#with everything going to shreds with them at like 35?

[chikinan]

I'm sentimental about them. & about camcorders. [twt + insta + ptrn on bio]

[gizkasparadise]

final leg of a journey to love thoughts!! (eps 35-40). this got so gd long so under a cut it goes. spoilers, of course:

PLOT STUFF/PACING

pacing for the plot definitely got shredded in the last chunk, which is a damn shame because otherwise i've been finding the pacing pretty much perfect. eps 35-37 in particular felt like they could have been like a 10 episode arc. ep 38, which mostly dealt with wu palace politics, should have been cut or streamlined imo and more time given to the characters we've actually been riding along with the whole story. by the time we get back to the pregnant empress, prince danyang, the first prince whose name i dont even remember, and the prime minister, i do not care about any of them and i think this subplot was simply just trying to fit too much shit into one bag

that said, this show still let the emotional moments hit and breathe and linger. i love the grief for the fallen liudao comrades as we go, as well as the less heavy but still emotionally important moments like yang ying and tongguan bonding over their upbringing. and we got a wedding /;3;/!!! for this show, the relationships and characters matter more than the storyline so im not mad about anything at all

side note: it's so gd millennial to have a story about a bunch of 30 something year olds who want to fake their deaths and retire into obscurity but instead they go and die for a boss they hate

CHARACTER STUFF

this show consistently brought a lot of depth to its side characters (and side side characters!!). i said it in an earlier post, but it bears repeating that even someone like deng hui i didnt expect anything from, but he got such good development and writing that he became a stealth fave. his dying words essentially being "dude, quit fucking around" ? iconic.

i didnt like tongguan as much as everyone else, so im pretty meh about everything regarding him. the attempt to force-wed ruyi was tonally really weird and didnt make sense (i assume there was some cuts made surrounding it). but LOL at him reusing all the outfits and decor immediately for his wedding to yang ying. baby duke, you tacky motherfucker. i ultimately think yang ying deserves better than him, but the good thing is that she knows this, so she'll be able to hold her own and then some entering into this partnership

shisan really was the heart in a lot of ways--the mom to yuanzhou's dad for the liudao. i was not expecting him to break my heart the way he did, but the fact that he held both qian zhao and sun lang as they died and then tried his best to remove yuan lu from harm and saved chu yue and was just very much a nurturer all the way through got me. his character couldve been cheap comic relief but the writing + performance really elevated him into one of the (imo) most memorable wuxia characters. his line wondering who would get to behead his beautiful skull!!! and how his mantra was always that he was going to drink the best wine, see the most beautiful women, and make the best of friends and he dies having lost the ability to see and having just had wine in memory of qian zhao, yuan lu, and sun lang. like. shut up!!

ruyi and yuanzhou were both so great and they're gonna be the drama OTP to beat forever. i loved the gender reversals, that they both were so respectful of each other, and that they also felt very mature in how they handled things and communicated. they were really interesting characters both together and apart and that's always a win-win. they had a schroedinger's ending where it's not super clear if they're alive or dead (i interpreted it as the latter), but what's kind of beautiful is that either option is satisfying to me. if they both died, they're reunited and with their comrades and the story is truly about the journey and the meaningful short connections we have. if they both survived, it's a bookend with the beginning where they each faked their deaths to escape. A+

COSTUMING

i gotta just separately mention the costuming for this show because it was 15/10. the textures, shisan's accessories, the way red became integrated with yuanzhou's wardrobe and blue with ruyi's. the details on the liudao name amulets!! SO GOOD. i love when characters' clothes tell a story on their own

overall i just really loved this drama it is probably my favorite wuxia ive seen so far! it's gonna be in my brain for awhile lol feel free to send fic prompts if you've made it this far :'D

[czenzo]

Just an Act

[ao3]

summary: When Lockwood & Co. are called out on a case involving a jealousy-ridden Visitor, Lucy is forced to confront her own tangle of feelings and why it bothers her so much to see someone shamelessly flirt with her boss.

words: 6,360 rating: T

notes: this is my secret santa gift for Mar (@thegirlfromthesea)—I hope you like it! thank you to the Lockwood discord for hosting it again :)

happy holidays!

“So, Mr Lockwood, where’d you learn to use your rapier like that?”

Lucy snorted; she couldn’t help it.

A girl, not much older than Lucy, looked up at Lockwood through thick lashes. She was stereotypically pretty—irritatingly so—and had taken quite the shine to the company leader.

Lockwood smiled politely. “I took lessons as a young boy. Fantastic teachers, they were. Now, er—if you don’t mind, Miss…?”

“Haine,” she said with a smile. “Emily Haine. But, ooh, just Emily is fine.”

Watching Haine stick by Lockwood’s side as he inspected the nooks and crannies of the master bedroom made Lucy think of a limpet. The girl leaned in further and ogled his figure in that slightly too tight suit of his; it negated the explanation she gave of wanting to ‘learn the tricks of the trade’ when they first encountered her. They were only an hour into their work for the evening, and Lucy had already held back several scoffs.

Lockwood awkwardly cleared his throat. “Miss Haine, if you would be so kind as to give us a tad more space so we can work efficiently, that would be wonderful.”

She took a single step back.

George, who had been mid-tea sip, spluttered. “Christ. Lockwood, I’ll go and get a head start on the other room readings while you deal with this. Luce, do you want—”

Lucy scooped up her bag and held the door open for him. “Yes.”

Once the door swung shut behind them, George turned to her with a knowing look. “Not too keen on her, are you?”

She gave him a sidelong glance as they advanced down the hallway. “You don’t seem to be, either.”

“Anyone—or anything—that hinders our work is a nuisance in my book, sweet young girl or not." He paused to clean his glasses on the hem of his jumper then added with a chuckle, "She batted her eyelashes so much I thought she’d fly away any minute.”

Lucy held back what she was sure was a very ugly bout of laughter. “I can’t believe Mr Albrecht is letting his staff run around all willy-nilly while we’re trying to work.”

“I doubt that's the case,” George said. “This place is massive. He’ll have loads of staff, but she’s the only one we’ve come across. There must be a reason for it.”

Lucy’s reply tapered off as she eyed up the closed door they were distancing themselves from. Lockwood was on the other side of it—and now, with a lack of audience, Haine was likely to throw all shame out of the window. Lucy shook away the mental image of her idiotically cuddling up to him. Lockwood had self-respect and at least a shred of common sense, she reminded herself. He would keep turning down her advances despite being alone, surely?

“Luce?”

She blinked and turned to George, only to find they were no longer walking. “What?”

“You trailed off and stopped. Everything okay?”

She looked back to the door again, for what she told herself would be the last time.

“Ooh, she’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? Tell you what, how about we get some recordings of this…” he pushed open the door beside him and it opened with a menacing creak, “lovely little bathroom—god, it looks like it’s never been used—and then we can crack open the biscuits?”

Biscuits were a good solution to (or rather, distraction from) many problems. Not that Lucy had any in that particular moment—Lockwood could fend for himself, Haine’s pursuit of him was not her concern—but she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to dig into the digestives.

The bathroom wasn’t far from the size of Lucy’s bedroom at 35 Portland Row, and George hadn’t been kidding when he first peered inside: it was squeaky clean. When Mr Albrecht, their filthy-rich client and owner of the property, had given them one last briefing before hightailing it out of the place, Lucy recalled he had mentioned something about eight bathrooms. At the time she’d brushed it off in favour of focusing on the important info—i.e., the Visitor that was disturbing his family and targeting staff—but as she swept her gaze across the pristine porcelain and sparkling tiles, it came back to her with clarity. Eight bathrooms between its three non-staff occupants… no wonder this one looked as if it had been pulled straight from a catalogue.

“I’d bet good money we’re the only human contact this room’s seen, besides the installers,” George sniffed, pulling out his notepad. “I’d bet those digestives that nothing’s here, but we ought to take readings anyway.”

They went through the motions. Lucy checked temperatures (nothing out of the ordinary, as suspected) and Listened for disturbances (the pipes were a bit squeaky, but that didn’t count as a psychical threat), while George jotted everything down. Once they were done, they wasted no time in retrieving the biscuits and thermoses from the depths of their bags.

For the first time that evening, Lucy took the skull jar out. It sat between them in their small iron circle (made more out of habit than necessity) and immediately began pulling faces at George. It had formed an annoying habit of waffling while clients spoke and shouting random numbers as she took readings, so for the sake of her own sanity she’d kept the jar shut tight.

Up until now.

“I reckon if you bludgeon that soppy little fool you could hide her body in this bathtub and it’d be years before anyone found her.”

George looked at Lucy expectantly.

“It doesn’t like Miss Haine,” she translated. George simply nodded and dunked a biscuit in his tea.

“That was some shocking paraphrasing, Lucy. I never said I didn’t like the girl—I said I’d be completely at peace if you caved her skull in and made the body disappear. Two very different things, I tell you.”

Lucy decided that didn’t warrant a reply. “What do you think about the case, George?”

His face lit up at the chance to delve into it again; it was so charmingly George that Lucy felt a sudden surge of fondness for him. “The staff’s reports of a detailed apparition makes a Spectre quite likely. One mentioned it looked like a young man, so I researched deaths on the property while at the archives—and sure enough, a few poor sods have met their end here. An ancestor of Albrecht’s from the 19th century got shot just outside, a lad who used to work here not long ago slipped down the main staircase, and a burglar recently got caught in the act and had a heart attack when the police apprehended him. What a way to go, eh?”

“Would any of them have a reason to return, though?”

George shrugged noncommittally. “In one way or another. The ancestor’s death stopped the ownership of the property transferring to him, the ex-staff might’ve been unhappy with how he was treated here, and the burglar… well, if I died in those circumstances, I’d be pretty miffed. I’d come back to haunt the place as a distraction from that embarrassment.”

“Your whole life’s an embarrassment.”

This time, it was Lucy’s turn to splutter mid-sip.

“What? What did it say?”

She shook her head. “Nothing important.”

George narrowed his eyes, but soon let it go. “Another biscuit?”

“Go on, then.” Lucy reached for the proffered sleeve but froze when an ear-splitting shriek echoed down the hall. She shoved the skull jar in her bag and discarded the tea and biscuits in favour of bolting in the direction of the scream, with George not far behind.

Lucy threw open the door, rapier in hand.

The skull, half-sticking out of her bag, peered over her shoulder and cackled. It let out a comment so crude Lucy would have winced if she weren’t so distracted by the way Haine had her arms wrapped around Lockwood.

George panted heavily beside Lucy. “What happened?”

Haine held on for a moment longer, then had the gall to look sheepish as she slowly pulled away. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Lockwood! I could’ve sworn I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, and oh, it looked awful, and I knew I could count on you to protect me from it.”

“Pah! What a trollop.”

Lucy, rapier still raised, looked to Lockwood. His face was pointedly blank as he considered the blushing girl beside him. In the blink of an eye, one of his trademark smiles appeared—to Lucy’s relief, it wasn’t one of the charming or flirting variety, but instead one of careful politeness.

“I’m glad you feel you can put your trust in us,” he said, “but I can assure you there’s certainly no psychic activity in this room, according to the readings we got. Not a single death glow, either. There’s a slight draught in here—perhaps the movement you saw was the curtains.”

“The atmosphere seems to be taking a toll on you, Miss,” Lucy said. Her knuckles ached from her grip tightening around her rapier hilt. “We should get you set up to stay somewhere else for the night, so we can work without you getting in the—er, without you being at risk.”

“Nice catch, really smooth. Though personally, if I cared enough about dear old Locky, I would’ve just told the bint to sod off.”

Haine eyed Lucy with disdain. “What on earth is that thing sticking out of your bag?”

“Nothing,” Lucy said, shoving the jar further in and out of sight. She hadn’t the time to flick the lever in the same motion, so the skull’s cries and colourful insults were still audible. She prided herself on her ability to keep a poker face as it described, at length, where exactly Miss Haine should shove it.

Lockwood swiftly moved the conversation on. “Good idea, Luce. Mr Albrecht mentioned he usually has a team of night staff—where are they tonight, Miss Haine?"

“Most stayed home. The few who didn't get the memo in time and showed up anyway were sent to a nearby hotel for the night... But it’s so late now, they wouldn’t possibly take me in.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you join them?”

“Ah, well, when he informed them all of the arrangements, I was preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“I was—er, ah… I was polishing. The bathrooms. You saw how clean they were, yes?”

George peered at her over his glasses. “We assumed it was because no one used them.”

“Oh no, they do. And I clean them—a lot! So I missed Mr Albrecht’s instructions. And then I stumbled upon you three!”

“Four.”

Lucy frowned. “If she gets hurt, Lockwood… We’ll be liable.”

“Yes, that is true,” Lockwood said, his smile now laced with a hint of uncertainty. “Time’s ticking, though, and we need to get a move on. Since we’ve deemed this room safe, we can keep her in here. The two of you can help me quickly fortify the room, and then we can resume work. Is that alright with you, Miss Haine?”

Lucy had never seen her expression look so sour. Her short reply of “Yes” was not convincing at all, but the trio got to work laying out protection for her nonetheless.

“All sorted,” Lockwood said, clapping his hands together. “You shouldn’t be disturbed in here, but just to be safe, don’t leave this circle. If you need anything at all, give us a shout.”

“There’s some tea in that thermos,” George added, “and I’ve generously donated a few biscuits. That’ll keep you going til dawn, I reckon.”

“Thank you,” Haine said stiffly.

Lucy plastered a smile onto her face, though she couldn’t manage the same amount of fake politeness as Lockwood. “You’re welcome.”

Without the hindrance of a fourth unqualified person, Lockwood & Co.’s efficiency skyrocketed. Lucy lost count of how many rooms they took readings in. The place was eerily labyrinthian, and she was grateful that George had the mind to print out a map beforehand.

The evening grew darker, and after locating the area with the most psychical red flags—the staff quarters, a small series of rooms in the basement—set up their own iron circle in preparation for any oncoming manifestations.

After filling Lockwood in on his suspicions, George sat cross-legged and leaned back on his hands. “I’m surprised we haven’t heard a peep out of Haine yet.”

“I thought she’d be calling out for her knight in shining armour in minutes,” Lucy said, an amused smirk creeping onto her face.

Lockwood raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you’re referring to me?”

“‘Course I am. She was all over you.”

“I wouldn’t say that… ” He averted his gaze. “But she did seem rather fond of me.”

“God knows why. I’d rather neck a street rat than look Lockwood in the eye.”

Lockwood frowned as he watched the skull’s ghostly mouth move. “What is it saying?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Should we let Albrecht know one of his staff’s gone rogue?” George said, straightening to stretch his back with an odd groan.

Lucy wasn’t sure why every fibre of her being was advocating for the girl’s downfall. After a moment’s consideration, she chalked it up to being ‘hangry’—as Bobby Vernon once used to describe George in a heated conversation—and grabbed another biscuit.

“Legally, it would be the right thing to do,” Lockwood mused. “But I’d hate to be the reason the poor girl loses her job. If she keeps shtum for the rest of the night, I’m happy to let it go. Is that fair?”

George shrugged. Lucy made a noise of vague discontent. The skull voiced its own unpleasant opinion.

“Great,” Lockwood said with a grin. “It’s settled.” He popped a piece of gum in his mouth and checked his watch. “Miasma’s setting in. We ought to be seeing activity soon… Have you heard anything yet, Luce?”

As a matter of fact, she had—the skull’s voice notwithstanding. “The occasional word. I can’t make out what it's saying, but it’s definitely a young man’s voice. It’s steadily increasing in volume and frequency.”

“Good, we’re on the right track. George is probably spot on with the Spectre assumption. And considering where we are, it’s likely to be the lad who used to work here.” He eyed up the room around them, and Lucy followed suit. 

Presumably, this was where Albrecht’s staff spent their breaks, away from the demands of the filthy-rich family. They were in the ‘lobby’, so to speak, of the staff area. It was a small room with sparse seating, various mops and brooms propped against the far wall, and an old radio next to some stale refreshments. Branching off from the main room was a restroom and a dingy bedroom containing the flattest mattress she’d ever laid eyes on. It was so far from the life of luxury the Albrechts lived it almost felt like a different building entirely. It meant George was probably correct about yet another thing—the deceased staff member might have returned seeking revenge against his stingy employer.

Lockwood’s narrowed eyes suggested he was having the same train of thought. “What I am wondering, however, is why now? You said he died a year or so ago, George, but Mr Albrecht said his staff only started complaining in the past few months.”

“Can’t say for sure. Maybe someone disturbed his Source while working?”

The skull let out a cackle. Lucy’s gaze snapped to it. “Do you know something?”

“Maybe I do.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “And?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“There’s no need to be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, it’s just” —it let out an elated cry—“this is hilarious. You’re so close to the truth! I’d bet good money you can’t get it through your thick skull, though.”

“What?” She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lockwood leaned forward. “What’s it saying, Luce?”

“It knows something. Said we’re close to the truth, but doesn’t have faith we’ll work it out.”

“No no, I said you. Cubbins’ll be on it in no time, I reckon. He isn’t riddled with the same distractions as you are.”

She carefully repeated its words, and George’s face lit up. “Oh, now I really want to know what it’s going on about.”

“Are you talking to a jar?” An annoyingly familiar voice said from the entrance.

Three heads whipped around in surprise, one haunted skull cackled gleefully, and one Spectre manifested in the middle of the room.

Haine screamed as Lockwood leapt forward, rapier slicing through the Visitor within seconds of its appearance.

Lucy and George scrambled to their feet. With the skull as a distraction, Lucy hadn’t noticed the disembodied voice becoming more prominent, but now it had her full attention. The pressure in her head made her wince and let out a hiss of pain. George gently placed a hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles in a silent moment of understanding.

Lockwood hauled Haine into the iron circle. “What—and I say this out of concern for your safety—the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Miss Haine? We asked you to stay inside the circle. You could’ve been killed!”

Haine was deathly pale, and it took far longer than expected for her to voice a reply. “I… I know him.”

“You recognised the Visitor?” George said. The skull continued to laugh.

She nodded shakily. “His name is Adam. He works—worked here. We… had a thing, so to speak. He was lovely. But one day he… he—oh, god, he—”

“Slipped and fell down that huge staircase in the foyer?”

Haine let out a choked sob.

The voice had quietened; Lucy was able to think clearly again. “You said you ‘had a thing’?”

“His return could have something to do with that,” George said.

Lockwood nodded. “It’s likely. Now, Miss Haine, I beg you to stay inside these chains. We’re dealing with a dangerous Type Two that has personal ties to you. He may target you. Please let us work unhindered.”

“Or, if you do get in the way, at least make your death entertaining.”

“Unfaithful…”

Lucy tried to discreetly whisper to the jar she’d left on the floor. “What?”

“I said, if she does get in the way—”

“No, no, not that. The other thing.”

“That wasn’t me, Lucy. All this time being your partner in crime and you can’t even recognise my voice?” It scoffed. “Those biscuits have a higher IQ than you.”

“Mine…”

The words were a welcome distraction from the way Haine clung onto Lockwood’s sleeve. “I can hear him. I can make out the words.”

“What is he saying?”

“Unfaithful. Mine.” She paused, and then, “Cheat.”

Haine tightened her grip. “Adam said those things?”

“Oh,” George said. “Oh.”

“What did I say, Lucy? I bloody knew he’d catch on first! Oh, I’m a genius. I deserve some kind of award.”

“What?” Lockwood said, somewhat impatient.

“Miss Haine,” George said slowly, “are you naturally flirtatious?”

The sudden change of topic startled her. “Well, I wouldn’t say that… But if a man’s good-looking, I’m not going to ignore it.” She glanced at Lockwood for a split second. “Take Richie, for example—he started here earlier this year, and I know we’re colleagues, but you only live once. I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to—”

“When did he start working here?”

“Er… A few months ago, I think?” Her irritation was visible as she spoke to George; it was a stark contrast to how she behaved with Lockwood. “How is this relevant?”

“There we go,” George said with satisfaction. “Adam still has feelings for you, and isn’t particularly pleased to see you moving on.”

Haine let out a small, dumb, “Oh.”

Lockwood whistled, long and slow. “Visitors with romantically oriented returns tend to be the most aggressive. Stay on your guard, everyone. And once again, Miss Haine, do not—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, though everyone surely knew what he planned to say. They were all too distracted by the Spectre’s return to dwell on it, however.

He stood—or rather, floated a few centimetres off the ground—near the iron circle, and now Lucy could get a closer look at him. He was faded and blurry around the edges, but she could still make out the inner details. He wore a similar getup to Haine, with the dark trousers and a slightly wrinkled white button-up. His attire, combined with his red hair and thin face, made him look alarmingly like a fusion of Lockwood and Kipps. What caught Lucy’s attention the most, however, was the ugly bruising circling his neck. It was a grim reminder of how he met his untimely death.

He was so young. He couldn’t have been much older than Lockwood or George. Emotions were distracting; Lucy let out a shaky sigh and tried to let it wash over her. Meanwhile Haine, untrained and vulnerable, broke out into a fit of sobs.

“How are we dealing with this, Lockwood?” George said, ready to leap into action with his rapier in hand.

“Miss Haine, I’m sorry to ask this when you’re feeling so delicate, but we need to locate Adam’s Source. Do you have any idea as to what it could be?”

Haine sniffed and ungracefully dragged a sleeve across her damp face. “No. I haven’t got a clue, I…”

Lucy felt a pang of sympathy. It was almost enough to make her forget what had irked her about the girl earlier. “It could be anything with sentimental value to him, or something involved in his… passing.”

The skull scoffed. “Don’t start going soft on her now.”

Haine turned away from the Spectre and curled further in on herself. “He wasn’t a materialistic person. Never let me get him gifts. But—oh. Oh! He was working when he fell, he…” Her eyes swept the room and stopped when they found the mops. “He was using one of those! Oh god, you don’t think…?”

Lockwood nodded solemnly. “It could be one of them, yes.”

Adam’s voice was still audible in Lucy’s mind. “He’ll pounce the second we step foot out of these chains.”

Haine moved closer to Lockwood. In the blink of an eye she was leaning into him, one hand resting gently on his arm. “I’m so scared. What if he—”

A cry ripped from Adam’s throat as he rushed forward.

Lucy flinched and stumbled backwards. She crashed into Lockwood, who caught her and set her upright. “Miss Haine, try to keep your hands off our boss. Your late ex isn’t very fond of him.”

“He sees Lockwood as competition? By far the worst case of insecurity I’ve ever seen.”

“He sees Lockwood as competition,” Lucy murmured, then repeated it louder as it dawned on her. “Lockwood’s riling him up. If we can get Adam to disregard him, he might calm down long enough for us to reach his Source.”

“Good thinking, Luce,” George said.

Lockwood took a careful, wide sidestep away from Haine. “How are we pulling that off?”

“You’re a real threat to him if you’re single,” Haine said. “You are single, aren’t you?”

Lucy’s head pounded as Adam’s voice boomed.

“Er,” Lockwood said eloquently.

“Not any more,” George declared, before pushing Lucy and Lockwood together. They collided and instinctively grabbed onto one another to avoid tumbling out of the chains.

As Lockwood looked down at Lucy, George’s intent dawned on her. She adjusted herself so one hand wrapped around Lockwood’s torso, and leant into him like she’d seen Haine doing all evening. Slowly, Lockwood’s hand reached up behind her and rested at the nape of her neck, toying with the hairs there like it was second nature. Lucy’s stomach did strange flips while the skull feigned retching and loudly voiced its complaints.

Haine made an odd noise. George smiled like the cat that got the cream and turned to face Adam triumphantly—only to find he was no longer there.

“Give it a minute,” he said. “Miss Haine, try coming onto Lockwood again.”

“You can’t force those kinds of things,” Haine insisted.

“Try it anyway.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mr Lockwood, you’re looking rather dashing in that waistcoat.”

“Blind as a bat, she must be.”

Lucy turned her head to look at the waistcoat in question and was met by a familiar smell she’d come to associate with the feeling of home; for a brief second, she almost forgot she was out on a case.

The waistcoat did look nice, albeit a bit snug.

“Oh, I’d gouge my eyes out if I had any.”

George was tense in anticipation, but relaxed after a few moments of nothing. “I dare say I think it worked. Adam seems happy that Lockwood can’t possibly be interested in Miss Haine if he’s preoccupied with Luce.”

“‘Preoccupied’ is an odd way of putting it,” Lockwood said. His thin fingers continued to drift along the back of Lucy’s neck, and it was a whole world of distraction. She struggled to think straight and subconsciously tightened her grip on Lockwood’s waist. If he noticed she’d brought him closer, he didn’t let on.

“Stay there,” George said, holding his hands up as if they were jittery animals. “I’ll have a look at the mops.”

“It would be pure comedy gold if Cubbins kicks the bucket while you’re busy fondling each other. God, Lucy, you’re only supposed to be acting. Dial it back a bit, you desperate ninny.”

Lucy watched with bated breath as George cautiously stepped over the chains. He held his rapier aloft in anticipation and in a few large steps reached the far wall where the mops stood. Keeping his back to the wall, George stayed alert as he passed a hand over each mop. He violently flinched upon making contact with the last; it teetered and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Got it. It’s freezing cold.”

Lucy held tightly onto Lockwood. His hand had steadied on her shoulder; the weight kept her grounded as she Listened for oncoming danger. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Haine alternating between giving her strange looks and watching George.

The skull faked a yawn. “Just get on with it already.”

The sound of its voice mingled with Adam’s whispers—he was still present, still watching, and had taken notice of George’s movements.

“Hurry, George,” Lucy murmured. Her hand came to rest on a salt bomb in her belt.

From the depths of his duffel, George had to retrieve one of their largest silver nets. It came out snarled and scrunched, and for an excruciatingly long moment, he stood there untangling it.

“God, this is painful,” Haine said. She watched for a second longer before huffing and stepping out of the chains towards him. “Here, let me—”

“CHEAT!” roared Adam; he materialised mere feet away and wasted no time in rushing towards Haine with outstretched arms.

Lucy and Lockwood moved synchronously. Together they leapt, Lockwood brandishing his rapier and Lucy taking aim with a salt bomb, and landed in the space between Haine and her enraged lover. Lockwood’s blade swung and the bomb soared from Lucy’s hand; both hit Adam with a vicious hiss of ectoplasm and a ghostly howl.

Not a moment later, George unceremoniously dropped the silver net on the mop.

Lucy’s ears popped and her jaw ached as the effects of the Visitor’s presence lifted. She didn’t mean to lean into Lockwood as her shoulders slumped, but neither of them moved away, and at some point his hand had returned to her shoulder.

“That was possibly the most boring outcome,” the skull lamented. “I was hoping to at least see Lover Girl croak. Not you, Lucy, the other one.”

“That was simple enough,” George said, nudging the sides of the net inwards.

Lockwood grinned. “Good work, you two. And as for you, Miss Haine”—his smile faded as he turned to her—“we’ll have to inform Mr Albrecht about what went down here, which means telling him you, er…”

“Went rogue,” Lucy supplied.

“Rogue, yes.”

Haine’s gaze was unflinching. “Perhaps I should tell him the true nature of your company, then.”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Being involved with your employee isn’t a good look, Mr Lockwood,” she said, with a hint of smugness.

Lockwood scoffed and exchanged glances with Lucy and George. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Are you kidding?” She nodded to him and Lucy, who suddenly became minutely aware of how much of Lockwood’s body was pressed against hers. The warmth of his hand seeped through the layers of her clothes. “It’s obvious that relationship distraction wasn’t an act at all. Tell Albrecht I was here and I’ll tell him what you two really got up to in his bathrooms tonight.”

“Oh. I’m starting to warm up to her, actually.”

*****

As they waited for a taxi outside Albrecht’s manor, Lockwood shivered and turned up his collar. “I can’t believe she blackmailed us with a complete lie.”

“It was either that, or find yourself on the front page of tomorrow’s Times,” George said.

“Lovebird agents shag in millionaire client’s bathtub,” the skull chuckled. “What a headline.”

“We should have found another way around it,” Lucy said indignantly. “Albrecht deserves to know the truth of what happened tonight, whether Haine threatens us or not. Besides—who’s to say he’d even believe her, anyway? She’s only one of… many staff.”

“We can think of something after a good night’s rest.” George yawned. “All the stairs in that place tired me out.”

He fell asleep in the taxi, notebook open in his lap and pen still poised to continue writing his notes. Lucy carefully placed them back in his bag, then caught Lockwood watching her from the passenger seat. His smile was small but tender. It was the one he usually reserved just for Lucy, the one that never failed to make her heart flutter.

“I need to talk to you before you turn in for the night,” he said. He looked at George, then back to her. “Privately, if you don’t mind.”

She suddenly felt as tense as she had been in the iron circle. “‘Course. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” He flashed her one of his bigger smiles, then turned back around to face the roads swathed in the light of the ghost-lamps.

Despite Lockwood’s reassurance, it still niggled at the back of Lucy’s mind the rest of the way home. She gently shook George awake as they pulled up outside 35 Portland Row and bid him goodnight before he began to trudge upstairs.

After dropping the skull jar off in her room, she found Lockwood in the kitchen turning the kettle on. He set out two mugs and turned to lean his back against the counter. When his eyes met hers, he smiled. “Luce,” he said, quietly. “Tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Her feet ached from the long night; she hopped up to sit on the counter near him. “What did you want to talk about?”

For a moment his brows furrowed, his gaze drifted to the side, and he seemed as if he were trying to recall something—as if he’d planned out exactly what to say, and was now struggling to find it again. Lucy restlessly shuffled her weight around, trying to make herself comfortable on the cool granite.

Lockwood took a breath. “What Haine said… it bothered me.”

“Well, yeah. She blackmailed us with an outright fib—she’s a nasty piece of work.”

“No—I mean, yes, that was awful, but that’s not what I’m talking about right now. She said it was obvious that us being together ‘wasn’t an act at all’, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said slowly. “But it clearly was. She’s probably as thick as she is manipulative.”

Lockwood’s gaze flicked up to the ceiling; a subtle wince passed across his face before he spoke. “Was it?”

“What?”

He looked back to her, face utterly sincere. “An act.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Lockwood.”

Lockwood’s mouth opened and for a second, he appeared on the verge of saying something uninhibited. The kettle clicked, snapping him out of it, and he got to work putting their drinks together. “It was unprofessional. A complete lapse in judgement. I wanted to apologise to you, Lucy, in case it made you uncomfortable.”

“Er… Well, it’s not like there was an alternative. And George was the one who orchestrated it, anyway.”

“That can’t have been our only option,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have gone along with it. I should have looked for another way for us to deal with the situation.”

“Lockwood, it’s fine. It was fine.” She leaned to the side, putting herself in his line of sight. “You’re fine.”

“Am I?” His usual smile and bravado were gone, leaving nothing but worry etched into his features. “I’m concerned I’m blurring the lines too much in my relationship to you. Yes, I’m your friend, but I’m also your employer. I forget how much power I technically hold over you.” He let the spoon clatter into one of the mugs. “Accidentally using it against you would be my worst nightmare.”

“You haven’t. And even if you did— though you wouldn’t—we both know I wouldn’t let that slide. If you think I can’t stand up for myself and give you a good kick to the backside if you need it, you’re sorely wrong, Lockwood.”

“No, I know. You’re good like that. I just…” He sighed. “I hate how quickly Miss Haine got the wrong impression of us. We were just doing our job—in a slightly unconventional way, yes, but it was for the sake of the case—and she so easily twisted it into something else. What if she thought I was manipulating you, in some way? What if I was, and neither of us realised?”

“Lockwood, you’re being a bit silly.” She took one of the mugs in both hands and soaked up its warmth. “It’s late, you’re tired, and you’re overthinking it.”

He leaned against the counter and stared into his own mug. “You’re probably right.”

“Besides”—she took a sip, winced at how it scalded her tongue, and surprised herself with the words that fell from her mouth—“I never said it made me uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Stop jumping to conclusions.”

Lockwood’s body stilled, and his gaze flicked to her. “What do you mean?”

She sucked her teeth and decided to throw all caution to the wind. “When George contained the Source, I could’ve let go. I had more than enough space to back away from you. Did I?”

“…No?”

“I held on. I leant into you.”

“You were weary.”

“I enjoyed it,” she said. It was an admission to both Lockwood and herself; part of her wanted to curl up and hide as it dawned on her that she had thoroughly loved being so close to him, and that Haine hadn’t just been annoying, she’d been… competition?

Something clicked, and suddenly Lucy understood Adam.

“You enjoyed it,” Lockwood repeated quietly.

“And hypothetically, if we had to do something like that again, it’d be fine. I’d be fine.”

“On the job, of course.”

The corner of her lip twitched upward. “Of course.”

“And hypothetically,” he spoke slowly, edging away from the counter and closer to her, “if something like that were to happen outside a working environment, how would you feel?”

Her words came out close to a whisper as anticipation flushed her cheeks. “Why don’t you find out?”

“Oh.” Lockwood stopped in front of where she perched on the counter. They were almost at eye level. He held her gaze for a moment before faltering, then spoke with uncertainty: “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never—should we—”

“Me neither,” Lucy said, then pulled him in by the waist to kiss him. He stiffened for a second before melting into her touch; she parted her knees for him to move closer.

Lucy’s grasp softened at Lockwood’s sides when he reached up to cup her face. A small noise escaped her before she leant further into the kiss.

Time seemed to warp—though their lips parted after a few moments, it felt as if a whole hour had passed while they were engrossed in each other. They pressed their foreheads together as their quiet gasps for air filled the otherwise silent kitchen.

Someone cleared their throat by the door.

Lucy and Lockwood’s heads clacked together as they startled, warranting identical hisses of pain as they jerked their heads in the direction of the noise.

George leant against the door frame, clothes rumpled and hair unruly—it was clear he’d fallen straight into bed after coming home.

“Got peckish,” he said, adjusting his crooked glasses. “I see you’ve sorted things out. Took you long enough.”

Lockwood was the first to snap out of the shock. “What?”

“Kipps reckoned it would take another few months, at least,” he said, rummaging through the cupboards. “I had more faith than that.” He poured himself a bowl of cornflakes and drifted back out into the hall. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” they both replied, though it came out sounding like a question.

Lockwood caught her eye, and they fell into a fit of laughter. Her head fell onto his shaking shoulder; the rush of giddiness had her feeling wide awake.

For a brief moment, she was not an agent in a Visitor-infested world, she didn’t have to frequently put her life on the line for work, and she hadn’t lost her best friend because of a system that let her down. Instead, she was a normal teenage girl getting flustered over a teenage boy, giggling into the warm fabric of his shirt and hoping he didn’t notice how red her cheeks had become.

Lockwood brushed her hair away with a gentle swipe of his fingers, then pressed a kiss to her temple. “We really are fantastic actors.”

Lucy burst into laughter all over again.

*****

end note: right before posting this I realised I gave Haine almost the exact same name as Metric’s lead singer?? I swear that wasn’t on purpose lol I love u Emily Haines

[friendsim2]

Just a question, I don't want to appear rude or anything...

I like your game, really do, but have you considered writing MSPAR as literally anything else than a pathetic little pleb who just can't seem to do a single thing right unless they have some sort of guidance?

I recall they were some kind of God or at least a supernatural entity, weren't they? All that Green Sun bullshit. So then why does majority of the characters treat us like complete trash? Even less than that in extreme cases (cough cough tyzias)

I understand Alternia is harsh or whatever, and they are just pissed at everything that breathes (if a fictional character's feelings are really needed to be taken into consideration) but this just feels like weak writing to me, especially after several volumes. I played both revolution and salvation to see if the treatment of the main character would change, but.....nope!

In og friendsim, they were a dork too, absolutely, but they also had the qualities to stand up for themselves (ie. insulting both Mallek and Galekh, highblood enough to rip us to shreds if they wanted to) but now, all their "personality" revolves around the fact of how trully incapable, pathetic, and weak they are despite the fact template MSPAR wasn't even that hard to stomach. This one on the other hand....

I didn't expect a sequel of a literal meme goldmine to be so negative (again, Alternia is Alternia, ik), even aggressive towards the player in certain moments. I guess winding down while playing was never the idea in the first place? I felt personally attacked by the ooc characters for something I didn't even do lol. If this was your intention, then you did a really good job.

Chickening out made perfect sense in the first volume, new surroundings and a murder to absorb, but as the volumes grew more brutal and savage, it truly makes no sense to keep a main character so mentally weak. I swear, I can't be the only one who is immensely annoyed by this.

But hey, that's just my humble opinion after 35 hours of playtime. Still excited for Marvus ofc

Peace out

So, I think there's a couple things worth pointing out here - and just to preface this isn't "your take on this is bad and wrong" but more "have you considered this?"

Don't expect this will change your opinion that much, since you clearly put a lot of time into this, but maybe you'll see things in a slightly different light - at the very least, I feel like this is thought-out critique that deserves a response.

First off, and I feel like this is an important baseline to set - we treat MSPAR as a character, not a reader insert. They are being influenced by an outside force, but exist in a kind of weird meta-narrative state where they're kind of also in control of their own personality. While this might not be explicitly stated in FS/PQ, it's definitely the vibe you get from the writing - MSPAR clearly shows a personality separate from the person playing it.

The "god powers MSPAR" is very much the product of the end of Pesterquest, not OG Friendsim. Keep in mind that literally none of the Friendsim characters have seen that side of MSPAR. Also, MSPAR mostly used their god powers to try to fix things for their friends... although there's a path where they're very much condescended to by the narrative itself. But like, Friendsim MSPAR is kind of a sad wet cat - they get hurt a lot and spend a lot of time wandering kind of aimlessly. They're in a lot of situations - and that was our influence moreso than PQ's tone.

The MSPAR that everyone on Alternia knows is basically not the same MSPAR as the end of PQ. Because stuff happened in PQ that none of them are aware of. But they've stepped back into another part of the story and subjected themselves to the influence of other, darker forces (Scratch) by choosing to go back for their other friends so... shit's fucked, man.

The story is intentionally darker in tone that the original Friendsim and Pesterquest - that was an intentional choice, and we know it might not be to everyone's liking. And if you're more in it for the lighter, more humorous vibes of FS/PQ that is completely fair and understandable. Some of that is the result of taking the Alternian world-building in a more serious direction, some of it is to reflect the changing attitudes as characters grow up and fill into their roles in the system more, and some of it is just a difference in writing style. And, like, fully acknowledging that the story gets downright grim at times. Not to say that there aren't darker moments in OG FS - stuff like the bad ending with Nihkee or the stuff with Daraya and the mall - but it is overall a little more humorous.

At it's heart, Friendsim 2 is a story about trauma - both the trauma of Alternia and what it represents, and also the trauma inherent in MSPAR's attempts to deal with the implications of how the timelines work. The trauma is both from MSPAR and from other characters who've interacted with MSPAR. That does inform both how MSPAR responds to stuff (keep in mind they're basically slugging through like a week of time here with very limited rest, just moving from point to point without a strong idea of what's guiding them). But also, it is a story about pushing past that trauma and getting to place where recovery and healing might be possible. And yeah, some of the payoff for that is coming in volumes 12 - 14 so it's not fair to be like "why can't you see this?!" The arc of the story is very much a "start at the bottom and crawl your way up" kind of thing, with moments of triumph along the way (breaking Skylla and Konyyl out in volume 3, helping Chixie in volume 7, helping the rebels in volume 9, freeing Folykl and Kuprum in volume 11)

Idk if I'd say everyone is negative towards MSPAR. Obviously there's some very prominent examples (Tyzias, Polypa) - but that varies from extremely positive (Stelsa, Mallek, Bronya, Lynera) to neutral (Amisia, Tirona, Tegiri) to "we don't remember you" (Diemen, Charun, Fozzer). The balance is probably neutral-to-negative, which was an intentional choice.

The story is about to throw some curveballs at you in volumes 12, 13, and 14 which may or may not influence how you see things. I suspect at least one of these (from volume 13) will probably not be something you vibe with, but a couple might be positives for you.

I really hope that the ultimate conclusion of the game itself helps put some stuff in perspective. The final volume is a way of tying all the threads together in a way that will hopefully feel satisfying - and there's a bunch of ending slides that will show the outcomes of various choices you made along the way, Fallout style.

Anyway, appreciate the well thought-out critique. It sounds like you might have gone in expecting a slightly different story than the one you got - and that's completely fine! Hopefully the last few volumes will prove to be a satisfying send-off - and regardless we appreciate the investment of time and energy into the game!

[sniffanimal]

Hey boss do you have an actual recipe for that gyro bowl? Or do you just cook by vibes? Literally have been thinking about that thang for a whole day, lol

So, I've cooked *similar* things from recipe but I was going off pure vibes alone, BUT I can type up what I did in a sort of recipe-esque format for you! This may not be 1:1 exactly what I cooked, but it might be close?

Recipe for Donnie's Gyro Bowl below:

Ingredience (amount of each fed 3 people in excess, so maybe 4 servings?):

1lb Ground Lamb (can be omitted for a vegetarian friendly recipe, or changed for Protein Of Choice)

2 roma tomatoes

1 cucumber

1 zucchini

2 cans of chickpeas

1 large white onion

Dill weed (I ended up having to get dry, but fresh is better!)

Pearl Couscous (1 box, was roughly 2 cups of dry couscous)

greek yogurt (1 little cup of it)

1 lemon, or a decent amount of lemon juice

white wine vinegar

feta

"tuscan seasoning blend" which seems to be mostly basil, oregano, rosemary, thyme, garlic, and fennel.

"taco seasoning" which I used mostly for its cayenne, i would have liked to use paprika and cayenne together instead of relying on taco mix

Garlic powder (again, would have liked at least minced garlic if not fresh)

onion powder

red pepper flakes

Olive oil, butter, salt, and pepper

preheat oven to 400f. Dice tomato and zucchini (keeping them separate), and halve then slice thinly the onion. Zest and halve the lemon then juice into a bowl/cup. Dice half the cucumber, then grate the other half on the medium/large size holes on a box grater (or really finely chop it into mush).

Put the diced cucumber and half the tomatoes in a bowl and add half a cup of white wine vinegar and some warm water. Add a few tsp of lemon juice, salt, pepper, and Dill. Allow to quick pickle while everything else cooks.

drain chickpeas well and mix in a bowl with olive oil and what feels like the right amount of tuscan seasoning and taco mix powder. the peas should look well coated but not like Caked with Seasoning. Toss to mix and then spread out in a single layer on a greased cookie sheet. Bake for ~25 minutes depending on your oven. They might make popping sounds while cooking, be not afraid.

Melt a little butter in a pot and then add the couscous to toast it a bit before adding the same amount in water and then a little extra, maybe 1/4 cup extra. Stir in a generous amount of garlic and onion powders and boil for uhhh a bit until all the water has been absorbed. If couscous is undercooked and all the water is absorbed then add some more and cook until done. Keep warm until ready to serve.

In another pan, melt a bit more butter then add the lamb, stirring to break it up and brown it. I added a lot of the seasonings in different amounts, and some chili pepper flakes. Once cooked through, add half the tomato to cook with it. Once the tomato is soft and the lamb is fully cooked, remove from the pan and keep warm.

To the ~juices~ from the cooked lamb in the pan, add the zucchini and onion and cook well until the zucchini is soft and charred and the onions are soft. Season with Salt, Pepper, and Dill. Add more butter or oil if you didn't have any animal fats left over from meat.

To the greek yogurt, add the shredded cucumber, some lemon juice, dill, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine and taste to see if it's balanced.

To serve, put a layer of couscous at the bottom of the bowl, followed by chickpeas, the meat mix, the cooked veggies, the cucumber tomato salad, and then tzatziki sauce. Top with crumbled feta cheese.

The dish has such a mix of great flavors and textures and temperatures and heat and cream and lemon sour and its all just really really delicious. It did take maybe 40 minutes for me to cook but was soooooo worth it new favorite thing to cook for people.

Also if you were wondering, I went to the grocery store to buy everything I needed to make it more or less and it was about $35 and fed 3-4. The real expensive parts were the dill and the lamb, so those comprised $20 of it. If you already have dill, and omit or change the meat, it's a lot cheaper. Also its 2024 and groceries are expensive as hell.

[donttalkaboutmemes]

Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001) Sentence Meme

Under the cut you will find 180+ sentences from Atlantis: The Lost Empire to use for your enjoyment!    

1.      “You fool! You’ve destroyed us all!”

2.      “The wave is gaining! We have to warn Atlantis!”

3.      “Good afternoon, gentlemen. First off, I’d like to thank this board for taking the time to hear my proposal.”

4.      “We’ve all heard of the legend of Atlantis, a continent somewhere in the mid-Atlantic that was home to an advance civilization possessing technology far beyond our own.”

5.      “Some of you may ask, why Atlantis? It’s just a myth, isn’t it? Pure fantasy?” Well, that is where you’d be wrong.”

6.      “Numerous ancient cultures all over the globe agree that Atlantis possessed a power source of some kind, more powerful than steam. Than coal.”

7.      “I propose that we find Atlantis, find that power source, and bring it back to the surface.”

8.      “This is a page from an illuminated text that describes a book called the Shepher’s Journal, said to have been a first-hand account of Atlantis and its exact whereabouts.”

9.      “Uh, would you gentlemen please excuse me for a moment?”

10.   “Showtime. Well, this is it. I am finally getting out of this dungeons.”

11.   “If I ever heard the word Atlantis again, I’ll step in front of a bus!”

12.   “This museum funds scientific expeditions based on facts, not legends and folklore.”

13.   “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but this is a letter of resignation! If you reject my proposal, I’ll quit.”

14.   “You have a lot of potential. Don’t throw it all away chasing fairy tales.”

15.   “I can prove Atlantis exists!”

16.   “You want to go on an expedition? Here. Take a trolley to the Potomac and jump in! Maybe the cold water will clear your head.”

17.   “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

18.   “I’m acting on behalf of my employer, who has a most intriguing proposition for you. Are you interested?”

19.   “You will stand unless asked to be seated. Keep your sentences short and to the point. Are we clear?”

20.   “Relax. He doesn’t bite. Often.”

21.   “He brought that package to me years ago. He said if anything were to happen to him, I should give it to you when you were ready. Whatever that means.”

22.   “This journal is the key to finding the lost continent of Atlantis!”

23.   “Atlantis? Ha! I wasn’t born yesterday.”

24.   “I’ve spent my whole life studying dead languages. It’s not gibberish to me.”

25.   “My grandfather would have known if this were a fake. I would know. I will stake everything I own, everything that I believe in, that this is genuine.”

26.   “I’ll show them! I will make them believe!”

27.   “Forget the rowboat, son. We’ll travel in style.”

28.   “For years your granddad bent my ear with stories about that old book. I didn’t buy it for a minute.”

29.   “Your grandpa was a great man. You probably don’t realize how great.”

30.   “He died a broken man. If I could bring back just one shred of proof, that’d be enough for me.”

31.   “You know, in order to do what you’re proposing, you’re gonna need a crew.”

32.   “All we need now is an expert in gibberish.”

33.   “You can build on the foundation your grandfather left you, or you can go back to your boiler room.”

34.   “Our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children.”

35.   “Carrots. Why is there always carrots? I didn’t even eat carrots.”

36.   “Excuse me? I need to…uh…report in?”

37.   “Blondie, I got a bone to pick with you.”

38.   “You done stuffed my wagon full to bustin’ with nonessentials. Look at all this! Cinnamon, oregano, cilantro. What in the cockadoodle is cilantro?”

39.   “I got your four basic food groups! Beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard!”

40.   “All right, cowboy. Pack it up and move it out.”

41.   “Hey, junior. If you’re looking for the pony rides, they’re back there.”

42.   “Boy, when you settle a bet, you settle a bet.”

43.   “Your granddad always believed you couldn’t put a price on the pursuit of knowledge.”

44.   “Make us proud, boy!”

45.   “You ask too many questions. Who are you? Who sent you? Speak up!”

46.   “Do not be such a crybaby. Hold still.”

47.   “This is an outrage! You must leave at once!”

48.   “Now what have I told you about playing nice with the other kids?”

49.   “Get back! I got soap and I’m not afraid to use it!”

50.   “Back, foul creature! Back to the pit from which you came!”

51.   “Nice, isn’t it? The catalogue says that this little beauty can saw through a femur in 28 seconds. I’m bettin’ I can cut that time in half.”

52.   “How about some slides? The first slide is a depiction of a creature. A creature so frightening that sailors were said to be driven mad by the mere sight of it.”

53.   “Geez, I used to take lunch money from guys like this.”

54.   “This is an illustration of the Leviathan, the creature guarding the entrance to Atlantis.”

55.   ��With something like that, I would have white wine.”

56.   “It’s a mythical sea serpent. He’s described in the book of Job. The Bible says out of his mouth go burning lights, sparks of fire shoot out.”

57.   “Do you want to do my job? Be my guest.”

58.   “We took a big hit down here, and we’re taking on water fast! I don’t wanna be around when it hits the boilers!”

59.   “You heard the lady! Let’s move!”

60.   “He took his suitcase? Honey, I don’t think he’s coming back.”

61.   “Seven hours ago we started this expedition with two hundred of the finest men and women I’ve ever known. We’re all that’s left.”

62.   “I won’t sugar-coat it, gentlemen. We have a crisis on our hands.”

63.   “We’ve been up this particular creek before and we’ve always come through, paddle or no paddle. I see no reason to change that policy now.”

64.   “Looks like all our chances for survival rest with you. You and that little book.”

65.   “Will you look at the size of this? It’s gotta be half a mile high, at least. It must have taken hundred, no, thousands of years to carve this thing.”

66.   “Two for flinching.”

67.   “That thing is going to keep me up all night. I know it.”

68.   “There you go. Put some meat on them bones.”

69.   “You’re so skinny if you turned sideways and stuck out your tongue, you’d look like a zipper.”

70.   “You know, we’ve been pretty tough on the kid. What do you say we cut him some slack?”

71.   “Don’t you ever close that book?”

72.   “In this passage here, the shepherd seems to be leading up to something. He calls it the Heart of Atlantis. It could be the power source legends refer to.”

73.   “Sometimes I get a little carried away, but hey you know, that’s what this is all about. I mean, discovery, teamwork, adventure. Unless, maybe you’re just in it for the money.”

74.   “I guess I’m still a little rusty at this. I haven’t gone camping since…well…the last time my grandpa took me.”

75.   “I never got to meet your grandfather. What was he like?”

76.   “No offense, but how does a teenager become the chief mechanic of a multi-million dollar expedition?”

77.   “I took this job when my dad retired, but the funny thing was he always wanted sons, right? One to run his machine shop and the other to be middleweight boxing champion. He got my sister and me instead.”

78.   “It was like a sign from God. I found myself in that boom.”

79.   “Trust me on this, you don’t wanna know. Don’t tell him. You shouldn’t have told me, but you did, and now I’m telling you, you don’t wanna know.”

80.   “All right, who’s not dead? Sound off.”

81.   “Who are you strangers and where did you come from?”

82.   “Your manner of speech is strange to me.”

83.   “Bout time someone hit him. I’m just sorry it wasn’t me.”

84.   “How do they know all these languages?”

85.   “Maybe English is in there somewhere.”

86.   “We are explorers from the surface world. We come in peace.”

87.   “Welcome to the city of Atlantis.”

88.   “There were not supposed to be people down here. This changes everything.”

89.   “You know the law. No outsiders may see the city and live.”

90.   “Your majesty? On behalf of my crew, may I say it is an honor to be welcomed to your city.”

91.   “You presume much to think you are welcome here.”

92.   “I know what you seek and you will not find it here. Your journey has been in vain.”

93.   “Some obstacles cannot be removed with a mere show of force.”

94.   “Return to your people. You must leave Atlantis at once.”

95.   “May I respectfully request that we stay one night, sir? That would give us time to rest, resupply, and be ready to travel by morning.”

96.   “Your heart has softened. 1,000 years ago you would have slain them on sight.”

97.   “1,000 years ago the streets were lit and our people did not have to scavenge for food at the edge of a crumbling city!”

98.   “We were once a great people. Now we live in ruins. The kings of our past would week if they could see how far we have fallen.”

99.   “If these outsiders can unlock the secrets of our past, perhaps we can save our future.”

100. “What they have to teach us we have already learned.”

101.   “Our way of life is dying.”

102.   “Our way of life is preserved. When you take the throne, you will understand.”

103.    “The king and his daughter don’t exactly see eye to eye. She seems to like us okay, but the king…I don’t know. I think he’s hiding something.”

104.     “If he’s hiding something, I want to know what it is.”

105.     “Someone needs to talk to that girl.”

106.     “I have some questions for you and I’m not leaving this city until they’re answered.”

107.      “I have some questions for you and you are not leaving this city until they are answered.”

108.      “There is so much to ask about your world.”

109.      “You are a scholar, are you not? Judging from your diminished physique and large forehead, you are clearly suited for nothing else.”

110.       “How did you get here? Well, I mean, not you personally but your culture. How did all of this end up down here?”

111.        “It is said that the gods became jealous of Atlantis. They sent a great cataclysm and banished up here.”

112.        “All I can remember is the sky going dark and people shouting and running. Then a bright light, like a star, floating about the city. My father said it called my mother to it.”

113.        “Are you telling me that you remember because you were there. No that’s…that’s impossible.”

114.        “How is it you found your way to this place?”

115.        “If it weren’t for this book, we never would have made it.”

116.       “Legend has it that your people possessed a power source of some kind that enable them.”

117.      “You mean you can understand this? This right here, you can read this?”

118.       “Such knowledge has been lost to us since the time of the flood.”

119.       “Follow the narrow passage for another league. There you will find the fifth marker.”

120.     “It looks like some sort of vehicle, but no matter what I try, it will not respond.”

121.     “That’s an easy thing to miss. You know, you deserve credit for even getting this far.”

122.      “This is great! With this thing I could see the whole city in no time at all!”

123.      “My grandpa used to tell me stories about this place as far back as I can remember. I just wish he could be standing here with me.”

124.    “Don’t forget to eat the head. That’s where all the nutrients are.”

125.    “The most we ever hoped to find was some crumbling buildings, maybe some broken pottery. Instead we find a living, thriving society.”

126.    “We are not thriving. True, our people live, but our culture is dying.”

127.     “We are like a stone the ocean beats against. With each passing year, a little more of us is worn away.”

128.      “I have brought you to this place to ask you for your help. There is a mural here with writing all around the pictures.”

129.      “You do swim, do you not?”

130.      “This is amazing! A complete history of Atlantis!”

131.      “It’s the heart of Atlantis!”

132.     “Don’t you get it? The power source I’ve been looking for, the bright light you remember. They’re the same thing!”

133.      “What’s going on? What’s with all the guns?”

134.      “I am such an idiot. This is just another treasure hunt for you.”

135.      “I would’ve told you sooner, but it was strictly on a need-to-know basis. And, well, now you know.”

136.      “I had to be sure you were one of us. Welcome to the club, son.”

137.      “I’m no mercenary.”

138.      “I prefer the term adventure capitalist.”

139.       “You’re the one who got us here. You led us right to the treasure chest.”

140.       “What’s to know? It’s big. It’s shiny. It’s going to make us all rich.”

141.        “You think it’s some kind of a diamond. I thought it was some kind of battery. But we’re both wrong.”

142.        “That crystal is the only thing keeping these people alive. You take that away and they’ll die.”

143.       “Academics. You never want to get your hands dirty.”

144.      “Think about it. If you gave back every stolen artifact from a museum, you’d be left with an empty building. We’re just providing a necessary service to the archeological community.”

145.     “Do yourself a favor. Don’t be like him. For once, do the smart thing.”

146.      “You will destroy yourselves.”

147.      “I suggest you put a bandage on that bleeding heart of yours. It doesn’t suit a mercenary.”

148.     “The heart of Atlantis lies in the eyes of her king.”

149.     “You don’t have the slightest idea what this power is capable of.”

150.     “I can think of a few countries who’d pay anything to find out.”

151.     “All it says here is that the crystal is alive somehow.”

152.     “Why don’t you translate and I’ll wave the gun around.”

153.     “Hold your horses, lover boy.”

154.     “So this is how it ends, huh? Fine. You win. You’re wiping out an entire civilization but, hey, you’ll be rich.”

155.      “That’s what it’s all about, right? Money.”

156.      “Get off your soapbox. You’ve read Darwin. It’s called natural selection. We’re just helping it along.”

157.     “Look at it this way, son. You were the man who discovered Atlantis, and now you’re part of the exhibit.”

158.     “Be serious. This is wrong and you know it.”

159.    “We’re this close to our biggest payday ever and you pick now of all times to grow a conscience.”

160.    “We’ve done a lot of things we’re not proud of. Robbing graves, plundering tombs, double parking. But nobody got hurt. Well, maybe somebody we got hurt, but nobody we knew.”

161.     “She has been chosen. Like her mother before her.”

162.     “In times of danger the crystal will choose a host. One of royal blood to protect itself and its people. It will accept no other.”

163.     “The crystal thrives on the collective emotions of all who came before us. In return, it provides power, longevity, protection.”

164.     “In my arrogance I sought to use it as a weapon of war, but it’s power proved too great to control. It overwhelmed us and led to our destruction.”

165.     “That’s why you hid it beneath the city, to keep history from repeating itself.”

166.     “If she remains bonded to the crystal, she could be lost to it forever.”

167.    “The love of my daughter is all I have left.”

168.    “My burden would have become hers when the time was right, but now it falls to you.”

169.    “Return the crystal. Save Atlantis. Save my daughter.”

170.    “I followed you in and I’ll follow you out. It’s your decision.”

171.    “I think we’ve seen how effective my decisions have been.”

172.    “Let’s recap. I lead a band of plundering vandals to the greatest archeological find in recorded history thus enabling the kidnap and or murder of the royal family, not to mention personally delivering the most powerful force known to man into the hands of a mercenary nutcase who’s probably going to sell it to the Kaiser! Have I left anything out?”

173.  “It’s been my experience when you hit bottom, the only place left to go is up.”

174.  “I didn’t say it was the smart thing, but it is the right thing.”

175.  “We better make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

176.  “This is it! We’re going to rescue the princess! We’re going to save Atlantis! Or we’re going to die trying!”

177.   “I love it when I win.”

178.  “We were in this together! You promised me a percentage!”

179.  “I have to hand it to you. You’re a bigger pain in the neck than I would have ever thought possible.”

180. “I consider myself an even-tempered man. It takes a lot to get under my skin, but congratulations! You just won the solid-gold kewpie doll!”

181.  “That’s a darn shame, because I’m just getting warmed up!”

182.   “Atlantis will honor your names forever. I only wish there was more we could do for you.”

183.  “You sure you want to stay? There’s a heroes welcome waiting for the man who discovered Atlantis.”

184.  “I don’t think the world needs another hero.”

185.   “Let’s go over it again, just so we got it straight. You didn’t find anything?”

186.  “I hope this piece of proof is enough for you.”

[megabuild]

30 and 35 for the writers asks

30. favourite idea you haven't started yet

i answered this one already buuut another big one is. Thee mental breakdown I love a good mental breakdown! There are multiple.. I can't detail the ones I'm thinking of too much because they're big spoilers but both S1 and S2 pix have this big moment where everything slots into place and they realise what's going on and it's horrible and scary and I am so excited to write them both. ESPECIALLY season 1 because it's sort of. Not violent nobody gets hurt but there's some blood and body horror as is the way with aoyuer S1 and it looks so cool in my head I can't wait to get it down on paper

35. what scene are you least looking forward to writing?

all of them I'm scared of writing the end of s1 especially though because I'm not good at writing things that end in a satisfying way I hate writing endings so much. And since the story itself does not end in a satisfying way I don't . Know exactly what I'm doing with it yet LMFOAHDK im figuring it out I have ideas. Also a couple of arguments between fwhip and pix that make me very sad I feel like when I get to some of those I Will shed a tear. Jimmy and pix also have a big argument that I'm fucking terrified of but that's less dread and more like. Painful to watch pix get torn to shreds like that. Also any scene where anyone kisses because I don't know how to do that

writer asks

[lullabyes22-blog]

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 1 - Sucker Punch

Summary:  Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlist on Youtube

Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48

CH 1: Zaun is a free nation. Silco has plans - and problems. Jinx falls in both categories.

Tw: Mentions of war, rape and violence.

And so it went/The children lost their minds Begging for forgiveness/was such a waste of time

~ "So It Went" – The Pretty Reckless

Piltover is a firepit.

Flames bite through everything. Towers crumple and turrets crash. The Bridge splits down the middle. Blue fire ignites like lightning shot down its spine, ripping through its vertebra of bricks and breaking outward from its exoskeleton into a phoenix's wings.

The Enforcers have gone. Hundreds of them. A flock of executioners with crows' heads. Bullets slamming into bodies, throwing up showers of blood and guts. They've plugged every empty space full of lead. They've swooped with the flap-flap-flap of boots and pecked with the thunk-thunk-thunk of guns. When they scattered, they left behind a flood of meat and perforated bones. They turned the Undercity into a landscape of carcasses.

Until Jinx returned the favor.

In the alleyway: a ring of blood.

Jinx's senses are filled with it. Her breaths are a wet gurgle. Her dizzied body won't move. But her left arm holds a terrifying looseness. Wrist liquid; fingers live-wire. PowPow is a satisfying weight down her shoulderblade and the length of her arm. Its silver finish is blood-mottled, but each shot is clean and cutting and perfect.

Perfect like the lines of fire ripping the skyline to screaming shreds.

Perfect like the Enforcers popping one by one into burst blood vessels.

Perfect like the circles cycling across her face as the chamber spins.

Her periphery spins too. Somewhere to the left: Sevika. She is doubled over, braced with a forearm against the dirty brick wall. Her hair is flattened to her skull in a helmet of blood. More blood drips from the blade jutting out of her scorched mechanical arm. To her right: Silco. He stands with difficulty. His suit is dark with blood, too; shirtfront and trousers. The unscarred half of his face is flecked with it. Six inches of razor caught in his fist, fingers wrapped around the bone-handle. Blood on the gleaming metal.

At their feet: heaps of motionless bodies. Dark matter pools beneath them.

Jinx's chamber spins. Her fingers twitch on the trigger in panicky reflex.

(Oh you showed them didn't you took care of 'em like you took care of Vander and Mylo and Claggor oh look at the mess oh look at ALL THAT BLOOD—)

Voices. Voices. She can barely think for their thundering decibels.

Worse is what plays below the thunder. Soft, soft. It wheels through her emptying mind: the old merry-go-round melody.

(Dear friend across the River—)

Gasping, Jinx drops her gun. It falls with a heavy clatter. She barely hears it. The voices are massing in volume. Gathering a suffocating tension, a full-body compression squeezing itself outwards. Her mouth drops open and she lets it loose on a scream.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry."

"…Jinx…"

Hands grabbing at her shoulders. She flails and screeches.

"No, please, no, no, I'm sorry—"

"Jinx."

Sturdy grip. Calluses on the fingertips; solid bones under pale skin like a bat's wings.

Silco.

Tears have melted her eyes. It's hard to focus on more than fragments of him. A body summed up into sharp angles. Long arms, hard knobs of wrists and shoulders like razorblades, blood darkening a trail up the shark-fin's crease of his trousers to the button-line of his shirt. His face is all angles too: cheekbones hollowing on a ragged inhalation, hair falling in dark slices over his forehead. His gaze is both soft-dark and inexorably bright.

"Jinx," he says. "It's okay."

"Didn't mean to. A mistake. I'm so sorry—"

She isn't talking about the gunned-down bodies. She isn't talking about the Bridge or the buildings. She can't see them. Specks of memory gather in her mind like the points of blowtorched iron nails. Pink and red and pink and Vi. Her sister and Mommy-and-Vander-Mylo-Claggor and Jinx, Jinx, just a stupid fucking jinx. A memory of blood-colored darkness and a giant fist crashing into her jaw, supernovas exploding behind her eyelids. Her whole body collapsing into itself as if hammered by the weight of the entire fucking universe.

She sways, and Silco's arms pass around her. He kneels, cradling her close. Both hands stroking along the sides of her face, thumbs smoothing through the blood-streaks to press against her temples. Jinx's chest hitches; breaths jittering. So much memory. Her body can't contain it. Any minute now, she will burst at the seams.

Curling into herself, she wails. The noise cuts bone-deep.

"Jinx, it's all right." Silco cradles her into the crook of his arm. "You did it."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shh."

He dips his head to meet her eyes. His pupils are dilated with adrenaline. Blood on both their faces; hellish emptiness between them. Then his forehead touches hers, a widening circle of warmth.

He says, "You freed us."

"F-Freed?"

"We showed them." His voice husks as the smile twists across his face. "We won."

***

NEWS – SUN & TOWER

OPINION COLUMN

"Birth of Zaun: A Tryst with Liberty or Tyranny" – By B. Goode

"AMIDST unprecedented scenes of chaos, Zaun drags itself from Piltover's sheltering embrace and into self-proclaimed independence within 48 hours hence. In thus achieving separation through a bloody revolution, it has made democratic governments and imperial regimes alike squirm in their spectator's seats."

"Within the walls of this new dominion, the hastily-assembled Cabinet announced the maiden framework for governance. In Zaun's streets, the mood held a breath-held sobriety, a mark of mourning for the countless fallen to their revolution. Prayer was the keynote of the hour. Members from all communities visited the Temples of Janna to offer thanksgiving for the triumphs of the past hours, and to pray for the success of the Nation in the difficult times which lie ahead."

"On the eve of 10th October, a green-and-red standard – Zaun's colors in the symbol of a dagger-winged chem-shield – was run up a flagpole at the former Piltovan government-office at Entresol. There, the First Chancellor, Silco, delivered his address to the crowds of newborn Zaunites."

"A sharp-dressed man with a scabrous temperament and a disquieting appearance – rumor abounds that he traded his left eye for a sorcerer's omniscience – the First Chancellor's true métier lies in rhetoric. He spoke to the crowds in a rasping baritone that swelled into a thunderous bellow. His speech blended acuity with hyperbole, yet what shone through was his passion for Zaun. He painted a portrait of a city savaged by Piltovan indifference; with a keen eye to the exotic, the eccentric, the earthy, his anecdotes grounded in raw realities of Zaun's streets: miners and misfits, prostitutes and paragons."

"In Piltover, he stands accused of stoking a nationalist fervor into unrepentant terrorism. Yet here the sentiment is balanced with a keen intellectualism. Zaun for Zaunites; self-determination for self-sacrifice. Zaunites, in his words, finally have a shot at both, through the boons of a modern nation-state."

"'Forward, but never forget,' he declared, to the roaring throngs."

"Time alone will tell whether these lofty goals ripen on the vine of rampant instability. Large swathes of the city remain under curfew, without electricity or gaslight. Other regions are in disorganization and disrepair. Zaun's new leadership must pull together the fraying fabric of their creation—or perish."

"For the present, denied the clasp of Piltover's guiding hand, the Underground's fate hangs in the balance, and on the thinnest of threads."

***

Revolution is like love.

Sometimes it brews in secret, a dark stain seeping in slow-motion beneath the surface. Other times it hits like a sidewinder, powered by a lunatic savagery within which self-doubt holds no bearing. At long last, Zaun has dealt Piltover the sidewinding kiss-off, kept secret through years of subjugation. Now the city is unfettered, free-floating.

Unstoppable.

We showed them.

We showed them all.

Silco's salvaged headquarters is a cast-iron tower between Entresol and Sumpside. The shelling has stripped away its classical clothing of masonry. Left behind is a bony physique stretching into the fog of architectural eccentricity. Yet it stands strong, a testament to inward resilience despite outward deterioration. Its angular cupola crests to the surface like a shark's fin.

The fogged-over moon, angling off the ruined skyscrapers, sets its rooftop atrium ablaze in the colors of victory.

Green, red and blue.

From the floor-to-ceiling window, Silco stares at the downtown vista. With the lights low in his office, he can see across the jewelbox of his broken cityscape. Across the river, Piltover's mirrored skyline glows—an ember softly doused.

Three months, and Jinx's magician's hat of weaponry has left Topside stupefied by the performance. Buildings sawed in half, Enforcers fallen to dismemberment, roads folded into origami wreckage, armored vehicles finger-snapped into nothingness. Topside is recovering—but not with triumph. Rather, they stagger to their feet like godlings who've stumbled on a crack in mortal pavement: stunned by their own fallibility.

Silco's lip curls.

Secrecy is tattooed into his matrix. He shares neither his setbacks nor his sorrows. But his triumph? He wants to share it with someone. No—not someone. He wants to share it with Vander. He imagines himself and Vander staring out into the cityscape, shoulder-to-shoulder, passing a cigarette between them.

Just like we used to.

Since boyhood, they'd shared personalities at opposite polarities—Silco, a sly-tongued schemer, wielding as his weapon the slow and steady grind; Vander, a blunt-forced brawler, bulldozing through obstacles with his big fists and ballistic temper. Yet their crazy dream held them fast and true. A dream built in sufferings survived, in secrets shared. A dream they'd both notched into matching scars across their knuckles, knocking them together in solemn promise—Forward, but never forgetting.

Now their crazy dream is real.

(See, old friend?)

(This is what it takes to win.)

Ordinarily, Silco is a pragmatic daredevil. Every risk taken is a calculated blueprint of cause and effect. But for the barest heartbeat, he lets himself bask in Piltover's indignity without a care for past or future—a bastion with its nose bloodied.

Small pleasures are a rarity. Yet they cannot outweigh the casualties. On Piltover's side. And on Zaun's.

Before Jinx used Fishbones to blow the Bridge to cinder, the Enforcers blazed a war-path through the Undercity. Uglier than the Day of Ash: belching gunblasts and bulldozing grenades. Rubble flew through the Promenade like a storm of frightened moths. Entresol was pocked full of holes like a galleon under cannonfire. The Lanes were left a blackened smudge, like a dog doused in kerosene and set alight. The needle on the Old Hungry clocktower ran in herky-jerky circles as its body went up in smoke.

The inferno ate the Last Drop. Flames licked up its superstructure and bit off its neon eye. Jinx knocked Piltover's pride down a peg when she pulverized the Ecliptic Vaults as payback. Hours later, the Enforcers tore through Factorywood, corpses littering the cobblestones in their wake. They lost loyal men and women. The snitch—Cath. The twin bodyguards—Zoked and Szaza. The bartender—Thieram. Martyrs who bore the mantle of Zaun to their graves.

If revolution is love, then war is business. Fiendishly complex arithmetic is applied to cost and benefit. Lose a bet, win an ally. Lose a soldier, win a nation.

Yet Silco is not immune to a rare death-spasm of sentiment. One at a time, he sees them—the gunslingers, the runners, the mechanists, the dancers, the hustlers, the clerks, the barmaids, the fast talkers, the floozies, the freaks. The purest efflux of Zaun, all of whom lived hard and loved wildly and died horribly.

They deserve more than vague epithets of remembrance. They deserve loyalty.

He takes a moment to commit their faces to memory. A grim necessity. Some barely had faces left after the blitz. Others had even less remaining to cremate or bury.

The survivors were likewise stripped down to the bones: a steep psychic toll of broken limbs, bullet-wounds, and other internal damage from the Enforcer's razings and rapes. Ran has been jittery as a coked-up hummingbird. Dustin is no longer licking walls, but pounding his head against them. Lock, though he stays moving despite his Stillwater stay, is bloodlessly pale beneath his tattoos. Sevika is subdued, her mechanical arm twisted to an exoskeleton by an Enforcers' blowback.

And Jinx?

She doesn't have any wounds, except the dark vacancy in her eyes.

A dead girl's eyes.

That's what they'd whispered on the streets, when the smoke-clouds dissipated, and the survivors came stumbling out to gauge what was gone, and what remained. They'd given Piltover a bloody nose. In reprisal, Piltover left the Undercity wrecked as a whore with a mouthful of broken teeth: empty gaps in streets once throbbing with life.

Except it cannot rob them of their base elements. Their resilience and ruthlessness. They will recover. Rebuild. Resurrect.

So will Jinx.

(If Zaun can, you can, child.)

The alternative is intolerable. It builds a lung-splintering pressure in Silco's chest. Sometimes he wonders if it is Vander's revenge from beyond the grave. Their shared dream of Zaun bursting open like an air-lock; his daughter sucked out into the vacuum, and taking all of Silco's oxygen with her.

Exhaling, Silco moves away from the window.

His bullet-pocked desk is strewn: piles of books, sheaves of folders, heaped papers with his signature. Since the Undercity has broken free of Piltover, he has set a brutal pace that has continued unabated from the dim daylight hours to the cusp of nightfall. Edicts are churned at a prodigious rate, pen uncapped by breakfast, the draft polished by dinner.

A new nation is like a heart; it must be mainlined with liquidity. Money, trade, water, gas, electricity, infrastructure. The fledgling government so far consists of nothing more than twenty post offices, a modest coterie of clerks and attorneys, a heavily-damaged army with a depleted armory, and a newly-dubbed domestic bank on two wobbling legs. There are no federal courts, no naval fleets, no aerial support.

Worse, there are thousands suffering wounds and Shimmer-withdrawals at squalid camps that are festering into disease-pits. Power blackouts have plunged large city sectors into weeks of darkness. Violent clashes periodically erupt against the enforced curfew. They have few foreign powers in their corner: Ionia, a reliable business partner that pays ready cash for the munitions from Silco's steel-mills. Bilgewater, whose top smugglers have long held a close but choleric relationship with Zaun's criminal underbelly. Noxus, who has its sights set on Piltover, and isn't above employing Zaunite mercenaries to do their dirty work.

It's the makings of a grand guignol: the colors and lights, the heady music, the spinning wheels. But they aren't quite ready yet. The tents have yet to be pitched. The performers haven't yet donned their costumes.

Until Silco cracks the whip and the show begins.

Six years, he's worked behind the scenes. He's pulled strings and twisted arms. He's dragged the Undercity, kicking and screaming, into an era of cutthroat modernity. Under Vander, it was a fractured waystation. Piltovan officials pitted the Fissurefolk against each other, using cracks of dysfunction to divide and rule. Daily life was threaded with a blanket of false bonhomie. Beneath, it was every man for himself. Trade was at a standstill. Cartels ran amok. A heavy Enforcer presence strangled economic growth.

Vander was a popular leader, but gutlessly shortsighted. He'd struck a ceasefire with the status quo, and yet fast-tracked the Undercity's decline. He'd treated the Lanes as family, and yet failed to safeguard their dreams. He'd fought for freedom, and yet traded it for illusory peace.

Silco had changed that.

Overnight, he'd staged a coup and swung the Undercity upside-down. First, he'd driven out the Enforcers (bribes, blackmail, brutality). Next, he'd united the warring gangs (chicanery, coercion, collaboration). Last, he'd culled the dead weights (disappearance, double-crossing, disaster).

The success wasn't without its cost. The Undercity existed in a moral gray-zone. Everyone was on the make and on the take. Silco was no exception. A Janus-faced subversive, his dual nature was always split between devious means and incorruptible will. He'd left the Lanes overflowing with Shimmer. Yet the profits had bullied out the gangs and paved the way for a united front. He'd cut out the middle-class middlemen. Yet the removal had struck bloodless bargains between business rivals. He'd built a fearsome reputation as Zaun's all-seeing eye. Yet he gave a sizeable slice of his profits to a citywide network—street urchins, conmen, prostitutes.

The secret of his success lay in its dichotomy. While he'd embraced the Undercity's ruthless zeitgeist, he'd also reveled in subverting it. Double-dealing, some called it. To Silco, it was simply the cost of survival in a rigged system. As the Undercity saying goes: There are fifty ways to lose a game—and fifty more to fix it.

His methods were myriad. His bottom-line was singular.

Zaun.

Too long, roadblocks had impeded his nation's growth. They'd turned Fissurefolk into a tribe of halvsies—half-dying, half-surviving, half-mediocre, half-mad. They'd become the losers of history, impotently nursing their grievances like a shot at the bar, instead of vowing: I'll fight for what's mine.

Silco had replaced the roadblocks with a runway. No handouts—but sky-high opportunity. No rules—but dreams run rampant. A thriving marketplace needs wildcards; a laissez faire economy is powered by live-wires. Under his aegis, the Undercity was transformed from a jetlagged wasteland into a jetsetters' playground.

Zaunites are not losers. They are survivors. If dealt a bad hand, they take matters into their own.

And so we have.

Today, Zaun stands as its own blood-soaked testament. Its scars run deep, but its self-dominion is indisputable. Its businessmen, bureaucrats, politicians and privateers are one and the same. The water-barons control the flow of the river reservoirs. The shipping magnates haul in trawlers of legitimate trade and smuggled goods. The gas tycoons keep a lid on the mines. The steel moguls erect the buildings. They have privatized the Undercity's most critical sectors; they, not Piltover, are the wielders of its wealth.

And they are all in Silco's pocket.

He reaches for his smoking case. A cigar is withdrawn, clipped, cupped, lit. Behind a plume of smoke, Silco broods.

Freedom, once snatched, is never surefire. Zaun is at an unsteady juncture. Its reserves are low; its vulnerabilities are high. The subsequent year will decide whether it climbs to its feet or collapses in the bilge. The air is thick with expectation—a suffocating heat-wave. The cobblestones and bricks radiate it like a furnace. His office pours fumes like an oven.

Silco endures it with iced whiskey and gritted teeth. The only true relief he wrings is in the shower. At night, he sits by the window of Jinx's room—bulletproofed—and plans, not covertly as a good little third-class citizen of Piltover, but as the First Chancellor of a nation dragged from the depths, his decrees pumping air into an enormous pair of lungs, the future constricting and expanding around him, over and over, with possibilities.

Silco's own lungs burn. His chest is strangled by too much he refuses to name.

Pressure.

It mutates the mind. Like drowning. It cracks men into monsters. Like Silco.

So be it.

Monsters spare no thought except for survival. Zaun is survival, and Silco is that monster. He refuses to let the city collapse. Everyone—from the blackguards patrolling the streets to the clerks camped out in the bomb-shelters to the scientists locked in the Shimmer labs—must play their part. He will tolerate no excuses, and forgive no failures. Victory and victimhood are separated by a razor's line. Either you get suckered, or you throw the sucker-punch.

Zaun has plenty of sucker-punches up its sleeve.

At his door, three sharp knocks. A familiar combination-code.

"Come in."

Sevika shoulders through the door. Her hair, chopped three inches shorter after getting scorched in the battle, sticks out in hedgehog spikes. A blotching of old bone bruises overlays the Shimmer veins along her jawline. From beneath the flap of her poncho, sharp metal calipers poke out. The latticework is intact; she can use her mechanized hand for daily tasks of soup-sipping and throat-slitting. But the armored surface still needs adjustment.

These aren't the obvious signs of the battle's aftershocks. Sevika is a workhorse: she shrugs off most calamities that leave lesser men dead. But lately her expression looks like she's ingested a bad batch of magic mushrooms—palely nauseated, with red-rimmed eyes.

It's insomnia, not weepiness. Sevika isn't the weepy sort. Silco can count on one hand how often he's seen her in tears—with fingers leftover.

Once was after her sister's death at the hands of Enforcers, her blood-oiled hands cradling Nandi's broken body in the morgue as it grew colder and colder. The second was at the funeral, her eyes glistening red as the Temple's rotating lanterns strobed across the tar-toned mausoleum. The next was in the aftermath of Zaun's liberation, the spotlight silvering the dampness on her cheeks as Silco took the podium, the crowd breaking into a massacre of screams.

They've had much to mourn in the past. But more still to achieve in the future.

"The chem-barons agreed to the meeting," she says.

"Where?"

"The Cathedral. Just like you predicted."

"Typical."

Smoke twirls through the semi-dark. Silco bites the cigar between scathing teeth, and strokes all ten fingers through his hair. Bloody chem-barons. In Zaun's excruciating birth, they bear witness as ugly stalwarts of the old older: flesh peddlers, black marketeers and business tycoons.

Useful for squeezing out cash and connections. Useless for virtually anything else.

They'd holed up in their strongholds during the conflict. In the aftermath, they're still spooked. Silco hasn't heard a peep from them in weeks. Now, he's cracked the whip. The summons must be obeyed. He'll lure them out, one by one. He'll put them in their place, and put them to use.

For Zaun, and its future.

"Power's still out in Entresol," Sevika says.

"Tonight's meeting will remedy that."

"Probably a blessing in the meantime. Hides the corpses."

"They're still there?"

"In heaps. I wrangled together the blackguards at Northside. They put the fresher bodies in wagons and took 'em to the cemetery. Others were dumped in communal graves. The rest were too badly decayed. We had to make a mass pyre."

"We can't have a pyre in the town square."

"What choice is there?" She shudders despite the overheated air. "We need to get rid of the smell."

Silco tips a shadowy half-smile that deepens the grooves of his mutilated cheekbone. "You've always hated rot."

She scowls. "It kills the mood."

"Or inspires a killing mood."

Her nod holds a slow-simmering anger. The chem-barons were responsible for cleaning up the Undercity after the ceasefire. They're the ones who've prolonged this mess. Silco has pantomimed indifference; giving them a long leash and letting them run amok. Except a leash can easily tighten into a noose. Now he'll see them dangle from it.

"What about southside?' Silco says. "How many Firelights eradicated?"

"The blackguards are proceeding as per your charted strategy. We've cracked open one of their strongholds. Complete takeover is scheduled for next month. But we need manpower. More boots on the ground. Right now, the troops are barely at thirty percent."

"Another matter to remedy at the meeting."

"What about Uppside?"

"What of it?"

"You said there were talks on the table."

"Tentative."

"What's that mean?"

"Means what it means."

Stymied frustration pours off Sevika. He's on a short fuse lately; by proxy, so is she. In the spirit of charity, Silco throws her a boneful of detail. "Piltover's ploy is sophistry. Ours is stubbornness."

"They still want that damn Hex crystal?"

"Hmm."

"What did you tell 'em?"

Silco exhales a murky smoke ring. "I told them to piss off."

"Bunch of bastards," Sevika agrees. The rage vibrates through her ribcage and out of her darkly-twisted lips, a mobile microcosm of Zaun's own rage. Memory of bullets striking the chests of thousands, their bodies dropping like puppets with cut strings. "They left us for dead, soon as their Enforcers stormed belowground."

"We didn't die."

"Yeah. But—"

"What?"

"We might not have had a second chance."

Silco knows Sevika's triggers like a marksman with a well-worn shotgun. He doesn't miss the tightly-screwed strain in her voice. Mortality's shadow dogging their heels.

Rather than replying, he fills out a clipboard of forms with a methodical hand. Smoke spindles from the cigar between his manicured fingers. He's had them redone a week ago, the cuticles buffed to a cold sheen. But he still remembers them cracked and peeling, with flecks of Topside gore under their rims. Running down his knuckles, glinting off the bone-handled knife in his palm.

He'd always been a dab hand with a blade. You didn't need to be the strongest to slide a knife between someone's ribs. You only needed skill and stealth. He'd gutted plenty of men. Vander was simply the most memorable. But violence has different modes; dirt was better off delegated. At the apex of the underworld, Silco seldom sullied his hands, except with the blood-money that crossed them.

That night, he was in the thick of it. No manpower; no choice.

He remembers the hot piss of dark blood each time his blade found its mark. Remembers the redlining adrenaline, and his breaths half-laughing through gritted teeth afterward. The ache in his body was indescribable. Not pain. The wrung-out relief that came from squaring overdue debts.

Too long, he'd kept to the saboteur's sidelines. He'd spun webs and woven schemes. That was his talent since boyhood: his calculating brains equalized by Vander's charismatic brawn.

Not that night.

That night, he was in the eye of madness. Another cog in his own war machine. And he belonged as much as Jinx did.

(Always a pair, weren't we, Jinx?)

(Now you sleep the bells away. I barely catch a wink.)

Silco snaps back to the moment. He licks his thumb and forefinger and extinguishes the cigar. His good eye meets Sevika through the wisping smoke.

"Second chances are do-overs," he says. "We've never had the luxury. Yet here we stand. For better or worse."

"For better or worse," Sevika agrees.

Her smile is wan, and in her face Silco sees the rotten years they've spent together. They've never held the solidarity of siblings, as he and Vander did. But they've scavenged side-by-side from the Undercity's nadir to its pinnacle. A symbiosis of eye and fist, though they've occupied no common body, of general and soldier, though they've conferred no medals, of husband and helpmate, though they've shared no vows.

Except one. A birthright of bitter defiance bred from the cradle to the grave.

Now they are Zaunites, battle-scarred and born again. Both of them facing up to reality; their dream isn't percolating in their minds or plotted on their maps anymore. It is real. It is electricity and water supply; it is turmoil and toil. It is nothing like they expected. It is every fantasy fulfilled.

Depending on how they seize it.

By the throat.

Silco unfolds to his feet. Silently cued, Sevika takes his coat from the rack and holds it up so that he can pass his arms into the sleeves. Dark serge and red silk fall over narrow bone and wiry muscle. It feels less like a uniform than a second skin.

A shadow slicing up to the water's surface.

Sevika holds the door open for him. Her usual scent of sandalwood is piqued with brightleaf tobacco. With a ration on cigarettes, she's gone back to dipping. When Silco crooks a brow, she sighs and flips open the puck from her poncho. He takes a pinchful and packs it between his lips. The taste is bittersweet and carries with it a touch of the mines from over three decades ago.

It may soon be possible, he thinks, to savor the present without scalding mouthfuls of the past. But for now, it is everywhere. Their past selves recoalescing out of the stifling air—Vander, Benzo, Lika, Nandi, Silco, Sevika.

He remembers them standing together by the quarry after dark—working their swollen hands under the trickle of tepid water from a calcified spigot. He remembers the haze of chemicals that hung in the air—their lips and eyelashes perpetually blackened with it. He remembers them jostling in line for dinner at the Soup Kitchen—the twelve-hour shift's only hot meal sloshing in their bowls and perking their moods.

And he remembers the Day of Ash.

He remembers their clandestine meetings at the Drop, their group huddled under the suspended beer kegs. He remembers the lines of Vander's face hardened with grim resolution, the sharp paleness of Silco's own finger tracing out the smuggling routes for weapons between the shipyards, Lika tinkering with bitten lip over a makeshift grenade, Sevika huddled in the corner behind a sulky cloud of cigarette smoke, Nandi brewing coffee and Benzo wisecracking to keep their spirits up, everyone else listening intently. He remembers the crowd gathered at the Bridge, a small band in the midst of rewriting the Undercity's history—or so they'd believed.

Then the Enforcers came, in brutal marching rows, more and more, and their weapons weren't enough, and the ferocity of their convictions fled as their bodies scattered like matchsticks, Lika gutted, Nandi long dead, Benzo going down in a storm of blows, Sevika snarling as she was seized by Enforcer's black-gloved hands and ripped away, her clutching fingers breaking from Silco's sleeve as he fell under stomping black boots in a pool of his own blood, Vander the strongest and silhouetted by the flames, his massive fists still swinging before Silco's world crashed into darkness.

The past weeks—full of violence and hope—have conjured those days out of memory.

But the old days are never truly gone, are they? They bleed from the past into the present. They spur you to chase down and reclaim what's rightfully yours.

Forward, but never forget.

Silco savors the grittiness of the tobacco. Then he slips the puck into his coat pocket as if it belongs to him.

Sevika glowers. "That's my last."

"I'll handroll it into a half-dozen."

"When? During the meeting?"

"Better than listening to the chem-barons' sniveling."

"Guess that means we'll be there awhile."

"Guess again."

"Yeah?" Her eyes narrow, intrigued. "Any tricks up the sleeve?"

Silco's lips twist into the terrible approximation of a smile.

"Plenty."

[pussinbootsandbountyhunter]

I posted 46 times in 2022

That's 46 more posts than 2021!

11 posts created (24%)

35 posts reblogged (76%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gebo4482

@starlightmeadowbloomthesecond

@mjflovebot

@riverraysong

@starlightmeadowbloom

I tagged 45 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#puss in boots the last wish - 45 posts

#dreamworks puss in boots - 45 posts

#puss in boots - 44 posts

#puss in boots 2 - 39 posts

#dreamworks - 25 posts

#puss in boots au - 13 posts

#puss in boots and bounty hunter - 11 posts

#puss in boots wolf - 10 posts

#puss in boots death - 9 posts

#my story - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 46 characters

#i will once they come to my country of england

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Puss in Boots and the Bounty Hunter’s Secret

Puss in Boots wasn’t expected that his old rival from the past returned to Shrek and Fiona’s Anniversary at Far Far Away Royal Ball that might lead him to many questions that he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone. Especially Kitty Softpaws who doesn’t know what’s going on with him as he is keeping his distance from anyone he cares as he discovered from the certain wolf.

7 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

#4

Puss in Boots Meets the Bounty Hunter for the First Time

You’ve never guess what?! The clip for Puss in Boots is here for Puss and Death’s first encounter!

9 notes - Posted December 6, 2022

#3

PIB & TBHS; Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time

(Spoiler for Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and for @the-invisible-kaiju)

Puss in Boots wasn’t expected that his old rival from the past returned to Shrek and Fiona’s Anniversary at Far Far Away Royal Ball that might lead him to many questions that he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone. Especially Kitty Softpaws who doesn’t know what’s going on with him as he is keeping his distance from anyone he cares as he discovered from the certain wolf.

This is dedicated to the new movie of Puss in Boots: The Last Wish that may got spoiler alert through the chapters that you read.

(When it comes to the beginning of the story, it will always comes with ‘Once Upon a Time’…)

The sunlight shines on the brown book that was written in gold details, ‘Puss in Boots and the Bounty Hunter’s Secret’. It magically opened up to see two pages at the beginning; Page 1, a little orange kitten in the basket covered with red blanket with the wind blew it up to the orphanage. Page 2, the women picked up the kitten in her arms with the blanket along.

Once upon a time, in a very long time ago, the owner of the orphanage found a little kitten named Puss who somehow got her to take him to her heart and raised him as her own son.

The pages suddenly turned into the next pages; Page 3, Puss meet the egg after defeating the bullies who being mean to the egg. Page 4, Puss and the egg were hunting for the beans as they grow few plants in the shred.

While being at the orphanage, Puss met the egg named Humpty Dumpty and they became fast friends as they were hunting for the magic beans as it meant everything to them.

The pages tuned again to the next part of the book; Page 5, Puss and Humpty were stealing from everyone with Humpty delighted and Puss guilt. Page 6, Puss saved the day of lady with everyone watching in shock because of his courage.

The years gone by, and those two were stealing from other people with Puss feeling guilty that didn’t show Humpty any sympathy. Until one day, Puss be able to save the old lady from being ran over by the bull. Everyone shocked because Puss saved the Captain’s mother, claiming him to be the hero of his hometown.

The pages turned to the next pages; Page 7, his adopted mother gives him the name like no other with boots, hat, belt, sword and a cape. Page 8, Puss practice his sword fighting skills as the sun sets and Humpty spend the night in the cell for stealing.

His mother gave Puss the title with the boots that symbol of honour and justice. And that title was know as Puss in Boots, and with that Puss proved his destiny was brighter than the sun while Humpty’s road grown much darker.

The pages turned to the other pages; Page 9, Puss runs away from his home after abandoned Humpty when he framed him to steal all the money that falls into the river over the bridge. Page 10, Puss found the bar under the full moon.

Then one night, Humpty made a grave mistake that got himself being abandoned by Puss who got betrayed by Humpty himself as the money that Humpty got him and Puss to steal fell in the river which lead Puss run away from his hometown. After a long walk, Puss stepped upon the bar where the night slowly went down to the dark side of purpose.

The pages then turned into the next pages; Page 11, Puss enter the bar with everyone looked at him. Page 12, Puss met the mystery person in a dark brown cloak as he sat down next to them.

As Puss settled in the bar, he was encountered by a mystery person in a dark brown cloak that was a bit bigger than the other people around them. They started to talk about their past and they were about to be friends until the guards came to find Puss.

The pages turned to the next pages; Page 13, the guards arrived with full weapons in hands as they’re read to fight. Page 14; the mystery person be able to protect Puss who ran out into the other room while the mystery person fight off the guards.

The mystery person be able to fight off the guards while Puss be able to escape but before he could, he watched to see the mystery person turned out to be a husky wolf with grey fur and blue eyes. That got Puss in Boots to fight for his life to clear his name as the outlaw across the land…

11 notes - Posted December 1, 2022

#2

All Is Found (Puss in Boots: The Last Wish Version)

(Based on the song from Frozen 2)

🌟⭐️🌟

When the wolf howls through the night

There’s a shooting star that shines so bright

Stardust sparkles on those clouds

To make a missing dream finally found

🌟⭐️🌟

In each and every story had a tale

About those authors who feared to fail

To create a story about the beast

Who hunted his prey for a satisfying feast

🌟⭐️🌟

But they don’t know that he’s not all bad

‘Cause in his song, that whistle flows

To prove that he’s sometimes glad

That those will face what challenge knows

🌟⭐️🌟

Instead of howling, he whistles the night

Hoping someone will overcome his light

To have the moment we’ve waited for

Where the wolf’s heart will heal it more

🌟⭐️🌟

(Something came to my head while singing to that song and I thought maybe I should write it down and post, what do you think?)

20 notes - Posted December 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

You Belong to Me (Puss in Boots and Bounty Hunter)

Something I did before it got taken and brought back up again all of the sudden… crazy YouTube blockers.

Yes, spoilers but… I wanted to make something special for @the-invisible-kaiju

(New update, the video on YouTube blocked so I’m putting the video I’ve made in CutCap or CapCut here)

29 notes - Posted December 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday, May 26

Giles: Uh, well, it looks as if you, uh, were on to something. Buffy: I know. Giles: (walks around the bed) The, uh, the, the girl Tina, um, it's apparent that she, she died of the fever, (sits) simple enough, but, but her records show her improving and then suddenly deteriorating w-w-w-without any apparent cause. Willow: So we checked Dr. Backer out. This guy was *not* a solid citizen. Buffy: It wasn't Backer. He was clean. Cordelia: What do you mean 'clean'? Xander: What do you mean 'was'? Buffy: He's dead. This thing killed him, and not with kindness. (hands Giles the picture) Willow: You saw it? Buffy: No, it's invisible. I saw Backer nearly shredded and the thing knocked me down. But it's real. Which means I get to fight it.

~~Buffy Episode #30: "Killed by Death"~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor! Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here. [Drabbles & Short Fiction]

L'espoir d'un après (Buffy/Spike, G) by MissKitty28

Sea Breeze (Lorne, T) by angelus2hot

Pumpkin pie (Lorne/Reader, unrated) by prose-for-hire

Cicurate (Spike, G) by JayeMaru

[Chaptered Fiction]

What I Did On My Spring Break CH. 19 (Ensemble, T) by michael t

Simple and Clean Ch. 2 (Buffy/Angel, G) by OveliaGirlHaditRight

First Alternate, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Soulburnt

Snippets, Chapter 35 (Buffy/Spike, M) by EllieRose101

After the Deluge, Chapter 25-26 (Buffy/Spike, M) by GillO

The Slayer and the Vampire, Chapter 20 (Buffy/Spike, T) by violettathepiratequeen

World Dracula Day (That Poncy Bugger), Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, T) by honeygirl51885

What Lies Within, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, E) by cawthraven

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork:BTVS “Every Outfit” “Bag Girls” part 2 Xx () by whatshisfaceblogs

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[Reviews & Recaps]

my rewatch of go fish btvs 2x20 by spikesdru

my thoughts throughout watching season 5 of angel- by notlikethegardensofbabylon

[Fandom Discussions]

Wait. Angel liked Jhiera? by oveliagirlhaditright

Fic Recs by mcgnagallsarmy

I really love the idea of an older Faith and Buffy coming together by isagrimorie

So, I’ve been reading bits of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer 20th Anniversary Watcher’s Guide by oveliagirlhaditright

I dont enjoy actually watching the trio fumble their way into villainy, but I do love them thematically. by satisfactuality

Honestly, the Buffyverse is so good to build an extended universe on. by isagrimorie

As I continue my watch of the buffyverse…. by kncrowder88, librarydaze, darth-revan-dark-lord

Angel After the Fall reread continues with Spike AtF by multiple authors

Did you realise (discussing the cerebral dampener) continued by Anchovy and TriBel

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what's your opinion on Drusilla? by sushibananawater

Weirdest storyline/elements introduced in the Buffy Comics by arkstarX84

Spike by Anxious_Criticism704

How did Angelus get into Giles apartment and arrange Jenny's body, the wine, petals and everything by kurtney_

Would a Buffy/Xander relationship in season 7 worked? by lookhere1091

Made a apron today by ushibananawater

Was Hamilton always the planned to be in season 5? by jdpm1991

Spike doesn't have a redemption arc by whenforeverisnt

Refresh my memory in regards to Becoming and Anne by ToTYly_AUSem

Fellow fanfic-ers! I have never read a Buffy fic but I'm undyingly curious, gimme your recs! by BellesNoir

Your Favourite Big Bad Quotes by AsterialPuppet

Did Illyria love Wesley or beginning to love him? by jdpm1991

Was thinking about the disconnect between these two scenes Surprise by rachaeljurassic

Ok I haven’t been liveblogging the comics until now but i just got to the part with Archaeus by auberginesdonthavelimbs

Thinking about how Faith goes from torturing Wesley with a shard of glass in Five By Five by herinsectreflection

out of curiosity, what are your thoughts on the theory that Xander didn’t actually summon sweet in OMWF? by herinsectreflection

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

PUBLICATION: Why Sarah Michelle Gellar Hated Season 6 Of 'Buffy The Vampire Slayer' by The Things

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[whatdoesshedotothem]

Friday 4 October 1839

7 ½

12 35/..

damp small rainy morning – General Wilson and his sister very civil yesterday – he an Edinburgh man (said our English man who went about with us) came here young – Mr. Wilson told us he had been in Russia 55 years and was 8 when he came – the sister came at 2 years old – the general goes to England generally every 2 or 3 years – was there last October and passed thro’ H-x – sorry obliged to be in Manchester and prevented spending  the day with someone at his place near Sowerby bridge – (Mr. Edwards?) – W- gets all the new improvements in machinery spite of the prohibition – the prohibition foolish as ministers know but obliged to follow the sense of the country - .:. the exportation of machinery prohibited – but machine-makers go to Belgium, and the Russian and others therefore buy of them what would otherwise be bought of us – spindles etc. etc. we can make much better and cheaper than they can be made here – tho’ from our models spinning jennies etc. are made in the machine room here – a clever young man from Glasgow (has been here 6 years) at the head of this department – 18 English families here exclusive of general W- 18 English masters each at the head of his own department and an Italian Ghersi = 19 masters who went to the Caucasus to examine the silk there, and has published his travels – wrote then in French (Ghersi) but translated into Russian and not yet published in French – the emperor has given him some land in the Caucasus Mr. W- the generals’ brother would succeed to the place but not near so clever as the general – not a man there like him – he has organized all – a clever excellent man – he being of the 3rd class a lieutenant general can go to all court festivals uninvited .:. can speak directly to the emperor – was much patronized by the empress mother (empress Mary) wife of Paul –

General Wilson came to Russia in 1804.

October Friday 4 sent 56,000 pieces of sail cloth last year to America the Russian navy does not want more 22,000 pieces a year – shewed us a piece (narrow shred) that took 12cwt. to break it – our great sail cloth manufactories (one near Glasgow Nelsons?) capital –

Flax would be good here (Dutch and Belgian the best) but the people will leave it seed – to get both seed and flax – it should be cut as in Holland and Belgium when in flower – the serfs in the establishment some good men earn 70/. a month some men 55/. down to 30/. – average wages per man 60/. per month – live in clubs so that a man lives for 14/. per month – every serf here pays his Lord 10/. per month –

misconduct punished by fine – for day of absence from work (drinking or idling) 5/. per day –

the fines 1/3 goes to the hospital – 1/3 to the library – and 1/3 to..... women can earn 20/. per month

when the emperor buys the serfs of any nobleman, frees them and they pay 15/. per annum each man –

496 young people sat down to dinner yesterday – only about 200 girls – of what they earn 1/3 goes to the Foundling hospital 1/3 to themselves (and 1/3 towards their maintenance at the factory?)

400,000 R. due from the factory to the Foundling hospital for which interest is paid –

the masters have from £200 to £600 a year – General W- has besides his appointments an interest that is a percentage on the goods manufactory and sold – one brother with him at the factory and one plain Mr. W- who was in the house of Thomson Bonar and co. but disagreed with Thomson now a merchant in St. P- all agents for houses in England but about 3 houses – Thomson B- and co. (Mr. Hodgson the head clerk of the house who manages everything and has some capital of his own in the firm on the same terms as the capital of the heads of the house – it [would] thus Wilson [get] on and Paulet Thomson himself) and Wilson and probably Bayley –

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0035

October Friday 4 saw the cardsetting machinery yesterday before luncheon – the wire cut and set – and saw a bit done by the empress Marie herself who was about an hour doing it – saw the paper patterns of table cloths before luncheon but had them explained after luncheon It is the Italian (Piedmontese [Piemontese], Ghersi) who arranges all these – some the patters very handsome – long 6 or 7 yards? – the length of the cloth being the breadth in gloom – i.e. the shuttle passed the whole lenth [length] of the cloth – saw the sizing rooms after luncheon

table cloths, long and handsome double damask with 24 napkins about 250 Rubels

breakfast table covers very pretty cotton at 18/. mixed silk at 50/. in all colours – much cloth (for slave-shirts the man thought) sent to America – strong and good but rather coarse – nothing finer made here – Sail cloth of several qualities – dare not note down prices because made no notes at the moment – the building was the country house of a Russian nobleman .:. has cost much in adaption and is not now so convenient as if built expires – 500 inhabitants in the village –

a congregation of 50 + English every Sunday evening – Mr. Law preaches there after service at St. P-

the dining room build expires – 230ft. long the same length as the British Queen steamer built – opposition to the government western 4 tables all down the room – arched ceiling – 96 beds? (girls beds) in 1 room and 6 in the end room adjoining – iron staircases water closets and everything beautifully tidy – Salle de reception – retiring them for the empress and another at the other end for the emperor – many noblemen offered to find men at 55/. per month but General W- always declined – would have the men at liberty to do what they chose with their money – declined contracts with the Lords of the [serfs]

October Friday 4 breakfast at 9 – before and after till now 11 20/.. had written all the above of this morning – out at 12 10/.. to the bank – cashed another £25circular – then from the Directeur of th ep.o. to the money charger – and then to Brieffe he went with us in the carriage to the Directeur general of the post office saw the Directeur – returned home for passport etc. and took Gross – at 2 10/.. at the Isaac church – and ½ way up in 7 minutes 350ft. high – Gilt cross on crescent on globe – coal from Newcastle sells here at 36kop. per pood

62 poods = 1 ton we went 325ft. high –

the church of Peter and Paul 400ft. high

at 3 40/.. at the ‘modèle de l’Eglise de St. Isaac par Auguste de Montferrand architecte de sa magesté . St. Petersburg le 1er mai 1819

Pouces = pieds anglais

Verscoks = Sagènes de Russe

Pouces = pieds Français

the dome all of iron to be covered with copper sheeting 3000 tons+ of iron in the dome

the model a very beautiful one – I could not make out the scale in the short time we were there – another model in the room – of the old Isaac church? no! of what? Mr. Anderside who went to the top with us observed that St. Pauls’ is the finest (best built) building of the kind in the world – the dome of St. Peters’ at Rome will be down in 40 or 50 yards – they will be obliged to take it down if they can get money enough – the Scotch fir is the red deal § the spruce the white deal

from the Isaac church to the chocolate shop – then to Graeffs’ and bought for A- Moralts’ paper on .......... (I scarce know what) in the last volume a part of the memories of this academy – in German but A- took it nevertheless – home at 5 ½ - paid off the carriage – dressed – dinner at 6 - Reading Captain Cochrane – this edition in one volume 8vo. that I read at home in 2 vols. fine day

§ Mr. Hodson or any of the merchants would ship me off deals and should get a great swing – the merchants [?] in Hull very considerable –

[?] driven (fir) to the depth of 20ft. for the foundation of the church – the outside to be finished by 1840 and it will be –

[realhankmccoy]

watching this one for the first time to flush out that friend with suicidal mental health issues telling me she's gonna die and it's probably all my fault -- who decided to make me her problem

i don't take it personally for an instant anymore

i'm gay, go ahead be mad --

it says Everything i need to know about you in the world that you choose to engage in the opportunity cost of developing massive issues with gay men in your life and letting the shit that flies to the top of this nation's sick social hierarchy continue to fly up there.

you bet it still hurts when these people have been your friends. but you can't take it personally when these people are the way they are. they don't even know what they're putting in their fucking bodies because they're so clueless about life, and then when i point out politely, patiently and kindly they're basically shredding their guts it's YOUR NOT A DOCTOR well then don't piss and moan that you're on the verge of death and ask for advice from the local gay man (who factually does know better than your doctor, who has $$$$ dollar signs in his eyes and probably doesn't fucking know himself).

also, i did this on a night in which she opened her message to me by comparing me to Kim Kardashian, which was bizarre. 'Kim said Americans are lazy, so i thought of you and how wrong you are'.

well, I may not be a Kardashian (i saw the tone Kim took, which was WORK BITCH) preaching while being born on third -- and leave it to somebody born in Japan to spot the Jason-Karadashian connection that nobody on earth had thought to spot before, but... Americans are pretty fucking lazy in my view, though my problem with them is actually just that they are not nice people.

Don't notice a problem from her when her husband or Musk says Americans are lazy. This is all about 'alphas' who cucked her.

i do know least i know a full bowl of milk every morning tears up an Asian stomach and could politely tell you that -- when all you bring me lately are insults

it's pointing out the lactose intolerance that got me the block button. this country just fucking hates you for being too nice and warm-hearted and full of brains. no wonder she's got about as many friends left as Chicago Boi. everybody's a disposable toy when you only have four toys in your life anyhow and not a single one of them are meeting your finnicky 'NOBODY IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME I AM THE BEST' Morris the Affluenza Cat standards.

most likely scenario: she stops drinking milk, heals her stomach, and still never talks to me again even though i'm sure i just solved a health problem that 6 doctors couldn't.

i've got to make friends as fast as they burn me in competitive hatred soemtimes in a country this mentally unwell -- and i'm getting older so it does irk me -- in counting the 35 good ones around that i've got right now, that is not sufficient enough in numbers for me.

[geminiamethyst]

Kingdoms. Chapter 34: Hope To Despair

Chapter 1: click HERE

Chapter 33: click HERE

Chapter 35: click HERE

Kaito didn't know what was going to happen, but he hoped that it didn't change anything. He glared at Junko, ignoring everything else around him. She didn't keep her smile off of her face as she slammed her hand in the red button in front of her. Kaito held his composure as best he could as he felt the ground vibrate under him. He only took his eyes off of the Queen when he had to painfully cough again. As he closed his eyes in pain, there was a metallic clang echoing down his ears. He looked up, only to find himself inside a confined space. He couldn't see what he was in, but he looked out of the window that he now faced. The space that he was in was made of metal, with many different coloured buttons. Kaito highly doubted that they work. Kaito glared out of the window, only able to see Junko.

"You like this? I call it a rocket! Enjoy the stars, Prince Charming!" Junko giggled psychotically, waving mockingly at Kaito. Kaito had no time to process anything as he felt and heard a loud rumbling. He faintly felt heat from where he was sitting. He slowly felt like the rocket that he was in was going up. Was he really going to the stars, just as Junko said? At least he has something to look forward to, right?

That's what Kaito thought until the rocket suddenly flipped upside down, banging on the ground. Things went too fast for Kaito to process. The rocket suddenly started spinning, making the outside world a blur. It was spinning so hard and fast that it was burrowing right into the earth. Kaito should've been thrown about, but the gravity force was so strong it kept him rooted to the chair. There was this immense pressure that threatened to rip his body to shreds if he tried to move. It hurt that much to even twitch a finger. Kaito felt so dizzy that he closed his eyes to try to make it more endurable. It didn't stop him from being dizzy, but it helped a little. There was an intense heat before it suddenly felt cool. The rocket had stopped spinning, but continued blasting to wherever it was going. It kept going for about thirty seconds before it stopped.

Kaito felt less dizzy and opened his eyes. His eyes widened at the sight outside the rocket. The stars...they were so bright and colourful. They were a shining white back on Earth, but here in space, they were so many shades of different colours. It felt so amazing to be this close. This was all that Kaito had every wanted. It was enough to bring a tear to his eye. So this is what it felt like to be this close to the stars. How beautiful. Kaito then spotted something. It was probably the starlight tricking him, but he thought that he could see faces. Two that he knew well, and two that he had never seen, but felt so familiar to him. His smile widened more as he saw them. 'Grandpa...Grandma...Mother...Father...I'll see you soon...' Kaito silently vowed as he closed his eyes.

———————————————————————————

Everyone watched through the window that the orb showed above the courtyard. When the rocket went underground, an orb went after it, showing everything that was happening to Kaito. Maki couldn't do anything other than watch as this was happening. She wanted to do more, but what could she do? The execution had commenced and there was nothing that anyone could do to stop it. Junko watched in anticipation as she saw how Kaito's face lit up when he saw the stars. As soon as she pressed the red button again, the black and white rocket with the Monokuma face on top will come crashing back to Earth. It will heat up more than it should on the inside, reducing Kaito to a skeleton. She can't wait to see the despair that the people will have.

However, something happened that no one saw coming. After Kaito had smiled weakly, seemingly happy to be finally with the stars, he started coughing. It was harsh, as if Kaito was literally about to cough up a lung. Blood erupted out of his mouth. It covered the window, obscuring the sight of him. Junko was able to get a visual inside the rocket. Showing Kaito laying in a small pool of blood, with a small smile on his face.

"Kai...Kaito..." Maki muttered as the people wailed at the loss of their prince. Maki wanted to cry for the man she loves, the one she lost. However, something overwhelmed her. She wasn't sad for Kaito, but she wasn't happy that he died on his own terms either. She didn't feel fearful for her own death, nor did she feel anger towards Junko for taking away the one she'll ever love. She felt nothing. She felt numb to everything around her.

The rocket suddenly started falling to earth. It seemed to know that the execution has failed. The ground rumbled as the rocket surged through the planet. Some people fell over as the rocket suddenly burst out of the hole it had drilled. The podium shattered to splinters as the rocket suddenly crashed into it. It landed on its side as it came to a stop. The second it stopped, it opened up. Kaito's body fell out of it, completely limp with a trail of blood out of his mouth and his skin pale from death. The people cried louder, along with everyone else in the kingdom that was forced to watch the true royal die.

"NO! NO! NO!" Junko shrieked, stamping her foot like a toddler having a tantrum. This is not what she had in mind when she created the execution. She then remembered him promising that he wasn't going to die how she wanted him to. Seems that she kept his word. "I don't know how he did it, but the bastard went out like a stubborn jackass alright!"

"At least you're feeling the despair that he didn't die the way you wanted him to." Tsumugi smiled, trying to calm the Queen down. Junko stopped mid tantrum, thinking for a minute. She suddenly trembled with excitement as her eyes went wild with madness.

"Yes, that's true." She smiled gleefully. She started to drool a little until she snapped back into her rage. "Argh! Find out what happened! I want to know immediately!" Tsumugi bowed before she grabbed two guards to escort her with the body. They will have to go to the morgue that Junko had set up in the castle to examine the body properly. As much as Junko hated hope, she had it anyway to find out how her enemy died before her execution did. At least she has made the people suffer more with despair. Their only hope was just some guy that turned out to be the only living royal. Not that he's dead, their hope is truly gone. That's the only satisfaction that Junko got right now.

"Do you want to proceed with the assassin's execution?" A guard asked. Junko looked down at Maki. She saw the emotionless expression on her face. While her eyes were focused on Kaito's limp body, they seemed dull, as if her soul had just been sucked out. She was on her knees, oblivious to everything that was going on around her. Out of everyone else, the assassin was clearly taking it the hardest. Could it be that the cold blooded murderer fell in love with Prince Charming? Such despair that she was feeling...

"No. I have a better idea for her."

[khalessi-aline]

Life just sometimes gets to me so much.

I feel like I can't breathe with how hard everything is sometimes.

There is just so much pressure to keep this family afloat and its never met with any kind of recognition or acknowledgement.

Just, what's the plan for food? Can you send me $20. What's the plan for groceries? Well, didn't you get paid? Well send me some money so I can do this, this, this. So you're going to pay the rent.

No don't tell me what you're stressed about because even though I'll ask you, I don't want to face the truth of what it is. I'll scream and blame you and remind you we're married so you have an obligation to do this, I'll remind you that I stuck with you during your depression and anxiety episodes, did I help you during those...well no not really. Did I in fact contribute to the problem and add to the triggers sending you into a tailspin, YES, YES I DID. But let's not discuss that too deeply because I stayed, I stayed with you. I didn't leave no matter what your emotional rollercoasters were or how evil you acted, yes I called you, the woman I supposedly love "evil." Many times and I will again.

I tell you one thing and show you another. I delight in your tears and in your pain. I claim to not trust you and the truth is, I don't trust you, I can't fully trust you because I sense my hold weakening. I sense behind your tears and your screams a backbone that wasn't there before. So I sharpen my claws to dig them in deeper, hoping if I can rake through and shred what's left of your soul, you'll continue to cling to this brand of crazy, continue to find comfort in the whirlpool of chaos and instability, because it's all you know, all you believe you deserve, all you believe you're worth.

But at the end of it, I'll ask you for $20, for $35, remind you to send me money to wash clothes, tell you I need gas money, money for medicine, we need groceries, berate you for wasting your money on makeup, or drinks at the bar with the friends I haven't met and therefore haven't approved or or had a chance to spin a narrative to. I'll look for opportunities to tell you you're not a wife and the marriage (such as it is) is unacceptable to me even as you support me, the child I helped create, yourself, and the dogs I agreed to and helped adopt.

And when I see you crumbling and ask what's wrong, my defense is two pronged:

If you're honest, I'll accuse you of taking credit for everything and accusing me of doing nothing.

If you lie and say nothing, I'll accuse you of lying to me and destroying whatever trust is left.

[taunthq]

CANDICE “CANDY” LOWE || “THE RUNNER-UP” || AGE: 30-35 || STATUS: OPEN

"Candy was beautiful. She was sensitive, intriguing, magnetic.. she was everything but an individual. Once THE IT GIRL got their hands on Candy, it was all over. Candy never stood a chance. Who could blame her? THE IT GIRL didn’t stick around just anyone. Once she selected you, like a puppy in the window, the world was yours. But people often forget that the puppy in the window grows up fast - and although they are always forgiving, they never forget how you treat them.”

THAT NIGHT

Arrived to the basement with THE IT GIRL 6 minutes before midnight. Candy had offered to go downstairs to take photos of THE IT FIRL for instagram. Candy didn’t tell Cher that it was mainly so she could complete her task and not have to separate from her best friend. Walking hand in hand, Candy swore in this moment to stop her secrets, it felt too good being best friends with Cher to hide anything else from her. They got distracted by the fight on top of the staircase, and soon after - Miguel’s body.

CONNECTIONS

-THE IT GIRL: Candice knew what others thought of her, but none of that mattered when she was sat by Cher’s side. Candy put up with a lot from Cher, she did a lot for Cher, and she would do double the work if it meant that she got to be called Cher’s bitch. Because Cher made Candy that bitch. Along with Cher and her crew came power. And Candy loved power. Almost as much as she loved Cher. There was one issue.. why did Miguel text her something about how Cher kisses? Cher would have told her about kissing anyone else but her boyfriend... right? -THE SUPPLIER: Would she be torn to shreds if she was seen with THE SUPPLIER? Probably. But it felt so good. She wasn’t sure if it was because THE SUPPLIER was social Russian roulette, or because she saw how lonely they both were. Candy was close to risking it all for THE SUPPLIER. The drugs, the rush, the secrets. It was almost better than the fame she got from Cher.  -THE GAMER: Candice had many secrets. She let the world (or at least, Hendrick) see the version of her she wanted to be seen. While she told others that she had French lessons, she would secretly spend her Tuesday nights logging online to game with THE GAMER. THE GAMER knew that they couldn’t expose her secret. And they never once did. Not even to their group of friends.

LAST I HEARD

“Candy now goes by Candice. She is an attorney and really got her life together. Good for her. I guess Cher really was holding her back.”

[julialouisdreyfest]

Hey, ily! Interview

Q: First off, for the people, in your own words, who are you, what do you play, where are you from, and what is the name of your band?

A: I'm Caleb Haynes, I play guitar and do something sort of similar to a worse version of singing. Hittin' the skins and making dad jokes in our band is Conner Haman! Who happens to be married to our incredible synth player and cat-lover, Skyy Haman! Next up is my mortal enemy, Trevin Baker, who also shreds guitar in our band. Lastly, the elusive Stephen Redmond, not much is known about him, just that every now and then he shows up to band practice with his Bass.

Q: Congrats on Psychokinetic Love Songs! It rocks! People should buy it! Where’d you guys record it? How’d you link up with the Lonely Ghost folks?

A: Thank you so much! We're pretty proud of it. We recorded drums with our good friend Phil Yanzick at Voodoo Studios in Butte, MT! We recorded everything else ourselves and then had him mix the whole dang thing! He did a stellar job! Everyone give him work NOW! We met Lonely Ghost where we meet everyone else, Twitter.com! They said they liked our music and we said "Thanks!", and the rest is history.

Q: You guys toured with Thank You, I’m Sorry in April? That must have been a wild time! Two questions- how did you guys hook up with them? And second- what is the most disgusting thing you ate on that tour?

A: That tour was pretty off the chain! If I could, I would do it all over again! Thank You, I'm Sorry and us met over, again, Twitter.com. Their singer, Lleen, said they liked our music and we said, "Thanks! We like your music too!". The tour idea kind of started as a joke but before too long became a reality. Honestly, we ate basically only the usual. Stephen did eat a gas station chili dog that had him spew on the road, that was pretty gnarly.

Q: I know the exercise of putting bands in genre boxes is dumb and a waste of time, and you guys are especially difficult to put into a genre box (which is undeniably a objectively good thing) so I’m gonna just throw out a few made-up genres, and let me know how much you think they apply to you-

Zindie Nu-Twee A: Yeah, I feel like this one is pretty fair, though our guitar tones aren't as pretty as all the classic Twee bands, hopefully someday though!

Post Rawr Revival A: Yeah, This one all the way.

Zindie Rock A: Lots of people describe us as "[insert band name here] but for zoomers", so this one is pretty accurate too.

Grunge A: Y'know when we turn 35 and give up on this whole synth emo thing the first thing we will probably do is become a grunge band. But like, the In Utero type of grunge, y'know?

Emo(ticon) Pop A: Oh 100%, I love this one.

XxSkramzxX A: I think we kind of lost our Skramz influence a bit, which is sad, I wanna get back there soon though. (Like Zoomer Indie…. See what i did there?? Ehh? Ehh??)

Q: There’s a bit of cross-pollination/member sharing between a few bands in the greater Hey, Ily sphere, specifically Gray Joy and Rookie Card- How would you explain the differences in the visions and sounds of each of those bands, and the songwriting process differences for each of those bands?

A: It's kind of funny, I think all of these bands are different flavors of emo. Most of the time in these bands, the front-person will come to band practice with a few riffs (in Gray Joy's case, several full length albums.) and the rest of the band will use them to create music that you can actually hear with your ears! I think I can safely say that Hey, ily! is becoming the most collaborative of the three, which can get pretty gnarly when five people are trying to figure out where a song should go at the same time, but I think it's working out!

Q: You guys got a “certifiable banger”, in the song DigitalLung.EXE… it sorta blew up on Spotify about a year ago, if I’m not mistaken… at what point did you say “holy shit this song is blowing up!” and what was that like? Do you have any insights as to why it blew up so much, other than being a certifiable banger?

A: The feeling of a song "blowing up", is pretty crazy. Lots of excitement, but also lots of "What if we never top this?" type thoughts. Still though, the feeling of more than just close friends listening to our music is an incredible high. Anyone reading this who hasn't yet, start a band, buy a microphone, write, record, and release music. I don't really know why it blew up, I think it could have something to do with the lyrics. I'm like, crazy addicted to the internet. It sucks a lot, but I think it's something that a lot of people these days can relate to, and I don't think it gets talked about nearly enough. I still find that to be my most personal song Hey ily! has put out. I think it was the first time I was ever able to take a step back and say. "Wow, all I do is sit on my phone everyday, this is a real issue and I need to get back to living life again."

Q: You guys played this most recent Treefort festival in Boise! How was that! I heard uncle Ty went with you to keep an eye on your shenanigans- I hope you didn’t give him too hard a time? He needs his sleep!!!

A: Treefort was an incredible experience in every way imaginable. We made so many friends, saw so many bands, ate tons of great food (Shoutout Pie Hole). We hope we get to come back next year! I think every band deserves to have Ty Hermie to go road trippin' with them. We seriously would not want to have had that experience with any other guy. Shoutout Ty!

Q: A few years ago I saw Crying open for Los Campesinos! and looking back, that show was basically your band, split in two, and then multiplied by three or four- is this fair? Are you guys fans of either of those bands? Am I dating myself here? Are Los Campesinos! an old person band? Am I old???

A: Wow, I'm seriously jealous you got to see that. It's funny you ask, those are two of my favorite bands in the whole world! Not to brag, but Los Camp! is totally our mutual on twitter. Gareth even put one of our songs on his rotation playlist on spotify! Okay, maybe that last part might've been a brag, a little one though. Also, yeah you're old, killer music taste though!

Q: Trevin- what kind of minivan do you have again? And how do you like it? Does it have a name?

A: It is a chrysler town and country. I do not like it very much. It’s given me a lot of guff and often feels like it’s about to fall apart. It has no name. 

Q: Over/Under - yes, we all hate pitchfork, and yes, this is like… “their thing” but dammit! It’s too much fun not to play! I will give you a word/thing/idea, and you just have to say if you think it is underrated or overrated, and feel free to expound on your reasoning as much as you’d like, or not at all!

A: Oh, this is gonna be fun!

The Sims A: Overrated - Don't get me wrong, I love making a family of ugly-ass Sims and messing with their lives irreparably, but jeez, everyone and their moms (especially their moms) own those games!

Shipton's Big R A: Underrated - Trevin is a bit of a handyman, fixing up and building guitars all the time. So for T-dawg, the R in Shipton's Big R stands for "Really helpful"!

Taco Bell A: Underrated - Okay I know literally everyone eats at Taco Bell, but even if all anyone could eat ever was T-bell, it would still be underrated.

Green Day A: Depends - Listen, Anything before Insomniac? Lofi pop punk gold. Anything after? Slowly declines in quality and exceeds in overrated-ness. Except for American Idiot, still a classic.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force A: Underrated - I really hate looking at this show, but the humor is just so beyond stupid that, like, how can you NOT adore it?

HBO's Euphoria A: Overrated - If I could be serious for a sec, I like how progressive it is in terms of casting and all that jazz, but people will absolutely not shut the hell up about it! I gave it a try, it really is just, alright.

Football (Soccer) A: Underrated - Probably the best sport, and somehow always surpassed by Football (Football). Lame!

American Football (the sport) A: Overrated - Lame!

American Football (the band) A: Underrated - Probably one of my favorite bands, and the one that got me introduced into emo! They do not give enough credit, especially their records after their debut! I know Never Meant is like, the big emo meme but they are so much more than that song!

Americans who refer to soccer as "Football" A: Overrated - Do they think they are better than me?

The Yellowstone County Fair A: Overrated - I don't know, it just seems, kinda sad to me. Like, it's right across the street from where a much bigger and cooler fair is held. Although maybe that means I should like it more?

Rimrock Mall A: Underrated - This probably gonna lose me all my cred, but honestly, if I'm hanging out with a friend and we have nothing better to do, spending like 35 minutes at the mall is pretty alright! You can look at expensive things you will never be able to afford, nor need to, eat a greasy soft pretzel, and get weird looks from strangers! Absolutely Epic!

Black Midi A: Underrated - These past few weeks I have been listening to nothing but Black Midi. Probably one of the most creative bands I have ever heard. Also they put out music like crazy and any band that puts out music fast makes me say ":D"!

You can catch Hey, ily!'s set this Dreyfest at the NOVA Center on Saturday, August 6th at 9pm.

SEE YOU IN THE PIT!

Interview by Austin Finn.