#AND ITS SUCH A PIVOTAL MOMENT FOR HIS CHARACTER BECAUSE HES GIVING INTO HIS CURSE AND HOW HES NOT A GOOD PERSON

[sea-dwelling-wizard]

the urge to be creatively free but EXAMS and COMPETITIONS and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[greyias]

I wish you would write a fic where... Theron somehow amasses a following of actual, physical porn bots droids and shenanigans ensue

I saw this prompt come in and devolved into a fit of heinous cackling. How, oh how could I resist trying to render our collective Tumblr nightmare into fictional text form?

Context: While not required reading, this is technically a sequel to this stunning crackfic, authored so long ago. If you need a refresher on the Medical Droid Love Triangle Saga, follow this link. Or this one, which is the real villain origin story of this fic. Or don't, you're already cursed if you click beyond the read more of this post.

With special thanks to @grumpyhedgehog, @sandwyrm, @storyknitter, @kitsonpaws, and @andveryginger for providing me with ideas, cursed pornbot summaries, and many cursed HoloNet websites that should never exist. You are not required to read any of this.

Technically rated T, but in reality rated N for Nobody, because no one should have to read this. I'm packing my bags, as my ride to superhell just came. Enjoy.

It had started as such a normal day -- if you could indeed have called any day on Odessen “normal”. What with the galaxy always being at the brink of some disaster or another, and their merry little band of misfits being led by the galaxy’s most notorious do-gooder, Theron’s schedule and to-do list had a tendency to get derailed on almost a daily basis.

This, however, was not how that usually happened.

He’d paused, mid-step, finger still hovering over his datapad, mid-entry as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, slowly dawning horror washing over him. His head turned slowly, like one of those doomed characters in a horror holofilm to look at the droid he’d just passed.

It was one of the new ones that had come in on a recent shipment. So new in fact, that there was still a fleet of them in the middle of being unpacked in the Logistics Wing. Shining, tall and blue, its highly polished quadranium head pivoted to look back at him.

“What,” Theron swallowed, willing his voice to sound even and not give in to the creeping dread, “what did you say?”

“Theron Shan,” the droid repeated helpfully, “is a master lover.”

“Oh no.” The words slipped out of their own accord.

“Just a moment, sir,” the droid continued, seemingly oblivious to the human’s distress, “I’m not quite done with your evaluation yet. Let’s see, where were we?”

“No no no no.”

The round flattened dome that served as its head tilted to one side, beady orange eyes sweeping over Theron from head to toe, before resuming its cheery, if horrifying report. “Subject is an exemplary specimen. In good cardiovascular health, above average muscle tone. Tall, well-built, and very clean...”

“Um,” Theron stammered. “I’m...” Flattered? Taken? Leaving? Wait--yes, that last one. “Going now!”

He didn’t give the cursed machine any more time to continue ogling him, instead taking off down the hall at a very brisk walk that nearly bordered on a jog. His mind raced at he beat a hasty retreat, trying to understand what was happening. It had been over a year since the The Incident, dubbed by some as the “Sexy Spy Virus”, and others by much more crude names, where a little harmless reprogramming had taken on a life of its own. Theron had been meticulous in his coding of the antivirus, wanting to ensure that the entire debacle would be forgotten. There was simply no way that it could crop back in on its own.

“Theron,” the brisk accented tone of one Lana Beniko burst in over his comm, “why did a droid just feel the need to inform me that they found rust on its insides during its last tune-up?”

“I don’t know,” Theron insisted, but his words were almost drowned out by a metallic clanking echoing down the corridor.

He threw a look over his shoulder, and to his horror, saw that his robotic admirer had decided to give chase. 

“I’m going to have to call you back,” he quickly said into the comm as the droid picked up speed from a walk to an all out gallop.

“Theron,” she sounded both concerned and exasperated, which, considering Lana, was about par the course, “what’s going on?”

“Save me!” He shouted as he took off a dead sprint.

In his many years in the field, Theron had been threatened, sure. Shot at? Many times. He’d been drugged. Tortured. Stabbed through the gut with a lightsaber pike and lived to tell the tale. He’d run into Sith, Revanites, bounty hunters, thugs, fanatics and cultists alike. He’d been in more firefights than he could remember, and more covert ops than he cared to. He’d even been accused of being a traitor (although that was kind of the point at the time).

None of that compared right now to being chased down by a droid yelling at top volume claiming he was the best lover it had ever seen.

And this time, he was pretty sure it wasn’t actually his fault.

He rounded the corner from the corridor leading from the Logistics Wing, passing by the Commander’s (and at this point, his) Quarters. HK-55 and Z0-0M straightened to their full height at his arrival. Oh thank the Force, allies.

“Salutations: Agent Shan, you are looking quite spry today.”

“What?” he panted as he approached.

“Yes, Agent Shan, don’t believe what anyone else is saying!” Zeeyo exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air. “Your undercarriage doesn’t look rusty at all!”

Mind sharp as a tack, Theron realized the implications of this just in time, and dodged to the side, ducking and rolling as the assassin-turned-bodyguard droid lunged forward to trap him in a bear hug. Not pausing to even catch his breath, as soon as his feet hit the ground he propelled himself forward and further down the hall.

“Frustration: I only wish to profess my admiration for you, Agent Shan!”

“Nope nope nope nope!” Desperation was starting to tinge the edges of his words now.

The metallic clanking intensified as more droids behind him joined in the chase, all of their vocabulators joining in unison to tell him in one way, or another, that he was in fact, the pinnacle of sexual prowess.

Theron couldn’t run forever, despite whatever their programming was forcing them to say, his stamina would give out before the lustftul droids’ power supplies. As the corridor zigged and twisted, he saw an opening in the form of a door sliding open. Without hesitation he dove in, shoving the individual there, thankfully made of flesh and bone, aside as he slammed the door controls.

The door slid securely shut just as the thunderous clanking filled the corridor beyond, their lustful words of appreciation and encouragement nearly drowned out by the racket. Theron hadn’t bothered to look or count, but he was pretty sure that the number had risen from three in the scant moments it had taken Theron to dart from one corridor to the next.

He held up a hand to his lips as he turned to thank the person who had unwittingly provided his temporary salvation. The words of gratitude died on his lips, as he realized exactly who’s room he had sought refuge in.

For a moment, Theron truly considered surrendering himself to the lusty droid mob.

Draike Highwind’s face was caught somewhere between confusion and amusement, but the latter was winning out as he started to decipher individual phrases drifting in from the corridor. A dark brow arched higher, lips twitching with undisguised mirth as the stupid blue droid that had started this whole mess yelled once again about Theron being a master lover.

More seconds passed, the ruckus quieting down, before silence descended once more, and it was finally safe to speak.

“So,” Draike drew out the word, somehow lacing it with more innuendo than all of the malfunctioning droids combined, “what ya been doing, Shan?”

“Nothing!” he insisted, voice still hushed just in case one of the droids could somehow hear.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” His brother-in-law’s smirk widened into an almost feral grin, eyebrows waggling. “Sounds like you’ve been getting... busy.”

One of the greatest mysteries in the galaxy was how one man could make anything sound that dirty. “I was minding my own business!”

“Oh, I bet you were.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“I mean...” If looks could kill, the pilot would have melted on the spot. Unfortunately for Theron, Draike was apparently immune to that sort of thing. “How often do I get the chance?”

“Did you do this?”

“Me?” Draike let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Stars, I wish I could have thought of something this good! These are memories I will cherish forever.”

Theron massaged the bridge of his nose. “I hate my life.”

“I mean, I’m not really into droids,” Draike went on, either not knowing (or more likely caring) about his brother-in-law’s predicament, “flesh is more my kind of thing. But you know, if you and the little lady need to spice things up by bringing in a little metal--”

“Please stop. I’m begging you!”

“Begging, eh? So you’re saying you’re more into--“

“Forget it, I’m taking my chances with the sex-crazed machines roaming the halls.” His palm hovered over the door sensors.

“Theron, wait!” There was enough urgency in Draike’s voice to give him pause. “It’s dangerous out there, take this.”

At first, he was honestly afraid to look, expecting to be offered something like a condom or some other bad joke, but was surprised to see the other man holding out a stealth generator.

“To escape your fans.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I know. I’m a genius.”

“I didn’t say that.” He quickly nabbed the stealth generator before Draike could change his mind and frowned at the initials carved in the side in Aurabesh. “Is this even yours?”

“Eh, close enough.”

Whatever, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Theron would deal with those potential repercussions later.�� He flicked on the power to the stealth generator which let out a low, almost inaudible hum as a burst of life engulfed his form. He closed his eyes against the sudden burst of brightness, and when he opened them again, dark spots of the light pattern danced in his vision for a few seconds. He blinked a few more times before they faded away.

He waved an arm experimentally in front of his face, and only felt the slight movement of air. Draike didn’t seem to react at all, and that was probably good enough.

“Thanks,” he said, palming the sensor to the door.

Draike rolled his eyes and ambled out into the corridor, looking around with the air of a man all too used to hiding from those looking for him. Theron watched as he raised a hand to a very slowly moving GNK power droid.

“How’s it hanging?”

“GONK!” 

“Oh yeah? You don’t say! I think I saw him head that way.” Draike pointed in the direction leading to cantina. “Just between you and me, I heard he’s sweet on that droid who’s a comfort enthusiast.”

“GONK! GONK! GONK!”

Still hidden underneath the stealth field, Theron had to bite down the urge to make any noise of frustration and just turned an invisible, irritated gaze at the other man’s back. As if sensing Theron’s irritation, Draike just grinned wider.

“Yeah, you know how those spy types are. Always toying with droids’ hearts. You could do better than him.”

“GONK!”

“Oh, you spicy droid! Yeah, trundle off that way, big guy. I’m sure you’ll catch him!”

With a loud clanking, the GNK droid began his slow and steady journey towards the cantina. As the echoes finally faded, Draike casually stretched, pointing towards the direction of the War Room.

Theron skulked on by, but not before giving his brother-in-law a well deserved whop upside the head. The stealth field flickered momentarily on the physical contact before shimmering back into place.

“It’d serve you right to get caught by doing that,” Draike sniffed indignantly, “after all I’ve done to help you.”

“When all of this is over--”

“Hush now,” Draike waved at the air in front of him. “You have bigger problems to deal with. Meanwhile, I will be heading to the cantina. And definitely won’t be live-streaming any brawls breaking out over the Master Lover breaking droid hearts everywhere.”

Theron snorted out an annoyed breath, and checked his urge to trip Draike as he sauntered off, hands jammed into his pockets as he whistled a jaunty tune. Like the purloined stealth generator, he’d have to worry about slicing and corrupting any servers containing evidence of this mess after he figured out how to stop whatever this was from spreading any further.

The upside to this whole unfortunate side encounter, was that the stealth generator made it possible for him to quietly creep around any droids he passed in the corridor. Most seemed to be making a hasty exit for the cantina, almost as if word had spread of Drake’s false rumor about his and C2-N2’s torrid love affair and every heartbroken circuit was flocking in that direction now.

And when he thought about it like that, when exactly had this become his life? Oh, right. Like fifteen minutes ago. Or however long this nightmare had started. Time had sort of lost meaning, if he were being honest.

He managed to make it to the war room, undetected and unmolested, and quietly snuck his way towards the irritable blonde Sith, holding her head in her hands as if she were battling the world’s strongest migraine. As Theron approached the Sith, he could hear her muttering under her breath in frustration. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat, causing her to jerk her head up in surprise.

“Who’s there?”

“Quiet,” Theron hissed. “They might hear you.”

“Oh, for Sith’s sake,” she exhaled, “where in the blazes have you been?”

“Hiding,” he whispered urgently. “These droids have all gone haywire!”

“And who’s fault is that, I wonder.”

“Not me,” he insisted, “not this time!”

“Right,” she said sardonically, “and I suppose that’s why there isn’t a reality holoseries entitled ‘Programmed for Love’ currently being live-streamed in the cantina for the entire HoloNet to see.”

“Damn it, Draike!” Theron cursed. “I thought he was joking about that.”

“Of course. How did I not see that coming?” she muttered.

“I’ll slice in and scrub all of the servers after we figure out this... this... whatever this is?”

“Your insecurities laid bare in binary?” she suggested, oh so helpfully.

“Why did I come to you for help again?”

“Because--”

It was at that point, that a probe droid, currently speeding its way towards the cantina, happened to take notice of Lana talking to thin air, and veered off its intended trajectory, heading straight for Theron’s position near the back of the war room. If the loud alarms and flashing lights were any indication, it had been able to see through his stealth generator.

Wait... those weren’t alarm proximities it was flashing. As Theron watched its rapid approach, he couldn’t help but stare at it in dumb fascination, brow furrowing as he tried to make out the images it was projecting. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say it was a bizarre mixture of Aurabesh and hologlyphs.

He squinted, just able to make out: “DX-98 🤖🔥 Analytical  Scanner 💋🙏 Okara Droid Factory 🔍🌌💕 Exobiology Research 🥵🍑 Top HoloFans 0.7%!”

Before he had a chance to process any of that, the droid was already upon him, pincher arms spreading wide to snap him up for some purpose far beyond its original programming. He only had milliseconds to react before the droid reached him, when an explosive force sent the droid flying backwards harmlessly, and had Theron landing ungracefully on his tailbone. The stealth field fizzled out with a pop on his impact with the ground.

A familiar figure landed between him and the droid, twin blue scarves billowing behind her dramatically, blonde ponytail swaying with the motion of her movement. A small frown of concentration bunched her forehead as his wife threw a concerned look in his direction.

“You requested rescue?” Grey asked.

“Ah, my knight in shining armor has arrived,” he quipped back.

“I am not wearing my armor.” The frown of concentration morphed into one of confusion.

“I--never mind.” He pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his hands. “Thank you for the timely intervention.”

She graced him with a hint of a smile and a bob of her head in acknowledgment. “Any time.”

“As touching as all of this is,” Lana broke in sourly, “it still doesn’t solve our larger problem.”

“Yeah,” Theron rubbed the back of his neck, “you’re not wrong. It sounds like this has spread across the entire base?”

“It appears that way,” Lana said tightly. “You know, you assured me that all of this had been taken care of the last time we dealt with this issue.”

“Hey now,” he bit back, “I’m a man of my word!”

She snorted at that. “Tell that to the Umbaran Transit Authority.”

“How are you still mad about that?”

“You tazed me!”

“Focus,” Grey said, eyeing the stunned probe droid warily. “If memory serves me correct, you had a program you deployed to revert the programming of the droids the last time this happened.”

“Yes, that’s what doesn’t make sense.” He watched as the holoprojectors on the downed probe droid flickered, hologlyphs flashing rapidly in the War Room’s dim light. “I programmed it to eliminate all trace of the offending code. The only way it could be reappearing now is if someone took one of the infected droids offline before I deployed...”

Lana arrived at the same conclusion right about the time that Theron did, picking up the thought. “I seem to recall a certain someone requesting you replicate your work for less-than-legal purposes.”

Theron angrily punched the button on his comm as he growled, “Gault!”

The Devaronian’s voice came back immediately, almost a little too suave. “Theron! What a surprise to hear your dulcet tones requesting my presence.”

“Gault,” Lana managed to keep some measure of calm, “are you responsible for this current situation?”

“What situation is that?” he asked far too innocently, even as a distant call of a droid’s clanking nearly drowned out it’s loud declaration of the presence of rust on one Theron Shan’s “bolt”. There was a moment of silence before he continued. “Oh! You mean the lustful droids currently running amok on the base?”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Lana said dryly. “My original question stands.”

“I am shocked, shocked and scandalized that my name would be the first to come to mind! Might I remind you, it was one Miss Djannis who requested you create her a Shan Sexbot.”

“Yeah,” Kaliyo jumped in on the comms, clearly annoyed, the sound of metallic brawling nearly drowning out her voice, “I wanted it for hilarious crimes! Not whatever the fuck this is!”

“Gault,” a third voice, Hylo Visz, cut in. From the background noise, it seemed she was in the same location as Kaliyo. “I swear, if you don’t help us figure out how to stop this, when you’re not looking I’ll cut off your--”

“Okay, okay, geez!” He interrupted before his significant other could finish whatever that threat was. “Fine, it was me! I deactivated a droid before Theron uploaded his program.”

“Of course.” Lana rolled her eyes upwards, as if asking the Force for patience.

“In my defense,” Gault continued, “originally it was just to shut the stupid thing up! But then Kaliyo came up with that brilliant idea for the Shan Sexbot Distraction, and I thought, why not hold on to this beauty in case it came in handy for a con?”

The sound of Theron smacking his forehead in frustration echoed throughout the War Room.

“So you know, just had a fun idea come to me the other day, so I extracted the original programming and altered a few things, and tried to put it into a new droid for my plan.”

“Did that droid happen to be a blue medical monstrosity?” Theron was actively massaging his temples at this point.

“I will have you know,” Gault said, “that BL-U3 is a consummate professional. You would be lucky to have him perform a medical exam on you!”

“Yeah, that was definitely his intent,” Theron shot back. “Purely professional and not lecherous at all! Which was not in any of my code.”

“Hey, I never claimed to be very talented when it came to software programming. I may have made a mistake or two when altering your code.”

“May have?!”

“How was I supposed to know that the remnants of the Gemini Frequency code in our systems was going to work after the entire Eternal Fleet had gone offline and deploy your software STD to the entire network? Sue me!”

“I’m considering it!”

Before the mostly pointless argument could escalate any further, the sounds of metallic clanking from above, roughly from the location of the cantina, began to grow closer, the cacophony increasing in volume, until it sounded like it was coming in all directions.

“That is not a good sign,” Grey’s mutter was nearly lost to the noise.

“Hey,” Drake’s annoyed voice cut in over the comm, “my livestream is now officially ruined! I hope you’re all happy!”

“I’m afraid to even ask why,” Theron said.

“Oh, it seems all of my extremely eligible and single contestants heard your voice over the comms and abandoned challenging Seetoo Enntoo to unarmed droid combat for the right to court you, and are now all headed in your direction.”

“Oops.”

“Worry not Agent Shan,” the unusually warbly vocabulator of C2-N2 came over the comms, “I will not rest until I alone can provide you with the ultimate in comfort!”

“We should probably get a different housekeeping droid after this is all over,” he told his wife.

That seemed a lesser concern to Grey, as she had shifted into Alliance Commander mode, and was currently on the comms, shouting for every available member of the Force Enclave to get to the War Room as fast as possible to help hold off the incoming army of lustful droids.

Yeah, come to think of it, that was probably more important.

“We must use nonlethal force,” she stressed, giving a particularly severe look to Lana when she said that, getting a simple nonplussed shrug in return, “as we only need to hold the droids at bay until we can come up with a solution. They are not to blame for what’s happening.”

Theron begged to differ, but she was probably right in this case. The cost of repairing or replacing an entire base full of droids would be astronomical.

As Force users began to stream in and take up position around the room, the sound of wheels racing along the metal plating caught Theron's attention, and he looked over to see a familiar silver T7-series astromech racing into the room. He tensed up instinctively at the sight of a droid, as anyone would have in his situation.

“Teeseven!” Grey called out with a smile, clearly not as wary or droidshy.

The little astromech let out a friendly whistle and series of chirps in binary, that roughly translated to: “T7-01 = Safe! // Been off network entire morning!”

“Oh, what a relief,” she breathed, “I would have hated for you to be infected with this too!”

He let out another series of beeps: “T7-01 = still in possession of original antivirus code. // Can tweak it and upload to servers = Save the day?”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Theron muttered.

“T7 = not scared!”

Grey’s expression melted into one of admiration and pride. “Teeseven, that’s incredibly brave -- but are you sure? Theron’s right, it could be very dangerous.”

“T7 = Jedi + Theron’s friend. // Helping > Risk!”

She looked at him and he returned the gaze with a small nod, realizing there wasn’t much in the way of choice. It was either that or let the droids overrun them. And then whatever happened when one of them actually got their hands on on Theron -- a prospect he wasn’t really that thrilled to explore right now.

“Fine,” he said tersely, “let’s do this!”

The two of them rushed over to the center console in the room, Theron pulling out his slicer spike as Teeseven plugged his scomplink arm into the main network terminal. The rest of their reinforcements from the Force Enclave arrived just in time and formed a ring around the two slicers. They managed to erect a large Force barrier just as the metallic clanging and clatter grew to a roar, announcing the arrival of the lecherous horde.

Near the front of the mob, Z0-0M threw up her arms in glee and excitement as she jumped to try and catch sight of her beloved. “There you are Agent Shan! You left before we could finish our conversation -- you were saying something about oxidation?”

“Interjection: Do not listen to this hussy, Theron! You and I will make sweet explosions together!”

Theron valiantly tuned them out as he took in a feed of the original antivirus code that Teeseven shared with him. Yes, this all looked correct. Unfortunately, he was going to need get a look to see how Gault had mutilated his beautiful original coding to know how to alter it.

Teeseven was two steps ahead of him, and a stream of code flashed across the HUD in his ocular implants. He watched in horror as he saw the butchery with his own two eyes.

“Gault, where the hell did you get this code?” he asked over the comms incredulously. “HornHub?”

“Excuse you, I only frequent the classiest places on the galactic communications grid, like HoloHump!” The growl of Gault’s name from a very angry Mirialan smuggler had him quickly adding. “You know, I’m just going to shut up and let you concentrate on what you’re doing.”

Teeseven, ever the valiant worker, ignored the conversation completely, and was hard at work running diagnostics on the altered code and the best way to modify the antivirus to address it. Theron watched the stream of letters and numbers fly across the HUD at lightning speed.

The little guy was good at what he did. He let out a flurry of beeps and whistles as almost the last piece of this very lurid puzzle started to fall into place. The little droid seemed to almost be singing along with the code as he wrote it, like a mechanical maestro conducting an orchestra. They were close, so close and--

The next whistle Teeseven let out was not his normal, cheerful way of communication, much lower in timbre and more seductive.

No.

Teeseven whirled his flat head around until his visual sensor faced Theron, and let out another wolf whistle, his holoprojector lighting up to proudly display: T7-01 🤖👀🔍 Observant 👁️🔭 Scanner 🔍🏞️ Tython 🌄👏 215 🍒♎ Repairing 👅🙈 Top HoloFans 3.6%

“What was that?” Grey shouted to be heard over the droids catcalling.

“No no no no,” Theron muttered, “we’re so close! Don’t do this to me, little buddy!”

“What happened to my precious baby boy?” Grey demanded, sweat trickling down the side of her face as she struggled to maintain the Force barrier.

Beyond the barrier, the rest of the porndroid army followed suit with Teeseven, all either wildly projecting their own series of hologlyphs and random facts about themselves and their planets of origins, while others struck disturbingly seductive poses, and a scant few demanded that “ShanDaddy” start a holocall with them in private.

With no time and no recourse left, Theron dove back into the system, yanking Teeseven’s unfinished code as he was nearly overwhelmed with lewd images and thirsty hologlyphs, struggling to finish and upload the code as the volume in the War Room rose to a crescendo just as the Force users’ began to fall, one after the other, their barrier weakening by the moment.

The overwhelming cacophony of hologlyphs, lewd poses, and robotic come-ons that had filled the War Room suddenly disappeared. All eyes turned to the droids as almost in unison, as they all powered down—a sign that their malware had been neutralized. Theron slumped back in relief, his work finally done.

Grey, Lana, and the others let out a long sigh of relief, the tension leaving their bodies in a rush.

“Thank the Force,” Grey murmured, sinking down to the ground. “I do not think I could have held that barrier much longer.”

Theron nodded, feeling a similar sense of exhaustion. He leaned back against the console, closing his eyes but was unable to banish the mentally scarring series of images that were probably permanently burned into his retinas.

“Remind me,” he said faintly, “to obliterate HoloHump’s servers. Once I’m done murdering Gault.”

“You act as if there will be anything left after I find him,” Lana said darkly.

“Remember everyone,” Grey spoke in her best and most official Alliance Commander voice, “murder is bad and frowned upon in the Official Alliance Employee Handbook.”

“Query: Why are we all in the War Room?” HK-55 asked as he came back online. “And more importantly, why is that blue meddroid manipulating its medical instruments into a heart shape, as if expressing affection towards the Commander?”

[aquietwritingcorner]

Title:  A Protector’s Job     Day:  Whumpuary 2023, Day 10: Hidden Injury/Blood/Recovery Word Count: 2635   Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T   Characters: Raphael     Warning:     Summary: Accidently getting caught up in Foot activity, the guys are getting overwhelmed. Raphael won’t allow that, and steps in to make sure his brothers get to safety. That, however doesn’t come without consequences of its own.   Notes:   ff.net || AO3

_____________________________________  

A Protector’s Job

“Shell.”

Raph cursed to himself as he brought a hand up to wipe at the blood on his face. He didn’t dare let go of his sai to do it, instead using the back of his fist to try to wipe it away. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. It didn’t really matter anyway. With the way that they were pinned down, he was going to end up with a lot more blood on him. They all were.

The Foot Ninja were everywhere. Raph would have called it an ambush, except that the first few Foot had seemed far too surprised by their presence. Raph figured that they must have stumbled into something that was about to happen, though, because it hadn’t been long before more and more Foot had shown up. Something had obviously been about to go down, and for once it hadn’t been about them.

At least, not until they had stumbled into it.

Raph tried to catch his breath as he looked around, trying to lay eyes on his brothers while he had a moment’s reprieve. The situation didn’t look good. Leo was slowly being backed towards the edge of the roof as more and more Foot pressed him in that direction. Mikey was being backed into a corner, cutting his ability to bounce around. Donnie was standing in the middle of the rooftop, where his bo had the most advantage, but Raph could tell that he was being overwhelmed too.

And there were more who had just spotted Raph up on the water tower.

Shell.

Raph grit his teeth, tightened his grip on his sais, and then plunged back into the fight.

He made his way towards Mikey first. Mikey was slowly being trapped, and Raph wasn’t going to allow that. Besides, if he could free Mikey, then he could send him over to help Don. Mikey, when he was focused, was a scary, fearsome warrior. Raph had no doubt that he would throw his all into helping Don, and that Don, with his formidable intellect, would be able to react off of Mikey with precision. They could easily take care of each other while he went to help Leo.

Raph barreled straight into Mikey’s opponents, catching them by surprise and managing to take out a few. He punched, slashed, and stabbed his way through them, taking no time to pull his punches, making a path so Mikey could get out of the corner.

“Raph!” Mikey said, his nunchuck still swirling as he took out more ninja.

“Go help Don!” he said. “I’ll get Leo!”

“Right!”

Mikey took off towards Don, taking out as many ninja on his way as he could. Raph only spared him enough of a glance to make sure he was alright before heading towards Leo.

His brother was closer to the edge than before, having to wield his swords against completely separate opponents. It was something that Leo had done before, but it did put a strain on him, and it made it far too easy for someone to get in a strike that Leo either didn’t see coming or couldn’t defend against.

Raph leapt upon one such opponent, sinking his sais into the ninja before shooting up, pivoting, and catching another’s weapon between the prongs of his sais. He twisted, breaking the blade, and then shot his foot out in a kick. He came to a stop behind his brother, him and Leo standing shell to shell.

“Mikey and Don are together,” he said. “Leo, we need to get outta here.”

“I know,” Leo said as he blocked another strike. “We just need the opportunity.”

“Give me one, and I’ll make a path to Mike and Don,” Raph said.

He heard Leo’s short, wordless grunt of acknowledgment, and then waited for his opportunity. They both kept fighting, of course, but Leo kept him mostly hidden until he knew that Raph would have the element of surprise. Raph wasted no time, darting out from behind his brother and indiscriminately taking out one Foot after another. They had obviously not been expecting it, and Raph was able to take out three or four before the rest started to catch on. By that time, Leo was racing up behind him, then leaping over him to gain his own element of surprise. They kept that pattern up, switching places at random, until they made it to Mikey and Don.

“We need an out!” Leo said. “Don!”

“On it!” Don said, and the rest of them fell in, making a protective triangle so that Don could work his magic.

Raph had no idea what Don was about to do, but he wasn’t about to doubt his brainy brother. He’d have already thought of half a dozen things he could do, Raph was sure, and had most of them in that bag of his. Sure enough, within seconds, Don was pitching something into the air.

“Duck and cover!” he shouted, and Raph pulled back from his fight, turning his shell towards the enemy, and covering his eyes, facing inwards towards Donnie. He could see the others do the same, and the behavior threw the Foot Ninja off balance. It was a dangerous gamble, but if Don said to do it, then chances were if they didn’t do it then, they’d be caught in whatever he had coming.

A brilliant explosion of light flashed, so bright that even through eyes that Raph closed on instinct, it was dizzying. He could hear the screams of the ninjas all around him as they didn’t cover in time, but he didn’t look up until Don had given the all clear.

Of the ninja that were still alive, every single one that Raph could see was bent over their eyes, or had their hands pressed to them. Whatever Don had done, it had blinded all of their opponents. It had also, though, probably sent up a giant flare to anyone who wanted to investigate.

“Come on, let’s go!” Leo said, and he waved their brothers on, making sure they were going, before chasing after them.

Raph, as usual brought up the rear, making sure that they weren’t followed and that there was no trouble from behind. Leo quickly caught up with Mikey and Donnie, passing them to lead the way.

“I’ve got the Battleshell waiting four blocks over,” Don said. “She should already be running and waiting for us.”

“Right,” Leo said, and altered his path.

Within a few moments, the four brothers were jumping down from the rooftops and sliding into the Battleshell. Wasting no time, Don slid into the driver’s seat and put it in gear. Almost before they had the chance to close the doors, he had the Battleshell booking it out of the alley it had been parked in, and driving into the city.

For a moment, no one said anything, still riding high on the adrenaline of the fight. Finally, though, Leo broke the post-battle silence. “Alright,” he said, “Sound off.”

“I think I’m good,” Mikey said, all but collapsing onto one of the seats. “Just absolutely wiped. Like, can we not do that again?”

“Any injuries, Mikey?” Leo pressed.

“I don’t think so. Nothing out of the ordinary and that can’t be taken care of with some ice and band aids, anyway.”

Leo nodded. “Okay. Don?”

“Like Mikey, I should be able to tell you more when the adrenaline fades. But I think the most serious thing I have is maybe a slightly wrenched knee. I’ll wrap it when we get home, ice it, and rest it. The rest is all minor.”

“Sounds, good, Don,” Leo said. “Raph?” He double take at him. “Raph! You’re covered in blood!”

“Yeah, well, most of it ain’t mine, so you can calm down, Leo,” Raph said. “I’m still hyped up, but as far as I can tell, aside from some bruised knuckles and soon to be achin’ legs, I’m fine.”

Leo frowned at him. “At least get a towel and clean some of that off. I want to be sure that’s all it is, and we don’t want to terrify Master Splinter by coming in with you all bloody.”

“Whatever,” Raph said, although he still moved to get a towel. “What about you, Leo? How’d you hold up?”

“My shoulders and arms are going to be sore, that’s for sure. But everything else is just minor cuts and bruises,” Leo said.

“We’ll have to give all of our cuts a good cleaning when we get home,” Don said from the front. “And I mean more than just soap and water.”

“Not the betadine!” Mikey whined. “That stuff stinks and it stains my skin! And we all know that I have the best shade of green here.”

Raph tuned the bickering out, getting one of the towels from the back instead and starting to wipe himself down. He had gotten more blood on him than he realized, and one towel was quickly stained completely red. He got another one, lurching just a bit as Don seemed to take a swerve or a turn too hard. Maybe they should make sure Donnie hadn’t gotten his head hit.

Raph could feel himself starting to come down from the adrenaline rush, calming a bit, and his body was making it well known just how exhausted he was and how much it hurt. It had to have been a pretty big adrenaline high, he figured, because this crash felt harder than others. He just shrugged it off, though. Some fights were just that way.

He continued to wipe at the blood, the towel getting more and more red. Raph frowned at it. He knew he had a lot of blood on him, but he hadn’t thought it was that much. He twisted to look at himself, wondering if he’d missed something somewhere, and felt a rather strong twinge of pain in his thigh. Blinking, he looked down at it and stopped.

“Uh, Leo?”

Something in his tone must have been off, because all conversation ceased, and Leo and Mikey turned to look at him.

Raph looked up at them. “I think I was wrong. Not all of that blood was theirs.”

He went to take a step towards Leo and Mikey and staggered instead. He felt his leg give out, knew he was falling, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Arms wrapped around him, and instead of hitting the floor, he found himself slowly lowered to it, panicked shouting going on above him. An engine revved somewhere, sounding pretty sweet, and then he knew no more.

The next thing that Raph knew, he was waking up in a room with low lights and the smell of antiseptic. He didn’t feel like he was in any danger—and he had woken up that way before—so he let himself settle into being awake slowly. It didn’t take him long to figure out where he was, and he turned his head, wondering who was sitting with him in their little infirmary.

“Good evening, my son. It is good to see you awake.”

Raph blinked. He hadn’t been expecting to see his father next to him. Sure, Raph knew that he took his turn watching when one of them was injured or sick, but most of the time it was one of his brothers that he came around to.

“Mas’er Splin’er?” Oh, that came out much more slurred than he had meant for it too.

Apparently, Splinter could see that, and he chuckled lightly, his eyes crinkling up in that amused way they did. He brought over a cup with a straw and held the straw out to Raphael.

“Drink, my son,” he said.

Raph did, and, when he was finished, smacked his lips together a bit to try to get some moisture back in them. “Master Splinter… what happened?”

Splinter set the cup aside. “What do you remember, Raphael?”

Raph took a breath, thinking back for a moment. “We got caught up in a fight,” he said “A big one. I don’t think they thought we were gonna be there. I think we just stumbled into it. But there were lots of Foot and we were gettin’ overwhelmed. I remember fightin’ to Mikey and sendin’ him to help Don. I went to Leo, and then we both went to Mike and Donnie. Don did somethin’ with some sorta flashbang, and we booked it outta there. I remember tryin’ to clean up on the Battleshell and then…” Raph trailed off, scrunching his brow. “…I don’t really remember.”

Splinter was nodding. “You passed out. You did not realize it at the time, but you had a rather large and deep gash in your thigh. It allowed enough blood to escape you that you passed out. Your brothers brought you here in a panic, ignoring their own wounds to make sure that you were cared for. Donatello has been working relentlessly on making sure you have everything you need for a healthy recovery. Michelangelo has been cooking up meals high in iron and reading comic books to you. Leonardo has come in and sat beside you, keeping vigil. We have all been very worried over you, my son.”

“How many days have I been out?” he asked, confused.

“This is the end of the third,” Splinter said. “You gave your brothers quite a scare.”

Raph stared at his father and tried to sit up. “Three Days?!” he asked, alarmed.

Almost just as alarming was the fact that his father pushed him down with almost no effort at all. “You will stay in bed Raphael,” Splinter said firmly. “And you will do as I have sent the others to do—rest.” His expression softened. “You need to build back your strength, my son.”

Raph had a hard time fighting against that sort of expression, and he stopped struggling, letting his father lay him back down again and pull the blankets up, much as he had done when Raph was just a tot.

“How long am I gonna be out?” Raph asked.

“Until I say so, my son,” Splinter said. “As it is, I am not letting any of you out of the lair for quite some time. But you, specifically, will be spending your time resting and recuperating. And no matter how long or short your recovery period is, I expect you to abide by it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sensei,” Raph said, knowing that arguing with that was an exercise in futility.

“Good,” Splinter said with a smile, and then stood up, heading towards a cart. “Now—let me run through these tests that Donatello left for me, so I do not have to endure his unintentional lectures about why they are important, tomorrow.”

Raph chuckled at that and watched as his father moved about the room. Raph looked around it too, as Splinter gathered what he needed and read over the instructions one more time. He could see little bits of his brothers left in here. The stack of messy notes left amid the neatly stacked supplies that was all Donnie. The tattered comic book that was sitting on shelf of medical supplies was definitely Mikey. The wax residue left behind by candles spoke of Leo. A hockey stick in the corner told Raph that Casey had been here. A tube of strawberry chapstick sitting on a tray indicated April had been here as well. A cup of tea was Master Splinter’s mark.

All of his family had been here and been by to check on him. They had even stuck around for a while. Raph smiled to himself at that. He might be stuck here for a recovery period, but at least he’d have his family to keep him company—and that was something he’d always fight to keep.

[runawaycarouselhorse]

An analysis of Momiji's parents (yes, you read that right, bear with me, this is not absolving them completely, but will perhaps help you understand them better!)

Note: Momiji's one of my favourite Fruits Basket characters and one of my favourite characters in general so please don't think I don't appreciate how incredibly painful, traumatizing, and lonely his childhood experiences are. I am not at all denying that what his parents put him through was traumatizing.

We all know Tohru, her friends, family, and especially the Zodiacs are complex, believable (once you peel back the layers of eccentricities and the influence of their Zodiac animal spirits) people, but it seems many do not expect their parents to be so, too. While it's true most hardly appear on-screen/on-panel and therefore come off as a bit one-note and the story is, after all, mostly from the perspective of children going through adolescence (so we also see pivotal, powerful moments like them finally becoming strong enough to realize these abusive parents and relatives, who once seemed insurmountable and bigger-than-life, are in reality, so small, weak, and have their own struggles... or that terrible moment where Kyo realized his father was speaking to him the same way he always spoke to his mother, always shifting blame and breaking people's spirits with undue blame and finally understood why his mother had done what she did)...

Momiji's mother, curse aside, exhibits very, very clear signs of a real psychological condition, the milder and more famous form known as baby blues (low mood after giving birth, difficulty bonding with and caring for a child, lasting one or two weeks, often treated with support and understanding from family), and its more severe representations, which Momiji's mother exhibited, much-less-understood and far-more-stigamtized, post-partum depression.

I believe there is a strong, but ignorant, form of ableism in bashing Momiji's mother, because she is very, very clearly a case of post-partum depression, leading to a suicide attempt, that never received the help she needed, likely due to either social stigma (remember, the Soma are a very powerful, elite, and secretive clan) or, more likely, due to her and her husband's strong belief in the curse.

People often idealize mothers and motherhood, even pregnancy, leaving many of its serious risks and dangers unspoken about, even though we have long-known women often used to die in childbirth, particularly in the past, before the advances of modern medicine. Still, some risk is inherent to pregnancy, due to the many changes it brings about in the body and the effects of the fluctuating hormones--which can also affect one's sanity and mental state.

Unlike the very temporary baby blues, postpartum depression is much more severe and even dangerous untreated and without understanding and support from the family to care for the child when the mother is unable... failing to bond with the baby, rejecting them, and even thoughts of harming herself or the baby--Momiji's mother had untreated postpartum depression.

Now, the reason I say they likely didn't treat her more because of the belief in the curse and how inevitable it is than the fear of stigma (which is unfortunately common throughout Japanese society and many eastern/Asian societies, like mine, where any form of mental illness is severely stigmatized and people will shun you as a "crazy person," refuse to marry or hire such a person, avoiding them, discriminating against them, etc.--this is likely why all of these kids in Fruits Basket had to overcome their past on their own, with Tohru's help...) is because Momiji's father was clearly not that kind of man to care about what others think, despite the deeply traditional society and old-fashioned clan.

Think about it, Momiji (while still small and childlike, due to the stronger influence of the rabbit spirit, when the curse was still strong and largely unbroken) dressed in frilly, childish, and even girlish Lolita-inspired articles of clothing. Even when he's older, he's quite fashionable, he just no longer dresses cutesy or frilly, but he still wears that bunny backpack and has tons of bunny plushies.

Momiji did seem to understand he couldn't get away with it anymore when he finally looked his age, although it's hard to tell if that's from his father or from society at large (maybe Momiji is a little more sensitive to that than his father or he simply wants to be recognized as the man he's growing up to be, in faint hopes that Tohru would love him back? Momiji was so happy when she called him "handsome"... "but I'm a man too")--given how they gave him flack at school for wearing the female uniform's top, even though he wore boyish shorts underneath and added a sailor hat--the a sailor suit, which yeah, was originally for boys, but that top was tailored for the female school uniform in Tohru's school...

A boy getting to dress like that might happen under a mother's care, but a father? Momiji at this point is raised only by his father, who promised to love him twice as much to make up for the terrible sacrifice he is about to make (erase Momiji from his wife's memories, so she can be rid of her knowledge of the cursed child she bore and never loved...).

I believe he truly did try. Someone had to have bought Momiji all of those cutesy clothes, the bunny bags, the many bunny plushies in his room... I think his father did his best to indulge him, but was still too weak and cowardly to fight against the curse. The curse was seen as something powerful, all-consuming, mysterious, and he likely did not believe getting his wife help otherwise, while keeping this child near her, would do any good. He's still a very weak-willed person for placing such a terrible weight on his very young child's shoulders and I'm less sympathetic to Momiji's father, but I definitely believe he truly did try to love and indulge Momiji more, while still afraid of the curse and so keeping his family away from him. That's why he didn't even want Momiji showing his face around them and, heartbreakingly, told him to quit his violin lessons because Momo was learning from the same teacher within the clan (Soma being as insular a clan as they are, they were likely only learning from one violin teacher who IS part of the clan and lived on the estate, much as the zodiacs only receive treatment from one doctor, Hatori himself...).<-partly conjecture, but based on Hatori being their doctor.

He likely believed it was all the curse's doing and, maybe, in the world of Fruits Basket, it really was all the curse's doing, because as they mentioned, mothers of zodiac spirits were usually either suffocatingly overprotective or completely rejecting their children--but this doesn't erase that Momiji's mother clearly exhibited nearly all of the signs of a true mental illness and was never treated. She really was depressed to the point of trying to take her own life. There's an ableism in fandom--however born of ignorance of the condition or the young age of the readership and viewership making them unable to empathize with an adult character it might be--but it's clearly there.

TL;DR: I think a man, from a very old-fashioned and hierarchal clan in a very conservative country as Japan, who would allow his boy to dress the way Momiji does publicly, indulging all his love of rabbits and childish and cute frilly clothes, would would NOT care about the stigma of having a "crazy" wife either and would get her treatment, so I think it truly is because of the fear of the curse and belief that it's something insurmountable and impossible to overcome that prevented it.

As Momiji grows up, he can speak with his mother, even if only from a distance, without her knowing who he is, and even without knowing, Momo wanted him as her brother... as an adult, Momo knows he's her brother (I haven't read Fruits Basket Another, myself, yet, so I only know that one scene, keep in mind!), so I think, especially as the curse breaks, there's no longer a reason for Momiji to stay away... I don't know if they'd ever tell his mother about all of that (I wonder how immensely guilty she'd feel if she was told after the curse broke, or if she would never be able to bond with him simply because all her memories of him from back then were erased, or if they'd have an easier time bonding without that cloud over them (more like she's adopting him?), or if it'd always be a bit awkward instead, but still pleasant...) <-this last part is all conjecture.

[the-thoughts-of-sam]

1.

“In the frame of a gruesome doorway she stood for a moment curs- ing them. Her hair straggled, giving her crimson features a look of insanity. Her great fists quivered as she shook them madly in the air.The urchins made terrific noises until she turned and disappeared. Then they filed quietly in the way they had come.The woman floundered about in the lower hall of the tenement house and finally stumbled up the stairs. On an upper hall a door was opened and a collection of heads peered curiously out, watching her..”

I believe that this section of the text  encapsulates the last  few chapters in its entirety, it shows the reader the absolute stillness that occurs between chapters. From the point at which she is instructed to go to hell, in  the conclusion of Chapter 9 to Jimmie's pronouncement that "Maggie's gone to deh devil" in Chapter 10. The absence of what one might assume to be the novel's pivotal event makes sense in a way since Maggie's seduction is merely the immediate cause of her death and simply an unavoidable stage in the tragedy that is her life. It is not the ultimate cause. Maggie herself does occasionally seem incidental to this book.

2.

Jimmie gave vent to a [sardonic] curse and then laughed heavily. “Well, Maggie’s gone teh deh devil! Dat’s what! See?” “Eh?” said his mother. “Maggie’s gone teh deh devil! Are yehs deaf?” roared Jimmie, impatiently.

Jimmie gave vent to a [mocking] curse and then laughed heavily. “Well, Maggie’s gone teh deh devil! Dat’s what! See?” “Eh?” said his mother. “Maggie’s gone teh deh devil! Are yehs deaf?” roared Jimmie, impatiently.

3.

As the word changed from sardonic to mocking I feel as though the sentence lost its mystery. I say this because when you hear the word mocking you know that the person is making fun of you, so you’re not fooled one bit, there’s no mystery. However, when you’re presented with the word sardonic, the reader is able to be placed in a state of mystery, and in better words an educated cleaver humor on the end of the sardonic person's side.

4.

sardonic is important to the sentence because it emphasized the dramatics and the intensity to the way in which Jimmie was acting. He wasn’t just mocking what his mother said, because mocking is just imitating her for comedic purposes. However, sardonic expression frequently entails stating a difficult fact deftly and without necessarily intending harm, frequently while displaying some doubt. The word change affects how you’d envision the interaction.

I chose this picture out of the many due to the feeling that I felt as soon as I seen it. When I saw this picture I felt an automatic down pour of sadness for these individuals due to their living circumstances.The fact that there's so many people sleeping in that one room that some have to sleep sitting up. I think Crane used fiction to push this narrative in order for the reader to feel some type of sympathy for the characters in the book, and once a person feels sympathetic they then want to make change for that person and or their economic state.

[papofglencoe]

Bahahaha what do you think of the fact that Peeta never had this like ~moment~ where he got his full memory back and understood the truth all at once? I think 99.99 percent of readers loved the symbolism and tragic realism that he never did and had to piece by piece slowly recover himself but I’m like that .01 percent that is like … I love cliches, give me that like tragic fall to your knees moment where he sees the truth and lies so clearly.

Maybe it was Suzanne’s intent though that I would want that and it would never come. Like you kind of gotta keep people wanting 😭😭😭😭😭

I saw this late last night and couldn't sleep because I was so excited to write back (at a human hour lol). SO. So. Sososooooo...

Here's a novel! And screw hiding it under a cut.

SC gives you the cliche you're looking for, my friend. She really does. The trope is True Love's Kiss. She writes it as the suicide kiss.

Now, SC uses THG to convey a serious, and for her very personal, reality about PTSD: it makes you a different person. Frustratingly, maddeningly, horrifically, it alters you and the way you look at and experience the world in some irrevocable, fundamental ways. Some people will talk about curing it, but in my experience with it, there is no cure. There's just living with it, working around the beast of it, and that's the daily grind. I think SC saw that in her father too and clearly writes that being the case for Katniss and Peeta. They are never the same people they were in the beginning of the story (even though I'd say both start the story with trauma and perhaps PTSD from that). They never fully recover from their experiences in the Games and the revolution, and they always to have employ the therapeutic strategies they've discovered that work for each of them to power through their episodes, nightmares, and depression. So there's no panacea for the PTSD, and I just wanted to be clear about that so that no one misconstrues this true love's kiss cliche as frivolously claiming to cure something real for which there isn't a cure. That's the bittersweet part of Everlark's journey: they come together at the end as glued-together, reconstituted, patchwork people. Perfect in their imperfections, tbh.

But as far as Peeta understanding the truth goes... the suicide kiss is that cliched moment (he has even fallen to his knees for it). Ofc we don't get the narrative from Peeta's POV, just Katniss', but this is what she says about it:

"It's a long shot, it's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. 'Don't let him take you from me.'

Peeta's panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. 'No. I don't want to...'

I clench his hands to the point of pain. 'Stay with me.'

His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. 'Always,' he murmurs."

(MJ, 314, emphasis mine)

Suzanne Collins is a Catholic, and so I am (or at least I was until adulthood). And what she wrote here is, in essence, an exorcism. Katniss is the Christ-Savior character of the story, Peeta her rock/Peter, and Katniss' kiss (and the truth behind its message/her love) is the power that compels the devil out of him. At the end of this moment, his vision has returned to normalcy (his new normal), and he swears to never forsake her. I'm secular af now, but this holds up even as True Love's Kiss, where the kiss from the true love cures the beloved of their curse.

If we had this scene from Peeta's POV, I think this would be the fulcrum, the pivot point where he realizes fully, not in bits and pieces, but fully, that not only is Katniss not his enemy, she's not just his teammate or ally or friend either. He realizes that she would rather die than go on without him- she puts her life in his hands, trusting him, begging him to stay with her, and she does it with a kiss. He could have killed her in this moment. He had tried before. She knows that, and she chooses to kiss him. Not for any cameras, not for anyone's benefit but his, and in front of the eyes of his alleged rival too. I think this is the moment he realizes she has real feelings for him, and that he does too.

They're in the middle of running a gauntlet, and he doesn't have time to reflect on the moment or let any realization sink in beyond muscle memory. But there is a reason he follows her to the City Circle, and there's a reason his eyes flit away like they always used to when she is escorted into the meeting of the surviving Victors. There's a reason he tells her he can't let go of her after she assassinates Coin, and there's a reason the first thing he does as soon as he is able to is return to her in D12. Imo there's no piecing together required of the truth that they love each other after the suicide kiss- there's no risk of him returning to believing she's a monster/mutt/bitch or anything remotely like that. They just need time to heal and recover and find some new sense of self before either of them acts on those feelings (which is in line with the whole celibate period any person in recovery is encouraged to go through so that their own mental/physical/spiritual house is in order).

I dunno. That's just what I think. And with this meta, my copy of MJ officially fell apart. lol

[verdantmoontruther]

i think the entire point of billy’s character was to show the results of what it’s like to go without affectionate love. like, every other character - every single other character, apart from, like, vecna, which is sort of telling - has someone that loves them for more than what they can give them. the kids have each other, and they have at least one parent, and they have siblings, and they have steve, and steve has robin and nancy and jonathan. they have people whose love for them isn’t conditional on something, on time or good behaviour or something transactional.

apart from his memories as a really young child, billy doesn’t have anything like that. he is exposed to only two kind of love: abusive love, the kind that comes with curses and slaps and fear but is “for his own good” and done “because i love you”; and sexual love, lust. to me this means that he has trouble viewing himself as a real human person: outside of what he can give (or not give) to other people, he essentially ceases to exist. no-one is there to care or worry for him just because he is there to be cared and worried about. it’s why he’s so sensitive; not empathetic, maybe, not even sympathetic, but sensitive, touchy. anything happens that feels to raw and personal and he’s in tears because he’s literally got no strength built up for that kind of thing.

that’s what made el’s little “she was really pretty” moment so pivotal; when you are starved of that essential form of love, affection, being shown even the smallest fraction of it feels like salvation, like the quenching of thirst. euphoric. someone that didn’t want anything from him seeing things from his perspective just once was enough for him to lay down his life for her. it was a moment when love was about him, rather than anybody else.

it’s very important that, when we talk about abuse, we also talk about love, because they are two sides of the same warped coin. the way that jonathan and will, despite growing up in an abusive household, are still kind and gentle, because they knew they always had someone in their corner, someone that would stand up for them and never give up, someone that kicked their piece of shit dad out of the house and could recognise her son just by his heartbeat; the way that el still gets so so angry sometimes and lashes out and attacks when she feels cornered, doesn’t know right from wrong sometimes because she was hardly taught the difference, but then suddenly there was someone there to pick her up when she was at her worst, house her and clothe her and teach her and protect her, and people who thought about her when she wasn’t there and missed her and it made her better, more perceptive, more clear headed; and the way that henry and billy never really got any of that and its absence tortured them into self destruction.

it’s like whatever but, also. food for thought

[d-criss-news]

Nine Songs: Darren Criss

When Disney, Phantom Planet and Mr Hudson collide: Glee star, Emmy and Golden Globe winner and musician Darren Criss talks Andrew Wright through the pivotal songs in his life and the unexpected ways they found him.

“When we are younger, our gateway drugs to a lot of popular things don’t come from the sexiest of places. It’s up to you how proactive you want to be with your curiosity from there, and how far down the rabbit hole you want to go, if you go down at all.”

Choosing the songs that define you is a tricky business to say the least, especially when the power of song has provided an ongoing soundtrack to your life. “When you’re as avid a music consumer as musical artists are, trying to pin down Nine Songs is difficult,” Darren Criss laughs. So much so, his final choices only really crystallise as our conversation draws to its close. “It’s hard for me not to see the value and joy in literally everything,” he explains. “The curse of the creative person is that your ideas and your interests always move way faster than your body can execute.”

Criss is a creative par excellence. As well as his Emmy and Golden Globe winning performance in The Assassination of Gianni Versace, where he played serial killer Andrew Cunanan, to his upcoming role in Muppets Haunted Mansion Halloween special as The Caretaker, he’s also a prolific musician. Criss enjoyed a decadent musical consumption since childhood, so “this was a bit of an archaeological dig,” he admits. As such, everything from jazz standards, to 808s, punk rock, ‘90s teen pop, and musical numbers are excavated in the course of our extemporaneous journey through the music he loves.

Equally on his mind is how to go about approaching the task of creating his Nine Songs, full stop. “The interesting social experiment is: Are my answers going to be songs that actually shaped my life and were formative to me as an artist? Are they songs that were formative to me as a human being? Or am I picking songs that I think represent who I am to people that do not know me? All three of those things aren’t necessarily the same thing.”

He reaches a conclusion of sorts. “For the purposes of making some kind of decision, I’m gonna lean less into trying to look cool to your very cool readership, and more into the literal, ‘What made me think about music in a different way? And hit me in a very emotional way?’ I think that’s probably the healthiest route.”

Embracing the accessibility that characterises Criss’ picks - or at times the initial touchpoints that led him to them - are something he vacillates over during our chat. “I’ve seen a lot of other people’s Nine Songs and they’re super cool. It’s like Leonard Cohen B-sides and old opera records and stuff. I’m gonna be pretty honest with the pop culture zeitgeist of how I grew up but explain why there is so much value in those moments.” His contemplation continues into the next day, Criss’s publicist passes on his regrets at being tentative to admit how he encountered one of his song choices via the Shrek soundtrack.

A yearning to reinterpret accessibility and the value attached to it drives Criss, however. He tells me that a festival performance that applied the anarchic verve of punk rock to a more refined Great American Songbook number remoulded his perception of music entirely. His love of the fusion of these two genres in particular symbolises the salient musical backdrops of his childhood - the guitar bands he played in with friends, and his musical theatre endeavours that led him to Broadway and multiple Ryan Murphy juggernauts, including his breakthrough playing Blaine Anderson in Glee.

Criss employs these contrasting musical lexicons, and other areas in between, on Masquerade, his new EP. Comprising five stand-alone “character-driven” singles, it sees Criss donning different musical personas. “I’m leaning into people that might know me as an actor,” he explains. “Because if actors can do Shakespeare, romantic comedy, and then do a horror movie and wear a prosthetic nose and a wig, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just do that with music.” The song “walk of shame” draws on jazz-standard chords interlaced with hip-hop production, “i can’t dance” looks to new-wave, and “for a night like this” is the product of Criss’ goal to create the ultimate end-of-the-night crowd-pleaser for a new-year bash, wedding or bar mitzvah. “This is all of the parts of me as a lifelong fan of these genres, trying my hand at servicing the pieces of them that I love.”

“I really love all styles of music and understanding what makes them unique and special and what makes them really pop. There are so many things that really make things sing - for lack of a better verb - and I like acknowledging those things and celebrating those things.”

“So, let’s begin. I have runners up and shit, and I have artists, I don’t just have the songs, so we might have to pick them as we go.”

“Part of Your World” by Jodi Benson

“When people read this, they’ll go ‘That’s cute, he likes Disney songs’, but it’s more profound than that. Some of the most formative pieces of music to hit me at a very early age would have been any of the songs that were coming from ‘The Disney renaissance.’ The early-mid ‘90s explosion of The Little Mermaid, Aladdin and Beauty and The Beast.

"One of the through lines between the three of those musicals was Howard Ashman, who is one of my all-time heroes. Dramaturg, songwriter - he really was the voice behind what made those songs great. I have always loved Howard’s lyrical sensibility and also Alan Menken, his partner who wrote these songs with him. There was a musical structure to a lot of the songs which I would unconsciously pick up in my own songwriting, not just musically, but the idea that not only did somebody make these songs, but they wrote them for a story.

“There’s a clip of Howard Ashman vocal directing Jodi Benson, who was the original voice of Ariel. It’s a wonderful example of his genius, where not only was he songwriting but he was storytelling in the way he would tell her how to perform it, and you can really see the song coming to life in that clip. That’s when you cross the street from ‘It’s a song’ to ‘This is an experience.’

"There are certain ingredients that are required to elevate music that goes beyond just a nice melody, a beautiful orchestration and a good voice. There are things that are required to really give a performance a characterisation, context and a vulnerability, that he architects in real-time with Jodi Benson. You see that what he’s doing is what makes the record so special, and that’s something that’s always been inspiring to me.”

“MMMBop” by Hanson

“I think my love of Hanson was because some people didn’t like it, so I was like ‘Fuck you, I like this, how do you feel about it?’ But this is difficult for me, because you know, I’m speaking to The Line of Best Fit and we’re trying to be cool! Although, do you know what’s cool? Being accessible! Writing a pop hit when you are 10 years old. Being in a band with your brothers and you’re all below the age of 15, you have a record contract where you are writing, producing and performing songs that are doing well.

“I was 10 years old when their first album Middle of Nowhere came out, and I remember reading somewhere that there were these kids that had a record. At the time, I was playing guitar and I was writing songs, but in my mind I was a kid, and that was it. I couldn’t be on the radio; you had to be a grown up to do this.

"This was the first time where I realised ‘Holy shit, kids can do stuff!’ It’s the value of seeing yourself in the media - that’s a whole other conversation to talk about - but there’s an immense value in feeling like there’s a piece of you out in the zeitgeist and doing well because it’s encouraging. You go, ‘Holy shit, maybe I can do this as well.'

“When you see children doing things, you’re ‘Wow, this is so cute and fabulous’, but then when you actually look at it you go, ‘This is miles above what most people in this age group are capable of,’ and that’s all I saw, because I was in the same age group and I was so inspired by that. This whole album was really a turning point for me, where I was like, ‘I can do this, I can do music too, because these guys can.'

“Ooh La La” by Faces

“This song really blew my mind. It became my own theme. It’s that ‘Make your heart sing’, nostalgic moment when you’re a teenager, driving in the car listening to it, playing guitar with your friends and you’re singing “I wish that I knew what I know now / When I was younger.” You’re like, ‘because I’m an adult now, I’m 15-years-old. If I only knew what I know now.’

“I was doing theatre from a young age and I was part of a young conservatory called A.C.T. in San Francisco. By way of somebody who knew somebody, I had an audition for a movie. As a kid not being near New York or Los Angeles it was really exciting, and this audition was for a film called ‘Max Fischer’, which would become the movie Rushmore, which would become one of my favourite movies of all time by the now very distinguished Wes Anderson.

“Separate from my own objective love of Wes Anderson, when this movie came out I was just around the age of getting into my own sort of identity with music, but also movies - indie movies - and trying to assert who I was. So, I see this movie Rushmore and I love it. I love the soundtrack, I love it so much, it’s one of my favourite albums ever. This song is the end sequence, and the way it made me feel - the vocals on it, I could play it on guitar and it was part of a cool movie - it really represented a lot in my life.

“And because of the acting thing, and Rushmore being great - it’s about this kid in high-school who's misunderstood but has his own agenda - everything about it was just so fucking cool to me. To this day, I cite that song as one of my favourite records of all time.”

“Recently Distressed” by Phantom Planet

“A guy that really formed the way I would sing and write songs is Alex Greenwald, the frontman of Phantom Planet. I went to see Phantom Planet because I loved Rushmore and I found out that Jason Schwartzman [who had been cast as Max Fischer] was also the drummer for a band called Phantom Planet.

"So, when I saw their name on the bill I went, but I didn't know their music. I was barely 14, but their set blew my mind. It was Rock and Roll, but I loved Alex Greenwald’s voice. I loved everything, and I would follow their career from there. I always tell people that my voice is a combination of me trying to be Alex Greenwald, Paul McCartney and Rufus Wainwright, but failing. Alex was incredibly formative for me.

“One of their biggest records was a little while after I first saw them, which was the song for The O.C., "California." That was more of an Elvis Costello thing, and they employed a lot of stuff that sounded to me like The Beatles and a lot of ‘60s mod/pop-rock. But later they would employ things from Fugazi, Radiohead and harder shit, and that eclecticism, again, only accelerated my love for Phantom Planet.

“Recently Distressed” is from their 1998 album Phantom Planet Is Missing. This was a cool rock song that employed these George [Harrison] and Paul [McCartney] background vocals and included all of the things that I loved. It was harder but melodic and employed minor 4th chords and more complicated chords than I was used to. I had grown up with power chords - which are very Gregorian - on a lot of alt. punk rock, like Green Day or Nirvana, and if Kurt Cobain was using power chords then that’s how I was playing guitar. Hearing this music was like ‘Oh, I’m using full chords, not sevenths, minor 4th chords, diminished chords’, shit that I would learn to use more and more.

“When you haven’t experienced much, anything that gives a hint towards possibility, even though it’s probably always been there, you’re like, ‘I like this, I’ve always kind of liked this, but it’s very encouraging to hear somebody else do it and it’s gonna make me reconsider my possibilities.’ That was literally the moment that my power chords turned into full barre chords.”

“Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk” by Rufus Wainwright

“I forgot the other day how I got into Rufus Wainwright, because all of this stuff I was getting into quite young. It’s like when I talk to 11-13 year olds, it’s funny to think that this was when I was really starting to build my musical identity. But then I remembered, and I didn’t want to say because I didn’t want to sound uncool, because he is such a revered artist who exists in a much cooler place than what I’m about to say.

“I loved soundtracks and I would always buy soundtracks for movies that had cool playlists. I had the Shrek soundtrack, and there’s a cover of Leonard Cohen’s seminal “Hallelujah” that Rufus does and he smashes it, and I’m like, ‘Who the fuck is Rufus Wainwright? What a beautiful voice.’ Then I saw that he was going to be at the Virgin Megastore in San Francisco one week, so I go and he’s there promoting his new album Poses. I remember I didn’t have enough money to buy the album that day, so I had him sign my sneaker and I saved that shoe.

“The first song on Poses was “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk”, which is a very dark and reflective song about his own battles with addiction, but he’s singing it over this really beautiful, whimsical song that has a lot of really great wordplay. I always love when artists, especially lyricists, can encapsulate an idea with not exactly what they’re talking about. The song’s called “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk”, it’s not called “Addiction”. Its talking about things that he craved and how that’s representative of other things that he’s gone through. There was a sophistication and elegance to that that I really gravitated towards, that I didn’t possess but wanted to shoot for. So when I saw him, that was a big one for me and he would also continue to influence me later in my life.

“I’ve become friends with Rufus since. I’ve performed with him and we’ve made records together, which is crazy. His songwriting was very complex and punk-rock, but he had this classic cabaret voice, the kind of voice that I don’t have. I was fascinated that there was somebody that could write this really dark material but have such elegance on top of it. He was virtuosic on the piano, which I thought was very cool because musicianship is always the thing that gets me going the most about artists.

“You know what? People say, ‘Don’t meet your heroes.' I completely disagree. Chase the living fuck out of your heroes. I’ve spent a lifetime doing so, it’s made me a better artist, and I’ve sometimes got to meet them and work with them. I’ve worked on music with Alex Greenwald of Phantom Planet. I’ve performed with Hanson. I’ve performed those Disney songs with Alan Menken at The Hollywood Bowl.

"This is all because there are people that I love who I have put on my vision board, and the things that they have done are the things that are bringing me to them. So it is nuts, but at the same time you’re like, ‘Well, what else did you think would happen?’ They did stuff that some part of me connected with, so obviously there’s a magnetic pull towards that person.

“Rufus Wainwright is one of my absolute favourite artists of all time and like I said, me trying to sing like him and failing is a big part of my own journey as an artist.”

“3x5” by John Mayer

“John Mayer’s another guy that came around when I was 15. I heard a song of his on a middle-of-the-night, singer/songwriter college radio show. This is where I used to get music. You would listen to these carefully curated playlists that you wouldn’t be able to hear anywhere else, and the host played “No Such Thing”, a new song by this young kid who had just dropped out of Berklee College of Music - John Mayer.

“I’m listening to this song and I’m like, ‘Not only is this guitar playing really interesting, but the lyrical value and everything that is going on here ticks all the boxes.' It was jazz, but it was pop. And he did something that all these other guys and girls I’ve mentioned did. They made something very unique and very accessible.

“I immediately went out to buy this album, Room For Squares, and I listened to it over and over again. It was an album that was really formative for me. "3x5” is a really beautiful song that employs a lot of chord structures and melodies that blew my fucking mind at the time, and it made me wish that I could write songs like that.

“That album was a huge turning point in the way I played the guitar, because it was the first time in my life where I would look up tabs. Up until this point in my life, if I heard a song I could play it instantly. It was like a party trick, I would get how it worked if I heard it, because most of the songs I would hear on the radio - especially those that involved a guitar - were [centred around] power chords. And now I’m hearing all of these ninth chords and thirteenths, and I’m like, ‘What the fuck is this?’ So I’d have to look up tabs.

“I think any young artist can attest to this - when you try and learn other people’s shit, it’s the best tool for educating yourself. Playing other people’s music really helps you lock in what your own style is. Trying to learn these songs - and sometimes pulling it off and sometimes not - really changed the way that my hands moved around the guitar and considered chords and voicings that I’d never really thought of.

“There’s another tie to musical theatre here, where I remember seeing Audra McDonald, who is a very venerated theatre actor, and she did a cabaret. If you’re familiar with cabaret culture, it’s more about performing the story of the songs – ‘Life is a cabaret’. She did a John Mayer song because she thought it was from a musical theatre show, and I was so tickled by this, because I was like ‘Yeah, if you really think about it, I don’t think he knows this and I don’t think his fan base even thinks about this, but there’s a number of his songs that feel very theatrical in the way that the lyrics play with each other and the way the chords move’.

"When I saw this I thought, ‘That is why I like John Mayer’, because yes, he’s an amazing guitar player, but he’s also a really strong songwriter.”

“Cabaret” by Me First and the Gimme Gimmes

“Also, around this time growing up in San Francisco, as a guitar player playing music with your buddies, the number one thing that you play is punk rock. There are different parts of the spectrum of punk rock, there's the NOFX, Swingin’ Utters, like real punk, punk. And then there’s the pop-punk thing that was happening at the same time, which was also equally influential - blink-182 and Green Day.

“Fat Mike was the frontman of NOFX. I loved NOFX, and Me First and the Gimme Gimmes were a supergroup of different members from different punk bands, of which Fat Mike was one of the main architects. They would cover songs and turn them into punk rock songs. They have an album of hits from the ‘60s, and they also have an album called Me First and the Gimme Gimmes: Are a Drag, and that record is just a tonne of musical theatre covers that are done through punk rock.

“That was completely in line with everything I loved at this time of my life but didn’t really know how to articulate. I loved punk rock but I also really loved musical theatre. Not only the performative element of it, but there was a real musicality to musical theatre that wasn’t as present in some of the other shit that was popular at the time, just harmonically, or where chords would go. There was a sophistication I loved that seemed to not exist in punk rock.

“Then hearing Fat Mike at The Warped Tour going ‘Alright, which one of you Motherfuckers loves Julie Andrews?’ and hearing a mixed bag of reactions, because people were ‘What? I was not expecting that from you, sir?’ And then they start playing “My Favourite Things”, a classic Rodgers and Hammerstein song which is very accessible, but sophisticated nonetheless. And I am just living. I’m like, ‘This has got the attitude and simplicity of punk rock, but the sophistication of a beautiful song.’

“That was the first time in my life where I went, ‘It’s just all music. All these categories and boxes are completely arbitrary.’ So I thought, ‘I can do that.' I was playing power chords in punk bands but I realised that you can take chords and make them into other rhythms and voicings and have the same song. I could take a punk song and make it jazz. I could take a jazz song and make it country. So, quite providentially, I would end up on Glee, where they took popular songs and would sometimes do their own versions.

“By that point, I had been doing this my whole life. The first time this ever became a possibility for me was seeing Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, and that way of thinking about music and genre. I’ve put that into Masquerade, and it’s all born from that moment of ‘Oh my God, nothing has to be one thing. It’s just about how you look at it.'

“Cabaret” is from a pretty famous musical that I would’ve probably heard about later in life, but I first heard that song as a punk song and then I went back and heard the original. It doesn’t matter how these things happen, the inspiration happens and then you can go from there. But Me First and The Gimme Gimmes were a huge gateway drug and I play “Cabaret” now every year at my festival. That’s why the festival is called Elsie Fest, because it covers the song.”

“Modern Nature” by Sondre Lerche

“One of the great joys of being a younger brother is that you get to inherit the music of your elders. My brother and I were both really proactive consumers of music, so we would share stuff with each other all the time. But then he would come home from college, which is like coming home from a music festival essentially, right? He was in a new time zone with new people, so he’d bring home these mix CDs that he’d made from people that he’d heard about, and he brings home this guy named Sondre Lerche.

“Hearing this guy blew my mind, because he also was using jazz chords and drawing on musical theatre. Musical theatre’s a massive category, so I can’t just say that musical theatre sounds like one thing, but when I say this, I’m referring to The American Songbook, the jazz standard songbook. “Modern Nature” was a duet that I would go on to play many times with one of my oldest musical collaborators, Charlene Kaye. When we got to college and we both found out that we loved this guy.

“There was a much more whimsical way to how he wrote these songs. And what’s crazy is that loving this guy meant that we also loved Rufus Wainwright, that we also loved these other artists. But Sondre was the first time I considered that I loved that type of music, but I didn’t know that you could be a singer/songwriter and put out music that sounded like it.

“I don’t know if ‘twee’ is the right word to use, but with “Modern Nature” there was a playfulness about it, and again, a musicality that I really gravitated towards. There is a through line - there was a sophistication that was accessible, and me trying to learn those songs did make me rethink the way that I was writing music. The structures were weird and different and I liked that.

“To this day, I find myself writing songs that I think might be difficult for people to ingest, because they’re a little too left of centre, and I realise that I’m trying to write like Sondre Lerche, or I’m unconsciously just copying him.”

“Everything Happens to Me” by Mr Hudson & The Library

“I was in an H&M in Stockholm when I was 21, and I heard this really cool groove and the lyric was “Why must I always play the clown?” It was sung with a really thick British accent, had an 808 feel on it, and lyrically it had an attitude. Who would say something that sounds so like you’re in a Gilbert & Sullivan musical, but it feels hard? It was cool.

“I went home and looked this up and it was off the record A Tale of Two Cities by Mr Hudson and the Library, which would really, really fuck me up. I bought the album immediately because I loved this song. I had to order it on the internet because I couldn’t find it. It was doing well in England and he was on the festival circuit in the early-mid 2000s, but the first song on the album was a musical theatre cover with 808s.

“It was a pared-down, sort of a hip-hop version of “On The Street Where You Live” from My Fair Lady, and I’m like ‘No fucking way, this guy gets where my head is.’ I’d thought about punk rock musical theatre, but I never thought about 808s and 909s scoring these beautiful songs. I go down the track list and he has “Everything Happens to Me”, which is another very famous standard, and he had this really cool, what we would now call chill-hop, ‘study beats’ version of this song. I was like, ‘This is it. This guy gets that good music is good music and you can reinterpret it to offer it as a new song.’

“I would later become great friends with Mr Hudson. I got to meet him years later when I was with Columbia Records, and they said to me ‘Who do you want to meet?’ He was at the top of my list. I went to London and we’ve been friends ever since and have created all kinds of music together.

“He told me a story where Tyler the Creator went up to him once at Coachella and said, ‘Oh man, “Everything Happens To Me”, that’s like my song.’ We both wondered if Tyler the Creator knew that it was a Chet Baker cover. And we were thinking how cool it is that you can offer these songs to a new audience through a different lens. Tyler’s a smart guy, he’s very cultured, and I’m sure he did know. But it’s more the idea that if someone experienced this song and didn’t know that it was a cover, and this is like the first time they ever get to experience it.

“Mr Hudson would go on to do his own thing with Kanye and was on 808s & Heartbreak and has had his own career. I think “Supernova” was a hit in the UK, it didn’t really cross over here to The States, but before that moment for him, that Mr Hudson and The Library album changed my life. People use that phrase willy-nilly, but this literally was a turning point in my life. It all had to do with the same thing that happened with these other songs, where I saw someone do what I always wanted to do but didn’t really know how to pull off. Where he had this fusing of old songs delivered through a contemporary lens, but also laced it with his own original material that also employed the things that made that old songwriting interesting.

“It’s like changing the font of a great essay but finding the font and figuring out that that font is its own art form. He really displayed that marvellously on this.”

The Masquerade EP is out now

[lesbianrobin]

hello em i have a request. can u please rate mr harrington's looks/outfits i just feel like u have the best takes and i'd LOVE to know how you'd rank his choices 👀

this is the single greatest ask i’ve ever received. i will be ranking the outfits, not steve’s moral alignment or actions in each scene. in order of appearance:

The Introduction

4/10

hair is tragic

steve copied this entire fit from a mannequin in the ralph lauren polo outlet store

would honestly be a 0/10 except for the obvious valiant effort being put forth by his lower half to resist the sexless curse of khaki pants. the devil (st costuming department) works hard but by god steve harrington (joe keery’s body) works harder

nice brown watch that certainly came from a department store

also gains points for being next to nancy’s anemic librarian fit, thus looking better by comparison

The Rich Bitch

8/10

thank god he ditched the khakis

hair looks much less demonic

it’s a simple look but the sweatshirt rides up when he shotguns the beer

he also gets wet

solid 8 for sluttiness alone

The Whore

10/10

wet

please note that his chest is waxed. keep this in mind.

The Heterosexual

2/10

hair looks like he dipped his head in glue

bold choice with the grey pants. unfortunately that choice was wrong

matching outfits with your comphet girlfriend isn’t as cute as you think it is stevie

you only get points because despite that ungodly pastel stripe pattern the polo’s decently fitted and makes your arm look kinda nice

The Dickhead

3/10

glue head pt. 2

at least the stripes aren’t pastel this time

The Cuck

6/10

hair slightly less glue-y

yet another striped polo is peeking out unfortunately

but! it’s green and green looks good on him

finally wearing jeans like a normal fucking human instead of weird slacks

pivotal moment in steve’s fashion evolution from preppy male model to sexy morally upright king

his morals are stored in the denim

The Final Girl

9/10

an outfit with a character arc to rival steve’s own

pretty fucking good hair if i do say so myself!!

it’s fluffy!

that shit looks like if you touched it it’d be soft... no glue here!

finally not copying from the goddamn l.l. bean catalog

iconic green slut sweatshirt? check! jacket and nikes? check! fucked-up gorgeous face and baseball bat full of rusty nails? check, baby!

looks good on its own OR with some blood on top

overall a very solid look

The Darling Little Drummer Boy

7/10

babe no... please don’t go back to the khakis... they won’t treat you like jeans do...

not quite glue head but not his best

apparently steve owns a single green sweatshirt, a thousand striped polos, and one very precious christmas sweater

almost makes up for prep-related khaki crimes by being really fucking cute

The Simp

8/10

glue head is DEAD

further evidence that steve harrington’s entire closet is just striped polos

this is his fifth unique striped polo

most of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

actually all of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

he’s finally let go of the fucking pastels thank jesus

and you can’t see it but he did wear jeans with this fit i just forgot to make sure they were pictured and it’s 4:15 am so i don’t feel like going back to remake this collage

cannot tell if this is a lighter blue version of the jacket he wore three times in s1 or if it IS the jacket he wore three times in s1 and the color grading is just that different

either way he loves jackets and i think that’s very sexy of him

The Intellectual

9/10

i’ve been waiting for this one... turn it up!

literally invented vests

excellent hair

loses a point for unfortunately introducing steve’s SIXTH unique striped fucking polo

i can’t see the collar but i know it’s there i know you’re wearing another fucking polo steve you can’t hide from me

can’t decide if he looks gay or just really preppy but either way he’s got some repression going on

still a very solid look

The Oh No Oh God It Hurts I’m Looking Away I Can’t Watch This

10/10

yes that middle picture is absolutely to show off the texture of his blazer and not at all me making sure that if i have to see his heartbroken little face then you all do too

anyways i Know that blazer cost at least $100 like i Know that shit’s expensive

excellent gorgeous soft-looking hair that someone ought to run their hands through but only people who haven’t dated him for a year while pining after someone else

emotional devastation... but make it unbelievably fucking sexy

stevie baby i know you’re a colorful guy but please wear more black

The Meathead Jock

9/10

aw christ whatever happened to standards?

introduction of the blue nikes <3

god his hair looked fucking good here

could have gained that final point by using tube socks with blue and GREEN stripes to tie together the shoes and the gym uniform :/

shorts could be shorter but are an altogether appropriate and enjoyable length

fun sweatstain to customize the look <3

The (is there a word for victim of bullying?) Serious Athlete

8/10

the yellow stripe was more fun

still cute though

The Sudsy Boy

11/10

wet

suds indicate that he’s washing his hair, presumably with faberge organics. is this why he’s being bullied?

steve brings his faberge organics shampoo and conditioner and his farrah fawcett spray to school with him whenever he has basketball practice

steve either has shampoo, conditioner, and hairspray in his backpack at all times, or he has a separate gym bag that’s mostly haircare products

just need to make sure we all know that

excellent freckle showcase

his chest is still waxed. please, i beg, keep this in mind

one of his strongest looks

The Babysitter

10/10

his most versatile look to date

a different jacket than the one(s) he’s worn before but it still has the same kind of collar. steve found a jacket he liked and bought it in at least three colors

the whole thing fits So fucking nicely! shirt, jacket, jeans... baby boy is TAILORED

return of the white nikes with the red check indicate that they are his fashion nikes, while the blue nikes with the white check are his sport nikes. interesting.

this fit lasts like 48 hours and steve simply looks sexier as time goes on which is a testament to its quality as well as his inherent power

every new accessory elevates his appearance. roses, nail bat, rubber gloves, blood, sweat, band-aids, bandana, goggles... each element complements the look in its own way!

an overall win

The Chauffeur

8/10

we can’t really see the whole fit but he’s not wearing a striped polo so i’m calling it a win regardless of what’s on his bottom half

cannot give him a 10/10 though because he might be wearing khakis

red is such a nice color on him when it’s not just from his blood

i lied when i said he should wear more black he should wear more colors

that plain sweater absolutely cost $85 or more

hair looks very nice and soft

excellent look!

The Sailor Man

9/10

very precious

absolutely the best hair i’ve ever seen

baby boy got highlights for his hot girl summer!

bright colors make his very red lips pop

shorts could be shorter

love the little accents! especially the white pockets and belt

excellent color coordination on steve’s part with the blue sneakers (notably different than his s2 blue basketball nikes) and the red bruising/blood

i hope you remembered that steve’s chest was waxed. as you can see his chest is now unwaxed. some change between s2 and s3 drove this decision, presumably either his breakup with nancy or the fact that he no longer showers in front of other guys at school. up to your interpretation

shock blanket at the very end is a nice touch so we don’t forget he’s traumatized

The Drowned Rat/The Man Overboard

10/10

wet

shorts could be shorter

the decision to purchase and wear a hoodless raincoat is absolutely ridiculous and stupid

however it is also very steve harrington and i value self-expression

The Chick Magnet/The Flaming Homosexual

100/10

what can i even say about this fit?

the absolute best pants he’s worn thus far. amazing fit, excellent classic wash. i say this as a former american eagle outfitters associate and the winner of my freshman year dorm’s “best at folding jeans” award

manages to make blue jeans with a half-blue denim vest work effortlessly

bold primary colors make him stand out without being too gaudy

excellent pairing of t-shirt with simple stripes and vest with simple color blocking to create a complex yet cohesive and flattering look

simple brown belt gives the look a put-together yet down-to-earth vibe

hair has only gotten better

still wearing that same brown watch that he’s had since the introduction

this man looks like he waxes his chest

this is steve in his final form

thank you for your time

[springtwirling]

Before I pass out (because I am... dying. suffering. agony. >3hrs of sleep baby), I wanna do a rundown of how madness functions in accordance to some of the pivotal characters of this blog, such as Kairos, Shane, and Raphael.

── GENERAL INFO ──

Though the term “MADNESS” implies that it’s rather cookie cutter in definition and application, the reality of the matter is that there’s many different ways that Madness manifests in their original timeline, and before it was recognized as a very real illness - sometimes very mental, sometimes very physical, sometimes awfully both - and it can alter the way that people perceive the world around them.

Madness is a pivotal key feature of the original timeline’s understanding of the world, and gives them their ability to see and at least semi comprehend the Horrors that attack them without their minds completely shattering at the attempt. Hunters are trained upon acceptance into the guild to hone their Madness into a weapon and a defense, while most people use it as a passive thing that keeps them from being vulnerable to their own shadow trying to drown them.

The primary way Madness shows itself is the moment it “calcifies” in someone’s mind, in a sense. It will either show itself as a Sin or a Regret. For some, their Madness may initially start to show as something positive, something they can use for good and gentleness and prosperity, but something happens right before it calcifies in their mind and corrupts their mental state and their entire way of thinking shifts to accommodate, drowning in their own Regret.

Similarly, the function of Madness is something of a curse in the timeline. It is meant to keep the people of the timeline from “achieving too much” in too little time, and taking over their own blood, their own gods, their own creators, even time and space itself. With Madness in their minds, they’re cursed to either drown in their Regret or burn in their Sin.

── RAPHAEL ──

Raphael, due to the fact that he initially didn’t kill people, and his only kill for a very long time was when he acted in justice when he was very young, actually avoided contracting his Madness in the timeline for a while. However, as a pirate, he learned that people are not so kind as him and he became a little more desensitized to killing, if he must. Even then, he did not feel inclined to being particularly cruel.

While his Madness was building in him, for a very long time of his time alive, it was solidifying as Lust. Not sensual or sexual pleasures, but rather lust for life. Lust for finer things. Lust for beauty. Lust for good things. Lust for good conversation. Lust for good company. Lust for greatness. Lust. Or would you call that Love? The timeline wouldn’t, sadly. 

However, when his fiance was killed, and he began his decade long bloody rampage, his Madness calcified into Wrath, burning him in his Sin of anger and rage and hate and spite for the world that wronged him, burning in the fires that they tried to kill him in, killing all who stood against him. Because the gods viewed this as just, as an act of karma, he did not sacrifice his place among the heavens when he finally did die and check in among the afterlife... though brief his visit was.

His Madness shows whenever he sees someone hesitate to kill someone who wronged them, whenever he sees someone choose forgiveness when faced with revenge or “taking the high road”, whenever he sees someone think being the bigger person means not showing someone that they hurt you, getting angry, getting belligerent, getting almost rabid like a wild animal, as if he’s lost total control of himself and his mind. WRATH. bloodshed, hatred, anger, murder, death, pain.

── SHANE ──

Shane has been around for so long that people don’t really know whether or not he’s even capable of contracting Madness at his age, as he and his loves were around and alive during a time before the illness / curse reared its ugly maw to clamp down its teeth.

However, this is untrue. The truth is, Shane, his wife, and his husband were the originators of this curse. They were the test run, to see if it could affect beings that were beyond death, yet still drew breath; to see if it could affect beings that were beyond any magic or metal, yet still played by mortal rules. In the end, the answer was: they were born mortal, born Human and Monster, despite what flows through their veins, now... of course they could still become sick.

Shane’s type of Madness... well, no one knows what it initially was. What it first showed itself as. Only that it was different once. He used to be DIFFERENT once upon a type. And his wife and husband said that his Madness had already set in long before it had changed one day when he returned from being stolen from them. Though, he seems to be the only one that this stark change has ever happened to in all of history with Madness.

As of now, his Madness shows as Apathy. Both a blessing and a curse, he can show he cares about the people around him in little ways, in small gestures, but his smiles are empty, his eyes are cold and distant, his voice is either flat or annoyed at something perpetually. The lifeblood of the end of time flows through him, bleeds from his phylactery, beats in the place of where the hearts of all his forms would be, and he knows its the reason why he can only feel nothing or feel only negativity. After all, the opposite of love is not hate; IT IS APATHY.

── KAIROS ──

Kairos has been through so many bodies, so many lives, lived through so many wars and so many battles and seen so much death and agony and pain and life and prosperity and everything that you would think that it would be hard to pinpoint what calcified his Madness. Well, actually it’s rather easy.

Because of how much he has witnessed, he has been a part of almost an equal amount, making him REGRET quite a bit. He has lost too much. Family, friends, lovers, kids, homes, pets, wealth, magic, weapons, skills, memory, his own sanity, his heart, his bones. What next will he lose?

Kairos��� Madness calcified long enough into Grief. Static hisses in his mind, muffling the world around him and drowning everything out,  filling everything he touches with grayscale and dust and blood, as the only thing that’s left from the things he touches ends up their very lifeforce and the only colors he’s ever trusted being true - gray, black and white. 

He is full of rage, yes. He is full of hatred, yes. He is full of hope, yes. He is full of love, yes. But that is not what made his Madness settle into his mind like an old friend. No, his Madness made itself at home like a friend who remembered they had a spare key to your house because there was so much GRIEF inside of him. More grief than hope, more grief than rage, more grief than love, more grief than curiosity. More grief than anything else anyone else has ever felt in history. If there would be anyone, mortal or divine, who would go rightfully mad with grief, t’would be the boy of wilting flowers and dawns not meant for him.

[mewhiphand]

Drake analysis for his birthday!

Long post, part 1 of 2! Feel free to share your thoughts!

Drake analysis;

*WARNING : MAJOR spoilers for the Gone series and Monster series, discussions of child abuse, misogynistic mindsets, victim blaming, discussion of torture, sexual assault and rape*

This is a general analysis of Drake's character, focusing mostly on scenes from GONE and HUNGER (where he, arguably, has the most autonomy). If there any specific scenes or books you'd like me to take a look at, please let me know! :)

1| Pre-Coates Drake (overview)

Drake was already showing worrying signs, even before the FAYZ (and before he got sent to Coates); it's mentioned that he found enjoyment in microwaving a puppy and burning frogs. Either this was done covertly until the Holden incident, was done at Coates, or was ignored by his family (likely the former).

This tells us a couple of things:

A. His family may neglect or ignore him (or he ignores them)

Torturing these animals, a strange hobby as it is, does require time and commitment. This distance from his parents during his formative years could create antisocial tendencies and isolation from his 'loved ones'.

B. His sadistic tendencies developed before the death of his father and his mother's remarriage (more on that later).

However, Drake didn't start hurting people until he shot the "neighbour's kid, Holden" who "liked to come over and annoy him".

This short description gives us an insight into Drake's short leash on himself: his temper and impulses are hard to control, and he's aggravated to the point of almost committing murder at a young age (he was 14 in Gone, so this could have been at any age before then) - the book tells us that despite only being shot in the leg by Drake with a .22, "even then, he'd nearly died".

This was the incident that got Drake sent to Coates (a boarding school for mostly "rich", messed-up kids) - this could also clue us into how Drake didn't appear to be legally punished for shooting Holden, as his family might have been well-off (implying they'd rather just buy the victim's silence and ship Drake away rather than deal with his issues on their own, or get a private therapist - or perhaps they believe it's out of their hands?).

However, this is based on assumptions and not solid ground.

2 | Drake and his father.

Drake was taught to shoot by his father, a Highway Patrol lieutenant, using his service pistol. This formed an integral part of who he became, and they now had something in common -

"Don't shoot a person," his father had said. But then he relented, relieved no doubt to find something he could share with his disturbing son."

Despite his father being wary of Drake's early sadistic tendencies, he seemed to be the person that Drake was closest to, and his death affected him majorly. As perhaps the only person who even slightly understood him or sought to find something to do with him, his father's death appeared to be a pivotal moment for Drake - it signalled the end of any sense of a positive male role model in Drake's life, as his mother's next husband was abusive. This would cause him to seek out "strong", violent, dominant men when he was older.

The most likely timeline in my opinion is :

•Drake develops sadistic tendencies

•Drake's father dies

•Drake's mother remarries

•Drake shoots Holden and is sent to Coates

3 | Drake and his stepfather and mother

There is subtextual information that Drake is abused by his stepfather: "the beatings he'd suffered, and the much more numerous beating he had delivered, the pleasure he had found in burning frogs and microwaving a puppy and drawing all those endless loving pictures of weapons, spears, knives, torture devices, all of it, all the hatreds, all the burning lust, all the madness and rage.."

"But he was always a troubled boy. Especially after my son died. The stepfather...young Drake’s stepfather..." - Drake Merwin Sr to Connie temple

To digress :

This small passage in Plague and Sr's speech in Light gives us leagues of information.

Drake is drawn to things that cause pain, he's sickly fascinated with all kinds of weapons, "torture devices" (cleverly hinted at in Hunger, when he's watching Saw II), and the true depth of his emotions are revealed - along with a great deal of self-awareness.

Drake doesn't lack emotion - he's incredibly emotional. The things he does feel (rage, lust, joy) seem to be felt deeper, as if his lack of empathy amplifies the rest of his spectrum of emotions. Drake is also aware of what he feels - the "burning lust" mentioned is especially important to understanding Drake - the misogynistic hatred of Astrid and Diana stems from his apparent inability to distinguish between sexual attraction and causing pain (again, his sadistic desires)

The two are one, in Drake's mind.

[More on that later*]

But where did the misogynist mindset come from in the first place?

The answer lies in Drake's home life following the death of his father.

Drake's mother remarried - but his stepfather was an abusive man, leading to an incredibly toxic relationship. Drake, in his youth, already having the urge to hurt and kill, was exposed to that kind of extreme violence. Drake's stepfather beat his mother in front of him, and because his mother seemingly took actions to antagonise him enough to beat her, Drake (with the mindset of a child, who may have already seen it as a betrayal by his mother to remarry after his father's death)

concluded that she did it deliberately because she liked it.

This misconstruction and victim-blaming set in place a cycle of violence that would form Drake's victim-perpetrator mindset. [*]

It could also imply that Drake's mother's actions of irritating his stepfather directly impacted Drake himself: his stepfather took out his anger on his stepson, and beat Drake too.

This could stand to reason as another explanation why Drake's hatred of women developed - lacking positive female role models and maternal figures in his life led to distance from women, and led him to think that all women were intrinsically weak, irritating and masochistic in their desires.

(This would establish a sadistic-masochistic dynamic that Drake believed all woman [for some, like Astrid, secretly] wanted / partook in, and fuel the idea that women were weak and cowardly as his mother failed to protect him from her husband's violence.)

With a stunted, childish psyche, Drake lost sight of the real issue - the fact that his stepfather was abusive - and directed his anger at someone "safe" and "easy" to hate- his mother, whom he victim-blamed.

We can infer that Drake's childhood was filled with uncertainty and violence, and therefore he sought out control as a way to find a sense of stability in his life, and linked violence with strength and power - therefore, he won't recognise any authority that doesn't use violence as the main way to achieve its aims (hence why he's so gleeful when Caine "is lowered to his level" by using violence, and Drake himself only exercises power through shows of violence and using fear as a means of control - he has no sense of loyalty)

The build-up of resentment at his mother would explode, but not at its original target - at Drake's two known objects of sexual attraction in the FAYZ, Astrid and Diana [who will be addressed separately, as their treatments differ in some aspects. In this post I believe I'll only be addressing Diana, but if you want the full Astrid post comment I guess!]

4| Drake and Diana

A.

Drake fears humiliation - mainly, from the female population. In Gone, Drake comments on this :

"He felt a moment of panic then...He would look like a fool if he didn't get [Astrid]."

"Drake cursed and, again, for just a moment, felt the almost desperate fear of failing Caine. He wasn't worried what Caine would do to him - after all, Caine needed him- but he knew if he failed to carry out Caine's orders, Diana would laugh."

What Drake hates about Diana here is her ability to make him feel humiliated, weak, powerless, a failure - everything he's bound to have felt in his childhood when he couldn't protect his mother or himself against his stepfather. He craves the feeling of power over others, and loathes the feeling of helplessness. We can see that he's aware that Caine uses him and needs him to act as a threat, and he accepts this for now, with the ultimate goal of overthrowing him, but his real fear is being publicly seen as weak and being laughed at, which drives him to do anything to succeed in Caine's eyes and, in his own words, "wipe the smirk off Diana's face"

B.

"Drake had made time to check out Diana's psych file the day after the FAYZ came. But her file had been missing by then. In its place she had left Drake's file lying open on the doc's desk and drawn a little smiley face beside the word "sadist".

Drake had already hated her. But after that, hating Diana had become a full-time occupation."

Diana humiliates Drake, and gains power over him by knowing information about his mental state. Drake, who had the same idea to gain power over Diana, is infuriated and his hatred of her, once a burning ember, is now a raging volcano. We can see that Drake doesn't fear that Diana will hurt him psychically, but emotionally by provoking and humiliating him.

C.

"To Drake's disgust, Caine accepted Diana's back-talk."

Diana has power over Caine that Drake can't hope to accomplish, due to the fact that Caine is attracted to her. Caine's desire of Diana outweighs any loyalty or comradeship he has with Drake. Diana also uses Caine's want for her as a failsafe protection against Drake.

Drake's misogyny shines through here: he sees the fact that Diana is manipulating Caine, and sees how he tolerates it. Drake realises that Diana can get away with much more than Drake himself can - she has more power over Caine than Drake does. And this power, in Drake's eyes, isn't "earned" as it wasn't gained through violence.

Drake disregards any kind of power that isn't earned through pain - this also shows in his hatred of freaks, who he sees as not having "earned" the right to be powerful, and explains his glee at, yes,suffering the pain of his arm being burnt off, but it being replaced by something that enables him to cause pain to others - like a reward for enduring the pain. Drake wants his suffering to mean something, and to gain something from it. Drake wants to be important.

"Go ahead, raise a hand against me, Drake," Diana taunted. "Caine would kill you."

We see another example where Diana uses the threat of Caine to keep Drake in line.

Diana is described as attractive throughout the books by varying characters, and so we infer that Drake finds her attractive, but in his twisted, misognyistic mindset, this is translated to violence. Additionally, he already disliked her so his hatred for Diana is stronger than for any other girl in the FAYZ (even Astrid).

5| Drake and Caine

The foreshadowing of Drake's betrayal

We've established that Drake lacks any sense of loyalty and trust due to a lack of these in his own childhood. Drake also only sees respect as being earned by shows of violence and dominance.

Drake, lacking positive male role models, appears to latch on to Caine, the "most ruthless" of all the boys at Coates, and the most powerful (in a literal sense, with his telekinesis). Caine is mentioned to do small favours for Drake (but, crucially, plays Drake and Diana off against each other [*]), and seemingly gains Drake's initial respect.

Drake, however, seeks to usurp Caine (due to his hatred of freaks, and needing to have a sense of superiority. He also sees Caine as weak and below him for bowing to Diana's demands due to Caine being attracted to her.)

When the Coates trio is first introduced together, in Gone, - "Drake Merwin stood smirking, arms across his chest, on Caine's left, and Diana Ladris watched the crowd from Caine's right"

I'm perhaps guilty of looking too much into this initial description, but I find it interesting - despite being Caine's "right-hand man" and even Drake taunts Diana that he and Caine are "like brothers" (Hunger), Drake stands on his left and Diana on his right.

While this also serves to cement (haha) Caine's role as the 'Fearless Leader', it could also foreshadow Drake's betrayal later in Hunger, and his need to "run the show".

Drake, the Judas figure to Caine's christ [maybe a post on this at some point?*], stands on his left. It also marks Diana as the loyal follower, the one to stay with Caine until the end.

The decimation of Drake and Caine's relations ship culminates in the final events of HUNGER, when Drake almost kills Diana and Caine throws Drake down the mineshaft in revenge and anger.

This marks a shift to Drake's character - he's no longer under Caine's control - but emphasises that his loyalty is now fully to the Gaiaphage, whom he worships for giving him power over others [!!] (the whip hand, which grants him the ability to hurt and kill others, and in LIES, immorality)

We can see that what Drake actually craves is, in GONE: to run things himself, a personal anarchist dream where he can hurt anyone he wants, (and yet he needs a strong male figure behind the scenes to give him motivation), or the illusion of control, found in causing others pain, as he lacks the mental stability and leadership needed to be in control, and he lacks long-term goals beyond revenge and fulfilling his sadistic desires, and is rudderless without a leader (as seen in Monster, where he is "mindlessly killing, torturing and raping anyone he comes across" until he is sought out by Tom Peaks, who gives him motivation)

This is supported by Peaks' comment on this in VILLAIN -

"But along with the sneers, he sensed that Drake was looking for leadership. Drake had no plan, never would have any plan, beyond his next murder."

Drake and his hatred of freaks, and how this impacts his relationship with Caine -

"Drake hated the power. There was only one reason why Caine and not Drake was running the show: Caine's powers."

"But Caine understood that the kids with powers had to be controlled. And once Caine and Diana had all the freaks under control, what was to stop Drake from using his own nine millimetres of magic to take it all for himself?"

Drake always planned to usurp Caine, as he thinks he's too influenced by Diana and due to his hatred of freaks. Drake hates anyone having power over him, and Caine's abilities give him a unique advantage, which Drake loathes.

Caine and Drake - altercations before the betrayal and what they show

"She was your mother and she gave you up and kept Sam?" Drake said, laughing in his enjoyment of Caine's humiliation.

Drake's sadism shines through and he turns entirely reckless in tormenting Caine, his desire to see Caine humiliated outweighing any fear he has of him. For Drake, fulfilling these sadistic urges take precedence over everything - even fear, pain, rage. We can see that he seems to not know when to stop, or chooses to push people past their limits anyways.

Caine responds in physical violence, the language Drake seems to understand - "Something slammed Drake's chest. It was like being hit by a truck. He was lifted off his feet and thrown against the wall."

Drake refuses to be humiliated (in front of Diana, curiously) - "He made himself shake it off. He wanted to jump up and go for Caine, finish him quick before the freak could hit him again. But Caine was there, looming over him, face red, teeth bared, looking like a mad dog."

"Remember who's the boss, Drake," Caine said, his voice low, guttural, like it was coming from an animal."

"Drake nodded, beaten. For now."

This small passage gives us a lot of messages about Drake. He wants to appear strong and vicious, but plays it smart and backs down to avoid the risk of Caine actually killing him. Drake and Caine's dynamic is, crucially, a power struggle at its heart.

However, Drake doesn't give up - he's admirably resilient and persistent in chasing his goals of revenge, and "winning" the power struggle against Caine. He does, at least in GONE, possess a good amount of intelligence and foresight.

Caine (and Diana) being aware of Drake's psychopathy

Caine :

"Drake is a violent, disturbed boy." - Caine to Sam, the gym scene in GONE.

Caine knows of Drake's afflictions, but keeps him around as a lackey to do his dirty work. He also considers himself morally superior to Drake - he remarks that at least he doesn't "get off" on what he does.

Hypocritically, Caine does not see his own actions as being just as damaging, but this is due to his overinflated ego and delusions of grandeur - he believes the ends he wants justifies the means he uses.

Diana :

"Drake is sick in the head. I'm not saying that just to scare you, I'm saying it because it's true...Drake is flat out sick in the head. He could kill her, Sam" - Diana to Sam, the gym scene in GONE.

"Well, that's why we keep Drake around. He enjoys hurting people." - Diana to Astrid, classroom scene in GONE.

Diana shares a similar opinion to Caine - he's mentally unhinged, but Diana recognises the threat he poses to both her and to Caine, and wants him gone.

6| Drake and dominance & submission

A.

"Drake moved past Diana and kicked Sam onto his back, legs twisted beneath him. Drake stood over him and pushed the end of his hat against Sam's Adam's apple. The same move he had used on Orc the night before."

We see that Drake is physically strong, despite his unassuming stature - he's described as "lean". He has been in enough fights and has enough experience to take down people at least "fifty pounds" heavier than him (Orc). He also puts these people into humiliating, submissive positions where they have no choice but to capitulate to his demands.

B.

He speaks to Astrid in LIGHT about this -

"Are you as clueless as the rest of them, Astrid? It’s simple. Here it is, here’s the answer, Astrid the Genius: it’s fun to hurt people. It’s such…it’s such joy, Astrid. Such joy realizing that all the power is yours, and all the fear and pain is right there, in your victim. Come on, smart girl, you know what it’s called. You know the word for it. Come on, say it.’ He cupped his hand to his ear, waiting for the word.

'Evil,’ Astrid said.

Drake laughed, threw up his hand wide, and nodded his head. 'Evil! There you go. Good for you. Evil. It’s in all of us. You know that, too. It was in you. I saw it in your eyes as you looked down on me in that cooler. Evil, hah. We all want to have someone powerless beneath us while we stand over them.’ His voice had grown husky. 'We all want that. We all want that.’

One thing that stands out about Drake's character is that he likes to believe that everyone, at some level, has the same desires he does: Drake is just "strong" enough to act on them.

Drake likes to antagonise people to 'bring them down to his level'.

In this speech, Drake reveals a lot about himself.

"it's fun to hurt people" ,in particular, keys us in to the fact that Drake is self-aware, and making Astrid call him "evil" is part of this: Drake knows what he's doing is morally wrong. Drake wants people to think that he is evil, that he's ruthless, that he's nothing but a sadistic murderer, because he doesn't want to reveal his true vulnerability and helplessness.

He calls out the hypocrisy of Astrid for seemingly reveling in his pain and still condemning him for the desires over which he has no control. [This is not to say that I believe he is right for acting on them; the urges he can't control, but he can control his actions]. This is Drake's make me your villain speech. His final cry for help, in a way.

He wants everyone to be like him. He wants to not be judged, he aches for the confirmation that he is not alone in wanting power and vengeance and pain.

"We all want to have someone powerless beneath us while we stand over them." - Drake's experience of the roles being reversed, and the victim-perpetrator cycle show through here. Drake seeks power because he was denied it.

It is paradoxical in that, arguably, he wouldn't be like this if people hadn't punished him for things he couldn't control (involuntary sadistic impulses), and it is sad that we realise he could have been so much more, had circumstances been different.

Drake is a dark mirror of every dark thought we ever have. He, horrifyingly so, reflects the human urge to inflict pain as revenge. Drake's story is a cautionary tale. Many can relate to his harsh childhood, and Drake reminds us that no matter how much pain is inflicted on us, we bear the weight of not continuing that cycle onto others. That is the curse of being good. That is the curse of being human. That is the curse of empathy.

C.

Crucifixion - in MONSTER, it is revealed that Drake has been 'alive' for years, and we find out in VILLAIN that he resides in a cave in the desert along with 3 bodies - 2 female, one male, people he recently tortured. He crucified them with "railroad spikes" and left them to hang from the bones of their wrists. We can see that Drake leaves them in humiliating positions deliberately - "The only thing better would be to have Sam nailed to the opposite wall, forced to watch it all. To see Astrid degraded as Sam watched? He could not imagine anything better."

This is an example of his psychosexual development being warped - he associates sex with violence and power. He tortures and degrades his victims as a way to fulfil his sexual and sadistic urges.

7| Drake and Orc as foils

Drake and Orc first oppose each other in the early chapters of GONE - Drake is given power over Orc by Caine - "Drake and his people, including Captain Orc.."

This establishes a hierarchy within the "sherrifs". Drake leads them, but ultimately defers to Caine - (and, he is given power over others at Caine's will.)

Orc, like Drake, had a traumatic childhood and was abused by his father, and his "dumb dishrag" mother does nothing to stop it (she herself is abused by her husband, and rebukes Charles for wanting to kill his father.)

Both Orc and Drake blame their mothers for failing to stop the abuse of their husbands (and their father and step-father in Drake's case).

This is an interesting comparison, as it cements (haha) both Orc and Drake as bullies with short tempers who need to have control, each with a shrewd, conniving friend who effectively "leads" them.

Also, for the most part in the books, they're the only characters with physical mutations (both resulting from physical injury!) and turn their backs on the shrewd friend at some point (Drake and Caine becoming enemies, Orc finding faith and becoming distanced from Howard's crimes).

The fight between them at the start of GONE is a clever foreshadow to their battle at the end of GONE (and, of course, their long-lasting rivalry) and provides a comparison between the two.

They butt heads when Orc is ordered to defer to Drake when Caine is giving out roles, and Caine handles it by crushing a boy with a cross - but no physical altercation happens until Orc punishes Bette for "doing magic tricks".

The anti-freak agenda (ironic, considering they both end up gaining mutations, at similar points too!) of both Drake and Orc is pointed out, but Orc is almost painted as a "lesser evil" - as if Orc may be a garden-variety bully, but Drake is pure, distilled essence of evil.

"Orc...went for Drake like a linebacker. Drake stepped aside, nimble as a matador."

"Drake hit Orc in the ribs with a short, sharp forward thrust of the bat. Then again in the kidneys and again in the side of the head. Each blow was measured, accurate, effective."

Drake is the quick and nimble to Orc's sluggishness, the playfulness to Orc's sullen demeanour. He is "lean" where Orc is "wide" - their battle at the end is described as "their quick-and-slow, nimble-and-heavy, sharp-and-dull battle".

This is a perfectly well written description in my opinion - succinct, and perfectly accurate of them.

The main differences, however, are their personal views on their mutations, and their arcs.

Orc thinks he's a monster - he knows he is physically repulsive, and detests himself. He feels immense guilt over the pain he caused, and seeks to redeem himself through finding faith and asking for forgiveness from God.

Drake, in contrast, adores the power that his mutation gives him. He even describes himself as "Jesus with a whip". His mutation, in Drake's eyes, gives him control over others and he relishes in this.

Drake feels no remorse over the pain he causes, and doesn't desire redemption.

His God-figure is the Gaiaphage, whom he eventually betrays as he desires personal revenge on Astrid and Diana and cannot cope with Gaia being female due to his misogynistic views.

However, Drake and Orc share an interesting scene in Plague with Astrid - Orc seeks out Astrid with the intent to hurt her (it is implied to be sexual violence) and is interrupted by Drake arriving at Coates with his army of bugs. Drake picks up on Orc's intentions.

Drake confesses to Orc that he had the same idea.

"You think she'll give you a big, wet kiss on your gravel face?" He peered closer at Orc as if looking inside him. "Nah, Orc, the only way you get Astrid is the same way I get her. And that's what you were thinking, isn't it?"

[sarah-sandwich]

41 Parkner

Thank you! This is almost whump. I think I got close to whump lmao I strayed a little from the parkner and it got pretty Harley-centric but hopefully there’s enough to be satisfying.

Content warning for domestic abuse briefly between minor characters

41. Just play along, please

There’s nothing he can do.

His faceplate is still up from a moment ago when he was trying to convince a trio of terrified kids to move from the playground tunnel to the school when Tony screams over the coms.

“Harley, look out!”

He pivots, repulsor raised defensively, and fires on instinct at the blobby purple alien as it reaches for him, not a foot away. The blast tears through it just as Peter swings in, planting his feet against its torso and kicking it several yards away as its innards explode over both of them. He gets a face-full of it—wet and sticky and putrid.

There’s nothing he can do.

“Shit,” he says, speech already slurring as he tries to wipe his face with clumsy metal fingers.

“He’s contaminated,” Peter says, voice high. “Harley got gooed.”

His knees give out and Peter catches him by the elbows and lowers him down to the weird spongy playground blacktop.

“I’m pinned,” Tony shouts. “I can’t get there. Cap!”

“Widow, you’re closest,” Steve says, tone calm and clear.

“My hands are a little full,” she pants. She grunts and a sickening squelch carries over the commlink.

“I’m on my way,” Sam says. “ETA 90 seconds. Keep him awake, Webs.”

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making sure he gets very little sleep,” Peter chirps cheerily, but the hand gripping his shoulder to keep him upright is painfully tight.

Everyone groans over the comm and they click off one by one, refocusing on their immediate surroundings and containing the mid-afternoon alien invasion.

His limbs feel like tree trunks, heavy and club-like. His chin dips towards his chest.

“Hey,” Peter says, shaking him. “None of that or I’ll have to resort to desperate measures and my rep is bad enough without adding public indecency to the list… again.”

“Kids,” Harley says, nearly biting his tongue. He can’t feel his face.

“Huh?”

He tips his chin back and rolls his eyes up to the tunnel where a pale wide-eyed face peers down at him from the plastic window.

Peter follows his gaze and curses.

“Gotta get ‘em school. Was tryin’.”

Peter shakes him again and only then does he realize his eyes drifted shut.

“Harley, just hang on. Sam will be here and then—,”

“Frin’ly neighborhood Spider-Man,” he drawls as clearly as he can manage, lolling his head to the side to look Peter’s mask in the face. “‘S you. ‘M be fine. Gotta… kids.”

Peter curses again. “I’ll be back in fifteen seconds. Don’t you dare pass out while I’m helping them.”

“W’dn’t dre’m ‘f it, sweeth’rt.”

Peter jostles him one more time as though to remind him to stay awake then springs to his feet and urges the kids out of the tunnel. They file out immediately, little twerps. Kids freaking love Spider-Man.

Counting seconds must be pretty similar to counting sheep because Harley only makes it to eight before everything goes black.

~*~

When he wakes, his armor is gone and he’s standing in the open field next to his house in Rose Hill, Tennessee. The sun is blazing overhead and the grass whips around his calves in the wind but he doesn’t feel it.

“What in the h—,” He turns, taking in the house and his heart jumps into his throat.

His dad’s truck is in the driveway.

It’s an old blue pickup, rusting over the wheel wells, the bumper replaced with a two by four wood plank after that time he hit a deer and they didn’t have the money to replace it. It looks just like it did last time he saw it. Peach air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror and everything.

He’s halfway to the front door before he realizes he’s moving. Wait, he’s not moving. His legs are motionless but the earth is rotating under him, bringing the house to him. He flinches as the door zooms at his face but a moment later he’s in the kitchen and the world is still again.

“Macy!” A voice bellows from the mudroom. “Why in the hell’s my good socket set scattered all over the damn yard?”

There’s a clatter on the stairs and his mother hurries across the room, sallow-faced and somehow appearing older than last time he saw her. “Sorry, hun. You know how Harley likes to play mechanic. I told him to pick up after—,”

There’s an awful thwack followed by a gasp of pain and Harley’s in the next room in an instant. His dad is standing there, arm still raised, socket wrench in hand and his mom is on the ground clutching her bleeding cheek, face turned down to the floor.

“Ma?” he asks. He reaches out to touch her but he phases right through her back.

“Dammit, woman! How many times I gotta tell you these tools is how we eat! If you keep lettin’ that little brat lose all my shit then how’re we gonna live, huh?”

“You bastard,” Harley snarls.

“I’m sorry,” his ma says in a soft voice he’s never heard from her before. His mama is strong and sure and if she’s got an opinion she’ll let you know it. This isn’t right. Nothing about this is right.

That’s when he catches sight of the pale freckled face framed in the cat door, staring wide-eyed at the blood dripping onto the linoleum. The memory hits him like a truck. He remembers this. It was only a few days before his dad left and never came back. He remembers what happens next.

“Keep your hands off of her!” he screams a moment before his dad moves. His dad reaches down for mama’s hair and he lunges at him, yelling as he shoves his shoulders only to tumble straight through him, and tumble, and tumble, and tumble.

He lands face down on nothing. It’s a bed, neatly made with a worn red quilt and two plump white pillows but it feels like nothing. He runs his hands over the blanket and nothing. He doesn’t feel anything.

He gets to his feet and looks around but he doesn’t recognize this place. There are dolls with ceramic faces and pristine bonnets lined up on a shelf next to the door. An old boxy sewing machine sits atop a table in the corner, a stack of paisley fabrics folded beside it. A lamp on the bedside table is the only light in the room, casting everything in a soft yellow glow.

There’s a lump under the blanket and a heap of dark brown hair poking out. Abbie?

Somewhere below his feet a door opens and closes and he hears a voice—old, weathered, safe.

He sinks through the floorboards and touches down gently beside himself. He’s young, his hair still light and fair like it was before it darkened in his teen years. Cheeks round and freckled, eyes serious as he gripes a red crayon in his fist and moves it steadily back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It’s nothing. A shapeless blob, a… puddle.

He flinches back.

“You sure you don’t want to stay another night?” that old voice asks from the room behind him.

He turns and he’s in the room beside an old woman he only vaguely remembers. Deep purple blotches under paper-thin skin on kind hands that smooth his mother’s wind-swept hair out of red-rimmed eyes.

“Dr. Reeves says returning to our routine will help the kids adjust.”

Unsurprised, the older woman nods and holds out her arms for a hug. She closes them around Mama, tucking her close, and then in that old raspy voice, barely audible in the silent house, save for the scratching of a crayon in the next room, she whispers, “I know what you did Macy Keener.”

Mama sucks in a startled breath and pulls back, eyes wide and fearful, but chin tipped up high and defiant.

She smiles and puts a hand on Mama’s good cheek. The other one is all scabbed over. “None of that now. I been where you’re headed and I walked your path. With my rat bastard of a son off in the wind, you and these kids are the only family I got left. You come by any time you need, you hear? Any time.”

“Thank you,” ma whispers, eyes swimming. “Thank you.”

Are they saying…

“Mama?” he whispers.

He reaches for her but before he can connect, she and Gramma Keener flicker away. The house melts around him and he’s in the middle of a pond. The big one on the southern edge of their property, surrounded by trees except for a little dirt path just wide enough for a pickup to squeeze through. He’s only been here once and Mama made him promise never again. That was fine with him considering the smell of this one and the little one being so much closer to the house and all.

His eyes light upon an old moldering two by four, half in the water, algae creeping up its length like it’s been there for years. Beside it in the muck is a peach air freshener, sun-bleached and filthy.

The world tilts and everything goes white

“There he is.”

He screws his eyes shut against the harsh white light and flinches when someone touches his wrist.

“Figures you’d find a way to sleep through clean-up detail.”

He forces his eyes open and squints past the glare into familiar warm brown eyes.

“Pete?” he manages, his tongue fat and clumsy between his teeth.

“Yes, princess?”

“‘M I awake?”

“God, I hope so. It’d be kinda weird if I was having a conversation with your unconscious body. Getting caught doing that twice in one day isn’t a good look.”

He reaches out and his fingers connect with the soft cotton of Peter’s t-shirt. Swamped with relief, he relaxes against the bed and drops his forearm over his eyes. “Weird dream,” he says. “What was that stuff?”

“Some kind of defense mechanism to incapacitate attackers while the rest of them kill you off. Bruce thinks there are pheromones in it that alert the rest of the colony, like how dead ants do so they can collect the body, only these guys use it for vengeance and murder.”

“That’s fucked.”

“What’s fucked,” Peter says sharply, “is that we got swarmed right after you passed out like you promised you wouldn’t. Sam could barely get you out of there.”

He takes Peter’s hand and kisses his knuckles. Looking up through his eyelashes, lips against his skin he says,  “Honey, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Peter narrows his eyes at him, lips pursed unhappily, but he doesn’t pull away. “You suck,” he finally says. “I’m making a list and you’re going to do all the things.”

“I’ll do five things.”

“Ten.”

“Six.”

“Nine.”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

“Eight and you’ll wash my suit.”

He wrinkles his nose. “What if I get pheromoned again?”

“I advise you don’t.”

He cracks a smile. “You drive a hard bargain, Parker, but fine. I’ll do your list and wash your suit if it means you quit being a sulky little brat.”

Peter leans in and kisses him long and slow. He pulls back and says, “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” Then kisses him again, just a light peck before backing up towards the attached bathroom. “I’m gonna shower and then I’m putting together that list.”

“Hold on, did you mean you wouldn’t dream of being a brat or—,”

He shuts the door.

Harley sighs. Great. He’s going to be like that.

He grabs his Stark phone off the side table and spins in between his hands, deep in thought. Those weren’t dreams. He knows they weren’t because he remembers. That was all locked in his head and something about that funky alien gunk made him relive it and really remember. As an adult, he picked up on things he didn’t when he was a kid. Things he can’t just ignore.

Before he can think himself out of it, he pulls up his ma’s number and hits call.

“Howdy sugar bear, been a while since you found the time to call your ma. What’s the occasion?”

Her voice is how it always is. No terrified whisper. Not a single warble or tremble. Warm. Dependable. Loving. Firm.

“Mama?” he asks. He would hate how young he sounds under any other circumstances but not this time.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she asks, tone losing its playful air. “I saw that alien mumbo jumbo on the news. You didn’t get caught up in that, did you?”

“I’m fine. That’s not— I called about… I called about something else.”

She huffs out a breath and her tone turns good-humored again. “Well, spit it out, sweetheart. Before I lose another inch to all this gray hair you’ve been giving me, if you think you can manage it.”

He smiles but it fades quickly. “Is there anything…” He bites his lip. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything. Maybe their ghosts should stay in the past.

“Baby, please just tell me what’s wrong. I’ll be dwellin’ on it all day if you don’t. You know how I get.”

He chuckles. He knows because he’s the same way. He gets it from her.

“I just wanted to let you know I love you and—,”

“Are you dying? You did get tangled with them aliens! I’m gonna rip that Tony Stark a new asshole for—,”

“Ma, I’m fine! Just play along, please.”

She huffs and there’s a rustling of fabric before she says, “Fine. I’m listenin’. What’re you sayin’, Harley?”

“I’m sayin’ I love you and if there’s anything you regret or feel guilty about or question if you made the right call, don’t. Okay? Don’t. I think considering everything, it all turned out the best it could and… Well, I just wanted you to know what I thought.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. So long he checks to make sure the call is still connected.

“I love you too, baby,” she finally says, voice choked. “You know I’d do anything for you and your sister.”

He smiles. “I know, ma. I know.”

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Chapter Three: I'm Treading For My life, Believe Me

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count:  6103

Author’s Note: I did listen, on repeat, to the Anastasia soundtrack while writing this. Which, you would think, would make this a rather happy chapter and if you thought that... how silly you will feel in a few moments. You can find the first chapter here! 

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird) bonus: I’m 19 and a humanities major so obviously I don’t know anything about medicine so I’m doing my best out here

Not knowing how to think I scream aloud, begin to sink My legs and arms are broken down With envy for the solid ground

There is not a sound. Not a shiver. The floorboards do not moan lowly. No hinge gives its creaking complaint. The disturbance is a felt one. Something she feels right where her fourth rib meets her sternum. It has no name. Calling it instinct is superstitious. Claiming it as training or intuition is childish.

It has everything to do with love and fear.  And love and fear alone.

“Aaron?” The comforter he seems to be forever tangled has been kicked away in his fitful sleep. In the low light of the room, the hallway light seeping in, she can see his heaving chest. As though he has run a great deal, not lying supine on his bed. “Aaron, can you hear me?” Despite the bitter scent of sweat, she can’t tell what it is that draws her deeper into the room.

Slowly, his dark eyes open, breathing rasping out as he opens his mouth to answer but no sound leaves his pale lips.

Looking over her shoulder, only after looking and listening for a sign they’ve awoken Jack, does she enter the room. Shutting the door behind her, she stifles the room to darkness. She can’t even see the hand extended in front of her. Not that she needs it. The path of his room is simple.

Two steps in there is an outfit shed by the dresser on her right side. The pant leg extends out and if she doesn’t lift her foot, she’ll trip. Three more steps in and she needs to extend her hand just a fraction to feel the cool wooden bed frame. There she can pivot herself with its aid. Step high over the sweatshirt on the floor and she’s good. Well, mostly.

She gets tangled in the comforter he kicked off.

“Em--” he coughs, letting out an achy moan. “Emily?”

She gets to his nightstand and leans heavily on the old wood, catching her breath. The damn blanket was like fighting an octopus. “Right here,” she promises, knocking all kinds of shit to the floor as she fights her way to the lamp. It comes on with a click and they both wince at its sharpness. She’s got her eyes closed, trying to allow her pupils some small reprieve, when his hand wraps around her forearm. Cold clammy fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Hotch?”

The soft hazel of his eyes is unfamiliar. “I want to go home,” he rasps softly. His chest shutters with the effort the simple request has taken. The tears in his eyes slide down his cheeks without the guilt. He strikes her. Not with his palm open and hands roughened by callouses. He does not hit her or cause her to draw back with his words. By the look in his eyes. The confusion. The pain.

“Aaron--” Once and only once does she consider trying to convince him that he is exactly where he craves to be. Mouth open, the words pushing at her tongue, she decides that will only hurt them both. Softening the look on her face, she crouches down by his side. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

The rash on his chest has depended its angry red, it taunts her now as the glisten of his sweat across his pale skin. Every visit to the doctor promises that it’s not as bad as it looks. It causes him mild discomfort and nothing can be done. It is a product of the radiation. To heal the wound is futile. Stepping off a cliff to avoid a hill.

“You’re feverish,” she notes, moving the back of her palm against his forehead. To her surprise, he doesn’t pull away from her touch. Not even as her fingers draw against the sharp peak of his cheek bones. He lays, compliant, eyes foggy but on her. With a fond sigh, she observes, “dehydrated. You didn’t drink the water I gave you.”

When he speaks, he sounds much more like himself. The tone costs him more than it's worth. “My throat hurts.” Which is an awful excuse but it’s the truth and she knows it’s just another part of normal life falling away from her grasp. Today it is just water but tomorrow it is the hospital. It’s the central line and the saline and the tube they’re going to place in his stomach because he’s reaching the point of inabilities.

And it is never as simple as a sore throat.

She’s tired of seeing his blood so casually wiped from his pale skin. The bags under his eyes deepened to caverns and the lakes of tears in his eyes. There is nothing she can do. The mass of cancer can be cut out of his flesh but the cells could still multiply. Quite simply, there is nothing she can do for him. Except--

“Stay.”

He mistakes her movement for the path to leave. She’s just aiming to pull the comforter back over him.

“I--” They look at each other. She sees so much burning vulnerability. “I’ll stay,” she caves and with that promise she can reach down and pull the comforter back over his body.

Already, his eyes are dropping shut. “You can--” he coughs, his whole body jarred by the movement. “You can sit, Emily. I can keep my hands to myself.”

She rolls her eyes but sits down on the corner of the bed. She takes his hand, rubbing at his knuckles when he turns his head to cough. “Shut up,” comes her hesitation reply. It feels wrong, misplaces. She wants to slip into their innocent, normal tit-for-tat banter but he’s not up for it. It’s not what he needs or is even capable of.

“Please don’t just sit there and stare at me,” he rasps.

Her face flushes. She had been doing exactly that. “If I lay down, you better not try to cuddle me.”

He huffs at that but whatever he might have said is overshadowed by his deep, nasty sounding coughs.

She reaches

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

She gently moves her hand across the bed sheet until she finds his. Interlacing her fingers with his she manages, thickly, “please don’t die.” His head turns on his pillow and she can feel him looking at her but she keeps her eyes on the ceiling. After a long pause, her heart beating frantically the whole way, he simply squeezes her hand. Not a promise… just comfort. Sniffling she sits up and grabs some of the blanket, pulling it over her own bare legs. “Stop hogging the covers. You’re not the only who might want some.”

As she settles down, turning her back to him, she closes her eyes. Feeling the hot stream of her tears falling over her face. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is his hoarse voice, full of tears of his own. “I’m so sorry Emily.”

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

“How are you?”

Radiation was early this morning. He’d been lying if he didn’t admit that he gave Emily hell about it. Which he does feel fairly guilty about but she got what she wanted to he’s not that sorry. For the first time, he let her come in with him. Mostly because he didn’t have the strength to get himself out of the car but if he doesn’t dwell on that thought too much then it’s okay.

But he also knows that Emily told Garcia about this morning. Briefly, no doubt, about him being an absolute pain in the ass. Mostly how he’d let her tie his shoes. How he’d limped, leaning heavily against the wall to the bathroom and losing the meager bit of breakfast he had. Whatever she knows, she wears on her face. The worried crinkle between her brows. The downward quirk of her pink sparkling lips.

She shouldn’t be here.

Despite the ear protection Dave had spent so much time finding, his ears still ache from the rattling from the radiation machine. Every nerve in his body agitated by hot fire packers digging further and deeper into his brain. The dancers with their little tacs glued to their shoes traveling along his skin. To his legs and then up his arms. And, yet, he pushes on.

As confidently as he can manage, he forces himself to focus his eyes on Garcia. Smiling through the haggard, involuntary sway of his body. “I’m okay, Garcia. No need to worry.”

But she can see how pale his skin has gotten over the last month. How the shadow of a beard across his cheeks makes him look sicker, weaker. She knows that he won’t like her attention but she craves for Aaron Hotchner. So, she finds herself looking at him longer, trying harder to see within him. To find her boss and not the ghost he’s left behind. “We… I love you, sir. You know that, right?” She hesitantly touches his hand and as much as she thought it would hurt to feel him recoil it hurts even worse when he doesn’t.

But he’s here, isn’t he? Is it not just like her stupidly brave boss to keep trying, to keep pushing?

Hotch’s hand trembles where she’s captured it in her own and as self-conscious as that makes him feel… he can’t pull away. All these shields, blocades he’s built around himself have been his destruction. He’s pushed them away until they no longer let him near without armor of their own. Always prepared to enter the cave and find a beast. But Garcia, merciful Garcia, still just sees him. It terrifies him but he just wants someone to disregard his wishes. To throw caution to the wind and hug him. Touch him.

“I know,” he manages. He smiles, clenching his teeth to refrain from showing or saying how much better he feels with her around.

She stands, leaving his side. “Just making sure,” she confirms. She turns, her hand on his shoulder, as she takes in the state of his house. Empty. Emily has been diligent with cleaning up after them. Hotch, too, when he can manage to stand long enough to wash the dishes.

She remembers, like a blow to the heart, that Emily has fallen behind on laundry. That had been the one chore Hotch was solidly keeping up on. Emily had seemed so positive about that, only a few weeks ago. Smiling as she reassured he was very adamant to let her anywhere near the laundry (and as she suspected, his underwear) so as long as he was managing to be his usual stubborn self things would be fine. They had been. But after the nose bleeds he’s not as strong. His appetite is gone and every week when they draw his blood the odds are slowly shifting out of his favor.

He’s anemic and they gave him a blood transfusion at the hospital after the nose bleed but it hasn’t helped. Now he takes iron supplements and a pill that smells horrible and tastes even worse. He can get over the pills. It’s just two more in the sea of things he takes. It’s the fact that he can’t lift anything. Years of training and rigorous training down the drain but his knees are like jelly and his arms like boiled noodles.

On top of all that, this morning they talked about starting chemotherapy in addition to the radiation. His cells aren’t responding. So, Emily’s thoughts have been elsewhere. Not on the laundry steadily building unwashed.

“I’m going to make myself useful,” she says, getting in a quick kiss before he can put up too much of a fight. She’s not sure if his lack of response is good or not. Either way, she tucks a blanket up around him. Smiling when he just looks up at her-- there’s a flash of Hotch in his exhausted eyes. He starts to fuss with her-- she doesn’t need to clean, that’s not why she’s here (which they really don’t need to argue about unless she wants to hash out how she’s really here to babysit him).

But he just sinks into the pillow behind his head. No fight.

“Please tell me if you need help,” she says as she walks away. He hums something under his breath but she knows he won’t. She’ll just have to listen for him.

The laundry really isn’t that bad.

Emily’s room is a mess but Emily is a bit of a mess herself so it’s not that surprising. She picks up minimally. Moving anything around too much will just make Emily flustered to have been caught. So, she just picks up the towels she sees and a few pairs of shirts and pants she knows Emily likes the most and heads to the laundry room. The washing machine and dryer are down the hall, pushed aside in a closet like space.

Tossing in what she’s gathered she goes back to Emily’s room-- she’s just wasting time so she doesn’t have to go into Hotch’s room. Picking up a discarded glass of water and a few water bottles. She makes note that if Emily isn’t back in time to throw their sheets and bed sets in the washing machine. It’s always nice to have clean bedsheets.

Looking at Emily’s room she realizes she has to venture to Hotch’s room now.

She comes to linger in the living room. “You doing okay?” She doesn't get a response but she can’t really see him so she moves closer. One of his legs is drawn up, resting against the couch and the other stretched out and over the arm of the couch. When she’d left him he’d still been sitting up, fighting to stay alert through their short conversation. It’s… nice to see him comfortable.

Without thinking, she reaches down and moves her hand through his hair. Trying her best not to react to the amount of grey she sees. He moves, shifting his face further into the couch. She fears she’s woken him but his eyelashes flutter for only a moment before he sighs and stills once again.

Sighing, she leaves him once again. Blindly hoping he’ll sleep for a while if she doesn’t bother him.

His room is… exactly as she expects it to be and, yet, not.

His bedspread is a dark green color, nearly emerald and surely something Jessica or one of the other’s picked out. There are pieces of him thrown through-out the room with the finest touches of someone else left behind. For example, the books that litter every surface is him. From his nightstand, to his dresser, to a few stacked on the floor. The nightstands are old and she feels a little sore work itself into her throat at the possibility that they are a set and were probably bought for him and Haley.

And now there’s only him.

There is a stuffed elephant and blanket on the floor on the other side of the bed. She wonders how frequently Jack sleeps with him. Probably more than normal now.

His room is neat. She tucks his comforter back where it should be. Placing a piece of paper in the book he’d left face down. There’s a single sock with colorful, swirling patterns. A shirt that looks very well loved tucked inside of a sweater of equal wear and tear. Clothes and homely things. Hotch things.

From down the hall she hears his muffled coughs and something hard hitting the wall.

“Sir!” She hurries from his room, letting the clothes in her hand hit the floor. It’s not hard to find him. His house has a familiar, simple layout. “Are you okay?” He’s standing in the hall, facing her. Shoulder pulled in, left arm around his chest, and the right blindly leading him along.

He nods, muffling his bone rattling coughs into his elbow. “Just…” he shakes his head. “Going to the bathroom.”

She looks over her shoulder, his room and bathroom are only a few steps away but… He doesn’t look like he’s going to get there without a little help. “Could…” she chews her lips into her mouth. “Would it be okay I help-- If you just leaned on me, a little bit? For my sanity?”

He nods, simply going where she moves him. It’s not hard to slip under him. Without heels, his height advantage is much more apparent. She looks down at the floor as she works his arm over her shoulders, smiling at the sight of his socks. Her own don’t match-- a homage to Reid but also because she knows it, secretly, drives Hotch crazy. But he’s wearing a pair of polka dot socks. Each one an extreme loud variation of every color you can think of.

“Nice socks, sir!”

It distracts him for a moment from the humiliation of needing both her and the wall to walk down the hall. He looks down at his socks-- socks that he and Emily had fought long and hard about this morning. He didn’t want to wear them. He’d needed normalcy. Craved it. He wanted plain black socks that would go unnoticed. But she had won and everyone saw him in his boxers and stupidly bright socks. It had put smiles on their faces too. Even Emily’s, though, she had tried to hide it behind her book.

“Emily’s doing,” he reassures her.

They can’t fit shoulder-to-shoulder into the room so she lets him lean against the doorframe and manage it on his own. Following closely behind. “Oh, of course,” she says smiling now she’s behind him and he can't see. Though, as soon as she’s done it she wishes he would see. To see her smile and know it’s at his expense and give her one of those scowls that have always just made her love him a little more.

But instead she sits on the corner of his bed and closes her eyes. Wincing and flinching as he gets sick.

Emily had been so… afraid when she left. Garcia hadn’t understood why. Even when the information Emily was throwing at her-- hurling words, meaningless words. Now… Now Garcia is cursed with Emily's same burden of knowing.

It had all come so quickly-- that the nose bleed had been because he was anemic and that they can’t get his red blood cell count back up. “Not to fret”, Emily had said thickly with sarcasm, his white blood cells are through the rough and the product of much anxiety. That the awful cough he has is from Radiation Pneumonitis and “not to worry” he’s on steroids that make him incredibly nauseous and a complete ass. The best part? It can scar his lungs!

All this information had come so quickly that Garcia hadn’t processed any of it.

Dave had called Garcia early this morning and asked if she needed anything to do. Normally, when he asks that sort of thing, he’s asking her over to do the grunt work of cooking-- rolling breads or kneading dough-- but today when she’d happily agreed he’d had something else in mind.

So, today, while Emily goes with Dave for a long lunch she’s staying with Hotch.

The original plan was just to leave him by himself. Dave had assumed that would be alright. Afterall, two days ago when Dave had last seen him, Hotch was very himself. Stubborn and grouchy when they tried to help him do anything-- even the normal sorts of things you do for people: hold the door, pass them a plate, ask if they want anything when you go to get yourself something, etc.

Having to explain how she couldn’t simply leave Hotch had… broken Emily just a little more. Keeping herself calm, collected as she explained that she was going out with Dave for a while and she’d make sure to bring him something back. Coffee or soup (anything so long as he’d agree to eat). She had cried as soon as she stood to walk to her room, lower lip quivering at just how easily he’d caved. He’d protested everything she did all morning and now just… submits. She’d sobbed in the shower.

He annoys her to no end. Her closest friend, the man she’d left behind to search for something more in London, was a basket case. Do not mistake that. Aaron Hotchner has to do everything himself. Independence is very important to him and she’s being forced to watch him give in. Too tired to fight.

Garcia had arrived a little sooner than expected and Emily had opened the door in a towel, her mascara from that morning smudged under her eyes. Before she could get out an apology, Garcia had already assured her she had plenty of time and that Garcia would go back out and tell Dave to cut the car and come in for a moment.

And Hotch…

He’d been asleep on the couch. Sitting up, nestled into the corner where Emily had left him.

“Hey, Pen?”

Garcia hadn’t even realized she’d been staring.

“He’s got a heating pad tucked against his side, will you warm it up?”

And she’d learned Hotch is prone to chills. That along with nine awful scars, Foyet had damaged his body's ability to regulate temperature and that radiation is being a bitch. So to ease the ache in his side, where Foyet had nicked a rib that won’t ever really heal, Emily just keeps a heating pad around. It keeps him warm.

The beast of knowledge.

“Garcia?”

She hates him. For a moment. Anger and impatient it eats her alive and that’s such an awful thing to have to feel about someone you love. Why can’t he be stronger? It leaves her body in a choked sound. How could she even let herself feel such contempt for the very man who always prides her for her brightness? Loves her no matter how much trouble she drags up? Goes out of his way to remind her to always be her bright silly self?

She stands from his bed and opens the bathroom door.

He looks ashamed and she hates that.

“Have I ever told you about the time Reid and I broke a coffee pot and hid it from you for a month?” she asks before he can apologize.

His Adam's apple bobs as he looks up at her. He’s still curled into himself, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He feels weak, useless. He couldn't even find the strength to stand and pee. Then, on top of it all, she’d been right there on the other side of the door as he vomited. By now, this is not the first apology he’s been beaten to. Emily has this infallible way of sensing them coming and quickly changes the subject to something else.

It’s… strange to see Garica practice it too.

“Please tell me that was far too long ago to be worth fussing with you over?” he asks, trembling as he accepts the hand she offers.

She smiles and tuckers herself back against him, wrapping her arm around his hips. “Oh it was a while ago,” she assures him. “Like… Gideon long ago. He was just a baby--” she keeps talking no matter what. When he whispers that he needs a break at the doorway, a whole two steps later. Tells him how terrified they’d all been of him at some point in time. How that’s all rather silly because Aaron Hotchner is nothing but a big softy. And, believe it or not, it has always been Derek Morgan breaking that secret to the rookies. That he’s not as big and tough as he looks. That a good, warm batch of snickerdoodles will melt his big icy heart so quickly--

“How many people did you tell that to?” he asks.

She shrugs, only the people that really needed it. “Do I have to give you a number if I make you some right now?”

He considers her offer. His stomach has settled a little and the smell alone would be divine. Plus, Emily had said he could pick dinner… what’s the possibility that she would cave to just letting him eat a cookie or two? He smiles, “I’d consider adequate reparation.”

“Wanna help?”

His smile falters just a bit. He can’t stand for that long and--

“We can make them at the table,” she adds, hastily.

And… he nods. Okay.

That’s how Dave and Emily find them an hour later.

Hotch is covered in flour and Garcia too. A good proper mess.

He’s wrapped in a blanket, the one from the couch, and leaning heavily on the arm propped up on the table. Smiling, content, as Garcia checks the cookies and reassures him that they need only a little bit longer. So that they come out right as the bottom is browning but not brown. ANd he nods his head like he understands when she says the point is to let them finish baking on the pan outside of the oven. That’s the secret to soft cookies.

Which, to him, just sounds like she’s saying she's going to feed slightly undercooked cookies but he’s eaten cookie dough raw for years. He’s never had salmonella but he did get cancer so obviously someone wasn’t warning him about the right things.

“What in the world did you two get into?”

“Cookies!” Garcia holds open the oven to show them. “If you wait just a moment they will be ready!” She places the dirty dishes into the sink. Throwing some water over them to make it easier to wash the dough off.

Emily raises an eyebrow at Hotch and he shrugs. She’s amused by the sight of him covered in flour and what more is to add but a submissive shrug. What can he say except he’s a softy who has always lacked the ability to tell them no?

“You didn’t let Hotch do the measuring did you?” Dave asks, stepping in and inspecting the damage done to the kitchen. Under his breath he continues, “you can tell he’s never been a math man. I’m convinced he doesn’t understand fractions.” Dave has cooked with him too many times. Hotch has never once successfully measured everything right in any dish. The amount of times one fourth has been mistaken as a half or an eighth of something rounded up to a third… it’s crazy.

Garcia glances at Hotch and he already knows exactly where she’d going-- “Well,” she admits, “I let him put the cinnamon in--”

Hotch groans from the table, a dramatic sigh as he closes his eyes and admits defeat.

“It wasn’t his fault!” It was. “There might just be a little bit too much cinnamon. It’s not a big deal!”

Aaron Hotchner brought to his knees by fractions.

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

When Hotch was in the second grade he got chickenpox from his next-door neighbor Michael. A very common thing given the time and the general mindset of “chickenpox parties”. It had been awful and itchy. His brain so ravished by the fever that he doesn’t remember a whole lot about the experience. Just that it had begun as a patch of dry skin under his right arm, perfectly wedged between two of his protruding ribs. That week of horrible fever and endless itching is the only time Hotch can ever recall his father being gentle.

He’d awoken once during that week, just after four and when his father typically arrived home, to the door shutting softly. His mother whispering to gather his father’s attention and diverge the man away from Hotch. Who, thanks to itching, had only just managed to fall asleep.

Halfway up the stairs, Hotch can remember waking up in his father’s arms. The man had shushed him softly, rocking him the way you might a child until Hotch had laid his head against his father’s chest and gone back to sleep. The gentleness of that action has haunted Hotch for years. Something he thinks about occasionally. Trying and failing to wrap his mind around something so out of character. So bizarre.

“Daddy,” Jack whines, he twists in his father’s lap. “You’re not watching, look!” His little finger demands Hotch’s attention, pointing to the TV. “Did you see it?” Jacks asks, sitting up to gauge Hotch’s reaction. “It was amazing, huh?”

Knowing his son, Hotch does try and get the boy out of the house as much as possible. Which means that lazy nights come far and rare in between. If he can, Hotch likes to take him to the park, museums, aquariums. Anything to keep his little mind crazed by the ideas of the world around him and actively engaged. Today… is not one of those days. There hasn’t been a lot of those days recently.

“The cancer is spreading--”

There’s a certain understandable science to the way that chickenpox works. They actually follow a pattern on the body when they spread. Hotch’s had curled from his left side to his right, working in the grooves of his ribs, and up his sternum.

A very similar pattern to the cancer spreading in his body.

Radiation is no longer enough.

He has two rounds of chemo and spends a lot of time thinking about what comes next. He’s going to get sicker. Weaker. Probably lose his hair. What will really be left of him when all is said and done?

Outside the rain comes down in buckets, thunder shaking the earth, but there’s nothing to the peace inside. Emily had gone around lighting candles, trying to soothe Jack in preparation for if the storm knocks out the electricity. Even if she’d managed to annoy him with her fluttering about, she’d been gentle and understanding. Making sure his shirt was buttoned to hide the deeply irritated skin on his chest.

She’s stronger than he is.

They are all.

“Asland,” Jack mumbles in amazement. He’s settled back down in Hotch’s lap, head on his thigh so Hotch can mindlessly play with his hair. Hotch can’t follow the plot of the simple movie but he’s seen it enough times to hum and mumble responses to Jack’s questions.

The Chronicles of Narnia. It’s Jack’s new favorite thing.

They’ve probably watched it now at least a dozen times.

Emily’s started having dreams about the movie.

No matter how many times he requests it though, she’ll still play it and Hotch will sit down and let Jack explain the plot again. Everytime, it ends with tears.

“I don’t understand why he has to leave,” Jack whimpers.

Hotch is struggling to fight with consciousness. Radiation leaves him haggard. Limbs seemingly attached by measly strings and joints that buckle with minimal weight. He’s got a rash up his chest that itches and burns a lot like that chickenpox rash. It’s normal, he’s assured, and they give him ointment to keep on it. Not to clear it up but rather to keep it from getting infected. Which… seems so practical if not normal. Mundane, really.

“Who?” Hotch rasps, forcing his eyes back open to squint at the TV.

Jack looks up at his father, tears streaming down his face. “Asland.” Over the course of the last few months, of course Jack can tell his father isn’t well. Everyone treats Jack like a thoughtless child, and he is child, but he’s not stupid. He knows why he has to sleep at Jessica’s and why, no matter how much Emily and Hotch make a point to only see him on Hotch’s “good” days, that his father is slowly withering away.

The thigh under Jack’s head used to be bigger. Tense with muscles not thin, almost to the bone. His father seemed to loom, towering over everything. Jack had thought him a king, a knight, a hero. Someone who, through the aches pains of it all rises triumphant and reigns on. Because his father has always been the best kind of person. Strong, vigilant, and forgiving. Surely… that would offer some forgiveness, no? An extra life in the bonus round or a break.

Hotch swallows thickly around the nausea knotting up in his throat. “Asland,” he repeats with a sigh. Right. Asland dies. They’re passed that point but he does die. For the greater good, a strategic move, but the sacrificial play none-the-less. “Sometimes,” Hotch lifts his head. “He was saving the other’s, Jack. He sacrificed himself.” He’s too tired to explain how the book was just a huge religious metaphor. “Sometimes people have to leave.”

Jack sniffles and wraps himself around Hotch’s stomach, burying his head closer. “Why?” he asks miserably.

Hotch doesn’t know. It’s never what you want but he doesn’t want to tell Jack about all of that. How at one point Jack and Haley had been the ones to leave Hotch reeling with that same question, despite logic dictating a clear answer. That Emily had done the same thing to him multiple times. Everyone on the team, really. He’s probably done it to them. If not already, then soon.

“I don’t know, buddy,” Hotch shakes his head. “I really don’t.” Jack nods his head, crying softly against Hotch. Hotch starts to rub Jack’s back, despite the ache in his limbs. “Listen…” Hotch clears his throat and Jack senses the turn in conversation. Jack sits up, looking, searching in Hotch’s eyes as he sniffles and wipes his face with the back of his hands. “I have to… We have to talk about something, buddy. About what’s been going on.”

Emily sits in the guest room and tries her best not to think about what’s going on in the living room. It was only a matter of time but… she couldn’t help but think maybe they could fix all this. It must be a matter of faulty testing. Surely, that must be the case. Hadn’t they already been through enough? Have they not lost enough?

Jessica sends her a text, Hotch isn’t answering his own phone.

Emily leaves her room, leaning out first just to see if they’re still talking. They’re not. The TV has been turned off, no sound.

Jack is curled into his father, clutching Hotch’s t-shirt in his little fist. Despite the dried tear tracks on his face, the boy looks at peace. His head tucked under Hotch’s chin and arms holding on tight, Hotch won’t be able to move without Jack noticing. Understandably, Jack has some apprehensions about his father leaving his sight.

“How’d he take the news,” Jessica asks. Her anger has melted, leaving her wilted in a puddle of emotions that she doesn’t even know where to begin to deal with. “I can’t--” she shakes her head. “I just can’t imagine it,” she whispers, glancing at Emily. “He’s so young,” she brushes her tears from her cheeks. “He can’t lose Aaron, too.”

She nods her head, she’s afraid to lose him as well. To be a child, though, living this as a reality that at any moment you might become an orphan… Jack’s only a child. He’s not even ten yet. What will he have to cling to? The cold nights come frequently and he’ll be alone. Surrounded by people but alone.

In London, there wasn’t a single moment she could step out and not get lost in crowds. It was the safest way to avoid detection. In those days, she’d clung to online Scrabble and read and rereading the letter Hotch had written her before she’d left. It was in the file with the other identities and money. While it had not been a technical element to the FBI’s idea of “everything” she might need it kept her alive.

On those cold night’s she’d curl into herself with her heating pad pressed against those old wounds and read his letter. Fingers ghosting over the ink and eyes taking in every detail. Where his hand wavered writing about Reid failing to cope. The stain of a tear beside Jack's name. Her favorite passage:

“I believe Ashley will try to leave the unit the next chance that she gets. You were her mentor and I’m afraid I have not offered her too much in claims to stake here. A part of me is partial to her staying. You were her mentor and she reflects that in the strangest moments. I hope she stays, I indulge myself in her rebellions against me. I think it reminds me of you.”

It never failed to make her smile. Take her back to the nights she’d drive home in a fit of rage or have arguments with her imaginations version of him in the shower. Cursing like a sailor but telling him how she really felt.

What will Jack cling to when Hotch is not here?

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan

[dorki-c]

The Three Cups: Cup of Caution

Characters: Villain Deku, (reader), Brief mention of Shigaraki, Kurogiri, and Toga!

Relationship: Villain Deku / Izuku Midoriya and Fem! (Reader).

Audience: 16+ ONLY please!

A/N: Two weeks and approximately 6 pages later- I bring to you the second cup: Cup of Caution. Thank you all for your support the past two weeks and the lovely comments, it really means a lot! I would be really thankful if everyone who read this would reblog and liked this!

But before anybody goes on and read this, PLEASE PLEASE TAKE CAUTION (No pun included) WHEN READING THIS. It handles some heavy things within the one-shot and I really don’t want anybody to be reminded of horrible experiences that they may have gone through. AS WELL AS! Please note that I’m not a health care professional or somebody who knows how to deal with first aid- so please do not use my one-shot as a correct and reliable source to deal with this situation! 

(ALSO! COME REQUEST A PROMPT FOR MY VALENTINES WRITING EVENT! CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO!)

TW: Gun use (only very briefly), Mention of Self-harm (only if you squint REALLY hard), blood and bleeding, Self-deprecating thoughts, mention of bullet removal, unprofessional medical procedures and cauterization, implied forced enclosure, mention of alcohol.

[IMPORTANT: I DO NOT ENCOURAGE ANY OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS!]

[<-- Previous Part | Next Part -->]

The midst of every night always had its unknown secrets basking in the twilight. They writhed and crawled scantly across the surface of the two villains hides like insects ready to rip and chew apart delicate layers of flesh.

Darting left and right from advantage points, your observant pair of eyes stayed forever locked on the green-haired man (boy) behind the heavy-duty mask that carefully- though quite excellently- tightened around the back of your neck and head with approximately four, maybe five, click-in locks.

You didn’t know what this arranged ‘meeting’ was about, frankly you didn’t care (like always), though as each minute of the task (in your mind) was wasted by each and every mother fucking curse you plan to yell at Shigaraki when you arrive back at the base.

That crusty asshole decided it would be (unadulteratedly) hilarious to set you up to ‘guard’ his younger brother’s puny smug (handsome) ass which in turn meant staring by squatting down where your unshielded knees may scrape against the harsh concrete of the building you stood on top of.

Obsessively gripping the bland black pistol in the palm of your hand, your nerves screamed at you to relax to the cold polluted air that ran warm in the blood of whoever isn’t dead tonight. With the narrowing of your eyes darting from Deku to the three men standing in front of him with a small flat line seemingly narrowing to an expression of annoyance.

When are they going to finish? You wished you could have said that, but that’s not allowed. It will never be permitted.

Screaming little nuisances echo out protests to rebel again Deku- like the previous time before- though both you and the rest of the audience resting in their seats know not to do that, again. The fresh crescent moon wounds encircled around a singular wrist (covered by a glove) alerts the subconscious bully lurking in the midst at the front of this theatrical performance of life.

But (focusing on the task at hand) what was that man holding? Crouching downwards to get a better look, your body moved on its own accord when shit hit the fan. Invisible gusts aiding in your descent as a small glance to the side can confirm what happened before three bodies laid flat in the closed off alley.

Packing the pistol into a holster at the starting line of your boots, itty-bitty footsteps reached to her colleague, though her form was turned away from them. “Get up, we need to leave before the police get here.” What? How much of an asshole is his crush? “I can’t, you idiot.” Pivoting on her heel, she glanced downwards to see the source of the other villain’s problem.

Oh.

(And here (y/n) never thought black dress pants could turn red…)

With a leg shot to frigging bits, the frayed edges of the dress pants curled upward and attempted to soak up the liquid seeping out of his body, although it was in futile. Alongside that, (y/n) didn’t have any other cloth or rope or… something to stop the blood flow.

However, that was a failed observation on her part.

Glancing at her own self, she noted the blazer that covered only a bare minimum of her shoulders and back. (Oh well, it’s not like I can’t buy another one) Sighing softly, she could feel those all-too-familiar green (laser) eyes observing the slow languid movement of the female taking off her blazer, drooping down to his level and tapping the leg with such delicacy that Deku could’ve had a small crisis about how close (y/n) was.

“Open your mouth.” When he did so, a side of (y/n)’s arm was barged in the clamp that is his mouth.

“Bite down on my arm until I tell you to stop.” This is going to hurt like a bitch, although she didn’t mind pain (it’s a friend nowadays), where in a second she felt the contraction of what might be millions of miniscule sensory cells curse a wave of spiky pain erupt along the bridge of her forearm, the female made quick work of wrapping her blazer into a tight knot around the upper base of Deku’s bloodied leg that certainly is comparable to a two-way circuit of agony that flooded both of their bodies.

When ripping the arm from his canine teeth, only flinching as she did so (her favoured shirt was practically ruined with slobber), a blackened satin hand extended itself upwards and was met with a sweet cranberry red hand.

“Come on, we need to get you patched up.” Said (y/n), where all Deku could do was nod in agreement.

(Why did she want me to go with her?)

(What’s this feeling in my chest?)

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

Kicking the door with only her heel, the leaning weight of what could’ve been a dead man laid heavy on her spine.

Grimly being reminded of the injury he held accountable on his leg, she laid him down on the ragged and worn couch- the fabric was tough and stale (it always caused an uncomfortable rub against naked skin) with the seams of the couch allowing small uplifting specks of thread-, though, she should’ve thrown this heap of shit outside for some DIY freak to refurbish, but (y/n) at the moment doesn’t have the money to afford another couch.

So, she’ll do with this one. Plus, it’s a good couch for staying somewhat clean when your flooding blood out of your fragile body.

In the moment of time, her shoes and mask were thrown off and a new pair of gloves were hastily applied onto her hands.

“Wake up.” Pinching the poor boy’s arm, vibrant green eyes, that match spring grass sprouting from a thick layer of dirt, had burst open in surprise of the ‘prickly golden needle’ sensation, however, the plain white ceiling was unfamiliar to his presence.

Huffing at his slow reaction, although helping him sit up in the process, the soft groan of lethargy slips from the (pretty) boy’s lips to crash and burn the depths of (y/n) terrified mind (about having somebody who isn’t a female in her apartment).

“Damn,” Rasp and smug his voice was, if he wasn’t hurt with a leg injury, then you would’ve tortured him to the full extent of your vexation, “is this my treat for being alive?” You suppose you knew what his innuendo implied, considering you were sitting between his thighs, “What?” Asserted Deku as he observed your facial cues.

“I’m not sucking your goddamn dick, asshole.”

Oh.

(And here Deku thought he could get laid tonight.)

“I need to wrap your leg,” Holding up a roll of dressings for him to see, “and to do that, I need you to take off your trousers.”  

“Well, you could always—” He notices one finger of your hand about to take off your purply-red gloves in a threatening motion, “—Okay! Okay! I’ll do it myself…” A pout was evident on his face, but he did as you asked (mostly because he was scared of your quirk).

A belt buckle jingled to the floor, “My offer still stands.” Then the ruined dress pants fell along with them. 

“I don’t want your offer.”

Grabbing the disinfection solution and a cotton gauze, the female opened the pungent liquid and tipped it upside down to gather it on the gauze, “This is going to sting.” Affirmed (y/n), “I know, doll.” Deku only managed to hiss out a response as the onslaught of a headache started to run towards him.

They both treaded this situation carefully and cautiously

As you clean the dirt out and rid the chance of infection to happen, your eyes started to frantically inspect each of the wounds as they still leaked blood every time your index finger very softly pressed on the skin around the wounds.

They still bled after applying pressure.

Fuck.

“I have to remove the bullets.” The male’s face paled. “Give me a second, I need to get some things.”  Deku saw her (rather sexy) form exit the living room and into one of the rooms (which he guesses to be her room) and then come out with a pillow, tweezers, and a brightly coloured (f/c) lighter. “What are…these for?” Those once bright green eyes gained a cloud of mistrust when narrowing at the objects, “The objects are for the bullet removal,” Staring horrified at her, she continued without paying mind to his facial expression, “I need to grab some plastic gloves and a rag from the kitchen, but after the procedure, I will need you to take a few pills.” (Y/n) wore a blank expression when announcing the news, but it further piqued his interest in this dark hour.  

Was she scared? Afraid?

When noticing Deku’s lacklustre expression, (y/n) snapped her fingers at him, “Are you aware of any allergies to any brands or medication?” Shaking his head in response, the female left him alone for a few minutes before returning with the rest of the things.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

(Deku swore he heard the soft chime of ‘I’m sorry’ behind the curtains of (y/n)’s sentence)

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

Waking up to a soft drag of curtains opening, the green haired villain only remembers the white adrenaline of a few slick objects being dragged out of squishy tensed skin where the only thing keeping him awake was the soft murmuring of “you’re doing good…” as smooth plastic painfully slid across the red hills of his cheeks that began to form rivers from the nearby reservoir uphill.

Alongside the unknowledgeable lull of his drowsy head, he saw the heavily wrapped leg and small patches of gauzes strapped further down his legs, with the ability to only whimper in an attempt to alert you that he was awake.

The small widening of your eyes as your body spun around to see his groggy eyes open to the shimmer of mornings gift: the sunrise.

Shuffling towards the bed and sitting on the side, (y/n) wore some sort of expression that the green-haired villain had never thought she knew how to express. “Holy shit,” Started Deku, “What is it?” (Y/n) added, “Your actually showing-- I might as well dare to say this—your showing emotion for once!” Exclaimed Deku as his eyes looked like they could light up a million galaxies in just a millisecond.

But the moment didn’t last, the luminously concerned expression that Deku had (stupidly) pointed out fell into the deepest depths of hell, then, the usual cold and icy exterior had taken the throne as the new ruler.

“Fuck off.” Snapped (y/n) before making haste out of the room. You left before he could utter another syllable.

Damn it. He should’ve taken caution.

Pushing himself up against the bed, the breakfast that was once warm was already cold. Well, he might as well dig in and find out if you poisoned it. He wouldn’t be surprised, maybe you’ve already figured out the burial site and what colour his coffin could be…

Nevertheless, the small gesture of kindness presented by you had reached his heart. It’s been a long time since he’s actually ate something that smells and looks edible, alongside the small note next to the three white pills, informing him to “take these with the food”.

Wow, you have nice handwriting. The compliment rang through his mind like a ping pong ball emitting even more compliments than he couldn’t utter out loud because he knows the risk of rambling to his crush will be high.

That’s more of a reason why he has to take caution.

 -------------------------------

When was the last time he was allowed out of this apartment?

Sure, everyone has popped by to help him get around the place, but when was the last time he saw- and actually sat down on- his precious throne donning a wine glass in one hand and a roll of newspaper that had a crossword puzzle on the back.

But several things (these past three-ish weeks) have perplexed him to the edge of understanding and not understanding.

Like why hasn’t Kurogiri bothered to teleport him back to the base? Or why does Toga always giggle when seeing him stuck in your bed, additionally, if you truly hated and despised him, then why are you letting him stay bedridden on your personal bed? There’s too many questions and not enough answers.

Gosh, and somebody better not stop him from drinking more then three fucking wine bottles- all from the same brand- or else he’ll explode (not literally, he rather not be like somebody he used to know.)

Sighing at the state his thoughts were in, the timing of your arrival was always as impeccable as ever.

Holding a small bag containing some trinkets, the small smile he used around you allowed the torture of butterflies and (slowly) budding roses in your stomach to erupt into a full fledge garden when he began using a subtle approach when seeing you come back to your home.

Petite smiles became the norm, saying thank you and staying quiet when your gloved hands brushed soothingly on the tattered skin littered with scars as his breath softened to nothing but— “Deku?” Humming a respond to desensitise your harsh wrath, the headache medicine that you had given to him earlier this morning was absolutely making magic (cue the jazz hands in the background) happen in his head.

A soft (and holy) finger ghosted past his temple to simply brush a measly strand of green out of his face. “Are you okay?” Murmured (y/n) where she let her guard down long enough to let the (beautiful) green-haired boy see the glimmer of comfort that you discovered.

Leaning his head towards your unaware palm, he basked in the warmth of your hand that emitted on his cheek.

“Yeah…I’m okay with you, sweetheart.”

(If religion didn’t exist, I would’ve imagined Deku worshipping the ground (y/n) walked on.)

(If the overwhelming heat in your cheeks didn’t exist, I would’ve imagined (y/n) kissing Deku.)

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@glitterfreezed, @in-this-house-we-stan-izuku, @haredabi, @orenjineki, @quietlegends

[mc-critical]

hey, hope you're doing well! i was re-watching mc:k ep60 the other day and one comment had asked why was kosem murdered with a purple cloth. people gave random answers in the replies. but i thought that the reason why she was murdered with a purple cloth was to signify the end of it all, the end of the show... i mean, if we go back to ep1, we have hurrem dancing for suleyman and suleyman dropping a purple handkerchief in front of her to summon her to his bed. this was the start of it all. hurrem first just impressed suleyman but then from here, she just went on and on until she reached the highest position possible. it was the purple handkerchief which started this whole show, this whole era and tbh i thought that kosem being strangled with a purple cloth just signifies the end of the show, the end of the era of women. it could be because turhan wanted to humiliate kosem by not strangling her with the traditional white rope used for the dynasty (& important state officials too). but then i thought about this theory and well, if turhan wanted to humiliate kosem even more, she could've strangled her with her own hair. it's even more humiliating imo and even kind of historically accurate. i just thought of it in the start and end symbolization and i thought that this was intentionally and explicitly done but i guess others didn't perceive it this way? well, i wonder what you think of the theory? is it obvious & intentional and definitely what the purple cloth meant or is this just a cool theory? excited to read your opinion, thanks <3

Hey! I'm fine, thank you. :)

I agree that Kösem getting killed with a purple cloth is clearly intentional, because the show loves telling a story through the costuming in general and choosing a certain attire to symbolize something for such an important moment in a character's life that is their death... of course the way they would get killed is something the show crew would consider. (and again, death is big in this franchise.)

I don't think there is only one definite right interpretation on the symbolism of the purple cloth. There are many things you can associate with this purple cloth both in the franchise, the show, the themes and the episode itself and the meaning of the color purple, hence you can view this symbol in many different ways, look at it in many different angles and there would still be a high chance for you to be correct. I think the writers themselves also left this to people's imagination, for them to figure it all out by themselves. Of course they had a certain intended meaning for this cloth, but I don't feel they showed that meaning clearly. That's why so many people have so many different interpretations of it.

I absolutely love your theory and it indeed makes so much sense for the show to end the cycle this way. But I think it is tied more into Hürrem and Kösem as the respective  protagonists of both shows rather than the Sultanate of Women as a whole. After all, the cycle of the SOW isn't over, as Kösem's death happened along with the massacre Turhan started and she is the next and last member of the SOW. Yes, Turhan is the most extreme display of the application of the concept of power in the show SOW and her actions would normally be the logical peak, but it was never implied that the massacre would be the end of it all. The purple handkerchief and the purple cloth could truly represent the start of Hürrem and the end of Kösem, connecting the two characters and their protagonist character arcs in an interesting visual way, despite of them being so different. And it started with something more personal and normal (the concubines dancing and SS choosing Hürrem) and ended with something more massive (the devastating execution of Kösem). The little handkerchief and the little purple cloth could showcase the gradual development of the franchise's ruthlessness through Hürrem and Kösem. I love the theory and I wouldn't mind at all if that were the intention.

Personally, I have two theories of my own regarding the symbolism of Kösem's purple cloth:

The first one is connected more with Kösem's death itself. When I watch the scene, I always see a contrast between the brutality of her execution and the way she views this execution from start to finish. After the execution of Ibrahim, conscience spoke to her and she finally lost her innocence completely. She was capable of anything on the outside, acting like an entirely different person who strives to stop Turhan any way she knew how, but on the inside, she has lost a part of her being which made her stop caring deep down. She didn't care about the death itself, she faced it regardless, leaving everything behind after her moral downfall. But she would die bravely, wouldn't show weakness. The color purple is a symbol of regality, as well, showing that even though they took her crown and jewels and everything away, she would still die a Valide, still die as the representative of the state, the one who fought the Fatih law. (hence her screaming that she's Valide Kösem when the men entered in her chambers which also corresponds to the official name of the episode: the martyred mother/Valide.) And on a deeper level: they robbed her of everything material, but she still preserved who she is spiritually. The purple cloth is a symbol of Kösem's soul in this scene, the only thing she has left and they left her with after the massacre. She may be killed and strangled, but her own being shines through the color. She died in the most brutal way possible, but the purple in the cloth gives some regality to this death.

The second one is connected with the way her relationship with Ibrahim connects to her own death. After Murat immediately went to declare Ibrahim's execution after Kasim's death in E54, Kösem immediately rushed in to save him. This was a very pivotal scene both for her and her relationship with Ibrahim - Kösem officially lets go of Murat as her own son and begs for Allah's help to get out of the situation and that massively impacts how Ibrahim views her as a mother. And guess what? In both this scene and her death scene she has something purple. When she saved Ibrahim, she wore a purple dress and coat and when she died, she got killed with the purple cloth. The purple cloth may represent the turnaround in Kösem and Ibrahim's relationship - she saved him once, but then she was ready to end his life. In the night she killed him he cursed her to die a horrible death and to never have one good day again and the cloth may be a way of connecting that, her saving him and the death, connecting the cause and effect of her character arc. The purple cloth may symbolize her own life values getting back to her after she did the deed, which made her lose them to begin with. Of course the color purple would tie this all together. And it brings in Turhan, too. She was behind the massacre as well as she played a big part in convincing Kösem to go for killing Ibrahim. I don't think she would think of a harsher punishment for Kösem, she caused enough of a ruckus with what she already did. Kösem's death was already devastating enough in its own right, I don't think she would need to do more, as long as Kösem died. It would also be useless brutality just for brutality's sake. The coath did enough to deliver a message to the audience.

These theories are more strictly "inside the show" than they're franchise-wide, but yeah, these are my thoughts on the purple coath and again, all the interpretations have the chance to be correct.

[drshebloggo]

how to make WW84 a stronger movie

As sort of requested, here’s a beefed-up version of the list of notes I made watching WW84 because I was getting cranky with the execution of this movie and couldn’t help but jot down ideas. I WANTED to love this thing but the script was not selling its ideas to best effect.

For me, I think there were a few challenges inherent in the movie they wanted to make. BUT with a few different choices here and there in the way the story was told, it would’ve improved its impact without sacrificing what they were going for with tone and characters. 

CHALLENGE #1: this movie is set SO far in the future from the events of the first film. 65 years have passed, and Diana is still just gliding somberly through her life and that makes me SAD. All her friends are dead! She’s on her own and cursed with immortality!! She lives in an ‘80s decor sadness chamber surrounded by photos and memories of people she’ll never see again!!!

And yet the film gave us no real textual information about that. They did the laziest thing possible, which was pan the camera around a million photos on mantles and told us NOTHING. Literally WHAT has Diana done for the past, say, THIRTY YEARS since her Earth Friends all died without her??? Has she literally made NO OTHER friends? She’s still sad about Steve 65 years later and nothing else has progressed?

This lack of specificity leaves Diana fading in the lead role of her own movie despite the fact that there’s TONS of material there that they just... ignored. For me, she read flat, which bummed me out majorly. Her best stuff was with Steve because that actually MEANS something. But it’s all she’s got in this film. They didn’t bother filling in any other information about her life. 

FIX IT: literally just make Barbara already friends with Diana at the beginning. Not only does it make Diana more interesting, it reduces the sheer amount of exposition that the film piles on in the first 45 minutes. This also means you can bring Steve back sooner than the 45 minute mark, which would help grease the wheels in the first third of the movie. And it also means that Diana losing Barbara to inhumanity would actually have a greater impact on Diana beyond “oh my kooky new friend turned into an evil cat; this is vexing.”

CHALLENGE #2: the tone is WILDLY different than the tone of the first. They went from WWI trench warfare to shopping malls and fanny packs. It’s a HUGE tone shift, and it takes some getting used to. But there are good things to it; namely it provides great comedy for Steve, who is a definite bright spot in the movie. 

Overall I’m on board with doing a superhero movie that pivots away from grit and darkness and toward camp and comedy, and it’s cool to do something new rather than reiterate the same tone from the first film. But I think they could’ve done more to sell the tone shift. 

There are HIJINKS inherent in the premise that I’m guessing were fairly unilaterally unexpected. There’s a vaguely historical magic WISHING STONE and three buffoons each made a wish and turned shit upside down. I myself wish that Maxwell and Barbara and Diana were rendered in triplicate, as equal collaborators in this batshittery. I don’t think you’re watering down Diana’s role as lead (no more than giving her no other emotions to play than sadness) by doing so, and it even works nicely to own the idea that Max and Barbara are on equal narrative ground as Diana.

As far as the villainy goes, Max is more recognizably a Bad Guy, but Barbara is NOT, and it’s fascinating to show at least Diana and Barbara working together but slowly falling apart as shit goes SIDEWAYS. Hijinks can be zany and also meaningful! What if a villain is just a friend who wants something different than you and you have to come to terms with that and stop them from doing dumb shit? There’s an element of screwball to this premise and I wanted them to lean in more. This would also give Diana more to do than cry and fight.

FIX IT: show Barbara getting her powers using the same tropes of other superheroes getting their powers and figuring them out. Play it like she’s Peter Parker finding out she’s Spider-man. Hell, do a montage with all three of them using/abusing their powers: Barbara beating the shit out of things, Maxwell manipulating people, Steve and Diana making the fuck out and enjoying the shit out of it. These are the joys of wish fulfillment! 

AND, if they had set up the rules of the artifact beforehand (see Challenge #3), then the audience would know they were watching very happy people who are going to have their LIVES RUINED SOON. And that is good storytelling. (Maybe this is oversimplified, but honestly half of good storytelling is just making the audience feel two opposite emotions at the same time. The other half is dramatic irony, which would also apply to this trio montage.)

CHALLENGE #3: What the hell are the rules of this magic wishing artifact anyways??? The audience should know them before the characters do. The way this movie doled out information was bananas. They waited right before they were going to the tell the audience something to show us what they were about to tell us. Just show us earlier and tell the characters later!!! That way WE’LL already know because we’ve seen it, and THEY’RE not saddled with expositional dialogue to make sure the audience follows the idea.

FIX IT: For the love of humanity, nix the opening sequence with the horse race and make it about the damn stone!! Rip off Lord of the Rings and tell the history of the innocent but dangerous thing. Rip off Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and animate something about how it gives wishes at a cost. Hell, let Connie Nielsen and Robin Wright(’s unbelievably ripped arms) tell young Diana the story so they can still hang out and be a part of the film! Throw in some lore about the gods, just to remind us where Diana comes from and her belief system, and we’re good to go.

While you’re at it, toss in the whole point of the film into the moral that Diana’s moms impart to her at a young age. It’s not a spoiler. We don’t wonder if 1984 Diana will do the right thing. She does not need to LEARN this moral. She already knows the moral, but she still has to make the hard choice to let Steve go and of course it doesn’t come easy.

In summary: that horse race had little to do with the rest of the movie and it’s wasted story space, especially for setting up the entire magical premise that the movie hinges on, let alone the actual message of the film.

CHALLENGE #4: Do we care about Maxwell and his kiddo enough to rest the entire movie’s resolution on it? Ehhhh. The glimpses into young Max’s abuse is another example of showing information RIGHTBEFORE it’s important, rather than setting it up earlier to pay off later. It’s a far weaker choice.

FIX IT: Age up Alistair. If he’s a teen or preeteen, then the stakes feel higher because it seems more monumental to undo the trauma of neglect at that age. Much like in his business pursuits, the clock is ticking and Max is running out of opportunities for success in all realms of his life.

Maybe show Maxwell trying to reason with Alistair earlier in the movie, saying that he’s a good dad because he’s not as bad a dad as his own father. It shows us how he justifies his behavior, gives us the information that he had an abusive dad, and gives an actual interaction between father and son other than “daddy you’re not here” and “shhh son here’s a pony.”

Possible other fix-it which connects to other fixes: what if Barbara actually renounces her wish before Max does? It should be more painful to the audience to lose Barbara to her wish because we’ve technically LIKED her at one point. She means something to Diana, and so she means something to us. Honestly, the audience has rooted for her independent of Diana! The scene where she realizes she’s not powerless against her harasser but then completely loses herself in violence against him? One of the movie’s best. It’s pretty dissatisfying that she just goes completely off the deep end and then nothing with her is resolved after the wishes are broken.

But, with the way the movie is set up, the big emotional climax is the scene of Diana getting through to Max/the entire planet, so it’s hard to undo that and give it to Barbara instead, considering that it won’t wrap up the plot. But geez, do SOMETHING with Barbara that’s based in actual emotions. Don’t hinge your entire movie’s emotional resolve on a father-son relationship that’s two-dimensional and doesn’t have anything to do with the main character! You had emotional investment in Barbara; use it!!

At the very least, have Diana get through to Barbara in some way, either before Maxwell renounces or after, and maybe even intercut it with Max and his kid. 

CHALLENGE #5: I experience great existential malaise at watching a mylar balloon drift off into the ether. Was there no better visual for the final moments of the film? Asking for myself, and also the planet. (This one is mostly a joke... but seriously, you guys, the PLANET.)