#I’m also just nervous in general about everything and I hate America so badly why

[onemorecupofcoffee]

I can’t sleep idk what’s wrong im so anxious lately

[hermannsthumb]

Can we have bad boy! Newt loving the shit out of geek! Hermann? Like a grease au?

and this ask i got a liiiiittle while ago…

Anonymous said: Greaser!Newt is so perfect because Hermann is a shy, sensitive sweetheart with a horrible, horrible father, and greaser!Newt is a bad boy rebel with a heart of gold who will rescue Hermann from his terrible father

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ask and ye shall receive…..takin another little study break to write this….. for @newts-geiszler bc i love her and also we were talking about this in our dms earlier……have some “50s but they dont suck” au where newt and hermann are like in community college or something in a Small Town (so grease but not high school lol)

Hermann’s not sure what he did to gain the attentions of someone like Newton Geiszler–to be cursed with the attentions of someone like Newton Geiszler–but for the first time in his life, Hermann is grateful for them. Newton is obnoxious. He’s loud. He’s grimy. He’s tattooed. When he’s not pestering Hermann while they’re meant to be doing lab work, he’s tinkering on that ridiculous motorcycle of his, or he’s terrorizing the streets with it, or he’s screeching along to his guitar, or he’s kicking his muddy boots up on tabletops or tossing his leather jacket over chairs or–generally, making an undesirable nuisance of himself. He’s everything Hermann hates, wrapped up in one convenient scruffy, stocky little package.

More importantly, he’s everything Hermann’s father hates.

Which is why he’s perfect.

Hermann finds Newton lounging at a booth in the back of the diner–boots kicked up like usual, hair slicked back, shirtsleeves rolled up–and staring off into space as he downs a milkshake. When Hermann slams his cane on the linoleum floor and says “Newton,” Newton jumps and chokes on the milkshake and nearly knocks his glass over.

“Hermann?” he says, coughing, and blinking in bewilderment. He scrambles into a proper sitting position and adjusts his thick eyeglasses, as if he can’t believe Hermann’s really standing in front of him. 

“Last week,” Hermann says, “you invited me out to go dancing.” Multiple times, in fact. Hermann can admire his persistence.

Newton adjusts his glasses again. “Uh,” he says. “Yeah. I did.”

Hermann grits his teeth a moment before he continues. “If you’re amenable, and the offer still stands–”

“Yes!” Newton blurts out, face splitting into a wide grin, and–in his excitement–upends a salt shaker into his lap. “I mean,” he says, clumsily picking it up and brushing himself off, “yeah, that’s–” He runs his fingers through his greased hair. A little curl falls forward. He shrugs. “Sure.”

Hermann doesn’t buy Newton’s indifference for one second, but he doesn’t say anything, lets him have his little act. (That morning, Newton was almost begging Hermann to let him carry his books to his next class.) “This Friday,” Hermann says. “Come over to my house at six exactly. We’ll have dinner first.”

Newton’s smile returns, considerably…dopier. “Dinner,” he repeats. “You sure you don’t just wanna come here? I’ll buy you whatever–”

“No,” Hermann says quickly. Newton shuts his mouth. “It has to be my house.”

Newton nods.

“Six exactly, Newton.”

“Should I–” Newton runs his fingers through his hair again, considerably more nervous. “Should I wear something nice? If I’m meeting your folks and all.”

Hermann looks over Newton’s messy hair, his week-old stubble, his crooked (partially broken) eyeglasses, his creased leather jacket, his cuffed and stained jeans, the outrageous ink that swirls over his forearms, the smudges of motor grease on his shirt and neck. Hermann shakes his head and smiles serenely. “No,” he says. “As you are is perfect, Newton.”

“Keen,” Newton says, beaming away back at him.

Hermann has ulterior motives, of course. There are no other circumstances in which he would willingly invite Newton Geiszler into his household. Lately, Hermann’s father has been even more controlling and infuriating than usual, and–it’s juvenile to want revenge, Hermann knows, he’s freshly done with his teenage years, his time for rebellion has come and gone–but Newton’s just the type to get perfectly under Father’s skin. Especially if Father thinks they’re dating. He’ll take one look at Newton’s tattoos and his motorcycle–when Newton shows up half an hour late to their routine five-thirty dinner–and–well–Hermann can’t wait to see his expression.

And it’s not dishonest to Newton. He gets a date with Hermann out of it, something he’s been begging for for months. Years. Since Hermann moved to America and they got paired together as lab partners and Newton took an odd shine to him. He’s doing Newton just as much of a favor, even if he doesn’t remotely intend to put out. (Which is what he’s sure Newton’s after. That’s what all his type–loud, rebellious, swaggering–are only ever after.)

To Hermann’s dismay, on Friday evening Newton shows up on his front porch at five-thirty exactly in significantly less filthy jeans, bearing a bouquet of flowers that he thrusts at Hermann the moment he opens the door. “I’m sorry, man,” he leads with. “I know I’m early–”

“No,” Hermann sighs, and accepts the flowers glumly. They’re beautiful, unfortunately. “You’re right on time, damn you.” Newton didn’t even ride the motorcycle. He just walked.

To Hermann’s further dismay, dinner doesn’t go anywhere nearly as badly as he hoped. It doesn’t go smoothly, not by any means–Father blanches wonderfully when he sees the tattoos and the state of Newton’s hair, and even further when Hermann explains that Newton lives on the other (“bad”) side of town, and things become tense when Newton talks about the possibility of space aliens for five solid minutes and follows it up with a rousing endorsement of socialism–but there’s no yelling, no chairs thrown halfway across the room, no demands that Newton leave the house at once and never return. Newton does not leap from the table and call Father a capitalist fascist pig. He doesn’t talk about his latest dissections in excruciating detail. He deflects all of Hermann’s desperate attempts to ignite one of their usual petty arguments. He doesn’t even put his boots up on the table (and Hermann even made sure to set out the good tablecloth). 

When he and Newton set off, Hermann makes sure, at least, to inform his father he hasn’t the slightest idea of when they’ll be getting home and that they shouldn’t bother waiting up for them, and hopes that the implications of debauchery and Newton ravishing him in the backseat of some car on lover’s lane haven’t gone right over his head. Newton holds tight to Hermann’s arm the entire walk to the dance hall and blabbers on endlessly, about how good dinner was and how he can’t cook “for shit”, how cool the evening’s gotten, some probably-illicit experiments he’s doing in his uncle’s garage, if Hermann saw that new film about the giant insects from outer space (or something along those lines), how excited he is that Hermann finally agreed to go on a date with him, how nice Hermann looks, how handsome he is, how his sweater brings out his eyes, how he hopes he likes the flowers (he grew them himself, in his uncle’s backyard), and not once does he mention how dreadful Hermann’s father is, not once does he try to get fresh with Hermann like Hermann expected, not once does he appear anything less than entirely enthusiastic to simply walk next to Hermann.

Hermann…does not know what to think.

When they reach the dance hall, Hermann finds a spot against the wall on the outskirts where he intends to wait until Newton’s decided he’s had his fill and takes Hermann back home. (Hermann can dance, but it can be difficult and strenuous on his leg, so he prefers not to.) But rather than separating from Hermann immediately to dance and mingle with the rest of the young and stylish and hip (and probably find someone easier to score with than Hermann), Newton follows him and sticks tight at his side. “You don’t have to,” Hermann assures him. “Really, Newton. Go off. Enjoy yourself.”

“I am enjoying myself,” Newton says, smiling. “Anyway, what kind of a lousy date would I be if I ditched you?” He starts swaying along to the music of the band on the stage, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. “So you really didn’t see Them?”

Hermann shakes his head slowly.

“It’s playing at the drive-in this weekend,” Newton says. “I could take you tomorrow night.” He goes pink. “Only if you want to, I mean.”

Something strange stirs in Hermann’s chest. He evades the question. “On your bike?”

“My old man’ll let me borrow his car,” Newton says. “He knows how I–that you–” He blushes harder. Hermann stares at the floor. “Nevermind. Uh.”

To Hermann’s utter surprise, he has a good time with Newton. Newton’s running commentary on everything from his experiments (which Hermann has decided are absolutely illicit) to the music (which Newton enjoys, even if it is a bit slow) eventually becomes entertaining rather than merely bearable. He fetches Hermann drinks whenever he wants. He keeps complimenting Hermann, too, as he had on the walk over. He even manages to coerce Hermann out onto the dance floor during a particularly slow song, and if Hermann settles his head against Newton’s sturdy chest and allows Newton to wrap his arms round his waist as they sway together, it’s only because it’s the proper way to dance with one’s date.

Newton lends him his jacket for the walk back home, since Hermann looked cold, apparently, and it’s both too-short and too-big at the same time. It smells like Newton, hair grease and sweat and cologne that Newton, earlier, confessed he stole from his father for the night, and Hermann draws it tight around himself as he listens to Newton chat away happily.

Guilt builds steadily in his gut. 

“Did you have fun?” Newton suddenly says. “I had so much fun.”

They’ve reached Hermann’s front gate, and they come to a stop just outside it. He supposes he’ll have to say goodnight to Newton, now. That’s the proper date procedure. Will Newton ask him on another one? Will he try to kiss Hermann? Will he ask to come inside? But Newton does none of those things; he simply stands there, watching Hermann. Waiting for him to make a move. Hermann chews his lip. “Newton,” he says.

“Yeah?” Newton looks so happy, damn him.

“I didn’t–” Hermann taps his finger on the head of his cane nervously. “I haven’t been entirely fair to you. You should know–”

“–that you only asked me out to piss off your old man?” Newton finishes, not losing his smile. “Hermann. I’m not an idiot.”

Hermann supposes he should be embarrassed about being found out that easily, or mortified, or ashamed, or a whole host of other entirely appropriate emotions, but instead he just feels irritated. “If you knew, then why in the hell didn’t you play along?” he exclaims. Newton can pick fights with Hermann every day of the week, but not the one time it really matters. “You were positively civil!” 

“Look, don’t get me wrong,” Newton says, and snorts derisively. “He’s a total fucking square, man, and I would’ve loved to, but–” He shrugs, and grins a little sheepishly. “It was nice pretending that you wanted to be my guy and go dancing with me, even for just a night. I’ve never gone on a date before or anything like that. I really did have fun.”

Hermann’s irritation fades back into guilt, with a healthy dose of embarrassment and mortification and shame this time. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I’ve misjudged you very badly, Newton.”

Newton waves his hand. “And I screwed up your plan. We’re even.”

They stare at each other. Hermann’s not sure why he’s not yet opened his front gate–Newton, obviously, does not expect another date, nor a kiss, certainly not an invitation inside. Hermann reaches for the gate. Then he stops, pulls away. “Er,” he says. “There’s that film tomorrow night. The one you like. With the–ah–the insects. We could always…”

He does not finish his proposal, but he does not need to. Newton is beaming, and it’s shy, and sweet, and–it’s hard to tell for certain, in just the moonlight, but–his blush has returned. (Newton is loud, and messy, and obnoxious, but he is also intelligent, and funny, and very, very good-looking.) “I’ll lay on the horn for five minutes when I pick you up,” Newton says. “Stomp through your front garden, too. I’ll be a regular delinquent, Hermann, your old man’ll be forbidding you to see me by next Tuesday.” 

The thought excites Hermann more than he anticipated–Newton, the no-good town delinquent, stealing away with Hermann for what can only be scandalous purposes. “I don’t doubt it,” Hermann says. He casts a glance up at his house, and the houses surrounding; all the lights are turned off, meaning everyone’s likely turned in for the night, but… “Kissing me goodnight in full view of the neighbors certainly wouldn’t help our case.”

“Oh,” Newton squeaks, and then he agrees, very enthusiastically.

[thebigreylotheory]

Star Wars: The MustafarVille Ghost (reylo-y)

‘Sup my Star Warsy peoples!

Long time no see.

A few weeks hath turn regrettably into months. I wish I could be all Star Wars Captain America about it and tell you “I’m with you until the end of the [Star Wars] line.” I’m more of a trash Mary Poppins who “Shall stay until the wind changes.”

Anyways, I couldn’t miss out on your Halloween story time this year!

TheBigReyloTheory’s TrasherPiece Theatre Proudly Presents:

Star Wars: The MustafarVille Ghost

So, yeah, we all know ole Anakin [Sir Simon de Canterville] is a Force Ghost now. (And rumored to, grain-of-salt, potentially be in Episode 9.)

So, I’mgonnaruinitforyou with this mashup story [The Canterville Ghost] that I just know is going to come true. (I saw a woollyworm yesterday that had a lot of black on it, so that means Darth Vader. Or lots of winter. I forget.)

When Kylo Ren [Mr. Otis], the Supreme Leader, bought MustafarVille Castle [Vader’s Castle], everyone told him he was doing a very foolish thing, as there was no doubt at all that the place was haunted.

A few weeks after this, the purchase was concluded, and at the close of the season the Supreme Leader and his family(*) went down to MustafarVille Castle.

(*So, I feel like I need to explain to you that there’s a huge, HUGE time jump in Episode 9. As Supreme Leader with Boss Pay, Kylo was able to afford some therapy for his issues and teach him to communicate his feelings to Rey. 

The dark side’s all about passion and emotion right?

Rey tried to hang out with the Resistance, but she slowly realized she was too dark side for them:

)

Their eldest son, christened Renington [Washington] by his parents, which he never ceased to regret, was a rather good-looking young man who enjoyed casinos and dancing.

Their daughter, Vir Jynnia [Virginia], was a wonderful Amazon, and had once raced her TIE Fighter, winning by a length and a half…to the huge delight of the young Duke of Naboo, Palpatine’s grandnephew [The Duke of Cheshire], who proposed to her on the spot. Everyone said she was the very image of her great-grandmother Padme, but with that Skywalker blonde hair.

After their daughter, Rey and Kylo had Force Twins, who were usually called “The Stars and Stripes,” as they were always swishing First Order underlings.

Anyways, at eleven o’clock the family retired, and by half-past, all the lights were out. Sometime after, Kylo Ren was awakened by a curious noise in the corridor, outside his room.

It seemed to be coming nearer every moment. He was quite calm and felt his pulse, which was not at all feverish. He put on his slippers, took a small phial out of his dressing-case, and opened the door.

“My dear sir, I really must insist on your oiling your mechanical limbs, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of the Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator. I shall leave it here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy to supply you with more, should you require it.”

And then Kylo slammed the door.

For a moment Vader’s Ghost stood quite motionless in natural indignation. Then, dashing the bottle violently upon the floor, he fled down the corridor. However, just as he reached the top of the great staircase, the Force Twins fearlessly flung their lightsabers at him.

Hastily adopting the fourth dimension of space as a means of escape, Vader’s Ghost vanished through the wall. Never, in his brilliant dark side career, had he ever been so insulted. He had frightened plenty of people in the past. (Why not his grandson and great-grandsons?) Accordingly, he decided to have his vengeance.

Next morning the Supreme Family discussed the ghost over breakfast. Kylo Ren was slightly annoyed the ghost had not accepted his gift. He scolded the Force Twins for being so rude to the poor ghost. It was agreed that if the ghost could not be quiet, they would have to ask him to remain in his meditation chamber.

The second appearance of the ghost happened a week later. During the night the family heard a fearful crash in the hall. Rushing down the stairs they found that a large suit of Mandalorian armor had become detached from its stand, and had fallen on the floor while the ghost rubbed his knee with an expression of pain. The Force Twins, having brought their blasters with him, shot first at him.

The ghost swept over them like mist, leaving the family in darkness. Victorious, Vader’s Ghost flew up the stairs. He barely had a moment to celebrate before a door opened, revealing Vir Jynnia.

“I am afraid you are far from well, and have brought you a bottle of Vic’s Vapor Rub. If it is a wheeze that affects your breathing, you will find it a most excellent remedy.”

Upon reaching his room, Vader’s Ghost broke down. He was far from a successful ghost, unable to frighten the family at all. For some days after this, he was extremely depressed. However, by taking great care of himself, meditating over how much he hated sand, he recovered and resolved to make a third attempt to frighten them.

He had nearly reached their corridor when right in front of him was standing a horrible specter. Monstrous as a madman’s dream! Hideous laughter seemed to have writhed its features into an eternal grin.

Having never seen a ghost before, naturally, Vader’s Ghost was frightened. He fled back to his room.

Eventually, he asserted himself and determined to go and speak to the other ghost as soon as it was daylight. Upon reaching the spot, he rushed forward lifting the ghost, only to find a registered Lucasfilm copyright on the costume.

He had been tricked! Outwitted!

Perhaps, Darth Vader was losing his touch.

Afterwards, he made up his mind to give up haunting the family. They did not deserve him. For several weeks, he was careful not to be heard or seen.

That is, until he met with a severe fall, treading on a Nerf Herder butter-slide the twins had constructed. This last insult so enraged him, that he resolved to make one final effort to assert his dignity. On reaching the room occupied by the twins, he found the door ajar. Wishing to make an effective entrance, he flung it wide open.

However, the shock to his nervous system was so great that he fled back to his room as hard as he could go.

He gave up all hope of ever frightening the rude family. On the contrary, he was seized with panic at the very sight or sound of Rey and Kylo Ren’s Force Twins.

Much time passed. Rey and Kylo threw grand parties at MustafarVille Castle. It was generally assumed that the ghost had gone away.

However, the galaxy was deceived, for the ghost was still in the castle, and was by no means ready to let matters rest, particularly as he heard Palpatine’s grandnephew, Duke of Naboo, was visiting Vir Jynnia. Accordingly, he made arrangements to appear to Vir Jynnia’s little lover in all his villainous glory.

Yet, at the last moment, his terror of the twins prevented him from leaving his room.

A few days later, Vir Jynnia and her beau went flying somewhere in the Ileenium system, where she damaged her flight helmet so badly, that, upon her return home, she made up her mind to go up by the back staircase so as not to be seen.

There she saw the ghost all by his lonesome. He looked so forlorn, Vir Jynnia was filled with compassion and determined to try and comfort him. So deep was his melancholy that he was not aware of her presence till she spoke to him. She informed him that her brothers were going back to their royal academy and if he behaved himself no one would annoy him.

Vader’s ghost thought her request to behave himself quite absurd. Haunting was his only reason for existing.

Vir Jynnia explained that was no reason at all for existing. She reminded Vader he had been very wicked. He had caused his wife to die of a broken heart. It is very wrong to cause someone to die of a broken heart.

Course, Vader then lamented how it was all Obi-Wan’s fault. Obi-wan cut off his limbs and burned a majority of his body.

Vir Jynnia, being very kind, offered to take Vader for bacta treatments. Vader assured her it was too late for that. But she could help him! Help him cross over and forever rest in the ashes of Endor!

She could open the holocron portal for him! Because of her love and compassion, and love is stronger than death!

Vader then pointed to the prophecy etched in the MustafarVille Castle window:

"First comes the day

Then comes the night.

After the darkness

Shines through the light.

The difference, they say,

Is only made right

By the resolving of gray

Through refined Jedi sight."

―Journal of the Whills, 7:477

Confused, Vir Jynnia asked what the prophecy meant.

Of course, Vader explained to her that it meant after opening the holocron, it would probably take 24 hours, but she could help him find his old gray podracing goggles, which would make everything right and then he could look all refined again and be out of sight.

There were also some lines about:

“When a golden girl can win,

Prayer from out the lips of sin,

When the barren almond bears,

And a little child gives away its tears,

Then shall all the galaxy be still,

And peace come to MustafarVille.”

But the Whills didn’t think it was all that important, so they edited that part out. They might use it in the Extended Special Edition or something.

Vir Jynnia was still confused, but agreed.

Vader’s Ghost clutched her hand tightly. Suddenly she had visions of ancient Jedi, all telling her to turn back.

Creatures in the fireplace warned her to beware. Still she lifted the holocron. Together, her and Vader disappeared through the portal opening in the wall.

Later, the same day, Rey became concerned when her daughter didn’t show for tea time.

She became really agitated when six o’clock struck and Vir Jynnia did not appear. She sent the boys out to look for their sister, while her and Kylo searched every room in the castle. They found no trace.

Suddenly, Kylo remembered he had given a band of bounty hunters permission to camp near the Klegger Corp Mining Facility by the lava river. Upon investigation he and Renington quickly assumed the bounty hunters left suddenly, kidnapping Vir Jynnia for ransom!

Well, the galaxy was in chaos.

All the stormtroopers were dispatched. Kylo immediately left Mustafar to search for his daughter.

Sweetly, the Duke of Naboo begged Kylo to allow him to aid in the search. Unfortunately, when they found the bounty hunters, their minds held no trace of Vir Jynnia. It appeared all was lost.

All returned to MustafarVille Castle and gave into suffering.

When suddenly, just past midnight, there was a loud crash. Out of the portal stepped Vir Jynnia with the holocron in her hand.

To say the family was relieved is an understatement. They all had many questions, which Vir Jynnia quickly explained.

She showed them the secret treasures of MustafarVille Castle Vader left for her.

Also how the portal lead to Vader’s burial spot on Endor. Together the family decided to hold a ceremony and place a mausoleum in remembrance of Vader.

And everything returned to normal. Vir Jynnia later married the Duke of Naboo. Episode 10 will probably be about their kid. Continue Anakin’s legacy and whatnot.

(But probably not….)

The end.

Happy Halloween!

[malereader-inserts]

Conflicting Emotions

Fandom: Avengers Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Male!Reader Summary: Sometimes it’s better not to assume. Prompt: 60 - “I can’t believe you mistook a crush for intense hatred, what the fuck?” Words Count:1819 Warning: Swearing Author note: I tried and I can’t write their accents so you gotta imagine that but this was requested by @spicyveganfun

You had known Wanda since she had come to America, you had literally run into her while trying to escape the feeling of awkwardness. See you had powers, you rather not go into details in how you got them but you preferred to keep to yourself. Whatever the Avengers did, you did not want any part of. Plus, what can a little empathic magician like you can do on a battlefield?

Anyway, Wanda Maximoff had a connection with you, and it wasn’t any way that type of connection. It was rather a nice protective connection between you two, so you offered her a choice. It was no secret that she had some witchy magic and it wasn’t far from the powers you held accountably. So you offered if she wanted someone to help her control it or keep their relationship strictly to friends only. 

She picked both.

She felt comfortable in your presences, better than the loud Avenger tower. Your little flat was cosy and quiet, it helped her focused. You grew to become best friends, you helped her adapt to her new home and her powers while she talked about the daily nonsense in the tower.

That’s when you found fondness on her brother. Wanda loved her brothers to bits and talked fondly of him - making you slowly develop a crush on him. 

“Everyone is asking to meet you,” Wanda states, walking into your little apartment without knocking.

You stuck your head out of the kitchen and noticing that Wanda had sat down, o having woken up you were quite dazed, “Good morning to you.”

“(Y/N), it’s noon?” 

You shrugged, stirring your coffee and sitting on the armchair looking at her, “Why? Did you talk about me at the tower.”

“Oh yes, definitely!” Wanda beamed, as you gave her a disapproving look, “It only came out because my idiot brother stole my phone and told everyone I had a boyfriend.”

“Don’t you like that android guy? What’s his name?”

“Vision.”

You simply waved, not caring, as you took a gulp of coffee and sighed contently, “What did you say about me?”

“Don’t worry about it, all good stuff.” You nodded approvingly, but Wanda looked hesitant, “I may have also told them about you helping with my powers and that you may have them?”

Luckily you had not been drinking or it would have gone everywhere, “YOU WHAT?”

“I know, I know!” She stood up the same time as you did, “They just want to meet you, I promised you that I mentioned that you don’t want anything to do with them.”

“And what? They just nodded and smile, agreeing with what you had said?” You looked at her, hands at your hips, “SHIELD, Avengers, whatever…They’ll do anything to convince me.”

“And you’re hard to convince and please,” Wanda reasoned, “Plus, I think they were suggesting to help me out at the Tower, rather than here. It has more space.” 

You narrowed your eyes, “Fine, but if they say I should join the team I’m not gonna give in. Now when are they meeting me?”

Wanda nodded and clapped, happy with your answer, “Tonight, nothing dressy I said, since you hate dressing up, so we’ve agreed on a simple meal at the tower.”

You huffed annoyed, you rather stay in your bed and watch the world past but here you were, linking arms with Wanda as you walked down the streets of New York City. 

“So, my brother…” Wanda laughs out a little, giving you suggestive eyebrow wiggle, “I know you like him!”

You looked quite concern and panicked, “I do not!”

Wanda gives you a look before dragging you into the tower and into the elevator, as she hits one of the top numbers. You suddenly felt two different emotions, nervousness and excitement. You’d like to believe that your feeling was excitement.

“Are you nervous or is that me?” Your questions, quietly huffing out a breath when Wanda shakes her head indicating that it is not her. “Well, can you be nice to me for once and say you are nervous.”

Wanda laughs, with a small smile, “They’ll love you, don’t worry.”

As the elevator continues to ascend, you continue to feel way too many emotions to comprehend, you used to blocking out too many emotion but it was a small crowd, somehow a small crowd of emotions affected you more since it amplified every single one.

Wanda held your hand, noticing you had fallen silent.

Everything suddenly felt draining, your body was pulled into different ways of emotion. Excitement, happiness, annoyance, nervousness, wariness were the few of emotion you currently tried to control. The doors opened and you were invited by many famous faces.

“Ah! There they are!” Tony exclaimed, alcohol at hand with a charming smile.

You froze, your mind cannot handle emotions trying to outdo each other. Wanda noticed, pulling you into the room. 

“You’re overwhelming him…”

“Of what? He’s only been here for five seconds.”

You looked at the direction of the voice, holding a similar accent as the girl beside you. There you found a handsome man with silver hair, as great he was to look at you could feel hatred in his direction. 

“Your emotions,” You finally spoke, informing Wanda’s brother and everyone else, “I can feel them like they’re my own, it’s not helping that I can’t differentiate which are mine and who’s who. All your emotions are trying to outdo each other, it’s overbearing.”

“Interesting…” You turn to look at a man with glasses, a warm smile planted on his face. You knew that was the famous scientist, Dr Bruce Banner, “By any chance can you manipulate emotions?”

“Yes,” You nodded, everyone, looking in curiosity, “Not often, I mostly do it when emotions have taken a dip in health. I try to make things positive, not only it benefits them but me too.”

You smile as you felt some emotion draw into calmer effect. You were suddenly taken in by warm inviting arms as the band of heroes made you comfortable. You soon were laughing and bonding with the world’s mightiest heroes. 

Yet the night was young and every time you looked at the silver-haired man, you felt hatred. If affected you badly, not like you wanted to admit, Wanda spoke so fondly of him making you fancy the man. But, he is nothing but cold to you.

You left the dinner with a smile and you were allowed to visit them whenever. You were over the moon but every glance at Pietro you couldn’t help but want to not come back. 

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t, I mean you’re one funny guy. There is nothing of you that is displeasing!” Wanda spoke, hugging you good night as a cab pulls up, “Maybe stop focusing on emotions and feel, don’t experience.” 

You couldn’t help but think what Wanda had said, but anytime you came to the tower to hang around or help Wanda, Pietro would avoid you completely. You enter the room, he tries to leave discreetly. 

He hardly talks to you, and if he did it was either simply it was a small request or he was in a conversation with another avenger without feeling immense hatred in your direction. 

Yet, you were determined not to let it get to you. Days become weeks, weeks became months. You were constantly there with a smile, helping around the tower and generally calming the rowdiness. 

Pietro was driving crazy, he hadn’t had a full one to one conversation with you. It was a pity because he watched from afar how helpful you were around the tower whether it was with Wanda or simply cooking for the team, you didn’t ask for anything in return.

It wasn’t fair that there you both standing out in the balcony together, facing growing awkwardness. You huffed, turning to look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Why do you hate me?” Pietro looked you, as you continued, “I can feel it, it’s like a second nature whenever you’re around. So what’s your problem with me?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Oh?” You were surprised, “Then explain why you can barely hold a conversation with me for five minutes or every time I enter you leave.”

Pietro looked nervous, maybe guilty because is that how he looked like? An absolute moron?

“I don’t hate you,” He repeated, “It’s the opposite, really…”

You froze, your breath caught up in your throat, “What?”

“I like you, a lot. I just thought that getting away from you and not hanging around with you much would prevent you from experiencing what I feel, it’s like everything is against my favour. You can feel what I feel but I can’t feel yours.”

You stood mutely at him, watching him fully turn to look at you, yet his eyes travelled anywhere but your eyes. The cocky boy you used to watch in the distance suddenly flushed away.

“Everything about you drives me insane, in a good way. You’re this hilarious guy, whose kind and selfless yet wants nothing to do with superheroes but so involved with them.” He finally meets your gaze, “Listen, just forget this ever happened.”

He disappeared into the tower before you bolted into Wanda’s room and explained the whole situation. You paced the room as Wanda looked very amused and confused. 

“I can’t believe you mistook a crush for intense hatred, what the fuck?”

“Shut up!” You blushed, “What am I going to do?”

“Well, you still like him. Just ask him out.”

“Just asking him out?” You stopped, looking at her, “That’s sound easier than done! He’ll think it‘s out of pity!”

“Then confess, in that way, he’ll believe you.”

You managed to get him alone, again. He fidgets under your stare before sighing. 

“I like you too, in that way.” You started, making the man looked at you shocked, “Believe it or not, Wanda spoke fondly of you and I fell for a man I never met.”

“Really?”

You nodded, “But pushed me away, it just amplified my interest and, honestly, you drove me insane. Believe it or not Pietro, I found you as this laid back guy who cares about nothing yet everything. You care about your sister and pretend you don’t care for your team. What I’m saying that I like you too, and I want to give us a shot so will you allow me to take you out for dinner?”

“What?” He stood there dumbly, he was full of joy that you confessed.

“A date with me, tomorrow. You don’t have to say yes or-”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.” He smiled, as you felt butterflies in your stomach, “Maybe we can start on a clean state. For bigger and better things right?” 

You smiled, cheeks high up as crinkles started to form around your eyes, feeling his emotion copied yours. You nodded excitedly. 

“For bigger and better things.”

[vxiermoved]

Trust me, you're too cute for me to shoot

《Prologue》

Summary:

A slight touch of hands and that was all it took for two to pummel into a future full of chaos and war.

Hopefully, the next touch of hands will be what it takes for two to finally stop it.

or Shane is part of a mafia gang and Ryan is part of a yakuza clan. Surprise, both gangs hate each other because of a past event but lucky for them they happen to have two heirs they can offer up for a political marriage. That means no feelings involved right? Just business?

=============================================

Notes:

Hi! This is probably the first fic I'm writing for this fandom? I hope i don't butcher it too badly.

Also yes, at this point I'm just making all the Asian characters in the yakuza and the others in the mafia because I'm trying to keep it as realistic as possible (I'm not sure if that makes sense or not but yes, also you wouldn't typically see people not of asian ethnicity in a yakuza group so) I hope you enjoy it :D

=============================================

 Once, there was a young mistress born to a powerful family; a flower no man dared to touch, as a prick on the finger is the least you would have to worry about. Every man who came to ask for her hand in marriage failed and quickly fled, some even ended up losing a hand.

She was the rose of the Onryo Clan. Little did they know someone would come along and pick her out of the garden.

 Once, there was a young man who was known to bring about one thing wherever he went: Blood. He was loud, fierce eyes and a cigarette between his teeth. His laugh could be both contagious and terrifying, given the situation. He was buck wild and ruthless, but family was everything to him. 

He was the infamous heir to the Madej Gang. Little did they know that one day, he was going to end up pricking himself holding the thing he loved most.

~~~~~~~~~~

The two met one fine morning, the young mistress was on a trip to the States along with her father; thinking he could probably find someone fitting for his daughter there. The young mistress was out on a walk, it was horribly stuffy being in a hotel room for so long. Although half a dozen yakuza men trailed behind you sneakily, it was better than being in that room.

It was both exciting and terrifying to be on new soil, especially one that was so far from your turf. There was a soft clatter from behind her. The mistress turned around in time to see a pair of tinted glasses fall to the ground. She crouched down to pick them up just as the owner did the same. Their fingers brushed slightly and both retracted their hands as if in fear. The mistress looked up with large, nervous eyes and was met with a pair of warm brown ones. That was all it took, a brush of fingers and they fell. They fell so, so, so hard.

Soft kisses on the neck, hearty laughter, cigarette smoke and flowers on your doorstep. It was perfect. The two were so young and in love, nothing else in the world mattered. Not her father’s disapproving look, not the blood he has to clean off his hands every night, not the ghosts whispering in her ears to run. Nothing.

Next thing you know, it was gunshots and screams. The mafia’s enemy, a man humiliated by the young heir, decided to sneak into the heir’s home with intentions of taking a life. What he did not know was that he wouldn’t be taking the heir’s life, but his heart instead. First was her scream as she lunged at him, then it was the gun shot, then silence. She fell into his arms, limp as red began to stain the sheets.

Another life was taken that night.

~~~~~~~~~~

The heir went to the Oyabun of the Onryo Clan with dead eyes and a body in his arms. Her father wanted to kill him, but the old man couldn’t bring himself to do it. Something resonated within the old man as he swung the knife down on him, it was the fact that he did not struggle or flinch. It was not bravery, he thought, it was loss.

Ever since then, the two gangs were in an all out war. Most of it was due to the pain that her death brought, the rest was due to a miscommunication between the two sides 

Eventually, the head of the Onryo Clan passed away and was replaced with another. The new Oyabun carried a strong hatred for the Madejs for killing his sister. This hatred was then passed on for at least four more generations. It got so bad to the point that if anyone from the two sides met, blood would definitely be spilt.

As decades pass, the gangs grew drastically and both became powerhouse groups. Madej’s had the West in their grasps while Onryo’s had the East, although the yakuza started expanding to other countries and even America. This brought in more trouble, blood spilt daily but they didn't care; The yakuza were petty. They started buying over the Madej’s accomplices and sources, starting from the bottom and working to the top. How? You wonder; by this time, the yakuza have already established ties with suppliers in China, Korea, and some states in the US. They were loaded with cash, maybe even had some government help but who knows. The mafia was being stripped of their money, information, manpower, and soon there would be nothing left to take.

The Godfather sits in his chair, a cigarette in his hand as his mind start to come up with a solution. He calls for his right hand man, the underboss notorious for being the perfect killer. All targets assigned to him is never heard of again, or the cops assigned to the cases.

“What’s up old man?” asked the underboss, leaning on the Godfather’s desk with a bored look.

“Shane, I’m going to need you to book us a flight to Tokyo.”

“What.”

“Yes, take Sara, Andrew and their soldiers. Also, get Adam on the phone.”

“All of them? Wait, why?”

“I know a way to fix this mess,” the man grins and only receives an even more confused expression from his son.

“How exactly?”

“I’m going to visit an old friend.”

Shane can only raise an eyebrow, but orders are orders. He does as he is told, no questions asked. Shane just hopes his dad won’t end up getting himself killed.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Oyabun!” exclaims a silver haired fellow as he shoves the sliding door open and runs into the room where the head of the clan is sitting in along with his Wakagashira (second in command). The older man simply tells the fellow to lower his voice and calm down.

“Woah, what happened Steven?” asked the Wakagashira, eyeing his friend with worry. He places a hand on Steven’s shoulder to steady the man.

“T-the” Steven takes a deep breath before continuing.

“Our informants just sent news that the mafia is here, in Tokyo. And they're heading here in huge numbers.”

“Which mafia?”

“The Madej”

The Oyabun turns to look at the other male, who happens to do the same. They nod to each other before helping Steven up. The air has turned heavy within the span of a few seconds and the Oyabun’s eyes turn dark and hooded, it sends shivers to the other two.

“Steven, go alert the others and tell them to gather in the main hall. Masks and weapons at the ready.”

The silver haired man quickly nods and runs off. The Oyabun then turns to his Wakagashira and places a hand on the man’s arm.

“We need to change into a more appropriate attire, guests will be visiting.” Says the Oyabun, flashing a soft smile that contrasts to the hatred boiling in his eyes.

“Of course, I just sharpened by sword this morning. It must be my lucky day.”

“Indeed it is. Don’t forget your mask, Ryan. Let’s give them a warm welcome.”

Ryan only smiles back before walking out.

We'll give them a warm welcome alright.

[tumblunni]

aaaaaugh that was a weird adventure of a normal thing seriously wtf how did I Almost Die from just trying to pay my electricity bills?? the electricity went out at midnight and I was having a WHOPPING GIANT MIGRAINE and seriously i suck at talking to cashiers on the best of days but now i have to call a taxi at midnight and sit there feeling awkward for like half an hour while the guy drives me several miles away to the only electricity place thats open 24/7 and like five minutes in i realized OH SHIT THIS MIGRAINE IS MORE SERIOUS THAN I EXPECTED but like i was trapped in a car and trapped in an awkward social situation! so i was here all dizzy and disassociating and like it felt like the window was a computer screen?? cos im nearsighted a lot and of course its gonna get even worse when i have a dizzy migraine of death doom. i was just so out of it with pain and tiredness and the car shaking me about and just it felt like i wasnt really there but i was still in my house just watching all this on the tv or something. i had to look down at my hands cos they were the only non blurry thing, i had to remind myself that i actually existed and wasnt somehow being erased from the world and replaced by a film reel of some guy sitting in a car?? So I am like Absolutely Fucking Nonfunctional here, and being acutely aware of how i forgot to wear my glasses and apparantly also my socks. Tho in my defense it would have been hard to put them on in the dark anyway! and seriously THIS POOR CAB GUY! like it seemed english wasnt his first language and i felt so bad cos like how can i make it clear that I am the one messing up here?? dude you didnt mishear me i really am slurring everything i say and forgetting half the dictionary. HE WAS SO NICE! I wish i could have like.. been able to register any of his individual faceparts as a coherant whole. I have problems with prosopagnosia even on a good day, but like whoa man i did not have the energy left to concentrate on what this guy even looked like. i feel bad cos i dont know his name either, im gonna remember him as just this big helpful shadow void with a nice accent. HOW DID YOU PUT UP WITH ME EMBARASSING MYSELF SO MUCH, YOU WONDERFUL CABMAN actaully wait do you call them cabs in america aa im sorry this post isnt very america translated i try and generally self-correct to america english cos i know like 90% of my followers seems to be america for some reason i do not understand HELLO AMERICDA FRIENDS TODAY okay so i was Dying in a taxi which is also called a cab, and the company was Capital Cabs which is very good and i love them and they have an automated system so you dont have to talk on the phone and seriously that cut like 50% of terror from this terror day SO ANYWAY I WAS DYING we go all over the place looking for the 24 hours electric place, and then for some reason they are closed?? there was a line outside and i think actually the doors got stuck and the cashiers couldnt get out??? what happened?? i guess i will never know cos i had to leave that mini story behind and find another electric hilariously we found one LITERALLY ACROSS THE ROAD there was THE SAME SHOP ACROSS THE ROAD FACING EACH OTHER MIRROR IMAGE WHAT like seriously fuck im already in a dizzy daze floating halfway out my own body like i didnt need any more evidence im currently in wonderland i want to know this story too, dammit! are those rival stores?? of the same brand?? somehow?? or are they owned by the same person?? because why?? is it like the area was so in-demand of small 24/7 shops that they had to make two within five metres of each other? or is it like they’re the same shop but they didnt have enough space to build the full size they wanted so they purchased two smaller land plots? or something? DID IT JUST EXIST FOR THIS SPECIFIC CIRCUMSTANCE OF ME NEEDING THE SHOP WHEN THE SHOP IS CLOSED “tumblr blogger tumblunni will show up fuckin migraine stoned on the 9th of november, as the prophecy foretold” omg i just mispelled prophecy as prophey and that sounds like a cute ass oc name holy shit ANYWAY im here dissacoiating my ass off and trying and failing to stick my debit card in the card machine and all the time im like FUCKIN OBSESSING over how sauboh is a really better name. Like faba is still a cute name but sauboh is a COOL name! no name is better than sauboh! and why u wanna this evil man have a cute name anyway?? when u be all cruel in the anime and sand off even the slightest non horrible edges he ever had, like seriously im unreasonably upset that everyone hates faba even more now. when will i get my sneaky science grandpa guy who is not evil for once but merely misunderstood and then i adopt him and hug him many and the all is resolved so yeah im fuckin haviung trouble focusing on what im actually doing jesus christ then i stumble into the store and i pay for my electric and im like ‘no no no fucking shit this migraine is WAY worse than i expected, im going to fucking die’ so i ask if they have any paracetamol but i cant remember the word for paracetamol and its all super embarassing. and like THE GUY LOOKS AT ME AS IF IM CRAZY. He’s all ‘ugh why would we have that, geez’. like wtf?? i mean i know i couldnt remember the name of it but i said ‘headache medicine’ so im sure he understood what i meant. i had a long rambling discussion with the taxi man about how weird that was, he was like ‘no, seriously EVERY 24 hour newsagent sells that stuff’ and i was like ‘no seriously he was rude to me for asking, like wtf’ and then i repeated the story about three more times cos i was currently in the throes of brain death in retrospect maybe the cashier thought i was drunk or something?? or high? i mean you cant get high from headache pills but i dunno maybe they mix badly with booze and he thought he was saving my life. i like to think the best of people! i wish i hadnt jumped to the grumpy conclusion during that moment and then whined like a lil bitch to this poor cab man and seriously he was SO NICE! he was like ‘dude seriously we’d have to drive anothr five miles to find another newsagent shop, im trying to save you money’ and he tried to give me some of the paracetamol he had in his wallet and i was like YOURE SO FUCKIN NICE IM DYING, I COULD NEVER ACCEPT THAT but also in retrospect probably that was a good decision cos even if the guy seemed super nice and trustable its like Good Life Policy to not take medicine from people you don’t know. I am 100% sure tho that he actually was genuine and wasnt gonna fuckin murder me with fakeacetamol HE WAS SO NICE! HIM AND HIS NONDESCRIPT FACIAL REGION! why cant i remember ANYTHING about this man oh and also I was able to give some money to a lady on the street!! i don’t know if she was actually homeless, she said that she had some trouble with a hotel booking or something so she was just stuck sleeping outside for the night. i cant remember if she had any luggage so i cant verify if the story is true, it just made me really sad wondering if it WASNT true and its like she needed to lie or people wouldnt give her money?? like seriously homeless people are the most vunerable yet theyre the ones people have the least sympathy for! wtf having to like like ‘i need the money less’... anyway i also couldnt remember her face and was kinda slurring my words to death and i didnt have much money to give but aaaa i hope i helped!! so yeah fuckin SMASH CUT to the next newsagent place and seriously i swear i blacked out for a minute cos it was just like wow we’re there in 48 seconds yet the clock says a bunch more miles and THEY HAD PARACETALMOL AND I WAS FUCKIN CRYING IN A SPAR MART thenk u cashier man who was probablyh very confused at this guy with no socks also for some reason my mind was wandering to the topic of what i’d do if i got misgendered in a cinema, like holding this fuckin entire fictional argument with this manifestation of my own self doubt WHAT EVEN INSPIRED THAT THOUGHT PROCESS so i’m nigh passing out and the nice cab man takes me home and he tries to make me pay less than the fee on the clock and im like NO DUDE IT WAS MY OWN CHOICE TO GO 2 PARACETAMOL SHOP seriously he was SO NICE why cant i remember his faaaaaace and i usually like to give a tip to the taxi guy even though tipping isnt really a thing in my country cos just i feel like Being Nice Is Nice and i want to thank them for their nice but i DIDNT HAVE ANY MORE MONEY LEFT so aaaa i was only able to give him an extra £0.50 but thank you taxi man i hope you have a good night and good life and the universe rewards you for helping a migraine fucked bunbun this eve and now ive shoved medicines in my fave and im just waiting for them to kick in and i know i should eat something but i feel so nauseous aaarglefargle also nice taxi man told me a story about how the same thing happened to him once except the electric went out while he was in the shower. So he just got blasted by cold water AND had to stumble down the stairs in the dark, and then friggin buy electric while his ears were still fulla soap. Whoa dude your bravery in face of embarassment exceeds my own! i love you platonically mr cab man thanks for making me feel less nervous and such while i was Die so yeah hopefully i will be less die soon ok bye also sauboh is a best name and i need to steal it for an oc or something NINTEND U LET IT SLIP AWAY

[plothooksinc]

On the Punching of Nazis

These were responses I got to a short and to the point post I made on Facebook, which was:

“You can preach all you like about the lack of wisdom or morals in punching Nazis.  Show me how the system is going to hold them accountable in any other way when it's this deeply flawed, and I'll agree with you on more levels than just in theory.“

The response I wrote to those questions was so long it broke Facebook, stopped me from copy/pasting it, and basically forced me to print screen the entire thing and then retype it into a legible format.  Hooray?  So that being said, I switched to a different medium, which means you can find my response under the cut.

To be more specific about this—I’m talking about the punching of Richard Spencer, a known white supremacist, who was recently punched while giving an interview to an Australian reporter.  So let’s break this down:

1) This is a man who, at a post-election conference in Washington, led shouts of “Hail Trump” while audience members gave straight-arm salutes.  Who has gone on record as saying, “America belongs to white men.” Who said he’s a supporter of “identity politics for white Americans and for Europeans around the world” and that the ethnic cleansing he and his allies are calling for would be the “peaceful” kind. This is absolutely white supremacist hate.  If he wants to think this, nobody’s gonna change his mind—but having a platform to spread that to other people?  That’s a different story.  What defines a Nazi?  Well, at a guess, I’d say... following the tenets of the original Nazi party. Imagine that.

2) Nobody in authority is doing anything about any of that.

3) In the wake of both Brexit and the US election, alt-right movements have surged in visibility. Hate crimes spiked literally overnight in both cases.  An argument can be made that they’re only capable of preaching to the choir, that they’re not going to gain any more followers than those they have already, but (a) that’s false, because racism is taught by outside influence and it’s not inherent, and (b) even if it were true, the vast amount of people that classify as minorities—take a moment to think how it feels to wake up and realise that so many want you out of the country, or under their foot, or just, y’know, dead.

4) Nobody in authority is doing anything about that, either.  Let’s be honest:  none of this is illegal in the US, who deeply values freedom of speech unless it promotes imminent violence.  You could argue that a lot of the crap these groups are spouting and getting away with promote violence against certain groups, but that can’t be proven either way. What stands is:  they’re fostering hate and the system won’t stop them.  The system is, pointedly, deeply flawed.

5) Let’s reiterate that: nobody is doing anything about white supremacy on an official scale.  It’s worth noting that the White House is also full of people who support white supremacy these days.  Putting aside Trump’s self-important and privileged views, Steve Bannon is in there. Christ, look him up.  I’m going out of my way to try and explain things, you guys can put in some research.

6) “What if someone calls me a Nazi?” This is a derailing argument.  Are you, in fact, a Nazi?  No? Are you a decent human being? Then nobody’s going to call you a Nazi, because you’re not one, and you certainly don’t go around spouting shit about ethnic cleansing or gloating about white men taking over the world, do you? This isn’t rhetoric about punching people who you vaguely disagree with, this is absolutely specifically about people who think Jews aren’t even human.  Nazi isn’t some vague label.  Technically we’re discussing neo Nazis here, but same shit, different era.

So let’s discuss why Richard Spencer was punched and why I think it’s okay.  Look:  I already said.  On a theoretical level, punching anyone is wrong.  But theory doesn’t stand up to reality.  Nobody on a legal footing is addressing the sheer amount of damage people like Richard Spencer are doing to the people of the US.  They spout hate  and they spout hate and they spout hate, and not only are they not being shut down, the media is giving them an equal platform from which to spout their hate. CNN invited them on to discuss whether Jews were people or not.  This is wrong on so many levels.

Imagine for a moment that you’re a person of colour or Jewish or part of any other minority group in the US.  Listening to this crap every single day.  Seeing swastikas spray-painted on the places you like to go.   (Yes, this is happening. Look that up, too.)  Your government is a bunch of old white men and women who may agree on some levels with this shit, because they’re sure as hell not denouncing it, and some  of them are obvious supporters from the get go.  (See:  Bannon.) The White House website has new policy pages up that are textbook fascism.   There are those that don’t agree with it, and that’s good to see and good to hear, but they’re still not moving to deal with any of it.  Then again, it’s entirely possible they can’t because the whole system is, again, deeply flawed.

Richard Spencer and his like are not being dealt with by the authorities.  They’re not being called out on their shit.  This imparts a terrible message to anyone who’s not white and male – it says the world, by and large, agrees with them.  So.

When everything else fails you, seeing a Nazi get punched on live television is pretty damned cathartic. And it sends one hell of a message. That the system might be failing its people, but the average person on the street is not gonna take this bullshit.

It’s not about “feeling good for punching a Nazi”.  I mean yeah, to a lot of us watching, it felt good to see that piece of scum get decked. But if the person who punched him felt good, I’m willing to bet he was also coming from a place of a lot of pent up frustration and anger, and I’m willing to bet that didn’t all magically go away.

As for what it accomplished:

1) Spencer has said he’s more nervous about going out in public now.  Good.  Less of a platform to espouse his views.

2) It sent a clear message that this kind of message has repercussions.

3) It demonstrates to the people he’s persecuting with his stance that hey, you know what, we don’t all agree with him.  Please don’t underestimate the importance of this.  Those people are hurting badly.

4) Aligned with 3), catharsis.  And a very iconic call to action.

5) It undermines his influence over the general community.  It’s hard to take a man’s views seriously when he’s just been made a laughing stock on live television.

Yes, we should find other ways of dealing with these people than violence.  But here’s the thing:  neo Nazis, by and large, cannot be reasoned with.  That’s been tried.  They’ll argue their stance, they’ll make up facts to support their stance, they’re absolutely convinced that they’re protecting themselves against “white genocide” (????) and they’re genetically superior. The only peaceful thing I can think of to deal with their stance is to give them as little public platform to speak from as possible, and that is not working; not only because of the US freedom of speech laws, but because media are currently insisting on holding them up and treating them like their opinion has the same value as more moderate ones.  And lest we forget, their opinion generally falls along the lines of “non-white genocide wouldn’t be such a bad thing”.

So none of that has been working.  In light of that, I’ve got absolutely no damn problem with someone punching a Nazi in the face on live television.  And that is where I draw the line—Spencer can walk away from a punch.  It’s humiliating, it hurts temporarily, it sends a message.  It’s not permanent.  I am not advocating murdering Nazis, nor am I advocating being abusive toward them in any other way.  But punching one for this kind of crap?  Talk shit, get hit.

Now, this is my opinion. You can find all this stuff on an easy Google search—but it still comes down to my opinion about whether punching a particular type of person is good or bad, so.  You can listen to it or not as you please.  Just.  Keep in mind that, when you’re talking about how violence is not the answer and insinuating accidentally or otherwise that anyone who does punch a Nazi is maybe as bad as they are, you’re talking from a vast position of privilege.  You’re white, I’m white, we’re not even in the same damn country.   None of this affects us directly.  Keep that in mind.

...along the same lines, there’s a vast difference between believing violence is not the answer and believing “that Nazi sure didn’t deserve to get punched”.  I’m totally okay with people believing violence shouldn’t be the answer.  You’re entitled to that opinion.  As I said, in a perfect world, theoretically, I’d agree with you.

On the other hand, if you think the latter, you can unfriend me now.  Thanks.

[bestshotinthecommonwealth]

“Sole Party day one: Meet my sole!

Name: Quinn Sokolov Gender: Female Birthplace: St. Petersburg, Russia Age/DOB: 22 - 19 January 2055 Height: 1.7 m (5′7″)  Weight:  67 kg (~147 lbs) Eye colour: Steel blue/grey Hair colour: warm black

Favorite colour: Indigo/Black/Violet (basically the darker, the better) Distinguishing characteristics: Always wears black lipstick, literally carried a tube with her to Vault 111 (because nuclear fallout is no excuse to abandon one’s ~look~ haha).  Distinct scar on her lower lip just in the middle which creates a small bump in her smile.  It’s a prewar scar from a football match and she chews on it when she’s nervous (it’s her only tell).  Rather thick Russian accent and she swears in her native language quite often (thankfully none of the companions know....but Vadim nearly died the first time they met at the Dugout Inn when she let out a string of curses expecting that nobody in Diamond City would have any way of understanding her....they’ve been friends ever since that incident) Likes:  Loves science and modding anything/everything.  Obviously loves the color black (she’d hardly be caught dead in anything else...once tried to paint the Vault suit black with paint from Hardware town...it didn’t work...).  Likes hacking terminals and picking locks.  Not necessarily because she cares what’s inside, she just likes to prove she can get into things she’s not supposed to.   Hobbies: loves working at the chemistry station although she’s not an avid chem user, loves to prank and piss off the other companions in general.  She’s kind of a pain in the arse, but she’d die for her friends and they all know it. Dislikes/fears:  Dislikes chem addictions and alcoholism...she’s from a rough background.  Her relationship with Nate was anything but good...he was her ticket to America and he made sure she knew it.  Shaun was so young the last time she’d seen him, but even as a baby he was the spitting image of Nate.  Quinn knew Shaun was innocent, but she had a hard time feeling like his mother.  She’d never wanted to be a parent, so her feelings for Shaun are conflicted.  Does she love him?  Of course....right?  Quinn also has a fear of intimacy (understandable considering her experience with Nate...) She doesn’t trust easily and prefers to keep people at a comfortable distance (comfortable for her, at least, the people she’s meeting have a rather different word for her demeanor)

Relationships: Her faves:  MacCready, Piper, Dogmeat, and eventually Danse

Those who get under her skin:  Preston, Cait, and Deacon.

Once she decides she trusts you, you’ve got one hell of an ally.  She’s closest to MacCready.  It began as mutual dislike.  Upon first meeting him and being told the fee she told him where he could find the caps (let’s just say I certainly hope he hasn’t got them there)...They negotiated a new fee and set out.  A few sarcastic quips (okay, a lot of quips), bottles of vodka, and dead gunners later, they were inseparable much to the rest of the companions’ dismay.  He’s asked her what it is that she mumbles so often in Russian around him...she’s told him it’s a prayer [so much for not cursing, huh Mac? ;)]

Quinn also loves hanging around Curie...they both have a thing for science after all.  Curie quickly learns, however, that Quinn is not the one to come to for advice about emotions (let’s just say the first time this happened, Quinn’s suggestions did not pan out as expected...)

The only two that Quinn is not as fond of are Deacon and (surprisingly enough) Cait.  Quinn has no time for Deacon’s bullshit and she tells him as much.  Instead of fessing up and being truthful around her, Deacon, of course, decides to step up his lying game and Quinn hates it.  While you’d think the two hotheaded women would get along, Quinn isn’t a fan of Cait.  This is mostly because Quinn thinks Cait is arrogant (yes, a classic pot and kettle scenario, my friends).  Cait’s comments illicit next-level eye rolls from our sole survivor protagonist.   “We'd move faster if you'd keep your eyes on the road and off me arse”...Honestly Cait I’m walking in front of you, the only thing your arse will be getting from me is a swift kick...  after Benign Intervention, the two reach an understanding and get along better much to everyone else’s relief (their arguing was beyond obnoxious).

pre-war occupation: was a graduate student studying Pharmaceutical Science...it was for this reason that she came to the States in the first place. Some Personality words:  sarcastic, loyal, resilient, hot-headed, clever, vengeful, crass, conflicted, (she wants so badly for the world to give her somthing...someone...to believe in, but it’s safer not to get one’s hopes up)

Theme Song: hmmm...probably something like “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” - Cage the Elephant, “The Good, The Bad, and the Dirty” - Panic! At the Disco, “Gasoline” - Halsey, or “Say It Ain’t So” - Weezer. Faction: Honestly she’s not sure which faction to side with...The Minutemen are too naive, the Railroad too self-righteous, the Brotherhood too regimented, and the Institute too cowardly.  She’ll bide her time taking from each what she can until the last moment when she’ll make her choice. Weapon of choice: .50 caliber sniper rifle, The Deliverer, and a Pipe revolver pistol (the last mostly because she likes the way it feels to send the bullets spinning).

Favorite Movie/Book Genre:  Loves Fyodor Dostoevsky's work. Favorite foods: Pre War: Pirog.  Post War:  loved mutfuit until she found out about Mac’s....ummm....extra-curricular interest in the food...now she can’t look at it without blushing furiously (a rare sight to see from Quinn).  Now melon will do, thanks...no Deacon, put the mutfruit away...it’s not funny anymore and you don’t realize why it makes me blush this way Specials: S (4) P (6) E (3) C (8) I (5) A (4) L (3) Strengths/positive things about her: fiercely loyal once you’re on her good side, sticks to her guns (both figuratively and literally), smooth-talker Weaknesses/things she could work on: opening up to others, not assuming the worst of everyone and everything.

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NHL TV ratings, Ryan Kesler and Phil Kessel (Puck Daddy Countdown)

(In which Ryan Lambert takes a look at some of the biggest issues and stories in the NHL, and counts them down.)

7 – THE RATINGS!!!!!

One of the things that has been pervasive in hockey over the past few weeks has been the smug chortling from Canadians like, “Oh ho, the ratings for NBC will be really bad if it’s a Ducks/Senators final, haha,” as though: a) anyone outside of an NHL or NBC boardroom should give a rat’s ass, and b) the real loser wouldn’t be the hockey fans who have to sit through up to seven games of the stultifying, ugly hockey both teams are capable of playing.

Like honestly, this is one of those things I cared about when I was 14 and wrestling ratings were a thing. The Monday Night Wars. I was a WWF guy, myself (though I also watched Nitro!) and so to see my preferred brand of pro wrestling pull ahead was something of a personal vindication. In retrospect, it was dumb to feel this way.

Again, I was 14.

So why does Canada care? As though they have some sort of provenance over Hockey Caring, after the Senators didn’t sell out a home playoff game, and after ratings for Sportsnet’s coverage are repeatedly abysmal. (Apparently they’re just fine from these playoffs, but guess what: It’s because the Leafs and Oilers made it for the first time in a million years.)

Point being: Who cares however many million people? If you’re the only one in the United States watching a game, what’s the big deal?

Go back to worrying about whether the Senators are Hashtag Canada’s Team.

(They’re not, by the way.)

6 – Battle of the Ryans

Not that I’m choosing sides here because their names are both so so good, but Ryans Johansen and Kesler are in a bit of a feud.

It’s not hard to see who has the moral high ground, though. Kesler chicken-wing elbowed Johansen right in the chin — and shocker: he didn’t get a call from DOPS about it — and Johansen was steamed. Understandably so.

Of course, Johansen did a dumbass thing by complaining about it, because when you tell a goalie “cut it outttttt!” and there’s no discipline forthcoming from someone in a position of authority, the bully is only gonna turn up the heat on you. Perhaps Kesler will resort to the “I’m not touching you” trick in future meetings. I hope so.

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To be clear: Kesler should have been suspended for last night’s Game 3. Johansen is right that the stuff Kesler gets away with — and in fact, gets praised for on every broadcast and every article from a non-Nashville outlet about this series — is beyond the pale. There’s no way it should happen in today’s game.

But it’s the playoffs so it’s going to. Peter Laviolette would be wise to use last change to free Johansen from his tormentor as much as possible, not just because Kesler might try to pants him during the national anthem, but also because he’s very clearly leasing space in Johansen’s head at this point. Which is, of course, the plan.

Why play into it?

5 – The Stars goaltending situation

“Hmm,” thought Jim Nill as his team’s season prematurely smoldered, “I have two goalies who are very bad and over-30 and quite expensive. It’s a real problem. What to do, what to do?

“Ah, I know. As a GM who people used to think was very smart but who let two middle-pairing UFA defensemen walk for nothing in the offseason because of how expensive my two bad, old goalies are, I will sign a bad, old goalie for a lot of money. And a lot of years. And I will be sure to give up an asset to do it!

“And sure, I could wait until the playoffs are over and see if I can get, say, Marc-Andre Fleury, or maybe one of Detroit’s goalies. But what’s the fun in that?

“So who can I get who fits the bill? Has to be a UFA. And preferably he’d already be pretty close to 31. And he’d have to be coming off a career-worst season. And if possible, it would be ideal to get someone who was also plagued by lower-body injuries, which are particularly bad for goalies because they aren’t easy to recover from. Especially if they’re really tall!

“And what, if — and maybe I’m being crazy here — what if we also didn’t really have a good plan for how to deal with the two other old, bad goalies I still have on the roster?

“Jimmy, that just might work!”

Ben Bishop. Who will be 31 in November. Got six years and a little less than $5 million per. And all for the low, low price a fourth-round pick and a goaltending logjam that will be almost impossible to work out without dead cap space.

Beautiful.

4 – The Penguins goaltending situation

The good news for the Penguins, though, is that Marc-Andre Fleury continues to play some very good hockey in Matt Murray’s stead. That gives them approximately a million options for the next two seasons.

The question is whether teams will be willing to accommodate a team that has gone to two straight Conference Finals (and perhaps more before this postseason is all over) that might need some cap wiggle room. As I said in the mailbag yesterday, there really aren’t a lot of teams that need goaltending help, and a $5.75 million backup probably isn’t ideal as part of a going concern.

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But if Dallas is willing to give up all that to get Ben Bishop, imagine what a desperate team would give up for a goalie who only has two more years left and is coming off what will probably be, at worst, a .925 postseason save percentage.

Not ideal, but not terrible.

3 – Jason Botterill

First of all, you don’t get to all of a sudden decide to say, “My name is pronounced this other way,” after decades in hockey. This is Jason “It’s pronounced Kroag now” Krog and Brad “Marsh-AND” Marchand all over again. This isn’t on us, Jason!

But second of all, shoutout to a college hockey guy finally getting his shot to run a team. Of course, that team happens to be the Buffalo Sabres, at a time when their blue line is made up of a bunch of guys I wouldn’t trust to protect my computer at Starbucks while I went to the bathroom for a second. And also their owner is a huge fanboy who thinks he knows anything about hockey, when in fact he does not.

So congrats on the job and everything, but uhhh, good luck.

Phil Kessel of the Pittsburgh Penguins.

2 – Angry Phil Kessel

A million individual blessings to America’s most beautiful and kind hockey boy, Phil Kessel, who loves to shout at his teammates and score goals and be perfect in all ways.

Kessel’s goal on Monday night to win that horrid 1-0 game and even the series was his 29th in his playoff career. And despite playing in Toronto for a bunch of years, that puts him in fairly exclusive company.

Since Kessel’s career began, he’s one of only 20 guys to score at least 29 playoff goals. But again, because his teams were so bad, you have to keep in mind he’s only played 60 playoff games, compared to the 85-plus for literally everyone in front of or behind him.

So how’s this one for a stat: Out of the 231 players to appear in at least 50 playoff games since 2006-07, Phil Kessel — who plenty of people hated and called an out-of-shape loser right up until he won a Cup — is first in goals per game, at 0.48.

That’s ahead of playoff choker Alex Ovechkin, but also playoff Clutch Performer Daniel Briere.

So, y’know, stay angry, Phil. It’s working!

1 – Watching paint dry

Okay so an interesting lesson anyone on Twitter has learned in recent weeks is that you should not under any circumstances express your extremely correct opinion that the Ottawa Senators play boring-ass, defense-only-ass, Ambien-ass hockey.

They do. Everyone knows that it is boring and no one besides Senators fans should enjoy it. In general, you want to be scoring about one goal per period. Ottawa’s offense is well below that number, and it should come as no surprise that they’re last in the playoffs in goals for per 60.

This isn’t a value judgment, by the way. To say they are boring is not to say they don’t deserve to be in a conference final. When you have a minimally talented team and you’re trying to get wins, you use whatever tactics work. Obviously. Games 1 and 2 of the Eastern Conference Final are a great example: Ottawa scored three goals in six-plus periods and held the Penguins to two. Now, this is a badly banged-up Penguins team. And they’re still only 1-1 in the series.

But the best Ottawa can do is hope to make every game a coin flip, especially at this point of the postseason. The idea that you’re going to get reliable results in the form of really close games that go one way or the other is preferable to playing run-and-gun, because everyone on earth knows the Penguins would shred them playing run-and-gun.

Point is, of course Ottawa fans don’t think this is boring. Either playing to come back from a 2-1 deficit or protect a 1-0 lead is going to make you really goddamn nervous. That gets the adrenaline pumping, and if your heart is racing for the last 20 minutes of every game, you’re going to feel like, “Wow I just sweated my way through a really intense hockey game.”

But believe me when I say, if you don’t have skin in the game, you’re gonna find this hockey boring as hell. It’s by design and everything, but that doesn’t make it aesthetically pleasing. Try not to equate “unimaginably tense for you” with “enjoyable for everyone.”

(Not ranked this week: The Nashville anthem guy.

My man, this is like Harry Zolnierczyk complaining to the media that Filip Forsberg is getting the big minutes. Figure it out.)

 Ryan Lambert is a Puck Daddy columnist. His email is here and his Twitter is here.

(All statistics via Corsica unless otherwise noted.)

Greg Wyshynski is a writer for Yahoo Sports. Contact him at puckdaddyblog@yahoo.com or find him on Twitter. His book, TAKE YOUR EYE OFF THE PUCK, is available on Amazon and wherever books are sold.

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