#calls Char a hunk

[tomorrowusa]

Why would anybody (other than Trump) want to own a Tesla nowadays?

Thousands have attended peaceful protests at Tesla showrooms in cities and towns across the country. In the 54-odd days since the inauguration, those protests have grown from a handful of people in cities like San Francisco chanting “Hey hey, ho ho, Elon Musk has got to go” to massive demonstrations across the US replete with live bands, Musk-as-Hitler costumes and heavy police presence. They have also crossed the Atlantic, with demonstrations occurring in the UK and Germany. As the protests have multiplied, so has vandalism against Tesla’s brick-and-mortar business and individual vehicles. The Guardian has tracked at least three separate incidents involving molotov cocktails, the coordinated theft of nearly 50 Tesla tires and spray-painted swastikas on Tesla facilities from New York to New Mexico. Nearly 20 Tesla showrooms and charging stations have seen deliberate fires set, while dozens of owners have had their cars egged, pooped on and hit with Kraft cheese singles.

And it's not limited to the US.

Like the protests, the defacement and destruction of Tesla facilities has also gone international, with sedans and Cybertrucks targeted in at least five other countries. In France, authorities in Toulouse reported that a dozen cars were torched at a Tesla showroom earlier this month. Another showroom in the Netherlands was graffitied with slogans such as “fuck off fascist” and others that called Musk a Nazi. One vandal as far away as Tasmania wrote “do you really want to drive a swasticar” across a dealership window.

Some of the acts of protest have been violent.

Deliberate fires have also been set at Tesla showrooms and charging stations throughout the US without molotovs. Earlier this month, in Littleton, Massachusetts, seven Tesla charging stations were set ablaze in one night, according to CBS. Police found the first station thick with dark smoke and flames. Fires were also set at a Tesla facility in rural New Mexico and in an electric vehicle holding lot in Seattle, Washington, this week. The Seattle fire department told the Guardian it found four Cybertrucks engulfed in flames when it arrived on the scene at around 11pm last Sunday. Local news station Komo News flew a drone over the wreckage and filmed one Cybertruck reduced to “little more than a charred hunk of metal”.

Dog poop is one of the less destructive things that can happen to a Tesla.

Much of the vandalism targeting Teslas involves minor, less destructive methods than molotov cocktails and spray paint. Tesla owners around the country have had their cars plastered with anti-Musk stickers and flyers, as well as hit with eggs and dog feces. The owner of a golden Cybertruck in Southborough, Massachusetts, discovered that someone had put a “Nazis fuck off” sticker on his bumper last month, he told local media. Elsewhere in Massachusetts, police in Brookline arrested a 39-year-old man earlier this month and charged him with six counts of defacing property over allegedly putting stickers depicting Musk giving a fascist-style salute on people’s cars. Other Tesla drivers have seen their vehicles pelted with foodstuffs, including a Maryland woman who told the Washington Post that her car was hit with around a dozen eggs while she was driving home. In Dallas, Texas, a man had Kraft singles thrown at his Tesla.

Considering the skyrocketing price of eggs under Trump, throwing eggs at Teslas is a rather expensive form of protest. Kraft singles might be cheaper but throwing thin pieces of sliced processed cheese sounds silly and ineffectual.

I prefer the creative nonviolent approach. People who have seen S05E10 of Game of Thrones might appreciate something like this: Have several people dress up like the Faith Militant or like Septa Unella in King's Landing and picket outside Tesla facilities. Chant "Shame! Shame!" when somebody enters. Hand bell is optional.

[punsmaster69]

25/DEC/20XX

wooooooooooooooo.

that day.

the one.

the twenty fifth.

the holiday.

if i list what everyone got from everyone, i'll be here all night, so just the most notable stuff.

got some new books. and socks. and a giant blanket. and a sweater.

i'm feeling very cozy.

frisk shrieked when they got one of those rock excavation kits from my bro.

(little known fact: frisk has an innate fascination with rocks.)

asgore gifted them an art kit.

alphys got them a mini salt lamp. they immediately licked it.

i got 'em a tungsten cube.

"Why are you so excited over a hunk of metal?"

"It's not a 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘬, it's a 𝘤𝘶𝘣𝘦."

"It's a hunk of metal."

"I'm gonna 'hunk' this at your face in a second."

"Do you WANT to kill me?!"

"No. But stop calling it a hunk of metal. It's a tungsten cube."

"Why do you care, anyway? It's MY cube, not yours."

"It's boring."

"Not to me."

"You underestimate my ability to find entertainment in shiny objects."

"Whatever. Suit yourself."

a lot of us had similar ideas, because flowey got a decent amount of (mostly dinosaur related) brick sets.

it's hard not to notice the pieces constantly strewn about flowey's half of their room.

walking over there's like a spike trap.

might be purposeful.

tori also got him some simulator game. he apparently already had the others in the series, so it makes sense.

papyrus has been using the same pots and pans for ages.

they're a bit charred and dented in places.

so, paps got gifted new cookware.

undyne got him utensils, and alphys got the pots.

tori gave him new oven mitts that don't have holes in them, unlike the previous pair.

i got him a giant puzzle cube. it's got so many rows.

it'll take him forever to solve.

he seems excited.

mettaton got him a robe, because apparently paps been admiring his. they match now.

got asgore some new teacups.

his current ones work fine, but didn't have many ideas outside of that. besides, when have extras hurt anyone?

undyne gifted him a book on slang and how to use it.

alphys' face dropped when she saw it.

"have fun with that."

(some kind of disgruntled lizard sound.)

alphys was ecstatic about receiving a manga she's wanted for ages from undyne.

tori got her some t-shirts. the one alphys liked the most is printed with a ramen brand.

undyne was gifted another giant foam sword.

that was the most exciting one for her.

they've been into collecting these specific stuffed animal things lately, so i got alphys and undyne matching ones.

mettaton had a similar gift, but luckily we didn't end up on the exact same stuffed animal.

something i'll probably regret was getting mtt a tub of glitter.

i know he likes the stuff, but i'm realizing now how this is probably ending.

already preparing to have glitter stuck to me every time he's in the vicinity.

...so not much will change, actually.

papyrus gave him a pillow custom-altered to have mettaton's branding on it.

giving mtt an mtt themed item...

he loved it. suggested that paps could help design products with him at some point.

alphys' gift was apparently done earlier, as it was an adjustment that enabled him to sign things without having to worry about carrying pens.

because his finger turns into the pen. kinda neat, honestly.

napstablook's headphone cord was looking a bit rough, so that's what i got them.

simple, but they smiled.

must not have been too bad a choice.

mettaton gifted tickets to a live band. they'll go together at some point.

me and tori, being old nerdy bookworms, exchanged exactly that: books.

frisk gave tori a cutesy handmade card, signed "by frisk and flowey but mostly frisk" on the back.

asgore gave her a necklace.

she stared at it and flatly thanked him before tucking it into her purse.

undyne gave a pie tin. self-explanatory.

probably exactly as expected, grillby was gotten a lot of various kitchenwares.

we have a lot of cooks in our friend group, i realize.

anyway, he was fond of the sturdy glass mugs i picked out for him.

that's the notable stuff gift-wise.

as for stockings, i went with chocolate bars for the other adults.

plain, simple, don't know anyone who doesn't like it.

safe bet, y'know?

got frisk a bag of those fake rock chocolates. the ones that look exactly like real rocks. they always talk about wanting to eat certain rocks; figured this would be a better alternative to shattering their teeth on real ones.

gave flowey a bag of fake coal.

"for being a butthead this year."

"Jokes on you, I'll gladly take this. And I'm STILL being the same next year!"

"didn't expect any different."

"besides, that's why you got coal last year too."

"Does it even count if it's chocolate coal? Not much of a punishment."

"it's the idea."

"The idea?"

"that you're eating rocks."

"Frisk is the one eating the rocks."

"you want real coal next year?"

"No!"

"Give that to Frisk instead."

"wouldn't be a punishment to them."

there's a lot of candy in each stocking, and most have forgotten who got what anyway.

the certain thing was everyone getting a bone in their stocking.

you know who from.

he gives 'em every year, this being no exception.

——

previous rock-paper-scissors decisions on who brings what dish collaborates now into a holiday feast aplenty.

or whatever jolly terminology i'm supposed to use to say: there was a lot of food. it was good. asgore overcooked the rolls a little. edible enough though.

——

somehow still full of energy, paps, mettaton and frisk are belting holiday songs.

napstablook's dj-ing for them.

undyne and alphys are chatting quietly beside the tree.

asgore is trying to help flowey put together that brick set.

his big hands aren't doing great with the small pieces.

grillby's trying to help him help better.

leaned against me, tori is chilling on the couch. i think she's convinced everyone else she's asleep, but under the blanket, her hand lightly tightens around mine every once in a while.

might be that she doesn't want to draw any attention to it.

...

i don't either, so i'll close my eyes too.

[tma-entity-song-poll]

Battle of the Fear Bands!

B4R3: The Extinction

London Calling:

“The song is all about the world tearing itself apart through war, famine, and disasters. The sound intensity lends itself to a feeling of danger. At the end of the song, there is a repeating "SOS" (the international distress signal) in Morse code, implying an outgoing call for help at the end of the world.”

We Will All Go Together When We Go:

“Its literally about how we will all die if a nuclear bomb got dropped on us but cheerfully:)”

Lyrics below the line!

London Calling:

London calling to the faraway towns Now war is declared, and battle come down London calling to the underworld Come outta the cupboard, ya boys and girls

London calling, now don't look to us Phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust London calling, see we ain't got no swing Except for the ring of that truncheon thing

The ice age is coming, the sun's zoomin' in Meltdown expected, the wheat is growin' thin Engines stop running, but I have no fear 'Cause London is drownin', and I live by the river

(London calling) to the imitation zone Forget it, brother, you can go it alone London calling to the zombies of death Quit holdin' out and draw another breath

London calling, and I don't wanna shout But while we were talking, I saw you noddin' out London calling, see we ain't got no Hyde 'Cept for that one with the yellowy eyes

The ice age is coming, the sun's zoomin' in Engines stop running, the wheat is growin' thin A nuclear error, but I have no fear 'Cause London is drowning, and I, I live by the river

The ice age is coming, the sun's zoomin' in Engines stop running, the wheat is growin' thin A nuclear error, but I have no fear 'Cause London is drowning, an' I, I live by the river

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh, ooh Now get this

(London calling) Yes, I was there, too And ya know what they said? Well, some of it was true (London calling) At the top of the dial And after all this, won't you give me a smile? (London calling)

I never felt so much alike, alike, alike

We Will All Go Together When We Go:

When you attend a funeral It is sad to think that sooner or l- -ater those you love will do the same for you And you may have thought it tragic (Not to mention other adjec- -tives) to think of all the weeping they will do But don't you worry

No more ashes, no more sackcloth And an armband made of black cloth Will some day nevermore adorn a sleeve For if the bomb that drops on you Gets your friends and neighbors too There'll be nobody left behind to grieve

And we will all go together when we go What a comforting fact that is to know Universal bereavement - An inspiring achievement! Yes, we all will go together when we go

We will all go together when we go All suffused with an incandescent glow No one will have the endurance To collect on his insurance Lloyd's of London will be loaded when they go

Oh, we will all fry together when we fry We'll be French-fried potatoes by-and-by There will be no more misery When the world is our rotisserie Yes, we all will fry together when we fry

Down by the old maelstrom There'll be a storm before the calm

And we will all bake together when we bake There'll be nobody present at the wake With complete participation In that grand incineration Nearly three billion hunks of well-done steak

Oh, we will all char together when we char And let there be no moaning of the bar Just sing out a Te Deum When you see that ICBM And the party will be come-as-you-are

Oh, we will all burn together when we burn There'll be no need to stand and wait your turn When it's time for the fallout And Saint Peter calls us all out We'll just drop our agendas and adjourn You will all go directly to your respective Valhallas Go directly, do not pass 'GO', do not collect two hundred dollars

And we will all go together when we go Every Hottentot and every Eskimo When the air becomes uraneous We will all go simultaneous Yes, we all will go together When we all go together Yes, we all will go together when we go

[asteroidtroglodyte]

I call that state of mind “THE PIT,” in which there is no sunlight and no horizon and everything is wet and cold. I know the inside of The Pit very well, friend, and I know better than to tell you to believe. Instead, because I am vicious and cruel, I will ask you to do something very hard: keep reading, over and over, as many times as you need; and keep Looking: for the hand that will pull you out. And when it comes, you reach for that hand and you pull as hard as you can, ok?

My Life was Gifted to me. I did not Earn it, and by any fair Accounting I did not Deserve it. I was a Wretched Man. She took me in and withstood my rage as she plucked away the thorny seeds of hate that my father left in the matted tangles of my psyche. She set my Inner Child free from his long imprisonment. She soothed my rebellious flesh and charred nerves until the pain and spasms stopped. There are many things i did for her in return; similar things, and she feels reciprocated. Grateful herself, even. But.

What possible word could I use for what she did to me besides “Rescue?”

“Who rescued who” is definitely in play a bit

The Future happens in spite of us, without our consent, but it is not actually our enemy, and does not actually want the worst for us. I am glad you found a place to heal. Enjoy getting better.

And yet, AND YET;

Magic & Sunshine & Rainbows did in fact come to pass! A hunk of goo became a Person! The rains fell upon my garden and the sun came out and there were dazzling lights! and a woman who never expected anyone to bring her flowers woke up to hundreds, growing outside her window, for months on end, within view! She watched a person she had made gain consciousness and language and opinions! She watched a man more handsome than she had ever dared to hope for emerge from the sopping beast that she’d rescued and tattoo a fucking ring on his finger. I became a Druid and took up my Holy Work, giving myself Purpose beyond this lifetime! THERE HAS BEEN SO MUCH MAGIC YOU HAVE NO IDEA

It is perhaps optimistic of me to hope for such Magic for everyone, but part of why My Wife loves me is my militant optimism; and so I say:

The Rains bring the Rainbows; and the Flowers are made of Magic, just like the People; and the thing about the Sunshine is that it is always there; you just can’t see it sometimes, because you’re on the wrong side of the world, or trapped under miles of water; but the Sunlight never actually goes away. Folks just get stuck is all. Help them back into the light when you can.

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[maguro13-2]

Char : Fools! This is my time to make Zeon Rise with my dominate powers of the Grear Char!

*Ideon appears to grab Char*

Char : Now to make the days of bringing my--Hey, Hey, what's going on? *CRACK* OH GOD! MY BACK! AW MY BACK IS SNAPPED LIKE A PACK OF UNCOOKED SPAGHETTI! AHH YOU JUST WALK UP AND CAME OUT OF WHERE WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING?! OH BOO! WHY DID TOMINO EVER MADE YOU, SIR?!

[Ideon Eyecatch theme]

"IDEON!!!

Ideon : That's right!

*next*

Char : *To Machu* I see you understand I finally felt that Ideon was one of Mr. Tomino's other robots for the past years. But it's good that we make a diligent efforts of setting you up pretty good.

Machu : *Notices Ideon appears behind Char*

Char : Now all I have to do is make you get prepared for the next five minutes of...OH MY GOD, NO!

*CRACK*

Char : YAHHH!! LIKE A WORTHLESS PACK OF FIRECRACKER IS MY F-[dolphin chirp]-ING BACK! AHH I FELT THE BONES OF MY FEET TOUCHING THE FLOOR FROM THE BACK OF MY HEAD ON THAT ONE!

Machu :*To Ideon* You're cold blooded, man. No wonder you always act tough.

[Ideon eyecatch theme]

"IDEON!!!

Ideon : Who else but me?

*next*

Everyone : *murmuring*

Char : Sorry I'm late everyone. I thought Char and Amuro would all think that Ideon is one of Mr Tomino's robots, and it's very shocking that he's like the kid brother of Gundam to one's life. But that big hunk of junk is going anywhere! Cause I'm back, baby!

*everyone with a mild applause*

Char : Thank you than you.

*Ideon appears again*

Char : *Panicking* Oh my God, why is this even happening?!

*crack*

Char : HUAAAHHH!!! WHERE YOU GUYS ON THAT PROBLEM!? YOU JUST WATCHED A ROBOT BREAK SOMEBODY'S BACK! THIS IS A LIVING NIGHTMARE TO WAKE UP FROM IT!

[Ideon Eyecatch theme]

"IDEON"

Ideon : I'd Telegraph that!

*last take*

[Song playing: don't care by Hoshimachi Suisei]

Char : Okay. This is the last time I ever had Ideon come to Mr. Tomino's party or this party that we cranked up

Ideon : Look, Azernable. I got carried with the whole breaking your back thing. It's like that I was on seeing a video from one of them clips of robot chicken where I see this Bane villain break Batman's back. It was hilariously funny for me and I was all like hey, I'm Ideon and I never say a word.

Char : Yet. You did broke my back and got my spine shattered. Do you have any idea of what's like a runaway like you would do?

Ideon : Easy, a lot of people fine in the ours of super robot war business, but children or little boys can be really cruel to grown ups.

Char : And what happened to the children?

Ideon : Uhh, casualties, man. There were casualties around the world of "IDEON", And that's how we ballers going to party in the makings of robots meets wars.

Char : So what if the children, they sese shotas what Japan called are little perverts. But I saw one for got killed with a head shot. We idiots gone to far about it.

Red Comet : Dude. Too far. I've been drinking a lot of booze and I woke up at six. Do you think that Ideon's roaring all woke us up.

0079 Gundam : Yes. He woke me up in the middle of sleep and I was trying to get some rest before I wake up at six. I tried to get some coffee before I snooze on the job. That's the fifth row in the week he tried to wake me up in the middle of my sleep.

Ideon : Look, G. Look. I'm sorry, my amigo. Lo siento, my homie! But uhh, I haven't seen you guys in a year or two, Mr. Tomino is pleased with you guys welcoming here. I got drinks, soda, chips and dip, you know what I'm saying.

Ideon : I got my homies on the line. But I get the fact that super robots are the manliest of man, bro!

Mazinger : Yeah, but having a party with your fellows is kinda...

Ideon : Dude look. We got a female robot named Aerial. It's like having a starter p-[beep]! You're living with the man's way of having woman of intimacy. I get it why they call you the Mazinger Chadster! I promise that robots and bros are a thing in robot history.

*flips*

Ideon : *taps in the mice with his drunken self* Attention! Can I have your attention please? I would like to thank my bro G here giving me how great isnit for me to become a robot sensation. I respect you bro, as I, a robot created my Mr. Tomino, had this lasting legacy of mine calling it "IDEON".

Ideon : And I see that all of you robots out there my dudes, dudettes, and for the ladies...I dig it. You want to have me a raging boner.

Aerial : Oh. *Puts hands behind her back*

Ideon : Let's just say Ideon has been kicking back the robot industry since the 1980s, robots has been kicking butt real good and I know you new robot pilots is gonna be like hey, here's my robot homies looking at me for a good look of the new robots.

Ideon : And I love y'all. Chill out and promise like a brobot. That's how we respect our native that gave us life!

Tetsujin-28 : Nah, man. It's all good, you know. We had simple plans of having a cool robot, if it weren't for the mighty atom himself, we robots would be living in our underwears.

Mazinger : Hey, I happened to be in trunks, my swim trunks. That's the last time I hit the beach with all the ladies in wild bikinis.

*shows a photo robots in bikinis and trunks*

Mazinger : Yep. We were popular on the vacation dream.

Getter Robo : Hey, bro! Get on with it, man!

Ideon : Alright! I'm gonna do it bro! I'm gonna do it!

*Does his iconic roar*

*FWOOSH*

All : AWESOME!!!

Duo : So Honking Bruce!!!

Heero : Can't miss this one on black out. Must watch... awesome robot!

Ideon : There! How do you like that? You all saw what you just saw.

*everyone cheering*

Ideon : Yeah-huh! Uh-huh! Who's the toughest? Who's the baddest? Who's the toughest meanest robot that kicks a lot of arse...? Me! Space Runaway Ideon! Whoo!

*flips*

Amuro : You know, I was right all along. You, Ideon, had been the coolest robot that Nr. Tomino, you're like all the other robots Tomino made and we respect you.

Ideon : And best part is...I had to interrogate someone so that they are free to go.

*pans*

Nyaan : So you'll promise that we're gonna be fine and do not get raped. I always get picked on by kids who wanted to offer Oneshota lewdness or even bad men who wants to lewd and rape me.

Ideon : Listen, sister. I give you my word. I promise that you and Machu would do something great in your lives. I promise that you'll be free on your own after your movie becomes a success.

Nyaan : And I'll be good if I promise that I would do in the Real World?

Ideon : From Mr. Tomino's advice, you two will be alright and we're doing great on how our people's accepedt your appreciated negotiations.

Machu : You're freeing us and letting us go? You mean that were fine on protecting ourselves?

Nyaan : So...does this mean no Lewd and rape?

Ideon : No lewd and rape.

*pans back*

Ideon : Yeah, that was good interrogation. Trying to tell girls about the human traffic thing in the Gundam Universe.

Char : That's my peoples you're talking about. You respect girls and women.

Sayla : Whatever!

Kamille : Respecting women? Ha! I only heard that War is Bad, Girls. It's what we do in human history from the History teachers.

Amuro : And how do you explain that from history teachers? Mrs. Swanson?

Kamille : As long she's not a heinous b*tch when it comes to the politicals of conflics of the robot wars. That's why she's dead.

Ideon : Anyway guys. It has been my honor that all man, women, and child of every Mecha world is all of my homies.

*applause*

Ideon : I respect my bros that super robots who are also homies. I, IDEON, glorious space runaway, have prolonged my life as a great super robot with great supervision. I give you my words and advice that it feels good to the legacy of Mr. Tomino. Guy who loves giant robots.

0079 Gundam : Yeah, we respect ya.

Ideon : Good. Good. I see the new kid's got a like in me and oh, one more thing.

0079 Gundam : Yeah what is it.

*grabs Char*

Char : AW COME ON!

*SNAP*

[Cues Lose yourself by Eminem]

CHAR : *Screams* WHY!? WHY ME?! THAT'S GONNA BE A STRIKE!!

Ideon : YEAH, DROP IT, MOTHERF-[beep]-ERS! IDEON IS STILL IN SESSION! YAY-YEAH!

Machu : Word!

Ideon : Don't say it like that.

Ideon is still glory and Ideon always got you covered!

*Ideon Eyecatch theme*

"IDEON!!!"

Ideon : You're right on track!

[loving-jack-kelly]

Hey Slannen from the Ella Enchanted movie is gay. A gay elf. He has a boyfriend. He's gay. His rejection of the traditional Elven narrative is a metaphor for being gay. He's gay, folks.

[tenyall]

alright yall im going to bed but first here’s a rant in the tags yeehaw

[sonxofxgondor]

Collapsed by the weight of its own char, robust beech, burned and blackened twigs that had once housed a tall fire, turned to ashes. Caved into the makeshift pit that the forest floor harbored - an enclosure of grass, weed, and loose rock - crumbled into gray hunks, betwixt orange cinders and pallid smoke. Brought into the airs and whisked away, practically as soon as it had come, as fast as the breath from Boromir's chest had been exhaled. Over dried lips; chafed and unattended to by water, the heaviness that tossed itself onto shoulders most unready. A challenge unexpected, answers still unsolved though Mat proved a good patient. While fingers unknown to he explored the wounds of his face. Graced as gently as could be done across his lost eye, the scars and blood that had dared to mark his skin. Healed by powers that were not so easily possessed, Aragorn satisfied with his handiwork, the salve that would numb pain, divert the burdens, least for a little.

What Boromir could not do - strength of his own a very different kind, born of battle and raised by the glint of sword blade - the learnings of the Steward's eldest. Proud in tradition, trained to the conventions of standard lore, curious yet observant of all else. Aragorn's steady hands as they traveled the beaten path of Mat; the way in which the destined king returned to his place underneath an aged tree, quiet as ever, how the other members of the Fellowship found their peace again. Bundled in blankets and cloaks, regard never not set to the whole of their mysterious companion, started at the bottoms of his boots then moved northward until rested on his expression, sharp and dour. Just as he, they, too, were scared. Confused, uncertain as to what would happen next, awaited for Boromir to do as he promised. Calm in all appearances, but even so, better was known, eager for reasons and rationale, hands and feet twitching in anticipation, dug into the dirt or fidgeting within warm grip.

Boromir's own hand flexed against the tension, brushed through his hair then down along his beard, the comfort that came from old habit, wits gathered before word was spoken. Carefully, slowly, so soft that the entire start seemed more akin to a whisper than direct conversation. As if Boromir feared that enemy stood nearby, listening and waiting, arrows drawn from quivers and shields raised in defense. Silent in their snarls and war-cries but nothing else; ichor on steel still to be dripped, the losses of their foes, the gentle sons and daughters of Gondor, of Middle Earth, butchered.

"What I and my friends intend to do is no simple matter, Mat." Boromir described, his explanation, at last, decided. "An evil, of which has ruined more than just the land we call home, has been restored. An evil that does not sleep. An evil that is ever-watchful - ruler to a most barren wasteland, riddled with poison fume and dust. Life does not survive; there is only death. I've seen it. Sauron is the name of this evil. He is the eye that always watches, the king to the desolation known as Mordor, the lord of darkness. He is the shadow that steals all light."

Chilled to the bone, frozen all over, a sigh stopped Boromir, forced him to take recess and rethink, muster his courage and begin anew, seconds lost to the space around.

"You know not of his true purposes, nor the extent of his ways, but trust, Mat. Sauron cannot be saved. He must be ended. All his wills, the gold that contains his powers, they must be destroyed. That is what we are tasked. By the order of the highest council, to the land of Sauron my friends and I go. A band made of all free people found in Middle Earth, where you and us each stands now: Men, Dwarves, Elves, and Hobbits. Aragorn was the one who tended to you. No better man have I come to know, though we do not always see as one. Should you need him, he'll be there. Legolas and Gimli, sons of grand fathers, the either of them, for they make their people proud, the Elves and the Dwarves. I am honored to be alongside them both."

"Frodo, Samwise, Pippin, and Merry, the smallest who look to you, they are the Hobbits. Kindhearted they are, but never have I met braver men in all my time. They're good and strong; to know them is to understand what matters most, what it is we are fighting for. Gandalf, the elder dressed in gray, he is the wisest of us nine. His knowledge spans what has been written, goes beyond what feels to be the history of the world entire. Our group would be nothing without him. Wisdom comes about him."

Boromir smiled, but so faint, so rushed, was the tenderness, the love he held for the Fellowship. "There it is. The explanation you so sought for. No more can be said on it from me, not without putting my friends into danger further than they already are. Not without putting you, Mat, within the same risk. I wouldn't wish for you to suffer needlessly. You have endured much thus far. But please, I beg you, do not share what I have told you with anyone else. If you go beyond these woods, keep it to your heart. Sauron's loyalties are not bound to law. His enemies will become afraid of you, do all to protect themselves and their homes; his friends ever eager to learn more, would not be shy to extract what they needed through means most foul. Mat, they'll torture and kill you the moment that the chance is given to them. For your safety, and that of my companions and I, please, do not share a word."

"Though, part of me believes you to be the faithful sort. You do not seem like a man who would jeopardize others, not even just met strangers. Of course, I cannot force you, but if you'd rather not make leave of us, you're more than welcome to stay. We travel light and often. We share what food we have. We protect one another as brothers. In the very least, until you have regained your strength, you have a place amongst our group, should you so like it, Mat. If you do, perhaps we could come to terms with the woes you, yourself, face."

it happens before he can even object. he's unsure of how to even respond to it. first he feels the eyes of all of them on him. the children, the old man, the others. peering into him as he spoke, as boromir spoke. and then they advanced him. but not to attack. with assurances and healing hands they touched his face, probed at him. and the soreness of his empty eye socket seemed to get worse. he felt light headed, overcome suddenly with everything all around him.

they said the strangest things. dragons were dead. finn wouldn't hurt him. as if they knew but it sounded as if they knew nothing at all. rand wasn't dead. the bloody dragon reborn was alive and well and the last battle was coming. light help them all, didn't think know that the last battle was coming? but the thought seemed to fade.

and he's not sure how long his mind goes blank. until finally they're done with his face, with his eye. with the assurances that didn't seem to make anything better. now that things had settled a bit he looks between this group, they looked a little tired. he wonders what they are - what they are aiming for. nothing that they're saying to him just then makes much sense to him.

"i think i'll need that explanation." he says, hating the way he feels a little lost then. with no where to go. no where to turn he supposes that he's stuck here with this group. he can't seem to place them anywhere. and it dawns on him that this must be another dimension. like the doorway had taken him to the dimension of the finn this must also be something else. only he doesn't know where. and that unnerves him nearly as much as the finn had.

blood and ashes, this was starting to make his head hurt. or maybe it was the probing and prodding they had done to his empty eye socket that made his head this badly. he can hear the dice rolling loudly in his head and that sends a chill down his back. was this something bad? or was this something that he was supposed to be doing? nothing make sense and he's felt disorientated the entire time. would that feeling go away?

but it's with some relief that they know nothing about rand. not in the slightest. and he wouldn't have to mention again. he doesn't think they'll ask him about the dragon again. and why should they? they were claiming dragons were ancient dead things. and that was that. so he sits there, waiting for the explanation. tossing around a million versions of his own story that he could give. he had been far too opened earlier, hadn't he? and he knew that he couldn't spare anymore details.

[spellbook-gayboy]

prompt 22? 🎄

22.

"Oh, I'm sure it can't be that... bad...?" Rex trailed off, looking off as he seemed to notice something. "Okay, I'm gonna take an educated guess and say that plume of really bad-smelling smoke has something to do with it."

"Hmm?" Mark said, before looking back at the kitchen stove, and the smoke rising from it. "Oh shit!" he swore, immediately floating over to the burning stove and taking a small towel to hit the fire with. “Don’t worry about it, It’ll be out soon!”

“Honey...” Rex called. 

“Don’t worry, I got it!”

“Honey.” He was next to the stove now.

“I said I got it!”

“Honey!”

“What?!”

Rex reached down to the dials on the stove and gave one of them a quick turn. Almost immediately, the large flames in the pan began to die down, leaving a charred hunk of chicken to smoulder disappointingly, like even it was unhappy with Mark’s performance. 

“...Oh.” Mark said quietly. Then he groaned, his head falling into his hands. “Huuuuhh, I wanted to do something nice! Why can I still not cook?!”

Rex was quick to comfort him, peppering kisses along his neck as he hugged his boyfriend from behind. “I wouldn’t worry, honey. I’ll order us some good takeout while you try on some of the pyjamas I bought earlier.”

“Pyjamas?” 

“Pyjamas, baby. Shot for some comic-booky ones, too. Séance Dog, I think?” 

[kingofthewilderwest]

Aw yeah. I again am happy the story starts with Commander Hawkins. The respectable commander of **Vehicle Force** Voltron!! We chose to begin with a Vehicle Force character! (one of my favorite VF chars) He's the perfect choice. His character has always been of leading Voltron crew through the thick of it. By DD establishing him as Garrison leadership assembling the Lion Force team, we select one of the most heroic officer members in early Voltrondom, and provide a link between Lion Force and Vehicle Force which doesn't get seen as often (hmhmhm almost like they were originally two separate anime.....).

For people only familiar with VLD, there could be surprising character differences, but the differences make sense when you remember their common origin point is DotU. DD lifted concepts from DotU like VLD did, just differently. VLD introduced inexperienced versions of the cast and had them grow towards the veterans we know in DotU. But because VLD took a life of its own (as a good story does), the characters don't necessarily converge to their DotU counterparts. Meanwhile, DD looked at the DotU characters and asked, "What can we add that emphasizes or builds upon those traits, appealing to a realistic side for adult readers?" Ergo VLD gives us a plucky, loud-mouthed, insecure, still-learning-the-ropes Lance who barely squeaked into fighter class piloting, and only as a member of Voltron becomes the powerful pilot we know; DD gives us a cocky daredevil felon who's recruited for Voltron because he's already a notorious ace pilot. VLD!Keith reluctantly learns how to lead; DD gives us a man with the background and temperament to already be a fit leader. DD characters tend to have a history that's hardbaked them more by the time we meet them.

But these versions fit them gloriously. DD also looks back on the OG Japanese animes and incorporates things. The character's original name was Akira Kogane; in DotU they called him Keith [no surname]; so DD decided, "Heck. Let's keep his Japanese heritage and name him Keith Akira Kogane." The Japanese origins of the story were also respected by giving Hunk [no real name or surname given] the name of his OG counterpart, Tsuyoshi Seidou. DD calls him Tsuyoshi "Hunk" Garrett (you catch the Garrett, VLD nerds? Lots of the surnames you know come out of DD). I've liked the international nature of DD (though they wimped out by having characters move to the USA in their youth); in my VLD headcanons, I've placed the characters rather internationally.

But anyway like. Check out this good character stuff:

Keith Akira Kogane: Half-Japanese, half-Chinese, born in Hong Kong, moved to the USA at three years old. Both parents died in an accident when he was twelve, and Keith moved in with an aunt and uncle [the loss of familial support as a kid is something VLD fans would nod at]. To cope with the loss, he cracked down learning martial arts. "Unsure of the future," he enlisted in the marines, and "soon came to love the perfect discipline and order the Corps offered him, and spent several years in the field as a field reconnaisance specialist, earning several commendations in the process" [a sentence DotU fans would nod vigorously along with for their conception of Keith, if a sentence VLD fans would scratch their head on]. But DD!Keith's been on autopilot since his fiance died in a plane accident (lots of accidents rip), "waiting for his life to take shape and make sense again."

Lance Charles McClain: A reckless risk-taker who grew up in a poor town in rural Nebraska. "Lance was a below-average student, not because he was mentally lacking, but because he found himself intensely bored by school; couple that with several narrowly-avoided brushes with the law, and Lance seemed primed to become the poster child for a delinquent youth. Then he won a radio contest, received a gift certificate for ten free flying lessons, and changed his life forever." [aside from having issues as a student, this is material VLD fans would've expected for Keith, whose delinquency sabotaged his performance until Shiro stepped in to get him to Garrison flight lessons -- but again, getting to know your various Lances, this is fantastic for him.]

Tsuyoshi "Hunk" Garrett: Born in Tokyo to a Japanese mother and American father, moved to Tennessee at thirteen, the smallest of the five Garrett boys and got nicknamed "Hunk" ironically. While Hunk's brothers went after athletic feats, Hunk became adept at all things mechanical. [a DD characterization VLDers would again have some synergy with] "More embarrassed by his size than emboldened by it, Hunk withdrew from the social scene." I love how Hunk has a Masters degree in engineering before enlisting in the army. Introverted academic achiever, yeet!

Darrell Stoker: While the rest of the crew is in their mid to late twenties, Darrell is sixteen, 5' 2", and barely over 100 lbs. He was orphaned as an infant in Denver, CO [I am bringing up Denver, CO because my pride as a Coloradoan flares up PIDGE IS FROM COLORADO YAAAAAAEEEEAAA REPRESEEEENT] Pidge is put into college at a young age, making him feel out-of-place. [coughs in direction of VLDers] And again, not in DotU, though elsewhere, but DD provides us a portrayal of Pidge as the ultimate tech genius. [hacks up a storm in the direction of VLDers]

Sven Holgersson: Swedish parents, grew up around Reykjavik, became a badass military operative, has killed people who were supposed to be allies before. Doesn't play well with others. "How's that temperament space dad?" people may ask. Aligns more with his character's earlier versions, and the antisocialness plays well into the story they tell. [eyebrow wiggles] This is a good Sven iteration.

Aaaaaand I am writing more than I am reading. I should be READING. AHHHHHH.

So it was about a 40% chance I was going return to my Voltron craze with VLD, a 45% chance with the Devil's Due comics, and a [squints for basic math] 15% chance it would be something else. I was off rambling to friends this week about Beast King Golion, Armored Fleet Dairugger XV, Defender of the Universe, and Voltron Force, so it was anyone's game. But Devil's Due has won out, so prepare for a liveblog as I reread one of my favorite iterations of Voltron.

I will liveblog by replying to this post for starters. Blacklist #voltron liveblog if you want to flee from any rambling, though it probably won't be excessive. If it is excessive, sorry not sorry, this is where fun times are made.

[tma-entity-song-poll]

Battle of the Fear Bands!

B4R1: The Extinction

We Will All Go Together When We Go:

“Its literally about how we will all die if a nuclear bomb got dropped on us but cheerfully:)”

40,000 In Gehenna:

“Long story short, in a gambit, 40,000 settlers are left without supply on a supposedly uninhabited planet, it is in fact inhabited, some go off and become weirds, living with the native inhabitants, cloned humans, treated not as such originally, become the majority on the world, forming two warring nations.”

Lyrics below the line!

We Will All Go Together When We Go:

When you attend a funeral It is sad to think that sooner or l- -ater those you love will do the same for you And you may have thought it tragic (Not to mention other adjec- -tives) to think of all the weeping they will do But don't you worry

No more ashes, no more sackcloth And an armband made of black cloth Will some day nevermore adorn a sleeve For if the bomb that drops on you Gets your friends and neighbors too There'll be nobody left behind to grieve

And we will all go together when we go What a comforting fact that is to know Universal bereavement - An inspiring achievement! Yes, we all will go together when we go

We will all go together when we go All suffused with an incandescent glow No one will have the endurance To collect on his insurance Lloyd's of London will be loaded when they go

Oh, we will all fry together when we fry We'll be French-fried potatoes by-and-by There will be no more misery When the world is our rotisserie Yes, we all will fry together when we fry

Down by the old maelstrom There'll be a storm before the calm

And we will all bake together when we bake There'll be nobody present at the wake With complete participation In that grand incineration Nearly three billion hunks of well-done steak

Oh, we will all char together when we char And let there be no moaning of the bar Just sing out a Te Deum When you see that ICBM And the party will be come-as-you-are

Oh, we will all burn together when we burn There'll be no need to stand and wait your turn When it's time for the fallout And Saint Peter calls us all out We'll just drop our agendas and adjourn You will all go directly to your respective Valhallas Go directly, do not pass 'GO', do not collect two hundred dollars

And we will all go together when we go Every Hottentot and every Eskimo When the air becomes uraneous We will all go simultaneous Yes, we all will go together When we all go together Yes, we all will go together when we go

40,000 In Gehenna:

Forty thousand in Gehenna, Colonists—so they were told Forty thousand in Gehenna, Left amid the rain and cold Union knows another tale They were meant to die and fail To distract the new Alliance In Gehenna they were sold

Forty thousand in Gehenna, Men and azi, born and not, Forty thousand in Gehenna, Victims of a heartless plot Chose the types that should have died On their own or suicide Weak of body, too dependent, In Gehenna left to rot!

Chorus: Guess again, you mathematicians! Your equation's incomplete Forces that you did not count on That will cause your plan's defeat Man's more like to change than die Though your stats won't tell you why And something lives within Gehenna That your planners did not meet…

Something patient plots a pattern As you plot a game of chess Thinks in ways that would confound you Underneath the wilderness You who wear the form of man Meet your equal, Caliban, As forty thousand in Gehenna With a pattern you can't guess

(Chorus)

Forty thousand in Gehenna, Colonists—so they were told Forty thousand in Gehenna, Left amid the rain and cold Union knows another tale They were meant to die and fail To distract the new Alliance In Gehenna they were sold

[hunterontheedge]

0.4% catch rate and totally not worth it!

(that other char is my partners, we sat on call while I raged at this hunk of metal)

[spidermilkshake]

The Moloch, Fiends Plaguing Ancardia

The crevice burst open, the huge, shrouded form responsible for the bursting neither acknowledging nor caring about the flaming, half-solid hunks of lava rock streaming out and colliding with the various lesser demons and swarming blister-imps. Neji reloaded and ignored them as well. Disturbingly-proportioned figures scrabbled to the outer verges of the wider part of the passage and howled with laughter and triumph despite quite a few of them either missing limbs or treading on charred, further-twisted carcasses to clear the way for the juggernaut. Twidgie hid behind the solid line of Jalmag and his two hulking hounds; there was no question in the gnome's mind it was time to hide when the wolfish dogs and the sleek, stoic troll all raised their hackles to the same thing.

The troll hefted his shield and spiked mace higher, glancing towards the dark elf in a brief glitter of calculation. "What is tha big one?"

Neji shivered, feeling the gravity of the old onyx amulet under his cuirass shift in the presence of it. The certain knowledge that Jalmag wanted flooded to his mind from the onyx, and the voice of it seemed to, much like the big mutts who followed the little gnome everywhere, snarl in a dire warning.

The mass stepped through the large, molten-edged doorway it had created. The heft and build much like the troll warrior, it looked to be clad in an iridescent, blackish armor, but while this demon indeed was a lot more evenly-distributed as far as number and placement of limbs went, no two of the shifting, seething plates were matching. Some of them seemed to elongate, or shorten, or sharpen, the longer Neji stared at them. It was thick, high, broad, and had only as many armor-plated digits as needed for rending those things which dwelled in the world. But at the center, protruding from the armor hint of a stubby neck, was the darkness. Inky and old and stale, the kind of darkness that didn't decay the dead, or call for mourning, or dance in delight of the mischievous, the ever-curious, or the hedonistic. This kind of darkness did not want to leave room for the light, and resisted the shapes of the shadows it was meant to lie in. This darkness was the Corruption, the Chaos of Andor Drakon, and the only thing it wanted was senseless blood-letting and violence. It craved murder. It was sadism itself, in its worst possible form. The darkness spilled out to form the thing's "face", from which the dirty lights of gleaming eyes locked themselves onto the draulf, sensing their artifact.

"Moloch," Neji pronounced, and raised the blessed crossbow.

-------

Moloch in the Ancardian homebrew, as depicted by a bit of old Chaos Crisis-based writing! The named characters can all be found in the ADOM game in the form of old statues dedicated to them.

[xamassed]

good food. ( inspired by @demonsofdevildom )

She had almost forgotten about it. After many hours spent slogging through mathematics, seductive speechcraft, illusions, potions and the handful of other classes she barely paid attention to, it was understandable that a small memory from early in the morning would fade into obscurity somewhere in the back of her already clouded mind.

Sadly, once lunchtime rolled in, the famished demon couldn’t ignore the small, plastic container sitting at the bottom of her bag. Spotting it wedged between her books, her dread swelled to uncomfortable proportions.

❝I forgot you were in there. . .❞

She pulled the container out and lifted it high, eyes peering through the clear portion. There, stuck to the bottom and sweating, was a large piece of charred meat. Deer, she recalled. The hunt from that weekend had been a fruitful one, and she had been glad for it. No jobs and no menial chores to breeze through meant no grimm, and no grimm meant no cafeteria lunches — at least for a little while. She didn’t mind. If she wanted to keep her senses keen and sharp, she needed to wander the wilds of the Devildom and hunt the way she had when she was nothing more than a simple bear. Only difference now was that her beastly form as faster, stronger and ten times more fun to be in.

No amount of hunting and the thrill of remembering could make what she had cooked up that morning taste any better, unfortunately.

❝Why am I so bad at cooking? It’s not that hard.❞ Anita peeled the lid off the container and was immediately hit with the tongue-drying scent of ash. Her nose wrinkled at the stench, but she knew that it was all she had to eat between classes. Either she gnashed and tore her way through the leathery piece of meat to satisfy her hunger, or she went without and risked becoming grumpy for the rest of the day.

The former option was best, she knew this. 

As she was about to yank a portion off with her teeth, however, she realized with a start that she wasn’t alone. Sitting across from her, perched on a similar-looking stone bench, was a vaguely familiar figure. Hair the shade of sand after the waves rolled past, eyes bright and blue despite sitting in a stony expression, and clothes so elegant and white they made her feel soiled just by glimpsing them. His name eluded her, but she recalled two important facts: he was new, and he was an angel.

Sitting with someone in the courtyard wasn’t an issue, and neither was it the first time. She could have gone on to eat her sad excuse for a lunch and ignored him, except he seemed strangely intent on watching her. It was unnerving, having a glare as steely as his trained on her.

❝You good, dude?❞

He didn’t answer, but his gaze remained firm. It made her uneasy, but that unease began to creep into irritation. Any longer, and it was sure to morph into unreasonable rage. ❝Seriously, what’s your deal?❞

❝What is that?❞ He finally spoke, tone flat as he pointed towards the container in her lap.

❝Oh.❞ She sucked in a calming breath, willed herself not to fly into a rage over something as silly as staring, and lifted the hunk of meat with her fork. ❝Venison. No, wait. It used to be venison.❞

❝Deer meat?❞

❝Mhmm. Dunno what I’d call it now ‘cause I messed up cooking it this morning.❞ She shrugged, as if that fact didn’t disappoint her. Somewhere, deep down, it did.

❝It looks fine to me.❞

Anita gaped, earthen eyes flicking between the angel and the meat that looked more like the sole of a shoe. ❝You’re kidding me.❞

❝I don’t kid.❞ He gathered up his own mess and made a solid beeline for her. With a spot open on the bench, he welcomed himself into her space. Old habits and preconceptions made her shudder at the proximity. He was a pure and enlightened being, and the thought of being near one always made her chest fill with small, disgusting bubbles — not because she disliked angels, but because she didn’t want to sully them.

❝What did you come over here for?❞ There was no room to inch away, so she settled for leaning in the opposite direction.

❝Can I try it?❞ He made the request so clearly and concisely that it prompted a bark of laughter from the onikuma.

❝No! Look at it, it’ll take your puny little jaw ten years to chew through this!❞

❝I doubt that.❞ He paused, observed the hunk of meat in silence, then tried again. ❝Please.❞

❝You’re serious?❞ Anita knew she was already on thin ice with her awful grades, fluctuating attendance and spotty behavioral record. The last thing she needed was a murder of an angel on her hands. ❝You might get sick.❞

❝Do you assume all angels have weak constitutions?❞ He arched one, thick brow and held his hand out. Anita felt her own stomach pinch, partially out of guilt and mostly out of apprehension. This felt like a horribly moronic idea, but he seemed certain that her awful cooking wouldn’t mean his demise.

❝Fine. Here.❞ She held the fork out, and he took it without hesitation. The next second, his blunt teeth sank into the tough meat with little resistance. He yanked, the portion tearing away effortlessly. Flecks of blackened skin and muscle fell away, staining his lower lip as he chewed, chewed, chewed.

He didn’t gag, he didn’t spit the bite out. He swallowed it, let out a considerate hum, then tore another chunk away.

Anita watched with her jaw slack, her horror slowly shifting to confusion, to concern.

❝How are you eating that?❞

❝It’s good. I like it.❞ An easily given answer for an easy question. ❝I don’t know why you were hesitating to eat it.❞

❝I burned it,❞ breathed the demon in awe, ❝and I’m pretty sure I added too many spices. Are you already sick? Did you get dropped on your head a lot, or what?❞

The angel blinked and slowly shook his head. ❝No, not that I remember.❞

Anita snorted and passed her now empty container over, giving him something to catch the loose pieces of meat in as he feasted. ❝Alright, whatever. I’m out a lunch, but I guess if someone liked it, that’s fine.❞

❝Was this all you had?❞ A flicker of guilt melted away the stoicism in his eyes.

❝Don’t worry about it. I have more at home.❞ She waved away the sudden wash of concern, but her reassurance did nothing to ease his guilt.

❝If I’d known——❞

❝Seriously, you’re fine. I know for a fact that it’s bad, but you said something nice about it, so it’s worth it. Relax.❞

The angel frowned deeply for a moment, thoughts taking him elsewhere before he let out a grunt and chowed down again. Around a smaller mouthful, he grumbled. ❝Come to Purgatory Hall after school. You can have dinner with us, as thanks for letting me eat this.❞

❝I don’t think I’m allowed there.❞ She wasn’t a stickler for the rules, obviously, but those bone-deep thoughts that made her assume she was dirty kept her from going anywhere near the dormitory where she knew the angels lived.

❝I’ll ask Simeon and Solomon. I’m sure they’ll agree that it’s only right I offer you something in return.❞ Another flicker of vibrant glee touched at the crystal blue of his eyes. ❝You can try Solomon’s cooking!❞

❝Yeah? Is he good?❞

❝He’s amazing. Simeon and Luke are good too, but there’s something about Solomon’s cooking that I can’t quite get enough of.❞ His excitement was contagious, even if it only lasted for a singular, fleeting moment. ❝You’ll come?❞

❝I feel like I’m gonna look like a total ass if I don’t, so — yeah. Sure.❞ Free food was free food, and she wasn’t all that inclined to reject the offer now that he insisted. ❝After school?❞

❝I might be a little late getting there myself, but I’ll let them know you’re coming. If they don’t get my messages, tell them Raphael sent you.❞ He licked his lips clean, closed the fork inside the container, then popped the lid back on. It was returned to Anita’s hand, her stomach growling at the reminder that she had now skipped lunch. ❝Thank you.❞

❝Raphael? Anita. Uh, yeah. No problem. Still think you’re a little weird, but at least it didn’t go to waste.❞ She wouldn’t mention then, or even years from now, that he had brightened her mood. Hunger pains would have driven her to grouchiness, but the shamelessness with which he ate her horrid cooking and his sincerity had made up for it.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a bad idea to spend a little more time around angels.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Sixteen)

Summary: Din and (Y/N) try and process the loss of Grogu after teaming up with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I promised you angst so here it is! This chapter’s a little shorter than usual, but I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Sixteen The Loss (Previous Chapter)

Before he met Grogu and (Y/N), Din had learned not to grow attachments to people or places; the life of a bounty hunter was too unpredictable, too dangerous, to allow for such luxuries and being a Mandalorian only added to that danger. But the one thing he allowed himself to cherish was the Razor Crest, his faithful ship that had never once let him down. Almost every piece of it had been repaired or replaced and he couldn’t deny that it looked like a hunk of junk at first glance, but it had also been his home and the one place where he didn’t have to hide behind his Creed. And now it’s gone along with the kid, Din thought to himself, blinking back tears as he walked through the smoking crater and the remains of his ship.

(Y/N) was standing at the edge of the crater beside Fennec and Boba, his jetpack resting under her arm while her hand pressed against the blaster wound on her side. He hadn’t had the heart to go back and retrieve his jetpack, knowing that he could’ve saved Grogu from the droids if only he’d been wearing it, so (Y/N) had gone and gotten it herself. The pain written across her face made Din look down at the charred remains of the ship, and a small part of him hoped that something – anything – of hers had survived the blast. After a moment of looking around, he caught sight of a piece of a familiar storage container and his heart sank even further; all of the captain’s belongings, the things that had meant so much to her that she’d hired a fearsome Mandalorian to help get them back from a crime syndicate, were all gone.

“Ni ceta, alor’ad,” He whispered, his eyes continuing to scan the piles of ash. A rounded metal sphere sticking out from one pile caught his attention and when he picked it up, he realized with a jolt that it was the same metal sphere that the child loved playing with from the moment he first boarded the ship. His gloved fingers tightened around the sphere for a moment before he tucked it away in the pouch at his waist.

“Din,” The captain’s voice softly called out behind him; he turned around to see her standing before him with the beskar spear they’d received from Ahsoka Tano in her hand. “I think this is the only weapon that survived.”

His eyes were drawn to the singed and bloody clothing on her side and without hesitation, he quickly took the jetpack and fastened it to his back before taking the spear from her. “We should get that wound looked at, alor’ad.”

“It looks worse than it is; I’ll be okay once I put a bacta patch on it.” (Y/N)’s gaze was lowered, and he realized that she was looking at what little was left of her storage container. “I think they both wanna talk to us…”

Din nodded and the two of them walked side-by-side out of the crater, his free hand moving to rest on the small of her back. They made their way to where the pair stood and he held out the spear for them to see. “This is all that survived.”

“Beskar,” Boba remarked, glancing between Din and (Y/N) before tapping on his vambrace. “I want you both to take a look at something.” A golden hologram flickered to life and it took Din a moment to recognize the Mando’a letters. “My chain code had been encoded in this armor for twenty-five years.” He brought his other hand up and pointed to a section of the hologram. “You see, this is me, Boba Fett and this is my father, Jango Fett.”

As he read the letters, Din’s brow rose in surprise. “Your father was a foundling.”

“Yes. He even fought in the Mandalorian Civil Wars.”

Boba turned off the hologram and Din let out a sigh. “Then that armor belongs to you.”

The man, who (Y/N) had earlier stated was an infamous bounty hunter, nodded once. “I appreciate its return.”

“Then our deal is complete.”

“…Not quite.”

(Y/N) shifted beside Din. “How so?”

“We agreed in exchange for the return of my armor,” Boba gestured towards himself and Fennec as he addressed Din’s partner. “That we will ensure the safety of the child, Captain.”

Din swallowed the lump in his throat. “The child’s gone.”

“Until he is returned to you both safely, we are in your debt.” Boba’s expression was resolute and beside him, Fennec nodded in agreement. “We should head to my ship; our medkit isn’t fully stocked, but we have enough supplies to treat that blaster wound. Then, we can plan our next move.”

With nods of thanks, Din and (Y/N) followed Boba and Fennec into his ship, the Slave I; the bounty hunter disappeared into the cockpit while Fennec retrieved their medkit and helped (Y/N) sit down on a bench near the back. The sharpshooter moved to sit at the opposite end of the ship, giving the two of them some privacy as the ship began its takeoff. After helping the captain take off her coat and removing his gloves, Din knelt on the floor of the ship and carefully rolled up the hem of her shirt, furrowing his brow in concern at what he saw. “You’re right, it looks worse than it probably is but I still need to clean it before putting any bacta on.”

(Y/N) nodded but remained silent, staring down at the floor while Din focused on his work; he was as gentle as he could be, far more gentle than he ever was with his own wounds, and in no time the bacta patch was secured over her wound. Just as he was preparing to stand, the captain grabbed his hand to stop him. “Din?” Her voice was unusually timid and when he looked up at her, he was shocked to see that her eyes were filled with unshed tears. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to protect him, I-I should’ve stayed and-”

“Alor’ad, no, it wasn’t your fault.” Din interrupted, bringing his free hand up to cradle the side of her face. “You did everything right, and if anyone’s to be blamed it’s me.” There was an argumentative look on her face at his words but he shook his head before she could say anything. “I took off my jetpack, (Y/N), I left the kid defenseless and I didn’t stop…I didn’t stop those droids from taking him.”

“They would’ve hurt you, Din, or worse.”

His fingers tightened around her hand. “This is the Way.”

“Please don’t say that, Din,” She practically begged as she began shaking her head. “It’s bad enough that Grogu’s gone, I-I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you both…!”

Din quickly moved to sit beside (Y/N), mindful of her blaster wound as he eased her onto his lap and held her close. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, ner cyar’ika alor’ad.” His own eyes welled with tears as he silently thanked the Maker that his partner hadn’t been taken from him too. If that had happened, if the Empire had succeeded in taking everything from him again, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the pain; as he took a shuddering breath, he brought one hand up and began stroking her hair while he let her continue squeezing the other. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The captain looked directly into the visor of his helmet while her fingers curled tight around his. “And I’m not going anywhere either, Din. I promise.” Resting her free hand against the side of his helmet, she coaxed his head down before touching her forehead with hers. Din blinked in surprise at her action; he’d never told her about Keldabe kisses and their importance in Mandalorian culture, but it seemed that she somehow understood his impulsive gesture after her farewell song back on Corvus. I don’t know what I’ve done in my life to deserve someone like her, he thought to himself, his eyes squeezing shut as his tears rolled down his cheeks.

As (Y/N)’s eyelids began growing heavy, Din carefully eased her off of his lap and bundled his cowl into a makeshift pillow before guiding her to lie down. He knelt before her and gently wiped away her stray tears, his heart warming as she nuzzled into the fabric of his cowl and quickly fell asleep. Pushing himself off the ground, Din made his way over to where Fennec was seated; she was cleaning her blaster rifle but he got the feeling that the sharpshooter had been watching the two of them.

“Can I speak to you and Fett?”

Fennec nodded, reaching a hand towards the control panel beside her and flipping a switch. “Mando’s ready to talk.”

There was a noise from above and moments later, Boba was making his way down from the cockpit. After moving to stand beside Fennec, the bounty hunter’s eyes flicked over to where (Y/N) was sleeping. “How’s your partner?”

“Better; her blaster wound wasn’t deep but she’s resting now. If we’re gonna track down Moff Gideon then we’ll need some ex-Imperial help, so we’ll need to chart our course for Nevarro.”

“Nevarro?” Fennec raised a skeptical brow. “Rumor has it that the planet’s completely free of Imperial control, all thanks to their brand-new marshal. Are you sure that’s where you think we should start?”

“I have a friend there that can help us find an ex-Imperial I once knew,” Din sighed a little as he spoke. “At least, I hope she can…”

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“Cara Dune, Marshal of the New Republic.” Din examined the metal signet with a small smile before tossing it back to its owner. “I heard rumors that you might’ve gone legit.”

Cara smirked and set her marshal signet down on her desk. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Beside Din, (Y/N) cleared her throat and shifted her weight, stifling a wince of pain as she pressed a hand to her wounded side; he’d tried convincing the captain to stay on the Slave I with Boba and Fennec but she insisted on accompanying him. “We need your help, Cara.”

“Name it.”

Din gestured towards the machine sitting on her desk. “We need you to locate someone in the prison registry.”

“Let’s see what I can do.” The marshal sat up, sliding her ankles off the edge of her desk and reaching toward the registry’s dials.

“Ex-Imperial sharpshooter, last name Mayfeld. Apprehended near the Dilesrti system on a derelict prison ship.” As he spoke, he glanced over at (Y/N) beside him and met her critical gaze; after their misadventure with the New Republic Rangers on Maldo Kreis, he’d told her about his brief dealings with Ran and his crew and explained why he’d been wanted by the New Republic. Seems like I’ll never hear the end of that job, Din thought in annoyance, but if working with Mayfeld helps us get the kid back then…

“Migs Mayfeld.” Cara’s brow rose as she began reading off the registry. “Serving fifty years in the Karthon Chop Fields for springing a prisoner himself. Accessory to the death of a New Republic officer. Huh.” She looked up from the registry, her eyes narrowing as she looked between the two of them. “Sounds like a real piece of work. What do you two want with him?”

Din closed his eyes, the memory of Grogu being taken by droids and his ship being destroyed filling his mind as he answered her. “We need to spring him to help us locate Moff Gideon’s light cruiser.”

His eyes opened in time to see her lean back in her seat and frown. “You know how I feel about the Empire, but these stripes mean there are rules I need to follow.”

“Cara…” (Y/N) stepped forward and took hold of one of Din’s hands, biting her lip before speaking the words that he didn’t have the strength to. “They took the little guy.”

The marshal’s expression hardened, and Din knew that they were one step closer to getting Grogu back and ending Moff Gideon once and for all.

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A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Ni ceta, alor’ad-Sorry, captain Alor'ad-Captain Ner cyar’ika alor’ad-My darling captain

Chapter Seventeen

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty​ @sinon36​ @seninjakitey​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ @mostclevermiss @momc95​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @zukoyonce​ @itsnottilly​

[lovemykids1234]

In time, everything burns.

Lights will melt out of their shells, because of the energy that radiates from it. The buildings we once loved will wisp away like ash and reassemble into a glorious waterfall of flame and anarchy. Anarchists laugh and say, "What a world we live in!" Those who know better cry and comfort their families before they get added to the rancor of the charred. The rich try their best to build tall piers and mansions beforehand, knowing full well that the answer to this purge of the plague called existence would end their lives. They get struck by the floods soon after, and the fire reclaims their collapsed architecture as well as their souls.

A firefighter I knew, Riggam Worth, told me that he was going to play one last game of tennis with his granddaughter, Venice. I saw his body the day after the floods, curled up in a ball in the middle of an alleyway near Coalbridge, New York, in between the post office and the bank. Venice was nestled with her relatives, at the bottom of a well, it was almost tranquil until I noticed the restraints.

My father, Walton Whitticuck, was considered a valiant man by most of his peers, he ventured day by day around the country to pursue the "Values of the people" and sponsor various charity events under our family name, (He was a former member of congress). Every Thursday until I turned ten, he would always take me to an Ice cream parlor near the great lakes and give the cashier $10 cash for a $6 sundae. He wanted to make sure the low prices were stabilized by the tip he made, so that other people would have the same price. I never understood what he meant and thought that a few extra dollars weren't going to change the situation, so I would make fun of him for it. He didn't mind.

That same Ice cream parlor was my second job after I graduated 10th grade. It was a quaint area: the forest was relaxing, and most of the tourists congregated near Chicago. My coworker was a short classmate of mine named Kyle, and we regularly bonded over the books we read. Two months after I got the job, we were visited by an old woman, who's license plate read Tennessee BLT_417 on it. She sat a table for ten minutes, and Kyle assumed that she was on ketamine because of a video he saw on Reddit. She was slumped over the table but was kept from touching it by her thin arms. Her face was in a position of deep thought, or ketamine-ness, I didn't use reddit that much. I was in the middle of drinking a glass of water when she came and handed use a check for more money than I had ever made during that job, or all of my pre-30's jobs combined. the check was the color of dandelion stems, and there were more names on it than in the math class I was in. "This is for th-the owner of the Pink friends Ice cream parlor." She stuttered out, before stumbling into her car and driving towards the highway.

The instance gave me a sense of reality in the world, while I was taking the check to my boss. The values of community, the idea that anyone can help bring change to the world as they saw fit, the wonders of full team cooperation. I thought back to my father's previous instances of giving this old hunk some cash, that must have been to help me realize this value, and better the world around me. My father's name was not on the check, nor was any of the people he had mentioned in any of his stories, introduced me to in his sponsors, or community leaders that he had told me to look up to. I looked up the name of the only person I could remember on that check and came up with a beggar near Chemsburg who had spent his last bit of money on his sister's prison bail. I couldn't understand how these people were the only ones who could spare more than the occasional common change for a better future, while anyone who could spend more than that chose to put their money into something else. The charities that my father sponsored had turned into dust one by one, each being poured out by a lack of direction or even a lack of any supporters besides the shmuck who put it up on the internet. I could hear the ones on the radio speaking about their inevitable collapse, like a stock market for the pessimistic and cynical. My father could never, even during his final moments, tell me why he spent his money the way he did, but his coworkers were eager to disclose the amount of funds the "Honorable people" donated to him while I was in middle school. I felt lost in the world, wondering who I was, like a puppet who just got his house uprooted and his user claimed by the sickness of death. I would spend hours laying in my dorm, wondering if my life could really be worth a damn, if this is my legacy. Could I really be a community man, when the definition of a community man has nothing to do with the community? I never had time to answer that, as my studies kept me from pondering the subject for long enough.

Kyle was in the same situation as Venice, believe it or not. The man who immediately accused a senior citizen of being on ketamine had gotten chained up inside a well. It really seemed more surprising on paper, but the affect it had on me when I found it was lifechanging, in a way similar to finding a dead rat in your mac and cheese after eating half the package. The well was near Takensbound, Washington, and I had found him whilst looking for a new bedroom couch. I still have his pen in my pocket, the one he held onto in his final moments. You'd think the well-dwellers would be charred, but the water left in the pit kept the bodies in near perfect condition even after the floods. The pen, however, was burnt like a candle's wick, with a small speckle of blue ink spilling out the top. Parchments are quite common in the new world, so I always use the pens whenever I feel like writing something down, usually a profanity-laden fanfiction about my dead family members.

My Father also died in a comedic situation: He died of tetanus, after a homeless man struck his ass with a urinal trough while he was haphazardly trying to climb his mountainous pier. My mother cried at his grave, knowing full well that this man had given money to a corrupt charity, how horrible. His friends had all kicked the bucket on their own terms shortly before the floods, like most of the rich when the saw the water go up to their almost unexaggeratedly massive piers. The day before he died, I had visited a church in Ruvenbourg. The priest was a basking man, yet I could tell, along with the rest of the population considering the silent choir, that his words were only meant to encourage a solution to the threat I came there to forget about. I searched for his body just to see what happened to it, it seemed to have washed away. The church closed less than a week later; the last remnants enflamed.

I look upon the rest of the town of my choosing today, it is barren due to the apocalypse. My efforts to make it anew have done nothing but make the town look disturbing, and my attempts to remedy the scattered corpses have led to the destruction of the sewer system. have only found one decoration for my mantelpiece in this state: a picture of a family of five that I shoved away last week, standing in front of a gas station shaped like a dinosaur. I repurposed a restaurant to look like a fun forest adventure before writing this. It reminded me of my middle school trip to a rollercoaster theme park. My attempts at recording this moment into history have been in vain, and the efforts I have made to decorate my home have only caused me to stop remembering my own daughter's face. All I have to ask for anyone who reads this is a single simple question: Why can't I let myself cry?