#Hoping praying the format is ok

[foolsocracy]

With all the age discourse around Spider-Man Noir right now, I thought I’d compile parts of the comic that imply his age. I want to state that this pulling from his 2009-2010 comic run before the time skip, specifically the first volume. The spiderverse movie has taken a lot of liberties with the characters, so it is very possible that what Peters age is in 1933 in the comics is NOT what his age is in 1933 in the movies.

Peter’s age is not directly stated in his 1st comic run (I can’t speak for the 2020 ones because it has been a while since I read them, plus there’s like a 10 year jump). It IS however heavily implied that he is young. So much so that you can’t seem to go more than a page without someone referencing it.

Like, these all happen in the same scene. The writers beat you over the head with it.

In this issue alone Peter is called both “son” and “sonny” once, “boy” twice, and “kid” 8 times. Outside nouns, he is also referred to as young, and when Urich brings him to The Black Cat, Felicia calls it “babysitting.” Urich also asks Peter if he is “allowed out after midnight” but after some research I can’t seem to find any evidence of NYC having juvenile curfews at this point in time, though they did exist in lots of towns in the late 1800s and early 1900s because of child labor laws. I think this instance is just Pete just being young and an adult being concerned about his well-being.

It is also mentioned in this volume, and again in Eyes Without a Face (vol 2), that Peter wants to go to college in the future and is currently studying & saving up money to do so. This alone doesn’t necessarily mean he’s under 18 as there isn’t a max age to apply for college, plus Peter comes from a poor family during the Great Depression. It wouldn’t surprise me if he started college later than usual because of that (lack of funds & catching up due to not being in school/working).

There is other evidence that does imply he is under 18 though— he’s too young to drink alcohol!

Spider-Man Noir Vol 1 issue 1 starts in January 1933 before jumping back three weeks to December 1932 where Ben Urich meets Peter Parker

It is during December 1932 that he meets Felicia Hardy who owns the speakeasy The Black Cat. Prohibition is still in place and won’t be overwritten until a year later in December 1933. It is important to note that before Prohibition was instated, the drinking age in New York was 18 years old. That law is what the characters reference when they discuss drinking age. And most importantly, Peter doesn’t deny the fact that he’s too young to drink. He just snarks back in true Parker fashion

This is the most concrete evidence there is towards Peter being under 18 in the noirverse. It can even be argued that Peter is under 17 with how easily Felicia picks up on the fact that he’s underage (and that she does so from a distance might I add, as seen in the ‘babysitting’ panel).

There is also a panel where JJJ refers to Peter as an “orphan.” By definition, an orphan is a kid under 18. This is JJJ, so this can be taken with a grain of salt as he loves good ol hard-hitting words. When people speak they don’t always use words by their exact definitions; sometimes if you’re young and your parents are dead, JJJ is going to label you an orphan even if ur a legal adult lol. But if you take this at face value it’s definitely another indicator that Peter is under 18.

TLDR; Spider-Man Noir from his 2009-2010 comic run is most likely under 18, and can be argued to be 15-16+. If not that, then is definitely college aged or younger.

[lusalemaart]

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"Bakery ownerKai! Smutty hcs:"

✰---Summary: you pass this new bakery so often. and from what you can tell from just through the windows, it's full of cheer and life. whoever uses it makes the most of the small space. their personality really shines through in the decorations and the desserts looked good and well... you couldn't deny that the baker with the apron and the broad shoulders looked good in there as well. so you decide to stop in. but this is only the beginning: now he smiles when he thinks of you and your cute interaction together, hoping you'd come back and then soon enough... you do.

✰--- approx: 20 min read

✰---A/n: idk if these are considered hcs anymore lol here's a fic to hopefully tide over y'all while I finish up on that much much longer one for Vernon. may or may not turn this into a full fic OR just another hc post. probably the second because of the Vernon fic coming out perhaps in two chapters. andI feel as if this would just be better in "hc " format. (Maybe some header images coming soon idk) trying to make my fics prettier do y'all like the life stars?

✰---warningz/info: cursing I think, lots of talk of eating and desserts, smutty, Kai jerks off, I have a little brake telling you where the NSFW starts, reader has boobs but otherwise is gn I think. and that’s about it.

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

if you don’t have an age indicator saying you’re not a minor in your blog then I will be blocking you! So minors dni!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Bakery owner!Kai who whips his head around spilling chocolate on the floor when he hears your voice for the first time. He has just opened the shop, it was a hole in the wall and cutesy— plushies and Pokémon character figurines on the shelves, stuff like that. You saw it then you saw him. With his powdered sugar dusted apron from the doughnuts this morning. And in this moment he realizes how very, extremely, dank he looks right now. His eye bags are dragging down his face like circles of hell, he hadnt had time to do much anything about it this morning. His hair isn’t really done. He had slept through his first alarm (something he hasn’t done is forever) and had to get here, to make the stupid doughnuts early because well, he’s the only worker here. Ugh why did I have to conserve on money this way? He thought to himself. The bowl clatters with a reverberating and embarrassing clang. He cringes, quickly going to pick it up as you greet him so so so cutely he thinks his heart will explode.

Bakery owner!Kai who’s blush on his cheeks looks so adorable to you you have half a mind to tell him. You’d Been passing this shop for days but you’d finally gotten a chance to go in this morning. He’d never know, but you’d looked into your phones selfie camera to fix your appearance one last time before going in after taking a deep breath. And you smile at the way he endearingly shares the story of how he got the shop with you.

Bakery owner!Kai who somehow feels so comfortable with you quickly when you ask about the weird names for all his desserts. He says it’s a long story and you tell him you’ve got all the time in the world for it. And he smiles wide and your knees go weak. And then because of the air of the shop you carried in with you when you set foot into the place or vibe you give off he doesn’t know but he just blabbers on and on about why he named the desserts what he did

◆◆◆◆◆nsfw under the cut◆◆◆◆◆

Bakery owner!Kai who hopes and prays that you’ll be back. and that night he can’t get you out of his head. oh no.... he really can't. and he almost feels bad when the thought of you and your sweet as sugar smile is being tossed around in his mind, making his stomach do flips as his weeping cock is dripping onto his fist. and he just can't.... stop. not that he wants to. hes pretty sure your imagine is burned in his mind till the day he dies... ok, maybe a little over exaggerated but you get the point. but now he can't think. his mind his clouded with how he should've invested in more business cards. so he could've given you one and maybe suavely told you to call him if you ever had a sugar emergency

ok... that was a little cheesy so maybe not. but who the hell knows, maybe you'd like it?! he'd gone over that small interaction you two had that day-- wondering, even though it was all a blur, how he made you feel; comfortable? at ease? oh, he hopes so. even the way he handed the box to you, with a free pastry in there as well, of course, tied with his best, perkiest ribbon all neatly. he wanted to make sure it was perfect for you. even if he never saw you again, even if you both forgot in a weeks time. he wanted to make a good impression while he had the chance.

he even worried about how the pastry tasted. though, he was confident in his skills with his passion he couldn't help but think about it all the rest of that day. which... when he though about it... seemed lonely without you in his shop. was it a good texture? flavors balanced enough? not the slightest hint of staleness? he made sure to grab one from the back of the display counter to make sure.

"you must really wanna see them again?" his friend joked "youre in looooveeee"

Bakery ownerKai! who, when he says that, rolls his eyes at Beomgyu, the friend with powdered sugar caked on his face thicker than he could grow his own beard to be. who was sitting at his table, getting crumbs all over it with the weird way he was sitting.... with his feet... all over the booth. Not even with shoes on! just bare feet. which kai honestly didnt mind much. he lets his friends eat here when hes closing up and nobody's around all the time. they'll usually clean out the couple things here and there that didnt sell and would've been thrown away anyways.

so when he drops his broomstick, almost shrieking, whisper yelling at Beomgyu to get his feet off the furniture, his friend at question is a little bit confused but does it anyway.

Baker ownerKai! who's nonchalant and laughing at his friends comment shaking his head and thinking to himself: no no, thats not true. pfff this guy is outta his mind! that was... until he saw you walk in again. "hello! I know you're closing in like--" you check your phone, "five minutes. but would you mind? that dessert I got a bit back was so good I had to literally run here from work to get the same one." he nods, smiling. and Beomgyu sits up straight in his seat at the way you two are just sitting there.... looking at each other for just a little too long. Kai swiftly drops down to pick up the broom he had dropped before leading you to the counter.

"sorry about that. I was just setting up traps for any burglars, but I trust you'll pay right?" he chuckles and you laugh along with him. "if I didnt pay then id never be able to have any more of this delicious delicacy, am I right?" you joke back. he nodes and keeps up his very much not customer service smile and gets you the dessert he remembers giving you in a box. "aw thank you!" he places the tongs down into the sink "thats really sweet of you! was it that good?" he turns back around to face you, closing up the box and you can't help but stare at the way his hands flex when his nimble fingers are pushing that box closed.

you realize youre taking too long to respond, "no seriously, it was!" you lean excitedly on the counter, bouncing on your heels. "and thats why I had to come back for more., and why I need to pay and leave a generous tip" you chuckle, already counting out the cash for the little doughnut shaped tip jar. "or maybe I could just give it to you for free!" his back is turned, snipping a stand of that pretty expensive ribbon he used especially for yours last time and made sure to move towards the front of the ribbon rack in case you came back so that he'd reach it easily.

"wait? what? no! youre joking right?" he spins back around to you, smirk on his face. "not in the slightest." he chirps. then hands you the box. you stuff your tip in the jar. "no seriously! please, take the money." you weren't worried that he now might think you owe him, he seemed to nice for that. "and im serious too. its like one pastry. you'd be taking it off my hands and doing be a favor actually if you'd like to think of it that way that is. not that is isn't fresh." he shrugged. hes leaning in over the counter a little bit, apron bumping the iPad customers would use to pay. you open your mouth to say something but he stops you "you already tipped me! even if you didnt just take it. my treat."

you didnt know it but in his mind he was already dreaming of having one ready every week for when you came in. maybe a sticky note with his number one day too? "wow thanks so much! thats so sweet of you!" you hold the box closer to you and look down at it.

you also didnt know it, but hes his half hard cock is now pressed up against the cabinet under the counter. and hes trying not to imagine you with powered sugar on your nose... not a very sexual sight in itself he guesses, but something cute none the less and that won't do his situation any good. hes also trying not to think of you licking your fingers after the delicious dessert, or the way youre leaned over the counter even more now, giving him a perfect vantage point of your plush boobs that after accidentally seeing a peak of once he wants to never do so again.

hes mature, or at least needs to be about this. not that he doesn't want to. cause god he really wants to take a sneak peak down. who wouldn't? youre sweet and gorgeous, and funny! but he wants you to know who he really is. so thats why hes currently focusing really hard on your eyebrow and trying so damn hard not to even glance down in that general direction. even if he was doing something entirely different than peaking.... cause thats what gentleman does.

"wait how'd you know my order?"

and now hes back on earth. he scratches the back of his neck. "I uh" "were you hoping id be back?" you smile, obviously meaning it' as a joke. but he just smiles back "bakers memory," he taps his brain, "there a lot up here ya know. gotta remembers recipes and stuff" he takes it as a win cause it was a good distraction. you take it as a win cause he kinda just called you important... right?

you dont pay and see yourself out. as youre opening the door you sniff the box "ugh smells so good! can't wait. thanks again!" and just like that youre gone

Bakery ownerKai! who's friend who is usually such a yapper, is at a loss for words for a second after you leave until he simply says: "I get the feeling you'll be seeing them a lot"

~end~

I’m gonna do a part two/ make this into a full on fic eventually. Just wanted something to post until I finish the bigger fic I’m working on. If you liked it please leave some love like comments or a reblog!

Thanks for reading <3

Taglist: @bamtorin

[st6rly]

gods no longer.

SYNOPSIS: love, as in the feeling, is fate. love, as in the choice, is conscious (or in other words, 4 times where zhongli gets close enough to the truth of the matter and the 1 time he does) | word count: 1.8k

characters: god!office worker!zhongli x deity!barista!gn!reader

categories: apocalypse au, modern au, angst, hurt / comfort, fluff, 4+1 fic

warnings: mentions of typical apocalypse stuff ( blood, injury, death, etc.), mentions of food & drinks, ooc zhongli sorry TwT

notes: i went a little too silly and related falling in love to the cycle and formation of a rock. ok the au sounds confusing but i promise it makes sense- also i ended up using parallels as a writing device way too much in this my bad :’D

surprise surprise @lychniis / @ainescribe !! im your astro twerk secret santa :DD im sorry if this fic is messy in structure and probably doesn’t make sense in the long run but i hope you enjoy some parts of it at least TwT happy holidays !!

I. WEATHERING & EROSION.

The world was crumbling to its knees and yet, all Zhongli could think about was how his morning tea was bitter. 

Gravel crunched under his foot, topsoil turned over to reveal the small bits of life that had yet to fall through the cracks. The pavement had split, rumbles having left long and jagged fractures in the ground and buildings tilted. Sun bore down on skin battered with small cuts and contusions, a layer of dirt covering both his forearms and the formerly white dress shirt he wore. His shoes scuffed along the deserted road, steps deliberately languid. He screamed, thrashed around in his mind, prayed that others had survived. In the back corners of his mind, he hoped none did. 

Selfish; maybe that’s all he’d ever be to the people. Gold ran down his arm, trickled from the punctures left from stone and debris. The ichor in his veins served as a shackle of what he could not have and Zhongli stared down at it in disdain, fist clenched. For the better, he assured, pulled free a steel pipe from the framing of a store, and continued on. Gods couldn’t die by a knife to the throat. They could if forgotten. 

Zhongli knew he tore a seam in the dress shirt he wore when range of motion wasn’t such a struggle, able to lunge himself up over fallen street lamps and what once used to be apartments with ease. There was no destination and he was sure that if he had one, it wouldn’t be standing. 

He walked because if he didn’t, then nobody else would. Zhongli does not die easily; not in this way at least.

II. TRANSPORTATION.

The world was at an end; you wished it had come sooner or not at all. 

You pulled yourself from beneath the rumble and broken frames of the shop you had so dearly loved, clawed a hand through sharp edges and chipped paint, to come face to face with the remains of flattened machines and shattered glass panes. The first thing you noticed was the front entrance that withstood the initial fracture. The next was the blood and dusty limbs that laid on the floor. 

The grief was worn like sticky sunscreen on a beach day, a protective and mocking cover over your skin as you ran, scuffed sneakers thundering along ridges and bumps in the uneven lane. In hindsight, it was stupid of you to exert so much force when there wasn’t a place you could run to; you just needed out, to scrub the dirt and grime and blots of red and gold until the only thing that was leftover was whatever shred of dignity you still kept. Flee and leave it all behind, there was nothing for you anyways.

Until him.

“It’s you,” the man stated, finger poised accusingly, “you gave me the wrong order of tea.” 

You blinked back owlishly, lost for words as he pointed at you with a scowl. Hesitation in your actions, you slowly lowered the plank of wood with one nail stuck through it in your hands and squinted your eyes. The sleeves of his shirt were ripped and rolled to his biceps, hair tied back loosely, and posture high on alert as he clutched onto a metal rod with a death grip. 

“And you are…” you trailed off, voice cracked and lips dried as your throat protested the strain of letting the words out. It had been months since the dirt beneath your feet started to split; weeks since you’d seen another share the means of language. 

“An unsatisfied customer.” The reply was blunt and left no room for argument. It was not a final answer. 

If he hadn’t just been locked in a stare down with you mere minutes ago or held himself in such a manner, you would’ve snorted and laughed it off. 

“Listen, I really don’t think now is a good time to be talking about tea.” you groaned, a heavy sigh falling from your lips. “It’s not like I can fix it either.” 

The stranger responded with silence. His eyes darted quickly over your figure and you shifted your weight from foot to foot.  

“Travel with me.” 

You blinked once, twice, stared at him until your eyes burned and forced you to close them again. Words died out on the tip of your tongue, the embers and syllables smothered out in the muddled mess of your own thoughts.

“What?” you croaked out. He looked back as if it were common sense. 

“You’re one of them.” It was only after those words that you realized he had fixed his gaze to your arm. A shaky breath left your lips, the sting of the cut underneath a flimsy wrapping of torn cloth grounding. You could feel it now, the way the liquid gleamed when caught under the light, its brilliance shown as it started to trickle down your skin again. 

One of them. 

“There’s nothing left here,” he muttered, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Your jaw went tight and nails dug into the soft flesh of your palms. 

“You think I don’t know that?” The words were bitter as they left your throat. “Do you think I’m that detached?” 

He ignored you. 

“Come with me,” he took a step closer and held out a hand. “You won’t be forgotten.” 

It was neither warm or inviting, but enticing nonetheless. He knows, you calmed yourself, he knows he can’t kill me. 

“If not for that, then for the company?” 

Blindly, stupidly, you took it.

III. DEPOSITION.

Tin cans rattled softly, the noise muffled by the worn fabric of what you called a backpack, as you rummaged through food and water supplies. The box you pulled out was supposed to be white, the plastic smooth and red cross marked in the centre bright and bold. Somewhere underneath the dirt, it still was. 

He’s all too familiar with the furrow of a brow and the soft brush of fingers against his shoulder. He suppressed a shiver when your breath tickled his neck, held in a sigh when you blew gently on the cut after cleaning. With careful movements, you wound the bandage around his arm, the occasional ghost of your skin against his startling. Zhongli found it wasn’t unwelcome. 

It was you who broke the silence. 

“You aren’t who you say you are,” you stated, words hushed and still rough around the edges. He locked eyes with yours, searched them only to come up empty; not a single bit of malice or spite was present in the look you gave him. That was either a good thing, or an equally bad one. The ground was stained with tinges of gold, bits that clumped up dirt, left shimmer in its wake. The small pads of cotton used to wipe the bleeding were stained vibrant yellow. 

He barked out a laugh; the sound was foreign to his ears. 

“You’re one of them. One like me,” you whispered when his voice died down. 

“And we’re different in every way,” he said, hand clutched to his ribcage at the cramp that began to form. “Why do you insist on fighting so hard?” 

“What?” 

“We’ve lost what makes us like this. Why do you continue to try?” 

“We were, I was, never a proper god to start with,” you spoke carefully, considerate. “It was never up to me what went on.” 

“In the blink of an eye,” Zhongli matched your tone, “you could wish this all better.” 

“Just as you could make it all the worse.” You hummed and leaned your head back, eyes averted away from him. “I guess I just found something worth trying for.”

Zhongli’s heart pounded.

IV. METAMORPHISM.

“Grab my hand!” 

The Earth groaned and rumbled, opened its mouth, swallowed up buildings and wires without much thought. You braced yourself against the broken chain fence, glancing up at where Zhongli stood up on the roof opposite from you, having made it before the cracks had begun again and the distance grew. 

Grave desperation set his nerves alight, every fibre alert, and arm reached out to where the joint could’ve pulled loose had he gone farther. His face pulled into a cruel grimace as the concrete ledge of the other building dug into his stomach below the ribs and something in him burned, shouted and throbbed beneath layers of flesh and bones, in an intelligible mess of tightness and ache. 

“Please, Y/n!” he shouted. Begged. He’d bare his throat to you in a heartbeat if it meant you believed in this, believed in him.  

You jumped. His heart dropped to his stomach, legs weak, when your hand grasped his wrist and met his eyes. Feet dug into the cracks of the barrier, he pulled you to him, the quiet gasp of relief he let out once you touched down on solid ground lost to the wind. 

God can’t die. Gods cannot die, he repeated to himself, a mantra of painful reassurance. Zhongli’s hands melded with the fabric of your shirt, cloth twisted in a similar way that could only mock the feeling in his chest. 

You tugged on his hand, laced your fingers slowly with his before the rumbles started again. Down the both of ran, across unsteady roofs and rusted fire escapes, until the sky turned dark and the shakes stopped, 

Adrenaline, nerves, the worry he’d lose you again, whatever it was, he fell for it. It was winter when he first kissed you under the moonless sky; it felt more like early spring with the warmth that still laid heavy in the air and the dry crust of dirt that coated everything. 

“You should have just let me,” you had mumbled against his lips the same night. 

“I made a promise and I intend to keep it,” he replied back, the words sitting just right as he spoke. “I wish it were more. You deserve more.”

“This,” you hummed, a hand cupping his cheek, “is more than enough.”

V. ROCK MELTING.

It was summer when the ground beneath his feet first began to give out and the streets ran rampant with silence; it’s summer again when he found a new life with you.  

This was all laughable, really. Hands intertwined, the sun that peaked over the horizon and set alight to the dust in the air, the domestic nature, it all was a joke. You’d, turned and brushed stray hairs from his face with light touch and features set into a grim, yet foolishly hopeful, face. 

He gazed at you like you could craft the universe anew, match his destruction blow for blow and reverse everything. In some sense, you could. Not this one though. 

“You could find them again, you know,” you mumbled, not so he couldn’t hear but it felt right. “What would you do if you did?”

Zhongli paused, licked his lips as he stared out into the open expanse of the wasteland. 

“My love is a choice,” he smiled as he spoke, a delicate thing, “and that choice is you.” 

“Took you long enough,” you chuckled with a soft nudge to his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Zhongli released a long sigh, squeezed your hand and traced an outline around the joints of your thumb, before letting out a small ghost of a chuckle when you squeezed back. How low he had fallen, mad at something as simple as the grime that separated the true touch of your palm in his. “It did.” 

[r0-boat]

Tarzan!Ingo: His Sneasler sibling wingmanning for him

(It doesn't go well)

Sfw cut for length

Ingo x Gn!reader

*inserts Hidden World reference here*

You let out an exhausted sigh, your clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock as you soak into a natural Hot Spring. Your Expedition to find Sneaslers in the wild to document their social habits hasn't been fruitful for you.

You couldn't return to the Village empty-handed; the professor had high hopes for you. Not only that, gaining the trust of Commander Komado was vital for you to remain in the village and for you to survive basically.

However, your Expedition to the mountains of Coronet Heights wasn't in vain.

Making contact with a man who seemingly has been raised by wild Pokemon. Ingo was a fascinating study, more evidence that Pokemon perhaps can live in harmony with humans. But you can't stray away from your primary mission.

You hope to pray to hypothetical Almighty Sinnoh he could take you to the Sneaslers colony-.

You freeze, hearing the sound of rocks scattering about coming from the dense rock formations covering your bare body.

The fog and the snowfall made it hard to see but you wouldn't dare leave the pool of warmth while you're equipment, Pokeballs sat on the other side of the pool.

You peer into the dense fog, trying desperately to see what could have made that noise behind those large rocks, all the while taking steps backward to reach for your partners ready for a potential battle, as a figure begins to show itself on top of the giant rock formation.

You sighed relief as the figure became clearer to you, his silver eyes deep and mysterious, silver wild and oddly Majestic Hair was unmistakable.

"oh thank Almighty it's just you..." you Mumble to yourself, fingers pinching your temples.

Ingo seemed different than usual you couldn't put your finger on it. His chest puffed out in pride with that permanent frown on his face before taking one step, not looking at where he was stepping, slipping on the rock, and letting out a hiss as he fell to the ground.

'Ok...' you watch in utter confusion with a concerned look on your face, you've studied his behavior before and this was completely new to you. Completely dropping your guard from before.

Heat rushes to The Wild man's face with embarrassment as he shakes off the gravel and dust before getting back up on his hind legs, his stance stiff and inhuman.

His eyes glance behind you the Tall cat like figure cheering him on quietly,

The cat Pokemon purred as he watched you and ingo in a distance, far enough for the fog the completely skewer him from your view. However, with his sharp eyes, he could easily see his brother trying his hardest to flirt with the human he thought was pretty.

You saw Ingo's eyes light up at his sibling waving his claws from the other side of you. Only for you to see nothing when you turn around the Sneasler hiding behind the rock as you turn your head.

You turn back around Ingo's attention catching to your legs before looking at his own. He loosens his more Sneasler stance for a moment, with much exaggeration putting one leg in front of the other.

Is he trying to mimic your walk?

How cute.

you chuckle putting your hand do your mouth. Ingo noticing your positive reaction gives a shy smile back, his lips representing a skitty; he could feel his heart fluttering in his chest. A rumbling came from his throat, purring in delight.

He continues his actions reacting little to his pelts getting soaked in the spring water. He could only get within a few feet of you before you back up, reminding yourself that Ingo maybe raised by wild Pokemon, but he is still a grown man, and you are naked as the day you were born in a hot spring alone with him; he gets closer his brother peering from behind a rock hyping as Ingo draws closer only to quietly hiss as he watches you push him away.

"ok, ok, ok, back up, mister," you affirm, pressing a hand on his chest and stepping back; his chest was firm, built with pure muscle, probably is from spending his entire life climbing mountains and surviving on what he could find or hunting.

It was survival of the fittest in Coronet Heights and he thrived;

Ingo immediately stops, his smile fading, ' what's wrong? Did he do something wrong? Did he get the human mating dance wrong?!

With his pleading eyes he looks at his brother to help.

The Sneasler doesn't give up, putting its claws under his chin, thinking of a way to help his brother snag a mate before his eyes widen, a genius idea popping in his snickering feline head. His shoulders imitate a prowling motion. He flexes his clawed hands, ensuring his adoptive brother knows that showing your strong, sharp claws is important in getting a mate...

Sadly that only works for Sneaslers, not humans.

Your attention was solely on Ingo watching him flex his fingers.

You step back again giving yourself more distance from him.

Your face goes back to immediate bewilderment when you see him hunch his shoulders, his arms out, giving you a nice full view of his muscular arms. You can only barely see his ripped abs covered in scars, telling tales of Pokemon he has fought in the past. His hands are hooking to resemble claws as he practically prowls toward your you hear a growl ripple from his throat as he gets closer. His stone, emotionless face twisted into an aggressive one.

His legs seemingly ready to pounce on you. Reminding you that Ingo could, in fact, overpower you if he really wanted. And you would be powerless to stop him. He gets closer, his arm out to touch you. To grab you?!

His brother watching from a distance, all too pleased with his idea, gives Ingo a thumbs up, encouraging his brother to turn up the heat.

Before you can do anything, your hand connects to his face forcefully, pushing him with all your might and making him stumble over into the hot water.

" I don't know what's gotten into you today and go, but I think it's time for me to leave."

You had an irritated look on your face; Ingo looked in horror, watching you go to gather your things, his brother immediately hiding from your sight as you fully turned around.

The wild man tries to run after you only to lose his footing slipping into the water and falling face first.

You look back for a second, rolling your eyes at him.

What a wonderful reminder that this man is supposed to lead you to the Sneaslers.

Putting on your clothes, and before leaving the fog, completely hiding your figure in view.

Ingo growls in frustration before softening into sadness. Glancing at his reflection, he balls his hand in the first, hitting the water as his brother comes out from his hiding spot to comfort his brother

Ingo has yet to give up him, and his sibling will regroup to draw up a new plan.

[whimsylace]

tim headcanons? 🥺

TIM SHEPARD HEADCANONS ⋆♱✮♱⋆

jay. jay you evil mf. ilysm😈 okay so i only have 17 rn but i’ll def write like fifty more . hope u enjoy pookie !! (also u weren’t expecting this very aesthetic very awesome very high level format were you. yeahf. ive become COOL.)

— he has unnecessarily loud footsteps.

— he appreciates his gang but never shows it. one day he said “hey fellas,, youve been doin’ a good job durin’ rumbles lately. im proud to have yall as my gang🙏”. and everyone stared at him wide eyed cause they honestly thought he hated them💀💀

— when he was a kid he used to pray every night that curly would get kidnapped n shit because he hated his ass☠️☠️curly was one of those really annoying toddlers

— he loses his jacket ALL THE DAMN TIME. (its mostly cause curly always steals it to look cool and dal just takes it for fun whenever)

— tim and darry understand each other. they both have dead parents/a dead parent and both had to take care of their kid siblings

— tim and darry also frequently talk to eachother🔥 sometimes darry finds tim asleep on the curtis couch™️ or its the opposite, & they end up chatting.

— ^they talk about parents, taking care of their siblings, and dally. (will elaborate further one day.)

— i think like. tims responsible and more mature compared to the others, right? BUT HES STILL 18. PLEAHS. HE ISNT A DAD. HE HASNT ACCEPTED HIS FATE LIKE DARRY (😭im sorry ily dar) HE IS STILL A HOOD WHO HAS FUN N SHIT DAWG!!!!!!!

— ^like ok imagine how curly always thinks tims like boring n old and all but after the rumble everyone in the reformatorys talking ab it and he hears how tim like crushed 5 guys’ skulls so hes just like 😨😨 (he then proceeds to show off the fact that THATS HIS BROTJER🔥🔥🔥)

— ^like guys even in the book pony says hes “constantly reckless” LIKE CMON. ((okay the main reason i wrote thsi was because i read this fic thingy and tim called dal “kid” even though theyre a year apart.wtf!! tim is not that boys old man!!!!))

— he steals angelas hair conditioners n other stuff because they smell good and make his hair soft🗣️

— he knows how to cook a few recipes, since his mom was never really there and he had to feed curly and angela somehow.

— ^curly calls his cooking ass but devours it every time (he would eat anything tbh)

— he lights fireworks n firecrackers n shit with dal

— was a demon as a middle schooler.

— hes really overprotective of his car. will not let anyone get near it or drive it. dal knows this; which is why he makes sure to slash his tires every 2-3 business days😇

— his nose used to be really straight but now its crooked as fuck cause hes broken it three fucking times😭😭

FOLLOW ME FOR MORE BANGERS LIKE THIS🔥🔥🗣️🗣️💯💯🙏🙏

[sp4ceboo]

ok but like cover me vibes (basically sad) with medieval!au seungmin - sorry for any completely wrong army terms i didn't do my research

tw: suicidal thoughts, references to war/front lines (medieval tho), death, angst with eventual fluff, loss of loved ones kinda

you had one sweet, surreal week with your seungmin as your husband before he was snatched from your grasp by the call of the battle.

the constant ache of his absence throbs in your chest like a knife's blade. your memories of the short time you had together are blurred at the edges, the happiness they were soaked in seeming uncanny in the midst of the hardships of warfare. they come in flashes to you in the middle of your midnight watch, posted on the castle turrets with your bow: the way he smiled into your kisses, the way his hands cradled your waist, the way he could make your heart stutter and your stomach flip with just a look. the day of your marriage feels as if it was decades ago, when in fact it was only a few months ago.

it shouldn't have been this way. you were both soldiers, but he'd made you promise to stay back and defend the city with the other contingent while his was sent out to fight the invaders. in return, he gave you his word that he would stay safe, but you both knew there was never any way of confirming that. you cried, sobbed, begged, but he was obstinate that you stay away from the front lines and that he go in your stead.

truly, you can't blame him for that; you'd wish the same if in his place.

you know he longs for you the same way you long for him.

correction: you know he longed for you the same way you long for him. because a letter arrived exactly a month ago, reporting him missing in action. you had stared at the official seal on the letter until it began to blur with your tears. you're a soldier, you know that 'missing in action' just means that they couldn't find his body; you know that he's as good as dead - more letters arrived the weeks after that, and they'd heard nothing. surviving after being reported missing in action would be a miracle, and you don't dare let yourself hope.

you know your seungmin. you know he would have fought until his very last breath to get back to you.

a tear slices down your cheek, and the cold wind that swirls around the top of the castle walls turns it ice cold. you wish for nothing more than to have been there on the front lines with him when it happened, so you could have died with your husband, the only one you had worth living for, by your side.

you've considered joining him many times. in the dead of night, while you're on watch on the castle walls, you've thought too often about leaning forward and pitching yourself from the turrets, but you can't. you're too much of a coward.

the sun begins to show itself, appearing on the horizon and limning the lands below you in golden light. you want to scream at it for rising when he's gone, but you can't even draw enough breath into your lungs for that; the knowledge that he's gone is suffocating, killing you slowly, smothering your heart and letting it wither in your hollow chest. your fingernails dig into the aged limestone of the battlements, and you wish that you could crumble away into the dust under your hands.

and then you see it.

you see them.

first, they're just a darker patch on the horizon, fuzzy at the edges due to the rolling mist, but with the rising sun, they inch closer, not walking in formation, their armour dull and their steps weary, but their faces triumphant. desperately, you want to look away - you know he won't be there. you know he's gone, and yet you can't tear your eyes away, searching frantically for his familiar form. tears well up in your eyes - frustrated, you swipe them away, praying to the gods you know, pleading to anything: the warm sun, the limestone beneath your hands, the soil that the approaching men walk upon.

your heart stops.

no.

no.

it can't be him.

can it?

you scramble down from the castle tower, a singular thought in your mind: seungmin. your officer attempts to stop you at the drawbridge; you shoulder past him - you need to get to your husband. you need to see if it's him.

sprinting forward, you fix your eyes on his figure. as you approach, you become more certain; he's covered in blood and limping, and one of his arms is held in a sling, but his head is held high - you could recognise him anywhere.

tears begin to stream down your cheeks as you get closer. you see the moment he spots you, because he opens his arms and his face lights up, brighter than the receding stars, brighter than the rising sun. weeping, you launch yourself the last few feet, and seungmin catches you despite all his injuries, twirling you around like he did at the first dance of your wedding. you don't dare unlock your arms from around his neck when he sets you down for fear that he'll be ripped away from you again, and he cradles you to his chest; sobs wrack your body as you fist his shirt in your hands, pressing your face into his shoulder and breathing in his scent, still there underneath the grime.

'seungmin,' you whisper, cupping his cheeks and bringing your forehead to his. 'my seungmin.'

he smiles, eyes wet. one hand holds the back of your head, fingers entwined in your hair, the other clasping your waist, pulling you infinitely closer, tucking you tightly to him. leaning in, he fits his mouth against yours, speaking against your lips.

'my wife.'

stray kids taglist: @sleepyleeji

[stitched-mouth]

Can I request a fluff sfw fic for Sister Irene? It can have a hint of NSFW in the end if you'll like

Lazy Mornings

Pairing: Sister Irene x GN! Reader.

Summary: Laying in bed staring at the ceiling with Irene in your arms is by far your favourite part of the day.

Warnings: So much fluff.

Word Count: Less 100 I’ll bet.

Writing Time: 5 minutes.

Format: Imagine.

A/N:

Thanks for requesting this! I have no problem writing sfw work even as a nsfw writer, so this is completely sfw and just pure fluff. Hope you enjoy!

I know Nuns don’t have lovers or share a bed with them but eh. I’ll write what I want. It’s still sfw I promise. Also sorry it’s so short, nothing was specified and I’m writing this whilst also writing several other works for Kinktober.

Please keep requesting! My requests are open, here are the rules. I write for Valak and Sister Irene, mostly nsfw but I’m open to sfw.

We need more higher quality gifs of Irene seriously

Imagine cuddling up to Sister Irene on a lazy Monday morning.

The two of you had nothing important to do today, only Irene’s regular praying and other Nun duties which you sometimes dragged yourself along to. But fortunately it was early and all that could wait.

When Irene eventually stirred awake in your arms you gave her a loving smile and kissed her forehead, “Morning Love.”

“Morning.” She smiled back before sitting up.

Irene yawned and stretched, carefully so she didn’t accidentally hit you or anything, and then turned to you again.

“I think we should get up now.” Irene sighed still smiling.

“Why? It’s so early and your duties aren’t till later.” You pouted.

“I know, but if I stay here any longer I might fall back asleep and wake up late.” Irene chuckled at your pout and kissed your cheek.

She then threw the covers off her and got up to beginning getting ready.

“No.” You whined and kneeled on the bed to wrap your arms around your lover.

“Dear, please, I don’t want to be late.” Irene giggled.

“You won’t be, I promise. If you fall asleep, I’ll wake you up in time.” You promised.

Irene sighed in defeat, “Ok fine.”

Before quickly climbing back into bed and into your arms. You sighed contently as she cuddled into you and kissed her head again.

Yeah, these were the best moments.

[khaire-traveler]

you get enough asks of people with similar questions and i told myself i wouldn’t add to the list, but i’m rly struggling rn.

i’ve been an active hellenistic polytheist for 3 years now, and an apollo worshiper for around 2.

yet, i haven’t really felt a connection to apollo for a year now. anytime i pray to him, it feels hollow.

i know that the advice people typically give is to move on, but i feel like then it’d be a waste. its quite terrible of me to say, but ive spent so much money and time setting up such a dedicated altar just for it to collect dust.

any ideas or advice? no worries if not. have a lovely day my friend :]

Hey, Max, thank you for the ask! I apologize for the delay.

So, I originally wrote a whole ass post that had paragraphs of information, suggestions, and advice, but Tumblr hates me and decided to just crash and not save literally any of it. 🙃 I'm hoping I can give you good information regardless of this setback. Also, please don't feel bad about asking questions; I honestly enjoy it, especially since some information can be hard to come by. All my information is merely advice and suggestions based on my own experience, but I hope it's helpful to you - and maybe even others - regardless.

The first thing I'll do is share some links that could be helpful for you. This one talks a bit about Deity Disconnect™ - something that I feel I can safely say has happened to every pagan and polytheist. Sometimes faith and spirituality come in waves, ebbing in and out as naturally as the ocean, but it doesn't always mean that a deity has left us. If you'd like to try reconnecting with Apollo through bonding activities and the like, this link and that link both lead to posts that mention some ways you can bond with a deity. Although I'm not sure if any of these will be helpful to you, I hope that they are. 🧡

I feel it's also important to mention that many devotees of Apollo find it difficult to connect with him during the winter. For me, I feel the feeling of disconnect begin as early as the middle of Fall and stay as late as the very beginning of Spring. Many attribute this to the myth of Apollo leaving for Hyperborea and leaving his seat in Delphi for Dionysus to temporarily take over. If you've been trying to reconnect during Winter, or even potentially Fall, the disconnect from Apollo may feel even stronger than usual because of this. I would wait to readdress this issue with him until Spring rolls around, personally, just in case this disconnect could be contributing to your problem at all.

Along with all that, I'm inclined to ask whether you've addressed this topic with him directly. Have you been able to communicate with Apollo directly about this and get his thoughts? In my experience, deities will typically let you know if they're stepping away, rather than yoinking away super suddenly and without a given cause (or at the very least, they are more than willing to provide a reason if you ask them); this tends to be especially true when it comes to deities you've been very close with in the past. If you haven't already, I'd highly encourage you to speak with Apollo in a format that allows him to provide a response to your questions, such as divination or meditation.

I do also have to say that sometimes deities leave but return later. It's entirely possible he is simply taking a break or stepping away temporarily. Maybe he feels you need to focus on other deities more at this time or he has simply taught all he can (or all that's relevant) at the moment. He could return full force later on in your life, be it a few days from now or a few years. This is something I'd ask him about specifically in order to clarify his intentions.

Ok, but what if he really is leaving and doing so in a more permanent fashion? Well, in that case, I encourage you to do whatever feels right for you. Take down his altar, or leave it up; it's entirely your choice. Even when deities leave our lives, they never truly leave, and most of the time, if we need a deity's help, we are still welcome to call upon their aid, even if they've "left". It's also possible that he is still ok with you worshipping or venerating him, even if he does choose to step away. There are some deities that I mostly just venerate but don't do much else past that, and that's perfectly ok. Sometimes it just feels nice to acknowledge a deity and show them appreciation, even if you're not particularly close to them. These are all things you need to have a direct conversation with Apollo about, however, as I cannot speak for him or what he is comfortable with.

Although it can feel like a waste of time, energy, and hell even money, please do remember that it is never truly a waste if your relationship to Apollo meant something - and still means something - to you. You put genuine time, love, and care into the altar you created, and regardless of what happens going forward, I'm sure he still appreciates that. It's important to know that when a deity feels the need to step away, it's not because they stop caring for you or the time you've spent together; they simply feel it's in your best interest for them to be more distant for the time being, but regardless, they are still there. They are still present in the world and life around you. Apollo can still be felt in the warmth of the sun on your skin and the rush of excitement you feel when the beat of music reverberates in your chest. He is still near, even if he feels far. He is still there, even if he feels absent. These are not things you're required to focus on or even acknowledge, however, if it makes you uncomfortable or you'd rather terminate your relationship with Apollo. I just figure it may be comforting to hear.

If the following doesn't apply to you at all or you simply disagree with my perspective, please feel free to completely disregard all this; it's heavily based on my own personal experience and beliefs. Do you work with Apollo or worship him? I know it sounds rather silly and somewhat ridiculous to ask, but I have personally noticed a significant change in my deity relationships when I focused more on worship than work. I have noticed that, a lot of times, deity work can end in that deity eventually departing because the things you're working on can eventually be resolved or improved enough that you no longer need them. To me, personally, deity worship often has a more permanent meaning, although that obviously doesn't ring true for everyone. If you were doing deity work with Apollo, it's entirely possible that he feels he's helped you the best he can with whatever you originally reached out about and has decided that you no longer need his assistance or guidance. If that's the case (which it obviously could not be), then you can absolutely ask him if he's comfortable switching your relationship to something that is more long-term worship based rather than short-term "please assist me with this specific thing" based. And since I'm sure someone will mention it, I do want to acknowledge that there is nuance in every type of deity relationship, and you can absolutely have a long-term "deity work" based relationship and a short-term "deity worship" based relationship. There are exceptions to everything, and everything contains nuance and complexity. I don't want to discount either of those things; this is just me sharing something based on my personal understanding, and no one has to take me at face-value.

Anyway, I hope I was able to answer your question and give you some suggestions or advice that helps. Regardless, I hope you're able to figure this situation out and that Apollo can address you more directly about it. I wish you the best on your spiritual journey. Take care, and have a good day/night. 🧡

[ettawritesnstudies]

do you have any overarching goals for your writing going into the next year ? yes i know i am a month early for new years resolutions but they are ON my mind !

Ok so my goal is to publish Runaways for October 31st 2025 because the story is set over Halloween/All Saints/All Souls and I desperately want to release it at the right time for all the "dark fantasy spooky season vibes" marketing, so the timeline looks somewhat like this over the course of the next 2 years.

Finish current draft by Tuesday of this week before my family comes for Thanksgiving and let it sit through the end of the month.

With the rest of NaNoWriMo, start writing companion stories for the anthology.

December: Do a second pass edit for this draft to make sure all the new scenes flow well together and the pacing isn't bad. Start asking for beta readers around the holidays

January 2nd, holidays done, send out beta drafts

February 1st, check in on betas, hopefully some of them are done??????

March 1st: check in on betas hopefully some of them are done?????

Through February and March finish the anthology project and edit the other prewritten stories

March 31st: break into betas houses and get my draft comments like the Duolingo Owl. Start editing.

April-June: Edit Draft 4 of the book? I have NO IDEA how much I'm going to have to fix. Depending on feedback this could be a complete rewrite that takes the rest of the summer or it could be as simple as a line edit. Hoping praying begging that it's on the less intense side. Recruit betas for the anthology.

End of summer idk: Shop for an editor, send book to editor. Pray. Edit the anthology myself

Fall 2024: Make the edits my editor gives me. Send the editor the anthology.

Winter 2024: do all the final editing and proofreading steps ASSUMING I don't need multiple more rounds of betas or major changes or an extra proofreading

Starting January 2025 I have a polished manuscript and start hiring artists for cover design and illustration and get it formatted.

(start writing the next thing)

Springtime 2025 the books are formatted and I research publishing process and upload them to sites to get the process rolling

Summer 2025: publication date announced, maybe run a Kickstarter or a preorder? Get proof copies, do all the final checks, source merch and goodies, start calling bookstores idk

Fall 2025: Ramp up all my marketing campaigns on Instagram and everything

Release date on October 31st

Do not stop do not pass go do not collect $200

Profit sell three books

Sleep for a million billion years.

(rinse and repeat)

[sithbelle]

Back when I thought I could be a singer, I used to love writing song lyrics that told a story more than expressing emotions. They're still some of my favorite things I've ever written, and so I thought I'd share them here among friends. This one is called "Dare to Dream". It's in song format, but hopefully it still comes across ok:

**Note: Song is a slow, heavy metal ballad**

Dare to Dream

Looking out windows gilded in iron Darkness fills me as much as regret Tonight we make a vital decision Emblazoned in blood, our final secret

*Chorus* Pray you don’t sleep when the last night comes Hope you are not alone For if you dare to dream, you’ll never hear the scream The sweet embrace of what’s to come

Apocalyptic throes sound off into the air The End announced with heavy sigh Realized our last mistake, lying in the bed we made Yell damnation to the skies!

*Chorus* Pray you don’t sleep when the last night comes Hope you are not alone For if you dare to dream, you’ll never hear the scream The sweet embrace of what’s to come

**Imagine some sick guitar & bass solos here**

*Chorus* Pray you don’t sleep when the last night comes Hope you are not alone For if you dare to dream, you’ll never hear the scream The sweet embrace of what’s to come

And if you do sleep when the last night comes You’ve passed the final test It’s all becoming clear, the end is finally here Now we can all go to our rest...

**Song fades out for a second, then comes back in with a much faster thrash riff**

The man in black calls out to us Promises our dreams for trust Worry not over so-called sins And if he does insist, don’t bother to resist He’ll make our dreamless sleep end

[tame-a-messenger]

Since sword af has ended, how was this season? Did you enjoy it? Do you like it more or less than season 1?

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!

Ok, so, since I only just finished this season I'm still ruminating on a lot of things and letting them sit with me so this is my first impressions!

First things first, I will always say SAF was and will always be better in video format, I don't think anyone would disagree with me on that. There's so much that being able to watch how the cast's faces light up and seeing how they react makes it so much more fun to watch than to just listen.

BUT, I will say I really enjoyed this season! I got a hell of a lot more moments of Damien and Angela bickering (I LOVE a good bicker <3) and it's apparent Angela spent time learning more about how to play D&D, based on how often she was correcting/telling the cast they had + or - to whatever stat at the time. Loving the nerd arch she's going on as of current (her playing D&D and now trying to learn Fortnite of all things lmao)

(AND OBVIOUSLY ALL OF THE CAST DID SO WELL THIS SEASON! It was plain to see that everyone had a better grasp of how to play this season compared to last, and were having heaps of fun!)

I think S1 will always hold a special place in my heart, it being the first D&D playthrough I've ever finished and all the cast slowly get more and more comfortable around not only each other- but how to play in general! S1 is an 9/10 for me :D

For S2, it was SO GOOD!

I was so excited every Wednesday to see where they were going and what the story was going to be! I loved getting to see them go back to Bug's home and talk to all of their brothers (Nestor my beloved 💙). That and the twist of Ferny now being Furnace? I FUCKING LOVED OMG IT WAS SO AWESOME!!! I really loved the cameo episodes too! Arasha and Ian joining in was such a welcome surprise! I wouldn't be shocked if they do another season with more people popping in 👀

I will say that the story kind of dipped in and out of being totally engaging however, with a lot of "plot armor" moments or Damien letting them get away with too much. I also wish we got to see more characters form last season, where's Rumpum? where's the castle? I wish it was a little more connected with S1 but I still really enjoyed this season! 8/10 :D

I'm hoping and praying with every fiber of my being we get an S3 WITH VISUALS

[soranihimawari]

Stick Together

A story about a hat, a tailor, and a jailbird

The first BSD fic I wrote & it is centered around Chūya Nakahara

Word count: 3.6K

Pairing: (port mafia!) Chūya x (tailor-gifted) reader

Rating: CNF (Chūya Nakahara Fluff)// strangers->lovers

Warnings: mentions of poverty, growing up around drug users (none used by principal characters) , reader and Chūya do fight, mentions of Dazai

Sitting in a jail cell is not how one Chūya Nakahara thought he’d be spending his afternoon, yet here he was. A recon mission for the Port Mafia had gone awry after a client of the Armed Detective Agency had their cover blown by his fellow cohorts. Unfortunately when the battle had settled and cleared away via the local authorities, only a high ranking member of said mafia was apprehended.

Though the use of one phone call to his boss and another to a trusted lawyer, Chūya paces his holding cell now, hoping to change out of the dreadful ensemble jumper he had forcibly been told to wear (his signature top hat would only be returned to him after being released). Thankfully, his gloves that kept his power intact were allowed to be kept on his person.

The hat, though a stylish and signature wardrobe piece, had a tale uniquely its own. Perhaps if Chūya ever bothered to listen to his dear ol’friend Dazai more often, Chūya would have taken better care of it.

Once, when you were five, a teenage boy stopped by the city slums. Your parents were nowhere to be found, probably getting their fix on some gifted-approved uppers. The teenage boy arched his eyebrow at your direction as you unashamedly brought little straw dolls to life. You were a little puppeteer and you even chased the pigeons away with said talent. Magic was never lost in the eyes of a child, at least that was what the boy was thinking. He knelt down and beckoned you to come closer. Surely, you knew not to trust strangers, but with his charming grin and alluring smile, you couldn’t help approaching the older-young man.

“I’m Dazai.”

He extends a bandaged arm and hand to you.

“YN, mister dazai.”

You enthusiastically shake his hand. He chuckles at your eagerness to make a new friend—you stay out with him exploring the slums, making straw and paper-debris dolls, he fills your head with stories about the city he’s heading to for work. With the lights of the sunset reflecting upon your face, you notice a small black hat a few paces away. You run to grab it and give it to Dazai. Your smile is infectious for one who seems to have gotten lost in the wastelands.

Sometimes, you wonder what ever happened to the teenager with playful jokes and charming grin; other times, he wonders if you ever made it out of the slums. Your name never appeared in the obituaries over the course of the years—post wartime, post formation of the Port Mafia, and Armed Detective Agency. Imagine the surprised look on an older Dazai when he spots you chatting with his old apprentice, Chūya, in a tailor’s shop.

Dazai notices the hat Chūya is wearing, surely you’d know whose hat that was. He enters the building undetected wondering how this will play out:

“That’s not your hat sir,” you are stubborn in your tone. Chūya looks offended as he scoffs.

“Oh, and pray tell,” Chūya squinted and read your hand embroidered name on your worker’s apron. “YN, who’s hat is it?”

“An old friend of mine! I-I-I haven’t seen him in a while,” you now your head in defeats. A quivering pout forms on your lips and you muster up your resolve to explain how you were a child of the slums, the teenage boy you befriended, the hat, and that one blissful afternoon you were able to be yourself.

At this admission, Chūya removes his hat and scratches his auburn head.

“And this guy…did he have a name?”

“Dazai-san. Do you know what happened to him?”

Chūya glances up to see the person in question hiding behind a coat rack; Dazai blinks back in a code only Chūya deciphers as, ‘tell them I’m ok. I made it out of the slums at that point in my life just fine.’

You fiddle with the ties on your left when Chūya released a resigned sigh.

“He made it out of the slums just fine,” he relays the message through gritted teeth as his former boss and mentor leaves through the alternative side door entrance of the shop. Your eyes widen when this intriguing man not much older than yourself allows you to hold the hat.

“Y’know he was supposed to come find me?” you fiddle with the brim. “I was five years old, making dolls that could move on their own with paper scraps…”

You glance down at the hat with misting eyes.

“He never came back, did he?” Chūya inquires. He didn’t want to take too much longer since he was supposed to be at the drop location (for his current next mission) in under an hour and fifteen minutes.

“No,” you hand him back the hat with a short lived sniffle. You sort of let out this soft laugh. “Dazai was unique, to say the least. He did have enough gall to encourage me and…”

A few dolls made of excess yarn and thread held up several push pin needles thus freezing the port mafia man in place.

Of course this was a sting trap. Why couldn’t Chūya see through this? Or wait…

“You-you think I killed him?” He nearly doubled over in laughter when he locked his eyes with your stone cold ones.

Your anger and shortened fuse cause a few of the dolls to deliberately take a fighting stance. Your hand came into contact and thus you struck the Chūya Nakahara, upper rank in the Port Mafia, across the cheek with a slap. Your hand was calloused and roughened from years of living in the slums, only to be discovered for your needlework by an embroiderer who let you inherit the tailoring shop after her retirement. Chūya was caught so off guard by the physicality of your slap he nearly lost control of his gravity gift for a moment there.

“No,” your voice is icy and there is a fist of yours that nearly collides with his other cheek. “I just think Mister Dazai wouldn’t let such an idiotic member of the port mafia wear the hat I gave him.”

Chūya grabs your wrist and forcibly twists your arm behind your back as he stands behind you, urging you to calm yourself.

“Sweetheart,” his tone changed from that of a thief to a serial murderer. Your blood doesn’t run cold at this nickname, rather your brain and your heart chose to follow two very different paths: the first is telling you to at least elbow him in the ribs and give him some sassy remark; the second chooses with every inconceivable thump of blood in and around your body, decides the next words to fall out of your mouth.

“Yes darling?” your arm is rigid in his bruising hold.

Chūya’s suit jacket grazes your lower arm close to the wrist behind your back as he straightens up with you in front of him. He inhales the scent of freshly rained lavender from your clothing, from your hair, you excite his need to flirt with you longer with the way it twists and turns into a lowered braid, now draped over the opposite end of your back.

“Dazai would have mentioned you to me if you were so important to him back then, wouldn’t you ag-ack!”

You stomp on his foot, causing his hold to loosen enough for you to lunge forward and have your small army of threaded men ready their push-pin needle weapons at the largest threat you might face: a gravity manipulating monster.

Chūya hears you hurl insults at him in a language he thought he had forgotten: it’s a lost and dead dialect of those who grew up in the slums. Broken Japenese mixed with a few French words and hyphenated with English terminologies made him reassess the situation at hand. All he had wanted to do today at this tailor’s shop was ask for a new pair of pants that went well with his winter’s coat. Instead, he finds you, a loss last connection to his former mafia ‘big brother’ at the cost of not revealing the understanding fact Dazai had been keeping some tabs on you since you had parted ways all those years ago.

Dazai is a man of many talents and connections, such a feat would be possible even if you were never to be found again. After all, since the president of the Armed Detective Agency had been recruited as part of the team which busted the trap house your junkie parents had overdosed in, Dazai had been put in charge specifically looking into those next of kin whose loved one had since died during the siege. Apparently, your photo when you were five had been shuffled in with the rest. The president nodded when he had finished wrapping up the report with the authorities, however considering one member of his team had been thinking about how well a young orphan was doing in the streets, it is fair to say Dazai had been keeping track of you.

When you were done calling him every name under the sun, Chūya stood back and dusted off his suit. It wasn’t as wrinkled as he had thought, yet on the sign of good faith, the thread-men army you had created had slowly begun to unravel.Your frustrated tears had subsided thus leaving Chūya staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. His hat was still on the table from where he left it and his brilliant eyes shine with curiosity.

“YLN?”

The blood in your face drains a bit when you stumble backwards.

“I haven’t been known by that name for quite some time,” you breathe a little easier. “How did you know my family name?”

Chūya wants to tell you the truth, the whole part about his life prior to Dazai up until the mad lad left the group; he wants to tell you about how a few years after the trap house bust, he probably saw you trying to sell your wares in a flea market at night in another town. Sure you donned what the shelter would have given you, yet you made it your own (and no one would think twice about the embroidered flower branches covering a year’s long seam rip). Akutagawa and his faction were watching for any signs of the were-tiger in said night market, yet luckily for those who had gone on ahead, no one seemed to have taken note of your little kerchiefs. All but one, if Chūya were to be completely transparent with you. You dry your own tears, just like you did that first day when no one chose to buy any of your goods, yet now as you look on at the redhead, you hold your wrist. Dark splotches of light red and purple begin forming an imprint of his hand; feeling of guilt is not a foreign concept to Chūya, yet you allow him to approach you.

You’re hugging yourself, insulting yourself for almost attacking a customer in your store, one who knew of the teenage boy who took you far away from the location where your guardians were too busy trying to find their escape in lethal doses.

For once, Chūya doesn’t say anything brash. There is a stillness he brings when he sees how fast you can calm yourself, and yet when he glances at your arm, he chooses to show a bit of mercy. All this for a hat, huh? His inner thoughts scoff at him. Ever so curious, Chūya takes a short step of faith toward you.

“YLN?” he asks in such a voice laced with a false sense of sweetness.

“Go away,” you’re stern and deliberate in your dismissal.

If looks could kill, Chūya would be dead on the ground at that very moment. Your eyes are growing colder every second that ticks by. Chūya himself might have just shot you because you immediately begin to tune him out even as the words of apologies flutter about and out of his mouth hoping to reach your ears.

And yet, three days later, you don’t listen. Not even when you’re told about the news when you clock in to the seamstress office that morning. From what your co-workers had told you, there was a raid on a Port Mafia safehouse not too far from here. Apparently a deal with the Armed Detective Agency might have turned sour with the arrival of another organization threatening the life of the Gifted.

“...thank goodness none of us are Gifted,” an older co-worker says as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah. I think we’d lose so many customers, don’t you think so, yn-san?” the other seamstress that morning chides on.

You fix yourself a cup of coffee as well humming along, not willing to expose yourself as one of those they say with a disdain in their tone. Honestly, with those three days, now four, without hearing back from the intolerable redhead, you wonder if he was swept up and caught in the whole affair.

So Chūya sits in his cell’s bunk bed, waiting for a lawyer or another grunt worker to come bust him out of jail. He wants to ensure the hat, his hat, can be returned to you in one piece for repairs. Chūya’s thoughts drift every now and then back to you; did your bruises heal? He still wishes to apologize to you, for angering you, for annoying the crap out of you, hell, for even calling you ‘sweetheart.’ Chūya’d run through the entire city if it meant you could be his, and he wonders now if leaving the life of a mobster behind is a path open to him.

“People with likened minds, who share sorrows, or tales of hardships, will gravitate toward the other,” Chūya whispers this to the nothingness of the cold concrete walls of the cell.

Tonight he will play nice with the guards, tomorrow, he’ll stop by the tailor’s shop hoping against all odds you’d join him for tea.

A sudden crash and surprised shouts of the guards outside the highly defended unit for the Gifted can be heard about thirty feet away. There is gunfire and even more shouts as the sirens blare.

Turns out, Chūya doesn’t have to wait for long at all. If there is one thing you’d learn about Chūya and his subordinates in the Port Mafia is that they are loyal to the elders for as long as they are willing to obey. Under Akutagawa’s orders, Chūya was supposed to be freed one way or the other and the current Boss would clear up any misunderstandings calling it a ‘peaceful protest’ gone awry on local news that late evening.

Currently, Chūya rides in the back of a taxi, finally changed out of the tragic sham of a jumpsuit, with his faithful hat in tow. Forty city blocks are cleared in a matter of minutes as the getaway cab had it’s driver and passenger breaking the speed limit within normal parameters so as to not disturb the citizens (best they can). Yet, the driver is a familiar face and though Chūya claims he never wanted his help, Dazai just smiles away in the rearview mirror.

“Make up with my old-new friend,” Dazai has a serious expression on his face. “YN-san hasn’t been dealing well with the new regulations for the GIfted and might have been found out tonight.”

A bandaged hand throws back a smartphone with the article of business listings with gifted employee members both known and unregistered ones. The tailor’s shop is listed there within the first column, in the middle of said list, and Chūya swallows nervously. His hat is upon his head when Dazai pushes the brakes too hard. Chūya doesn’t say a word until he opens and slams the door shut behind him yelling a word of thanks over his shoulders as he runs the rest of the way.

It is nearly eleven at night when you’re about to exit the store when you hear a pounding on the front glass. All those early hens had decided to leave early once their latest projects were done, so it was just you who had left the cashiering duties until the end of the night. The lock for the safe had already been bolted, your apron had been hung up almost immediately after the last customer left for the night, so imagine your surprise when you see what, or rather, who, was making such a ruckus.

You roll your eyes, not ready to deal with this jerk on the other side of the glass. Suffice to say, until he types out a message on his smartphone and holds it up to the window:

‘Open up. I think my hat needs a repair…Please?’

You read as promptly as you can before unlocking the front. Chūya passes through with ease and he hides in the corner of the shop away from the searchlights of helicopters and other law enforcement vehicles flashing their sirens down the quiet streets. He waits for a fifth police car to ride past before reaching over to where you stood, holding on to your hand with his gloved one. He holds it as firmly as you hold on to him, a worried brow raised at him. You know what you want to ask, however, you acknowledge there will be time to explain everything from the top when the coast is clear. With his free hand he makes a sign to stay as silent as possible to move within the shadows of your shop, guiding you back to the offices where the soft glow of the desk lamp lit the back office.

“You got any alcohol?” Chūya inquires as he motions for you to have a seat.

“No, only coffee,” you shrug your shoulders before running a hand nervously through your hair.

“Bah, I don’t drink the stuff, but I suppose you might enjoy it,” Chūya says, leaning on your desk.

You glance up from his shoes to his face, you notice he might not be as tall as you recall from a few days ago, yet he is strikingly, robustly, handsome. Sure, a few patrons of the store did have their preset preferences, but now, in the late evening, amidst the glow of the lamp, does one Chūya Nakahara tell you about his life both before, during, and after meeting Dazai.You sit back and listen, fixing yourself another cup of coffee as he comes clean about every little detail he could think of about Dazai’s time within the Mafia family.

“...and that’s why I stopped here earlier last weekend…”

“Because you had a mission in the next town over?”

“No,well, not really.”

Chūya hands you a note in Dazai’s script instructing the red head to keep an eye on a person who looks like the composite sketch the note is written on. The sketch must have been made by one of those with a gift for sketching or one of the many who can recall with photographic memory the countenance of a person with only a few descriptors to go by.

“Uncanny, ain’t it?” Chūya chuckles when he sees your lips turn slightly upward.

“There is something written on the bottom, right?” you ask, seeing a few light pen parks on the bottom left of the page. Rounding the corner by the desk your company leans against, you take a final sip of your beverage before joining him on the side there. Chūya still holds the sketch in his hand.

You and Chūya are in close proximity to each other, so much so your lips graze his jaw when you read the inscription to him.

“Stick together.”

Chūya turns to you suddenly, not realizing how close you truly were because though he felt your lips graze his jaw, he was not expecting his own to become pressed to the top of yours so suddenly. It takes a half a minute to realize what had transpired, yet you don’t push him away, much to his surprise. Rather, you pursue his lips again the moment you feel his free hand turn your chin more toward his face. He wishes to heal some wounds of your past over and over again the longer you let him linger there.

“Is your arm ok?” he deftly asks, placing the paper on your desk so as to trace over the yellowing marks covered by your shirt sleeve.

“Mmhm,” you nod against his forehead. “I think it’ll heal faster if you kiss it.”

“Hah,” Chūya pecks the corner of your mouth, sneakily raises your injured arm to his shoulder. “Are you flirting with me dear?”

You shake your head, defending your innocence. “I wasn’t the one who leaned in first. Heh.”

Rolling his eyes, Chūya smirks before peppering your arm where he had his hand been wrapped, clearly smitten by the sudden attention he was given. You tried to hide behind your blush, yet he genuinely smiles when he pauses, curling his forefinger to trace your cheekbone.

“You’re much more beautiful than I thought,” he confides in you.

You’re still a few inches shorter than he is, but nonetheless you relish in delight, thus causing a small number of thread people to be created on a whim. Purple satin ribbons with a star design are soon being fabricated as a secondary option to the tarnished yellowing one on the hat at the furthest corner of the table.

“And you’re not as lethal when you’re docile like this,” you let him kiss your knuckles before you shy away.

Chūya presses his forehead against your own, taking a deep breath leaving your hand against his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he exhales.

“Stick together,” you say to each other like a secret.

Sirens and search parties can be dealt with in the morning, for now, you enjoy this slice of paradise for as long both of you can.

[childofaura]

What do you have to say about Grant George? He plays Leon Kuwata and Shuichi Saihara in Danganronpa

Huh, he's apparently also Shinjiro from Persona 3. I've still gotta play that one since I've played P4.

But in FEH, he's Sigurd and Clive. And let me start by saying I'm very glad he's become Sigurd's voice, and I hope and pray and HOPE and PRAY that we get a Jugdral remake, I want to be able to experience it like I got to experience Echoes.

Ok so performance, I think he does a fine job, but both Sigurd and Clive are kind of similar in that they're lower energy. This is just a personal opinion but I feel like FEH's voice-clip format doesn't suit his acting very well; when he's talking AT the player, it just doesn't feel natural, but his Duo lines with Deirdre are perfect. Man, where he REALLY nails it though, is Fernand's death in Echoes (after Fernand asks Alm to kill Duma). Plus any lines where him and Mathilda have their supports.

And I think he's a fine fit for both of them; like I said, the voices are similar but that's also because the characters are so similar.

I won't sugarcoat it; Grant doesn't really have range between the two. I'm sure he has range as other characters but in FEH, Clive and Sigurd could be swapped out.

Overall, while I DO like Grant and his voicework, I'd say he's at a 7/10. Like I mentioned before, the FEH format does not suit him.

[crazyforkasey-blog]

Luck of the Irish

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The night was pitch dark and the air sickness pill Doc Pepping handed out like candy before they took off from the airfield, hit home with most of the men. The plane was quiet, some men were smoking, some men were praying and the rest were sleeping or going over the objective repeatedly.

I opted to remove the door on the plane and was lying on my stomach looking down on the invasion fleet. It was a grand sight and I realized the significance of the mission on which we were about to embark.

The planes were flying in formation, however once over the coast of France the Germans started to fire and pilots started to break the formation.

The Co-pilot took a direct hit and the pilot panicked, he was flying too fast and too low. He hit the green light and I ordered the men to stand up and hook on. After getting the Ok, I turned and stepped out into the night. The air blast prop hit and I lost everything but my weapon.

I landed behind a hedge rove and looked around. The place didn't look anything like the sand tables, so there was only one thing I could do, buck up and try to find some sort of landmark.

Finding none, I looked up at the sky. A shadow landed behind the next hedgerow and I decided to head that way.

"Flash" I whispered

"Thunder" the voice answered

I smiled, I knew that voice and since the hike back to the rendezvous point would be long and dangerous without my trusted M1, the voice was the best thing about this invasion.

So smiling I stepped out of my hedgerow and hugged the man whose voice belonged to Lt. Speirs. I thanked my lucky star.

"Lt Speirs, what a pleasant surprise" I whispered

Speirs just nodded and motioned for me to follow him

We headed towards what looked like a village hoping to find some sort of landmarks or maybe a forgotten road sign.

The night was dark and the sound of the German anti-aircraft artillery penetrated the night. I walked next to Speirs and since we had only one weapon between us, I trusted Speirs to get me to where we needed to go.

We came across several dead paratroopers dangling from trees, shot before they hit the ground. I knew Speirs chose to ignore the death around him and I just turned my head and pushed on.

Along the way a few stragglers from the 82nd joined us. We ran into a group of Germans fixing explosives to a bridge getting ready to blow it up. I looked at Speirs. There were five of us and with quick thinking and keeping Winters mantra fire and maneuver in mind, we took the bridge.

Walking toward the rendezvous point, we passed a group of captured Germans. I gave the young men a small encouraging smile.

"You know, you shouldn't give those men any hope. There is no more hope from them," Speirs said

I just shook my head. I knew these people were our enemy, but they were still human beings.

I started to look around for Talbert and Grant, but I couldn't find them. Walking towards what looked like a CP I noticed a familiar face Buck I walked towards what looked like a small barn and found a few Easy men there.

I looked around for Harry, but Buck just shook his, Harry was still a no show.

With nothing better to do than wait, I wandered off and found Nixon. He was standing with his back to me, bent over a map talking to Hester. From what I could gather, they were trying to compare with whatever intelligence they received before the invasion to the actual situation.

Hester motioned to Nixon to look over his shoulder and when he turned his head, I waved at him.

Nixon came over and gave me a hug. I hugged him back, holding on to him relieved that my friend was ok.

"You ok" Nixon asked

I smiled and nodded "Yeah same shit, different day you know"

I stayed and talked to Hester and Nixon, trying to learn as much as I could. I pitched in with ideas where I could and Hester patted me on the back. I kept looking around, hoping for Harry to show up.

I hated feeling lost without him and I knew that there was a chance that he might not show up; there was a chance that Harry was one of those Paratroopers hanging from a tree, dead before he even fired a shot.

Winters, Lipton and Malarkey walked into camp and I smiled. I walked down towards where the men who had made it were gathered and hugged the newcomers.

"Where have you been?" I asked Lipton.

Lipton sighed and told us how he met winters and all that had happened on the way. Winters called our attention.

Someone tapped my shoulder and a runner from HQ handed me a piece of paper, Strayer requested my presence at HQ ASAP.

I handed Winters the paper and walked towards HQ. My first thought was what I did wrong this time. I had no idea what Strayer wanted. I knocked on the door to HQ, someone told me to enter and I opened the door. Strayer, Hester and Nixon were gathered at HQ. I saluted and waited to hear what I was there for.

"Lieutenant Christenson, I heard you helped plan a surprise maneuver today, in fact these two told me that if it wasn't for you a vital bridge would have been blown up. So since Hester is moving up to regimental HQ and Nixon is taking his place as S3, we are lacking a good S2, so congrats lieutenant you get to spend your war gathering intelligence" Strayer motioned for me to join them.

On June 7 th the regiment moved on towards Carentan, the route went through Culoville through Vierville to St. Come-du-Mont and from there over the river til Carentan.

When we reached Angoville au plain and set up HQ I went in search of Harry

Where the hell was he?

It was now almost D Day plus 2 and Harry was still a no show. The attack on Bret court had been a brave success and Nixon ran to the beach with the maps Winters had found, which had saved a great many lives.

Harry was still a no show.

Unable to find rest I spent my time during the night checking in on the men, finally I sought out Nix and when he laid eyes on me, he handed me his flask.

"Still no sign of Harry?" he asked me.

"No, I wonder where the heck they dropped him and if he survived" I sighed and turned to face Nix.

"Harry will show up, just wait, don't you remember that time in Kentucky when he got lost during the field exercise?"

"Weell, that was partly my fault," I giggled.

Kentucky 1943

1st platoon with Harry as assistant platoon leader was deployed on the company's left flank and during a commotion with Sobel being all itchy and unable to sit tight, 3rd squad with Harry, and I got separated from the rest of the platoon.

So, there we were wading around the Kentucky countryside looking for the rest of the company. I was in the lead and when Harry told Talbert to hold up the squad, Tab got confused and we lost Harry, somewhere in Kentucky.

Tab and I with the rest of the squad eventually found our platoon again, but Harry was still lost. Thinking it was somehow my fault, I decided to avoid any officers for the foreseeable future, and that had been the right decision, because Sobel blamed me, so that's how I ended up with night guard duty again.

So, when Harry showed up later that night, dirty, smelling of cow manure, he also blamed me, we fought...

"And I remember you not talking to him for two weeks, might have been the longest two weeks of my life" Nix ended his story telling.

"Thought that was the two weeks you decided to give up drinking" I Laughed and nudged Nix.

Nix just laughed and took another swig of his flask.

"Nix, what am I going to do if he doesn't show up?" I asked the dark-haired lieutenant.

Nix sighed, very well aware of the fact that Harry might not show up at all.

Harry had spent the day fighting the enemy with part of the 82nd airborne and had slowly made his way towards Angoville. When he walked into the stable that held the part of easy that had shown up, he searched the room with his eyes for her, but she wasn't there. He found a sleeping Talbert and kicked his foot to wake him up.

Talbert slowly opened his eyes and sat straight up when he realized who was kicking him "Hey lieutenant what can I help you with?"

"Did, ah did she, did she make it in yet" Harry asked.

Talbert nodded "yeah she got promoted to battalion staff, guess they are quick to fill in the ranks up there."

Harry thanked him and went to search for her, he found her once again laughing and smiling up at Nixon.

"Why is it that I always find you hitting on my girl?"

I turned around and almost hit Nixon with my elbow in the face, there he was dirty, exhausted, but handsome as ever, smiling at me with his toothy grin. I jumped into his arms and Harry gave me a kiss and held onto me like he was never going to let me go.

"I thought I lost you" I said and hugged Harry again.

"Never" Harry responded.

"Mind if we?" I asked Nix and nodded towards the barn, Nix just smiled and walked towards the cottage where headquarters had set up.

Easy moved out to meeting light resistance in the small picturesque French villages and on June 11th started the company's night march towards Carentan.

"First platoon on your feet, it's getting dark soon so, I want light and noise discipline, and no playing grab Fanny with the man I front of you Luz" Welsh said.

The columns moved out. Welsh and the first platoon were in the lead.

Easy company had their fair share of night marches with Sobel, and was fully prepared for the march.

After marching for two hours Welsh stopped the company, Winters walked up to Him "Hey Harry What's the problem?" he asked.

"We lost the Fox company, god damn it" Welsh said.

"It's not your fault, this is about officers crapping out on their training, just send two men out to find Fox" Winters said.

This continued and together with the fact that the regiment kept changing orders, Easy and the rest of the 506th was late not reaching Carentan until 05.30 half an hour late.

The orders came to attack at 06.00.

I stood up in a jeep and watched thru binoculars. The first platoon under Harry was on the left side of the road, my heart was pounding in my chest, and I had a gut feeling that this  shit show could go sideways real fast.

Harry and his men were in the ditches, everything was quiet, and the Germans hadn't revealed their machine-gun position or fired any mortars.

At 06.00 Winters ordered "Move out"

Harry kicked off the advance, running down the road toward the T-junction 50 away, his platoon followed.

I watched as Harry and Luz was caught up against a wall by machine gun fire "Where the hell is everybody" Harry screamed.

"I have no idea," Luz screamed back.

The German machine gun opened fire straight down the road, it was in perfect position.

When the German opened fire, the seventh man stopped and stayed in the ditch, and so did the rest of the platoon, trying to hide from the Germans.

Winters jumped out in the road, yelling and screaming at the men to get moving, they didn't move, and Winters grabbed them, and pulled them out of the ditch, and pushed them towards the town. Winters were like a mad man, yelling at the men and kicking them.

Nixon, the rest of the battalion HQ and I were hollering at Winters to get them moving.

Harry was up ahead trying to deal with a German machine gun, and Winters knew he was dead if he didn't get the men moving.

Finally, the men started to move.

Meanwhile Harry was taking care of the German machine gun, while he wondered where the hell everybody was, he and the men with him tossed grenades at the gun, followed by some burst from his carbine.

After the attack I sought out Harry, he had a look of relief on his face, but he also looked 10 years older. I noticed he had a limp as we walked towards the aid station to see Winters who had caught a piece of a ricochet in his leg.

"Why are you limping, what happened, did you get wounded?" I frantically asked Harry.

"I am fine, I am fine" Harry said while he tried to stop me from patting him down to see if he was indeed bleeding.

"I just banged my knee against the brick wall after throwing the grenade through the window." He told me.

I let out a sigh of relief. Thank God he was alright.

A counter attack was expected and easy got orders to go to high ground and dig in.

Harry walked the line to check on his men and when he encountered Blithe and Martin in a foxhole, he stayed while Martin took a minute to relieve himself.

While he was walking towards his own foxhole he ran into Spiers, who stopped him.

"Harry, how are things with you and Sergeant Christenson?" Spiers asked Harry. Spiers who had been witness to more than one fight and the following silence between them.

"Good things are actually good," Harry said.

"Good keep that way" Spiers told the other lieutenant and walked away.

When Harry found his foxhole I was there.

"Well hello stranger" I said and looked up at Harry as he jumped into the foxhole, I snuggled into his side, and he gently stroked my cheek.

We just sat there for a while and just enjoyed being together. "Are you ready for tomorrow?" I asked him. I felt him nod and I drifted off to sleep.

The order came to attack at 05.30 and right on time the attack started, the Germans had superior fire power, once again I was standing in a jeep watching the company attack on the Germans.

I watched as Harry grabbed a bazooka and pulled a private with him. I admired how calm he was , even when tanks turned their 88 at them and Harry waited for the perfect moment to fire, after firing he just ran back to cover with the private hot on her heels.

The fighting continued and just when I thought all was lost just then 2nd armored came over the ridge and, in a minute, they had the Germans fleeing and Easy let the Germans have it.

Harry screamed "hello beautiful babies."

[alixismix]

Damn Mack, bad day? It'll get better, I promise.

if you even just googled genocide and looked at the death counts, at the sheer amount of names of the dead, you would recognize the genocide as what it is, a genocide. >

Think you can send your source? I looked up genocide and I only got the definition. And I'd rather not look through facade websites that fact checkers have confirmed their fake ness so if you have sources I'd love to see them.

are you aware that there have been internet blackouts on and off in Gaza- >

Some Hamas terrorists used digital cameras tho.

Tripods-

DROIDS, exist, you can get them off of Amazon for the cheapest 20$.

So, if they wanted videos to exist, they'd exist, don't you think? SOME sort of documentation, something. In an era of technology. Not, numbers rising...

hamas only exists because of israeli settlement. it doesn't take a degree in polisci to understand that. >

*politics, and no...

But you do need to understand historical events and as a Christian-

Israel (or the kingdom of Jerusalem) has historically been there since BC dude. The crusades (1050) back it.

I can admit my history, why do you deny it?

Or did you not know? (Knowledge is power)

and to answer your question: calling women thots for having their thighs out is misogyny. >

It's not when I'm calling a thot a thot because she's disrespecting the graves of children through sexual attention. If your brother got ganged up on and popped and some thot said "omg so sad, give me attention in his name through my OF" imma defend him too, because that's disrespectful. Period.

also if not transphobia, what did you wishing for a pre dylan mulvaney era mean? >

An era where being a trans woman isn't a character of what someone "thinks" a woman is by asking "this is how girls act, right?". While acting like a dumb, clumsy bimbo and saying "this is womanhood". I see it no different than if a trans man acted like an offensive, stereotypical toxic gay man and going "this is how gay men actually act like, right?"

do you just not like the theater?>

Uhm, I'm not a character, and neither is my lively hood.

why are you formatting your response like a child? Would you like someone who's openly kinky/weird/trans/etc in your church? be honest with yourself! >

Yes, that's what church is for. Someone who decides they want to live a more conservative lifestyle so they turn to God.

Actually, as a Baptist we actually celebrate it cuz it means you've accepted yourself and you're willing to mature, maybe even turn to God if you want. That's also why we encourage baptism and being saved.

Look, idk what that little vent is all about, but I'm sorry. Something triggered you and you felt so attacked that you flew into a flight or fight response because that's all you know. It's ok. Idk what someone did, but you didn't deserve it. You don't now. You deserve love, support, warmth, and someone to say they're proud of you. Shame on whoever hurt you. I genuinely hope you feel better, and I hope, no, pray you'll heal the way you need to gradually. I see your pain, I see your anger, I feel it. Perhaps even on a personal level. You're human, and that's amazing. Human emotions are extremely valid and I will not judge them whatsoever. I will say, breathe. Let it go, even for a second. It's over now. You did it :)

Learn to love and forgive yourself my guy. You deserve it.

💧