#title: dear friend

[amadelii]

Finally finished picking at this one :) all three kisses in S3 P1 are so Iconic in their own ways, but this is THEE Kiss imo

If I had a nickel for every time I re-hashed this specific painting--

More versions and close-up under the cut! Click for better quality! Y'all know the drill :)

A nice juicy closeup :) the linework was super fun, but definitely got a little lost in the big picture

And a few different versions - moon+lamps, just moonlight, and just flat. I couldn't decide which one I liked best, so I'm posting them all lol

Thanks for looking this far! May we all be strong enough to last until P2.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

i know that there will be better days

prompt: nightmares

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slough house

hiiii this one's set post-standing by the wall and as such has spoilers for slough house. i am very sorry to my lovely friends who have only seen the show or have not made it through all the books however this prompt simply spoke to me and i knew what i had to do. if you do read this i hope you enjoy!!!

Catherine would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit concerned about River. 

Granted, she knows, as he’d been so keen to tell her, that he’d passed the medical. She’s heard him insist, time and time again, that he’s fine. 

But she’s also seen him falter upon standing, brace his hands against his desk, sink back into his chair. She’s seen him turn up with dark circles beneath his eyes so pronounced they’d looked as if they’d been painted on. She’s seen him hastily exit his room, slam the toilet door behind him, heard the sound of gagging. 

She hasn’t brought any of this up to River himself, of course. In the first place, she doesn’t think he would appreciate it. In the second place, she knows he’d just brush it all off with one of those catchall I’m fine’s that Catherine knows don’t fool anyone, except perhaps Roddy.

So she’s hardly planning on saying anything when she catches River sleeping at his desk. God knows he’s looked especially rough the last few days. She’s half considering locating a blanket—not that she especially trusts any soft item found in Slough House—when a soft noise from the sleeping form slouched onto the desk halts her in her tracks. 

He sounds distressed, afraid. Painful memories twist in Catherine’s chest. Part of her wants to leave, to let River have some of that sense of dignity he so desperately clings to, to not get involved. Part of her insists she stay. 

It’s this latter part of her that wins out, owing not so much to any mental calculations on her part as to another quiet and pained noise from River. 

She can hardly just let him suffer. 

Catherine approaches him cautiously, like one might approach a feral cat. She doesn’t know whether he’ll take kindly to being woken, whether she might receive a startled lashing-out. 

She steadies herself, then reaches out a hand and lightly taps River on the shoulder. 

He shoots upright, and Catherine instinctively steps back, startled. River looks around, his eyes wide. He’s panting and his whole body is shaking and, contrary to lashing out angrily, he actually looks as if he is about to cry. 

“It’s alright, River,” Catherine says, stepping in close to him again. “It was only a nightmare.”

He looks up at her for a second, then back down. The breaths he’s taking sound painful, too quick and too sharp. She wants to help. 

“I—” he starts, but that’s all he’s able to get out. He looks so afraid, so young, and Catherine thinks of herself, of the hellish visions of Charles that had tormented her for years, and she makes up her mind. 

She bends over a bit—it’s not the best angle, to be sure, and her back protests, but no matter—and carefully, hesitantly, wraps her arms around him, the way she’d wanted to before, but hadn’t quite had the guts to go through with. 

He stiffens up for a second, and Catherine worries that she’s made a terrible mistake. 

But then he softens again, and she can feel the way he’s still trembling, the way his breathing is still erratic and harsh. The residual fear and grief are palpable in the air. 

She doesn’t realize that he’s crying, at first, with how much he’s shaking. But after a few seconds, she notices that the shoulder of her dress is damp, and if she really focuses, she can hear River sniffling very quietly. He’s good, evidently, at being silent. 

Catherine has never seen him cry before. Of course, she’s never seen him have a nightmare before, either, so there’s multiple new experiences happening for her today. But she knows him. The way he always insists that he’s fine, even when he’s not. The way he’d rather ignore his own suffering than confront it head-on. 

He’s been through hell, recently. Not that any of the slow horses have had a particularly easy go of it, but Novichok—it’s the stuff of horror stories, not the fate of disgraced MI5 agents. 

All this to say, she puts a lot of value onto this moment, right here. River crying into her shoulder in his office in the middle of a Thursday afternoon. She’s aware of the kind of suffering it’s taken to get him to this breaking point. She hates it, but she’ll be damned if she won’t do what she can to help. 

And so she holds on. Her legs start to cramp, a bit, but she pays them no mind. It’s River. 

He lets go after quite some time. Catherine stands back up, does not wince at the twinging in her legs and back, and smooths out her dress. 

“Sorry,” River says. His voice is scratchy, but he’s no longer shaking and his breathing has mostly returned to normal. There are tear tracks running down his cheeks and his eyes are rimmed with red. “Sorry, I didn’t—I’ll just—”

“River,” Catherine interrupts, and he stops, looks up at her, rubs a hand beneath his eyes. 

“It’s alright,” she continues. “You’re allowed to not be fine, you know.”

He kind of looks like he’s about to start crying again. Catherine isn’t sure whether either of them are really equipped for this. “I am fine, I’m—I have to be fine.”

Catherine shakes her head. “You were dosed with an incredibly toxic nerve agent, not to mention everything else you’ve gone through these past few years. I’d be surprised if you were somehow truly fine.”

River gives her a little sort of half-smile that is almost more painful for her than the crying. “Okay,” he says, and he sounds like he’s admitting to something terrible. “Okay, yeah, I’m—maybe I’m not…entirely fine.”

He slumps deeper into his chair, scrubs at his eyes again. Catherine recalls her very first AA meeting—“I’m Catherine and I’m an alcoholic”—how afraid she’d been to admit to anyone else that she had a problem, that she wasn’t able to handle it on her own. River’s situation is, of course, drastically different, but there’s an element there that Catherine recognizes all the same. 

She wishes that there was something she could say to make this easier. But she knows that the only way to heal is time, that the only way out, as cliché as it may sound, is through. 

“I know you’re not,” is what she settles on saying, at last. “But you will be.”

River looks up at her again and there’s a faint glimmer of his usual self poking through everything else. It makes her feel vaguely hopeful, and she puts a hand onto his shoulder, glad of the contact now she’s broken the seal. 

“I think I’ll make some tea,” she says, a thinly veiled offer, an opened door. 

“Yeah, alright,” River replies, and it feels like a small, but important, step has been taken.

thanks so much for reading! i am planning to do a deeper dive into river post-novichok at some point but who knows when that will be. in any case i enjoyed doing a little exploration of that here, hope you liked!

[gothsuguru]

kairoooooo!!!

i’m here to ask you more about ‘out of my league’ (university au my belovedddd as you already know hehe :3 ) and ‘my love builds coffins’ because they both sound soooooo tasty!!!!

i’m so intrigued by your geto brainrot because you always come up with the most delicious and unique pairings and aus!! <33

much love,

Lily xo @storiesoflilies

THE FACT THAT I KNEW YOU WOULD ASK ABOUT UNI CRUSH!SUKUNA NDNFNFNDNDNF i know you and your love for your husband (sukie) so well 🤭 AND OMFG I’M SO HAPPY YOU ASKED ABOUT HARPIST!GETO THAT ONE JUST RECENTLY MADE ME VERY FERAL :3 putting in the wip ask game here so i don’t forget hehe

ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!! you saying that i come up w unique pairings/au’s is literally the sweetest thing in the world i’m tucking that comment 2 my chest <3 hehe

my love builds coffins:

AHHHHHHH YOU DON’T KNOW HOW ECSTATIC I AM THAT YOU ASKED FOR THIS ONE HEHE IT’S A RECENT WIP AND IT’S MAKING ME INSANE!!!!! the title of the song is actually “my boy builds coffins” by florence + the machine but i wanted reader to be the coffin builder so i changed it up :3

okay so BASICALLY the gist that i have set up rn is that suguru is a harp player and ofc it’s such an angelic instrument that brings ethereal joy to others… but two of his friends (haibara & riko) passed away in a tragic car accident on their way to his show… i think suguru genuinely almost loses his way and can’t even look at his harp anymore but his best friend satoru wants him to find his way again — so suguru finds a cottage to stay at while also trying to process his grief.

there he meets a coffin maker who he gets to know a bit and they try and help him through his grief (this reader i think will be very beloved to me in the future… they’re not like my normal brash loud silly readers… they’re a bit more subdued & have an air of calm & mystique that intrigues and entrances suguru!) this fic i think will be about two people bonding over grief and trying to overcome it the best way they can together… i’m actually really excited to write this fic and get more ideas about it so thank you so much lily for asking about it :’) i think this fic will be very near and dear to me and a lot more softer/bittersweet/morose yet hopefully filled w fondness & longing! i’ll try and get ideas to write abt this soon :’)

out my of league:

ok this was actually originally a frat boy!geto fic but as i was writing it i found myself way more drawn to sukuna who is reader’s best friend! i started looking at their dialogue & the way they interact and i just fell in love with the idea of him as the campus crush but reader being the ONLY one he can tolerate! it’s a uni au and also best friend to lovers <333 sukie is so funny to me bc he doesn’t realize he’s in love until it hits him like a freight train & is like damn i like this bitch 😑😒

this snippet is what started it all for me 😭

[gillianthecat]

I started My Dear Gangster Oppa, mostly because I wanted to know what on earth a Thai show with that title would be about, and five minutes in I'm charmed by the characters and the storytelling frame. But even more confused by the title.

[fluxydrawings]

short lil undertale podfic :) this was a fun one ta make <33

[lunearobservatory]

You know what? I'm gonna say it. I'm vouching for Montana to join the huge honkers club.

[broke-on-books]

☕

The live action Scooby-Doo movies?

I did not see this ask until RIGHT now (first time on desktop since crab day, second time since Nov 5 2020 [which was DOUBLY experience since I got my phone taken the same day]) so I'm going to assume this ask got eaten on mobile because tumblr, HOWEVER you poked a bear with this ask anon (as I'm sure you knew when asking) SO without further ado: my Scooby Doo live action opinions

So when you say 'live action Scooby-Doo movies' I'm assuming you're talking about the James Gunn films, starting with Scooby-Doo (2002) followed by Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed, just due to like, generally popularity and also the fact that I have actually seen those films. However shoot another ask if you wanted me to include Curse of the Lake Monster in this (because I will if anyone cares and turn this into a live-action scooby dissertation, i'd just need to like. watch the movie first) But anyways where I'm going with this is that this post is about the Gunn movies aka the ones with SMG, Freddie Prinze Jr., Linda Cardellini, and ofc our #1 man, Matthew Lilliard.

Okay so my take on these movies is... complicated. I wouldn't say it's as complicated as my feelings towards SDMI, because I watched the live actions way less as a kid and generally care less about them, but still no matter how much shit I throw at these two movies there are parts that I generally like (even love) that stops me from totally condemning them wholesale. Like the fact that these movies are FUNNY! There's so many moments from this duology that are just beyond iconic "like, that's one of my favorite names!" the whole thing with Scooby in the dress at the airport, ET. CETERA (like I can go on!)

The Gunn movies are genuinely SO fun and I can 100% see and understand how they've stood so well in the public view as a representation of Scooby. HOWEVER, this is where you start to see my problems with them. For the general American, (because that is the audience I'm familiar with) ESPECIALLY millennials and younger, who happen to make up the majority of both people on this site AND people I talk about Scooby with in real life, these movies, and the elements they introduced as "quintessential scooby tropes" are the base of their understanding of the Scooby franchise, along with likely some miscellaneous WAY episodes and maybe SDMI.

Which is where I get pissed off. In the pushing of the narrative of "breaking away" from the Scooby norm, Gunn basically invents (aka totally makes up) an idea of what classic era Scooby was like, cementing an idea of classic Scooby into the public mind that is totally disingenuous and just straight up false. For example, in attempting to portray Daphne as having taken strides to be seen more seriously in solving mysteries and defending herself, it pushes the narrative that in the classic era she WASN'T taken seriously, and only existed as a damsel-in-distress prop of a character, which is just not true??? Like yes, Daphne is clumsy, that's a part of her character, and her friends (because, fun fact, the gang ARE friends) joke about it sometimes because that's what friends DO. Framing that in some kind of sexist "that's all she does" lens is just total bull, especially as gang members fall into secret passageways/get lost etc. in WAY ALL THE DAMN TIME because that's how the plot functions! Like are we calling Velma ditzy for losing her glasses every other episode? Of course not, and Fred falls into passageways all the time, not to MENTION Shaggy and Scooby and all they get up to. Also one last thing on the topic of Daphne, like this idea of her mystery solving skills not being respected by the gang is just so supremely bullshit it amazes me sometimes, especially when she was the LEADER (or leader adjacent) through pretty much all of her appearances in the 1980s [Not that James Gunn could look at '80s era Scooby without spitting on it, but I digress]

AND THIS IS JUST DAPHNE! Like the perceptions pushed towards Fred (and Velma, but mostly Fred) through these movies are just as bad! Like okay, with Fred---In these movies Fred is just an asshole. I hate Gunn Movies!Fred. I mean yeah he can be funny but it's almost always so mean! Almost nothing makes me madder than a mean Fred by the way. If he's putting other gang members down (even halfway, like with his whole "dorky chicks like you turn me on too" line, which... ew) then to me something has gone very, very, VERY, wrong in your basic understanding of Frederick Herman Jones as a character. Like he's the cheerleader! He puts himself in between his friends and danger! He loves nets, and traps, and Elvis impressions, and wrestling, and the trapeze, and cars, and most of all he LOVES sharing the things he loves with his friends! (Sometimes to a bit of an extreme. No one wants to hear about your net facts, Fred) And the live action movies just don't understand that at all. And I know there's maybe something to say I suppose in that some of those aspects of his characterization hadn't been "established yet" by the time "Scooby-Doo" came out in 2002. But it's there if you look. For Fred Jones, being the leader means being the caretaker, (he's the Mom friend what can I say) and any version where he's cruel and arrogant and just DOESN'T CARE about his friends in the way he's shown to in the Gunn movies is just so far from Fred to me it's not even funny. And what makes it even worse for me is that this (or at least something similar) is the idea of Fred that has really spread to the popular culture. Just the "leader", the jock that makes the rules, the one that [insert X adaptation here] finally gave a personality and made interesting (something that has been said more times than I can count for pretty much every gang member, save Shaggy and Scooby).

And I haven't even touched on Velma, and how they gave her a bit of a early 2000s smart superiority girl complex against Daphne, plus the whole makeover thing and etc. etc. The Gunn Movies are pretty much what would happen if you took someone who hadn't seen Scooby since they were 7 years old (and honestly had a pretty negative outlook against it then) and tried to "fix" it, only his memory was so bad he just made up problems (and threw in a good helping of early 2000s style sexism with it) convincing pretty much the entirety of the popular culture that said problems exist and that Gunn was absolutely brilliant for fixing them (and then bringing up said "problems" whenever anyone wants to talk about Scooby) and this entire rant has been without even fucking MENTIONING what is probably the reason you, anonymous tumblr user sent this ask in the first place, to I, Swishy "Scrappy Doo Redemption Arc" Broke-on-books (dot tumblr dot com), which is his HIGHLY SUCESSFUL and utterly sadistic character assassination of my number one man, Scrappy Doo.

And I am going to try my damnedest here not to get totally into my highly passionate opinions over what James Gunn did to Scrappy in the first of his Scooby movies and how thoroughly it has pissed me the fuck off because I have been writing this post for over an hour now and if we start to really get into my feelings on this topic it will certainly be a couple of hours more but like. That Fucking Bitch. I give James Gunn personally a solid eighty-five percent of the blame for making my life as a Scrappy Doo fan UTTERLY unbearable with this stupid fucking movie alone, and just his Scrappy crimes would honestly be enough for me to say that I hate this movie, not even considering the numerous Scooby crimes I've been talking about here for the past million paragraphs, but the part about this movie that makes me the MOST mad the most pissed off is that it's actually a good fucking movie. James Gunn wrote two hilarious and entertaining movies that have become beloved in the popular culture for their successes in that arena, while at the same time pissing all over the core themes and messages of the franchise of which it was based, that of friendship.

TLDR; The Live Action Scooby Doo movies (written by James Gunn) are highly entertaining and fun pieces of media to watch, and are widely loved by the general public and looked at with fondness and nostalgia because of that. However, as a hardcore Scooby Doo fan (writing that phrase sounds so ridiculous but oh well) the existence of these movies and their impact on the popular culture can be extremely frustrating (despite any personal nostalgia said fan may have) due to their spreading of a misinformed picture of what "typical Scooby Doo" looks like. This picture is especially frustrating due to the fabrication or exaggeration of problems present in classic Scooby (such as sexism in regards to the girls), as well as giving more ammunition to other problems in Scooby fandom (such as oversexualization, and sexualization in general, which no one wants to see in regards to their children's cartoons, like HONESTLY.) Discussions of sexism and sexualization in Scooby (both of which ARE present and are issues, although not at their worst in WAY) can often lead to an overlooking of the issues that are very present and clear in WAY and have continued since then with far too little resistance (I'm 100% talking about the racism here) HOWEVER that topic deserves at least a dozen posts of its own that I am no way informed or qualified enough to even begin to think about writing. The Gunn Movies are frustrating to many longtime Scooby fans because of these reasons, but for me, and fellow Scrappy Doo fans there is also the added aspect of the demonization of Scrappy Doo in the live action movies and the affects that has had on the popular culture as well, making it uniquely inhospitable to like or enjoy the character of Scrappy. End post.

[emails-i-cant-send]

seeing someone I either hate or is very close to me get something I've wanted badly, or for a very long time, and then see them take it for granted is one of the most painful things to me. like just intense emotional pain.

[tzufcallsmeshomps]

GUYS

This might be the most important (and probably first) poll I'll ever make!

Anyway here have this national treasure of an opening and have a great day

[milfbenji]

[sits criss cross applesauce in front of you] Tell us more about Oscar

Alright, this'll be a bit long!

Basics: Oscar Kit Landry - recently turned thirty - 6'2 - butch lesbian - custodian who works as a handyman on the weekends (because if she's not constantly doing Something what's the point)

Oscar grew up in Southport, NC and was raised by her uncle after her mom split town after Oscar was born — as a result, the both of them were real close so a lot of things she enjoys doing now are just things he showed her when she was younger (fishing and keeping spiders as pets, primarily).

She dropped out of high school at seventeen to take care of her uncle after he fell sick with something he never told her the name of.

She left Southport when she was twenty-four because a couple years prior her uncle passed away and her manner of coping was a mixture of overworking herself or getting into fights with whoever she could piss off. In such a small place with folks who all knew of and knew each other in some capacity, getting the reputation of being a shit stirrer wasn't exactly great. She traveled around a lot down south before eventually settling down in Boston, MA at twenty-five.

While she was traveling around, she picked up two kittens from some gas station in Virginia; she wound up calling the short-haired calico "Boy" and the short-haired white one "Lookit you" because she's emotionally stifled enough to think officially naming a pet would get her too attached to it. Laughably, Boy and Lookit you rode around with her none unlike very elated dogs, even if they slept most of the time.

Her truck is actually her uncle's old red pickup. Every so often it acts like it's going to croak but she's very persistent on driving it until it literally cannot be patched up enough to.

Oscar has a relatively thick southern drawl that makes her impossible to understand with how fast she talks so she's having to learn how to speak slower.

She's generally seen as a kind person, something of a gentle giant (if you will), really loyal to the handful of people she's close to but she fails to be the most truthful individual and she has a major issue with her impulse issues that blend very badly with her explosive temperament. She loves to run her mouth, what else can I say.

Oscar has a trio of jumping spiders that are all called "little one" because, again, we can't get too attached to our pets.

Oscar's always tried to emulate her uncle because she thinks he was great but quiet self worth issues continually make her think she's being a decent person the worst anyone's ever done it <3.

Despite this, however, she has a "friend" - Rosalie - who she's spent the last five years helping raise the daughter of. Much to her chagrin, she hasn't managed to make the daughter all that interested in fishing.

In conclusion, she's my beloved — take an excerpt!!

[hazmatazz]

ty all black ppl that make tutorials and information videos about ur hair btw. you're great and wonderful

[nickyroethemarinebiologist]

Hey (with malicious intent) here's another one!! We're halfway through now. Had a momentary struggle right in the middle of writing this however it is here and it's pretty alright!! Bon appetit

Chapter VII

‘What are those, up there?’ Timor said, stretching out his neck to look up at the dawning sky; a pair of gulls swept out far overhead, sweeping in circles about the cliffs and sailing on the cold winds caught up beneath their black-tipped wings.

Linsey looked up from unfolding his fresh linens, raising a shielding hand when the light caught his face; he paused in watching the birds, furrowing his brow and frowning a little in thought. ‘They are only gulls, Timor,’ he said, ‘Quite common, I should think, but impressive, no?’

‘Oh, very.’ Timor sighed a little in admiration; Linsey paused to watch him from across their small clearing, an involuntary smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He rubbed the fabric of his shirt between his fingers subconsciously, admiring the impressive curve of Timor’s wings, half-raised and shining like bronze in the morning sunlight. Then he blinked and righted himself, and turned to pull his shirt over his shoulders, shivering a little from the constant winds blowing over the cliffs; he shook out his coat and made himself a little more presentable, by the standards of an aviator, then crossed the clearing and laid a hand upon Timor’s warm hide to turn his attention.

Timor looked down and nosed him fondly, rubbing the side of his head against Linsey’s palm and making low rumblings, like the purring of a cat. Linsey laughed softly and petted him back, holding the great head in both of his hands and stroking his nose.

‘Are we flying again, today?’ Timor asked, with palpable excitement.

Linsey grimaced a little; Davis had been relentless in their drills and flight manoeuvres, sending them around and around again until Timor could turn about and stoop at the flick of a wing--and then still more, so that Linsey felt he might never regain his balance, though he had not ever had an abundance of such on land, being rather prone to scrapes in his boyhood, and adjusted to the rolling of a ship for years afterwards.

Still he smiled at Timor and said, ‘If it suits you, dear fellow,’ and took his hair grudgingly into a queue; then he fastened his carabiners tightly around his waist and climbed into the harness, linking the two chains to the metal rings set into the leather just before him. He pulled on them briefly to be certain they were made fast, then took up the reins and patted Timor’s neck. ‘When you are ready, Timor,’ he called.

Timor raised his wings and stretched impressively; Linsey could feel the muscles gathering beneath the smooth hide. Then he launched upwards and spiralled into the air, wheeling far out above the cliffs, with the sea stretching wide and rolling off to their left, and the meandering sprawl of the covert on their other side, oddly familiar after their long weeks of service.

They did not turn immediately for the courtyard; instead Timor stooped to sweep low over the cliffs, setting the long grass quivering in his wake, and then spiralled impressively upwards, tucking his wings close to his body, with the tail stretched out completely behind them. Linsey bent low to his neck and tensed against the winds and the great spinning motions, faintly sickening but wholly exciting. Then Timor stopped abruptly and levelled out, sweeping in a wide, slow circle; Linsey released his grip on the reins and threw his arms out wide, relishing in the feeling of the wind pulling at his hair and coat, and drinking in great gulps of cold fresh air.

The next few weeks passed similarly, with scarcely any liberty except that which they took gladly in the mornings and evenings, when Davis had released them from their training, and Gardner had walked back down to his own quarters. They spent their suppers together, with Linsey taking up his meals to their small clearing and bringing along with him a lamb put freshly to slaughter, until Timor made the tentative request to hunt for himself, and went wheeling out ahead to snatch at the cattle and flocks of sheep, licking the blood from his scales and rumbling in self-satisfaction while Linsey took supper beside.

He sang to Timor each night afterwards, uncertainly at first, and when his voice grew rasping from the constant signals called across dragonback in training, he turned instead to tales of his earlier seafaring years, though some were perhaps exaggerated, or made foolish in their reputation: a fault more of the unreliable memory of a younger man than of his own arrogance.

Timor was growing all the while, until he doubled Linsey in height, then still more; and when he seemed to slow and get no taller he grew instead in length, in the tail and wings both, filling out in the chest and legs and becoming lithe and swift. His scales hardened somewhat, but stayed astonishingly soft and flexible, and speckled pleasantly with gold and dark tawny along his crest and around the tips of his wings. He was impressively proportionate throughout, taking on a shape much like that of an eagle, only longer and lither; his wings tucked smartly against his side, and stretched out at great lengths when raised, perhaps far smaller than those of the larger dragons about the covert, but surpassing them easily in beauty.

The first weeks passed and Timor finally slowed in his growth—and thankfully, for the harness would no longer need its regular adjustments. He began to develop a spiny ruff around his head, joining with the crest and bristling at every motion he made to look about. This itched awfully in its first week of growth, and Timor scarcely paused in scratching at his head and neck, despite Linsey’s persistent coaxing and bribes of extra lamb at every supper; but he seemed proud enough of this change in appearance, and shook his head occasionally to feel the way the short spines moved and quivered about it, humming curiously and rolling his eyes back to see them better.

Linsey laughed and presented him with their guide; thankfully the sketched Goldcrest shared this same ruff, and so Timor could inspect its appearance without trouble, asking at every moment for assurances on his looks, which Linsey answered with all truth: he did indeed look lovely, like a rare treasure carved in gold, plundered from the furthest breadth of the seas.

With this ruff having grown in, the scales on Timor’s neck around the fresh spines began to harden and fall away, revealing softer hide beneath. ‘Fellow—are you ill?’ Linsey said, upon finding these discarded in the brushwood around their clearing, still golden and shining. Timor scratched at his neck and looked at Linsey with amusement, marking the worry in his tone.

‘I do not feel ill. Is something wrong?’

‘I certainly hope not,’ Linsey said, ‘But I suppose Cates will be able to tell me, if he is smart as he says.’ He crouched to take up one of the loose scales, though his knees complained at the motion; it fit quite nicely in his palm, and was surprisingly light; he likened it to a golden ring, like those on his ears, or looped over the edges of his sash. ‘And if you do not mind, fellow, I might keep this; it would certainly help my repute. What do you say?’

He held the scale before his chest in demonstration, as though it were hooked on to a string around his neck. Timor inspected him closely, then flicked his tail in satisfaction and said, ‘Oh, that is very nice.’

Linsey laughed and patted him fondly on the snout; he tucked the scale safely into his coat, feeling rather smug: there certainly was no other seaman with adornments quite so fine. He felt some gesture was due, but had little to give in return, for all his best effects were left safely upon the Delight. ‘I would have given you my sash, but it is with the crew,’ he said regrettably, ‘Though I suppose we can fashion you a new one; Grayson will teach me how, and we might tie it to your harness.’

Timor rumbled in delight and pushed his head gratefully against Linsey’s palm. ‘Oh!’ he said, happily, ‘That sounds lovely; and then we will suit each other.’

They had formed a rather reluctant bond with Tolerans and his captain throughout their training, for Riley was there at each moment to advise him, and was infuriatingly cheerful in every ordeal. Tolly was wholly impressed by Timor’s new ruff and quick growth, though he himself stayed a nice bit taller throughout—he walked around Timor in a circuit and nosed at him repeatedly, sniffing curiously at the shorter, quivering spines, while Timor stayed begrudgingly still and eyed Linsey in a silent plea.

The two dragons were in the midst of training on one cold morning when Timor pulled abruptly out of an elaborate stooping manoeuvre and turned to look about. Tolerans paused also, slowing a little to sweep up alongside Timor, his head tilting inquisitively; Linsey followed and saw a small grey dragon winging towards the covert, so far above it nearly passed the cloud cover.

He called a signal to Riley, who nodded to show he had understood, then turned about to wave down to Davis and the watching cadets. The little dragon levelled out overhead and stooped abruptly, like a diving hawk, snapping its wings open and wheeling about to draw alongside them. The rider raised his hand to Riley; he wore his aviator’s coat buttoned up to the neck, oddly tight, and his hair loose and windswept, falling in dark curls about a pair of goggles; these he pushed up onto his head, to reveal a serious face with a nose that hooked sharply, making him look rather dragonlike himself.

His dragon was lean and hawklike, with sharp eyes set quite deep in its head, and bristling grey spines running along the length of its neck and back, much like a ruff of feathers. It glanced at Timor as it circled slowly, the yellow eyes wide and searching; Timor blinked curiously back, twitching a little in his unease.

They landed neatly in a great fluttering of wings; Linsey dismounted and stood with Timor, watching uneasily as Davis came up to greet the younger captain. They spoke quietly for a moment, with Riley looking on in curiosity, and throwing questioning glances over his shoulder at Linsey. Then Davis called them over, somewhat urgently; Riley patted Tolly’s hide and sent him aloft, and Timor hesitated before going up after him, sweeping in a slow arc overhead and looking down over their small party.

‘Linsey; I take it you have not met our Captain Lacey, of Fresna.’ Davis said, indicating the dark-haired fellow, stood beside him and frowning; he had removed the goggles, which did little to help his overall appearance: there was now a pale mark around his eyes, striking in contrast to the cheeks flushed with sunburn and giving him an appearance much like a windswept badger.

‘That is Franz, thank you,’ he said sharply; he had a very serious look, despite a rather boyish face. He could not be much older than the hands of Linsey’s crew.

Davis waved this away with one hand and said, ‘Yes, yes; Captain Franz has just come in from the Atlantic. Our fellows in the Navy have found themselves without ship nor shelter—’

‘They’ll be needing a flight home, if they have survived this long,’ Franz said impatiently, cutting in. ‘The Spanish Fleet came upon them with—Lord, I shan’t believe it—a great beast, so they tell me, harnessed from the ocean itself.’

He said this quite dramatically; a gasp went around the watching crowd of cadets, stood by the fence and elbowing one another sharply at having announced themselves. Franz cast them a severe look, and all fell silent at once, glancing about as if feigning innocence.

Linsey looked at him sharply, unsettled somewhat. He was not a man prone to superstition in the same such way as his crew, who would rather throw themselves overboard than be subject to any curse or poor fortune, but Franz’s grave expression had set his mind to the stories told by his first crew, who he had joined as a cabin boy, and deserted the very moment the opportunity came.

‘Listen, man,’ he snapped, taking the man roughly by the shoulders; Franz blinked at him in surprise. ‘You talk of a beast, a legend told by sailors; born of the depths, bred of hunger and rage, larger than any vessel crafted by the hands of men—’ He shook him, roughly, with hands that began to tremble. ‘This is the Kraken you speak of—is it, damn you, or are you a fool?’

He released Franz abruptly, frowning at having allowed himself to be lost to such foolishness, and at the sense of quiet fear brought up by the tales he now imagined: a great writhing, dripping mass rising from waves turned black and stormy, casting sailors into the ocean and swallowing their vessels whole.

A murmur of laughter went around; Franz only looked darkly at Linsey. ‘Ordinarily I would have called you a fool,’ he said, ‘You were a pirate, were you not? And just as superstitious as the rest of them.’ Seeing Linsey’s rising anger, he added sharply, ‘But there is certainly something in those waters, and if not the Kraken, as you say, then it is only something far worse.’

‘Thank you, that is quite enough—Captain Riley,’ said Davis, eyeing Linsey disapprovingly; Riley blinked and snapped sharply to attention. ‘You are to go with Captain Linsey, and recover any officers you can carry; Fresna will lead you. Gentlemen,’ he waved a hand, by way of dismissal.

Linsey was assigned his aerial crew, a smaller arrangement than Tolly’s, him being far larger and sturdier than Timor: Malcolm took the head as first lieutenant—which Linsey felt not a little dismay for, a sentiment mirrored plainly in Malcolm’s bitter frown—with three young midwingmen, who took position with the gunners and senior officers along the main body of the harness. One such man was a young Sampson, who Linsey recognised as the pale-haired boy sent to fetch Captain Riley, bright-faced with admiration as he clambered into position; his fellows were introduced as Mr. Tobin and Mr. Morgan, a small boy, wide-eyed and nervous, who said very little but proved very capable in his work.

The other officers were older, though not any less nimble, and grave with the news of the stranded Navy officers. Linsey watched their movements about the harness with concealed interest; he had not yet bore witness to the proceedings of a full aerial crew, for Caritas was much too small to take on the added weight, and Linsey realised belatedly that he had not paid any mind to the operations of the other dragons, and their crews, when going aloft, having been far too occupied in pitifully considering his own wretched predicament.

The midwingmen went up first and hooked their carabiners on to the metal rings between the sections of the harness. They were joined immediately by the senior officers, the gunners and surgeon among them, who settled neatly just behind Timor’s shoulders and reached down to take up the netting and flintlock pistols, stuck into straps which were then fastened to their carabiner belts; the former was hooked to the harness over Timor’s lower back and loaded with gunpowder and padding. Malcolm climbed up and took his place just in front, having ordered the other officers into position, and pulled at the netting to be sure it was not loose.

These operations complete, Commander Davis walked a circuit about Timor, pausing occasionally to pull at the straps and netting; all held fast, so he hummed approvingly and slapped Timor once upon the side, with some finality, then came to stand before he and Tolerans and Fresna, waiting just beside.

‘Fair winds, gentlemen,’ he said simply, and all three went aloft at once.

They came upon the fray nearly two hours west of Plymouth, far out upon the Atlantic; the wreckage of the Salisbury, a fourth rate of fifty guns, bobbed lonely in the ocean with the mast struck down upon the deck. The remnants of her bow were scattered and rolling with a gentle swell; many of the men were crowded upon the deck or holding to the mast, and those overboard could only cling to her holdings, set loose from the bowels of the ship.

Fresna swept out ahead and peeled away from a dragon of scales in black and white and yellow, with claws outstretched and grasping; it twisted sharply to make chase, the long tail lashing out behind it like a whip. Fresna stooped abruptly, then beat upwards in great frantic thrusts; the larger dragon roared enormously as it followed, tight on his tail, matching his fast manoeuvres with little difficulty. Franz shouted something indistinct, one hand raised in a fist; there was a momentary pause, then his men loosed a volley of gunfire, cracking sharply and sending up smoke. The black dragon roared and pulled aside, levelling out and shaking its head at the noise; then it turned abruptly and dove again for Fresna, who folded his wings and dropped away, scarcely avoiding the long, hooked claws.

‘It is a Threadtongue, Captain; a Spanish breed.’ Malcolm called, for once without insolence. Linsey nodded and called to Riley, who shouted something back, then set Tolerans towards the Spanish dragon before Linsey could make sense of his words.

Linsey shook his head a little, watching as Tolly joined the fray; he turned his attention instead to the wrecked vessel below. Her crew had obviously spotted Timor wheeling overhead, and were calling and waving frantically, clinging to one another for joy.

‘Do not try to pick them up, Timor, you must land. Gently,’ Linsey called, leaning over his shoulder to point him toward the ship. Timor nodded to show he had understood, and then stooped abruptly, fluttering a little to slow his descent. The Navy men scattered below them as he landed, rocking the ship, then came up all at once, reaching to haul themselves onto the harness; Linsey’s crew took them by the arms and shirts and pulled them upwards, shouting orders and guiding them into position. The younger officers, cabin boys scarcely out of their schoolroom years, could not pull themselves up with quite so much ease; Linsey paused briefly to struggle with uncharitable resentment, then he leaned down to offer a hand, and began to haul the men over to his aerial officers, grunting a little at the effort.

The Salisbury’s crew were almost delirious with relief, with eyes that stared about wide and fearful, and hair pulled from its ties and slicked to their foreheads. Many of the faces were youthful and pale with fright; Linsey could not help but feel a sudden sympathy—and a great resentment also, for whichever fool had a heart cold enough to send them out so young.

The crack of gunfire sounded overhead; Linsey snapped his gaze upwards and saw the Threadtongue coming towards them. It had broken from the fray and was angling itself sideways, with its crew set in position along its back, and reloading their guns for a second volley.

Linsey looked about the deck of the Salisbury in dismay: scarcely half the men were up and settled in the harness, and those still stood on the ship had set to pulling at the straps upon seeing the dragon approach, pleading frantically. Another slew of gunfire came down upon them; Timor was caught sharply upon the shoulder and neck, and thrashed in a panic, throwing off the men still climbing the straps.

‘Away, Timor—away!’ Linsey roared, all but breathless for fear; Timor made no hesitation, launching out first and then upwards, blood seeping from his shoulder. A couple of the Navy officers slipped from the harness and shouted as they were cast into the waves, or landed sharply upon the deck; their fellows stared after them with wide eyes, clinging fearfully to the midwingmen beside.

Malcolm climbed up from his post as Timor swept out above the Salisbury, clipping his carabiners to the rings as he went. He stopped at Timor’s shoulder and pressed a hand to the wound; his sleeves were stained at once by the deep red of dragon blood, but he paid it no mind, and paused a moment in thought before he called, ‘Shallow, Captain.’

Linsey at once felt he could breathe again, though kept his hands gripped about the reins, so tightly that his knuckles went pale. He reached up to put a hand upon the scratch on Timor’s neck; Timor twitched and whined about the pain, but this too was thankfully shallow: the hide was only torn a little, barely bringing up spots of blood. ‘Go around, Timor,’ Linsey called; Tolerans was winging uncertainly about the ship, he could not come in for the rest of the men with the Spanish dragon still circling overhead.

Timor nodded his understanding and pulled out of his climb, levelling out briefly before he stooped, dropping past the black dragon and drawing back up just behind, so that it thrashed momentarily in confusion, looking after him with odd, twitching motions at the head. Linsey took up his own pistol with hands that trembled but stayed steady; his crew made themselves ready at his order, he took a deep, shaking breath and roared, ‘Fire all!’

The Threadtongue flailed as their fire was loosed upon it, screeching in a panic when it was caught upon the wing. A couple of its men were struck and slipped backwards; their fellows cut the straps of their carabiners to set them loose while the captain made his orders, calling assurances to his dragon and hastily making his own gun ready. Linsey turned about to order a second volley, hastily-aimed and sporadic, and then Timor stooped abruptly, dropping away from the gun-smoke and shaking his head in discomfort at the noise.

The Spanish captain roared something which Linsey could neither hear nor understand; still he shouted back, standing in the harness with his gun levelled out before him. He loosed his fire as Timor drew up again beside the Threadtongue, and ducked with the return volley, which caught at his clothes and stirred his hair. One young man was struck through the chest; he went slipping from the harness while his fellows clasped at his coat and arms, a dead weight dropping pale into the water below.

Timor roared and spiralled away again, setting the world spinning; Linsey pulled against the reins to keep himself steady in standing, then they levelled out again, the great wings snapping open and jolting them upwards. Then Malcolm was there and shouting something at him; Linsey tried to shake his head and gasped about the pain, pressing a hand to his shoulder, where blood was seeping already through his coat.

‘You are hit, Captain,’ Malcolm shouted again, taking Linsey by the shoulders to steady him. He took the coat away and put a hand firmly over the wound, then turned to call for the surgeon.

Then they were turned sideways again; Timor was wheeling away from a fresh volley of gunfire, his tail spinning out behind as the Threadtongue gave chase. Already its crew were climbing up to set padding over the wounds, and so it came at them again with claws outstretched, sending up a shrill roar; Timor ducked sharply, and Linsey groaned again as the motion jostled his shoulder.

‘Linsey!’ Timor called, turning his head back; the spines quivered anxiously along his neck. ‘You are hurt.’

‘All is well, Timor; keep flying,’ Linsey tried to say, but his voice would not remain steady, and he was afraid he sounded a little strained.

Timor hesitated but obliged, holding himself in a slow, wide circle for as long as he dared, reluctant for Linsey’s sake; then he stooped abruptly and went sweeping over the Threadtongue, pursued by another around of fire and gun-smoke. ‘You must get under him, Timor,’ Linsey called; Timor flicked his ears in understanding and stooped to catch speed, then twisted and beat upwards in great, sweeping thrusts, his claws stretched out and reaching.

He caught heavily at the Threadtongue’s belly, roaring savagely and ripping at the softer hide; the dragon shrieked and raked its claws dangerously close to Timor’s snout. Timor ducked and roared again, pushing away from the injured dragon with all the might in his hind legs; then they were wheeling about for another attack, with the crest quivering in rage along his neck. Linsey tugged hastily on the reins to pull him away: Tolerans was coming towards them, crowded with Marines shouting and clinging to his harness, and roaring terribly. The dragon wheeled in the air, blood streaming from its wing and belly, and fled.

Riley shouted something as he drew up beside them, pointing frantically; Linsey could not summon the strength for a response, so only looked on as Malcolm stood to call over, one hand still held to his shoulder, beneath Malcolm’s own. Fresna came up on his other side, twitching as the few Navy officers upon his back clambered about; Franz raised a hand and gestured sharply east, then the smaller dragon peeled away and went winging back towards Plymouth.

Their return flight to the covert passed uncomfortably, what with Linsey injured as he was, and the added weight of the Navy officers, unused to flying and shifting nervously at every motion. Linsey laid a hand upon Timor’s neck to calm him, for the long spines were still twitching anxiously; already his strength was fading, and twice he felt himself begin to slip. Malcolm called for fresh bandages; these he packed into the wound, then he sat just behind to hold Linsey steady with a firm hand upon his shoulder and back.

They were welcomed upon landing by a small party, Davis and Gardner among them: Franz had gone ahead to warn of Linsey’s injury, and that of the dragons; for Tolly had been struck quite severely upon the wing, and Fresna was not without his own set of scratches, though these were inflicted mostly in a panic by the Marines upon his back. Davis came forward to assist Linsey in dismounting; Linsey waved him away with a muttered rebuke, but he stumbled on his first steps, and was begrudgingly grateful when Riley stepped in to steady him.

‘Well flown, Captain,’ Davis said; Linsey could not be sure if it was reluctance he saw in the commander’s expression, or perhaps pride, though he might just as easily have imagined it. He nodded uncertainly; his legs would not hold him, and Malcolm leaped down from Timor’s back to support his other side.

‘Steady, man,’ Malcolm said, which Linsey could not in the moment summon the strength or courage to condemn him for. Timor nosed at him softly, his eyes drawn wide and anxious; Linsey patted him on the nose, though his shoulder complained at the motion, and he drew his hand sharply away, barely restraining his gasp of pain.

Davis frowned a little, and called for Mr. Dowset; the surgeon glanced up from tending to the rescued Marines, huddled together and eyeing the dragons warily, and paused only to pat the young man whose scrapes he was treating upon the shoulder; then he came up and stooped a little to look Linsey over. He pulled at the bandages, placed hastily over the wound during their flight to the covert, and hummed thoughtfully, while Linsey was made to direct his focus wholly into making himself stand straight, lest he succumb to his exhaustion and collapse.

Dowset spoke briefly with Davis; Linsey observed the frown upon the surgeon’s face with a mild sense of unease. Then he was guided to the sick-berth, a large tent of thick grey canvas, set deep in the sprawl of the covert; Timor nearly would not let him go, and growled when Dowset first approached, a low sound which resounded deep in his throat. Linsey was scarcely more composed himself, made foolish in his fatigue; he spat curses at the men who came forward to support him, and might even have struck them down if he had the strength. It was only after Riley made a frantic vow to keep company with Timor in his absence that he finally relented, with some reluctance.

He slept for a day and a night, waking only to take a little water, or to observe quietly while the surgeons tended to his wound. The rifle-ball had struck him in the shoulder and lodged there, which provided an unending source of discomfort until it was taken out and discarded; then the wound was stitched swiftly and pronounced otherwise relatively minor, and Linsey was put to bedrest for the rest of the week.

When he had sobered enough to make his report without confusion, Davis came down to consult the surgeons of his condition, then listened with mild interest as Linsey recounted their encounter with the Threadtongue, whose crew had been the cause of the day’s injuries. ‘You might call yourself lucky, Captain,’ Davis said, upon hearing his description of the black and white hide, and the scales turned a pale yellow around the slitted eyes. He frowned a little, and Linsey did not think he imagined the look of quiet worry in his expression, though indeed it was greatly disconcerting. ‘You say your lieutenant identified him as a Threadtongue? Yes, very lucky indeed: they are a nuisance, no doubt, and the pride of Spanish Fleet. Timor was not bitten?’

‘No, only struck on the shoulder.’ Linsey said, faintly puzzled. ‘Is he hurt?’

‘He will do very well, thankfully; his wounds are shallow, though he has complained all the while.’ Davis said, ‘No; but these Threadtongues have venom in their teeth. It is only lucky Timor had sense enough to keep away.’

Linsey was not a little unsettled by this; to have put Timor to such a risk was a notion sickening as much as it was shameful. But he did not think he could summon the strength enough to make the rebuke Davis surely deserved, with the feverish ache of fatigue still lingering over his every motion, so made himself silent, and was only grateful that such a terrible fate had not befallen dear Timor. Davis nodded, apparently satisfied, and then turned swiftly on his heel and left.

He woke again a little later, though he remembered nothing of falling asleep, to find Malcolm standing over him and talking with Mr. Dowset. Malcolm frowned a little upon seeing him awake, and waved the surgeon away as Linsey pushed himself up into sitting, blinking his eyes back to focus and looking blearily about him—for he had spent the better part of the last days sleeping, and had not yet found the time or sense enough to consider his surroundings.

‘Captain,’ Malcolm said; Linsey blinked and looked over at him, and the lieutenant paused, frowning as if in thought.

‘Lieutenant.’ Linsey prompted, neglecting to conceal his disdain; he had not forgotten the unpleasant manner which Malcolm had held towards him throughout their short fellowship. Malcolm marked this with a furrowed brow, though he looked neither bitter nor insolent, as Linsey had grown accustomed to, but strangely shameful, presumably conscious of some private guilt.

‘I am very sorry, Captain, I beg you forgive me,’ Malcolm said, very quietly; the words were a little stiff and halting, and sat not at all in his mouth, but the shame upon his face was startlingly genuine. ‘You must think me a scrub, and I suppose I shan’t fault you for it; I felt the very same for you. And Lord knows I have not enjoyed your company, pirate or not.’

This stilted attempt toward apology was very strange, and not a little unsettling; still Linsey raised a brow in questioning, and concealed his rising outrage, made somewhat curious by the unsaid sentiments in Malcolm’s quiet voice. Malcolm paused to look over him, as though searching in his face for a way to go on, or convincing himself of the worth of this endeavour, which he so clearly found struggle with.

Then he took a deep breath and said, ‘But you are assigned my captain, and my duty is to you first before the Fleet. Perhaps you have been as unpleasant as I, and perhaps you deserve what has come to you,’ he glanced over the bandages padded onto Linsey’s shoulder, ‘But I am not the sort of fellow to ignore a man in danger—and I will not stoop to the likes of an officer who turns from duty for sake of a personal qualm.’

Linsey was quiet; then he said, a little uncertainly, ‘You would pledge your duty to a felon?’

‘Oh.’ Malcolm said, and frowned. ‘No, I will not turn to piracy for your sake; but you have me at your command.’ He said, somewhat harshly, before he caught his temper and paused, tucking his hands under each arm in the impression of folding them; then he sighed and went on, with perhaps the smallest hint of warmth in his tone, ‘Oh, but I am damned sorry for it, Captain, and forgive me for saying so: I thought you a scrub, and a lame one at that, and I have ignored any evidence otherwise. Yes, you are a pirate, and a felon, and by all good reason you should have your neck in a noose—but you are a brave enough fellow. You’ll have my respect, and I only ask of your pardon in turn.’

‘Well,’ Linsey said, slowly; he was not a little surprised to hear such obvious remorse in Malcolm’s tone, after all his impudence prior. Indeed, the odd inclination to insult still unsettled him somewhat, but he could not deny that the sentiment was a genuine one. ‘I won’t lie to say I am glad to have your loyalty.’ He paused, then added, more quietly, ‘But I shan’t refuse an honest man.’

Malcolm blinked at him, perhaps in surprise; his brow furrowed a little as he said, ‘Thank you, Captain.’ And then he smiled, a thing which Linsey had not yet seen him do.

[gaygollum]

every time i remember how excited i was for greywaren i get a little bit embarrassed. that book embarrassed me a little bit

[mariska]

i am awake (due to. Unfortunate Health Related Circumstances Yesterday Evening. i am fine now i think but was having some very sudden weird flareup of pain symptoms and had to try to get myself to bed so i did not licherally pass out on the floor. mission success at least lol) at 6:30 am and i am currently alone in the living room and letting my morning meditations kick in so i can go brush my teeth and i've got the tv on for background noise/light as per usual when im just kinda sittin down here and like.

maybe its the Crisp Cold New England Winds Of Winter or maybe its the Not Usually Awake This Early Under Circumstances Where I Am Not Rushing To Get Ready For Something And Can Actually Just Contemplate My Thoughts. but something about sitting down here as the sun slowly peeks out from the curtains feeling exhausted and fatigued with cartoons and toy ads playing on tv is really envoking the feeling of being a kid before my public school system forcibly ejected me from completing my standard education because i am disabled (😕) when i still had some kind of slight excitement or anticipation of going somewhere that had other kids my age that i could occasionally hang out with during recess or looking forward to learning from one of the teachers who were kind and compassionate and patient with me instead of cold and dismissive....

like... its not necessarily Nostalgia because school in general was genuinely such a traumatizing experience for me as a disabled kid from a "non-traditional" lesbian family in the early 00's-early 2010's, and the fact that i can even contemplate on any of this stuff this early in the morning is very much because i actually have medication treatment for the adhd i've struggled with my whole life that i did not have until abt 3 yrs ago into my 20's. but. idk. its a bittersweet sort of feeling im not entirely sure how to describe but i havent felt it this strong in so many years?? like its kind of making me tear up right now and i dont fully understand why lol. something about my inner child im sure etc etc. its cuz ur always trying 2 heal that damn inner child (my brain says 2 myself)

[musedriven]

@marcescenx said // " overhaul really thinks he has the right to grab my chin... "

she hates him. out of everyone she has ever met or even heard about she hates him. he killed her big sister. she still can't sleep at night because of it. and now he was targeting her big brother. she wants to tell Kurogiri; maybe he can help her stop him. but she knows better; her big brother knows what he is doing and despite everything telling her that this was wrong she knows that right now they could use the manpower. plus; without a good enough opening the monster would only hurt more of the people she cared about in retaliation. it was so stupid!

golden eyes are quick to scan over his chin though she doesn't touch it for herself. she does not wish to invade his space like he would. she's better than him and she was going to continue to be better until he finally stopped breathing. preferably by her own hand but she'd be just as content if anyone of her family got to make the final blow. for Kenji. her gaze is sharp and cold as she thinks about how much pain she wants to bring to that thing that keeps bothering her people; but it softens when she is sure nothing weird was done to her Tomatan's face.

" I don't get why you put up with him... why didn't you decompose his face in return? it would be an improvement over that stupid beak... " she hisses. " why don't we just kill him already? "

[amalashuor]

In the beginning 💢💢 I apologize to all of you for not responding to the messages you sent to check on my family, but my family and I are evacuating from east of Deir al-Balah to the seashore because all places have now become dangerous. Please pray for us. I may never be online again

Dear friends 🤍 Tears of joy mixed with feelings of gratitude to everyone who stood by me, who gave their time and effort in order to reach the campaign’s financial goal of 30k euros, but due to the circumstances that Gaza is going through and the closure of all land crossings, I was not able to achieve the main goal of the campaign, which is to leave Gaza to Safe country Thanks and gratitude are due to: 1. The friends who pinned my story at the top of their page are amazing people.🌺🤍 2. The Ansar, each by name and title, are people of goodness and giving.🌺🤍 3.For those who put forward new ideas, the idea of ​​artistic paintings, marches, and bread sales are the unknown soldiers🌺🤍 4. These amazing activists who share daily updates are like a dynamo who never stops serving those in need.🌺🤍 5. Friends who sent the campaign link to their friends and families outside this application, those who carry humanity in their hearts.🌺🤍 @littlegermanboy @appsa @floofysmallbob @feluka @90-ghost @queerstudiesnatural @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @irhabiya @intersectionalpraxis @obscenity @sayruq @decolonize-solidarity @fancysmudges @heba-20 @jezior0 @commissions4aid-international @vivisection-gf I inform you that thanks to you, I was able to support my family from your donations and campaign revenues. Before we left Rafah, I didn't have enough money to leave Thanks to your donations, I was able to leave Rafah to Khan Yunis. What it cost me is as follows: Transportation: $400/600 Buy a tent for $500/$800 Land rent: $500/600 Building a very modest bathroom costs $200/300 Some incidental expenses are $300/500 Which means that I spent approximately $3,000 of the money of the group whose goal is to get out of Gaza to a safe country on transportation from Rafah to Khan Yunis. Then, on 27may2024 💔, the occupation army threw a bomb near our tent in Khan Yunis, which led to the burning of the tent, the mattress, and everything else. We fled without taking anything with us. I told my friend @littlegermanboy 🤍about this incident and we fled to Deir al-Balah because there was no empty place. We sat in the east of Deir al-Balah.

This escape cost us more than before because of the outrageous prices we are experiencing here. This is just an example to tell you that a liter of diesel costs 100 dollars. Which means that the cost of transportation to Deir al-Balah cost me as follows: 500$ transportation 500/700$ to buy a tent to replace the one that burned in Khanios 200/300$ to buy mattresses, blankets, pillows, and clothes for me and my daughter, Maryam But in Deir al-Balah, we did not rent land. We sat on government land for free 300/200$ to build a bathroom All these expenses detract from the funds of the campaign, whose goal is to escape from Gaza to a safe country Of course, there are basic expenses, which are buying food, drinks, milk, and Cerelac for my daughter Maryam. Certainly, these are from the campaign’s money because we do not have any other income other than this campaign.

Now the Israeli occupation army has told us to leave Deir al-Balah to the west, towards the sea The place I am in now is very dangerous, and if I decide to leave, it will cost me more than before, and this is not satisfactory. I spent the campaign’s money just to escape from one place to another.If the Rafah land crossing returns to work again, this means that the money we have is not enough to exit Gaza. For this reason, we will raise the campaign goal to 50k euros

I ask you, my friends, for increased financial and psychological support, because because of you, I am able to continue despite everything that is happening to me I thank you and everyone who contributed and helped to continue my life. If it were not for you, I would not have been able to save my family from health, psychological and nutritional deterioration. I thank everyone who gave me anything because everything here helps My friends who stood by my side, I shower you with hugs and love you so much.❤️😭 Moving towards the second goal to sustain my life and the life of my little family: 50k euros

These are my friends' articles. I thank you 🤍🤍