#look maybe i am being presumptuous too

[apocalypse-gang]

Gerard Way isn't trans. He says he's a man.

I'm trans and I'm a man those things aren't mutually exclusive ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The tags I stole said he's a "trans icon" which doesn't necessarily mean he's trans, but he's an icon for the trans community. Many gay icons aren't gay or even the same gender, but their art and/or support of the community is what makes them an icon. Gerard is a trans icon because he constantly shows his support for the trans community, his expression of his gender and challenging of social norms, and his just the content of music itself (which I might go into in another post)

But even then, it's not like... I'm not wrong to associate him with the trans community? He literally associates himself with the trans community.

He's always gone against social norms with his androgynous and now feminine gender expression and presentation. He's literally talked about struggling with his gender identity, and how he identifies with trans people and women. He's literally said his pronouns are he/they!

He's never outright said his gender and sexuality. That's fine. I also try not to assume anyone's sexuality or gender. But he's also never said anything about being a cishet man either. And it's presumptuous to assume that he must be man because he doesn't say anything.

He's a trans icon, who he himself identifies with trans people, so it's not out of nowhere to identify him as trans as well

[pseudowho]

Stoic

When Gojo assumes Nanami Kento's lack of PDA for the reader shows a lack of desire for her, a tipsy Kento is quick to correct him.

Warnings: 18+ drabble, Kento goes on a smutty rant

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'A quick drink' after work had soon turned into two, three, four. Shoko took full advantage of the rooftop bar's balcony, smoking and idly chatting; Higuruma and Atsuya gossipped and quipped, snorting into their drinks; Satoru observed Kento and you keenly behind his dark lens; you stood, excusing yourself to the bathroom as Kento gave you a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry," Satoru interrupted loudly when you were gone, his pot boiling over, "I just-- I just don't get it, Nanami." All eyes were on Satoru and Kento now-- Kento, with one thin eyebrow raised in quiet disdain at Satoru, and Satoru, with his elbows planted forward on his knees in challenge.

A few moments of silence. Kento huffed, "Should I be apologising for someth--"

"--you've been together for years," Satoru interrupted, "and I'm just not convinced. She could be-- she could be a coat rack for all the affection you show her, you're supposed to not be able to keep your hands off her--"

"--you want me to grope my fiancée in public, am I correct--"

"--well maybe, anything to show that you love her--"

Kento laughed out loud, deep and humourless, continuing to chuckle into his glass, scoffing to himself; "Love her," he rumbled, swirling his whiskey, amber eyes flickering and carnal in the firelight.

Shoko had turned, smirking, to watch the scene. Atsuya leaned back, scowling, chewing on a toothpick with crossed arms. Hiromi leaned, glimmer-eyed, into the drama, one hand cupping his jaw and the other clasping his wineglass. He picked up the bottle, slowly beginning to pour another glass.

"I don't love her," Kento spat, downing his glass of whiskey in one smooth swallow, hissing and slamming the glass down on the table, "I worship her. I'm obsessed with her."

Satoru was silent, mulish, as Kento continued.

"I would walk through rains of bullets for her," he mused aloud, "I would cut off fingers with blunt knives--"

"Nanami, alright, I'm sorry--"

"Any second I'm not with her," Kento continued, his voice quieter, darker, the group leaning into him, "is a second wasted. I don't know what point there was in the years I spent without her-- probably just there to build me into even a semblance of the man she deserves--"

"--why are we doing this--"

"-- and when I'm not thinking about talking to her, watching her, being near her, holding her, or-- fuck, just having her look at me goes bone-deep...I spend at least eighty-percent of my time thinking about different ways to make her cum--"

Satoru was blushing now, his face in his hands, while the others leaned into Kento's mild breakdown with awe, "--fucking hell Nanami, I didn't mean--"

"I almost died last week, at work," Kento mused, as a laughing Hiromi slid the glass of wine down the table to Kento, which he caught seamlessly, "because I was too busy thinking about how her mouth had felt around my cock the night before, because I was pondering the many applications for my tie, because I was thinking about how incredible she felt underneath me--"

Atsuya and Shoko whispered together, Hiromi now giggling to himself unashamedly; "Oh he's really going for it--" "I know I know, shhh, let him finish--"

"--and I've been sat here with her all evening, resisting the urge to strip her, tie her wrists together and have her ride me until I go fucking blind, all because of social-fucking-propriety, just for some long streak of jizz like you to say I clearly don't love her--"

Satoru had shrunk in on himself now, his soul quietly leaving his body, mortified and put to rights as Kento tsked, swirling his wine before downing that, too. He accepted the bottle Hiromi slid towards him in approval.

"...it really just is rather rude and presumptuous of you, isn't it, Gojo?"

The group sat in stunned silence as you returned, sitting beside Kento and laying a hand on his crossed knees. You felt the bizarre tension; Hiromi unable to conceal a blush as he looked at you, Shoko giving you a knowing smile around her cigarette, Atsuya unable to make eye contact. You smiled uncertainly.

"...what did I miss?"

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Still waters run deep 💀💀💀

[sixosix]

INFATUATED | AETHER

i. summary mutual pining but aether is a tease and you're an idiot

ii. tags 1.5k words, aether helplessly in love, reader being dumb and in denial, bff!yoimiya may be ooc and may embarrass you, set in inazuma, fluff & flirting

Aether’s always smiling whenever you see him.

At first, you thought it was because he’s just a happy little guy, always wearing a grin as bright as his hair. Like the sun, and you’re but a flower soaking in his light. But then you hear how people talk about him—

“He’s quite terrifying, isn’t he? Sometimes I get too scared to ask for help…”

“They weren't joking about what they said regarding the Traveler. He looks young and yet has the eyes of a seasoned warrior.”

“Scary. And a bit strange. His eyes are so… blank. It’s like he’s drifting out, and it’s why he has that pixie around to do all the talking.”

—and now, you’re not so sure. The Aether you’ve met is nowhere near the Traveler they keep raving about. Are they dealing with a doppelgänger?

Yoimiya mulls over your words with a thoughtful hum. She loudly sips on her drink. “Hmm, have you ever considered it might be because he’s just happy every time you’re there?”

You scoff, nestling into your chair with crossed arms—to protect yourself from Yoimiya’s wild imagination, no doubt. “That’d be absolutely presumptuous of me to even think about.” Aether? Happy to see you? Absurd.

She tilts her head as if she pities you. “I’m blessed to not have turned out this oblivious.”

“Hey!”

“Listen to me.” She sets her glass down; it rattles the table. The owner casts you both a stern look. “He’s really just infatuated with you. How hard is it to see that?”

Very hard. Yoimiya is reaching. This is one of the truths she’s trying to pursue—except there is no truth here, just plain fantasy. “It doesn’t make sense,” you insist, growing frustrated. “He’s the Traveler, I’m no one important.”

She hums. “I’ll admit no one in Teyvat can compare to the Traveler, but no one else seems to make him happier than you do. Which is why I’m saying that explains why he’s smiling whenever you—”

“Bold assumptions you’re making,” you interrupt quickly.

“Trust me! He liiiiikes you in that way.”

“Why? How do you know that?”

“‘cause,” Yoimiya grins, her eyes sparkling. She’s as excited as she usually is talking about fireworks. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I can ask him, if you wanna be sure about it.”

“Please don’t ask him anything weird,” you plead. “He’s met so many people, Yoimiya. Why me? What do I have to offer to the holder of the dragon-defeating, god-slaying, renowned fatui-slaughtering reputation? Nothing!”

“Does he have to be with someone who’s done all of that?” she asks, and your thoughts come to a halt. Does it? No, certainly not—unless that’s what he wants. And that might be what he wants!

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Perhaps, if that’s what makes him happy.” At Yoimiya’s quirked brow, you slouch in defeat, cheeks heating up at even thinking about what Aether’s type is. “You’re enjoying this,” you murmur at the sight of Yoimiya’s conspiratorial grin.

“I’m not, I’ve just never seen you act this shy and cute before! So this is what you’re like when you have a crush?” Over Yoimiya’s shoulder, you spot a familiar pixie and a mop of golden hair from afar, walking over.

Your eyes widen, “I am not acting shy and cute—”

“What’s this? Y/N has a crush!?” Paimon’s shrieky voice is unmistakable. It’s hard to mistake her even if you tried. They’re still a few feet away, but Yoimiya’s voice can be very loud.

“I don’t,” you want to snark, however meeting Aether’s eyes has your voice going quiet. Maybe Yoimiya’s right: you are acting very shy. “Hi, Aether, Paimon.”

“Ooh,” Paimon giggles, kicking her feet. “What were you two talking about, huh? Paimon heard Yoimiya talking about a crush.” Paimon notices your wide-eyed panic. “Oh, Paimon can kick Aether out!”

Exasperated, Aether casts Paimon a look. “Who’s gonna pay for your order?”

Paimon deflates. “W-Well, Paimon can ask Yoimiya—”

“No can do; I spent all Mora on me already.”

“—Then, Paimon will—”

You arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think I can afford your usual orders. Don’t look at me. I’m a starving artist already.”

She huffs. “Fine! Paimon was trying to protect your secret but she guesses that no one’s appreciating it anyway!” Paimon, the only one who’s terrible at keeping secrets, says. She turns to her companion, hands clasped together. “Aether…”

“Alright, alright,” Aether sighs, pulling out his wallet. The poor thing.

You and Yoimiya share a look as Aether orders food for him and Paimon. You weren’t anticipating that the Traveler—the subject of your predicament—would end up here, out of all the corners and food stalls in Inazuma. Then again, that’s his thing: he’s everywhere, all at once, including the nook and cranny of your heart.

Aether turns to you, a smile blossoming across his face, which is nice, actually, despite the flutter of your heart that is starting to feel like horror. His side profile was driving you crazy, anyway. “Should we leave you two to talk about crushes?”

Just one word directed at you is enough to have you fidgeting uselessly in your seat. And this doesn’t go unacknowledged by Yoimiya, who springs up to save the day. “Don’t worry about it, Traveler! We were just talking about this—this novel that we started reading the other day.”

“Really?” Aether doesn’t sound like he believes it one bit. “Well, Paimon and I have been looking for reading material anyway. Would you mind if we borrowed it?” Said pixie is too busy stuffing her face with Dry-Braised Salted Fish to care about reading materials.

You turn to Yoimiya with a forced smile, then back to Aether, who seems so visibly amused by how you’re acting. You must look like a mess. You feel like it. “Well, I haven’t really finished it…but—but we can tell you about it!”

“Yeah, exactly!” Yoimiya looks like she’s having the time of her life. “Y/N has a big crush on the main character, which is why we were talking about him.”

Aether hums, chewing, “What’s he like?”

Yoimiya narrows her eyes, grinning as she tilts her head. “Why do you want to know?”

Aether levels her with a flat look. It’s a bit strange with you in the middle of them. “Because I want to read the story.”

“We never hear you talk about anything romantic, Y/N!” Paimon says, bits of fish spewing out while she talks. Aether reprimands her. “Whenever Paimon sees you, you’re always working!”

Is that how everyone sees you? “Are you saying you thought I was too boring to experience love?”

Paimon decides to tune out the conversation once again, wolfing down her next plate of food.

Aether’s still looking at you, a smile on his face. No, perhaps a slight smirk would be more accurate. You can feel yourself melting. Perhaps those people were right when they called Aether ‘terrifying’—the swarm of butterflies his gaze is leaving you is downright frightening.

He tilts his head, waiting.

You stammer, “W-Well, the main character’s nothing special. It’s like those things where they make the hero really likable, really…”

Yoimiya butts in, “You just have a thing for guys who have defeated dragons and faced gods head-on. Nothing special.”

“Yoimiya!”

Aether throws his head back laughing.

Yoimiya settles in her seat, looking mildly surprised. “I’ve never seen you this expressive, Traveler.”

You throw Yoimiya a warning look. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve brushed that off, but Yoimiya is clearly hinting at what started your crisis in the first place.

Paimon chugs her water like a madman dying of thirst. “He’s always like that whenever we’re around Y/N. Paimon already told him to stop bullying Y/N!”

Right. Bullying. If only the shared glances and longing stares were bullying. If only Aether lingering in your thoughts was because he’s bullying you, and not because you’re developing a massive crush on him. That would’ve been easier to explain and believe.

“Bullying?” Aether echoes in confusion.

“Flirting might be the more appropriate word for it, Paimon,” Yoimiya corrects with a gleeful grin. “So romantic. Reserving your lovesick and longing smiles to Y/N only,” she sings. “No wonder why you’ve been so happy recently.”

“Yoimiya,” you seethe, though it’s mostly desperate, humiliated. It seems that her name is your only vocabulary this evening.

Aether laughs, his eyes crinkling as he shares your gaze. And if you let yourself believe Yoimiya’s words, you might even call it fond. “You can’t blame me if I can’t help it. Surely that novel taught you what it’s like to have a crush on someone, right, Y/N?”

A/N i love aether so much im sobbing hope u liked reading!!1 bc i cried while writing this!!!! also thank u earthtooz for proofreading i love u big sibling.

[palms-upturned]

I’m not gonna jump in ppl’s notes over this bc lord knows I do not want to have a debate about it but seeing someone say “I have qualms about people calling Jean ableist for trying to fire Harry and in the same breath saying Harry is unfit for cop work” is really getting to me. I am practically on my knees begging people to actually engage with what disco elysium has to say about disability and addiction and ableism and policing and social murder because it’s not even subtextual, it’s as blatant and hand holding as it could possibly be. The 41st is an awful environment for Harry not bc him being disabled makes him incapable of doing his job, it’s bc the job is fucking hostile to his existence. Like, no one is “fit” to be a cop because they shouldn’t exist, firstly, and even Harry himself will say as much in the Ruby bad ending. But talking about Harry’s case specifically, we know that this job is part of what landed him where he is to begin with.

From the start of day 2:

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You mean why are you so tired? Too tired and *down* to even think? It *is* worrying, isn't it. You can't be a detective like this -- detectives need to be able to think.

YOU — Why is this happening?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — It's just that your heart has finally pumped all the *speed* out of your system, buster. Time to get some more.

YOU — Wait. What *is*... speed?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speed is a potent central nervous system stimulant. It kept you propped up all day yesterday despite your debilitating hangover. How else did you think you even got up from this floor?

VOLITION — You got up from this floor because of a holy vow you made sixteen years ago. With *me*. To wake up exactly 07:30 every morning until the day you die.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Don't be silly. There was no vow. You were high on speed. That was the only reason you got up. You can't *detect* without it, it's that simple.

YOU — No. I can take this. I am not going to go looking for speed.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Are you sure? Ready to live as this pathetic shell of yourself for days? Basically a week? Let's be honest -- two weeks, maybe three? You won't make it. Half the town will be dead by then. You will be fired.

YOU — That's a lie. I can do this without the speed. Half the town won't be dead... (Opt out.)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Suit yourself, slow, sad shell-man. See how you do without your spark.

And from this talk with Kim in Klaasje’s room:

KIM KITSURAGI — "Amphetamine -- does it make you a better detective?"

SUGGESTION — Be honest. He's not grilling you, he just wants to know. Ask if he's ever wanted to take it too.

YOU — "Honestly, it makes me the detective I am. Have you thought of taking it too?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Maybe I should?" He lets out a little pensive hum, rubbing his shoulder...

DRAMA — It's not insincere. He's actually giving it thought.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Doesn't the... pupils and the gurning jaw, the sweating... doesn't it become tiring after a while?"

YOU — "I understand it's unbecoming but if I don't perform this job well I am nothing. It's the price I pay."

Harry knows that the cost of getting sober would be that the precinct would let him go. They’re not going to have the patience to deal with him slowing down from the combo of withdrawal and no speed to “keep him propped up.” Not when the reason that he’s stayed on the force this long and risen in the ranks is most likely because he manages such a massive caseload, as we find out from Kim:

YOU — "Is two cases a week a good case load, lieutenant?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Huh?" He raises his nose from his notes. "Two *complex* cases to undertake is a lot, yes. You *really* have to push yourself. I would not suggest it. Lest you start making mistakes."

YOU — "Two cases a week appears to have been my load, lieutenant. I'm not sure I completed them though."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Two?" He raises both eyebrows. "That's a lot. I didn't mean to say you're making mistakes, by the way. That was presumptuous of me."

And later:

KIM KITSURAGI — "This next row -- the one that wraps all the way around -- is your number of closed cases. *Closed* is good. It means finished. You've got, let's see..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Wow, more than 200!"

YOU — "Is that a lot?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "It's *quite* a lot, even for someone who's been on the force for nearly two decades. Usually clearing more than 10 cases a year puts you in the 90th percentile of *all* RCM officers..."

Despite the trouble Harry makes, he’s considered an asset so long as he closes cases. To the point where he wasn’t punished for drunkenly beating Burke unconscious and then injuring his knee so badly that he can’t walk anymore just because this allowed them to close the “unsolvable case” of Leslie and Burke. 41 and the RCM as an institution don’t care about Harry’s or anyone else’s wellbeing, they care about whether the pros of having him around outweigh the cons.

From the lazareth call with Gottlieb:

YOU — "Isn't there *anything* you can do for me?"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "What, you want me to do blood work for you again, tell you just how bad things really are *across the board*? You want another rundown of everything collapsing inside your body?"

YOU — "Yes. I want the truth!"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "You want the real, honest-to-god truth? Stop drinking, eat magnesium and vitamin D. Our station is not a retirement home. We don't have the funds to deal with *rock stars* past their prime."

RHETORIC — So it's political! You're being *neglected* because of political reasons...

NIX GOTTLIEB — "And no, I *don't* want to hear a *political commentary* on the topic. In fact -- I've got work to do."

If I were to quote every time Gottlieb was notably uncaring or said something blasé about how you probably didn’t have long to live, I’d have to quote pretty much every word of that dialogue. That’s the whole joke with Gottlieb. That’s just how it is dealing with doctors when you’re in Harry’s position.

From talking to Kim about Uuno:

KIM KITSURAGI — "We could take him to Remedie or Saint Batiste, but he doesn't have money for medical services. The Almshouse would turn him down..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "They don't do charity for people who're trying to kill themselves. Besides, he'll be dead in a few..." The lieutenant stops, listening to him.

RHETORIC — ... years? Months? Weeks?

“They don’t do charity work for people who’re trying to kill themselves” really sums up the absurdity of Harry’s situation and institutional responses to it. Harry isn’t seen as the kind of person in crisis who deserves intervention. He’s treated as a lost cause who deserves to suffer the consequences of his self harm, even though the unending crisis and the lack of response to it is what drives him to harm himself and hope that he “gets worse.” If he weren’t a cop, it’s unlikely that Kim would care about him any more than he cares about Uuno and Cuno’s situation. Harry’s job is killing him, but it’s also the only thing that gives him access to anything resembling a community or support network (at least at the start of the game). Again, that’s just the way it goes when you’re disabled.

From the second tribunal:

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Well -- here is my theory: What if this is an absolutely normal reaction to the world we're living in? What if this is *not* a significant anomaly at all, something to be explained, approached as a defect? Look at the sensory input here..." He gestures toward the scenery.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Look at the ruins, the neon, listen to the radio, the multitudes. The people. Live here for forty years... As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed *flat against it*. Total input."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Hard-wired to the free market..." He nods confidently. "He just needed for it to end."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, Trant, thank you. That's... absolutely meaningless. I'm glad we brought you. Will he or will he not be able to work in the Major Crimes Unit? Is he a cretin now? I want to know *that*."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "He is *not* a cretin. And he *is* able to do work -- if not in his previous leadership role, then as a line detective."

YOU — "Line detective is good for now."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "For *now*?" He looks at you, then at Trant. "I misphrased my question. It should have been: Is he able to put his clothes on, and use the potty, or do we need to get him on a disability pension?"

Or, alternatively:

YOU — "He's wrong. I'm too far gone for work."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Agreed, Harry." He nods. "Just don't expect us to get you a disability pension. Cops who actually gave a shit are waiting in line. You're not gonna hog their seat."

Trant, who, notably, is technically a civilian consultant rather than a cop, (edit: and maybe even more notably, as someone pointed out in the tags, has had experience with addiction, too) suggests to Jean that Harry’s breakdown is a basically inevitable result of his circumstances and the systems that created them, and Jean’s response is that he doesn’t care and all that he wants to know is whether or not Harry can work or if he’s going to be “hogging” resources from other people who are more deserving of help because they “actually gave a shit.” He’s a mouthpiece here for the institutions that he represents and his ableism is blatant and heinous to drive the point home. He denies that Harry’s case is as serious as it is and accuses Harry of faking it, despite the fact that it’s happened (at least) twice before, and very recently:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "I believe you *drank*. People do that -- you especially. What they don't do is forget their *whole life* because of drinking."

JUDIT MINOT — "But, Detective Vicquemare," she interjects. "He *has* blanked out before."

YOU — "I have?"

JUDIT MINOT — "Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders." She pauses, remembering. "One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural."

REACTION SPEED — The two cases... in your ledger. The Unsolvable Case and the Next World Mural. Those were recent.

And despite the fact that even Gottlieb doesn’t seem shocked about it:

YOU — "I've lost my memory. All of it."

NIX GOTTLIEB — "With all the damage you've been dealing yourself with drugs and alcohol, I'm not surprised."

AUTHORITY — There is no surprise in his voice. Only careless superiority.

DRAMA — It's hard to say if he doesn't believe you -- or doesn't care.

(Considering that Gottlieb’s PSY stat is so high (he’s even eating one of the PSY boosting candies during the call), along with his uncaring responses to all your other problems, it’s more likely the latter.)

Jean also won’t believe that you’re sober even if you haven’t touched so much as a cigarette for your entire playthrough, and even when Judit points out that he’s wrong, he’ll double down and say that it doesn’t matter because you’re going to relapse:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Even the insect -- I don't care. But you're an *alcoholic*. And you've been drinking -- again. I won't let my life unravel because of this."

JUDIT MINOT — "Jean -- I think he hasn't. I can see it on his face..."

ENDURANCE — The bloating *has* gone down since you woke up that morning...

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, so he's stayed clear for what? A week?" He sighs.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "It's tough. One of the toughest addictions to overcome. Comparable *only* to heavy synthetic opiates. Even morphine is easier to kick than alcohol -- statistically. The odds are against him. Especially at his age."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — He nods. "He's too old. He's been like this for too long. I've seen him try many times. It's a farce by now."

SUGGESTION — They're leaving. They're all turning away from you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — No. You can figure it out. *Replace* it! Replace the alcohol with amphetamine. Or GBL! Fuck it -- morphine! Graffito removal agent! Anything. It'll buy you time. All you need is time.

Electrochemistry brings up yet another facet of Harry’s struggles with substances, which is the idea that some of them may be replacements for alcohol. He doesn’t have time or space to try to quit in any way that is remotely healthy. What he has are substances like speed that keep him from collapsing from the strain of it all so that he can keep showing up to work, and other substances that might (he hopes) help him wean himself off the alcohol.

The game explores all of these different factors of Harry’s struggles with addiction and the circumstances that keep him trapped in them exhaustively (and the fact that Robert Kurvitz apparently was recovering from alcoholism during the development probably contributed a lot to that). The structure and culture of the RCM are hugely responsible for Harry’s situation. He’s mocked and berated for being an alcoholic and told repeatedly to get his shit together without actually providing him with the means to do that. Instead, he’s not only enabled but practically forced to keep using just so that he can show up to work at all and not risk losing the only support network he has (even if it’s the shittiest and most unhelpful network imaginable). As Luiga (iirc) said, Harry’s biggest tragedy is that he’s incapable of quitting the force. Many of the reasons for that are genuinely just due to Harry being a class traitor and an asshole, but it’s also true that even if he did want to quit, there is no safety net to catch him.

And then Harry comes to Martinaise, a town that has been “orphaned” by the RCM and neglected by Revachol at large, left mostly to their own devices. It’s not like policing doesn’t still exist in Martinaise, and things are pretty dire for everyone in the community, but at the very least you can see that it is a community. Isobel houses you for free. In Kim’s absence (and after Gottlieb stitches and ditches you), Cuno and Garte take care of you when you’re shot. Acele responds to your breakdown on the ice by saying it’s okay to cry and that you can talk with her about it when you’re ready. Idiot Doom Spiral and co run to your aid when they see you drive your car into the sea and invite you to come drink with them just to stop you from doing it again. Harry discovers that life, while very painful and bleak at times, isn’t necessarily hopeless for the marginalized. You can still find solidarity and support outside of the system.

Meanwhile, if Harry in the end has no one to vouch for him and hasn’t stayed sober, that system will abandon him, a well-known suicide risk with at least one bullet hole in him and severe amnesia, with the promise of nothing but getting served a station call slip. The point is not whether or not Harry “deserves” to be forgiven or even whether he’s a danger to himself and others (to be clear, he is). The point is that this is a system that doesn’t care whether Harry and people like him live or die. That is why, even in a “good” ending where Harry is welcomed back to the 41st, the work won’t be sustainable. It’s going to kill him because that’s what it’s designed to do. The miracle of Martinaise was the realization that he doesn’t have to die. There are people who will help to keep him on this earth. They’re just not members of the fucking RCM.

It’s not a “gotcha” to say that if Jean (and the RCM, and the institutions of Revachol on the whole) is ableist for wanting Harry fired, then saying that cop work is unsustainable for Harry is also ableist. I won’t even say what I personally think of that logic because I’m trying to keep the tone of this post polite. Jean’s dialogue during the tribunal is meant to parrot every bit of ableist rhetoric that the system is built on and that keeps Harry trapped in this hellish feedback loop. He’s a mouthpiece for the general culture of the RCM, just like Gottlieb is a mouthpiece for the shit that addicts and the disabled have to deal with from the medical system. He thinks Harry should be fired because he’s a drunk and therefor a lost cause. The truth is that Harry needs to quit this job because it shouldn’t exist and because it is actively killing him.

In one of Martin Luiga’s articles about the process of creating the game, he brings up the concept of social murder, which is a term coined by Engels:

When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live – forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence – knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains.

None of this is subtext. And all of it is intended to make players actually spare a thought for what it’s like for people in Harry’s situation in real life. For God’s sake, please engage with it. You have to try and understand what it means to be trapped in a life that is made unlivable and to know that your death will be ungrievable. That’s what this whole game is about.

Edit: I’ve seen some ppl say in the tags something like “yeah, I like to imagine a happy ending for Harry, but…” and listen. I am laying a very gentle hand on your shoulders. The point of this post was never to say that there’s no happy ending for Harry. The point is that the first step toward that ending is conceptualizing a life outside of the RCM. In Martinaise, he got a glimpse of what that might look like. Hell, in the bad ending, you can even say to Jean, “fine then. I’ll just live here.” There’s hope for him and for us. I promise.

[mostdefinitelyafeverdream]

pairing: hannibal lecter x gn!reader

warnings: ///

author's note: not much to say other than i wrote this on a whim, lots of unresolved tension & hannibal being hannibal which is self-explanatory enough i believe. first person pov because i think the use of y/n disrupts the narrative. comments & reviews much appreciated!!

banishing the heartbreak

tell me what the cards say

give me all the tingles

moi je veux le monde

bottom line - he's looking, and he keeps looking. a shiver - painfully vulnerable reaction, extreme and warranted by such imposing presence - runs down my arms and i struggle to hold the piercing gaze; it suddenly turns into a struggle, a subtle battle for dominance. that's what he made of it and never am i allowing him the upper hand (though matching his intensity is nothing short of exhausting).

his eyes hold such starved hunger, a primal instict much alike to the hunting predator giving restless chase and for a second i scoff at its theatricality. his stance screams of a man who's always had his way and i catch a glimpse of the underlying arrogance of a much anticipated victory, which against all reason, tugs at my own grisly pride.

"can i help you?"

he smiles but doesn't show his teeth - not yet at least. his approaching steps mark a distinct rhythm that confuses itself with the pounding of my frantic heartbeats, but stubbornly holding onto my slowly crumbling resolve, i keep shuffling the cards in my hands.

he didn't expect me to address him first - in nature, prey never provokes a predator.

he sits and never breaks the stare, amused like the cat that toys with mice without even paying much mind to their squeaks.

"may i request a fortune reading?"

a pause. i look to him again and he doesn't strike me as a believer - of any kind, in any being but himself. he looks like someone whom people devote their beliefs to, instead.

"i don't read for those who don't really want a reading"

he smiles again but nothing in the poised way he sits betrays his growing interest; nothing but a glint in his eye, the sadistic inclination of the enthused scientist about to prod and probe until he gets the desired results.

"so you know what i want"

it's not phrased as a question, and this is but a first test, i vexedly realise. i try not to let his soothing baritone sway my resolve to teach this arrogant, arrogant man a lesson but how can i hope to oppose him if my resistance might be nothing more than an entertaining bit on his carefully directed stage? - merely few minutes have passed and that's the power imbalance he set already.

"i'm not as presumptuous as to assume something like that. but i am presumptuous enough as to assume what you do not want."

it's my turn to smile but i'd be a fool to believe it might elicit the same reaction as his domineering presence. it's tight lipped and more hostile than i'd hoped but i'd always been easy to read: my eyes, much like his own, betray my nature.

"hannibal lecter," he doesn't extend his hand, it's not an introduction but a statement: "excuse my rudeness."

he has a gentlemanly charm, surely carefully crafted to attract all kinds of attentions - trust would be the correct term, as i'm sure he thrives off the easy accessibility of prey, whatever his ambitions may be, but i do not trust this man one bit. i give him my name nonetheless which is my second grave mistake today; the first one: subconsciously letting him make space for himself at my table, where he comfortably sits scrutinizing my every move.

"nothing to be excused. what i meant to say is, i don't read for those who think of the practice as a joke."

he merely listens and does not refute my words of thinly veiled accusation. what an overbearing man.

"are you a man of science? a doctor, maybe." i stir the pot, i know i am and this game is most definitely dangerous but nothing short of exciting. it's too late to back down anyways.

"an accurate observation. knowledge incited by your... practice, perhaps"

"what a pity, i clearly see a future as a comedian"

it shouldn't arouse such unbridled delight and violent trepidation, the way he looks more and more kin to dig his talons in, to tear and cut his way to what he knows will be the inevitable dead end. and yet the poised firm stance still stands, unwavering - he's enjoying this and in some twisted, unforseen turn of events, i'm giving in and being led by his hand.

"comedy and tragedy alike bear the omen of fate. to evoke a laugh is but to twist the odds in in your favor and rewrite a satisfying ending. do you belive in destiny?"

i'm still shuffling the cards, he's still drinking in my every movement, savoring my resentment and aversion like a long-awaited meal. he subtly leans in and i match his pace, if only to prove his intimidation does not sway me, if only to prove i will dance to his jarring waltzer just to prove a point.

a single card falls from the deck.

the fact so unexpected we both quickly divert our gazes to look down upon it. the man whose ominous presence is enough to trigger every defense mechanism i possess smiles one more time - he bares his teeth. he takes a card of his own from his pocket, a business card, and puts it right next to the fallen arcana, then leaves the table - and me - without a word.

when i look back down again, the devil stares right back.

dividers by @/enchantings

[anincompletelist]

wip wednesday! :D

HAPPY MIDDLE OF THE WEEK YALL! many thanks to @onthewaytosomewhere @kiwiana-writes @junebugclaremontdiaz @sophie1973 @nocoastposts @magicandarchery @sunnysideprince @captainjunglegym @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @wordsofhoneydew @priincebutt @ships-to-sail @sparklepocalypse @bigassbowlingballhead for the tags, I so enjoyed actually reading all of your lovely words on TIME today skjhskjhdkhsf <33333

been seeing a lot of age gap fics lately (which I love) but not many with older alex, sooooooooooo here is that? enjoy!

+

“Can I, uh, help you with something?” Alex coughs awkwardly into his fist, tapping his fingers on the wood of the bar from the adjacent row of seats. 

Alex has never in his life seen someone so blatant in their appraisal, even after years of being in the media circus. The guy tilts his head thoughtfully, running his eyes from the brim of Alex’s hat down to where his torso disappears behind the bartop.  

“Maybe,” he decides. “What’s your name?” 

A splintered laugh catches in the back of Alex’s throat. “You don’t know who I am?” 

“Should I?” 

Pursing his lips to hide the burgeoning smile, Alex ducks his head down to stare at his half-empty drink as he works out his options here. 

“I’m Alex.” 

“Nice to meet you, Alex,” he says, closing his journal and leaning forward onto it with an elbow. He nods toward his own drink, still mostly full, and back to Alex. “Would you mind ordering me a refill? I’m fresh out.” 

Alex chuckles. “Smooth.” 

“Neat, actually.” 

Hiding his grin in his chest, Alex shakes his head, the barely-there curl of the guy’s lips imprinted behind his eyelids. He really shouldn’t. 

“Should I—?” he gestures to the open seat beside him. 

“Be my guest.” 

He slides off of his own stool and relocates to his spot a bit further down, a knit-covered elbow brushing his own when Alex settles in next to him. The scent of something clean, maybe laundry detergent, floods his senses, and he curls his fingernails into the skin on his palm to keep from reaching out to see if the man’s cheek is as soft as it looks. 

“Do I get to know your name?” 

“Would it be too presumptuous of me to say you could call me whatever you like?” A blonde brow quirks up, his mouth following the same trajectory when Alex huffs a laugh. “It’s Henry.” 

“A pleasure, Henry,” Alex says, offering a hand. 

His fingers are warm, calloused where the pencil had sat moments ago, when he shakes Alex’s hand slowly, holding his eye. “I’m hoping so.”

+

OPEN TAG of course, but also @firenati0n @eusuntgratie @ladyknightellen @firstsprinces @whimsymanaged @anchoredarchangel @cricketnationrise @rmd-writes @inexplicablymine @happiness-of-the-pursuit @read-and-write- @getmehighonmagic @rockyroadkylers

xx

[lets-try-some-writing]

For the WIP game, may I ask for something from "Mortal Child"? 👀

My goodness, this was an ask from forever ago so I am SUPER sorry. That said, this WIP is more chapter planning than fic. Still, here's a snippet from what I have! I think I posted the first chapter here forever ago, last year in spring probably.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

‘Almighty Creator, crafter of all beings… if it is devotion which you wish of this foolish son, I give it to you freely.’ 

Standing up methodically, Thirteen gazed down into the Well, observing the shining light of his Maker’s core. Still ever silent, unfeeling, uncaring… Primus did not see him. But maybe… Thirteen could make him see. 

‘I live to fulfill your design. Please, give me purpose! Show me that there is a reason! I will give you everything, I will hold nothing back from you Creator!’ 

Desperation laced his tone as he teetered on the edge. He had nothing to give, no knowledge, no power, or anything else of note.

But he did have his life.

The singular gift Primus had seen fit to grant him.

‘I have nothing to give save what you have granted me. But if it is your will, I return it freely.’

A hint of fear wormed its way into his spark as he began to lean. If this wasn’t enough, if his life ended there without ever having been given a chance to matter-

Well that would be the end wouldn’t it.  

‘Father.’

He called out. He fell. His frame careened into the darkness of the Well and the world passed him by in a blur of color. The light of the surface faded and distantly Thirteen could see Amalgamous reaching into the Well, trying to stop him from tumbling to what was likely his death. Thirteen had not noticed his fellow Prime’s arrival. He had not wanted any of the others to see him in his state… it would only bring them more pain.

‘Forgive me.’

Thirteen wept as he fell, time seeming to slow as he heard his brother Prime screaming out his designation. How foolish he was, thinking that his creator would heed his calls. He was nothing, a speck of dust in the void of eternity. It was presumptuous of him to think anything would come of his devotion. What was one being compared to a god? And now because of his sins, he was going to die and Amalgamous would have to watch. He could only faintly hope that this was somehow part of Primus’s grand plan, if not for him, then for his fellow Primes.

Thirteen pulled away from the world, refusing to allow himself to see as he fell for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, at some point between the dawn of time and the end of all things, his fall slowed and he hovered in a void with only a blinding light beneath him. Looking at the light was agony, it burned more than even the fires of Solus’s forge. A being Thirteen was never meant to witness or understand was observing him, picking him apart with sight alone. He wished he could hide or scream, and yet he knew it was his maker who gazed upon his wretched form.

There was no describing that which Primus was. There was too much to say and yet nothing at all. He was light and he was dark. He was the beginning and the end. All Thirteen knew was that this being was one he was bound to, one that even his very spark was meant to bow before in submission. What was a Prime before a god?

Tendrils of light wrapped around him, touching, feeling, burning. It was torture, especially as his form seemed to break itself apart under the watchful gaze of the divine. Thirteen could hardly think, and yet amidst the torment, he wondered.

‘Is this why you made me father? An experiment? A creature to observe and discard when its time has run out?’

A part of him wanted to be hurt at the concept as the tendrils dug into him, climbing up toward his spark. Yet, as he felt the power of the divine drawing nearer to his core, he could not find it within himself to be upset. At least this way, his life would have meant something, even if it was only as a trial. He could be hopeful that if this was his end, perhaps Primus would use what he was to make something better, something purer than Thirteen.

‘Hush dear one. You are not unloved.’

A soothing voice echoed in every atom of Thirteen’s being. If he had the capacity to shed tears, he would have been doing so bitterly as the comfort eased the burn of the tendrils. He could hear him, Primus, his father was there and speaking. A chorus of voices and sounds so melodic as to be almost maddening to hear. His Creator was perfect, and Thirteen could only revel in the glory.

‘To you I give the most precious of gifts.’

Agony assaulted his spark, tearing and ripping and burning in the most torturous of ways. Despite that, Thirteen felt nothing but joy as Primus uttered his words of comfort. Thirteen had purpose, he had design. With every passing moment of perpetual pain, there was something new forming alongside him. It was a different kind of pain, one that did not burn or sting, but rather ached in a manner almost akin to longing. A burgeoning life, something different from Thirteen and yet so connected to him that no matter the distance, he knew that the shard would always return to him.

‘Know the pain of creation dear one. Know the suffering of new life and cherish it. For this is what it means to be divine.’

The chorus of his Creator’s voice soothed the suffering, and soon, the pain faded away into memory. Everything still ached, but it meant little as Thirteen felt the blazing mote of innocent light burning within him, spreading warmth and a crisp cool throughout his frame all at once. A life, one so small as to hardly be capable of even the most basic of thought remained tied to Thirteen’s own. A gift, a blessing, a new beginning. 

‘Go, devote yourself to your creation. Know life for what it is, and when you are ready, you shall know your design.’

His father’s command echoed in Thirteen’s spark and mind, authority unchallengeable seeping into every part of his being. He dared not even consider disobeying as the void faded away and he was lifted up, light consuming his vision once more. The next he knew, cold ground greeted him, a complete surprise to Thirteen as his frame rattled at the chill. 

“THIRTEEN! Thank Primus! I thought-!” He did not have a chance to react as strong arms lifted Thirteen up, cradling him close. Above him Amalgamous loomed, his ever shifting form configuring as he observed Thirteen, trying to search for damage. Thirteen for his part did not react, his mind focused on the life within him.

He did not need to see it. Something had been altered in him on a fundamental level. Whatever Primus had changed him. He was different now, and the world no longer felt quite so cold, not when the little light within him pulsed, flaring and fluttering around his spark in curiosity that prodded at Thirteen’s mind with the utmost adoration and love. Was this how Primus felt when Thirteen and his fellows called out to him? Was this the joy of a creator?

‘My Little Light…’

The light within him shone brighter, glowing like a newborn star in absolute untainted joy. If Thirteen had the capacity, he would have smiled. He did not understand his purpose, but he knew his mission. This small life within him was to be cherished, and he would give everything to guard it, no matter the cost.

Such was Primus’s command, and so great was the newfound love that bloomed within him. 

[entropicbias]

your existence is genuinely befuddling to me. like i mean this in the absolute nicest way possible, which is kinda stupid because it's going to sound incredibly condescending and mean anyway. i just do not understand how you can build your life and personality around a character you ostensibly have the same name as and get offended when people ask if you are roleplaying or kinning or treat you as a character. especially in the homestuck community. understandably i'd get pissed too but in this community people seem to lack critical thinking skills and you seem aware of that too

i think the way you type everywhere and the fact that a lot of your friends do the exact same thing as you but with other characters from hs gives it away

im not even necessarily saying it's a bad thing to kin a character but if you're gonna do it, it just seems disingenuous to frame it as "i've always been this way"

i understand that i am an asshole for even insinuating that you're just playing a character or maybe it's just that people noticed that you share some similarities with a certain character and you just play into that for fun or something

so i guess my question is whether this is just a huge bit or not. you don't even have to answer this i was just wondering as somebody who previously built my entire identity around a fictional character before

(very well said. john egbert isn't really unique in personality. maybe you should've gone to someone who acted like xehanort. i think that would've landed you a better answer.)

here are multiple tweets of me humoring comments i get regarding this. and also casually telling people i'm not doing a bit, and i don't think i'm john egbert from homestuck. very casually, i've only gotten offended when people have associated me with the character to make assumptions about my personal life and my identity. i'm not sure where else you've seen me "get offended over it" like it's a federal issue. i am pretty aware that that is a normal assumption to make based on what i act like.

here are some youtube comments i made when i was nine or ten. i have never typed exactly like this for all my life consistently. just like any other person. i have had phases where i've just changed to adjust to whatever was big in internet humor and language. but, using periods is just muscle memory to me.

my friends are also their own people. matter of fact, i am friends with a lot of them because this is a shared experience. you see many people in the fandom who have either been like me or there are many cases where people are transgender and have taken on the name and look of a character they relate to. or some people are genuinely just like, people with DID.

there was a brief period in my life where, because of the way i was, i was told i needed to associate with an identity close to how people claim they are "irls" of characters. but i was also 15, and i was a very impressionable kid. and you have to remember that this was like, a trend. even so, i don't think i have ever publicly associated myself with the label at all. it was just a thing i picked up from some weird friends i had going into the fandom. i am obviously grounded in reality, and i am my own person!!!!

i do not currently "kin" or say i "kin" cause that is really gay. no offense to kinners, the concept is fun! it just got ruined by fandom people.

john egbert is more like a persona to me than anything! but it's not like you could tell my drawings of him and me apart. again, not a federal issue.

i think this was a really presumptuous way to ask me this question, like you've completely figured out my act out or something by insinuating that i am being disingenuous. i would have a lot more respect for you if you either approached me privately or didn't make the only way of answering your question to publicly have to tell people i am not lying about my image. i'm really only answering this because i'd hate it if other people thought the same. so, let me clear the air!

i am not building my life around john egbert. that is not even possible at this point because i am a grown ass man. if i wanted to be more like john egbert, i wouldn't draw gay homestuck art as my main hobby.

does this answer your invasive question.

[clavissionary-position]

Keith: (knocks and enters the Domestic Faction office) Pardon the intrusion. I was told you wanted... to see...

Keith: (blinks at the mess) I suppose I'll just wait outside until they return.

☆

Keith: (to himself while waiting outside) Oh, what am I doing? I might offend them if I don't wait inside the office. Waiting out here is basically the same as saying their office is too dirty for me.

Keith: (goes back inside)

Keith: Let's see... I might could sit on that sofa if I set it upright first. But they might have purposely arranged it that way, so it'd be rude to move it.

Keith: Maybe that chair then... Nevermind, it's being used to hold up that leaning shelf.

Keith: Oh, there's a spot open right... Nope, that's Leon's desk.

Keith: Ah, but that window-sill looks—

Keith: What kind of a guest sits on a window-sill? (shakes his head)

Keith: I'm approaching this the wrong way. It's presumptuous of me to even want seating. Instead I can just—

☆

Sariel: (speaking briskly as he hurries down the hall with a ministry of ministers at his heel) I'm afraid Prince Keith has folded himself into an empty shelf on a bookcase and now he's stuck.

Sariel: It was in the Domestic Faction office this time, so please prepare for the toughest extraction we've faced yet.

[campbyler]

hey!!!! i am so excited for the new chapter drop, and i just wanted to offer some insight into why people might have gotten frustrated last time with the delays even tho you owe us nothing lol. i think it was about information rather than the fic itself… so maybe instead of pushing the drop day back by one day (repeatedly if need be), a whole week, or two week, pushback at a time could frustrate people less... then if it's ready sooner than that, it'll be a lovely surprise for everyone who wasn't expecting it for another week or two!! plus you guys would be giving yourself like an extra week to chill and finish it instead of the pressure of just 24hrs, (which is nothing what with real life etc) and you could even have a few days off before dropping it if you DID finish it early, cos no one would be any the wiser!

just an idea, that's what i'd do i think and that's how deadline pushbacks often work at my college so i thought i'd share :) hope that's not presumptuous :) you might already be doing this who knows :)

hello hello we are super excited for it as well!! re: your insight — we totally get why people are annoyed by delays, because it definitely is frustrating to look forward to something and constantly have it delayed, especially a little bit at a time and multiple times in a row, so trust me when i say that we fully understand that and wouldn’t be pushing it back by these increments if we didn’t think it would fully be done by a certain time. the 1 or 2 day delays for ch9.2 in particular were 1. made when there were only about one day’s worth of edits left to be made on 9.2, so it was a very reasonable guess to us, and 2. extremely circumstantial and unexpected. thea was very very close to being done but stuff kept coming up, like her being too physically tired after working her shift (her schedule is all over the place usually) to keep editing which she didn’t think she would be, or getting delayed at work for hours, or the one time we got that one anon about ch9.2, thea had been actually and literally swarmed by thousands of people at her job and simply was not in the mood to hear someone complaining about a chapter being delayed by another day or two. there also is something to be said about how we’ve seen people complain or get annoyed when it’s pushed back by a longer period of time in advance, which we have also done, so it leaves us kind of trapped between a rock and a hard place — do we overestimate and have people complain, or do we try to give them shorter term update goals and still have them complain?

we fully get why it’s frustrating and aren’t pushing it back little by little in order to be difficult, but either way, we just don’t think people should be in our inbox vocalizing those frustrations to us. they can even complain in dms to their friends about it, we don’t care! we appreciate the sentiment and the insight and we do try to give reasonable estimates for delays as much as we can, but honestly we just don’t really want to hear if people are annoyed 🤷🏽‍♀️ it’s not helpful or productive to us in any way and we would just prefer it stay out of our inbox and out of our sight overall

[josefavomjaaga]

Murat and Bessières at school

Still looking for something for @flowwochair, I came across this very brief remark in the memoirs of general Jean Sarrazin (more about him below):

When I was seven, my father took me to the college in Cahors, the capital of the Lot department. My father chose this college in preference to the one in Agen, on the advice of the Comte de Fumel, whose tenant he was. [...] I was raised with Murat, Bessières and Andral, with whom I was friends. Bessières was well-behaved, a little Cato. Murat was a scatterbrain, boisterous and concerned only with his own pleasures. He was a true Paris brat (gamin de Paris).

Now, I assume this author is a highly suspicious source. Not only because he, obviously, is yet another Gascon, but mostly because he, after having served in the Revolutionary and Imperial army, defected to the British in 1810, and supplied them with plenty of information on Napoleon’s plans and the most prominent leaders of his army. As a matter of fact, in 1811 he had a book published with descriptions of several prominent figures in France, called "The Philosopher", the first chapter of which is dedicated to Marshal Soult, who was probably the most interesting to the British due to him being their main opponent in Spain, and who in this book receives much more praise than is due to him. While much of it may be plain wrong or at least cannot be verified, I feel like it’s an interesting insight into what people in the army at the time thought about these folks.

Among other things, Sarrazin gives a long description of the battle of Fleurus, with some interesting twists. Mostly he claims that Lefebvre owed his reputation as a great general only to Soult, who at the time was his chief-of-staff, and even has general Marceau exclaim that Soult had won the battle of Fleurus for them. This is completely opposite to Soult’s own memoirs, where Soult has nothing but praise for Lefebvre’s actions during the battle of Fleurus, and barely mentions his own. However, there seems to be some truth to Soult coming to the aid of one rather desperate general Marceau, as Soult mentions this, too, though in a very different context.

The demand to detach some troops at a very inopportune moment is made in Soult’s memoirs as well – but not by Marceau, but by Saint-Just. And it’s not Lefebvre and Soult who refuse, but Jourdan (whom Soult praises a lot for having had the courage to stand up to what he calls "Saint-Just's presumptuous ignorance"). I am not sure in how far these memoirs are influenced by Soult’s own long life and his own political situation, but he clearly despises Saint-Just. According to his memoirs, the whole officers’ corps was shaking with fear while the politicians were with them, literally scared to death. In front of Charleroi, one artillery capitaine allegedly was executed for having failed to meet the schedule Saint-Just had set for him.

Again, I have no clue what this is based on. But I thought it worth mentioning, maybe somebody from the Frev community can shed some light onto this incident.

(Personally, I feel like Soult may be projecting here a little of "Joseph's presumptuous ignorance" onto another episode of his life 😋)

[knight-commander]

OCKISSWEEK - DAY 4

Adrigo & Agria

remember when I said I wouldn’t write anything bc I feel sick. I just finished this wip instead I lied I’m sorry. @thesolemnhour I love Agria a lot

Adrigo had come to know Viktor Lebeda in the ways he had come to know all men whose pride and hopes stretched before them in the dreams of a proud lineage: they were cruel and cowardly first, and pleasantly gullible second. Feathers ruffled by Adrigo’s preaching of “a better way” for the poor could be soothed by appeasing promises and an upturned smile—and who would accuse an aasimar of wretchedness when misguided selfishness was obviously the truth?

Adrigo had to be wretched. Nobody else reached for what he wanted like he did. They lacked conviction.

The girl was innocent. The Lebeda daughter. All girls were, in some way: maybe he once was, before he doffed the sheep’s wool and became the wolf. Did Viktor know he sent his daughter straight to its jaws? Would he care?

Men like him never did, Adrigo reasoned with a smile as he took Agria’s hand and kissed it. Her face was distant, faraway, and displeased—good. That meant she was learning.

Pleasantries aside, he didn’t think of keeping her for long. His mind was racing with the thought of where those like Viktor would end up one day; those who took and controlled without sympathy or remorse, who let their ego and corruption come before their duty to their cause. Those who kept a boot to the neck of their world.

Adrigo would be the one holding a heel to theirs before long.

“You are an aasimar as well,” Adrigo remarked, still keeping Agria’s hand in his, still half-bowed as though he might kiss it again. He saw the dissatisfied twitch in her grimace.

“Congratulations,” she said as she sharply whipped her hand back out of his grasp. “You have eyes. I suppose next you’ll say that my parents must be proud?”

Adrigo chuckled as he stood upright. “I’m sure they are. You’re a very presumptuous woman, Agria.”

“It’s served me well,” she sniffed. The way she looked him over would have made a lesser man tremble. Judging from some of the boys cowering just out of her gaze, he had to imagine her intensity was infamous. Later there would be time to ponder if it was due to their shared heritage.

“What assumptions have you made about me, then? I know we have only just met, but consider me curious. It’s rare for me to meet another of the periblooded.”

Agria huffed and raised her head. “I think you are arrogant,” she said, “and you think yourself twice as clever as you really are. And I think you are trying to build too much camaraderie with me by virtue of being an aasimar. I don’t care that I am one. It’s not important to me.”

Adrigo blinked, almost taken aback. Her eyes were like two summer suns in the height of the season, coating everything in hot hazy orange and withering leaves away. His own eyes were suns on a black sky; he was a solar eclipse in motion. He idly wondered if she knew how terrifying she looked. She’d learn. Or he’d block her way.

“I see,” he said with a warm smile. “I stand corrected.”

“Is that so?” She asked smugly.

“You’re a very dangerous woman, Agria Lebeda. Have you yet decided what you’re going to do with all of that anger?”

[ask-felix-aberg]

*Felix saw Amit standing in front of his doorstep, looking down as if the boy was trying to look for something*

"MERLIN'S BEARD, FELIX!" he shouted as he turned around.

"I didn't notice you were already here," a hint of shame in his eyes.

"My friend asked me to deliver this to you," he sighed.

"She said -" he paused shortly as if already regretting what he just uttered.

Amit took a deep breath and handed a sealed envelope and tin can to Felix. "Here." he muttered. "I think it's best if I just leave it up to you. It's yours, anyway. "

Before Felix could even reply, Amit left while yawning, obviously tired from a long day of classes.

*A vanilla scented with hints of floral notes letter envelope was handed out to Felix with the words "To: Felix" + some circular tin can with cinnamon rolls inside of it with a note saying 'those gingersnaps were to die for. i hope you like these' *

~•☆•~ the letter ~•☆•~

Dearest Felix,

Hello there!

I hope you're having a wonderful day. If not, well, I am sending you some spiritual warm hugs. On the other hand, if you're having a wondrous day, well, I am cheering for you!

First off, I just wanted to give you my heartfelt thanks for those oh so delicious gingersnaps; they're truly a delight! I don't know where'd you get them or if you made them, but I'm sure that I want to snack on those more! So, thank you so much for sending me some~

Once again, you have reminded me that you're an angel gifted ever so kindly to this world.

By the way, I saw you again in our Arithmancy class today. Truth be told, that certainly made my day.

I am going to sound very presumptuous here. However, from what I've heard, you also enjoy Arithmancy classes. It's no wonder that I always witness your determination and intelligence shining ever so brightly whenever we are in that class.

On the contrary, as much as I love Potions, yet I usually see you not exactly enjoying it. You know, there are times when I just want to launch myself towards you and offer you some help. But then again, I get shy and become almost not myself whenever you're around. I guess.. I want to impress you, but I'm not quite sure how.

Oh, Felix... I hope you know that you're the ray of light even in my darkest days. I can't fully explain it. But all I know is that, even just by seeing you, I feel like there will always be a warm light in this cold world. And that gives me so much faith, another reason to celebrate life, if you will.

Thank you for being you.

Truth is, I am a shadow, and you're the light. Yet here I am, hopelessly attracted to you. But I am scared. I am constantly hunted by the fact that maybe if I get too close, well, I'd hurt you. And that's the last thing I want to do.

Still, I hope one day I may be able to muster up all my courage and talk to you face-to-face. And let all of my heart sing out to you.

Until then, I wish that the universe and everything in it shall treat you with love and care.

Sincerely,

Your Secret Admirer

Felix blinked, amused by Amit’s flustered demeanor. Somehow it was endearing. Before Felix could utter a word of thanks, Amit was already retreating, his shoulders slumped as he yawned, obviously exhausted. The tall wizard watched him amble away, a small smile playing on his lips. Poor Amit, probably caught in the middle of something he hadn’t anticipated. Felix made a mental note to thank him properly later.

His attention turned to the items the fellow Ravenclaw had handed over, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon mingling in the air - a rather delightful combination, he thought. Felix couldn’t help but smile as he opened the envelope and saw the familiar handwriting.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─☆: .☽ . :☆─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Dear Secret Admirer, Hello again!

I must admit, I was not expecting another letter so soon, but what a pleasant surprise it was! Amit practically jumped out of his skin when I caught him at the doorstep of my dorm - he’s not the finest courier, but it seems he’s trying his best for you.

I have to admit, your kind words have caught me a bit off guard (again). I don’t quite feel like the angel you describe (or prince) - I’m simply Felix. Just a guy trying to make it through the day without too many mishaps.

Thank you for the cinnamon rolls, they look absolutely delicious, and I can’t wait to try them! As for the gingersnaps, I’m glad you liked them! I actually made them myself. I’ve always enjoyed baking. If you ever want more, you only have to say the word. I’d be happy to make as many as you like.

Arithmancy has always been one of my favourite subjects. There’s something so precise and fascinating about it, don’t you think? I wonder… could it be that you sit behind me in class? I often feel like there’s someone watching, but I’ve never been able to place it. Now I’m curious.

Please don’t feel pressured to reveal yourself. I understand how daunting that can be. I’ve grown to enjoy our little exchanges, and if this is the way we continue, then that’s perfectly fine with me.

Thank you again for the cinnamon rolls - they smell divine! I’m going to savour each one!

Varma hälsningar,

Felix

[juancarlos-ortiz]

Marked for Carnage - Chapter 2 (Juice Ortiz x OC Fic)

Marked for Carnage Masterlist

A/N: My apologies for the lateness between uploads! I am hoping to upload 1 chapter a week at the least but I am a mum to 2 young ones and uni has just gone back so I'm trying to find time when I can. This is probably going to be a slight slowburn for Juice and Ronnie so hopefully people are into that! Also wanted to state that this series will include swearing, alcohol and drug use, violence, death and potentially smutty scenes. This is 18+ please do not read or interact if you are under 18. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2929 words

Juice frowned as he exited the clubhouse, making his way across to the garage. He had just told his brothers that his insider at city hall had told him about Hale having a warrant to search their warehouse. The warehouse that was very much blown to pieces and currently still holding the burnt bodies of two women. It had soured everyone's mood, being an issue that no one wanted to deal with right now. He slowed his steps down, a smile flashing across his face, and his mood lifting immediately as he spotted his mystery girl from the hospital a couple of days ago walking up the driveway towards the garage. Changing his direction, Juice walked into the office through the garage, hoping he was the only one there and that he could catch her on her own. To his delight, the office was empty. He rested against the front of the desk, crossing his arms - maybe or maybe not flexing them a little more than usual - and waited for her to enter.

Ronnie knocked on the office door and pushed it open when a husky voice told her to come in. To her surprise, she was greeted by the man who had called out to her at the hospital about her tattoos. Her stomach flipped as she took him in, that bright dazzling smile, and shoulders and arms pushing against the fabric of his black tshirt snugly. His choice of haircut was different, and if it was on anyone else she might roll her eyes at it, but coupled with his tattoos and the cut he wore, she decided it suited him. And she kind of liked it. "Hi," she smiled. "Hey," he grinned back. Suddenly Ronnie scrambled trying to piece together a sentence before the silence got too awkward. "My car," she blurted. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. Ronnie huffed a laugh and continued explaining. "My car… I need to pick it up. It's here. Because it’s a piece of shit," she concluded, throwing her hands up in a shrug.

Juice laughed as the woman in front of him shuffled from foot to foot, cracking her knuckles. He thought it might be too presumptuous to conclude that it was him making her nervous, but he seriously hoped it was. "Yeah sure, which car?" he asked, already knowing she drove the black Toyota but not wanting to come across as some kind of creep. She scanned through the window out to the lot, pointing at the car he had seen her drive. Juice nodded and began to look through the key case for her keys, not having any luck. "They must still be in the workshop," he explained. "I'll be right back."

Ronnie watched him walk out the door and took a seat on the small sofa near the door. Suddenly the door burst open, making her jump. "Veronica Winston," Gemma Teller smiled down at her from where she stood in the doorway. Ronnie stood and stepped into the woman's open arms, closing her eyes. "Hey Gemma," she sighed. Gemma had been the closest thing she had to a mother after her parents divorced and her mom left with Opie. She had gotten her through her teenage years pretty much up until Ronnie left town. Gemma pulled away, holding her at arms length. Then she pulled a hand back and slapped Ronnie lightly on the shoulder. "Why didn’t you tell me you were back in town, you little shit," she griped. Ronnie sighed, looking at the floor. "Was real difficult to even come back Gemma," she admitted. "Guess I just wanted to do things slowly. Not make a big deal out of it."

Juice stood at the door into the office, keys in his hand. He had seen through the window Gemma embracing the girl and them speaking as though they knew each other quite well. This was certainly intriguing. He had never seen her around but it seemed that maybe she wasn't a complete stranger to Charming. Gemma opened the door, stopping in her tracks when she saw Juice so close by. "You eavesdropping, Juice?" she asked, in her most "try me" Gemma way possible. Juice shook his head, holding the keys to the toyota up in exclamation. "Just giving these back to their owner," he pointed to the open door. Moving past Gemma, he passed the keys over to the woman, smiling when their hands touched. Her skin seemed soft, even in that fleeting moment.

After paying, Ronnie exited the office, surprised that Juice followed her out. "So," she said as they walked towards her car. "Juice?" He smiled, scratching the back of his neck as they continued to walk. "Yeah it's uh, not really a long or interesting story but. Just kind of stuck," he shrugged. Ronnie laughed softly and slowed her walking, coming to a stop and facing the man. "I'm Veronica," she stated holding her hand out to him. Juice stared at her hand before grasping it in his. It was rough, calloused no doubt from riding and working in the garage, warm against her palm. "But everyone calls me Ronnie." Juice smiled, nearly knocking the breath from her. Jesus Christ, she had hardly met the guy but he was doing a number on her. "Ronnie," he said her name as if he was testing it out on his tongue, his voice making the hair on her arms stand on end. "Nice to meet you Ronnie," he smirked and began to back away in the direction of the clubhouse. "See you around maybe?" he asked. Ronnie smiled as she made her way to her car, calling over. "That would be nice." As she reached her car she looked over to the club house, double taking when she noticed her brother sitting at a table there, glowering at her. She waved at him, rolling her eyes when he only continued to glare, sending a seething look in Juice's direction as well.

Juice smiled as he watched Ronnie getting into her car, his eyes lingering on the curves of her body that seemed to fit snug in her jeans and her soft arms exposed by the tshirt she had tucked into them - completely oblivious to Opie's death stare directed at him from where he sat. "What was that about?" he asked Juice. Juice jumped, turning to face Opie. "What do you mean?" Opie nodded his head towards where Ronnie's car had been parked, now gone. "Was just helping out a customer," Juice explained. Opie scowled at him before getting up and heading into the clubhouse where Clay was calling for Chapel. Juice stood staring at the seat that Opie had vacated in confusion. Did he know Ronnie? He hoped for his sake that that wasn't the case, and that someone had just pissed in Opie's proverbial cereal this morning and that’s why he was in a bad mood. He was into this girl. God, he wasn't looking for marriage and a mortgage - but she was beautiful, and new and exciting. Maybe they could have some fun together.

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

Later that night, Ronnie placed the pizza boxes down on the bench, pulling out two plates and loading them up. She took them to the living room where she handed one to her father and took a seat on the couch next to him. Piney pursed his lips and placed the plate on the table in front of him. Ronnie rolled her eyes. "Dad, you need to eat something. Even if it is shitty pizza," she said. Piney grunted, patting the bottle of tequila at his side as if that would fill him just fine. "God your liver must be screaming," Ronnie mumbled, tearing into her first slice. "You can hardly talk," Piney stated. "Not one fresh fruit or vegetable in that fridge. And microwave boxes in your trash," he pulled a cigarette out from his cut, rolling it under his nose. "Should cook yourself some real food." Ronnie huffed and put her plate down next to her fathers.

"I grew up with you remember," she muttered. "Didn’t teach me shit." Her father snorted a laugh. "Gemma was always there. You know she would have loved to be the one to teach you. She's a better cook than your mom." Ronnie smacked her fathers shoulder. "No way was I stepping in that kitchen with Gemma," she replied. "One fuck up and she would probably cut one of my fingers off. Use them as sausages or something." She wiggled her fingers in front of her, a frown on her face. Piney smiled at his daughter. Yeah, she had been mostly vacant from his life for nearly ten years but he still couldn’t believe how much she seemed to have changed. She had been a scrappy little thing when she was in high school. All elbows and knees, her face always painted heavily with makeup. She tended to roll with the rougher kids, always wanting to be as tough as her older brother. She was always trying to follow Opie and Jax around, get in with their crew of friends but the boys wouldn’t have it. So she made her own connections, which had unfortunately led to her nearly disappearing from their lives entirely. Now, Piney took her in as she sat on the couch with him. She was filled out these days, and her face was soft and kind. She reminded him of her mother in that respect. She had grown her hair out a lot longer than she ever did in school, the brown tresses falling to her waist.

"You seem like you’re doing ok back in Charming, sweetheart," Piney remarked. Ronnie turned to him with a raised brow. "You making any friends?" he asked. "Meet any… guys." He didn't even try to hide the distasteful frown on his face as the question came out of his mouth. "Jesus Christ, dad," Ronnie uttered. "You really gonna try and give me the talk? I'm 28, and - despite trying to scrub it from memory - we stumbled through that nearly 12 years ago." Piney waved her off. "Not talkin' about that. Just want to make sure you're getting' out. Being social. I don't think having your father as your only friend is very… 'cool' these days." Ronnie smiled and nudged her father with her shoulder. "Going soft on me, old man?" she joked. "Don’t worry dad, I'll try to get out more. But," she laid her head on his shoulder. "I love spending time with you. Don’t care if its cool or not."

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

Ronnie pulled her SUV into the Teller Morrow parking lot. Her father had polished off his bottle of tequila, and despite his arguments that he had made the trip plenty of times before, she refused to let him drive himself back. She had seen the results of MVAs involving alcohol and wouldn’t let that happen to her father or anyone he crossed paths with, even if the trip was short. She got out of the car and made her way around the car to help Piney. He waved her off as he got out of the passenger side. "I got it, I got it," he grunted. She helped him anyway, putting herself under his arm in support. Slowly they walked towards the clubhouse.

"Wow," Ronnie breathed as they walked in. "It's just like I remembered. But smaller somehow." She helped Piney to the bar, her arms out to steady him as he got himself seated on a stool. "Shouldn’t have bought you here as much as I did," he sniffed. Ronnie shrugged, making her way over to the wall filled with mugshots. She spotted her father easily enough, and Opie and Jax. Her smiled widened when she spotted Juice's face on the wall. His hair was grown out of the mohawk but still buzzed close, his mouth pulled tight and soft eyes staring down the camera. She felt as though she could tell he was overdoing it - that the tough guy thing wasn't 100% him. "Member's kids are always hanging around here," she reminded Piney. "Don’t matter. Still shouldn't have done it. Would have been better off if you went with Ope and your mother," Piney reached for the bottle of tequila that had been left out on the bar.

"Pops," Ronnie sighed, running a hand through her hair. "We are not having this conversation right now. I wanted to stay here. It was my choice and you and mum let me make it. End of story." Piney just scowled and knocked back a sip from the bottle. "You gonna be ok if I head out?" she asked him. He nodded and held his arm out to his daughter. She stepped into him, giving him a brief hug. "Not my first night at this bar, sweetheart." She smiled and bid him farewell. "Hey, one last thing," Piney called after her. She spun around to face him. "Your brother, he came to me today. He's," Piney waved the bottle around slowly. "Having some… money… issues." Ronnie sighed and tilted her head. "If he wanted my help dad, he would have come to me. You know what he's like. Will be too stubborn and proud if I go to him first." "He's your brother," Piney pointed the bottle at her. "Put that shit aside and help him if you can."

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

Juice walked beside the Prospect through the parking lot to the clubhouse. Jax and Chibs had already jumped on their bikes and taken off. Today and tonight had been hard work, with them pulling off the fake shootout to keep Hale off their backs about the warehouse. He needed a beer, a shower and a croweater if any were around. "That shit was crazy," Half-Sack chortled, his excitement from the night seeming to last a lot longer than Juice's. "See how we were all lined up and just," Sack held his hand up in the shape of a gun. "Bap, bap, bapbapbap. Straight into that dude!" Juice rolled his eyes. "The guy was already dead," he laughed. Half-Sack dropped his hand to his side, offence flashing across his face. "Don’t rain on my parade man, that's the most action I've gotten in months!" Juice raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean," Sack scratched the back of his head. "Not like that… I get action. I mean I have before. But that's not what I meant!" Juice laughed as the Prospect fumbled.

They neared the entrance to the clubhouse when suddenly a woman walked out. Juice was surprised to find it was Ronnie. She yelped when she spotted them, holding her hand to her chest. "You okay?" Juice heard Piney yell from inside the clubhouse. "Yeah, I'm good," she yelled back. His confusion increased. What was she doing at the clubhouse this late ? Did she know Piney? He had seen her closeness to Gemma earlier. Was she more ingrained with the Son's than he realised? "Sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you," Half Sack said, smiling a little too friendlier at her than Juice liked. Ain't no way someone else was pushing up on her before he did, let alone Half-Sack. "Get inside Prospect," he snapped. Sack groaned and followed his orders.

"What are you doing here?" Juice asked. Ronnie looked taken aback at his question. "Dropping someone off," she pointed over her shoulder. "Why? You don’t like bumpin' into me Juice?" she asked, the smirk on her face heating his blood. Jesus Christ, what was she doing to him? He felt like he was 17 all over again and had no control over his body. "Actually," he began, taking a step toward her. Her eyes widened for a second before she tried to play it cool, making Juice smirk this time. "I've been hoping to bump into you since this morning," he admitted. She turned her head, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Juice eyed the movement. "Really?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Yeah," he nodded. "You forgot to tip me." Ronnie's eyebrows furrowed, her lips pursing in confusion. "Tip you?"

"Mhm," he nodded. "For my outstanding service, getting your keys located for you and all that." Ronnie laughed, and Juice's heart did a funny thump in his chest. "My bad," she smiled. "And what kind of tip are you after, Juice?" she asked, her warm eyes cutting into his. Avoiding making an inuendo - although tempting - he answered. "Your number would be a good start." Ronnie huffed a smiled and laughed again, holding her hand out to him. "Gimme your phone then." She typed her number into the new contact page and handed it back to him. She walked past him towards her car, her shoulder brushing his and her scent filling his nostrils. Sweet like vanilla but also a little woody. Whatever it was he decided it was his new favourite smell. "Better put it good use, Juice," she said over her shoulder. Juice smiled, holding his phone to his chest as he watched her drive out of the parking lot. But his smile fell when he remembered how strange it seemed to be for her to be here at this time of night. And who was she dropping off? Piney? Juice turned and headed into the clubhouse in search of that beer and shower. He didn’t give a shit about finding a croweater anymore. He needed to find answers.

[worftism]

*wanders up to the playground with two toddlers as confused as I am* hey is this the star trek OCs playdate

anyway yeah hi :) I have some pals to introduce

Anna (they/she)

Denobulan-human mixed species

Entomologist (bug science :D)

So so autism

I like making up things about alien beings that canon doesn’t necessarily contradict, so her Denobulan physiology means that the number of times she’s gone hey cool bug :D and got bitten/scratched/stung means she’s become immune to many toxins

has loved Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea ever since they were little (their human mum showed it to them, probably on a computer screen to keep them entertained, but they kept wanting to watch it again and again) (could probably recite the whole script)

The name Anna was chosen as it’s fairly similar to Denobulan name sounds so easier for their family to pronounce

Regards Anna as their full name (Denobulans don't have surnames)

However being listed in files as Anna [surname, probably Baker or Bryant or something] and as both an English and Denobulan language of some sort native speaker, she gets addressed as [title/rank] [surname] more often than [title/rank] Anna, which would be correct

I couldn’t remember why I liked the idea of a Human-Denobulan mixed character so much but then I remembered the thing that inspired this is the whole sleep thing

(If you don’t know, Denobulans hibernate for a week or so once a year and do not sleep outside that. Humans sleep every 24 hours.)

This ends up meaning this character doesn’t sleep as often as a normal human, but when they do, they are Fast Asleep

So they’re awake for maybe 5 days or so, then simply collapse for a few hours and can function again

I can’t believe I forgot to include this until now, this is such an integral part of this character to me it just feels obvious

They always have their hair in a buzz cut and have done ever since they were old enough to express that their hair being too long caused them discomfort because Bad Sensory. this is 100% because at the time I was first coming up with them my hair was getting too long (it’s usually short but long enough to be curly) and itching my skin and I kept thinking mmmmmm want to cut it all off

I actually renamed her since writing this draft!! they're called Esk now (yes after the Discworld character, long story short her human mum loves Discworld)

Another interest of theirs is baking! Will elaborate on that another time as well

You Love Her. You Have To.

Unnamed (she/her)

Klingon traditional weaponsmith!

Whole Backstory Stuff around how she inherited this

I need to look into both Klingon family stuff and history to find out exactly how this would work but a loose timeline is

Weapon making traditionally not a women’s job (I don’t know if this is accurate to Klingon culture, it genuinely just felt like a good conflict to add)

However smol [unnamed] really wanted to learn from her uncle, so begged and nagged at him until he gave in and taught her stuff

Both verbally bothering him and just constantly being around the workshop, walking there every day, doing the cleaning jobs just to show up and show she was determined

Also necessary to this story is traditional weapon-making methods are dying out, but are preserved in something around a high- or moderately-high-status warrior having their Own Blade, rather than a copy (replicated) or a hand-me-down (unless it’s a very famous one with a great history, though still that might be presumptuous to think you’d live up to that legacy)

This has been her family’s (House’s) traditional job since anyone can remember, but only one lineage had still preserved it

Uncle is training his son to take over, but at some point when [unnamed] has been learning for a little while, this son dies in some sort of battle, leaving her as the only heir to the family’s tradition

From the little I’ve read on Memory Alpha, women couldn’t inherit a House’s title except under special circumstances, so I think she and her uncle will have to fight for her right to inherit the name and lineage

Would probably regard herself as aroace if she had the vocabulary for that, however restoring a dying craft in a remote part of a planet doesn’t leave much time for such questions

Still knows what she wants, has no intention to marry or have children, but to keep the craft being inherited she will adopt someone as a full member of her House who she believes is worthy of carrying on the tradition

This is actually a really interesting point as it shows how she regards the respect and dedication to the craft as making somebody more a part of her House than blood does

There’s a whole loosely defined thing about how she has some distant relatives who want to claim that house’s title despite having been fully prepared to let go of their house’s craftspeople’s legacy

Is actually quite short for a Klingon, maybe 5’4? and also fat and muscular, so she’s still quite a presence

I have got to do more research

(wrote this ages ago and did not post it. also haven't done research. but I want to post my Characters! so here you are :) these are works in progress and I'll keep adding to them but it's nice to get out what I have for now)

[constellama]

ohoho time to cry

Llama reads TRC: Chapters 1-10 of The Dream Thieves

Prologue

Reminder that I’ve been spoiled on some things from this series

OHHH so that’s how he gets the keys

It’s so sad to see how quickly Ronan fell apart after his dad died :(

Chapter 1

Well that’s one way to open a chapter !!

“Don’t feminists have big muscles?” Gansey.

Ik Blue is gonna end up with Gansey eventually but seeing her fight so hard to love Adam is so :(((

Maybe I’m being presumptuous cuz I still haven’t finished the series but I think it’s messed up how Adam literally loses everything and he doesn’t even get the girl he likes :(

“Good thinking, maggot.” 😭????

NOAH

Sorry Noah can literally do anything and I’ll be screaming and crying I literally love him

Chapter 2

Declan ??? Oh my God is he gonna be the in between chapters

WHO THE HELL IS THE GRAY MAN

Me when I take 17 Benadryl and start seeing the gray man

what the hell is the Greywaren

Uh oh

Chapter 3

Ronan why do you know what gasoline tastes like

Ooo a man made lake,,, my brain is making theories perhaps

It seems like Ronan is a bit?? Salty?? about Adam waking up the ley line

Kavinsky?? Wait wasn’t this guy mentioned in the first book? Oh god is he gonna be reoccurring

“Him! He’s not a dirtbag. He’s an a-hole.” ok Blue !! Slay!!

Chapter 4

Ok so obviously this guy was hired to find some kind of relic that lets people take things from dreams,,,

So this guy is looking for whatever Ronan has. Although I don’t think Ronan has a relic that lets him do what he does.

DOES THAT MEAN RONAN IS THE RELIC?

I’m not being insane here right. That’s like a reasonable theory

Chapter 5

I absolutely love the descriptions in Ronan’s chapters, especially about his dreams ough

Ooo weird dream box ok

Loving the way Gansey and Ronan talk to each other it’s so funny to me

Chapter 6

Am I mean for thinking Orla is annoying. Idk I just really don’t like her

Blue is barely five feet tall,,, she really is just like me fr,,,

Blue :(

Blue is so relatable to me I love her

OK OMG Idk if it’s just me but the “it’s a wizard in a box.” “It will do your homework,” “And it’s been dating your girlfriend,” “Are you all drunk?” really reminds me of the “What’s the best way to steal a man’s wallet?” bit from Six of Crows. More evidence that the crows and gangsey (that’s what they’re called right?) would be best friends

See are you guys picking up what I’m putting down

What does Ronan know that the others don’t,,,

Blue once again slaying

Ew Kavinsky

what. what. wait. Am I being insane or does Kavinsky have the same powers as Ronan does. What.

“Is this how Noah feels?” WHA TIF I THREW U P

Chapter 7

oh THIS GUY AGAIN

oh ok that’s not ominous whatsoever

him?? please don’t tell me that means Gansey uh oh

Wait no because Gansey wouldn’t terrorize old ladies

Kavinsky ?? Maybe??

Oh so the Gray Man has a backstory,,

Chapter 8

oh God Adam chapter brace yourselves

“It was nothing, but it was Adam Parrish’s nothing” cmon we barely started the chapter :((((

Adam actually loves Blue sm I’m gonna cry

“What do you want, Adam?” “To feel awake when my eyes are open.” DAMN. WOW. OK damn I. Alright. I need a minute wow.

OK we’re back

“This was easier when we didn’t know each other” please stop my heart can only take so much <3

DO NOT KISS. DONT

BLUE. PLEASE JUST TELL HIM

PLEASE

THIS PART

OW???

“No more. Please, I can’t take any more.” Tears in my eyes Adam Parrish please spare me

OH??

YEAHHH SOMETHING HAPPY FOR ADAM FINALLY

“I don’t want your pity.” Uh oh

UH OH

ADAM

Blue is once again slaying but I’m a little concerned about Adam bc WHAT

“Was this what he fought every time he remembered I existed?” I have some very choice words for Maggie Stiefvater rn 😁 /lhj

wwwwhat

what’s happening to Adam I’m concerned for this boy

I need a shirt that says “I survived chapter 8 of The Dream Thieves” good lord

Chapter 9

Ofc they’re loitering bc they’re bored

Just silly guys doing silly things

It’s on page 69 too

Ronan. Ronan are you ok

CRYING AT THIS??

NOAH MY BELOVED

I LOVE HIM

“‘Glitter,’ whispered Noah reverentially, giving it a shake.” I’m so emotional about Noah Czerny I need a minute

I’m not gonna survive when Something happens to him oh God

IT WAS RONAN WHO HELPED ADAM

aw

WHAT

NOAH

Ronan is still mad at Gansey for,,, holding nothing against Adam?? Or treating him the same?? Not sure why Ronan’s so upset yet still helps Adam out,,,

OH?? WHAT DOES NOAH KNOW??

“It’s not my job to tell other people’s secrets.” uhhh this surely can’t end well

Chapter 10

how big is this map

“I’m not dating now.” “Except for Glendower” pffft

HAHAH

I love how Adam and Gansey are having this serious conversation meanwhile Ronan literally throws Noah out the window

I love them

Cue that one “he pushed me down the stairs!” meme

Ok so clearly a lot is happening and I have. Many thoughts. BUT. I’m ngl I’ve had this post in my drafts for a while and I’m way farther than chapter 10 but it’s kinda annoying to have to update for every chapter,,, SO

I’m still gonna update, but more of my thoughts are gonna be theories kinda and not in these super huge posts!! I’m still trying to figure out how to live-blog this series without ruining my reading experience so stay tuned 👍