#A Lesson Before Dying quotes

[litandlifequotes]

And that’s all we are, all of us on this earth, a piece of drifting wood. Until we—each of us, individually—decide to become something else. I am still that piece of drifting wood, and those out there are no better. But you can be better

A Lesson before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines

[naffeclipse]

A Photo

Reader x Mob Bosses!Sun & Moon

Commission Info

I am so excited to show off another commission from @vixenfoxpup involving the mob boss brothers in a continuation from the previous fic! They left you with a promise and they have returned to fulfill it. The mob bosses pay a visit to your humble apartment, looking for answers, and you diligently try to keep them far from the truth.

Content Warning for suggestive themes, implied abuse, and bruises.

———

The streets are beginning to darken as you make your way home. Your clothes are wrinkled and begin to touch your skin like a layer of dead skin needing to be shed, and your hair is starting to fall out of the careful hairdo you had tied it up in this morning. The thought of looking at your reflection in windows as you hurry past is a less than appealing thought: your make-up might be smeared and the dark circles underneath your eyes could be especially ghoulish in the dying light of day.

It’s best to not confirm the worst case scenario in your head.

A sigh falls from your lips. Another shift of chasing after a scoop that ended in brick walls and sealed lips. Who would want to discuss the most notorious gang members? Who wants to throw their life away for saying just a little too much? Your notebook is a mess of scattered notes and circles of hopeful leads that you’ve had to cross off, one by one.

No one is willing to whisper about the Celestial Gang, much less blab. They have an iron-tight grasp on the city, and they’ve found you in all of the mess. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe they thought you had some important information or lead. But why not kill you then?

It wouldn’t be hard. They’ve disposed of far grander people than yourself for getting half as close as you have.

So why promise to return? To torment you? The drive still sits heavy in the back of your mind. Reflections trigger a soft warmth in your face when you recall how they held you tight, and how they seem to grow cold and furious when they touch the bruises on your wrist and neck.

They brushed too close against the truth. All you can do is wait and hold your breath, and hope they find a new mouse to toy with.

You tug at your collar. It’s hard to see directly, but this morning, in the mirror, the yellow splotches looked far less noticeable than the purple and blue blossoms that once wrapped around your neck. Your wrist is healing steadily as well, practically gone save for the sallow hues of what remains. The reminders fade but the lessons do not.

You will not let that person back into your life again.

Pushing your sleeve back into place, you find your apartment building. The bricks are rough and worn on the corners, and the doorway creaks like a banshee as you push it open. A resident knocks shoulders with you and doesn’t even bother to look up before they scurry out into the darkness. You look back only once with a grimace before rushing up the stairs. 

Home’s within reach. You need a shower and something to eat. What are you even going to give your boss tomorrow? A few scant quotes from scared people? You bite back a groan as you pull out your keys. 

Food first. An article later.

The key scrapes against the lock before it catches, and you twist the doorknob. Faint light from the hallway spills into the midnight blue darkness of your apartment. Entering inside, your eyes catch on a glint of metal, then priceless, glossy dark shoes. 

Your flesh prickles.

A figure stands in the darkness, red optics burning like hellfire. A hand rests on a gun holstered to his waistband under the jacket of his suit. Before you can throw yourself out of your apartment and scream, the door shuts behind you. A hand clamps over your mouth from behind. The notebook drops from your hands.

“Easy, turtle dove,” a voice slips into your ear, and you pick up his grinning without looking to see what’s on his faceplate, “It’s just your darlings.”

Through the hammer of your heart as it nails adrenaline through your veins, you grasp onto the arm wrapped around you. The second intruder holds you in place. You find the sleeves of his pure white shirt, and feel the rumble from his chassis as he bows over you. How easily he contains you in his grasp. It’s no different than when he snatched you off of the street and stuffed you into their car.

It’s not the one you thought was waiting for you in the dark, but that doesn’t improve the situation by much.

Your muffled question gives the mob boss Sun pause. He chuckles and removes his hand. 

“Be good,” he warns playfully. His fingertips slip from the corner of your mouth and to your ear. The crime lord gently tucks a wayward strand of hair away from your face. “And don’t speak too loudly. We wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors, would we?”

“What are you doing here?” you whisper harshly. 

Darting your eyes across your apartment, you watch Moon’s jacket fall back over his waist, hiding the gun with practiced ease. He tilts his head. The shadow of his fedora falls over his expression, and gives the glow of his optics an even sharper crimson hue as he grins. 

“Welcoming you home, doll face.” Moon steps through the darkness of your apartment, attaching himself to the shadows. His gaze skims away from you and falls over your things. “Such a quaint dwelling.”

You make a face at his tone, as if he’s talking about an animal’s pen and not your home. No, it’s not glamorous, but it’s a lot better than most people have. They’ve probably only ever had the most ritzy of accommodations. With the money they handle and pass around, it would be impossible for the mob bosses to have less than the best.

Your heart thunders quietly in your chest, not so horrified as it once once, but you feel the closeness of Sun at your back. He has yet to free you. His arm falls around your waist. A soft squeeze from his hand on your hip makes you squeak softly, and Sun chuckles in delight.

“We missed you,” he coos. “We couldn’t let you forget about us, could we, Moon?”

“Never,” Moon agrees with a cheshire-like grin.  

“Are you going to kidnap me again?” You flick your wided-eye stare between the two. This is the calmest hostage takedown you’ve yet to attend, and you’ve only done so twice including this instance. 

Moon chuckles darkly. His hands find a small table you usually set small vases and plants on for decorations, along with your keys. He rummages through a drawer.

Sun clicks his tongue. “I think you know, my dove, that if that were the case, you would already be gone from here.”

His scent brushes against your senses. The rich amber taste of bourbon as well as the crisp cleanliness of his suit, topped with a tang of metal as if blood or broken bones. You swallow roughly. He smells so harsh and intense, you couldn’t ignore him anymore than you could the blinding effects of looking directly at the sun.

Moon pulls out a small, unopened gift box. Your stomach clenches. That was supposed to be thrown away—all you wanted to do was get rid of it. Instead, you left it to rot in a drawer you never intended to open again. 

The tautness of Moon’s fingers nearly crush the box before he gently places it back and slides the drawer close. His head turns, catching you watching him. You shudder until the pinpricks of his nearly obsidian gaze. He roams further, taking in the meekness of your kitchen, and you wish to step out of Sun’s arms just to stop the mob boss from unfurling more secrets of your life that are better left forgotten.

Why are they doing this? And to what end? To know how to personally turn your life upside down? Maybe they’re hoping to find weaknesses or evidence that you’ve gathered against them. If that were the case, they would have plucked your notebook off of the ground by now. 

“What do you want?” you ask carefully.

You try to tug yourself free from Sun’s grasp, but his arms only twist around you. The apartment spins and you find yourself dipped slightly in the mob boss’s arms. His pale eyes are wide and hungry, raking over you as if looking for the best place to sink his teeth. 

“Have we not made ourselves clear?” Sun tilts his crown of sun rays, sharp and golden even in the lightless space. 

“I’m afraid we haven’t,” Moon sighs deeply, regretfully, before he wipes his fingers along the dust on your counter. 

In the corner, there used to rest a mug before it was shattered against the floor by a violent hand. You were glad to have it gone, but you watch as Moon lifts his fingertips together and rubs them thoughtfully before he prowls further. He turns back to you, resting against the counter with a terrible sense of ease—like he wasn’t just snooping through your things. 

“Your affections, doll face.” His smile sharpens. “We’ve been very polite.”

You pinch your lips into a thin line. You don’t consider pulling you into a dark vehicle against your will, and now breaking into your apartment in the darkness, as polite, but you mind your tongue. 

“There’s nothing here—” You’re cut off by a sudden turn from Sun. 

Whisked around your apartment, you can hardly keep up with his intricate moves as he all but carries you across the floor to the window. The faint light of a blooming city under darkness cuts through the window pane. His hands clench yours, and you breathlessly try to find your balance. He presses you against him. Your middle roils with heat as you look up into his looming face. 

You don’t notice Moon slipping down the hallway towards your bedroom, your head still dizzy from the forced dance.

“We keep meeting like this,” Sun simpers. 

His hands keep you tightly in place, making you small in his presence. You can’t turn your blushing face away. 

Sun leans closer, as consuming as sunlight in summer. “It’s unbecoming. A proper date is in order, turtle dove.”

“A date?” you sputter. You try to straighten, and step back. “I find it difficult to imagine you and your brother growing concerned about doing things the right way, considering the illegal business you’ve built your empire on.”

Sun steps in time with you, and he pulls you into a move that must be part of a waltz. You’re not sure. You’ve never danced like this with someone like him, and Sun takes care to force your concentration lest you find yourself falling right into his arms. 

He spins you around once, nearly pinning you against the window. The city beyond glows and the shadows deepen. His expression shifts, unreadable for a moment, before the smile returns with vigor. 

“It’s a matter of principle in this case.” He chuckles. “The rest requires far less sophisticated efforts.”

A cold chill wraps around you, and you shudder underneath it.

“Enough about me,” he declares, “I need to know about your friends. Is anyone coming to your apartment often? Anyone we need to worry about?”

You freeze. Guilt creeps over your features like fresh bruising.

“No, but why would you need to know—”

He spins you around, and you gasp before clutching close at Sun’s shoulders for stability.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” he says, and sets you upright back on your feet. “I believe Moon and I must be on our way.”

You turn your head and find Moon exiting the hallway. His hand slips something into his pocket. Were you not aghast that the mob boss was in your bedroom, you might have noticed the small nod he gives his brother.

“You were so good for us, dove,” Sun coos. He talks hold of your chin and admires you for a moment in the distant light of the city.

Your mouth opens but not a sound comes out when he gives you a peck on the cheek. Stuck fast in place, you are dumbfounded as Moon glides to your side. In the dark, his hand slips underneath your sleeve. His cool touch soothes the tenderness of the healing bruises as he circles your wrist.

“We’ll be seeing you soon, doll,” Moon rasps.

As quickly as they appear, they are gone into the night. The mob bosses disappear out your door, and you are left standing alone.

Your hand leaps to your heart. Did they find what they were looking for?

You dart down the hallway and throw yourself into your bedroom. It looks the same in the darkness. Not bothering to flip on a light, you kneel beside your bed and blindly grope underneath it until you hit a wooden box. Pulling it out, you set it on your lap. It seems undisturbed, but how can you trust that?

There are only bad memories left in it.

You push open the lid. Tasting acid in your mouth, you stare at the emptiness within. There was a photo. One last photo, and it’s gone. The one frame of time in which you were happy with your ex.

And now the mob bosses know who gave you those bruises.

[lily-jaxk]

NPC AU

Reincarnation was a fickle thing. One moment you're dead, and the next you're alive.

It got. . . . . frustrating after a while of dying and coming back alive and dying again.

But after a while, you get used to it you know? It hurt, leaving behind important people, but wasn't there a beloved quote you always repeated? 'Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened!'

So you did. You missed the souls of the past, but you moved on to honour their lessons and love.

In this life, you encountered some.... slightly familiar faces. It shook you to your core. For the longest time, you had believed you were the only soul that continued to roam the planet you lived on even after death.

But you see a familiar fallen angel at the park with another familiar angel.

You see a dragon creeping into Linkon City, and you slip away before he lays his piercing gaze on you.

You see a familiar sea god you once followed and believed in, but squash down the desire to call out to him in an ancient tongue only few people knew, and walk away.

You see a familiar master, who you once saw once a year descend down to your mountain, and allow him to give you the details of your mother's friend heart condition, and how everything would be ok.

You see a prince of an era that hadn't quite yet arrived, and you give him a small bow when his back is turned, and go back to work.

You see a familiar ████████, and you see him disappear.

All these people had something in common, they were familiar with her.

In all your lives, it was always her.

That was fine. Maybe in this life, they'll finally be happy?

You sure hoped so, because each timeline was even more painful than the last.

Just a little idea I had. Hope you all like it!!

Prologue | Fallen Angel | Beauty and the Beast | Siren | Heavens Official Blessings | Cinderella

[short-wooloo]

"Your focus determines your reality"

This quote, used in ep 5 of Skeleton Crew, but originally said by Qui-Gon in Phantom Menace has been getting a lot of attention lately and it seems that now is a good time to get into what it means before wrong ideas about it get spread (specifically that it is something unique to Qui-Gon and that only he could have passed it to Jod, I'll get to that)

The first thing we need to address is that the quote makes use of fancy prose, as George Lucas is fond of for stuff regarding the Force, which has an unfortunate side effect of people misunderstanding the meaning (see the discourse around "do or do not there is no try")

What the quote means in the most literal terms is "what your life is like is affected by what's on your mind"

Is a lesson on mindfulness, what you think about influences how you perceive and go about life, for good or ill, if you keep your mind on something-a goal/task/etc-but temper that focus with mindfulness of the rest of the universe its fine, but when you single mindedly and doggedly focus on one thing (like say, visions of someone you love dying-ANAKIN!) and ignore all else, then it's a problem that a best brings you personal misery, and at worse brings suffering onto others

Pretty bog standard Jedi stuff, nothing particularly Qui-Gon about it (despite what fandom will have you believe Qui-Gon is not radically broken from the rest of the Jedi in philosophy, doctrine, or traditions, he just likes to do things his own way, and the Jedi do respect that)

Ironically, Jod does not practice what he preaches (more evidence that he's either long fallen from being a Jedi or never truly was one), as he is single mindedly focused on his pursuit of treasure to the point that he'll betray the kids and damage the rapport he's built with them when there really was no reason to

[weaselandfriends]

The Making Of: When I Win the World Ends

(For my previous Making Of post, see The Making Of: Cleveland Quixotic.)

I. 1999

It was the year of the cubicle movie. It was the year of Fight Club, of Office Space, of Being John Malkovich, of Three Kings, of The Matrix, and of American Beauty. It was the year of suburban malaise, of eternal sunshine, of ceaseless normality. A year of United States hegemony; a year whose chief terror was that THIS WAS IT.

Before the millennium turned and the towers fell, there was an initial challenge to this order, a completely inconsequential one made consequential by a newly minted 24/7 news media machine running out of noise to fill dead air now that people were sick to bursting of the Clinton impeachment. This challenge came not through war, revolution, or violence, but through entertainment. Children's entertainment.

And I was a child. Unaware of any cultural context, I knew only one thing: I loved Pokémon. I really, really loved Pokémon.

I owned Red Version, Blue Version, Yellow Version, Pokémon Pinball, Pokémon Stadium, Pokémon Snap, Hey You Pikachu, a Pokémon Tetris sort of puzzle game, even the Pokémon TCG game for Gameboy. I had ten to fifteen strategy guides for the games, an encyclopedia of the 151 Pokémon, a choose your own adventure book, an I Spy-style book. I had Pokémon figurines, Pokémon plushies, toy Poké Balls, toy Pokédexes. I had Pokémon stamps and Pokémon stickers and a deck of Pokémon cards. Not trading cards, just a standard 52-card deck with Pokémon pictures on it. Of course I also had the trading cards. A complete set of the first three runs, plus a special Mew card you could get from I dunno Toys R Us or something as part of some promotion. I had a guide for the card game that explained which cards were good or bad even though I didn't even play the card game. I had a Pokémon Tamagotchi and Pokémon pencils and Pokémon erasers and Ash Ketchum's hat and I dressed up as Ash Ketchum for Halloween. Of course I watched every episode of the anime, and in notebooks I drew doodles of existing Pokémon and came up with names for new Pokémon. My father had died that year.

My father was a sports fanatic. Traditional sports. He, too, collected. Sports memorabilia, baseball cards, figures of famous stars. When I was an infant, he drove me on a cross country road trip to Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where I became a part owner of the Green Bay Packers. He had always wanted me to grow up and pursue professional sports. When I was born, the doctor apparently said to start looking for football colleges, a quote he saved in a scrapbook of baby photos. He had played sports himself, in college; he was a baseball catcher, until a hitter accidentally struck him in the head with a full force swing.

Almost everything I personally remember about him involves him dying. He was sick for a long time, and I remember hospitals and hospital beds and strange smells and gauze. And then one day my mother told me he died.

He was a charismatic man, very social and very popular. He had many friends and a lot of family, all of whom had constantly been around our house. Once he was gone, they stopped coming around. Then it was just me and my mother, who was not a fanatic for anything, except maybe her job as an elementary school teacher, which consumed her time as she assiduously prepared lesson plans and graded tests until late at night. When my father died, she got into some argument with his side of the family, the details of which I still don't fully understand, and afterward they no longer spoke. Her own family lived far away, out-of-state, seen only at Christmas. The house became quiet.

And I… played… Pokémon.

II. The Electric Tale of Pikachu

Toshihiro Ono was a mangaka primarily known for shotacon and futanari hentai. His credits such as Innyou Megami and Anal Justice made him a no-brainer pick for the officially licensed Pokémon manga, Electric Tale of Pikachu, as it too would feature a 10-year-old boy as the protagonist.

This manga would be the foundation for my conception of what Pokémon was, narratively. Though I also had the Pokémon Adventures manga that ran concurrently and which has by now long outlasted it, Electric Tale left a significantly deeper imprint on my memory.

In summary, Electric Tale is a retelling of the first two seasons of the anime. Ash Ketchum is the main character, he's accompanied by Misty and later Brock, his rival is Gary, and Team Rocket harangues him.

What sets Electric Tale apart is its tone, which is far more adult than Adventures and the anime. Obviously, part of this comes from the author's primary area of expertise being hentai. Even in the censored English version, there is a sense of sexual playfulness in how every single female character is an older woman who likes to tease Ash about his romantic interests.

But there are other elements that creep in unrelated to sex, due to the perspective of someone only used to speaking to adults who suddenly has to speak to children. Ono doesn't really get the childish fantasy of leaving at 10 being normal in society, so he introduces an element where Ash can only get a one year deferment from school and will have to return unless he hits it big. Team Rocket are former competitive hopefuls who flamed out and then, with no education or work experience to speak of, had no choice but to turn to crime. The Pokémon are depicted more realistically, often eschewing the toyetic mascot elements of their designs.

And the landscapes are often wistful, even apocalyptic in their presentation:

This more sedate, mature, realistic depiction of Pokémon became what I wanted Pokémon to be, what I projected onto an original Red and Blue version that left everything open to interpretation, and what would increasingly frustrate me with the series as it deviated more toward bombastic villain groups with goofy destroy-the-world plots. (Which was what put me off Pokémon Adventures.)

Amid all this, one panel stuck with me in particular. One panel I would think about ever since I first saw it as a child, that would turn around in my head and keep coming back. That panel would eventually—over two decades later—become the basis for When I Win the World Ends, the seed from which an entire story grew:

III. The Unkillable Demon King

But in the interim, the seed remained dormant. 1999 fell away. I grew up. I played later Pokémon games and increasingly lost interest by around Gen 4 and 5. Then I went to college.

That's when I started playing League of Legends.

I was something of a psychopath in college. I operated on a strict schedule and did not deviate. Wake up, read 50 pages of classic literature, write 2,000 words, go to classes, study, and then by about four in the afternoon all my obligations were done and it was League of Legends until midnight.

I wasn't actually interested in the League of Legends esports scene in its infancy. In 2012, I was actually invited to attend its World Championship in Los Angeles and refused. (When I received this invitation, I had just finished reading Homestuck for the first time, and was caught in a month-long haze in which I could do little but bask within what I considered the greatest artistic achievement I'd seen in my life. It was this month that inspired Modern Cannibals.) I only liked playing the game and watching Dunkey videos.

It wasn't until the next year, when a girl I was interested in recommended I watch, that I tuned in to my first professional League of Legends game, at the 2013 World Championship. It was there that I got to watch this new, hyped, upcoming Korean player who had apparently taken the pro scene by storm that season. That player was Faker.

It has seemingly become essential to the narrative of any sport that there is "the man who always wins." American football has Tom Brady, and the moment Brady retired, he was replaced by Patrick Mahomes. Basketball has LeBron James, picking up the mantle from Michael Jordan. It's as if someone being "the best" validates the skill-based promise of the sport, the fundamental top-down fairness of its premise, the idea that the person who wins is the best and deserved it. Faker would become the backbone of League of Legends esports and his ascendance correlated to that of the sport itself, from its humble roots at small-scale tournaments in places like Jönköping, Sweden, to max capacity arenas in the biggest cities in the world.

It's surprising, though, how the legend of Faker had already begun even before he won his first World Championship. League of Legends was designed as a clone of Defense of the Ancients (DotA), a popular mod for Warcraft III that emphasized competitive play. In its infancy, the competitive scene was mostly dominated by players who had migrated from DotA to League. They were older, winning thanks to a fundamental conceptual understanding of the game that was superior to everyone else, and frankly not very good in the aggregate. As League of Legends esports exploded in popularity from 2013 to 2015, these old pros would get filtered out swiftly, with even the biggest and most popular names retiring after only a couple of years in the scene.

Even once the new generation of League-grown talent ascended, though, careers were nasty, brutish, and short. The best players only remained on top for a season, as game patches dramatically changed viable strategies. Internationally the sport was dominated by Koreans, with the Korean regional league sometimes being seen as more difficult to win than the World Championship, where Koreans often breezed through uncompetitive Chinese, European, and North American squads.

This possibly affected the demographics of the professional scene. South Korea has mandatory military service, and leaving the pro scene to join the military was basically the end of a Korean player's career. This meant that it was rare to see a Korean player older than 25. Retiring in your early 20s was and remains common. Korean organizations, which had an infrastructural leg up on other regions due to the popularity of StarCraft 2 esports in the country, became adept at scouting promising players at 15 or 16, building them into top level competitive pros, wringing them dry for a few seasons with brutal training regimens, and spitting them out.

Faker was the exception. Though he had been discovered young by SK Telecom, a major Korean telecommunications company that did esports on the side, and gone through the training regimen, he refused to be spit out. He simply didn't stop. He won in 2013, then with a completely new four-man squad around him won again in 2015 and 2016 before narrowly losing the 2017 finals in a nail biter. Given League of Legends esports had only existed since 2011, he basically accounted for half of the championships up until that point. Nobody else, except for his teammates, had won more than once. And it was like it was known he would be this juggernaut the instant he manifested ex nihilo. Like it was known, even in 2013, that he would always win.

Then, Faker stopped winning.

By 2017, League of Legends esports was a titan. Venture capital firms, seeing the millions of eyeballs, thought that this was the next NBA in its infancy, and decided to get in on the ground floor. Multiple millions of dollars were pumped into the scene as even mediocre players in weak regions like North America pulled seven-digit salaries. In China, where League of Legends had become the national pastime, the nation's richest oligarchs ran teams for fun and vanity, outbidding Korean organizations for top Korean players in pursuit of a trophy that had gone to Korea every year since 2013. Riot, the studio developing the game, pumped tons of money into creating a professional sports product, with skilled announcers, dedicated arenas for regional leagues, live performances by musicians like Imagine Dragons and Lil Nas X, and all the other bells and whistles one might expect from a program watched on ESPN.

In this milieu, it seemed like Faker had finally reached his limit. He was still good, but not the best. Even as an individual, while everyone still considered him the "greatest of all time," he was considered outmatched by newer pros like Chovy and ShowMaker. 2018, 2019, 2020, and 2021 passed with no championships. In 2022, on a team of mostly rookies, he reached the world finals, but was ultimately beaten. Korea's stranglehold over the sport had been shaken by China, which had finally strung together some championships. People wondered if Faker would retire, although he had managed to avoid mandatory military service by representing Korea in the Olympics-esque Asian Games. He'd dealt with wrist injuries and his level of play dropped year over year. He just didn't seem to be that good anymore, potentially holding back his team of talented young players rather than leading them to victory.

Then, in 2023—

And in 2024—

In the end, never count out Touchdown Tom. 11 years of professional play, 5 world championships.

From this longwinded explanation, you might have realized that after watching that game in 2013, I became a League of Legends esports fanatic, fulfilling the prophecy set before me by my father though perhaps in not the way he would have expected.

And the things I become a fanatic about, I want to write a story about.

IV. Modern Cannibals

There's a deleted scene in Modern Cannibals, as Maximillion is driving Z. and her friends through the Utah desert. He starts to talk about Pokémon.

"I bring it up because my university thesis was about Pokemon in particular how Pokemon has basically trained an entire generation of children to think in a completely different way than preceding generations my generation for instance our fad was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles now I don't know how much you know about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles but from an educational standpoint we're talking absolute bankrupt complete and utter goose egg but Pokemon now Pokemon you see it's more like there's some substance to it you know that refrain Gotta Catch Em All right?" "..." "Well to most parents it looks like a marketing gimmick you make one hundred fifty-one characters and structure a game around collecting them the merchandising potential is astronomical kids buy one hundred fifty-one trading cards stickers coloring books figurines uh collectable lunchable toys I'm sure you've got some yourself."

He continues:

"But really you look at the game itself before the big toy explosion the game itself the focus is placed less on the collection and more on the catalogue you're given a blank encyclopedia to fill and you fill it by capturing one hundred fifty-one Pokemon but the goal is to create a complete database of each and every one and this is what I argue is the educational core of the Pokemon series." His hands left the wheel to conceive of his idea in the cool air of the car, which remained steady on its ever-forward path. "Our modern era is no longer one of singular isolated knowledge it is one of the catalogue the database which is most clearly personified in the advent of the internet because now all knowledge can be at the fingertips of any one human being all that is needed is someone to go and put the catalogue together and presto whiz bang it's there think about it Z. when you catch a bunch of Pokemon where do you store them?" Z. didn't need to think long to remember the game's mechanics. "In the PC." "Exactly now isn't that odd consider it in real life terms you have real life creatures made assumedly of flesh and bone and yet you store them in a computer how does that make sense you'd expect a farm or a holding pen but no it's the computer and that too prepares the budding portion of the millennial generation to become cognizant of the linkage between the computer the encyclopedia and the database structure of knowledge in a new era." "So," said Z. "So you're saying Pokemon taught kids how to think in the digital age?"

There's also a deleted character in Modern Cannibals. Well, mostly deleted—he still shows up, unnamed, in a couple of pages. He is Cole Coulter, Z.'s older brother, a popular League of Legends streamer. Before I deleted him, his role was to accompany Mrs. Roddlevan and Frederick in an attempt to bring Z. back home. He had POV scenes that gave insight into the weirdness of his cotravelers, but ultimately, I decided he didn't add anything to the story and removed him almost entirely.

Even then, though, I was already considering the future of Cole Coulter as the protagonist of a story about League of Legends esports. Playing under the ID MadKing, he would be a North American professional top laner, once known for his aggressive duelist style but recently forced into playing boring tanks as the esports metagame became more sophisticated and tactics-based.

The story would be simple, something I envisioned as a "sports story" only about esports instead of regular sports. It would start with Cole's team being relegated from the league, only for Cole to get a last chance signing to a new team with two promising Korean imports. One import, the mid laner, would be a charismatic and eccentric player in the mold of Doinb/Ganked By Mom/Huhi, while the other, an AD carry, would be introverted and pissy and elitist, in the mold of Piglet. The team would initially struggle, cultures would clash, then a mid-season replacement to sign a psychopathic Tyler1/Tarzaned style streamer as jungler would revitalize the team, put them on a major run, and get them to the World Championship. Though they would eventually fall after a miracle run, Cole would get a moment to truly shine on the biggest stage when he won a pivotal game by aggressive split pushing rather than tank play.

Thematically, the story would be about two things. First, a counterpoint to the idea of American exceptionalism, featuring a league where Americans are particularly bad compared to Korean or Chinese players. Second, an exploration of what it means to be exceptional at all. Cole would be an all-around mediocre person. Middling at school, at (real) sports, at the various popularity contests of being a teenager. League of Legends, this niche sub-sport, is the one thing he truly excelled at, the one place where he was good, better than 99.9 percent of all players, and yet even within that statistical greatness he wound up, ultimately, in a professional scene where he was once again mediocre, relegated to "tank duty," to facilitating other players to carry.

What does it mean to be the best? How can someone be so, so good, only to reach a level where they were still nothing special? Is there any way to win if you're not "the man who always wins"?

I remembered that panel from Electric Tale of Pikachu. The last people filtered before the final champion. It's certainly no walk in the zoo!

This idea was pretty detailed for a story I never wound up writing, something I mostly blame on the years 2018 and 2019, when a lot of bad things happened to me and in retrospect I consider it a minor miracle I managed to finish Chicago at all. As a human being, I would be decimated for the next three years, and so a lot of stories I might have written in that time never came to fruition.

Meanwhile, League of Legends esports reached a peak, then the venture capital bubble burst as investors realized there was no monetization scheme in place for any interested party except Riot Games. Money hemorrhaged out, Riot shifted resources to Valorant, and a sport that had been overinflated based on projected exponential growth in perpetuity fell back down to earth.

Also, Players came out.

Players was a 2022 mockumentary about a fictional League of Legends team competing in the North American league. Conceptually, it was doing a lot of what I had planned for my story: following a single team on a rags-to-riches run, focusing on the interpersonal drama of the team members, asking questions about greatness and its pursuit. It's a pretty good show if you're familiar with League of Legends esports at all, with a lot of on-the-ground fidelity that gives it an authentic feel, which is exactly what I had been hoping to use my esports fanaticism to accomplish. It completely took the wind out of my sails; it was like my idea had already been done.

So by 2022, the idea of a League of Legends esports story was dead. But there was still a drive to create something with that spirit, that would delve into those themes.

What remained after all these years of sifting the sieve, letting sand slip through, was that one panel from the manga. The number of people pursuing greatness slowly filtering until only one remained. And if I wasn't going to pursue that idea through League of Legends, maybe I could pursue it through another vehicle. Maybe the vehicle through which the idea had originally been exposed to me. Pokémon. It all came back to Pokémon.

V. Everything Evolving Into Crabs

I knew immediately that if I were to write a Pokémon fic, it would be a tournament arc. This was the natural evolution of my esports story idea. Also, if I were to write Pokémon, I wanted it to be a story about utopia, immersed within Pokémon's near-future ideal world, where everything is clean and healthy, where society is neat and ordered.

This idea caused me to remember the novel Eyeless in Gaza by Aldous Huxley, which I had read a few years back. A mostly autobiographical bildungsroman written on the precipice of World War II, the novel ends with the young protagonist on a journey to Central America, where he meets an idealistic doctor who believes sport to be a proper substitution for war. He tells the story of two tribes locked in internecine conflict through generations, able to replace that violence with soccer matches.

And wasn't that what the world of Pokémon was, a utopia revolving around neutralizing weapons of war by using them for competitive sport?

This tournament, I envisioned, would not simply be about deciding who was best, but an ideological battle for the future of the Pokémon world. To that end, I imagined a war between an entrenched trainer class, who competed as philosopher-warriors, intense individuals with deep connections to their Pokémon, and an upstart commercialization that sought to replace the ideological underpinnings that made their society so safe and prosperous with economic accumulation. It was from this kernel that the character who would become Aracely Sosa arose: charismatic, appealing, human-empathic, and propped up by a support staff who did all the hard work of teambuilding for her.

I imagined the story having an ensemble cast, focusing on nearly every competitor equally, with the Aracely character not having any especial focus until her improbable rise to the top. I imagined a final round where she faced off against "the man who always wins," and though she would lose to him, she would seem to have won the ideological battle, altering the course of society as major corporations scrambled to employ her formula for success at a much grander scale. The story would end with this realization of the earth-shattering importance behind her run, only for Aracely to sink in disappointment. Because in the end, all she really wanted was to win.

The more I thought about it, though, the less I liked the idea of an ensemble cast. The ensemble cast element of Chicago hadn't gone over very well (though I like it), and I figured it would wind up inflating the length of the story considerably. I was coming to the end of Cleveland Quixotic, after all, and once more wanted to write something smaller, tighter, and denser.

So I oriented my thinking to instead have the story revolve around Aracely and one major rival, to give an interpersonal mirror to the ideological war being waged. Thus, Toril came about as an antithesis to everything I had imagined Aracely to be: gruff, antisocial, independent. Their rivalry would culminate in a semifinals battle, before Aracely went on to fight "the man who always wins" in the finals.

I forget exactly when the gender theme came into the equation, but it evolved as an outgrowth of (once again) my competitive League of Legends expertise, where women are essentially nonexistent despite there seemingly being no biological blocks against them. This dovetailed nicely with Pokémon, a world where women seemingly could be powerful competitors, but where—in the anime at least—none ever are. For instance, look at this chart of every major tournament in the anime:

Every known winner is male. Every known finalist and semifinalist is male. Only a handful of female characters have reached the quarterfinals. What possible in-universe justification could there be for that?

This question was actually far more prominent in early planning and drafting than it wound up being in the final work. Initially, I had Aracely's personal motivation revolve around a drive to be the first female trainer to win; this would increase the ideological conflict between her and Toril, who attempted to ignore that she was female altogether. Over time, this theme would see diminished importance in face of the last piece of the thematic puzzle: cults.

It came from reading Underground by Haruki Murakami, a nonfiction journalistic account of the 1995 Tokyo sarin gas attacks carried out by the cult Aum Shinrikyo under the direction of its leader Shoko Asahara. Japan in the 90s was experiencing its own End of History, one taken literally by those disaffected with modern society's grand narrative. The prophecies of Nostradamus became fashionable among the young, who believed that 1999 would be the final year before the world was destroyed. Murakami interviewed both survivors of the gas attack and members of Aum Shinrikyo, collecting worldviews of people who simply thought they were "different" and who were willing to give everything in their lives to the one place that seemed to accept that difference.

The 1995 attacks were a watershed moment in Japanese culture. In their wake would come pivotal works of Japanese pop media, like the titan of otaku culture, Neon Genesis Evangelion:

(What's scary about Nostradamus' prophecy is that it might not come true. A year whose chief terror was that THIS WAS IT.)

Pokémon, whose first games released in Japan in 1996, also emerged within this post-Aum world where fixation on the minutiae of pop media was becoming a primary pillar of meaning for the youth, and it's hard not to see echoes of cultism in the evil teams that dot the series' landscape. Even Team Rocket, originally more modeled on organized crime than occultism, veers that direction in Gold and Silver, and afterward the organizations and their world-ending plots become increasingly absurd, to the point where it starts to become unclear why anyone would ever follow, say, Lysandre.

As I mentioned earlier, my personal interest in Pokémon was at odds with these clownish, Saturday morning cartoon villain organizations, but Murakami's account of the Aum attacks recontextualized them for me, made them make sense even within the framework of a "realistic" utopian world. The last elements snapped into place, and I knew my main character would be the member of one of these cults. A cult dedicated to, what else? Evolution. A core element of the Pokémon series, a perfect metaphor for the frustrating lack of movement of the End of History 90s. I imagined a cult leader as a surrogate mother figure for Aracely, who would have a strained relationship with both of her own parents, and deciding on that, the idea of making Pokémon's canon evil mother Lusamine the villain was a no-brainer. I imagined a post-SuMo Lusamine, unable to move on from her experience merged with Nihilego, languishing in Kanto after being sent there to consult with Bill, who had his own experience being merged with a Pokémon... It didn't take long to figure out how all these pieces connected.

The full form of the story had taken shape.

VI. Showdown

I knew immediately I would be following Showdown rules for the battles. No alternative even crossed my mind. I had dabbled in Showdown a few times over the years, first in Gen 3 OUs, then later in Gen 7 OUs, and I knew from experience that Pokémon is a monumentally more interesting competitive game when operating at a high level compared to either its depiction in the anime (shounen logic, mid-fight evolutions) or the general playing experience (spam your best move on your overleveled starter). I knew I would use competitive rulesets before I even considered the thematic or worldbuilding aspect I would eventually take in the story itself (i.e., that the specific rulesets prevent battles from becoming bloodsport and enforce order on the world). I simply thought doing battles this way would be far more entertaining.

To prepare, I started playing Gen 9 OUs under the guidance of a few friends who were into the competitive scene. I grinded the ladder for months, eventually getting a good enough grasp on the metagame to reach 1500 Elo on the Showdown ladder, which is not very good but generally higher than someone can reach with dumb luck.

Crafting the tournament format and rulesets used in the story wasn't difficult. I modeled the tournament format on the League of Legends World Championship, with region-based seeds (having been selected due to performance in regional tournaments) competing in four groups before the highest performers advanced to a single elimination bracket. Initially, I envisioned a 32-competitor bracket instead of the 16-competitor bracket that would appear in the final draft, but otherwise the format came quickly and easily.

In terms of the rulesets and available Pokémon, my considerations were made primarily in terms of what would be most entertaining to read. I decided to include Mega Evolutions and not include Z Moves, Dynamax, or Terastallization, because Mega Evolutions are cool and those other gimmicks are not. The bring-9-pick-6 format, while unusual in Showdown rulesets, is similar to the rules in Pokémon Stadium and VGC tournaments, and also adds a level of intrigue to which Pokémon each competitor uses. (It also enabled Red's Zapdos at the climax of the story, which was something I knew I would bring out from very early on.)

With the help of one of my friends who knew competitive Pokémon, I scripted out each battle assiduously before I wrote them. Every battle was tested using Showdown itself, with only a few turns mocked up to account for luck. For instance, in Aracely versus Jinjiao, Slowking is meant to stay asleep for three turns. Rather than rely on luck to ensure Slowking actually slept that long during the test, I could give Slowking a useless move and have him use that instead to simulate being asleep.

The only thing that couldn't be tested in Showdown was the 7 PP Kingambit trick Red uses at the end of the story, because it's impossible to set a Pokémon to have fewer than max PP in Showdown. This led to one of the bigger mistakes of the story, as it turns out that Encore would simply wear off if Kingambit ran out of PP, rather than forcing him to use Struggle like I assumed. Luckily, even if this were the case, it wouldn't change the outcome of the battle, so it's not an error I lose too much sleep over.

Character teams were chosen to thread the needle between a few considerations. The team needed to be competitively viable, reflect the character's personality in some way, and be distinct from other teams for the sake of variety. (Variety is somewhat unrealistic in real top-level competitive Pokémon, where you'll often see many almost identical teams in the top ranks. But that would be boring.) Some lack of optimization was allowed under the conceit that actually training these Pokémon to peak form would take a lot of time in the real world, compared to Showdown were optimization can be determined quickly due to the ability to immediately adjust stats and builds.

I also tried to give some preference for Pokémon that would be more familiar to layman fans, though this was difficult because Gen 8 and 9 have outrageous power creep and many popular early generation Pokémon have been completely phased out. (Using Megas helped with this issue.) It was this consideration that led to Azumarill being Aracely's ace. There was also an innate challenge to imagining what the competitive scene would look like without legendary Pokémon. Zapdos and Landorus-Therian have been inexorable staples of the competitive scene for generations. What happens in a world where they aren't used at all?

In the original 32-person bracket, I imagined Aracely competing against Jinjiao in the first round, then minor characters Adrian da Cunha and Jacq Ray Johnson in the next two rounds, before facing Toril in semifinals. I imagined Adrian da Cunha as a "hometown hero" whose team wasn't great but he was plucky with a lot of grit, and Jacq Ray Johnson as a self-aware heel who liked to use cheesy strategies and gimmicky Pokémon like Smeargle and Ditto. Condensing from 32 to 16 occurred around the same time I had settled on Lusamine as my villain/cult leader, which led to replacing those two with Gladion. I developed full brackets for both the 32-man and 16-man iterations, with character names and regions, just in case I ever needed to mention them.

All that was left to do was write the story.

VII. Unbroken Line of History

I began writing in September 2023 under the tentative title Unbroken Line of History, which I would later change to simply Lines. In the original drafts, I opened the story with a modified version of the panel from Electric Tale of Pikachu detailing how people are filtered over time in their pursuit of being the best, this time starting with all 8 billion people in the world until only one remains. The story then cut to Aracely's perspective in the restroom as she mentally prepared for her final group stage match.

At this point I was more set on Aracely being the clear protagonist of the story, so she had a few facets of her personality designed around that. First, as I mentioned before, there was a feminist angle where she was motivated specifically to be the first female trainer to win the championship. Secondly, I threw in some more generic nervousness/fear of failure. The other major difference is that I did not lead with the cult prophecy of the world ending. I originally envisioned the cult reveal to be a mid-story twist, and only obliquely hinted at it.

The scene still played out with Toril appearing and the two getting off to a bad start. Then, Cely's father tried to talk strategy with her while she ignored him, before the battle transpired in much the same form as it does in the final draft.

I showed this early draft to my friends and most disliked it. My girlfriend at the time told me Cely sounded like an edgy 13-year-old boy, while my neuroscientist friend whose aspirational idol is Bondrewd from Made in Abyss wanted to know more about the oblique hints of a cult, finding everything else boring. Another friend said it was stupid that there were 30 seconds between turns during the battle and that the Pokémon should just go at each other; nobody would actually want to watch a battle that was paced so slowly. (I vehemently disagreed with that take. Basically every popular sport balances between slow-paced moments of strategy and fast-paced moments of action and execution.) Some people I showed it to did enjoy it, though. Gazemaize, the author of Chili and the Chocolate Factory, was especially enamored by the Brittany/Gardevoir reveal and the Bud Light Analyst Desk, and implored me to keep both of those elements at all costs. 7th, one of my friends who helped me with the Showdown stuff, was so into it she drew fan art of all the characters (which I've posted before) and also wrote eight pornographic short stories about them.

I rewrote the same opening scene several times across October and November, though these were minor iterations without significant adjustments. Frustrated with the lack of progress, I decided to take a break from writing to simply think about the story for a few months.

During this time, to fix Aracely's edgy 13-year-old voice, I decided to lean into her being from Pokémon Los Angeles (with her native region, Visia, being a play on "visual" as a reference to Hollywood) and gave her a Valley Girl accent. To prepare for this, I listened to hours and hours of ASMR videos of people speaking like Valley Girls and took notes on their inflection and syntax. It was here where I decided on Aracely's underlining quirk, as a way of capturing the unique style of emphasis Valley Girls used.

This also made me realize I needed to adjust Aracely's personality. Despite the tone of her voice, she was still acting antisocially. She didn't want to talk to her father, she didn't want to talk to Lachlan Nguyen, she didn't even really want to talk to Toril. Toril herself was a lump of coal. My own misanthropy kept leaking into the characters, even when I conceptually didn't want them to have it. I thought back to Cleveland Quixotic, and how what made the Jay and Viviendre romance work was that they actually both liked each other, and figured—even though I didn't have explicitly romantic plans for Aracely and Toril—that I needed to do something similar to make their rivalry truly pop. Rather than avoid people, Aracely would lean into talking to them, even if they were annoying. Although Toril remained frigid, there would be a part of her yearning for emotional contact, a way to coax her out of her shell.

I also thought deeply about the structure of my stories in general, and my inability to come up with good hooks. It was around this time that someone I knew was reading Chicago. They pointed out that the plot of Chicago doesn't really start until Chapter 26; that I was "burying the lede." I considered this. My logic, when writing Chicago, was that the Empire moving to take over Washington would be a twist, something that would shock and excite people and change their perception of the entire story.

But did that make sense, when really the story was "about" that twist? Didn't that just make everything before the twist harder to get into for a reader? Chicago might look radically different if I revealed the Empire's goals immediately, but it would also probably be a more immediately engaging work. I'm a big fan of delayed gratification in storytelling, but had I taken it too far?

This was a major revelation for me, and immediately I understood what I needed to do for my Pokémon story: move up the cult plotline. Place it front and center. Name the whole story after it even. I decided on framing the opening scene from Toril's perspective, depicting Aracely initially more as an alien other, emphasizing the fact that she was in a cult rather than hide it behind foreshadowing. This could also lead to Aracely and Toril having more of a dual protagonist setup, which would make my planned two-half finale (one half where Aracely battled "the man who always wins," one half where Toril got involved in stopping the cult's doomsday plot) work even better.

Confidence resurged. At the end of January 2024, my girlfriend of seven years  and I broke up. A few days later, I started writing the sixth—and ultimately final—draft of When I Win the World Ends.

VIII. When I Win the World Ends

Now it's the part of the Making Of where I actually make the thing I'm supposed to be making, but there's a lot less to say about it. Once I have a plan, the actual writing of the story is the easy part, and most of what I wrote—with a few exceptions—looks similar to the story as it exists now.

There were some oddities. I wrote the first seven chapters (everything up to the end of the Jinjiao battle) and then had to take a two week break to write a short piece for a writing contest I had entered in December as part of an effort to stop overthinking WIW. After this interruption, I returned to WIW writing perhaps a bit more perfunctorily than I usually would, leading to an original version of Chapter 8 (the chapter where MOTHER makes her first real appearance) that was short and abbreviated. Later, in editing, I would rewrite most of this chapter.

A few ideas emerged while writing, like the motif of serendipity/Logos, which I felt tied nicely to the ideas of evolution and history. It was also in this draft that I introduced Cely's friends Haydn and Charlie, as a nod to an earlier work of mine also featuring a fashion-obsessed girl from Los Angeles. (Speaking of nods to earlier works, in the original 32-man bracket, Cole Coulter featured as one of the competitors, but he didn't make the 16-man cut.)

The process went smoothly. I finished the draft at the end of May, a little under four months after I started it. I had envisioned the full story as being about 70,000 words, but the draft ended up closer to 115,000. Underestimating story length is just an essential element of the trade, though.

A few days after finishing the draft I went on a four-day Oklahoma Darkness Retreat where I had access to zero electronics. The goal was to think about my story deeply and how it could be improved in the editing process.

In this time chamber, where I did nothing except complete crossword puzzles and read The Recognitions by William Gaddis, I came to a realization. There was one element the story needed that wasn't already there.

That element was Sabrina. In the original draft, Sabrina was not present during the scene where Aracely meets the Old Man. She was mentioned obliquely a couple of times in conjunction with Aracely's "psychic powers," but it never really built to anything. There was still a scene where Aracely was interrogated due to her relationship with MOTHER, but only by nameless goons, and the scene lacked tension as it was clear Aracely could talk circles around them.

When I returned from Oklahoma, I prepared for my conception of Sabrina as a character by writing an 8,000 word short story from her perspective, which hashed out an entire backstory for her. Then, I started editing the draft.

For me, a lot of editing is just polish. Usually, cutting out needless sentences and fixing clunky ones, as well as emphasizing a few of the more understated themes and motifs. For instance, during editing, I made slight additions to emphasize the thematic connection between Aracely's suicide attempt and the global war that almost destroyed the world, as well as the connection between the moon and cyclical insanity (lunacy, etymologically, being related to the moon). I made the Old Man more of a Walt Disney-esque figure (from my notes: "a dying Disney"), rewriting much of his dialogue to either be direct quotes or to evoke his ideals. I also expanded on several of the scenes where Toril and Aracely interact to make their relationship more complex and nuanced. I gave MOTHER some new dialogue, including her speech in Chapter 18 about loving a child for the potential it promises, while also paradoxically wanting it to remain a child forever.

The largest changes were in the three chapters I almost fully rewrote. The first was Chapter 8, which as I mentioned earlier was overly terse. In the original draft, it depicted MOTHER as more pathetic, more dependent on Aracely. I decided to make her a more threatening figure, and incorporated a few references to the Moloch sacrifice scene from Valle Verde to make her seem more like a false idol. Similarly, I rewrote Chapter 12, which was originally a very short chapter that focused solely on a conversation between MOTHER and Nilufer that ended with the order to kidnap Aracely. In rewriting the chapter to include Fiorella, I gave myself more opportunity to flesh out the respective philosophies of her and MOTHER (including some of the story's most salient discussions about why cults exist), as well as give more of an insight into the inner workings of RISE as an organization. And lastly, I fully rewrote Chapter 19 to include Sabrina.

The last changes I made in editing were to the final chapter. When I finished the final draft of the story, I sent it to several readers, many of whom had looked at the original drafts of the first chapter, as well as julirites, the author of a Fargo fan fiction called London. There was an immediate and minor backlash to the final chapter, which was originally much more pessimistic, from most people who read it. In the original version, Aracely and Toril were not still in communication. (Fiorella was also dying of cancer instead of jockeying to replace the Old Man.) The finale had a much more somber, sedate, tragic note. Juli and 7th disliked this sad ending, while Gazemaize wanted me to cut the final chapter altogether. I felt confident that the final chapter was necessary, though, and revised it to its current version, which was much better liked.

And then... the story was finished, near the end of July. I crunched the numbers and realized that if I posted two chapters to start and then did a twice-weekly posting schedule, I could end the story serendipitously on October 12. So I did.

IX. Names and Special Thanks

In my Making Of post for Cleveland Quixotic, I had a fairly extensive list of where I got all the character and place names from. The list is a lot less extensive here; most names I constructed for the purpose of sounding evocative, rather than taking them from someplace specific. For instance, I chose the name Aracely Sosa because it sounds like whistling with its repeated S sounds, compared to Toril Lund which is a lot harsher with its consonants. You can see a similar rationale behind names like Fiorella Fiorina, Yui Matsui, and even some of the background characters, like Jacq Ray Johnson, Jr., where there is a lot of emphasis on alliteration and rhyme.

There are a couple of exceptions. Jinjiao is the in-game ID of a longtime Chinese League of Legends pro of middling notability. He picked the name (which means "Golden Horn") as a reference to the Golden Horned King, a villain from Journey to the West.

Lutz, Fiorella's cameraman, was named after an extremely minor character from Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance, who is not playable and only appears in a singular cutscene before being killed. They are so irrelevant that despite naming a character after them, I actually forgot their name, which is Lotz, not Lutz.

Haydn is named after the famous classical composer.

Special thanks to 7th and Elick320 for helping me with the teams and battles. Thanks to Gazemaize and julirites, among others unnamed, for reading and providing feedback. And thank you all for enjoying the story.

[bsd-bibliophile]

Happy Birthday Miyazawa Kenji-sensei!

To celebrate Miyazawa Kenji’s birthday here are his top three quotes from my blog:

Quote #3:

"That night, when the moon was near to sinking behind the western mountain range, it peeked its face out just enough from the bank of black clouds to fill the field with a last bit of dull, ashen light. The bare winter trees, the railroad ties, and the utility poles were all fast asleep. Only the sound of what could have been either the far-off blowing of the wind or the gurgling of a brook remained."

- Miyazawa Kenji, “Signal and Signal-less” from Night on the Galactic Railroad and Other Stories from Ihatov

Quote #2:

Be not defeated by the rain, Nor let the wind prove your better. Succumb not to the snows of winter. Nor be bested by the heat of summer.

Be strong in body. Unfettered by desire. Not enticed to anger. Cultivate a quiet joy. Count yourself last in everything. Put others before you. Watch well and listen closely. Hold the learned lessons dear.

A thatch-roof house, in a meadow, nestled in a pine grove’s shade.

A handful of rice, some miso, and a few vegetables to suffice for the day.

If, to the East, a child lies sick: Go forth and nurse him to health. If, to the West, an old lady stands exhausted: Go forth, and relieve her of burden. If, to the South, a man lies dying: Go forth with words of courage to dispel his fear. If, to the North, an argument or fight ensues: Go forth and beg them stop such a waste of effort and of spirit.

In times of drought, shed tears of sympathy. In summers cold, walk in concern and empathy.

Stand aloof of the unknowing masses: Better dismissed as useless than flattered as a “Great Man”.

This is my goal, the person I strive to become.

- Miyazawa Kenji, ”Be not Defeated by the Rain”

Quote #1:

You who go through rice paddies in the rain, you who hurry toward leviathan woods, you who walk into the gloom of clouds and mountains, fasten up your raincoat, damn it.

- Miyazawa Kenji, “Traveler” from Miyazawa Kenji: Selections

[gorgeousarrangements]

BSD rhetorical analysis ramblings part 1: Selflessness gives life meaning & saves us from ourselves...but:

I really wanted to do a bit of ramblings on some rhetorical analysis about BSD & some themes I've seen displayed bc Asagiri has laid them out beautifully, but I feel they need to be teased out. I'm doing this pretty much entirely for myself so it's not gonna be in a formal essay style, mostly just ramblings.

I want to start with the concept of "selflessness" as it's the crux of many of the poems & short stories that make up the ADA and, in addition, Selflessness is the quality that is tested for when entering the ADA. you have to prove you're willing to give up your life for good, for the sake of others. I always thought that an interesting test with interesting implications morally.

To start off with the most clear testament to Selflessness that I've read so far is in Kenji Miyazawas "be not defeated by the rain" here is a line from it:

“Count yourself last in everything. Put others before you.

Watch well and listen closely. Hold the learned lessons dear.”

Very clearly written, almost like a guidebook, the poem goes on encouraging the reader to help those who are sick, to nurse the old, to break up arguments, essentially to devote themselves to goodness. At the end of the poem the poem itself turns inwards, we realize the author is talking about himself, to direct himself to be a good man. This poem was written in his dying days, and ends with the line, "that is the man I strive to be." (I find this interesting because we can even say the poem was written in a selfless form -- directed externally, as a guide, instead of focusing on the writer's obvious but only implied regrets)

Moving on theres some interesting insight into the nature of selflessness in Chuuya Nakahara's poem "Voice of Life," here are selected lines from it:

“If happiness is like this, like the limits of unselfishness…if so, this world where one cannot live without eating, is unfair…” 

I thought this a beautiful line...happiness as the limits of unselfishness. We see in this poem Nakahara argues happiness comes when we are unselfish, when we put others needs before our own. Thr next line takes this even further, with the phrase "cannot live without eating," we are reminded of the human form, suggesting that to live for others is to escape the entrapment of the human form, to transcend human constraints. Interestingly it also triggers the societal connotations around "man has to eat to live," which is essentially that man has to be self serving, look into his own interests. "Man has to eat" is a phrase often used to excuse greed, selfishness, often immoral decisions. Here Nakahara perhaps also rues such a society, but points out the distinct happiness achieved in rejecting these, also manmade, constraints. Theres a bit of absurdity pointed out here too in the "unfair--" We are trapped in a paradigm where we must to some degree self serve to keep living, both in a literal and societal way -- yet our happiness comes from transcending that, from serving others. Interesting that this is in Nakahara's poetry -- says a lot about his character aswell.

In Akutagawa's short story Rashomon, which i will not be quoting but describing, we also see a struggle with the morality of selflessness. But most notably we see it in Flawless, which is Oda's short story, where a man gives out all his money to his friends constantly and is very self sacrificing and sees the best in people, but is very naive and disorganized, and has a wife who continually tries to see the best in him despite his failings. The story is like a wall of frustrations and complaints, but ends on a very interesting and jarring note when his wife asks why he refuses to consistently fill his time card:

“It’s not like I’ll turn into some big deal if I do every tiny thing, will I? He glared at me with an uncharacteristically frightening expression. Ever since then, I’ve spent my days wondering if he goes out of his way to take on enough work that he can lie down as soon as he gets home and fall fast asleep.”

This seemed a strange way to end the story at first. At most it is a story that exhibits the optimism of humanity, the innate hopefulness and innocence of us that can be taken advantage of, so this ending seemed different from the theme. However, i think it links in an interesting way. If we understand "falling asleep" to follow the connotations around the idiom "how do you sleep at night?" Perhaps we can understand this as a commentary on guilt; and not "turning into a big deal" as perhaps a commentary on human futility. After all, there is no end goal to life -- so what is there? What is the reason for this? When put into the context of a man who is essentially giving his money -- ergo his body, his livelihood -- away for free, we may be able to read the last sentence as self efacing being an act of assuaging the guilt inherent to existence.

From here there is an almost direct link to No Longer Human, where the main character, Yozo, repeatedly comments on the guilt and shame he feels around the sheer act of existence, as if he were born with it. In a couple lines from Nakahara's poems as well, we get these words:

“I am seeking something, always seeking something…” 

“Since it's inexplicable, indescribable, I believe my life is worth living.” 

Though he does not explicitly comment on guilt, he does comment on an emptiness we are constantly trying to fill, and therefore live for -- guilt, a sense of purpose, a hole inside -- these are all connected. How do we excuse ourselves to keep living? We see in these iterations of literature that selflessness is something we reach for as we die, something we reach for for happiness, something we reach for to save ourselves from the futility of life, something we use to fill the hole of purpose, of guilt, of want inside us. We feel the need to give ourselves away. This is not a lesson or a "should," but a fact of life -- we devote ourselves to something or other. We are all part sacrifice.

“‘Humans live to save themselves. They will understand this before they die.’

-Oda's last words, Dark Era LN.

But Asagiri brings with this recognition of the ubiquity of selflessness a warning: in Yosano. In Yosano Akiko's poem, Thou Shalt Not Die, she writes of how her brother has been sent off to war to die for the country, and how horrible an act of violence and self sacrifice this is. But how common it is as well, how it's even seen as patriotic, to sacrifice onself for a king who doesn't even fight. This is Yosano's story as well, as a character -- someone who was used, sacrificed, for the sake of war.

To me this reads as a warning. We all have emptiness, so we all give ourselves away. This is a fact of life, so it's crucial to be aware and intimate with one's emptiness, and aware of where its being filled. What are you giving yourself to?

We see again & again, both quietly, by Dazai, and out loud, by Atsushi and Akutagawa, the question "why should I live?" Behind this question is "what am I living for?"

Are you living for your friends? For honor? For approval? For guilt, for shame? For justice? For witness? What is the shape of your debt? Who are you paying it to?

Is it saving you?

[spectres-fulcrum]

I wrote a post 8x15 thing and atm it doesn't feel polished enough to post on AO3 but at the same time I think that's the point???? It's chalk full of grief and Buck and Tommy loving each other but timing is messy and so is grief so maybe a messy conversation about grief and love and daydreams about Bobby loving their children is the point.

Anyway I wrote out a fic based off of my post/theory of the writers paralleling the "Your father's alive" quote when Tommy forces the issue about Buck not being okay with an "Evan, your dad's dead" and all he wants is to give Buck a safe space to break.

This was meant to be posted Thursday pre-episode but then we had some family pain issues so I didn't finish it until like 2am this morning lol but not 8x16 compliant.

“So, that’s all there is to it,” Evan was telling Eddie over Facetime after putting a lid over the meal he had been showing Eddie how to make. Eddie didn’t need lessons for something like enchiladas, Tommy knew, but Evan was in a mode where he was bulk meal prepping for their entire family, and if he couldn’t meal prep for the Diaz boys in Texas, this was the next best thing.

“Buck, thanks, but I really can cook for me and Chris or Mom can set out two more plates,” Eddie said, “You need to take time to chill.”

“Tommy and I have movie nights after dinner. It’s no biggie. I like knowing you two have good food,” Evan said.

“Buck,” Eddie said.

They’d discussed it before he flew home with Chris and his parents, Tommy and Eddie. Eddie had been in town for nine days after Bobby’s death. Evan had been unshakable. Checking in on Hen and Chim, checking up on Ravi, being a pillar for the Grants to lean on. Bulk meal prepping for six households so the others didn’t have to worry about food while mourning.

The only things that betrayed him were his eyes, which oftentimes looked empty, his hands shaking at the funeral, and the way he refused to let Tommy go far. Tommy had rushed to his side the second Evan stepped out of decontamination. He’d never forget the words whispered.

“Bobby has the virus, Tommy. He’s dying. There’s nothing we can do.”

And Tommy had known because nothing else would wreck Evan like that but hearing it?

He’d taken Evan home, undressed him in silence, intended to leave him in his boxers with the shower running hot like Evan loved it after a rough shift, and wait in the living room. But Evan had tugged him into the shower, then straight to bed. Neither had slept, but they’d held each other, and eventually they had gone up to wait with Maddie while Howie had surgery but that had been the theme.

Evan went somewhere, he tugged Tommy along. Tommy got called in to be suspended, Evan waited with the rest of Harbor in the station kitchen, letting them hug him tightly but also give him weary looks. An air of We’re so sorry about Nash but you better not hurt Tommy again someone had relayed to Tommy. Tommy set up an emergency therapy session, Evan waited in the waiting room. Evan had an emergency therapy session, he did it in the bedroom, Tommy in the living room, Eddie sent to his aunt’s for the afternoon.

But there had been no more tears, or sobs. Just Evan wanting him near, wanting to be in his arms as much as possible. Kisses in curls and on temples, holding each other in bed or on the couch, swaying together sleepily as the coffeemaker puttered about making coffee.

They weren’t back together but they weren’t not not back together. They weren’t speaking about what it meant. It wasn’t the right time.

Tommy knew Evan had to break one day. Evan was back on rotation, Gerrard as interim captain. Tommy prayed the breakdown happened on an off day.

“Eddie, I’m fine. I miss Bobby, we all do, but I’m fine,” Evan said, “It’s more important that-“

“Athena and May can grieve without worrying about food, Maddie can focus on Chim’s grief and the pregnancy, Hen and Karen can worry about the kids, Ravi has good food, and Tommy has food for your shift days. They’re lucky to have you,” Eddie said.

The but was silent but very loud.

“You need to get to picking up Chris,” Evan said, “Have him call tonight.”

“Will do. You relax,” Eddie said. “Give me Tommy.”

“So you two can fuss over me?” Evan said as Tommy crossed the kitchen to pluck up the phone. Eddie stared at him, a silent question in his eyes. He stared back sadly.

“I figured,” Eddie said. “Be there, man. You’re doing more than you know.”

“I will be,” He swore.

“I know. Have a good evening,” Eddie said and ended the call. Tommy sighed and turned to see Evan getting stuff out of the refrigerator.

“What are we starting with?” Tommy asked gently.

“Some more enchiladas. May wants some, and Ravi, and the Wilsons,” Evan said, “This one will be our dinner, since I messed up the measurements.”

“So we get the messed up ones?” Tommy teased. He saw Evan tense momentarily.

“I can take it for a snack when I’m back on shift,” He said.

“It’s fine,” Tommy said and kissed the crown of his head. “You care about them so much.”

“I have to. Someone has to take care of them,” Evan said.

What about you? Tommy wanted to ask. When will you let us take care of you?

They meal prepped in a peaceful silence, moving around each other in a practiced dance of meal prepping for their family. Afterwards, Tommy moved on to a pasta dish that was a favorite at the Deluca’s family restaurant back in NYC for Athena and Harry and Evan started prepping a stir fry for the Hans, setting a bit aside to make some a bit more blandly for Jee. Tommy watched him as they prepped food. Evan seemed to be moving on auto pilot in the silence, eyes and mind elsewhere.

“Evan,” He said after watching Evan stare down into his mixing bowl for a good two minutes without Evan realizing. Evan startled.

“What’s up?” He asked, leaning to look at Tommy’s workspace.

“Are you okay?” Tommy asked. And he had asked, but never so bluntly. Evan paused, backed up a step.

“What?” Evan said, “Of course. I’m fine.” Tommy felt something snap.

“Evan, don’t give me that bullshit. Not me of all people,” Tommy said and Evan’s eyes widened.

“I mean, I’m sad about Bobby but I’m coping. I’m fine. I have to be fine,” Evan said, voice wavering.

“Evan, I said don’t. I know you’re not okay,” Tommy pushed.

“You don’t know-” Evan started.

“Yes, I do! I saw you shatter into a million pieces that night in that tunnel. Past decontamination where I couldn’t get to you. I didn’t need you to tell me we were losing Bobby. I knew what was happening seeing you on the monitor,” Tommy said and Evan’s eyes widened.

“I just needed a few minutes of-”

“Evan, you dad is dead,” Tommy said and Evan looked shocked. Tommy was shocked at his own candor. “Your dad is dead, Evan. I don’t know why you think you can’t mourn, but I do not expect you to be okay. If it’s because I’m here, I can go, but you need to let yourself feel this horrific thing we are all dealing with.”

Tears filled Evan’s eyes.

“Say it again. Break the barrier,” Evan whispered.

“Your dad is dead,” Tommy said softly, “It’s okay if you’re not okay.”

“He-he told me I was going to be okay. That they needed me,” Evan said, shaking, “But I’m not. I’m trying to be strong for them but I’m not-I’m not okay. Tommy, how can I ever be fine again-” His knees buckled and Tommy was waiting to catch him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I have you, I have you,” Tommy said as Evan was overtaken by sobs that wrecked his entire body. Tommy maneuvered them so they could slide down the kitchen cabinet and sit against them, Evan in his lap, head in the crook of his neck.

“Bobby’s dead,” Evan sobbed into his neck. And perhaps it was the first time he had said it aloud unless he had said it to his therapist. “He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Tommy said, rubbing his back.

“He’s never going to be in the kitchen, I’m never going to be able to ask for advice or hug him, he’s just-” Evan broke into sobs and for god knows how long, he sobbed and wailed and Tommy held him as close as possible. Rubbed his back, kissed his curls, whispered words of comfort and assurances, that he knew, that this pain was okay, that it wouldn’t be forevermore.

Even if it felt like it.

Tommy wasn’t sure how long it had been when Evan started quieting down to whimpers, and then silence, but he still clung to Tommy’s neck.

“I had this daydream, after our hookup,” Evan said, voice hoarse, thumb rubbing up and down Tommy’s neck soothingly, like he was self-soothing. “I was going to apologize, win you back. In a couple years, you would propose. We would plan a wedding, but then it would get ruined by some emergency because 118 shit.”

That startled a laugh from Tommy.

“118 shit indeed,” He agreed and kissed Evan’s forehead.

“In the fallout, we would decide that we didn’t need a wedding wedding, just the 118 and your Harbor crew and our closest friends-the Delucas, mostly. Eddie and Chris would fly in from Texas. We’d have a small ceremony in Bobby’s new backyard with the most mundane and last minute catering and cake. Bobby would marry us. Maybe all we could get was a deli or something. And it would be perfect,” Evan said, “A year or two later, we’d splash out on a surrogate, adopt a safe haven baby, you’d impregnate me, acquire a newborn girl somehow. Bobby would be grandpa for all the purposes that mattered. He’d love her so much. I played it on repeat. You walking into their kitchen with a seven, eight month old girl on your hip and Bobby lighting up and reaching out to take her and she just cooed and babbled because she knew him because he babysat when we had date night. I wanted the mundaneness so bad. And now…”

Tommy felt a rush of tears and closed his eyes. It was the most beautiful daydream. A wedding. Kids. With Evan.

“I’m sorry. You hate it,” Evan said softly.

“I love it,” Tommy said, “No one has ever imagined me in something so beautiful. I am unworthy of it.”

“No. No. You are,” Evan said and Tommy wouldn’t argue today.

“As you wish,” He said.

“I just. Don’t know. How can I be a dad without him to turn to? How can I be a dad without my dad?” Evan asked. “How can I be a firefighter, a cook, a good partner, an eventual good husband and dad to… without his guidance? I am who I am because of Bobby.”

“Oh, Evan, sweetheart,” Tommy wanted to cry because he couldn’t help this grief. “By remembering his examples. He will always live on in your heart. And because you are amazing just being yourself. You are going to be the most amazing father, Evan. Father, husband, captain. He taught you so well, but now you have to believe in yourself.”

“You think so?” Evan whispered into his neck.

“I know so,” Tommy said, “I know so. You are the most amazing man I know, it takes my breath away. I know timing is messy but we will figure things out, I promise.”

“I want to get back with you the right way. Not out of grief. Abby used me to keep herself above water after your breakup as her mom slowly died. I won’t do that to you. I won’t let myself confuse my love for you and the bandaid sex and physical closeness can give.”

“I agree. I’m fine staying in this in between for however long you need, as long as we agree to work back towards each other,” Tommy said and shifted to kiss Evan’s forehead.

“I promise,” Evan agreed.

“And going forward, I want you to be able to mourn Bobby every April without knowing our anniversary is a few weeks away and feeling like you need to be getting in the anniversary mood or planning for a trip or gifts. I want you to be able to mourn Bobby and be happy for us without guilt for either emotion,” Tommy added.

One second Evan was looking up at his from his shoulder, blue eyes wide, the next gentle lips were on his in a chaste kiss.

“I love you,” Evan said, “God, I love you. No one has ever cared about me like you. They’d call me selfish for hesitating over a reason like that.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Tommy said. He had only voiced it to Sal and his ex-wife, Gina, on different nights, the way he saw the 118 treat Evan when it came to Evan’s emotions.

“What if they’re right?” Evan asked softly. “Eddie says I make things all about myself. We had a pretty big fight about it before he left for Texas.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. He’s an asshole sometimes. Especially to you,” Tommy said.

“He’s not-”

“He is. But he’s your best friend so I won’t talk anymore about it until you want to. Your grief and its timeline isn’t right or wrong. And our timing is for us and us only,” Tommy said and looked Evan in the eyes. “I love you too. So much. I’m sorry I’ve been a scardy cat.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole,” Evan said. “You’re forgiven but next time you want to run, try to stay and talk, even if it’s scary?”

“And next time, run after me? Don’t let me leave you?” Tommy said.

“Okay,” Evan said and Tommy kissed him again. “This doesn’t feel like an in between.”

“We’ll go back. We just agreed to something. Exclusive, eventually dating, marriage and kids. Let us celebrate, baby,” Tommy said.

“I’ve been exclusive with you since the first time I saw your face,” Evan said.

“I tried a date in January, puked in the restaurant bathrooms halfway through the entrees because he was so wrong for me. He was exactly my type, he just wasn’t you,” Tommy whispered and Evan giggled, tear stained cheeks scrunching up.

“Never could convince myself to even think about dating,” He said.

“You’re way smarter,” Tommy said. Evan smiled a second longer and then it fell.

“He said you were good for me. Bobby. I wish he could see us fix our issues,” He said.

“I’m sure he’s watching from wherever he is now, rooting for us,” Tommy said, “And about what Bobby said. I think he wanted you to know eventually you would be okay again. It might take a while, but you will be. I promise.”

“I know. It doesn’t feel like it, but as long as I have you, I will be,” Evan said.

“And you all need each other. You need Chim, Hen, Rav, and Eddie. And vice versa. He didn’t mean you couldn’t show grief and had to always be on while they got to mourn,” Tommy said gently.

“I… I guess so,” Evan said in the hesitant way of a lightbulb flickering as he realized a new outlook was right. “I need them. And you.”

“I need them too. And you,” Tommy agreed. “Always need you. Needed you all my life.”

“Needed you all my life too,” Evan said and nuzzled back into the crook of his neck. “I feel like this conversation is a mess. I broke down over Bobby, then we talked about us.”

“Two much needed things,” Tommy said. “Whenever you are ready to talk about Bobby, I’m here, sweetheart. Promise me you’ll talk and cry now? You can’t bottle this up.”

“I know. God, I feel gross but so much better,” Evan said.

“Shower?” Tommy asked.

“Please,” Evan said and shifted off Tommy’s lap. Tommy stood and offered his hands to Evan to pull him up and kissed the tip of his nose.

“I love you,” He whispered.

“I love you,” Evan said and let Tommy pull him to the bathroom. After a shower, they retreated to the bedroom to cuddle. Tommy was just about to doze off when Evan spoke, his head on Tommy’s chest.

“Can you keep a secret?” He said softly.

“One of yours? Always. From you? Not anymore,” Tommy said.

“Flirt,” Evan quipped. “It’s Bobby’s.”

“Of course,” Tommy said.

“His secret ingredient was cocoa powder,” Evan said and his eyes were glassy.

“I’ll make sure we always have some so we can always have a bit of Bobby’s cooking if we miss him,” Tommy said and Evan smiled. “I used to watch him and marvel at how a man who had been made a captain could be strong and brave and gentle and kind all in the same body. Everyone I knew that had any sort of rank was hard and cold and mean and let their underlings die but not-not Bobby. I didn’t understand. He was a paradox. Men like him only existed in books. But I wanted to know how he did it.”

“And now here you are. Strong but gentle. So brave, but so kind,” Evan said, sounding endlessly in love.

“You, me, Eddie, Ravi, Chim. We all learned from him,” Tommy said.

“Dad taught us well,” Evan agreed.

“He did. But he also knew I needed to fly. To spread my wings. But even after I left… Knowing he was-there. At the 118. That if I needed him I could always go back and get advice really helped me. There was a guy I almost proposed to, towards the end of 2019, thought about taking him to meet Bobby,” Tommy said, “He ended up being a cheating, gaslighting asshole. Turns out Bobby already knew my sweetest heart.”

Evan blushed.

“He already knew mine as well,” Evan said. They grinned at each other.

They spent the next couple hours swapping stories about Bobby. Calls and station events and family BBQ stories from Evan. At some point, Tommy got his phone out to order food delivery. They got a huge spread from their favorite comfort diner, and took it straight to bed to eat and talk.

“Fuck!” Evan said loudly as they were finishing eating. “We left food in the kitchen! Raw meat! We had so much meal prep to do.”

“I think Karen and Maddie can take over cooking for their families, and Ravi can handle his own meals. May too. If you want to make another meal or two for Athena and Harry, we can do that. But now it’s time to dial back taking care of everyone and let me take care of you. Let yourself process and grieve,” Tommy said.

“Is it okay if I just say okay?” Evan asked and Tommy nodded and his heart broke when Evan looked so relieved. “Okay. Let’s clean up the kitchen before the meat starts smelling too badly.”

“Agreed,” Tommy said and they went to clean up the kitchen and run the trash out to the outside garbage can.

Afterwards, Tommy messaged the group chat.

Tommy: Evan’s meal prep for the family days are over or at least paused. It’s time we take care of him. We have enchiladas done for those who requested them.

He smiled at the rush of their friends' understanding, and happiness to hear Evan was letting himself grieve.

“What’s that smile for?” Evan asked as he came back inside.

“You are very loved. You know that, right?” Tommy said, and pulled Evan close.

“I do,” Evan said. Tommy kissed his birthmark and they held each other and swayed gently in the kitchen.

Everything was broken, but maybe, just maybe, something had begun again on these kitchen tiles.

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Reader Insert) Incorrect Quotes Part 3

The Smiling Critters Space Riders Au and the character "Z" belongs to @onyxonline

If you haven't checked out the Fallen Angel (Reader Insert) series, you can check it out here. The reader will be referred to as both (Y/n) and Archangel. Enjoy!

Warning: Cursing

----------

Bobby: Don't break someone's heart, they only have one.

Archangel: Break one of their bones instead, they have 206 of them.

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Crafty: Do you guys ever have a civilized conversation that doesn't require insulting each other every time you get a chance?

Z: No.

Archangel: No.

Crafty: Didn't think so.

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Archangel: I've invited you here because I crave the deadliest game...

Hoppy, nodding: Knife Monopoly.

Archangel: I was actually going to play Russian Roulette, but now I'm really interested in whatever knife Monopoly is.

----------

Archangel: I found a note in one of my old logs that said Note to self: Get revenge on Captain Dogday.

Archangel: Except I couldn't remember what I was supposed to get revenge for.

Archangel: But I trusted my own judgment, so I went with it.

Dogday: Hmm... I don't know what you were supposed to get revenge for, either.

Archangel: I can only assume you got what was coming to you. Not 100 percent sure, though.

Dogday: Well, whatever I did, I guess I deserved it.

Archangel: Let that possibly be a lesson to you.

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Archangel: The only thing keeping me from running away and hiding from society for the rest of my life is spite. I could disappear forever, but there are some bitches whose downfalls I have yet to witness, and I wanna be around when that happens.

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Poppy: Your archangel was in a fight.

Dogday: Oh no, that's terrible!

Catnap: Did they win?

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Dogday: Did Z just tell me he loved me for the first time?

Archangel: Yeah, he did.

Dogday: And did I just do finger guns back?

Archangel: Yeah, you did.

----------

Archangel, watching Hoppy do something stupid: Kickin, you're officially only the second highest risk here...

Kickin: Hell yeah! I'm gonna-

Archangel: Don't finish that sentence, you'll move back up.

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Archangel: How do ethical philosophers feel about murder?

Bubba: Well, it's frowned upon.

Archangel: Okay, but what if the reason you want to murder someone is to make your life easier?

Archangel: That's okay, right?

----------

Bobby: And now for a gay update with Captain Dogday and Z.

Dogday: Getting gayer.

Bobby: Thank you, Captain.

----------

Bubba to Archangel: We call that a traumatic experience.

Bubba, turning to Catnap: Not a "bruh moment."

Bubba, turning to Kickin: Not "sadge."

Bubba, turning to Hoppy: And DEFINITELY not an "oof LMAO."

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Archangel: Why do you look like that, Captain?

Dogday, laying face-first on the floor: Like what?

Archangel: Like you're dead.

Dogday: It's because I'm dying. Leave me here to perish.

Catnap: Dogday accidentally called Z "babe" in front of everyone today.

Dogday: *sobs into the floor*

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Archangel: What's this?

Bobby, hugging Archangel: Affection!

Archangel: Disgusting.

Archangel:... Do it again.

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Kickin: You know, (Y/n), when you generalize, you tell general... lies.

Archangel: ...

Archangel: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns?

----------

*One of the many, MANY fights before the events of Fallen Angel*

Dogday: You tricked me!

Archangel: I deceived you. 'Trick' makes it sound like we have a friendly relationship.

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Archangel: Here's a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it.

Dogday: (Y/n), no.

Hoppy and Catnap: Mistlefoe.

Dogday: Please stop encouraging them.

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Archangel: I have a plan.

Dogday: No murder!

Archangel: ...

Dogday: ...

Archangel: I no longer have a plan.

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Archangel: If I die, you can have what little I own.

Bobby: Wait. What do you mean "if" you die?

Archangel: My unending existence is fueled by pure spite, that of which the painful experiences of life have rendered me full.

Bobby:

Bubba, sighing: Let me call your therapist again.

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Archangel: I'm bored, any suggestions?

Catnap: Sleeping is nice.

Archangel: I acknowledge your suggestion, and I'm deciding to ignore it.

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Hoppy: You think you're smarter than everyone else.

Bubba: I don't think I'm smarter than everyone else. I know I am.

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Kickin: So, I MEANT to say: "Oh crap, I left my phone my car," but what I ALMOST said was "Oh no, I left my cone in my phar," and damn, wouldn't that have been embarrassing, but I caught myself, and what I ACTUALLY said was:

Kickin: "Ah, my fart cone."

Kickin: So, anyway...

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Archangel: I know you don't have to listen to me...

Z: Glad we agree on something.

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Dogday: Do you have any skeletons in your closet?

Archangel: You mean literally or figuratively?

Dogday: Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...

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Dogday: (Y/n), I am questioning your sanity...

Hoppy: I never questioned it. I knew their sanity was missing from the start.

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Catnap: Why is Hoppy rolling on the floor laughing? And what happened to Kickin's head?

Archangel, sighing: Kickin was about to hit his head on the door frame, so I told him to duck and he quacked at me.

Archangel: And then he hit his head.

Catnap: *wheezes*

[doubletalking]

The Izzy/Axl trope is my favourite inter band ship… closely followed by sluff. Obviously we can never know but there is a small part of me that believes it was real… at least a little… maybe only at the very beginning …or in Indiana (im insane)

ANYWAYS I was wondering if you had any fun info or interviews on them (izzax)

Also as a side note I love ur ao3 I’m always dying for more stories on there lol xxx

I mean, you never know 🤷🏻‍♀️ When it comes to gnr, I’ve learned to believe anything’s possible. Aw, thank you, that’s so sweet ❤️

I found it cute that in High school, Izzy and Axl were in Driver’s Ed together (Axl is a “fucking horrible driver,” according to Izzy, lol), and Arts and Crafts Pottery class:

It was their sophomore year of high school, and Jeff Isbell and William Bailey (Axl Rose) were drawing in Boswell’s “Arts and Crafts Pottery” class. Izzy was the better illustrator and member of the school’s Art Club. Axl, the better singer, was in the Boys and Girls Ensemble. The two weren't following the lesson plan that particular day. “Gotcha little bastards!” is what Boswell tells me she wanted to say. Instead, she began to admire their drawing.

“They were combing opposing elements into a beautiful whole,” she tells me over the phone. “The whole, it’s funny now that I think about it, was a skull-like figure with guns and roses.” Boswell tells me Izzy and Axl were illustrating their feelings; tormented by the a pall hanging over them resulting from childhood trauma. Following their art class collaboration, the two boys began silkscreening their design onto plain white T-shirts, a logo for some future punk band. “That took courage,” says Boswell. During Izzy's senior year, 1979, as he walked down the halls of Jefferson High, Boswell saw him for one last time. “He told me he was going to California to start a rock & roll band.” Looking back at their history, it's clear why Izzy expects equality. On the schoolyard, they were always on the same level.

(That last paragraph depresses the hell out of me.)

Adding Izzy’s quote from 2008, "See, I’ve known him for so many years, that there is a familiarity between us. We grew up in the same place, the same atmosphere, and I believe that part of our friendship always will be there."

Bonus: Izzy being the stylist for Hollywood Rose:

According ex-Hollywood Rose bassist Steve Darrow, Izzy was even the band’s stylist: ‘He had us meet up at his place, then fix up everybody’s hair and makeup before anyone left the room. Axl, too.’

[earlgreytea68]

tumblr(.)com/badnewswhatsleft/767988512935084033/rock-sound-312-nov-2024-transcript-below did you see this new pete&patrick interview? some excellent quotes in there

You're right, there are some excellent quotes in there!! I'd seen some of those clips in isolation and it looked like Pete and Patrick were being interviewed separately? So it's interesting to see them combined into one interview!

I'm going to reblog the whole thing in its own post but here are some of my thoughts:

The recurrence of "Patrick and I make one rock star together"! I feel like we haven't seen as much of that post-hiatus? It was nice to see it show up again.

Patrick being ashamed because his voice is too pretty, I AM DYING.

I love that Pete says he came back from the hiatus wanting to be a better leader for his band, and Patrick says that he came back from the hiatus appreciating more how much Pete was doing. Idk, I always kind of figured that's what they learned, but I especially liked Patrick saying that. Maybe he's said it before, since that was a plot point in the time travel fic, that Patrick realized how much Pete was doing. So, in that case, I love it every time Patrick says that.

I also love the recurrence of "you won't hang out with me unless we make music together, so let's make music together." That was how Pete reached out to Patrick after the hiatus, and then that was how Patrick reached out to Pete after the pandemic: Yo, I think you should get out of the house more, let's make some music together. The music is so entirely their love language lol

Also now I really, really hope Pete has a fantasy football league and Patrick's not in it but Patrick's really sick of hearing about it lolololol

THE MANIA DISCUSSION IN THIS. It's so good and spot-on: how Patrick is slightly ahead of the curve sometimes, how people are catching up to how good Mania is and eventually it will be adored, HOW FANTASTIC YOUNG AND MENACE IS. Honestly, I think Young and Menace is such genius and every time Patrick says the whole album should have been like Young and Menace, I mourn that album we didn't get, even though I love Mania. But to me Young and Menace is the best song on the album and one of their best ever and I would have loved to see Patrick follow that weird twist and turn. I think Patrick ultimately concluded that wasn't right for Fall Out Boy and I adore SMFS, too, so I'm fine that he pivoted back but I wish he didn't always sound like he learned a lesson not to experiment too much. Because Young and Menace is just so, so good.

My favorite observation is there are several variations of "fuck" in this interview...and every single one of them comes from Patrick. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN lol

[yearningandpatheticaboutit]

MISSION: YOU

CHAPTER 3: SAFEHOUSE

wc: 5760

prev chapter

warnings: violence, gun violence, triggering image descriptions, war.

***

mira

"we're heading to a safehouse now," were the last words wooyoung said to me before the rest of the car ride was silent. i have so many questions, but i dont have it in me to ask all of them. its like they're floating in my head, but i want to see what he does, and if from this point on, he'll just be honest on his own.

thats the least he owes me at this point–right?

i told myself wooyoung must be used to this. just by how calm he was talking about everyone possibly wanting him dead. but i watch the way his hand grips the steering wheel. i see his other hand curl around his thigh like he's holding something in. all i can do is watch the frost bite along the windshield and wonder if i was ever supposed to make it out of that bathroom.

the people on youtube always say that even in negative experiences, there's something to learn. i used to hang on those words, believing it because they're all i had when i was suffering through the idea of impending heartbreak. but now, i dont think i believe it.

i think that sometimes shit happens–sometmes there's no moral lesson. sometimes it just happens.

i remember another quote. my head is full of those useless things. "the sins of the father fall on that of his daughter." and i cant think of anything more accurate in this moment.

i know my father. before this, he was probably ordering people around, reading the newspaper in the comfort of his home. my mother probably left him some messages about finances he was ignoring, and he was in his perfect little bubble where everything was going his way, and he didnt have to really care about anyone else.

he had that problem often. everyone was just extensions of him, he didnt see my mother and i as our own people. we were just his legacy. even as an ex wife, my mother couldnt escape him. they got divorced when i was in my first year of university, and he had made her agree to a vow of chasteness. he would take care of her till the day she died, as long as she never dared to love another man or attempted to remarry.

my mother was a survivor at heart. i knew she wouldnt ever give up money for the possibility of love.

now im wondering if i have that in me. would i give up my safety, my stability, my sanity for love. for wooyoung. i proved that i wouldnt, back when i thought he was just flakey. but now im in even deeper shit–shit i have no choice in, and when given the chance to walk away, i somehow didnt.

i wont credit all that into being in love with him. i just have a feeling that i wont get out of this unscathed. whether it be from my war criminal father, or the consequences of walking away from my spy ex boyfriend. so right now, my only objective is to stay alive. i'd rather stay with the person who–even though hes a liar who maybe ruined my life,  isnt an active war criminal.

i giggle to myself, finding it funny at the choices i have to make at the ripe age of 22. whats that one charli xcx song? its so confusing sometimes to be a girl?

wooyoung gives me a strange look, probably thinking what am i finding so funny. he wouldnt get it.

"i think you're sleep deprived," he mutters. "you should nap, i'll wake you when we get there."

"no thanks. i'd rather be awake and stare potential death in the face." i dont want to go to sleep and wake up in the afterlife. my spiritual life is in the gutter, so i'd be screwed.

"we're not dying today, sweetheart," he says with confidence that its almost delusional.

i scowl at him. "knock it off."

he frowns at me. "huh?"

"that pet name."

"i cant call you sweetheart anymore?" hes genuinely confused it almost kills me.

"yeah, you screwed me over and last time i checked, i still broke up with you."

"i feel like we shouldnt worry about relationship titles at a time like this but fair enough, i'll stop calling you that." he says with a defeated sigh.

there's an edge of sassiness in his voice that flabbergasts me. i swear, wooyoung has always had audacity, but maybe now that his covers blown he feels like he has nothing more to lose.

"can i earn it back?" he asks me a few moments later.

"what?" i narrow my eyes at him.

"can i earn back my petname privileges with you?"

i look him in the face and switch on his car radio, picking a song from my usb thats always stuck in here. i never answer him and turn up the song playing loud enough so i cant hear anything he says next. he has the nerve to frown sadly and slump back into his seat.

if i was home, i'd start reposting "i hate my bf" tiktoks. unfortunately im not, so i'll just live it while i can.

the sun sets and we pull up onto the driveway of this old looking furniture warehouse. i only know its a furniture warehouse because it literally has a massive chair on its sign. wooyoung presses a button on his car keys and the garage door lifts for him, and we park inside.

the place is desolate. im out to open the door myself but wooyoung basically flies out of the drivers to come and open it for me.

"are you hungry?" he asks, closing the door behind me. "i still have leftovers from our food at the diner."

"lets save it for later," i say. who knows when we'll get to eat again. i look at him for guidance. "what now?"

"uhh, let me show you around."

i dont really want a tour, but i follow wooyoung anyway. he leads me inside through a wooden door and a dark staircase, and i see a whole base of operations on the other side once wooyoung flicks the lightswitch on.

we walk past a bunch of bunk beds that look military-esque. they're all straightened, like they havent been used for a long time.

"we'll be sleeping here tonight," he says. "pick any one you want. there's not a lot of competition."

we continue walking, and on the other side is where it starts looking like a movie. we walk out on the other side of the door and we're on a mezzanine, where there's a whole set up of computers and chairs. on the wall behind it, is a projector.

"this is typically where i would work," he motions to it. "downstairs is the armory."

the guns. im guessing he's gonna need a lot of those since his is definetely out.

"where did you hide your gun while we were dating?" i wonder.

"i always had it on me." he says. i look at him confusion.

"how did i not pick that up?"

he has a weird look on his face after that alerts me he wants to say something stupid.

"say it." i tell him.

"what?" he shakes his head. "i said nothing."

"you wanna say something dumb so just say it."

"you're gonna be mad at me."

"i promise you it can not get any worse."

wooyoung sighs. "i was just thinking you wouldnt ever have found it because its not like we really had clothes on around each other. and when we did its not like you went through them."

i poke my cheek with my tongue. "you know what you're right. maybe i wouldve caught you if i was more of a crazy bitch." too bad i actually had a life.

"you shouldnt have even had to look out for that," he says, suddenly serious and not looking at me, his eyes pointed on the computers. "i didnt ever want you to feel like you had to be crazy. i just wanted you to be away from this. which i know is ironic...but yeah."

his words throw me off balance, but i dont crumble. "i dont know how you expected me to be away from this when there was no way i couldnt have gotten hurt. even if i never caught you, even if none of this happened. if you exposed my father and never got your cover blown, wouldnt you have just moved on to the next mission? wouldnt you have left me behind no matter what?" i ask him.

"i didnt think that far ahead," wooyoung admits with an undercut of anger. "i know what you're going to say, i never do. and you're right. i didnt plan this. i planned everything around it. but i didnt plan you."

i swallow the unforeseen lump in my throat, it doesnt go down. god im tired of being so emotional. of course he didnt plan me. i was going to be collateral.

"right," i try to hide the tremble in my voice. "so i was just some girl you had to keep on a leash until it was inevitably time to let go.

you couldve just been a shadow, you couldve just kept stalking me or whatever but then you went and did all of that...you intentionally took up space. why?"

im afraid of the answer. he already said he wanted to. but i cant stand that. i wont accept it.

"i was hoping you'd be as bad as him," he wont even make eye contact with me. "i thought everything you did was just a front. it was just so convenient, i convinced myself it was fake so i didnt have to care. but then i got to know you and..." he stops and swallows, breathing heavily. "i found out you were actually a good person and i just didnt want to stay away from you. its selfish but it felt right at the time."

he finally looks at me, running his hand through his hair. "and i know you probably dont feel the same, and you shouldnt have to. but i swear to god mira i didnt mean for any of this to happen to you. if i could go back...i'd do it for you–not me. i'd stay the hell away from you and let you be happy."

i nod, eyes burning and i turn away from him and look at the bottom of the mezzanine. "you're right, you should have just stayed away," the pause is filled with silence, dragging like a knife between us. "you just made me love someone who i now know was never planning to stay."

"i know i betrayed you mira, and took away your actual choice in trusting me. what i did was unforgivable. i was meant to keep you at arms length and i did everything but that. i thought i could just control everything. i should never have let it get this far."

i wipe my tears quickly, just grateful that all my mascara is practically washed away. "appreciate the honesty, i guess."

silence again. i want another hug but i cant just run into his arms. i cant do that for a long time.

i hear him walk and turn to see what he does next. he goes to a computer and turns it on, shoving a usb into the sides of it. it projects onto the screen and i see him type in a password and enter the homescreen of the system.

he goes into a folder named "Saidi", my family name. i stiffen, wondering what i'll see on the screen, but when he goes inside, its all code.

"uhm. the guy working at your moms house found something on your dad and gave it to me to decrypt the day i got caught following him. im hoping your father doesnt know im an agent yet and just assumes im some freak that kidnapped his daughter cause it'll throw him off our scent a bit. but i dont take your dad for a stupid guy." he says, rolling up his sleeves.

"he's not," i say. "he has really strong intuition."

"i knew he never liked me," wooyoung scoffs.

"what's on the folder?" i ask.

"that's what we're figuring out now. but i know its evidence against him. enough to secure a warrant."

im scared to see what it is, but at the same time my eyes are glued to the screen. maybe i just need to see things for what they are, and this feeling will go away.

im not tech savvy. i cant even do excel. but seeing wooyoung work makes me realize i really dont know anything. i shouldnt compare myself—he is a spy. but holy shit. the way his fingers move across the keyboard makes me clutch my imaginary pearls. hes working so hard the veins in his arms are throbbing.

he gets in i think. through another layer of whatever the hell is on the screen. theres multiple folders now, all named a gibberish collection of numbers and letters. he goes inside a folder and starts reading a document.

"is that a contract?" i frown, recognizing the format.

"yeah," wooyoung sighs. "its all the weapons deals with the militant groups."

i move closer, wanting to get a closer look. i end up next to him, and he shifts slightly away from me.

he clears his throat awkwardly. "there's a bunch of license permits for arms that dont

match their purpose. there's also bank transfers, cryptocurrency transactions, shipping invoices..."

i look at him. "can i see this?"

"of course," he nods, almost eagerly, moving out of the way so i can be infront of the keyboard.

i scroll through the long pdf thats over a 1000 pages. it reminds me of all the evidence i have to study for tests. this is just one long case study. the kind of practical experience i didnt know i needed yet didnt want.

i backspace out of the one folder and look at the many others. i see one that catches my eye, it looks like its full of photos.

i drag the cursor to it and wooyoung's hand suddenly finds mine, holding the mouse in place. i feel my skin spike at the contact, the way his hand lingers feeling like electricity. i look up at him but cant find my words.

"wait," he says, suddenly sounding worried. "that one has pictures in it. i dont know if you'll want to see whats in that. it could be...upsetting. do you want to?"

"what kind of pictures?" i ask cautiously. "crime scenes?"

wooyoung bites his lip nervously. "they're timestamped photos of connected shipments and their...consequences. and a bunch of other stuff. i dont think you'll feel good seeing it mira."

the consequences.

"i'd rather see it," i say quietly and push the mouse to him. wooyoung sighs and opens the folder up, and i straighten to look at them fully.

the first one catches my eye because its the one i can make out the clearest. it looks like people wrapped in white sheets, tied up with blood stains at the top of their heads. executional style.

"hostages," he fills in for me. "enemy soldiers and officers."

the next one is just a bunch of small, dusty hands peeking out under rubble.

"civilian casualties."

the next one is a bunch of men in uniform piled on the floor in a row, all of them dead and bleeding out on the floor. there are soldiers surrounding them, holding guns and smiling above them like they secured a massive victory.

"the militants."

then another picture in a similar fashion, but the militants held a decapitated head. i look away from that one quickly and find one that shatters my heart completely.

a young boy. lying on the floor, missing half a leg, with guns sprawled next to him. he doesnt look older than 16. hes covered in dust, the wounds in him filled with gray and dried blood. his face isnt even recognizable anymore because he was laying out that long. i grab the mouse from wooyoung and click out of it completely.

"a child soldier," he says finally, looking at me with an undefinable look on his face.

"oh my god," i whisper to myself.

that boy looked just like any other kid refugee i would meet on an ordinary day. but he didnt get a chance. he was swallowed by consequences he had no part in. he was a baby, dragged into some man's selfish war. and he died for nothing.

i sit down on the chair infront of wooyoung's computer. he keeps looking at me, waiting for me to say something, but i cant. no words of mine are worth anything in regard to that.

"im not gonna look at this anymore," he says into the silence. "i know everything that needs to be here is here. im just...gonna make a call. do you want me to leave you here alone or can i just stay here?"

i feel like i cant even hear him properly. "who are you calling?" i ask, my throat suddenly dry.

"people from my agency. i want them to know i have everything they need."

god, is this going to end? can it finally be over? im fine with never seeing my father ever again.

"you can take it here," i tell him.

wooyoung nods and opens up something on the laptop and it starts dialing. then, someone picks up.

"its woo. i got what we needed. awaiting exfil." he says, his voice completely changing. the softness he had with me vanishing into thin air.

"acknowledged. sit tight. send what you have while you wait."

"yes sir."

a moment passes. there's dread in the air. everything's calm.

"is amira saidi with you?"

wooyoung doesnt answer immediately. i still cant believe they know my name. he just stands beside me, staring at the laptop like he’s trying to read between the lines. i notice his jaw tighten—barely—but enough.

“yes,” he finally says. his voice is flat now. stripped of anything familiar.

there’s a pause. too long.

the voice on the other end speaks again, too smoothly: “copy. maintain visual until further instruction.”

wooyoung’s shoulders tense. i see it—just a twitch, barely perceptible—but it says everything. he knows. whatever code they just spoke wasn’t one he expected.

he clicks the laptop shut, slowly. carefully. then he looks at me like he’s trying to memorize me. like something’s changed.

"what's wrong?" i ask, trying not to panic.

"i think they know."

my stomach drops. and i feel my chest burn.

"but they didnt say anything."

"they wouldnt," he says sharply. its the first time ive heard him like this. cold and sharp like a dagger.

my mind starts to race again. "how can we be sure then?" i ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"there's someone i can call, but if i do that, if they dont know my cover's blown, that will definetely give it away."

so our only choice left is to fucking gamble our lives?

i stand up, feeling like i need to rip all my nails off. ive never been this fucking nervous in my life. "so what do we do, wooyoung? are they gonna come here and raze us with bullets?" i raise my voice.

"i need you to trust me," he tells me. "i'll be right back."

"no, you are NOT leaving me by myself," i order him and grab onto his sleeve.

"im going to get guns, mira. are you sure you want to be around that after all the stuff you saw?" he holds me by my shoulders, his eyes flickering with regret and tenderness.

"i dont care," i bite out, breathing hard. "just dont leave me."

wooyoung resigns and we go downstairs to the armory. its filled with military grade weapons. there's a bunch of ammo lying around too. wooyoung picks up another gun that looks identical to his, and i distract my thoughts of impending doom by staring at the rifles.

"you know how to use those?" woo asks me. i shake my head in disgust.

"my father made me go hunting with him when i was eleven. we shot a rabbit and i cried for two days straight. he was so mad at me and said i was too soft. then my mom banned him from taking me on any of his trips again and forced him to let us go on weekly shopping trips instead." i practically word vomit. im trying to think of anything and everything else other than those people showing up.

would they arrive in a helicopter or a tank? would they just bomb this place with us in it?

"im guessing those lessons wont pay off then," woo mutters.

"are they going to kill us?" my voice shaking with franticness.

woo looks at me with a straight face. "they wont kill you."

i stare at him blankly. "so just you?"

"you dont have to sound so excited about it," wooyoung says with a half smile. what the fuck.

"there's no way you're this calm about this," i say exasperatedly, pushing my hair back. its so frizzy now if i dont get a blowout in the next four days im screwed. "wooyoung what are we going to do–"

"listen, i know you think im crazy and this is insane to ask, but trust me. please. just for tonight."

i resign. i dont know what else to do. i sigh and try to stop fidgeting, then look at him expectantly. "can i have those leftovers now?"

***

somehow, i passed out on the bunkbed. i dont know when i got comfortable enough to sleep. a flash of the harsh light woke me up, and immediately with my regained consciousness, i go and find wooyoung.

he isnt close to me. which i know is crazy to expect after ive repeatedly pushed him away, but i told him i dont want him to leave me. he doesnt get to.

when i walk out onto the mezzanine, i see woo on the ground floor talking to two men in black. i freeze, my hands gripping the railing as they all look up at me in unison.

oh my god, they're here.

woo gives me a look, a flash of something sharp in his eyes but it disappears quickly.

"miss saidi," a man with the most menacing eyes ive ever seen says with a curt nod. "my name is agent song," he then gestures to his partner. "this is agent park. we would like to ask you a few questions about your father, mr saidi, if that would be alright."

i like how hes asking, trying to make it seem like i have a choice. i know damn well i dont. but i guess wooyoung's not in trouble.

but i briefly look at him, and the tension in his arms and back tell a different story. i dont make a move till i know whats going on.

"why does she have to go with you?" woo asks with badly hidden irritation. "i told you she doesnt know anything, didn't i?"

"since when is that for you to decide, jung?"  agent park says, tossing wooyoung a look.

woo shrugs hard. "its my mission, isnt it? didnt you just come to get the files and me?"

agent park and agent song turn to each other slowly, sharing ominous eye contact. the hair on my skin start to raise.

"your mission, agent jung?" agent song drawls. "your mission's done. you're extracted. you can hand over the files and miss saidi."

"but that wasnt the deal," wooyoung argues.  "i told you–"

"miss saidi's been reported missing," agent song interrupts. "she should return to her family as soon as possible. and we'll drive her home, after questioning."

i blink hard, feeling sweat gathering on me quick despite this cold. "why am i getting pulled for questioning? may i know the merits of this case?" i try to put on my professional voice, but it cracks inbetween and doesnt do me any justice.

"you'll know once we arrive at the station. woo, you're done here. go with agent park."

i dont know what to do. something tells me i should go with them, to be safe, and out of harms way. but the other part of me is telling me that if wooyoung is panicking, i should too–if he doesnt want me going, then there has to be a reason, right?

are they gonna drug me? interrogate me for days? hold me prisoner till i tell them about my father? what if they dont believe i know nothing? will they kill me–

agent park steps forward to wooyoung, holding his hand out. "the files, agent jung."

wooyoung stares at the man's hand, his jaw clenching at the sight of it. he makes no move.

***

wooyoung

ive been compromised. never in my career have i ever been extracted by agent park and agent song. it was always agent choi. every single time, suddenly, the one guy i can ask if my cover is in tact, doesnt show up? i think thats telling enough.

even the code. they never ask for the files until im fully extracted. until im fully safe. until i know im in the clear. now they want it before im even off the job?

i know that once they get their hands on the files i cracked, im going to end up in the middle of the desert. some "accident" in the local newspaper. and now they want mira too.

not if i can fucking help it.

"let me double check if everythings here," i say. agent park's lip twitches, his impatience gnawing on him. i never liked him. "i'll just plug it in the laptop, cmon."

they look at each other once again. agent song sighs and nods. "lead the way."

mira looks at me with deep confusion, her eyes wide in worry. i know she expects nothing good from me, but she needs to lend me all the faith she has. even if its a single strand.

we head up to the mezzanine and the plan runs through my head. its not even a plan–im not a man for plans. if anything, im a master of improv. not even i know what i'll do next. it used to work all the time, now im here.

girlfriendless, jobless, possibly soon to be lifeless.

we walk past mira and i nod for her to take a walk. i hope she gets it. but as soon as we pass her, agent song plants himself next to her, sizing her up. or is he checking her out? either way, his eyes are on her too fucking long for my liking.

i plug the usb into the side of the laptop, waiting for the screen to pop up on the projector. agent park's eyes drift up to the screen, his jaw clenched for some reason. its like he wants to say something but is holding back.

"mira doesnt know anything, agent park," i say again. i watch his eyes. theyre almost smug.

"yeah, you'd know from studying her fully, right?"

there it is. that pointedness in his tone. just like i watched her. they watched me. if they knew how i was bombing everything, then they've been planning to take me out. they've been waiting for it.

"i would know," i answer him matter of factly. i pull out the usb suddenly and agent park straightens, glaring at me.

"nothing loaded yet, why did you do that?"

i dont answer him, instead lifting my laptop and slamming it into his head.

park stumbles back, and i hear mira scream and see her try to run. i drive my foot into agent park's chest, making him tumble over the mezzanine with a harsh grunt. its not enough to kill him, and i unfortunately cant. mira's seen me off more than one person already. i dont want her to fear me.

agent park hits the ground with a painful thud and he screams. agent song is holding mira by her clothes as she tries to break free, and he moves to withdraw his gun at the same time. i kick a table into his knees with brutal speed, making him double over it. i bolt toward mira and shove her through the door towards the bedrooms. "go mira, go!" i yell at her, taking out my gun, unable to say the location aloud but i hope she knows i mean the car.

"you're a dead man, jung!" agent song furiously spits. his gun is aimed at me and i quickly take cover behind a pillar as a shot goes off.

"if you really wanted to kill me, you should've sent agent choi," i scoff, breathing hard. i take my turn to shoot, seeing him taking cover behind the table i kicked at him. all my shots miss and i want to scream at myself as im forced to withdraw, his next few shots landing dangerously close to my shoulder and all etching into the pillar.

i need a distraction. i cant kill them and i cant die here. i quickly look at the lights above us, a shot sparking concrete into my face as it lands in the pillow again. fuck!

i roll to the side and fire upright, blowing out the light above Song, showering the area with sparks and smoke. darkness falls on the mezzanine.

***

mira

i wait in the garage, my palms sweating horrendously and my skin feeling like i'd explode in a microwave. i keep rubbing my hands on my jersey, but it doesnt help. i keep hearing gunfire and i just tell myself if wooyoung was dead there wouldnt still be gunshots.

on my side its quiet. too quiet. i cant even make a run for it because wooyoung has the keys. im really either leaving with him, or the other two agents who definetely dont care if i live or die.

what do we do now? i try not to think so much with every shot going off in the background but i cant help but be smart. where the fuck exactly would we go after this? and how much more of this do we have to go through. im shitting myself enough as it is.

the door suddenly budges but doesnt open because of the latch on my end. no one on the other side says anything. i start to shiver and look around for something. the only thing in range is a fucking fire extinguisher. i pull it off the wall and hold it with shaking hands.

"amira?" someone says. its not wooyoung's voice, he'd never call me that.

"its agent park. you can call me seonghwa. please open the door."

"i dont know anything," i say back, sniffling. "i swear i dont."

"i believe you," seonghwa says. "let us take you home."

"if you believe me then why are you trying to kill woo?"

"he is obsolete. and he has done enough harm by getting close to you. he cannot be trusted to take part in a mission ever again."

i lean against the wall, my chest heaving. "a bit harsh for someone who still did the job, isnt it? or does he know something you dont want him to know?"

"everyone knows who he is. he will no longer be our problem."

so they are going to kill him. i squeezed my eyes shut trying to not go insane.

"open this door, amira." its a demand now, no more mr nice guy. i gasp as he rams himself into the door. with three loud bangs it bursts open and seonghwa storms in. i panic and immediately blast him with the fire extinguisher, coating him in white foam. seonghwa screams and slips, falling like a cartoon who slipped on a banana peel.

i keep blasting him until his hair flies up into sun beams and hes screaming in horror. it looks like he wants to reach for his gun and my panic overrides me. i swing the extinguisher over his head and he flattens to the floor with a loud bonk.

***

wooyoung

smoke curls through the air, thick and stifling, and agent song's coughing cuts through the haze.

i move quiet. ive always been quiet in the dark. we both trained for this, but im way better. hell, he cant even hear me through his wet coughing.

he thinks he's slick, repositioning behind the table i kicked at him. but I’m already there.

i tackle him from behind and he snarls, elbowing at me wildly. i trap his wrist and slam it into the steel railing, hard enough to make the gun clatter to the floor. he goes for my throat and I duck low, driving my knee into his ribs. The breath leaves him in a hiss, and he tries to grab my hair, stupidly.

gun still in hand, i whip it across his face. his head jerks, blood flying into the smoke. he stumbles, dazed. not out, but slow.

"you're lucky," i drawl. “if i really wanted you dead, you’d already be leaking into the carpet.”

he staggers back, reaching for anything to balance himself. i shove him hard and he collapses against the support beam. his gun's out of reach, and i don’t give him the time to get clever. i grab a broken zip tie from my pocket—cheap, thin, but it'll hold—and fasten it tight around his wrist to the nearest pipe. he snarls, yanking at it like a cornered animal.

“you're not walking away from this!” he shouts after me.

“then i'll crawl,” i mock, already halfway to the door out.

mira’s waiting. there’s no more time.

***

next chapter

tagslist: @hon3ysun @sl33ptalk @blue5ummer

[tixdixl]

I need my 日本語を話せられない TWST friends (non-Japanese speaking) to know that my buddy who is an L2 Japanese language teacher (with an MA in East Asian Studies) and I (who is an L2 Japanese learner with an MA in Sociolinguistics) have been dying over this colloquial grammatical construction that we keep seeing in the voice lines of History/Flight and Alchemy lessons: 朝から (asa kara)

Neither of us can figure out how to properly translate this construction, and every time TWST adds a new line with it, or we come across a line we hadn't see before, we immediately message one another in our confusion and have a conniption over it. We had questioned whether or not it was an example of "anime dialect", but after finding plenty of examples of it being used on Japanese twitter, we realized that it is definitely a colloquialism that's used in everyday speech.

For discussion purposes, keep in mind 朝 (asa) means "morning" and から (kara) is the particle causing the translation issues.

The thing you have to understand is that in Japanese classrooms and in Japanese grammar books - including Japanese grammar books FOR native speakers the particle construction ____から (kara)____まで(made) functions like "from ___ until ____" in English.

Except that's not how its being used in TWST. The まで portion of the particle construction never shows up in any of the examples that I've pulled from TWST.

Examples include (but are not limited to):

Cater (History): 朝からいい感じ (asa kara ii kanji)

いい = "good"

感じ = "feeling" (like a vibe or emotion)

Official Localization: "Off to a good start today!"

Cater (History): 朝から頑張らね (asa kara ganbara ne)

頑張らね ≈ "let's do well"

Official Localization: "Early bird gets the worm, I guess."*

*Footnote: While the translation here isn't literal, this line makes me openly question if 朝から is actually a set up for an idiomatic phrase in Japanese but I will discuss more later...

Jade (History): 朝から元気でそね (asa kara genki desu ne)

元気 = "in good health" or "well"

です= formal, present tense of the closest equivalent of "to be"

ね = equivalent tag is "right?" or "yeah?"

Official Localization: "You have a lot of energy in the morning."**

**Footnote: This localization is just painfully off from the intended meaning? But we're keeping it here to prove a point.

Malleus (History): 朝から退屈だ

退屈 = Tedium or boredom

だ = informal past tense of です

Official Localization: "It's early, and I'm already bored."

(A fun side note: This exact quote was found verbatim on Japanese twitter when we were searching for language samples.)

Sebek (Alchemy): 朝から再ないこだな

再ない ≈ not again

再ないこだな ≈ its the same again /its repeating (with a declarative verb conjugation, implying that the audience already understands and agrees)***

***Footnote: I kind of get the sense that he's basically saying "It's another morning and it's the same shit again", but not literally. Because he is clearly using a negative declaration here and the implication of the repetition "from the morning, its the same again" kind of gives me the reading similar to "Not this shit again".

Official Localization: "Someone awoke in a foul mood."

Additional translator's note: Because the subject is repeatedly dropped from each example here, and the only ones that indicate any inclusion of an outside party are Cater's second example and Jade's example because of the inclusion of the pragmatic tag, I am operating under the assumption that each student is likely speaking about themselves. This creates a bit of conflict in my understanding when compared to the localizations, because the localizers keep making a referential to an outside party ("someone").

You can tell from the official localizations that they are localized in such a way that its seamless for English speakers, but the translations often aren't or can't be literal. The localizers also repeatedly use idiomatic phrases in their translations where contrastingly, the predicate of the sentence (after the time placement) don't necessarily use phrases that I recognize as being used in idiomatic contexts. This creates an issue since we can't use them as a reference for being able to figure out what から does/how it functions in the sentence as a grammatical element that also changes the meaning of the sentence. The closest thing we've been able to guess about the use of から in these lines is that it might mean "From" or "Because of", which we pulled from one of the Grammar Books that she uses to help teach. The chart can be seen here:

But if that's the case, Cater's second line doesn't exactly make sense? Nor does Sebek's line? And for that reason, I have to wonder whether or not 朝から is used as a formulaic set up and if that set up is idiomatic in nature.

Both of us for literal months have been scrounging the internet in hopes that we can find any sort of clue as to how to understand this construction and/or to identify whether or not its specifically a colloquial usage to signify an idiomatic phrase is being used. One of the big flaws though is we haven't exactly been able to find any evidence on sites like Word Reference forums of the use of から in any potentially idiomatic way, and the localizations suggest that it could either be idiomatic or literal. We also haven't found any other site that uses or references から without まで.

At this point, it's entirely possible I'm overthinking it? But I'm genuinely confused and want to better understand it so I can improve my overall Japanese comprehension.

I honestly just wanted to share this because it's been both a fun and also frustrating learning journey, and also because I'm hoping maybe there's another person out here who 日本語と英語を話せまそ that might also recognize or know this construction and helps us understand it better. ^^;

[doggrowth]

Blorbo questions!

2 - who was your first ever Blorbo, who was your childhood Blorbo, and are they still your Blorbo? 4 - what’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo? 29 - has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry? (always looking for recs haha, even if it means getting my heart torn out)

Hello!! Thanks for listing the questions in the ask... you're so iconic for that.

2: Like as a wee child? Idk probably like Kirby or Turtwig if that counts. And yea, I still love those guys (I have a Turtwig tattoo so). But proper "I'm hyperfixating on this individual what do I do"? Prolly Dan and Phil. And I wouldn't call them blorbos, but I still love em :)

4: Viktor - his face/ass. wait no. How human he is. How all the way until the end, I think he is so, deeply human. When AU Viktor completes the Glorious Evolution and he's left with nothing, what haunts him? Dreamless Solitude. He's lonely. How human is that?

He wants and dreams. He fucks up. He breaks the rules because he thinks it's the right thing to do. He speaks his mind. He feels deeply. Nothing about him is superficial. I love it so, so much.

29: Yes! And idk you have probably read some of these but here you go.

Coming Home (But Not to You) - wow who would've expected that! Why did I cry, you may ask? Well...

Viktor feels this horrible stinging behind his eyes. He feels cleaved open. Nothing about the man in these drawings seems weak. Or strange. Or unworthy. Nothing at all. In fact, he seems to draw in sunlight. Warmth. He's beautiful when drawn by Jayce's hand.

Viktor feels the odd sensation of his lower lip trembling before the feeling even hits him. Something huge and ugly and very, very old builds within him. He tries to choke it down. But it's not working. It's a deep, blinding happiness. It's a long-felt loneliness. It's a little boy in a terrifying place with huge dreams and even bigger obstacles. With the world crushing him and the sky so far away.  Once told by an older man with bad intentions that his loneliness was what made him brilliant. 

I'm deadass serious, I cried even just searching for those quotes. But yeah. I love that fic.

Okay other fics though that are less likely to have been heard of...

ANYTHING that talks about Viktor even POSSIBLY dying makes me cry. So for that I have:

isolation which I gotta fucking read the pt 2 soon

A lesson in rigor mortis is just painful

Contingency Planning also very sad

Then also I've Been Thinking of All the Little Things That You've Been Missing - I can't remember if I properly CRIED but I did feel TERRIBLE at some of the angsty bits. So fucking sad (and then it's good dw)

And for Viktor x Reader: foreign/familiar is just so sad and ofc Nothing's New by @hivemuthur. This one is a bit predictable but WHEN SHE'S IN THEIR ROOM HOLDING THE NOTE AND STAR ITS JUST SO SAD OKAY???

Anyways thanks for the ask!

Blorbo ask game

[machveil]

Every single question youre comfy with on that list

yippee permission to yap from beloved pookie dearest!!

1. Age? - 20✨

2. Sexuality? - demisexual (and panromantic)

3. Introvert or Extrovert? - definitely ambivert leaning introvert. like, I’m decently outgoing with my friends, but heavily prefer low-key situations. I’m more energized at home or in a small group hanging out

4. Nicknames? - my dad’s friends call me ‘Bob’ because they have trouble saying my actual name lol

5. Middle Name? - I definitely have one, it’s my great-grandmother’s first name

6. Eye color? - dark brown, my irises usually look closer to black but they get amber-y in sunlight

7. Hair color and type? - a decently wavy brunette, pretty thick hair, helps that I have an undercut

8. Tattoos you have/want? - no tattoos, hesitant to say ‘yet’, but I like designs like these (Pinterest links): arm tattoo, shoulder tattoo, midriff tattoo

9. Think you’re pretty? - not all the time, but recently I’ve been feeling cute. I’ve been told I’m pretty, and I definitely feel pretty some days, but it’s wishy-washy

10. Crush? - no idea, I could have one, too much self-analyzation of my emotions if I’m being real lmfao

11. Single or taken? - still single💅

12. Miss any of your exes/regret breaking up? - I’ve never dated anyone so nope✨

13. Do you have a “type” you’re attracted to? If so, what is it? - looks-wise, not really. at most, I like people with voices leaning towards or with a hint of baritone, but that’s about it. I’m more emotionally invested in people, I like when people are caring and have empathy, when they talk about their interests passionately and listen to others. who you are makes me attracted to you, when I get that emotional attraction then I get physical attraction - if that makes sense

14. Five ways to win your heart? - enjoying your food is a huge massive way to win me over. I don’t know, it’s just so compelling and cute when someone actually enjoys their food. being nice to other people is also pretty big. not to go back to food, but eating with me haha. I’m a really slow eater and I appreciate when people eat with me - especially when they don’t rush me or complain. aah parallel play, doing your own thing while I do my thing? being around each other? that hits. and uhm, I dunno, talk to me lmao. as shy as I am, I do appreciate when people talk to me

15. Turn offs/ons (pick one)? - aurgh turn offs are a handful. it is actually mind boggling to me that I’ve experienced this in real life, but I’ve been fetishized for being Korean by, like, three men before. biggest, fattest turn off, like— oh my god, and they weren’t subtle about it either

16. Want kids (how many)? - I’m going to be so real, I was thinking about this the other day and it actually stressed me out lmao. I don’t think I can do any kids, man. like, that’s a human being, I can’t mess that up. also, just like, the stress and impact on someone’s body, possibly dying, god forbid complications, I don’t even want to imagine a C-section. there’s long lasting effects, possible nerve damage, the works. and, even if everything goes okay, the idea of my partner possibly dying or leaving and being a single parent? I don’t think I can do that

17. Pets? - no pets, but I’ve wanted a Japanese Bobtail cat since seventh grade

18. Biggest pet peeve? - people touching my stuff without permission. unless I know you really well or you have explicit permission from me, don’t touch my stuff

19. Biggest fear/phobia? - uuh opening a garage door and someone being on the other side. wigs me out thinking about it

20. A talent you have? - I mean, I guess I can draw stuff

21. Ever won an award? - I have! I won awards in high school for choir

22. Biggest regret? - not cutting some people off sooner

23. Do you drink/smoke? - neither, I like mocktails and being around smokers alone makes me feel a little nauseous

24. A quote you live by (if none, your most valuable life lesson)? - I did a quote in a different response, so my most valuable life lesson is putting yourself first. if someone doesn’t have your best interest at heart you don’t need them, especially if they’re stressing you out

25. Favorite animal? - tough pick, extinct I’d say Parasaurolophus, alive, probably, an avian of some sort. corvids are nice, love a Pekin duck, adore a Silkie chicken, cute fellas

26. Favorite color? - well, I’ve been loving pinks and browns recently, but I’ve always been a fan of green

27. Favorite food? - uuuh Korean dishes… too many to choose from. I love… bulgogi. and strawberry and mango bingsu. and pork belly with gochujang

28. Favorite emoji/emoticon? - I like this guy ฅ(^•ﻌ•^ฅ) and ✨

29. Favorite book? - well, Of Mice and Men (1937) had me crying in my bathroom freshman year, so I look back at it fondly. I love A Light in the Attic (1981), when I was a kid I’d make my dad read poems to me before bed, so I’d say that’s my favorite

30. Favorite movie? - I love The Lego Batman Movie (2017), dare I say it’s my favorite movie ever. something about it just— man, it’s perfect. uuh, but I also love The Last Unicorn (1982) and Top Gun: Maverick (2022)

31. Favorite video game? - Wuthering Waves, Lupa is on the next banner, impatiently waiting for Chisa and Qiuyuan. I’m F2P and on my knees for astrite, my NA server ID is 500222943 for anyone interested haha

32. Favorite television show? - I liked Modern Family (2009-2022) and Friends (1994-2004), my favorites are Seinfeld (1989-1998) and Frasier (1993-2004) because I quote and watch them with my parents and cousins pretty regularly

33. Favorite subject? - art and choir girlie, but for core classes I love history and english

34. Favorite physical attribute about yourself? - like my hands a lot, I think they’re pretty and they hold my Apple Pen pretty well. I get eczema sometimes, but even then I like them

35. Favorite band and/or artist? - oouhhg I like a lot of artists. my favorite band is Queen, but I also like Guns N’ Roses and Aerosmith. K-Pop, my favorite group is Stray Kids, I also listen to ATEEZ and New Jeans, among other groups. big fan of Chappell Roan, Sabrina Carpenter, and Lady Gaga. my favorite artist is probably Emei, love her songs Love Me Not and Scatterbrain

36. Favorite song? - Love Me Not (Emei) hands down, but I also like Ice Cream (JEON SOMI) and Primadonna (MARINA). Lovers Rock (TV girl), Hard Times (Paramore), and Chokehold (Sleep Token) are also some favorites

37. Last song you heard? - BANANA SHAKE (sped up) (HUS), and before that it was Hard Times (Paramore)

38. Last text you sent? - “man, [friend] said the same thing😔”, I was told I couldn’t have mac n cheese

39. Your device’s current lock and homescreen wallpaper(s)? - same picture for both

40. Ask your own question! - why don’t I have mac n cheese in front of me right now

[queensilber]

Supernatural: Witch‘s Canyon

Posting everything in this book that i think you need to know, lets go!

Summary:

Okay, so, the boys head to the Grand Canyon to solve a case of a fourty-year murder cycle. The spirits of variouse humans and animals alike attack the locals and they need to find out why and how to stop it.

It is set somewhere in Season two.

My opinion:

This was so much fun. Like, it was really like watching an episode, just a lot longer and with the magic ability to see into Sam and Deans (and a bunch of other characters) heads.

It also gave a little bit of a fanfiction vibe, just with the addidtion that everything is cannon and that all the random little facts and quotes are a real thing (i‘ll list those in a second)

And also there were flashbacks of their childhood??? That made me cry??? I hated john winchester before, but now even more so. (More about the flashbacks below too)

So yea, it was definetly worth it and i cant wait to read the others!!

Songs:

This is the music Sam and Dean listened to during the course of the book (some locals listened to music too, but i did not list those)

- „paranoid“ by Black Sabbath

- „turn the page“ by Bob Seger

- unspecified tape by Bad Company

Flashbacks:

There are two flashbacks to Sam and Dean‘s Childhood:

- the first one is Dean Remembering a time when John made him and Sam run through an obstacle course at age twelve and eight. Dean had to shoot a gun during it, Sam just had to point and yell „Bang!“.

In the process of that Sam got injured and cried and John yelled at him to keep going and that he was doing poorly. Dean comforted his brother and encouraged him, leading to sam actually making it. Sam did it and Dean cheered, but john kept yelling at them to keep going to the next obstacle.

- the second one was from when Dean was fourteen and Sam was ten. Their Dad gave them backbags and said what was in them could last them fir four days and they all went on a hike together.

In the middle of nowhere john then saud that they should not trust anyone on what they are told and left them alone, telling them that they should find their way (at very least two days of walk) back themsleves and they shouldnt have relied on him so much and he just… left.

When they checked their backbags they found that most in it was useless and they were also filled with rocks to make it seem like it was more than it was.

Thats so fucked up, like

Those are children. And the worst part, when Dean rememvers this he thinks of it almost positively because it taught him a valuable lesson. I cant even begin to describe how my heart hurt for them.

Random facts:

Here are some facts from the book, i do t know anymor if those are mentioned in the show too, but it hardly matters, i think:

- Sam outgrew Dean at the age of 16

- Dean felt gutity over Jessicas death and thought that it was a „more solid basis“ of guilt than Sam had on the matter

- Sam can differentiate between uniforms of different wars in history just by a look

- Dean hates Rats. A lot.

Quotes:

Some quotes from the book:

John Winchester hunted monsters, ghosts, demons — the creatures most people only believed in deep down in their 3:00 am hearts, abd that they laughted off when the sun was bright and their spirits high.

It was a habit Dean had picked up from Dad — reffering to what they did as a „job“. To Sam it was nore of a Mission, even a calling.

„Sammy really likes cops,“ Dean said. „If he didnt have any talents he might have become one“

Sometimes he thought Dean wouldnt mind dying if he could go out in a blaze of glory, as the saying went. In moments of fairness, Sam knew that wasnt true. Dean didnt care about the glory; he cared about making a difference.

„I‘m coming around to the point, Sam.“ „He‘s Dean,“ Sam corrected. „I‘m Sam“. „Sorry, For some reason, you just look more like a Dean to me“

Gilmore Girls reference?

„You tried to shoot my brother“ Dean said.

Sam belived in a highter power, Dean didnt. Sam didnt have any special knowledge that Dean lacked, handt seen or heard or met God.

Lol, not yet.

Dean had been a kid, hadnt ever had a chance to become anything other than what Dad had made of him. That, finally, was the gulf between them — the canyon that could never be bridged.

Dean was an amazing guy, Sam knew, with skills and abilities most people would never imagine, and smarts Dean himself wouldnt credit, even though he relied on them all the time. And yet, at times like this, he was so humble, so unassuming, that he seemed almost unaware of the importance if his iwn contributions. At other times, of course, that humility vanished. Knowing and accepting both Deans, he guessed, was what being brothers was all about. Maybe I wouldnt want to be Dean, he thought, but i‘m sure glad I have him araound.

STOP MAKING MY CRY WTH

So anyways, that book sure was an experiance and i cant wait for the next one! I‘ll post a review of that as well and will update that post with a link to it one i‘m done!

Xoxo! <3

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