#and set the tone for this sort of 'factionization' of fandom

[paragonrobits]

also a thing that i've had in my mind lately is the concept of an alliance of villains, or multiple groups of such alliances, being responsible for the cataclysm or other apocalypse that ended the original setting and made everything a blank slate by necessitating a whole new one (or breaking the multiverse so hard the whole thing has become a chaotic stew)

this is by far the single biggest aspect inherited from me spending a lot of time in Kingdom Hearts-inspired projects, though it might not be obvious. I remember an era when KH inspired a sort of fandom-specific plot: "x character becomes the bearer of the Keyblade after their world is destroyed and they discover this group of villains, commanding the mindless monster horde that will destroy all reality left unchecked, and vow to defeat them"

this is the basic idea for a specific sub-set of scenario set up. But a key difference here is that this could also have resulted in like 5 different flavors of apocalypse happening all at once, with all these different villain alliances ALSO fighting each other as they struggled to make their dominance power play, only to be mostly wiped out by the very cataclysm they set up (or some of the more brutal angelic powers went "you know what, those assholes in the mortal plane are just running around shooting each other screaming HERETIC, hit the reset button I'm sick of their shit")

so the main purpose of this villain alliance is to give the protagonists a built-in number of enemies to fight without having to worry too much about where they're actually coming from; they can act as opponents who have laid claim to territory, commanding monsters who act in a semi-organized manner, giving a cool premise for action set pieces, all manner of fun plots, and leading into nation building as the heroes take the territory, realizing that they're not responsible for it and forcing their development into leaders of this new world

the current thinking, though, is that its not just one group of villains. It's a LOT of them. The idea is meant to be flexible; just about any villain archetype can be represented here, modified to suit the 'final fantasy 6 and 7-ish fantastical sci-fi elements' tone of the setting. Your Dark Lord Saurons, your evil mage supremacists, your iron-clad tyrant of ever flavor, your booming megalomaniacs ruling over their lands with a surprisingly beloved populace who ignores their lore ramblign about how THOSE FOOLS WHO DOUBTED THE MIGHTY HUMONGULOUS WILL KNOW MY GRANDEUR

and these villains are also shattered; the leadership is them is, for the most part, destroyed as a result of that cataclysmic inciting incident. As a result, each villain alliance, and each faction they composed of, is stuck in a massive power struggle as each person with any kind of power sees an opportunity and vies for dominance, so each one is in fact splitting into a massive civil war, and the surviving ones developing into more distinct groups over time.

the specific nature of these villains varies; given the inspiration, its likely they mostly trend towards classic villain archetypes who were working together with every intention of backstabbing their allies and taking the win for themselves; your cackling mad scientists and witches, your vampire overlords dreaming of conquering the multiverse with an army of the walking dead... you think of a classic villain archetype, they're in there somewhere.

another possible wrinkle is these villain groups becoming HEROES in their own right over time; having to actually manage their minions, ensure they are cared for, pacify the populace they have managed to conquer or persuade to fly their banner, make certain crops grow and people have food... over time these specific ones might abandon their villainous ways in favor of actual responsibility and cease to be villains at all. (They can still be antagonists and warmongers; a king who cares for his people is still someone who might indifferently declare war on a nearby area to steal their resources or take captives for horrible purposes.)

It's also suitable to make the villains map to specific interpretations of the Lawful, Neutral and Evil alignments and play them as antagonistically as possible; Lawful Neutral tyrants wanting to stamp out all non-compliance and create a universal order is probably a stock archetype here, while Chaotic Evil warlords rampaging across the multiverse for no apparent reason makes a VERY useful stock villain if you just want someone to fight without worrying too much about the particulars. (Good, obviously, would not be a factor here. You can still have Good antagonists, obviously, in cases where you're vying for the same crucial resources and the uses for them are mutually exclusive, but in that cases its more people regretting it must come to this rather than getting up in arms over a cackling supervillain foe who happens to be a decent administrator.)

[misshoneywheeler]

I have to say, there are many great, good, neutral, and bad things about how fandom currently operates, specifically on a platform like tumblr, but one of my very least favorites is how much of fandom is driven by arguments about things that haven’t actually happened yet, based on incomplete, out-of-context information from varyingly reliable sources. It’s bad enough when ship and stan wars happen on the battlefield of Actual Things That Happened In Canon, but I feel like so many things now get consumed by fifteen paragraph long dissections that take What Might Be and react as if it’s already happened. And I get it! I certainly have my own reactions to things, and they’re so hard to avoid or ignore given how inextricably fandom links creators, actors, media, non-fandom viewers (aka civilians) and fandom viewers. But fuck, it can be so disheartening to look around and see people pushing farther and farther to the extreme ends, with little nuance or compassion or ability to see BOTH perspectives of two characters who may be at odds with each other (as opposed to Team Edward vs Team Jacob style polarization), particularly when they’re based on, say, unclear spoilers or throwaway comments from actors or some director’s twitter comments. Social media makes fandom so IMMEDIATE, in ways that can be amazing, but also in ways that exacerbate its worst tendencies, in both good and bad faith (because lbr, we all know there are plenty of people who LOVE this shit and will seize upon any plausibly righteous reason to scream at others under the guise of discourse or analysis - some people are just in the wank fandom, canon subject to change).

I don’t know that there’s an “answer” to this, or anything to do or change, but it can really leech the joy out of transformative fandom, at least to me, to go through one of these explosions that end up with so many people angry and miserable, fighting, arguing, moralizing over people with different perspectives, generally acting like fandom is a court case rather than a playground, and then realize it’s over something that someone said someone else said that may or may not happen.

[quinn-styx]

Okay, okay, so, idea- it is angsty so feel free to pass if you're uncomfortable writing content for...I guess reader death? and I'll try to think of something more neutral. I won't hassle you for a specific character since I'm not sure which creators you watch for 3L/LL, but I'm a sucker for characters avenging a pacifistic reader's death (someone who just tried to help others, no matter how many lives they were on), like completely seeing red or holding them as they die/disappear (not really sure how the fandom perceives death in Minecraft haha.) I'm not ashamed to say I've watched every perspective for 3L and LL so go wild and choose whoever you feel like writing for! Reader can have any gender identity or romantic orientation, it's not important to me <3

Sorry this took so long! There will be a part two because I got a bit carried away and want it to be more drawn out <3 anyway! Here's part one :)

Warnings: Reader death, violent thoughts/blood lust, this is mostly just angst honestly, out of character 3rd life characters (I'm working on that)

Summary: You just got kicked out of the renchanting crew on suspicion of being a spy, so you go to the desert people for refuge.

Your alliance didn’t form immediately. It took time to plant itself and slowly bloom into a precious saguaro flower, rather than the black dahlias and orange toned lilies that used to surround you in the mountains of renchanting. You tried not to think about it too much, but it was hard when there was so much quiet in the sandy biome surrounding you in the late night as you walked to the house atop monopoly mountain. The argument played on repeat in your head, the accusations echoing a bit louder than the rest.

The other people of dogwarts called you irrational, a liar, a cheat, but most of all they accused you of being a spy. You had done nothing but help them in their times of need, brewing the best potions and even helping people outside of the faction when their red lives would befall them, even when you swore yourself to pacifism after finding yourself on your yellow life. Or at least as close as you could get to it in a death game. People you once knew had died in your arms, people who had no relation to the factions, people shot down with the enchanted bows made in the very settlement you found yourself in.

You had been cast away for defending the sand people. While it was simple enough, the impact hit a lot harder than you ever could have expected. You were all friends before this. And you especially were friends with Scar. You met on hermitcraft, and you grew close rather quickly. He was kind, he always had a positive spin on the issues that arose, but most of all, he made you laugh. And, with no fail, when you laughed he would smile that same accomplished smirk that always seems to show itself whenever he does something he set his heart on. Now being so far from each other felt almost painful, and him being dubbed an enemy to your faction of dogwarts certainly didn’t help. 

You rotated the thoughts in your mind, you knew that they wouldn’t like it, but this felt so extreme. Being kicked out so suddenly was bad, the fact they made you leave right at sundown was considerably worse. You trudged forward regardless, slowly going up the stairs and finally reaching the door. You were met with music, a disc of some sort must be on, meaning they were hopefully still awake. 

With a heavy breath you knocked three times on the door. The disc stopped and you heard muttering inside, though it was nothing you could make out directly. After what felt like forever, the door opened. You looked up, trying to find the right words only to be met with your eyes starting to gloss over slightly.

“Y/N? What happened?” Grian asked as you were ushered through the door, he quietly muttered for you to come in as led to a small sitting area. You were pretty sure this was your first time to not just admire the house from afar.

“They kicked me out,” You stated, while you had thought about everything that happened, what you would say when you got here barely crossed your mind. “Where’s Scar?” was the next thing you had said.

“He went out on a walk, I was prepping some early breakfast.” He looked at the boots you had on, they seemed more worn than the last time he’d seen you. “How long were you walking? It’s nearly morning,” Concern laced his voice. Before you could respond the door opened again revealing Scar as he held up a small bouquet of flowers. 

“Grian! I got more flowers for the rooms,” He walked to the kitchen area before coming back out and looking around, “Y/N!” He walks over almost immediately and you get up and open your arms, in which he holds you in one of those bone crushing hugs he always does. He pulls away before lightly cupping one side of your face and noticing the small cuts from accidentally running into a few more branches than you’d like to admit on the walk over. “What brought you here?”

A sad smile graces your face as you tell him how you just wanted things to calm down, and how much it backfired a hit you right back just a few hours early. He smiles and pulls his hand away, the cold of the desert attacking just as it had before. “Well you’ll always be welcome here, do you have a bed? We can get you set up in the room,” He held your hand as he led you away and Grian followed, this would only be the beginning of the better half of these god forsaken death games.

It took only a few weeks for Dogwarts to go completely off the rails. Threats made left and right as the Red army’s possible intentions settled themself deep in your uneasy heart. You loved living on monopoly mountain, but as you had a mob death dropping you to a red life you felt afraid. And over time this fear led to a deep paranoia. You barely left the desert, sheltering yourself in what made you feel safest. You relied much more on the others, and tried to push away that blood lust that crept in in the middle of the night as you lay in bed tossing and turning. Nobody told you it would be this hard. You knew just how much you had to lose now.

Your hands shook lightly as you layed in bed, it was always so cold now. You heard a knock come to the front door, Grian and Scar had already left to go do something, leaving you with the job of looking after the desert for the time being. You get up, wobbling slightly as you steady yourself before another knock comes to the door. “I’ll be there in a sec!” You shout, trying to not hurry yourself too much as not to put pressure on the scars that still burn from the creeper explosion that landed you here. 

You walked quickly to the door and opened it, finding yourself face to face with Martyn. A mountain of apologies spilled from his mouth as it mixed together with something or other about orders and requirements. You saw a shining sword in his scabbard that was brandished in enchantments, the thoughts you pushed to the back of your mind ran forward, etching themselves into the very crevices of your brain. Everything began blurring together as you saw him reach for the sword. You grabbed the closest thing to the door, an iron hoe that was left sitting in the entryway and blocked as the sword swung down atop you.

“We could have stayed friends, Y/N,” Martyn said as you swung the tool forward, he threw himself back as he saw the deep red in your eyes. “We could have,” You retorted, progressing forward as he continued to try and swing his sword. “But that's not how it worked out, is it?” 

Before you could even think, he hit the iron tool out of your hand and you fell into an embrace, the sword pierced your stomach as you heard a melancholy “Sorry, Y/N.” fall from his lips. He pulled away as you fell to the ground, he left without another word. Your thoughts were racing, unsure of which would be the last. A message was sent out on the communicators in the server chat. 

<InTheLittleWood> Desert boys you might wanna go check on Y/N

[spnasylum]

My notes while listening to Misha’s comments on the podcast: (grab a snack!)

In light of the most recent fandom drama I decided to listen to *that* podcast and take notes as I went along about what was actually said and then give my take on it as objectively as possible. This is basically an essay so strap in!

He complains about not getting a trailer on set that’s the same as Jared and Jensen’s. Even though he has one that can accommodate 3 people. This was the first point of discussion inspired by opening up the interview with a brief chat about Misha currently being in his camper van and how he’s sleeping in it even though he’s still home in Bellingham. The whole hour and 26 minutes has an undertone of complaining and ego stroking by all involved. 

 Says he’s sad he didn’t get to be there for the final days of filming.  

 Seems a little nervous about if friendships made during the shows run will last now it’s over. 

 Admits he has no plan in place or anything coming up career wise and he’s unsure of his future. This is where he brings up Walker and The Boys and says if he had shows like that to go to he wouldn’t feel SPN ending was so monumental. It is said with a slight tone of bitterness. 

 Side note: the hosts Alaina and Malik seem to be fine with running with the narrative that Misha was part of the show it’s entire 15 year run. Misha clears this up eventually by saying he joined in season 4. 

 Misha says that he realized about six years ago that SPN could run as “we”  wanted it to, implying he has any say in keeping the show going or not. He asserts that he would have been on the show up until the very end in any case. But he didn’t feel that way the first few years he was on the show. So that makes me think something or someone involved gave him the feeling he could be confident in being in the cast for however long SPN aired. Maybe this was after Sera left? Maybe this was when he agreed to a significant pay cut and demotion? Either way it seems he felt SPN = job security. 

 Misha doubts he’ll have the feeling of job security again. 

 Says from around age 11 he wanted to be a politician. 

 Says he saw “successful, untalented” actors and decided “I can do that”. He realized that was naive and it’s actually not easy to be that successful and by the time he got his career going he was basically just in it for the fame it’s not anything he took seriously. 

 We find out his wife did a doctorate in gender history... for some reason. 

 That Marilyn Monroe was some sort of baseline for him about creating a public persona (🤷🏽‍♀️) except for getting cosmetic surgery he points out. 

 Talk about how he got started. Acting classes, improve groups. Moving between Chicago, DC and LA. 

 Discussion about the differences and similarities between Hollywood and Washington. 

 States he got a consultant to help him cultivate a fan base and image to connect with an audience after getting on SPN. Admits that was a double edged sword because an anonymous public start thinking that they really know you and things start getting weird. 

 Mentions trying to find a balancing act of being authentic and having a private life but still keeping your fans. 

 He admits that the fan base he grew for himself by seeming accessible has caused him to attract people who don’t have any boundaries. This is when he claims the “dialing it back” in regard to how much he shares and mentions his kids specifically as something he doesn’t feel comfortable with putting out there. Uses the word “unhinged” to describe them. 

 Malik mentions “crazy fans” who seem to know too much about you and finding out where you are etc. Using the example of fans turning up at an airport wanting autographs and you wondering how they even knew you’d be there and what flight you taking. He asks Misha to share experiences about his own crazy fans. 

 This is when Misha uses the example about having fans who think that when he tweets something out he’s communicating with them personally. 

 Alaina then says that in the Supernatural fandom people fight each other to protect Jared, Jensen and Misha and it’s “very bizarre”. She volunteered that people think Misha secretly hates Jared and that it’s not true. Not sure why she decided to direct the conversation to a place that would cause drama and give Misha a chance to play victim. 

 And then...

 That’s when he claims that he was public enemy number one with super fans of the show because he’s taking attention away from Jared and Jensen. 

 That’s when he brings up the alleged organized attack to take down his Facebook account. He says they reported him for... *pauses... claims to not know what. But that whatever it was “Facebook bought it and took it down”. Facebook deleted/deactivated his account but he eventually got it back. 

 Side note: Facebook (like all social media) have always been bias when it comes to people with leftist views and let them have free reign on the platform. So he must have done something that they would decide to suspend him. I don’t think J2 fans can be blamed for the content he posts and if it violated any ToS. As we know he can post some inappropriate things on social media. 

 He then brings up the allegations of him taking money out of his organization. Stating it’s “categorically untrue” is all he brings forward as evidence to the contrary. 

 Side note: I don’t know why then that there’s no receipts or transparency. Why is his mother a beneficiary, why do people who mention he owns Stands get blocked, why set everything up in Delaware and have your for profit and so called non profit interests so entangled etc etc) I guess fans are just supposed to have faith and take his word for it. 

 He says that ALL of them (Jared, Jensen and himself) have people who hate them in the fandom. But overall the fandom is lovely and supportive of the cast and each other. Makes an attempt at stating there’s no kind of competition or animosity between he and Jared. I think this is like the 3rd or 4th time in the interview either he or Alaina bring up Jared but keep the focus on how Misha is the one facing “character assassination.”

 Finally says that all of them have nasty things done to them and they all have had to consult security because of threats to their families etc, doesn’t specify which faction of the fandom that’s coming from. Mentions people filing police reports in the fandom but doesn’t say regarding who or what. Alaina reacts like it’s the first time hearing of this happening. Misha just goes “yeah!” Then they move on to talking about living situations. 

 Apparently Alaina and Misha were neighbors in LA but didn’t take advantage of that. She doesn’t live in LA anyone, wants a new adventure. 

 Misha mentions Bellingham is another thing about his future he’s unsure about and how his kids flourished there. 

 Brings up not being present with his kids even when he’s home because of work and side projects and that the one thing he’s enjoying right now it spending time with them. That he used to operate from a place of guilt because his kids felt like they only have one parent. He and Malik briefly spoke on how their careers have negatively affected their love lives. 

 Misha says he’s not really involved with Random Acts or running it anymore. (Ummm... what) 

 He and Alaina discuss Haiti and Nicaragua for a while. 

 Says he may try to get into directing. Says he likes having creative control. Mentions he likes doing his art installations. 

 Admits that getting a bit of success made him very entitled and wanting of special treatment. But claims he’s trying to keep that in check (where?) and he’s just like everyone else (well duh!). But he “trades on his celebrity” to get stuff and it makes him feel dirty (I think everyone with any kind of following does that though so nbd)

 Talk of how TV/film is more diverse in telling minority stories these days. 

 Was asked by Malik if he has any kind of chip on his shoulder career wise and Misha says the chip on his shoulder is being bored. But says he needs to work on being more engaged. 

 He then abruptly wants to end the interview. Saying he has to pick up his kids. Malik wants another question. He asks how Misha has been hurt or healed by his career. 

 Misha then brings up the movie Karla. Again admitting to becoming more like Paul psychologically irl. But says knowing he has that type of evil in him somewhere (and says that we all have that in us) made him more empathetic to the human condition. 

 They then say their goodbyes. End of interview. 

 ——

 My takeaway. The worst thing he can think to say the people who don’t like him in the fandom did was trolling to get his Facebook deactivated? Also that people can see the suspicious nature of his businesses? It would be really easy to settle that with actually being transparent about the finances, which they aren’t and not having close family as benefactors though. Also, I can only speak for myself. But I never hated him. I actually loved Castiel (before his character was there just to be there in recent seasons and Cass wasn’t Cass anymore. I think Misha’s need to pander to shippers/stay on the show was a great disservice to Castiel and his arc) I was a huge Misha fan, and participated in RA and Gish a lot. I absolutely adored Misha, I led myself to believe he was the most amazing person in the world, obviously that’s the reaction he wanted to cultivate from us. Unfortunately I learned too much, experienced first hand and heard too much to be able to keep cheerleading for him. I feel bad for the people still under the spell of feeling like it’s their job to keep being defensive and unreasonably loyal to someone who you can’t and don’t really know and only have a superficial “relationship” with. Seeing the ever more unhealthy and toxic lengths people feel they need to go to to prop up his ego etc. The constant investment emotionally and financially that goes into it and the “sunk cost” if you let reality in makes it hard to let go I guess. Even he knows that what he’s done to gain and maintain relevance has attracted what he called multiple times an unhinged fan base he has to try and balance without losing his influence. I think he maybe had or has good intentions but his fame hungry drive and narcissistic personality traits win out in the end. The Heller’s seem to have, as always, taken what was said and blown it out of proportion, twisted things and created their own narrative. I do see them using key words from the interview a lot suddenly though to bully for him. So, I guess the dog whistle to the sycophants worked out. I hope that a time comes where they can have a more healthy relationship with the media and public figures they choose to gravitate towards. We can all get over zealous with things but there’s lines that shouldn’t be crossed. For some that seems sadly unlikely. I hope that Misha does indeed one day get himself in check as he calls it and I can feel comfortable to support him again. But so long as he’s being enabled and not held accountable again that seems sadly unlikely. Even though I do occasionally find myself being drawn in by the facade again a little and quickly retreating because the issues remain the same. There is a problematic dynamic in the Supernatural fandom for sure. That’s why for a long time I opted out and just watched the show separately from fandom. It’s why when I found out it was ending I had this odd sense of relief I wasn’t expecting to feel and it made me sad. I hope that now the show has aired its finale we can all reflect on things, hopefully be more self aware and objective and most importantly honest about what really has gone down and why. When things started turning sour there have been plenty of times it could have been nipped in the bud yet wasn’t. People who used this silly yet special show in selfish ways, times when walking away would have been better than sticking around trying to make things and people into something never intended to be, giving into tribalism while claiming we’re a family... for that I think we all hold a little piece of responsibility. 

  You can listen to it yourself on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/0m07her5JUf0JGGtDVohtJ?si=c-RdyZzFQmSzffgNzZhkQg

[the-odd-job]

Close Your Eyes to This Disaster Chapter 2: Where Has It Gone?

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use, Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers G1 Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Prowl, Jazz, Bluestreak Additional Tags: Dubcon, Sticky, Abusive Relationships, Mind Games, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 1549

( Previous )

Earth. For the time being, it looked like they’d be calling it home—along so with a host of Decepticons. With the Prime’s skills at diplomacy, the humans hadn’t quite welcomed the Autobots, but had at least agreed to leave them alone when they promised they intended no harm. And, once the Decepticons began to attack human establishments in search for energy and resources, the Autobots’ opposition of their enemy faction had warmed the humans to them further.

These were the kinds of details Sunstreaker didn’t care too much about, though. He held no love for the squishy organics that populated the planet, and the whole place was so full of… Dirt.

And now they were stuck here for the foreseeable future. His only consolation was the fact there were still Decepticons to fight to combat some of the boredom that might have otherwise come, and he had to admit that there was a strange kind of beauty to the alien world. Not to mention it had a star it orbited. They had stopped at other planets on the way to the accident that landed them here; daylight wasn’t something he hadn’t seen before, but it would be a long time before he got used to it after the eternal night Cybertron had been clad in for the entirety of his lifetime.

Sunrises and sunsets in particular were something to marvel at, and even now Sunstreaker sat on the edge of one of the Ark’s engines, the spaceship’s rear so protruding from the mountain it had been buried under for the longest time. It offered an excellent vantage point over the desert and the setting sun in the horizon. His drawing tablet was held steadily in his servos as he painted the sight with sure strokes of his stylus. It was a pleasure to even have a drawing tablet again, after he hadn’t possessed one since the beginning of the war. Excuse him for making the most of it now that he could.

Sideswipe’s voice rose from below him where his brother was chatting with Bluestreak and Jazz at Ark’s entrance. Sunstreaker let the conversation wash through him, Sideswipe’s laughter the only thing that he allowed to ring loud and clear in him. There was something about a bet relating to Prowl that Smokescreen had been organizing, Sideswipe’s intrigue over it clear. Jazz was always going to win any and all bets related to Prowl, but that never stopped others from trying to get even partial winnings. Wasn’t some fun at the expense of the black and white doorwinger just fun?

It was indeed, up until a fourth voice joined in. “I heard that.”

Sunstreaker grinned at Prowl’s flat and entirely unamused tone when the SIC joined them, his wings twitching stiffly in clear indication that he wasn’t all that pleased. Bluestreak squeaked and began to stammer apologies at once. Sideswipe just went on to laugh outright, as unapologetic as Jazz who wrapped an arm across Prowl’s shoulders. “Aw, Prowler. Just a bit of fun in good spirits, yeah? No harm intended, whatsoever.”

Prowl wasn’t having it, but Jazz was a terrible mech to argue with. With grins and playful words he shot down each of Prowl’s complaints until the tactician was dragging a servo down his faceplates, looking beyond frustrated.

Sideswipe was still snickering at the two, but Sunstreaker’s attention was pulled back to his work. The sun was going too low to be an useful reference anymore, but he was almost done anyway. One detail was fixed, other two added as he captured the last of the colors onto the screen, and then… He wasn’t going to make it look any better without spending an eternity on it.

Satisfied, Sunstreaker subspaced his tablet before pushing himself over the edge entirely, taking the too long fall down and landing heavily in the middle of the conversation. He took the pain in his legs gladly just for the others’ reactions. Sideswipe didn’t react in any way, of course; Jazz’s visor flashed and Prowl’s wings jerked and that was already quite a bit of reaction from them, but Bluestreak jumped back in fright. “Oh, Primus, Sunstreaker, can you not do that?” he squeaked. “I swear you’re going to snuff my spark one day with the scares you give by creeping up on mecha, and I don’t know how you even do it but it’s really disconcerting–!“

Satisfactory. “Do you want me to tell Ratchet that you’re apparently once again trying to injure yourself with foolhardy stunts?” Prowl asked from him, continuing on with laying down the effect his too sudden entries had on others–

There was just the slightest tug of a smirk at the corners of Sunstreaker’s mouth and he shrugged, uncaring despite the threats of getting Ratchet involved—which would end in something painful. In response Prowl’s doorwings hiked higher, but before he could gear up to more admonishment, Sideswipe clicked for their attention.

“As much as I’d love to stay and listen to your lovely voice,” his brother winked at the SIC, “I’ve got an early patrol in the morning. Figure I oughta go catch some recharge before that. Wouldn’t want to give the ‘Cons an easy kill ‘cause I was runnin’ low on charge.” In the middle of that Sideswipe set towards the Ark’s interior, Sunstreaker trailing a step after him.

“Have a good night!” Bluestreak wished after them, Jazz repeating the sentiment.

And Prowl, poor, poor Prowl only looked more aggravated. They’d inevitably do something to land themselves in his office again, though, they always did. He could lecture them all he wanted then.

And they would tune it all out and have no answers when Prowl demanded them to tell him what he’d just said. Then they’d be handed a punishment of some sort… Rinse and repeat ad infinitum. They never learned, much to their commanders’ eternal chagrin.

They headed straight to their quarters, Sideswipe practically dancing the way and Sunstreaker walking in a more sedate manner next to his energetic half. They passed a couple of mecha Sideswipe had friendly words for, Sunstreaker’s offer a glare, before they came to their door. Inside Sunstreaker laid down on their berth on his back, Sideswipe crawling on top of him, chest to chest. Their spark halves pushed on the insides of their spark chambers as they settled, drawn to each other with inescapable demand—but they didn’t merge their cores, only their fields. “Gotta find Smokes in the morning,” Sideswipe murmured. “I want in on that bet.”

“Shower and polish, too,” Sunstreaker added, letting his optics close once the lights in the room turned off. Sideswipe giggled.

“Wash before a dusty patrol, that’s such a good idea. It’s a backroads patrol, too.”

“It is.”

“Shower and polish. I need to get up early for that. Only need my ratios after the patrol.” Air pushed from Sideswipe’s vents as he relaxed fully and let silence fall despite his dislike of it, Sunstreaker taking his weight and doing the same. They set the length of their frames’ recharge cycles to give themselves enough time in the morning, before initiating them for their systems to power down.

They didn’t get the chance to run the full course of it, though. It was only three hours later according to their chronometers when there was a knock on their—careful, but loud enough to rouse them. They tensed, confused and still in the middle of bringing their systems online, but as ever, their combat programming reached its peak before anything else. Even if it was danger, they would be prepared.

However, a ping for identification said it was only Bluestreak. Sideswipe triggered the door to open. “Come in.”

Bluestreak’s optics glowed in the dark as he stepped into their room, wringing his servos together. “Thanks. I uh, ha-had a bad memory purge, I’m not really sure why because I haven’t done anything special, but I had one anyway a-and I really wouldn’t want to be alone right now but I can go if I’m bothering you–“

The twins untangled themselves and Sunstreaker scooted to the side until he was against the wall. Sideswipe gestured for Bluestreak to join them, his brother settling down next to Sunstreaker and beckoning Bluestreak to lay down on his other side. “’Course. C’mere and lemme cuddle you. I need a cuddlebuddy.”

Bluestreak cracked a small smile but took the invitation, nearly tripping over his own pedes in his rush to get the comfort of another. “I know you prefer to cuddle Sunny,” he said even as he got on the berth and burrowed into Sideswipe’s side, his doorwings in the open space behind him.

“Yeah, well, variety’s the spice of life,” Sideswipe grinned. “Plus he’s right there, so.” Sunstreaker huffed but let his optics offline again, Sideswipe doing the same. They didn’t continue their recharge cycles right away, though, instead waiting until Bluestreak began to relax and then, eventually, fell into his own recharge entirely, the sounds of his systems evening out. It likely wouldn’t be the last time they got the gunner in their berth like this, but it was big enough to accommodate all three of them, so what did it matter?

Besides, he was a friend, and wasn’t this what friends did?

( Next )

[mirthful-sonnet]

Rise Above the Ashes | Chapter 2

Summary: Jean and Mikasa grow closer while battling with their inner demons. Jean feels alienated in his own country and realizes in a brutal way that the Alliance’s endeavors for peace may be harder than he expected.

Notes:  Thanks once again to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this and putting up with my fandoms cause she must be so confused what this is about lmao 

Warning: One short depiction of graphic violence

Ao3 link

“Stop moving.”

Mikasa froze, a startled look on her face as she tried to stay still.

Jean chuckled, turning back to his sketchbook. The afternoon was pleasant, with the bright sun profiled against a blue, cloudless sky. The only sounds were those of the light breeze and the strokes of graphite against paper.

The drawing was taking shape, the outlines of Mikasa’s likeness staring back at him from the page. He turned his eyes back onto Mikasa, and he thought that no matter how hard he tried he could never do justice to her actual beauty. She broke from her pose again and stared back at him. 

“Mikasa,” he said, both in amusement and disapproval.

Mikasa ducked her head and muttered an apology, trying to go back to her former pose once again, with her body slightly turned away from him while staring to the side. They had found a secluded spot while everyone else was back at the farm. Jean had been trying to spend more time with her since their encounter at Eren’s grave.   

He learned that she had a house near the farm while occasionally working as an informant for Historia and found himself as a constant guest along with Armin. The three of them had established a sort of routine in which whenever they had time they would meet up at her house and have dinner together. Jean would be lying if he said that being a part of this routine didn’t make him feel good.

Their current position in the grassy corner resulted from Mikasa catching him flicking through his old sketchbook. He did not plan on taking anything from his home in Trost when he reunited with his mother. But this sketchbook was a vestige from a time where there was much less violence and heartache in his life, and he took it with him.

There were portraits from most of the people he had met as a Scout. There was even a portrait of Eren, which Mikasa had stopped to stare at with an unfathomable look on her face before Jean broke the tension with a joke about what a lousy model Eren had been. It led to Mikasa asking him why he never drew a portrait of her, to which Jean could not offer any other explanation than that he had simply never worked up the courage to ask her.       

Now they were in this quiet spot, enjoying the peaceful afternoon together. He added the finishing touches before sitting more comfortably on the spread blanket and admiring his work.

“It’s done,” Jean said, and Mikasa turned to him. He gave her the finished drawing, awaiting her reaction. She appeared taken aback when seeing her portrait, staring at it for a long while before turning to him.

“It’s amazing, Jean,” she said, and Jean felt a little embarrassed at the frankness in her face, not knowing how to react. “I would only say that she’s too beautiful to be me.”

There was a jesting tone in her voice, but Jean immediately replied. “Then that means I did an accurate job.” 

Mikasa widened her eyes slightly before looking down, and  Jean mentally berated himself.

He had been careful not to make things strange between them, especially now that his feelings were messier than ever. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. 

Jean had successfully locked away that part of himself when he realized the place Eren had in her heart. He resolved to be her friend and it had worked. Aside from that, he had certainly not wasted any time in seeking other companions. First during his years as a young Scout who was too curious and hormonal for his own good, and more recently as a glorified refugee in Marley with an uncertain status and plenty of need for pleasured distractions.   

He was ashamed when thinking about his time in Marley, as he remembered the phase he had fallen into which he was too numb from the war and had excessively sought out those distractions. Moments of bliss were fleeting, and they would only lead to him relapsing into the same pattern and making him feel worse than before. The entrustment of the peace negotiations between Paradis and Marley into the Alliance’s hands had brought hope and a change that he desperately needed.

Still, why was he feeling so confused around Mikasa now? What he felt now was an echo of his former crush, similar yet so different. Whereas before it had felt like a small ache that he kept hidden, now it felt like a flame slowly spreading and threatening to overwhelm him.  

“Earth to Officer Kirchstein,” Mikasa’s voice interrupted him, her hand waving in front of him.

“Oh, sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” he told her, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m no longer a commanding officer, you know.”

Mikasa only smiled, laying back down on the spread blanket, her red scarf acting as her pillow. Jean was glad to see her smiling and acting with ease around him, since despite her calm demeanor he knew that she was still grieving no matter how much she tried to hide it. Sometimes he would catch her staring off into nowhere or holding her scarf a little tighter than usual. While he remained in this place, he was determined to be there for her as much as he could. 

“Do you know how much longer you will stay here?” she asked suddenly.

Jean paused before replying, taken aback by her question. “Our stay has been extended indefinitely; it depends on how things go at our sessions. Though in any case, I imagine we’ll have to leave soon.”

Her face fell, “I see,” she murmured. “What do you plan to do after this?”

“I…” he trailed off, “I don’t know. Wherever the Alliance goes, I will end up going too. But my mom lives here, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Then again, we are not exactly welcomed here. I’ll just see what happens, I guess.”

“What about marriage and children?” She asked, quickly regretting her forwardness. She was about to apologize but he spoke first.

“Oh, that. Well, I’m not too sure about that either. I always dreamed of having my own family, but things are still too strange and uncertain,” he paused, looking away. “I don’t think I can truly settle down anywhere because I don’t belong anywhere.”

Mikasa stared at him, that dazed look that he seemed to constantly wear coming back, as if he were lost in a place where she could not reach. She grabbed his sleeve impulsively. These days she found herself doing that a lot when Jean would appear too lost in his own head.

“It…It’s probably not much, but I want you to know that if you’re in a pinch or need anything, you’re always welcome at my house,” Mikasa told him, not sure where these words were coming from, but knowing they were true. It was the least she could do.

Jean was visibly shocked, his face flushed. “Thank you, Mikasa.” he whispered, avoiding her gaze. After a moment, he turned to her suddenly.     

“What about you? Do you have any plans?”

“I don’t think so, I like living here.” She explained, “Kiyomi and her delegation insist that I go to Hizuru but I’m not sure I’ll do that any time soon. I did want a family but…”

He understood. That was impossible now that Eren was gone. The meaning of her words hung over them, and Jean felt a weird kind of sadness overtake him. He knew Mikasa would have been an amazing mother. Despite whatever pain and jealousy remained in his heart, he realized that he would have liked to see his two friends together with their own family. A welcome respite after years of misery and destruction. But Eren had to run ahead of them and set himself ablaze.

“Well, you can consider us your family now,” Jean said, referring to their friends, and wanting to ease her mind.

Mikasa beamed at him, “I guess you are,” she replied, coaxing Jean to lay down beside her on the blanket and he complied. From the new angle, she could make out a scattering of tiny moles on his neck that was not covered by his shirt. She hadn’t noticed them before and found herself strangely transfixed before she heard him speak.

“I’ll tell you what, no matter what happens, we’ll always be there for each other.” he offered, turning his head to her. Mikasa paused, rendered a little speechless at the openness in his hazel gaze. In that moment, she had no choice but to agree with anything he said.

 ~0~

Jean pressed the timer and waited for Armin’s next move. The blond was scrutinizing the chessboard before moving a knight.     

“So this is it, the final countdown until we decide if we can stay or if we should be running for our lives,” Connie commented from his seat near the fireplace in the living room. The residence was bigger than they had remembered.

“The queen has ensured our protection,” Armin said, his gaze still fixed onto the board, waiting for Jean’s move.  

“With the same people who want us dead.” Connie spat.

All sectors of the government had finally agreed to a voting session in which they would vote on the proposals from the Alliance and other nations. Soon, they were to show up at council with other delegates from Marley who had also worked with them.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Reiner replied, his hands busying themselves tying knots with an old rope. It was a habit he had picked up during his treatment at the mental facility and he kept doing it long after he was discharged. He found the distractions helpful when his thoughts would become too much. “There are people who are strictly loyal to Historia, and she knows who they are and how to pick them.”

There was truth to what Reiner was saying. They had misjudged just how divided the island would be when they arrived. Currently, there were all kinds of factions and insurrectionists on the rise, from imperialists who wanted Paradis to establish itself as a global power and expand its territories, to reformers who were advocating an alliance with the other nations.

“Whatever supporters we have seems meaningless as long as the Yeagerist faction is still in power,” Annie added, watching the game between the two friends.    

Armin clicked the timer, unfazed, “We have had to deal with worse things; the liberation of Paradis started with a revolution from the Survey Corps, a group that was a mere minority and ridiculed by most. What we want to achieve isn’t impossible,” he paused, hearing a click from Jean. “This time we have the support of other influential nations and the protection of the queen, who is in turn protected by staunch monarchists.”

Jean listened quietly, a strange unease surging up within him. It seemed surreal that they had finally reached this point in their enterprise for peace between Paradis and Marley. They had worked tirelessly to present their motions to the government and recount their testimonies of the war which were carefully modified to protect Mikasa. The Ackerman had insisted on coming clean and bearing the blame for Eren’s death, but that suggestion was quickly shut down by Armin.     

The rumbling had not only practically wiped out other regions that now had no choice but start all over again, but it had also left a good portion of Paradis destroyed and still vulnerable, a point that the Alliance had used to their advantage in lobbying for a new coalition of trade between the nations.

Their main objective was to establish a peace treaty. It was the most talked-about subject all over the island, and it had brought feelings of hope but also plenty of hostility. While Jean had busied himself as much as he could in his new duties as ambassador, the reality was becoming clearer to him: that he truly belonged nowhere.

In Marley, things weren’t any easier for someone like him. While there were major changes happening in the Marleyan government and the internment zones were being eliminated, many areas were still heavily segregated and Eldians were still looked down upon.

Jean found it easy to interact with his peers in Marley sometimes. He had his share of friends, and there was the usual neighbor who would greet him, the lady who would bring him warm meals, or the lovers who didn’t seem to care he was Eldian.  But other times the animosity was obvious. Now he was experiencing the same feeling of ostracization, but it was worse because this was his home.

“Armin is right. The circumstances are too different now and we have a considerable advantage. For now, we must be patient and wait for the next hearing,” Pieck remarked from her place laying down on the sofa. Naps were becoming more common to her.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Connie said, then gave a tired sigh, “it seems like the violence never ends.”

“That is a reality we have to accept,” Armin replied, clicking the timer once again. “I heard Commander Erwin say that as long as humanity lives, they will always find a way to destroy each other. That is an indisputable fact, no matter how much it irks us to hear it. The cycle will always continue in one way or another.”

“And what do we do meanwhile?” Jean asked, breaking his silence.

Armin stared at him, before moving a pawn, and finally replied. “We keep moving forward.”

~o~

Mikasa stared at her friends bantering back and forth on her dinner table. Tomorrow would be the voting session and she had invited the group to have dinner in her house before the important day.

She felt an odd peace while watching everyone talking and enjoying the food. Back in her days as a soldier, such scenes were rare, and when they weren't, there would always be the knowledge that they may not live for long.

While things were certainly not perfect at the moment, this was a welcome change. It seemed so long ago since she got to have moments like this. It was why she had appreciated having Armin and Jean visit her whenever they could. Their visits took her mind off the troubling thoughts that plagued her at night. They slithered onto her consciousness when she was alone and only she would bear witness. The burden of guilt she still felt over Eren’s death had been like a shadow trailing on her feet, a bitter seed that she couldn’t cut out.

There were days where she felt a semblance of peace, where the prospect of a new dawn seemed like a possibility. She remembered the strange bird she saw on Eren’s death anniversary and the feeling of grief and hope that had overwhelmed her as it flew away. Free and glorious. A promise of new things to come that she didn’t dare believe in. But other days, the shadows of her dreams would morph and speak in a familiar voice.

Traitor.

The wounds were clear cut, its shapes still engraved in every crevice of her heart. The bloodstains of the boy who she had loved unconditionally still ran endlessly through her very being. She wondered if she was being too selfish in daring to have peaceful moments like this.

A movement by her side caught her attention. Armin was currently sitting beside her, his presence serving as an anchor even while he was engaged in lively conversation with Annie.

She was glad he had found someone, even if it took her a while to get used to the idea of them being together.

He had changed so much, from that timid boy who wanted to see the ocean to a determined leader with the same quiet strength. Now he was leading an enterprise that had the world’s eyes on him.

She didn’t know how he could stand it, or how he even looked at her with anything but repulsion. He was carrying an incredible burden for her sake after all, and she could do nothing but watch helplessly from the sidelines, knowing he would never forgive her if she spoke the truth.

Useless.

Her thoughts froze when she noticed that he had turned to her.

His bright blue eyes were narrowed for a moment before he gave her a small smile, as if he knew what she was thinking, and squeezed her hand under the table.

Mikasa could only smile back at him, a quiet understanding between them.       

Currently, Reiner and Connie were engaged on a heated, drunken debate about whether cereal should be considered soup or not, having Pieck laughing uncontrollably while Annie looked like she would rather be somewhere else. For all that was troubling her, she liked seeing everyone happy.

One person was visibly quiet, and Mikasa turned her eyes to Jean. The former commanding officer was smiling and watching his friend’s antics. There was a distance in his gaze, one that she noticed too often when he was with her. She didn’t know what to make of it, but despite the time they constantly spent together she noticed that he had a certain guardedness, a wall he had carefully built up and she could not trespass. 

She had appreciated him being here more than he could understand. In days when her mind was her own worst enemy, his presence had come as a haven of such comfort that she wondered if she even deserved it. Whether he was talking about how his day went, grumbling about having to argue with ‘constipated geezers’ as he had called them, or just remaining by her side quietly, his company had quickly become one of the highlights of her days. She only wished she could know what was going on in that mind of his.  

Jean suddenly stood up from the table and excused himself. She thought he was probably going to the restroom. But after a while, he still did not come back. Mikasa eventually excused herself as well, with Armin reassuring her that they did not mind. 

Her instinct told her to go to the backyard, which consisted of a small lawn with an apple tree and a wooden fence separating it from an extensive meadow. She stepped out into the yard, tightening her scarf in the cool breeze as she looked for Jean.

“So, you found me.” She heard him say, and finally spotted Jean leaning over the yard’s wooden fence, face half-hidden by shadows.

Mikasa quietly walked over to where he was. She noticed he had a cigarette in his hand and fought the urge to slap it away. At one point in their reunions, she had noticed him sneaking away to smoke but didn’t say anything, only earning shrugs from Armin when she turned her questioning eyes to him. 

“Was Reiner and Connie’s debate that uninteresting?” He asked.

Mikasa grimaced, “remind me to never let them drink again.”

Jean snorted, “prepare yourself, because they’ll be at it for a while.” he said, taking a drag.

“I never took you for a smoker,” Mikasa prodded, narrowing her eyes at him. He looked a little embarrassed, looking away as he exhaled, whiffs of smoke swelling and disappearing in the darkness.

“Sorry, it’s a bad habit I picked up in Marley,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck, “I don’t do it a lot, but when I do it sort of helps.”

Mikasa nodded, figuring that he was nervous about the next day and deciding to not press him further about his new habit.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry if I’m bothering you too much, you probably wanted to be alone-”

“You could never bother me, Mikasa,” Jean interrupted her, then taking a deep breath, “I just- I guess I just realized that this is it. What we have been working for all this time has finally had a result. Isn’t that crazy?”

She nodded and beamed at him, “I know you will do great things.”

“I never thought it would come to this, it just hit me that I have no idea what will come next. I still don’t feel like I truly belong anywhere. Plus, I’m thinking that we probably won’t achieve anything tomorrow and this damn war will just keep on going. My mind’s been playing a lot of shitty tricks on me,” he explained, taking another drag before sighing and looking at her. “I’m sorry, you didn’t come here to listen to my problems.”

She immediately shook her head in protest, “I told you that I would be here for you, and I meant it.”

He looked at her fixedly, “what about you? You do know that you can tell me anything, yet I can’t help but sense that you’re not always honest with me. With any of us, really.”

As soon as he finished, he immediately regretted his words, suspecting that the alcohol had probably made him bolder than usual. He almost wanted to laugh at his hypocrisy, since he knew that he had also not been completely honest with Mikasa either.  

“I’m sorry-”

“No, Jean,” Mikasa interrupted, looking elsewhere. “You’re right, I’ve been trying to pretend that things are fine now. And they are in a way, but other days it-it’s too much.”

Jean nodded in understanding, “I get it, you know; I’m not saying I’m entitled to hear everything that you’re thinking, but I also want you to know that you don’t have to hide things from me either. I know that you’re still mourning him, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It happened suddenly, but his words caused her heart to constrict and unexpected tears to gather in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she whispered, her voice wavering.

Jean dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his shoe, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I really miss that idiot; I even dream of him sometimes,” he admitted. “I like to think it’s him talking to me, you know?”

Mikasa hummed in response, turning away so he wouldn’t see her tears. “I dream of him too, not a day goes by where I don’t think of him. I once believed I couldn’t possibly live without him, and yet I still killed him.”    

“That was not your fault Mikasa,” Jean said firmly, his eyes like embers. She needed to understand that.  

“But I keep asking myself what if I had done things differently? What if I had stopped him in another way? What if I tried harder? What if…” she trailed off, gathering her breath, “What if I had been honest about my feelings to him? Would it have changed anything? And I know the answer is no, but I keep asking myself the same questions anyway. I guess my mind plays tricks on me too.”

Jean looked down, “I can’t possibly tell you how to make it stop, but you must remember that you’re not alone. No matter what happens, you have us,” he said, pausing and then looking back at her. “You have me.”               

Mikasa nodded jerkily, this time making no attempt at hiding her tears. “I do, don’t I?”

Jean stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

Before he could regret it, she burrowed her head into his chest, his buttoned shirt quickly becoming damp with her tears.

He did not care, tightening his arms around her in his large frame, wanting to absorb every pain and every troubling thought she ever had.

Mikasa could only press herself even further into him as if she was seeking something but had to keep delving in for it. The night was quiet except for the whimpers that escaped her as they both hastened to get even closer, creating a cocoon of warmth, a little sun between their bodies. Whatever thoughts were troubling her before disappeared, and even if just for a moment, she could lose herself in Jean’s embrace and try to believe that things would get better.

~o~

They had done it. Despite the noises of protest that still echoed throughout the council they had done it.

Jean understood in that moment that they still had a long way to go, but this was an important step in the right direction. For now, a more peaceful world was possible.   

They had achieved a quorum of votes in their favor, with Historia presiding over the hearing. The next moments passed in a blur of formalities and shaking hands with officials from all political factions.

He felt as if he were in a daze, every action, and every word he spoke coming almost as mechanical.

After the conclusion of the session, everyone made their way outside of the room, tension permeating the atmosphere. As expected, there were all sorts of manifestations for and against the peace treaty outside.

Jean could hear all kinds of insults outside as he followed Armin closely to the back of the building, where they were supposed to wait for a carriage to take them back to Historia’s residency.

Traitors. Murderers. Turncoats.    

The past years had hardened him to any slander, and he could only hold his head up and continue walking to the main hallway, where he could see Mikasa waiting for them.

Her head perked up when she noticed them both, immediately walking towards them.

“Were you here this whole time?” Armin exclaimed over the background noise. They had seen her before the start of the session, but Armin did not think she would stay.  

“There was no way that I would miss this moment. You were almost unrecognizable in there,” she said, recalling the scenes she witnessed from her front-row seat in the stands that were free to the public. “I’m proud of you two, of all of you. I had no doubt you would achieve it.”

“We’ll see if they don’t eat us alive first.” Jean retorted, looking grim as the noise of the crowds outside became more prominent.

They went to the back of the building, stepping out onto the cobblestones of an extensive alley. Mikasa had insisted that she could make her way back home walking, but Jean and Armin had none of it. Vehicles and carriages were coming and going in the dim light of the alleyway as the three friends waited for the rest of the group.

Jean could not help but think on how the island was just starting to use vehicles but still relied mostly on carriages. He had gotten used to the strange steel machines with time, which was more than he could say for Connie who had quite the record in car crashes back at Marley. 

“Mikasa! You’re here!” Connie shouted as he emerged into the alley with the rest of the group trailing behind him. He gave her a crushing hug, and Mikasa smiled, heartily returning his embrace.

“Of course, I am,” Mikasa replied.

“This demands another round of drinks at your house. What do you say?” Connie said and Jean rolled his eyes. Leave it to Connie to invite himself to people’s houses. 

“As long as you and someone else behave…” She commented while staring at Reiner, who was behind Connie and could only look sheepish and turn away. 

“Is the carriage here yet? We better get away from these crowds of lunatics.” Annie added, looking shaken while Armin tightened her coat around her.

“There it is,” Pieck pointed to a coming carriage bearing the queen’s emblem. As they walked Jean stayed behind, letting everyone get into the carriage first.

Mikasa was the second last to get in, and Jean moved to help her up before he heard it.

“Death to the Alliance!”

He moved in a flash before they got to her and then he was falling backward, catching a glimpse of her horrified expression, with everything morphing into screams in the distance and the noise of steel tearing through flesh repeatedly.

“Jean!” He heard Mikasa scream.  

Maybe it was sheer will, but he shoved the man who had brought him down, scrambling to get to him despite the blade that was lodged between his ribs. He managed to grab the bastard by the hair and hit his skull against the hard cobblestones.

The rush almost left him dizzy, but he kept slamming the man’s head against the ground until the hard noises of bones breaking were soon replaced by the slick sounds of blood and joints being torn. Not too far he heard the guards and his friends taking care of the man’s lackeys. Extremists, no doubt.

He should have seen this coming. Whatever strength he had left him suddenly, his grab on the man’s head loosening before he was shoved and felt two pairs of hands grabbing his neck to strangle him. It wasn’t long before Jean caught the flash of a red scarf and the man was pulled back abruptly and slammed harshly against the carriage, losing all consciousness. Jean clambered to his feet while coughing, feeling someone stabilizing him from behind.

“Jean, don’t move,” Connie said shakily, holding Jean by the shoulders. One look at Mikasa told Connie that they were both replaying another bloody scene from their past in their heads, where their best friend had been taken away from them with a single bullet.

“You’re hurt,” Mikasa murmured, her face looking pale.

The body of the man who had stabbed Jean lay carelessly beside her, as she had done a quick job in knocking him down.

Jean however appeared to not understand what his friends were saying, his eyes glazed over and his body beginning to wobble from side to side. “My suit got ruined,” he tried to joke but only groaned as he felt himself getting dizzier.

He heard the others come near him, but at that point, their voices were just cryptic noises and the lights from the lampposts stretched into long hazy lines. Someone gasped as the circle of blood on his shirt grew and dripped onto the cobblestones below. The violent encounter had given him such a rush that he barely registered any pain and did not notice that the bleeding was rapidly increasing.

“Jean, stay still! We need a medic!” He heard Armin shout as he ran from the place in search of help.

Jean still appeared lost, trying to shrug off Connie and Mikasa’s hold on him. He turned to Mikasa, who looked terrified as she saw Jean becoming as pale as a sheet of paper.

“What a drag, huh?” He said before his eyes rolled back and his body collapsed.

~0~    

Everything looked black, with flashes of a fluorescent tree coming and going like waves, distant static noises, and a hand reaching out to him. He found himself surrounded by a dense white fog that engulfed him and then slowly dissipated, revealing an empty street. Jean suddenly recognized where he was, the street from his childhood home in Trost becoming apparent in all its simpleness.

The place was empty as Jean slowly made his way down the steps that interpolated with the old street. He kept walking down the steps, the silent streets appearing to be his only company.

Or so he thought.

“Jean.”

He froze and turned towards the voice, meeting a pair of unmistakable green eyes. It felt like all the oxygen left him as the reason for their current plight appeared before him.

“Eren?” He choked, watching as Eren stood in the middle of the street, tall and unmoving. He didn’t know whether he wanted to run and embrace him or beat him to a pulp. “What is this?”

“I wanted to find something meaningful; this is the first thing that appeared.”

Eren’s words were punctuated by a sudden noise, and he saw the flash of a boy running down the street and fading away. There was a youthful cry and Jean saw the same boy on another corner of the street with a woman. He soon realized that the boy was him as a young child and that the woman was his mother, who was kneeling before him and wiping away tears from his chubby cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” Jean muttered, turning to Eren.

Eren lowered his head, never looking at Jean directly. At least he had the decency to look remorseful, Jean thought.

“I…wanted to say goodbye.”

Jean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling all sorts of emotions surge up inside him.

“Why, Eren?” Jean said, his voice quivering.

Eren still wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to say goodbye.”

The word goodbye made his chest tighten, and he did not trust himself to even speak but he did anyway. “You-you left, you left and didn’t tell us anything! You acted on your own without trusting us. And now millions of innocents are dying because of you! Why?!”

Eren still avoided his gaze. “None of that matters anymore. I made my choice, and there is no going back for me now. I needed to see you before it happens.”

“Before what happens?” Jean pressed him, but Eren did not answer, he only stared at him with a look he couldn’t quite decipher.

The scene changed, with the streets morphing into indecipherable shapes before they found themselves in the dining room of the training camp. The place they had all met as young trainees. Before them, a pre-teen Jean was talking for the first time to Mikasa, his nervousness obvious through his red face and his awkward attempt at complimenting her hair.

Jean frowned, looking at Eren. “Why are we here?”

“This is your consciousness, I technically have some control, but these moments…they are all meaningful to you,” Eren explained, eyes fixed onto the scene before them. This was the first time he had met Eren and Mikasa.

Their surroundings changed into another scene in the same dining room, where he and Eren were brawling before Mikasa separated them. Jean felt embarrassed not only at their childish behavior but at the fact that Eren knew that Jean had secretly treasured these moments. He fixed his eyes on the scene.

“She always had to mother you around,” Jean murmured, referring to Mikasa. 

“Mikasa was always protective of me, yet she never defended me from you. She would reproach me when we would get into fights. Even when you started them,” Eren said as Mikasa gave his younger self a disapproving look after separating them.

“It wasn’t always me. If you weren’t such a pain in the ass, it would have been easier,” Jean grumbled, his words contradicted by his behavior on the scene before them, where he had grabbed Eren in a fit of jealousy.

Eren only gave a sad smile as their surroundings kept changing, fading scenes playing one after the other like the strange projections of those films Jean had seen when they arrived in Marley. There were several moments with Marco, the part of his soul that had been violently ripped away from him. They landed in a different scene, where there were massive pyres of fire and a fifteen-year-old Jean was kneeling before the pyre that took the center, his body shaking in sobs. 

“What-“

“You truly loved him, didn’t you? I think he would be proud of you.”

Jean winced, the shadows from the flames dancing all around them. The beautiful friend who had believed in him now turned into ashes. “I don’t think he’d be proud. I never amounted to anything, and now I will probably die trying to stop you.”

Suddenly they were in a different place, with throngs of people walking away hurriedly in their direction. Jean tried to move away but the people passed through him as if he were a mere ghost.

There was a stage set up at the front, where the statuesque figure of Commander Erwin could be seen standing still.

Of course.

This was the night he decided to join the Survey Corps.

They watched as almost everyone walked away to the promises of comfort and safety inside the walls, while only a few stayed. Even when watching as an onlooker, Jean could feel the weight of resolve and terror hanging over everyone that remained behind.

“That is not true. I know you do not want to hear this from me but he always spoke of you at every turn he could. Even the simplest thing would have him singing praises about you. He always said that you would be a leader. I didn’t believe him at the time, but I was proven wrong. Every decision you have made since you joined the Survey Corps has led you to this point… to saving humanity. If anything, you went further than anyone’s expectations.”

Jean felt a lump form in his throat, shaking his head. “I…don’t want to see this anymore.”

As if on cue, the scene changed yet again. The sudden brightness made him shield his eyes as the sun shone brightly and the smell of sea salt invaded his senses. The air was filled with the splashes of water and laughter. In the distance, he could make out the three figures of himself, Connie, and Sasha playing on the shore of a beach. Currently, his friends had succeeded in toppling him over the water, making him yell out curses as they cackled.

“Sasha…”

Jean felt something tighten painfully in his chest as he watched her. This was how he liked to remember his dear friend; happy and carefree, not cold and lifeless.

“I think this was one of the last times any of us was happy,” Eren said.

“Were you?”

Eren looked away, fixing his gaze on another trio by the shore who looked much quieter. Their figures standing still and seemingly staring into nowhere. “I can’t remember if I ever truly was happy.”

Jean scoffed at that. “That sounds like bullshit.”

The titan shifter paused as if in deep thought, then turning to Jean. “You’re right, there were happy moments. You guys…made it a lot easier.”

“And now look where we are. You still haven’t answered me why Eren. Why did you do this? Armin and Mikasa…they try to look strong, but you broke them both.”

“They will move forward just as I expect them to do. I don’t know the exact details of how everything will play out but Armin… Armin will lead humanity to peace with you close by his side. And Mikasa…she’s strong and will move forward with her life. She has always been so much stronger than me, while I didn’t even have the guts to tell her that I love her.” Eren said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Jean’s breath hitched as he heard him. “Then tell her that! You can’t let her go while she thinks you hate her!”

“It’s too late now, what I have done…there’s no way to come back from that. I didn’t always treat her like she deserved, you know. Now all I can do is encourage her to forget me and be happy no matter how much it hurts me.”    

There were more shrieks of laughter, with Connie and Sasha now halfway sunk in the water as they swam around Jean, all three of them splashing each other. Not too far, Commander Hange was picking up seashells and staring at them in wonder while Captain Levi stood further from the shore, staring quietly into the horizon. Eren’s words sank in, and he felt a surge of anger and panic at the finality in what he said.

“You…you say that like it’s so easy. Do you ever think about the pain she’s going through? What you put all of us through? You did all this for what? Trying to play the hero for us? Fuck you!” Jean yelled as he lunged and punched Eren, making him fall backward and sending wafts of sand flying up. “You broke me too, asshole! Now I’ll have to live with that if I make it out alive!”

The background was changing yet again, blue skies turning into an azure shade and then into ink-black, with a few scatterings of stars.  The beach was now dark and empty, and the air was dead silent.

Jean was breathing heavily, feeling hot tears running down his cheeks but not really caring. Eren was staring up at him, anguish clear in his bloody features. He scrambled to his feet, and Jean moved to help him up. He meant to let him go as soon as he was able to stand, but he only pulled Eren into his arms abruptly, hugging him tightly and letting his tears flow freely.

He didn’t know whether it was something in the atmosphere or the look in Eren’s eyes, but he could feel him fading away. The background changed in a flurry of colors and waves while they held each other firmly and finally landed in a different place.

Jean pulled back and soon realized they were in the barracks from their trainee days. The room was empty, the air only filled with the creaking noises of wood and the chirping of birds outside. He turned back to Eren, who had that same indecipherable look in his eyes.

“I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but I am truly sorry I brought so much pain to all of you. And…I know I have no right to request anything from you, but I am selfish, I have always been so selfish…so I need you to promise me, that no matter what happens, you will move forward and live your life to the fullest.”

Jean felt a thousand protests gather on the tip of his tongue, not ready to acknowledge the finality in his words. There was a certain heaviness in his chest that made him sit down in one of the bunk beds. “I’m not sure that I can.”

Eren knelt in front of him, “you can, you’re strong. More than you give yourself credit for. Promise me, Jean.”

The words echoed painfully, and Jean looked down, his voice coming out weak. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

He was met with silence and Eren getting closer, holding his hands.

Jean gasped as he noticed that Eren’s hands looked different.

Their surroundings were becoming dark again, and the fluorescent light that he had seen briefly now appeared to be spreading from Eren’s fingertips and extending towards him.

“It is time,” Eren finalized.              

Jean froze. And as irrational as he knew it sounded, Jean could not help but deny what he was saying. “No! We-we can work things out, Eren. Please stop this and come back to us! Please!”

As he finished his desperate plea Eren pressed his forehead against Jean’s, a little frantically. “This is it, Jean. Please don’t ask me to come back. Just promise me that you will move forward.”

The light was spreading more rapidly now, their bodies illuminated in a searing light, two figures in a flame. Jean swallowed the lump in his throat, shutting his eyes tightly before nodding against Eren’s forehead. He felt him breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” Eren said, and it sounded like the saddest goodbye to Jean.

“I don’t know what to do. What will be left?” He choked, feeling completely helpless.

Eren lightly shook his head, his eyes sad but also alight with unspoken things. “I think you’ll be surprised by the things life has in store for you, Jean.”     

Jean was confused by his words, but decided not to question him, knowing that he would disappear at any moment. 

“Don’t look away,” Jean said, and Eren obliged, fixing his piercing gaze on him. They remained like that for a good while before the strands of fluorescent light completely engulfed them.    

“Goodbye, Jean,” Eren said, a little broken but still strong.

“Goodbye, Eren,” Jean replied, his hands still holding onto Eren’s blazing form until there was nothing left. 

~o~

The oil lamp was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. The flame appeared to be the only thing lighting up the room. Slowly but steady, everything was becoming clearer to him even if he still felt very strange. There was the sterile air, the smell of mercury and alcohol, the moonbeams filtering through the window, and the tears warming his cheeks, a last residue from his dream.

He didn’t know why he was remembering that vision now of all times. His last moments with Eren had happened in a landscape that wasn’t real, and that was something that he rarely if ever wanted to remember. All his memories with the green-eyed boy had contorted into a permanent bloodstain on his soul. And the fact that he did not follow his promise to Eren and instead became a pathetic shell of a man made everything worse.

But his self-deprecation did not last long as he noticed that he wasn’t alone, a shift by his side catching his attention. He could not see her very well, but Mikasa was now looking at him closely, shock and confusion on her face as she noticed his tears.

“Armin! He’s awake!” She exclaimed as she ran out of the room, and Jean heard muffled voices outside where he could only make out the words “doctor” and “Mrs. Kirschtein”.

Mom?

While the voices went on Jean remained dazed, moving the fingers of his right hand in front of his face. He felt so out of it that he barely noticed Mikasa coming back.

“Jean? How are you feeling?”

He only groaned in response, “wh-where am I?”

“The Hospital of Mitras. We were lucky it was close by. Armin went to find the doctor and your mother.” She explained, staring worriedly at the wetness in his face. Mikasa said something else, but he didn’t hear it, his body feeling like a thousand bricks. 

“Mom?” he mumbled, scrunching up his face as he tried to move before Mikasa stopped him. “‘the hell did they give me?”

“You’re dosed on morphine. They told us you would be feeling drowsy when you woke up.” Mikasa took in how Jean seemed to stare at her but not at all at the same time.

His eyes were clouded and watery.

Since they arrived the day before, she had been hearing him make all sorts of noises in his unconscious state, muttering different names or things she couldn’t make out. One look at him could tell anyone that he was still heavily drugged. But she also wondered why he was crying.   

She saw that he was sneaking a hand to touch the bandages on his ribs, and she immediately moved to pry his hands away. “No! You’re in a delicate state, you have to stay still.”

“Ah my hero,” Jean slurred, “so protective and gentle.”

Yes, definitely drugged.

She was gathering the blankets around him, remembering the way his body couldn’t stop shivering when they had first arrived and how nervous she had been with every single movement.

Reiner had helped carry Jean all the way to the hospital. While they had been lucky enough to be close to the hospital, Jean still caught an infection on the way according to the doctor. Mikasa had some hope now that he was awake, but she couldn’t help the fear that still plagued her. No. She wouldn’t lose anyone else. She would make sure of that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by him mumbling something she couldn’t hear clearly.

Jean’s eyes were blinking slowly, and he was turning his head from side to side. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying.

“It was him…Eren…he talked to me.” He muttered and gave an exhausted sigh, trying to fix his eyes on Mikasa even while she was blurry.

Mikasa was now frozen as Jean looked at her, his eyes still glazed over but there was something else in them now.

“I liked you, Mikasa, y’know? I think I even loved you. Since we were trainees…” he confessed, his voice still slightly slurred before he laughed. “Ah, what a stupid fool. It’s kind of funny,” Jean continued while laughing, a strange picture with the tears that were still drying on his face. He stopped with a groan when the strain was too much.

“Jean…” Mikasa muttered. 

“Hmm…I wish he was here; I wish I could bring him back,” Jean mumbled, “I’m sorry I can’t do anything…I’m so sorry Mikasa…”

He turned his face into the pillow, looking like he was about to pass out. If Mikasa was planning to say something, it was interrupted by the doors opening abruptly. That didn’t seem enough to wake Jean from his stupor as the doctor walked in, followed by a trail of nurses. Mikasa could only stand aside as the doctor and the nurses covered Jean from her view, enveloping him in their prying hands and moving white garments.

She remained there as they worked on him, his dazed words replaying in her head like a broken record, his expression etched onto her mind. They had seen each other in the most brutal and vulnerable situations throughout their years as comrades, yet she felt at a complete loss with what she had just witnessed. She forced her intrusive thoughts into the back of her head and remained in her place, where she could do nothing but pray to whatever deity was listening that Jean would be safe and sound.   

[elizabethrobertajones]

Hi. silly question but im a v new fan and don’t yet fully Understand™️. do we like kripke or do we just like the kripke era?

I’m not sure who “we” is, which isn’t a sarcastic comment so much as an enduring fear of the fandom’s myriad factions being great at taking things the wrong way and if you group with anyone for one reason, a second reason (in this case, liking seasons 1-5) might turn out to be something they’re randomly completely rabid over for a third reason now miles out of your wheelhouse and it’s just like “But we have the exact same opinion about the first thing, what is... up... with this reasoning...”

But yeah in general even Cas stans who never watch the first 3 seasons still have to engage with 2 seasons of Kripke and vibe with Cas at his peak demented angel of the lord posing, all of which is very enjoyable, so I think it’s safe to like at least some aspects of Kripke era episodes...

Kripke himself... Not looking like a good prognosis for his memory in fandom from anyone who agrees that the thing the show tried to present as a last episode was actually a terrible idea. Seems like quite apart from re-evaluating how he sort of thematically How I Met Your Mother’d it even with something as simple as his idk presence on a zoom call watching in never mind any suggestions he might have had about what would be fun and tragic and fitting... People are kinda looking back at some of his comments and patterns and such and once more taking out all the original sins of the show and mulling over them in our boundless free time now it’s over. 

Honestly the show runner always has the worst job for making good episodes or telling a good story and it’s always been the individual episodes, which can legitimately be written *by* the showrunner so long as they’re having fun and not trying to further the main story or tie up any big plot stuff, which have been the better part of the show. Kripke just gets that x1000 on account of being the creator and I guess if he’s trying to stamp any Auteur-ness onto the show obviously then all its worst main plot and character decision things ultimately spiral back to him just for setting the mood and tone of the whole thing in the first place.

In unrelated news I was just looking at Twitter and I see Joss Whedon’s having a reckoning for his on-set showrunning and directing behaviour, which is fun. As far as I know Kripke hasn’t come across as an asshole to work for, just maybe not as great a writer as we’d like to think maybe even as far back as the very early seasons, depending on how much muck has been raked by bored re-watchers :P I’m a lil behind on SPN discourse right now. 

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Seventeen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Tagging @anonymouscosmos, @culturalrebel, @mercy-and-malice, @deepkittycollecto and @nelba! Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains intense recounts of previous abuse, intense depictions of self-loathing, self-deprecation and brief mentions of depression. Stay safe!]

Cade caught Danse before he could depart after the rest of their unofficial 'war council' had been dismissed, the medical officer inquiring, "How are you coping, Paladin? I hope that your adjustment to your newfound knowledge is going well." The arch of his eyebrow indicated plainly that Cade was looking for a clear answer, possibly to dissuade his own concerns.

  "I am still uncertain, Knight-Captain Cade." Danse stated bluntly. "I know that Quinlan's reports are accurate. I know that I must be a synth. But it is...it's difficult to wrap my head around it."

  "My door is always open, Danse. As it's been since the day you were assigned to the Prydwen." Cade reminded him. "I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of doing a mental evaluation on a synth, but…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "Hmm, that's not quite right. You and I have had sessions before. Maybe synths aren't so different in their cognition. Perhaps this is a nature versus nurture scenario."

  "Perhaps." Danse allowed, but he knew that he sounded less than optimistic.

  "Maybe in a day or two, once everything has calmed down and you've had time to think?" Cade suggested. "Collect your thoughts, then come see me and we can discuss your current state and the repercussions of Maxson's treatment."

  The paladin nodded, relieved that Cade didn't wish to immediately evaluate him. It had been an incredibly stressful and arduous several weeks. More than anything, the paladin was longing to finally get some sleep.

  After he spoke to Haylen and Rhys, of course. They deserved his gratitude, if only for their combined efforts in delivering the tip-off that had literally saved his life. To say nothing of their care for Elizabeth in his absence, even though they were unable to free her. They had kept her alive, and that was more than the paladin had dared to hope for.

  Danse watched Cade depart, his mind miles away now. Backhand would be incredibly busy in the lead up to the assault. He felt almost irritated by that; it was unfair to ask so much of her so soon after what had transpired. But the luxury of time was no longer on their side. Danse understood, in a practical sense, that they needed to strike as fast as possible. It was entirely within reason that the Institute already knew of their plans and were preparing their own countermeasures.

  It still didn't erase the hollow sensation in his gut, the fear that Backhand was all too willing to stretch herself paper-thin for her various factions. He promised himself then and there that he would do his best to absorb some of the burden. 

  As much as she would allow. 

  The memory of her ripping her knuckles apart on the manual release of his armor, talking to Matthew's parents, taking her helmet off and smiling at him. Thank you, Danse or I thought you were dead or please don't do that to me again --

  Danse chewed anxiously on his lower lip. As much as she would allow. As much as he could feasibly handle. It should have felt odd that he was trading one leader for another, but Danse could only rationalize that it must be another portion of his programming. 

  "Paladin Danse, sir?" 

  Rhys . Danse started, turning around. He hadn't even heard the knight approach down the catwalk. Hell, he hadn't even realized he was spacing out in the hallway. "Yes, Knight?" He replied, nodding out of habit to acknowledge Haylen beside Rhys.

  "Elder Brandis said you wanted to see us, sir." The knight stated, sounding a bit hesitant. "He said we needed to discuss...certain things."

  Of course he did . Danse sighed heavily, bracing himself for some level of a disappointment-fueled tirade.

  "Danse, I'm so sorry." Haylen blurted out, her voice shaking. Danse was startled, tilting his head while she carried on, "I wish there had been some other way for me to tell you. You must have been terrified ." 

  "I was certainly confused, if nothing else." The paladin admitted with a wry smile. "I am immensely grateful to both of you, regardless of my own trials. You followed your training and stuck to your guns, and I couldn't be more proud." He deflated slightly. "Even if the pride of a synth means precious little."

  "The synth shit doesn't matter to either of us, sir." Rhys muttered. "We don't care. We're just glad you're back and that Maxson didn't manage to kill you. That's the important part, right?"

  "In a way." Danse agreed, grimacing. "Our battle is far from over, however."

  "Hey, we're doing something. That's more than a lot of people can say." Haylen reasoned, ever the optimist. "I've got faith in whatever plan you guys come up with."

  "Thank you for believing in me." The paladin murmured, giving the only surviving members of Squad Gladius a stiff salute. 

  "We know you, sir. You protected us, trained us. Built us up from basically nothing." Rhys sounded angry, his typically-sullen expression gone even more sour. "You think we could ever turn our backs on you? You're not that stupid."

  Haylen began to protest, "Rhys-"

  "Haylen, you and I both know he'll just self-deprecate until he dissolves. I'm not letting that happen." Rhys grumbled at the scribe, who fell silent at his reasoning. Her eyes were narrowed to slits and the sight was immensely entertaining to Danse, who couldn't keep a nervous chuckle from bubbling up in his throat.

  "I'm certain the two of you are aware of the devastating depression you dragged me out of all those years ago in the Capital Wasteland." Danse clapped Rhys on the shoulder and caught Haylen up in a rare one-armed hug. "How many times will you two save me? Should I start taking you for granted?" 

  "Paladin Danse, sir, w-we…" Haylen trailed off, her lower lip quivering. She buried her face in Danse's ribs and Rhys grunted.

  "Haylen, c'mon . Pull it together." He huffed, his own eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Listen, sir, I think I've made our position pretty clear. We follow your orders. Learning about that shit with Maxson-"

  "I'm so angry! " Haylen interrupted him, glaring upwards. "God Danse, I'm furious . What he did to you is unforgivable, inexcusable." She announced hotly. "Everyone assumed something was going on, but we also assumed it was consensual ."

  " 'Everyone' ?" Danse echoed, a weird surge of retroactive embarrassment seizing his body. "I suppose I should be thankful you all were so willing to offer me the illusion of privacy." He mumbled.

  "He's never coming anywhere near you again, sir." Rhys stated, his jaw set in an angry scowl. "I don't care if he's the last of the Maxson line. I'll break his fucking skull."

  His words stirred Danse's guilt to life, the ugly feeling rearing its head once more. "It is a difficult situation to be in. I do not envy our elders, past or present." Danse tried to pose the sentence with a modicum of compassion, though he was unsure of the attempt's success. The paladin knew that despite Maxson's position of power, Danse bore a majority of the blame for not standing up to the elder until it was too late to prevent his spiral.

  "Difficult, my ass ." Rhys growled under his breath.

  …

  "So we've got Preston, someone by the name of John D., the…" Ingram narrowed her eyes at the readout. " Atom Cats ?"

  "Yep. Real into their power armor. And Zeke owes me a favor." Backhand explained, continuing to scroll through her Pip Boy notes. "If I can get them to walk across the pond and cover the Castle, that will free up more Minutemen to join us."

  "Should I ask how you managed to ingratiate yourself with so many of these people?" 

  "I'm a sucker for a lost cause." Vega answered, her tone dry. 

  Ingram snorted, shaking her head. "Lucky for us, I imagine. Also lucky for us that you're the forgiving sort."

  "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Proctor." Backhand retorted. "I'm just not yet in a position to combat your aerial superiority."

  "Whew, gonna' file that one away for later consideration."

  A soft knock on the comm doorway interrupted the two women, and Vega turned to see Danse peering cautiously into the room. "Paladin! You're just in time, we were about to start rallying the troops. Want to lend a hand?" 

  "What needs to be done, General Vega?" The paladin asked, his posture gone stiff and proper. 

  Backhand could feel her smile dim slightly, but she reined herself in. They had all been through so much, she reasoned, and old habits were usually a comfort. "Well, I've got a few calls to make on my own, but if you can get in touch with Lieutenant Garvey that would be a huge help."

  "Understood." 

  Proctor Ingram (who had been watching their exchange with poorly-veiled interest) stepped out of the way so that Danse could settle down at the desk alongside one of their many radio switchboards. "Vega, I think the two of you can handle this." The older woman remarked, giving Elizabeth a sly wink behind Danse's back. "I'll start whipping the base camp into shape. Make myself useful, y'know. Ad Victoriam."

  Vega went bright red as Ingram saluted, the proctor sporting an absolutely infuriating smirk. "B-But Proctor--"

  "No buts! You guys handle the easy stuff. I'll manage the elbow grease." Ingram then mouthed talk to him! , before strolling out of the comm area. Backhand swore under her breath, thumping her fist into the desk in mute frustration. 

  "I can leave, General Vega." Danse offered, making her start and whirl to face him.

  "No no! No, uh, you're fine. You're not the problem here." Vega assured him, waving her hands nervously. "I'm just...I'm a little uptight, that's all."

  "Will your forces refuse to join us?" The paladin asked, his rigid posture easing slightly as he tipped his head back to look up at her. He continued in an undertone, "Would it be simpler to do it with your troops alone? Do you truly need the Brotherhood?"

  "We do need the Brotherhood, yes. But I don't think we'll need them for the fighting. We'll need them for the mass casualty options and the refugee care after the fact." Backhand began to pace, mostly so she didn't have to maintain eye contact. The paladin looked fatigued yet determined, and it pained her to know that rest was still so far away for them. Rest and the possibility of actually speaking with him about the thing that had been on her mind in one form or another since…

  Well, it had been a long time.

  "We'll need help rebuilding more than anything. Not a lot of settlements will be keen to take on synths, so I'll need to figure out some kind of alternative. I really need to talk with Nick and Dea--er, John D ., and get their input on this whole engagement." Backhand rubbed her temples. "And here I thought getting in would be the hard part!" She tried to joke. 

  After a moment of silence, Vega heard Danse clear his throat. "General... Elizabeth , I know you already have many responsibilities, all of them miles more important than my own struggles."

  Backhand looked over at him expectantly, a little confused. 

  "I have to give Cade a full report." The tall man said abruptly. "I...he wants to know everything that's transpired." He stared down at the floor, the heel of his boot scuffing the grating beneath them as he rushed to add, "I know it's selfish of me to ask you to--I mean, you've been through so much, b-but I was...rather, I am uncertain of this endeavor, and my ability to maintain my composure during it. You tend to have a mollifying effect on me for some reason."

  "You want me to be present when you give your medical officer the full rundown?" Vega raised an eyebrow, further confused. Danse was a soldier , surely he had endured a full physical before?

  "I am overly anxious. It means reliving some portions of my past that I find...traumatic."

  "Oh." Oh . Backhand felt stupid as the truth dawned on her. Everything that's transpired . Of course Danse would want someone he trusted with him, this wasn't a physical exam at all. "What about Haylen or Rhys? Are they more appraised of the situation?"

  Danse was shaking his head before she had even finished. "I did my best to keep everything that happened quiet, though it appears that I was unsuccessful. I was told that was my only option, and I did not wish to disobey Maxson's orders." 

  "That fuckin' asshole." Vega growled. "Alright, if you're sure it's me you want with you, I'm here."

  "You don't have t--er, that is, I regret taking up more of your valuable time, General Vega. I promise after this meeting with Cade, I will be fully at your disposal." He assured her, seemingly pained by his current state.

  "Danse, I don't care about that. I don't want you better just so you can get used up again, I want you better for you . I'm sorry that all of this robs you of the proper time to regroup, y'know?" Backhand apologized, her words deliberately quiet as she boldly laced her fingers through his own. "Once we're done here, though, you need to take some time off. General's orders."

  "I would have to speak with Elder Brandis on the matter. As his most senior paladin, I am unsure if he would be able to permit me that luxury." Danse replied unhappily, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. "' A run ashore ', always just out of reach."

  "I'm getting you time off, even if I have to kidnap you myself." 

  The paladin's chuckle in reply to her threat was subdued, but it still sent a frisson of happiness through her body. Backhand choked down the guilt of having those feelings in the first place for just a second, choosing to bask in the warm sensation. 

  "When you're ready, General, I'll need the proper frequencies to speak with the Castle." Danse's request brought her crashing back down to earth, and Vega rushed to oblige him.

  There's always something else to do .

  …

  Two days later, on the cusp of their attack on the Institute, the both of them were seated in Knight-Captain Cade's main office aboard the Prydwen. The older officer sat across from them in the cramped space, a clipboard propped up on his knee.

  "The only questions I'll ask will be strictly for clarity's sake." The knight-captain informed Danse quietly. "If you don't want to answer, that is entirely acceptable and within your right, but the more information we have, the better."

  Danse nodded, the motion stilted. "I understand, Knight-Captain. I'll do my best to cooperate." 

  Vega squeezed his hand. God knew she didn't like this one damn bit, but she was going to stick it out for him. After all, he had gone to bat for her against the elder . Loyalty like that was in short supply. "I'm right here with you, Danse." She said softly. He had gone pasty white beneath his usual windblown complexion, and he gripped her hand wordlessly. 

  "If you could start at the beginning, Paladin. Or as close to it as possible." Cade prompted him.

  "Yes, I...of course." Danse rasped. "The first time we engaged was shortly before the Brotherhood lost Knight Cutler."

  Cade looked at him over his half-moon glasses, seeming perturbed. "That was...so this was a prolonged assault."

  "Not an assault. I did as I was ordered." The dull tone of Danse's voice, the way his eyes had gone almost grey ...Vega wanted to know how the hell Maxson had ever justified this. "I could not bring myself to question Arthur. He came to me, at first simply asking for help even though it was an order. He said he couldn't sleep. I...I never told Cutler. I didn't think it was relevant. I thought I was helping the new elder." Danse looked up at Cade. "I know what it's like to not be able to sleep for all the thoughts in your head."

  "Was there a specific point in time where his behavior shifted? Perhaps when it became more clear to you that there was something wrong?" Backhand was grateful for the delicate way Cade phrased the question.

  "I…" Danse's brow furrowed. "...had just come back with...after what transpired with Cutler. Four days on base. I was furious with Maxson for stationing Cutler out there, furious with myself for not saving Cutler. I was grieving and hurt both physically and emotionally, as you recall." Cade inclined his head. "I assume you also recall the bite on my arm that appeared shortly thereafter. That was a...result of my inability to perform."

  "Ah." Cade murmured, jotting something down.

  Bite? Vega could feel Danse trembling. "I-I was...unable to function or perform for him in a satisfactory manner and that was his method of voicing his frustration with me." Danse swallowed hard. "I was mourning , Cade." He sounded like he was begging the other man to understand, begging him not to judge.

  Perform for him. Backhand sucked in a deep breath through her nose, willing herself to stay silent. 

  "After that, I would just comply. It was never as bad as that time. I would perform for him to the best of my abilities." Danse paused, "but I never sought him out, and nothing occurred without me being ordered to do so." He then proceeded to rattle off a distressingly-long list of dates, every time that Maxson had coerced him. "I was not interested in...well, anyone , after Cutler." He muttered after a brief pause, "the term broken seems fitting." 

  "You weren't allowed proper space to heal yourself after what happened with Cutler. You were injured and then forced to deal with someone who kept prying open your wounds because they enjoyed lording their power over you." Cade theorized, his voice a little sharper. " Broken is not fitting in the slightest, Danse."

  The paladin shrugged. "Whatever the terminology might be, then." 

  " Traumatized , Danse. Emotional wounds take time to heal, just like physical ones. Losing Cutler in the way that we did-"

  "I deserved it!" Danse cut off the medical officer, leaning forward and clenching his free hand on his knee. "I failed Cutler, Cade! I should have gone after him sooner! The treatment from Maxson is what I deserved ." His eyes were wild, frantic. "He's an abuser, but I am a man deserving of every last instance of that abuse for my inaction when it came to Cutler!" The paladin reasoned intensely.

  Cade sighed, rifling through his clipboard. "Danse, you did not deserve or garner punishment for the consequences of Maxson's orders." He informed the other man quietly. "You were simply a man who lost someone that he cared deeply about."

  "And to find out that I'm not even that much!" Danse spat. "I'm still trying to cope with the reality that I am a living lie . My identity as Paladin Danse is nothing but a memory now. Everything I held dear, everything I ever believed in is completely gone. Can you imagine how that feels?" Danse was nearly shouting at this point, moving to stand. "I started out as nothing , and I've ended up as nothing . And I don't know what the hell to do about it!" 

  Backhand brought her hand up over his elbow, hauling him back down into his seat. " Listen to Cade, Danse." She growled. The paladin fought her grip briefly, but ultimately slumped in the chair. Good thing too, Vega wasn't exactly up to full strength just yet. The large man was shaking again, his breathing coming in harsh bursts. "It's okay, it's okay." Vega found herself repeating the phrase, rubbing circles on his back between his shoulder blades. Many members of military factions found repetition comforting and Danse appeared to be no exception, the large man heaving a massive sigh under the weight of her hand.

  "Danse, I'll fully admit to being out of my element here. I never expected to have to treat a synth." Knight-Captain Cade said plainly. "However, I've known you for many years. We have an established rapport. Your body is indistinguishable from an ordinary human body, as proved by my records. Your mental processes and pain responses are normal for a human. I suppose what I'm trying to say is learning that you are a synth may not change all that much, despite what you may be feeling."

  Danse choked out a forlorn noise that might have been a sob, burying his face in his hands. "I'm so confused." He confessed plaintively. "You're saying I did not deserve punishment for my failings, but...how else am I supposed to atone for Cutler?" He looked up, tears welling up in his eyes. "How am I supposed to reconcile with these human emotions, Cade? I barely kept myself under control when I believed I was human!"

  "Your feelings have always run deep, Danse. Your empathy for your fellow man has landed you in hot water more than once." Cade gestured at Vega. "According to our infiltrator, even the most brutal of synths feel regret and remorse just like we do, though they have not been taught how to cope with it."

  "I still feel like a human. Nothing feels different, yet now I constantly second-guess everything I do. I've had a plan from the beginning to shape my future, but I have to wonder about whether that's a lie as well." Danse remarked bitterly. "I had...I had hoped…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

  Backhand could feel her heart breaking the longer he spoke. His true identity was an immense blow to him, and on top of it he was still struggling under the burden of the guilt he carried due to Cutler's demise. He blamed himself for Arthur's demands. 

  "Listen to Cade, Danse." She urged. Her hand was essentially on autopilot as she traced small patterns on the center of his back, moving up and down his spine without rhyme or reason. "You're not to blame for what Maxson did. It's not yours to bear. Trust me, coming from someone who's more than willing to take on other folk's problems, that weight is not yours."

  "But-"

  "You trust me, right?" Vega interrupted him softly, cupping his face so that he had to look at her.

  "With my life, General Vega." 

  The rapid sincerity of his reply startled her and Backhand needed to take a moment, steeling herself yet again. "I know you trust Cade too, and I know this won't be a quick or easy process. But you accepting that whatever happened was not your fault would be a huge first step."

  "I...If I do…" Danse paused, hesitating. "Vega, if I forget about him..."

  "Hey, nobody said anything about forgetting. You told me about Cutler, about how important he was to you. There's no way someone like you could forget about him. But you need to forgive yourself, you have to understand that losing him was not your fault." Once more she found herself in over her head, but she did her best to tell him all the things she wished someone had told her when Sergeant Cathan had died.

  "He was...he was everything to me." Danse's voice cracked. "And I had to--I had to, he was...I had to."

  "What happened to Cutler and his team was an immense tragedy, and a needless one at that." Cade spoke up from his seat, his brow furrowed. "Maxson outed himself quite thoroughly during the trial, I would say. It will be difficult for him to explain his actions away when so many witnesses heard exactly what he said." 

  Elizabeth felt Danse go still, the paladin hanging on to Cade's every word. "Am I even permitted to be happy that he may face consequences?" He asked uncertainly, wringing his hands. "Is that a breach of protocol, Knight-Captain?"

  The medical officer shifted his weight, leaning forward to prop himself up with his elbows on his knees. "I can't promise you swift justice, you know how the Brotherhood operates. But Arthur invoked the right of a litany trial, then proceeded to break his own terms. To say nothing of the fact that he nearly killed someone uninvolved in the trial." Cade shook his head. "His abuse flourished in secrecy. Now that everything is out in the open, I do not believe even his status as the last Maxson will sway the other elders when they pass judgement."

  "Thank you, Knight-Captain." Danse closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "I...thank you, Vega." He continued, a little quieter. He caught her hand in his own, giving it a cautious squeeze. Almost as if he was imitating her gesture from earlier in the week. "I have so much to think about."

  "Agreed. Shall I put in a request to Brandis for a leave of absence?"

  Danse visibly recoiled at Cade's suggestion, his eyes going wide in dismay. "No! No, I am needed, Knight-Captain. After our assault has been carried out, and the Institute has been wiped from the map, I…" he hesitated, like the words were caught in his throat. "I will gladly take a leave. Until then, however, there is still work to do."

  "There is always work to do, Paladin." Cade chided. "Remember what I told you? You will burn yourself out and the Brotherhood can ill afford to lose you."

  "I'll see to it that he takes time off after our successful operation." Backhand stated firmly. Cade raised an eyebrow at that and Danse flushed across the bridge of his nose, stuttering a little. "Your health is important to me, Danse. You can be as stubborn as you want, but I'm not letting you weasel out of this." 

  "I suppose that will have to do." Cade sighed. "Do you have any questions for me, Paladin?"

  Danse shot a sidelong glance at Vega that she was relatively certain she wasn't supposed to see, the large man worrying his lower lip. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part, though, as Danse shook his head after a moment. "No, I...I just have some reflection to do." He got to his feet abruptly, saluting both Cade and Elizabeth. "Ad Victoriam, Knight-Captain. Ad Victoriam, General Vega."

  Cade returned the salute absently, already absorbed in writing something else down. Vega was a little slower, her query of, "do you need me, Danse?" coming out softer than she had intended.

  She wanted to believe that the paladin hesitated before he replied, "No, General Vega. I can manage."

Part Eighteen

[thanksjro]

Eugenesis, an Overview: Let Me Get Weirdly Serious About This Book For A Sec

HOLY SHIT WHAT A RIDE.

So, let’s recap what we’ve learned over the last 282 pages.

In 2001, James Roberts published nearly 300 pages of fictional prose, based in the established franchise of Transformers, specifically the Marvel UK comic continuity. This novel tells the story of the Transformers, in their dwindling numbers, being attacked, not by their opposing factions, but by an outside force hellbent on revenge. Those who are captured by this force- the Quintessons- are stripped of their very individuality, forced into servitude until the moment they die of exhaustion. Everyone is pushed to- and in some cases beyond- their limits, the horrors of a literal genocide beating down on them like a tidal wave. Only by casting aside their differences and banding together can they hope to survive the nightmare that is the Eugenesis Wars.

But people don’t really talk about all that, even though it’s a majority of what the book’s about. No, people only talk about what happens after the Quintessons are defeated. People only talk about the robots getting pregnant, because honestly it is the most bizarre thing.

Not because the idea itself is terribly odd- I mean, at least it’s in line with the lore the comics set up. It’s bizarre in how we get to that point. All the torture, all the suicide and death and depression and destruction of entire belief systems, leads up to these robots getting pregnant. Almost like that was the whole point. And considering that this story is presenting to us a bridge for the gap between the classic Transformers and the Beast-Era ones, it could have very well been.

I won’t say fetish, because that doesn’t feel quite right, but our dear author seems to have a sort of… obscene fascination with the concept of mechpreg. A fascination that will carry on well into his career as a professional comic scriptwriter, setting readers on edge for the duration of his run with IDW.

Comparing Eugenesis to More Than Meets The Eye and Lost Light, you get an interesting view of Roberts’ growth, as both a writer and a human being. Eugenesis is the work of what Billy Joel might call an "angry young man”, focusing on the despair of wartime and the futility of one’s struggle against the flow of time and mortality. The theme of time only being perceived as linear, and being in actuality an unending plane where all moments are equal and eternal might seem oddly specific, but it’s reflected upon by multiple characters within the story of Eugenesis. Perhaps this is why he has Brainstorm and Perceptor collectively and completely jack up time itself in the Elegant Chaos storyline.

Character moments sprinkled throughout the narrative give us a glimpse of the relationships that would be written later on- some of the most compelling scene writing happens between Quark and Rev-Tone, two original characters who have such a delightful dynamic between them, they very quickly became some of my favorites. You truly believe that they care so strongly for one another, they would do just about anything to keep the other safe. And they do, in a couple cases.

Then there’s all the death. There’s a lot of death in Eugenesis, and none of it is by way of natural causes- you’ve either got suicide, murder, or suicide-by-way-of-murder. You really see Roberts shine in these death scenes, both then and now, as he captures the utter, raw tranquility as one stares down their own demise, and on the other side of the coin, the complete annihilation of one’s very heart as someone they love is destroyed. It’s downright poetic how he handles these scenes.

Still, there is a difference in how the aftermath is handled. When someone dies in the MTMTE/LL run, there’s always meaning and purpose to it- nobody dies just to die, and those who are left behind are left at least something to comfort them.

A message of love.

The return of a friend.

A chance to keep living.

A chance to be a better person.

You don’t get that in Eugenesis. In most cases, there’s no salve for the wound, only more hurting. There’s no time to even mourn, as the fight rages on and on and on. Any happiness pulled from the narrative for the characters is laced with a bittersweet understanding that these folks probably aren’t going to make it, and they’re just as aware of that fact as the reader is.

And yet there’s something kind of beautiful about that, in a twisted sort of way.

Eugenesis is a sort of love letter to those dark thoughts hiding in our heads, those deeply scary intrusive visions of everything we care about being ripped away from us. It’s a book make up of catharsis, of hurting that begs for some sort of outlet. The characters in this story are lost, and scared, and hollowed out before the mass extinction even arrives, and are put through wringer after wringer, like some sort of distanced facsimile of self-harm.

Perhaps I’m reading a bit too into this, but with how intense things get, with self-insert characters no less, I can’t help but wonder if the James Roberts who was writing Eugenesis truly needed this outlet in more than just a creative sense.

Which isn’t to say that there aren’t issues with this novel just because it was a vessel for catharsis. Pacing can end up going so rapidly it feels as if you’re being pushed towards the edge of a cliff, then stutter to a halt to the point where continuing on feels like an absolute slog. But it always seems just as you’re about to put the thing down and give up, something completely thrilling, completely insane and powerful and profoundly attention-grabbing happens, pulling you right back in. If nothing else, this book demands one’s attention.

There are also some other, more interesting issues with Eugenesis. Issues I wasn’t really expecting to run into. To highlight one such issue, we’re going to play a game.

The game is called Guess That Character Design!

Hey Transformers fandom, got a new quandary for y’all to fight over. Forget the Frenzy/Rumble color debate, forget the Bombshell/Skywarp is Cyclonus debate, it’s time for the What The Actual Everloving Fuck Is Quark Supposed To Look Like debate! Do we follow the comic and its script, which show him as being either about on par with Rev-Tone and Mirage or taller, but fails to note any sort of color because it’s in black-and-white? Or do we follow the novel, which states he’s short exactly once, and crimson? And if he’s red, where did the blue paint chips come from in Part Five? They sure didn’t come from Rev-Tone, who I know is mostly red- not because the novel told me, but because I’ve seen art of him outside of this. Honestly, other than him having big honkin’ shoulders and a bust to match, nothing about Quark’s visual aesthetic is concrete.

Now, I could tell you all about his quirks and mannerisms, how he holds himself, how he talks, how he interacts with others, all sorts of stuff. Nothing wrong with the writing there, characterization’s great! I just couldn’t tell you for the life of me how his body is supposed to look. Rev-Tone’s in the same boat, except it’d be even worse without the helpful input of some friends. Did you know he has a visor? Because I sure as shit didn’t until someone showed me. It’s never mentioned in the book. You can barely see it in the prequel comic art if you’re looking for it, and the script is less than helpful to me because I’m not Matt friggin’ Dallas, nor have I had the pleasure of reading Transtrip. All the information presented in the novel about his looks involves his mouth.

Hell, some of the writing in Eugenesis seems to imply that he actually just has normal eyeballs.

What I’m getting at here is that Roberts leans a bit too much on the reader knowing exactly as much as he does about the characters, the plot points, the lore. And he knows A LOT about Transformers.

This book essentially requires the reader to have the wiki open with multiple tabs at all times. Roberts put his heart and soul into the prose, but the world-building had his nerdy little brains smeared all over it, because there are some obscure references in here, not to mention the sci-fi jargon. You basically NEED an internet connection to get through this- I’ve never read a novel that pretty much forbid an acoustic reading, but here it is, in all its glory.

Eugenesis is a dark, morbid, conflicted story with the oddest little bright spots in it. Within five pages, you’ll go from some of the most horridly bleak death scenes to someone accidentally burning a hole in their hand like a cartoon character. But never once, in nearly 300 pages, does it ever stop trying. It may not succeed in what it’s attempting 100% of the time, but goddamn does it go as hard as it can. This isn’t something that was done for money, or fame, or anything like that. Eugenesis is a passion project in the purest sense, and you can really feel it in the way it’s been crafted. For all the frustration it put me through, never once did I think “man, this guy just doesn’t care.” The ambition Roberts shows in the prose, in the world-building, in all the funny little moments that show just so much personality within the story, truly were harbingers for what was to come just a decade later.

Ambitious. Bleak. Brutal. Weird. Ultimately unforgettable. That’s James Roberts’ Eugenesis.

But let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? The one question that truly matters for any novel: is it worth reading?

Well, that depends.

If you had a hard time with the darker parts of MTMTE/LL, I really couldn’t recommend that you read Eugenesis. You will have an awful time, because most of it is Grindcore x100 levels of depressing and brutal. There were a couple points where I had to take a break because things got so intense- and I’m not exactly squeamish. Maybe stick to a breakdown- like this one!- or try a group read-along. Friends make everything better, after all.

If you like Roberts work and want to see where he came from, like I did, I highly recommend you find a copy- digital of course, there are only a few hundred physical copies in existence. I recommend you find the 2nd edition, which includes Telefunken and fixes some of the more glaring continuity mistakes and typos.

It’s a good read. Just... it’s a lot at times.

Like, a lot.

Up next-

Oh, what? You didn’t think that was it, did you? This url is way too sweet to just be done with so soon.

Next, I’ll be taking a gander at Children of a Lesser Matrix, which is something that was never finished by Roberts, but is still floating around the internet because hey! It’s the internet.

If anyone has any other somewhat obscure writings from JRo, feel free to send them my way. Especially if you have any of the TMUK zines from back in the day. I wish to consume all the works.

[traincat]

I was wondering if you could explain Peter and Tony Stark's relationship in the comics. I was reading something along the lines of that they are friends but that Peter did in fact look up to Tony as a father figure once but after Civil War they remained as friends. I don't think Peter ever saw Tony as a father figure but I could be wrong although I do doubt it. Can you help? :)

Sure, I can do that, especially with Endgame Eve upon us and the inevitable return of my gritting my teeth every time someone refers to Tony as Peter’s father figure within comics continuity as well as in the MCU. First things first: I have to say that when I talk about this relationship, I’m speaking as someone who has read far more Spider-Man than Iron Man, and as someone who is far more interested in Spider-Man than Iron Man, although when I first got into Marvel I did read quite a bit of Iron Man-focused things. 

That being said, a lot of times when this conversation comes up among people who are fans of Peter Parker in the comics (and who are not fans of what the MCU has done with the character and how they chose to tie him to the Iron Man franchise) it takes on a comics!Tony bashing tone, which is not something I’m interested in doing because I’m not interested in breeding bad feelings between different factions of Marvel fandom – and because I don’t dislike Tony Stark as a character. So my goal here is not to paint Peter as The Good Character and Tony as The Bad Character in some sort of conflict, but to break things down and illustrate that Peter as a character has always been his very best when he’s independent, and that this dynamic wasn’t, ultimately, good for Peter – I suspect it also wasn’t good for Tony, but the fallout from Civil War was a trip for everyone, because Civil War was a very manufactured event that had its characters act in accordance with the plot instead of shaping the plot around the characters. Comics! Anyway: this is a bashing free zone on my part when it comes to the comics, with the exception of Marvel themselves. Marvel, I’m gonna insult. That being said, this is probably going to look lopsided, first because I have to discuss Civil War, because the area around Civil War is where most of this relationship exists, and second because I think the fallout of this relationship is important to discuss and Peter is very, very angry during the fallout.

First things first, and this isn’t exactly the place for this because it’s a much larger topic, but I think both pop culture and fandom have a big problem lumping a whole host of older man/younger man dynamics together: mentor/protege, boss/employee, team leader/team member, and father/son are not all the same dynamic and shouldn’t be treated as such. If I had a dollar for every time “he’s his dad” cropped up in relation to characters (not just Tony and Peter but in general) who just have, like, an age gap between them, I would be sunning myself on a private yacht right now. Not every older man is every younger man’s father, figurative or otherwise, and especially not once both characters are into adulthood. That’s not how relationships work; to simplify them like that removes nuance. In the interests of transparency, there are a few panels where Peter and Tony banter and joke: when Tony is telling him about the features in the new suit he’s building him, Peter jokingly whines “dad c’mon” (Amazing Spider-Man #529), and at one point I believe he makes a joke about wanting to borrow the keys to the car. But these are, you know, clearly jokes coming from a highly sarcastic character who is prone to these kind of wisecracks. There is one panel off the top of my head from One More Day where Peter says Tony was “like a father to him”:

(Amazing Spider-Man #544) As you can see, it’s not a happy scene. I should note this is after Peter has broken into Tony’s home, punched Tony in the face, webbed him up, and forcibly wrenched his faceplate off, if we’re going to talk supposed filial piety. Personally I’ve never liked this line, in part because it doesn’t make sense – this is part of what I was saying about conflating different dynamics with a certain power dynamic at play and then labeling them all father/son. Peter certainly, in the events leading up to Civil War, trusted and respected Tony. He certainly let Tony lead him. There was definitely a mentor/protege thing happening, with Tony doing things like taking Peter to Washington DC with him. But to put it simply: in 616, Tony Stark is simply not old enough for Peter Parker to view him as a father figure. Like with how Peter Parker is often thought of as much younger than he is in fandom, Tony Stark seems to be thought of as older. (This is probably because of either the mustache or the MCU.) Realistically, there can’t be more than a decade between them. Older brother, if we’re going to go the familial feelings route, would be more appropriate than father. It’s also a bit ridiculous to think that Peter, who is a married adult who has lost his own child and has lived through events like his own father supposedly coming back from the dead, would be desperate for a father figure at this point in his life, especially when he wasn’t interested in having one from the superhero set in his teen years. That being said “you were like an older brother/very young uncle to me” doesn’t pack the emotional punch we’re conditioned to register with “you were like a father to me” and I suspect that’s why this line is here for the reader. Alternatively, from a characterization standpoint, if you are both very angry and very desperate and you need someone to do you a large favor even though they won’t be inclined to at that point in time, you might want to pull out the big emotional manipulation guns, and while it’s not stated as such that that’s what Peter’s doing deliberately on the page, if I wanted to reconcile the line with who Peter is in canon, I could buy it. As it is, it just kind of sits there allowing for people to claim that Peter honestly viewed Tony as like a father to him in comics by denying greater context. I’d say if the comics wanted me to buy that Peter honestly felt Tony was like a father to him, they should have done more work, but the problem is that this event happens with decades of characterization behind Peter, and looking at the big picture I just don’t see it happening even if they had put in more work.

(As a person concerned with the integrity of the overall Spider-Man character and narrative, I should say I’m very anti-father figures in Peter’s canon – not only does it erase Peter’s independence, a key component of the character, but it tends to gloss over May as Peter’s primary parental figure, and it warps the narrative around Norman’s twisted desire to have a Perfect Heir in the form of Peter. That being said, if we’re talking about father figures in Peter’s life: shortly before Peter joins the New Avengers, he encounters an older man named Ezekiel who also has spider powers and who tells Peter he can tell him much more about his own powers. Though he’s incredibly enigmatic, Peter develops a fondness for Ezekiel and grows to trust him. Then Ezekiel tries to sacrifice Peter to further fuel his own spider powers. So Peter shouldn’t have much of a taste for father figures at this point in time anyway.)

This got exceedingly long! More under the cut.

Let’s backtrack to the early days of Spider-Man. I’ve mentioned before that independence is very important to Peter, but that doesn’t mean he’s never tried to join a team. In Amazing Spider-Man #1, after all, he tried to join the Fantastic Four – until he learned they didn’t pay. Similarly, in Amazing Spider-Man Annual #3, some years later, the Avengers try to decide whether they should issue an invitation for Spider-Man to join their ranks, and ultimately decide to test him. Peter is unsure whether he really wants to join the Avengers, although he is tempted by the idea of financial security and the public’s respect. His temper’s still pretty hot at this point, and he doesn’t react all that well to the notion of being tested:

In the end he goes along with the test, passes it, but then decides to pretend like he didn’t because he didn’t care for the actual test. There’s not a whole lot of interaction between Peter and the Avengers for a while in general, beyond the occasional team-up – I’m partial to the one with Jan Van Dyne in Spectacular Spider-Man #105-106. Peter’s got a particularly vibrant supporting cast of his own, and they tend to outshine his hero teamups. I was trying to think of any Iron Man and Spider-Man content I could remember around this point and while they’re probably is some other stuff, what comes to mind is the fight from Amazing Spider-Man Annual #20:

For the record, this isn’t Tony Stark, but Arno Stark, the Iron Man of the future. Peter, however, does not know that; he definitely thinks he’s punching his native Iron Man. (First law of Spider-Man’s aggression: is it an adult man? Peter is willing to punch him in the face. Captain America? Done it. His own clone? Tried to choke him out. It’s just how he is.) So nothing really is sticking out for me re: Peter and Tony specifically having any type of relationship at this point in time. Peter does at one point become a reserve Avenger, although he voices doubts about whether it’s really for him:

“Maybe I oughtta reconsider my reserve Avenger status!” (Amazing Spider-Man #357) 

On the subject of Peter and other heroes, I like this panel from Marvel Knights Spider-Man #2, where Peter talks about how Mary Jane says he has a bad attitude around other superheroes:

This is admittedly after he broke into Avengers Mansion ostensibly for help but just ended up fighting and arguing with them, so, she’s not wrong. (I pulled this up because I went to reread this scene because I couldn’t remember if Tony is in it, but he’s not.)

So here we are, north of the year 2000, and I would say Tony and Peter don’t really have much of a relationship. There have been times they’ve found themselves in the same battle, and I wouldn’t say either of them dislikes the other, but I don’t think they really think of each other much, either. Peter’s closest superhero connections are, at this point, as they traditionally have been, Daredevil and the Fantastic Four. So what happened?

The answer is simple. In two words: Event hell. 

If you’ve spent any time in comic book fandom, you know people have Feelings about events – those big company wide storylines involving every other character and their butler that used to happen every so often and now are basically nonstop. Mostly negative feelings. Events disrupt the flow of individual books, can screw up already in progress storylines, and somebody’s always totally out of character. I’m actually not an event hater in theory; I think they can be done well. On the other hand, these ones I’m about to discuss really suck for Spider-Man, not even in terms of characterization at the time but in terms of getting the ball rolling on what I personally think led us here, to the worst Spider-Man characterization period I have ever seen reading comics. And it starts with Spider-Man becoming a real, full time Avenger. 

During a story called Avengers: Disassembled, the Scarlet Witch has a breakdown and as a result kills several Avengers, including Hawkeye and Ant Man. The Avengers disband as a result. Six months later, a supervillain prison breakout brings together a collection of heroes including Captain America, Iron Man, and Spider-Man. Steve and Tony reform the Avengers, and this time invite Peter to join them. Thus, Peter becomes a headliner on the New Avengers title, along with Spider-Woman, Wolverine, and Luke Cage. I’ve said before that I don’t think Peter functions well on team books, and for one reason: he gets underused. With the New Avengers, you had your smart guy (Tony Stark) and you had your strong guys (Luke Cage and Wolverine – even though, in practice, Peter is much stronger than Luke, and has pummeled Wolverine before). He’s not even the only spider-person on the New Avengers lineup. Moreover, New Avengers was written by Bendis, and as much as it pains me to say this about the most vocal Marvel writer supporter of a canonically Jewish Peter Parker: I don’t think Bendis writes a good 616 Peter. The jokes take over. His dialogue lacks his particular 616-ish steel. In short, Bendis writes Peter with too much bark and far too little bite. It’s very noticeable during this period if you compare how Peter is written in New Avengers to how he is written in his own solo, Amazing Spider-Man, which at the time had JMS, who writes an absolutely incredible Peter, on it. Even the way JMS has Peter interact with the other Avengers in ASM is leagues ahead of Bendis on New Avengers:

(Amazing Spider-Man #522) 

A lot of stuff happens at this point that further binds Peter to the Avengers and, with the Avengers, Tony: an ex-classmate of Peter’s turns himself into a military science experiment gone wrong and burns down Peter’s apartment as well as Aunt May’s home in Queens. Tony then invites Peter, Mary Jane, and May to move into Avengers Tower, which they do. When Mary Jane is caught going into Avengers Tower late at night, a tabloid story starts circulating that she’s having an affair with Tony. Also around here Peter eats a psychic vampire, “dies”, molts, comes back, did I mention he ate a psychic vampire? But nobody ever mentions that part. And at this point, we hit the road to Civil War. 

(Amazing Spider-Man #529) I mean, I think you could argue that the Avengers on the whole are like a family, but sure, whatever. I’ll be honest: I think the comic itself at this period in time uses words like “family” in order to foster a sense of a longer relationship history that doesn’t actually exist, although at this point in time Jarvis and May were dating, so I guess that could make things a little in-law-y. It’s also, in story, being used to get Peter to agree with what Tony is pitching him. Anyway, I probably don’t need to explain Civil War but the cliffnotes: big superhero-caused explosion kills a bunch of children, a law is proposed that would make superheroes register with the government the superhero community becomes divided between two sides. There’s the pro-registration side, headed by Iron Man and also by Reed Richards, which favors cooperation with the government. Then there’s the anti-registration side, headed by Captain America. Peter originally starts out on the pro-registration side, swayed by the opportunity Tony presents him to finally unmask to the public and buoyed by his claims that with this movement they can keep Peter’s family safe, which is the reason Peter has kept the mask on all these years – concern that, should he take it off, Mary Jane or May would pay the price. (Wait for it.)  Through Tony’s directive, Peter unmasks himself and reveals his identity during a live television press conference. Tony had also made Peter a new, more high tech suit called the Iron Spider, which in addition to being in the Iron Man colors of red and gold also has several golden mechanical spider’s legs. 

This alliance between Tony and Peter is shortlived. Peter becomes disillusioned with the pro-registration side and defects, but not before he and Tony have a showdown:

(Civil War #5) You can see how I might have issues with how the MCU has reworked this particular storyline for their movies in regards to Spider-Man’s part in it. It’s not that I think anyone, including Peter, was written to their best during Civil War, but I think it’s disingenuous to take this storyline and attempt to remake it into a father/son dynamic, not only because it severely undermines Peter’s independence, something that marked him as very original as a teenage hero. 

So Peter joins the anti-registration side, there’s a big superhero fight, etc etc. Things come to a close when Captain America surrenders, and so the pro-registration side is, technically, victorious. This leaves Peter a fugitive, and Mary Jane and May, who had been hiding out in a motel, his accomplices. Their stint on the run is short; with their safety no longer protected by Peter’s secret identity, his enemies do go after his family. When an assassin targets them, Peter manages to cover Mary Jane before she’s shot – but the bullet hits May as a result. Which brings us back around to the first panel I posted, in the scene where Peter does say Tony was “like a father” to him. With May on life support in the hospital and Peter and Mary Jane unable to reveal her name, Peter goes on a rampage looking for killer. This is actually one of my favorite Spider-Man storylines, called Back in Black, and it takes place between Amazing Spider-Man #539-543, which some absolutely stunning Peter characterization. He’s also incredibly angry at both Tony and at himself during this period.

(Amazing Spider-Man #544)

(Avengers: The Initiative #7)

At this point, Tony and Peter go separate ways. Peter sells his marriage to Mephisto for May’s life (comics), and with that deal his secret identity is restored among the general public and Peter continues with his daily life, becoming engrossed in his recently resurrected best friend Harry’s affairs and fighting crime. Tony, iirc, becomes Director of SHIELD, and later deletes his brain (comics) to keep the database containing the identities of other heroes from falling into Norman Osborn’s hands when Norman Osborn essentially takes over the government following his killing the Skrull queen during the Secret Invasion event (comics). 

Since then, Peter and Tony have worked together and been on teams together (as much as I would like Peter’s Avengers status to never crop up again because the character simply wasn’t built to function on this kind of a team and nobody seems to know what to really do with him on it except have him crack jokes, with the MCU’s influence I don’t see that happening any time soon) and can get along. 

(I do not have the issue number for this panel! But it’s from a fairly recent Invincible Iron Man series.)

I wouldn’t call them close. They’re not going to be the first person either of them calls on in an emergency unless there’s something specific to one of them that the other needs. I definitely wouldn’t call them familial, or say that, in current comics canon, Peter considers Tony to be anything close to a father to him. They’ve been teammates, I’m sure they’ll be teammates again, and at best I think you could call them friends, albeit not especially close ones. And in my opinion, that’s fine; not every character has to be best friends with every other character, and sometimes superheroes are just so far apart in how they operate that they don’t mesh well together, even though they’re both smart guys. I did not mean for this post to get so long, but I hope it helped! 

tl;dr: the idea that Peter Parker viewed Tony Stark as a father figure is the byproduct of a very brief period of canon that was necessary to maneuver the characters into the roles they were going to inhabit for the Civil War event – which ultimately went very badly for both of them. The dynamic – or any genuinely close relationship between them – didn’t exist before that, and did not continue to exist afterwards, and it’s my personal opinion that saying Peter looked up to Tony as a father rather than as a mentor is taking the words on the page slightly too literally.

[thedistantstorm]

Day 20: “You could talk about it, you know.”

Fandom: Destiny

Pairing: Suraya Hawthorne/Zavala

Warnings: Secret relationships, Mortal/Immortal relationships, a touch of bittersweet

-/

"Go easy on him," Shaxx says, and Saladin rolls his eyes. As if he needs help on how to navigate Zavala. "The rebuild has been difficult."

He throws open the door to the interim office space they'd set aside for the Vanguard Commander. It's a mess, but Zavala's sense of order lays in execution, not office organization. It's the only obvious glimpse into his mind, the only hint at the man behind the impassive facade. 

Zavala is staring at a datascroll, comparing it to paper notes. He's frowning. It takes well over three minutes for Saladin to realize he's not actually evaluating anything at all, his eyes darting back and forth without seeing what’s in front of him. He's lost in his thoughts.

Politely, Saladin coughs, adjusting his helm beneath his arm. "You look well," He comments mildly when his younger notices him.

"I was pleased to hear you'd been unscathed," Zavala replies, rising from the rather small chair. 

They shake hands and talk about arbitrary things. Saladin does not need to pry to tell his mental state. It's in the way he holds his shoulders - rounded down, obvious even with that ridiculous set of pauldrons - and the way his eyes glint with that soft smirky smile - he's terrible at forcing himself to be happy, he should stick to frowning - that tells the last of the Iron Lords everything he needs to know.

"What is it?" He asks, out of the blue, a question in response to a redundant pleasantry, something to stall the overworking gears in Zavala's brain.

"What?"

"You could talk about it, you know,” Saladin rumbles. "What’s bothering you."

Those rounded shoulders sag, and it's half under the weight of the world and half in relief for not needing to keep up the charade. Zavala is better than any of them deserve, Saladin thinks, not for the first time.

"It is just," He waves a hand, nonchalantly. "A lot. It's fine. Simply been a while."

Bullshit, Saladin thinks. That's not it at all. But Zavala throws some chatter his way about the districts being rebuilt, glosses over something related to clans and they both share a very obvious eye roll over the factions and their nonsense. But it doesn't change Zavala's posture, or the odd gravity to his voice.

He keeps the younger Titan going, does his best to find clues, something to help him sort it out. He'd like to help, if he can. After all, this is the student that still listens to him.

But then, something odd happens. A soft tone, like a bell comes from the pile of pads and papers scattered across the desktop and Zavala doesn't jump to respond - he has decorum, waits for Saladin to finish his current point - but he may as well have. He looks at the screen for only a moment, and something changes.

His posture straightens, his shoulders round, and something amused flickers in his irises for a moment. He does not answer, just pushes the tablet a bit away and smiles.

"I'm sorry," He interjects, apologetic - but more obviously at ease - "What were you saying?"

Saladin is no master spy, but he certainly gets Zavala caught up in a conversation long enough to catch a glimpse of the screen when it goes off again.

We 'Guardians' are the walls, remember? Worry about the housing and zoning efforts. The Clans will whistleblow on the factions. You have enough on your plate. -H

Shaxx is gloating when he walks by, afterwards. He passes the insufferable idiot completely then turns back, hesitating.

As always, the other Titan pounces on the opportunity. "She's changed him, don't you think?" 

"Who?"

The Crucible handler laughs. "Time does not move him. Places rarely do. But, people…"

"No," He refutes, but the more he thinks about it, the more obvious it is. The encouragement. The way he'd perked up. It plucks at dusty heartstrings. He knew how that was. Not even romantically. Just platonically, companionship is a powerful thing.

“Yes. Mortal too, not that you’d ever know it by looking at her.”

“He’d never-”

“Love doesn’t care. You know that better than anyone.”

-/

The Dawning brings with it interesting changes. He attends the Consensus event - some formal gala or ball or whatever - out of societal obligation. It’s the one event he’d allow himself to be in the City for, as the rest of the holidays are best celebrated privately or not at all. Shaxx brings her over, all but dragging her across the room. It’s clear he’s been drinking, because he’s exuberantly loud, even for him. She looks apprehensive.

Though, all that stops when they approach. Saladin can tell Shaxx has likely drank the bar out of whiskey already and they haven’t set out hors d'oeuvres. 

“This is the mortal,” Shaxx says in a stage whisper that would shake the floor if not for the ridiculous music that is blaring from a nearby speaker. “The one I-”

She promptly elbows him in the side and knocks the wind out of him. He sputters while she questions disbelievingly, “The mortal? You are such a jackass.” She dusts her hands off as if she’s just taken out the trash before extending a hand. “Sorry about him. Suraya Hawthorne.”

They shake, Saladin smirking, lips curled upwards in the barest hint of a laugh. Like a magnet, he feels his gaze drawn to a heavy one focused on them. Zavala is watching, carefully. He looks between them, drink in hand - likely wine, and the only glass he’ll have all night excepting the champagne toast he’s obligated to give - and something in his gaze eases. “Saladin Forge,” He says, tilting his head and casting his gaze toward the Vanguard Commander. “Farm overseer?”

“Clan Liaison. Tried to get out of it, but Zavala convinced me this place-” She casts her gaze around the room to indicate the City, mock-exasperation present, “-just might be worth sticking around.”

Shaxx rights himself, turns ninety degrees to the left and waves at Zavala, hollering, “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Hawthorne steps on his foot next, taking advantage of the heels she’s clearly not comfortable in otherwise. Saladin chuckles, low and smooth, and offers her his arm. The both of them must look to Zavala and roll their eyes nearly in sync, because the good commander has to hide his hand behind his mouth to hide an obvious snort of amusement.

“He is such a dork.” Suraya murmurs at his side. “It’s good to see him happy.”

“Something tells me that had a bit to do with you.”

She smiles indulgently, cheeks flushing. Her severe features soften for a beat, but she shakes her head. “We just have very similar goals.”

Somehow, Saladin doubts that’s all it is.

-/

They take to the dance floor well after most are too drunk to remember. She’s barefoot - he can tell because she moves like water flows, with a Hunter’s grace - laughing and swaying with him. No matter how far they come apart to the beat, they always return to this, to hold each other close. If anyone else notices the short, chaste kiss they share, they don’t recognize the Vanguard Commander in his dress blues and the Clan Steward in a dress that matches his tie as the ones partaking in it. 

To everyone else but him, they’re just two random, ordinary people in love. There’s no age, no Light, nothing but two people and a heartfelt connection.

He feels a pang in his chest and tips his glass their direction, not that they’d ever notice. Tips back the cup, finishes his drink. Even if it’s just for a moment, it’s not a feeling to trade away for anything.

Let Zavala have this, Saladin thinks.

[paragonrobits]

there’s a common idea in fanwork spaces that the sort of works you get in a fandom are the ones that the original series is lacking, or that fans really wanted to see, and while I think that a lot of fanworks DO come from that desire, I don’t think it’s universally true.

As an example of what I mean, let me give two points: The homestuck fandom as a whole, and the fandom of Warhammer 40k.

Homestuck fanworks are very much in the same vein as the original series; they’re very talky, character-driven works that tend to focus on relationship dynamic. Perhaps to a greater degree than canon, but canon DID delve into these more often then not. Homestuck as a Thing wandered around so much that its probably fair to say that pretty much anything you could suggest as a story is in there SOMEWHERE. It may even be more likely to point out that since HS does a lot of timeskips or compression of character development that potential fanworks involve wedging itself in at a good point that is rife for analysis or exploration, and cranking it open.

Warhammer 40k, conversely, is a tabletop war game. The setting is based around this; everyone is SOME variety of terrible, deliberately malicious or unbelievably short-sighted to justify why any given faction or internal group would have a fight against each other. The lore and fiction works around this, though it is notable that any fiction set within 40k has ALWAYS toned down the grimdark attitudes, precisely because while that works as a broad attitude in lore for a war game, it makes less sense for a place where people actually live and do things.

40k fandom has mostly just dwelled on the battles; either making stories center around conflicts and singular epic battles, or using those as a story. Certain fanfics of legend have gone past their scope (such as that one love story between an Eldar Farseer and a Krieg trooper). Let us take, for instance, If The Emperor Had A Text-To-Speech Device, a long running fan animation that is believed to have retroactively influenced the game and lore. (For one thing, its responsible for a lot of people remembering who the Custodes WERE for a while, and also filling all the lore videos with meme jokes about the Pillar Men.)

The thing is, this series fills in the cracks of lore and expands on them, giving them more character, and mingling modern 40k elements with the older, often very wacky or downright silly lore. (I still contend that the Emperor, as a character, makes way more sense if you go with the older idea that he literally excised his capacity for compassion.) The characters get more depth, it treats the setting with a much more comedic tone that many parts of fandom liked MORE than the relentless gritty tone of taking itself too seriously...

And there’s also one or two big battles that were actually played out in real life, using the war game rules, complete with disastrous out of nowhere failures, such as memetically overpowered character Kaldor Draigo repeatedly doing very little of consequence in the battle because he kept failing his dice rolls so badly they made him go BACKWARDS at one point. (His complaints about this are also probably the most sensible things he says in all his screen time.)

So I think the result of this is that fan work may generally be less about fulfilling what wasn’t present in the original series, and more about expanding on things. The difference may be minor in some cases, or outright the same thing. However, just a HINT of something is enough to get fanfic writers on that, so that’s where you usually see this sort of thing. Homestuck and 40k, as two VERY broad sources with a lot of room to play around it, are great examples of this.

Other long running series, such as Transformers, may offer bigger examples of this.

[rushitheworld]

Chocolate Revolution (part 1)

Fandom: Gintama Characters: Mutsu/Kijima Matako Rating: General Audiences Warnings: n/a Notes: this happens in an AU where things went a wildly different way from like mid-SS onward but don’t think much about it

Summary: Matako does something for Valentine's Day for the first time in her life and Mutsu begins to understand this Earth's tradition.

Part 2 | Read on AO3

Mutsu finished the last third of her eighth portion of rice with a single bite and put down her bowl. Despite the huge amount of food she had just consumed, no one around her batted an eye. After so  many years, everyone in the Kaientai was used to the amount of food a yato like her could eat in one sitting. Maybe if Sakamoto was a penny-pinching man he would complain about the costs of it, but so far it had never bothered him.

“Thank you for the food” she said to Oyama, one of the crew members working at the kitchen, and who had helped her serve her meal. Oyama began the task of cleaning up the table, and Mutsu was helping him stack plates on top of each other. At that moment, Aikawa, who was in charge of everything going on at the kitchen, came in carrying a box full of vegetables that were to be used for that night’s dinner.

“Oyama-kun, is this yours?” Aikawa asked, gesturing to a heart-shaped box adorned with a golden bow.

“Ah, that?” Oyama said, with a visible blush on his face. “Yeah… I received it from Akane-san for Valentine’s Day”

“So Akane-chan is into you, huh” Aikawa laughed before resuming her duties. “Have you thought about what you’ll give her next month?”

“I asked Hosoda and he suggested getting her white chocolate, but I don’t know how to make it myself so I’m probably going to buy it.”

“Well, if you get the ingredients maybe I can help you,” said Aikawa with a warm mother-like tone. Oyama’s blush deepened, but he accepted the offer with a polite nod. “Akane-chan is a very sweet girl, be sure to treat her right.” Changing her focus to the vice-captain, the older woman smiled “What about you, Mutsu-san? Do you celebrate Valentine's Day where you’re from?”

“No, or at least not that I know of” Mutsu replied. “I only learnt about it after meeting Sakamoto. I don’t really know what’s the point of it.”

“Oh well,” began Aikawa, speaking calmly as she set up a big pot for use. “If we look at it in a realistic way, it’s just an excuse to sell chocolate. But it can also be the day when someone gathers the courage to make their heart be heard. Personally, I like to see things the more romantic way, I love how this season can quite literally bring out the sweetest sides of people.”

“I see...” Mutsu replied, not sure she completely got it yet. Having finished the task of helping Okawa with cleaning, Mutsu excused herself from the kitchen to go to the control room, where she found Sakamoto overlooking their route back to Edo, already their third visit there this year.

Normally, the Kaientai didn’t visit Earth so often, but after the end of the war they had been helping with the reconstruction of Edo, mostly by using Sakamoto’s business skills to better their relationship with other planets. Because of this, they had to come back often so they could report back and discuss future strategies, but Mutsu was sure he also wanted to enjoy the extra time with his longtime comrades.

Not that she really minded. She wasn’t familiar with the idea of having a planet to call home — her place was always in space, but she had grown to appreciate Edo and the people there. Even before the war, she had already worked with Gintoki and Katsura, as well as their teams. The girl that Gintoki had taken under, Kagura, was very adamant in showing Mutsu around Edo, and the two had become close.

Besides the Yorozuya and the Joui faction led by Katsura, through the reconstruction meetings she was now familiar with some of the people working with Nobunobu, like the Mimawarigumi and a handful of officials who had been there since Shigeshige. Takasugi’s Kiheitai also took part, giving Mutsu the chance of knowing them better than she’d had the chance back when they were to Rakuyou.

“We’ll land in approximately two hours” said Tanisaki from his seat next to the ship’s controls. Standing right in the middle of the control room, Sakamoto laughed but was interrupted by a wave of nausea. Mutsu stood next to him, overlooking the rest of the crew there, smiling to herself and looking forward to this visit to Earth.

“...we’ll meet again as soon as Sakamoto comes back with their response,” said Katsura, closing off that day’s meeting.

“Ahahaha in that case I guess it’s time for some drinks, right Kintoki?” Sakamoto said to the man sitting to his left, who always looked like he would rather be anywhere but those meetings. No one seemed to pay much attention to them except for Katsura. The rest of the attendees were already used to the three of them acting like idiots, and had better things to do than engaging with them — except for the new shogun, who they sometimes managed to drag along with them.

Mutsu left the room and walked to the exit without a hurry. She could hear Sakamoto’s laugh fade off as he left with Gintoki and Katsura. The trip to the planet they were set to visit was almost a week long, but she didn’t feel like dragging her captain back to the ship just yet. The weather in Edo was finally warming up and she wanted to enjoy it for a little longer. Maybe Kagura could take her to good places to eat.

“Wait!” she heard someone calling for her.

Turning around, she found one of the members of Takasugi’s Kiheitai, Kijima Matako. Mutsu didn’t know much about her, as they had only spoken on a few occasions during these meetings. While they were nowhere near close, Mutsu found her presence to be enjoyable.

“I know it’s a lil’ late but I, uh…” Matako looked down and held her hands in front of her, offering Mutsu a small red box with a white ribbon tied around it. “I don’t really have any experience with confectionery but, I… hope you’ll like it.” Even though Matako had turned to the side trying to hide the blush on her face, Mutsu could still notice the red color on the tips of her ears.

Not sure about what to make of the situation, Mutsu took the box and was thinking of how to politely accept the gift, but didn’t get the chance to. “Well I’ll… see you around.” And with that, Matako left, walking fast so she could catch up with her commander and the other two men accompanying him, already a good distance ahead on them on the same direction Sakamoto and the others had taken not that long ago.

Now alone, she carefully untied the ribbon that kept the box closed. Removing the lid, she found an array of a dozen heart-shaped bombons, some with simple patterns made with different kinds of chocolate on them. Mutsu stood there for a while, looking at the content of the box. It wasn’t every day that something took her by surprise — she was used to the unexpected and all sorts of strange things. But this was something she’d never imagined.

It can also be the day when someone gathers the courage to make their heart be heard, she thought back to Aikawa’s words. Matako had given her this so she could hear what was inside their heart?

But doesn’t her heart belong to her commander?, a voice in Mutsu’s head asked. At least that had been the impression she got when meeting them in Rakuyo. If she compared Matako’s reaction back then to how Mutsu would’ve acted if it had been Sakamoto in Takasugi’s place, they seemed to be coming from different kinds of affection. But maybe she had just gotten the wrong idea. Or maybe things had changed over the past year. With every other thing in the universe changing at a fast rate, was it unthinkable that feelings could develop and evolve in a similar fashion?

The present she had just received told Mutsu that, at the very least, she had somehow managed to occupy part of Matako’s thoughts, and that it was strong enough that it prompted to act on them at a time mostly associated with romantic love. How serious or how deep were Matako’s feelings, she had no way to know just from the chocolates. However, according to what she’d heard earlier in the kitchen, she was now supposed to give a response.

What was her response exactly, though? She would be lying if she said Matako had been crossing her mind on the daily. She had thought of her a couple of times while thinking about Edo during space trips, despite the fact they hadn’t talked much or spent time together outside of these meetings.

Mutsu pondered about how she felt towards the other woman as she walked through Edo, not following any path in particular and just letting her feet take her anywhere they wanted. She soon found herself at the port, the changing colors of the water as it moved and reflected the sun helping her clear her mind.

Matako was the only woman in the Kiheitai, and one of the few people Takasugi —a man that Sakamoto respected deeply— seemed to trust. Just like Mutsu, she was skilled with the use of guns, always carrying two out of fashion pistols with her. She dressed in a less traditional way than anyone else she had met from Earth, making her stand out. Mutsu was certain there were people that saw her and shook their heads in disapproval, but Matako didn’t seem to care. She was comfortable and paid no mind to what strangers’ opinions were. Being honest, Mutsu found this attitude to be attractive.

Also, despite the roughness she usually carried herself with and all her attempts at appearing intimidating, Mutsu could tell she was rather gentle on the inside. One of the occasions it showed through was every time she bickered with Kagura. Despite constantly calling the young girl a brat, a sister-like warmness was almost tangible under her annoyed tone, and a small smirk appeared every time she was called Makko — the nickname Kagura had given her.

When visualizing Matako in her mind, Mutsu saw her with the playful grin of someone who was proud of their position and almost dared anyone to try her, sharp eyes taking everything around her with caution, crossing her arms in front of her but with her hands ready to jump into action at any moment. But she also saw her softening up when her eyes met with one of the other members of the Kiheitai, with a care that exposed her attachment to them, grown over the years they had spent together as comrades if not as family.

Maybe she was being selfish, but Mutsu found herself wishing that she could make Matako light up in a similar way, make her lower her guard and show her all the affection she was willing to give to those who were dear to her. She wanted to get to know Matako better and discover more of what else was behind her furrowed eyebrows. Maybe she would slowly get attached to her like she had to Edo the more she explored its streets.

She opened the red box again, smiling at the sight of its contents. Taking out one of the bonbons, she bit into it, taking her time to taste the dark chocolate shell and the caramel filling. Mutsu felt warm inside and closed her eyes to focus only on the treat. While it was obvious this wasn’t the work of a professional chocolatier, the effort that had been put into it was evident. It may not have been made by expert hands, but if it was conveying what laid within Matako’s heart, Mutsu wanted to taste more of its sweet bliss in all of its flavors.

Walking back into the city, she made her way back to the ship, where she hoped Aikawa could help her elaborate a response.

[falloutwritings]

Genuine Happiness

Characters: Yes Man/Seven (OC)

Summary:  After the events of New Vegas, Seven has finally pulled the strings and called in the favors from her adventure through the Mojave to get Yes Man a body. Though she’s happy to give her companion a chance to live a life without being shackled by his strict personality programming, Seven worries if Yes Man will still feel the same about her afterwards--will he still care about her like she cares about him?

Note: This fic was written as a commission for @crownandantler​, and I had a bunch of fun writing Seven, especially since I’ve been eager to see/write more Yes Man content for the fandom. If you’re interested in commissioning me, check out my commissions page!

You wanna support my writing? Buy me a Ko-fi! ☕

There was something to be said about being the queen of New Vegas in all but name. Names, after all, had a certain level of power over those who heard them, used them, and believed in them wholly. It was one of the reasons that Caesar might have been as feared as he was during his conquest of the states to the east--until he was rightfully killed, that is.

Suffice to say, names are powerful, but Seven herself cares little about them. Useless bunches of letters, a hollow mask to hide away the person behind it--actions, after all, mattered more than words and titles. The only exception that Seven had ever made to that belief was ensuring nobody called her anything than what she was: a courier. New Vegas, Freeside, all of the surrounding lands of the sinful city; to them, she was simply ‘The Courier’.

Still, while she didn’t care for the names people called her, Seven couldn’t deny that she had a distinct level of power and influence with New Vegas and all of the factions connected to it. The NCR saw her as a hero, the Families saw her as a savior, and all the others saw her as she had been in the beginning of her time in the Mojave--a courier.

There were plenty of benefits to being so influential. Seven didn’t hide them, didn’t reject them, but took advantage of the resources when she genuinely needed. It was good to have a favor, a trick up the sleeve. After all, nobody could predict what would happen in life, and Seven herself had learned it was good to have friends and resources when things got tough.

But there was one friend, one companion, that she had a debt to--and it was a debt she was keen to pay back.

Helping Yes Man get himself a body, a more humanoid form, was certainly one of those moments of need for Seven as the not-really leader of New Vegas. It was only fair, after all, considering all he had done to help get her where she was, offering companionship and level thoughts when she needed them most in her darkest moments. He was….important to her. Deeply important: Seven wanted to do something worth the happiness he had and still continued to give her.

It took months to get the resources, and months more to have them moved from the east coast all the way to the Mojave, though Seven certainly didn’t lack for caps or favors to call upon in order to get the job done.

Nobody knew where she had procured the technology or the knowledge; even those closest to her had only a vague understanding of some sort of ‘Institute’ and a people called ‘Synths’. That’s all she’d ever let slip, and people knew well enough not to pry her for more information beyond that.

Seven was a good person, but nobody was ready to test the patience and mercy for the woman who freed New Vegas from Mr. House’s grasp and helped defeat Caesar’s Legion.

It took over a week to complete. Nine days of the unknown, each one bringing forth new layers of worry that nipped and gnawed at the back of Seven’s mind. Though she had managed to get the best resources, hire the best doctor, ensure the highest probability of success in the transfer--it was still a worry she couldn’t simply set aside and forget about.

The Lucky 38, after all, was just too quiet without Yes Man’s voice.

When Seven finally got to see him, she almost couldn’t believe he was the same securitron she’d met all those months ago. He stood before her, this lanky, tall man, clad in a set of loose pants and a shirt--he wore glasses that seemed to slip from their spot on his face every time his head shifted.

But despite it all, he looked at Seven with gentle eyes and a wide, unbroken smile.

“Yes Man?” The name had long since blurred into one word on Seven’s lips as she speaks it, moreso as her eyes glance up at the man, face foreign but smile all too familiar. “Is that….you?”

Nine days. Nine whole days of worry and stress--but seeing him at last, seeing him standing in front of her in a body, a human body, was beyond what Seven thought she was ready to see.

It took a moment for the man to speak, opening his mouth and letting a noise fall out, then hurriedly trying again; it was almost like a child trying to find their voice, say their first words, all of the awkward mouth motions, but from a being with mountains of knowledge and years of experience being anything but a child.

“S….Seven?” The sound was a little rough, but it was his voice. His voice . The woman couldn’t begin to understand the complicated technology behind giving him a voice that sounded exactly as it had before, down to the same tone and energy behind each word. The man blinked his wide, almost owlish eyes, and brightened considerably. “Can you believe this? I’m--I’m alive!”

He took a moment and blinked, raising a finger to tap at his lips, correcting himself before Seven had the moment to come up with a response.

“Well, I was arguably alive before the transfer, but now I’m even more alive!” Yes Man then threw his arms to the air in a simple show of his joy.

The woman before him took a breath, watching him with an expression that balanced precariously between awe and joy--though that only lasted for a few seconds before she hurried forward and threw her arms around Yes Man.

He felt warm . His body was soft, it responded to how she hugged him close and tight. Too tight, as she’d quickly realize by the man’s wheezing.

“Shit, I’m sorry--” Seven said in a hurry, but Yes Man quickly hushed the apology away with a wave of a hand.

“Oh goodness no, you’re fine!” He exclaimed, glancing down at his chest. “It would appear that I will have to get used to things like….breathing. But that’s alright, quite exciting actually! I wonder how long I could hold my breath if I wanted?”

Seven was not ready for him to start tossing around curiosities, especially not when he was still getting used to a very fleshy, very fragile, very mortal body. She thrust forward to grab his hands and attention alike.

“Please don’t try to test something that would get you killed,” She said, squeezing his hands in her own. “The last thing I need is you accidentally suffocating yourself.”

Yes Man nodded in a rare moment of silence, but his eyes never moved from Seven’s face, his attention never wavering from her eyes and joy and the dozen other emotions that were moving about her thoughts. Truth be told, Seven had planned quite exceptionally well for the process in getting to that point, but she hadn’t spared all that many thoughts in what she would do, how she would feel after it was all said and done. There was only so much she could ignore and hide, simply pretend it didn’t exist until she was literally face-to-face with a being--a man now--who had been one of her few supporters as she adventured across the Mojave.

And she felt fear.

It wasn’t a fear for betrayal or anything of that sort, nothing something any normal survivor of the wasteland would care or think about, though Seven was in a very unique situation herself.

Did Yes Man still care about her as he had before?

The question was inherently a bit selfish, despite how much Seven had done her best to ignore and outright reject the wavering fear that clung to the notion. As a securitron, Yes Man had been shackled, restrained to his rigid programming of being helpful.

‘It’s not my fault I can’t say no!’

She could remember how unnerved it sounded coming from him all those months ago, when they had first met one another. How it stung whenever she remembered it, the notion that perhaps the bonding between the two of them over all the time she’d gotten to know Yes Man was simply part of that very same programming--the inability to say no, to reject, to not return the feelings that had blossomed deep in Seven’s chest whenever he greeted her upon entering the Lucky 38.

Whether Yes Man took note of the fear in her eyes or simply that she was lost in thought, Seven wasn’t entirely sure--but she was brought back to current events when she heard his voice ring sweetly in her ears.

“Sev?”

The woman blinked as she focused on the current moment, of the fact she was still clutching his hands (warm, soft) in her own. Yes Man was so tall in his new body, surpassing Seven by at least a few inches, if not half a foot. It wasn’t anything new--his former body towered over here, and she had gotten used to looking up a slight in order to look at his screen while speaking to him.

It was sweet to finally watch Yes Man’s smile widen, see his expression shift from one thing to another--he had yet to learn how to cover them up, though hell would sooner freeze over before Seven cared if Yes Man ever got himself a poker face. She liked seeing him happy.

“I want to test something; is that alright?”

His head tilted slightly to one side in a motion of almost childish curiosity. Seven nodded, only slightly cautious for what Yes Man was eager to test first in his new form. Would it be pain? Hunger? Complex thought processes? The possibilities mounted in the back of her thoughts, with each one a careful notion of how she’d respond.

“I want you to tell me not to kiss you!”

….But that was not one that she had considered. Seven blinked rapidly, taken back by the words despite the fact that was certainly something she’d thought about for a long while--it would have been one hell of a lie to say she hadn’t considered at least once what it would be like to kiss him (especially with a body quite capable of kissing).

“Ex….use me?”

The confusion was merely reactive--his request rang loud and plenty clear a half-second after she opened her mouth.

“I apologize--that was too forward of me wasn’t it?” Yes Man looked sheepish after a breath. “I suppose I--er. Perhaps that wasn’t….right for me to ask. I simply thought it was a perfect opportunity to test if I am still restricted by my hardware issues of my previous body!”

Did he mean that in the sense that he wouldn’t want to kiss her otherwise? It was very hard to tell, pick out the honesty from the man’s flustered words.

“Don’t...kiss me?” Seven finally said in a bumbling breath.

Yes Man huffed, brows furrowing for a moment as he thought it over.

“You mean that only for purposes of this test, right?” He pursed his lips, and Seven thought idly how cute it looked on him. “I ask because I respect your boundaries, and if you are otherwise honestly telling me that you wouldn’t want me to kiss you, I want to make sure that’s distinctly stated between us.”

God, it made her head hurt.

“Fuck,” She groaned, pulled a hand out of Yes Man’s so she could rub it over her eyes and look back at him. “Okay. If you are….able to bypass or….make your own decisions, I would--” Seven took a quick breath so she wouldn’t stumble over herself. “--I would love for you to kiss me right now. But--But don’t kiss me. Don’t even think about kissing me. You are not allowed to kiss me at all and--”

But then he kissed her. Sweetly, quickly, without a breath of hesitation from the moment that he heard she genuinely wanted him to.

The kiss itself was sloppy, obviously due to the fact that Yes Man was still learning how to use his mouth for speaking, let alone anything else. But what the kiss lacked in tact and experience it sure as hell made up for in passion. Seven could feel Yes Man’s hands leaving hers, but moving up to touch her face, cup her cheeks while his thumbs swept over her skin.

Though it felt like the kiss lasted for centuries, it was only a few heartbeats later that the man gently pulled his face back, though just enough that he could speak clearly.

“....I’ve been….wondering what that would feel like,” he murmured. “To kiss you, I mean.”

“Is it everything you dreamed it’d be, loverbot?” Seven said with a chuckle, trying desperately to ignore the way her heart hammered away against the inside of her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so light on her feet, so genuinely happy about much of anything.

Not when she fought in the second battle for Hoover Dam, not when she killed Caesar with Boone, not even when she saw the lights of Freeside flickering to life after routing the power from Helios One. For all that she had accomplished in her life, Seven could not compare the feeling of warmth and joy that rushed through her veins.

Yes Man cleared his throat. His cheeks were warm and red, his eyes barely able to meet Seven’s own as he tried to sputter out some semblance of a come-on.

“So uh, I think this is the moment that I’m supposed to say that I like you? A lot. A whole lot. No programming making me say that either! I--I want to protect you, Seven.”

And so the woman felt a smile on her face, wide to the point it almost hurt, as she looked at him. She reached her hands up to cup Yes Man’s face in kind and pressed her lips to his in a soft, slower kiss, the gesture wordless but rife with meaning of love and sweet, genuine happiness.

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Deception - Chapter 6

Fandom: Divergent. Pairing: Eric/OC Rating: Mature content

With a Father in power and a past based on rumors, a story of deception entails.

Refresh yourself with the Fifth Chapter Here.

A/N: Been a while... again. Life is crazy, right? BTW I just used the old tag list. And thanks to murme as always :)

Tags:  @murmelinchen  @beltz2016  @tak3th3sh0t@singingpeople@frecklefaceb  @equalstrashflavoredtrash@pathybo  @tobiasbebrave @xxrubyredrosexx @maan2442 @ariwolff14 @kenzieam @lauraaan182 @red-diary  @hells-helvig  @mom2reesie

Eric strides ahead furiously while Kate tries to catch up, making their way towards her family’s apartment, to where they think Mick is. Luckily they hadn’t stumbled upon anyone and Eric’s phone had gone silent. It made it more worrying if anything because that meant the other Leaders were too busy, probably trying to sate the other factions.

“Eric,” Kate calls him, trying to get him to slow down. “Eric!” She jogs forwards, reaches out and grabs his hand. He jerks slightly, almost like he was about to pull away, but settles as he turns, impatiently waiting. “Does this change anything?”

Her voice quivers slightly with uncertainty and he pauses, his nose scrunching up in bewilderment. “What, Kate? What are you talking about? We have other issues to be thinking-”

“I’m not talking about us or about what happened at Candor,” she clarifies, “I mean the course, our training, is that cancelled? Weren’t we going to Amity tomorrow? Surely that’s impossible now. If we’ve riled the factionless-”

Eric cups her face again, for once not caring where they stood, out in the open for any person to see, and kisses her, hard. “Thank fuck,” he whispers. Kate is still stunned, and he pulls her to continue on their way, merely throwing over his shoulder, “Clingy isn’t my thing.” But he still holds her hand firmly.

By the time they reach the apartment they are out of breath, and Kate uses her key. Eric heads in first. Mick is sitting at the table with Lorraine in the kitchen. He slowly peers up between the two. “Well, this wasn’t an unpredictable scenario. Where there is Kate there is Eric. This is becoming a regular thing?” Mick quirks a brow. “It’s nice to see you take advice from your peers.” Mick directs a look towards Eric.

“Cut the crap,” Eric snaps. “The damage you’ve caused is irreversible.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Surely reminding the city of our cause is not an uncommon offence.” Mick picks up his drink from the table and sips it.

“The way it was executed is.”

Mick glances past Eric to Kate standing just off from his shoulder. “Kate, this doesn’t involve you. Go to your room.”

“No. I’m not thirteen.” Though her stomach twists, defying a parent she’d always admired. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What a nice daughter you raised, Mick,” says Lorraine sarcastically from inside the kitchen. “Kate, do as your father says.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Kate exclaims while the twins appear in the hallway, crossing their arms identically, too interested in what’s unfolding in front of them. Lorraine’s face darkens. “What we want to know is why you and Jeanine have gone behind every other leader in Dauntless. In fact, every faction representative, and why.”

“I haven’t. Eric knew,” Mick says casually. “To an extent.” He probably thought it would make her doubt Eric, and she merely looks to him as he turns, an ebbing of guilt on his expression that she probably would’ve described as tactless if she didn’t know him any better. Her view of him had changed since the willingness to use the truth serum on himself. “It’s all for a purer community. It started with Divergents, it’s leaked to the problems we have with the factionless. It’s been in the works for years. Before my time in Dauntless ends, and before the factionless find the strength to rise against our conformity, we decided to progress.” Mick gets up, tucks his chair in and scoffs. “Come on, Eric. You’ve known from the very beginning the plans were to cleanse the city. You also know that couldn’t come into effect without a revolt from the factionless.”

“That’s not what’s troubling me. It’s the urgency,” Eric says.

“I’d like you to leave, Eric. I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

Mick was not willing to share anything. The urge to scream at him about the music box, about her mother was on the tip of her tongue. It boiled deep inside her gut. If Eric did leave, she was left with this mess, with these people she felt she didn’t know anymore. “Eric leaves, I leave.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mick sighs. “The last thing Eric wants is to be weighed down with you. He has a job to do.”

Kate slips her hand back into Eric’s. His head lowers a little, his tongue in his cheek until he lifts it, a glazed over expression, the unwillingness to let her go now.

Mick nods slowly at the conclusion. “So, my suspicions are true.” Lorraine’s mouth hangs open, the twins shocked. “I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed in both of you. You have betrayed me. You’ve ignored everything I’ve ever said.” Mick’s face starts turning a shade of red, of anger, his eyes wide, spittle coating the table. “You were supposed to keep her attention away from others, not fuck my daughter!” his voice booms, making Kate flinch.

“You are dead to me,” he tells Eric. “You were like a son to me. But now you are nothing - nothing. And mark my words, Kate, you’ll be back here soon, realising the massive mistake you’ve made.”

“Mick, we didn’t plan-” Eric tries calmly.

“Shut the fuck up or I don’t even know-” He throws a hand up in the air, and Lorraine approaches, touching his shoulder in some sort of comfort, but he shrugs her off. “Don’t touch me, woman!” The stupid woman does anyway. “I said, don’t touch me!” He points to Eric, “You, get out of my home!” Mick sniffs, using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe the spit from his mouth. “Fuck it, I’m just going to kill you.” He pulls his gun, and Eric pulls his with a lightning reaction, both aiming at each other.

“Stop!” shouts Kate. Both of them don’t move, don’t even glance her way. She steps in front of Eric, and with a grunt, Mick lowers his gun, Eric copying with hesitation. She pushes him by walking backwards, into the small lobby and through the door. The last sight being Mick, with a face fully set on revenge.

Eric’s place is small, a neat and barely lived-in home, with an open lounge, kitchen and two rooms set off from it, being the bathroom and bedroom. It felt cramped and cold, the mere image of Eric returning home here every night a little heart clenching. 

It’s the first time she’s been there, and they don’t speak, both mentally going through what has happened. Though, Eric doesn’t get to dwell much on it and had been off on his phone pretty much from the moment they got inside, contacting other members to get information.

Kate takes off her boots and goes to the bedroom to give him privacy as he paces with the phone stuck to the side of his face, and plants herself neatly on the end of his bed. Leaning on her knees, head hanging low, she fears what was going to happen next. The mysteries of her mother were thwarted by Mick’s reactions, by her actions about deciding to leave so suddenly. Ones that she hadn’t thought about since Candor mounted up on top of the present situation causing an immovable weight on her shoulders.

But there was a threat lingering that she knew Mick was totally capable of seeing through.

Eric suddenly comes into view, kneeling in front of her. “I have work to do. I’ve got to go. There’s been reports of a factionless movement, groups around Erudite gathering. The wall has had reports of suspicious activity. Whatever your father has done, it’s sent a ripple effect.” She barely looks at him. “Hey,” he strokes some hair from the side of her face, trying to joke, “A normal day at the office.”

“It’s not that.”

“If you want to leave you can,” he says a little sterner.

“It’s not that either, Eric.” She looks to him, her chest constricting. “He hates us.”

“He hates me. He dislikes you... temporarily.”

“How are you so calm about this?” She touches his hand that had drifted to her neck. “I know him. You know him. He will stick to his word.”

“He’s got a lot on his plate to be thinking of chasing me around Dauntless at the moment.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m pretty hard to kill when I want to be.”

“This is all my fault.”

“Stop talking shit. It’s his fault. He’s the one with the secrets. He’s the one calling out conformity. It’s his fault,” he stresses. “I just pissed him off. And that’s something I’m good at.”

“What should I do? Am I needed? Surely the security increase-”

“For the moment you can perch on my bed and look pretty.” He stands up, caressing the side of her jaw and turns, but Kate stops him by tugging his hand. “I can’t stay.”

“I don’t want you to stay,” her voice trembles. “I want you to do what my dad thinks we already have.”

“Everything is falling apart around us, and you-”

“Things are changing every minute. Time doesn’t stand still. Life is short.” He still seems torn, so she gets up, unbuttoning her jacket and throwing it off. She lifts her vest and discards it to the ground beside her, then her sports bra. She’s toned, each fevered breath accentuating the muscles of her abdomen. Eric bites his lip, moving towards her, touching the skin, dancing down her ribs, then loops his fingers over the top of her leggings and drags her forward, crashing into him. They are breaths apart, her lips almost touching his. “I have imagined this,” she admits, and he smirks.

“So have I.” His kiss is featherlight, pausing only to shrug his top layers off. He has more tattoos twirling across the front of his body, down to his side and forming into the back tattoo she’d seen in the locker room before. There’s a dusting of hair, his chest wide and intimidating.

She lets the kiss take away the hesitation, falling when he pushes her back onto the bed. Looking up at him, she keeps his eyes as the rest of his clothes disappear. She lets him pull her leggings and underwear down together, suddenly nervous when he climbs on top of her. But that melts away with the taste of his mouth, his tongue just gliding against hers, his hands sliding across her stomach and down, down where her core clenched.

“Uh,” she hisses through her teeth, eyes closing, head falling back with the feel of his fingertips trailing across her clit and testing her. It makes her flush, his large fingers pushing inside her, his mouth finding her neck, his heat so close.

All the sensations have her gripping onto his arms, at the bed. Again and again stealing her mouth, all while she couldn’t stop the pleasant sounds he evoked from her. She’s lost in him, in herself.

When there is a pause, a shift in his weight, she feels pressure, as he slides the head of his cock into her, and they stop altogether, watching each other for a moment. He steadies himself on his elbows and looks down upon her face.

“Don’t tense up,” he whispers, kissing her lightly, pushing forward inch by inch. There’s a wash of pleasure on his face, something she’s never seen. It excites her to see the veil of his exterior dropping.

Eric’s body is clammy, slowly rocking. His composure drops altogether as he tumbles to rest his head in the crook of her neck, chasing the build she can feel. It’s wet and slippery, and he moves to grip her shoulder, thrusting a little quicker, pained that he has to hold back.

She grasps the back of his neck as his hand slips down to her breast, kissing her roughly, then uses it against her clit, concentrating on her more than himself.

But it didn’t matter anymore. The touch took away the pain, and it drew out the build in her lower belly, the tension unravelling. He moved upon her, but the reality was lost as she arched up into him. His groan is quiet over the pulse in her ears and he thrusts one last time, panting. And it feels like her muscles melted into the bed beneath her.

Eric pulls out and props himself on his elbows. “It gets better,” he breathes.

Kate begins giggling, watching him wiping the sweat from his temple. “Your bed talk is the best.”

“It’s nothing compared to those little noises you make.” He smiles and his breath is still lost from their moment, a pink dusting on his cheekbones. “Couldn’t get a word in if I tried.”

Kate hits out at him. “Shut up!”

“Least you could have done is sighed my name…” he continues.

“I’m not versed in porn.” Her laugh filters out as he sits up, remembering there was a job to do.

“I could get used to seeing you naked on my bed though. In fact, just naked, anywhere.”

“Eric!” He’s laughing as he gets up and rounds up his clothes.

“Stay here, Kate. If you get called on a squadron, don’t go,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head.

“I have to.” She watches him pull up his pants and button them, grabbing his jacket. He leans down to her and kisses her quickly.

“I know. But at least I tried.” Eric couldn’t hide that he was a Leader first, his ethics last. And he knew that she would refuse to be left behind.

Mick brewed over a stiff drink in his office. Strangely, the floor is quiet as the ruckus throughout Dauntless had most of its members called out on duty. The only person he who had bothered him was Jeanine, sprouting question after question to the point he ignored her. And the guard he’d sent searching Dauntless for Kate had come up with nothing. The guard was now headed to Eric’s apartment. It was the last place Mick wanted him to go to confirm his fears, but he needed to know where she was in all the chaos. 

“Sir,” a young man pops his head in the door, into the dark of Mick’s office, “Reports on locations you requested.”

Mick flicks a wrist for him to come closer, and the young man places the papers on the desk, nods and leaves.

He searched through endless names until he found the one he was looking for: Eric Coulter, and his latest location.

He’d gone to the wall. To the exact place most of the Factionless protests of a new-world beyond-the-wall usually occurred. Though he had to admit, his plan of riling the factionless had worked, and no way in hell was Loretta able to reign in every factionless outpost, no matter what authority she seemed to hold over them. He’d created a wide panic, flushed them out of shadows and whispering with intentions to destroy the city and factions system.

Why would everybody hate him for trying to protect them?

And that fucking bastard Coulter boy had taken away his Kate. She hated him too without a single shred of doubt.

Mick downs the rest of his bourbon, sighing at the burn, then picks up the phone. It rings through to a team, a squadron not far from the wall, area code fifteen, the place where Eric would be.

“Interlinking walls above the base wall should be demolished immediately. Permission to rig and commence without fault or hesitation.”

“Sir?” responds an officer, a mixture of wind and shouting in the background behind him. “There are people up there.” The phone cuts in and out, a whistle piercing his ear and that makes him shift back away from the receiver for a moment.

“Can you hear me?” Mick asks haughtily, just hearing a confirmation above the scratching signal. “We’ve been intercepted. Execute the plan, soldier.” Mick slams the phone down, and sits back, clicking his fingers.

Kate doesn’t have to wait long until she gets a call from an automated response message linked to every faction member in case of emergency. And this was as good as any. 

Leaving Eric’s after a quick shower, she heads to the Pit which is flailing with life below her as she stands peering down the walkway. There is a queue of Dauntless suited with guns, other Leaders such as Max she could see clearly standing on a crumpled wall to address them. But to her relief, Mick isn’t here.

Pulling back her wet hair into a ponytail, she can’t help the betrayal of her emotions as she scours the bodies for Eric, who is nowhere to be seen.

A hand lands on her shoulder and it is her running partner Laura. “Kate! Do you know what’s going on?!” She sounds panicked, out of breath.

“It’s the factionless. But to what extent, I don't know yet.” She stops as a group of people clump past them, taking the stairs, feeling the vibrations through the metal. It makes Kate’s heart race, a panic in her gut. Laura moves away like she was about to follow them, so Kate pulls her closer to shout over the ever-increasing volume of voices. “Have you seen Eric?”

Laura shakes her head. “Let’s go down and get kitted out. We can find out. I’m sure Max will know.”

Kate follows her down into the rush, pushing and shoving, people shouting and overly excited conversations. Groups are exiting through the front entrance, and Kate has a strange feeling watching them. The feeling in her stomach doesn’t last as she is pulled by Laura through a gap to a table and someone hands over a basic kit. She quickly assembles the belt around her waist and shoulders her weapon.

Max hops off the wall, and Kate sees her opportunity. She grabs Laura’s hand and dives through the crowd until she can reach him. She raises her voice, shouting, “Max!” and waving her hand in the air until he spots her.

Max isn’t happy. “Nice to see that father of yours getting his hands dirty,” he scoffs.

Kate ignores him. “Have you seen Eric?”

“Eric’s gone.” He gets distracted, signing something a person hands to him. “He’s at the wall.”

“Is anyone leaving for the wall now?” Kate is still being tussled about, but holds her stance strong, even if an elbow did wind her.

“In about twenty minutes. You...” he starts to stammer, “You should stay here.” It was Mick obviously playing on his mind.

“I’m going, Max,” Kate says determinedly, a frown etching on her face. “But what about Dauntless?”

“Don’t worry about Dauntless. Safety measures are being taken. I’m staying here. The other Leader’s are out there.” He pauses, glancing around the room but Max seems finished with this conversation. “Everybody, get to your positions!” he shouts across the sea of bodies.

Kate turns to Laura. “I need to get a place to the wall.”

“It’s probably full leaving so soon, you’ll have to do a different section.”

“No, I’m going to the wall,” she says firmly, a softening on Laura’s face as to knowing why. “Eric’s there.”

“Let’s get you to the wall then.”

Kate barely takes a step, a hand landing on her shoulder. “I’ve been ordered to take you back to Leader Jones.” The man stands heads taller than her, possibly even taller than Eric.

“You can tell Leader Jones that there is a situation here.”

“Orders are orders.” His hand tightens on her shoulder, pulling her towards him. The only thing that stops the momentum is Laura still hanging onto Kate’s other arm.

“Get off her, doofus!” she shouts, pushing at him. And Kate sees the opportunity, slamming her heel down onto his foot, immediately releasing her.

They leave him in their wake as they rush, pushing others out the way, then begin to laugh at the stupidity of it. Throwing themselves through the entrance, the trucks are waiting in line, being filled to leave. They pass between each one, asking which is going where until they find the right one.

“I’m coming with you,” Laura says, excitement in her eyes, and they ignore the calls of line-jumping and hop on board. The minutes seem like seconds until the tail of the truck is lifted and ordered to leave to which both girls sigh in relief. On the steps of Dauntless, by the entrance, they see the man her father had ordered to find her, and Kate puts her finger up at him to the shrill shriek of Laura.

Max stops in the brightly lit doorway of Mick’s office, seeing Mick’s outline in the darkness. 

“It’s just me and you here. And I think we need a chat.” Max smiles, strolling into the room.

“Not now, I’m busy,” Mick says, trying to get rid of him quickly.

“Nursing a drink in the dark, yeah, looks it.”

“Have you seen Kate?” Mick asks.

“Briefly. She boarded a truck, I think. Wasn’t listening to my plea to stay put.”

Mick slams his glass down. “What truck?” He stands, throwing his chair out. “Going where?” His stomach drops - he already has a pretty good guess.

“To the wall,” Max says with a shrug. Up behind Max comes the man who was supposed to fetch her, and he shakes his head. “What’s going on?”

“Why didn’t you stop her?!” Mick picks up the phone to call the squadron he’d ordered earlier, but the number rings out with no answer. “Is there a problem with the phone lines? Why aren’t they answering?”

“Lines are clogged. Keep trying.”

Mick picks up his jacket from the back of the chair, dashing towards the door. “You keep trying! Tell them to cease all orders!” He taps the man by the door and tells him silently to follow. There won’t be enough time! his thoughts shouted.

Max scoffs, looking around at the darkness, then leaves. He was sick of doing Mick’s dirty work.

[revmore-archives]

Re-Introducing: Isolde Rev’more

So!... I’ve decided to bring her back but as a fresh... fresh start. Isolde/Scassira has been away for eight months after leaving behind everything she had known and loved. She left her husband, her friends, her family, all because she felt she was nothing but a walking plague as a misguided and wounded soul.

She left everything, journeying on a path of self discovery. In that time away, she’s learned many things about herself, and what is needed for her in order to continue living without the pain that the void had left within her upon destroying her cult and the corrupted core she was housing. A part of her soul had been destroyed during that sundering, and when she was pulled back from the Shadowlands, she was not the same. 

Now? Isolde is a new woman. She’s found a love for the sea, for the small things she never understood and took for granted, and for a chance at life with a new outlook. She’s been able to start repairing the void in her soul... one step at a time.

OOC INFORMATION:

What I’m Looking For: RP! Of all shapes and sizes. I am good with pre-existing, though this could be difficult given her extensive past. But I am willing to work with it! But I am all for the hateships, romance-ships, friendships, etc!

Fandom: World of Warcraft Sole Faction or Cross-Faction: Definitely cross-faction!  Faction I Play: Alliance Server: Wyrmrest Accord Venues I Actively Roleplay In: Tumblr and Discord and in Game.

Favorite Type of RP: Anything and everything. I love building up relationships between my character and others’ (whether it be platonic, a hateship, business-oriented, romantic, it doesn’t matter). I also love following set plots and story lines. Triggers: I will not do anything regarding rape and a few other things. I’d let you know if not comfortable with something. Things I Will Not RP: I will not RP any sort of sexual assault or abuse, simply out of respect for both myself and whoever I may be RPing with. Nor will I RP anything even remotely NSFW with a minor. RP Strong Points: I am a para poster and like to go into detail! But I am also very good at mirroring others. I am usually quite quick to reply, more so in the evenings, though!

RP Weak Points: Sometimes I get side tracked and need a poke! But most of the time I am on the ball and can knock out a quality post quite quickly! 

IC INFORMATION:

Name: Isolde Rev’more

Nickname: N/A Race: Human

FC (If Applicable; Picture Optional): Ashley Green

Can Currently Be Found In: Stormwind City / Almost anywhere, really. She has found a love for the sea and has been traveling the past 6 months.

Would They Be Known:  Yes, if you recall Scassira or Isolde from months past. She’d still have all the same connections as before. Personality:  She is confident, though quiet. She holds a noble air about her, but not stuck on herself. Thought she is bold and does not hold back on her thoughts. 

Language(s): Thalassian, Orcish, Common, Darnassian, Shath’yar Height: 5′6″ Body Type: Lean, lithe. She’s well built, curved, toned. This is from her dancing and her constant body conditioning. Eye Color: Silver. Hair Color: Light brown. Age: Twenty-nine. Notable Scars, Marks, etc: She’s littered in scars from neck to toe. Isolde wears armor and clothing that does well to conceal them. Each one she remembers receiving.

Tattoos/Piercings: None - though she has intention of covering her body in tattoos with her new enlightenment, to create a story of her past along the scarred and damaged canvas.  First Appearances: She looks lethal and terrifying with her piercing hues that seem to look into a soul. She’s ethereal and is often mistaken as a figment of one’s imagination until they realize she’d a real person. 

What To Expect: No nonsense, but quiet and reserved. She holds a noble air and a business like demeanor, but she’s not above laughing and enjoying life, especially now. Where I RP: Tumblr, Discord, in game! If you’d like, you can send me a message and I’ll give you my Discord, or we can work something out via Tumblr or you can find me in game! My OOC name for her in game has a funny character, so just message me!