#Oh yeah this storys title is

[astranauticus]

Director of the False Last Act

[tenderjock]

outstanding leadership, extraordinary initiative, & steadfast devotion to duty

Daniel&Jack&Peggy, and medals earned in wartime.

"You ever notice that Thompson doesn't talk about the Navy Cross?"

Peggy froze in the middle of adding milk to her tea. After a moment, she put the bottle down and stirred carefully, thoughts racing. Without turning to Daniel or letting her surprise inflect her voice, she said, "What do you mean?"

Daniel shrugged, a little jerkily. "I don't know. Everything's always bigger and better with him, you know? He'll tell you how much he earns or how long his - ah, you know, he'll brag. But he changes the topic every time it comes up."

She tapped the spoon against the side of her cup. "Perhaps he -" She broke off, struggling for the words that would turn Daniel's attention away from the issue. "Perhaps he simply doesn't like to talk about things that happened over there. We've all been there; it's never anything like the medals or newsreels seem to say it was."

"Yeah, sure," Daniel said. "It just doesn't seem like Thompson to not tell everyone he knows about it."

"You don't talk about your Purple Heart," Peggy pointed out, not ungently. Daniel stiffened.

"That's different."

"It is," Peggy agreed. "It's different for all of us."

A pair of familiar footsteps joined them at the office commissary before Daniel could respond. Peggy glanced back down into her cup and added a generous spoonful of sugar.

"I see my top agents are spending their workday productively," Jack remarked, his smirk a sharp line in his face.

Peggy shot him a rather arch look. "I see Chief Thompson is having an equally productive day," she said. "Have you admitted defeat yet?"

Jack made a face. He'd been fighting, along with Agent Faut and some rather obnoxious pencil-pushers, to balance the New York SSR's budget for the better part of the week. Most of his morning had been spent in a meeting with the senator's aide.

"I got 'em on the ropes," he said. Daniel clears his throat, rather judgementally.

Peggy isn't quite sure who he's been more upset with recently: Jack, for taking the promotion, or her, for not being bothered by it.

His attitude was a bit annoying, to be honest. Frankly, she was never going to receive a Medal of Honor or the position as New York Chief, no matter who advocated for her or what evidence was presented to the U.S. government. Daniel had to know that, too; the man wasn't stupid. And he had to realize that having Jack in charge, where they could keep an eye on him, was better than any alternative.

"We were discussing wartime medals," Peggy said instead of all that. Jack stiffened; Daniel noticed; Peggy rolled her eyes. "I once knew a man who earned an Order of the Bath for strategic actions in battle." She considered the memory. "He had terrible teeth."

"Order of the Bath?" Jack said, disbelieving.

"For conspicuous heroism taking place in a sauna," Daniel said. Both men laughed. Peggy sniffed. They had no respect, these Americans.

"What about Carter?" Jack asked, still laughing.

Peggy blinked at him. "What about me?" she said.

"What kind of awards did Agent Peggy Carter deign to accept?"

"I didn't earn any," Peggy said stiffly. "Women aren't combatants."

That's a bit of an oversimplification, she will admit in the privacy of her own mind. There were a few medals she could have theoretically earned, from the Americans and her own government, had circumstances regarding her service not been so, well, unique.

Some Englishwomen had received medals, but their service had been different than hers - usually as pilots or somesuch, not the covert missions she had in occupied France and Nazi Germany.

She may have qualified from the U.S. Women's Army Corps Service Medal, although it perhaps would have required Colonel Phillips to pull a few strings. Peggy had occupied a strange place in the war: a woman, first of all, and therefore not allowed in combat or eligible to receive medals for heroism under fire. But she had also been a spy, someone who technically didn't exist; and a British operative working for the Americans. Both sides had simply sort of - cut her loose, after victory was obtained and she was no longer useful.

It was only due to Colonel Phillips' recommendation that she had this job in the first place. Peggy pursed her lips, then shook herself out of her thoughts.

Only to find the two men staring at her like they had just been dunked in ice water. It was a bit unsettling. She took a sip of tea.

"Anyway," she said. "I actually do have work to do. Daniel, try to keep in mind what I was saying."

Jack was frowning at her. Daniel was frowning, too, but his gaze flicked to Jack once when she spoke, before he nodded.

"Sure thing," he said, and shifted on his crutch out of her way to let her back to her desk.

: :

Peggy frequently found herself the last person in the office, nowadays, with the possible exceptions being Daniel and Jack. Right now, Daniel's dark head of curls was bent over his desk and Jack's light was still on in his office, although the blinds were drawn.

They've all been working in a companionable silence for the last two hours. Daniel was eating something that smelled hot and spiced at his desk; little noises kept coming from the Chief's office, the sound of a file cabinet being opened or the desk chair being pushed back.

For Peggy's part, she's been combing through reports of gun sales to women matching Dottie's description in the tri-state area. She has found three that warrant a closer look, and was just about to get herself another cup of tea and really settle in when Jack's door opened and he slouched out.

He stopped in front of her desk. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. He stared at her for a second, looking troubled.

"Yes?" she ventured, when it became clear he wasn't going to say anything to her.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, rather abruptly.

Daniel was looking at them now. Peggy drummed her fingernails on her desk, then nodded and followed Jack into his office, where he shut the door behind them.

He then proceeded to stand at his desk, hands braced against the wood, staring blankly. Peggy was honestly starting to get worried, not that she thought letting Jack know that was a good idea.

"Chief Thompson?" she said. She didn't touch his arm, but it was a close thing.

Jack opened his desk drawer and pulled out a box. It looked like a large jewelry box and was made of navy blue leather, with gold detailing. Peggy didn't need to ask what was inside it - even if it hadn't had the name of the medal printed on it in little gold letters, she would have known.

"You should have it," Jack said. His face was grim and set.

"Jack!" Peggy said, shocked.

"You should have it," he insisted. "I don't - it shouldn't be me, anyway. And you deserve it, Peggy. We both know that." Jack glanced at her, then glanced away. "I was going to put it out on my desk but - I couldn't. I can't. You should have it."

Peggy stared at him, feeling like her heart was in her throat. Jack Thompson was a liar, and a fraud, and a self-serving, arrogant pain-in-the-arse to work with, but sometimes he still surprised her.

And, anyway, it would do no one any favors to make this into a bigger deal than it already was. She nodded, and carefully took the box and tucked it under one arm.

"I'll keep it safe," she said quietly. Then, more briskly, "Do you want me to brief you on the progress I've made in the Underwood case?"

"Christ," Jack said, rubbing his eyes. He laughed, a little wetly. "Yeah, that'd be great. Tell me you got something."

They talked for a few minutes. Jack agreed with her that there was meat in the rumor of a bank robbery being planned, although neither of them could fathom why a notorious Communist would want to rob a bank. When Peggy left his office with the Navy Cross in hand, Jack was pouring himself a Scotch, looking exhausted and like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Daniel looked up as Peggy fastened the clasps of her purse and got her coat. "You leaving?" he asked, and then considered her more closely. "Are you okay, Peggy?"

"Yes," she said. "Just, you know." She looked at Jack's office door and clutched the rectangular shape in her purse tighter. "I need to get home."

"I'll walk you out," Daniel said, still watching her. "I'm just about done here anyway."

Peggy waited while he grabbed his coat, hat, and briefcase. She had to watch her pace a bit when she's walking with Daniel, but the company was usually worth it. Tonight, she was tired and a little shaken and a bit too reflective, and she appreciated the distraction of having to make small talk with Daniel as they walked to the subway station together.

As they were waiting for her train - hers was due in four minutes; Daniel's, in six - Daniel said, apropos of nothing, "I guess I just never expect Thompson to care enough about anything to feel, I don't know." He looked across the platform blankly. "Shame or guilt or, or loss. Or anything."

Peggy looked at him. "I know what you mean," she said.

"You know why he doesn't talk about the Navy Cross." It wasn't a question. Daniel wasn't looking at her.

Peggy tucked her heavy purse tighter to her torso and breathed out slowly. "Yes," she said. Just yes, and nothing else.

Daniel nodded, still staring across the empty platform. "Is it something I should know about?"

She gave that some thought. "It's not something I'm going to tell you," she said finally. "Not without Jack's permission, which I don't think he'd give. But it doesn't change who he is, not really. It might explain some of what he's done, recently." Then, because she wanted to be honest with Daniel: "Although you may not like the explanation."

He dipped his chin to his chest. "Alright," he said, then again, quieter, "Alright."

Her train arrived, and Peggy boarded, wishing Daniel a good night. Peggy observed him through the car's dirty, cracked window, a dark figure braced on his crutch, looking down at the concrete beneath his shoes. Peggy put one hand into her purse, pressing her palm against Jack's medal as she watched him.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Daniel seemed to shake himself and turned toward the opposite tracks, where his train going the other direction was arriving.

[king-magppi]

🧸👹Go! Various guys! Here's a long overdue oc post! Seeing my friends and mutuals post about their characters has encouraged me to actually make mine public!🐙🤡

This is a post dedicated to a handful of my many, many characters. I love them all so very dearly that I've been overprotective of them for years now.🥲

I hope you all enjoy the change from the usual fanart!

[thesoulsofthedarned]

So I finished the Farewell Rayashki event:

Wow, what an amazing event. Probably one of my favorites in Reverse 1999. I loved watching the story of the townspeople of Rayashki fighting back against Zeno to protect their home with the help of a down-on-her-luck researcher unfold. This was probably the first event story in this game that got me feeling emotional. I think what contributed so heavily to my enjoyment and investment in the story was how we got to familiarize with the town itself, from it’s backstory, to the lives the residents that live there.

Back before 1.8 released on global, I never had much of an opinion on Vila. All I really knew about her was that she was a top tier healer mermaid who liked talking about freedom and stuff. But man, this event story really warmed me up to her as a character. She’s such a lovely teacher for the children of Rayashki, always encouraging them to be open minded and learn new things (kinda reminds me of teachers I used to have). Vila’s also such a brave leader for the people, not afraid to speak her mind on the unfair treatment Rayashki was facing at the hands of Zeno and rousing the townsfolk to band together to find new ore to support the town. I also really liked her relationship with Windsong and how she encouraged Windsong to not give up on her dreams. And that’s not to mention her backstory of being shunned and scorned by humans and rusalka alike, yet being able to find a place where everyone could live in harmony in Rayashki. Such a great character :)

Avgust was such a cinnamon roll. Just about every appearance he made on screen was a delight to watch. He’s got such an odd yet endearing way of interpreting the world around him and that made for some excellent chemistry for him and the other characters. He’s so strange yet so cute at the same time, it’s no wonder my sibling went for him on Vila’s banner (they got Vila but not Avgust btw).

Windsong was definitely the MVP. At first I assumed she’d be like Yelan from Genshin: cool, alluring, mysterious, all the typical tropes you’d expect from a woman like her in a gacha game. Turns out she’s almost nothing like I’d expect. Windsong at first was awkward, anxious, not confident that the study of ley lines will even make a comeback due to past experiences. She was on the verge of giving up, yet throughout the story she’s able to finally prove the study of ley lines can be a valid and useful field with the help and encouragement of the townspeople. Watching her become a teacher for the kids at the school was also heartwarming to watch. Also watching Windsong tell that Zeno guy where to shove it was also pretty satisfying, seeing her developing friendship with Vila and the rest of the town was sweet, watching her slowly helping the town achieve their goals and subsequently reach her own and finally coming to her own as a researcher was so cathartic aaaAAA-

Overall, this event was incredible, thanks in no small part to the excellent writing. I absolutely love this story, and I can’t wait for it to rerun :)

[dead-dove-orchid]

Woah look at my beautfil fankids they’re all very happy and definitely alive in the story :)

[simgerale]

✨ Coming Soon… ✨

Sequel to Regal

[aq2003]

i saw a post saying boom was good bc it feels like it could be done with any doctor/companion duo and honestly that was one of the things i felt was wrong with it

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Brightness Between Us

twisty YA sci-fi, sequel to The Darkness Outside Us

17 years later, Ambrose and Kodiak are raising their two surviving children on an isolated planet

their rebellious daughter wants to explore further, but after making a small discovery she learns there’s more about their circumstances than she knew, while her reserved older brother is going through some strange experiences of his own

with a dual narrative of Ambrose and Kodiak on earth before they leaving to space, finding out the truth about the titan mission, and learning more about the resistance in a dying world on the brink of war

[markantonys]

maybe the real reason they decided to change the timing of when galadriel's family is around in ROP is that they didn't want a celebrimbor, a celeborn, and a celebrian all in the same season

[batsplat]

casey also talks about sepang 2015 what do you think of that

oh in that podcast? uh... lemme listen again...

yeah idk it's not really anything new I'd say? he's said basically all the same stuff in more interesting and extensive ways elsewhere. I think casey inevitably has a very 'well feuding is bad and helps nobody' point of view, has expressed that before in the past, does it here again, and he's also drawn a parallel between himself and marc on several occasions. which... well, of course there's similarities in terms of public discourse or whatever, but the parallel really falls apart whenever casey argues the feuds cost valentino. like, I do think it's sometimes important to just. keep in mind. it's interesting that casey draws this comparison in his mind but that doesn't necessarily means he's right about this. I'm not sure how you'd argue that starting a feud with casey cost valentino anything competitively? you can argue it didn't help him I guess, and then we can have a debate about the ins and outs of the 2008 season. we can also have an argument that in a hypothetical world where casey isn't ill in 2009, valentino doesn't break his leg and casey isn't on a piece of junk in 2010, and valentino isn't on a piece of junk in 2011-12, then actually maybe valentino sparking open animosity with casey COULD have cost him. but we don't know that! didn't happen! I wish we could have found out, but we never got the chance! as it stands, the tally on this is pretty straightforward: casey won the title when things were reasonably civil between them in 2007, and valentino took control of the following season at the exact moment he worsened the relationship between the pair of them in 2008. obviously, it's all more complicated than that and casey would of course argue laguna didn't negatively affect his subsequent performances... but it certainly didn't help them. like, at the very worst valentino escalating tensions in 2008 is a complete net neutral. after 2009, them being bitchy to each other every other tuesday was completely competitively irrelevant beyond maybe affecting how they approached occasionally fighting for a podium position. hey, maybe casey used that feud to fire himself up through sheer spite throughout the later stages of his career, but that doesn't actually support his anti-feud stance - it's basically the exact same thing as what valentino does. they're both quite similar in that regard! always so hungry to prove a point, to show how someone else is wrong. kinda half the point with this feuding business is to get yourself going, get yourself motivated, yeah. he straight up openly admits to using yamaha's repeat rejection of him as a way of giving himself motivation, and at the end of the day that's really not all that different?

anyway, what else does casey say... oh yeah, that him and the other aliens were already kinda prepared for this and had learned vale's tricks. that valentino had only been able to get into the minds of the previous generation. welllllll *wiggles hand* sure, I mean, he did clearly have to change his approach... he couldn't just use the exact same playbook to get to them, either on-track or off-track. but that's why he did change up the playbook... again, whether you want to believe valentino won his final two titles 'in the head' rather than just through pure pace kinda depends on how you assess the evidence, but it is at the very least a debate. and, y'know, it's always worth remembering that valentino's most important mind games with casey didn't happen in a press conference... it was on the track. and the on-track stuff really is just embedded in how valentino approaches winning. speaking of aliens, this is what dani and jorge have said:

like, valentino's entire approach to his riding, even to the way he's setting his bike up, is deliberately about directly fucking with you... he's not actually always trying to be faster than you as much as he's trying to give himself the tools to make your life miserable, to pressure you into mistakes, etc etc... and again, especially with casey (if anything because he was so mentally sturdy), the off-track stuff was really just window dressing. (I know they bicker a lot after 2009 but it's just so fundamentally irrelevant to actual on-track competition.) so you can be aware of those tricks, but it also doesn't necessarily help you when someone's being nasty to you on-track in a way you just fully do not enjoy. which is what it was like for casey! for casey, a lot of this comes back to the truly unpleasant context of how he was perceived by the public, how he was treated as mentally weak or 'broken' or whatever partly because he had the misfortune of coming up against a bloke who had the reputation for breaking rivals. I think it's quite natural to end up with a bit of a hardliner 'actually I've never been mentally affected by a result in my life' stance - and of course casey is a lot tougher than a lot of people give him credit for. that being said. sometimes your rivals affect you, shit happens, it's part of the game. it's fundamentally a nice idea to think that valentino's tactics weren't just morally wrong but also ineffective, which is kind of the appeal of this narrative, right? you want to believe you're above that, you want to believe you were adequately prepared and wise to valentino's tactic. it's unsurprising and understandable that casey does tend to tell the story that way, but again it's *wiggles hand* also hard to describe it as completely factual

uh. what else. oh I'm thrilled casey does canonically know valentino and marc were friends, he has said he wasn't following motogp too much during that time period so you couldn't be sure of that. does this mean anything? does it tell you anything? well, no, but it's just a pleasing thought to me. I like that. oh also 'provoking particularly aggressive riders isn't a good idea' is kinda a funny take from casey? like, he of all people would hate the idea of being cowed by someone's reputation like that... casey's right that provoking fast riders can potentially be dangerous, but y'know I do think that's probably not news to anyone almost nine years later. um. that's all I've got I think

[art-o-gant]

oc things (: i have those

[leapdayowo]

So uh, something flipped in my brain the other day and suddenly I felt excited and determined to just, draw whatever I want (which should have been obvious but I guess I’ve been a little too perfectionist minded for a while now). So yeah, here are my OCs as trolls :))

[kitsquared]

Love you can read 1 or 2 manhwa of one genre and then all the other manhwas premise makes sense to you suddenly

[thenewsthaturdead]

Hi hello due to popular demand (3 of my mutuals expressed they wanted me to) i will now be posting my art on main (and probably reblogging it onto my art blog @xx-morel-xx for archiving purposes) anyway yes i do in fact draw these are the silly little guys i keep talking about - Alec and Ondra! Ondra is a vampire who got turned in 18th century Austria-Hungary - he was not a fan of being turned. Alec's parents (or maybe grandparents havent figured that one out yet) escaped communist Czechoslovakia to the US, he comes back for university and gets his idiot emo ass accidenteally turned by Ondra while wandering a cemetery at night. They proceed to go on the run so the vampire government doesnt force Alec to murder his entire family

[yume-fanfare]

the parallel world to last mission to abyss line was crazy akira needs to go back to having intertwined and correlated stories instead of switch and knights climax