#while we're still vaguely in its era

[edge-oftheworld]

sorry complete mess i love you but album opener was all you needed to be

I've removed all the singles except the only one that charted which is me myself & i. songs that also charted if i remember correctly were bad omens and efyts. do with that information what you will.

this left me with room for only 2 of the extended version songs (not that they usually ever get used for singles) so i picked the two that seemed most like they COULD be potential singles. moodswings came a close third though

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

love bites, love bleeds

pairing: re6 chris x reader

cw: p in v (unprotected! wrap it before you tap it, folks!), mentions of blood, medical stuff, death, needles, mention of piers :(, brief mentions of body and weight, angsty sex

summary: very vague about how you met chris in fic (but imagining reader was experimented on in china during the events of re6, and is saved by chris), you patch up each other's wounds and then have sex

a/n: in my angsty era (always, mentally, this is what happens when i "write for myself"), also i played re6 not even that long ago but i straight up forget half of what happens so hopefully this makes sense still, and yes, title after the def leppard song 'love bites' (which oddly enough reminds me of my irl father, but we're going to ignore that bc it slaps)

wc: 2.7k

I feel sorry for all the men who died believing in you.

Piers, I feel sorry, too. Chris sighed, fist hitting the wall softer than the last time. 

“I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault,” you say.

“It’s not.”

“If you hadn’t stopped to help me, you could’ve-”

“Don’t. This is the job. We’re supposed to protect people.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. He was right, at least in theory, the BSAA’s mission is to stop bio-terrorism, and the agents who go into the field know that they might not come back, but it doesn’t make their lives disposable. They were just as valuable as you. It could’ve been you, maybe should’ve been. Chris lost the last member of his team to save you, a woman he doesn’t even know. 

Once he calmed down a bit, finally taking a seat next to you, you held out your hand, unsure of its use, and said, “I know I’m not… anyone to you, but I owe you my life and if I can do anything to help, I will.”

“Thank you,” he said, grabbing your hand in acknowledgment, “I appreciate your kindness.”

He let go of your hand and stood up. 

“Chris?” You said. 

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said. I know you’re more experienced in these things than I am, and I don’t know how much help I can be, but at the very least, if you want someone to talk to, I’m here.”

He smiled, small, but real. “Me too,” he said.

You couldn’t tell if it was just a courtesy, but nonetheless, you accepted. 

“We should get out of here,” he said, “Get to some place safer. We can get patched up while we wait for evac to come.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

He held out his hand to help you up and you took it like a promise, a token of friendship. 

Staying in Lanshaing was not an option. Chris was able to get you both to Beijing where it was safer. You found a place to stay the night in a tourist-friendly area, since neither of you spoke any dialect of Chinese. As it turned out, Chinese McDonald’s is different from American McDonald's and quite tasty, especially after not eating for at least 24 hours. Its hours are similar to that of the operating hours in America, though, which was convenient. 

You assumed the language barrier would not be as much of a problem since most of the people in the city spoke quite a bit of English, but somehow your words got lost in translation and you ended up in a hotel room with one bed, rather than two. With all the hotel staff had gone through that day, you felt it would be rude to complain and ask for another room. Chris agreed. All you both wanted was sleep. You’d sleep on the floor if you had to. 

“How about we wash up a bit and then patch you up?”

You stood up—or tried to—limping towards the bathroom to shower. 

“You need help walking?”

“Do you mind?” you asked, holding onto the wall to keep yourself steady. 

“It’s not a problem,” he said, swiftly making his way to your rescue. He let you put your weight on him. He didn’t even break a sweat, and taking one look at his muscular physique, it made sense. You barely weighed anything to him. Especially since you’d been surviving off scraps for the last few weeks.

“Are you able to shower on your own?” he asked. 

“I think so.” Really, you didn’t think so, you just hoped so, feeling awful about the thought of Chris having to wash your naked body after all he’d done for you. Guilt flowed through your veins along with whatever they’d injected you with to stop the infection that tried to take over your body. You didn’t need shame to accompany it. You felt like a middle-schooler again, scrutinizing your acne in the mirror, except the marks on your body were gashes from claws and bruises from a fall you barely survived.

“Okay. I’ll wait out here for you.”

You shut the door, but didn’t lock it, preparing for what you knew was inevitable. You slipped on the tile, knocking over the shampoo and conditioner and making a ruckus. 

“Are you okay?” Chris called, somewhat panicked. 

Hearing you whimper in pain, he opened the door. 

“I’m sorry for barging in, but-”

“It’s okay,” you said with tears in your eyes, “I’m sorry I’m basically helpless on my own.”

Chris helped you up, trying not to touch—or even look—at the most intimate parts of your body. 

“It’s okay to need help. I shouldn’t have let you go in here alone. I just wanted you to have some privacy, but I think I made the wrong call.”

He left out the ‘as usual’ part of the statement, but you could hear it in his tone. He’d lost so many men, some he couldn’t recall the names and faces of, that you were a consolation prize – not even a prize, really, saving your life was something that allowed him to pretend it was worth the sacrifice. You knew, counting the numbers, that you were not worth the sacrifice.

“It’s okay. I hope it’s not too awkward for you.”

“No, no, with the things I’ve seen, a naked woman is not even close to the most gruesome.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be an insult.”

You tried not to let yourself get flustered. But what else was there to feel? You swore you saw a hint of attraction peek through the grief in his eyes.

“How about I hold you up while you scrub yourself down?”

“Sounds good.”

Your team effort was successful. You were much cleaner than before. Chris grabbed you a towel and wrapped you in it before walking you back into the bedroom to get you patched up. 

“Do you not want to shower first?” you asked.

“No, my mission is to get you to safety, so you’re my priority.”

You felt guilty, but knew Chris well enough by now—even though you’d only met him hours ago—to know that he wouldn’t back down on this one, so you didn’t argue. He refused to acknowledge that his stubbornness was his fatal flaw.

He grabbed an antiseptic and a cloth and said, “This is probably going to hurt a bit, but it’ll just be for a second.”

“Okay,” you said, though you knew your wavering tone made your nerves known. 

He pressed the towel to your skin, being as gentle as possible, but it stung. You winced, unable to control your reaction to the stinging pain.

“You’re doing great,” he reassured you, and it should have gone to your brain or your wounds or your heart, anywhere else than where you felt it. Between your legs.  

Chris wrapped your wounds in gauze and gave you over-the-counter painkillers, the best he could manage. 

Chris was able to shower on his own, and you couldn’t help but be a bit jealous that he got to see you naked, and you didn’t get to see him in the same state. 

You waited for him to come back, sprawled out on the soft duvet, still wearing your towel when he returned. 

“Do you need help treating those wounds?” you asked.

“Not sure. I’m going to try to do it myself, but I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. I’ll be right here. I’ll turn away, though, for privacy.”

“Appreciate it.”

You could hear him grunting in frustration, trying to patch himself up. 

“Are you okay?”

“Any chance you can help me? I’ve got most of it done. There’s just a spot on my back that I can’t reach.”

“Yeah, of course. Mind if I turn around?”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ve got underwear on, so you don’t have to see anything too graphic.”

“I don’t think looking at a naked man would scare me, but this is probably less awkward.”

He directed you to the spot on his back in question, and you helped him bandage it. 

“Do you have a medical background?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re pretty good at this,” he said as you finished up.

“Thanks. I think it’s all the years I spent taking care of kids. They get a lot of boo-boos.”

“Are you a mom?”

“No, no way, not ready for that yet. I’ve just had jobs as a nanny and a teacher.”

“Saving the world one boo-boo at a time.”

“Well, it’s a little bit easier with them. You just put a bandaid on it and kiss it all better.”

“If only you could kiss it all better.”

“I can try.”

He laughed. “You’re welcome to give it a shot.”

You couldn’t tell if he was flirting back or joking in a friendly manner, but you gave him a kiss over his bandage regardless.

“All better?” you asked. 

“A little, but if you could hand me the Advil, that’d be great.”

You obliged with his request, handing him the bottle. He took two down his through without any liquids to wash it down.

“Do you have any extra clothes?” you asked.

“Unfortunately, no. Do you?”

“No.”

“They might have robes somewhere in here… or we can try to wash your other clothes. It might take awhile, though.”

You sighed. “I think my underwear is the only thing without blood on it.”

Ironic, you thought, considering how often your underwear was the only bloody article on your person. Finally, a pair was spared. 

“Did you leave it in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I was going to go get it for you.”

“Oh, thanks.”

You were a little bit nervous about the idea of Chris holding your used panties, but this was a unique scenario. He returned with a pink thong, which he handed to you, clearly trying not to touch it too much. 

“You act like it’s a biohazard. It’s just panties.”

“I’m not afraid of your panties. I just wanted to be respectful.”

But, Chris, would it really be so disrespectful if you just-? 

You slipped on your underwear casually with a ‘thank you’ thrown his way. 

You were already in the sheets when he came to bed. He climbed in hesitantly, making sure to keep an appropriate distance between the two of you. There could only be so much distance, though, when Chris took up such a significant portion of the bed—he’s a large man, nothing he can do about it. 

You found yourself getting closer to him, until you were breathing in the same air, mouths nearly touching. He captured your lips in a kiss. And you accepted it like a gift. 

“Tell me when to stop,” he said.

“I don’t want you to stop. I wanna forget about everything right now.”

Me, too, he thought.

“Fuck me until I forget,” you said. Fuck me until I forget the fluorescent lights of the lab, fuck me until I forget the man’s face when he tied me down, fuck me until I forget the prick of needles and the smell of death.

Chris laid there, silent, mouth moving, but unable to form words. One of his hands cupped your cheek and the other trailed down your arm—respectfully. You didn’t want it respectfully. You hooked one of your legs between his, entangling yourself while you prompted him to come closer. I want you on top of me. I want your body to encase mine. I want to feel small, weightless for a moment. Fuck me until I forget.

When his hands wrapped around your waist, he noticed how much of you he could fit in only two hands. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked. Still too respectful. 

“Very. I wouldn’t have asked for something I don’t want.”

He mumbled an affirmation into your neck. He was already kissing you. You felt a scrape of teeth against your skin and received an apology when you gasped. “Sorry. Got carried away.”

“No,” you said, “I want more.”

“I don’t want to leave marks on you.”

“I want you to.” Cover the ones I already have. Fuck me until I forget.

You made the orders in bed. He nipped and sucked at the flesh on your neck and collarbone until you got antsy and pushed his head lower. 

“Relax,” he said. “Do that again and I’ll pin you down.”

“Don’t tempt me.” 

His breath was warm against your skin when he laughed. The sensation trailed down to your breasts. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, flicked his tongue over it, while he used his thumb to play with the other one. The soft suction of his lips had you writhing against the sheets—it was the only thing you can do to avoid moaning. The language barrier didn’t mean shit when it came to sex noises.

Soon, Chris pressed one finger into you, then two. 

You hadn’t shaved in a bit—it wasn’t necessary, nor possible, really, in the past week or so. “Sorry I-” But you were cut off by your own moan when Chris’ lips latched onto your clit. You forgot about the embarrassment you felt over the hair that was growing back when you felt Chris laugh into your core when you moaned. That was far more embarrassing. He came up for air and lazily ran his fingers up and down your folds. 

“Stop teasing me and fuck me already.”

Chris scoffed and stripped himself of his underwear. “Thought I was being nice by getting you wet enough before I fuck you.”

Looking down at your naked body, before lust took over his mind entirely, reason stepped in. 

“Shit—uh, do you have a-”

“I don’t want one anyway.” I want to be full of something other than poison and its antidote.

“Fuck, okay.” He took a sharp inhale of breath. A nagging voice in the back of his brain told him this was a terrible decision, but he was just a man being led by his dick. 

Chris was pushing 40, he hadn’t completely lost his sex drive but he wasn’t a horny teen anymore. It had been a while since he’d been this hard. His dick twitched when he attempted the first thrust inside you, making the head of his cock rub against your clit.

All sex is rough sex when you’re injured. You couldn’t do anything fancier than missionary, but when Chris grabbed your ankles and wrapped your legs around his hips so he could fuck you deeper, you thought you might pass out – for all the right reasons. He sat back on his knees so you could see the bulge in your tummy with every thrust. His tip was pressed firm against your cervix as his palm was on your abdomen. You choked out a sob, all words had left your mind.

Chris cradled your head as he increased the pace of his thrusts, so that your head didn’t hit the headboard, which knocked against the wall behind it. Fuck me until I forget meant temporarily. He wasn’t going to leave you concussed. He knew what amnesia felt like and all it meant was reliving the horrors you’d forgotten.

You’d bled and been bandaged. The pain had mostly subsided, and whatever was left- you cried it all out while you were being pounded into the mattress.

Your screams were echoes from that morning. “Help me!” turned into “Fuck me!”. “Please, I need you, fuck—oh my god—I’m coming” you overwrote the pain with pleasure and the meaning of it all changed. All the panting, groaning, cries of each other’s names, his arms wrapped around your fragile frame as he carried you out into the sunshine before the explosion. The relief and then the realization.

The pounding of your heart at a record rate was reassurance that you were alive. You placed your hand on his chest to make sure he was real and this wasn’t really the afterlife, despite feeling like heaven. You’re alive. Fuck me until I forget everything except for your name, except for your warmth, except for the smell of sex. Shaking and sweating in the corner of a burning building, his steady hands lifting your tiny body. Trembling legs as your orgasm approached in the comfort of a hotel bed in Beijing. You screamed his name to let everyone know of the man who saved your life.

You held each other in grateful silence.

[motheatenscarf]

final thoughts for the last bits of the expansion, but PAIN

good symmetry for the start of the expansion, but PAIN that they end the last of the patches for Endwalker on those parting words from Emet while the wol stares up at the moon toward the sea for a new adventure.

i don't think we've gone to that "Blindrfost" area he suggested yet, but so far, checking out the "waters beneath the Bounty" led to a fucking portal to the Void, so I'm hoping there is something similarly grand and important in this gold city. Emet's final moments were about him entrusting the legacy of the ancients to the WoL and the Scions. In that vein, I think his world tour suggestions were starting points on how to fix the Ascians' mistakes

The name "Dawntrail" also feels significant for more than a few reasons. I know it's the "dawn" of a new era post-Endwalker, a metaphorical fresh start, and that the 'Dawnservant' is apparently the name of the King in Tural, but I do wonder if there's some connection to Azem as well. We're following a path that the narrative is going out of its way to remind us was part of the breadcrumb trail Emet left, so there's the obvious connection to embodying the role of Azem as the traveler. Still, I wonder if they're going to leave Azem's role in the Final Days up to interpretation or if there might be something for us to find.

That's probably just my own reluctance to move too far away from the ancients' storyline forever since it's so gripping, but we'll see. I haven't come up with any headcanons about Azem, I know a lot of people enjoy that, but I only have a vague impression based off context clues and extrapolating what my own WoL would be like without her mountain of baggage.

baggage she only has from being raised in the empire of nightmares that Emet founded, it's fine, they're fine now, it's complicated, I could talk about it forever. maybe another time.

anyway, goodbye, Endwalker, you were a good expansion, it's 2pm on a Wednesday in January, the words to describe the things you made me feel are not in my vocabulary at the moment, ask me again in 8 hours when I can afford to be introspective and reflect and cry some more.

[raelyn-dreams]

Okay I think this might be a hot take and its completely fine if others disagree, but I do genuinely think Mika has adoptive parents, and I don't think that him having them takes away from his character arc or abandonment issues.

First off, I find people are often hung up on the fact that Mika rarely mentions his parents and still refers to himself as an orphan, but from my experience, those are both fairly common behaviors among some foster kids? People irl I've known have kept a respectful distance with their foster/adoptive parents, due to needing time to open up or simply choosing to keep the relationship more impersonal. I think this applies in Mika's case especially since he was adopted very late and then went off to Yumenosaki shortly after, so he hardly had time to get to know his adoptive parents. In addition, Mika's incredibly low self-worth makes it so he doesn't like imposing or asking people for help when it comes to personal issues, especially during ! era. Add in the fact that he's living with Shu to avoid the commute in ! era and lives at the dorms in !! era, and it makes sense to me he wouldn't mention them much.

Adding onto the above, from a writing perspective, I think it's also a pattern with certain characters not to bring up their parents. For example, we hardly know anything about Shinobu or Mitsuru's parents, despite them being on good terms with them and living at home during ! era. There's simply no reason to plot-wise - whenever parents are brought up, it's usually because they were terrible and left long-lasting trauma on their kids (Hinata & Yuta, Tsumugi, Madara, etc). Mika's adoptive parents, from what we know, are just...fairly normal and quite unremarkable by Enstars standards.

I think it's also kind of a plothole (though correct me if I'm wrong!) if he doesn't have adoptive parents because of Yumenosaki's high tuition. The timeline of Mika enrolling in Yumenosaki, joining Valkyrie, and when he was stated to be adopted is pretty vague; all we know is that it's near the beginning of his first year. However, he stated that he joined Yumenosaki specifically to see Shu again; therefore, it doesn't make sense to me that Shu could've paid his tuition, since if we're going by normal tuition rules, he had to have a part of it paid in advance. We know Mika works himself to death, so he may have gotten a part-time job, but it doesn't seem feasible to me if he was in the orphanage to have done that alongside caring for the kids so young. Therefore, him having gotten adopted around a year before entering Yumenosaki and then having his parents pay part of the tuition makes the most sense to me.

In addition, we also hear Shu say that Mika's parents paid his family some money for allowing Mika to board in Shu's house. It doesn't make any sense to lie about this - why would Shu's parents tell him that if Mika had no parents? Why would Mika hypothetically tell Shu that if it was something Shu's parents could easily disprove? Furthermore, Mika's parents are mentioned in both Marionette and Victoria. While you could make the argument he lied in Marionette, why lie in Victoria, which is set so close to the end of ! era? Furthermore, his official ! era profile stated that his family structure at home was "Parents"; that's something I take as fairly canon, since we've never had a lie of this scale on an official profile.

Getting back to my main point, character-wise, I don't think Mika having adoptive parents makes his arc any less realistic. We know that Mika purposefully avoided getting adopted young so he wouldn't abandon the other kids. It seems entirely plausible that potential parents may have been interested in adopting him a few times, but Mika's fear of abandonment or rejection (both for himself and the others) wouldn't allow himself to be. I think that only when he had a clear goal in mind - Yumenosaki - would he allow himself to be. Mika is also not close to his adoptive parents, displaying a vague sense of gratitude and respect, but not the overt familiarity one would expect. If we take both the timeline and Mika's past into account, this makes sense and doesn't detract from his arc of learning that he's valued and human. It would still play out the same, and from my interpretation, that's how I believe it is in canon.

[briliantlymad]

KinnPorsche Fic Rec List Part 2/??

I am back. woohoo

In celebration of Kinn x Porsche being no. 42 on the list of top pairings on AO3!

Let's get into it

Two Shots by Martynax

Rated E. This one is so delicious guys, absolutely fucking amazing. Still updating, its on chapter 8 of 10. Gun for Hire turned bartender Porsche meets Mafia boss Kinn who contracts him for one last job. They fall in love with each other somewhere along the way HNNN its so delicous. the Sex Scenes? GORGEOUS absolutely well written. 10/10 steamy as fuck

Porsche’s eyes are searching him, looking for something in Kinn’s face. His expression is sympathetic, like he understands what Kinn is dealing with, but he also doesn’t offer help. And Kinn deep down had hoped that he wouldn’t have to ask, that Porsche would offer to help. Kinn’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, but he doesn’t avert his gaze.

2. Salt by ronandhermy

Y'ALL ?#>#>$>??? IM ACTUALLY OBSSSESSED WITH THIS ONE SO BADLY. It hits all the right spots. Alternate First Time meeting. Porsche is in his Taekwondo Champion era and Kinn is out here being a mafia boss who's got his eye on porsche for all the wrong (but so so right) reasons. It's written well. absolutely exquisite scenes that transition from one pov to the other, does an great job of translating emotions to scenes and OUF. its dirty bad wrong and that makes it all the more delicious. Dark kinn theerapanyakul in all the best ways that make my head spin.

oh Kinn likes Porsche’s eyes on him. He likes it a lot. There’s a challenge there, in the boy’s eyes. One that makes Kinn want to sink his teeth in deep and take this boy apart. Make him come shuddering and crying while clinging to Kinn and then make him do it again.

3. The Call of the Deep by wicca

A oneshot, Rated E, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, mind the tags, if non-con, dub-con is not for you skip this. Mer Porsche meets Eldritch Creature Kinn who's just as dark as the waters he dwells in. DELICOUS. I LOVED IT SO MUCH. Ever since that scene of Porsche in a mermaid constume my brain has been conjuring absolutely all kinds of situations. Wicca gets it. Written Well. The sex scenes are delicious, the tone and mood of the entire oneshot was handled well, i was hooked from the start. I love Wicca. please check out their other KP Fics!!

Porsche starts kicking out his tail to propel himself forward, but he doesn't get very far before appendages are wrapping themselves firmly around his arms, his waist, and finally his thrashing tail. Next thing he knows, he's back on the cave floor with Kinn's tentacles keeping his arms pressed at his sides

4. Neon lights (and Cold nights) by pinkdrinkbarbie

I've been crazy over this fic for a very long time. its 1.5k or less words per chapter but by the gods it feels like its not enough every time the author updates. bodyguard turned bartender Porsche who's out here collecting all the nongs. He finds Kim, adopts him as a nong and all's going well until it isnt anymore. We're almost to the end of the fic, it's on chapter 39/40 and i've been screaming wheezing crying in the author's comment section every time it updates. Patricide with a side dish of Avunculicide for brother bonding and reunions between torn apart lovers. you can't see me but im doing *chefs kiss*

Kim hates feeling like he can't go home. Porsche (unintentionally) gives him a home.

5. Alongside by apathyinreverie

Canon divergence, KinnPorsche's first meeting goes a little bit differently. Kinn is hooked from the start and honestly so am I. Possessive Kinn ? Possessive kinn. BAMF Porsche. I LOVE IT. Still updating, 4/? chapters. THEY'RE FLIRTING RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY COCKTAIL and im enjoying every bit of it

“Porsche. My name is Porsche,” he finally chokes out, a little put-out to be beaten at his own game.

“Hm,” Kinn hums in vague consideration, eyes still so fucking intense. “Porsche.” A pause. “I think I like sweetheart better,” he finally grins across the rim of his glass.

6. Sunflowers & Orchids by Anon

I AM A SUCKER FOR SENTINAL GUIDE AUS. KinnPorsche alternate universe. it's not rated. 4/?? chapters so far. Possessive Kinn is my weakness, i go ham every time i read kinn that's so so obsessed with keeping Porsche. Guide porsche has been evading authorities cus he doesn't wanna leave his brother, but helping Sentinal!Kinn from a drop ends up unravelling everything.

The man is up and out of his seat, in front of Porsche and hand raised to gently brush his cheek. "You'll get used to it." Kinn's hand slowly skims down to his neck in a phantom hold, the warmth is barely there. 

7. Stumbling to the Edge by FireRisingOverTheHills

Its series! Different First time meeting. AND UGH Every single word of this is godly. i'd etch into my brain if i could. You'l find me screaming crying rolling all over the floor in the comments of each fic because they're all so good. The author writes Kinn's POV so so well. I've been hooked on it. He's falling in love in real time and it scares him but gods Kinn just wants smth for himself and Porsche is so so easy to love T _ T

"Kinn sees his own reflection in the mirrors behind the bar, and he almost doesn’t recognize himself. He looks… relaxed. He’s smiling. It’s a small little thing, but it’s a smile."

"He doesn’t tell Porsche he’s used to the sparkling lights of Bangkok stretching out in front of him and that it’s Porsche that makes the view spectacular to him."

Only 7 today folks, I've gotta scroll through my AO3 and find more but phew its a lot sjsjsjjs

[queermania]

I'm a different anon but now I'm curious what you would have preferred they do in Dabb era with Dean's anger

hmm i think the single biggest change they could make is to not have soulless!jack kill mary and instead make dean pointing the gun at jack be the actual breaking point. so the vague shape of the last few seasons would look like this:

everything is the same up until right before jack burns off his soul

jack burns off only some of his soul, enough to be concerning, but not enough to actually make him soulless/lose control (the situation with his soul and what to do about it will be a big pressing concern going forward, just another worry added to the pile)

mary dies while on a hunt in a way that is seemingly nobody's fault but is still obviously a huge emotional blow (for the record i would not kill mary off in an ideal scenario but i know that they had to kill her off for understandable sam smith reasons so that's why i'm leaving it in here)

dean and cas get in a fight that is explicitly a culmination of both of their communication issues and has nothing to do with jack and/or mary

the divorce arc still happens (but this time jack is like a confused kid whose parents are getting divorced and they both have to assure him they still love him and its not his fault etc etc)

the makeup still happens but it includes an actual discussion of their actual issues and in the process cas confesses, summoning the empty. ideally, it would be because dean reciprocates but i'm trying to be plausible here so the general vibe would still be the same (and it would have nothing to do with billie because if i'm rewriting this shit, billie is not gonna be a villain! we can find another way to work around lisa's pregnancy!)

after the confession, chuck tries to manipulate dean into thinking that jack is dangerous and that he's the reason that cas is dead again. that everything is jack's fault. that he's burned off all of his soul. that the only way they can all get off this hamster wheel is for jack to die.

dean points the gun at jack. he doesn't want to kill jack but he doesn't want to do this anymore. he just wants it all to be over and if god says this is the way to do it, who is he to argue (he's dean winchester! but he's so broken down at this point)

jack still gets on his knees because he's nothing if not a winchester willing to sacrifice himself.

dean is horrified when he sees jack on his knees in front of him, waiting to be executed, and turns the gun on chuck instead

this leads to the reveal that chuck is the Big Bad and that he sucks. chuck is the reason mary died. he added one extra unaccounted-for vampire or whatever at the last minute and that's why mary died. amara giveth and chuck taketh. he just wanted to see what would happen.

salmondean and jack decide they have to kill god, obvi. instead of spending a season just kind of vaguely stressing over THE THREAT OF GOD DESTROYING ALL OF CREATION while not really doing much about it, they spend one or two episodes figuring out a plan.

15x20 is them defeating chuck. maybe they release all of chuck's power into the universe or maybe amara absorbs him and then her and billie live happily ever after. i don't care. but jack doesn't become god. the series ends with sam saying something about how now that chuck is gone they really can do whatever they want, and dean and jack share a look that is very much What We Want To Do Is Get Cas Back And We're Going To Start Working On That Right Now.

something like that? i know this isn't perfect but it it's a general idea of a narrative trajectory that i would find a lot more satisfying while still being something that they would've actually been allowed to do

[crazykuroneko]

Idt we're suddenly going to see a bunch of happy times in s3 when its from Lestat pov like there's a lot of plot from TVL to get through and vampire lore, and its not really great for forward momentum if they're rehashing the same time period. Plus its not like TVL gave us any huge insight or new scenes from their life together, it was just a few paragraphs of retconning.

If anything I think the show's pov is that louis is overcorrecting from his 70s interview by making thing seem happier than they were, thinking of the scene when Daniel plays back the tapes for him but what Daniel says doesn't feel consistent with the vibe I got on screen (it didn't really seem that happy in ep2 even). Everything the show and actors are saying feels like they just have a supernatural inexplicable bond that doesn't make sense i guess.

Not really, if TVL is broken to two seasons as well. Unless suddenly AMC got S3 greenlighted with 15-16 episodes per season, which I doubt very much. They can go with 7 - 8 episodes for two seasons, like IWTV era, or call them both as one season, but still released as two parts ala Better Call Saul S6A and 6B (total 13 ep). Anyway, I can't see TVL will be done as only one season if it'll only have 7 or 8 episodes. Not when they have to tackle the OG TVL plots, ongoing Louis with/without Armand-Daniel plot (depends how involved Louis is with Devil's Minion in the past) and segueing to the concert and QotD. So, amount of content wise, you can no longer compare it to the book.

Yes, Louis is "overcorrecting" his narrative from the '70s interview, but in what way, it's still not clear. To make Claudia the hero? to ease his pain? to make Lestat the big bad? Sometimes I think it's one thing, but then Louis did some things that are contradictory to it. I have my main guess ofc, but now I'll just wait for Season 2.

And as I said, Season 1 (IWTV Part I) is not whole; it's not supposed to stand on its own. The lack of "good times" in S1 makes the writing feels kind of lacking, in terms of convincing the audience the relationship between each character. Because that's what good writing should do. So, I don't think we'll have to wait until the TVL era. S2 aka IWTV Part II probably will give us some crumbs (which is possibly why Rolin said we'll still see a lot of Sam). It's similar to when we're reading the second half of IWTV and go "wow, Louis actually has deep feelings for Lestat to the point he's seeing things." The difference is the book deals with how deep the feelings are, while the show may deal with how deep the connection is. Because frankly, so far, it's Sam and Jacob's chemistry that does a heavy-lifting on that part.

(About S3 though, I don't think they'll retell the whole flashback in Lestat's POV, no. But I think they'll still talk about important points in the past. Especially if the interviewer is Daniel again or someone who knows/has heard what Louis has been saying in IWTV era. For me, Lestat knowing what Louis has said about him is very crucial for his character development. So, I assume there must be a way for people or someone outside the Dubai trio to know the content of the interview, no matter if it'll be published or not)

And I don't begrudge actors being vague with the answer because like us, they only know the scripts. They didn't know in detail how the show will tackle certain things in the future. They only know the script says Louis would stay no matter how bad Loustat were with each other and their job is to make it make sense to us despite the script/character being secretive about it. And even if they know, they can't spoil it to us either. (and this is what some of us tend to forget when we're processing actor's answers in interviews)

[raeygina-george]

Every third remaining ask from the game

ill just answer the whole thing in one. LONG ASS POST GUYS

💖Favourite thing to draw

WAVY HAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

💯Favourite piece(s)

you get a sneak peek of the art project im working on yay. the perks of putting up with my bullshit <3

some of these i like more than others but as of rn these are the pieces i show people who haven't seen my art. my makeshift portfolio, i guess

🌈Favourite colour palette(s)

i think this is obvious enough if you look at my previous answer, but pinks, oranges, purples, and blues!

🤴Favourite OC(s) to draw

oooh yikes. to DRAW???? i never draw my ocs... i really like kyrie's design but i've never drawn her outside of that so i feel like she'd be really hard to get right..... idk i mean i guess saturn????????

🎨Favourite artist(s)

i dont have a lot of these, but i like hanacue, aidairo, and milkie2's art styles (these r just what i could think of off the top of my head)

✒Favourite medium 

i like gouache cause im a whore bitch

📏Medium you’d like to work with more

gouache because im not typically a traditional artist and every time i sit down to paint i just end up suffering for like an hour before i finally accept the fact that i cannot save this little kitty from its fate of looking like a vaguely animal-shaped blob. such interactions further repel me from the world of traditional art. im taking a painting class soon though so i'll just get my act together then

💭Go-to subject matter

humans?? usually just like. smiling. not doing anything too interesting

💜Drawing staples

i don't know exactly what this means but if it's an art piece of mine, it's got pink in it

💬What you’d like to draw more of

i'd like to draw more like backgrounds and animals? there's a shit ton of stuff i wanna improve with my humans but idk i've been wanting to branch out a bit more for a while i just haven't had the time or energy to draw more than like 1 of my blorbos a month

😂 Funniest drawing

i play tee k o with my family (you) so i draw stuff for that that's silly. WAIT HANG ON

this isn't my funniest drawing but it's what i have

❓Weirdest drawing/drawing with a weird process

im doing an art telephone w my friends that i might post when we're done? i can't post it now cause that would ruin the fun but yeah

🕑Drawing(s) that took the longest

uhhhh i mean earlier in my drawing journey i took forever to draw and i really hated drawing bc i took a super long time to draw and i didn't like anything i made and no one else liked anything i made so it was just like wow i spent all that time for nothing. still glad i did it though bc that era was still an important step in my art development. anyways as for more recent pieces uhh. my piece for the yorknew auction took a while, mostly because i had 0 time or energy and it was a really involved piece

👑Favourite fictional character(s) to draw

as you will see, i really like drawing lust from fmab

👿Least favourite fictional character(s) to draw

i've found out that unfortunately drawing olivier is not very fun for me. so sad cause i really like her

👔Design process for [x] character 

oh my god guys ask me about my magical girl designs and i will go insane i will type up a whole essay. i'll talk about kyrie cause i like her a lot

here's the design! so she drowned (or rather, was drowned by someone else) at 16 after being stalked for a couple months and eventually kidnapped. not exactly the lightest story, but bc it was so traumatic her brain erased the memories, and she doesn't find out the real cause of death until much later in the story, when kye comes across a guy who lived in kyrie's town and gets the full story.

her outfit is themed after ophelia for. obvious reasons. i looked up paintings/common interpretations of ophelia and found that she was commonly depicted in a white and gold dress with reddish-brown hair half up. oh, and flowers. so i ran with that. the white streaks in her hair were actually not part of the initial plan, but when i was using the bucket tool it left blank streaks and i just thought it looked nice.

for the flowers i chose forget-me-nots because she loses her memory, and then the hands on the skirt represent her fight to stay alive (both while drowning and before) and how she reached out for help in the months leading up to her death but no one answered. she's also, in a way, reaching for her lost memories, who she used to be, etc etc. the blue thingy in the back was initially supposed to be a mermaid tail as like. a single callback to the little mermaid (and the fact that she was a really good swimmer, so it's ironic that she drowned), but i took the mermaid aspect out & added in the two eyes.

the eyes are like. the feeling of being watched. the eye at the front will always look at kyrie no matter what, and the eye in the back will look at anyone else it can find, as if pleading for help. i just noticed the bracelet? not sure why that's there. probably just for fun. anyways the ring with the star on it is from a play called 'the princess who had no name', which is about a princess with amnesia who's trying to find out who she is and where she came from.

and finally, the weapon! it's meant to be a sparkler, like the little fireworks yk? it's a callback to the very first draft of her character from like 2 years ago, back when the kyries shared the name lylie instead & i had written absolutely nothing about her character. but i was reading through the old plot/character info a while ago and i found out she apparently really liked fireworks??? that was like my only piece of info about her. i figured since she'd changed so much it was only fair i put a little something from her roots. but the sparkler can also represent how 'bright' she appears to be; people are drawn towards her, for better or worse.

📆Earliest fandom you did fanart for/first fanart

the first fandom i remember like really being hyperfixated on was.... miraculous ladybug................. BUT i didn't make any fanart for it, so instead you get the very first real piece of art i ever made on my computer :)

shoutout to me for drawing those wings by hand. i didn't know how to use the flip tool so i just spent like 4 hours trying to make them symmetrical. and now i can't even remember how to draw butterfly wings. smh

HOLY SHIT WAIT I JUST REMEMBERED. BACK WHEN YOU FIRST SHOWED ME FAIRY TAIL I DREW HAPPY A COUPLE TIMES. I DONT HAVE ANY PICS BUT THAT'S DEFINITELY EARLIER THAN THIS. oh my god and don't even get me started on my warriors phase. wow i guess i've been making fanart since forever lol

📖Sketches 

this post is already too long. no

📝Process for [x] drawing 

my general art process is idea > rough sketch > real sketch > lineart (if applicable) > coloring > rendering > SHADE THE FUCK OUT OF THAT THING > send it to my friends and say 'anything else i should add 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺' > add a little more shading > done. you can ask me for more detailed instructions, i'd be happy to give a more in-depth tutorial about something specific

✨Inspiration for [x] drawing 

uh idk i do a lot of redraws. lately i've been doing redraws + asking friends for cool poses + looking at stock images for inspiration

💚Things you like about [x] drawing

i'll go with that aubrey piece from one of the earliest questions. i like how the emotions came across in both her expression and the coloring, and how much more fluid the pose is. i think the shading & rendering is neat. overall it's a big improvement from the piece i was redrawing so im really proud of that & it's nice to see how far i've come in a relatively short amount of time

⏳Things you’d do differently with [x] drawing

using the same drawing, uhh... idk there's some stuff with the proportions that like. sometimes looks fine to me and sometimes looks off? i really just eyeball anatomy and stuff so it's not always particularly Good. i like the colors i have here but they're not the colors i was intending to use. i didn't really know how to draw the jacket and everything i did with the top just looked strange so they're not As Detailed or 'good' as they probably could be? there's parts where i got lazy and all that but all in all i really like this drawing and nothing big really jumps out at me, these are all just nitpicks

💌Some favourite feedback on art

hmmmmmmm i really like the few like. paragraph responses i've gotten. i appreciate every single comment i get but like when people rave to you about your art???? that's so nice. i can't really pick out a critique i've heard that super super helped me off of the top of my head, but there's power in knowing what you can do better next time

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 25th April

We're getting to the era of teen pop idols, I think - both of our artists this week are youthful pop sensations, with a softer, cutesier energy than your Elvis and your Little Richard. While our rockers and rollers are all spiky edges and anarchic screaming, these guys channel the same sound and come off a lot cuddlier and friendlier. It's kind of sweet, really - the sort of thing you can really imagine teenage girls of the 1950s sighing and fawning over.

Baby, Baby - Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers (peaked at Number 4)

I really liked Frankie's last outing, and this song immediately has some the same doo-wip vibes, with the deep voice singing Baby, baby at the start contrasting with Frankie's falsetto. It works well, especaily because his voice is really something. Honestly, to have that kind of confidence and stage presence at Frankie's age is quite something.

The lyrics are cute and deliberately very innocent and sweet, lots of Baby, baby, how I want you / Baby, baby, how I need you. You could put it in a modern song and nobody would really notice, I don't reckon. There's something timeless about just how straightforward these lines are - the sort of thing that a teenager might still write and enjoy, none of that adult sophistication and nuance. I can't imagine a more mature voice pulling it off, but Frankie makes it work.

I think it helps that we've got a gimmick, with Frankie working in as much counting as he can into the lyrics, in vaguely punning ways. It starts with him telling his love how you're the only 1, 2, 3, 4, moves onto him imploring them to say you want me 2, 3, 4, 5, and continues throughout the song with varying degrees of wittiness, culminating in what's probably my favourite, where he tells his love how I appreciate, 9, 10, 11. It's good fun, and moderately clever, and it also low-key feels like its riffing on the counting in songs like Rock Around the Clock. At this point, gratuitous counting's just another thing that a rock song can do, so Frankie gives it a go, and yeah, it's cute.

We have a lot of the other obligatory rock and roll elements - most importantly, a brief sax solo, but also some tinkling piano bits and a set of hammering triplets to drive the point home at the end of the solo. Still, even with all of these, it's quite a gentle brand of rock and roll, none of the screaming and howling we've had from folks like Little Richard, and none of the more country-ish rockabilly elements you'd see from Elvis. It feels distinctly poppy, slick and clean-cut. It's not music that your parents would necessarily approve of, but it's not music that would scandalise them, you get the feeling.

I should also mention the cute little Go home / That's all, bye bye exchange that came in at the end of the version I listened to. Which was pointless but also kinda funny - you definitely didn't need it, but it's a sweet touch, in a song that's practically made of sweet touches.

Ninety-Nine Ways - Tab Hunter (5)

Tab Hunter feels like he's aiming for similar territory to Frankie. He's defintiely got a similarly youthful, wholesome image, though he's a little older, and isn't coming from quite the same doo-wop background. But c'mon, his last song was called Young Love, and just look at him. We're definitely at the point where youth was a bankable commodity, and artists are emphasising their youth in a way we haven't really seen at such a scale before. Which is definitely an interesting shift to see play out with Tab and with Frankie.

The song itself is fine. It's even got a bit of counting going on, or at least some numbers, as Tab sings about how there are ninety-nine ways of losing the blues that I got from loving you. As these lyrics would suggest, it's quite a bluesy song, both lyrically and musically, with a strummy guitar and - even better - some classic drunk barroom piano, later on in the song. And it's a song about how Tab's hung up on a special somebody, but has come off it the worse. There are loads of ways he might try and forget them, but none of them are working, Tab's still in love. Poor guy.

Lyrically, it's pretty simple, no suberted rhymes or unexpected poetry in here. We get a lot about how Baby I'm missin' / You huggin' and kissin' and how I'm lonely as can be. It's simple, and again, it kind of works, because Tab isn't trying to position himself as a sophisticated, skilled lyricist. With his straightforward lines, he comes off as wholesome, the innocent, all-American boy next door. It's a touch less convincing than it was with Frankie, just because Frankie obviously sounds way younger. But it still works pretty well.

I'm also noticing that both of this week's songs were really short. Like, wrapped in under two minutes short. I guess short and sweet was the fashion - not giving people time to get bored of the song, just a standard verse, chorus, verse, chrus, solo, chorus. It does the job fine, I guess, but I'm looking forward to middle 8s and bridges.

Both of these songs felt quite similar. Not musically, so much as in terms of the vibe. They both feel like a lighter, softer version of rock and roll, with its edge filed down a bit. Neither song was particularly heavy on substance, but both were well-made and had a good, catchy energy and a balance of verses, chorus and solo bits. And like I've said a bunch of times, both of them are showcasing their singers' innocence and romantic naivety in a way we've not really seen before. It's the Justin Bieber school of pop superstars, and I'm sure we'll see loads more before this project wraps!

Favourite song of the bunch: Baby, Baby

[smoothgeometry]

Premise (accessible ver.)

[PLEASE NOTE THAT THE BELOW CONTAINS A RATHER LONG WINDED EXPLANATION OF THE SANDBOX AND HISTORY OF WRITING WITHIN IT. THE TRUNCATED VERSION CAN BE FOUND ON THE PINNED POST ON THIS BLOG'S MAIN PAGE.]

Background

The story of this setting is simple, but I wanted to include it anyways, since the goal of this blog is to preserve the knowledge and journey.

Originally, around the 2010s, I found a fantasy RP forum containing a very loose version of this sandbox setting on a Proboards site--back when those were popular. I made many friends and wrote on that site for quite a few years, and during that time I pushed for a bit more development on details concerning cultures and locations. There was a lot of wish fulfillment NSFW content on that website, given that people enjoyed shipping their characters with others', but over time there was quite a bit of lore painted by the background details of various location and event details. While I understood that there was a desire to leave things vague enough that anyone could play nearly any sort of fantasy character in this setting (outside of attempting to "godmod" or railroad others), I felt that we could have tiny pockets of groups, neighborhoods, people and cultures with defined information if we were careful.

The website's name at the time was Era of Manipulation, and was later changed to "Libertine Age". Not many people liked or enjoyed that name, and eventually it was changed back. Have a look at one of the website logos (made by me long long ago):

Without turning this into an epic, the conclusion is that Proboards unexpectedly changed its ToS to explicitly prohibit written NSFW content, which led to us seeking out a new RP home to try and retain membership and activity, as well as our character and background information, which was very important to those of us who grew attached. That's pretty typical. We did end up finding a new home for our stuff, and even managed to move many of our characters and old threads--but by then the spark was gone for many people, and the move didn't take root. A few of us remained in contact, but the idea of a new routine on a new website and having to socialize in a large place was overwhelming and difficult to adjust to.

There were still many of us who wanted to continue writing the lives and dramas of our characters, and the result of this desire was a large Google Docs archive. We would simply format our docs in a similar way to old school forums and go back and forth. As time went on, and our lives changed and we grew, and our group became even smaller, we would plan and plot out events via DMs, and flesh out very important events to chronicle them in full prose; there are quite a few DM'd conversations archived as well.

So, there's a lot that's lost due to moving place to place online, quite a lot archived thanks to Google Docs, and still a tiny group of people who are passionate about characters they have in this setting, even though there isn't as much time to write the way we did when we were young and horny college students. We're just horny adults now, haha. So I wanted to preserve my piece of things in a corner where I can look back on it and remember the major turning points.

Sandbox details

[THIS INFO IS DIRECTLY COPIED FROM PREVIOUS ARCHIVES, WITH FEW EDITS FOR READABILITY.]

GENERAL SUMMARY

This is a sandbox set in a divergent future where unseen realms (known as "Realms beyond the Veil") by some catastrophic accident collide with our own. Though the contact was not for long, the result of this event was the outpouring of various magical energies, creatures, and perhaps more mysterious forces out of those planes to be stranded in our own. This has prompted hidden, assimilated beings native to our plane to come forward to combat otherworldly threats and try to wrangle the chaos into peace. Humanity was forced to acknowledge the existence of magic and other ethereal powers as fact, in a context outside of rumor and imaginative mythologies. In an attempt to subjugate foreign powers wreaking havoc on Human societies, slavery was re-established as a system of penance for destructive or dangerous non-Humans from other worlds. With magic saturating the earth, technology rocketed forward in an attempt to maintain mankind's authority on their planet and its new citizens and functions.

Our setting exists in this world a little more than a century after the above event. Humans and non-Humans have adjusted to one another. While the slave market is still primarily comprised of otherworldly creatures, there are just as many non-Humans in a position of power. Greed permeates all races/sentient species, and despite stating that their "goal" was to ensure that the Human race remain "pure", money and valuables can buy nearly everything. Technology has developed more quickly with the introduction of magic, and society is an echo of what it used to be - both similar and different. Things have settled down from the danger and chaos of The Event, and the caste system while loosely defined, is now firmly in place.

As this is a sandbox there is no overall story premise, simply characters interacting in a City on the Eastern coast of the United States, though many other locations are featured!

OUR EARTH, JUST A LITTLE DIFFERENT

The year was 2014. The world-at-large for planet Earth was considered to be quite small: Humans held dominion over the land and those who showcased abilities or talents were shunned, called freaks, ostracized and forced into hidden communities. Lore concerning magic and super-human abilities were relegated to the status of exaggerated legends, children's fancies or lies told by the mad.

This was, allegedly, not always the case. There were Others, of course, creatures and beings and at times, small populations operating in their own circles, passing information about other realms and otherworldly feats from generation to generation from times forgotten when the Earth and its inhabitants were once different. For these people, touched by magic, their abilities were both curse-and-blessing: their abilities were great, but could not often be used or displayed. Glamours were all too common, assimilation necessary to ensure survival. No group revealed in totality to Humans persisted for long, with few exceptions.

It was in fact rumored that the Earth had been protected by the magic of a God; some grandiloquent spell cast eons before, preventing anything other than Humans to flourish. This was a wide and far-reaching belief, as it was well known that Non-Humans didn't reproduce or thrive in similar numbers. Be it through ill-fated luck or deliberate intent, open settlements of the supernatural were overrun or became isolated. And so those peoples remained silent; practitioners and stewards alike over nature and the magic were reduced to sneaking from the shadows to complete their works. Remaining hidden became engraved into various cultures as they hid in plain sight. It seemed that even the very powers that watched over them kept their deepest secrets hidden from a world that would not accept them without much bloodshed and strife, as it remained this way for millennia.

The Earth was primitive without its Otherworldly connections, and Humans suffered in spite of their large numbers. The planet could not replenish resources quickly enough, could not rid itself of disease and illness effectively. Soothing energy only pooled in specific places; the reach of magic was limited and restricted in effectiveness.

That was the status quo - being unaware of their full potential, and of the planes around them, Humans existed blissfully ignorant.

THE GREAT REVEAL

As for how the disaster occurred: A lone Human psychic, her name never recorded, allegedly foresaw the possibility of the Event. She came from a mixed bloodline, with very particular affinities. It was not a matter of power or purity of pedigree - her magic was linked to probability; magic attuned to states of reality was rare occurrence, and stealing it for personal gain was likely motivation (though no one has been able to prove it). It is thought that she was used as a conduit by other scholars of magic, made into an anchor to trigger the uncertain into certainty. Whatever their goal, the task proved too much for them to handle.

They could not control her magic.

If there was a Shield preventing contact with other Realms, it must have shattered or been banished; others still believe a mass of portals might have been manifested instead. The common consensus, however, is that for a brief moment, all of the planes became *merged*. Regardless of what is attributed to be occurrence, the Earth and its inhabitants came into contact with planes layered both above and below, flooded with myriad magical energies, as well as countless creatures both similar and grossly different from those in hiding.

A suddenly over-saturated Earth erupted in chaos. Though many historians emphasize the havoc wreaked by violent, mindless, or ignorant creatures that disrupted every day life, there were other changes, too. Magic changed its topography, changed the flora and fauna, changed any living being it came across, brought new life from other places we have never known with strange properties and effects. Many Humans fell ill, adjusting to new energy swimming through their veins; a handful were transformed almost overnight into living beings thought only figments of imagination.

Initially, there were attempts made to try to replicate the phenomenon to return the visitors and reverse the process. These proved unsuccessful, and these plans were soon abandoned. there were more pressing matters that required attention; with new animals and creatures came problems and dangers that needed to be handled. Many died in attacks or invasions. Some new inhabitants hid on islands and landmasses not yet mapped. Others could disguise themselves undetectably. Areas of the world became unstable and unsafe in a matter of days. It's these times that granted the reveal the alternate nickname of "The Calamity".

IMMEDIATE AFTERMATH

Emerging from their hiding places were those of magical origin born on earth, before the tearing of the Veil. There was little time to debate the validity of these offers for help, and Humans took the hands (or paws, or claws, or talons) of those granting assistance. The leagues of "monsters" now a part of the world were cataloged as best as possible. They worked with Humans to maintain control, to heal injured, sick and ailing. They also helped to capture anything new and unfamiliar for study, parlay (when possible) and when necessary, neutralization. Several diplomats rose to sort things out, to exchange customs and impart information, but few agreement came without a price. Lives of many kinds were lost across conflicts.

The advent of new magics complicated things, despite fast advancements in tech; paper and metallic currency meant virtually nothing when some odd creature could replicate it easily.

But slowly and carefully, many were taught how to function with and allowed to integrate into various communities.

Social conventions struggled to adapt to accommodate new needs and features. Regardless of what was thought of Man, Creature or Beast, order needed to be established for the good or survival. Civilization, or some version of it, managed to cling to the changing planet.

The Great Reveal was not only unexpected, some would argue, but necessary. Others call it Justice or Retribution. A few, Destiny. There are those who argue that the planet would have died without the Event to revive it, that Humans were wasting it away.

And many people were not prepared to share a world with anyone else.

Humans were still considered inheritors of planet Earth by virtue, but it was a different world. They fell into old habits. Humans were better, by their own status, and always had been - how else could they adapt well to this sort of calamity? Those once deemed insane, eccentric, were now in demand - their information helped keep the new inhabitants at bay, kept them from sullying Human culture.

Humans were pure.

By force of law those who had been changed, and what creatures that could be subdued were denied their basic rights. Those who could not be were ignored until the proper tech to take them into custody was designed. They were second-class beings who were - at first - assigned legal guardians to take care of them. From that arrangement swiftly grew a caste system that turned the changed into a commodity. They became slaves, their guardians masters who held most if not all rights over their charges.

Despite the planet being theirs, however, Humans were quickly outnumbered. With the aid of magic, some creatures were indistinguishable, and others simply appeared Human on the surface. And that was not the only resistance: many of them had accumulated massive fortunes over time, and in their own home worlds. They put together a strong lobby that allowed them to influence legislation and public opinion, avoided becoming slaves and managed to become Masters themselves. Those Humans who held power and station were quick to turn on their brethren in exchange for more.

For a few decades chaos had reigned, but slowly things settled down.

Now the year is 2122 2037, and the caste system is firmly in place almost all over the world. Technology has advanced in leaps and bounds over the last century, but some conventions could still be recognizable to someone from before the change. Everyone who is someone is a Master, lording over a class of slaves - and the changed never had a chance to become 'someone'. Stuck in the middle are the Citizens, those who are neither; these are the people who still fill the majority of jobs, go through their lives working 9 to 5, many of them uneasy in a world where some flaunt owning others who so covet even their meager positions.

[uglypastels]

Painless Endeavour // tattoo artist Eddie x reader

a/n: I had this idea and I went with it. Might not be entirely era accurate, but we're not here for a history lesson, are we? Also, here, Eddie has much more tattoos. (Also, I am actually obsessed with tattooist!Eddie so if anyone wants more of him... just let me know)

summary: an AU in which, after his first failed attempt to graduate, Eddie drops out of school to follow an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlour. 3 years go by and you stumble into that same studio, unlocking some lost memories.

word count: 8.3k

warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking (weed and cigs), tattoo gun needles-- pain, making out while high. The story also includes the use of flashbacks (indented italics).

Best believe that needle won´t hurt you.

Best to see these true colours, than to follow one of your false virtues. - Tattoo, Van Halen

You knew exactly what you were doing, your mind was set in stone, yet when you saw the slightly dilapidated black sign in front of you, your heart leapt up to your throat. This was it. Only a few steps away, and then there was no going back. You wouldn't let yourself run away. Not this time. You had run away from things for way too long, and today was the day when you would finally take a risk. 

The letters creating Black Skull Ink called to you. The little voice in your head telling you to turn around had been completely shut off as you told yourself to keep walking, one foot in front of the other. Don't forget to breathe. 

There was no bell above the door as you opened it, and the place looked just like the outside, rundown and… you didn't really want to think about what else it reminded you of. Large sheets with tattoo designs covered the walls, combined with other images that you assumed the artists working there had drawn. The light was surprisingly bright, focusing on the front desk, behind which was a station set up with something that looked very similar to a chair you've undoubtedly seen at your dentist's appointments.  

Behind that front desk, a man was seated, drumming his pencil to the beat of the music that was playing loudly. He looked up at the movement at the door, halting whatever he was doing to talk to you, but not before leaning over to the sound system and putting the volume down to a more reasonable level. 

'How can I help you, sweetheart?' he asked when you made eye contact, and you froze. For one, the nickname startled you for a moment, especially as you took the image of the man in. A pair of big brown doe eyes, eyeliner smudged around it. He looked you up and down, more out of curiousness and awaiting an answer to his question than anything. His long dark hair was pushed back, a black and white bandana keeping it in place, out of his face. He was wearing a black t-shirt, on it a logo of a band you didn't really know, and he covered it with red flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal the countless tattoos on his arms. He had pulled out a cigarette from between his lips to ask you the question you still had not answered.

Secondly, as you looked into those brown eyes of his, you felt as if you had looked into them before… a long time ago. It was like a vague and blurry memory you weren't even sure existed.

'Well?' he nudged you on to speak. 

'Oh, uhm, I want a tattoo.' You said, your voice suddenly much weaker; it was coming closer and closer to the point of no return. The guy smiled at your response, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray on the table. You kept looking at him, unable to push away the feeling that there was something very familiar about him. Like you had seen this stranger before– and not in the "its a small town, everyone knows everyone" way. 

'Then you've come to the right place,' he leaned over the desk counter, reaching out his hand to you, 'I'm Eddie.' Perhaps it was all in your head. He didn't seem to know you, so it must be just your mind playing games with itself. Maybe he just reminded you of someone else. So, you quickly push all of those thoughts down as you introduce yourself. 

'y/n,' you took his hand and shook it, a bit weak. But Eddie didn't seem much phased with it. He pointed to the stool at your side of the table, for you to take a seat.

'What were you thinking of getting?' So it went that quick. Somehow, the informality of it all, if that was the way to describe it, threw you off. You had imagined it all to go much more differently. Surely, there would be a bigger process to something like getting a tattoo? One thing was for sure– you were glad that you had been holding on to the piece of paper for the entire day and that you remembered to pull it out at Eddie's question. If you hadn't, you didn't even want to think of what you could have ended up with on your skin. The paper had wrinkled slightly on your way to the parlour, but the sketch was still visible.

'Something like this, maybe? If that's possible?' you looked at Eddie as he took your drawing in. 'I know it's not the best thing ever, I'm not exactly a great artist–' 

'No, no. it's great.' He looked up at you, 'I mean, the lines are wonky as shit, but I can easily get that fixed for you. Where would you want it?' 

'I was thinking, here,' you pointed at the inner side of your thigh. You had thought long about it, as you really wanted the tattoo, have for a long time, no matter how scary the idea was, but getting it would also mean having to deal with what all the other people thought. Which, to be frank, wasn't really any of their business. This was something you were doing for yourself. So, it had to be a place not easily accessible or visible to keep it out of the preying claws of the judgemental raptors in your town. 'What do you think?' but for some reason, you did feel like you needed some kind of validation. Some recognition or at least Eddie's professional opinion and approval on your choice of placement and design. 

'Yeah, easily done.' thankfully, he gave you the reaction you had hoped for, 'Shouldn't hurt too much, either, so that should be good news for you.' He smiled, but for some reason, his words of supposed reassurance only made you more nervous. 

'How much will it, though? I mean, hurt?' You had a nervous habit of biting the inside of your cheek, and that is exactly what you did as Eddie replied to your question. Perhaps he saw the panic in your eyes because he was quick to respond, with a very sensitive and caring tone that you did not expect from someone who looked like… well, him. 

'Don't worry. It won't hurt much, especially since you only want the linework done, no big patches of colour, it will be like a cat scratch… a really long one, but it won't be bad.' He gave you his sweetest smile, showing the dimples in his cheeks, and placed his hand over yours, 'I promise.'

'If you say so,' you smiled, at least half of it genuinely meant before quickly looking away. You just couldn't keep looking at Eddie, those thoughts from earlier still floating around in the back of your head. So you let your eyes wander about the artwork on the walls. Primarily black and dark, you could see something that resembled demon faces in them. Abstract, but beautiful, in that sick and twisted sort of way.

'Why don't I go to the back and redraw this little masterpiece for you,' Eddie waved the drawing you had made up, regaining your focus, 'you can sit down there, it's probably more comfortable.' He pointed at one of the big chairs in the corner. So sit down in the chair is what you did. 

Next to it was an old crate that had been repurposed as a coffee table and a stack of magazines. Tattoo Expo, Skin Ink, Flash Tattoo… you wouldn't have been surprised if, in the stores, most of these were sold next to the Playboys, as the covers of almost all of the issues had a photograph of a woman posing sensually, at least half-naked, if not entirely. Bored, you picked up the issue on top of the pile. You never understood the appeal of those kinds of magazines, why guys would need that to get off on. But the longer you looked through them (as if what else was there to do while you waited), you realised that these magazines were far from your generic glossy porn pages. 

The women in these magazines, while yes, very much naked, looked like pieces of living art. The vibrant colours popped off their skin, and the images that had been etched into their bodies were some of the most gorgeous drawings you had ever seen. Intricate mandalas, flowers, dragons, and entire fantastical scenes. But there were also more abstract pieces, still showcasing the artistry put into it. 

'Like what you see?' Eddie asked out of nowhere. Like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, you shut the magazine closed, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

'Don't worry, you're allowed to look at those,' he smiled, the pencil he had been drawing with behind his ear. 'I was just getting some stencil paper. I'll be done in a few minutes.' 

'Sorry– you just scared me.' You admitted, putting the magazine back onto its pile, heat coming over your cheeks. 

'Didn't mean to,' he said, swiftly returning to his work. He had his workstation at the other end of the studio, and since you were the only two people there, it felt a bit silly to not acknowledge each other in the room. You could almost hear him draw the stencil over the music, yet you kept quiet. It was his job, after all, and you didn't want to distract or disturb him. So you listened to the music playing around you. It was some kind of hard rock– metal– band that your parents would never have let you listen to when you were younger. They didn't allow you a lot of things, and perhaps this, what you were getting yourself into there, was also a small act of rebellion against them. Most people would probably think so if they looked at you, but it wasn't that what made you go get this tattoo. 

You listened to the music but quickly realised that there was something off with the singing voice. It sounded as if it was layered… coming from two different places: one was obviously from the speaker, but the other… was Eddie. He was softly singing along the lyrics as he drew. 

You knew, at first sight, you'd enjoy my attack–

The song continued on, but Eddie pulled his chair back and got up, a thin sheet of paper in hand. With a spark of excitement in his eyes, he came over to the front desk and waved to you to come over, which you eagerly did. He leaned on the table with his forearms. 

'Alright, here we go,' he turned the paper for you to take a look. It was almost the exact same drawing, except that the lines were much crisper, and he added in some details you hadn't even thought about, but seeing it all together– it was exactly what you had wanted. 

'It's perfect,' you smiled, looking up at him. 

'That's what I like to hear.' He seemed very proud. 'So, ready to do this?'

'I think so,' you nodded, ignoring the tight feeling in your throat. Eddie raised an eyebrow, but you persisted. 'I am.'

'Ok then. Can you pay upfront?' 

'Oh yeah, yeah, sure. Is cash ok?' You pulled out your wallet and handed Eddie the amount of money he had requested. You watched him put it into the register… or try to. The cash drawer seemed to be stuck, so Eddie slammed his hand against the side of it until the machine opened up with a ding. He gave you your change of ten bucks too.

As he handed you the money, your fingertips touched for a moment. For some reason, one that was even unknown to you, you expected there to be something. Some kind of feeling you'd feel at his touch, but there wasn't really anything. He gave you the money, and you stuffed it back into your wallet. Eddie gave you the time to put everything back in your bag before leading the way to the back of the room.

'You can sit right here,' he pointed to the dentist's appointment chair, which, at closer inspection, didn't really look anything like it.. 'I'll just get everything ready. Then you can take off those jeans, maybe. Just the one leg is fine.' Right, suddenly, the idea of getting your first tattoo done on the inside of your thigh didn't feel like such a great idea. But all that anxiety was a thing of past You. You could do this. This guy was a professional, after all. He knew what he was doing, and he seemed very nice. Seemed… it was more than that. Even though you could not explain any of it, you just had that feeling that you knew this guy. Somehow, things were very slowly stacking up. Not far enough yet to get a picture of what you thought you were remembering. But you were aware that there was that something. 

'It's ok, if you're having second doubts, I can always give you your money back,' Eddie glanced over at you when you realised you had most likely zoned out. He had been preparing the tattoo gun– and Jesus H. Christ did it look gigantic. The needle was practically– 

No! Stop it. Don't do that, you told yourself. You told your inner self you thought until Eddie asked: 'Don't do what?' 

'Fuck, sorry, I thought I was saying that in my head. You don't have to stop doing anything.' You felt like a complete idiot. 

'I can't do much if you don't take that pantleg off,' he pointed at your jeans, and, in petrifying embarrassment, you started to undress. Only half. Like Eddie suggested, you pulled the jeans right back up over your other leg that would not be getting assaulted by a million tiny little knives– this was not helping!

'Actually, wait,' he stopped what he was doing, 'let me set the chair up lower, if that's alright, with you?'

'Yeah, of course.' You got up and watched him push down the chair's backrest, so now it was flat like an actual bed. 

'Ok, if you will lie down on your side for me, sweetheart, then I'll get right to work.' And with that, he turned back to his machine while you made yourself comfortable. Because of the tattoo placement, you had to lie down with your back to him, but the longer you lay there, the more you doubted it. 

'Can I still change the placement?' you looked over your shoulder at Eddie.

'Yeah, of course. Where would you want it?' 

You sat up straight and pointed at the front of your thigh. 'Just a few inches to the side.' 

Eddie laughed. 'Yeah, that is no problem at all. It will probably fit your leg nicer, too,' he grabbed a paper towel and some disinfecting liquid, spraying it onto the paper. 'May I?' He pointed at your leg and waited for your permission before applying the towel. It was cold, both the towel and his hand. He wiped the paper over your skin gently. His touch was so light; his every move was like he was scared to break you. The same went for when he had taken the small razor and started to go over that spot of your leg. And again when he took a new paper towel and cleaned it again. It had almost been relaxing, even with the harsh music still playing. Another song had come on by this point, but you could tell it was the same band. He must have put on a cassette of theirs. You wondered if he had put it on a loop or if, in ten minutes, he would have to pause the session to go and put on something new to fill the background with. 

The chair's headrest felt a bit too high, so you repositioned yourself in the chair as Eddie grabbed the stencil. 

'You alright?' he noticed you wiggling around.

'Yeah, just trying to get comfortable.' You managed to, in the best way possible. 

'I wish I could tell you that this is just a temporary thing, but this chair has been a piece of shit since it got here– Do you mind?' he put the stencil up, close to your leg, to indicate he wanted to put it on you. 

'Oh, no, not at all.' You let him, 'and you don't have to ask me every time.' It felt a bit unnecessary since it was his literal job to have his hands on you… just, perhaps, phrased a bit better.

'I'd rather not risk it,' he said, 'you're the client. Your comfort is a priority.' 

'That is very chivalrous of you,' you teased, as both of you knew that it was basic human decency, which still managed to go over many people's heads. 

'Oh, I don't care about that. But if you start moving around, I might fuck up the tattoo, and then you'll want your money back, and my boss will be pissed and blah blah blah blah blah,' he started laughing again, and you could swear it was one of the nicest laughs you had ever heard… but you had heard it before. You must have. Just the place wasn't coming to you. The dots weren't connecting. 

With your permission given, Eddie stretched out the stencil and carefully placed it in the place you had indicated. You watched, almost with a held-in breath, as he gently stuck it to you, making sure nothing was sticking out, or there were any irregularities in the paper. It was a bit damp, again cold, and his touch consistently delicate. No one had ever touched you like that before… except… 

But no, that was impossible. 

Eddie pulled the paper off, revealing the drawing in a thin blue line copied onto you. One step removed from it remaining permanently on you. 

'Alright, so that's all done. Now the fun part can start,' Eddie was clearly looking forward to this part as a little mischievous spark blew up in him. He chuckled, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he turned around to grab the tattoo machine. The relaxation you had felt moments before immediately scattered. You were reminded why exactly you were lying on that leathery chair under the bright yellow light. Just the sound of the machine buzzing made you tense up.

'Would it be a stretch to assume this will be your first tattoo?' Eddie turned the machine on for a test run, and you flinched. 

'What gave me away?'

'Oh nothing, just,' he started the machine again, and, once again, you flinched. 'That.' 

'I don't know why I'm this jumpy,'  the laugh that left you was empty. You couldn't believe how dumb you were acting, stressing out over something you knew you had no reason to be scared about.

'It's alright.' Eddie reassured you. You tried to focus on him as he spoke instead of what he was holding in his hand. 'I've had much worse clients.'

'What's the worst you've had?'

'You know, the usual psychos…One guy almost bit me once.' 

'Bit you?' You knew that he was telling you this to distract you and keep your mind occupied, which was highly appreciated. 

'Yeah, bastard wanted a face tattoo and couldn't take it. Took him all of five minutes to start crying like a baby.' He rolled his little workstation closer to you, locating the needed ink. You, meanwhile, were still processing what he had told you. 

'Face tattoo… why would people do that?' Then you quickly realised how it might come off a bit judgemental. 'I mean, it must hurt so bad!' 

'I know, right,' Eddie looked at you with a shocked expression. His free hand reached up to his bottom lip, and he pulled at it, 'what kind of sick mutherfucker would do that to themselves?' and so, he revealed, in smudged and faded grey letters spelling out "VIRGIN" on the inside of his mouth. You looked at it with wide eyes.

'Oh, I didn't mean it like– but wauw,' you burst into a fit of giggles, which Eddie was quick to join in. 'That is hilarious,' your stomach started to hurt, 'but why "Virgin"?'

'Oh, you know, I wanted something that really spoke to me.' He shrugged and dipped the needle into the ink, 'On that deep, personal level.' 

'Yeah, I know what you mean,' you had almost caught on to your normal breathing. With one big sigh, you said, 'Madonna, right?'

Eddie had the tattoo gun in his hand, but when you had said that, he let it drop on the table, not being able to keep a straight face. 

'Fucking hell. Yeah, exactly.' Eddie composed himself, shaking his head with amusement. He needed another second to properly get control back over his body before he picked the tattoo gun back up. With a paper towel, he wiped off the ink sitting on it before he dropped the machine and dipped it in the container of ink once more. You took a deep breath, shutting your eyes as if you were diving underwater instead of getting a permanent sticker painted onto your thigh. 

'Just relax for me, sweetheart,' he cooed, finally bringing the needle up to your skin. Right at the time that you had taken your needed exhale, releasing some of the tension in your body. The dozens of pinpricks ran up and down your leg as Eddie drove the needles over the lineart he had done for you.

You couldn't look at it, so you pulled your head up, getting blinded by the light above. After that, you let your mind wander, trying to think about anything else but the pain in your leg. The proper subject to keep your mind away from the present was Eddie's tattoos. The light above your head was getting too much, so you had to look back down, but you didn't want to actually see what Eddie was doing, so you focused in on him. His arms, specifically. Covered in black and grey pictures. Very similar art as to what was plastered over the walls. But one stuck out to you in particular. 

A flock of bats flying on his lower arm. You had definitely seen that before. Memories were now flooding in, and with the evidence of those bats… there was no way that two people in Hawkins had the same exact lip tattoo.

'Did you go to Hawkins High, by any chance?' you asked, not sure really of how to bring up what you were going for. It wasn't the most casual topic to mention. 

'I'd love for you to show me a person in this town that didn't,' he answered as he leaned over to pick up some more ink on his needle. 'But yeah, I did. Class of '84.' 

'84, that was the year you were supposed to graduate. It was just one darn D in Spanish that unravelled all your plans and made you retake your final year of high school. It had honestly been a bunch of bullshit, and you were still sure, to this day, 2 and a half years later, that Mrs Brund had failed you simply for the sake of taking out her midlife crisis on one poor sucker in her class. 

On the last day of school, when you realised you wouldn't be graduating with the rest of your friends, someone threw a giant party. Technically you had nothing to celebrate, but it was an excellent excuse to get drunk and momentarily forget how miserable you felt. Your parents weren't angry… just disappointed. You were disappointed too, of course. And just so frustrated at everything. What better way to remove your frustrations than the mystery punch someone had served on the kitchen counter. Completely unattended, perfect for you to drown your teenage-angst-sorrows in. 

"Woah, I'd suggest slowing down with that shit," a voice said to you as you were about to chug your second cup. You looked over to where the voice came from. He stood in the doorway. Hair a bit shorter, fewer tattoos and a leather jacket instead of a flannel, but it was undeniably him. Eddie Munson had stood in front of you at your non-graduation party 2 and a half years ago, and now he was sitting next to you, tattooing your thigh. 

The memories were coming in clear as day now. Or, at least, a very dark and foggy day. The alcohol you had managed to down helped you forget a huge portion of that night. Perhaps that is why you didn't recognise Eddie so quickly. Did he remember you? Or anything that had happened that night? Probably not. He would have said something, right? 

Then again, as you watched him trace those lines of ink on your leg, you could not imagine admitting to what you just remembered. 

Eddie walked over to you and quickly took the cup from your hand, spilling it right back into the punch bowl. Not exactly the most hygienic move, but everyone was too drunk to care, and there was no one even in the kitchen with you to see him do it. 

"I really think you had enough."

"What do you know about me?" You leaned against the countertop. You had no idea what was in the punch, but the effects kicked in quickly. All your worries drifted away as you swayed to the music blasting in the living room. 

"Nothing, except that you just had a whole cup of that shit, and it would probably fuel a horse for a lifetime, so you should stop before you're ahead." He pushed the punch bowl away from you. 

"I'm y/n," you extended your hand to him. 

"I know," he shook it, amused. "And Eddie." 

"Well, Eddie, if you don't know anything about me, how do you know my name?" 

"Everyone should know the name of the class president, shouldn't they?" He quipped, leaning against the counter beside you. Usually, mentioning your achievements brought you pride, but now… it was like a deflated balloon. What was the point of anything you had done over the past years if you couldn't graduate properly when you were supposed to? 

"Did I say something–" Eddie noticed your empty expression. 

"No. no. it's nothing." You reached out for an almost empty bowl of chips.

"If you say so, sweetheart," he didn't know you and understood that it wasn't any of his business, which is probably what you appreciated the most out of everything that he had done that night. He didn't try to comfort you over whatever made you sad. Instead, he helped you forget it. 

And then you forgot him. 

'You knew my name,' the words slipped out of your mouth, thinking back to that night. But Eddie hadn't been listening, too focused in on his work. But he had acknowledged you speak, so he cocked his head up. 

'Sorry, what was that? I didn't hear you, sweetheart?' He was using the same nickname since you had walked into the studio. But you couldn't jump to conclusions. It could easily just be his thing when talking to women. A little bit of careless flirting. 

'Nothing, it's nothing,' you shook it off, letting him continue his work. But maybe that had been a mistake, as you just become aware of his hands. 

He had been working his way through the tattoo upwards, not wanting to wipe off the stencil at the top as he tattooed each of the lines. But he was nearing the top now. His hands were softly moving over the top of your thigh, and against all your intuitions, you could feel that warm feeling glow inside you. More memories, not helping your situation. 

To help you sober up, Eddie took you outside. He had intended on just going out to the garden, but you started walking further and further down the road. There had been a playground somewhere in this neighbourhood. 

And indeed, there was. A large colourful tower, with a slide, monkey bars– the lot—  included. 

"I'll race you," you said. 

"Oh, you're on," Eddie ran like his life depended on it, but so did you. You both reached the tower around the same time, but Eddie climbed up via the slide while you opted for the more traditional climbing route. His shoes squeaked as they slipped down the metal. Nonetheless, he made it to the top before you. 

"What do I win?" He asked once you climbed inside the tower. He was sitting on the floor, back against the plastic wall. 

"The honour of outracing me?" You sat down next to him. 

"Should have told me that before I almost broke my leg on that thing." He pointed over to the slide, which you were now sitting right across from.

The walk to the park and playground, though short, had done wonders for you. The fresh summer air took care of whatever that punch had left you with, so you sat in the playground castle next to Eddie with only a slight buzz in your head. You had come there entirely on impulse and had no idea what to do now that you had arrived at your destination. You both remained silent. Two complete strangers, sitting shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the sky above the railings of their little tower. 

At one point, you put your head on his shoulder. His hair had a surprisingly sweet scent to it, but it was overshadowed by the smell that you knew all too well. 

"Do you smoke?" you asked. 

"Uh, yeah. Want one?" He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. But you shook your head. 

"No, that's not what I meant," for some reason, it was a bit funny to you how you had suddenly landed in this position with a guy you barely knew who needed clarification between smoking weed and cigarettes. Because he didn't question anything, you said. Eddie just put his cigarettes back and then roamed around in the inner lining of that jacket to pull out a little metal box. 

"Would you perhaps be interested in some of this?" He opened the box, showing you already pre-rolled joints. You scrunched your nose.

"No thanks, but if you want to, go right ahead." 

"Are you sure?" He looked at you with his big eyes, possibly thinking this was some kind of test, but you had meant it all earnestly, not caring about the secondhand smoke. You nudged him on. 

"I know you want to. Just do it." And so Eddie put one of his joints between his lips and brought out his lighter. It was a heavy silver one, engraved on all sides. He flicked it on a few times before the flame appeared, lighting his face up with a bright orange glow. You watched him bring the fire up to the tip of the joint and watched it burn as he quickly took a long inhale. He sucked his cheeks in hollow and pulled out the blunt, still keeping the smoke in his mouth for another second until releasing it in a slow cloud. Out of respect for your lungs, he turned aside, so the smoke wouldn't blow in your face. You still didn't care, though.

You watched him in astonishment. The way he moved was so casual, so relaxed. He didn't have a care for the world, and it showed, and you wished that could be you, or at least a small part of you, for the time being. 

'Tell me,' Eddie asked, breaking up a long period of silence, 'why exactly did you choose to get this tattoo?' 

'Isn't that a bit of a personal question?' you raised an eyebrow. Not that you minded telling him, you were just curious as to how he would respond. 

'Baby, you're half-naked and I'm literally on top of you right now, I think we've surpassed the formalities.' He was highly amused by his own antics. He wiped at your skin to get rid of some excess ink, 'I can guess if you'd prefer?' 

'I'd like to see you try.' You dared him, and he was quick to take on the challenge.

'Alright… attempt at pissing off Mommy and Daddy?' 

'Would have done it somewhere where it's more visible, wouldn't I?' 

'That is a very fair point… then it must be a midlife crisis.' He wiped the ink again and quickly moved on to the next line of the tattoo. 

'So you either think I'm really old, or am going to die very young. Thanks.' 

'That did come out wrong, didn't it?' 

'A little bit, yeah– sorry, can I just–' you waited for him to stop what he was doing so you could reposition yourself. 'Thanks.' 

'So not rebelling or having an identity crisis… what is it then?' He asked as he went back to work. 

'Can't it be just for fun?' 

'You don't seem like the type, though.'

'I'd like to be the type.' You sighed, dropping your head back down on the headrest and looking up at the ceiling. 'Actually, I don't want to be "a type"; I just want to be me.' 

'There we go! That's the answer I was looking for.' Eddie cheered out playfully. 'And I completely agree. People care too much about what others think of them. It's forced conforming.' 

'Yeah, exactly.' You smiled to yourself. He was right. About everything. And you had also, most definitely, been one of those people that cared more about what the rest thought, and it was getting exhausting. 

"I'm not graduating this year," you blurted out. Eddie was the first person you had told. Before your best friends, before your parents even. This random guy you had never spoken to and were now sharing weed air with was the first person you told your darkest moment about. And his response baffled you. 

"Me too," not a care in the world. 

"Oh."

"What? You thought you were the only one with problems around here?" He didn't mean it viciously; you could tell by his laugh. 

"No," you knew how much of a mess Hawkins was, fuck, a kid had gone missing not so long ago. "Just, hate the idea of having to go back there next year."

"Not exactly looking forward to it either, sweetheart." maybe it was the way that little word made your heart skip. Maybe it was the way he sat there, head tilted back as he let the smoke escape his lips. How he had his hand on top of his knee, holding the joint so casually. Or maybe it was the way he looked over at you afterwards. Eyes dark, curious, thoughtful. Something others would call dangerous, but all you saw was excitement.

Just like that, you had found common ground with the guy everyone could call your Polar Opposite. Something to bond with the man you wouldn't have ever spoken to if it wasn't for the fact he saved you from alcohol poisoning. You really would not have exchanged a single word if it wasn't for that punch. He was nowhere near your social radar at school, just another face you didn't recognise. And now, you sat together in this playground, two blocks away from anyone you actually knew. 

You would never have talked to him if it wasn't for that punch. Not even because you were so different, but because that difference scared you. You had grown up with the same exact group of friends; what was the point of talking to new people? Ones who you would have nothing in common with… 

It surprised you how you had not told him to fuck off after he poured out your drink. That's what you would have done at any other party. But you stayed, talked, took that walk to the park, and sat there with him, inhaling the secondhand smoke from his weed and letting it consume all your worries. 

Eddie kept looking at you, probably because you kept looking at him. Your eyes locked in on each other, and a game had started. Not a silly staring contest, but more of a dare. Who would pull out of it first? Because as you looked at him, your bodies pulled together as if magnetised. Slowly, your chest bumped up to his, and his lips ghosted over yours, so close you could practically feel them.

And then you did.

He had chapped lips and a bit of a stubble on his chin, scratching against your skin, but it didn't matter. As soon as you kissed, his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you in. Awkwardly, you climbed over his leg, needing to be as close to him as possible. What started out as a soft and tender kiss was now evolving, growing, into a passionate and heated moment. The warmth of it escalated through the rest of your body, an entirely new sensation. It wasn't your first kiss, far from it, but the feeling that came with it– that was something you had never felt before. No one had touched you like Eddie had in that moment. It wasn't even anything intense, and he still had one of his hands holding on to a blunt, but the way his other hand held you, fingers digging into your thigh… 

Your teeth grazed over his bottom lip, revealing that ironic tattoo, then still fresh and the ink vibrantly blank in contrast to the natural soft pink. 

The tattoo machine buzzed as it slid across your leg, when a sharp sting, a pain suddenly worse than it had been for the past hour, made you jump.  

'Fuck, sorry,' you apologised quickly, repositioning yourself to how you had been lying down before. Eddie had pulled his hands away at your quick movement, and he sat there, looking like a deer getting arrested in the headlights. 

'It's alright. Was it a spasm?' he wiped off some drops of ink that had spilt from the tip of the needle onto your leg. 

'Uhm, yeah, just like a sharp pain, too.' 

'I'll try to be gentle.' He winked and went back to work. You, however, lost the ability to breathe for a short second. When you finally did, with a deep inhale, you considered shortly the idea of bringing up that night. Maybe he didn't remember it? But then why mention it? Why make him remember? Would it be worse than ignoring it, though? It was highly likely that he did remember everything that night, more than you did, and was embarrassed about it too. He would mention it, wouldn't he? You weren't. 

And yet, he kept on tattooing and kept on coming closer and closer to the top of your thigh, wiping it off with that paper towel, brushing his thumb over the spots he was about to touch with the needles. He was so close to you, too, you could feel his warm breath on you. 

He pulled away from you to take a deep breath. 

"Fuck," you felt him say it against your cheek, and the sensation again rushed through you, down to your very core. 

"Yeah," your breath was shaky. Eyes closed, for it felt too good to be real. You just let it all wash over you, the pure bliss.

However, it was a feeling that was slowly subsiding, and you needed more. The kisses Eddie left on your jaw and neck were helping, but it wasn't enough. 

"Eddie," you said airily, to which he responded with an attentive hum. "I need more." 

"I really  doubt that, sweetheart." He chuckled, pulling your hair aside and kissing you right beneath your ear. His words and actions felt counterintuitive and confusing. 

"What?"

"Believe me, you don't want this." Your lips met for another brief kiss. This one was again much more simple and soft. 

"Why wouldn't I?" You had opened your eyes once that kiss ended, looking back into his. He was smiling, but it was sadder than all those great smiles he had shared with you before. 

"Be honest, do you really want to have sex with me?" 

Your silence was more telling than any words you would have said, and Eddie understood it completely. But when you thought about it, it wasn't because it was Eddie. In general, you did not feel like you could do it… with anyone.

Sitting in that chair now, you didn't regret what had happened at the party. You regretted what followed. Eddie had let you escape for the night, given you a true experience, a little taste of what life could be, and you let it pass. The morning after, you didn't remember much, but also just let slip away the things you did. You never tried to find the man that had made you feel alive, didn't even bother to remember his name. Instead, you went back to what you knew and wasted your heart on guys that couldn't give a shit about it. 

You had run away from something once again. 

And maybe it was dramatic and childish to now think of that tiny moment in your life and perhaps make it bigger than it really was. The relevance you put to it was completely arbitrary, but now it stuck, and the fact that you had run away and yet still managed to return to him somehow… 

Even though you had never been the kind of person to believe in fate, this also didn't feel like just a big coincidence. 

'Almost finished here,' Eddie murmured over the tattoo. In the background, the music faded out, and no new song started playing. The loop had played out. The only sound in the room now was only the buzz of the machine gun. 'You're doing amazing, by the way.' 

'Thanks,' you laughed. It really hadn't been as bad as you had imagined. Not bad at all.

"We should probably head back, don't want your friends to think you got kidnapped," he joked and did, indeed, bring you back to the party, and after you parted your ways, you still managed to get more drunk while having fun with your friends. But throughout the entire night, the feeling of Eddie's lips against yours, his hands on your body, the bitter taste of leftover alcohol and weed… it lingered on you. 

An unforgettable kiss that still managed to be lost overnight. The next day you woke up in your own bed, feeling sick and with a headache that made all the bright colours in your room scream. The events of the night all blurred into one second, and all you could directly recall was that you had made out with someone, drank way too much, and danced with your friends; in what order that might have been, you could not know. 

But you also woke up feeling a bit lighter. When you eventually told your parents about not graduating, something in the back of your mind told you that it would be ok. A little voice calling out to you, reminding you you wouldn't be alone. 

The next time you would hear that voice would be 2 and a half years later. 

'Aaand… we're done.' 

'What?' you blinked slowly, watching Eddie get up out of his seat. You looked down at your leg. The skin was a bit agitated by the constant abuse it had received over the last hour, but you could see through it as the image that was now on your skin was absolutely perfect. 

'Sorry, I wasn't very talkative, sometimes I just really get in the zone,' Eddie laughed, grabbing another paper towel and another bottle of disinfectant. 'Let me just clean that up for you, and wrap it up.' 

'Thanks.' You were glad you had decided to wear your looser jeans, as your thigh already felt sore as Eddie was applying the bandage over it. But, to have tight jeans around it, too… you didn't think you would be able to make it home. 

'Really, thanks for everything.' You said again once you were up and fully dressed. 

'It's been my pleasure, just remember to come back here if you ever want anything else done.' He was cleaning up his station, putting away equipment, and unattached the used needle from the tattoo gun. The way he was working so efficiently, you could keep watching him all day– but that would have been creepy and weird. It was your time to go home. But you couldn't make yourself go. Not now, before you knew-

'You said "class of 84",'  you bit your cheek again, 'but you didn't graduate, did you?'

'Never said I did.'

'You never did… you dropped out during the summer.' You had no idea why these words were leaving your mouth, but you hoped that Eddie wouldn't take too much offence in your rambling brain. 

'Nothing escapes Miss Class President, does it?' He smirked, turning the light above the tattoo station off. 

'You do remember,' you gasped. 'Oh god,' now the embarrassment was coming in like a flood. 'When did you-'

'Pretty much the second you walked in. Was actually a bit offended you didn't.' He winked, walking with you to the front of the store again. You could see through the windows that the sun was slowly coming down.

'I am really, so sorry- it's been so long and I had been so-' you felt awful. For everything. But, Eddie being Eddie, put his hand on your shoulder, brushed some hair out of your face with his other, and spoke softly and calmly.

'I know. And you really don't have to apologise for anything.' His dimples were visible again, 'I'm just… happy to have been able to be a first for you.' The small comment made you smile too, in a little nervous sense, but mostly because you saw that he really didn't mind. Everything was alright between you.

At that moment, something rushed over you. Maybe adrenaline, or something. It kicked in higher than it had when you made out with Eddie in that playground castle, or when you had gotten your ears pierced against your parents' wishes. You felt it more than when you had laid down on that chair to get the tattoo. This was the moment for you to take a big risk. A leap into something where you truly didn't know where you could end up. There were big chances of a catastrophe, but you didn't care. You had to truly say fuck it to take that leap now.

'I promise I'll leave your parlour soon,' you guaranteed Eddie, 'I just want to say that– and I know it's not my place to say it– but I wish you hadn't dropped out.' 

Eddie took a step back and blinked slowly. He didn't say anything, just looked at you, so, not caring if you would make the situation worse or not, you kept on talking: 

'I wish that because, that night or at least the bits I can still remember,' you both lightly laughed at that, 'really put my life into perspective. Not in like a very dramatic sense, of course not, but it just made me think: It, subconsciously, stayed with me, in the back of my mind for the past 3 years, and I just realised that now. 

'I think, that night, I felt like I had made a friend easier than I had ever done anything before, and the fact that I didn't even remember it properly makes me want to kick myself. So, when I say that I wish you had stayed in school, I wish you had walked into that dumb and ugly building after the summer so I could have seen your face and instantly remembered everything that had happened in that playground castle and that we could have had more moments like that or even better ones, or worse ones, but that it wasn't where it had ended.' 

Eddie looked at you, confused as if he didn't understand what you were asking him. But then that smile reappeared, full of mischief. 

'Are you-' he crossed his arms, 'asking me out?' 

'Jesus Christ,' You hid your hands in your face. Out of all of the things you had just said… that's what he picked up? Well, maybe that is what you had meant and even thinking about it, his question didn't offend you. On the contrary, it made that old bubbly feeling in your stomach bubble up. So, pushing away any sense of shame, putting up the most confident facade you could evoke out of yourself, you looked up at him and said, 'Yes. Yes, I am.'

'Well, that is certainly not something I expected to happen when I woke up this morning.' his tongue poked out from the corner of his lips as you waited for his answer. 'How about tomorrow? I can pick you up. Around 7?' 

'Sure. 7 sounds good.' you gave him your address, and with that, you left to go home. 

Even though you knew exactly where you were going, to your car, to drive home, it didn't feel like it. You had just taken that leap into uncertain terrains, but it didn't scare you for once. The anxieties that followed you throughout your life were, for once, exchanged for excitement. Perhaps that's just what it had been the entire time, but it didn't matter. And it didn't matter where this would eventually end up, you and Eddie. It might be a perfect happily ever after, or it might end with just the one horrible date. You didn't know, and, truly, for once, you didn't care. 

The End

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[artoni-arts]

sparks in the ashes; chapter 6

we've got enough of a buffer we're going to M/W/F! which is good, because holeeeee sheeet things are kicking off.

previous . index . next

what u should know;

@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [late 1920s]

CW; attempt at writing london slang, some sexual harassment (no Quintessons involved) and bit of violence/self-defense. Also remember how we mentioned non-consensual human experimentation? We got that in here (stripping, needles, nothing particularly explicit). Brief panic, not so much an attack as a justified "OH GOD WHAT". General warning that we're getting in to the thick of things and the following chapters are going to be a bit harsher than the previous.

---------------------------------

Once again, the coat was his armor. This time, though, it would do little good, for it was the armor of his enemies, and he was walking straight in to their den. Still, Victor clung to what comfort he could in the situation as the looming Spire grew nearer and nearer.

From what he understood, the Quintessons much preferred to dwell under the water; as such, the bulk of the construction formed the Spire's base and offered stability to the entire building. However, they still utilized humans for the labor - rather than equip them with diving suits, they instead pumped the water out of the areas where they worked, and utilized the upper levels of the Spire for the humans to be able to do their tasks. As well as doing tasks to humans; it was there that the children were housed, and there Victor would be heading for his 'examination'.

He showed his card to the Guardsmen who secured the sector; one fed it in to another machine as the other kept him under watch. A few moments passed before he was cleared, and given direction to a holding room. Only a few turns in, which was for the best in more than one way.

After all, the lot of them had decided if Victor was going in to the heart of the enemy, then he may as well confirm or deny the accuracy of their maps. While he had no method of communicating with anyone until Primus found him - and he was reliant on being found, rather than the other way around, because wandering about here without a destination in mind was certain to have him 'collected' in the worst of ways - he could at least commit as many things to memory as he could, beginning with the initial security.

The Guardsmen, of course, but there were small cameras tucked in many of the upper corners. To say nothing of the large halls housing Quintessons as they moved about their own business, paying no more attention to him as one would a stray animal. He walked with purpose and intent, glad at least his destination was close - and there it was.

The holding room was just that - a room to hold humans, directly overseen by a Quintesson. This one with the large bulk of a guard, its baleful red eyes looking over Victor as one would a stray mutt before muttering something in its language that Victor vaguely recognized as a 'get going' command. As he obeyed and began to descend down the stairs, he looked around proper. The entrance, such as it was, was higher than the rest of the room; it also served as the only way in or out. Those stairs led to a center pit of sorts, where a handful of people milled about. He knew that there were other holding rooms like this, for more long-term periods - those had sparse beds and other necessities, whereas this one merely had a handful of bench-like protrusions against the walls. None of which looked particularly comfortable, but then - since when did Quintessons care about human comfort?

No; this was merely a basket from which they would pluck whatever 'fruit' they wanted. The only thing that differed this one from the other pits was the fact that this one was for humans who had some sort of place outside the Spire; unsurprisingly, though, none of them wore Guardsmen uniforms. Those here wore labor-style outfits, and all of them eyed him suspiciously as they murmured amongst themselves; he caught wind of "-so not even they're above-" and smiled bitterly.

Not in the slightest.

Victor was prepared to wait as long as it took for things to process, but a shadow fell upon him before he could do much more than sit on a bench. He looked up, the lights from the ceiling all but silhouetting the form of the woman who glared down at him. Red hair sparked a twinge of memory, but her stormy expression staved off any reminiscing.

"Th'ell's a Guardsman doin' down 'ere?" she sneered at him. "You volunteer t'eat some squidshite?"

"Leave'm alone, Alice," another woman wearily called. "Don't need'm makin' things 'arder for us-"

"He ain't on the mines," 'Alice' shot over her shoulder before returning her attention to Victor, resting a hand on the wall as he began to rise. "No, no, don't get up, I'm th' one that should be kneelin' at yer feet, right?"

"I'm not here for any trouble," Victor murmured, gently raising a hand between them to try and pacify her - only for it to be abruptly grabbed by the wrist.

"Nah, yer here to kneel fer the squiddies, right?" she jeered, tightening her grip as Victor tried to tug free. "See if they can get you somethin' cushier, right? Maybe a nice pet'f yer own?" As she spoke, she pulled his hand forward, and his face went red as he made contact with her chest. Like most laborers, her chest was covered, and the women in particular tended to use a number of bindings for support rather than the elegant undergarments from before the War; it was still very obvious that she had been graced with ample assets. She laughed at his clear unease, continuing; "Or maybe you're looking for a nice lad, maybe-"

Victor moved.

As, more or less, a human meant to manage other humans - it went without saying that the Guardsmen were expected to handle themselves in a fight. Normally he had his baton, but Victor had been keenly aware that such was not his only means of defense - and, indeed, an older brother who had insisted on him learning to throw a punch had given him the basics. But throwing a punch hadn't been enough for Victor, and in the beginning, one of the other Guardsmen had taken it upon himself to serve as a mentor of sorts the others - a situation for which Victor was now very, very grateful had occured.

Without it, he wouldn't know how to reach forwards with his other hand, grabbing hers. She was stronger than him, he could tell that, but he didn't hesitate to turn his body as well for his leg to be planted behind hers. A twist, a shove of weight against the back of her knee before she could react, and the rest of the laborers shot to their feet as a loud WHUD resounded throughout the room from her back hitting the floor. She snarled, immediately moving to get to her feet, but by then Victor had backed away and resettled in to a defensive stance. And by that time, a few others had approached their fallen friend, hissing warnings while one looked up warily towards their Quintesson overseer.

Victor risked a brief glance as well. As he'd thought - they were watching, but hadn't so much as raised a tendril to try and halt the proceedings. Likely they wouldn't unless some sort of injury occurred that would inhibit the humans' work. Grimacing, he returned his attention to the group, firmly repeating what he'd said before; "I'm not here for any trouble. But," he continued, "I will not take any, either."

Alice's eyes narrowed, blazing red, and she opened her mouth to say something - her friend gave her a sharp smack on the back and the two traded some bickering. It was about that time that there was the sound of the doors opening above, and all heads turned, then, as a Quintesson slid inside. It wasn't nearly as broad as most of the others Victor had seen, but yet its slighter build seemed no more less malevolent as it peered over the edge at those gathered. Indeed, it seemed somehow worse - the kind of worse that came with a mind that considered them less than stray mutts - and whatever fight was brewing quickly dissipated as the gathered humans dispersed, seeking to avoid attention in their own ways. A couple simply sat and didn't-quite-shrink against the smooth walls, which held no corners to hide in; Alice and her friends simply grouped together, muttering amongst themselves, as if being in a group would somehow protect them.

Victor did none of these, turning instead to study the Quintesson who had entered. If he recalled correctly from what little he knew of Quintesson culture in itself, its slighter build designated it as a different caste than the larger ones - there seemed to be some sort of basic hierarchy based on their own bodies. But that gave him no comfort, no ease; if anything, he even better understood why the others had sought to avoid its attention as it gazed directly on him. For a few moments, his mind raced with horror stories he'd heard of those who had gone in willingly but never returned, or returned different - horrific mutants at best, though he assumed there were some crippled wretches who simply…did not walk out. And for those moments, he vividly saw himself as one of them, nothing more than a writhing subject of an experiment to whom death would be a mercy…

Its gaze moved on, breaking whatever spell he had been suffering, and Victor felt somewhat woozy as it spoke to the guard overseeing them. He swallowed, but was unashamedly relieved when another turned out to be their target. One of those who had sought the wall as solace was collected and in their wake was left a subdued sort of silence. Victor took a breath, then moved to sit on a bench again - this time, one as far away from the others as he could.

They did not approach again. Though Alice's was not the only set of eyes that glanced in his direction.

---------------------------------

Another Quintesson, another gathered - and a third. Victor was entertaining the thought of perhaps he'd be let go without being seen (but if that happened, how would the two lads fare?) when he caught a beckoning gesture of tendrils in his direction. Pressing his face in to as neutral an expression as he could muster, he got to his feet and climbed to approach. This one, too, was a slighter build, perhaps only slightly larger than the first one he'd seen but still very much of the same type. Its eyes were gold, and seemed to regard him more curiously than anything else as it draped a set of tendrils over his shoulders.

[You know why you are here?] it questioned, to which he nodded.

"I was told to come for an examination," he answered without hesitation, trying to ignore the cold weight that was steering him as much as ensuring he could not run.

[Which is odd, considering your record shows a history of excellence.] Was it impressed? He hadn't learned much of their tones yet, and kept himself from responding rather than risk its ire. The Quintesson didn't seem to mind, continuing on. [You have taken to your assignment without complaint, and have kept your sector peaceful. One would think you are in perfect condition, and yet you gave reason to suspect otherwise?]

That - combined with the look in his direction - was a prompt for reply. He cleared his throat to buy himself a few more precious moments of time to think. "I was merely…surprised by the brief uprising," he admitted, which was, indeed, the truth. "I had thought the entire city peaceful." Not so much the truth, but white enough of a lie, he hoped. And believable enough of one?

The Quintesson made a sound that could have been thoughtful, its voice distorted through the humming machinery it wore. [Then we will ensure you will have no more surprises,] it said with a brief pat of a tendril, and Victor was nearly consumed with the urge to try and shake it off. His fingers dug in to his palms as he fought it off, just as they turned in to another room, and belatedly he realized he should have been memorizing the path, what good was knowing exactly where he was if he didn't know how to get out-

[Strip,] the Quintesson directed, and Victor's fingernails briefly dug in before he forced himself to relax - to obey. It had taken its limbs off him, at least, moving over to some sort of machinery and operating it as Victor shed his coat. Unpleasant memories of the previous time he'd done this came to mind - numb, moving like some sort of automaton toy that was off its bearings - but he reminded himself that there was a plan, there was a purpose for this…indignity. If he thought of it just as that, it was somewhat bearable, as opposed to a possible precursor to more.

Right?

He was directed to stand on a platform, and forced himself to move without hesitation. Immediately, a blue light surrounded him, and he kept himself still as it swirled about - scanned, that was the word - his form as if searching for any slight or scar. It lingered on a few scuffs and bruises, which he was asked to explain and dutifully reported as 'scuffles during the fighting'. Such was acknowledged and, apparently, recorded.

Some metal limbs moved out next, and he tensed as they poked and prodded at him. There was no explanation, but then, why did there need to be? Endure, he told himself, focusing on keeping his breathing steady as something scraped at the back of his neck, something else pricked at his arm. There were more of these samples taken, and by the time he was allowed off the platform, he felt rather like a piece of meat that'd been prepared by a chef to be roasted. That feeling only magnified as the Quintesson made a sound while he was reaching for his clothing, and held up a single tentacle;

[Hold.] Victor hid his unease as it worked its station a few more moments, then seemed to tilt its head. A few words were spoken to itself in its native language - then it seemed to realize Victor couldn't understand, because it switched back to English. [I require more testing. Move back to the platform.]

"I thought we were done…?" he ventured, nonetheless obeying as he stepped bare-footed back on to the metal which had grown no less cold for his earlier stance.

It made a dismissive gesture at his words. [Your genetic profile requires further examination. I will require assistance for this.]

Assistance?… the skin on Victor's neck prickled. "From- what the!?" He took a step back as about the base of the platform, something began to rise; clear walls shot up a moment later, trapping him in place. Instinctively he slapped his palms on them, red eyes bright in his own reflection as he stared out in rising panic. "What are you- in God's name!"

He threw himself back against the wall as the station the Quintesson has been working at - there was no other word for it morphed. What once had been a solid piece of metal folded and unfurled itself in an impossibly complex manner, beginning to snake towards him and his prison as Victor looked on in horror. The Quintesson seemed completely nonplussed - perhaps it hadn't even heard him - following it as one would a hound as the metal thing began to reform about the base of the platform. Immediately, blue light surrounded him once more, but this time it was nearly blinding; he threw up his hands to shield his eyes and still try to see, but it was so bright, he had to shut his eyelids tight and it still hurt

there was something pooling about his feet, his ankles, something warm and wet and tingling

panic rose

there's a reason

it was at his knees, he tried fumbling for an escape above but there was no purchase

there's a reason there's a reason

he began to tremble despite himself, an instinctual fear response as it met his waist, his chest

submerged his neck, he took a deep breath before it rose over his head

there was a jolt of something, that air burst out of his lungs

and he still couldn't see. He was blind? Oh, God, had they changed him already, had-

"I'm terribly sorry," a familiar voice suddenly rang in, "but this is the only way that we can speak safely."

His eyes widened uselessly, except - they didn't. He still couldn't see, but he couldn't breathe, either. Couldn't move his limbs, couldn't even look down to his limbs, what had-

"Please, slow down. I need you to think more clearly, right now it's too distorted for me to parse. Will you try and focus on my own words?"

Victor wasn't hearing it, per se. It wasn't really a voice. But it was familiar nonetheless, and he reached for it like a lifeline, grabbing hold with a sudden realization; Primus?

"Yes, it's me." The voice - Primus - seemed…relieved. "Again, I'm very sorry. I saw you start to panic, but I couldn't do anything at that point to halt the process."

Process? What's going on, how are we talking?

"Of an in-depth scan. We're communicating directly, mind to mind if you will; your neural pulses to mine in a thought-matrix. I know it's confusing," Primus said, somehow wry, "think of it as mind-magic, if it makes things easier."

It was so absurd that he could have laughed. Magic. All right. A pause. I still have no idea what you are, or how you even noticed any of that. No one else was there…unless… Primus didn't respond, so Victor continued his wondering. That…machine that moved. Like it was alive. Was that…?

"It was. Is," they amended. "I am a creation of the Quintessons, Victor, and I am in desperate need of help. And I think you, of all people, will be able to do what I need - because your modifications have already given you a ground that everyone else lacks."

My modifications? He didn't have anything special, just his eyes, and-

"-and your sense of positioning. Do you know where you are, right now?"

Victor thought about it for a moment. He didn't know exactly, except - he did. Just not where it was in context, but how useful was that?

"Let me ask you something else; do you know when you are, right now?"

A good question, but Victor assumed it wasn't too long before dark. A few hours, were he to judge.

"You judge correctly." The voice paused to let that sink in, then went on. "When and where are more closely related than some would think, in the grand scheme of things. Your species has not yet begun to explore spacetime, but the Quintessons are well aware of it - do you recall their spacebridges, when they first invaded?"

The memory of the skies opening up and great ships coming through was difficult to forget. Nonetheless, Victor gave acknowledgement, also recalling how the ability to seemingly appear anywhere, anywhen, still terrorized many a Londoner's nightmares. And, he presumed, the world's.

"I wouldn't be surprised. But the point I mean to make is that they've continued their research, here on Earth. They're focusing on smaller-scale spacebridges, to allow smaller groups to teleport across the world - and they are using humans as keystones in this project. However, the humans they have utilized so far have…mostly disappeared."

Well, that didn't sound good. I don't like where this is going, Victor couldn't help but 'say', wondering if his wariness went through.

"Well, if you could escape to another corner of the world - wouldn't you?"

To find some untouched corner of the wilderness to live out the rest of his days untouched by any of this…Victor pushed back the familiar thought as it arose, hoping Primus hadn't caught it.

If they had, they gave no sign, instead continuing their explanation. "Not only would your sense of direction guide you, Victor - but you have every reason to come back. If we can destroy the project through you, then not only will you stop something that could end any resistance here on Earth, but other worlds as well."

Wait. Other worlds?

"Yours is not the first to be conquered by Quintessons. As I said I am…tired of all this."

Despite himself, Victor felt his heart go out to this strange being. It sounded so weary without even making sound…and though he had every reason to wonder if this was some sort of trick? He thought of Aillard and Pravda's reactions when Primus's voice had first come through that strange device, the way they referred to them as their 'friend', how badly they wanted them out of Quintesson control…and with good reason, it seemed! Aside from how much use the various rebellions could use from such an ally, for someone who'd apparently been a participant in countless conquests…

What must I do?

"You would be moved to another Quintesson, the one overseeing the project. You would be modified in to something capable of utilizing the technology - and then we could make our escape with the children."

Joel and Simon-! He'd let them slip his mind, but felt no judgement from Primus, only a morbid amusement.

"You cannot process everything at once, Victor," they didn't quite scold him. "They're safe. If anything changes, I will tell you, but for now I can keep them at the bottom of the list. At most, they're bored."

Could I see them?

"…I think I can manage that. I don't know about being able to talk with them, but I should be able to reroute some cameras, temporarily. But it may be best to keep anything specific to ourselves, for now. I don't know for sure what will happen, or if the modifications will hold on you - sometimes things go…wrong."

But they could go right, Victor pressed. And if nothing happens, we still have our original plan, do we not?

"We would. But I want to emphasize, Victor, that there is still a risk in this. It is important for this project of theirs to be stopped, but we may be able to find someone else."

And you may not. Steeling himself, the man thought about a portal being opened in the midst of the Underground, of the Quintessons slaughtering everything in their path - men, women, and children alike. Of it happening in other cities, other worlds. I, too, am tired of standing by and allowing these things to happen. If we could stop it, Primus - can we do less than but try?

[cruciatusforeplay]

This is part two of a hella big post. Check out part one here. These are all a lot more recent, so I'm gonna try to be less spoilery, but there are gonna be some.

A not-so-brief history of Hawkeye in Comics Part Two (spoilers below the cut)

A note on events, dying and doubling down on Hawkeyes

Comics love doing big events, and I'm not covering them in here. Partly because they are huge and complex and to just focus on Hawkeye would be an injustice to the stories, but also because the amount of stuff I would need to spoil would be way beyond just a little Hawkeye. Clint was involved in Secret Wars (1984), which was one of the first crossover events of its kind. Another notable era is 2004-2009, where there is an incredible amount of superhero politics driving big narratives. If you're new to comics, you might not know that characters dying is common and rarely permanent. This is relevant because while I said that I wouldn't talk about events, I think it would be pretty uncool to not mention that Hawkeye dies and is brought back to life (Avengers Disassembled, House of M, New Avengers #26). It's around here that Clint picks up the Ronin mantle.

This is also when Dark Reign/Dark Avengers is going on. For anyone who'd like some Clint whump from this era, there's a top notch naked torture scene in New Avengers Annual (2009). Clint is involved in several other big events and crossovers over later years, but that's definitely a seperate list.

In the time where Clint is dead, Captain America is hanging out with a group of newly formed Young Avengers, including archery badass Kate Bishop. Cap suggests to her that she take up the Hawkeye mantle and gives her Clint's old bow. After Clint returns, he becomes initially her mentor, before they form a very close friendship. Clint is initially doing Ronin things, but even when he lays down ninja robes, they decide to be very Hawkeye about the whole thing and both keep calling themselves Hawkeye, despite the obvious confusion this causes.

Hawkeye's ears: Hawkeye vs. Deadpool #0-4 (2014)

This is a fun little miniseries that you could treat as a Halloween special if you so desired. It's set in the time after Fraction's run and there are a few callbacks, but nothing major if you've not read that. Clint is a little short-tempered and hypermasculine in this run for my personal taste, but it's got lots of grumpy Clint Vs sassy Wade while they vaguely attempt to team up. The thing this run does really well is Clint's deafness, despite the lack of visible hearing aids. There are comments around lip-reading, wearing aids when wearing other headgear, there's some sign language, and this is the run where Deadpool pulls his mask up so Clint can lipread and see his face while he signs (facial expressions are really key in sign language). It's lovely. Otherwise the run gives you a Kate cameo, some Deadpool and Hawkeye disaster/shenanigans, and perhaps most importantly, the return of the skycycle.

Key background: All New Hawkeye #1-6 (2015)

This run is often overlooked, but the art in the flashbacks is beautiful. We get some key information around Clint and Barney's abusive home situation - with their dad who drank and beat them, and how they ended up in care after their parents died, and subsequently their early days in the circus. There is a definite shift in how Barney is characterized as a bad influence compared to the 2003 run. It parallels with the rest of the arc which focuses on Clint and Kate Bishop working together to get some kids out of a very bad situation. The rest of Lemires run is a little weird and has no major repurcussions for anyone except Barney (which I won't elaborate on because it's relevant to the Fraction run).

Back to your roots: Tales of Suspense #100-104 (2017)

Seeing Clint cycle back and return to Tales of Suspense is really lovely. This comic is one of my all time favourites. It's incredibly tight story-telling with a great plot and really fun dynamic. The premise is Clint and Bucky teaming up to figure out the body trail being left after Black Widow's death. Clint is obnoxious and a delightful mess, Bucky is sporting a permanent scowl and is hilariously level-headed. It's a lot of fun and it's a lovely build on the tension and teamwork between these two idiots (who I, as an avid Winterhawk shipper, am completely gone for, but even without that, this is a great comic.) It also has some killer covers, and the facial expressions are absolutely hilarious.

Hawkeyes together: Hawkeye #13-16 (2017) and West Coast Avengers #1-10 (2018)

The Hawkeye run is Kate Bishops run and it has a larger continuing storyline that runs from the beginning of her Hawkeye and way into WCA, but I've listed the issues that you'll want for Kate and Clint shenanigans, and you should be able to catch up without the rest if you don't want it. These comics are ridiculously fun, especially West Coast Avengers, which has Kate leading the team this time. There's loads of jokes, and it strikes a nice balance between Hawkeyes being disasters and being hyper competent. Truthfully, this is Kate's show, and Clint takes a backseat, but their dynamic is killer here so I think is deserves a mention. There are also plenty of Clint related wardrobe malfunctions and Lucky the Pizza Dog is around.

Our most recent boy: Hawkeye freefall #1-6 (2020)

I haven't read this one yet, but it's been extremely well received by the fandom. As a result, good news: no spoilers! It's a short run, which may have had something to do with it being published during 2020, and specifically around a time when Marvel were experiencing some major distribution issues (which would have led to digital release only and as a result lower sales), but that's all guesswork because I haven't actually researched it. This run has someone dressing as Ronin and letting Clint take the blame for their nefarious deeds (oh no!). Clint makes some classic Clint (read: dumpster fire) decisions, and the art looks fun and vibrant. Can't really give you more without reading it myself 😅 If you need more Clint still, he's also rumoured to be knocking around in the 2020 Black Widow run, but I've not had the money to get my mitts on that yet either.

Notable AUs:

Marvel is a big fan of throwing a well known cast into an alternative universes, so there are a few other places to look for him.

The Ultimates universe was largely speaking a bit of a shitshow, but they did give us a very dark and gritty Clint, so if that's your jam, ultimate hawkeye is the place to be. Old Man Hawkeye appears alongside Old Man Logan, and they are both, you guessed it, old. It's not the only time we get Clint as a wrinkly dude (the second half Lemire's run also has some timey-wimey stuff happening), but this is a version of Clint who is going blind (granted we've seen that before too, but this is a darker vibe than Blindspot). Wanna know who the greatest marksman is without his sight - old man Hawkeye for you! Finally there's the Zombie 'verse: zombie Clint is a little confused, but he's got the spirit. Clint got zombiefied and then left in some rubble as only a head for 40 years before getting picked up, so he's a little worse for wear. If you need that in your life then Marvel Zombies is your universe. For a full rundown of all the universes including animated and MCU, click here.

Notable aliases:

Clint's been a few other people than Hawkeye in the 616 universe (the main Marvel Comics universe). He used one of Hank Pyms growth serums and became a giant strongman in Avengers #63 (1969) and stuck around in his Goliath form for more than a few issues. After Cap had died, Clint returned from the dead and tried on Captain America for all of one issue in Fallen Son #3 (2007). He decided (with a little help from Kate) that it wasn't right to wear the uniform, which in turn led to some interesting tension between him and Bucky Barnes when Buck did become the new Captain America. Finally, there's his most well-known alternate persona: Ronin. Clint becomes Ronin after returning from the dead, wanting a break from his Hawkeye persona and an opportunity to become Ronin arises in New Avengers #27 (2007). Clint is not the only person to have used these aliases. Additionally, Hawkeye has been used not only by Clint and Kate Bishop, but also by Bullseye during the Dark Reign.

The things we haven't talked about

Like I said at the very beginning, there is a lot of Clint Barton knocking around in comics and even with all this there's a lot of content I haven't focused on. For instance, I've not talked a lot about his relationships, beyond his marriage to mockingbird (and really I only scratched the surface with that), and honestly once you start getting into interpersonal relationships we're starting to move on from what can be done in a Tumblr thread.

There are also some topic specific threads floating around, which you might like to look at too.

@vaguelyrotten has done a run down of some great dumpster fire Clint Barton comics (some of which I haven't listed) and you can see that here.

@bobbimorses did a great summary of Clint's historical deafness for instance which you can find here.

There's also this little bit all about Clint and Bucky in canon (thanks to @nightwideopen ) and how Winterhawk became a thing (thanks to @1000-directions )

This is slight sidenote, but @clintscoffeepot did a really great comprehensive of Fraction Clint's apartment which is just a really useful writing resource and you can get that here.

There is also this website which I stumbled across fairly far into writing this post which does actually look like it might be comprehensive.

If I've missed anything major, or listed something incorrectly or you just have some Clint related opinions that I need to know about, do hit me up.

[incarnateirony]

If we're looking to puzzles in past seasons, how about Zach's installation of false memories / fake selves in S+D in It's a Terrible Life? How much of it is Zach (or the show) just fucking around for fun? And how can anyone after watching it think Dean is heterosexual, or that the show thinks he is? I'd love to see analysis of all the parallel universes, false futures etc together that looks at what those eps are doing, from What Is and Should Never Be to French Mistake to The Trap

I imagine this is a followup to the time travel ask (x) which I will link here too, because it’s still important, even if this example itself is not time travel. I actually went into the OP and edited in a segment saying honestly, Time Travel takes more Universal Power than Created Spaces, from what I’ve witnessed in Supernatural.

I’m actually going to avoid the “Dean het/bi” argument here for once because, while I do espouse that Dean is now canonically bi via a series of low visibility text, the most textual nail being driven in during Last Call, I generally give that old era I just don’t see the same kind of genuine queer coding. The few episodes they crop up in tend to be Edlund’s and they were an entire universe away from modern Bobo+ episodes in delivery, and I’m just... going to go “nahhh, if you use that as part of what you see by all means, but I’m not about to dive into that with any kind of intent here.”

I did also during my edit point out some stuff in the Trap:  That is to say though, that according to this model, there IS still a future out there written somewhere that Dean had to bury Cas in a Malak Box, got overwhelmed by depression, literally gave up, turned into a monster and killed everyone he loved with Sam until he too died. But Not This Sam, Not This Dean.

But to go into the one of false memories and fake selves, we actually go closer to my Thought Boxes experiment. (x) 

Unlike The End and Edlund, we lack any kind of creative commentary or even text in the script itself to vaguely IMPLY this was an actual alternate timeline. But all timelines happen within Thought Boxes (see link) that have time installed (as opposed to many heavens being delineated/not having the Swiss Watch installed like Chuck’s worlds, but Chuck isn’t the only one that can perceive of an order.)

This is where things get a little warpy for people: stop thinking of angels as their vessels for a minute. Does Cas properly own his now, is it his own body, yes. But beyond Cas, or even before Cas had his living period(s) (which is actually a great deal of why he’s so thoroughly invested in the human perspective compared to his peers), I need people to realize that “wavelengths of intent” thing is important as fuck.

The faces we see are vessels to interact in a timeline with. They are functionaries, even if some proverbially hit a button like Anael. They are designed to pull out tasks within a universal structure, and also have lesser powers (by scale of their general grade/type) reflective of the divine that created that one. But just like Michael couldn’t actually snap his fingers and nuke them all in Dean’s Thought Box, I gesture at for example Dark Side Of The Moon where while Zachariah mocked them, he actually couldn’t pull out ubermoves on them, and couldn’t find them when they disappeared into Ash’s Thought Box. Because in here, we’re all just mental projections. And in here, we’re all the same. So you can’t. Don’t play God’s game, make him play yours. 

We also find out that God had wiped Sam and Dean’s death memories in heaven before, not too unlike Castiel did Lisa and the kid later. Memory manipulation is nothing new.

This seems like a bizarre aside to approach little things like It’s A Terrible Life in, but it’s actually key to nail in. Also, I don’t know how many of you have watched Agents of Shield, but this may help people: When uploaded to the Framework from Aiva’s system rather than an independent one, people completely had their memories messed up. This all actually applies a similar idea. And yet really, think of this as uploading to different worlds. When the Immortal Human Soul, which is timeless, is Uploaded to Earth, they also don’t know anything about their Immortal Past. Now, put a Thought Box inside a Thought Box. Be that Dean thinking he really did own a bar, or Sam thinking he’s a phone center operator, the uploaded individual to the Thought Box does not necessarily retain all they should know, even if things eat at them as right or wrong in the scale of it all until they unlock their true nature.

It’s A Terrible Life is not too different: from MichaelDean’s headbar, from Castiel’s zoned out reality with Lucifer, or whatever else. It is an alternate created space the souls have been packed into, resetting what they know despite what they Know. It too is a venture--if less immediately visibly philosophical--about the (re)discovery of the self. 

Now, in It’s A Terrible Life, respectively Zachariah was God (despite actually working on behalf of god Outside of the Terrible Life Thought Box). He designed the entire system and story and rules and regulations for them to play in, a thought box, and one he could directly intervene in, unlike in The End. Power flowed back to Zachariah in this box.

ADLER stands up and presses two fingers to DEAN's forehead. Everything goes from saturated color to dim. DEAN looks around at the office and himself.

DEAN What the hell? Why am I wearing a tie? My God, am I hungry.

And he directly influenced how their bodies reacted, such as the fact that Dean somehow felt fine eating rabbit food rofl.

DEAN Gross. No thank you. So, what? I'm just hallucinating all this? Is that it?

ZACHARIAH Not at all. Real place, real haunting. Just plunked you in the middle without the benefit of your memories.

One might argue this infers that it is a real place *on this earth*, on which neither side actually has receipts as much as “conclusion majority jumps to.” -- In the very least, Zachariah directly impacted the body-cage and its memories and function. But also for Sam and Dean to have been enrolled there, he would have had to do it to an infinite chain of people in their path that wouldn’t notice the new chief of marketing and everybody on the floor knowing Sam and all the weird influences in those people’s lives too. Which again is why I point up to how CENTRAL this Thought Box idea actually is to Supernatural, and how very much Zachariah’s “real place” is just as likely, with all other functions we’ve seen, just like any other Real Place that the characters call Not Real. It isn’t real to Them. Because it’s not their lives and their stories. It doesn’t have their people.  

It’s somewhere in an infinite ocean of thought boxes, possibly one created by Zachariah himself since he is literally positioned as a CEO there. Which is... honestly, if you get past the mental hiccup of thinking outside the (thought) box, a far easier resolution to this entire scenario than Zachariah butterfly effecting half the planet just to troll Sam and Dean. And even if he DID do that, there Is the reminder of wavelengths of celestial intent, and how easily Chuck reset the planet’s state of knowing, but Zachariah as a general angel (kerubim by his description of himself) and not God Himself would have limits in that authority, so making a divergent box makes far more sense.

This was when use of Matrix and Baudrillard and whatever else was fairly young in the show, though, so while I can’t swear that was 100% the intent when it was *made* (and again, unlike The End, we have no creative commentary on this that I’ve found), as Dark Side of the Moon came a season later and evoked it, Carver deployed it a few times, and now Dabb Era quite centrally hovers around it, in the very least modern canon and all its evolutions would easily lead to this result.

[nabrizoya]

Can't do asks from a secondary blog so just pretend this is lex-malla--lex-nulla. Congrats on 100! You are beyond amazing. Let's see. Any 1 — related to Jesse or TLH? ;) 2 — any moral questions about Jesse or TLH-era Blackthorns? And a 3 because I want you to study. Oh and a 4 — any quotes that could help fuel my existential dread? Congrats again. And of course my only topic is Jesse, isn't that what we're all here for?

Yes, but while it’s awesome that you talk about Jesse a lot, there’s a lot more you would like to talk about. Not to forget the adventures you go on in the realm of teas. Did you brew anything interesting this day? Have you started reading Honey and Blood?

Aah, Jesse Blackthorn. I only started reading tid, tda, and the novellas since this March so I did not know anything about the TLH characters. By the time I was done with qoaad, I had a vague idea about who I will be seeing in TLH. 

Tbh, after I finished Chain of Gold in April, Jesse definitely was my favourite character but I did not talk about him as much as I do now. And then, well yes, got attached to Jesse and Lucie. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (it’s impossible not to). Apparently people thought Jesse is going to be some spooky dude, broody and would be portrayed in a negative light? Believe me, by the way, I did not know about the family tree at all! I had no clue that according to the found piece, Jesse and Lucie are to be married. I knew nothing about who got engaged to whom and such. What horror it was when I was binging through Pinterest and came across it. 

As for moral questions about Jesse or TLH era Blackthorns; I have a lot of them. I’ll perhaps make a post on it and link it here, but it basically continues with the topic of Annabel and the Lightwood House and the crystal, alongside a thing or two about Rupert Blackthorn. you like theorizing you don’t mind me tagging you to elaborate, do you?

Moral questions about Jesse; so far, there are none except for the awful childhood and the effects it has and will have on him. Not to forget that he’s Julian’s ancestor, ffs. This guy is going feral at some point and I want to see it. I want Cassie to portray the anger that has been pent up in him. It’s the reverse concept here; Julian walked so Jesse could run. You also did mention that something made him change his thinking about the Clave and other shadowhunters. It’d be cool to see him discuss about it. Also, regardless of what they everybody says about Jesse, he’s not that clueless about stuff. He’s a Blackthorn for a reason. xD

[regret] ... In accounting, all types (cost, financial, management etc), a governing body (not to be confused with the body of the certain country that certifies accountants like the CMAs and CPAs) sets a set of rules/principles/standards so that it complies with the currency and the format of financial reporting and accounting followed by that specific country. 

Two widely accepted standards are Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP) and International Financial Reporting Standards. There are significant differences between the two of them when it comes to treatment of a few accounting concepts. It can be simplified into saying that GAAP is US based and IFRS is followed by most countries, but the difference runs deeper than that. It is possible that a non-US accountant can follow GAAP to prepare the company’s financials. 

One staggering difference is that GAAP is heavily used in compilation of financials reports but the reporting part is taken care of by IFRS. This cannot be easily understood because this concept begins to show its face very minutely and subtly. 

I still don’t understand this as well as I hope, but moving along...

Fuel your existential dread...? Isn’t it more like, getting out of it...?

Normality is a paved road:  It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow

- Vincent Van Gogh 

And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past

- The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over.  ... Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. ... One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

- Birches, Robert Frost

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

- Oscar Wilde

Has anybody told you that the way you express you write is so neat and welcoming? Thanks for the ask. :”)

[gaycey-sketchit]

(Gary anon) *nods* While a lot of bad might be happening, a lot of good has happened too. And has overshadowed the bad. Work still needs to be done, but we're getting there. (So much happened that year that I wouldn't be surprised someone makes/or has made a documentary; I know archived compilations have since existed) And this sort of abuse can inevitably create a cycle. Not every adult is fit to be a parent, but every kid deserves GOOD parents.

(Part 2) (Certainly feels like a potential new era for the series, last time it felt like that was when Go released) Yeah, you can tell Hop is envious of his older brother, but it doesn't turn into malice. Instead it's provides motivation to try harder and make his bro proud. As much as the main anime has its good points, it often does mean some game characters' stories don't properly get fulfilled. But yeah, it should be a good one for Leo. (Heh, while I'll hold off until it's actually

(Part 3) (confirmed, but I still hope Gary has a spot in it again) That exhibition short was interesting, been a while since I heard those OS tracks used.

Yeah.

I wonder how history teachers in the distant future will have to teach their students about the stuff that went down in 2020. The notes those kids will be taking.

Absolutely--the cycle of trauma/abuse can be really hard to break. And yeah, every kid deserves good parents and not every adult is cut out to be that. (I don't plan on becoming a parent myself because I seriously doubt I'd be a good father, even though I like kids and get along with them--I am confident I'll be a great uncle if any of my siblings have kids though.)

Yeah, it's a really exciting time to be a Pokemon fan. It'll be fun to see where things go from here!

It's so good, it's such a heartwarming take. And Leon is proud of him! They're such a good pair of brothers, I have a real soft spot for good sibling dynamics in fiction and I love theirs.

Yeah, alas. But we've always got how the games portrayed things (and maybe the manga, I've never read past the very first few volumes). One of Pokemon's greatest strengths is that it's got so many canons, so there's ample opportunity to tell different stories focusing on different people and things! (Which is also very good for fanfic.)

I'm vaguely optimistic about it all--what's next is a mystery, but I'm just eager to see what happens! I just have a lot of enthusiasm for Pokemon. (Fingers crossed for Gary getting into the OP again, that'd be good.)

It is so cool, it was fun to see that style again! And all the little cameos! (Also led me to look up Daniel Arsham's work and it's very cool! Awesome sculptures, he's very talented.)