#I have some feelings about Tim but they mostly stay on ‘I hate that Jack died’

[twistpixel]

You’re fine to think that but it’s a bit off topic on a post that was about Jason and Bruce’s father and son relationship. I also don’t agree, although I do think it’s how the trauma of Jason’s death… I don’t want to say rewrote those memories, but recontextualized them? In Bruce’s mind. I could just be sticking my head in the sand about this because it is for sure, if what DC comics are saying is that he sucked forever always then it’s what they’re saying and me saying “but I don’t like that” doesn’t matter, but the impression I get is that Jason was not a “mistake” or “unsalvageable” up until the very moment he died, at which point every memory could no longer be simply happy or good, because it led to something horrible. The retelling of Jason’s death, im sorry but I forget from which book, where Jason is dead, but Bruce hugs his corpse, his narration is “in this moment he’s robin, he’s alive, we’re together” and everything but Bruce and Jason fades away supports this to me. That *was* the last moment. Humans prefer to establish narratives and link cause and effect. UtH doubled this for sure- the “Batman makes his own villains is he even helping” argument applies to Jason in an undeniable way. “Jason couldn’t have ever been happy or good as robin” is a very nice wrap to make everything make sense, but I think life just sucks and we find ways to make it make sense so we don’t go crazy about it, and that’s the story I get.

[bats-and-the-birds]

The Batkids on being mistaken as Bruce's biological children.

Look, the Batkids have all been forced into various social gatherings, and enough of them share vague features with Bruce that some of the older members among Gotham's old money, or the younger ones that are out of the loop, sometimes mix up the facts.

Dick gets it from the very beginning. Old women pinch his cheeks, still tan from a life outside of Gotham's gloom, and tell him, Such a sweet little boy, and just like your father at your age. His hair used to stick up just like yours. Dick didn't like it at all. He bit the first person that told him he had Bruce's eyes, and stomped on the foot of an old politician that told him, With your father's height, I thought you'd be taller by now.

He laughs it off as an adult, but sometimes, it still eats at him. People still tell him that they thought he'd eventually be as tall as Bruce, or that he should be thankful for his inherited jaw line. It's not the comparison to Bruce that bothers him anymore, or even being mistaken as his son, but rather, the fact that he sometimes struggles to remember exactly where his features actually came from; parental faces turning fuzzy in his distant memory.

Jason thinks it's funny, the first time it happens. Mostly because it's his nose of all things. Your nose is bent, grumbled the old man sitting across from him at the gala, Just like your father's. Tough luck on the genetics. The man didn't realize the bent noses were because they'd both been broken in the past. Jason spent days after studying Bruce's face, trying to figure out if their noses really bent in the same way, and eventually came to the conclusion that, yeah, they really did. From that point on, each time either of them broke their nose, Jason would distantly think, Ah, damn, there goes the family resemblance.

As an adult, Jason takes care to make sure people don't often seen his face. The hood does a pretty good job of that. Besides, he doesn't move in circles where the mistake could be made anymore. Still, sometimes he looks in the mirror at the bump in his nose and thinks, Family resemblance. Yeah, right.

It happens less with Tim. Anyone that made the mistake with Jason and Dick also remembered Jack and Janet Drake. It's not until he's almost an adult that a new hire at Wayne Industries, some kid from out of town, sees him and Bruce in the office together and remarks, Oh, you two furrow your eyebrows in the same way when you think. My mom says that my dad and I do that too. We inherited it from my grandpa. Tim feels unsettled all day and makes a conscious effort to not to furrow his eyebrows anymore.

There's no mistake to make with Damian. At least, not the same one that can be made with the others. He's the blood son, and he's a perfect mix between Bruce and Talia. Of course, there's the well-meaning, if confused, adults that assume he's adopted like the others. He corrects them, swiftly, and sometimes aggressively.

There is one incident. It happens while Bruce is gone, after he's been staying with Grayson for a few months. He knew, of course, that people thought that Grayson looked like Bruce. He could even see the similarities. Superficially, of course. However, he never considered that Grayson looking like his father also meant that Grayson looked like him. Not until an old woman leaned over to him at a gala and said, You look just like your father when Mister Wayne first brought him out to these things. The hair, that disgruntled little frown. He hated these parties too. Couldn't ever sit still. Gosh, I really can't believe it's been long enough that he has a child of his own. It took Damian a while to realize what happened, and even then, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wasn't actually Grayson's son, or that he and Grayson weren't actually that far apart in age. He felt strangely guilty the rest of the night, and he never dared to tell Grayson about it.

It happened to Steph exactly once. Really, she doesn't look like Bruce at all. It was a man with exceptionally thick glasses, who actually told her that she reminded him of Martha Wayne. She's pretty sure he was just trying to be nice. She tries to forget about it. She never tells Bruce.

You have his eyes, is what Duke gets. Which confuses him, because, uh, no, he doesn't. Not even close like Dick's. He says as much to the woman that said it to him, and she squints her eyes at him and responds, No, you definitely do. Not in the shape or the color, but you look at things the same way he does. Duke thinks about that sometimes, and he swings back and forth between being annoyed and weirdly proud that he apparently looked at the world like Batman did.

People tell Cass that she has his smile. She beams with pride at that. After all, she learned it from him. She studied, closely, the way his mouth ticked up at the corners, both while he stretched the dazzling, fake smile across his face for the public, and the genuine, gentle smiles that he gave her while he helped tie her hair back or slip on her mask, and now she could replicate them both perfectly. She didn't like the fake one, but she knew it was necessary.

[necroromantics]

Turns out its Mental Health Awareness Month this month.... So since yall know me and my tendency to yap about mental health issues, I'm going to share some of the ways I express mental health in my Creepypasta AUs (Cryptpasta AND Laundry and Taxes, mostly just for Toby and Clockwork). Its kinda long and a nonsensical ramble.... Enjoy

CRYPTPASTA

-Nina was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder when she was 15 after a visit to the psych ward due to attempted suicide after a bad fight with an online boyfriend of hers

-She's very desperate to be loved and cared for, and intensely fears being abandoned to the point she'll put herself in harms way in an impulsive attempt to get people to stay in her life, or care for her, or want to be with her

-She has so much love to give to the point it overwhelms her, and tends to come out of her in forms of jealousy and anger outbursts, and desperate attempts to make people stay, because Nina wants love, and to give love

-Nina is also a very loyal friend who is very ride or die. She knows what its like to be left out, abandoned, betrayed, and she couldn't imagine doing that to the people she loves

-Clockwork also has BPD, she was going to be treated for it during her stay in the psychiatrist hospital when she was 16, before she killed her family, but never got around to it

-Her BPD presents a bit differently than Ninas. Her fear of abandonment and betrayal causes her to push people away entirely, and she struggles a lot with splitting

-She goes from thinking fondly about someone, to thinking they're the worst person in the world who does nothing but hurt her, because hating someone is much easier than risking loving them to her. Clockwork struggles a lot with making and keeping friends, because she can't trust anyone, and she tends to push people away at the tiniest fault as a way to protect herself

-Toby is her Favourite Person (FP), but she tries her best to beat this attachment to him down. Luckily for her, she's stuck with him, and he has zero plans of betraying or hurting her in any way. She tends to split on him a lot though

-Clockwork struggles a lot with anger and emotional dysregulation, she tends to view things in black/white, all or nothing, and is very impulsive. Because her emotions are so overwhelming and guttural, Clockwork struggles to be able to express them at all, and has a very bad habit of beating all her feelings down

-Toby was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when he was 15 after experiencing his first manic episode, where he got into a really bad fight with his dad, ran away from home, and got sent to a psychiatric hospital where he was given proper treatment

-After becoming a proxy, he didn't have access to treatment anymore, and a combination of stress, Slender Sickness, and a lack of sleep, causes him to have more frequent and intense episodes

-During his manic episodes he is very euphoric, always on the move, talks non-stop to the point he doesn't make any sense, has racing thoughts, is insanely energetic, rarely sleeps, and is much more aggressive and irritable. They usually last one or two weeks, but if they're really intense and he's experiencing psychosis, Tim or Jack will get him medication from some victims to regulate him

-His depressive episodes feel like death for him. He isolates himself, always in bed, oversleeping. He's so tired all the time, lethargic and moody, irritable. Toby doesn't want to talk to anyone, he tends to lose all hope and humour, everything seems so heavy and bleak, like every bad thing he's ever done and been through has finally caught up to him

-On really bad days, he'll struggle with suicidal thoughts, where Jack or Brian will talk him down, and Clockwork will just sit quietly by him so he knows he's not alone, because even if it feels like the world is ending, it never really is

-Toby also deals with issues associated with Antisocial Personality Disorder, though he was never officially diagnosed because proxies don't really have psychiatrists

-Toby struggles a LOT with empathy, and is generally an insensitive prick who has a very hard time genuinely caring about other peoples lives or problems. To him, its all about self preservation, every man for himself, and if he's capable of handling his own issues then he shouldn't be expected to coddle "weak people who cant handle their own". This stems heavily from beliefs he learned from his father, and certain mindsets he utilizes to help him get by in his life as a proxy

-He also greatly struggles with appropriate emotional responses, and morality. He doesn't understand why most things are deemed "right" or "wrong", and thinks people are dramatic or care too much for having strong morals on things. Toby says what he wants without and regard for societal norms or rules, things he wasn't really taught anyways

-Toby is also in a constant battle for freedom. At a young age he was made to feel small and powerless, which caused him to constantly feel like he's fighting for power and control in his life. He tends to fulfill these needs by putting others down, or starting fights with people because he always needs to defend himself

-This also makes him a very practical and loyal friend towards the people he's fond of. He's very much an "acts of service" guy because he values his freedom so much, that he's willing to spend his time and effort and give up a little bit of freedom to the people he likes. He's a ride or die friend, and he always encourages people to stand up for themselves and do better for themselves

LAUNDRY AND TAXES

-Laundry and Taxes is an ongoing fanfiction Im writing about what life for the Creepypastas (mostly Toby and Clockwork) would look if they were suddenly transported to a world where nothing bad happened. No murder, no Slenderman.

-It's very personal to me and is about getting better and healing from trauma and mental health issues, and forgiveness, and reconciliation

-I think during mental health awareness its important to bring awareness to the facts and struggles someone might have, but also the recovery. Which is what Im gonna get into here

-The story follows Toby, who constantly struggles with his pride and "me vs the world" mindset

-He learns how to ask for help, how to put his pride aside and seek out support from the people around him. He learns how to open up and trust that people will be kind to him, and that the world isn't as bad as it seems

-His recovery is, as all good things are, insanely difficult and horrible and painful and messy, but theres a lot of focus on how worth it everything is, and how all of that gritted teeth effort, because Toby has no other choice, ends up amounting to something

-He has to face the mistakes he's made, the hurt he's caused, the guilt he pushes down. He has to learn how to be kinder to himself and others. Toby grew up in a world where he believed that it was written from the start for him to be a "bad person", and then he was forced to face the fact that he was the one doing the writing, and he has the ability to write something new for himself

-He also has to face the fact that healing isnt linear, and that the world isn't always a safe, happy place, and Toby has to learn how to handle these things in ways he never did before. Because recovery is all about learning

-The same goes for Natalie, who struggles with her past trauma, and everything she's done, and what has taken from her at a young age

-She learns how to forgive herself, and how to make peace with her anger, and how to be kinder to herself and others as well

-Natalie goes through a lot of the same realizations Toby does, and even though she spent her whole life alone and pushing people away, slowly, she starts to open up to people too and she learns how to challenge her thoughts and distrust. It's a long, difficult journey with her facing her family and her trauma and her guilt and anger, but Natalie learns that there's an entire life of peace and quietness outside of her head, outside of the past

-She learns it's okay to lean on others a bit, and that they wont hurt her, and that it's okay to feel the things she does. Natalie faces her own grief, and how suffocating it is, because its the only way she can face love too

-It takes her longer to get on track to healing because she's spent her entire life running from her problems that she never really knew how to face it, or what to do when it catches up to her. But she does get on track, and she does face her past, and that little girl in her head who's scared all the time, and how angry she is, and how loud everything is, and she becomes able to hold that little girl in her arms and sit with her for a moment

-And then, Natalie learns how to make peace with the world, and for once, she has a weird sort of hope for the future

[mushroomstimboards]

As someone who is autistic/ADHD I have some things I would like to share with people who think that autism or ADHD is just like in movies or tv shows because it's not always the same.

For example yes I do stim and when I do it's mostly because I get excited. I have habit of clapping my hands when I stim and it's usually my excited clapping because that's the way I know that something made me happy and I love it.

Second is when I'm overstimulated I shut myself down. I stop talking for few hours and I don't see anything wrong with this because I don't want to talk to anyone at the moment because everything is too much and I hate everything. I want to hide under my blanket and never come out until I feel better.

Another thing is my special interest. I have lots of them:

Dinosaurs

Dungeons and dragons

Sea life

Moths

Halloween

Horror movies

Aliens

Crime/conspiracy theories

Vampires

Fantasy

Collecting stuff

Fashion

Music

Animals

Learning about psychology

Exploring world

Gravity Falls

Tim Burton movies

Autumn

Doctor who

Star Trek

Dr house

So yeah a lot of things and I often hear that I don't have any interests but it's not true because I often have trouble choosing just one. I often get bored with one and I find something new and then I go back to the old one.

I also enjoy squishy toys. I love them for no reason just find them nice.

Having comfort characters is very important because I need to know that I can relate to someone even if this person is fictional. For example Jack skellington. I got attached to him when I was 10 years old and it's just stayed with me. I also love Ash from evil dead. He's a cool guy.

For many people saying that horror movies bring me comfort is weird but I don't watch them for gore or violence but because only when I watch my favorite horror movie I feel like I'm in my comfort zone. For example I love evil dead because there's cool plot and my favorite characters. It feels nice.

I don't really have comfort food but if I could choose something I would say sushi and grilled cheese sandwich. It's not often that I eat something from my comfort food zone because I can't choose. I just know that I love sweets. I could eat marshmallows all day long until I threw up.

I have comfort clothes I love. My red turtleneck and my bell bottoms. That's why I love autumn.

If I hear someone saying that I don't look autistic I think I look stupid because how exactly I'm supposed to look to fit into autistic look. I look like normal person but sometimes I feel like I'm alien. Just because someone doesn't look autistic doesn't mean they are not autistic.

When it comes to loud noises I'm not fan of them. I have to wear my headphones so my head doesn't explode from amount of loud and annoying sounds I hear every day.

Sensory issues are also very important to me because I absolutely hate tags on my clothes or rubber things. I do enjoy nice soft blanket or warm sweater.

I think that's all for now but you can ask questions if you want. Bye ☺

[bioodorange]

||The Pastas At The Beach||

this was originally like an entirely different post but ehhh this ways better!

disclaimer Im setting this like, at a beach with a boardwalk and such next too it? Public beach, small time vacationing!

and that they conviently like..pass as human

I hope you guys enjoy!! remember too check out my announcement board!

taglist: @frozensriracha @creepy-bi-day @capricornartistsstuff @krayolacolor

Jeff the Killer

Jeff doesn't really do much at the beach

The salt water irritates his skin and he burns easily, doesn't want too deal with it

Spends most of his time asleep

Hogs all the damn towels by sprawling out all over all of them

Gets sand over everything that they brought with them

Forgets how wind works and it gets everywhere

When its time for some of em too go get food, he always fucking goes

Wants too walk around and do something, and maybe not get blamed for all the fucking sand when everyone sits back down

He wears one of those like protective long sleeved shirts? and red swim trunks that are just somewhat obnoxiously bright

While getting the food he has a brilliant idea

Befriends the fucking seagulls

Lures them back too their umbrellas and just vibes with his bird army

atleast he's not alone anymore?

Ben Drowned

first off I know like he doesn't go swimming

but imagine if he did

his fucking goggles get filled up with blood

gets weird ass tan lines from the blood on his face like, when he's not swimming

has too wear the goggles when he puts on sunscreen-

ok ok thats it

fucker wears like mountain dew swim trunks

and those arm floatie things despite not going anywhere near the water

He tries too sit around Jeff but that gets boring fast-

Just walks the fuck off without telling anyone, on a journey for adventure

Will spend literal hours sitting underneath the boardwalk until someone finds him

After that they get him like one of thise beach toy kit things

Sally's nice enough too fill the bucket with water too, so they can make sand castles and stuff

She walks along the shore line with him, gets pretty shells too

Also if Ben were too go in the water

He's a fucking shark magnet with all that blood-

But don't tell him that, he won't come back too the beach

Ticci Toby

Toby is very excited too go to the beach

He didn't get out much as a kid

Siked as hell too get in the water

Drops his stuff off as soon as possible and runs right into the water

And thats when he realizes he can't fucking swim

Awkwardly flaps his arms around until a wave moves him along too back where he can stand

Everyones kinda confused when he comes back like "?? You were so excited, what happened?"

"I can't swim :(("

Cody volunteers to teach him right away, like the great brother he is

The thing is Cody is a horrible fucking teacher

Another few minutes of Toby getting owned by some waves and Cody just screaming stuff like

"Use your arms Toby- no not like that how I showed you- no I'm not going too help how are you supposed to learn-"

That's when Kate drags him back too shore and Doby and Brian teach him instead

In a bit he learns and ends up having a lot of fun

I feel like Toby would really like boogie boarding?

A lot easier then surfing but still a good time

Also they have too tie a red scarf around his arm so they don't loose his ass in a crowd, or in the water

Third Base

so far, Doby's the only one on this list who actually came prepared

I feel like he'd use one of those face lotions that has SPF 30 in it already?

Smart enough so he doesn't have too smear sun screen around his face, can just use the spray stuff and get going

Also has shoes and sunglasses too go with each like swimsuit/outfit he brings

Mans is put together

Really likes collecting shells and stuff

Walks with Sally, shows her how too find them

Wakes up kinda early as it is? So its easy for him too go too the beach early and find the shells before the tide pulls them back out

It's one of his favorite times, actually

The suns just rising, a few shops are opening, only a handful of people are on the beach

Does it everyday as his "alone time" before everyone else wakes up

Spends most of his time with everyone kinda relaxing?

I can see him really liking those beach volleyball games

Or just playing frizbee in the shallow water!

Really, really enjoys making sand castles

Builds a moat and everything so it stays up when the waves start coming closer

X-Virus

Cody, another kid who never got much beach expierence

But acts like he did

Buys one of those waterproof, phone lanyard things

Forgets too fucking close it properly

Doesn't have the first idea of what seagulls are like

"Oh come on buys its fine-" gets fucking owned for his cheesestick

Lowkey scared of them after that

Refuses too eat on the beach after that

Sits with ben under the board walk and curls around his chips

Spends most of his time in the water

Wants too see how far he can go before the lifegaurd calls him back

Finds it funny as shit too just slowly go deeper while grinning at them

Until a wave slaps him in the back of the head

And then he gets scared of the deepwater too

After he looses Swimming Coach privellages gets really fucking salty and sulks on the beach

Kate takes pity on him and walks around the boardwalk with him

But he also didn't know you have too reapply sunscreen after you go swimming

Gets really really bad sunburn

Jeff, Ben and Toby take turns slapping it whenever he gets too cocky

Masky

This is gonna be a Dad Tim one, fight me

Really has no idea what the fuck is going on, but still manages too keep everyone together?

Tells the same story, atleast twice a day, about the killer wave that almost took his shorts off

Gets in fights with seagulls whenever they get realitively close too the group

Also buys one of those crappy beach wagon things too put their stuff in

Buys a mug and cheesy beer koozie

Doesn't enjoy the beach that much but gets excited too go?

Ends up sitting down for most of the time unless he gets dragged on walks

Might just kinda walk until the water is at his knees and just kinda stand there, and nod a little

Giving mother nature his approval

He takes Sally out and holds onto her stomach, lifts her up over the waves whenever they come

Asks her what she can see, before he drops her back down

Tries it with Ben, gets kicked in the gut-

Favorite time is when it's dark and they go

Not for a long time, just a few minutes too walk along the shore before it gets dark

Hoodie

Designated photographer

Is supposed too be taking photos but mostly gets footage of the stupid shit that happens

Like Jeff not being able too figure out the dishwasher or Clockwork wrestling with her dresser where only half the drawers worked

Just kinda sits back and watches things go up in flames

He's the designated like playlist guy too? On the drive over, whenever he got bored just

"Hey what song should I play?"

And watches chaos ensue

His vacation is watching everyone else have a bad time

Makes up for it though, saves them a shit ton of money by making dinner every night.

I feel like he genuinely enjoys late nights on the beach, like Tim

Gets some beautiful photos of the water, and people taking walks that he's pretty damn proud of

Maybe once or twice he'll join Doby for a walk too get pictures of the rising sun

Likes getting small things from the gift shops

Shark teeth, maybe a cheesy snowglobe

Something silly but nice too remember the trip by

Eyeless Jack

first things first, ya know those double-lens glasses? Like you flip up the sunglass part and theres normal lenses underneath? Someone gave him those

But their are crappy eyes painted on the normal lenses

He's very confused but its just ridiculous enough for him too like

The beach isn't his favorite place, I HC him as nocturnal and most things are open during the day

He takes too the rides and crappy carnival games that are open late at night

He can't see everything super well but makes up fun things for himself

Enjoys going on rollercoasters that he has no idea what the hell the drops look like

Fucking hates bumper cars

Can't tell where everyone's coming from or when

More nerve racking then fun

Whenever they go to the beach beach he just kind of chills

Akwardly curls up on a towel because he's big as shit

Where ever they stay he walks around, uses his echo location shit too find out all its quirks

"This walls more hallow then that one- those support beams in the lobby are doing a very shitty job of keep things together"

Loves sitting out on the balcony and just smelling the salt air, listening too people laughing and the ocean waves

Just the small details a lot of people miss

[catxsnow]

TIM DRAKE SMUT ALPHABET

I’m bored so I complied all the Tim smut alphabet requests that I got several weeks back into one post so it’s easier to read lol. None of these are new, they’ve all been posted before, just making it for you new comers! 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Tim likes to have a shower with you after. There’s nothing more sensual to him than washing each other’s bodies. The mix of sweat and cum that you guys made together, are washed away together. He just wants to take care of you at all times.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your favourite body part of his is his back. He’s got the nicest, muscular back and it’s the sole reason that you always offer to give him massages (which nearly always end up with sex)

His favorite of yours is lips/mouth. He loves kissing you, the sounds that you make, and mostly when their wrapped around his dick.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As I said in the body part ^ Tim loves your mouth and he sure as fuck loves to cum in it. There’s nothing sexier to him than watching you swallow his load. It’s his favourite place to cum.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tim once jacked off while he was out on patrol. You begged him all evening to stay home and he promised he wouldn’t be long. That was a lie, he had been out all night and you needed him. So, you sent him a rather extensive video of you pleasuring yourself and he couldn’t take the wait to get back across the city to see you.

E = Experience 

Tim knows what he’s doing, but he hasn’t been with that many people. He’s mostly learned and adapted to what you like rather than base what he knows off of his past. It’s more important to specialize in exactly what feels good for you rather than what he assumes you like. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Tim’s favourite is the face off (idk what it’s actually called sorry) When he’s sitting up and you’re riding his cock. He loves this because he get’s to have that closeness to you and it’s more sensual. It’s a versatile position - the bed, his office chair, the batcave chair, the training mat - His office chair.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

Depends on the location. In his room? Tim will crack a joke here and there just to keep you entertained. In his office though, boy oh boy is he completely different. Tim’s already got his big boss attitude from his long day’s work and he definitely keeps it up with you. Bossy Tim is a whole new level of hot. 

H = Harmony (do they like music in the background?)

If he’s in his room, he’ll put some music on in the background. Nothing with lyrics, just instrumentals. Never too loud either, he wants to hear you more than he wants to hear the music. However, if any of his brother’s are staying in the same house as him, he always turns the music up loud enough to drown out your sounds. No way is he letting his brother’s know just how hot you sound when he’s fucking you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Tim’s pretty romantic. He doesn’t want to fuck you like you’re some kind of whore (but enjoys it on the occasion). He’d rather praise you and enjoy how close the two of you are.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Since dating you, Tim doesn’t jack off very often. He only ever does if you’re apart and you ask him for a video of him. Just because Tim doesn’t feel the need to masturbate while he’s away doesn’t mean the same for you. You’re begging him through text and telling him how much you miss his cock in you. Tim makes sure he’s extra vocal as he’s thinking about you sucking him off rather than only having his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Tim likes some light bondage. He loves when your hands are tied up and you can’t aid to your own pleasure (even though he does a good enough job on his own). Nothing too crazy. He hates when you do it to him though, Tim needs to have his hands on you at all times.

Orgasm control. He doesn’t pull this very often but he’ll make you wait to cum. If you cum without him saying, he’ll go through it again and again until you get it right.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Like I said in my previous post, he’ll fuck you in his office. It might not be the most comfortable place, but there’s no better feeling that having you bent over his desk while he’s pounding into you. He sound proofed his office just so you didn’t have to hold back your moans.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tim see’s you in lingerie and he’s done for. He think’s it’s unbelievably sexy and he won’t waste a second to fuck you without taking it off. The worst is when you send him a picture of you in it while he’s at work. Half the time he leaves the building just to show you how hard you make him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Tim hates the idea of cuckholding. Literally the idea of another man fucking you while he just watches is his worst nightmare. He’s the only one allowed to bring you pleasure. Tim wouldn’t be opposed to a threesome though

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to receive. Tim loves getting head from you. However, he also loves when you sit on his face too and boy is he good at it. Tim’s learned just the right combo of licking and sucking. You put a kink in his neck one time from it and Bruce questioned what had happened. Thank god he was a great liar.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Tim’s more slow and hard. He doesn’t want to rush things with you but he wants to slam his hips so hard that you’re seeing spots. He’s more about getting as deep as he can rather than as fast as he can.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not a huge fan. Tim likes to prolong fucking you when he can, so when you guys are rushed, he knows that he’s not doing his best performance. He’ll do them when need be but it’s not his ideal time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Look all I’m saying is that Tim would, has, and will fuck you in his WE office. It’s his company and he can do as he pleases in his building.

Tim has his classic positions that he preferences but he is willing to try new things if you bring it up.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Tim can go a lot of rounds, like a lot. However, he doesn’t last particularly long. He loves being inside you, and the pleasure of it all is sometimes just too much for him to handle. He never quits until you’re tired though - he could go all night if you wished. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Tim doesn’t own toys for himself but he bought some for you. He encourages you to use them when he’s away on missions and he nearly cums in his pants when you send a lengthy video of you using them. He uses them in bed occasionally too if he’s on the mood to over stimulate.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He teases you just enough to get frustrated. Tim knows your limits better than anyone else, he knows when you’re on the edge of cumming and he knows exactly when to stop. He’ll deny your orgasm but if he does it more than once then he’ll make it up to you for the rest of the night.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not that loud. Tim will express how he’s feeling rather than making noises. He’s king of dirty talk which came out of nowhere with how awkward he can be. Tim constantly praises you for what you do and you know if you get a long moan out of him then you’re doing one hell of a good job.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

As CEO of WE, he had important business dinners he attended to and most times you went with him.  Tim was feeling ridiculously bold one night. You guys saw side by side and not even ten minutes into the night he was slipping his hand between your thighs and teasing you through your underwear. It was the first time that you had worn a short dress to the dinner meeting and you regretted it. Tim never brought you close enough to an orgasm but the endless teasing all night had led to the most intense sex you ever had with him.

X = X-marks the spot (where’s their favourite place to give/receive hickies)

Tim loves to leave them all over his chest. He knows they’re there, but no one else does. He only wants you and him to see the marks he leaves on you. As much as you like leaving them where everyone can see, he’s got a multi-billion dollar company to run and people already see him as childish they don’t need another excuse. You settle for right where the edge of his suit would be, sometimes they just barely peak out.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Tim can fuck as much as he wants. He’s not constantly horny, but if you’re in the mood then he’s not gonna deny it. Tim’s sex drive isn’t intense, but he can’t go over a week without you either, he’ll go crazy.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends. Tim’s used to being awake for a while so if he needs to stay up afterwards he can. However, he loves falling asleep with you in his arms right afterwards if he can Cockwarming maybe. 

[the-perfunctorily]

Who Killed Jon?

A meta post intended to (not very) seriously look at all the possible suspects in the Mutiny at Castle Black, and narrow it down to a few characters with motive, and means to be involved.

Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat,[...]"For the Watch." Wick slashed at him again. [...] Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. "For the Watch." He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it. (ADWD, Jon XII)

We know for a fact that Bowen Marsh and Wick Whittlestick were part of the mutiny. But at least four people stab Jon, likely more. So, who were they?

This is intended mostly just as reference for myself as to who was where and when, and a fun game of clue, and mostly just speculation and headcanon to procrastinate on projects, and not really meant to be taken seriously (yes, I wrote 5000 words on a post that is not meant to be taken seriously. Such is life) I’m sure nothing I’ve put down is very revolutionary. We just like to have fun here.

This post also came into being because I think it’s very easy to imagine that it’s just Everyone that turns against Jon, which leads to a really bleak outlook for the Wall plot in TWOW. I’ve seen people worrying that Satin will be harmed by the other brothers, or that Val and Little Monster may be hurt, either by them or by Melisandre. These are all possibilities,  but I don’t believe that it’s necessarily true that Jon has no allies left. So I wanted to eliminate as many people as I could. When I get right down to it, I can only come up with 9 people who have either circumstantial evidence to suggest their involvement, or motive I can scrape together. So I believe there could be a solid pro-Jon contingent still at the Wall post-assassination, and his friends and vulnerable people he was protecting might not be doomed.

The suspect list is near the end in bolded large font so if you want to skip the long and mostly unnecessary eliminations, just scroll to there to see who I actually think might have been involved.

For formatting and clarity reasons all lists will be bolded, and I’ll bold every name at the point that I either count them in or out of the suspect list.

First off, I’m going to assume that Bowen Marsh was the main force of will behind the mutiny, and base my assessment of who was involved on who would ally themselves with him and what I believe to be his motives. This might not be true. He might just have been a participant, but I think he has the means, and the motive to have orchestrated it, and don’t see any other candidates for mastermind, unless GRRM pulls a complete Asimov ‘Mule’ gambit, which I will get to in my final suspect list. I think Bowen Marsh did not want to kill Jon, but believed he had to, for the good of the watch. I believe his anti-wildling feelings and traditionalist values were a big part of why he did it, and I think he did it to preserve the way he believed the watch is supposed to and has always operated. So people who hate wildlings, people who hate Jon’s radical policies and would want a return to how it was during Mormont’s command and before, people who are close associates of Marsh’s, and people who have personal reasons to hate Jon are my main suspects.

Now. To get started, I have to ask. Who would want to kill Jon? Fortunately, several people have openly threatened, or implied that they want to kill him in the past! Unfortunately, they all have strong alibis.

Ser Alliser Thorne: 

You'd best pray that it's a wildling blade that kills me, though. The ones the Others kill don't stay dead … and they remember. I'm coming back, Lord Snow (ADWD, Jon VI)

Alibi: is currently out ranging with Dywen, MIA beyond the Wall

Mance Rayder: 

I could visit you as easily, my lord. Those guards at your door are a bad jape. A man who has climbed the Wall half a hundred times can climb in a window easy enough (ADWD, Melisandre)

Alibi: is currently trapped in Winterfell on a mission to rescue ‘Arya’, allegedly imprisoned in a cage

Stannis:

 He only threatened to behead me twice. (ADWD, Jon I)

Alibi: Is snowbound in a crofter’s village about three days from Winterfell, and probably didn’t even really mean it.

Cotter Pyke: 

“Lord Snow," said Cotter Pyke, "if you muck this up, I'm going to rip your liver out and eat it raw with onions." (ASOS, Jon XII)

Alibi: Is currently having a very bad time on a boat near hardhome, on Jon’s orders, also probably didn’t really mean it.

That leaves everyone at Castle Black at the time of the mutiny. This includes Selyse, her household and knights, Melisandre, Tormund and his ~50 wildlings, and all the sworn brothers and recruits of the Watch.

I’m going to discount anyone in Selyse’s camp, despite them being at Castle Black at the time of the attack, and even present at the event, because Jon is Stannis’ principal ally at the Wall, and much as Selyse might dislike him personally, I don’t think she would involve any of her knights or retainers in a plot to have him killed. Melisandre might have the ability to take control of Selyse’s knights because they are all fervent believers, but she likes Jon, and thinks he is an important ally, so I don’t think she would do anything to harm him either.

Similarly, I’m going to discount Tormund and any of the wildlings he brought from Oakenshield. The mutiny was motivated partly by anti-wildling sentiment, and disapproval of Jon’s welcoming of wildlings south of the Wall, so I don’t think that Bowen Marsh would ally himself with them. Furthermore, the mutiny takes place right after Jon has given a speech endearing himself to the wildlings, I don’t think they would suddenly turn against him after cheering and swearing to come with him to Winterfell. This includes Borroq, who, though he speaks derisively to Jon, and Ghost reacts aggressively towards him and his boar, I think means no ill will towards them. I actually think he will be instrumental in facilitating Jon’s resurrection. For what it’s worth, I think most of his smugness and rudeness toward Jon is because Jon is not acknowledging his own warging abilities, not because of personal animosity. And Ghost’s aggression is more due to his past experience with other skinchangers (namely Orell the eagle trying to break his neck and then later trying to rip Jon’s eye out) being averse, than any sense of ill-intent. A lot of stock is put in the direwolves’ intuition about who means their Starkling harm, but in reality I think it is more based on the kid’s personal feelings that they aren’t acknowledging. Grey Wind wants to hurt Tyrion in AGOT despite him being innocent of the attempt on Bran’s life, but shows no ill will towards Lothar Frey, one of the main architects of the Red Wedding. Jon is suspicious of Borroq, so Ghost is, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he is an enemy.

I’m also going to exclude guys who are not explicitly stated to have died or been sent elsewhere, but for some reason do not appear in the ADWD appendix or the wiki as being at Castle Black during ADWD. These are:

Bass: The Castle Black master of hounds, I’m assuming he went on the ranging and didn’t survive, since nobody seems to be keeping any hounds at Castle Black anymore.

Red Jack Crabb and Rusty Flowers: Were supposed to escort Janos Slynt to Greyguard. Presumably they were sent there after his execution.

Rudge: helps Donal Noye fix Longclaw in AGoT, but is not mentioned again, nor does he appear in any other appendix. Maybe he died on the ranging, or was sent to another tower. Maybe he died of personal problems.

Ser Wynton Stout: Ostensibly commanded Castle Black while Bowen marsh was away with the Garrison chasing raiders and then fighting on the bridge of skulls. He appears in the AFFC appendix but not in the ADWD one, I’m assuming he died of old age somewhere between books.

Also not included in the appendix are the two unnamed recruits that were part of Conwy’s first group of prisoners, a barber “a greybeard leaning on a staff” and a brigand “some grinning loon who must have fancied himself a warrior” (ACOK, Jon I). These guys might have died during the attack on Castle Black, might have sworn their vows at some point during ADWD, or might still be recruits with Hop-Robin and Jace. But they aren’t named so I’m not going to worry about them.

This leaves the men of the Watch who are stated, or implied to be at Castle Black at the time of the mutiny for our suspect list. Here they are in alphabetical order, according to both the wiki and the ADWD appendix.

Albett, Alf of Runnymudd, Arron, Bearded Ben, Black Bernarr, Septon Cellador, Clydas, Cugen (or Cuger), Dannel, Sweet Donnel Hill, Duncan “Big” Liddle, Elron, Emrick, Fulk the Flea, Garrett Greenspear, Geoff the Squirrel, Goady, Halder, Hareth “Horse”, Three-Finger Hobb, Hop-Robin, Jace, Jax, Jeren, Kegs, Leathers, Left Hand Lew, Luke of Longtown, Matthar, Mully, Othell Yarwyck, Owen the Oaf, Rory, Satin, Spare Boot, Tim Stone, Tim Tangletongue, Ty, Tom Barleycorn, and Ulmer of the Kingswood.

Obviously there are probably more men than this, I don’t think it’s ever actually said how many brothers are still at the castle at the end of ADWD, but it’s probably more than just 40. (though maybe not by much? it feels quite empty there and everyone expresses feeling outnumbered by wildings and Kings/Queens men) However, this is a post about who, of the people we know, killed Jon. There isn’t much of a point if it’s unnamed stewards #23 and #17.

Next, I’ll remove people I believe like Jon and wouldn’t hurt him, and have no reason to suspect. However, I wouldn’t put it past GRRM to make one or more of these guys a mutineer for the emotional toll it would take.

Albett, Matthar, and Jeren: All of them were recruits with Jon that he never clashed with directly, they were even friends. Matt had Septon Cellador light a candle for Ned when news came to Castle Black of his execution and he was one of the boys that went with Pyp and Grenn to bring Jon back when he rode off. (side note, I find it very funny that these guys are all just At The Castle while Jon is doing his ‘woe is me the lonely friendless commander’ bit. Dude, half of your graduating class is standing right there)

Arron and Emrick, Horse, Jace, and Hop-Robin: Recruits that came to the Wall either right before or while the great ranging was gone. They fought alongside Jon to defend the Wall, and trained under him briefly. Horse lived in mole’s town and only survived the attack because Jon warned the people there, and he decided to take the black after the battle. I would imagine that he thinks very highly of Jon. When they are made brothers, the twins accompany Horse (and Leathers and Jax, all followers of the old gods) to the wierwood grove to say their vows despite following the Seven. They are all close enough in age to Jon’s friends and would have had lots of time to get to know them during the ranging. None of them ever knew the Old Bear, so wouldn’t have any nostalgia about his tenure as LC. They seem like the best candidates for Jon loyalists to me.

Duncan “Big” Liddle: As the eldest son of Torren Liddle, he is Morgan “Middle” Liddle’s big brother. Morgan Liddle is among the northmen that join with Stannis’ army. He is the loudest shouter of the “Ned’s Girl” refrain, suggesting that his main reason for joining is because of him and his house’s strong feelings of loyalty to house Stark and Ned’s legacy. Also, Bran runs into a Liddle subject (or so he thinks) on the way to the Wall who expresses strong pro-Stark sentiments. I’m going to say that Big Liddle shares his family’s warm feelings toward the Starks, and would be loyal to Jon, him being ‘Ned’s Boy’.

Three-finger Hobb: Was always nice to Jon, even if he was exasperated about the wildlings and having to do a whole wedding feast. He seems an easygoing sort and not someone that could be manipulated into doing a mutiny. Also he was nice to Sam and gave him a salted ham for a nameday present, so I will not hear anything bad about the man. That said, he’s a long-time associate of Bowen Marsh, and being the chief cook, they would work very closely together, so it wouldn’t actually surprise me if he was involved.

Jax and Leathers: As former wildlings, I don’t think they would work with Bowen Marsh. It was Jon who facilitated their coming south and they took the black of their own free will. Also leathers was actively intervening in Wun Wun’s meltdown during the mutiny, so he had his hands full, and besides, he seemed like a good pal to Jon.

Owen the Oaf: He’s a nice boy and was happy to follow Jon’s orders, also Jon let him have Janos Slynt’s Boots.

Satin: If GRRM makes Satin complicit in the mutiny I’ll cry, so I simply won’t entertain the possibility.

I’ll also mention that in Jon VI, he sends out nine men on a ranging. I’ve taken out all the ones that are named: Dywen, Ser Alliser Thorne, Kedge Whiteye, and the three men who’s eyeless heads turn up just outside the gate, victims of the Weeper: Hairy Hal, Black Jack Bulwer, And Garth Greyfeather. This leaves three men that go unnamed. One in Dywen and Ser Alliser’s party, and two in Kedge’s. They are presumably experienced rangers. They might just be unnamed, unlisted watchmen, but they also might be some of the above brothers. Bearded Ben, Black Bernarr, Sweet Donnel Hill, Elron, Geoff, Goady, and Tim Stone are not mentioned after Jon sends out the ranging, so it might be any of them. I’m going to discount them all, because I don’t see any real motives there anyway, except Sweet Donnel and Goady, for reasons I’ll get to later.

Jon also sends an unknown number of guides with Stannis in Jon IV, and later with Tycho Nestoris in Jon IX. None of them are named, they might have been stewards or rangers, who knows, I’m not going to speculate.

Now,  there are several Rangers here who could go one way or the other, so I’m not going to spend time on the ones that are at Castle Black during the mutiny but don’t have much of a motive. They might have, they might not have been part of the mutiny. But Since Bowen Marsh was in charge, I think that it was mostly made up of stewards. So I’m going to take Garrett Greenspear, Luke of Longtown, Rory, Tom Barleycorn, and Ulmer off the suspect list. (Also I like Ulmer, and think he’s cool, so there. Also what’s up with Tom Barleycorn. Have you guys ever heard the song John Barleycorn must die? Where a symbolic figure of the harvest named John Barleycorn is sacrificed to be resurrected in spring and keep people alive with sustenance and alcohol? Kind of sus when this guy named TOM Barleycorn is at the castle where a main character named Jon dies and is presumably going to be resurrected, and likely have a hand in ending the winter.)

Similarly, for the builders, Othell Yarwyck, as the first Builder, and frequent Naysayer of Jon’s, is a prime suspect. However, even if Othell was involved, which is a distinct possibility, I don’t think he would have ordered his men to also involve themselves. So I’m going to take Kegs and Spare Boot off the list, since I don’t see a motive for either of them, and they both seemed very enthusiastic about fighting alongside Jon during Mance’s assault.

And as for stewards. As the men directly under Bowen Marsh’s command, they are the most likely to be involved, So I’m just going to say that I have no real reason to think Ty, Cugen, Tim Tangletongue (who does not appear in the text but is in the appendix), or Dannel would turn on Jon, but they very well might have, and I wouldn’t be very surprised if they did. For the record, Dannel gave Alys Karstark a sausage from the kitchen when he and Ty found her, and that alone endears him to me enough to take him off the list, and Cugen is only ever mentioned here:

Sam will remain in training, with the likes of Rast and Cuger and these new boys who are coming up the Kingsroad. Gods only know what they'll be like (AGOT Jon V)

as a recruit that might hurt Sam if he did not graduate with Jon and the others, so perhaps he would be anti-Jon, as someone associated with Rast

All of this said, Chett’s prologue is pretty much a direct message from GRRM that even guys who Jon barely notices might hate him and wish him ill. Since we only see the Wall through Jon’s PoV, we are going to have the same blind spots he does. So any of these half mentioned, mostly forgotten guys might harbor some intense resentment, and have all the reason in the world to kill Jon. But for the purposes of this post, I am focusing on characters that I think make sense as being anti-Jon, and there’s no way to speculate on people with no evidence to suggest them.

So, finally, having eliminated everyone without motive or evidence, this leaves only the characters I actually have reason to suspect were involved. The suspect list is as follows:

Alf of Runnymudd, Septon Cellador, Clydas, Sweet Donnel Hill, Fulk the Flea, Goady, Left Hand Lew, Mully, and Othell Yarwyck.  

I’ll go from least to most likely mutineers, listing reasons I suspect them, and reasons I think they might not have been involved.

9&8 : Mully and Fulk the Flea.

Evidence: Ghost acts aggressively towards them while they are guarding the armory the day of the Mutiny.

Fulk the Flea [said], "but your wolf's in no mood for company today.”

Mully agreed. "He tried to take a bite o' me, he did.” (ADWD, Jon XIII)

Alibi: Neither has any history of being anti-Jon that I can find, and personally, I like Mully because he is named after Mulligan the orange cat, here pictured with Parris  

which I think is just too cute, so if either of them were involved I would prefer it were Fulk. I know that’s not a real reason but its my list and I make the rules. Anyway as I said before, Ghost being aggressive doesn’t necessarily mean guilt. At this point, Ghost is paranoid because Jon is paranoid, feeling people around him plotting against him. Fulk and Mully might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

7: Goady

Evidence: He was part of Jarman Buckwell’s scouting party on the Giant’s Stair, which spotted Jon among the wildlings. I imagine it would be very hard to shake the image of Jon as a wildling, even after he is elected Lord Commander. Especially if he then turns around and lets those same wildlings through the Wall.

Alibi: He does not appear in the text of ADWD, only the appendix, and his only mention in the books at all is in the Storm of Swords Chett prologue, in Kedge Whiteye’s dialogue

 “Harma the Dogshead has the van, the poxy bitch. Goady crept up on her camp and saw her” (ASOS, Prologue) 

so who knows what he’s actually up to. He may very well be with Kedge Whiteye out ranging right now, since he’s an experienced scout,  and they seem to be good buds. I just wanted to include him because he’s the only surviving member of Buckwell’s party that isn’t explicitly stated to be elsewhere.

6: Septon Cellador

Evidence: Vocally disapproving of most of Jon’s decisions, extremely homophobic towards Satin, Religiously intolerant towards followers of the old gods, and racist toward the wildlings, he is definitely a leader in the anti-Jon contingent. In fact, I don’t doubt at all that the had a hand in planning the mutiny.

Alibi: I don’t think he has the guts to actually stab anyone, and considering the mutiny took place at night, he was probably too drunk to stand, let alone participate.

5: Clydas

Evidence: Here is the Mule theory. (I don’t actually believe this, but it would be a wild curveball for GRRM to throw, and I wouldn’t put it past him) Clydas was the last person to handle the Pink Letter, being the one to give it to Jon. Clydas can read, and manages all the correspondences coming to, or going from Castle Black. This gives him ample opportunity to interfere with incoming mail. We know the letter may have been faked or at least tampered with, since the wax seal is only a smear by the time it comes into Jon’s possession. It’s entirely possible that Clydas was working with, or masterminding the mutineers to forge all or some part of the Pink Letter in order to incite Jon to forswear himself.

Here’s the thing. Clydas has been assisting Maester Aemon since before Jon Arrived at the Wall, he likely was aware of Jon’s hand in getting Sam into Chett’s position, he was privy to Jon’s chafing about being assigned to the stewards, and probably knew about Jon’s desertion attempt. Clydas helped Sam count the votes for Lord Commander, and who knows how much he figured out about the election rigging. He has never stated much of an opinion on any of it, and often plays the dim, forgettable assistant. However, what if he was smarter than he was letting on? What if his impression of Jon was that of a manipulative ambitious young man willing to cheat the system to get what he wants. What if he, knowing Jon, having observed him from the age of fourteen, and read every letter written by, to, or about him, and was likely also privy to many conversations between high officers (including his uncle) about him, knew exactly what Jon cared about, and what buttons to press that would make Jon instantly too angry to think straight, and decided to put that into action, and team up with (or even manipulate) Bowen Marsh, who had his own reasons to want Jon gone, and the command of enough men to get the job done.

Alibi: I don’t want him to be involved!! :(( He’s never been anything but kind to Jon, asking if he’s alright, seeing if he’s ok after the news about ‘Arya’, calling him Jon instead of my lord, almost fondly. I would be really sad if he was. Also, while he may have been involved in the planning and orchestration part, I don’t think he participated in the physical assassination attempt. He is frail and old with poor vision, and two hours and change before the mutiny, Jon has Mully and Satin escort him back up to his chamber in the maester’s keep because it is so icy. I don’t know if he could make it back down to the yard in the dark to do a stabbing in that time.  

4: Sweet Donnel Hill

Evidence: He was part of the Chett’s planned mutiny at the Fist of the First Men, survived the Fight at the Fist, and made it to Craster’s keep. However at Craster’s he stayed loyal to the Watch, and was among those survivors to make it back to the Wall with Grenn and Dolorous Edd. This seems to me like a man that is fully willing to get rid of a Lord Commander if he disagrees with his leadership, but who remains loyal to the principles of the Watch. This is exactly what the spirit of the mutiny was, in my opinion, and puts him high on my list. Not to mention the fact that he is a steward, and thus under Marsh’s command.

Alibi: He is not mentioned after Jon III when he is one of the archers that shoots Rattleshirt disguised as Mance as he is burned alive, he may have been sent elsewhere by the time of the mutiny, or is simply not an active enough Jon disapprover to be noticed by him, which suggests his uninvolvement.

3: Othell Yarwyck

Evidence: As I stated before, Othell is a close associate of Bowen Marsh’s and among the chorus of naysayers that become constant fixtures in Jon’s ADWD chapters. He’s a traditionalist, and a better follower than a leader. 

Othell Yarwyck was not a man of strong convictions (ASOS, Jon XIII) 

I definitely think Bowen could sway him, they are on first name terms, have worked together for a while, and probably talk about what Jon is doing that they don’t like when he isn’t there. He is also present in the Shield Hall by Bowen when Jon reads the letter, and leaves with him when he storms out.

Alibi: The first inkling we get that Bowen is harboring malice towards Jon is that he refuses wine or food in Jon VIII. At that time, Othell happily takes a seat and a sausage. As the sort not to think too deeply on things, 

Othell Yarwyck was as stolid and unimaginative as he was taciturn (ADWD. Jon V) 

he might not second guess Jon’s orders beyond what Bowen tells him to, so he might not harbor the same anti-Jon sentiments. He’s not one to rock the boat, killing the lord commander is a big boat rocking. I believe he knew about the plot, and that Bowen would want him in on it, but IDK if he would be directly involved.

2: Left Hand Lew

I must admit I have no motive for him. But he’s standing right with Bowen and Wick Whittlestick in the shield hall, 

Bowen had Wick Whittlestick, Left Hand Lew, and Alf of Runnymudd beside him] (ADWD Jon XIII)

and we have no other evidence for Wick until he physically tries to cut Jon’s throat (well besides that he is the keeper of the keys to the food stores, which would obviously be a position that worked VERY closely under Bowen Marsh), so I have to put him top of the list. He’s standing with the primary perpetrators just moments before the crime is committed. He was probably the third or fourth knife. I don’t have an alibi for him either.

1: Alf of Runnymudd

The same things can be said about Alf that have been said about Lew. He was standing with Bowen and Wick in the shield hall, he left with them when they stormed out. However. Unlike Lew or Wick, Alf has a definite motive.

In Melisandre’s chapter, we get some characterization for Alf. He is a builder, he took R’hllor for his god (of his own free will) and, most importantly, when it is revealed who was killed by the Weeper, he screams and breaks down crying to hear that Garth Greyfeather was one of them. He’s so distraught he has to be drugged and put to bed.

“Who is it?" asked Owen the Oaf. "Not Dywen, is it?"

"Nor Garth," said the queen's man she knew as Alf of Runnymudd, one of the first to exchange his seven false gods for the truth of R'hllor. "Garth's too clever for them wildlings."

"How many?" Mully asked.

"Three," Jon told them. "Black Jack, Hairy Hal, and Garth."

Alf of Runnymudd let out a howl loud enough to wake sleepers in the Shadow Tower.

"Put him to bed and get some mulled wine into him," Jon told Three-Finger Hobb.  (ADWD, Melisandre)

@nobodysuspectsthebutterfly​ has written before about the possibility that Alf and Garth were in a gay relationship. I fully subscribe to this idea, and if you know me at all, you know I am a huge proponent of the Wall Husbands concept, and think there is probably a decent population of gay men on the Wall (my main choices for this being Benjen, Dolorous Edd, Big Liddle, and Waymar Royce [you may notice the pattern of them being sons of lords who joined of their own free will. It just makes sense to me that a lord’s son who for SOME reason didn’t want to have to get married to a woman would consider the option of joining an order of men that live together and never marry]) 

So my theory regarding Alf, is that he blames Jon for the death of Garth Greyfeather, his lover. Because Jon sent the ranging out knowing full well that few rangers are making it back alive, and here’s the clincher. Despite his many crimes, Jon is still willing to pardon the Weeper  

“Surely the lord commander cannot mean to allow that ... that demon [The Weeper] through as well?” [said Bowen Marsh]

“Not gladly.” Jon had not forgotten the heads the Weeping Man had left him, with bloody holes where their eyes had been. Black Jack Bulwer, Hairy Hal, Garth Greyfeather. I cannot avenge them, but I will not forget their names. “But yes, my lord, him as well. We cannot pick and choose amongst the free folk, saying this one may pass, this one may not. Peace means peace for all. [...] When a man takes the black, his crimes are forgiven,” Jon reminded them. “If we want the free folk to fight beside us, we must pardon their past crimes as we would for our own.” (ADWD, Jon XI)

If news of that got to Alf, I easily imagine he would be fully on board with killing him, and might have gone and tried it himself even without Bowen Marsh’s prompting. All of this makes him my suspect #1 for third or fourth knife. I think his story is a tragedy and really really hope he gets some moments in TWOW and is not just killed off right away. 

[thelatetimothylawrence]

I never made a mobile-friendly post with my Verses and Rules so... just check under the cut, I guess?

I'll also pin it to be easy to access.

VERSES

Borderlands 3 - After Jackpot

The “default” verse for my roleplay, unless stated otherwise. Thanks to the help of Moxxi and the Vault Hunters, he was able to flee from that golden Jack-shaped prison and try to search a new place where he could start over and finally live his own life, even if having the voice and appearances (and also DNA) of a deceased dictator will not make it easy. To overcome all of this and the traumas he suffered, Timothy will need time…but now he finally has all the time he needs. Free. (small note: for this verse, Tim got a new hand thanks to FL4K building it like they do for their pets)

Tag: #[verse: after jackpot]

Pre-Sequel - Jimothy the Body Double

Basically, a verse that takes place in the Pre-Sequel Era after he got tricked into the surgery, whole body-double/Vault Hunter gig.

Tag: #[verse: jimothy]

Borderlands 2 - Still a Doppelganger

After the events of Pre-Sequel and before the death of Handsome Jack, a sort of AU where he didn’t get sent to the Jackpot and continues acting as a double for Jack. He was branded, dons the mask, and he’s the firts of the doubles…the other double (mostly pocket-watch doubles) consider him being the “favourite” since he’s the first one, but he suffers the same consequences - or probably worse - as the others if he stumbles upon the wrath of Jack. He doesn’t like having to continue being a double, but what other option there is for someone like him?

Tag: #[verse: still a doppelganger]

Post-TPS/early BL2 and after - Timothy the Renegade

Another sort of AU. After the events of TPS and after the branding, Timothy finally finds the courage to flee from Jack and Hyperion. Faking to being busy with some business for Jack on Concordia, he stops by Nurse Nina to get the infamous bomb out of his body and remove the clasps of the mask (the surgeries were irreversible but at least those things where fixable) - paying well to ensure that she’ll never tell that he has been there - and defects on Pandora. The best way to hide something, sometimes is in plain sight. Also, no one would notice someone that keeps his face hidden between all the masked bandits that live on that planet. There, he lives as a bounty hunter and by not staying too long on the same place.

His hair is kept long, in a low ponytail, the scarred face usually his hidden with goggles and a scarf, the voice is changed through a modulator that keeps hidden under the scarf. Tim still has the watch with his diji-jacks, he was able to alter their code so Jack couldn’t use the watch to track him down nor control it, and also made them able to mimic his disguise so they won’t out his identity. No more silly one-liners, their AI was improved after the Elpis’ events.

Tag: #[verse: renegade]

Pre-Canon - Freckled Ginger

Before the Pre-Sequel. Timothy was a simple guy - with ginger hair, freckles and glasses - attempting at completing his college studies while the loan he had to take was keeping him more than broke. But he didn’t want to go back to his family after he insisted to go to that college instead of a community one. He won’t be able to handle the shame of failing, nor having to admit that he has a big debt on his shoulders because he wanted to chase his dream to become a writer.

Tag: #[verse: freckled ginger]

RULES

Basics

I have roleplaying experience, but not on Tumblr

English is not my language, sorry in advance

I’m shit at formatting, but I’ll try my best

Even though my schedule is embarassingly open, I can’t assure to be active often or be able to reply fast because of both timezones (I’m in GMT+1) or because my mental health told me to go fuck myself to take a break for a bit.

Will be roleplaying when I’m on computer, because I hate that the phone keyboard hides almost all the text editor of Tumblr app.

Now the real rules:

I won’t be writing any sexual NSFW content: I’m not comfortable with that.

Any other thing (adult or not) found in the Borderlands universe is fine with me, just don’t make me write the hanky-panky.

As stated before, I’m not good with formatting posts

I don’t have a fixed lenght for replies, but I’ll try to adapt to the other’s style… but I can’t guarantee to be able to write sth lenghty bc of language skills barrier.

There won’t be icons in my replies because I know myself and I’ll end up forgetting to add them quite soon.

I’m not selective currently, I just want to roleplay and have fun. Probably I will not be following back non-rp blogs simply to keep dash & notifications tidy.

OC friendly! I love seeing Borderlands OCs and if you have an about page I’ll surely will be giving it a look!

Multiverse: mainly BL3 post Jackpot DLC, but I’m open to roleplay other timelines and Verses/AUs

About this, if you have any idea for a verse/au feel free to message me to discuss plots and stuff together!

Since it’s Multiverse I guess that it could also be Multiship, but I don’t really care about ship stuff. Let’s see how the plot goes naturally.

No Godmodding but this should be like the basic thing in rp.

Also!

The Timothy that I’ll roleplay will be a mix of Canon and Headcanons, so it could not fit the expecations

Mun is not the Muse: me and Timothy may have a bunch of traits in common, but we are not the same thing. Please keep them separated.

On this note, no OOC drama. I don’t want you drama, nor I care about it. Keep your drama for yourself because I have my share of drama irl: if I’m here I want to have fun and not suffer anxiety/panic attacks because of some shit internet drama.

I’m kinda shy and anxious so I can’t guarantee to be the one initiating the interactions, but I’ll try my best.

[susspirria]

It’s Still You (Rhysothy Fluff)

Ship: Rhys/Timothy Lawrence

Summary: After Jack brands Timothy with the vault symbol, he's in a lot of physical pain and emotionally tattered. Luckily, he's got Rhys to help him pull himself back together.

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Scarification

Read below the cut or on Ao3 Here!

It was late when Timothy had staggered into their apartment. He smelled like a sickening mixture of alcohol, burning flesh and Jack’s own scents. The smell of it all mixed together was nearly oppressive and Rhys couldn’t help but let out a distressed whine as it assaulted his senses. He didn’t realize it was Timothy at first, he had assumed that there was some intruder, until he saw him holding onto the wall so tightly that his fingers were white and raw looking. If he didn’t have that support, there was no doubt in Rhys’ mind that he would be stumbling and tripping over his own feet.

Rhys walked over to his bond mate in a hurry. He worried and fretted over him the minute that he was within reaching distance. He tried to be as gentle as possible when he grabbed a hold of Timothy’s arm and pulled him along into the living room so that Timothy could collapse on the couch. He practically hung all over Rhys’ slim frame as they trudged the short distance. Once they were sitting down, Rhys felt less panicked. It was okay. At least nothing worse could happen now, or so he thought. That was when he noticed the metal clasps fused to his temples. It was a mask, held tight to his face. It was nearly identical to Handsome Jack’s mask. “Oh, Tim…” He said, tone overflowing with sympathy. “What did he do to you?” He asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. He ran his fingers through Timothy’s hair, gently calling the alpha to attention.

Before Rhys had met Jack, before he had officially taken on the mantel as Hyperion’s CEO – whether or not he killed Tassiter to get that position was still left up to debate – he had liked and admired the man. He had appreciated what he was trying to do for Pandora. And then he got up close and personal with the man and he started to realize what a monster he really was. “Well…I wouldn’t be a good body double if I didn’t match Jack one hundred percent. Timothy recited what Jack had told him right after he had been strapped down to a medical table and he was helpless to the mans whims, tone cold and withdrawn. There was still a prickling feeling under his skin. He still felt bitter and helpless. Maybe he always did and he always would. Maybe this just made it harder to hide it under a handsome face and a reminder to himself to just be like Jack. Talk like Jack. Walk like Jack.

It was just one more thing, chipping away at whatever was left of him until he became just another carbon copy Handsome Jack clone. He hated Jack. Hated Hyperion. Hated the student loans that threw him deep into debt. Hated himself, for being stupid and desperate to sign that contract in the first place. He was so stupid. He should have figured something out. Anything but this.

Rhys worried at his lower lip. He had never seen his alpha like this. Not when he’d discovered the massive debt that he had been thrown in. Not after the surgery. Not even after Jack had started demanding that he be injected with his DNA. “Can you take it off?” He asked, after a moment of awkward and deliberative silence had passed between the two of them.

Timothy smiled at Rhys, but it was in that Handsome Jack sort of way – like he thought he could flirt his way out of this situation. Like maybe he could flirt his way out of the scars on his face. “Take what off?” He said. The next thing that he knew, Rhys was practically sliding into his lap. His breath hitched, just a bit, in anticipation. Timothy had always been a little bit intimidated by Rhys, by his forwardness, by his confidence and the way that he could just walk up and demand what he wanted from anyone.

Maybe he was just putting him on a pedestal – he probably was – but he thought Rhys was bravest person that he had ever met. Even with Jack’s DNA fused with his own, he never really got over his hard wired shyness. When they first met, Timothy could barely get through a whole sentence without blushing like mad and stuttering all of his words. It took him months to get comfortable enough to ask Rhys out on a date and even then he had been nervous and fumbling through every word and action.

Rhys’ fingers flew to his face, thumbs scraping along the edges of them. “I think you know what I mean.” He said, tone surprisingly patient. He wore a gentle smile, one that only Timothy, Vaughn or Yvette were ever privy to see. One of his fingers twirled playfully at Timothy’s – Jack’s? – fringe in a small attempt to sooth his mate and get him to stop closing himself off. “Can you?” He repeated, softer.

Timothy sighed, “Yeah. I can…” He answered finally. His hands moved towards the clasps at his temple, brushing momentarily against Rhys’ fingers as he did so. “I can take it off. I should warn you first that- it’s just… you aren’t going to like this.”

There had been many times when Timothy felt like a monster, doing Jack’s bidding had a habit of making him feel monstrous. He had killed more people, had more blood on his hands than he ever wanted to have to think about. He stabbed people in the back. Lied. Cheated. And all on Jack’s behalf.

But never had he looked in the mirror, saw his face and thought that not only did he do monstrous things, but that he looked like a monster. Like something out of a horror film. He wouldn’t blame Rhys if he decided that this was enough, that he hadn’t signed up for any of this.

He takes a breath, prepares to accept the inevitable, and pulls it off of his face with heavily trembling fingers. He nearly drops the mask, shattering it. Jack wouldn’t like that. Rhys doesn’t say a word at first. For once in his life, he’s completely speechless. Timothy can feel that this is the end for them. Rhys is gonna go move back in with Vaughn, start ghosting him, and sever ties with him physically until their bond breaks. It’s an… unpleasant thought, but it feels like the truth.

Whatever hurts is true, he thinks, and the thought of Rhys leaving him hurts him more than anything.

Timothy is the first to speak, hoping that maybe he could control the damage here. “It’s a lot. I know.” He said, his hands hovering over his cheeks as if to cover his face from Rhys’ sight. “This,” He gestured towards his face, like Rhys would have had no idea otherwise.

“He did it to all the doppelgangers. I was the last one.” He didn’t explain why, but they both knew. He was the first body double that Jack had commissioned for, and he was Jack’s favorite. He wanted to be able to look at that handsome face for as long as possible, but in the end Timothy needed to match him perfectly. In every respect. Even in ways that he knew that Jack hated about himself.

Rhys’ brows knitted with concern, “Does it hurt?” He asked, knowing that it was probably a stupid question. Of course it hurt. The skin on his face had been marred and burned blue with an inverted vault symbol. It was horrifying, Rhys felt pain tickling at his own skin just from the sight of it.

“Eh? What this little scrape? I’ve had worse.” Timothy replied mostly as a joke, though it came off weak and unconvincing. He tried to laugh it off and when he did, he swore he could feel something tearing underneath his skin. It burned. Then it was just slicing, stabbing pain that left him incoherently babbling for… something. Then he was flailing, he couldn’t see – all he could comprehend was the intense hurt that he was feeling.

Rhys slid off of him, opting to sit right at his side. Timothy felt an ease of pressure, just a slight one, as he tried to force himself to breath right. Rhys stayed right by his side, saying words that he couldn’t really comprehend but nonetheless felt soothed by. He could feel Rhys’ gentle, soft hands petting at his skin, easing him back to reality with every gentle word and soothing touch.

The mask goes back on after that. There were little dopamine receptors fused into the clasp. It made the pain nearly non-existent. Manageable at least. Timothy let out a soft sigh, “Sorry about all this. I know this isn’t…” He trailed off. “It’s not a good look.” He says, tone devoid of all confidence and charisma.

Timothy nearly sounds like he did, back in college, when he was an anxious wreck with a squeaky voice and a passion for writing. “It’s not that bad.” Rhys says offhandedly. He even makes a vague sweeping gesture with his hand, like he’s pushing it all under the proverbial rug.

Because, really, he doesn’t care all that much about how Timothy looks. He never had, really – Rhys had liked Timothy for a lot of reasons. He liked how kind he was, how clever he was, he liked his creativity and the fact that he had always respected Rhys on his own merits and he never looked down upon him for his endotype. His looks had never been a factor in all of that.

Timothy let out a soft scoff at that, completely unconvinced. “Yeah, right.” He grumbled to himself. Even if it was under the mask, he had never looked this awful or this disfigured in his life. The thought that he would end up looking in the mirror every morning, even for just a few minutes, see himself and think “monster” as he looked upon his unmasked face, was warping his thoughts.

He was spiraling, upset and erratic. He knew it but couldn’t bring himself to do much to stop it. Rhys knew it too and he decided that it was up to him to put a stop to it. Rhys pursed his lips and then he moved back over, so that he was straddling the alpha’s hips again and pulled Timothy’s face in his hands and their foreheads pressed together. “I don’t care about what’s under that mask. Okay? It’s still you.” Rhys said, like he always did when Timothy felt overshadowed the man whose face he had been made to wear. They kissed, slow and sweet like dripping honey.

“Yeah?” Timothy replied, still unsure after they finally pulled away from each other. Rhys rest his head on Timothy’s shoulder, eased up close to him. “You sure about that?”

Rhys just nodded, not skipping a beat. “Of course I’m sure.” He replied, “No matter what, it will always be you.” He assured, “And I love you.”

Not Jack. Not your face. You.

[forlornmelody]

Three Robins Rose Has Kissed And The One Who Kissed Back

Rating: Explicit (there’s smut, and lots of swearing, and some implied drug use.)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: JayRose (Jason Todd/Rose Wilson)

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: Rose Wilson has a type and it is former protégés of Batman.

Note:  For the sake of this story, I'm assuming both the events of the Crisis continuity, and the New 52, happened. (But we're just gonna pretend DC didn't nerf Rose for daddy-fodder, kay? Kay.)

-*-*-

“Rose.” Nightwing stares down at her, narrowing his eyes, but his grin betrays him. “Something tells me you’re doing this on purpose.”

“What makes you say that?” The mat presses up against Rose’s back.

“That’s the third time today I’ve swept you off your feet.” Dick’s got her in a full nelson, one of his escrima sticks pointed at her throat. He’s not actually going to bust her, though. Nightwing, the former Boy Wonder, is too good for that sort of thing. It frustrates her to no end. 

“Maybe I need more practice.” Rose can’t help the playful lilt creeping into her voice. The blue and black look good on him--better because they hug his body in all the right places. All she has to do is tilt her hips--there. One flip and Rose leans over him, pressing both his wrists against the mat. 

“You? You’re better than this.” Somehow it sounds like Dick is commenting on more than her training room flirting tactics, and the smile slips from her face. Like he hasn’t hit on half his opponents already. Hypocrite. She’ll show him. 

Time slows as Rose closes in, so close she can hear Dick’s heart speeding up. Just as her lips are about to brush against his--Dick turns his head and her kiss lands on his cheek. “Oh come on.” Just like that--Dick’s on his feet, launching Rose off him.

“Focus, Rose.” 

Their sparring session continues, and Dick never once brings up the kiss. He drives her crazy, in more ways than one, but she seems to have him off-balance for now. Rose presses her advantage, and she pins Dick face-first against the Robin costume on display. Freezing, Dick sucks in a breath. Before Rose can ask what’s wrong, he shoves his elbow into her sternum, pushing her away. 

“Dick?” 

“Not now.” He doesn’t even look at her as he slams the door behind him. 

What’s his hang-up with his old costume, anyway? 

-----

Rose’s only on this team because of Dick, because even though he doesn’t lead the Titans anymore, what he says goes. Even when the Titans hate his decision. Even when they hate their newest member with a passion. Even though she tried to kill them before. 

But Rose knows more than just martial arts. And she knows just how to get under Tim’s skin. Or on top of it, rather. 

Click. Tim’s got her pressed face-first against the mattress and her hands cuffed behind her back. Somehow Rose suspects this isn’t a bondage thing. Too bad. She really liked the feel of Tim’s lips against hers. 

“Hot damn.” Eddie stares at them through the open door and Rose can literally see steam coming out of his ears. That might be normal for him. Rose hasn’t been paying attention, at least not before now. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” Tim says quickly.

“Yes it is,” Rose says even quicker. Sometimes Rose’s visions don’t help much. People’s choices determine the future and people can be oh so finicky. It drives her nuts. Fights are one thing--people either want to kill her or they don’t--the rest they have ingrained through practice or the lack thereof. Knowing whether someone wanted to get in her pants--well. Apparently, she hasn’t quite figured that one out. 

Tim pulls her cuffs off, extracting himself from the bed and putting some distance between them. “Put some clothes on.” Damn. She’s 0-2.

But with the way Eddie’s eyes linger on her as she slides her armor on? Maybe it’s not a total loss. 

----

First Stephanie giggles, and Rose can hear it echo across Gotham’s rooftops. “What are you doing?” Then her smile slips, and the silence is deafening. 

Rose leans in closer, both their asses teetering on the edge. “You and Tim are on a break, right?” Her lips part, and she can smell the lavender in Spoiler’s shampoo. Their breaths intermingle and she’s so close to--

“Rose, I’m straight.”

“Seriously??”

----

Honestly, Rose had given up trying at this point. Jason Todd--Gotham’s best, or perhaps worst bad boy--should have been an easy target. Except he wasn’t Rose’s target, not this time. Her employer wanted Roy Harper out of the picture--Jason was just in her way. And he rarely left his best friend out of his sight. And Rose thought Koriand’r would’ve been more of a problem. And with her out of town--possibly out of planet--this should have been a piece of cake. Just get off The Red Hood’s radar by getting into his pants. How hard could it be?

Way harder than Rose ever imagined. 

But the price on Roy’s head? Too high to pass up. With that kind of money, Rose would be set for life. No more relying on her dear dad to help with bills every so often. Or his car. Or his safehouses. She could even get her brother the care and protection money to keep him away from all those bent government agencies and mad scientists who wanted to dissect his brain, or worse, use him for their own ends. 

So, Rose stayed. Even after Jason turned her down, more than once. 

The first time, it’s on a mission in Hong Kong, where Rose just so happens to be going after the same target. The Jade Dragon--Kingpin and Slum Lord who owned half the Indian Ocean. Roy waits for them on the roof with their getaway ride, and Rose joins Jason in the elevator. Halfway up it just so happens to stall. She really outdoes herself. 

Jason’s blue eyes stare not at her, but at the emergency hatch. The back-up lights cast a soft glow on his skin as Rose closes in. “It’s probably a power failure. No way they don’t have backup generators in this place.”

“Yeah. But they don’t run the elevator when the power goes out--in case of a fire.”

Jason swears under his breath, eyeballing the distance from his feet to the ceiling. “So what. We’ve got about ten, maybe twenty minutes before they fix it?”

“Something like that.” Rose touches his shoulder. “Relax. Where’s your slumlord going to go? The roof?” The stairs don’t go to his penthouse. She checked. Something about a security risk. Rich wackos like him like to be airlifted out in case of emergency. 

Pressing his lips together, Jason lets out the breath he’s being holding for two minutes. “You’re right.” He slumps against the back of the elevator, staring at buttons like they’ve personally wronged him. “I just hate waiting.”

Rose slouches next to him, not quite touching him, but close enough to where they can feel each other’s heat. “I know how we can pass the time.”

Jason blinks, finally giving Rose more than a passing glance. “...You’re kidding, right?” He laughs softly, and it’s the softest she’s ever seen his expression. “We just met.”

The batkid who got hired for jacking the Batmobile’s hubcaps, who had a reputation of going just a little too far when beating up bad guys, who actually killed more than one villain who got under his skin. Jason Todd--the guy on ten international watch lists--a prude. Who knew? 

----

Except Jason isn’t really a prude, now is he? Nah. Rose’s caught him stealing glances at Kori more than once--always looking the other way when Kori’s boytoy Roy stands nearby. Hell, the way Jason and Roy fool around sometimes—Rose’s not completely convinced of the joke. She’s even found some saucy text messages in his phone, and more than one picture of a gorgeous flight attendant. An old flame--Rose guesses. 

But he doesn’t spare her a second glance. 

And it’s not like Rose doesn’t know what she’s doing. Infiltration isn’t her favorite--she’d much rather blow up The Starfire with a heavy payload. Simple. Quick. A big, beautiful explosion to light some fire in her eyes. But the fucking employer wants Roy’s head as proof. Says he and his friends tend to walk away from this sort of thing. Her employer seemingly has all the time and money in the world--so long as Rose completes the job. She’s starting to wonder what Roy did to piss him off. But she knows how to get under a guy’s skin--the right clothes, the right words, simple gestures to lure him in. 

The second time it’s after the mission, when they’re celebrating with drinks--with sparkling cider instead of alcohol (what is it with these guys?) Rose dons a bikini with his favorite colors--red and black and lounges on the deck chair next to Jason. Roy and Kori have the right idea--already having forgotten their bubbly beverages--drinking instead from each other’s lips. And Jason’s staring up at the stars. 

 Rose kind of envies him in that moment, floating on the water with nothing but wonder on his face. She swan dives at the opposite end, swimming her way toward him. The splash does stir his floaty, and Jason turns over to glance her way. Maybe, just maybe she has a chance. 

“Nice moves out there today. You dad teach you that?”

Rose shrugs. “My mom taught me a few things, too.” Mostly how to draw in close without her mark noticing. But nothing seems to slip Jason’s attention. 

Jason eyes her as her arms brace themselves on his thigh. “You really want me, don’t you.”

“Can’t fault a girl for trying.” And damn her, he’s gorgeous, and cut like a rock. Was it all his years in the batcave or his time with the All-Caste? 

But that’s not want hooks Rose the most. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not like that.” It’s the softness in his eyes. She’s only seen it a couple of times in the past few days, but each time he looks at his friends like that Rose swears she’s being let in on a big secret. 

“Do not tell me you’re gay.”

Jason laughs, laughs, and Rose immediately knows she’s in too deep. “Gay? Straight? Labels. Who needs ‘em?” He stretches out on the pool mattress, and he lets the leg Rose’s leaning on slip into the water. “They’re just more rules.” 

“Then why…?” Rose doesn’t say it. Doesn’t voice the rejection sinking into her brain. Admitting it out loud would mean admitting failure, and Rose Wilson does not fail. 

Shrugging, Jason murmurs. “Don’t know you well enough, yet.”

----

Rose should’ve given up at this point. Gone for the easier kill, damn the consequences. Just snapped Roy’s neck while Kori was in the shower. And why hasn’t she? She hasn’t the foggiest idea. But if she’s honest with herself--Rose knows exactly why. 

Roy is Jason’s best friend. 

Jason would never forgive her if he found out. 

And why does it matter if Jason hates her? 

Damnit, Rose. 

This was exactly the kind of fucked up shit her dad warned her about. Don’t stick around too long. Don’t make friends. Don’t let your mark get under your skin. And what did Rose do? Exactly that.

Her employer doesn’t care if she seduces Jason Todd or not, so why does Rose? 

Damn it all to fucking hell. 

Rose beats the hell out of the punching bag, shaking the chain it hangs from with every strike. Each punch she lands inspires a new idea. Slip some arsenic in his drink. Stab him from behind. Throw him off the roof of the ship. Press a pillow into his face. Snap his neck. Snap his fucking--

“Rose?”

Her fist freezes midair, and she pants, not bothering to turn around. “Yeah?”

“It’s Roy. Something’s happened.”

Fuck. “Is he dead?”

Jason’s eyes tighten as he shakes his head. “We need to find him. Fast.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

----

Rose should be happy. Roy did all her hard work for her. Someone found him while he was on a bender, tied him up, and has been carving up his skin as if the answers themselves will bleed right out. 

Amateurs. A professional knows only to interrogate a sober target. Establish a baseline of what the hostage knows and then break them down with intoxication if need be. Break them slowly, only as much as needed. Dead hostages can’t answer questions. 

“Arsenal?” Jason whispers, tilting up Roy’s chin. He doesn’t respond, and his head flops down, heavy against his chest. 

Kory shoots the nearest window, a low growl escaping from her throat as glass shards rain down the side of the building. Rose jumps a little, despite herself. She doesn’t want to imagine being on the receiving end of one of those star bolts. 

“C’mon, Roy. Answer me.” Rose never thought she’d hear Jason beg, not like that. She can’t stand it. 

Walking over, Rose check’s Roy’s pulse and sighs in relief. It’s sluggish, almost too faint to feel. Rose could put him out of his misery right here and now and his friends would have no idea who killed him. Just slip her knife in to hit his artery and bam. Problem solved. Her fingers slip toward the knife on her belt, but Jason’s pleading gaze stops her cold. 

“Is he…?” Oh fuck. Jason has tears welling in his eyes. 

“Alive.” Rose can just see the barrel of the gun her employer will use to tie up loose ends. “Not for long, though.”

Between the three of them, Jason, Rose, and Kory carry Roy back to the ship where they can apply first aid, and the ship’s alien technology can perform a synthetic blood transfusion. Roy’s pulse slowly returns to something recognizable, and Rose sinks in her seat. She’s deciding between her safe houses when Jason’s fingers graze her jaw. 

Rose jumps out of her seat, using everything in her power not to deck him in the face. “The fuck…?”

“Hey.” Oh. Jason’s nose is so close to hers that she can feel his breath on her face. She can smell the mint he just put in his mouth. Never once did Rose imagine Jason could be such a sap. The heat of his fingers sears her skin, but she doesn’t pull away. Rose dares a glance down his lips and when she looks back up Jason’s already tilting his head to meet hers. 

His kiss is softer than she expects, lightly brushing his lips over hers, holding her jaw just enough so she can slip away if she wants to. Rose freezes, never expecting this after all this time, all those refusals. Jason starts to pull back before her brain finally stops dividing by zero, and she grabs the back of his neck, crushing her lips against his. Swearing softly, Jason meets her tit for tat, and they stumble out of the med bay and into the hall. 

Rose presses him against the wall, slipping her hands inside the opening of his favorite jacket, feeling the heat rising off his chest and the rush of his heartbeat. Part of her still expect to wake up from this dream in her bed alone, heart hammering, skin flushed, thighs damp with need. She mouths a silent prayer into his lips, to the god she never bothers to answer to, pleading to make the dream real, just this once. 

Jason’s hands wander across her shoulders, down her arms, and around her hips to her back. Rose steps between his legs, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. Breaking for air, Jason’s words come out ragged. “We...we should pick a room. Yours or mine?”

Instead of answering him with words, Rose guides him to his door and shoves him inside, tossing his jacket to the floor. Jason stares at her breathlessly, and she hesitates. “Too much?”

“Never.” His fingers wind in her hair, pulling her back into another kiss.

Rose drinks him in like she’s parched for thirst, scratching the edge of his hairline from the tips of his ears to the base of his skull. Jason sucks in a breath and Rose grins into his mouth. She tastes him, gasping softly as his fingers twist in her curls, pulling at her hair just enough. HIs other hand wanders just south of her waist and he freezes. Stepping back, Rose loosens her hold, looking him over from head to toe. 

Jason pants, taking her in too. “...Are we…?”

Leaning against the closed door, Rose folds her arms. “Are we what, Jason?”

“Is this a onetime thing or…” Jason’s eyes trail back in the direction of the hospital room and suddenly the tension between him and the other Outlaws make a lot more sense. 

Damnit. “I’m a merc, Jason.” Really, she should be happy with the kiss, more than the kiss, but this--former Robin proves hard to let go of. “I’ve stayed here too long as it is.”

Jason’s eyes narrow ever so slightly and Rose plasters on her poker face, hoping he hasn’t found her out tonight of all nights. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Push me away.” His voice wavers as he speaks, and Rose’s heart plummets to her stomach. Damn him. 

“What do you want from me?” And damn her too, that waver is apparently contagious. 

Jason steps closer, sliding his hand in to cup her jaw, the edge of his thumb grazing the bottom of her cheek. “I don’t want to just fuck, Rose.” His eyes close, and he brushes his nose against hers. “I want to--” He clamps his mouth shut, trembling slightly in his touch. 

The word teeters on the edge of his tongue, but it doesn’t come out, so Rose pulls it out with a snarl. “Loving me will get you killed, Jason.”

A sloppy grin forms on his face, and Jason nods at her. “Death isn’t as final as you think.”

“So what. You’re immortal now?” She’s grinning too, and she knows she’s fallen too far to get back up.

Jason brushes his lips against hers. “I sure feel like I am when I’m around you.” His next kiss probes deeper, and one hand tugs on her elbow. “Stay. After this is over.”

Her answer is right there, just inside her mouth, but Rose says something else instead. “Oh? You’re that sure I’m a good fuck?”

His lips smack against hers. “I’m not here to fuck you.”

“Jason--”

He silences her with a finger, and then he traces the edge of her lips with his fingertip. Rose resists the urge to pull it into her mouth and suck on it. She’s doomed. “I’m here to make love to you.”

Rose swallows, freezing on the spot. “I can’t promise you anything.”

His smile slips, and she desperately wants to put it back on his face. Rose doesn’t want to break his heart, not anymore. “Rose--”

“No one can.” Tracing the space where his heart hammers in his chest, Rose whispers softly. “Someone could break in ten minutes from now and shoot me in the head.” Standing up on her tiptoes, she kisses his forehead. “Nothing’s guaranteed.” Then she kisses the back of his hand. “Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it while it lasts.”

Jason watches her, his face inscrutable as ever. 

Shit. Did I make things worse? Rose opens her mouth to murmur another apology but Jason kisses her before she can say a word. He pulls her close, his hands seemingly everywhere at once, and yet she craves more of him. Daring to slide her hand up Jason’s shirt, she grins into his lips as he leans heavily into her touch, a groan escaping from his lips despite himself. She grazes the lines of his abdomen with her nails. “Oh,” Rose says softly. 

Jason Todd. Blushing. As he watches her. “Like what you see?” he says just as soft. 

“I haven’t seen anything yet.” She ducks down, pushing up his shirt and following its path with her mouth. 

“Fuck.” One of his wandering hands finds its way back to her hair, holding her head as she breathes against his stomach. “Rose.”

Rose stands up, grinning against his collarbone. “Getting there.” She finds the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder and lavishes her attention there, charged by the tightening of his grip. 

Jason pushes her to arm’s length, taking a ragged breath. He drags down the zipper of her jacket, taking in the sight of her skin inch by inch. Rose presses into his touch, admittedly reddening a bit herself. His lips part with hunger, but it's the wonder in his eyes that stops her in place—like he sees the stars flickering across her skin.  With his fingers he traces the scar on her shoulder and the ones that line her arms. Sucking in a breath, he circles the mark of a bullet on her chest. “That must’ve hurt.”

“Like hell.” Rose mutters, only to gasp when Jason presses his lips against it. “Jason.”

“Shh,” he says softly, breathing in her scent as he edges his fingers beneath her bra and the plastron it holds. He traces a path up her neck and across her throat until he makes it to her ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Why does the thought of him being gentle make her heart beat faster?  Part of her wants him to have his way, and take his time exploring her body. Another, much louder part wants to rile him until he takes her fast and hard. Rose grabs the edge of his shirt, looking up at Jason. He nods, and she bites her lips as she pulls it over his head. 

Holy shit. 

Rose thought she had a lot of scars. Jason has so many she doesn’t even know where to start. There are the bullet marks, the punctures, the rhythmic signs of torture, the line going up the side of his neck and into his hairline where a crowbar must’ve bashed his head in. It’s not until Jason tilts her chin up that Rose realizes she’s been holding her breath. “I’m still here,” he whispers, pulling her into another kiss. She wonders how many times he’s kissed Death on the lips, only to pull back when it wanted him most. 

“Soon, you’ll in bed.” She grins against his lips, finding the latch on his belt. “Booby traps? Really?”

He laughs once, running a hand down her breast, feeling the softness of her skin there. “Safety first.” When he gets to the lines of her abdomen, he swallows, drawing a grin from Rose’s mouth. 

Stepping back, Rose eyes the latch, her brain already processing the potential catastrophes, and the configurations that would enable them. “Gotcha.” The belt clicks open, without a single explosion or poison released. 

Jason blinks at her as she sets the belt aside. “I can’t decide if that’s hot or terrifying.”

Rose stands up on her tiptoes, whispering in his ear. “Why not both?” She punctuates her question with a bite on his ear lobe. The rumble of his groan stirs her chest, sending shockwaves between her legs. Hooking her thumbs in his belt loops, Rose pulls him closer, grinding up against him. 

“Rose--” He says, in pleading or in warning, Rose isn’t quite sure.

“What do you want, Jay?” She runs the tip of her tongue up the ridge, shivering at the way his ragged breaths stir her hair. 

“Bed,” he says hoarsely, “now.” He pulls her with him, and they tumble into the sheets, boots still on. 

It’s a race, then, to see who can get the other’s off the fastest. Four thunks, laughs, and tangled sheets later, Rose climbs up his body, guiding his hands to her belt. Jason’s removed plenty of belts, that Rose is sure, but it’s like he deliberately fumbles his hands against her skin, just so he has an excuse to graze his knuckles there. And damn him, her skin jumps every time. Fine. She’ll make him lose track for real. Rose plants a wet kiss against his lips, running her hands down his shoulders and his arms, guiding his fingers until her belt clangs against his bookshelf before sliding to the floor. “Better,” she murmurs. 

Jason runs his fingertips along the edge of her jeans, drawing his touch up and down her spine. “I could stare at you for hours, you know that?”

Rose snorts. “I can think of better ways to spend your time.”

Tilting his chin in challenge, Jason sits back. “Oh? Like what?”

Biting her bottom lip, Rose catches his wandering hand, and takes it to the button of her jeans. “Lemme show you.”

Jason holds his breath, unbuttoning her jeans and drawing the zipper down. He’s so quiet Rose starts to doubt what her late-night visions have been telling her for months. Maybe they weren’t her precognition talking. Maybe they’re just the wet dreams so many guys and girls have had ever since Jason donned a mask. Searching his eyes, Rose says, “We can stop--”

Holding her gaze, Jason replies, “I don’t want to.” HIs fingers follow hers inside her jeans and inside her underwear, and he sucks in a breath. “Shit, you’re wet.”

Rose blushes, despite herself. “You really all that surprised?” She presses his fingers in slow, small circles, holding onto the headboard behind him for balance. Then she moves his touch faster, harder, gasping against his shoulder. “Nn, fuck.” 

“Breathe.” Jason chuckles softly, pressing a kiss into her shoulder. He moves his fingers more independently now while she’s distracted. And Rose breathes him in, awash in gunpowder and amber, and that salty scent he bears after a fight. Always so uniquely Jason Todd that the smell of it sends Rose right over the edge. He shakes them both with his laughter. “And our pants aren’t even off yet.”

“Shut up.” Rose pulls back to look at him.

He smirks. “Make me.”

Jason doesn’t need to say it twice. Rose assaults his lips with hers, pushing him down into the mattress. Making quick work of his jeans, she pulls them down as he shimmies out of them. Boxers briefs, huh? They’re just a simple grey with a black waist band--for some reason she’d expected some sort of smart-alecy words printed on them.  Sliding down, she runs the tip of her nose up the line of his bulge, grinning as he writhes beneath her. While she sits up, Rose edges her fingers inside, feeling along his length, breathing in Jason’s unsteady gasps. Always so coy and cocky, and now he can’t form a single word. “Cat got your tongue?” she murmurs against his ear. 

Jason turns his head, kissing her long and deep, rolling them over. Rose lifts her hips so he can get her jeans off, and he kisses just south of her belly button. “Mm.” Glancing up at her, Jason grins, kissing harder against that spot, lavishing his tongue until she squirms beneath him. But she doesn’t beg, not yet. The lines in his back are coiled tight, so tight his body might burst at the seams, but Jason takes his time, kissing down her hips, her thighs, her calves. Swallowing her whine, Rose reaches for his shoulder, but Jason takes her hands, placing them back at her sides. 

“Patience, Rose.” He silences her protests with a kiss, diving back between her legs, edging them apart so that he has room. His lips find her ankle, the back of her knee, and Rose heart pounds as he gets closer and closer to her underwear. There’s no hiding her need for him now, with the way it soaks the front of her boyshorts. Jason samples the taste of her through the fabric, giving her one long lick. 

“Oh fuck.” Rose gasps and twists, and Jason has to hold her down with one arm slung across her abs. He peels her underwear off, testing her with different pressures and strokes. Every so often, she catches him looking up at her, assuring himself he’d doing it just the way she likes. Her insides clench, and she twists in bliss, but Jason doesn’t stop, only pausing briefly to come up for air. Even then, his fingers fill in while he wipes his mouth.

“Shh.” He whispers against her mouth, reaching over into his bedside drawer for a condom. Did she say something? 

“Yeah?” Rose asks, and her voice comes out hoarse. Fuck, she must’ve been screaming. While he slides on the condom, she’s reaching over for a bottle of water, downing half of it without giving a fuck to whom drank from it last.

Jason returns to her, surprisingly shy when they’re so close to merging their bodies. He gives her one chaste kiss, then another, letting her lead the pace. She winds one hand around the back of his neck, scratching the skin at the base of his skull. The other she uses to thumb the scar next to his eyebrow, the sharp line of his jaw, the sheen of sweat running down his neck to his collarbone, and that delicious line that runs down to the thatch between his legs. Guiding him inside her, Rose closes her eyes, letting his groan wash over her shoulder. 

Rose traces circles across his back as he thrusts in and out, only to grip his shoulder when he picks up the pace. Jason grins against her mouth, sliding his hand between them, and Rose jolts, clinging to him as she whimpers into his neck. “It’s okay,” he murmurs against her mouth. “You can let go.” His tone meanders between loving and teasing, and maybe for Jason there is no line between them. 

She doesn’t want to, not again before he does. But then Jason has to fucking whisper sweet nothings in her ear. 

“You’re so beautiful when you let go,” he says softly, and her world flashes white, much like it does on the cusp of a vision. Her body coils like a spring, and Rose hooks her ankles around his hips, drawing him deeper inside as she clenches around him. 

Jason’s eyes pinch shut as he loses his tightly held control, and Rose rolls her hips until he falls to her side. “Holy hell,” he gasps softly, muffled by his pillow. 

“Yeah.” Rose shouldn’t, but she can’t help but kiss his left temple, tucking them in and tossing the spent condom aside. 

She spends the night committing every line of his body to memory. And it helps soothe her in the weeks, months, and years ahead. 

---

The next morning, Rose rolls to get closer to him, only to find his side of the bed empty. In his place, Jason left a small, folded piece of paper, and Rose takes her time undoing all the creases. 

Rose,

You’ve no idea how amazing you are. I hope last night isn’t the end of it, but I understand if it is.

--Jason.

Beneath his name, Jason’s inscribed his number, and though Rose memorizes it within seconds, she always keeps the note close, in her utility belt or between her bra and her plastron, next to her beating heart. 

[gingerstorm101]

Irreparable Damage: Chapter 3

Summary: Tony finally gets to see Ziva again, but he's not so happy about it. Angst, oh the angst. Eventually Tiva

Notes: This is NOT anti-Ziva/anti-tiva. So stay away

Rating: T

Words: 4500

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Nothing but the sound of the ticking of a clock and the brushing of hair on metal filled the room. Not even the possible sound of snoring or heavy breathing from the man on the couch. No. Just the brushing as Ziva cleans her gun. Which she no longer needs, but the action still soothes her nonetheless.

Tonight she couldn’t sleep. No amount of tossing and turning, or the counting of sheep, or even the commands of telling herself to get at least six hours of sleep. No. Five hours of sleep. Or even just a two hour nap.

Nothing worked.

So here she was, in Gibbs’ dining room, not getting a wink of sleep.

“Go to sleep, Ziver.”

She damn well nearly jump out of her skin at his voice. “I cannot Gibbs.” She says, looking over at the man to find his eyes still closed. She narrows her eyes at him, questioning if he was still asleep or just laying there. She turns back to her gun, getting a couple scrapes with her brush when she hears a rusle coming from the living room. Her heart starts to race the split second before she turns around to see the man pulling himself up.

She watches as he walks over to the table Ziva is sitting at, tapping on her bare feet to remove them from the chair they were resting on. They sit there silently, watching each other, waiting for the other to say something.

“You need to sleep, you’re going to see him in five hours.” His voice was low, rough from the lack of use.

Ziva places the gun down, her heart still racing from the thoughts of seeing her former partner, her former lover, again. His words still haunts her from the last time she spoke to him.

You’ll have to move the earth before I can trust you again.

But, she hopes now that he has her letters addressed to him, he could see everything she has gone through. Everything she has always wanted to say to him, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. All her feelings from the moment she said goodbye to him on that tarmac, to her latest one from two weeks ago.

“I have tried, but to no avail.” She murmurs, twisting her fingers with one another, and her eyes avoiding his. He stays quiet, watching her as her eyes land on the clock. 3:34 am. “I cannot seem to shut off my brain tonight. My thoughts, they are too strong.”

He leans forward, brushes his index finger against her twining digits. “That’s your anxiety.” She blinks hard, holding her eyes shut as a tear slips out between them. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away. “Have you taken one of your pills?”

She nods, sniffling. “Two. They do not seem to work anymore.”

Gibbs covers her hand with his large one. “I will see Ducky that we get you a proper prescription, one that is designed for you.” She tries to open her mouth to say something, but he gives her a look. The look. “You’ll be better once you’re on medication that is designed for you, not for someone else.” He explains further. She closes her eyes and nods slowly.

The room goes quiet again except for the ticking of that damn clock on the wall. Ziva, however, hardly heard it. Inside her head was all the things she wants to say to Tony, explain to him that she had no choice. That she fought to be with them every day. To protect them.

But each one of those came with a hated response that bit back at her. Telling her that she was worthless. Weak. And one that almost made her cry, was when the imagined Tony told her that she should have been killed in the fire.

Gibbs must have seen her tense; his hand raises up to cup her cheek and wiping away the tears that have already fallen. “Go shower, get dressed. I’ll take you out for breakfast, Elaine makes one good cup of coffee.”

Ziva smiles at her father figure, the only true father that she has left. Or ever had really. With a whispered “thank you” she walks upstairs to get ready for her very stressful day.

***

McGee sits in his chair that morning, ready to start his day now that he dropped his kids off at preschool. He turns on his computer, and takes a sip of his second coffee of the day. So far, no one was in the bullpen, maybe Gibbs was talking to the director? Or getting a coffee for himself?

But ever since the boss man had Ziva staying with him, he’s noticed a change in him. He’s been more rough than he has been recently. Maybe he’s not getting enough sleep? Or the two of them had yelling matches like they did when she first came back.

Whatever it is, wherever he is, McGee was sure to stay on his good side today.

Just then, he heard the ding of the elevator. Fully expecting Ellie and Nick to walk out together, he peeks over his coffee.

It was Gibbs and Ziva. The latter of the two looked far too disheveled to be here.

He watches as Gibbs gives her a look, and walks to his desk. She looks over at McGee, glancing over at his boss and stops. “Hello McGee.” She says softly, offering a small smile. He returns it, greeting her. “Has he come in yet?”

He looks down at his phone, checking the time. 7:45. “Not yet. Are you kay?” She’s quiet and he waits to see if she’ll respond.

After a moment she does. “I am fine.” He doesn’t believe her for a second. Underneath her wild hair and baggy shirt, he can see the panic in her bloodshot eyes. He watches as her eyes flick around the room, and he wonders when the last time she had a propers night sleep. But then, he never spent years away from his children and wife. He would never know what Ziva is going through.

He doesn’t comment on the lie she had told him. “What time are you meeting with Ducky?” He asks, taking another sip.

“8:30.” Her answer was short, but she does look him in the eye. “I… I better get going. No doubt Ducky wants to chat before we start.” He nods, keeping his eye on her. “Goodbye, McGee.” And with that, she heads to the conference room.

He starts his work for the day, mostly reading the morning news before he starts the cold case files. He only glances up when his coworkers walk into the bullpen a few minutes later. But nothing brings him out of his concentration when he hears a young voice.

“Uncle Tim!”

His head shoots up. “Tali!” He pushes his chair back as the girl sprints forward and enveloping him in a hug. “You’ve gotten so big!”

The little girl giggles. “That’s cause we only video chat.” He looks up to see his old senior field agent, noticing the uneasy feeling in his eyes. No doubt worried about the meeting he was having with Ducky.

“So what are you doing today?” He asks, holding both of her hands in his.

Tali bounces on her heels. “Uncle Jimmy is taking me to the garden. He says he wants to show me the best spots to play and dance!”

McGee brightens at her words, knowing that she isn’t in the middle of her parents conflict. “That sounds awesome! Have your uncle send me pictures.” He smiles and leans in closer. “And maybe I’ll sneak away to watch you.” Tali squeals and wrap her arms around his neck. He looks up to the girls father, taking in the fact that he was no longer watching his daughter, but the hallway leading to the conference room. “Okay Tali, let’s get you downstairs.”

Tony snaps out of his thoughts when his daughter grabs his hand and pulls him away. From his seat, McGee watches his friend leave.

***

The room is tense. And that is putting it lightly.

Neither one of them would look at the other, training their eyes on the elderly man in front of them. Tony clenches his jaw as he watches Ducky pull out his notebook. He squints his eyes to try and read the paper, but it wasn’t coming easy for him.

Finally he spoke. “What are we waiting for?” He asks impatiently.

“For Dr. Sloane, my dear boy.” He couldn’t stop the glare that headed towards the elderly man. He wasn’t upset with the doctor, in fact, he listened thoroughly the other day when Tony sat down with him and the box of letters he had taken home with him. He trusted Ducky with his life and his most desired secrets. Ducky was the closest he had to an uncle for the longest time. But who was this Dr. Sloane? Was it this Jack person McGee and Palmer has told them about?

“And you don’t have to wait for long!” Came a female voice from behind them.

He notices that Ziva had jumped slightly and whipping her head around to a blond walking into the room wearing a bright pink suit. Tony gives the woman a questioning, tracking her as she pulls up a chair beside the retired ME. “Ah! Dr. Sloane!” Ducky greets from his seat. “My dear, how are you?”

“Oh I’m just wonderful, Doctor. And you?”

“Oh as well as you’d expect. In fact-”

“Ducky.” Ziva says in a quiet voice, her hands sitting in her lap. “We have an appointment.” Tony couldn’t help but agree with his ex-partner.

“Ah, right.” Ducky clears his throat and folds his hands in front of him. “I have spoken to both of you over the last week, hearing both sides of your story. Now, I have asked Dr. Sloane to sit here with us because it seems that there are some words you two need to say to each other in the calmest of states.”

Dr. Sloane, Jack, the woman McGee had told him about, sits back in her chair with her notepad and pen ready.

“Anthony,” He says. “Why don’t you start. Tell all what you felt when this all started.”

Tony gulps, thinking back to all those years ago. But he knew he meant when he first met his daughter. He takes a second long glance at her before he stares at the two before him. “What do you expect? The woman I loved was just blown up and then in 24 hours a child I never knew I had was dropped in my lap.” He sends a quick glare over to said woman.

“You were overwhelmed?” Jack asks.

“To put it lightly.”

On the other side of the table, Ziva wasn’t looking at him, or anyone in the room really. She was staring out of the window.

“I had noticed the clues that were left in my daughter’s bag, so I took my daughter back to Israel to find some answers. When I found nothing, I took my last bit of hope to Paris, where we’ve lived since,” He says calmly, but grounds out, “but she didn’t give me anything. She never showed. Not once leaving behind a message to me. Everything she sent was never to me.”

Suddenly she barges in. “How could I tell you? I was on the run!”

“No, you were running! From me, from my daughter, from everyone! You sent letters to this random address every week, but nothing came to my house!” He turns to her and shouts, slamming his on the table. Where has he heard this before? He feels like he’s had this conversation before.

“I was being hunted! If they knew I was sending you letters they would have killed you too! Both of you! Or worse.” She screams back, leaning forward. “I would have expected you to understand that more than anyone else!”

They glared at each other, Tony was ready to give a reply when Jack interrupted them. “Now now, that’s enough from you. Ziva, why don’t you tell us why you never told Tony about your daughter.”

Ziva leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her stomach. “If he had read those letters, he would know why.” She mumbled like a child, not unlike his daughter when the five year old was upset with something.

Tony had read those letters. He memorized them for Pete’s sake! Each one of them broke his heart even more than the last, her telling him how much she regrets leaving him on the tarmac just an hour after he boarded and then two months later when she realized she was carrying his child. Every week she wrote how she missed him, but she had already joined back with Mossad.

Tony, put his hands together, leaning towards her, says. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

Their audience nods, both taking notes.

The woman sighs, shifting as she crosses her legs. “I had already ruined your life, hurt you in so many ways, I didn’t want to burden you with a child when her parents fought.”

“Bullshit!”

“Anthony! Language!”

Without skipping a beat at the interruption, he continues. “Ziva, we spent almost every waking hour together. How often did we actually fight?” He gave her a second to blink at him. “If anything we bickered and argued. That is not fighting.” His voice hushed, attempting to get the point across. “If we did fight, it was because of the men you were sleeping with.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, now we’re bringing my choice of men into this?”

Heck yes he is. “Well it seems every time you date someone, a murder is involved.” He can see her thinking it over, knowing that he was right. First Roy, who died. Then Michael, who he shot dead. Adam, ugh Adam, even though it was a hookup, it took place after Eli’s funeral.  Then Ray, who murdered. And even though they didn’t officially date, there was that Hoffman guy from when she went undercover, she killed him herself after he murdered four women. Maybe it was a good thing they never officially dated, he would have ended up dead. But then again, when Tali was brought into his life, he and the team killed Kort.

When she glares at him, he knew he hit a nerve.”Oh and like you got a clean track record?”

“At least mine didn’t end in bloodshed!”

“Children! Please!” Ducky barges in.

“Shh, it’s getting good!”

What? Tony thought, flicking his eyes over to the blond woman in the room. I thought this woman was suppose to be professional?

“See! This is exactly what I mean Tony!” Ziva argues. “Every word we’ve spoken to one another in the last week has been a spit flare!”

“Fire,” He sighs, pinching his nose. “It’s spit fire, Ziva.” He felt his heart twing a bit, remembering how much he loved correcting her.

She grounds her teeth him him. “Whatever.”

“May we please go back to having a calm conversation?” Ducky asks. Tony turns in his chair to face the older man, Ziva mirroring his position. “Thank you.” He waits nearly a moment before starting again, giving a glance to Jack before he starts. “Ziva, if your life wasn’t in danger, would you have told Tony?”

Tony’s ears prick at the question. Yes, this is something he wants to know, wanted to know since the moment he met his daughter. “Yes.” She answers. “If my life was not in danger, I would have sent Tony an email, but I would not put my daughter at risk. Emails were not secured, and he would have never check one.”

“Yes I would’ve.” He whispers, not daring to look at her.

“Pardon?” Jack asks from her seat, taking a second from her writing.

Tony takes a second long glance at his partner. “I checked my secured email every week for a year. Till the team told me to move on, that you weren’t coming home.” His voice was soft, hating how vulnerable he sounds. But when he looks up at her, he sees the pain in her eyes. “When Tali finally came into my life, and when I went for answers, Orli wouldn’t tell me anything. She told me repeatedly that you were dead, in front of Tali.”

“I told her to tell you that.” Her voice was almost calm, maybe a slight break in her voice, but the rest of her was calm.

“Why?” He wants to cry, oh so much.

Their eyes meet, and he feels his heart skip a beat, a feeling he hadn't had in over six years. “Because, before anything else in the world, Tali’s life needed to be nonexistent to the terrorist groups, as they have been for the last 6 years.” She pauses, raising her hand to play with her necklace, a new one that Tony hasn’t noticed before now. “I needed Gibbs to come find me, but he didn’t.”

He almost regrets stretching his hand to reach for her. “I tried to get him to look for you, to find you like we did before. But he… He already accepted it... Wouldn’t help me… Or you.”

“I know. I… I kind of yelled at him because of that.” She ducks her head as she says it. The corner of his lips raised the slightest, but he could still feel it. All the things he wanted to say to his boss, she had said. She starts to raise her hand to meet his, but she lowers it slowly and resting it into her lap.

“I still wish you had told me.” Calmly, he was going to try to be calm about this. He got his anger out, he yelled at her, he can do this calmly. “If I had known… If I knew you were pregnant, I would have been there in a heartbeat.” He meets her eyes again, and he can swear he could see a tear in forming in her eyes.

His heart stops when she raises her hand and rests it on his. “The person I was, was a completely different person I was when you were there. I was depressed… Scared, maybe. It took me too long to figure out I was expecting Tali, and that frightened me even more. The few friends I had in Israel supported me emotionally.” Her eyes shift him his green ones to their connecting hands, the warmth from her, the physical connection, proves to him that she is really here. She is alive. “But more than anything, I was too scared to tell you. I feared… Rejection.”

Tony didn’t notice Jack’s jaw dropping as she writes down their interaction. As an outsider, someone who doesn’t know their story, viewing a relationship with fourteen years in the making. “I could never reject you for coming to me with a pregnancy. Other women? Maybe. But I would man up, take responsibility. But for you? Always.”

The tears flow freely down her cheeks.

“I am sorry, Tony.”

“So am I.” He places his other hand on top of hers, running his finger over a new scar, wondering if this was part of the story Gibbs had told him a week ago. The one about South America.

“Are… Can… Can we be friends again?” She asks, no, pleads.

He smiles at her. “I don’t think we ever stopped.”

***

With a single earbud in, McGee listens closely to the conversation that he can already hardly hear with the volume on his computer all the way up. They were whispering again, but he has no argument after the shock to his eardrum from all the yelling.

With the ding from the elevator, he quickly shuts it off, fearing the bossman would see him spying on his friends. But when he looks up, it’s just Tali and Jimmy walking into the squadroom. “Uncle Tim! Did you get them? Huh? Huh?” She asks, running up to his desk.

He smiles brightly. “I sure did! You were wonderful! I’m going to show your aunt and cousin them when I get home.” Tali cheers and hugs him. He raises his head to Jimmy.

“I just got a call from another team, I have to go start my day.” He says. “Can you watch her for a bit?” McGee understands that the ME didn’t want to say anything about his job, not wanting to give the little girl nightmares.

“Oh sure, of course!” He says. “I’m sure Gibbs wouldn’t mind us having a visitor for a little while.”

“Oh thank you, McGee!” Tali gives her other uncle a hug before he leaves, not questioning him on why he had to leave so urgently.

McGee pulls Tali into his lap, giving her a kiss on the head, and starts playing videos on his computer.

By the time lunch had ended in the office, Tali was sitting in Ellie’s chair eating an apple and chocolate milk and the rest of the team was nowhere to be found. Gibbs had only walked passed the bullpen with a coffee in his hand, but never stopped to say ‘hi’ to the little DiNozzo.

McGee wants to check the live feed for the conference room, but he knew that Tali was a curious little girl, she’d sneak up behind him and watch the screen as well if she knew it was keeping her uncle’s concentration. So he read the news until Ellie and Nick came waltzing into the pen.

The first words out of Nick’s mouth when he entered the bullpen was enough to bring a smile to his lips. “Um, who’s child is this?” No one answers him as he stands in the middle of the room. He stares down at the child who stares back, giving him that smirk that McGee recognizes from when he watched the girl’s parents interact. Only, he didn’t know from which parent this smirk could have come from. But telling nonetheless. “You are…?” He asks the little girl directly.

She smiles sweetly at him, before fauxing an accent. “Je m'appelle Tali DiNozzo.”

“DiNozzo? Why does that name sound familiar?” Nick asks thoughtfully. McGee is about to answer him when Ellie buts in.

“Tony DiNozzo, the Senior Field Agent before McGee. Ziva’s partner.” Tali gives them a questioning look. Nick’s eyes widen, his lips making a silent ‘oh’ as his eyes dart between the two girls.

“Get back to work you two.” Gibbs says walking into the bullpen with a coffee in his hand, not looking at the small girl. McGee knew that Gibbs had trouble bonding with Tali, and it was nothing to do the Rule 12 that he had made so long ago. No. He knew it was because every time Gibbs looked into the brown-eyed curly-haired little girl, he saw Ziva, and it made him miss his daughter even more.

McGee thought that now that Ziva made herself present, showing that she was indeed alive, that Gibbs would try to connect with the girl like he didn’t before.

But only time would tell.

Suddenly the buzzing from his cell brought him to reality. It was Tony. “We’re coming down.” The text said. His heart starts to race. ‘We?’ As in both of them? “Um, T-Tali, your father is coming down.” Her eyes light up, not leaving her spot from Ellie’s desk. The two other agents look over at him, and he gives them a look. Taking the hint, the two step away from the desk and head to Nick’s.

A minute passes when Tony walks into the room slowly. “Aba!” Tali yells, throwing herself at him. “Are you done the meeting yet? Are we going to go to the theatre now? Can I buy a new book for the flight home?”

Tony picks the girl up in a single swoop, balancing her on his stomach with his arms. “Slow down bambina.” He laughs, and McGee no doubt thinks that having a daughter has made his friend younger after all those years of trying to date women all the same age. It was good for him. “First, I want you to meet someone. Someone who used to be in your life, but I don’t think you’d remember.” He can tell that the man’s heart is racing, introducing the little girl to her mother.

The entire room watches as Tony turns his body to the shy woman standing a few feet behind him. Tali furrows her brow, looking the woman over. Positioning her body to be let down, Tony complies, then walking over to the woman. Ziva crouches down to match her height with hers, and McGee can see her holding back the tears.

Face to face, Tali looks her over, confused and trying to remember. The office holds their breath as the little girl reaches forward and places her fingers on the necklace around Ziva’s neck. “I remember this…” She asks innocently. “I gave this to my Ima, I held onto it when she sang me a song every night.” Ziva nods, the tears forming. “Ima?”

“Yes moteq, yes.”

[flying-elliska]

salut ellie! someone once asked you about your writing and you recommended falling in love with language and finding ways of writing you love. i was wondering, what books and/or writing styles are you in love with? it's just so interesting to know what somehow had an impact on the way you're writing bc i honestly adore your style

wow do you remember that ? that is such a flattering question oh my god. well, i’m still working on it. some of my favorites are (i’m very eclectic lmao) : 

- His Dark Materials (it’s a fantasy book series ‘for kids’ but it’s actually insanely deep and philosophic) is pretty much the first book series that made me fall in love with stories, and made me want to write. I think I found it when I was 10, and it completely shaped me. It’s so ambitious and clever, it never talks down to the reader, brings up those amazing worlds and philosophical concepts and is still accessible to kids. Most of all it is so committed to atmosphere, to making it vivid, to really make you go through what the characters are. I’m thinking of it and I can remember exactly certain passages in an almost sensory way : the witch Serafina Pekkala describing what it feels like to feel the Aurora Borealis on her bare skin as she is flying through the arctic. The polar bear Iorek giving Lyra frozen moss to help bandage his wounds after a battle. The grilled poppy heads that the Jordan College scholars at Oxford eat during a meeting. The little Gallivespians on their dragonflies and the way the sun reflects off their poisonous spurs. That’s how you make a story stick ; that’s how you can put in deep stuff without ever making it boring. I am so excited they’re making a tv series because that shit deserves some recognition. And I mean the whole plot about the importance of stories, free will, the horror of religious fundamentalism....always relevant. Philip Pullman’s stuff is great in general, I love his Sally Lockhart series, which is more adult and adventure focused, and is a great deal of fun. And of course, the sequel to HDM he’s been putting out recently. 

- I spent a lot of my teen years reading either crime novels or historical novels. (When I think of some of the stuff I read when I was 13 I’m like oh my god what were my parents doing lmao some of that was really horrible.) And I think it gave me a good feeling for suspense and setting, and how important tension is. One of my all time faves is Andrea Japp. She is a French writer who does mostly crime, involving complex/monstrous woman characters and a very sensory, poetic approach to language, often involving food, plants and poisons. My favorite by her is the “Season of the Beast”/Agnès de Souarcy chronicles, which is a crime series set in medieval times, with a cool independent lady at its core, crimes in a monastery, and this very gloomy end of times vibe that I love. I also read a lot of Scandi Noir stuff, I love the kind of ...laconic approach to life. And again : vibe. Vibe is so important. And Sherlock Holmes stories. I love the Mary Russell series that take place in that universe and are basically a big Mary Sue self insert guilty pleasure but are just. So much fun. 

- I like poetry a lot - not stuff that is too wordy, but something short, sharp and vivid. i think reading poetry is essential to feeding your inner ‘metaphor culture’. I love Mary Oliver. Rimbaud, too, that I read at 17 and rocked my world. One of my underrated faves is  Hồ Xuân Hương, a Vietnamese poet from the 18th century who was adept at using nature metaphors to hide both erotic stuff, irreverent jokes, and political criticism, and correspond with all the great scholars of her time under a pseudonym. Badass.  Recently I bought ‘Soft Science’ by Franny Choi, which is about cyborgs, having a female body, emotions and politics and it’s absolutely brilliant. 

- I love reading fairy tales, too. Currently reading (i always read a lot of books at once lol) Angela Carter’s Book of Fairy Tales, basically fairy tales for grown ups, collected from folklore all over the world, with an amazing kind of gruesome humor and wisdom. Norse mythology is also so damn funny. That one bit with Thor dressing up as a bride or Loki’s shenanigans...amazing. And I like fantasy, I find it very soothing to read for some reason, my fave has to be Robin Hobb and her Realm of the Elderlings series. And Terry Pratchett, especially the series with Death or the Witches. Just brilliant. Neil Gaiman too. 

- I tend to be very impatient when it comes to literary fiction, I find a lot of it is self-indulgent, dreary. I’m a genre reader through and through, I need to be amazed. I loved ‘the Elegance of the Hedgehog’ by Muriel Barbery though. Some stuff by Amélie Nothomb, Virginie Despentes occasionally (they’re French writers with a very dark, wry approach to life, tho the first is more polished acid and the second very punk rock). And ‘Special Topics in Calamity Physics’ by Marisha Pessl is pretentious as hell but a lot of fun, if you like dark academia. Salman Rushdie has a way with language that is amazing. 

- I read a lot of non-fiction. At the moment : the Cabaret of Plants (about the symbolic/socio historical meaning of plants and how they shaped history) by Richard Mabey and ‘Feminist Fight Club’ by Jessica Bennett. One I absolutely love is ‘the Botany of Desire’ by Michael Pollan in which he traces the history of four plant species (apple, potato, cannabis, tulip) and how they impacted us as much as we impacted them. I was obsessed with plants for most of my life as you can see lol (my mother is a herbalist and I wanted to become a botanist for quite a while.). Also philosophy/anthropology in little bits. I love Tim Ingold. Things about witches. Anything by Rebecca Solnit is incredible. 

- I’ve been reading a lot of YA recently, because it’s fun and quick and keeps me reading, and has a lot of good female characters. Big fave recently : Jane Unlimited by Kristin Cashore. It’s about a young bisexual woman who’s grieving and comes to this weird house full of doors, each of which leads to a different path in life, and we follow her through each choice she can potentially make, each of one becomes a different genre of story : creepy ghost story, spy story, sci-fi, cute romance, etc. It’s so innovative and it’s a story that is also bisexual culture at its core. Also I absolutely love love love love love (etc forever) the Raven Cycle series by Maggie Stiefvater. What she does with language is just so cool, because she stays simple and efficient but uses her metaphors in such a fulgurant, vivid way. Some of her lines are just. bam! genius. #goals. Also Ronan Lynch is probably THE character that helped me the most with my coming out. He’s one of my forever faves.  Of course Harry Potter, lmao, I was of the generation that pretty much grew up with him, the last book came out when I was 17. JK Rowling really should just stop rn. But I learned so much from those, about the importance of making your story feel like home, and having a clear emotional journey. And Harry is such a sarcastic little shit, I love him. And I love a Series of Unfortunate Events too, the darkly funny tone of it, the celebration of knowledge and resilience. 

- I think in terms of the classics (I had to read in school lmao), I do like Victor Hugo a lot even though some of his stuff just doesn’t fucking stop. I also like Balzac and his Comédie Humaine, he’s very observant, mean and funny when it comes to people (even though it’s depressing.) Colette is my grandma’s fave writer and she is a rockstar, I love her (also hella bi culture). Jane Austen is great, I read Pride and Prejudice in one night straight, I was so hooked. Love Jane Eyre too. I read On the Road by Jack Kerouac while hopped up on opioid pain killers and that’s probably the only way to appreciate it, but it did mark me.  

- But to be completely fucking candid, I probably read the most fanfic nowadays still. Esp since I got to college, I need to unwind when I read, and having characters you already know can be so comforting. Now, of course, there’s a lot of fanfic that is just fluff (nothing wrong with that) but I honestly really believe in the literary value of fanfic. Because some of that shit simply just really slaps and is well written. But also as a genre on its own : you just simply don’t get so much emotional nuance, and depth in most other things. Because these are characters we already know and the writers are not afraid to be self-indulgent and plot is secondary, we see shades of things that we never see anywhere else, we see relationships developping in the small things and wow that shit is breathtaking, bro, sometimes. The art of infinite variation on a theme. Even though a lot of fic writers could use a bit of stricter editing, and do stuff a bit too many unnecessary details in here, so does Victor Hugo soooooooo....

lol i could go on forever. i love book soooo much. uni kinda killed my reading appetite, I used to read several books a week when I was in middle school. hope i can get back there (although maybe not as much bc i have a life now lol.) but thinking about everything i have yet to read makes me sooooo happy. I want to get more into sci-fi, English lit classics. Basically I like stuff that’s witty, dark, political, hedonistic, with dry humor, but a warm heart. Stories that celebrate knowledge, curiosity and human weirdness. And that gets to the point. When I get bored by a book, I put it down, because I just don’t have the time. I also hate writers where you can tell that they think they’re better than other people. Misanthropy is boring. Thank you for this question anon I had a blast

[unityghost]

Want

For part 19 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels, I've decided to respond to the following suggestion:

I keep thinking that it would be interesting (and a little painful) if later in his recovery process, Gabe does a bit of a 180 on Sam—either out of embarrassment at having needed him so much or out of the need to distance himself from anything to do with his vulnerability, he pushes him away (even unkindly). Not uncommon in people who’ve suffered severe trauma and their primary caregiver. And Sam doesn’t handle that well and then Gabe has Feelings and needs to fix it.

(Anonymous, Archive of Our Own)

This was a tough one because it's tempting to keep Gabriel on a consistent upward swing. But that's not how these things go - any recovery takes twists and turns. Thanks for challenging me!

“What do you like?”

Gabriel surveyed the shelf of dry pastas: ziti, capellini, tricolor. “Oh, gross, Sam. What kind of morbid freak names an ingestible substance ‘angel hair’?”

“All right, so that one’s out. Here, let’s get the pretty stuff.” He placed a box of tricolor in their grocery basket. “Unless you have a preference.”

“It’s all gonna taste the same to me. Food-flavored. Not a fan.”

Sam had thought it would be a good idea for the two of them to get outside for a while. Gabriel was tempted to stay in the bunker, where he could be alone when he felt like it, and where only the people he trusted were able to find him.

At the same time, he knew that Sam was right. Spending so many hours indoors meant that Gabriel was only growing paler and more tired. So he hadn’t resisted, especially when Sam said that all he wanted to do was make a quick grocery run.

“All right,” said Sam, “Can you think of something a little more palatable? Anything.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about it, okay? It’s not as if I technically need food.”

“You know you’re better off eating than not.”

Gabriel had the sense that Sam had come here specifically to find something Gabriel would willingly consume, rather than because he really needed to. The least Gabriel could do was try and humor him. “How about watermelon?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, perhaps not having expected Gabriel to respond. “Watermelon?”

“Or something equally sweet and insubstantial.”

“Yeah, sure, let’s go get some.” Sam turned to exit the aisle when there was a piercing shriek.

Gabriel yelped.

“No no, look,” Sam said, hastening back to his side, “It’s just a little kid, see?” He pointed to the dairy section behind them. A child aged about three was sitting at the front of a shopping cart, tears streaming down his face.

The middle-aged man steering the cart looked exhausted. “Please stop.”

The child screamed and began to kick his legs in fury.

“Nathan, seriously, knock it off. You’re breaking Daddy’s eardrums.”

Nathan sputtered something indecipherable.

“No,” the father answered, a touch of firmness creeping into his voice. “It’s not the time for peanut butter cookies; those are only for special days. Here, how about this: you can have some the next time Miss Jordan tells me you were a good listener at school.”

“I am a good listener!” the child screeched.

“Gabriel?” Sam said softly.

“Go back!” Nathan screamed. “I want cookies! I want them!”

Gabriel turned to look up at Sam, feeling himself go white. “No - no, no, no - Sam - I - ”

Sam grabbed Gabriel’s wrist. “Let’s get out of here.”

When Gabriel tried to move, his knees buckled and Sam had to pull him up by the arms. “It’s okay, I’m gonna get you home.” He half-dragged Gabriel out of the aisle, abandoning the shopping basket.

Angel hair pasta, Gabriel thought as the child’s screams began to grow dim. No thanks, Barilla.

The parking lot was mostly empty. Sam kept a loose hold on Gabriel’s arm as they walked back to the Impala.

Sam opened the passenger side door for him and eased him inside. By the time Sam was in the driver’s seat, Gabriel had begun to tremble and felt there was no chance of getting himself to stop.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s all good,” Sam soothed. “How’re you doing?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, everything's fine; I just - I knew as soon as the kid started screaming about what he wanted that you …”

The unspoken hovered between them, a block of darkness against midday.

I hate that word, Gabriel had told Sam once.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “For some reason those memories, they … they’re a special kind of messed up.”

“Well, let’s go home so you can take a breather.”

Gabriel spent the entirety of the ten-minute drive with his forehead pressed to the window, intent upon avoiding Sam’s eyes.

“Come on,” Sam said once they got inside the bunker, gesturing in the direction of his bedroom, ever conscious of the fact that Gabriel tended to feel most at home there, rather than in his own bedroom.

Gabriel followed, but remained in the doorway when they arrived. Sam turned back to look at him, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I ... “ But he faltered, unable to come up with the right words.

“What, are you still scared? Is it your stomach?”

“No. Sam, it’s - ” He gave a frustrated sigh. “Grocery shopping has got to be the most peace and quiet you ever get. The most everyday task imaginable. And I know you know I didn’t mean to, but … that one second; that one stupid, mundane thing that the four of you have never had in your entire lives. I ... I mean, ruining the most basic things ... ”

Sam offered an uneasy smile. “You almost make it sound like we’ve never been accosted by shapeshifters disguised as deli clerks.”

“It’s normal to go to the supermarket, Sam! Normal well beyond Winchester standards! It’s like - that’s where you can at least pretend to have an ordinary existence.”

“It really isn’t. You know we’re always looking over our shoulders.”

“This still feels different; I didn’t mean to throw off that one taste of mundanity you ever get!”

“Gabriel.” Sam spoke slowly, carefully, as if addressing a frightened child. “I don’t expect you to pick and choose where you keep it together. Seriously, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m not upset about it.”

“Well, I am!”

“Yes, Gabriel, I know. But you couldn’t help it.”

A spasm of rage tore through Gabriel. “Exactly! What’s next, Sam? Huh? ‘Oh, look, see that cashier’s name tag? Looks an awful lot like the pack of Go Fish Asmodeus used for his house of cards.’ ‘What’s that? Squash is in season? Sorry Sam, no can do; reminds me of the Christmas lights Asmodeus used to string up.’ ‘Oh, Sam, oh, help me, the song playing over the speakers is the same one Asmodeus used to sing in the shower!’”

“Gabriel, stop.”

“Well, I’m hardly being unrealistic!”

“Look.” Sam sounded half irritated and half desperate. “You can’t predict when something’s gonna mess with your head, okay? And I don’t expect you to. Besides, if anyone knows what a crisis is, it’s me, and this is no big deal. I didn’t think twice about it; I just need you to be okay.”

“Well, clearly I can’t even do that much. And no one is confiscating your right to self-sacrifice, but I - I just - I - ”

“You what?”

Gabriel took a deep breath. “I need to be by myself. I need you to leave me alone. For a while. Let me -” He backed out into the hall. “We can talk about this later.”

Sam’s features grew solemn. “We’re talking about this now.”

“Just give me, like, an hour to get myself together.”

“What the hell makes you think I would do that?”

“What the hell makes you think it’s okay to force me under surveillance?”

Sam was taken aback by the violence in Gabriel’s tone. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I only wanted to - ”

“It’s like being in prison all over again if I’m not allowed privacy! Stop trying to make me talk to you, because I can’t right now, I just can’t!”

It took Sam a second to assemble his response, and when he did, his voice was softer. “Look, I know you don’t feel well, but - ”

“No. Sam. Stop it. Leave me alone.” At this point, Gabriel wasn’t even sure he really wanted to be by himself. There was something flailing in him, something hard and belligerent. Where this forcefulness was coming from he couldn’t have said. All he knew was that he had to fight - that he had to tear at something, had to hurt something.

Sam moved nearer. “Let me help. Let someone help. It doesn’t have to be me. I bet Jack could cheer you up; you could hang out with him for a change. He says he wants to spend more time with you. He’s worried.”

“You really think I’m going to expose Tiny Tim to Cirque du Archangel?”

“It’s not a good idea to let you stew in your own mind right now. That was a lot, man. I know. I saw. And if you could’ve gotten a glimpse of your face - I was afraid I was going to have to get some paramedics on the scene.”

“Well, do I look like that now?”

“No, but you seem … agitated.”

“Oh, ‘agitated,’ right. Okay. Better break out the king’s guard. What do you think I’m gonna do, Sam, go on a scavenger hunt for the blades?”

Sam tensed, remembering how Gabriel had confessed to a temptation to look for the archangel blade or, alternatively, the angel blade - which, while Gabriel was stuck in a near-graceless state, would have been equally effective. “You’ve been doing okay lately. Not as okay as any of us want you to be, but … okay. You said you trust me. And the others. I know how difficult that is for you, but you can’t stop now.”

“Not trusting you? That isn’t what this is about, Sam. Where’d you get that?”

“I can tell what’s going on. You’re giving yourself crap for what happened. You’re upset and you think you’re protecting me by not letting me near you.”

Somehow this made Gabriel angrier. He barreled on, longing to stop himself but unable to contain whatever aggression had built up since the incident in the store. “Is that what I said? It isn’t what I heard. You need me to translate?”

“Gabriel, what’s wrong with you right now?”

Simultaneously enraged and ashamed, Gabriel turned away. If he could have answered Sam’s question, he would have. There was simply something he couldn’t control, something that perhaps he didn’t want to control.

“Gabriel,” Sam pleaded, “If you’re mad - you know that’s allowed. Whatever you are - that’s allowed. Just don’t try to hide it from me, okay? Please.”

Gabriel whirled around. His face and neck felt flushed. “I’m leaving.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “But why?”

“Because I should never have done what I did, that’s why!” Gabriel shrieked. “Because you were living, Sam, living in the simplest, most innocent way, just for those few seconds, and I took it from you! You don’t need me right now! Really, you don’t need me ever, but - but especially not right now! I’m - ” Gabriel found that he was having trouble breathing. “I’m as bad as that kid. A spoiled brat demanding something I don’t deserve. I don’t want to make you look at me, I don’t want to make you touch me, and I don’t want you not to make the dinner you planned on for yourself and Dean and Cas and the kid just because I didn’t give you a chance to do the one thing you were going to do that didn’t involve nursing me! You deserve what you I ruined for you because I can’t manage to hold myself together for more than ten minutes at a time!”

Sam only replied once he had recovered from Gabriel's spasm of fury. “Okay - first of all, that’s not true; you hold yourself together at least ninety percent of the time. And two, I don’t care about dinner!”

“And you have to convince yourself of that because the alternative is taking inventory of just how much you’re sacrificing and realizing how tired you are. And then you’re going to feel guilty, and that’ll make you put in twice the work, and you won’t even consider the fact that me being a disaster isn’t as important as that fragment of peace and quiet you could wrangle if you had any self-respect!”

Sam stared, eyes wide, face pale.

“So leave me alone!” Gabriel barked. “Do what you were going to do! Or punish me! Or - or just make this right!”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay - ” Sam moved to brace his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders.

Gabriel shoved him away, and Sam fell against the nightstand, hitting his hip on the corner and hissing in pain.

Gabriel, contrary to his plea for retribution, scrambled backward so that Sam wouldn’t have immediate access.

Slowly, Sam straightened himself, watching Gabriel with the same expression he got whenever he realized the body count was higher than he’d been led to believe.

The silence settled over them like the soft, teasing bite of a predator.

It was during the hush that Gabriel saw tears in Sam’s eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “Sam - I didn’t - ”

Sam opened his mouth, but it seemed he was incapable of speech. He simply shrugged, avoiding Gabriel’s eyes.

“I hurt you,” Gabriel choked. “Sam, no, I didn’t mean to hurt you; I - I didn’t - ”

Still looking away, Sam swallowed and shook his head, then strode past Gabriel to the door and disappeared into the hall.

Gabriel leaned against the wall and hugged himself. “No. No. Oh no. No.”

He’d been a lot of things since coming to the bunker - intrusive, burdensome, messy, demanding. But he’d never been dangerous. Of course, there had been a few instances of lashing out when he was caught up in his memories, scratching someone when they tried to hold him or slapping their hands away when they tried gentler contact. But his mind hadn’t been intact then: he had been in Hell, waiting for a different kind of touch.

This time, he’d been fully aware, fully present. He had simply been angry.

Gabriel’s breathing grew shallow.

It’s what he would have done to me.

Gabriel felt bile rising in his throat.

Don’t get sick on the floor. He’ll see; he’ll come back; he’ll -

“Uncle Gabriel?”

Crap. Not the kid. Why didn’t I shut the door?

Gabriel didn’t want to look up - didn’t want to show his face. Jack didn’t know how gruesome Gabriel was. He was too innocent to realize that he was breathing poisoned air.

“Hey,” said Jack, “What’re you doing? Why are you alone?”

Gabriel forced himself to raise his eyes. “Because I’m a multi-thousand-year-old grown-ass archangel who reserves the right to solitude. Except,” he added bitterly, “Who’s to say I have any rights left at all?”

Jack frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s good. You don’t need to understand any of this. It’s stupid.”

Jack’s face grew almost comically solemn. “I’m not too young to help you.”

“Hey, it isn’t about that. This just isn’t your responsibility.”

“How is it any less my responsibility than Sam’s? You let Dean and Cas take on some of the work. Why not me?”

“Okay.” Gabriel raised his index finger. “First of all, I don’t ‘let’ them do anything. They overrule every time I remind them that it isn’t their job to spoon-feed me. I’m the one who should be in charge of getting myself back in one piece. And second, you’re not supposed to see your uncle like this. No matter how old you get, I still don’t want you watching any more of this train wreck than you have to. Because I’m eons older than you. I’m supposed to be the one picking you up after you fall on your face.”

“But how many times do you think Sam has been the one to pick Dean up? Or how about the way they both get Cas back on his feet when he needs them?”

“Look, Jack, kid, dude, homie - you’re wrong. The fact that you’re still just a - ”

“If you call me a baby again, you can’t have any more of my Swiss Miss.”

“Fine. That you’re still so new means you shouldn’t be forced to be there for the adults in your life. I don’t care how much you’ve seen. I don’t care how much you’ve done. I can’t lay any of this on you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Shouldn’t.”

Jack scrutinized him. “What happened just now? Why do you look so scared?”

“Scared? I’m not scared.”

Jack didn’t reply, simply waited for Gabriel’s answer.

Gabriel sighed. “Jack, can you … can you just …”

“Can I what?”

Gabriel steadied himself and moved to the bed. “Can you come sit with me?”

Jack surveyed him, trying to ascertain whether he was serious, before obliging.

It was strange having Jack’s meager weight on the mattress instead of Sam’s. “How much do you know, kid?”

“I know that you were tortured. And that you decided you could trust Sam pretty early on. He’s a good fit for you - sort of a halfway point between Dean and Cas.”

“Fair analysis. But there’s … there’s a lot more.”

“I know.”

“You really don’t. You have no idea how much you don’t want to be a part of this.”

“Just tell me.”

“You’ve already had a taste. I’m assuming you haven’t forgotten that you were the first to catch me flailing around in a puddle of my own vomit two weeks ago.”

“Of course. So that happens a lot?”

Gabriel sighed. “Those three - they’ve seen that and more. Over and over again. And that’s not even counting the times I don’t let them catch on. I mean yes, I’m an archangel. And yes, that gives it a whole new spin. This is a deep, deep low. But if I were something else - angel, human, anything else - this would still be degrading. The honest truth is it’s hard for all of us to watch - and that includes Sam.”

“What, you think I’m not watching?”

Gabriel made a noise of disgust. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Well, I am.”

There was a long silence, during which Gabriel tried to shut out the echoes of the little boy: I want them, I want them, I want them …

“What does he do?”

Gabriel shook his head, trying to clear it. “What?”

“What does Sam do to keep you trusting him?”

“He …” Gabriel couldn’t quite figure out how to explain his relationship with Sam. “When I first escaped, when I was dragged here - he just sat with me and let me lose control. It was horrible but it shook me out of my own head a little. I sobbed like a kid at Grandma’s funeral. I shattered glass and puked into the mess." He ran a hand through his hair. "Man, I wish I couldn’t remember all this so well, but … I remember it because of Sam. Because of the way he just let me hurt.”

Jack contemplated this; and Gabriel wondered, stomach curling with shame, if he was trying to picture this grotesque moment in Gabriel’s recovery. “And what about now?”

“Now? Well, now he does the same thing. Drives me nuts, but I don’t think I could keep going without him running into my room in the middle of the night the second he hears me hit the wall when I’m trying to find the door. And the way he puts up with me even though I bring back memories of Lucifer. He’s got the patient of a f-” Gabriel glanced at Jack’s intent, painfully innocent gaze. “Funky saint. And if I had to babysit a terminally insane Messenger of God, I’d send it to an orphanage.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Jack protested. “I know you. What if I was terminally insane?”

“All right, all right, you got me. Fine. But there’s no way I’d be able to play mom if you had a bottomless inventory of memories about being held captive in Hell. Sam and I both do, and he gets overwhelmed. He told me he gets overwhelmed. So he passed some of the cleanup duty on to Dean and Castiel, but he still always wants to be the one to bring me back to reality. I don’t understand it, but man, do I freakin’ need it."

For a few moments, Jack didn’t speak, processing Gabriel’s explanation. Then he asked, “Why were you alone just now?”

Gabriel shifted. “Because right now I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.”

By this point, Jack already knew too much. There was little point in trying to shield him from further fallout. “Because I got mad at Sam for doing what he does - caring about me - after I messed up his day. I threw him into the nightstand. It’d be better for him to stay away from me for a while. For his sake.”

Jack shook his head. “He just wanted to help.”

“Yeah, of course, but I … I screwed him over and he was still being nice to me, and I haven’t had a lot of sleep, and I got real touchy after this whole scene in the pasta aisle, and - ”

“Uncle Gabriel,” Jack said quietly, “You should talk to Sam. No way is he angry. He never gets angry at you.”

“Not true, actually. When he’s had enough of my drama, and he thinks I’m gonna hurt myself …”

“That’s not really angry; that’s scared.”

“Well, he always says as much. Do you even know where he is? Where’d he camp out after I assaulted him?”

“You should check the library.”

Gabriel stared at the floor. “Have you seen him? Is he okay?”

“Well no, I haven’t, but I know he’s not gonna be okay unless you are.”

“I’m never okay. It’s gone out of style. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I’ve got to tell him I’m sorry for treating him the same way Asmodeus would’ve treated me.”

Jack laughed in disbelief. “No way did you do anything like that.”

Suddenly unable to speak, Gabriel shrugged.

“Hey, Uncle Gabriel - I can go get him right now. I can bring him to you. He’s not gonna be mad, I promise.”

Gabriel swallowed and shook his head again, no matter that seconds ago he had insisted upon seeking Sam out.

“Don’t you want his help?” Jack pressed.

Gabriel jerked his head up. “I don’t want anything.”

“What? We all want things.”

“No. No, not me. I don’t. I don’t want anything.”

Stop it; stop touching me, stop!

What’s that just come outta your mouth, boy?

“Uncle Gabriel.” Jack sounded alarmed. “What’s wrong, what’s the matter?”

Which one of us do you think has the authority to use that word around here? It ain’t me runnin’ empty now, is it?

You took enough! You can wait!

Doesn’t matter if I have enough, Gabriel. So long as your grace is down for the count, well, I just might not have what I need when I need it, will I? It’s you that’s gotta be ready for action. And you dare to expect special treatment just because you’re feelin’ a little … what? Sleepy? Queasy? You oughta know better ‘n that by now, boy.

“Uncle Gabe, please talk to me!”

I’m sorry!

I know you’re sorry.

Grace - grace is supposed to come back faster with food. Please, I need to eat, I -

You have the nerve - !

Please, I’m hungry!

Oh, you’re hungry, are you? I didn’t hear a ‘thank you’ when I fed you your last meal.

Gabriel could taste it, then and there, on the bed: the sour slickness of his own insides as Asmodeus pinned him to the floor.

And what use is there in giving you something you’re just gonna puke up all over me?

I won’t if you stay away from me!

“No, wait, hey, Uncle Gabriel, I’m right here!”

I’m sorry, what was that?

Nothing, that was nothing -

That wasn’t ‘nothing.’

"Okay, here, hold my hand. Isn't that what you like? When you're with Sam?"

I come in here to find you empty as an Easter basket on Halloween, and you dare tell me to give you a little me-time? Is that what I heard? ‘Cause that’s what it sounded like.

Please, I’m hungry!

“What can I do? Uncle Gabriel, what can I do?”

All right then, angel-pie. Here, I can make you a little something-something to satisfy that sweet tooth of yours, how does that sound? Wouldn’t want you dyin’ on me, after all now, would I?

“Sam!”

Please, no -

I didn’t hear you say ‘thank you.’

I’m sorry - I’m sorry - thank you -

“Sam! Where are you? Sam, I need your help!”

No, boy, it’s too late. ‘Sides, if I have to sit here and watch you shovel my food into your mouth like the greedy little pig you are, fattening yourself up -

Don’t take it, it’s mine; I want it!

“Oh my god - holy crap - Jack, what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know; he won’t move, he won’t talk to me.”

I want it! Give it back; I want it, I want it!

Gabriel felt his face pressed into Sam’s chest, heard Sam murmuring to him, telling him it was okay, that he was safe, that there was nothing to be afraid of. He felt his body jerking with sobs, heard his own hoarse wailing.

“Easy. Easy does it. Jack, maybe you should get out of here; I know this is a lot.”

“No, I’m not leaving him.”

I’m hungry!

Gabriel was shivering and moaning now, and Sam tightened his grip in order to keep him as steady as possible.

Give it back, give it back; I want it!

“Okay, ssh, it’s okay; you’re not with him, you’re with us. With me.”

No, I want that, it’s mine! That’s mine! Give it to me!

“Jack, go get the bucket in case he throws up. It’s in the closet.”

Gabriel knew this wasn’t real, but it felt so immediate - so right there -

I’m hungry!

Gabriel took in sharp, short breaths. “Sam - ”

“Hey, yeah, that’s it. I’m here. So’s Jack.”

“Sam,” said Jack, “He thinks you’re mad at him. Because he pushed you.”

“What? No, Gabriel!”

“I hurt you.” Gabriel spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t - Sam, I - ”

“Gabe, stop. I’m not hurt. No need to feel guilty, okay?”

Gabriel whimpered.

“Hey, hey - deep breaths.”

Gabriel slowed his breathing as best he could. Nausea tickled his throat.

“Jack,” Gabriel said, voice trembling, “Can you leave?”

Gabriel couldn’t see Jack’s face, but he sounded dejected when he replied. “Why?”

“‘Cause I think I might get sick and I don’t want you to watch.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Jack,” Sam interrupted, “Go get a cold towel, okay? It’ll help.”

Jack hesitated for only a second. “Sure. I can do that.”

There was the sound of Jack’s footsteps, and then Sam eased Gabriel away so that he could look at his face. “Whatever that was, it’s over. You’re not there.”

“No, I know, I just - the way it feels, I - ”

“Yeah. It’s okay. I get it. Let yourself come back. Slow as you need.”

Gabriel nodded and rested his head against Sam’s chest again. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Sam, you left; you were about to cry.”

“I - that was because I felt like I wasn’t helping you. I was trying and it wasn’t working. That’s all. I just didn’t like seeing you so deep into it that I couldn’t reach you.”

Gabriel groaned.

“Feeling sick?”

“A little.”

“No problem. Just give me a heads up if it gets bad.”

Gabriel caught the sound of hurried footsteps, then Jack’s voice. “Here.”

“Thanks, Jack. Hey, Gabriel, I’m gonna put this wet cloth on your neck, okay?”

“Okay.” Gabriel still flinched when Sam laid it there, but the cold proved a nice distraction from the nausea.

Even so, the voices refused to tone down. Gabriel gagged once and Sam shifted to maneuver the bucket over to him. “You’re okay. Just focus on me.”

Gabriel was still trembling. “Where’s Jack?”

“Right here!” Jack sounded alert, almost eager. “Can I do anything?”

“Jack,” said Gabriel, “Seriously, I need you to leave. Please.”

“Gabriel - ” Sam began, but Jack cut him off. “It’s all right. I mean … if he needs time with you … and if I’m going to make things worse …”

“You’re not,” Gabriel told him. “Just do me a favor and don’t let yourself watch me vomit if it comes to that. Whether or not it bothers you, it bugs the crap out of me.”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“Okay,” Jack said, and Gabriel heard him leave. He even had the courtesy to shut the door behind him.

“It’s better if it’s just you,” Gabriel muttered, still held steady in Sam’s embrace. “I’m not ready for him to see any more of the worst.”

“Maybe you can let him in eventually.”

“I don’t know, Sam. I kinda just wanna wrap him up in an electric blanket and watch The Great British Bake Off with him. He’s ... I can’t infect him with this. I know he’s desperate to help, but I - ” Gabriel swallowed. “I can’t believe I just had one of my signature psychotic breakdowns in front of him.”

“He’s fine. Just worried about you, like we all are. He cares. And like I said, he’s seen plenty already. You’re a part of his life now, and he doesn’t like to watch you hurting.”

“But if he sees me as something he needs to take care of, instead of the other way around - ”

“Hey, come on, stop. He sees you exactly like we do. The only difference is that he didn’t know you before. Don’t fight him on it, okay?”

“Sam,” Gabriel replied, “Sometimes I think you don’t understand just the depth of my self-disgust.”

“What? Where did that come from?”

“Kid shouldn’t be around me. I don’t like being around me.”

“I like being around you.”

“That’s because you’re some kind of freak of nature.”

“We all like being around you.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. He longed for that to be true - and if it was true, he hoped that wouldn’t change. Because Sam and the others ...

I want them.

Gabriel pressed himself more closely to Sam.

I want them. They’re so good to me.

“Are you okay?” Sam murmured.

Don’t leave. I want you.

And if he wanted, if he wanted anything at all ...

I want you right now, please -

“Okay, all right, there we go, it’s okay - ” Sam positioned Gabriel’s head over the bucket. “Just get it out - ”

There was mostly bile for Gabriel to vomit, and the taste was enough to keep him heaving for several minutes after it had been expelled.

“You’re okay, you’re good; just breathe as much as you can, Gabriel.”

Again and again his stomach contracted, and the word echoed in his head - want, I want, give it to me, I want it, I want you, help me -“Calm down; don’t hurt yourself. It’ll all be over soon.”

All Gabriel could do was wait, and it felt as if the sickness would go on forever, that he would never be able to stop no matter how much Sam reassured him, that this violent nausea was a casket holding him hostage from the inside.

“Gabe, there’s nothing left. You gotta relax.”

Gabriel felt dizzy as he gasped for breath. Somewhere in his mind, he registered just how pathetic the sound was.

Sam eased Gabriel onto his back, shifting his head so that it was on the pillow. “You need water,” Sam told him. “I’m gonna get some; I promise I’ll be right back, okay?”

“No,” Gabriel grated out. “No!”

“Okay - okay. I won’t. Here, let’s fix this up.” Sam tugged the blankets out from underneath Gabriel and covered his body. Now Gabriel felt too warm. Sam seemed to notice, because he reapplied the damp towel. “We’ve got to get you some water. Where did Jack - ”

“Sam,” Gabriel croaked, “I hurt you.”

“No you didn’t. That has nothing to do with anything.”

“I’m dangerous.”

“Gabe, come on.”

“I shoved you, I threw you - ”

“Ssh. You were upset. You had a lot going on.”

“Don’t let me hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me. You’re hurting you because you’re so rough on yourself. Now listen, I’m gonna get someone in here to bring you water and then you need to sleep.”

“Creative son of a bitch,” Gabriel mumbled.

“What?”

“Asmodeus. Always coming up with something new.”

“I know. I know, Gabriel.”

“Did the dumbest things to hurt me.” Gabriel felt that he had little control over what he was saying. “Me begging for food, asking for my brothers, groveling at his feet, pleading with him not to leave me alone. Bad as being flayed alive, Sam.”

Sam grimaced.

“All I did was want, and he kept breaking me. Guy knew what he was doing.” Sam looked blurry, and Gabriel blinked, mouth dry, stomach still uneasy. “Should’ve put his mind to something more productive. Horror novels. BDSM. ‘You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you? Mmm, you want your kidneys ripped out with a back scratcher, don’t you?’”

“You need water,” Sam said. “Right now. Then you need to sleep.”

“No, I don’t need water; I need you.”

“Okay, well, just sit tight. All I’m gonna do is open the door and get Jack’s attention, okay? And he can get you something to drink. I think you need to clear your head a little.”

“No, don’t - ”

But Sam stood up and hastened to the door. When he next spoke, his voice was full of surprise. “Have you been there the whole time?”

“I thought you might need help.”

“Uh, yeah, actually, can you get a glass of water? He’s dehydrated to the point of delirium.”

“Then can I come see him?”

There was no reply, and Gabriel suspected that Sam was either nodding or shaking his head. At this point, Gabriel was too weak to care who saw him like this.

The next thing he knew, Sam was lifting his head and pressing a glass to his lips. “Just a little, okay?”

Gabriel took a single swallow.

“Yeah. Good. That’s it. Think you can manage some more?”

“Mm.”

“Here, let me.” This time it was Jack who coaxed him to drink, while Sam supported his head. Gabriel collapsed after the second sip, limp and exhausted.

“Sam.” Jack sounded worried. “Is he gonna be okay? He looks almost … dead.”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. But I’m going to hang around. He’ll freak out if he wakes up and I’m not here.”

“Let me know if you need a break. ‘Cause, you know. I’ll be around too.”

“Okay.” Gabriel heard the smile in Sam’s voice. “I will.”

After Jack left, Gabriel opened his eyes. “He’s tougher than he looks.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Gabe - ”

“Not just for hurting you. For trying to get you to leave. I know you only meant to help. And if you ever stopped helping, I’d … I would … please just don’t. No matter how many times I tell you to piss off.”

“I just need you to trust me. That’s my only standard for you. Trust me, it’s gonna make such a difference if you decide to go all in and not worry about me ditching you. Doesn’t matter how many times you throw me into furniture. I know why you did it. You can’t be in total control every day. That’s just how these things go. Now listen - go to sleep. You really need it. I’ll wake you up in an hour or two if you want.”

“Don’t want anything,” Gabriel whispered.

Sam pressed the towel to Gabriel’s forehead, wiping the sticky sweat from his hairline. “Changed my mind; I have another standard for you to meet.”

Gabriel squinted, peering up at him, trying to get him into focus.

“Want something,” Sam instructed. “Want anything.” He inched the blankets upwards so that Gabriel was covered more securely.

“And then,” he added softly, “Ask for it.”

[violetsystems]

#personal

The week ended quietly beyond the power tools and the construction continuing on the property.  The desktop seems stable at the moment; more stable than American democracy from what I can tell.  The election results or lack thereof point to something larger I’ve experienced here over time.  There is a disconnect between those who run the country and the boots on the ground.  I spent most of the day yesterday walking in the neighborhood making smaller connections rather than broad political strokes.  The only definitive thing for me has been my performance in the stock market.  I say my performance because since July I have had no advice, guidance, or support in the decisions I’ve made for myself and my money.  Nobody really to gloat about it to other than here.  I could have stashed it all in a savings account and forgot about it.  I could have also held onto things that were diametrically at odds with the shit I talk.  Think watching a reggaeton concert in Fortnite while a three trillion dollar valuation company who kicks around the little guy sits in my portfolio.  I don’t actively divest out of some hidden market force that some Bloomberg tv anchor can quantify.  This is unless said pundits are out in the street trying to influence my decisions and heighten my emotional state.  This is what we call volatility and it doesn’t come out of nowhere.  I can say the morning after I set my Alibaba stock to sell was the day Jack Ma got slapped back by government regulation.  I read the news just like everybody else.  I spend more time watching CGTN documentaries on Chinese history than an ineffectual presidential race in my own country.  Still it is funny to read the horror on your favorite business analyst’s face when they equate China’s willingness to address antitrust in the bud with authoritarianism.  The real story in America is money is both in control and ridiculous out of balance.  It’s funnier to hear capitalism breathe a sigh of relief that the government is divided.  Meanwhile it can’t help figuring out boogeymen to shift blame to.  The latest being the disconnect between the democratic party and Latino voters particularly in Florida.  Pilsen where I live in Chicago is pretty much little Mexico and it’s easy to see when you walk the streets.  Parties that have spent years pandering to race in a subtly racist way for votes are certainly still clueless as to what everyone wants from their government.  I believe this is mostly because you never see politicians walking the streets by themselves.  I’m never going to be a politician.  But I negotiate enough hostage situations I find myself daily here in America.  This election and the lack of results is just another construction site I find myself waking up to.  I’ve become a day traitor and a night watchman of sorts stuck in my own little lighthouse.  This isn’t to say it’s complete hell for me.  Yes I have had to adjust to some unreal expectations.  These expectations go beyond my landlord and sprawl into my public facing identity in society itself.  

You see nobody actually talks to me at all.  Nobody asks what motivates me.  Nobody asks my name.  Nobody has the courage to look me in the eye and say anything remotely human.  They’d rather have the upper hand.  People spend years researching you behind your back inside out.  They speak in ways that aren’t spoken.  They suggest.  They flash things in front of you expecting you to read into them.  They wait for you to let your guard down and open up.  And yet, over time they never realize how ridiculous it all looks from the other side.  You are to know the rules of the road without clarity.  The social norms and expectations of where you stand are implied and never validated unless you run with a pack.  The viciousness of the last four years has created more division than anyone can fathom.  People in America simply make up their own arbitrary rules and chalk it up to freedom.  The idea of freedom is something that they sell without understanding the cost or weight it requires to maintain.  The ambiguity has echoed into the election itself as we sit in a limbo that isn’t unfamiliar.  I’ve spent the entire last four months in a state of crippling isolation.  And somehow I’ve made the best with what I had which is barely enough to emotionally satiate me to continue living.  Just like the election, it has to end at some point.  Somebody has to confess to just how much I’ve been put through next to anyone else.  Or they can run away like a child and ditch responsibility and blame. But often I feel like I mean so little to people that they’d just rather forget their contribution collectively putting me through hell.  It doesn’t fit the narrative they’re used to.  And so I’m thrown into some Ayn Randian void like Destiel, banished for crimes I’m not even fully aware of.  Mostly because I have never watched an episode of Supernatural in my life.  Yes, I emerged somewhat a better person.  But I’m not exactly happy about it.  America has failed me in ways I’m no longer enamored by.  This doesn’t mean I’ll give up my citizenship or become an enemy combatant.  It just means that I don’t really feel obligated to listen to my country’s incessant babbling about things that just aren’t true.  America secretly exiles people when it feels they are a threat.  It’s attitude towards China reflects this for me often.  And I feel less brainwashed into criticisms of it when I’ve been treated like a political football for everyone’s secret alternate reality game.  It isn’t like other countries don’t like profit or investment.  They just don’t like it when it’s unfair, unregulated and spiraling out of control into hallucinatory speculation.  This is the capitalism we all know and love.  And it is reflected in my reinvestment of my own liquidity and lack of solid debt.  Whereas my FICO score is lowered because I have no loans to speak of but global equity is keeping me from evaporating financially.  

If all this sounds like gibberish to you, let’s not forget the fact that I’m not good enough to be employed let alone acknowledged as breathing.  Yes there is the ‘hidden job market.’  If you know anything about the job market in my own city it resembles the slave trade.  People following you around trying to suggest with logos, intimidation and surveillance.  It sounds a lot like what people fear overseas.  With all the good deeds I do in spite of the hate I feel a social credit score might be more beneficial.  There’s no way to measure my value to this city other than the money I spend.  I don’t have a soul.  None of what I write musically or on paper is ever respected or seen as worth anything.  I’m a piece of meat on a runway full of potholes to be sized up and evaluated by a mob mentality.  I feel more comfortable walking past the FBI headquarters than I do going to a public grocery store in America.  And yet I still know I have a place here.  I have the confidence in knowing how I survived without any help other than my friends here on the internet.  And we’re all starting to wake up to this feeling in America that we’ve not only been lied to but actively swindled.  These unfair forces have been at work for a long time.  As we stand up to them, they seem to get more cartoonish and comedic in nature.  Like we’re simply living on a soundstage where they haven’t figured out a role to typecast us in.  I had a job and a career once.  I still have a twenty year resume and pay thirty five dollars a month for a career social networking sight that pretends I’m less qualified than a college graduate.  I knew working for a multinational would be intense.  I knew dating in the year 2020 would be go for broke.  But I never knew how sloppy and unorganized the endgame really was with people until I realized I had a better play for myself.  And this is the lesson with America and politics.  We can talk all day about our feelings and their value but the country only runs on debt and speculation.  We’re buried eighteen layers deep into fractured meta realities and economies that have spiraled out of the hands of the people.  We vote for hot button issues that do nothing but turn our politicians into reality stars sitting on top of piles of lobbied cash.  Special interests are great.  Everybody has a hobby.  My interests are on trial every day when I walk out the door.  Some of this is cute.  If we were talking about a trial by fire, I seem to be able to walk through hell without a tan.  I’d rather be on a beach somewhere with my girlfriend being grilled for why I didn’t get my shit together sooner.  And granted when that happens I won’t have much to say about the past.  How could I explain all the bullshit I went through to think for myself?  I’ve already done it for years here and it’s harder to figure out than what all these Destiel memes are about at the end of the day.  Which reiterates the point in a rather ridiculous way.  Nobody will ever know other than you and me.  I’ve made that promise for years and will hold onto it for years to come.  It’s just another week for me letting you know I’m ok when I shouldn’t be after everything I’ve been through.  I can’t speak for anything else and won’t from now on.  It’s called staying on brand.  But most importantly, it’s called keeping a secret and valuing a friendship.  You can’t speculate on what is none of your business.  That’s why I keeping my company private.  <3 Tim

[silver-spider-art]

Borderlands Head Canons

Okay so I have horrible depression writer's block rn and have been replaying all the borderlands games while also daydreaming all the stories I want to tell with these characters. So I’m just going to write out my head canons for shits and giggles cuz I have a lot of thoughts.

Handsome Jack:

Jack is such a wild card. He’s an overgrown toddler and an impatient genius. Also sexy as hell and a problematic fave. I spend so much time playing the game sassing and back talking him (like he can fucking hear me) but I still adore him. And relistening to some of the dialog lines I’ve built up a variety of head canon and AU ideas for him. 

So canon vs fanon is a little squishy in my head but Moxxi claims his face is plastic surgery and I’m taking that to be more than the mask. He’s definitely ADHD and neurodivergent. Plus a good helping of PTSD and paranoia thanks to Grandma and trauma from his ex-wives. Those are all his starting points but he breaks into 3 categories based on Angel. Bad Dad, Okay Dad, and Good Dad.

Bad Dad is canon and tips the point of no return for Jack’s mental instability when Angel brutally (but accidentally) murders his wife/her mom. Afraid of his own daughter and horribly betrayed and without “the one good force” in his life, he starts down the path of ultimate Sheakspearian self-destruction. All relationships end tragically and he’s his own greatest enemy. As far as the wife goes, I’m 100% that she is on a pedestal in his head and while he can think no ill of her, the relationship wasn’t all roses. 

Okay Dad, in AUs this would be where however his wife died or was lost it didn’t result in his fearing Angel (I normally leave this idea for modern!AUs without Siren powers). He is still overprotective and “doing it for your own good” but without the torture or horrific manipulation. Because of this, while Angel might still resent or hate him, he still has something to live for and is capable of somewhat decent relationships. Still, he rather sucks at it and more often than not is self-destructive. (my fave for writing and reading)

Good Dad, this is a strange and mysterious creature that is nearly unheard of. So often this feels so out of place. So much would have to change to create a catalyst in his life for him to turn out healthy. I mostly see this as a redemption arch thing. Where he might be able to turn it around and make amends given the right people around him. 

The other thing I’ve been growing ever found of is trans!jack. He wears a ridiculous number of layers of clothing which is definitely hiding his soft gut, but I’m very fond of the idea that much of his bragging and defensiveness is overcompensation for his fear and trauma both from childhood abuse and gender. There is quite a bit in game dialog on the Jack vs John thing. For the trans!jack I’m actually loving the idea that when he came out and remade his life, he chose John and was hired in at Hyperion with them only knowing him as John. But as he got more comfortable with his new life (and Tassiter made him start hating his new name) he wanted to reclaim his birth name. That he’s always gone by the nickname Jack (born Jacqueline) and was now confident enough in presenting male (and helped by Nisha) that he would even let friends call him Jackie without feeling less masculine. (super self-indulgent reasonings for this)

Other random head canons, Jack is polysexual and pansexual. He prefers women romantically but usually has longer last relationships with men yet rarely thinks of them in the same light. He’s mostly into women powerful enough to crush him and while he is aggressive and into being on top, he’d make a shit dom. He’s impatient and easily losses himself to pleasure. He is, however, a very good sub but it takes a huge amount of trust for him to allow that. (this is also why he is so angry at his attraction to Rhys. Rhys is a soft nerd who can’t even fire a gun, the exact opposite of Jack’s type and he falls for him anyway.) Jack’s vanity knows no bound and he spends way too much time of his look every morning to look perfectly disheveled and like he doesn’t care. Also extremely attached to his favorite things with huge possessiveness (partially caused by aforementioned childhood trauma). Jack actually likes cats but hates being around then cuz old childhood pain. Jack is also complete and utter crap at taking about his feelings or opening up to people.

Timothy Lawrence: 

So for dear Tim, my beloved favorite, I have 2 main categories, canon doppelganger or au brother. 

Doppelganger: needing money he took a job as Jack’s body double and had plastic surgery to look like Jack. Depending on Jack (Bad/Okay/Good) his relationship turns out drastically different. 

Bad ending poor Tim gets branded and has to fell his possessive and deranged boss and spends his life masked on Pandora as a mercenary. Always hiding his face for fear of those who want revenge on the man whose face he wears. 

Okay fate, he and Jack are lovers. They fight a lot and Tim’s most often catchphrase is “damn it, Jack” but in the end, Jack is his asshole. Their relationship is polyamorous and stable. But Tim is often in the shadows and overlooked, partially by choice. 

Good end? This is so rare I have no idea.

Twin/Brother: having grown up together they get Jack’s asshole and abusing Grandmother and Tim’s “laughs at your death” mother. Having one family member and someone he can always fall back on to help him and someone to be a hero for, Jack never goes full Bad ending. Despite all their fighting and issues, they balance each other out. Always falls in the Okay category of Jack’s relationship to Angel. 

But I’ve been working out the redemption arch to lead to a Good Dad ending. Jack actually being self-sacrificing for once and giving up something he wants for his brother's happiness. One idea is that both he and Tim are both pursuing Rhys but after some inciting incidents, Jack comes to realize that his family and friends are happier with Rhys in their lives and Jack knows that he’ll just ruin it like he’d started to do. I can see this beautiful scene of Jack seeing Tim and Rhys talk at a party and seeing Angel come up to join them. His heart aches because he wants that to be himself in Tim’s place but knows it would never happen. That in the end, he’s poison. So he chooses to give up. To let that peaceful scene be reality. That he can accept his claim on Rhys just being as family and not as lover. And that moment of clarity and change of focus helps get him on the path to repairing his relationship with Angel and his brother. Never a smooth ride and he fails a lot, but it does get better.

But back to Tim. 

Tim/Rhys is life. I love these two together like nothing else. Jack/Tim and Jack/Rhys is always unstable and huge potential for unhealthy. But Tim/Rhys is heaven and precious and good.

Tim loves cats and sweaters. He wants to write an epic fantasy story but has no faith in his abilities. He’s anxious and terrified of heights but he will be it anyway even while white with fear. He has a huge cybernetic kink he doesn’t want to admit to. Tim dated Wilhelm until the end and still deeply cares for the huge quiet man. While Tim dislikes blood and guts, he found he was actually really good and fighting. After he started the body double gig he got swoll and has stayed in shape since (his own vanity showing). He’s covered in freckles and tans dark in the sun. His voice can be very awkward and scratchy but confidence and vocal training helps that in the non-canon or modern!au settings. Tim is a much better fighter than Jack and can handle any weapon thrown into his hands (I mean just look at his skill tree in game) but he always holds himself back outside of combat and thinks of himself as weak. Despite his skill, he lacks confidence and in the bad endings always believes Jack is actually stronger than him.

Rhys:

My boy. Rhys is trans and autistic. He works very hard to make sure it doesn’t show. He volunteered to get the eye and experimental echo port in order to help compensate for his mental limitations and further enhance his positive skills. His cybernetic arm was also technically voluntary and for badass points he always claims so, but he wasn’t giving up a “perfectly good arm” but a barely functioning arm that always caused him chronic pain due to a poorly healed childhood injury. He stared in Data Mining and while he refused to act in violence to advance, Rhys has very gray morals and had done plenty of shady things to advance in Hyperion. He never had a problem with killing in the vague sense, just not wanting to get his hands dirty directly. This does change slowly, but he still hates guns. They are just very hard for him. When he must fight, melee is the way he goes. Rhys got his chest tattoos after his top surgery to disguise the scars. like his flashy cybernetics, his main goals are “if I have to stand out I want them looking at me because I’m too pretty to look away from”. He tries to fake it till he makes it with confidence even when he has no idea what’s happening. 

He always looks everything up on the EchoNet and panics when his connection to it is cut off. It’s his safety net/blanket in many ways. The more the situation is out of control and not following his plan, the more his anxieties act up and leave him vulnerable. This is how Jack easily manipulates him when everything is going to hell. He needs more time to think through things then the chaos of Pandora allowed. Once he’s used to the wasteland and it’s people, this is less of an issue. (Hyperion Rhys vs Atlas Rhys)

His special interests are colorful socks, Handsome Jack (he regrets that deeply after meeting the man), and his new interest is A.I.s. Though Rhys is very into his cybernetics and has moded them some, he can’t build them. His skills are haking, programming, and coding. His old goals where to get a job in digital security or programming once he could get out of data mining. Now as Atlas CEO his pet project has been building and refining A.I.

Random: Rhys is bisexual and leans a bit poly. He is sex positive but doesn’t have to have it in a relationship. He will follow along with most all his partner's kinks as it’s most important for him that they are having fun together. Soft fluff and cuddles are what he lives for though. (everything about this is super self-indulgent)

Angel:

Angel is autistic. It puts her in an especially dangerous/vulnerable position with her powers and Bad Dad Jack doesn’t know what to do with her without his wife to help. He loves his baby girl dearly, but he’s lost and doesn’t know how to help her. In the end, he uses her to fuel his own obsessions and the veneer of childhood is stripped from her eyes as resentment sets in. She lost her father long ago and now only wants release. Like Tim, she could have tried to kill him herself, but while she can and does betray him, he’s still her father in the end.

Okay Dad Jack, (mostly modern!aus) struggles with how to raise Angel but genuinely tries his best. His second marriage was entirely to have a mom for her, knowing he was a shit parent. That wasn’t a good marriage and Angel still didn’t get a mom out of it. Angel goes up angry and resentful of her dad and often refuses to call him anything but Jack. She’s angry that he still treats her like a child. She can’t live on her own and needs assistance in common tasks due to her limitations, but can’t stand being treated childishly like his always buying her unicorn themed things and his insistence on not swearing. She struggles to understand that Jack needs these things for himself too and they both just suck at communicating to each other. They circle around each other, in a strange dance, more like roommates than family. Angel works for Jack as his security expert and hacker/spy. She was instrumental in him taking over Hyperion.

Good Dad... like beforementioned, this is hardly a thing. The good times are mostly in her early youth.

Angel is a lesbian and in okay or good settings falls for Gaige. Jack is very not okay with his daughter dating an openly Anarchist Anti-Cooperate Terrorist who has built death machines. They met online and spend nearly every night having hour long conversations. Gaige makes her feel more normal and nonbroken than anything else in her life ever has.

Random:

Tiny Tina is trans. I read this in a fic and it’s just canon now.

Zer0 is a nonbinary cyborg. They have had most of their body replaced and generally don’t want to be human, so they took matters into hand to make that happen. They feel kinship for Rhys because of this and are growing fond of the awkward man and proud of his bravery foolishness for going into battle despite having no skill. Zer0 and Tim fight well side by side but they do NOT get along outside of combat.

Nisha is aromantic and pansexual and only doms. Her whip very much is used in the bedroom. She and Jack are always off again on again.

Maya is aro/ace and a total badass.

Sasha and Rhys date for a while but end it mutually finding they fit better as friends than lovers.

Gaige helps Rhys make his new cybernetics and he has to argue with her to not install more than one weapon in the new arm or lasers in his eye.

Wilhelm was always going to die of Bone Waste and the surgeries and cybernetics were just delaying the inevitable. Jack set him up to die, but it was willingly on Wil’s part because he didn’t want to die in a hospital but in a huge and epic fight that would be the stuff of legends. 

Vaughn is aromantic and sex nonpulsed and he and Rhys are platonic bros for life. Rhys is 100% okay with this and anyone else in his life has to accept his deep love for his bro.

(I’m sure I’m forgetting a lot, but this is long enough for now, oops)

[dcembervesalius]

It: Chapter One (Review)

Okay, I practically waited a day to write about It: Chapter One (most commonly known as It, which I also call It, 2017). I watched it yesterday at 7 P.M. (I kind of forgot about the curfew, I know) with high expectations, and I must say that those expectations were met. I wouldn't go out and say that this is the best adaptation of Stephen King; we didn't get the whole story and I shall wait for It: Chapter Two to make that statement (if I actually feel that that's the case). Being that they changed the timeline from 1958 to 1989, there were bound to change some stuff that happened, so the things that they changed didn't bother me at all. The kids did a phenomenal job bringing to life The Losers Club, my favorites being Sophia Lillis as Bev, Finn Wolfhard as Richie, and Jack Dylan Gazer as Eddie. One of the things I felt the 1990 miniseries was missing was the development of the friendship between the Losers, and while in this version they didn't show them playing at the Barrens at all or building the damn, among other things that happened in the book and in the miniseries, the development of their friendship was one of the highlights in my opinion. I loved that they brought 29 Neibolt Street to this adaptation because the scenes that happened in the book were among my favorite things. They brought the Leper to life and damn was it scary, and while they did change many of the scares when they face Pennywise for the first time together, I believe it was one of the best scenes of the entire film; it was creepy and exciting, keeping you on the edge of your seat.

The scenes that disturbed me the most, and I believe that this was the objective of Andy Muschietti, were when the adults behaved in this strange way that was just overall creepy. I think they could've made a stronger point of how in Derry the adults don't pay much attention to the awful things that happen, that they turn around and pretend it's not happening, but I hope they address that more on Chapter Two. Two adults that I hated that were portrayed spot on were Bev's dad and Eddie's mom; these two are just the worst type of human beings in the world. Eddie's mom was just this judgmental piece of trash and while they just touch the surface of her character it was the best way to portray it. Then we have Bev's dad, who is just abusive and dear goodness... so creepy!!! I think one of the scenes that really affected me was when Bevvie "takes a bath," I guess you could say. I always pictured this scene as a lot of blood but in the film the fact that the bathroom was drenched with it, that you could see blood everywhere and that Bev was covered in it... if that happened to me I would've been sobbing uncontrollably, especially because no one can see it. Now, there were some adults that I loved in the book, and I was sad not to see them in this adaptation, given that they had died. Because of this, Mike was I think my least favorite character. He was portrayed very well, but I have the feeling that his character might end somewhere differently; because of his dad, Mike was very invested in the history of Derry, and that's why he stayed in Derry, while Ben became an architect. Because they didn't include the scene of the damn, I don't know how they will go about this, but these issues that I have so far might be resolved in Chapter Two.

The Bower's gang was very good as well. I LOATHE Patrick. I completely hated him in the book, even if his death was one of those that affected me so much, and while I wish they had utilized his character a bit more, he still made the cut, unlike the 1990s miniseries, and the scene when he goes "missing" was one of the creepiest for me (I ♥ DERRY). Now as for Henry himself, I think he was brought to life perfectly. He is sick, he is twisted, and he genuinely seems to hate the Losers, unlike the one on the miniseries. The only complaint I could have is his dad. He has to be abusive for Henry to turn out the way he did, but because we don't see him enough and I believe he was a police officer in the film, I can't help but wonder what things did he do to Henry because on the book he is a piece of garbage; he is racist, misogynist, violent, and psychotic. The things that this man does to Mike's dad, the way he rewards Henry when he does things that an abusive piece of crap would be proud of, yet still beating him... My Lord, *sighs* I am speechless just remembering his character. I guess we could say that because the film does not take place in the late 1950s, maybe many of these aspects would not be as prominent? I don't know. And I know I am a book snob. Then again, these are minor complaints, because these changes that they do still work. However, changing these things make me not have a stronger connection to Mikey, but he is still amazing. The scene when Henry kills his dad, man that was straight out of the book and so, so dark. It was done so well.

Now, the pièce de résistance, the one and only Pennywise, the Dancing Clown, played to perfection by Bill Skarsgård. He was fantastic. He was so creepy, he was so scary, he made me so uneasy whenever he appeared on the screen. Besides many of the scenes that I already mentioned, every time Pennywise appeared I jumped: when he all of a sudden appears following Ben through the library; when we see Eddie finally escaping from the Leper and we see It; when the Losers are investigating where all of the sewers connect and the photo-thing starts changing pictures on its own until finally, Pennywise appears out of the screen so big... that was one of the scariest scenes in the whole movie, along with the showdown at 29 Neibolt Street. When all of the Losers go their own ways after the traumatizing experience at the house, a few months later Bev is kidnapped by It, and the whole showdown down in the sewers was so intense. I feel so bad that (I theorize) Stanley got a look at the deadlights when It had Its face on Stanley’s and that's why he commits suicide 27 years later (probably). I was so scared of Pennywise that I think I might have trouble going to my bathroom without fearing he will be behind the shower curtain? Like, in summary, Bill was fantastic and I would consider him one of the highlights of the film, which was what it was supposed to happen! I like Tim Curry's version of Pennywise, but I think Bill's is slightly better? Nothing like nostalgia, right? But I do believe this version of Pennywise will traumatize a new generation of moviegoers.

All in all, I think this was a fantastic adaptation! I loved this movie. Maybe not as much as I could've, but I will have to wait until we get Chapter Two so that I can say if this is the best adaptation of a novel by Stephen King. So far, I give this 8/10 balloons. This movie will not only make you feel uneasy and scare the crap out of you (depends on what you're scared of, which is lucky for It because IT KNOWS ALL YOUR FEARS), but it will also make you laugh; you will love the friendship of the Losers Club and you will be reminded of what it was like to be scared of the "simple" things when you were a child. I think all of us had a Losers Club when we were little and it brings us so much nostalgia. I loved the kids, and I love that I can consider this movie a coming-of-age film. Deserves all the praise it's getting. I hope we get to see Chapter Two soon so we all can float one more.

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