#nearly everyone lives

[jomiddlemarch]

let’s call this a win-win

33 hours, 2009 miles, 27 Chicken McNuggets, 2 mint Oreo Blizzards, one ill-fated round of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.

It was a fucking miracle the truck hadn’t broken down on the way.

“It was a fucking miracle the truck didn’t break down—” Joel said, pulling out Sarah’s floral quilted duffle bag first from the pile of luggage. The last few miles through the woods, he’d muttered his mother’s favorite prayer to St. Christopher and to Tommy’s mechanic friend Al. They were close enough to walk but that was not how he wanted to arrive, especially when he imagined what it would take to keep his daughter from a sugar-crash induced meltdown trudging through the forest.

“Dad! Language,” Sarah scolded, stretching out the a in Dad for maximum guilt-tripping. She had to uncross her arms to take the bag from him but she kept her cherry Chapsticked lips pursed. Despite his fatigue and the ache in his lower back from the crappy motel mattress, he couldn’t help grinning at her expression, her ribbon-tied pigtails, her carefully curated tank top and jean shorts.

“Put it on my tab,” he said. “The curse jar’s going to pay for your college and study abroad at this rate, not just those boots you want so badly.”

“I need those boots,” Sarah said.

“Save that for Uncle Tommy. He’s a soft touch,” Joel said. He took a look around the parking lot. Packed dirt overlaid with gravel, it was ringed by towering pine trees, the cabins of the camp hidden from view. There were a couple of non-descript sedans, a shiny black minivan with far too many bells and whistles, and two other pick-ups, both in better condition than his. No vanity plates though, which he took as a good sign. He got the rest of their bags out and slung his guitar case over his back. He’d been told to head to the main lodge to meet the camp’s director but a woman was already walking towards them, so he nodded to Sarah to stay put.

“Welcome to Camp Firefly. I’m Meghan Williams, the camp nurse, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her hand to shake and Joel was relieved that her grasp was warm and properly firm but not intended to suggest she’d break anything. She wore drab cargo pants and hiking boots, her dark hair tied back and covered with a red bandana, and had a sturdy, reliable calmness about her that offset her relative slightness. She was not much bigger than Sarah, who was tall for her age, but who had, after all, just turned eleven two weeks ago.

“Likewise,” Joel said. “My name’s Joel Miller, I’m working maintenance, and this is my daughter, Sarah, she’s in bunk 3.”

“That’s great—my niece Ellie’s also in bunk 3. It’s her first summer here, maybe you can show her the ropes, Sarah,” Meghan said.

“It’s my first summer here too, but I’ve been at sleepaway before,” Sarah said, honesty warring with the self-importance that she used to offset her anxiety, a state she had been in approximately 80% of the time since she turned 11. “I went to Girl Scout sleepaway last year for two weeks. They had a lake there too.”

“You’re a veteran then. You can make sure she doesn’t set anything on fire when you make s’mores. Ellie’s a menace in the kitchen, God help us all when she’s got access to a campfire,” Meghan replied, smiling warmly. Her expression shifted to rueful when she turned back to face Joel. “Maintenance, huh? Marlene didn’t let you know?”

“Camp director Marlene? Let me know what?” Joel said. He and Marlene weren’t close, it was Tommy who had suggested to her Joel might work over the summer with Sarah going for free as part of the payment, but Joel didn’t see how she could’ve hired someone else and not told him before he’d driven halfway across the country with his little girl. Still, shittier things had happened and he started planning what he’d say to Sarah because he and her mom sure as hell couldn’t pay for her to go to the camp on their own and he couldn’t expect to land a job in the Middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire overnight. The higher rate for her mom’s gig as a travel nurse was going toward keeping her Grandma Denise in her apartment, money Joel didn’t begrudge his ex. They’d had an amicable enough split and they kept it that way by not bitching at each other about their finances or new relationships, not that Joel had much happening in either category.

“You’re not working maintenance. Or, not just maintenance. Gary, the guy who was supposed to be the woodshop counselor, backed out at the last minute, so Marlene’s kind of drafted you to take over. She said you worked construction, so you can help the kids make whatever they make in woodshop,” Meghan explained. Joel must have looked somewhere between blank and dubious. He felt that way. “On the plus side, you were going to share a cabin with Gary, so now you have the place to yourself. I heard he was a slob, but that might have been something someone said to make you feel like you’re coming out further ahead, since Marlene didn’t mention she’d be paying you more and she’s basically a card on the table kind of person, so I wouldn’t bet on a bigger paycheck, just the extra space.”

“That’s it?” Joel said. 

He wasn’t even sure himself what he was questioning—the extra work, the extra space, Marlene basically deputizing a stranger to tell him and avoiding his justifiable anger.

“For now. I think. Though you’ll probably get asked to play your guitar if you’re good enough to bring your own with you for the summer,” Meghan said. “No lessons, just campfire songs, folk songs, a little bit country, a little rock n’ roll—”

“No show tunes,” Joel interrupted. He liked this Meghan, her humor and her easiness with Sarah, her lack of vanity evident in the cargo pants, her sense of whimsy in the red bandana. Still, it was possible what he’d intended as banter had come out as gruff, shutting her down instead of picking up where she left off. “It’s just—”

“I get it. A man has to draw the line somewhere,” Meghan said. “Bunk 3 isn’t too far, I could show you the way there if you’ve got all your stuff. Sarah can meet Ellie and wait for the other girls to get in,” Meghan said.

Joel nodded and Sarah nearly bounced in agreement. They walked quietly through the woods, Sarah rendered speechless either by the intense greenness of the forest or the imminent meeting with Ellie and any other campers who’d arrived. Meghan didn’t appear to feel a need to fill up the time with small talk, though she did point out the path that led down to the dock and the sharply peaked roof of the main lodge. There was a clearing that showed the lake, laid out like a mirror, the pines and the cloudless sky redoubled, a pair of red kayaks making a cheerful splash of color on the distant shore. Sarah glanced at him, her eyes wide, and Joel smiled at her. This was why he’d driven cross-country in the truck that had seen far, far better days, why he was going to spend the summer dealing with rotting floorboards and teaching kids to make what, maybe some birdhouses, and whatever else Marlene decided he was going to do, probably dish up in the kitchen and if Meghan was right, lead the singalongs. They’d been at Camp Firefly for under an hour and it was already worth it.

“That’s the main campfire site,” Meghan said, pointing to a sizable ring of smoke-stained stones surrounded by grass matted down by hundreds of campers. There were a few white Adirondack chairs clustered together and a low, broad slab of rock Joel would pick to sit on if he had the guitar on his lap. “I’ll be sure to spread the word—no show tunes!”

“You’re not going to play ‘Hernando’s Hideaway?’ That’s your favorite,” Sarah said, blowing his cover. He shrugged and Meghan chuckled. 

“My favorite’s ‘Make Believe,’ but ‘Hernando’s’ a close second,” Joel said. 

“Gaylord Ravenal in the flesh,” Meghan said, winning some real points. Secret points because otherwise he’d have to admit how much he liked Broadway musicals. The next step would be disclosing that he’d always wanted to try out for the lead in the high school show but had been too busy at his after-school job that helped pay the family’s electric bill to be able to swing it.

“I can hold my own with his part. But I make a mean Magnolia Hawks,” Joel said.

“We’ve only got a lake, not a river. But it’s a big one,” Meghan said. 

“Dad, are you going to talk here all day?” Sarah said, this time stretching out all day long enough to make him shake his head and Meghan roll her eyes in amused commiseration.

“That’s Bunk 3,” Meghan said, gesturing over to an unremarkable log cabin that somehow managed to suggest a certain cheery impishness. That might have been the little face in the window, brown braids topped with a blue bandana fashioned into sort of a headband. “And that, as you may have guessed, is Ellie, holding down the fort. Sarah, why don’t you head in? Your counselor should be along in a bit. I’ll make sure your dad doesn’t get lost on the way to his cabin.” 

“Okay, yeah, Love you, Dad, bye!” Sarah said, making a beeline to the cabin’s front door and opening it after the briefest pause.

“I don’t need you to walk me to the cabin,” Joel said once they were standing there alone, the moment of watching the Bunk 3 door closing having past, leaving them as two adults just awkwardly near each other. At least, he felt awkward, laden down with bags, his lower back twinging again, suddenly unable to keep the frustration with Marlene from his expression, all out of small talk, not that he ever had much. He probably sounded rude to Meghan, he’d been rude to her, dismissive, especially when he didn’t exactly know the way to the cabin he and Gary had been assigned, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize.

“It’s on my way,” Meghan said. “And quite frankly, you don’t know where the hell you’re going so you do need me to walk you there. I’ll let Marlene know you’re settling in and you’d like a word with her before dinner. It’s at 6.”

She started walking, her boots’ tread audible on the leafmeal in the absence of any conversation, and Joel followed her. She was right after all. 

“I owe you an apology,” Joel finally managed to say. He looked her straight in the eye, there was that. Hers were a greyish green, darker than he’d thought when he’d first looked at her.

“No, you don’t. And I’ve never had one owed that was any good,” she said. “Relax. You didn’t offend me, not really, and I work in healthcare, I’m used to people mouthing off when they’re stressed. That’s before you add in dealing with my niece 24/7.”

“Don’t you get to be the fun auntie? She still gives you a hard time?” Joel asked. Sarah and Tommy got along like a house afire, as the saying went, largely because Tommy had never once said no to her and also never came to the Joel’s place without a bag of gummi bears that Sarah didn’t have to share with anyone. And a Barbie. He’d thought she’d tell him to stop when she turned 11, but she’d opened up Olympic Gymnast Barbie with the same degree of excited greed she’d brought to every other doll, secured more tightly in the pink box than whatever the hell they kept in Fort Knox these days. 

“I’m not the fun auntie, I’m all she’s got,” Meghan said. “I was 17 when my sister died when Ellie was a baby, her dad was never in the picture, it got really complicated for a while with the state, and you didn’t ask to hear any of this. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel said. “I get complicated. Plus, now we’re even—we both tried to apologize and neither one of us would accept it.”

“I guess that’s good,” Meghan said. “That’s your cabin, right there,” she added, pointing to a small building nestled right up against a pair of pines. 

“Good enough,” Joel said. 

[girlbogg]

hey has anyone else noticed that totk looks a lot like princess mononoke sometinms (<- guy who has never had an original thought)

[xeemaee]

I love how every single labru thing I ever see is “omg the king and his advisor!” “The king and his advisor?” “The king and his advisor!”

And all the labru hate is “look at these weird shippers who haven’t read the manga! Uncultured!”

Like… I wouldn’t have these brain worms if I hadn’t read the manga

[tire-d-artist]

Ignore my awful handwriting

[phoenixcatch7]

Oh yeah story idea: percy Jackson reaches his emotional/mental limits) (annabeth gets knocked down during a huge fight and nearly gets killed) and goes absolutely ape. We're talking hurricanes, earthquakes, a zillion exploding water sources, blood bending, poison bending, pounding rain, the works.

And it starts to kill him. Like eating too much ambrosia, his mortal body is burning up, too much power too quickly.

But through sheer force of will and the amount of divine energy he's putting out, he keeps clinging on as his body crumbles to ash, divine power building stronger and stronger and higher and higher.

And he accidentally brute forces his way into godhood.

And what would have been a true power reveal and two deaths, Percy being punished for his strength ala Frank, abruptly becomes a pseudo divine political drama, with percy at risk of any dozen horrific fates the frenzied council are slinging around (minus poseidon, who is also frenzied but unwilling to let his newly immortal son die) whilst dealing with all the ramifications of divinity and the new social strata of the immortal pantheon (and EVERYONE having opinions), all while trying to get back home.

But Annabeth survives because of it, so he can't really complain.

[wander-wren]

bothers me in trc fandom when people refer to “ronan’s suicide attempt” because it was pretty importantly NOT a suicide attempt. gansey, noah, adam, they all assumed it was, which is why gansey freaks out when ronan goes missing overnight at the beginning of trb, but it is not. it was a dream creature he brought back that had clawed him up.

i’m sure you could argue that that’s just an indirect suicide attempt, ronan’s subconscious, etc (opal tells him the night horrors are him), but i don’t see it that way. ronan is angry and grieving and violent in the wake of niall’s death. the night horrors, to my knowledge, don’t target ronan so much as they target any soft, living thing they can destroy. we don’t see this scene happen. we don’t see the day or the nightmare that comes before. we just have ronan’s word, and ronan says it wasn’t a suicide attempt, so it wasn’t.

and we can talk in circles then about whether ronan is suicidal actually—personally i think he has a sort of reckless disregard for his own life (see: drag racing, dream drugs) and has internalized a lot of the ideas about him being a “bad kid,” but i don’t think he’s actively suicidal. and that’s important to me. it’s important that ronan doesn’t actually want to die. i think he’s struggling to see the point of what everyone wants him to do (school), and struggling to envision a future for himself.

if ANYTHING was going to make ronan suicidal, truly, it should have been the dreamer trilogy. he’s isolated from all of his loved ones, literally starts dying if he’s not careful with the ley lines, and also the world is ending. we can see his same thought patterns repeating (“you’re always the car crash, ronan”) and we see him struggling with reality and identity (every conversation with bryde, who remember is part of ronan’s psyche, and also the looping dream with the mirror). and he’s not suicidal in the dreamer trilogy.

we talk a lot in this fandom about “gansey kind of wanted to live.” i think we should talk about how, despite everything, so did ronan.

[hbpseverus]

okay, one thing about james. he is the only marauder (casting peter aside) who i just can't forgive. i like remus, and while i dislike sirius i can at least appreciate his strenghts and his good sides. but i can't forgive james for the swm incident and many people seem to have trouble understanding why this isolated event ruins his entire character. because i am willing to believe that he worked on himself and became a better person after hogwarts (mainly because i don't think lily would have ever married him otherwise). i completely believe that even at hogwarts, he was considered a likable person by many. that he was fun to be around and friendly to most. that he wasn't all bad or only a bully.

but here's the thing. there are things you only have to do once to be irredeemable, and what happened in snapes worst memory, to me, is one of those things. i do not care if james was an amazing person outside of this one incident. and i understand that everyone has different morals and that other people can forgive james - or not forgive severus. unlike james, severus got a chance to redeem himself and he took it. he was still a bully, but here's where my personal perception comes into play again. i had many awful teachers who were bullies and i know how much it sucks (in my country, teachers are insanely hard to get fired, meaning they truly can get away with almost anything including obvious discrimination). i can't justify his mistreatment of students, but to me his good sides outweigh it, so i can forgive and like him despite this flaw while others can not which is valid too. but sexual harassment is not something i can forgive no matter the circumstances or the person who did it. i would feel the same way if the roles had been reversed and james had been the victim - i wouldn't be a snape stan. ultimately we all have our own individual morals that play into how we perceive these complex characters.

tldr: it doesn't matter to me if james was a balanced character and a good person outside of swm because committing sexual harassment 'just once' is still one time too many and makes anyone permanently irredeemable in my eyes

[incorrectzutaraquotes]

zuko: we just need one of those construction trucks. with the thingys to pick stuff up

katara: the forklift ??

zuko: hey i never said i was smart i just know it exists

katara: i never said i was smart either i had to look up the damn name of the vehicle.

katara: i knew ‘lift’ was in there somewhere my remaining 2 brain cells are close to deteriorating

sokka: you two should join forces

zuko: we did. it took both of our brain power to come up with forklift

[wilting-fl0wer]

Sol, our beloved time god

[bread-wizards]

The Arch Heart's conversation with the group and the Wildmother's conversation with Orym both just reinforced the fact that the gods don't understand how fragile mortals are.

[rcmclachlan]

Trademark: Top-tier Bucktommy writer + generally Cool + getting Buck pregnant

Thank you + thank you + thank you!

[jomiddlemarch]

let's call this a win-win

Part 2

Meghan figured she’d be holed up in the cabin they’d given to her for an infirmary, reading old copies of whatever magazine had made their way to her, Seventeen and Cosmo, Bassmaster and and Runner’s World washing up like the scrum of sticks and leaves on the shore of an eddying brook, playing endless games of solitaire on limp cards, cleaning up cuts, dabbing on ointment, bandaging ankles, for the entire duration of the summer, which would make any encounters with Joel Miller few and far between.

She had been wrong.

To be clear, it wasn’t that he was constantly right there when she turned around or looked up in a classic stalker-y kind of way or that he was seeking her out with increasingly inane-frivolous-nonsensical medical complaints requiring her assessment in a pathetic stalker-y kind of way or even that he just seemed to appear when she’d just thought of him, how deft his hands were ladling out a rainy day dinner of beanie-weenie or strumming his guitar in the firelight, in a telepathic mind-control stalker-y kind of way. 

It was just nice.

Sometimes, she lollygagged over her morning coffee and Joel didn’t exactly rush off to his next repair. 

Sometimes, he found he was walking in her same direction and fell into an easy gait beside her, for all that he was at least a foot taller than she was. The trees loomed, but Joel never did.

Sometimes, he held the door for her when her hands were full or pulled out her chair at the table the staff sat at for meals, the almost old-fashioned politeness of it somehow part and parcel of the camp itself, though Meghan suspected he’d do the same back home in Texas, though he thankfully never called her ma’am.

It wasn’t just nice. It was very nice. Very nice indeed.

So sue her, she liked him. (Actually, the camp’s malpractice policy was skimpier than she’d anticipated and she devoutly hoped there would be nothing worth litigating in her work, since she was not getting paid especially well to begin with and Ellie’s new school had a uniform policy so extensive that even Old Navy and Lands’ End were unlikely to keep her from racking up some credit card bills in the fall well before Meghan had to ante up for the field hockey team equipment and the God-forsaken trumpet Ellie had decided to play, an evil glint in her eye.) 

After all, why wouldn’t she like Joel? He was competent, intelligent, uncomplaining, a good listener, a devoted father, a guitarist who more than delivered when he played at the campfire—and that was before she considered how absolutely smoking hot he was in worn jeans, work boots and what seemed like an infinite supply of plaid shirts and grey tees, but which was probably about five and she’d just lost track. She’d never met a man who looked better with a scruffy beard, so much so that she wondered if she’d even be attracted to him if he ever shaved properly. (She would, who was she kidding? Those eyes and that lower lip and that ass…) 

He also always smelled good, which given the limitations of their bathing facilities, the lack of AC on hot days and the general organic funk that seemed to cling to everyone after their first dip in the lake, was impressive. And irresistible. 

She was resisting though, a little. She hadn’t thrown herself at him or ever found she needed to reach something in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet when he was repairing the rotting window trim on the infirmary, bending over to showcase her natural assets augmented by the squats her best friend Alex swore by (Meghan was less convinced, but best friends did what they had to do and she herself never shut up about calcium.) She hadn’t let her hand linger on the salt-cellar or ketchup bottle when he asked to have it passed and she certainly hadn’t requested he play “Make Believe” or any other Rodgers and Hart love-song around the campfire (though the temptation to ask for “Blue Moon” once she’d discovered who wrote it was huge, even more so when she found out there was one coming up in August.)

She could have convinced herself it was all coincidences and hormones, a commodity Camp Firefly had in spades, though not emanating from Bunk 3, except for the fact that Joel hadn’t let her.

“So, here’s the deal. I like you and I think you like me. As Sarah would say, like that,” Joel announced as they took a mid-morning coffee break from her Thermos, the merry sound of campers with first swim distant, mingled with some birdsong.

“Um, that’s quite direct,” she said.

“Yeah. Because I’m a grown-up,” he replied, smiling. “Tell me if I’m out of line. I won’t bring it up again.”

“No?” Meghan knew she was partly stalling for time and that Joel probably knew that as well, but it didn’t hurt to push a little and see what he said next. Grist to the mill, Alex would say, as if Alex were not in a perpetual pitched battle against carbs and wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near a gristmill unless arson was involved. 

“No. Because I respect you and myself. And my whole ego isn’t tied up in whether you feel the way I do,” he said. Meghan had to do her best to raise an eyebrow, because Joel was starting to sound unreal, like someone’s concept of the ideal man, not Plato’s, because even Philosophy 102 had taught Meghan that Plato had maybe spent too much time in a cave, away from sunlight, at least for her taste. “I mean, I also won’t spend all my free time replacing the perfectly adequate wood trim of this cabin’s windows or discovering that the floor near the back door is warped and ripping it out and asking you to hold the level 12 hours a day.”

“You’re making this hard,” Meghan said. “Because I do like you but I hate unnecessary renovations that take forever. Could we hang out without wood being involved?”

He grinned then as the words hung in the air for a moment and she blushed, she could feel it, red as a cartoon beet, not a real one. She tried a combo shrug-head-toss that would have been more effective if she’d put her hair in a ponytail instead of braids but from Joel’s expression, it was good enough.

“I had to play to my strengths,” he said. 

“I’m not reciprocating with an unnecessary physical and don’t try to tell me you sprained your ankle or something,” she said. “I have standards. Ethics. I’m a goddamn role model.”

“And I’m not interested in you playing a sexy nurse in a skimpy costume,” he said. 

That was when Meghan’s brain sort-of shorted out and she heard herself saying Holy shit before she could have thought about stopping herself. 

“What about a walk around the lake later?” Joel said. “Or we could take a canoe out. Stars are bright up here, brighter than Austin, and the moon’s nearly full.”

“Yes,” she said. 

Yes, she said when he looked at her before taking her hand in his.

Yes, when he rowed them into a cove and the moonlight was silver in his dark eyes.

Yes, just as he leaned in to kiss her, waiting to hear her first, and again into his ear before she kissed the side of throat, waiting to hear him moan.

She wasn’t disappointed.

[littlefankingdom]

Everytime something happens in France in a comic, I realize how little researches comics writers do. And like, if they are this bad with my western country, how bad it is with third-world countries they talk about???

In Nightwing (2016), Raptor is from a circus that was near Paris during Mary Grayson's childhood, so more than 40 years ago at least.

In this flashback, they accuse the mayor of Paris of having given leprosy to the romani and of keeping away the meds they need. Already, with our healthcare's system, it's hardly possible, as they would be able to go to a hospital to get the help they need. Do they think "public healthcare" means the state has a direct control on medication, because that's not the case at all. The French gov control the money put into medication, how much is bought, but a mayor has no power over this. I just don't understand how something like this could happen. You can totally write a racist medical scandal in France, but makes it make sense with our system.

But also, Paris didn't have a mayor until 1977, so if it's before 1977, impossible. And, Paris' mayor from 1977 to 1995 is JACQUES CHIRAC, who was the PRESIDENT after. They wrote a story implying that a French President kept medications away from sick people, was discovered and was still elected President. And, yes, the French government is far from good and they have deeply harmed the romani, but like, maybe don't write shit like that. (Also, Chirac was really against the war of Iraq, and stood up against the US, which France is still paying the price for to this day. So I don't really like an USAmerican to criticize Chirac. Like, we can do it, others can do it, but not USAmericans, y'all have done enough) I'm pretty sure that wasn't the goal of the writers. No, what happen is that they didn't do researches about Paris' mayor and so, wrote that shit.

This may be inspired by the contaminated blood's scandal in the 80s-90s, which was worst in France, but no mayor was found guilty, it was doctors who knowingly contaminated patients with a deadly illness. And the French government was held accountable, even if they had no hand in it, as a matter of principle.

I understand it's a fiction, and they didn't literally wrote "Chirac did this", but it's kind of clumsy. (Especially because of everything I wrote earlier about Chirac's politics and how the US is still punishing France for being against killing civilians and destroying Iraq. France was doing the right thing, and the US worked so France would go back in line and treat Arabs like shit. Do not think western countries are free from the US' imperialism)

And in no way I'm saying that you cannot write France being awful, I know my gov's crimes (rn, they have deported homeless out of Paris for the Olympics, the President is refusing to acknowledge the left won the elections and to take a leftist prime minister so we have no prime minister since mid July and fuck democracy I guess, they support Israel's crimes against humanity, and are behaving like the colonizers that they are in New-Caledonia, sending the armies against the Kanaks that have not enough power on their own land), I'm just saying it should at least be believable enough to work. (Easiest way: make the cops racist. Boom. Also, French cops talk like vilains, it's insane.) And also, not about someone touchy like clumsily painting badly a president that was punished by the US for doing the right thing.

[xehanortsreport]

the subtle resignation in his expression at even bouncing with the context of his final words kinda destroying me ngl

[prince-sawgrass]

Luxaeterna, a participant in the first true battle of the war between the Rainwings and Icewings, the Battle of Stolen Light. Her venom-fangs were torn out by an Icewing poacher, and after surviving and avoiding capture, replaced them with harder gemstone teeth. She’s well known for the number of Icewing skulls she’s impaled throughout the war. She is Boomslang and Quetzal’s great aunt. Postwar, she has been reunited with her living grandnephew and accompanies him for scale retrieval in the Ice and Sky Kingdoms.

Quetzal in his last moments before being murdered by an Icewing poacher. He had sold Boomslang’s egg to the Icewings in the hopes of gaining immunity from the scale trade- but he learned far too late that a bargain can’t be kept with someone who wants to wear your skin.

[big-man-in-places-he-shouldnt-be]

big man should not be

If only the Splatoon devs thought to have a third idol for the third game. Would've been perfect...