#ITS SO COOL COMIC COMIC COMIC THEIR MEETING WOULD LOOK SO COOL AS A COMIC

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

On Tae as the unrelenting sun archetype, Tavra as the moon, and Onica as something else rarely ever seen

Tae is a painfully good friend. Her brutal faith in Tavra that almost crushes Tavra with it's weight and heat, her warmth and friendliness, just as fast and ready to kill those who aren't her friends or who hurt them. Ready to put a knife to an innocent throat to do that

red gold hair and wings blue as a cloudless sky, no room for gradients or shades of gray. Tavra is crippled and anguished and of course she should still lead them all, Tae says, of course she should dedicate her second life to that

“protect them” said to the soldier who can't hold a sword on her own anymore. "light the fires" said to the woman who can barely speak above a whisper, who has been casually picked up and stolen or captured several times, who Tae didn't even RECOGNIZE at first- thought she looked like an enemy

but Tae's trust and faith in Tavra burns through all of that like sunshine through thin mist

"I believe in you"

Tavra is the moon- softness that seems cold and thoughtfulness that looks indifferent or proud, grim and dark enough to keep the small specks of far off realistic hope always in sight. she says people WILL die, but maybe someone will live on. she changes herself like the moon as time goes on, waning as she sees others step up and leaning to follow them. Naia goes from a foolish girl in her eyes to a wise and brave young woman worth listening too.

she acts in reaction to the people around her- and most dramatically to what Tae does- saving two people from a storm that Tae ignored all warnings and sailed into. Saving people again with Tae's body when Tae is knocked senseless after cutting off the hand of their giant enraged enemy- she, Tavra, disarms them in a less literal way instead, using a blade fully as herself for the first time since her 'death'. Tavra, in Tae's body, flying again when she thought she never would- living up to Tae's faith. those heartbreaking words between her and Amri as she guides her young friends in their escape, her grim eyes looking out though Tae's face

"You saved us" - "I'm trying"

when there is so much hope and faith given to a person and they know they might not be able to live up to it, but it also isn't WRONG, and she always will try

Tae never understands why Tavra would hesitate to claim the throne- doesn't understand when her friend- Tavra's lover- says

“we cannot help them if we do not help ourselves”

after Tavra crawls away from Tae's inspiring words, begging to be forgotten, asking to please not be looked to as the hero this time... her old body rotting somewhere in a far off wood as they all speak... she fought and died once already, but all Tae can see is that she's ALIVE

everyone else talks of Tavra being All-Maudra in the wistful, past tense sense, of something that could have and SHOULD have been- but to Tae it's a conviction of here and now, and it scorches Tavra

Tae's faith being something that ISN'T realistic or kind. it's honest and true- just Tavra's nameless voice in the dark is enough to spark her entire clan into open rebellion even with no one at all left to lead them, even with their powerful overlords hanging over them like a sword- already rumored to having killed Tavra's mother the old All-Maudra, ruthless, dangerous, ancient and cunning-

and Tavra can cut through it all with a few simple words

but Tae's truth and dream is something Tavra can't and shouldn't have to bear this time. She doesn't become all-maudra. she doesn't lead anyone openly. the burning sun has to be hidden from- Tavra stays in hiding in her new life and slips quietly away with the lover she's spent more time away from than with and the orphaned young man they are looking after like a son

the moon shines brightly for a few short moments, reflecting the sun's light before clouds come and tuck her safely away again

and then there's Onica

friend of Tae, the woman who loves and is loved by Tavra. she's the idea that the moon might need the sun but can't be held by that heat without being burnt, can survive being held TO that brutal standard of becoming EVERYTHING it could possibly be

Onica is the sea, deep and playful and dangerous, unsettling with her smiles and quick to turn the tides. loving the moon from a distance, connected even when the moon doesn't shine and no one else can see her

she knows Tavra through every change- reaches out to hold her- has her own faith in her but sees also that she is hurt, sees her alive and tries to help with the wounds she's been left to live with. Tae knows Tavra could be All-maudra like her mother, and be a better one- Onica loves how different from her mother Tavra is. She doesn't need or ask Tavra to be anything else- even as she slips off to sulk- except maybe a little more aware of the budding teen romances and insecurities around them, pointed out to Tavra with a soft touch and whisper in her ear, things Tavra listens to and trusts fully in

but Onica and Tavra would have never met if Tae hadn't insisted in sailing into that storm, following Onica's dream in spite of Onica's warnings

(and Onica shielded Tae and lost her wings before Tavra found them- she doesn't regret it, losing her wings to have found Tavra)

I love that idea. sun and moon and sea. the difference between what we need or could be, and what we want and can actually survive being part of. a balance of three

are they even gonna get their own comic showing how that all started orrrrr

[sparrows4bats]

Duckling Damian AU

Based on one post, I can not find and the fics Cradle Robber and Damian Drake on ao3

What if Damian doesn't meet Bruce like he does in the comics and is still with the League of Assassin's when Tim arrives on his Bruce Quest?

Tim is bleeding through his bandages after his spleen was removed. There are League Assassin's around him, but none of them lift a hand to help him. His head feels hazy, and his body is heavy. It is entirely possible he has a fever.

Then, a small child enters the room. He scowls at the guards and stares at Tim with suspicion.

"Grandfather has ordered me to keep you alive. I will endeavour to complete this task, but to do that, I must have your co-operation. You are under my protection from now on and are my responsibility while you reside here. Do not bring shame upon me."

Tim must say something because the kid with his fancy words and serious face looks shocked but quickly nods and orders the guards around them to gather supplies.

Tim passes out after the kid feeds him broth and pills. He goes so far as to hold a cool rag to his forehead.

When he wakes up, the kid is still there, sitting watching him. It's a little unnerving, especially with the sword he keeps on his lap, but there are no more Assassins in his room.

He keeps feeding him, changing his bandages and making him swallow pills. It goes on for days. Damian, on one uncomfortable occasion, even bathes him.

Tim never sees the kid, Damian, sleep. The boy only eats when Tim refuses to eat if he doesn't first. Damian seems to think it's because he thinks Damian is going to poison him and does so reluctantly. Tim is just worried about the bags under his eyes and too small frame, the kid says he is almost 12 but could easily pass for eight.

When Tim asks after his sleep schedule, Damian argues he has gone longer without it in training, and Tim has the horrifying realisation that he now knows how Dick and Alfred feel when he gives a similar answer.

Damian is prickly, curt and arrogant but Tim can easily deduce how lonely he is, how traumatised and it may be being stuck in a room together but Tim starts to warm up to the child that's keeping him alive.

Damian asks him questions about the world outside the League and hangs on his every word about Gotham and Batman.

Tim keeps the details vague in case of ears in the walls. He describes the no kill code and the type of cases they solve, the help they provide. Damian is confused but intrigued.

Tim learns Damian is the only child here, that he is to be the heir of the League and its Demon head one day. (The words fill Tim with dread because Ras would never give up his position.)

So Tim plays games with the small assassin. Frames it as training, so Damian plays along. Tries desperately to give him some semblance of childhood if only for a few hours.

He explains skateboarding and his photography. Damian, in turn, tells him about his violin playing and best friend Goliath. It's a nice routine.

Until one day, Tim wakes up alone in the room. No Damian in sight. He gets up and starts wandering through long hallways. Only to find Damian bloody and beaten around a corner, the bodies of three men before him.

Tim gasps at the sight, and Damian turns to him.

"They were attempting to harm you. You are under my protection. "

They go back to the room, Tim helps stitch Damian back together, and forces the young boy to sleep with the promise that Tim will keep watch. He looks even smaller, curled up in a ball, even younger when his face relaxes in sleep.

Sadly, it's not the last time Damian defends them. Tim even hugs him after the third time. Damian doesn't accept the affection but does not move away.

Ras tries to punish Damian when Tim isn't better fast enough. The boy comes back cold and dissociated. Tim promises to take him to Gotham, where he will be safe. Damian agrees in a whisper.

Tim will get Bruce to adopt his new little brother, it'll be easy. He won't even be the first assassin in the family.

When Tim leaves the base, blowing it and the rest of the League up as he goes. He has Damian watching his back. Neither are naive enough to think anything is fixed. Tim still needs to find Bruce, Damian is still a child assassin, but it is better together.

The two bond over efficiency and shared love of thinking on their feet. Their enemies never stood a chance.

Damian clings to Tim, follows his every move, and Tim basks in the comfort and security his little shadow provides. Damian will protect him if he misses anything.

When they finally do make it back to Gotham, Tim has several plans devised for how to make Damian his little brother officially.

He needn't have worried, while hesitant at first Dick and a newly acquired Bruce welcome the little assassin that is never away from Tim for more than minutes .

Any doubt they had is truly put to rest after a DNA test and a nervous but happy Damian explaining that his mother only ever called his father Beloved in her stories.

The transition to Wayne Manor is not easy, but Damian ends up in Tim's room whenever it feels too cold, too strange.

He is still blunt, still getting used to being non-lethal, but when he is confused, he goes to Tim.

Tim takes Damian to the park so he can take photos while Damian sketches.

They look over Wayne Enterprises together, Damian definitely has enough knowledge in Business and finance to help Tim look over spreadsheets.

Damian falls on his ass the first time they skateboard together, Tim laughs in his face.

Tim teaches his little brother his manipulation tactics, his detective techniques, and his Bruce wrangling process. The boy utilises all of them to adopt every animal in sight.

Tim and Damian start to patrol together. Terrifying an exhausted Batman as he seriously reconsiders letting these two lose on the city.

At least they seem pretty committed to being heroes. Small mercies.

Dick earns Damians trust through protecting and caring for Tim. He gets emotional when Dick does the same for him.

When Tim brings Damian to meet the young justice team, he terrorises them, but in such a way, his big brother just laughs at the chaos he creates. Clinging possessively onto Tim's side.

Kon is especially scared after Damian deduces his crush on Tim. He threatens the kryptonitian and asserts the fact he has killed to protect Tim before, and he will gladly do so again.

Cassie calls Damian Duckling, and unfortunately for everyone, the name sticks.

Tim laughs at Damians angry flush.

He does become Robin, but most in the hero community know him as Duckling first.

When Tim decides Damian needs friends his own age, the loneliness from the League is still a part of him. He introduces him to Jon Kent. Kon protests but is summarily ignored.

The two boys become glued together in no time. Damian appreciates Jon lighter attitude, and Jon thinks Damians' acerbic attitude is funny.

The new supersons get into all sorts of mischief, and unfortunately for Kon, Jon joins Damian in making his life as difficult as possible.

Tim and Damian become an unstoppable duo. One that inspires awe and fear in both their vigilante and civilian lives. The Justice League understands Batman's apprehension of them very quickly. They are ruthless and efficient. Thank God they are on the side of Justice.

Their family are in awe of Damians' ability to get Tim to rest. They fear Tims ability to redirect Damians' anger. (Taking down corrupt CEOs is a great bonding activity)

The hero community learns very quickly that anyone that Duckling chooses comes under his viscous protection. The one time Tim is hurt by a colleague during a mission, the hero in question is sent to jail within a week for tax evasion.

Anyone who insults the youngest bat has their life ruined. (Jonathan Kent helps with a satisfied smile.)

Years later, when Tim finds Jon on top of his precious Duckling and hickeys on his brothers neck, the vigilante knows he has to ensure his baby brothers continued happiness.

Kon laughs at him. Hard.

Kon finds it less funny when Tim starts making a kryptonite sword. Just in case.

He knows better than to try and help Jon run.

[velvetwyrme]

bringing back the question for 2025: who in the autobots would fuck a car and/or have an sti

hi i thought too long and hard about this. then i made a silly comic about it which quickly got derailed into another silly bit. and then it kept getting longer and more terrible

i don't know whether you're the same person as the original anon or not but im gonna freakin cry either way. is this my legacy...

on one hand this ask gave me lots of motivation for some reason, so thank you for that, but on the other hand it motivated me to draw a 6 page comic about robot STIs.

i put too much effort into this lmao. for my actual conclusions AND some extra notes about the comic click the read more 👍

Ratchet: No and no. Has HAD STIs before. When he was younger. True across continuities except... in TFA he would have an STI. I can see it.

Ironhide: Yes carfucking, but I feel like the carfuckin was also a one time thing specifically. No STI. To quote my notes: "Frag no, Chromia or Ratch woukd kill him". Typo included.

Jazz: Yes carfucking, no STI because if he got one he'd be on top of treatment. Originally there was a bit in the comic with Jazz and Prowl arguing about which is worse: fuckin a car or havin a STI but it got cut because its already like 6 pages

Prowl: No carfucking and yes STI. He thinks carfucking is Really Weird. Wait. Purely off of vibes because I still haven't watched ES (someday...) but ES!Prowl would fuck a car.

Optimus: Who else do you think gave Megatron the STI? (/j /j... unless?) Carfucking and STI status varies wildly across continuities imo. G1? Yes and yes. IDW... depends on what point in time. I feel like its a yes to both but not at the same time. TFA would not fuck a car but he definitely has an STI. TFP! and ES! OP is a mystery to me, you guys can tell me if you have strong opinions on them. Hm. Armada OP would fuck a car.

Sideswipe: originally it WAS going to be him in the comic but as I mentioned, it got derailed. He'd absolutely give a car an STI.

Wheeljack/Trailbreaker/Hot Rod: Yeah, probably both. Maybe not at the same time though. Hot Rod was only so low on Prowls list because hes Literally Offworld but who knows what hes capable of.

Yes to carfucking, no STI: Lets see... Bumblebee, Cliffjumper (despite Prowl and Ironhide's assumption in the comic, THIS is my actual opinion lmao), I think Mirage would as well, but he'd vehemently deny it. Also *leans in close to the mic* Elita-1 would fuck a car. But she'd do it and it'd be like. Cool.

No to carfucking, yes STI: *long pause as i look into the middle distance* mmm...Smokescreen. I don't know much about TFP!Smokescreen but he can get lumped in there too. Sunstreaker as well, but more because he says he didn't fuck a car but he could be lying and you genuinely can't tell if he is. Also Brawn for some reason.

As for other characters elsewhere... Rodimus is a strong contender for giving a car an STI. So is Whirl, but I feel like he's slightly less likely to have an STI, yknow? Only slightly.

Other notable ones I think would have both but NOT at the same time: Swerve, Skids, Drift (specifically because of Rodimus because even if they don't fuck they seem like the type of friends who share drinks), I think First Aid fits in here too, and is the only medic who would have an STI that I can think of off the top of my head. Oh also Armada!Jetfire.

I also think that the Aerialbots are all contenders for this category too. Some more than others but it wouldn't matter because they all end up with an STI and it's miserable.

ALSO...

The alternate punchline to the comic, had it been set on the Lost Light, is... a meeting (in which the general consensus is that Rodimus fucked the car that mysteriously appeared on the Lost Light, AND he gave it an STI)

Then, Nightbeat bursts in with Brainstorm in tow, and he reveals that it was in fact Brainstorm's fault- NOT because he fucked the car (he's far more interested in er... lab equipment, lets say) BUT he made a gun that fucks cars, and accidentally gave the GUN a STI

ALSO SIDEBURN FROM TF:RID (2001). he would ABSOLUTELY fuck a car and give it an STI. He canonically loves red sportscars and you KNOW that mans got an STI.

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[dendydraws]

What could have been...

Feel free to ignore- its just a bit of rambling down below 👇 👇 👇

Look I just had to draw Bumble Prime at least ONCE before the comic releases. I find both his design and story interesting! And I'm curious how it's going to turn out!

Like WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE LIL BASTARD(I say it with affection) BECOMES A PRIME IN A APOCALYPSE!!? WHO STARTED THE DAMN THING AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN BUMBLEBEE WILL GET TO MEET HIS PRIME SELF!!??!

I am such a sucker for other dimensions in shows dude- like WHAT THE HELL!? IM so EXICTED!

SG!Bumblebee I am ngl I have very little info about the shatter glass and I have to admit I am NOT the biggest fan of how most of the decepticons are colored- no I'm not eating my own words about liking other dimensions--

All I gotta say about SG!Bumblebee, is that he's much more.. of a cat compared to the original bee, you can just-- See it!

And if you're wondering what the actual fuck the other thing is at the right? That's my design of what Bumblebee would look like as a Insecticon, imma be honest I think I might redesign him again in the future, both his appearance and his story cause-- yeah no I'm not good at being consistent I'm a story ^^"

If I can, I might also draw Bumble Prime once again, the art I seen of him is awesome and I really wanna just-- Waugh! I just think it looks cool!

[kingqueensoobscene]

VALENTINE’S DAY WITH THE SCOUTS

heyyy it’s been a while! Enjoy this little treat while I keep procrastinating on my real quests :3

Red!Scout:

Scout loves just about anything, however he loves when you let him pick the date (He likes to outdo himself). He chose to drive you down to the Teufort community fair and spend the afternoon there. Being a shortstop for his brothers had its perks because he was asked to stop playing after winning you 3 stuffed animals. Afterwards, he would order takeout and rent a movie for the night while cuddling you on the couch. 

Blu!Scout:

Scout’s mom would bake for him all the time before she passed away and now he wants to do the same for you. You wake up to a delicious breakfast, then he takes you out to the riverside within the town to have a picnic. An assortment of cheese, a small cake he made the day prior and drinks with spreaders and glasses. You gift him a little basket full of his favorite candies and that science fiction novel he wanted since it came out.

Lil Pootis!Scout:

Your whole day is planned. First, Scout peppers you in kisses to wake you up before giving you a big smooch on the lips.  Then Pootis is spoiled the moment he wakes up with juice and some candy. You two have breakfast with the team before taking Medimedes and Pootis to the park. While the two birds play, Scout has his head tucked underneath your arm. Then he playfully hits your stomach with a wrapped box. Remember that thing you wanted weeks ago? 

Lil Pootis!Blu!Scout:

He is not the best at gifting, but Spy told him he should stick to flowers. So, Scout got you an expensive bouquet. He’s a douche, but I do not see him being a cheapo. He’s down for whatever, but honestly, he would rather have a bonfire at the base and just talk with you. He can make a mean s’more. He likes collecting butterfly knives and custom engraved lighters, so if you got him a switch with the Scout’s emblem on the inner blade, he would squeeze you into a hug (which he never does).

Ass Pancakes:

He does not know what to do for this holiday, never really celebrated, so he unintentionally drags you around for the entire day. Messing with people is his favorite pastime and you are his favorite person, so what more could he ask for? Especially when his buddies come along with him, then he gets even more ecstatic. If you want something more relaxed, the most you get is him hugging you while sitting on the roof and taking pictures with him all day. Seriously, get him a Polaroid, he would always use it.

7th comic!Scout: 

Jeremy did not want to leave his kids alone on Valentine’s Day, it’s a special day to them. He always buys them chocolates or flowers and they do something fun for the night. This would be your second Valentine’s Day with them, so you decided to get them gifts as well! They played with their new toys while you and Jeremy made dinner together. He definitely owns a cute apron. After playing some games with the kids and putting them to bed, you two finally got some privacy.

New Again!Scout:

Honestly? He gets you some slushies and takes you to a basement show. Much like Lil Pootis!Blu!Scout, he regulars at this one venue by his apartment (his team does not have a base, it’s more of a meetup situation). Then afterwards, he goes to the after show at the 24-hour diner and gets you breakfast burritos. If you are not a fan of concerts, that’s cool! He would be down for some recreational fun if you were (he got some weed from his dealer earlier that week). 

Boston Boarder!Scout:

Despite how people look at him, he is an absolute sweetheart. BB!Scout is my version of Scout in his early 20s before he became a mercenary and lived his life in Boston as a skater. He meets you at the park and gives you a bag full of candy and some extra things you wanted for a while. Then you two spend the whole day and night walking around the city and talking and shopping around until you grab some drinks and head back to his mom’s house to watch TV. 

Magnificent Nine!Scout:

All he wants is a day where you two can relax together without worrying about the other teams. Unfortunately, you two do not get that. The fighting is constant and always will be. That does not stop him from getting you something small, like a drink at the bar or asking Engineer to make a custom add on for one of your weapons. When you two get even a second alone, he is holding you in his arms.

[some-bunniii]

Alastor and Lucifer come to your rescue

・❥ You’ve been kidnapped. Good thing you know two handsome fellas who’d come to your rescue in a heartbeat—or lack thereof.

~ 5k words

x: reader is g/n. no use of y/n. enjoy 🥰

“You better just let me go. It won’t be pretty for any of you if you keep me locked up for much longer!” You called from the suspended prison cell, hanging from the ceiling with a single, thick chain.

The demon thugs below barely blinked, ignoring your words as they continued their game of hellish poker. Empty bottles of liquor were scattered across the floor, their heads spinning with a drunken buzz while they snickered between each other.

“Whoever wins this round gets first tool pick for torturing the prisoner.” The dealer laid out the deck of cards, flicking his gaze to the cage just above their heads.

“Maybe that will finally shut them up. It’s been–what, three hours since we grabbed them, and they’re still yapping.” One of the shark demons sighed as he shuffled his hand.

The iron bars pressed against your fingers, their chill biting your skin as you gripped them. The dank air, thick with the stench of mold and something fouler, clung to your lungs with every breath. They had plucked you from the street just as you stepped out of the bar, saying you owed money to some freak down in the Greed Ring and your stash of cash needed to be coughed up before the night's end.

Except you have no memory of stealing money from anybody! They must have confused you for someone else, and surely whoever is waiting for their mula will find out your kidnappers snagged the wrong passerby. Sure, you were in Hell for a reason, but your behavior since working at the Hazbin Hotel had improved considerably.

You’d have alerted any of your friends at the hotel of your whereabouts if you could, but the thugs had shaken you of any loose change and electronics the moment you arrived at this dusty, empty warehouse. Angel Dust was the fastest texter, but you were sure he was at the studio by now—in every position except the one that would answer your cries for help.

Was three hours enough of an absence for anyone to be worried? Maybe Charlie would find you tardy for this evening’s lesson and panic, or Vaggie would notice your desk was empty much longer than usual.

You knew someone who would notice the moment your presence became suspiciously absent. Actually, you could name two that would–and who’d come to your rescue in the blink of an eye.

One of them was the very King of Hell himself, Lucifer Morningstar. You met him when Charlie gave him a tour of the hotel all those months ago, and you were immediately taken by his humor and perfect looks, awed by his power and history as an angel. You would like to feel that Lucifer felt those same butterflies upon being introduced to you when you dipped your head and batted your lashes at those pretty eyes of his.

“I heard you built this hotel up from dust with a single thought!” you said, your voice trembling with excitement as he drew closer. “I've never met someone with such a skill in architecture.”

“You flatter me,” the angel chuckled, extending an open palm, “but also undermining my powers. I’m so much cooler than that. Let me show you!”

In a burst of red magic, a yellow rubber ducky appeared with a comical pop, and you blinked in surprise at the familiar face staring back. The ducky looked… just like you, and a smile spread across your features at the silly little you, reaching out a finger to brush across its beak. 

“That is pretty cool,” you affirmed with a laugh, meeting his prideful gaze, “I never thought I’d look so cute as a duckling!”

“You do that all on your own. Here, you can have it.” Lucifer held out the duck with a wink, and your eyes widened in delight, and you quickly lifted a hand. “Just a generous gift from your gracious, very impressed King of Hell!”

When your fingers brushed against his, it was like feeling earth’s sunlight on your cheeks again, a warmth that spread up your arm and had your shoulders loosening in relief from unnoticed tension. Taking the toy in your hands with sudden, fresh energy, you turned it for a close inspection. It felt real, rubbery, and smooth against your palm. It definitely sounded real when you squeezed its little body, and it quacked, like a real duck! 

When you lifted your head, he had been dragged off by his daughter to finish touring the halls, and you were left with a pounding heart. 

You brushed a thumb across the little duck, warmth rising in your cheeks from the encounter with the angelic man until your smile faltered as his words echoed in your mind.

Very impressed. Did he… like you? The conversation had been brief but charged, and you hoped to see him again and learn the real Lucifer Morningstar, not just the King of Hell. If Charlie could win him over with that visit to Heaven, that is.

That was your first interaction with him–and not your last, either. He began visiting the hotel quite often, reconnecting with his daughter and lending a hand behind the scenes whenever she desired. Lucifer always made time for you, too. 

Giving you colorfully themed rubber duckies became his little tradition, gifting them with theatrics and compliments that had your cheeks hot every time. Lucifer’s features always glowed when you laughed at his stupid dad jokes and stared in awe at the creations he took the most joy in.

The morning you had been kidnapped, you reached for your phone, clicked on the contact with a rubber ducky icon, and typed a quick message while heading for the lobby.

[You: Going to the bar with some friends next to the sweet shop. Want one for the next time you stop by?]

[King of Ducks: You know I can just snap my fingers and make a dozen, right?]

You were shocked to see Lucifer had answered immediately; that was rare for the reclusive king. He had gotten better at including himself into the hotel and as a normal member of hellish society, and you liked to think that was in part due to your efforts. 

[You: Yes, but their desserts are good. Plus, when was the last time you went out and ate non-magically cooked food?]

[King of Ducks: Yeah… no thanks. I don’t trust anything made by sinners. How about I dig around for my last bag of Eden Apples and whip up an appetizer for dinner tonight? Will you be at the hotel?]

[You: Yes, I will only be out for a few hours. See you then!]

[King of Ducks: Can’t wait. ʚ(•ө•)ɞ]

You weren’t sure how to categorize your relationship with the King of Hell. You were one of the very few people he spoke to and who he enjoyed talking to, yet there had never been a confession or a kiss, just outings and shared time at the hotel that bordered on date nights.

Could Lucifer be at the hotel now, waiting for you to eat caramel apples with him? He’d get worried, but would he be able to navigate the hurdles of modern technology to track her phone to the warehouse? That might be a problem. You sighed, hope diminishing as you watched one demon clean the barrel of his gun.

There was one more, however. A powerful demon that knew almost every corner of the rugged outskirts of Pentagram City, where he practiced his expanding powers on criminals just like the scum that gossiped about their latest murders below you. 

“Alastor, I'm going out to the bar.” You had stood in the doorway to the lobby earlier today, lips curving into a soft smile as you tipped your chin up to meet the crimson gaze of the fluffy-eared and charismatic facility manager. “Just visiting some friends, I won’t be long. Save a spot for me at dinner, okay?”

Alastor’s gaze lingered on you, the sharp edges of his grin softening. “But of course, my dear,” he purred, his voice full of warmth. “Take your time, enjoy your evening. I’ll make sure there’s a spot just for you—waiting, as always.”

Alastor always knew where you were heading, partly because he was technically your boss—since you sat as the concierge and receptionist for the hotel—but also because you felt completely safe wherever your journey would lead if you knew the infamous overlord was watching your back. 

The terror he inflicted on any bystander who heard his name didn’t rub you so terribly, not when they had even deadlier crimes. They were in Hell, yet the demon’s only victims had been those clutching pearls of insatiable greed and power, ones that wished to climb the ladder by slaughtering anyone who opposed their seat of violence. 

Alastor was the one who welcomed you into the hotel in the beginning when he found you scrounging for scraps in the alleyways like some feral cat. He had approached you with interest, and when your eyes set upon the infamous Radio Demon who offered you a warm place to sleep and delicious food to fill your growling stomach, you had almost taken it in a heartbeat.

Then, you remembered who exactly this demon was.

“If you think I will make a deal with you, think again! I’m not that desperate to sell my soul!” You backed into a brick wall with a glare.

“Nonsense, I would never ask such a thing.” He brushed off your words with a dismissive wave of his hand. “All I ask in return for room and board is for you to work. Tell me, are you efficient with modern communication devices?

“Yes, I can operate a phone.” You had held back an odd smile.

“Excellent! That is all I require.” Alastor had taken you by the elbow to lead you toward the large, seemingly abandoned building at the top of a grassy hill. “I disdain all these newfangled gadgets that have taken over our wonderful city. I have no use for it, but alas, it is a staple of our world now, so we must become accustomed to stepping out of our comfort zone.”

You had listened to him chatter about the modern world's problems in comfortable silence. Although strange, his voice was smooth and lively, diverting all of your attention to the eloquent words that easily rolled off his tongue. 

No stranger had ever offered you such kindness, especially in a place like Hell, and you were determined to make the most of it. Alastor did not seem to mind your company, even when he showed subtle resistance to the companionship of the others in the hotel, like Angel Dust, who always tried to wind up the demon with constant references to his provocative career choice.

He even let you catch the fireflies in his strange but breathtaking pocket lagoon hidden in the shadows of his room. They danced across the soaked grass, lighting up in soft, yellow hues that blinked a trail across the darkness, one that you followed eagerly with a glass jar in your grip.

With gentle hands, you entrapped three… four… five lightning bugs into their new glass home, where they lit the darkness between your palms, like clutching gold sparkling in the sunlight.

Alastor watched you with an amused smile as you took joy in such a meaningless endeavor. Catching bugs to light up a jar, what a silly little idea. 

But… what a cute little endeavor. Innocent fun that brought light to the most beautiful aspects of the natural world familiar to his childhood home in the South. One of the few things he missed about the painful, mortal world above. 

When a flickering cloud hovered over the murky pond’s edge, you stood right at the water as it lapped at your feet and leaned as far as you could over the shimmering depths. Outreaching your arms, you reached for the fireflies dancing just out of reach with a quiet grunt.

Right as you clamped the lid shut on a flurry of lights, the dewy, slick grass beneath your feet sent you stumbling into the pond. You dropped the jar and flailed, squeezing your eyes shut to await the cold plunge into the muddy water.

Nothing came, however. Only the feeling of a sturdy force wrapped tightly around your midsection. Your eyelids fluttered open, and you tipped your chin down to find a green, smokey tentacle holding you steadily, with another clutching the fallen jar above the pond’s motionless surface. 

“In the mood for a midnight swim, hm?” Alastor teased, and you twisted your head to face him, surprise written across your features. 

He snapped his fingers, and the tentacles slithered back into the middle of the clearing. Carefully lowering you onto the soil, they dropped the container into your open palms before dissipating into the air.

“You caught me!” You breathed in relief. 

“Of course I did.” Alastor chuckled, tone softening as he looked you over. “I can’t have you slipping away from me too easily; who will try my Cajun sauce when you are not around?”

“I do like your sauce,” you replied with a laugh. “Thank you; I’d rather not be soaking wet trying to care for these little guys.” 

He watched you closely, a hint of amusement lingering in his eyes as you carefully cradled the jar. The way the soft lights danced against your face seemed to draw his gaze, and for a moment, the usual mischief in his expression faded into something more contemplative.

“What will you do with them, if I may ask?” He tilted his head.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, following the flickering lights between your palms in a trance. “I just think they’re beautiful. Maybe as a bedside night light? Or, we could use it as lanterns for the hallways. Angel Dust would be grateful for a path back to his room during late nights returning from the studio.”

“An interesting idea. I’m always touched by your capacity to care for the wellbeing of others,” he had replied, a genuine warmth underneath the faint static of his honeyed voice.

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you hid a bashful smile by pulling the jar closer to your face. A thought struck you suddenly, and the container lowered in your hands as your brows furrowed. You glimpsed at Alastor’s door behind you, lips tipping downward. 

“Wait, isn't this all apart from your room? Which means when I leave, they’ll just… vanish?”

The Radio Demon watched your falling features in surprise, struck by the fact this was emotionally tolling on you. A pang of… something strange had his chest tightening, a feeling Alastor hadn’t felt since he watched his mother cry over an antique vase that shattered after he had romped with the dog a little too wildly as a boy.

Why would he deny you something so innocent and harmless? He’d find no joy in restricting you from taking the silly little creatures with you. 

He may be a demon, but he wasn’t a monster.

“Usually… yes,” Alastor began, lifting a claw to tap gently on the jar’s lid, “but I see no disadvantage in giving you a little sample of my home.”

The glass fizzled with green energy, the fireflies growing anxious by the strange magic that consumed the jar for only a moment. The jar sizzled out like a dying bulb, and the remaining demonic aura sent tingles through your fingertips.

That smile of yours wrapped him tighter around your finger, and your eyes widened in wondered delight. You met his crimson gaze with a hurried thanks and dashed out of his room to find the perfect spot for your twinkling lantern. Your quick farewell didn’t bother Alastor; he knew you’d be back to collect more, and he’d greet you once more with the usual dapper grin. 

You weren’t sure what your relationship with Alastor was, either: but, you knew he would come to your rescue at a moment’s notice. Except, he would never set foot near any gadget that could ping your location. So… how would he find you? Were you doomed to be swinging from the ceiling forever?

Then, your hands settled upon a tiny object still deep in your pocket. Lifting it to view, your eyes lit with an idea. 

A paper clip, one that you could transform into a makeshift lockpick. It was a good thing you knew how to pick locks. Very well, if you were to brag. Bending the metal with practiced ease, you scooted to the lock that kept you sealed away and quietly slipped the clip’s end into the tiny hole. You strained your ears, listening for the familiar clicks that would lead to your grand escape. 

“You son of a bitch!” One of the demons snarled below, slamming his fist onto the table as he glared at the player across from him, startling you. “I know you cheated!” 

“It’s called being a sore loser,” the other drawled, swirling the liquor in his glass. “It's not my fault you’re this bad at—”

“Excuse me, gentleman.”

Their heads snapped to the open doorway across the floor, your eyes trailing up the finely-tailored red suit until they landed on a pair of fluffy ears and tiny antlers that stuck out from the top of his head.

“Alastor!” You cried happily from above, wiping your brow with relief.

His gaze flicked to your figure dangling above the criminals, who rose slowly with deadly glares at the new arrival. They lowered back onto the men around the table, his grin sharpening as it widened from ear to ear, and his nails tapped against the microphone on his staff.

“I believe you’ve taken someone who does not belong to you,” Alastor continued, boredom lacing his tone, “return them, and I will grant you a less painful death.”

The room was unfathomably silent. The only sound reaching your ears was your own heartbeat thumping against your ribcage as you watched the scene below in breathless anticipation.

“Is that him?” One of the thugs whispered, and another nodded with a set jaw.

“Yes, but he’s outnumbered twenty to one. We can take him.” He pulled an angelic blade from his sheath. “Alert the rest of our men. The Radio Demon won’t last for much longer.” 

His accomplice obliged, and Alastor let them go, thrilled by the added challenge as he took another step forward.

“Well?” He hummed, looking at the men expectantly.

One parted their lips, beginning to speak, until the overhead lights flickered and fizzled out, except for one on the opposite end of the warehouse. Everyone, even Alastor, furrowed their brows in confusion. 

“Behold!” A disembodied voice echoed across the long space, dripping with theatrical flair. You perked at the familiar tone, a smile tugging at your lips. The remaining light in the warehouse intensified, casting an exaggerated, almost divine glow on the figure emerging from the shadows. 

“The Morning Star has arrived!” Lucifer announced with a flourish, eyes shut and arms outstretched as if addressing an adoring crowd. 

Unfortunately, he was faced in the opposite direction of the crowd. Alastor’s smile faltered at the sight of the short king before it sharpened even further, and his claws clenched around his staff.

“And I am here to—! Oh.” Lucifer’s yellow gaze met the wall, and he pivoted on the heels of his boots to face the group across the warehouse, snapping his fingers and vanishing in red smoke.

In an explosion of confetti, the angel popped into existence beside Alastor, and Lucifer’s grin grew in devilish triumph.

“As I was saying.” He cleared his throat to the jaw-dropped onlookers, twirling his apple-tipped cane in his fingers. “I am here to relieve you all of life, forever, since you can’t keep your hands to yourself like decent people.” 

The thugs blinked, glancing between each other. Some looked like they were about to beeline for the exit, while others only bared their teeth in anger.

“Did you follow me here?” Alastor ground out, eye twitching as he twisted his head with a crack to side-eye the king.

“No!” Lucifer replied with a huff. “This is my city, remember. I know my way around these parts just fine.”

“I was here first,” Alastor hissed, adjusting his suit with a hmph. “This is my rescue. Don’t you have some toys to play with back home?” 

“Still up here!” You called from the bars of your cell, peering down at the two bickering men with an eye roll.

They looked up at your crouched figure, then at each other with calculating glares, and finally rested on the mass of criminals before them, more pouring in from the open doors.

“Watch and learn, bellhop.” Lucifer rolled up his sleeves and stepped toward the group of thugs who clutched their angelic weapons with trembling fingers.

He lifted a hand, pointing a finger gun toward the closest demon, whose eyes widened as the King of Hell aligned his sights as he looked down the imaginary barrel of a gun.

With an audible “pew!” A firework shot from Lucifer’s fingertip, slamming into one of the demon's stomachs and skyrocketing him out a window with a shriek. 

The darkening sky lit up in a burst of sparkling colors, and a thunderous boom shook the building. The thugs around the table blinked, glancing at each other warily as the apple-cheeked man clasped his hands and looked at them expectantly.

“Anyone else?” Lucifer smiled with shark-like teeth, brushing the dust from his coat. 

They gulped, lowering their weapons, but the largest demon, a centipede-like man who stood three or four Alastor’s tall, hissed in rage and lifted six silver, gleaming pistols toward the angel, all clutched in its multiple pairs of arms. 

If the angels could be felled by their own steel as they did during their attack on the city only two weeks ago, surely their once-heavenly king could fall from it, too. There was too much money on the line to flee just yet. The demon pulled each trigger simultaneously, and Lucifer quirked a brow.

“Huh, that’s efficient,” he said as bullets flew past his hat, and he ducked quickly to avoid them. 

Alastor threw up a shield of green, the bullets from the rest of the thugs ricocheting off the powerful barrier and zipping across the floor, hitting one of the demons right in the chest with a pained gasp.

“Do not worry your fragile little crown.” The Radio Demon stepped forward, waving off the king without a glance. “I will handle these delinquents.”

“There’s not a chance in Hell I’m letting you have all the fun,” Lucifer replied, and he pulled a long, fiery whip from within his coat. 

The whip crackled with an infernal glow, flames licking the air as it uncoiled. He cracked it against the floor, splitting the concrete and leaving scorch marks across its surface. With a snarl to charge, the thugs surged forward, brandishing their weapons and aiming their guns at the two men’s foreheads without faltering.

In an unspoken competition, your dual saviors readied themselves, green tentacles curling around Alastor protectively as a few snaked forward and throttled a group of demons while another threw one out the already-broken window. His antlers extended, eyes turning to radio dials as his form grew and shifted into a demonic monstrosity, claws extended for the succulent fleshbags before him.

Lucifer lashed out with his whip, the flames searing the air as it wrapped around the largest demon’s pistols, yanking them from its grasp with a force that sent the weapons clattering to the floor. With a flick of his wrist, the whip coiled around the centipede-man’s legs, dragging it down to its knees. 

“Kneel before your king,” Lucifer sneered. He gave the whip a final, violent crack, sending the demon sprawling across the ground, flames licking at its many dismembered appendages.

Lucifer danced across the room, ducking and diving as he karate-chopped a demon, and they exploded into colorful paper mache. Alastor grew twice the size, his antlers lengthening and his eyes shifting into radio dials as he plucked a snarling criminal from the floor and swallowed him whole. 

You did not want to sit around and take a stray bullet to the heart, so you continued picking the lock with hasty fingers. Bullets flew past your cage, but you did not halt the task as you heard the familiar clicks of unlocking mechanisms. 

Realizing their chances were much slimmer than initially thought, some of the men hurried away, teeth chattering in fear, as they left the rest of their friends to be eaten by the hulking red demon and set on fire by balls of flame that engulfed Lucifer’s hands.

The final click had the lock to your cell plummeting to the ground, bonking one thug on the head, and he face-planted onto the concrete with a groan. 

“I did it!” You beamed, chest swelling with a rare ego.

The door swung open, and you poked your head out, watching with a fluttering heart as the two contrasting figures worked in tandem to rescue you.

A tendril curled around the last demon’s leg, dragging him toward the gaping maw of the Radio Demon as he cried out in fear. The sudden force had his finger curling around the trigger, discharging a silver bullet that flew right above your head and shattered the chain that kept you suspended with a piercing shriek of metal.

The cage fell, and you along with it. With a gasp, you helplessly grasped at the bars, squeezing your eyes shut for the impending pain and misery as the floor rushed to meet you.

Six wings spread quickly, and Lucifer sprang forward, arms outstretched to catch your screaming figure midair. The cage around you burst in a plume of red smoke, and you coughed, brushing away the lingering smoke as your heart pounded. Your eyes lifted to meet Lucifer’s soft gaze, the overwhelming relief washing over you like a wave, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to his warmth and safety.

“Are you alright?” He asked, scanning your body for any injuries. Heaven only knows what he would have done if you had any.

“Now that you two are here, I've never been better,” you replied with happy tears brimming. 

“Right, that guy is also here.” Lucifer rolled his eyes, glancing at Alastor’s shrinking figure as the demon licked his lips in satisfaction. “I hope you know I could have done everything without him.”

Of course, you did. He was the King of Hell. You shook your head with a smile as he descended smoothly, carefully lowering you onto two feet. Your chest was still heaving from the adrenaline as your gaze fleeted across the broken bodies littered across the ground, stomach churning at the sight.

Alastor strolled forward, taking his turn to examine you. His smile had receded, softening at the edges as he sidled up to you.  

“You know, you handle yourself quite well under pressure without assistance. I knew your skills would come in handy someday. Although, in a few more minutes, I would have been there to free you without fuss.”

“Except I'm the one who caught them. That is a sole save in my books,” Lucifer cut in before you could speak. “All you did was have a late-night snack and ruin my good mood.”

“Preposterous. It was I who took care of most of these nuisances and saved our dear one,” Alastor chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Without me, you’d have only been floundering against the opposition like a frail duckling in alligator waters.”

“I’m so thankful that you both saved me,” you proclaimed, eyes shining with gratitude as you locked elbows with both men at your sides, “I couldn’t be more grateful for the rescue. Why don’t we get some celebratory drinks from Sinbucks on the way back? A hot cup of black joe and an Earl Grey tea for my handsome saviors.”

“Fine.” Alastor shrugged, not sparing a glance at the man on the other side of you. “But only if this blathering fool pays for it.” 

“Anything for you,” Lucifer agreed, winking your way, “but your friend here better wait outside on the curb. I’m sure they wouldn’t like a rabid animal stinking up the place.”

With a giggle, you pulled them along and left the warehouse, strolling down the trashed streets with a skip in your step. 

You glanced at both of them, pleased and content with just being near you. There was never a dull moment with either of them at your side, or with them together, for that matter, and you wished times like these lasted longer.

Although, you hoped that could happen without being kidnapped next time. 

heyyy guys 😇 im back!! sort of. more like i took a break in writing my novel (roughly 70k words in) to work on an idea i’ve had for awhile but didn’t have the motivation for until now. also, summer overtime at my job and physical therapy have shortened my spare time to do anything… ick.

but now i’m freeeee!! so have this “little” guy for now, and i’ll have more to feed you all soon! now time to crawl back in my hole and write 🥲 goodbye 🤍

taglist 🏷️ (combined characters, 1/2)

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0 @yourlocalgoldenretrieverboy @wpdarlingpan @halo-balo @chipper-chip @lvstyangel @acrazyartist @midorichoco @ivebeenthearchersstuff @indestructeible @otherthoughtsofbu @anonymousewrites @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @cherry-cola-100

[amenalyme]

So I went to Desucon Frostbite!!

So long story short I’d heard good things about artist alleys in Finland and had been trying and failing to get into one for some time. But then by some miracle Desucon finally let me in! so me and my dear friend @kotikaleo went there. It was both of ours first con in Finland and my first time selling outside the Baltics.

This was our table. And ohh did people not lie about the Finnish artist alleys - it was insanely busy I’ve never seen masses like this in front of my table before. I think since the first people came up until the very end of the selling period there was MAXIMUM 5 minutes when there was nobody in front of the table and it took like an hour before we could even get a proper picture

needless to say it was my best sales yet at any event, which is especially insane considering we only had one day for selling. I definitely hope to come back here in the future

Additionally this was all of the stuff I bought

I was really bad at taking usernames this time so alas I don’t have names for most of them (but i can probably find if needed)

But I especially wanna draw attention to the slugcat print and Hunter charm - by @ javicterry on instagram. From what they said they were seen as The Rain World artist at finnish cons and I LOOVEd the initial interaction when they came to our table like “I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE !!!”. We also got to hang out a bit on the second day of the event and after the con and it was really nice. It was my first time seeing someone I didn’t already know selling rw art at a con and I’d been looking forward to that happening. I really hope we can interact more in the future

Speaking of cool finnish rain world artists-

I already showed this before but of course I have to mention it again for this summary post. But I got to meet @excessive-moisture as well!! Since I first did the Moon in a suit cosplay we’d been floating around the idea of meeting at a con at some point since neighboring countries and all so I’m so so happy we actually got to make it happen. I was a bit nervous that the interactions would not go smoothly and it’d just turn into slightly awkward onesided fan behavior on my end but noooo it actually went really really well and it was a nice egoboost to see someone I semi-look-up-to see me as a cool person as well. Holding out hope we can make something happen again in the future

As mentioned I was cosplaying Moon again. I actuallyyyy didn’t get more than a couple pictures and none of them even from myself. The first day I was busy sitting at my artist table and the second day I was busy sitting at various other artist and not artist tables and fighting stomach problems

but here’s the little bit that I do have. Saturday in a suit and Sunday with the regular white cloak Moon

(I forgot to put on the gloves in that one but shhhh)

I wish Id had the energy to walk around more but its fine i still had a good time for the most part

Also no smooth transition for this one but here’s also a collection of art exchanges between some people, including myself!

I just thought it was cool :) theres a few more things that arent visible bc they were either on other sketchbook pages or the person wasn’t there at that moment

ANYWAY the event was really great im so glad i went. Probably going to stay as one of my top favorite con experiences for a long time. I hope to be back someday, at least at other cons in Finland! As for general cons I currently have no confirmed ones for the future but I applied to and hope to be at J-Tsoon 6 in Tallinn 🇪🇪 and Comic Con Baltics in Vilnius 🇱🇹 in spring!

[sirfrogsworth]

Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly. 

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart. 

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after. 

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form. 

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view. 

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla. 

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid. 

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again. 

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option. 

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal. 

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night. 

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot. 

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

[thankskenpenders]

Amy's fortune cards

The Sonic fandom has long been the kind of fandom that takes minor details very seriously, for better or worse. On the one hand, this means fans will really dig for the diamonds in the rough, latching onto fun character interactions, animations, bits of background worldbuilding, and more in pieces of Sonic media that many would write off as "the bad ones." But it also feels like every week another needlessly hostile debate over Sonic minutia erupts on Twitter, whether it's over individual lines of dialogue, fanart that makes Tails' shoes blue, or the ideal length and volume for Sonic's quills.

So it was probably inevitable that a fandom-wide debate would erupt upon seeing Amy's new gameplay style in the DLC for Sonic Frontiers, which takes the once-obscure fact that she enjoys reading tarot and shines a spotlight on it like never before.

I mean:

The thing is, while I basically always try to tune out Sonic fandom bickering... for once, I kind of sympathize with the detractors? Don't get me wrong, I like Amy's tarot stuff, and people on all sides of the discussion are being overly nasty about their opinions, as usual. (Sonic Twitter remains my personal hell.) But when I set aside the hyperbole and zoom out, I do think I understand why some fans are put off by the sudden shift in focus for the character, even if I think it's cool.

It's complicated. Let me attempt to present the cases for and against Amy's fortune cards

For years, I was always one of those fans who thought it could be fun if they played with Amy's tarot reading, or even leaned into some kind of magic with her. Part of that is my own biases showing, but there's just something that makes sense there, especially when you look at Sonic, Tails, and Amy as a trio. (I would argue that's the real "Team Sonic" these days, especially in the comics where Knuckles is more likely to be stuck on Angel Island or otherwise doing his own thing.)

You could argue that Tails is all about logic, relying on science and technology and deductive reasoning to solve problems. But Amy is all about emotion. She wears her heart on her sleeve, is extremely empathetic, and is very prone to magical thinking - both figuratively and sometimes literally. Her origin story has always been that her tarot cards told her it was her destiny to meet Sonic on Little Planet. She's claimed to be able to "sense" peoples' presences - particularly Sonic's. She's the type to believe that The Power of Love is a literal magical force. So, on some level, it makes sense to mirror Tails's science by having Sonic's other best friend believe in magic. And then Sonic is somewhere in the middle, primarily following his own gut instincts but taking advice from both of them as needed. This isn't totally accurate to how their dynamics actually function in canon stories, but I think it's a mode that could work for them.

Going off of that, it's fun to lean all the way into Amy being a magical girl, or even a witch, using her fortune telling as a foundation. Take, for example, this version of Amy from Diana Skelly's old Sonic cast redesigns from before she freelanced for Archie and IDW. This is one of MANY such redesigns for Amy.

Fast forward to the 2020s, and Amy's tarot cards are, in fact, finally getting brought up again in canon. Which is fun! I like seeing that. I like all of the individual stories involving Amy's fortune cards. This is a fun character trait for Amy, a fun nod to old lore, AND a fun storytelling device, all in one. It's really cool that the Sonic universe has its own thematically appropriate arcana, and that the cards are getting made as physical merch. And sure enough, the official card backs and borders were designed by none other than Diana Skelly, in yet another cool example of an ascendant fan leaving their mark on the series.

BUT... when you step back and look at the big picture, I get why some fans find this shift in focus jarring. At the moment, it's starting to feel like every new story about Amy involves her fortune cards to some degree.

The most recent mainline comic arc to feature Amy as the lead character, 2021's Trial by Fire arc, prominently features a sequence where she reads fortunes while camping with the girls. The Origins version of Sonic CD now bookends the game with scenes of Amy and her tarot cards. Sonic randomly mentioned it in a scene in Frontiers. And now, just this week, we got the (very cute, gorgeously illustrated) Amy's 30th Anniversary comic with a story revolving around Amy's tarot cards, followed the very next day by the Frontiers DLC in which she gets a brand new tarot-based moveset. Even her base melee attack now has her throwing tarot cards instead of swinging her hammer. Again, I like all of these individual things, but after years of it almost never coming up at all, it's VERY noticeable that Amy's tarot cards are suddenly everywhere.

To be fair, I'm looking at this from the perspective of a superfan who's actively following ALL Sonic media. Casual fans - especially kids - aren't necessarily going to be reading the comics every month, buying the thousandth rerelease of the Genesis games, or playing the ultra-hard new alternate ending DLC for a game that came out last year. Each of these stories is going to be someone's introduction to the idea that Amy can read tarot, and that's probably part of the idea behind this unified push.

But to play devil's advocate, for my fellow superfans, I understand why it feels like a very minor footnote of Amy's character is suddenly becoming the entire focus of her personality. While Amy has always been said to enjoy fortune telling, that wasn't really a character trait in and of itself, but rather an example of her being a typical girl who hopes she'll be able to find true love one day. It's less that Amy can literally predict the future and more like her using a cootie catcher or going "he loves me, he loves me not" while picking the petals off of a flower. So I get not vibing with this stuff, or feeling like it's being pushed very hard out of nowhere.

What I don't agree with are comparisons like "it's like if they made Knuckles' moveset revolve around him liking grapes." Like, I get it. Ian Flynn loves shoehorning in his little winking references for us nerds, and mentions of Amy's tarot cards were previously on the same level as other random bullet points from old Japanese manuals. But a multifaceted hobby like fortune telling that opens up so many narrative and aesthetic possibilities is obviously very different from having a favorite food. It's ALWAYS been a part of her story, not just a random fact, and there's no reason why the fortune telling can't be elevated to something more.

And, hell, even if it wasn't an established character trait, there's nothing inherently wrong with injecting new ideas into a character. One of the best Amy stories in recent years, the Free Comic Book Day special "Amy's New Hobby" written by Gale Galligan, came up with the idea that Amy's secretly been drawing little comics about her and her friends. Is this based on Lore? No. But it's cute, and helps tell the story of a younger Amy who's still coming out of her shell as both a hero and a friend.

Certain fans are also looking at Amy's Frontiers moveset and using it as evidence that once again the Vile American Contributors like Ian are CORRUPTING Sonic Team's perfect vision of Sonic with their misinterpretations. And like. Come on. Ian does not control the gameplay. He's a freelance writer. The tarot stuff is clearly something that Sonic Team likes if they made it the basis of Amy's new moveset - and, you know, if they keep approving comics and animations about Amy's fortune telling. None of this gets made without their blessing, and lord knows how much they can micromanage shit and shoot down ideas over the most minor of details.

Like, yeah, Amy's fortune telling was probably conceived less as a sign that she Knows Magic and more as a pretty mundane hobby for a lovesick young Japanese girl to have. But you're gonna sit there and tell me that using Amy's tarot cards for more than that could only be the result of a cultural misunderstanding? That nobody in Japan uses tarot card theming and aesthetics (or the general idea of magical cards) for the cool factor? Stardust Crusaders? Persona? The Astrologian class in FFXIV? Cardcaptor Sakura?? Hello??? Do you think Capcom put Gambit in Marvel vs. Capcom ironically because they thought using magic to throw cards at people was stupid? There's tons of precedent for this! It's nothing like Knuckles throwing grapes at people, be for real.

Giving Amy a very magical girl-esque moveset also just makes a lot of sense. For decades her hammer attacks have literally made sparkly heart shapes appear around her. Leaning into both that and her tarot cards in her new moveset makes a lot of sense to me.

But, admittedly... I do think it's very odd that her hammer is treated as a secondary element here, rather than having her primarily use her hammer and adding the cards for extra flair. If hitting the attack button made her swing her hammer instead of throwing cards, I'm not sure we'd even be having this discussion right now.

But the tarot-cycle and Amy riding her hammer like a witch's broom are fucking SICK and I will not concede on this point

The thing is, this whole fortune card discourse is but a small piece of a bigger problem. Amy's been a character who needed some work for ages, but there's basically nothing you can do with her without pissing SOMEONE off.

Years of stories where Amy's crush was her primary motivator and Sonic went "Ew, cooties!" have lead many casual fans to believe that being Sonic's obsessive fangirl is Amy's entire personality. At best people might call her Sonic's Minnie Mouse. This isn't just a matter of Amy having haters within the fandom - venture outside of that bubble and you'll realize that this is how MOST video game playing people seem to see her to this day. I don't feel like this is a fair assessment of the character, but this idea didn't come from nowhere. No matter how much good deeply entrenched Sonic fans may see in their old dynamic where Amy perpetually chases Sonic, this is a very real problem that Sonic Team has to contend with for their leading girl. Of course all those games where the way-past-cool protagonist thought Amy was annoyingly clingy and tried to get away from her made people think less of her.

If new stories were to go back to emphasizing Amy's crush on Sonic a little more, they'd probably be taken as confirmation that Amy's just the girl with a crush on Sonic and that this is her entire personality. Conversely, when the crush is played down, you piss off the hardcore SonAmy fans who don't seem to understand that they're Charlie Brown and Sega is Lucy holding the football. You can't win.

And so here we are. In the absence of what was once her defining trait, now reduced to an occasional blush or wink in Sonic's direction, new stories are trying to mine Amy's past for additional material to work with. Having been a thing fans wanted to see for years, right now we're getting a lot of tarot, but we're also getting reminders of her compassionate nature and her desire to go out of her way to help the little guy. This is an ongoing process. I continue to hope that her bubbly, exuberant demeanor can shine more in future stories. Now, I also hope that the tarot stuff gets balanced out a little better with other traits of hers. But I don't want it to go away. I think it's fun.

This course correcting is far from exclusive to Amy. Knuckles is getting stories that remind us that he's a competent fighter, an experienced treasure hunter, and even a self-taught archaeologist after years of him being perceived as either the dumb one or just the guy who stands in front of the Master Emerald all day. And Tails has been getting some stories reminding folks that he's a capable hero in his own right and not just Sonic's timid kid sidekick.

But no supporting character will ever compete with the sheer number of new ideas Sega has tried with Sonic himself. Like Amy, his Frontiers moveset has also given him half a dozen new superpowers that he never had before, from the Cyloop to air-slicing projectile attacks to his own take on Shadow Clone Jutsu and beyond. He's also been a hoverboarder, a swordsman, a time traveler, an Olympic athlete, a racecar driver, cursed with a Flame of Judgment, imbued with alien power, a fucking Werehog with stretchy powers, and on and on and on.

If Sonic can do all that, Amy can try out using a tarot-cycle.

Anyway TL;DR the REAL problem with Amy's current characterization... is where the FUCK is Amy's bestie, Honey the Cat???????

[kitkat5628]

love your blog! its nice to see someone make the effort to cite the comics they talk about (I feel like im always asking what comic is this?)

who are some “outsider” characters youd like to see batfam interact with more? like I love how tim is a blue beetle fanboy I need them to hang out again

I always try my best to get all the sources! Sometimes I'm either too tired or really can't seem to find them (when I put the "?"). But I do try to look for it for half an hour before giving up lol😅.

To answer you question... First of all I need these people to interact with themselves😭. Cause ain't no way in so much time we got so little Dick and Stephanie interactions.

But if we're talking about outsiders then I got a few:

- Zatanna. Cause she's super cool and Bruce's childhood friend, she gotta tell the kids embarrassing stuff

- Shazam (Billy). I'd be curious to see his interactions with some of the bat kids 👀

- Stargirl. Same as Shazam. Her, Steph and Cass would be good friends bet.

- The Arrow Family. I mean, Babs and Dinah and Dick/Jason and Roy are already best friends, make them all hang our more. Especially those moments when DC decides that Ollie is rich, they gotta casually meet at events.

- Hal Jordan. For the funnies. Something like he interacting more with the bat kids cause he knows it pisses of Bruce

[hxney-lemcn]

non-request Idia thought of the Day:

Consider hieght difference.

OUR BOY BE TALL!! Easily being able to duck under his arm or get into small spaces to fix tech because you're small.

being absolutely done with a situation (Dorm head meeting?), walking over to Idia, and promptly zipping yourself up in his jacket. while he's still in it. He doesn't know what to do. he's just standing there with another person in his jacket with him. WHAT BUTTON DOES HE PRESS FOR THIS HE DOESNT KNOW-- Not even your head is out, the jacket is zipped all the way up.

Also sweater paws for that one hit K.O. to Idia.

ALSO SHORT BUT STRONK- IMAGINE BEING SMALL AND ADORABLE BUT YOU JUST PICK IDIA'S SKYSCRAPER ASS UP LIKE NOTHING. "Hi Cater, Need Idia. Bye." Straight just yoinking him and leaving. Why did you need him? Parallel play reasons obviously.

Idia is 6 ft (183 cm) tall, and he never really thought about his height. Why would he? He barely leaves his room, if anything, he wishes he was smaller so he could blend into a crowd better.

And then you come along. It doesn't matter how much shorter you are, whether its only an inch or a foot, he notices that your shorter.

It would be so funny if you try to kabedon him, if you're really short you gotta stand up on your tippy toes. Instant K.O. Idia is gone, deceased. He finds it both adorable and lowkey hot and he secretly wishes you do it again.

If he tries to get you back...he dies of embarrassment if you slip under his arm. HE WAS TRYING TO DO THE THING! AND YOU JUST- YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO DO THAT! (give him a little kiss to make up for your teasing).

He is crumbling at any sign of affection (even more so if its public). You zipping yourself in his hoodie? Or just slipping it over your head as well. Sharing a hoodie while he's still in it...yeah he's a jittery mess. You're heat seeping into him, your hair tickling his skin, you look so peaceful with your head against his chest and arms around his torso...if your in a private setting he watches you with a blush. He can't get over the fact that you're real and you choose him. If you're in public his hood is over his head and he's trying to act cool but his bright pink cheeks and tips of his hair clearly give away his true feelings.

It would be absolutely comical for short but strong reader to pick up Idia. Oh my gosh and if people are around...yeah he's floundering (ik I keep saying that but lets be real...he can barely handle a normal social situation lmao). To be fair, if you can lift over 140lbs (63kg) you can probably carry him (he is thin so I'm assuming we are a similar weight and I added some lbs cus he's taller than me). This is probs your way of getting him out of a situation he doesn't want to be in (any social one 💀).

Cater is trying to be buddy buddy with Idia, wanting to finally have at least one friend from Ignihyde. Idia looks like he wants to be literally anywhere else. So you decide to step in, pick up Idia, and tell Cater that y'all had plans. Idia is holding onto you for dear life, Cater is eating it up (this is now added to his gossip folder and he definitely got photos of you carrying Idia). After the panic wears off, Idia is impressed. Who knew you had so much muscle? Totally not another reason for him to simp for you.

[melzula]

Smoke and Shadow

part one

pairings: Zuko x Princess!reader

notes: it’s finally here! hope you guys enjoy this and sorry it took so long! and ofc reminder that reading the comics is suggested for this piece

summary: The Princess decides to pay Zuko a visit only to find the Fire Nation in disarray.

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

Returning home from the Fire Nation always feels bittersweet; you miss your people, but you know that once you’re back in the South the ache of homesickness will be replaced by your longing to be at Zuko’s side. You once thought the end of the war would mean easier days for your relationship, but being the leaders of two different nations seemed to keep you apart more often than it kept you together. Leaving him never got any easier, but you knew in your heart that this was for the best. You had duties to fulfill and people to take care of, so you’d just have to be patient. Things will settle eventually and the distance will become easier, you just have to see it through.

“Do you really have to go? You just got here!” Kiyi complains with a frown as she watches you pack your things and prepare for your return home.

“I’m sorry, Kiyi, but my people need me.“

“Can’t someone else do it?” She retorts, prompting you to let out a small laugh of amusement. She certainly had her older brother’s attitude at times.

“I’m afraid not. I have a tribe to rebuild and students to teach,” you explain to her. “Things don’t run very smoothly when the Chief is away for too long.”

“Will you at least come back and visit me?” The little girl begs, and you can’t really find a way to say no to her when she looks at you with her best pleading eyes. “I want to see more water bending tricks!”

“I promise to come back as soon as I have the time,” you assure her before giving her a tight hug. You’ve grown rather attached to Zuko’s little sister since meeting her, so it’s not easy having to say goodbye.

A gentle knock at your door alerts both you and Kiyi of someone’s presence, but once you see Zuko’s face peeking through the doorway you smile and part from the girl so that she can run out to play in the palace halls. “My love, the ship is ready to leave when you are.”

“I suppose I’m ready,” you sigh with a melancholic smile, melting into Zuko’s touch when he pulls you into his embrace. “It’s going to be hard being away from you.”

“I know,” he comforts while resting his warm hand upon your cool cheek, “but it’s nothing we can’t handle. We’ll be together again soon.”

“I’m already counting down the days,” you profess earnestly, eliciting a soft chuckle from him in return. Rubbing his nose affectionately against your own, Zuko angles his face to reach your lips and press a tender kiss against your own. It’s the last one you’ll be sharing for some time, and he makes sure to savor it for as long as possible. Your kiss is impossibly sweet, your smell of fire lilies intoxicating, and it pains him to have to pull away from you.

“I love you, y/n. I hope you know that.”

You smile before pulling him in for another kiss, enjoying your perfect goodbye.

~~~

A month has passed since you left the Fire Nation, and the South has developed swimmingly. With the help of your sister tribe, the outer villages have slowly begun to transform into cities equipped with new buildings, homes, and even town halls. Progress is steady and your tribe is growing, and it will only be a matter of time before the Southern Water Tribe is restored to its rightful glory.

As your advisor, Hakoda has agreed to oversee the Southern Reconstruction Project so that you may focus on teaching the next generation of water benders with Master Pakku. Your time as Chief is spent either at your school or in your office to approve new construction plans and debrief with Hakoda about the progress of the rebuilding project. You’re as busy as ever, but you couldn’t be any happier.

“Sifu y/n, why do we have to learn about healing?” One of your students complains as you set out the practice mannequins for the children. “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!”

“Healing is just as important as bending,” you explain thoughtfully. “As a wise woman once told me, ‘You cannot bend something that is broken, but you can heal something that is hurt.’ Some situations require a gentle hand, and it’s important your bending has balance. Healing can save lives, and your gift can be used to help your people.”

“Sifu y/n,” another student says with her hand raised eagerly in the air, “is it true you healed Fire Lord Zuko from a lightning strike?”

“It is,” you reply with a fond smile, laughing at the amazed gasps your students share at the story. “I wouldn’t have been able to save his life if I hadn’t known how to heal, and that’s why it’s important for you all to learn. Now any last questions before we begin?”

A little hand raises into the air and you nod, signaling them to continue. “Do you miss Zuko?”

“Always,” you sigh wistfully, the familiar ache of longing pulling at your heart strings. You wondered what he was doing now and if he was thinking of you in this moment.

After teaching your healing class, you retire to your office for the evening to look over the new construction plans Hakoda has prepared for you. However, your mind seems to be elsewhere for the night as you find yourself repeatedly looking upon the frame on your desk. The night of your coronation you’d had a local artist paint a portrait of Zuko and yourself. You shared the biggest smiles, the two of you adorned in formal water tribe attire for the festivities ahead. It had been a perfect night, and the painting served as a reminder of the wonderful time you’d had together.

Sighing, you look over your schedule for the upcoming week. Nothing too major seems to be taking place, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt if you took a short trip to the Fire Nation to see how Zuko and Kiyi were doing. Hakoda could handle the reconstruction project on his own for a few days, and Pakku could look after your students in your absence.

Grabbing a scroll and a brush, you quickly begin scribbling out a lengthy list of items for Hakoda and Pakku to oversee while you’re gone. It seems your mind is made up, and as soon as your affairs are in order you’ll be using the secret tunnel to travel to the Fire Nation to finally see Zuko again.

~~~

Zuko was exhausted.

Carrying the guilt he felt for his sister’s kidnapping as well as the awkward tension that came with working alongside his ex-girlfriend wasn’t exactly helping him keep his peace. More children were going missing with every night that passed, and it seemed he wasn’t any closer to catching his sister and her group of Kemurikage. A part of him wished it really was spirits tormenting his people instead of his sister, but he figured she’d have to turn up eventually.

“We’ll find them, Zuko,” Mai comforts, carefully resting her hand upon his tense shoulder as he stares down at the array of scrolls scattered across his desk. Various passages about the Kemurikage and information about the men part of the New Ozai Society line the endless papers, and yet none of it has gotten them any closer to figuring out where the missing children or Azula are.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmurs before shifting his gaze to the bush of fire lilies out in the courtyard. It dawns on him then that he hasn’t had the time to write to you lately, and he feels you deserve to know about Kiyi‘s disappearance and Azula’s return. He’s sure you’d know just what to do, just what to say to make him feel better, and he needs the comfort now more than anything. “I should write y/n. She cares for Kiyi just as much as I do, she should know.”

Mai’s mood immediately sours at the mention of the Southern Princess, but she’s able to mask it well enough for Zuko’s sake. Despite being willing to work with her ex-boyfriend to find her missing brother, their past relationship was still a sore subject for her. It’s not exactly easy getting over the fact that the boy you thought was in love with you was really just using you to get over someone else.

Their talk at the Boiling Rock hadn’t given her any real closure, and her encounter with the Princess at the flower shop didn’t leave the greatest impression on the girl. Mai still couldn’t see what was so special about her, and she didn’t understand what kind of future Zuko saw with her. She supposed it didn’t matter what she thought anymore, and it didn’t matter what Zuko did with his life. She was with Kei Lo now, and the Fire Lord was no longer her concern.

“Is writing a letter to your girlfriend really your top priority right now?” She can’t help but to retort sarcastically, prompting Zuko to scowl.

“Y/n could be a great help to us,” he argues defensively. “She views things more clearly than I do at times and keeps me from making rash decisions.“

“So is she your girlfriend or your babysitter?”

“Mai-!”

“I know, I know,” she sighs with a passive wave of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Zuko lets out a quiet breath before turning to meet her gaze. He’s unsure of how to approach such a sensitive subject, but he knows he must if any progress is to be made. “I know you’re still mad at me, and I know no apology will fix the hurt I caused you, but you have to put it behind you if we’re going to work together. Y/n is my girlfriend, and Kei Lo is your boyfriend, so why are things still so awkward between us?”

“It’s not that simple, Zuko,” Mai snaps, a bitter scowl masking her features. “It’s not just that you broke my heart, it’s that I was stupid enough to let you! I should have known I’d never be enough for you, and you talking about her is like throwing salt in the wound. It’s like a constant reminder that I was never good enough for you, that what we had was all just a lie. I never want to feel that way again, but I feel it every time I’m around you. I’m like the pathetic ex-girlfriend you can’t get away from.”

“Mai…”

“I can’t believe I still care about you,” she grumbles sullenly.

“I care for you too,” he insists before gently taking one of her hands in his own. “Maybe not in the way you want me to, but I do. I always have, even when we were children and I pushed you into the fountain to put out that apple on your head. You’re a good friend, and I owe you more than I can ever repay you for what you did at Boiling Rock. Can’t we still be friends?”

Mai is silent, her gaze set firmly upon her hand in his own. The sensation is warm and familiar, comforting, but she knows the hurt that is to come if she agrees to his request. Maybe one day she can learn to love Kei Lo and fill the emptiness, be the one doing the using instead of the one being used, but she can’t accomplish this feat with Zuko in the picture.

The room is quiet and tense, but still she does not remove her hand.

And neither of them notice the figure in the doorway watching the scene unfold.

~~~

You’re surprised to find Zuko’s end of the tunnel blocked off by Fire Nation guards. He hadn’t been expecting you of course, but you didn’t think you’d find the passage closed off like this. What had happened while you were away to promote such a drastic measure?

“Excuse me,” you call gently so as to not startle the guards that face away from you, “I’m here to see Fire Lord Zuko. May I cross?”

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in or out of the Capital City,” one guard states gruffly, but his companion waves him off dismissively.

“She’s the Southern Chief and the Fire Lord’s girlfriend,” he explains before gesturing you to continue forward. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy to hear we’d blocked his beloved from seeing him.”

“O-Oh, my apologies,” the first guard stutters sheepishly before clearing himself out of your path.

“What’s going on? Why is the Capital City in lockdown?”

“Children of the Fire Nation have been going missing and the people are becoming restless,” he explains. "The Fire Lord wants everyone to stay put until a culprit has been caught and the children are returned safe.”

“How awful,” you murmur quietly before an uneasy feeling begins to hit you. “Have you heard anything of Kiyi, Ursa’s daughter? Is she safe?”

The two guards exchange solemn glances, and that’s all you need to know before immediately rushing towards the palace. If Kiyi is in danger, you want to do everything you can to help Zuko find her and the other missing children before it’s too late. Who knows what danger they could be in?

Your trek to the palace isn’t easy, what with the protests and unrest occurring on the streets as a result of Zuko’s harsh restrictions, but you manage to weave your way through the chaos and make it to your destination. You’re a bit overwhelmed by the commotion, blind to the conflict that’s been occurring in your absence and unaware of what exactly is going on, but you do your best to focus on finding Zuko first.

Surprisingly, the palace hallways are relatively empty, and you slow your sprint to a walk once you reach the throne room corridors. The pristine gold doors are left open, and the sound of Zuko’s voice carries through the air. Already you can feel the worry melting away just by hearing him speak, and though you want nothing more than to run in and throw yourself into his arms you stop to listen. You want to make sure you’re not interrupting anything important before you announce yourself.

“I care for you…” you hear him say, prompting your brows to furrow slightly in uncertainty. You can’t exactly make out everything he’s saying or what the context of his conversation is, but you’re able to note the soft gentleness in his tone, and a part of you is starting to feel strange listening in. Who is he speaking to in such a manner?

Peeking your head around the corner, you can’t help but feel your heart begin to sink to your stomach at the sight before you.

Zuko stands in the center of the throne room, gently clasping one of Mai’s hands in his own as he speaks to her in a comforting manner. You’re not sure what exactly they’re saying to each other or why she’s there, but watching the scene unfold before you fills you with dread and insecurity. Surely Zuko wouldn’t be unfaithful to you… would he?

You’ve worked hard to build your trust in him again after all you’d both been through, but you can’t help but question what he’s been up to in your absence. Why was he with his ex-girlfriend, and why he was holding her hand in what looked to be like an intimate moment? Was he thinking of leaving you again? Had he changed his mind about your relationship? What had you just walked in on?

“Zuko?” You call meekly, as if you shouldn’t be there interrupting their moment and as if you’re not his actual girlfriend. The two startle at the intrusion, but when Zuko realizes that you’re actually there before him he immediately releases his hold on her and runs towards you.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, engulfing you in the tightest hug imaginable. You’re unsure how to react at first, still reeling from what you’d just seen, but eventually you return his hug. Your weary gaze sets upon Mai who keeps her eyes down to the ground and refuses to look you in the face.

“Am I interrupting something?” You warily ask when he finally pulls away. He falters for a moment, almost offended by your insinuation.

“No! No, of course not,” he rushes to explain. “We were just… talking.”

“It kind of looked like it was more than just talking to me,” you say defensively. You don’t want to be jealous or accusatory, but you can’t help it. How could you not question them being alone together and holding hands?

“Princess, I swear there is nothing going on,” Zuko pleads earnestly, taking both of your hands in his own. “Mai is only here because the children of the Fire Nation are going missing and she’s helping me find them.”

“They took my little brother,” she adds quietly, solemn gaze still focused on the ground.

“They took Kiyi,” Zuko utters sorrowfully. His eyes are full of shame and worry, and you find it difficult to be upset with him when he looks so hurt and vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur softly before pulling him in for a tight hug.

“I have the city on lockdown until I’m able to find the people responsible, and I’m doing everything I can to get them back. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, I didn’t mean to exclude you. I swear I was just going to write you and ask for your help.”

“You never have to ask,” you say with a comforting smile. “I came to surprise you because I missed you, and I’m glad I did.“

“So am I,” Zuko professes earnestly before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

Neither of you notice Mai leaving the room.

~~~

Zuko catches you up on everything- the Kemurikage, the “Safe Nation Society,” the kidnapping of Tom-Tom and Kiyi, Azula’s return, and Ukano’s possible connection to Zuko’s sister. It was a lot to process, but you were quick to get up to speed so that you’d be able to do all you could to help.

“I don’t think you should have kicked Aang out of the throne room,” you chide Zuko after hearing him recount his disagreement with the Avatar. Fire Nation guards escort you to the Capital City prison as you converse, and Zuko hopes that by the time you reach your destination Mai’s father will be caught and ready for questioning.

“I tried to do things his way, but if he isn’t going to see things my way then I can’t have him around,” he tries to explain.

“Zuko, I saw firsthand how restless your people have become as a result of your harsh lockdown rules. Aang might be right,” you try to reason with him. “I don’t think causing fear and uncertainty is going to help us find the missing children.”

“I had to do something,” he argues weakly, “I have to get my sister back and stop Azula before it’s too late.”

“You will,” you assure him firmly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

As the two of you talk, Mai trails along quietly behind you both. A whirlwind of emotions are festering in her mind; she wants her brother returned to her, but she feels guilty exposing her father to Zuko and his guards and costing him his freedom. It feels like she’s working with the enemy, and perhaps in a way that’s true.

She can’t help the scowl that plays upon her features as she watches you and Zuko walk arm in arm to the prison. While she’s fretting over her family, it almost seems as if you two don’t have a care in the world about anything but each other. That isn’t true, of course, but her resentment clouds her better judgement, and all she can feel is disdain for the couple in front of her.

You were Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, a master bender, kind, beautiful. She could understand why any guy would want you, but why did Zuko? And why did you have to want him back? You had practically everything, you grew up a Princess, so why couldn’t you have just let her have this one thing? Why did you have to take him back and take him away from her after she’d finally gotten the one thing she’d always wanted?

“I’m sorry about your brother,” a voice says, pulling Mai away from her thoughts. So wrapped up in her cynicism, she hadn’t even realized they’d made it to the prison. A couple feet away, Zuko speaks to one of his men about the riot that had broken out on behalf of the Safe Nation Society. And in front of her you stand, your features kind and your words remorseful despite the tension you share.

“Thanks,” she says flatly, unsure of what else to say. The last time she’d spoken to you had been in the flower shop, and it hadn’t exactly been a pleasant conversation. She knows that you’re trying, and she knows this is all just as uncomfortable for you as it is for her, but she still isn’t so easily swayed. She doesn’t think you deserve her sympathy or understanding, and she doesn’t plan to go out of her way to be nice to you.

“I don’t have any siblings so I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help however I can if you’ll let me.”

“You can help by staying out of the way,” she replies bluntly, her gaze hardening much to your surprise. “Zuko promised he’d help me find Tom-Tom, and I don’t need you distracting him while you’re here.”

“I want to help him find Kiyi,” you argue defensively, “I’m not going to get in the way of something as important as finding the missing children. Why can’t you believe that?”

“Because you have a really good track record of getting in the way of things that are important to me.”

Stunned by her admission, you can’t help but find yourself falling short of words. You knew Mai didn’t exactly think highly of you or approve of your relationship, but did she really still believe that you’d stolen Zuko away from her? You’re not to blame for what Zuko did to her or what she went through. You’ve endured just as much hurt as she has if not worse, and it isn’t fair for her to paint you as the problem.

“I didn’t even know about you and Zuko until we were already broken up! I’ve never personally tried to hurt you, and I don’t expect you to like me, but you need to get over yourself. Zuko isn’t what’s important here, you and I are not what’s important, it’s the kids. It’s Tom-Tom and Kiyi and all the children that are probably so frightened and alone. Can we at least agree on that?!”

It’s silent for a moment, you and Mai simply starting each other down for what feels like ages until she finally relents. Her tense shoulders slowly fall in defeat and she sighs, somewhat embarrassed at her little outburst. She’d been letting her emotions get the better of her lately, failing to conceal them like she was usually so good at doing, and it was painfully embarrassing for her to come to this realization.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, “let’s just focus on finding the children. The sooner this is all over the sooner we never have to see each other again anyway.”

“Fine by me,” you huff indignantly. Though Mai has more to say, she isn’t given the time to once she spots her boyfriend being escorted towards the prison in handcuffs.

“Kei Lo!” She exclaims before turning to the Fire Lord. “Zuko, this is obviously a mistake! Get him out of those cuffs!”

“I’m not so sure,” Zuko says hesitantly, looking to you for guidance to see if he’s making the right choice. You merely give him a hesitant shrug, not really wanting to get involved in their quarrel. You don’t know the full story, so it’s better to just stay out of it.

“Are you serious? You need her permission to let my boyfriend go?” She exclaims exasperatedly. “Release him!”

“What were you doing with the Safe Nation Society, Kei Lo?” Zuko prods firmly, ignoring Mai’s complaints.

“They ran into me! Literally!” The boy argues to try and prove his innocence.

“You’ve betrayed your allies bedore, who’s to say you aren’t acting as a double agent now!”

“Zuko! Stop being ridiculous!” Mai scolds angrily before looking to you. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

“I’d rather not get involved…” you trail off awkwardly, only irritating her further.

Eventually Zuko allows for Kei Lo’s release, but you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t too happy about it. His firm gaze seems to be burning holes into the back of Kei Lo’s head as he watches Mai embrace the boy, and a part of you wonders if he’s feeling some sort of jealousy towards him. Surely he wouldn’t be, he has no reason or right to be jealous, at least you think so anyway.

“Zuko?” You utter softly, placing a careful hand on his back to get his attention. “If I ask you something… will you be honest with me? Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear?”

“Of course, my love,” he says earnestly before giving you his full undivided attention. “What is it?”

“Do you… do you still-“

“Zuko!”

You startle away from Zuko at the sudden intrusion, eyes widening as you see Aang sprinting towards your boyfriend with Suki and Ty Lee in tow. You’re honestly surprised to see him considering he should have been heading back to the South with Katara and Sokka by now, and based upon his reaction it seems he’s just as surprised to see you.

“Aang!”

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” He exclaims in bewilderment.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zuko interrupts. “I thought you left.”

“Well you thought wrong, buddy!” Aang corrects him impatiently. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Suki, Ty Lee, and I found something you need to see! Come on!”

“Fire Lord,” one of Zuko’s men interrupts, “the sun will set before we know it. We need to make a plan our people will rise up again.”

Zuko shares a quiet glance with the men before looking to Aang. You know what his answer is going to be, and you know that the Avatar isn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, Aang, but General Mak is right. I need to handle this my own way.”

“Even if your way is stupid?!” He rebuffs indignantly.

“What Aang means to say,” you correct, trying to put a nicer spin on his words, “is that maybe the approach you’ve been taking isn’t working. Maybe keeping your people on lockdown like they’re criminals in their own homes will only make things worse. You need to change your approach.”

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I know what’s best for my people.”

“I’ve seen your people, and they’re not happy. They’re scared, and I know you want to find Kiyi and stop Azula but you need to start thinking rationally first.”

“Can you please just trust that I know what I’m doing? Help me come up with a new plan to keep the Fire Nation citizens in order and find Azula and Ukano so that we can find Kiyi.”

His pleading eyes beg for your understanding and support, but you’re hesitant. You know that Zuko means well, but you don’t agree with his methods at all. Being a leader yourself, you know that fear and unrest is not the way to solve problems. You must treat your people with trust and respect like they deserve, otherwise they won’t be able to do the same for you.

Luckily, Aang buts in before you’re able to shoot Zuko’s request down. An air scooter is abruptly thrown beneath your boyfriend, lifting him up and carrying him away to spirits know where- if the situation weren’t so serious you’d laugh at how discombobulated Zuko looks being swept up off his feet and whisked away by a ball of air.

“Aang, slow down!” You call out before sprinting after the pair. Suki and Ty Lee are right beside you chasing them down. “Why are our reunions always so chaotic?”

“I don’t think this group knows how to live without chaos,” Suki quips with a breathless laugh. “It’s good to see you, y/n. Ty Lee and I will catch you up on everything on the way there.”

“I’d love nothing more,” you applaud gratefully.

You can only hope that whatever it is they’ve found will make things much easier from here on out.

Because you’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch

[gerardsbest]

When You Were Here Before, Couldn't Look You in the Eye

Previous | Next

Chapter 1/3

Relationship: Gerard Way x Reader

Tags: slow burn, happy ending, fluff and angst, feelings realization, eventual smut

Summary: Gerard's liked you for so long, he just wishes you liked him back, too. But he knows you don't and he respects your boundaries, so he tries to move on.

Even after the success of the band, he still thinks about you. Even as he has thousands of screaming, adoring fans, Gerard thinks about you.

Then, there's a show in Jersey. He gets drunk and stumbles to your old house.

Turns out, you still live there.

6.4k words | ao3

1992

"Sweet, you're in the comic club, too?"

Gerard flinched as he turned, he had a habit of doing that. He didn't know why.

"Yeah, I am. Nice to meet you... again."

You laughed, "Right, again. Gerard, right?" You extended your hand with a smile, Gerard tried to smile, too as he shook it.

"Yes, that is me." He mumbled, then his face reddened from how stupid he sounded. 

Clearing his throat, Gerard greeted you back. He wasn't too good with names, but yours stuck with him— probably because you were the only one who even looked at him the whole first day of school. Either way, he was happy. He was happy and shaking your hand and trying his best not to appear even more stupid than he probably already appeared.

"I wanted to talk more but the bell rang way too quickly. It's always the moments you don't want to end that end the quickest, no?"

"Mhm. Yeah." Gerard said, starting to get sweaty. There was no reason to be sweaty. This was just a conversation.

"Anyway," You look past his shoulder to the rest of the classroom. "Are there gonna be any others? This turnout is a little... bleak."

Gerard looked, too. Besides the two of you, there were only three others - a girl and two guys. The girl was holed away in her own corner, holding a comic. The two guys were sitting next to each other, talking away.

"Five isn't too bad."

"For a club? It's a little sad."

"I think the less the merrier."

You snorted, "Isn't it 'the more the merrier'." 

"It is, but you know..." He trailed off. I thought I was being clever. He wanted to say, but held off.

He'd held off long enough, in fact, that you changed the conversation, "Anyway, to continue from our conversation cut short... what did you think of it? The Death of Superman, I mean. It was cool, right? A subversion of expectations to such a classic character, sort of?"

That piqued Gerard's interest, whose eyes lit right up, "I know, right? I don't understand why people call it a 'publicity stunt' or whatever, because it wasn't! Sure, Superman's popularity was declining for a while, but I think to just narrow it down to a stunt is downright... crude. I mean, it explored themes most comics are too scared to do."

"Sactifice, legacy, what that means..." You began.

"... The permanence of a superhero death, its aftermath..." Gerard continued.

You ended, "Grief."

Gerard looked to you. "Grief." He agreed.

"An interesting concept."

"Very much so," Gerard nodded. "If I am going to make something of my own one day, I want it to explore grief. A little depressing, I know."

"I don't think it is necessarily. Grief doesn't have to be sad. It can be... hopeful. Creative? I don't know. I'm not much of a writer."

"No? Because that was quite poetic."

"You think?"

Gerard nodded again.

"Well, I'm no Shakespeare."

"You don't have to be. I think passion is a beautiful thing because anyone can have it and anyone can pursue it. Furthermore, you don't need to be perfect to succeed at it— actually, there is no 'succeeding' in passion. You just pursue it. Throw a dart blind and see where it lands."

You looked down at your shoes, then hummed, "What pretty words." 

That stuck with Gerard. "Pretty words", you said. What was prettier was how you were.

Something unconfined by physicality. 

Gerard looked forward to third period every single day. That math class ended up being his favorite class, and it would highlight his day— no, his entire week. Not because of the math itself; no, he was actually quite terrible at it. Awful, really. It wasn't that, it was you.

Instead of jotting down notes or doing the worksheets, you and him would just talk.

Mostly about comics at first since it was the biggest shared interest. Then, you eventually ran out of comics to gush over and look forward to, so topics transitioned into other territories. Music, games, general hobbies... Gerard found that the two of you had nearly everything in common.

Your shared taste in music brought you to hang outs outside of school and the comic book club. At local venues, the shows where the tickets were a dollar or less and everyone performing was a rookie. Not many bands came to New Jersey, and Lord knows how the two of you would even get anywhere with being broke high school students, so this was as close as you guys could get.

But Gerard didn't mind and you didn't mind, either.

Plus, there were always the record stores.

Sifting through endless CDs and cassettes was cathartic, in a sense. Especially because they were so unorganized that finding something good was always an event to be celebrated.

Like at that moment, when you pulled out the latest Misfits release with this triumphant look on your face. One might think you'd won the lottery! Or ran for the gold medal at the Olympics, you were so proud of yourself.

You ran to him excitedly, giddy like a kid, "I can't believe it! I didn't even know these could reach our little town."

Admittedly, he was probably more excited than you. Gerard was shaking so much that he nearly dropped the damn thing as you handed it to him.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, wow..." Gerard couldn't even believe that he was holding such a sacred thing. This had been his dream CD for since it released. And now, he had it.

Well, not really.

Because in his haze, he'd forgotten that it was technically you that found it and quickly returned it to your hands, cringing at how much he'd overstepped.

You didn't seem to mind, however. In fact, you looked a little confused.

"Hey, aren't we gonna buy it together?"

Gerard looked up, "Huh?"

"Aren't we gonna buy this together?" You wiggled your finger towards the thing. "I mean, I like the Misfits, you like the Misfits... we don't have much money... it's a good investment."

A good investment, Gerard repeated. He couldn't agree more. "Then, who gets to keep it?"

"Exchange it every week?"

"Deal!"

You smiled, extended your hand for the money, then ran off to the counter with a skip in your step. 

Gerard waited outside because it became around that time when the older kids would invade the shop and he tend to get a little overwhelmed by them. However, he kept peaking glances inside to see if you were okay and if the transaction was going smoothly.

Finally, you came out with a paper bag in one hand and a huge grin on your face, "We have the goods."

"You can have it first." Gerard said before anything.

"What? No, it's fine. You can get it first."

It was a suggestion, but you shoved it into his hands so fast he didn't have time to react. Gerard tried to refuse, but you just weren't hearing it - in fact, you'd even began to run ahead when he tried to give it back to you.

"Catch me and I'll have it first!" You shouted, giggling as you did.

Now that was cruel. You knew that you were way faster than him.

Gerard gave up. 

-

1993

Freshman year came and went. After summer, it was the debut of Gerard's sophomore year. And yours, too, of course.

He was quite thrilled, actually, since he hadn't seen you for most of the break because you and your family had gone on a long trip overseas. Since the trip was so long, you were able to send a few postcards - three, specifically, and Gerard cherished them.

The first one was short and sweet, all you'd written was, "Didn't crash!!!!! BUT it is like ten times hotter here than there. Pray for me". It made him laugh.

The second one was all talk, "My feet are literally dying... we walk like everywhere. Cities, mountains, towns... EVERYWHERE, Gerard, everywhere. But the food is good so there's that. Oh, and there are quite a lot of malls here, too. I'm not too into clothes but maybe I will be after this. Maybe I'll come back and be a different person, haha. Kidding. Even if I did, I wouldn't switch up on you so no worries. How are things there? Wait, you can't tell me... uh, keep whatever you were gonna write if you could in mind and make sure to let me know!!" It made him feel reassured that not only were you having a good time, but you cared about him, too.

The third one was a bit heartfelt, "My last day here is soon. Dunno when this will arrive, to be honest. I don't even know if the others arrived (hopefully they did otherwise I just wasted 1.50 precious dollars... and that's not even counting the delivery fee!!! It's ridiculous). Anyway, not to sound totally cheesy, but I've seriously missed you dude :( my family doesn't care about comics or anything I like in the way you do. Wish you were here. Maybe we can take a trip together one day...?.? Maybe perhaps. Anyway, bye! See you soonnn!!!" It made him happier than it should have.

Gerard kept all three of the postcards tucked safely in a box underneath his bed where he kept his other valuables.

Now, it was the first day of school again and his mom dropped him off first. Saying goodbye to Mikey, Gerard fastened the straps of his backpack before heading in.

It was crowded. Way more than last year. Gerard fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out where his locker would be, as well as its code. The whole time as he trudged over to it, he was on a keen lookout for you. 

He didn't have much luck, however, and he just arrived without having found you.

I'll see her at lunch. Or in class, hopefully. Gerard thought as he put his books and binder away.

Then, he felt two hands grab his shoulders and he nearly screamed.

Gerard turned, and was face-to-face with you. 

"Surprise."

You were smiling. Gerard was stunned.

You looked so... different.

In just a month or so, you'd completely changed up your style.

From relatively baggy to considerably fashionable. Gerard didn't know where to look - your hair was different and styled to fit your face even more than it already did, your lips were glossy, your eyelashes more pronounced. You were so beautiful.

He felt bad for thinking that way.

Well, he'd always thought that way but it was a lot easier to pretend like he didn't when you didn't look like someone right out of a fashion magazine.

It made him look incredibly dorky in his too big jeans and oversized tan flannel.

"Hey, do I look weird or something?"

You were always confident, even if it was a sort of "quiet confidence". You knew there were people who thought the things you liked were dumb or silly, yet you didn't care. That was the trait Gerard admired most about you. In the year now that he'd known you for, you'd never faltered. At least not so outwardly.

But in this moment, your smile faded slightly, and you shrank back, "C'mon, give me an answer or something."

Gerard snapped out of his haze, "You look so pretty." He blurted, not wanting to make you feel worse.

Crap.

Gerard fully expected you to be weirded out by this and inside, a silent panic was brewing.

Does she think I'm creepy? Did my compliment come off as odd? I hope she didn't misinterpret it. I didn't mean it with any foulness—

Instead of chastising him or casting a disgusted look, however, you looked quite relieved and even laughed the sweetest laugh, "God, you scared me. I don't care what others think of me but I still wanted to be in good standing with you, Gee."

Gerard raised his eyebrow, "Gee?"

"Oh," You said, getting a little coy. "Gerard's a nice name but it's hard to say sometimes. I thought Gee would be a fitting nickname for you."

"I love it." Gerard replied immediately.

He loved it because you gave it to him.

From now on, I'll go by "Gee". He decided as the two of you went back to normality. 

You'd gotten a lot more popular.

With girls, with guys— especially with guys.

Gerard didn't like the way it made him feel. This saddening sensation, as well as the sinking pit of pathetic-ness. 

The worst feeling of all, jealousy.

Gerard didn't like it when guys would suddenly want to group up with you during class projects. Gerard didn't like the ones that'd offer to buy you things, going from simple snacks from the vending machine to full on drinks or even meals. Gerard didn't like how the guy who worked at the pretzel stand in the mall looked at you, especially when everyone in the town knew he was a college dropout who preyed on high school girls. Oh, Gerard especially hated how the guys who once teased you were suddenly being friendly, acting as though they were your bestest friends.

Deep down, though, this jealousy wasn't even fuelled by anger. It was fuelled by fear.

Because who was he, even?

Some dork who liked comics? A thousand other, better guys liked comics! Gerard wasn't the smartest, nor could he buy you things, he definitely didn't have the confidence to flirt with you, and he wasn't all that good looking. 

Yet you stayed.

No convincing needed, no drama, no effort on his end other than reciprocating your passion.

The comic book club decided to go on their monthly excursion. AKA hitting the local comic store then heading to the local diner to discuss what everyone got.

It was one of Gerard's favorite time of the month.

"What're you gonna order, Gee?" You asked, leaning over to scan the menu Gerard was holding as though that would help you get your answer.

"Not sure. I always just get the number three special, but I dunno. I kinda wanna try something new."

"No way, I was thinking that, too."

Gerard smiled, "We're always in-synch."

"I guess we are," You smiled back, then snatched the menu right out of his hands. "Let's order for each other, yeah? If it tastes like ass, then... get over it."

Gerard snorted, "Deal." As he took the menu right back.

Now, he could have intentionally ordered you something crazy, something he knew you wouldn't exactly like just for shits and giggles. He would have done so if he was doing this with Mikey or even any of his other friends. But he didn't, he ordered you a nice and hearty burger with some onion rings on the side.

Maybe you would get him something crazy, and weirdly enough, Gerard wouldn't even be mad about it if you did.

But you didn't.

When his order arrived, it was a nice and harmless vegetable omelette. 

"Breakfast for dinner." You giggled to him when it arrived.

She knows I don't like eating meat too much. Gerard thought when the waitress said it was specifically vegetarian.

His mind wandered. Gerard thought back to something he read— a poem in a collection or a random novel from thirty years ago or something— it was a quote. It was, "to be loved is to be seen". Gerard never made a fuss about what he preferred, and honestly, he probably ate meat out of obligation at the school cafeteria many times in front of you. Matter of fact, he was sure he'd only mentioned it once or twice over the year he'd known you for.

Yet, you remembered.

And that meant the world to him.

"Oh, sweet! I was actually craving some red meat."

Gerard snapped out of it, "You were?"

"Like you said, we are so in-synch."

You had taken a bite in the middle of saying that sentence, Gerard watched as your face melted with that look people get when they eat some real good food. 

"Wait, did you guys wash your hands?"

A girl in the club suddenly asked, Gerard looked to you and you looked to him. 

"Shit." Both of you said.

You immediately place the burger down and wipe your mouth with a napkin, "Let's get on that, yeah?" 

"Yeah." Gerard agreed quickly, blushing slightly at the chortles across the table.

The girl who'd asked in the first place joined the two of you - well, just you, of course. Gerard went into the men's room and you went into the women's with the girl. 

Gerard first decided to take a leak, and it was as he was zipping his pants up after doing so when he heard something.

"So, you and Gerard?"

Ah, right.

A trait of this diner. The bathroom walls were incredibly thin.

It wasn't a well-known fact. Gerard only knew this because he'd frequented this place for years and when he was twelve, he heard sex noises coming from the other side and it more-or-less traumatized him for a bit. But you had no way of knowing this since, as far as he knew, you only came here during the outings since you lived on the other side of town.

"What about Gerard and I?"

Gerard gulped, Oh, god. Oh, no.

"Don't act dumb... you know what I mean."

Did you? He sure did. Gerard got beet red and ran to the sink to wash his hands, I'll wash 'em and leave. He thought quickly because he had morals. He definitely had a strong moral compass. He knew right and wrong and what was right was to leave because this was seriously none of his business—

"If you mean what I think you mean, then, no. We're not together and we won't be."

The tap water turned cold. Another trait of this diner, the pipes were kind of messed up so the water could be lukewarm one minute then turn freezing or scaling the next.

"Ooh, harsh. Why so adamant? Is it his looks?"

Gerard wished he would have just left. He didn't want to hear the response to that question because he already knew.

"Hey, don't you dare say that. He's attractive. He's cute, even. I like him a lot, just not like that. I don't think I'll date in high school, it's just not the right stage of life to be thinking about something like that."

The water turned lukewarm again.

"Okay, geez, sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. He just isn't the most conventional."

"I'll leave if you keep talking about his looks."

"Fine, fine. Anyway, why do you not want to date? I bet you'd find a boyfriend no problem."

"It's just not appealing to me. Especially not at this stage of life. It's not that I don't want to date, of course I've thought about it, but we'll be juniors soon and I plan on taking AP classes. I want to get into a really good university and having a boyfriend will just hinder me, unfortunately."

You were always so forward thinking. 

Gerard turned off the tap and walked out of the bathroom, grabbing a few tissues along the way to dry his hands. 

-

1994

Gerard got a girlfriend towards the end of junior year.

She was a real cool girl who was totally out of his league and into all of these obscure bands Gerard had never even heard of before. Oh, she was extremely pretty, too, the kind of pretty that made people turn their heads and made guys seethe with jealousy when they saw them holding hands or even kissing.

Oh, right. Gerard had his first kiss with her. It was picturesque, in late May where the weather was warm but not scaling and humid as Jersey summers tended to be. The two of them sat on a picnic blanket in a nice and grassy field then kissed.

A scene right out of the movies, Gerard thought whenever he remembered that moment. I'm a lucky guy.

Everyone thought that he was the lucky one in the relationship. 

His guy friends gaped when they first heard the news, congratulating him but also jokingly asking, "what's that pretty a girl doing with a guy like you?" It was a little hurtful, but Gerard chose not to let it get to him.

Since Mikey was in high school now, he was quite shocked, too. Not as mean as his friends since the boy had always been quite soft, but Gerard could tell that even he seemed to be a little surprised by this development.

The same sentiment was held by everyone else. At school, on the streets, at the mall, at restaurants - Gerard was always the lucky one.

Well, everyone but you.

Whereas people usually gawked or asked borderline insensitive questions, you simply smiled big hugged him tight, saying, "I'm happy to hear that, Gee. She's lucky to have you. You deserve to be loved."

"You deserve to be loved."

"She's lucky to have you."

That niceness was why Gerard liked you so much. Your genuine way of communicating; you weren't being overly kind just because the two of you were close, you simply spoke your mind as you always did, and in your mind, as ridiculous as it sounded, he was the prize.

It made him happier than it should. 

And he thought about that a lot.

Especially now that, true to what you'd said in the bathroom of the diner, you were focusing much more on your studies. The moments of just popping in a CD and lounging around at either of your houses while reading comics for hours or simply just talking became sparse. Whereas before, this would happen pretty much everyday after school and on weekends as almost a ritual; now, you were mostly at libraries or cafes, just grinding away at whatever worksheet or textbook or assignment your dreaded AP class had assigned that week.

It was admirable. Gerard always found you so admirable.

He wished he could have as strong of a grasp on his future as you did since all he knew was that he wanted to draw.

And while your junior days were being spent buried inside a book, his were mostly at local shows and concerts with his girlfriend.

Which wasn't bad. Gerard quite enjoyed them, actually.

I wonder if she'd want to go to one of these. Is it her scene, even? Gerard found himself pondering in between sets, where there was a rare moment of quiet— which wasn't even really quiet since the crowds were loud and rowdy as hell whether there was a band onstage or not— in between the screaming of the vocalists and the rumbling of the instruments. Maybe after her test this week? Ah, when was it again... right, Tuesday. Oh, but she has after school stuff on Wednesday and a quiz on Thursday. Friday it is. I'll ask her then.

"Hey, Gee, what do you wanna do for my birthday this week?"

Gerard blinked, "Gee?"

A rush of déjà vu hit him. He'd had this conversation before. He'd had it with you.

"Yeah, Gee. It's short for your name. That a problem?" His girlfriend smirked.

"No, it's not." Gerard replied, but he found his smile to be a little strained.

She patted him on the pack, "So, my birthday? Where you gonna take me, big guy?"

Right. Her birthday is on Friday.

Gerard crossed off the mental note he'd made on inviting you to the concert.

"Sorry, Gee, but I'm gonna be gone for a while and I want to have fun, y'know? I don't want to be tied down while I'm on vacation, so it's over. Don't fret about it too hard, m'kay?"

To say Gerard was "heartbroken" as an understatement. 

He was shattered, torn, dismembered— dismantled.

He'd been taken, shredded to a million pieces then thrown out like he meant absolutely nothing. "I want to have fun". That was the reason he'd been broken up with. Not because she needed time, not for anything he did, not for any meaningful reason that Gerard could even begin to understand. 

The simple fact was that his love wasn't enough and thus, he was cut off.

Gerard drowned in his sorrows, laying at rest in his bed as though it were a coffin. Tear stains ran big and streaky down his cheeks like angry scars, and Gerard felt more corpse than human as his body slowly withered away in this hole he called a room.

No one visited him much except his parents and Mikey. A few friends dropped by here and there, but their visits never lasted long. Gerard didn't even know how they knew as he hadn't told anyone.

Most days, nights, afternoons, and everything in between were spent in shallow, solitary misery.

Until on a random Thursday, when he heard a knock at his door.

"Gerard? Can I come in?"

Damn.

It was like hearing a song he used to love on the radio after it'd been taken off for a while. Like seeing an old book from his childhood on the shelf of a random store. 

Gerard uttered a "yes" before thinking.

Then, he realized just how disgusting his room was. Bottles and cans everywhere, tissues strewn about with his dirty clothes, wrappers from unhealthy snacks of all kind - it was a pigsty. Truly. 

However, before he could shout at you to not come in, Gerard looked up from his position in the bed and saw that you were already at his doorway.

Gerard freaked, immediately going to his feet and scampering around his room like a panicked raccoon sifting through trash, gathering what he could to throw away while he was still tipsy and half-blind from all the tears. 

But you stopped him. You stepped over the mess and didn't even look at it, your pretty eyes were fixated on him the whole time as you gently brought him into a hug, much like the one you gave him at the beginning of the relationship.

"I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

Gerard gulped, not yet able to reciprocate the embrace, "How did you know?"

"Mikey told me."

"Ah."

Gerard finally, slowly raised his arms and carefully wrapped them around you. This wasn't his first hug with you, not even close, but it had been the first one in a while since he was in a relationship and that made it feel like it was his first time even touching you at all.

He'd forgotten how nice it was. You were always gentle with him, despite him not being small in the slightest. Your arms were firm yet never squeezing unless you were really excited. Not only that, but you always knew when he needed something as simple as a hug. Plus, he liked your smell. 

Which, reminded him that he probably reeked, so he pushed you back.

You kept your arm placed on his shoulder, "Wanna go out?"

"But don't you have—"

"—Class?" You smirked. "Gee, school ended like, two days ago. My exams and things are done, so I'm home free! Let's do something fun, yeah? Wanna head down to the diner for old times sake?"

That filled Gerard's heart with warmth, "old times sake". Yeah, that's what he needed. Old times.

"Let me shower first." He said, and you nodded.

Gerard slunk away to the bathroom, but not without catching a glimpse of you. You were roaming around his room, hands behind your back and looking at all the little new editions he'd added over the period of the two of you being apart. Gerard snorted, you looked as though you were at a museum rather than his nasty room.

You noticed him staring, but you weren't bothered by it, "Hurry up! I want to order things for each other again. This time, let's make it a little experimental, yeah?"

God, was your smile infectious.

Even in his stink, his misery, and the clothes he'd worn when his girlfriend broke his heart, Gerard smiled because you did.

"Yeah, I'll be quick."

-

1995

Senior year.

Gerard thought his final year of high school would be more cathartic. More... different? He thought he'd have achieved a lot more and been a totally different person by now. But no, he was still just himself. Same old, same old.

Much like you.

Sure you'd grown a lot, finally established a sense of style, figured out what you wanted to do, and strived earnestly to achieve that (and you did in the end by getting into your dream school). But you were still... you, as cheesy as that sounded.

Still loved comics, loved the same music, and loved him.

Well, not like that. But love nonetheless and that was all Gerard needed.

It was summertime, and the humidity was an indicator for that. June. Only a few more days and this huge chapter of Gerard's life would finally come to a close.

Everything's all ready, Gerard thought as he shoved his binder in his bag, briefly glancing over to the girl to his left who had a calendar hung up on the inside of her locker. Only ten more days.

With a sigh, he loaded up everything and began walking towards the entrance. Since the beginning of the year as he was now single, he'd reinstated walking home with you and even made the extra journey of going to your door since you lived about fifteen minutes away.

Right before he could go out, however, into the scalding heat that was New Jersey summer, he saw a big glittery poster hung up right in front of him. It was impossible to miss and read,

PROM NIGHT - JUNE 16TH

TICKETS AVAILABLE NOW FOR $7 OUTSIDE THE CAFETERIA AT LUNCH AND AFTER SCHOOL EVERYDAY THIS WEEK!

TAKE YOUR BEST GIRL OR GUY AND HAVE A MAGICAL NIGHT TO REMEMBER FOR YOUR LAST YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL!! ☆☆

Gerard stared at it for a while. For a long while. For until a crowd of people passed him and he was one of the only people still left at school.

Prom. He hadn't even thought of that. Gerard remembered briefly discussing it a few times over his high school career, especially with his now ex girlfriend. It was funny. She seemed so passionate about it, even going on about what color her dress would be and saying Gerard must match his tie with it. There was also extensive talk about corsages and boutonnieres and what flowers they had to be and also what color they were and blah, blah, blah... it all seemed so pointless now.

Yet, he couldn't help but fixate on that last line - "have a magical night to remember for your last year of high school". 

The poster said to take your best girl or guy. Nowhere is there a guidebook for prom saying you had to take a girlfriend or boyfriend, and it wasn't like there were enough couples at the school for the event to be filled with only them.

Friends could go together.

Yeah. The majority of attendees have to be just friends. Nothing wrong with that, with asking your friend to prom. Gerard would even invite the people from comic club.

"Gee, what are you doing?"

Gerard swore his skeleton jumped right out of his skin. One minute, he was alone, staring blankly at the stupid poster and the next, you were just there right beside him and also looking at the poster.

"Oh, you interested in prom?"

"No. Well, I mean, yes, but sort of—"

"Wanna go with me?"

You had said it with the utmost casual attitude, even elbowing him slightly as you grinned, "What do you say? Let's have a 'magical night to remember'."

"I'd love that." Gerard said, and he meant it.

A big fuss was made about the event.

The moment he told his mother, she was just over the moon elated. And when he told her that he was taking you, she looked so overjoyed Gerard feared she might pass out.

"I always knew you'd end up with her at the end of the day." She'd said, much to Gerard's utter dismay.

He felt his cheeks redden as he emphasized that the two of you were just going as friends, but Mrs. Way had already made up her mind.

Mikey was happy for him, too. And his father as well, of course. The three of them even went suit shopping since Gerard didn't own any and his dad's were still a little too big. The whole day was fun, but Gerard could tell that his dad was getting a little emotional, repeating some sentiment about how "his boy is all grown up".

"Good thing mom isn't here or else they would have bawled." Mikey whispered to him real soft and quiet on the ride back.

Gerard chuckled at that because it was true. He couldn't stop looking down at his suit and the tie he'd bought with it. The two of you had decided to match colors— in a totally platonic and very much not romantic way— and the one you both landed on was yellow of all things!

Yellow. Quite possibly the happiest color in existence. Gerard almost felt shy wearing such a color since his wardrobe consisted of black, greys, browns, and denim.

But you insisted and after imagining you in a lovely little yellow dress, Gerard agreed.

The flower was his choice, though, and after sifting through a couple of books at the local library as well as consulting a few florists, Gerard decided on sunflowers.

They were perfect. A nice yellow like your dress and his tie and most importantly, they symbolized friendship.

Well, not exactly. They technically represented longevity, adoration, and loyalty, but those were all traits pivotal to a good friendship so Gerard just went based on that.

And even though he'd gone out of his way to choose such a flower, Gerard couldn't help but let his heart wonder when he went to pick up your corsage. It fluttered with fantasies which riddled him with guilt.

Fantasies like... maybe this wasn't a friend-date, but a date-date. In the inner recesses of his mind, Gerard imagined he'd do a more classic "promposal". One with a bouquet of your favorite flower, at a location that wasn't the entrance of the school. If he had to choose, it would be somewhere entirely personal. At your house, maybe, where he'd show up with his gifts and ask if you'd do him the honor as going to the prom as his date. 

And if, if you said yes, then he'd practice slow dancing, maybe even pick up lessons so as to not step on your feet. On the night of, he'd beg his parents to let him use their car to go and pick you up.

Then, the two of you would just dance the night away, tangled in each other's presence and end the night with...

Gerard gulped.

A kiss.

The grip on his suit became tighter, I'm horrible. He thought. 

Because the two of you were just going as friends and this wasn't a real date at all, it was a mutual decision to carpool with some kids from the comic club and all cash in to rent a small limo for the night. Much like a bus, it would stop by all of the houses one-by-one as though they were stations.

Gerard was the third house, and yours would be one of the last.

Everyone was having a blast. Talking each other's ears off, laughing, some were even a little tipsy from having snuck in some alcohol before the event. Gerard thought about doing the same, but decided against it.

I want this to be a night I can remember.

Finally, it was your turn. Gerard stepped out of the car. He didn't need to, and nobody else did it, but it felt personally right to do so.

He waited a bit, just two measly minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Gerard didn't want to rush you (not that he could) but he wished you would hurry because his palms were getting embarrassingly sweaty. 

At a certain point, he cursed and reached into his pocket to pull out a little handkerchief. The moment he did, your door opened.

Out you came, a flurry of fairylike yellow. You'd been adamant on not showing Gerard your dress, and he was so grateful you did. The sight before him was that of wonder, his eyes didn't know where to look - should it be at all the delicate layers of bouncy tulle or the flowyness of the silk layer underneath it? Maybe your hair, done up in a fancy hairstyle with about a million of these sparkly white pins. You were radiant. So, so radiant.

Gerard felt underdressed and undeserving.

You were so special.

And you came to him, so pretty, "Ready?" Was all you said, and it could have killed him.

Gerard took your hand, slipping the corsage onto your wrist and relishing in how you lit up, exclaiming that it was so beautiful and how well he did in selecting such a design.

Then, you placed your hands on his chest, undid the safety pin of the boutonniere, and poked it right through the collar of his suit.

"You have great taste." Gerard breathed.

"You have better taste." You retorted.

Gerard smiled, tearing his eyes away from you to open the door of the car, but you stopped him.

"Thank you for agreeing to go with me." 

The statement was ridiculous. Why would you be thanking him? After all this time, you still thought of him so highly. Gerard was no prize, and you weren't the lucky one here. It was all the opposite.

Before he could respond, you gave him the quickest of pecks on the cheek. 

It was a second long at best, and maybe this was utter placebo and delusion, but the warmth blossomed like you'd been there for several minutes. Gerard brushed his fingers against where your lips had been.

"Oh, my mom's outside. Pose for a picture, Gee."

You brought him close, so close your bodies were brushed up against each other. 

The camera's flash went off as the sensation of your kiss wounded him deep. A lasting scar, a permanent feeling. 

[etz-ashashiyot]

Chapter 4: Executed Jews

By Dara Horn, excerpted from People Love Dead Jews

ALA ZUSKIN PERELMAN AND I HAD BEEN IN TOUCH ONLINE before I finally met her in person, and I still cannot quite believe she exists. Years ago, I wrote a novel about Marc Chagall and the Yiddish-language artists whom he once knew in Russia, all of whom were eventually murdered by the Soviet regime. While researching the novel, I found myself sucked into the bizarre story of these people's exploitation and destruction: how the Soviet Union first welcomed these artists as exemplars of universal human ideals, then used them for its own purposes, and finally executed them. I named my main character after the executed Yiddish actor Benjamin Zuskin, a comic performer known for playing fools. After the book came out, I heard from Ala in an email written in halting English: "I am Benjamin Zuskin's daughter." That winter I was speaking at a literary conference in Israel, where Ala lived, and she and I arranged to meet. It was like meeting a character from a book.

My hosts had generously put me up with other writers in a beautiful stone house in Jerusalem. We were there during Hanukkah, the celebration of Jewish independence. On the first night of the holiday, I walked to Jerusalem's Old City and watched as people lit enormous Hanukkah torches at the Western Wall. I thought of my home in New Jersey, where in school growing up I sang fake English Hanukkah songs created by American music education companies at school Christmas concerts, with lyrics describing Hanukkah as being about "joy and peace and love." Joy and peace and love describe Hanukkah, a commemoration of an underdog military victory over a powerful empire, about as well as they describe the Fourth of July. I remembered challenging a chorus teacher about one such song, and being told that I was a poor sport for disliking joy and peace and love. (Imagine a "Christmas song" with lyrics celebrating Christmas, the holiday of freedom. Doesn't everyone like freedom? What pedant would reject such a song?) I sang those words in front of hundreds of people to satisfy my neighbors that my tradition was universal — meaning, just like theirs. The night before meeting Ala, I walked back to the house through the dense stone streets of the Old City's Jewish Quarter, where every home had a glass case by its door, displaying the holiday's oil lamps. It was strange to see those hundreds of glowing lights. They were like a shining announcement that this night of celebration was shared by all these strangers around me, that it was universal. The experience was so unfamiliar that I didn't know what to make of it.

The next morning, Ala knocked on the door of the stone house and sat down in its living room, with its view of the Old City. She was a small dark-haired woman whose perfect posture showed a firmness that belied her age. She looked at me and said in Hebrew, "I feel as if you knew my father, like you understood what he went through. How did you know?"

The answer to that question goes back several thousand years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The teenage boys who participated in competitive athletics in the gymnasium in Jerusalem 2,200 years ago had their circumcisions reversed, because otherwise they wouldn't have been allowed to play. In the Hellenistic empire that had conquered Judea, sports were sacred, the entry point to being a person who mattered, the ultimate height of cool — and sports, of course, were always played in the nude. As one can imagine, ancient genital surgery of this nature was excruciating and potentially fatal. But the boys did not want to miss out.

I learned this fun fact in seventh grade, from a Hebrew school teacher who was instructing me and my pubescent classmates about the Hanukkah story — about how Hellenistic tyranny gained a foothold in ancient Judea with the help of Jews who wanted to fit in. This teacher seemed overly jazzed to talk about penises with a bunch of adolescents, and I suspected he'd made the whole thing up. At home, I decided to fact-check. I pulled a dusty old book off my parents' shelf, Volume One of Heinrich Graetz's opus History of the Jews.

In nineteenth-century academic prose, Graetz explained how the leaders of Judea demonstrated their loyalty to the occupying Hellenistic empire by building a gymnasium and recruiting teenage athletes — only to discover that "in uncovering their bodies they could immediately be recognized as Judeans. But were they to take part in the Olympian games, and expose themselves to the mockery of Greek scoffers? Even this difficulty they evaded by undergoing a painful operation, so as to disguise the fact that they were Judeans." Their Zeus-worshipping overlords were not fooled. Within a few years, the regime outlawed not only circumcision but all of Jewish religious practice, and put to death anyone who didn't comply.

Sometime after that, the Maccabees showed up. That's the part of the story we usually hear.

Those ancient Jewish teenagers were on my mind that Hanukkah when Ala came to tell me about her father's terrifying life, because I sensed that something profound united them — something that doesn't match what we're usually taught about what bigotry looks or feels like. It doesn't involve "intolerance" or "persecution," at least not at first. Instead, it looks like the Jews themselves are choosing to reject their own traditions. It is a form of weaponized shame.

Two distinct patterns of antisemitism can be identified by the Jewish holidays that celebrate triumphs over them: Purim and Hanukkah. In the Purim version of antisemitism, exemplified by the Persian genocidal decrees in the biblical Book of Esther, the goal is openly stated and unambiguous: Kill all the Jews. In the Hanukkah version of antisemitism, whose appearances range from the Spanish Inquisition to the Soviet regime, the goal is still to eliminate Jewish civilization. But in the Hanukkah version, this goal could theoretically be accomplished simply by destroying Jewish civilization, while leaving the warm, de-Jewed bodies of its former practitioners intact.

For this reason, the Hanukkah version of antisemitism often employs Jews as its agents. It requires not dead Jews but cool Jews: those willing to give up whatever specific aspect of Jewish civilization is currently uncool. Of course, Judaism has always been uncool, going back to its origins as the planet's only monotheism, featuring a bossy and unsexy invisible God. Uncoolness is pretty much Judaism's brand, which is why cool people find it so threatening — and why Jews who are willing to become cool are absolutely necessary to Hanukkah antisemitism's success. These "converted" Jews are used to demonstrate the good intentions of the regime — which of course isn't antisemitic but merely requires that its Jews publicly flush thousands of years of Jewish civilization down the toilet in exchange for the worthy prize of not being treated like dirt, or not being murdered. For a few years. Maybe.

I wish I could tell the story of Ala's father concisely, compellingly, the way everyone prefers to hear about dead Jews. I regret to say that Benjamin Zuskin wasn't minding his own business and then randomly stuffed into a gas chamber, that his thirteen-year-old daughter did not sit in a closet writing an uplifting diary about the inherent goodness of humanity, that he did not leave behind sad-but-beautiful aphorisms pondering the absence of God while conveniently letting his fellow humans off the hook. He didn't even get crucified for his beliefs. Instead, he and his fellow Soviet Jewish artists — extraordinarily intelligent, creative, talented, and empathetic adults — were played for fools, falling into a slow-motion psychological horror story brimming with suspense and twisted self-blame. They were lured into a long game of appeasing and accommodating, giving up one inch after another of who they were in order to win that grand prize of being allowed to live.

Spoiler alert: they lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was in graduate school studying Yiddish literature, itself a rich vein of discussion about such impossible choices, when I became interested in Soviet Jewish artists like Ala's father. As I dug through library collections of early-twentieth-century Yiddish works, I came across a startling number of poetry books illustrated by Marc Chagall. I wondered if Chagall had known these Yiddish writers whose works he illustrated, and it turned out that he had. One of Chagall's first jobs as a young man was as an art teacher at a Jewish orphanage near Moscow, built for children orphaned by Russia's 1919-1920 civil war pogroms. This orphanage had a rather renowned faculty, populated by famous Yiddish writers who trained these traumatized children in the healing art of creativity.

It all sounded very lovely, until I noticed something else. That Chagall's art did not rely on a Jewish language — that it had, to use that insidious phrase, "universal appeal" — allowed him a chance to succeed as an artist in the West. The rest of the faculty, like Chagall, had also spent years in western Europe before the Russian revolution, but they chose to return to Russia because of the Soviet Union's policy of endorsing Yiddish as a "national Soviet language." In the 1920s and 30s, the USSR offered unprecedented material support to Yiddish culture, paying for Yiddish-language schools, theaters, publishing houses, and more, to the extent that there were Yiddish literary critics who were salaried by the Soviet government. This support led the major Yiddish novelist Dovid Bergelson to publish his landmark 1926 essay "Three Centers," about New York, Warsaw, and Moscow as centers of Yiddish-speaking culture, asking which city offered Yiddish writers the brightest prospects. His unequivocal answer was Moscow, a choice that brought him back to Russia the following year, where many other Jewish artists joined him.

But Soviet support for Jewish culture was part of a larger plan to brainwash and coerce national minorities into submitting to the Soviet regime — and for Jews, it came at a very specific price. From the beginning, the regime eliminated anything that celebrated Jewish "nationality" that didn't suit its needs. Jews were awesome, provided they weren't practicing Jewish religion, studying traditional Jewish texts, using Hebrew, or supporting Zionism. The Soviet Union thus pioneered a versatile gaslighting slogan, which it later spread through its client states in the developing world and which remains popular today: it was not antisemitic, merely anti-Zionist. (In the process of not being antisemitic and merely being anti-Zionist, the regime managed to persecute, imprison, torture, and murder thousands of Jews.) What's left of Jewish culture once you surgically remove religious practice, traditional texts, Hebrew, and Zionism? In the Soviet Empire, one answer was Yiddish, but Yiddish was also suspect for its supposedly backwards elements. Nearly 15 percent of its words came directly from biblical and rabbinic Hebrew, so Soviet Yiddish schools and publishers, under the guise of "simplifying" spelling, implemented a new and quite literally antisemitic spelling system that eliminated those words' Near Eastern roots. Another answer was "folklore" — music, visual art, theater, and other creative work reflecting Jewish life — but of course most of that cultural material was also deeply rooted in biblical and rabbinic sources, or reflected common religious practices like Jewish holidays and customs, so that was treacherous too.

No, what the regime required were Yiddish stories that showed how horrible traditional Jewish practice was, stories in which happy, enlightened Yiddish-speaking heroes rejected both religion and Zionism (which, aside from its modern political form, is also a fundamental feature of ancient Jewish texts and prayers traditionally recited at least three times daily). This de-Jewing process is clear from the repertoire of the government-sponsored Moscow State Yiddish Theater, which could only present or adapt Yiddish plays that denounced traditional Judaism as backward, bourgeois, corrupt, or even more explicitly — as in the many productions involving ghosts or graveyard scenes — as dead. As its actors would be, soon enough.

The Soviet Union's destruction of Jewish culture commenced, in a calculated move, with Jews positioned as the destroyers. It began with the Yevsektsiya, committees of Jewish Bolsheviks whose paid government jobs from 1918 through 1930 were to persecute, imprison, and occasionally murder Jews who participated in religious or Zionist institutions — categories that included everything from synagogues to sports clubs, all of which were shut down and their leaders either exiled or "purged." This went on, of course, until the regime purged the Yevsektsiya members themselves.

The pattern repeated in the 1940s. As sordid as the Yeveksiya chapter was, I found myself more intrigued by the undoing of the Jewish Antifascist Committee, a board of prominent Soviet Jewish artists and intellectuals established by Joseph Stalin in 1942 to drum up financial support from Jews overseas for the Soviet war effort. Two of the more prominent names on the JAC's roster of talent were Solomon Mikhoels, the director of the Moscow State Yiddish Theater, and Ala's father Benjamin Zuskin, the theater's leading actor. After promoting these people during the war, Stalin decided these loyal Soviet Jews were no longer useful, and charged them all with treason. He had decided that this committee he himself created was in fact a secret Zionist cabal, designed to bring down the Soviet state. Mikhoels was murdered first, in a 1948 hit staged to look like a traffic accident. Nearly all the others — Zuskin and twelve more Jewish luminaries, including the novelist Dovid Bergelson, who had proclaimed Moscow as the center of the Yiddish future — were executed by firing squad on August 1952.

Just as the regime accused these Jewish artists and intellectuals of being too "nationalist" (read: Jewish), today's long hindsight makes it strangely tempting to read this history and accuse them of not being "nationalist" enough — that is, of being so foolishly committed to the Soviet regime that they were unable to see the writing on the wall. Many works on this subject have said as much. In Stalin's Secret Pogrom, the indispensable English translation of transcripts from the JAC "trial," Russia scholar Joshua Rubenstein concludes his lengthy introduction with the following:

As for the defendants at the trial, it is not clear what they believed about the system they each served. Their lives darkly embodied the tragedy of Soviet Jewry. A combination of revolutionary commitment and naive idealism had tied them to a system they could not renounce. Whatever doubts or misgivings they had, they kept to themselves, and served the Kremlin with the required enthusiasm. They were not dissidents. They were Jewish martyrs. They were also Soviet patriots. Stalin repaid their loyalty by destroying them.

This is completely true, and also completely unfair. The tragedy — even the term seems unjust, with its implied blaming of the victim — was not that these Soviet Jews sold their souls to the devil, though many clearly did. The tragedy was that integrity was never an option in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ala was almost thirteen years old when her father was arrested and until that moment she was immersed in the Soviet Yiddish artistic scene. Her mother was also an actor in the Moscow State Yiddish Theater; her family lived in the same building as the murdered theater director Solomon Mikhoels, and moved in the same circles as other Jewish actors and writers. After seeing her parents perform countless times, Ala had a front-row seat to the destruction of their world. She attended Mikhoel's state funeral, heard about the arrest of the brilliant Yiddish author Der Nister from an actor friend who witnessed it from her apartment across the hall, and was present when secret police ransacked her home in conjunction with her father's arrest. In her biography, The Travels of Benjamin Zuskin, she provides for her readers what she gave me that morning in Jerusalem: an emotional recounting, with the benefit of hindsight, of what it was really like to live through the Soviet Jewish nightmare.

It's as close as we can get, anyway. Her father Benjamin Zuskin's own thoughts on the topic are available only from state interrogations extracted under unknown tortures. (One typical interrogation document from his three and a half years in the notorious Lubyanka Prison announces that the day's interrogation lasted four hours, but the transcript is only half a page long — leaving to the imagination how the interrogator and interrogatee may have spent their time together. Suffice it to say that another JAC detainee didn't make it to trial alive.) His years in prison began when he was arrested in December of 1948 in a Moscow hospital room, where he was being treated for chronic insomnia brought on by the murder of his boss and career-long acting partner, Mikhoels; the secret police strapped him to a gurney and carted him to prison in his hospital gown while he was still sedated.

But in order to truly appreciate the loss here, one needs to know what was lost — to return to the world of the great Yiddish writer Sholem Aleichem, the author of Benjamin Zuskin's first role on the Yiddish stage, in a play fittingly titled It's a Lie!

Benjamin Zuskin's path to the Yiddish theater and later to the Soviet firing squad began in a shtetl comparable to those immortalized in Sholem Aleichem's work. Zuskin, a child from a traditional family who was exposed to theater only through traveling Yiddish troupes and clowning relatives, experienced that world's destruction: his native Lithuanian shtetl, Ponievezh, was among the many Jewish towns forcibly evacuated during the First World War, catapulting him and hundreds of thousands of other Jewish refugees into modernity. He landed in Penza, a city with professional Russian theater and Yiddish amateur troupes. In 1920, the Moscow State Yiddish Theater opened, and by 1921, Zuskin was starring alongside Mikhoels, the theater's leading light.

In the one acting class I have ever attended, I learned only one thing: acting isn't about pretending to be someone you aren't, but rather about emotional communication. Zuskin, who not only starred in most productions but also taught in the theater's acting school, embodied the concept. His very first audition was a one-man sketch he created, consisting of nothing more than a bumbling old tailor threading a needle — without words, costumes, or props. It became so popular that he performed it to entranced crowds for years. This physical artistry animated his every role. As one critic wrote, "Even the slightest breeze and he is already air-bound."

Zuskin specialized in playing figures like the Fool in King Lear — as his daughter puts it in her book, characters who "are supposed to make you laugh, but they have an additional dimension, and they arouse poignant reflections about the cruelty of the world." Discussing his favorite roles, Zuskin once explained that "my heart is captivated particularly by the image of the person who is derided and humiliated, but who loves life, even though he encounters obstacles placed before him through no fault of his own."

The first half of Ala's book seems to recount only triumphs. The theater's repertoire in its early years was largely adopted from classic Yiddish writers like Sholem Aleichem, I. L. Peretz, and Mendele Moykher Seforim. The book's title is drawn from Zuskin's most famous role: Senderl, the Sancho Panza figure in Mendele's Don Quixote-inspired work, Travels of Benjamin the Third, about a pair of shtetl idiots who set out for the Land of Israel and wind up walking around the block. These productions were artistically inventive, brilliantly acted, and played to packed houses both at home and on tour. Travels of Benjamin the Third, in a 1928 review typical of the play's reception, was lauded by the New York Times as "one of the most originally conceived and beautifully executed evenings in the modern theater."

One of the theater's landmark productions, I. L. Peretz's surrealist masterpiece At Night in the Old Marketplace, was first performed in 1925. The play, set in a graveyard, is a kind of carnival for the graveyard's gathered ghosts. Those who come back from the dead are misfits like drunks and prostitutes, and also specific figures from shtetl life - yeshiva idlers, synagogue beadles, and the like. Leading them all is a badkhn, or wedding jester — divided in this production into two mirror-characters played by Mikhoels and Zuskin — whose repeated chorus among the living corpses is "The dead will rise!" "Within this play there was something hidden, something with an ungraspable depth," Ala writes, and then relates how after a performance in Vienna, one theatergoer came backstage to tell the director that "the play had shaken him as something that went beyond all imagination." The theatergoer was Sigmund Freud.

As Ala traces the theater's trajectory toward doom, it becomes obvious why this performance so affected Freud. The production was a zombie story about the horrifying possibility of something supposedly dead (here, Jewish civilization) coming back to life. The play was written a generation earlier as a Romantic work, but in the Moscow production, it became a means of denigrating traditional Jewish life without mourning it. That fantasy of a culture's death as something compelling and even desirable is not merely reminiscent of Freud's death drive, but also reveals the self-destructive bargain implicit in the entire Soviet-sponsored Jewish enterprise. In her book, Ala beautifully captures this tension as she explains the badkhn's role: "He sends a double message: he denies the very existence of the vanishing shadow world, and simultaneously he mocks it, as if it really does exist."

This double message was at the heart of Benjamin Zuskin's work as a comic Soviet Yiddish actor, a position that required him to mock the traditional Jewish life he came from while also pretending that his art could exist without it. "The chance to make fun of the shtetl which has become a thing of the past charmed me," he claimed early on, but later, according to his daughter, he began to privately express misgivings. The theater's decision to stage King Lear as a way of elevating itself disturbed him, suggesting as it did that the Yiddish repertoire was inferior. His own integrity came from his deep devotion to yiddishkayt, a sense of essential and enduring Jewishness, no matter how stripped-down that identity had become. "With the sharp sense of belonging to everything Jewish, he was tormented by the theater forsaking its expression of this belonging," his daughter writes. Even so, "no, he could not allow himself to oppose the Soviet regime even in his thoughts, the regime that gave him his own theater, but 'the heart and the wit do not meet.'"

In Ala's memory, her father differed from his director, partner, and occasional rival, Mikhoels, in his complete disinterest in politics. Mikhoels was a public figure as well as performer, and his leadership of the Jewish Antifascist Committee, while no more voluntary than any public act in a totalitarian state, was a role he played with gusto, traveling to America in 1943 and speaking to thousands of American Jews to raise money for the Red Army in their battle against the Nazis. Zuskin, on the other hand, was on the JAC roster, but seems to have continued playing the fool. According to both his daughter and his trial testimony, his role in the JAC was almost identical to his role on a Moscow municipal council, limited to playing chess in the back of the room during meetings.

In Jerusalem, Ala told me that her father was "a pure soul." "He had no interest in politics, only in his art," she said, describing his acting style as both classic and contemporary, praised by critics for its timeless qualities that are still evident today in his film work. But his talent was the most nuanced and sophisticated thing about him. Offstage, he was, as she put it in Hebrew, a "tam" — a biblical term sometimes translated as fool or simpleton, but which really means an innocent. (It is the first adjective used to describe the title character in the Book of Job.) It is true that in trial transcripts, Zuskin comes out looking better than many of his co-defendants by playing dumb instead of pointing fingers. But was this ignorance, or a wise acceptance of the futility of trying to save his skin? As King Lear's Fool put it, "They'll have me whipp'd for speaking true; thou'lt have me whipp'd for holding my peace." Reflecting on her father's role as a fool named Pinia in a popular film, Ala writes in her book, "When I imagine the moment when my father heard his death sentence, I see Pinia in close-up . . . his shoulders slumped, despair in his appearance. I hear the tone that cannot be imitated in his last line in the film — and perhaps also the last line in his life? — 'I don't understand anything.'"

Yet it is clear that Zuskin deeply understood how impossible his situation was. In one of the book's more disturbing moments, Ala describes him rehearsing for one of his landmark roles, that of the comic actor Hotsmakh in Sholem Aleichem's Wandering Stars, a work whose subject is the Yiddish theater. He had played the role before, but this production was going up in the wake of Mikhoel's murder. Zuskin was already among the hunted, and he knew it. As Ala writes:

One morning — already after the murder of Mikhoels — I saw my father pacing the room and memorizing the words of Hotsmakh's role. Suddenly, in a gesture revealing a hopeless anguish, Father actually threw himself at me, hugged me, pressed me to his heart, and together with me, continued to pace the room and to memorize the words of the role. That evening I saw the performance . . . "The doctors say that I need rest, air, and the sea . . . For what . . . without the theater?" [Hotsmakh asks], he winds the scarf around his neck — as though it were a noose. For my father, I think those words of Hotsmakh were like the motif of the role and — I think — of his own life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Describing the charges levied against Zuskin and his peers is a degrading exercise, for doing so makes it seem as though these charges are worth considering. They are not. It is at this point that Hanukkah antisemitism transformed, as it inevitably does, into Purim antisemitism. Here Ala offers what hundreds of pages of state archives can't, describing the impending horror of the noose around one's neck.

Her father stopped sleeping, began receiving anonymous threats, and saw that he was being watched. No conversation was safe. When a visitor from Poland waited near his apartment building to give him news of his older daughter Tamara (who was then living in Warsaw), Zuskin instructed the man to walk behind him while speaking to him and then to switch directions, so as to avoid notice. When the man asked Zuskin what he wanted to tell his daughter, Zuskin "approached the guest so closely that there was no space between them, and whispered in Yiddish, 'Tell her that the ground is burning beneath my feet.'" It is true that no one can know what Zuskin or any of the other defendants really believed about the Soviet system they served. It is also true — and far more devastating — that their beliefs were utterly irrelevant.

Ala and her mother were exiled to Kazakhstan after her father's arrest, and learned of his execution only when they were allowed to return to Moscow in 1955. By then, he had already been dead for three years.

In Jerusalem that morning, Ala told me, in a sudden private moment of anger and candor, that the Soviet Union's treatment of the Jews was worse than Nazi Germany's. I tried to argue, but she shut me up. Obviously the Nazi atrocities against Jews were incomparable, a fact Ala later acknowledged in a calmer mood. But over four generations, the Soviet regime forced Jews to participate in and internalize their own humiliation - and in that way, Ala suggested, they destroyed far more souls. And they never, ever, paid for it.

"They never had a Nuremberg," Ala told me that day, with a quiet fury. "They never acknowledged the evil of what they did. The Nazis were open about what they were doing, but the Soviets pretended. They lured the Jews in, they baited them with support and recognition, they used them, they tricked them, and then they killed them. It was a trap. And no one knows about it, even now. People know about the Holocaust, but not this. Even here in Israel, people don't know. How did you know?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening I went out to the Old City again, to watch the torches being lit at the Western Wall for the second night of Hanukkah. I walked once more through the Jewish Quarter, where the oil lamps, now each bearing one additional flame, were displayed outside every home, following the tradition to publicize the Hanukkah miracle — not merely the legendary long-lasting oil, but the miracle of military and spiritual victory over a coercive empire, the freedom to be uncool, the freedom not to pretend. Somewhere nearby, deep underground, lay the ruins of the gymnasium where de-circumcised Jewish boys once performed naked before approving crowds, stripped of their integrity and left with their private pain. I thought of Benjamin Zuskin performing as the dead wedding jester, proclaiming, "The dead will rise!" and then performing again in a "superior" play, as King Lear's Fool. I thought of the ground burning beneath his feet. I thought of his daughter, Ala, now an old woman, walking through Jerusalem.

I am not a sentimental person. As I returned to the stone house that night, along the streets lit by oil lamps, I was surprised to find myself crying.

[king-candybug-backup]

Kill Switch: Part Eleven

“Watcha said about Sinistar– How couldja say somethin’ like that?!” She ranted on, tears welling up in her eyes, “You know h-how scared I’ve–” The more she tried to talk, the more choked up she got, and she had to cut herself off to stop from full-on crying. Instead, she turned away from him, indignantly wiping at her face with her sleeves. Whether she’d been hiding her face out of anger, or simply embarrassment to be crying in the first place, he couldn’t quite tell. If anything, King Candy was mostly just baffled that she was this upset over what was, to him, something so trivial. To him, it had been nothing more than an impulsive comment made in irritation. It hadn’t meant anything. … But, to her, he had just dangled the possibility of throwing her safety away on a petty whim. As annoyed as he was at how seriously she was taking such an offhand remark of his, could he really be surprised that a stupid child would be so overdramatic about such things? He took in a shallow breath, careful not to let his annoyance show in the sigh that soon followed. “I didn’t mean it, glitch.” Vanellope still wouldn’t look at him, the smallest hint of anger in her voice when she muttered “Then why’d you say it?” That question had him hesitating to respond truthfully, for the answer was as simple as it was cruel.  He wanted to hurt Felix. In that moment, all he could think about was hurting Felix.  Unfortunately for King Candy, Vanellope had been caught in that vitriolic crossfire the second she had tried to defend his actual target. For that crime, did she not deserve to face some of his ire? If she had just minded her own business, this wouldn’t be a problem… but, ‘minding her business’ wasn’t in her nature. Nor would she take very kindly to his less-than-amicable reasoning, he was sure. “... I don’t know.” He chose to say instead. “But I didn’t mean it.”

Read the full chapter on AO3!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten

AAAGGGGHHHH I CAN'T THANK YOU GUYS ENOUGH FOR ALL THE AWESOME FAN-ART YOU'VE SENT OMFGGG!!! 💖💖💖 I've got a LOT of posts to shout out, please go give them tons of love if you haven't already!!! <333 Sorry for making y'all wait so long btw xskdjsdjjd

As usual, we've got @starryside-1's absolutely LOVELY art, both with these drawings of chapter 10, and this post with KCB teasing Ralph lmao

We've also got @caleeeeee and their HILARIOUS videos, this one with KCB and Vanny being silly goobers and this one of KCB and Sinistar and also this lil comic of them, too!

And then there's @cathirae and their absolutely ADORABLE fan-art of the Uno scene HGFDSHDFGCVHG

We also have a few fan-arts of chapter one where Vanny's dealing with injured Candybug and they're all AMAZINGGG, we've got this one by @its-lara, this one by @noirdenwa, and this one by @space-kardi!

Also there's this cool-ass art of Candybug, also featuring Vanellope holding up her silly lil' drawing of him by @amberqueen01!

Next up we have some more epic Sinistar fan-art, this one by @sweet-treat, this one by @space-kardi and this one by @sp1derf1ll3dc0ffin! There's also this awesome art of Sinistar and KCB duking it out by @falconsdump!

And then there's these two INSANELY funny animatics with Vanny and KCB, one with a Game Grumps audio by @aritheunicorn and another one with Llamas With Hats audio by @vinegar-rights! YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY TIMES I'VE REWATCHED THESE 😭

We also have a couple of AU crossover fan-arts of other people's AU Turbo/King Candy meeting KillSwitch!Candybug lol, this one by @danisha-tdh and this one by @quinnstirrsworld! (I'M SO SORRY AGAIN FOR NOT SEEING THE SECOND POST SOONER AAAA PLEASE KNOW THAT I LOVE IT VERY MUCH I PROMISE 😭💖)

Then there's this awesome art page of some chapter 2 + 3 stuff (LIKE GET A LOAD OF THAT CAGE SHOT C'MON), as well as KCB and Ralph being catty as usual by @peregrinethegryphon!

And last but certainly not least, this hilarious meme redraw with Vanny and KCB by @tofuto-art!

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN SOOO FREAKING MUCH, YOU'RE ALL SO TALENTED AND HILARIOUS AND AMAZING AND I NEED YOU ALL TO KNOW THAT I'M CONSTANTLY GOING BACK TO LOOK AT ALL THE BEAUTIFUL ART YOU'VE BLESSED ME WITH 💖💖💖💖💖