#ALL governments regardless of their political leanings are never going to be able to do every single thing they put into their manifestos

[hammerbacks]

someone just sent a link to this into a whatsapp group i’m in and are people seriously this ignorant about how politics works?!

[ahiddenpath]

Life Talk

Discussing how I'm dealing with Things beneath the cut.

I doubt I'll be able to say anything about the US election results that you haven't seen a million times before. I wasn't sure if I should bother commenting. I'm not sure where I am in the processing stages, so... Forgive me if my tone is weird. I definitely feel weird.

First thing's first; I've anticipated this outcome since people started blaming Biden for inflation. That's a typical thing in American politics; whoever is in charge currently is blamed for everything, which often causes the presidency to swap from D to R and back, regardless of where problems began. Of course, if voters really were worried about the economy, well... The Trump tariffs are a laughably, horrifically bad solution. But... I don't think the average American voter understands tariffs. So like. Whelp. There's a very real reason why Rs want to gut public education. Well, there are several, but yeah, a less educated populace is easier to fleece.

Obviously there are a million other horrible things going on here; if I tried to get into them all, I would never finish this post. But I can't say I'm experiencing shock or betrayal. I knew many Americans hate women, POC, the queer community, and others more than they care about their own self interests. Although most, I think, are simply not educated enough to understand that their self interests are at risk, and many others were sucked into the far right cult stuff years ago. Rs always scream about the liberal media, but so much American media (and social media!) is owned by the right, or is at least paid off by them. I'm wondering, as education continues to fail, especially given the next administration, will Americans have any hope of thinking beyond whatever Facebook posts and news in the pocket of (or in fear of) the right tells them?

We're in a bad way, but this didn't happen on the day of the election. We've been living in this environment for years, now. Are things about to get worse? Yes, of course. I think it's an important time to remember who your friends and loved ones are, to lean on them and check in on them, to do stupid fun stuff with them. And I think it's time to step away from the doom scrolling and inventing horrible what-if scenarios. Obviously this is a scary time; I'm not trying to diminish that. But spiraling causes pain now, PLUS more pain later if the bad thing comes to pass.

I've seen some interesting posts with actionable ideas. Get a passport ASAP, look into moving (to blue states, out of climate change buffer areas, or internationally if you can, although obviously that is not easy nor readily available), think about if your industry will be impacted by tariffs and sweeping federal government layoffs, get sterilized if you know you don't want kids, get that medical appointment you've been pushing off. Actionable stuff is productive! Spiraling isn't. Although uhhh, that's easier said than done. I'm just trying to push myself in a better direction, here.

As for me, here are some fractured snippets of how I've been feeling:

-Mourning. Shit, I'm 35. Trump will be in office until I'm 39. My child bearing window is closing. Are we not having a family bc of orange oompah loompah and his country and world destroying policies?

-I'm aware that I will be buffered from some things, purely because of how I look, where I live, etc. And the fact that I'm married to a safe man who adores me affords some protection. I feel weird about it, but must acknowledge it, so I don't get uhh. Disconnected from people who are more vulnerable than me. I think that Democratic politicians who mean well, but don't experience what so many Democrat constituents go through/suffer with for various reasons, becoming so... Out of touch and unrelatable... Um, I think that played a role in getting us here. It's difficult for these politicians to organize or affect change when their life experience is... Just overall safer by default. And this applies to people who aren't politicians, too, just on a less official level.

Those of us who are comparatively safer for various reasons need to hear people who are less safe and acknowledge that some things impact us differently, and we need to prioritize what the most vulnerable need.

-On the day before the election, I started Googling how to become a witch and books on witchcraft. I did it with a wry grin, because I'm aware that magic/witchcraft/New Age stuff/tarot/crystals/mysticism/etc surge in popularity during times of political and economic strife. Meaning that they are SUPER FUCKING POPULAR right now, and have been for a while. You might know that I'm a Seeker (tarot practitioner), but I'm also a scientist. I'm... not the most spiritual person.

But, like, FUCK IT. Time to become a witch. Time to creep into the wild woods and make a hut and live with the bears. TIME TO CURSE SOME MF-ers!

I told my reasonable friend. Here is our conversation:

Hidden: So I'm googling witch books.

Friend: No. We don't turn to magic in the face of tragedy. We drink hot cocoa.

Hidden: FINE I GUESS (hrmph!!!!)

I told another friend the same:

Friend: How are you holding up?

Hidden: Googling how to become a witch. So... yeah.

Friend: How... how DO you become a witch?

Hidden: IDK, that's why I'm googling it.

Sigh. I might still buy that book on the history of witchcraft and paganism. What, it's history! xD

-Otherwise, I've been weirdly fortunate that work has been so demanding. I've been learning more about in silico analysis lately (using huge protein databases to predict how developable a new antibody based drug might be, which residues to change, and how immunogenic your antibody might be). I'm learning and doing so much that I come home exhausted, but like. Maybe that's the lack of sleep on Tuesday night talking.

-I've been leaning into the animal of myself these last few days. The soft, squishy, vulnerable meat of me. Sleep and work and food and relying on my partner bond with my husband. Listening to his heartbeat, feeling the low rumble of his voice when we cuddle, letting skin on skin release safe and happy hormones.

-I think I need to get off reddit and its eternal doom. Like, permanently. Tumblr and Insta are the only other social media I use, but Tumblr is all digimon and Insta is all cats and dolls. I'm hoping the political posts that aren't primarily actionable die down on Tumblr soon, so I don't need to spend less time here, but obviously people need to post what they are going to post. If I'm here less, this is likely why.

Most of all, do what you can to beat back despair. I don't really have comforting words, except that you're not alone. Other people DO think and feel the way you do now. Let's all try to be there for each other, distract one another, and maybe have some hugs and hot drinks. Or like... start a coven, idk.

You are loved. Ask for help if you need to, offer it if you can.

[mindweasels]

passport

When I went to check in at the polls on the 5th, the poll worker asked for ID and I handed him my passport. It quickly became apparent that he had never seen a U.S. Passport before and that he didn't know what to do with it. He nudged the person next to him, and asked for assistance, but the guy just shrugged. At that point I dug around in my bag and found my non-driver ID. The truth is, they see almost entirely driver's licenses in that position.

The thing is, when you're different, you are constantly aware that systems are not built for you. If they are built for you, they're not--to use a harsh term--idiot proof. By which I mean, people just don't have the skills or abilities to communicate with you and meet you where you're at. I don't feel especially anxious or alienated around elections. I feel anxious and alienated all the time. It's very rare for me to be able to talk to a person for even ten minutes without experiencing that same sense of alienation that normal people feel about elections. There is always some fundamental thing about my existence they don't know, don't believe, or don't agree with. Every moment I have to depend on other humans is precarious and frustrating.

I used to want to be involved in politics because positions of power or leadership made me feel less vulnerable. But of course, the nail who sticks up will be hammered down, regardless of how much money or power one has.

And I'm so angry that I don't always want other people to be free, or safe, or happy. In particular the people that make me feel misunderstood and alienated--I don't want them to get away with it. Other people and their needs feel like a threat to me. They're generally going to create spaces that exclude me and structures that oppress me, regardless of their party affiliation or professed ideology. I don't trust them to take care of me and I don't trust me to take care of them.

Sometimes, though, I do want other people to be free and safe and happy. As if making them so could make things a little safer for me. And when I work on it, it does feel rewarding---like connecting to other people. But then over time it becomes more and more apparent that I'm giving but not getting back. The asymmetry of it, it hurts. The list of people I trusted to care about my problems never included either Donald Trump or Kamala Harris. It certainly doesn't include any local well meaning, left-leaning activists.

I volunteer, and I find it enjoyable, so if you find it enjoyable, by all means. But I feel like the anarchist response to this election being "well we just have to volunteer harder" is misplaced. At some point the government takes trillions of dollars and gives almost nothing of value. We have to destroy these people who don't listen and don't care. We have to destroy them.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Heartache

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Soldat!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, captivity, torture, brainwashing, delusional Bucky.

Words: 2535.

Summary: You don't need the one whose name was Bucky Barnes, a hundred years old broken man who returned back to the world that couldn't offer him anything but regrets and nightmares. You need your Soldier, the one who won't return to you even if you throw Bucky back into that iron chair and fry his brains for the thirtieth time.

P.S. I have to say it turned out darker than I expected. Attention! Bucky is free from his programming, but he does not heal as he should. 

__________________

“You look old.”

You decide to give him the pleasure of hearing your voice. It sounds dull from behind the glass when Bucky comes closer, looking at someone he recognizes too well, but you do not recognize a man he became, nothing reminding you of the one with whom you once shared your bed.

You know what the man looking at you through the glass thinks. You didn’t age a day since the last time he saw you, and while he knows why, it still surprises him to see a young woman watching him calmly as if all those years didn't pass.

“You miss your star.” You say, tilting your head to the side and narrowing your eyes at him when you see his new vibranium arm.

“It doesn't matter.” His answer is immediate, and Bucky isn't surprised to hear the raw anger in his own voice: he is no longer the Soldier you knew, and he is worried he won't find a way to interact with you. You don't seem too interested in Bucky Barnes and whoever he works for despite the fact you are hardly HYDRA's soldier yourself.

What he doesn't know is that you still stay the soldier you have been once, and nothing will ever change that regardless of whoever Bucky Barnes sends your way to cure you from HYDRA's conditioning.

"I'm glad you remember me."

You find it peculiar: a man who has been trying so hard to get rid of anything that ties him to the Winter Soldier has been looking for you for years, finally tracking you down, capturing you and bringing you here as if your pure existence didn't remind him of the worst years of his life. What did he expect to find? A comfort in someone who once had been paired with him just for the sake of research?

"Don't bother, Mr. Barnes. There's nothing there left for you."

You see he's taken aback because you have hit a nerve. Apparently, James Buchanan Barnes thought the connection between the two of you remained the same, and he could dig up the feelings that had long been buried. Stupid, you think, he's forgetting the most important part: he is not the man you formed the bond with. You don't need the one whose name was Bucky Barnes, a hundred years old broken man who returned back to the world that couldn't offer him anything but regrets and nightmares. You need your Soldier, the one who won't return to you even if you throw Bucky back into that iron chair and fry his brains for the thirtieth time.

It doesn't matter. After all those years you didn't believe in happy endings, and even if the man watching you through the glass think he is going to get one after getting out, he is clearly deluding himself.

Averting his eyes, Bucky clears his throat and changes the topic, trying to give himself a false hope he can mend things. ��I will convince Shuri to treat you. She helped me break through the conditioning, and she will do the same to you."

You could raise your brow at him, but maintaining this facade is tiresome and doesn't make sense. "I see you have no idea how much my conditioning differs from yours. You can't break through it. It's embedded in me."

"I thought so, but I got rid of mine. You can do it too, I'm sure."

Although you see him trying to assure you, Bucky's getting agitated because he really has no idea what HYDRA did to you. He couldn't know it when he still was the Soldier, but now the lack of his knowledge leads you to the thought your former masters destroyed whatever info they still kept - they foresaw he would search for you.

"Your brainwashing was flimsy. I've always wondered how come you were considered HYDRA'S greatest assassin when you just needed to see your dear friend once to start getting your memories back." You snort, knowing Bucky would feel a slight hint of jealousy in your voice, but you don't care: you've never hid from him you only needed the Winter Soldier, and he was gone.

Bucky doesn't know what to say as a part of him wants to scream there was nothing flimsy about electroconvulsive therapy he went through over and over again, but he looks at you and sees how different you are from him, having no memories of your own, not knowing even your name or the place where you came from. It doesn't scare him, but the fact you had long merged with the Soldier you've become does. You don't separate yourself from her the way he did. In fact, the Soldier had completely absorbed your true persona, and Bucky doesn’t know the real you. He only knows RED, a Soldat who at one point was been created by HYDRA just like all of them were. Despite searching for the information about your past for years, he found nothing, not even the year when you became a part of the organization. Bucky doesn’t think you did it willingly judging by the fact how you reacted when he had been training you among the other Soldiers, but he can’t be sure.

You’re a ghost. None of the masters who had been giving you orders know anything about you except your specialization and things you can do. Bucky supposes there were once people who knew the truth, but all of them are probably dead since the ones he has captured were utterly useless. His only hope is Shuri who might bring whatever is left somewhere deep inside your mind to the surface, yet he isn’t sure she will take you: the more you talk, the more it becomes clear you will not ask her to do it willingly, and Shuri won’t like that. The redemption can only be granted to someone who asks and works for it.

You don’t seem the type.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks you quietly, his forehead almost touching the glass separating you two when Bucky watches you with that pathetic expression of his. “If I let you go, you will return to people you serve. If I bring you to police, you will end up in a lab in the hands of the government.”

You allow him to see your smile as you observe him, desperately hoping you will tell him you will come back to the good guys and stay with him, playing a role of his funny little girlfriend because Bucky Barnes cannot allow himself to form an adequate relationship with any woman who has not been tainted the way he was. It probably seems so tragic to him that he had to spent years trying to catch you.

Although the chair you’re bound to doesn’t let you stand and come over to him, you still lean closer to the window, wearing the same polite but welcoming smile you used to lure your targets closer to you.

“I want you back in that chair, going through the whole process of brainwashing again until you become the Soldat you’ve been. I want you standing with me and feeling as much pain as I did until your sensitivity goes down to zero, and you no longer remember those funny friends of yours. I know you won’t trade your freedom and whatever else you have after getting out, but I don’t need James Buchanan Barnes or White Wolf or whoever you have become. I am RED of HYDRA, and I have bonded with the Winter Soldier you buried, Bucky.”

When he leaves, the massive metal door getting locked ten times the least, you stare at the grey wall beside the glass. You wonder how getting the privilege of remembering his past made him so miserable, a pathetic, broken man who did not understand how lucky he had been, not only breaking free from HYDRA’s grip but gaining his true identity back. He probably pitied himself, poor little boy who had been broken by the big bad guys. He did not understand that all other soldiers who came after him, except the suicide squad made with Stark’s serum, had been turned into ashes. There was nothing left to break in them - and you either.

_______________________

Shuri wasn’t happy to hear your story just like he thought, but Bucky couldn’t lie to her, hoping she would understand. Of course, she didn’t, telling him outright it was impossible to treat somebody who didn’t want to be treated. While it was also inhuman, forcing you to do something against your will just like HYDRA has been doing all these years, it also erased the possibility to use the same methods she chose when she treated Bucky.

“You don’t understand,” she tells him, shaking her head, “it’s not that I don’t want to help, but without her cooperating it’s close to impossible. They didn’t use the same ways to program her just like they did to you.”

He isn’t satisfied with her answer even though he knows Shuri wants to help. He can’t leave it like that, leave you to your fate, return you where you belonged, and he keeps asking who or what may be able to help you until she finally tells him something about electrical stimulation of the brain that can awake memories that you have buried. Shuri immediately regrets it, seeing how Bucky’s face lights up.

“It is a very complicated process that requires an extensive medical knowledge. Worse, even if performed correctly, this technique can traumatize her even further. Please don’t do this. We don’t even know if this method will be effective.”

Bucky doesn’t promise her anything, though a part of him feels guilty he made her tell him this. He just has to do it: undoubtedly, HYDRA or whoever you work for now will force you to go through the brainwashing process again, and whatever treatment Shuri told him about can’t be worse than this. If Bucky does everything right, you might stand a chance to live like he does, away from the horrors of the war you had been a part of ever since the organization abducted you. Even if you don’t want it, clearly it is an effect of the memory suppressing machine: any sane human being wants to have a normal life, right?

It takes him months to find and steal the equipment he needs, leaving no traces - it reminds him of the days when he had been under HYDRA’s control, but he does what he has to. Learning how to use the machine is a much more complicated task, but Bucky is grateful for that serum-enhanced brain of his: he nearly swallows the information from the books in record time, reading about sending a burst of electrical energy into your cerebral cortex to stimulate your brain and finally retrieve your memories. Now he knows what Shuri meant by traumatizing, but this doesn’t stop him either. He does what he has to do.

“What is your name?” He repeats after listening to your screams for ten or maybe twenty minutes, your body going limp in the black, cold chair when you open your mouth, breathing heavily, your face stained with tears and sweat.

“Dolores.” You say immediately, knowing he will repeat the procedure if you keep silent, your heat beating wildly. “I grew up... on a small farm in Iowa... I had an older sister... and slept with a big teddy bear with a red ribbon...”

“You are lying.” He says simply, and a jolt of electricity cuts through your head, nearly electrocuting you while you scream again and again.

For some reason he always feels it when you say what he wants to hear instead of the truth. What he doesn’t understand is that the truth he wants has been told months ago: you did not remember and you were not going to remember anything from your past. It was stupid to try. There was nothing left of you, and while he thought he was resurrecting a human in you, he was simply destroying your body that was regenerating every night after the therapy.

When you receive a new jolt, shaking and screaming, tears streaming down your face until they fall down onto your already wet t-shirt, you whisper through gritted teeth, “Either I will have you as my Soldat, or I will not have you at all.”

Bucky presses the button.

__________________________

When he is finished he takes you to a bath in the room next to your cell. You almost lose the ability to move for an hour or two, giving him time to prepare you: Bucky undresses you and slowly lowers your body in the tub filled with warm water, watching that you take a comfortable position and don’t slip, effectively suffocating. Today he had almost gone too far, risking to fry your brain: you still refused to give up even after two months of therapy you have gone through, and Bucky isn’t too happy.

Pouring a strawberry-scented shampoo on his palm, Bucky starts to carefully wash your hair that grew longer in the months of captivity, watching that neither shampoo nor the foam gets in your eyes. You are nearly breathless: the serum they gave you made you less stronger than him, but your regeneration abilities are on a whole different level, and soon your body will adjust and erase the damage made.

He asks himself whether keep using the machine makes sense since he didn’t make much progress, the programming still very much in you even after all those incredibly painful sessions. What if you were right from the start? What if there was nothing to remember, and all he could do was to leave you in the state you were in before he destroyed whatever was left of you?

No, he can’t do it. Leaving you means taking away your chance to ever get back to normal life, and he can’t force himself to do that.

Never in his life Bucky Barnes will admit letting you go meant never getting his own happy ending the way he wants it.

“Why reinventing the wheel when you can make it so much easier?” All of a sudden, your hoarse voice whimpers in his ear when you look at him, tiredly moving your head up. “Do what they’ve always done. Use the programming to give me an order.”

A part of him is shocked with the revelation: he wanted to be neither the Soldier nor the one giving him commands. But the other part makes him realize how much easier it would be if he just used what has already been done to you instead of relying on an obviously ineffective method that damaged your mind and body. Of course, he has nothing in common with Karpov sending him on the assassination missions. Bucky only wants you to learn how to become human again, free you from HYDRA once and for all, give you the life you undoubtedly wanted. Even if he uses the same method the organization did until he finds a better way to undo the programming, it is still for your own good.

___________

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[banchieplaysminecraft]

How Aaron could’ve been a good character and why he wasn’t

I’ve been annoyed at this for a good long while and i’ve finally gotten around to talk about it so here we gooo

please note that, though i watched all of mcd s2 while it was coming out, i haven’t rewatched it all the way through (i’m a little less than halfway through s2) so bear with me

now, we can all agree that we didn’t really have a lot of beef with aaron in s1. was it annoying that aph was keeping secrets?  yes. did we actively enjoy the fact that this random edgelord showed up with all of this convenient information? sure. but did we actively dislike him? i don’t think so

im sure that some people did, but it was a far cry from the universal grudge that we as a fandom hold. the only question is, what changed?

the answer is pretty simple: he got annoying

there is no greater sin that a content creator can commit than to make a character tedious--especially a character that the fans are meant to root for. i once heard someone say that there is no such thing as a good character and a bad character, there are only interesting characters or boring characters

now, before the s1 finale, aaron wasn’t annoying because he made sense. we didn’t know a lot about his backstory, but we knew just enough to not have a lot of questions while also understanding why he as a character worked. he spied on zane, he got information, and he got away with it because, according to every government in existence, he was dead. he was doing it to avenge his village, which seemed to be his reason for doing most things.

 that was basically it, because that was all that we needed. he didn’t answer personal questions because that could reveal his identity, and he didn’t hang around phoenix drop proper because he knew that there was a spy in the village who might figure him out. all in all, he was a very logical character

what changed? his motivation

after the gang sealed zane in the irene dimension, may i ask WHAt the fuck was his reason for staying??? nothing! what was his reason for keeping his identity a secret? pretty much nothing! it made no sense!!

according to all of his characterization as a *~lone wolf~*, it would make the most sense for him to strike out on his own and do whatever the fuck, maybe occasionally popping back in to warn the main characters of some impending doom, maybe hold a giant fuckass sword to someone’s throat again, maybe find some other tyrant to destroy.

but he didn’t, and it made no sense

this was made exponentially worse because he was an ~edgy dark angsty boy with a sad past and a dead wife~ and because he seemed to be able to do no wrong. he rarely, if ever, communicated with the rest of the group, and he often just went out on his own--and yet, most people seemed to trust him unconditionally?? he always seems to show up at the right place and the right time with little to no explanation as to how, and no one ever questions it. sure, laurance and dante had some doubts and even spoke up once or twice, but laurance’s grievances are mostly due to being in love with aph, and literally no one else ever asked anything, despite not even knowing his fucking name

and, of course, everyone thinks that he’s super hot and aphmau falls in love with him and then he dies a tragic death in a moment of self-sacrifice that really wasn’t all that heroic because he left his wife and child behind

i mean, come on

THAT BEING SAID he had soooo muuch potentiaalllllll

LET ME EXPLAIN

during s1, his role in the story was the spy--and he was very good at it, because everyone thought that he was dead!! how are you gonna blame a dead man for anything without sounding crazy! no one knew his name or his face or anything--and they should’ve kept it that way because, surprise!! theyre still at war in s2. sure, it’s a different war, but it’s still! a fucking! war! and like 70% of war is ESPIONAGE and INFORMATION and STRATEGY, havent you ever heard the phrase KNOWING IS HALF THE BATTLE??? they literally had possibly the best spy that they knew of and instead of actually putting his skills to work he just dramatically leans on trees and sits in the shadows??? WHAT

he clearly had ways to get into high places, since he had somehow gotten his hands on the amulet in s1, and he used to be a lord so he would’ve known things about POLITICS and KINGDOM STUFF--i mean, we all know that aphmau knows jack shit about this world and how it works.

what SHOULDVE HAPPENED IS:

after they all get back to the overworld, he leaves the party. idc if it’s immediately after or if he waits a few days, but he leaves regardless. every once in awhile, we hear of him popping up in various places, and we run into him a few times. he informs the gang of what he’s heard, maybe tags along on some missions. he still shows up in random places the way that he does in canon, but since he’s not based it phoenix drop i think that it makes a bit more sense, and he occasionally pops back into phoenix drop whenever he’s in the area or needs time to rest and recharge, and stays an informant for aphmau & her crew. as things pick up, he slowly becomes a more commonly-seen member of aphmau’s inner circle. 

throughout this whole period, he finally starts to come to terms with the death of his wife & their village, and he slowly starts to share more with the group--nothing big, just details here and there--and he actually starts to develop *gasp* a personality. i’d like to imagine that he gets closer with laurance, dante, and katelyn instead of only ever talking to aphmau. i don’t think that he’s ever super talkative, but he starts to be a little less quiet & closed off. 

at this point, he’s either told them his name or (preferred) they all have a list of nicknames that they cycle through to address him. sooner or later he starts to help with the building of phoenix drop and the alliance, taking on duties that are more akin to his old role as lord. he either phases the espionage out of his schedule or ghostwrites all of the legislation, and falls more easily into his new roles

i don’t really care if he ever ends up with aphmau or not, but if he does then that also happens at some point or another, but i, at least, would no longer be angry at that outcome

However, this whole plot would require everyone in the story to take literally all of their roles in this literal government that they’re building seriously, and we all know that that’s never going to happen, but i can dream /s

Tl;dr, if aaron actually used his strengths and skills to be a useful member of this alliance instead of randomly showin up and dramatically hitting things with his giant fuckoff sword, he’d be so much more tolerable

[starswornoaths]

On the Rocks

Commission for @anorptron! Thank you so much for your patronage! :D

Set during early 4.0, the Warrior of Light ventures to his home after suffering a recent defeat. In search of a balm for his wounds, he finds an opportunistic noble yielding proverbial salt instead.

Fortunate, then, that his family had thought of that.

Word count: 4,743

~*~

Despite the defeat that dogged every step traveled back to Ishgard, there was a strange, tentative sort of merriment in the air of Manor de Fortemps. The High House had been scheduled to host an event marking progress in the Houses of the Lords and Commons— to say that the Alliance’s defeat in Rhalgr’s Reach had been poorly timed would be a gross understatement. 

It didn't matter how many times Edmont and his brothers reassured him otherwise, Sage felt responsible for how thin the margin for political error had become in the span of days. Even as much as he tried to detach himself from the minutiae of the politicking that came with the day to day of government— and the Alliance’s military coordination, no less— it was impossible for him to not be acutely aware of how easily this initial loss could be used to twist the Ishgardian public against the war effort— and, by proxy, all of the progress they had bled and lost for.

A lurching churned Sage’s gut. His throat tightened in that warning sort of way that came with nausea. Before it could fully clench around his neck, he swallowed the feeling down with a drink from his glass. Though there was nothing in it to burn away the mauldin thoughts clouding his head, the sweetness of the fruit nectar was still enjoyable all the same.

Sage almost wished he was permitted to drink tonight. He didn’t even necessarily like the stuff, mind; Edmont hadn’t brought out his good stock of sweet liquor, after all. He’d known the company he’d be hosting tonight was largely unpleasant, bless the man, and instead saved what few alcoholic drinks Sage actually liked for another gathering. He instead tried to focus on the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel; whatever nonsense he might have to endure at this party would be worth it, to spend time with those he was closest to— with much better drinks in hand.

In truth, while Sage was still far from enthused about alcohol, it was hard not to look forward to those after parties, at least a little: once all but Aymeric and himself had been seen out for the night, they’d all sequester themselves in the lounge, to keep out of the staff’s hair, while they all unwound with, “the good bottles.” It had been a tradition among the Fortemps men—one Edmont had insisted kept his sanity—for years, long before Sage had met them. But Sage was promptly folded into those nightcap conversations, and Aymeric not far behind him, once Edmont had finally managed to catch him on his way out the door to last Starlight’s service in the Congregation, and would brook no refusals of his offer.

And that had been that: whenever House Fortemps was host for a formal event, regardless of scale, everyone managed to plaster on pleasant smiles and fashion themselves the very perfect picture of politicians and patriots alike, bearing the brunt of snide comments and would-be detractors attempting to smear their good names with grace and stoicism.

These days, it was one of the few pleasures Sage allowed himself, to have his newfound family all gather in the lounge to decompress. It was its own sort of happiness, expressing himself among others, who were themselves letting down their own masks.

Aymeric liked to play bartender, likely out of a need to earn his drinks, and Sage cherished seeing them all unwind and listening to them say all the impolite things that they couldn’t at the time. It solidified them as family, seeing this authentic version of themselves, and sharing it with one another.

And then they would unwind and vent about it to each other later, laughing and making merry all the while. It made moments such as these worth a damn.

Edmont must not have liked hardly anyone that had to attend this particular soiree; Sage recognized the bottles being carried by the servants as the same label that he himself had taken from the bottom shelf, back when he knew how to pick alcohol about as well as he knew how to ask for comfort. The former, he was abstaining from, on doctor’s orders, instead enjoying fresh fruit nectar Edmont had ensured was stocked for him, as something sweet to still sip at the gathering. The latter, he was working on, now.

As much as he felt he deserved, at least, with his most recent, catastrophic failure.

Holed up in Manor Fortemps, sheltered from the cold, Sage could almost think the loss at Rhalgr’s Reach distant. Far removed from him. In a literal sense, he supposed that tracked, though despite the malms and the days that separated him from his defeat, it was as if he could yet feel Zenos’ overwhelming presence bearing down on him.

Despite the warmth suffused throughout the manor, it felt like his limbs would never know that feeling ever again. The chirurgeons had reassured him that it would improve, as it was a result of the blood loss from his wounds. 

That was hardly anything new for Sage, mind; it wasn’t so long ago that he was so battered and bloodied, that he was bedbound not ten malms from where he stood now— and even that was but the worst of a long history of grievous wounds. It was just that, even in his most agonized recoveries— ones that were far worse than this one, admittedly, he had been able to rest, at least a little, knowing he was resting in victory. He’d broken himself upon the battlefield, and it was for something. He’d done enough.

But this...

He felt low. Uncharacteristically small, despite how he towered over the crowd, even here. If he wasn’t absolutely certain that it would bring undue stress upon his family, he would be somewhere quieter, darker, to be with his thoughts alone and stew in his defeat. Never before had he such an itch to sink into old habits, as he did standing there, feeling like his skin was pulled too tight across his bones, displaced from himself.

Alas, rather than sink into his own solitude, Sage instead had to contend with nobility, and all the demands that came with it. For instance: mingling. After so many incidents with such gatherings, he had learned to pick up on the signs that someone, not far from his vicinity, was about to interrupt his thoughts. For instance, there was someone worming their way through the crowd, removing any doubt that they were aiming directly for the Warrior of Light, for how intently they made their way over. Just as well; Sage settled on being grateful that he at least had some warning, this time.

“Warrior of Light! Why, Halone must have blessed me, personally, that I might run into you here!”

Unable to entirely stop himself from cringing, Sage managed to let it pass over his face into something more neutral before he swallowed the sip of nectar he’d pulled a moment before. His effort was nearly for naught when he locked eyes with the noble that had hailed him in question: he knew this man, in a sense, from how vocally –and frequently—he would protest declarations in the Houses of the Lords and Commons. 

“My lord,” Sage greeted, inclining his head politely. “You flatter me.”

In all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d maneuver his way through an entire conversation with the man, if that was what he was after. Gods knew his brothers were oft times formal to a fault, but even Artoirel and Aymeric hadn’t been immune from venting their vexations with the man. Sage could so clearly recall the young Lord Fortemps storming about the foyer snarling about attempts to sway votes, or demands to recall a vote on a technicality, pausing only long enough to thank whichever family member it was that refilled his wine glass for him that time.

As Aymeric once put it: “His disagreement would be far more tolerable, had he ever any alternative suggestions to accompany it.”

Already, Sage could feel his temples threaten to pulse with a migraine as he forced his face into a pleasant smile. It was faint, for all his effort, but it was there.

If naught else, he at least had excuse enough to be less than perfectly pleasant; the wounds he walked away from Rhalgr’s Reach with were only just on the mend, after all. They were at least fully closed, and had been treated; a marked improvement from how he had handled previous injuries.

But the noble lord was speaking again, pulling Sage from his thoughts.

“Why, I speak only the truth! I had been hoping to speak with you even before the conclusion of the Dragonsong War, but alas! It seems as if you’re always on the move!”

“No rest for the righteous, and all that.” He muttered, half into his flute of nectar.

“For the wicked have all the fun!” The noble said, throwing his head back and laughing at his own joke.

When he leaned back, into his laugh, he lightly tapped the backs of his knuckles to Sage’s coat. Another wince pinched the corners of his eyes; he could smell the wine off of the noble’s breath; not necessarily drunk, but certainly enough to be loose tongued.

Sage pretended to take another sip to hide his lack of enthusiasm. Already, he wanted this conversation to be done.

“Oh, but I jest, I jest.” Said the lush lord, once he’d caught his breath on a delighted sigh. “I do beg your pardon, the wine brings it out of me.”

Sage tracked the overarticulated sweep of a bejeweled hand, as it reached up to wipe away a nonexistent tear from the corner of the noble’s eye.

“You certainly seem to be in good spirits, my lord.” Sage noted, not knowing what else to say.

“I have every reason to be! The Houses of the Lords and Commons were in unison this session, for a change, and with Starlight not far off, the festivities have been plentiful!”

“I see.” Sage replied, and prayed that would be the end of the conversation.

When it was clear that the Bard wasn’t going to offer a more verbose response, the noble cut off what would have been an obviously much more judicious pull from his glass, as if the thought of being left to lapse in silence for even a moment was considered some grievous slight. Maybe it was. Sage was in no mood to care. 

“Ah, I forgot! Your reputation for stoic silence precedes you!” The noble said, hastily blotting at the corner of his mouth with a kerchief.

“It’s one of my strengths.” Sage drained his glass of juice, and turned away to set it on the tray of a passing servant with a murmur of thanks. 

“A damn shame, then, to know that such strength fled you, at the battle in Rhalgr’s Reach.”

In an instant, what warmth Sage had managed to glean from the manor’s well tended hearths guttered out. Icy dread struck him at the base of his spine, freezing him in place, hand still outstretched from handing off his glass—in the best of circumstances, he was hardly one for conversation, but this was very clearly bait for him to blunder into, a verbal trap that was doubtless intended to damage his reputation—and, by extension, that of House Fortemps. 

Perhaps even Aymeric, too: as Lord Commander, he’d been overseeing Ishgard’s involvement in the Gyr Abanian theatre of war, this excursion included, after all. If ever there was a time for an opportunistic noble to try and undo all the hard work they had all put in, here and abroad, over one loss in a larger scale conflict abroad, it was now.

“What,” Sage managed to rasp, words dragged across the sandpaper in his throat, as he turned back toward the man. “Do you mean?”

“Oh come now, there’s no sense in dancing about the subject.” Said the noble, through a toothy, cruel upturn of his lips. “This was Ishgard’s debut into the Eorzean Alliance, was it not? Were we not counting on you to lead us into victory?” 

Indignation warred with nausea-inducing dread in the pit of his ribcage. The former, for how dare this man who had known no struggle remotely like Sage’s, speak on how war and its games were played. The latter, because how dare he echo the same thoughts Sage had been so keen on ignoring tonight?

To keep his hands from fidgeting, he stood at parade rest, and half wished he still had a glass in his hand to keep himself looking less stiff and affected. He knew this man would vex him until he cracked, if this was where he was already needling.

When he managed to find his voice, Sage tried again, “I did what I could—”

“Which was, somehow, not enough.” The noble swiftly rebuked. “Not enough, despite your victory over Nidhogg. A curiosity.” The noble sneered with a haughty twitch of his nose.

The chill that had clung to Sage’s limbs crept ever closer, brushing dangerously to his heart. As if he truly were freezing over, his breathing thinned out, and he felt his hands shaking at his sides, ever so faintly.

“By all accounts, ‘twas Sage’s strength that prevented an even  greater loss for the Alliance.” Came the voice of one of his brothers.

“One of those reports was mine own—and yes, we would have lost so much more, were it not for the Warrior of Light’s presence.” Added the voice of another.

Relief flooded him hearing Aymeric, then Artoirel, speak upon their unexpected appearance, flanking Sage on both sides. A united front was the best defense from such grave offense, after all. It was all Sage could do, to keep from slouching his ramrod stiff posture, as he remembered how to breathe again. Even without either of them coming into physical contact with him, he felt their warmth seep into skin and scale, bolstering him. Squaring his shoulders as much as his wounds would allow, he tipped his chin up, to hold himself proudly. Just like their Da had encouraged him—he’d earned that pride, paid for in blood, sweat, and tears.

The offending lord seemed only momentarily cowed, flinching his glass subtly closer to his chest as he recoiled from the unexpected intrusion to his personal belligerence against the hero. When it was clear, with a furtive glance around, that none of them were interested in backing down, he pulled himself upright and cleared his throat.

“The fact remains: a loss is a loss.” He pressed.

“Spoken like one who has never written condolence letters.” Aymeric replied almost instantly, the smoothness of his voice a whetstone for his lance-sharp words, poised to cut off this conversation at the pass. “Even one less family in mourning, is a victory in itself, my lord.”

It was faint—in particular, compared to the low din of the rest of the gathering, but the group of elites that had congregated and circled around themselves not far from where Sage had been standing, began to murmur between themselves about the conversation they were overhearing. Had Sage not been so keenly aware of his surroundings, over the roaring of blood in his ears, he might not have understood why the noble’s face turned ashen, then, when those words reached his ears. Aymeric and Artoirel had, in effect, struck far truer than anticipated, redirecting the very gossip that the nefarious noble had tried to weaponize.

“We wouldn’t be sending them at all, were we not engaging in conflicts that we had no business meddling in.” The noble replied, though it was clear by the way the pads of his fingers paled against the stem of his wine glass, that he was most certainly rattled. “Business, I will remind you, that we have made ours solely on debt to a singular champion! How can we condone it, as proud Ishgardian citizens, when our creditor cannot guarantee our victory?”

Were the man not gunning to undo everything that they had fought and sacrificed for and then some, Sage might feel some semblance of sympathy for him. As it was, it was at least a little morbidly gratifying, watching him squirm when challenged.

Aymeric seemed to expect the question. In truth, he had likely had to field it many times; he seemed almost bored with it.

“We did not commit ourselves to one war on the coattails of another solely because the Warrior of Light bade we do so.” He began in a low tone. One that gave a warning he put no words to, and did not have to. “On the contrary: as with the Dragonsong War, he only opened our eyes to the truth of the matter: that we were always involved in this war. We were always going to be involved in this war, whether we willed it or not.”

“Such fatalistic talk, from such a lauded, romantic politician!” The man jeered.

“Ishgard’s best defense has always been a proactive offense,” he explained patiently, in a tone that reminded Sage of one he’d used on Alphinaud, upon their first meeting in the Falling Snows. “The winds suggest but one course upon which the Empire has been set: total conquest. We cannot afford to watch, idle and indolent, while Garlemald marches right to our gates, afore we are moved to action.” 

“This was never our affair!” Cried the exasperated nobleman, perhaps a bit more inebriated than Sage might have initially thought.

Clearly, more than, as when the man made to jab an accusatory finger in the Lord Commander’s direction, he seemingly forgot that he was still holding a half-full wine glass. It sloshed enough to splash, faintly upon the chest of the Lord Commander’s coat. 

For a blessing, the fabric was dark enough that blotting at it with a kerchief was sufficient to keep the light colored champagne from damaging it, but the impropriety of the action was far from lost on even the inebriated offender.

With a singular, prim tug on his own lapel, Aymeric tucked the folded, soiled kerchief away with a barely repressed snort of indignation. “‘Twas ever Eorzea’s affair— and we have been Eorzeans for far longer than we have not, in our history. Garlemald is committed to making this the affair of every living soul on this star, to be conquered, until someone stops them. If every nation clung to their borders and insisted that it was not our affair, then we would simply be picked off, one by one—”

“Garlemald cannot invade us through the weather, and our neighbors besides—”

“Then they would lay siege to us, and our home would become our tomb.” Said a voice from the crowd that had begun to try to not listen to the growing ruckus.

That same crowd parted, and revealed Lord Edmont, honorable father of this evening’s host, looking every bit as graceful and dignified as ever. Striding purposefully, he stopped only when he was beside his fellow noble, and took his measure with an even, steely gaze. “I know I need remind no one here of what happened to the Stone and Dusk Vigils, following the Calamity. Would you inflict that upon our families, for turning away from the plights beyond our gates?”

It was clearly a future that the noble had not considered— in fairness, a future few would want to consider. 

In war, such wants do not matter: it is a path of death, and must be walked with both eyes open, or not at all.

Seeing the noble thoroughly cowed, Edmont eased that hardened stare, and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“But come! Such logistics are not for us retired folk to fret over any longer—”

“Edmont, you have surely heard your boy on the forum floor, debating that we meddle in—”

“And what right have we to criticize our children, when they protect a tomorrow that our inaction stole from them?” Edmont asked, not unkindly.

He might as well have struck the noble, for how he recoiled at the rebuttal. If there was a deeper, personal meaning for the noble, Sage did not know it, and did not care: he knew exactly who Edmont was thinking of, when he spoke so.

Edmont’s hand on his shoulder squeezed, comfortingly, as he led him away, speaking of happier things. There seemed to be an understanding between the two that Sage could only begin to fathom, but could readily identify: it was the look of a father that had to bury their child. It wasn’t enough for the dread and ire that the man inspired in Sage to completely vanish, but it was tempered with the understanding that, as he had learned is often the case with Ishgardians, his anger came from immense, generational tragedy.

It was a distant revelation, a balm on a wound, but it was nothing to the panacea that was watching how his family had managed to pull him back from the brink of panic, to cover his blindspots, to be his shield. It was an otherwise unfamiliar feeling, this sense of protection that settled over his shoulders and calmed his tumultuous heart. 

So distracted with awe for how swiftly his family closed in ranks around him, Sage had nearly forgotten to feel the sting of his injuries, until he’d shifted his weight and bit back a curse at the sudden jolt of fire that shot up his spine. When he flinched and his legs faltered, he felt two hands at his back— one of Artiorel and Aymeric both, bracing him.

“Forgive us for leaving you to the wolves, as it were.” Aymeric spoke up, gently startling him out of his thoughts. When he’d straightened and looked over at the Lord Commander, he was given a wincing smile. “No one wanted to smother you, mind, though we all attempted to keep the worst of them occupied.”

“Wh—“ Sage stopped himself from asking the obvious; even if he didn’t believe himself worthy of it, he could no longer deny he was their family, truly and utterly.

With a fond smile and a shake of his head, he instead chose to say, “I know better than to simper in the face of family, so, put simply: thank you.” When Sage smiled, it felt less like it resembled broken glass than it had since he’d left Gyr Abania—certainly less than it had all night. “I don’t know what I would do without you all.”

“And we would say much the same of you, Sage.” Artoirel reassured, clasping a hand comfortingly on Sage’s uninjured forearm.

“Which we have, on more than one occasion,” Aymeric added brightly. “And will keep doing so.”

“Artoirel might not fess up to just how much of that effusive praise comes from him, old sport, but I would be most glad to!” Chimed in the last of their brothers, who had otherwise been shockingly scarce all evening.

Artoirel harrumphed at Emmanellain’s delighted chirping, and crossed his arms. “Given you’ve the leisure to prod me for a reaction, I take it you’ve done your job?”

“Always business, with you!” Emmanellain’s expression momentarily scrunched. “But yes. Frankly, it’s almost boring, how easy it is to redirect the rumor mill. I do hope you’re not too terribly offended that the current affair-of-the-hour among noble lady circles is more stimulating gossip than whatever that lord’s quarrel with you is; he really is an offensively boring man, as politics go.”

Sage didn’t know what to say in response, and his surprise must have been evident on his face, as Emmanellain nudged his good shoulder and winked.

“What, not expecting me to pull my weight? I might not be half the knight my brothers are,” he said around an easy smile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t still protect you, old sport.”

“I’m not sure they make shields tall enough for that.” Sage blurted before he could think better of it.

Practiced politicians they may have been, all the etiquette in the world couldn’t stop Artoirel and Aymeric from hiding their laughter behind their hands at Emmanellain’s gawping.

“Were you joking, just then? Why, Sage! I would almost think you liked me, or something!” Emmanellain gasped, a hand pressed over his heart, the very picture of mock horror.

This levity, this, this warmth, that permeated him, being surrounded by his family…it would not heal him. Sage knew that, deep down. But when he laughed, it came easily. The smile that followed, even easier. And that, that was what helped. What reminded him of his convictions.

“You’re my brother.” Sage said, his tone serious despite the smile still quirking his lips. “Stands to reason I like you.”

Emmanellain paused for a moment, his theatrics softening into something genuine. When he laughed the sort that had him holding his stomach and drying his eyes, it reminded Sage of Haurchefant.

“And you have good taste besides, don’t you forget that, old sport.” Emmanellain said, eyes crinkling for the width and breadth of his smile.

“And you discredit yourself.” Sage replied. “I see more and more of our brothers in you every day.”

It seemed Sage’s comment overwhelmed his little brother; he spun and plucked a flute of champagne from one of the wait staff passing by, and poorly tried to hide his flush behind its rim.

“Yes, well, I certainly have no shortage of examples to lead me.” Emmanellain half muttered into his drink, just before tossing his head back to tip the glass as far back as he could, and he drained it in one fluid gulp. “You included.”

He seemed not to know what to do with the quiet that came after emotional declarations, as, with a twist to set his empty glass on another tray being taken the opposite direction of the first, he used that momentum to turn back into the crowd, back into the mingling crowds that were resuming their previous low din of chatter.

Watching him fade into the crowd made Sage’s gaze wander through the faces in all the merrymaking that had resumed. On that passing glance, he caught Edmont through the crowd, having brought that offending noble into a group of other people Sage distantly recognized as some of the elder generations of the High Houses. It was only a moment, but it was enough to see exactly where the Fortemps propensity for warmth and good cheer came from, as much as their sense of duty had.

“Me included, then?” Sage asked, half to himself.

“Absolutely.” Artoirel said, with a surprising amount of conviction. “Our family has a reputation of housing the most upstanding knights in all of Ishgard. That has never been more true, than it is where you are concerned.”

Perhaps the alcohol did make Artoirel more verbose; Sage was unaccustomed to such declarations in abundance from the newest head of House Fortemps. For a certainty, it was the reason why it overwhelmed him, enough so that he was reminded of the burning shame of his most recent defeat.

“I was defeated—”

“And that should deplete you of your worth?” Aymeric countered at his other side. “Even the greatest people in history knew countless defeats— many of which were costly. Yet, they are not remembered as great because of their losses, but because they persevered despite them.” He gave a single, decisive nod. “I can think of no greater quality that could exemplify the knights of House Fortemps— you among the most exemplary.”

That overwhelmed feeling looped back around into a pleasant sort of warmth; it didn’t entirely absolve him of his guilt; none present expected it to. It weighed as it should— and no heavier. 

Grateful that his family was ever his shield, ever stopping him from pressing his burdens down harder on his own shoulders than he needed to, he could only lower his gaze, smile wider, and reply with, “I hope to be worthy of that.”

“You always were.” Artoirel and Aymeric replied automatically, voices nearly overlapping in perfect sync for their immediate timing.

With a surprised glance between the three of them, they dissolved into half-covered laughter, and that pressure on Sage’s chest settled, alongside his thoughts. It wasn’t enough to make the world okay. It wasn’t enough to make Sage strong enough to free Ala Mhigo and come home, not on its own.

But it was enough.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I think the most important thing Eragon could do for the reformation of the Riders, to ensure that they don't collapse like before, is to demand that only adults are tested against the eggs. Like I would say at least 25 years old.

The fact that humans used to be tested at 10 is abhorrent to me. They can't consent to the responsibilities of a Rider at that age. They wouldn't understand the huge ramifications on the rest of their life at all. An inherently immature child with such little life experience would just think that being a dragon rider is the coolest thing ever, they can't critically analyze this choice. Such an enormous, deeply affecting decision that cannot be undone, should never have been made available to children.

Also it's fucking indoctrination. We know their taken from their homes (Brom leaves Kausta to go to Illirea) and there's no evidence that their families go with them. They, 10 year old children, are taken from their homes, families, and cultures to be taught by and organization that they were expected to be a part of their entire lives (which were extended indefinitely!) and, as far as we know, they had no option to leave.

Oromis says the elves were tested at age 20 which I can think of two reasons for. One: elves age slower than humans and a 20 year old elf is as mature as a 10 year old human. This is the one I imagine is true. And so, the elven Riders go through the same stuff that the humans do and truly none of the Riders have the benefit of an upbringing outside of the Riders instruction. Two: the elves were given special privilege and the Riders deliberately waited until they were older to test them. This possibility is particularly awful because of the sense of racial superiority at it's core. The human children would be tested at a more vulnerable age so that the Riders would lean very heavily in favor of the elves, in their philosophies, politics, governing, and of course, their racial bias.

And even though I think the first explanation is the actual reason, the second one is still at play. Regardless of any equivalence of their mental or physical maturity at those ages, 20 years is twice as much life experience than 10.

Eragon included all the races in the spell that bonds Riders to dragons, which is incredibly important. But if he wants to actually make good on his promise to give them an equal place in the Riders, he has to fucking do this. What's the point if they leave their home, their people, and their culture as children and get all their education from age 10 (or equivalent) from the Riders? What new perspectives and ideas would they be able to bring? What understanding of or connection to their race would they have? What would be the point? All they would be left with is a group of people to powerful for their own good that were all taught to think and act in the same way and it would fall to pieces just like it did before.

And what makes me so sad is that Eragon still went through all this. 16 is still too fucking young. I feel like the benefits he got from being a bit older and being taught for a shorter span of time were really made up for by the way he was ensnared in so many enormous responsibilities that people presented as obligations or even debts that they could use to get him to comply, specifically the elves. He didn't deserve it and I want him to have the opportunity and the critical thinking to realize all this, both for his own sake and for the sake of every single Rider that will come after him.

It enrages me that the books never acknowledged this. It's fucking criminal to me. All those children deserved better and the Riders of old deserved to be dismantled.

[oss-crime]

Chapter 5-Escape of the Witch Salmhofer; Scene 8

Original Sin Story: Crime, pages 202-209

Ever since Gammon’s revolt, an uneasy political situation had carried on in the Twelve Royal Capitals.

The members of the senate were comprised of the heads of the twelve families that ruled over each town—that had been the standard procedure. But Gammon had decided to repeal this and dismiss each of the present members, starting with his father.

However, this caused great deal of backlash. Fearing it would reignite the fires of conflict anew, Gammon established a meeting with the twelve families, and ultimately decided to make the sons of each family into the new senate members.

Due to this, the new senate wound up being comprised largely of young people in their twenties.

Gammon made public that the queen had been in a brainwashed state by Miroku for many years.

“From now on I vow to return to the proper governmental system with the queen at its core.”

Gammon’s decree had relieved the people.

On the other hand, around this point much of the populace had also learned of the queen’s prophecy that foretold the world’s destruction.

As anxieties about this matter began to spread, the new senate headed by Gammon decided to revive Project “Ma”—

.

“—And I’m the one who has been ordered to take responsibility for it…Me, Seth Twiright.”

They were in a room in the Royal Research Institute.

Seth had explained all this to Meta, who was herself seated in a chair.

Outside the room she could hear several people walking about. They were all researchers that Seth had newly hired on, but their true identity was that of the government’s information bureau.

In other words, they were guards there to keep Meta from escaping.

“…So then, when these children are born—” Meta patted her belly, which had grown larger. “You’re saying I’ll become the next queen?”

But Seth sadly shook his head at her question.

“The details of the second Project ‘Ma’ are slightly altered from the previous one…The ‘mother of the gods’ will be able to achieve a sizable reward and commensurate status—but the position of queen will still be performed by Alice Merry-Go-Round.”

“…So the ‘mother of the gods’…only exists to give birth to the ‘Twins of God’.”

“If we didn’t have it that way, the senate would never have given permission for you, a non-virgin, to be fertilized with the ‘Seed of God’, yes?”

But Meta had qualified as an “Ma” candidate back in the first project as well. When she asked Seth about that, he explained with a shrug of his shoulders, “Back then the government still hadn’t obtained any conclusive proof of your and Pale’s relationship.”

“That’s surprisingly sloppy of the government.”

“It’s an issue of them not having a sense of the impending crisis. There’s still a few decades before the time of the destruction—the ‘Gear of Twilight’. For most people, it’s the many issues that are more immediately in front of them that take priority.”

“…”

“But that’s not so for Gammon. He has met with the queen personally—and most likely came into contact with the ‘truth’. Though I don’t know the specific contents of it. At any rate, he has privately become quite desperate to stop the world’s destruction. To the point where he is no longer concerned with keeping up appearances.”

So then…that was the reason why he was seeking an “Ma” candidate that was magically strong, regardless of whether or not they were a criminal.

Meta had already had a “Seed of God” implanted in her stomach by Seth.

She had become pregnant soon after, and started to live hidden away from the world in the royal research institute.

The people most likely had not been made aware of the fact that it was Meta who bore the “Twins of God”.  If it got out that the “Witch of Merrigod” were the “Mother of the Gods”, there’s no way there wouldn’t be an uproar about it.

In all likelihood, once the “Twins of God” were born that fact would be made public by Gammon, and they would be accepted into the populace with great celebration.

But Meta herself—

I’ll be forced to change my name and live as someone else…I suppose that would be preferable. There’s always a chance they’ll kill me to shut me up.

As far as society was concerned, Meta had already been executed in Lighwatch temple.

At the very least, the current government wasn’t a monolith. She could determine that from how Seth had gone out of his way to pull off such a trick to save her (though she didn’t know if it was something he had done on his own or if Gammon had ordered him to). If Yegor had been in on it, there wouldn’t have been any need to fake her death like that.

Though Seth had promised Meta’s safety, there was no guarantee that others would feel similarly.

And Meta didn’t even trust Seth to start with.

The reason why she was still cooperating with him regardless—

“…Hey. Is Pale okay? I wanna see him.”

She had posed this question to Seth several times before.

Each time she did he would dodge the question—

But today was different.

“Relax. I’m a man of my word.”

“Then—”

“Just like you, Pale Noel was executed publicly. But—”

“—He’s actually still alive. …Did you use the same methods as with me?”

“No. I examined him while in prison as a doctor, and…it seemed that Pale’s body had developed some defects. –He can’t maintain his own body without absorbing magical energy from other people.”

Meta had known that already.

But where was he going with this?

“Couldn’t you just…do something about that when he got out of prison?”

“That wouldn’t work. It was my estimation that as he was, Pale wouldn’t have much longer to live. …So I figured this was a good time to have him swap bodies.”

“I…don’t understand what you mean.”

“In that case—I should probably have you see for yourself.” Seth clapped his hands. “Enter.”

On cue the door opened, and a boy entered the room.

“Who’s this kid?” Meta asked.

The one to answer was not Seth, but the boy himself.

“Long time no see, Meta…It’s me, Pale.”

“…Wha?”

Obviously, the Pale that Meta knew wasn’t a boy like this, but an adult man.

But…now that she looked at him properly, his features did seem to resemble Pale’s somewhat.

“Er…So you mean…”

“You must be confused. But—it’s okay. I’ll take this opportunity to explain it all to you.” Pale turned to Seth. “I assume you don’t mind…Brother.”

Seth nodded wordlessly.

Once he’d seen that, Pale turned back to Meta.

“I—am a ‘ghoul child’.”

“…Ghoul child?”

“An artificial human created inside a beaker. My body and personality were all constructed by Seth.”

“You…expect me to believe such a crazy story?”

Pale pointed to Meta’s belly as she drew in her shoulders.

“It’s sort of like—the twins inside your stomach. The only difference is that their mother is a human woman instead of a glass vessel…that’s all it is.”

“…”

Certainly…on the point that they weren’t created by natural intercourse between a man and woman but rather an experiment of Seth’s—

They were the same.

Pale leaned against the wall, and continued his explanation.

“For some time now, Horus—or rather, Seth—has been performing research into the artificial construction of life to make the ‘Next Queen Project’ a reality. The construction of ‘ghoul children’…like myself…could be called a subspecies, or variant, of that.”

“…”

Meta silently listened to him speak, her hands resting on her expanded belly.

This boy’s way of speaking was the same as Pale’s that she knew so well.

“—Though it hasn’t been as simple as all that. Ever since I became an adult, I came to be afflicted with a problem of magical energy…Though that was better than the alternative. The ‘ghoul child’ made after me was just kept in storage as an empty shell, without a personality.”

Pale said that the body he was currently using was recycled from that “empty shell” that had been kept in storage.

“It took quite a bit of time to get my spirit affixed to this body…So we weren’t able to meet like this until now.”

“…You…knew all of this before?”

“Yeah. That’s why I…once ordered you to kill my brother. I had thought—that if I could get rid of the original of me, “Seth”, then I would become the “real” one.”

“Pale…My beloved Pale…My poor Pale…”

Meta stood and walked over to Pale, crouching down and embracing her love.

“…”

Pale looked over at Seth, his short arms around Meta’s back.

“Brother—Could you let me speak to Meta alone for a little bit?”

“…Ah, very well. I’m not so boorish as to get in the way of a lover’s meeting.”

Seth nodded and left the room, humming to himself.

.

--For a short while, the two of them continued to hold each other without a word.

Eventually, Pale whispered to Meta, “Meta…Let’s run away.”

“…!?”

“I can survive like this. There’s…no need for you to do as Seth says.”

“But—”

Meta looked down.

She was looking at her own belly, where her twins resided.

Pale nodded in understanding.

“—That’s right. It’ll be hard to escape with your body heavy with child. When you’re stable after the birth, I’ll…create a diversion. You’ll have to be patient until then.”

“…Alright, I understand.”

“Apocalypse is on the brink of destruction. But as long as we’re together…we can start over again.” Pale pulled away from Meta. “I’ll have to be going home soon.”

“…Where are you living now?”

“Seth’s house. Publicly, I’m his nephew.”

When Pale opened the door, Seth was waiting there to greet him.

“Are you done talking? Then let’s get going.”

Thus prompted, Pale left with Seth.

It almost seemed to Meta as though his limbs were bound with a thin string tied to Seth’s finger.  

<<prev------directory------next>>

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (11/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: Okay I’m actually kind of really excited about this chapter. I feel like it got away from me a little bit for a sec there in the first half. That being said, I really love the end of this chapter, and I hope you guys will as well. Please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Discussion of human experimentation (not in depth), Discussion of politics (the Accords)

Part 10

“I didn’t expect to be stuck in a conference room for this.”

“Trust me,” Steve says. “I didn’t think it’d come to this either, but-”

The door bursts open and everyone turns to look. General Ross stands in the doorway, hands behind his back. He looks too smug for my liking. If I weren’t so sore, and if I knew I wouldn’t get in trouble, I’d wipe that look right off his face.

Steve groans. “We had a change of plans.”

“Ah, so good of you to join us, Ms. (Y/L/N),” he says. He strides through the room to stand at the head of the table and address us. “I was beginning to wonder where you’d gone.”

“Last I checked, I don’t answer to you,” I snap. “None of us do.”

“You dropped off the map for a good two weeks.”

“I was kidnapped.”

“Even so-”

“What the hell is this about?” I cut in. “Because I was under the impression that this meeting concerned myself and the Avengers alone. Not you and your little government issued lackeys.”

“You’re awful hostile for someone speaking to her superior,” he ground out.

“Who, me?” I glance around at everyone in the room. “I’m a civilian and the Avengers are a private organization. I don’t work for you, Ross. None of us do.”

“You will,” he says. “When the Accords are put into governmental procedure.”

“See, I don’t know if you’re ever going to make headway with that little project of yours.” I shuffled around in my seat before leaning on the table. “Considering the fact that you refuse to work with one of the biggest players in this, who knows how many signatures you’ll get.”

“To what do we owe the displeasure, Thaddeus?” Tony asks.

Ross’ eye twitches. “You missed your deadline.”

“We were a little preoccupied in finding (Y/N),” Steve says. “As she said, she was kidnapped. You would know this if you’d read any of the correspondence we sent you concerning this.”

“And we wouldn’t be in this position if you’d quit running in circles and rejecting any kind of amendments we suggest,” Bucky adds. “We’ve been trying to work with you on this for months, yet you never seem to be able to make up your mind on what you want from us.”

“He wants complete and total control over the Avengers,” I say.

“Excuse me?” Ross grinds out.

“I said, you want to control the Avengers,” I repeat. I look to Natasha. “Did I stutter? I don’t think I stuttered.”

“Not that I heard,” she says.

I look Ross dead in the eye. “Do you need me to speak up? Or would it be helpful if I just signed instead?”

“(Y/N),” Steve warns.

I glare at Ross, but sit back in my chair. “Sorry.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Steve says. “But I don’t want you to say anything incriminating.”

I simply nod and keep quiet. Steve gestures to Tony, who stands to face General Ross.

“We weren’t planning on announcing this today, but we’ve given your proposal some serious thought, and we’ve decided to turn you down,” Tony says.

“You’re what?!” Ross hisses. “You can’t do that!”

“Can’t we? Because we’ve been operating independently for the past two years, and things seem to be going just fine. The only major incident we’ve dealt with since Sokovia-”

Ross interjects, “Which was your fault, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Shut the fuck up, Thaddeus,” I snap. “You don’t get to interrupt people just because you’re a General.”

Clint snorts and I squeeze his knee in a silent plea for him to be quiet.

Tony clears his throat. “As I was saying, the only incident we’ve dealt with since Sokiva has been (Y/N)’s kidnapping. And we managed to find her just fine, no thanks to you.”

“And,” Natasha says. “If I’m remembering correctly, we’ve been fully functional since S.H.I.E.L.D. went under, even without asking for any assistance from the likes of you.” She tilts her head to the side and folds her arms. “And yet you expect us to just hand ourselves over to you.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?”

“No,” I say. “I think we understand perfectly. You think that the Avengers have too much power. The only way that you can see to ensure no one gets hurt is to put a leash on them. And I can see where you’re coming from, and your care for the public, if you can even call it that, is commendable. But this ass backwards, roundabout route you’re taking is absolutely fucking absurd.”

“You said you’re not part of this team!”

“I did, but I never said I didn’t have any kind of stake in whether or not the Accords are approved. I have powers, remember? I’m directly affected by whatever kind of legislation is put in place because of those Accords. But you could never understand that, because you’ve only ever seen people like us as power hungry egomaniacs. But look around.” I gesture to the room. “No one here asked for what we got. Bruce and I were accidents, Steve was a scientific crapshoot, regardless of how successful, Bucky was kidnapped and brainwashed and experimented on without his consent, Natasha and Clint’s backgrounds are questionable at best, and Tony was blown up by his own bomb. His first suit was built out of necessity, not curiosity or the need to seize power.”

“(Y/N)...” Bucky murmurs. He takes my hand and squeezes it gently.

“By all means, work with the Avengers. But quit acting like you’ve got the moral high ground, because all you've done is set up roadblocks and refuse to compromise in any capacity."

Ross looks down his nose at me. "You've got a lot of opinions for someone so vehemently against being part of their team."

"Well, you’re ready to imprison any single powered person who doesn’t sign, simply because you deem us to be threats.” I narrow my eyes. "But last I checked, you can't arrest someone for having opinions."

"Maybe not, but you certainly seem to know more about the Accords than what's been made available to the public-"

"We've kept her up to date with the proceedings," Steve says. "She has every right to know about something that would change the way she lives her life."

"That's not a decision for you to make."

Steve simply shrugs. "You never said anything about our discussions being confidential."

“Why you-”

“You do see the position you’ve put us in, right?” Steve presses. “We’re trying to work out ways to protect our loved ones, powers or no, and still do our jobs, but you keep blocking every single suggestion we make. You want us to cooperate, but you make it impossible.”

“You say that as if you’re not trying to bend the Accords to work for you.”

“No,” Tony says. “That’s what you’re doing. Your unwillingness to collaborate with just proves (Y/N) right. You don’t want to work with us. You want to control us. Because we’re not predictable, and that scares you and your little government buddies.”

Steve rises from his seat and stares Ross down. “See, we’d be happy to work with you. But that means working with us.”

Ross tries to protest, but shuts his mouth when Bucky stands abruptly. Bucky’s glare can only be described as glacial. No one says a word.

Ross shifts closer to Steve and Natasha shoots up from her chair. Clint, Tony, and I follow suit. I shake out my wings to make myself look bigger than I am and squint at General Ross. He’s startled to find all of us resisting him and turns back to Steve, only to find him with a similarly cold expression and his arms folded across his chest.

“If you’re not going to work with us,” Steve says. “I suggest you leave.”

“Fine.” He looks around the room at each of us. “But I will be back.”

“Until you’re ready to compromise, you’re not welcome,” Tony quips. “But we’ll gladly escort you out.”

Ross seems to know he’s been beat and makes a hasty retreat. His lackeys follow him from the conference room and down the hallway, back to whatever they arrived in. When I’m sure they’re gone, I sink back into my seat and cover my face with my hands. My heart is beating out of my chest and every ache from two days earlier is back with a vengeance.

“Are you okay?” Clint asks, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I nod and turn to press my face to his shoulder. “Too much excitement for one day, that’s all.”

Clint hums in agreement. “I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”

I laugh. “Of course he won’t, he got stared down by a room full of Avengers. He probably shat himself as soon as Nat stood up.”

“Of course he did,” Clint grins at Natasha. “She’s terrifying.”

Natasha snorts and Clint tries to make another joke to actually make her laugh. Steve watches them and I wait till I can catch his eye to say something.

“Is it safe to assume that wasn’t part of the plan today?” I ask.

Steve sighs. “No, it wasn’t.” He glares at the door. “General Ross seems to have a bad habit of showing up when he’s least wanted.”

“And ignoring anything he doesn’t want to hear,” Tony adds. “I swear, we sent him at least three notices about the delay, and he just ignored every single one of them.”

“You seriously put off negotiations to find me?”

“Of course we did, (Y/N),” Tony says. “You’re family. You know what we do for family.”

I frown. “Drop everything.”

“Exactly.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, we did.” Bucky takes my hand. “We weren’t going to leave you behind after everything we did to find you last time.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away and whisper, “Thank you. All of you. Really.”

“There’s nothing to thank us for,” Natasha says. “Don’t argue with me about this.”

I laugh, but sniffle a moment later. “Okay, I won’t.”

“You wanna tell us why you actually wanted to meet?” Clint asks.

“Right,” Steve shifts in his seat. “We believe that we’ve apprehended everyone involved with your kidnapping, (Y/N). They’ll be tried and probably sentenced before the end of the month.”

“Oh, wow.” Surprised, I look between Steve and Tony. “I forgot how quickly you work.”

“We put in a rush order for our favorite Sesame Street character,” Tony says.

I laugh. “So I’m Big Bird now?”

“Well, you’re smart, you care about your friends and family, and you’re nice. Well…” He gestures vaguely. “Most of the time.”

“I’ll take it.”

Tony hums. “I started looking into Hoffman’s research, and it’s pretty grim stuff.”

“Oh?”

“A lot about genetic mutation and splicing animal DNA with human. From what Banner and I have found, she’d been doing this for a long time, and getting away with it, too. Based on her notes from the last five years, you’re her most successful experiment, and she didn’t even know you existed until six months ago.” He sighs. “I won’t go into too much detail, but the plans she had… she’s bad news in every sense of the phrase.”

“I got lucky, then.”

“I didn’t want to say that, but yeah. You did.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). You shouldn’t’ve been mixed up in any of this in the first place.”

“It’s not your fault. She would’ve caught up to me eventually. It’s not like ten foot wings are easy to hide.”

“All of that aside,” Steve says. “They’ll be going away for a long time. The rest of their lives, if we can manage it. They won’t be able to get to you ever again.”

I nod. “What’ll you do about Ross?”

“If we can manage it, we’ll keep pushing for reformed Accords. None of us want to be limited in what we can do, but it was easier to operate when we had the power of a government agency or two to back us up.” Steve shrugs. “If he can’t agree to that, we won’t be signing.”

“And you’re all cool with that?”

Tony nods. “We’ve argued over this for months, and getting your insight as someone on the outside helped as well. We’re not backing down from this.”

“Good. There’s no reason to roll over just because some dickhead bully demands it. He needs your support on this. He’s blind if he can’t see that.”

“Our thoughts exactly,” Steve says.

“Has she been cleared to go home yet, though?” Clint asks.

Steve nods. “She’s good to go as early as tomorrow morning.”

“Great,” Clint says, his relief obvious in his voice. “Simone has to go out of town on Saturday and without her, there’s no one left to dog-sit.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and Tony makes makes a joke about Clint’s loyalties lying elsewhere. I can’t pay attention to any of it, though. My thoughts keep straying back to what it’ll be like to be back in my apartment and away from the rest of the team. I can’t help thinking that it’ll be a little more peaceful, especially with the constant sounds of the settling apartment building around me.

Bucky squeezes my hand and I shake the fog from my head. “Hm?”

“You okay?”

I try to reassure him with a smile. “I’m fine. Just trying to plan what we need to do to get ready to go tomorrow.”

“We’ll head out bright ‘n early tomorrow. Okay?” I nod and he kisses my forehead.

“You’re sitting in the back, Clint.”

“What? You know I get carsick.”

“You don’t get carsick, you just don’t like the legroom in the back.”

“Can’t help that, Bucky, I’m a tall guy!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You know (Y/N) needs the front seat. She can’t sit normally because of her wings.”

Clint scowls. “Then let me drive.”

“Hell no, you’re a nightmare behind the wheel.”

“You’re no fun!” I clear my throat and both men look to me and smile. “Hey! You’re finally up.”

I shake my head. “I was up an hour ago, I just wanted to make sure I had everything.”

“Oh, right.” Clint strides across the driveway and takes my bag from me. “We were just-”

“Squabbling,” I laugh. “I know. It’s what you two do best sometimes.”

“We can do other things too,” he mumbles.

Bucky shakes his head and joins Clint and I. “Ignore him. He’s just grumpy because someone called about a burst pipe in the basement.”

“Oh shit.” Clint scratches the back of his neck and I place my hand on his arm. “Have you called someone yet?”

“Yeah, they already showed up, but it won’t be a cheap fix.”

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. We can get it sorted out when we get back, right?” He nods and wanders off to pack up the car.

Bucky hooks his arm around my waist and I tilt my head up to kiss his cheek. “You’re looking better this morning,” he says.

“I slept really well last night. Probably has something to do with you two.”

“You give us too much credit, (Y/N).”

“I don’t think you give yourselves enough.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I’ll go get the car set up.”

“Okay. I’ll be over in a minute.”

I stand back and watch them move around the car. Clint scoops up two more duffel bags, I assume they’re his and Bucky’s, from beside the car and places them in the trunk. Bucky puts the passenger seat down and I can see him roll his eyes when Clint sidles up beside him and says something close to his ear. Clint laughs when Bucky pinches his side and I can’t help smiling.

It suddenly hits me how thankful I am that I have both of them. I don’t know what I would do without them, or even where I’d be right now if they weren’t in my life.

My smile slowly slips away as I realize that I love them. Different from when we first met and more than I did when I left.

My heart flutters and I press my fingers to my lips, just letting the realization wash over me. I’m not scared. Just peaceful. This feels right.

“You okay, (Y/N)?”

I refocus and meet Clint’s eyes. “Hm?”

“You were zoning out,” he says. “Are you feeling alright?”

I smile. “I’m good. Nothing to worry about.”

“You sure?”

I nod and approach the car. “Mhm.”

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. “Okay, good.”

“Help me into the car?”

“Of course.” He grins and gestures to the open passenger door. “Your chariot awaits.”

----------

Part 12

How’s that for an ending? I’m pretty fond of it, personally. I promise this isn’t the grand ending, but we’re getting close, I think. But for now, we know that the reader loves her boys, and that’s what really matters.

I’d love to know how you reacted! I always love knowing what you guys think, so please comment, reblog, like, and/or shoot me an ask!

If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know!

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[whitehotharlots]

CRT and the sad state of educational politics

If our culture is studied 100 years from now, the predominant theme of the research will be a sense of perplexed revulsion toward how we did nothing to address the climate crisis in spite of having decades of forewarning. If there is a second theme, it will be a profound confusion regarding our immense and unearned sense of self-certainty. A retrospective of the early twenty first century would be titled something like Who the Fuck Did These People Think They Were? 

The latter theme is illustrated in the debacle surrounding a recent slew of municipal and statewide bills that seek to ban the teaching of Critical Race Theory (CRT) in public schools. For the record, I am strongly against these bans. But I’m also self-aware enough to know my opinion matters very little, and therefore realize that an analysis of the discussion surrounding the bills will yield much more worthwhile observations than a simple delimitation of their pros and cons. Regardless of your personal opinion, I hope you’ll humor me.

I am, in some regards, a moral absolutist. But I also realize that abstract morality has very little bearing on material and political realities. In my ideal world, classrooms are free from political meddling. Teachers teach to the best of their ability, presenting students with truths that are confidently unvarnished due to the thorough amount of work that was required to reach them. I don’t cotton any of that socratic bullshit. Students are there to learn, not to engage in weird Gotchas with some perverted elder. The teacher’s job is to teach. The material they teach needs to be subjected to some graspable and standardized mechanism of truth adjudication before it is worthy of being taught. Teaching is not therapy. Teaching is not poetry. Teaching is not love, nor is it religion, nor is it a means of social or political indoctrination. There are plenty of other avenues available to accomplish all of those other things. Teaching is teaching. 

That’s the ideal. But ideals are just ideals. They never come true. The art of teaching, regardless of setting--from overpacked classrooms to face-to-face instruction to curricular design to nationwide pedagogical initiatives--boils down to a teacher’s ability to reconcile the need to convey truths with social and political pressures that are heavily invested in the suppression of truth. 

I have formally studied and practiced education for nearly two decades. In that time, the prevailing political thrust toward education has been a desire to casualize the practice of teaching, to render educators as cheap and fungible as iphones. The thrust takes different shapes depending on the political affiliation of whomever happens to be in charge of the state and federal governments that fund education, but the ultimate desire is always the same. The goal is always to attempt to make teaching rote and algorithmic, something akin to running a google search for How to do math? or What is morality?. The framing is always just windowdressing, empty culture war bullshit. 

Maybe it’s the inescapability of this thrust that’s rendered so many educators so blind to it? We only have nominal political choice, after all. The discourse gets more blinkered and vicious as the stakes decrease. At any rate, this is the undeniable reality, and anyone who doesn’t see that isn’t worth listening to. 

Non-administrative per-pupil spending as been on a steady decline since George W. Bush was president. Administrative bloat and meddling are becoming as common in k-12 as they are in higher education. The will of parasitic NGOs are implemented as common sense pedagogy without anyone even bothering to ask for any proof that they work. The so-called Education Reform movement is sputtering out due both to its manifest failures and rare, bipartisan backlash. But it will be replaced with something just as idiotic and pernicious. The thrust of causalization will not abate. 

And so what do we decide to do? What’s the next big thing on the education policy horizon? Critical Race Theory. 

Okay, this makes sense. In 2021, a local paper can’t run a news story about a lost cat without explicitly mentioning the race of every human involved and possibly also nodding toward the implied cisnormativity of pet ownership. So it makes sense that this broad rhetorical mandate would come to dominate the transitional period between Bush-Obama Education Reform and whatever bleak future awaits us. The controversy is so perfectly inefficacious that its adoption was inevitable. Because, seriously, it doesn’t matter. Regardless of the outcome of this kerfuffle, no problems will be solved. The real shortcomings of public education will not be addressed. Larger social problems that are typically blamed on public education in spite of having little to do with public education will especially not be addressed. Maybe white kids will have to do struggle sessions in lieu of the Pledge of Allegiance. Maybe black kids will get full credit for drawing the Slayer logo in the part of the test where their geometric proof is supposed to go. Or maybe it won’t happen. Maybe instead these practices will be banned, and in turn liberals will begin to embrace homeschooling, the charter movement will be given new life as a refuge against the terrors of white supremacist behaviors such as, uhh, teaching kids to show their work. Whatever.

Within the context of public education, the outcome will not matter. It cannot matter. There will be broader social impacts, sure. It will continue to drive Democrats more rightward, providing their party’s newly woke corporate wing with progressive-sounding rationales for austerity. But so far as teachers and students are concerned, it won’t matter.

Why do I give a shit about this, then? To put it bluntly, I’m struck by the utter fucking inartfulness of CRT’s proponents. At no point has any advocate of CRT presented a case for their approach to education that was at all concerned with persuading people who aren’t already 100% in their camp. There’s been no demonstration of positive impacts, or even an explanation of how the impacts could hypothetically be positive. In fact, so much as asking for such a rationale is considered proof of racism. Advocates posit an image of existing educational policies that is absolutely fantastical, suggesting that kids never learn about slavery or racism or civil rights. But then... then they don’t even stick with the kayfabe. They’ll say “kids never learn about racism.” In response, people--mostly well-meaning--say “wait, umm, I’m pretty sure they do learn about racism.” The response is “we never said they don’t learn about racism.” You’ll see this shift from one paragraph to the next. It’s insane. Absolutely insane. 

Or take this talk from a pro-CRT workshop in Oregon. The speaker freely admits that proto-CRT leanings like anti-bias education, multiculturalism, and centering race in historical discussions have been the norm since the late 1980s. The speaker admits that these practices have been commonplace for 30+ years, as anyone my age or younger will attest. Then, seconds later, the speaker discusses the results of this shift: it failed. Unequivocally:

We had this huge, huge, huge focus on culturally relevant teaching and research. [ ... ] So you would think that with 40+ years of research and really focusing and a lot of lip service and a lot of policies and, you know, a lot of rhetoric about cultural relevancy and about equity and about anti-bias that we would see trends that are significantly different, [but] that’s not what we’re finding. What we’re finding that you see [is] that some cases, particularly black and brown [students] the results, the academic achievement has either stayed the same and gotten worse.

Translation: here’s this approach to teaching. It’s new and vital but also we’ve been doing it for 40 years. It doesn’t work. But we need to keep doing it. Anyone who is in any way confused by this is a dangerous racist. 

Even in the darkest days of the Bush-era culture war, I never saw such a complete and open disregard for honesty. This isn’t to say that Bush-era conservatives weren’t shit-eating liars. They were. But they had enough savvy to realize that self-righteousness alone is not an effective way of doing politics. You need to at least pretend to be engaging with issues in good faith. 

This is what happens when a movement has its head so far up its own ass that it cannot comprehend the notion of good-faith criticism. These people do not believe that there can exist anyone who shares their basic goals but has concerns that their methods might not work. Their self-certainty is so absolute and unshakeable that they can proffer data demonstrating the complete ineffectiveness of their methods as proof of the necessity of their methods.

For decades, the most effective inoculation against pernicious meddling in education has been to lean upon the ideal form of teaching I described earlier in this post. We claimed that teaching is apolitical and that no one is trying to indoctrinate anybody. Regardless of the abstract impossibility of this claim, it has immense and lasting appeal, and it was upheld by a system of pedagogical standards that allowed teachers to evoke a sense of neutrality. The prevailing thrust in liberal education is to explicitly reject any such notions, and no one--not a single goddamn person--has proffered a convincing replacement for it. We still say, laughably, that we’re eschewing indoctrination. But people aren’t that stupid. If you find it beneath yourself to make your lies digestible, people will be able to tell when you’re lying to them. 

This, my friends, bodes very poorly for the future of education, regardless of whatever happens in the coming months. A movement that cannot articulate its own worth is not one that is long for this world. Teachers themselves are the only force that can resit the slow press toward the eventual elimination of public education, and they have embraced a worldview and comportment style that renders them absolutely unable to mount any worthwhile resistance. 

[sullustangin]

Okay, strange question for Theron. I hat does he believe in. Beyond duty and doing things for the greater good.

That’s a good question! It’s going to get long, so some of this is beyond a cut. 

Theron was raised as a Jedi until adolescence - his belief system is rooted in the existence of the Force.  It exists in all living things, and some people can access and use it, while others cannot. The Jedi are the good guys.  He was also raised as a citizen of the Republic.  He believes in the Galactic Constitution, which bars slavery and grants all sentients certain rights.  The Republic is a representative government with elections and enfranchised people choosing their leaders. 

Duty and the Greater Good

“Duty” and "The Greater Good” concept have to be defined with Theron, because he is not a lawful character.  He’s a neutral, leaning chaotic character in D&D terms.  Lawful characters go by whatever society approves of; chaotic characters have their own internal compass.  Neutral considers both.  A great example of this is when Director Trant of SIS and Jace Malcom the Supreme Commander of Pub forces tell him to get the job done and basically ignore the fact that two planets full of people are going to be sacrificed to do it.  Lawful characters do as the authority says.....and Theron decides to go rogue and disobey with a Jedi in order to at least save the second planet. His “greater good” is a lower death count, rather than guaranteed Republic victory. I would argue that Theron interprets his duty as belonging to a larger galaxy rather than exclusively the Republic and its political/military objectives; he is pro-Republic, no doubt about it, but there are limits. He’s also pro-Jedi, but there are limits -- some of them can be real asses.   I discuss his alignment further here.

Going into Forged Alliances in SWTOR, we have a man who works for the Republic and endorses the ideals of the Galactic Constitution.  He knows the Republic is not perfect.  He does believe the Jedi are “right,” but he does have some issues with their attitudes toward non-Force users.  They are not perfect. We get some very vehement statements in Annihilation about Theron’s experience with the Jedi after he was found not to be Force sensitive:  the arrogance of the Jedi, how they looked down on non-Force users. He even applied this metric to Satele in their first real conversation with each other.  I discuss this more here.  This doesn’t make him anti-Jedi, but he doesn’t view them with the same rose-colored glasses he did as a youngling. Individuals aside, he follows the Light Side of the Force.  

The Dark Side decisions that a Pub can make to please Theron in Forged Alliances/Shadow of Revan involve deceiving the Empire -- first, by destroying the Revanite cyborgs on Rakata Prime; second, by setting up perimeters around the Yavin base that track Imp movements just a little bit closer.  The blowing up of cyborgs rather than fighting them is to prevent Lana and the Empire from scavenging them later.  It’s not about killing them -- they as individuals are already dead.  You have to kill them to get to the next room anyway.  It’s just a matter of whether you give the Republic an edge by not permitting the Empire the opportunity.  It’s a chess match.  On Yavin, it’s about the Republic having more information than the Empire here as well.  These aren’t traps or weapons that would hurt Imps -- it’s just about having more information.  That is his duty to the Republic as an SIS agent while still supporting a cross-factional alliance to defeat a shared “Greater Bad.”  So while dishonest and Dark Side and ‘anti-Jedi’, Theron still does things in support of a government that has the Galactic Constitution while doing no direct physical harm to the Sith Empire’s operatives (a rather Light Side-y solution).

What else does Theron believe in, besides all that?

Theron believes – most of all and with the most optimism --  in the future. We saw that at the end of Lost Suns.  We see that when he chooses to save civilians on a planet he’s never met.  We even see it in his Dark Side decisions in-game; he anticipates that the war will resume against the Empire, and he wants the Republic (and its Constitution) to have the best odds winning.  I believe that Theron would rather have a rough life himself and save others in the future from the same work and suffering he’s gone through.  Does he do it like a Jedi? Nope.  He isn’t honest or honorable all the time, but he draws the line of sacrificing innocents or excessive for a cause.  Does he do it like a traditional agent of the Republic, taking orders without question?  Good Lord, no.  Trant complains about that all the time in Lost Suns and Annihilation.  Theron is Trant’s best agent, but half the time, Trant wants to throw him out a window or down a trash compactor because he doesn’t do things by the book. 

I discuss in that alignment post how beat up Theron gets because he does things that are “right” in his mind, but not protocol. Theron fights for a brighter future.  Based upon what he’s willing to do personally to ensure that happens, his life comes second to those yet to be born and a better galaxy for them.  Call it Jedi virtue, call it a zealous belief in the Galactic Constitution -- Theron does it (and he meets his end that way in the Nathema Conspiracy, if the player chooses that path).  This is also partially why he doesn’t have an SIS partner. Theron might be assigned to another agent, but he wants to do all the work himself, his own way.  Trant has learned it is pointless to assign Theron a partner because the partner is left out and doesn’t even know when Theron gallivants off.  His risk, his way.  

So to be very specific, Theron believes in the future for others, not necessarily himself.  Theron has a certain lack of selfishness paired with stubbornness that makes him put himself in danger because he believes there is some greater cause; he, the individual, doesn’t matter as much.  We see this in other SIS agents -- they’d die in the line of duty without much of a second thought. I read about Lana’s early experience in the Talay initiative, and the SIS agents she encountered were particularly devout.  

For Theron, that duty isn’t just to Republic or SIS -- it’s for the better future of the galaxy as well.  We can also use this as part of an argument that suggests why Theron isn’t shown romantically involved with anyone unless he gets with the player.  Theron thinks it would be nice if he survived to see this great future he wants for the galaxy and the Republic, but he understands he may not live to see it. That’s not fatalism or pessimism however.  He knows what Jedi did during the Fall of Coruscant.  He was always told by Ngani Zho that he was so loved by his mother that she had to give him up, so she wouldn’t have divided loyalties when it came to the good of the Republic.  His personal happiness doesn’t rank very high here; it is virtuous and right for individuals to make choices that cost themselves something rather than others. Theron doesn’t like to be selfish.

During KotFE Theron leaves the Republic after they’ve accepted the political fiction that Saresh is out of office.  Everyone knows she’s pulling the strings and promoting constant warfare against the Sith Empire, while bending the knee to Zakuul the entire time.  They are oppressed, but she gets to have her little wars.  Theron joins the Alliance because it is resisting an oppressive power that the Saresh doesn’t seem interested in throwing off and that the Empire can’t seem to throw off.  In KotFE, you have Theron as a companion.  He does NOT accept Republic memorabilia in order to raise influence -- I don’t think that’s an oversight, since Lana takes Imp memorabilia with enthusiasm.  Theron believes in the Galactic Constitution and all of its principles – but the Republic is failing to do that right now by tolerating Zakuul and their systems of slavery. If you recruit Bowdaar, you do so by Fight Club or “Eternal Championship” or whatever, and it runs off slaves and people owned by others.  This was what Theron worked against during his career in SIS prior to the whole Korriban thing….and now the Republic tolerates Zakuul’s use of it, as long as Saresh has her little wars with the Empire.

By KotFE, Theron no longer believes in his duty to the Republic, but in the Galactic Constitution. Now that the Jedi are gone, he doesn’t believe in them as much as the broader, greater good that the Republic never fully reached for due to its conflict with the Sith Empire.

This also brings us to the idea that Theron believes in the player.  When all the things he valued in the Republic and SIS went to dust, he went to the Alliance, knowing that a key element was the rescue of the player from carbonite.  Somehow, he thought this person – this key figure that he had worked with previously – would be able to head an Alliance that would save the galaxy one last time from the Sith Emperor.  

With KotET, the player can decide whether they are a peacekeeper Alliance or a new Empire. Theron supports the player and doesn’t make any move to leave or go back to the Republic, regardless of the decision (a flaw in writing, in my personal opinion, but it is what it is).  This is the game’s mechanic, but we may also interpret this as Theron’s belief in truth:  we are what we say we are.  A benevolent empire may not have elections, but it has a greater good in mind.   The Republic claims to support all of these ideals in its constitution…but it doesn’t under Saresh.  Even with a more brutal Eternal Empire, there is truth in advertising.  We are doing this, that’s the way it is.  We’re not hiding behind some Constitution that’s pushed to the wayside in favor of continued war with the Sith Empire. I know this is spinning the wheels hard to try to make it work, but Theron has to have rationale for staying, and it’s not provided in game. In Onslaught, we see a return of Theron’s temper; players who permitted high casualties on Corellia had Theron stomp out on them in anger.  That is consistent with what we’ve seen previously, but the writing had made him somewhat of a sycophant to the player character for awhile; it was a good surprise for character development, bad if you were romancing Theron since you don’t get a smooch off him for that ending.  

Now, if you go all Light Side for Theron, then it’s more easily explicable as to why he stays with the player – the Alliance does what the Republic will not, and he rather be in a place that does what the Republic should be doing, rather than be in a Republic that’s all talk and no action. He’s happy to return home to the Republic, if you make that choice in Onslaught.  He’s also accepting of remaining independent.  He only expresses concern with an Imperial alliance because he doesn’t want his home ground to dust....and all the people in it.  All those little individual futures that we as Alliance commander can control -- and if we’re working to make them better, that coincides with Theron’s own beliefs.

Does Theron Shan believe in love?

The virtue of love, in the sense that one cares for the good of others and the galaxy, is approved of by Jedi.  The idea of having someone, of bonding to someone and wanting to maintain that relationship – and the associated fear of losing that relationship – can lead to the Dark Side.  Now, Theron may not buy into that as much as he did when he was a kid, but it might stick in the back of his mind, since unless the player romances him, he remains single.   He’s also devoted to his ideals and his work, his duties. He’s a self-admitted workaholic -- that sort of kicks romance and personal love down the ladder of priorities. 

On the other hand, Theron hasn’t been treated well by ‘love.’ Ngani Zho loved him… and left him without telling him the truth.  Zho also told Theron all the time that his mother Satele loved him so much that she had to give him up….and we have yet to see her ever admit that to him, face-to-face. We can argue that the latest patch, Echoes of Oblivion, points toward that happening, but even then, she only indicates that to player, not to Theron himself.  We saw Jace Malcom’s rejected paternal overtures in Annihilation and then alienation from Theron during Iokath.  Player choices decide whether that relationship is recoverable or not.

In an unromanced game, Theron is alone, but not necessarily lonely.  We can view this as sort of a holdover from his Jedi youth and as his adult life as a spy – love is a good thing in the galaxy but attachment is not, given the risks he takes.  There is no suggestion that he’s romantically involved with another NPC, unlike other games or even the Lana/Koth thing -- which is ultimately left up to player interpretation as to what exactly that was. 

This next bit is more subjective, because it’s how I’ve interpreted the Theron romance to this point on neutral/Light-leaning characters, specifically a smuggler.  I think prior to the playable character, Theron believes in love, but once again, not for him personally.  If the player romances him, it’s a whole different bantha wrangle.

Love is difficult. Being mutually attached is difficult for Theron, because most normal people want a certain back-and-forth, a certain amount of information sharing before they really commit.  Theron can’t give as much as they can.  Hook-ups are physically satisfying, but emotionally lacking.  

I know some authors have him as a someone who slept around a lot, while others have him as a serial monogamist.  Many just don’t discuss the idea of him being with anyone else besides their playable character.  I’ve written him as someone who can get hook-ups, can do a relationship or two seriously, but also has long spats of celibacy mixed in because he’s busy working. The greater good isn’t going to happen by itself, so Theron works at the cost of his personal relationships.  Because of being a spy and the issue of his parentage, he can’t disclose his work routine or why he’s come back with a new scar – it’s easier to let the relationship fall to the wayside than explain. Where are his parents? Who are his parents?  Easier to let the relationship go than explain.  

Theron is a consummate professional.  Even in the era of KotFE/KotET, Miot and Koth refer to him as ‘stiff’ or ‘stuffy’ and not knowing when to “not work.”  His duties come before his personal desires.  This is why we have to get through all of Rishi before we even get to kiss Theron, plus another few weeks/months on Yavin before they playable character and Theron hook up.  However, if we take a look at the player’s path from Korriban or Manaan (Pub and Imp side encounters with Theron), it’s a courtship over the course of a half-year or more.  There are a lot of headcanon explanations for this, ranging from playable character inexperience, demisexuality, “behind the scenes” action that emphatically states that they were hooking up long before we saw them, and so on.  

I took what I saw on screen to be a signal of Theron’s professionalism -- no time for lovin’ until the job is done -- but also his attachment issues. I’ll do another post on this later, but I’m writing him with the label “fearful avoidant attachment” in mind.  Basically, Theron wants to be attached to someone, desperately, but he is terrified of it.  I don’t blame Satele for this one – this is all about Theron not only being ditched by Ngani Zho, but also then being dismissed from the Jedi Order because he wasn’t even Force sensitive to begin with.  Suddenly, the father he knew and the way of life he thought he was going to follow til the day he died – gone.  Now he has to integrate with ‘normal people life’ where you’re supposed to do the personal life attachment stuff that Jedi frowned upon.  In my fan fic, Theron confesses that SIS and his duty to the Republic – more accurately, to the future – take the place of the Jedi order. He attaches himself to that more readily than individuals.  

The playable character changes Theron; he says that in his “I’m back at SIS” letter.  He’s more open to teamwork and reaching out to Satele.  Again, fans have run with this, including having Theron in a relationship with the player until the Eternal Fleet incident, having them just hook-up and leave it at that (particularly if Imperial), or something in between.  Ziost marks a time where Theron is both relieved and embarrassed the player is there to catch him when he falls.  The last we see of Theron in-game Pubside prior to Popsicle Time, he says he won’t hesitate to reach out (unlike what he did this time).  

Then we get the “For When You Wake Up” letter.  It reveals that Theron is in love, whether or not he wants to openly acknowledge it yet. He doesn’t send a letter to an unromanced player stating that the fact they’re still alive is “the thing that keeps [him] going.”  And he’s also worried, nervous, or even scared that the feelings are not mutual -- “I don’t want to presume.”  

The Theron romance starts in KotFE the night of his arrival. The kiss can be a tentative “let’s try this,” and then dating starts.  I took it as “let’s go back to my place” and a full-blown committed relationship starts between Theron and my smuggler.  There are other interpretation in between.  Any way a person shakes it,  Theron had been holding on to his Yavin hook-up for five years in his heart.  Based upon letters you get throughout these two expansion pacs, Theron still has workaholic tendencies.  He still struggles with the writing of words and expressing love publicly – but he is attached, and painfully so, as we see in Chapter 12, when the player goes on an impromptu camping trip with Marr and Satele.  In my interpretation of all of that, love is still difficult – but not because of the reasons Theron had prior to Eternal Fleet, when he was fully committed to SIS and the Republic.  It’s because in order to save the galaxy from the Sith Emperor, the player may have to be sacrificed for the greater good.  Theron can’t step into their shoes on this one; he can’t take their place.  

After the main KotET chapters, we see the Traitor arc and all of its flaws – but also the consistency of Theron’s character, if we remember how he believes in a better future, even if he doesn’t get to live to see it.  That does include potentially sacrificing his romantic relationship with the player and possibly his life as well.  If the player chooses to kick Theron out of the Alliance, the question of where he goes next is valid – he won’t go back to the Republic, and he’s not an Imperial. Where is Theron Shan, in those player universes?

If Theron (and his romance) survives to Echoes of Oblivion, we see a letter that is downright gleefully sweet.  His mother isn’t dead, and it’s because of you that he has a chance to try to make something of that relationship…again.  I’ve expressed my skepticism about this, since this is the exact set-up we had prior to Eternal Fleet, and then Satele ghosted Theron.  We’ll see; I may be a bit of a cynic or an angstmonger.  The point is, the way the romance is written to this point, Theron is happily in love with his partner/spouse. Love is for him, after all. 

Even without the romance, a living Theron in the Alliance (or whatever it is now) in Echoes of Oblivion is one that has attachments to friends and potentially family again.  There is a future -- and he’s in it.  That may have been more than what Theron was anticipating when we first met him at 23, nearly 17(!) years ago. 

[schiste-argileux]

Idw Prowl is an evil SOB (took him two years to send the Wreckers to Garrus-9 and help Maxy (who was protecting all the war crimes the Bots did), put Maxy’s torturer and a war criminal on board the Lost Light cuz why not, sent Pharma to Delphi knowing it was DJD territory)

Prowl... Prowl’s creation and competence in his area of work is astounding. He is brilliant, creative, and defiantly apathetic of this world. But, he is very human in his own way. IDW Prowl is selfish, yet not. He is a unique in that aspect because most people make decisions like his for the sole reason of benefiting themselves. But Prowl’s sole reason of existing is to create PEACE. 

Peace. Peace can only be done when people are complacent, happy, and satisfied. When things are stationary. Stable. 

But life is never stable. Elements desire to form bonds, yet are almost always leaning towards to instability... Prowl’s form of PEACE is a world where there is no fighting. But everything sentient requires to fulfill its desires. As long as there is desire, people will fight. 

A world of PEACE would be a world of full control, there are no surprises, no change. Safety, routines, and constants. No creativity, no development... nothing. stagnant. 

But I must admire Prowl’s tenacity and dedication to this world! 

He sacrifices everything for the sake of the directive, preserve cybertron, PEACE. He sacrifices his morals (Robot Gets Bullied By a Human), his dignity (Recent News, Cop Accepts Orgy For The Means of Establishing Peace, his body (Recent News, Cop gets Molested by A Spider for The Autobot Cause), and of course, thousands of lives (Not Recent News). :D Prowl respects and understands that there will always be chaos and instability, and he is so very flexible around it all! He literally can maximize everything and anything he has. He is the embodiment of consequentialism with a lil dash of politics. I wish my group project members were 1% as productive as him! Prowl tries to put everything black and white, and he gets upset when things get far more tricky, and wants to get everything in control so people can stay safe and remain in peace and not fight! And that’s a respectable goal! Control can be good, it means one understands and is able to retain themselves and the thing they are controlling. But Prowl doesn’t want to accept that there are things out of his control. And Prowl likes to think he’s justified when he controls the uncontrollable. 

I mean, yeah, if he didn’t do what he did, the autobots would have been six feet under A LOT EARLIER. Optimus is not a good leader, preserving organic life over his own soldiers? Psh. Look at Spike, he’s got valid points and can I understand why he left the ‘bots. Prowl’s probably thinking everyday, DAMN, OP, WHY R U SO DUMB. LISTEN WE NEED TO FEED OUR SOLDIERS AND PRIORITIZE OUR SPECIES LIVES INSTEAD OF THIS FUCKING CARBON BASED CIRCLE. HELLO??? And literally Prowl could have been like I’m gonna get ya assassinated so I CAN HAVE IT MY WAY. But Prowl was BORN for the RULES. To follow, to MAKE PEACE. Killing the prime figurehead is against that, even if it would make his life way easier! (hence, not that selfish and also sad that your life is the rules. That’s a short leash, but he makes due)

Honestly I feel bad for Prowl. Must suck to be so big brain that everyone hates you when you say the truths (but also you could learn some more tricks from Jazz to be nicer and hide the truth, but that’s scary because a nicer prowl means more people he can trick and use. Thanks Prowl for being so straightforward! Now people can avoid you easier). He's so straightforward about things that need to be done, he’s in constant denial about the grey area of life!

That’s why when Spike slapped Prowl with reality slaps, Prowl lost some of his shit. Remember, nearly everyone had the edgy depressed time in their teens or young adult years where you realize the world is truly unfair and nothing is black and white? Yeah. Slap that on a 6+ million year old robot with a battle computer and is capable of big brain CPU-age, and was literally built for the sole purpose of enforcing rules and making peace? And no one really cared about Prowl enough to understand him and his background. So Prowl goes through his angst moment alone with his huge titties, frustrated. THIS. IS. WHY. YOU. COMMUNICATE. YA DINGUS. 

Prowl doesn’t become a school shooter like Pharma cuz hes got bigger brain and a lot more power and control over himself, but he literally becomes Shadow The Hedgehog (Even if the world’s against me I’ll fight like I’ve always have). HE’S GONE ROGUE. MA’AM, SIR, THE FUCKING OREO COOKIE HAS TRANSFORMED AND ROLLED OUT.  like. OP was the one thing holding prowl back, which was good! But now prowl’s on the roll and bumblebee is too nice and passive to hold him back. + the bombshell brainwash? feels so bad. being prowl sucks. because Prowl is a necessary evil. 

At least he’s wonderfully blunt about his goal to create a peaceful cybertron, which makes it easier if you want to avoid him or smth. meanwhile you have fake people IRL that smile their way through and then slit your throat and you won’t even know it was them (hey jazz, no offense, but that’s what spec ops does). Fakers are the scariest enemy, but Prowl is still a threat, just not as big as a someone who fluffs you up on a balloon and then pops it. Prowl would just be like, hey, you’re really useful, come over here in my white van i wanna show you something and then maybe you get destroyed. But hey! You were the one with the highest chance of surviving compared to other people! Isn’t that great? You’re so skilled WOW. (Prowl gets punched. Again!) Prowl represents the necessary evil in society. We WILL ALWAYS HAVE EVIL people in this world. But Prowl is a far better evil than people who do evil for their own selfish reasons. It’s like how we have law enforcers and politicians . It’s basically giving them legal rights to do illegal things (lmao). BUT we need them regardless. We need those people to get their hands dirty, possibly killed, so that people can live in innocence and peace. 

I don’t think Prowl ever realized that he was a necessary evil, and when Spike showed him that, he was bitter. But he accepted it. Which I respect because most people can’t be bothered to understand themselves and just throw themselves in denial, and point fingers for their flaws. Prowl sucks up and understands who he is, and he makes the best of it to achieve his goal.  I mean, honestly? Prowl is probably a miracle worker. Not in a Ratchet sense. But look at the way modern governments run, nothing gets done, everything is stalled because no one has the guts to make sacrifices. Prowl would have gotten a shit ton of things done, man, and take quick efficient action. Even if he sacrifices many things for it.  (Warning. I do not condone any taking of lives, NO ONE has the right to judge whenever a person should live or die.)  Prowl reminds me of 秦始皇 (Qin Shi Huang), the king who unified China and sacrificed millions to make the Great Wall, canals, and road systems that last to this day. If it wasn’t for these accomplishments, China wouldn’t have been what it is today. Was it a good thing? For the future residents of China? Hell yeah. But the costs? Those are sins that can never be erased, and they are horrible and shouldn't be done ever again. Was it necessary? Perhaps. But that’s another discussion. Is Prowl evil? Depends on your definition of evil. Perhaps he’s justified, perhaps in his world, he’ll go down as the Qin Shi Huang of the Cybertronians. Regardless, Prowl like Pharma, is an EXCELLENT example to study on public ethics, and administrative officials should analyze him and learn from his mistakes and sins.  I think Prowl is not evil in a sense that he wishes to harm others, but evil in a sense of his apathy. Prowl is a necessary component to a functional society (someone to plot, to use people, to enforce rules even if some are sacrificed, someone who can get their hands dirty). He lives a terrible and sad fate, and I do not wish ANYONE to live a life like Prowl’s or look up to Prowl. Yes, he’s so clever and brilliant, but that kind of power will make you the loneliest person on Earth.

Thanks Prowl for taking the entire load of sin on your shoulders! Big MVP! You get nothing from the world except hate and contempt.  I would go on about him more but I have IRL stuff to do. I love Prowl as an example to tell people that MODERATION. COMMUNICATION. AND COMPASSION are important factors to have a healthy and good mental state. Prowl is the perfect example of someone who doesn’t want to empathize (haha so many people are like this today), who doesn’t want to try to use more braincells and friends help to make better plans that are more moderate and not extreme, and who doesn’t want to talk to anyone thinking its a waste of time or have difficulty explaining things.  BUT I LOVE G1 PROWL because he has far more patience and manners, and doesn’t take a darker, route for his goals. awhohdohd he’s baby,,, i wish all cops had patience and manners and in general open-minded yet cautious enough not to be taken advantage of,,,, perhaps then we wouldn’t have so much polarization and fighting with authority in this world.... 

uwuwwuwuwuw they did prowl so dirty in idw WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ;____;   Again, you are welcome to disagree or agree! I wrote this really quickly so I’m sure there will be points that could be clarified or edited. Prowl’s really complicated and I do not like to talk about current IRL problems, but Prowl represents a lot of problems in society. And I think it’s critical if we try to look at both perspectives to get an understanding on WHY people do these things, and is there a solution to AVOID making those same mistakes? There’s a couple of controversial things in this short essay I wrote, esp. about cops IRL. So feel free to have at it! Or ignore it! Whichever is more comfortable for you! Thanks for coming to my ted talk! Again, Prowl is a bad influence and a sorrowful life to live. please do not try to be like prowl. xD I won’t intrude on you if you do, because you have a right to live the life you want as long as you’re not hurting other people’s interests and wellbeing! 

[mi6-cafe]

THESE ARE THE FINAL LDWS DRABBLES!

For the finale, we asked our competitors to write exactly 400 words in which they had to use the phrase “we aim to please”.

The did an excellent job so come read and vote and help us decide THE ONE DRABBLE WRITER TO RULE THEM ALL...

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The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

#1

Title: Live to Serve Author: sorion Warnings: alludes to the current political climate in the US (and to a lesser degree the UK) Summary: Bond completes objectives. How he completes them is up to him.

Bond barely batted an eye when his solitary corner of the bar he'd chosen was invaded by another patron with his own drink.

"Felix," he greeted him.

"James. What a surprise."

Bond's smirk widened. "Tell the truth. You knew I was in the States the moment I set foot on the ground."

Felix's lip twitched sardonically. "When you got on the plane to come here."

Bond chuckled.

"I've learned that it pays to keep track of your movements." He tilted his head to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "Just in case."

"I'd be insulted if I didn't do the same thing with you."

They grinned at each other wordlessly and returned to their drinks.

"So," Felix interrupted their companionable silence. "What brings you here?"

"Is that American for, 'What havoc can I expect you to wreak on my home turf'?"

Felix pretended to consider that. "Sounds about right."

Bond's amused eyes wandered to the muted news on the television in the corner of the bar and darkened. "Not as much havoc as I'd like to wreak."

Felix followed his line of sight. "Tell me about it," he agreed. Then he straightened, cleared his throat, and added in a chatty tone, "What's your people's stance on overthrowing foreign governments, these days?"

Bond, fortunately, wasn't swallowing at that moment, or he would have choked on it. It still took all his not inconsiderable self-restraint to not laugh out loud. "Overthrowing governments of allies is sadly frowned upon." He pondered that for a second. "Yours?"

"Same." He leaned closer. "Any orders to such an effect, regardless?" he asked carefully.

Bond shook his head. "More's the pity. I live to serve, and I serve by completing objectives." He squinted at Felix. "How I complete them is my prerogative, however."

Felix nodded slowly, indicating that he was operating similarly.

"What I'd like to do," Bond continued, his lethal eyes on the news, "would be like trying to put out a fire with nitro-glycerine, so I was thinking something more subtle."

"Mhm..." Felix hummed, his voice thrumming with satisfaction. "Subtle is not quite your thing."

Bond's shark-like smile was all teeth. "I know a guy..."

"Smart, dark-haired, gorgeous, can kill from his bed in his pyjamas?" Felix guessed.

They shared a look like two bloodhounds catching a scent.

Felix held out his hand.

Bond took it.

"We live to serve. We aim to please."

#2

Title: An Assist Author: Anyawen Warnings: Summary: Bond learns that he's been equipped with an unlooked-for advantage.

Bond paused, studying the bullet he was loading into his spare clip. There were scratches on the base of the casing. That was decidedly odd. Q would never send out ammunition with any sort of flaw that could impair its use, or worse, damage the gun — or the agent using it. He ran a finger over the base but couldn't detect the scratches. Turning it in his hands he looked again. Definitely there. And, he checked, also on all the other bullets in the clip. The chance of a bad bullet from Q-branch was staggeringly small, but not zero. The chance of an entire bad batch escaping notice, however, could be measured in negative numbers. If Q sent these bullets out into the field, then these marks were meant to be there. There must be a reason for them. There was something niggling at him. He’d seen this pattern of scratches before. He glanced over at his Walther. Picking it up he peered at it closely, turning it over and over in his hands. Ah. There it was. On the back of the trigger was a faint glimmer of markings. ... .||. .|.. .| |.|. . .|. .  ... | ..| |.. . || ..| ... It took him a minute to recognize that the lines were dashes among a smattering of dots. After that realization the letters came easily. "placere studemus" Translating the Latin took slightly longer. A moment later he tapped his ear and heard the faint ambient sounds of Q-branch through the earwig. "Do you require assistance, 007?" Q asked. "Interesting numbers in your annual report." "Focus on the mission, Bond. We can discuss—  " "Decreased stray bullet injuries on ops over the last year, but no noticeable increase in range scores," Bond continued, speaking over Q. "True." "We're hitting our targets more often without actually being better shots." "An impressive feat." "Very. I've not seen magic like it since my gran passed." "I- What?" "She was a hedge witch." "Oh. Are you ..." "No," Bond replied as he finished loading the clip. "Can't sense or cast magic. Recognized the marks as spellwork, though. Nice work. You're some sort of technomage?" "Something like that." "And the spell?" "Merely an assist." "An effective one." "Thank you." "Just one thing, Q." "Yes?" "Is that phrase really the best anchor you could come up with?" "Well. You can't deny it's apropos. After all, 'we aim to please.'”

#3

Title: Marketing Research Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: sex? Summary: Bond discovers what Q Branch has been working on lately

“Well, well, Quinn.”

As Bond dropped the gunmetal grey box next to his laptop, Q felt a cold shudder spill down his spine. There were still a few secrets he’d managed to keep from his lover, though apparently he now had one less. “You should never have been able to access that part of the lab.”

“Mmm, so I was informed. Top Secret. I had to be quite persuasive. An interesting project though, Quinn.”

Q fought down a surge of jealousy at the thought of what that persuasion might have been. “You know that’s not my real name, it’s just a joke amongst the techs.” He crossed his arms in irritation. “Dammit, James, you were snooping! This prototype was meant to be a birthday surprise.”

“It’s certainly surprising.” Bond’s finger traced the embossed lettering lovingly. “And not at all an exploding pen, which I was rather expecting. However did you get this past the projects committee?”

Q sighed. “Given the proclivities of double-ohs, it was an easy sell as a test product. A quite unexpected way to deliver drugs or implant trackers, should the need arise.”

“The box is a bit of a giveaway, though, don’t you think? The logo is literally a Q with a tree branch entwined.”

“That’s not the final packaging! They were just having a bit of a joke!”

Bond raised an eyebrow as he opened the box, stroking a finger delicately over the contents. Q felt a twitch of reluctant arousal as he watched those so very precise fingertips linger on certain details.

“So delightfully unexpected, Q,” James purred as he picked up the creamy vellum card inside. “‘Quinn’tessential Ecstasies,” he read aloud. “Is all of Q Branch so prone to puns and in-jokes?” He smirked and dropped the card back into the box. “But don’t you think ‘We Aim To Please’ is a bit on the nose for a gun-shaped dildo?” James chuckled, picking it up and fondling it in a way that made Q’s trousers just a little more snug.

Q glared. “As if subtlety is your strong suit.”

James laughed wickedly. “I’m quite impressed with the trigger-activated vibrations. Whatever made you think of this?”

“It seemed natural, since an exploding pen is out of the question in the bedroom, and you do have a rather unhealthy attachment to your Walther.”

“It needs testing. And since you present such a tempting target, Q…”

#4

Title: Double, Double, Toil and Trouble Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None Summary: On an undercover mission, Bond considers the merits of murdering customers.

“Is the hazelnut syrup sugar-free?”

Bond bit back a sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid not. Only the cinnamon and vanilla syrups are sugar-free.”

It wasn’t the stupidest question in the world, but this had been going on for five minutes. Or maybe three. It felt like five hours.

First, it had been “what’s the difference between a latte and a flat white?” Which… fair enough. He’d had to quickly remember his crash course in coffee-making to bullshit an explanation without saying “the flat white is cheaper but costs more.”

Then, it was “why does the oat milk have a surcharge but the soy milk doesn’t?” prompting a lesson in the economics of non-dairy milk alternatives all the while considering drowning his customer in said soy milk.

So: not the stupidest question in the world, but quite possibly the stupidest customer.

“I’ll have a cappuccino.”

Seriously?

“Was that with soy milk?”

“Oh no, just regular milk’s fine.”

How was this his life?!

“Syrup?”

“No, thanks.”

He could feel his molars grinding with the force of his fake smile. Five minutes! For nothing!

“And what name is it?”

“Karen.”

Of course it was.

He had been stuck in this god-forsaken job for three weeks, and was seriously weighing the pros and cons of ‘accidentally’ causing an explosion. Things like that happened, right? He could probably get away with it

“No, you can’t kill her.”

Bond stifled a groan. Bad enough that he was stuck undercover as a bloody barista in Canada, without having Q in his ear all day judging his latte art and thwarting his murder plans. It turned out the Quartermaster was the bloody customer service police.

“I would never,” he muttered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. The last thing he needed was for his temporary “colleagues” to overhear him talking to thin air.

“Of course not. Just like you’d never feed your gun to a komodo dragon.”

“You know damned well that was an accident,” he whispered, sprinkling cocoa powder through a bloody maple leaf stencil. “How much longer, Q?”

Q just hummed apologetically.

Straightening his shoulders and pasting another ‘friendly’ smile on his face, Bond handed over the drink.

“Well, at least you’re generous with the cocoa.”

“Fuck you, Karen.”

“We aim to please. Enjoy your drink.”

Bond wondered whether he could talk Q into blowing the place up after all.

#5

Title: Distraction Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: paranoia can be a healthy attitude around some people

As a rule, Q always was rather suspicious of quiet - whether that was a side effect of working in espionage or just his nature, he wasn't particularly sure but he knew better than wasting too much brainpower on such considerations. Besides, a healthy dose of paranoia always paid off if the feeling was carefully kept on a leash. Hand going to grab his taser, Q entered the bedroom and his eyes immediately zeroed in on his lovers "What are you doing?" "Who - us?" James inquired with a shiteating grin, dramatically pointing at his own chest "Man of little faith" Q gestured at Raoul, lounging against the bed post "At least he has the decency to not try to fool me" he pointed out as he relaxed in increments, tension gradually leaving his body as he made his way to the bed to sit at its foot "So?" "What makes you think we are up to anything?" The younger man batted James' hand away from his calf "You always are up to something when you're quiet: it's not like either of you" Raoul's chuckle was satiny and dark - if Q hadn't found it ridiculous to compare a sound to food, his mind would have probably come up with some kind of stupid similitude involving a rich, dark chocolate cake "We aim to please, mi querido" "That awfully sounds like an admission of guilt" "Maybe" Raoul leaned over, finger tapping the point of the other's nose just to see the way it would scrunch up at the bothersome gesture "But who says I feel guilty about any of it?" Taking advantage of Q's distraction, their lover clearly too busy - and failing at - glaring Raoul into properly confessing, James wrapped his hand around his ankle and tugged firmly, a delighted chuckle escaping his lips at the  little shriek Q let out "Let's talk about it later" he murmured, bending down to brush their lips together "There's funnier things to do" "Just tell me the place isn't gonna get swarmed by whatever international agency might be thirsting for our heads" Raoul palmed his cheek, gently turning his head to meet his eyes "I promise" Q sighed, eyes rolling even as he reached for the nape of the other's neck while he sneaked a foot between James' legs "Fine, but don't you think you can postpone this conversation for much longer" "Wouldn't dream of it"

#6

Title: Souvenirs Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: mild BDSM themes Summary: Bond likes giving Q souvenirs of his travels.

Q examined the box squatting in the center of his desk, a cardboard enigma with a security clearance tag. The shipping label indicated it had originated from Elko, Nevada. Q closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The only agent recently conducting operations in the US was Bond. The joint operation between the CIA and MI6 focused on an information dealer selling military secrets from both Britain and the US. Bond had been pleased to be working with his old friend Felix Leiter. Q had been entertained by Bond and Leiter as the pair entered what Felix had described as a legal brothel.

Bond: “Only in America.” Bond's voice held a hint of astonishment. “All that neon makes my eyes water.”

Leiter: “Ah yes, one stop shopping for a certain type of client.”

Bond: “Felix. They have a gift shop. The souvenirs must be epic.”

Successful, Bond had returned and this had appeared. Q looked at the box reproachfully. Bond and his souvenirs. Being romantically involved with the man had only increased his penchant for gifting Q with odd objects. He carefully slit the tape and opened the flaps, prodding carefully at the packing peanuts. The first item was a six pack of seasonings and sauces intended for American style barbecue. Unusually practical. He resolved to investigate how to use them as he placed the jars on the shelf behind him and dug further. His fingers encountered a narrow object that flexed a bit as he removed it. He flushed with embarrassment although he was alone in the office as he withdrew a riding crop in a rather nice leather finish with the initials MHHP stamped on the handle in gold. He gave it an experimental swing, neatly sending a packing peanut flying. Digging produced a final item. He shook out the tee shirt, and read the logo that explained it all. 'Madame Helga's House of Pain, Barbecue Joint, and Rifle Range' was displayed across the front. The back had an image of an androgynous figure with a bullseye painted on it's pert derrière and the legend, 'We aim to please'. His phone pinged and he checked the text. Bond had sent a video which proved to be a short loop of the neon display at Madame Helga's featuring an animated dominatrix landing a crop in the center of the bullseye. The text accompaniment said, 'Care to provide a target, darling?'

#7

Title: Timing is Everything Author: Iambid (Flantastic) Warnings: None Summary:  James needs a new hobby.

YOU'RE EARLY AGAIN, said the Grim Reaper, with a hint of surprise.

“I am?”  James asked, sounding a lot calmer than he currently felt.

He looked around himself.  He’d been in Saudi Arabia, on the trail of an assassin, when everything had gone to hell. He’d been captured, beaten, tortured and then dumped in the middle of nowhere, somewhere south of Ash Shalfa. The last thing that he remembered was lying broken and bloody in the burning desert, baking under the merciless sun.

Now it appeared he was in a wood-panelled office, not unlike the one that M used.

Except M’s had never had a skeleton dressed in a black robe sitting at its desk.  Well. As far as James knew.

YOU KEEP DOING THIS, Death said, shuffling through the thick paper file in front of him.  Her. It.  Whatever.

“I do?”  James asked, still not entirely sure he knew what was going on.

MMMMM.  AGED TEN, FELL HEAD-FIRST OUT OF A TREE.  AGED TWENTY-ONE.  GOT INTO A FIGHT ON THE HMS ALBION, PUSHED OFF THE FLIGHT-DECK INTO THE ADRIATIC SEA. AGED FORTY-TWO, SHOT OFF A NINETY-EIGHT METRE BRIDGE BY A… Death paused, bringing the page closer to their face. They seemed to squint, which wasn’t bad going for a skull … IT SAYS A ‘FRIEND’.

“That would be Moneypenny.”  James explained.

THERE ARE COUNTLESS INCIDENTS LIKE THIS.  NEED I GO ON?

“I shouldn’t think so.”  James admitted.

COME WITH ME, Death commanded.  They rose, and floated towards the door.  James obediently followed them.  The door opened and on the other side, they found themselves in a hospital room. The occupants didn’t seem to notice.

YOU SEEM TO THINK THAT RESURRECTION IS A HOBBY.  IT ISN’T.  DESPITE YOUR BEST EFFORTS, I SIMPLY CAN’T TAKE WHAT ISN’T MINE YET.

James stepped forward and saw that he was the man in the bed and the man in the chair next to him, the man pressing tearful kisses to the back of his bandaged hand, was Q.

YOU BELONG TO HIM.  HE’S WAITING FOR YOU TO LOVE HIM.  YOU’LL BE MINE ONCE YOU’VE GIVEN HIM A LONG HAPPY LIFE.

James jerked awake, his body suddenly screaming out with a hundred injuries.  He gasped but Q was there, soothing him, calming him.  He squeezed his hand and Q smiled.

“You saved me.”  He croaked.

“Smart blood.  Latest tech. We aim to please.” Q replied.

#8

Title: The Problem With Retirement Author: Venstar Warnings: none Summary: retirement or reunion

The diner was full of quiet little noises this late at night. Silverware clinking, a pen scratching across a booklet of crossword puzzles, tired sighs of the late-night drivers, and in the corner a booth full of a tired family. Where had it all gone wrong?

The snap of chewing gum and their waitress’s voice drew him out of his musings. “Welcome to the Georgia Peach, we aim to please. What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

A long-suffering sigh blew out of the wide mouth that had been until then, pinched tight in annoyance. “Just coffee for him.”

The waitress was a behemoth of a working professional, much like Bond, and simply offered Q a wide smile, showing just a hint of gold at the edges. “And for his lordship?”

Bond answered for him. “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.”

“Okay, one coffee and hot tea for His Lordship.” She winked at Q and spun on her heel.

Q’s folded his hands under his chin and studied Bond for the minutes it took for their waitress to bring back a carafe of coffee, a mug of hot water on a saucer, and a pathetic excuse for a teabag.

Bond sipped at his coffee as he watched the disgust crawl across Q’s perfect, bony little face. He missed that face.

“Enough. Why am I here and why are you bleeding?”

“Am I bleeding?” Bond reached under his jacket, his fingers came away wet and red. “Huh, thought it was ketchup.”

“You’re supposed to be in the middle of Jamaica. Retired.”

“You could say that. I need your help. Madeline needs your help”

Q stared long and hard at Bond. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. Running off with her, abandoning m...MI6 taking the car-” He broke off his tirade when Bond reached forward and laid his hand on his, blood smearing along the pale skin.

Q’s eyes focused on the blood.

“I never said WE retired together. She’s been a good neighbor, a good friend. That’s all. She still had her secrets. They found her. Whoever THEY are and she needs your help.” Bond curled his fingers under and gripped Q’s hand tightly.

Q made a weak attempt to look away. His eyes stuttered back when Bond’s finger brushed across his wrist and gave an answer Q was not expecting.

“Oh, how I missed you, Q.”

#9

Title: Improvisation Author: AtoTheBean Warnings: None Summary: Turn-about is… unpleasant.

He nurses a scotch and watches the mark, Jason Abernathy, at a table in the corner.  Businessman.  Mid-40s.   On his third round, a group of beautiful people laughing at his jokes.   He’s ignoring the dance floor, despite the urging of the blonde at his table. And he’s noticed Bond watching, but hasn’t approached him. Another agent is on her way as back-up.  Perhaps she’ll be more to his taste. Bond turns the card over in his fingers  “Discreet Escorts: We aim to please!”  It’s not subtle, but it has a certain charm.  If it were just a high-end escort business, he wouldn’t be here.  But if it’s a quasi-legal front for a human trafficking ring...   “007?” R asks. Bond raises his drink to his lips.  “Hmmm?” “Change of plans.” Bond surveys the room, waiting for clarification.   It comes in the form of Q wearing skinny jeans and a tight purple shirt.   Q smiles flirtatiously and moves around Bond so his back is to the mark.  “New intel.  003 won’t be to his taste either.  We had to improvise.” “Improvise?” “Reject me,” Q whispers.  “Loudly.” Bond glances at the mark and sees his gaze fixed on Q’s arse. “You’re not what I want,” Bond shouts, pushing Q away.   One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand. “Is there a problem?” Jason asks, sliding in beside Q. Q levels a dazzling smile at him.  “No problem.  My new employer sent me to a potential client, and I’m not what he wants.” “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.  Who’s your employer?” Q hands him a card just like Bond’s. “Oh, I am.  Shall we see how well you take our motto to heart?” Jason leads Q to the dance floor.  Bond is forced to watch them “dance” for ten minutes, until it’s really just grinding and snogging.  They pass him again on the way to the loo, and Bond feels something heavy drop into his pocket. Jason’s phone. Bond moves to the door.  “I have it.” “And the drive?” R asks. “Inserting now.” Within minutes, the data has been retrieved and Q’s bug is installed.  Bond wanders back in the bar, dismayed to see Q is still missing. “He’s fine,” R assures. Bond doesn’t like it.  He heads down the hall to the loo, placing the phone on the seat the mark vacated as he passes.  The door is locked. “Stand down, 007.” He orders another drink and waits.

#10

Title: Echoes Author: Shush_MummyWriting Warnings: None. Summary: Five + One. Bond hearing echoes.

Bond was surprised at how relaxing it was at Q’s parents’ house. It was filled with homely touches, photos of Q and his brothers through the years, plants and knick-knacks on the shelves. There was even a hand stitched frame in the downstairs bathroom that declared “In this house, we aim to please. In this room, you aim too, please!”. It felt like a home.

It was the second fitting for Bond’s latest suit. The tailor was a genius, the way he managed to conceal the gun holster. “Anything else, Mr. Bond?” he asked. “Perhaps a touch longer in the sleeve.” Bond replied. “Of course sir, we aim to please after all.” Bond smiled.

Bond was actually using his office, studying for his upcoming mission. Eve sauntered in, perched on the edge of his desk and asked, “How much do you love me?” dangling an envelope between two manicured fingers. “It depends on what that is.” said Bond, taking it. “Travel documents where I, your best friend, have managed to secure first-class tickets for your Brazil flights.” “Thank you!” said Bond, who detested long hours in cattle class. As Eve strolled out of the office, she tossed over her shoulder “We aim to please!”.

As Bond entered the R&D department, he was met with the sight of Alec, waving a brochure in the direction of Q, who appeared to be ignoring him. “Seriously Q, just have a look at these specifications. It would be an asset. And it looks awesome! Did you see the clever headline for it?” Q grabbed the brochure, exclaiming “That headline alone is reason enough NOT to buy it. What kind of company would market a rifle sight with the motto “We Aim to Please!” Seriously! Now away with you, I have work to do.” and gestured Bond forward.

Q went over each piece of equipment, saving the best for last. “This is simple, press the top three times quickly, jam it into the keyhole and step back.” Bond took it with a look of wonder “Q, you’ve made me an exploding pen!” Q’s blush was adorable as he muttered “We aim to please.”

Bond settled his breathing, sighting on his target. It should have been an impossible shot - the distance, the weather, etc but between his skill and Q's equipment, another minor government official/major crime lord met his fate. "We aim to please." Bond muttered.

#11

Title: Flirting With the Wild Cat Author: scarytheory Warnings: angst Summary: Moneypenny has a secret.

We aim to please.

There are new documents on her desk, and she's feeling sick to her stomach.

Oh yes. We do.

*

They met when she was still a field agent.

“Miss Moneypenny.”

“Miss Galore.”

It would have been a standard honeypot mission if they didn't hate each other instantly. But there was something they needed, so they flirted, got drunk and angrily fucked on the balcony. In the end, Eve got the information and Pussy Galore didn't.

It should have ended there. But sometimes Mallory needed to contact Galore again, and Eve was the best agent for it – even after she became a secretary.

Eve honestly didn't mind; she loved a challenge, and Galore gave her just that. It was always a rush of emotions, it was hatred with a twist, a complicated game – who was better, smarter, wittier. The constant battle for dominance. Which was also a basis for incredible sex.

They started spending more time together, and suddenly they were laughing and talking about their lives. They didn't even need a mission for that – whatever that was. It didn't feel like they were enemies anymore.

Eve should have known better.

She never should have trusted her.

“You betrayed me.”

“And you are surprised, Moneypenny? This is what I do, what we do – me, you, all your agents and all my people. We aim to please, Eve. We were trained for it, we were trained to be horrible people. However, it’s our bosses we’re meant to please first and foremost. We're fucked up and you know it. There is no way you could disobey an order from M and I have my duties as well.”

“I would never use you.”  

Except she already had. But that was before the laughter, before... everything.

“Honestly, did you believe that there was some miraculous happy ending for us? We are the same and yet different; a heroine and a villain. You should be glad it’s ending only in heartbreak and not with death.” She always loved big words and big speeches.

“I hate you, Galore.”

“Oh, but you don't, darling. That's the problem.”

*

And now Eve's sitting at her desk and staring at the documents. 007 got a new job. Eliminate a target who is no longer useful to them.

Yet, there is still time to warn her.

We aim to please. Until we don't.

#12

Title: A Pizza Pie Author: Ksan ( @starrboned-art​ ) Warnings: None Summary: Bond and Q are having a quiet afternoon together.

"James, that is not - stop that!" Q grabbed James' wrist before he could pour the sauce on the pizza dough.

"Q, that's how I’ve always made pizza." James gave his wrist an experimental wiggle, but the boffin was holding tight, eyes daring him to move.

"You need to oil the edges first," Q insisted, waving the brush and splashing oily drops everywhere.

James conceded, if only to not get his dark blue shirt stained.

"As you say, chef." James smirked, setting the hot pan aside. Q gave the dough a quick brush, nodding at James. "Now you can pour the sauce."

"Yes, chef."

"Stop it," Q said with a huff, but James spotted a quirk to his lips as he turned to the counter. A few plates laid ready with sliced vegetables and meats, all waiting to be added to the pizza.

"Just make sure that the champignons won't touch my side of the pizza." James scowled at the innocent white mushrooms.

Q gave him a smirk. "You are very particular about your food."

"I have a very particular taste," James countered with a suggestive smile. Q laughed, turning to put the pizza into the oven. James managed to steal a few sliced cherry tomatoes from Q's pile before he got caught.

"Go get the wine," Q said, "I'll get the glasses."

"So bossy today," James smirked, ruffling Q's curls. He escaped into the sunlit living room before Q could swat at him with a towel.

It was late noon on a Saturday, and for once none of them had any world-dooming emergencies to solve. The cats were basking in the late sun, the curtains swayed slightly as the evening breeze blew through the open windows.

James opened a red shiraz with a pop. With the wine ready on the table, he closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the quiet rustle Q made in the kitchen.

"Double-o agent, falling asleep?" Q's hand snuck around his waist, chin peeking over his shoulder.

"Before dinner?! You know agents, Q - we aim to please," James turned, kissing Q's smile. He had tomato sauce on his cheek, which James licked (to Q's astonished laughter).

"Pleasing will have to wait for later," Q purred, shoving the wine glasses at James. "What should we toast to?"

James swirled his wine, a habit born out of years of fine dining.

"To more sunny afternoons together."

#13

Title: game Author: azure7539 Warnings: canon typical violence

Summary: Hide and seek as usual, but it's interesting all the same. Just another day at work.

-

Nausea roils like a particularly stormy sea in the midst of a hurricane, and all he can hear is the whistling of his own breathing as his throat wheezes around air before it rattles into his ribcage and never truly fills up those burning lungs.

He’s been running for so long, he can no longer feel the screaming in his feet.

The throng of people felt like a good idea at first, a thick crowd celebrating some local holiday, but now every face seems suspicious, every pair of eyes lingering on just a tad too long. The enemies can be anywhere, can be anyone.

Vertigo dips his world as he crashes into a phone booth, thinking, assuming, he’s managed to put decent distance between him and his chasers, spare change clinking as the coins spill from his shaking hands.

Fuck. Fuck, what’s the number again…

Eight, five, three, two—

The line rings. Once. Twice.

“Hello,” a posh voice he’s never heard before picks up, nonchalant and indifferent. “Identification, please.”

“S-SPCTR-6304,” he nearly trips on his own tongue saying the words.

“One moment.” Soft typing filters through, the calmness perforating through the mad chaos in his mind. But adrenaline licks at his heels—he’s finally standing still long enough to feel the way how wracking tremors are seizing up his overtaxed muscles—and he wants to scream and vibrate out of his skin.

His instincts are shouting at him to start running again, to keep at it until he finds a trustworthy point of contact, something more than just another voice on the other side of a line.

But that’s the thing. This ‘voice on the other side of a line’ is one of his last remaining trustworthy points of contact. The rest are just… gone.

Someone shrieks from over where the people have gathered at the end of the alley, and he’s one hair’s breadth away from slamming back into the wall.

His heart is beating too fast.

“Ah, Mr Roswell. Good to hear from you again,” the person says, pleasantly. A pause. “Did you enjoy your final game?”

“What—”

“At MI6, we aim to please, after all,” the voice drops into a low baritone. Dangerous.

Like the monsters of his nightmares culminating into one singular point of existence.

The last thing he sees before life drains from him are twin pools of glacier. As blue and unreachable as the sky above.

___

You wonderful LDWS writers, you! Thank you so much for writing us these!

And thank you, readers, for reading and voting! THANK YOU!

[ultrashadowkai]

Avatar: The Last Airbender - The Promise Part 1

We start out with a questionable idea rooted in good intentions: liberate the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom after they’ve been there for who knows how long and people have definitely set up roots. This will definitely go over well

Huh, this takes place literally right where the show ended. Literally. They were all at Iroh’s tea shop to celebrate the announcement of the Harmony Restoration Movement

Zuko makes Aang promise to kill him should he ever start turning into his father. Aang. The pacifist so pacifist that he broke the game and found a third option to deal with said Fire Lord Ozai rather than decide to kill him. Zuko should’ve asked Katara instead.

ONE YEAR LATER time skip

Zuko is being assassinated and has already had 5 previous assassination attempts. He’s from a family with a long line of mental issues and this stress is not helping

Lady assassin with a spiked ball and chain. The daughter of the mayor of Yu Dao, the first Fire Nation colony. How did she get into Zuko’s room, a room they moved him to that isn’t the traditional room for the Fire Lord, let alone the Fire Nation Palace?

Mayor Morishita lays it into Zuko how forcibly segregating a mixed town – regardless of how it got mixed in the first place – can be a bad thing and do more harm than good. Straight up, this feels more like segregation than righting the wrongs of your forefathers. Oh wow, this this is so much more relatable to me now than it was when this comic first came out

Morishita triggered Zuko by comparing him to his father

Aang is touting the greatness of relocating the Fire Nation colonies with the motherland. They all loved it. All of them. Every single one. Totally.

Mayor Nishi makes the good point of those happy colonies being young enough that they would remember living in the Fire Nation itself and would see it as going home whereas older colonies have, as Morishita said, lived there for generations and set up roots. There are people living there that have never set foot on Fire Nation soil. Some have no traditional culture and no sense of being solely Fire Nation. Heck, does Aang remember when he posed as being from the colonies and enrolled in school? All of his oddities were just waved away as being from the colonies rather than infiltration and so on. They’d be fish out of water and they would probably hate it.

I understand Aang wanting to reconnect with his past and his history because he’s from 100 years ago but not everyone cares so deeply about their roots that they’ll adopt those cultural traditions just because they can track their lineage all the way back

And now Zuko has pulled a 180 on the Harmony Restoration Movement. Either because he feels his power as Fire Lord being questioned or because he genuinely sees Morishita’s point. Either way, this comic is clearly going to tackle two extremes and end up coming to a compromise that allows for Republic City. Yu Dao is Republic City.

The Beifong Metalbending Acadmey.  How’d Toph become a cop if she’s got a metal bending school?

3 students: some loud little one, some “we’re doomed!” big guy, and an emo. Pretty one note, it’s fine. All their parents live in Yu Dao which is near by. Now Toph is getting involved

Did Toph earthbend up onto Appa’s back mid-flight when she can’t “see” anything not on the ground? Did she judge by Appa’s roar?

They do all look older

I could’ve sworn we already went over the whole Roku regrets not dealing with Sozin. Why is Aang surprised, especially since when Roku didn’t give him the affirming answer of “Don’t kill Ozai” he went to other Avatars and got the same result

The Freedom Fighters are here too. It makes sense that they’d want the Fire Nation completely out of the Earth Kingdom

Already Aang and Katara use pet names. It’s kinda weird actually – them dating, referring to each other as boyfriend/girlfriend and “sweetie”. I can imagine their adult selves doing this but here it just feels a little weird and jarring. I’m blaming that on the time skip. I haven’t had the time to acclimate.

Zuko went the “my people” route. Which is not quite so simple either. Do all the people of Yu Dao and similar colonies see themselves as Fire Nation? What about the Earthbenders?

Yu Dao has been here for 100 years. It’s probably older than Aang.

Two cultures working together bringing together their respective knowledge to create something new or refine something, in this case metalwork. Yu Dao doesn’t look like one of the richest cities in the world tough. Maybe because I’m comparing it to Earth Kingdom capitals, which are centers of government and seats of power.

How has interracial marriages not have come up yet? I’m actually kind of surprised it’s never come up, especially with the Fire Nation having occupied Earth Kingdom territory for generations. I know that the Gaang more or less kept to themselves and to the sky when travelling the Earth Kingdom and were coming more from the north or the south than the west where the Fire Nation would have settled these colonies. I wonder if earthbenders would have even been allowed in the military?

Imagine the Gaang either fighting at Fire Nation soldier only to start dodging rocks or they come across a Fire Nation colony, aim to liberate it, and find that it’s not that simple because there are all these earthbenders who declare themselves Fire Nation citizens.

I’m with Zuko. Aang sounds like a separatist

I like that Kori wears both red and green making it clear that she’s both Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom

Hey, Avatar world racism. “Water tribe savage” “ash-makers” and one of those was towards Sokka who was just trying to help

Politics during war is different than politics during peacetimes (or just not war times). The politics during war are often quicker and result in more fighting than sitting around talking. Everyone is so used to physically fighting for what they want that the idea of sitting and waiting to talk it out is unsatisfactory. Nothing’s happening fast enough, so they’ll just do it themselves

Zuko and Mai’s relationship isn’t as without problems as Aang and Katara’s. Zuko has a problem keeping things to himself, acting somewhat impulsively, and not relying on others (in this case Mai, his girlfriend) to help him. Like, he didn’t talk to Mai about this; he just went down to Yu Dao. He didn’t even think to bring this up with Aang – to write a letter or something – before he just went and did it.

The Kyoshi Warriors are here!

 Because he won’t lean on anyone or let himself be seen as weak or vulnerable and won’t let anyone inside his head, he’s gone to Ozai for advice over anyone else he could have possibly gone to, before going to Mai, daughter of a governor and (possible) graduate of a finishing school for high society Fire Nation girls, the same one the princess to the nation went to. I think she’d be able to give some advice to chew on over Ozai.

[thebiasrekkers]

Star of Fate [Vampire!VIXX]

Plot: The longer you stare into darkness, the more you realize that something could be staring back. Even more so when that darkness doesn’t want to be brought into the light and will do anything to stay that way.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Vampire!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: OT6 VIXX x OC(s)

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Additional Warnings: Office Microaggressions | Bullying | Toxic Work Environment

Previous Chapters: Prologue

Links: FAQ || VIXX Masterlist || Admin L’s AO3 || Admin L’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,682

AO3 | WP

Tag List: If you would like to be added to this list, just drop us an ask!

AN: So…I know we said this was coming soon and I’m very sorry that this got started so late! I hope to have this out every two weeks, maybe more depending on the future. So please give this a lot of love and we hope you enjoy the ride!

Chapter 2- The Ghost Woman and the Hunter

Calling on your sins you're here in my dreams a desert place I'm not alone Do you really want to be me?

Her eyes popped open, the realistic feeling of falling completely disorienting her as she shot up from her bed. It had felt so real to her that her body jerked itself awake. Light danced its way in through the blinds, chasing away all signs of shadow. Never had she been so glad that she hadn’t purchased black out curtains than in that moment. She needed to see the sun and all of its glory to help the dream fade away into existence. Well, at least certain parts of it. There was a wistful part of her that still wished that she could be on that dance floor again with the handsome and darker skinned man. 

“Oh my….FUCK!”

Lucky yelled as she looked over to her alarm clock, realizing that it was the source of the chimes that she heard in her dream. Throwing off her covers, she scrambled to get half-way put together so that way she wouldn’t be late to her job. She even called a cab to get her there faster which was unlike her normal routine. Unless there was inclement weather, of course. 

During the ride, she kept an eye on her phone--it lighting up every few seconds as she checked the time. She made it to her desk just in time to receive the stack of papers from some of the other people there. Normally she wasn’t such a space case, even showing up early to get whatever else she missed the previous day. Lucky was a hard worker, nobody could deny that but it was that fact others exploited hence the reason why the stack seemed to get larger and larger by the week. The world of office politics seemed to be much like high school but it paid well enough for her to put up with the majority of it. 

She straightened out her hair as best as she could with it being so long and settled down to start on her work. Most of it had been reports that she had to pencil push and correct, which was easy enough for her because all the information had been just sitting there inside of her head. However, the more difficult stuff came along when the Vice-President stuck his fingers into everything. She couldn’t help but groan when she looked at some of them, saving the majority of them for last so that way she could take extra time on them. 

“Job finally getting to you, Leonora?”

Lucky didn’t realize how long she had been working on them until the voice pulled her out of the zone she had settled into. Turning around, she saw another coworker standing right behind her with a slight smile on her face. No matter how many times she tried to be friendly to some of them, they insisted on resisting any attempts at professionalism and decorum. Well, unless someone higher up was around. Not to mention the fact that they also insisted on calling her by her government name instead of the nickname that she preferred. She gave the sweetest smile she could muster and stood up, green eyes twinkling. 

“Oh, there you are Nancy! I got so caught up in fixing your mistakes that I forgot to give you this folder back! Everything in there should be up to date now and I even took the liberty of sending off the final draft for you. It was the least I could do since I was the last one that had hands on it. You’re welcome.”

She gaped at Lucky for a moment and flipped open the folder to read what she had fixed. Nancy’s ears started to go red and her thin lips flattened as she pressed them together in anger. Lucky raised an eyebrow at her reaction, knowing that she saw what had been edited by her. It had only been a few mistakes but they were some that would have made their department look bad. Plus Lucky also added her name to the document as one of the contributing factors, more so because she went through the trouble of fixing everything. 

“I hope this teaches you to quit pushing your work off on me, Nancy. Have a good day.”

Lucky turned away from her and sat back down at her cubicle, leaving the sputtering woman there to be embarrassed. Even though she had her own computer there, they all had shared files that they could all access and she lived up to her nickname that she had the time to quickly edit everything before emailing it out. It had been one of the rare times that she was able to stick it to them and it honestly made her feel a sliver of satisfaction at the situation. 

Because she was just a little bit petty. 

The sudden ringing of her phone took her away from the moment, the voice of her boss calling for her. Lucky was a bit confused as she looked at the time as she wondered why he had reached out so early. It normally was after lunch that she would meet up with him to go over various things pertaining to her new position. Lucky had been promoted to be the Personal Assistant for the Vice President. Naturally, he had more than one that would work together with him being at such a high level but most of them had quit because of various rumors of his misogyny and unrealistic ideals. Hell, she was even friends with one of them when she found out that she no longer worked there. Rumors circulated with her leaving and even more when she was appointed in her stead. 

Now, Lucky was one of the very few left so that meant that she had been picking up a lot more work than normal. Not that she went out much anyways with the amount of work she had. 

She walked the halls to his office, only to be greeted by the desk clerk. The tiny lady handed her a folder and suggested she find something appropriate to wear. Confused, Lucky looked through the folder and saw that there were some instructions as well as some papers with details on the new VIP’s that they had recently joined with. 

“What the actual hell? Does he expect me to drop everything that I’m doing to go to this event with him? After hours, no less?”

The lady just shrugged and went back to her work. Lucky could feel her indignation rising but left before causing a scene. It was one thing if it was an actual work trip that she had to attend but that had been some sort of event to flaunt and rub elbows. There wasn’t a real reason why she needed to be there so why all the preparation? She returned to her desk and went through the folder in detail. The only promise that she would receive was an extra amount in pay if she went, something that actually interested her. She grumbled as she leafed through it but decided that it was just for one night and that if it happened again, she would put a stop to it. The bright side to it had been that she could take off early to prepare for the event. That was always something she could look forward to especially that day since she moved like hell to get there on time. 

The one person that she could freely talk to in the office came up to her with a grin on her face. She had originally been offered the position but declined it because of family reasons but she was nice to talk to regardless. 

“So Lucky.. I heard from a little bird that you’re going to the VIP event tonight with Mr. Randall.” She wiggled her eyebrows and elbow at her while Lucky just scoffed. 

“Yeah, I guess. I wonder how in the hell does crap go around here so fast? It’s like the freaking flu!” 

“You don’t sound so enthusiastic about it.”

“Ashleigh, I really don’t want to go but they’re promising extra pay this time if I do. I haven’t been sleeping well lately and now I gotta go to this… grandstandin’ event. I wish someone else could go.”

Her coworker leaned thoughtfully on the cubicle wall before leaning down to whisper. It was only times like that when they would get a bit of privacy. 

“You could always quit and get some more sleep? I heard that the other assistant quit as well. I thought, at first, that you had too when you didn’t arrive when you usually do. They’re saying that the abuse from the VP is to blame.”

“Yeah well, tell the handsome man in my dreams to quit bothering me so I can go by to my normal schedule and ignore some of these chickens.” Lucky’s hand motioned like a beak as they both had a laugh over that before returning back to work. However, Ashleigh’s words stuck with her. The VP hadn’t been shy about voicing his displeasure to her about various things, even requesting that she cut her hair but she respectfully declined his request. All she stated was that it was within the guidelines of the company and left it at that. Something that didn’t win her any favors. 

And if the other girl quit too, then the sinking feeling in her gut proved to be more of an ominous feeling. Either way, she would have to go and see how it played out. 

When time came for her to leave early, Lucky instead went shopping for appropriate attire for that night’s event. Even neatly braided her hair to keep it out of her face. Simple, neat and just a tad bit sexy in the red dress. Once satisfied with her result, she waited outside for the driver to come around and pick her up. Upon seeing the expensive car, Lucky suppressed a shudder when the door was opened to reveal Mr. Randall. It wasn’t necessarily seeing her boss after hours but more of a combination of the car and him. Small vehicles caused her a bit of stress since she was involved in an accident many years ago. Since then, normally she would either take the bus or bike when the weather was nice. 

Thankfully, her boss wasn’t too interested in making small talk with her once they got on the road. The city was left behind soon and various gas stations and trees zoomed by them. She didn’t put too much thought into it until the driver turned onto a long, paved road after a set of gates. The mansion that appeared made Lucky’s eyebrows shoot up, something picking at her brain. She couldn’t quite figure it out but it was as if she had seen that place before. She had to shake those thoughts from her head as she concentrated on remembering the information that was given to her earlier that day. 

Knowledge was power and she needed it to navigate that world if she didn’t want to embarrass or otherwise offend anyone. 

Upon exiting the car and entering the elaborate place, Lucky felt all the eyes in the world stare at them. Putting on a gracious face, she walked slightly behind her boss as they were greeted by some of the others there. A few moments chatting with some of them, she soon found herself alone in the area while the others mingled. She wasn’t anyone of importance and therefore not worthy of anyone’s time, for the moment. She would let her boss do all the talking. 

Lucky gravitated towards the hors d'oeuvres while everyone talked among themselves. Plucking a few to put on a plate, she watched the room for any sign that she would be needed. Several of the clients that were in the folder she received were there and they were laughing alongside everyone else. A couple even approached her, asking questions about the company and trying to get a little information from her about how to deal with her boss. She couldn’t honestly say anything to help in that situation because she usually just listened to him bark his orders before correcting anything she needed to. 

She was left alone for another time, only appearing at her boss’ side when needed as the night went on. Soon she felt herself grow tired of all the people and the politics of said beings. Lucky had several drinks before that point and was in the process of acquiring another when a voice nearly made her jump out of her skin. 

“They’re almost like vultures, are they not?”

She looked around and up at him as he was much taller than her, even in heels. The man knew he was handsome, smiling prettily at her as he held up his own glass of red wine in a toast. Lips full and round eyes, Lucky had to appreciate his looks before replying. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that in particular.”

He gave a wide smile, eyes almost disappearing as they snickered at the rest of them. Lucky found herself talking more and more to the man who seemed just as bored as she was with the party. The more that she looked at him, the more that he seemed familiar to her and it dawned on her that he was one of the men from the folder. He had a nice voice, a bit higher than most of the men there but he didn’t hide it one bit. 

Lucky also noticed that the attention had been drawn to them just from them standing and talking to one another. He introduced himself as Jaehwan and they talked for another 15 minutes, slipping into easy conversation to keep themselves entertained. His jokes nearly had her spilling her drink, the folder not at all correct with the man before her. He was one of three men with his business, including one brother that rotated about in their company. 

Still, even with the jokes and the amicable banter between the both of them--her boss found that he had only missed the presence of Mr. Lee before her. 

“Ah. Leonora, I didn’t realize you had monopolized Mr. Lee’s time here tonight.” Her shorter framed boss then looked to Jaehwan with an apologetic look on his face, “Otherwise I would have saved you sooner!” Mr. Randall gave a laugh, expecting Jaehwan to laugh with him but didn’t. It surprised Lucky that her new friend didn’t go along with him on that but only sighed, looking to her in apology before speaking. 

“Leonora? And you said you were Lucky…” He grinned at her, ignoring her boss. She could see Randall’s face that he was growing annoyed, a face that showed up when things didn’t go his way. 

“Oh that’s just my assistant’s nickname that she tells everyone to call her even though we should be more professional. I’m her boss, Nicolas Randall. Vice-President of Nexus Assurance.” He held out his hand to shake but Jaehwan kept grinning at Lucky. His eyes suddenly were hyper focused on her, the doe eyed look that he did have--dissolved away. Almost like he had found something he really wanted.

“Uh well, I’ve been known to be lucky--hence the nickname.” She nervously laughed, highly aware that the tension was rising. Her eyes darted between Jaehwan as he continued to ignore her boss and the latter as he was getting more upset that the scene was even happening. That strange and ominous feeling was back, churning about the contents of her stomach. Jaehwan slowly turned from the friendly and open persona that he had while it was just the two of them, to something a bit more aggravated the longer her boss was there. There was a glint in his eyes that suggested something unfriendly was fighting its way out. 

Suddenly Jaehwan blinked rapidly before excusing himself but not before taking her hand and kissing it. Bewildered, Lucky watched him weave expertly through the crowd before taking a peek at her boss. 

And he was not pleased. 

[naruhoedou]

Transaction

---

Ryuunosuke Naruhodou/Seishirou Jigoku

Susato thought he could do it. Convincing their government, however, was a different task.

-Slight spoilers for DGS and DGS 2-

---

Of course he never thought it would be easy, least of all as easy as the Great Detective made it sound. But it was a logical decision and he was hoping that’d put things in his favor. As disrespectful as this all felt, even more so with the weight of Karuma resting in his lap, he couldn’t just let them get shipped right back to Japan. That’d be too cruel to Susato, who lost a brother apparently, when he could just sacrifice a bit of his mental health to honor his fallen friend. 

 

As he sat on the desk Asougi Kazuma wrote his last journal entry on, pen heavy in his hand, he silently thanked his literature major for his knowledge in writing formal requests. Although, knowing the format didn’t really help much when the situation was so unbelievable and complex. Did he start by mentioning how the star student of the Imperial Yuumei University lost his life by hitting his head too hard? Or that said student smuggled Ryuunosuke on board? Wasn’t the Minister of Foreign Affairs already aware of these things? Or was it just formality…

 

Would he even get accepted? If the country only chose to send the best of the best, would they even want to send some mediocre literature student for an education in law ? As these thoughts swirled and swirled in his mind, he realized he’d already begun writing. Reading over the lines he jotted down proved them to be acceptable. Now, if you asked anyone who knew him, they would say Ryuunosuke worked well under pressure. But what he did on impulse, he wouldn’t exactly clarify as such. With a heavy sigh that trembled towards the end of it in remembrance , he let his hand do as it pleased once more and the letter was completed. All that was left was a once-over by Susato in the morning... which ended in her exclaiming that she didn’t expect it to be so well written, a sheepish smile blooming on Ryuunosuke’s face as shame pooled in his gut. Noticing how backhanded her compliment was, and maybe not caring much about it, Susato took the letter and floated out the room. She’d give it to the sailors for it to be mailed out.

 

——

 

What? As Ryuunosuke held the (supposedly)formal reply in his hands, he felt a familiar feeling of shock run through his body. Now that he’d told Susato they’d gotten accepted and got her to leave, he had all the time in the world to read over this.. this personal threat of a letter in his hands. At least, until he had to throw himself into his law studies again, though he felt more like throwing himself...overboard. This was a joke, right? A funny joke from that Sherlock Holmes fellow who had somehow acquired the letter the sailors sent out a month ago, an official Japanese Government seal and also managed to copy the Minister of Foreign Affairs' handwriting and signature. Honestly, how these things kept happening to him, he had no clue. 

 

He’d heard some stories from Asougi(a pang went through his heart), about the law students both male and female who sold their bodies to get through law school. Prostitution, he’d called it. Tragically contradictory. Ryuunosuke remembered the other man smiling as he’d said it, wondering if Asougi really thought it so tragic after all. “It’s wrong to break the law you’re studying!” he heard a whisper through the room. Bitterly, “The law didn’t save you.”, he whispered back. He leaned forward, taking a deep breath as he usually did. 

 

So, what if the Minister of Foreign Affairs wasn’t immune to such attractions? It’s not like they’d meet for a long while. By the time he got to face the repercussions of the choice he was about to make, it’d be a year at least. Or however long this program was supposed to last. And, he thought he owed at least this much to the girl a few doors down. The girl who didn’t even get to be the last person to see her brother alive. He looked down. There probably was a good reason Asougi didn’t think to tell him about her, and it was no use feeling scorned by the dead. 

 

Did he really have to write a reply to this letter? He debated just ignoring it, how would anyone know if it didn’t just get lost out there? It probably wasn’t easy delivering letters to and from a ship. A lot of calculations and estimates… but he was getting off topic. He steeled his nerves and picked up the pen again. Feeling more and more like some kind of doll every second, he wrote an affirmative reply. He didn’t even want to think about Asougi getting the same treatment as this. But of course, Asougi was above agreeing to such an indecent proposal just to be able to go somewhere. Ryuunosuke huffed hysterically, placing the offending letter in an envelope. Writing back a letter of thanks was kind of normal in this situation, right? Susato absolutely could not find out what kind of.. transaction had just been made inside innocent, white envelopes.

 

——

 

He could say in good conscience that there were very few things that could surprise him anymore, especially with all that had already transpired. This happened to be one of those things. Who knew waiting with Susato for Professor Mikotoba to arrive would lead to a premature heart attack? All this action would surely end with him in an early grave. The moment of blissful ignorance that came with him not recognizing the tall, imposing man as his flittering nightmare these past few months had quickly passed. In its place was a cold sweat that persisted even as they lined up for a photograph. The man’s arm around his back was sending all signals except fatherly. If Ryuunosuke had a habit of fainting instead of his unbelievable perseverance to stress, this would be the perfect time to topple onto the floor. It might still be, the more shame-free part of his brain supplied. Surely everything would be forgotten if he caused such a ruckus? 

 

He was sure his heart would flee out of his chest when Jigoku took the moment of father and daughter reuniting to lean into his ear, making him feel the vibrations of his words, “Hello, Naruhodou-kun.” rather than hear them. Sure, it sounded kind of silly out of context, but the towering figure of the man behind him did a swell job of erasing any sense of comedy Ryuunosuke could have felt. After giving a tense but polite nod, he felt Jigoku’s hands meet his shoulders, slightly shaking with a friendly chuckle. Distantly hearing some form of reassurance being said to him, he wasn’t aware of much until they were leaving. Susato gave him a light poke on his back to get him to move. Upon feeling him jump under her finger, she gave him a concerned glance, and Ryuunosuke was once again amazed at how far they’ve come.

 

With the cold, cold sweat drying on his body, he couldn’t be all too sure that’s what was causing the shiver running through him. His fingers idly traced the piece of paper in his pocket. Probably slipped in there while the photo was being taken, he thought.

 

——

The Old Bailey was a risque place for something like this. He found himself growing colder and colder by the minute. He knew why he was here, the note was clear enough in its subtle way. The English government appointing a foreign Minister of Foreign Affairs a whole office, even for such a short stay… The line between courtesy and belittlement was truly a fine one. 

 

As he ascended the stairs, he was strangely calm. Like a death row inmate marching towards the rope. A fate he’d narrowly missed, funnily enough. His steps echoed in the grand hallway. The building was quiet but far from serene. For him, at least. As familiar as the courtroom itself had become… The rest of the courthouse, mainly the offices, would always remain alien to him. The door was large and imposing as all the others around it. He knocked twice, somewhat nervously. “Do come in, Naruhodou-kun.” a voice called from the inside. Ryuunosuke entered, closing the door behind him. He stood stock still, like that one time he had to go to the Principal’s office because he forgot his student ID number. Jigoku was no less condescending under his friendly façade.

 

The large man smiled at him, mischief burning in his eyes. Ryuunosuke thought about the door again. Maybe the scariest thing about Jigoku… was that he fit in, here. Huffing in amusement at the younger man’s refusal to sit down before being told to, he gestured loosely at the chair in front of the desk. “I’ve heard much about your cases, though I’d love to hear them from you. Would you have some tea, or perhaps… a drink?” the man’s voice was warm and rich, but it was no secret that he was sizing Ryuunosuke up, trying to make heads or tails of the man so devoted to the dead(or so bored, he might’ve thought) that he’d go to such lengths. “Tea would be alright.”, Ryuunosuke replied, voice lacking the stutter of his heart. Jigoku laughed heartily, getting out two cups from a cabinet behind him. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he said leaning down, drawing the other’s attention to the kettle sitting on a miniature stove. 

 

After pouring the tea, the man raised a hand to halt Ryuunosuke, reaching under the desk to pull out a bottle of rum. “I’d say English tea is horribly bland on its own, no?” he said humorously. Sensing the other’s apprehension, “Oh, don’t be so shy, young man!” he said, topping both cups with the alcohol.

 

Ryuunosuke Naruhodou was a fair man. He did not leave anything out when recounting the events, regardless of how it made him look. The mix of black tea and rum burned his mouth, but it was nothing worse than some of Iris’ more experimental blends. That is not to say she made bad tea, most of her teas were heavenly, but some flavors were just not meant to become… tea. 

 

Besides that, as much as he’d like to be, Ryuunosuke was not as kind to himself as the Grim Reaper, and he did not drink. That is why, despite all his conflicting feelings, he refused any attempts to refill his cup. The older man did not seem to share the sentiment, however, for he doubted Jigoku would even remember much come tomorrow. Or maybe he himself was just a lightweight, it didn’t matter.

 

It didn’t matter because he already felt the wood floor creaking under his knees. And, as meaningless as it was now,

Close your eyes, Asougi.

 

… 

 

He swallowed up the salt of shame, tongue dragging across his lips.

 

——

 

He laid calmly, in the safety of 221B’s attic. His debt had been paid. Do you see, now?