@people who get pissy when mcu doesn’t follow comic book canon to the letter, have you considered the following alternatives:

- Petting a dog

- Looking at the clouds

- Eating some toast

- Going back to your comics and being happy about interesting, alternative storylines instead of acting like you’re somehow superior to people who haven’t read them

- Taking a nap


Weird thought.

Does Chris Evans know that he’s a super hot macho daddy af man?

Or does he think he’s ugly?

Because baby you’re far from ugly you fucking beautiful man.

Gangsta:CURSED. chapter 1 summary/translation

Hi everyone! Since no one has translated or summarized Gangsta:CURSED. yet, I figured I could try to do it because there are probably others who would like to know what’s going on? I got the chapter 1 scans from the lovely fuckyeahgangsta blog (here), so I’ll be following their page numbering.

There’ll be a summary at the top (for the lazy readers) and a detailed translation below. As usual, my Japanese is not perfect, so take everything with a grain of salt: I wasn’t sure about every single line (and even had to rope in my dear fellow Japanese-studying friends), so my translation is certainly not a 100% correct, but you should be able to get the gist of it. Do PM me if you think there’s anything wrong or if you want to correct me. Support Kamo Syuhei and Kohske by buying the first volume of Gangsta:CURSED (you can get the first volume at CDJapan).

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5 times Varric was hit in the face, and 1 time he wasn’t.

Cassarric. Brief mentions of violence (his poor nose) and swearing.


It hurt. Of course it fucking hurt. The pain radiated across his entire face until he wanted to vomit because of it. The blood flowing freely from his now broken nose felt hot and sticky, the taste metallic and sharp on his tongue.

He lifted a sleeve to dab at it, though it would do no good. He was certain of that. Still he tried, tried to salvage a bit of dignity. Because that was what had been truly wounded. Not his nose or his face, but his pride.

Varric glanced up with watering eyes at Bartrand, who shaking his hand and flexing his fingers as he stood over him.

“That all ya got?” Varric asked, defiant despite being sprawled on the floor with blood gushing everywhere.

“That’s all I’ve got for now. It should be enough to remind you who saved this family. Who has scarified for this family, and who leads it.” With that he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Thankfully they were alone. No one privy to a family ‘disagreement.’

Now that their mother was gone, Varric doubted it would be the last. Levering himself off the floor, he stumbled back to his room. He knew should find someone to help mend his nose, set it right, but what did it matter? What did any of it matter?

Besides, Varric reasoned later as he cleaned himself up, the broken nose gave him a roguish air. Why not run with it?


Varric had been involved in far too many scrapes for his liking, but given his life and current occupation, it wasn’t all that surprising. Even less so when you took the rabble he called friends into account.

This particular fight though? This was adding insult to injury.


The brawl had started simply enough, over a game of cards. Several players were already well into their cups, and the Hanged Man had been particularly rowdy to begin with. So when Isabela racked up a tidy sum, those men were none too happy.

First it had been shouted insults and accusations, then someone had thrown a mug, a chair had been knocked over… and then shit had gone sideways from there. Only that wasn’t what had Varric hopping around with a hand clapped over his nose, eyes watering profusely in pain.

“Varric I'm–” Hawke started to apologize, looking exceedingly bashful.

“Don’t say a word!” he growled, voice muffled by his hand. Varric glared at Hawke, then at Hawke’s staff… which the mage was doing a very poor job of hiding. Varric  was too upset to notice the entire brawl had stopped, everyone frozen in place and staring at him.

Varric lowered his hand, could feel a small amount of blood from a gash across the bridge. “You know,” he drawled, eyeing Hawke closely. “When I said I liked the red stripe, I didn’t meant I wanted to match.”

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