#and now you can REALLY tell what's been recorded post-strike

[erin-epica-art]

He's growing up so fast 🥺🥹

(I was working on another TMNT edit and this idea overprioritized it)

[ninyard]

I don't know if you've taken this into account for your trial posts, but if the prosecution requested Kevin's/the house's phone record that day they could found out he called Wymack before the police. And that could not look Good especially with his deadpan 911 call

i had thought about this and i don’t think i’m going to mention it but it’s SUCH a striking point i actually love it. i wasn’t going to bring it up purely because i’m not putting kevin on the stand, but it’s such a good reason as to why i could put him on the stand. like perfect kevin day trying to explain why he’d seen a dead body and called wymack before anything else? and how that phone call went as well? what if they played it?

-

“Take a breath and spit it out, kid.” Wymack’s voice is getting more and more strained with every second that passes and Kevin just can't get the words dislodged from his throat. How could he, when all he could smell was blood, and alcohol, when all he could hear was Andrew’s voice in his head saying tell me again how I'm too unbalanced to understand normal brotherly affection and love.

“Something happened.” Kevin tries not to watch as Nicky’s parents pass him, faces pale and hands shaking. He can’t hold himself together, when he opens his mouth to explain, all that falls out is a muted sob accompanied by, “Oh, fuck, Coach, it’s really fucking bad.”

Kevin winced as he heard Nicky start to sob somewhere upstairs, and David must have heard it too, because his voice was much more serious when he asked, "Who's hurt?"

It's the perfect question, almost, but that doesn't make it easier to answer.

"Andrew."

“How hurt are we talking?”

“I don’t know.” Kevin’s chest is getting tight. Not right now. Not now. He takes in a shaky deep breath, as much air as he can muster. He continues, “Somebody’s dead.”

“Fuck, Kevin, who’s fucking dead?” He sounds angry. No, he’s worried, he’s terrified. Which one of my foxes is it?

“I don’t know.” He repeats. He watches as Nicky’s parent fuss over something in the kitchen. “I don't know, I don’t know.”

“Dead, how?” David says, before he says something, presumably to Abby. Kevin's breath comes in and out of his lungs in painful, jagged intervals. This is too much, he can't do this, he can't do this. “Kevin, I need you to talk to me.”

“Aaron.” He cant say the words. “Somebody was- oh my god.” He feels his chest tighten, and tighten, and tighten. A twisting stomach accompanied by a pounding chest and fuck, the smell of blood, and alcohol, and-

“Breathe.” David says again, like it’s really that simple. “You have to tell me what’s going on so I can help you, kid.”

“Call Betsy.” It’s the only thing he can think to say. But when he thinks of Bee, he thinks of Andrew, he thinks of the body lying upstairs. He thinks of- “I don’t know what to do, David.”

There’s a moment of silence, and David is forced to listen to Kevin’s quiet hyperventilating. “Is Aaron dead?”

Kevin almost laughs. “No.”

Wymack's sigh is gentle, but louder than anything else, the sound weighing on Kevin's shoulders like the secret he felt like he was keeping, the secret he felt like he couldn't share. It's not exasperation, no, his annoyance is not directed at Kevin's panic or inability to find the words. It's worry, it's fear, it's being too used to those kinds of phone calls. It's too soon after Allison's Seth is dead, Coach, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

“Is Andrew? Is Neil?”

“No.” He says. The words are right there, he tries to swallow them down hard, but they keep getting stuck in his throat. Just say it. Just say it.

"Nicky?" He's getting impatient. But Kevin knows it's not directed at him. It can't be. "Work with me, Kev. Just say it."

"Andrew's been...r-" The tears that threaten to spill out swell in his eyes, the tightness at the back of his throat manifesting in a sigh, an exhale of breath that he had been holding for far too long. Kevin shut his eyes so he couldn't look at Nicky's parents, and following a deep breath that he hoped would fix everything, he says, "Andrew's been raped, and Aaron killed the guy that did it."

The silence that follows goes on for hours, for far too long. For long enough that Kevin has to check that David hasn't hung up on him, for long enough that he starts to think about it all, all over again.

"Jesus Christ, Kevin." is all that David can muster, in this voice Kevin has only heard once before, as he sat sobbing in his hotel room with no plan and no reason to live. He stumbles through a hundred different questions until he lands on, "Have you called the cops yet?"

"No." Kevin admits with a guttural sob. He hasn't even thought about it. Well, he did, in some way, but his fingers hadn't even hesitated over David's contact number. It hurts so badly, all of these feelings, the image of Andrew, the image of Andrew, the image of Andrew. His protector. The person who kept him safe. This was never supposed to happen to him. This can't have happened. Not to him.

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid, get off the fucking phone," David's yell snaps him out of it. "Get it together, take a real deep breath, and call 911. Then call me back afterwards. Fuck, Kevin."

"Okay, Coach." Kevin says, as seriously as he can manage. Call 911 - An order, something to follow. Something to do. Something to be good at, to pretend for, a reason to shove his panic behind a plastic mask for a couple of minutes.

"Okay." Coach agrees and lets out another deep, hurt sigh. Another second or two pass, but Kevin feels frozen in place. The phone is stuck to his ear, the electronic hum and buzz the only thing keeping him from going back to the reality of Nicky's parent's house.

"Are you okay?" Coach asks, and Kevin shuts his eyes to inhale, before exhaling out anything that hurts. He's switched off, untouchable, numb and unfeeling. Kevin isn't there, inside of himself anymore. He can come back later.

"No," Kevin says, but it doesn't feel like the truth anymore, his voice flat, the back of his free hand wiping away a tear that had found its way out of his eyes. "But I'll call you back."

"Okay," Coach says again. "You better."

The phone call ends with three consecutive beeps. Kevin pulls it away from his ear, and stares for too long at the 911 he's typed into the keypad.

Do what you have to do.

Be who they need you to be.

"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?"

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 12

I've decided that since I have a fair amount of backlog on the three I've been doing WIP Wednesday for, that I'd post some of them to give me time to work on the rom-com AU more.

I recommend going back and re-reading part 11 at least before reading this one to be on the safe side.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

The Fallen boys need a break and Robin and Chrissy meet up with Nancy.

****

Things were going really well in the studio now that they had Bob Newby as their producer and their studio was closer to home so they could live their normal lives and still be in the studio recording.

It was the happiest the band had been in awhile. Which was why Steve should have seen it coming. The dark cloud on the horizon.

Shane was late.

That wasn’t to say that it was out of the ordinary or whatever, but it was now two hours late and Spence was pissed.

“When I get my hands on his scrawny neck,” he hissed. “I’m going to kill him.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “You’re just upset because it’s means you’ll be late for your date or whatever with Nadia. He’ll be here.”

“That’s not true and you know it, Asmodeus,” Spence bit out. “This is the third time this week and yeah, so what if I have a life outside of this, but that’s not why.”

Just then Shane stumbled in. He looked like absolute shit. His clothes were disheveled, his hair was a mess, and he wore dark sunglasses. Clutched to his chest was a large coffee.

“Fuck...” he mumbled as he shambled over to the sofa. He lowered himself gently onto the thing with a stream of curses. “Sorry I’m late, but my hookup last night turned off my alarm.”

He took a long sip of his coffee and rubbed his temple. He had finished most of the coffee when he realized that no one had said a word since he arrived.

The door opened and Bob and Robin entered the room looking more than a little cross.

Shane flashed them a smile. “Uh oh, it looks like I upset both mom and dad. So I was a little late. It happens.”

“But it shouldn’t be happening,” Spence said with a scowl. “This isn’t the first time. Hell, it’s not even the first time this week.”

Shane frowned, setting his coffee on the floor between his feet. He rubbed his temples as he struggled to think back. “That can’t be right, it’s only Monday, right?”

Everyone shared concerned glances.

“Astraeus,” Steve said slowly, “it’s Thursday.”

Bob crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You were late on Sunday, Monday and today, Astraeus.”

Shane stared up at them in open shock and disbelief. “There’s no way!” He pulled out his phone and looked at the date.

“Shit.”

“What’s been going on, man?” Simon asked, concerned for the first time. He hadn’t realized how often it had been and was giving Spence shit for wanting to be with his girlfriend.

Shane shook his head. “I have money for the first time in my life. I mean proper money. My parents always had enough to make sure we got into the things we wanted; sports, drama, music, you name it, but there wasn’t a lot of money to go around after, you know? I had to pay for my college education myself and I just wanted to live a little. Spread the money around, even if I couldn’t tell them what I did for a living, they don’t really care.”

“I can see that,” Robin said. “I think we all breathing easier, regardless of our backgrounds because the money we’re getting has pretty much set us up for life if it all went to shit tomorrow, which I really wouldn’t recommend, by the way.”

Shane let out a huff of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I really didn’t mean to go off like that, I’ll cut back to just the weekends. I promise.”

Robin and Bob shared a glance.

“That’s strike one, Astraeus,” Bob said, “I don’t take slackers lightly. You want me to continue to work for you guys, you’ve got to step it up.”

Shane nodded empathically. “Can we have a day off a week though? It doesn’t have to be on the weekend, but this seven days a week is really hard.”

Robin blinked at him a moment. “You guys have been coming every day?”

The band looked around at each and all gave a collective shrug.

She turned to Bob. “Is that your schedule?”

Bob’s jaw dropped and he shook his head. “I only do that if there’s a rush to get the album out, which I understood there wasn’t. I don’t how we got on working every day, but Astraeus is correct they need a day off.”

“What works best for everyone?”

The band worked out a better schedule that worked for everyone with it ending with Bob giving everyone the rest of the week off, giving them strict instructions to talk to him about those sort of things before it got to this point.

Robin clapped her hands once. “Right, now that we’ve got that settled, we’re still meeting up at Abbadon’s for dinner to discuss my meeting with Nancy. My meeting is at three and dinner is at six, so don’t be late.” She glared at Shane and he raised his hands in surrender.

“See you all then!”

****

Robin straightened her wig in her rearview mirror and added more lipstick. She wore special contacts that changed her bright blue eyes to a more common brown color. She was dressed in slim fitting white slacks with a bright pink silk blouse and a black leather aviator’s jacket. She hated wearing these clothes, they just weren’t her. At least she didn’t have to wear high heels to this thing. She would have broken an ankle for sure.

But she would sell her soul to the devil if it meant that Steve got to do what he loved. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t love her job either. But Eddie was right, she was on her last frayed nerve and that wouldn’t do her boys any good.

She slid out of her Maserati MC20 and walked up to the restaurant. The Corroded Coffin’s manager, Chrissy Cunningham was going to be there as a mediator.

Robin hadn’t told Steve this, but Chrissy knew who she was. Not the band, she didn’t know that, but she knew that Celeste Baptiste was Robin Buckley. It was just something Robin felt she needed to know before going in there with Nancy. That she personally had a stake in the game, even if it was just as Steve’s best friend.

Chrissy loved the idea of even their manager having an alter ego and it made Robin feel better about her choice to be someone else.

Robin and Chrissy kissed each other’s cheeks in greeting and Robin sat down.

“She’s not here yet?” she asked, looking at her matching watch.

Chrissy shook her head. “She’s running a little behind. One of her clients blew up the internet last night and she’s been having to play hard ball to keep it from destroying their career.”

Robin leaned in close. “Ooh, do you know who it was?”

“That’s for me to know,” Nancy said from above them, “and for you to never find out.”

Robin looked up at her and was struck on how good she looked. It was almost unfair how good she looked.

She was wearing a grey plaid blazer with the sleeves rolled up over a white button shirt and a black pencil skirt. She wore grey boots and matching sunglasses, glasses she took off with a shake of her dark curls.

Robin gulped. Nancy had been intimidating enough in high school, but now she could stare down a raging bull and come away unscathed.

“Hello, ladies,” Nancy said with a smile. “I’m sorry I was late, but I think I managed a god damn miracle and could eat an entire salad bar.”

Nancy sat down and put her phone in her purse.

“Oh are you vegan?” Chrissy asked as the waiter came up with a pitcher of water. Nancy waved him off and ordered a rosé.

“Just vegetarian,” she said with a shake of her head. “I love cheese too much. Plus, I knew a militant vegan and they scare me.”

Robin laughed. “Couldn’t be me, I went full vegan last year and haven’t looked back.”

Nancy and Chrissy both winced, but for different reasons, Nancy for her comment about militant vegans and Chrissy, well...

“I picked this place because it has the best rib eye steak on the planet,” she said with a grimace. “That’s not going to bother either of you if I order that, right?”

Nancy and Robin shared a glance and then shook their heads.

“My best friend loves steak,” Robin said, “It’s his choice to eat it, I just a have a problem with the ethical consumption of meat and other animal products.”

“Most of my clients eat meat,” Nancy agreed. “I’m not about to piss them off because I don’t like the taste.”

Chrissy relaxed and let out a long sigh. “Great!”

She picked up her menu to hide her embarrassment. A few minutes later, their waiter came back and they placed their orders.

Nancy had ordered a pasta with roasted sun dried tomatoes and mushrooms and Robin ordered a simple salad with a vinaigrette.

As they waited for their food, Nancy got down to business. “So as I understand it, the band The Fallen is looking for an agent to help with the legal and PR aspect of their brand, correct?”

Robin nodded, twisting her napkin nervously. Normally as Celeste, she was cooler under pressure but Nancy scared her. Not because of anything she could do to her specifically, but because what she could do to her boys.

Chrissy reached out and laid her hand over Robin’s fidgeting ones. Robin let out a shuddered breath.

“Normally bands like theirs have teams and teams of people doing all the work,” Robin said, “but with the secrecy surrounding their identities the more people that know the easier it is for a leak.”

Nancy nodded. “It’s certainly not the usual thing. But I’ve got a few clients that are strict about their identities and it wouldn’t be a problem, but as I told Chrissy, I would have know everything about them so that I can do my upmost to protect them.”

“Did you sign the NDA?” Robin asked, straightening her spine. This was something she was good at. Protecting her boys and she would do it with the fierceness of a mother bear and her cubs.

Nancy picked up her briefcase and opened it up. She took out a folder and handed it to Robin. Robin looked it over and then nodded.

She stuck it in her purse and pulled out a hard portfolio and slid it across to Nancy. Chrissy squeezed her hand as Nancy read through the documents. Their food arrived in the interim and she set it aside. She steepled her hands and planted her elbows on the table.

“How much of this do you know?” she asked Chrissy.

“Only what I needed to which is who Celeste is,” she replied, “and that both her and Abbadon have a history with you that could be trouble for a lot of people, not just the band.”

Nancy nodded and took a bite of her food before saying anything else. Chrissy and Robin exchanged glances but started eating as well. More for something to do in the intervening silence than because they were actually interested in food at that moment.

After a few moments Nancy blotted her lips with her napkin and set it next to her plate. “This is not what I was expecting when I heard that you had concerns about my professionalism and in all honesty, this is easier to understand then a manager thinking they don’t need the help of an agent when they really do.”

Chrissy and Robin shared a glance.

“Is that something that’s common?” Chrissy asked. Corroded Coffin had already had Nancy as their agent when she became their manager five years ago. They had outgrown their former manager Murray Bauman and was looking for someone younger to manage them so they hired her.

Nancy nodded. “It is.” She turned to Robin. “You’re his best friend, right? The quirky band chick who was always working with him?”

Robin was impressed with her way of asking the question without revealing anything significant about their identity. She brought her finger up to her contact and moved it aside to show the blue underneath before sliding it back into place.

“I’m assuming I’m the last resort?” Nancy asked after taking another bite of food.

Robin and Chrissy shared another glance.

“Not in the way you mean,” Chrissy explained. “I gave her a list of agents that might be able to have them on as clients and we’ve met with a couple of them but decided even before they got to what’s in the folder that they weren’t suitable for their needs.”

“The double lives aspect, I suspect.”

“Both of them wanted to push them into revealing themselves,” Robin said, nodding. “Which was completely off the table.”

Nancy licked her bottom lip and her eyes narrowed. “Is that off the table indefinitely or will we circle back to that sometime in the future?”

Robin rolled her eyes. “There’s no way to predict if they’re going to change their mind five-six years down the line.”

“I’m going to be frank,” she said, “I do not have a problem repping them. Not even Abbadon. But I understand there will be some awkwardness on both sides at first. I will even apologize in person. Because the fact of the matter is, I did hurt him. I strung him along until something better came along and then didn’t even have the decency to break up with him before moving on. I was young and stupid and even worse, I’m not even with that guy anymore. Like with me and Abbadon, we wanted different things.”

“Apologize first,” Chrissy said with a wicked gleam in her eye, “then we’ll see about hiring you for The Fallen.”

Nancy reached out to shake Robin’s hand. “Deal?”

Robin nodded curtly. “Deal.”

They moved onto the more tedious aspects of what they wanted out of Nancy as they finished their meals.

But as Robin was heading back to her car she had a small satisfied smile on her face. Yes, this really was the best option for the band.

****

Because of canon-Chrissy's unhealthy relationship with food, I wanted her to go hard into eating all things that her mom most likely forbade her from eating growing up. Hence the steak and the wine. Nancy I figured would be at least vegetarian with personality (just the vibes I get from her *shrug*) and Robin would absolutely be vegan. Just not a militant one.

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[elspethdekarios]

I have thoughts about Anders

So I just finished Dragon Age: Awakening (I’ve played through all 3 main games, went back to do the DLC) and I have so many thoughts about how different Anders is pre- and post-Justice sharing his body. I think part of this is the voice actor change in DA2, but his personality seems so different, too. Awakening Anders is sarcastic, always cracking jokes, mostly light-hearted even after everything he’s been through. DA2 Anders has moments like this, but he’s much more intense and brooding. Awakening Anders has a few lines about wanting to settle down with a pretty girl or have a plump wife waiting for him at home, but DA2 Anders is PINING. And with the time skip, it’s a slow burn. Awakening Anders doesn’t strike me as the slow burn type—he’s very flirty and even a little raunchy at times. But Anders in DA2 doesn’t really act like that. He’s got a tortured, romantic soul. He’s much more serious. And maybe it’s just because he’s grown up a little bit, but now that I’ve met Justice as a character before he and Anders become one, I wonder how much of that change is Anders maturing vs. Justice’s personality coming through.

I know this game has been out forever and I’m probably not saying anything new, but Anders is so fascinating to me. More rambling and dialogue analysis under the cut:

The very first thing that struck me as different about Anders in Awakening (other than his general personality) was his response to Wynne telling the Warden Commander that the Libertarians in the Circle want to pull away from the Chantry, and Anders says that it’s a recipe for disaster. SIR! WHO ARE YOU?

Awakening Anders also doesn’t seem particularly interested in justice for mages or revenge for how he and other mages have been treated. He wants his freedom, and I’m sure he wants freedom for other mages too, but he’s not exactly radical like he is in DA2. In fact, it’s Justice who seems to inspire Anders to, well, seek justice. I’m emphasizing some of this dialogue to analyze it below:

Justice: I understand that you struggle against your oppression, mage. Anders: I avoid my oppression. That's not quite the same thing, is it? Justice: Why do you not strike a blow against your oppressors? Ensure they can do this to no one else? Anders: Because it sounds difficult? Justice: Apathy is a weakness. Anders: So is death. I'm just saying.

Justice: I believe you have a responsibility to your fellow mages. Anders: That bit of self-righteousness is directed at me? Justice: You have seen oppression and are now free. You must act to free those who remain oppressed. Anders: Or I could mind my business, in case the Chantry comes knocking. Justice: But this is not right. You have an obligation. Anders: Yes, well... welcome to the world, spirit.

Now, look at this conversation between Anders and Isabela in DA2:

Anders: I don't know how you live the way you do, blithely ignoring the consequences of your actions. Isabela: This is about the Qunari thing, isn't it? I'm not ignoring it. I just recognize that it happened years ago. Isabela: There's this fantastic thing called "moving on." You should try it sometime. Anders: Has it occurred to you that Kirkwall is only just recovering from the Qunari attack? Isabela: And you want me to... what? Flog myself daily? Isabela: Has it occurred to you that maybe there's no justice in the world? Other than that voice you keep in your head.

Isabela sounds more like Awakening Anders than Anders himself does in this conversation. Justice accuses Awakening Anders of ignoring the oppression of other mages like DA2 Anders accuses Isabela of ignoring the consequences of her actions (for the record, I don’t think either of these assumptions are 100% true, but I digress). In Awakening, Anders is cynical when Justice tells him he has an obligation. What can he change? He has to worry about his own survival as an apostate before risking his life even more to save others. Hence the line “welcome to the world, spirit.” Anders is pragmatic, even a little pessimistic, where Justice is idealistic.

But then, the conversation with Isabela! Like Justice tried to convince Anders of his obligation to other mages, Anders now is trying to convince Isabela to take responsibility for her actions. She’s ignoring the unrest that was caused by her stealing the Qunari tome instead of doing something to help—just like Awakening Anders is ignoring his oppressor. 

When Anders and Justice merge, Anders starts to see the bigger picture, the oppression that reaches far beyond himself. From the short story Anders:

I always knew I wouldn't submit. I could never be what they wanted from me -- compliant, obedient, guilty. But before Justice, I was alone. I never thought beyond my own escape: Where would I hide? How long before they found me? Now, even that thought repulses me. Why should so many others live with what I will not? Why must the Circle of Magi stand? Just because it always has, just because those who read Andraste's words twisted them to mean that mages must be prisoners? Why has there never been a revolution? … They will all die. Every templar, every holy sister who stands in the way of our freedom will die in agony and their deaths will be our fuel. We will have justice. We will have vengeance. And suddenly I'm alone, standing in a burning forest, with the bodies of templars and wardens at my feet. So many, and I didn't even know they were there. Didn't even know I had killed them, but the evidence is all around me. Not the aftermath of a battle as I've known it, but a bloody abattoir of rent limbs and torn and eaten flesh. This is not justice. This is not the spirit who was my friend, my self. What has he become? What have I become? We must get out of here. There is no place for me in the Grey Wardens now. Is there a place for me anywhere?

First of all, ow, my heart. But the point is: before he becomes part of Anders, Justice doesn’t feel a personal connection to mages’ freedom—he only cares because of the injustice. But once he and Anders become one, the source of injustice that Anders cares about the most, that he has deep resentment for, that has caused him great harm, becomes Justice’s cause. We know that Justice can sense/feel memories of the body he inhabits because he remembers some of Kristoff’s past, or at least feels connections to certain objects or people even if he can’t explain it. Kristoff was dead, though, so those memories were only fragments. I imagine that with Anders, he can experience those memories more clearly, including, of course, the injustice he and others have suffered at the hands of the templars. Justice is able to integrate into Anders fully, whereas with Kristoff, the body was an empty vessel with remnants of the past soul that was within it. 

Now, let’s talk about where Anders ends and Justice begins, something that even Anders himself is unsure of. Here are some DA2 banters about the division (or lack thereof) between the two of them:

(Outside The Hanged Man, Act 3) Anders: Justice doesn't let me get drunk anymore. I kind of miss it.

(in Legacy DLC) Anders: I've tried to forget about this side of myself. Justice is... so strong. Sometimes the Wardens seem insignificant. But seeing that poor bastard brings it all back. The Darkspawn taint. The call of the archdemon. It's inside me, as much a part of me as Justice.

Anders: Justice once asked me why I didn't do more for other mages. I told him it was too much work. Anders: But I couldn't go back after that. Couldn't stop thinking about it. Anders: Sometimes, I miss being that selfish.

Varric: So, the knight-commander... Boiling in oil? That one never gets old. Anders: This is past time for joking. Varric: I'm helping you indulge in elaborate revenge fantasies. I think it's good for you. Anders: Meredith will die. Do not doubt that. Varric: Go away, Justice. Can Anders come out and play? Anders: [Justice voice] Stop. Varric: You are no fun anymore.

(if Anders was taken to the Fade) Anders: I have tried to avoid the Fade since Justice. It's disturbing when he takes over.

The above dialogues imply that Anders and Justice are two separate entities in one body. The one from Legacy is tricky, since he compares it to the taint, but he still refers to Justice as separate from himself, which is why I included it. And that’s not even touching on the fact that Justice has a different voice than Anders. But these:

Aveline: So you're two people, Anders and... Justice? Anders: That's not strictly accurate. Aveline: But you are of two minds. Anders: Many people are.

Isabela: Hello? Is Anders there? Can I speak to Anders? Anders: You can stop yelling. It's always me. Isabela: Oh, good. I didn't want to talk to that other guy. You know, the stick-in-the-mud. Anders: He can still hear you. Justice and I are one. Anders: Anyway, you wanted to talk to me? Isabela: Not really. I just wanted to make sure it was you.

(If Hawke convinces Anders to give up his plan) Vengeance: Leave! This does not concern you! Hawke: This is Anders's decision, not yours! Vengeance: I am Anders! You have given into sloth. You would stand by while mages are abducted and tortured. Go. Anders has no need of you.

There’s not a clear answer either way. And I didn’t expect to find one. I think a lot of this back and forth is Anders trying to understand who he is now that Justice is part of him. He clearly still feels like he has some level of agency and individuality apart from Justice, but he struggles with it. This feels very anticlimactic, but I guess that’s just the nature of it all.

If you read this far, wow thanks. Now to not leave off on a sad note, here are some DA2 banters that feel very Awakening Anders to me - please enjoy <3

Anders: I keep thinking I know you from somewhere... Isabela: You're Fereldan, right? Ever spend time at the Pearl? Anders: That's it! Anders: You used to really like that girl with the griffon tattoos, right? What was her name? Isabela: The Lay Warden? Anders: That's right! I think you were there the night I— Isabela: Oh! Were you the runaway mage who could do that electricity thing? That was nice... Hawke: Please stop talking. Now. (Or if Varric is in the party) Varric: I don't think I need to know this about either of you.

Anders: So, I never expected to be palling around with the captain of the guard. Aveline: We're not "pals." Anders: We're not? What about that time we painted each other's toenails? Aveline: Do you want something? Anders: Love, life, and liberty. What more does a man need?

Anders: Nice day to be planning a trip into the Deep Roads, don't you think? Anders: The Blight, the dampness, the festering darkness filled with tainted rats... Carver: Shut up. Anders: You've got a real chip on your shoulder, you know? Carver: I've got a big blade on my shoulder, magey. Anders: Right. Wonder what you're compensating for.

Fenris: Is there something you want, Anders? Anders: You really don't have the temperament for a slave. Fenris: Is that a compliment or an insult? Anders: I'm just wondering how your master didn't kill you. Fenris: How have the templars not killed you? Anders: I'm charming.

Anders: Is that supposed to be Andraste's face on your crotch? Sebastian: What? Anders: That... belt buckle thing. Is that Andraste? Sebastian: My father had this armor commissioned when I took my vows as a brother. Anders: I'm just not sure I'd want the Maker seeing me shove His bride's head between my legs every morning.

(All dialogue found on the Dragon Age fandom wiki.)

[wandering-winchesters]

Don't Push Your Luck

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,707

Summary: After a bad argument with Dean, over the reader putting herself in danger, another hunt goes wrong. Will there be time to reveal the feelings that lie beneath the anger?

Trigger Warnings: SPN level violence, injuries and blood. Mentions of punching a wall, anger

A/N: It has been terribly long since I have posted and I am very sorry! Life has been utterly crazy and I have not had much time or motivation to write. Please let me know what you think!

Masterlist

Arguing with Dean was one of the most frustrating things in the entire world, once he was fixated on something it was nearly impossible to change his perspective on it. Which is how we wound up here, my chest heaving with exertion as I tried my best to calm my nerves. I can barely stop my body from trembling, anger pulsating through me enough to exhibit a physical response. My voice shakes when I try to speak, causing me to stop and take a few deeps breaths, unwilling to appear weak in front of my best friends brother. 

“Just because you have been doing this longer than I have, doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do, Dean.” I respond, my voice as even and low as I can manage. A sharp contrast to moments before, when our raised voices carried throughout the entirety of the bunker. Rippling through the numerous rooms and corridors, alerting Sam to our disagreement. He had made an appearance, carefully placing himself between the two of us, but off to the side, just incase anything got out of hand. Not that it would get physical, but Dean and I have a track record of saying things that we shouldn’t when anger is raging between us. 

“I never claimed I could tell you what to do, Y/N. But I know that you have been reckless, ignorant and foolish the last few times we have gone on a hunt. You throw yourself into places that you shouldn’t be, you take risks that aren’t necessary. And you’ve just been an absolute idiot!” He yells, his fist slamming into the wall beside him. I flinch, shocked by his sudden movement, his words stinging as they rush over my ears. I take a few steps away from him, crossing my arms across my chest and steeling my nerves, willing the tears that were pricking my eyes to fade. 

“You really think you know everything, huh.” I reply, my voice shaky and thick with emotion, a single tear falls from my red rimmed eyes. I hurriedly brush it away and in that moment, I can see Dean break. His shoulders release and his face falls slightly, he runs a hand over his face letting a sigh of frustration pass his lips. 

“Maybe you two should call a truce, it seems like enough damage has been done.” Sam chimes in quietly as he shoots Dean a look of disapproval, his earlier words hanging heavy in the tension filled air. Without a word, I turn on my heel, seeking refuge in my room. I can hear their voices as I flee, distant murmurs of a conversation that I have no desire to take part in. 

By the time I close the door to my room, tears are flowing freely. I stifle a sob, my hands coming up to cover my mouth, as more course through my body. Reckless, ignorant, foolish and idiotic. All descriptors that Dean knew would strike a nerve, insecurities I have voiced to him in the past. Things that I had shared with Sam and Dean on one of our many late night dinner conversations, shared between the four walls of a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere. I could see the regret spreading through his features the moment the words left his lips, but there was nothing he could do to take them back. He spoke them into existence and there they would stay, a permanent stain on my subconscious. I let myself fall into the comfort of my bed, tension escaping my body. What was left was a void. My lungs that had been so full of air to scream into his face now merely pumped enough oxygen for a sigh to leave my lips. The argument was spurred on by a recent incident on a hunt from a few days back, the tension had been simmering, threatening to boil over all of that time. For whatever reason, today was the day where it became too much. The heat grew and the water overflowed. I had been jolted out of my thoughts by the slamming of the front door to the bunker, followed by Deans booming voice. Even though I knew it was coming, that didn’t make it any easier. 

There is a knock on my door, quiet yet enough to alert me to their presence. I ignore it, unwilling to budge from my place underneath the sheets on my bed. The desire to speak with either one of the Winchester men tonight was at a resounding nonexistent. My silence is not accepted, however, another knock follows. There are a few seconds of silence before Sam’s voice travels through the door. “Y/N, it’s me. I just wanted to check on you, talk for a bit.” He sounds upset, concern flowing through his tone. 

“I’m fine Sam, I don’t want to talk.” I call back, willing him to listen and not press me for more social interaction than I have energy. 

“Okay, you know where I am if you need anything. Goodnight, Y/N.” I respond in turn and wait for him to leave, confirmation comes in the form of his footsteps retreating down the hallway. 

My sleep that night is filled with numerous nightmares, each one worse than the last. A spattering of different conclusions to the hunt that had spurred on the argument with Dean. I had pushed him out of the way of danger, throwing myself into the path instead. Something that I had done for both of the boys numerous times, a fact that I was not ashamed of in the slightest. They were needed and had jobs to do. These nightmares were all of the numerous ways that the night could have ended if I hadn’t put myself in the path of death. Dean’s body, slumped against the wall, his final breath being drawn as Sam and I stood helpless in the room. Sam replacing Dean in the path of the bullet and both of them meeting their demise. Over and over, the nightmare repeated, changing slightly each time. No matter how many times I woke up, every time I returned to sleep it continued. 

I pull myself into a sitting position, the last nightmare had been the worst. I had been helpless and forced to watch Dean be tortured by the monster of man that had us cornered. I had watched him bleed, watched Dean beg for him to spare Sam and myself. I jump as my door swings open, soft barefoot steps resounding through the otherwise silent bunker. My eyes land on Dean, disheveled and tired. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, the handle of the Bowie knife that he often uses, clutched between his fingers. I blink, staring back at him, hurt still fresh in my mind. 

“I-uh, you screamed my name. So, I had to make sure you were okay.” He mutters, shame present throughout his features. The hand that isn’t holding his knife, comes up and rubs the back of his neck, before falling back to his side. 

“I’m fine, just a dream. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep, we have to be up early tomorrow.” I respond, my voice even. I am unwilling to show him any weakness or emotion, the fight still hanging fresh between us. He nods, but hesitates in the doorway to my bedroom. I can see that he is searching for the words and I pray he doesn’t find them, I can’t hear them tonight. He nods once again, murmurs a goodnight and shuts my door behind him. 

—

I manage to make it through the next morning with zero interaction with the older Winchester, both of them are distracted by preparations for the next hunt. No words are exchanged at all until we are an hour into the drive, the radio on but low as Dean focuses on the road ahead of us. I pretend to be oblivious to his glances through the rear view mirror, unwilling to be the first to speak. But I notice. I notice the way his eyes land on me, scanning my face for any hint of emotion. I notice the way he has destroyed his bottom lip, by the constant anxious biting. I notice the way his hair isn’t combed into place like it normally is, how his appearance in general is disheveled. He didn’t sleep last night. Good, he deserves to be upset by the things that he said to me. 

“Y/N?” Sam calls, and I turn to look at him. The look on his face leads me to realize that he had been talking to me and I had not heard him. 

“Hmm? What’s up?” I ask, giving him a small sheepish smile. His eyes are questioning but he doesn’t speak on it, simply repeating his earlier statement. “According to Bobby, he thinks we are dealing with a Harpy.” I groan, letting my head fall back against the seat of the Impala. A harpy hunt is one of my least favorite, something I have only encountered a couple of times before, but I have the scars to prove it. 

“You can stay behind at the motel, if you prefer.” Dean chimes in, “Sam and I can handle it.” His words catch me off guard, it was an offer that was by no means wanted. 

“I can handle myself, thanks. It’s not like this is the first hunt I am participating in, Winchester.” I bite back, my voice cold. Sam shakes his head, in a manner that displays the smile tugging at his lips, even though I can’t see it. 

"I am aware that you've done this a hundred times Y/N, but maybe a little caution wouldn't hurt.” Dean says, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the steering wheel of the impala. 

“Don’t push your luck, Winchester.” I mutter, returning to looking out the window of the Impala. 

Unfortunately, Deans words would ring true. The anger and desperation I had to prove him wrong, land me in a very sticky situation. I threw caution to the wind and wound up paying for it ten fold.

—

“Dammit,” I cuss, a gasp leaving my lips as I struggle to pull myself into a sitting position. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, screams of protest are rising from deep within me. The hard wood wall of the old house provides support as I slump against it, my hands cradle my abdomen, pressed tightly against the gaping wound, that was caused by a violent stabbing moments earlier. I listen carefully, searching for any sign of the boys. 

In the fight with the Harpies, we had gotten separated and I was unsure of where they were, or if they were still alive. A wave of pain rushes over me and I let out a groan, blinking rapidly to try to clear my field of vision that is rapidly fading around me. “Y/N?! Where are you?” Dean yells, his voice traveling through the house, panic evident. I try my best to draw enough oxygen into my lungs to respond, but it is a losing battle. My lungs are on fire, along with the rest of my body. My ribcage is a vice and I cannot inhale enough to begin to speak, let alone yell. All I can do, is sit and wait. Hope that he finds me in time. Frantic footsteps fill my ears, barely heard over the rushing of blood through my head. A small rush of relief floods my body as Dean rounds the corner, our eyes meet and he crumples. His face is defeated ever so briefly, before he puts on a brave front, his eyes scanning my body an explanation of the amount of blood surrounding me. He’s at my side In record time, his hands gently prying mine away. He surveys the situation quickly, before pressing the fabric of his flannel against my stomach. A motion that pulls a guttural scream from my lips, I beg him to stop but he doesn’t, his lips pull into a tight smile and he brushes the sweat soaked hair from my forehead. 

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.” He murmurs, searching around frantically for something, anything to add to the flannel that he already has pressed against my body. I glance down and quickly realize, its even worse than I could have imagined. The material he had pressed against me moments before, was already soaked red. 

“No, look at me. Right here.” He says, gesturing for me to focus on his eyes and not the blood soaked flannel. 

“Guess you were right after all,” I whisper, a small laugh that quickly turns to a cough leaving my lips. Once I catch my breath, I continue. “ I was being reckless.”

“Stop, don’t think like that. I am so sorry for what I said, but we can’t focus on that right now sweetheart, we gotta get you out of here.” Dean says, his eyes growing sadder with every passing moment. “You think you can hold pressure on this while I carry you? Can you do that for me?” The desperation in his voice pains me, I know I don’t have the strength to do what he asks, but I nod anyways. I know that if he doesn’t do everything he can, he will always blame himself for my death. So I will try, I’ll try for him. I grab onto the flannel and pull it against me with all of the strength that I possess, as he carefully picks me up. His attempts to avoid causing me pain are useless, every step and motion causes a wave of nausea and dizziness to overtake me, but I do my best to not let him see. 

“Dean, I have to tell you now, just incase,” I stop myself, unable to finish the what if scenario that is playing in my head, outloud. “Dean, I love you, always.” 

“Hush, I’m not confessing my feelings to you until you are better.” Dean says, his breath catching in his throat as he focuses on each step he takes. 

I can’t tell you how we made it to the Impala. My eyes are closed for the majority of the journey, only opening when Dean demands that I look at him. His voice begs me to stay with him, stay awake. Stay Alive. 

—

“She lost so much blood, what if- if she doesn’t wake up?” I can feel a hand grasping my own, gently stroking my skin. Dean’s voice is there, he’s talking to someone. Warmth is covering my skin. It is almost peaceful, until it is interrupted by my nerves screaming out in protest. A groan leaves my lips and the hand on my own jerks away.

“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?” It’s Dean again, I can feel the mattress shift underneath me as he sits on it, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. 

“Sweetheart is new, what happened to idiot?” I whisper, my throat dry and my tongue faltering to enunciate the words. 

“You almost died and I couldn’t bear that thought, that’s what happened.” Dean says, his hand brushing over my skin. I open my eyes, squinting at the sunlight pouring in through the open blind. It takes me a second to realize that I am in fact in a motel and not the bunker.

“Who knew you had feelings, Winchester, thought you were all tough and no mush.” I say, moving to push myself into a sitting position, but quickly regretting that and abandoning the motion. He laughs, a clear and full sound. One that lifted my spirits ever so slightly. 

“It’s no fun making you miserable, Y/N, not when you are already miserable. So I need you to get better, okay?” He says, pressing a very unexpected, but desired kiss against my forehead.

“Now who’s being the idiot?” I meet his gaze and smirk. He shakes his head, still smiling at me. He presses another kiss to my forehead, the breath he lets out through his nose rushing over my skin. “I love you, too, Y/N. Always have, always will.” 

Tag List: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

[qqueenofhades]

Think what strikes me about something like "we can't vote because the system is rigged! Ban the electoral college!" is the big underlying implication of it.

That there is no multiple solutions or paths, only the one correct path and everything else is worthless.

And that's incredibly frustrating because there are two levels of problems with it:

is the utter dismissiveness of anything other than their specific solution, which ignores how any degree of positive change cannot occur with only just ONE idea, it's usually the result of many ideas that lead to change.

The fact that it feels like they're skipping every step in between the current situation to this end result, or actively fixating on themselves having the correct solution, but only by literally getting everything in between completely wrong in the process.

Like, the latter point in particular is like a complex math equation: Just because you got the right answer doesn't mean you can just ignore every difficult step in between, or just assume that all of the WRONG processes become validated retroactively because you stumbled into the correct answer. You'd literally get failed and be forced to redo the problem if you tried that shit in math.

I saw a poll the other day claiming that support for abolishing the Electoral College had now reached 65% of all Americans. Now, I take all polls, whether good or bad, with a grain of salt, but this does reflect a growing awareness that the EC is a horrible racist anti-democratic dinosaur only applied to the presidential election and only used for electing Republicans who don't win the nationwide popular vote, and that there's a genuine groundswell of support to abolish it. See the National Popular Vote Interstate Compact, which could possibly collect enough state-by-state ratifications to go into effect into 2028 (in the best-case scenario). So even all the bitching about how "the system is rigged" (which. WE KNOW! WE KNOW! There's not a single Democratic voter going to vote like WOW I LOVE THE ELECTORAL COLLEGE CAN'T WAIT FOR MY VOTE TO DEPEND ON HOW MUCH IT COUNTS THANKS TO THE ELECTORAL COLLEGE WHEE OLD DEAD WHITE GUYS!) blatantly ignores that a possible seismic change IS possibly in the offing, because people put in the work to make it happen!!! The fact that the EC might soon be superseded or disempowered is FUCKING MONUMENTALLY HUGE!!! It has existed literally since the beginning of America and arbitrated every single presidential election!!! And let me tell you, the people working to make that change and fundamentally reshape American democracy are absolutely not the Online Leftists, whose grasp of civic and political theory starts and ends at "wah the system is rigged I do not vote I am very smart!"

This also reminds me of the recent idiots in my notes complaining that Biden was a) not "genuine" in supporting the striking auto workers, that b) Don't You Know He Broke The Rail Strike (the follow-up where he gave the railworkers what they most wanted with that strike was conveniently never mentioned), or c) that he wasn't "doing it for the right reasons" (whatever the fuck that means). Which accurately reflects their belief that the way you do politics, or praxis, or anything at all, is just by having the Really Goodest Mostest Purest Intentions really hard, and that's it. Like. Aside from the fact that it's impossible to prove why Biden is privately motivated to do anything, we have a long track record demonstrating that he is a person of genuine Catholic faith who has been moving more and more to the left overall, and has been the most pro-union, pro-labor president in American history. So first of all, complaining that "he's not GENUINE!!!!" in supporting the strikers is impossible to prove, and contradicted by actual evidence. But the Online Leftists gotta feel More Gooder Than Him somehow, so.

Likewise: as I said in one of my previous posts about Hillary Clinton: I do not give a fuck if she was privately the most Neoliberal Corporate Centrist Shill Ever To Shill (and as I also said, none of those words means what the Online Leftists think they do). I do not care about the American monarch president's personal feelings, unless they reflect directly on the policy that they make and the real-world effects that it has. I don't care if Clinton killed puppies (or dreamed about killing puppies, which for the thoughtcrime police is equally bad), as long as she appointed 3 new liberal justices to SCOTUS and throughout the courts, instead of the hacks that Trump forced onto the bench and literally everything else he did. In the same vein, Biden could secretly be like "hahahaha fuck all workers BIG CORPORATIONS FOR LYFE but I gotta support the workers and get them their rights so they'll vote 4 meeee" (not that I actually think he is, but still) and hold onto your hankies, children: I DO NOT CARE! Because the tangible real-world effects of that policy that he is working hard on making results in a better economy for those workers and substantial redistribution of capital away from the oligarchs for the first time in a generation! Not to mention, I kind of like the idea that a president decides to make himself most appealing to workers instead of bosses! But for the Online Leftists, if this action isn't done with the Sufficiently Pure Motives, it is Wrong and Bad and Not Good Enough and Blah Blah Biden Sekrit Republican.

Anyway. Yes. That. The end.

[kichous]

✧･ﾟ:*   to all the earthly remains

summary. in the settled dust, all that remains is the boy with the pink hair. series. history lesson. part one . part two . part three . part four . part five you’re here ! pairings. itadori yuji x reader. ryomen sukuna x reader. warnings. none.  word count. 1591.

You’ve been wandering the wreckage of Shibuya for days. It looks like the set of a post-apocalyptic movie, like you’ve stumbled onto the remake of War of the Worlds. But all of it’s real.

Even now, you’re still reeling at how quickly everything went south. Less than a week ago, your biggest concern was making sure you actually had coverage for your Halloween night shift. Begging and pleading with your manager hadn’t worked, as everyone else also wanted the night off to party. Your saving grace had been a recently dumped coworker, who was free and miserable enough to actually want to work. At the time, you’d felt guilty for taking advantage of her sadness. Now, a different guilt weighs upon you. She lived in Ikebukuro. If she hadn’t taken your shift, she wouldn’t have gotten caught—as did your other coworkers, your friends, and yourself—in Sukuna’s Malevolent Shrine.

As far as you can tell, you’re the only survivor. Whether that’s up to muscle memory, constantly cycling reverse cursed energy to heal yourself from the cuts and slices, or whether he deliberately chose not to hit you in that massive radius is anyone’s guess.

It would’ve been nice if one of your sorcerer friends had given you a heads up. Both Nobara and Fushiguro had your number. Yuji, of course, did as well. If even one of them had said, “Hey, something bad’s gonna happen in Shibuya on Halloween,” then you would’ve dragged your friends to Ginza or Roppongi with the excuse of watching the parade. Instead, the six of you stayed in the area, and now you’re the only one left. You watched them get diced into pieces.

But it’s hardly fair to blame sorcerers who, ultimately, were high schoolers just like you. Knowing what you did about jujutsu society, they were probably out there fighting and bleeding while you and your friends hid. That Inumaki boy you’d seen was another casualty, and he hadn’t been much older.

In truth, you have no idea where you’re going.

The last couple of days, you’d sort of been ambling around aimlessly. You scourged for food and replaced your shredded costume with something that could actually withstand the cold. But other than survival, you really hadn’t any future plans. You should go home. Make sure your family knows you’re okay. Make sure that they’re okay.

You come across the cursed spirit first.

He’d been squatting as he kept watch, shooting up at your approach into a ready stance. He claps his hands together, all ten fingers pointed at you. “Don’t come any closer!” he barks.

“I mean you no harm!” you call back after raising your hands in surrender. In this body, you have no innate technique, but you remember how to fight from your past lives. Once upon a time, you’d held the record for the most consecutive black flashes at three strikes. Someone’s probably beaten you by now, but a hit’s a hit. You pool cursed energy into your fists. “I’m just passing through.”

“Then you better keep moving,” the cursed spirit growls, the line drawn across the bridge of his nose distorted by the ferocity of his glare. “It’s not safe here.”

“Choso, what are you doing?”

A familiar head of pink hair steps into view, and you go weak in the knees. You whisper Yuji’s name, a sound so soft it’s carried off by the wind. Before you know it, you’re sprinting for him. The cursed spirit shouts in alarm, and you only just manage to bat away his attack before you launch yourself into Yuji’s arms.

He catches you, warm and solid. “No way…,” he mutters. His voice cracks when he says your name, and his eyes are disbelieving as he pulls back to get a good look at you. Yuji’s face falls, to your alarm, when he confirms it’s you, and his warm, comforting hands morph into claws around your biceps. “If she was here when Sukuna attacked, then she’s… whatever you are, you better not be—be wearing her skin or something like that. I’ll—”

“No one told you?” you blurt, shaking free of his aggressive grip. “Not Fushiguro-kun or Nobara?” At the mention of the latter’s name, Yuji flinches and your breath catches in your throat. Casualties. Right. “I’m—I’m a sorcerer too. Sort of.”

The word sounds wrong on this body’s tongue. You were a normal girl up until a few months ago, ignorant of the world of curses and jujutsu. If you had never crossed paths with Yuji, you would never have known. And it’s never really come up between you two. You just figured his friends would have informed him of something this major. But then again, maybe they had expected you to explain. You should have, but you’d only seen each other a couple of times since his apparent return from the dead. He hadn’t exactly told you about that, either, so you were even.

He believes you a little too easily. “‘Sort of’ doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” Yuji hisses. “It’s dangerous here, especially around me. You’ve got to get somewhere safe.”

“No.” The word pushes past your lips without permission, but you don’t find yourself disagreeing with the sentiment. “Something… something drew me here. At first I thought I’d just picked a direction and started walking, but now I get it. There was a beacon calling out to me, and it led me to you. I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

You hadn’t been actively tracking his residuals, searching for Yuji (or his hitchhiker) in particular, but… well, in a world like this, is it so wrong to believe in something like fate? Of all the boys in the world, you’d found Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel. He even looked like Sukuna a little, back when he was Yuji’s age. Some things never change, it seems. Lady Otagi’s heart used to beat a little faster when she saw him, too.

And of course, in these times of forced, traumatic solitude, you thought of revenge. You’re a fifteen year-old, hardly the most mature person you know, and the face of the man who murdered your best friends and countless others was burned into your retinas. Except that wasn’t really true, was it? The image you conjured up was from the memory of a Heian noblewoman a thousand years ago. What Sukuna actually looks like today is Itadori Yuji. And with that alteration, vengeance dies in your throat, replaced by pity. You want to free Yuji about as much as you want to punch Sukuna in his stupid, handsome face.

Yuji, who is also quite handsome and equally stupid, takes a completely different meaning from your words. “People around me get hurt or drop dead,” he protests. “And, really, we barely know each other. We haven’t even been on a single date, besides that time I dragged you along to meet my friends and this girl I knew in junior high—”

“What,” interjects the cursed spirit Yuji called Choso.

Heat floods your cheeks as you lift a hand to stop him. “I like you a lot, Yuji, but God, I did not mean it that way.” This is mortifying. You can hardly look him in the eye. “One, I can take care of myself, so I won’t let you or anyone else hurt me. And two, before you give me this whole spiel about not being you that you’re afraid of, he won’t hurt me either. Or else he already would’ve, when I was smack dab in the middle of his Domain Expansion.”

Yuji’s chin drops to his sternum when you press your palm flat against the center of his chest. When he looks back up at you, there’s a deep, intense pain in his eyes. Nobody your age should ever have to bear it. He squeezes your fingers when you move your hand to weave through his. It almost hurts, but it’s the most human contact you’ve had in ages. You have a feeling it grounds him as much as it does you. “But…”

“Please. This is—it’s my fault too. Or the me from a thousand years ago, anyway.” Yuji makes a noise of puzzlement, and you stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. Chuckling sadly, you sigh. “It’s… kind of a long story. But I know Sukuna pretty well. I don’t think it would be too conceited of me to say I’m part of the reason he is the way he is. So it’s my fault. Give me—give me the chance to make this right.”

He doesn’t fully get it, but he doesn’t stay hung up on the confusion. Making it right is something he wants for himself, too, it seems. He was always so bright and sunny, yet now his shoulders slump with the weight of the world. Sukuna did this to him. The monster wouldn’t stop ruining everything he touched until he was gone. You know what you have to do.

It wasn’t by chance that Lady Otagi’s soul dwelled on this earth for a millennium. She had been waiting for something. Waiting for you, and waiting for him, to end this once and for all.

You take Yuji into your arms, squeezing him tight against you. You feel his nose press into your crown, and you shut your eyes, inhaling his scent. It’s hardly pleasant, ash and rubble and sweat, but you feel safe nevertheless.

“Yuji?” asks Choso uncertainly. “Little brother?”

Yuji lifts his head from yours, not breaking his hold on you. “She’s coming with us.”

And that’s that.

[frikatilhi]

Jere keeps asking/informing Bojan about his OF ideas, sending different pictures and videos to get opinion if this is still fine or already too much. Meanwhile Bojan is sweating, jumping at every message ping and checking them while hidden in a corner, to the point that it pisses off everyone else in the studio. He can't say not to send them to Jere but can't ignore them either because the phone is burning a hole in his pocket.

Anon, I think you just wrote your own fic, this is perfect.

I got several prompts about Bojan's reaction to the OF, so here's a little something about that.

Bojan can’t believe it has come to this.

It used to be that musicians would make a living selling records and performing live. Nowadays you need to sell tons of merch to even break even, have an online presence and be accessible to your fans and be relatable and funny and flirt with your bandmates to keep them guessing and keep generating fucking content, all the time.

But he wasn’t aware that the hustle included Onlyfans now too, apparently.

Bojan can appreciate Jere trying to make the most of his success and fame. He has clearly done some Scarlett O’Hara type “I shall never go hungry again!” pact with himself, determined to strike while the iron is hot, and make up for his meager earnings by any means possible.

It is none of his business how Jere chooses to make his money. If posting cheeky little skits with Häärijä is going to make people throw their money at him, who is he to judge.

So there really is no problem for Bojan. 

The only problem is that he is lying awake, 1 am Slovenian time on December 1st, knowing full well that the first post of the calendar has been live for two hours.

It’s probably nothing too risque, anyway, he reasons. He has watched those two idiots film their stupid skits enough times to know that they like to joke around, shitposting their way through life. It’s probably just them in santa hats doing… the stuff they always do. Maybe a little suggestive, but nothing actually pornographic. 

But also, knowing those two, knowing what they truly are capable of, he wouldn’t put anything past them.

So of course he is curious. Who wouldn’t be?

He can’t just ask Jere. He just can’t. He’s been trying for days to craft a message that would convey the exact joking, teasing nonchalance that would make Jere share the stuff with him without him asking directly. But everything he comes up with is too transparent. Asking Jere would mean admitting that he wants to know. And Jere can’t know how much he wants to know. 

He also can’t join Onlyfans. He just can’t. Because that would mean… Too many things. Things Bojan is really not ready to prod or poke at.

It would also be totally icky. Watching Jere in… situations without him knowing that Bojan is watching, even though he is clearly okay with anyone and everyone seeing it, feels somehow wrong. If he can’t man up and talk to Jere and tell him how much he wants to see him naked, what right does he have to sneak around and pay money for it?

But also, he really, really wants to see what’s there.

So you can see his dilemma.

He holds off for two days. But then the online reaction to the newest one reaches him, and he sees a mention of the socks. It is the opening he needs. He taps a text.

me Watafak is this I hear about Joker Out socks making an appearance on OF???

Jere Did you like it?

me I haven’t seen it jesus christ

Jere No just us, Käärijä and Häärijä 😝

Jere You not subscribe? 😥

me Wtf you mean, of course not ☠️

Jere Bojan poor 🙁 🙁 

Jere Wait

In a minute, Bojan’s phone dings as a sign of a new email. The pop-up notification shows the beginning of the subject line:. You have been gifted a subscription to–

me You didn’t.

Jere This one on me! 😊

Jere And Boju…

Jere Tell me what you think after you watch 🤭😘😉

*

(okay sorry for ending it there, I know you wanted his reaction to the actual videos, but I don’t think I have it in me to write about him looking at those apron strings hanging between his buttocks and him imagining picking them up with his teeth, I am already hanging by a thread here)

[86stagram]

I borrowed these from my friend! I've been watching "Everyone come here please! Prism☆Tours" , "King of Prism by Pretty Rhythm" , "KING OF PRISM -PRIDE the HERO-" this month.

(unfortunately, i forget order in which i was watched) Hi! I'm Ham's servant. I'm sure Kazuki would say : "FREEDOM! it's okay to make mistakes when you learning English" . *1

i saw Laala saying "YES(hai)" NOT "KASHIKOMA" and it made me laugh. please. . . KASHIKOMA surprisingly, but Aloma was very low voice that time. she really look like someone who the "chuunibyou(厨二病)" character.  i wonder because maybe her voice actor recorded voice in the middle of 1st season. perhaps character's setting of attention to detail hadn't been determined at that point (?)

let me talk about KinPri. (** not includes spoilers in this post** ) even more i watched up to 2 episodes of "KING OF PRISM -Shiny Seven Stars-" last week. that was great, and I couldn't resist starting continue today! btw when i watched KING OF PRISM -Dramatic PRISM.1- at that time (September 6th) i don't know the general flow of the series of whole very well i'm pretty sure that time was when i watched until half episode of RL.

however I was told by friends to "of course i think you can enjoy the latest installment even if you watch without knowing the whole story! that's because awesome works!" haha

somehow, i was astounded by HIRO's change than other prism stars or anything else. he used to have a very difficult personality and often bothered people around him, including Koji, right? to be honest, my interest in this is the same as when I was following SHO's activities before. because of his change, i found myself looking forward to seeing how HIRO would grow in RL. (i already watched that until the end but I don't know why i felt this way from that time)

However, they has made a striking impression on me by changing so much. . . now they are the completely different person, right? this is not "oshi(推し)" as when I was keeping an eye on Mirei, Falulu, Hibiki, and Shuka activities before. it's hard to put into words. (maybe this is lil different what i wish to mean because i don't have enough English proficiency.)

in either case, i was unwittingly drawn into the narrative and that movie make to oddly mysterious and large impact in a good way. i thinking i'd like write something my impressions but i can't make up my mind which one to how word choose. sometimes i think i don't understand something at the time, but surely then i realize to get many things later that i do after watched works.

i want enough time to read this official setting book for KinPri for that was released in July 2016. ＼idol time is money／ from what i heard, this book hasn't includes little new information and not includes spoiler because to announced 1st work of the whole series. (but I don't pay too much attention to about spoiler)

WOOOO the more i write text the less i understand multiple language become like puzzle to me. i'll write my impressions soon in Japanese. (i'm having a hard time because my arms always have pain for the past half year. . .)

*1 however i can't understand well such as the difference in nuance between freedom / free and liberty. Probably Kazuki can possible to tell me the difference among these words. but i'm not yumejoshi haha that's balderdash. . .

[e-the-village-cryptid]

Goncharov the Musical (1985)

with all this goncharov posting I still haven’t seen anyone mention the musical adaptation! granted, if goncharov is a lost movie, then the musical is fricken atlantis, but the little-known adaptation did in fact exist, if very briefly. as far as I’ve been able to find out, there were only two showings and somewhere between 5 and 10 previews before it was shut down for good. 

just as goncharov itself is full of bitter ironies, so too is the story behind the (partial) recovery of this musical. Cranston Park Theatre, where the musical was staged, suffered flooding in September of this year, forcing the theater to close for repairs. in clearing out their flooded basement, a few discs from the goncharov production were discovered, but not before the long submersion in water highly damaged them. yeah, the same flood that led to the discs’ rediscovery also ruined large portions of them. the irony is flawless, but I’m still mad about that lost history that may never be recovered. 

however, we do have a mostly intact rendition of the first two numbers, which are, as in most musicals, an ensemble opener and an “I want” song. (many thanks to the Cranston Park Theatre employee who got permission to post the recovered clips to youtube!) the song titles are lost to time as far as I can tell, but we have some footage and that’s what’s most important. let’s dive in!

the ensemble opener: it’s very militaristic, which is an interesting choice. the stately march-style opener evokes the mechanical, grim themes present throughout much of the film— or, at least it would, if the costumes weren’t so ridiculous. despite the attempted seriousness of the number, the set and costumes come off as quite campy— perhaps this was an intentional mockery of the militaristic march, to emphasize the existing irony of comparing mafia and gangsters to soldiers? my favorite part about this number is that the strong, steady beat is exactly 60 bpm— one beat per second, like the ticking of a clock. say what you will about the directors of this musical, but they knew their motifs for sure!

the “I want” song: usually the second song of a musical would be given to the lead to sing their “I want” ballad— think “Waiting on a Miracle” in Encanto where Mirabel just wants to be special like the rest of the family, or “Carrie” in Carrie (a musical from around the same time period that suffered a similar fate of early cancellation, but that’s a parallel for a different post), where Carrie longs for her classmates to stop bullying her and see her for who she truly is. now, in Goncharov, this song is given not to Goncharov, but to Katya. this is fascinating! the narrative is essentially establishing Katya as the central character, of equal or greater importance than Goncharov himself. I wish so badly I could make out the lyrics, but the recording is too damaged for me at least. the tone of the ballad is emotional, though, and Katya can be seen gesturing to Goncharov, who is staged out of reach and out of earshot. At another point, she also gestures close to the wings, where there appears to be a figure? the video quality is very grainy but at least in my mind this has to be Sofia. (oh how I wish the lyrics were audible here!)  and of course, the centerpiece of the number (and the whole musical, really) is the giant clock tower in the square, which the choreography and Katya’s movements places as an important element of the song. the song ends with the tolling of the clock bells, setting the characters into a hurry about their business as if the spell is broken. ok, a little heavy-handed at this point. oh well, I honestly enjoy it, this song strikes the balance between sincere and campy— the choreography could be considered over-the-top and even a bit ridiculous in other circumstances but weirdly it worked?? one of my favorites and definitely the one I wish the most that we had a better recording of.

I’ll keep the analysis to just these two songs for now, but if anyone on some off-chance has found any better recordings of this musical please share them! not much is known about this musical’s history since it fell apart so quickly, likely due to budget and conflict between several of the lead actors and the director, so it’s entirely possible they performed at some other smaller theatre or at least rehearsed there. let’s piece this musical back together!

[arkus-rhapsode]

So I try to keep recent news out of my posts. Usually I like to wait for a situation to pan out to avoid snap judgements. But recently, some news has been playing out that really made me upset.

If you haven’t heard, SAG-AFTRA (Screen Actors Guild – American Federation of Television and Radio Artists) had recently signed a deal with an AI voice production company known as Replica Studios for licensing actor’s voices in video games.

This is coming off the massive strike where SAG was fighting against things like AI implementation in film and script development. Though the claim is that this will be an “ethical” implementation of the technology. And the irony and backlash was quite apparent. But the important thing that should be obvious to everyone is the ones this affects the most, voice actors.

This article by Forbes has many links to some of the people I’ll be citing and their reactions. So please check that out if you want a more professional run down: https://www.forbes.com/sites/conormurray/2024/01/10/video-game-voice-actors-criticize-sag-aftra-over-agreement-with-ai-company/amp/

So the reaction from VAs has been pretty understandably upset. Well known VAs like Steve Blum, Veronica Taylor, Allegra Clark, and Brenden Blaber. Expressing disappointment in the union and that this opening a gateway for video game companies to cut use their voices without actually needing them to record. Now this deal is for just Replica Studios, but it’s still very disheartening that this was a concession.

Now I am not an actor. My career and life doesn’t hinge on the choices of millionaires running film production companies and what policies or investments they make that would require me seek out a union’s protection. Any discussion around how SAG itself internally operates and it’s treatment of certain professions over others is not my place to talk about. I instead implore you to listen to people have been a VA and part of that Union and listen to their experience with them. So why make this post? I’m not particularly important or an influencer. Well the answer is simply I love voice acting and care about it as a profession. Even if I’m not one, I can’t tell you how so many of my favorite moments in fiction/media were elevated by someone’s acting. And this is prominent in video games.

This blog has many times devoted itself to live blogs and posts about games. Games like Fire Emblem Three Houses, Persona 5, and Danganronpa. Games with noticeable voice acting involved in their presentation and their narratives. And in my experience some of those performances are tied to some of the enjoyment and identity of the game. And it sucks knowing how all those things you love or admire can potentially be replaced by machines. When there was a union that had been fighting to avoid things like this for on screen actors.

I cannot imagine the hurt this has caused for people’s whose job is to be a professional VA, and you are hearing about companies in the video game sphere like Square Enix and Microsoft going hard in AI. I can imagine many are scared for their livelihoods. And knowing how greedy or unscrupulous some game companies can get, the possibility they go through with AI will be not in the favor of “ethics” it’s in the favor of profits.

All I can say is that im a VA fan. And I know plenty of games that have been elevated by their voice acting. And I will say that voice acting is acting. It is an art form that deserves the same amount of protection as screen actors.

Please support the VAs. Even if you don’t think about it as much, if there’s a character you liked in Persona or Fire Emblem game, please check out who is doing those voices. Because their work is part of the experience.

[researchercase]

Erika has been hiding out in Kieran's flat basically since she got back. Our conversation got recorded. atp i can't be bothered to question it.

here's the recording

-Casey

[CLICK]

[rapid knocking]

ERIKA [Muffled] Just a moment!

[Door opens]

ERIKA Hell- [surprised] Casey…

CASEY [Blunt] Hi.

[They walks past Erika into the flat]

CASEY So you've been hiding out here. Surprised you didn't go to your own flat.

ERIKA [Closing the door] How did you find me?

CASEY I think you know how

ERIKA [sigh] You're upset

CASEY Yeah. I am

ERIKA You here for my statement?

CASEY No.. I just want to talk.

ERIKA Really? Surprised you've not gone full careless avatar.

CASEY Well you have

ERIKA You heard about the storm

CASEY Yes, Of course I did. How could I not? Erika, there was around eight people on that ship, only three survived. Why would you do that?

ERIKA You wouldn't understand, considering your reaction just now

CASEY You killed people Erika!

ERIKA I had to, Case! In case you for some reason couldn't tell. I'm. Not. Human

CASEY Still, you didn't have to do that-

ERIKA I did. I was starving. I've not heard you be upset at Séra, or Harold, or Kieran for feeding so far.

CASEY She doesn't kill people

ERIKA Okay. But about the other two? Harold's probably done it on accident, Kieran has probably killed a few by now.

CASEY But-

ERIKA You'd be a hypocrite if you only got upset at me and not them, not him.

[Pause of silence]

ERIKA You're upset. I get it. You have every right to be. But not for the reasons that other avatars you know have done before.

[A pause of silent agreement.]

ERIKA Now. You wanted to talk? So, let's talk.

[The two move to sit on the couch]

CASEY How much do you know?

ERIKA Of the past month I missed? Quite a bit, I caught up on your posts when I got back into the blog.

CASEY Right.

ERIKA How much do you want to know about my time back?

CASEY All of it.

ERIKA Understandable.

That night, when the Not Them killed me. I just remember darkness, but not for long. I heard a lightning strike and then suddenly I found myself falling in the sky, amongst the rain and thunder. There's not much else I can say about that. Occasionally, I would start to get hungry but then it felt like I was energised, and I'd see someone else falling near me. That only really happened two times in during that month of me being there, and they didn't stay falling for long.

It was June 18th when I stopped falling, and I found myself in that alleyway again, but it was the afternoon, raining, and two people were there, waiting for me. Norah Rees, and a Fairchild. I only spent four days with the Fairchild's before I left, but I was taken into their 'family' in that time. Not like I had a choice since legally, Erika 'Gray' was a different person, with a different last name spelling. Not sure why that changed since my family's last name is still spelt with an 'E'.

I was hungry when I left but I didn't want to feed on people's fears. I knew I had changed but I didn't want to accept it. I broke into my old flat, took what remotely could still belong to me, even the framed pictures, and went all the way to Kieran's flat. Here. I was lucky my fake left the spare key in the flat.

I probably would've fed earlier if it wasn't for the attempted Buried Ritual over the weekend. When those floods and endless rain were over, I was starving. I had to eat. If I wasn't in that condition, I wouldn't have sunk that fishing boat. But, I had to. And I felt better afterwards.

Later that week was a 'family' event held by the Fairchild's, where I met the rest of the Family, like the other new family member, Witchita, and Séra, the photographer, and your girlfriend.

CASEY [under their breathe] she's a fairchild now?

ERIKA I'd say that's pretty much caught up to now, with you knocking on my door

CASEY Did none of Kieran's neighbours question you being there?

ERIKA I lied about house sitting for him while they were gone, said it was a work thing. Didn't want him losing the flat.

CASEY that makes sense

ERIKA Listen, Casey. I want you to know, that if I could've come back, I would've. But I couldn't. No one remembers me, not even my own family. Sure I've been texting them as 'me', but it's not like I can even go see them.

CASEY I mean… not everyone forgot

ERIKA What'd you mean?

CASEY Harold was the only one to remember you

ERIKA Harold… Oh my god, Harold! I completely forgot. I-I need to talk to him

CASEY You might not want to do that. At least not now

ERIKA Why? Did something happen?

CASEY He might not be so happy to see you. After me and Kieran's encounter with Not you, it went and replaced Desmond.

ERIKA Desmond?

CASEY Harold's boyfriend. I don't think you got a chance to meet him

ERIKA No, I didn't… Oh no.

CASEY Yeah…

ERIKA Shit. How did he react?

CASEY He attempted a Buried Ritual, unconsciously

ERIKA That was him?!?

CASEY Yeah..

ERIKA wow… Still, If I encounter him in public, that's not exactly going to stop me from talking to him, just letting you know

CASEY yeah I guess.

[Pause]

CASEY I really missed you, Erika

ERIKA Oh I missed you too

[the two hug]

ERIKA Now, how about we discuss how we're getting Kieran back.

[CLICK]

[falselyprofound]

Assorted thoughts from seeing Groundhog Day live tonight yeehaw

Phil's opening video is a lot shorter than the Broadway version, presumably so they don't have to refilm the damn thing any time they switch cast members. "We can't all have good weather because we're not all good people". First up - nice thesis statement there, writers. But also damn Phil all right I guess that's an improvement over "if you live in Altoona, just shoot yourself"

(Yes, Pennsylvania is still spelled incorrectly.)

Normally when broadway shows come over here it's like, one American actor in a sea of heavy Australian accents (Our version of Legally Blonde was an experience, lemme tell ya). And I guess that was still technically true since only Phil was a returning cast member? But the rest of the cast were damn good in my opinion. Felt very natural.

God. How do they manage to strike such a good balance of Phil being entertaining and utterly reprehensible. Phil "just kill me now" Connors. Phil "wait your turn" Connors. Phil "wanna hear my personal masturbation record" Connors.

Tiny background detail that fucked me up: when Phil's climbing the ladder in Hope, the onlookers start to panic and flag down more people in an attempt to get him help. Debbie can be seen waving down Freddie. Freddie waves back, clearly just happy to see her. He doesn't understand what's going on until Phil drops.

(The house lights coming on after the impact to Phil in full costume, at the front of the crowd, really is fucking wizardry. That man be teleporting)

Props to Larry's actor for playing the morgue scene relatively straight. He actually sounds upset Phil's dead, and it's just the right balance of "in denial" and "actually he kinda fucking sucks" to both be heartbreaking and fucking hilarious

phil's frustration in the diner is still so fucking funny to me. "Freddie keeps chickening out because he thinks debbie wants a diamond. JUST CLOSE THE DEAL, FREDDIE" like yeah i'd fucking snap if i had to watch the same will-they-wont-they play out for all eternity too

Seeing fake snow through the doors of the theatre when the show was done has me feeling very good very natural

very normal

this has been my use of my annual Theatre Kid Posting pass. thank you for your patience.

[hazardworld]

Dustin's a Damn Good Ally (Original) Pt. 2

Chapter 2— Twins and Poly-nailery

Ao3 Link

Originally Posted 1.1.23/Edited 9.1.23

Summary: Max has a lot of shit going on in her life

(Queer author saying queer is used both positive and negative here)

———

Dustin met Mad Max when she moved to Hawkins in 8th grade. Why her parents (or mom and stepdad) chose to move from fancy California to bum-fuck-nowhere Indiana beat him, but alas, they had, and it had brought Dustin one of his best, closest friends.

Originally, Dustin believed he had a crush on her. Soon, he realized that feeling of jealousy, of passion to prove himself, and burning love…wasn’t exactly romantic. It was 100% familial, and after the Snow Ball fiasco and the second (and hopefully last) edition of traumatic bullshit that was the Upside Down, Dustin, Max, and Steve became a little unit of melancholy daddy issue holders.

So, Max and Dustin got really damn close. Close enough that Dustin started to learn her quirks and mannerisms, how to tell if she was nervous or excited, and how to tell if she liked you or if she was just flat-out annoyed.

In the summer of 1985, Dustin noticed her becoming closer with El, and close in a way Max had only been before she started dating Lucas.

So that was something.

More and more, on his off time from dealing with the Russians and contacting Suzie, he’d see the two together, easily brush off-able as besties or bffs, but Dustin knew Max better than that.

So he did his research, because he wanted to support his sister as much as possible. Even if she didn’t know what she was feeling, he wanted to make sure she knew he loved her for it.

In 1976, David Bowie came out as bisexual.

Perfect.

Bisexuality meant she could like both Lucas and El, boys and girls.

However, that was a long shot. Maybe Max was completely over Lucas, or maybe she wanted to try something new, or maybe she didn’t even catch how her feelings were absolutely more than platonic.

So, all Dustin had to do was confront her about it, or…confront really wasn’t the right word, it made it all seem threatening and angry; Max already got enough of that in her life.

He was…talking…to her about it.

Talking worked!

Yeah.

Dustin had no idea what would happen with Billy, though.

He couldn’t predict the grief that would strike her for weeks, making her unattainable. He could understand, though, and knew to give her space. A sexuality crisis could wait until after a grief one.

It was well into September, now, a few weeks after their first day of high school, when Dustin and Max found themselves alone (or, semi-alone, Steve was downstairs in the kitchen) in Max’s new designated bedroom in the Harrington mansion.

Dustin was jealous as hell for that, side note. He knew the reason why she got it, and knew it wasn’t a great reason by any means, but he was still mad as hell Max now got to live with Steve and he didn’t. (Though he’d spend enough time there in the next few weeks for it to become their room, but he didn’t know that yet).

Dustin knew this was probably a good time to bring up the conversation he’d been putting off for about a month and a half, now, when the two of them were calm, sitting on Max’s big comfy bed. They were listening to music from an old record player, Max painting his nails a pretty purple (Eddie, the new DM at school, wore nail polish, and it was so cool).

"Hey, Max, I have a question." She looked up from his hands, eyebrows raised, and made questioning 'hmm' sound. "You…you know it’s ok if you like, girls, right?" He saw the panic immediately form on her face, "I don’t judge you, love is love…I think the saying is. Not sure." She blinked.

"I’m—I’m not gay!" So she didn’t know what bisexual meant, ok. Dustin could work with that!

"You can like guys and girls, Max. I’ve seen the way you look at Lucas and El, and it’s the same," Max’s cheeks flushed red, and her freaked gaze started to soften.

"You can…do that?" Dustin nodded, smiling slightly.

"David Bowie’s bisexual, so yeah, I think you can." Max blinked again, brow furrowing.

"Bisexual?"

"Bi, two, sexual, sexually attracted to." Dustin shrugged, "That’s the word he used to describe it, anyway." Max slowly closed the polish bottle, curling her knees to her chest in front of Dustin.

"I was so confused, I thought there was something wrong with me!" Dustin grinned.

"There’s nothing wrong with you, Max,"

"I like Lucas, and I knew I liked El, but I didn’t know if that meant if I was gay or…well, I guess you can see how that turned out, huh." They both laughed, but Dustin paused.

"You still like Lucas?" Max nodded.

"Yeah, uh, it’s weird but…I like them both? And I don’t want to have to choose, because they’re both amazing—"

"Polyamory." Max froze, eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped, "You have two hands, Max." Dustin grinned, slightly maliciously.

"Is that…there’s a term for feeling like that?" Dustin shrugged.

"I think that’s it. My mom taught it to me on the way back from camp, something about Suzie and Mormons and standards," He waved his hand, disregarding the topic, "Dunno. Either way, I think you should love whoever the fuck you want, and if it’s Lucas and El?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "Just don’t do it in the bed, man. I’m not sleeping over again if you do!" Max made a disgusted sound, and the two of them laughed.

"I’d hug you right now if your hands weren’t still drying, asshole," Dustin snickered, then his eyes widened.

"Also? Steve’s safe. Can’t really explain why, but…he won’t judge. He may be a little confused, though." Max nodded. "Wanted you to know since you’re staying here, now."

"Thanks," Dustin grinned.

"Anytime, sis."

———

Your honor, these are twins. No, I will not defend myself: this is a fact.

I've seen so many "Dustin is Steve's child" and "Max is Steve's child" to which I say "they are the trio of melancholy daddy issue holders and they are all siblings and Claudia is their Ma.

Chapter 1/6———Chapter 3/6

[phoenix]

So, who wants to hear the story of me trying to do my review of Guilty Pleasures?

...Well, too bad, I'm gonna tell it anyways.

But I'm not a monster.

I needed to do this yesterday, because of my best friend's birthday...

So, my best friend's birthday is, well, yesterday. The 27th. Trisk has always posted reviews on the 26th of each month, so when February rolls around, I've always tried to make my review on that day be something that makes me think of him. From something as much as a movie he likes (Rare for our interests to align enough for that to happen, but I got a few out of that), to something as basic as "made in Canada". The connection doesn't have to be much, and it was always just a bit of something that made me smile, nothing more.

About ten years ago, Scott did a movie review show of his own called, Guilty Pleasures Cinema. I gave him the tagline for the show, and designed his logo, and even made a few appearances as Cthulhu. He eventually gave it up because of trying to include clips always led to copyright strikes, and the audience never showed up enough for him to be happy.

So of COURSE, the reason why I wanted to review Guilty Pleasures this week, once I heard about the movie, is obvious.

Unfortunately, the movie is ONLY available on Blu Ray, and Trisk requires DVDs because of my workflow, and creating images. And also, the one rule of Trisk is "I will own the movie". There's only been two exceptions I've made.

But this is a minor issue, because surely someone has it streaming...well, no. Even though a lot of obscure stuff is, not this. Well, surely I can find it through...other means. Again, no, and that's a bit more shocking. I can usually find stuff SOMEwhere somehow. Maybe ripped to YouTube or similar, other elsewhere, but this was just NOT out there. Or it might be, but GOOD FUCKIN' LUCK trying to find something named "Guilty Pleasures". So much porn...

Side note; I mentioned this to Scott, and he offered to look, and I was like, oh no you are literally the one person I can't tell the name to. ;)

The movie might be out there somewhere, but it's not being easy to find.

STILL, I have a Blu Ray player and a DVD burner! I've done THAT before too, but it's a pain in the ass, and there's loss of quality! EXCEPT...this time the recorder picked up copy protection signals and refused to work, no matter what I did.

Time was running out, and I had three choices; play it on my Blu Ray player in the living room, pause every five seconds, walk to the computer in the other room, right up my notes go back, repeat for 110 minutes...because of course I picked a long movie lol.

Choice #2: Scrap it for now, keep working at it, do it next year, and pick another movie REALLY QUICK.

Choice #3: Buy a Blu Ray drive for my computer, and do it that way.

I went with #3, and found a drive that was reasonably priced that I could justify, and then had to play the waiting game.

Scheduled delivery...the 26th. Because of course...oop, no wait, the 28th.

Under ANY OTHER CIRCUMSTANCE, I would have been happy to push it that late, as much as it hurts, but this is literally the one time, in 14 years of Trisk, when it HAD land no later than the 27th.

In the meantime, I had done my first basic watch of the movie in the living room, handwritten down my basic notes I do on that past, transcribed it to a text file, and gotten the post all set up, just needed the bulk of it to be filled in.

And of COURSE there was problems with the delivery. I used my STREET ADDRESS, since it was coming UPS, but they decided randomly to go 'Nah, we're sending it SurePost so it goes to the post office". But I have a *PO BOX* and not a box at my house, for reasons, and when a package with my street address goes to the post office, it adds another whole day, as it gets sent around on trucks trying to find an address they don't feel 'exists'. And they yell a me for sending it to the street address when it comes to the post office...but this is tangenting and I digress.

I scream and upgrade the package to Ground, and yep, it knocks a day off the delivery time, so the drive is at least arriving on the 27th. There should be zero problems of swapping the drive, watching the movie, and doing the thing!

But hahahaha, do you have any idea how fucking difficult it is to get a Blu Ray movie to play on Windows? IT SHOULD NOT BE THIS HARD. DVDs were just ready to go. I know all the reasons why Blus are a pain, and it's so incredibly ridiculous.

The drive arrived around noon, the actual swap was RIDICULOUSLY easy. I didn't even have to unscrew anything.

It then took me three hours of bashing my head trying to get the discs to be recognised and play. And I won't go in depth with THOSE details.

But FINALLY it got working, I chugged my way through the movie, I did the work, and got it posted around 7pm.

At this point, I had been up 30 hours, I'd recorded, edited, posted a podcast, swapped a drive, did tech support, did up an entire Trisk review, and lemme tell ya, I was exhausted.

What a bloody journey for one absolutely ridiculous movie.

The good news is, this does open up a new door for Triskings, since as can be seen here, while I've done a few Blu movies before, they were always a challenge. Now, they're on the same level of ease as DVDs.

[clericofshadows]

take me back to eden

Description: Post-ME2 prologue.  Hannah Shepard asks for a meeting with Kaidan.  They end up having a conversation far more productive than either of them imagined, and Kaidan contacts an old flame.

Paring: Male Shepard/Kaidan Alenko, Kaidan Alenko/Zaeed Massani, Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard/Zaeed Massani (past)

Notes: I wanted to write a conversation between Regis and his mother, but this happened instead.  I’ve only written in Regis’s POV so far, but this was a fun dive into Kaidan.

Kaidan stared at the glass, swirling it slightly to stir the ice and drink together before taking a sip.  Freshly brewed lemonade.  A surprising choice to have in an Alliance brass's office, but one he'd take over alcohol.

Because even though this conversation would be better with something stronger, he figured it would likely make things worse.

"How are you doing, Lieutenant?" Hannah asked, clasping her hands together on her desk.

"Been better, Admiral," he admitted.  The memory was still fresh on his mind.  Regis's last words continued to haunt him a month later.

He’s still on leave but getting closer to returning to duty.  It’s been long enough, even if he has more time to spend healing.  

Maybe getting back into the thick of things will help.

“Please don’t let it end this way, tell them I died on Alchera.  Please, not like this… not like… this.  Kaid–”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment.  "But I am healing.  Day by day."

"And sometimes that's all we can do," she said, taking a sip of her own lemonade.  "I never thought I would lose both my son and my husband while I still lived.  I know it's a lot coming from me, but even I'm here if you need it.  As the mother of your lover, and not a superior officer."

Surprised at how forthcoming she was, Kaidan tilted his head to the side.  "I appreciate that, ma'am.  I'm sorry for your loss."

She waved it off.  "We've all heard that bullshit phrase a thousand times.  Tell me how you really feel."

"Really?" Kaidan questioned, voice flat.

"This is an unofficial-official meeting, if you catch my drift." 

He figured it was since he still wasn’t officially back on the roster.

"Then, call me Kaidan."

"Do me the same courtesy and call me Hannah."

Kaidan took another sip of the lemonade.  Regis always liked lemonade.  Guess this is where he got it from.  "I'm angry at the Alliance.  I'm angry at all the events that led to us doing bullshit survey missions and strike teams on geth squadrons.  I'm angry that Regis left me with a request that I can't fulfill.  But all of it means nothing because I can't do a damn thing about any of it."

She nodded.  "I've tried everything to get them to do a survey to get his body, but nothing has happened.  Hell, Hackett has tried.  They're afraid of a similar attack or some bullshit." She took another drink, finishing off her glass.  "I was able to officially change how he died.  Explosion from the ship.  Still not what he would've wanted, but it's better nonetheless."

"You knew about that?"

She chuckled. "I deserve that.  Yeah, I knew.  It's something he confided in me during our weekly emails, not long after he enlisted.  Wanting me to pull my own weight to ensure he never died in space officially.  The one abuse of power he wanted me to do for him."

Kaidan knew that Regis had written conversations with his mother often, citing that it was the only way they could ever be civil.  He never really knew the contents, but he should not have been surprised to hear how cordial they were.  Maybe Regis's anger about his mother's overbearingness in his childhood influenced him more than he realized.

Regis influenced him in a lot of ways.

"Thank you.  I'm sure you've listened to the recordings."

"Yes." Her tone was clipped.  "Fuck, Kaidan,” she breathed out.  “How the hell did we lose someone like Regis goddamn Shepard."

He hadn't had many conversations with Hannah until now, meeting her in short bursts and over vid comms that were sparse.  This was clearly where he got his swearing habit from.

Regis goddamn Shepard indeed.

"I don't know." His voice broke a bit on the last word.  "I ask myself that question every day.  He managed to save both Williams and I in a blaze of biotic glory.  A fucking miracle.  But I wasn't able to convince him to get off the damn ship with me."

"For someone who embraced the Butcher title, he always had a heart of gold.  Always cared for those he trusted with a strong passion.  He would’ve stayed back to save every goddamn soul on that ship no matter what."

And that action killed him.  That golden heart he kept locked up tight for few to see got him killed.

Kaidan still can’t bring himself to answer Joker’s request to talk.

Because right now, there’s no way in hell he can be civil, as unwarranted that anger might be.

Still too fresh on his mind.  Still too painful to really think about.

He powers on, nevertheless.  

"You know he never wanted it."

"I know.  I was always so frustrated with him for not fighting back.  For accepting the burden.  I never hated him for making that decision; hell, I was proud of him for it.  It took balls to take that upon decision himself and ensure no one else got the fall from it.  No, I was angry that he let it wash over him, that he took the title and made it part of his Alliance career," she ranted, her hands balling into fists.  "And I never told him that.  And maybe that's because he never let me.  Fuck, I couldn't even push back against my own son."

Kaidan was there for some of the sleepless nights, the anguish in Regis's screams about the mission.  His nightmares that plagued him, the ghosts of his squad that died on his mission blaming him for their deaths.  

He was there when Regis got his squad’s old symbol tattooed on the back of his neck, and he was there when Regis painted the symbol on his armor, nearly breaking regs in the process.

He was there when Regis cried about his mother hating him for the decision.

"You should've," Kaidan said, voice hardened by old memories.  "I was there for the fallout.  You weren't.  And that had a larger impact on him than he'd ever wanted to admit."

She pressed her lips together in a hard line and glanced away from him.  He followed her gaze to a bookshelf where two frames stood at the top.  Two official Alliance portraits.  One of Regis, and one of Atlas.

"He got his stubbornness from Atlas, and he got his dislike of space from Atlas.  Regis got so many things from him, and I always mourned the fact that they never got to know each other.  I did many things wrong during his childhood, but I was too afraid to let him go.  I let Atlas go." She took a deep breath.  "He was always a pilot at heart but hated anything larger than a frigate."

Keeping Regis close because she couldn’t do the same for her husband… it explained a lot.

"Did Regis know that about you?" He asked, not changing his tone.

"He did, but knowing doesn't change anything."

Kaidan finished off his lemonade, pushing the glass away from him.  "No, I suppose it doesn't.  I know I have a skewed view of you thanks to him."

Hannah shrugged.  "And part of that is also on me.  But I know for a fact that you loved him with a fierceness that Regis respected the hell out of.  He never wanted to let you go the moment you two got together, and I'm happy he had someone like you fighting by his side."

Kaidan blinked a few times to try and drive off the tears that were trying to form.  "I was going to propose to him after the mission, but we never had the time to make a trip to my family's property.  I was going to call you and everything.  Had my dad's ring waiting for him in my bedroom.  Dad wanted me to give Regis the ring he got from Mom when she proposed to him."

"I would've tried my hardest to get there.  And I'm sure you knew the story behind the ring on his dog tags.  And now it's fucking lost.  The last thing Atlas wanted to happen to his ring and of course it happened.  Feels like I'm burying him twice now." She shook her head, her eyes shining with tears.  "Wish I got out the hard stuff for this conversation."

A sudden wave of nausea washed over him.  Not only did Regis not want to die in space, but also Atlas had similar concerns about that ring.  

A terrible fucking fate.  

For a moment, Kaidan wished he were back at Eden Prime.  Where things all began.  Where things could still be different.

“What do you think about hypotheticals?  Or going back and changing things?  Would you ever do it?”

“No need for that kind of bullshit imagining.  I live in the moment.  What happens, happens.”

Damn you, Regis.

"There's still time," Kaidan replied, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

She reached under her desk and pulled out two bottles of hard lemonade.  Again, one of the few things Regis actually enjoyed drinking.  "Not the strongest shit out there, but it's damn near the only thing I actually like."

Kaidan couldn't help but laugh.  "Regis would always say the same thing."

"No shit."

"It's true.  I always teased him about his taste in alcohol.  He bemoaned my expensive taste in whiskey. One of those things we could never agree on."

"Atlas loved whiskey as well." She smiled, twisting the cap off the bottle, taking a swig.  "I enjoyed hearing how Regis 'abused' his Spectre authority to protect your relationship onboard the Normandy."

"I joked to him about it not thinking he would actually follow through with it.  I haven't heard anything about repercussions."

"There won't be.  Alliance sees a major asset in you, and they will be scouting you and Williams as another 'Shepard,'" she said.

Kaidan opened his bottle and took a drink.  "So, this is what this meeting was really about."

"Partially," She admitted, "but also to talk.  Because you and I both needed it.  So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Do the one thing he's wanted me to do for years.  Become an N."

“Good, I was hoping you would say that.” Despite her reddened eyes and flushed cheeks, Kaidan saw how quickly she shifted back into Alliance mode. “How much did you know about Regis’s teaching program?”

“Lots, because I indirectly contributed to it,” Kaidan admitted. “Regis and I were unique in the sense that we learned our biotics together, so we picked up tricks that were no way standardized by the Alliance, but better than anything they’ll ever come up with.”

“So, you knew he was implementing new training programs for recruits and accelerated N programs for biotics?”

Regis always said Hannah was a better superior officer.  

“The new training programs, yes.  The accelerated N programs? No, tell me more.”  He leaned forward.  “Were there already accelerated N programs, but not tuned to biotics?”

“More or less.  You could do the typical training at the villa and the off-planet work.  It’s what Regis did, even though it was clearly not rated for biotics, not taking into account the differences in biology, metabolism, and general stability.  On the other hand, there’s a far less advertised route that’s all about mission work.  You’ll still do the first N training and become an N1, but after that, you’ll be scouted for specialized spec ops assignments.  Damn near suicide missions at times, but equivalent to the tests for N2-6.  N6 to N7 is gained the same way.  Basic gear, low oxygen, stranded on an asteroid.  Survive.”  Hannah explained.  

“Regis’s ideas gave different objectives to biotics in existing challenges, allowing them a better chance at not bottoming out too early and too soon.  He also advocated for a pure mission-based plan interspersed with other tasks.  Putting the recruit under short, but intense bursts of training, while also preparing the recruit to teach classes and squads of their own.  He also wanted full biotic spec ops teams.  Overall, less intense than N training, but in no way easier.  Difficult in a different way.”

Kaidan nodded, taking all the information in.  “And you want me to do what, exactly?” He asked.  “Am I going to be one of the first recruits?”

“Yes, but we also want you to finish what he started.  That in of itself will get you rising the ranks quickly.  I’ve seen your scores.  Regis won on the combat side.  You win on the biotic side.  Despite Regis’s aptitude with technology, I’d argue the two of you were damn near equal.  The numbers can go either way.”

“Don’t do yourself a disservice, Alenko.  You know damn well you spike higher than me, and you have better control.”

“Fair enough, but your programs have always stressed the limits of the Logic Arrest.  It’ll have to be a best two out of three to really figure out who’d win between us.  Results may vary.”

“It’s a date.”

Again, damn you Regis.

Too many fucking reminders.  They never did get that chance to test their mettle against each other in the combat sims…

Kaidan crossed his arms against his chest, furrowing his eyebrows.  “I see.  And Williams?”

“Normal N training, but I imagine she’ll speed through it,” she replied.  “What do you say, Kaidan?  Up for the challenge?”

“Yes.  But I’m not doing it just for him.  I’m not going to be another Shepard, and I’ll never be a Butcher in the same way he was.  If they want me, they’re getting Kaidan Alenko,” Kaidan said.

She smirked the same damn way Regis always would.  “I was hoping you would say that.  Good.  But never say never.  There will always be a mission that will define the type of soldier the Alliance will see you as.  I hope it’s not another Torfan.”  Her expression grew grim.  “The Alliance is going to do its best to mold you into a pseudo-Shepard and it’s sickening, but he did impossible things.  Of course they want another.” She shook her head.  “Stay true to yourself.  That’s all I ask.”

“I will.” It was an impossible promise, knowing what the future held, what Regis’s visions predicted.

He always admired Regis’s ability to take upon the hard choices without a second thought.  He could be ruthless, yes, but that never meant he didn’t care.

He had a goal in mind, and there were times he was going to do anything and everything to make it happen.

Hannah stood up and held out her hand.  Kaidan joined her and took it.  They shook hands before both falling into parade rest.  “I hope everything will work out, but we all know damn well that will never happen.  Good luck, Kaidan.  I wish you the best in your training.  Hackett will approach you later with more details.”

He knew a dismissal when he saw one.  “Thank you.  I’m glad we had this talk.  It… helped.”

And shed a lot of light on his newfound position.

Maybe he will be able to keep that other request Regis gave him.

“...Show the Alliance what you can do, and remember, make sure they know the Reapers are coming.”

“It did.  My door is always open to you, Kaidan.  Have a good rest of your evening.”

“Same to you.” He saluted, and she mirrored his action.

He walked out of her office and headed straight for the nearest rapid transit station.  

Back to his empty accommodations.  

Back to a bed without Regis.

Kaidan shook his head and adjusted his dress uniform as he stepped off the transit.  

A thought occurred to him.

It’s been some time since he messaged him.  Not since he informed him about Regis’s death and some honest truths about the matter.

Maybe it’s time he takes a moment for himself before he gets back in the game.

He activated his omnitool as he entered the apartment, closing the door with his foot, sending a quick message.  A moment later, a call request came up.  Despite everything, Kaidan smiled.

“I have a couple of days free.  Is it too selfish to ask for a moment of your time?  I’m on Arcturus, so it won’t be difficult to secure some transport.”

“Not during these days.  I was hoping you would ask. No point in being alone when you have someone who understands.”

“Where are you?”

“Not far from Vancouver, believe it or not.  Visiting an old friend.  Join me.  I have an apartment, a warm bed, and some expensive whiskey that Regis would’ve fucking hated.”

“Sounds like a date.”

“You’re goddamn right.  See you soon?”

“See you soon, Zaeed.”

Regis was the glue that brought them together back on Omega a few years ago.  

Kaidan wondered if they could forge something on their own, just for a moment.

Alliance soldier and a decorated merc.  

It could never work full time.

But for a few nights?

Kaidan yearned for it and yearned for more.