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#and that he just loves his country

offshore-brinicle · 2 months

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Can I say though Yi Sang and Aeng-du's instant connection and solidarity is one of my favorite things about this event, it's just so sweet and also so special how they find that feeling of safety just from also knowing someone from the homeland they have left behind while they remain so out of place in The City. It stands out so much when the general mentality of the world is "everyone for themselves" but S Corp's people and those who had to leave it behind seem to have found so much understanding and sympathy with each other.

Overall I find it so interesting and unique that more than any other District in The City the people of District 19 feel such genuine attachment to the land and its heritage, not just with Aeung-du, Kim and the rest of the Blade Lineage but going back to Dongbaek and Dongrang's EGOs too, it's just so special to see that very united sense of culture and heritage in a world that despite being multicultural and multilingual seems to have largely left such notions behind

#project moon #Limbus Company #lcb Yi Sang #lcb Aeng-du #Canto 5.5 spoilers #lcb Dongbaek #lcb Dongrang #I love S Corp lore so much....#but also I think it's funny PM accidentally hit Yi Sang with the Funny Foreigner trope with this being the explanation for his speech #even though he's literally supposed to be the representative of their home country #but it also just hits very close to home to me and my experiences so it makes me happy to see #limbus company meta

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dancingbycandlelight · 11 months

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so, apparently the finale is called “so long, farewell” which has so many layers and connections i can’t deal with it. firstly it’s another musical lyric as a title (this time unedited from its original text unlike the la cage episode) and we already know that ted loves a musical.

secondly it brings back the julie andrews conversation in episode three which was possibly one of my favourite interactions of the entire season.

but thirdly and (possibly most importantly??) the entire plot of the sound of music is that maria is sent somewhere she originally doesn’t want to go, she gets there and feels instantly out of her depth. the team children try to force her out and the adults don’t take her seriously but gradually, through her unwavering positivity and gentle care she makes an impact on every single person. kids and adults alike, all changed for the better because of her guidance. but then!! maria falls in love, thinks she is no longer needed and she Leaves. she runs, goes back to the convent where she feels safe but then, after a honest conversation and a realisation of her own purpose and the importance of being true to her heart she Returns! she comes back, her role slightly changed but still just as important and involved.

all this time I’ve been worried that ted will be like mary poppins and leave when he is no longer needed, when he’s served a purpose. but this episode title has me feeling (hoping) that maybe he’s like a different julie andrews character after all..

#this is a shot in the dark pinning all my hopes on the wall with my eyes shut kind of theory but god I hope it comes true #the only way ted is allowed to leave is if he comes right back (preferably without leaving the country. don’t even get on the plane ted!)#i have too many thoughts and emotions about this silly football show #ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #he doesn’t even need to fall in love (although that would be nice 🫡) he just needs to realise his purpose and Stay!!!#you know who also loves a musical?? nate! who is also probably returning

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youareunbearable · 6 months

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Tonight is a great night to think fondly on Haleth and Caranthir. I think they would make such a funny couple.

Imagine??? The Big Tall Broody Scowling Kinslayer Who Is Also The One Reason The Economy Is Functioning At All Between The Different Races/Elvish Factions Who Probably Is Dying To Tell King Thingol/His Cousins To Fuck Off At Any Given Moment and hes looming over this short human lady??

This short human lady that Can, Will, and Already Has told him to pull the stick out of his ass and bullies him into doing normal townsfolk chores??? Lord Carathir, Master Economist and a Weaver with the skill to rival his grandmother, sitting there and darning socks cause his tiny mortal wife told him too. His reward will be a kiss on the cheek but she'll scold him while he does it because he said a mean thing about his Cousin Finrod in his last letter to her while he KNEW Finrod was visiting her.

Only three things in the world keep Caranthir in check: His Eldest Brother, The Lord Himring, The Current Head of the Feanorian Faction of Noldor, and Former High King; the idea that if he didn't complete his brothers' tax paperwork and run the Trade Routes then the Nolofinweans and Arafinweans would become more economincally important And We Cant Have That; and his 4'11 wife he met bloodied and wrathful on a battlefield screaming at an orc over the corpse of her brother-- it was love at first sight

#caranthir #haleth #halenthir #silmarillion #amber rambles #I honestly just love them they would be such a power couple like i can see them at banquets looking untouchable #but theyre just bitching about the other guests over wine #In my mind they are the country/goth couple of the year #Cara is used to things like this cause he grew up with Feanor and Nerdanel and they don't believe in servants #and also spent a lot of time camping while he was growing up so Cara is used to roughing it he just Doesnt Like To #but here is his tiny mortal wife like Oh My Poor Spoiled Richling Of A Husband lets get u doing some Real Work #he doesn't correct her cause he thinks its funny when she does it in front of other Noldor #cause everyone knows the Feanorians are by all accounts the least spoiled and down to earth out of all the Finweans #Cause everyone knew what Crown Prince Feanor was like

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askivv · 4 months

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gonna go to sleep, please look after my boy while im away !! he's definitely not planning anything, i swear ^^'

#i love his skin. makes you think he's just a little guy before he little guys the shit out of your country #i miss him

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micamicster · 1 month

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Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

#lmao with this and the country playlists this blog has been on a real raven boys kick the last few days #anyway... enjoy?#i need to make a tag for my writing like... generally but until then #super rich kids #this really isn't about anything and had nothing else attached to it #it was just a random scene that stood alone so like...#probably the best thing for me to start out this 'posting unfinished stuff' project #i feel like gansey does not appear at his best in this fic but that's not a reflection of how much i love him!#he's trying his best to keep this family together! and the other 15 year olds are no help at all!#ronan lynch #adam parrish #the raven cycle #pynch #tw suicide mention

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turtleblogatlast · 6 months

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Leo has a lot of love for his comics, constantly rereading them (mainly for the art) and overall having a lot of sentimental value for them, especially because reading them is something he likes to do when he’s just existing in a space with his family.

And then the Shredder happens. And then the invasion happens. And then life in general happens. And, suddenly, most of Leo’s comics are either too damaged to fix or gone entirely.

But it’s fine! He’s growing up, so he doesn’t need them anymore. So what if it’s one more bit of childhood lost? It’s fine - it’s fine.

Enter Mikey.

Mikey, who is so, so empathetic and cares so, so much about his family - he notices, and he decides to do something about it.

Unfortunately, most of the comics are vintage, and completely unavailable in any form but digital.

Good thing Mikey is an artist.

So over the course of a month, Mikey secretly takes the time to painstakingly recreate Leo’s favorite Jupiter Jim volume. It’s hard, matching a style like that with only grainy online scans to go off of, but he manages.

He gives it to Leo on a mundane day, out of the blue, with a sunshine smile on his face.

Now- Mikey does all this secretly.

But Leo is very, very perceptive, especially in regard to his brothers hiding things from him. So of course he finds the unfinished work in progress comic about three days in.

He does NOT cry. He doesn’t.

Just as he doesn’t cry when Mikey presents him with the finished thing, nope, not a tear in sight.

His eyes are just wetter than normal as he gives Mikey the absolute biggest hug he could possibly give.

(And if Mikey finds the fridge and pantry always stacked with special ingredients only found in specific parts of the world whenever he so much as mentions wanting to try them, that’s neither here nor there.)

#rottmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rise leo #rise mikey #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #Leo portaling to another country and spending hours desperately trying to figure out which of the beans he found was the one Mikey mentioned #mikey spending hours on one panel on the days his arms are acting up #and he gets so frustrated because he HAS to make it perfect for Leo #and Leo just so happens to text him hey let’s go skateboarding!#(totally not because Leo noticed and decided to make Mikey take a break)#listen I love this duo sm they’re just so good #they mean so much to me sobs

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