#or perhaps... the author?

[chemicalarospec]

archiveofourown works 27954677 (fic about light and 9/11)

Nooo wayyyyyyy! I HAVE to read this.

Okay I'm back, it was good! 2012 vibes came through with the "oniichan"s lol. (Actually, not sure why I felt this. It is. Japanese. For some reason I just don't think people would type that today.) (I don't think the author is Japanese? Just didn't give the vibes of writing from within the POV, idk, there were some details on Japanese crimes but I wasn't sentient at the time so I don't know if they were international news. Well-researched though if not Japanese; I even checked the school year and I think it works (sorry I'm a freak I'm a weirdo I like researching things!!).)

And Light would totally try to predict the effects of 9/11 haha. I tend to think of Pre-Death Note Light as inbetween the popular fanon do not say neutered do not say neutered de-clawed, dare I say woobified version, and the No Regard for Human Life Death Note Light, but this always-pitiless Light was cool and interesting! I like how this interpretation had him always fundamentally the same callous person but still had 9/11 effect his motivation and ideology. This is a certified "America deserved 9/11" moment (this clip is funnier if you know he originally said, "yeah, I said that" and then that it wasn't fully serious). (Light Yagami would be fixed if you taught him socialist theory. I think it could be done.) I was born after 9/11, so I can't actually say much to it lol. The author definitely remembers it (posted 2012, says it was previously posted but since they have other backdated works, I think it might actually be from 2012), but the fic really is an exploration of how Light Yagami would have reacted -- doesn't seem like much of the author's own sentiments leak in--, which I admire since that's something I struggle with in my own writing.

I wasn't sure why there was a section with Near at the end (the titular symmetry? I didn't know in what way) until the last line, to which I went, "Oh, yeah." The AN also says it wasn't well received when it was first posted, and I can see why, but (speaking as someone who was not alive for 9/11 and 22 rather than 11 years after the event) I don't find it objectionable (re: "This is a certified 'America...'") . I'll admit though, the construction of the parallels isn't in the best taste, depending on how you take it -- I think the symmetry is meant for the towers themselves and the symmetry of the conviction of justice (same as in the manga/show Light/L), but the metatextual comparison of Light Yagami, fictional man, to the real 9/11 terrorists kinda might be in poor taste. This is discourse. I'm not a Discourse Master. I am making zero claims on this matter, just perspectives that others may take.

I left kudos twice because I forgot I wasn't signed in on this computer haha.

If anyone's curious, I searched up "9/11 Japanese" after making the post and apparently there were a few Japanese banks with some employees in the World Trade Center who died, and a young man on one of the planes.

I've been thinking about making a post about how remembering it was written in 2004 is necessary to understand some parts of Death Note, and I can't believe I didn't think about including 9/11 there seriously until now, but obviously, yes, of course it influenced the narrative not just in a-possible-joke-to-make way.

Wow, this is like my Goodreads reviews at this point lol. Since this was technically an ask, I wrote all my thoughts, but it was more than I expected. Sorry, is probably be awkward if you are the author!

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context

[mini-minish]

🤍 so i read my first zukka fic in all the 19 years i've been in this fandom!! it's the moon spirit sokka fic and it slaps go read it ->

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

manmade monsters Sun/Moon au. bc i have no self control lol

i also mentally call it the 'why are there giant robot monsters in my shed' au lol

idk what else to say so uh. enjoy

[homkamiro]

EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! I need to tell just how running blind fanfiction by @thetriggeredhappy fucked me up

I'm not joking when I say that this is my favourite fic ever made, I literally don't, everything about it is so perfect, so detailed and so emotional,, i cried a lot, i laughed a lot, and I was really amazed by some of the plot twitsts

EVERYONE needs to read it, and if you don't imma bust yo damn kneecaps

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

[Yes this is a reference to that one superman pic]

Transcript:

*sniff sniff* Is-is that a boy I smell?

*sniff sniff* Mmh yes, I smell it! Boy Smell!

I smell a boy!

Ah! what is a boy doing here?!

Oh my gosh. What am I gonna do? There's a boy here!

I'm freaking out so much!

Calm down, calm down! Calm down and take a nice deep breath.

*sniff sniff* Mmph it smells so good. I love boy smell so much!

It makes me feel so amazing~

I'm getting tingles all over from the delicious boy scent!

IT'S DRIVING ME BOY CRAZY.

Audio source

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[jesncin]

First School Visit as published authors!!

we've done a handful of school visits before as comic artists, but this is the first time we've been invited as published authors (for a school's literature event no less!). These photos are a mix of being taken by me and the wonderful staff of British School Jakarta.

We talked to secondary students of all ages! From "what's it like to make comics" to Career Talk for the seniors. We also had the absolute pleasure of befriending fellow visiting author Will Kostakis, a seasoned professional at school visits and prolific Aussie writer! I'm reading his book "We Could Be Something" and loving it. We're still blown away by his kindness and enjoyed bickering about the publishing industry together, haha.

We couldn't have asked for a better school to do our first author visit! Tightly organized, fun crowds of kids, and an incredibly supportive staff team. This has! Ignited me to the challenge of school visits! I really enjoy these, and I can't wait to make all the more books so I can do this all over again. Just a delightful week.

[jojolightningfingers]

not done yapping about ace actually do you know there's people out there who think that ace was shanghai'd into joining the whitebeard pirates? that's insane to me. chapter 552, go read it again right now. it could not possibly be less of one if it TRIED.

like. ace is the aggressor in that situation. indisputably. whitebeard was minding his own business and all of a sudden along comes this young punk who makes it incredibly clear that he's here to take whitebeard's head. who then spurns the unwarranted hospitality they show him when he passes out after five days of fighting jinbei to a standstill. they treat his wounds and he still tries to kill their captain. the simple fact that ace wasn't strung up and quartered as an example is FAR more leniency than he could have expected in that situation, especially considering that whitebeard is known to be a person who adheres to a strict code of honor: sure they might all know that ace just flat isn't strong enough to kill whitebeard, but it's the principle of the thing.

but no! they let him stay aboard and recover. they do no harm to ace's crew or ship in the interim, aside from the incident pertaining to the spade pirates trying to get THEIR captain back in which the whitebeard pirates AGAIN are NOT the aggressors. none of them were killed. no manhunt was ordered on them. they ALSO are allowed to stay aboard. they let ace make attempt after attempt on whitebeard's life for seemingly weeks, possibly even months. and to top it all off, after who knows how long of that shenanigans occurring DAILY, it is straight up said in plain text that ace is free to leave. he can take his ship and take his crew and leave, and come back and try again once he gets stronger. subtext: he can also leave and not come back, and nobody will pursue him.

he is ALSO free to choose to stay on the moby dick. but the price for doing that is a--frankly QUITE reasonable--'stop trying to kill our captain and join us'. like they ask the absolute bare fucking minimum of him and they leave the choice up to him. absolutely nowhere in the text is any sort of coercion or manipulation. it is an offer, not an ultimatum. and it's one that ace accepts. that's all. that's all that happens.

[hephaestuscrew]

I'm sure Minkowski never forgot that Cutter was the first person ever to call her Commander. After recruiting her in Once in A Lifetime, he starts to call her Lieutenant, then breaks into laughter, before correcting himself: "What am I saying? Commander Minkowski." He draws attention to himself granting that title, stressing its significance. By initially calling her by a lower ranking, then conspicuously correcting himself, Cutter emphasises that he's the one granting her that title. Right at the beginning of Minkowski's employment with Goddard Futuristics, Cutter plants the seed for his line in the finale: "People cared about you because of what I made you: A soldier. A leader. A commander. I gave you that, and now? I taketh away."

And he does take it away. Cutter makes a point of calling her Commander in that first meeting, but he hardly ever calls Minkowski Commander after that. He almost always calls her Renée. He makes the point in that first interaction that he has the authority to grant her that title, and then in every subsequent interaction he tries to make the point that she doesn't have command over him. Having called her Commander once makes every time he doesn't call her by her title seem more deliberate. It's not that he never uses titles - it's that he uses them selectively. He gives her a taste of that sense of authority, but he doesn't want her to feel worthy of it.

In the liveshow, he cuts her off by shouting "I AM SPEAKING, LIEUTENANT!". Minkowski is the Commander of the Hephaestus in official terms at this point and Cutter even refers to her as "a mission commander" later in the same episode. So there is a deliberate malice to Cutter calling Minkowski Lieutenant here. Not only does it emphasise the use of authority structures as a means for control and the abandonment of first-name-basis false friendliness, calling her by another title makes his choice not to call her Commander even more explicit, denying her that authority.

Apart from when he recruits her, the only other time I can think of when Cutter directly calls Minkowski Commander is in Ep60, when he lays out his offer to let Minkowski leave on the Sol: "How does that sound to you, Commander?" Again, calling her Commander is a kind of power play, an attempt at manipulation, highlighting the sense of responsibility that motivates so many of Minkowski's actions. Cutter is prompting her to ask the question she would be asking herself anyway: what choice would a good Commander make? Just as he did when he recruited her, Cutter offers Minkowski something she desperately wants, and the use of her title here only draws attention to the idea that Cutter is the one with the power, choosing what to give her.

[crownedwithstars]

the reasons I think Fëanorians should not get the Silmarils back

it's a better and more compelling story this way. their fall from grace and the way they corrupt and destroy themselves because of a hopeless quest is peak tragedy, which would be ruined by their success.

it's a justified consequence of the Kinslayings: the right of ownership is not and cannot ever be more important than somebody else's right to live.

it's also a justified consequence of them stealing and destroying someone else's priceless semi-sacred property: Teleri will never get their ships back because Fëanor burned them out of spite, so it's only fair and square that the Silmarils are never returned to him or his heirs. 

if Stuff is so important to you that it causes you to ruin the lives of all your children, losing that Stuff forever is probably just karmic justice. (see also: "if more of us valued food and cheer above hoarded gold...")

And no, nobody else should have the Silmarils either. It's clear that having a Silmaril messes with your brain. At the end of the Silm, they should become public property. I would go even further than this and say that the actual resolution of the Silm, where nobody can have them and the single surviving jewel is carried as a star that everyone can indiscriminately see by a guy who never expressed a desire for it, is probably the only correct one. 

[lbhslefttiddie]

youve heard of sex flowers get ready for the flower that makes you into a celestial shoujo herione complete with particle effects you cannot turn the fuck off and creates a wifebeam so powerful it can incapacitate and maim and keeps making you burst into tears and fall on your ass which makes the wifebeam More Powerful and you also cannot turn this off either. and is also still, sort of, a sex flower

from one of my favorite fanfictions, Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam, a fic that defies description in the best possible way

[luna-loveboop]

So... Warriors

It is obvious by now he's not ok. He's irritable and tense.

I've had thoughts and ideas on this for awhile, so I think now's a good time to speak them. Very important detail at the end.

There are some really big and some small things adding to his stress

The drama with the sword. Wild went against the agreed plan, and lashed out in anger fear for twilights injury. From things Jojo said, Wars is mad about it for a while.

I have said this in other posts, but based on things Jojo has said and some details, I do not think Wild likes wars. He has not really gotten close to him, which adds on to the negativity between them

But Wars... is a captain. This journey is different, and he's doing amazing at setting aside expectations of how to work with rank. But that is still a clear stressor- to him that was unacceptable in battle

^this is one big thing we watched go wrong and has clearly been upsetting since

Another thing is

Wars has been taking on too much. We've seen him break up a fight at the inn, comfort Time (time!), and tell him he'd take care of the others.

Twice he said "let them", and "let him be"-making others have space they needed. He asked Four what was wrong and followed up with helping with smithing.

^^These are all small things. None of these are huge- practically tiny tasks. But they add up- all the attention to others feeling but not his own

... and

Wars has not smiled. Yes, he smiled, but it was not his smile. Since Twilight went injured to the inn, there has only been smiles in a way expected, but not much beyond when he found out his friend wasn't dead. (And when he helped Four at the blacksmiths)

In the updates, I have seen others saying how cool/pretty he looked. Which he did! But emotion wise, I only thought he looked angry. Even when teasing Twilight...

^Not his smile

But here's the biggest thing that I believe is bothering him...

I've wanted to point this out for awhile. The thing is, Wars was really hurt when he found out Twilight didn't tell him about Wolfie

It's small details. A few sentences and facial expressions. But they add up over the chapter, and I don't think he felt trusted or trusting when he found out

He tried to find out who else knew

And why he was one who didn't

*read the blurred words:

"No one said anything to me, I'm just left out of the loop. Who else knows? Just us?"

Wolfie being secret wasn't necessarily about trust, but wars took it personally. He really didn't understand or want to accept that Twilight would have told some of the others but not him...

Wars is distinctly closer to the ones his age, who the younger ones often turn to. And as someone who's been through war, who bonds closest with those he feels he works with best?

Twilight having a major secret he didn't share with Wars, but did with others,

Felt like a knife to the (back?) chest.

And it hurt him

Look at his face when saying "we couldn't do a thing for him". He's looking away, directly after asking four and wild if they knew. I don't think he felt trusted. Or trusting. From thinking someone wasn't who he thought he was, and maybe was closer to others...

^^this is what I think is perhaps the biggest stressor- yet most unnoticeable

Wars never spoke to anyone about his feelings. He pushed it aside and went and helped.

This is ok. Between people so close, anything can be worked out. This is very revealing of how much Wars cares about twilight and the others

As far as Warriors pushing aside his needs and focusing on others... it's hard.

But I can confidently say this: Warriors would never want to not help all he could, when the others needed him

Here's this screenshot that makes me laugh (and somehow sky is just chill with this?)

Wars: oh my god my friend just came back from a wolf what the Hylia who can I even trust I'm having an invisible crisis

Sky: oh yay the sword helped he's back :)

Twilight: I'm fine *currently dying*

Wars is stressed right now. He's taken on too much, he's probably still mad at Champion, and... he feels betrayed (god wars should never have to feel betrayed) and untrusted

Like literally everyone ever others, wars deals with his hurt. Sometimes he can't deal with it alone, and sometimes he can. It will all work out, and I love how much he loves his brothers.

But nothing, I repeat nothing

Will be ok

IF HE DOESNT START WEARING THE DAMN SCARF SOON CMON WE HAVENT SEEN IT IN LIKE TEN UPDATES

PUT ON YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SCARF CMON MAN

Ok I'm calm <3

.

Art and comic by Jojo @linkeduniverse :D

[kwillow]

Started this back in February when it was more topical but... I suppose no time is a good time for romance as far as Theo is concerned.

[ariadne-mouse]

Alert: this is a very stupid post and not to be taken seriously.

So when it was revealed the first attack on Keyleth was Ludinus trying to test drawing out Vax, folks were pointing out that Ludinus would have had to stay up to date on Vox Machina romances in order to have the information to make that plan, which is very funny. I posit an additional hypothetical: if the preliminary attack had accidentally been fatal for Keyleth herself (I say accidentally because Ludinus would want to wait to execute the plan in full later, so wouldn't have killed her then) then Ludinus would have lost his bait and would have to figure out another way to draw out Vax.

And you know what that means. Matchmaking. Get the sad bird man to fall in love again so he can threaten the new person. Ludinus using every iota of his skill in manipulation and patience and influencing of events to set up Situations, and he needs it because as a celestial champion Vax is not just walking around into your average coffee shop. He becomes the king of tropes. He reads trash romance to get ideas and runs into Caleb at a naughty book store in Rexxentrum and it's very awkward for both of them. With centuries of experience and villainy, HOW has it come to this-

[prismatoxic]

just saw someone call dunmeshi "a show about sapphic women" i think maybe you don't actually know what dungeon meshi is about