Kalidan: hm

Adolin: knew there was something weird about you. Ha. I mean i was amazed at the time, but surviving the fall from that bridge sabotage isn't really anything now that I've seen-

Kalidan: actually I didn't have my powers for that part

Adolin: what

Shallan: it's true he didn't

Kalidan: Lost syl right after prison, I got maybe a chip of stormlight while falling , just enough to not die, no powers the rest of the time

Adolin: how

Kalidan: I already explained the whole - with elhokar and moash -

Adolin: no, i mean, the highstorm -

Kaladin: yeah that was shallan

Shallan: shardblade cubby cut out part way up the wall

Adolin: and the chasm fiend? It really was already dead -

Shallan: no very much alive, very much tried to kill us

Adolin: and you-

Shallan: no that was kaladin

Adolin: what

Kaladin: I mean you did distract it, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything without your pattern blade

Adolin: you killed a chasm fiend. Without special powers.

Kaladin: I mean shallan-

Shallan: he jumped right in its mouth!

Adolin: i - you killed a chasm fiend. Without any other fighters. By yourself. Without radiant powers. You're - you're sure? No special abilities?

Kaladin: it was a pretty painful time, yes I'm sure. Did some spear katas. Noticeable difference without the bond with syl.

Adolin: you fought the chasm fiend. handicapped.

Kaladin: I guess? I dont know if it's handicapped considering, you know, most people don't ever breathe stormlight.

Adolin: you killed a chasm fiend singlehandedly. Without shardplate. And without any powers.

Kaladin: you're repeating yourself

Shallan: ...it was pretty impressive

Kaladin: you saw how messed up my leg got!

Adolin:

I mean I know he had a lot to deal with in the following uhhh end of world but that DID mean that there was a lot to split attention away from the returned lost radiant thing

He doesn’t remember exactly when he started it — sometime after losing the job at the pizza place and before picking up the tutoring hours; he remembered he was short for one of Aunt May’s prescriptions that month, but isn’t sure anymore which one it was. Sometime during college.

Low ebb on crime that week, which meant he wasn’t making much from the Bugle, but he did have some extra time, enough to take a deep breathand set up the encyptions on his account (he should probably go this hard for all his spiderman stuff too, but eh, it had been fine so far).

He wears a mask (no not that one, though he did consider it because, you know, it would be freaking hilarious).

He pulls...a grand, whopping total of.... $100 a month. Wahoo.

Ok, maybe a little more on average; and sometimes its up to $200! It’s just worth the fees and the time, and after a while he has to admit it’s less stressful than any of his other gigs.

At first he’s paranoid about someone finding out, both in his personal life and his superheroics (he has, like, 10 self righteous rants prepared about the moral neutrality, nay the moral Good of sex work).

(He’s a little disappointed that it never comes up.} Eventually he doesn't think about it, especially not on patrol, not any more than he thinks about the taco shop, or the GrubHob gig, or any of the bazillion odd jobs that come with working class heroics. Eventually he doesn’t think not to mention it, and the set-up was perfect for him to — ok— sue him, he might have been trying to sound cool in front of an X-Man who was laughing at his jokes— He, uh. May have forgotten. How much X-Men gossip. It’s not like it would have been a big deal had the press event not happened two days later, and— why do other people always get a laugh when they repeat his jokes anyway!

Plus! He was on maybe two hours sleep when the tabloid asked him point blank and for a moment he was so wrapped in the euphoria of a non-Bugle rag interviewing him, and also not yelling at him for damages or anything serious, that he forgot he lived in a world where sex-work was stigmatized so— yeah. Good news! His secret identities are still fine, no-one’s even figured out which OnlyAccount is his. Bad news! Because his secret identity’s still intact, and noone’s figured out which twink is spiderpowered, he’s still only going to make $134 this month, which is barely more than minimum wage when you include prep time.

yeah an obsessive booknerd unlicensed time traveler actually did that with the help of their drunk historian friend (2400s historians have access to time travel but it’s so tightly regulated that the average grant processing timeline is about equal to the average human lifetime)

totally illegal but like i said drunk and kept egging each other on at all the points where ONE of them could have been saying ‘wait this is a terrible idea’ (but the eighteen thirties — the eighteen thirties totally gets shafted on research applications - and I’m up against Margret with his fucking Louis the fourteenth - why the FUCK do we need to interview Louis the Fourteenth’s servants again, we’re gonna start giving those people seizures if we keep— )

which mean that the interview was a lot less structured than it should have been, half gushing over beautiful prose and the timelessness of the human condition, half detailed questions about “what do you mean "The Church”, there are so many churches in history” and “why were your sewers so big, was it a religious thing? Or did you defecate more?”

didn’t mean to come off as critical or accusing but if you were a historian and you had one (1) chance to talk to your dead primary source and were also drunk on space future tequila I dare you to resist shaking the guy by the shoulders a bit while crying about explaining cultural context.