#because of course she does gun nut that she is

[pluralsword]

So we got 500 likes on here today :3 thank you for all the love y’all. For that we want to share the npc Arcees (IDW, Prime, and Cyberverse, all a bit with our own fanfic homage flavor and a bit in the spirit of the ttrpg) we made for the transformers ttrpg, feel free to use them in your games! They are high level characters- They could make great ally sages to a lower level party or companions to a higher level one, and are certainly very dangerous enemies! You can find the PDF here. we have a spelling error and will fix https://drive.google.com/file/d/18jVGkNP8cCaKAu7pbCeGFtob7oZyv2iC/view?usp=sharing and here’s an example portion of one of the npc sheets:

[violentlydefending]

okay that's great and all but hear me out. what if they had pokemon. [id in alt, more under the cut!]

hi. (wearing a shirt that says "ask me about my yakuza pokemon au" but i'm looking in a mirror so i just start going nuts right off the bat)

woah it's some guy with a dragon tattoo!! lotsa dragons, lotsa fighters, and of course THE parent pokemon!! the zangoose is part of a matching set with majima's seviper, naturally. also it matches his autism stare. blaziken's there out of respect for nugget.

GO GO HARUKA!!! lotsa baby pokemon when she's younger :] the pichu turns into an idol pikachu mainly because i wanted something for her that'd fall in line with that but i also think igglybuff is ugly. sorry. happiny's there in particular because of the crazy eldest daughter syndrome she catches from y3 onwards LOL. that caretaker role hit her hard. sorry girl.

seviper's part of the matching set with kiryu's zangoose, naturally :] plus it fits the snake thing he's got going on with his tattoo. also some dogs!! specifically some fucked up ones!! also did you know froslass only goes after men it thinks is handsome. yeah.

daigo's so funny in y2 imo. aegislash is there in particular because it detects innate qualities of leadership!! anyway that bisharp becomes a kingambit when he's chairman (thumbs up!!)

tiger man gets the tiger man. cat. lots of big burly guys for the big burly guy. etc etc. i like that his training in y4 is just to go mining so i HAD to have at least one fossil mon. hi bastiodon!!!

yasuko's getting hit with the one-two of Beauty(TM) and Small(TM) versions of what her older brother's got :']

tanimura gets a lot of fighty guys, in particular i tried to find ones that sorta fit with the little asia stuff he's got going on. blastoise is there because of the tortoise thing and he's got a gun so ??? actually i might switch blastoise out if i end up exploring this au more LOL and zebstrika's there because he's a horse girl <3

akiyama!! a bunch of kicky guys to fit his fighting style and talonflame because of his phoenix thing. audino because he's the lifeline of kamurocho :]

hana!! why does she not have a last name!!! anyway lotsa guys to match her fighting style :]

magikarp -> gyarados is literally THE most obvious thing to pick out for nishikiyama but if it works it works!!!

makoto and tachibana get a matching set of eeveelutions :] i think a shaymin shows itself before makoto either when she gets her watch back or when she gets the new watch strap

i'm not 100% sure for most of these teams if anyone wants to share their own ideas i'm all ears!!

anyway yeah. hi. thanks for checking this out ily <3 (is still wearing the "ask me about my yakuza pokemon au" shirt and but i am now looking directly into your eyes)

[camshell]

Watched '89 Batman just so I could read the original script and get mad at the changes. Spoilers, but also this won't make a lot of sense if you haven't already seen the movie

Starting off strong with the descriptions. I'm sure cranking up Jack's age some 20 years wouldn't make much of a difference to the plot...

I was going to say that the casting director is no Andrea Romano, but considering his name drops before Keaton's, I'm sure Nicholson was chosen through a more particular process. I wonder though, was that choice alone responsible for the "Joker kills Bruce's parents" idea? (side note, did Joker 2019 come up with *anything* new at all??) Or was it something that came up after they decided to erase Dick Grayson from the film to replace the original conflict?

Oh yeah, the Flying Grayson's episode happens in the original script. But let's look at Ace Chemicals first — which is not the name they used in the movie, just to piss me off

They cut out a whole section of the gang breaking into the plant. It's not a bad choice, I just liked the date makeup observation. Now to the meet cute--

Paralyzing talons? Are you kidding me, they got rid of that?? Oh, silly me, of course they did — that would get in the way of Batman's classic blowing-up-thugs rule.

Bruce didn't throw Jack off the platform here, but interestingly enough we still see him feeling guilty when he finds out that he inadvertently created Joker

And yes, this is almost the exact same moment that Tom King wrote in Batman/Catwoman. Gotta love the trope of Bruce bringing up his guilt over creating his arch-nemesis in the middle of an intimate moment with a beautiful woman on his bed. Now some random things they changed that stood out to me:

Every single time Joker acts blatantly childishly or is described as being on the verge of a tantrum is so funny. Sad that we could've had this instead of him thirsting over Vicky Vale.

This is the during the attack of the mimes on the city hall. I assume they decided to cut it out because that sort of ptsd goes a little against installing machine guns on the batmobile and striking down your enemies with military grade missiles.

They didn't pull a Joe Chill/Joker switcheroo here, Vale's guilt just dreamed of this scenario. The script goes a little deeper in expanding her relationship with Bruce. She figured out he's Batman on her own — saving up Alfred's skin — but unfortunately so does her colleague. As a self-designated nice guy, Knox tries to get Batman to break things off with Vicky. He's also waiting for the news of Joker's attacks to quiet down before exposing Batman's identity, but don't worry, the scripts solves this beautifully later on.

Anyways, instead of the confrontation at the apartment of Vicky Vale (also known as Bruce's "let's get nuts" moment and the devil in the moonlight quote) we have a chase scene that leads to Dick's introduction. Before that though comes probably the second scene I most wish they had kept in the movie

Yes, Batman chases Joker on a horse, first wearing a tuxedo, then his whole gear. Do you see what they took from us? What could've been?

Joker kills the Graysons with pretty explosions, Dick jumps onto Joker's van and tries to kill him but alas is detained by Batman and batnapped.

Batman then asks Alfred to take care of Dick and the last act is set in motion. Pushed by anger and guilt, Batman blows up Ace Chemicals (tho here we're supposed to believe the thugs managed to run out before the place crumbled) but Joker escapes and goes to set the balloon parade in motion.

Before he can blow away the public, Knox and Vicky create the bat signal to alert Batman about the balloons and Joker's plans are thwarted. Unfortunately (cough) this costs Knox his life. But hey, at least Batman's identity is safe.

Big explosions ensue, the batwing goes down and Bruce is almost left dead in the debris. Dick Grayson, now dawning his makeshift Robin suit, saves him and runs to enact his revenge on Joker.

They enter the cathedral, Joker and Dick exchange some bullets and Batman eventually catches up with Dick, knocking him out again. Then Batman manages to crawl up the stairs through inhuman effort against his fatal injuries, passes out just before reaching the final floor and uh... I'll just post this next part in full

He's made a friend... Attempted murder-suicide... Joker's taken out by a horde of Bats... This would probably have replaced Fight Club in my list of favorite movie endings if it ever came into existence.

Before I close up on our villain and hero's demises, I do have something to point out that I think was improved in the final script. Joker's Smylex — basically Joker Gas, originally meant to be called Smylenol — got added to beauty products and caused some people to die in the movie. I say some, because while we see 13 deaths reported there, here it's something that comes closer to the class of hundreds. He doesn't even invent it, originally; he just steals the formula from an old CIA project. Because the fatal product doesn't happen only when certain products are mixed together, a whole lot more end up becoming victims and Batman can't do much about it except cut out the source. It's just a detail, but I liked that they thought of an alternative. I may not like the Joker mob boss origin, but at least they let him keep his chemical prowess.

Now to the ending. Batman had a last minute bout of clarity and threw the bomb away, tangling it in the helicopter's ladder

Something something Batman offering Joker a last comfort before death... Endgame and Arkham City and...

Okay, that's pretty much what I've got. Am I mad we didn't get to have this? Kinda. But also, I didn't have big expectations for what actually came out, and it's still a pretty funny film. Besides, I think when it comes to Batman and mainly Joker, sticking to the comics, games and animations is the best way to go. Best to keep the incels focused on the live adaptations anyhow

[fullhavelstonearmor]

Am I sleep deprived? Yes. But, imagine the following.

Batman is away with the Justice League. He’s saving the planet from Brainiac or some shit.

Bane is in Gotham. Plotting. Scheming. Thinking about crime, but most importantly, Batman.

You thought joker was fucking obsessed? Wait until you see bane’s bedroom. Dartboards with the batfam. Various articles of clothing he’s torn from their suits. Where they go to school. Everything. He even has the fucking x-ray scans from Batman’s broken back. He knows Batman’s identity, and everyone else’s too. He says nothing, because Batman is HIS to break, and nobody else’s.

Bane comes up with a plan. A great plan. He’s a little cuckoo off venom, but it’s perfect. He’ll do something heinous, Batman will come, and he’ll break his back again. He’ll get that feeling from breaking the bat again.

So he does something ridiculous. Robs a bank or something. He isn’t stopped by Batman though. It’s Nightwing. He remembers beating Batman when Dick was a boy. He remembers Dick beating him for the first time. He turns on the venom.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t see the broken body of a teen, and he’s got several bruises. (Yes, he forgot Nightwing is a grown ass man now. Venom, dude.) He’s also in an entirely different part of Gotham. He can infer that he lost. It doesn’t matter. Batman didn’t arrive for Bane, so that means Batman isn’t here. Now how could Bane get to Batman when he comes back?

Obviously he could beat up Alfred, or graffiti crime alley, or something minuscule that just warrants him an extra hard beating when Batman finds out. So what if… he hurt the entire Batfam for something they couldn’t beat him for? What if he attacked their pride, and not their spines?

Commissioner Gordon, sits, and stares at the bat signal. He flicks it on. He always does this, every night, to see if Batman came back and, if he didn’t, give whatever info needed to Dick or Jason. Whoever lost the coin flip. He didn’t. He flicks it off, and just past where the beam of light had started, Bane is there. Or, he tried to get there. Do the ominous thing. He is more or less still climbing over the ledge of the roof. Bodybuilding doesn’t exactly make you an acrobat, okay?

Gordon, logical individual he is, draws his gun. Points it at Bane. Bane eventually crawls up and stands tall. There is a dumb little beak on Bane’s mask. He says that he is “The Hawk.” Gordon laughs at him. Bane says he wants whatever file he was going to give to the bat family member. Gordon thinks it’s stupid of him to make such a demand. So Bane mentions Barbara. That he knows her secret. Gordon knows it too, of course. He’s been in her bedroom, and she just sort of has an entire stand for her batgirl suit in the closet. Bane knowing this intimidates Gordon. Gordon shouts threats, and Bane calmly reinstates that he can be trusted. He’s never broken Batgirl’s spine. Gordon doesn’t know what Bane’s doing. He does, however, begrudgingly hand over a Joker case file.

Joker is plotting. Don’t get me wrong, he’s obsessing over Batman, but he’s thinking about how to get to him like Bane would had Nightwing not clocked him on the head a little too hard. He thinks he’ll kidnap little Damian and see how far the others will get to rescue him. He of course, doesn’t understand that kidnapping Damian isn’t easy, but you know, definition of insanity.

Outside though, a group of goons see Batman, but realize that it’s not Batman. For one, no bat ears. For two, he’s fucking jacked. Like, Batman is big but not 6’8” tall. And finally, he’s standing at the entrance, in plain sight. And soon, they breath a sigh of relief. It’s bane. Boss probably invited him for the plan. Bane steps out of the darkness. They laugh at him as he calls himself “The Hawk” and denies being Bane.

So Bane counts. He does things Batman wouldn’t. He breaks an arm. Eighteen muggings stopped. A leg. Five bank robberies prevented. A big ass kick in the nuts. A million potential child abuse victims gone forever.

Joker continues plotting and laughing, when Bane jumps through his skylight. Bane says he’s “The Hawk.” Joker laughs at him again. So Bane counts.

As he throws Joker’s crippled, still laughing body from his van and through a GCPD window, he thinks about how many lives he’s saved. Probably more than Batman will the first week of arriving back home. He laughs to himself. He LIKES being better than Batman at his own game.

When Batman returns, chaos ensues. He’s confused as all hell when Alfred tells him everything. It’s been a month, and Gothamite criminals felt a fear like they haven’t since Batman admittedly got a bit softer. He goes to congratulate Bane. Not in some spectacle, but in his gloomy way. For the first time in a while, he makes a mistake. When congratulating Bane, he looks away, exposing his back. So Bane counts.

Guys can you tell I love Bane?

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Homestuck Reread: Act 3, Part 1/3 (p. 760-891)

Read the previous post here.

Time for the beginning of Act 3! An inauspicious start, since the Act begins with Jade's introduction.

So I guess the "reader" is still acknowledged as a thing. And they're actively attempting to manipulate Jade. I wonder how much longer this will last for.

Jade has so many interests, you guys! So many! And I'm sure each and every one of them will be relevant to her character as well!

Also, she needs reminders so she doesn't forget about the things she's interested in? What?

Why does Jade have so many variants of fetch modus when none of these will ever show up again? Actually, the whole modus system continues to be really dumb and that's probably why it's rarely mentioned in the later acts.

Jade's precognition again being treated as just a fun lil' quirk. Gosh, she's just so quirky, right fellas? So many modi, so many interests. She's just so silly and fun, right? Right???

Honest confession time. When I first read Homestuck, I had no idea that a "eureka lemon" was an actual variety of lemon. Of course I've heard of crab apples, key limes, and mandarin oranges, but it never occurred to me that a eureka lemon was also a real thing. I didn't figure this out until years later.

Wait wait wait. Hold the phone. Jade is a fan of old cartoons? When is that ever referenced again outside of the occasional mention of Squiddles (a show that isn't real)? What the fuck? John likes movies, has posters in his room, and name drops his favorites on a regular basis. Why does Jade not talk about any cartoons she likes???

Physics, gadgetry, and gardening are all shit that aren't ever mentioned again either, but I was at least aware of those things being related to her, at least on a surface level. Jade's whole thing (well, what I assume Hussie ostensibly intended to be her thing) is that she's this genius wiz kid. And her username is gardenGnostic, so of course horticulture has to be somehow related to her character. This whole cartoon thing is seriously new knowledge to me, though.

Grandpa Harley was a real renaissance man with a multitude of interests, so it's natural that Jade takes after him. The problem is that Grandpa is dead and he's less of a character than he is this mysterious symbol that Jade both admires and resents. It doesn't matter whether or not he's fleshed out, but Jade is a main character, so by necessity she must be or else she comes across as half-baked.

Jade has two pages dedicated to her interests, yet none of them are relevant to her character. She never talks to anyone else about gardening or anthros or anything like that. She doesn't use her scientific knowledge to help solve a problem. Her guns only serve the same basic combat purpose as the other kids' kind abstratus, but beyond that she isn't a gun nut.

One can point to stuff like John's interest in programming or Dave's love of photography as examples of extraneous character traits that don't ever manifest later on in the comic. But in Jade's case, it's nearly all of them. Hussie could've filled these pages with anything he wanted, but nothing would alter the existing perception of Jade being nothing more than "silly, upbeat girl who can see into the future." This is what I meant when I said earlier that she doesn't have any character to speak of. Or rather, she's just extremely shallow.

And because Jade doesn't have enough quirks already, her shirt randomly changes designs. Wow! Incredible!

These "manthro chaps" are honestly more unnerving and sexually charged than the smuppets. I don't ever see anyone reference them nearly as often, and probably for good reason. Unlike the smuppets, they're too close to resembling humans and are very uncanny. This feels like a deranged fetish thing, but it's being played off as more silly, quirky bullshit. "Slop trough" is a phrase I never want to read again.

Right. Hating furries was very much en vogue back in 2009, I'd say more so than the present. However, Hussie is going to great lengths to portray Jade as one of the "good ones." Her interest in anthros is non-sexual in nature and she does not partake in "cringe" furry activities like wearing fursuits and engaging in sexual activities with other furries. As stated before, the manthro chaps are being depicted as wholesome make believe, not in a feral/pet play context (despite the fact that that's exactly what it looks like).

This is just Hussie taking pot shots at a subculture that has historically been a very easy target for ridicule. I'm not even sure why he decided to make Jade a furry in the first place if he was going to draw lines in the sand like this. What an incredible dickhead. And since this is written from Jade's perspective, it makes her a dickhead too.

There are a few times later on where Jade comes across as rude or judgmental, coming at odds with her otherwise unflinchingly polite and optimistic disposition. Needless to say, this does little to endear her to me.

Like John, Jade also has a chest full of shit that doesn't end up mattering. Come to think of it, this whole intro sequence feels extremely drawn out, kind of like John's. John at least had the excuse of being the first character and he required a long intro in order to establish the tone and mechanics. We've gotten a good handle on things by the time we reach Rose and Dave, so their intros weren't nearly as involved. So why the fuck is Jade's taking so long? We know this whole routine, we've done it three times now. Can we get the fuck on with the story already!?

This is a really bizarre sequence of pages where the "reader" is forced to match the memory cards of Jade's modus, only to fail at it repeatedly while both Jade and Hussie judge them for it.

Man... I know it's a common fandom notion that Jade is the most neglected and underutilized of the main cast of kids, but you seriously wouldn't have guessed that based on all these early pages. She feels more like Hussie's favorite, if anything.

Every passage he seems to talk about her with affection and a total absence of snark, not like the other kids who are regarded with bemusement at best or mockery at worst when they do something foolish. Here the derision is solely focused on the reader for their apparent cluelessness, and both Hussie and Jade are on the same side. C'mon, Jade's just offering the reader to play this game and they fail because they're obviously not as smart as she is. Serves them right for that earlier, boorish suggestion that this wonderful girl might be a, gasp, disgusting fursuit-wearing degenerate!

There's something a little off about how this then-30 year old man created this 13 year old girl who's so sweet and perfect in every way, and whom he dedicates so many pages showing us every single one of her quirks and all the amazing things she has in her home. But I don't really want to dwell further on this, so I'll be moving on.

"But he does like his steak well cooked."

"He does prefer his steak rare after all."

Well, which is it??? Does he like his steak well or rare? Does Hussie not know the difference between these terms? Has he never cooked a steak before?

Dave Strider? More like Dave Simper. He is incredibly down bad. She's obviously not online, dude. Get out of her DMs. He's also facetiously engaging her with furry roleplay. God, Dave, get a clue! ERP is something only cringy furries do and as established previously, Jade is most definitely not one of those types of furries!

The Midnight Crew get their own dedicated flash. These guys sure are getting teased a lot, despite just being characters from an in-universe webcomic. I wonder what it could mean...

FINALLY we get to the Strider fight. Well, it's more like Dave vs. Cal rather than Dave vs. Bro. Not to try and crack open more Bro discourse, but the idea that people will try to equate Dave getting clowned on by a puppet with actual child abuse is absurd. I don't see how this is any different than the previous strifes John and Rose had with their parents.

FUCK it was only for one page. We're back to Jade again. You know, if I had a friend who knew whenever I was about to have an internet outage and acted all smarmy about it, I would probably stop talking to them.

"Grandpa Moreau over there on Hellmurder Island" is a good line. Thank you Rose for providing some levity to this slog of pages I've been enduring.

Another GameFAQs page, but this section is written by John for some reason. He brings up a great point about how nobody is reading these damn things. If you're some nudnik who truly gives a shit about how punch card alchemy works, oh boy do I have a page for you!

Jade dislikes hunting and it was mentioned earlier that she'd never shoot an animal. It strikes me as odd that she has such a passion for guns, but not hunting. What does she shoot then? She's a "skilled markswoman" but do we ever see a shooting range or anything to practice her skills? I can't imagine there's much else to shoot on this island aside from wildlife.

Grandpa Harley says Jade will grow up to be like the women in the photos he gets off to. I uh... I don't know how to feel about that. Other than perhaps it's for the best this old man is dead.

Wow! Who's this rude customer? What a crazy guy! Oh well, he was blocked so I don't think we'll ever see him again.

Finally at this point we take an extended reprieve from Jade. For the record, we're 99 pages into the Act. It took Rose 25 pages from her intro before the plot returned to John, and Dave 48 pages from his before turning back to Rose. (I'm not counting brief cuts to other characters for these counts, because the main focus is still on the recently introduced character). Nearly 100 pages of Jade showing off her house before going back to the plot. Augh!

Anyway, Rose actually reaches out and grabs the captcha card, which isn't something we've seen up to this point. This whole inventory system is weird, man.

I think it's all but directly stated that Mom Lalonde became an alcoholic because she has known the exact date the world was going to end. A sad detail.

Part 2 of the Strider fight ends with Bro yeeting Dave down the stairs. Again, I can't see this scene as serious representation of legitimate child abuse, especially with the fucking SBaHJ jokes at the end. The tone is so comedic and outrageous I don't understand anyone who takes it seriously.

Honestly, the earlier scenes with Dave roaming the apartment, being surrounded by weapons and sex toys, making comments of how he has difficulty accessing food, and being videotaped for Bro's fetish films paint a much better image of an abusive household than any of this strife shit. I don't want to try and argue that Bro isn't a bad guardian, because he definitely is, but there's this notion in the fandom that he does all this because he hates Dave and wants him to suffer, and I don't think that's true at all. His actions read more like neglect and carelessness, not malice.

You can make a list of all Bro's crimes, but hating his brother is not one of them.

John wins his fight against the ogres. There's an earlier page where we see him getting the tar kicked out of him (with the same over the top slapstick animations during the Dave vs. Bro fight, mind you), but it's only after Nannasprite and Rose join to help that he's able to achieve victory. He really can't do anything on his own, can he?

How about a "thank you, Rose, for beating those ogres for me"? Dickhead.

No "thank you" for Nannasprite, either. Instead he asks her to carry him to the gate, since he already knows Rose can't do it. This kid really sucks.

Now that I'm a third of the way done with Act 3, I have to say Jade is some honest to god Mary Sue shit. I don't like using that term because it's been misused to the point of uselessness, but come on. Compare Jade to the three previous kids and tell me that this girl isn't the most ridiculous character in this lineup.

We have John, the goofy cornball that likes pranks and watching bad movies; Rose, the smug pseud that likes the occult and writing lousy fiction; Dave, the aloof hipster that likes rapping and making shitty comics; and Jade, the genius manic pixie furry girl with a randomly changing wardrobe that can see into the future, lives on a private island full of crazy hi-tech gadgets, was raised by a radioactive dog, and likes physics, gardening, sharpshooting, bass guitar, and inventing.

Fuck me. If I was DM for a DnD session and someone submitted a character sheet like that against three normal ones, I'd tell them to leave. Why can't she just be a normal kid like the others? It's all so jarring!

Suddenly I'm wishing I was back reading Act 1 again.

Read the next post here.

[oldguardleatherdog]

OLD MACDONALD BOUGHT THE FARM: "Barking and meowing" by students is being banned in a hysterical panic by another ignorant Florida school board. How long are we gonna put up with this insidious nonsense?

I've had it. These nutcases are about to regulate onomatopoeia in elementary school. Don't laugh - it's hiding something ominous, and it's deliberate.

First: If you're in the furry fandom - as I've been for 26 years (longer than the average fur has been alive these days) - TAKE THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY.

If they're actually banning K-12 school age kids from wearing anything animal-themed (yeah, it's that broad) and restricting the sounds they can utter for Christ's sake, you can be sure that the wild-eyed crazeballs chick who runs LibsOfTikTok and singlehandedly caused the wave of library closings over the mere existence of LGBTQ+ characters in books - to the extent that the State of Missouri legislature has defunded the entire statewide public library system! - already has her sights trained on Midwest FurFest, and the lunatics who closed down Boston Children's Hospital with bomb threats are already booking flights to bring the Nazis-with-guns to every furry convention in America by the end of this year, AND IF YOU DON'T GET WITH THE PROGRAM THEY'RE GOING TO BLOW YOUR oWo uWu ASSES OFF!

Enough dicking around, my fellow furballs. You know what to do.

Here's what I posted to Reddit last night - piss-poor metrics for my posts about the Wile E. Coyote anvils over our heads, but my groaners in the r/3amjokes and r/dadjokes subs get 35,000 views. Go figure.

In the meantime, read, heed, and reblog like your life depends on it, because it does:

---

You may laugh at first glance, or shake your head at "Florida again" - but it's a stalking horse for their next milestone: banning student behavior and appearance that to the MAGAs and right-wing nut jobs carries even a *hint* of LGBTQ+, and then - say it with me -

Identifying students who are mature enough to have come out as LGBTQ+ fully or in part (friends, family); those who are known to be "questioning" and on their way to coming out; those who are beginning to identify as other than heterosexual or show "tendencies" or "predelictions", and students too young to be self-aware in those ways but are seen as suspect by teachers and administrators - and then, gradually at first, then quickly and deliberately separating, isolating, and ultimately barring them from access to public education.

Kentucky has said it out loud just this week, clearly, plainly, with no room for ambiguity: "It's time to eliminate 'transes' from our schools."

If you're still on the fence about getting involved with activism and protests to put this movement down for good before it becomes too big to stop - and we still have time to stop it and crush it - do you think they'll stop after just banning kids?

You don't need to have psychic powers or a crystal ball to see what's heading our way. Soon.

You can choose to do nothing - or you can choose to act. One or the other. Simple, plain, clear.

Joni Mitchell once sang, "it all comes down to you," and she was right, of course, but if you listened closely, her meaning was clear then, and applies now - one choice will save you, the other will not.

Only one of these choices has the potential to turn the tide, the clearly visible, quickening, rising tide that's got crazy Jesus in its eyes and a list with your name on it.

I cannot choose for you, of course. No one can.

Last time I looked, this was still a free country.

But if you do not make the right choice - *you*, Constant Stranger, she sang - no one will be able to save you, or us. And the choice is upon us, sooner than we thought, and now.

Time to choose.

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (4)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Four: Necking Region (see previous or series)

Summary: Chaos erupts at your Spring Show, but Steve is right there...at your feet.

Warnings for canon-level violence, Tony Stark's sass (obvi), kithes, and one hella-badass AND fluffy Reader! WC 4259

For you, handsome.

Handsome? Steve can work with that.

Even in the fresh dark, he schools his face in hopes to hide the nerves fluttering beneath his skin. Steve is determined to talk to you after the show, and he won’t get waylaid like in the fall. He’ll order three of everything that crosses the stage just to spend time with you again.

Quality time.

That he pays for.

Shoot, is he making it weird? Is that better than lying?

The music cue is deafening, and Steve jumps almost imperceptibly in his seat. 

Yikes, he’s a nervous wreck. He adjust the collar of his shirt, clearing his throat in the split second while the noise is drowned out and the place is still dark, but when the lights come back up, Steve Rogers’ heart stops.

It’s like…it’s like he’s looking into the past through one of Wanda’s magic visions.

His heart swells even as his chest tightens. There’s a sharp tingle behind his sinuses but he can’t look away. He blinks away the discomfort. 

Each silhouette triggers a long lost memory because they’re him. You would have seen him.

He remembers buying children’s clothes sometimes. For a long time, his ma resewed every seam in every pair of slacks. After she died, he just rolled up the hem and tightened his belt.

Of course, your models look nothing like that. They look striking and regal. They are meant to be seen. He can tell by their faces they want to be seen in your clothes, and Steve’s proud to even know you.

He grew up stuffing newspaper in his shoes. Now, your name and men who look like him—like he used to—will be in the newspaper. You’ll be on the cover for this.

Steve compulsively sweeps his hand over his hair and his eyes fall to his lap, concealing a dopey smile. He thinks this is the single most fantastic surprise of his life…

Then he sees the tenth model.

A slight, blond man in a crisp, collarless white shirt, navy jacket, and red pants struts down the platform, and the audience goes nuts. He’s certain a monitor would register his heart completely stopping for the entire walk, but Steve can only feel right now. He can’t think. His unfocused eyes wonder to the shadow where you were before, but he can’t even see.

The group does a whole second, swift run-through, but he’s not there anymore.

You emerge in this red, white, and blue masterpiece of a gown, perfectly complimenting the coloring of the last model, and Steve’s mind, body, and soul are on fire.

He watches you cup the face of your model and beam a wide smile, leaning down to him. You kiss that slight man’s cheek, and Steve has an out-of-body—or original-body—experience that shudders his large frame. 

His mind runs away, picturing working and relaxing beside you for all things, sketching, reading, resting, but he’s little again and your face is exactly the same. You don’t look at him any differently. He’s just Steve, either way, both ways, any way, and always. 

It’s only when the person next to him bumps Steve that he, too, pops off his seat for your standing ovation. He gets lost in the joy written all over your face, clapping his hands so hard his palms sting, but he will cheer you on until he’s worn them to the bone just to—

Your face falls as the underlying noise changes in the venue.

He knows that sound.

Steve understood why flashbulb photography triggered veterans like gunfire, but nowadays there’s no mistaking the difference. Those are bullets, and someone is pointing guns directly into your event space.

The room is already in complete chaos when Steve turns toward the intrusion. Guests scatter everywhere in every direction, some so disoriented they run at the shots.

Steve whips out his phone and yells over the din for F.R.I.D.A.Y to call emergency services, police and medical, to his location, then starts what should be an easy, ten-foot journey, but you’re practically across an ocean.

The music hasn’t stopped. People closest to the neck of the stage are still clapping, unsuspecting of the crowd knocking them down in search of two stage doors locked from the other side.

Something is off though because nothing Steve sees is impacted until he swivels back, shoved off kilter by two terrified women who tilt his gaze higher.

The panels of sheer fabric he thought were moody decor are fielding bullets like baseballs in a practice net. He’s never witnessed anything quite like it, but at least it means Steve has time to get to you. He has to move you off the stage so you aren’t so easy of a target.

Smacked around like a pinball in high speed machine, Steve hastily rushes to the rose-rimmed platform, barely missing your ankle in his reach and shouting for your attention.

He thinks you’ve heard when you spin, but it’s too late. Someone has breeched the protective panels, and any temporary structures throughout the venue start exploding from a hailstorm of semi-automatic fire.

Steve checks that the stage doors have been unlocked. Guests are getting out, but the bottleneck is slow. Your models are stuck on the stage, their path blocked by fallen scaffolding and sparking lights. You need to get the hell down, so he raises a hand to call for you again.

And then…

And then there’s an enormous arch of navy and red, centered by the glowing star on your chest.

And then a bullet streaks across the silvery mesh on your stomach.

A gunman has come around your shield, and Steve’s seeing red—well, more red—as he scans to see you unharmed.

Screw that guy.

Steve vaults over the stage, decks the gunman square in the jaw, and waits till the limp body rests motionless against a fallen chair.

He looks up to see you, not smiling but not upset. You’re waving for the trapped models to come closer to the barrier before meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Go get ‘em.“ You pull at the cuff of your filigreed sleeve, ticking your head to signal Steve should, too. “You’re dressed for it.”

He studies the buttons on his jacket, those unique ones at his wrists that hold concentric circles like his shield…or so he thought. Now he realizes, they aren’t just buttons; they are activation buttons.

He grabs his forearms to press both, feeling a gentle tingle spread.

His eyes snap back up to yours.

“Oh.”

You wink at him before all automated function of his body takes over, and Steve runs headlong for the goons with guns, wearing naught but a shockingly-useful suit separate and the ghost of his same goofy smile.

You think he’s handsome.

 Steve tucks and rolls behind one fabric screen, clocking the location of one gunman by the muzzle flare through the fabric. He rushes and drops one—two—three more until he sees a small grouping split off from a masked man’s side.

It’s Richard Fisk in a shock-white suit and with completely obscured face, but it’s absolutely ‘The Rose’ with a perfect blood-red bloom stuffed in his lapel.

The goons will stop if the boss goes down, Steve knows. He’s seen it a hundred times before, so he grabs the sidearm of the man he just leveled and fires at Fisk’s leg.

The bullet lands exactly where intended but hits like no more than a crowd-suppressant beanbag.

“Is that the best you can do, Captain?”

Great. You made Fisk a bulletproof suit, too.

Steve jumps behind the nearest screen, losing ground but crouching beside one of the other unconscious gunmen. A can of tear gas is strapped to the guy’s chest, and Steve just acts.

Fisk howls like a banshee, ripping the bizarre purple and black striped mask off his face to gasp for air and cough.

The Rose laughs, cocky and taunting. “You brought morals to a gunfight. You don’t even have your frisbee.”

Fisk sprays bullets randomly in the direction from which he saw the canister fly, and Steve sprints, sliding on his knees all the way to Fisk’s feet, arms up and shoved together as if he’s wearing his Wakandan guards. He feels some rounds bounce off his chest, hardly slowing him down, but the sound of bullets as they ricochet off his sleeves is intense. No doubt, Fisk would have landed multiple kill shots.

Armed police file in the entrance and scream for the goons to put their weapons down and their hands up.

Another coughing fit pauses Fisk’s assault. Steve chances opening his arms and swings immediately for the sneering, twisted face above him.

The man spins with the concussive force. Just before Fisk collapses in a makeshift bed of hot ammo shells and cold rose petals, Steve stands and adjusts his jacket.

“No—“ his hand smoothes over pristine and unfrayed midnight “—but I brought style.”

Iron Man swoops in to land on the other side of Richard Fisk’s body.

“Damn it, I didn’t get that on video. Can we reset and you say that line again?”

“Tony,” Steve warns.

“What?! It was so good, buddy. No seriously, I’m proud of that—“ Steve turns to check on you, watching the fabric of your skirt flutter back down to drape across the runway “—dare I say it’s my influence. I want proof you—“

“Tony,” Steve shouts again. Finally, the music is turned off from the media console.

“All clear,” Tony yells with his hands cupping his mouth. “Where’s your ‘girlfriend?’” He relaxes his arms after air-quoting and gives Steve a once-over. “Don’t think I don’t know you cut me in line for that.” 

Steve fiddles with his cuffs, attempting to swallow a blush and failing. He presses the buttons again. The tingling stops.

Tony frowns, pointing an accusatory finger as he watches Steve shrug. “That’s favoritism, and I thought you were better than that.” He turns deeper into the venue, screaming, “Sheers! You good?”

There’s no audible answer, so the pair make their way past the decimated decor.

Titanium boots crunch against the floor. “Looks more like my first dates than yours.”

“For the love of god, Tony, please…” but Steve is suddenly engrossed, rounding one last screen to see your models and several guests nervously huddled at your legs, your arms reaching out to comfort each and every one.

So strong. So soft. That’s you. That’s what you create.

“Hey,” you say with a huge breath and a soft sweet smile as Steve approaches.

He makes his way straight to your feet and holds out his hands. “Hey.”

“Hey?” Tony blurts, watching Steve lift you down by the waist like a princess. “Hey?? Yeah, sure. Cool. I love being upstaged. It’s not like I didn’t offer to fund this shit a year ago—“

“Language,” you and Steve say simultaneously.

“—or anything. No big deal.” Tony scoffs. “When else would I be perfectly within my rights to swear? We have to talk about this is my point.” He waves his gauntlet in the general area of you and clucks his tongue.

“Any other day, Stark.”

Tony, however, doesn’t need others to be as amused as he is. “Admit it. I’m an inspiration.”

“To find alternatives? To find feasible, reproducible options?” You break away from Steve’s grasp to step closer to Tony. “Yes, I did that. We can’t all be covered in nanotech.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s cost prohibitive,” you rage.

Steve stands ready to catch you, seeing the way your energy wilts after each sentence and that you can’t keep your hand up without them shaking.

Tony snorts. “What? Speak english.”

“Speak average,” you whip back, but before a staring contest can ensue, Abby pounces to swing you into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!”

You’re distracted by your assistant while Steve scopes out the venue, noting the triage area and cops beginning to take statements from unharmed guests.

Knowing Steve will ask, Tony interjects. “No major injuries. Mostly just bruises and sprains from people trampling each other.”

That’s incredible considering the pools of spent shells all on one particular side of those tall panels. They must be made of the same material—

“Stop fondling, Tony.” Steve smacks his friend’s hands off your skirts.

“I’ll have you know I’m fondling in the interest of science,” his friend hisses comically. He does drop the fabric though. “Fine. Then I’ll just be taking your jacket as payment.”

“Payment for what?”

“Letting you escort the lady home and bypassing the lovely, lengthy interviews the boys in blue are gonna want.“

It takes Steve all of three seconds to consider.

“Deal,” he agrees, imagining that with a crowd this size, you’d be busy until the wee hours of the morning, wringing your hands as you repeat yourself a dozen times, wrapped in a wool blanket, exhausted. He shrugs off the blazer quickly before any of the other officers come to speak with you and tucks one arm around yours to tell you the plan.

Abby encourages the escape.

Steve’s thrilled he did not walk to the event. He took a car in order to line up in the red carpet procession—as awful as he finds the practice—and luckily, the driver is still ready and able to maneuver the vehicle past a sea of police cruisers.

Seeing as most of your bodice and sleeves are sheer, you curl inward for warmth instead of lean against the cool leather of the backseat. Normally, Steve would offer his jacket, but in lieu of any decent layers to peel off for you, he drapes his arm over your shoulders. The flashing red and blue lights fade in the distance as you sink comfortably against his chest.

“So…” Steve starts, quiet and casual, “Tony wasn’t supposed to know you’d already sold Richard Fisk a bulletproof suit, huh?”

He can see your eyes are still open, staring out the window, but you don’t respond right away.

“Originally, I’d basically made a very thin kevlar, and that…wasn’t the end goal, so I made a few suits for a steep price to try for, well, what you saw tonight. Stark isn’t exactly subtle.” You shift an accusatory glance up to Steve momentarily. “Three days after Dominica delivered Fisk’s first suit, none other than the Tony Stark comes into my store asking questions. He tried to get me to develop under Stark Industries, wanted my work to be exclusive—and I’m sure completely under his own brand—so I said no. This was all spoken in hypotheticals, mind you. ‘Hypothetically,’ if I worked for him, the mob couldn’t get me, and ‘hypothetically,’ he could help speed my research along. He tried a few different times, too. I thought he was parading you in as bait at first.”

“You thought I was…what?”

“I thought Stark brought in the cute guy who looks perfect in my designs as some sort of dangling carrot to work for him.”

Steve’s floored.

“When did you know I wasn’t a plant?”

“Oh, one second after seeing your face. Nobody with an agenda is that good at looking clueless.”

He’d be offended if it weren’t entirely true. Steve had absolutely zero idea what to do or say being fitted and consulted on for civilian clothes, and he thought he was supposed to be meeting a man that whole time. However, he would not put it past Tony to have intended he be bait with no warning, and in fact, this would count as the greatest ‘long game’ Stark has ever played. Steve wouldn’t have needed more incentive to get close to you.

“Yeah, I invented the stuff,” you continue with a shrug and a yawn, “but he doesn’t own me and I like designing all sorts of things. I think that’s…”

Your voice trails off before Steve prods. “What?”

“I think that’s why he goaded me about my typical line. I told him I wouldn’t be pigeonholed into dressing superheroes, so I would look like a hypocrite if I still only made clothes for—“ you sit up and fake a deep, arrogant voice “—shiny, blond beefcakes.”

Steve’s hand slaps his forehead. Tony absolutely used those exact words.

“So I engineered the stuff alone and overhauled my entire collection in the last two weeks. That’s what Stark does, right? Control you without really controlling you.”

“It’s called being manipulative, and he and I have had several conversations about it,” Steve grumbles.

You’ve hit a second wind of energy but fiddle with your lap before asking, “what did you think of the show?”

Steve sits up straighter and clears his throat.

“Ya know,” you quickly interject, “prior to it becoming the Battle of Skylight Square.”

Just as Steve opens his mouth the car stops. The driver announces you’ve arrived at the atelier and thus your upstairs apartment.

Steve steps out and realizes the police car usually stationed at the curb is no longer there, likely called away to the scene earlier. He dismisses his driver for the evening and makes the executive decision to stay as your guard the rest of the night.

You shuffle to the front door, exclaiming that the real piece de resistance of your gown is your pockets from which you brandish your keys. Steve’s grateful you’re animated (if a little loopy) and distracted while his mind scurries to form words.

He can’t express what he saw and felt when he looked on that stage, so he hums in agreement with your rant on pockets and follows behind you, hands on your hips as you struggle to walk up the staircase.

You pause on the first step and peek at him over your shoulder.

“So…’Button,’ huh?”

He blushes furiously and focuses on your balance when you won’t. The dress train is long enough to require he lift it so he can see the stairs beneath his own feet. You two climb slowly.

“Well,” Steve blusters, repositioning the layers so one of his hands on your hip sits under your own hand that lifts the front bustle, “‘Handsome,’ right?”

One step up. You snort. “You say that like it’s odd that I’m attracted to you, but I think I thoroughly proved that tonight, mister.”

Another step up, and you’re about three-quarters of the way there.

Steve can’t hold back anymore though, not even till the top of one flight.

He uses his grip to spin you around and nudges his foot under your skirts, rising to the stair just below you. You’ve dropped all else and grabbed onto him for balance, cupping his cheeks like he saw you do earlier tonight. You have to lean down to him as his whole being screams ‘let me kiss you.’

Steve has a distinctly in-body experience, all his imaginings of touching a woman so sweetly and in exactly the way he would have a century ago come to fruition right there.

With a hard-working girl after a fight with a bully, just as it should be.

He loses track of his hands amongst the tangled yards of your dress, but your lips are soft and perfect. He ascends a few inches more by way of his tip toes and clings to the railing for balance. Steve has the fleeting thought that he might inadvertently be yanking you toward him with a palm over your ass—not on it because he can barely tell there is even a body part there—so he moves his hand up for assurances. Up is safer. Up is more gentlemanly. He teeters both on his toes and on the cusp of gentlemanly given how lost Steve is in devouring you.

Stunning and innovative as they are, your skirts are prohibitively fluffy, and Steve feels more and more of your weight resting on him, those last dregs of adrenaline draining away. He pulls back, ghosting a peck on your still eagerly pursed lips.

“Let’s get you comfy, Button,” he husks, rolling his thumb back and forth between what he now realizes are your shoulder blades.

You nod, your forehead against his, and although he’d normally think it forward, his desire to take care of you wins out, deliberately finding your thigh to coax your legs around him.

He carries you the rest of the way, nearly tripping but laughing the whole journey. “Sure it saved some people,” he jokes, “but then ‘bout took me down, so…”

He deposits you by your closet and goes to make you a very sweet herbal tea while you change. He’s surprised when you emerge dressed down with sweats for him in hand. 

“Menswear designer,” you remind him simply.

Even though it was never technically real until this moment, Steve falls back into the routine of kissing your temple so easily as he passes off the mug and heads to the tiny bathroom. 

When he returns though, you have a familiar thousand-mile stare.

He tries to change the subject, to get you talking about something other than today, tonight, and tomorrow. He draws a blank until the shuffle of paper sounds beneath his hand. It just so happens that on your dining table—or should he say, your work desk?—is a sketch for his Gala outfit. 

“Would you come with me?”

You hum softly in question.

“I mean, as my date. Will you go on a date with me? To this Hellfire thing?” 

The distance in your eyes shrinks until it’s just him and you. A smile blooms across your strained face.

“Yes. I’d like that,” you say softly before taking a huge breath that seems to physically toss weight off your hunched form. “Whatever shall I wear though…”

“Not to give you extra work,” Steve chuckles back, “but I know this great designer.”

You laugh into your tea, both hands around the ceramic, holding on for dear life.

“Should I open a window? You probably could use some more fresh air,” he offers. 

“Oh, they’re painted shut, possibly since before I was born, but we could go to the roof?” 

He’s not sure if that’s a commentary on you finding him lurking up there last week, but it’s a fine idea nonetheless. “Chairs?” 

You look around and counter. “Pillows?”

Steve takes another moment to think while you gather, and he ends up holding several cushions and your tea. As you both continue up the much tinier staircase to the access door, something occurs to him. 

“Wait, did you give me a prototype that was untested?”

You laugh nervously. “Um—“ you use your butt to open the door “—well, see, if anyone’s gonna be fine should a bulletproof and bullet repellant material fail, it’ll be a super soldier, right?” 

“So I was your guinea pig?!”

“I’m sorry,” you burst sarcastically. “You got a free, custom jacket—which you chose to wear to my show, might I add—and what would you have had ready without my ‘untested prototype?’” 

Steve makes doe eyes in the dark, ambient light pollution. “I just thought you cared about my safety there for a minute…” 

“I cared for everyone’s safety,” you chirp in retaliation for his heavy guilting. “I made those panels just in case, but I was never, ever going to cancel my whole show on the assumption Fisk would pull a stunt like that. Forgive me for not living my life in fear of what that lunatic, second-rate kingpin might do!” 

He shrugs at that, dropping his pillows in a makeshift seat pattern right beside yours. “Fair point.” 

There’s a comfortable silence while you sip your cooling tea. 

“Should have made myself one,” Steve laments in a soft breath. 

“Sweet, chivalrous beefcake,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“Tony really said that, didn’t he?” 

“I think he wanted me to know he is my competition for your affection.”

“You aren’t…” Steve stops himself. He was going to say you and Tony are not competitors at all, but that isn’t true on multiple levels. He swivels to scoop up your legs and settle them over his lap, just like he used to on the couch at the Tower, and you squeak, clutching your sloshing tea. One of his hands circles your hip to rest at the top of one leg. The other lands at the strip of bare skin where your sweats don’t touch the ankle of your slip-on shoes. His pinky flicks over the fleece lining, rounding out his mental measurements of your body. For now.

“There is no competition,” his concludes in a low, deep tone. “You win.”

You stare up at him with glassy eyes now, in awe of something he can’t see but hopes to earn. This time it’s your expression that pleads for him, and he leans in for another lingering, thorough kiss.

Steve licks the sweet taste off his lips. “Should’ve made another tea,” he repeats.

Your eyes open again slowly, sleepily, reminding him of that daydream of waking up next to you and breakfast in bed.

He sneaks another peck before you can forms words.

“Is this a bad time to tell you…that I forgot my keys and the door shut all the way?”

Steve looks over incredulously at that stupid exit and sighs, scratching his jaw.

“It’s, uh, about as bad as—“ he debates admitting what he’s about to “—well, I can, I mean I could get us back in, but…” He glances over the side of the building. “How do you feel about sleeping with a window open, or rather, no window?”

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @darsynia @femefetalelevelingup

[Last Part]

A/N: probably not as well edited as it should be, but meh, I'm too excited to release this out into the wild! Comments, keysmashes, and asks always welcome. Thank you for reading!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[7-wonders]

Hate to Say (I Told You So)

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XV)

Summary: A moral victory gets completely wiped away by the horrors of your life. But fear not, because help is (finally) here.

Word count: 5.3k

A note from the author: I wanted to say "A HOT NEW BOMBSHELL ENTERS THE VILLA" in my summary but figured I shouldn't because I'm trying to keep the tone very serious. The pace of this chapter is pretty fast-paced to keep up with the pace of the show—the chapter starts right where Episode 3 of Apocalypse does. It's so nuts to think that we're finally almost done. As always—hope you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!

Mad Love Masterlist

“There’s really no need to thank me,” you say emphatically to the two Purples sitting before you. 

“You’re the only reason we haven’t been executed. You saved our lives,” Timothy insists.

“I did what anybody would do.” You shoot a pointed glance at Michael, who stands at his desk across the room from you. “What anybody should do.”

The walk to the chamber where you could hear Emily and Timothy pleading for their lives simultaneously felt like the shortest and longest length of your life. It seemed as though with every step you took, the hallway grew longer, like you were in some kind of waking nightmare. Still, you pushed on, for nothing could stop you…except for the sharp bang of a gunshot. That did physically stop you for a couple of seconds as you tried to figure out what just happened. 

Immediately, you feared the worst—that you were too late. They can’t be dead, you thought before your brain reconnected with the rest of your body and you realized that you could move. It can’t end like this. You broke into a run, cursing the slight heel of your shoes as you tried to beat time itself to the scene of the crime.

Instead of what you were expecting, which was the two lovers lying dead in a heap, Ms. Mead stumbled past you with her hands cupped over her abdomen. You watched her go with wide eyes, leaking some sort of white fluid on the floor as she did. Ignoring her for now, you finally made it to the door and mentally prepared yourself for what you might see.

Inside, Timothy was collapsed into a heap but groaning and trying to get into a sitting position, while Emily was cowering against the wall. Neither of them had any bullet wounds, but the muscle of this Outpost stood over both of them, cocking the hammer back on the gun that was pointed at Emily.

“Stop!” you yelled, three sets of eyes looking at you.

“On whose orders?” The Fist demanded.

“The Cooperative’s.” It certainly wasn’t often that you invoked your privileges as wife to the Antichrist, but if there was a better situation to do so, you hadn’t found it yet.

They stared you down, so you channeled Michael the best you could, stepped closer to them, and refused to back down. Finally, they sighed and lowered the gun. “Fine. Get them out of my sight.”

You fell to your knees the moment that you knew you had won, wrapping your hands around Timothy’s arms and helping him to his feet. Once he was up and able to balance semi-steadily, you held out a hand to Emily. “Come on, let’s go,” you said softly, ushering her up from her spot curled up against the wall.

They followed you out of that small chamber in a daze, holding onto each other tightly. You wished you had had the foresight to grab a couple of blankets to cover them as you walked with them back to relative safety, but you hadn’t known that they were going to be executed in only their undergarments.

“That’s it?” Emily asked in bewilderment when you stood in front of Timothy’s room, the room closest to where you had all been. “We’re okay?”

You nodded. “Take all the time you need to decompress, but I would like to see you both in Langdon’s office when you’re ready to talk about what happened.”

Emily let out a relieved sob and let her head fall back against the wall in relief. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You nearly choked on the words, undeserving of any such gratitude, and hurried away.

It was all you could think to say at the time, and now you’re here, sitting before them being lauded as a hero when you neither want nor deserve it. Why should you feel proud of such a label, when you’ve been unable to stop the monster responsible for all of what has befallen the world beyond your small act of rebellion?

“Not that I’m not grateful, because truly, I am—we both are,” Emily says, gesturing between her and Timothy. “But why save us?”

You remain silent, having no real answer for them beyond what you’ve already said, which is that it was what any person should do. Since this is not the old world, and doing things out of kindness is no longer the norm, you know that this doesn’t seem like a truthful answer. Michael saunters towards you, laying a firm hand on Timothy’s shoulder. For once, you’re happy for his theatrics, as it gets their waiting eyes off of you.

“I’ve been charged with finding the seeds from which the future of mankind will blossom. It’d be grossly irresponsible to allow a minor infraction to keep out a viable candidate,” Michael explains. “The stakes are too high.”

“We still have a chance at the Sanctuary?” Timothy asks, borderline incredulous. Not that you blame him.

“You didn’t break any rules,” you assure.

Michael nods in agreement. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. Now, I would encourage you both to get some rest. You’ve had a long day, and your interviews are scheduled for tomorrow.”

They get up from their respective chairs, planning to do just what Michael says and fall into bed. While Timothy goes for the door, Emily hesitates, and after a moment of internal deliberation, she takes your hands in hers. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times already, but thank you,” she says yet again. The sincerity in her tone and the earnestness in her eyes are almost too much for your guilty soul to bear.

“You’re welcome.” You accept her thanks begrudgingly, knowing that she would feel entirely different if she knew the truth about you and Michael. “You deserve a chance, both of you do.”

Michael has a proud smirk on his face when he turns to you after escorting them out of the office, though you’re not sure why. His plan didn’t exactly go the way that he was planning, and you’re the reason for it. Michael’s never been fond of changes outside of his control, and the stranger who’s inhabited your husband’s body for eighteen months is almost obsessive in ensuring that his plans play out how he intended. In fact, you’re expecting to meet his ire rather than what you’re greeted with.

“Well, well, well.” His smirk widens into a smile as he takes a seat next to you. “Look at you, taking charge! I’m proud of you.”

“Fuck off,” you snap. After a moment, you mutter, “But thank you,” because you’re not above praise.

“How did it feel? Knowing that you were in charge of their fates?” His eyelids flutter in some sort of ecstasy at the thought of the power that comes with what you believe to be an immense burden.

“Awful. My hands are still shaking.” You hold your shaking hands up to illustrate this. Now that the adrenaline has started to leave you, you’re exhausted. There’s nothing to hold you upright anymore beyond the knowledge that you’d much prefer falling asleep in a bed instead of on this uncomfortable couch.

Michael tsks, taking one of those shaking hands and caressing it in his own, steadier hands. “From what I could hear, you did well.”

“What can I say, tried to channel you.” He chuckles, and you can’t resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder. You really are tired, and that means that your normal safeguards telling you that this isn’t wise are gone. “I thought you would be mad.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, because I ruined your fun.”

“No. You could never. You just…made me pivot. I’ve always loved that about you—how you keep me on my toes.” He kisses your forehead. “You should get some rest, too.”

He’s right, unfortunately, so you stand from your seat. When Michael doesn’t follow, however, you look at him in surprise. “You’re not coming?”

“Not right now. I’m supposed to speak with my father tonight.”

It’s not disappointing, per se—you’re not going to complain about getting to spread out in bed—but it is a little upsetting to be reminded once again of the influence that’s completely warped and corrupted Michael. “Okay…goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” That old, familiar nickname hits home, and you swallow the lump in your throat to steel yourself against the muscle memory of asking Michael to come to bed, a whole different lifetime ago.

Sleep comes to you easily thanks to the exhaustion of the past couple of hours, though you’re a little wary as you feel unconsciousness claim you. Ever since the bombs dropped, you’ve been plagued by nightmares. Most of the time, you feel like you deserve it, like it’s a burden you must shoulder as punishment for your station. You fear them, the horrors that you typically see when you close your eyes. But tonight, at least, your dreams contain far less screaming and torment than usual.

The next few days pass in a manner far more boring than your first 24 hours in Outpost 3. There’s little work for you to do, and the strict way of life here makes it impossible to find anything exciting. While you’re tempted to continue interacting with Emily and Timothy, the first people you’ve felt a bond with since the end of the world, you know that that’s extremely unwise. To allow yourself to get close to anyone, but especially people who are, for all intents and purposes, innocent, can only bring misery to both parties. You don’t think you can take that sort of heartbreak, so you make the decision to stay away.

There are only two events that break up the monotony of your stay. The first is a security breach, although you suppose even that’s nothing too out of the ordinary here. After all, the Outposts only have the absolute basic levels of security, and the survivors that have been left to face the elements of the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape are nothing if not inventive. The other is something that is out of the ordinary, especially here in Ms. Venable’s draconian playland. 

Since it was announced two days ago, all anybody in the Outpost could talk about is the Halloween masquerade ball to be held tonight. To you, it certainly doesn’t sound exciting. Standing around in the library drinking water and talking is already Outpost 3’s daily routine, so you don’t see how adding costumes is going to suddenly make it fun. But the idea of getting to do something new catches on with the residents like wildfire, even with Emily and Timothy, who find you when you’re exchanging Frankenstein with Stephen King’s The Stand (maybe a little too on the nose for the current state of the world, but it’s difficult to find a book in this library that you haven’t read).

“Are you going to come?” Emily asks.

You try not to laugh because you know that, if you were in their position and starved of entertainment for so long, you’d probably be acting the same way. “Oh, probably not.”

“You should! It’ll be fun.”

The telltale sound of a cane against the floor sends a rush of chilled goosebumps down your arms. The one and only matron of this Outpost joins your little group, inserting herself in between you and Timothy.

“Hello, Ms. Venable,” you greet semi-politely, which is the most that you can manage around her.

“Emily is right, you should join us,” Ms. Venable says, a smile on her face. “It’s sure to be a scream.”

“I’m sure it will! Unfortunately, we’re very busy making our final selections for the Sanctuary, so I’m not sure if we’ll be able to make it this time.”

“Well, just know that the offer stands.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to let Langdon know as well.”

Ms. Venable’s fake smile falls off of her face as she levels her gaze coldly with Emily and Timothy, both of whom are still facing the full brunt of her wrath for escaping their fates. She returns the way that she came, sending a Gray stumbling out of the way to avoid getting in her path. The moment she rounds the corner, you turn back to them with your lips pressed together to keep your composure.

“Your idea of fun involves Ms. Venable?” you say, taking care to be a little quieter than normal in case she’s eavesdropping.

“No,” Timothy admits, “but we’ll still make it fun.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” you say after a moment of consideration.

Emily grins, satisfied by this answer. “Yay!”

While such events don’t exactly appeal to you right now, you can’t deny that it might be amusing to at least stop in and check out, if only to see what costumes everybody comes up with.

You broach the topic with Michael after his last interviews are concluded and you’re in the room designated as his (Ms. Venable had given you two separate rooms upon your arrival, since nobody in the Outposts knew that you were married). “I don’t think I’ve seen a group of people so excited about a mandatory Halloween party since I was in elementary school,” you say, falling back on the bed and sighing in relief at finally getting to rest.

“Trust me, it was all I heard about in today’s interviews.” Though you can’t see him, you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I'm certainly not sad that we won’t be attending.”

You look over at him, (surprisingly) a tad disappointed. “We won’t?”

“You can’t tell me that you want to spend a couple of hours conversing with Dinah and the Vanderbilt girl.”

Your nose wrinkles, because no, you don’t. “I suppose you’re right.”

Michael kneels on the floor next to the bed, bringing his face level with yours. He smiles at you softly as his eyes map the familiar planes of your face. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve had you all to myself, no interviews or selections.”

Pretending is dangerous, you know. After all, you pretended like Michael wasn’t as close to ending the world as he truly was, and it led to you failing in your mission to try and stop him. But beyond watching him play with people’s lives (which is the new normal with him), this trip has been the closest to normal that you’ve felt in a while. You’ve shared meals without fighting, he’s laughed at things you’ve said and vice versa, and you’ve felt…kind of comfortable with him. When you lay your hand on his cheek and rub your thumb against the soft skin of his face, you pretend that this is your Michael, not the Antichrist, looking at you with his big blue eyes.

And when he presses his lips against yours, you pretend like you don’t remember why you’re supposed to tell him no.

Michael moves onto the bed with you, laying your back against the pillows while he straddles your hips. You gladly pull him down on top of you, removing your hands from his face to do so. He’s all over you, from your sides to your thighs to your breasts to your face. Your tongues tangle together, but rather than a fight for dominance, it’s a dance where you’re both equal partners. Loving him, and being loved by him, in this specific way is intoxicating, and you’re happy to turn your brain off for a bit and just feel.

“I want to run something by you,” Michael mumbles between kisses. It’s weird that he wants to do this now, when he’s grinding against you and your fingers are working at undoing his pants, but whatever.

You swallow down a moan and nod. “Okay.”

“This is the last Outpost we have to visit before we can focus on creating our new world out of the ashes of the old one.” His lips go to your jaw, and he begins to suck and nip at the underside of it. “What if we got started on it early, with just the two of us? Ushered in this new world with new life?”

Arousal has completely clouded your mind by this point, and you have to fight to fully take in Michael’s words. It takes another few moments to really understand what he’s said. Now, your stomach is tight for a whole different reason, making you go still. “What are you suggesting?” you ask, hoping against all hope that you’re wrong.

He pulls away from you just enough that he can meet your eyes. “I’m suggesting we have a baby.”

“What?”

Your shock is misinterpreted for surprise, and Michael smiles. “I know, it would be a big change, but can’t you imagine it? Our future. We’d be a family, and our baby would be the very best parts of us and our love.”

He’s right—you can imagine that future, one where you’re a mom and Michael’s a dad, proud parents of a baby with Michael’s cherub features and your eyes. It’s such a vivid picture in your head that it feels like it was meant to be, and you find yourself lost in it as Michael continues to verbally paint your future parenthood. For a moment, you feel like you want it as much as Michael does.

A door slams downstairs, pulling you back to yourself and reminding you that that’s not what you want. Like, at all.

Panic begins to thrum under your skin, making you laugh nervously as you try to wriggle out from under him. “Michael.”

He doesn’t answer, too caught up in his fantasy. “Plus, you can’t deny that we’d make a cute kid.”

“Michael!” He pauses to look down at you, and you use that opportunity to slide away from him. Sitting up on the bed, you grab a pillow and hold it in front of you almost defensively. “Where is this coming from?”

He looks down bashfully and grabs one of your hands. “The timing, us almost being done with the Outposts and, by extension, the old world, had me thinking. An heir would be such a fitting way to bring about this new age on Earth. It just feels…right.”

That word, ‘heir,’ sends alarms blaring in your mind. Michael styles himself as king because that’s the title that his father has bestowed upon him, the title that he only believes himself worthy of so long as his father does. For him to use a term like ‘heir,’ typically associated with royal and noble houses, can only mean one thing. 

Your blood goes cold at the realization, bile trying to creep its way up your throat. Hesitantly, you pull your hand away. “Your father’s the one that brought this up, didn’t he?”

He shrugs, not seeming to care that he’s once again letting Satan dictate every aspect of his life. “He mentioned it, yes, but the idea is all mine! So, what do you say? You wanna have a baby?”

It’s obvious that part of him genuinely enjoys the idea of having a child. You can see his excitement, and hear his dreams in the way he speaks of your shared potential future. But the other part, the one that’s all Antichrist and therefore the part that’s completely taken over him, sees a child solely as a means to an end. A way to secure his father’s bloodline and cement their rule on Earth. You wouldn’t submit anybody to that fate, least of all a helpless child. 

With your mind made up, you meet Michael’s eyes and shake your head. “No.”

“No?” His brow furrows, taken aback from hearing this answer from you. 

“No! I won’t bring a child into this fucked up hellscape of yours.”

Michael���s smile falls. “Yes, you will. Maybe not today, but you’ll come around.”

“That’s a pretty bold assumption.”

“Is it? After all, our contract says that we’ll have a child within five years. We’re three years in, and time is only ticking.”

“The contract?” you gasp in shock, reeling back from the bed. “You’re really bringing up that stupid fucking contract right now?” 

You can’t believe that after all these years, all the progress that you made individually and as partners (progress that was, of course, shattered with the press of a button), he’d betray you and bring up the very document that made you feel so much like a prisoner when you first met him. Though you try not to, your eyes don’t listen to your will and begin to well with tears.

Michael remains unmoved by your emotional display and instead attempts to explain. “I only do to remind you of what’s expected of you, of both of us.”

“Fuck you, Michael. I will never have a child with you.”

His eyes steel over as he clenches his jaw. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“I guess we will.” 

You charge a path to the door, praying that Michael doesn’t stop you. Somehow, he has enough sense left in his brain to remain where he’s sitting, simply watching you throw open the door. Before you leave, you look back at him. 

“Tell your father what I’ve told both of you before. If he wants your wife to be some perfect little Satanist that bows to every one of his, and your, whims, then he’s going to have to kill me and find you another poor girl to force into marriage.”

 With that, you slam the door and walk down the hall toward your own room, tears blurring the path in front of you.

It’s only when you’ve locked the door and can feel the sturdy wood behind your back that you allow yourself to actually break down. Sobs rip loudly from deep within your chest, and you slap a hand over your mouth to try and muffle the sound. You’d hate to interrupt the Halloween party currently taking place below you, and you’d hate even more for people to come and ask you what’s wrong right now. If they did, you know what you’d say. That everything is wrong, from the clothes that you wear to the way that people act, and that the past eighteen months are like being the unwilling lead in a horror movie.

Those words can never be spoken aloud, because there’s not a single person alive that would understand them beyond Michael Langdon. Unfortunately, the Michael Langdon that you knew is dead and replaced by the spawn of Satan that’s always been lurking inside of him. Sometimes he does a good job of playing the part of Michael Langdon, a good enough job that it can momentarily fool you. But the demon will always rear its ugly head, reminding you again and again that you’re truly alone in this world. 

It feels a little childish to throw yourself on your bed and cry yourself to sleep. But in this situation, you think it’s warranted.

You’re eventually ushered back to consciousness by the feather-light touch of fingers brushing your cheek. It’s a struggle to unglue your eyelids after they grew stuck together due to your drying tears, and you hesitantly pry open one eye to glance at what, or who, has woken you up. Upon making a positive identification, you groan and drop your head against the mattress.

“I hate this dream,” you grumble.

A soft laugh comes from next to you. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“Tell me anyway.”

It takes a moment for you to work up the courage to actually speak your thoughts. “Because it reminds me that you’re gone.”

The mattress shifts. “Open your eyes.”

You really don’t want to do that, because you know what the result will be. After all, you’ve had dreams along this storyline before. Dreams where you’re taunted with your innermost desires, dreams that feel so real that you wake up expecting them to be fact. They never turn out to be real, though, and you’re dreading being faced with that same disappointment once more.

But hope is cruel, and it’s tantalizing. In the end, you’re no match for hope.

Instead of being greeted by nothing but air when you finally open both eyes, someone is still sitting next to you on the bed. You take in their black wardrobe first—a long-sleeved black dress, with a matching cloak fastened around the neck. Next is the hair, beautiful dark waves, with a golden headband nestled among them. Finally, you meet a pair of warm, brown eyes that twinkle with excitement.

You sit up abruptly in shock. The breath gets caught in your throat, and you have to work to make a sound. Even when you can, your voice comes out shaky and unsure. “...Mallory?”

A familiar smile spreads across her face. “Hi.”

Your hand has come up without you realizing it, and it hovers now above Mallory’s shoulder. Though you want so badly to touch her, you’re sure that the moment you do, she’ll dissipate into thin air like smoke. You don’t know if you can handle that kind of heartbreak, not after what you’ve just been through.

Mallory takes your hand and intertwines your fingers with hers. In your grasp, you can feel the muscles of her hand flex, her skin warm and real against yours. A sharp gasp rips from you, tears already falling once more (you’ve cried so much tonight) when you raise your gaze to meet hers once more.

“Oh my god, Mallory!”

She says your name with just as much tenderness and awe, her voice a balm on your bruised and battered soul. It’s another second before you’re being pulled into a welcomed, bone-crushing hug. You meet her with the same level of enthusiasm, holding onto each other as though, at any moment, forces will try to rip you apart. The forces of the universe can try any tactic possible, but they’re guaranteed to fail. Your best friend is back and in your arms against all odds, and you’re never letting her go again.

“How the—how—you—” Mallory waits patiently for you to remember how to speak. “You’re here. And you’re alive. How are you alive?”

“Witches don’t die easily.”

“I can see that!” You pull back from the embrace just enough so that you can look her in the eyes and be reminded of the fact that Mallory really, truly sits before you now. “I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

Her face somehow softens even more than it already has. “I’ve missed you too.”

While you could spend hours in silence and simply enjoy her presence once more, there are explanations to be made, ones that, in your mind, simply can’t wait. “I have so many questions.”

“Ask, then, and I’ll do my best to answer.”

You work to untangle the jumbled mess that your thoughts have become. “How are you here? I’m talking the whole process, from surviving the apocalypse to somehow traversing a nuclear wasteland and coincidentally ending up at the same Outpost we’re visiting.”

“To make a very long story short, when you called me that day that you and Michael fought, I knew that we were running out of time. His anger sped up the process of the apocalypse by months, which meant that I had to speed up figuring out how to stop him. While my research in those ensuing weeks was fruitful, there was no chance of actually having enough practice to successfully execute any sort of plan by the time the bombs dropped. So, I pivoted. I’d work as hard as I could, right up until the end, while also knowing that I had key members of the coven in place to help me after the nuclear war.”

“Your coven survived?” you ask hopefully. An army of witches would do a lot to help right now.

Her face twists in pain. “Michael would have sensed it if an entire coven survived the apocalypse, so I made one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make in my life. I sent the girls home on a ‘break’ and told them that I and a couple of their teachers had to go meet with a European coven. They got to spend their last days with their loved ones, which is a small comfort to me.”

“I’m sorry, Mallory.” What you want to say is that you’re sorry that this happened, and that you’re sorry that the man you’re fated to love is the reason why. If you get started on that path, though, you know that you’ll be apologizing for hours about things that, at the end of the day, aren’t your fault (even though they feel like they are). Instead, you give Mallory a tighter squeeze and hope that it accurately conveys all that goes unsaid.

Mallory clears her throat, lifting a hand from you briefly to swipe at her wet eyes. “Anyways. I took only those who I knew would be a great help to me when the time came. Two of my friends, who also taught with me, and I went to ground. Bayou mud carries intense healing properties, and it kept us safe for eighteen months of hibernation, for lack of a better term.”

You’re mildly horrified at the fact that Mallory and her friends basically buried themselves alive, but Mallory continues before you can say anything.

“Then, an older student who comes from a very rich family volunteered to help. I wiped her mind of her identity as a witch and ensured that she would be here, in Outpost 3, so that we would have as many on our side as possible.”

“Who…” you trail off. “Coco!” That’s why her name sounded so familiar! Mallory had likely mentioned her to you in passing during one of your many conversations after she assumed the title of Supreme.

“Yep.”

“Is she always so…” you pause, trying to think of a nice way to phrase what you want to say. “Bitchy?”

“Before she came to Robichaux’s, yes.” She grins cheekily, and you feel your heart twist at how much you’ve missed seeing that. “Hence the bitchy attitude here.”

“Was Outpost 3 just a lucky guess?”

Mallory shakes her head. “No. I knew that Outpost 3 would be Michael’s crown jewel when it came to the Outpost project. He was never shy in his hatred of warlocks and Hawthorne—he hated both of them almost as much as he hated Cordelia. It made sense that he would choose this as his final stop. He wanted to prove to himself, you, and Satan that he was nothing like the boy that first arrived here years ago.”

“So, you sent a spy here and took as much help with you as you could. What’s your plan now?” How are you going to get us out of this mess? you want to ask.

She turns serious. “Before I tell you, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything,” you promise.

“I’m going to ask you to stand with me and against Michael. And if you can’t do that because of your soul bond with him, I understand. In that case, though, I need to ask you to stand aside so that I can do what I need to do.”

There’s no need for any sort of deliberation, nor is there any hesitation in you. This answer comes just as easily and surely as one from mere hours ago, only this time, the result is the opposite. “Of course, I’ll stand with you.”

She sighs in deep relief, apparently worried that you were going to turn her down or, worse, side with Michael. “I’m so glad to hear that.” 

Mallory begins to explain her plan and your role in it, one that you’re happy to play. You’ve been forced to be a bystander for too long, and now, you refuse to let that be your identity. You want your world back, and with Mallory and her witches at your side, you feel confident that this is how you win.

///

Tag list: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angistopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff @redroses07

[nanami-is-nanamean]

I like playing hsr-- as my irls say, im a bit of a grind/build player. I can attest to that, because no joke-- i spent an entire year just grinding and farming for materials for my characters. So you could say that im a bit well versed in how these characters work and run and tick. Of course, when you have two obsessions, its kind of inevitable that youd smash them together like dolls so--

Here's JJK characters typecasted as HSR characters

Please note that im more well versed in the characters as units so im gonna typecast them as such— i know jack about their plot and stories so i may or may not make a part two or more lmao

Lets go-- everything is under the cut

OH-- quick note!! Ill be doing the 06 class first because im more familiar with them, and most of my info comes from my own experience playing, and Prydwen my beloved lmao

- - -

Gojo Satoru:

For Gojo—as a unit, i wanna say that hes either the strongest unit currently or some kind of nuts shielder. Its an either or because duh. Bruv is Quite Literally The Strongest and Quite Literally Untouchable.

If were going with the former, aka the strongest—id say that he would be what is currently considered the meta, which is Acheron. I dont have an Acheron, but my friend does and she lent me her account so i can build her Acheron and other units and LET ME TELL YOU. HOLY SHIT. Even unbuilt, Acheron hits like a motherfucker dawg. Its genuinely crazy. Her Technique as well (heh) also lets her oneshot almost anything which is also inline with how he works. Jeez, i should probably go back to building her account...

If were going with the latter, aka nuts shielder ala Infinity, i was thinking either Fu Xuan or Aventurine—but settled on Fu Xuan as it filled out more of what Gojo could do. While she does actually take damage, as she directs damage to herself, she heals it all back which honestly?? Amazing symbolism for Gojo tbh—considering the fact that hes the most important figure in Jujutsu society, everyone would be fucking gunning for him man. And he'd just as easily bounce back and brush it all off with a quick smile and Purple. And speaking of purple—esteemed colleague, that is Just Her Ultimate.

But yeah—Gojo would be either Acheron or Fu Xuan, depending on what aspect of him were focusing on.

Geto Suguru:

I'm gonna admit—this one was a little hard for me because who tf uses summons. And then it hit me.

Dear lord, my boy is just Topaz. Or Jing Yuan. LMAO—

Makes sense tho mechanically—Geto's technique is all about summoning curses to fight. Either for him or with him. Its just that the choice between Topaz and Jing Yuan capitalizes on what sort of fighting styles Geto wants to use. Topaz is more reliant on Numby doing damage, while Jing Yuan can do damage on his own without the help of Lightning Lord. This means then that Topaz is if Geto wants his curses to fight for him, and Jing Yuan is if he wants to fight with his curses.

Also the fact that I considered Sushang for him just because she summons a giant fucking chicken for her ult is. W o w .

Shoko Ieiri:

Dawg. To be honest with you. I think this is gonna be the hardest one for me to typecast unit wise. Because like—Shoko is a heal bot fr fr. And like—thats literally all the Abundance characters man. I CANT JUST SAY "shes every Abundance character" AND CALL IT A DAY. I mean I CAN but I WONT because I have STANDARDS. So I suppose I'll knock off the ones she can't possibly be unit wise.

Bailu is an Instant No. If she can bring people back from the dead Bailu style, JJK would be a WHOLE DIFFERENT STORY. and YEAH YEAH the Gojo/Yuuta thing is different—Gojo was already super dead, she just transferred Yuuta to Gojos body my guy. Not Gallagher, since w've never seen her in a combat situation and we have no idea what pure RCE can do to a curse—and before you say im wrong, nuh uh dawg—youre thinking about Reverse Cursed TECHNIQUE. I'm talking energy. The two are very different. Thats like saying putting the car in reverse is the same as using diesel instead of gas. Luocha is also a no go since, if she can just cast a Simple Domain that heals everyone in range, JJK would be a completely different story. And, as much as this pains me to say it—she cant be Huohuo either, because if her healing people would also replenish their CE, JJK would be a different story—at the very least with more people alive in it lmao

And so. This leaves us with our F2P basic units. Lynx and Natasha. Which... honestly? Its weirdly fitting and cathartic in a strange sort of way. Its guaranteed they'd be there to help because you receive them as units early on in the game—just as guaranteed that Shoko would be there to help and heal any and all sorcerers who come to her. All units need healing, in any way shape and form—without em making sure our teams our alive, we quite literally cannot get thru half the content of the game. I would know, that friend DID NOT build any of their sustains. Constantly fighting for my life until I built Gallagher lmao.

But yeah—unit wise, it does fit. They both mainly are there to give healing and basic support to the units, without drastically buffing them or debuffing their opponents. Theyre just there to make sure the team is alive, and honestly? 🫡 you go babe. heres a free cigarette, on me.

Nanami Kento:

Immediately I knew what the fuck I wanted him to be. Break effect character. Aka, current meta. So, obviously he'd be Boothill and Robin right?? Well—not exactly...

He'd deffo be Boothill thats for sure, but not so much Robin. Nanami's powerset is pretty simple—he focuses on a target and then, depending on his goal and/or amount of cursed energy, proceeds to put a weak point on them of which to hit. He can't be Robin because of how she works—she needs to transform via Ult to deal that optimal break damage and strike weak points despite whatever shes facing not having a fire element weakness. Whereas Nanami can just hit, without needing to transform into something else or needing a cursed tool or something.

For a little bit there, I considered Xueyi but ulimately said no because of her follow up and her being able to attack multiple enemies at once. While yes, I can flavor the follow up as a black flash or something (even though i really shouldn't since black flashes are based off luck and "being in the zone"), the multiple targets thing I really couldn't ignore because we've never seen him attack multiple targets at once—the closest thing we have is him being fast enough and strong enough to one shot curses back to back.

I was left with Sushang and Luka at this point, and ended up with Sushang. I was already settled with Sushang, when I remembered that Luka existed lmao—but decided to give him a shot anyways. I shouldn't have given him that shot because he doesn't fit Nanami as a unit. He's a Nihility "charge" unit—charge in the sense of, he needs to build up a certain stack to properly break and deal damage. When you relate that to Nanami, it doesn't work. Like I said, Nanami is simple and straight-forward, no muss and no fuss. There's a lot of mussing and fussing around with Luka that doesn't mesh well, along with the whole debuff thing Nihility has going—Nanami doesn't do that kind of DOT damage in the series, and doesn't deal too much of a handicap that I could consider it.

Nanami being Boothill and Sushang makes sense to me too. Nanami is a relatively fast person, being able to kind of run on water, fend off dozens of curses at the same time whilst taking minimal damage, and keep up with a Mahito that transformed himself into being really fast, and hits hard—both with the boost and assistance of his technique and without it. Like—he canonically killed Haruta 6 times. Were it not for his Luck Technique, his skull would've been pulverized by the first punch.

Boothill and Sushang's entire deal is to hit hard and hit fast—or at the very least, stay ahead of their opponents in the turn order via Break—Weakness, Super, or otherwise. Boothill's mechanics are a little more complicated than Sushang's but they're relatively simple and tracks with how Nanami works—he can force element weakness (Nanami's CT), hits really good and really hard to those he's focused on/appiled weakness on (nanami's CT again), and is able to clear out multiple enemies at once/inquick succession despite being a single target focus due to how strong and fast he is (nanami's CT and fighting style in general). Sushang's mechanics are much more barebones—she hits hard and she hits fast, which is basically the essence of Nanami in battle.

Haibara Yuu:

Motherfucker dude, this one is EASY—my boy is OBVIOUSLY Pompom. BUT NO WAIT IM BEING FR THO—we barely see him in both the manga and the anime, and I even looked up whether or not he's a playable unit in JJK Cursed Clash or JJK Phantom Parade. He's not there dawg. He's literally just the mascot—😭😭😭 UGYFHBKSFSBHVDVKFHKSD

And as much as I'd love to make assumptions abt his technique and how he works—aka theorize abt the meaning of his name, make educated guesses with the short screentime he had, I don't think I can make a good guess or assumption on how he works.

So yeah. He's Pompom, he's an NPC KHDFJHGSIDKFX—

Rip Haibara, even in death, you don't due nothing other than change the trajectory of everyone's lives via dying BUKJRNLDFJXB

---

Thanks for reading...??? Genuinely feel like doing a cont to this but like—them as HSR character lorewise, or turning them into actual HSR units, or doing the other characters. Its p fun!! Also let me engage with HSR in a diff way other than me logging on, grinding Robin's domain, getting a bunch of shit artifacts and ignoring the main quest LMAO—

[blu-ish]

Hi! Hope you’re doing well! I was wondering, what advice would you give to someone who’s trying to build the confidence to start posting their art online?

The only thing that’s stopping me is that I over think it too much, to the point where I convince myself out of it (I’m working on it lol). Thank you, I love your style.

Heya!! AND THANKS SM HSJSHSJ

I didn't post any of my art online until like, maybe mid 2023 tbh. I'm not a rlly big social media person but I had a friend at a college camp in 2021 (I was still in highschool at this point, but I got into this rlly cool camp where I got to live in the dorms for a week) she looked at my art and told me I should post it on tumblr xD. She was a huge videogame nerd just like me lmao.

Honestly, I was scared, I didn't think my art was all that radical compared to others I've seen online. Or that my ideas rlly mattered since so many other SUPER TALENTED AND AMAZING peeps were already making stuff.

It took me a while to realize that NONE OF THAT MATTERS, I didn't have to sit there and clutched what I loved to do just for myself. (Don't get me wrong, sometimes that's perfectly fine.) But I'm a social person, on a good day lmao, you wouldn't believe how much of an introvert I am.

I realized the only thing stopping me from getting that experience, was myself. I was stopping myself with stupid little doubts and reasons as to why I shouldn't. Instead of why I wanted to. Sure the internet can be fuggin NUTS, but, here on Tumblr dot com. I've never felt HAPPIER to post my art or silly edits and wait for my new friends to see it. For it to INSPIRE someone, for getting to write my thoughts down (like im doing now lmao) and to make others happy. I LOVE that about here.

Art does NOT in ANYWAY need or have to be perfect, it's a piece of yourself, something you sat down and CREATED just because you CAN, because you COULD. You enjoy it and desire to share it, that's reason enough. Don't let ANYONE tell you otherwise, because they are not you, you are.

Create to your hearts content! You have to be your own number one fan before anything after all. Don't let those voices inside your head tell you that your not worthy enough. Because I will personally go in there with a nerf gun and tell them no! LMAO HSJSHSJ ;)

But of course, don't let ME tell ya what to do after all. There's nothing wrong from dipping ur toes in that tumblr water first before you dive in. But you'll never know until you try <3 Just remember that I'm backing u up 100% AND I WILL BE THE FIRST TO RUSH OVER THERE AND SEEING YOUR AMAZING ARTWORK DONT EVEN TEST ME >:)

[dangermousie]

I have just binged eps 2-4 of Circle of Love and I think I know what a drug trip feels like

It was barely over 35 minutes but my brain feels like it’s been taken for a rinse watching Circle of Warlord BDSM. Whoa. If you want to know what this is like, think an old school lakorn circa 2008 or perhaps a period take on Sealed with a Kiss (powerful dude forces daughter of his enemy to be his mistress; this is still more wholesome than that.)

Warlord, operating on the explicitly stated principle of “to be nice to daughter of my enemy is to dishonor my family” does things like manhandle FL:

Threaten her with guns:

Chokes her after hand to hand (the only reason this drama does not make me want to murder things is because unlike in old school lakorns or Sealed, heroine is full of fight and murder.)

He also successfully gaslights her that she’s his slutty maid (!) and, just so we’d be in no doubt of what kind of kink this is catering to, sticks chains on her legs that she has been walking with through the entire four eps so far!

She splashes him with alcohol:

So he forcefeeds her as punishment (ummm...)

He stuffs her on the bed (she’s in his room to steal the key) and asks her if she cannot wait to be under him (no, for real, direct quote.) 

This is all only in ep 2!

The only thing I ship him with is a brutal and prologued death but I have to say the charge between the leads is nuts and also it is honestly refreshing to see a cdrama so far outside the prescribed rules of wholesomeness, the safe world of niceness. Guy is a 1930s warlord, of course he’s a psycho!

Also, I can’t say how much I love that the ML looks like an adult and so does the FL.

[beardedmrbean]

“To be honest with you, I hate guns,” Peter, 76, shouted over the sound of gunshots Saturday afternoon as his wife took aim at a target at Gun World in Deerfield Beach. “But it’s better us than someone else.”

The Jewish couple had arrived for their Intro to Handguns lesson with Florida Firearms Training about noon. Peter, who asked to keep his last name private for safety reasons, had shot a rifle decades ago; his wife had never shot a gun before. By the end of the day they would be returning home with one.

So would Justine Youngleson, 58, and Sandi Lazar, 65, a South African Jewish couple from Lauderdale-by-the-Sea, and Jackie Rubin, 64, a former orthodox Jew who converted to Christianity, who wore a T-shirt with a giant heart on it and described herself as a “very peaceful person.”

Across South Florida, Jewish residents are buying guns and learning to use them, many of them older, more liberal-leaning people who never thought they’d touch a gun in their lives. Spouses are dragging each other to lessons, children are going with parents. Introductory shooting classes are booked up months into the future, even on the Sabbath, because people are so desperate for slots.

Still others are buying security cameras, taking self-defense classes like Krav Maga, the Israeli martial arts that focuses on surviving real-life scenarios, contemplating leaving jewelry at home, and removing mezuzahs from their doors, as they speak of a fear they have not felt before.

‘A huge blip’

On the door leading into owner Kim Waltuch’s office at Gun World, a picture of a menorah reading “Happy Chanukah” sits adjacent to a sticker of a Glock.

Her office is similarly cluttered: Piles of papers, a mug reading “Boss Lady,” sound-canceling headphones, and a box of chocolate ammo cover her desk. On the wall are children’s drawings next to a framed picture of Hebrew word for love. The kids make the drawings while they wait for their parents to be done shooting, Waltuch explained.

In the last month, Gun World has had a “surge” in interest in guns, Waltuch said. So many people want lessons, they began offering double the amount per week.

“As soon as the guns have been going in, they’re going out,” she explained.

As she spoke, people kept popping in to say hello; the store was crowded. One of the customers was Broward County Commissioner Michael Udine, an outspoken supporter of Israel who reiterated the same motives as everyone else: “I just thought, with everything going on in the world, it’s better to be educated.”

Florida Firearms Training has had so many requests for the Introduction to Handguns course that it is booked all the way into December, said Will Farrugia, the company’s director of training, who led Saturday’s lesson, which was also on the Jewish Sabbath.

In an average week, FFT sees about 40 students in its intro class, Farrugia said. Now they’re looking at 80 to 90 students.

“There’s definitely a blip on the graph, a huge blip of just an influx of new shooters,” he said. “Of which I would say fifty to sixty percent are Jewish.”

The students are not gun nuts, or even necessarily conservative. Many know little to nothing about guns.

These are “people that have never thought of buying a gun, that are now saying ‘I need a gun,'” Farrugia said. “It’s all for the same reason. There’s that concern of, ‘Can something happen here? Can something happen to my family? I need to have a way of defending my family and my home.’ Sad, but that’s where we’re at.”

On Saturday, students spoke of their dislike for guns at the same time as they prepared to buy them, their own shooting targets in their hands.

Lazar said that she still thinks guns are bad, and she does not believe she should have them while driving around or in the supermarket, an opinion that did not change Saturday.

“She’s the neurotic one,” Lazar said, gesturing to Youngleson. It was Youngleson’s idea to buy the gun, and Youngleson said that she was going to do just that, but Lazar needed to know how to use it if it was going to be in the house.

“This is not what you think you’ll be doing at 58,” Youngleson said.

Need for self-defense is critical

The heightened fears aren’t present only in gun-training classes.

Lazar and Youngelson have bought Ring cameras and lights for their home. Growing numbers of Jewish residents are looking for situational awareness or self-defense classes like Krav Maga, said Carson Nightwine, the director of community security for the Jewish Federation of Palm Beach County.

“Never has the need for self-defense been more critical,” reads a Facebook post from the Ruth & Norman Rales Jewish Family Services, advertising a Krav Maga class in early November.

The owner of AIKMO Krav Maga in Oakland Park, who asked not to be named for safety reasons, said that he had seen a small uptick in the number of students in his own classes, as well as a larger increase in synagogues asking for workshops.

While they’re warming up, students trade stories of having their cars slapped at stoplights or being told to “burn in hell” for putting up posters of Israeli hostages, he said.

He tries to keep the class positive but practical, in the spirit of Krav Maga, which is meant to address real-life threats. At synagogues, AIKMO teaches kidnapping prevention, self-defense, knife and gun defense, forced entry and active shooter drills.

“I hate to say it’s become necessary and timely,” the owner said. “If we lived in a better world I’d be happy to be put out of business. This would be the new yoga; we’d do this for fun.”

Rising antisemitism threat

Since Hamas terrorists massacred over 1,400 Israelis on Oct. 7, national and local officials began warning the public of the heightened potential for antisemitic incidents and hate crimes. But those early statements turned increasingly ominous as hatred brewed and the Israel-Hamas war stretched on with a bombing campaign that has killed thousands of Palestinian civilians.

In one week, a Jewish cemetery in Vienna was sprayed with swastikas and set on fire. Stars of David were spray-painted outside of buildings in Paris. And in Dagestan, Russia, a mob of protesters stormed a plane from Israel and searched a hotel, looking for Jews.

On Tuesday, FBI Director Christopher Wray told members of Congress that the terrorism threat to Americans, already elevated in 2023, had increased “to a whole other level” due to the war and warned of “historic” levels of antisemitism.

For residents of South Florida’s predominantly Jewish neighborhoods and cities, already on alert, a different kind of fear followed Oct. 7.

“This is the first time I really feel unsafe in the U.S.,” said Michele Lazarow, a Hallandale Beach city commissioner who is Jewish. “Maybe it’ll finally be when I get a firearm.”

The chabad houses that pepper Hallandale Beach always used to make her feel safe. Now she wonders if, like herself, the city is a target.

“I don’t even want to say it,” she told the Sun Sentinel on Tuesday. “There’s a very large Jewish community.”

Already, stirrings of hate have emerged in South Florida; in Parkland last Saturday, a group of masked minors shouted threats at Jewish congregants as they left synagogue, according to deputies and Rep. Jared Moskowitz, who belongs to the synagogue.

Palm Beach County has seen an uptick in reported incidents since Oct. 7, said Nightwine, the community security director. At the same time, rumors, false threats and hate speech have exploded online, which add to people’s fears.

He spends much of his time trying to distinguish misinformation from real threats.

“Just getting to what is actually credible and providing the community with a sense of safety, and the amount of just utter hate speech, and these threats, it’s a colossal work,” Nightwine said.

Islamophobic incidents and hate crimes have also risen nationwide since the attacks. In Illinois, a landlord is accused of stabbing a 6-year-old Palestinian-American boy to death, shouting “you Muslims must die.” The Council on American-Islamic Relations has reported the largest wave in incidents since 2015, when then-presidential candidate Donald Trump called for a ban on Muslims entering the United States.

But as home to one of the nation’s largest Jewish populations, South Florida has long contended with antisemitism. Over the two years prior to 2023, antisemitic incidents had already sharply increased in South Florida, though they were largely perpetrated by right-wing, neo-Nazi groups, according to the Anti-Defamation League.

Almost 60% of all religion-based hate crimes in the U.S. in 2020 targeted Jews, more than any other group, despite the fact that they account for only 2% of the U.S population, according to the FBI.

Since the Oct. 7 attacks, antisemitic incidents across the country have increased nearly 400%, mostly attributed to pro-Palestine and anti-Israel sentiment and protests. Antisemitic rhetoric has also increased on the right; the ADL reported an over 1,000% increase in “the daily average of violent messages mentioning Jews and Israel” on right-wing extremist Telegram channels.

On Thursday, when Florida Attorney General Ashley Moody visited the Florida Department of Law Enforcement office in Boynton Beach for a confidential security meeting, a reporter asked whether she thought Palm Beach County was vulnerable.

“It’s no coincidence we chose to come to South Florida to make sure we’re imploring our communities to stay on guard,” Moody replied.

‘We’re Jewish, we don’t feel safe’

Kayla, 22, went to a gun range with her parents last month at her mother’s request. Her family had shot guns once, in Israel, where the recent college grad, who asked to keep her last name private for safety reasons, was supposed to move on Oct. 10. The plans are now delayed indefinitely, though that has not spared her family worry as antisemitic incidents unfold across the world, including the U.S.

“We were like ‘okay, we don’t really feel safe anymore,'” said Kayla, who lives in Hollywood. “We want to arm ourselves, especially because we’re visibly Jewish and we go to synagogue. Every aspect of our daily lives is Jewish: The supermarket, the restaurants we go to, and the neighborhood we live in.”

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Soon after submitting her request, she got a call from Steve Triana, a local firearms instructor who works for Florida Defense Training and runs his own company, Triana Training Concepts.

When Kayla, her mother, and her 63-year-old father arrived at the range for their lesson, he asked them for their back story and why they chose to learn, as he does every lesson.

“If you’re coming and you’re over twenty-one, my question is, ‘why now?'” he explained, referring to the legal buying age in Florida. There’s always a reason, something that makes the person feel unsafe in a way they hadn’t before.

Reluctantly, Kayla shared hers.

“It’s always kind of scary to tell people ‘We’re Jewish, we don’t feel safe,'” she told the Sun Sentinel. “I told him anyways, ‘We’re Jewish, we’re really not feeling safe.'”

Triana, it turned out, was also Jewish. He told Kayla’s family that they were not the first to call.

His evenings have been booked with students like them since Oct. 7. In the last two-and-a-half weeks, he told the Sun Sentinel on Tuesday, he has had 18 students, 14 of whom are Jewish, what he estimates is a 90% increase in Jewish students since before the war.

He knows they’re Jewish because he asks, but also because many are openly orthodox. Some have told him they’re rabbis; others come in with yarmulkes on. Like those in Saturday’s class, many are older, often couples.

For Triana, the influx began four days after the war broke out, when the company he works for, Florida Defense Training, began sending a large number of new students his way.

The fact that most of them were Jewish and Triana is also Jewish was a coincidence, said Carlos Gutierrez, the company’s co-owner. But word has since spread to others in the community; Kayla told Triana she’d share his contact information with her synagogue.

For Gun World, word-of-mouth in the Jewish community has also brougth new business. People in the community want to support a Jewish-owned business, Waltuch explained, even though, she added, “as a nice Jewish girl who owns a gun range, I like to go under the radar.”

A political shift?

The new interest in guns perhaps signals a broader shift since Oct. 7 and its aftermath as Jewish South Floridians re-examine their politics.

On the right, Gov. Ron DeSantis has used his pro-Israel stance as a selling point, sending law enforcement officers to protect synagogues and schools, decrying left-wing protests on college campuses and criticizing the Biden administration for sending aid to civilians in Gaza.

Rabbi Mark Rosenberg of Miami-Dade, a chaplain for Florida Highway Patrol, thanked DeSantis publicly on “behalf of the Jewish community” at the news conference in Boynton Beach on Thursday, saying that “Florida has emerged as a leader during troubled times.”

But many of South Florida’s Jewish voters have leaned away from DeSantis and the right, where antisemitism has also mobilized extremists.

“A lot of my friends who are liberal Jews are very, very confused right now,” said Triana, the firearms instructor. “They are struggling to make sense of the world. The world they saw on 10/6 is not what they’re realizing is the way the world worked.”

Commissioner Lazarow, a self-proclaimed liberal, said that she, too, had recently begun to question her political leanings.

“I used to say I vote Democrat, woman, Jewish,” she said. “Now I vote woman, Jewish, maybe Democrat.”

Before the war, Lazarow’s Jewish identity was rarely foremost in her mind. She would have mezuzahs on her door and wear a Star of David around her neck and think nothing of it. Now they are conscious decisions.

“This is the first time in my life I’ve ever worried about wearing the Jewish star,” she said incredulously. “Now I’m wearing it as a resistance. As a symbol of resistance.”

By the end of class on Saturday, some students described a sense of empowerment mixed into their fear and aversion to guns.

“That’s good, honey!” Peter said Saturday, as his wife hesitantly lifted her paper target, the bullet holes a bit off from the center, but still very much within the silhouette. “Don’t worry, you would stop them.”

Each time Rubin finished her turn shooting, she was so nervous that her hands shook. But as class neared an end, she appeared more determined.

“I think I know what I want,” she said, walking over to where some of the other students were sitting, repeating it out loud as she scrawled it on the back of her target: “A Smith and Wesson, nine millimeter.”

The 64-year-old says her friends think she’s crazy for buying a gun, but her Jewish family doesn’t. And even though she no longer practices the religion, Rubin said, she is still a Jew, she doesn’t know what is coming next, and she wants to protect herself.

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 57

Chapter 57: “A Deal, Part 2”

I dunno why but the way she’s being so polite and does whatever she wants regardless of the awkward silence makes me laugh so much.

Our girl is trying to make a good second impression on this man (“trying” might not be the right word since I’m sure she’s being completely sincere) and yet Yuugo decides to be a whole mood instead.

These two are so darn observant. I might not have noticed the the shoes but I would’ve definitely noticed the abs aahaha. Is this why the anime decided to cut him out? So idiots like myself don’t go nuts over him?

It’s weird.. because in the anime the letter was completely sealed (or at least it looked like it was) when Gilda pointed it out, which would of course imply it was unread, yet when Anna & others found the abandoned room, there was still all the writing was on the walls. Yuugo only did that after he returned from Goldy Pond, so whether the anime letter mentioned A08-63 or not, it’s not like his family would’ve known to go there in the first place if they never read the letter.. right? I dunno, the anime makes everything a mess.

Sorry, I know this is something stupid, but how does his coat always manage to stay on his shoulders like this? Why does it never slip off??

Best girl once again not flinching in the slightest when this man threatens her life. "If I try” is the main flaw in that statement because there’s a bunch of adults in this series that would not even hesitate at the chance to kill off our adorable family, unlike Yuugo who definitely has a hidden soft side.

I know Ray just gives Yuugo his gun back right after, but no doubt this panel caught me off guard at first too, like where were you hiding this gun on your person my boy?? Even Rossi & Chris are surprised, as well as Don who questioned if it had bullets (though Ray had removed them). Did no one (but Emma probably) know Ray has this planned?

I know I gave praise for Ray reactivating the self-destruct switch in that long list of mine, but the fact he managed to figure that out on top of search & read through all the books mentioned last chapter and cook up a huge meal for his family in just one day is just all around amazing. No wonder this dude is sleep deprived.

His internal panic is great. “It’s a threat!” Pfftt, as if you haven’t been threatening them all this whole time! He certainly underestimated them and the lengths they’ll go in order to chase a better life.

Previous arcs reignited my love for Isabella and now these arcs are making me fall in love with Chris all over again.

Favorite panel/moment:

She says this with such a huge smile on her face and I love it with all my heart.

ALSO the very start of the nicknames! I especially love how amused Ray is at Emma’s. He’s trying so hard not to bust out laughing.

[every-bad-thing]

There’s a Remarkable Resemblance

(picture modified from Mictlancihuatl, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons) One day someone comes up to you in the street and ask whether it's really you, if you're really here. You look at them, puzzled, and they show you a picture on their phone that only makes you feel more so. It's a can of creamed corn. The person says it looks just like you. You ask, are you sure, because that's a can of creamed corn and I'm a human being. The person puts the picture right next to your face and says, when you're directly compared, you don't look exactly like the can, but even still, the resemblance is uncanny. You're convinced you're dealing with someone who is very ill. You show the picture to another random person and ask whether you look like this can of creamed corn in the picture, and the answer is yes. It's not exact, the random person concedes, but it's still pretty close. This has to be some kind of setup. Maybe a prank show? You shrug and walk home, doing your best to forget about it.

It happens again a few years later. You meet someone--a friend of a friend--who insists they've seen you before and shows you a picture of a man in a cowboy hat holding a can of creamed corn. You ask who that is, and the friend of a friend says it's the governor of Texas, and asks how don't remember this. You say because it's not me. Once again the picture is held next to your face, and it has to be conceded that you don't look entirely like a can of creamed corn, though it would be easy to make the mistake. What was this can doing with the governor of Texas? Apparently, receiving some sort of commendation for saving the governor's life. Some crazed nut charged into a speech with a gun, but the can stepped in at a key moment and stopped the worst from happening. Wow. That can, you think, is a hero.

A few years later, it happens again. A woman runs up to you and wraps you in a hug. She was apparently afraid she'd never see you again, and that she is so utterly thankful for what you've done for her and her daughter. You did what for who now? You know, said the woman, protecting them from those mafia goons. She was so afraid. There were times when they'd almost found them, almost cornered them, but it was you who was always there to get us to the next safe house. She says that without you, she would never have have had the courage to testify and bring down the entire syndicate. Before you can even say she has you mistaken for someone else, she gets closer to your face and squints. She gives a flustered look and says she's just so, so sorry, it’s just you looked like someone she knew. At least at first. But, no, sorry, you're just an ordinary person living an ordinary life. My mistake, she says.

(picture modified from Sardaka, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons) More than a few years go by til it happens again. A man dressed in a neat sweater and crisp pants approaches you and, without saying anything, takes your hands in his. He says he's still using your gift, and that it's brought him so much joy. You stop him there and explain that he must have you confused with someone else, which seems to happen often. The man does the usual thing with the picture and your face, and comes to the same conclusion as all the others. He apologizes. He just never really got the opportunity to thank the can of creamed corn for everything it had done. He'd been homeless at the time, and mostly drunk. The can began to visit him, never staying long, just stopping to chat, and of course giving a little money to keep him warm. When winter came, the can asked if he wanted to move in, but on the condition he not drink. He agreed. For months, he says, the can was there for him as he worked through his addiction--not just taking care of the house but finances and insurance and even doctor's visits. In the meanwhile, he said, they'd have these long conversations about life and what we wanted from it and how we get there and what the point of it all is, things he really hadn't thought hard about before. By the springtime, he says, he was a changed man. He went back to school, got a job and found an apartment. He's really into anime now.

This continues to happen every so often. You'll be minding your own business, and you're mistaken for someone who, apparently, is far more compassionate, far more productive, far more successful than you. Until they realize, no, you're not a can of creamed corn. You're not the one who represented the 9th district of Oklahoma in the State Assembly and wrote groundbreaking legislation that saved lives. You're not the one who solved a thirty-five year old cold case by deciphering a secret message. You're not the one who guided refugees from a war zone, smuggling them past border guards amid shells and gunfire. Most recently you're not the one who rescued five puppies from a fire. Someone shows you the video on their phone: it's the can of creamed corn standing outside a burning building, five puppies around it.

One day, years later, you're in a hotel. The minute you arrive, a concierge greets you and says right this way. You wind up in a swank hotel room, the kind with the bathroom that's bigger than some apartments. This doesn't look like the room you booked. A few minutes later, the same concierge comes back and says oh my, so sorry, their mistake, they thought you were someone else. Apparently, this room has been reserved for the guest of honor at some international human rights convention, there to give a speech on flood remediation in eastern Africa. You're taken, rather brusquely, to your actual room. On the way over, you see another concierge holding a tray. And on that tray is a can of creamed corn. The can. Briefly, for just a few seconds, you pass each other in the halls.

(picture modified from "Antique silver platter" by vidalia_11 is licensed under CC BY 2.0. ) Once you're back in your room, the kind with the rather small bathroom, you think of your encounter. And you have to admit. The resemblance is pretty remarkable.

[mydarlingbat]

THE RATING OF TEN COMICS #3

Batman 221 It's about a villain who turn harmless animals into predators and raving beast. He also plans to use this on humans. The serum of course. When he's about to inject it into someone. Batman arrives to stop him, but by them being disturbed. His wife stabs him with the syringe, announcing He would be her champion. He then becomes enormous, and slaps her, eventually killing her from the impact. Batman battles with the enormous guy otto for a little while, however both wound up dying in the end. Batman saves the day. 4 out of 10

Batman #222 a band of musicians arrives. Batman and Robin has suspicion about one of them, but in the end they find out the whole band has actually died on a plane clash, and they all are look alikes. Who had a little plastic surgery and speech therapy and voice training. The man admits he didn't want to disappoint the fans. In the end they still wound up singing for the fans. 9 out of 10

Batman #223 look it's a bunch of golden age comics thrown together. I didn't read it, because i don't plan on reading the golden age now.

Batman #224 Batman is heartbroken by the death of a jazz player he used to listens to. Batman goes to New Orleans to find the murderer, but meets up with Maxwell dill, a close friend to the Jazz player blind buddy. The killer is actually the enormous beast Batman fought earlier in the comic, but he pretends he subjected to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. His lower face is always hidden. At the end of the comic Batman stops him for once and for all. 6 out of 10

Batman #225 Jonah jory is dying from a illness, and he hates the Batman for some reason. So one day he makes a decision to set up the Batman. He pays a couple thugs cash to dress up as the Batman. Prior to this one buys a gun, and the other stands on the rooftop by the window where the man's has taken his life. When in reality Jonah took his own life. This leads to them believing Batman has pulled the trigger, although Batman convinces everyone by showing them it'd have been impossible for him to do it this way. 7 out of 10

Batman #226 Basically it's about a man who tries to stop Batman from stopping the blast, along with that, the man thinks Batman set the fuse. His sight is burr, so he wrestle with the Batman, and Batman's trying to stop the blast. Now the blind man believes Batman threw something at his eyes, which is hardly the case, however Batman can't see either. The doctor gives the man's eyes on his fingers, which is why he's call the ten eye guy. It's not much more to this story to be honest. Batman does slowly gain his sight back, while the ten eye guy wants revenge on Batman for making him into this freak. 6 out 10

Batman #227 Daphine is back in town. She writes Alfred a letter, letting him know she accepted to be a teacher and work with children, however this is just to lead her in a trap, so they can sacrifice her to a demon. Batman does eventually saves her, and falls in love with a spirit I believe. Who tells him she can't be with him in so many words. Bruce cries at the end of the comic. 6 out of 10

Batman #228 a bunch of golden age comics thrown in our faces once again. 3 out of 10

Batman #229 A group of people who call themselves the futurtrains who kidnapped Stephen, because they believe he's one of them. Now let's get one thing straight. Theses people are absolutely nuts, but it's so funny too. Batman is stunned by the things they're doing. It's just really funny to be honest, but anyways, Batman meet up with Stephen's wife, which leads him to the place. Batman saves Stephen and fights the futurtrains. This catches the boss attention. She now believes Batman is one of them. At the end Batman betrays them. 8 out of 10

Batman #230 It's about a bomb, and they all thinks it's a bunch of men, but it's really a women behind murders. It's not really much to the issue.. 3 out of 10

[unclewaynemunson]

...Max/Nancy big sis/little sis fic plz?

YES I LOVE THEM. Here you goooo:

'Max, hi! Mike's at the arcade,' Nancy says when she opens the door. She's surprised to see the redheaded girl show up at the Wheelers' house unannounced; as far as she knows, Mike and Max aren't exactly best friends.

Max scoffs. 'Why would I be here for Mike?' she replies in a scathing tone. 'Are you free?'

'Yeah, why?'

'I need someone to teach me how to shoot.' She says it casually, like she's asking Nancy to help her with her English homework.

'Why?' Nancy asks, frowning.

'Because I need to defend myself,’ she deadpans, crossing her arms in front of her chest and tilting her chin, as if she's daring Nancy to tell her she shouldn't.

'Max, Vecna isn't coming back,' Nancy says in a soft tone. 'We won, the gates closed. It's over.'

'Yeah, I know, it's not about that,' says Max, rolling her eyes.

'What is it about, then?'

She shrugs, rolling her skateboard back and forth with her right foot. 'Some kids were bullying the boys again. I think they're scared of El, so they usually leave us alone. But El wasn't with us, this time, and I just...' She blows out a huff of breath. 'I need to do something,' she finishes.

Nancy sighs. She gets it, she really does. She clearly remembers the day when she swore to herself she'd never be powerless again. And now, looking at the girl standing in front of her, jaw clenched and a determined kind of rage in her gaze, it's almost like she's seeing her own younger self.

'Wait here,' she says. 'I'll be out in a sec.'

She rushes up the stairs to get her stuff, then yells a goodbye over her shoulder to her mother. She drives Max to the desolated field at the edge of the woods, the exact same spot where Jonathan had taken her two and a half years ago – where Nancy had taken her very first shot. She still remembers it like it was yesterday: the way in which the metallic click of the gun had awakened something in her, the tension as her finger curled around the trigger, the cold satisfaction when the very first bullet immediately hit the tin can...

'Look, I'll teach you everything,' Nancy starts while taking the guns out of her bag, 'I'd be the last one to tell you you that there’s no need to defend yourself. But I need you to understand that not every situation demands the same solution.' She loads the gun she's holding. 'Demogorgons, or creeps from this world who want to do terrible things to you?' She squeezes one eye shut to get the tin can in her vision. 'Shoot them.' She releases the bullet with a bang; bullseye, of course. 'Demogorgons right in the teeth, human beings preferably in the leg or foot. Don't want you ending up in jail.' With another bang, she hits the target next to the first one. 'Some stupid bullies who are making life difficult for Lucas and your friends?' The third can goes down. 'Just go for a kick in the nuts.' She breathes out and lowers the gun. 'Release your anger out here in the fields. It helps, I promise. It can lift that weight off your shoulders. But never let your anger get the best of you. Always keep your head clear. Do you understand?'

She looks at Max, who is gazing at Nancy with her jaw dropped. She stretches out her hand with the gun in it, but doesn't let Max take it just yet. 'Do you understand?' she repeats, in the sternest voice she can manage.

Max nods, eyes wide. 'Yeah. Yeah, I understand.'

Nancy nods. 'Good.'

They spend the whole afternoon practicing together. As time goes by, Max starts opening up to her, bit by bit: about the boys who were bullying the party, about the fight she had with Lucas two weeks ago, about how her mom has been drinking again lately.

'Next week again?' Nancy asks when it's getting too dark to properly see what they're doing anymore.

Max immediately starts smiling from ear to ear.

The next week, they continue their target practice, and Nancy gives Max some more pointers to improve her stance and the way she holds her gun. This time, Max talks about her mother again, about how powerless she feels. She also talks about Billy, tears in her eyes as she tries to focus on the tin can she has to hit. Nancy listens to her, gently rubs her back and squeezes her shoulder to counter the anger she's still carrying within her.

They continue to practice week after week, and Nancy starts needing those afternoons just as much as Max. It's an outlet for both of them, and it feels good to not be alone in the fields anymore, to have someone in her corner, someone who understands her and who even looks up to her. It makes her feel a little less powerless.