#anyways here. have an old theory that got axed with the rest of them

[jamiesfootball]

Anyways. Back before season three aired, my working theory for What Ted's Deal was - with his advice to Jamie, with the panic attacks that were layered Jamie and his son - that it would turn out that his late father had also been abusive, but that with his father's death Ted had never processed it.

Obviously the show didn't go that route, but in general these were the points that I was daisy-chaining together to build something of a narrative flow:

Ted preaches kindness and positivity but also struggles with his own repressed anger and inability to be direct in what he wants. He continually, pathologically, puts people before himself, to the point that it's becoming a breaking point in his marriage.

Ted repeatedly praises 'women' for being the more emotionally intelligent of the genders. He looks at toxic masculinity as not just a thing to be examined and overcome, but the root of why men struggle.

He himself is a product of the same toxic male behavior, and while he tries to lead by example as an individual, there's a part of that culture that he almost sees as... natural? Like a foregone conclusion. A lot of his methods for dealing with the team in season one happen within the same social boundaries he decries. If he can get Roy to step up, if he can get Roy and Jamie to stop fighting and call a truce, then everything else will fall in place, because men follow a hierarchical structure. This is How Locker Rooms Work, and-

I always go back to Jamie's first, open receptiveness to Ted's 'one in eleven' speech as the first sign that Ted doesn't know how to deal with things directly. This scene reads as Ted being very taken aback by Jamie's willingness to listen. It has shades of their later scene at the Crown & Anchor in it, with Ted being the one who pulls away from a conversation that has the ability of getting emotionally direct and real.

Ted's repressed anger. His shouting at Jamie in 1x06 over practice, but also his shouting at Nate when Nate tries to stuff the letter under his hotel room door.

Ted emotionally reaches for the bottle like. A noticeable amount of times. But especially when he's getting divorced.

Every Sunday afternoon Ted's father used to take him to a sports bar. From age of 10 til 16.

Ted's mom is completely incapable of being direct

Ted and his mom never processed or talked about his dad's death

Ted looks devastated when he sees Jamie with his father in the boot room, but ultimately walks away

Ted sends Jamie a token to show he's not alone (Ted soldier)

Next time Jamie tries to talk to Ted at the bar, Jamie opens with addressing the subject directly (the Ted soldier) and Ted deflects. Asks about City. Won't look him in the eye. Doesn't say anything to Jamie admitting he left City to piss off his dad. He just says that line about how sometimes having a tough dad is what makes you better.

He thought he knew what he was doing [about Jamie] but Sam 'went and unsettled it.' Some people aren't lucky enough to have good dads.

Ted welcomes Jamie back but keeps his distance (much more than in season 1).

Ted begins having panic attacks that feature Jamie and his son.

Ted admits panic attacks linked directly to his father's death.

So this takes us through season two, and at this point my working theory was what if it turned out that Ted most of Ted's Ted-ness had been an active effort on his own part to become something less like his own father? It would explain his disdain for male-coded behaviors while also explaining why he seems unable to truly break away from them. it would explain his people-pleasing habits (and meeting his mom and knowing she is also allergic to asking for things, I think this could still fit as a trauma response). It would explain his putting women on a pedestal, if he had a bad male role model to begin with. It would explain how his demeanor around Jamie changes so much when they have the 'tough dads' talk turning into something closed off when his body language with Jamie has always been open before (and there's a lovely parallel with how they're both sat at the bar in that shot too). Hell it would add additional weight to that talk if it turned out he was also speaking of himself. His panic attacks would make sense, seeing himself in Jamie but also his son and his own role as a dad.

That, plus Ted being a character we regularly see drinking something harder than wine or beer, usually when he's emotionally stressed. Plus Ted's dad bringing him to a sports bar every Sunday for years, and at a young age too. Plus Jamie's dad being an alcoholic. That's where I thought this was going- I thought it would turn out that the late Lasso had also been an alcoholic and a tough dad. It just seemed the obvious conclustion at the time, to make the Ted & Jamie parallel into a full parallel.

Then you add in the fact that Ted married his college sweetheart and then waited until they were in their thirties before having a kid (In the midwest. Where he definitely would've been pressured about it) and all of this to me added up to a troubled man who struggled with the idea of becoming a father long before he had a son. Someone who spent years creating a facade, pretending (like his mom) that things were okay. Someone who maybe never felt right blaming his dad for any of it, not when it became so clear at the end how much his dad was struggling.

Only to have that facade crumble the second someone else from similar circumstances showed up to challenge it.

His dad was a product of his time, the same way that Ted is a product of his dad, the same way men are just a product of toxic masculinity, and Ted doesn't know how to 'deal' with any of it but he'd thought he'd gotten to the point in life where he had some solutions. Only to find that those solutions didn't work when held up to a mirror.

So yeah. That was my theory. Then season three happened, and I realized that unfortunately my theory had a flaw. See, I was so busy looking for a Watsonian diagnosis that would make Ted's idiosyncrasies make sense, that I completely missed the fact that the problem was Doylist to begin with. The show writers never meant for us to read into all of that, because the show writers themselves didn't see anything contrary, worrisome, or tone-deaf about Ted's behavior. Not from a toxic masculinity standpoint, and certainly not from the standpoint of discussing abuse of a male character.

It's not Ted who dismisses Jamie's dad's abuse. It's the writers. Which unfortunately means, since Ted by extension is the show, that it is Ted. Which is why all of us are left watching scenes like the 'tough dads' scene or the Mom City scene and going-

What the hell, Ted?

[maladyinpink]

Hi, longtime lurker here, been writing for a long time but never brave enough to post, but- BUT, I got very inspired by this prompt and ideas by @ghostlychill and @rosieknows , and thought I'd finally come out of the woodwork by spinning a LONG fluffy tale of woe of what, PRAY TELL, could happen after Sins/mas and the New year 🙈🤷‍♀️...so uh, not entirely sure how to do this, nervy as hell 😐...but here goes 🤗 Agh, hope anyone who reads this enjoys.

💗

CW: Snz, Illness, emotional pain/comfort, depictions of depression, loss and my man Sto/las just goin' through it, but Bli/tzø is there every step of the way. Oh! And a few explicit shameless puns 😈...

The Imp and The Owl

A few days after the holiday celebration and passing of the new year in the Pentagram, the apartment, lit by the red morning light, still smelled of stale snacks that'd been left out by those too drunk to finish them. And Stolas, once again, found himself curled-up on the worn-out purple striped couch, talons just barely resting over the side.

During the first couple days, he'd slept, only because he was so exhausted. But since the confrontation at the palace, he'd been up most nights with an old friend that usually went away with medication: Insomnia. And...he'd happened to have been without medication as of late, for a few weeks. As he carelessly rushed out of the house to rescue an imp at the brink of death in Hell's biggest courtroom. And he'd only gotten them back when...Octavia had given them back to him.

Several hours ago, still sluggishly awake in the middle of the night, he'd tried to take a shower. He could barely fit into it, banging his temple on the shower head by standing, settling for sitting in the tub where he cradled his legs close and cried. In theory, the hot water would've potentially helped him fall asleep. Only in fucking theory, apparently.

Now his feathers, wet and wiry, were still air drying, now a muted shade of their former midnight glory and streaked with shocks of grey. And he still tossed and turned under the pony print fleece blankets. Oh well, he'd never got much sleep anyway, even in the palace.

He'd already made peace with himself that some of these things would drive him crazy, and that life without privilege would just take some getting used to. The fact of the matter was that things could've been worse. Blitzø would have died. The image of the axe coming that close to the imps neck still haunted him, the horrified looks of his onlooking family.

He was alive and well though, snoring through the night on a beanbag, surrounded by his horse plushies. Stolas found himself smiling, resisting stroking and pecking the imp's horns to soothe as he babbled a little in his sleep, then he stopped. They'd yet to talk about their embrace at the palace after he'd saved Stolas from the ice hydra. Something real was finally blossoming between them. At what cost? Immense loss and sacrifice.

He'd live amongst the civilian hellborn and sinners, earn a wage to survive, living as a commoner, starting from scratch. Potentially, finally, have a real relationship worth working for. All that, he could endure. But the chance of never seeing his daughter again while she suffered cruel negligence at the hands of Andrealphus and her mother. He wouldn't be there for her birthdays, her holidays. Even just the casual greetings in the morning, he'd taken for granted. And as she approached possible ascension to the throne, she had no real guidance or reassurance, for the next 100 years. Whether she would choose to confide in him about that or anything in the future, remained to be seen. She'd cut him off. It was unbearable. And he knew it was his own fault.

As a parent himself, Blitzø had been trying to reassure Stolas that Octavia didn't hate him, the girl was 17, she needed space and time to process. And unfortunately, he had 100 long years of both. With that ever heavy and present in mind, he did his best with immense difficulty to just physically rise in the morning.

He yawned out a little screech and craned his neck toward the kitchen, hearing rustling through cabinets. Loona seemed to be taking a crack at cooking this morning for a change while Blitzø was showering. He hadn't noticed either of them rise or pass by. Had lack of sleep left him that disoriented? Stolas had yet to smell anything smoky or burning, so it was a good sign. Stolas realized though he couldn't smell much of anything at all.

"Yo..." Loona waved a paw with a spatula, briskly over her shoulder when she'd noticed he was awake. She was never a morning person it seemed.

He'd meant to reply a polite good morning to the hell-hound. But all that came out first through his beak was a chirpy stifled sneeze. 

"Nght-tchoo!"

"Ah, Sorry...G-good morning, Loona, dear." He tried to force out, his voice cracking as his throat felt as though it was filled with stinging nettles. Oh no. 

Loona's ear twitched and she looked over her shoulder as if something occurred to her at the tiny sound, before a tender look crossed her harsh features. She set the spatula down and padded closer to the couch. "Morning...You okay, old man?"

Stolas' laugh came out as a weak cough and he lied to save face. "Y-yes quite alright, I think I'm just...tired...Barely waking is all." Placating came easy.

Loona's eyes narrowed, but she didn't want to push or argue with him, "Right, well we've got a few choices for breakfast, if you don't like eggs... You eat bacon?" she walked back over to the freezer to relay options, "Shit, Looks like we still got-...Toaster doodles? Blitzø fuckin' goes nuts for these...What kind'ya want?"

Stolas forced himself to smile as he read the colorful boxes she held up. Cunnilingonberry CreamPie...Lemon Frottage Cheese...BukCake Batter (Now With More Sprinkles!)...Hard to believe there were more, he could barely pay attention to her mumbling of which one 'didn't totally suck' as his head was pounding.

"I mean, once you get past the weird dick shape-"

"Whatever you're making is fine, dear. I'm sure it'll be delightful." His voice was quiet and trailed off into little stifled coughs into his shoulder that he hoped would not draw any attention. It seemed to have worked for the moment as she hesitated, but turned back to her sizzling bacon with a less than convinced nod.

The sound of the shower shut off, and a moment later, the bathroom door creaked open with steam. Blitzø walked out, in a long sleeve and jeans, still rubbing his horns dry with a towel. He made his way into the kitchen, laying the towel on one of the dining room chairs. And spotting his daughter, he couldn't resist the urge to give her a quick, loving squeeze around her hind leg.

"What the-...Jesus!...Dad!"

"Good Mornin' to you too, Loonie-Toonie! Oop- Look at you, makin' breakfast, how sweet!"

Loona always rolled her eyes at him, it was like muscle memory. She was usually dismissive around the imp's affection, but she couldn't help the brief smirk that tugged up under her snout. Then she nodded towards the couch with a silent look beckoning Blitzø to say something.

Blitzø followed her gaze, immediately noticing the way Stolas held his head in his hand, seemingly spasming with stifled coughs. "Uh…Hey," he said, walking over, to gently approach, "You sleep okay?"

A little startled, Stolas squawked and looked up, feigning a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he looked down, "Oh dear! Um, yes, Good Morning..."

"Shit Stolas...Did you sleep...like at all?"

"I'm fine, Blitzø." Stolas tried to reassure, firmer this time, maybe even a little annoyed.

"...In what universe?"

Blitzø awkwardly winced and sat on the edge of the couch, his eyes wide, reaching toward the owl "...Shit, If I can remember, you fancy fucks run warm anyways, but you look…not great, no offense-...hold up a sec, 'kay?"

"Blitzø, you must understand, I did try!...Nght'ktchht! Ehkkschtt! Shit-...Oh, Heavens, excuse me."

The fight was needless and only made things worse. Stolas winced and shook his head wearily, his eyes closing with relief as he felt the coolness of Blitzø's claws grazing across on his forehead and cheeks.

"Shhh, you're burnin' up like Satan's taint," Blitzø said, his concern etched into his voice. "Let's see what we got in here." He toddled away and disappeared into the bathroom and returned with two thermometers, one standard oral and the other a bit more...intimate, seemingly debating. Stolas deadpanned.

"Sorry...know you're not into that right now," he quipped, holding up the rectal thermometer with a smirk before tossing it aside to grab the oral one, "Alrighty, Stolas, open wide, and I do mean your beak."

Stolas couldn't help but laugh a little, "Ever the charmer," he said, taking the thermometer and popping it into his beak, lisping with his mouth full "You find thish truly necesshary, Blitsh?"

While they waited for the thermometer to beep, Blitzø took extra note of the dark circles under all four eyes "You're definitely comin' down with somethin'," he said, his voice laced with a hint of worry. "Immune system must be shot to shit with everything that's happened."

The triple beep pierced the quiet, and Stolas held up the thermometer, 108.3." I suppose...that's not a good sign."

"Nope," he said, his voice tight, "It's a sign your feathered ass is gonna stay on the couch today."

This earned Blitzø a dramatic, uncharacteristic groan, like a teenager almost. Stolas face planted into the pillow on the couch and croaked out:

"Fuck."  

And it'd been making the imp smile a little every time. Not that he was enjoying Stolas' misery. Not at all. He'd just found he got a cute little kick out of…well, watching the former prince adapt from sudden loss of privilege. He was gradually letting his walls down, and would be informal, sometimes blissfully crass, completely abandoning the posh.

Stolas had never felt so weak before. Not like this. Even in the rare moments he'd fallen ill at the palace. Is this truly what the common cold with a low grade fever felt like to every other lower-station creature? But he supposed the stress and missing his medication for a bit would make everything worse.

"I am so sorry." The wall came back up.

Blitzø's eyes snapped to a rigid Stolas, his smile dropping at the apology. "Stolas?...What the fuck for?"

"For...everything, burdening you with this, I don't want to be a hindrance or worrisome to you, I'm making things especially difficult and I apologize." Stolas mumbled and gave the imp a funny feeling in his chest.

"Hey! Don't you go spoutin' nonsense on me. I mean...Sure, I know things are hard now," Blitzø stated firmly.

"B-but YOU, YOU are NOT difficult, Stolas, and you're not a burden, you're one of us and we take care of our own in this household, ain't that right Loonie?" Loona made a short affirmative noise in the kitchen, bringing with her, her plate of bacon and another full of…frankly phallic looking pastries, but otherwise sugary and delectable. And Stolas was…famished. The hell-hound put it on the coffee table in front of the pair.

"Uh...the ones with Sprinkles always make me feel better or whatever." Blitzø looked touched as he recognized his usually withdrawn daughter was trying to be warm.

"Huh…Um, thank you, Loona." Stolas murmured, his four eyes lighting up slightly.

"Thank you, Sweetie...Could ya do one more thing for your Dad and call M&M?...while I take care of this one?...Just tell 'em I'm takin' the day. I know we've been busy, but Mox can handle the paperwork."

Loona nodded and disappeared into her bedroom with her phone and her breakfast. Stolas' feathers fluffed in protest at the thought of Blitzø missing out on valuable clients…for him? Absolutely not. Preposterous.

"Oh! Wait, no! It's quite alright. You don't have to do that," Stolas babbled, trying to push himself upright with a grimace. "I'm really not worth upheaving an entire day, don't be ridiculous, truly I can manage, really, I ju-....I- Ah fucki-...Nght'tchiew!...Oh Lucife-...EEHk'hoo!…IIIdht'hoo!...HIH'Itsh'tchiew!"

The protest ended with another long fit of hooty sneezes that got harsher as they came out. The imp rubbed the Goetia's back as he was a little incapacitated at the moment.

"Stolas Liste-...Uh, Bless you...Listen, I just want to take care a ya, s'that shit hard to believe?" Blitzø started with a gentle rub on Stolas' shoulder.

Stolas paused with a telling look, until another sneeze bent him in half. "Ehh'Krrt'chiew!"

Blitzø spoke gently as Stolas continued to sneeze, unlike his usual punchy tamber, "That's...That's fair, Bless you, Look, it's no trouble, you're obviously not fine...Jesus, Bless you!...Um- Bless you. You're kinda just proving my point here. So, I recommend no more bullshittin', and just...Bless you- taking it easy. Just lay back, relax…"

"Heh…Dhhh…EHD'RRTCH'schiew!- Lords!" 

"Christ on a stick, Bless you! That was a big one! 

"-Jtsh'hiew!...Ekk'krrtch'hoo!"

"Oh my Sat- Would ya just-... lemme finish?"

He looked up at Stolas who stood adorably shaking like a cartoon character, wide-eyed with a finger under his beak to curb the bursts.

"Ack, Sorry...I'm no doctor, but you've got a cold. I'm sure we got some decongestant round here somewhere, we'll just have ya chug that and lay about awhile and watch shitty TV...Sound doable?"

Stolas nodded weakly and looked over to a tissue box on the end table that the imp hastily grabbed and held up, "Oop- Yeah, here, blow your beak...You are soundin' real stuffy."

After a few more sniffles, Stolas managed to clear his throat and sit up, seemingly trying to regain composure, his feathers ruffled. "No shit, Ack-...Sorry, thank you..." he corrected himself.

"No problem, you're sick, you're allowed to bitch a little." Blitzø quipped, he didn't seem to mind and stood up and walked over to the kitchen counter. He grabbed a mug and started filling it with water, "How's about some tea?"

"Do you...have tea?"

Blitzø rolled his eyes, "Well, nothin' fancy...I'm sure Loona won't mind if we have some of her Chai, sharing is caring and all that jazz."

Stolas nodded, blushing at the gesture. "Hm, Lovely."

Blitzø gave a nod, "Dig in, don't hold back on my account...those CreamPie doodles are the shit! Save a couple for me, 'kay?"

He smiled as he set a beat up kettle on the stove and fiddled with a box of teabags. Stolas, eyes suddenly curious and childlike at the Toaster Doodles, took a hesitant bite of flaky sugar-kissed goodness and found they were… heavenly.

"Mmm!"

Loona emerged from her room and pawed a pastry from the plate, her phone in her other paw to her ear, "...Well, he says to just deal with it and-...Okay, okay! Jesus! Bitch, I got it!...Uh, sorry, yeah...Yeah, that'd be nice actually, thanks...I'll tell 'em, yeah…Alright, thanks, I'll be there soon."

She hung up and announced, "Moxxie says he'll swing by with soup later, says they'll take care of the next client...It should be an easy hit, but Millie sounded…kinda tired?...So I said I'd go with 'em as back up on this one...that okay?"

Blitzø nodded as he put the kettle on, "Initiative is always okay in my book, Baby! I owe ya one...just be safe? An' tell Moxxie, I'll beat his ass if he skips the paperwork? Take your knives. Ya got the crystal?"

Loona rolled her eyes, "Yeah yeah, Dad, I got it…Might go out later, I'll text ya." She bit into the pastry in her paw, wincing at the sound of Stolas' coughing on his own from the living room. She swallowed and whispered, "Take care of him, okay?"

"We'll be fine...love you." Blitzø promised, scampering up her shoulder to plant a kiss on her forehead before she could protest and jumping down before she dashed out the door.

Stolas was wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, noticing that his vision was blurred. He hadn't even realized he'd started crying...again. It'd been happening off and on, sporadically without much control. The possibility that Octavia would never want to see him again. He wished to kiss Via's forehead again, share tea and pastries with her, tell her to have a good day on a mundane morning. His brave Starfire.

"Heeere ya go," Blitzø said, handing over a steaming mug of tea and sat down next to Stolas with his own.

Stolas took the mug with a nod, he took a tentative sip, letting the warm liquid soothe his throat. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice quiet.

Blitzø's expression softened and he seemed to notice the depressed bird needed a distraction, his eyes flicking to the TV. "Alright, let's get to the good shit," He suggested, picking up the remote and flipping through the channels. "Ah, new season of Hell-A-Novela just came out...or we could watch-"

Still teary, the owl took another depressed bite of a third Toaster Doodle to medicate the pain with sugar, as he sighed with a watery smile,  "I don't find I really care right now what we-" He swallowed,

"...Y-You watch Hell-A-Novela?" Seems you learned new things everyday, that could be added on the list under the imp's horse obsession.

Blitzø shrugged, and Stolas' eyes widened in surprise, "How could I not, the main character is an Alejandro, he doesn't deserve that fake bitch Gabriella though...I'm hopin' she has a twin sister or one of them gets amnesia, so they can quit this will-they/won't-they shtick." Flipping through the streaming platforms and titles, Ka-tHulu, Voxflix, Azathoth Prime, LooLoo+.

"...On the contrary, I found her flawed character arc refreshing, and very...relatable...I liked her."

Blitzø turned to look at Stolas, knowing he'd started to win him over, with a Rainbow sprinkled doodle in his mouth, he rolled his eyes and countered, "Really? Stols c'mon...she fuckin' threw herself at him, after 2 seasons, they still aren't together?"

Stolas hesitated, "Well...perhaps it is a slow burn...annoying at times, but that is the point, yes? The pathos and stakes, keeps one watching." He rubbed his eyes, sipped his tea and finished a lemony pastry.

Blitzø chuckled, and waved Stolas off, "Eh, I wouldn't go that far for this shit. Sometimes, I just want to see a fuckin' steamy ass scene, just you know, to keep me...inspired."

"I rather think you're very... inspired...sometimes."

Stolas managed a tiny, cheeky smirk, taking another sip of his tea. Blitzø was next to him, scrolling through the channels with a knowing smile and a shake of his head. The bird-brain still managed to stroke his ego and still had a sense of humor about him in this sorry state.

"Okay…C'mere, you! Pick somethin'!" The imp surprised Stolas by opening his arm and beckoning for him to scoot closer to come cuddle, still looking at the TV.

Both of them stiffened for a moment, Stolas was unsure if he'd misread the signal and when Blitzø saw how nervous the owl looked, the feeling was contagious. Tentatively, Stolas shuffled closer. They'd both been far more intimate than this before. What was the problem? He let out a small, awkward chirp as he leaned into Blitzø's side, and found himself nuzzling his beak into the crook of the imp's neck just under his horns. He pulled away to glance up, letting out a nervous laugh that unfortunately was sounding quite congested. And looking up, he found Blitzø was blushing as well, quite fiercely.

"Was that...I am sorry, is it quite alright if I-"

"-Uh, I'm fine if you're fine. Shit's fine, we're both f-fine." Blitzø pacified, but sounded a little uncertain himself, cutting off Stolas' words. He took the mug of tea out of Stolas' hand, placing it safely on the coaster, before he gently wrapped his arms around the Owl and raked his claws across his back. Stolas felt like he was going to burn up any moment, mostly from the raging blush in his cheeks, nevermind the fever. The imp's tail snaked around his frame and pulled him in closer, nestling Stolas' head against his chest.

"Just uh…lemme take care of ya." He whispered, pressing a kiss on top of Stolas' head.

"Thank you, darling" he melted out, the warmth of the blanket and Blitzø's embrace helping him to relax slightly. Blitzø reached up and pulled down the horse-shoe throw blanket to cover the Bird's lanky frame. It didn't quite cover his legs, but Stolas didn't care.

Just as he was getting comfortable, his beak twitched. "Oh no...F-forgive me-" He tensed, trying to hold it in, but it was a losing battle. He buried his face near the Imp's neck, his sneezes stifled.

"Nght-krtchht! Nght'ktchht'chieew!...Ugh, Pardon mbe," Stolas pulled away, beak now thoroughly congested.

"You're fine," Blitzø said, smiling warmly and rubbing his back. "Never thought I'd serve as the royal snotrag, kind of a downgrade to be honest." he joked, his eyes glinting with affection.

Stolas' eyes widened as another sneeze built up. His neck fluffed and looked like he was about to apologize again, but could only squawk. Blitzø just chuckled and held him closer. "Jesus Stols, I'm kidding...don't worry 'bout it," he cooed. "Oop- got a few more in there, don't'cha?...Just let 'em out."

"HEHDH'ECK'hooo!..."

And so Stolas did, a much louder sneeze muffled into his fist behind Blitzø's shoulder, his body shaking. The imp didn't even flinch, just held him tighter and rubbed his back in comforting circles. "Yeesh, Bless you!...Big sneeze!" he soothed again.

Stolas nodded and felt his face heat up even more as he pulled away, his eyes watering. He sniffled and reached for the tissue box on the coffee table.

"I'b so sohhrry, I did't...mbean to...to!-EDH'ECK'Hiieew...EH'rrst'chiew!..Ehh....Oh mby..." Stolas' beak was now buried in a tissue, honking out a miserable blow.

"There ya go...Ya still alive?"

Blitzø's voice was a comforting hum. He nodded and melted back into the groove of Blitzø's neck, feeling utterly pathetic and exhausted. Any preconceived notions about being too forward or keeping distance were out the window.

"Unfortunately."

"Hell-A-Novela?"

"Mm." A tiny affirmative noise was all he got.

"Tch, okay, I gotcha…" Blitzø assured him, his arms tightening around Stolas' shoulders, wanting to keep him close and warm.

The TV played on in the background for a while, the sound of dramatic soap opera dialogue and occasional moans of passion piercing through the quiet of the apartment. He'd periodically look down to check in and from what Blitzø could see, Stolas had relaxed, his top two eyes drooping. The sound of the imp's pounding heart beat against his cheek and lulled the owl like a metronome. Soon, the weight against his chest went slack and Blitzø knew he was out. 

Shit. It would take a lot of time and patience to heal and grow from these changes. He'd never in his wildest fantasies imagined a Prince of the Ars Goetia would give up everything for a lowly imp in the name of love. He hadn't wished for Stolas to lose so much. He knew it was selfish, but Blitzø was grateful for the changes. Things were far from perfect. They could find solace in this shit situation…together. He would be there through the pain as long as Stolas would let him. He wished he could take away Stolas' pain in an instant. The best he could do was rock the man back and forth in his arms and hope it would aid in some way. The imp remembered a time when Tilla had held both Barbie and Blitzø to her chest even as they got older and rocked them to sleep. It seemed to have helped in some way, as he heard soft hoots. He kissed his forehead before turning down the volume on the TV. 

A few hours of scrolling and Hell-A-Novela episodes later, Moxxie came knocking with a thermos of soup, his eyes immediately going to the sleeping form on the couch and then back to Blitzø, raising a brow. "Hey, relax! I'M behaving...The poor guy is sick."

Moxxie, raised a hand in defense, and hesitated. "I didn't say anything!...I was just thinking, maybe something's going around, Sir! I mean, sure the job went off without a hitch, started working with a few of the interns today, and Millie sends her love, she wanted to come by too, but uh…she didn't seem to be feeling well today either. Hasn't been feeling herself all week actually, s'why I…made the soup…"

" D'Aww, what a trooper…knowin' Mill's, she and Loona probably did most of the work."

Moxie got a dreamy look in his eyes, "That's my girl, strong and diligent an-... Hey!"

"Shhh, yeah yeah, dipshit, I know, you're the best shot...but only because the girls're using knives!" Moxxie rolled his eyes fondly as the insult had no real bite.

Blitzø smiled and asked about the client, the local and how the hit carried out. Business had been booming. Feeling bad that Millie had had to power through, he'd have them take a few days off while he and Loona would return to the office and handle more with the new interns they'd decided to take on.

They bantered a little about Moxxie begrudgingly tackling the paperwork for the day. They'd set up Stolas answering the phone and handling the filing and it seemed it would be very efficient and a good outlet when he actively plugged himself in. This recent development, however, would be a minor setback.

Hearing the chatter, Stolas' eyes fluttered open, the room still spinning a bit. He coughed, signalling he was awake and Blitzø's heart sank. Both imps looked down at the sad sight.

"Sorry, Stolas...Shit. Just go back to sleep."

"Crumbs, I am so sorry, your highness, we didn't mean to wake you..." Moxie gave a nervous little wave.

"Oh nonsense, don't trouble yourself at all...I-I'm perfehh-Ed'dhkk'hieew!...Ehhd'rtch'hoo!...Ihht'rtch'hoo!....Ihhkk'tchiew!...Hih..hih-...HEH'rrrtch'chieew!...Eh-Excuse mbe...Oww." Stolas painfully finished, rubbing at bridge of his beak.

"Oh, Bless you!" Moxxie piped up.

"Jesus, Stols, take it easy." It was a sympathetic coo, not a scolding.

"...I'mb okay." Stolas sniffled back thickly and waved him off. He nuzzled back into the burrito of blankets, his blushing beak covered. Blitzø smiled at the four cute tired eyes peaking out.

"Look what our pal Moxxie brought ya!" Blitzø jiggled the steaming thermos in his hand.

"Old family recipe, your highness! Fra Diovolo Pastina! Very hearty and chock full of vitamins and minerals!" Moxxie smiled proudly, but held up an advisory finger, "But, just a warning, it's got a little kick to it, your sinuses will thank you later!"

All Stolas' red glowing eyes stared slowly at the rambly imp and dumbly blinked one at a time from behind the blanket. He hooted out a little sound...and didn't seem to respond beyond...that.

"Uh, S-Stolas?"

"-Oh yes, Splendid...thadk you, Pringles."

Moxxie grimaced, "...What?"

Blitzø cursed and whispered to Moxxie that the fever was probably getting worse. The other imp left with a "Get well soon, your Highness!" Getting Moxx to address him as anything less formal was probably futile. He thanked him for the soup and told him to get home to the Mrs, sending his love, hugs and get well messages to Millie.  

"B-Beta Orionis, P-Pleiades, Castor, Pollux...I-I can't see any of them." 

"Hm?...Whatcha say?...Oh shit, Stolas?!" Blitzø turned back around from the front door to the couch. A blanketed figure now kneeled at the glass balcony door, looking up. Blitzø did his best to approach slowly so as to not spook Stolas who now seemed to be slumped in a kneeling heap, in a panicky feverish trance. He looked up to see all four of Stolas' bright red eyes were wide with tears and aimed toward the sky, hand on the cold glass door.

"Shit...Hey, Pretty Bird, what's goin' on?" Blitzø felt Stolas' cheek. He was burning with fever.

"So c-cold an'…dark and quiet, m'so lost…I can't s-see them anymore, the stars." Stolas slurred and trembled, and looked to Blitzø for answers, "So alone, and SHE-...she's so alone. I-I can't see…I can't see…her. Why can't I see her?..." 

Blitzø sighed sadly, and through his love, words started to come. He wasn't sure they were the right words, but he had to try, "Goddammit…Y-you will, Stolas…Fuck, I can't promise when. I wish I could. This kinda thing hurts like a bitch. S'real shitty, but you're not alone. You keep tryin' and lovin' her no matter what shit happens and overtime…well, she's gonna grow, and someday, she'll realize the shit she's lost, how much good she's lost, losin' you…For now? Octavia is right here…and here." A claw tapped at Stolas' forehead, and rested at Stolas' feathery chest. Via was in his thoughts and in his heart. 

The assassin did his best not to panic as he wasn't sure Stolas could even comprehend anything he'd just said. He put a hand on Stolas' leg to stroke up and down. Stolas moaned and coughed roughly, a croupy raspy sound in his chest.

"Hey…yeah, you're really not okay…" Blitzø said gently as he helped Stolas crawl back over to the couch, placing a pillow behind him. He took a tissue and rubbed away the tears under each eye. 

"...But, you will be okay." At that comment, he swore could see a flicker in the owl's eyes… then the man squawked. The fever had definitely risen at least 3 degrees.

Blitzø grabbed the spoon and thermos, "Now, let's get some of this hot goodness down ya."

Stolas took a cautious sip, the spicy warmth spreading through his beak and down his throat. "There ya go, bird-brain," he encouraged, holding the spoon filled with steaming soup to the owl's beak. Stolas pushed the spoon away.

"Hehht'itchht!...Krrt'chiew!...Ah! Mms- S'wonderful, darling." He slurred and nodded, giving the imp an affirmative look to continue.

Blitzø's heart felt tight, he hadn't heard that nickname in a long while, maybe he was doing something right for once, "Alrighty, then."

Soon after the soup came the after effects of the cayenne, the runny beak and more sneezes. But after he'd blown out a majority of the congestion, Stolas could breathe a little better. After searching in the bathroom, Blitzø had found the bottle of berry flavored Belpha-GOO decongestant and some additional extra strength fever reducer. The problem was that it was a fever reducer…for imps. Welp, Shit. 

Given that his patient had a much taller 9 foot stature and the fact that this was made for much smaller creatures, he could only guess how much to give to Stolas. If Stolas was nearly triple his height, and Blitzø usually only had to take 1 pill, would 3 pills be enough, or too much? And the guy took antidepressants…FUCK. Was it even safe for him to take this? That was a whole other pile of shit. The math was not math-ing. Blitzø stopped agonizing and figured Stolas probably wouldn't die if he took 3 and a cap of the decongestant. He'd possibly just be a little loopy. He was already loopy. 

"Eh, fuck you for being tall, y'big lug." Blitzø rubbed Stolas' shoulder affectionately.

Soon worn-out, they'd both fallen asleep, missing as Gabriella and Alejandro finally embraced with a ridiculously slobbery french kiss onscreen. It didn't matter, the imp and the owl were in a slumbering embrace of their own. And, Loona, when she arrived home later that night, would never admit that she smiled as she'd found the both of them cuddled together underneath the blankets.

Loona glanced at the vandalized memories on the wall that Blitzø had long since scribbled over in self-hatred. And she thought of the picture of IMP's first mission that she'd kept hidden in her bedroom. With that, she took out her phone, and snapped a photo of the snoring couple under the blue TV light. A happy memory. 

She turned off the TV and walked around to the back of the couch to head toward her bedroom. It'd been a long day, but she hesitated. She'd never been good at attachment or affection, but a lot of things seemed to be changing. So she took a deep breath, turned around and briefly nuzzled against Blitzø's horns as he snored and kissed her dad's forehead. She turned once again to go to bed, but she found herself stopping once more, turning around and planting another kiss. This time on Stolas' forehead. 

"...Thank you, Loona." She heard as she finally turned and pawed at the doorknob of her room. She saw four red eyes blinking sleepily at her in the dark.

"For what? You didn't see dick, just go to sleep." Loona heard Stolas' croaky chuckles in response as she opened the door to her bedroom.

"Uh...Thank you."

"...For what, dear one?"

The hell-hound tried to think of the best way to express her thanks. There weren't enough words to say how fucking grateful she was. He'd given up so much for them, saved her Dad's life and made him happier than she'd seen in a long time. She opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a hooty snore. She smiled as she glanced at the couple through the door, before she headed to bed.

"Nah…I think you already know."

[elrondapologist]

RoP Episode 7 spoilers

Messy thoughts about what the-, and musing on theories

SO THAT WAS THE KISS. I need to admit I was disgusted more than a little looking at it xD. But Galadriel's face in the end kind of made up for that. But fr, Elrond. You had no other idea to give her lockpick unaware than to _kiss_ your future mother in law??? (Who is also apparently married, just with no husband in sight???) Can't deny it worked, but...

And... Did Arondir just... died? Like that? I was so hyped after the last scene that I kind of brushed aside in my mind and now I am like hum??? Did he? He can't just be forgotten like that, I love him :C. But many good scenes this episode. I highly enjoyed the siege, as it was both kind of nice to look at - you know, as far as killing everything in sight can be nice to look at - but also had this weight to it, the danger. I liked that we can see Elrond get more and more tired as the fight progresses. I expected problems with dwarves, and yeah, I got it... Although I am not sure how it happened that as Narvi said one dwarf, even with an axe and being a king, decimated an army?????? What? But like honestly generally what is happening there with the dwarves and Disa xD I sincerely hope no one touches her tho or I am going to riot! I liked the progression of Celebrimbor's plot. I was afraid that realising Sauron's deception will be end of his agency, that they will make him passive, but I love that he has his last stand. I soooooooooo winced at the whole finger situation cause what the actual-. I was at the same time like yes (fight him!) and no (aua). I also loved and despaired at the scene with Galadriel - it was the best possible option, Celebrimbor was giving all he had, and he was going into torture and anguish knowingly, willingly and head held high despite the fear. I didn't even know I needed Celebrimbor like that until I saw him. And the thing with Mirdania? I think her death, for that is kinda undeniable I am afraid, proved without a doubt she was not Celebrian - which is kind of a pity, I must admit. There was something there that could develop nicely, as well as it is the case with Adar = Maglor, which I also think is highly unlikely now, as Elrond did not acknowledge the possible connection in any way. But if I am mistaken, please let me now! Also, I applaud Elrond for not giving the ring for Galadriel's life. Despite the whole weird kissing scene xDDD. I liked to see him take his commander role seriously and as an orc said - holding his own better than expected (or sth according the lines xD). It is a win for nerds, I think. Lord Elrond "according to the lore" Peredhel. Leading a siege. Feel old yet? Anyway, the dwarves will come (when Durin finally usurps the throne, I am afraid) and Celebrimbor and Elrond will be totally fine because I am delusional :).

P.S Also, Gil Galad in an armour. In an armour. P.P.S There this whole slow motion scene in one place that has in a foreground just an elf running away from an orc. Slay, bro. I laughed, tho, not gonna lie. P.P.P.S The last stand of Gil Galad and Elrond's army was suprisingly... Not to use the word... There were really like ten elves left? From the whole army? I know they said orcs unnumbered them, but that took me by surprise. P.P.P.P.S I was happy that Gil Galad's armour was not very visibly that much different from the rest of the elves - you know, like some shows have this whole ass target point basically by giving the commanders extremely weird and visible armours. Shoot here. I like Gil Galad here, even if Elrond kind of outshined him xD.

[ayuki-ikuya]

I come bringing ideas and headcanons.

OK, so we all already know what The Three oldest archons abilities. So I’ve come up with my own ideas we could use for the younger archons! (And yes I’m grouping Ei, Venti and Zhongli as the older siblings since Ei Is 1000 years old Venti is 2,500 and Zhongli is 5,000-6,000 and the other archons are still in the hundreds I think)

Again these aren’t canon just stuff you can use for future Requests for Twisted wonderland x Teyvat God! Reader

For Dendro archon!Reader

Definitely a Bow User. And Is a Healer. But the their Ult can cause damage

I have a theory That during the Archon War The dendro Archin created the Regisvines to fight for them, and only two were left. I also Headcanon The dendro archon can bring plants to life and overwrite what each plant can do. (Maybe even bring mushrooms to life 👀).

Maybe They can create a giant plant from the ground that spreads Healing energies and since this is a god where talking about can Cure Curses (Ahem Vils Curses Ahem) and major Diseases and what not.

For Their Ult maybe a giant plant monster (kinda like how Gouba and Oz exists ) that will attack for them (could make for fun combos with different elements like if the dendro archon was wet Hydro Plant monster)

For Hydro archon!reader

Polearm or sword (theirs way too many Hydro Catalyst) Healer and Dps, Why? Cause I say so.

You’ve mentioned how Hydro archon summons a giant wave? I’ll do you one better and their E skill summons a giant sea creature of your choosing to soak the fighters (A cool visual is their polearm turning into a big dream catcher then going swoosh and Baam Maybe like A giant Water Koi fish finna drown your ass *ahem ace ahem*)

Now mihoyo likes to reference Their character form honkai impact into genshin impact (and since they took a characters look from Honkai and another characters abilities with the whole Dual ego thing for Raiden shogun and Ei) I’m gonna base this Ultimate Skill From a character from Honkai (for research search up Herrsercher of Sentience)

Since the Hydro archons whole thing is about Justice. Now here me out here. WATER WHIP. Just a giant whip of water that can go on for miles (maybe it’s salty maybe it’s like fresh water depends on our readers mood lolol). Like, It’s whip of water strong enough to cut diamond or whatever it would be very cool (Kalim would wanna see if he could do something like that with his UM Que jamil trying to stop him)

Maybe their hair turns into water too.

Pyro archon! Reader

Claymore. A Big strong war god needs a big strong weapon. Dps and Defense.

Now It’s not just one claymore, It’s DUAL-CLAYMORE, why? Cause it’s a war god that’s why!

I like to think the shield is like Xinyans and XiangLings combined and it’s constantly sending off tiny Fire Discs. Or just symbols shooting fire like what the Pyro Abyss mages can do

For Ultimate I like to think it’s like Childes Daggers but Bigger and on fire just a huge sword made of fire.

The pyro archon doesn’t think just BURNS. and STABE

Cryo archon! Reader

I can’t really come up with much for Cryo archon. But maybe a Catalyst that can summon a giant blizzard that drops down giant ice swords (kinda like Ganyus)

Definitely a sub DPS.

Maybe a healer too since The Tsaritsa is The archon of love?

What do you think about these abilities? Since you mentioned that the students and staff would assume their just strong mages I tried to be very creative with these abilities.

Also how I think the lore could go is maybe somewhere after leonas overblot and before azuls, Crowly has found a way to send Yuu home reluctantly. Yuu, grim and the aduece duo, and maybe some of heartslaybul or savana claw whoever you want come with them to the office to send them home. But Yuu is contemplating whether or not they WANT to go home now. But something goes wrong, maybe grim messes up the spell for the portal to work becuase (although he doesn’t want to admit it ) doesn’t want Yuu leaving, and their greeted with a surprise guest. Now this gives Yuu time to decide if they genuinely wanna go home and when teh archon finally has the materials they need to create a portal Yuu will tell them to leave the portal open (maybe put it into a tiny pocket mirror like the how we have the teapot) because they wanna stay for a little while or just until grim graduates (Que a happy fire cat ) and the archon whose grown attached to some people here was like ok “let our friends visit whenever they want, only if their headmaster allows it”

Now onto the headcanons

Anemo Archon! Reader and Mondstadt! Yuu

Everyone expected a lot of things not a person with Green eyes and (H/C) hair with green highlights. And an odd thing about them was the glowing stone on their person, Yuu didn’t have that?

Everyone’s freaking out because they’ve accidentaly taken another person from Yuus world.

And since Venti Is a well known famous bard In teyvat let’s say or Dear (y/N) is also a known bard and is not at all freaking out about what’s going on in fact let’s say our dear reader recognizes Yuu! And so now (Y/N) is now a new student (and a new headache for Crowley) in the ramshackle dorm! Yup! Just an ordinary human bard, Ehe~.

I’ll leave the rest of this up to you, Where Yuu has to explain what the world of teyvat is like (and why Yuu doesn’t have a phone (and a vision) because Twisted wonderland is far more advance in Technology and teyvat has JUST invented the Camera)

Also I head canon that people with Visions can summon their weapons and object with their visions, ok? Ok. To make things make more sense when reader pulls out a lyre from floating glitter.

Geo archon!reader and Liyue! Yuu

Same things happend here, but hey! We’ve summoned a Funeral Consultant! A very (ahemATTRACTIVEahem) Wise funeral consultant at best!

Our dear Friend (y/n) is very calm about the situation as well. After all everyone and liyue knows their god was killed and The Adepti are watching over them

So Our dear reader is seeing this as a free vacation 😊

Electro Archon!Reader and Inazuma!yuu

Since the god of Inazuma isn’t “Dead” or hasn’t left and the people know what their beloved archon looks like, Yuu will definitely Be Freaking the fuck out

“YOU DIDNT BRING ME HOME YOU JUST SUMMONED MY PEOPLES FUCKING GOD OH SHIT”

insert the meme of the womens face that gets zoomed in on the second panel “the. WHAT.” 😃

And y’know how Eis “Hello” voice line where she makes the traveler her guard she says the same thing to Yuu except ��I recognize you are one of my people as your archon I shall be your guard and keep you safe from any danger in this Foreign world” and let’s say The puppet will not be used and Reader will be in control becuase they don’t have to worry about erosion right now so the puppet will be resting while (Y/N) is in control protecting their Precious Inazuma citizen is ok.

Well until They can get the materials they need to open a portal. I’ll let you figure out the rest, but congrats ramshackle you now have a god in your abode 😃✨

-Plot Anon 💗

PLOT ANON-SAMAAAAAAAAAA ILY!!!!!!!!! Thank you for your hard work sob

Anyways, for skills of the archons-

Dendro Archon

I think they'd use a sword or a catalyst tbh, if the skills you listed, it makes a little more sense to have them be more of a catalyst

For their elemental skill, I think they'd summon/throw something similar to Klee's and Aloy's elemental skill except they heal if someone in your party is nearby, their healing could scale by their EM or ER.

For their burst, I like your head canon for the Dendro Archon, so I might go off from that and your idea for their burst, just more tweaking. The dendro archon would be able to summon a large plant that heals AND deals Dendro damage by sapping mobs hp. The amount of life sapping it does and the healing would scale off their original HP (artifacts that give hp won't be of use)

Hydro Archon

I agree with hydro polearm or sword. Too many catalysts

Mmm... To be honest, I think you should have the burst be her skill... The whip idea is intriguing, but I think it would work more for a skill which can allow them to use it several times before waiting for the CD to go down. I think the whip skill would work better with Crit as well.

AND AS FOR THE MENTIONS OF WAVE AND A SEA CREATURE, I'LL DO YOU ONE BETTER BUT FOR THEIR BURST!!!! They summon a large tsunami which takes form of a monster/animal and lunges at the mobs (similar to Zhongli tossing down a dumbbell), however the amount of damage the burst can do is depending on if they are afflicted by the wet status the mobs are afflicted by. If already afflicted with hydro, the mobs would receive double damage while those with other elements afflicted on them would receive the element combination DMG and normal DMG while those that aren't affected by an element, they would receive normal damage. The amount of damage the burst does is scaled by EM.

Pyro Archon

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA CLAYMORE

Hmmm.... I think the skill would be they set an AoE with magma, mobs will receive damage from it and will continue to receive damage if they stay on it, but those who are in party, they will receive an ATK boost that scales from HP.

For the burst, I think I'll use a character from Honkai Impact with their special move which is Murata Himeko in Vermilion Knight: Eclipse battlesuit. Pyro Archon uses their claymore and another claymore but made of pyro and is far more larger and their cut scene has the Archon raise the pyro claymore above their head and slam it down to send pyro erupting from the ground (similar to the pyro axe wielding hilichurls)

Cryo Archon

I agree with catalyst

Mmmmmm.... I'd say her skill would beeeeee... Trapping several mobs or so in ice. They can either do 2-4 ice traps depending if you got their c1. (The ice traps are similar to Mirror Maidens traps BTW but it deals or affects the mobs with cryo)

For burst, I like the idea of summoning a blizzard/swords, but it's similar to Ganyu's. SO I'LL DO YOU ONE BETTER!!!! Cryo Archon will summon a blizzard which freezes mobs without having to use hydro, the freeze status lasts for a total of 15 seconds or higher if you got their c3

Hmmm... I like the idea, but imma tweak it a bit. The archon was in fact summoned through that portal because Grim decided to mess it up just for Yuu to stay a little longer, and so the Archon now resides in Twisted Wonderland as well in order to aide them until they can return back to their world. That way it makes more sense and makes it more fun.

Anemo archon

Yuu would be a bit jealous about them because they got a vision.

Crowley needs to hide his money

Sam has been strictly told to not give them wine that Sam stores in his shop...

Vargus is conflicted about them because they legit float without magic

Trein recurved a major headache

Divus is praying to whatever god existing to take them back

Ehe

EHE TE NANDAYO!?

Geo Archon

Yuu feels awkward meeting the consultant of the funeral parlor having to meet the Director...

Crowley is praying for dear god for them to go away.

"STOP TAKING MY MONEY YOU GORGEOUS FIEND" - Crowley

Train + Crewel + You = Besties

Sam was literally threatened to not joke around with you with business.

You legit did not fuck around with people when in contracts.

"Osmanthus wi-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP" - everyone

Electro Archon

Yuu is literally terrified in "your" presence.

Shogun malfunctioned due to being in an entirely new world so you had to disable Shogun's rules and create new ones regarding this world.

Yuu is still unaware of Shogun being a puppet

Crowley is no longer safe.

The staff (specifically Crewel) is supporting Shogun/You to beat Crowley's ass into shape.

Only the Diasomnia dorm knows your predicament with you and your puppet(s).

You are the definition of Queen/King/Royalty of the school. If you search up NRC, your picture literally plastered on it as the definition.

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker, #135

Each week I think “man it would have been cool if I had thought of this idea, in which I make jokes about how stressed out the wizard NPCs are, during, you know, the Vergesson heist or something when we were interacting with more than one wizard NPC instead of during a dungeon crawl with only one wizard NPC, emphasis on crawl” but you know what, I persevere, because where else am I going to put song parodies about the death of Vess Derogna that are literally only funny to me? Twitter?

Anyway while I am personally team Jester, in that the faster Lucien is simultaneously disintegrated, run through in the chest with both a vestige and a holy avenger, shot through the heart (and Veth’s to blame), beheaded with a hand axe, banished, punched in the face, and sent into a black hole the better, the party has other plans. Thanks to the long rest though it has been about 12 hours, plus the 4-ish from last week, so I guess we’ll check in with a few of our other wizard friends as well.

As a reminder Caleb Widogast is a PC and thus excluded from this list.

Currently sidelined

Presumably having a good day: Pumat Sol (blissfully unaware of all of this); Allura Vyesoren (saint-like patience and a wealth of experience with disaster adventuring parties; at least this one has a cleric at more than 0.33 FTE, a wizard, and some lesbians), Ludinus Da’leth (this miserable pile of power plays wakes up every morning and is like Isn’t it Grand to be head of the evil wizard council and no one realizes I probably destroyed the first non-drow elven civilization on the continent to arise after the calamity! Fetch me more pastries!).

No idea but here’s hoping he found the cat portion of ScryTube: Oremid Hass

Lady DeRogna, taken off the scene, sorry that your murder happened while off-screen.

Trent Ikithon: I’ve established that I think the only real things that can damage Trent emotionally are Caleb paying too much attention to him so as to destroy his standing within the empire, or else Caleb ignoring him. Honestly if Trent would not continue to torture students and spread propaganda if left unchecked I think he could be slowly murdered solely through Caleb expressing apathy. So despite the amulets of nondetection I like to imagine that somehow, somewhere, Trent felt Caleb reaffirm to Essek that his top priority is still stopping the city from returning, not Trent, and it necrotized just a little bit more of his liver.

Conclusion: 7/10. I went to the OG evil mageocracy and no one knew who you were.

Essek Thelyss: Well on the one hand he’s still flirting but on the other imagine spending a literal century being like “what if we’re wrong about how we approach the fundamental basis for our society” and he just got proved right. I have to imagine he’s got that kind of stress where suddenly everything becomes dead calm and also this explains why he unnecessarily cast a 3rd level spell, which he knows could in theory cause him to lose all his hair, to impress a boy. I didn’t even get into the conversations he had with Caleb, the bad dreams and eyeballs, Fjord teasing him, Yasha being like “ALRIGHT ALREADY”, the horrible Aeorian creatures, the fact that robots might be back(?) or his ongoing terror that the Assembly is after him!

Conclusion: 8/10 but he’s like, kind of having a good time. Essek is in all ways but physical in a Hawaiian shirt right now drinking a Mai Tai and going Nothing Matters; I presume he will have a full breakdown following the boss battle and honestly he deserves it.

Astrid Beck: Others have already established the parallels between Essek and Astrid but honestly I want to highlight it because really, on the one hand we have Essek, whose world is crashing around him because he was right all along and is in terrible immediate danger but surrounded by friends, and on the other we have Astrid, whose world is crashing around her because she was wrong all along and she’s probably not in immediate danger but Eadwulf is the only person she can trust and we don’t know all the details about that either.

Conclusion: 8/10 but in the bad way, not Essek’s kind of fun way.

Wulfpupy:

Conclusion: 3/10. You know that tiktok with the blonde woman with glasses who has a lot of highlighter on her nose who talks about how sometimes if you have guy friends they will say something deeply fucked up and you’ll be like “oh my god do we unpack this right now” and then you look over at them and the only thing in their mind are the lyrics to Kokomo? That’s Wulf. He will activate the second Caleb comes back in town or Astrid actually falls apart but until then he is on Island Time.

Yussa Errenis: I wonder if there’s a small part of Yussa that is part of the city’s awareness and, moreover, can see what Beau and Caleb at least are doing, and he’s like “I’m so simultaneously proud and impatient, also we live in a world that does not have IV fluids so like, hopefully my body still exists in some kind of functioning state when I am rescued” (note: did I google “how were coma patients kept alive in olden times” for this? Perhaps.) Anyway if he is aware he’s also just like, watching all this like “I WILL GET YOU SO MUCH PAPER OH MY GOD CAN YOU JUST KISS THE OTHER WIZARD SAVE ME FROM THE EVIL HIVEMIND CITY.”

Conclusion: I mean still infinity/10, he is still trapped in the city of madness and also if he does have a small part of his mind that is sane and able to observe the material plane he also is aware that Trent and the Volstruckers broke into his tower.

Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: I know, I know, weird that I brought him up. However consider: Yussa’s wizard tower now contains two wizards in suspended animation, their consciousnesses trapped in eldritch astral sea-related spaces. This is incredibly funny to me. We’re in a real Old Lady who swallowed a fly scenario except it’s centuries-old wizards getting sucked into traps because of their own hubris. The reason why mageocracies no longer exist isn’t the lack of magical knowledge or even because power corrupts absolutely, it’s because literally just put some lightly fried forbidden knowledge under a box with a stick propping it up, add your parody of Long-Term Nuclear Waste Warnings above it, and a wizard will be like “that sign won’t stop me because I CAN read and what’s more I’m better at reading than you are!” And then they get trapped in a box.

Conclusion: what is a breakdown tracker to a man whose mind has been stuck in a gem for, from his perspective, at minimum about 35 years?

[skeetlehand]

ghost!tommy au masterpost #2

ghost tommy au masterpost part one

I made another one. w hhh

au summary: tommy loses his final canon life during the explosion right after the pogtopia vs. manberg war

Nobody really knew where he’d gone either - Tommy had allegedly gone “missing” after the festival. In L’manberg, everyone figured that while it was odd, since tommy would usually be running down the Prime path shouting, or just being generally loud and annoying... he was just... missing. Nobody had seen him all week, but everyone had thought they were the singular individual who hadn’t seen him lately. Eventually when one of them asked where he’d been, everyone came to the consensus that they weren’t the only ones who hadn’t seen him. At first, they thought he was just grieving, since he spent the most time with wilbur. But then ghostbur shows up, which, while was a pretty sad/happy moment, it raised some sort of unease.... 

.... and then, ghost tommy shows up.

I put more details under the cut!!! enjoy pain yall

feel free to send asks about... well, anything! if you found something interesting here, share it! if you’ve got a completely unrelated idea, share it! i like to read your asks. I promise i’ll answer... eventually... (the five asks in my inbox @ me: 👀)

courtesy of @gheysnakelady and their great ideas 👀❤️(you have so many good ones!!!)

current table of contents:

ghost tommy’s appearance

relationships with the rest of the sbi

ghost tommy’s memories

other ghost tommy stuff (misc i guess)

a) presence 

b) connections 

c) blue/yellow 

d) body found

”””pranks”””

dreamon hunters...? (become basically bootleg ghostbusters. but just only one of them.)

TBC: to be touched upon in the next masterpost/page set

relationships with the rest of the smp

a) SAM SAM SAM BIG BROTHER SAM AAA; b) the cabinet + lmanberg... hhh tubbo n big q,,, fundy and niki,,, dream,, the badlands... i need ideAS

reactions to the reveal (at some point... big oof)

.... a revival? phil no -

1. Ghost!Tommy’s Appearance

(should... should I be calling him ghostinnit now? yall use that term a whole lot...)

before he meets anyone (excluding ghostbur and maybe philza. some others might’ve seen him lingering around certain places, faintly), he looked simultaneously exactly as he did before he died, overlaid by his prior deaths (an sword/axe(?) to the back when trying to escape dream during eret’s betrayal, an arrow wound that goes in deep, and currently, visible blast marks and the wither effect). He hadn’t figured out what he looked like yet, other than the noticeable vision problems, but when he did, he did his best to change his form (it’s my current theory that ghosts look like what they want to look like - ie. ghostbur’s nice yellow sweater being a choice on his end). It’s an effort, to look “okay”, and when he goes off the rails, there are hints to what he looks like. 

it’s mostly because... Tommy remembers his death vicariously.  All of them. This is not a good thing.

when he does meet people, his form is slightly transparent, but he looks almost normal. there’s that new hairstyle, which really isn’t a stylistic choice on my end ;’] ... there is a lot of sooty(?) grey patches on his sleeves, and a large black mark smack dab in the middle his shirt. The wither markings on his hands aren’t clear, but that they are there is visible. He hates the wither effects the most - no matter what he does, how hard he concentrates, they. don’t. go. away.

He’s got hair over his eye, like wilbur. Gets uncomfortable when it’s joked about, because that’s a part of his face that’s.... yknow.... and he can’t hide it otherwise

Since ghost!tommy is more emotionally gripped than ghostbur is, unable to let go of the past and all the memories + emotions from it (while ghostbur lets go of it Very Easily), his form shifts a lot. Not only to his “death form” (all of his canon deaths on one ‘current’ form), but to that of the different arcs - dirty long sleeves for pogtopia (it’s cold in the ravines, and he don’t got a coat), ripped revolutionary outfit (eret’s betrayal and the arrow both happened here)... and during his more mellower moments, a green bandana that goes around the neck. He’s constantly changing in clarity, too. It’s hard to focus on him at times.

2. Relationships with the SBI found family gang: pain

did you really think we could have nice things in this au? if so... ouch

Phil

tommy did see him sort of as a dad/some sort of older figure to come to for help. but phil has a history of not exactly being a Dad. sure, he basically adopted techno, and wilbur definitely saw him as a dad, but for tommy, it’s an unspoken relationship that they should be like that, that phil should have his back, that tommy can ask phil for help. yet, they don’t. Phil showed up way too late in the game to make an effort on all of the impacts the wars and pogtopia and wilbur have created, and maybe tommy resents him a little, for leaving him and his brothers alone on the server. maybe tommy saw wilbur die by philza’s hands, moments before he did the same point is, tommy was never a “difficult child” persay, he made all of his complaints loud and clear. philza didn’t expect to do any “underneath the underneath” with him... and didn’t feel like tommy needed the attention all that much, since he could basically occupy himself. 

Think of it like this, at least in my au, that phil was never meant to be a dad. He just chose to be some sort of strong figure in the boys’ lives (found family!!!!) - but he was a survivor first and foremost, and sometimes it shows. His habits rubbed off on his boys, and that shows too - him avoiding talking about Big Things with ghost tommy is reminiscent of how ghostbur dances around questions, and being pressured into doing things is reminiscent of techno.

Tommy, on the other hand, felt as if phil always favored techno, and if not techno, then wilbur, over him. it’s okay though! he doesn’t need phil, he’s a Big Man™! Look at him... dealing with... a war... exile... funky brother problems... more war... okay maybe if phil showed up sooner things would’ve been better but he didn’t so tommy had to be the bigger man! that’s... that’s okay...? hmm. okay maybe he’s mad at phil a little bit,,,,

techno

ahh, complicated relationships *rubs hands*. 

tommy was proud of his brother, at first, the way only little brothers can be, bragging about their cooler bigger bro - that, and tommy lowkey thought there’d be someone to help him with wilbur’s decline. haha NOPE. techno don’t do emotional. thanks,,,,,

on the other hand, all ghost tommy can remember is techno being the unspoken favorite, the favorite child, the favorite brother, teasing and feelings of inadequacy (techno wasn’t a bad brother, though... just... better). And then…he remembers techno showing up well into wilbur’s long decline, techno’s silence when he could’ve used someone to speak up for him, techno’s passiveness towards the paranoia, techno’s stoicism when all tommy wanted was someone to be strong, someone else to be the better man. instead, the job was left to him. why was it always left to him? he wasn’t supposed to do all of this, right?

Techno doesn’t feel all too bad about it, before tommy’s death is discovered. He thinks that the impact of the statement was made through humiliation and violence enough (tommy being pinned down, the hero speech, the ruined victory, etc). What did tommy expect, using the Blade like that? honestly, techno’s a little offended, that tommy thought he could use his brother that easily, like some weapon made of more skill than any of them know what to do with. Techno had made his opinions very clear on government, and then they go on to appoint another one? (even though, it was sort of clear that the goal was to “go back” to the old lmanberg, government and all) so tommy kinda had it coming. besides, he’d respawn and they’d go back to normal.

but then wilbur dies, permanently, and techno has to watch his brother come undone into something else barely reminiscent of what he was momnents ago... ghostbur barely even resembles the wilbur techno used to remember. death matters, on this server, which is two blows in themselves that techno will have to deal with. and then... tommy doesn’t respawn.

techno was sure he’d seen tommy around lmanberg. albeit, like, kinda quiet, but maybe the kid was going through rough times since wilbur died. it wasn’t like techno was going to talk to him about it or anything, since his presence probably wouldn’t be welcomed anyway. tommy was kind of immature, in that regard - he’d be really annoying and yell, like he always did when something didn’t go his way. that, and he wasn’t exactly welcome in lmanberg anymore...

besides, if tommy had a problem, he’d make it clear himself, right?

wilbur/ghostbur

There’s a lot tommy isn’t willing to talk, about wilbur. What could he even say? more than half of the things he did, challenges he stepped up to, were to make Wilbur proud (as he remembered him). He hated losing, because he liked winning more, sure, but also because he wanted to make wilbur proud of him. See: the bow duel, giving up his disc for freedom.

but pogtopia wilbur, well... things only got worse. sometimes, things looked a little better, but over time, tommy learned to expect what came after. even with techno there, tommy was always left to be the “bigger man” - in the aftermath of the festival, the pit, the final pet war - no matter how much he lost, it was always him having to move forward from that point. nobody really helped. it was just tommy and wilbur, and the sound of silence in the ravine.

tommy saw the final explosion of lmanberg as both the ultimate betrayal (the worst thing wilbur could’ve done, couldn’t he have waited, phil was here, surely phil couldve done what tommy spent months trying to do, what techno wouldn’t do, why couldn’t wilbur have this?) but at the same time, he... figured wilbur would pull sometime like this. at this point, the victory might’ve lightened his spirits a whole lot, but he spent months with wilbur alone and in the course of the preparatory week, wilbur didn’t miraculously get better. tommy wishes he did, and he can wish all he wants, but deep down, he knows that he didn’t. the others might’ve not noticed, since they weren’t there for that long.

as for ghostbur, it’s... awkward. 

With ghostbur, he’s stuck between wanting to reach out to his big brother and stay away due to alivebur’s memory living in constant loop in his head. Sad as it is to say, he was sort of… relieved, when ghostbur revealed the extent of his memory loss. after that point..  if ghostbur remembers all the happy bits of their time on the server, surely he could help fill in the gaps? 

Ghostbur was kind of the first person he saw when he resurfaced, and ghostbur then couldn’t really understand the gravity of the situation, nor who tommy was because of how he acted and looked before. tommy didn’t approach him either, mostly out of fear and anticipation. (he couldn’t imagine this of all things, being stuck with wilbur for all of his undying days, hadn’t he had enough?) 

At first, it’s awkward. He doesn’t know what to say, or when to say things, and he’s a lot quieter than in life, so it’s noticeable. He meets Ghostbur, who greets him with joy, until he realizes that Tommy is dead. Memories of the manberg v pogtopia war arise, and he flees. He does not come back, because looking at Tommy hurts. tommy doesn’t get it, really... but.....

and every moment after that, the way ghostbur looks at him, with the guilt in his eyes, the way that he looks away, unable to bear looking anymore… well, tommy is starting to think ghostbur remembers a lot more than what he’s willing to let on (he’s afraid he is). If wilbur doesn’t like him, that’s not… that’s nothing new, anyway. it’s probably one of the few things that didn’t change.

3. Ghost Tommy’s Memories

Going by the HC that they’re caused by how you feel when you die. ie. Wilbur dies happy because he is relieved by Phil stabbing him. That he can rest, while Tommy gets the opposite. Wanting to live but having it so cruelly taken by a loved one that you trusted, only feeling pain and betrayal and the feelings when they had while dying is the reason why they only hold certain memories.

Basically: like Wilbur, only remembers memories associated with a type of feeling. However, unlike Wilbur, Tommy only remembers the bad things.

Ghostbur suggested to phil, who in turn, suggested to tommy that he recorded his memories in a book, like he did! thus, tommy’s “What I remember” book: which is full of stuff he just wants to remember

Dream Good Times (this is just a lie, haha... but refers to the time (read: blank space) before the first disk war)

jokes! (when you make fun of someone, even in good jest, it’s possible they won’t take it that way themselves.)

My home (because it’s been griefed and destroyed so many times at this point)

The disks (not what they sound like though, just that they were apparently important, that he fought for them. he can’t remember what they sound like)

My pets (pet wars. can’t remember whose pet was whose. he remembers mars, though. he talked to mars a lot, on days that pogtopia was quiet... empty...)

the duel

Winning the war (trading the disks for freedom)

L’manberg (manberg)

… Tubbo (? ...dying at the festival.)

Techno & Wilbur  (and phil, and what they did to him, and what they didn’t do.)

pogtopia hanging out with friends (there was nothing good about pogtopia, so he crossed it off and wrote the most blandest happy thing he could replace it with. he wishes pogtopia was just that)

the pit

winning the war (the victory, the explosion his death. if you ask why he wrote it twice, he just.. hesitates. “we won, right?” you might nod along, assuming his memory was just being faulty, that all he could remember were the two victories, that like wilbur, nothing beyond the election/exile registered... but you could also note that neither of those “victories” really felt like winning, in the end. consider the cost...)

i have a secret second list for his “actual memories”. i call it “the list of grievances”. i am so clever haha

4. other ghost tommy stuff

since ghostbur had to go and add some stuff to ghost Lore™, i guess ghost tommy now melts in the rain and snow. not that he really... cares...

other things! these are ideas, idk...

1. presence

maybe whenever he gets near someone, the temperature drops and people feel overwhelmingly negative emotions (ie. sadness, pain, anger, guilt, etc). the intensity of the sadness effect depends on the person or if the person is near - the more that person had done, the more they felt.

Wilbur just feels like melancholy. nobody really notices, since it’s .... well.

2. connections to things?

maybe he’ll be found at certain locations, like his house/jukebox, the election podium, pogtopia, etc, etc... just, ghosting...

4. maybe he’s not actually dead

3. have some blue .... or yellow

either:

a) ghostbur gives tommy some blue to hand out, trying to be nicer to him anyway, like “give people this, it makes people happier if you give them something to drain the sadness”!! but when tommy tries to hand it out, it’s already fully blue. If asked if it was supposed to be transparent, or why it’s already blue, or etc, he responds with “no it's always been blue for me!” because when he’s given it, it turns blue instantly. maybe he seems little sad it doesn’t work on him, but it must be because he’s a ghost, right?

or

b) maybe he makes yellow that gives people happiness (it turns transparent as it’s used), but when he holds it it stays yellow.... because really all it does is draw up previous feelings of contentment, but... can't feel happy if you've never felt it before :’]

4. his body discovery

his body can be found where it was last... left. since he didn’t respawn.

They find him while cleaning up the rest of the rubble. and it's evident how he died, because there are wither marks, explosion burns, and... a final injury that must’ve been the killing blow, since there’s no way he would’ve survived that. it's evident he suffered, but not from the killing blow. his face has that... expression. he looks as miserable as his ghost does, at times (contrary to wilbur's exact opposite). maybe techno is there. they're not sure if tommy just got caught in the crossfire. they think he did, because he was buried under all of this. who would have ... intentionally done this to him...? while he was trapped?

maybe techno approaches to see what everyone looks so wicked out by. and he sees his brother or more like, what was left of his brother. oof.

5. Pranks: completely out of chronological order i guess... BUT I WANTED TO INCLUDE IT AAA

tommy isn’t... peaceful. he’s not at peace. he’s surrounded by the people who he can remember taunting him, hurting him, betraying him, all he can remember feeling is anger, grief and resentment - how long do you think he’ll play nice for? even though he wants things to go back to normal, either he feels like he’s much too dead for anything to ever be the same, and/or everyone ... moved on pretty quick, huh.

tommy begins to prank the server, like he used to. but there’s a pattern to it, and it quickly devolves from seemingly light-hearted to borderline malicious and definitely inconveniencing/annoying.

ghost tommy filling dream's current base/go-to-residency (since this man canonically homeless) with clay... and then, later, other blocks, like tnt, obsidian... 

he sets up multiple jukeboxes when dream goes to sleep and have them all play cat/melohi at different intervals at once, kind of like. "you wanted this so bad, now eat it”.

misplace sapnap's current pets (if he has any). fill sapnap's house with horses, cows all named "h" names, and eventually turn it into an elaborate aquarium filled with tropical fish.

George’s house gets scrambled: like the blocks all get swapped and stuff, or replaced with lime wool/clay. maybe fill his house with alarm clocks or something? idk

He's hesitant about techno... so one of his earlier steps is: collaborate with sam with the horse maze (who sees it as a bonding activity! fun for the whole family!), but in the books, on the last page of all the books, he writes notes like "you know what you did" and stuff idk, i gotta come up with 8 of those. at the end, skeppy brings back the books and the hornse and techno's like haha i didn't write those books! and skeppy says, that makes sense! why would your write this... (he assumes the first few are threats, but then they reference techno in diff ways, so he gets confused), and then techno's like: wait what

maybe he probably releases all the horses n cows and other things techno’s got. or relocates them (cause he still cares about animals, he doesn't want to hurt them... he's not sapnap after all)

at first it's funny, normal. then it's annoying. and then it becomes worrying. it elevates in destructive tendencies, and also escalates in amount so people start going "tommy this is so annoying"-> exactly the reaction he wants, so he continues -> "this isn't funny anymore, tommy!" well, it never was supposed to be :)

....and they realize suddenly that none of it was meant to be a "prank" or a joke, tommy genuinely was trying to make their lives as hard as they did him.

ALSO EDIT: i bring you: dreamon hunters! part two! tubbo n fundy fight over what to do with ghost tommy, as tubbo doesn't think there's anything wrong with tommy (it’s his best friend, of course nothing’s wrong!), while fundy thinks he's a malicious poltergeist (with all the pranks.... that’s... that’s not tommy. tommy isn’t that spiteful... is he? )

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (Epilogue)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Death by fluff.

A/N: Here we have a visit from a very hungry super soldier, an enormous helping of domestic bliss, and an unexpected surprise for Bucky. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me on this little adventure. I appreciate every bit of encouragement and support, and I hope you enjoy the end! ♥️

If you’re interested in the song the boys are whistling, it’s a war song from 1942 “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.” You can find it on Spotify. ☺️

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

Slipping a knife from his boot, he crouches down and digs his blade into the tree. With a few twists of his wrist, he carves a rough cross deep into the base of the tree trunk. He gazes at the small token for a minute, before sliding the knife back into his boot.

Standing with an inaudible sigh, he backs away. Straightens himself up. Snaps his feet together and offers a sharp salute to the unmarked grave.

“Rest easy, Soldier,” he murmurs.

And then Sergeant Bucky Barnes turns and heads home.

*****

One month later

Out by the woodshed, Bucky lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes the sweat from his face. Sorting through the pile of wood, he finds the best piece, balancing it on the chopping block. With an easy swing, the sharp blade arcs through the air and the pieces tumble into the growing pile.

Chopping wood seems unnecessary this late in the season, but he likes the work. Manual labor feels cathartic, and he relishes the pull of his muscles with each swing. Besides, even though he runs hot, he knows she doesn’t. If he has to put in some elbow grease to keep her warm, he’s happy to do it.

Spring is so tantalizingly close, he can almost taste it.

More and more of the ever-present world of white disappears daily, the shining sun turning the world beyond the cabin into a slushy mess of mud. So muddy in fact, they’ve gotten her truck stuck twice.

The first time they got it out no problem, but the second time - Bucky has that memory tucked away forever. While the wheels spun uselessly, he got out to push, which was a nice idea in theory. Until the truck leapt forward and he face planted in the mud. When she hit the brakes and jumped out, she ran around back to find him staggering to his feet, covered head to toe in black muck.

Of course, her surprised laughter turned to shrieking when he chased her through the slop until he caught her, picked her up, and threw her in a snowbank, his fingers tickling the entire time. They rode home dripping wet and covered in mud, barely able to stop laughing. When they arrived, Bucky pulled her into the shower with him until they were both perfectly clean and thoroughly interested in getting dirty again.

Yes, spring is a magical time.

Life feels new. After a long, cold, dark winter, he can finally see the other side and everything it offers. It’s like being born again, his life with her brimming with hope.

Taking a deep breath of the clean air, he selects another chunk of wood.

Above the sharp thwack of the ax, he hears a faint sound floating on the breeze.

Shading his eyes, he sees a figure walking along the road. Even from here, he sees a bright red stocking hat pulled low over his head, a hitchhiker’s bag strapped to his back. There is a brief flutter of nerves, before his stomach eases. The slope of broad shoulders and bouncing walk are telltale signs, but then he hears the whistle of a familiar song. Embedding the ax into the chopping block with a dull thunk, he whistles the tune in return. Strange words he unconsciously knows from another time.

Praise the Lord, we’re on a mighty mission

All aboard, we ain’t a-goin fishin’

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

And we’ll all stay free

Dusting off his hands, Bucky ambles down to meet the man, a relaxed grin on his face.

“Still singing that damn song?” Bucky greets him. “Anyone tell you the war is over?”

Steve Rogers pulls off his stocking hat with a theatrical groan and uses it to mop the sweat from his face.

“Classics never die,” he huffs. Running sweaty fingers through snarls of golden hair, it sticks straight up in an awkward mohawk. “God damn, this was a fuckin’ walk. You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Grabbing Steve in a giant bear hug, Bucky lifts him off his feet and Steve squawks in protest.

“You’re such a little shit. Come inside. Got someone you need to see.”

*****

On the porch, Bucky removes his mud-covered boots and neatly lines them up beside the front door; raising his eyebrows, he points for Steve to do the same. Steve grins at the domesticity and follows suit, before following him inside.

“Hey darlin’?” Bucky calls and there’s an answering shout from above.

Dressed in old wellies, jeans, and a knobby grey fisherman’s sweater she appears, trying to zip up her jacket as she trots down the stairs.

“Buck, if you actually want potato soup tonight, I have to go into town. I didn’t realize when you said you ate all the bacon, you literally ate all the bacon. There were three pounds of it, how did you even -” looking up, she stops.

Astonishment floods Steve’s face when he sees her, but he schools it quickly. Standing up straighter, he nervously tries to smooth his hair, before eventually recognizing the futility and shoving his hands in his pockets. He gives her a bashful smile instead.

“Hey. I’m, uh, sorry for just showing up. Probably should have called, I just -”

The words are struck from his lungs when she bounds forward and throws her arms around him, knocking him back a step. Steve hugs her tight, glancing in surprise at Bucky who looks on fondly.

“You never have to call, Captain Rogers. You’re always welcome.”

“Christ, no,” Steve grimaces when he releases her. “Call me Steve, please. Get enough of that Captain bullshit at home.” Catching himself, he looks momentarily horrified. “Shit, I mean shoot, sorry, pardon my language.”

“Please,” she says with a laugh. Elbowing Bucky, she winks. “Let’s not pretend I haven’t heard worse from him.”

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky wraps a playful arm around her neck. “I told you, it’s how I spice up my vocabulary. Science says swearing makes me smart.”

Rolling her eyes, she pokes her fingers into his belly and he grunts breathlessly.

“God, you two are adorable,” Steve says seriously. “I think I’m gonna vomit.”

Placing his whole hand over Steve’s face, Bucky shoves him away while she laughs, her arm curving around his waist.

“Want me to go warm up the truck? Pull it around for you?” Bucky asks, and she kisses his cheek.

“No, I’m good. Stay here and catch up. Maybe get Steve some food, I’d hate for him to starve,” she says.

“I love her,” Steve stage whispers.

Grabbing a bundle of tote bags, she heads outside, stomping carelessly through the muddy yard. On the sunny porch, the two men stand shoulder to shoulder, waving as she drives the clunky old truck down toward town. Once it disappears, Bucky turns to Steve and claps him on the back.

“Come on asshole, I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

*****

One carton of eggs and a loaf of bread later, they sit on the porch with steaming cups of coffee. Bucky tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Steve sits back in his chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“It all sounds insane, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks quietly.

Fiddling with his coffee cup, Steve scratches absently at his beard. “Maybe. Maybe not. We always knew there were others. Whatever they did to him, it wasn’t perfect, but it must’ve been enough for him to survive. Whatever survive means.”

“Yeah. I guess so. ”

Taking a long drink of coffee, Steve frowns at his boots before looking up to Bucky. “So, you buried him then?”

There’s a defiant edge to Bucky’s voice when he responds.

“Just felt right. He was a soldier, not a lab rat.”

Steve shrugs casually as he sits forward. “I get it, don’t need to convince me. We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Amused at the blatant lack of adherence to the precious world of protocol, Bucky gasps.

“Goodness gracious, I’m clutching my fuckin’ pearls. Did I just convince Captain America to commit treason?”

“Well you always were a terrible influence. So many bad decisions, all because of you,” Steve says loftily.

“You’re so full of shit,” Bucky laughs. Steve grins wickedly, knowing full well all their youthful indiscretions came from his ridiculous decisions; not that he’ll ever admit that one to Bucky.

At the thought of their past though - it makes him wonder.

“Can I ask something?”

“Hit me,” Bucky says easily. There are a couple minutes of silence, while Steve tries to find the words he wants.

“When she wipes memories, that’s - that’s it? They’re gone for good? We couldn’t - like, there’s no chance of getting them back?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “No. I was curious, so I asked. But she said it was absolute. Looked so miserable when she told me, I’m sure as shit not mentioning it again. Besides,” he contemplates the blue sky beyond the porch railing, “it doesn’t matter. What do I need all that for anyway? Got her. Got you. That’s enough.”

The relief in Steve’s reply is palpable. “Good. I hated your dumbass running around trying to dig up the past.”

“Me too,” Bucky sighs. “Only did it ‘cause I thought I should. But now - I’m just worrying about the future. Those are the only memories I need.”

They sit in companionable silence, gazing out into the cool morning. In the treetops, birds chatter back and forth, and Steve feels himself relax. An unfamiliar peacefulness steals over him, filling him from head to toe; he almost doesn’t hear the quiet question.

“Stevie?” Looking sideways, he finds Bucky watching him calmly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired. Just want a normal life, a home with her. Something quiet. Is that - will that be okay?”

The hesitancy in Bucky’s voice hits Steve like a fist to the face. Turning away, he blinks back tears and clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck. Of course that’s okay.”

That unspoken weight always dragging Bucky down disappears. With Steve’s words, the decades seem to fall away and there - the fleeting image of Sergeant James Barnes flashes across his features. Lighter. Softer. Carefree and full of laughter, wanting nothing more than to hang up his boots and find a warm home with the girl he loves.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers looking back into the clear morning, a contented smile on his lips.

With the crisp breeze swirling around them, the soldiers sit in silence. One light haired and one dark, with two matching pairs of blue eyes, and two gigantic hearts.

*****

The sun is just beginning to sink when Bucky announces he’s going to go clean up the woodpile before it gets dark. The night air blows sharp when he opens the door, ushering in the wintery chill that still insists on arriving when darkness falls.

“Nah, stay here and catch up,” he urges, when Steve goes to grab his jacket. “It’ll just take me a few minutes.”

“Thanks love,” she murmurs and Bucky beams at the pet name, a happy bounce in his step as he heads outside. Grinning at Steve, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer from the depths, popping the tops and handing one to him.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking them together and he nods shyly. Pulling out knives and cutting boards and stock pots and skillets, she assembles everything for the potato soup Bucky begs her to make at least once a week. Salted water is simmering on the stovetop, before Steve finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Scrubbing potatoes, she looks up in surprise. “Sorry for what?”

Steeling his nerves, Steve frowns. “For not coming back. For letting you deal with his death alone. Always promised him, if something happened, I’d do my best to take care of you. And then I just -” he breaks off.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she reaches over the counter and squeezes his hand. “You just saved the world,” she says gently.

Swallowing hard, Steve looks down. “Still. My best friend’s girl, and I let her down. I let both of you down.”

Releasing his hand, she picks up her knife and starts dicing the potatoes.

“No, you didn’t. If I’ve learned nothing else in this life, it’s that you can’t stay in the past. What’s done is done, and now we move on. We’re all here now, Steve,” she says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve lets the tension of his apology melt away. “He always said you were smart.”

“Hmmm, did he now?” she says with a mischievous grin and Steve can’t help the responding smile; it feels infectious.

The kitchen radio plays in the background, filling the small kitchen with the punchy sound of trumpets and piano, the world of old French jazz. Steve watches her cook, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“How come - how come you didn’t call? Didn’t tell us you were here?”

Without replying, she lays out slices of bacon and starts chopping. Immersed in her task, it takes her a minute to respond.

“When I heard they found you, I almost came to New York. But then, I imagined telling you what happened and - I was too ashamed.” Setting the knife down, she looks up and he sees deep sadness in her eyes. “The last time I saw him, he had no clue who I was, and I had no idea if he was still alive. It all seemed impossible. And then I saw him come back, and I just - you were with him and I was so relieved. He had you. I knew you’d do everything in your power to help him recover. After what I did, I didn’t think I should be part of that.”

Canting her head down, he sees her shoulders slump slightly. Steve knows that feeling better than anyone, what it means when you can’t save someone. Particularly when you can’t save Bucky Barnes.

“Back then, you saved him. During the war. I hope you understand, I hope you know.”

She doesn’t speak, but finally looks up. “Know what?”

He gives her a gentle smile. “How much he loved you. Never shut up about it. Used to drive us all crazy with all his sighing and his mooning around.”

The brilliant smile she gives him lights up her whole face and Steve feels his own lips curve in response. Both of them automatically glance toward the front door when they hear Bucky’s boots clomping up the porch steps.

“I know,” she says, her eyes shining bright. “He tells me every day.”

*****

Steve has more than a thousand stories about Bucky, from growing up in Brooklyn to traipsing across the European front to all their avenging these past few years, and unfortunately for Bucky, Steve seems dead set on relaying every stupid thing Bucky’s ever done. The worst part is, he can’t even refute the stories - Steve could be making everything up, and Bucky can’t even call him out on it.

A fact he continually points out and a fact Steve blithely dismisses.

“Trust me,” he says with a sage nod. “Captain America would never lie.”

“That is the biggest crock of shit I ever heard,” Bucky states. He looks mildly put out when she shushes him.

“Hush Bucky, I need to hear this story.”

“Uh, no you most certainly do not,” he replies, as Steve tells about the time him, Bucky, and Sam were stuck in a safe house in Mexico and every time Bucky went to sleep, Sam moved everything in the apartment three inches before convincing Bucky the place was haunted.

“Well for fuck’s sake, there are aliens aren’t there?” Bucky exclaims. “Why the hell not ghosts?”

Scooping up a huge spoonful of soup, Steve swallows it down and gives him a serious look. “That’s true Buck. And that’s why I supported your idea of having a séance to contact the ghost. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

“I hate your face so hard. Remind me why you’re here again?” Bucky groans. Leaning back, he slings an arm around her chair and tucks his face against her neck. “Don’t believe anything he says. He lies,” his plea is muffled.

Patting his head, she scratches her fingers in his hair just like he likes, and he hums delightedly. “Don’t worry, I think you’re very adorable.”

“I am very adorable,” Bucky mumbles.

Lifting up his bowl, Steve slurps down the rest of his soup; smacking his lips, he gives them a mysterious smile. “Actually, there was another reason I came to visit.”

Bucky pulls away from her and glares at him. “Was it to destroy my happiness?”

“No, that’s just a fringe benefit,” Steve says cheerfully. Shoving away from the table, he goes to his oversized backpack and starts digging. Pulling something free, he comes back to the table and sets a cloth bag in front of Bucky.

“It’s a bag,” Bucky deadpans. “Inside a bag.”

“Smartass. Open it.”

Wiggling his eyebrows at her, Bucky un-cinches the bag and pulls out a leather satchel.

“It’s a bag, inside a bag, inside - a bag.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re hilarious?”

“Literally everyone who’s met me,” Bucky says with a grin. Glancing curiously at the worn brown leather, his smile begins to fade. Something about the bag seems insanely familiar, and he racks his brain -

And he catches his breath. Wide-eyed, he looks back up at Steve.

“Wait. Is this -“

“Yep,” Steve says, eyes sparkling. “You’d left it back at the base camp, must’ve gotten stuck in some of the camp containers they shipped to headquarters. Anyway, I spent the last three weeks banging around the SHIELD archives trying to see if I could find anything - there’s so much shit down there by the way, like an episode of hoarders - and then I was digging through this moldy ass box, and there it was.”

“My bag,” Bucky marvels. Excitement fills his face, bright sunrise in the evening. “From the war, from before. All my stuff.”

“All your memories,” she says breathlessly, squeezing his thigh.

“Go on,” Steve encourages. “Open the damn thing, I’m dying to know what the hell you kept in there. You never let me see anything.”

The leather straps are fastened tight, decades of moisture and dust creating a concrete knot that takes several minutes to unravel. It creaks irritably when it finally gives way and Bucky tugs it open. One by one, he pulls out items.

A book appears first. Front cover torn, they see a copy of ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’, one of the compact armed service editions published for soldiers. Some of the pages are stuck together and as he thumbs through it, Bucky sees familiar handwriting. Notes he scribbled in the margins, passages he underlined. Words and phrases pop out like friendly messages from another life. Flipping toward the end, he finds his favorite line, one that caught his fancy when he read the book again last year.

“Dear God,” he reads, voice wobbling slightly, “let me be something, every minute of every hour of my life.”

He touches the words with a cautious metal finger and looks up to find her watching him, a soft look in her eyes. Leaning over, he gives her a kiss and she brushes his hair back.

“You were always something, no question about that,” she says and Bucky smiles.

The next item is a thick sheaf of papers. Folded into neat rectangles are a set of maps, the ones he and Steve received from the Priest in her village, before they headed out on that last mission.

“Oops,” Steve says sheepishly. “Guess we never did get those back to the church.”

Two white, army issued packs of cigarettes follow; when Bucky tips out a Lucky Strike, it crumbles to powder in his fingers. His silver lighter is next, scales of brownish-red rest covering one side. As he tries to light it, the coils give a harsh screech.

“Okay, I was gonna give up smoking anyway,” he shrugs.

When he pulls out a dented flask and unscrews the cap, a faint wisp of whiskey floats out. Steve makes a gagging noise and shudders.

“Holy hell, I remember that garbage. Dugan bought it off a medic at a field hospital in Germany. Cross my heart, it was the worst shit I ever tasted. Gave me nightmares.”

“I remember it too,” she pipes up, looking slightly nauseated. “He convinced me to try it once and I haven’t tried whiskey since.”

Bucky grins at them both and plunges his hand into the bag again, this time, jerking back with a curse. Cautiously, he reaches in again and discovers an open switchblade. Carved below the marble handle in flaking gold are the letters JBB.

“Becca gave that to you, before you shipped out,” Steve says quietly. “She sold her pearl earrings to buy it.”

Rubbing the white marble gingerly, Bucky gently folds down the blade and sets it carefully aside. It hurts for a minute, and his throat works hard to swallow down the emotion.

“Anything else in there?” she nudges lightly, and he shakes himself from the reverie.

Reaching into the bag, his hand bumps something. Buried at the bottom, he feels a soft bundle, a rectangular parcel wrapped in old green cloth. When he pulls it free, he has to unwind it several times before they discover what lies beneath.

Bucky blinks when he sees it, his heart leaping at her soft exclamation.

“My letters,” she says, wrapping her arm around him and curling closer.

“Your letters,” he repeats faintly. Sudden tears fill his eyes and he surreptitiously wipes them away, gruffly clearing his throat.

Handling the paper reverently, he brushes his fingers over the faded handwriting. The whole bundle is tied together with a broken boot lace, and it takes a few tugs before it releases.

Eleven letters.

Eleven letters, written just for him. Eleven of his very own memories, real and tangible and full of her love. Something he knows he kept in his coat pocket every day, drawing comfort and strength from her words, while he battled through the horrors of that unending war.

Unfolding the first one, he takes a deep breath.

10 March 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I wanted to write this on your birthday, so I could fill it full of all the things I wish we could do, if you were here. Maybe next year, everything will be possible. The war will be over, and your day would look something like this.

We could spend it in Paris, how lovely that might be! We could sleep in, no need to get up early. I might wake you up with a kiss, one on your cheek, then on your nose, then on your lips, and then I’d make you breakfast in bed, strong coffee and fried eggs and sizzling slices of bacon and fresh croissants, and we could spend the morning reading the papers and laying in the sun. Then we might go for walk down by the Seine, see the bridges and the booksellers, throw coins in the river and make wishes. Eat chocolate cake and drink bottles of wine. Whatever your heart desires my love, it would be your day. Maybe that night, we would be walking home, and hear a musician playing in the streets and we could stop and dance. Just you and me, holding each other in the moonlight.

And when we get home, I think I’ll take you upstairs to soft sheets and soft pillows and all kinds of things that are rather inappropriate for this letter, but I can certainly tell you one thing - sleep would not be on our minds.

Something to dream about for next year.

But if you remember nothing else on your birthday, I hope you will remember there’s a girl in France who loves you with all her heart.

6 June 1944

…and please don’t ever tell Steve, but I laughed forever at your letter. Such a demure, solemn man when I met him, I keep picturing him covered in mud and so frustrated with all of you! I do hope his knees are feeling better, give him a hug from me.

Sending you all my love, now and always.

19 August 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I’ve never been to a drive-in movie, but I must tell you, I think it sounds wonderful. I have no doubt we could show those kids a thing or two, because the simple truth is that I could spend my entire life kissing you. There would be no need to ever stop, I know that much.

The days of sunlight are long now, and so often I lay out in the field behind the house, where the grass grows tall and the world smells like wildflowers, and I think of you until long after the stars appear. The sweet taste of your lips, the rough feel of your hands, the sound of your voice when you say my name. How much I love the red highlights in your beard and the dimple in your chin and the way you purr like a house-cat when I scratch my fingers through your hair. Everything you are, your kind heart and your curious soul, it fills me with a wanting I cannot explain.

Do you know, when I fall sleep, your face is the last thing on my mind? Sometimes I still believe this is a God, because He lets you into my dreams every single night.

30 December 1944

My love,

Just this morning, I let you go again. Back into this wretched war. It feels unforgivable, letting you leave. My heart fled with you and I admit, tonight I am having trouble remembering to breath.

You are the one thing that gets me through everything. Isn’t that so strange? I had no idea my heart missed you, until the day we met. There are so many things I want to say to you. Things I want you to know about me, who I was and who I am. So many things I want to learn about you.

But now, if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost hear your voice. It’s there in that lost place between sleep and awake, where you tell me good night darling, that Brooklyn drawl coloring your words.

There is nothing I want more than a life with you. Sitting on the porch while the sun sets, holding your hand. Falling asleep wrapped in your arms. Loving you until there is nothing but grey left in your hair. I miss you so much. Please, please, please come home soon.

Resting her head on Bucky’s shoulder as he reads, she follows along in silence, reliving every word, every phrase, every bit of punctuation. How familiar it seems, even after all this time.

When Bucky finally sets the last letter down, he turns to her. Tipping his head down, he touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes; cradling his face in her hands, she rubs her thumb over his lips. Neither one speaks. Old letters and faded memories and quiet breaths are the only words they need.

*****

The evening is late when Steve flops on the couch and gets comfortable. Digging through the hall closet, Bucky returns with a couple pillows and a fuzzy blanket and tosses them over.

“Alright Rogers. You need a teddy bear? Glass of milk? Bedtime story? Should I check under the couch for monsters?” he asks and Steve flips him off with a huge yawn.

“G’night, asshole.”

“Night, punk.”

Flipping off the lights, they leave him snug in the warm darkness downstairs, the flames burning low in the fireplace. Steve watches as they walk upstairs together, Bucky patting her on the butt as she walks ahead, muttering something that makes her laugh. Buried in the couch cushions, he smiles drowsily as he listens to their quiet voices get ready for bed, the calming footsteps above, the soothing laughter gliding down the stairs.

It sounds perfect.

Like a home.

Slowly and surely, the firelight lulls him to sleep.

*****

Standing in the bedroom doorway, her mouth curves up at the image.

Leaning against a pile of pillows, Bucky sits with all his letters spread around him, shuffling through them again. They haven’t left his hands all evening, so perfectly enamored with his small treasure, something he never expected.

“Would you like me to write them for you again? So you have fresh copies?”

Squinting up at her, he contemplates the offer, before shaking his head.

“Nah, already have them memorized. Besides, now you can write me new ones. I like to be romanced.”

“Hmm. I had no idea this relationship would be so much work,” she teases.

Gathering up the letters, he places each in the correct envelope, wraps them back up in a fresh piece of cloth, and tucks them into the drawer of his nightstand. Giving her an outrageously sultry look, he clicks off the lamp and pats the bed next to him invitingly.

Slipping under the sheets, she immediately tucks her cold toes against his leg and he yelps at the icy feel, but lifts his arm automatically, letting her nestle into her favorite spot against his chest.

“Good god, you need to wear socks to bed,” he says with a shiver.

“No, I don’t. I have you,” she says happily.

Smothering a laugh, he rolls to face her. Face to face on the same pillow, two pairs of eyes adjust to the dark room. When she traces the back of her knuckles down his cheek, he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you,” she breathes.

Comfortable silence fills the room, and as the minutes tick by, her eyes grow heavy. Sleep never comes easy for him, so Bucky watches her instead, content to fill his sleeplessness with nothing more than the curves and shadows of her face. He can hear her heartbeat slow, her breathing steady, and right before she goes under, a thought pops into his head.

“Darlin’, can I ask you something?”

“Course,” she says sleepily.

“All the stuff you’ve kept over the years, what you had hidden around the house. Why’d you do that? Hide it that way?”

Slow fingers trace up his chest as she thinks, and her voice is low and raspy with a reply.

“I know what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known. Instead of having it all up here,” and she taps her forehead, “I keep things everywhere. Never all together, so I can’t lose everything at once.”

“Are there more things in the house?” he asks curiously, and she hums.

“Lots more,” she answers, and snuggles closer. Closing her eyes, she presses her lips to his skin. “Can I tell you more tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he murmurs.

A moment later, her deep, even breaths tickle his chest and Bucky keeps watching, mesmerized by the sight. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed, right there. Wrapped up in his arms.

Around them, the room is blanketed in darkness, deep blacks and shades of gray and he thinks about all those memories he’s collected. All that color, good and bad, and what it means to have a past. And then he thinks about the future, free from the turmoil of war, with nothing ahead but the delicate blue of her cool touches and the bright gold of her sunny smiles and the rainbow of color he hears when she laughs.

So many colors. So much time.

The paintbrush in his head lays down to dream. Closing his eyes, Bucky drifts to sleep.

*****

[cyclone-rachel]

rest your soul and feed your brain

part 3: on AO3 here

~

The camera turns on, showing Winn- just Winn, for once. He’s staring at where the audience would be, with an expression in his eyes that could be considered haunted, or perhaps bewildered. His eyes are wide, certainly, and he’s leaning slightly over the desk, hands out in front of him, held in a sort of tented position. He seems to be waiting for someone, his lips pursed, and he stands and looks at someone slightly off to the side.

“James? Are you getting this?” he asks.

James nods, and focuses the camera on him closer, as Winn sits down again.

His voice is hushed, as he continues.

“Hey. Okay, so… I probably shouldn’t be doing this. If he finds out, he might kill me, and get James to take over for me- even though all the comments talk about how funny I am, or how much I do my research. Well, actually, they give me long lists of nitpicks and corrections on the subject of my research, and they say how funny it is when I scream, or make dirty jokes. Even though me screaming is completely normal for the kind of thing I’m doing here, and I actually don’t make that many dirty jokes. They’re not that dirty anyway. Whatever.

The point is… this is about… I’m investigating Brainy. My partner- not that way. Even though he is cute, and I am very bisexual. He’s like a young Keanu Reeves, in how he looks- it’s actually kind of freaky, looking at them side by side. But in a nice way. Anyhow, you already know what he looks like, because we’re friends, and we do this show every week for you guys.”

Winn pauses, looking up at James, expression cautious. He turns back to the camera.

“I might not actually release this. Or it could go up on our Patreon page, and I would just have to make sure he doesn’t see it, or put it under an unassuming title so he doesn’t suspect anything and doesn’t want to click on it. He already doesn’t check anything on our computer anyway, I’ve never seen him use it, but somehow he still knows all the statistics of our videos, so I feel like I could get away with that. Maybe something about sex tapes, it’s really funny the reaction that gets whenever I bring them up. Anyway. If I do release this, it’s going to be because I feel like you all should know something about Brainy. Something I want to say I’ve suspected all along, given how much I already liked researching this kind of stuff, but embarrassingly enough, I’ve only started putting the pieces together recently.

Wow, I’m delaying this a lot. I’m sorry- to the audience, and to myself. Maybe I’m not saying it because I don’t feel like I can? Like if I do say it, he’ll hear, and he’ll find me. I don’t think he would hurt me if he found out I was doing this. After all, we are friends. Or at least, I hope we still are. I don’t know. Maybe this is the last recording I’ll ever do, and he’ll find this, and he’ll leave. I… don’t want to lose him, as much of a know-it-all as he is. I’m the believer, I need my skeptic, you know? That’s just how things should be. It’s the natural dynamic, and without it, we’d lose viewers. I would lose viewers. So maybe I won’t put this up online. But if I do, and we keep going… assume he hasn’t found it, or that he’s okay with it.

Maybe I just don’t want to admit it out loud, because it’ll make me sound insane. Like I’m headed for a downward spiral, like my dad- except instead of taking my anger out on the partner who stole my patent, and ending up killing people who weren’t him instead, I’ll be the conspiracy theory guy who got too obsessed with what he was so interested in, and it’ll end up ruining my friendship with… with one of the only people who really knows me well, and gets me. Or at least I thought he did.

Do I hate Brainy, for hiding so much? Am I angry at him, because he keeps so many secrets? I don’t think so. I’m not. I’m just… well, can you blame me for being interested, and maybe a little bit suspicious? That’s the only name he’s ever given me, to tell me to call him. He started emailing me, after I put up the video asking for people to do that if they wanted to host this show with me, and almost too quickly- within the day, actually, once I’d made sure he wasn’t an axe-murderer or any other kind of murderer, like my dad, and that he genuinely wanted to do this with me and didn’t want to make fun of my videos, he was there for the interview. And then he was hired, after I said something about tomatoes being fruits, and he insisted on them being vegetables, and we argued about it for like an hour. Actually fun times, believe it or not.

He’s never told me where he lives, or where he grew up, or how old he is, other than I know that he’s around my age and his birthday is December 30th. I remember because it’s 5 days after mine, and I saw him circle it on the calendar once. I know he was homeschooled, but he never gave any details on that, and for how long he was homeschooled. He doesn’t have any siblings. His parents raised him together until he was eight years old, when they separated and his father raised him. He hasn’t said anything about what happened afterwards, or where his mother went, or anything else about his life- he changes the subject, asking about my family instead, and whenever he’s admitted these things to me he always looks at me like he’s being held at gunpoint while saying them, even though I honestly want to know because he’s just so goddamn mysterious. And you all know how much of a difficult subject my family is for me. But for his credit, he listens, and it’s kind of nice.

Oh god, I’m rambling. But I have a point with this, I promise.

I don’t doubt that Brainy is a good person. I don’t doubt that he likes me- or at least, doesn’t hate me. He hasn’t left me, which is a virtue all on its own, and he listens to me, with- it feels like he understands me, whenever I talk about my parents and describe how their abandonment felt. What it was like to see my dad arrested, to be interrogated about his murder and under constant scrutiny afterwards from my foster families because at any time I could snap and become just like him. How it felt to sit in the police station, waiting for my mother, but she never came back for me.

Maybe this is why I won’t release this video. I’ve only ever told him that, and I’ve tried not to tell anyone that my father is Winslow Schott, the notorious Toyman. I even use my nickname, Winn, and my mom’s maiden name, McGowan, for these videos… but I know I’m still a Schott, and that potential is inside me. Like a ticking time bomb.”

Winn sighs.

“I hope I’m not turning out like him. I want to think I’m using whatever I got from my father for good- though I can’t really tell whether or not this is a good use for the skills I do have. And maybe this, what happens if Brainy finds out, will be the nail in the coffin for me. What sets me down the path to becoming the Toyman, just like my dad.

I don’t want to.

But… if anyone from the future is listening, consider this the secret origin story of… something. The play that was never released, the first edition book that’s different from all the others, the action figure that was recalled for a defect, the hidden Easter egg in a video game or the comic that only ever got one printing or the unaired pilot of a TV show or a movie that never even made it to DVD. I think this metaphor ran away from me. Point is. If you’re seeing this, count yourself lucky, because you’re one of a few- if anyone other than James and I see this at all.”

Winn pauses again, turns to James.

“You’re not gonna leak this on Youtube, are you?”

“No.”

“Good man.” Winn says. “Thank you.”

He turns back to the camera, and continues talking, all the while also continuing to gesture with his hands, as though he were truly in a living, animated conversation with the audience.

“And keep in mind, I don’t say all of this stuff because I want his career to be ruined, or because I’m jealous of him, or anything. I just think he’s so… I’ve already used the words interesting, and suspicious, and mysterious, and cute. He’s all of those things, but he transcends description. He’s a walking enigma, and I wish I were worthy of knowing his secrets.

He’s my friend, and I can’t help noticing things like… well. He always wakes up earlier than I do. That’s probably because I always stay up late. But one time, I woke up first, and saw him get up out of bed. And he… I don’t know how to say this. He touched his face, and it- shifted? And I don’t think it was the light coming in from outside- I swear to you, his face looked blue. All of him did. He touched it again, and he looked like he always does otherwise, but I’ve never forgotten that. It might’ve been an early-morning dream kind of thing, like when you’re half asleep and half-awake. But it felt real.

And then there’s things like what I mentioned before- he always seems to know exactly what our statistics are, even though I’ve never seen him use our computer. Any kind of technical problem, he fixes it- without even moving, or touching it. Most of the time I don’t even have to ask him, he just knows. Knows everything. Comes in real handy, can’t say I’m not grateful, but also…

Oh! Also, one time, I caught him sitting on the roof of our trailer, and when I called his name, he jumped down- but it was slower, somehow, than normal jumping. Like he was kind of… not flying. But hovering, maybe. Or falling with style. But whatever it is, I couldn’t have done it. And I’ve tried to scare him, since then, and make him jump. Hasn’t worked, but I’m gonna keep trying, mark my words.”

“Marking them.” Calls James, and Winn rolls his eyes.

“Anyway. All of these things… and the fact that because he’s only introduced himself by his pretentious nickname, and never given me his real name- God knows I’ve tried to find it- I can’t look him up in any way and verify that he exists- I don’t know how to explain them. I want to- that’s the whole point of this show, solving the unsolvable, explaining the unexplainable, playfully arguing with each other along the way, sometimes scaring the shit out of each other but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. But the two first things are the most important, and how am I supposed to call myself a good solver of mysteries if I can’t come to a solid conclusion on the person who’s probably my best friend? Besides you, James.”

“Thank you.”

“And Kara and Alex, back home. But they’re not gonna see this. Probably. That doesn’t matter. Point is… the whole idea of this long, twisting rant… I have reason to believe that my collaborator, my partner, my friend, Brainy… isn’t human. And I don’t know what he is, exactly, or who he is, or where he’s from. He could be the Mothman. He could be what he calls a Necrofriggian. He could be any of the other cryptids I totally did my research on and didn’t just see while watching shows about them on TV, or reading Wikipedia entries. Or- and this is the most absurd one- he might even be from another planet. Is he an alien, or a cryptid? Or is he just a completely normal guy who’s fucking with me, and I’m the one who’s talking myself in circles over nothing? Whatever the case, it looks like the impenetrable identity of my cohost is, for now, a case that’s going to remain-“

“Winn? Why are you recording an episode without me? What’s this about?”

“Oh shi-“

“James, turn that off, please.”

[ramblesanddragons]

I Want To Learn To Fight

Needed a small break from A Man Made of Stone and here’s a little late entry or week four of @stanuary while I play with writing style. The theme was fight.

Warnings: Some violence but nothing graphic.

AO3 link!!

“Grunkle Stan, will you teach me how to box?” Dipper says after a few days back in the shack.

“I mean I can sure but why do you want to?” Stan peers over his paper at the kid, he’s grown since last summer but he’s still not built like a fighter. Of course, Ford wasn’t either.

“It looked like good exercise?”

“Nah, if I’m doing it, I need to know why,” Stan folds the paper and looks the kid in the eye, “I’m not gonna judge you. What’s up?”  

“You’re not going to judge me huh?”  

“With this? Nah.”

“Okay fine,” Dipper gets closer to whisper to his grunkle, “It’s my noodle arms. I’m just tired of being so I don’t know...noodley.”  

Okay Stan can buy that. He stands and heads upstairs. “Is that a yes?”

“Come on kid we’re headed to the mall.”

Stan knows that his gloves are still way too big for the kid so he buys him some gloves (and pockets a bit of new tape for their hands.) When they get back home, they find some sort of decent space to learn. Between the elder twins, the younger twins, Soos, Melody, and Soos’ Abuelita the shack was pretty full. Soos’ renovations have done a great job of giving everyone a space (and got rid of a lot of the triangles) but they end up having to set up shop in a part of the lab. If Ford minds, he doesn’t say and goes upstairs to find Mabel with a pat on Dipper’s head.

Dipper pulls on the gloves and swings wildly. “Alright I’m ready!”

“No, you’re not. Come here and I’ll teach you to wrap your hands.” Stan starts by doing his own and then has Dipper try and copy. The kid is sharp and has it right by his second hand.  

“When you get into a random fight you don’t have time to wrap your hands. What’s the point of it now?” Dipper asks trying to get used to the feel of the wraps.

“To make sure your hands are in one piece when you don’t have the time. You mess up your hands and wrists here you’re screwed out there. Why are you worried about random fights anyway?”

“Just an observation. Anyway, I’m ready to hit things!” He says with a fire behind his eyes.

Stan laughs, “Not the way you’re standing.”  

A gentle shove immediately puts Dipper off balance so they start with lessons on a grounded fighting stance and footwork. As to not disappoint the boy too much Stan does let him take swings at his gloved hands before they call it a night. Dipper’s out of breath by the end.

“Look kid, I know this isn’t what you were expecting but I’m tryin’ to teach ya right. If you want to stop, I’ll understand. If you want to keep going though, I think you could throw a decent punch.” Stan expects Dipper to be frustrated, which he is, but is surprised by the boy’s smile.

“I should have figured I need to know the basics first. It’s okay I want to keep going. This was fun and I want to learn.”

Stan smiles back.  

Over the next few weeks, the lessons continue. Foot drills, hand drills, basic punches. The kid has always been bright and he may not get the practice of it right at first, he gets the theory down. Stan changes up his teaching a bit, does some reading and tries things out with the kid. What worked for him doesn’t always work for Dipper and he tries to figure out a way that does. Dipper really starts to shine when Stan starts talking about reading a situation and analyzing an opponent.  

One day after a good session the boys head back upstairs to find kitchen the same way it has been during these sessions, covered in papers of art. Ford and Mabel spend most boxing times drawing together. Dipper talks about the lesson while she shows off her art (Dipper and Stan fighting a giant robot) and they head to bed.

“Sounds like it’s going well.” Ford’s smile is soft. He’s adding details to his drawing (Him and Mabel as cats per her request) and stops to observe his twin.

“It is. He’s good. He’s ready to start sparing but I’ve got 200 pounds and a couple of feet on the kid. I know how to pull my punches but I don’t want to hurt him by accident. By the way I’ve been meaning to ask ya if you ever figured what got this boxing thing in his head?” Stan unwraps his hands and leans back in the chair.  

“Well he does admire you and I believe he wishes to strengthen his body for his own reasons.” Ford starts to talk while beginning a new sketch as Stan starts snoozing, missing most of what his brother says. Ford manages to talk his brother into actually going to bed and, afterwards, walks down to the lab inspired.  

“What the hell is this Sixer?” Stan gawks the next morning while Dipper laughs at it. In the lab is a 13-year-old sized robot made of gears and pillows.

“I made Dipper an adequate sparring partner. Programed with what I recall from our boxing lessons and it has an interface you can run much like one of Soos’ video games. After calling up Fiddleford for some input it should be ready.”

“AWESOME!” Dipper immediately goes to wrap his hands.  

“Heh. Thanks Ford.”

“You’re welcome.” Ford begins to walk up the stairs and chuckles as he hears Dipper say, “Hey, not the first time I’m fought a robot!”  

A few more weeks go by. Its Gravity Falls so the supernatural is everywhere and the Pines family is right there in it all. There hasn’t been that many repeats of last summer’s nightmares and Stan is thankful for that. With his brother around it’s easy to keep the kids out of trouble or at least help fight it off. Of course, one night everything goes to hell and it had to be Pioneer day.

Stan and Ford find themselves at one end of the town square when the screaming starts. People run off or jump into their covered wagons. A horde of shambling zombies our pouring out of the graveyard.  

“Ahh Dipper I hope this one ain’t on you.” Stan mumbles as he pulls on the familiar brass knuckles. Ford pulls out his pistol.

“I don’t believe he would do this twice, he told me how badly things went last year. Something else is wrong.” Ford fires and takes the heads off of three zombies while Stan crushes a fourth.

(They’d later discover that a small rift had opened in the grave yard and was leaking out necrotic energy from a dying dimension. Rifts that came out of nowhere were as annoying and common place in Gravity Falls as deer causing problems in the roads after the events of the summer before. Easly fixed but annoying as hell.)

“It’s fine,” Stan says as he bashes two zombie heads together, “We’ll just sing them dead again although you’re singing this time. I hope you still have that zombie bite cure somewhere Sixer!”

“I do but the victims of the bites still need to be in one piece for it to work Stanley. We must find the kids before they’re torn apart!” Stan’s punching becomes a little more desperate and wilder as they make their way through the town. Ford has a theory and Stan thanks God his brother is right as they round a corner and see that all of the kids made their way to the local karaoke bar.  

It’s a hell of a site. Melody and Soos are trying to break down the door, Pacifica is trying to break a window with her heels while Mabel uses a knitting needle, Wendy has he axe to keep one half of the zombies away, and (to Stan’s utter horror and pride) Dipper is holding the other half off on his own. His stance is flawless and he’s using his smaller, quicker size to his advantage. The elder Pines twins reach the kids just as Dipper knocks the jaw off of one of the monsters. These things are mindless though and it’s hard to read an opponent that doesn’t think. Dipper almost takes a bite to the ear as a zombie lunges low but Stan catches it and tosses the thing across the road. Dipper and Stan stand back to back as Ford ushers Pacifica out of the way and blasts the window open with his fancy space gun. He crawls in with Mabel and pulls Pacifica in too. Soos halfway tosses Melody in the window screaming, “Sing for our lives my songbird!”

“Okay?!” Melody yells back.  

It takes agonizing seconds for Ford to get the power to the bar going as the rest fight off the zombies. Stan’s about to toss the rest of the kids into the window and block the way before one gets on his back.

“Get off my Grunkle!” Dipper screams and drags it off of Stan. He tosses the thing and manages to get it almost as far as Stan’s zombie.  

Suddenly the music starts behind the fighters and it takes a few verses for Stan to recognize it. “Big boat keep on burnin’! Proud Cary keep on turnin! Swimming! Swimming! Swimming down the river!” Melody, Mabel, and Ford are having the most terrifyingly fun time of their lives as the zombies start to explode.

By sunset the town is doing clean up and the “Never Mind All That” law will be in full effect by tomorrow. The Pines have found themselves back home. Everyone else gets cleaned up while Ford orders a ton of pizza. Dipper makes as far as the porch before flopping onto the couch. Stan joins him.

“Look Grunkle Stan it wasn’t me this time,” Dipper starts.  

“Yeah I know,” Stan pats Dipper’s head, “You were incredible out there today by the way. I know I’m still tough on ya...”

“You’ve taught me how to fight back,” Dipper says as he pulls himself to a sitting position.

“Last summer after the first zombie attack, I wanted to learn how to do what you did but I was so caught up in... well a lot of things and I kept meaning to ask you but things kept getting crazier.”  

Dipper kind of smiles and looks at his slime covered hands, “I realized that maybe I could be smart and strong and if anything bad like last summer happened ever again I wanted to be able to fight it.”  

“It’s best to out think than outfight most of the time kid if you can but I get that. But why me? Ford’s become some sort of nerd outlaw in the past 30 years. You could learn from him?” Stan knows the kids love him. (That was one of the first facts he knew after waking up from the memory wipe.) He doesn’t know if he deserves it but he’s happy that they do. Oh, he knows that Dipper relates more to his nerdy brother, which doesn’t hurt Stan’s feeling. It’s important for kids to have someone to relate too doesn’t matter who. He loves Dipper always.  

Dipper lets out a small tired laugh, “I’ve always admired how hard you fight for us and I want to be like that. To be able to fight for my family.”

Stan beams.  

“It’s totally not because I want to spend time with you too. No not at all,” Dipper finishes with a study but not hurtful jab to Stan’s stomach.  

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. I just figure I can teach ya something useful while I’m stuck with you little gremlins. Now come on get cleaned up. You gotta eat and then get some rest. You’ve proven you’re past all the baby stuff. Lessons are about to get a whole lot harder starting tomorrow. Ya up for it?”  

“Bring it on.”  

[cassadrachan]

“Except Yours”

So @howtodrawyourdragon had this theory of Grimmel actually being in Hiccup’s house during the trailer scene?

And I’m sooooooo here for it????????????

So have a oneshot about it??????????????????

Hiccstrid included becuase why not?????????????????

   A sudden creak from downstairs stirred Hiccup from his sleep. Astrid was securely latched onto his torso, and it was only with great reluctance, and the sound of someone downstairs, that got him out of bed at that hour. He let his wife lay still, watching as she instead of him, grabbed his pillow, hugged it tight and mumbled something incoherent.

   Hiccup was too distracted to smile about his dearly beloved’s antics and silently made his way downstairs.

   Upon reaching the halfway point on the staircase, Hiccup could see a weirdly shaped figure standing in the corner, it’s slight movement in the dark indicating it was actually breathing.

   Hiccup jumped down the last five steps and grabbed Inferno from the table he had left it on the previous night.

   Upon ignition, the weird shape was revealed to be a tall elder man with a long, pointed jaw and small menacing eyes. Behind him a large volcanic looking dragon stared daringly right the young chief, it’s fangs two feet to long for its narrow jaw. Hiccup held Inferno up high, his bent brow creasing his features.

   “Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you in my home?” The mysterious man rolled his eyes and cackled silently. He leant up against his dragon, crossing his arms.

   “I am Grimmel the Grisly. Slayer of Dragons. Why and where I come from is none of your concern. But know this. You have something I want, and nothing’s stopping me from getting it.” The following silence was heavy with tension, Hiccup barely moving an inch. Grimmel took step towards him, sighing.

   “It’s truly a fine place you have created here. A magnificent dragon and Viking haven alike, where no one’s missing anything. But you know… there’s one thing I’m missing.” He turned his back on the Chief, looking down on his dragon.

   “And what would that be? You’ve obviously got your own dragon, so I’m guessing you’re not here to adopt.” Another cackle left the old man’s lips.

   “Why, you see, I’m at a loss. I’ve had one mission my entire life and you’re the only one who can aid me in its completion.” Hiccup took a step back, lowering the Inferno ever so slightly.

   “Me? What do you mean? We’ve never met before!”

   “Indeed we haven’t. And how you and your night fury have eluded me for all these years astounds me. Imagine then my eagerness to once again pursue, when Drago Bludvist reveals to me, he’s gotten a hold of a night fury in the flesh. Under his very control no less.” Hiccup can now hear a smirk plastered on Grimmel’s lips, though it is far from a funny situation. He turned around, looking straight at the young chief.

   “How he managed to escape my claws is still a mystery. You see, I’ve hunted every night fury.” He placed a light hand on the dragon’s head. “Except yours.”

   The tension somehow managed to thicken, Hiccup gripping the Inferno tighter.

   “Hand him over.” Silence. Defiance. Call it what you will.

   “I will never give him up.” A short maniacal laughter escaped Grimmel, before he faster than the eye grabbed behind his back, producing a crossbow and loading it in a matter of seconds.

   “Then, I will destroy everything you love.”

   But he didn’t even get to aiming the crossbow, before it flailed across the room, a double bladed axe resting against his collarbone.

   “You sure you wanna go through with that? Because I will personally kick you out of this world and into the next if you try anything.”

   No one moved. No one said anything for a tense ten seconds. With only one look at Hiccup, Grimmel broke the silence, again with the smirk.

   “I can see I’ve been outsmarted. This time. It is not time for battle now, anyway. But we will meet again, mark my words.”

   And just like that he was gone, the outside darkness obscuring him and his dragon against the stars outside.

   It took a couple of seconds for both chief and chieftess to let down their weapons and breathe somewhat normally. Hiccup took the few steps between him and Astrid and retracted the Inferno. Astrid turned around, the heavy axe falling limply by her side.

   “What was that all about? Who was that man?” Hiccup took a deep breath, not realizing that his hands were shaking slightly. She caught them firmly, and embraced her husband, hoping her steady heartbeat would calm him, like it had in the years past.

   “Trouble, M’lady. Trouble that could lead to something much graver…”

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Oh my gosh you just discovered mash? It's such a good show. It has some really serious episodes, end of season 3 comes to mind. I always imagined the animorphs watching mash or like somehow finding solace in it.

OH BOY BUT HAVE I MENTIONED THE MASH AU OF ANIMORPHS THAT I LITERALLY JUST THOUGHT OF TONIGHT THOUGH?

No, obviously not, I literally just thought of it tonight, but buckle in for it anyway because I’m SUPER in love with this show!!!!!

Now, keeping in mind that I am NOT EVEN three seasons in, here are my current castings, ft. the 4077th being known as The One Full Of Babies Fresh Out Of Med School (these kids are like 27 tops, they’re practically infants in terms of the medical field).

Colonel Elfangor Shamtul, The Local Adult, who’s actually in his late 40′s and is a real actual grown up surgeon with a practice and everything, now the boss of a MASH unit in Korea and discovering that his talent for commanding a surgical theater actually translates really well into commanding a military unit.  Most everyone under his command thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread.  All his superiors are basically looking for an opportunity to get his ass court martialed when they’re not handing down commendations for his weirdly effective slant-wise thinking.  His old buddy Arbron keeps them stocked then the supply lines are cut and if anyone asks Arbron and the Mountaineers are running a completely legitimate shipping enterprise.  Elfangor goes by first names with the entire populace unless a general’s there and has never enforced a dress code in his entire life because it would require him to give up his blue jacket.  He was transferred to command of the babiest MASH unit as a punishment after the first time his buddy’s legitimate shipping enterprise got tapped for being probably black market.

Corporal Aximili Isthill, the babiest baby, who is 25 and oh my God Elfangor is adopting this boy he loves him so much.  They’re not blood relatives but Elfangor got handed a gangly excitable kid as an aide and was basically like “that one’s mine thanks” and never looked back.  Ax is actually seven kinds of genius but none of them are medical--he has a stellar memory for medications but no head for anatomy--so he’s more or less single-handedly keeping the base running.  He’s apparently some kind of psychic, if his gift for knowing exactly what’s going on where and when at any given time is any indication, and he's discovered a frankly inhuman talent for electrical engineering since he got drafted out of his blossoming career as a perpetual student.  Elfangor is making this child get a doctorate if it kills them both, and since it turns out they actually live within an hour of each other in the States, there’s a non-zero chance that Ax will be moving in with him afterward.

Captain Jake Berenson, who is chief surgeon but not second in command and who just wants everyone to cooperate for five fucking minutes please.  He is begging.  And everyone knows that even though Big Jake (his army nickname within 0.3 seconds because he’s the tallest guy in the unit and built like a Mack truck) isn’t legitimately second in command, he’s the guy you go to if you want to get anything done.  He specialized in cranial trauma, which isn’t as useful as you’d think when half the head wound cases die before they reach the hospital, but Jake thought the brain was interesting and made his specialty decision while kinda drunk, so.  Leave him alone.  The reason he’s chief surgeon isn’t because of any particular medical brilliance--Jake is a good surgeon mostly through sheer pigheadedness, not because he’s a sparkling medical mind--but rather because when Jake starts barking orders, people listen.  

Captain Rachel Berenson, who is a surgeon because I don’t care about historical accuracy and because she fought tooth and nail to go to medical school and then signed up for the war when they wouldn’t draft her.  She’s at least 60% of the reason Jake is begging people to cooperate, because Rachel has made nine doctors, four nurses, and six patients cry since getting her white coat.  He’s not saying she didn’t have her reasons, okay, she has the right to defend her position as a doctor, but also please stop.  She knows more about chest injuries than probably anyone else in Korea and she likes to remind people that it means she’d be just as good at inflicting them as patching them up.  Marco labels her the Warrior Princess after two days of knowing her and it sticks hard even though she threatened to open him up with a rusty scalpel when she first heard it.

Major Cassie Day, head nurse, who everyone knows is the best at making sure that, once the surgeons have yanked someone back, they stay back.  Cassie is an angel, probably, or at least so goes common theory based on the sheer miracles she’s pulled off in her time.  As long as someone’s done bleeding to death when they get to her, she’ll probably drag them through--whether they like it or not.  She and Rachel are bunkmates because no one knew what to do with a lady surgeon and Cassie offered, and they’ve been best friends ever since, complete with Cassie occasionally helping Rachel’s more hare-brained schemes come together.  Everyone and their cousin, including Elfangor, knows that Cassie and the chief surgeon make out in the supply tent, but also the one time Cassie left for a week leave the entire unit broke down so no, they will not be reporting them for breaking frat regs.  No matter how much Elfangor’s second-in-command wants to.  One time someone talked shit about her skin color and was drummed out of the unit on mysteriously appearing court martial charges two days later.  Contrary to popular opinion, it was not Rachel who started the brawl that got him brought up on charges, nor was the guy actually murdered straight up.  Arm broken, yes.  Murdered, no.  Turns out Big Jake hits as hard as he looks like he does.

Captain Marco Reilly, who is the unit psychologist and also Rachel’s top enabler.  She spends 80% of her time defending herself as a woman and a surgeon, he spends 80% of his time defending himself either based on his race or based on his career, and they are responsible for 80% of Jake’s ulcer because they get in a huge amount of trouble together.  Psychology hasn’t really entered the generally accepted medical field, but Marco specializes in treating trauma and combat fatigue and he gets soldiers back on their feet better than anyone else.  He decided on his career when he was a kid and his mom was a nurse in WWII who wrote home about how she saw boys without a mark on them ruined worse than those who would walk with a limp for the rest of their lives, and Marco doesn’t believe in regret.  It’s also this mentality that generally leads to him and Rachel being a Problem for Jake.  That doesn’t stop Jake from accepting the offer of gin from Marco’s personal still, or from more than occasionally getting swept up in the shenanigans himself.

Corporal Tobias Williams, who is in charge of triage and about 80% trained as a nurse in addition to his other duties.  (I know MASH doesn’t formally have someone in charge of triage but they SHOULD okay, listen, they SHOULD.)  He’s a decent chopper pilot, too, but the unit tends to contrive reasons to keep him around.  Rachel likes to have him assist her in surgery because he has an uncanny talent for spotting things that have the potential to kill her patients almost before she does, and isn’t afraid to mention it.  Tobias and Ax fall in together as inseparable besties within about a month, and Tobias learns not to wait for the announcement that wounded are coming in not long after--he just watches Ax tilt his head in that particular way and sprints off to the staging area without missing a beat.  For a bit a lot of the unit talked shit behind Tobias’ back, claiming that triage was slacker work, but then there was a day where Tobias spent nineteen hours on the staging area directing choppers and ambulances, stopped for twenty minutes to eat and chug an entire pot of coffee, and turned back out for another twenty hours, and went to assist in OR once the wounded stopped pouring in.  Then folks stopped talking shit.  Tobias is nervous and jumpy and generally quiet enough that no one ever thinks to suspect him of being trouble, which is why people are always shocked when it turns out that, say, it was his idea to smuggle in a dozen kegs of beer for New Year’s.

(Elfangor spends three months getting really attached to Tobias before he finds out some relevant information and has about a six month crisis about how to approach it.  His ultimate solution is TBD.)

Major David Pence, aka That Rat, who is Elfangor’s second in command and a screeching pain in everyone’s ass.  Everyone except David knows that his dad bought his way into med school and leveraged his rank in the army to force Elfangor to take the kid on as his second.  David’s under the impression that he’s great shakes at surgery and command both, and he straight up tried to report Elfangor when Jake was appointed chief surgeon over his head.  That was not a major event, because David tries to report someone about twice a week.  About half those attempted reports are either Rachel or Tobias or Ax--Tobias and Ax because he thinks they’re getting above their station, Rachel apparently for the crime of being herself.  He cannot be trusted to keep a level head in a crisis and Cassie has had to swoop in and save his patients more than once.  

Ji-Min “James” Song is a civilian doctor, their primary contact at a long-term recovery facility in Seoul where they send patients who are destined for a discharge.  Every time James rolls up to collect a patient, it is heavily implied that very similar chicanery is going on at his place, and he and Jake get drunk together to commiserate a lot.

Elfangor gets drunk with them too, sometimes.

[awed-frog]

Hey, I was just wondering do you have any thoughts on Barthes, death of the author? And I guess in extension the return of the author? Also slightly related, have you ever read any of Chris Krause's work? I read I love dick and I'm rather conflicted, I don't like the character but then I identify with her? Anyhow all the best x

Okay, so - as a disclaimer, I never had tons of classes in any of this stuff, so I’m hoping what follows makes some sense? If it doesn’t, it’s 100% my fault.

Anyway: the tl;dr is, I hate it with a vengeance and I never use it. On the contrary, it is very central to my life, and as close a certainty as I have on anything, that whatever we consume we should always ask ourselves: who is saying this? And why? And most of all, cui bono?

Oh, and a second disclaimer is that what I’ll allow *waves a generous hand* is that, like many other extreme, rebellious or wacky theories of the 1960s, it was probably Good and About Bloody Time that someone pushed back against the status quo, because some things back then needed to be broken down - but that doesn’t make those movements rational or right in themselves, you know what I mean? What matters is not the wrecking ball, but the new thing you’re planning to build on the ruins.  

So - imo there are two big problems with the concept of ‘death of the author’ - one is the theory itself, and the other is how this theory is understood on tumblr and fandoms (from what I see on my dash, that is).

First of all, Barthes basically says that to understand a text, we shouldn’t go and explore its author (their life and other works, the historical context, what they’ve read and talked about with friends and stuff like that) because the author is born with the text, and the text already contains all that it’s necessary to its full understanding; also, the reader will supply the rest, because, in a way, the reader creates the text - and gives it meaning - just as much as the author.

To be perfectly honest, to me that’s downright bullshit. Knowing who the author was and what was happening around them is paramount to understanding what the hell the text is trying to say, you know? For instance, knowing Orwell took part in the Spanish Civil War makes Homage to Catalonia much more poignant, and the fact Burgess went through the exact same ordeal he describes in A Clockwork Orange (his wife was attacked and brutalized by a group of American soldiers in 1944) will change the way you read the book, as it bloody should, and the same is true of literally everything else, in my opinion. For instance, last week we went to see The Greatest Showman, a biopic of P. T. Barnum that’s horribly inaccurate and almost a parody of itself; but knowing full well what the polical climate is like today means I actually sort of liked the movie despite its many faults, because I recognized it as what it wanted to be: a ‘hymn to freakishness’, an exploration of what it means to be different, and that’s exactly what we’re in dire need of.

Now - what is true is that we’ll never be able to pin down exactly ‘what the author intended’, because authors may not know themselves and that’s just the world we live in and the kind of creatures we are. I met writers who’re extremely smart, attentive people completely dedicated to their craft, and all of them said there’s always this moment when some reader goes, I liked how that detail with the dead bird was a direct reference to Clara’s illness or something and it’s a light-bulb moment for them, and I mean - they wrote the damn thing, but still didn’t notice that detail was there and why it was important. It probably just sounded right, because that’s what happens when you’re good at something and do it daily: sometimes things just click and work and you don’t even stop to consider the whys and wherefores. But the fact that we don’t have a complete insight into our own minds doesn’t mean we should give up completely on interpreting art and literature, right? What would be the point of that? Because I always perceived Barthes’ theory as a kind of giving up, myself, a kind of Fuck, Le Grand Robert lists 100K words and I’ll never be able to learn all of them, I might as well stop my French classes, you know? And, like, no? You can speak and understand a language with 500 words - and whatever, your glimpse into that world won’t be perfect (and there’s no such thing as perfect, btw), but still better than nothing, right? So, anyway, I don’t much like this theory in itself. 

As to its application to fandom life, well, here is where things get even worse. From what I see on tumblr, people generally think that ‘death of the author’ means their interpretation of what they see is always valid, and also that there is no right or wrong way to understand a story. And this bothers me a lot, because I see it as a direct consequence of a) capitalism doing its best to tailor its products to everyone by leaving out as many details as possible so that, Sure, Luke Skywalker can totally be gay, why not, and here is your Funko pop toy and your stickers and thanks for shopping with us and b) the age-old myth that science, now, that’s a hard and unforgiving discipline where there’s truths and untruths, but in the liberal arts, everyone’s opinion just counts the same (because you don’t need a degree to watch a movie and also the author is dead, so there). But, well - as the people who actually produce the content we enjoy know perfectly well, the author is not dead. There is a message in stories, and there is a right and a wrong way of reading them - if not on all the details, then on the main point of them; and, frankly, it’s weird how on the one hand we celebrate the triumph of this ‘everyone’s opinion is valid’ society we’re building (thus not simply killing the author, but bludgeoning the dead body with a blunt axe) and then on the other we loudly demand a world where artists are ‘unproblematic’ in their private lives (one example: the recent furore over Balthus’ painting in the Met). It looks like truly, this may be the era of the Schrödinger’s Author.

(And let me be clear: of course you’re allowed to like or dislike whatever you want based on your personal experiences and bias, but that’s your opinion, not any kind of truth. Like, a thing I found quite interesting in my personal life was a discussion I had with a woman from New Zealand about Thor: Ragnarok, a movie I mostly hated. One of the reasons for my disappointment in it was how Valkyrie had been represented: to me, her laddish drunkenness represented yet another attempt to insert women in a story while making them behave like men, a trend I profoundly despise. But, as that woman was kind enough to explain to me, from her perspective (and probably Waititi’s, since he’s from New Zealand and has explored the same subject in other movies) Valkyrie’s loss of focus and alcohol problems were there to evoke the plight of the Māori people, who, like other aboriginal communities, were forced into alcoholism and excised from their traditions when the ‘civilizing’ might of the the White Man showed up on their shores. This to say that I still don’t like the movie, but since Waititi was talking to a different audience, and they got the message, I’m wrong and he’s right, because I’m free to have an opinion on anything, but at the end of the day, he’s the goddamn author, alive and kicking.)

As for Chris Kraus, I don’t know her at all. I heard good things about the TV adapation of I love Dick? And as for what you say - fiction often reveals deeper truths about ourselves. I’d say that if you feel close to a character you don’t like, well, that’s a good starting point to understand (and change, or maybe learn to love) what it is that you don’t like about yourself? Anyway - sorry for the novel - I wish you a good afternoon/evening/whatever it is where you are! 

[astridthevalkyrie]

Axe to the Heart: Chapter 14

Astrid Hofferson/Steve Harrington. “Maybe I hate a lot of things here in Hawkins but I suppose you’re not one of them.”

Chapter 13

@ashleybenlove (Either before or after you read this I’d love to know what your theory was as to why Astrid hadn’t called the gang).

Definite Blast From The Past

The paper crinkled under her hands as she swallowed, trying to steady her breathing.

She had kept it all in. During class, nothing. During work, nothing. During basketball, nothing. It could stay like that. She didn’t have to freak out. She didn’t…shouldn’t…

Astrid shut her eyes.

It was okay. It was fine. Nothing would happen, her parents weren’t even there, they were on a two day trip. It wasn’t a failing grade.

But it wasn’t a good grade, either. Not according to her standards.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and soon enough they were falling, dripping down her cheeks and onto the test paper. That familiar empty, hollow feeling rose up in her chest and choked her from inside as she covered her mouth with her hand.

No. No, the last time she had let this happen, the girl two seats across from her had snarked, “What a drama queen, I’d kill for her brains,” and she was right. She was right. Astrid Hofferson was a drama queen, a brat, an overachiever, and she knew it. But she hated it, gods, she hated it so much.

The first loud sob escaped from her mouth as more tears started pouring down, hot and fast. She was overreacting. Whose fault was the grade anyways? It was her’s, she wasn’t…wasn’t good enough, didn’t study enough, she just wasn’t enough at all.

What kind of…bitch…got upset with a good grade just because it wasn’t a great grade? Who spiralled down the panic road if the first digit on the exam paper was below a nine? Why was she like this? What was wrong with her?

There was a knock on the window.

Fuck. She shut her eyes and stood up shakily, blinking rapidly as she slowly went to the window (Steve never used the door anymore). She was fairly good at pretending like she hadn’t been crying, but it usually took her a minute, not two seconds.

So when she opened the window, she avoided looking at Steve, who started talking as soon as she could hear him.

“Okay, so you’ll never believe what I saw on the way here.”

“Yeah?” she breathed, swallowing as he climbed in. “W-what did you see?”

“It was this weird car, it looked like someone had taken a branch and beaten it, but - are you crying?”

Astrid shook her head, a lump in her throat. She didn’t trust herself to say anything. He saw. He knew. He was going to see her for the real overdramatic mess that she was.

“You’re crying,” Steve said, his mouth hanging open slightly. “You’re crying.”

She clenched her fists, looking down. No point hiding it now. With a trembling finger, she pointed to the discarded exam on the bed. As Steve picked it up, she faced her mirror, wiping her cheeks furiously.

“An 84? Ast, this is…” He trailed off when she looked back at him, dried tears still on her face and her eyes a blotchy red.

“It’s not…good enough,” she breathed, shaking. Now he was going to call her crazy, say that she was totally insensitive to students who actually got bad grades, laugh at her.

He did none of those things. Instead, he stood up and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his chest.

For some reason, that made Astrid let out another choked sob as she pressed her face in his shirt.

Was pity worse than rejection?

“This kind of thing happen before?” he asked quietly, and then she understood.

He knew she was spiralling. That she was having a…a panic attack. That tone…he definitely knew. That was a tiny bit of relief.

“Once every…” She bit her lip as he pressed a soft kiss to her hair. “Every two months? At least.”

“How do you usually deal with it?”

“Well…the gang…they know how to…how to calm me down and all that shit.” His question was probably about after she moved to Hawkins, but there was no answer in that case. She hadn’t dealt with the attacks, they dealt with her.

“Okay…okay, one second.” Steve pressed her closer, and while it would normally feel suffocating if someone tried to do that, he was wearing a shirt with a thin material (even though it was cold) and his scent was nice, so it wasn’t all bad. And it was him. He was an exception to all her rules so far anyway.

But that didn’t mean he was supposed to do what he did next.

She heard some flipping of her phonebook, and then all of a sudden he was pressing numbers, making Astrid turn her head in alarm.

“W-what are you doing? Who are you calling?”

He smiled as the phone rang. “Hiccup.”

“What!?” Astrid looked up at him in horror.

“Yeah, he can help you through this -”

Oh gods, she was going to burst into tears again. “No, no, Steve, you don’t get it, I haven’t -”

“Hello?”

Astrid froze, but her eyes welled up. It was his voice. Hiccup. Her Hiccup. It was him.

“Hey, is this Hiccup?” Steve asked, still rubbing her soothingly as though keeping her warm.

Of course it was Hiccup. Who else would sound so nasally and so perfectly remind her of Berk?

“Yeah. Uh, who is this?”

“Uh, I’m a friend of Astrid’s. Maybe she told you? Steve Harrington?”

“No -” she began, but Hiccup beat her to it.

“I haven’t talked to Astrid in a while. What happened? Is she okay?”

Now Harrington was looking at her with a strange look on his face and that combined with the concern in Hiccup’s voice was way too much. Astrid shook her head and buried her face in his shoulder, her chest heaving.

“Yeah. Well, no. She’s fine, but she’s kinda freaking out, man. She got a grade back today. It’s a…not a low test grade, but, like, you know -”

”Not a great test grade. Is she there? Can I talk to her?”

Steve pressed a kiss to her temple and brought the phone to her ear. She looked up, shaking her head, but he just kissed her cheek again and smiled encouragingly.

Astrid held the phone, taking a deep breath. “Hello?”

It felt like she was drowning.

“Astrid?”

“Hiccup,” she mumbled, closing her eyes tightly. “Oh gods, I am so sorry -”

“Ast, we don’t need to talk about that right now. Are you okay? Take a deep breath. In, then out. In front of your friend.”

Astrid looked up at Steve, who mimicked taking a breath himself, as though she needed a cue.

Maybe she did. In, then out. In, then out.

“Alright, what was the grade?”

Hearing his voice helped calm her down, and she squeezed Steve’s hand as she said, “84. I know, it’s not bad -”

“You know I would never tell you that. I know you think you can do better. I know you can do better. You’re Astrid Hofferson. But you also know that everyone goes below their expectations sometimes. I have, you have. It happens, Astrid. The next test you have, you’re gonna do so well even you’ll be impressed.”

She let out a weak laugh. “How do you know?”

“Like I said, you’re Astrid Hofferson. You twisted a bully’s arm and got him in trouble in the same day. In third grade.”

This time even Steve laughed, looking at her with a knowing look. She took another deep breath - in, then out - and then whispered, “Thanks, Hiccup.”

“For you, milady, anything.” Astrid could almost see him, his eyes always appearing brighter when he was convinced he had to cheer her up, his rough hands holding her smoother - and softer - ones. The way he smiled, the way he laughed, for a moment it was like Hiccup was there.

And for another moment, it was like the whole gang was there. Ruff offering her a drink, Tuff slinging an arm around her shoulder and telling her that as her absolute best friend, he had an obligation to make sure that she wasn’t upset. Snotlout going through the test and pretending like he knew exactly what had went wrong and offering to help her while Fishlegs scoffed behind him and gave real advice.

Oh gods, she really wished they were here.

But then, in that image, there was Steve Harrington too, laying his head on her lap and singing Old Time Rock n Roll as though he was starring in a music video, hair flopping back and forth.

If the gang wasn’t here, at least he was.

“Astrid? Will…will we talk later?”

“Yes,” she murmured, biting her lip, “I promise. Thank you. I’ll call. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. It’s nice to hear your voice, milady.”

“It’s nice to hear yours too.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow. Bye, Hiccup.”

“Bye, Ast.”

The line went quiet, and slowly, Astrid put the phone down on the back on the receiver. She didn’t move just yet, though, and neither did the boy embracing her.

They were quiet for about a minute until Steve said teasingly, “So, milady?”

She let out a breathless laugh, wiping her eyes and pulling back. “Only he calls me that, Harrington. Well, occasionally Tuff too, but it’s not your thing.”

“I thought Ast was my thing.” He crossed his arms and pouted (so over exaggeratedly that she knew he was trying to make her laugh). “But no, he calls you that too.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” he grinned as he repeated his new favorite line, and this time, she didn’t protest. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did love him, in some way. Who knew?

She wasn’t spiraling anymore.

“I’m guessing you want an explanation.” Astrid sat down on the bed, beckoning him to join her.

“As to why you haven’t talked to your supposed best friend in the world?” Steve snorted, easily laying down with his head on her lap. “Yeah, an explanation would be nice.”

“Well…” She stroked his hair and hummed in thought for a few seconds. “Hiccup and I broke up about a week before my parents told me we were moving. It wasn’t messy, but…when we were together, we kind of…left the rest of the gang out. Like, we were in our own little world. So things were already…shaky. Even after we stopped dating and I started packing, they wouldn’t leave me alone about it.” She sighed, taking a few strands of his hair to make a braid. “Eventually, it got bad enough that I blew up at all of them, even Hiccup, on the day I moved. I told them I didn’t need him or them, and before you tell me how fucking stupid that was, I know.” Steve only smirked, not saying whether he’d meant to say it or not. “But I’m…proud, alright? I didn’t have the gall to call and apologize.”

Steve reached his hand up to see her handiwork as he said, “You moved here a little more than a year ago, didn’t you? It was about a week before Will went missing.”

“Two weeks, but I’m surprised you remember at all.”

“All I know is that one day this know-it-all girl plops down in some of my classes and she raises her hand no matter what the question is. She’s gorgeous, although, of course at the time the defining trait is just being annoying.”

“Your defining trait is still being annoying, Harrington,” she shot back, tugging on his hair gently as she took out the braid, only to make another. “But to get back on topic, yes. I haven’t talked to them in over a year.”

“No wonder you’re so fucking cranky all the time,” Steve remarked, earning himself a smack on the shoulder. “Your orgy party was taken away!”

Astrid gaped even as she laughed. “Oh, yeah, never heard that one before. My orgy party includes you now, you know.”

“I knew you were just trying to get in my pants this whole time.”

Astrid leaned down and kissed him as he was getting out the last word, and he hummed and smiled against her lips as he kissed back. Neither of them attempted to move anything but their lips - it was meant to be a lazy kiss, and it was enjoyable. Steve made it enjoyable.

He pulled back, first, gazing in her eyes intently. “You feel better now?”

“Not better enough to talk about why I keep kissing you when we’re not dating.” She smiled and bit her lip. “But better about my test grades and my old friends? Yeah.”

He smiled genuinely, sitting up and yawning before falling back on the pillow. “Your parents are on that trip for the whole weekend, right?”

“You can sleep over,” Astrid said, already knowing where this was going, and before she could process it, added, “I want you to, actually.”

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t comment or make fun of her. He must have been getting tired, because he just got under the blankets and outstretched his arms. She took the offer, shivering when his warmth came in contact with her ice cube of a body.

After a few minutes, he mumbled sleepily in her ear, “You look pretty when your friends make you smile.”

Astrid snapped out of her thought process for the calls she would make to the gang tomorrow, and looked at him. His mouth was slightly open, he was looking comfortable, and extremely cute.

“What about when you make me smile?”

There was no answer. Steve was asleep.

Okay, so since this is the last day of midterm week, I thought it’d be easy to write Astrid panicking over tests but my exams went pretty well, actually, so…that’s good but it didn’t fuel writing that much, pfft.

Next chapter: Astrid talks to her best female friend on the phone…and the topics vary considerably.

[eclissy]

Buried Under the Aching Tree 1/2

Back when I was a baby and still writing a lot of DF stuff and my Hero OC stand in, I had a whole side story just about Ty’s sword, it’s name, what the details on it meant and so forth. But then I got tired, busy, and the whole thing felt over the top but, it’s October now. I redid it to de-stress a bit (and fill in the rest of the plot outline since I didn’t finish it seven years ago either. God of course it took me seven years to almost finish something).

Tbh, I reworked it so much that it’s more about Ash and Artix now.

Summary: Ash learns about his friend’’s sword, a relic passed through a million hands but never through a family. That and what it’s like to be possessed by a single feeling.

Accustomed to the Hero’s little giveaways, Ash grabbed the hilt of Ty’s sword before she could plunge it into the farmer’s chest.

“He’s not a thief anymore!” Ash yelled, having to dig his heels into the ground to keep Ty’s sword from getting stuck between the farmer’s ribs. Ty let go to make sure Ash wouldn’t hurt himself and the boy stumbled back, sword in hand.  

The farmer in question was shivering so hard, his skin was likely to peel itself off and all Ty was doing was smiling. No smile lines around her eyes; just this mechanical lifting of the corner of her mouth.

Turning to Ash, that grin shrank into a sheepish bit lip and raised shoulders.

“Did it look like I was going to hurt him?” Ty asked, an eye half closed in a wince as though Ash’s yelp had physically hit her. “Oopsie, I was only trying to scare him. I promise!”

Typically, if you were intending on hurting someone, scaring them came with the package.

“Ty…” Ash stood back, fixing a scolding glare he didn’t really know how to make. He tried to think about his mom giving him a hard telling to when he drank milk straight out of the bucket.

Shrugging and turning her hands over, Ty’s expression loosened into a scowl and her eyes rolled, coming to rest on the farmer.

“Don’t you remember this jackhole?” Ty kept the language clean for Ash. “He broke into your camp, took your gold, and your clothes so you couldn’t leave your tent for days!”

“I mean yeah, you didn’t need to remind me but yeah…” Ash muttered, scratching the back of his head.

Nervously, the farmer stepped towards the young man. He was half hiding behind his pitchfork which made his heavily scarred brutish face much less menacing than the first time he had met Ash.

“Funds are low this season so I’m awful sorry, I can’t give the gold back to you right now. But, you know where the farm is. After Spring comes back round, I’ll return what I stole,” He removed his hat. “Again, I’m awful sorry I did that to you and I really am trying to turn over a new leaf.”

“Honestly, I’m not angry at all. I’m glad things went right for you.” Ash said, genuinely thrilled that the thief had changed for the better. “Don’t worry about the gold.”

“Ash! Don’t let this guy off free!” Ty protested, more convinced that Warlic could drink a vat of melted wax and live than the farmer being completely reformed. “What he did was terrible! He needs to pay! When I found you, the crows were circling and it smelled like pee.“

“I know, I know!” Ash quickly cut her off. “But everything’s ok now. Look at that smile.”

The farmer smiled with all twelve of his green teeth.

“That’s a good guy!” It was okay, Ash hated going to the dentist too.

Brow creasing deeply, mirroring her scrunched grimace, Ty struggled to not break her arms crossing them so hard.

“If you say so.” Ty finally conceded, tilting her head to dodge the arrow shot at her.

For a stunned moment of silence, Ash gaped at Ty and the arrow stuck in the ground. He barely noticed the group of bandits doing the same thing.

Then, Ty began tapping her chin, examining the scruffy bandits that were slowly working their bravery back up. Brandishing some very pretty and very stolen axes and swords, the bandits were coming Ash and Ty’s way.

“Are these guys part of your old posse? Did they maybe come out here to rough you up for leaving?” Ty didn’t look at the man and see him nod. “Oh my god, you guys couldn’t have come at a better time,” She laughed, beginning to walk towards them unarmed. “When I’m done ripping your intestines out of your assholes and tying them together, they’re going straight into your mouths!”

Those bandits were shouting, half in a rage and half in true horror.

Ash didn’t approve of that wording but he was going to try helping first. Gripping Ty’s sword, Ash ran after the bandit that chickened out and was trying to get away.

“Stop!” Ash yelled, catching up to the fleeing bandit. He swung Ty’s sword and rolled on to the ground when it stayed stuck by his side. The blade had suddenly gotten incredibly heavy, squeezing Ash’s fingers white against the dirt. “Ow!”

Hearing Ash fumble, the bandit had returned, tapping his dagger on his palm.

“Huh,” He glanced towards where Ty was rearranging his fellow bandits’ faces some distance away between the trees. “We made it all the way into the woods. You think she can hear you scream over here?”

The point of the dagger flew towards Ash’s eye and gasping, Ash jumped up, lifting the sword with all of his might. It went over his head and he almost tumbled backwards from its weight but managed to keep his footing. The bandit didn’t hesitate making another stab at Ash’s belly.

Panicking, Ash blindly swung Ty’s sword and it smashed into the bandit’s rusty dagger, shattering into pieces.

“You little – AHG!” The bandit screamed, keeling over clutching his bleeding shin. Behind him, the farmer kept his pitch fork pointed at his once fellow thief.

Ash was busy staring at what was left of Ty’s beautiful sword scattered across the patchy ground to thank the farmer. He wanted to swallow the lump in his throat but it was too dry and any tiny movement made his stinging eyes hurt.

“Aw,” The bandit looked at him sympathetically. “It ain’t your fault.” Ash couldn’t hear him over the sound of footsteps coming up beside him.

“Huh,” Ty cast a wary gaze to the farmer though much softer than before. “I’m sad they passed out so quick. You doing okay here?”

“T-Ty…” His grip on the sword’s hilt shaking, Ash lifted his head to look at Ty who had noticed the shiny broken pieces of the sword her father had made for her. Her jaw hung open, hands held up in front of her chest. “I’m so--! I’m so so--!”

“Woah, Ash!” Ty clasped Ash’s shoulders, eyes all starry. “Did you break my sword? That’s so cool!”

The tears began to flow and Ty opened her mouth, shocked.

“Oh, no no no! You’re really cute when you cry!” Ty exclaimed, giving him a big hug. Ash’s tears were shooting out like bullets and Ty continued to pat his back. “Hey, you’re cuter when you’re happy so don’t worry! I’m not mad at all and this totally isn’t your fault.”

“I’ll bay de blacksmit.” Ash blubbered over Ty’s comforting, hugging her back.

“There’s already an appointment set up, I’ll just give Konnan a larger tip.”

Awkwardly, the farmer also began to pat Ash’s back. It earned him a thousand yard stare from Ty.

“Haha...I’ll go back to growing carrots.”

“Carrots? Ew,” Ty bit her tongue to keep herself from sticking it out. “No wonder you don’t have any gold.”

“Ty!” Ash exclaimed, starting to become and laugh a little at the situation.

Under Konnan’s hammer, the metal seemed to move on its own. The intricate embellishments of ivy and holly leaves that had been broken were weaving back together on the broad side of the blade. Ash stared in wonder, attributing it to magic.

Before Ash knew it, the sword was as good as new on the Smithy’s front counter.

“Don’t worry about the extra big tip. I don’t know, buy me some of Serenity’s scones tomorrow,” Konnan took off his gloves and attempted to wipe the soot off of his cheek, leaving a big streak. “I like working on your sword anyways. It makes me feel like I’m actually a master blacksmith.”

“You’re getting there fast,” Ty assured him, waiting for Ash to take his time looking at her sword before she sheathed it. “See Ash? Didn’t take any time at all.”

“That’s all thanks to the magic,” Konnan confirmed Ash’s theory. “I’m no mage but no sword can get fixed that fast. You need to tell me and Yulgar how this sword was forged. If all swords were like it…no wait, that’d put us out of a job.”

“Haha, I couldn’t let out the secret even if I tried. It’s an old antique my dad had remade,” Ty let her hand rest on the sword’s hilt. “We know a few of the stories it’s got under its belt but where it came from and who made it? Not sure and also not sure if that’s why it’s got the magic.”

“Oh well. I still would have liked to know. I’ve never seen this style of sword before,” Konnan rubbed his chin, smearing it with soot too. “And for such a well-made weapon, it has such a cutesy name. Fuukoo… Fuukoo shoes, or something,” He tapped the counter didn’t bring up the correct name. “I’ve got some other work to do so when that’s over, tell me a few of the stories.”

“Me too!” Ash jumped in, eager to hear what kind of heroic deeds pervious heroes had achieved with the enchanted sword. The young hero had only read about great swords with long histories in books. When he did see them, it was from afar with him jumping up and down in the hopes of catching a glimpse of it and its honored master pass through his village.

“No.” Ty said, flat out.

Konnan and Ash froze, though Konnan got back to moving a lot faster, evacuating the scene to busy himself by the tools in the back.

“Nah, that was a gut reaction,” Ty snaked her arm around Ash’s shoulder and lead him out of the shop. “I’ll tell you one while we walk back to my place.”

And she didn’t talk at all while they were in Falconreach. Ash tried to stammer a few things, a little flustered being hugged by the hero like that. Not to mention he had a kind of dumb grin; one that he couldn’t help make even when a few passerby definitely noticed the big ol tomato Ty was escorting out of time.

When they were on the well trekked path to the crossroads, Ty began to tell a tale.

“Long long ago, this sword fell into the hands of fledgling adventurer, who went from swinging sticks with his sister to leading a revolution in an empire wracked with civil war.” Ty started the story in a faux old lady voice to Ash’s amusement.

“The Emperor had already quashed the Empress and the Crown Prince’s rebellion. He had seemingly forgiven his wife and son for all transgressions but then, the Crown Prince died of illness. The Empress passed away of the same. Though he was grieving, the youngest son went to war before he began to suspect that his father had the Prince’s beloved brother and mother poisoned. He was, however, no war hero.”

“That adventurer was!” Ash cut in.

“And that adventurer started off strong, leading a small force of village folk against the Emperor’s men when they came to forcefully recruit them. His many string of victories brought him the Prince’s notice and he was honored with a sword from the royal treasury, a prize from a previous victory long passed. The Prince had stolen and put the weapon in better suited hands.”

Ash could picture it, the young man putting on armor that was shinier than any kind of gold or silver. He was kneeling in front of the crowned Prince on a wide grassy battlefield, knighted by the sword he would receive.

“On horseback, he drew his sword and pointed it at the sky as he charges into his first battle. An arrow strikes his horse’s leg and he skids over the dirt hard.”

The dream shattered and Ash was back on the path with Ty. She noticed his sinking glee but kept the same easy tone as she continued, holding her hands behind her back.

“That fall knocked the adventurer out and he was asleep as waves of his comrades died without his leadership. When he woke up in a panic, immediately rallying the army together, they kept dying because of his mistakes. As it seemed, the appointed champion knew his home woods best. These kinds of battles weren’t anything he’d ever prepared for before.”

Ash could picture that too. He thought of the same panic he had when Falconreach was on fire and his shouts were drowned out by the violence. Only, that hero must have had that fear magnified to a degree Ash couldn’t imagine anyone being able to think in.

“Luckily, the champion’s sister had come despite him asking her to stay behind where it was safe. She had fought beside him when the fight was on their turf and had snuck into the war camp to join him. Taking up a spear, she tied a banner to it and let the colours fly as she fought, grabbing her comrades’ attention and leading the battle to victory.”

Heart swelling, Ash was tossed back from the edge of a tragic end to the triumphant turn in the story.

“Saving the army and her brother was a story that gave the Crown Prince’s side morale. It swung the undecided to his side and the Prince decreed the two of them to be his champions. Together, they lead the armies until the army could only be led by one. That adventurer had no talent leading an army and one day, he disappeared.”

“What? Did he go back home?”

“In a sense, he did. All of a sudden, the Prince’s army was suffering losses and they had to retreat to the remaining champion’s home. They met her brother there in the flames he started. Jealous of his sister, the former champion had gone to the Emperor with all the information he needed to destroy the rebellion. He said as much when they reunited, having already killed his own parents to hurt his sister.”

As vivid as the bright sun that shone over Ash right now, the image in his head of the carnage was alight with fire.

The once bright and hopeful young boy was standing over his coughing sister. The heads of their friends and family were propped on stakes all around the village as it was demolished by fire and battle. In his gauntlets was the sword, more red than silver under the full moon.

‘You stole everything from me! I was the hero and you took it all away!’ Ash heard the boy’s voice when Ty quoted him.

“That was when his sword became heavy. Its weight pulled him down and it disappeared from under him, coming back when his sister plunged it into the back of his neck.”

She could have incapacitated him when the sword decided that she would be its new master. She could have taken him to face justice. In fact, she could have killed him so no one else would have been hurt.

Instead, she murdered him in cold blood, hooking the point under his skin, scraping it into his skull just for the sake of making him suffer. The sound of her brother’s messy death blocked out the chaos, veiling her in the only kind of joy she would ever feel again.

“After that, the rest of the battles were nothing special. What was special was how the remaining champion kept the head of her brother chained to her belt. With the sword, she mowed the Emperor’s army down with the vindictive forces who had too been enraged by the destruction of their previous lives. They were only the Crown Prince’s army in name. Once they made it to the Capital—“

The champion, alone with the Crown Prince, stormed the room where the man who ruined her life sat atop a great throne. To her horror, the Emperor stood with her sword held at his side. She found that her hands were empty and the Emperor spoke to her.

‘Do you know my story? The story of a boy with not a drop of blue blood? I stowed away on the pirate ship that destroyed the small fishing village where my family lived. Under the bloodied gold and silver was the sword I used to avenge my family. It slew hundreds of pirates, thousands of the worthless soldiers, and all of the idle nobles until the remaining bowed to me. But I wasn’t done. This sword stayed in my hands until all I knew was war. Country after country fell for no reason other than for the phantom slight I imagined they had committed against me. Even when I found a new family, they came to hate me and were taken by an enemy I couldn’t kill.”

The remaining Emperor’s Son had found out long before that his father had nothing to do with his mother and brother’s deaths. His war had been waged not for revenge but to save a country from a war mongering tyrant he loved dearly.

‘I could not raise my sword against my wife and son. I only waged war so a truly evil Emperor would not threaten the next Emperor’s reign with their shared blood. This sword could no longer be mine.’

The cursed sword reappeared in the champion’s grip, refusing to leave her hands when she tried to drop the horrid thing.

‘Promise me that when I die, you will do all that is within your power to sink the sword into the sea.’

Ash’s intense daydream ended as the silver blade rushed towards the Emperor and disappeared into his throat.

Blinded by the daylight, Ash shielded his eyes, distraught by how he had been absorbed into Ty’s story. The young hero, reminded of her presence and of their walk, staggered away from her and her cottage. In the midst of the daydream, he hadn’t noticed that they had already arrived.

“They couldn’t pry the sword out of the champion’s hands and she didn’t hesitate chopping them off. The new Emperor had it sunk in a sea that was so far away, it didn’t have a name yet,” Ty was finishing the story. “Probably would done it, promise or not. He was an honest and nice person. I’d say he would have thrown the sword away out of guilt.”

“He should have broken it!” Ash said, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. How had he literally seen the scene in his head?

“Magic, remember? One of the reasons why the first champion started to get really good at fighting after he deserted was because of the sword,” Ty was treating the matter so nonchalantly that it was making Ash angry. “I brought it to the Smithy to fix it faster but if I had left it alone, the sword would have pieced itself back together on its own.”

And come back to Ty on its own.

“I could tell you some more stories,” Ty unsheathed the blade, holding it level. “There’s a bunch I know from before it met the first Champion and after it crawled out of the sea. This one was just one of my favorites.”

Ash shook his head, keeping his distance.

“Why would you have it? Why won’t you throw it away? That sword makes you obsessed with revenge!”

The moment that Ty took to think about her answer that was scarily short.

“I like it.” She put it simply.

Despite her behavior before; every single fight that Ash remembered how Ty had taken too far, he still couldn’t believe his ears.

“What?”

“What if after each war we have in Falconreach, Amityvale, the Sandsea, anywhere people we care about get hurt, the event ended and I was too tired to stand?” Ty asked. “What if the villains get away with it and hurt more of the people we care about? What if I let everyone in Falconreach stay hurt? What if I can’t bring them the justice they deserve? What if, what if, what if, right?” Ty tilted the blade and Ash could have sworn, the ivy and holly leaf markings swayed.

“This sword doesn’t make you obsessed with revenge. The people it chooses are already in love with revenge and it won’t let them forget it,” Ty gazed at the sword, as if at peace thanks to the idea it kept locked in her mind. “I have to make them pay.”

“That’s it,” Ash said, disgust clearing dripping from his voice. “Does saving people matter at that point? You’re in love with revenge because you want to make people suffer. Whether they did something bad or not doesn’t matter. You fight to protect the weak, to be a hero. Not to hurt people. You didn’t have to make people suffer! You do it because you like it.”

Ty lowered the sword, thinking of dropping it. Only thinking.

“You’re right, Ash. And I’m sorry,” Ty turned to him, a little less color in her cheeks. She smiled despite that. “I was just glad you can’t use the sword. And you deserve to know the reason why,” She turned to face her friend. “You’re a real hero, Ash.”

A beat passed, one where he tried to stop being mad. It was just that he was so disappointed and the heavy, foul mood grew over him like mold.

“I…Ty, I need to go.” He didn’t intend to say goodbye.

“I know.” Ty nodded, watching him walk back towards Falconreach.

Taking a detour was seriously unsafe when the sun was setting so low but Ash needed it. He didn’t think any monster would approach, hearing how heavy his stomping was.

In all honesty, he had no idea how to deal with being this kind of angry.

Ash tried comparing it with some other mishaps in the past, like when he dropped his sword on a noble’s foot and it cut the poor man. That was Ash’s own fault and he was angry at himself though.      

Perhaps it was an over exaggeration but he tried likening this to the anger that came from Falconreach being attacked yet again. Destroyed yet again. But, they were all villains. Not any of his friends.

None of Ash’s friends would make him feel this way.

“Argh,” Ash tugged at his hair, not noticing how the orange sky had gone pitch black. Only a sliver of the moon was out now. He kept walking, going nowhere near Falconreach and into parts of Surewood he didn’t recognize.

In fact, all these trees had no leaves. Kind of like in Doomwood actually.

“Since when did the grass get gray?” Ash did a bit of a hop, startled at the mist beginning to form over the forest floor as well. “I didn’t walk that far, did I?” The panic started up and Ash frantically scanned his surroundings for anything familiar or for anything out to attack him.

If this was Doomwood and not some random patch of Surewood that caught the flu, Ash figured he could take down half a zombie if he tried very hard.

In the corner of his eye, a familiar glint caught his attention and his stomach plummeted.

Blade stuck into the ground, covered in a bed of foliage was the silver sword.

Ash rushed to it, terrified at how it was out in the open. Anyone could get their hands on it and do their worst. Anyone was likely to be a necromancer, a vampire, oh gods was Drakath out here?

What about Ty?

“I can throw it away.” Ash thought out loud. An ocean couldn’t keep it trapped but it had to have taken time to escape. Ash could toss the thing into a bottomless pit, a gully, or feed it to something nasty. Then, he could go to Warlic or Artix and find a way to actually destroy the cursed sword.  

Shoulders squared in resolution, Ash trudged through the leaves. He went right up to the sword, took its gold hilt into his hand, and wrenched it from its resting place.

Blood gushed from the leaves, pulled up by the sword and splattered his shins.

Ash’s heart came to a hard stop before pounding against his ribs in sheer terror. Confused and horrified, Ash tore away at the ivy leaves, searching for anyone that could be hurt under there.

The bed was endless and the more he yanked away, the deeper it got and thorns began biting into his skin. Before he knew it, Ash had sunk into this pit, his head disappearing under the leaves.

On instinct, Ash slashed the sword through the greenery and it was as light as air. Blood pooled at his feet, draining from the vines he slashed, making the thorns glisten.

“My children were flayed,” An ivy vine wrapped around his ankle. “Who would avenge them if not I?”

“My brother accused my wife of witchcraft. She burned as I was hung,” Another voice invaded as Ash tried to cut the bindings only for his other foot to get swallowed into the gore, ankle deep. “Why was it that I had to crawl from my grave to right the wrong? Who would have avenged us otherwise?”

This was a dream. A very bad nightmare Ash was convinced he was having. He didn’t remember falling asleep but he must have and the story of that magic sword scared him so much that the thorns tearing through his armor felt real.

“A wretched King conquered my home when we showed kindness. All of my friends and family, their bones piled like trophies in the royal coffers,” A pair of hands accompanied this whisper, grabbing Ash’s hands as he attempted to remove his boot and escape. “They all had to die. All of his people. That was the only right way.”

“No!” Ash’s voice was shrill. “Let me go!” He couldn’t hear himself anymore. The couple of voices had grown to tens, to hundreds, to thousands of laughing mouths and reaching hands. The fingers that wrapped around his neck were made of steel; prosthetic limbs made for a veteran.

“Didn’t you think I had to? I had to! We have to!”

That voice was the same as the one he had imagined when Ty was telling him the story. Except, it wasn’t his imagination. The sword had long felt his mounting disappointment, and caught him in its will long before.

“Avenge their deaths.”

“For hurting me.”

“Humiliated me.”

“My future destroyed.”

Each reason was increasingly becoming frivolous; things that Ash couldn’t understand people taking lives over.

“I was the hero.” Another joined the cacophony and Ash could not escape its echo. “I wanted to be the hero. I worked so hard to be a hero. I’ve been dreaming of being a hero, a real knight for as long as I lived. She stole it from me.”

That sword fit in Ash’s hands all of a sudden. He held the sword as though it was the only thing keeping him alive. The nails digging into his lungs screamed for him to act and Ash jabbed the sword towards the source of that despicable laughter, imagining silver slicing through a neck.

“My Hero let me down.” Ash heard and it came from somewhere that was so close, it could have been inside him.

The sky was orange again, tinged with the sunset. Surewood was as green as ever and the only rotting deathly smell was stuck in the back of Ash’s nose.

Resting across his outstretched hands was his silver sword. What was left of all of the ghostly shouts was a single, wind-chime like query.

“Prithee, great champion, may I ask of you—” Ash closed his eyes and the whisper sank into his heart.

“Is revenge a science? Or is it an art?”

[in-a-trans-like-state]

@mutagensoup​ repiled to your post

Yo what book is this about?                             

Its History of Ancient Britain by Neil Oliver (its the book accompanying the BBC docu series of the same name and its REALLY easy to tell by the way its structured/framing that these were visualised for TV as well as its grand generalising statements)

(Feel free to ignore the rest Im just writing down my thoughts)

I picked it up cos I’m listening to the History of English Podcast and was like hang on WHO were there before the celts (like i vaguely knew stonehenge predated the celts but not much more) so its helping fit together the timeline. Though now I need to go back and research when the fertile crescent / Mesopotamia /Sumer  period was and how it all fits in (also who was on contential Europe before the PIE speaking tribes got there?? tell me more about these Bell beaker and corded wear people please)

I have learnt a few things - ie that humans were in Britian possibly 500,000 years ago but they weren’t modern humans and that there were waves of occupations that were wiped out by ice ages and it wasn’t til about 13,000 years ago modern humans occupied Britain (with Neanderthals and then both got pushed back by yet another ice age and the current occupation is approx 11,000 years old iirc)

I had completely forgot pre modern humans would be part of the story and now I need to go back and research all of THAT business. there were so many homo species what happened?!

and i can’t help but compare the timescales to Indigenous Australian who’s longevity on this continent may well break the modern out of Africa theory (well push the dates back) if yet older sites keep being discovered. THERE A SITE IN VICTORIA THAT COULD POSSIBLY BE OVER 100,000 YEARS OLD and like its well accepted to say they’ve been here for 60-80,000 years ago.

I’m not sure how that compares to human occupation of continental Europe but like damn thats easily 10 times longer than the current occupation stretch of Britain which isnt culturally continuous thats thousands of generations telling the same stories etc etc

Anyway getting back to complaints theres a LOT of grand statements, and unnecessarily poetic descriptions of the ice age. eg we still have the muscle memory of holding stone age hand axes 🙄

I also grit my teeth every time he says these people were primitive or simple. He also goes on a rant about how ugly Neanderthals were and how there couldnt possibly be any inbreeding between modern humans and them, which HA! (book was published 2011) Goes to show I am totally justified to be skeptical of the bits that are obviously his OpinionTM (he is generally ok at being like I have a theory... (that this bible story is a memory of when modern humans shared the earth with Neanderthals) )

I'm reading a book about ancient Britian which is interesting but FFS I wish the author would stop with the referencing to deep/big history and philosophical framing "time didn't exist until humans were there to witness it" humans are the only species that know we will die "it would have no negative effects on plants and animals if all humans just died out" humans are the only creatures to morn

those last two are definitely BULLSHIT and you can't 'prove' the others

and then goes on a tangent narrowly avoiding enlightenment scientists idiots for being reglious while also claiming a lot of them were the first to discover something and implying it could only have ever been that genius to think of it

and then hats off for wondering why humans stopped telling the story of the iceage to their descendants a sentence after mentioning the Noah's Ark story (also some Indigenous Australians groups DID pass down those stories)

I want the chronology of ancient Britian not the story of the people who dug it up (ok fine it could be a good framing but it's getting tedius)

[cyb-by-lang]

Ocean Stars Falling Chapter 20 Preview

Working on four different things at once has a tendency to turn actual progress speed into a mess, so here, have a reward for your patience!

Eventually shit hit the fan, because of course it did. Or the midden hit the windmill, or whatever other old-timey variation anyone around me would have understood. The point is that, much like a world populated by ninja and samurai rather than everything under the sun (and a few that were not), peaceful days never lasted among an oceangoing world of pirates. Back in Konoha, managing to get three or more months’ reprieve from the rigors of random S-class threats wasn’t uncommon, because it was an established village and ANBU didn’t need to yell “Constant vigilance!” in the Hokage’s ear when he was at least as wary and watchful as they were. The village’s reputation generally did the rest, which meant most Konoha shinobi could generally expect to still be able to go home at the end of a mission and have the apartment still there. I knew I did.

Now, Whitebeard was more widely feared than the Yellow Flash, even if he hadn’t personally visited death upon many of the people who trembled at his name. Their world was just too big for that kind of personal touch, and shinobi were basically confined to one continent on ours. Harming a Whitebeard Pirate was verboten, and the authority people would answer to was the man himself.

This did not stop complete assholes from causing trouble. Namur was the one to ask about it, after the fact.

Because the Whitebeards were in a town under their protection, they tended to spread out and act like tourists as much as anyone else did, with the bonus that they were effectively pickpocket-proof by virtue of also being a bunch of scoundrels. With escorts from an older and more powerful crew, the Straw Hats and the Cobalt Lionesses had effective free reign as long as they were courteous. Some of Yugito’s followers may have forgotten a few of their basic manners due to their time in prison (like remembering the buying power of beri as opposed to a grasping hand), but a few quick reminders from the locals and their pirating senpais smoothed the way. There weren’t as many punches as one would expect.

The Straw Hats fanned out all over the place. While Zoro was busy challenging Vista to a fight—because of course he was—Nami, Sanji, Gaara, and Brook went shopping, and Robin took Fū, Usopp, Franky, and Chopper to find the Poneglyph, only Luffy stuck by the Moby Dick at all. Part of it was that Ace was introducing Luffy to all of the Whitebeard Pirates. The other consideration was a very protracted (and distracted) discussion of crew strength relative to the challenges of the New World. As guests of the Ryugu Kingdom, we hadn’t technically wandered back into the nastiest ocean on the planet just yet. Luffy, as the Straw Hats’ captain, had to make the call for his crew in the end. I was still concerned that, aside from Gaara and perhaps Fū, none of them were really ready for the nearly vertical difficulty curve that awaited them past the Red Line. Actually explaining that to him, though, was going take all day.

Then Ace threw Luffy hard enough to put a crater in the seafloor, which I considered an issue between siblings and left alone.

Jinbe disappeared, taking Koala along with him to meet the Sun Pirates when they docked a few hours after “dawn” broke. Sabo followed, with a token reassurance to Ace and Luffy that he wouldn’t get lost or kidnapped or set on fire again—or at least not without them to either act as backup or point and laugh. The rest of the Revolutionaries decided to spread out, with Ivankov at the head, and descended on the highest-end fashionable shops they could find. I wasn’t sure if they expected a discount or not, but perhaps it was just as well that they explored.

Anyway, that was the gist of the situation after breakfast. It seemed peaceful enough. With the Tailed Beasts floating around, even after their second and then third Bubbly Coral purchases, Fishman Island was effectively our new field trip destination.

As a result, Yugito, Naruto, Utakata, and I all decided to travel together. With no pirates (other than our friends) to worry about, we could go as fast or slow as we wanted, with no concern for anyone else being able to keep up.

“What’ll happen after this?” Naruto asked, after we’d stopped our meandering around Coral Hill for a little bit.

“After what?” Utakata didn’t appear to be paying particular attention, more preoccupied by the fraying of his coat sleeves, but none of us were fooled. Naruto had a way of worming into people’s hearts.

“After whatever we’re doing here.” Naruto lifted both his arms to effectively encompass the entirety of Fishman Island, or perhaps the world. “Like, Kei-sensei told me we’re gonna help you with your revenge, and once we meet up with Mom and Octopops, it’ll be a piece of cake. But no one’s found the Four-Tails anywhere and we’re still running with pirates and Revolutionaries and stuff.” He let his arms drop. “And I think the Straw Hats are gonna need to take a training mission for like a year if they wanna keep up with the rest of us. That means Fu and Gaara aren’t going to be doing much if we don’t go home.”

“And to be honest, it was only ever a theory that we would go home once our task was completed,” Yugito remarked, in a tone that was rather grim.

Not that I blamed her. “Or a hope,” I agreed, looking down at the tops of my shoes. I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. “I still miss everyone back home too much to feel like Gaara and you do, Yugito, but…”

“It’s not worth worrying about now,” Utakata said firmly. When I looked at him, his level stare gave way to something deliberately cold. He broke eye contact first, saying, “We’ve left an imprint here, but until we progress further, there is no way to know what the result may be. And I refuse to panic until we have something real to fear.”

Spoken like a textbook veteran shinobi.

I didn’t believe him for a second.

“Kei-sensei,” Naruto interrupted after a second, “isn’t that the place?”

Thatch had said something about a Madame Shyarly and her famous prophecies while handing out fritters at breakfast, and I was enough of a nerd that I wanted to hear the second major oracle of my life in person. Gamamaru was accurate, but vague, and I wanted to know if the mako shark mermaid was any different. Unfortunately, that meant we’d be visiting a hostess club during peak hours, so who knew if we’d ever get a chance to see her.

There was a line going around the block by the time we got there. Naruto craned his neck and stood on the balls of his feet, making a token attempt to see over a crowd that was mostly taller than him or floating in convenient bubble rings if they didn’t have feet for locomotion. Utakata, despite having gotten his customized bubble wand from Usopp a few days ago and being more than capable of outperforming the Bubbly Coral devices we’d seen, left our group’s sole genin to struggle. Yugito looked like she wanted to at least ask how long the wait was going to be, but couldn’t lower herself to actually asking anyone.

I hung back and was going to wait, and then things happened.

“I must lodge a complaint,” Matatabi’s voice said, ringing out across the entire city directly below her. She’d apparently followed us from the Moby Dick, accompanied by a miniscule clone of Shukaku as a passenger.

As everyone looked up, she lifted a rear leg past the bubble ring around her ribs and kicked behind one of her ears, dislodging something the size of a human torso. It crashed into the ground hard enough to imbed itself in the stone, and Yugito was the first to investigate after the crowd cleared out and the dust settled. No one wanted to be in the immediate area if the fire-cat got pissed off enough to put her size and strength to good use, after all.

Yugito, with her eyes flashing Matatabi’s colors for just a second, tore the weapon out of the ground with all the effort she’d displayed when using Minotaurus’s club. She hefted the oversized battle axe one-handed, testing its weight, before saying aloud, “She didn’t see where it came from. Did any of you?”