#remy's a reporter

[blackberryjambaby]

my cousin raphael is currently fighting for his life after being hit by two cars. he has multiple broken bones, a damaged liver & kidneys, & a brain bleed

every cent from this givealittle will help his whanau stay with him in waikato, which is three hours away from the family home. in lieu of money, they're also asking for prayers 🙏🌏🤎

[skull-ishcloud]

Do you guys also adopt characters and act like they are your children (even when they are older than you)? Or am I just weird?

I feel like someday someone will straight up look at me and say "you are just weird"

[thefoxdenrp]

The Stark Family - Reporting Genius

Sarah, Becca, Remy, Kenna, Maxine, Remi, Ethan, and Tyson

[transformativeworks]

Are you getting that annoying "Buy Art from Me" spam on your AO3? Here is what to do

First - if you are a real non-spam person asking folks to commission art by commenting on their fics on AO3.. please do not do that. That is a violation of the TOS.

Second - We are working on filtering it out, and you can help! Below the cut is info on identifying the spam comments, and then how to report them in the most effective way!

So we can stop this flood of spam.

<3 Mod Remi

(Details from PAC are below the Read More)

How to identify it - 1. Comments are left by registered accounts 2. Usually, the comments are on works that have just been posted or updated 3. The comment may provide very specific compliments about the work, and if challenged, the commenter will firmly deny being a bot or scammer 4. The key identifier is that in the comment itself, or in a follow-up to any reply to the comment, the spammer will always do at least one of these two things: - Offer to create art for the work, or say that they are an artist interested in working with you - Ask if they can speak with you on another platform (they may provide their own contact details for other platforms, such as Discord, Artstation, or Instagram)

THE BEST WAY TO REPORT IT 1. Select the 'Thread' button on the comment so that you're viewing the comment's direct page 2. Scroll to the bottom and select the "Policy Questions & Abuse Reports" link 3. In the "Brief summary" field, put "spam comment" 4. In the "Description" field, put "This is a spambot" and then "The account name is [whatever account name]" – this will ensure it gets sorted correctly - Please only include 1 account in your report – if you see another, then please file a new report - Please don't re-report accounts you've already reported

What AO3 is doing about this - 1. We're implementing several measures to try and stop these spammers from making new accounts, but unfortunately, some are going to slip through our fingers 2. Fortunately, it is very easy for us to get rid of this type of spam and prevent the account from posting more – so long as it is reported to us in the correct fashion. If our auto-sorter detects the keywords in your report that will file it into our "suspected spam" folder, then it's easy for our volunteers to quickly check and handle it

[freyaphoria]

hey luv!! not sure how much are you into 'spanking' but, I was wondering if you would make a reaction of Yan!Matz, Seonghwa catching you escape while Hj is not at home so Hwa spanks you/punishes you?👉👈

I know that Hwa would probably tell Hj but I would really like to see how Seonghwa would punish her😭

(btw i'm in love with ur stories, keep going and take some time to rest🖤)

a/n: When you sent me this request at night, I screamed and started writing at 4 a.m. This request may have opened up my writer's block thank you soooo much♡

Dark Side (partI)

tw: spanking, restriction with ropes, dragging, failed escape attempt, yandere!Seonghwa, hair pulling, kinda force feeding, hurt-comfort, punishment and aftercare, crying

wc: 3.7k

taglist: @aim-blossom @bambisd0ll @oddracha @peqchplvto

part 2 ->

Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you grasped the handle of the back door, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. How could they have been so careless as to leave it unlocked? The realization dawned on you as the cold air rushed in, caressing your face with its crisp touch. You stood there, frozen in disbelief, as the door swung open, revealing the vast expanse of the backyard and the towering pine trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. This moment felt surreal, as if you were standing on the precipice of a new reality.

This was the first moment you found yourself so close to freedom. For the first time, you felt that escape was truly within reach, especially with Hongjoong away from the house. In a normal situation, you would have been settled on the couch watching TV while Seonghwa busied himself in the kitchen preparing dinner. But your mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of escaping.

You thought about telling Seonghwa and escaping together. But what he told you yesterday showed that he was gradually deteriorating psychologically, that his admiration for Hongjoong had escalated to a concerning level, one that left you feeling uneasy about his willingness to escape alongside you. Convincing him to leave in that moment felt impossible. Maybe, in a few weeks, you could plant the seeds of doubt in his mind, but right now, it just wasn’t feasible. You simply could not let this opportunity slip away when it was right in front of you. When you came back with the police, you were going to save Seonghwa and put the evil in jail.

With each silent step towards the door, the possibility of freedom made your heart race even faster.Could you truly manage to escape? You had lost track of how long you had been trapped here, and you questioned your ability to readjust to the outside world after such a prolonged period of isolation. All these thoughts filled your veins with more adrenaline, and you could hear your heart beating.

You found yourself standing at the threshold, that thin line separating captivity from liberty. Instinctively, you glanced back, scanning for any sign that Seonghwa might have noticed your absence. You imagined the scenario if he had caught you: his gentle voice calling out, "Angel, come here," followed by report to Hongjoong. But to your relief, there was no sign of him. You were alone, unobserved, with the path to freedom clear before you.

Your foot made contact with the small marble stone at the entrance of the garden, its cold surface sending a shiver through your body, it was a sensation both foreign and familiar. You started to walk quickly and felt that soft grass beneath your feet that you hadn't felt in weeks, maybe months. You moved quickly through the garden, the taste of freedom already filling your spirit. The ability to move without fear, without the looming threat of Hongjoong, was intoxicating. But there was something you missed: The kitchen window looked out onto the backyard.

When Seonghwa saw you speeding through the backyard, he muttered a curse under his breath and quickly left the kitchen. The back door hung wide open, a reminder that he had forgotten to close it when he stepped out earlier to tend to the flowers. Seonghwa was shocked to see you walking past the edge of the yard and heading towards the thick forest nearby. He knew he was in big trouble. The thought of Hongjoong returning home in this moment made his stomach drop; if he found both of you outside, he would kill both of you. Seonghwa knew he had to go after you. Hongjoong had told him to do whatever it took to keep you here while he was gone.

He didn't call out to you, thinking that if he called out to you, you would panic and start running faster. Instead, he ran towards you silently but quickly, his footsteps muffled by the soft grass beneath. Your heart raced in your chest, and your breaths came in quick bursts, anxiety coursing through your veins. In an instant, Seonghwa was upon you. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around your waist, and with a forceful motion, he threw you down onto the soft grass. The air was knocked from your lungs as you hit the ground, and confusion set in.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Seonghwa's voice was sharp and raw with emotion as he positioned himself over you, pinning your arms to the sides, using his body weight to keep you down. His eyes, normally warm and inviting, now showed both anger and distress, with his messy hair falling over his forehead from the effort of chasing you. The sudden aggression from the usually calm Seonghwa caught you off guard, causing you to instinctively lash out. Your legs flailed wildly as you attempted to kick him off, your mind momentarily confusing him with Hongjoong in your panicked state. "Are you out of your mind?! Did you think you could escape that easily?!" Seonghwa's grip tightened as he shouted, one of his hands released your arm, only to grasp your face roughly, his fingers digging into your cheeks. "Seonghwa, what are you doing?! You’re the one who’s out of your mind!" you cried out, struggling against his iron grip. "Let me go! Your voice grew higher with panic. Seonghwa, out of breath, kept holding you down and grew frustrated trying to make you understand the seriousness of the situation. Your pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"Let you go?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with disbelief. "What do you mean by let you go?" His hand released your face, only to seize your arm once more as he began to forcibly drag you back towards the house. "Don't you understand? You belong to me just as much as you do to Hongjoong. Did you think I��d just let you escape from us?!”

His words hit you like a jolt. You had never witnessed this side of Seonghwa before—so unyielding and forceful—but amidst the chaos, fear for your safety was absent. You thought you still had time before Hongjoong arrived to learn your escape attempt and avoid the fallout, and that Seonghwa would save you from Hongjoong's ruthless punishment. But in that moment, you couldn't have been more wrong.

Your arm throbbed with pain as you struggled against Seonghwa's iron grip, his strength far beyond what you had imagined. "Seonghwa! Please, it hurts!" you cried out, your voice laced with desperation. As he forcefully dragged you across the ground, your clothes caught on the rough terrain, tearing and collecting smears of grass and dirt. "Shut up, you asked for this!" he barked back, his tone sharp and harsh, devoid of any hint of sympathy or concern, as if he were completely indifferent to your suffering.

The journey home was too quick, and you realized you couldn’t get very far. As soon as you reached home, he threw you to the ground, knocking the air out of your lungs. Seonghwa then slammed the door with a force that echoed through the house. You winced, rubbing your sore arm from his tight grip. "I can't believe you," Seonghwa's voice cut through the air, harsh and devoid of its usual warmth. It was as if the gentle Seonghwa you knew had vanished, replaced by a doppelganger channeling Hongjoong's ruthlessness. "I thought I could trust you. I thought I didn't need to watch you 24/7." He closed the distance between you and knelt down, his hand gripping your hair, pulling your head up to meet his gaze. "But I was wrong," he said, his voice heavy with rage. Fear crept into your spine as he hovered over you, in this moment, he seemed even more terrifying than Hongjoong. While Hongjoong's actions were often predictable in their cruelty, Seonghwa now resembled a ticking time bomb, leaving you uncertain of when or how he might explode.

"Seonghwa, why are you so angry—" you began, but he cut you off. “You ran,” he said, tightening his grip on your hair until it became painful. You squirmed, desperate for the agony to cease. “I'm sorry!” you cried out, your hands fumbling to loosen his grip. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking sorry,” he retorted, his tone deeper, more menacing than you had ever heard. Fear began to course through your veins, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

Seonghwa was thinking about what he would do to you; he stared at you with a stern expression, his mind racing with worries about what could happen next. If he told Hongjoong about your attempt to escape, he would face serious consequences, especially since the escape happened because of his own mistake. He might even risk damaging his relationship with Hongjoong. After a moment of thought, Seonghwa decided it was best to deal with the situation on his own and not inform Hongjoong.

His jaw tightened as he watched you tremble more and more with fear. "Get up," he commanded, finally releasing his grip on your hair. "Hwa-" you started to protest, but he cut you off sharply. "Get up and go to the basement." Your eyes widened in disbelief and fear. The basement? Seonghwa had never before demanded such a thing from you. "What are you saying-" you stammered, only to be interrupted once more. "If you want to keep this from reaching Hongjoong, you'll go to the basement. Now!" he snapped, urgency dripping from his words.

You began a slow, hesitant walk towards the stairs, but Seonghwa's patience had evidently worn thin; he forcefully shoved you down, your feet stumbling to maintain balance as he flung open the heavy metal door. The chill of the basement air hit you like a wall, and the darkness felt heavy.

You dared not speak; his demeanor had changed to someone frightening and dominant, similar to Hongjoong when he's stern. Seonghwa closed the door behind you, the sound echoing loudly, and then grabbed your arm, pulling you toward an old couch in the dimly lit room. With Hongjoong still hours away from returning home, you realized how vulnerable you were. Seonghwa had the power to do whatever he wanted with you during this time, without anyone to stop him or even make a peep about it, sent a shiver down your spine. The basement suddenly felt more stifling than ever, closing in around you as you faced the unknown intentions of this new, frightening version of Seonghwa.

He settled into the couch, an aura of dominance radiating from him. Just as you were about to ask him what he was going to do, he yanked you onto his lap, positioning you face down with his knees pressing into your stomach. "Seonghwa! What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Panic filled your voice, but he was unfazed. In a swift motion, he tore off your already tattered shorts, fabric ripping as though it were paper. The moment you opened your mouth to protest further, he silenced you by crumpling your shorts and stuffing part of them into your mouth. You were taken aback, the fabric blocking your protest. Your hands instinctively went to remove the makeshift gag, but before you could, he seized both of your arms and bound them tightly behind your back with a rope you couldn’t even begin to fathom where he had found it. Now, you found yourself in a vulnerable position—sitting on his lap, face down, your backside fully exposed while your shorts muffled any cries for help. With your arms securely tied, you could do nothing but wait in confusion and dread for whatever he had planned next. The rush of blood to your cheeks was overwhelming as you squirmed, trying to regain some semblance of control, but he had you pinned, and the ropes tightened with every movement you made.

“Let’s get this over with before Hongjoong shows up,” he murmured with a hint of urgency, “I can’t have him finding out it was my fault the door was left open.” With that, he grasped the sides of your panties, adjusting them with a deliberate slowness that sent shivers down your spine, fully revealing your exposed skin. You wriggled slightly, desperation creeping in, but his grip was unyielding, and he quickly absorbed your resistance. His warm hand glided across your backside, gently at first, before suddenly delivering a sharp slap that echoed off the walls of the room. A muffled scream escaped your mouth as the pain shot through you—both a shock and a burn that lingered. He began to rub the spot he had just slapped, the gentle caress contrasting harshly with the sting. Each time you attempted to shift away, he would pull you back down into position, maintaining control over you.

“Hongjoong won't know about your little escape attempt or that I’m punishing you. Do you understand?" His words were firm, filled with a mix of warning and authority. The heat of embarrassment surged up your neck and across your face as you tried to understand what was happening. It was all too much. When the next slap landed, intensifying the throbbing pain in your ass cheek, you flinched involuntarily, mixing fear and humiliation. “Understood?” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. You nodded frantically. “Good girl. Now be a good little girl and accept your punishment.” Each blow that followed wasn’t just a physical hit but a toll on your spirit, the redness spreading across your skin becoming unbearable as tears threatened to spill.

"How many steps did you take outside? Fifteen? Twenty?" His grip didn’t loosen as he began to cup and rub your sore skin, contrasting sharply with the pain he had just caused. When he finally removed the fabric from your mouth, you coughed and struggled to catch your breath. His hands were soon back on your skin, delivering another loud slap, the echo causing your heart to race. “I asked you a question!” The authority mixed with anger in his voice had you trembling; you felt completely vulnerable and utterly at his mercy. “I-I don’t know!” you stammered, desperation clawing at your insides as the pain continued to radiate. “Give me a number or I’ll treat you as if you took a hundred steps and punish you accordingly.”

It all clicked into focus—he intended to deliver a spanking for every step you confessed to taking outside. Panic washed over you as you scrambled for a response, understanding that each number corresponded to another blow. “Maybe… eight? Nine? Hwa, I’m so sorry! I promise it won’t happen again!” You winced as another strike landed hard, pain surging through your entire body. A shrill scream burst from your lips, tears streaming down your face as you felt utterly broken. “You can’t even make it to the basement door in eight steps! You definitely took at least twenty.” The realization of how many more strikes you would have to endure set in, fear gripping you tightly. “Seonghwa, please! It hurts!” You could feel the ropes digging into your wrists as you writhed in discomfort, helpless under his control. “Count!” His voice was steady but filled with a tone that no longer held any traces of affection. There was now a different Seonghwa standing before you, far removed from the person you once knew. The Seonghwa that Hongjoong had molded through his rigorous training and relentless expectations had emerged, bearing the marks of his newfound identity. Park Seonghwa, with his warmth and kindness, was a ghost of the past, replaced entirely by Kim Seonghwa, terrifying and merciless, with traces of Hongjoong in his personality.

"I'll take it as four so far. Count from here. But if you miss, you start over."

You were lying down with a cold compress pressed against your swollen eyes, a result of the tears that had flowed so freely just moments before. Your eyes were puffy and red, and the ice was meant to numb the sting and reduce the swelling and since you couldn’t sit down, you were lying down and eating the fruits that Seonghwa had prepared for you to comfort you and apologize in his own way, which he forced into your mouth even though you shook your head as no. Your favorite show flickered on the TV screen, providing a backdrop to the tense atmosphere. Your head rested in Seonghwa's lap, his hands multitasking - one soothingly rubbing your back while the other continued to offer forkfuls of juicy peach to your lips. The silence between you was palpable; you hadn't uttered a word since the punishment, your last spoken syllable being the final count of "twenty."

There was about an hour until Hongjoong arrived and in that hour, you both had to put everything back to how it was and act like nothing had happened. You could find an excuse for crying, but you didn't know what excuse to come up with for not being able to sit at the dinner table. After Seonghwa finished shoving the last remaining slice of peach in your mouth, the taste still lingering, he tenderly caressed your hair, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on your head. “I need to get back to making dinner before he arrives. Can you manage to stay by yourself for a bit?” You didn’t respond; silence enveloped the space between you, your gaze fixed on the TV screen, your mind hardly registering anything at all. The sharp, burning sensation in your lower body remained, a reminder of everything.

"Angel, please say something. You're making me worry," Seonghwa said, his voice filled with concern. You looked at him and saw his worried eyes and guilt. You reminded yourself that Seonghwa was just following orders and his feelings were shaped by manipulation. He was just doing his job and wasn’t to blame for this situation; he was a victim of Hongjoong's manipulation too. You knew running away would lead to punishment, and you had indeed been punished harshly. Your feelings towards Seonghwa were complicated; you weren’t really angry with him, more so upset by the dynamics that had forced you both into this situation. Yet, the tension was thick in the air. If only he had chosen to overlook your escape, perhaps downplaying it with a simple warning 'not to do it again'. However, that wasn’t Seonghwa’s way. His sense of duty drove him to enforce the rules. The thought of what Hongjoong might do if he discovered your escape hung over you like a dark cloud. Past punishments had left scars—physical and emotional—and the fear of more severe consequences loomed large over you.

“Seonghwa?” you finally broke the silence, your gaze still intensely focused on him. “You won’t tell Hongjoong, right?” Fear crept into your voice as the thought of another punishment sent chills through your spine. Your body was still recovering, aching from the last punishment, and the thought of enduring more pain was unbearable. "As long as you don't make it obvious, I won't have to tell him," Seonghwa assured you. You understood the implication - if Hongjoong sensed anything amiss, there would be no stopping him from digging deeper, and Seonghwa, unable to bear the weight of it all, would be compelled to share everything that had happened. You found yourself desperate to maintain a façade, aware that any hint of suspicion could unravel everything. Despite the persistent pain, you knew you had to summon the strength to act as though nothing was amiss - to sit through dinner and participate in whatever activities Hongjoong might propose afterward.

Seonghwa gently took your hands, examining your wrists and massaging them softly. "There are no visible marks here," he observed, placing a kiss on each wrist before carefully returning them to your sides. "You should rest now. If dinner isn't ready when he arrives, he'll grow suspicious." With careful precision, he lifted your head from his lap, placing a pillow beneath it before kissing your forehead once more. “If you need anything at all, just call out, and I’ll be right there,” he promised, his tone filled with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the icy fear that gripped your heart. If only Hongjoong could show just a fraction of that care. Even when he punished you, if he could take the time to heal the wounds he inflicted and offer a shred of comfort, perhaps you wouldn’t harbor such deep-seated resentment towards him.

This was the first time you saw Seonghwa’s dark side and the first time you witnessed Seonghwa's darker nature, and it filled you with a deep sense of fear that you had never felt before. Up until this moment, you had held onto the belief that he might be an ally in your desperate situation, someone who could empathize with you. After all, Seonghwa himself had been a victim of that crazy bastard, just like you. You once thought that if a chance arose for escape, he would be the person to help you, or at the very least, he would choose to ignore your attempts to flee. However, that hopeful perspective began to shatter before your eyes.When he caught you trying to escape and forcefully pulled you back into the house, you still clung to the flicker of hope that perhaps he would guide you to safety. Maybe he would suggest taking the front entrance. But after telling you to go to the basement and punishing you for almost an hour - because you forgot what number you were at halfway through and started over - you realized that Seonghwa was actually just like Hongjoong, only more merciful. And as your idea of running away with him was completely ruined. The realization that you had to tread carefully around Seonghwa was a harsh lesson learned, leaving you feeling more trapped than ever in this nightmarish reality.

Part 2 ->

[hermesserpent-stuff]

more thoughts about creeds intro for brotherhood gambit au

Creed is tired and hungry. He claws his way out of the ditch and snarls a bit to himself. Magneto owes him. Big time. That mission was far more complicated than the man had promised. And he had ended up in a ditch! Dead if not for his powers. Creed had gotten done what he needed to be done. The dried blood is proof of that. 

He starts walking.

And walking.

Walking.

Then Magneto fails to show where they are supposed to meet. Anger flares. He moves on, growling deeply.

Creed stumbles to the building that he knows Magneto had been sending teens. He needs to report in about the last job and recuperate some strength.

He bangs on the door, flicking a bit of mud onto the front stoop. It splashes over the welcome mat. 

The door opens and a teen stares up at him. There is a flash of recognition there. Red eyes widen and then blink.

“Bonjour? Why’s the infamous Sabretooth drippin’ mud on my doorstep?” 

The teen asks, head tilting.

“I'm looking for Magneto. Have some things I need to settle with him.”

The kid hums.

“In. It's cold out here, monsieur. And I got chili on. Come on.”

The kid settles, pulling the door wider. Creed comes in and settles at a table he is lead to. The house smells vague of water damage and cleaning products. The teen putters about the kitchen spooning out a bowl. He glances at Creed and then spoons a second bowl. Both are settled in front of Creed, along with some water. Creed starts eating, ignoring the spoon, simply tilting the bowl into his mouth. The teen settles in a chair opposite.

“‘Neto ain't here. Never comes round. Not regular like anyways. Now, Mystique will be back tonight. She comes by to eat dinner, and leaves if she don't like what I be cookin’.”

The kid scrunches his nose in offense at the last sentence. Creed growls. The teen plops another bowl in front of him. 

“Not Remy's fault our fearless leader hides away all the time. Talk to Mystique. She sees him more often than the rest of us. Now. Imma fill the tub and heat it. You can keep on eatin’ till you're good. Then you gonna take a warm bath and settle in for waitin’.”

Remy says calmly. Creed tilts his head and decides that this is probably his best option.

“Fine.”

“Good. Pots yours. Been told you eat a lot. I'll have to make… somethin’ else for Toad and Blob. They can handle sandwiches for now. I'll go draw the bath monsieur.”

The teen nods to himself and trots off.

Creed feasts, the taste of the food heavenly to his empty gnawing stomach. When he goes upstairs he finds Remy withi his hand in the water reading a text book. The kid looks up at him and shakes out his hand. 

“Its pretty hot now. Pipes don't make no heat so you wont get any more hot water from them. Desole monsieur.”

The kid states and then stands. 

“I dont think any of the clothes in the house gonna fit you. Not that youd wanna wear any teens clothes.”

Remy says with a nose scrunch, looking at the muddly clothes. He then snaps his fingers.

“We do got somethin’! Big ol’ sweater and pants. Ill grab them and trade your stuff so I can clean up your duds.”

“You’re a regular old housewife aren’t you.”

Creed states and Remy rolls his eyes.

“Someone has to ensure the guild’s form of xenia is followed.”

Remy huffs. And then cocks his head to the side.

“And I don't wanna clean up mud from all over the house monsieur. Now! Let's get a movin’!”

Remy claps his hands together and trots out of the room. Creed shifts off the clothes and sinks into the warm water. A sigh comes unbidden from his mouth as he relaxes. He draws the curtain and closes his eyes. He hears Remy renenter and the shifting of cloth. Then the door closes again with a firm click. He slips a little more under the water. After a moment he starts running his hands through his hair. He finds soap that doesn't smell awful and scrubs at the dirt and blood. 

It is a little relaxing to be able to get all the gunk off. When the water get cold he pulls himself out and dries off and slips into the provided clothing. He walks back downstairs and finds Remy facing off with a crouched teen.

“What I tell you about shoes on my counters t’crapaud??! I can't keep cloroxing them. I know that you like jumpin’ up mais, not my counters!!”

Remy rubs at his face looking like a tired mother. The teen looks like he is about to say something when he spots Creed. He jumps up and onto Remy who causally catches him like its nothing.

“AHH! Yo! Whats the kitty doin’ here???!”

Oh. Toad. He had seen him at a fight before. Its one of Magneto’s drafted teens. 

“T’crapaud. Petit brigand, dont be rude! Man’s a guest. Now, scoot. He goin’ to the livin’ room and your gonna wipe down my counters so I can make your dinner.”

Remy gently puts the teen down and shoos him off. Toad looks at Creed with huge eyes and Creed gives a small growl and the kid scampers. Remy turns on a dime, eyes sparking.

“Non! You be a guest and you dont be growlin’ at mon petits. I will extend my hospitality, mais if you gonna spit in the face of it, I will not hesitate to show you how Guild treats enemies invading the house.”

Creed tilts his head and then nods.

“Got it. Won't hurt anyone while here.”

He says with a shrug. He won't promise to grow or hiss. It's his nature. Remy nods and then waves his hand.

“Livin’ room this way. None of the spare rooms are made up yet. I'm workin’ on it. But for tonight you got a couch. Desole.”

“Eh, it's better than a ditch.”

Creed says with a shrug and plops himself down on the couch. He stretches out with a yawn.

“Fair. I'll keep the others outta here. Get some sleep grand chat.”

Remy tosses a blanket over him and Creed blinks.

“Quoi? Need more?”

The kid asks and tosses another blanket over him. Creed lets out a confused murp and Remy walks off. 

--

Creed wakes up several hours later. He can tell that it is past midnight. He gets up and slinks over to the kitchen. Surprisingly he finds Remy there, spreadsheets layed out with assorted bills and coupons strewed about. Remy looks up from the pile and a red flush flickers over his face.

“Oh, ah, sorry. Mystique never came, so I let you sleep.”

Remy has puffy eyes and Creed can smell salt. But there is no tremor from tears in his voice. 

“Gotcha. Got anymore to eat?”

Creed asks and remy breathes.

“No more meat. Chili was the last of the chicken. There is a bone broth, but just some. Id… there wont be anymore meat in the house for a few days at least. Its too expensive.

Creed notes the kid fiddling with the papers and swipes them up.

“Hey!”

“Jesus kid, do you run the whole budget of this joint?”

He asks, looking over the expenditure columns written in freakishly neat hand writing for someone that is definitely not legally able to drink or be this responsible. He sees a few sticknotes penciling in estimated costs for repairs around the house and what priorities things had.

“I-... it started out as just the groceries. Mais I noticed… well, someone has to do it. And Mystique’s to busy bein’ the principal to look after us.”

Creed puts the papers down, thoughts quickly flashing through his head. The kid had treated him better than most strangers ever had or would. And he did eat all the chili on his own, where it could have fed the teens of the house twice over.

“Can you cook animals if they are freshly killed? I like hunting and I like eating.”

The kids eyes have no right looking that hopeful when aimed in his direction.

“Oui! I can cook just about any meat. If you show me how to skin and carve up the stuff I aint dealt with before, this cajun cook anythin’ you drag back!”

Creed hums.

“Yeah. alright. I can show you a few tricks for carving up meat. Ill go hunting tommorrow some time.”

“Maybe a bit later in the day, so its not dead for hours while Im in school? I can give you the schedule!”

The kid looks genuinely excited. Its… novel. Most people got grossed out at the mere thought of him dragging a kill home. But here this kid is, basically begging for it. 

“Yeah. sure. Means I get to sleep more.”

“Oui! Oui! Though, Imma wake you for breakfast. We having pancakes. And coffee. Dont want a guest hungry while Im away.”

[jaemongus]

cherik as skysports reporters + jube and remy as alpine drivers!

gambit sketch is a little older than the others but thats ok!!!

[unknown171204]

Les Misérables 1980

I have already talked about Les Misérables , but I wanted to expand on the subject a little more, by detailing the three French versions as best I can !!

This strange idea of ​​adapting Victor Hugo's novel into a musical came from Alain Boublil after he attended a performance of the musical Oliver! play in London ( he reports having perceived in his mind a resemblance between Oliver Twist and Gavroche )

Carried away by what he considers (rightly) as a flash of genius, he will work in collaboration with Claude-Michel Schönberg and Jean-Marc Natel to compose the music and lyrics for the future album

Fortunately the album will experience its small success with the public, this victory will make the creators grow wings who will launch head first into the torrent of stage creation !

This heavy task will be entrusted to Robert Hossein , an French director, actor, screenwriter, dialogue writer , who will use his fame to the best of his ability to promote the show (which he would be criticized for and mocked , trample his enthusiasm)

The very first production of Les Misérables was created and then performed in Paris at the Palais des Sports in September 1980

Scheduled for a minimum of eight weeks, it will be played for sixteen weeks, with the Palais des sports no longer available beyond that With 107 performances, it attracted around 500,000 spectators

( I don't know how it works in the United Kingdom and the United States at the same time but in France it will be necessary to reach the end of the 90s for the musicals to travel throughout the country + outside of France )

DISTRIBUTION :

Maurice Barrier : Jean Valjean

Jean Vallée : Javert

Rose Laurens : Fantine

Yvan Dautin : Mr Thénardier

Marie-France Roussel : Mrs Thénardier

Maryse Cédolin / Sylvie Camacho / Priscilla Patron : little Cosette

( alternately the little girls also played little Eponine and Azelma )

Fabienne Guyon : Cosette

Marianne Mille : Éponine

Cyrille Dupont / Fabrice Ploquin / Florence Davis : Gavroche

Gilles Buhlmann : Marius

Christian Ratellin : Enjolras

René-Louis Baron : Combeferre

Dominique Tirmont : Mr Gillenormand

Anne Forrez : Mrs Gillenormand

Claude Reva : Storyteller

There remain too few archives of the original shows, unfortunately at the time filming in theaters and performance halls was not a common reflex ...

I did my best to find as much as possible :

Unreleased Javert song, not kept in the album and show ⤵��

The Full Live Recording of the Show :

ANECDOTES :

If I'm not mistaken, this is the only version that uses the character of Azelma , the sister of Eponine and Gavroche

...

Cyrille Dupont, one of the three kids who played Gavroche, was known vocally for singing the theme song for Nobody's Boy : Remi

...

Florence Davis one of three actors playing Gavroche was a girl ?!

Strange artistic choice ? Or last-rescue liner ??

...

Robert Hossein was so marked by this show that two years later, he made a film adaptation of the original novel !!

Starring the legend Lino Ventura as Jean Valjean and the very young Emmanuel Curtil as Gavroche (this little boy is today an ICONIC voice actor in France : Jim Carrey, Mike Myers, Matthew Perry and many many others characters )

The Full Movie :

I'm working on the 2024 version

However you can find the 1991 version and other French musicals on my Masterlist :

[theconstellationprincess]

More little Scott! feat. Jean Grey + Logan (no cw)

-

It was a mall day today. There hadn't been many of those recently, too many people actively trying to harm mutants, or humans, or both. Scott did not generally join the others when they went to the mall because he did not find it a pleasing environment- in fact quite the opposite. It was loud, bright, had far too many smells and far too many people, and it was very exposed. And he normally had far more important things to do, such as mission reports, or mission reports, or more mission reports.

However, Jubilee had managed to convince Logan to attend, and well, if Logan was going then Scott couldn't not go. Or at least that's what Jubilee had told him. Jean had been encouraging of it, and had promised not to leave him alone, so Scott had been willing to compromise and attend.

He regretted this decision as soon as they entered the mall and all his senses screamed out that it was wrong. He grimaced, but twisted his lips upwards when Jean turned to look at him. He realized he stopped walking and forced himself to continue, mentally counting to ensure that his breathing remained consistent.

"You alright, Slim?" Logan grunted from Scott's right, and Scott jumped, having forgotten he was there. Jubilee and the others- which on this trip included Ororo, Bobby, Warren, Rogue, Remy, and Kurt, had all disappeared in different directions immediately after entering. Perhaps it was a bit ridiculous, but Scott relaxed slightly at the reminder that Logan was here too. They may not always get along, but Logan was a damn good fighter, and usually the first of them to notice that something was off, with that nose of his.

"Fine," Scott replied after a too long pause, painfully aware that his delayed response probably completely contradicted his words. "You?" Scott asked politely, trailing after Jean as she entered a store, her hand pulling on his. He wondered if she saw something she liked; a quick scan of the store revealed that there were a variety of household items, along with clothing. He was content to be dragged through aisles, not paying any particular attention to what Jean was looking at. His mind was far too busy for that, overwhelmed by everything else in the environment.

He realized that he had missed Logan's response, if the man had even given one, too wrapped up in his own head. He looks back towards Logan, opening his mouth to apologize, but Jean steals his attention.

"What do you think?" She asks him, holding up a shirt on her chest. He feels a bit bad that she has to do it one handed, but he fears he might have a meltdown if he lets go of her hand, so unless she specifically requests it, he will not mention it.

"The colour is nice," Scott replies, tilting his head slightly. He reaches out to touch the fabric and immediately pulls back, wiping his fingers down his shirt to try and rid them of the awful texture. "You like how it feels?" Scott asks, unable to keep the skepticism out of his voice. Jean laughs, and he feels himself smiling in return, a laugh slipping out of him too.

Another hand reaches out to feel the shirt, Logan, and Scott laughs properly upon seeing the look on Logan's face. It was surely mirrored on his own a moment ago, a mixture of disgust and offence, because the shirt was truly awful. Jean puts the shirt back, shaking her head with exasperation, but her smile is fond.

They continue through the store like that. Jean will pick out an article of clothing, a household accessory, a candle, a pillow, something off the shelves or a rack and hold it out for them to inspect. If it passed an inspection from both of them, it would be added to the basket- carried by Logan- and they would continue on. Scott could admit he was having fun, and he and Logan were getting along far better than normal- which likely has to do with Jean dissolving any arguments before they could start.

However, where him and Logan were involved, a fight was always inevitable. They were making their way around the entire store, and had entered the kids section. The clothes and such were mostly skipped over, considering it was not particularly applicable to any of them, and Scott had assumed they'd be doing so with the toys and other small things as well, but he was wrong. Walking down the first toy aisle, Jean grabbed something small and held it out. "Well?" She asked, shaking it a bit.

Scott was certain he was red as a tomato as he stammered for a moment, looking at the small plush wolf she had presented them with. It was cute- one of its ears was folded down, and the head was in a slight tilt. He gave Jean a look, using their psychic link to ask her what she was thinking.

She had, recently, been pushing Scott to get more... supplies, for his regression. He had insisted that he was perfectly fine without anything, because really all he wanted to do when his brain got all fuzzy like that was sleep, or lay in bed, because that was safest, but Jean insisted that he wouldn't know he wouldn't want to play until he tried. Scott disagreed, but she kept asking him what he thinks he might like, and now it seems she has resorted to underhanded tactics.

"'s cute," Logan said gruffly, "You got a kid secreted away, Jeannie?" Scott wondered how close attention Logan was currently paying to his heart beat, and prayed the man wouldn't take its rapid beating as a sign that they actually did have a secret child. Unless you counted Scott when his brain betrayed him, but he was trying to not think about that right now.

"No," Jean replied, a devilish grin spreading across her face, "Just a boyfriend I love to spoil, who happens to like both soft things and wolves."

Scott's jaw dropped and he gave her a betrayed look, which he turned towards Logan when the other man began to laugh, a proper laugh- not just a huff or chuckle. Scott pouted, even as he reached out to brush a finger across the fur of the plush, which was incredibly soft. Logan finally finished laughing, though he almost started again when Scott grumpily sat the damn thing in the basket, gently because he didn't want to ruin it, but grumpily all the same.

Unfortunately for Scott, his acceptance of Jean's attempt to convince him to buy toys seemed to embolden her to make further attempts, and it was likely his own reaction that convinced Logan to join in. Scott was thoroughly embarrassed by the whole ordeal, but even more so when he realized he was still having fun while doing it. Jean and Logan were having fun too, and well... Scott didn't want to ruin it for them (or himself), so he didn't make any more than a token protest as they continued. Of course, he allowed himself to be incredibly picky over what they presented to him, but he was not nearly as immune to cute stuffed animals as he thought he was.

The basket was practically overflowing as they checked out, and Jean happily handed over her card, even as Scott cringed at the number. Xavier was richer than Scott could ever fathom, but part of him hated the idea of spending the man's money on such frivolous things as stuffed toys. The other's- that is, the members of the team who regularly go to the mall and return with bags of things that Scott had never really paid attention to- don't seem to have a problem with it. Perhaps it is to do with his upbringing.

They leave the store, and Scott is reminded why he did not want to go to the mall in the first place. It is much busier than when they first arrived, and he squeezes Jean's hand a little harder as they begin walking again. He hadn't really noticed in the store- though thinking back, there had certainly been bright red warning signs- but he was feeling a bit fuzzy. Not fully, but enough that he increased his pace to be closer to Jean because she was safe, and this environment was not.

He did not know where she was leading them, and he was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed when they met up with the rest of the group. Relieved, because he was fairly certain this meant the end of the adventure, but disappointed because it meant he had to shove that warm softness in his head as far back as he could for however long it took for them to get home.

"-and Logan are going to head home, but next time for sure." Jean was saying to the others. He had missed a lot of conversation, he could tell, but Jean could handle whatever it was that he missed. She's good at handling things for him. Jean started walking, Scott and Logan kept following, all the way out of the mall and to the car Scott had driven them in. He reached out to Jean mentally as they approached, just letting her know that he was feeling small, and though she didn't reply, she did slide into the drivers seat without problem. Scott let Logan have the passenger seat, sliding into the back behind Jean and resting his head against the window.

He let himself drift as Jean and Logan talked quietly in the front seat, watching the vibrant red scenery pass. Between one blink and the next, Jean was opening his door for him, a soft smile on her face. Scott smiled back, climbing out of the car with a yawn and a stretch.

He helped carry the bags inside, bringing them upstairs to Jean and his bedroom and setting them on the edge of the bed, before sitting down next to them. Generally, when he regressed, it was a hard and fast drop triggered by a nightmare, or panic attack, or something like that, or Jean coaxed him into it and he didn't have to really think about it at all.

But here, in the halfway space, he felt... a bit uncomfortable? No, that's not the right word. Scott sighed and flopped backwards, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them again. Jean had stayed behind to continue her conversation with Logan when Scott had brought the bag upstairs, so he was going to be alone for another few minutes at least.

He looked towards the bags, contemplative, before deciding to just go through them and unpack. Jean would appreciate it, if nothing else.

It was only after all the bags had been emptied and things put away, apart from the stuffed animals, that he realized he probably should have been even more picky over them. He'd gone from zero to five in a day, and it wasn't like he had a place to put any of them. He picked up the original wolf Jean had presented him with and set it on his chest as he laid down, watching it rise and fall with his breaths. He relaxed, bit by bit, until his blinking was slowed and he realized he should probably get changed into something more comfortable if he was going to nap.

Scott, in general, avoided naps when he was big, but the moment he regressed it was like a switch was flipped in his brain, and it was all he wanted to do. Jean had told him it's because he's more inclined to listen to his body telling him to rest when he was little, and that it was all his sleep deprivation catching up to him, but that probably wasn't it.

"Scott?" He sat up when Jean entered the room, yawning a bit. The wolf- was he supposed to name it? People liked to name stuffed animals, didn't they? Alex had a- a- Scott frowned as his memory failed him. Alex had had something stuffed with a name. The wolf- unnamed- fell into his lap.

"Hi Jean," Scott greeted, "I put away the clothes you bought." Jean gave him a soft smile and kissed his forehead.

"Thank you love." Jean sat next to him, and he could see on her face the moment she spotted the wolf, because there was an expression of pure joy, and he felt a bit guilty he'd fought this so much. Jean wanted what's best for him, she was in his corner, and he could always be better at remembering that. "I see you've got a friend." She commented innocently, and Scott gave her an exasperated look, though as with all his looks, it was really more of a general expression on his face, because his glasses blocked his eyes.

"It's soft." Scott replied quietly, returning to his previous position with the wolf on his chest. He hid his face in Jean's side, only peaking out when she began to scratch his scalp with her nails. He loved when she did that.

"I'm glad you like it," She whispered to him, "Now how do you feel about a nap?"

Perhaps mall days weren't so awful after all.

[cemeteryspider]

In the Wake of Destruction: Part 1

Gambit! Remy LeBeau x Mutant! Reader

Summary: Remy leaves on his trip to Genosha, an emotional retelling of season 1 episode 5 "Remember It" from across the globe.

Trigger Warnings: Character Death, Violence, Emotional Distress, and Injury

Word Count: 1310

You let yourself relax on the couch next to Morph and let your head dangle off the back. You felt him shift next to you so you peeked open your eyes to see him, transformed into Remy making googly eyes at you and puckering his lips.

You groaned and scrunched your eyes closed once again, "Don't be a dick, Morph."

"Relax sweetie, he's gonna be just fine, he's in the one place mutants are protected in the world," He put his hand on your knee, and you huffed looking at him again.

"I know, Morph. That doesn't mean I don't worry about him," You set your head in your hands and heard loud footsteps in the hallway.

Wolverine came in, thunking Morph upside his head, "Don't make the lady more upset than she already is." 

Morph rubbed his head, shifting back to his normal form, "Alright, alright, just trying to lighten the mood."

Logan gave a small grunt, settling onto the couch next to you. "Ain't nothing light about waiting for news like this. Feels like the calm before the storm."

"Calm down, Wolvie, we were just talking about the good ol' thief," With that your eyes shifted back to the television screen where you watched live news coverage from Genosha.

When Remy told you he was leaving to go to Genosha with Rogue and Magneto you were immediately hesitant. Not because you did trust him around the auburn-headed bombshell on the jet, no you knew that ship had sailed a long time ago.

No, it was an odd feeling in your stomach. Something in you begging him not to leave, but as you racked your head thinking for a reason you couldn't find any. He told you that he needed to see that the place was really what it said it was. To ensure that it truly was a sanctuary for mutants.

You had Beast search the jet for any and all issues, you asked Magneto if there were any rising tensions in Genosha to which he replied 'Nothing out of the ordinary', you even had Scott ask Madelyne Pryor, which you did not condone them continuing to speak, yet still nothing came up.

Not a single reason you should be worried about him traveling, yet as the day approached, you still asked him to stay anyway.

"Maybe you should stay home, I'm not feeling too great, Remy," You latched onto his arm as you walked him to the landing pad.

He looked at you with a smirk, " I promise I'll be back before you know it, Chere."

Setting his bag down, he wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you in the air momentarily. When your feet hit the ground once more his lips enveloped yours in a passionate kiss.

"We do not have time for your romantic hijinks at the moment, let us go,” Magneto grunted as he stepped into the jet.

Remy glanced at you one last time, his eyes softening, "I need to see it for myself, Chere. If Genosha is really the sanctuary they claim, it could change everything for mutants. For us. I want to build a future where we don’t have to hide, where we can be safe." He kissed you softly, his touch lingering, as if trying to imprint the memory of you before he left. 

“I love you, Chere” With one last kiss he turned to get on the plane giving you a wave. The plane lifted off the ground within a couple of minutes he was gone. 

“I love you too, Remy,” You whispered into the air.

Several hours later, you were still in the same position, having barely moved except to glance occasionally at the clock. The news had been monotonously reporting about peaceful events in Genosha, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Suddenly and without warning the reporter on the ground stumbled as the building crumbled behind her. Wolverine and Morph jumped up from the couch but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene playing out. 

"Scott! Jean! Everyone get in here!" Someone shouted for the rest of the team, but you couldn't distinguish who. It could have even been you. 

You could only focus on the destruction on screen. The person behind the camera is running towards what might be safety. The once bright and bustling scene of Genosha was now bathed in reds and purples.

You slid from your place on the couch to the floor, hands grasping the sides of your face as you watched your friends, no, family fight the monstrous sentinels.

Your heart slid to a stop, watching one of those beasts destroy Magneto and a gaggle of children with one well-timed strike.

Whatever happened Magneto didn't get up after that attack.

Rogue charged the sentinel, with Remy not far behind on the motorcycle he procured. You knew it was him from the beautiful white suit you helped him pick out for the event and the motorcycle that he expertly wove through the crumbling streets of Genosha. 

He then used the bike to hurl Rogue off her warpath to the side.

"No, Remy, please don't do this," Your words were barely audible as Jubilee sat next to you on the floor, her hand resting on your knee. Every worst-possible-case scenario raced through your head a mile a minute.

It didn't stop Remy from running at the sentinel with all his might. Running and jumping across the broken concrete to get closer. Just close enough to...

Then in a split second, a needle-like appendage was on his side. Even though the cameraman was zoomed in as close as possible, you still couldn't see his face clearly.

Tears blurred your vision, but you quickly blinked them away, forcing yourself to bear witness to this massacre.

The appendage brought Remy close to one of its three faces, but just when you figured the fight was over it started to glow. A pinkish-purple glowed from the seams of the creature. Then in a beautiful pink nuclear-like explosion the camera cut.

Forcing the room to watch the fire covering a section of Genosha, instead of the fates of their friends.

You didn't even hear Trish Tilby's words as you curled up into a ball and continued to block the world out with your tears.

~~~

After the night was over you saw the jet landing just outside, and in a moment of weakness your legs carried you there. An ounce of hope telling you that Remy was sitting in one of the seats waiting to come home to you like he had promised.

However, when Kurt stepped out alone, you could feel the hope draining from your body.

"Meine Freundin," He said as he teleported off the jet and next to you. Still, a part of you waited for the door to open and the stairs to descend. You felt his arm sit around your shoulders.

You looked over at him, misty-eyed already, "Where is he, Kurt?"

He cast his eyes downward, "Gambit is... on the plane. Sadly he cannot come out to greet you."

"He's gone?" Your tears mixed with the light rain.

With a small sigh, he stepped in front of you, "Es tut mir so leid, freund."

“You’re wrong.”

“I am not. I am so sorry for that.”

"But he promised," You fell to your knees and allowed Kurt to kneel in front of you, taking you into his arms as sobs racked your body, "He promised."

The rain didn't stop that day. As you stayed there, embraced by Kurt's comforting presence, memories flicked through your mind. Then a thought, the life with Remy you never had, a house, and kids. You cried harder into Kurt’s shoulder; you wanted it so badly. 

The rain mingled with your tears, but within you, a spark of determination began to flicker.

[funnypages]

In 2025, Tintin is entering the public domain in the US

The character of Tintin, of The Adventures of Tintin, one of my favorite comics from when I was a kid, is entering the public domain in 2025 (in the US) so I'm rereading the series and thought I'd give some history on the comic, as I dont know how well known he is among younger Americans

Who is Tintin?

Tintin, created 1929 by Belgian cartoonist Hergé (real name Georges Prosper Remi), is an ambiguously young investigative reporter and amateur detective who travels the world investigating criminal networks, hunting for treasure, exploring far away places, and solving mysteries. His enemies include crime bosses, foreign dictators, drug smugglers, human traffickers, and sorcerers. Hergé wrote 23 Tintin Adventures (as well as a partially finished 24th story published a few years after his death) from 1929-1976.

Tintin's allies and recurring cast include (L-R in bottom image): Professor Cuthbert Calculus (Tryphon Tournesol in OG French) a hard of hearing but brilliant scientist, Captain Haddock a foul mouthed alchololic ships captain (and Tintin's closest friend), Snowy (Milou) his smarter than normal dog, Detectives Thomson and Thompson (Dupont et Dupond) bumbling identical twin detectives, and Bianca Castafiore an Italian opera singer who Tintin often bumps into on his travels

Tintin and Spielberg

I would say most Americans, particularly younger ones, if they have heard of Tintin, it is from the 2011 CGI Spielberg movie

The story goes that Spielberg, after the first Indiana Jones movie came out, was on vacation in Europe and was confused about why so many European reviews (positively) compared Indiana Jones to "Tintin." He then read some of the comics, fell in love with them, and go in contact with Hergé, who he discovered was a big fan of his work. This led to an agreement that Spielberg would be the one to adapt his comics into a movie.

Tintin and Racism

Where should I start? So we need to address the elephant in the room about Tintin. Several of the early stories are quit racist, although I will give some more context about them

The most infamous Tintin story is the 2nd one, Tintin in the Congo, involves Tintin going to the 1930s Belgian Congo and encountering indigenous people there. It is just as bad as you would expect (although I have seen some articles from Congolese people, that it is so bad it wraps around to being hilarious, but of course YMMV). In addition the series as a whole does have some problematic portrayals of POC, I would say the worst being Indigenous Americans and Arab/Middle Easterners

That being said, I will give Hergé credit and say that you do see his views evolve over the 60 years he was writing these stories, and he does make a significant shift early on. The 5th Tintin story The Blue Lotus, involves Tintin going to 1930s Shanghai. Hergé knew basically nothing about China and had previously had some very steyoticpal Asian characters in earlier stories, but on the advice of a friend, he decided to get in contact with several Chinese students studying at universities in Brussels. There he met sculptor Zhang Chongren, who became a life long friend of Hergé and educated him on issues of imperialism in China. The end result is The Blue Lotus is (for 1936) a surprisingly nuanced and sympathetic portrayal of China and its people, with the main villains being Japanese and European imperialists, and Zhang even inspiring a character Chang Chong-Chen, who is a recurring character across the whole series.

After this point I would make an argument that you see a much better shift in Hergé's depictions of POC. They are still often of their time, but if you compare them to his earlier stories they are significantly more nuanced and sympathetic. Two examples of this are

The Seven Crystal Balls/Prisoners of the Sun - stories 13-14, that call out and criticize Western archeologists looting Indigenous American artifacts

The Castafiore Emerald - story 21, that has a significant subplot involving a local Roma community, with the characters being disgusted at how they are treated by local people and cops and how they are scapegoated for the central crime of the story. Its honestly a portrayal that would be considered pretty progressive for 2025 Belgium, let alone 1961.

What would I like to see in new Tintin stories?

So it's worth noting that A) Tintin is only in the public domain in the US and B) only characters that appear in the original 1929 comic (i.e. Tintin and Snowy) are entering PD; Haddock, Calculus, and the others wouldn't enter till later.

However here are a few ideas for future Tintin stories I would like to see

Remake the first 2 stories - The first two Tintin stories - Tintin in the Land of the Soviets and Tintin in the Congo - are not good. Not just story wise but they lack the art style and tone of the series as a whole. I would like to see the two stories remade with better sensibilities and tone constant to the rest of the series.

Who Dun Its and Ghost Stories - Go full Agatha Cristie/Scooby Doo and have Tintin solving mysteries and debunking stuff.

Adventure Archeologist - There is a reason why people have made the Indiana Jones/Tintin connection. Some of the best Tintin stories involve him going on treasure hunts and honestly all 5 of the IJ movies could be Tintin stories with some tweaks. Have Tintin go on adventures to find Atlantis, El Dorado, Noah's Ark, and Excalibur.

Lovecraftian Horror - Artist Murray Groat did some great covers years back of Tintin/Lovecraft stories and yeah, I want this. You could easily make At the Mountains of Madness a Tintin story.

[lighthousepigeons]

Ariella: Hello? 999? I'd like to report a crime.

Operator: Go ahead.

Ariella: I accidentally raised my voice at Remi.

Operator, sighing: Miss Nash, we've talked about this.

[transformativeworks]

There has been a spate of fics being plagiarized here on Tumblr recently. Do you have any advice for writers who may be the victims of a thief?

Hey elvenmother

I would love to tell you that I had some way of deterring people from thiefing... but alas.

I highly suggest taking screenshots, jotting down urls, and reporting them on tumblr (TOS violation) - keeping records and paper trails is your best option.

You can also message the person like "Hey, I found my story copy/pasted on your page, and would appreciate it if you'd take it down since it is mine."

It never gets any less frustrating though. :(

Hope this helps

~ Mod Remi

[personnage-neutre]

Article on Tintin with Hergé interview from Radio-Luxembourg's 1958 yearly radio/TV guide. Includes a photo of Claude Vincent, Tintin's first voice on the radio, in the studio. Translated in full below because it's a rare article, because it's an interesting snapshot of how Tintin was being received in 1958, and also because it contains incredible phrases like "Tintin fait des sauts normaux" and "Tintin est un précoce reporter d'environ 15 ans, à l'âme de preux et au visage de clown."

Images from Catawiki.

Is there a child between 7 and 15 years old who doesn’t know Tintin and Snowy, Captain Haddock, General Alcazar, the Thompsons, the opera singer Bianca Castafiore, little Chang, Professor Calculus or the evil Dr. Muller? Sign of the immense popularity of Tintin: in 1957, he became a radio character on Radio Luxembourg in a skillful staging by Jean Maurel, following the texts adapted from the albums by Paul Achard. To all the young listeners who followed his adventures, today we present his father, the Belgian artist Hergé (our photo to the left), who invented “Tintin” 28 years ago.

TINTIN IS 28

Close to 30 years ago, in a Brussels barrack, a colonel was questioning a few officer cadets:

“What will you do when you leave the regiment?” he asked. They all had well-defined plans, except for one who gently answered the shocked colonel: “I don’t know.”

This ditherer is today one of the most popular authors in Europe. And he was right to not tell his fortune, because the secret of his success is that he wasn’t seeking it.

if Pierre Quet in “Constellation” is to be believed, everything points to the fact that Georges Remi didn’t plan on working for the sake of posterity.

“The year was 1929. At that time he was assistant photoengraver at the Belgian newspaper “Le XXe siècle,” and if he didn’t know how to draw well yet, he already had the taste for it. One day, Father Wallez, director of the publication, brought him in and asked him to make a comic for children. It took him twenty-four hours to come up with the name Tintin. “Why Tintin?” he says today. “Simply because that name sounded like a happy call.” He accepted the deal, but with one condition: “I would rather not sign my own name,” he specified, “because one day I might need to draw and I don’t want TinTin [sic] to harm me.” He took the initials of his name - Georges Remi - reversed them and transcribed them phonetically: that gave him Hergé.*

<- TINTIN 1930…

The first adventures of Tintin date from 1930. That was “Tintin in the Land of the Soviets,” today out of print, which Hergé refuses to allow to be republished, judging it badly drawn. The only copy that he still has, signed “To my little Germaine” (at the time his fiancée, and afterwards his wife**), shows an indeed rudimentary “Tintin” compared to the “1958 Tintin.” His features have been defined, Snowy’s muzzle shortened. 

…TINTIN 1958 ->

[*] Note: It's not true that Hergé invented his pen name for Tintin; he had been using it since 1924. Also, the series turned 29 in 1958, not 28...

[**] Not for much longer; Hergé and Germaine would separate the next year, though they were not officially divorced until 1977.

At Radio Luxembourg: Tintin (Claude Vincent) has gotten into a suit of armor to save the dog Snowy, kidnapped in a medieval castle. Next to her, the actor Georges Aminel, who voices Snowy. 

Top Panel

TINTIN IS NOT A “SUPERMAN”

Just what is Tintin’s secret? It’s offering children, unlike in American comics, a hero that they can imitate. Tintin is not, in the very words of Walt Disney, an absolute “nonsense” like Mickey [Mouse]. He’s nothing like Superman, who typically accomplishes 7-meter jumps. Tintin jumps normally. Tintin’s universe is scaled to children, his courage and his intelligence are such that they can dream of having one day, his punches are decisive, but his strength does not seem excessive to them. They feel that they can play at being Tintin.

Frequently cited as an example of this is the conduct of a little German from Hamburg. “Tintin strikes, but to defend himself, and afterwards he helps his victim,” explained last January young Karl Zuppert, age 11, to the police. Having heard a suspicious noise while staying with his grandparents, he succeeded in knocking out a thief that had gotten into the apartment with the handle of a shovel. And after tying him up, he calmly called the police. But in the meantime, he dressed the unconscious thief’s wound.

(Constellation. June 1957.)

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The assistant photoengraver who didn’t want to jeopardize his signature has now sold hundreds of thousands of copies of each of the eighteen “Tintin” albums. 

“The Adventures of Tintin” have been translated into a dozen languages, including Indochinese [Vietnamese]. In France, Belgium, Switzerland, Canada, England, Denmark and Sweden, Tintin keeps his name. He’s called “Tim” in Germany and Finland, “Tim-Tim” in Portugal and Brazil and “Kuifje” in Holland and Flanders.

Those who don’t know “Tintin” are becoming rarer and rarer. They are currently found among singles of a certain age. For their sake, let us quickly explain the gist of Hergé’s albums.

Tintin is a precocious reporter of about 15 years of age, with the soul of a knight and the face of a clown (round head, vertical tuft, dumbfounded air, and with good reason) whom chance puts on the track of bandits, gun- or drug-smugglers, counterfeiters, simple thieves, etc… Always accompanied by his dog Snowy, he exposes them, pursues them, and captures them while risking death once every four pages at minimum. Each album is 62 pages. These are books in pictures where the minimal text escapes from the characters’ mouths in “balloons” and by its very simplicity translates their thoughts very exactly. 

From this succession of shots that complete each other is born an extraordinary impression of life. 

“Tintin” is drawing in motion.

And yet, Hergé never learned how to draw. But he always had the taste for it. Very young at school, he drew nonstop during class, above all battle scenes, episodes from the ‘70 [Franco-Prussian] War, the Cuirassiers of [the battle of] Reischshoffen [sic], for example, which his grandfather told him about… “But if I was drawing with one hand, I was listening with the other,” he adds.

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Around Hergé (center), here’s his general staff (modelists - colorists - compositors) that works on creating “Tintin” albums… and has its say in everything that carries the “Tintin” name: badges, t-shirts, pencils, puzzles, dolls, postcards, banners, watches, blocks, wallets, undergarments, baby clothes, curtains, paper, etc… not to mention the magazine.

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[continued from previous page] In the end, I was a good student in everything but drawing, drawing in the way that they taught it in class. So, at 16, I enrolled at a drawing school. I only stayed there one day, they made me draw an acanthus leaf and that put me off.”

Tintin, driven by his adventures, has traveled through the whole world. But his creator has voyaged little and without exoticism. He only knows France, Italy, Germany, Scandinavia, Switzerland and French Africa. 

Hergé is 48. He has fine features, as if drawn with a well-sharpened pencil. One wants him to look like Tintin - or else be completely the opposite. It’s not so simple. He doesn’t have a quiff like Tintin, his hair is greying. Between the two of them, they have four blue eyes. Tintin is always flanked by Snowy. Hergé doesn’t have a dog, instead 5 cats. Rather more than like Hergé himself, Tintin apparently looks like his officer brother in the Belgian Congo, who is called Major Tintin in the army.

Hergé lives, with his wife, four days a week in Brussels and the rest of the time 35 kilometers away, in his Brabantian country house in Céroux-Mousty.

His pleasures are simple: playing pétanque, ping-pong, chess or Scrabble (a sort of crossword you make yourself), reading (mostly Balzac, Simenon and Félicien Marceau) and sometimes going to the movies. He greatly admires Charlie Chaplin and Harry Langdon.

Hergé is one of the few children’s authors to have no children.

Hergé’s studios are located on avenue Louise, in Brussels' upscale neighborhood. He has a dozen collaborators who take part of his work off his shoulders, but the ideas, the drawings of characters are always his. Each book requires more than a year of work. Each page includes 12 to 15 colored panels and a drawing sometimes goes through five to six different versions before finding its definitive form. The backgrounds, the characters, the outfits, the accessories are studied according to the place, and the time, of the action. For the ships, Hergé is aided by a marine draughtsman. For “Destination Moon,” he had a model made of the interior of the rocket under the direction of an expert on astronautics, Alexandre Ananoff. And if the savages [sic] of “The Broken Ear” or “Prisoners of the Sun” quite simply speak Flemish patois, the Chinese texts in “The Blue Lotus” or the Arabic ones in “The Red Sea Sharks” are by contrast authentic Chinese and Arabic texts.*** 

In “The Calculus Affair,” Hergé had to bring the gendarmes of Geneva and the firefighters of Nyon into play. The most nit-picking of Swiss readers wouldn’t be able to find a single mechanical or sartorial error there. The Nyon firefighters sent photographs of their different types of vehicles taken from all angles, and the Geneva gendarmes a painstaking description of their uniforms. 

This precision, this exactitude, are the main strength of the father of “Tintin.”

Sure of his immense audience, he’s certainly the only children’s author who could allow himself to admit:

“If my characters don’t die (I’ve only ever killed two scoundrels who drown at the end of “The Broken Ear”), it’s a little bit because I have an interest in thriftiness” [i.e. he wants to reuse them].

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Tintin’s Mail

Hergé gets letters from every corner of the globe and of all sorts:

“… Mr. Hergé, I’m mad because your story isn’t pretty anymore, there are to many leters and no picture.” [sic!]

“… You draw more people than Van Gogh with prettier colors.”

“… Tintin has brought the household to consensus. My husband reads it first, solemnly, on the train and on the metro, coming back from the Ministry. He was for a long time director of the police service in Tien-Sin [Tianjin] and in Shaï [Shanghai] and he sends you his particular congratulations for “The Blue Lotus.” You certainly must have spent time in the Far East to find the right note like that…”

“… At the clinic in Louvain, Tintin is a close friend of both the young invalids and the old… doctors.”

Along with the doctors of the clinic in Louvain, one of our most famous child psychiatrists, Dr. Berge, also appreciates Tintin. He spoke at length about it during a recent conference at the Parents’ School about children’s books:

“Tintin represents,” he said, “the victory of childhood over the adult. The appeal of Tintin for the child is on one hand the caricatural understanding of types, and on the other the wordplay even if he doesn’t grasp it (the child doesn’t hate not understanding sometimes).”

Another honor, this one unexpected: a third-year student at the National School of Administration, Pierre Audouin, chose as the subject of his thesis “Tintin and Politics.”

But the finest accolade is certainly that of the referendum organized by the Children's Fair: “Who is your favorite hero?” The majority of the 2,163 boys asked (14.25%) answered Tintin, thereby beating, and by far, [actor] Eddie Constantine (6.75%), [emperor] Napoleon (5.26%), [cyclist] Bobet and [king] Louis XIV (5.5%) and [aviator] Mermoz (3%).

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[***] This is true for the Arumbayas, and for the Syldavians and Bordurians, but the Incas of Prisoners speak Spanish or French, not Marollien.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Ace In A Cage AU Questions To Help You Worldbuild, Part One:

#1 How does Remy end up in the Brotherhood of X Universe, a.k.a. Earth 199-Z?

#2 How do the Brotherhood of X catch word that someone who looks like Gambit is running around? Did they plan this? Or was it an accident?

#3 Where does Remy go to outrun the strange mutants of Earth 199-Z? What his first encounter with them?

1. Something similar to tick tick boom for void!Remy ig. Some sort of 'touch this thing and it goes wrong' maybe breaking into a aim facility and a prototype portal reacts to his powers specially.

2. The brother hood of x hear about a massive explosion and then reports come in from towns of a flighty kid with ruby red eyes. The mutants have taken over in the world and there is an effort to bring in all mutants to let them hone their skills and become part of the rulers (or maybe just the USA was taken over??? Idk what do you think???). A lot of mutants are okay with this because it makes them safer than before even if people are hurt or die occasionally. The ruby eyes kid is a runner and won't let people take him anywhere, vanishing like smoke.

3 Remy goes home. New Orleans. There is a den with a nest there in his own universe. But he finds the nest barren. This scared him.

The brotherhood finds him on a rooftop in Richmond, staring at the sky line with narrow eyes. He is happy to see them, but they are immediately suss

Maybe Creed is there and is rageful that someone is trying to steal his cubs face. He's the first to use a dart on the kidm