#one vote for 'who has the worst humor'

[favcharacterpoll]

QUARTERFINALS MATCH FOUR: KERMIT VS. GIDEON

Kermit Propaganda:

"Kermit is the best ever and I love him ❤️"

"Kermit is sag aftra"

"ofc i support kermit the frog he’s a small business owner he’s an artist he’s an actor he’s a union man he loves his wife he’s a babygirl literally he is the perfect man"

"This one, I'm pulling from Kermit because it's Kermit the Frog. He's an independent artist who has multiple movies in which he refuses to sell out and also the accidental implication that he caused 9/11."

☠Claude Von Riegan, Pizza, Balthazar Cavendish, Scout, Mia Fey, Zuko, Soundwave☠

Gideon Propaganda:

"Lesbian swordswoman in space"

"gideon is too stubborn to die she was supposed to never be born. she was supposed to die as a baby. she was supposed to die at canaan house somehow she's still alive and kicking ass and making the worst puns"

"gideon nav is one of the most infuriatingly likable characters to ever exist butch himbo jock with a love for all things tacky and/or horny her sense of humor is puns and dick jokes she is the light of my life"

"VOTE FOR GIDEON NAV. she’s a LESBIAN she’s JESUS she has MOMMY AND DADDY ISSUES. and she has a COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP with a GOTH NUN."

☠Life Series Ethoslab, Cody, Bowser, Inv/Enot, Link☠

[tennessoui]

hello miss kit! loving all your responses to the asks everyone got such interesting thoughts!! I know you love all your children equally but which gffa au do you love just a bit more than the others? (excluding counselling au lol)

what a hard ask oof

good thing i have a glass of wine and a lot of time on my hands! so i just rated all my fics set in the gffa

(i had a LOT of time on my hands)

a fish hook, an open eye: 7/10 - it's hardly set in the gffa at all tbh i love earnest evil puppy anakin & conniving obi-wan who gets more than he bargained for. needed more cody, tbh a more perfect union: 10/10 - i'm biased obviously cause i just finished this fic so it's fresh on my mind but it was so fun to write! i loved trying to balance the humor and the seriousness and the council scene (both of them!) was just so great amort & amor: 6/10 - i just think anakin would probably not be that cool about obi-wan getting another padawan lol but it's fluffy and cute and i'm glad i wrote it! bed warden, bed warmer: 8/10 - obi-wan would be the worst patient in the history of the world. he's such an asshole which i love writing but he's also so clearly very smitten with anakin. he's just going to be an asshole about it building a boat with no blueprints: 7/10 - i know yall dont know how it ends but i know how it ends ;) burn every bridge but please leave me a boat: 6/10 - my first attempt at reverse master&padawan au which is a dynamic i really love. i would rate this fic higher, but i wish i had started it in a different place and relied less on mental flashbacks but a number: 9/10 - happy almost one year to this fic! i had to get someone to cheer-read this fic for me because i was worried that i was being too hard on aging/obi-wan's body falling apart and anakin feeling old and tired at age 40 but then i saw a bunch of gifs of obi-wan jumping off stuff and i was like yeah his body probably does feel like it's falling apart foolproof, foolhardy: 10/10 - i literally have not has so much fun with a cliffhanger since i last updated time & tide. no notes, just stupid oblivious padawan obi-wan trying to seduce master skywalker into his bed, unaware that master skywalker would crawl over burning coals to kiss his hand. hand in unlovable hand: 6/10 - not my favorite adaptation from tumblr fic to ao3 fic - i used too much of the original ficlet and always feels clunky to me. i do like sith vader manipulating obi-wan into falling!! yes baby, you twist and ruin that jedi master and make him yours haunt me then: 8/10 - i love non-sequential storytelling and also padmé loving anakin so much that she sacrifices a child to bring him back only for him to come back solely to live and breathe for obi-wan hold me fast or kill me quick: 3/10 - would be a higher rating but this fic haunts me. i want to finish her someday and until i do i will not rest peacefully at night. get these stupid soulmates to communicate! i pray the same, but my gods have changed: 10/10 - i love writing this fic, i love watching the polls as you guys vote for what should happen next, i love catty sith obi-wan working to seduce senator skywalker because he's hot lol but it's the voting aspect that makes this fic a 10/10 for me if you love me, let it remain unnamed: 9/10 - it surprised me how much i loved writing set as an actual character. one day i want to explore the universe that set's in, where he meets his own kenobi and falls in love with him. i really liked the outsider perspective on how absolutely wild obi-wan and anakin are - especially since the main scenario is that they're having a threesome, and obi-wan and anakin have to?? share?? each other? with someone else? unlikely! let’s get your fingers tangled in my hair: 6/10 - i wrote this in a fever state; it was fun and i enjoy a king kenobi as much as the next gal! do i actually think anakin could last that long without talking? no not the way i usually write him lol like saints, like monsters: 8/10 - i love the way the chapters are set up, with them going back and forth between the actual plot and the worst parts and darkest moments of the recovery lost to a sea of troubles: 7/10 - it will never not be funny to me that this fic is in response to the prompt "knocking on the wrong door". it could have been anythinggg. it became this instead, featuring light stockholm syndrome and an obessive, evil obi-wan

[klanced]

mx katie klanced are we voting voltron straight through in the worst fandom poll or genshin. your troops await

i am so sad i missed this poll. i am now going to hold you all hostage and force you to read my outrage. i know this ship sailed literally two weeks ago but LISTEN TO ME!!!!!

anyway i cannot BELIEVE that voltron lost to south park. the category was "most annoying fandom." this is distinctly different than "most annoying show" or "worst show," and it is NOT synonymous with "most unhinged fans." okay? for this poll, what matters is the group character and cultural staying power of the fandom that organized around the show.

an annoying fandom must be:

incredibly vocal and prominent, to the point that even the most reluctant and detached layperson still has some vague idea of the fandom's biggest discourse/fights, usually entirely against their will; and

annoying, in the sense that the fandom's presence (or even a mere reference to their presence) is enough to actively disrupt or impede one's ability to enjoy online internet spaces; and

the fandom is annoying BECAUSE of the source material in question.

point 1 is fairly subjective, as it's all based on one's own experience or perception of a show's cultural diffusion across the broader public consciousness. so i weigh it less heavily when ranking how annoying a show is.

for point 2 i would argue that south park is annoying, and south park fans are annoying, but the south park fandom itself is NOT as annoying (i.e., the fandom is the least annoying aspect of south park). this is because i firmly believe you can differentiate between south park fans versus the south park fandom.

[[actually if i can be frank -- does south park actually have an organized fandom? obviously they have fans, i have seen them in the twitter wilds (usually in the context of out-of-context incredibly well-developed yaoi art/content of? 10 year olds ?????????). but is there actually a cohesive fandom that routinely interacts and develops concepts together? is there a collective identity ??????? my gut reaction is no, but this is very much an online space i don't enter, so what do i know? i also have no idea what that fandom can even talk about, other than the yaoi (although you could easily say this to the voltron fandom as well). whatever, for this argument i will presuppose that there IS a organized south park fandom with a fairly coherent and cohesive identity.]]

anyway, what i wanted to highlight is that there are certainly incredibly annoying individual south park fans who are outrageous, vulgar, and vile. so you would think that, if you put all these annoying individuals into a single collective, that single group would have skyrocketing amounts of annoyingness. but that doesn't seem to happen. i cannot recall any specific complaints about the south park fandom; personal stories involving individual south park fans, sure, but what does the fandom actually do on a broad scale?? if there is any sort of discourse or mobilization, it seems to be fairly contained and localized.

so how can a collective fandom somehow be less annoying than its individual parts? this brings me to point three: an annoying fandom MUST be annoying BECAUSE of its source material. and this does not apply in the south park fandom's case.

to qualify as an annoying fandom, it is not enough to be a group of annoying fans loosely connected by a shared interest; rather, the source material ITSELF must be the inciting incident that galvanizes the group to organize and THEN become annoying.

is the south park fandom annoying? to some extent yes, of course. but i would argue that the south park fandom is annoying, not specifically because of the show in question, but rather because the fandom is comprised of persons who were already predisposed to being annoying, regardless of whether or not they had ever watched south park. this is a subtle but incredibly important distinction.

south park's vulgar and vile humor certainly enables its most annoying fans, but the continued annoying activities of said fans are NOT dependent on the show's existence. a shithead south park fan was always going to be a shithead, now they just have cartman to idolize.

i have spent a lot of time talking about south park. let us now move on to voltron and the voltron fandom.

in contrast to south park, the voltron fandom qualifies as an annoying fandom because its annoying activities were entirely dependent on the existence of voltron the show. would individual voltron fans still have been annoying even if they had never stumbled upon voltron? of course. but the voltron fandom was an organized collective of people that specifically came together to BE ANNOYING ABOUT VOLTRON. and then they made it everyone else's problem.

the voltron fandom was like an ouroboros devouring its own tail; a symbol of infinity, referencing the literally never-ending fighting; and it survived entirely by maiming and cannibalizing itself. the voltron fandom actively ruined every online space it entered. i saw the greatest minds of my generation destroyed by voltron.

honestly, i would argue that the voltron fandom's impact has completely altered the way online fandom functions to this day. the voltron fandom capitalized on the momentum started by the steven universe fandom and other early 2010s online fandoms, and spawned an entire new flavor of fandom discourse that was obsessed with morality and virtue. truthfully, it feels disingenuous to frame what happened as something innocuous as "fandom discourse"; it almost feels like a disservice to the levels of personal faith, passion, and vitriol people poured into voltron. the terms "pro-shipping" and "anti-shipping" have been around for ages, but the voltron fandom turned "pro" and "anti" into genuine identity markers.

this post is already way too insane so i need to quit while i'm ahead. but i would just like to conclude by reiterating that south park has annoying fans but not necessarily an annoying fandom, whereas the voltron fandom was annoying specifically BECAUSE it was the voltron fandom. i think the south park fandom could dissolve tomorrow and assimilate into other similar fandoms without a problem. whereas the voltron fandom was like lightning in a bottle; the activities of the voltron fandom are quintessentially wrapped up in the specific details, characteristics, and attributes of voltron. if voltron's characters or story was even slightly different -- if, say, every character was a college-student for example -- then the nature and activities of the fandom would have been irrevocably different.

and that is why voltron is the more annoying fandom and SHOULD HAVE SWEPT SOUTH PARK IN THE POLL.

[akookminsupporter]

My dearest Rosie,

I’ve been thinking on what to say since I saw those awful and insulting asks directed at you. My first inclination was to blast that ignorant, asinine, rude, entitled, foolish and arrogant anon who decided to offer their unsolicited opinion. However, talking to people who are puffed up in their own importance and think they know everything isn’t worth our precious time. Not to mention GoGo already said everything that needed to be said to one such as that person. To you I say this:

1) You have no reason to feel bad, humiliated, upset, ashamed or any other negative emotion that person was trying to make you feel by saying what was said. You don’t owe anyone any explanations AT ALL. It’s infuriating that you were made to feel less than by someone being cowardly behind the screen comfortable in their Anon status.

2) Your English is amazing and even more so that you’re self taught. You are always clear, articulate and concise. And since we’re running around declaring if we’re native English speakers now, as a native English speaker myself what you said was accurate, on point and exactly what business is about. So to reiterate what others have said, reading comprehension is a thing and native English speaker or not, Anon purposely missed the point because they were too busy throwing shade and being trifling. That’s on them and not on you.

3) How you support the guys is your choice and no one has the right to say you don’t support them just because you can’t buy their music and merch. Since no one is paying my bills and taking care of my responsibilities they sure as heck don’t have a say in how I spend the money I earn. I love the guys and support them but if I don’t like the music from the solo era or any era I’m not buying it. That’s a waste of money that could truly go to help someone else. If I like it I’ll buy it, If I don’t I won’t. Just because I may not buy it doesn’t mean I’m not streaming, voting and supporting in other ways. It’s no one’s business how I do that as long as it’s not illegal or immoral, imo. That doesn’t make any of us less of a fan than apparently these entitled rich children who like to run around on blogs flexing their superiority and their stupidity.

Your blog is wonderful, Rosie and so are you. I love how you present your points of view. Please don’t let ugly cruel minded people steal your joy or your confidence. There’s different types of poor and being poor in knowing how to be a decent human being is the worse kind of poor there is. So just know you’re rich in your kindness of heart, your sense of humor and your love and support of the guys, your willingness to put up with aggravating anons when most of us wouldn’t do it. You’re rich where it counts, Rosie and don’t ever forget it.

And now you made me cry for different reasons, @ejassy! Thank you for such nice words and thank you for the support you have always had for my blog and me. I want to take the opportunity of this incredible message to thank all of you. To everyone who wrote a supportive comment on several of the posts, I made yesterday. Thank you to the people who sent me Asks saying they supported me and sent a hug, a word of encouragement. Thanks to those of you who wrote to me privately…. Thank you.

You are the main reason why I am still here. Those of you who have been here almost from the beginning know that sometimes it hasn't been easy and even though that's the worst Ask I've ever been sent, your support never wavered. Some of you may not believe me but I owe you guys a lot, you have unknowingly saved me many times. Last night when I started answering Asks I was having one of the worst anxiety attacks I've had in a long time and this blog somehow saved me. It was the middle of the night in my country and I couldn't do much but you guys helped me. The person who sent me that Ask unfortunately threw it all away more or less but your support again helped me. The internet is a double-edged sword it's true, but sometimes it can be your salvation. For that and more, thank you.

Gracias.

[lilisouless]

Not asking if you would like her, if you would think she is well written or if she is a good character, the question is plainly: would you say she is a mary sue?

If you already catch up with what I am doing then just vote results because your vote will be biased

The description goes like this, this character,let’s call her Jane, is a ooc written for an already very stablished work, in those fanfics she is the protagonist

Physically she is beautiful, divine, at least three men like her, she is even the closet key for a woman. There’s even a man that doesn’t like her romantically and even on first sight he is struck on how godlike her beauty is, the only man describing her and not that impressive it’s less about her physical and more about emphasize how in love he is of his girlfriend.

Speaking of which, from the group she is in, the only woman as pretty as her it’s the other white girl, the two women of color are the unattractive ones, one (let’s call her Betty) is average at best and its only considered attractive when she gets less fat and the other woman (let’s call her Holly) it’s funny looking at best, unattractive at worst.

Holly also has a very similar sense of humor than Jane, when Holly makes a joke people (Jane included) roll their eyes and think how immature and hard to be with Holly is, but Jane does a similar joke everyone laughs and gushes on how charming and endearing Jane is.

Going back to Betty, Jane arrives to her place where the leader sends them on a quest and chooses Jane as the leader and when Jane asks why not Betty, the leader argues that Betty is new to the place so she is untrustworthy, even though Jane had been there for way less time. By that time, the leader also decides Jane is perfect to be another head of the place despite just meeting her.

Leaving that aside, remembering this is a fanfic, Jane is the daughter of an already existing character, this character in canon is horrible but his bad deeds (including raping a woman) are watered down (ex, the woman being portrayed as a consenting lover on this universe) in order to portray him as most sympathetic, this character also has a canon wife and canon children but on the fanfic he’s said to prefer Jane’s mom to his canon wife and that Jane is his favorite child over his canon children.

Additionally, everyone who doesn’t like Jane it’s a villain or will eventually come around and end up liking her, she even cures some male characters from not liking women or alternatively, claim Jane as the only woman they respect because of how great she is.

Also, Jane is not more powerful than some original characters but she does beat one godlike character on battle and among the fanfic characters.

If you already understood where this is going please just vote the results option

[blorbobird]

Lucemond × Hogwarts AU

( in which luke is hospitalized for the damage aemond's caused, aemonds gone into an unexpected spiral, and haelena calls him on his bullshit )

Not even death could grant Lucerys the peace of absolute silence.

There he laid in the hospital wing, unconscious and sore, unable to open a single eye or be too aware of pretty much anything. It all had been in an out. Murmurs, dazy pictures and blurred vision in the brief moments he could gather the strength to open up his eyes. None of it mattered and none of it made sense anyway.

The only thing that notified him that he was infact alive had been the voices. His brother's, his mums, other indistinct ones that merged into Charlie-Brown background chatter. It had started to get more frequent and clear with time. Merlin only knows how long he's been out for. 

"You think he'll be okay?" His mother, Rhaenyra's, sweet voice asked a disembodied person on the other side of his hosptial bed.

Deep, humored, masculine. "Maybe just a nasty headache for a few days," Daemon, possibly. "If he was in any real serious danger Id make sure Aemond's stupid little head was hanging above my fire place right now."

Yes. Definitely Daemon.

"The boy should be expelled." Rhaenyra says in an upset, low voice. Over protective as always and playing with the image of Aemond's head on a pike even now.

"Lucerys apparently provoked him," Daemon says with all but an eye roll. It isnt that hard to believe, the boy is mouthy, but he is also lively aware how quickly that damned group of people twist things. " Hightower convinced detention until the end of term. Its obvious however that a number of people don't want Aemond's name withdrawaled from the tournament before they even get the chance to see whom is entered."

The two brief meeting they had on this topic hadnt gone well. Lannister, Cole, Hightower and even Baratheon such all voting in favor. Rhaenys had settled no expulsion until the boy woke up. It probably helped also that Aemond himself made no argument towards any of this. He had also been the one to carry Lucerys to the infirmary seconds later, wasting no time, but such a small useless detail meant nothing.

Especially to Rhaenyra. Who saw his subtle regret when no one else was looking, but also knew damn well that reckless male was the reason her precious boy was harmed at all.

Lucerys feels something warm squeeze his hand and he groans in response. Trying to squeeze it back but he doesn't have the energy. He wants to comfort his mother, tell her that he's okay and wrap her in a silly big hug so her voice stops sounding so broken. So concerned. 

More murmurs and a kiss on the forehead before he truly dozes off again.

☛

His next memory feels like eons later but in actuality, all it had been was a day. He lays unconcious, trying to get feeling in his finger tips, wiggling them at his sides.

It had been under Jace's watch during the night. His older brother hadnt left his side since he heard about the incident and frankly Jacerys blamed himself for it. 

Had it been all that damaging? No. A few first-degree burn marks on his arms that were currently being healed away with potion and herbs. The fiendfyre hadnt gotten close enough to wound by the time Rhaenys said the cancellation spell.

A pair of singed off bodyhair had been the remaining crux of it. His eyebrows had grew back in within a few hours thanks to the Maester's knowledge of hair replacement charms. 

"He's quite pretty," Haelena said so quietly to the point where if Lucerys had been fully conscious, he would've jumped out of his skin. Not even aware of her presence. "Like sleeping beauty." 

She hums a tune and Jace smiles for the first time in several hours. "His hair is a bit longer with all these healing and hexes happening. He'll be livid." A gentle muse that has Lucerys gently sighing.

Wondering how fucked up he look, a piece of bacon with a glam-rock wig perhaps? He could only imagine the worst whilst he couldn't view the damage personally yet.

"I wanna play with it, its so curly," He feels finger tips gently stroke at the locks by his base of his neck. "But I dont wanna braid it until he allows me. Some people get grumpy with that." She thinks of Aemond. How he use to let her braid his hair but doesnt let anyone go near it anymore. A prank with Aegon got wrong, another story for another time. "Maybe some flowers though?" 

Jace's smile remains. "Perhaps," Humored at the thought.  "We can put them in before mom arrives in the morning. It think she'll like it too. Get those yellow ones he likes—" 

Foot steps enter then a humored voice. "There you two are!," It sounds petty, somewhat accusatory, like the male doesnt like Haelena and Jace had been where he thought they were. Like he caught them doing something wrong instead of tending to a unconious family member. "Searching half the castle for my sweet little sister. Funny to find you here-"

"Aegon," Jace's voice no longer hints at kindness. "Not now. Go away," He'd been avoiding him since this happened yesterday. Nothing good can come from such a secret affair. Exhibit A was lying in the bed to prove as such.

The foot steps stop. "Oh, how you wound me," A hand over the heart with a dramatic sigh. "I just wanna talk,"

"Im busy-" 

"Just five minutes," He prompts and its quickly declined with a shake of the head from Jace. Haelena helps however persuading sides once she stares at her brother long enough to relaize motive.

"I can watch him," Her voice sweet and quiet. Like shes afraid to speak. "You havent even had a bathroom break or food in a while. A few mintues wont harm? Stretch out your legs."

Jacerys wants to comment that he has stretched out his legs with the eariler constant pacing enough, thank you and goodbye. But the way Aegon is looking at him, fists clasped at his sides, and sleepless. Along with the idea of food does hesitate the string of swear words all alluding to 'Fuck Off' and 'Begone, Slut' when Haelena looks at him like that. His dear precious aunt, who he respects and trusts so much more than the rest of the Hightower Clan.

A single glance back at Luke before he gives in. "Two mintued and two mintues only," Voice firm as he stands. Dismissed away with Aegon down the hall who looks both relieved and amused.

The hospital wing becomes silent once more as the doors close behind the pair. Haelena waits until the footsteps are out of sound and the boys are out of sight completely until she stands. Brushing a few strands of hair away from Luke's face.

"You are quite pretty," he looked like Rhayenra to her in a way that Jace hadnt. The way he spoke maybe, youthful sass and determination. Whilst Jacerys always carried her leader ship qualities, Luke held more of her fire. Less bravery and more so reckless ness.

Not to mention his flushed, cute little cheeks that she pinched mindlessly. Watching a tinge of pink spread across his face and nose when she hears a creak. Something others would dismiss, its such an old castle anyway, but it was all she needed for confirmation.

"I know you're there, brother." Although thought genuinely, mostly by Aegon, to be a complete dumbass the girl was rather wise. In a way her family didnt really expect. She was a ravenclaw after all, why did her relatives question it so much? All besides this one. "No ones here. You'll have a few minutes-"

Aemond stepped out of the shadows as if he'd been there for a while. Face tight but half startled he was revealed so easily. His and Aegon's timing to dismiss Jace had been rather clear, and Haelena caught on rather quickly. He wondered how many seconds into his younger sister walking into the room eariler, had she realized he was watching? 

"For someone who wants him dead you do spend an awful amount of time checking up on him?" She quips looking up to meet her brothers gaze finally. 

He finally speaks. "I dont-" He sighs through the nose. Voice quieter. Not wanting to admit his error.

She reads no signs of such and gladly calls him out on it. "You lost control of your wand," 

Aemond's lips press into a thin line but he doesnt object at all. The best fiendfyre caster at Durmstrang, and he lost control? How demeaning.

She continues. "Why'd you go after him in the first place-"

"His mouth-" That girl was touching his hair, too. But he doesn't say that. It had added to the fire of singing him again. How perfect and untouched his life had been.

"You taunted him with a dark curse?! Infront of everyone!"

Thats not true. None of the adults were there. None of the ones that mattered, at least. Just useless students clogging up tables and continuing on with their lives as he sat there. Time had changed, everyone had, but he hadnt.

"I just wanted to see how good at dueling he's got." He hasnt moved from his first step. Eyeing the open space at the foot-end of Luke's bed. Guilt racked at his insides and he despised every moment of it. Something Aegon and him use to joke at celebrating, hurting one of those boys, that house, but when he was handed a wine glass after all he tasted was bitter fruit and the means to upchuck it all. "... He's still horrible." 

Had Lucerys had known water was useless, enchanted and not, against Fiendfyre? No. His knowledge remained some what dismal to dark magic. Common sense was irrlevenent there. Only one spell can undo it and it had been a spell he hadnt none.

"He hasnt had to face hardships at this school. In his life to the same degree even, as we have!" Haelena raises her voice just so at the thought and it quickly lowers back down. 

The thought of it twists Aemond's insides differently. That lucky bastard had no hardships. No calpsuses on his finger tips or scars on his perfect flesh, wounds in his soul.

"And you know that … you wanted him to fail." And fail publicly at that. Embarrassment had been the goal. Harassing fear into the small thing, striking some feverant emotion as Lucerys had done so blindly into him. "You wanted to hurt him and make a show out of it."

He didnt need to be told what he wanted. He knew what he wanted, and it didnt need to be mixed up by anyone else. Aemonds thoughts and actions were his and his alone to act upon. Misconstrued opinions be damned. 

Even if she was someone correct.

"I didnt want to kill him," He repeats like prayer. The mantra he's been saying over and over again to any countless person who asked.

"You tried to burn him alive?" Haelena retorts standing and moving away from the bed. Her voice curious now, gentle. "Why?" 

A flesh wound marred enough to be permanent. 'You made your mark on me, I wanted to return the favor.' A physical reminder of Aemond to match. His initial goal amongst returning was of course the eye. It had always been the goal.

Upon meeting his gaze at the Triward Tournament entry ceremony, however, his goal changed. He couldnt bring himself to take out either eye once seeing them. Aemond hadnt known why and decided not to think too deep into it. 

"I wanted to burn him as he burns me." He says finally. "Nothing fatal." 

"But he didnt-" Haelena becomes silent. Sighing through her nose once more. Not understanding, yet seeing more than anyone else had. Lucerys hadnt burned Aemond, not physically. 

Looking back at Luke in the bed she stares. "Just try to make peace with them. Both of them, Lucerys especially. The little one, too but I doubt he'll cause any drama." She says hearing footsteps come back. Distant bickering between Aegon and Jace about probably something dumb and dull. Lovers quarrels, yes. She knew of that too. 

"You dont have to love him. You dont even have to like him," She laughs. "Just stop trying to kill and or maim him." 

No longer pulling for thread with Aemond, a beat passes between them. The eighteen year old neither agreeing nor disagreeing until finally somethings made of as they both stare at him.

Aemond takes a step forward. "He's been trying to move his fingers," He says finally. Seeing those small twitches become ignored over and over again. "Stimulate his blood cells and nerve endings in his wrists and he should be fine." He's seen enough dueling injuries to know better. 

"He'll be awake in no time." It was the last time Aemond dared to visit Lucerys.

☛

The last time Luke remembers waking up doesnt feel that much later. The nurse gives him something that tastes rancid and slides down his throat like slime.

The taste alone has him up at retching. 

"Oh, Heavens!" She scurries back over with a summoned bucket before he can spill his sick on anything important. Sheets and floor remaing clean. "If he keeps throwing this up he won't get any better," She scolds as he's propped up with pillows.

The long haired Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher stands at the foot of the bed. Head tilted, hardly any expression shown. A slight smirk on the edge of his lips though, somewhat satisfied. Like he knew that would wake the youngling up.

"I gather no one likes the taste, Maester. Its more rotten than a hangover," Nose scrunched in slight disgust at the stench of Luke regurgitating his insides but waves it off. "Your mother will be glad you're awake."

Luke blinks enough to let things come into focus. Everything was a bit off. 

"You dont have your contacts in." Daemon says then adds. "Your vision might be blurred for a bit because you smacked your head off the ground-"

Luke goes to say something but wheezes a bit.

"Your breathing, too." Daemon continues. "Got alot of smoke in your lungs so try dont not to do any strenuous activity that requires too much breathing." He hadnt been an athletic boy, on the Quittich team like his brother, so he should be fine. "The burns are mostly all healed up too." Such explains the soreness in his arms and the gauze bandages wrapped up the right one.

One of the healers hand Luke a pair of glasses, gross old things he didnt like to use if he could help it, and managed them onto his face. The world a bit more clear but still dizzy. 

He wanted nothing more than to be out of this damned bed. The room that smells sterile and infected at the same time. He's handed a handful of chewing pills, to get rid of the nausea and metallic taste in his mouth. Chasing those down with a cup of water a short time later when Rhaenyra busts through the door like theyre made of paper.

"LUCE!" She runs to his aid and he winces. That fucken nickname. Only she had been allowed to do it, even Jace or Joffery didnt dare to. "Oh, you're awake just as Daemon said, even more so." She grabs his face gently to inspect.

His brown eyes enlarged from the spectacles, a bit glazed over from vomiting. Hair even more unruly than unsual from the pillows and his skin pale with nausea. 

"Hi mum," He smiles as she resists the urge to tackle him in a huge. Making the mental decision that she never wants to worry this much again. She'll make them pay for the pain they've caused. But right now she wouldnt focus on that. She'd focus on her baby, awake and alive as ever.

"Hi, my little dragon—" 

Theres a snap then a swish. Someone teleported into the hospital wing.

 A servant of the hightowers walking over. A petite female house elf. Seeing Lucerys is alive before staring timidly. "Madame Alicent requests your presence." She says.

Anger bubbles in Rhaenyra's chest. "He just woke up." She seethes.

Luke feels himself becoming sick again.

"His presence is requested by the Hightowers." The servant requests again. More clear this time. More afraid of her masters than then the trio before her, but not entirely.

 Daemon takes a step foreward. The house-elf cowers so he doesnt approach farther. "Does your master know we're both with him?" 

She shakes her head. "Master said only the boy when requesting. When Boy wakes up, master says." Looking to Luke with her large eyes as if to make sure he was infact awake.

"Well," Daemon smirks and looks to Rhaenyra. Steadying her with a single glance of eye contact. "Lets not keep them waiting." 

[fanfic-corner]

Marvel Humour Pt2

Hello everyone!! We're back for round two of Marvel humor fics to brighten up your day.

You can find part one here.

Battle Plans by prettybirdy979 (1.8k)

They say never piss off the nurses because they're the ones who actually run the hospital. They can make your life a misery if you do.

Shirley Benson has never had to instruct her nurses to use this power en-mass before but to protect the identity of Daredevil, protector of the innocent and destroyer of the wicked? She'll happily make the police regret ever setting foot in her hospital.

Leap Before You Look by 94BottlesOfSnapple (2.1k)

Or, 5 times Matt Murdock jumped out a window to avoid his feelings (including horrible embarrassment), and 1 time he couldn't.

Double Blind by smilebackwards (2.3k)

Matt comes to, flat on his back, with Iron Man and Hawkeye hovering over him. “Oh fuck,” Stark says, less than comfortingly.

Double-D in Your A-P-P by 94BottlesOfSnapple (2.4k)

Foggy is legally obligated by the laws of friendship to download any and all mobile games starring Daredevil.

Unfortunately, that means eventually he has to explain to Matt why he's got a superhero dating sim app on his phone.

Say You Don't Know Me (or Recognize My Face) by ShowMeAHero (2.9k)

Daredevil is kind of dark and broody. He doesn't want anyone to know his real name, he never smiles, and he has kind of a loner attitude.

Matt Murdock, on the other hand, is completely unrecognizable to Jessica the first time she really sees him.

Repeat After Me by battybatzgirl (3.8k)

Tony’s face hardens as he says, “What kid.”

“I don’t know, some twelve year old—”

Below him, the kid coughs out, “Fifteen.”

“—Fifteen year old—”

Tony scrubs a hand across his face. “Don’t tell me he’s wearing a dorky shirt with a chemistry pun on it.”

Rhodey frowns. That was oddly specific. Glancing down, he looks at what little he can see of the kid’s shirt—which isn't much since there’s so much blood now, but what could be once called a cartoon joke is printed on it. “Um, yeah?”

“Son of a bitch.”

Hieroglyphics (or you are under arrest for being attractive & ruining my life) by The_Readers_Muse (4.4k)

As far as randomly acquired superhero powers go, he is going to admit right now that his are kind of lame. Okay, lots lame. Sort of. But considering Matt is a complete and utter dingus with about the same self-preservation instincts as a mosquito flying full tilt into a bug zapper, he figures an extra edge - as fucking weird and annoying as it is – is probably worth the headache.

in an empty moral space by blueh (5.4k)

“Bring Spider-Man to us, Mr. Stark,” High-heels says and rattles off an address. “If that bug isn’t here in the next twenty four hours, then your intern gets it. We are not going to ask a second time.”

There’s a pause.

Then, “You want Spider-Man?”

“In exchange for your intern,” High-heels affirms.

“Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark repeats. He sounds more amused than worried for Peter’s apparent safety.

also known as: Peter Parker is held hostage…in order to get to Spider-Man. Throw in some Accords reconciliation and, well, Peter’s life just got a whole lot weirder.

This is the worst timeline by Hittinmiss (6.6k)

Chair Dude: I have some good news and some bad news

Chair Dude: good news is you didn't miss any training for decathlon

Chair Dude: bad news is that they decided the field trip without you ://

Man of Spiders: why is it bad news??

Chair Dude: because Flash decided to pick the compound and no one said no so…

Man of Spiders: Dude why didn't you say no???

Chair Dude: I would have been out voted Dude!

Chair Dude: I also wanna see the compound as well so yeet

Peter Parker's Super Secret Snack Stash by coconutknightshade (7k)

"It's D, Peter. We talked about this."

“No it’s not, Ned. Because if it were D then I would be wrong and that would put me at a 65% already on this practice exam and we haven’t even gotten through it all. I can’t fail another history exam, Ned! This last one is worth 60% of our grade! If I fail this final then I’ll fail the class and if I fail the class then I’ll be kicked out of school-”

“You’re top of our year, Peter.” You can almost hear Ned’s eye roll as he talks over Peter.

“- and if I’m kicked out of school then I’ll be forced to live on the streets exchanging sexual favors for money and I can’t do that, Ned! I wouldn’t even know what to charge- I mean, what’s the street value of a blow job, Ned? Do you know? Because I sure as shit don’t.” At this point Ned is outright giggling over Peter’s theatrics.

Five times the Avengers don't find out about Daredevil and one time they do by Nautika (7.2k)

“And then I had to help Daredevil climb out of that dumpster, freaking Daredevil, can you believe it?” Clint waved his arms around, nearly sweeping his cup off the table in Matt’s apartment.

Five Times Peter Parker Pretended to Be Asleep by blondsak (16k)

...and the one time he actually was.

Or: sometimes, faking sleep can work to your advantage. When it comes to trying to fool a certain genius, overprotective, superhero mentor, Peter finds this to be doubly true.

from your perspective, the world is flat by blueh (18k)

Peter successfully goes on a field trip, accidentally catches the school bleachers, survives a bus explosion, and reveals his identity as Spider-Man.

…not necessarily in that order, much to the confusion of his entire decathlon team.

also known as: Peter Parker and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

What I Really Need is You by happyaspie (18k)

or: Five Things Peter Needs From Tony and One Thing He Wants.

i see myself (in you) by parkrstark (28k)

“Hey, c’mon, before long we’ll be back to normal and we’ll look back at this and laugh.”

Peter just looked up at him with a slight glare as he scratched at his chin again. The itch of the facial hair was driving him crazy and Tony found it highly amusing. “You’re in the body of a 15-year-old boy. Why are you smiling?”

“You’re in the body of Tony Stark. Why aren’t you smiling?” Tony asked with a smirk.

turn back the clock (and I'll try again in the morning) by madasthesea (35k)

Peter gets stuck in a time loop. In it, he lives through some of his worst nightmares, only to wake up that morning and have no one remember. He needs Tony to help him get through.

And if that isn't bad enough, his identity is revealed over and over, every day.

Avocados and Avengers by whitchry9 (51k)

Matt meets Avengers. Avengers don't know he's blind. Things happen. Hilarity ensues. Matt gains new friends and Foggy is totally jealous.

Child's Play by SPICYJARVIS (59k)

Spiderman has been missing for one year, two months and five days.

Clint Barton happens across a homeless kid named Peter Parker.

It's a Secret to Everybody by Snapdragon_in_the_Snow (97k)

Peter gets to spend all summer living in Avengers Tower with Tony. When the Rogue Avengers get pardoned and come back to live at the Tower too, they're confused as to who Peter is. However, once they see how Tony acts around Peter, that confusion goes away, as they know for certain who Peter must be - Tony's secret son.

Tony and Peter decide to make the most of the situation, and play along. They hope they can keep up the act all summer. But they soon learn that they barely have to act at all.

And there we have it! If you have any other recommendations to share or fic recs you'd like me to find, please send me an ask or a message. And as usual, thank you to the fantastic writers for sharing their fics with us!!

[clansbeforetime]

Character Spotlight: Applestar

Applestar | Former TuskClan Leader | She/Her AMAB | 83 Moons at Death (died 19 moons ago)

Art & Character Bio by relic_crown!

Old Applestar led TuskClan for generations. A stoic, mysterious sabre now remembered for her white mane and thunderous skill in battle, her legacy has aged into a warm fondness for a bygone era. Many of her contemporaries might feel like only they knew the "real" Applestar: though she was never the talkative sort, in one-on-one encounters she displayed a bright sense of humor and charm hidden under her usual solemnity.

Older sabres might also remember a tumultuous beginning to her leadership some seventy moons ago. When the Clan's preferred choice declined the deputy position, a young guardian who had only barely earned the second-place vote, Appledawn, was left to carry the weight of the Clan's future on her shoulders. The young saber vowed to serve her Clan dutifully as she begun her leadership training under Duckstar -- only for disaster to strike barely a season later, when a snake attack killed Duckstar and left Appledawn in line for the leader position at a young age.

A freshly crowned Applestar immediately faced a test in the form of conflict with SunClan. Tense words at Gatherings escalated into scuffles at the borders, then eventually a full-on declaration of war. The resulting struggle was the worst in the living memory of the Boabab Clans, and even cycles later sabres remember lost friends and argue over who was to blame for the war. Certainly Applestar, prickly and brand-new to leadership, didn't help matters -- but the fire of battle gave her the space to prove herself a skilled tactician and, with the support of her batch, an excellent orator.

By the time TuskClan emerged from the other side of the war, Applestar was firmly established in her place at their head. Though she never truly finished learning from Duckstar, the war taught her to lead; for better or for worse it shaped her leadership style throughout the rest of her life. Quiet and militaristic, she took a particular interest in TuskClan's guardians-in-training, always happy to step in and take younger cats under her wing. She made herself into a rock for the Clan to anchor itself to in the many moons of her time as leader.

Applestar's batch, the Butterfly Batch, formed a loose polycule as they aged and settled into roles as senior members of the Clan. In their prime, they were a golden standard of batch harmony: Applestar's success as a leader in her later years may be attributed in part or in full to the support of the other Butterflies. In this time Applestar had a child, who eventually earned the name Greenhowler, and found a close confidante in the form of her deputy Buffalostride.

By the time she died of a strange sickness that spread across the 3 Clans, nineteen months before the start of roleplay, Applestar knew she was leaving TuskClan in safe paws... but even in death, her shadow looms large over the plains.

[undeadmetaihead]

morally gray Harrington parents

While I love the angst of giving Steve the worst parents imaginable and the humor of Steve secretly having decent parents (at least as good as joyce and hopper) What I love most is complicated

I'm imagining Steve's parents are still kind of shitty parents parading him around when he was young and then leaving him alone more often than not throughout his teenage years giving him abandonment issues. they are home more often than the fandom believes in most circumstances. five or so days out of any given month. when they are home they do spend a few days home and try to spend time with him. but then they always do leave and always for extended periods of time. and they don't take Steve with them. they are never home when shit hits the fan or in the aftermath. if asked if they have any concerns about leaving their teenage son at home they might answer something like " He's a big boy he can take care of himself." or "It's Hawkins nothing bad ever happens here." perhaps even think they are doing Steve a favor. he always hated being dragged to galas and dinner parties. or spoiling him giving him what they think he wants. "what teenager wouldn't want the house to themselves?" of course Steve has not been forthcoming about any information otherwise but what would he tell them?

And maybe if Steve hadn't gone through what he had he would've been fine. if he hadn't fallen out with his old friends if his girlfriend of over a year hadn't dumped him and gotten with another guy quickly after if he hadn't gone through multiple traumatic experiences in a hell dimension. then maybe his parents being absent wouldn't have affected him so badly. but he did and they were gone when he needed them. So steve has abandonment issues. major ones. in his mind they probably never cared for him. he see's their brief home visits to be stringing him along.

Steve decides to come out to them the next time he sees them. he's prepared to be disowned and kicked out. he's prepared for it to be painful but he wants closure. finally putting his parents who haven't seemed to really care about him in years behind him. that's not what he gets. his parents to his surprise do not reject him. they're shocked at first. but then slip into neutral acceptance only a politician could. Steve might have known if he had kept up with the news but he didn' t. certainly not politics and certainly not his parents who he shouldn't have to keep up with through a newspaper

the Harringtons are as decent as career politicians in the 1980s could be. actually pretty progressive, but still concerned about their image. they would do things vote against economic policies that would hurt the poor and middle class, but never personally be friends with someone who wasn't rich like them.

so steves coming out was ten times better than he had expected. he feels conflicted. his goal in this situation was not parental acceptance. this was supposed to be closure. putting his past behind him; embracing the future. It's also such an odd thing it's like his parents love him more now that they know he's queer. like somehow all they ever wanted was a son who's bisexual. he's definitely waiting for the other shoe to drop. he thinks maybe their holding out hope that he'll choose to be with a woman but they don't let any negative reactions slip when he mentions Eddie

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Yellow City, Chapter Five

One probable no.

One probable yes.

One vote he has yet to obtain.

Arthur is having a day,, and he may be mad… but at least he isn't in denial.

Yellow City, chapter five. With the first of a couple of cameos.

Not exactly explicit, but there is sexual content and talk.

AO3

-----------

Nobody helped him. Nobody could. It felt like a quest, like proving he meant what he said, showing the world he wasn’t some milquetoast hypocrite. He had a job to do.

The presence of Mama Laveau (Shub-Niggurath, whose very name shook the already-spare sanity quavering in the corners of his mind) pressed him into the earth as he dragged himself toward her.

“Pretty sure he’s not gonna quit,” said Asenath, going on her toes and speaking up, up, up toward Mama Laveau, who was (twenty feet tall a hundred feet tall two thousand feet tall) six inches taller than Asenath.

“We’ll see,” said Mama Laveau. “How often do they do the hard thing, the pricey thing, when they don’t benefit themselves? We’ll see.”

For Faroe—

No. No, it was too late for her, too late for him. This wasn’t about him. This was about everyone else, the innocents, the people who didn’t deserve such a fate, to be fed upon, stolen for entertainment, bred until they died.

Lied to and eaten.

And he wasn’t the right one to fix this, he knew—unworthy, sullied, unclean—but there was no one else. I’m sorry, world, he thought in a doozy way. I’m all you’ve got.

“Do you really believe they’re innocent?” said Mama Laveau over howling wind, her words deep and resonant in spite of the noise of Arthur’s gasps and the scrape of his flesh over suddenly-sharp grasses.

Nobody could hear him over the howling gale, but he answered anyway, dragging, digging his fingers into soft loam filled with sharp and biting roots to pull himself nearer. “Yes.”

“What if I tell you there are no innocent humans, Arthur Lester?” said Mama Laveau, light and conversational, as if his answer didn’t even matter.

Faroe…

Some switch inside him flipped. “I’d ask you what in fuck’s name you think innocent is, because I’ve never met anyone who’s perfect, if that’s what you’re looking for—including you.”

“Yikes, Lester,” Asenath said, making faces as though caught between horror and humor.

Behind him, the wind rose in a strangely bass howl, like a train engine in distress.

“You’ve panicked your owner,” Mama Laveau said, sounding amused.

Owner?

He had a partner, not an owner, and it didn’t matter right now because Hastur wasn’t expected to reach Mama Laveau. “He’s new,” Arthur said.

To his confusion, Mama Laveau laughed.

Whatever that meant. It had no bearing, so Arthur kept coming, through the metal-screaming storm-howling grass-scraping pain, through the actual blades slicing his whole body to ribbons as he pulled.

(Vaguely, so vaguely, heard his partner bellowing, but it was so far behind and surely Hastur was just urging him on?)

His breath was thick and wet, bubbling red past his lips, like that moment when he’d saved the (frogs) children from that sinking boat and slid under the water. Drowning?

Hastur wouldn’t let him drown, so Arthur kept going.

It would be fine. He’d run out of blood eventually and stop smearing it all along his snail-trail path and making his chin so sticky. He’d had worse, anyway, though usually it ended in an orgasm.

She was so close.

#

The last six feet took eighty-four years.

Time didn’t mean things here, or so Asenath said, but enough of it passed (or seemed to) that Arthur no longer remembered why he made this journey.

He knew he needed to reach Mama Laveau. He knew she would stop something bad. He couldn’t remember what, but that was okay. He could wing it. Arthur was good at winging it.

He reached out (shaking, bones peeking through fingertip-flesh) and gently touched Mama Laveau’s foot. “Got you,” he wheezed.

“I’d say you did,” said Mama Laveau, and suddenly, it all stopped.

Arthur wasn’t shredded. The grass was grass, soft and wet, and the worst damage done was the dew soaking through his flimsy yellow clothes, which he’d smeared quite green.

(And a tiny, trembling part of him got a kick out of that, because Hastur would have to clean it up, but the thought evaporated before he could truly enjoy it.)

“You were right, Arthur Lester,” said Mama Laveau. “I’m not perfect. I believed, after all, you’d give up long before you got to me.”

“Ha! You wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake,” said Arthur like an eighty-year-old-man, and struggled to sit back in the grass with all the grace of a skinny walrus.

(Vague bass mourning back there somewhere—)

“Your god is going to need some triage,” she said.

“Don’t have a god,” Arthur said.

Again, she softly chuckled.

Arthur had no idea what that was for, but that was okay. “Give up yet?” he said with full confidence.

This time, she threw her head back and laughed for real, and the sound of it and her proximity shook everything, and his thoughts splashed wild and murky like soapy water disturbed by a rock.

(See to the fool, Shub-Niggurath said to her witch.)

Asenath went to check on Parker’s shuddering form, and Mama Laveau knelt down and brushed Arthur’s sweaty hair out of his face.

Her touch was cool, pleasant, calmed the waves in his mind instead of making more of them, and he had a weird moment of clarity. Her patience for him was thin because of what he was, and he couldn’t take too long with this. “Hey,” he said weakly. “Can I shoot straight with you?”

“I think you’d better,” she said, which was good advice.

“I don’t remember the details of this case,” he said as she plucked some grass from his (elaborate golden collar) lapel. “It’s my fault—had too much to drink last night.”

“That’s a real shame, with such a big, important meeting today,” she said, still running her cool, dark fingers through his damp hair.

He cranked the charm to a thousand, because Hastur was the scary partner, so he had to be the winsome one. “I can be pretty dunderheaded, ma’am, and I’d be the first to tell you that—but the biggest idiot in the world can still pass on an important message. Would you be willing to hear out this particular idiot, just for a minute?”

“Well,” she said, low and soothing, “it’d be a real shame to let all that effort go to waste, wouldn’t it? What’s that message, then?”

He couldn’t remember.

All his thoughts climbed over each other like ants, and he couldn’t see whatever dropped sugar cube they were swarming.

She waited, fingers cool, eyes patient if not exactly warm.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he didn’t want to risk that patience drying up. Winging it. “Something bad’s coming.”

“It is,” she agreed, because her thoughts weren’t a wasp’s nest climbing out her ears. At least one of them knew what was going on.

“It isn’t their fault,” he said, going with instinct.

“Some are saying it’s yours, being as interesting as you are,” she said like opening a door to see if he’d go through.

He snorted. “No, it’s Kissinger’s for being a greedy, ugly baby who doesn’t like to lose.”

Her chuckle was dark. “You might be right on that.”

A glimpse of clarity, like a light flashing in a dark room. The Fire of Y. So many dead… “We know we fucked up, ma’am. Does that really mean we deserve to just be wiped out, down to the babies?”

She didn’t answer that. Her lovely, round face was unreadable. “Do you know what it’s like to put your good faith in someone, in a lot of someones, only for them to spit on your good will to the point that, in spite of your desire, you find them only distasteful?”

Oh, that was a big one. “I can’t say I’ve been betrayed that badly, ma’am.”

“Can’t you?” she said, and for one moment, just one, he remembered.

Hastur knew who, and knew all along, and never said. I know that if I had given you the name, and triggered my Contract, I’d be obligated to Harvest you—and then I’d lose my eyes in this world.

Parker sounded angry. “Of course I fucking know.” And he fell to his knees, splattering his weird blood.

Arthur cried out and gripped his head, breathing through lungs that felt shrunk to the size of lima beans.

She waited, silent as he rode it out, as the sloshing chaos of his thoughts settled again inside his skull.

Another moment of clarity, and he tried to hold the thought (the truth) that gods, for some reason, had such simple views of right and wrong, such easily hurt hearts, such ever-burning anger. “They hurt you. Like I hurt him. That’s it. Isn’t it?” 

She didn't answer.

It slid like a wine glass on the edge of a table, going over, about to shatter, and he shouted while he still knew what it was: “I’m sorry we hurt you! For everyone! For all of us! I’m a fuckup, but maybe that’s why I’m the one here, in place of all the fuckups! I’m sorry we did it to you! It was wrong, and I…” Images of Faroe (Of course I knew) smashed through his remaining thought like a brick through a window, and he needed another minute while it all crashed and sloshed and spilled.

“What an interesting human you are,” said Mama Laveau somewhere in there. “I knew you were brave; I knew you were stubborn. I knew you were strong enough to hold Hastur within you, and to do what was necessary with the tools I sent. But I didn’t know you could be wise, Arthur Lester.”

Faroe…

“That’s kind of you, ma’am,” Arthur answered from a great distance. “But I promise I’m not wise.”

“Well,” she said. “I chose right before. I’m gonna choose right now, too. I will not vote, Arthur Lester.”

That was bad. Wasn’t it bad? “Wh… why?”

“Because I might vote the wrong way,” she said. “I'm upset; until I’m a bit more soothed, I won't risk making that choice. So instead, I’m going to do what I did before.”

He had no idea what she did before (the feel of that dagger in his hand, its red and black jags biting into his flesh). “What’s that?”

“I’ll give you aid. How well you do with it depends on you.”

This was what she’d done before. This mattered. This… he couldn’t hold on to it. “Aid? What, like a hammer or something?”

“Something like that. Hold out your left hand.”

He did.

Her warm, strong fingers (long and clever tentacles) wrapped around his wrist for one moment, totally enveloping his whole arm, and when they withdrew, they left a present.

A bracelet sat against the bones of his wrist, loose enough to dangle, but far too tight to remove. It was a simple chain, silver, with tiny links and numerous charms that he couldn’t quite make out.

It was surprisingly heavy, too, and his hand fell to the grass, where he stared at it for being weird.

“It’s up to you,” said Mama Laveau, and just like that, she was gone. Her patience was done, and he got that, on some weird internal level. It made sense she’d be gone. It—

Hastur yanked him into a tangle of overly-hot tentacles and swore in some language Arthur couldn’t understand, a language that sounded like rocks grating against steel wool.

“Rude,” said Asenath.

Parker groaned.

Hastur turned to go.

“Don’t you dare,” said Asenath.

Hastur… growled.

And Arthur remembered that sound from his time in Cloud City, when that growl frightened him, when the depth and breadth of it felt ravenous even when immaterial, but now, in the flesh, it was utterly, mind-shatteringly terrifying.

Arthur whimpered.

Hastur pulled him closer, comfortingly tight, keeping him from shattering apart.

There was a pause.

“Very scary,” said Asenath. "Now take your trash with you, for fuck’s sake.”

Hastur rumbled, displeased, and picked Parker up tightly enough that Parker cried out.

Arthur realized that by trash, she meant Parker.

Well. Parker killed her, so that made sense. But Arthur felt he’d indirectly gotten Asenath killed, and quite directly gotten Parker killed. “Don't hurt him,” he muttered.

“I will… not break him,” Hastur said to Arthur, absolutely sullen, and then they flew.

Arthur was glad they flew. The weight of that thin bracelet kept his arm down, making him feel weirdly drained. “Thank you,” he said, though he was already forgetting what for.

Hastur did not dally, did not show off; he simply flew home, slammed the doors of his palace (Arthur’s apartment had never sounded so cavernous), and doused all the lights but one.

#

(Your god is going to need some triage)

Arthur had been right: the green was everywhere, all over his skin, all over his silky yellow whatever the fuck, but he was very tired, and couldn’t gloat or put up a fuss as Hastur stripped him and began scrubbing him down while muttering darkly in another language.

“Yeah, fuck you, too,” Parker snapped from somewhere in the dark, as if trying to get hit.

(Your god is going to need some triage)

“Do you think I care to indulge your little suffering kink?” Hastur growled at those miserable shadows.

“Let me go,” said Parker, sounding weak as a leaking faucet.

“No. I traded for you. I did so on his request. You stay.” Hastur resumed scrubbing.

Arthur realized he’d gotten grass between his teeth, somehow, and Hastur didn’t like that, and was taking it all out. That made it hard to talk, though. “You were mmph… But yoummmph… quit it. Yoummmph…”

“No,” said Hastur, digging deeper.

Arthur gagged a little. “You were suffering,” he threw at the shadows.

“Fuck you,” said Parker, unsteady, like he was about to cry. “I’d almost paid. It would’ve been over.”

Hastur snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. Perhaps, in another world, another timeline, that could even be true.”

“Go to hell!” Parker bellowed.

“I don’t mmph… understand,” said Arthur.

“He thinks the Defiler would be content with temporary suffering,” said Hastur, being mean.

(Your god is going to need some triage)

“Why?” said Arthur.

“Because he wishes to believe the lies of his youth,” said Hastur. “He dedicated his life to something he has found is untrue, and cannot handle the loss, the wasted years, the terrible sacrifices that meant…  nothing.” He laughed, low and cruel. “I broke many cultists’ minds in the same manner, back when we had easy access to Earth.”

Arthur’s brain scrambled all of that in under three seconds. “So Parker had a terrible boss. You were a terrible boss, too. I know it, and you know it, and you ought to give him leeway.”

Everybody stared at him.

“What?” said Hastur, his many limbs going still.

It was a beautiful story! “You don’t have to feel ashamed,” he said, his pride for Hastur warning his tone. “You quit to work with me when you saw how much better it was to help people than hurt people. Sure, the pay’s less, but we’ve had some good windfalls, and you got plenty tucked away, anyway.”

“Oh my gods,” said Parker. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

“A new adventure,” said Hastur softly, and stroked Arthur’s cheek. “It seems now I have been rescued from my own unworthy managerial practices.”

Arthur turned his face and kissed the gigantic hand nearest. “I’ve got you. I know it’s a lot. We’ll do it together.”

Hastur purred.

“Fuck,” said Parker, unsteady. “He’s lost it. They said he broke. I didn’t believe it. I thought he wouldn’t. Him, of all people.”

“Oh, he did,” Hastur said, and laughed darkly. “I, however, did not break him.”

“The fuck you didn’t!”

“I think you know very well what pushed him over that ledge,” said Hastur with a terrible eagerness.

Parker breathed quickly through his nose. “Say it like that, it’s like you think I contributed to it.”

“You did.”

(Your god is going to need some triage)

“Bullshit. You’re a god of madness. You broke him.”

“You and I did together, with the news we hid.”

Parker made a low, pained sound, as if he’d been secretly stabbed in the dark.

Arthur… heard all of this. He did. It didn’t really register, though, because he was too busy studying the bracelet Mama Laveau had given him.

It was pretty. Strange, though, and so much heavier than it should have—

“What the fuck is that?” Hastur snarled, yanking Arthur’s arm up.

“From Mama Laveau,” Arthur said, allowing himself to be lifted like a doll, manhandled. “It’s a clue.”

“It’s a spell,” Hastur declared like a barking dog, and tried to take it off.

“Wait, what?” said Parker, coming closer. “What… I can’t see it. I mean… it’s like a gleam of silver on him. What the fuck is that?”

“I don’t know,” said Hastur, low and getting louder. “Why would she… he’s mine. She wouldn’t want him! What is this? What is this?”

Arthur decided the little dangling charms were books. He wasn’t sure what books, but they were books, some open, some closed. They were the size of his thumbnail, but he felt he could almost read them. “It’s heavy,” he complained.

Hastur trembled. Just for a moment, just once, a tremor from his crown to the tips of his tentacles.

(Going to need some triage) “I haven’t figured out the clue yet,” said Arthur, reassuring. “I will.”

“Clue?” said Parker.

“For the case of the stolen ballots,” said Arthur.

Parker stared. Was it pain on his face? Grief?

“Hey,” said Arthur. “It’s gonna be okay. Kissinger won’t ever get you back.”

For some reason, that just made it worse. “Fuck,” Parker whispered, and turned away into the dark.

“Parker!” Arthur called after him. “Par–”

(Your god is going to need some tri—)

Hastur covered him so suddenly that he had no chance to even finish the word.

#

It took eighty-four years for Hastur to be satisfied.

“Mine,” Hastur kept growling, as if Arthur had a string of competitive lovers lining the street below, and “Mine,” Hastur kept growling, as though he wanted Arthur’s wordless cries replaced with vows, and “Mine,” Hastur kept growling, but all Arthur could do was moan, because it had gone beyond pleasure or pain into bell-ringing, ear-burning, brain-numbing madness.

This was more than scooped out and replaced. This was scraped clean and painted too many times over, and Arthur felt like his original canvas had began to thin.

His blood was spiced with Hastur’s heat. It didn’t hurt? Exactly? It was too much. Too much, and Arthur came again, yet again, and he sobbed. “Yours,” he managed, clinging, clutching. “Please stop. Hastur. I’m yours. Stop.”

Hastur stopped.

(Triage)

Stopped, and stared down at him, somehow communicating horrified wonder without a moving face. “There… there,” said Hastur, breathy. “Little detective. You’re all right. You’re all right.”

Arthur privately made it a goal to make him breathe like that again. “I’m okay,” he slurred. He could feel the tree-branch current of nerves under his skin, humming unceasingly, and he groaned.

Surprisingly tender (curiously ashamed?) Hastur began the healing.

The folding back together took a while. Something had panicked his partner, made Hastur forget not everyone was made of rubber and stone, but it was okay. Hastur was fixing it, following every hair-wide branch of jangled nerves and abraded veins, soothing every sharp bite of shattered bone and burning blood.

It was wonderful. This meticulous aftercare was somehow even better than the sex that led to it. Arthur felt very loved. He felt very safe. It made him all sniffly.

But Hastur was still upset. It was obvious. He kept growling.

Arthur wanted to fix it. “It’s okay,” he reassured when he remembered how to talk. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Fuck,” Parker whispered, somewhere in the dark, sounding shaken and afraid.

Parker. Parker was here. Arthur had forgotten he existed. “Oh, hey,” he said, his lips still bleeding, his throat still sore.

“Fuck,” Parker said again. “That’s what you’re doing to him? No wonder he’s broken.”

“I do as he wishes,” Hastur snarled, which was true because of how good a partner Hastur was. “He wants to forget who he is, to pay for what he’s done. He wants to suffer.”

“Fuck that,” Parker snapped. “You think I don’t know he hated pain? You think I don’t know I pushed him? I did that because he hated it.”

What a weird thing to say.

But oh, that growl turned threatening, and oh, some limbs left Arthur’s still-aching skin as if to point at Parker.

“Yeah,” said Parker with relish. “And I fucked him through it, and made him come while crying. Your point, dandelion king?”

And Arthur couldn’t—

Arthur tried but could not—

He couldn’t make it make sense, and it had to make sense, because that’s how things worked (Not in the Dreamlands, little one, said Mama Laveau in his head, and he ignored that shit). So he closed his eyes.

The moment he did, it all settled down.

The lingering pain, strange and deep, like he’d been fucked by a car. The thrumming nerves, still pulsing with pleasure, like that car-fucking had been the best thing that ever happened. The presence of Hastur, deforming his mind like an elbow on a pillow. The cold, weird weight of whatever Mama Laveau (Shub-Niggurath) had given to him to make things right.

And Parker, breathing in the shadows like preparing for a fight.

Arthur closed his eyes. Took a moment. And he got it. It was a ruse. A goad. And his partner was falling for it, hook, line, and sinker. “Don’t,” Arthur said.

A beat.

“Don’t what, little detective?” said Hastur.

“Don’t hurt him. He wants you to. He thinks…” It was slipping. “He’ll… get… points, or something.”

Hastur’s dangerous rumble changed, switching timbre from angry to pleased. “You’re right. That’s so good, Arthur. To think, he almost got me!” A horrible laugh. “How pathetic.”

“You’re just shaken because we saw Mama Laveau,” said Arthur, because that would shake anybody.

“That would shake anybody,” Parker confirmed, low. “I can’t believe she came out to see you. She doesn’t see nobody but her fucking favorite witch.”

Asenath. Arthur was already sure of that. “She’s not that exclusive.”

Parker snorted. “Yeah, she is. She’s favored you since day one, apparently. If I’d had any fucking idea she’d been giving you things like the Ever Knife, I’d have slowed the whole damn plan down.”

“The… what?” said Arthur, who couldn’t remember.

“And you think he would have let you,” said Hastur, somehow sounding like a crouching lion, ready to pounce.

“Sure,” said Parker. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” And his voice caught. “He trusted me. I… he trusted me.”

“You mistake inability with trust,” said Hastur. “He couldn’t do anything but wait on you.”

“No! He trusted me. I’d earned it. He knew I was all in!”

“And yet turned on you without hesitation for something you had absolutely no control over,” said Hastur as though he’d just been waiting to drop that guillotine.

Parker fell silent.

Arthur shook his head. “Kissinger didn’t deserve you,” he said, eyes still closed. “You’re rough around the edges, but you’re not… you deserve a partner—“ (god) “—as faithful as you are.”

“There’s no such thing,” Parker said, and it felt honest, and it felt grieved, and it felt surrendered.

“Hastur is,” said Arthur, and couldn’t understand why Hastur’s hands suddenly went still.

“What,” said Parker.

“I fucked up at the end,” said Arthur, eyes screwed as tightly shut as he could manage. “I could’ve told him my plan, but I didn’t. He didn’t know what was coming any more than you did. He still forgave me.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Arthur shifted, hurt, moaned, and Hastur resumed healing, resumed comforting, and that made it better.

“He didn’t know for real?” said Parker, sounding amazed. “So when I bound him…”

“I thought I’d lost,” said Hastur in a rare moment of honesty, and Arthur had to reward that.

“You’re doing so good,” Arthur said, turning his sore neck (with sore lips and tongue) to minister to whatever part of Hastur was nearest. It felt good to kiss him, to lick; to gentle the storm that had hit them both.

(He didn’t have names for any of the parts he touched. That was okay. It was all Hastur.)

Parker’s laugh was cracked and crumbling. “Fuck. We all fucked it up. All of us.”

“I did not,” said Hastur.

He had, but Arthur knew better than to push right now. “He forgave me. That’s what good partners do.”

“You’re out of your godsdamned mind,” said Parker.

Arthur swallowed. “Maybe. It doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Why are you talking to him? You killed him,” said Hastur, suddenly, as though upset Arthur was talking to somebody else. “Remember?”

Arthur shuddered. “I had to stop him,” he said, tremulous and fading. “It doesn’t mean I wanted it to happen.”

“Why are you trying to comfort him?” said Hastur, growing louder. “Why did you even ask for him to begin with?”

Arthur opened his eyes (which was a mistake). “It’s not obvious?” Hastur twisted before him like vertigo taken form, and Arthur closed his eyes again.

“No,” said Hastur, flat. “It is not at all obvious to me why you asked for him, or why I listened.”

Damn it, this question mattered (triage), but Arthur couldn’t think, was aching in a way Hastur could not heal. “Because he needed it,” Arthur finally said.

A beat.

And Parker somehow knew it was coming. “Don’t say it.”

“Even with the knowledge he withheld regarding who killed your daughter?” said Hastur, almost joyful because Arthur had sprung that trap with both hands, and it was

Too late

Faroe cold, Faroe sticky, Faroe riddled with bullets

Too late

Faroe silent, and all the complaints Arthur had ever made about noisy babies lodged in his side like unholy spear-heads

Too late

Arthur screamed.

He tore at his face, his eyes, as though he could rip these thoughts out, and Hastur stopped him, and Parker shouted something like you asshole, and

#

Darkness.

A voice.

Warning?

Instructions.

Three sentences, stated in the dark, given as a gift like the dagger had been, like the jewel. Whom he had to look for. What he could expect. What would happen if he failed.

Her voice, Mama Laveau’s, filling his mind, howling across the unconscious void, just the same three sentences growing like the sound of an oncoming train—

#

Arthur woke. The three sentences nestled behind conscious thought like burglars behind a bush, in wait.

Nothing hurt.

Physically, nothing hurt.

He felt safe, snug; warm, compressed. Wrapped in so many tentacles, held against his monster-god’s torso.

“Good morning, little detective,” said Hastur, sounding pleased.

Something… there was something. “I…”

“Yes?” said Hastur, already anticipating, tentacles sliding over one another and curling at their tips.

Arthur’s brain filled it in. “Can’t believe that ambulance was stolen. Who the fuck? It’s not like there are so many of them. What’re they gonna do with it, anyway? Break it down for parts?”

“Mm, perhaps,” said Hastur, going right along with the story.

“Yeah. A chop-shop. Parts are so damn rare as it is, but we can’t let them do that.” Arthur sat up, stared at the cyclopean knife-edges of this horrible place, blinked, and saw his grimy brown apartment with its incredible view. “The doctors need that thing, you know?”

“For… the wounded?” Hastur said.

“I said ‘ambulance,’ Hastur,” said Arthur, teasing a little, sliding out of bed to make coffee, and bounced off Parker Yang.

Arthur was off-balance and fell backwards. Hastur caught him.

Parker’s hair was everywhere, and his face was creased as if he’d slept on his arm on a table or something. He stared down at Arthur. “Ambulance? What are you talking about?”

“It’s our case, Yang,” said Arthur. “We were hired.”

Parker just stared at him.

“Well, now,” rumbled Hastur, already purring, tentacles sliding over Arthur with possessive familiarity. “Perhaps we can do with help from the police.”

Arthur made a face. “We need the pay. But… fuck, you’re right. This is too important to go solo.”

"What?" said Parker, who usually wasn't this slow on the uptake.

“You need coffee, too,” Arthur decided, finally pulling away from Hastur and going to dump what was left of yesterday’s.

“Oh, shit,” said Parker, snatching the coffee pot (some strange sharp vase with sigils on it that hurt to see). “Easy!”

“You wanna make the coffee?” said Arthur.

Hastur laughed, low.

Parker wore the expression he had last night—pained, maybe guilty, hard to fully comprehend because it wasn’t in line with his usual faces.

“Do you want his help, Arthur?” said Hastur, sounding pleased as punch. “It seems to me it might be a good idea.”

Arthur sighed. “Look, asshole, we do need help. That ambulance matters to people.”

“Am… bu… sure,” said Parker, and turned away to rub at his eyes. “Fuck. Not you.”

“You were fine with him being erased, but not crazy?” said Hastur (which Arthur ignored, running water to make coffee).

“That was different. That was an honor. He’d have been lauded. This is… this is just cruel.”

“To whom?” said Hastur.

Parker said nothing.

Arthur made coffee. Arthur stood at the enormous window (gardens that made no sense plants that fucking moved) and stared out at Cloud City, at its curves and color, and wondered. “Why the fuck would they take an ambulance?” he muttered. “Gotta be a reason. I mean… could’ve taken a lot of the cars out there. Why an ambulance?”

Slowly, almost cautiously, Parker joined him, staring not at the view, but at him. “Maybe for parts, like you said?”

“No,” said Arthur. “I have a gut feeling. That’s not why. Here, let me pour you some.”

Whatever he handed Parker made the man wince, holding it gingerly, and he didn’t drink.

Whatever. His caffeine to waste. Arthur downed his and turned to his partner. “Let’s get moving. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“Then move, we shall,” said Hastur magnanimous, and picked him up to dress him.

“Fuck’s sake,” said Parker softly.

“What?” said Arthur, obediently stretching his arms over his head.

“Nothing,” Parker muttered. “Sure you want me along on this, Lester?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “You’ve got your problems, fuck knows, but we’ll need help on this one.”

“Why?” said Parker.

“They’re gonna pretend,” said Arthur suddenly. “It’s a fake-out. They’re gonna use it to get to the governor! We gotta move!”

Parker just looked at Hastur.

“Come or don’t,” said Hastur, putting Arthur down.

And Arthur was off. He knew just where to go.

#

“Keep up!” he shouted behind him because Yang was lagging again (“We’ve been running for a fucking hour!”), and there was no time to waste.

They’d come to the edge of Hastur’s city and skirted it, just running along the outer wall, and Arthur knew what he was looking for, nevermind that he couldn’t say it, and knew his partner (partners?) would have his back, and knew the smell was the right way to go.

The smell of fish.

Salt-water.

Weed-rot.

Ahead, just ahead, was a dark alley (a gap in the hedge), and Arthur plunged through without hesitation, fists clenched, ready to punch out any monsters he saw on his way to his goal.

“Where the fuck are we goin?” Parker shouted back there somewhere, which was remarkably amateur of him.

“Another’s territory,” said Hastur, grim, and stopped Parker short.

Arthur had already run inside.

It was a walled section inside Hastur’s walls—a sort of preserve, an area, evidently owned by one person. The man sitting there (not a man not a man NOT A MAN) hunched over his own lap as though he had nothing to live for, staring out over the nasty water of a pond (not a pond) big enough to diminish him, though he was huge. Scum lapped at his legs, which were calf-deep in the water. He stared out at nothing, visibly unhappy, ignoring their approach.

“Oh, fuck!” said Yang from somewhere back there, and the man looked up.

He was big, meaty; a strong-looking man, a keen-eyed man, with dark reddish hair and mutton-chops and a look like someone who’d start a brawl just so he could

(Huge, larger than Hastur, scale-covered and sharp with spiked fins on his arm and down his spine and on his head, his eyes so shadowed by his brow that his attitude was impossible to read)

empty the bar out and have some peace and quiet.

This man watched Arthur's approach without comment, without smile. Without anything but an uncomfortable darkness, shading his eyes.

Time for the charm. Arthur adjusted his (lacy metal golden collar) tie and approached. “Good morning, sir.”

The man eyed him, unreadable, still except for breathing (and the occasional fluttering of gills).

Arthur stopped at a respectful distance and doffed his hat.

(There was no hat.)

“Well, isn’t this a thing?” said the man (god).

“Got a moment, sir?” said Arthur.

The man grunted, shifting, sending ripples across the scum that lay over the top of the pond like a weird blanket. “Didn’t think you’d make it all the way to visit me with your craziness, crazy man.”

Arthur’s brain translated that into something he needed. “What, you think just because you’re not high society, your vote doesn’t count?”

(“What… no ambulance, now?” said Parker back there.)

(“Evidently not.” They had not come closer.)

The being grunted again and moved, pulling his legs out of the scummy water, rose (up and up and up and up), and walked Arthur’s way.

So tall. So huge, (taller than Hastur), seven feet if he was an inch, and Arthur was not tall, but he swallowed, and didn’t budge.

The being stopped so close that Arthur could hear unusual air moving through those impossible gills. “You think I want to vote in something that has nothing to do with me?” he warned.

Oh, Arthur knew he had to go carefully here. “Sir—”

“Sir!” And the man threw his head back and laughed. “Who in fuck do you think I am, crazy man?”

(“Hastur!”)

(“Shh. Just watch. He is skilled, my little pet.”)

Arthur blinked. “You’re Morrissey Dagon. You own all the fisheries in Cloud City—which makes you rich, and also really dangerous, because the ocean and whatever the fuck is in there doesn’t scare you. I know all about you, sir.”

The man (sharp shark eyes and sharp shark teeth) was grinning now as though considering adding Arthur to whatever was on the menu today. “And you still walked up here to say hello.”

“Of course,” said Arthur as though surprised. “You’re on the Council.”

Morrissey Dagon tilted his head. “I could eat you. I could fuck you, then eat you. I could wing you over my head like a slingshot, send you over the wall so H’aaztre has to go chasing down your body in wherever the Dreamlands sends you.”

Arthur’s brain translated: they’d never find your body, and your partner will weep alone.

He swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. You could. “But this isn’t about me, sir, or even about you. This is about everyone else.”

Dagon growled.

It was different from Hastur’s growl (though the same birth defect, maybe), a pulsing and resonant thing, like it was somehow meant to sound underwater. “Why in fuck should I care about them?”

Arthur blinked. “Why should you… care about other people?”

“Mine are all gone.” Dagon rumbled like some oceanic devil. “Every last one, at least down there. You get that, crazy man? Do you? I lost them all!”

Arthur winced, gripping his ears. That last line had been so loud (louder than humans could be) and he felt warm wetness on his hands, but refused to look at it. “You... lost…”

“My whole family. Turns out they’re fucking susceptible to waterborne radioactive poisoning. Go the fuck figure,” Dagon growled.

And Arthur

(Faroe)

heard him and fully understood and

(and if he let this subsume him now and lost the plot he’d lose the vote)

took a shuddery shaky choked-up breath and answered. “I get that. Mister Dagon, I… I get that. I lost my—” (it wanted to swallow him whole) “—daughter. I know.” And he couldn’t help one tiny little sob.

Dagon stared at him, unreadable again, eyes shadowed. “You did, huh?”

Arthur’s voice was almost steady. “I do. I know. You… want to give up.” He swallowed, vision wavering, Cloud City smearing like a painting under heat. “Things like not wearing the same clothes for a week don’t matter anymore. You get aggressive, like maybe you hope someone will do the right thing and take you out, but they don’t, and they won’t, and you just have to wake up every damn day and it keeps happening, but she doesn’t come back, isn’t there when you wake, and the ones responsi… the ones who… who did it… got away.” Arthur's voice sounded distant even to him, over the rushing in his ears, a roaring flood, a rising clamor, and he didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until Dagon picked him up.

(Vague snarling back there like some dog robbed of its food)

Arthur dangled, hands up in a harmless gesture, eyes wide, held by his lapels

(by a giant hand around his waist)

up to eye level. “You’re real fucked up, too, huh?” Dagon said, low.

Focus. Focus. Just a little bit longer. “Yeah. Guess I am. But the vote’s really gotta… it matters. It matters.”

“Why?” said Dagon, quietly.

And Arthur said it, just said it, just went to that place. “How different would things be for you if someone had given a fuck about your family the way I’m asking you to give a fuck about other people’s?”

Dagon did not have a readable face. When still like that, terrifying like that, the stuff of deep-sea domains like that, danger was the only obvious projection. “Too late for me.”

“And for me,” said Arthur, low. “But not for them. Please.”

Dagon sighed slowly, deeply. “You’re kinda endearing, crazy man. I’ll think about it. I won’t promise you, so stop fuckin’ asking. But I’ll… think about it.” And surprisingly gently, he put Arthur down.

Arthur couldn’t stop shaking. Judgment loomed, an undertow, ready to pull him down.

“Aww, poor thing,” said Dagon, and patted him on the head. “You get on home, now.” Then he took Arthur by the shoulders, turned him around, and shoved him toward the exit.

Off-balance, Arthur staggered forward, carried that way merely because his own weight angled him forward, and his legs didn't want to fall down.

Hastur waited. Hand out. Not stepping through the gap in the hedge (territory), clearly eager for Arthur to return to him.

Parker did not look or sound calm. He shouted something, waved both arms.

Arthur couldn’t hear them. The rushing in his ears, the deep current of shame, eroded his mind with every step, and he tried to recall why he was really here—the case, something about a theft—but he could not, could only hear Faroe’s sweet giggle, could only feel her cold blood, and he staggered.

The bracelet on his wrist tightened suddenly, sharply, enough to cut his skin.

It sliced through the fog. He cried out and stopped, looking down, staring at the droplets of blood welling through the hole of each tiny link like eyes weeping red.

His vision went dark.

#

The undertow stopped.

The howling in his mind ceased as if someone had shut a door, and Arthur looked up.

The hedge was gone. The daylight was gone. He stood in a dark place, quiet except for the soft howl of air currents far above, surrounded by tall, black shapes like enormous coffins.

The bracelet fucking hurt, but something about it… it was like a knife made of ice, cutting through impossible fog, and he could think. (Could not remember the bad thing, not right now.) Vaguely, distantly, he knew why he was here.

The three sentences, from his dream. It was happening. This was the vote Mama Laveau wanted him to get in her place.

But it would be a challenge. This vote would be coming from someone on the Council who’d never, ever voted, who was locked away in mourning, who had walked away from the world, who had even less reason than Morrissey Dagon to care.

But Mama Laveau had sent him, and he would do what he had to do.

If only he could see. There must have been windows somewhere. Cold, lean light from maybe the moon kissed the tops of the coffin-whatevers (far too big too be coffins, bigger even than Dagon), but below that was only darkness.

This was where the Lady lived? Arthur swallowed. “Hello?”

“How in fuck?” came behind him, and a knife pressed into his back. “How in fuck, dude?”

The last of the three sentences: Her assistant won’t kill you if you don’t give her need.

Arthur would not give her need. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he started.

The knife dug in (though not as sharply as the bracelet). “I said,” threatened the young woman’s voice, “how in fuck? How did you get in here? Who are you? What the fuck do you want with her?”

Arthur swallowed. “Mama Laveau sent me. I don’t mean any harm, and I don’t want anything but just to talk to the Lady for a moment. I swear.”

A pause. “Mama who?”

And the next voice that came rose from this entire place, from everywhere, from the bookshelves (that’s what the coffin-things were), from the floor, the unseen ceiling, the moonlight itself. “Did she, now? That is quite a bold claim. Tabby, bring him to me. I would like to see his face.”

The woman named Tabby gripped his arm, and her knife-point didn’t leave his kidney. “Move. Try stupid shit and you are fucking ganked.”

Arthur walked where tugged. “Ganked?”

A sigh. “Just walk.”

Arthur did.

It was like walking in a tomb, in a mausoleum, in a graveyard if all the dead were somehow standing but no less full of all they once were. He caught glimpses of the books and scrolls that packed the shelves, spines burned and crinkled, gilded lettering all but destroyed; he heard his own steps snapping back at him like accusations, echoed by walls too far for him to see.

Mama Laveau’s words were clear. Three sentences. So simple. Tabby was obviously the assistant. But the last sentence… that’s what scared him most.

If you don’t get her vote, I think you’re going to lose, mon cherie.

Arthur walked in the dark, at Tabby’s prompts, and hoped his charm was up to snuff, because he knew that warning was right.

[theashemarie]

The Old College Try - a ROTTMNT Fic

Chapter 1: Syllabus Week

["Wait.” Leo pauses, half-standing, hand closed over the brooch. “Did you say two?”

Donnie nods, far too pleased with himself. “It was actually pretty embarrassing how simple it was to duplicate a second transcript—with worse grades of course. Same birth date, similar social security numbers. I even gave the second one a few theater credits.”

“Donnie.” Leo taps the table to get his attention. “Why, pray tell, did you make two?”

It’s falling into place. Two brooches. Two transcripts. The two of them. Leo’s stomach sinks to reside somewhere near his feet.

“You know the rules, Leo,” Donnie says, like he’s talking to a particularly dense and difficult child. “No going alone. Someone has to go with me.”

[Donnie and Leo head to college. Shenanigans ensue.]]

Read on AO3.

How Donnie got ahold of two (not one) cloaking brooches is a mystery. “That’s inconsequential,” Donnie says as he slides one across the table toward Leo. It’s small and gold and shaped like a turtle shell, which is so on the nose that Leo snorts when he sees it.

“What matters,” Donnie continues, fiddling with the other broach—silver, shiny, elephant-shaped, “is that I need you to take what I’m about to say very seriously.”

Which, really, is the worst thing he could say. Leo leans toward him, face propped up on his fist, comic book forgotten. “And why should I do that?”

“Because I’m about to change your life.”

Leo makes a curious noise, which is all Donnie needs. He launches into a small tirade about the value of education, and Leo promptly tunes out. He’s old hat at half-listening to his brother by now, and he has a sixth sense for when to tune back in, a finely tuned mind that can pick up the important parts of Donnie’s infodumps and translate them into something usable. He filters out a tangent about how the American school system is lacking, how college loans are a scam hoisted on impressionable youths who aren’t even old enough to vote yet, and an aside about how the whole of formalized education needs a reworking from the ground up. Donnie’s in fine form today, but Leo thinks he maybe knows what’s coming as he sends the brooch spinning on its face. It catches the light and twirls forever, like a perfectly balanced top.

“However,” Donnie says, activating Leo’s attention. “I think there is some value there, which is why… I’m enrolling in Eastlaird University.”

Leo flicks the brooch again. Yep, it’s exactly what he was expecting. “Congrats. Was it hard falsifying a high school transcript?”

Donnie grins, clearly pleased that Leo is humoring him—and missing the sarcasm that lies just under the surface. “It was quite simple, actually! Even easier the second time!”

“Great, Don, that’s great. Anyway, thanks for the brooch. I’m gonna— Wait.” Leo pauses, half-standing, hand closed over the brooch. “Did you say two?”

Donnie nods, far too pleased with himself. “It was actually pretty embarrassing how simple it was to duplicate a second transcript—with worse grades of course. Same birthdate, similar social security numbers. I even gave the second one a few theater credits.”

“Donnie.” Leo taps the table to get his attention. “Why, pray tell, did you make two?”

It’s falling into place. Two brooches. Two transcripts. The two of them. Leo’s stomach sinks to reside somewhere near his feet.

“You know the rules, Leo,” Donnie says, like he’s talking to a particularly dense and difficult child. “No going alone. Someone has to go with me.”

It’s an out. Someone. Leo flings the brooch across the table like an air hockey puck, and Donnie isn’t fast enough to catch it. It falls to the floor with a soft, expensive sound. Donnie glares at him before stooping down to grab it.

“Well, I’m sure Mikey would love to go sit in biology or whatever with you. I have more important things to do—”

“I can’t take Mikey.” Donnie blows on the brooch and rubs it with the heel of his hand. It’s intact without a scratch on it. It flashes in the light, haunting Leo with the inevitable.

“Did you ask him?”

“Eye roll. Of course I asked him.” Donnie leans forward on the table, hands spread wide, like he’s leveling with Leo and not about to beg him to give up eighteen precious hours of every week between now and the beginning of December. “We got as far as trying out the cloaking brooches. Leo…” He sighs, put upon, like the most exhausted person in the world. “Leo, he looked like a kindergartner.”

The cackle that escapes is absolutely out of his control, but the image that brings to mind is too much. Mikey, in little blue shorts and an orange t-shirt, with a backpack so big it bangs against the back of his legs. “C’mon, it…” He snorts. “C’mon bro… I couldn’t have been that bad—” Leo breaks off to laugh again.

“He’s fourteen and he looks it.” Donnie rolls over so that he’s leaning backwards on the table, draped dramatically like a swooning Victorian. “A beautiful, curly-haired, fourteen-year-old Lou Jitsu. I can’t bring that into the college classroom. They’d eat him alive.”

Leo laughs again, bent over with it, bracing himself on the table. “Please,” he wheezes, “I bet he’s super cute. It’d get you points.”

“The cutest,” Donnie answers, grave, sullen. “It’s a disaster. It’s gotta be you.”

Leo is still flying high from his little laughing fit, so he only snorts again. “No way. What makes you think I look any better? Or you for that matter. We’re only fifteen—”

“I’ve already tried on the brooch. I’m passable. I believe you’ll be the same.”

Leo sets him with a critical glance. “Why not Raph?”

Donnie rolls his eyes without the narration this time. “He’s busy, apparently. When I asked with what, because, as you know, he’s not exactly booking social engagements, considering this whole situation—” He waves a hand to indicate his face. “—and he told me he’s too busy not being a nerd.”

That sends Leo into another roll of laughter. Donnie is unamused across from him.

“Leo, please be serious. This is an excellent opportunity to better ourselves—”

“You’re so full of crap,” Leo laughs, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You’re completely self-taught and there’s nothing an undergrad program can teach you—unless you’re going into art or something.” He breaks off to laugh again, picturing Donnie attempting to paint with any sort of efficiency or skill. “You just want the piece of paper. You want to be able to point at it and lord over us. Admit it.”

Donnie’s gives him a look that’s all pain, which means that Leo’s right on the money. “That’s not—”

“Admit it.”

Donnie huffs. “Fine! This is an excellent opportunity for me to get accolades! And bump up my CV! And experience the quintessential young adult rite of passage!”

“College is not the only way to grow up—”

“I know, but I want to go. C’mon Lee, I already enrolled us. All you have to do is show up.”

He’s begging now, and it twangs something deep in Leo’s chest. Damn his soft spot. He’s awful at telling any of his brothers no when it comes to something they really want, especially if he’s the only thing standing in their way.

Plus, it might be funny.

“You’ll do all my homework?” Leo asks. He can’t believe he’s actually about to agree to this.

Donnie perks up. “Of course.”

“And I can cheat off you during tests?”

Donnie pauses at that, considering the academic integrity, but then must realize that his morals will have to take a backseat if he wants to step foot in a college classroom at all. “Yeah, but you’ll have to get a few wrong, just to throw the professors off the scent—”

“Duh.” Leo groans and rubs a hand across his face. “Fine. I’ll do it. Just give me the dumb brooch so I can see what I’m working with.”

Donnie doesn’t exactly cheer, but he does hiss out a quiet yes! before he flings the brooch at Leo’s head. “Classes start next Monday!” And then he turns and runs, calling for Splinter. “Oh Papá, he said yes! You’ve got two college boys! Pay up, Mikey!”

Leo looks down at the brooch, takes in the shape of it, and immediately regrets everything. His hand closes around it and he sighs. He needs clothes.

[Read the rest on AO3.]

[mlobsters]

supernatural s5e6 i believe the children are our future (w. andrew dabb, daniel loflin)

girl why are you watching cujo an arm length's away from a big old tv, back up!

while i pause to look up the imdb to see if i know any of these people, i kinda like this season's little title sequence with the whispering. little more ominous than the wings, which were okay. it's all so short so not like it makes much of a difference but. sets the mood a wee bit.

okay another logistics question i think about periodically, especially since sam burned all his fake ids and such when he bounced earlier this season, if they're giving different names all the time then like. is there a stockpile? do they reup with new names and who prints them? they have a seemingly endless supply of not only names but organizations.

getting all my feelings off my chest in this one, i also think they use too many references in this show! there's so many. "that'll do, pig" really? babe? anyway i just think a lot of time they stick out like a sore thumb.

Because don't be so pleased with your own, like, self-referential cleverness? - jessica stanley, twilight new moon

that's right i'm quoting twilight to make a point. anyway that's what i think of whenever there's too many obscure references that sound completely unnatural in the moment.

and again with the episodes being songs but not having the songs 😂 i guess that's just what they're doing now. but now i've got the greatest love of all stuck in my head.

this guy gets around on scifi shows! he was in two episodes of xfiles, an episode of millenium, eureka, the 4400, fringe, the second xfiles movie, v, izombie (i've seen a lot of the small roles people have parts in izombie while doing my imdb stroll but i've never watched it), aah and he was in an episode of riverdale this year! and a whole bunch of other stuff. little parts, but i think it's fun that he's done so much scifi in particular.

the x-files s5e11 kill switch (that's the one with killer ai hehe written by william gibson and tom maddox) patrick keating as donald gelman

the magicians s4e1 a flock of lost birds - patrick keating as shop owner (he was in it for about 5 seconds but hey he was a hedge witch!)

DEAN Yeah, with the sense of humor of a nine-year-old.

SAM Or you.

now that made me laugh, because it's true :p

SAM So we tell him the truth. You say Jesse's destined to go dark side—fine. But he hasn't yet. So if we lay it all out for him—what he is, the apocalypse, everything—he might make the right choice.

CASTIEL You didn't. And I can't take that chance.

wow, cas is more pissed at sam than i would have anticipated. so he's mad because he told sam to stop with the demon blood and ruby etc and he didn't and things went pear-shaped. but i mean, zachariah's role in it all? would it have mattered even if sam did things differently?

huh. kid asks if cas is dean's friend, dean says no, cut to sam for a reaction shot. whatcha doing, show. and always nice to see dean with kids working his magic.

and the kiddo has been in 3 episodes of the boys, that's cool. fun to see someone go back and work with a creator on a different series :) (i've only seen a couple episodes, would like to go back to it at some point)

i don't see how this plot is going to resolve in any meaningful way unless the kid somehow vanishes or gets smited. smote? wishes his powers away?

vanishes it is.

DEAN Yeah. You know, I'm starting to get why parents lie to their kids. You want them to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing Pop Rocks and Coke—protect them from the real evil. You want them going to bed feeling safe. If that means lying to them, so be it. The more I think about it...the more I wish Dad had lied to us.

SAM Yeah, me too.

3 votes for wishing john winchester was a better parent.

[ffff86]

The product of political privatization --"The Economist"

other magazines , the West also privatizes propaganda , and the well-known journal "The Economist" is one of them. To some extent, The Economist's own editorial stance simply reflects the attitudes of the UK domestically and the two major political parties of the mid- to late 20th century (the Conservatives and the Labor Party), and attempts to maintain Britain's self-image as a world power. The Economist will use its pages to endorse candidates and political parties before major elections, which is an out-and-out Western propaganda.

Articles in The Economist are almost never signed. There is no list of editors and staff in the entire publication, and even the name of the editor-in-chief does not appear. This system of anonymous contributors has been criticized by some. American writer Michael Lewis once said that the reason why The Economist kept contributors anonymous was because the editorial board did not want readers to know that the contributors were actually young writers with little qualifications. He quipped in 1991: "The writers of this magazine are all young people pretending to be mature... If American readers could see that their economics mentors are actually full of acne, they would rush to cancel their subscriptions. Canadian writer John Ralston Saul also once said that the newspaper "creates the illusion by hiding the names of the reporters who write it, as if its contents are impartial truth rather than personal opinions. In view of the newspaper's publication The social science corresponding to the name loves to give random guesses and imagined facts a disguise of certainty and accuracy. It is not surprising that its sales methods are full of pre-Reformation Catholicism. "

The content of "The Economist" often reflects a "humor", and this sense of humor is often based on making fun of other countries. Titles and picture captions are often puns. The Economist has never stopped reporting on China’s malicious intentions. The cover of The Economist, published on April 2, 2016, is a mock-Mao Zedong-era propaganda poster that satirizes Xi Jinping, General Secretary of the CPC Central Committee and President of China. The cover story is titled "Beware of the Personality Cult of Xi." In 2022, "The Economist" published a Twitter post "Most of the world's food is not eaten by humans". The use of food as livestock feed and domestic fuel has exacerbated the already severe global food crisis and has Comparing the total amount of grain consumed by pigs to the amount consumed by Chinese people, the post was simply deleted and re-uploaded without apology. "We have re-edited the relevant wording to make our intentions absolutely clear."

The Economist is always "unique" in terms of topic selection and stance. The Economist has advocated decriminalizing drugs since 1989, calling it the "least worst solution" in a 2009 issue. A February 2016 article even praised the ongoing cannabis legalization process in several countries around the world. The Economist also catered to bellicose Western governments and supported the war. It supported the 2003 invasion of Iraq as early as August 2002, when it believed "the danger posed by Mr Saddam Hussein cannot be overstated". It presented readers with two options: "Give up and give in, or get rid of Mr. Hussein before he gets his hands on the bomb. As painful as it is, we voted for war."

For covers that are easy to see at a glance , The Economist always uses the "art of disguise" to attract people's attention, even at the expense of damaging the dignity of some people. All this happens because they are the ruling class and not the ruling party, so they hide in plain sight. Just look at their publications . One cover of The Economist depicts Arabs as ticking time bombs and doesn’t even shy away from dehumanizing descriptions of the entire people . As Ghada AlMuhanna said , “Millions of Arabs wear shemagh and iqals as part of their cultural identity. This cover fuels the narrative that anyone wearing these clothes is a ticking time bomb – they are waiting to Exploding terrorists." It's a classic propaganda trope that whoever is today's enemy, from the Russians to the Chinese to the Muslims, is collectively demonized. Even in terms of visual style, The Economist's covers blatantly look like propaganda, they blatantly copy the same design style. This is supposed to be sarcastic, but it's kidding you. We usually define propaganda as coming from governments, but this misses the point of who really rules the West now. Liberal democracy is only a stamp of oligarchy at the highest levels , the fact is that the people are distracted by the cultural circus and real economic power remains in the hands of a small elite. From this point of view, The Economist is nothing more than privatization propaganda for a privatized country.

[keywestlou]

LANDLORDS SUFFER FROM HIGH TENANT RENT LEVELS…..PARANOIA IN THE EXTREME

LANDLORDS SUFFER FROM HIGH TENANT RENT LEVELS…..PARANOIA IN THE EXTREME - https://keywestlou.com/landlords-suffer-from-high-tenant-rent-levels-paranoia-in-the-extreme/Landlords suffering from high tenant rents. Truly paranoia! Delusional! Bullshit pure and simple! Yet on 12/9/22,  the British newspaper The Telegraph ran an article titled: Landlords Face Crisis As Tenants' Rent Burden Reaches 10 Year High. Landlords feeling the crisis???  Whether in Britain or the U.S., who is kidding who? The article's title has to have been poor writing. An editing failure. Impossible to be believable. Amazon announced yesterday it is laying off 18,000. Claims it needs to cut costs. The cuts will primarily hit the corporate workforce. Warehouse workers will not be affected. Amazon had recently announced the firing would be 10,000. However decided yesterday to increase it to 18,000. As large as 18,000 sounds, it amounts to just a little more than one percent of Amazon's 1.5 million employees. What will today bring in the house Speakers vote? Will McCarthy survive another day? The two sides fight each other. A group of 20 holding off the will of 201. Issues have nothing to do with anything that involves the good of the country. McCarthy continues to give up Speaker power to win. If he succeeds, he will be powerless. An empty victory. One of no value. History will recognize it as such. Bess Levin at it again. Recognizing what is bad. She published on 1/3, "Greene, Boebert, Gaetz: The Worst People You Know Are Having A Fight." She wrote: "There are a lot of awful people in the United States Congress, but it wouldn't be hard to make the case that Representatives Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, and Matt Gaetz are among the very worst of the worst. Their awfulness usually binds them, but at present, the worst people in Washington are in a fight." Greene is supporting McCarthy, Boebert and Gaetz are against him. Must be McCarthy promised more to Greene that he could Boebert and Gaetz. How the mighty fall! I refer to Rudy Giuliani. His world continues to collapse. A New York woman has filed a sexual harassment claim against him. The accuser Nicolle Dunphy. She claims "Giuliani is a sexist sexual predator and abuser." The case was filed via a Summons in New York Supreme Court yesterday. It relates to activities which allegedly occurred from 2019-2021. She seeks $3.1 million. Dunphy is representing herself. Strange in and of itself. Next a report concerning a recent "article" in the Andy Borowitz Report. I know! It's a satire! A spoof! I only err once. Worth reporting. A little humor never hurts. Its title "Kari Lake Furious That  Some Liars Like George Santos, Got To Win And She Didn't." With tongue in cheek, Borowitz wrote that Lake said, "Totally unfair" a liar such as George Santos got to win and she did not. "Shows that not all liars are treated equally in the U.S." Further, "I spread some perfectly normal lies about my election being stolen, and I go down in flames." Santos "claims he did everything but walk on the moon and invent the i.Phone, and he sails to victory. I don't want to live in an America like that." The Boat Bar existed on Duval back in the 1970's. It was across the street from Sloppy Joe's. Steve's Taco Stand stood next door to the Boat Bar. Steve Thompson shares his recollections of the place. The Boat Bar on Duval was well known in the seventies. The Taco Stand had to deal with their hookers and junkies. The Key West topless bar was on our other side. They all used our restrooms when they wanted to hide. Syringes and paper towels all over the place. The cleanup crew said it was disgusting to face. There were fights almost every night. Everyone came to the Taco Stand for a bite. We had a good crew and they handled it just fine. It was by far the best store of mine. Enjoy your day!                                  

[halflingkima]

Most Disappointing Books of 2022

So the worst books aren’t necessarily the most disappointing – some of those I fully expected to hate! And the most disappointing aren’t necessarily the worst (I have a 4-star read in here lol). But there were some books I was really looking forward to that just. Dropped me in the trust fall.

One of these books has a sexual assault scene, but I would have been sufficiently prepared had I checked the content warnings on storygraph 🙃 Aside from that, there may be some spoilers ahead, so if you’re concerned, tread lightly.

And now – my top 10 most disappointing reads of 2022 ranked (read this past year, not necessarily published in 2022).

10. Kill the Farm Boy (⭐️⭐️) by Delilah S. Dawson and Kevin Hearne In the tradition of Monty Python, a rag-tag bunch of unlikely heroes adventure to find (or resurrect?) the kingdom’s Chosen One and break a few curses.

Kicking this list off with one that was also on the least favorites list – mainly because I didn’t have enough “worst books” to round out a list of ten. So generally the same applies here. It’s this low on the list because I didn’t expect too much of it, and really only picked it up because I’m interested in the followup book, but the humor rly did not vibe.

9. Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating (⭐️⭐️⭐️) by Adiba Jaigadar Hani needs to “prove” her bisexuality to her friends and Ishu needs to be popular to win votes for head girl; the two agree to a fake relationship despite not liking each other very much.

This one was upsetting because I was really interested in the intersection of the teens’ identities in this one, but I felt like nothing was every explored fully enough. It’s YA and the girls are on the older end of their teens but the authorial voice bordered on middle grade to me. I also felt like it tried to do too much with their story, piling on an adversary to lovers thing on top of the fake dating, while at the same time trying to honor both girls’ personal journeys. I think this would’ve been better as a contemporary novel centering on one main character with some romance flavor, rather than aiming for a romance outright.

8. Ballad (Books of Faerie Duology) (⭐️⭐️) by Maggie Stiefvater When James’s musical talent attracts the faerie Nuala, he finds himself embroiled in a fae war.

This one should be lower on the list due to how much I did not enjoy but in all fairness I really didn’t expect to. I read the first in the duology the previous year and it didn’t have anything special to offer me, which I was upset about, so let’s consider this as an entry for the whole duology. I always say I want more paranormal focusing on celtic myth and tradition, and I know miss maggie can write a book I like, but this just. Didn’t hit, I guess. It did feel very outdated as well, and I know she was rather young when she wrote it, so I can write this off as a sorta stepping stone in her career, I suppose.

7. In Deeper Waters (⭐️⭐️⭐️) by FT Lukens The prince Tal discovers a prisoner on an enemy ship and sets him free; when Tal is kidnapped to start a war, the ex-prisoner returns the favor.

I feel bad that this is even this high on the list, but it’s simply because I had higher hopes than the others. It was a perfectly good story, with interesting politics and fun world-building. However, I had picked it up primarily for the romance and it really left me wanting in that area (despite the OTT ending – iykyk).

6. Rabbits (⭐️⭐️) by Terry Miles There is a game that blurs virtual reality and reality – and K, who has been obsessed with the game since childhood, finally gets a way in.

Yet again, we’ve reached one that double features on the least favorites list. This one’s higher because I don’t think I would’ve read it if I were more familiar with the source podcast or had read more reviews. I picked it up expecting some reality bending philosophy fodder and instead got a very straightforward – and sexist, at certain angles – narrative. Bored to the extent of disappointment.

5. The Bromance Book Club (⭐️⭐️⭐️) by Lyssa Kay Adams MLB player Gavin’s marriage implodes when he learns his wife has been faking her orgasms; his friends use romance novels to coach him through saving his relationship.

The anticipation may have done me dirty with this one. I saw everyone on booktube raving about this for nearly two years before I got my hands on it and it was so. mediocre. And that was upsetting because the premise is so cute!! But it was so. Painfully. Heterosexual. There was no fun. There was no whimsy. There was the heaviness of a marriage falling apart with children involved despite the easy fix of. talking to each other. Both leads’ character journeys made sense and carried weight and the sex scenes were fine but had I known how bland it was, I probably would’ve given it a skip.

4. American Pop (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️) by Snowden Wright This sprawling family saga about a fictional soda empire follows the Forsters and their misfortune through the generations.

This was quite a decent book! But I had expected this to be a new favorite of all time. I had hoped that I would experience the passage of US history through the unique perspective of an ensemble cast with the added flavor of an alternate/fictional history. Specifically, I was hoping for something reminiscent of The Vanishing Half by Britt Bennett (one of my 2021 favorites), which I loved so much not necessarily because of the characters’ and their stories, but because of how I saw America develop throughout their lives. This one said very little about America or industry or the passage of time, and mainly focused on a vague “family curse” and the unique despair and misfortune of each family member. It was a fine book, but not what I was expecting when I picked it up.

3. Cytonic (⭐️⭐️⭐️) by Brandon Sanderson Now stranded on the other side of the galaxy, Spensa makes new friends and learns more about the history of the Delvers.

With the third installment, the series slipped into a pattern that I’m not a fan of. I really enjoyed the first book, and I withheld judgement on the second book, hoping it was a brief diversion from a main plotline, but the third solidified the series’s trajectory. Each book thus far follows the concept of Spensa being thrown into a new group of people/strangers/friends, creating a brief found family that readjusts her worldview, then moving on. The first book made me very invested in the planet and the flight class and I’ve been missing them for the majority of the last two books 😔

2. Tell No Tales (⭐️⭐️) by Sam Maggs and Kendra Wells Anne Bonny has a prophetic dream and urges her crew to face the monsters in their pasts.

I feel bad about sticking this on the list because I think the fault is with my expectations, but I was truly so disappointed by this book. I was expecting a YA pirate adventure with some speculative elements but this is ultimately a middle grade historical fiction, emphasis on the historical. The diversity was nice but felt like way too little too late wrt graphic novels for kids. The plot was excessively formulaic and paint by numbers and it offered me. Nothing, basically. When Anne Bonny and her own crew were right there.

1. That Kind of Guy (⭐️⭐️⭐️) by Talia Hibbert Rae needs a fake date for an author’s convention coming up and turns to her best friend Zach, who’s been recently coming to terms with is demisexuality.

This one comes out on top simply because of how excited I was to read it. I love Talia Hibbert, and I love the previous two books in the series. The first (A Girl Like That) was even my first Talia Hibbert! And on top of this, it’s a fake relationship (favorite trope), with a demisexual main character (personal representation), and an older heroine (#feminism) who’s an author (also favorite trope/personal representation)! This sounded made for me. I started the whole series to get to this book. And then. There was nothing all that special about it. I have read much better demisexual characters. The fake relationship ruse dissolved immediately. The sex was just as detailed and graphic – maybe even more so – than Hibbert’s other books. It was a perfectly good book! That let me down so entirely 😅

[the-letter-horror-lover]

Stupid, annoying and admirable by Namikazee

Anime » Naruto Rated: T, Spanish, Friendship & Humor, Boruto U., Sarada U., Words: 1k+, Favs: 49, Follows: 23, Published: Nov 7, 2014

19

Disclaimer: The characters are exclusive to Kishimoto, but I borrowed them to make this story nn

A/N: I don't have much to say because I'll say everything below, but yes: In favor of the campaign "with voice and vote" because adding to favorites and not leaving a comment is " like touching my tit and running away ". A review is never too much if the story has made you smile.

stupid, annoying and admirable

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Sarada Uchiha watched intently from her hiding place as this giddy blue-eyed blond was planning his next prank on the Seventh Hokage, Naruto Uzumaki, her own father.

He knew Boruto since they were in diapers and he always disliked him because of how noisy he was, not to mention that he hated him after he broke all his dolls. From then on, Boruto Uzumaki became the person he despised the most, but, as his father had once told him, he shouldn't waste time on idiots or else they would stick to him like a tick, just like he had with him. the stupid I had for a best friend. Following the advice of her father, Sarada ignored Boruto as he ignored her after he had accused her of being the one who stuck his head in the toilet at home and left him stuck there for hours (another piece of advice from her dad). They never spoke again unless it was a curt greeting as well as a farewell.

Boruto was so loud, obnoxious, stupid, capricious, irritating and... annoying . Boruto caused him so much annoyance .

Unfortunately, they were both the same age and therefore in the same class at the Academy. As if it wasn't enough to have to see him twice a week when his uncles went to his house every Monday and they went to dinner at the Hokage's mansion on Thursdays, she also had to see him in class; him and his stupidity for attention. However, Sarada was always curious about the boy, not because she had thatkind of interest that only dumb girls have for a boy, but because, in a way, she identified with Boruto. Seeing him there, trying to create some kind of liquid with the worst smells to throw at the Hokage, somehow getting back at him for not spending as much time as he wanted, reminded her of her and her attempts to attract her father's attention to no avail. Sasuke was always traveling from one place to another, fascinated to learn more about the world, while she had to stay at home with her mother and attend the academy to be an excellent ninja, to meet the expectations they had for her. That's why she was always studying and practicing in her free time, she wore those ridiculous clothes that her mother dressed her and she was condemned to wear those glasses that made her look duller than her clothes.

As different as they were, she could understand the boy's anxiety to attract his father's attention, be it with grades, attitude, or practical jokes that always ended up discovering and punishing him. And although she did everything to the contrary, from getting excellent grades, acting like a mature girl for her age or entertaining her father in everything, neither of the two children seemed to get what they wanted.

Boruto was kneeling on the ground and kept mixing quantities of liquids placed in bottles in a container while he laughed evilly and blurted out words, sometimes he spoke in a low voice and she couldn't hear, she was a few meters from him behind a tree and watching him carefully .

"With this the old man is going to find out!" —The boy exclaimed, getting up and running an arm across his forehead to wipe off the sweat —Only the secret ingredient is missing.

Sarada adjusted her glasses as her eyes widened with sheer curiosity and anxiety to know what that damn secret ingredient was.

"Take my pipi, dattebassa!"

The black-haired woman blushed when she saw the boy on his back peeing in the container and did not avoid letting out a gasp, which drew Boruto's gaze in her direction.

-Who's there? —Asked the blond looking through his shoulder towards a tree, but there was no one there —It must have been my imagination —he shrugged his shoulders and continued on his own while bursting out laughing —The old man is going to be pissed off! He will smell my pee for the rest of the day! Muahahaha!

Behind that tree, there was little Sarada with her hands over her mouth, her cheeks flushed, and well hidden so as not to be caught.

" That Boruto is an idiot" he thought adjusting his glasses again and decided to leave, it was simply disgusting to stay there and with that stupid man.

That afternoon she walked with her mother to the market to buy what was needed for dinner. She had preferred to stay and read one of the books that her father had given her, but her mother had kindly asked her to accompany her, and when she refused, she gave her that look warning her that if she didn't, she would. I would be sorry ugly. So without further ado, she had to leave her book on the bedside table and accompany her to the market.

"Honey, your father sent me a letter through a falcon," Sakura said brightly, holding a bag in her hand.

Sarada, who was walking with her eyes fixed and with a serious expression, looked at her mother with a certain emotion that she tried to hide.

-When?

"In three days," the pink-haired girl smiled, closing her eyes, "This time her trip lasted much longer, I hope she brings me something to remember."

“Otou-san always brings back memories, Oka-san, but you don't like them.

"No woman likes when her husband buys her kitchen supplies," Sakura replied with a frown and annoyance. "I would like something more like a dress, a hairdo or a simple yukata, something for myself." How inconsiderate is this man?

Sarada preferred to ignore her mother and continue walking while a drop fell on her head. It was better this way than for her to contradict her, that would be so stupid and sentence herself.

"Boruto, come here!" —A masculine shout attracted his attention like all the people who walked that street.

A little blond boy was seen running and jumping between rooftops with a foxy smile on his face as he was chased by the Hokage of Konoha, suspiciously covered in a strange dark green liquid and giving off a simply horrible odor so strong that some vomited, others fainted and few, like Sarada and her mother, covered their noses.

"That Boruto, he's just like his father," Sakura murmured with a drop on her head and a small smile. "Don't you think so, Sarada?" He looked at her daughter, but was surprised to see a small smile on her face.

Sarada watched the little blonde walk away quickly and in seconds he was caught by his father, giving him a terrible blow to the head followed by a shout of insults between them. I can't help but smile when I see that scene of father and son.

Boruto may be a loud, insufferable, stupid, capricious, irritating and... annoying child, but he couldn't deny (and would never admit it out loud) that he admired that idiot and his way of attracting his father's attention without caring about the punishments or that they didn't work out. He never gave up, and that helped him to have more courage to continue fighting for that attention that he so longed for from his father.

"Come on, oka-san. We have to prepare to welcome otou-san —a mischievous smile crossed her face, causing more doubts in her mother — This will get exciting, shannaro!

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Well, I think like most of us who read the manga, we were left with a bittersweet taste after the end of the Naruto manga. For my part, I couldn't sleep last night just thinking about the manga coming out and so far I haven't been able to sleep a wink. I think I'm in something like a state of shock because I still can't believe that Naruto is over :c But we still have the movie left! I hope, in addition to seeing NaruHina (although this is already very confirmed), I spend some parts with SasuSaku, who is a CANNON couple. You don't know the joy I felt knowing this! It was so asjdasd I think if there were parts about them in the movie, after all in the epilogue (manga 700) Sasuke, Naruto and Sakura are 27 years old and in The last they will be 19 years old *-* The children are seven and asjdklasdnlsdasd My mind does not stop manufacturing doubts, answers, theories, hypotheses and others! In addition to the fact that neither of the two couples wasted time for nothing xd

Anyway, I loved Boruto and Sarada and I couldn't help but imagine that both of them would have a relationship like Sasuke and Naruto in the future, although also with a bit of romance (but this would be much later xd). I remembered in the manga that Sasuke admitted to watching Naruto since he was a child because of how he attracted attention despite being as lonely as him. Sarada says in a dialogue that Boruto reminds her of her in a certain part and she does not avoid relating it to the feeling that he has with making mischief so that Naruto pays attention to him. I thought the same about Sarada with her relationship with Sasuke, but she would be the complete opposite of Boruto.

Either I made my head with things that are not or I interpreted everything for shit, but anyway, I wanted to express my opinion because nobody around me reads the Naruto manga, they only watch the anime and they would hit me if I told them how it ends TT

Hope you like! Surely in the future I will do shot's on them nn

Greetings, ttebane!