#I think it’s really neat though good to see we have the elite tastes in cartoon characters

[tothepointofinsanity]

Something with Silico from PPG and Egg from Game and Watch

Had to actually look up Silico from PPG again because for whatever reason I completely forgot about him despite having watched most of the initial show back then. Thanks for reminding me that this silly guy exists./pos I crush him in my hand because you made him swear.

I like that Egg is just lying There. He is slaying. I love it.

[ragingbookdragon]

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 1

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,060 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Assault (Past & Present)

Author’s Note: I’m a dumb bitch who really can’t stop myself from starting new stories. Regardless, enjoy! -Thorne

“Tell me about the tavern we’re going to Charles.”

           The man looked to the Grandmaster with a smile. “Oh, I believe it’s called The Ethereal Crew Tavern.”

           Haytham cocked an eyebrow. “Quite an odd name for a colonial tavern.”

           “How so? Charles wondered, trying to understand the statement.

           “Most taverns this side of the Atlantic usually have humor in the name.” He glanced at the other Templars coming their way to the crossroads. “The Ethereal Crew almost sounds mystical.”

           “I’d never thought about that.” Charles remarked, and the Templars stopped to greet the larger group.

           “Evening Master Kenway.” The Irishman thrust a thumb back to the road. “Tavern’s just up the way here.”

           Haytham nodded, greeting the other Templars in the group before taking the lead, going into an easy conversation with them.

           The tavern came into sight, easily a two-floored building from the view. The cracked slate gray paint along the side reminded Haytham of the old boats that he saw dry docked when he was a child at Queen Anne’s Square. It made a bitter taste form in his mouth as he thought about his father and family. The borders of the doors and windows were painted with an onyx coat, and as they climbed the stairs, they caught sight of the sign next to the door. Someone had hand painted a crew of ghostly pirates standing behind a captain with swords and pistols raised. Haytham couldn’t help but huff quietly at the sign, hand curling around the handle to open it.

           They stepped inside and he was mildly surprised to see such a relative cleanliness within. Sure, there was a spill of ale here and there, but a certain level of neatness blanketed the place. His eyes drifted up the walls to the Jolly Roger flags hung up. Whether they’d been sewn and hung for decoration or were real flags, he didn’t know, but to hang them up so brazenly, the pub owner obviously didn’t fear reprimand. Haytham didn’t know if he should’ve praised them for their audacious bravery or sheer stupidity. Time would tell if he managed to meet the owner. A woman appeared in his peripheral from behind the counter.

           She offered a polite smile to them. “Good evening, gentlemen.” They tipped their heads in greeting. “You must be the group under,” her eyes drifted to the writing board she had in her hand, “Kenway?”

           Haytham nodded. “We are.”

           Her smile brightened and she tipped her head. “Fantastic! If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the back!” She appeared from around the counter and started through a doorway, leaving them to follow.

           They entered into a backroom and Haytham was pleasantly surprised at how elegant it looked. Perhaps that was the wrong word—more refined in the piracy theme. She watched them take their seats before stepping between his and Thomas’s seat. “My name is (Y/N) and I’ll be handling your orders for tonight.” She gestured to the table. “The cards in front of you hold the items our tavern serves. The first page is the specials for the evening, the next page is the normal dishes.” (Y/N) gently turned the card in Haytham’s grip with a quiet, ‘excuse me.’ “And the back is the listing of our drinks. We serve alcoholic drinks as well as non, and we have quite a bigger selection than most taverns in the colonies.”

           “How do you manage that?” Shay piped up, obviously impressed.

           She smiled at him. “We have exclusive deals with many dealers and traders across the seas and lands. We also happen to brew some of our own liquors.” (Y/N) looked at them. “Can I start you off with drinks?” her eyes drifted to Haytham.

           He nodded. “I’ll take champagne.”

           “Shall I bring the bottle?” Haytham tipped his head. “Of course, sir.” Her eyes drifted to the Shay. “And for you?”

           “Take a pint of Guinness, lass.”

           (Y/N) quietly nodded, taking the rest of the orders, and with a quick of the quill into its holder, she said, “I’ll go get those ready. In the meantime, please decide what you’ll be eating for the evening.”

           Before she could leave, Thomas had an arm around her waist, and she froze. He gestured for her to lean over and when she did, Haytham watched her eyes go wide at whatever the man had whispered in her ear.

           She let out a laugh, but someone as well trained as he could tell it was one to hide the embarrassment she felt. She pulled from his grip and remarked, “Now sir, you should focus on dinner.” Thomas merely gave (Y/N) a salacious grin and Haytham watched her flee as inconspicuously as she could. His eyes narrowed on the man who didn’t seem to feel the weighted gaze, immediately going into conversation with Charles and William.

***

           Laughter echoed from behind the closed doors and (Y/N) sighed internally—partial tiredness, the other part infuriated. God, what I wouldn’t give for these bastards to go home already. Every time she’d gone into the room, that lecher Thomas had made some inappropriate comment or put his hands on her. She could feel the thread that held her patience fraying and it was about to snap.

           She needed the money this place provided though, and she slapped a smile on her face, stepping into the room. “My, my, it seems you’re all having a great time!” They raised their glasses in return save for the one at the head of the table. He’d removed his tricorn since (Y/N) had left. Her eyes rested on him for a few moments—he didn’t seem the type to drink in excess somewhere he didn’t feel secure. He was rather handsome in her opinion, dressed in clothes too sharp for any colonial man, personal care much too meticulous for one as well. He had a sharp jaw line, high cheekbones, a strong nose, and his dark brows made his steel eyes shine as if they were made of polished metal. Rather handsome, she finally decided, and much too dangerous for someone as skilled as her to ever take on in a fight.

           Eyeing the many weapons he carried, she wondered if perhaps he were apart of an elite group of soldiers, but she’d never heard of redcoats like that. The man’s foot shifted in a light tap, and she looked up, meeting his steely gaze—turns out all the time she’d been observing him, he’d been doing the same. Her cheeks warmed and she glanced the other way, wondering just how much he’d managed to size her up in mere moments they’d stared. “Well, I wonder if you’ve saved room for dessert?” Their attention was immediately drawn in and she couldn’t help but laugh. “We’ve cakes, cookies, pies, any and all kinds you could want.”

           The men cheered around the table and Thomas leaned over, wrapping his arm back around her, though in his drunken haze, he slipped it under her rear, making her go statue like. “Say��how much—for your—dessert?” Most of the men laughed at that, but Shay and Haytham, who both wore looks of general disgust.

           (Y/N) wanted to laugh, but that thread had finally snapped and she grabbed hold of his hand and yanked it off her body, shoving him sideways in his seat; he collided with Charles who was sitting next to him, and before he could say anything, she was standing over him with a glower. “Listen and listen well, you fuck.” Her sudden use of an obscenity sobered everyone at the table. “I have spent the last three hours being sexually harassed by you and I’m done. I doubt a stupid bastard like you has ever heard of the word ‘consent’, so allow me to explain.”

           Thomas’s mouth opened and she raised a hand. “You say anything, and I’ll bash every one of your fucking teeth out and make you eat them one by one.” His mouth snapped shut and she said, “Consent is when someone gives you their express approval to touch them. Since you got here, you haven’t requested my consent to touch or speak to me in such a way. Allow me to tell you exactly what I think about it.”

           She gripped the back of his chair and got in his face. “If you put your hands on me again, if you speak to me again, if you even look at me again.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and her voice became a withering hiss. “I will claw your fucking eyes out of your head and shove them down your goddamn throat. And while you’re choking to death at my feet, the last thing you’ll see and hear will be the sound of my laughter. Do you understand?”

           He could barely form a thought to phrase back, but he managed a light threat. “Murder’s illegal.”

           (Y/N) barked a laugh that sent shivers up their spines, then she sneered, “You’re not the first man I’ve killed. You won’t be the last.” A grin crossed her lips, and Thomas thought he was staring at the mouth of a lioness. “But I would love nothing more than to add you to that list. Would you like that?” Thomas shook his head rapidly. “Coward.” She spat and stood straight.

           For a moment she simply glared at the man, then a mask fell across her face and she turned to the rest of them. “So, shall I take dessert orders then?” When no one spoke, she smiled. “Then I’ll go get your checks. Please excuse me.”

***

           As the group stumbled through the tavern, they seemed to avoid the hostess’s eyes, still terrified about her threats. (Y/N) saw them off with a smile, and when Haytham came up to her, she regarded him with a polite gaze, but one that held resentment and suspicion. “Did you enjoy your evening sir? I hope you’ll come back to visit.” Her smile brightened. “We enjoy high-class company.”

           Haytham huffed through his nose and stared at her. “I apologize for Thomas’s behavior.”

           Her smile dropped and that rage began to slither out. “If he ends up missing, don’t come here.”

           He cocked an eyebrow, but his eyes held humor. “Because you wouldn’t have anything to do with it?”

           (Y/N) leaned forward and hissed, “Because I’ll be halfway across the colonies by the time the authorities get here to arrest me.”

           “You’re fairly confident to speak of killing a man so openly.”

           She scoffed. “Oh please, anyone I’ve ever killed had it coming.”

           “Had it coming?” he echoed, steely gaze narrowed with interest.

           “They did.” (Y/N) averted her gaze to the window and Haytham watched as she seemed to recount the past; her voice turned into a mumble, almost apathetic, like she expected what had come before. “Most of them escaped justice because their money lined court pockets.”

           “And you ensured the victims had justice, then?” It wasn’t much of a question, more rhetorical than inquisitive.

           She looked at him with heavy stare and as if her mouth were a gun, she was spitting words like rapid-fire bullets. “Who is to be held accountable when the justice system is found corrupt? Who brings them to justice when they fail those they’re supposed to protect? Who stands up for the people when no one stands for them?” (Y/N) thrust a finger into his chest. “Who protects the women and children from the ones who are supposed to be their protectors? Who protects the innocent from those who would strip it from their very souls?” Her jaw clenched. “If not them, then who? If we don’t…then who will?”

           Haytham simply gazed at her and she pulled her hand away. “I’m not asking you to understand, but don’t write me off as some crazy murderess. Any life I’ve ever taken has been an evil one, dark and corrupted. And I ensured their victim never had to live another day in pure terror.” She gestured to the door. “You should leave. Your group has been waiting for some time.”

           He didn’t move, but murmured, “If I were to offer you a job…to eliminate evil people…would you take it?”

           She met his gaze. “Only if I you keep the one man as far away from me as you can get him.” A smirk crossed her lips. “Or I’ll kill him.”

[marginal-notes]

TLOK Episode One a.k.a. Korra immediately goes on a rampage

So, as mentioned, I’m finally getting around to watching The Legend of Korra with all of my terrible tastes and general thoughts. 

Don’t give me spoilers, my indignation will be funnier without them. 

What I Know About Korra Going In:

If the show can have all of Aang’s bending teachers still around for the audience’s nostalgic pleasure, Suki better be alive and kicking too or I am going to throw a fit

Technology progressed pretty intensely in ways that I will want to pick apart later

Listen, what the fuck is Republic City. Why. Why does this exist. Show you better answer me fast with why this exist for a legitimate in world reason that isn’t just: “The audience is a bunch of American kids and teenagers and we want to uphold the liberal ideals of democracy because of course that’s the motives of the victors after a global war of probably unprecedented scope despite like, Zero (0) indication that the idea of democracy was rattling around anyone’s heads in ATLA.” 

If this is the reason, I’m going to quit watching. Disgraceful. Disgusting.

Something involving anti-bender sentiment.

Something involving something called the Red Lotus which I am side-eyeing the shit out of 

Bloodbending?????

Spirit World shenanigans and Avatar backstory that’s on thin ice with me. 

Love triangles. UGH. TERRIBLE. WHY DOES MEDIA DO THIS. WHO FINDS THIS INTERESTING. PLEASE RAISE YOUR HAND SO YOU CAN EXPLAIN TO ME. 

Alright, here we go. 

WELL, 30 SECONDS IN AND I GOT MY WISH FOR AN EXPLAINATION ABOUT REPUBLIC CITY.

Avatar Aang and Fire Lord Zuko transformed the Fire Nation colonies into the United Republic of Nations, a society where benders and nonbenders from all over the world could live and thrive together in peace and harmony.

Okay. I’m.... I’m going to withhold judgement for now until I watch like, literally more than 30 seconds to fully form my thoughts about this move. I THINK IT’S A DUMB MOVE AND IF THIS IS WHY PEOPLE KEEP HAVING FIRE NATION DEMOCRACY FICS I QUIT.

So. We get a panning shot into this city. Very urban city that’s the product of the industrialization and like whatever the hell that propaganda voice over is talking about. 

As a method of setting the scene and immediately letting the viewers feel and know the passage of time between ATLA and TLOK, I love this shot. There’s no mistaking this for being immediately after ATLA. We’re listening to one of Aang’s kids. There are skyscrapers. The Fire Nation palace in ATLA probably counted towards the architectural development towards urban skyscrapers, but that architecture is fully formed by TLOK. Brilliant. 

I'm the Avatar! You gotta deal with it!

What a cute brat. Her poor parents, oh my god. 

Also, is she supposed to be a prodigy. 

Again with immediately setting contrasts against ATLA. Very cool demonstration, extremely effective distinction between Aang’s journey around the world trying to find teachers and learning how to bend in the middle of a war vs. Korra at peacetime with a whole entire facility dedicated to her. 

Not sure about how I feel regarding the White Lotus’s presence. 

IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE KATARA????

That's your grandmother, Meelo.

Does he not visit his parents. It can’t be that hard to swing by for like. Yearly festivals if the Water Tribe has those. I don’t see why not. Maybe something for when the winter night ends, I can see that being festive. 

Tenzin do you like. Not call? Not write?? Sir???

Oh my god, Pema. I hope she really likes kids, despite how rowdy they are. 

Wait. How old is Tenzin. Thirties to forties? 

How old is Katara. 

Is this going to be a repeat of the Fire Nation royal miracle babies. 

I get that, but I don't think keeping me locked up in this compound like a prisoner is what he had in mind.

Going by the episode title, I bet we know what Korra has in mind. Speaking of this compound, where’s the Southern Tribe? The aerial shots look like it’s in the middle of nowhere. Is she so far removed that she doesn’t even spend time with the tribe she was born into? Cause that sure as hell wasn’t how Aang was raised. 

Honestly fascinating as these contrasts keep coming. The bizarre presence of the White Lotus. The way her teachers come to her instead of her seeking her teachers the way Aang and Roku did. 

The Avatar must have always been a special political figure, without any good contemporaries to our world, to be honest. Back in ATLA, we see that Roku isn’t beholden to Fire Nation citizenship - he seems to transcend that. And it honestly seems important that Roku and Aang went out to the world, experienced the other nations and their ways of life. I think Aang does have a line regarding this. 

Because Korra’s situation? Can easily turn into a nightmare, given the realities of what being the Avatar could easily mean. 

OKAY THIS SHIP. Very cool looking, very neat, I continue to love every visual manifestation of the passage of time between ATLA and TLOK. One small question. What’s with the rigging poles. 

(source)

To be fair, this is a battleship from the British navy, but aesthetically I think we can say this is a fair inspiration. From what I remember while researching the coal fic, the rigging and poles there serve no function. It’s aesthetical. At best, there’s a limited function, but it’s predominantly for aesthetics in the transition into the ships like the Titanic with no rigging at all. 

Which raises my question about WHY ON EARTH?? The Fire Nation navy in ATLA??? Were clearly way past this stage in design? Literally during Sozin’s time too??? Almost two hundred years before this current shot in TLOK? Why would the ship design regress like this??? The Water Tribe ships probably wouldn’t evolve into the designs that Europe used? Earth Kingdom ships would probably be more inspired by East Asian designs which also wouldn’t end up with this system for sails? 

Where does this aesthetic come from. 

IS THAT A CAR. 

....

.......

..........

I am not qualified at all for dissecting the potential social and cultural explanation for the western influenced aesthetics appearing. I am but an ignorant banana, I don’t know shit. 

.......

oooooooh this is going to slowly annoy me isn’t it.......... 

That will be twenty yuans.

[Jaws theme]

The city's huge. I bet we could find a place to rustle up something to eat.

You know, I’ve seen plenty of weird shit in Central Park and around NYC before. Korra, you are so unprepared.  

Are you tired of living under the tyranny of benders? Then join the Equalists!

Oh boy. Let’s.... let’s put a pin in this thought. I’ll come back to it once I know more about what’s going on. Because. This will either be fun. Or I’m going to have to create a second spite fic folder. Please, show, don’t give me reason to create a second spite fic folder. 

On a different note though, I really do love the choices so far for setting up this show’s forward path. There’s no way to mistake this as a rerun of ATLA. This is it’s own separate story and I love that. I really do respect that. The way the different threads are emerging feel really smooth: 1) the impact of Korra’s isolation towards her culture shock in the giant city - which must smell and sound REALLY weird to her; 2) her prodigious talent in the physical, exciting parts of bending meshing with her teenage nature and also clashing with the spiritual parts of being the World Bridge; 3) the absolute hot bed of chaos every part of Republic City must be. 

Kinda funny that people would still have sideburns in the same style as from like. Seventy years ago. Vintage. 

Mr. Chung, please tell me that you have my money, or else I can't guarantee I can protect your fine establishment.

My terrible taste in interests rears its head again. Listen, you cannot imply something like the mafia or the triads exist in universe and not have me immediately ALL OVER THAT. Republic City, you are such a mess. Like, for this alone, I might write a single fic for TLOK that’s just about trash collection and disposal. And corruption. And- 

I am fascinated by the genetics and molecular/cellular biology behind the yellow and white eyes in this universe. 

Police! Freeze where you are!

Bitch what the fuck. How many of these rigid airships are part of the police. Are all of them for the police? Are the police literally patrolling people from the sky? 

Also, that better be helium in those ships instead of hydrogen by this point in time. I’ve already made my post about the fleet of hydrogen ships in Sozin’s Comet. 

How much property damage is being inflicted thanks to these couple minutes. The police just. Stab the brick work. There have got to be so many bitchy lawsuits about that. 

This poor girl’s culture shock. 

HEY I HOPE THAT POLICE OFFICER SWUNG THEMSELF ON A CLOTHLINE, NOT AN ELECTRIC LINE LIKE I FIRST THOUGHT. 

HEY YOU CAN RIP SOMEONE’S SCALP OFF LIKE THAT. 

HEY WHAT IS WITH THIS WHOLE SCENE. 

HOW ARE THEY JUST RIDING ON THOSE WIRES, HOW MUCH TENSION IS IN THAT STUFF. 

HOW DOES THAT ZEPPLIN MOVE THAT FAST AND LIKE. AGILE. 

YALL. 

WHY DOES THE POLICE STATION LOOK LIKE THAT

Well then, why are you treating me like a criminal? Avatar Aang and your mother were friends. They saved the world together.

Oh this bit is fascinating, I love it. It’s only been 18 minutes, but the level of sheer propaganda everywhere trailing after Aang is really cool. There’s so much I want to know now about how Aang got from the end of ATLA, where he probably wasn’t thinking AT ALL about this kind of cult legacy forming around him, to this. 

Lin Beifong’s shut down of Korra’s attempt to use her status as Avatar is great. Just because Korra’s born into this elite role and then locked up and probably pampered in her compound, where everyone is well aware of her status and what it means, it doesn’t mean she gets to strut around with no idea how stuff works or the context behind what she’s seeing and then doing whatever she wants. 

Contrasts, love ‘em. 

On a different note, the design of this room. 

As far as I can tell, it’s a dim, doorless room, which is honestly. Really terrible design. And it says something about the way the Republic City police functions and how that reflects on the chaos of the city itself. 

Putting someone dragged into the police station in a dim room without any door as a sign of a possible escape is just a terrible idea. The only thing you’re going to succeed in is making the person tenser and more belligerent. Your suspect or witness gets more nervous, gets more combative, gets more unreliable in this kind of environment. In turn, the police probably starts feeling more and more entitled to harsher retaliation. Conflict resolution? De-escalation? That really doesn’t look like its in the core of the city police. They’re wearing armor for god’s sake. 

Everything so far in this first impression of the police is really damning about their attitude and Lin Beifong’s leadership. Rather than using a rappel line down from the airships, they damage buildings. In chasing Korra, they further damage property. The armor, this freaking room. The fact that so much about the active police shown so far depends on metalbending, which implies that very few people can join the field police. The fact that for the gang to be so blatantly in the open about their presence and territory, there must be dirty cops on their payroll. 

There has to be so much Lin Beifong hate in this city. 

I have done my best to guide Republic City toward the dream my father had for it, but you're right. It has fallen out of balance since he passed.

If anyone tries convincing me Republic City was ever in “balance” they’re a punk ass liar. I don’t think the city could have ever been in balance, whatever that is. The way it was created, the speed it expanded, the life that must be lived there - balance? Don’t kid me with that propaganda. 

Tenzin could be trying to find a balance alright. I just wonder how many people vehemently disagree with his idea of balance. 

Hello? I'm Korra, your new Avatar.

Well, TLOK is definitely in the era of mass distribution of news and the idea of public sentiment at a level never seen before. This is going to be very interesting for its populist implications, along with other developments regarding politics. 

Oh Korra. Did no one try rehearsing this with you? This is a terrible first impression for you to give to people. 

Also, what is this building. Is this like a city hall? Why is the roof on the building to the side slanted like that. That’s an angle I’d expect from like. Snow concerns. In northern Europe. 

Love that Avatar Aang propaganda. Starting to feel like we’re going to see a lot of it going forward. 

Oh my god, everything about this press briefing (?) is highly concerning. This rampaging teenager suddenly appearing without any warning or announcement. The clear lack of script or practice. The open location just to anyone instead of to a select set of journalists who would be sympathetic/under government control. Lin fucking Beifong and Tenzin being the only people accompanying Korra on the stage. 

What a disaster. 

FINAL THOUGHTS

You know, I’m enjoying this more than I expected to. The general writing is great, the use of visuals and other small details to set the time and place is excellent, the worldbuilding implications are rich in potential. I’m looking forward to exploring where the plot threads introduced so far will lead towards!

[tinytanpopo]

Now that Gegege no Kitaro 2018 is over, and I remember it's one of your favorite Gegege no Kitaro iteration, what's your overall and concluding thoughts about it? What are your favorite episodes of all 97 (or each season) episodes? The positive and negative? Characterization of Sawashiro Kitaro and the other Kitaro family (including Mana)? I would love to know your opinion of the sixth remake!

This is going to be a long answer. And full of spoilers, for those of you looking at this who haven’t watched the 2018 version of Kitaro. Here goes!

What are your favorite episodes of all 97?

I watched all 97 episodes 3 times over the course of its run. I started out watching on my own, then eventually my friend wanted to watch with me. But the crappy Crunchyroll subs got in the way of his enjoyment, so I polished them for him, and then we started watching together.

So for each episode, I’ve…

1.) Watched for my own enjoyment when the raw came out

2.) Fixed the subs

3.) Watched and enjoyed again with my best friend.

Before my friend and I started watching together, I also did a rewatch of the series up to the middle of the Backbeard arc, so, 3.3 times? And it only made me like each episode more, and notice more tiny fun details about it. Sawashiro actually smiles a lot, u guys

Anyways, here are my stand-out favorites. Titles may be self-translated or shortened, as I’m looking at the Japanese wikipedia entry for the episodes, and my opinions are mostly disorganized gushing:

1: The Day the Youkai Awoke. Kitaro, Eyeball Dad, and Mana are all very cutely introduced, as well as their dynamics with each other. Great action, ends with the apparent death of the hero. (I was new to Kitaro.) Got me to watch the next week, that’s for sure! Also, world full of weird freaky monsters, already suited to my tastes.

3: Tantanbo’s Youkai Castle. The episode that earned Sawashiro Kitaro his “Gorilla” nickname from the fandom. Also Mana asked to be friends and made Kitaro bashful and the whole latter half is so sweet. FRIENDSHIP

6: Sunekosuri. This is the first Kitaro episode that made me cry, like I really wasn’t expecting that kind of emotional impact. Another thing that kept me watching was that, even though Kitaro has its formulas (as does everything), I still didn’t know what to expect.

7: Ghost Train. Ah, my first experience with the Ghost Train story. Y'know this is the only one where the human passenger pair are both already dead? I’ve seen many other renditions of this story, but this one’s the darkest.

11-12: The 808 Tanuki arc. The whole Kitaro Family shows off their skills in a big cool battle, and Mana overcomes an intense struggle to save the day (with some credit to Murder Momen Rollo Cloth). As my friend often says, Mana is too good for this world.

13: Wanyuudo. Got some insight to Kitaro and Ratman’s odd, long-lasting friendship. When I first watched this, I didn’t really understand why they were still friends. But over the next 2 years, I would.

The meta reason? Ratman was Shigeru Mizuki’s favorite out of all his characters.

14: Makura-gaeshi. The second episode that made me cry. (not hard for a show to do that, but still) Also shot my already-present respect for Eyeball Dad through the roof.

I’m pretty sure this is the episode that changed GeGeGe no Kitaro from “one of the shows I watch once a week” to “I must find and learn about the rest of this franchise.” I’d looked up characters and little facts here and there on wikis, and occasionally browsed the Kitaro tag on Pixiv before this point, but this was the tipping point.

The door to the unseen world was open, and I jumped through.

18: Kawauso’s Lie. haha, Mana’s a city girl who’s scared of bugs

22: Gyuuki. Body horror, despair, and a really good Catgirl episode.

27-37: The Backbeard arc, or 6th Kitaro’s version of the “Great Youkai War” story. For a refreshing twist, the designated “Witch” isn’t evil in this retelling. In fact, Agnes quickly became one of my most favorite and relatable characters.

She definitely had a rocky start with the Japanese youkai, and watching her develop friendships with Mana and Kitaro was great to see, and even better on the rewatch. My friend likes Agnes a lot, too. Just assume I cried at the Mana/Agnes friendship stuff, I’m sure it happened on the rewatch, too.

Also Kitaro finally invites Mana into GeGeGe Forest! She fucking earned it!!

38: Kasha. I had already seen Reverse Mochi Murder 3 different times by this point, but it’s best whenever freaky ghost-eyeballs are involved.

Also Mana punched Kasha in the face. Well, Kitaro’s face.

39: bang. I lost it.

40: This is the darkest version of Sara-kozo! And I like it. His song was best put to use in the 4th Kitaro series, and even had a callback in one of my most favorite episodes of that series. The song, of course, is terribly catchy.

42: The Great Youkai Trial. Having seen the other versions of this story, I’m glad the writers made the 6th series version stand on its own, weaving it into the overarching Nanashi plot.

43: Odoro-Odoro. This isn’t the first Odoro-Odoro retelling where Kitaro’s efforts are thankless and reviled, but it is the one that shows it the most intensely.

47-49: Nanashi arc conclusion. Each Kitaro anime has its harsh and intense moments (even the relatively gentle 5th series), but 6th is the one that goes hard most consistently. Not just into darkness, but

50-51: complete and utter sweetness KITTENGIRL dgjklfhjlkHFDGKMBHKjl

54: Dorotabo. Sometimes, there is no “right” choice that can make everyone happy. Being a mediator can be hard, frustrating, and sometimes impossible. But despite all the stress, frustration, and repeating the same tragic scenarios, Kitaro keeps on trying.

Also, Kitaro totally carried that frog up to the roof of his house for company at the end of the episode.

56: Vampire Elite. The most sympathetic retelling of Johnny’s story. And a great Kitaro/Ratman friendship episode.

57: La Seine. He doesn’t have a top hat this time. A great retelling of Hand, and a Kitaro/Mana friendship episode. Two vampire episodes in a row, and it didn’t feel repetitive at all.

58: Kamaboko. 6th Kitaro’s crossdressing episode, with Sawashiro Kitaro at his most vindictive. Fun for all sorts of reasons. :3c

59: Ushiro-gami. Also known as the youkai cactus episode, somewhat of a series staple. This one had great horror vibes, and Mana overcoming her fear and risking her life to help Kitaro save the day. Never gets old! Mana’s the best.

62: Kitaro and Ratman fighting like children. Kitaro’s shocked face when Ratman steals his pork. Kitaro’s admiration for Ratman’s persistence to keep on living, and appreciation for yanking him back to reality during the end of Nanashi.

The Kitaro/Ratman friendship dynamic is eternal.

64: Suiko, the Water Tiger. If you find an old jar in a dirty hole somewhere? Don’t open it, don’t drink it, don’t let anyone force you to drink it. And if the jar starts talking, shove some dirt in it.

That town full of assholes totally deserved what they got, though.

66: The Grim Reaper and the Hidden Village. Well, in this context, “hidden village” is more like “Shangri-La,” which is what I changed it to in the fixed subs. The only other version of this I’ve seen is the one from the 2nd Kitaro anime. It’s a well-known trauma episode in the fandom.

In the 2nd anime, Kitaro got the trauma. In the 6th one, Mana did, and Kitaro already knew it was coming.

68: Hell Exile. Yet another one where I wasn’t sure if it’d end cynical or hopeful. One of the fresher takes on the Hell Exile story, too.

69: Ibukimaru. Nicely advances the Four Treasonous Generals arc, and has some interaction between Rei and Mana. Oh yeah, this arc introduced Rei Isurugi, an intense chuuni with Megaman demon powers. It’s neat to watch how Rei and Sawashiro Kitaro bounce off each other as individual characters.

70: Mysterious Footprints. Calls back to another one of 2nd Kitaro’s infamous trauma episodes, incidentally one of my favorites. This was great, but the 2nd anime had more intense face-melting.

72: Iyami. Mana Is Gay. That is all.

73: Yamata-no-Orochi. A great take on Kitaro’s Orochi story, now with more monkey’s paw shenanigans!

74-75: Conclusion of the Four Generals arc. Mana convinces Kitaro not to resign himself to shouldering the heaviest burden alone, as he so often does. Agnes and Adel make an appearance(yay!), and they team up with Mana and Catgirl to help save the day. Rei finally chills out, and gets a new mentor.

77: Neko-sennin. Nurarihyon startles the holy hell out of Kitaro, and further establishes how he’s going to operate this time around, connecting to his previous actions in episode 76.

Also, cats. Kitty Kitaro. Cats are my second-favorite animal, so I appreciate the many Kitaro stories involving cats.

78: Mouryou. This one gets retold in several of the other Kitaro series, with decent variation. This one has its own 6th Kitaro touch, with that fucked-up photographer, and an ending I was positive would be dark.

80: Onmoraki. I’d also consider this story a Kitaro staple, though Onmoraki was way tougher this time. Must have had something to do with Nobuyuki Hiyama. :B This is always the episode where Kitaro puts on his old painter costume, and proves he can’t think up fake names worth a damn. Gets me every time.

81: Hideri-gami the mangaka. I love comics, I translate comics, GeGeGe no Kitaro originated as a comic. This episode’s just a love letter to the medium. And seeing Kitaro genuinely enjoying Hiderin’s Totally Original Comic Do Not Steal was adorable.

83: Houkou. Some kind of disaster usually happens in this story. In the 4th anime version, Kitaro was burned to ashes. This one hit harder. Nobody won. No one was happy. We’re reminded of Dorotabo, and how Kitaro never “gets over” tragic situations like these, no matter how often they repeat. I think it’d be worse if he was desensitized, and gave up trying to make anything better.

84: Mr. Chin. The Japanese dialogue is full of puns involving the word chin and yeah I lost it. Sunday morning changes with the times, and they still get this guy in.

I died at “three rainbows” ghjghjk

89: Te-no-me’s Curse. Te-no-me is a youkai who either shows up in the youkai trial story, or has an episode for himself. Also, we finally get to see that Kitaro can just pop his hands on and off. Well, maybe not as casually as in the comics…

90: Sazae-oni. Normally you’re not “supposed” to do “it was all a dream” endings, but this is the first time they’ve done that with Sazae-oni, and the dream reveal means we just saw inside Sawashiro Kitaro’s mind. The fancy sushi restaurant exterior, the plain sweets shop, the body pillow how does he know about those?! Does he know why they look like that?!!

Kitaro seemed disappointed that he didn’t get to sing on stage. And Rei was in his dream-audience! An adorable episode.

93: The Phantom Train. Catgirl got Homuhomu’d. But KitaNeko is finally canon. This whole episode left the fandom reeling, as usual for 6th Kitaro. Best retelling of the Phantom Train story yet.

94: Hot Springs Trip. Mana carried Kitaro over 90 episodes ago, and Kitaro doing the same for Mana repays that favor, in a way.

Kitaro also admits he has Terminal Kitaro Face.

95-97: The end. I did not think they would poof Kitaro. That’s the deadest I’ve ever seen him, in any version. And the most broken, worse than a giant hate-baby crushing his dad. Kitaro giving Ratman his chashu pork made my heart explode, Mana’s sacrifice made the heart-pieces explode, and Mana reuniting with Kitaro 10 years later made my heart whole again.

Nurarihyon offing himself made sense, especially with this being his most dignified characterization in any version. Glad they let Shu-no-bon live, even if he was an actual hardass this time. Shu-no-bon’s usually a teddy bear in comparison to dual-wielding gatling guns

I’m sure the prime minister didn’t keep her position for much longer.

Episode 97’s subs left out most of Mana’s text to Catgirl at the end, so here it is:

“Cat-Sis! Here’s the pic Nebutori took for us on our recent trip! Also, I found a sweets shop near my workplace. Let’s ask Kitaro to go there with us!”

A very sweet ending, indeed.

The positive and negative?

I wish we’d gotten to see more of Agnes and Rei outside of their own arcs, and the conclusions of other arcs, though they clearly had their own lives to live and paths to take.

We didn’t get Akamata or Shisa or a bunch of other youkai I was hoping to see in the episodes. We didn’t get stories for Jami or Kamanari, both of who showed up as bit characters at the very end. But I can accept this, too, as writers and staff working within limits, and telling the story they wanted to tell as best as they could.

I’m glad they focused more on new stuff than old, though. Maybe they didn’t want to risk a repeat of 5th Kitaro’s non-ending, but they were ready to end the 6th anime with the Nanashi arc. Even with a 2nd year, though, the writers didn’t lose their focused storytelling, and ended the series in a way that left my heart full.

Characterization of Sawashiro Kitaro and the other Kitaro family (including Mana)?

Sawashiro Kitaro continues to be that weird youkai kid, that boy who lives in the woods. He’s chill and has a bunch of comic book youkai powers, a unique sort of superhero, while also not being a cop, thank goodness. Every Kitaro is a bit of a pessimist (except 3rd anime’s Toda Kitaro, I guess), but Sawashiro is especially so. This made his gradual development  even more fun to watch. The fact that he never could give up on that dream, not completely, made me appreciate that development even more.

Sawashiro cried the least out of all the Kitaros—twice, and it was only onscreen once. He kept everything in so much, it’s no wonder he imploded and went to Ultra Hell when the prime minister pot-shot him.

And, Sawashiro Kitaro is so pure and cares so much it hurts.

Eyeball Dad. Since Isamu Tanonaka passed away in 2010, the legendary Masako Nozawa (the original voice of Kitaro) took on voicing the role. Like Kitaro, Eye Dad’s characterization changes a bit with each anime, though not as much. Nozawa’s performance made Eye Dad feel more laid-back this time, I think, and more patient. In older series, he had more “Showa dad” tendencies. And we got to see him outside of eyeball or mummy form! 6th series spoiled us!

Ratman. He’s usually the same between every adaptation, save for the voice. Sometimes he’s nicer, sometimes he’s more of a bastard. But he’s always Kitaro’s friend. He may nasty, greedy, and cynical, but he’s usually right about how the world works, and his priorities are hard to disagree with entirely. He knows how to survive, even when treated like dirt for centuries. Ratman’s got a particular brand of wisdom, if you look past the ringworm.

Catgirl. In other versions, she looks like she’s in elementary or middle school, and 6th anime is the most mature she’s ever looked. This is also Catgirl at her most tsundere, but with zero “mean girl” tendencies. All it takes is Mana shooting pure admiration at Catgirl for them to become friends, and that’s cute. I always like Catgirl, and the 6th anime is no exception.

The Kitaro Family. Sandy’s mostly unchanged, except now she doesn’t own the Youkai Apartments, and can use modern technology to make a shitload of money. Old Crybaby is 100% the same, down to his old person banter with Sandy.

Rollo Cloth’s minor interest in finding a girlfriend got turned up to 11. He’d get a lecture from every previous Rollo.

Wally Wall has less vocabulary, no wife and kids, and they thankfully didn’t show his mouth this time. Still a good dude.

Mana Inuyama. The 3rd anime had Yumeko, but even if she wasn’t damseled as often as you’d expect from a typical 80s cartoon, it still happened a lot. In the 6th anime, Mana clearly has more agency from the get-go, and refuses to leave herself out of Kitaro’s business. She’s serious about being his friend, and never stops being serious about it, even when things worse than she could ever imagine happened.

All she has are good memories with Kitaro.

Like my friend said, she’s too good for this world.

What’s your overall and concluding thoughts about the 6th Kitaro anime?

What an emotional roller coaster. The writers pulled no punches with this, and very much managed to make “their own Kitaro” while still firmly being “Kitaro.” With the dark and cynical twists it sometimes took, I often didn’t know if there’s be a happy ending to an episode, or a bitter one. It’s a Sunday morning cartoon at its core, but very good at making the audience forget that.

6th Kitaro was my introduction to Kitaro as a whole, and I was hopelessly obsessed by episode 14. Well, because of episode 14, probably. I downloaded all the other Kitaro anime series, got into the comics (official ones by Mizuki, official ones not by Mizuki, and a shit-ton of doujin), and now my brain is just “kitarokitarokitaro” all the time.

I don’t think it’s going to stop anytime soon.

[nutbanana]

haha whewwwwwww sis slap zimzalabim gays hello laid ease ! name is yuno title is local ghosting legend pronouns r she/her nd we are stuck with nutbanana until i come up w a sexie url <3 this is gna be new for those of u who know me but i’m gna be putting everything into a read more for now instead of slapping 3 links nd calling it a day so hold my hand 😳😳 and for those of u who don’t know me i have two hands for a Reason haha,, nd my disco is @ daddy yankee#7776 ! add me let’s go feral nd if u wna plot send me ur favorite heart emoji here or on disco <3

*   //   𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 …   /𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙼𝙰𝙽/𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙸𝚂���𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 : umeko saito, also known as hermes, is wanted for grand larceny. she is a twenty two year old female who has ties to the mastermind because of a charity event she was the face of.   𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷  : expensive fancy dresses, flirty stares from across the room, signing with red lipstick, a glass of champagne with diamonds in it. 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁  : minatozaki sana.

01.    background info.

pinterest board ─── umeko saito, twenty two, up-and-coming actress, doesn’t like to label her orientation, would definitely be part of cherry twitter

full list of aesthetics so far ( core to what shaped her ) : eating fruit on a balcony in your silk pyjamas, signing with red lipstick, strap of your dress snapping, flirty stares from across the room, a glass of champagne with diamonds in it, cherries seductively held between lips, expensive fancy dresses

umeko was born and raised into one of the most expensive neighborhoods in manhattan, daughter to a magnate and a socialité nobody thought would get too far together. luxury was the norm from the get go, and the low profile kept by her parents didn’t quite make their name go unnoticed among the elite of new york. summers were spent in the hamptons and on expensive trips, walk-in wardrobe stranger to everything below high-end and glasses of champagne coming in early

stardom was always in the back of her head. she loves being the center of attention, all eyes on her for as long as she can attrack them, and so the hunger only grew bigger the older she got. in her young, twisted mind, there wasn’t anything more eternal than the ineradicable link between character and actor, and she loves playing the role. the first real taste of fame came only a few years ago, and it became insatiable almost insantly. she’s been on the rise ever since and has scored quite a few big roles to be proud of

j came into the picture at a point in umeko’s life where she was having fun, but it wasn’t enough. something more exciting, more thrilling was missing. and so they met at a charity event where rich people feel like they’re contributing something to society by bidding big money for famous paintings where umeko was one of the faces of said event. she did not hesitate to join him. after all, it makes her feel like she’s playing an even bigger, more dangerous role

her code name has a lot to do with her as a person ! as a lil taste before getting to it, initially, it was going to be loki, the most infamous trickster, but she felt it gave too much away too fast, and although she felt it was the perfect code name, she opted for someone whose trickster label got overshadowed by more important duties, and so it came to be hermes, who, in a way, is also perfect for her

02.    personality breakdown.

umeko is........ an experience. she may be fun she may be chaotic

umeko saito’s biggest role is life itself, and she will die a legend or risk becoming a fraud. she was born yearning for attention, and she was born a trickster. she has always been manipulative, loved fooling and playing with people and twisting the narrative of herself, enamouring ( trapping ) others, a strange desire to be the dream girl. and she took it upon herself to make the world her personal stage. and maybe she has played the role for so long she has lost a bit of herself on the way, who knows !

everybody’s sweetheart, looks like a saint ─── yet is the devil holding a halo above their head. she loves to stir shit up, always up to something. won’t hesitate to create a scene if it’s needed, asked of her or solely because she’s bored. a lot of her boils down to being, getting bored. she’s a bit batshit, a bit unhinged <3

umeko is flirty. she likes to flirt, it’s fun, it’s another way to fool people, it’s entertaining, it feeds onto this being the girl of people’s dreams thing. it gets her things and opens ways for her, and she thrives off getting people hooked on her, specially men who think they got a chance with her ( they don’t )

she acts like a bimbo and surely looks like it but may not be one. or maybe she is. she could be a baby bimbo. an oblivious bimbo who plays the role of bimbo in real life. you decide because i can’t JKDGVDS

she’s dramatic to the v bone in more ways than one, loves bringing attention to herself and playing dumb, playing clumsy, an airhead, and she’s a bit of everything ( dumb, clumsy, airhead ), but she knows how to exaggerate it to her gain. u won’t catch her calling herself any of that tho

there really isn’t a big scheme, a big story, a trauma behind umeko’s behavior, some people are simply born certain way and she thrives off being this antagonistic, trickster being just because

03.    headcanons.

she lives by herself in a duplex penthouse located on the top floor somewhere in manhattan, she bought it with her first big paycheck. she also has a smaller ( to...... her standards ) apartment she got for her 18th birthday from her parents, and it’s where she takes flings or people who aren’t that close to her as not to disclose her real home

she’s the type to break the strap of her dress before walking out of a store with paparazzis waiting outside for her and pose like she’s marilyn monroe fighting against a burst of air with her white dress, and she’s like “omg no ! the strap of my snapped ! what to do ! don’t take pics or maybe do aha x”

most definitely checks tabloids and stuff after she pulls one of those numbers to grab attention so she can see the reactions And the pics. also probably has a neat instagram feed

she’s the epitome of “all girls do is 🥺🥺🥺🥺” and “girls always trynna ‘🥺🥺🥺‘ their way out of everything”. that’s her

loves cute two pieces pyjamas. silk ones, velvet ones, lace ones, and especially the see-through robes with fur you pair up with cute lingerie and pieces. when at home she’s usually in those, long robe big fur glass of wine in hand, and if not she’s wearing an expensive baddie dress she has no business wearing for no reason

she enjoys dating on and off, having flings, random sex. usually nothing too serious and without too many strings to get tangled in. would she be able to commit ? yes, probably, she daydreams about it sometimes, but it wouldn’t be so easy

despite umeko’s passion for creating a scene and stirring up the pot, she isn’t mean, nor is she someone who is found in conflicts or fights often, if at all. she tends to get along well with everyone ─── she’s playful, a bit crazy, and fairly outgoing. she’s nice despite all her antics. but there is one person that brings out the worst of her, though: nandy freda richardson, fellow new york city socialité with a shared feud going twenty years strong ! they have known each other since they were little and it has kept escalating ever since 💔 it ranges from petty, insignificant antics to more serious, real shit stuff. the catalyst ? nandy somehow managing to make umeko lose a minor role on a small movie she was really anticipating. umeko’s response ? selling her out to aspen when he came asking for more intel on rich people he could rob: she gave him all the information he needed, carefully crafted a foolproof plan then gifted aspen an all - expenses luxury vacation to a destination of his choice <3 umeko was like yeah ? ok i lose my role and you lose your safety money and that one of a kind dress i wanted aha x

when she was sixteen her then boyfriend cheated on her with some chick. the lad pulled the infamous move of playing single and messing with the girl’s heart, so she was unaware of their relationship and was left as mortified as umeko. umeko, though, felt humiliated and, above everything, disrespected, and she also felt for the other girl who was just as much a victim as herself. so umeko made sure he regretted even thinking of disgracing their worth and set for revenge: over the span of a few years she snatched five consecutive girlfriends, one after the other <3 she also kept a good relationship with the girl he cheated on her with

[shadowofthelamp]

Relish the Flavor

Happy Halloween, you filthy animals.

Ao3 link

Summary: Zim has a craving for something... different.

Wordcount: 1870

Rating: T or M, only a very brief mention of sexual stuff but... well, look at the warnings.

Warnings: Gore, cannibalism (does that count if one’s an alien?), consentual vivisection, hard vore I guess? Messy messy messy. Also mpreg.

Comments either here or on ao3 super appreciated, as well as likes, replies, and reblogs! 

Zim was hungry for something.

What, he wasn’t sure. Something other than sugar, because he’d had a few spoonfuls and they hadn’t even cracked at the hunger. Usually, whenever he had a craving that satisfied it, but now it just nagged at the pit of his spooch like a loose tooth. He’d already taken a single bite of nearly everything in the fridge and none of them sad sated the itching desire. (On top of that, Dib’s ham sandwich had nearly made him sick. He wasn’t sure why he thought that might be it.)

His knees pressed against the curve of his abdomen, and he narrowed his eyes, one hand squishing the blanket underneath him.

“Why can’t you just give me an answer? What do you want?”

The smeet didn’t reply. Typical. They really enjoyed playing him like a puppet, didn’t they? How a bundle of meat had so much control over such an Elite soldier’s biology was beyond him. They were clever, taking full advantage of the fact that he had to listen to them or risk his body rebelling. It was going to be worth it in the end, but in the meantime...

He turned as Dib emerged from the elevator, cracking his back so loudly it made Zim’s antennae flinch. “You need to fix the rough edges of that one console, it snagged me when I was crawling back out.”

“What were you doing under it?”

“I dropped something,” Dib said, licking at the back of his hand like a cat. Zim huffed.

“That’s your fault, then, isn’t-” His words died mid-sentence as he caught the scent of something wondrous. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Dib turned to him. “Oh, damn, it got my side too… man, I really need to get more clothes, these are getting torn up. Your base is a death trap, you know that?”

“That smell.” Zim pushed himself up off the blanket pile with a grunt, sniffing at the air. “It’s rich.”

“Rich? Okay, maybe I need to wash up a little, but-”

“Not that! Your stink isn’t as offensive as usual to me at the moment.” Zim dismissed it easily, moving closer.

Dib licked at his cut hand again, and yelped when Zim suddenly dug his fingers into his wrist. “Gah! What the hell, Zim?”

“This. This is what they wanted.” Zim squeezed Dib’s thin wrist, watching the bright red bubble up over his skin. Dib swallowed.

“Wanted?”

“I’ve been attempting to figure out what the smeet’s been making me crave.” Zim pulled Dib’s hand closer, tongue running over the cut. The blood soaked in, coppery taste jolting his senses, and Dib stared down at him.

“Uh… that one’s new.”

Zim lapped at the wound for a few more seconds before growling, throwing the hand down. “It’s not enough.” He grabbed Dib’s hips, twisting him before throwing him down on top of the blanket pile and straddling him. He reached back towards his Pak, and Dib held up his hands.

“Woah, woah, slow down for a second! What are you doing?”

“I want something more.”

“More?”

“Something… more substantial. Bloody, but better.”

“What, like one of my organs?” Sweat dripped down Dib’s cheeks, and Zim raised an eye.

“That was the plan. You lost your lungs for a bit years ago and were fine.”

“I still don’t know how that worked.” Dib wriggled underneath Zim, and Zim could feel him under his bump. “You should at least ask before you steal a guy’s heart when it’s this literal.”

“If I make you an extra, will you let me have yours?”

Dib’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks. “What?”

“If I grow you a replacement organ, may I have one of yours?” Zim repeated more slowly, unsure how Dib didn’t understand the first time.

“I- I guess so…?”

Zim licked his lips. “Good. Then come with me.”

_________

The ride down and walk to the lab was silent. Or rather, it would have been, but Dib’s heart rate was heavily accelerated. Zim probably could have heard it even if he’d been a human.

Dib climbed up on the table. “So let me get this straight. You’ll grow me a new organ, then open me up, take mine out, and put the new one in?”

Zim snapped a glove on. “That’s the idea.”

“How long will it take to synthesize a new-”

“No time at all,” Zim said, crossing the room to open a fridge. “I cloned all of your organs years ago.”

“Can I ask why?”

“I don’t want you dying of something preventable if I wasn’t the one to do it. Heart failure is such a pitiful way to go for a warrior like you.” Zim pulled out a spleen, turning it over in his hands before putting it back. No, no, that wasn’t right, it needed to be perfect.

“Oh. Wait, years- this was back when we were enemies?”

“As I said, you weren’t going to die to anything but me.” Intestines? Tempting, but his wouldn’t be as clean as these. Lungs? Mmm, those had been surprisingly tasty, but partially hollow…

“Oh. Well, you always were a possessive jerk. Not that I wasn’t the same.” Zim heard the rustle of fabric and turned to see Dib had pulled his shirt off, grimacing at the cut on his side. “Why can’t you just eat the grown one?”

“It isn’t yours. I want yours. ”

Dib gulped. “Got it.”

He decided on a heart. Dib had mentioned it before, and it was the symbol of sticky love-feelings, wasn’t it? It was juicy and had more than enough meat. He set it back in the jar, bringing it over. Dib looked over at it.

“Wait. This was a clone from when I was younger- is it going to still work with my older body?”

“It’ll be fine.” Zim reached for the sterilizing gel. “Now relax. I don’t want to break anything that doesn’t need to be broken.”

Dib laid back on the table. “I always figured I’d be the one to cut you open first.”

Zim didn’t respond, the end of his tongue sticking out as he focused on the gel application. “Table, activate restraints.”

Dib yelped as his wrists and ankles were bound. “Hey!”

“It’s so you don’t wriggle around and have your liver pop out. The gel should numb you enough that it will only be a mild sting.” Zim pulled out his tools, selecting a scalpel.

“That’s- okay, that makes sense, but geez, a little warning would be nice, huh?” Dib slumped back, staring up at the ceiling. “And your pain tolerance and mine are pretty different.”

Zim snickered. “I know, but I would have knocked you out if I didn’t think you could handle it. Don’t be a smeet over this.”

“You’re cutting me open, I have the right to be a little- uh.” Zim had climbed on top of the table and straddled over Dib’s legs to get a better angle. Dib’s height had nearly doubled over the years, and Zim had to crawl up him like a pole if he ever wanted to get anywhere, nowadays.

Dib pushed up a crooked, nervous smile. “Not gonna lie. You look really good, with the backlight and the scalpel and- you know what, I’m going to be shutting up now.”

Zim grinned. “I always look good.” He lowered the blade, making neat a shallow, neat ‘V’ over the middle of Dib’s chest before beginning to cut. Dib sucked in a breath, but Zim was focused. A line dragged down under the initial cuts, and he pried the skin and muscles open, blood immediately pooling over his hands. He needed to work fast- he hadn’t thought to lower blood pressure, and the rapid beats of Dib’s heart weren’t exactly helping. It stuttered like a rabbit, and Zim couldn’t help the way his stomach growled.

He reached around the ribs to cut the heart away from the arteries and veins, taking care to keep as much of the aorta intact as possible. When he was done, he set aside the scalpel to pull the heart out. Dib stared as it pulsed in Zim’s hands, speechless for once.

Zim set the heart down on the tray, carefully lifting the replacement out of its jar and setting it back in. He maneuvered it around the other organs, settling it back where the original had been. The tiny program inside of it ignited upon being settled into place, reaching out to the veins and beginning to beat.

“That was… easier than I thought.” Dib admitted as Zim settled the layers of muscle and skin back into place before sliding off Dib. “Uh, Zim? Are you gonna finish-”

Zim could barely hear him, drool pooling in his mouth at the rich organ sitting in front of him. He picked it up, watching as it continued to beat. Still alive, even though it was no longer attached to Dib. Even though it was Zim’s now.

He licked it first, not caring about the gore that soaked his gloves. It tasted like the cut had, only better. This blood was healthy, full of oxygen, not tired from travel through the veins. This blood that helped keep Dib alive. That was going to nourish Zim.

Then, he took a bite, ripping part of the aorta off with his teeth. The taste was indescribable and he immediately swallowed, taking another. He needed more.

Dib let out a little squeak, but Zim was preoccupied, feeling the salty sweetness soaking through his tongue. Dimly, he realized he was making a mess- the heart was still dripping blood, and now viscera soaked his chin and probably his clothes. It was far away compared to the satisfaction of the ‘food’, though, the craving disappearing amongst the texture and taste. He’d never taken bites before- the only other time he’d consumed human organs, they had all been whole, and he’d dampened his taste buds to keep from becoming sick.

Perhaps it was just because he’d grown to enjoy the taste of Dib, or perhaps he’d jumped the gun and all human organs had this transcendent property. The bites became larger and larger until he was left holding nothing but thick, sticky globs of blood.

Zim burped, a hand settling down on his now-thoroughly soaked shirt. It was only then that he noticed Dib again.

He’d fumbled for the medical sewing kit, giving himself sutures. Well, he’d always been quite self-reliant for a human. He was fine. What worried Zim was the glazed look in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. Zim waved a hand in front of them. “Are you dead?”

“No…” Dib’s voice was quiet, and Zim realized as he shifted something was nudging him from underneath. “But I think I just realized that I’m way more into this than I ever thought.”

It took a moment for Zim to process Dib’s vague phrasing, but he smirked, leaning forward to stroke a hand soaked in Dib’s own blood over his cheek.

“I have the others. We can try again later, and you can personally give of yourself to make the smeet happy.”

Dib’s eyes drifted down to the curve of Zim’s stomach, and he nodded slowly.

“Deal.”

[thephant0mime]

Dragon Age Origins Fanfiction

So recently, I’ve looked at the first fanfiction I’ve written three years ago as I’m struck with a case of low motivation to continue my current projects. I’m currently struggling with making my writing immersive but the problem is, I have a weird reaction to that. A beta reader once told me to write it through my character’s senses because my current writing is not making readers connect with the character. Problem is, when I try to write as if I’m in my characters’ head, it feels weirdly violating, Like I’m committing mind rape to them. Probably because I write my characters as If they’re real, and I just give them the plot for them to react to it and I to record what they do with it. My characters rarely end up as I intended at first. So this immersion thing really messes up our dynamic and it’s affecting my current works to the point I’ve stopped writing altogether.

Anyway, I read my old finished fanfiction again and while I think it’s not as good as I thought then, it also surprised me. I’ve forgotten some of the old jokes and it made me laugh both because I enjoy it and surprised that I’ve actually wrote those funny things. Then an idea to solve my current problem appeared in my head and I’m testing it out to see if it works.

This is only an excerpt, but I’m planning a rework of my old fic for publication soon. It’s about the Fifth Blight and narrated by Philliam, A Bard wrote it like an interview style/non-fiction book. The old fic in question: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074672/chapters/29909850

Chapter 2

Paragons are the elite of dwarven society and their symbol of dwarven excellence. They are the equivalent of gods in our society, for dwarves worship their ancestors and they consider paragons a living Ancestor, carrying the wisdom and will of the departed ones. They can be drawn from any caste, even the casteless, which is the only way one can change their caste upward. The house of one of our heroes was descended from such a Paragon.

The Noble House of Aeducan was founded when their ancestor became a Paragon for leading the dwarves against the darkspawn during the Fifth Blight and saved their race. Currently, they were the ruling, royal house of Orzammar, of which our hero belongs. 

Now he would have told his tale from when he was recruited into the wardens, but that would not give us an idea of his character. Coaxing him to start during his time in Orzammar before his recruitment was difficult, as I understood it was painful for him to recount those events the most, but I managed it, as you shall see.

Thorin Aeducan’s story:

I am Thorin Aeducan, the second child of King Endrin Aeducan. I have two brothers; Trian was the eldest and the heir apparent and Bhelen the youngest. We grew up close as only boys do, until our coming of age where we went to our separate ways; Trian to train under our father to succeed him and me and Bhelen off to the army and lead them against the eternal threat of darkspawn. Fighting in the Deep Roads wasn’t much to Bhelen’s liking and went off to live like a pampered prince in the Diamond Quarter. I, meanwhile, see no better life than among those who fight and shed bled with each other.

Probably the first sign I had that everything would change for me occurred on the day I was ordered back by my Father to the city to honor my work in the Deep Roads. It started harmless enough, in my room at the palace, as Gorim assisted me in dressing up for the feast. I donned the antique armor of my grandfather which was more showy than practical. The burnished metal was too bright, the metal too thin and the shape too bulky. Looking at my reflection, I could see I was uncomfortable in it. My body was accustomed to my regular armor, which I think was molded from spending too much time fighting it grew callused to make them fit. While not-ill fitting, the ceremonial armor I was wearing was sending danger signals in my mind which I could not shake as Gorim laughing softly behind me, in the same spirit as if he just caught me wearing my grandmother’s gowns.

“Not to your taste, my lord?” he asked, dressed decently in armor that was as not as pretentious as the one I was wearing. His grin made even his wide face wider and his whole face was effusive as the light from the torch was caught in his simply styled, but neat, copper hair.

I looked away from my reflection to his smiling face as he held a matching antique sword in his hand. Then I looked down on myself. “This belongs in the Shaperate,” I said, as I readjust the straps of the gauntlet again.

“Hardly, my lord. If you’re concerned about it breaking apart due to age, then worry not. It was crafted by excellent smiths whose skill is still unsurpassed by anyone alive. It would certainly withstand some bit of walking.”

I groaned. “Not that. It just feels…wrong. This,” I pointed in the mirror at the shoulder guard, which was comically large enough to use as a shield, “isn’t something I’d think to be good to wear. How am I supposed to move in this thing?”

“That was the point. It’s meant to catch attention as fast as possible,” Gorim said, stepping closer to my side. “Its size was supposed to show the breadth of your strength and power and make everyone looking at you fall in awe. Which is perfect for the feast your father threw for you. We can’t have our celebrant looking unremarkable now can’t we?”

I shook my head at their silliness. My regular armors were perfectly fine.

“Now, do you wish to wear your shield to the feast?”

“Yes. Let me see them as the warrior I am and not some dressed-up spoiled prince,” I said as I gestured at my reflection. The shield on my back might calm me enough not to notice what I was wearing in time for the party. A shield saved me plenty of times in the Deep Roads when I sometimes lose my grip on my sword, and nothing was more comforting by the feel of it on my back.

“That would surely tell the nobles that you are a warrior if they hadn’t known already,” Gorim snarked. I shrugged that off. Gorim was more jesting of his lord than other seconds but I don’t mind it. No one was more faithful and more trustworthy than he.

Gorim stopped grinning at last and his tone was serious when he spoke again. “Moving on to the business at hand, the king expects you to make an appearance at the feast, but there’s no rush. The noble family heads will spend hours boring your father with petitions and petty grievances.”

“And you’re suggesting we do something else?”

“Well, as part of the celebrations, permits have been auctioned off to members of the Merchant Caste who wished to sell wares in the Diamond Quarter. Lord Harrowmont has also opened up the Provings for young warriors to test their mettle before the upcoming battle.”

I considered it. Though I would have liked to watch the Provings, it just served in the past for lesser nobles to push their petitions by chatting with me, hoping I’d pass it to my father’s ears. Though I discouraged them at every turn, still they persist so I never enjoyed watching at all.

“The Proving sounds appealing but I’d rather not meet other nobles until it’s time. Let’s go have a look at the Diamond Quarter.”

Gorim bowed. “As you wish, my lord. The day is ours until the feast.”

I cast one look at my room. It was sparsely furnished and decorated, for I rarely use it but today, it was filled with gifts from my friends, other noble houses, commoners whose names I do not know and even from my men who I left in the Deep Roads. Even though they could not leave their post as I did, they still managed to send gifts to me. We sneaked out the palace, bypassing the hall where my father was entertaining his subjects and emerged onto the Diamond Quarter. I huff with satisfaction as I saw the city laid out, sparkling like a well cut jewel. The Diamond Quarter was laid out with two wings on each side and the proving ground jutting out in the middle while the lava flowing below lit bathed everything in warm light. Our ancestors have hewn the rock of this cavern to make our home; in sharp lines, hard walls, and strong pillars.

Every day, the city grows in beauty and I cannot be prouder.

“Shall we take a look at the stalls, my lord?” Gorim gently prompted me.

I smiled at him to excuse my lapse. “Of course.”

We walked down the steps towards the ground at the left of the palace, which was filled with stalls selling all kinds of dwarven crafts in honor of the Proving today. As soon as I appeared, everyone acknowledged my presence through the gradual lessening of their talk.

The previously spacious ground was now filled to bursting with stalls selling every kind of merchandise from the city and the surface. A shop selling dwarven weapons and armor was placed next to one selling human-made trinkets. Behind a rack of smithing tools was a cabinet filled with surfacer curiosities.  And tables with sumptuous food from the surface. Bottles of wine and beer known to people.

We dwarves mostly produce what we need, but we could never beat the surfacers in terms of food and cloth. They have simply far more variety up there and I briefly wondered how they could have it. From what Duncan told me, the surface was wide open, with no ceiling, and seemed to stretch from side to side, seemingly without end, so they had more crops than I could count with my fingers. Though Duncan never lied to me, I always thought what he said about the surface as ridiculous. An infinite space like that; however did it not manage to break up and fall apart?

Currently, I was looking at a display of surfacer cloths with the owner standing attentively at my side. I have little use for it as I’m rarely out of armor, save for leather and cotton, but the stall owner has many interesting types displayed today.

 “A bolt for your lady, my lord?” he inquired. “We have all manner of cloths she will surely love: wool and velvet from Ferelden, silk from Orlais, cotton, and linen from the Free marches. If you would like something more special, we have embroidered bolts at the back in silver and gold thread. We also have ones appliqued with gems. Just let me get to it.”

I smiled at his insinuation of a mistress. Before I could speak, Gorim spoke. “You are too familiar, merchant,” he scolded the shopkeeper. “This is your prince who you’re talking to and you ought to pay him more respect.”

“It’s alright, Gorim,” I said as the merchant began to cower and mutter his apologies. I smiled wider to reassure him. “No harm done.”

The merchant started to stammer. “Apologies my lord. I wanted to please you so badly that I-”

“It’s alright. I took no offense.”

He nearly fell to his knees. “Oh, thank you, my lord.”

I drew back my hand at the silk bolt I was looking at. “Let me assure you; Your attention to me has pleased me enough that, if I were to be fortunate enough to have a wife, I surely would look for you to recommend to me an appropriate gift for her.”

He stammered effusively his thanks and with a nod, I and Gorim went to the next stall, which was selling something to my taste

“Greetings, my lord Aeducan,” the weapon seller called to me as we stepped in front of his goods. “I am so honored to have you visit my booths.” He stopped and looked as if he was about to say something. When I turned to look at his wares, he spoke, lowering his voice. “If you would excuse me, I have a…preposition but I dare not approach any further.”

I stared at his face in surprise. Gorim stepped closer and looked at the merchant likewise but with narrowed eyes. “Yet you dare now?”

“It’s alright,” I said to Gorim. “I’ll hear him out.”

Gorim nodded at me and turned back to the merchant. “Very well then. Speak.”

The merchant made himself smaller as he glanced around us. “Sorry. So nervous. I have a dagger made. For…you. As a gift for your first command. I, uh, sent a messenger to deliver the dagger to you but Prince Trian threw him out. I don’t know what offense he caused, but I had him beaten severely.”

Gorim and I glanced at each other. We both saw we had no idea why Trian would stop people from giving gifts to me. It was none of his business.

“I’m sure Trian has his reasons,” I said carefully.

He nodded, seemingly to accept my explanation. “Would you like to look at the dagger?”

“Of course.”

He smiled with extreme elation. “Oh, thank you, my lord. A thousand thanks to you. Here…” he bent down to retrieve a box on a drawer. He opened it, showing it to us. Inside nestled an extremely beautiful dagger on dark purple velvet. It was triangular-shaped, with the grip covered in druffalo leather. The guard was embossed with intricate designs and the blade shone dark like obsidian, I knew the blade was silverite just extremely polished to look like the glass. It was not merely decorative a fragile beauty belying its deadliness. 

I was silent in admiration. From what I can see, I have no complaints about its craftmanship.

“That’s an amazing piece merchant,” Gorim said, not quite keeping his awe out of his voice.

“You do me much honor ser,” the merchant replied, abashed. “The blade has been crafted over a period of two years by masters of every art. I wish to bless my lord’s first command and hope that someday, when he rules, he will wear it.”

I and Gorim went still as we both understood that the merchant was proposing treason. Dangerous words to speak aloud in the middle of the public market. If his messenger was just as careless as he, then Trian throwing him out was no mystery. 

“Trian is heir,” I reminded him gently, hoping that only his enthusiasm had led him to speak treason. “He will rule when my father your king returns to the Stone.”

“If the Assembly wills it,” he said, looking upward in the sign of our Ancestors. “Forgive me ser but whispers say that the second child of King Endrin will be chosen.”

“The whispers are wrong,” I said more strongly to impress in him his danger. “What they propose is treason and you would do well not to speak that aloud.”

The merchant paled.

“I was born a prince and I shall die a prince,” I added. “I have no wish to take the throne as long as Trian is alive to claim it. Pass it on to those who whispered to you and never speak of this again, for your own safety and those around you.”

The merchant bowed low. “Of course. Thank you my lord for warning me. But,” he looked with pain at the dagger in his hands, “what shall I do with this?”

The wise thing to do was to throw it in the lava but as I saw the way he looked at it as if it was his child, I reconsidered. We dwarves don’t treat our craftmanship lightly.

“I’ll take the dagger. I’ll wear it with pride when Trian ascends the throne.”

The merchant looked at me as if I’d just saved his family. I glanced at Gorim and he immediately held out his hands to take it from his hands. The merchant handed it over with reverent care, taking one final look at it, then turned to me, with tears in his eyes. “Thank you. You bring uncountable honor to me.”

I nodded my goodbye and we walked away from the stall. As soon as we’re out of earshot of the merchant, Gorim remarked. “What he meant is this will bring you uncountable gold to him if you wear that piece in public.”

I smiled at his cynicism. “Gorim, be kind to the poor man. He nearly lost his life today.”

“All for a bit of gold,” he answered and shook the package in his arms lightly. “Whispers, indeed. This is a princely gift. If Trian recognizes it, though, it may send the wrong message.” He then gave me a sideways look and added in a low voice, “Or the right one, depending on your view.”

I stopped walking to stare at him in shock. “Gorim, are you sincerely proposing…”

Gorim glanced around us and made his voice low, which, from the chatter of the people around us, would make his words intelligible to anyone but me. “My lord, you should know, though your humility prevents you so, that most people would want you to take your Father’s place instead of Prince Trian.”

I stared at him for a long while and I didn’t know I was holding my breath until it was forced out of me in coughing disbelief. “This is just a steaming pile of brontoshit.”

“I am not jesting, my lord. The army loves you, and the people too in the same way that they do. And the nobles would rather deal with you than with Prince Trian with his volatile temper.”

“Spawn’s balls, Gorim! I am not gonna take my brother’s birthright. My brother, who I love.”

Gorim clamped his lips tight as I looked at him with disbelief that he would dare say something extremely painful to me. “What kind of man do you think I am to think that I would do that?” I asked softly.

Gorim kept silent, looking at the ground in shame.

“Let’s speak no more of it,” I said with finality and we went to other stalls in silence.

While we peruse the next stall in a somber mood than the one we started in, we did not expect to run so early onto the one we were arguing about.

“Atrast vala, big brother. How surprising to run into you out among the common folk,” said a chirping voice to my left.

I turned around and found my younger brother, Bhelen. Despite his greeting, his pale face looked harried and the light blue eyes had no luster. It always was the case when he was with our elder brother, Trian, who was standing next to him, looking like his overgrown version. In contrast, Trian narrowed his eyes when he saw me and gave a deep huff, sending the braids in his light-colored beard to flutter. His face was set in hard lines of disapproval.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Gorim whipped the gift swiftly but deftly at his side, away from the view of my brothers, instead of holding it in front. I glanced at Bhelen quickly, who looked slightly guilty when he met my gaze then back to Trian. I knew immediately Bhelen used me as a distraction to our elder brother. Because Trian looked like he’s about to chew someone out.

“Especially since duty requires you to attend our father the king. Have you little respect for him to disregard his wishes on a day set for you?” he asked sharply at me.

Knew it. Before I can say anything, Gorim spoke up. “Lord Harrowmont assured me we wouldn’t be needed for hours at least-”

“Silence! If I want the opinion of my sibling’s second, I will ask for it,” Trian barked, cutting him off.

Gorim mumbled “Yes Your highness” and stepped back.

My brows drew together in reproof at Trian and I said, “Don’t speak to him like that.”

Trian raised his in surprise at my words then drew together in irritation. “I’ll speak to the lower houses and castes as they should be spoken to,” he said snittily.  

Stone, I love my brother but he makes it hard to be loyal.

“Now do as I say,” he added.

I gritted my teeth. “I will go at my leisure,” I said in a measured tone.

Trian stared at me with a shocked face for one moment, as if I’d sprouted another head, then he went red with rage. He stepped closer to me until we were face to face. “If I am king, you will never be allowed to act like that to me again,” he growled, keeping his eyes on me to make me cower. But I stared back hard without flinching, even as a crowd formed around us. Nothing Trian can do to me will scare me after what I’ve endured in the Deep Roads.

“Come, Bhelen,” he said finally, snapping his fingers. Bhelen looked at me, sheepishly, then followed like a dog to our brother’s retreating back. The crowd around us parted out of the way for them, then looked back at me uncertainly.

“It’s just a quarrel with brothers,” Gorim said to them, smiling. “Everyone back to business.” As we watch the crowd disperse reluctantly, Gorim turned to me and said “That was fun. Nothing like being talked down by the next king.”

“He had better not be like that when he is king. The nobles won’t stand a tyrant,” I said, looking on until the heads of my brothers were lost among the crowd.

“Oh? What has your brother done now?”

I turned at the speaker and was pleased with what I’ve found. Finally, a person I like to talk to. “Nerav. Stone met,” I greeted and bowed to a woman dressed fashionably in silk and sable.

Lady Nerav, daughter of Lord Helmi. Also my betrothed.

I’ve seen her many times dressed in a smith’s apron with soot on her face and looked mostly at home with that, but she had no problem being decked out in her best for an occasion.

I gave a look at Gorim to give us some privacy and he retreated to a respectful distance. Then I gestured at her if she would take a stroll with me. She accepted with a smile on her full cheeks and we headed leisurely away from the stalls. Immediately, she asked me about Trian.

I sighed. “He has been throwing his weight again. Reminding each and every noble that he is the firstborn Aeducan, as if they didn’t know already,” I said.

She nodded sagely. “As he should, since the election is coming up. He must be anxious.”

“Yes, skittish as a nug in a dwarven kitchen. I just wish he doesn’t shat on us all while he’s at it.”

She laughed. “Oh Thorin, you were always my favorite.”

“Oh? I had competition?” I teased.

“Plenty. But before you, there’s just no comparison.”

“Good to know. Embarrassing, otherwise. Not looking forward to talking to your father why you chose me and not the others.”

“Oh, don’t worry about my father. I think he loves you more than I do.”

“Hmm. I like my chances. At least I wouldn’t expect him on our wedding day threatening to disembowel me if I did anything funny to you.”

“If you did anything funny to me, I think he’d still adore you.”

I chuckled. This was why I was going to marry her. She had a sensible head on her shoulders and share the same humor as I. We had been friends since childhood and when his father dropped hints that it was time for him to marry, I never hesitated to ask her.

We arrived near the railing overlooking the flowing lava. She leaned on it, the warm light shining on her face and on her dark hair like a halo, and I thought she grew up very beautifully. She is the only woman I’ve spent more time with and I wondered why marrying her never entered my head until she told me one day that I had the right of first refusal for her hand. For many years, she said.

“About the wedding, I want to talk to you about something and you’re not going to like it,” I said.

She turned to me still with that charming, teasing look on her face. “Oh? Is this the part where we tell each other’s dirty secrets? Like you always leave your clothes on the floor so I should expect to pick it up after you forever?”

“Save it when we’re married. This is more pressing.”

She stopped her teasing and waited.

I took a breath before announcing it. “We’re going to postpone the wedding.”

“What?” she yelled, as I expected. I wasn’t aware of the preparations for our wedding but I knew enough that she had worked long on it.

“At least until Trian is crowned. I didn’t like the look I got from him when I announced our engagement.” He looked like he was about to kill me then my bethroted. My brother wasn’t a particular favorite with the nobles, and seeing me, his younger brother, being the toast of Orzammar in alliance with one of the strongest noble houses, must have turned his mood sour.

When we were children, we were thick as thieves and Trian wasn’t this volatile back then. Now that we’re grown, he looked at everyone with suspicion and acted as if everyone was in conspiracy against him all the time. Even his family. And I had no idea why we’ve come to this.

“So we’re not getting married because your brother looked you wrong?” Nerav mocked, drawing her arms across her chest as she pouted.

“Don’t be like that,” I said to her. “We’re still getting married, just later. I don’t want to get married while Trian is in a foul mood. He might crash the cake.”

“Poor cake. I think I should tell the baker to make it from granite.”

“Yeah, tell him to come to me. I think I could find plenty of that in the Deep Roads.”

We shared a laugh, as we always do.

Nerav seemed to be pacified enough about her work being postponed and spoke with the same cheer as before she knew about it. “So, I have work to do, telling everyone the wedding is delayed. And what would the handsome groom do?”

“I’m going back to the Deep Roads, at least, until the election is over. I find I like hearing more of my men’s snoring than Trian’s tirades.”

“So I’m going to play the part of the pining lover?”

“Yes, you do that marvelously, the way you polish your ax.”

She laughed for a while then grew serious. She looked at me with slyness in her eyes. “Don’t you think he has other reasons for being …testy?”

“Like what?”

“Like there having a stronger contender for the throne?”

“There’s no one else who has a stronger claim than he has. Lord Harromont may try, but he’s too loyal to my father. The other noble houses may, but they don’t come close to my family in terms of prestige and honor.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be from another house. Maybe it comes from someone who had the esteem of both the noble and warrior caste by his fearless campaigns against the darkspawn.”

I sighed, a deep rumble. “Ancestors, not you too.”

She cocked her head quizzically. “Not me too?”

I glanced at Gorim. She followed it and turned back to me, understanding on her face.

I rubbed at my temple. “What idiot pushed my name forward?”

“It’s been talked about by everyone. If you were just born first, the deshyrs would accept you as king without a murmur.”

“Well, I’m not the firstborn. Trian is. And I would never go for the throne. Not while Trian lives.”

She nodded, looking down, hiding her face from me, and pressing her lips together. I could sense she thought I was just being stubborn and so annoyed at me.

“Besides, I’m not that fond of sitting on my ass all day listening to nobles argue about who owed money to whom,” I added, turning the conversation light as before.

“Well said,” she said flatly as she raised her head and turned away to continue looking around the city.

I gave a sidelong glance at her. “And don’t you want to be Queen?”

She smiled at me. “Well no, I’m not that fond of being Queen, nudging my husband the King awake while the nobles argue about who owed money to whom.”

I laughed. “So there it is; my dirty little secret. You’re going to marry an unambitious man. There’s still time to get out of the wedding if you have second thoughts,” I teased.

“The second thoughts that I have is the color of my wedding dress but the rest of it,” she leaned close and kissed my cheek, “I have no doubts.”

[lordeasriel]

I’m back with my impressions, from chapter 12-19. I was gonna include chapter 20 as well, but it’s an 1 hour long, and I’m getting forgetful already, so i’m keeping it out to include after. under the cut for spoilery reasons:

Giorgio Brabandt after telling lyra about the secret commonwealth:  “You don't look like you believe a word of this”. Lyra monkey side eye meme: "I do". She absolutely didn’t. LMAO

Olivier throwing the photo of the girls away after taking Lyra's face out of it, because "the girls were too English to be attractive" what a garbage can of a man lmao he is so irritating, I cannot deal with that.

Malcolm is so sly while interrogating the murder associate dude lmaooo I love how he perceives Oakley Street members: "so liberal and tolerant, so civilised, and the organization they embodied" That was so beautiful and so, idk, romantic perhaps? Which is completely out of character for me to enjoy, but I did.

Did they turn the mausoleum into an archive? I wonder if I understood that correctly. That is a weird choice for an archive.

The fact Oakley Street is not as strong, but in fact, it is actually weaker than it was before oh no That was a sad blow. I think they’re doing everything wrong. They should be worried about recruiting, not marching into a war with the Magisterium. I love Godwin, she is powerful, reasonable, imperative, she reeks of wisdom and I love it.

Pan’s chapter where is looking for a boat to board, it made me realise Lyra’s world would be much cooler if daemons could roam free. He notes that he doesnt have the opportunity to speak and ask questions, because daemons without their people are something terrible. But if that was more widely accepted, Pan would have less trouble than he is actually having.

Pope Calvin was a dumbass, he turned an already bad is institution into a horrible corporation LMAO and it keeps on getting worse. I loved the conference so much. I think it embodies nicely how I envision them, as a nest of vipers; big Galactic Senate vibes to be very honest.

Speaking of Star Wars references, Marcel makes me think of Palpatine, all that cunning, all that slyness or whatever. He really does Marisa’s justice in some ways, but he is indeed too cautious.

His modesty speech with the woman/nun was... awful, in some ways. As in he is so blatantly manipulating things it feels too good to be true. I do like him, hell I’m attracted to him LMAO somewhere in the Abyss, Asriel is heavily disappointed with me. I am sorry, I still love you, I just find trashy men attractive, Asriel.

Olivier is irritating, but cunning, and made I’m projecting, but oh fuck, he is too much of a millennial for my taste. I think he is too cliche, sulking, brooding young man; it was fun on the first two appearances, but now it’s getting tiresome the way he is described as a persistent, clever man. It feels force, I don’t know. I’d rather he be a woman of different qualities, it would be much more interesting for me.

Marisa is Marcel’s sister, and she’s supposed to be his older sister as Olivier’s daemon tells him. I loved that, although it’s a little odd. I like the idea that they were twins better, but oh well. I wish we could have more women like her in the Magisterium’s arc, because it’s mentioned she was a prominent force. I love that, it does her so much justice.

Their mother is the stuff of nightmares LMAO but Marcel is so nasty to her, it makes me feel that the whole family has issues. I do wonder if Marisa changed her name to Van Zee, or if they changed theirs to Delamere. I prefer van zee to be very honest.

Lyra reminding herself of the time when she could intimidate gyptian boys, it was a neat display of her self assurance and I wish there were more parallels between her and Marisa because a lot of the things she treasure about her, things she now lacks, are things I think come from Marisa.

Coram telling Lyra to let Will go. Well, fucking finally, a person with a good sense. I thought she was finally gonna stop with that, but oh no, another bunch of paragraphs of whining. I can’t.

And Coram being so fragile.... I’m Sad.

“Was the universe alive or dead?” That was a horrible question that left me heavy breathing for five minutes. I too have been questioning things like these and I love the pain in Lyra’s exstential crisis.

Marcel enjoying Olivier’s discomfort: that was so funny, Marcel is so bad, but he does sometimes feel like overly mean for no reason and I wish, I don’t know, I kinda hoped that Marisa’s family would be normal, or not so nasty.

My favourite part so far, a summary: “What do you know about Marcel? Well, he is not married and we think he ain't gay.” The fact people don’t care about him because he makes himself uninteresting to tabloids is... a skill.

“Knowledge is like water it always finds gaps to leak through” That was, I don’t know, powerful? Touching? Something I relate to heavily and that I will not elaborate as of now.

Tatiana Asrielnovna 😭😭😭😭 That made me sad. The fact she thinks of Asriel for this things, and then I noticed, how Asriel comes first, and how she thinks so little of Marisa and that hurts.

Malcolm pov is smooth and entertaining and much more action-driven than Hannah's was, for many different reasons, including the fact that she was more scholar than spy, in comparison to Malcolm’s more physical disposition. I like him a lot. He is charismatic and sweet and very, very clever. But he still makes mistakes and I like it.

"Useful idiot" hahahaah I love Marcel, he is too funny and he is so done with humanity in general. I find that #relatable.

The blind girl was a nice addition, it was a sweet moment and a little sad too.

Pan remembering Lyra lashing out at Asriel. Pullman keeps on hurting me and the very few feelings I have. These little remarks, the small things about her parents, this is what keeps me so entertained to be fair. I just love the connections, I love to feel that she still acknowledges them in some way, even though they don’t deserve it.

Brande’s take on fear, which I now forget the entire quote, but that it’s a parasite to human nature, it’s powerful and absolutely and entirely wrong. LMAO Fear is what keeps us human, it keeps us alive. Lyra is constantly afraid.

Malcolm "I'mma steal a boat" hahahah he really has too much chills, even for a crime.

I loved seeing lyra contesting Talbot’s theory, which I did with her. I disagree entirely with everything he says and so does she, at least, she begins to. The man has not a single argument that is solid; he does what many people do: manipulate words that mean nothing, to a sentence so difficult to understand if you’re not sharp or focused enough, that you believe it with not a second guess. Peak Academia elitism.

i feel like Marcel’s either involved with the schools of thought that are causing a rampage or that he is taking advantage of that. It’s too convenient. I don’t know.

I did went back to LBS and I heard Marisa’s voice and I did notice that Michael chose to make Marcel speak in a very similar paced way. I don’t know if it’s deliberate or not, but I thought that was cool. They both sound smooth and condescending. I hope they mention Marisa more, I hope Lyra thinks of her, I don’t know, for a second maybe.

I had hoped to finish this weekend, but I doubt I can because there’s 9 hours left still and I can’t stay awake till late today because I work tomorrow. But so far I’m having lots of fun!

[dondake]

[fugonara] delinquent

rating: t summary: HS!AU where Narancia asks, what are we? AO3 Link

[=]

Narancia liked fucking at Fugo’s house; Fugo’s bed was soft, his sheets always felt nice against his skin, and there was always food in the fridge to take after they finished. The lube Fugo had at his house was also better, unscented but didn’t leave a strange sticky residue afterwards. Narancia had concluded before they’d started sleeping with each other that teenagers were just always going to be crap at screwing and would only get better with age; but maybe there was a hint of truth to the thought that being rich solved a couple more problems. He watched Fugo pull a shirt over his head, while he was shamelessly still naked and curled up in Fugo’s bed. Fugo was younger, practically a baby with a year’s difference, so he still had some growing to do but his shoulders were already starting to settle into a broad, formidable frame. The expanse of back between them was something Narancia liked to run his hands over. “Hey,” he said. “What are we?”

“Friends,” Fugo said. “Wanna go get some food?”

They went to get food at a quick service place. Afterwards, Fugo walked Narancia to the bus stop. “I’ll call you,” Fugo said.

“So you’re really just interested in having sex with me, huh?” Narancia said.

“What?” Fugo frowned. “What are you talking about?” The two girls in uniforms, sensing an argument, shifted toward the other side of the bus shelter. “What’s this suddenly about?”

“I asked you earlier about what we are. You said we’re just friends. Friends don’t fuck each other, Fugo. Maybe you don’t have enough to know, but I’ve got a lot and we don’t go around sticking it in each other for fun.”

Fugo glanced at the girls, who were pointedly minding their own businesses. He was not getting out of a fight any time soon. “So, what are you mad about? You don’t want us to sleep together anymore?”

“No, I do. But I want to do other things too, like going out to eat and seeing shows and, I don’t know, just walk around together and…” He paused, noticing Fugo’s frown. “I mean, I know we do those things already, but...it’s not the same.” Unlike Fugo, and Giorno and Trish, who all went to an elite prep school and learned how to speak eloquently like politicians on television, Narancia could only say how he felt in the words he knew.

“Okay...then, you answer the question. What are we?”

“I don’t know! Obviously, or else I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” Narancia threw his hands up. “And you say I’m the stupid one.”

“What’s wrong with not knowing? We’re doing the things you say you want to do, so I don’t see what the issue is.”

“No, you idiot, it’s not that I don’t know what we are…” Narancia’s frustration was manifesting itself into fidgeting as he started gesturing more, speaking with his hands. “I just...I don’t know...maybe I want to be in a relationship like Bruno and Trish.” The bus came, and the girls quickly clamoured on. Narancia made no movement to board. After letting off a man with a stack of magazines, who gave them one look and went on his way, the bus drove off. “Say something, asshole. I just said I want to be in a relationship with you.”

“I don’t have anything to say to that.”

Narancia’s swings were dampened somewhat by the fact that he still had a bag on his back, throwing off his center of gravity and balance, but Fugo still parried to keep from getting knocked around in the narrow bus shelter. They were now getting worried looks from people walking by and from across the street, so he pulled Narancia into a nearby parking lot where the cars around them and the people coming to and from them stopped Narancia from flying into a rage in public. “Mista was right. You really are a good-for-nothing trash baby. I am wasted on you. Have a nice life. Hope you die somewhere alone.”

“Whoa,” Trish said the next day. “You’re looking way darker and broodier than ever, Fugo. What happened? Purple Haze finally bite you on the dick?”

“Purple Haze would never bite me,” Fugo countered. “He doesn’t bite unless I tell him to.”

Trish exchanged a look with Giorno, who had the misfortune of being seated in front of Fugo and was now very used to hearing his seat neighbor’s gripes. “Uh, I don’t know if you’re selectively blind, but the last time we came over to study, your dog almost ripped my arm off and was about to go off on Giorno’s bag like it was a plucked chicken.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a little feral, but he’s not that bad. He doesn’t bite--” Fugo cut himself off.

“What? He doesn’t bite Narancia? Well, like owner like dog, as they say. You both have a soft spot for that boy.” Trish raised her eyebrows as Fugo glowered even harder. “Ooh, I see...you had a spat with Narancia.”

“That isn’t unusual,” Giorno offered. “I’d say it’s how you two actually communicate.”

“He told me he hopes I go die somewhere alone.”

“Oh! Fugo, please, spare us the gory, flirty details!”

“No,” Fugo said. “It was different this time.” Giorno and Trish were still looking at him blankly. For a second, Fugo felt like he understood, vaguely, what Narancia had meant now. “He was asking what we were--”

Trish’s jaw dropped. “You are full of surprises today! Why are you so upset, though? You’re coupled up!”

“Trish,” Giorno reminded, “Narancia told Fugo to die alone, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Trish, the keen and ever-so-observant, suddenly turned on Fugo with a look of pure disdain. “You told him you weren’t interested.” Now even Giorno was looking at him with apprehension; Giorno liked Mista, who liked Narancia, so by association, Giorno liked Narancia; it helped that Narancia was plucky and did not shy away even when Giorno fell into one of his navelgazing analysis modes.

“Well...no. I said we were friends--”

“Fugo, you absolute airhead! What kind of friend sleeps with their friend? There has to be some kind of attraction there, but even if we give you the benefit of the doubt that you could fool around with someone just for fun - Narancia’s been a starry-eyed idiot who actually listens to you talk for a while now and you, an irritable grump, give him the patience of a saint who lapses occasionally. Seriously?”

They continued the conversation at lunch. Trish, the daughter of a prominent pharmacist, had a neat, little spread of meat and cheeses. Giorno had a salad - “I like the texture. You can get a lot of different crunches by changing up the leaves and then there’s so many combinations of things to add to it that can change the flavor altogether.” - which was a lush green with pops of color here and there. “What’s your problem,” Trish began, apropos of nothing as she picked up the train of thought right where she had left it. “Are you really not interested in being in a committed relationship with Narancia at all?”

“We are committed right now.”

“Really? I mean, as it is...you could have sex with anyone else right now and it would be okay.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Okay, but Narancia could have sex with anyone else too.”

Fugo scoffed. “He isn’t. Who would want to get together with someone like him?”

Trish groaned, clearly giving up on the topic, but Giorno put down his fork. “Fugo, you said you’re a man of good taste. That’s what you believe, isn’t it? So if you have good taste, wouldn’t you think that someone else with good taste might want to approach Narancia, especially if he isn’t just seeing one person right now?”

The thought of someone else putting up with Narancia always thinking he was right, or tolerating when Narancia tried every excuse in the book to talk himself out of doing work or convince someone he was right when he was very much wrong - it seemed impossible for Fugo to imagine. Though, hadn’t he also been captivated by the way Narancia smiled like he had a secret he wanted to tell, and by the way he threw himself headlong into trouble if it was for the sake of someone he cared about? He’d kissed Narancia after months of pining and attempts at redirecting his attention elsewhere, but there were certainly people who did not spend hours psychoanalyzing themselves and might properly and successfully pursue someone without worrying about the consequences.

“I’m skipping fifth period,” Fugo said.

Narancia had a habit of skipping his double study halls, because unlike Mista who could entertain himself quietly and Bruno who would actually study, he was incapable of sitting still for long periods of time. Fugo found him two blocks away from the public high school, sitting out of the line of sight for the cashier inside the convenience store. He was reading a magazine about racing motorcycles and drinking a nicked carton of cafeteria orange juice. “What?” he said, without looking up.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brushed off what you wanted to talk about. I’m not seeing anyone else right now.”

Narancia closed the magazine. “Fugo, do you like me?”

“Yeah. I like you.”

“Why don’t you want to be in a relationship?”

“It’s not that I don’t...it’s a label with a lot of expectations. It’s not fair to the other person to just take it on without considering everything.” His parents were married, but he didn’t think they loved each other. His father’s parents were pressuring him and his mother wanted to escape her family’s business. Now that they’d come into money, it was more pronounced, holding gatherings for socialites and minding how they appeared in public. Gossip could ruin a whole foundation. “Not that I don’t think you’re not serious...but I don’t know. And I know we’re just kids, so it doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re entering some kind of legal contract or anything, and…”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Narancia stood up, brushing himself off. “Fine. We don’t need to put labels on us. I just never heard you say that you like me in particular. I didn’t know that you weren’t hooking up with anyone else.”

Fugo stared at him. “I never told you?”

“No. You’re good looking and you can take girls out to fancy places, so how was I supposed to know I wasn’t competing with all the rich girls at your school? I’m not going to ask Trish something embarrassing like that.” Narancia grinned smugly. “But it’s cool to know I’m liked, and I’m the only one you like. I should have known it was just you overthinking everything again. I bet when we first made out, you looked up how to do it first--”

“Narancia,” Fugo said, with all seriousness, “will you go out with me?”

The cashier came outside to break up the fight in the front parking lot, but before she could get the names of the high schoolers brawling, they ran off, leaving a half-empty carton of orange juice. She hadn’t thought that a student from the prep school, judging by the uniform, would cut class right in the middle of the day. Narancia had parked his bike nearby, pulling it out from behind the dumpsters. Before taking off, before Fugo would need to keep a death grip on Narancia’s shoulder to survive the ride of pure speed and shakiness, Narancia pressed a fast kiss to the corner of Fugo’s mouth. They weren’t going back for sixth period.

[averagemarvelbitch]

Pride and Joy

Summary: AU where Tony Stark has a daughter, but then shit happens.

(Future Stony/ mentions of child abuse)

Chapter Four

March, 2005

Washington, DC, USA.

The table was covered in pictures. Men and women, of all ages and races, staring back at him with dead, unseeing eyes. Strangled, poisoned, shot, stabbed, drowned. A particular man, probably in his mid thirties, stood out. His skull had been crushed; brain, bone and blood covered the cold floor. Even after years on the job, Clint Barton still felt sick every time he had to look at scenes like that. He was no stranger to human cruelty. He had known, from a very early age, what people were capable of when given the right incentive. Still, seeing things like this, it always upset his stomach.

He took the file once again, re-reading the information SHIELD had managed to acquire on the infamous Black Widow. Truth be told, there wasn’t much. They knew she was a woman. They knew she’d been trained by the Red Room, some sort of academy for assassins and spies, as discovered by Director Peggy Carter years ago. And that was it. That was all the information they had. They didn’t know what she looked like. They couldn’t even confirm if all the kills credited to her had actually been her work. The Black Widow was a ghost and it was Clint’s mission to put an end to her.

He had forty-eight hours before the mission. SHIELD had planted the information that Andrei Mikhailovsky was in Germany and currently negotiating with an American agent, trading Russian secrets for asylum. The plan was to let the man wander through the city and go to a specific location while Clint kept an eye on him from afar. It was a risky plan, but it was their only chance to finally neutralize the Black Widow.

“Already familiar with all the details, I hope, Barton”, said a voice from the door. Clint didn’t turn nor did he acknowledge the new comer in any way, continuing to stare at the pictures on the table as if the other man wasn’t even there.

The man rolled his eyes and shook his head as he carefully approached the archer. As he got closer, Clint seemed to finally notice his presence, turning to look at him. The archer smiled and quickly turned on his hearing aids.

“Hey, Phil. Just getting acquainted with our little spider over here.”

“A very deadly little spider, try not to forget that part”, the older man answered, pressing his hands on the table and pushing his upper-body forward to take a better look at the pictures. He took one (the man with the broken skull) on his hands, examining it with a frown. “Very, very deadly spider”.

“I’ve face worse, you know that”.

“She’s killed half the agents we sent after her, Clint. And the other half just disappeared. Excuse me for worrying”, he said, throwing the picture back on the table.

“Hey”, Clint said softly, standing up and taking Coulson’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. “It’ll be fine. I’m pretty damn good at this job, boss”.

“This is highly unprofessional”, he answered, but did not move his hand.

“Oh boy, if you think this was unprofessional, you’re really not gonna like what I’m gonna do next”.

Clint did not give Coulson time to answer, pulling the older man to a deep kiss. He felt strong hands on his hips, pulling him even closer, as he circled Coulson’s neck with his own. God, he thought to himself, tongue caressing every inch of his partner’s mouth, I could kiss this man forever.

Too soon, they broke the kiss, foreheads touching as they tried to catch their breaths. They stayed like that for a moment, just breathing and admiring each other’s faces. Coulson touched Clin’ts red lips softly with his thumb, all his blood immediately going south when the younger man bit on it with a smirk. He took a step back, adjusting his suit and returning to his usual, very professional self.

“You have a plan to catch. Don’t die out there.”

“Oh, don’t worry, boss, I have plans this weekend that I really can’t miss”, Clint replied with a wink.

Coulson had his back turned to him as he left the room so Clint couldn’t see his face, but he’s willing to bet his bow and arrow that his partner was fighting a smile.

Clint couldn’t stop thinking about the Black Widow. He read and re-read the file a thousand times on his way to Germany. Peggy Carter’s neat handwriting was oddly soothing even though the words written brought Clint no peace of mind.

“According to the information acquired, the place is known as the Red Room, an academy for the training of assassins and spies in the Soviet Union. The place was discovered during a mission, in 1984, in which the Howling Commandos, SSR agent Jack Thompson and I infiltrated a facility believed to be a Leviathan base camp in Belarus.

Upon investigation, we discovered the facility had a structure similar to that of a school, with many rooms posing as classrooms, including a video room we believe was used to dispense subliminal messages through movies.

A young girl, around 10 years of age, was found in the facility. She stabbed Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan, managed to steal his weapon and shot Jonathan “Junior” Juniper, who died instantly.

We believe the Red Room trained young girls to become elite assassins and undercover operatives through a process of indoctrination and desensitizing, teaching them hand-to-hand combat and other tactical skills. We also believe other facilities similar to the one found exist throughout the Soviet Union.”

It was hard to believe something like this existed. Where did they even get the “young girls”?, he thought as he looked out the window, staring at the clouds. The pictures kept showing again and again on his mind. The brutality, the complete lack of empathy, it astonished. The worst part was he didn’t even know why he was so shocked with what he had read and seen. He had faced worse people in his life, both as a SHIELD agent and as a dumb teenager, but this one woman, knowing what she had probably gone through and what she had done, it made him sick to his stomach.

Maybe Phil was right. Maybe he really was projecting his own emotions on this target. He had had a very complicated childhood, followed by a crappy adolescence. Clint had gone through things no child should have to go through, and he knew in his heart that, if Phil Coulson hadn’t given him a chance that day, he’d probably be the one being target by SHIELD today. He owned his life to Phil and SHIELD. They had given him a chance to be someone else, something more than just the dishonest, murdering piece of shit that others had made of him. What if someone gave this woman the chance I was given?, he couldn’t help but wonder, would she choose the right side if someone gave her the chance?

February, 1983

Waverly, Iowa.

Barney was late. Again.

He really has no self-preservation skills, Clint thought as he slowly dragged a huge bag of garbage outside. Barney was supposed to be helping Clint clean the shop, but, as usual, he’d left early in the morning and had yet to return. God, Clint could already hear his father’s booming voice inside his head. You were supposed to help your brother, Barney, he would scream, you need to pull your weight if you want to live under my roof, you useless fucking cunt. Then Barney would scream back, because of course he would, he did every single time, the utter moron, and their father would get angrier and angrier and just smack both of them a good few times before passing out drunk in the living room. Sometimes having a brother fucking sucks, he thought to himself, throwing the bag into the garbage bin, trying so very hard not to rip it because, really, the last thing he needed right now was to be covered in rotten meat and bones.

 He went back to the shop, wrinkling his noise at the stench of old, dead animal, running straight to the sink to try and wash it off.

“Hey, shrimp”, he heard from behind him, turning around to see Barney, who was entering the shop with a big smile on his face. Clint was immediately suspicious.

“Where the hell were you? I had to take all the trash out by myself, asshole”.

“Hey, chill. I was helping Mr. Connor out with some boxes”.

“You’re supposed to be helping ME”.

“Yeah, well, that fat ass Harold doesn’t pay me”, he replied with a smile, putting his hand inside his pocket and taking two little pieces of chocolate out, “but Mr. Connor does. Here, take them, I already ate two!”

Clint didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly patted his hands on his worn out, dirty pants, trying to get them dry as fast as possible, before lunging himself at Barney, taking both pieces of chocolate. He put one in his mouth and almost moaned.

“Oh, man, that’s one of the good ones”.

“Yeah, none of that shit that tastes like cardboard! He gave me the expensive ones!”

“Awesome!”, the younger brother replied, already chewing the other piece with a  satisfied sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s pretty good, now get your ass upstairs, I’ll finish up here”.

“Okay. Only thing left is mopping the front”.

“Yeah, I’ll do it. Take a shower, you stink”.

Sometimes having a brother can be pretty cool.

March, 2005.

Nuremberg, Germany.

It was cold. Too fucking cold. God, how he hated snow. He was wearing the new suit SHIELD had given him. It was warmer than the last one because science. The girl ― was it Fitz? Or Simmons? He always got confused with those two ― had explained to him every single new feature of his suit and Clint pretended to listen with interest while debating inside his own head what would be the best way to ask the girl if he could take one of the donuts on the nearby table. Still, even with all the thingamabobs they had put in his suit, it was fucking cold. Too fucking cold.

He was at the top of a building, bow and arrow on his back, watching Andrei intently and trying to find anything suspicious or out of place. Missions like this during winter were the worse. Everybody wore big coats with scarves covering their faces. Stupid winter.

“Hey, Andrei, you doing good, man”, Clint said on his comms, “you’re almost at the creepy ass house, just a little longer”.

“Do you see her?”, the Russian asked in a whisper, sounding terrified.

“Not yet, but don’t worry, I got you covered”.

“Why do I have to carry briefcase? Waste of time, makes it hard to run”.

“Come on, man, you were a spy. You know this shit. She sees the briefcase, she’s gonna think you’ve got something important there. That way she’ll only try to kill you in a place where she has easy access to it”.

Andrei huffed. “If you think that would stop Black Widow, you are more fool than I thought”. Clint decided to ignore the reply completely and just kept following him.

He knew the ex-KGB was scared. Damn, if it was him at Andrei’s place, he’d be scared shitless too. The man was a sitting duck, a literal walking target, and he was being hunted by one of the best assassins in the business. He had a damn good reason to be terrified. Clint couldn’t blame him for that.

It was a hard mission. Clint knew that. Andrei knew that. So many things could go wrong. The cold and the snow were problematic, he had no idea what the Black Widow looked like or even if they had really sent her in the first place. He had no idea what to expect from this. It’s true that was Clint’s specialty, going into the unknown with nothing but his courage, bow and arrow and devilish good looks. But this, this was another level entirely. Protecting a mobile target from an unknown threat was always hard. Protecting a mobile target from someone who once killed a man in the middle of a party with 400 people without being detected was, well, let’s just say it again, Andrei had a very real reason to be terrified.

Soon enough, Andrei reached the final destination of his little tour. And that’s when Clint saw her. She wore a black overcoat and had a blue scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, her red hair falling down like a fire waterfall. He barely had time to draw an arrow before she took out running. She was fast, even with the snow. Suddenly, a knife was flying through the air, aimed straight at Andrei’s head. She was fast and skilled. Well, I’m fast and skilled too, lady.

The arrow hit the knife with incredible precision. Clint smiled, proud of his own work and looked at where the supposed Black Widow was. She looked up, most likely trying to find him.

“Andrei, you might wanna run, man”, Clint said over the comms. It was pointless, really, because Andrei was no fool. He had already taken off, running as fast as he could inside the house.

The Black Widow soon followed. Clint aimed an arrow at her leg. He missed. Goddamn it, he thought, already drawing another arrow and trying to hit his target through the windows. Missed again.

“God fucking damn it”, he exclaimed, taking a “rope arrow” and aiming just above the window on the second floor. Using his bow, he quickly descended through the rope, slamming his body at the widow, glass going everywhere. He heard a gunshot. Shit shit shit.

Ok, so Clint was man enough to admit, the woman was terrifying. She stared at him like she was ready to cut him mouth to anus, open him up like a Christmas ham and feast on his insides. So, yeah, terrifying.

They fought. She was good. She was better than good. The Black Widow fought like she had been born for it. She fought like someone who had been fighting since preschool and had no problem in using every means necessary to win a fight. Clint knew his orders. Coulson’s voice suddenly appeared in his head as she broke his nose.

No one is going to cry too much over Andrei. Your priority is to eliminate the target. If it comes between saving his life and eliminating the Black Widow, you eliminate the target. Do you understand, agent?

He reached behind his back, trying desperately not to choke on his own blood as she pressed his own bow harder at his throat. Finally, he managed to grab one of the sedative arrows. He quickly covered his mouth and nose as pink smoke came out of his quiver. The Black Widow let go. Clint fell to the ground, covering his face and trying not to breath. He heard the sound of a body hitting the wooden floor and turned back. The Black Widow was down.

The smoke dissipated. Clint turned around, still sitting on the floor, and looked at her. He had a gun. He could make it fast, easy. She was heavily sedated, she wouldn’t even feel it. It would be mercy, really.

There’s no point in interrogating her. She won’t talk. Torture doesn’t work and she has no weak spots. Eliminate her on sight.

But shit. She looked young. Barely an adult. God, she was probably the same age he was when he… Damn. I had a second chance. Doesn’t she deserve one too? He knew it was different, but… Was it really? Were she and him really that different? She’d had a shitty childhood, much shittier than Clint’s, that’s for sure. Harold had been an abusive dick, but he was no Red Room. They had taken everything from her. Just like they had taken everything from Clint. Maybe, maybe she was more like him than he thought. Maybe all she needed was a chance to be good.

He turned his head, looking straight at Andrei’s body, blood covering the floor. Shit, he thought, getting up and walking towards the woman, Coulson is going to make me sleep on the couch for a year.

September, 1985.

Waverly, Iowa.

It was a good night. And Clint was aware how rare good nights were in his house, so he was determined to enjoy it. His mother was making steaks. Steaks! He couldn’t remember the last time he ate steaks. He started salivating just thinking about it. His father only ever let them have the crappy meats, the ones no one would buy. But today he had been in a good mood. According to Barney, some fancy guy had bought a shitload of meat from the shop and Harold was smiling from ear to ear. And when Harold was happy ― which was VERY rare ― so was the rest of the family.

Clint was sitting at the table, drawing in a piece of paper. He sometimes raised his head and watched his mother for a few minutes, cooking and humming a song he didn’t recognize. She looked happy. She deserved to be happy. He smiled. Barney was cutting potatoes, sometimes glancing longingly at the steaks. The whole kitchen smelled great. It was a great night. So, of course, Harold had to ruin it.

He came into the kitchen so fast Clint didn’t even notice him before he grabbed his hair and pulled him from his chair. He cried out in pain, trying to escape his father’s death grip.

“WHERE IS THE MONEY, YOU FUCKING CUNT”, he screamed, eyes wide and face as red as a tomato. He stank of alcohol. This is not good, was all Clint could think of.

“Let him go, Harold!”

“HE STOLE THE MONEY, EDITH, HE CLEANED OUT THE REGISTER, I KNOW IT WAS YOU BOY, WHERE IS IT”.

“He didn’t steal nothing, you fucking drunk, put him down”, Barney exclaimed, and when the man didn’t listen, he took the knife he was using before and waved it around menacingly, “PUT HIM DOWN”.

That finally got his father’s attention. He let go of Clint like he was a dirty sack of potatoes and stepped closer to his older son.

“Oh, is that how it is. You’re a big man now, aren’t you, you useless piece of shit? I bet it was you, wasn’t it. You’ve always been a greedy little bastard”.

“No one took your money, Harold, for the love of God”, Edith begged, putting herself between her son and her husband, “please, stop this!”

But Harold was having none of it. He took his wife’s arm and twisted it, pulling her closer. “You want to protect these little fuckers? FINE”.

He started dragging her out of the kitchen. “Stay with your brother”, Edith said when Barney tried to go after her, “stay with him, okay, dear?”

She was obviously trying not to cry, but both children could see the solitary tear streaming down her face. Harold slammed the kitchen door closed. Barney went straight for Clint, hugging his younger brother. “It’s gonna be okay”, he whispered as the boy covered his ears with both hands and cried, “it’s gonna be alright”.

This could have been a good night.

March, 2005.

Nuremberg, Germany.

She was still out, which was good, because Clint had no clue what he was going to say to her. Shooting people with a bow and arrow? Easy. Infiltrating the heavily guarded mansion of the boss of one of the most dangerous cartels in the world? Ugh, at least give him a challenge. Now, social interactions of any kind? Yeah, that was a big no-no.

So here he was, sitting on the floor, eating some cup noodles while he stared at the red headed woman in front of him, thinking what the hell he was going to say to her and how the hell he was going to convince her to join SHIELD. They were inside an old police station used by the agency as a safe house. There was no one there but Clint and the Black Widow. He had bound both her arms and legs and put her in one of the cells, locking the door and hiding the key. Not that any of this would actually stop her, he thought, wincing as he touched his broken nose. But it was the best he could do right now and that would just have to do.

He had called Coulson. Informed him that Andrei was dead, that they needed a cleanup crew to take care of the scene and that he had taken a very much alive Black Widow to a SHIELD safe house, surprise! Needless to say, his partner was not happy. He maintained a professional stance, like he always did, the perfect bastard, but Clint knew his Phil enough to notice the strain in his voice, the worry in his words. There were so many ways this could go wrong. So many. She could manage to run away and inform her employers that SHIELD was on to them. She could kill Clint in the process, leaving Phil to bury a disfigured body (if there even was a body in the end). She could accept Clint’s offer, betray him, steal a shitload of SHIELD’s secrets and return to Russia a hero. So many damn things could go wrong. But Clint knew that, if he didn’t do this, if he didn’t try, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Phil had been very honest with him. You’re projecting, agent Barton, he had said over the phone, she’s not you. She’s nothing like you. She doesn’t have what you have. And Clint knew what he meant. She didn’t have a Barney. She didn’t have a burning regret that destroyed her very being and reminded her everyday of how easy it was to succumb to a life of hatred and revenge. But maybe she had something else. Something that would make leaving this life of torture and complete lack of autonomy an easy choice, a smart choice. He could only hope that was the case. He was too young and handsome to die a horrible death on the hands of the world’s best assassin.

The woman stirred slightly. She moaned in a soft tone, moving her head slowly to the side, her eyes blinking as she woke up. The sedative was a strong one. She wouldn’t be able to actually move her body for at least three more hours, so that gave Clint plenty of time to talk to her. I hope. He continued to eat his noodles and stare at her. She stared right back at him, her face giving away nothing. She can put Coulson’s Neutral Face of Displeasure right out of business.

“Hi. I’m Clint”.

Oh for the love of fuck, did I just say “Hi, I’m Clint” to the world’s greatest assassin? What the ever loving fuck is wrong with me?

She said nothing, just kept on staring at him with dead eyes.

“So… I’d offer you some noodles, but I’m pretty sure you’d just get sick and throw up all over the floor, which would be gross. And, I’m gonna be very honest here with you, I’m also scared that if I get any closer you’re gonna bite my ear off and use it as a weapon”.

Still, she said nothing, but he could see the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“So, yeah. To summon up, I’m Clint. I work for SHIELD and they sent me here to kill you. So… Yeah, nice to meet you”.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry?”

She cocked her head slightly to the side, assessing him. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, no, I made a different call. I thought we could, you know, chat a bit, talk about the weather, our favorite TV shows, that sort of thing. You watch Friends?”

“You want information, then. You’re wasting your time”.

“No, no”, he replied, stuffing his mouth with more noodle, which made a bit hard to properly talk, “I mean, I’m not a complete sucker, you feel like giving me some information, I’m not gonna say no. But no, that’s not the reason you’re still alive. I mean, I read your file. SHIELD knows there is nothing we could do to you to make you talk, so yeah, that would’ve been a complete waste of time”.

“You talk too much”. Her voice was still a bit sluggish, but Clint could still hear the heavy Russian accent.

 “So I’ve been told. So… Uh, are you by any chance looking for a new job? ‘Cause we could definitely use you at SHIELD. Plus we’ve got medical, dental, and the pay isn’t bad either”.

“You... Are you trying to hire me?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t it obvious?”

She raised an eyebrow, looking a bit confused. “I’d say this is the most bizarre job interview I’ve ever had, but then I’d be lying”.

“Good, Honesty is good. Honesty is the main foundation of any relationship. So, you’re interested?”

“If I say yes, will you let me go?” When Clint hesitated to answer, she smiled, “That’s what I thought”.

“Hey, come on, we just met. We need time to bond, to trust each other”.

“My employers trust me. You and your SHIELD could never. I’d be watched all the time, every step, every move. It doesn’t sound like a very fun work environment”.

“Do they? Your employers”, he clarified when she cocked her head in question, “Do they trust you? Or do they think you’re a pretty robot who can’t think for herself and just does as she’s told without ever questioning orders?”

She smiled. “So you think I’m pretty”.

“I’ve met someone else from the Red Room. Her name was Dorothy Underwood. SHIELD has some footage of her questioning. I noticed a few things, you know. Like the fact that she didn’t develop a personality, probably because the Red Room keeps their assets a blank slate to make it easier to control them and to mold them into whatever character they need to become to achieve their goals. Three people interrogated her. She mimicked them, like a mirror, the way they talked, the way they moved. Then, another person would come in, and she would change completely. You’re not like that, though. I can see it. Which means that you’re not a mindless puppet. Am I wrong?”

The Black Widow did not move. She did not take her eyes from him. Her face was as blank as it was when she first woke up. She said nothing.

“I don’t think I’m wrong. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say that maybe you’ve thought about leaving. You’ve thought about what it would be like to make your own decisions, to be your own person. To be more than just the Black Widow, to be… What’s your name again?”

“Natalia”, she replied in a whisper, “Natalia Romanova”.

Clint wasn’t expecting that. Maybe she was lying, just saying whatever name popped in her head, but… She looked sincere. She was looking down, pensive. Like she herself couldn’t believe she had just said that. If it was true, if that was really her real name, then maybe this would work. Maybe Clint was getting somewhere with all his crazy talk.

“Is that your real name? Or is that the name they gave you?”

“My real one. My parents gave me this name”.

“What happened to them?”

“Too poor. Hungry. Cold. They were offered money. They needed money. They could always make another child”.

The words. They sounded rehearsed, like the woman had been made to repeat them again and again and again until she knew them but heart. Until they became her truth.

“Is that what they told you?” Clint asked. She did not look at him, nor did she answer. “Where are your parents now?”

“I don’t know”.

“Wouldn’t you like to know them? Wouldn’t you like to know if that’s the truth?”

“What does it matter?” She answered, looking up at him. Her eyes hid some much pain Clint could almost feel it. “The past cannot be changed. The truth will change nothing”.

“You’re right. You can’t change your past. But you can change your future.”

“What future is there for me? You say you read my file. You know what I have done. What future is there for someone like me?”

“If I can have a future, so can you”.

This time, she laughed a humorless laugh. “I have stolen, and killed, and tortured in the name of my country”.

“I know. I’ve done that for SHIELD too. And…” He stopped, looking down at his now cold noodles with a sad smile. “I’ve done that before SHIELD too”.

The Black Widow was silent. Then, “Tell me your story”, she whispered.

Clint looked at her, surprised. “Okay. My father was an abusive drunk. He would hit us and shout at us. My mother took the heat when she could. They died when my brother and I were young. Car accident. He was drunk.”

Natalia nodded. “And then?”

“Foster homes. Hundreds of them. Well, not really, I’m clearly exaggerating, but yeah, a lot. Last one was the Millers. Nice couple, took Barney and me to the Circus one time. Three days later, Mr. Miller punched my brother so hard he had a concussion. We got the hell out of there after that. One abusive asshole had been enough to last a lifetime, thank you very much”.

“Where did you go?”

“The Circus. We hid on the back of one of their trucks. Trick-Shot, one of the carnies, found us. Gave us a lecture about hitching a ride without asking permission and told us he would call social services to take us home. We told him what had happened. He said ”fuck the system” and let us stay. Barney and I, we worked hard. I learned this…”, he said, patting the bow and arrow beside him on the ground, “… And I was good. Well, you saw it”.

“I did. It was quite impressive. For a man in a purple unitart”, she replied, with mirth.

“Yeah, well, I was the best. And I liked it there. But Barney wanted to leave. He wanted to join the army, so he got out. And I stayed. And I trusted the wrong people. His name was Jacques, the Swordsman. I caught him stealing money from the Circus. He beat me up to a bloody pulp, worse than even Harold ― my asshole of a father”, he explained when the red head shot him a confused look, “worse than he had ever done. He would’ve killed me if Trick-Shot hadn’t found us. He drove the asshole away and helped me get better. Then he told me about this business of his, easy money, easy job. We stole from some people, killed some other on the way. I figured, he saved me, you know. Least I can do is help him out. So I did. Then, one day he told me he had a big job, a game changer”.

“What was the mission?”

“Steal from Marko, the guy who loaned money to Jacques.”

He has a lot of security, so we need a sniper. You kill all the guards with that bow and arrow of yours while I get inside and take the money.

“What happened?”, Natalia asked in a whisper.

Clint huffed, shaking his head. “Turns out, my brother had done real great in the army. He became a CIA agent. His first job was to cover Marko’s ass. Protect him at all costs. I didn’t know it was him. Put an arrow through his heart”. Clint? Is that you? “He recognized me. He was coughing blood, could barely talk. Trick-Shot knew the whole time. He didn’t tell me”. No, no, please, Barney, no! “He died in my arms. I got pissed. Tried to kill Trick-Shot, but he was better than me. He took one of my own arrows, impaled me to a tree with it and left. Told me he would come back to kill me properly some day. SHIELD showed up”.

“And offered you a job?”

“Hell no!”, he laughed, “Arrested me. I told them all I knew, didn’t care either way. Than Co… This agent showed up. He tried to convince me that I was worth a damn, that I could do some good. It took him months to actually get through my thick skull, but hey, I had just killed my brother and been betrayed, again, by someone I considered family. It was hard to trust anybody else at that moment, especially a guy in a fancy suit”.

“How did he convince you?”

“He offered me something I desperately wanted but didn’t think I could have”.

“What was that?”

“A good life”.

Natalia was silent. She looked away from Clint, a thoughtful expression on her face. Clint waited.

“I will do it. I will be loyal to your SHIELD. I will do everything they tell me to do. But there is one condition”.

“Name it. I’ll see what I can do”.

“There is a girl. In the Red Room. I trained her. I want her”.

“To be an agent?”

“To be a person”, Natalia replied immediately, looking at Clint with determination, “she never submitted to the handlers, not the way others have. She follows the rules, she pretends to be compliant, but I know her. She will slip, make a mistake soon, and she’ll be killed for her actions. I can’t let that happen”.

“Ok. That sounds reasonable. I’ll talk to SHIELD, we’ll track her down. We won’t stop until we find her”.

“Then I’m yours”.

And in that moment, looking into Natalia’s eyes, he finally realized. As it turned out, they did have something in common. They both had someone they wanted to protect, someone they failed, someone they desperately needed to have safe and sound even if it cost them everything. In Clint’s case, it was already too late. Barney was dead, he was never coming back. But Natalia still had a chance. Natalia could still safe her Barney.

“What’s the girl’s name?”

“Anastasia”, she replied with longing in her voice, “her name is Anastasia”.

[asthora]

The Last Dance, Pt. 2

The Courier brings Benny back to Vegas.  He can’t tell if it’s a mistake or if she’s just playing more games.  Part 2 to my Benny x Courier saga.  Read part one here.

The Courier is playing tricks on him.

She’s got a heart blacker than an abandoned vault.  She never planned on letting him walk free, just thought it would be fun and games to see him skip off into the sunset only to reel him back in, her executioner’s axe sharpened.

“This isn’t what you think,” she tells him.  “Believe it or not.”

Yeah, like he’s going to let her fool him again.

“You can’t pull the wool over my eyes anymore, baby.  You’re here to kill me.”

Benny had been gone for almost two weeks, hadn’t even gotten the chance to leave the Mojave, when the Courier’s little NCR sniper appeared out of goddamn nowhere.  Benny was just enjoying himself a smoke at the 188 when the beret grabbed his arm, turned him in the direction of New Vegas, and with a gruff let’s go, led him to his final resting place.

“Did I not scram fast enough, pussycat?  Was I too slow?  A man’s got to take his time when he’s deciding the fate of his future.”

“No, I’m glad you didn’t leave the Mojave.  Made you easy to find.”

Oh, of course.  Her hounds only run so far from the horses.  If he had skedaddled sooner, right now he could be enjoying himself a hooker in New Reno or nursing himself a whiskey neat in some slummy bar.

“Well I’m glad I could convenience  you, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah.  You aim to please.  I’ve heard it all before, Benny.  Now it’s time for you to shut up and let me do the talking.”

Benny zips his lips and throws away the key.  She rolls her eyes.  The Courier leans back, her chair balancing on two legs, with her feet propped up on a card table.  Her scarred hands rest on her toned stomach.  Outside the tent, Benny can hear the sounds of the Mormon Fort --  babies crying, some grunts, coughing, the final scream of a dying junkie.  He winces.  Now he remembers why he made it a rule to never set foot in this place.  Benny doesn’t like to be reminded of mortality.  

“I’m not going to kill you,” she says.  “I promise.”

“Really?”

“Really.  Cross my heart and hope to fucking die.”

He smirks. “Well, now I’m convinced.”

News flash, he isn’t.  He’s got a right to be cautious of this broad but there’s something about this whole situation that makes him wonder if she’s telling the truth.

“If I decided that killing you was what I wanted to do, do you think you’d be alive right now?  Do you think I would waste any more of my time looking at your face?”

“Ouch, baby, you know my face is the finest thing for miles.”

So she isn’t planning to kill him, there’s a reason the Courier dragged him back kicking and screaming to New Vegas.  But why aren’t they partying it up in the Lucky 38’s revolting cocktail lounge?  He’s standing in front of the Mojave’s most powerful woman, yet she isn’t ruling from her castle.  Why would a queen stalk in the slums?

C’mon, think like a big-leaguer Benny-boy.

Perhaps it’s because the Mormon Fort is discreet.  Maybe, what she has to say doesn’t need the eyes and ears of certain people.  In this neck of the woods, those certain people can only be the Vegas elite.  The Families.   Freeside ain’t Vegas proper so the Families don’t tend to pay attention to the slums, a mistake he didn’t make.  Instead their feelers extend from New Vegas, skip over Freeside, and tumble out in the desert, gently probing the uncivilized world for anything that might benefit their empires.  If she wants to be invisible this is the perfect place to do it.  Not only is it free of Family spies, she’s got some aces protection.  The Courier just doesn’t stop making friends.  On his way in he spotted a few leather clad Kings milling about the perimeter and he swears he saw a Boomer vault suit sitting pretty as you please at the front gate.  

But there are bigger questions to be asking here, like why is the Courier so desperate to get away from the Families?  What does she want to keep hidden?  And most importantly, if she doesn’t plan to kill him, why is he here?

Or maybe he’s got it all wrong.  Maybe he’s thinking about this too closely.  Nah, no way.  He and the courier are the same in many ways.  She wouldn’t say it  but he ain’t afraid to admit that they are a couple of crafty scheming fucks.

“You’re hard to get rid of, Benny.  Did you know that?” She asks, picking at her bleeding cuticles.  She’s got hands like a desert scaver.

“A man once told me that before I stuck a knife in his neck.”

The Courier laughs, a flat dry laugh that makes his stomach lurch.  She looks at him and cracks a smile.

“Swank told me about that.  Your old chief, Bingo.  He wanted to keep wandering but you said no sir.  You told him the future was behind a gate, not out there,” she points to the desert.  “So you killed him and brought your people to a new eden.”

“We could sit here recalling history, baby but that won’t lead us to anywhere that we don’t already know.”  He says, his voice tight.

“I disagree,” the Courier slams her chair into the dirt and leans forward.  “Get on your knees.”

Benny’s jaw tightens.   Oh how he’d love to watch her bleed like he did with Bingo.  But his hands are tied, literally, and he’s at the mercy of this woman perhaps for the rest of his short life.  Benny gets on his knees.

“Happy?”

“I just want to remind you that we aren’t equals.  I’m about to propose something to you that might send your ego flying to the stars, so I gotta make sure all my bases are checked.”

A proposal?  What kind of proposal?  What can this bitch offer him that she hasn’t already?   His freedom was the only thing he could ask for, his life.  The only thing left to dangle in front of him is...no.  No fucking way.  Vegas is all that’s left, the only thing he wants more than life but, the Courier is far from a fool.  She wouldn’t hand over her newly won town for all the caps in the wasteland, so what is this?

“What I’m about to say stays in this tent.  It doesn’t leave your mouth.  I don’t want you even thinking about it.  Do you understand?”

“I’m understanding that you have something real secret that you shouldn’t be saying.  I’ll keep it under wraps, pussycat.  Now spill the beans.”  He says.

The Courier’s blue eyes close, then open, then close, and finally open again.  She looks pained, like whatever she’s about to say, she doesn’t want to say it.

“We’re going to make a deal.  I’m going to let you come back to Vegas and take up the mantle of head of the Chairman.  In return, you’re going to be my little lapdog.”

Is he hearing her right?  Did she really just offer him a doorway back into Vegas?  He’s so caught up in the thought of walking the halls of The Tops again that he almost misses the word lapdog.  Almost.  

He narrows his eyes.  “What do you mean by lapdog, baby?  You realize this puppy ain’t into being leashed, right?”

“Well if you want to be more than one of the common folk you’re going to have to embrace the leash and be a good boy.”

Benny spits in the dirt.  This ain’t right.  This ain’t humane.  That doesn’t mean he ain’t interested.

“Tell me why I should do this.”

She rubs her hands together and smiles.  “Because you aren’t going to settle for the wasteland and I need a inside man who can tell me everything that the Families do.  I’m not going to make the same mistake House did, I’m going to watch the power players and make sure they stay in their lanes.  I’m not letting what you did happen again.”

Oh this broad is clever!  She deserves this town better than anyone.  She knows what to do, how to treat her fickle town, how to make sure it stays in her hands.  Her judgement is impeccable.  Who better than him to spy on the Omertas and the White Gloves?  Once upon a time this was his town, and he knew how it rolled.  Benny knew every shred of gossip, every rumor, every word that came out of the mouth of the big players.  He knew when every little lord and lady fucked, slept, ate, shit, and schemed.  That kind of knowledge could quell a revolution, a fight the Courier doesn’t want happening again.  Funny to think that he once thought she wasn’t a threat.

But there are problems with this plan.  No doubt his boys know that he betrayed him.  They won’t welcome him home, no siree, and the rest of the Strip?  Well, he’s no better than a White Glove frozen dinner.

“I like your ambition but you’re missing something important.”  He says.

“Like what?”

“Swank isn’t going to let me come waltzing through those doors.  He’ll splatter my brains across the carpet as soon as he sees me.”

“Why?  He doesn’t know anything.”

What?

The Courier’s lips turn up in an amused smile.  “All Swank and the rest of Vegas knows is that some fuck shot me in the head and I took over Vegas.  I didn’t tell them that it was their boss who set my rampage in motion.”

He can’t believe this.  It’s like the bitch had this all planned out from the start.  Maybe she did, he tells himself.  She’s smart enough.

“Swank told me you often disappear for days at a time, weeks even.  All you have to do is walk back in, say you had business somewhere in the Mojave, and then it’s back to business as usual.”  

She makes it sound so easy and really, it is.  Benny is good at lying and Swank is good at believing him.  What Swank accepts, the rest of his pack with accept, and so will Vegas.  There’s a sick feeling in his gut though.  All the lies, they’re piling up.  It isn’t right to lie to your second, but Benny has been doing it for years.  He’s neck deep.  This’ll be the last lie, he thinks, then things will return to normal.  

The Courier is right, he doesn’t want to be a wastelander again.  He’s had a taste of civility and now he doesn’t think he can truly step away.  He just ain’t too keen on being a slave.

“So I get my little slice of heaven back and in return, I give you information.  Correct?” He asks.

The Courier swings her legs off the table and leans forward.  She’s so close to him.  It reminds him of two weeks ago when he was at the mercy of her blade.

“Well, that and a few other things.  You’ll do exactly as I say.  If I say jump, you say how high.  If I ask you to swim in a sea of radiation, you better be running for your swim trunks-”

“So I’m your little bitch” he interrupts.  “I get it.”

She cocks her head to the side, her jaw working furiously.  “No, you don’t.  Don’t interrupt.  You’ll spy for me and you’ll pretend like you’re just one of the boys, like you and me have never had any ties.  If I ask you to accompany me somewhere, you’ll do it.  The Tops is your kingdom, you can run it how you like, but you won’t tell me how to run Vegas, and you won’t try to run it for yourself.”

She drives a hard bargain.  Benny licks his lips and shifts on his knees, which are now aching so badly his legs have started to shake.  The way he sees it, he doesn’t have a choice.  She’ll just kick him to the curb if he says no.  There is no better way back into Vegas, there is no other option.  He’ll play his part.  For a bit.

“Fine,” he spits.  “You win.  I’ll come back.  I’ll play your game by the rules if it gets me back into my casino.”

The Courier leans back and smiles brightly.  “Perfect!”

“Who would’ve thought I’d become business partners with the broad who I put in the ground?”

“And who would have thought that broad would be pulling the strings?”  She smirks.  “Now get up.”

He stands slowly.  The Courier takes a knife from her boot and cuts the ropes around his wrists.  He’s still got scars from the Legion’s bindings.  He looks up from his hands at the courier.  She’s a good head shorter than his six feet.  This is the first time they’ve been side by side not as enemies, but as allies.  She stares up at him with cold, blue eyes.

“Arcade!” She shouts.

“Yeah?”  

Benny turns.  A Follower doctor with blonde hair and thick rimmed glasses peeks around the tent flap.

“Do you have any clothes Benny can borrow?  I don’t need him walking back into The Tops looking like he’s been dragged through the dirt.”

Arcade laughs humorlessly.  “I’m sure I have something.  Want me to make him bathe, too?  I can smell him from here.”

“That would be great.  Thanks, Arcade.”

“I aim to please.  Follow me, asshole.”  

“You’ve got lovely friends.”  Benny growls, backing away from the Courier.  She crosses her arms and sticks her hip out.

“Yeah.  I’ve got the best of the best.  Even the most disgusting now.”

Benny follows Arcade, but before he pushes the dirty cloth aside, he hesitates.  For the first time he realizes he doesn’t even know this bitch’s name.  It’s just always been the Courier or pussycat or baby.  He turns around and she raises an eyebrow.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve been so caught up in hating you babydoll, that I don’t even know your name.”

Her smirk falters then shifts into a wide smile.  

“My name is Indigo Blue.  Call me Indy.”

[jokerepair74-blog]

2:00PM Water Cooler 10/2/2018

By Lambert Strether of Corrente.

Readers, here is a shorter Water Cooler to get you going; I’ll add more when I finish posting on teeth. –lambert UPDATE All done.

Trade

“New Nafta Has American Corn Farmers Breathing Easier” [Bloomberg]. “The U.S.-Mexico-Canada Agreement secured Sunday is expected to allow leaders from the three countries to sign an accord by late November. The accord alleviates the risk that Mexico, the biggest importer of U.S. corn, will turn to competing exporters such as Argentina.” • And just in time for the mid-terms!

“What if Trump’s confrontational trade stance actually works?” [CNN]. “The NAFTA 2.0 agreement, or USMCA as Donald Trump wants to call it — and he would appear to have won the right to call it anything he wants — ought to be sending chills up the spines of diplomats and trade negotiators around the world. Trump largely got his way. And now, no one can tell him his bull-in-a China-shop way won’t work.”

‘Will USMCA affect Canada’s drug prices? Depends on what happens next, experts say” [CBC]. “The United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA) will extend the minimum “data protection” period for an expensive class of drugs known as biologics to 10 years, up from eight. Biologics — some of the most costly drugs on the market — are used to treat a large range of diseases, including many cancers, arthritis and multiple sclerosis. The change could cost Canadian taxpayers tens of millions of dollars annually, according to one estimate.”

UPDATE “Auto makers would gain new certainty on factory investments and other manufacturers would avoid feared disruptions under the new North American trade accord” [Wall Street Journal]. “[The deal] sets the stage for major relief for an auto industry that feared costly new tariffs could unravel two decades of investments under the North American Free Trade Agreement. The new deal is a big win for Detroit’s Big Three auto makers, which rely heavily on factories in Canada and Mexico to build cars and trucks for the U.S. market. But the new rules could also force car companies and their parts makers to alter supply chains to meet tougher new rules on regional content of cars. That’s likely to have more impact on foreign auto makers that source parts abroad.”

UPDATE “Timeline: How a new North American trade deal happened” [Supply Chain Dive]. “Relive the drama of the talks to renegotiate the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) with the timeline below.” • No.

Politics

2020

Concrete material benefits:

I want to congratulate Jeff Bezos for doing exactly the right thing by raising the minimum wage at Amazon and Whole Foods to $15 an hour.

Let me thank the hundreds of Amazon workers who contacted my office and the Fight for $15 movement, which has been leading this effort.

— Bernie Sanders (@SenSanders) October 2, 2018

Sanders gracefully gives credit to the real drivers, too. That said, this could be a smart move by Amazon, which needs warehouse workers in a tight labor market. And Amazon is still a predatory monopoly that should be broken up. And why not $20? Nevertheless, take the win!

“Hillary Clinton’s Favorable Rating Still Low” [Gallup]. Well, the voters are wrong. Again.

“Biden Is Preparing for 2020. Can He Overcome the Hill-Thomas Hearings?” [New York Times]. “[Joe Biden’s] name has been invoked frequently in recent days, mainly by Republicans, for leading the 1991 hearings when an all-male, all-white Judiciary Committee aggressively questioned Anita Hill about claims that Judge Thomas had sexually harassed her. The hearings have long been a source of discomfort with Mr. Biden among Democrats who remember the process.” • Er, can Biden overcome condemning a generation of students to debt slavery?

2018

34 days until Election Day. 34 days is a long time in politics (as we are seeing right now with Kavanaugh. And what about Rosenstein?).

“GOP Cuts Into Democratic Lead for Congress” [Political Wire]. “A new Quinnipiac poll finds Democrats leading Republicans in the generic congressional ballot by seven points, 49% to 42% — a drop from the 12 point lead they had last month.” • One poll….

“Polling in Real Time: The 2018 Midterm Elections” [New York Times]. • This is a neat project. OTOH, in the back of my mind, a small voice is telling me “I hope the voters are gaming the Times….”

“Politics and the New Machine” [Jill Lepore, The New Yorker]. From 2015, still germane: “Pollsters rose to prominence by claiming that measuring public opinion is good for democracy. But what if it’s bad?”

NJ Senate: “New Jersey Senate Poll: Menendez, Hugin in Dead Heat” [Bloomberg]. • Too funny. The Senate hangs in the balance, so the Democrat strategy is to force a corrupt hack like Menendez onto the ballot. Go Blue!

NY-12: “Obama announces endorsement for Ocasio-Cortez” [The Hill]. “Obama is supporting a total of 260 Democratic candidates in his second list for U.S. Senate and U.S. House, governor and state legislature.” • Well, I wish he hadn’t.

* * *

UPDATE “Renovation Records Undercut Ford’s Exit-Door Account” [RealClearInvestigations]. “Ford testified last week that she had never revealed the details of the alleged attack until 2012, when she was in couples therapy with her husband. She said the memories percolated up as they revisited a disagreement they’d had over her insistence on installing a ‘second front door’ when they had remodeled their Palo Alto, Calif., home…. The need to explain a decision her husband ‘didn’t understand,’ Ford testified, pushed her to say she wanted the door to alleviate symptoms of ‘claustrophobia’ and ‘panic attacks’ she still suffered from an attempted rape allegedly perpetrated by Kavanaugh in high school during the early 1980s….. Ford never specified when the renovation took place, leaving a possible impression that it and the therapy session happened around the same time. But documents reveal the door was installed years before as part of an addition, and has been used by renters and even a marriage counseling business. ‘The door was not an escape route but an entrance route,’ said an attorney familiar with the ongoing congressional investigation. ‘It appears the real plan for the second front door was to rent out a separate room.’… Palo Alto city records show that a building permit for an additional room and exterior door was issued to Ford and her husband on Feb. 4, 2008 — more than four years before the May 2012 therapy session where, she says, she first identified Kavanaugh as her attacker.” • This reads to me like the reporter hasn’t actually seen the documents; otherwise, they would be embedded in the post. So presumably we’re relying on the anonymous lawyer for their interpretation. Big if true, though.

Realignment and Legitimacy

UPDATE “No Law Without Politics (No Politics Without Law)” [Jedidiah Purdy, Law and Political Economy]. “[I]t has been an article of faith–or at least a relentless rhetorical trope–on both sides of the [Kavanaugh] fight that ‘politicization’ of the judiciary is a kind of corruption and crisis…. I think we have to look into the abyss and admit the possibility that politics really does come first, that the question is not for or against politicization, but what kind of politicization.” And: “It is a tragedy of American left-liberalism that this idea has less traction than it should as a progressive ideal precisely because there is so much arbitrary exercise of legal power, and so unevenly distributed, that it is easy and understandable to think of rule of law as an elite conceit.” • This deserves careful study, and more attention than I can give it now.

Um:

Twitter has suspended, and perhaps permanently banned, the account of Georgetown Professor C. Christine Fair, apparently due to this tweet: pic.twitter.com/wN2OvrgRcA

— Glenn Greenwald (@ggreenwald) October 2, 2018

To the quesion of fact: Fair can call Kavanaugh a serial rapist if she wants, but that doesn’t make him one. Fair also devalues a serious charge, in the same way that liberal Democrats reflexively emitting “Racist!” devalues that serious charge.

UPDATE “data demystified #4: How liberals and conservatives talk about progressive issues” [Data for Progess]. On college debt: “The clearest disconnect is that language that discusses debt or loans is employed differently by liberals and conservatives. Conservative use this language to talk about their own experiences and how they achieved even with loans. Take this example from someone who identifies as very conservative and opposes free college tuition: ‘I came from a poor economic background, and I have student loan debt. It [was a] choice to enroll in college. It is the student’s responsibility to pay, not taxpayers.’* In contrast, when liberals talk about loans in the context of tuition it is still about their own experiences, but they see it as not wanting others to face the same burden.” NOTE * Which, of course, they do not do.

“Why e-voting is a bad idea for Australia (and maybe the world)” [Asian Correspondent]. • A useful review of how Australia does paper ballots. Ends with a mention of blockchain, though. Get away! Get away!

Stats Watch

No official statistics of note today.

UPDATE Retail: “Study: More People Will Eat Bugs if They’re Up-Marketed as Luxury Item” [Courthouse News]. “According to a study published Tuesday in Frontiers of Nutrition, if marketing can appeal to a person’s self-indulgent tastes they might look past the bug on their plate…. Researchers behind the recent insect study say labels like “eco-friendly” or “fair trade” lose out to advertisements that play up pleasurable aspects, like taste. Insects have not scuttled into the mainstream, but researchers said it’s all about presentation. The study authors note lobster, the marine crustacean with bug-like qualities, is synonymous with fine dining but that wasn’t always the case.” • Fair enough!

Manufacturing: “Primera Air to File for Bankruptcy Citing Airbus Delivery Delays” [Bloomberg]. “[Primera Air], which along with Norwegian Air Shuttle has attempted to upend the existing trans-Atlantic thoroughfare with low-cost, long-haul flights, was forced to pay excessive costs leasing in planes to cover for the ‘severe’ delay in deliveries of the state-of-the-art A321neos. Primera had orders due to be powered by CFM International’s Leap engine…. Airbus’s A320neo family has suffered major delays due to production and design issues with the Leap as well as Pratt & Whitney’s geared turbofan, the competing turbine option on the aircraft.” • Hmm. Both engines?!

The Bezzle: “Unraveling a Tesla Mystery: Lots (and Lots) of Parked Cars” [New York Times]. “In some cases, cars have been marked — with a bar-coded sticker or with grease pencil on the windshield — to indicate that they are inventory vehicles, meaning they have no customers awaiting them. Some markings indicate repairs required before the cars can be sold, like scratches, dents or components that don’t work.”

Tech: “America’s first ‘sex robot brothel’ in Houston faces resistance” [South China Morning Post]. “Kinky S Dolls, a firm that bills itself as the first ‘adult love dolls rent-before-you-buy service in North America’, sells realistic-looking life-size dolls with basic artificial intelligence functions – and also offers them for use by the half-hour or hour at a warehouse in Toronto. Now the firm is targeting Houston as the first market in a planned US expansion, but is meeting resistance from a Christian anti-sex trafficking and anti-pornography group and the city’s mayor.” • Sommi-451, Cloud Atlas: “Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”

Tech: “Amazon’s Alexa knows what you forgot and can guess what you’re thinking” [Guardian]. “At an event in Seattle on Thursday, the technology company unveiled a new feature called Alexa Hunches that aims to replicate human curiosity and insight using artificial intelligence. ‘We’ve reached a point with deep neural networks and machine learning that we can actually program intuition,’ said Daniel Rausch, the vice-president in charge of Alexa’s smart home features. Once it is activated later this year, Alexa Hunches will observe its owners’ interactions with connected smart home devices like locks, lights and electricity outlets. When Alexa believes it has detected a regular pattern, such as turning off a television set before bed, the voice assistant will remind owners if they forget to do it, and offer to fix the problem.” • If your intuition doesn’t tell you having a device that records your every move and sends it to a corporate server is a bad idea, how good is your intuition?

UPDATE “Fed’s Powell Backs Ongoing Gradual Hikes for ‘Extraordinary’ Economy” (transcript) [Street Insider]. Powell: “The unemployment rate stands at 3.9 percent, near a 20-year low. Inflation is currently running near the Federal Open Market Committee’s (FOMC) objective of 2 percent…. From the standpoint of our dual mandate, this is a remarkably positive outlook. Indeed, I was asked at last week’s press conference whether these forecasts are too good to be true–a reasonable question!”

Honey for the Bears: “75% of the ultra-rich forecast a US recession in the next two years, survey finds” [CNBC]. “The U.S. economy is firing on all cylinders, yet 75 percent of ultra-high net worth investors predict it will hit recession by 2020, a J.P. Morgan survey found. Of those expecting an economic downturn in the U.S., a fifth of respondents — 21 percent — believe it will begin in 2019 and 50 percent expect the next recession to start in 2020.” • It’s like they’re talking themselves into it.

Health Care

“The Real Lesson from the Downfall of Theranos: We Need to Nationalize the Healthcare System” [In These Times]. “[F]or all its insight into the ‘fake it ’til you make it’ culture of Big Tech’s gold rush, Bad Blood [the business history of Theranos] leaves out the same critical point that’s missed in most mainstream media discourse about Silicon Valley’s race to ‘disrupt’ the healthcare sector: It will never, ever happen, and human history offers us no reason to believe that it will. These companies’ business models monetize the failures of our system, and therefore have a vested interest in fortifying the structural barriers to the universal and equitable distribution of care….. Insurers are explicitly incentivized to avoid paying for policyholders’ care, which is why they hire so many administrators to pore over claims in search of technicalities on which to deny them. That’s an inherent tension no app can fix.”

“Taken For A Ride: M.D. Injured In ATV Crash Gets $56,603 Bill For Air Ambulance Trip” [NPR]. “Groggy from painkillers, [Dr. Naveed Khan, a 35-year-old radiologist] managed to ask the doctors how much the flight would cost and whether it would be covered by his insurer. ‘I think they told my friend, ‘He needs to stop asking questions. He needs to get on that helicopter. He doesn’t realize how serious this injury is,’ Khan recalled.” • Impressive. Even “groggy with painkillers,” Khan tries to be a “smart shopper”!

Another world is possible:

Today I had to go to the hospital in Taiwan bc I ruined my knee. The receptionist was hesitant to accept me / I had to sign a waiver saying I wouldn’t sue the hospital for how expensive treatment is for foreigners.

For X-rays, briefly talking to a dr & meds, it was $100 USD.

— Emily Cardinali 柯依薇 (@emilycardinali) September 19, 2018

Police State Watch

“Chile: 20 secret police jailed for Pinochet-era crimes” [Deutsche Welle]. • Finally. I hope the same thing happens to Gina Haspel, one day.

Class Warfare

“Rent control foes hire California NAACP leader after her group opposes initiative” [San Francisco Chronicle].

“The case for paying every American a dividend on the nation’s wealth” [MarketWatch]. “Early in 2019, 100 randomly selected lower-income residents of Stockton, Calif., will start to receive $500 a month. In exchange, they’ll need to do, well, absolutely nothing, and can spend the money on absolutely anything… In many ways Stockton, whose pilot program runs 18 months, is a perfect petri dish in which to rethink and innovate on the centuries-old dilemma of how to give more money to those who need it most. This racially diverse city of about 315,000, 80 miles from far wealthier Silicon Valley and San Francisco, was walloped in the 2008 financial crisis — the median home price plunged almost 70% — and declared bankruptcy in 2012. Though it emerged from that bankruptcy in 2015, Stockton is a stark example of how uneven the U.S. economy’s decade-long recovery has been. The city’s median household income is about $46,000, almost 25% below the national average.” • The headline is deceptive; Stockton’ s residents aren’t getting a “divident” on “the nation’s” [sic] “wealth” because they have no ownership rights. All they are getting is bread (and, presumably, circuses, which Silicon Valley is all too happy to sell them).

News of the Wired

Welcome to the third world:

American tech adoption has flatlinedhttps://t.co/iJgwtZ81kV pic.twitter.com/TVp27emkyt

— son of an asylum seeker, father of an immigrant (@doctorow) October 2, 2018

Poor broadband, lower adoption by elders (no doubt due to the horrible UI/UX of so much software).

* * *

Readers, feel free to contact me at lambert [UNDERSCORE] strether [DOT] corrente [AT] yahoo [DOT] com, with (a) links, and even better (b) sources I should curate regularly, (c) how to send me a check if you are allergic to PayPal, and (d) to find out how to send me images of plants. Vegetables are fine! Fungi are deemed to be honorary plants! If you want your handle to appear as a credit, please place it at the start of your mail in parentheses: (thus). Otherwise, I will anonymize by using your initials. See the previous Water Cooler (with plant) here. Today’s plant (JG):

JG writes: “We are vacationing in Chile and the vegetation is marvelous. Geraniums are as big as hedges. Roses are in bloom. I have no idea what this plant is but I like the art.”

* * *

Thank you!

Readers: Water Cooler is a standalone entity not covered by the annual NC fundraiser. So do feel free to make a contribution today or any day. Here is why: Regular positive feedback both makes me feel good and lets me know I’m on the right track with coverage. When I get no donations for five or ten days I get worried. More tangibly, a constant trickle of small donations helps me with expenses, and I factor that trickle in when setting fundraising goals. So if you see something you especially appreciate, do feel free to click the hat!

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This entry was posted in Guest Post, Water Cooler on October 2, 2018 by Lambert Strether.

About Lambert Strether

Readers, I have had a correspondent characterize my views as realistic cynical. Let me briefly explain them. I believe in universal programs that provide concrete material benefits, especially to the working class. Medicare for All is the prime example, but tuition-free college and a Post Office Bank also fall under this heading. So do a Jobs Guarantee and a Debt Jubilee. Clearly, neither liberal Democrats nor conservative Republicans can deliver on such programs, because the two are different flavors of neoliberalism (“Because markets”). I don’t much care about the “ism” that delivers the benefits, although whichever one does have to put common humanity first, as opposed to markets. Could be a second FDR saving capitalism, democratic socialism leashing and collaring it, or communism razing it. I don’t much care, as long as the benefits are delivered. To me, the key issue — and this is why Medicare for All is always first with me — is the tens of thousands of excess “deaths from despair,” as described by the Case-Deaton study, and other recent studies. That enormous body count makes Medicare for All, at the very least, a moral and strategic imperative. And that level of suffering and organic damage makes the concerns of identity politics — even the worthy fight to help the refugees Bush, Obama, and Clinton’s wars created — bright shiny objects by comparison. Hence my frustration with the news flow — currently in my view the swirling intersection of two, separate Shock Doctrine campaigns, one by the Administration, and the other by out-of-power liberals and their allies in the State and in the press — a news flow that constantly forces me to focus on matters that I regard as of secondary importance to the excess deaths. What kind of political economy is it that halts or even reverses the increases in life expectancy that civilized societies have achieved? I am also very hopeful that the continuing destruction of both party establishments will open the space for voices supporting programs similar to those I have listed; let’s call such voices “the left.” Volatility creates opportunity, especially if the Democrat establishment, which puts markets first and opposes all such programs, isn’t allowed to get back into the saddle. Eyes on the prize! I love the tactical level, and secretly love even the horse race, since I’ve been blogging about it daily for fourteen years, but everything I write has this perspective at the back of it.

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Source: https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2018/10/200pm-water-cooler-10-2-2018.html

[doctorwhodunit]

Bloody Venus

Gajevy Week Bonus Prompt: Alternate Universe

Summary:  Gajeel Redfox studies to one day become the leader of the Second Division of the Police Department, the one that deals with cases of thefts and robberies. A particular thief piqued his interest, a quirky and arrogant one that managed to outsmart the police force too many times already. Cunning as he is, Gajeel decides to join in on the fun.

You can also read it on FFnet.

"Impenetrable fortress," Macao Conbolt, the head of the police squad, said with a smirk as he looked around the room.

"The walls are made of glass," Wakaba Mine, his best friend and right-hand man, retorted beside him. "I repeat," he quipped, miming a megaphone, "we're on the building's top floor at night and the walls are made of glass for 'fanciness reasons' according to the person in charge of the exhibition. There's nothing 'impenetrable' about this place."

The dozen police officers surrounding them sighed silently. 'Here we go again' and 'Always bickering' could be heard from some of them as they faked checking some of their equipment. "Bulletproof vest, okay," one of them coughed.

Macao rolled his eyes and glared back at Wakaba. "I know they're made of glass," he snapped, "but we," he yelled proudly, opening his arms wide, "the agents of Justice with a capital J, are what make this glass room impenetrable! We are the backbone of this nation! Bearing pride in our hearts, we have one and only goal! Protect the jewels from the filthy hands of this serial thief!"

A moment of silence passed and the police officers glanced at each other with a hint of a lopsided smile on their face. They all straightened their stance and looked intensely back at their leader.

"Yes, sir!"

Macao grinned a toothy grin, proud of his men's resolve. Beside him, Wakaba snorted. "You might sound cheesy but you sure know how to boost your squad's determination," he commented earnestly. However, he didn't let him have time to smile and promptly added, "she managed to escape from us twice already though."

Macao coughed as he unintentionally choked on a ball of bitterness thinking about how easily she outsmarted them without any bloodshed. If he were to be honest with himself, he would admit verbally that her thieving skills were out of this world. Stealing gems from right under their noses without using any lethal weapon against the police to do so was not an easy feat, and yet, she achieved her deeds with utmost brilliance. And arrogance. So much arrogance. Macao seethed inwardly just thinking about it.

"This time," he replied after regaining his composure, "she won't be able to steal anything." He considered the pedestal in front of him and smirked as he regarded the jewels in the glass case. "If you touch the glass, an alarm will ring and the trap door inside will open and close fast to protect the jewels." He glanced at Wakaba who clearly had his 'I already know about the security systems, stop repeating yourself' face on. Macao reached in his back pocket and whipped out with slight arrogance his ultimate weapon. "And I've got this!"

Jealousy could be read on Wakaba's eyebrows when he contemplated what looked like sunglasses from the future in Macao's hand.

"Glasses with Iris Recognition System!" he boasted. "When I put these on, they scan my irises and it activates a mechanism inside the pedestal that allows the glass case to open automatically!" He wished he could have wiggled his eyebrows at the annoyed and jealous Wakaba who clearly had enough of him repeating himself. "This means that only I, Macao Conbolt, can open the glass case to get the jewels!"

Wakaba clenched clenched his teeth and fist and rolled his eyes. He sounded even more arrogant than the thief itself, which had the tendency to piss him off more than anything. However, a quick look at his wristwatch made him realise that he had no time to deal with this prick.

“Anyway, Supreme Leader Macao Conballs, it's almost time.”

Macao ignored the tasteless nickname he gave him, put away the sunglasses in his front pocket, and cleared his throat. “Alright! She said she'll come to steal the jewels at 10:00 PM. Only two minutes left, get ready.”

His tone of voice sounded more serious, almost grave. He was determined to capture her this time. Close to the glass case containing the jewels, Macao and Wakaba regarded their men with confidence, knowing that their presence around them and the jewels would be more than enough to take the thief down. After all, they were the elite handpicked cautiously by the head of the police departm-

“From above!” a voice cried out.

Everyone's heart skipped a beat as they all instinctively shot their head upwards in order to neutralise their oncoming threat. Their eyebrows furrowed in confusion when not even the shadow of the thief could be seen.

“What's this?” one of the men said hastily, pointing at something falling under the moonlight.

Macao squinted to see that a small metallic object was falling, and it was only when it reached eye-level that his jaw dropped as he recognised what it was. Unfortunately, it had already reached the ground right in front of him before he could say anything.

“Flash grenade?!”

Like lightning descending from the skies in the middle of a storm, a blinding light suddenly illuminated the whole room, making it impossible to see anything. Their eyes couldn't handle the glow of the powerful light, and they instantly shut close in pain. The thudding sound of the explosion had Wakaba and the other men cover their ears, and they understood quickly that for a few seconds, they wouldn't be able to move as they pleased.

“I can't see shit! Damn thief!” Macao seethed.

“Conbolt-san! Here, the sunglasses!” a voice hurried.

Macao felt one of his men's fingers on his hands as he was handed the sunglasses. A sigh of relief in this confusing situation escaped his mouth.

“Thank you!” he yelled as he put them on.

He managed to open his eyes and his forehead grew a size when he saw what was happening. A blue light passed over his eyes and he could distinctly hear a sort of gas sound near him. He recognised the sound of the mechanism right away as he was the only one to have heard it in this room.

The glass case opened.

“Damn thief used the glasses with Iris Recognition System against me!” Macao cried out in horror. “Keep calm and get closer to me, the thief can't have escaped this quickly!”

Without ease and with their eyes still blinded, his men walked towards him. However, as seconds went by, their eyesight was slowly coming back to normal. They could spot Macao throwing his glasses and Wakaba rubbing his eyes. When all the officers reached their squad leader, their jaw dropped.

“The jewels disappeared,” Wakaba gasped at the open glass case.

Macao quickly examined the room, but there was no thief to be found. “Goddammit!” he cursed with gritted teeth.

“Look!” Wakaba exclaimed, snapping Macao out of his self-deprecating thoughts, pointing at the top of the pedestal.

A neat, laminated piece of paper was placed on the cushion that supported the jewels on the pedestal. Considering the neat penmanship, it was most likely a note written by a woman. Macao took a closer look at it and gritted his teeth, always so overwhelmed by this thief's arrogance.

How about a good ol' race, Conbolt-san?

The loser owes the winner Kinder Chocolate ice cream.

“This pretentious bastard,” he hissed. “Why would you choose Kinder Chocolate when you can have Oreo Cream?”

Before Wakaba could add a snide remark to his tasteless remark – and comment on his malfunctioning taste buds – they heard a screeching car noise coming from outside.

“Must be her,” Macao said curtly. “Oh, she wants a race, we're gonna give it to her. Guys! Let's get outta here, we're taking her down tonight!”

“Yes, sir!” they yelled back.

And in no time, they all rushed down the stairs to go after their enemy.

All except one.

Because of all this ruckus, none of the so-called elite of the police department realised that one of them had stayed behind. A whistle escaped the mouth of the member of the police force, only to be followed by a rather high-pitched chuckle. A smirk tugged at the corner of the officer's mouth as he brought his hands from behind his back up to his face – said hands holding what the elite of the police department was supposed to protect.

The object was round, and there wasn't anything much special about it. Cherry blossoms of different warm colours adorned the object, all seeming to converge to one point on the round-shaped jewel. It had all the characteristics of a… button. The officer raised an eyebrow, and his thumb naturally went over the button and pressed it. He almost made the ball-like object fall when it opened, as if it were a compartment someone would put a wedding ring into. But instead of a wedding ring, the eyes of the jewel bearer lit up, reflecting a magnificent display of shine and artistry.

Beauty was truly in the eyes of the beholder.

Falkor's Ashes. Peculiar name for this dragon-shaped diamond. As if frozen, the dragon stood tall on his tail, its nest appearing bigger on the inside. The craftsmanship of this masterpiece made the officer's hazel eyes glitter in awe.

His eyebrows furrowed suddenly, and he considered the dragon's nest once more. Ashes… Ash...

“Oooooh,” the officer exhaled, “it opens like a Poké Ball.”

“That's yer first comment, really? What a weirdo.”

Startled, the 'Poké Ball' almost dropped to the ground as the officer snapped his head in the direction of the foreign voice. It came from the staircase the other policemen had gotten out from. An ominous shadow was calmly making its way up, and step by step, it felt like its confidence was growing bigger, sharper.

A hand slowly dragged itself up the banister. The officer's heart beat faster and his blood started boiling as a long mane of hair appeared across the bars of the banister. He could feel the mischievous smile of an unexpected opponent.

How exciting.

“Yo,” the deep voice said, done walking up the stairs, “havin' a nice stroll?”

From where he was and because of the moonlight, all the officer could see was a tall figure with wild, long hair. At least, he could tell he was a man, judging by his deep and raspy voice.

“Who are you? How did you get here, kid?” the officer asked in an astonishingly deep voice.

A laugh that resembled a grunt escaped the tall figure's mouth. “Well, that clearly ain't yer real voice,” he snorted. “Let's get down to business,” he grunted then, “don't waste my time, thief.”

His last word echoed around the room with thunderous strength. The weight of the word as it burst out of his mouth was like no other, for some reason it felt like he deemed his enemy worthy of this battle, even though he had already won.

A long silence lingered in the air, both of them waiting for the other to whip out his next move, but the tall figure had already lost patience.

“This ain't no silent movie so how about I do the talk for ya?” he suggested. “First off,” he exclaimed, pointing his index finger upwards, “you've got the jewel in yer hands, that's already pretty suspicious if ya ask me.”

“Th-”

“Nah-uh, you had your chance, you wasted it,” he sniped. “Second off, give a close look at the bottom of the pedestal.”

The officer looked down carefully, still confused by the sudden turn of events. He blinked once or twice before seeing a white square stuck to the bottom of the pedestal.

“It's a wireless transmitter, also commonly known as a bug,” he bragged. “I've been listening to everything that was happening since the beginning.” A smirk tugged at his lips, foreseeing what the next question would be. “Why does it even matter that you listened to what was happening? Good question!” he blurted joyfully. “When Macao and Wakaba started bickering, one of the officers faked checking their equipment and referred to it as a bulletproof vest. What a newbie mistake,” he snorted, “the police force in this country mostly use stab vests, especially when they're up against someone who's known for not using firearms, like you.”

Who on Earth are you? the suspicious officer thought through gritted teeth. By the looks of it, he wasn't one of the policemen who had left. He wasn't a policeman, period. The wireless transmitter wasn't Macao's idea or else he would already have made a move. Whoever he is, he works alone, and he's good at it.

“Thief,” the tall figure spoke, “dunno how long yer gonna stay silent but I think there's something that'd make yer mouth work a little.” His mischievous smirk reeked of confidence, and he made it seem like his eyes could see right through the suspect's every move. “Whatcha have in your hands… it's a fake.”

The suspect's hands started trembling at once, and hazel eyes shivered over what was supposed to Falkor's Ashes. Fake?! The 'elite' of the police department wouldn't protect fake jewels, this didn't make sense. How could it be a fake? No matter how you looked at it, there was no way it could be a f-

“Eh?” came the culprit's confused inquiry.

“Finally seein' it?” he snorted. “Ya've been breathing on it this whole time, right? Diamonds have high thermal conductivity, which means condensation never stays on it, it vanishes immediately. But you can see it now, can't ya?” he asked provocatively. “The condensation from yer breath is still lingering.”

A blurry reflection of a lost-for-words culprit appeared on the fake diamond. Falkor's Ashes turned out to be an omen of bad luck in the end. The wrongdoer's lips started being bitten by short and sharp teeth. Frustration was building up inside. Should have come more prepared… oh well, makes my escape more exciting. A deep breath was taken then, and a shrill, almost snobbish laugh escaped her mouth.

“I guess I reached my limit,” she muttered wistfully.

The brilliant mind who found her out watched in confusion what followed. The fake officer started to undress, one piece of equipment after another. The fake bulletproof vest came off first, and as it reached the ground, it sounded like polystyrene covered the inside of the vest. It was probably to make her look chubbier because at first glance, even though from afar and without much light, he noticed that she instantly became much slimmer. Then, she unbuckled her helmet, from which puffed out a good amount of wild hair going more upwards and sideways than downwards. What struck him the most was when she took the shoes off, it looked as if she had dropped down from the first step of a ladder. Did she just lose 10 centimeters or what?

After she finished taking off the rest of her fake police equipment, she gently put the fake jewel on the floor, and promptly kicked it aside. He snorted at the angry-looking gesture, and the fact that she was ten centimeters now only added to the comedic effect.

“Finally turning yourself in, huh?” he boasted. “The only way out is the staircase right behind me,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “so ya'd have to go through me if ya wanna escape, but I don't think starting a fight with me would be a good idea, shorty.”

As though deliberately answering his threat, the thief started walking straight to him. There was a sluggish pattern to her pace, it was slow, but it felt like she was sauntering her way to him. The effortlessness – or the smugness – of her walk made him snort.

“I like your guts,” he grunted, “what's yer name?”

“What are you going to do with it, add me on Facebook?” she sniped in a rather haughty voice.

He rolled his eyes at her boldness. “No, smartass,” he retorted sharply. “I just wanna get the name of the person who's managed to outsmart the police force way too many times already.”

Still slowly sauntering her way to him, her lips drew a lopsided smile. “You're a stranger and we've only just met,” she said with disdain, “I'm not giving you my name like that.”

With that, there was one thing he understood. Nobody could have such a haughty, nasal voice, which meant that, yet again, it wasn't her real voice. Only one reason would make her act this way: she didn't plan on being arrested tonight. However, judging by the fact that she didn't use weapons and that he was fairly confident in his combat skills, the last slither of doubt that ghosted over his mind flew away.

“C'mon, gimme at least yer nickname,” he snickered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Nickname?”

“Nickname, code name, alias, whatever,” he groaned. “Every good story needs a good old-fashioned villain, right?” He brushed his nose with his thumb and grunted. “And this story ends tonight as I, Gajeel Redfox, am the man who will arrest you.”

“What a presumptuous man we've got here,” she promptly answered, “if you want me to have a nickname, find it yourself.”

And as she uttered her answer, three meters away from reaching him and with finally enough light for them to see one another, Gajeel Redfox waved his hands in horror in front of him, stopping her in her track.

“W-wait!” he startled, clearly trying to repress a laugh. “There are way too many things to make fun of here! Where do I even start?! The fact that ya have double roller skates instead of shoes?! That you're in yer pink pajamas?! That yer backpack makes ya look like yer going on a school trip?! Or that yer mask looks like what a brat would wear at Halloween?!”

“H-how rude!” she spluttered. Her cheeks suddenly became hotter, mimicking the apparent colour of Gajeel's eyes by the moonlight. She waited a few seconds to regain her composure, trying not to fumble over her words. “It's not my fault, okay?” How embarrassing. “I didn't have enough time to put on a decent outfit because I was in a hurry! I had decided to take a nap in the afternoon and I woke up late because… my alarm clock didn't ring.”

Gajeel blinked. And he blinked again. …One more time for good measure.

“You in middle school or sumthin'?”

“I'm telling the truth!”

“Right,” he quipped. He cleared his throat then, and took a voice even deeper than his normal one. An official voice. “If you had read the School Rules & Regulations, young Miss, you would have noticed that 'my alarm clock didn't ring' isn't an accepted excuse to miss class anymore.”

What a shithead, she thought vehemently through gritted teeth. She wanted to punch him in the face for this one, though she couldn't but think that she would have laughed if the context had been different. She would probably have hurt herself doing it though, there were quite a handful of piercings on his face.

A deep breath and an eye-roll later, Levy brushed off her violent needs. “How did you manage to replace the original with a fake?”

Again. This toothy smirk of his. Not many things could rile her up easily, but this, this was infuriating. His mouth was quality punching-ball material. She had never felt that drawn to a mouth before.

“Let's say I know a guy.”

His tone of voice was surprisingly curt, as sharp as his physical features. She considered him for a moment. His features were sharp indeed, she wanted to punch him earlier but she could cut herself hitting this jawline; it was tantalizing in a away. Even the sand colour of his skin reminded her of giant rocks in the middle of a desert – jagged, perilous and rough. The worn, black – with khaki undertones – leather jacket that hung from his broad and well-defined shoulders added to the feeling that he was towering over her. And the shallow curve to his spine as he looked down at her did not help.

Her face twitched as his hand brushed his belt and reached the full pocket of his blue jeans.

“Anyway,” Gajeel Redfox muttered, whipping a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, “turn around, I'm draggin' ya to the police station.”

She gave a quick look at her wristwatch and bit her lip. “W-wait a minute,” she stammered.

Gajeel rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“Are you sure you don't want to let me go?” she asked vainly. “It's simple, I just have to walk past you and go down the stairs, and we'll have another showdown later,” she suggested cheerfully. “Don't you like a good challenge? The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, this sensational feeling of achievement you get when you explain how you managed to outsmart me. Don't you want to feel that again?”

“Nah I'm good,” he casually answered, “pajama girl.”

His bad habit of giving her nicknames was really getting on her nerves. Maybe she wouldn't mind cutting herself slapping his jawline after all. But she managed to put away her killing intent far, far away in the back of her mind, glanced at her wristwatch again, and breathed heavily.

“No choice then,” she muttered as she whirled around, holding her own hands behind her back.

Gajeel Redfox smirked. “There's a good girl.”

From behind, he couldn't help but think that she really did look like a grade school girl with her backpack and roller skates. And the freaking pajamas. He took a few steady steps forward and readied the handcuffs.

His eyes shot open wide in surprise when her small figure jumped up and hit the heels of her roller skates against one another.

“What th-”

BOOM!

A bright flash of light and the cracking of glass shattering snapped his head up in direction of the explosion. Right in front of him, a part of the glass wall was no more. Shards of glass bounced and scattered on the floor.

“What did y-”

Gajeel Redfox gritted his teeth in fear and backed a shivering step away from her. From underneath her double roller skates, two mini jet engines seemed to have popped out on both sides in-between the rear and front wheels.

“See you later, alligator!”

She swiftly reached down her roller skates and pressed a button, and before Gajeel could even think about getting a hold of her, a burst of fire shot out of her jet engines. It was so abrupt that she almost lost balance as she thrust herself forward.

Gajeel's mouth and eyes opened wide, and his heart skipped a beat as understanding dawned on him. “Are ya gonna jump off the window through the crack in the glass wall?! The roof of the building in front of ya is twenty meters away from here!”

I know, she thought tensely, and this building is ten meters taller than the one in front of me.

“Fucking stop!” he yelled, now desperately running after her. “Yer not gonna make it!”

She couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear his irregular and hasty footsteps behind her. She was too focused to pay attention to her surroundings, she even glossed over the fact that shards of glass could bounce off the ground as she wheeled at high speed and land anywhere on her body.

Given the size of the room, she speculated inwardly, I'll be around 40 km/h by the time I jump off the window. She bit her bottom lip nervously as she, lightning fast, thought things through. Damn, including gravity and the fact that there's a ten meter height difference between the two buildings, I'd need to go at 14 meters per second, so 50 km/h.

I need a 10km/h boost!

Without a moment's hesitation, she opened her backpack side pocket and managed to grab what she was looking for. A quick with low-medium power will do. I've got 1.42 seconds in mid-air, I can do this.

Gajeel - who tried as hard he could to keep up with her alarming speed towards her impending fall – couldn't look away from what was happening. He hated the idea that he could lose someone this way again. He tried his hardest, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop her.

“Yer just being arrested! Don't do this! It's not worth it!” he implored in vain. ��You suicidal or what?!”

She flinched, but as she almost reached the huge crack in the glass wall, she pulled the ring off of what she was grabbing onto and smiled wistfully.

“Who knows…”

And after wheeling on a few other shards of glass, she jumped over the edge. For a tiny moment, she was distracted by the weightlessness of the experience, but she snapped out of it quickly enough. There was no time for awe.

Before Gajeel saw her leaving his line of sight as she was falling, she threw what was in her hand behind her. Gajeel wasn't good in maths but his instinct was as sharp as his jawline; at the speed she went, there was no way she could reach the next roo-

BOOM!

The shards of glass on the floor shook and the earth trembled under the weight of this other explosion. Gajeel noticed it was less powerful, but he decided to walk carefully towards the shattered glass window. Glass cracked under each one of his shaky footsteps. His eyebrows furrowed as he peered down at the other building.

His mouth opened slightly and, for a moment, he stopped breathing. He brought his fingers to his eyes and rubbed them. Hard. He blinked multiple times as the knowledge of the notion of breathing to stay alive kicked in again.

“Unscathed…”

A handful of seconds after her jump, twenty meters away and ten meters below him, the thief – with her roller skates off and backpack gone – stood proudly at the edge of the roof with a defying grin tugging at her lips.

He swallowed thickly at the impossible sight.

On the other roof, the impossible thief seemed to shiver, but after she revealed what was behind her back, Gajeel Redfox's face turned green as she burst into a manic laughter.

Sitting gloriously on the palm of her hand, the Poké Ball shaped object opened, revealing a diamond dragon sitting on its tail. Falkor's Ashes.

Gajeel frantically checked his pockets, and as he looked down at her again, he shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in defeat.

“I started as a pickpocket,” she explained from the other side, “and you reeked of arrogance, so you must have had the jewel on you. I'll let you connect the dots!”

Gajeel bit his lip. “You stole it when I was distracted by the first explosion,” he muttered.

She didn't hear him, but she guessed he understood how he was defeated. It was good enough for her. Without giving him time to react, with a quick bow, she stepped off the edge of the roof and ran to the staircase, leaving Gajeel Redfox alone with his thoughts.

His voice got caught in his throat. He wanted to say something – anything – before she left, but she was already gone. He scratched the pocket that was supposed to keep Falkor's Ashes safe, and he clenched his fists and teeth in frustration. This damn suicidal thief! H-how –

He thought back to what happened, and a tiny moment was enough for understanding to dawn on him. He remembered she had thrown something behind her back, and a second later, the explosion happened.

“A hand grenade… no way…” He shook his head hard with scared eyes, as though trying to shake off this impossible truth. “She used the power of the detonation as a boost to make up for the lack of enough speed she needed to jump from this roof to the other…”

He froze. He unconsciously tried to imagine what was going on in her mind when she thought about this escape route. She must have thought about it the moment she took off her fake police equipment, since it was the only time where she could have set whatever she set for the first explosion. The thought of it alone made him dizzy.

A nervous laugh escaped his mouth. “What the hell…”

When he looked down at the floor, trying to find some sense of balance, something caught his eye. He decided to sit down after kicking away all the shards of glass that could have bitten him in the ass. He picked up what caught his attention.

A note.

Until we meet again, Gajeel Redfox.

- * insert nickname here *

He frowned. “Nickname?”

“C'mon, gimme at least yer nickname. Every good story needs a good old-fashioned villain, right?”

“If you want me to have a nickname, find it yourself.”

With a shy lopsided smile, he remembered. They did talk about this, didn't they?

A nickname for this woman thief, huh? A woman way too flashy for her own good. She outsmarted the elite of the police force three times tonight, and at the third time, she outsmarted him, too. She disguised herself as a policeman and used a flash grenade to make her appearance; she sure knew how to put on a show.

She was also dangerous. She took a lot of risks tonight just not to be arrested. She risked her own life for this dragon. No way in hell would someone be willing to throw their life away for the sake of an expensive jewel. She was dangerous… and it was ridiculously tantalizing. Gajeel wanted to reach out and touch her, even though he knew he could burn himself doing so.

Her light was already blinding enough as it was, she also had to be dangerous. She was dangerous to him, but she was even more dangerous to herself. He couldn't explain it, but his instinct told him that she, too, was unconsciously reaching for something that could burn her. A sun more powerful than the light she emitted.

One day, blood would splash her hands, and it wouldn't be someone else's. It would be hers.

She was a flashy woman who tried her hardest not to reach for something greater and eventually deadlier than herself.

Gajeel snorted. It wasn't like him to think this much about something, but this time was special. He reached in the back pocket of his jeans and whisked out a pen. Finally, he placed the note on the palm of his hand, brought it closer to him, and scribbled over some words.

Until we meet again, Gajeel Redfox.

- BLOODY VENUS

He left the note on the floor and stood up, deep in thought. He heard the sound of police cars outside the building, which meant they heard about the explosion. Under the weight of his footsteps heading out of the building, shards of glass – reminding him of his most exciting showdown – bent and shattered, making the soundtrack of his exit more… metal, the way he liked it.

“Don't you like a good challenge? The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, this sensational feeling of achievement you get when you explain how you managed to outsmart me. Don't you want to feel that again?”

His devilish smirk came back.

“I can't wait.”

[smoothshift]

My experience shopping for a family car via /r/cars

My experience shopping for a family car

Hi all. Long time lurker. Just wanted to share my recent experiences - both to simply share, and also to get some outside perspective. For context, I am in Canada.

I have pregnant wife and a dog, and we have senior parents we drive around. We have a sedan and an aging hatchback, so the latter is out and a family car is in.

I've always had a soft spot for the Ford Flex, so I decided to start there. I have no anti-minivan sentiment, so there isn't typical crossover appeal in my makeup as a consumer. I honestly like the future-classic styling.

I first drove a N/A (no ecoboost). I found it a bit weak on the throttle, but reasonable. My wife and I through the overall comfort was okay for passengers, but even at being just under 6'0, I did not find I had enough legroom as the driver. I wasn't a fan of the cargo space, which was surprisingly limited with the seats down. I drove an ecoboost for comparison sake, as I've seen it stated many times on this subreddit that folks often regret passing on it. Perhaps I just expected more, but I didn't find it to be the "SHO wagon" I craved. It was okay, and I figured we'd pass on it and stick with the N/A version. However, the more I looked over the car, the more I found I didn't like it. The fit and finish felt weak, and the doors were massive. The vehicle as a whole feels dated, and you can tell Ford is just waiting for it to pass off into the sunset as they will kill it off soon. We decided to pass and moved on.

I decided to check out the VW Alltrack. I love wagons, but I didn't get far with this one. It's just shamefully under-powered and left me craving more. Also, the style of the seat just didn't jive with me, and I kept sitting on my god damned balls. We moved pretty quick from the Alltrack to our next option.

I've always loved Volvos, so we had a look at the brand new 2019 v60. God damn, is this car a stunner, and amazingly comfortable once you're inside, but it is also super low to the ground. Getting into the drivers seat requires a bit of a trust fall, and simulating dealing with a car seat killed it for us as I've got some back issues to contend with. We learned through this process that we were looking at the wrong cars, and should entertain something physically higher.

I decided to have a look at the Subaru Ascent. The current marketing is pushing this as a true 7 seater family car, but we quickly realized this was a farce. With the 3rd row up, the trunk space is minimal. I was actually shocked at how little remained. The legroom for both the second and third row was weak, and I could not sit up straight in the third row. Kids could work there, but no adults, and if you did have a family full of kids for a weekend trip, there is no where to pack anything. We didn't even drive it, because there was no point. I really wanted to see how that 4 banger would pull that truck around, but I didn't get the chance to as I didn't want to waste the salespersons time on a car I quickly realized was not good for us.

We never considered a van up until this point because it felt like killing a fly with a sledge hammer, but I'm a practical guy, and once we started thinking about it, I got excited about the utility.

Some online searching led me to knock out the Dodge Caravan and Toyota Sienna for safety reasons. The Dodge didn't surprise me, but Toyota dragging an 8 year minivan along does/did. I was not impressed to learn that after failing drivers side small overlap tests in 2015 (I think that's when it was), they reinforced the drivers side, but not the passengers side, which has led them again to have a poor safety rating. I get that these are rare accidents, and Toyota does put a lot of electrical system assists like auto braking and that jazz to mitigate it even on the base model now, but this killed it for me. Call me paranoid, but I'd never forgive myself if something happened to my wife and I knew this was a fault. I was really excited about the AWD option, but alas, no Toyota. I never even looked at the Dodge, but I did check out the Toyota for shits and giggles. I found that it had a nice, flat entry point for the sliding door and ample room with the seat slid up to access the 3rd row. But on the negative side, the interior is really dated, and in my taste, really ugly. Comfort was fine, though.

I was left with three options. The Kia Sedona, the Honda Odyssey, and the Chyrsler Pacifica.

I first checked out the Odyssey. With the sliding door open, the entry point is not flat and flushed, and raised a bit towards the back. I could see our senior parents tripping. I also didn't like how access to the third row was poor when the second row had all 3 seats equipped. You can tilt the second row, but it kicks the sliding rails up in the air, making for a bad tripping hazard. I felt frustrated by this design and decided to leave it, look at something else, and the come back.

It was time for the Sedona. Kia sales staff were living up to the terrible stereotype, and it took half an hour to just look at one. They took me to an SXL top trim model. I don't know much about Kia and don't have any reason to dislike them. I've heard a lot of good things, but I was not impressed with my first interactions when it came to quality of materials an feel. The door was light, the plastics glossy and tacky, and the console felt super dated. I really didn't like how it had the whole car-like center console thing going with the larger shiftier. For comparison, the Odyssey has buttons and the Pacifica has a puck. Those two get a lot of flak, but in my opinion, I much prefer those to a stick in an auto tranny. The Honda's buttons are super nice as you don't have to run through gears and you just pick what you need. It's different, but it works. Anyways, I digress. I was not digging the feel, but the Kia did have some neat stuff like front facing cameras. You do get a lot of bells and whistles, but I was focused on the core. We drove it and I found the new 8 speed transmission was really jumpy and hunting. Throttle response was really lame, with a lot of lag, and I wasn't feeling it from there out. I cut the drive short. I don't think I've ever been as eager to get out of a car as I was with the Sedona. If I were riding in the second row, I'd probably dig it as those are some nice seats, but as the driver, I was miserable. I left in a bit of shock and exclaimed to my wife that I didn't understand how this car won so many accolades. Clearly, it pleases someone, but not me. It's also priced very close to everything else, so I'm not feeling the value initiative.

Next up was the Pacifica. It's fun to shit on FCA, but I recently rented a Durango and enjoyed it (I was going to look at one but we decided to shop vans and that was before we got the Durango, so alas, it never got fully considered). The fit and finish was decent, but there is a juxtaposition between really nice touches, like a beautiful dash and really nice feelings leathers, to shitty plastic center consoles and unpleasant carpets. You get to known the carpets really well with the stow and go seats, which, from an engineering and practicality standpoint, are super cool. But they cost you in comfort. You sit with your hips low to the foor, and you knees up. My wife pointed out that none of our parents could sit like that for long. I imagine you lose some interior room to this system, as this was also the only van where I hit my back on the ceiling when crawling to the third row. None the less, we took it for a rip and the pentastar engine was really delightful. It has the notorious 9-speed ZF (which is also in the Odyssey with different software unless you go for the top touring/elite trim). I actually really liked the drive, but the drivers seat is very vertical, and I felt more and more fatigue as the drive went out. Power delivery was good, it shifted smooth, and I enjoyed it, but when we took a closer look at options when we got back to the dealership, we found you had to go to the higher trims to get items that were available in the middle of the pack of other vans (blind spot, adaptive cruise, etc). The Pacifica has a really great adaptive cruise that goes right down to stop and go traffic speeds, but I didn't want to spend upwards for 50 grand for that. My wife couldn't get comfortable in the seats and tried out a vehicle with fabric trim, and that was just bad. All in all, a very mixed bag with high highs and low lows. I was also disappointed to learn there is no spare offered (maybe on the base model, I'm not sure, but not on the touring L and up that we looked at. You lose it for an inflation kit or a vacuum.

We went back to the Honda and I tore out the middle seat in the showroom. But taking that out of the second row you can slide the seats in 4 directions, which makes it easier to just keep the damn car seat in and still throw old people or a dog in the back. The second row is also a lot comfier than the Pacifica due to the lack of stow and go. I wanted to drive the 10 speed, but their only demo was an ex-l, so I went for a spin. Out of all the vans, I felt most comfortable driving the Honda as it just 'clicked' with me. The infotainment system is also my favourite out of everything I tried, and the cameras/screen were really clear. I'd spent some time in a 2014 Crosstour before, and those blind spot cameras are so blurry you can't rely on them for a quick glance, but this system would be valuable for locating blindspot cyclists and the like. Accelerating was a bit chirpy, and I spun the wheels more often than I expected to, but this was much preferred over the sleepy Sedonda. We tried to work out a deal, but I was not satisfied with a 5% discount and decided to walk, thinking I may revisit this closer to when the baby is due, and see if I can score a CPO 2018.

It's worth noting the final 3 we considered have very similar stats and offerings. Similar power output and options. I find the Pacifica and Odyssey to be my preferred from the bunch, and would likely be looking at the Chrysler more if I though I'd use the stow and go seats on the regular (would be amazing for camping trips). But passenger comfort is a bigger concern. I also don't give a fuck about the entertainment systems, so we skipped that. With USB chargers and iPads, we could see no reason to shell out thousands more for propriety systems that offer less.

So, there you have it. I did leave out some details due to length, but just wanted to share in case someone else finds my thoughts useful, and I'm also curious to know what people think about what I think.