#they're ride or die for each other

[allastoredeer]

I don't think Alastor would be a good father, but at the same time I don't think he is or will ever interested in being a father. His relationship with Niffty seems more sibling coded to me, meanwhile his relationship with Charlie seems like the one between a teacher and his student.

You're right, he wouldn't be a good father.

He'd be a good ✨mother✨

I don't see Niffty and Alastor's relationship as father/daughter, but I don't really see it sibling-coded either. I don't think they're friends the way Alastor is with Rosie, but I still think they're too close to be anything less than that.

They're a secret third option that I don't know the name of.

Regardless, I love their relationship so much and I adore them.

[thought-bubble-doodly-doo]

Spoiler Discussion For "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood"

I only recently watched the film, and it's given me brainworms. Additional spoilers for Chinatown.

I had heard that the film was Tarantino's love letter to Hollywood, but it wasn't until I saw the ending that it all made sense.

"Once Upon a Time in Hollywood" takes place during the Hollywood Renaissance, a period in film history from the late 1960s to early 1980s, in which Hollywood was going through a massive upheaval in its structure, subject matter, and identity.

We can see this through Rick Dalton's character as he struggles to make the transition from Old Hollywood to New Hollywood. He is quickly becoming a fossil from a bygone era. His whole character arc is about the fear of being past his prime.

But the thing I most want to talk about is the Hollywood Renaissance and genre subversion. The Hollywood Renaissance is normally split into two different movements: Genre Deconstruction and Genre Reconstruction. The Reconstructed are movies that took old ideas and modernized them. It gave them better budgets, improved special effects; they were basically a love letter to old films the directors had grown up watching. Jaws is just an updated creature feature, because Spielberg loved those movies and wanted to make one of his own.

The Deconstructed are where directors take a much more critical stance of old Hollywood. They call into questions the ethics of grand narrative, take inspiration from the counterculture movements, they subvert genre because they have an awareness of genre. The best example I can give is Chinatown, a neo-noir. Because of the Hayes Code, films of Old Hollywood had to have a just ending. Not necessarily a happy ending, but a just one. Good would triumph over evil. And Chinatown has all the stylistic markers of a classic noir film, so it lures the audiences into this false sense of security. We keep thinking somehow it has to work out, because that's what movies do. The bad guy can't get away with it... But he does. Evil wins. And it's a real gut punch that can really only be appreciated when both the director and the audience are aware of the decades of cliche that subversion is based on.

And the ending of "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood" is almost a subversion of New Hollywood's subversion. New Hollywood was all about realism and tragedy and violence. It didn't have happy endings. And Tarantino takes one of the most famous murders of all time to give this sense of suspense for the audience. We know how this story ends. We've seen it played out again and again and again. We know what's going to happen in a story about Shanon Tate.

But then he pulls the rug out from under us. She lives. She gets a happy ending. Everyone gets a happy ending. Dalton's career revitalizes. Cliff probably gets his old job back now that Dalton can support him again. No one ever gets murdered by the Manson Family. We think we know 100% how the story is going to play out, but then it doesn't work out that way.

And it's this beautiful moment. Because it combines both elements of the Hollywood Renaissance. It's this love letter to Hollywood, because it's STEEPED in reference and callback and the knowledge of cliche. But it also deconstructs the Renaissance by showing that sometimes what we LEAST expect out of a film is a happy ending. oh my mind was blown! I can't even tell you! <3 <3 <3

Then when we finally see that happy ending play out, the title comes up. It's "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood." It's a fairytale. It's giving us a happy ending, because reality so often doesn't! And that's what Old Hollywood was really about, because it arose during the Great Depression when people wanted some kind of positivity and optimism.

It's just such a WONDERFUL FILM.

[is-that-sand-in-my-waffles]

I'm going to need the Thunderbolts to maintain this energy about all their teammates going forward:

[cassafrasscr]

Craft Days

Battle Combos

Everyone making gifts for each other (Chetney's toys, Orym’s flowers, Laudna’s dolls, FCG making a toolbox for Chet, etc.)

Orym and Ashton’s talks (on the skyship in e40, in Issylra in e62, and in the Feywild post-Shardgate)

Fearne praying to the Wildmother for Orym

Imogen and Laudna inviting Fearne and Orym to cuddle up with them after Dorian left

Everyone giving Dorian a boost for his jam battle with Annie Aughta (and the subsequent double nat 20s)

Ashton and Dorian pulling Orym out of fights when he gets his shit rocked

FCG bringing all their friends into Imogen’s dreams

cannot even remotely fathom that people think bh's don't have a special bond. like that's insane. what kind of dissonance do you have to possess to genuinely think that. i can list any example too like that's crazy

everybody sound off favorite bh friend moments

everyone saving imogen's mom even though half the party distrusted or hated her because they care more about imogen

feywild retreat

everyone putting blue or gold in their outfits to honor letters

spa day early on

gorgynei retreat

post swordgate being niceys to laudna

all of episode 69

post delaudna battle everyone being niceys to laudna

[duncanor]

Okay, but I ask this in earnest,

Please do share your thought process in the tags or comments.

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More Mech Au-Au!

Swindle-orientated chapter, with sprinkles of TexAid.

Swindle smiled at everyone.

He smiled at those he was happy with, he smiled at those who had pissed him off, he smiled at those he was making deals with, the list was endless.

The only time he didn’t smile was when he was on his own. The door would click closed behind him, the lock automatically engaging, and the facade would slide from his face.

This all had to be worth it. It had to. He’d risked so much already, he was gambling at stakes he couldn’t pay. Failure would mean death, death for all five of them, and as such, failure was unacceptable.

He’d promised Onslaught.

Vortex was a source of pride for him - a prototype mech who had survived against all odds, plumping up his resume handsomely. The only surviving AI from that round and the round that came after - against all odds, Vortex had persisted. He hadn’t self destructed like his own cohort had, he hadn’t lost his sense of reality, he didn’t completely lose himself. He remained exactly who he was, for better or for worse. The discussions of destroying him once he’d begun to show his more aggressive tendencies were terrifying, sending Swindle scrambling for ways to extract Vortex from the mech. They didn’t get this far just to be treated like they were disposable. Had they forgotten that they were real people they’d trapped within the metal? What did it matter that they were slated to die anyway? That didn’t mean they could just be destroyed when they became inconvenient, there was supposed to be a due process. They were owed that much.

Swindle hung up his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Fuck. They’d gotten so lucky with that boy – Felix, right? That was his name, and Swindle has a vague recollection of his name meaning luck. Good for them that he lived up to it – they were lucky that he was persistent and determined, lucky that Vortex seemed to like him. His teammate liked to play with his food, and it seemed he was settling in to give First Aid a good long chew. Which was good! It meant Vortex was unknowingly buying himself some more time whilst he looked for ways to extract him and put him in something else. Anything else would do at this point - shit, he could be his toaster and burn his toast for eternity. At least he’d still be alive and he wouldn’t be left alone again.

Shit. How depressing. How did this become their only option?

Swindle kicked off his shoes, neatly placing them away onto the rack, and shrugged off his jacket

“I want to make them burn in hell.”

He’d done it because he had to. He took no pleasure in what happened to his team after he gave the wrong people the right intel - but it was this, or they’d all be dead. Like, dead-in-the-ground-dead. Skullfucked by maggots dead. Not on ice, not in giant suits of armour with guns and swords bigger than buildings, dead. Dead and forgotten, and it would be all five of them. Nobody alive to fight in their corner, nobody to keep them as safe as they could, nobody to do what needed to be done.

The screams didn’t haunt him like they used to. While they were still alive, skulking around the research centre with tags and monitors and cables and cameras on them at all times, people did terrible things to them. Trepan was the most frightening. He was enraptured with the idea of creating super soldiers. That’s what they’d tried at first - they’d needed warm, fresh, and living bodies - and who would notice if a mercenary group went missing? Everyone would just assume that they had died, and that would be that. They wouldn’t even look for their corpses.

Vortex had been the most difficult one for them to deal with. He was rude, unruly, and dished back what he was given. At one point they’d had to strap him down Hannibal style just to give him his injections - after they’d removed his prosthetic arm when he’d slashed through the restraints and three researchers with the hidden blade, he’d taken to biting down hard enough to rip chunks of flesh from the researchers instead. Vortex would laugh through the blood that dripped down his chin, but he’d always ended up screaming.

Brawl was freakishly quiet. He would press his palms to his temples, his eyes dull and face gaunt. Swindle would never admit how it made his insides churn, how guilt had ravaged him into sleepless nights. They all screamed, they all cried through the agony of it, but it was the worst when they were quiet. His team wasn’t meant to be quiet. They were always doing something, saying something. Vortex was always pissing off Blast Off, winding him up like a younger sibling did to an older one. Brawl was always playing music far too loud in his headphones. Onslaught was much quieter, but he was his own kind of orchestra of sound. A gun being cleaned, turning pages, the squeak of leather.

They weren’t in the research facility. They were shadows of themselves.

Onslaught had always given Swindle his looks though. No blame. No fault given. Thankful. They’d made a promise, after all. They’d agreed that this was what they would do, how it would happen. Anything that gave them longer to figure out what the fuck they were going to do.

The experiments were a failure. All it gave them were broken men. But that only gave them perfectly usable test subjects for something else, for another failing project.

Trepan had asked Swindle personally who he would volunteer as their first test subject. Who did he think had the best chance of success? Who did he think would make the best immortal warrior?

The cockroach, he’d replied. Vortex was fucking impossible to kill. He’d seen him getting himself blown up multiple times. He’d had to pay to fix his face, he’d had to pay to fix his spine, he’d had to pay for that damn prosthetic and every single hospital stay to stitch him back together. And not once had the man been touched by death. If a nuclear bomb were to fall on them, he was convinced Vortex would emerge unscathed and demanding a cigarette.

He was also extremely resistant to control. He despised being told what to do. Onslaught was an exception because he had actually made an effort to build a rapport with him, it was a relationship built on mutual respect and understanding. And Trepan? Every single scientist in this building? Vortex would rend them to dust and ash if they even entertained the thought of controlling him.

It was a hopeful moment, a glimpse into an optimistic future. Vortex would lose his humanity, but they would all regain their freedom.

But good things didn’t favour terrible men.

Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

The photoshoot with Blurr was overrunning. It was already eleven o’clock at night - they’d been at this since 10 in the morning, working hard to get their perfect shots. The photogenic mechanics (paid actors). The intelligent engineers (more paid actors). The trustworthy medics (yet more paid actors). Their only non-actor was Blurr, but even then he was just their show dog. He wasn’t actually a pilot, not in the traditional sense. He wasn’t deployed, he was paraded.

Blurr would want to talk after, to natter away about something or other, to get a drink together and maybe a bite to eat, but Swindle just wanted to go to bed. He was tired. Exhausted. Going into his teammates lockers to grab a photograph had just dug up old memories from where he’d buried them, and he’d woken up with Vortex’s screams in his native tongue ringing in his ears, unable to get back to sleep. He could still hear it between the sounds of the camera shutter.

First Aid seemed to be a nice enough kid. He got on well with others, he did his job without complaint, and he was efficient. He didn’t dally around when he was to clamber into Vortex, he was quick and to the point - and, Swindle noticed with growing curiosity, he studiously avoided touching his controls.

If only the pilots were smart enough to pick up on that. Shame, really. It was starting to get real expensive to keep this quiet.

So it was with quiet horror that he watched as First Aid was trapped within the cockpit, the medic accompanying him collapsing to the floor as blood spurted up the glass from where his leg used to be.

He found himself hissing through his teeth. Don’t do anything stupid, Tex!

When First Aid stumbled out looking like his first pilot he’d ever had did, Swindle felt a grim mood take over him. How hard was it to fucking behave? To not do something so unbelievably stupid? To not get himself killed? Apparently it was too much for Vortex to fucking control himself.

But First Aid had been okay. The next day he was as chipper and chirpy as ever with full recollection of the previous day. He’d thought it was funny.

And that’s when Swindle knew that the boy was their chance. If he could survive Vortex, if Vortex was allowing him to live, then they had to seize the opportunity they could.

Nobody listened. Nobody fucking listened. They were repatriating children in biohazard bags, not even a hand left intact for their loved ones to hold as they said goodbye, and they weren’t listening to him.

They needed Felix Anwyl in that mech. Now. He was sick of watching lambs being offered up for sacrifice. Vortex was a malicious bastard but even he would get bored of it all eventually - and from where Swindle was standing, he saw a much better chance of getting their brothers online if Vortex settled down and stopped acting like he was possessed by the devil.

Seeing Felix sprinting towards Vortex in a pilots suit that didn’t fit him, Swindle discretely cleared the way. He distracted the officers with him, had them avert their eyes for a second to let him pass. He redirected people, he gave distractions, he delayed who he could to buy First Aid much needed time to get to the mech before that cadet took a single step inside. Vortex would kill them for the intrusion, he’d explicitly had enough of it and was demanding what was his. His words in the morning memos were enough.

Swindle was out of options. He needed to get First Aid into that mech before they stamped the paperwork to render the supposed AI obsolete and for the scrap heap.

He didn’t have a toaster ready for him yet.

Prowl had looked thunderous on the catwalk. So had Pharma. He had to fight to keep his grin at bay - he had to press his hand to his lips to hide it when Vortex began yelling ‘mine’ through the walkie talkie.

Oh, he really liked this one.

Pharma had kicked up the biggest fuss. He didn’t want to lose his precious medic.

Swindle checked his file. First Aid hadn’t been on any major medical assignments since the previous year, and there was no record of why. No particular displeasures, no signs of any faults or major errors, any need to retrain, or competencies lapsing and requiring reassessment. Pharma had just decided to force First Aid away from his job in some bizarre, inexplicable act.

He’d grabbed him by the collar and hissed into his ear that the blood was on his hands. That if he wanted to keep First Aid, then he could be the one to clear the mech out, that he would be the one to write to the families and explain what had happened.

Pharma had opened his mouth and begun to say something about a punishment, but Swindle placed his finger to his lips and shook his head.

“It’s not on his record.” He reminded him, tapping the file. “Do you want to incriminate yourself? Right here?”

And so he’d received the stamp of approval that evening. The ink was still wet as he shook Pharmas hand, the man holding his too tightly.

First Aid seemed to like Vortex too.

Pilots didn’t usually go and hang out with their mechs. They liked to be near them – apparently there was something about the connection that had them bond in such a way that they liked to be close to them, that they’d feel drawn towards them, but First Aid’s seemed to be almost excessive. At every free opportunity, he was there. If you couldn’t find him, the advice was to check Vortex – he’d probably be in the cockpit reading a book or listening to music, or he’d be elbow deep cleaning out the joints from the gunk the clean up crew didn’t manage to get. If it was a meal time and he wasn’t in his room or in the cafeteria, he was with Vortex.

His secondary role on base was still, technically, a medic – but Pharma had made it clear that he wasn’t welcome back in the medical bay. He’d made his bed, so to speak – if he wanted to be a pilot, then he’d be one, but it was at the sacrifice of his oath to medicine, so he wasn’t allowed to perform it. He was left to spin his wheels, to attend training sessions when they could run them for him (it was an open secret that he wasn’t a pilot, but a secret it was) and scratch his arse until the alarm went off and he was marked for deployment.

Swindle didn’t know that Pharma could hold such a grudge. He’d made a mental note to never piss him off.

A few times, when Swindle couldn’t sleep and was on a walk, he’d seen First Aid slipping into Vortex. He’d raised his brows at that.

Swindle didn’t know how Vortex hadn’t squished him yet.

Vortex fell back into the Shatterdome, rain thundering down on his armour sounding like the roar of a passing train. Sparks erupted from the gaping hole where his shoulder used to be, two of his back blades torn free and the remaining hanging on by rapidly breaking cables. The mech fell to its knees, catching itself on its remaining arm, its visor flashing a single message over and over.

OBJECTIVE ONE: PROTECT THE PILOT.

For the first time, Vortex had obeyed the objective embedded into each of their mechs. Protect the pilot. More than that, he’d brought him straight back to them.

Swindle watched him in quiet awe.

Wow. He really liked this one.

When the radio had cut out in a roar of static, Swindle had half expected Vortex to stay out on the front and continue his slaughter like he usually did when his pilot died, but instead he watched as the red dot that symbolised Vortex on the screen instead turned around and began sprinting back to the Shatterdome, ignoring all of the targets around him, ignoring when a quintesson got a good hit on him, barrelling past the other deployed mechs. Mission Control received multiple communications from the other pilots out in the field, confused calls from the crews of the helicopters monitoring from above - Vortex wasn’t responding. Vortex was moving entirely independently - his pilot was unresponsive and his life signal was so weak it could easily have been the electricity from the cables exposed to the elements being detected instead.

His walkie talkie crackled as Vortex looked directly at the large room Mission Control sat in overlooking the hangar. A voice he hadn’t heard in years ground out.

“He dies, everyone dies.”

Swindle swallowed hard, and nodded.

“Tex?” The voice was weak and unrecognisable. Swindle realised it must have been Felix. He was alive and conscious enough to speak - Swindle was already waving off people trying to get permission to do things, motioning for them to just get fucking on with it.

“Get that pilot out!” He hissed at them.

“It’s going to be okay.” Vortex promised. Swindle didn’t know his voice could get so soft.

“Stay put, Tex. Don’t move a muscle and unlock your emergency escape, the medics are here.” Swindle spoke into the walkie talkie. He received a few weird looks from those around him, but he ignored them. He’d field their curiosities later - for now, he had to focus on keeping Felix alive and figuring out how they were going to safely contain Vortex.

Fuck. He wished Onslaught had been activated. He’d know what to do. For a brief moment he wished their positions were reversed. He’d have handled all this shit so much better. Swindle would never tell him or ever admit it, but Onslaught was always the brains of the unit, he always had a plan. He’d probably have had all of them activated by now, brought the whole team back together again.

He chewed his bottom lip until it bled, the taste of copper stinging on his tongue.

The medic had to live. He had to. There was no protecting Vortex if he went on a murder spree - they could just about justify the pilots being pulverised inside of him, the difference between the cost to spec up and build and test a mech that was his equal vs the cost to train a new pilot was extraordinary. Vortex could, in theory, chew through a few hundred more pilots before they’d start to wonder if they should have just built a new mech. But to destroy a whole base?

Yeah. No. It would be significantly more difficult to justify it as a misidentified ‘protect the pilot’ protocol. Sure, he could argue that the base failed to save his pilot, but how would the mech know? Why did the mech identify the Shatterdome as a target? Clearly it was faulty, glitched, and needed to go.

Vortex was not one to be reasoned with. Swindle knew that all too well. There wasn’t going to be the opportunity to talk him down from his decision.

They succeeded, or they failed. That was it. One or the other. Felix survived, or everyone died.

God, he prayed that Felix was as much of a cockroach as Vortex was.

[dead-end-street]

USERDRAMAS: EVENT 18 - MUSIC ↳ XUE FANGFEI & XIAO HENG in THE DOUBLE (2024) dir. Bai Yun Mo, Lu Hao Ji Ji, Ma Shi Ge

If I fall short, if I break rank It's a bloodsport, but I understand I am all yours, I am unmanned I'm on all fours, willingly damned Loving you's a bloodsport (yeah yeah, yeah yeah) Fighting in a love war (yeah yeah, yeah yeah) BLOODSPORT – RALEIGH RITCHIE

[ladyrijus]

TOTK where everything is more or less the same except the dragon tears are as giant as the springs that Zelda went to, and Link has to wade through them to experience the vision. On top of that, after he sees the vision in full, he can relive that vision for as long as he stays in those tears.

Now, the reason why I want that is because I want to see Link witness the final memory and turn numb with denial and guilt and grief. It should not have surprised him the way it did; he knew in the previous memories she had planned to do it. But there were still more geoglyphs to search, still more time and hope for her to realize there was a different way, a better one that didn't ask her of so much.

He was wrong, of course. Destinies like theirs were never so generous.

Imagine that he appears expressionless, a stark contrast to his more emotional nature that has come out during gameplay. And yet his eyes are noticeably glazed over and he's frozen to the bed of the spring. The sages watch him through their vows, knowing this to be the last memory, and they feel it, immediately, that something is wrong. They desperately try to talk through their avatars, much to the surprise of their loved ones.

"Link? Link, snap out of it!"

He hears nothing.

And so the scene parallels to the off-screen moment Urbosa had with Zelda -- a careful Sidon wills his avatar to carry Link away from the cursed waters, and is pained when he's met with vehement resistance. Why would his wonderful friend drag himself back there, when whatever he saw tore his heart and shattered his soul? It wasn't good for him, to deal with grief in such a poisonous manner.

But for Link, he would weather the heartbreak in watching that bright, curious, ambitious girl sacrifice everything that made her who she was infinitely if it meant he could commit her face to memory. The Sheikah Slate that he took pictures of her with had been dismantled, and the Purah Pad contains no recollection of Zelda. He would watch his princess lose herself, over and over again, in that damned tear, than forget what she looked like.

He couldn't do that to her. Not again.

In the meantime, Tulin, Riju, and Yunobo have created a circle around him together, blocking the hero from hurting himself any further.

By this point, Link's expression is wavering, brows furrowed and lips pressed to a thin line. They don't get it, do they? All of the closest friends he had from an era past are gone; yes, Impa, Purah and Robbie are still alive, and they belong to that era too, but they didn't know him like the Champions did. Like Zelda did. She fought for him in death as much as he fought for her in life, and now he lost her too.

He finally collapses to the ground, shaking, and cries.

He had one job: Protect the princess. And he failed her. Twice.

[parab0mb]

Snug as a...

...nah. I shan't say :)

~~~~

Getting back into a Psillypomp mood. Also trying to motivate myself to draw stuff that isn't just shitposting, so I finished up one of my many sketchdump doodles for fun. Vena's newly developed wings aren't just good for flying; they're also great for cozying up with (being a colossal nuisance towards) her bestie.

There *is* a distinct possibility she still smells like she just crawled out of a sewage treatment plant, so Col may not necessarily be wrong to be grouchy.

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

"It wouldn't be so easy if they knew you'd covered up for me what I'd done." "They'll never know." "You know what? At the end of the day, Costello wouldn't want to lose you from his team." "You're biased." "I am. But it's true."

CARLA CONNOR & LISA SWAIN | CORONATION STREET

[beneathtreemomo]

Names Amongst the Dead

I got another commission from @sakura-rose12 of Kit!!! Beautiful boy and 3/4ths of his qpr (plus also his eventual boyfriend. No, I will never make a straightforward relationship. It's too fun to make them deep and meaningful, unable to be explained through words. Law is the last fourth if you were curious lol, he just didn't fit in with the theme) Have a one-shot to go with it :D -----

Kit's back hit the wall hard, causing him to stumble from the awkward angle as his and Alvarus’ legs found purchase on the steps.

Cold metal pressed against his skin; Kit froze, making the wise decision not to move.

"Oh?" Kit asked, fighting the urge to tilt his head. "I thought we'd gotten past you pulling a sword on me."

“Highness…” Alvarus breathed, a shaky awe to it that never really went away.

It made Kit huff as he smiled down at the ex-knight. “Hi, Alva.”

Brilliant sapphire eyes melted, Alvarus' sharp-edged smile turning into something softer. The distance between them was already small; Kit could feel Alvarus’ breath against his skin, knew that if Penguin or Shachi caught sight of them, he'd never hear the end of their teasing.

“Are you well?” Alvarus asked, without fail.

“Better than ever.” Kit replies, always.

A beat passed as Alvarus’ gaze studied Kit. He always made sure Kit wasn't lying to him, especially after the one time Kit had genuinely tried, and Kit could never find it in him to be mad about it.

He sighed as he determined there was nothing amiss; Kit chuckled as Alvarus seemed to collapse against him, knocking their foreheads together.

“Stop worrying me, please,” Alvarus mumbled, rubbing his nose against Kit's. His body was warm, a comforting blanket against the chill of the winter island's sea. “You’re one of few things I have left from our home. I don't think I could handle watching your vivre card try to burn a second time.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kit said after a moment, feeling the sword drop away as Alvarus sunk into the embrace. “But I can’t make any promises. You know that.”

Now that he could properly move again, Kit lifted a hand to tangle it in Alvarus’ hair, fingernails lightly scratching at the base of his neck. He returned the nuzzle, pressing his cheek against Alvarus' before pushing back his hat with a gentle hand.

Alvarus' eyes closed as he leaned into the touch with a soft sigh. “Why must all of you Lagthas be so difficult?”

Kit chuckled, pressing his lips to Alvarus’ temple. “Runs in the blood, I’m afraid.”

----

“Hey, Sabo, I—whoa!!”

As soon as Kit stepped foot into the room Sabo had chosen during their stay, a hand had wrapped around his wrist and yanked him inside.

The door was shut with a muted thud, though Kit barely managed to notice as he was slammed into the wall just next to it.

“You!”

For a moment, all Kit could see was Sabo’s jacket and the frills of his cravat. Then Sabo leaned down, caging Kit in, and his eyes were like fire.

Kit’s heart skipped a beat, unease settling low in his gut.  “…Me?”

“Were you ever going to tell us?” Sabo asked, voice low. “About who you really are?”

The unease turned into lead, sinking and pulling Kit down with it. “This is who I really am.”

“Liar,” He hissed, leaning in closer. Kit felt rather than saw Sabo’s hand moving, and with a jump he raised his hands between them to try and placate the fuming man. “I know that you’re a prince!”

Shit. He’d been afraid of that answer, even though he’d expected it. Kit really should start to know better.

“Well, sure, but—"

“Is this just a joke to you?” Sabo asked, hand pressing just enough into Kit’s side to keep him pinned. Something slipped in his voice, cracking and splintering with the confirmation his findings had been right; Kit hadn’t looked away from Sabo’s gaze at all, but only now could he see the grief and panic at the edges of his eyes.

Kit’s heart sank. “What? Sabo, no. Why would I be joking about any of this?”

“Because that’s what all nobles do in situations like this,” Sabo hissed, lips curling into a snarl. “Lie and trick us, just to hurt us behind our backs.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then why didn’t you tell us?! If you hurt my brothers the way you hurt your people, Prince, I swear—”

Tears pricked Kit’s eyes at the low blow, heart hurting like he’d been stabbed. He shoved Sabo away and was, admittedly, a little shocked that Sabo let him. “What the fuck is your problem?!” He shouted. He knew it was too quick of a flip, but he'd thought Sabo of all people would understand, and instead he was being accused of wanting to hurt his friends.

Sabo merely stared at him, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Kit didn’t move away from the wall, but now it was his turn to snarl at Sabo. “Look in the goddamn mirror! You’re a nobleman from birth, too!”

“Watch what you say next.” The harshness in Sabo’s voice sent a shock of fear down Kit’s spine, but he didn’t stop.

“Oh, don’t be such a hypocrite.” Kit snapped back, standing tall even as Sabo’s glare sharpened back into something dangerous. “I’d already run by the time the kingdom fell; your research showed this, I know it did. Everyone knows Prince Rori disappeared three years prior."

He scoffed, feeling words he didn't want to admit spill from his mouth without his say. “What, would I be in your good graces if I had stayed to be Haesgard’s toy? Or gone back to be a lamb to the slaughter the second I caught wind of Valstasia’s fall? Forgive me for doing what my mother and Lavi sacrificed themselves for.”

He didn’t notice the way Sabo’s anger faltered as he spoke, eyes growing wide with dread as the implications of things not even the Revolutionaries would have found out slipped from Kit’s lips.

“I thought we were friends,” Kit continued, glaring at Sabo through watering eyes. “You said you trusted me because Ace and Luffy trusted me. Didn’t realize it was so easy to lose, too.”

Fed up with the conversation—annoyed because he’d actually been excited to see Sabo during this mission of his, only for it to turn into this mess of a shouting match—Kit shouldered his way past Sabo to the door.

“I’m not like those nobles you grew up hating. Don’t talk to me again until you figure that out.”

Sabo stared at the door, almost wishing Kit had slammed it shut. It would make it easier to dispel the anger still thrumming in his veins, maybe even get rid of the guilt that started settling in his chest.

That… wasn’t what he expected to happen.

Looking back, it should have been.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers lingering on his scar. “Shit... I just messed up, didn't I?”

....He really should have known better.

---

Kit headed back to his room, a slight skip in his step. He’d managed to convince Law to lay down and nap, finally, and Cora had promised to keep him there until their captain could form coherent sentences again. Tang had surfaced for a while, as well, to let in some much needed fresh air and get the crew some sun.

Mostly, Kit was just glad they were headed away from Wano, and he could spend one more day not thinking about the situation looming over his shoulders.

Except, now he was thinking about it. Dammit.

His steps slowed. It… was okay to wait a few more days, right?

It was too nice a day to think about existential dread, and he didn’t want to worry Law when he woke. After that whole mess of an island, none of the crew needed to worry about him and his decades-old problem. It had waited this long—it could wait a little more.

But there had been that letter….

“Hey, Kit, what’s got you all broody?”

Kit startled, a tiny little yelp managing to leave his lips before he shut it down just as fast as he looked up.

Ace stood there across from him, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Ace!” Kit breathed out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall. “Don’t startle me like that!”

“Sorry,” He said, completely unapologetic, “Being a ghost does that to someone, I’ve learned.”

Kit laughed, having to admit he had a point. “That’s fair. But your fire’s usually a lot louder than that, so I’m surprised you hid so well.”

“Hm.” Ace came closer, concern creasing his brow. “I don’t know about that, Kit. I think you’re just… distracted. You okay?”

No, but Kit’s pretty sure he hasn’t been for a while.

“It’s nothing,” He promised, tasting ash on his tongue. “Just thinking, is all.”

“Ahh, I see.” Ace nodded, humming thoughtfully a moment later. Kit raised a brow as he stepped into his space, resting an arm above Kit’s head. “Well, how about I help you stop thinking for a bit, hm?”

As he spoke, Ace brought a hand up to take Kit’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, stroking Kit’s bottom lip. Kit huffed a laugh at the action, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh? And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m sure you could come up with something, eh, Enchanter?” Ace all but purred, eyes locked onto Kit’s. It made Kit’s heart race, excitement thrumming to life in his veins as Ace leaned ever closer—

Only for Ace to yelp as he suddenly fell through both Kit and the wall.

Kit burst out laughing while Ace let out a dismayed cry, covering his smile with his hand as Ace righted himself. He turned back to Kit, all charm replaced by a sheepish smile and heavy flush down to his chest that had Kit’s heart turning to mush.

“Guess that didn’t really… go well, huh?”

“No,” Kit disagreed, still giggling as he lowered his hand. “No, I think it worked exactly how you wanted it to.”

Ace pouted as he readjusted his hat where it had fallen askew. “But I wanted a kiss.”

With a smile Kit walked past, flicking the string of his cap up to Ace’s nose as he did. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you back in your body eventually. I’ve got a lead.”

“Wait—really?!” Perking up much like an excited dog, Ace cheered and ran to give Kit a giant hug.

Only to fall flat on his face as he, once again, went right through. Kit’s laughter was heard all the way up to the sundeck.

[cloysterbell]

'Cause that's what us, we mere mortals, do. We die. And sometimes it's not pretty. It's ugly and it's messy and it's painful.

[anonyanonymouse]

from your answer of the ending, I also agree. This is Disney, ultimately everything will be happy ending and I am for it. Yes, they face consequences but they everyone gets 2nd chance (as in an ideal world should be as society is the reason, the overblot had that view in 1st place).

Also I need that Idia-Lilia reveal too!! My priority is done with Silver Vanrouge but I need this one too!

I know that I myself said that we shouldn't go into book 7 with a checklist of things that we HAVE to have or else the book is ruined (which I do still believe) however, that said, if they're going to give us Silver Vanrouge, then TWST PLEASE. I am pulling out my checklist. TWST YOU HAVEN'T CROSSED THIS ONE OFF YET!!!!!!!!!!

Are they going to dangle this one in front of me forever all the way until the end of book 8 too. Will Lilia ever know that he secretly has another sad 18 year old boy who would die for him. Will Idia ever know that the random guy he has no attachment to dying in front of him WAS HIS ONLY BEST FRIEND. Is Lilia going to return to gaming now that he's alive and magical again... Idia is going to be SO EXCITED if he does!!!!!!!!

[slightlytoastedbagel]

the way that Vivid Bad Squad became a thing on a spur of the moment decision because "hey we both want the same thing and have this shared pocket dimension so we might as well???" and now they're the most important people in each other's lives who they're going to go around the world with and didn't even need to consider going back to the duos because they're a TEAM

[mangofanarts]

Whatever, whatever, thinking about that time where Bad and Pangi both said that it depended on the situation when Ros had asked them if they would die for one another. I'm also thinking about yesterday where Bad acted upset with Ros for her lying about Foolish's whereabouts. Then, Ros told Bad that he would lie to her if he had to hide away Pangi (paraphrase) and Bad was like, probably- I just, whatever whatever, honey badgers

[ziezii]

childhood friends fushikugi mhm 🚬