! I wanna help!

Nick: I am ambivalent.

[The Cooper Gang waits nearby, ready to steal it!]

Sly: I'm a thief!

Bentley: I'm a hacker.

Murray: I'M THE MURRAY

Sly: This sucks. I'm bored.

McHorn: Oh god! We're all getting beaten up by a giant shirtless cat!

Sly: Amazing!

[Sly meets Tai Lung. He is giant and shirtless.]

Sly: I have stolen the diamond!

[Tai Lung hits him very hard.]

Judy: Stop right there! You're under arrest!

[Tai Lung hits her very hard.]

Tai Lung: I will now kill you.

Sly: Not if I heroically intervene! It's my Establishing Character Moment! I do nice things but for selfish reasons maybe!

[Everybody fights. Nick throws the diamond. Judy throws herself after it. Both land in a river.]

Nick: I am anxious!

Tai Lung: I am leaving.

Judy : I am the world's greatest cop!!!! but also cold and wet

[It's still night. The same night and everything! Tai Lung is running across rooftops.]

Tai Lung: I am the best at running across rooftops!

Sly: Get on my level, amateur, you don't even know I'm following you.

Tai Lung: What?

Sly: Nothing.

Bentley: Sly, what's happening?!

Sly: A bad guy tried to steal the diamond and hurt a policewoman. I am following him because I hate him.

Bentley: Your libido will be the death of us all.

[It's The Museum. The curator of The Museum is Black Panther. Yes, really.]

Okonkwo: Thank you for saving the diamond. I hired Wolf O'Donnell to protect it, but he hasn't been written into the story yet. Would you like to come to my fancy party on Friday?

Nick: Heck yes!

Judy: As long as we don't die horribly before then, ha ha!

[Awkward silence.]

[It's a gross warehouse. There are hyenas.]

Shenzi: We're hyenas!

Banzai: Except now we're also bikers!

Tai Lung: Move aside. I hate you.

[A tiny nerd uses a telephone.]

Peridot: I'VE SPENT A LOT OF EFFORT ENSURING MY BOSS IS A SECRET!

Mastermind: Ironically, it is transparently obvious who I am.

Sly: I've just taken photos of all of you!

Tai Lung: What! I will now kill y-

[Murray hits him with a van.]

Murray: let's BOUNCE

 [It's the ZPD morning briefing! With your host, Chiiiiiiiief Bogo!]

Bogo: Let's get this over with. I have strict orders to distract from the fact this entire chapter is exposition by utilizing

Sly: snazzy scene transitions!

Bentley: ...why did you yell that?

Sly: Just run it, Hardison.

Bentley: This is Tai Lung. He punches. This is Peridot. She hacks. These are the hyenas. They're dumb, and, furthermore, stupid. Squeezing them might reveal the mastermind, who I have been unable to identify.

Sly: And what about

Judy: the oddly attractive raccoon, Chief?

Bogo: He's Sly Cooper. He and his friends steal things for fun, mostly from other criminals. But sometimes they don't, I guess. We have an Interpol agent coming to help us. That is all.

Nick: Wow, I wish all our briefings could be this short. That just leaves

Sly: Nick and Judy!

Bentley: Yes. Nick and Judy. They are friends who fight crime.

Sly: I will befriend them also. Get me a telephone.

Judy: I just got a text! Sly wants to meet us.

Nick: Guess we better investigate.

Judy: Sounds like a plan, my dearest friend who I love and share a house with!

Nick: So are we boning or what?

Judy : Unclear!

[Nick and Judy are in a park, reading a newspaper of wacky mayoral candidates.]

Nick: Look at all these wacky mayoral candidates! Like Toriel Undertale! And Scar!

Judy: "Scar" is a dumb name.

Nick: Yes.

Clawhauser: It's me, Clawhauser, over the radio! Bogo wants to see you, Nick!

Nick: Heck. Don't die, Judy.

Judy: Okay!

[Nick leaves. Sly enters.]

Sly: Wanna team up?

Judy: Only kinda!

Bogo: Come in, Wilde, and meet our Interpol liaison.

Nick: Great, some stuffed-shirt two-bit - ¡dios mío, zorra muy bonita!

Carmelita: Hello, I'm Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox. And I should hope you mean that to be translated literally, not colloquially.

Nick: You work for Interpol?! That completely invalidates my significance as a street-level officer in Furry New York.

Carmelita: True. But remember: Star Fox.

Nick: Star Fox?

Carmelita: Yes.

Bogo: Wilde, you've been chosen to work with Carmelita because you know the city like no-one else.

Carmelita: Pretty good justification for why I'd team up with a complete rookie, right?

Nick: If I don't have Judy helping me I might cry. Just a heads up.

Bogo: In a somewhat out-of-character move, I will grant Hopps freedom from usual department rules.

Carmelita: In a very out-of-character move, I am okay with this.

Nick: The important thing is that I got what I wanted.

Carmelita: Congratulations. Now if you'll excuse me, I should go get my ninety minutes of daily sleep.

Bogo: Wilde, for god's sake, learn some independence. Hopps could die at literally any moment, you ever think about that?

Nick: Yes!!!!! Constantly!!!!!!!!!! It consumes me from within!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bogo: Well, good. As long as you're aware.

Nick: Star Fox?!?!

Judy: Yes.

Sly: Go arrest the hyenas to find the mastermind.

Judy: Smart plan. But my partner isn't gonna like this.

 Nick: I don't like this!

Judy: Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease? Just once!

Nick: Fine. Just once. Oh, also, the Interpol inspector is a fox, and also also, Bogo is letting you help me help her. Secretly.

Judy: Wow! Wow to all of that!

Nick: Yeah. Now let's go to Ruby's bar.

[It's Ruby's bar.]

Ruby: I'm Ruby, from the show RWBY!

Blake: I'm quiet.

Finnick: And I'm here too.

Nick: oh god

Judy: Are you two not friends any more?

Finnick: It's genuinely unclear in canon if we ever were.

Murray : Time for THE MURRAY to make like a Cold War superpower and instigate a proxy conflict!

[He does. There are many kicks. The hyenas go to jail.]

Tai Lung: Heck.

Carmelita: So Nick and Judy think these hyenas are connected to the diamond heist?

Bogo: I'll be honest, Inspector, I just let them do whatever and they work things out eventually.

Banzai: You'll get nothing from me, copper!

Nick: [is Nick]

Banzai: here is every secret i've ever been told

Nick: So apparently the mastermind is Scar? That's ridiculous. Let's go bother him.

Peridot: HECK!!!!!!!!!!

Carmelita: Great work in there, Nick!

Nick: I was not a con artist!!

Carmelita: ...Cool! See you later.

[It's a slideshow.]

Bentley: Here's the slideshow for my new plan. We'll need three things: alarm schematics,

Sly: Right,

Bentley: an entire subway train,

Murray: NICE

Bentley: and an invitation we'll have to rob from an innocent old man.

Sly: Okay :)

Bentley: ...

Murray: ...That's... kinda evil, Bentl-

Bentley: Yes. It is.

 [It's Scar's house.]

Scar: Hello, I'm Scar.

Judy: Are you the bad guy?

Scar: No, I'm Scar.

Nick: How's Mufasa?

Scar: That's unimportant. I'm Scar.

Judy: Are you connected with these hyenas?

Scar: Oh , I'm so sorry, but I haven't "seen" them in years >;3

Judy: ...can we arrest him for making that face

Nick: That legislation hasn't been finalized yet, sorry.

[They leave.]

Nick: Scar basically admitted to everything, but in a way that gives us no evidence. We've got nothing right now, but I'm sure it's him.

Judy: But why? Why steal the diamond?

Nick: Well, everyone loves us for saving the day. If he manufactured a similar situation, he might actually get voted in as mayor.

Judy: A transparently evil fascist using misinformation to win an election? Come on, Nick. This is 2016.

Nick: goddammit judy

Clawhauser: It's time to read Tai Lung's Extended Backstory File!

Carmelita: And I am here as well.

Clawhauser: Oh gosh! He's mostly evil because his dad died! And he did the manslaughter! Mammalslaughter...?

Nick: Yep, it's true. Doing one crime will ruin your life forever. Gotta tick off the Social Commentary box for this to be a real Zootopia fanfiction...

Carmelita: I remain unsympathetic to him in light of this information. My role in this and all narratives is to stick stringently to the Lawful part of Lawful Good. Never trust criminals. No matter how handsome they are.

Nick: But this doesn't explain why Tai Lung is helping Scar become mayor.

Judy: The mayor's office can pardon crimes! Somehow! Even though that really only applies to stuff like parking tickets, not an international crime spree of theft and probably murder!

Nick: In fairness, Tai Lung mightn't know that, Scar just needs to convince him.

Judy: Let's go with that, yes.

[A smol cat stabs Banzai with an umbrella.]

Banzai : Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!! Kill Nick!

[Carmelita shoots him with her Huge Gun.]

Carmelita: Writhe, little man.

Nick: He went savage! But only a little bit...

Judy: What evil genius put this together?

Peridot : AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! LEGS... SHORT! HNFF

[The Cooper Gang steal a subway train.]

Murray: This is the BEST DAY EVER

[Tai Lung attacks.]

Murray: I change MY MIND

Sly: Go on without me, guys! I'll handle him alone! By which I mean I'm immediately calling Judy for help.

[There are many kicks.]

Judy: Wait! I know your tragic backstory!

Tai Lung: Then go make a gifset.

[His attempts to murder them do not abate. However, Sly and Judy save each other.]

Judy: Gosh, you're amazing!

Sly: No, you're amazing!

Judy: Gosh...

Sly: So are we boning or what?

Judy: Unclear!

Tai Lung: Enough of this vague romantic tension! You're boring me stiff!

[He bores into them until they are stiff.]

Murray: Oh my god Sly and Judy are dead wait, no, they're just sleeping.

Bentley: Yes. We're all terrified two protagonists will die halfway through the story.

Carmelita: Alright, losers, shut up and follow my lead. Time to demonstrate my full prowess as an officer.

Murray: Oh, wow! Are you gonna shoot him?

Carmelita: Murray, please. I'm an Inspector with Interpol. My tactical knowledge is a little more advanced than that.

Tai Lung: I'm going to drown these tiny fools! And there's nothing anyone can do to stop m-

[Carmelita proceeds to shoot Tai Lung in the face multiple times. It is very funny.]

Nick: I've found a way to weaponise his previously-established backstory!

Bentley: Thank god. We've justified that otherwise pointless detour.

Nick: Shut up and hack that telephone, Specs.

[The telephone rings.]

Murray: It's for you!

Tai Lung: Ahoy-hoy?

Nick: It's me! Your boss! Quit it.

Tai Lung: Pop quiz - what's my motivation?

Nick: Uh... you're doing these crimes to not be a criminal any more?

Tai Lung: Close enough. I will begrudgingly follow your suspiciously merciful orders.

Nick: We did it!

Bentley: Nice work. Say, does this look like a flash-bang to you?

Nick: Wh- OH GOD MY EYES

[Judy is propped up on many pillows.]

Nick: Okay, you didn't die this time, but that was pretty close.

Judy: Bring on Round Two!

Nick: I am genuinely begging you to take the day off. More for my sake than yours.

[It's Black Panther's office in The Museum.]

Wolf O'Donnell: And it's me! Wolf O'Donnell!

[Audience applause, cheers, howling.]

Okonkwo: Hello, my vaguely trusted employee. Can I help you?

Wolf: Yes. This job has much more master thieves than advertised. Pay me much more money.

Okonkwo: Your concerns are valid. However, I'm afraid I have no money to spare.

Wolf: ...well then! Forget I said anything. Not important ;)

[Peridot is watching cartoons illegally online - yes, specifically, that's what happened - when Tai Lung appears.]

Peridot: YYYYYYYYYYYYOU MESSED UP!

Tai Lung: Eh.

Peridot: I'M GONNA FIX IT!!!

Tai Lung: Off you go, then.

Peridot: NYEH

Sly: Always treat a lady to chocolates after she saves you from being drowned by a snow leopard.

Bentley: Terrible news! Murray's sick! He's come down with a serious case of Can't Be In The Plot Right Now!

Sly: Perfect! What a convenient excuse to invite Judy to fight slash commit crime with me!

Bentley: Sly, can we please talk about the underlying issues pushing you into this uncharacteristic behaviour?

Sly: No.

[Nick and Carmelita must do computer things.]

Carmelita: I like you, Nick. I'm gonna tell you a bit of my backstory - lord help me, I'll even banter with you.

Nick: Wow. Well, it's an honour being under you.

Carmelita: So are we boning or what?

Nick: Unclear!

[Judy has had the entire day off. She is ready to die.]

Judy: I am ready to make some terrible decisions!

[She receives a text from Sly.]

Sly: check out this hot selfie i took at an active crime scene

Judy: Wow! What an attractive terrible decision!

Sly: want to help me beat up a small nerd?

Judy: i'm there! [rabbit emoji] [raccoon emoji] [gun emoji] [computer emoji]

Peridot: CLODS! STEP INTO MY DEATHTRAP GAUNTLET AND DIE!

Sly: How about................... we don't do that?

Judy: yeah okay

Peridot: NO!!!

[Peridot locks them into an employee lounge, forcing them to Bond(tm).]

Sly: So basically I'm doing this for my dead dad.

Judy: Interesting. Isn't he dead, though?

Sly: Hmm, good point.

[Nick receives a text from Judy.]

Nick: uhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Carmelita: What's up, buttercup?

Nick: On one hand, I should probably keep this a secret. On the other, Please Help.

Sly: My arc is that I can't stop stealing.

Judy: Mine is that I'm probably going to h*cking die.

Sly: Haha wow!

Judy: Hey. Hey, Sly, guess what. I know your tragic backstory too. That's rough, buddy.

Sly: Thanks, Judy. I appreciate it. Y'know, you'd make a pretty good thief.

Judy: And you'd make a good cop!

Sly: Um, funny story,

Nick: You drafted a falsely amnesiac Sly Cooper into Interpol?! That's not a funny story at all! That's melancholic, and deeply concerning!

Carmelita: Look. In my defence... I wanted to bone him.

Nick: That's not-!

Peridot: CLODS! STEP INTO MY DEATHTRAP GAUNTLET AND DIE! PLEASE?!

Nick: Let's cut the power.

Peridot: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nick: I lied. I actually was a con-artist.

Carmelita: I know, Nick, I've seen the movie.

Sly: You should communicate more clearly with your partner.

Judy: Good suggestion, internationally wanted criminal. I'll get right on that, just as soon as-

[The power goes out and the doors open.]

Judy: Oh, cool, we can beat up that nerd!

Sly: Finally!

Peridot: THIS IS A BAD NIGHT FOR PERIDOT

Tai Lung: Ugh! I'm here to save you.

Nick: They're gone. But we can still arrest Sly - Judy, cuff him!

Judy: Um... no.

[It's breakfast time! Judy... actually, y'know what? I'm not gonna comedically abridge this part. Chapter 16 of this story came out very, very well, especially since I don't consider serious emotion one of my strengths. I might suggest you just go and read it if you're interested. It's the emotional culmination of the separate arcs for Nick, Judy, and Sly/Carmelita that build through the story, and I'm still very pleased with the results. Anyway. It's sad.]

[The Cooper Gang's sad too.]

Murray: I messed up!

Sly: Yeah. Me too.

Bentley: Oh, shut up, guys. You'll feel better when we successfully heist a diamond, I assume.

[Sad, sad, droopy ears.]

Judy: I am so depressed I am willingly performing traffic duty.

Clawhauser: I can't even cheer you up, and I'm Clawhauser!

Judy: She who is tired of Clawhauser is tired of life.

[At The Museum, Wolf is giving a helpful pep talk.]

Wolf: What do we want?

Wolves: Loads of money!

Wolf: How do we want it?

Wolves: From anyone!

Wolf : [tearing up] I'm so proud of you all.

[Nick and Carmelita try to find the Cooper Gang. All they find is a chocolate shop.]

Carmelita: This makes me feel angry!

Nick: I am dead inside. ...Moreso than usual.

[The bad guys are doing okay, really.]

Peridot: I'M VERY SORRY!

Mastermind: Sorta don't care. Is the Night Howler(tm) ready?

Tai Lung: We're using Night Howler on someone?

Mastermind: Oh, we're using it on someone alright >;3c

Tai Lung: how did you do that over the phone

[It's the fancy party! Wolf's manning the door.]

Wolf: I'm casually bullying a guy in a wheelchair! Just in case you weren't sure I was an antagonist.

Scar: Here is a bribe so I can carry skip the security check.

Wolf: I love my job.

Sly: Hiding in the rafters is making me feel a little better.

Tai Lung: Same.

Sly: Agh! What are you doing up here?!

Tai Lung: Right now? Just mocking you for having empathy. Loser.

Judy: Oh, hello, Carmelita. What's up?

Carmelita: This is a little late in the story, but: we have so much common ground. Don't repeat my mistakes. You have deeply impressed me in the threeish days I've known you, and I'm lucky to have met you.

Judy: W-wow. The feeling's more than mutual.

Carmelita: So are we boning or what?

Judy: Gosh, I hope so.

Nick: You enjoying the party, Scar?

Scar : Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmhhh >:3cccc

Nick: Soon, Nicholas. Soon.

Toriel: Excuse me, I seem to have misplaced my child. I'm a competent mother, I swear.

[Judy looks for Toriel's son, Asriel, but instead finds only a crime!]

Wolf: Gimme the diamond!

Okonkwo: What treachery is this?!

Wolf: I've received purely electronic communication from someone claiming to be the Cooper Gang, saying they'll pay me big money for this diamond.

Okonkwo: And you... trust that?

Wolf: Well, not any more. Clearly, Cooper is trying to fool me!

Okonkwo: Clearly.

[Wolf leaves with the diamond. Okonkwo obliterates a wolf with a single punch. He is, after all, Black Panther.]

Okonkwo: Officer Hopps, please help me evacuate the entire museum by claiming that a heretofore-unmentioned fireworks display is about to start, which is mandatory for all guests to attend, but will not actually materialise.

Judy: Wow! You are smart.

Okonkwo: Yes.

[Everyone leaves, miraculously.]

Tai Lung: Time for you to get poisoned by Night Howler!

[Tai Lung gets poisoned by Night Howler.]

Tai Lung: The - the shadowy figure who never so much as told me their name betrayed me?!

Sly: Oh, honey.

Asriel: Golly! I exist for only two things: bein' adorable and wanderin' heedlessly into deadly situations!

Sly: I've known this kid for only half a second but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

[Something almost happens to him.]

Sly: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[He saves the good good boy. The Cooper Gang regroup-er gang.]

Wolf: You'll pay for this, Cooper!

Sly: who in god's name are you

[There are many punches. Nick, Judy and Carmelita show up.]

Nick: We haven't resolved our issues yet!

Judy: But that won't stop us from DOOR!

[DOOR!]

Sly: Is everyone okay?!

Judy: Yeah, but the three of us are stuck in here with Tai Lung!

Nick: And I'm stuck out here like a tiny orange idiot!

Murray: Don't worry, Jak & Daxter reference! Me and Bentley will try to open this door offscreen!

Bentley: Yes, now's as good a time as any to exit the narrative. Frankly we've been secondary characters for this entire outing.

[Bye, guys!]

Carmelita: I have a novel idea - let's beat up the bad guy, with violence.

Sly: I love you so much.

Nick: Don't worry Judy, you can do this! You're amazing!

Judy: Thanks, Nick. I genuinely needed to hear that. What about you?

Nick: I can do something else. Because I'm also, separately, amazing.

Sly: Hey, cool, People Are Good At Different Things! That's the moral of my whole franchise.

Nick: Here's one for you - Nick Wilde Is The Best. That's the moral of mine.

Judy: Go get 'em, tiger.

[They go get the snow leopard as Nick go gets the lion.]

Nick: Ladies and gentlemammals, I know who's behind this.

Toriel: Is it me?

Nick: Actually, no! It's Mufasa!

Scar: What?! No! I'm ten times the jewel thief Mufasa is! ...Which, um, is zero. Because ten times zero is still zero.

Nick: Let's discuss this somewhere quieter, where it would be hypothetically easier to stab a police officer to death.

Scar: Excellent. Yes.

Scar : Why yes, I am exactly the kind of person to own a cane-sword.

Nick: Contrary to appearances, I am perfectly competent at my job! You're under arrest!

Scar: Curses! But I still have Peridot.

Nick: You really don't. She's gonna abandon you the second my excellent partner stops Tai Lung.

Scar: Ah, but will she?!

[She does.]

Judy: Oh god, Sly is dying!

Carmelita: No! Not like this...

Sly: Oh. Wow. You're... actually really sad. I'm fine actually. It was a prank. Epic... fake internal bleeding to steal a diamond prank! Y'know, that old... um... SMOKEBOMB

Peridot: I WILL NOW MAKE LIKE A LAWN CHAIR AND FOLD.

Nick: Just as I predicted! Everything's done, we can go home.

Judy: But Nick, we need to resolve these emotional arcs!

Nick: uuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[The roof!]

Sly: I'm sad. I ruined everything.

Judy: No, Sly. Not doing crimes is good, actually.

Sly: Source?

Nick: We are definitely not boning.

Sly: More's the pity. Maybe next time.

Carmelita: We might still be, though. Despite everything.

Sly: Hooray! Let's smooch!

[They smooch. I've been publishing fanfics for over six years - well over 200,000 words in the last two years alone - and for so long this was the only kiss in any of my stories. And I wonder why my numbers are low.]

Sly: I'll start making the world a better place by robbing Scar utterly blind! Catch you all later!

Carmelita : No, Sly, we'll catch you.

[Everyone laughs. Sly flings himself from the rooftop.]

Nick: Hey, Carmelita, let's be penpals.

Carmelita: Sure. That sounds like a mildly diverting interquel. I'm gonna get hammered on champagne now, so I'll leave you kids to your Feels.

[She does. Nick and Judy make up and stuff. Whatever.]

[Night in Zootopia.]

Epilogue! The bad guys go to jail, Carmelita learns how to email, Wolf disappears, Finnick gets a job at The Museum because I guess his presence in this story needed to go somewhere, the Cooper Gang's failure means the diamond is safe, Sly has a protracted existential crisis he claims is just him "figuring stuff out", and Nick and Judy - surprise surprise - are still friends. But are they boning? To this day, it remains unclear.

(At this rate, probably not.)

Woah, that was so much faster!!! I wrote this whole thing in under a week. I'm just gonna stick to this format from now on... 

[xroguex1027]

Steady as She Goes (An Arcana Hurt Comfort Fan Fic)

Before we begin you may want to read this. This is my first ever posted fanfiction. That being said I should prepare you for what it is. I have emetophobia so to get over it I sometimes write sic fics to work on exposure. So there are emetophobia triggers in this. Second, I tried to make this gender neutral and sfw. There is implied nsfw but I think I did it tastefully enough that it won’t be obvious to someone glancing over your shoulder. Why anyone would be glancing over your shoulder that concerns me but without further ado here it is...oh one more thing, this was written before I knew Julian found anything in the dungeon so it’s not canonical. Feel free to reblog with credit. 

It’s been a rough week for Julian Devorak. After realizing that there was nothing for him in the dungeon and no clues as to the source of his guilt elsewhere he has decided there is only one place left to look, the Lazaret, the monument to his failures. The island looms on the horizon like a bad omen.

Of course, you couldn’t let him go alone. You know him too well, you know he would beat himself up from the inside out when it came time to take in the gravity of the lives that were lost. You also know no matter how much he denied it, he wanted you here.

You decide to distract him by engaging in sword play. You’ve always wanted to swashbuckle at sea like a real pirate, who better to teach you than the pirate doctor himself? You’ve only been at it for about forty-five minutes but it feels like hours. Your arms are growing heavy and your legs are sore from maintaining bent knees.

He critiques your footwork, apprehensive at first, but gradually he gets deeper and deeper into the teacher role. You cast him looks whenever his commentary borders on condescension. You adjust the foil in your left hand, tightening your grip. The fact that your dominant hand is opposite his and you are shorter sets him at a disadvantage. None the less he still finds ways for you to improve.

“You ah, might want to watch your feet.” He uses the tip of his sword to gesture to the placement of your toes.

“You might want to watch your tongue.” You smirk. The adrenaline is pulsing through you, faster than you can justify your dialog.

“Or…you could. Watch my tongue I mean, erm, explore it at the very least. What do ya say?” He lifts a rascally eyebrow.

You take the unguarded opportunity to swipe at him but he blocks your blade and your ear is thrilled by the ting of metal on metal.

“Swift.” You say, smirking teasingly.

“Years of practice my dear.” He smiles behind the crossed blades, then with a flourish of his cape, spins around and aims the tip of his foil at your chest.

“Let me see your perry six.” He says smoothly.

You shift your wrist slightly to the left blocking his lunge,

“Ah, that was perry four. Tilt the uh, hilt down a bit.” “Like this?” You ask Relaxing your grip just a bit.

Julian slides his sword into his belt before walking around behind you and adjusting your grip on the handle.

“Just the thumb and index finger. Hold it too tight and I might disarm you.”

“Is that what happened to Lucio?” You ask with smug satisfaction.

“Oh I disarmed him alright, wasn’t even in combat, well ah, at least not on my end, he definitely through some punches though, Ah, not that they landed, he was…he was pretty out of it at the time…Ooft!”

Julian grasps at his belly where the blunt tip of your sword is pressed into him. He looks down at you and bights his lip. He pulls on the end of your blade pressing it tighter against him, staggering back dramatically with a dreadful sound.

“Oh god! Why?” He collapses onto the deck with no finesse and you turn around to kneel beside him, playing along.

“Julian, I’m sorry, it…it wasn’t supposed to end like this…”

“Augh- it’s too…late…Now all that's left for me is death’s sweet, sweet embrace…oh come great angel of the dead and free me from the pains of this…this mortal…mmph.”

You press your mouth against his taking up a fist full of his shirt and lifting him to your lips. He lifts one hand to push the hair out of your eyes then coils his fingers behind your neck. You want him badly. You bight his lip hard, pressing lightly on the tender place where you just bruised him. You know it will heal pretty quickly but for the time being it aches a bit. He gives a low moan pressing your fingers deeper into his bruise. “Like this.” He whispers, pushing harder. You see him wince and part of you likes it while the other part of you wants to kiss away his pain. You bight him between his neck and shoulder, softly at first but gradually tightening your teeth around his flesh until you taste a metallic tinge of salt. Unsure if it’s from his shoulder or your own teeth you let go and flex your tongue, licking a tiny bit of blood from your gums.

He’s watching you with a pleading eye, but his gaze travels past your shoulder reflecting an overcast sky. You turn to look behind you at the steely grey clouds rolling overhead, molten darkness on the horizon.

“We’ll make it there alright. Don’t worry.” You say reassuringly as you rest your head against his chest.

“Oh. ah. it’s not that.” He says looking away, he’s trying to hide the flush in his cheeks but he is doing a terrible job of it.

“What is it then?” You ask him softly consumed by his heartbeat and the soft yet sturdy comfort of his chest.

“Ah, you uh, remember how I was a pirate, sort of, ah, a doctor who traveled with pirates, you know stole a pregnant war elephant, fought off mutineers, plundered for gold?”

“Cut off a mans arm?” you wink and lay your head back down.

“That…that happened later, but you remember all of that don’t you?”

He feels you nod against his chest.

“Well, I…I probably would have never left the pirate life, I loved it, I really did, I was a natural at swashbuckling, I could barter and talk myself out of any situation with the best of them, I even had ways to cure them of scurvy…er, at least keep the symptoms at bay. But ah, there was one tiny issue…I don’t, - my sea legs are… a little wobbly, to say the least.”

You feel the boat rocking softly underneath you as you look out at the heavy sky. “You mean you get seasick?” You ask with a note of surprise.

“Ah. Sometimes, Most of the time I love sailing, it’s freeing, the salty air is good for the sinuses and it clears the mind, but when the water gets choppy…ooft tosses my stomach something fierce.” He pauses to take a deep breath conveniently angling his nose towards your hair. “But it’s been years maybe things are different now.”

“Doesn’t the curse help with that?” You ask curiously. “I mean it cures you, helps you to heal right?”

“Ah. that's just the thing, seasickness isn’t exactly sickness, there’s no virus or germs to heal from just dizziness that makes your brain think you’re sick. Oh well, guess I'm just gonna have to embrace this.” A smile cracks across his face and you nuzzle into him sympathetically.

“Though, it would appear that we have a little time left before the storm hits. Would you ah, care to take this under the deck?”

Failing to suppress a grin you take his hand and he links arms with you as you make your way to the cabin. He follows you down the stairs as you drag him by the hand over to a small bench. You sit down and pat the empty space beside you beckoning him.

He takes the seat and leans over you eagerly, an intense gleam in his eye as he moves close enough to grace your lower lip. His breath is warm in contrast to his cold skin. Your noses bump against each other as something starts between the two of you. Too eager to wait you pull off your leather vest and drop it to the floor.

You can’t help but groan as he slips his nimble hands under your shirt to satisfy his mischievous curiosity. You maneuver yourself comfortably over his knee so that the thick of his leg is just between yours, this should hold you over, at least for a little while. You shift desperately against him, the kiss has become yours now and he’s the one moaning.

You dig your hands feverishly into his scalp and he tilts his head back in blissful anguish as you pull harder. Now that his neck is exposed you press your lips lightly against the place where the curse is buried under his skin. And then you kiss a little harder, perhaps you can nibble away at that curse, gnaw on it and render it free from his neck.

He breaths softly through pursed lips, squeezing you tighter, trying to wrap his legs around you. You skillfully unbutton the snaps on his coat and slide it off his shoulders. Then you begin to unfasten his jacket. It’s impossible not to laugh at how many layers he wears.

“What?” He snickers.

“You’re like a nesting doll.” You grin impishly. “There’s just no end…”

“Ah, Pasha had one of those as a-uh, as a child.” He smiles and works your shirt up over your head, briefly interrupting your progress on his buttons.

A coolness hugs your waste as the shirt is pulled off and tossed aside. His hands slide over your core, eagerly. He wants to feel as much of you as he can all at once. As his arms wrap around you pulling you close he buries his face in your sternum with a muffled groan.

Finally, you’re down to his white linen shirt, but you don’t take it off immediately. The way it clings to his sweating form does something to you. You have to take it all in, messy hair and lip bite before you peel his shirt off.

Your fingers search anxiously for his bruise wanting to make him squirm. It was too satisfying the first time not to try again.

“I’m afraid it’s uh…all healed up now.” He says, a faint pout on his lips. “But don’t worry, I can think of several other ways you can er…make me hurt.”

“I’m sure you’ll be suffering enough when that storm hits.” You remind him.

“Mmm, that’s ah, that’s too long.” He murmurs. “Make me suffer now.”

You push your hands against his bare chest and he eases down on the bench, adjusting so that it covers the length of his back. You press one knee into his stomach eliciting a slight “ooft.” You slide your leg down to support you as you lean over his chest scraping your nails across it. He clutches your hair in his fist tugging just enough to get you excited.

Your bare chest hovers over his and you are dying to feel them touch. You want to feel the skin of your belly pressed against his as you squeeze together thirsting for more sensations. You lower your self on top him and he continues to kiss you even more deeply until you can’t tell if the dizziness is from the rocking of the ship or the adrenalin rush.

When it’s all over you lay sweating and trembling naked in each other's arms. He kisses the top of your head gently and draws in a deep breath.

“You’re ah, breathing a little heavy there, are you alright?” He asks.

Somehow you find enough breath to answer him “Alright’s an understatement.” you say with a little light headed laugh.

“Oh uh, you liked it then?” His voice wavers slightly.

“Mmm very much so,” You press your hips into his leg knowing you could never possibly have enough.

You lay together in naked silence, euphoric sensations of each others company. You can hear the depth of his voice in his every breath. Thunder rumbles soothingly outside the cabin and Julian's eye snaps open. He looks up to the ceiling as though observing the ominous sky through it.

“Well, this will be fun.” He says sardonically.

“Remember how pretty I am right now because in about ten minutes, I uh…might not be. Might even change colors if I’m lucky, I think a deep sea green would bring out my eye.” He sits upright and pulls on his loose white shirt. “Then again, I’ve probably outgrown it. It’s really more prominent among children anyway. I uh, I should be fine, I’ll be fine, it’s…”

Before he can finish reassuring himself a voice calls out from overhead.

“All hands on deck!”

He squeezes your hand, as you button your vest with the other.

“Well, If I don’t make it, I want you to know it’s been a pleasure, ah a real treat getting to know you and uh…”

“Julian.” You say quickly turning off his monologue. “You’re not gonna die from seasickness.”

“Ah, it’s actually more plausible than you would believe, many people have lost there lives as well as their lunch over the side of a ship you know, terrible way to go… I envy them.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t fall overboard.” You promise as you plant a kiss lovingly on his cheek.

“Shame, I was really looking forward to finding out what drowning feels like.” He muses as you pull your pants and boots back on.

You lift an eyebrow at him and he flashes you an incorrigible grin.

As you exit the cabin your face if met with the salty spit of the sea. The wind is blowing harder now, the water is already starting to churn. You shudder, suddenly wishing you had more than just your vest to keep you warm.

“You ah, you cold? Here.”

Julian slides his coat off and drapes it over your shoulders, it’s warm and it smells like herbal spices and bath salt.

“Thank you.” You say looking up at him.

“It’s uh, it’s nothing.”

Julian bears a serious look on his face, his shirt billowing around him. You give his arm a reassuring squeeze, knowing that he’s bothered by more than the impending seasickness.

The ship is starting to rock but Julian seems unfazed as the captain calls out to him,

“Devorak! Stay the foremast!’

“Aye aye, sir!”

Before you know it he leaves your side and hurries over to tie down the mast. You are about to go over and see if you can help but the boat tips and the door to the captain’s quarters swings ajar. Perhaps you can find something inside to settle Julian’s stomach if the sea fairing gets the best of him.

The captain is on deck if there is a time to sneak inside it’s now. The room is dimly lit a lantern swings precariously over a desk. It’s feeble light gleaming off a brass pitcher. The desk is covered in papers, mostly maps, some old documents with jargon too complex for you to try to understand right now. Any other time you would be fascinated but you must move quickly before the captain catches you.

You start by opening drawers one after the other. One has a handkerchief and some folded notes, another a compass, some coins, and a key. You determine that if there are any remedies in this room they won’t be in the desk. You make your way over to a shelf and find a few canisters of herbal teas.

You pick up a small brass canister, unscrew the lid, and the sent of ginger fills your nose so instantaneously that you impulsively smack the lid back on. But the captain is still on deck, shouting orders over the downpour, surely he can’t smell the potent remedy all the way out there.

You grab a small bottle and locate a pitcher of water on the captain's desk. You try to pour a discrete amount into the bottle without splashing and drop a pinch of the ginger tea inside. Then you quickly place everything back as it was before. Save the remedy you have just created which you tuck inside the inner pocket of Julian’s coat.

When you arrive back on deck things have gotten much worse. The sky is black and you have to grasp the side of the vessel to steady yourself so you don’t slip. The sea writhes below you lapping at the belly of the ship with a feverish tongue.

You hear a horrendous belching noise followed by a familiar groan. You don’t see Julian’s face but you can still recognize him at this angle. He’s doubled over the side of the ship, spewing his guts into the sea. 

Swallowing any anxiety, you hurry over to him trying not to lose your balance. The ship bobs unsteadily on the rolling waves. Julian startles as you wrap your arms around his torso in a helpless attempt to keep him grounded.

“I promised I wouldn’t let you fall overboard, didn’t I?” You say playfully, in hopes of lifting the mood. He looks like he needs it. You slip your hand over his forehead and pin his hair out of his face

“mmh…this isn’t as fun as…” His stomach interrupts him to empty it’s self overboard “As fun as it looks.”  he continues

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and slides down the side of the ship trembling.

“Well, that was…disgusting.” He stifles a burp behind his tattooed fist.  “I uh, don’t think I’ll be having any more of Portia's bread pudding for a while.”

“Here drink this.” You offer, taking the bottle from inside his coat. You spiral the content inside for a moment heating it the way Asra taught you, then you hand it to Julian. He subconsciously holds it close to his stomach, seeking its warmth.

“Thanks, ah, er… what is it?” He asks, un quirking it and tossing it back.

“Ginger tea.” You tell him as he gulps it down, maybe a bit too fast.

His eye widens and he winces, pulling it away from his lips. “Mmph, burns.” He hiccups as the bitter drink finds his stomach. He curls up beside you with his head in your lap. You ease your fingers through his hair as he shivers and you remove his coat from your shoulders to drape it over him.

“Aren’t you ah, cold?” He asks you feebly.

“Not as cold as you are.” You whisper leaning over him to shield him from the wind.

“Here.” He says forcing himself upright. He extends one arm to share the coat with you and you nestle in tight. You lay one hand on his belly, tracing a sluggish growl with your index finger.

He leans his head against your shoulder, dizzily. And you brush the back of your hand against his stubbly cheek.

“Mmh If I hadn’t just thoroughly disgusted you…” His thumb brushes your lips longingly.

“You didn’t disgust me.” You reassure him, “Maybe worried me, but you couldn’t disgust me.”

He holds his head for a moment, trying to calm his vertigo. “If I hadn’t just disgusted myself then.” He says with a grimace.

His stomach makes another audible groan, it must be exhausted after turning it’s self inside out.

“Do you need to go back under deck?” You offer.

“Ah, actually I uh, I’m not so sure I’m finished just yet. Comes in waves, er, the nausea I mean. Funny word nausea, comes from nautical, did you know that?” He winces from lingering stomach upset and swallows hard.

“That is interesting.” You say still sounding concerned.

“Is it? Oh. erm good.” He pauses a moment eyes closed breathing heavy. “Actually I, I think I’m alright now, just ah, a little shaken,” you help him to stand. He struggles to his feet with one hand holding his aching abdominals.

Julian's eye widens suddenly “Or not.” He croaks, his lower lip tenses and his hand flies up to block his mouth just long enough for him to turn around before belching over the side of the ship again.

“You okay?” You ask him, tentatively rubbing his back. He isn’t able to respond, instead, he bends at the waste violently heaving over the edge of the ship. His stomach is writhing, trying to force up content that doesn’t exist. You rub his back gently as he gags coughs, and spits into the water.

He caches his breath and swallows, he looks back at you his face drained of color, yet tinged with green.

“Must be ah… must be nerves.” He rests weakly against the side of the ship. His arms shake as he gives an ill stare across the water.

“Are you nervous about going to the island?” You ask him gently.

“Every time I see it I just…” He casts his gaze down in solemn despair. “It’s not even a fifth of the people that I’ve let down. I didn’t just let those people die, I left mothers without children, children without parents. My own mother might be on that island, Pasha’s mother. And I’de- I’de never know.” He casts a grim look out across the settling waves. “It’s all my fault really.”

“Hey it’s not your fault,” You say, taking his hand. “You didn’t bring the plague here, alright? Lucio did. Well…I mean we don’t know if Lucio did but it’s Lucio I mean come on.”

He gives a broken sigh and slumps to the deck.“I...I let him down too. I was supposed to save all of these people. Lucio chose me to find a cure and I-I failed”. He pulls his knees into his chest and holds his head in his hands. His body shakes from overexertion.

“You’re not responsible for the well being of the entire world.” You whisper and sink down beside him.

“I know I...I wish I could be, I should be. I’ve done so many things, er, failed to do them, there has to be a way to make up for them right?”

“Ilya, you’re putting yourself under so much stress, look what it’s doing to you.” You say gently brushing his hair out of his face.

“It’s a burden I deserve.” He forces himself to stand leaning against the side of the ship “mmph…there’s not enough pain to justify the things I’ve done.”

“Ilya, you’re being ridiculous..”

“Look …I don’t know, when we get to this island, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. What if I-I find out that I had something to do with all of this, not just failing to cure them but what if I, what if I’m the reason they became infected or…”

You close your eyes and bury your head in his shoulder holding him firmly in your arms. He seems startled at first, but his body relaxes after a moment. You lift a hand and press it to his cheek, gently guiding his gaze away from the island.

“Julian, that doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person.”

“But what if I…” He hangs his head “What if I was?”

“If you were, then the person you are now more than makes up for that.” You whisper. “And I promise, no matter what you find on this island, nothing is going to change that.”

He smiles weakly, the fatigue in his eye seems to have been replaced with soft adoration.

“I…” He’s about to protest but his voice disappears behind a sigh. “Thank you. That, that means more than you know.” He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone. 

“You are a good man. No matter what happens, I want you to promise me you will remember that.”

He looks out distantly across the horizon. There’s just no keeping his gaze from lingering on that island.

“I promise.” He whispers.

-xroguex1027

[redhawke-bluewizard]

So I just finished watching Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Bladeworks

and oh boy do I have a lot to say about it. In fact, I kept Tumblr open the entire watchthrough and sent a stream of real-time commentary to @fragrantricepaddy. Since I know a few others who will want to hear my thoughts, I’m going ahead and making a big post about it. Commentary is below the cut-off. SPOILERS AHEAD

SEASON 1

I'm loving it so far: -90% Shiro, +200% Rin.

Rin's first Command was probably the single best use of a command seal I've seen in Type Moon so far

Rin and Archer's banter gives me life

So, there was a problem with Archer's summoning, and Rin says she'll "figure out what to do about it later". Judging from previous Type-Moon, that means a magic ritual involving Rin and Archer f**king, right?

they keep showing the same shot of the Tohsaka manor, and the laziness in that regard is really bothering me

somebody get Sakura a teddy bear. she looks dead inside

the whole "Servants consume minds and souls" thing makes Type-Moon magic sound even more Lovecraftian. adding it to the evidence list

Rin's faith in Archer is just... I can't even... "Handle the landing", goddamn iconic

hmm, that was a suspiciously aggressive first action by Saber.

wtf was Sakura doing meeting with Gilgamesh in the middle of the night

man, Shiro just served Shinji with a smile. Unlimited Blades is characterized by +300% sass

every single highway shot is giving me Berserker flashba- oh this is actually that scene

The teacher character has many virtues, one of which is being an age-appropriate crush. More importantly, I don't think I've ever seen a more relatable character in all of anime

omg Shiro's nickname is Brownie that's adorable

Saber: "My sword will be at your side" Shiro: "Wait" Saber: *immediately runs off*

SHE ACTUALLY CALLED HIM A HACK

Plot twist: Shiro is the tsundere

The huge chest-window on Saber's outfit never bothered me this much before

"Tohsaka, what kind of person is this priest?" "An asshole" ~Rin, probably

"The status of master cannot be given to another" and other lies he tells for filthy karma

"It's a fight to the death" "Oh Kirei shut up!" get him girl

"So then, are you all done chatting?" I fucking snorted XD

Saber's looking at Illya, and I still can't figure out if she's lacking memories in this series.

Rin just Ice Caged that motherf**ker

Shirou's having his existential crisis

Kirei seems thrilled that Shirou's participating, but after Kiritsugu, it really seems like a downgrade as far as rivals go. His standards must have really slipped over the years.

Rin just tried to fuckin end Illya. cold.

Anime gets +2 points for Shirou NOT falling on Rin's chest when they bump into each other. Another +2 points for Rin putting him in a hold anyway.

The dialogue contains a lot of sexual subtext. Terms like consent and intercourse are thrown about in reference to Master-Servant and Servant-Servant interactions. What's your game, Type-Moon...

I see your resurrection and raise you a DRILL ARROW

"I never should have introduced Archer to Gurren Lagann" ~Rin, probably

Everybody in this show has daddy issues

I feel like they got a different writer for Shirou's dialogue than they did for every other character in this show - and they paid Shirou's writer a lot less money

Oh my god, you're having breakfast with a lovely Heroic Spirit, stop making discoveries about Rin

Ms. Fujime seemed to have the strongest objections, but she's going to be single-handedly responsible for the harem aspect of this anime.

Rin, why are you surprised to see him at school? You both go here.

So, Aioko goes missing, and they're all like "She was last seen with Shinji, but no one can find him." Doesn't that mean that they should be worrying about two missing students? There was a nearby murder. Why is Shinji under immediate suspicion?

Man, Rin's aim sure sucks.

I appreciate her class in not just smashing the door down and smoking him out instead.

There's something about magical inheritance that I'm not quite getting. It's been established that only one child can inherit family magic, but it's unclear why. One possibility is that the magic can only be physically held by one person at a time. As such, all a parent can do is teach their kid and do some kind of preparation that makes the magic pass to them upon their own death. However, that doesn't explain why Rin and Sakura were seperated in Fate/Zero. That seems to be entirely political. The impression there was that other families would not allow the Tohsakas to have two mage children, which indicates that multiple kids CAN be trained in the family magic. In that case, the restriction to only one child is probably to prevent families from raising small armies of child soldier-mages.

Shiro to Rin: "I know I'm not a mage" Shiro to Archer: "Fuck you, I'm a mage"

Saber: "You gave me your word that you would return before sunset" Shiro: "Well I also told you I'd summon you if I was in danger, but I didn't do that either" Saber: "..." Shiro: "YOLO"

Shinji: "Don't throw around false accusations" Shirou: "Oh no, you're doing a swell job of making everyone suspect you without my help"

Shirou knows Detect Secret Doors, Jon must be so happy

Oh no, Caster's seen Inuyasha

"So within these walls, you are able to mimic true magic" Caster Servants can't use true magic?!

Is Shiro the only one that seems concerned at Shinji's mental breakdown and maniacal laughter?

Man, Shiro just turned on the sass for Rin with NO MERCY

Wait, she scolded him so fiercely for going to school without Saber, and then she leaves Archer just so she can have some alone time with her new beau.

I can't believe that Shiro just "but no funny business"d Saber

Goddamn Shinji is such a little shit

My assumption is that Shinji didn't get the Mato magic because it's Sakura's by right of inheritance.

Rin's voice acting just got 50% more moe

And we interrupt this Holy Grail War for some boyxboy fanservice.

"You already checked him out?" "I sure did." The audience: He sure did.

"The heart of a mage chooses results over ideals" That sounds important - adding it to the list

Shiro, there comes a time in every young man's life when he experiences 'sword envy'...

I fucking KNOW Caster's voice actress, but pride prevents me from Googling it. Jesse?

Goddamn Saber needs to get a shield. She keeps injuring her left arm.

Shirou seems to be learning more from his enemies than from his allies.

You can tell the Matous are on the decline because their rapey bug-room has much fewer magic rape-beetles than normal.

Command seal seems to be a bit of a misnomer, considering we've seen them used as power sources for other magic. They're really just minor plot devices. I bet you could just use them to reconnect Saber and Shirou's link so she could get mana from him.

Jeez, I think the magic circuit overload must have fried a few of Shirou's brain cells. He's certainly slow on the uptake this morning.

"Oh to be young and in love!" shut up Fujimora, you're in your twenties

God he sucks at dates

Holy shit Saber's eye-sparkles at the sandwiches give me life

she actually went in to wipe the sauce off he actually chickened out of it

Rin's banter makes Shirou think that she's gonna fight him, but I swear she's talking about sex He's just failing every sense motive check

Fujimora: Hey Kuritsugu, do you know someone named Saber? *grave cracks straight down the middle*

SEASON 2

"Well, I have nowhere to go but up" ~Shirou, probably

Did the subs explain why Shirou stole that depleted healing gem from Rin?

Aaand the animators are really getting their kicks out of Saber's enslavement

"Your Servant body cannot resist me."

Yeah, even without having seen the original series, I'd call BS on her having killed Kirei.

More flashbacks to the Keyblade graveyard - I mean, Archer's past.

Archer went from sassy older brother to Rin's personal motivational speaker in no time

Rin is the ballsiest motherf*cker wanting to take on Caster. I can see that Archer considers her wanting Shirou and Saber back together to be a weakness.

I get that Rin thinks she can beat Caster, but why would Rin think that CASTER would think that Rin could win?

"Come down here so I can kick your ass." get her, girl

Looks like Archer's looking ahead and playing the long game. He knows that he has to keep Caster in one place or surprise her. Head on confrontations won't work on her. I hope.

Good to see Shirou getting faster with that, but it looks like he's not fully recovered.

I would like to think that Rin can see what Archer's doing.

"I've always adored and watched you from a distance." your execution sucks

"I don't hate you, and your cooking's pretty good" need me a freak like that

I like how neither Rin nor Shirou consider asking Shinji to join them for even a moment, but the crazy child who tried to murder them sounds like a Good Idea

Aaand Caster's flashback suddenly went even more Instrumentality Project than the Fate/Zero finale

"Not like this!" whatever, I hope you get eaten alive by beetles

Aww hey, I remember this courtyard

I went from being ticked at these homunculi nurses to fuckin loving them in two seconds flat

Aww, damn

I-Iris?

WHAT IS THE GRAIL CURSE DOING HERE?!

why do u make me cry

I want nothing more than for Shirou to be like "Shinji? Last time I saw you you were pissing yourself running to the church."

Tohsaka: "Your PTSD is bullshit and your coping mechanisms are crap"

Shirou: "I wanted to become a man like him." Audience: You really don't.

So if I'm getting my analysis right, if Shirou neglects his own happiness in the pursuit of saving others, all he will ever do is save people so that they in turn can martyr themselves (in the same way that Kiritsugu "saved" Shirou). But by the same token, if Rin keeps saving Shirou without making it clear that it's for her own desires, then she'll never be able to convince Shirou to be selfish.

Shirou just got all clingy bf. wow.

AND SHE'S INTO IT

*Lancer breaks the fourth wall*

"If I have to put up with this I'm gonna kick Caster's ass all by myself!" oh she'd do it too

Everyone with purple hair in this show needs a teddy bear and a warm hug

Oh my god the Archer/Lancer banter is like a couple of old men. It's hilarious

"Like I would ever walk on somebody else's grass!" XD

The Archer/Lancer fight is turning out to be my favorite anime fight scene

I feel like Rin was gonna warn Lancer that Archer likes to taunt and throw off his opponents, but the pridful fucker didn't listen, and now he's getting goaded. MAN I hope Archer's bluffing about his heel-face turn.

... Did Archer just manifest an AT field???

Archer. Cold.

ARCHER

So, is Archer some kind of Shirou Alter?

SABER AND RIN. HOLY SHIT

He's seen Excalibur. Oh noe

This is what I'm talking about. Learns more from his enemies than his friends.

Break his nose, Rin

So earlier, Archer pronounced his AT field as "Ayas", but I'm pretty sure it would be spelled as 'Aegis'.

KICK HIM

oh that was even more satisfying

and Lancer's dialogue continues to be perfect

Aww, man, Lancer can't get a break

oh. Lancer got a break :)

please not another choking scene

I was about to say, Lancer hadn't disappeared yet

Well, Archer turned out to be a huge asshole, and Rin's been tied up for the last two episdoes, so Lancer is my new favorite.

Archer's gonna burn up all his mana before he kills Shirou at this rate

Waitaminute, what happened to Assassin?!

Oh. Oh, Archer.

Ah, is Shinji finally gonna bite the dust? Thanks, Gilgamesh.

I am very content with their pre-battle resolutions and meal. The scene has a feeling of rightness to it.

"Saber doesn't stand a chance against him!" "On what basis do you make that judgement?" "On the basis that he's smoked every other Spirit he's fought without taking a scratch, while you got beaten up by a teacher with magic punches."

Aww, Rin doesn't want to tell Shirou he's their only hope of beating Goldy. Not sure whether it's her pride or that she doesn't want to put that pressure/risk on him.

Waitaminute, are Rin and Saber banging to do something magical circuit related?!?

NOPE

"All I told you to do is take your clothes off!"

But boy, Rin sure was acting like they were gonna have to bang to do the transfer. Type-Moon is using their own sleazy rep to fake-out the audience.

Anyway, Rin's plan for Shirou to use the reality marble is great, but she doesn't know about World Ender.

C'mon Shirou, a girl gives you her magic crest, you gotta at least do some pillow talk.

She fantasizes about him doing high jumps all day? Kinky.

The conversation they're NOT having is that, one way or another, Saber won't be here tomorrow.

Also, I'm reasonably certain that Gilgamesh was corrupted by the Grail when he got drenched in it. He didn't give a fuck about it before, but now he wants to do something symbolic about wiping out humanity with their own wishes. He was a chronic narcissist before, but now he's gone full megalomaniac.

oh, nevermind, there's the conversation

Jeez, I can't believe a key component of this plan is "save Shinji"

THERE'S FUCKIN ASSASSIN

I'm assuming that Goldy has just been steadily leeching off of others for mana over the course of ten years, so he's not gonna run out anytime soon.

I think Grail!Iris wants to kick the shit out of Goldy as much as I do.

"A mage is simply no match for a Servant" Pft, like when?

I really want Shirou to summon Eya (sp?) while Goldy is laughing, just to shut him up.

Rin, goddammit, stop being proud and let Saber help you

WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? ARCHER?

YES RIN-ARCHER DREAM TEAM TAKES THE WIN

WOOH, GAINAX BOOM!

So, last time the Grail's destruction caused fire and death to rain upon the city. This time, the Grail's destruction causes... a rain of pretty sparks?

FINALLY DREW BLOOD FROM THAT MOTHERFUCKER

Goldy, you sore loser!

"But first, take a step to the right."

Emiya-Archer making an appearance at the end did not at all fit with established mechanics and I am 100% okay with that.

HE WAS ABOUT TO PROPOSE

He's her bodyguard/apprentice? Sweet.

Who the fuck is this chick?

THIS is Luvia??

Her dialect is obnoxious.

Rin in tight clothes is a gift

The Epilogue seems a little late in the series to try and wedge in a love triangle

Join the Mage's Association? *pft*

I'm terribly peeved that Shinji survived this thing. The worm.

Oh boy, Tohsaka got bold - planning rendevous in the student council prez's face.

"I should have known you would take advantage of me again." SPILL THE TEA, SHIROU

"Look me in the eyes and say that you'll come." Honestly, I'm just adding this line to the list to mess with Carlos.

WAVER!!!!!!!!!!

Rin has been giving Shirou bedroom eyes in every scene of the epilogue

"Got some things to work out of my system" like all of the sexual tension built up over this series?

Closing thoughts: -What pretty animation -The romance/fluff was excellent -Archer and Lancer clearly got the best dialogue -Shinji can go jump in a lake -Sakura still needs a teddy bear -Iris deserved better -Caster Did Nothing Wrong -Why is there an after-scene after the f*cking Epilogue? -Archer is such a buzzkill

[shirtlesssammy]

Ghostfacers: 3x13 Recap

Then:

Harry and Ed are just professional paranormal investigators trying to get a book and movie deal.

Now:

The 2007 writers’ strike is over but that’s not stopping Supernatural from laying down a little meta commentary about the unscripted hellscape we all were heading towards. Yay for writers!

Harry and Ed are back to show us that alternate world --the one where they are the expert monster hunters; a world where we’d all be watching Ghostfacers. Catchy theme song aside, I think we can all agree with Dean with this alt-world:

With gunslinger music apropo of their hero status, Ed and Harry exit their car in suitable slow-mo dramatics. Several cars zoom by in the background. Mockumentary style, they catch the audience up on what they’ve been doing since we last saw them in season one. They set their own hours at the Kinko’s they work at, and they’ve assembled a team.

Phase I: The Homework

We meet the Ghostfacers! Alan Corbett is the Intern/Cook, and got involved because he saw Ed put up flyers and wondered where do ghosts come from? Maggie is Ed’s adopted sister, and part of the research team. Spruce is their cameraman, licensed shamanologist, and 1/16 Cherokee.

The Case? Morton House. Every four years this place becomes the most haunted place in America. The Leap Year Ghost, some call it. Corbett brings Ed some french vanilla coffee. Yeah, Corbett’s got the hots for Ed. I mean, how can he not with that really golden, beautiful sort of beard? The meeting ends when one of their parents opens the garage door, breaking up their meeting space. Gold.

Phase II: Infiltration

The Ghostfacers arrive at the Morton House. With no permit, but bolt cutters in hand, they start to bust open the fence surrounding the property when they all hear the rumble of a car and classic rock blasting from its interior. They hide, while Sam and Dean scope the place briefly, before driving away. Ed returns to breaking open the locked gate. They quickly establish Command Center I: The Eagle’s Nest. They place cameras throughout the house. Ed inadvertently compliments Corbett. Reconvening at base camp, the team equips themselves with flashlights and ghosthunting gear.

Phase III: Face Time!

Ed and Corbett scan the first floor with their EMF. Ed calls out for the ghosts to show themselves, while Corbett works the camera and hyperventilates. Ed tries to help by advising Corbett to “Calm the whirlwinds of your mind.”

Harry, Maggie, and Spruce sweep the second floor. Spruce’s camera briefly malfunctions, but it’s no big deal --it’s not like you’re in a haunted house and any little thing could be a sign or anything!

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god

There’s a rat. Harry believes that rats are like the rats of the world. Harry manages to walk back to the room with the rat when Spruce flings the dead rodent at him.

Meanwhile, Corbett continues to hyperventilate and freak out over nothing when the police arrive! Well, actually, it’s Sam and Dean.

Ed recognizes them immediately. The boys recognize Ed.

SAM: Holy [Bleep]!

DEAN: What?

SAM: Uh, West Texas... the... the tulpa we had to take out. Those two goofballs that almost got us killed... The hellhounds or something?

DEAN: [Bleep] me.

Dean tells Ed to get the hell out, but Ed called ‘dibs’, so they’re not going anywhere.

Meanwhile, the second floor group wander into a room that’s getting readings off the wall, temps dropping 11 degrees, and Spruce getting a specter on his camera. The ghost talks and then is shot, and disappears!

Dean, Sam, Ed, and Corbett head back to base camp. Dean and Sam make it very clear that people that spend the night on February 29th don’t live to talk about their visit. Their talk is interrupted by Harry, Maggie, and Spruce sprinting and screaming down the stairs. Harry then sees the brothers. And the Ghostfacers are not leaving the joint, no matter how hard Dean tries enticing them with ice cream. The team realizes that Corbett is missing. He’s wandering upstairs hoping to communicate with the restless spirits in the house. And he’s kidnapped by one of them just as it turns midnight! Now they’re all stuck in the house --and Sam happily reminds Dean that he’s got two months to live, but they’ll probably not live through the night.

Just then another spirit appears --they’re death echos, spirits that keep reliving their death. Dean tries shocking the spirit out of its loop --sometimes it works, but usually there has to be some connection with the deceased.

The group wanders the house looking for clues about the death echos, and Corbett’s whereabouts. They find information about Freeman Daggett, the house’s last owner, who died in 1964.

Daggett’s house was full of a lifetime supply of army rations and survivalist paraphernalia. He was a hospital janitor and Dean uncovers toe tags in Daggett’s box of Moste Precious Objects. Ew. Daggett was stealing himself “friends” from the morgue. The odd death echoes can be explained because the ghosts are lingering close to their remains.

Maggie goes missing, off on her own little heroic quest to save Corbett, though she’s quickly found by Dean (to Harry’s relief). The electrical equipment stutters and when the lights recover Sam is now missing, leaving only his flashlight.

While searching for Corbett and Sam, Maggie panics and Harry calms her with a kiss. OooOOOOoo. Ed, meanwhile, bursts in on them. “My best friend and my best sister,” he says angrily and the two fight. (I’m most touched by how he just calls her his sister, turning him into slightly less of an asshole.)

Cut to Corbett with a massive head wound slowly waking to the sound of Sam’s voice and the worst song in the world (“It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to”). Sam sits across from him tied to a chair at a dusty old table. There are cups, plates, and party accoutrements laid out. Dead bodies are arranged in party poses. Daggett kills Corbett with a spike to the throat while Sam looks on and shouts at the ghost to stop.

The remaining team tries to figure out what’s making Daggett tick when Dean realizes that he was a cold war nut who was terrified of the world ending.

Dean heads to the basement where there’s likely a bomb shelter. Daggett forces the door shut, cutting Dean and Spruce off from Ed, Harry, and Maggie. Dean tells them to grab salt from his duffel bag, make a circle, and get inside. “Inside your duffel bag?” they ask. Lol.

Dean heads downstairs with Spruce while the B team follows Dean’s instructions. The lights flicker and they gather close together in the salt circle. The ghost is Corbett, shuddering in terror, blood pouring from his wounds. Oh, honey :(

Spruce asks Dean about his mysterious comment from earlier. Why did Sam say they had two months left? Dean tells him off and hones in on the dreadful repeated music. He pushes a shelf out of the way to expose a door.

Dean breaks in just as Daggett gets behind Sam with his death spike. We finally get a good view of the party, complete with party trumpets and little elastic hats (the elastic has really stood the test of time). Sam fills us in on the back story: Daggett stole the bodies from the morgue and at midnight on a leap year, went upstairs and dosed himself to death. Now every leap year he tries to get more people to come to his creepy-ass party.

Upstairs the B team mourns Corbett, watching him replay his death over and over again. Ed tells them that they’ve got to try to help Corbett. He’s trapped, he’s in pain, but he can be helped. Ed crosses the salt line and approaches the terrified ghost.

Downstairs, Dean tries to bust through the basement door when the ghost appears. Sam shoots it away.

Harry tells Ed that Corbett had feelings for him. Maybe he can use that connection to reach Corbett. “You’ve gotta go be gay for that poor dead intern. You gotta send him into the light.” And so, in a moment that shouldn’t be touching (but goddamnit, it totally is) Ed crosses the salt line once again.

Ed tells him that he meant a lot to him while tears fall. He tells Corbett that he loves him and Corbett is shocked out of his death loop. “Ed?” he asks. And then Corbett, finally aware of his own death and of the peril the others face, becomes the hero of the piece. Corbett blips downstairs, and drags Daggett into the light.

Morning dawns with a gentle blush and the team stumbles out of the house. We cut back to the studio where they eulogize Corbett. “Here we were thinking that, you know, we were teaching you and all this time you were teaching us, about heart, about dedication, and about how gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day. Thank you, Alan J. Corbett.” It’s...touching and hilarious in one neat package. (Also I am shamelessly waiting for season 13 where gay love is totally gonna pierce through the veil of death and save the day. Right? Right??? Come on, Supernatural, it can be like a present to Edlund on the occasion of his TV show taking off.)

Cut to Dean and Sam sitting in front of Harry and Ed’s computer watching the final cut of their Ghostfacers demo. Dean admits it was “half awesome” while Sam congratulates them on exploiting Corbett’s death. Whatever, they’re ready to make bank with DVD sales and wave the Winchesters a fond farewell. They discover a bag that Sam and Dean left behind and pull it open gleefully. In it is an electro-magnet (built, I like to think, by our little genius Dean Bean). The equipment in the room zaps and all the computers wipe. (Now the Ghostfacers back everything up to the cloud, amirite?) Dean and Sam tear out of the suburban driveway and back into the wild supernatural world beyond.

Quoter-Haters:

And two lone wolves need...other wolves

[Bleep] me

Listen here, chisel chest

It’s our “Grand Canyon”

I’m not gonna whine about my [bleep]ing problems to some [bleep]ing reality show

He’s never heard of a Real Doll?

Don’t be Facer-haters

[samsylviasmoustache]

Selfless

Another prompt fic, this one for @cristian-alicea​ who requested Tammé giving Sam parenting advice. I had two ideas for this, so went with both in the end :p Hope you enjoy! 

“Look, I just don’t think he’s reliable,” Sam says.

“Just, just give him a chance,” Justine pleads. “Come on. Everyone deserves their break, right?”

“No,” he replies, making a face. “Not everyone. And he had his chance and blew it. That’s the reality here. That’s showbiz.”

“No, that’s you being a stubborn asshole,” she mutters. “Fine. I’ll tell him there’s no job.”

“Fine. You do that.” He shrugs. “I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation. Again.”

There’s something else, trapped behind the thin line of her angry mouth, but she can’t seem to say it. She turns on her heel instead, stalking away from him in high dudgeon.

“What the actual fuck?” he says, to himself. He turns around, still shaking his head, to find Tammé watching him from across the car park. “Don’t judge,” he says, pacing over to her. “She thinks this guy is the next Scorsese.”

“And you disagree?”

Sam shrugs. “He’s an arrogant prick who thinks he’s the first director to discover neo-noir film making and the utility of a good blood rig.” He thinks about this. “Also, he’s got a weird chin.”

Tammé shuffles her feet. “And you think he likes your daughter.”

“What? No. I don’t care. I mean, she’s nineteen. She can f—she can date who she likes.” He sighs, recognising his choice of words for what it is. “Fuck.”

“Welcome to parenthood.”

He shakes his head again. “I’m not good at this.”

“No one is,” she says, sounding surprised. “Not to start with, anyway.”

“You seem to have it figured out pretty well.”

Her brow creases, not sure if he is joking or not. “What makes you say that?”

“Your son is at Stanford. You came to my office, on your first real job, to talk to me about you character concerns in case it upset him.”

“Hmm.”  

“What?”

“I just… I think you overthink things.”

She remains unmoved by his sharp look in response; he supposes she must be telling the truth. “That’s not what most of the women in my life have thought up to now.”

“I’m just saying… who are you trying to measure up to when you say you’re not good at this? There’s no magic to it. You just put them first.”

“I’m not used to having to do that.”

She shrugs. “Neither was I. You just do it. Until it becomes a habit. Until you don’t have to think about it anymore. It just… becomes part of who you are.”

“Huh.”

She gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “It’s not rocket science, Sam.”

“So, what do I do now?” He gestures after his wayward daughter. “Do I follow her… or…?”

She takes pity on him. “What’s going to happen with this guy if she tells him he can’t work with you?”

It’s not a deep dive for Sam to guess his next move, although his imagination skids away from the conclusion. “Yeah. That.”

“So, if you really think that’s not what’s best for her, what can you do to stop it?”

He pinches his nose. “Talk to him. Maybe give him that second chance? Stop making it seem like a him or me deal. Christ. I really don’t like—”

“And that’s putting her first.”  

“Huh,” he says again. His moustache twitches as he meets her eyes, the beginnings of a smile. “How much am I paying you again?”

“Not enough?” she smiles back.

“What? No, you can’t bring him in here. This is a working environment.”

Debbie fixes him with a look, the kind that probably launched ships to war in antiquity. “I need to rehearse,” she says, “my babysitter has cancelled and my ex-husband is an ass. You are sitting up here doing next to nothing. If you want Friday’s show to work, you will take Randy, and keep him safe and happy until my mother arrives.”

“Hey, you’re not the director,” he fires back. “You can’t—”

“No, I’m one half of your title card match and the only wrestler you have that can do a diving crossbody without someone losing their teeth.” She takes in his blank look and rolls her eyes. “Where I jump off the rope, Sam. Come on. You’re up here doodling shitty cartoons and… I don’t even want to know what else. If I had anyone else I could go to in this situation, believe me, I would be there.”

He grits his teeth, a muscle working in his jaw as he reigns in his temper. “Fine,” he says, eventually, short and clipped. “But Friday’s show better make people lose their goddamn minds.”

“It will,” she says. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “I never signed up for this shit.”

“And I did?” she retorts. She tucks a strand of errant hair behind her ear. “Where are the drugs in here?”

“What?”

“Just… answer the damn question, Sam. I know there’s some here. I just want to… This is my baby and—”

“Jesus Christ! I’m not going to let him do drugs! What the hell do you think I am?”

“Not a parent,” she returns flatly.

The silence that follows the statement is ringing. She’s right, of course. In every way it matters, he isn’t. An accident of biology doesn’t make him a Dad. His fumbling attempts to parent Justine are just that; baby steps, a first try. One he’ll inevitably fuck up, like everything else meaningful in his life up to this point. It just hurts to be reminded of that.

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, in the face of his total shutdown. “I meant… of a baby,” she tries. “You’ve never had—”

“I know what you meant.”

And there it should end, in ice cold rage, were it not for Randy himself extending a pudgy fist towards Sam. “Ba!” he exclaims, smiling.

Debbie swallows. “Thirty minutes,” she says. “That’s all we need.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He stands up, and she passes Randy over, still a little reluctant. “Go. Rehearse.”

“Um, yeah,” she says. There are tears she’s too proud to let fall in her eyes, an apology unspoken that can’t escape her mouth. “Don’t smoke,” she says instead, and flees.

Randy stays smiling for about thirty more seconds, dandled on his lap. Then he realises his mother has left the room and breaks into a wailing cry.

“Yeah,” says Sam. “Me too, kid.” He tries bouncing him a few more times, but the wail becomes a piercing shriek. “Uh,” he manages, before the door opens again. To his surprise it isn’t Debbie but Tammé come to his aid. “Oh thank God,” he says, “you’re much better at—”

“Uh-uh,” Tammé replies, “I have to rehearse too.”

“But—”

“I know, I can hear him too. Bring him outside so he can see his Momma.”

“What?”

“Trust me. And take his bunny.”

Sam goggles at her, but manages to follow the instructions. Randy squeals the whole way down the stairs, but changes to a watery gurgle when he spots Debbie in the ring with Ruth.

“Ma!” he says.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s her. Liberty Belle,” he says, walking over to the bleachers. “Can you say that? Commentary on social stereotypes.” He makes the bunny say it, like a muppet. “Stereotypes. Yeah.”

He catches Tammé’s eye across the room and gives her a wink.