#bearing isolators market

[dontbelasagnax]

*curling like a cat against your ankles* Lasaganie, more Codywan headcanons?? 🥺👉👈 (only if you gave them/want to share of course. thank you, you’re amazing and I love you :3c)

I am late but I come bearing gifts in the shape of the codywan headcanons you asked for!!! And I love you too 🫶

- In a no order 66 setting, Obi-Wan has a caf mug that he considers to be Cody's. This would be normal except Obi-Wan bought it during the war and always meant to find the occasion to give it to him but never got around to it. That's to say he's exceedingly normal about this cup. Especially when Cody starts spending time around his apartment and Obi-Wan serves him caf in it. For the first time. Then all the other times as well. Feeling his heart crack open seeing Cody with His Designated Mug. A mug Obi-Wan's perhaps had too much time to place too much sentimental value onto. He's perfectly normal about it and doesn't act weird at all.

(more headcanons under the cut. it's a bit long)

- Cody is a hopeless romantic but won't ever admit it. He loves romance novels and holofilms. From trashy to highly acclaimed, sweet to stuffed with depravity, he enjoys them all. They're just a spot of escapism for him. A fantastical tale to distract himself from the toll of war when the night cycle is quiet and grief is loud. The stories are all so wildly outlandishly unrealistic to him. He's a clone. There's no future for him outside his role in the war effort.

And then one fateful campaign they're on their feet for a full tenday before they encounter an outcropping with flora and fauna that, finally, aren't actively trying to kill them and they are able to set up a tentative base of operation while planetside.

General Kenobi insists everyone rest while they can. Cody lost his bedroll to some sort of carnivorous plant along the way. General Kenobi acts like it's an affront to his very livelihood when Cody tries to sleep on the ground of their shared tent. Cody is tired. He doesn't have the energy to fight back on something so stupid. Which means they have to share a bedroll. His general's bedroll. Where they're physically incapable of both laying on the little mat unless they're plastered together. Cuddling.

It's the best sleep of his life.

...Exactly like how the romance novels describe it.

He's not dumb. He's been aware that he's in love with his general. He just thought the romance novels were all embellishing to a ridiculous degree and none of it was actually... realistic.

But if the romance novels are right about this, what else is just as magical in reality?

And maybe, just maybe, could there be some hope for a glimmer of a chance for him to pursue something else with Obi-Wan after the war, if they both make it that far?

- I am fully of the belief that, in a Tatooine husbands setting, the husband bit is a complete accident. Ben is stopping by for a quick pantry restock at the Pica Oaisis marketplace when it happens. He's lived at his hut long enough for the vendors here to have a familiarity with him so it's not exactly a surprise when one says to him, "Who's the shadow of a fella that's hangin' with you lately?" They mean well, he knows. And still, it's his business. He thinks his answer is quite crafty.

He says, "He's my partner," and leaves it at that. Partner could mean anything. Alas, either an older man living in an isolated hut with another older man implies a particular thing about their relationship or the vendors have a flair for the romantic because he quickly comes to discover on his next trips to the marketplace that he has a husband. Of all the assumptions one could make, it's certainly the most harmless and... he finds he likes it. Being seen as Cody's husband. It's all awfully embarrassing and he doesn't dare tell Cody any of it.

Cody discovers it for himself a few weeks later on a solo trip to the market to pick up some feed for Rooh.

"Here to do your husband's bidding?" a vendor asks and Cody blinks.

He blinks again. "Come again?" he says.

"Ben your husband; you're running his errand?"

His first instinct is to correct them, tell them he and Ben aren't married. But how would he even begin describe their relationship? After a few seconds deliberating he decides he's better off going with it. What harm could it do? Besides, on the ride home, he finds he kind of likes it.

And that's how they become husbands. Well, the beginning of it, anyhow.

[iwanthermidnightz]

“Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.

Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.

Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.

In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.

Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.

There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”

A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.”

— NYT OPINION: Look What We Made Taylor Swift Do

[butchprose]

there’s one aspect of love lies bleeding that i can’t stop thinking about.

it’s the fact that in all of their marketing they never touched on the absolute Freakish aspect of this move (which of course is intentional). the fact that there are these little pockets of supernatural moments when the entire rest of the movie is grounded in some type of reality.

the more i think about it, the more i realize these grotesque visuals (jackie throwing up lou and slightly deforming as she does so) (and then at the end of the movie growing absolutely Massive in size when she senses lou getting hurt) could be interpreted as an allegory for how queer people were viewed during this time period, and still are.

when you couple the idea of queerness being viewed as freakish and unnatural with the fact these are two women who are non-conforming in some way—jackie being a bodybuilder and lou being a butch lesbian ALL while living in a very isolated town—you get the overlap of gender and sexuality-based prejudice.

the way jackie deforms and has these outbursts, and then confesses to lou she “doesn’t know what’s wrong with her” reminds me of nightmare on elm street II. just this character viscerally feeling that something is eating away at them from the inside.

we are outsiders viewing lou and jackie’s experiences. maybe we also bear witness and are active participants of how Their world views them, too.

[bomberqueen17]

Liveblogging the Aubreyad: Post Captain Part Two

More book, less background, all spoilers.

I will here put in a plug for listening to the Simon Vance audiobooks of this series on 1.25x speed, can't recommend highly enough. Except his foreign accents are terrible, I won't lie about that. Anyhow. Get a library card and check these out if you would rather not read my summaries, which despite their thoroughness are not entire. The books are a challenging read but I did manage it at 12 but I did that through the power of being a socially isolated undiagnosed neurodivergent child so I don't necessarily recommend that either.

A NEE HOO, the book:

In part 1 we got female characters (sweet innocent Sophia? or her worldly, dashing cousin Diana?), sweet bachelor pad, social lives, horse farts, and *jazz hands* financial ruinnnnnn, and our intrepid heroes have fled to France where a Frenchman ruined Jack's composure by kissing him. But now, war has broken out, and they must flee without being arrested, which will be very difficult because Jack is approximately the most ostentatiously English person ever to have existed on this planet, in this universe.

And so now we pay off on my earlier bullet-point about Jack's fursona.

I had genuinely forgotten about this when I first relistened to the books. I listened to this long expounded-upon scenario, where a convoy of English prisoners of the French is resting and there's a man with a tame bear passing by and the prisoners, especially a sea officer trying to impress a lady in company with him, want him to make the bear dance even though it is hot and the bear is obviously tired, and the gendarmes finally come over and insist that the bear must dance to prove it really is a tame bear, and I was just expecting this to be some background descriptive passage included in the book for the atmosphere as so many are until, as they are finally left alone and the bear-leader is sitting counting up the coins people tossed at them, unaccountably reciting them to the bear as if the bear is going to care, the bear out of nowhere answers him.

“When one sea-officer is to be roasted, there is always another at hand to turn the spit,' said the bear. 'It is an old service proverb. I hope to God I have that fornicating young sod under my command one day. i'll make him dance a hornpipe - oh, such a hornpipe. Stephen, prop my jaws open a little more, will you? I think I shall die in five minutes if you don't. Could we not creep into a field and take it off?' 'No,' said Stephen. 'But I shall lead you to an inn as soon as the market has cleared, and lodge you in a cool damp cellar for the afternoon. I will also get you a collar, to enable you to breathe. We must reach Couiza by dawn.'

Stephen for his own inscrutable reasons names the bear Flora and tells everyone it is a female bear whose female troubles make it bad at dancing. Meanwhile Jack is being slowly murdered by the suit, his bare bloody feet glued to the costume's paws, insects eating him, never able to eat or drink enough, always overheated. By the time they make it to the Spanish border, Jack is nearly dead. It's a good character study: he is still thinking tactically at some times, still has the capacity to wonder whether Stephen might yet betray him, to notice that he has heretofore in their acquaintance underestimated Stephen severely, but his innate and natural response to this kind of hopeless privation and suffering is to simply submit to it and endure, doing whatever Stephen tells him to, understanding that there is no useful resistance he can make; he resents Stephen but also recognizes that Stephen too is suffering, this is simply what must be done and he must endure it, beyond any concept of limits. As they finally reach Spain he sits on a rock and dreamily tells Stephen he is glad Stephen seems so happy, and just sort of echoes whatever Stephen says, clearly well beyond comprehending what's going on anymore. (He does revive once the bear suit comes off.)

He spends some time very ill in Stephen's house just across the border. Stephen owns a castle there, though it's mostly in ruins. Once Jack can move, they make their way, this time both as humans, down to Gibraltar, and book passage home in an Indiaman* that has happened to put in there for repairs.

[* for the record the word Indiaman refers to a merchant ship plying the rich trade route to India, and would have female pronouns, like any ship. Actual human Indian men, if sailors or soldiers, are referred to as Lascars, with normal human pronouns as applicable, and as far as I can tell this is just a neutral descriptor and even though racial attitudes of the time were what they were, was not ever particularly used as a slur. Now You Know. Listen I'm trying to look things up as I go, since there's Period-Typical-Everything in here, but I might miss some, do be advised; I don't intend to condone any anythings in any of this nor do I wish to carelessly use loaded terms but it can be difficult to suss out what's what in the modern context.]

Aboard that Indiaman is another of my earlier bullet points: yes it's TOM PULLINGS. Jack recognizes him by his huge grin from across the ship, he's so delighted to see them, human sunbeam that he is.

Never confirmed as a lieutenant after the acting commission Jack had given him in the Sophie, quite without any political influence or hope of help in that quarter (though Jack had written letters of introduction for him to every single captain he knew who he thought might have a spot for him), TOM PULLINGS has given up on the Navy and taken a job with the East India Company, which pays better but is entirely without glory or hope of promotion.

“Why, sir, I could not get a ship and they would not confirm me in my rank. No white lapels for you, Pullings, old cock, they said. We got too many coves like you, by half." ''What a damned shame," cried Jack, who had seen Pullings in action and who knew that the Navy did not and indeed could not possibly have too many coves like him.

Another fun bit of fuzzy timekeeping which I should tally somewhere here is that while we know Jack and Stephen's adventure in France was of some considerable duration, every so often for the next few books Pullings will point out yet another Indiaman and say delightedly "I made two voyages in her", and I should start a running tally of How Many Indiamen Has Tom Pullings Been In somewhere because each voyage is a minimum of six months, and we have seen Pullings earlier in this book, he attended the St Vincent Battle Ball in February of-- whatever year that was. (Side note: Mowett mentions having served previously in the Namur, which was at the Battle of St Vincent, and it was only three years before, so it's perfectly possible he was there, but it's never brought up. Thinks to think upon!)

(I am sure some fan at some point has already done this work. But all the discussion boards are from 2003ish and it is hard to search them. Better than modern fandoms, where it all vanishes into private Discords, but it is... sort of sad, to look through the moribund message boards and remember being in spaces like that and how great they were. RIP to the golden days of the Internet.)

I've already explained how promotion works, so I don't need to elaborate on how very slim Pullings's career prospects are. He shows Jack all around his ship, and Jack tries very hard to be polite, but merchantmen, after the Navy, are a sort of sorry, squalid state of things, and there's not a lot to be polite about. Pullings clearly does the best he can but he has only a thin crew, a poor-sailing sluggish fat ship, and a timid captain to work with. What's worse, many of the crew are Lascars-- fine seamen, but they seem poorly; the initial assumption that they are simply not used to the cold proves wrong, it turns out that they're all succumbing to the flu, which is affecting the Europeans too but is hitting the Lascars that much harder. So the ship is now critically short-handed, with many of the crew incapacitated by the flu.

And then a French privateer heaves into sight, the Bellone. The captain doesn't know what to do and is terrified. Pullings beats the ship approximately into shape by sheer dint of competence and strong feeling, but there's not a lot of hope, he quite simply has very little to work with. Jack steps up and volunteers to take charge of one of the divisions of guns. It is so long since they have been used that he has to fire one to blow the port lid off, it having been painted into place long ago.

A brisk action ensues, but the Indiaman, despite all the heroics Jack and Pullings can manage, is overwhelmed and taken. Jack and Pullings are both moderately-to-severely injured in the fight, Jack left briefly in a coma after falling down a hatchway and Pullings being both shot and stabbed. The French steal everything aboard the ship including the passengers' personal property and Stephen's surgical implements that he was in the middle of using, impose a heavy prize-crew, and undertake to sail the Indiaman to a Spanish harbor. Jack will certainly spend the war a French prisoner, with no hope of getting home, getting a command, advancing his career, staying relevant.

But then an English brig, recognized as the Seagull by Pullings because his uncle used to be the sailing master in her, shows up and fights the French prize-crew to a standstill. Our heroes spend the action locked up below, but the French captain lets them out when the action grinds to a pause, the Seagull heavily damaged trying to repair itself enough to continue. Things look bad; the Frenchman is annoyed and might just sink the Seagull out of spite, but then a squadron of homeward-bound Royal Navy ships of the line round the headland-- the HMS Colossus, a 74, the Tonnant of eighty guns, more behind them-- and Jack puts his hand down over the touch-hole of the gun the Frenchman was about to fire at the Seagull and coldly tells him he must surrender to the brig.

Which he does.

So now Jack is home to England, and back in the running to get himself a ship so he can participate in this war and stay alive in his career-- but where he also is still at constant risk of being arrested for debt.

The new First Lord of the Admiralty is Lord Melville, whose family name is Dundas-- the older brother, in fact, of Heneage Dundas, who was a midshipman and then a lieutenant alongside Jack, one of his best friends. Melville thinks his younger brother is a bit of an idiot, but has some small fondness for Jack anyway. So there's hope. But Jack is arriving so late that all the best posts have already been snapped up. Melville promises to do his best to find him something, but tells him not to hold out much hope of something actually good. Jack does explain his specific problem, however-- the debt thing-- and Melville is understanding of it at least.

Jack has taken lodgings in a tiny shack outside of town with Stephen, giving rise to this charming description, please to look out for a particularly excellent 19th-century word usage:

At present they were lodging in an idyllic cottage near the heath with green shutters and a honeysuckle over the door - idyllic in summer, that is to say. They were looking after themselves, living with rigid economy; and there was no greater proof of their friendship than the way their harmony withstood their very grave differences in domestic behaviour. In Jack's opinion Stephen was little better than a slut: his papers, odd bits of dry, garlic'd bread, his razors and small-clothes lay on and about his private table in a miserable squalor; and from the appearance of the grizzled wig that was now acting as a tea-cosy for his milk-saucepan, it was clear that he had breakfasted on marmalade.

Stephen you slut indeed.

They go to a party-- a risky proposition, with Jack a wanted man, but Everyone who is Everyone will be there, and he quite simply needs to remind his various powerful acquaintances that he is here and in need. So they go. Diana is there, and also a well-connected, very wealthy merchant named Canning. Canning's merchant ships are very much preyed-upon by privateers-- especially the Bellone-- and he has been commissioning privateers of his own to defend them. He very politely, indirectly goes as far as is decent toward offering Jack the command of the latest of these, which is to be very large and powerful indeed. It is deeply, deeply tempting, and Jack considers it at length, but his ambition above all else lies with the Navy, and Lord Melville is also at the party and tells him he should come the very next day to a meeting, Melville thinks he might have something for him.

Diana also offers to Jack that he might come see her the next day. He points out, sensibly, that he is at risk of arrest, and so it would be deeply irresponsible of him to go jaunting about the city. She scorns him for this, saying he is being a coward to even consider such things as his own personal ruin. She quite openly only wants him if he's willing to ruin himself for her.

Jack goes out for a walk late that night, out in a deserted area, to think. A man tries to mug him and his immediate reflex, honed by kind of a lot of hand-to-hand combat experience, is to just absolutely beat the shit out of the guy in about two blows. He lays him out cold and then, standing over the body, realizes he can't leave the man lying here as it's coming on to freeze and the fellow will die of exposure. So, cursing how complicated everything always has to be on land, he carries the man home, as you do, and ties him to a chair, and promptly falls asleep in the other chair waiting for Stephen, who went to visit other friends after the party.

(Several times in the series it is made plain that Jack has been at sea since he was an actual child, and his understanding of how laws work by land is very extremely fuzzy at best; his education in general is shockingly lacking. He knows the Articles of War cold, could recite them back to front, can cite them by number unfailingly, but only has a vague notion of any other kind of law, and no idea at all how the land-based justice system actually works. And how could he?)

Stephen comes home near dawn to find them thus, Jack asleep in one chair, and the would-be mugger wide awake, terrified, and extremely-competently tied to their only other chair.

The would-be mugger is an excellent plot device: he succinctly and intelligently explains to Stephen and the reader exactly how English debt law works, he himself being extremely experienced in it. (Stephen is gently spooning food into the man's mouth even as he is still tied to the chair, he having admitted he only took up trying to mug people because he had not eaten in several days.) Jack also forces the man to eat some of Jack's own breakfast, under peril of being headed up in a cask and tossed overboard, which makes plain to everyone involved a) how serious he is and b) where he's more normally accustomed to being.

Jack makes his way to the meeting with Melville, who finally offers him a ship. It is not a good ship. Melville actually feels guilty to even offer it. It is called HMS Polychrest, it is a misguided experiment gone wrong, built by a corrupt dockyard to the specifications of an ill-informed landlubber with ideas. But, it has cannons and it technically floats, so Jack takes it.

He's aware that Melville feels like shit about it, though, so he figures he has one, and only one, big concession he can ask for. And he shoots that shot on one, very dear, very precious thing that he very badly wants:

TOM PULLINGS, to be made lieutenant at last, and to serve with him in this misbegotten floating disaster.

I will break off again here because this is too long. Stay tuned for PART THREE, in which I promise I'll tell you how Barret Bonden punches out a cop.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

I read Ultimate Spider-Man #1 by Hickman

So I checked this out in isolation of the whole event or events leading up to it.

I'm trying to decide if this is a case of false advertising or if it is actually as disappointing as it seemed.

This series was marketed on the grounds of 'come check out a married Spider-Man with kids'. But that was by no means the focus of the story. The focus was upon a) Uncle Ben's grieving Aunt May and b) peter's choice about whether to be Spider-Man or not.

Let me steelman and say, hey, the marketing was exploitative but that isn’t Hickman’s fault.

Honestly, this premise is still rather broken.

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, this universe is identical to 616 except the Maker has strategically meddled with it to avert the existence of superheroes.

Okay…so he made sure Peter’s parents died when he was 15 instead of like a toddler. And also that he wasn’t bitten by the spider. And also that there was no burglar. Couldn’t he have just gotten rid of the spider? Why all the extra stuff? And if he didn’t do anything other than get rid of the spider…why are all those other things different?

Speaking of which how/when/why does Jameson know the Parker family at all? Uncle Ben was a factory worker, he had NOTHING to do with the newspaper business and why would a working class guy like him know a millionaire/billionaire like Jameson? Why would he ever go into that business? Why would the Maker change that at all? If he didn’t change that how could ANY of the changed he made in the timeline ever have resulted in that?

Similarly, why is PETER working for the Bugle? Peter’s interest in photography was specifically in relation to his career as Spider-Man. Yes, he developed something of an interest in it later in life in his 20s, but that was a fleeting thing after he left college. It was never really his long term career goal. Sure, you could say he is working on the science section of the Bugle. But…why? Why wouldn’t he just, you know….go into a scientific field in general? What does the Maker gain from changing that if he was responsible for changing that at all?*

And this, in fact, is a microcosm of how the premise of this story is borked. In a world where Peter Parker

Is an adult

Was not really raised by Uncle Ben and Aunt May because his parents died when he was 15

Never experienced the death of Uncle Ben or Aunt May in his teens

Was never a superhero

HOW exactly is he the character we know and love? The fun of a What If or AU is contrasting the new version to the character we are familiar with. But by rights he should be MASSIVELY different as a person. He wasn’t raised by people who were almost a generation older than his parents. He didn’t have to bear the burden of being a provider or caregiver for his household as a teenager. He never had to cope with the guilt of Uncle Ben’s death. And would he even know the Great Power/Great Responsibility thing considering it was a combination of being RAISED by his aunt and uncle along with Ben’s death that drilled that into him? In this universe neither of those things are factors so if he DOES live by that life lesson how and why would he?

As an extension of that, how and why did he wind up with Mary Jane considering his upbringing combined with his life as Spider-Man were important factors in them falling in love. Mary Jane was attracted to his sense of responsibility, but that sense of responsibility came about due to his upbringing and that upbringing has changed. Not to mention, given her abusive father, knowing Peter was a man who had incredible power (like her father had over her) but used it responsibility was a HUGE aspect of her attraction to him, plus she got turned on by the danger to some extent.

So…how did they hook up? Unless the Maker for some fucking reason decided to make sure MJ’s Dad was a successful author and never touched the booze. But WHY would he do that????????????

And then you have the big one which is…Peter can magically sense he is in fact supposed to be Spider-Man….um…Okay, so, yes, Peter does have a certain belief in destiny because he talked about it maybe being his destiny to be Spider-Man when he was a teenager and even older. But…that was a belief. He questioned it. He never SENSED that about himself. You could argue being Spider-Man is from his POV something he doesn’t have a choice about, but that’s like saying a parent doesn’t have a choice to look after their kids. They do. It’ just that you do not have a choice about it if you feel compelled to be a good person. It was never a magical bullshit thing.

Hickman in this regard and in his general portrayal of Peter is almost making this weird ass nature over nurture argument. That Peter wouldn’t been broadly the same kind of guy we always knew him to be albeit he could commit to a 9/5, a family and be less tightly strung because he doesn’t have the stress of heroism or guilt shit. And I guess he has less of a sense of humour? (Although so does Uncle ben, though he is grieving…although Jonah is a lot more touchey feeley than he should be as well sooooooo….)

But that’s just…lame.

It’s making a mockery of Peter Parker’s struggles in the 616 and most traditional portrayals. His experiences are integral in forming him into who he is as a person. Hickman is arguing that Richard and Mary’s DNA was actually the most important thing in shaping his personality. Unless are we really saying Richard and Mary would’ve been broadly the same kind of parents May and Ben were? They were goddam CIA agents!?

And on top of that…the story is making this BROKEN argument for Peter being a superhero. He feels like he is drifting through life. He feels unfulfilled. Like something is missing. Uh huh…um…what about your kids bro?

If you become a superhero aren’t you going to be potentially exposing your family to danger? Don’t you risk your kids growing up without a father because you get killed, crippled or are generally occupied a lot by being a hero.

Now, to be clear, that situation is A LOT different to 616 Peter who already had great power before meeting MJ. He also started his career at age 15 vs this Peter who’s literally going to learn how to web-swing and fight at age 35! Shit, most people whobecome soldiers, fire fighters or police officers don’t START their careers (with 0 training btw) at age 35! And there is a massive support network for those roles too.

I’m not saying Peter can’t be a superhero and a family man, but I am saying it is morally wrong for him to CHOOSE to turn himself into a superhero when he already is a family man. This is like saying it is okay for a man in his midlife crisis to blow a chunk of the family savings on a sports car or get himself a 20 year old mistress because it will make him a more engaged husband and father.

Basically, this first issue represents a lose-lose scenario from where I am standing. We don’t know much about how this Peter is different. The ways in which he is don’t make sense. The ways in which he is similar don’t make sense. These questions need to be answered BEFORE we get to the premise of the story (Peter choosing to be Spider-Man at age 35 when he is a family man). And the premise itself is unbelievable unless we want to buy into Peter being a selfish asshole, which therefore makes him unlikable in general and very much NOT like the Spidey we know and love.

Basically, this series might as well NOT be about Peter Parker in the first place, but some other guy living through a mid-life crisis by becoming a superhero.

*Are you noticing how I kee coming back to the Maker as a explanation for these changes? I don’t even know if the stuff leading into this spelt out what he was and wasn’t involved with, but that is a big question that should be addressed. Unfortunately it is the ONLY way to explain these changes beyond ‘its just different because it is’. And either way it is lazy and lame as shit.

[doiefics]

hyunjin saves the day

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

prologue:  when life goes hectic, some people bring in a lot of comfort, you can count on hyunjin on a stressful day

genre: fluff + established relationship!au

wordcount: 657

warnings: none

Twenty-seven missed calls, innumerable text messages, and left voicemails. All of these were sent to you in a mere span of two hours. Facing your phone and going through this could cause only one thing, panic.

For the past two hours, you had remained isolated from the rest of the world.

Giving presentations on the growing demand for global and accessible internet marketing to your clients sounded a bit dullbut was the necessity.

You were stressed thinking of the worst possibilities.

Why would your five year old’s school call you at unexpected hours? The mother's brain was only stuck at one question, was he alright?

You immediately took your leave from your corporate building, storming into your car and driving abruptly to your son’s kindergarten.

Your heart rate increased as you reached the reception to inquire about the matter. The only thing you needed right now was to hold your son in your hands.

Even though you had previous thoughts of dropping him when his father fled away after learning about your pregnancy, in the present time, your son was your motivation to live.

“Yes, Ms. Y/N. Ye-Jun injured himself during the swimming session today. We tried to reach out to you but didn’t receive any response back.”  The woman who appeared to be one of the school’s authorities stated with a rather questionable look on her face, judging you.

It was not something new for you. Everyday societal condemnation for being a single mother, being portrayed as some careless and unempathetic individual for still pursuing your career.

You thought to yourself as you drove back home to your little one.

“Ding Dong” the bell alarmed, and the doors of your apartment opened for you only to see your son, Ye-Jun, messily covered in chocolate, gummy bears and food sparkles accessoried with a spider man bandaid on his tiny forehead.

The little pororo apron, in addition made it evident he had been creating some mess in the kitchen.

“Look, Mumma’s back home! Give her a hug!” exclaimed Hyunjin.

You still remember your first date. You did not want to lose a person like him, would he also leave? Aafterall you lacked the “youth tag’ while still in your twenties.

But Hyunjin was different.

Recalling his and Ye-Jun’s first meeting, and you sure had never been that nervous before.

Would your then four year old accept a random guy you bring home as his mother’s partner, and in the bigger picture, his dad figure? That stage of your life was filled with doubts, insecurities and questions to say the least.

Luckily it only took Hyunjin one Woody x Buzz Lightyear impersonation to pass your son’s vibe check and ever since they had been gelling well together.

It was not long back when he earned the 'dad' title during the 'Bring Your Dad to School Day' when Ye-Jun suddenly blurted out the word.

Later that night, after cleaning up and dinner, you tucked your son into his bed, caressing his wound and still blaming yourself the same, for never being there for him when he needed you the most. You did not even realize when the tears started to well in your weary eyes.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you. Obviously, it was Hyunjin who hummed sweetly as he brushed his nose to your nape.

“Is there something on your mind? You know I’m always all ears for that.” He affirmed.

“Nah, it’s just, Ye-Jun, I’m somehow always absent whenever he needs me”. You explained out.

“Come on, Y/N! Isn’t it too harsh to blame yourself for everything? He suggested.

"Have you ever thought that no one can do what you can do?”  He continued.

"To be honest, if I were you I would believe that every day of my life." And he continued to answer his own questions, earning a mini giggle from you.

Hyunjin sure did know how to save an awful day.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

[marzipanandminutiae]

Cabinet of Curiosities Opinions

Roland (Lot 36) is not a neo-Nazi and the hair wreath is not made from the hair of concentration camp victims.

I didn't think this needed to be stated, since he called the Wolmar family evil, which he definitely wouldn't have done if he agreed with them. But apparently some people see "German guy talking about Nazis" and assume he's one himself. Weird.

As for the hair wreath, such things were popular in the 19th century, not the 1930s-40s. I went looking and couldn't find any extant examples from that era. Given the presence of other antiques from that period in the storage unit, like the summoning table, it makes far more sense for the wreath to be an earlier family heirloom. At the very least, even if it WERE some perverse latter-day craft project made by Dottie or her mother or something, there would be no reason for Roland and Agatha to assume that. So they'd probably believe it was innocent even if it wasn't.

2. Emilia is an avenging angel sent to test people like Nick.

This is a bit more of a stretch, but bear with me. When he gives her the lock, she says (in Spanish) "What kind of man are you?" An understandable response to him being a racist asshole, but to me it sounds like she's saying it in a measuring way, as if she's really wondering. Later, in her final appearance, the light behind her umbrella gives her a halo effect. And condemning him to be devoured by a demon he set loose seems like a pretty fitting thing for an angel to do if she's seen that he's past helping.

(This take brought to you by: whiny pissbabies on Reddit going on about "well he's not THAT bad and even if she couldn't see the demon, she KNEW the loan shark was after him so she should have REALIZED he was in real danger and let him out!!! the clearly symbolic racial-, gender-, and class-disadvantaged person in this 45-minute fictional story is the TRUE bad guy here, not the man who was listening to a white nationalist radio show and agreeing with it!")

3. Stacy's coworkers (The Outside) weren't actually that bad.

She feels isolated from them because they have nothing in common to talk about. We never see them actively being mean to her; just not being her best friend- and nobody is obligated to befriend coworkers if they don't want to. They invite her to the party, so clearly they do think of her. Sure, the one lady reacts badly to being given a taxidermy duck for Christmas, but...taxidermy IS a pretty contentious gift. Not something I would spring on someone at all. Stacy was just doing her best, so I don't blame her either. It's just an awkward situation all around, that's nobody's fault.

I feel like the point is not "this woman's bitchy coworkers drove her to change herself." It's that marketing and the media cause women to be internally critical on a deeply harmful level, even if nobody else is actually being critical of us.

4. The Outside has themes of sublimated homosexual desire.

Stacy has a tense relationship with her hsband, idolizes the women at work who are constantly touching and stroking each other, and literally makes out with the feminine-looking Allo Glo creature in the basement. I mean. Come on. This one seems like a no-brainer to me. I don't think that's the PRIMARY theme, but it's definitely there.

6. Nancy (The Murmuring) had something to do with Ava's death.

One theory I saw online was that she'd rolled over on her while co-sleeping, since the ghost she mistakes for baby Ava appears in the bed next to her. I'd believe it, and it definitely adds another layer to her sympathy with the mother ghost- who I just learned is named Claudette in the credits. Even though I very much doubt she did anything that purposeful.

7. Alternatively, Ava was not a baby when she died.

Edgar and Nancy are both on the older side to be new parents (Essie Davis was 52 during filming, though the character is probably somewhat younger), and Nancy has clear experience talking to older children when she addresses the little boy ghost. Ava's death was recent, so while I suspect the intention is that she was a surprise baby to a couple who assumed they'd never have any, she could have been any age within childhood.

8. Ava was named after birds.

"Avis" means bird in Latin and her parents are ornithologists. It just makes sense.

[gcldfanged]

@monstersmade [Kadaj]

Time would become meaningless, every waking second bloated and off-kilter, minutes stretching into empty hours.

He was pretty sure the pipes might explode if he kept the water that hot, eventually twisting the knob until the downwards spray trickled into like more than a few errant drops. Steam roiled off his skin, scrubbed down so hard and angrily, entire flakes of skin had sloughed off in pieces.

He wasn't doing this as a courtesy. It wasn't as if he wanted to somehow mask the pollution steeped in his very soul, an earthy musk of street dirt, stamped down tobacco, alcohol and tears. Brimstone and gunsmoke.

The face in the mirror is too soft. Not from an accumulation of fat, but comfort. Life had been good because business had been going so smoothly. There was little by the way of competition, so he had a veritable stranglehold on the black market and aside from a few younger upstarts trying to expand their own territory, there were few dumb enough to challenge his authority. He'd become too lenient, perhaps- Due to the lack of opposition.

Jae-hyo had kept his hair longer, let it grow out. It had always been thick and pretty, raven black with just the slightest red undertone in the sunlight. Now it was shorn short and close to the scalp, combed through with pomade and camellia oil. A form of atonement, perhaps. It wasn't like the Old Ways, he never had to 'walk the line' when he'd left. No- When Tseng had given him permission to leave. He could even try to argue that he'd bled enough for something that only had amounted to loyalty forged in Verdot's memory.

The former agent toys with a straight razor taken from his shaving kit, turning it between his fingers in the overhead lighting. The decision could wait. He could always spill blood symbolically, in addition to literal intent... Really, he had all the time in the world to recognize if he was still sore about it.

The suit still fits like a second skin, Yoon smoothing down the ironed lines and pulling off any lint that might be present from simply being shoved in the back of the closet for what felt like eons. The gloves shined and creaked around his flexing fingers, sliding his cellphone into the inner breast pocket of the jacket.

Showtime.

His prisoner's hands were delicate. Like a woman's, really, he thought. Too fine even with all the calluses and rough edges from handling firearms. They didn't even twitch, knotted with thick zip ties and chains strapped down to a sad little metal chair giving no real hope about what was gonna happen.

His hair was soft, shiny and healthy like the scales of a fish pulled straight from the water when the light hit it just so. Silky when he brushed his fingers through it. Just a little stroke- Like a lover's, almost.

The kind of affection after that many hours of darkness and silence and isolation, would turn any living creature's skin alive and buzzing with sensation. Mako-tinged feline eyes wreathed in the length of lashes women paid for, or killed for, if they couldn't pay

"So..." Jae begins, dragging his fingers through those glossy locks once more before bearing down in a white-knuckled grip.

"You wanted to talk? Let's talk."

[helix-enterprises117]

"That child is staring at you.", "What would happen if I'd kiss you right now?", or "You hold no power here." from the drabble list!

Have some Halo!!

Fan - (Based on "That child is staring at you.")

Amid the throng of civilians milling about the bustling market square of New Alexandria, the Sangheili child stood out—not just for the slight silver streaks in its otherwise deep blue scales, but for its intense gaze fixed directly on John. The Spartan, towering and imposing even in his casual attire meant to blend in, scanned the surroundings with a practiced eye, his attention eventually drawn to the small figure as Fred nudged him lightly.

"Hey, John," Fred murmured, nodding subtly toward the child. "That kid hasn't taken their eyes off you since we got here."

John's gaze softened as he looked down at the young Sangheili. The child, barely reaching his waist, clutched a small, worn toy—perhaps a model of a Sangheili warrior—tight against its chest. Despite the hustle around, the child’s focus remained unbroken, a mix of curiosity and awe painted across its youthful features.

"I see him," John replied quietly, his voice carrying a warm undertone that seldom emerged. He stepped forward, minimizing the physical distance as he crouched to the child's level, an action that drew a small crowd of onlookers. "Hello there," he said, extending a hand but careful not to invade the child's personal space.

The Sangheili child, initially taken aback by the gesture, hesitated, glancing up at what appeared to be its guardian—a taller Sangheili with similarly marked scales—who gave a slight nod. Encouraged, the child stepped forward, its small hand reaching out to gently touch John's.

"You're the Spartan, aren't you?" the child's voice was a soft chirp, tinged with reverence. "My father told me stories about the heroes who fight alongside the Swords of Sanghelios."

"That's right," John smiled, his helmet under his arm now catching a glint of sunlight, making it almost glow. "My team and I are here to help make sure everyone here can live safely, including you."

Fred watched the exchange, a grin breaking across his face. "Looks like you've got yourself a fan," he chuckled, folding his arms and leaning back against a nearby wall.

John's smile remained as he spoke again to the child, "What's your name?"

"Rtas 'Mdama," the child replied proudly, standing a little taller.

"Well, Rtas," John continued, his tone encouraging, "maybe one day you'll be standing with us, helping to keep the peace. Keep learning and growing strong."

The child nodded vigorously, the earlier awe transforming into determination. "I will, Spartan. Thank you!"

As they parted ways, John stood and clapped Fred on the shoulder, the usual weight of command and duty momentarily lightened by the genuine exchange. "Let's head back," he said, the market square buzzing around them, yet the connection made with one young Sangheili leaving a subtle imprint on the day.

"Sure thing," Fred agreed, his gaze lingering on the retreating figure of the child, a small beacon of future potential amidst the crowd. "You're good with kids, you know that?"

John just shrugged, a ghost of a smile still playing around his lips as they walked on...

Kiss - (Based on "What would happen if I kissed you right now?")

John and Linda, fresh from what could only be described as a mildly torturous training session, found themselves at an isolated table. The air was tinged with the scent of overcooked vegetables and sterilized metal, a reminder of their utilitarian surroundings.

John, his plate bearing a modest portion that belied the exhaustion shadowing his features, watched Linda with a blend of amusement and awe. She, in contrast, attacked her piled-high tray with the ferocity of a starved predator, her metabolic needs dialed up to eleven thanks to Spartan enhancements and an appetite to match.

Linda, hair rebelling in wisps from her otherwise tight bun, seemed oblivious to anything not edible in her immediate vicinity. John, on the other hand, was less interested in his food and more in the peculiar thought fluttering in his mind.

The mess hall’s din dwindled to a soft murmur, offering a semblance of privacy. John, swirling the ice in his half-empty glass, broke the companionable silence with a curveball.

“So, hypothetical—what would happen if I kissed you right now?” His tone was casual, like he was asking about the weather or the state of her shoelaces, not contemplating a seismic shift in their dynamic.

Linda, fork midair, paused. She looked at him, her expression a mix of surprise and bemusement, as if she wasn't sure whether to laugh or raise an eyebrow. Slowly, she placed her fork down with the precision of a bomb technician.

“Is this your idea of small talk, or are you branching out into weird hypotheticals now?” She countered, her voice tinged with humor yet edged with curiosity.

John grinned, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. “Just thinking out loud. I mean, we’ve dodged bullets together, why not dodge awkwardness?”

Linda laughed, the sound bright and clear. “Because awkwardness isn’t as lethal, maybe?”

“Debatable,” John quipped. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table, his eyes not leaving hers. “Look, we’re good together. In the field, off the field... So yeah, I’m curious. What if?”

Linda leaned back, her chair creaking slightly under the shift. “It could get complicated,” she said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You, me, us—it could mess up the great dynamic we have. Plus, fraternization regs...”

“But?” John prompted, his smile persistent.

“But,” Linda continued, a slow smile spreading across her face, “sometimes complications are worth it. Maybe it’s a risk that... I don’t know, brings something good?”

“Something real?” John offered, his voice hopeful yet laced with a hint of challenge.

“Something real,” Linda agreed, nodding slowly. “No hypotheticals, no what-ifs.”

They both paused, considering the gravity of the shift, the weight of a moment hanging between them. Then, almost imperceptibly, Linda leaned forward. John met her halfway, their movements syncing as if choreographed.

Their kiss was a gentle collision, tentative at first, then firmer—decisive. It was a kiss that spoke of shared hardships and unspoken promises, a seal on a pact that might just redefine their relationship.

As they parted, their eyes opened to the same mess hall but perhaps a different world between them. John’s smile was genuine, happy. “So, better than dodging bullets?”

Linda chuckled, touching her lips with the tips of her fingers, as if to preserve the sensation. “Much better. Though, let’s not make a habit of dodging either.”

Duel - (Based on "You hold no power, here.")

...The abandoned structure cast long, eerie shadows that danced around them as the glow from their energy swords—John's a stark blue, Jega's a vicious red—illuminated their armored forms.

The duel began with the piercing shriek of their swords. John, his movements a blend of human determination and the mechanical precision afforded by his armor, lunged forward. Jega, lighter and more agile, dodged effortlessly, his own counter-attacks a blur of red energy that John barely blocked in time.

"Your reputation precedes you, Spartan," Jega sneered, ducking under a high swing to deliver an uppercut that John deflected just in time. "But your kind are nothing more than pests in the sacred eyes of the Covenant."

John grunted, ignoring the sting of the near-miss as he pivoted on his heel, bringing his sword down in a sweeping arc that Jega sidestepped. "We might be pests, but we sure know how to bite," he retorted, his tone light but his eyes scanning for the next opening.

They exchanged a flurry of blows, each strike and parry ringing out like a deadly symphony. Jega's style was all about fluidity and grace, a stark contrast to John's brute force and tactical precision. Their swords locked, energy crackling and sizzling in the air between them, their faces inches apart.

"You fight well," Jega conceded, his breath a hiss as he pushed against John's strength. "But your efforts are futile. The march of the Covenant cannot be halted by mere will."

John pushed back, breaking the lock and swinging wide, forcing Jega to leap back. "We’ll see about that," he growled, his next moves a series of rapid thrusts, each faster and more dangerous than the last, forcing Jega into a defensive whirl of red light.

The battle raged on, their footwork a complicated dance among the rubble of the ancient structure. It was a test of endurance and skill, pushing both warriors to their limits. Finally, John feinted a strike to Jega's midsection, then swiftly reversed his grip, sweeping Jega’s legs out from under him with the broad side of his blade.

As Jega hit the ground, his energy sword flew from his grasp, skidding across the stone floor and darkening. Panting, the Elite propped himself up on his elbows, defiant even in defeat. "You may win this battle, Spartan, but you will lose the war. Humanity is nothing in the grand scale of the universe."

John powered down his sword, the blue light dying away as he looked down at Jega, his voice resolute and cold. "In this place, in this moment, you hold no power here."

Silence fell for a moment, heavy and absolute, before John extended his hand to Jega—not in pity, but in recognition of the warrior he faced. Jega looked up, the light from the setting of the distant sun reflecting off his visor, and after a tense pause, grasped John's hand. It was a warrior's acknowledgment, one fighter to another...

[shirefantasies]

Hi, I hope you doing good. Can i have a matchup for LOTR and/or HOBBIT please 💐 Firstly English not my first language. I'm autistic. I'm genderfluid, bisexual with male preference.I have long black wavy hair. I have thick black eyebrows, brown eyes. I always have rosy chubby cheeks. I have braces. My body is curvy with very big chest and little tummy. My eyebrows are constantly furrowed. Also I'm 172 cm. I'm Libra. If you interested, my mbti Infp and my enneagram 5w4. I always have poker face. I'm very outspoken, stubborn. I always doing my job alone. I find it difficult to express my feelings and prefer to isolate myself. My best feature is that I know a little about everything, I always surprise people. Those who know me for the first time describe me as cold, scary, quiet, unapproachable and distant, mature. But at heart I'm compassionate and helpful, works for the good of people. And they often think I can't speak and I'm deaf but I'm not. People say I'm extremely chaste. When I enter an environment, I listen to what people say and get to know them well, I decide if there is anyone worth talking to. I'm only close to two or three people. They describe me as cold, soft inside, calm, sarcastic, resourceful and knowledgeable. I am usually a rebellious person. I am the person who stands against injustices and lies in an environment. They say I make clever jokes and I'm the mom-friend. Actually i like to help everyone and it works automatically without me noticing. I will help anyone by giving my all. And i hate phsyical touch. My love language is words of affirmation. If I talk about myself, I've always been on my own. I have family problems, I was never close with my father. Even though we are side by side with my mother, we are distant. I'm just my own mom and dad. That's why I've always focused on academic achievement for salvation. And I think I'm very good at it. My hobbies are drawing, sewing, writing and researching, especially about mythology, cultures, politics, history, fashion. I like to visit second-hand and antique markets. I'm someone who doesn't like to waste money but cares about clothing. I always wear my headphones and listen to music, i listen every genre. I like silence, soft colors, being alone, flowers (especially honeysuckle), spring and breeze. I don't like crowds, noise, children, loud talkers and shiny things. I always wear colorful clothes with floral prints or all black. I also wear interesting earrings and different printed socks. And finally, I don't really have an ideal type. I love every person. I like the fact that there are different people. And I don't believe in love. If I'm going to be with someone, I'll be happy if we have respect, compassion, and loyalty to each other. It is enough that we are in harmony with each other. If I am with someone, I am clearly their mother.

You sure can have a matchup 💐 and your man is…

Beorn! 🐻

You are tired of the world. Tired of all its hustle and bustle and rules and unnecessary noise. It isn’t like you have family back in any of those towns and cities anyway. Nature is your true domain, the place where you can be yourself and feel harmony, stroll through fields of fragrant blooms without prying eyes…or so you think. A small patrol of orcs catches you off guard, brandishing their scimitars and chasing you deeper into the woods you had sought solace in. Your legs pump as fast as they can, but it is hardly enough. Just as you think your burning, heaving chest will give out and fail you, though, a great bear bursts from the woods, making short work of your would-be tormentors. Before your eyes the beast shrinks down, becoming a great man, and bids you simply “Come with me.”

Had you more energy you’d have tried to fight, but as it is you practically shake from the adrenaline and still feel a burning in your lungs; nodding, you just follow him down a trail and across a field to his cottage. Distant, in bloom, populated only by livestock and bumblebees. You like it. Tentatively you smile up at the towering, bearded man. “You have no home, do you?” He asks. You shake your head and he sighs. “That is what I thought.” It seemed he isn’t much one for company, either. No complaints leave his lips, though, as you set down your small pack of possessions, or as you scan the interior of his home, taking in every nook and cranny. “We eat in an hour,” the man simply says.

Beorn. You learn his name over the meal, confirm your suspicions that he, too, has his reasons for isolating from society. Tell him how beautiful his home really is as he speaks of protecting nature’s gifts and feeling no remorse for those who sully them. Respect flows through you at his words, keeps you nodding as he speaks.

When you emerge the next morning, this time clean and in a long dress of floral print, you notice the way Beorn’s bushy eyebrows rise, his expression softens. You practically challenge him as you go outside, exploring and gently tending the livestock. He says nothing, though, save following you and giving you the occasional nod at your kind treatment of his animals. “Keep my house safe,” he tells you at the end of the day, “and I keep the woods safe.” In his way, you realize, he is asking you to stay, and you agree. He makes a nicer meal this night.

Your motions in the kitchen are something of a dance, Beorn and you all but intuitively moving around the other, working in perfect rhythm. His people have many old songs to learn, and you vow to sing them as best you can as you work. Beorn cleans and bends some old metal scraps, strings a pair of acorns into new earrings for you. Payment for repairing all his blankets, he says, but you catch the faintest of smiles on his lips. Spring explodes across the meadows in great flowery bursts. Soon in your pastures a new calf is born; in a wave of excitement and celebration, Beorn lifts you up by the waist and spins you around. Both of your serious expressions bursting into true joy, utter freedom of care and concern, for the first time in too long. Some may call your life simple, your relationship confusing, but you know what you are to each other deep in your hearts of hearts and you want for nothing that your woods, your little cottage, and each other cannot provide.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[thewillofdeez]

50/50: A Shanks/OC (and Beckman/OC) Romance - Chapter 1: Meetings and Propositions

Summary: A twenty year journey of friendship, love, and heartache between Shanks and the woman he loves.

Chapter 1 word count: 4240

Notes: This fic is currently incomplete but it's pretty close to being done. Smut will definitely be in later chapters, they will be tagged appropriately. Also, Hongo does not exist, the OC is the doctor of the Red Hair Pirates. No hate to Hongo or my Hongo stans.

Cannons and gunshots fired in the distance. Riley continued what she was doing in her office, paying the noise little mind. She’d have to check for survivors later, certainly, but until the blasts died down there wasn’t much she could do.

Pirate battles were pretty commonplace in this area of the South Blue. Compared to other islands in the area, Isha Island wasn’t the biggest or the wealthiest and was quite isolated, being a journey of at least five days to its nearest neighbor. But it did have ample resources and a strong sense of community. This combined with its pleasantly warm weather almost year round made it a perfect place for pirates to make port.

For the most part, this worked out quite well for the island’s residents - most weren’t wealthy enough to have anything worth taking, and the business the pirates provided to the bars and markets kept the economy flowing. Of course, it wasn’t always a great deal - pirates were rowdy, violent, and varying levels of cruel. Any week that went by where there wasn’t a battle in the streets, a trashed storefront, or a mindless death was generally considered to be a good one. On Isha Island, that was pretty much all they could ask for.

Riley dragged the tip of the pencil down the sketchbook paper before her, defining the outside line of a metatarsal bone. She shaded along one end, adding definition. When she was satisfied with her diagram of the bones in the human foot, she took a ruler and drew lines straight out from the key points, labeling them in a neat script. It had been a few minutes since the last blast of gun fire. Perhaps the battle was over. Time to see if anyone was left alive.

Riley made her way through the village street and down to the dock. Putting a hand over her brow to shield her eyes from the late afternoon sun, Riley could see a ship sailing off into the distance, clearly the victor, and the remnants of what appeared to be a much smaller ship sinking into the sea, just a few chunks of broken wood, a mast, and a torn, unmarked sail slipping slowly into the water. Looks like these guys bit off more than they could chew, she thought.

Riley walked towards a small craft bearing a red cross on its single sail, untying it from the dock and making her way out to the site of the battle. This was pretty standard practice for her - wait for the battle to end, head out to sea at most a mile (she wasn’t exactly a sailor - that was about as far as she could bring herself to go), and see if there was anyone to rescue. Sometimes there was, sometimes there wasn’t. If there was, she’d haul them aboard and bring them back to her office, where she would mend their wounds and send them on their way. Such was the life of a doctor in a village like this one. It didn’t pay well, or sometimes at all, but it was what she felt she was meant to do.

“Hey!” a voice called out to her. Looking around, she spotted a head of wet, black hair in the water, attached to an equally soaking body. The man was waving out to her with one hand, his other seemingly holding someone. Riley waved back, acknowledging the two men, then made her way over.

When she got close enough, the black-haired man spoke. “Please…my friend got shot. He needs a doctor.”

“Well lucky for your friend, that’s what I am. Here, let me help him up.” The man in the water passed the unmoving body of his friend to Riley, who grabbed him underneath the arms and hauled him aboard, plopping him onto the deck. The injured man let out a cry - she probably got him where he was hurt. “Sorry!” she said. It wasn’t easy being a relatively normal-sized person and hauling men who were sometimes two or more times her size on board the small craft, but it had to be done.

When the injured man was on board, she finally took a good look at him. A blood stain bloomed through the white shirt covering his right bicep, and was much the same color as the man’s hair and the red ribbon that circled a straw hat which hung around his neck. Another seeped through his pants near his right glute. The man grimaced in pain. “Sorry,” she said again. The man didn’t respond, his head lolling to the side. His skin was pale - he’d probably lost a fair amount of blood so far.

Riley then turned her attention to the other man and helped him aboard.

“How many were with you? Do you know if they’re alive?”

“It’s just us,” the black haired man replied. “Is there anything we can do to stop the bleeding?”

Riley pulled the injured man’s shirt aside to examine the first wound. “Not much until we get back to my place, unfortunately,” she replied. She retreated briefly into the boat’s small cabin and came back with two towels. “Here, take these and apply pressure to the wounds. We’ll get him taken care of.” The man obeyed without a word.

Riley turned the boat and began sailing the two castaways back to shore. When they arrived, she looped the boat to the dock and jumped off. “Let’s get him out of there, quick.” Working together she and the black-haired man brought the wounded red-head off the small craft and onto the dock. For the first time she got a good look at the red-head’s uninjured companion. He was tall, his long black hair hung in a wet ponytail down his back, and his soaking clothes hung to a lithe, muscular body. He lifted his injured friend from the dock and carried him in his arms.

“Lead the way,” he said.

Riley nodded and turned on her heel, leading him quickly through the streets. “Right here,” she called behind her, gesturing to the small building that bore the same red cross as her boat. Opening the door, the wet man walked inside, his friend in his arms. “Lay him out on that table, right side up,” Riley said. The man obeyed wordlessly.

“What’s his blood type?” she asked, glancing his way.

“Ummm, XF I think? I’m not positive though.”

Riley sighed. “We’ll have to test him quickly, just to be sure.”

Riley got to work, stripping the man of his wet clothes and hat and instructing his friend to keep the pressure on the wounds until she was ready. He watched as she moved quickly around the room, pulling bottles and metal instruments from the cabinets, and laying them on a rolling cart. She then pulled on a pair of gloves and settled down on a stool next to her patient, gently pushing away the man with the black hair to take his spot.

He watched as the young woman worked on his friend, testing his blood and beginning a transfusion, extracting the bullets, cleaning the wounds, and sewing up the holes they left behind. She worked quickly and didn’t even look like she knew he was there - her focus was entirely on the man with the red hair. Eventually, with her work complete for now, Riley straightened her back from her position leaning over the red-haired man and pulled off her gloves. She turned to the black-haired man. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Beckman. Benn Beckman,” he said. “And that’s my captain, Shanks.”

“Well Beckman, Shanks will be fine. His wounds will need some care, but he’ll be back to full health in a few days, maybe a week at most. Since your ship was destroyed, you can stay here until then.”

“Thank you, ummm…”

“I’m Dr. Juniyoshi, but you can call me Riley. Come on, let’s get him to a recovery room. Beckman lifted Shanks up again and followed Riley down the hall to a room with a 1 on the door. He laid his friend down in the sheets, being careful not to accidentally hit his wounds, then plopped himself in a wooden chair by the head of the bed.

“Can I get you anything?” a gentle voice said. He looked up to see Riley standing in the doorway.

Beckman thought for a moment. In all the rush to get Shanks to safety, he hadn’t been very present to his own feelings. He felt the wet fabric sticking to his skin, becoming uncomfortable. “Dry clothes, if you have any?”

Riley smiled softly. “Let me see what I can do.” She left the room and returned a few minutes later with a bundle of clothes in hand. “I hope these will work, we sort of have a mishmash of things people leave here. I’ll come back in a minute to get your stuff and his in the wash.”

Beckman peeled off his wet shirt and pants and slipped into the sweats and t-shirt Riley provided. She returned to take their items to the washroom, gathering the wet bundle in her arms. “I’ll be down the hall. Let me know when he wakes up, okay?” she said before turning around and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

What a day it had been for the two of them, Beckman thought. What Shanks had sworn would be a pretty standard treasure grab turned into a bloodbath - mostly for them, sure, but he and Shanks had gotten some good shots in on the other guys. The other guys who were greater in number, stronger, and who Beckman had fucking told Shanks they didn’t have a chance infiltrating and stealing from, but no, Shanks swore they could handle it, that they just needed a single bag of gold to get by, and they’d be in and out easily. And now here they were - no treasure, no ship, and even their weapons were at the bottom of the sea.

Between the two of them, Beckman had always been the voice of reason. He was a good bit older than the man he considered his captain and his friend, and in the short time they’d been traveling together, he realized it was on him to keep Shanks from losing his head in the clouds. But it was a trade-off - Beckman was the angel on Shanks’ shoulder, but Shanks was the devil on his. He helped the older man lighten up a little, and Beckman couldn’t deny that the two had a lot of fun.

Beckman didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard a soft groan from the man in the bed. “Shanks?” he said. Shanks grimaced a little before opening his eyes to see his friend leaning over him.

“Oh hey, Beck.” Shanks took a minute to allow himself to feel the pain in his wounds and the cotton sheets on his naked body. He looked around the small room as his eyes adjusted. “Where are we?”

Beckman rose from his seat and habitually patted his pocket, seeking out his pack of cigarettes before remembering that they were with his pants and destroyed by sea water. He sighed. “After those pirates kicked our asses,” he began with a pointed look at Shanks, “the village doctor came out and rescued us. We’re at her place. You got a bullet in the arm and one in your ass. Also we have no ship and no money. So, hope it was worth it.” He wanted a cigarette so badly.

Shanks could only let out a gentle laugh. “Welp, we tried!” He shrugged his shoulders, wincing with pain at the movement.

“We tried and now we’re stranded on some island.” Beckman could feel himself getting heated. “We’ve got nothing, Shanks, what are we gonna do?”

Shanks laid his head back against the feather pillow, a smile on his face. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Beckman could feel a headache coming on, and Shanks had only been conscious for a few minutes. He couldn’t imagine how his captain could be so blasé about such a serious situation. But that’s just how Shanks was sometimes. Beckman took the opportunity to step out of the room, taking a breath to calm down before going to seek out Riley.

“Riley?” he called softly. Her head stuck out from behind a door at the end of the hall.

“He awake?” she asked.

“Yup.” Without a word, Riley made her way to Shanks’s room. Beckman resumed his place in the chair.

“Shanks, I’m Riley. How are you feeling?” she asked, one hand resting on the door jamb. He looked up and saw the woman who saved him for the first time. She was on the taller side with dark hair and brown eyes. Shanks was taken aback - he’d seen a lot of pretty women in his day, but to him, she was particularly beautiful. And she had saved his life. Remembering the bullet hole in his ass, he realized she’d probably also seen him naked. He blushed a little at the thought.

“I’m doing okay, all things considered,” he said with a crooked smile. A pretty woman in the vicinity meant Shanks reflexively turned on the charm.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

“A little, but I’ve had worse.” His ass really, really hurt. Arm too, but especially the ass. He could not let the pretty woman know.

Riley giggled - she saw straight through him. She excused herself to the main office and came back a minute later with a syringe full of clear liquid.

“This will sting at first, but I promise it’ll help.” Shanks inhaled through his teeth as the cold liquid entered his muscles around the bullet hole in his arm, but the cold and the pain subsided in seconds.

“Roll over so I can get the other one,” Riley ordered. Oh boy, she was gonna see his ass again. Shanks wasn’t sure why he was feeling so self-conscious. It’s not like she was the first woman to see him naked. Shanks obeyed regardless.

“So what led to this whole situation?” Riley asked, as she discarded the syringe and took a spot on the edge of the bed. Beckman recounted the tale, emphasizing the fact that it was a stupid plan - it was for some reason very important to him that she knew that he knew that it was stupid, and that he was not the mastermind behind it.

Riley spoke when Beckman finished, shaking her head. “Another day, another bunch of pirates doing stupid pirate things. So you guys are shit outta luck then, huh?”

Shanks and Beckman looked at each other. “Yeah, basically,” Shanks replied. “I take it you get a lot of people like us around here?”

“Oh yeah, pretty much constantly. Pirates love this island. This island tolerates pirates.” Riley rose from her spot on the bed. “Like I said, you’re welcome to stay until you’re healthy, but after that you’re on your own. I’m going to go make dinner, be back in a bit.” With that, she left the room.

“So what’s the plan now, Captain?” Beckman said pointedly. Shanks chose to ignore the attitude from his second in command.

“Well first we get me healthy. Then we figure it out. We’ll ask Riley what’s around here, maybe she can help us.”

Beckman said nothing, he just turned to the window and watched as the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky.

“I want her to join our crew,” Shanks said. Beckman turned around and stared at him incredulously.

“You want her to join our crew? First of all, why her? Second of all, what crew? It’s just us and we don’t even have a ship to sail on anymore. We’re barely a crew, Shanks, we’re…we’re just two assholes trying and failing at being pirates. She’s not gonna leave her home to come fuck around the oceans with us.”

“Come on, every pirate crew starts somewhere! We got a captain, a vice captain, and soon we’ll have a doctor. I was hoping we’d get a cook or a navigator first, but hey. I bet we can convince her to do it.”

“How, exactly?” Beckman replied. He really, really, wanted a cigarette.

“Dunno!” Shanks said, placing his uninjured arm behind his head in a relaxed manner. “We’ll figure it out.”

Beckman groaned. “You keep saying that. I’ll believe it when I see it. Also, you didn’t answer my first question.”

“What question?” Shanks asked innocently. Beckman couldn’t tell if he was playing stupid or genuinely didn’t remember.

“Why her?”

Shanks grinned. “Dunno. Just have a feeling.”

Not long later, Riley returned carrying a tray laden with three steaming bowls of stew, bread, a bottle of sake, and a carafe of water. Beckman rose to take it from her hands, placing it on a side table and handing a bowl to Shanks. Meanwhile, Riley poured the sake.

“This smells amazing, doc,” Shanks said. “Thank you for saving me. And for the food.”   Riley shrugged. “No need to thank me. Not gonna let you starve under my watch.” She smiled slyly at him.

The three made light conversation over dinner. Shanks and Beckman told her about how they met and their adventures together so far, while Riley told them about life in the village as a doctor. The conversation flowed easily between them and was full of laughter. Riley had met a number of pirates in her time as a doctor on Isha Island, and many interactions she’d had weren’t quite this pleasant. With pirates, it truly was a crapshoot what kind of person she’d end up meeting.

“So what made you two become pirates? Like, what are you after?” Riley asked, taking a sip of her sake.

“Short term,” Beckman began, “Freedom, adventure. Money, but out of necessity more than anything. I’m sure you get a lot of asshole pirates here, but we don’t start trouble unless we need to.”

“We’re not afraid to finish it though, if it happens to come our way,” added Shanks.

“And long term?” asked Riley. The two men looked at each other.

“Long term,” said Shanks, “Have the strength to protect people. Maybe be an Emperor. Find the One Piece.”

Riley stopped with her drink halfway to her mouth, then burst into laughter.

“Oh you’re those kind of pirates!” she guffawed.

“She doesn’t believe us, Beck,” Shanks said to his first mate, his voice full of mirth.

“Can you blame her?”

“You laugh, doc, but the One Piece is real. I know that for a fact.” Shanks’s tone became more serious, though the crooked smile remained on his face.

“Oh?” Riley replied. “And how do you know that?”

“Because I grew up on Gold Roger's ship.” Riley met his gaze. The look in his brown eyes told her he was completely serious. She looked to Beckman for confirmation, who only nodded.

Riley cleared her throat. “So you know what the One Piece is, then? And where?”

“Eh, sorta. It’s complicated,” Shanks said. “I unfortunately wasn’t there when they found it. A friend of mine was sick and I stayed behind with him. In theory, though, I have most of the information that I need.”

“So what’s stopping you then? Why not just go for it?”

Shanks shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “It’s not time yet. Not sure when it will be either. But it’ll happen. I might be 40, but it’ll happen.”

Riley could only look to Beckman. “And you believe him?”

“I do,” Beckman replied. “I haven’t known Shanks for long but I know him well enough to know he’s not bullshitting me. And I do believe he’ll get there one day. I wouldn’t be on his crew if I didn’t.”

“So now that you know what we’re all about,” Shanks said to Riley. “Wanna join us?”

Riley’s eyes grew wide. “You want me to join you? You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” said Shanks. Beckman only looked at her and nodded in assertion. When his captain’s mind was made up, there was no changing it.

“We just met,” Riley said.

“So?” replied Shanks, “Beck and I had only known each other a few days before he joined me.”

“I’m not a pirate.”

“Most people don’t start out as pirates. I’m a rare exception.” Shanks said with a wink.

“I can’t sail very well, I’ve never even been more than a mile out to sea.”

“We’ll teach you what you need to know,” he responded.

“I can’t fight.”

“You don’t have to.”

Riley was getting frustrated. Couldn’t this guy take a hint? She rose from her seat, crossing her arms as she began pacing the room.

“You don’t even know me!”

“I know that you’re kind,” Shanks said softly. “And that’s the type of person I want on my crew.”

“Since when do pirates care about kindness?” Riley scoffed. “You don’t even know me,” she reiterated.

“Riley, you went out to sea after that battle, of your own volition, pulled our soggy asses out of the water, and saved my life. Not only that, you also washed our clothes and made us dinner, and are letting us, who have absolutely no money to our names, stay here until I’ve recovered. People who aren’t kind don’t do that.”

“I’m a doctor, Shanks, I have an ethical obligation to care for anyone who needs help.”

“And you know what type of people hold themselves to ethical standards? Kind people. Boom. Beckman, hit me.” Shanks held his closed fist out to his vice captain, awaiting a bump. Beckman rolled his eyes, but obliged. Riley couldn’t help but laugh before a silence settled between the three, letting her mind mull over the proposition. “You don’t have to decide now,” Shanks said. “But just…think about it, okay? I promise, it’ll be worth your while. Just give me a chance.” She looked up and met his eyes, which sparkled with something she couldn’t quite place. Riley couldn’t explain why - it went against all logic - but for some reason, she really, truly trusted this guy. This strangely charming idiot who she just met who wants to find the legendary One Piece.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” Riley replied. “But for now, you both should get some rest.” She gathered up their bowls and cups and stacked them on the tray. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Beckman, I’ve set up a bed for you in the room across from this one. Oh! Which reminds me, I almost forgot.” Riley ran out of the room and came back with some loose cigarettes and a lighter, which she handed to Beckman. “As a doctor I can’t condone smoking, but I also know nicotine withdrawal is a bitch. Just smoke out the window, ‘kay?”

“Holy shit…thank you.” Beckman replied, in awe of the kind gesture. Shanks sure did have a way of reading people, and Beckman knew his captain’s analysis of her was spot on.

“I sleep upstairs, just come get me if either of you need anything.” Riley made her way across the small room, stopping and turning at the door. “Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight,” they echoed back.

Riley climbed the stairs to her room and prepared herself for bed. As she brushed her teeth, the conversation with Shanks and Beckman replayed in her head. They wanted her to join them? And become a pirate? Holy shit, were they crazy?

The largely rational side of Riley’s brain gave an outright No. But the less logical, more fantastical side reared its ugly head for the first time in a while. You should do it! It’ll be fun! it insisted. Riley didn’t love that part of her brain, and tried to keep it suppressed whenever possible, as it had a tendency to cause trouble. It occurred to her that Beckman seemed like the kind of person to be much the same way.

Climbing into bed, Riley started a list of pros and cons in her head. Pros:,she thought, It would be fun. I feel like I can trust them. I’d get to see the world. My life could be over at any point, I should take some risks while I can.

Riley rolled onto her side, struggling to get comfortable. Cons: They have no ship. No money. No crew except the two of them. The red head might be crazy, going after the One Piece. They could be human traffickers for all I know. They could be murderers. They could cut me up and use me for fishing bait. I mean I don’t think they will, but still. My life could be over at any point, it’s silly to take a risk like this when I have a good, stable life here.

Okay, the cons were in the lead. But that little part of her mind didn’t want to let it go. As she felt her eyelids get heavy, she allowed the gears to turn in her brain. What if I could get rid of some of those cons? What if I could help them out? As Riley drifted off, she thought of stepping onto a real pirate ship and going out to sea for the first time.

The next morning, Riley awoke when the sun from the window reached her sleeping form. She stretched, and couldn’t help but smile. She knew how to make the logical choice into the one she wanted to make.

Next - Coming Soon

[coldmail750]

This is the second part of a two-part rambling about parallels between some of the carnivores in Beastars; if you haven't read the first part, you should do that here, but the tl;dr for part one is as follows:

Carnivores in Beastars are told that they defined by their strength (both physical and emotional), swagger, and hunger (both metaphorical and literal), but are also simultaneously told that they must proudly embrace these things to be "true carnivores", and that they should be ashamed of these things which make them a threat to herbivores. Bill and Legoshi each initially attempt to dogmatically cling to one of these lines, Bill the former and Legoshi the latter, and all it does is make them miserable; their character arcs see them abandon these positions for a more nuanced middle ground where they can live happier lives.

With that out of the way, we can move onto the second part:

Carnivore Parallels, part 2 - Riz & Ibuki

Having established the start of Legoshi and Bill's arcs in the first quarter of the manga, in the second quarter of the manga, Paru Itagaki builds on the ideas and themes explored in those arcs through the characters of Riz and Ibuki.

Riz and Ibuki are parallels both to Legoshi and Bill, and to each other. They're dealing with the same contradictory societal messages of "carnivores should be proud" versus "carnivores should be ashamed" that Legoshi and Bill are, but, they have additional pressures or factors exacerbating their situation that Legoshi and Bill don't.

Riz, like Legoshi, internalizes the "carnivores should be ashamed" message and comes to loathe himself for existing as a carnivore - as he explicitly tells Tem, "the real me isn't a good person". Unlike Legoshi, however, he has the additional circumstance that bears are made particularly ashamed of who they are by literal law, forced to take drugs with debilitating physical and mental side effects as punishment for being large and strong - and then given no support whatsoever for dealing with the side effects of those drugs beyond whatever self-medication they can work out themselves.

Ibuki, like Bill, internalizes the "these are things of which you should be proud" message. Unlike Bill, however, he has the additional circumstance that lions are told they are the kings of beasts and must live up to an especially extreme version of that ideal, and the personal history of being sold into slavery and getting drawn into a yakuza gang whose leader enforced the harshest, cruelest conception of what it meant to be king of beasts, which means the things which Ibuki did in the name of proving his worth as a carnivore are much more extreme, and induce much more guilt, than anything Bill ever did.

These additional circumstances push Riz and Ibuki over the edge, and where Legoshi and Bill get lucky, end up on the path to dealing with the self-loathing that came with their dogmatic adherence to the societal messaging, for Riz and Ibuki it ends in tragedy.

Riz ends up totally isolated, in physical pain and mental distress, failed by the Cherryton faculty, failed by Louis in his capacity as drama club leader (since Louis at this point is too busy hating carnivores to care about them), failed by a society that punishes him for merely existing as a bear. He ends up with no real friends, except for one herbivore who looks at him and isn't afraid - Tem - and his mental stability ends up resting entirely upon that one herbivore who looks at him and doesn't hate him, doesn't fear him, who gives him an escape from his self-loathing.

Ibuki does enough horrible stuff in the Shishigumi trying to play the part of the king of beasts that he comes to utterly fear and hate himself as a "mass of unstable darkness", he sees no escape from the bloody corner he has backed himself into, trapped playing a part that he hates but can't hope to get out of - leaving the mafia isn't exactly easy, and Ibuki has nothing beyond the black market, having been sold to it so young. The only thing keeping him going is the one herbivore who looks at him and isn't afraid - Louis - and his mental stability ends up resting entirely upon that one herbivore who looks at him and doesn't hate him, doesn't fear him, who gives him an escape from his self-loathing.

And the moment that herbivore leaves…

Riz doesn't take his pills and wounds Tem by accident; Tem, who - going by what we get in looking at the backstories of other herbivore characters - has no doubt been bombarded his whole life with the idea that he ought to be scared of carnivores, that he ought to hate carnivores, freaks out and runs away. The one person who looked at Riz and didn't hate or fear him now screams at him that carnivores are nothing more than monsters.

Seeing the entirety of his support network vanish in an instant, Riz suffers a mental breakdown, murders his only friend, spends months slipping deeper and deeper into delusion as he desperately tries to live with the mix of the self-loathing he already had and the guilt of what he's done, and, once caught by Legoshi, goes to prison for god-knows-how-long for it.

Ibuki can't convince Louis to stay in the Shishigumi, since Louis - progressing along his own character arc - has realized that actually he does care for the carnivores in his life, and wants to make sure that Legoshi doesn't get himself killed. He resolves that he'd rather die happy under Louis’s leadership, next to him, than keep on living in misery and self-loathing.

He knows that he gave Free a gun and told him to use it if it ever looked like he was going to attack Louis, and he knows that Free followed him and Louis into the tunnel (this particular detail is left kind of vague in the manga and the anime, but it's super clear in - of all places - the full music video for the season two ED). So he makes it look like he's going to attack Louis, knowing that either Louis will shoot him, or Free will shoot him, and either way he'll get his wish of dying happy next to the boss he faithfully served.

Neither Riz nor Ibuki had any control over the fact that they were born as carnivores, nor the species they were born as. But the way they were treated as a result ultimately results in suffering and death.

But - and here's where Paru twists the knife - we still see it made clear that Riz and Ibuki could've been like Legoshi and Bill, could've had happier endings, had society not failed them so relentlessly and repeatedly.

Riz, as we see in the chapter where he cooks for his roommates and in his flashbacks to his friendship with Tem before it all went wrong, was legitimately a kind and amicable and reliable person, like Legoshi is for his roommates. He has cooking as a hobby in the way that Legoshi has that interest in bugs, and so on and so forth.

But while Legoshi got really lucky the night he nearly killed Haru - the one thing that prevented Legoshi from becoming a murderer just as much as Riz was Zoe running outside to get Legoshi's help after Louis broke his fucking leg - and Riz, through no fault of his own, didn't.

Meanwhile, in the same way that Bill shines when he's caring for Els and his friends and the drama club and the shock chick because deep down he’s warm and caring and supportive, Ibuki really shines when he's being warm and fatherly towards Louis.

Seriously, Ibuki is the best damn dad Louis gets in this manga. Louis’s birth father is a total nonentity in his son's life, and while Oguma loves Louis, his obsession with the business means that he isn't there for Louis like he should be, and he only really changes that on his literal deathbed when he realizes that this is his last chance to be a father to his son. Ibuki, meanwhile, is basically always there to look out for Louis, even when Louis would rather pretend he doesn't need help.

Riz and Ibuki have tragic fates not because they're bad people, but because society dealt them a losing hand, because of who they were born as and the world they were born into. Because of sheer bad luck beyond their control.

In a society that didn't fail carnivores, in a society that didn't fail bears and lions so particularly and severely, Riz and Ibuki could've ended up like Legoshi and Bill. They could've gotten on the path to resolving that self-loathing, to finding a place for themselves in the world, a place that they're comfortable in, people who care for them. But the society of Beastars does fail carnivores, and it does fail bears and lions particularly severely, so two characters who could have had full and happy lives are jailed and dead respectively.

As a result, the two of them stand as parallel tragic mirrors; they're dealing with the same societal failures that Legoshi and Bill's arcs involve dealing with, but because society especially screwed them, even compared to other carnivores, their paths end in tragedy, both for them and those around them.

Legoshi, Bill, Riz, and Ibuki are part of the broader picture Paru Itagaki paints of the society in Beastars, and perhaps the overarching point that Paru makes through all of her characters is that this carnivore-herbivore societal arrangement, as it stands, works for nobody. Herbivores live their lives in constant fear and regularly face either infantilization or objectification, carnivores live with constant self-loathing either for being carnivores or for not being carnivore enough, and hybrids get all the downsides of both with the upsides of neither. Nobody benefits from it, but everyone acquiesces to it because they think it's normal, natural, inevitable - and that results in people being bent and broken by it.

And boy, even though Beastars isn't a one-to-one allegory about any particular real world thing, doesn't that feel relevant?

[abysswalkersknight]

Horrortober (twst) Day 3: sharp

A fair warning, this was meant to be much better but I got distracted by vampire literature halfway through and now just finished it to get it out of the way so I can finish off other vampy stuff. Once there is more time I will probably revisit this.

-------------------------

It wasn't everyday that Lilia heads out to the human village. Usually he prefers to hunt in the woods so as to not be disturbed but Silver has been getting quite hungry lately, even if Lilia captures bears, deer or any large game, his son's appetite’s never fully satiated. This has been going on for a while so Lilia thought he should try… a different sort of prey. Hence why he's been drifting through the evening streets observing the villagers he walks by. Hmm, he has to be careful with what he chooses, no doubt he’s going to feel heavy and sluggish until he goes home. Hmm, no, too young… too old… too bony, hardly anything there at all… yeah he’s not feeding whatever that is to his son… oh dear, decisions, decisions. Malleus did say it would be better to go for criminals or something like that, but where in Briar Valley am I supposed to find one? He went around the night market stalls, buying little trinkets and whatnot as a disguise and then like a blessing from the great thorn fairy herself, while he was buying some fruit he suddenly felt a shiver crawl down his spine. He’s careful to keep his fangs hidden under his travelling cloak as a wide grin splits across his face. Success! He thanks the stall owner and moves on his merry way.

He was being followed.

And not by some mediocre oaf, it was a human rather skilled in keeping themself concealed! It was only by his keen senses that Lilia had caught wind of them, and from the malicious intent wafting off their form, this was most certainly a criminal. Perfect! Bless his adorable, petite, damsel like figure. It was excellent bait for wandering thieves! 

Lilia kept his pace nice and slow for the thief to catch up, and he could tell it was a thief, why else would someone be carrying a knife like that, not to mention they’d be a bit more aggressive if they were just a serial killer. Keeping his head low he veered off the cobblestone path towards an isolated section of the woods. 

It's showtime.

This little girl was an idiot. 

The thief has been following her for a while now, waiting for the perfect time to strike. Her travelling cloak may have been old and worn, but the clothes underneath spoke of a finer material, and a fair amount of coin.

All of a sudden she leaves off into the woods, onto the crude dirt road that only hunters were known to use. The thief smiles at their good fortune, this should be a piece of cake. On both sides of the road, dense forestry spread as far as the eye could see with not a soul in sight. The sky grew darker and darker, the wind tossing the girl’s dark hair this way and that. Deeper and deeper they went, the air grew colder by the second, enough for the thief to start shivering on occasion. In the still moonlight, a high pitched giggle pierces through the air. They startle at the sound, was something else there?! As if to answer their question an owl takes to the air, screeching away into the night. They breathe a sigh of relief, they should probably get this over with anyways, from their hiding place they ready their dagger, glancing up to make sure the girl was…

Gone.

They leap up in disbelief rushing over to where the girl had just been. Where was she? She was right there! There was no way she could have just disappeared into thin air! Just as they were about to make a run for it, there was no point in staying if the target wasn’t there, a particular cool gust of wind blows past their ear ‘now, now, you could really hurt someone with that’ a deep voice snickers, the thief screeches and falls forward, still clutching their dagger. The voice tsked ‘careful with that! I’d rather not have you bleed before necessary’ they look up to see the girl from before smiling down at them. Only it was clear now that this wasn’t a little girl. Not with those big scarlet eyes and gleaming fangs baring down at them.

Lilia couldn’t believe his luck. Not only had this fool thought to follow him so far into the woods but they were quite the decent size, perfect for feeding his boy, perhaps there’d even still be enough for Malleus! Though for some reason the prince always declines when offered a share. Oh well, royalty tends to be picky I suppose. Now… ‘alright dear criminal I have only one question for you so please answer nicely’ he says clapping his hands ‘you wouldn’t be ill by any chance would you? No blood poisoning or anything?’ the thief forgot their fear for a moment ‘what?’

‘Oh right, perhaps you’re too daft to understand that question, I mean you did follow me out here in the middle of nowhere right?’ he casually walks up to them. They tried to swing the dagger at him but Lilia easily flicked it out of their hand ‘seriously, I said be careful! Do you know how hard it is to collect blood for both you and a growing child? It's not easy, I tell you, I need every last drop. "He then licks his teeth, hunger evident in his eyes." You understand that, don't you?’

That night, the village cowers as blood curdling screams filled the air. Malleus is reclined on the couch with a tiny human in his arms when Lilia slipped through the door, blood soaked on his face and hands, unfortunately the thief hadn’t been very cooperative and Lilia had to resort to more violent means. But in the end there was plenty of food for both him and Silver. Speaking of, the moment the child and prince saw him Silver leapt off Malleus’s lap and rushed over to hug Lilia’s legs ‘welcome home Papa!’ he squeals, uncaring of the blood clinging to his father’s figure. Grimacing at the white shirt Silver had on he refrained from returning the gesture ‘watch out, Silver love, you’ll dirty your clothes like that. I’ll hug you once I’m all clean alright?’ his baby was about to protest when he was plucked off the floor and curled into Malleus’s chest ‘better be quick then Lilia’ mused the prince ‘or this little one might go on a rampage’ in response Silver bared his wee little baby fangs at the both of them. Lilia laughs and quickly heads over to his room to change before going to the kitchen to feed Silver, once he was clean and his son was happily sleeping in his arms with a full belly he finally noticed a pair of little dots along the Prince’s wrist, Malleus must have fed him before. He thinks with a frown, before, he never would have thought of that with the way Silver had gulped down all that red liquid. Sigh, this must mean that things will be tougher in the future.

[beguines]

As Anna Rochester noted in 1931, "In spite of the differences peculiar to each country and each industry, the underlying process of capitalist development is everywhere the same:  chaotic over-​expansion of markets; price-​cutting; reduction of labor costs; technical improvements displacing workers . . . aggressive attacks on workers' organization to prevent resistance as unemployment increases". These trends were often more extreme in industries that were not dominated by a small number of large producers. The coal industry, in addition, had distinctive characteristics. While coal had a greater concentration of ownership than the wood industry, it still had thousands of small companies, which produced the majority of U.S. coal. The labor-​intensive nature of the industry also meant that there was an ease of entry, especially during boom periods. Further, small companies often had certain advantages in local, isolated, or seasonal markets. During boom times, when prices per ton of coal often rose significantly, there was an expansion both in the number of producers and in coal production capacity, sometimes bearing little relation, even to the expanded market. When the market contracted, as it inevitably did, prices at times dropped substantially, leading to huge financial losses. After World War I, for example, as demand dropped, prices for bituminous coal declined, from 3.75 dollars per ton in 1920 to 2.68 in 1923 and 1.34 in 1933. During World War I, hundreds of companies made huge profits. Even during the worst of times, there were always those making profits in coal. These included not only some coal companies, but those who leased the land, those who received royalties for coal mined, and those who took depreciation and depletion allowances; there were also the lenders who earned interest for money advanced to the coal companies.

Finally, the coal mining industry had the peculiar trait that a significant percentage of the mines were not owned by independent companies but were rather the "captive" mines for companies that consumed coal as an important input for their final product. U.S. Steel, for example, owned important facilities in West Virginia, even naming one coal town they built "Gary," as they did for their modern steel production center in Gary, Indiana. Ford Motor Company also owned its own mines, as did much of the steel industry. According to Rochester, steel plants, railroads, public utilities, and coke producers in 1930 used nearly 60% of the yearly output of bituminous coal in the United States and mined 20% of the total output of U.S. coal themselves. Coal miners in captive mines thus faced conglomerates with considerably more leverage than those companies that primarily produced and sold coal on the open market. Certain whole coal mining districts were dominated by these captive mines, including the Birmingham and Pittsburgh areas and most of the state of Utah.

Michael Goldfield, The Southern Key: Class, Race, and Radicalism in the 1930s and 1940s