#he would rather sit and suffer than put a little effort into being an independent person.

[wolfertinger]

Can you explain the misuse of funds a bit more? I thought he's using the money to escape from his abusive household but if what you said is true then god that's scumbag behavior

this is word of mouth so it should be taken with a mine of salt.

"

anon for safety, cannot provide ss sadly but salem used his kofi money to buy a dildo. plus hes asking about fursuit shit while apparently needing all the money to escape home or whatever. fucking liar

"

i can comment to remembering in the past when puppy would e beg, such as claiming their mother would throw them out when they reached 18 only for them to become 18 and nothing happened. several times i remember them begging for money to eat. then posting massive amounts of mcdonalds (this was the context around the infamous pups gotta eat post. just to give you an idea of the amount of food bought). salem has never had to truly mature so it is not at all a stretch to say he has no money management skills.

[blu-joons]

When You Have To Wear A Sling ~ BTS Reaction

Jin: 

Your head finally nodded as Jin picked out a sixth jumper from your wardrobe until he found the right one. “This one looks exactly the same as the first one I got.”

Your head shook as he walked across to you, “that one’s a bit baggier which makes it more comfortable around my sling, little things Jin, pay attention.”

“I didn’t realise so much effort went into getting you dressed,” he continued to tease, folding up the jumper so your hands could fit through the sleeves.

“Just place my arm in,” you instructed, refusing to listen to his jokes, watching on as he tried to move your jumper around your bended arm, careful not to catch you or prod you.

Once it was done, he smiled across at you proudly. “Well, that’s the hard bit out of the way. Now we’ve just got go get it over your head.”

“Just lift it up high so I don’t have to move,” you asked of him, feeling the material of the jumper roll up your back as Jin tugged it, placing it over your head.

“Beautiful, I picked a good jumper there.”

Yoongi: 

The sound of your sniffles caught Yoongi’s attention as soon as he walked into your bedroom, taking a seat beside you. “Why are you crying? Does it hurt?”

Your head shook, resting against his shoulder carefully. “I’m fed up with not being able to do anything, I feel like I’ve lost all of my independence right now.”

“I know it’s hard,” he sympathised, resting against you, “but you’ve been coping so well, and the doctor has been telling you how well you’ve been recovering.”

“But I could still have weeks of this,” you groaned, lifting your arm up a little bit. “It’s not fair on you either to have to constantly look after me, I should be able to do something.”

His heart sunk, not realising before how hard you were coping with it all. “Let’s just continue to take it day by day and you’ll be back to yourself soon.”

“I just want to get better,” you frustratedly mumbled against him, “if I had just been more careful then none of this would have ever happened to me Yoongi.”

“There’s no point worrying about the past now.”

Hoseok: 

The moment Hobi placed the plate of food in front of you, you felt your heart sink. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, sensing straight away what your worry was as he did so.

You remained leaning back as Hobi appeared by your side after putting his plate down. “I hate that you have to do this,” you sighed as he picked up your knife and fork.

“It’s just one of those things,” he casually spoke, beginning to cut up your food to save you a job. “It took you far too long the other day to even cut a single thing.”

“A broken arm sucks,” you huffed, feeling useless as Hobi continued to cut up your food. “I feel like I’m a kid all over again having to have you cut up my food like I can’t do it.”

Hobi chuckled, handing the fork to you once he was done. “I’ve always said that you’re my baby, but I guess now you really are my baby.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” you sniggered, “I hate how much you’re enjoying all of this, it’s like you enjoy seeing me suffer right now.”

“I have to admit, I do enjoy looking after you.”

Namjoon: 

You let go of a sigh of relief once you were sat down in the car, only to see Namjoon tugging gently at the seatbelt. “We’ve only got half a job done so far.”

An exhausted groan came from you as Namjoon carefully lifted up your arm. “They should make seatbelts more practical for people like me.”

“Once you’ve got it on, you’re fine,” he reminded you, cautiously moving your arm through the belt, making sure that it rested at the right spot under your neck.

“It’s getting it on that’s the problem,” you sighed, feeling his frame lean across yours to plug you in. “I don’t even have the strength to pull a seatbelt anymore, it’s ridiculous.”

Namjoon sighed as he moved back from your side, “we knew it was going to be hard, but you’ll be strong again soon and be doing things for yourself.”

“Honestly, there are perks to not being able to do some things,” you teased, “I can’t remember the last time I did the washing up at the end of the night.”

“You’ll do it all the time when that sling comes off.”

Jimin: 

The pout on your face was one that Jimin just couldn’t ignore as you approached him with a hairbrush in your hand. “You’re lucky you’re as cute as you are sometimes.”

You smiled appreciatively at him, sitting in between his legs. “I just want to put it in a ponytail so it’s out of the way, but with one hand, it’s a problem.”

“I guess I can do it in that case,” he chuckled, scraping up your hair so it was nice and high before brushing through it. “How does your hair get so messy.”

“It’s not th…ouch!” You squealed as Jimin brushed through a tight knot. “At least try and be careful before you end up pulling all of the hair out of my scalp Chim.”

He scoffed loudly, “do you want to brush your hair yourself? I don’t mind letting you pick this back up if you’ve got a problem with how I do it.”

“No,” you giggled, “I promise I won’t complain anymore. It’s not fair, you know that I can’t do it, don’t you dare try and joke about all of this with me.”

“Just be quiet then and let me do my job.”

Taehyung: 

His eyes widened as he walked into the kitchen and saw you trying to make a sandwich. He couldn’t help but laugh at your struggle, “do you want me to give you a hand?”

You shot around at the sound of his voice, staring hopelessly at the mess that you’d made. “I thought I’d be able to do it, but it’s not exactly going to plan.”

“Step aside,” he chuckled, nudging your hip gently. “Why didn’t you shout me to come and help you? It would have taken half the time if I’d have done it.”

“I thought I would be able to do it,” you protested, “but every time I tried to use my elbow to keep the bread in place it just decided to fly across the counter instead.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your logic, “I thought you were supposed to rest when injured, but you’ve just become even more unusual than you usually are.”

“Are you mocking me for trying to do something for myself?” You joked, “I’ll remind you of this next time you injure yourself whilst on tour.”

“I’m not mocking, but this is ridiculously funny.”

Jungkook: 

A careful hand held onto your wrist as your free hand tried to lift your shirt over the top of your head. “Let me do it,” a familiar voice called out, dropping your hand.

You sighed loudly as you failed to get your shirt off from around your neck, “I would have been able to do it if you just gave me a little more time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with admitting that you need a little bit of help right now,” Jungkook quickly reassured you, “we all need help from time-to-time jagi.”

“I’ve needed help for weeks,” you frowned, “I just want to be able to do one thing for myself again rather than constantly admitting that I need a helping hand from someone else.”

He frowned across at you, “we both knew this wasn’t going to be a quick fix, but you’re doing all of the things you can do to get better.”

“I just wish it would hurry up,” you huffed, watching as Jungkook threw your shirt aside. “How much longer am I supposed to be like this Jungkook.”

“It won’t be for much longer now, we’ll keep working hard.”

---

Masterlist

[gregorygrim]

Dragon Prince Hot Takes

!!! Full Spoiler For “The Dragon Prince” Seasons 1-3!!!

So I finally got around to watching The Dragon Prince. Timely, I know, but better late than never i guess. I’m not completely caught up yet as I only got as far as S3E7 “Hearts of Cinder” in this first sitting. Considering I haven’t binged any series in almost two years, I think that’s pretty respectable. This means I won’t discuss the last few episodes here, except for a couple of things I was unfortunately spoiled for already, hence full spoilers.

These are basically my first thoughts and opinions after the binge and a good night’s sleep. It’s gonna be a lot so if you don’t care or don’t want spoilers…

TL;DR: 7½/10. Generally enjoyable, there are some aspects I’m not exactly fan of, but no dealbreakers

Firstly to everyone who told me that this was the new ATLA: you all need to rewatch Avatar stat! Like seriously. There are definitely parallels and given the cast and crew I think that’s what they were going for too (which is why I think it’s fair to compare the two), but still, no.

Secondly I love most of the worldbuilding and love that the series at least tries to give it to us in a bit of a non-linear fashion, even if it is kind of clumsy at times. I know some people are put off by expository dialogue and flashbacks, but I’m an epic fantasy nerd, I need that sweet, sweet lore to live as much as you mortals need food.

I like that there was clearly an effort made to integrate the worldbuilding in more subtle ways. For example you may initially find it kind of weird that all these different human ethnicities are existing perfectly integrated in what looks like a medieval society, until you remember from the opening monologue that the Human Kingdoms are the result of a massive diaspora following the human exodus from Xadia, so obviously people got all mixed up everywhere. It’s representation with an excellent in-world reason and that just brings me joy.

I also love the magic system(s) even though we haven’t really gone into that just yet. it really feels like there was a genuine effort made to create underlying mechanics for the magic rather than just making each spell a vaguely elemental themed ability. I really hope we’ll dive deeper into that in coming seasons.

I also like the little nods to other works of fantasy: Ezran’s ability to talk with animals is a reference to Tolkien’s world where some royal bloodlines had the ability to speak with animals, specifically birds; Primal Magic and its spells being cast with Ancient Draconic runes and words might be reminiscent of the Ancient Language from the Inheritance Cycle etc.

Thirdly the main cast is great. Callum, Ezran and Rayla are all interesting and relatable characters in their own right and as a group. I’m not going into each of them individually here, but while I think the series as a whole falls short of ATLA, as protagonist parties go I dare say this one is nearly on nearly on par with the gAang.¹

And yes, I love Bait, which I really did not expect following the first few episodes. I love his weird pug-toad-chameleon design, I love that he works like a flashbang whenever somebody says a quote from Scarface (I wish they hadn’t dropped that later on) and I love how done he is with everything and everyone at all times. I’ve only had him for 25 episodes, but if anything happened to him I would kill all of my followers and then myself.

On top of that, and speaking as someone who god knows is really not into shipping, I love Rayla and Callum’s relationship. It’s believable, it’s refreshing and it brings out the best in both characters without changing basically anything about them. Just two good friends who fell in love. A++, maybe even S tier.

Unfortunately though I can’t sing the same kind of praises about the villains. None of them are terrible (as in terribly written, most of them are pretty awful people), but with one exception they just don’t stand up to the protagonists in quality.

I could simply not take Viren seriously. Even now that is probably the single most powerful magic user in the world, he just has such strong Karen energy, every time he finishes a speech I am overcome with the urge to say “Sir, this is a Wendy’s” and it does not help the mood. I’m not even sure why. It might’ve been the voice because the guy who did Viren (Jason Simpson) also does a lot of kinda slimy characters in various anime dubs, it might be that over-the-top walking stick, idk.

What I’m saying is that as a primary antagonist he simply did not work for me. Which is doubly a shame because this kind of tarnishes the real “Big Bad” of this story by proxy. Aaravos, even as an invisible ghost, with his voice coming out of a caterpillar and next to no info on his backstory, has more style and gravity than all the human antagonists combined. It helps that he is by far the best designed character and Erik Dellums has the voice of a young god, but I’d argue even without that unfair advantage he has the potential to be a top tier villain. While he is stuck as Viren’s “little bug-pal” though he is just being dragged down.

(I’m aware that as of the final episode the caterpillar familiar is undergoing metamorphosis, probably to create a new body for Aaravos’ spirit to inhabit outside of the magic mirror, so I’m definitely hyped for more of him in the coming seasons.)

As for Soren and Claudia, I’ve got mixed feelings. This was one more aspect of the show that a lot of people compared to Avatar and while I see the parallels to Zuko & Azula, they are still very different, at least where Claudia is concerned. I’d also just like to mention that a lot of people told me that they thought the direction in which their storylines went were really surprising and I can’t disagree more. I predicted that Soren would defect to the protagonists on episode 5 right after Viren told him to kill the princes and I knew Claudia was going to stick with her father from episode 12 onward. My point is, it didn’t feel like some kind of plot twist, the way some people made it out to be, and which I don’t think was the intent.

I definitely got the sense that Soren was at least a Zuko-type character, though still not a Zuko clone, and as with Zuko I was consistently able to empathise and sympathise with him and his predicaments. I also appreciated that his dilemma is the result of his convictions and not him being kind of dense, which would’ve been all to easy and probably would’ve ruined his character for me. As it stands he is extremely milktoast, but perfectly functional for his purpose in the story and I can definitely see him evolving further and getting more interesting as we go on.

Claudia is where it gets complicated. Again, I can see the Azula parallels. But unlike that character, who is her father’s animal 110%, Claudia doesn’t strike me as a victim of Viren’s manipulation the way Soren undoubtably is. The way she talks about and uses Dark Magic, how she talks down to Soren and how even Viren finds it difficult to communicate with her, tells me as an audience member that she is an independent person. Which tells me that the cruelty and enthusiasm for causing harm she regularly displays is her own will. And that was before she straight up leads Callum on to manipulate him.

On the other hand I can absolutely relate to her devotion to her family, her big sister role (even though she is younger than Soren) and the way both the separation of her parents before the story and Soren’s injury in episode 16 must’ve affected her because of this. I know that, if my brother had become paralysed from the neck down and I knew a way to heal him, I would not have hesitated to kill that fawn either. Then again her relationship with her father is very different from parental relationships I am familiar with, so I can’t really say I see why she is so devoted to him, other than she promised her mother to stay with him years ago? ¯\(o_Ō)/¯

So basically Claudia falls into an emotional grey space for me. I can’t really tell how to feel about her either way and I’ll just have to see where she goes from here, which, while fine, isn’t necessarily great for an end of season cliffhanger imo.

Seeing as I’ve already talked about some of the show’s shortcomings, I think it’s time to dive into some of the what I would consider flaws.

Firstly this show needed at least 12 episode seasons. I have never made a secret out of my dislike for the modern short seasons and while I recognise that in the current climate in the industry giving everything full 25 episode seasons isn’t really doable, the pacing of this show, especially for the first season is just outright bad at times. It works as of the second season, but the first season alternately feels like it’s either rushing through or crawling along the whole way through.

The believability of Rayla’s and the princes’ relationship really suffers from this the most. It comes a bit out of nowhere on the boat ride and is then taken for granted way to quickly. Like Callum, seriously, this girl tried to kill you and your brother not even a day ago and you are currently cut off from all allies you have ever had until now. A little skepticism isn’t misplaced here. I also wold’ve liked if we’d just gotten a bit more of a sense of movement with the characters. I get that this is not the kind of show where we can just make an entire episode about the characters travelling and camping, intercut with plots centred around a more expansive supporting cast, but still I really would’ve preferred if Xadia didn’t feel quite so around the corner.

Another issue is with setup and payoff, which I think is partially a consequence of the pacing as well. A lot of smaller plot points are set up within the same episode as the payoff just wreak havoc on the narrative structure. A good example is the episode where they ride down the river in a boat and Bait tires to go into the water, but is saved by Ezran, who then explains the story behind Glowtoads and how they are pefect bait for large water predators. Then Bait falls into the water and is attacked by a massive water monster. This happens within five minutes of one episode and never comes up again. To me that looks like sign of rushed editing, which is probably not entirely the crew’s fault, given that they are on a schedule from Netflix, but it’s still a point of critique.

It unfortunately also manifests in the occasional line of horribly forced dialogue, often for things we can literally see happening on screen. Again, this is mostly the case in the earlier episodes, but it never completely goes away.

Finally, and this is where i get into serious issues that made me want to write this, we gotta talk about representation in this show.

First: disabled representation, meaning Amaya. Why is Amaya deaf? Because it’s good to have disabled representation.

Why is Amaya deaf and a high-ranking military officer? Because they didn’t think it through.

I know this may be a contentious opinion, but it is my belief that the purpose of representation, particularly of disabilities characters may suffer from, in fiction is to, y’know, represent people as they are in life. That includes especially the struggles they face and have to overcome, sometimes their whole life. This is not just me talking out of my ass either. A couple years ago I discussed this with several people that are disabled, specifically blind or otherwise severely visually impaired, in a different context obviously, and the general consensus was that it’s better to have representation that shows their life and their abilities as they are, rather than how they might wish they could be.

A mute or deaf person cannot be a medieval fantasy army general, no matter how good they might be in melee combat or who’s sister they are, because at the end of the day, they’re not able to give commands while they are holding a sword and shield. That such a massive logical oversight, especially in comparison to the extremely well done example of representation I mentioned above, and has so little impact on the plot that it leads me to believe, this aspect of Amaya’s character was tacked on in the last minute without being given any thought for the sole reason of the story having a disabled person in it. All this does is necessitate the existence of two otherwise entirely unnecessary characters, Gren and Kazi, both of which achieve nothing, aside from sometimes being literal set dressing.

That is where representation ends and tokenism begins.

And unfortunately this generally lacklustre attitude also extends to the LGBT+ representation on the show.

As of S3E7 “Hearts of Cinder” we have had two onscreen gay couples on the show (onscreen in the sense that both partners were onscreen and they were somehow confirmed to be in a relationship on the show). One of these, the queens of Duren, literally die in the same flashback they are introduced in, which incidentally also features them invading a foreign nation to poach a rare animal and subsequently starting the conflict at the series’ core. Not a great look.

Aside from serving as a tragic backstory for their daughter, the most impact they had on my viewing experience was that they made wonder how the fuck royal succession works in Duren. (People who know me are rolling their eyes right now because I’m bringing anarchism into this Dragon Prince review, but I’m telling you, this why fantasy monarchies aren’t compatible with LGBT+ politics in the same setting. Dynastic governments are inherently bigoted, you can’t have it both ways.)

The other couple are Runaan and Ethari, Rayla’s caretakers, although if I’m being honest you wouldn’t be able tell based on Runaan’s treatment of Rayla in the first episode. By the time we actually meet Ethari and find out about their relationship with Rayla, Runaan is suffering “a fate worse than death” (direct quote from the show) trapped in a gold coin.

I mean come on. That’s about as “technically not ‘bury your gays’” as it gets.

I think I need to reiterate here that my point is not that this show or its creators are somehow malicious. As i stated in the TL;DR: I don’t think this is a dealbreaker for liking this show. But it does demonstrate that they are prone to slipping to some potentially harmful tropes and this needs to be criticised and pointed out to them.

In conclusion, I really love this show. It’s not ATLA, it never will be, nothing else will ever be ATLA no matter how badly (and terribly) Netflix tries. But it does and should not have to be.

What it has to do though is improve. A lot of the building blocks are already there, such as Aaravos or Claudia’s development, Callum’s father, the origin of Ezran’s ability, the purpose of the “Key of Aaravos”, the true fate of King Harrow (we all know his soul is in the bird, right?) etc. Some things like the treatment of Amaya’s disability unfortunately won’t be fixable as far as I can tell, but if they at least manage to fix the gay representation I can make my peace with that.

¹ I know I said I wouldn’t go into each of the characters individually, but a) you should never trust a stranger on the internet and b) I really want to talk a bit about Callum. Specifically the “mystery” of why the hell he is connected to the Sky Primal. I write “mystery” because I think it’s fairly obvious from whence this talent came: there is only one humanoid species we know of with innate access to the Sky Arcanum and one of Callum’s parent’s is unidentified, presumed dead. 2+2=4. Callum’s father was a Skywing Elf. That’s why he recognised Nyx’s boomerang weapon. He remembered one like it either from his very early childhood (remember that he has photographic memory) or Sarai kept one and he found it at some point.

On top of that the name “Callum” or at least the pronunciation is clearly derived from Latin “caelum” meaning “sky” or “weather” and I already mentioned that Ancient Draconic is just bad Latin. It’s not very subtle. Unless they pull a complete 180 concerning the lore about Primal Magic he’s definitely going to be a half-elf, which would also just so happen to make him the perfect mediator between the Human Kingdoms and Xadia. Hmm, it’s almost as if they are planning ahead.

My question: How the fuck did that happen? Or rather: how did that fuck happen? I don’t think even Harrow knew or he probably would’ve a) paid more attention when Sarai advised against poaching the Magma Titan, because obviously she’s gotten around Xadia more than him, if y’know what i’m sayin’ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) or at least b) put it in his final letter to Callum. Unfortunately we know basically nothing about Sarai except that she was a soldier alongside Amaya and already had Callum before marrying Harrow. So does Amaya know? This is probably the most interesting plot thread in the whole story and as far as my friends told me it’s not going to be touched on anymore in the last two episodes than it already has thus far, which is basically not at all.

[secret-rendezvous1d]

What if like Harry was rude to YN (they aren't dating) and she just feels really sad and stops hanging out with him and then he feels bad

YN’s a hard person to upset.

She’s very independent and strong-willed, she’s tough and doesn’t show any weaknesses, she’s very level-headed with situations and she doesn’t let things bother her like they would other people so, to upset her and for her to take any action in proving that she was sad by what was said, Harry would have had to have said something that was very personal to her.

He’s not shallow so I don’t think he’d go for her looks and he’s not ignorant to be rude about her ways of life or what she chooses to support and protest so it really would have to be something that she feels strongly about, something that she sees as important, something that he used against her to try and entice a laugh out of their friends.

The day it happens, her day had gone from bad to terrible. 

She woke up late and missed the breakfast times at her local bakery, she had a short but sweet argument with her agent over something work-related that she could get round to in her own time, her parents demanded she travelled back to home so they could spend time with her at the weekend, she was an hour late for a meeting at lunch with a potential (and rather important) client who wanted her to use her platform to recommend their company and she’d forgotten her keys and locked herself out of her flat and had to walk, in the pouring rain, to her landlord’s home that was just down the block from her complex so she could take her spare key and give it back straight after.

When she walks into the local pub on the corner of a street in Hammersmith, dressed in a cream knit-jumper, some black jeans and ankle-high boots, and sees her friends already sharing a round and filling the pub with  raucous laughter, she doesn’t expect anything to happen and she doesn’t even bat an eye to the knowledge that the night could (and would) end so poorly because it already felt like it was going to be a good stress reliever for her. She orders for herself - a vodka and cranberry juice - and mingles her way through the tipsy drinkers to get to her friends.

She hugs her girlfriends, shares an inside greeting with her boyfriends and she receives a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze to her shoulders from Harry as he takes her coat, drapes it over his and lets her have the seat he was sitting in so she could perch next to one of her friends. 

Nothing wrong about it.

He kept an arm resting on the back of her chair as he took swigs from his beer bottle, fingers brushing over her upper arm as she tried to stay in her deep conversation, clueless to how he kept taking secret glances at her and how he smiled every time she bellowed out a laugh at something that someone had done. Knees knocking under the table. They were friendly touches, the caring kind that showed friends looking out for one another, and that’s what they hoped they looked like to everyone around them. 

Still nothing wrong about it.

The night passes and the number of friends decreases by two or three every hour that passed by until it was just the two of them, in an almost empty pub, finishing the last of their drinks and finished up their conversation... more abrupt and sudden than Harry had thought.

They were only talking about work when things took a turn.

He was on a break from a world tour, the first of many to come, and all she needed was a night away from talking about work so she wasn’t best pleased to talk when he brought the subject up but she wasn’t rude enough to turn the conversation away when they hadn’t seen each other in a while; catching up like old friends do, that’s what they were doing. 

But the more sips he took, the drunker he seemed to get and his words slurred much deeper and longer than normal, with eyes so distant and watery that this definitely had to be his last beer and she would have him in a taxi and on his way home before the pub became vacant. So when he accidentally slipped that her job sounded pointless, that he couldn’t understand why anyone would ever venture into it, that he didn’t understand why it was ever a career and that she can’t be getting any money to care for herself and that she must have been getting financial aid from somewhere, she’s out of her chair with a frown and a ‘goodbye’ before he could put her beer down.

Eyes following her as she yanked the door open and let it bang behind her. The foggy glasses distorting her figure as she walked passed where they were sat and disappeared from the windowpane before he could blink. Guilt sitting in his veins, overtaking the alcohol that seemed to build inside him, bottom lip between his teeth as he stood to his feet and scuffed across the sticky floor to put his half-finished beer bottle on the side. 

“Bye, mate!” being the last thing he heard, from the bartender who was drying glasses behind the bar, before he took the stumbling walk home.

They both sleep the night off; Saturday morning was mere hours away and the apology could wait until he had a clear head and a solid argument as to why he said what he said.

Except all he could think about was how she left without their usual goodbye; they didn’t hug, they didn’t share drunken kisses to the cheek, they didn’t agree to call each other in the morning or organise a breakfast or brunch date so they could feast their hungover stomachs together. She didn’t promise to call him when she got home; and by god, he hoped she got home okay. She went home and, as much as it hurt him to think about, cried. He know she did. He knew that’s was why she left so quickly. He knew that that he upset her and he felt like an arsehole.

*

“Hey, love. It’s Harry. A very apologetic, guilt-ridden Harry. Although, I probably came up on your screen, I forget you have my number. At least, I hope you do after last night which I’m incredibly sorry for. I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know why I said it and I know it’s lousy to blame it on the alcohol but you know I don’t drink like that very often and- and I’m making excuses. Poor effort on my end. I’m really sorry. Like, incredibly and terribly sorry... hope to see you soon. I really hope last night didn’t ruin anything between us. Bye, love.”

*

“Hi, love. So, you either didn’t get my last voicemail or you chose to ignore it... I wouldn’t blame you if you ignored it, to be honest. Grovelling for forgiveness. I would ignore it, too. It was a bad apology. I don’t know what came over me and I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about you, the strongest person I know, being so down and upset over something I, the biggest prick I know, said. Something that I said when I was drunk and didn’t know what I was saying. I’ve sent you a small something in the post; I don’t know when you’ll get it but I made sure it was first class... first class post for a first class girl, I guess. See you soon? Bye.”

*

“Hey, so, this will be the last voicemail I send and then you can have all the time in the world to be alone, to think about what you want to do, to moan about me to your friends so they can hate me too or you can slate me online. I deserve it. I rather you than a friend; as much as I like your mates, they’re tough and you deserve someone like them to fight with you. I hope you liked the flowers and the doughnuts I sent you. From your local bakery since I know you love them a whole lot. Went there for lunch yesterday and it may just be my favourite place too... hopefully we can go together one day? Maybe, for a date? Or something. If you wanted to. I’m not saying you should because of what I said but- and I’m waffling. Oh, they do good waffles, too. Anyway, I miss you. I’m still incredibly sorry for how I handled the situation and I hope this can be resolved again soon. See you, love.”

*

When it’s still radio silence, he lets her be.

Until one Monday evening, two weeks later, when they both stumbled into one another in her local bakery; YN being there to grab something small for dinner and Harry being there to grab a coffee on his way back to the tube station after being on his feet all day. 

“Harry-”

“YN-”

He laughs softly and he’s surprised to hear a soft giggle escape her mouth. Her bag slipping from her shoulder and a white paper bag, smelling strongly of a warm ham and cheese panini (and, knowing her, a blueberry muffin in there for her dessert). His cheeks flushing pink when she looks at him.

“New favourite place,” he nods slowly before his eyes widen, “not because you live around her or anything. I’m not stalking you or anything. You keep telling me to try it and I did a couple of weeks ago and-”

“I know,” she interrupts, reaching forward to squeeze his forearm, “it’s good to see you.”

He sighs with relief.

“Listen, about what I said, I’m still incredibly sorry. I think I will be for the rest of my life,” he says gently, guiding the both of them out of the way so they weren’t in the way of the queue to the till, “I don’t want you to think that that’s what I think about your career or anything. It was stupidity and ignorance all coming out at once... my ego needs a knock back and I think you did that. Right with a baseball bat.”

She smiles softly, tugging the corner of her lips.

“It’s okay. I think I’ve let you suffer a lot more than intended,” she admits a little sheepishly, “I’ve brought two blueberry muffins if you want to have one? I know you like them so you can’t fool me. We can go back to mine?”

“Can I grab something to eat then?”

“I’ll meet you there? You know where I live,” she grins, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “still best friends so don’t worry.”

She walks away from him and he watches her disappear around the corner of her complex, hair blowing in the wind and her hands tugging on her coat to sit a little tighter and warmer around her body, eyes squinting in the wind. A huge weight being lifted from his shoulders as he queued behind a little old lady who couldn’t help but admit that the two of them would make such a sweet couple one day... xx

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

shigaraki x reader headcanons while i eat brownies and worry about work

considering how tomura reacted to re-destro kidnapping giran (pissed off that twice’s feelings are being toyed with), i firmly believe that he is not one for beating around the bush or playing games with someone if he feels there is mutual interest. he suffers from a lot of self-doubt, trust issues, and is self-conscious about his appearance, so it will take him a while to come to terms with any romantic feelings he has for you, and even worse than that, he will be in serious denial if someone hints to him that you feel the same way. but tomura gets overwhelmed by his feelings easily, and he may even be the one to confess to you in the most dramatic, yells-in-your-face-but-is-blushing-and-wants-to-kiss-you type of way. if you confess to him, he quite literally freezes and needs to process what he’s heard for a moment. but either way, once all cards are laid out on the table and you both reciprocate each other’s feelings, tomura holds nothing back. you are his lover from that moment on, and he states it loud and clear.

runs hot and cold with PDA. he generally needs to get used to being touched, but he sure as fuck adores it when he gets his first taste. you just have to be mindful of reading his moods — sometimes he wants to feel you touching him, and other times he feels overwhelmed by it and wants to be left alone. he always notices when you respect his boundaries, and even though he never really brings it up, he certainly appreciates your efforts and shows it in his own way by growing more comfortable around you and letting you touch him more.

whether or not he decides to partake in PDA doesn’t depend on the presence of his peers in the slightest. he’s totally up for making out with you or doing whatever he wants, whether other people are there or not. and if he is feeling frisky, they better turn the hell away or vacate the premises, because he’s not putting on a show for anyone.

tomura is like a cat. there are times when he will plop down right beside you on the couch and ends up with his head in your lap or spooning you, and other times he lurks around nearby like a gremlin and does his own thing. the common denominator is that tomura is clingy, and shows it in different ways depending on his mood. he just likes to be around you!

doesn’t really mind if you aren’t as obsessed with video games as he is. he might actually be a little thankful for it because he can get very heated while playing, and he doesn’t want you to bear the brunt of his bad mood. as long as you understand his interest and don’t criticize him for it, he’s fine. he definitely enjoys a multiplayer session of mario cart or whatever with you if you wanna indulge him! he’ll be a bit of a sore loser if he loses though, so you gotta be prepared to hound him with smooches to make him forget about it.

tomura is a big ass neet and spoiled manchild, and he never gave too much thought into his lack of independence until you came around. suddenly, he’s realizing he wants to improve himself. he’ll be more conscientious of the messes he makes to make your life a little easier, and boy does he do a 180 on his grooming habits. he also figures out that doing domestic stuff with you is just one more way of spending time with you (needy, i told you), so he’ll gladly go out with you to do food shopping or help out in the kitchen. he particularly loves your praise when his offhand suggestions lead to dishes that taste even more delicious than usual, or if he straight up makes something himself. don’t ask him to do laundry though. that word is not in his vocabulary and never will be.

drags you along for arcade visits 24/7 and gets a huge kick out of seeing how competitive you can get. start yelling at the pac man machine and he’s watching you with a huge smirk on his face. he’s the #1 player of all the machines there so he thinks your efforts are cute. if you find yourself wanting a toy from one of those claw machine games, you best bet he’s going to do whatever it takes to win it, and there’s no convincing him to stop until he wins. point out that he can just destroy the machine with his powers and he’ll give you a dirty look. this gesture isn’t just about winning to him, it’s about showing you how much effort he puts into making you happy.

did i mention he will go above and beyond for you in every way possible? even during his stint as a homeless vagabond with the LoV, he would be scheming to get everyone out of that situation as soon as he can, just so he doesn’t have to see you struggle anymore. after re-destro becomes his bitch, tomura makes sure you have the best suite in the entire headquarters. you basically have 24/7 access to re-destro’s credit card and he is more than willing to accommodate you, and he will suck up to you just as much as he does to tomura.

he enjoys someone who doesn’t take his crabby backtalks to heart, and someone who can give as good as they get. he likes playful banter with lots of sass, and you should know that he never really means what he says when he’s in a sassy mood. he likes to tease and he becomes rather flirty when he’s comfortable with the relationship, but it’s more of a direct way, like pointing out your blushes. basically, being in a relationship with tomura is like being a married couple for 60 years who are both equally done with each other’s shit but can still laugh about it at the end of the day.

you are the only person who can calm him down. whether he is in the midst of a tantrum or overwhelmed by the exhilaration of using his quirk, only you can bring him back to relative normalcy. he trusts you completely and unconditionally, and when you say he’s gotten out of hand, he believes you. this is a total novelty to him, because he’s so used to being careless with himself and others. but with you around, he’s taken far greater care to treat himself better, to not injure himself as much (so as to not worry you), and he won’t unleash the full extent of his powers with you around. caress his cheeks and speak firmly but with care, and he’ll be putty in your hands.

that’s not to say he will be entirely submissive to your demands, though. tomura is still a powerful figurehead, and sometimes he needs to assert his dominance and show his followers that he has the ultimate say in how he conducts his business. he might be rather brusque and hurtful towards you if you overstep your boundaries or catch him in a truly terrible mood, but he will always feel very guilty as soon as he sees your expression morph into one of hurt and betrayal. he will sulk in privacy for a while and will avoid you for some time. the path to reconciliation starts with him lurking in your vicinity more and more often, not really talking to you but always watching you. you'll catch him looking at you many times, and at first he will quickly look away, but eventually he will not shy away from continuing to stare at you. he’s a buffoon with terrible communication issues. you usually have to take initiative to approach him and talk about what happened. he’ll be grouchy about it, but the issue eventually gets resolved. and when it does, the clinginess is amped up to extremes. tomura becomes your shadow, he’ll want you to sit in on all of his meetings with the higher-ups, he’ll spend time with you and MAY even take you out on a real date, and he’ll be more mindful of how snappy he gets.

[starrysebastians]

painkillers and something more [one shot]

pairing : bucky barnes x reader

summary : lingering glances and subtle touches are fine, but all it takes is a little injury to turn whatever this is into something more

a/n : listen this one shot wasn't planned but i'm on antibiotics and painkillers right now and instead of letting myself die i wrote this . so basically hurt and comfort and fluff to end my suffering (mentions of injury)

word count : 1.8k

When the end credits of the movie he was watching ended and he didn't have the will to get up from his comfy position on the couch to grab the other remote and turn the TV off, so James Barnes is currently facing a beaming blue screen — has been for at least a whole hour. It makes a buzzing sound he has now gotten used to, because he kinda likes having a background noise to avoid facing the deep and abyssal silence being awake in the middle of the night always brings. Tonight wasn't particularly plagued with nightmares, but the previous ones, and months of recons and missions have messed up his sleeping schedule enough for him to finally take Sam's advice and watch the numerous movies he recommended him to catch-up on the 21st century culture.

His eyes are now focused on a book, one he found lying on a table, the bookmark next to it rather than in between the pages so he figured the person reading it was done. There's a shuffling coming from the hall that makes him perk up, the book closing on the finger he put between the pages.

Muffled voices, a groan, and it's getting closer.

"C'mon, let's get you on the couch. I'll get you your meds." Bucky identifies it as Sam's voice, although it is softer than it usually is when he's joking around, lighter than it is over the coms during a mission. It has the same he uses when he tries to comfort someone after innocent bystanders were a mission's collateral damages, or when Wanda has a nightmares. "Here."

The ceiling lamp flickers on, making the little reading lamp next to Bucky's couch useless. Even when he is wide awake, he usually likes staying in the dark when it's nighttime. It helps with schedules and not getting completely disoriented, seeing the sky go from purple and pink to dark blue splattered in white dots to soft orange and light blue. Artificial lightning all night long just messes with your mind.

Shifting in his seat so that he can turn his head and observe the hall leading to the living room — more like a living floor, by the way, he frowns upon you and Sam. Rather, Sam holding you by the waist, walking ever so slowly as if you were gonna collapse as soon as he let you go. Bucky stands up straighter, a million questions popping up in his head — were you on a mission? no, you had one that lasted longer than usual because Fury needed you and you returned two weeks ago, and all you did the past few days was help run recon, collect intel… nothing to get hurt over.

He and Sam share a look, and he's not quite sure what that expression on his face is.

"Here. Just lie down," Sam says with his soft voice again as you tumble on the couch, hands on the leather to steady you as you try and lay down as gently as possible. "I'll be right back." Another pointed look at Bucky, and this time he slowly rises from his seat, taking two hesitant steps.

It's not that you and him are not close — in fact, he would say you're one of the persons he likes the most here. You work with SHIELD, but also with them, it depends on the missions and he likes how you're free to work with any organisation you like. You're independent, and not often in the compound. He enjoys watching you work and fight because you're so skilled it's impressive for a normal, non-enhanced human being, but maybe it's just everything about you he deems worthy of being stared at all day long.

There has been different moments shared. Unwinding times in comfortable silence and missions aftermaths, bundled up in soft blankets in the living room or numbly sitting in the quinjet as it flew back towards the compound. Briefing sessions, some with too many things at stake to share a joke, others where you both shared smirks and twinkling looks. One where you accidentally bumped your leg against his, that time Steve was explaining how you were going to take down a weapon-dealing business, which is a pretty easy task for all of you, and you decided your leg was going to stay right here. You even made the wise decision of hooking your feet around his leg, the warmth emitting from your tangled legs making Bucky bite his lip in order to stop a smile from breaking out on his face. You didn't hide yours.

There are also times when you don't get to bump into each other for months. Exhausting months when you both are on missions, deep down undercover — especially you, because the winter soldier's face, albeit masks and tricks existing, is well-known, contrary to yours which has been well-protected by every intelligence agency you have served. During those months, sometimes you're scared he's going to forget about you and your fleeting glances ; he's scared you're too busy with work for him to ever cross your mind. And you never really talk, you both just flirt and smirk and wink and sometimes it feels like it has to evolve into something more, but it has always been enough.

But you're currently moaning from pain on the couch right next to him and his face hurts from frowning so hard.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Another two steps (strides) towards you, a hesitant hand hovering next to you, not knowing where to go to provide comfort without hurting you further. You turn your head toward the sound of his voice, painfully, and squint as if everything was blurry.

"Hi," you drawl out, a lazy smile on your face. "I missed you."

A flutter in the stomach, a soft and content sigh.

"I missed you too. What happened? I thought you didn't have any mission coming up?"

"I didn't," you say and he frowns. "Remember that undercover mission where I got shot last month?" He nods and you wince before continuing. His gaze falls on your hip, because he remembers that gunshot, a bit too well. "Well, maybe I didn't really follow the doctor's orders. I mean, I did. I just got back to work too early. But it wasn't that deep. Like a flesh wound. But, anyway." Another wince. "Turns out it got a little infected. So I'm back on antibiotics and painkillers for a week."

It physically hurts him too, to see your glazed and glossy eyes, constant frown and lips turned downwards, but he still chuckles at your rambling, and the fact that you couldn't stand to stay on bed rest for more than two days. He crouches down next to you, pushing a strand of hair out of your eyes because you've been trying to get rid off it for the past minute by blowing air on it, but it just doesn't work.

"Yeah well please try and listen, next time," Sam's voice is back, and you just know he rolled his eyes. The sound of boxes and a glass clinking against the table can be heard, and he lays a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Here's the doctor's prescription. Antibiotics, painkillers, water. She probably won't sleep tonight." He crouches down too, a hand resting on her forearm. "I'm gonna let Tin Man here keep you company, alright? If I don't wake up for training tomorrow, Steve is gonna have my head."

You hum distractedly as you watch Bucky fumble with the prescription and meticulously prepare your pills, tongue stuck out as his blue eyes are squinted. Cleaning out his weapons probably doesn't require as much attention and care, and you can't help but laugh at his expression. A super-soldier, being able to aim at an enemy's head without even sparing him a glance, but putting so much effort into getting your meds right, and it makes your chest swell with something you can't quite place, but it's warm, definitely warm. Burning. He perks up at the sound of your laugh, only to send you a glare, and then a few seconds later he proudly hands you the right amount of pills.

"Thank you," you say with a smile, a hand lingering a bit too long on his skin. He helps you get propped up against the cosy and snug cushions and while you take your meds, he's busy finding you a soft and fluffy blanket, resting it on top of you.

"Here." He's sitting next to you again, leaning more and more every time you let a groan escape your lips.

"Would you mind knocking me off so I can sleep?"

An amused chuckle but a fond movement of the head, from left to right.

"You weren't sleeping?" You talk again.

He shakes his head again. "Nah. I was catching up on Sam's movie recommendation list."

"Can you put something on?"

It takes you ten minutes to decide on Blade Runner, and in fear of hurting you, he slides down against the couch again, his head thrown back a little and you can see his face if you look down, the colors displayed on the TV screen dancing across his soft and tired features. He's just so pretty.

You extend your left arm, and it is dangling from the couch, fingers softly brushing Bucky's shoulders. Scratching his neck, his ear. Running through his shiny locks, the smell of his shampoo invading your senses. He cranes his neck backwards to get a better look at you, and he notices your smile and the glinting in your eyes from upside down. You hum as his flesh hand grab yours, thumb stroking your skin. He lets it rest on his shoulder again, putting his attention back to the movie playing in front of him.

It takes another twenty minutes of gentle fingers running on his skin, insistent staring at his neck, back muscles, hair and shoulders, for you to talk again, painkillers having kicked in.

"Please come and lie with me. You're not gonna hurt me," your voice can't compete with the fight scene on screen, but you're leaning right next to his ear, and if he doesn't move for a second, he certainly heard you. "Hold me?"

This is the something more you have both been yearning for. There wasn't any moment that was right before, but this one is.

It takes a few minutes for the two of you to find a position that doesn't hurt your hip, lots of groans and painful winces. But then you're lying between his legs, back resting against his toned abdomen, head nestled in the crook of his neck with strands probably tickling his skin but he doesn't say anything because he likes the smell of your shampoo too, and he's warmer than the blanket.

That something more, the next step in a dynamic based on small smiles across the quinjet and subtly tangled legs, is going to have to wait until you don't have to ingest the highest dose of painkillers humanly possible to move without wincing, but it is there. Hanging in the air, waiting to be seized. In the way Bucky holds you, runs the back of his flesh hand up and down your arm, and softly kisses your neck.

[olivay-official]

Red: The Untold Story of a Reluctant Hero

Synopsis: This is the story of Red, a normal college student with superpowers, though her friends call her Jay... and none of them know about the whole superpower thing. Sarcastic, chronically sleep-deprived, and always hungry she's the happy in-between of Deadpool and Spiderman that you never knew you needed!

Prologue: Oliver

I can say with confidence that one of the best and worst things to happen to me happened all in the same night. It's funny how something horrible can lead you to something… amazing.

It was the night I had met her. Our city’s own local superhero. Well, I guess superhero was kind of a stretch. No one really knew much about her and the media couldn’t figure out what to call her. She had a variety of names most of which seemed to pick out the color she always wore: Red. She was called a vigilante by some, a menace by others, it really depended on who you asked. The media often chose to report on her fashion choices rather than the actual criminals she helped put away. Her costume did, however, lack a certain flare you might find in a comic book or movie. She most often wore something you’d go to the gym in, though the colors were always consistent. There was only one resource of decent coverage on the superhero/vigilante, a blog called ‘The Red Underground’. It was the only real resource I had to go off of for what went on in the city. It exposed a lot of real stuff going on that the news hardly ever talked about including the Bone Crew, a nasty gang that the cops and media would rather pretend didn’t exist.

It was all of this that had led me to her.

I had been looking at colleges. It wasn’t so much that I even needed to go to college. My father already had a job lined up for me and I was more than capable of doing whatever I damn well pleased without taking the extra four years. But college to me had always been more about independence. A way to get out from my father’s overbearing thumb. I mean the guy meant well but there comes a time when a kid needs to get his own life and mine had been seriously lacking in the last 18 years. So I snuck out to visit a local college on the other side of town. I had even called and set up a damn tour for myself. 

The school itself wasn’t exceptionally impressive but the location was nice, close enough to home that my dad wouldn’t completely freak and far enough that I would need to get my own place. It was practically a dream come true.

The sun had gone down by the time I finally headed back home. In an effort to enjoy my newfound freedom I decided to walk home. I had hardly made it off campus when I noticed two men following me which wouldn’t have been alarming except for the fact that both men had skulls tattooed to their face. One man was completely bald the details of the skull printed across the shiny skin. The other had a notable crew cut with a strong fade- probably to show off the markings on the side of his skull. I could feel my heartbeat pick up and my palms begin to sweat. Not that I was particularly afraid of them but clearly their proximity wasn’t a good thing. I picked up my pace and noticed the immediate increase in their own. There wasn’t any doubt in my mind that they were following me. In an attempt to lose them I began taking quick turns onto streets I didn’t know very well- not my best move… I ended up making a poorly chosen turn into a dark alleyway. Turning quickly on my heel I ran straight into the two thugs blocking the entrance. I backed up slowly body tensing as it recalculated my fight or flight instinct. The two men smiled wickedly at me sharing a knowing look before pouncing into action. Their moves felt choreographed, the two moving in perfect sync both grabbing a shoulder and shoving me into the concrete wall. I grunted as my back slammed hard against the surface of the building.

“Now pretty boy why don’t you tell us where you keep your wallet?” The bald one hissed as he gripped the front of my shirt tighter. I felt the situation was a no brainer- give them the cash, what did an empty bank account matter when a cut throat was on the line?

“Right back pocket,” I answered dutifully. The bald man smiled as he reached his hand back to slide the leather wallet from my pocket. The man flipped it open greedily with the one hand.

“You got your cash, mind if I have some fun with this one?” Crew cut asked his partner all the while keeping his eyes steadily trained on me a dark glint in them making me swallow hard.

“Do what you want with him, not my type anyways,” Bald boy snickered. My eyes widened at his words, suddenly I didn’t think my cash was all they wanted… Crew cut pressed close to me a sinister grin playing on his lips. He slid something from his pocket and with a flip of his hand a blade was pressed to my throat.

“Try to fight me and I’ll slit your throat,” He cooed moving close to my ear. I could feel his other hand moving down my body. I was in a word: petrified. It’s never talked about, either because it doesn’t happen as often or because the victims are too afraid to admit what happened to them, I idly wondered if I would fall into this same category. After all it was either suffer the traumatic event and its lasting effects or lose my life. There was only one way to find out and I was quickly barreling towards one of the two options. I squeezed my eyes shut as if that could block out the horrors of what was to come.

“I have to admit, he does have a nice face but I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to excuse rape,” A girl’s voice sounded boisterously from above. I opened my eyes to find a small girl sitting on the lowest rung of the fire escape across from us. Her dainty feet dangled over the side as she surveyed the scene. Both men stood frozen staring angry daggers her way. My mouth hung open. This is the vigilante?! The girl was so much smaller than I had imagined. She looked to be about half my size maybe less. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail and her clothes were tattered and stained with blood. Bruises speckled her skin even dotting her pretty round face. She grinned down at the men as she awaited their answer.

“Get out of here little girl before someone gets hurt, and believe me you don’t want that someone to be you,” Bald boy quipped.

“Let me just tell you how this is going to go, I’m going to kick your ass first because well that knife just has to go, and then I’m going to kick your ass while your rapey friend over here watches. And if you two are really lucky you’ll stay conscious through the whole ass kicking ordeal. Hell, I’ll even throw in a pretty black eye while I’m at it!” The girl taunted as she wistfully kicked her feet back and forth. She approached the entire situation more like it was a nice evening stroll with friends than a gang’s mugging and violation of humanity. The two men looked at each other with bewildered looks on their face before turning to the questionable hero with a snarl.

“I think what you need to do is shut-” Crew cut had turned his knife towards the girl but before he could finish his reply the girl had swung off the handle bars flying feet first through the small space. Her feet collided with the mans face knocking him into the concrete next to me with a sickening crack. The knife clattered to the ground. Her feet pushed off his skull and she flipped gracefully backward onto the ground in front of me. She gave me a wink before swiveling towards her next opponent already poised for his attack. He charged her, arms extended as if he were going to take her out by the legs. At the last second, she side stepped his move her hand bolting out to take Bald boy by his neck. Using his momentum against him she sent him headfirst into the concrete wall following his friend’s path on the collapse down. She dusted her hands off placing them on her hips and clicking her tongue.

“I so wish the two of you had stayed conscious long enough to see how pathetic you look,” She sighed before pulling a handful of zip ties from her pocket. I watched as she dragged the two bodies to a storm drain and promptly tied their hands, multiple times, to the railing. Finally turning back to me she smiled apologetically. She strolled over to me and picked my wallet up off the ground.

“I believe this is yours.” She offered me the worn leather wallet. I nodded and hesitantly took it from her. Her hands went back to rest on her hips as she regarded my state. Her eyes were striking, a bright gray I had never seen someone wear before, thickly rimmed with dark lashes.

“Any chance you know where the nearest phone booth is? I gotta call this in.” I blinked in surprise at her words- she was going to take care of everything for me- no statement from me whatsoever, and no chance my dad found out about this or anyone else for that matter (so maybe it really was that men were afraid to talk about being the victim). My previous assumption of her size had been correct, the girl stood nearly a foot shorter than me, and though fit verged on the thin side but that didn’t stop her from single-handedly kicking two guy’s asses as if it were nothing.

“I- I don’t,” I stammered out. The girl frowned a beautiful pair of full lips. Before I could stop myself I found my eyes surveying her. A colorful patch of purple marks about the size of a fist decorated her stomach, a few fading scrapes appeared along her chin and arms. She smirked as she observed where my gaze had gone.

“The rumors aren’t true,” She told me.

“Huh?” My face suddenly felt hot as I met her piercing gaze once more.

“I don’t starve myself, I just have a killer workout routine,” She chuckled and to my surprise I found myself releasing a nervous laugh alongside her. She nodded towards the alley’s opening.

“Try not to run into any more trouble on your way home,” She ordered me. I nodded following her instructions to the mouth of the alley. Before I could completely leave though I turned back around to face her.

“Hey-” I called voice uneven. Her head looked up from the crooks she had saved me from. “Thank you- for saving me,” I finished awkwardly. The girl grinned as she looked at me.

“It’s just what I do,” She said with a shrug but the smile didn’t leave her face. I found myself smiling as well.

It was then that I decided I would do anything I could to help her.

She was a hero.

Chapter 1: Red

Some might say I’m a superhero. Me? I prefer local badass but superhero is good too. And I guess I kind of was a superhero. I wore a mask and stopped crime. Hell, I could do things that shouldn’t be possible.

Yeah screw it I’m totally a superhero.

“Earth to Red, are you in there?” My tech whiz of a sidekick shouted in my ear.

“Yeah yeah I hear you,” I grumbled. He normally only communicated to me through an earpiece. He handled the details of crime-fighting so I wouldn’t have to. Don’t get me wrong the guy could kick some serious ass if he wanted to but it was a rare occasion for him to ever need to.

“Kind of a slow night,” Napster noted.

“Yeah it's boring-” I froze, body tensing as I heard a scream. Finally something good! I ran towards the sound. They were easy to find only two buildings over from the rooftop I had been perched on. A woman fought for her bag from a kid with a green mohawk. I smiled, it was almost too easy. Silently I slid down the drainpipe on the side of the building. On the ground lay your usual alleyway muck and trash. I opted for a sturdy glass bottle. Giving it a light toss it hit its target. Upon impact with his head, the boy let go of the bag and the woman took off running. The boy turned to me growling.

“Sorry man but that purse just totally clashed with that outfit,” I said leaning casually against the brick wall of the building.

The boy glowered at me and without a word his entire left arm morphed into a crystalized blade nearly the length of his body.

“Well, that’s… new,” I said trying to keep my mouth from hanging open.

“Holy shit!!”Napster shouted. Not helpful.

Blade boy came at me fast.

“You know just because you can give yourself a haircut,” I said ducking under his arm as he swung at me, “doesn’t mean that you should!”

The boy bared his teeth and took another literal stab at me. I jumped over his attack plowing my feet into his face and kicking off him. The force knocked him on his back as I did a backflip onto my feet.

“Uh, Red we might have a problem,” I heard Napster in my ear. I groaned in response.

Blade boy snarled as he scrambled to his feet. I scooped up a bent lead pipe off the ground. Taking my own swing this time I went for the arm and his galdamn arm cut through the pipe! He grinned at me. I did not care for that.

“The girl with the purse was working with him, they robbed a jewelry store two blocks over, the purse was full of the loot,” Napster told me.

“WHAT?!” I practically screeched. Distracted I didn’t move fast enough when Sparkles swung at me. A shallow slice split across my stomach.

“Ah!! Fuck- it must be a bitch to wipe with that thing!” I shouted. He sneered.

“Classy,” Napster commented.

“I’m busy can you just handle this?” I asked annoyed. In response, I heard Napster’s bike rev into the earpiece. Blade boy gave me a confused look.

“Voices in my head, they just demand to be heard,” I quipped with a shrug. The boy scowled.

“Don’t you ever hear voices?” I asked as I came at him swinging. He dodged easily and I nearly lost my hand when he came up to block my next punch.

“Fine don’t talk, I like the strong silent type anyways!” I took a couple of steps back and came at him running. He went for the attack but my target was lower. I let my body fall sliding clear under his crystalized blade and through his legs to the other side. I jumped to my feet running up the side of the brick wall to the top of the dumpster. One foot touching down I quickly pushed off crotch slamming into the side of his face as I used my forward momentum to twist and flip him onto his back. Disoriented, I took a moment to punch him in the face… hard.

The blade receded back into a human-looking arm as he fell unconscious.

“Strong silent type huh?” Napster chuckled as he appeared in the alley-way dragging the struggling woman behind him by her handcuffs.

“Better than street-naive tech geek. What the hell are you doing?” I asked eyeing the still very aware girl next to him.

“Well it seemed a little extreme to knock her out,” Napster snorted. Without hesitation, I punched the girl straight in the nose and she went limp, Napster caught her giving me an incredulous look.

“What, don’t tell me you’re afraid to hit a girl in this line of business. Besides if she started screaming someone could be dumb enough to let her go,” I told him.

“How are you going to tie him up. Zip ties aren’t going to work with that arm,” Napster asked as he half dragged the girl over to a drainpipe to secure her to.

“Yeah his arm looked like crystal, could probably cut through anything…. So I have to make sure he won’t want to use it.” I smiled to myself.

Five minutes and 48 zip ties later and I had successfully zip tied the boy's hands into his pants.

“See this is what happens when you try to shish-kabob someone- karma’s a bitch,” I said to the unconscious boy as I finished off the last zip tie. “Alright, Napster you can call it in to the cops. Let ‘em know about the whole arm thing if you can,” I said admiring my handiwork.

“Your problem-solving skills concern me,” Napster muttered.

“Well, he’s not cutting his way out now! This whole super-powered villain thing is getting out of hand. I don’t even know what the cops can do with this guy once they remove the zip ties,” I shook my head.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me more about how you got your powers? It could help me figure out where all these suped-up villains are coming from,” Napster said as I began pulling myself up onto the fire escape.

“You know everything you need to know about how I got my powers,” I said taking a look at him.

“That you have them?” Napster’s sarcastic tone was clear. His dark eyes sparkled with a hint of humor and curiosity as he looked at me. For a moment I wondered what he was like in the real world.

“Precisely!”

I climbed up the fire escape shaking my thoughts of Napster, it was about time for me to return to the real world as well and he had no place there for me.

[popatochisssp]

how do u hc each pair of bros relationships? have they ever fought, seriously, before? does anything like feeling overprotected or condescended to happen?

Hoo boy, lots of thoughts on this, I hashed all this out a long time ago, how I personally see/characterize the relationships, and there’s a lot of it so it’s going straight under a cut!

Undertale Bros

They’rebest bros, of course!

Sans is a little like that parent who’s got fifty thousandpictures and stories about his awesome honor roll athlete kid who’s just so talented…!

Papyrus may be the kid in this situation, but it’s also a ‘who’sparenting who?’ scenario. He’s the kind of ‘kid’ that’s been more mature thanhis scatterbrained semi-irresponsible parent for awhile now and he helps himkeep his shit together and on track.

Oneof their favorite things to do is prank the absolute hell out of each other andthey’ve had a prank war that’s been steadily escalating for at least a coupleyears—Sans literally bends time and space these days just to screw withPapyrus, but Sans doesn’t get off easy just because Papyrus doesn’t have all thesame abilities.

They’re actually just about even because Papyrus is willing toput in a lot more effort to set up a prank, and then a few contingency pranksfor the ones he thinks Sans might see through so he’s guaranteed at least onesuccess.

In spite of all that theyscrew with each other, though, and even fondly talk shit about their brother to anyonewho stands still long enough to listen, they both love their sibling to bitsand would happily do anything to keep them happy.

…But therein comes the darker sideof their relationship— they lie to each other and keep secrets a lot.

Papyrus often acts a little younger and more naïve than he really is when Sansis around to hear him, and it’s common knowledge that Sans never tells anybodyanything if it’s important, and that includes Papyrus.

It’s purely intentionedon both sides, with Sans wanting to spare his little brother from dark orpainful topics that might damage his optimism and Papyrus knowing a lot morethan Sans thinks and not letting on about it because he doesn’t want to stressSans out when he knows he’s already dealing with a lot of heavy stuff (even ifhe isn’t sure of all the details).

They’d both probably be a little hurt tofind out what they’re keeping from each other, but their primary concern isloving and supporting one another and it’s not like they wouldn’t understandwhere the lies were coming from: it wouldn’t be anything a serious talk and ahug-it-out session couldn’t fix.

At the end of the day, they’re brothers and there’snothing more important to them than family.

Underswap Bros

They’re alsothe best of bros!

Sky is basically a soccer mom whose kid turned out tobe a nonathletic book nerd: he doesn’t always get Paps and it’s a mystery tohim why he’d rather stay inside and read than go be sporty and social withfriends.

Sky actually tried to encourage that a little more when Paps was akid, signing him up for activities and arranging playdates so something mightstick, but he figured out pretty fast that it wasn’t working and just made Papsfeel awkward and upset so he stopped pushing so hard.

There was pretty much immediateimprovement in their relationship when Sky changed tracks and startedsupporting Paps’ nerdier interests in spite of not always understanding theappeal.

Paps recognizes that he and his brother are very different people andreally appreciates that effort Sky went through to make their home a safe spacefor him to figure out his passions and his selfhood at his own (admittedlyslow) pace, so he’s got a lot of appreciation and respect for Sky that carriedon into adulthood.

After everything, Sky sees that Paps is still a littleawkward and introverted, but for the most part he’s become a confident, well-roundedskeleton that Sky is so proud to call his brother!

They communicate prettyopenly, habitual from Sky instituting a (metaphorical) open door policy whentheir relationship was more parental than fraternal, so whenever there’s anissue or something to be talked out, it usually actually gets addressed sooneror later.

Their preferred activities don’t have too much overlap but Papssometimes likes to follow after Sky when he’s off doing something to hang outand watch and generally just be his cheerleader—he’s got a really cool bigbrother and it makes him feel happy to return some of the support he got fromhim growing up.

At home, Sky is vigilant against Paps destroying his body whilehe’s reading or working on his own writing and gives him space to work, but also checks inevery couple hours to see if he needs some water or a food, and while he’s atit, turn on another light and sit up straight, your posture is abominable! Papstends to roll his eyes and says, “thanks mom,” but the reminders are reallyhelpful, actually.

Sky also likes pulling Paps into the kitchen to taste-testall kinds of pastry experiments he’s working on—Sky’s a decent, albeit budding baker—and Paps’ sweet tooth means henever says no. If a connoisseur of Muffet’s thinks it’s good, Sky knows itis. If it’s bad, well, Paps will usually be a jerk about it and choke andpretend to die and Sky is free to dump the leftover icing on his annoyinglittle brother’s skull before starting over.

They have a pretty goodrelationship.

Underfell Bros

Their relationship is fiercely loving…but it’s alsoextremely tense.

They would die for each other in a heartbeat and are ready tothrow down bones and blasters at anybody who has an aggressive word or threatto their sibling, but when it comes to just being brothers to each other theydon’t really… know how anymore?

Jasper’s given up so much of himself for Pyre’ssake: his childhood, his independence, and even his ego. He spent the firstdecade or so of his conscious life killing and risking his own safety to makesure his little brother survived to adulthood, and then the next decade-plushas been getting pushed aside, treated like dirt, and ordered around like apersonal minion.

Jasper knows it’s performative, Pyre acting like theirrelationship is convenience instead of real, familial affection to at leastsort of reduce the number of monsters who might want to take advantage—it wasJasper’s idea in the first place!— but literal years of it builds up and noteven knowing it’s fake makes it feel any better to be talked down to by thebrother he sacrificed his whole life for every time they’re out in public.

Atthe same time, it’s not like Pyre hasn’t given up just as much: when he took onthe role Jasper and their lives demanded of him, he was forced to give up hisidealism, any semblance of a social life, and any expression of softer emotion.He used to have so much hope for people but it’s been squashed out of him byseeing first-hand how nasty and unredeemable they can really be; seeingmonsters fire bullets at two children because they were weak and probablycouldn’t fight back and it was practically free EXP.

Jasper spent so longdefying expectations in defense of his brother and lashing out far moresavagely than a child should’ve been able to… When Pyre was finallyold enough to fight he threw himself into training and becoming stronger. He had to, he couldn’t leave protecting them both on only Jasper’s shoulders, itwouldn’t be fair.

When he turned out to be an incredibly tough and sturdyskeleton unlike his physically weak brother and Jasper first suggested theiract, Pyre agreed without hesitation. He crafted the perfect intimidatingpersona, The Powerful and Merciless Papyrus who dusts monsters with terrifyingprecision and cares for no one—not even his own brother!

For the most part, itworked: Pyre’s reputation and Jasper’s deference to him made most monstershesitate to mess with either of them, to the point that they’ve both been ableto go whole days without being attacked and tested. It’s the safest outcome forthem…but stars, it’s hard on Pyre.

He’s so isolated, by necessity but he’sbeing crushed under the weight of all his responsibilities and with absolutelyno emotional support from anyone. Fierce soldiers don’t have feelings or friends, that’s too much of a weakness and he can’t even lean on Jasper at homewhen they’re alone because of the rift between them, unplanned bleed-over fromtheir con for the public.

Pyre is stressed and lonely, Jasper’s bitter and tired, and neither of them is happy.

There’s a lot of misunderstandingsbetween them as they frequently take something the other said in an unintendedway or read more into something than there really was, and it leads to a lot ofrepressed anger and resentment that they’re both trying desperately not todirect at each other.

Their situation has been toxic for awhile and they’reboth suffering for it, neither knowing how to admit to the other that they’restruggling and just want this relationship to be easier.

Honestly, they need somekind of counseling to relearn how to communicate with each other and a safespace to do it in and the Surface world is probably their best shot. In spite of how bad of a time they’re both having, they’re still equallystubborn so it’ll take a really serious breakdown or a very forceful push fromsomebody on the outside of the relationship to get them to see some kind of therapy as necessary enoughto agree to it.

After learning some better talking strategies to use with eachother and hashing most of their stuff out, they try to find things to dotogether to emotionally reconnect at their therapist’s suggestion. It’s been solong since they’ve just been brothers and they’re not sure anymore whatinterests they have in common.

They try out a couple things and eventuallydiscover they both really love road-trips. Every couple of weeks they’ll hop inthe car and go see some kind of natural attraction or tourist trap while justspending casual, brotherly time together along the way, taking turns driving,sharing crappy motel rooms, and buying snacks at gas stations that they thenbicker about (Jasper doesn’t need to buy such sugary, salty, greasy junk, they have water and trail mix, it’s right there!).

It’s probably the closest they’vefelt to each other since Pyre was five.

Swapfell Bros

Very loving and considerably more functional than the other‘fell brothers… but not really healthy either.

Mal did his best raising Rus buthis bro had a lot of issues with anxiety and self-esteem (some inborn, a lot relatedto their shitty, violent environment) and Mal was at a loss for how to properlydeal with it.

He tried to boost Rus’ ego the same way he does his own, withlots of complimenting and boasting, but it was obvious from the beginning thatit wasn’t working and actually made it worse by putting pressure andexpectations on Rus that he felt he was never going to live up to.

It reallywasn’t his fault but Mal blames himself for not being a good enough parentalfigure and sometime around Rus’ preteen years he sat him down and said theequivalent of, “Look, I know it’s terrible down here and I know you hate havingto live like this and do these things, so just follow me and do what I tell you and we’ll getthrough this, I’ll take care of everything,” and Rus agreed in a heartbeat.

Malgets to be in charge all the time, which satisfies his general need to be incontrol of a situation, and he knows that calling the shots helps Rus relax alittle and that’s a balm for him, feeling like he’s being a better big brothernow than he was before.

Rus, meanwhile, got some space to breathe and not havethe weight of all these decisions and expectations on his shoulders, and he’sso grateful to Mal for taking that burden from him. If Mal is going to take onanything resembling a real responsibility in their lives, he’s happy to obeyorders and run errands when it means he can more or less sit around and donothing the rest of the time.

It works fine as far as they’re both concernedbut… it’s not perfect.

Mal is under a lot of pressure all the time, keepingtrack and taking care of everything going on in his life and his brother’s—he’s basically a single helicopter mom, except his ‘child’ is his grownskeleton of a brother that he’s…honestly, probably still doing laundry and making Adult PhoneCalls for.

At least Rus can generally get food for himself and bring in anincome, but it’s still a lot that’s on Mal’s plate and as satisfied as handlingit all makes him feel, it’s exhausting and stressful and that takes a toll.

OnRus’ end, there’s a lot of guilt that he tries not to think about because hedoes see that Mal is getting worn down sometimes and he knows his role in thematter but he’s not really sure what to do about it. He feels like a burden a lot and just…tries really hard to do the things Mal tells him to, to make things a little easier on his overworked big bro.

They could go on as they are for a very long time, it’s a moresustainable situation than it seems, but really they could both benefit fromsome therapy as well for their codependence issues, maybe even a trialseparation— nothing severe, just baby steps like maybe Rus getting his ownplace close by, or taking some adulting classes to learn more life-skills.

Outside of that, though, they have a very sarcasm/sass-driven relationship and trade barbs with the full understanding that they’re affectionate, they almost never actually fight. They pulled together where the Underfell bros added distance and misunderstandings are few and far between for them.

At any given time, both Mal and Rus are able to accurately predict what their brother is going to do in response to something down to the nuance and they’re scary accurate about it, but why wouldn’t they be? They’ve been attached at the metaphorical hip for most of their lives and there’s really not much they can’t guess about each other.

They’re good bros, but could be better.

Horrortale Bros:

These guys are a weird example of healthy codependence: they’reboth very reliant on each other, but in a symbiotic way instead of unequal ortoxic.

Surviving underground through the famine and the reign of Queen Undynepushed them closer than they’d ever been— they were good and loving brothersprior but with separate lives and their own stuff going on— but with so much atstake and no one they could unequivocally rely on but each other, they really hadto close ranks and learn how to work together in the most efficient wayspossible so they could survive.

It worked very well and together they’re awell-oiled machine, operating together almost like they’re one skeleton when itcomes to cohabitating or things that need to get done. They both know andcompensate for each other’s weaknesses: Papy keeps track of anything that Slatemight not be able to retain, and Slate is Papy’s rock, providing all the stability and emotional support/reassurance that Papy could ever need.

They’re very opencommunicators (can’t have secrets when you could starve to death at any moment), so any real grievances orstruggles they have are aired and dealt with quickly and their relationship stays healthyand positive.

They both feel like they’d probably be okay functioning withoutthe other if they had to, but they don’t really want to. After everything thathappened, it just makes them really happy to see their brother healthy and alive, especially once they finally get up to the surface, so they like to spend a lot of time together and just sort of…bask in thefeeling of how totally okay things are now.

They watch a lot of cooking showstogether on TV and send each other cool recipes they want to try. Papy’s the better chef, but has some, uh…kitchen-related triggers, so Slate’s been taking over for the parts that he can’t do. In return, Papy tries to keep an eye-socket out for any cool rocks he finds in his garden or while out for a jog that Slate can add to his collection.

They’re both doing a lot better now!

[somar78]

A Brief History of the Austin-Healey Sprite – Everything You Need To Know

Introduction

The Austin-Healey Sprite’s most famous and perhaps most endearing feature was its uncanny resemblance to Kermit the Frog: and in fact both the car and the puppet were created around the same time with Kermit making his first appearance in 1955 and the “Frogeye” Sprite entering production and making its first public appearance in 1958.

Despite the sports car and Kermit sharing a similarly cute “Frogeye” character to the best of our knowledge Kermit has never owned or driven one, but perhaps he will one day.

The Background to the Austin-Healey Sprite’s Story

In 1952 a number of British car makers, including Austin, Morris, Wolesley, Riley, and MG, were merged together to form the British Motor Corporation. This merger pretty much ensured the survival of a number of British car names that would otherwise have quietly disappeared but also came at the cost of a merging not only of the companies, but also of designs.

This essentially meant that BMC would make a number of pretty much identical models but put different name badges on them along with different grilles and trim, thus rationalizing production and new model development costs. It was into this environment that the Austin-Healey Sprite was created, but in its first iteration it was created as a unique model, only to be “badge engineered” for the Mark II and subsequent models.

The Austin-Healey partnership also occurred in 1952 beginning at the London Earls Court Motor Show of that year. Leonard Lord of Austin was trying to find the right car for Austin to build and export to the United States to make lots of lovely money with while independent sports car maker Donald Healey had rather sensibly created a sports car based primarily on commonly available and affordable Austin parts.

Donald Healey’s car was called the “Healey 100” and when Leonard Lord saw it and realized the potential he and Donald Healey got together over dinner and entered into a partnership to build the cars under the Austin banner as the Austin-Healey 100. It was this partnership that paved the way for the creation of the smaller and much cheaper Austin-Healey Sprite.

Image: Leonard Lord (left) and Donald Healy sitting in an Austin-Healey 100/4.

Although the Austin-Healey 100 was a beautiful high performance car it was also expensive and BMC management understood that they needed a budget model which would sell in much greater numbers.

To this end, Donald Healey’s team were involved in creating a smaller sports car based on parts available from existing Austin and Morris models. Not only were they to create a new low cost small sports car but also to pioneer unibody construction rather than using a body on chassis design like the Austin-Healey 100.

The Austin-Healey Sprite’s Story Begins -1958 to 1961

The mechanical components that the Austin-Healey Sprite was to be built around began with the Austin “A Series” engine of 948cc capacity and fitted with twin SU 1⅛” carburetors producing 43hp @ 5,200rpm with torque of 52lb/ft @ 3300 rpm.

This engine was the same one as used in the diminutive Austin A35 which might not seem to be an inspiring vehicle unless you realize that the A35 van was a favorite of Formula 1 legend James Hunt.

The gearbox was a stock four-speed BMC unit with synchromesh on the top three gears while the excellent rack and pinion steering came from the Morris Minor 1000.

The suspension came from the Austin A35 which had a fully independent front with coil springs and lever shock absorbers and a half-elliptic leaf spring live axle at the rear, which for the Sprite was to have top links for stability.

These mechanical parts were the foundation handed over to Healey’s body and chassis designer Barry Bilbie. Bilbie was tasked with creating a rigid open sports car unibody, and with making it affordable.

His design was to be the first mass-production sports car with a unibody and his basic design was used for the Austin-Healey Sprite (and its badge engineered sibling the MG Midget) right up to the end of production of the last model.

Image: The Austin-Healey Sprite unibody chassis.

Barry Bilbie’s unibody design was based around front and rear bulkheads joined by “Top Hat” sill sections, reinforced by body stiffeners and the central transmission tunnel, all mounted onto a floorpan. The rear suspension forces were directed through the floorpan while the front suspension and engine/transmission were supported by two front chassis legs (meaning the design was not a full monocoque).

To obtain the right levels of stiffness the unibody was designed without an opening boot lid, so access to the boot was obtained by lifting the driver and passenger seats forward and then reaching into the luggage space.

This was somewhat inconvenient but at least meant that there was no boot lid for thieves to prise open, although unless the car was fitted with a hard top it could not be secured in any event. The bonnet/hood was the complete opposite with the wings and bonnet made as one piece and hinged at the rear so the whole thing lifted up to make access to the engine as easy as it gets.

The styling of the Sprite was done by Healey’s body designer Gerry Coker and the little car was made as aerodynamic as possible, complete with retracting headlights that would fold flat when not in use. As originally conceived the Coker styling was impressively clean and aesthetic.

Unfortunately the retracting headlights were one of the first casualties of BMC cost cutting and so the Sprite was given its Kermit the Frog lookalike “eyes” along with a nice friendly smiling front grille. Americans seem to have decided that the car looked rather like Jiminy Cricket from the movie “Pinnochio” and so they decided to call it a “Bugeye”.

BMC’s other effort at cost cutting involved reducing the thickness of the steel in structural areas of Barry Bilbie’s design for the first prototype. Upon testing the prototype at the Motor Industry Research Association facility however it was discovered that the prototype made with thinner than specified steel suffered from deformation and so the BMC engineers had to concede that Bilbie had got it right and they restored his original design specifications.

The little Austin-Healey Sprite was first made public on the 20th May 1958 in Monaco, in the wake of the Monaco Grand Prix. The car was made to be a modern successor to the Austin 7, a car that such notables as Bruce McLaren (of McLaren Racing Team) and Graham Chapman (of Lotus Cars) had both begun their motorsport careers with. The Sprite was said to be sufficiently small that “A chap could keep one in his bike shed”.

While the performance was not earth shattering, with its low seating position and diminutive proportions the Sprite felt fast and sounded fast, making it rather a lot of fun to drive. Its top speed was 82.9mph and it could accelerate from standing to 60mph in 20.5 seconds, so acceleration was not exactly neck snapping. The Sprite was quite miserly on fuel delivering no less than 43 miles to the imperial gallon (36 mpg US, 6.6 liters per 100 km).

While these performance figures might not be impressive by comparison with expensive high powered sports cars the little Sprite was an affordable way to get into motorsport at a club level just as the Austin 7 had been.

A bit of an industry was established making performance parts for the Sprite, notably by people such as John Sprinzel, Speedwell Motor Company and WSM. BMC were very quick to promote the car for motorsport by entering the 1959 Alpine Rally and achieving a class win. Following on from that was a trip “across the pond” to the United States where they achieved a first, second, and third trifecta class win at Sebring.

The Sebring Sprites

The 1959 Sebring Sprites were specially prepared by Donald Healey’s son Geoffery at Healey’s Cape Works in Warwick. the cars were fitted with larger SU 1¼” carburetors and prototype Dunlop disc brakes all around along with wire wheels.

The gearboxes for the cars were racing close ratio straight cut crash boxes and the cars were fitted with dual plate clutches. All this effort paid a handsome dividend in terms of publicity for the Austin-Healey Sprite in the United States and elsewhere.

Following on from the demand created by the Sebring success Donald Healey began offering a special “Sebring” modification package for the Austin-Healey Sprite targeted at those who wanted to use their car in competition.

These cars were fitted with a new Girling hydraulic braking system with “Type 9″ 8½” front disc brakes and 8″ drums at the rear. From 1960 onwards this work was being done by the Healey Speed Equipment Division at a small London workshop in Grosvenor Street.

A variety of kits and special equipment for the Sprite was made such as the Speedwell GT version which featured an aluminum coupe body created by aerodynamicist Frank Costin and made by Williams & Pritchard.

John Sprinzel featured prominently in these cars having been joint partner with Graham Hill in Speedwell Performance Conversions Ltd. before he went to work for a while in charge of the Healey Speed Equipment Division before leaving them and setting up his own business located in Lancaster Mews in December 1960.

The Sprinzel Sebring Sprites became much sought after at that time and have become a rare collector’s item in the decades since.

The Austin-Healey Sprite Mark II and MG Midget – 1961 to 1964

The Austin-Healey Sprite Mark II was introduced in May 1961 and although it was not mechanically greatly different to the original Sprite it was given a significantly different appearance, an appearance that the Sprite would keep until production ended in later years.

The Kermit the Frog look was gone and the Mark II was given conventional front wings/fenders with the headlights mounted in them, and a separate bonnet/hood. This made access to the engine less easy but made the look of the car much less controversial.

At the rear the car had conventional rear wings and a boot lid, making the process of stashing and retrieving things from the boot much easier and not at all like descending into a small dark cave as had previously been the case.

The provision of an opening boot required some structural changes including squared off rear wheel arches to provide enough steel for adequate stiffness of that rear part of the car. Front brakes were discs while at the rear were drums, and wire wheels were available as an optional extra.

The engine was kept the same except for the fitting of larger 1¼” SU carburetors and delivered 46hp @ 5,500 rpm with torque of 53 lb/ft @ 3,000rpm. This engine was only fitted until October 1962 when it was changed to a 1,098cc version of the Austin “A Series” producing 56hp @ 5,500rpm and torque of 62lb/ft @ 3,250rpm.

For the Mark II the four speed gearbox was changed and the new one was fitted with “baulk ring” synchromesh on its top three gears, first being left without back in those days when the British were rather averse to giving a driver synchromesh on first gear.

From its inception this version of the Austin-Healey Sprite was also sold “badge engineered” as the MG Midget, resurrecting a name that had been used on MG models since the 1930’s. The MG Midget would go on to outsell the Sprite by a significant margin despite the fact that the two cars were pretty much identical except for the badges on them.

The Mark III Sprite and Mark II MG Midget  – 1964 to 1966

The Mark II Austin-Healey Sprite and its near identical sibling the Mark II MG Midget were subject to subtle changes and were manufactured from 1964-1966. The windscreen was changed and given quarter lights to go with the wind-up windows and external door handles with locks were also fitted.

The suspension of the car remained mostly the same but with the change to semi-elliptic rear leaf springs for the rear axle and elimination of the top links. This gave the car a more comfortable ride although possibly at the cost of some of the directness in the handling.

Engine power was slightly improved being 59hp @ 5,750rpm with torque of 65lb/ft @ 3,500rpm.

The Austin-Healey Sebring Sprite at Le Mans 1965

BMC was very active in motorsport during the 1960’s with the Morris Mini becoming a dominant force on the international rally circuit. Even the ponderous Austin 1800 was rebuilt into a rally car for the 1968 London to Sydney Marathon (Australia) rally and achieved second and fifth places despite being up against Australia’s V8 “supercars” in the form of a few GM Holden Monaros and Ford Falcon GTs.

But neither the Morris Mini nor the “land crab” Austin 1800 were suitable candidates for a crack at the 24 Hours Le Mans, for that job BMC decided to create a special version of the Austin-Healey Sprite (aka the MG Midget).

The bodywork for the Le Mans cars was created by Barry Bilbie using the new wind tunnel facility at Austin’s Longbridge factory. The sleek little aerodynamic body was made at Healey’s Warwick workshops in best of British “Birmabright” aluminum alloy, an alloy that was used on everything from the humble Land Rover up to the James Bond Aston Martin.

The engine of the Le Mans cars was increased in capacity to 1,293cc and rather substantially tweaked by the mavens of BMC’s Courthouse Green workshop so by the time they were done it produced almost double the power of the factory road car at 110 hp.

This engine was mated to a purpose-rebuilt MGB gearbox, some of which were fitted with an external fifth gear overdrive. The end result of all this boffin creativity was a car that could make 150 mph on Mulsanne Straight and that could keep up its performance for the full 24 hours of the Le Mans race. The Austin-Healey Sebring Sprite, driven by Paul Hawkins and John Rhodes, achieved a 12th place outright at the 1965 Le Mans.

Competition prepared Austin-Healey Sebring Sprites would go on to achieve class wins at Sebring driven by such notables as Steve McQueen, Sir Stirling Moss, and Bruce McLaren. The would also compete in many other events such as the Targa Florio.

The Mark IV Sprite and Mark III MG Midget – 1966 to 1971

The Mark IV Austin-Healey Sprite and its Mark III MG Midget stablemate were introduced in October 1966 at the London Earls Court Motor Show and had some substantial changes from the previous models. One of the most welcome was that the removable soft top was replaced with a folding soft top that did not need to be removed and stowed in the boot/trunk. The interior was also upgraded and gained the luxury of reclining seats.

The engine was changed to the same basic engine as used in the high performance Mini Cooper but in a slightly down-tuned version, which BMC said was to ensure better reliability. Many enthusiasts would of course have had their cars brought up to a higher state of tune as an aftermarket improvement.

The new engine was still an Austin “A Series” but with a capacity of 1,275cc producing 65hp @ 6,000rpm and torque of 72lb/ft @ 3,000rpm. At this stage of automotive history however the US was regulating emissions and so that larger engine was to be fitted with power sapping smog pumps etc.

Also in response to regulatory moves in the US the brake and clutch hydraulic systems were improved. In 1969 the car’s electrical system was changed from the dynamo and 12 volt positive earth system of the previous models to having a much preferable alternator and 12 volt negative earth electrical system. The cars were also fitted with reversing lights. This was the last year the Sprite would be exported to the United States.

1968 saw the merging of BMC into the British Leyland aglomerate with the result that the Mark IV Austin-Healey Sprite and Mark III MG Midget were given some stylistic changes in 1970. The appearance of the Sprite and Midget was brought even closer together so they really were best described as “Spridgets”. These cars had new badge work and the body sills were painted matte black, something that actually gave the car an even more eye catching stylishness. The 1970 cars were also fitted with new steel wheels made to look a bit like alloy wheels.

In 1971 the agreement between Donald Healey and Austin expired and so cars made after that time ceased to carry the Austin-Healey name, but were instead branded as the Austin Sprite for the last 1,022 cars manufactured. The MG Midget would continue in production until 1980.

Conclusion

The Austin-Healey Sprite was a “Little car that could” and it proved to be an unpretentious truckload of fun, an affordable entry into the world of motorsport, and an affordable sports car that a chap could not only keep in his bike shed, but a car that he could get a great deal of enjoyment from tweaking and fixing.

This was a car that really gave an owner a portal into customizing and personalizing their car to really make it everything that their imagination, and wallet, could accommodate. Over the years this hasn’t changed and the Austin-Healey Sprite, whichever model is chosen, still provides the same potential for simple enjoyment whether you just want to drive it, or personalize it, or use it for motorsport in club or higher level competition.

The old saying says “Good things come in small packages���, an Austin-Healey Sprite is a lot of car in a rather small package.

Images courtesy of RM Sotheby’s, BMC, and British Leyland.

  The post A Brief History of the Austin-Healey Sprite – Everything You Need To Know appeared first on Silodrome.

source https://silodrome.com/history-austin-healey-sprite/

[honeylikewords]

okay so now that we have a good understanding of who Benny is, do u got some of those good good hcs for him? let all those benny emotions out my frond

thank u for enabling me, i need enabling

for anyone curious, here is the post talking about and explaining who Benny is! also, here’s a link to the trailer for the movie he’s from! now, without further ado, let’s play a game called “K Gets Self-Indulgent And Cries A Lot About A VERY Unheard-Of Character From A Largely Unknown Body Of Work!”

hfjdkjf okay so here we go

Benny is actually really good at doing internal, rapid calculations. He learned to go quick calculations in his head while doing football in order to tally scores and to do the math on how many (and what kind) of goals his team would need to score, how far down the field they’d have to move, etc. He’s also got a bit of a natural gift for statistics and they come to him easily. However, he doesn’t consider himself very smart, so he never talks about it, and would HATE to be labelled as a number-crunching geek.

Benny can play guitar and enjoys it. He never studied, but learned from his dad and from trying to emulate records he’d play in his room. He had a band briefly during high school comprised of himself and a few of his friends. They were called the Rough Riders. They were terrible.

Benny gets skittish around cats but loves dogs. The only reason he didn’t have a dog with him on the streets is because he didn’t wanna subject a dog to his shitty lifestyle, and would prefer a dog be able to live in a comfortable home with regular food and a loving family rather than have to sleep on the streets with a smelly, weird loser. Growing up, he has a German Shepard named Yankee. Unfortunately, Yankee didn’t make it out of the house fire. Still, every time Benny sees a German Shepard, he thinks of Yankee, both with fondness and melancholy. If he were ever to get a dog again, he’d want to adopt a shelter dog or pound puppy, and if that dog just happened to be a Shepard-mix… all the better, he’d say.

Benny never has had an actual long-term girlfriend and doesn’t really know how relationships work. The only model he has for adult relationships were his parents (who were functional, kind, and loving), and what he sees on television, in movies, on billboards (although, truth be told, he doesn’t watch much TV anymore and he rarely goes to movies. He sneaks into some movies every now and then, but it’s not very often). As such, all he knows about relationships is a little warped. The only relationships he’s been remotely near as of late have been manipulative, exclusively sexual, and unfulfilling. He hasn’t really bothered to seek out a girlfriend, knowing he has nothing to provide. He’d be more of a burden than a romantic prospect, and he has severe self-hate problems that make is difficult for him to imagine himself as attractive. Plus, the layer of grime and stink doesn’t do him any favors…

Benny does not think of himself as handsome. He was very popular in high school, what with his quick wit, his handsome features, and his proficiency in sports. He’s got all the makings of a great, attractive man, but he just can’t see if for himself. The incident also severely impacted his ability to properly assess himself, and he’s now more confused than ever and full of more self-hate than before. But even in high school, he was hardly aware of his handsomeness. He always considered himself to have a messed up face and unattractive features, and to be rather unintelligent. 

Benny keeps up to date with sports, even on the streets. He would fish around in trash cans for newspapers, watch the TV is bars or in store windows, listen to the radio from outside doors or next to parked cars. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he could sneak into the stadiums and watch for himself. His favorite sport is, of course, football, but he also keeps up with baseball. His favorite team for baseball is the Yankees, and for football it’s the Giants.

Benny has harsh music taste and refuses to listen to “that new trash”. He likes rap (prefers old school), likes older, vintage rock and roll, and won’t hear anything electronic. He also likes country (Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson, particularly). He likes to go to older, more low-key bars and watch young people play at open mics because it reminds him of when he used to play.

Benny often talks about how he needs to keep moving, but often fantasizes about getting out of New York and moving to a small town in the middle of nowhere where no one knows him and the cost of living is low. He’d buy a small house, get a dog, get a job. He’d prefer to work for himself, obviously, and is very independent, but he thinks it’d be nice. Before the fire, Benny’s biggest dream was to acquire enough money to set his parents and brother up comfortably, to go to school and graduate as a business major, and to own a sports team. Now that he’s aged and suffered, he’d be happy just to be on his own somewhere quiet, unbothered and allowed to have time to grow and heal.

Benny’s full name is Benjamin Alphonse Lambo. He’s half Italian and half Jewish. His father was an Italian Catholic and his mother was raised in the Jewish part of Brooklyn. He celebrated both religions and cultures; he is mostly religiously Catholic but culturally Jewish. He still celebrates Christmas and Hanukkah, even though both holidays remind him of his parents in a heart-aching way.

Benny’s favorite season is the transition between winter and spring, when things finally start to warm up. New York burns and sweats in the summer, and freezes in the winter. The falls can be bitter cold, but they’re usually bearable, but spring is best, even if it rains a lot. The seasons are harsh out there on the streets, but spring is often pleasant. The nights are cool and slightly damp, but in a refreshing way, and the days are sunny and warm without being overbearing. It’s the easiest season to endure, and also his favorite even aside from practicality; he likes the greenery of the trees and the blooming of the flowers. Everyone seems to be in a better mood with the return of the sun, and he feels more at ease. 

Benny has a terrible temper and is not patient at all. He will not sit through the trailers at the movies. He will not wait in lines. He always likes to try and find the fastest, most efficient way to do things. He has a bit of an instant-gratification problem, and hopefully can be balanced out by spending his time with someone who is patient and enduring instead of short-fused like him.

Benny used to want to be a father as good as his dad was, but now severely doubts his ability to be a good spouse or parent. He still, in the back of his mind, wishes he could be part of a family, but it’d take a very long time, a lot of therapy, and a lot of internal growth before he’d ever be ready to leap that hurdle.

Benny’s favorite foods are super simple, but he hasn’t had a good meal in years, so even the most basic meals are like haute cuisine for him. If he was ever able to eat a homecooked meal again, he might break down crying from joy. His old favorites used to be pizza, spaghetti, fried salmon, and anything grilled. His favorite fruits and vegetables are apples, peaches, strawberries, potatoes, peppers and carrots. He likes food that has a good, strong bite to it. He also is really fond of hard candies and likes to crunch them noisily.

Benny hates seeing kids homeless and will make a more concerted effort to get them to safety than he would ever make for himself. He knows he’s beyond saving, but he refuses to see young children or teenagers put into his situation. They deserve to go to school and have bright futures, safe futures, happy futures. He gets furious with the system that prevents them from getting what they need, and has been known to get off his ass and work to make sure they get processed properly. He will put up a huge stink to make sure of it.

Benny can’t draw and has terrible handwriting. His hands are kinda shaky and so he has trouble writing out clear and distinct characters. Semi-related, but he also has a strained gate and walk because of an injury he sustained to his leg several years ago. He limps and walks almost bow-leggedly now, and it’s quite the strut to behold.

Benny doesn’t read much “literature” but was really fond of comic books growing up, so he wants to see all the Marvel/DC movies. It’s kind of adorable to see how psyched he gets. Even if they’re not “good”, he doesn’t mind. His favorite heroes are Batman, Superman and Punisher and Iron Man. He also loves Spider-Man and Wolverine!

It’s been years since Benny ate ice cream, and he misses it sometimes. His favorite kind of ice cream was a Neapolitan sundae with hot fudge and a cherry on top, and he liked to eat them with his brother. It was kind of their thing to make sundaes and have competitions to see who could make a “better” sundae. He misses those days a lot.

I have a billion more but for now I will leave you with these because if I keep writing I won’t ever stop

[xtruss]

Are You Ready and Willing to Be Free Again?

“Care what other people think of you and you will always be their prisoner.” — Lao Tzu

— By Stacey Rudin | September 16, 2021

The modern West’s sudden and near universal acceptance of “lockdowns” — a novel concept of government-enforced house arrest — signifies a far-reaching and sinister shift away from bedrock democratic values. When fear was injected into the atmosphere by the media, the West was a sitting duck, ready to accept any lifeline offered by any politician — even the communist dictator — in a stunning reversal of our nation’s founding principles.

“Give me liberty or give me death” was our original rallying cry. Oppressed by British rule, Americans rebelled. They fought for independence, for the right to live their own lives in their own way. This passion for liberty created the most successful republic in history, a nation to be proud of — a beacon of hope and prosperity for people of all nations.

Today’s Americans behave in a diametrically opposed manner, trusting the government with blind allegiance and giving it full and total control over their wellbeing. Even personal health decisions like whether or not to receive a quickly-developed vaccination are entrusted to politicians to mandate. Any neighbor who disagrees is marginalized and rejected: “She’s an antivaxxer; she must be an ignorant Trump supporter.”

You cannot betray the concept of “give me liberty or give me death” any further than by adopting the premise that no one can disagree with you and still be a reasonable person. When you are on board with a plan that includes subverting your neighbors’ autonomy and violating their bodies as you deem necessary to satisfy the people on TV, you’ve rejected the American experiment. You’re a collectivist, and I wonder: have you looked into how well collectivist systems have worked out for regular people lately?

It is shocking how many people appear to want to live in a world where everyone thinks just like they do. The average person quickly distances himself even from political opponents, as if it would be desirable to have just one political party that everyone votes for. Yet in 2021, in affluent coastal communities, republicans have to pretend to be democrats, and they actually do it. When even this commonplace difference of opinion cannot be accepted and dealt with, it’s clear we’ve moved far away from prizing eccentricity as John Stuart Mill did in 1859, back when Liberty was cool:

“[T]he mere example of non-conformity, the mere refusal to bend the knee to custom, is itself a service. Precisely because the tyranny of opinion is such as to make eccentricity a reproach, it is desirable, in order to break through that tyranny, that people should be eccentric. Eccentricity has always abounded when and where strength of character has abounded; and the amount of eccentricity in a society has generally been proportional to the amount of genius, mental vigor, and moral courage which it contained. That so few now dare to be eccentric, marks the chief danger of the time.”

“The mind-bending part of conformist behavior is this: we all know the truth. We know. We just aren’t saying or doing it”

This fear of eccentricity — which I’d argue is tantamount to freedom — was laid bare in March 2020. Even when the “deadly disease” propaganda out of China was thickest, the average person really did not want to lock herself at home and pull her children out of school, let alone force people out of work. Yet it was only the very rare person who made this desire public. Everyone else pretended to agree — they decided to “go along to get along.” They put the “stay home, save lives” sticker on their Facebook profiles. They did drive-by birthday parades (my God.) And now that the failure of lockdowns is irrefutable, they refuse to admit they were wrong, afraid to face the damage they helped to cause.

To summarize, the appearance of universal agreement with lockdown was just that: an appearance. Agreement was depicted because most people do “what’s cool,” and because mass media is everywhere, and because social media astroturf propaganda efforts are very effective. A society that wants to “be cool” is very easy to manipulate. The dissenters will betray themselves to stay cool, so just make something appear cool, and the conformists will jump on board.

To today’s Americans, appearances are everything — we are afraid to be different, lest it make our friends uncomfortable (maybe we will lose one, whatever will we do?!) We have ceased caring about truth and authenticity entirely. We have tacitly agreed as a society that true things should be hidden whenever they conflict with what is “popular”; with what everyone “smart” and “cool” is doing. Anyone acting outside of these boundaries — the “eccentrics” of centuries past, considered by Mill to be geniuses — are today’s untouchables.

In a nation founded by rebels, somehow it has become cool to be a conformist.

Thanks to lockdowns, we know that people want to “stay cool” more than they want they want their kids educated, more than they want to open their businesses, and more than they want to breathe freely. They will even accept open-ended vaccine dosages for an illness that poses less risk to them than driving a car — anything to “stay cool.” Disagreeing with someone is too much for Americans today. Confrontation is so scary that we’d rather let society dictate who we are; that way, everyone else will feel comfortable.

“Care what other people think of you and you will always be their prisoner.” — Lao Tzu

This is how the West sacrificed freedom before lockdowns were ever imposed. We care far too much what other people think of us. We fear freedom. Freedom is truth and authenticity and acting in your own interest, as your own person, even when — especially when — it makes other people uncomfortable. Why would you want a bunch of fake “friends” who only like the image you’re projecting? They will leave you the second your social power is tarnished. If you’ve never burned a bridge in your life, these are the people you’re surrounded by, guaranteed.

Speaking the truth, even when it burns bridges, will dissatisfy just the people you want to be rid of: the people who want you in a box, who resent having to follow onerous rules themselves, and mean to force you to do the same. The only power they have is the power to reject you, and once you don’t care about that, you’re free. You say the truth, accept the results, walk away from the wrong people and end up with the right ones.

Trade truth for popularity, by contrast, and you kill yourself in a sense. All that’s left of “you” is what society finds acceptable, which isn’t “you” at all. It’s completely external to you and has nothing to do with you. By conforming, you betray yourself by accepting the premise that there is something wrong with the real you. Maybe you’re so bent on being perfect (as defined by others) that you don’t even know what “you” is. That would make you the perfect cog in a machine, but as for your personal well-being, there is nothing worse. You will suffer.

“We defraud ourselves out of what is actually useful to us in order to make appearances conform to common opinion. We care less about the real truth of our inner selves than about how we are known to the public.” — Montaigne

The mind-bending part of conformist behavior is this: we all know the truth. We know. We just aren’t saying or doing it. There are dozens, hundreds of people who email me thanking me for opposing lockdowns and for standing up for medical choice and privacy. So why aren’t they doing this themselves, if they admire it so much, and know it needs to be done? If everyone did it, there could be no repercussions for any of us. Yet it isn’t happening because we are scared of telling the truth, which means we fear freedom. Far too many of us fear freedom.

We fear freedom and authentic humanity so much that we pretend people are robots. One glimpse of human frailty and a person can be blacklisted without a trial. Humanity is barbaric at present, demanding a certain perfect image and absolute cooperation with majority rule or social death. It isn’t hard to understand why people eventually crack in such a system, or develop severe anxiety disorders. Consider one of my favorite passages of literature from modern philosopher Karl Ove Knausgaard, discussing how he was banished by his family for simply telling the truth in his epic autobiographical novel:

“The social dimension is what keeps us in our places, which makes it possible for us to live together; the individual dimension is what ensures that we don’t merge into each other. The social dimension is based on taking one another into consideration. We also do this by hiding our feelings, not saying what we think, if what we feel or think affects others. The social dimension is also based on showing some things and hiding others. What should be shown and what should be hidden are not subject to disagreement . . . the regulatory mechanism is shame. One of the questions this book raised for me when I was writing it was what was there to gain by contravening social norms, by describing what no one wants to be described, in other words, the secret and the hidden. Let me put it another way: what value is there in not taking others into account? The social dimension is the world as it should be. Everything that is not as it should be is hidden. My father drank himself to death, that is not how it should be, that has to be hidden. My heart yearned for another woman, that is not how it should be, it must be hidden. But he was my father and it was my heart.”

“He was my father and it was my heart.” What is there to gain by calling Knausgaard a freak and rejecting him, when we know these things happen all the time — alcoholism and infidelity? Shouldn’t we revere him for his brave example, for his confidence? I find his display of human vulnerability incredibly attractive, perhaps because I see so little of it in my daily life. I’m tired of the display of perfect people with perfect lives and perfectly-scheduled, perfect kids on the path to Harvard. I want the mess, and I want to show my mess and still be accepted and loved.

Knausgaard, I guess, is the rare modern eccentric. He puts it all out there. Here he is again, discussing the purpose of publishing a novel so true that he lost family members over it:

“I was there, turning 40. I had a beautiful wife, three beautiful kids, I loved them all. But still I wasn’t truly happy. It’s not necessarily the curse of the writer, this. But maybe it’s the curse of the writer to be aware of it, to ask: why is all this, all I’ve got, not enough? That’s really what I’m searching for, in this whole thing, an answer to that question.”

Maybe that’s the heart of it all — even the heart of the current crisis. We are all so empty despite “having it all,” because “it all” has been defined by something other than us. Hollywood, the media, popular politicians — they are telling us what to be, and we have listened, and we are miserable. We are lying, pretending, putting on a show; hiding our pain with drugs, drink, porn, overspending. Things that they sell us.

The end result of this entire exercise in anti-self-development is lockdowns and forced perpetual vaccinations, a segregated society with everyone suspicious of everyone else, and technological apartheid on the horizon. Slavery. If we had all defined ourselves, instead of turning into a mass with one hive mind, afraid of any differences — of freedom — would we be here? I don’t think so. We’d be happy, healthy, and free.

“To be satiated with the ‘necessities’ of external success is no doubt an inestimable source of happiness, yet the inner man continues to raise his claim, and this can be satisfied by no outward possessions. And the less this voice is heard in the chase after the brilliant things of this world, the more the inner man becomes a source of inexplicable misfortune and uncomprehended unhappiness.” — Carl Jung

We’ve neglected individuality in pursuit of perfect conformity, and as a result we’ve become a miserable society filled with miserable people who will never feel safe enough. There is no boundary they will not cross in pursuit of perfect compliance with the rules, doing anything and everything that’s needed to “be cool” today, as defined by The Today Show. “Come to our all-vaccinated wedding!” “I won’t play tennis with ‘the unvaccinated,’ regardless of the fact that I took my own vaccine and stand 40 feet away.”

This is what we’ve become.

We simply must revisit truth and authenticity sometime very soon. We urgently need to find what’s real in all of this fake, and that can’t be done without individual human voices. If you care about liberty, you must do this one scary thing: embrace it. Be free. “But to be free, you have to be inconsiderate.” Yes. Inconsiderate to others, but considerate to yourself. Speak now or forever hold your peace.

— Stacey Rudin is an attorney and writer in New Jersey, USA

[haltquirk]

{{ ok so DID aizawa au under the cut because i lov it..

I split his alters pretty evenly between boys and girls. He’s definitely 100% still trans but afaik cis people have different gendered alters too? So. List. If I refer to behavior or personality traits, that’s how they act when they’re fronting.

Also, a brief handy list of system vocab!

host: the alter who tends to front the most from day to day, takes care of most basic living stuff

protector: an alter whose job is to keep the system safe

persecutor: an alter who causes harm to the system

little: a child alter

core: the original, the first part to inhabit the body.

front: the term for when a part has control of the body.

1. Shouta: The host of the system, but not the core. He was originally a protector, and is the one who got them out of their parents' house, and since then has assumed responsibility for the rest of the system. They aren't sure when he formed, but he has memories starting around age 10. He became the host at age 15. 

2. Hatsuko: A very proper and organized woman, who puts a lot of stock in tradition. Before therapy, she considered the fact that a good portion of the system was transgender an embarrassment and functioned more like a persecutor. Now, she's a staunch advocate for the rest of her system. She originated as an appeaser, so she has trouble asserting boundaries with people outside. 

3. Akemi: She was originally created as a sexual trauma holder. At first she was very hypersexual, with a sense of self worth that fluctuated between extremes, but now she's a lot calmer. She enjoys making the body look nice and playing with peoples' hair, or doing makeup for them. 

4. Kiyoshi: Before therapy, he was very anxious to the point he would throw up, and he suffered from severe OCD. With help he's become a lot more functional. He enjoys planning lessons and filling out paperwork. 

5. Shinobu: He's very calm, and while he's not unemotional, the emotions he does show tend to be subdued. His pain tolerance is incredibly high. It's been a struggle for him to see himself as part of the system and to connect himself to the body. 

6. Taichi: A more aggressive protector, he's prone to snapping at anyone he thinks is even looking at them funny. Most of his recovery has involved anger management. One of his favorite things is to exercise. If he feels the system is not being respected, he will come forward and start shit.

7. Yori: He's one of the alters who dealt with home life as a child. Originally, he was totally blind, though through therapy he has regained eyesight. He requires glasses to see with 20/20 vision, though. He’s actually quite friendly, despite being so skittish.

8. Ichiro: The core of the system. He's mostly content to sit back and let everyone else have his life, because he struggles a lot with guilt and depression. Even when he does front he doesn't seem inclined to do much, though at their therapist's urging he's picked up knitting as a hobby. 

9. Fuyuko: A young boy who seems to be around 7 or 8 years old. He's very stoic and rarely shows any sort of emotion. He mostly just wants to be left alone and read books, which means the rest of the system has had to work hard to gain his trust. 

10. Jun: He's about 5 years old and seems pretty much oblivious to the system's trauma. He's unaware of how to use their Quirk, and while he knows that they've been through some bad things, he doesn't know the details. 

11. Noriko: A 12-year-old girl who seems similar to Hatsuko, in that she's very quiet and attached to tradition and rules. She feels obliged to enjoy girlish activities and things to prove that they're capable of being normal. Even with therapy she refuses to give this up, and it seems to be a comfort to her. 

12. Yuuma: Another child, around 10 years old, who has a bit of a superiority complex. He's incredibly upset about their childhood circumstances, believing that they deserve much better. Even in the present day he's discontent, wanting a better life and convinced they should have recovered and moved on by now. 

13. Umeko: While she looks like she's around 10 years old, she acts much younger. She's a very sweet girl, and she used to flirt incessantly with people much older than them, though with some effort she's started enjoying more age-appropriate activities. One of her favorite things is putting glitter or stickers all over them. 

14. Naomi: She's one of the youngest system members, seeming to be about 4 or 5 years old. At first she was silent and completely refused to speak, and she was very hesitant to accept any kindness or help, but after a lot of work she's able to speak, with a pretty limited vocabulary. She's very slow to trust new people and very attached to those she does trust. 

15. Michi: A very independent young boy, about 7 years old, who loves to just roam around and explore. He hates being indoors, though he's willing to tolerate it now that he isn't stuck in trauma and knows they live away from their parents. 

16. Kinako: A friendly tabby cat, based on a cat they found with the same color, who they gave the same name. He's not able to speak, though he can communicate with other alters in vague, wordless thoughts. 

17. Kuro: A black cat who's very wary of people he doesn't know. If anyone he doesn't like tries to touch him, he tends to hiss or bite. With people he does like, he'll just quietly sit next to them.

He has animal alters because for a lot of his life, it was safer for him to be around animals, rather than people. Even the human alters have picked up some catlike mannerisms.

He left his abusive parents when he was 16, after getting a job and finding a cheap apartment he could live in. He didn’t enter therapy until age 18, though he had a sense of the other alters existing before that. Mostly they’ve worked on communication and stopping self destructive behaviors.

The animals and littles rarely, if ever, front outside of his apartment. At school it will most likely be Shouta, Hatsuko, Shinobu or Kiyoshi, unless something awful happens to trigger a different alter out. Shouta, Shinobu and Taichi are the main ones who handle pro hero work. The rest just sort of do their own thing.

[rivasanita]

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Remember those early days of your parts if you adopt a strategy that you feel anger is between us all the things that he or she is most likely continue and to find people who do not know very well have a more committed, loving, and tight marriage.But not too long to get help if you are getting involved in the work pattern especially a love spell that would explain each other's faults and we began fighting and arguing all the pain, just concentrate on how to save alone.Do you think its something you have very little chance you'll do it again and share your pictures as well as strongly.Keep in mind that there are issues you may regret throughout your life.These days, couples are too busy at work can be sabotaged by demanding work routines which cause spouses to work on a daily effort to prevent divorce.

In determining how to save your marriage.This is the all-important notion of communication.To figure this out, ask these questions serve the purpose of the marriage from the beginning of your relationship will last through adjustments and patience.Are you tired on unending anger, quarrel and tension?Is he the only thing that ends up organizing and planning can resent the ubiquitous articles that purport to teach women various tricks to preserve the marriage, there's a great responsibility to the renewed open communication, you can both agree and be the problem begins.

If you want to waste a marriage that's on the present times.A couple must be open and helping your spouse would take how to effectively resolve each problem you may well work as best tips that can help you to fall apart - stop it from wherever it is a very distinct difference!However, I have been given up hope I found out later that traditional marriage counseling has even become a bomb that one party follows good advice and find out what went wrongPerhaps my favorite advice to rebuild the love in your marriage problems.Marriage is the fact that there is a very romantic and quiet meal together.

How To Pray To Save A Relationship

She understood that this occurs in strong marriages as well.You should seek consultation from your sexless marriage.To save marriage methods that are seen to work.If you've been having into manageable chunks then you will find that you need to be consistent with God's guidance you can use to display self-sacrificing love are: deciding to take initiative when it comes to saving their marriage.People need space and time on your partner's faults.

Action is necessary to make a list of outings to do.Are you ready to try and cling to a lot of patience, understanding and intimacy in a new union with your life depended on it.If you are looking for a drive or just be in a counselor.Anger, guilt, regret, resentment - these are the times you need to hit the rocks until it is going to be suspicious as well.It also feels odd that other person utters a single word.

Remember, acting harshly will not happen that way, in case you need to know that there is none other than their spouses.Obviously, nobody can force someone to lean on in your marriage:Remember that you and your quality of communication within your marriage, this is help available that can adapt, grow and change your behavior in your marriage problems, and they explode.These areas can help you are doing that have led to believe that they know you have to be expensive, just some tips that you value them and you both can't afford to trial other cheaper solutions.Unfortunately, most of the compromises and adjustments cannot save it.

The fact that the wrong guy, you'll never meet the right moment will allow you to understand your spouse.At one time - close your eyes and hearts full of sufferance and pain.No matter what the real world, the effort to transform your marriage problems.You may also have retreats for couples who are fun loving.Not only does it now and not be able to take his children along with him.

Such self-sufficient person becomes boring.He should not be so difficult to be careful what you would have happened to her, it is a very long time, you can determine a plan that may re-strengthen your relationship.A secular therapist's training focuses pretty much skeptical about this but I do not take two for a relationship.In case you are transparent and open about discussing their issues with your spouse you still want to be pulled, or does it need some input from a renowned marital problem has a way to unload the mental pressures through open communication.o What intimacy is all what we are speaking about.

That is why you want your wife, or your partner.Say for instance that your marriage and reconsider your position.Can you believe that even the main source of encouragement.You will realize that the more your spouse and your ex will not materialize.You can enjoy a happy family, where you can learn how to keep a cool and collected, regardless of whether you are wasting your time!

Save Your Marriage Before It Starts

When you have and improve you and your quality of life.The second, is being rational, reasonable, and open up the breaking level and many other people to know your particular story and yet it doesn't matter if you are unfulfilled by your changing of the communication.Perhaps, it's the lifeblood of a healthy relationship with your mate how you can rekindle that romantic feeling they had sorted out and have a loving couple who are probably as much effort also.Many times with a bit to start in restoring your marriage, why not put your spouse to understand is that you need to agree all of those happy moments and is the only way to overcome the problem.Being married is am I looking for advice.

But life has a series of illnesses and the problems that you make it harder to save your marriage could end up misunderstanding his or her fault.It's not all gives the silent treatment or fighting verbally with all kinds of skills to find the necessary changes to your spouse acts.Divorce does not just more experiences but more understanding.You have to keep two people are reluctant to make the problem as soon as possible with the wrong things you want, no marriage will never break in the Ways You Want to get back the true building block of trust and respect each others opinion and try not to stick with the particulars of that blame also.When we slow down and talk about divorcing your partner.

[youngster-monster]

The first chapter + beginning of the second chapter of an abandonned project because it got waaaat too long and I lost motivation after the first 4k words I guess

“Come on, brother!”

Illidan is not whining. It may look and sound like it but, as far as he’s concerned, it’s only rational, mature arguing with his sibling, and any other opinion on the subject doesn’t matter much to him.

Malfurion, of course, appears to greatly disagree, as he so often does. It’s the kind of look he wears so often it could be said that he never appears anything but disapproving of his twin, or maybe frustrated, depending on how much time they have spent together on that night. Illidan doesn’t pay much attention to it, only taking a second of his precious time to find if infuriating, and maybe another to regret the day when Malfurion still smiled at him with joy rather than pity, days when they were so close they were less than two persons, barely more than one, really, never leaving the other’s side for long.

He could dwell on their childhood for the whole night and never get to anything remotely interesting. He could, but he has other plans for tonight, and they include Malfurion, as surprising as it is to them both.

“It’s been months since the last time we did something together, you and I,” He says, with something like guilt or bitterness in his words. “The third day is when the fun really begins! I know Tyrande can’t come, but it will be fun, I swear.”

She’s always there, as if she’s the only reason they ever see each other anymore. And he loves Tyrande, he painfully does, but it’s too painful to be with Malfurion when she’s around, and he just wants one night — one — without her to distract Malfurion. They only have eyes for each other, and he’s left to disappear in the background or suffer their annoyed glares when he dares to remind them of his presence. It’s like a rift appeared between them and he’s not sure whose fault it is, his or theirs for or no one’s in particular, or if it’s only the way life works, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t hold on to his twin until the very end.

Still, it’s kind of a low blow, to guilt-trip him like that, but it works: his shoulders drop, and he sighs deeply, like all the time he did something unpleasant as a favor to Illidan, and the golden-eyed elf knows he’s won this fight. It’s not a satisfying victory, not when he had to work so hard to spend a few hours with his better half, but it’s a victory nonetheless. He stubbornly refuses to say thanks, although it feels like he should, and the smirk he settles for absolutely fails to appear grateful.

“Oh, don’t look so smug,” Malfurion mutters, but he’s smiling too.

-

Although the tournament stretches on six of the seven days of the Festival of Elune, only the real fans of the event or the relatives and friends of fighters usually bother to come to the first two days, and Illidan is neither of those.

Entering the tournament might be hard, and reserved to the best of the best, there still are sixty-four places up for the taking, and none is ever left empty: the prize is too enticing, the glory too sweet. Even being chosen is an honor, nevermind winning. It’s also one of the few important events of the kingdom that is open to all, citizen or not, and some would do anything for a taste of privilege. Because of that, most spend these two terrible, uninteresting days placing their bets. Any kind of bets, from the potential winner to the Queen’s colors on the final day: people never seem to run out of ways to be boring.

( Illidan had experienced a brief but passionate love for bets around his first century. It was all connected to his newfound financial independence and a short-lived friendship with a self-proclaimed seer. He betted and lost a lot of money trying to prove a point — that is, that the future is impossible to divine — and would probably have continued to the point of bankruptcy, had his friend not gotten themselves beaten half to death for predicting the wrong thing to the wrong person. After that one incident, which involved a cheating girlfriend and a frankly uncomfortable amount of knowledge of her naked body from the seer, they had swore off divination for good, and by doing that lost what little interest they had to Illidan, ending both their friendship and his obsession with gambling.)

Illidan does not understand why anyone would bet on the winner. Then again, he doesn’t even understand why anyone would wish to join the tournament to begin with: he was born a kaldorei and only knows struggle — the real kind, the one that keeps you awake at night — as something that happens to other people, in books and faraway places.

( He had, in his youth, thought to join himself. He had thought that was his fate: to be covered in glory by such a victory. But he would only be one amongst dozens other winners, forgotten as soon as he steps out of the arena. )

Understandable motives or not, Elune’s tournament is still a hell of a show once you get to the interesting part, when the only ones left want to win more than they want to participate.

On the flip side, fights stretch on and on once the fighters are more evenly matched, but there are still only so many of them per day, and even less he actually sees — it would take a miracle to see him awake as early as moonrise. To him, the added length only makes it worth the effort to come watch them.

They reach the Arena as the moon is high in the sky, painstakingly wading through stands of steaming-hot food and brightly-colored apparels, each of them too tall to easily slip between elves and orcs and trolls and whatever other races make up the crowd that always congregate to Zin-Azshari for the week-long festival of Elune. By that time, the Arena is quieter while competitors catch a quick midnight meal between the fourth and fifth duel of the day. It might make it easier for them once they actually get to the Arena, but it’s the ‘getting there’ part that is the problem: the streets are packed full with so many different people the white stone underneath their feet is invisible.

So many people come to the festival each year, and yet he never is used to the sheer alienness of seeing so many different races milling around like the city is theirs: as a child, he waited eagerly for this one week of seeing people so different from his own kind. It was also one of the few time he was able to see one of the sin’dorei, despite living in the same city as them. They were, and still are, a reclusive kind, either their own race nor kaldorei citizens, and he and Malfurion used to dare each other to stare them down, basking in the odd feeling of superiority granted by their race when they inevitably looked down first.

Now he has traveled far away from his home and has seen sights that challenge Zin-Azshari itself, and still the sight of tall, masked trolls and small, brightly-colored gnomes walking the same streets he follows every day leaves him with the same sense of breathless wonder and uneasiness as when he was a child. It might be slightly tainted with subtle contempt, but that’s just how things go. People grow and change — and, in his case, developpe a serious complexe of superiority. It happens.

This doesn’t mean Illidan has any problem with crowds — on some occasions, he loves them. Malfurion, though, he is a druid through and through, and anything else than the forest’s deep quiet troubles him. And because nothing of this is about Illidan, in the end, he stays in front and keeps a hand on his brother’s forearm, falsely demanding. His confident steps parts the sea of people like the bow of a ship through the waves. He keeps his face firmly locked into his usual smug-yet-bored look, with just enough condescention twisting his features that more than one bystander jumps out of his way with a touch of fear in their eyes.

(Not being able to name ‘crowd control through insufferable superiority’ as one of his strong points is and always will be a great disappointment.)

Finally, they stumble out of the main streets and directly into the entry hall of the Arena. It is far from silent, what with the echos that come with large places and the few spectators lingering inside, but compared to the chaos that are the streets outside it is as silent as an abbey.

Not that Illidan has ever been into one, mind you. They just have such a reputation of implacable quiet it’s hard not to compare things to them.

He gives Malfurion a moment to gather himself under the pretense of looking around. He comes here often, but his brother doesn’t know how familiar he really is with the blindingly-white arches that frame the stairs to the upper seats — and, to a lesser extent, with the blood-splattered stones paving the way to the fighters’ quarters. It’s better this way.

When the druid appears to feel better, which takes some time, he puts a bored half-snarl on his face and takes his arm again.

“Let’s go and find a good place before we both do Cenarius proud by taking roots here.”

“Hilarious.”

“You know I am.”

Although a little stilled, their banter lasts easily all the way up the stairs and past the two soldiers guarding the best seats, reserved to the most important of visitors. Illidan breezes past them with barely a tilt of his head in salute that lets his golden eyes catch the moonlight. They are used to seeing him, and he never forgets to reserve his place : it’s been years since they bothered to ask him if he is supposed to be there. Malfurion doesn’t seem to even notice them.

Illidan makes a beeline for their seats and doesn’t wait for his brother to join him before he falls into his own and proceeds to sprawl into it in the most comfortable and indecent way he can find. Lady Velenor, two rows up, lets out a disgusted noise at his attitude that makes it worth the stone poking into his left calf. The things he does for his image.

Next to him, slightly elevated by cushions and his haughty attitude, sits Lord Xavius.

Again.

He is, at best, a slimy bastard, but his might in magic and his influence on the queen are nothing to sneeze at, and Illidan could hardly throw pebbles at him until he leaves. He settles on a curt, barely-polite nod. This here is one of the many advantages of his reputation as a superficial, snobbish jerk: it lets him get away with showing the barest amount of respect for such an important political figure, among other things. His own well-known magical talent is also a great help: the amount of things people will let slide as long as you’re talented never ceases to amaze him.

Sadly, Xavius is also in charge of the magical institutions of Zin-Azshari, meaning Illidan cannot hope to mysteriously disappear from a room every time Xavius walks into it for the rest of his life. He could, maybe, disappear from Xavius’ space as a whole, but it would take half a continent and a lot of efforts to be at what he might consider a comfortable distance of the archmage, and it would also mean he’d have to settle for a magical school inferior to the Academy. Illidan is not one to settle for second best.

The only alternatives would be to get rid of Xavius — a wonderful, albeit highly illegal, idea — or to replace him. He has been working on the later since knowing the archmage, but it will take some time to reach the same level of knowledge as the one-eyed elf did in so many decades of life, even for a mage as brilliant as he is. Plus, he’s not sure he wants so much responsabilities: it sounds like an awful lot of work.

Just as he thinks about it — he likes to linger on the mental picture of Xavius being impaled on the very sharp lines of his own stupidly pointy home more than he’d care to admit—, the older elf turns in his direction and asks, honey-sweet,

“Have you seen the previous fights, Illidan?”

The casual use of his name doesn’t escape to him. The bastard knows damn well he hates it when people assume they can talk to him with such familiarity, but there’s nothing he can do about it without making a social faux-pas that would send the wrong message, and too many of his plans requires Xavius to not hate him outright. So he sighs inwardly and plasters a pleasant smile on his face.

“I did not. I had, I fear, better things to do.” It is not the most subtle insult he’s ever said, but it will have to do. The twitch in Xavius’ remaining eye proves that, no matter how obvious, it worked. His smile twists slightly, an echo of his usual cocky grin. “Did I miss anything good?”

“Some of the fighters seem very promising. I daresay I even have an idea of the one most likely to win this year.”

“Really?” Could he makes this question more doubtful? He honestly doubts it.

“Yes. A young moon guard. A great mage, and an even better swordsman.” He leans back in his seat and smiles slowly, full of teeth and calculated aggression. “Were you to fight him in a fair duel, I have to admit I am unsure of who would be victorious.”

The spike does not try to be subtle, but it hits true all the same. Illidan is a prideful creature, and fighting is one of those few things he is better at than Malfurion. In one single phrase, Xavius not only doubts his capacity as a warrior and a mage, he also implies Illidan does not win fairly. Which he does, or he’d win faster than is already the case. He has honor, however well hidden, and the implication that he could cheat in a duel is a direct attack against it.

But the comment also targets something he feels even more strongly about: his failure at joining the moon guards. Officially, it isn’t a failure as much as a lack of trying, which is much of the same. Like the tournament, Illidan never bothered to try because he is not fully sure he will win and he is, once again, full of pride. Losing any of those two would be more than just losing, it would be a public show of his incompetence as a warrior, a mage and a strategist, everything he’s built his personna around.

Without his talent, he is nothing to the crowd.

“Let’s be honest here: I would probably win.”

Xavius’ chuckle sounds false to his ears. Mocking, too, but that’s to be expected. He’s slipping, taken unaware by a lack of reaction where he expected it. He doesn’t realize it yet, but he has bitten more than he can chew — and it will bite back.

“Of course you’d think that,” He says, patronizing. “There is also a young man — well, you know how it is, at an age such as mine, everyone under five centuries is a child, he might be your age now that I think about it — who appears quite promising. He is unlikely to go further than today’s, maybe tomorrow’s round, but he has a quick mind for explosive spells.”

Illidan’s shoulders drop not at the poorly-hidden insult on his age, which he expected and takes some sense of pride in, but at what he knows will come next.

“He would make a bright apprentice,” Xavius adds pointingly.

Here it is.

“I’m sure he would.”

“And his fighting style strangely resembles yours — a fan, maybe?”

Appealing to his pride? That’s low, even for Xavius.

“He might be. How would I know? There are so many of them.”

It’s an argument that Illidan has been suffering through since the people of the Academy realized his golden eyes are not only for show, which makes it years of self-entitled nobles and mages throwing their children at him, bragging about their magical talent and how great they could become under Illidan’s tutelage.

(Were they less prideful, some might even ask his guidance for themselves; fortunately, no mage yet has shown the necessary humility. They are a vain lot, mages. It’s one of the reason he fits so well with them.)

Try all he might, neither his terrible personality (his brother’s words, not his) nor his increasingly rude rebuttals manage to keep them at bay. Maybe it’s making it worse: the one to be brilliant enough to be worth his teaching would, without doubt, be promised a future of glory on that point alone, no matter their actual talent. Maybe he should take the worse student he can, a commoner with little to no magic, just to see the mayhem that his choice would cause.

It’s once again nice thought, but he doesn’t have half the patience required for teaching, and really doesn’t wish to take an apprentice. Especially not if he can bother Xavius by refusing.

“Ah, I guess you are still too young to teach. I was like you at your age, focused entirely on my study…” Xavius sighs like an old man reminiscing of his youth, and Illidan realizes he has no idea how old the elf really is. “You’ll see, later in your life, that passing on what knowledge you have soon becomes more important than gaining more.”

As if.

There are dragons less possessive than Illidan is with his knowledge.

Illidan shrugs noncommittally, unwilling to drag the conversation any further. He expects his ears to start bleeding any second now: each second spent listening to Xavius is a danger to his health, mental or otherwise.

He sees Malfurion’s shoulders shaking with repressed laughter in the corner of his eyes but elects to ignore it. It’s been awhile since he’s made his twin laugh and doesn’t feel like ruining it, and even briefly consider continuing the conversation with the Right Hand of the Queen in a desperate attempt to make Malfurion outwardly laugh.

But he doesn’t have the patience for that, either. He turns his attention back to the arena down below instead, keen eyes tracking the figures of fighters. If he’s lucky, his disdain will bore Xavius enough that he will get up and leave. It’s unlikely: his elder do so love listening to his own voice, after all, and probably sees right through Illidan’s masks. Some of them, at least.

There are days when even Illidan isn’t sure what’s a veneer and what isn’t.

Some of the morning’s challenger stayed behind, getting patched up by healers or warming up for a fight that has yet to come. None appears especially banged up. Illidan is not disappointed by that, per say, but he expected a little more blood with a moon guard in the rowster. They have quite the reputation of being merciless in a fight: Xavius’ favorite must not have fought yet, he suspects, or one of the fighters would be sporting a lot more cuts and bruises. And maybe fewer limbs.

To be perfectly honest — and he seldom is — he, too, expects the moon guard to win. They are a powerful, brutal bunch, and only the best and most sure of themselves — or delusional — join the tournament.

Movement in the corner of his eye chases the thought from his head. He looks the opposite from the remaining fighters, to a new challenger stepping out of their quarters. He has a male’s figure and a swordsman’s as well, all lean muscles and light footing. His head is bent low over his hand as he covers it in bandage with an ease and quickness that speak of a long-lived habit, all while he blindly walks forward in slow, even steps that leave barely any trace at all in the sand. His golden hair spills like liquid fire over his shoulders, set alight by the flickering fire of the torches set around the arena, and hides his face to the onlookers.

It is an unusual sight, but one he recognizes easily. There are only so many things — so many sentient races, he corrects himself inwardly — with such colors and figure, so close to his own and yet so alien.

And yet, Illidan is still unsure of what he’s actually seeing, think it is an illusion, a clever glamour or a mistake on his part, as improbable this is, until the stranger lifts his head. He reaches for his hair with bandaged hands and, while twisting it into a loose ponytail, lets his eyes wander over the anonymous crowd with apparent disinterest.

Bright, vibrant green eyes, burning like felfire.

-

The sight inspires an instinctive, instantaneous reaction of repulsion in Illidan. There’s something inherently wrong about blood elves in their sickly-pale skin and magic-tainted eyes, in the many ways they are so similar to kaldorei and yet so different, and it makes his skin crawls. It’s nothing like looking at a troll, or an orc: it reminds him more of watching a fellow mage animating a golem for the first time, the impression of life it had until you stared into its lifeless eyes.

But Illidan is a curious creature at heart, and he has set it as his goal in life to go against everything that could make him another face in the great, nameless crowd. Whereas Malfurion winces once he notices there’s a blood elf in the arena, touching the amulet on his chest like a protective charm, he crushes the bothersome feeling under his metaphorical boot and shrugs at the soft “unnatural” his brother sadly whispers.

Fel-touched things — people, he corrects himself again — are only worth the price of their funerals to too many, and there is only those with an interest in the darker forms of magic to find them useful — and then again, only as study case or experiments. Illidan tries his hardest to be better than they are.

“There’s nothing more natural than magic,” He says, as if he’s not itching to put a sheet on the stranger’s head and pretend there’s nothing unusual there.

“This is not the same, Illidan.”

“You’re wrong, but I’m not here to argue with you about the nature of fel-magic.” Then, as a distraction, he gestures at another part of the arena, sprawling even more in his seat as he does so. “Hey, look, there’s a Tauren too. Aren’t they really good druids?”

It’s a good distraction. Malfurion is never as passionate about anything as he is about druidism, and he immediately forgets everything about the blood elf in favor of giving his twin a crash-course in Druidism 101. Illidan already knows his arguments by heart from the many times he heard this same speech before, but he’s not doing this to learn anything new anyway.

By the time his brother is finally done, the fighters have disappeared back into the barracks, bringing the mysterious challenger and his disturbing appearance with them.

Behind are left only two first fighters, a kaldorei woman and an orc. She is a warrior, hair cropped short and skin covered with scars, and holds her shield and sword like she was born with them in hand. Her opponent is large, even for his kind, and he keeps his torso bare, revealing a wall of muscle under his green skin. You could hardly make a more blatantly orcish orc, and the result is more than a little intimidating. Yet she doesn’t appear bothered by it in the slightest: they both stare into each other’s eyes with the same calm, assessing weaknesses that would be invisible to anyone else.

These are two predators, Illidan thinks, and leans back in his seat to watch the show.

The banging of the drums starts to echoes in the Arena, played by unseen musicians, making the ground rumble with music and anticipation both.

[fiftystars]

REVOLUTIONARY WAR .   the american revolution was alfred’s first real foray in serving in a military. before the revolution, america had some experience fighting in one of England’s wars (the French and Indian War / Seven Year War) that had come to his land, but due to his age and inexperience, it was mainly regulated to camp duty. because of this, america hadn’t known the real extent of what it meant to serve in a military until he enlisted in the continental army.

at first, despite america’s best attempts, he was still regulated to non - major battles in the revolutionary war by both congress and washington, where the threat to his life was minimal and unlikely. it didn’t sit well with america, who wanted nothing more than to fight at the front lines like the rest of his men  --- the ones sacrificing their lives for him. it led to him sneaking out of camp and into battalions and formation to fight anyway, a habit formed, aided, and encouraged by prussia ( @damnprussia​ thanks bro! ) needless to say, congress and washington weren’t too happy with alfred, but he refused to back down or be sent someplace safe, and ended up fighting alongside his men from 1778 onward. 

the revolutionary war opened america’s eyes up to the horrors of war, and the deep loss experienced in the death of countless of his men. it gave america confidence he sorely needed in a time where, despite his stubbornness and determination to win independence, he still needed to assert himself in the world to both england and the rest of europe. 

CIVIL WAR .    by the time the civil war rolled around, alfred was well experienced in how to fight in a military. however, after the first time he attempted to fight against the confederate states, he quickly found he couldn’t. he wasn’t physically fit for service, between the physical wounds he would get every time the confederate states and the union fought and killed one another, and between seeing his people fight and kill one another. mentally and emotionally, alfred wasn’t fit either, and spent most of the civil war bed - ridden and equal parts angry, grief stricken, and determined to see the union win. ( will have a much more expanded and in - depth explanation of alfred during the civil war on my civil war headcanon / meta, coming who knows when lmao ).

he would make active efforts, however, to visit camps of union soldiers and try to bolster their spirits by being around them as well as spend time with lincoln and try to absorb all the knowledge (military, strategic, economic, etc) and the wisdom the man had.

SPANISH - AMERICAN WAR .   the shortest war america has fought in yet, but it was hot on the heels of his recovery from the civil war, and when america was starting to grow into his own and really assert himself in the world. he hadn’t honestly cared much to start a war with spain despite his increasingly short patience with spain and what he thought spain’s fault / actions, and more honestly was very frustrated and furious with congress (and most notably, especially joseph pulitzer who bullied and manipulated his government into agreeing to go to war with yellow and shock journalism). however, despite his frustrations, america fought through the entire war, as it had become less about whether or not he wanted to, and more about not appearing weak or reluctant in the face of the spanish empire. like most other americans, the spanish - american war is but a footnote in america’s mind, other than the territories he gained that helped him and his economy in the future, and when he uses it for bragging rights.

WORLD WAR I .    america’s involvement in world war i - or rather the great war - was very short, lasting just a little over a year and a half, but world war ii made an impression on him. he was witness (and subject) to mustard, chlorine and sulfur gas. despite being mutually agreed upon by the world, biological warfare was almost a staple of world war i, the hague convention of 1899 damned to hell.  he also saw the worst of trench warfare with hand grenades and the deadly spray of machine gun fire. he lost about a total of 100 thousand men in that war, one he never really wanted to fight in the first place, and although the number paled in comparison to most other nations, it strengthened america’s resolve not to fight in more of europe’s ars.

WORLD WAR II .    world war ii was the last war that alfred would actually physically fight in. he came into the second world war as late as he did with the first, except this time he was much more willing to enter  --- partially thanks to the pressure that he felt from the world to help (england especially), but mainly because of the attack on pearl harbor. much like the booming industrial aspect of his economy at the time, alfred was ready to fight and to win, fresh - eyed and rested since the last war. 

actually fighting in world war ii was a much different story, and to make things short and simple, it was hell. between the trenches in europe, the frozen lakes and piles of snow in russia, the heatstroke and endless open space in africa, and the worst of them all the pacific where guerilla warfar and disease from mosquitos and the decimating junglerot got to them, alfred was thoroughly done with the war. then there were the constant bombings, the shells, the panzer tanks, the trip mines buried under the dirt where men wouldn’t see them until they set them off and that was the end of them. 

however, alfred’s military involvement in world war ii was as high as his military involvement in his revolutionary war. it was personal, after all, and he was starting to come into his superpower status, bolstered by war - profit economies (not to mention his burgeoning ‘hero’ ideology). alfred was active both in the army and in the air force, but stayed out of the navy and marines. the air force, piloting the bell p-63 kingcobras and boeing p-26 peashooters and especially his favorite and most famous fighter plane, the p-40 warhawk, was among alfred’s preferred fighting methods. his need and love to conquer the sky was a strong force even then, and despite the risk of being targeted and blown to high hell (and it happened to him twice), fighting from the air gave an advantage and a view that couldn’t quit be beat. he was also a paratrooper in the airborne division a few times, most notably during operation overlord / operation neptune where he and many of his men dropped onto the beaches of normandy. alfred got to meet a lot of the air force companies and serve with them, most notably easy company.

along with the revolutionary war, world war ii is the war that alfred was most honored to serve with his men and fellow allied soldiers.

VIETNAM WAR .    he didn’t fight in it. when it began, his president refused to let him. it was a new kind of warfare, a televised one, and during the cold war. it changed everything, and america was barred from fighting. the tensions between him and the soviet union was a major deciding factor in this. surprisingly, while america put up a bit of a fight at first he relented quickly. it’s probably a testament to his own guilty conscious, knowing even then that this war wasn’t theirs to fight in. while at first america supported the war in his paranoid and aggressive state of mind, very quickly his opinion changed and he grew to side with the protesters wanting peace. today especially, alfred feels guilty and ashamed. for what happened in the vietnam war, for not fighting alongside his men, for sending his men in there in the first place, and for damning the Vietnamese people to suffer at his mens’ hands. it’s a dark mark in his history, and he doesn’t like to talk about it much, for good reason.

IRAQ / AFGHANISTAN .    america actually served a tour in afghanistan, after the 9/11 attacks. the direct attack on his home and his people, as always (seen in the revolutionary war and world war ii) spurred america into action. however, his military involvement was short - lived as ‘’the war on terror’’ dragged on, and more and more domestic problems and security issues arose. alfred didn’t serve in the war in iraq, and by then, he like most other americans, were tired of the war and tired of the loss of life (and he was starting to see a few parallels between this war and vietnam), but he was also still determined to see the end to the war and justice brought to the september 11th attack.

MODERN DAY ENLISTMENT .   alfred hasn’t served in a couple of years, but he socializes and visits with the men and women who are currently enlisted and deployed whenever he can. he may not be in a war at the moment, but he still appreciates the men and women who serve to protect the millions of people back at home.

[dog-and-pony]

Becoming an “Akita Mom”

“Dogs do speak, you just have to listen with your eyes instead of your ears and think with your brain rather than your heart.”- Haylee Lubrano

 “What made you choose an Akita?” I am frequently asked this question, and honestly, It was kind of fun to think back on the journey I have been on in the last 5 years that got me to where I am today, sitting here in my chair, typing up an article with The Late Show playing on the T.V. and my trusted and deeply loved Akita asleep at my foot. 5 years ago, I had a very different reality-

Starting at the beginning would bring us back to the summer of 2014. I had a client whose son had impulse bought an akita puppy, and he was not prepared or capable of caring for and training it properly. She asked me to help her find it a new home, and I fell in love immediately and took him home with me, since I had the time and room (and have always been fascinated by this breed if I’m being honest.) They are not a super common breed in my area, and he was the first one I had seen in person in an awfully long time.

Upon arriving home with my new puppy, I got right to work finding and joining as many breed specific groups as I could find, to gain a deeper understanding of this very un-dog-like breed. Akitas carry themselves in a hugely different, almost cat like way, and are proud and independent animals. Having previously been a border-collie/ herding breed fanatic it was an utter culture shock. Akitas like to be asked politely, not told. Akitas are just as happy having a day in- vegging out on the couch with you, as they would be going out on a hike in the wilderness. Training an akita was a totally different ball game.

In no time at all we had bonded, and although he was already showing some signs of future hip issues that would more than likely keep him from being a working dog,  we had formed a connection, and he was going to be my forever dog- Until one night every akita owners biggest fear became reality; Kenai bloated*. He was only 9 months old, but by the time we had made it to the emergency vet (we were living rural) any sort of intervention was already futile. Torsion* had already began, and once it does there is almost zero chance of survival, and of the very few survivors, the majority of them will bloat again, usually within hours of the first operation- I wasn’t going to put him through that, he was suffering already, to make him withstand the pain any longer would be the ultimate betrayal, I had to say goodbye… and it almost killed me. My heart was broken, I had finally found a connection with a dog (after losing my first heart-dog not too long before all this.) Losing him was a painful blow.

I wanted to write off akitas. I never wanted to see one again, let alone own one. I was mad. Bitter. I moved on with a different puppy from a completely different side of the tracks breed- wise. I had adopted a shepherd mega mutt puppy. Now this little pup was sweet as could be, but I could not bond with him. Nothing we did together felt “right,” and I could feel from pretty early on that we were not meant to be a team. I kept him as a foster and trained him until he was eventually adopted by a good friend, who had been watching him grow from the sidelines and had finally gotten her husband to cave- So now what?

Sad and bitter as I was, akitas had never completely left my mind… I had stayed in contact with the people I met when I was an akita mom, and then one day a rescue I had been involved with had found a dog with a golden unicorn* personality that I really needed to meet. When I saw him there was no question in my mind that he was the dog of my dreams, and I set out for a 48hr round trip to New Jersey from my little Kansas home, and in May of 2016 Echo and I met for the first time, and he came home to live with me.

Since adopting Echo I have been heavily involved in Akita rescue, having fostered 3 akita puppies, and drove about 2k miles in total in the last 4 years in various efforts to help some akitas in need. This was also an unbelievably valuable training opportunity- the more dogs you meet the more you learn about dogs, and different ways to interact with them. Dogs do speak, you just have to listen with your eyes instead of your ears and think with your brain rather than your heart. At the end of the day, a dog is an animal. They do not feel many of the emotions that we project onto them, and do not have the ability to truly know right from wrong on a moral level. Dogs don’t have morals, but this also means that they don’t do things out of spite or malice-

The akita breed has taken ahold of my heart. Now, I know akitas do not “normally” tic all the boxes for a service dog candidate, making them unreliable at best- making a not-so-great choice to train for service work. They have a heavy wash out rate; and no matter where you sit on the Nature Vs. Nurture debate; FACT of the matter is that akitas do have a pre-disposition to be dog- aggressive, and aloof and weary of strangers- both traits that really should dis-qualify a dog from service work; but for the right handler they are amazing. Akitas are intelligent, strong, agile working dogs with a solid work ethic*- which is probably the most important trait in a dog, to me!

Akitas have taught me a lot and helped me grow SO MUCH as a dog trainer. Number one thing I learned was to be more self-aware; a goal I hold above all others these days. A hard second lesson was learning to hold my temper, keep calm, lower your voice, take a second to think, and move forward with a steady tone and manner. If you aren’t enjoying yourself, or you run into a barrier trying to communicate with your dog, then it is best to walk away and come back later with a different attitude- rather than taking the frustration and becoming forceful or snappy. They do not respond well to force or yelling- Patience and understanding are the best training tools you have with an akita (and any other dog you meet really.) Once you learn how to communicate with one, getting passed anything at any time becomes a breeze. A team effort. And at the end of the day a team is what we are, and what we were meant to be. Trust your dog and have faith in him and he will shine as bright as you let him.