#anyway mad men is about substance abuse i think

[im-in-love-with-pizza-bites]

Ranch Hand: Chapter 7

Farmer!Veteran!Bucky Barnes X Teen!Reader (Small town and Farmer AU)

Series MasterList

Series summary: You ran away from your nightmare of a family, you found a small town, population 200. In this town you meet a retired army veteran turned farmer who hires you as farm hand. Only mystery will you two be able overcome your pasts together.

Chapter Summary:

Series Warnings: Mentions nightmares, Child abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse, war, swearing, mentions death by cancer, mentions of alcohol and illegal substance abuse. please tell me if you see anymore!!! But do so politely please.

Chapter Warnings:

Divider: @skylightlantern

Sorry it's late!!!

The week went by fast it was already Friday. You were in the pasture with the cows while Bucky was bidding his sister and her kids goodbye. It was almost the fourth of July so they wanted to get home before then. And well Bucky wanted to bunker down here especially during the fireworks this weekend. He also invited Sam and Steve over for Steve's birthday and so they too can be out of town during the fire works. He assumes you'll be spending it in town at the Carnival, or with your parents. Who you have yet to let him meet.

"Bye Bec Drive safe." He hugs her. "Bye kiddos." He hugs Winnie before doing the same with his nephew.

Bye buck, call me everyday." Bec warns him.

"I will."

"Good, love you."

"Love you too. Bye." Once Becca and her kids left he sighs. He heads to the barn to see if you already let the horses out.

———

You pet Valley as you stood on the fence hoping you didn't fall off. You didn't notice two cars pulling up. You also didn't notice the two men who climbed from the cars.

"Hey y/n!" You spook and stumble forward but you used the horse to stabilize yourself. You carefully climb off the fence and turn around, you see Steve and some random guy.

"Hi."

"Where's bucky?" The random man asked as you walked over to them

"The pasture with the cows. I'm y/n, you are?"

"Sam. I didn't know Bucky hired anyone."

"He hired me a few weeks ago!" You tell him smiling.

"Okay we'lljust go inside and wait for Bucky then." Steve said patting your shoulder noticing how you tense up. "You good kid?"

"Yeah."

"Okay we'll text him that we're here." The men went inside and you went back to what you were doing.

"That's the girl I told you there's something odd about her!" Steve says once they got inside.

"She seems like a normal teen girl Steve you're just paranoid." Sam denies looking outside at you. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary other then you flinching when Steve patted your shoulder. But that could just be you not liking being touched.

"I don't know there's something up with her." Steve states.

"Uh-huh." Sam laughs, "then ask her what hurt will it do?"

"If something is up she isn't gonna tell me." Steve mentally face palms. "Shouldn't you know that you're a cop."

"You think I'm working calls like that? No just a whole lot of traffic stops." He shrugs.

"Oh."

"Hey guys." Bucky walks into the house. "What can I do for you?"

"Steve wanted to prove there was something strange about your ranch hand." Sam states. "It's also my day off and I had nothing better to do but drive an hour to see for myself "

"Mhm. Come make yourselves useful and help me fix a fence." Bucky smirks.

"Fine. But it's lunch time so how about we eat first?" Steve suggests.

"Alright I gotta feed Y/n anyway, I don't her parents getting mad if don't give her lunch." Bucky says going to the fridge.

"Have you met her parents yet? Cause I haven't heard jack about anyone new in town." Sam states leaning on the counter.

"No she also only talks about her dad."

"See strange. What parent wouldn't want to meet the random strange man their daughter is working for!" Steve says.

"That is weird." Sam agrees.

"You're both thinking too much into it. They could just be busy they did just move in like a month ago." Bucky tries to reason but neither man listens.

"Hey look I'm just saying I definitely think there is something off." Steve says. "She literally refuses rides anywhere but to town or here. Who wouldn't want a ride home especially since we have no clue how far her house is."

"Mhm. Look Steve I know you're bored but if it's such a big deal ask. It won't hurt."

"She'll probably lie."

"He does have a point."

"Shut it Sam. I don't need you both doing this I have other things to deal with."

"Yeah... So your sister left today?" Sam asks.

"Yep back to Brooklyn," Bucky says as he goes to the counter with his ingredients.

"How you feeling anyway? Anymore nightmares."

"Every night."

"Oh."

Taglist: @rachaelswrites @killerqueenfan @lukajim @lrosenblut26 @lonely-dead-poets @worldssidechick @littleolive24 @cute2043 @skycaliforniaart @idk-whats-happend @mischiefsemimanaged @retiredfromglad @katopotato06 @xennityxen @bucky-boo-bear @thekillingjoke-haha @sunny-the-kitsune @i-have-no-life-charlie @rexs-twin-dc-17-blasters @buckymydarlingangel @ducks118 @evans-stan-thirstthots @buckysbaaee @amorluzymelodia @buckysdollll @red-soul667 @hanainneverland @whore-4-thor @bxtchboy69 @sarahzuijd @devilslilbabysblog @marvelbabes24 @a_rand0m_gemini @its-sunflower-stardew @lil-mamas-stuff @f4iry444 @ogmisslove @austynparksandpizza @wickedravyn @maliagurl @yoruebeautiful @carmellasworld @masterof-agony @gamingdevil101

[girlgirlgirlnormal]

Niragi x OC x Last Boss (Part 3)

Sooo, I wrote a third part! Noone asked for it, but I think I´m going to write more parts, just because I enjoy writing these characters and am having a writers block on my other project :/ And maybe I should proofread and edit the other two parts, but here you go!

But hey! This part is not smut but an actual game! 

I hope you enjoy it! 

part one - part two

“What the fuck where you doing?”, Hina was ripped out of her thoughts as Kuina approached her, whisper-shouting, “What happened?”

“I got laid”, Hina informed her friend, she had woken up sandwiched between Samura and Niragi. At first, she thought that she should be waiting for them to wake up, but it was still dark and they looked both so peaceful. If Hina was being honest, her body was still hurting. A quick look in the mirror had confirmed all the bruises and hickeys she had been feeling, all over her throat, chest, and thighs. Her bikini top only covered the most of her breasts, everything else was exposed. She had stolen a pair of shorts from the drawer, that at least covert the bruises on her butt and the hickeys on her upper inner thigh. She hoped they weren’t going to be too mad about her sneaking away.

“What?”, Kuina exclaimed.

Her eyes widened, as she saw the bruises on Hinas body, “You call that getting laid? You look like you survived your own death.”

“I had worse nights and I´m not even lying about that”, Hina smiled at the pretty girl next to her, “My last boyfriend”, she formed quotation marks with her fingers, as she said boyfriend, “used to do way worse and I still had to dance every night.”

Kuina gave her a sympathetic smile, “Look, I´m sorry about that, but I don’t believe that putting yourself in a situation in which you could easily get killed is going to help with your trauma.”

Hina rolled her eyes, “I did cum twice”, she informed Kuina grinning.

Loudly exhaling through her nose, Kuina shook her head. She was about to say something, but she stopped, grabbing Hinas hand and staring at something behind her. Mustering up a smile Hina turned, finding Niragi and Last Boss approaching them with fast steps.

“Good morning”, she greeted, as soon as the men were in a hearing distance.

Niragi was the first to reach her, one of his hands forcefully grabbing her hair, while the other held his sniper rifle, “Why did you leave?”, he asked angered.

Hina took a deep breath. That was the kind of behavior her old boyfriend had portrayed daily. At least she knew how to handle it.

“I needed to get something to eat”, she gestured towards the bar, her plate was still sitting there, only half eaten, “I didn’t want to wake you. You were both seeping so peacefully.”

“You ran away from us”, Niragi said, Last Boss standing behind him, with his arms crossed.

“I just went to get breakfast”, she said, “Why would I leave you?”

“She deserves a bit of trust after she’s been such a good girl last night”, Samura commented, still not raising a finger to help her.  

“I hope its ok that I borrowed some shorts”, Hina said, still not acknowledging her hurting scalp, “You kinda destroyed my bikini panties.”

“They look great on you”, Samura informed her, finally putting a hand on Niragis shoulder, “Come on. She´s just eating.”

Niragi looked her up and down. His gaze lingering over all the bruises and hickeys they had caused. His fingers unwinded from her hair and glided over her throat, amazed by how pretty the purple spots looked on her.

“I’m yours, remember?”, Hina asked smiling, “I won’t just leave.”

“We were wondering when your visa is going to run out”, Last Boss asked, stepping beside Niragi, “We are going to the game tonight. We want you to come with us.”

“My visa ends in two days”, Hina answered, “but it wouldn’t hurt to renew it a couple of days earlier.”

It would hurt. Walking hurt and she couldn’t even sit. Her ass and clit were still throbbing from being abused the night before.

“Good.”, Niragi said, “We’ll see you in the evening.”

With that they left as fast as they had approached.

“Why would you go to a game with them?”, Kuina asked, “What will you do if they sacrifice you?”

“Probably die”, Hina answered, sighing as she saw Kuinas frown, “If they can help me to survive here, I’ll take it. If I die, I die. There is really not much to do about it.”

“Why are you so indifferent about dying?”

“I don’t want to play games forever. I don’t really want to go back to the real world either. I have nothing there.”

She was lying. She had someone. Someone she would never see again. Someone she wasn’t able to have even back in the real world. She would not be able to have him once she got back. Her boyfriend would never allow it.

Hina spent the rest of the day in her room, trying to cool her core to ease the pain and waiting for the gong. The gong always announced that it was time to get ready for the next game. She hoped that it was not a physical game. She didn’t know if she would be able to fight or even run.

“Don’t be stupid”, she whispered to herself, “If you can dance on the pole after he had his way with you, you can run and you can fight.”

They had been nicer to her than he had been. Even the fact that Niragi choked until she had seen black spots dancing in her vision didn’t stop that from being true. He had been so much worse, and nobody had been able to protect her.

Sighing she made her way to the lobby. It was getting dark, it couldn’t take much longer for the gong to go off. Many people seemed to think the same way. The lobby was already fairly crowded as Hina approached. She couldn’t help but notice the lingering gaze of a couple of people, examining her bruises and hickeys. She held her head high. The sports shoes she was wearing were comfortable, but she couldn’t help thinking her dancer shoes would be so much more appropriate right now. She was used to strutting with platform heels, not giving a fuck about what other people thought about her or her profession or all the bruises she had all over her body. She smiled as she saw Samura and Niragi standing in the back of the lobby, talking to some other militants and walked over to them. They stopped talking and watched her move towards them.

“Good evening”, she greeted them, still smiling.

“Hey”, Niragi greeted back.

Last Boss just smiled.

They didn’t start a conversation. Hina did not know what to talk about, with all the other militants around them and the men did not look like they were interested in talking to her anyway. Niragi was back to talking to the others while Samura was still watching her. She looked up at him, still smiling. His tattoos looked nice. She wanted to trace them with her fingers, but she didn’t dare.

“You’re still wearing my shorts”, he said, “Why? You’ve been to your room.”

“I like them”, Hina informed Samura, “They´re comfortable and they are yours.”

“I thought the whole girl steals her boyfriend’s clothes was only a movie trope”, he deadpanned.

Boyfriend? Did he assume they were in a relationship? Did he want that?

Before she could say anything else Hatter was on the balcony, giving a speech about the games and how they all were comrades. Hina didn’t listen. Part of her wanted it to be true. She wanted to be able to go back to the real world. She didn’t want to play games to survive.

She was whisked away to a car with the militants and off to the game before she knew it.

They reached the venue, an old warehouse, in short time and went in. The phones were laid out in a small room in the entrance. Hina couldn’t help but notice how hot it was in there. For once she was happy that she was only wearing a bikini top.

She picked up a phone and let herself be squished between Niragi and Last Boss as the registration proceeded. There were 4 other people as the voice announced that registration was closed.

“Game code: 8 of spades. Game: The floor is lava. Game clear is achieved then players cross the warehouse and enter the safe zone. Time: 15 Minutes”

After the announcement the door behind them opened, unveiling a large warehouse. The floor was literally lava. Objects were floating in the lava, monkey bars and ropes were dangling from the ceiling. A big digital clock was counting back from 15 minutes. Hina sighed, stretching her legs.

So much for protecting me, she mumbled and watched as Niragi attached his sniper rifle to a harness and Last Boss examined the lava.

She watched as turned to one of the women that were not part of the militants and shoved her to the edge.

“What are you doing?”, the woman cried out, “Stop!”

“We need to find out if this is really lava”, Samura only explained, holding the poor women by her hair and shoving face to the edge.

“It cant be lava”, said Hina, all the attention was on her now, “I don’t think that the stuff could float in lava, it would be too hot. It still seems to be pretty hot and I would not recommend touching it.”

It was a thick blubbering substance and steam was rising. If everything she had seen on nationaly geographic was right lava looked different.

“Come on”, she said smiling, “we don’t have much time.”

With that she walked over to the far right of the room and jumped on the table that was floating there. This seemed like a decent starting point. Many other objects were floating nearby and some monkeybars were hanging nearby. Standing on the desk she assessed her next move. The chair, which was placed about a meter from the desk was the nearest object, but it didn’t had enough surface area to land safely. She chose to jump a little bit further and landed on a piece of driftwood. From where she was standing the best jump she could make was to a globe. She looked back. Samura had let go of the woman and was following her. Niragi was standing on something that looked like a sink. She was about to make the jump as a piercing scream echoed through the warehouse. She turned back, the militants all seemed fine, someone was struggling in the lava. The struggle didn’t last long. After mere seconds the person disappeared.

“Maybe acid?”, Hina asked, turning back to Samura.

“You didn’t let me check”, he just said, shrugging.

Hina leapt on the globe, landing on her stomach, barely able to lift her legs enough to not touch the lava. She could hear Samura jumping on the driftwood behind her as she started to lift herself of, trying to stand up, to be able to jump to the monkeybars. The monkeybars were leading straight to a spinning bed in the middle of the room.

“Time remaining: 10 Minutes”, the computer voice announced.

Hina had finally managed to stand up. The globe was slippery, but it wasn’t a far jump to the monkeybars. Once again she was happy about the muscles she had gained while dancing. She managed to grip the first bar. It was swinging back and forth violently, as she realized that the next bar was too far to just grab. She had to built momentum. She leapt, grabbing the second bars.

She heard a loud splash and someone else was screaming. A shudder ran over her back.

“Come on princess”, Niragi was already on the bed.

When did he get there? Taking a deep breath she leapt to the next bar. Only three more there left and she could jump to the bed.

Another scream. She couldn’t look back, but it sounded like a man. Fueled with adrenaline she made the last leaps. She was hanging on the last monkeybar as she felt it swing harder.

“Jump, Niragi will catch you”, Samura said, she could hear him leaping from one bar to the next, making it swing harder.

Hina nodded and using the swing she let go then she was nearest to the bed. Niragi did catch her.

“Nice”, he said, dragging her to the side so last boss had a place to land.

“Its easiest if we go that way”, he explained, after Samura joined them on the bed, pointing to his right, “the objects are smaller but the distance between them is shorter.”

Hina and Samura nodded. Niragi made the first jump. He made it look so easy as he made the second jump and landed effortlessly on his feed on a small barstool. After the bed had spun around two times Samura gave Hina a small nudge, “You first”, he said.

Hina nodded and made the jump, landing on her butt.

“Ouch”, she mumbled, standing up and making the next jump to the barstool that Niragi had already vacated.

Another scream echoed through the warehouse. Hina looked around. Only one of the other militants was left and the girl that Last Boss had threatened to push into the lava was a couple of meters behind them, sitting on top of a piece of driftwood.

She made the next jump. Only a couple more jumps were left.

“3 Minutes left”, the computer voice announced.

“Fuck”, mumbled Niragi, “Come on, princess.”

She jumped. Samura was close on her heels. She jumped again. And again. Niragi reached the other edge and started looking for the door to the safe room.

“2 Minutes left”

“Found it”, Niragi announced, opening a door. He left it wide open and went back to the edge, reaching for Hina, “Come on.”

Two jumps were left, but one of them was another globe, much smaller than the one she had jumped on before.

“You can do it”, Samura said behind her.

Mustering up her courage she made the jump, landing on her stomach. It took some effort to stand up, but the next platform, another sink, was close, so she made the jump. She turned back and watched Samura make the jump to the globe, somehow landing on his feed.

“30 seconds left”

“Come on!”, Niragi screamed, extending his hand to her.

She made the last jump and found herself in Niragis arms. Not even two seconds later they were joined by Samura on the edge.

“Go”, he said, shoving Hina to the open door.

Just as the voice started to count down from 10 Samura was the last of the trio entering the room. He wanted to close the door, but Hina stopped him. She wanted to help the others, but they were too far away.

“3”, counted the voice.

Sighing she stepped to the side, letting Samura close the door.

“Game cleared.”, the voice announced.

She felt herself being squished by two bodies, as Samura and Niragi hugged her while on the other side of the door pained screams erupted. They didn’t scream long.

Their phones beeped, showing that they had earned 8 additional days to their visa.

“Let’s go home”, Niragi said, opening the door on the other side of the room.

Sighing she followed the men out. The cool night air felt nice after the hellish heat inside.

“You were good”, Samura commented as they were seating in the car.

They had lost everyone else in the game. She was wondering why they were not upset over the deaths of their militant friends, but she guessed that it would make sense. She had known that they didn’t really have many friends in the beach.

“Theres an executive meeting”, Niragi informed her, as they reached the beach, “Go to Samuras room, we’ll come as soon as possible.”

Hina nodded and watched them walk away.

“How was the game?”, asked Kuina, who had approached her from behind.

“They did not sacrifice me to find out if the floor was really lava.”, Hina deadpanned, “What were you up to?”

“Just hanging out with Chishiya”, Kuina answered, “Did you just say the floor was lava?”

[meeeeyahhhhh]

Knock Knock. Who’s There? (Jasonette) (continuation of The Most Vibriant Color)

Orange. Orange was the color of pill bottles, the eyes of vampiric bats in the night, and the tint of the orange plastics that polluted the earth. Orange was the color of a shirt Jason Todd was trying to pack. The voices finally broke him into going to Paris and now he needed to pack. Jason had no idea how long he would be there, but he also had no plans of returning to Gotham anytime soon. Dick walked into the room, “Dickie boy, what’s up?”

The older adoptee stared at his brother, “Are you sure you want to leave? You just got back.”

Jason didn’t just want to go, he needed to leave. If the pit madness didn’t drive him insane, the constant way Bruce and Dick treated him like he was a bomb just waiting to explode would. They claimed they missed him, mourned him, wept oh so many tears, but in the end they had just replaced him. Jason would never be Dick; he knew it; Bruce knew it; hell, Dick himself said he would never be good enough.

The steel blue orbs bore into Jason’s making him shift uncomfortably, “Then it will feel like I never came back,” he laughed but Dick found no humor in his words, “Listen Dick, I’m not you. I’m going to be fine.”

Jason wasn’t fine, not right now, not in Gotham. He was suffocating. Loneliness was a silent killer, one worse then the Joker. Jason knew it would kill him all over again if he didn’t do anything to stop it. Dick didn’t understand, he was the golden child. Dick was the first, the better Robin, the most charming, respectful, and kind one of the Bat’s kids. He lived a good life in the circus with his family and then immediately be adopted by one of, if not, the richest men in the world. Dick didn’t grow up on the streets, he wasn’t treated like an outsider in his adopted family, he wasn’t toyed with, frayed, bruised, ripped, or mutilated like Jason. A stranger in his own body is what Jason was.

All of these feeling were internalized of course. What’s the point of talking about the emptiness that plagued him, when everyone was already moved on? Jason had no purpose anymore. Why would Bruce miss one of his thousand kids? Jason was just another passion project... right? Did he serve any real purpose to begin with? All of these thoughts stuck with Jason. No matter how much he wished they would just go away, they would stay ever fervently whirling like a tornado inside Jason’s psyche. The only way to escape them was to leave. They’d have to, if they didn’t Jason didn’t know what he’d do. This is his last hope to try and just be a kid again. A luxury Jason was never given, this is the time where Jason reclaims the innocence that was stolen from him.

He swore it. He meant it. He was going to live it.

After Dick had finally left the room, Jason finished packing. This was the final piece to the puzzle that was Jason’s future. Gotham would lose Jason Todd again, this time by choice. What good did his return do anyway. Gotham could live without Red Hood, she could live without another troubled kid, she could live with one of her kids living without her. Gotham couldn’t live with one of her babies dying again in front of her. Paris craved chaos and by Kawamii was Jason going to raise hell while he’s there. Gotham knew this, so she passed one of her favorite boys to Paris in hopes of his life being preserved. Paris welcomed him with open arms too. What about a baker’s daughter?



Orange. A color of insincerity, empty calories, a color without substance. Orange was a color that would haunt Marinette. Everywhere she turned an Ex-friend and a liar would be there trying to gain her attention. The liar spun beautiful tales of her exploits, but she also created terrors to ruin Marinette. The pathetic excuse of a reporter pestered her into helping her tabloid of a blog, “Come on! Get me an interview with Ladybug!” She would shout, “I have to know about what happened with Rena and Carapace!”

“For the last time, Alya, I’m not in anyway, shape, or form obligated to help you. I’ve made myself very clear in stating that we aren’t friends. You talk bad about me, try to ruin my commission website, and on top of all of that you expe- no, demand something of me?!?” Marinette was furious. The insolence Alya repeatedly shown to her angered her to new bounds, “You think you are in a position to be speaking to me at this moment? Alya, I’m tired of this routine you have taken accustomed to falling into. Just because you forgot your own actions, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten nor forgiven you for. If you come by the bakery again, I’ll put a restraining order on you in school and outside. You have become a stalker, I don’t want anything todo with you.” 

Marinette had to take deep breaths and close her eyes to calm herself down. 1... 2... 3... repeat. 1... 2... 3... repeat until calm. She could not risk akumitization, it was not an option. Ladybug couldn’t be compromised. Emotions are a luxury that Marinette cannot be awarded. Alya on the other hand, she had no control and abused that.

Once Marinette had opened her eyes, she saw a purple little butterfly touch and be absorbed by Alya’s frames. The exchange between the supervillain and Alya was brief, he didn’t have to say much before the glow of power overtook the glasses sporting journalist. Marinette thought to herself, ‘I can never catch a break, can I?’

Marinette ran, commanding the people to evacuate, to the nearest locker to hide and change in. Tikki has taken no time to change and showcase her new look. Ladybug had outgrown the red and black, polka dotted, skin tight, spandex. She was much too mature for that now. Ladybug was layered in body armor, away with the pigtails that feigned innocence. Her hair was now loosely pulled back by two braids with the rest of her hair down, now her suit was a majority of black. Marinette’s mask’s colors had been inverted. Ladybug was a guardian of the order, a leader, a symbol, she needed to update her look.

She existed the locker, yo-yo in hand. Ladybug swung to higher ground. She had no information on the powers of this akuma, it was time to play everyone’s favorite: the waiting game. This also allowed for Char Noir to get here in time. In the beginning Chat was a little pushy and childish, but after 5 years of fighting he became jaded and more serious in his role. He got himself a girlfriend that didn’t work out but she was there, became a better friend, and more importantly a friend. Chat was tired, the only reason he was still fighting is because of Ladybug. His lady needed someone to balance her out, so until they can find his replacement they’re stuck.

After 5 minutes of waiting and observing, Chat had arrived, “What’s the status? What happened Bugsboo?”

“The akuma’s in her glasses. Alya, was told off by Marinette apparently and couldn’t handle it. And before you say something about Marinette instigating, Alya was harassing her about an interview with me. I will not give her an interview either. She doesn’t want to fact check, fine. I don’t want to give her an interview.”

Chat sighed. This whole situation was getting out of hand. He lost Marinette. Alya is on a warpath. Lila keeps harassing him. Maybe it was time to build his ark while the flood rages. He’s exhausted of playing middleman, of losing important people, he’s tired of fighting. After this he would beg Marinette to accept his apology, but if she didn’t want to he’d understand. This was going on for long enough.

The fight itself only took around 30 minutes. Once the cure was done, Alya awoke to see Ladybug staring her down. Alya didn’t seem to get that Ladybug was infact angry at her, “Ladybug! Can I get an interview?”

“I believe Marinette had told you I wouldn’t be giving you anymore interviews,” she said with venom, she hadn’t meant to but it was seeping out. “I saw the messages you and the rest of you class sent her. All of the hate, I know you tried to ruin her website. And for the last time, I do not know a Lia Rogatonie or whatever her name is. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to leave. Bug Out!”

Alya was left stunned. Tears stained the cheeks of the “reporter” and she realized that she had been live-streaming the exchange. All of Alya’s followers had seen her be chewed out by the savior of Paris and Chat had only nodded. It wasn’t long after Ladybug left that Chat went in the opposite direction.

Marinette landed in an ally by the airport. She had to run home now that school was cancelled. Not actively paying attention to her surroundings, she had run into a large man. He was about 6’0 (182.88 cm) and all muscle. His jet black hair had a white streak going through it, he was devilishly handsome, and his eyes. Oh god, his eyes. They were clear blue, however, there was green infringing on them. It was a sickly green too. Marinette almost drooled at the sight of the Grecian god standing before her.

He had stumbled a bit but she had fell completely on her bottom. Marinette’s face was the same shade of her old suit design. Eventually the man had helped her up with an extended hand, “Are you okay?” He asked in rapid English.

If it wasn’t for all of the lessons Jagged and Penny had given her, she wouldn’t have understood a lick of anything he said, “Umm, I’m fine. T-Thank you,” she responded in accented English.

“You wouldn’t have the directions for Le Grand Paris would you,” he switched the language on her. “That’s where I’m staying, I got lost.”

“Oh, yes of course! I could help you get there, Monsieur...” she waited for him to fill the blanks.

“Jason,” He supplied, “Jason Todd.”

She outstretched her hand again, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said with her blindingly bright smile.

The sun was setting. A gorgeous orange glow was cast over the two as they walked towards Le Grand Paris. Each thought the other as etherial being and fell into comfortable conversation. This would be the start of a beautiful friendship and possibly romance.

A/N: This was one of my favorite things to write. Thank you to everyone who likes, comments, reblogs, and thank you for sending in the asks. They make my day like you wouldn’t believe. I never expected this many people would actually like the word vomit that comes from my mind. Also, special thanks to @/abrx2002 for the idea to make this series dealing with the entire rainbow! I was just going to do red, but now I’m doing the whole rainbow. If the series isnt done by purple, I’ll do more colors. Also if I didn’t tag you, it’s because I can only tag 50 people at a time. However, I’ll tag you in the comments!

Tag list: @abrx2002 @amayakans @mystery-5-5 @normal-piece-of-shit @st0rmy-w1th1n @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @g-arya @smolplantmum @rayray384 @rosa97 @drarryismylife101 @kris-pines04 @black-streak @storyteller-d @weird-pale-blonde-person @maribat-shenanigans @vivilakitty @mycupisbroken @zalladane @gingerdaile @18-fandoms-unite-08 @seraphichana @zebrabaker @northernbluetongue @jardimazul @ranger-gothamite @grimmhallow31 @finallyaniguana @persephonebutkore @rarity36 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @hell-or-high-waters @moonlightstar64 @raisuke06 @evil-cricket @starwindmaden @kuroko26 @primeemeraldheiress @ladysblackcat @senpaiweird @loveswifi @2sunchild2 @timetomakeanewwish @theyellowfeverexperience @iloontjeboontje @vgirl-10123 @vixen-uchiha @winter-gardenflower @yokizu @risingmoonyue @semaalcocer-blog

[thepurplebutterflythings]

Kitty Cat & Tweety Bird (Part 9) - Jason Todd

Gif: Unknown on Tenor

Word Count: 3.7K

Paring: Jason Todd (Titans) x (f)Reader

Summary: While looking for Y/N, Harley feels responsible for The Joker kidnapping her beloved niece. As Joker and Y/N are face to face, The Joker wonders why he didn’t know about Y/N beforehand, especially considering he and Bruce are ‘connected’.

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse.

A/N: This is a little series I am doing about Jason Todd in Titans. I don’t know Comic!Jason very well so I’m taking all of this from the show, and at the moment he hasn’t been in very often, so please forgive any mischaracterizations.

Tagging: @bella-0104-123 @ninergirl1d @httpfandxms @rosybrock @attackonnat @reclusive-chicken-nugget   @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @young-psychos @thesleepykaijuu @thescottpack @nightlygiggles @rougestorms @sinon36​ @loxbbg​

Kitty Cat & Tweety Bird Part 8  | Masterlist |

________________________________________________________________

“Well, well, well.”

Y/N stirred with discomfort at the voice, low and gravely and gave the same effect of nails being dragged down a chalkboard with teeth on edge and bones wanting to escape the flesh prison as the noise drilled through them. It sounded as though they always had something in their throat they were trying to cough up, but could never rid themselves of. When she opened her eyes, Y/N looked around her and realised that she was tied up and being hung from the ceiling above her by chains. She was still dazed and so wasn’t fully aware, but when she looked below, she snapped out of it, for she was being hung carelessly above a vat of green, bubbling chemicals that glowed in the darkened room. The voice from before laughed manically, and Y/N looked around to see where the sound came from. As she looked, she gathered more about her surroundings, realising she was in Ace Chemicals. Footsteps echoed as the owner walked on the gantry above the chemicals, and Y/N saw her capture. The Joker.

Despite her Aunt Harley once being in a relationship (if you could even call it that) with the mad man, Y/N had never met him. He wasn’t even supposed to know she existed as Harley was frightened the man would harm her.

“You!” Y/N seethed.

“Ah! So you’ve heard of me,” Joker crouched down. There was still a distance between them, perhaps three or four metres. “That’s… interesting, for you see it wasn’t until earlier that I heard of you, Miss Wayne! You’re daddy and I… we’re connected so you would have thought I should know about you, but alas I did not.”

“You’re supposed to be in Arkham,” Y/N said, “how’d you get out? Why isn’t any news you’re out?”

“Smart little Bat Pup, aren’t you, Y/N,” Joker wagged his finger as he pulled a pocket watch out of his purple coat pocket and looked at it, “They should be finding out right about… now!” Just as the Joker said ‘Now,’ the siren from Arkham that signified a break out rang loudly through the air. “But that doesn’t mean they’ll catch me.”

“Why are you doing this?” She asked as she shifted in the chains, trying to loosen herself.

“Because,” Joker just shrugged, “To get at Bruce, I need to get to the one thing he loves and cares about more than anything – family.”

________________________________________________________________

The group, upon realizing that Joker had kidnapped Y/N, all suited up and went to search Gotham to find where he was holding her, reluctantly revealing to Harley and Ivy who it was beneath the mask of Batman. Neither were totally surprised, to be honest, and there were bigger things to worry about than Bruce Wayne being Batman. After Harley and Ivy got their protective gear on, they stopped at Wayne Manor were Jason and Bruce suited up, and then they went to Selina’s who pulled her Catwoman suit on. Alfred monitored their search for Y/N from the Batcave while Ivy and Selina went one way, Harley and Bruce went another and Jason went separately.

As Harley and Bruce finished searching yet another warehouse in Joker’s name, Harley fell against the wall and slowly ended up on the ground, sitting with her knees pulled to her chest. Bruce turned around and saw the woman curled in upon herself and frowned, walking up to her.

“Harleen?” Bruce said gently, “What’s wrong?”

“I kinda feel like all ‘a this is my fault,” she muttered as she ran her fingers over her knee.

“What makes you think that?” Bruce asked, sitting next to her to comfort her. Harley sniffed a little and turned her head to look at Bruce. She was holding back tears and her bottom lip, painted a brilliant shade of red that reflected the lights back from its gloss, quivered like a leaf.

“I had a chance to kill him,” Harley explained, “I coulda killed Joker, but I didn’t, and now he’s kidnapped a girl that I love and care for like me own.”

“What?”

“I left Joker when Y/N was ten,” She began, “Not many people know this, only Y/N, Selina and Ivy, but Joker… he used ta hurt me, hurt me bad, physically and mentally,” Harley confessed, “I know, I know, that’s what I get for dating a villain like Joker,” she sighed.

“God no,” Bruce said, “no, no, no, you never deserve anything that he did to you, ever, regardless of him being a villain, regardless of what you’ve done. You should never have been abused by him.”

“Thank you, Bruce,” Harley smiled tightly, “The night I decided I was gonna leave, he hurt me worse than he ever had before and I ran to Selina’s. She patched me up, and Y/N came out her bedroom, all in her jammies and everything – they were Batman one – and she saw me bleeding on the sofa and asked what happened. Well, at this point, Y/N/N just found out her mama was a thief, and her aunties were a criminal lunatic and an eco-terrorist, so there wasn’t much we could hide from her. She pretty much put two and two together , and that’s when she started wanting to be a vigilante, to take people like Joker and Penguin down. I decided then I had ta leave” Harley sighed and pushed her hair back. “Selina and I went back to Jokers, Selina as Catwoman, obviously, and we got my things, and Joker tried and stopped me, said he could be without me, he threw Selina off the stairs and tried ta grab me, so I grabbed my mallet and I started hitting him again and again and again. Selina stopped me cause Joker had called his henchmen and we didn’t have a chance to finish the job cause we didn’t have a gun, so we had to go. I shoulda stayed, I shoulda finished the fucking job, but then Selina said how upset Y/N would be if I did go through with it, saying 'Babes will be heartbroken'. She said it like that so Joker wouldn't know. And she was right, just thinking about Y/N finding out about what I was bout to do – it killed me. Y/N/N… she knows we were villains, that we’ve done bad things, that we have killed before, but this was different, cause me killing him would mean Joker’s men would kill me. That would break her heart, so I didn’t, and we left, went back to Selina’s. But I shoulda done it, I shoulda killed the bastard, gone down in fucking flames with him, cause if I did then he wouldn’t have taken Y/N.”

“Hey,” Bruce said, putting a hand on Harley’s shoulders, “you aren’t to blame here. The only one responsible for Joker’s actions is Joker. And Y/N had a much better and happier life with Selina, Ivy and you raising her.”

“Really?” Harley looked at Bruce and wiped her eyes.

“She’s incredible, and that’s partly because of you.”

“Thank you, Brucie,” Harley said kissing Bruce’s cheek, “you’re a doll, now, let’s go kick my ex’s ass!”

________________________________________________________________

Y/N watched from her spot above the chemical tank as Joker paced up and down the gantry. He seemed befuddled, gnawing on his thumb and occasionally huffing and pointing at Y/N before carrying on pacing.

“Explain to me, Ms Y/N Wayne,” Joker finally said, “why your father kept you from me, me, me of all people,” he gestured to himself and threw his arms in the air, seething and spitting as he worked himself up.

“I’m not the person to talk to about this, Joker,” Y/N huffed and turned her head away.

“Well, who else is there to ask?”

“My parents come to mind.”

“Do you know what it feels like?” Joker asked, “the chemicals?”

“No, and don’t really want to – let’s go back to bitching about my dad, can we?”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Joker tutted, “let’s go and talk about the chemicals, cause if dear old daddy can’t rescue you, then you’ll be plopped into a nice green bath of acid, how’s that sound?”

“Like dinner with The Mad Hatter sounds a lot more pleasant.”

“Oh, he’s a nightmare to spend ten minutes with really, Ms Y/N Wayne.”

“Please stop calling me that,” she sighed.

“It is your name though, Ms Y/N Wayne,” Joker said, “Anyway, back to the chemicals. It crawls under your skin and makes it feel as though every vein is on fire, that your skin is pulling itself from your bone and even when cleaned, you feel as though you are still coated in the substance, it’s… horrendous, never-ending torture. How does that sound, Ms Y/N Wayne?”

“Like high school, really.”

“And what kinda high school did your mama send you to?”

________________________________________________________________

Jason adjusted his Robin mask as he landed on the car roof. This was the last place on his list, Ace Chemicals. Bruce wasn’t sure if Joker would ever return there after the previous two times he was there and how bad those turned out, but Joker was a creature of habit, so it made sense to check. If Y/N wasn’t there, he had no idea where else she could be. Slowly, Jason crept up the ladder outside the building to the top, peering through the window. There she was, Y/N, tied up in chains and dangling over the vat of chemicals like a fish on a hook while Joker paced up and down and ranted as he did. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Jason called Bruce.

“Jason? You found her?”

“Yeah, Ace Chemicals, come quick,” Jason said.

“On my way, I’ll contact Selina. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not planning on doing anything that would put Y/N in danger, Bruce,” Jason said before hanging up. He climbed back down and walked around the perimeter of the building, finding a door and opening it quietly. There was no one down there. It appears that Joker got so caught up in his plan to kidnap Y/N that he didn’t contact any of his men to watch the surroundings. Jason quickly walked away from the door and back to the car, opening it and checking, seeing the keys were still in there. He took the bag he had on his shoulder off and put it in the car, on the passenger side, then he walked into the building and slowly walked up the stairs, listening as he did.

“And here is the thing that bothers me the most, Ms Y/N Wayne,” Joker ranted on and on, “that I didn’t sense you,” he said, “after all your father and I have gone through, I should have sensed you – the daughter of Bruce Wayne, of Batman – but I didn’t, why?”

“Cause you’re not a fucking psychic,” Y/N groaned, “cause you’re a delusional lunatic.”

Jason bit back a chuckle. Only Y/N would be tied up over chemicals, her life in danger, kidnapped by The Joker, and still remain level headed and calm if a little irritated and bored. Jason tried to step forward, but something creaked beneath him.

“Wait,” Joker lifted a finger, “we aren’t alone here. Come out then, our unknown audience.” Jason gulped and walked out from his hiding place. His eyes moved from Joker to Y/N. Y/N was biting back her smile of relief of seeing Jason as Robin. Thank god someone was there to rescue her. “And Bruce didn’t even come himself to rescue his beloved offspring?” Joker tutted as he wagged his finger in disappointment. “But his pet bird instead? What does that say about the man?”

“We’ve all been out searching for her,” Jason said, keeping his eyes on Y/N.

“We?” Joker frowned, “Not just The Bat?”

“No,” Jason shook his head, “me, her father, her mother, and her aunts.”

“Mother? Aunts?”

“Oh, please tell me you aren’t that stupid,” Y/N said, moving her eyes to Joker. “You know it takes two people to make a child?”

“Of course I do,” Joker snapped, “her mother?”

“Oh my god,” Jason said, “you idiot. You don’t know who her mother is, do you?”

“Who is her mother?” The Joker asked, “and aunts? She has aunts?”

“Wow,” Y/N started laughing from her trapped place, “this is brilliant, oh my god, you have no idea what’s going to happen next. Fucking hell. Talk about karma being a bitch.”

“Someone explain to me what is going on!”

“Not only is Batman her father,” Jason said, almost laughing, while Y/N was howling with glee as she realised Joker had just trapped himself in his own trap. How brilliant. “Her mother is Catwoman, and her aunts are Catwoman’s friends – The Gotham City Sirens.”

Y/N and Jason didn’t let their faces reveal that behind the Joker the window had opened, and Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy had both snuck and were quietly behind the Joker, waiting for the right moment.

“What?” The smile on Joker’s face dropped for a second, “The Sirens?”

“Which means, dumbass, that your ex-girlfriend, and her new beau, both helped in raise Y/N,” Jason said, “meaning not only Batman is on the way, but Catwoman, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn are also coming here.”

“Seriously, mate,” Y/N laughed, “if there was an Olympics for bad luck, you’ve got Gold, not only that, but you fucking smashed the world record.”

“Uh oh,” Joker said.

“Uh oh is right there, puddin’,” Harley said from behind Joker, baseball bat in hand. She swung it hard and hit Joker in the side of the head. Joker yelped loudly and stumbled back. Bruce and Selina, still in costume, appeared from where Jason walked out of. Ivy then punched Joker in the gut while Bruce went for his face. Selina kicked the Joker in the chest. All the adults started beating the Joker as Brue turned to Jason and yelled.

“Robin, get Y/N and get out of here.”

“On it,” Jason yelled back with a nod as he climbed onto the railing and carefully, quickly, moved past the fight and to the other side where the chain holding Y/N was linked up. Jason grabbed it and looked at Y/N, “Ready?”

“Fuck yes,” she nodded as Jason unhooked the chain and started pulling, lifting Y/N higher and higher. As she started moving, she shifted to loosen herself, and once her hands were free from the chain, she grabbed it and shifted her, so her body was then free, still keeping a firm grip. When Jason pulled Y/N high enough, she started swinging, throwing herself forward and flying into Jason’s arms. They crashed onto the floor. Y/N pulled back and looked into Jason’s eyes.

“Didn’t know felines could fly, Kitty Cat,” Jason chuckled.

“Learnt from the best, Tweety Bird.”

They got to their feet, and Jason grabbed her hand, throwing a look at the group before running. He dragged her down the stairs and out of the building. They both ran so fast that they were nearly tripping over their feet, looking over their shoulders constantly as they did. When they had finally reached the car, they stopped, but Y/N pulled away from Jason for a moment, gasping for air and looking behind her as she did.

“What is it?” Jason asked as he opened the door.

“We can’t just leave,” Y/N said, “we can’t leave them, we have to go back, we have to help. Did you bring my suit?”

“Bruce told me to get you out of here,” Jason said, “I’m doing what he told me to.”

“Jason, I know you,” Y/N folded her arms, “where’s my Lynx suit?”

“No, we’re going back to Wayne Manor, and they’ll meet us back there.”

“Jason, where is my suit?”

“No.”

Y/N sighed and walked forward, arms still folded. She leant against the car, next to Jason, and lifted her eyebrows.

“Where is my suit, Jason?”

Jason sighed and groaned, rolling his head back before ducking into the car and grabbing the bag he put on the passenger seat, pulling it out and handing it into Y/N.

“You’re explaining this to your father.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes as she climbed into the backseat and started changing, “now, no looking.”

“Now all I wanna do is look,” Jason huffed.

“Tell you what,” Y/N teased, “you can watch me get undressed after all, this is over.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

________________________________________________________________

It was as though the adults were all taking turns in beating the Joker, but he was fighting back, not going down easy. If Batman wasn’t there, then the Sirens would have easily killed him by then, but Bruce was adamant to return the lunatic to Arkham.

“My daughter is not a pawn for your fucking games,” Selina hissed as she scratched his cheek, nearly reaching his eye but just missing, “come after her again and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

“I shoulda killed ya way back when, ya cunt,” Harley kicked him in the back, causing him to fall to the floor.

“You’re lucky I let you breath clean air,” Ivy yelled as she slapped him.

“My child,” Bruce picked Joker up by the collar of his jacket and leaned into his face, “has nothing to do with me and you. Leave her be.”

“Or what? MMM? Throw me into the acid? We both know you won’t. We’re connected, you and I, you know it too.”

“You delusional fuck,” Selina pulled Joker from Bruce and kneed him in the stomach.

“What did I ever see in ya?” Harley threw her arms up, “seriously? How’d I ever think you were a good match for me?”

Joker took this moment and grabbed Selina and dangled her over the edge near the acid where the broken railing was.

“Come any closer, and the cat gets it.”

“Like hell she does,” said a voice. Y/N ran in as Lynx with Robin close behind her. She launched herself at Joker, who pulled Selina from the edge and fell backwards. Y/N punched him in the face. Joker got to his feet and started trying to fight Y/N. Y/N was quick, dodging his slower movements. Jason quickly came to Y/N’s side, and they started to fight against the Joker in sync, when Y/N kicked him towards Jason, Jason would punch him in the face back towards Y/N, falling to the ground, and Y/N would lift her knee, clocking him in the chin, pushing him towards Jason, who would shove him to knock him off balance. The adults all watched them in awe as Jason and Y/N moved in sync with each other, beating the Joker relentlessly. They didn’t even need to intervene, Jason and Y/N had it all under control. Eventually, Y/N grabbed the chains previously used to hold her over the acid and wrap them around Joker’s wrists, letting him balance on the edge over the acid, holding him carelessly by the chain.

“Y/N!” Bruce said out of instinct.

“No one goes after my family,” Y/N growled, “no one.”

“Well, talk about a punch line,” Joker whistled with a laugh, throwing his head back. He recognised the Lynx costume. They still got newspapers in Arkham. “That Bat’s Pup is a Cat after all!”

Y/N looked The Joker dead in the eye. She looked at him coldly as he laughed on a loop. Jason stood behind Y/N, ready to support Y/N in whatever she did, and the adults just watched.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drop you into the acid and let it finish the job.”

“It didn’t work the first time,” Joker said, “what makes you think it’ll work the second?”

“Cause half the job is already done.”

“Ooo, low blow, Pup-Cat.”

“Y/N, don’t,” Bruce said, “You’re better than this.”

“Am I really, though?” She asked, “And don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it yourself, of letting the bastard die. The world will be a far better place without him.” The Joker pulled a hurt facial expression before laughing again.

“I mean,” Jason coughed, “she’s not wrong. The world would be better without him.”

“Think of how many people he’s killed. This is his retribution.”

“He ain’t got any humanity in him,” Harley said quietly, “it’s something I shoulda done a long time ago, but,” Harley sighed, “Y/N, I don’t want ya to become a killer. Ya Daddy’s right, you’re better than this, than me.”

“And me,” said Selina.

“And I,” Ivy nodded.

“Don’t become a killer like us,” Harley said, “cause it’s a line you can never go back from.”

“Trust me, if I could,” Selina sighed, “I would never have pushed that guy from the window,” she whispered, “even though I had a good reason and was protecting someone else,” her eyes flickered to Bruce, who lowered his eyes as the image of Young Selina shoving Alfred’s army buddy out the window came into his mind.

“Y/N,” Jason put his hand on Y/N’s shoulder, “let’s take him to Arkham.”

Y/N looked Joker in the eye. Everything he did to Harley, nearly killing Selina, dangling herself over the chemicals, the torture he inflicted on her father over the years (it wasn’t a secret, everyone knew about The Joker Versus Batman), and he was going to live. It wasn’t fair, but they were all right, Y/N didn’t want to be a killer, didn’t want to cross that line.

“Fine,” she sighed, but instead of being gentle, Y/N yanked the chain quickly, pulling Joker forward and kneed him in the head with such force it knocked him unconscious.

As The Joker laid unconscious on the floor, Y/N took her mask off and looked at her family.

“You did the right thing,” her mother told her softly.

“I hope so,” Y/N sighed.

“Hey,” Bruce said, brushing the hair from Y/N’s eyes, “I’m proud of you,” he told her with a soft smile.

“Thank you, Dad.”

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Blood, tears and sea breeze.

Hi there! First things first, I want to apologize for the long time that has gone by since an update, I am truly sorry. I would explain, I am a doctor and I work in a rural area, we had a nasty Dengue virus outbreak and we had a lot of patients, so I was buried in job, we had no mortal victims thankfully, but it was insane. Also I get the Dengue myself and it was awful, but I feel better now and everything is going back to normal, here is a new chapter to this story I hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: ANGST, mental health issues, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sex, substance abuse.

Summary: The not so peaceful town of Broadchurch face dead again, while Alec Hardy continues his journey to redemption will this school teacher be the key to solve the mystery or just another victim of the ever watching evilness that seems to reside in the town.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 7: Like a sleepover.

Alec parked his car near the church and cursed himself when he realized his mistake since his presence confirmed to the reporters that something or someone interesting was inside, when he approach the benches he could se Paul who was lecturing a woman with an angry tone that he had never listened before, neither have the old lady in front of him since she looked terrified at him.

"Don't come here acting innocent, the lord knows when your motives are driven by greed and I truly hope whatever you use the money they gave you is worth it, and don't you dare to blame it on your grandchildren since they don't need to have this terrible example from their grandmother" He was obviously restraining from using more harsh language but the anger on his face was enough to make his point clear, and Alec even stop himself from storming in. "Now go away Mrs Campbell, and I hope you would think about your actions when you go out and talk with that people" The woman went out walking rapidly and visibly shaken.

"I was under the deception that priests never get mad" the detective enter the room and Paul gesture relaxed immediately. "Although is rewarding seeing you act out like that"

"Well they do when their congregation sell out each other for money" He said fixing up his clerical collar and regaining composure. "I'm glad you are here, it's madness out there, this town I thought they were better than this"

"Well you choose a profession full of disappointments" Y/N voice came from the altar and she approached now wearing what Hardy asume were donated clothes to big for her making her look like a child, and he brushed away the endearing feeling bursting in him for a second "For what is worth you should be more like that, maybe seeing the personification of the wrath of God in your face would make them listen" She said touching his arm making him smile, a stupid smile in Hardy's opinion. "D. I. Hardy, I was not expecting to see you so soon, but I assume you are not here to tell me I can go home already" She said with a pinch of hope in her voice that was killed the instant Alec look at her.

"No, I'm afraid not, and since you staying here has already been released to the media within four hours you can't longer stay here." He said trying to think what to do next.

"Yeah, and Ellie's ... I mean D.S. Miller's nephew certainly did a number on me didn't he?" She said bitterly, she appear more calmed, and he could see a glimpse of the woman who's thoughts he had spend the morning reading.

"That bloody idiot, he would sell out his own mother for a "good story" and he always think he is doing the police a favor, only making our job more difficult" Alec was angry and his mind was still trying to figure out his next move.

"Well now I'm glad I never dated him." Y/N said trying to lighten up the mood. "I can stay at the Trader's I can pay for that for a couple weeks, I would hate to cause more trouble"

"I don't think you should stay that close to Jonathan's house" Pauld said getting ahead of Hardy "Maybe Beth can take you, just for the night at least" He said and then look at Hardy.

"Sure, I mean if she agrees" He said knowing she will since they had been in a similar situation before.

"Great! If you think you can trust Lizzie's family to murderous psychopath, it'll be just like a sleepover" Y/N said sarcastically making both men feel uncomfortable. "I'm kidding? You guys really need to relax" She said looking at them "Now how am I supposed to get out of here?"

"I may have an idea" Hardy said finally with his expression still as stoic as ever.

Ellie stormed in her sister's house and the young man working o his laptop stood up immediately trying seeking cover behind the kitchen table.

"You bloody bastard!" She screamed at him and she grabbed the closest thing to her

"He hey hey... relax" He said putting his hands in front of him, she throw the ceramic fruit to his head. "Hey you almost hit me!" He screamed when she missed and the pear shattered in pieces.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Ellie scream again "Don't you have any decency left since you came back? That poor woman you have signaled as a suspect is not even at the police station anymore you moron."

"What? But you take her in for questioning, and she was covered in blood... and..." Olly realized his mistake and start looking at his aunt with sorrow, he was not about to betray his source but he understood that he had done something wrong "Damn it Ellie I'm sorry, I thought it was legitimate information"

"Well it doesn't matter anymore, once again I'm going to clean up your mess, come by the station we are going to release an official statement about Norbury's death and maybe it will help to clear out this mess" She was being reasonable, more than he can hope for since he was sure she was still pissed.

"And the woman? If she is not at the station where is she?" He jump straight back at the subject annoying Miller.

"Too late for you, didn't you hear? There is a horde of reporters raiding the church to talk to her" She smile at him, happy to see he didn't know, and hoping that Hardy had taken care of that end.

Paul came out of the church and a small figure covered jump in the car with him and he drove past the reporters who immediately try to follow him and some even did on their own vehicles, maybe when they figured he was just going out to get the paper and some groceries with the help of a boy that was being punished for misbehaving at school, would they realized their mistake, and how they didn't pay attention to the pair of people that walked from the back of the church to the Latimer's house.

"So, did you talk to Dr. Florence?" Y/N asked when the garden of the Latimer's was in sight "Oh come on, they can't no longer see us" She urged him when he gave her another of his angry looks.

"I did, but I am not supposed to discuss any of the investigation with you" He said finally.

"Fine, I'm sure she was pleased to see you again" She said and smiled at his puzzled face "I have seen you in her office before, and I overhear the last time you were there, you made a big deal about not wanting to come back"He looked ashamed and open the fence of the backyard to avoid her look "Relax I won't tell anybody, no one will listen anyway, I'm crazy remember? We can still be therapy buddies" She wink at him and enter followed by the baffled detective.

"Oi! I thought she was supposed to escape the press, come inside before any of those idiots will see you" Mark Latimer called them and they hurry inside.

"Mrs. Latimer, I don't know how to thank you"Y/N said once they were inside.

"It's nothing, Chloe's room is clean and free since she is at Uni, you can take it, can you show it to her dear?" Mark nodded and they walk out of the kitchen and Hardy could see her holding on to Lizzie a little more than usual.

"I wouldn't bring her here if I felt she was in any way guilty you know" He said to her and her arms relaxed a little.

"Well you can never be completely sure. But if you trust her we would help you for as long as we can."

"Don't worry, I just need her to have a place for the night we will figure something else tomorrow" He said and a couple minutes later he walked out of the house to get back his car. Ellie had the press release almost done by the time he arrived at the station and the sun was setting on Broadchurch.

"Busy day huh?" She said offering a cup of coffee "Brian is finishing with the house but he said he found something interesting about the cottage, he will tell us later, are you ready for the press."

"I'm fine, I swear Miller this bloody town is fill with idiots, this woman just lost her fiance and they are making all this circus about it" he sit on his chair and let go and exasperated sigh. "Let's get this over with".

It was as simple message, a man have been found dead and the police was investigating several lines of information, they had no idea who had done such monstrosity, and they urged the public to speak up, and no they were not considering the partner of the victim as a suspect, yet the mind of one of the many souls watching said, and turn off the telly, before exiting the room carrying a purple suitcase with the name Jonathan Norbury on it.

Tag list:

@laciesaito

@allonsymexgirl

[frostedravens]

More Than Some Thumbscrews

@badthingshappenbingo​

Also on AO3

Prompt: Thumbscrew Fandom: Original Content Warnings: Torture, non-consensual drug use, syringe, attempted forced addiction, blood

“You’re going to tell me where your friends ran off and how you managed to maintain that illusion for so long.”

“Mm, I think I’ll pass, actually.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

The Tenzu grinned at the Duke, blood on his lips, staining his teeth a wicked crimson, “There’s always a choice.”

“I suppose you are correct- but is that a choice you want to be making?” Duke Myron held up a clunky device made of iron and idly tapped at the screw in the top.

The Tenzu laughed, “If you think a set of thumbscrews is enough to make me break my contract then you’ve earned your epithet, Mad Duke.”

“If it’s about a contract, I can give you a better one. Name your price.”

“Sorry, Your Madness, I don’t break contracts,” the Tenzu shrugged in his chains bruises dark against russet skin. “Not even upon threats of pain, dismemberment, or death.”

“Is that so.”

It wasn’t a question and the Tenzu didn’t answer, just met the Duke’s displeased gaze with another grin, the same grin that had never failed to provoke the guards he’d been assigned since Apollos’ escape. The Duke’s reaction wasn’t as dramatic- there was no swearing, just a tightening of his lips and a narrowing of already narrowed eyes- but the Tenzu picked up on it anyway and grinned all the wider.

“Grab his hands.”

The Tenzu contemplated kicking the man that came over and grabbed him but it’d be too much strain on his wings to go any further, pinned as they were to the wall. If he hadn’t been able to shut off the nerve endings in his extremities and his back, he was pretty sure he would’ve gone unresponsive days ago.

As it was, he was pretty sure his continued consciousness was disconcerting to his captors, used as they were to human prisoners and human limits. They knew how to press and break those, but the Tenzu was a creature all to his own and he’d known from the moment they’d gotten captured that he’d have to buy time for the others, time for Apollos to recover and to figure out a way to fix everything that had gone wrong here.

He wasn’t entirely pleased about spending the weeks being tortured in a dungeon, but at least he was getting paid for this. That, and destroying the Duke later would be so much more satisfying now.

“Tell me where your friends have gone.”

“Can’t do that, I don’t have friends.”

The Duke scowled at him, “Nuances. Where did they go?”

The Tenzu shrugged again, “Even if I could tell you, which I can’t, I wouldn’t. They’re long gone and I can’t wait for this to finally sink into your thick skull, dear Duke.”

Metal creaked as the Duke twisted the screw, pressing the spiked bar down. The Tenzu watched dispassionately as blood welled up, wondering if he should scream like before to lull them into thinking they were doing anything. It seemed like such work for nothing- keeping silent would infuriate the Duke far faster and be more entertaining.

Thank the Ancestors for their shapeshifting abilities and intricate studies.

Something cracked in his thumb and oh, yes, he definitely should have felt that. Too bad for the Duke he’d been prepared this time around.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Told you, Your Madness, it’ll take a hell of a lot more than some thumbscrews, chains, and some whips to make me break my contract,” he gave the man a lazy grin, letting his eyes swirl in a kaleidoscope of colours that most people couldn’t stare at for long.

The Duke made a disgusted noise and gestured for the guard to let go. He grabbed the chain that ran between the Tenzu’s wrists and yanked him forward, drawing fresh blood from the abused wings behind him. The Tenzu’s lazy grin didn’t falter, even though he knew that the more damage his wings took, the worse it’d be when he finally rebuilt his nerves to allow them to heal properly. In fact, all of this was continuously making things worse for himself, but it was worth it.

Hopefully.

“I will bend you to my will.”

The Tenzu snickered, “Sure you will.”

“What exactly is so funny?”

“Nothing you’d find funny. A bit of a pedantic mishap on your part.”

The Duke’s pale face coloured and he dropped the chain, “You piece of-”

“Now, now, dearest Duke, you wouldn’t be losing your temper, would you? Of course not, not in front of your men and all,” the Tenzu took the chance to lean back and smirked at the rage turning the Duke’s pale skin a rather ugly shade of purple.

“One of you! Go fetch Albert and tell him to bring the Devil’s Tongue.”

The guards shared a look and the Tenzu raised an eyebrow, “Now there’s a properly scary name. Are you going to keep me in suspense? How terribly rude of you.”

The Duke ignored him and gestured to another guard, “When Albert gets here, you are going to hold this fiend’s arms out straight and you are not to let go until I say so. Do you understand?”

The guard nodded fearfully and crouched next to the Tenzu, reeking of sweat and fear. It was an unpleasant tang and the Tenzu wondered how the man bore the stench of himself, willfully following the nonsensical trail of thoughts to keep himself from wondering what the ‘Devil’s Tongue’ was. Some sort of whip, like as not, but why the arms?

The Tenzu caught himself and focused on the guard’s patchy beard, coated in what was probably an unhealthy layer of oil that did nothing for the shape or the smell of it. He wondered just how flammable it was, if it was flammable at all.

His musings were interrupted by a scrawny man scurrying into the cell, a much put-upon guard following, carrying a leather satchel. A pungent scent followed the man in, almost medicinal, were it not for the sharpness of it.

The Duke smiled and clapped the man on the back, nearly sending him straight into the Tenzu’s lap, “Albert, glad to have you.”

“It is an honour to be here, Your Grace,” Albert dipped his head formally, but his eyes were fixed on the Tenzu.

The Tenzu smirked back at him.

Duke Myron scowled, “As I am sure you can tell, I am having a bit of a problem with our newest acquisition. Is the Devil’s Tongue prepared?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Will you be doing the honours?”

The Duke released Albert and shook his head, “No, I shall be leaving that to your expertise. He will not struggle.”

“Are you sure about that, oh mighty Duke?” The Tenzu gave him an insouciant grin.

Duke Myron’s scowl returned and deepened, “Guards, hold him.”

Once the Tenzu was successfully held down- one guard on each leg, one on each shoulder, and one holding his arms even though his hands were still trapped in the thumbscrews- Duke Myron gestured to Albert, who’d been busily digging in the satchel.

The Tenzu’s grin slipped just a fraction as Albert withdrew a vial of cardinal red liquid, all but glowing when it caught the torchlight, “What’s that, then?”

“A wonderful little thing that Albert created, a medicine that makes even the strongest will bend in submission,” Duke Myron grinned at the way the Tenzu’s eyes narrowed. “It curls through your veins and brings the most potent pleasure you can imagine. One dose is never enough. You will be begging me for more by tomorrow.”

The Tenzu considered his options and limitations- fighting and getting out was, in theory, possible, but he’d have to do it entirely on foot with the whole city swarming after him and who knew if Apollos and the others were safe enough yet to risk it. He’d told them that they’d have six weeks.

They were halfway through week two.

So he’d stay, then. Perhaps this drug would have no effect on him- it wasn’t like Albert could’ve built it for something like him anyway. The Tenzu wasn’t even sure if his people could get addicted to the same substances that humans could.

He couldn’t keep himself from tensing up as Albert came over with a strange little device in his hand, a little metal tube with what looked like a very long needle coming out of one end and a loop on the other end.

“It’ll only hurt worse if you tense up.”

The Tenzu raised an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t that make your job easier?”

Albert tapped along his arms and the Tenzu resisted the urge to kick out, “Not always, but this will have to do.”

The Tenzu inhaled sharply as Albert drove the needle into his skin, pushing the loop down on the other end of the tube. Something crawled from the tiny injury and the Tenzu immediately hated the sensation, shuddering.

Duke Myron gave a slow smile, “Now, we wait. Release him, but leave the chains.”

“What about the thumbscrews, sir?”

“Leave it, we’ll be using it in a few minutes to measure the effects,” he stepped forward to take Albert’s place and leaned over the Tenzu. “Where is your bravado now?”

The Tenzu inhaled, shoving the sensation of something foreign sliding into his veins and offered a fanged grin, “Still here, Your Madness.”

The Duke’s smile slipped and he stepped back, turning to Albert. He started talking, but his voice faded from the Tenzu’s interest as his arm started burning. Fire licked beneath his skin, tracing a burning path from the tiny puncture wound all the way up to his shoulder.

It hurt. How in all the hells the Duke thought this was meant to be addicting was beyond him.

He struggled to regain some semblance of focus as the Duke stepped back over, lips curled into a sinister smile that brought forth a sudden and deep longing in the Tenzu to smash that pasty face into a wall.

“I see it’s working.”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

The Duke tossed his head back and laughed, “So it does work on you!”

The Tenzu hissed at him, slit pupils narrowing.

Albert hummed anxiously off to the side, “Your Grace, it doesn’t appear…”

Duke Myron waved him off, “He’s just struggling. Let’s see if we can’t give him a reason to stop.”

He leaned down and grabbed the thumbscrews, twisting violently.

Agony lanced through the Tenzu’s hands, mixing with the fire blistering through his veins until it was hard to tell what was the source of the pain. Even his wings had begun throbbing, tender skin torn and tattered by the spikes driven through it.

It hurt.

The Duke grinned.

The Tenzu closed his eyes shut and sank willfully into the dark.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Seven

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

June 16th, 2017

“Mom, I’m not trying to start anything, I swear, I just want my hair short for the summer!” Logan pleaded.

But his mom just shook her head. “You look lovely with long hair, Jessica. If it gets too hot you can just put your hair up in a ponytail.”

“What about a bob?” Logan bargained. “I could put that in a ponytail by the end of summer, and it would stay off my neck most of the time! I just...I want it short.”

“You’d regret cutting your hair in an instant, young lady,” his mom said. “If you wanted your hair up again, or wanted to braid it, you wouldn’t be able to. We’re not cutting your hair.”

Logan did his best to not storm off in a huff after that declaration. Sure, he was still in the closet, but a bob would be better than this horrible ponytail he always had to wear.

January 20th, 2019

Logan was singing the song as he worked on his homework, his voice light and lilting in the afternoon sun. He heard a small gasp come from the doorway, and turned to see Roman standing there, jaw agape. “I didn’t know you could sing,” Roman said, voice raspy.

Reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear that he realized was still in his ponytail, Logan tugged on his ear instead. “I don’t, usually. I don’t like how high my voice is. I guess I was just in a good mood.”

“What was the song?” Roman asked, his voice continuing to rasp a little.

“It’s called Welcome to the Black Parade,” Logan said. “Some of the students I know from school listen to a band called My Chemical Romance. I checked out some of their songs, and not all of them are kid friendly, but I do like that one.”

Roman cleared his throat and walked over slowly. “Do you think...do you think you could teach me the song?”

Logan nodded slowly. “Do you mind my asking...why?” Roman glanced toward the doorway, and Logan was quick to reassure him. “I won’t tell Mister Picani. Either of them.”

Roman swallowed. “I...my mom. It reminded me of my mom.”

Logan nodded in understanding. “Oh. Yeah, when you lose someone important, sometimes music is a good release. I can let you listen to the song on my phone while I work?”

Roman nodded with a grateful smile. Logan passed him the phone, earbuds plugged in, and Roman set himself up on Logan’s bed, listening to the song with rapt attention. Logan pretended not to notice the tears that leaked through Roman’s façade as he continued to listen to the song.

They sat in silence a while, Logan working on his homework, and Roman listening to the song, mouthing the words to the lyrics. When Logan’s homework was done, he stood, and Roman pulled the earbuds out of his ears. “You can keep listening, if you want. I’m not going anywhere,” Logan said.

“It’s okay, I think I have most of it memorized anyway,” Roman said.

“You sure?” Logan asked.

Roman nodded. “I pick up songs pretty quick. And I don’t want to leave you without your phone. Worst comes to worst, I look it up on my own phone.”

Logan shrugged. “All right.” Roman headed towards the door, but Logan put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Hey, Roman...”

Roman looked at him expectantly, eyes red and just a little puffy.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he finished. That was neutral enough. Hopefully Roman wouldn’t get suspicious or try to shut Logan out after this.

Roman gave him a flicker of a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

The boys stood there in silence a moment before Roman mumbled a, “I’ll be downstairs,” and the spell was broken. Logan picked up one of his for-pleasure books from the nightstand in the room and settled down to relax and let his mind wander for a half hour, before they left for the barber’s.

When he heard the muffled voice of Mister Remy calling, “Logan, it’s time to go!” he replaced his book mark and left the book itself on the bed, heading downstairs and out the door with a grin. This would be the first time he had his hair short in literal years.

When the three of them were in the car, Mister Emile waving them off from the doorway, Mister Remy drove off. Logan resisted the urge to excitedly squirm...for the most part. He couldn’t help the grin nearly splitting his face in two at the prospect of once again having short hair. It was such a small thing to be excited about, but he couldn’t help himself.

Roman was sending him odd looks from the back. “Hey, Logan, when’s the last time you had short hair?” he asked.

Logan thought back on it and shrugged. “I’m not sure, honestly. I think it might have been when I was in second grade.”

“And you’re in tenth now?” Roman confirmed.

“Yeah,” Logan said. “So this is a big moment.”

“Do you know what style you want to get?” Mister Remy asked. “Since you finally got a phone plan that allows you to use the Internet again?”

Logan shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know exactly what I want, and I might hate what I do with my hair for this, but...” he ducked his head, ears tinged pink. “I kinda want to try a pompadour.”

“Hey, I think it’d look good on you,” Mister Remy said with a smile. “Give it a go if you want. And if you wind up not liking it, you never have to get it again once it grows out.”

Logan nodded, ears still pink. “It just...feels really weird thinking about having short hair again. I keep on second-guessing myself...but I always hated having long hair. And even if I don’t like this style, there has to be another men’s style that could work.”

Roman shot him a grin. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d look like a complete dork no matter what.”

“You’re just mad that I’m older than you,” Logan shot back with a smirk.

“As if! I’ll always be the more creative one, so I don’t need to be older than you!” Roman challenged.

“Yeah? Well, I’m planning on being an astronomer, maybe an astrophysicist. So I think I’ll always be the smarter one in terms of schooling. I don’t need to prove myself to you,” Logan replied easily.

“Boys, be careful that this doesn’t get out of hand,” Mister Remy warned. “We don’t want any hurt feelings.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan said. “You cool, Roman?”

“Yeah. I don’t care about book smarts all that much,” Roman said. “I’ve seen some of the people at my school rehearse lines for the school play and I want to try out for it next year. It could be fun.”

“It’s hard to make a career out of acting,” Logan warned.

“Maybe, but right now, it’s not a career, it’s just a little fun,” Roman brushed off.

Logan made a noise in the back of his throat. “What’s the point in fun if you can’t get good at it and make something of yourself for it?”

Roman shrugged. “I dunno. I just want to have a good time, meet some new people, have a few friends. Fun doesn’t have to have a point. And you don’t have to be wildly successful to be happy.”

Logan frowned and chewed that thought. His parents had been wrong about a lot of things before. Could this have been another thing they had lied about?

“We’re here,” Mister Remy said, pulling into the parking lot of a small shopping outlet.

Logan was nervous as they walked into the barbershop. Everyone there was presenting as male or gender non-conforming, and it felt odd to be sporting a ponytail in here. A man walked over and said, “Remy!” in a booming voice, crushing the man in a hug. “When I heard your call, I could barely believe it. You wound up with kids?!”

Remy shrugged. “Domestic life has its perks, apparently, Dominic,” he said easily. “This is Roman, and that’s Logan. Roman said he just wants a trim, but Logan...he’s gonna need some serious cuts. His old family was rather strict about his hair.”

Dominic scoffed. “Ridiculous! Hair is an expression of yourself! To restrict that is just cruel! Come on, young man, we’ll get you whatever cut you like.”

Logan was led to a chair in front of a mirror and he took his glasses off as Dominic draped a plastic covering over his shoulders. “Now then, Logan, what would you like today?”

“I’d like a pompadour, if that’s all right,” Logan said, voice trembling only slightly. “Preferably only a few inches long, at most.”

“Logan, in this shop the customer is always allowed to choose their own hair style,” Dominic said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If you want that, I can do it. First, we should chop off that ponytail, don’t you think?”

“Please,” Logan all but begged. “I’ve had it for seven years at least and I’ve hated every second it’s been there. Chop it off.”

Dominic nodded and grabbed a pair of scissors. Logan took out his ponytail and let his hair fall over the chair, down to his shoulder blades. Dominic used his scissors with exact precision, and soon Logan’s hair was falling to the ground, a broken halo he no longer needed. Once the hair was at about a short bob, Dominic brought out an electric razor, and started shearing off the hair on the sides and very back of Logan’s head. “Is that short enough?” he asked Logan.

Logan brought out his glasses and looked at the shaved hair in the mirror, feeling it. It couldn’t be more than a quarter of an inch long. “That’s perfect,” Logan said. “Can you show me how to style the top?”

“Certainly,” Dominic said, grabbing scissors as Logan took off his glasses again. “I’ll cut the last of it and then I’ll show you how to gel it and comb it back.”

And true to his word, when Logan was pleased with the length of his hair Dominic explained how much hair gel to use, and how to comb it into his hair, and consequently wash it out at the end of the day.

At the end of the haircut, Logan put on his glasses and grinned genuinely at what he saw. “I don’t believe it,” he said, reaching to look closer into the mirror and feel his hair. “I look like myself. For once in my life, I actually look like myself. Thank you so much!”

“Logan, it was my pleasure,” Dominic said. “Come back when you need a trim, all right?”

“Definitely,” Logan said, grinning and shaking Dominic’s hand.

He walked over to where Roman and Mister Remy were waiting. Roman only had a few inches taken off his already-long spikes, and he looked about how Logan expected he would. Mister Remy looked up and whistled. “Looking sharp, Logan!”

Unable to help himself, Logan laughed and brought a hand up to his mouth, covering his grin. “I look like myself, finally!” he exclaimed.

“You look like a dork,” Roman said. “So I agree.”

Logan simply laughed in response. “You wish you could look this good!” he said, striking a pose.

Mister Remy led them out after thanking Dominic, and they headed back to the car. “Are we gonna need to invest in hair gel, Logan?” Mister Remy asked.

“Maybe a little,” Logan said. “If you want me to keep this look.”

“If you want to keep it, we’ll grab some,” Mister Remy promised. “For now, let’s go home.”

Logan and Roman agreed and no sooner did they get back than Emile walked out of the house and nearly squealed in delight. “Love the hair, Logan!”

“Thanks,” Logan said, beaming with pride. “I really like it. I actually look like myself for once!”

“That’s amazing!” Emile said. “Should we watch some celebratory cartoons?”

“Maybe some Steven Universe is in order,” Logan said with a grin.

Emile cheered and Remy leaned over to Logan, stage-whispering, “You’re enabling him. Never a good idea.”

Logan just laughed as they all headed inside. He sat down next to Emile on the couch and they watched some Steven Universe, belting out the lyrics to the theme song because why not, nobody was going to judge them!

His conversation earlier with Roman floated to the forefront of his mind, and his expression turned thoughtful. Sometime, he’d have to ask Roman more about that. He didn’t want to pry too much so soon, but one day he’d have to figure out what was wrong. He could help, but he needed to know what was up first.

As one episode turned into the next, Logan put those thoughts out of his mind. Right now, he wanted to ride the high of his gender euphoria for as long as possible. If he could milk more seconds of joy out of this experience, he definitely wanted them.

[thelazyeye]

Sorry for my last ask being weird btw (re: feminized or weak Richie posts), I swear I'm not trying to stir up discourse. It's just the fandom has been up in arms about Eddie's portrayal in fic, hc's, and art due to him being heavily lgbt coded so now I wonder how the paradigm will shift if it's Richie who's actually full on gay. I'm genuinely interested in your thoughts 🤔

Hey I’m not sure what you mean by your last ask? This is the first time someone is coming into my ask box about Feminized Eddie or Richie. Not sure if it got eaten or if you’ve got the wrong blog. Either way, I’m going to answer this because I have thoughts lol. 

Interesting! I wonder how would everyone react to that. From what I understand, people seem to have a really rigid idea of gender when it comes to cis LGBT characters (I.e. oh he’s gay therefore it’s wrong to feminize him) whereas I’ve seen a lot of feminized Richie with little to no scrutiny. I’m gonna chalk that up to him being striaght/bi HC’d. I’ve seen Richie with painted nails, pastel colors, dresses, the whole nine yards both in fic and in art. And I know that I for sure HC Richie as someone who likes to play with gender because even for cis identifying people, gender is only a social construct. But Eddie? He can’t play with gender because once he does were infantilizing him and playing into stereotypes, right?

Wrong.

I, personally, have no issues with feminized Eddie. Wanna make him wear pastels and make him sassy? Sure. Wanna have him mess around with skirts and hate dirt and care about his appearance? Sure. Why not? Men (yes, even gay men) are allowed to play with gender. It isn’t adhering to stereotypes or uwu woobifying him. Not in my mind, anyway. 

The only issues I ever have with “feminized Eddie” are when he has no character substance and he exists only for the purpose of fulfilling Richie’s desires or only to be part of the ship. And I have issues with that whether he’s feminized or not.

Feminizing Eddie is simply just playing with gender because gender literally doesn’t exist. Its a man made construct, people. Clothes and accessories and makeup are all created and dictated by culture and let me tell you, gender in countries across the world looks way fucking different than gender in the West (Europe/America). There are no universal laws for gender. Let men wear dresses. Let women be rough around the edges. Let gender expectations dissolve so we can have a more open minded society. 

People in this fandom... get seriously up in arms about really small things. There is a lot of black and white thinking that goes on in the IT fandom across the board regardless of ships. Everyone is a racist, homophobic, sexist, abusive pedophile for something or another, I swear to god. I’ve been called literally all of these things. I could see people getting seriously riled up about feminized Richie in any way if he becomes confirmed gay in IT 2019 because everyone in this fandom is angry about everything all the time. If there isn’t discourse, boy howdy do we find a way to make some and it is incredibly easy to get sucked into it. 

Anyway, TLDR; I think that both feminized Eddie and Richie are alright. There’s nothing wrong with either of them. I also think people will get mad about feminized Richie one day. It’s bound to happen. 

And no, hun. I don’t think you’re stirring up discourse. You asked me a perfectly respectable question and were genuinely interested in my thoughts. I’m not going to keep my thoughts sheltered for fear that someone won’t agree with me and will send me mean anon messages on the internet. That shit doesn’t phase me. I am always more than happy to chat about this kind of stuff. It’s so interesting and LGBT studies are kind of my thing. I have a lot of background knowledge on it. Fiction is crazy and I love character interpretations. Feel free to always come to me to chat. Even if we end up not agreeing, as long as were both respectful we’re cool. <3

[theeurekaproject]

Sub Noctem

Lyra woke up to laser lights.

She rubbed her head and looked at the blood trickling down onto her hands. She didn't entirely remember how she'd gotten here or what happened to her, but she didn't really need to. She didn't exactly have a home to go back to, anyway.

She stood up and reached in her pocket for a mirror. Her wallet was missing, not that there was anything in it to begin with. Small as they were, she knew better than to leave her night's earnings anywhere as obvious as a wallet.

The mirror on her compact had long since broken, but she couldn't afford a new one. It was the first thing she'd ever bought with her own money, a whopping five credits and fifty three cents earned over the course of four days of double shifts. In hindsight, spending that much money on something as stupid as a compact seemed thoughtless, but she'd been young then. It was probably about a decade ago, so Lyra was five, maybe six?

Through the cracks in the mirror, she could see that her bright pink, bubblegum-colored hair was somehow even messier than it usually was, and one side of her face was covered in deep violet bruises she didn't remember getting. Somebody probably beat her up and took her wallet, she reasoned. Part of her wondered why they didn't just kill her if they were going to mug her and dump her in an alley, but maybe the robber didn't want to get their hands dirty unnecessarily. Besides, they probably knew they'd never get prosecuted. Even if Lyra somehow worked up the courage to waltz into a police station, they'd never believe a Cantator, anyway.

She tried in vain to smooth the tangles on her head. The blood from the laceration she'd somehow sustained had dried in her hair, making it even worse. She remembered buying a comb at some point, but some other girl had immediately stolen it, and she never bothered trying to recover it. It was best not to pick a fight if one could help it down here.

Abandoning the hope of making herself look decent, she tucked the compact mirror back into her purse. Pretty girls got the best tips, but with the bruises and the cuts and the acne she already had, fixing her hair probably wouldn't help much anyway. If she had makeup, she might have been able to make herself look better, but she couldn't afford that, either.

She set off to work, not entirely knowing what time it was. Judging by the amount of teenage girls on street corners, it was probably late at night. Keeping track of time was difficult when the sunlight couldn't shine through the buildings to reach here, and she had no idea how long she'd slept for.

She entered through the back door of the building, not wanting to deal with the crowd outside. "You're late," one of the dancers snarled, leaning against the wall by the door.

"You think I don't know that?" Lyra asked.

"Well, if you knew that, why didn't you get here faster? It's been like an hour since you were supposed to be here. Viola's going to be pissed."

"Viola's probably too drunk to notice."

The dancer sighed. "I'd like to argue with you, but you're probably right. At least, I hope you are, for your sake."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine."

It was true that Viola could be nasty when she wanted to be. Still, Lyra had dealt with far worse before—Viola wasn't anywhere near as formidable as a threat as she thought she was. She was one of those people who went mad with power when given the slightest hint of authority, and who exercised her drug-fueled stim rage on her underlings just for the hell of it. But when it came down to it, Viola was nothing more than a 30-year-old woman who looked and acted like a 60-year-old because of her history of violence and substance abuse, and there was nothing she could really do but yell at Lyra and steal her tips, which happened on a daily basis anyway.

Lyra washed her hands quickly—not like it would help; it was filthy everywhere, and she was sure the water had just as many germs as the surroundings—and put on an apron. It was probably supposed to look sexier than it did, but because Lyra was so short, it hung around her knees instead of high up on her thighs. Then she put on the rest of the overly cutesy, cheaply made, poorly designed ensemble—uncomfortable heels with no arch support, a choker with the same lacy details as the apron, thin satiny gloves that wouldn't protect against anything, and bows for her scraggly hair. Because even the cleaning staff had to be eye candy.

"You look ridiculous," said Alicaria. Alicaria wasn't the name on her birth certificate—like many others here, she probably didn't even have a birth certificate—but she was an alicaria, so that's what they called her. It worked well that way; Sufflava for the girl with platinum blonde hair, Saltatrix for the prima ballerina, Sambuca for the harp player. Lyra had gotten her name from when Cithara was ill for two months and she'd made extra tips by playing the abandoned lyre. Cantatores didn't get names. They were defined by their caste and their job, because that's the only thing they were good for, and Lyra was no exception.

"I look better than you," she retorted. Alicaria was dressed in a ridiculous ensemble designed to show off her curves, but she didn't really have anything to show other than protruding ribs and a hunger-swollen stomach.

"Give it two more years and you'll be in my position," Alicaria said. "Hell, maybe even less than that. Just wait until Aria kicks the bucket."

"What happened to Aria?" Lyra asked.

"Pregnant. The last kid nearly killed her—she woulda died if it weren't for that charity doctor woman who cut open her organs to get the baby out. And God knows we aren't going to get charity doctors down here anymore, not since Alestra passed all those regulations on which castes can go where."

Lyra laughed. "Let's hope Acidalia's better." "Acidalia? Please," Alicaria scoffed. "I doubt she'll make it a month before she's dead."

Lyra knitted her eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

"Did you hear the news? Last night, some aristocrat got fed up and tried to kill her in the middle of some party. Cassiopeia was her name, I think? The girl from the Generalis family. It was a whole big thing."

"An assassination attempt?" Lyra's eyes widened. "Wow. I would not want to be in that Generalis girl's position right now."

"More like you don't want to be in Acidalia's position. Half the court wants her dead, apparently."

"Why?" Lyra asked. She was well aware that any sort of criticism of the Imperial family was liable to lead to death for treason. Even though the laws were always different for the upper class, she felt like trying to murder the Imperatrix Ceasarina was one of those things that was always frowned upon, regardless of social status.

"Beats the hell out of me. Apparently she's a Martian bastard child, but that's just a rumor. And you know, she supposedly has a rocky relationship with Alestra. Anyway," Alicaria said, "I'm just a Cantator. What do I know?"

"More than me," Lyra replied. "I don't even watch the news. They never play it in here."

"Yeah, guys like to watch sports mostly." Alicaria rolled her eyes. "Drives me mad. I'll be sitting there flirting with some guy and all he cares about is which idiot, doped-up transhuminist cyborg beats the other idiot, doped-up transhumanist cyborg… oh, shit."

"What? Oh, Viola." Lyra sighed. "I should go."

"No, not Viola. Look." Alicaria pointed at a pair of young men who had mistakenly waltzed right into the back entrance. "Who the hell are they?" "I don't know, some soldiers on shore leave?" Alicaria shook her head. "Nah, they're immunes. Look at them. They ain't the type of draft dodgers who show up in here on the regular. They've got money."

"What's an immune?" Lyra asked, but Aricaria was already hanging off one of the soldier's arms, looking at him like a predator eyeing its prey.

"So," she asked, her voice a husky vibrato, "come here often?" The soldier boy laughed and puffed out his chest to show his shiny pins and badges. Lyra had no idea what they were for, but they sure looked important.

"Not really," he said. "What's a pretty girl like you doing down here?"

"Mmmm, wouldn't you like to know." She twirled a piece of bleach-blonde hair around her finger and giggled as if she'd just heard the funniest thing in the world. "What's your name, handsome?" "Well, officially AX-C240, but my friends call me Ace," he said cockily.

AX unit? Lyra thought. They were specialists, the type of people who got invited to classy parties and hung out with aristocrats—the sons of the rich and famous. Alicaria was right—these people had money, and they looked like the exact type of dumb upper-crusts who paid more than was necessary because they didn't know what was the normal rate. And there were two of them. She'd never so much as touched a boy before, but she desperately needed cash, and—

"Stop it, Ace," the other boy said, interrupting Lyra's train of thought. For some strange reason, she felt almost relieved. "She's a meretrix, she's just trying to get your money."

Alicaria pouted. "Well, you don't have to say it like that."

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?" the boy asked. "Neither of us have credits to spare right now, anyway."

"Like hell you don't," Alicaria snapped. "You're part of one of the highest ranked sectors in the entire army and you're wearing ceremonial gear to boot. You look like the goddam Imperatrix herself."

Suddenly the boy's face went white. "What? Who told you that?"

"Jeez, nobody. Relax," Alicaria said huffily. "You people are always so paranoid. Either spend some money or get out."

The boy breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, okay. We won't be using your services, you can leave now."

"Whatever." Alicaria stomped away, her mismatched stilettos clacking against the grimy hardwood floor.

Lyra turned back to the two men. "Who are you looking for?" "Are you trying to sell us something?" Ace asked suspiciously.

"No, I'm the maid slash underage eye candy for creepy dudes." Lyra gestured to her apron. "Just trying to be helpful."

"Well, you don't look very much like 'eye candy,' no offense," he said. "Did you know your nose has been bleeding for this entire conversation?"

Lyra lifted a hand to her nose. It was bloody. "Huh."

"What happened to you?" the other soldier asked. "You look like you got jumped."

Lyra shrugged. "I probably did get jumped." The soldiers looked at each other, surprised. They definitely seemed like the type of exploitable young idiots who didn't know how things worked down here—anyone who came to the Undergound without knowing the incredibly high crime rate was setting themselves up for failure.

"You look awful," the soldier said. "Do you want a bandage or something? The name's T, by the way." "Lyra," Lyra said, "but that's not my real name. I don't really have one." T shrugged. "Neither do I." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny medkit, which expanded open into a full kit like a pop-up book when he touched the red cross on the front.

"Latex or non-latex?"

"Don't care," Lyra replied indifferently, but inside she was pleasantly surprised. She'd never had somebody pause to help her before, let alone ask her preferred type of bandage. T handed her a pink one in the same color as her hair, which she plastered on her bleeding cheek.

"Thanks," she said, smiling at him—a genuine smile, not a please-give-me-your-money smile. "Who are you looking for anyway?"

"Her name's Cassandra," Ace said. A lightbulb went off in Lyra's head.

"What's her caste?"

Ace paused momentarily, racking his brain for something. "A Scientia, I think? Her daughter used to be an astrophysicist student, I know that much. But then Cass got caught committing some type of crime and they went on the run, and now they're down here someplace."

"I think I know her!" Lyra exclaimed.

T snorted. "Trust me, you'd know if you knew Cassandra." "I think I do. She's kind of popular around these parts," Lyra explained. "I've never met her personally, but I know a little about her. She's supposedly nicer than most lenae and has a terrifying cat."

"A well known lena cat lady," T chuckled. "She was always bad at keeping a low profile, wasn't she?"

Ace nodded. "She's so attention-seeking. Do you know where she is?"

Lyra thought for a moment. "I think she might live near the lustris across the street? I always assumed she was the procuress, but apparently that's not true." "Nah," Ace said. "She just likes to make up stories. You want to come with us?" T sighed. "Ace, we can't just—"

"She's bleeding, T," Ace argued, his voice sounding more whiny than Lyra expected from such a pompous-looking soldier.

T frowned. "Fine. But only because you're hurt and Cass has a bigger medkit than I do. And we're in such deep shit that I doubt Cassandra would object to us bringing along a random praeministra."

Lyra sighed. "I mean, I do have work. But I'm also late, and the more I can avoid Viola—my supervisor—the better." "Who's Viola?" Ace asked.

"She works for my Magister," Lyra said. "She's not dangerous or anything, but she's kind of a jerk."

"And who's your Magister?" "The guy who owns me," Lyra said.

The soldiers looked at each other, alarmed.

"Not owns me like a slave," she added quickly. "I mean, he didn't buy me—well I guess he did, kinda. I'm just in a lot of debt to him—well, actually, my mother is in a lot of debt to him, but she's probably either dead or worse, so it's my problem now."

"That doesn't seem fair," Ace said.

Lyra smiled sadly. "Life isn't fair. You just have to make do with the cards you're dealt."

"Maybe we can deal you another, better card," Ace offered, holding out a hand. "Actually, that's probably a bad analogy. I don't know how card games work."

"It works well enough for me," Lyra laughed, taking his hand. "You know, I want to go with you, but I don't think I can. I have a job… and as shitty as it is, it's a job. Those are hard to come by, especially for Cantatores. And I need money, badly. I can't just walk away from this to follow two guys I just met." T and Ace looked at each other. They shared a moment of understanding that Lyra was not privy to, then turned to face her again.

"I can offer you a lot more money than you're making now," T said, his voice quieter. "And a comfortable place to sleep, and three hot meals a day."

Lyra suddenly had a realization. "You're trying to rope me into some human trafficking ring, or a cult, or an organ harvesting operation, aren't you? Because that's exactly what this sounds like."

T rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess it kind of looks like that. It's not, though."

"And I should believe you why?" Lyra asked, crossing her arms.

"I mean, there really isn't a reason. You don't have to come with us," Ace said. "I just… feel bad. No offense, but you look like garbage."

Lyra didn't think she looked that bad, all things considered… but then again, these two were clearly wealthy—not even middle-class, could-afford-their-own-apartment wealthy, but really wealthy—and they probably had different standards for how people were supposed to look. And they were being nice to her. That was new.

"Your nose is still bleeding," T added, offering her thick bundle of gauze.

Lyra looked at him, then looked at the doorway to the inside of the bar. Truthfully, she wanted to take this chance, but there was just such a high risk of it being something deadly. If she followed these soldiers, as nice as they were, there was a high chance she'd never return.

But what did she have to come back to, anyway?

She had no future down here. In all honesty, she would never work off that debt—she'd be in her sixties before it was gone, and that's assuming she made it past twenty, which most girls didn't. Aria probably wouldn't make it past 18 if Alicaria was right, and she usually was. And what would Lyra do then? She wouldn't be indebted, but she'd still have no money to speak of and no job lined up, so she'd just keep working here… and nothing would change, debt or no debt. She'd be broke forever, reliant on people born into money to give her scraps of charity off their great table. This might be the one opportunity she had to break that cycle.

"Okay," she decided. "Let's go, but quickly."

"You sure changed your tune," T said, surprised.

"Ever come to the realization that the whole system is a kind of screwed up cycle and you're stuck in it?" Lyra asked.

"Funnily enough," he said, "I have."

Lyra assumed he was talking about the military complex—she didn't entirely know what that was, but it seemed like a newsworthy buzzword that soldiers would talk about—but there was something in his tone that suggested otherwise. She looked more closely at him, trying to understand what he meant. Then she noticed that his almost-orange skin and brown, Martian eyes were incredibly familiar. He reminded her of somebody she'd seen before.

There were plenty of half-Martians in the army, and most Eleutherian soldiers were supposed to look alike. She was probably just thinking of some other man. Still, for some reason the resemblance was almost reassuring.

Lyra took the apron off and hung it back up on the nail that served as a hook. She wanted to say something cool about leaving the system or breaking out of their programming, then she realized that it would make her sound like a protagonist from a crappy cyberpunk movie, and she probably wasn't cool enough to pull it off.

Instead, she held the gauze tighter to her nose and left the bloodstains sitting there on the floor, reveling in the fact that for once she didn't have to clean it up. Maybe she was going straight into an organ harvesting ring or a murderous cult, but maybe this small victory, this ability to just walk away from this place, was worth it.

[sweetstrawberrycandy]

Winter Bloom - Episode One: Shorty | Nyx Ulric x Fem!Reader

RATING: Teen | GENRE: TW Angst/Drama WORD COUNT: 2910 AUTHOR’S COMMENT: First of all like always I wanna thx to everyone who help me on this~ especially @ladyscientia who has become on my Beta Reader, thx you like always without you this won’t be possible once more. To everyone who help me with my writing block thank you!!! you know who you are *huggies* thx you! DISCLAIMER: kk so the idea is make this my first multi chapter, lets see how it goes! For now all I have to say everything happens two years before the events of Kingsglaive.

TAGGING: @chocobropuffs @bleucommelhiver @warnjai-17 @thebulletsofmusicblues If anyone wanna get tag in the future just let me know :3 

The alarm clock starts screaming like the world is going to end, ringing relentlessly and forcing you awake. You take the clock in your hands and look skeptically at the time it shows.

“Fuck.. Is it really that late?”

You look for your phone hysterically. You know it’s probably hidden somewhere between the sheets. After a while of frantic searching, you hear the THUD of it falling from the bed to the floor.

“YESH! There you are! Now please show me the REAL time!”

“10:30 am” Same as your moogle alarm clock.

“FUCK! Fuck!!!!! I’m late for work! No more late night horror movies for me!” You jump out of the bed as fast as your body will allow and run to the shower. There’s no time for a hot relaxing bath; just a cold, fast shower and of course no breakfast.

As you run to catch the bus, for the first time since you arrived in Insomnia, you feel excited, like something big is going to happen.

Once you get off the bus, you run like a mad woman to get to work on time. You enter to the shop exhausted. Your face looks like a daemon was chasing you and you just reached a safe place.

“I’m here! I’m definitely NOT late!!!! PEASE! Bossssss don’t fire meeeeeee… please! I swear for the bloody Astrals I won’t be late ever again!”

The scene was quite hilarious. Your boss chuckles and gives you a wink.

“It’s fine y/n. You are actually fifteen minutes early for your shift. Now go and fix that face! You are going to scare the clients!” she laughs.

“That… that… means I could have breakfast!!! DAMN!” your stomach makes a soft grunt. “I guess we are skipping food till lunch…. Whaaa….”

You have been working at the same place for almost a year now. The store has all sorts of things for people who love cooking; from newbies to expert chefs. They can find anything there they might need for ANY KIND of preparation. And if that wasn’t enough, if they can’t make it, YOU are able to teach them.

The morning is extremely quiet. Around five people have come in asking for classes and another three or four for some cooking gadgets. It’s not until around noon, close to your lunch time, when the starvation starts consuming you. Your stomach begins complaining more than usual. Just as you begin wishing to yourself for an enormous plate of food, things in the shop become interesting.

“Please mighty six, don’t let anyone enter through that door so I can FINALLY can go eat something! Please! I BEG YOU….”

Like most of the time your prayers aren’t heard and two men enter to the shop.

“WHY?? You hate me so much?” is the only thought in your head. You look at your boss to see if she can save you from this one, but it’s not possible this time, she was busy with other costumers. You give a fast look to the clock and decide to wait for a few minutes before approaching the clients. Maybe if you’re lucky they will go and you will be free to get your lunch.

Three minutes later and they’re still there. With a little disappointed sigh, you decide to get up from your comfortable place at the counter. As you step towards the beloved costumers, you believe you hear a familiar voice. Your legs shake. Your heartbeat rises. The same feeling of excitement from this morning rushes into you.

Once you’re close enough, you recognize both of them. Libertus is standing in front of a stand mixer, talking to his friend a few steps away.

“Oi! Nyx what are we going to do at the end?”

The blue eye glaive looks back at him shrugging.

“I don’t know big guy, but ain’t leaving this place without something or someone who can help us.”

At this precise moment you feel the adrenalin taking control of your body. Without hesitation you rush into Libertus’s arms, giving him the biggest hug you’ve ever give to anyone in a long long time, trying not to cry.

The Glaive looks at you with confusion.

“Hey! Girl! Are you ok? Is something wrong?!? Did anyone hurt you?!?”

You slowly raise your head and greet your old friend.

“Hi… It’s been a while isn’t??” you smile letting go a little giggle.

Libertus is in shock.

“OMG!!!! y/n! it’s really you!!!! You are…!

You interrupted him with a chuckle “Alive?”

“I was going to say grown-up, but alive works too,” he laughs. You can see the happiness in his eyes. He hugs you once more and this time you feel the warmth in his squeeze.

“Oi! Nyx! LOOK! Is our Shorty!! Is here!!!! In one piece!!”

Nyx turns around, puts aside the pair of poultry shears he had in his hands, grabs you be the arm and hugs you in silence. Once he’s done, he kisses your forehead and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

you smile gently, hugging him once more. This time with more strength.

Your boss approaches you and your friends.

“Is everything alright here y/n?”

With a huge dorky smile on your face, your stomach complains loudly for the lack of substance inside it.

“Fuck! I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to eat anything this morning” Your face of embarrassment is rather cute. Your boss laughs, giving you an small slap on your back.

“Just go lunch, take your time but don’t ABUSE!”

“It’s settled then. You are coming to lunch with us, Shorty!” decides Libertus with excitement.

“Weeeeee!! Kk! Let me grab my stuff. One second. Brb.”

While you walk to the back of the store to get your things, your boss stays with your friends.

“OK! So let’s be clear! You two are going to deliver this kiddo back in one piece. She already suffered enough. Not saying you two haven’t. But for your bad luck she is the one I care about. She is like the daughter I never had. So I’m warning you! If she comes back sad or crying you will have to deal with me! I ain’t a Glaive but trust me I know how to use a knife pretty well and I have lots of them.”

The two men are surprised by your boss’ declaration. Their reaction is to nod and nothing else. Seconds after you return, you notice the peculiar silence between the three of them.

“I’m back and ready to eat! Leggo!” you look at everyone and wonder. “Is… everything alright… here? You two look like someone try to cut your balls…”

Nyx gulps, “Yeaa… Everything’s fine. Let’s go. I need to eat something soon before I start roaring like you.”

“HA HA HA… so funny! Nyx! You haven’t change a bit! Asshole!” You look at him with a funny pouty face.

“C’mon Shorty, I know you miss me!” the blue eye Glaive gives you his well known cocky smirk “AND I miss those cute li’l faces you always do.” Nyx grabs your cheeks and squeezes them with affection.

The three of you leave the cooking shop with the destination unknown to you. You decide to keep the chit-chat going while you follow your friends. The reunion with them was unexpected but you cherish every second of it. In some way you manage to feel like you’re back on Galahd one more time.

“Those were GOOD times!” Libertus’ words are full of nostalgia. “You, me, Nyx and Selena … we had so much fun back on Galahd…”

The words of remembrance are like thunder, interrupting the calm between your small crew. Silence becomes awkward as you walk forward with your arms swinging at your side.

You roll up your eyes and try to change the topic; “Anyways! Where are you two taking me? I’m starving! Hehehe. Last night I just had a bowl of popcorn for dinner.”

Libertus snorts, “Why? Too ‘busy’ to make dinner? Boyfriend perhaps?”

You chuckle, “Boyfriend? What’s that?? Can you eat it???”

The teasing between you and Libertus goes on during the stroll to your destination. Once there, you look at the place and feel back at home somehow. Yama’s reminds you of the bar your friend used to have.

“What an amusing place… Kinda reminds me of the bar. But this place is a little less dusty!”

“Well nothing like home! You two stay here. I will go for the food.” Libertus winks at you; “I think I know what you’ll like to eat.”

He steps away, leaving you alone with Nyx who was surprisingly quiet. You can tell something is going on inside his head. Your first impulse is to tease him. After a moment of consideration you decide to stay in silence and wait for Libertus return.

Approximately fifteen minutes later your big friend comes back with food and drinks.

“WHOAAA! Is this what I think it is?!?” the excitement in your words is boisterous but the most important matter is your feeling of starvation consuming you. Quickly you grab a bite and then the worse happen. The incredulity in your eyes is not a surprise for your friend who’s watching you closely to enjoy the moment.

Libertus ask you between laughs, “Did you like it?”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaa! WTF is this?!? What the Shenanigans!?”

 The husky one laughs even louder, “Our heritage!”

“Yeah! Right! Like our food taste like chocobo butt! No offence to the chocobos!”

“See! She is with me! I’m not the only one who says that!! That’s why I love you so much. You were always my favorite, Shorty!” Libertus chuckles, taking a sip to his glass.

You cough. “So, changing the topic, can any of you explain to me why two tough guys like you were in a specialty cooking store? Don’t get me wrong, but you two never were the cooking type.”

“Welll… the thing is… we lost a bet and we need to pay back now.”

You raise your eyebrow and let go a loud laugh. “Are you serious!?! Who is this amazing person? I need to know him/her but but what was the bet about? YOU NEED TO TELL ME!”

After a while without saying a word, Nyx opens his mouth for a short moment; “It was a friend, Luche, and no you don’t really wanna know how we lost. It’s not something pleasant.”

Libertus lets out a whoop; “Don’t be so serious Nyx! It’s not like we don’t know her!”

You look at Nyx. His face shows an emotion similar to indifference, but you can sense something else is going on behind those blue eyes.

He stands from the table looking a little odd. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I remembered I have to do something, I… I… have to help the Cap with something. ‘Was nice to see you y/n.”  

“What the heck…?” Libertus doesn’t have a chance to finish the sentence. His friend is already gone.

You feel a little annoyed and sigh. “… I’m sorry if it was something I said.”

Libertus puts his glass aside. “It wasn’t you… Don’t worry about it. I will deal with him later.”

The two of you keep talking for a while, catching up as best you can before you need to go back to work.

“Whoaaaa I’ve to go back, sad face… About your bet, Mama Bear… I can help you, both… or at least I think I can. There’s not a thing I can’t cook. So call me if you want my help. I will do it happily. Here is my number. Call me when you decide what to do and thank you for the chocobo poop – sorry! I meant food.” You kiss Libertus on the cheek and leave.

Once you’re back at work, you keep thinking about Nyx and his strange way to leave.

“What’s wrong with him…. Ahhh!! Men! Who understands them!?”

Your boss looks at you with a curious glance. “Everything ok Kiddo?”

You sigh “Ahhh…? Yeah… just talking to myself like always. Nothing new.”

“If you say soo… By the way, I’ve got to go early tonight. Can you close the shop for me please?”

“Sure! Why not? What’s two extra hours of boredom more in my life?…”

“Geez… if you don’t like it, you should look for another job then…” she says with some exasperation.

“I’m just kidding!! What’s wrong with people today!? So friking serious. Anyway! I like this place AND you need meeeeeeee! I’m your best employee AND you love me!… hehehe.”

Your boss rolls her eyes and laughs. “OK! I’m leaving now. You are in charge. Please… don’t do anything dumb…”

A few hours later you look at the clock, “9:30 pm” A smile pops on your face; “Weeeeeeee time to close and go home! Yay!”

Once you’ve got everything closed and locked up, you feel the overwhelming sigh of relief. The day is over. Time to go home and do whatever you want.

As you leave the store, you begin debating whether or not pajamas are an acceptable thing to wear as soon you get home, forgetting that maybe you might need to stop into a shop for something to eat. Popcorn two nights in a row isn’t acceptable.  As you turn from locking the doors shut, you feel a glancing touch across your arms.

“HAA! Nyx WTH! You scared me!!!what are you doing here? Is everything ok?” Your voice is agitated.

“I’m sorry y/n I was waiting for you…”

“Wait what me?” You look at him with some misbelief.

“Yes. Why so surprised?”

“Welll… you weren’t really… uhmmm… how I can say it… available? During lunch, you just leave…”

When you look at him, you can see the regret in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry y/n… Is there anything I can do to fix it?” he says with a cocky smile.

You smile back. “Ok… well let me see… maybe a humongous ice-cream will help clear my head. - With chocolate chips and lots lots of chocolate! And everything I can imagine putting on that ice-cream!”

The hero smiles again but this time with his eyes. “A humongous ice-cream it is then.”

You grab Nyx’s arm and guide him to your favorite ice-cream shop. “I have the feeling you are going to regret this somehow…” a giggle escapes from your lips.

You both walk in mutual silence enjoying the ice-cream until the quiet walk pulls some memories back of when Nyx used to walk you home.

“You know… you don’t have to do this…”

“Do what?” he sounds confused. “Get the ice-cream?? But… you ask for it….”

“Nooo you dummy! Walk me home….”

“I do… look I’m just trying to show you I’m sorry y/n…”

You stop walking for a moment and pull Nyx by the arm. “I’m not a kid anymore, I… learn how to take care of myself a while ago… I didn’t have another option.”

The Glaive sighs. “But you are here now…. You found me and Libertus… I… I… can protect you now…” his voice is trembling. You look at him and realize clearly that the past is haunting him. Seeing him like this hurts you more than anything. You want to help him to move on. After all, no one better than you knows what a hard task that can be. But you also know full well that both of you will probably get hurt in the process. You brush the thought aside and plant a gentle kiss on his rugged cheek.

“Nyx, you know… if I’m completely honest with you… what you did at lunch hurt just a little… you leave like I was nothing. Like we actually haven’t seen each other in years. You leaving makes me feel like I did something wrong.”

He remains in silence, holding your hand.

“After all these years… I swear to you, you are not the only one who feels guilty for what happened. When… when you act like that, you make me feel even more guilty….” You stop for a second to take a breath, the anxiety starts flooding your veins. “When you aren’t capable to look at me, to look at my eyes… you make me wish I could take her place. I feel bad because I survived.”

Nyx squeezes your hand. “C’mon, it’s not like that! y/n! and you know it.”

The frustration you’ve been holding for all those years finally shows up. Hearing Nyx say the exact same thing he said right before abandoning you on Galahd was exactly what you needed to let the emotions go.

“Really?!?! The same shit you told me ten years ago? After all this time, you couldn’t make anything better? Nyx! For the love of the six! You weren’t the only one who lost someone! I… I… lost my family too! I lost my friends! Selena was like a sister to me!!! I… I… lost you! When you and Libertus decided to join The Kingsglaive I was left behind! I was alone! Because you couldn’t and still can’t look at me! Without reminding yourself that she is gone… I’m sorry. I really am… but It’s time for you to move on… get your shit together once and for all!”

When you finish talking, your face is slick with tears. You take a another breath and finish; “I’m sorry… but please… until you are able to do that don’t look for me…” You let go of his hand and walk away.

[bsidethetrees]

Get-Together

“Do you think you could kill someone?"

Lisanna hardly glanced at Bickslow, continuing to flip through a magazine carelessly. "What's the situation?"

"That's not the question."

"Is my life in danger?"

"Not the question."

"Hmmm." Page flip. "Maybe."

The seith, who was at the moment enjoying a cigarette, blew it through his nostrils. Then, "I could. In a heart beat."

"If these are the sorts of conversations you have in mixed company," Freed complained as he came into the room, carrying a plate of appetizers, consisting of crackers and dips, as well as an assortment of cut up meats and cheeses, "then I would hate to hear what you speak about when you're al- Get your disgusting feet off the table, Bickslow!"

The man, who was slumped over on the couch, smoking, only grunted though, slowly, he did drop both of his feet down.

Freed was so temperamental.

"What's the most gruesome way you could...you know?" Bickslow glanced at his seemingly disinterested girlfriend, who was next to him on the couch. "Lissy?"

"Mmmm…. I think I could, maybe, shoot someone in the head. If I had to."

"I could totally scalp a person."

"Could not."

"Bet me."

"Fine. Bet."

"Please," Freed complained as he headed back out of the room to retrieve the drinks, "do not plan murders in my apartment."

"Whatever you say, man," his teammate agreed though, once he was gone, he said to Lisanna, "I could probably watch someone drown too and do nothing."

"That's mentally messed up," she sighed, turning a page. "Not gruesome."

"Feels like it would be a bit gruesome."

"But it's not, so-"

"And shooting someone in the head is?"

"I feel like it is. If someone shot me in the temple," she argued, "I'd feel that was a bit hardcore. Wouldn't you?"

"Meh."

"Meh?"

He nodded. "Typically instant death. Not gruesome. Now drowning someone-"

"I thought," Freed complained as he came back with an arm full of beer cans, which he went to set on the coffee table, "I said to stop talking about murdering people?"

Bickslow blew some smoke his way. "We were just- Hey! Boss!"

He was distracted then, of course, by the front door opening and Laxus Dreyar walking in, coat flowing off his shoulders, headphones strapped on.

"Boss," the seith's babies enthusiastically sang as they came to circle around the man. He was busy batting at them when Lisanna spoke.

"Laxus," she began, not glancing up from her magazine. "Could you kill someone?"

"Absolutely."

"L-Laxus," Freed complained. "Do not encourage-"

"Oy, boss," the seith challenged then. "What's the more gruesome? Shooting someone in the noggin or drownin' them?"

"Shooting."

"But you don't get the drownin' angle! I ain't just gonna be holdin' their head under the water," the seith complained. "I'd have them in a big container filled with water and have them locked in there and just stare at 'em, right? From the other side of the container? It'll be glass and they'll be drownin' and I'll be-"

"That's mentally fucked up. Not gruesome."

Lisanna, still into her magazine, held up a hand as the slayer passed, him high-fiving it without a second thought.

"My demon here?" Laxus complained, snagging a beer as well before going to peak into the kitchen. "Freed?"

"No," the man sighed as he jut as quickly was rushing back in there to get a bottle of wine and a few glasses ready. "Mirajane has not arrived as of yet."

Grunt. Then, popping the tab on his beer, he said, "Then I got here too early."

Bickslow went back to smoking then, defeated and, feeling some of his pain, Lisanna glanced over at him finally.

"What are you smoking?" she asked with a slight frown. "Bicks? It smells funny."

"Tryin' somethin' new," he mumbled around the cigarette.

"It stinks," Laxus argued as he turned then, bypassing the couch to head over to the big, overstuffed chair in the corner. "Only chicks smoke that shit."

"I'm tryin' to turn my life around," Bickslow complained. "Cut down on my illegal substance abuse. And what do I get to fill it? You guys verbal abuse. It ain't right!"

"You do smoke those cigars, Laxus," Lisanna commented, going back to her magazine. "So can you really talk about what stinks and what doesn't?"

"Uh, yes, little girl, I can. So shut up."

"I'mma tell Mira you said that to me," she tsked. "You jerk."

Heh.

The slayer only settled into the chair before going back to his music. Until Mirajane showed up, the little get-together was a waste. And, even after she did, it really just depended on if they meshed well or not. Which mostly was reliant on if he got laid at the end of the evening. So, really, it would be a long time before he determined the night a success or not.

Lisanna sat up some then, reaching over to grab her and Bickslow both beers from the coffee table before taking to leaning up against the seith's arm while continuing to look over her magazine. Downing his own beer in one chug (he was planning on having quite a few that night), the seith tossed it towards the kitchen, where Freed was, calling out that he should probably pick that up, less he trip.

Then stupid boss had to go and yell at him about being disrespectful to Freed and his apartment and sorts of stuff that he didn't care about. Bleh! And Lissy said that he had to go pick up the beer can and damn, they were not only the source of his verbal abuse, but also the cause of his drug intake. Completely.

There was a knock at the door not a few minutes later, though Evergreen opened it before it was answered.

"Elfman isn't here, is he?" she asked with evident disdain. Where as Laxus clearly wished for his Strauss, she was dreading her own. "Because-"

"Ever, could you kill someone?" Bickslow asked, not really caring to answer her question.

"Yes. Of course. Now where is Elf-"

"What is wrong with you? All of you?" Freed complained from the kitchen. "Honestly."

"What's more gruesome?" Lisanna kept up. "Watching someone drown? Or shooting them in the head?"

"Drowning," she said to which Bickslow cheered. And, when she passed to go get a glass of wine, he held out a fist for her to bump it. The woman only frowned before going back to ignoring him.

"Your loser boyfriend," Laxus started up as Ever poured herself a glass of wine, "had better not be holdin' my demon up. I only came to be with her, after all."

"Oy, boss," Bickslow complained, purposely trying to annoy Ever by blowing smoke her way. "Words hurt."

"Good."

Evergreen only frowned at her teammate once more. "Are those clove or something?"

"Maybe."

"They smell horrible. And only women smoke those."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"You're just bothering me. Stop bothering me, Ever. Gah! This is why I stay home to get drunk. You heathens. You're all-"

"Calm down a bit, Bicks." Lisanna patted his leg. "You have all night to complain."

She had a point.

"Did you want a beer, Laxus?" Ever asked, only going to claim her spot on the loveseat when he shook his head slightly. He reserved beer serving for the demon. It was their thing.

"What are you doing in there, Feed?" Lisanna called eventually. "Come out here. We're having stimulating conversation."

"I can hear the conversations going on, actually, and I think I'm fine in here, preparing dinner." Then, after a pause, he said, "Someone could come in here and help or-"

"Meh." Bickslow blew smoke at Lisanna then, getting him batted at. "Stimulation going on, buddy."

"Hardly," was his response though, when he really thought about it, their help was probably not something he wanted.

Laxus only blocked them all out as Lisanna and Bickslow went back to their mindless conversations and Ever took to pulling a nail file out and tidying up her fingernails a bit. Freed frequented in and out, but it was of little mind to the slayer. He only watched the door anxiously.

At the sound of a loud pounding against it, he sat to attention a bit, watching as Freed rushed to go open it and reveal…

Elfman.

Ugh.

Laxus shut his eyes and zoned back into his music.

"I knew it," Elfman complained as he came in, bypassing Freed as he glared over at his girlfriend. She only took a gulp from her wineglass with a frown. "You said that they canceled the party, but I knew-"

"I did not say that." Ever gave him a look. "I just said you weren't invited. Difference."

"You-"

"Could you kill someone?" Bickslow asked him.

"Elf?" Lisanna echoed.

"Real men can do anything!"

"Including murder?" his baby sister prompted.

"Of course!"

"I have to find more friends," Freed complained, shutting the door behind the muscular man. "Immediately."

"Riddle me this then," Bickslow continued on, ignoring his teammate. "What's more gruesome? Huh? Shooting someone in the face like a punk? Or watching them slowly drown?"

Elfman didn't even think about it as he passed, headed down the hall to the bathroom, apparently. "Shooting."

"Ha!" Lisanna held up her hand for a high-five which her brother obliged. "Two to one, Bickslow."

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbled, going right back to smoking.

Elfman and Ever got in a few more jabs when he returned from the bathroom, over her apparent attempt to foil him coming as well as the fact that he (in her opinion) was eating far too many of the appetizers and wasn't sharing well and why did she always have to be on his ass anyways, which led to an unwell received joke from Bickslow as well as giggle from Lisanna, only to be broken up, once more, by a knock at the door. Elfman was already heading back to the bathroom though, as, honestly, it was his only safe haven from the madness that was his, apparent, group of friends. Heh.

Finally. Laxus tried hard not to show how relieved he was as Freed, once more, came to open the door for his woman.

"You brought something," Freed remarked in shock at the covered dish in the eldest Strauss' arms. "What is it?"

"Just a casserole," she giggled as she handed it off to him. "I thought that-"

"Demon," Laxus announced loudly, making her glance his way. "What took you?"

"I had to finish work, silly," she giggled as she slipped off her coat. "That's all."

"Sis," Lisanna prompted, glancing her way. "Could you kill someone?"

"Oh, dear," she began as Freed headed out of the room, feeling relieved by the start of her sentence. Then she had to finish it. "Yes. Of course."

"What?" He almost dropped the casserole. "Mirajane-"

"Hmmm?"

"You too?" The letter mage shook his head. "Honestly. This is just-"

"If someone I loved was in danger," she said as she went over to the table to pick at the crackers and cheese that Elfman had somehow managed to not gobble down, "and the situation couldn't be resolved with a good finger wagging-"

"That's why you're my demon," Laxus remarked.

"-and," Mirajane went on, "deadly force had to be used, then I would use it. What other choice would I have?"

"No one said anything about a loved one being in danger," Freed argued. "At all."

"But no one said anything about it not being involved either," the barmaid told him simply before popping a cracker in her mouth.

While Freed was considering this, Bickslow and Lisanna got right back to business.

Blowing smoke at the woman, which about got him strangled by his idol, the seith asked, "What's more gruesome? Watching someone lose their life by drowning slowly as you watch over them or-"

"Or," his girlfriend took over, staring at her sister with their matching deep blues. "Is it more gruesome to hold a gun to someone's head and shoot it, right between the eyes, and the last thing they see before the bullet, like, pierces the brain your face?"

Mira popped in another cracker before saying, "Drowning. Totally."

"What?" Lisanna exclaimed. "Sis-"

"Ha!" He held out a fist and, that time, it was honored as Mirajane bumped her fist against it with a giggle. "We are now completely...tied." Then he sat back in defeat, blowing smoke once more. "Damn it."

Mirajane, not completely sure what they were talking about, just as quickly was turning to head over to Laxus. The man held up a hand though.

"You're forgetting something," he said as she crossed the room, forcing her to stop.

"What?" The barmaid frowned, if only for a moment, before glancing at where he was nodding. The table. "You want… Oh. A beer."

"Mmmhmm." He even grinned, just a bit. "It's our thing."

Yeah. Their 'thing'. Ugh. As if Mirajane didn't get tired of bringing people beers. Still, she did it with a smile before there was no point in doing it any other way. Going to perch herself on his lap, Mirajane gave him a kiss as well as the beer, the dragon responding well to both. He'd been training for the past two days and she'd had work. To finally have some time together was nice.

Even if it was in front of all the others…

"How was work?" Laxus asked as she settled into his hold.

"Mmmm," Mira hummed, "not bad. I guess."

"That's good."

"Not bad," Lisanna corrected from the couch. "She didn't say good. Dummy."

Glaring over at where the youngest Strauss was seated, Laxus said simply, "Just for that, I retract my statement. I think that drowning is way-"

"You can't do that!"

"Yes, he can!" Bickslow fist pumped. "Ha! Boss! You're the best!"

"It is one of the titles I go by, sure," he agreed as Mirajane only frowned at him. "What? I do."

"For what it's worth," Ever spoke up, still messing with her nails. "If we get to change answers, I'm on Lisanna's side."

"Really?" the young woman asked. "You mean-"

"Don't get too excited." She did glance up then, just to glare over at the youngest Strauss. "It's just because it's the opposite of Bickslow. So-"

"Arg! You can't do that!" The seith took to rubbing at his eyes with one of his hands, visor setting down on the table next to the appetizers. "You monster!"

"Laxus just did the exact same-"

"Yeah, Ever, but he's boss and he can do whatever the hell he wants!"

Laxus sat up taller. "Again, he is correct, so-"

That time, Mirajane spoke as well. "Within reason."

"Well, that was implied," Bickslow assured her. "Boss can do whatever Mrs. Boss says, sure but-"

That got a growl from the dragon and a giggle from the demon, but it was Elfman that spoke up, as he came from the bathroom finally.

"It's a stupid question anyways," the man said as, cautiously, he came to take his place next to Evergreen on the loveseat, both scooting away from the center, as to be as far away from one another as possible. "With stupid answers. A real man would strangle another man with his bare hands!"

"Yeah, sure, whatever, dude." Bickslow was glancing around then. "Where did Freed get off to?"

"Kitchen, I think," Lisanna told him. "To put Mira's casserole-"

"Freed!" the seith called out, his babies taking suit. "Dude, which is more gruesome? To watch someone-"

"I am not playing."

"Come on."

"No."

"If you play we'll find a different topic," Lisanna sang. "Just be a tie-breaker."

"Freed, are you in there cooking?" Mira was far more concerned with that. "Alone? Why are you guys- Laxus."

"Nope," he said as she tried to escape his grasp. "You're staying put."

"You-"

"I mean it."

"Please, Freed?" Lisanna continued, though by that point she was busy fllipping through that magazine once more. "It would mean a lot to us. You want this to be a good party, right?"

"Some party," Elfman complained.

"It was before you showed up," Ever volleyed.

"You-"

"If it will stop the two of them from starting up again," the letter mage sighed as, once more, he stepped out of the kitchen, "I suppose I can offer my opinion."

"Oh, great." Bickslow snickered. "Go ahead, buddy. Crush Lissy's dreams. Bros before...other...bros...hoes...err-"

"Quite honestly," the green haired man went on, glaring at the couch Lisanna and Bickslow were seated on. They were the only two paying him any attention as Ever and Elfman were trying very hard not to look at one another while making it very clear to the other that they purposely weren't looking at them and Mirajane and Laxus were doing that weird thing where she nuzzle up to him and he'd just let her, as he sipped on his beer, content in one another and it was just so disgusting that, ugh, no one wanted to see that.

At all.

Except them.

And even then, not if it was another couple.

"I don't think that either are quite that gruesome," Freed finished.

"But that's not-" Lisanna tried, though he only spoke right over her.

"Gruesome," he told them, "would be something far more sadistic than something simple like those two things. Such as dismemberment or cannibalism or dismemberment and cannibalism, with a live victim-"

"Okay, Freed," Laxus finally complained as Mirajane shifted uncomfortably in his lap, glancing the letter mage's way. "We get it. They're idiots. Don't be gross."

"How is that gross? I am merely participating in the conversation-"

"You're such a freak, Freed," Ever sighed. "Honestly."

"How am I-"

"Yeah, dude, too far." Bickslow blew some smoke his way. "Creep."

"You were all just talking about how you could kill someone!"

"But not eat them," Lisanna said, shifting closer to Bickslow. "What exactly did you make us for dinner? Huh? Another human body?"

"No! Of course not. I never said I was the anthropophagite!"

"Maybe not," Elfman agreed. "But I'm nearly certain I heard you say you were a cannibal."

"They're the same thing!"

"Ha!" Bickslow held up a finger. "You admit it."

"This...this is what I get then? For planning this party for you all?"

"No," Lisanna said slowly. "This is what you get for eating human flesh and trying to feed it to us."

"You are being- Mirajane. You have to tell them how foolish they're all being."

She only gave him a slight shrug. "You did kinda grin when you talked about dismemberment and cannibal-"

"I did not even want to talk about any of this! You all-"

"Of course not," Lisanna agreed. "What cannibal wants to talk about being a cannibal? And hey, you know, Lucy and Natsu sure have been gone on their job for a long time."

"Did you eat 'em, Freed? Hmmm?" Bickslow tsked. "Happy too? They were Lissy's best friends! Now I'm gonna have to spend even more time with her and that's just going to be...well… No, yeah, they were probably the best people in the hall to eat. Good going, man."

"I didn't eat them! I-"

"Alright, alright," Laxus complained as Mirajane, slowly, snuggled back into him. "You guys had your fun. Let Freed go back to cooking. And quickly."

"Awe." Mirajane patted his tummy. "Are you hungry, dragon?"

"Famished."

"Do we have to?" Lisanna complained. "We were just working up to a joke about Ever being a man-eater too."

"Were we?" Bickslow asked.

"Well, I was. I figured you'd jump in."

"Oh, no, I'dda called her a manwhore. But any who-"

"Look, you little punk," his female teammate started as Laxus only growled and turned his headset up, as to block out the rest. Mirajane though just stared in shock, finished with the teasing of Freed as another crisis took precedence; namely, how to get Bickslow out of that one alive. "You had better-"

"Real men would speak to a woman's boyfriend!" Elfman challeneged, getting to his feet. Lisanna blinked at this, surprised, but Bickslow only snickered.

"Is he your man now, Ever?" he taunted. "Huh? Elfman is Ever's man?"

"Shut up! And Elfman, you shut up too!"

"Me?" He growled then, but it had nothing on Laxus. Absolutely nothing. "I'm defending your honor!"

"I have none for you to defend!"

"Hear that, Bicks?" Lisanna snickered. "Ever has no honor."

"And no taste in men," he agreed which, of course, got Elfman and Ever to yell at him some more, which, really, was well enough for Freed. As always, it seemed that they were all better arguing.

Or picking on him. He was, after all, the odd man out.

He'd probably been in the kitchen for a good, on, minute and a half when Laxus had enough and unleashed on them all. Except the demon. About how stupid and childish and annoying they were. And if they didn't shut the hell up, right then, he was ending the party and making them all go home without dinner.

Which was very odd, considering there was no way that the man could possibly impose a food ban on them, but then again, why push it? Huh?

"And damn it, Bickslow, if you don't put that damn cigarette or whatever the hell it is out, I'll shove it up your- No, Mira. I will. I'm serious."

"Just shhh," the woman said, gently rubbing his arm. "And relax a bit. Everyone. Please."

Which, of course, put a big damper on dinner. Freed didn't have a formal dining area, leaving them all to eat in the living room, plates in their laps. Well, Mirajane and Laxus actually shared a plate, but that wasn't very special. They did that in most situations. It gave Mirajane a chance to eat more than she would admit to, after all.

For a long time, they ate in silence. Even Bickslow's babies found it best to just float around quietly, not even making their nonsensical noises. Freed had joined their master on the couch, the seith sitting between his best friend and girlfriend, mostly, honestly, craving a smoke.

It was while Ever and Elfman were purposely not trying to touch as they ate that Lisanna, who was picking at her food for the most part, tentatively spoke.

"I," she said slowly, "for one love your dinner, Freed."

Softly, he said, "Thank you."

"It has just a hint of...Dragon Slayer with, what is that? An Exceed?"

Bickslow didn't even have to glance at her to take her lead. "I taste a blonde chick, but that's just me."

"Well, I definitely detect a bit of wings in here-"

"Nope. That's some celestial wizardry right here."

For a good twenty seconds it was silent, Mirajane glancing up at Laxus who was staring as blankly at them as ever while Freed held his breath and Elfman braced for whatever came next.

Only no one could prepare for it.

Ever, in her attempt to stifle what they assumed would have been a laugh, tried to take a sip from her wineglass, though that didn't work as she ended up snorting it up and through her nose and there it was. Everyone was laughing then, except her, but that wasn't too unusual, and Laxus was more of just staring, but not with as aggressive of a glare.

"It's not funny," Ever hissed, getting up to storm off to the bathroom. "You jerks."

And just like that, Elfman stopped laughing, realizing just what the indiscretion would mean for him. Sure, it'd broke the ice for everyone else, but him? Oh, he'd be hearing about how it was somehow his fault for, at least, the rest of the night. If not the next day as well.

Lisanna and Bickslow though couldn't stop laughing. Mira had, but was grinning and Freed was just watching them at that point, but it was all good.

"I bet Natsu would taste like fire," Lisanna remarked then to which Bickslow nodded.

"Just like boss would taste like electricity."

"What does electricity taste like?" Mira asked slowly.

"I don't know," he said before, with a devilish grin, asking, "Why don't you tell us?"

"Why would I-"

"Never mind, Mira," Laxus groaned. "Just let it go."

"But- Oh. Ew. Bickslow!" Mira complained when she, finally, understand

Lisanna almost dropped her plate from laughter. Freed, who'd just gotten his carpets cleaned, was rather glad she didn't.

"I would question why now cannibalism is funny," the letter mage complained, going back to his dinner. "But I'm sure I won't like the response."

"It was always funny," Bickslow told him.

"Yeah," Lisanna agreed, nodding her head. "Always."

"Of course it is," the other man sighed, with a shake of his head. "Of course."

"I have never...tasted Laxus," Mirajane complained, apparently still hung up on that. "Like bitten a piece of his flesh or-"

"You've gotten as close to it as you possibly can, I'm sure," they heard then from the hall as Ever returned, apparently pissed at all of them.

"What was that?" Laxus growled as she headed back over to the loveseat. "Ever?"

Not all of them, apparently. "I was just…well..."

"Apologizing to my demon?" he prompted to which she only bowed her head and mumbled something of the likes out.

And Lisanna, thoroughly proud of herself for saving the party, as always, sat back with a grin while Bickslow, who was equally convinced that he'd done the same thing, pulled a cigarette to light up as celebration. Elfman was softly comforting Ever about then, about how it was totally everyone's fault, but her own, that she'd snorted wine out of her nose, which pretty much meant he was the savior of them all.

All being turned to stone, that is.

Then there was Mirajane, who had managed before to keep Laxus from slaughtering them all and, well, was there more a savior of a party than the person that kept the other party-goers from being murdered?

Was there?

Laxus was sitting there too, ever the leader of them all, even the Strausses, whether they chose to subscribe to this philosophy or not, knowing that it was truly him that brought them all together and, therefore, was the only one that mattered, much less had the ability to make things better.

It wasn't until the end of the night though, as they all sat around, drinking themselves into losing their inhibitions that would probably lead to Laxus trying to hookup with Mirajane in all of the following places, yet not limited to, the bathroom, the guest bedroom, Freed's bedroom, and the kitchen and Mirajane chewing him out about it every single time (before just settling for the guest bedroom, probably, where they'd more than likely make out heavily for a bit before blacking out) and Bickslow and Lisanna to falling asleep in the most random of places (after one party, Bickslow woke up in the shower stall, fully clothed, with no recollection of why he'd gone in there to begin with), while Ever would demand to leave, oh, once an hour on the hour and Elfman, far drunker than them all (being with Ever, he deserved it), to yelling about men and being loud and just, ugh.

Why did Freed keep agreeing to babysit- err, hosting their get-togethers? Why?

It was then though, with them all relaxed and drinking, that Freed remembered that it was him who was truly the one that kept the party together. Or all of them together. As a group, at least, as they seemed to work in their couples pretty well, but not all as one. He might not be integral to everything they did and, at times even, felt rather left out, but he was a good middleman for them.

"If one of us was a canna...cann… If one of us ate people," Lisanna announced to them all at one point, mostly Bickslow, as no one else was listening, just more of drinking and ignoring. "It'd totally be Freed. Right? Guys?"

Mirajane was in that funny phase of drunk that she only got at parties like that and was so giggly and all over Laxus that no one, but him seemed to understand what she said. But Bickslow nodded his head.

"Totally," he agreed. "Freed the Dark. What's darker than that?"

"Actually," Freed began, about to list off just what was darker than that, but stopped, suddenly, realizing it would only be used against him. For the night he was having, being accused of eating another human was, actually, probably the best he was going to get. "Yes. Completely. It would be me."

Evergreen, who was stretched out on the loveseat, head in Elfman's lap and legs hanging over the edge, hardly peeked open her eyes. "Called it."

Laxus' voice was muffled as it was pressed against Mirajane's neck, from what the others could make out, he only said, "Knock it off," or something of the sort. But then Mirajane was giggling again and wow; it was about time for him to proposition her to sneak off and screwing.

Elfman just growled though. "Real men don't eat other men!"

"But if you ate another man," Bickslow offered up, more sober than the others, only through the sheer fact that he typically drank far more often, "then wouldn't you assume his powers? Or something?"

"In what world?" Lisanna asked.

"I don't know. Maybe this one. But no one ever knows because we refuse to eat one another."

"He says things like that," Freed griped, if only halfway, "yet I am the one that's called a cannibal."

"That's such a cannibal thing to say, Freed," Lisanna complained. Her boyfriend just nodded.

"Completely."

And oh, one day, they wouldn't have those free nights, where they just sat around and did nothing together. One day, even, Freed would find other friends. Ones that didn't vomit all over his bathroom from drinking too much in the middle of the night, or attempt to hookup in random parts of his house, and definitely ones that didn't spill wine on his nicely cleaned carpet.

But...just not that day.

Or one any time soon.

[mycroft-silently-judges-you]

Sherlock, James Bond, and the Frankly Alarming Amount of Skyfall Parallels

(((This is Part 3 of my 18 part meta series (x) analyzing EMP Theory and evidence supporting it in TFP)))

Skyfall release date: November 9th, 2012

Sherlock series 3 release date: January 1st, 5th & 12th, 2014

Starting with series three, Sherlock started to let the Skyfall references fly, the most obvious being one that nearly everyone caught at the time:

Which was the point. Gatiss and Moffat wanted us to catch onto the Skyfall reference because they already knew what they were going to do with series four and this was meant to act as an attention-getter. As for why they would use Skyfall specifically, it’s because it was the last released James Bond movie at the time and it would be the one the public would be most likely to recognize being referenced there’s also the whole Bond faking his death thing but whatever

Does that mean there are no references to other Bond movies? Not at all. Did you wonder why they would go through the trouble and expense of making a metal grill for a bad guy you see for the grand total of two seconds?

Or why a bomb was stopped on an important number reference?

Or why THEY LITERALLY CAST SOMEONE WHO HAD BEEN IN A BOND MOVIE TO HEAD SHERRINFORD???

Coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy.

Below the cut:

An exhaustive list and picture reference for every Skyfall parallel

References to other James Bond movies

How we know it’s canon Sherlock has seen the James Bond movies

How, in the end, this all circles back to Johnlock

Skyfall Parallels

Skyfall opens with Bond in pursuit of a hard drive containing the identities of intelligence agents

Which the bad guy is stupid enough to wear around his neck

But whatever. M is heading up the operation at MI6, where they are tracking Bond

Who is chasing the bad dude through a bazaar

During the course of which he drives his motorcycle on stairs

Because apparently all MI6 agents have mad motorcycle skills The pursuit ends with Bond chasing the bad guy to the top of a train, where he gets shot

Bond ultimately gets shot again and falls over the side of the train

And into a river that carries him over a waterfall

And pulled under into “deep waters.” Which is basically the essence of EMP theory. During the credits sequence we are given a shot of a woman holding a Walter PPK, the gun model Bond uses throughout the movie. This shot will come back to haunt us later. Until then...

After the shooting at the waterfall, Bond is declared dead

And he lets everyone go right on believing it and for the moment, the audience believes he is as well.

The bad guys, now in possession of the hard drive, hack into MI6 *cough*Mary on her cellphone in TAB*cough* and this message pops up on M’s laptop

“Think on your sins” is what I believe the entire point of TFP is, but that’s a meta all on its own In her rush to get back to MI6, she is stopped on Vauxhall Bridge and is forced to watch as MI6 is blown up

After the terror attack, we are shown that Bond is alive

And sporting a pretty wild array of scars from various missions, some of which are on his back

He goes drinking in a beachside bar where he finds out from a CNN bulletin that there was a terror attack in London and he goes back to take down those who did it

If Mycroft can be Wikipedia he can also be Wolf Blitzer. Upon arriving back in London, Bond decides that his best course of action is to go scare the shit out of M as his way of announcing he’s back and to tell her that his faked death lent “perspective”

M accepts him back on the condition that he passes his physical and mental exams at MI6. Bond goes in and when faced with the psychiatrist, he’s told he’ll have to go through a round of word association

He does fine until he’s faced with the word Skyfall

He freezes when it’s uttered and then walks out of the room. M tells him in her super cool office that he’s passed his exams and is assigned to go after the agent who took the hard drive and find out who he’s working for

Bond meets Q at the National Portrait Gallery where he’s given the papers he’ll need to go after the agent in Shanghai

Once in Shanghai, he follows the agent to a business building where he sets up a perch to assassinate someone in the next building over

Bond then fights the assassin, who pushes him through a glass pane

And you know what’s behind them during this fight scene?

A HUGE BLUE DISPLAY OF JELLYFISH. Bond Sherlock and the assassin trying to kill him Mary in front of a massive display of blue jellyfish wow wow ANYWAY. Bond is still looking a hot mess and after a shave

He gets back in his groove. Next he goes to a crazy beautiful floating casino to cash in a chip he found on the agent he killed. A woman comes down to meet him who he knows is connected to the big bad guy who is behind the terrorist attack on MI6. When he wants to have a conversation with her free from prying ears, he removes his earpiece

She agrees to take Bond to the island where the big bad guy is via boat

It’s an abandoned island based on a real one called Ghost Island

Bond comes face-to-face with the villain, Silva, who was a former agent that went rogue *cough*Mary*cough* Silva tells him a story about how his grandmother had an island and that when it became infested with rats, she set a trap that the rats fell into and for survival, they began eating one another. When there were only two rats left, she released them back into the wild because they only ate rats anymore. He implies that they are the last two rats, that they are alike and should team up. “Eat others or eat each other”  *cough*Moriarty*cough* Silva then goes onto use sexuality to faze Bond

The confrontation continues and Silva says that he hacked MI6′s system and pulled up Bond’s file. It revealed that M lied when she said Bond passed his tests and that the psychiatrist determined he had a substance abuse problem and authority issues traced back to “unresolved childhood trauma.” He taunts Bond’s dedication to Queen and country, saying he needs a hobby. Bond says his is ”resurrection.” This all ends with Silva being taken into custody and back to London. He’s contained in a “prison inside a prison” type cell

Silva confronts M when she comes to see him for turning him over to the Chinese who tortured him for five months before he managed to escape Ajay is that you? M leaves for a meeting that could determine the fate of the 00 section of MI6. During this meeting, she quotes Tennyson’s Ulysses, a poem the late poet described as being about his "need of going forward and braving the struggle of life" after the loss of a friend Sherlock post-wedding anyone? Meanwhile, Q is shown to be examining Silva’s computer and in doing so inadvertently releases a program that hacks MI6′s systems to open every door, allowing Silva to escape and go after M to kill her for her perceived betrayal. Bond chases him into the Underground

Into a station

And exits at Westminster

I am literally setting this show on fire Bond gets to the meeting and manages to extract M before Silva can kill her. He says they need to ditch the government car because of its tracking system and he takes her to his storage unit where his Aston Martin is stored

Bond proceeds to take her to a place where he believes he’ll have the upper-hand against Silva: Skyfall, his ancestral home

Which even comes with a creepy graveyard and everything

When they are approaching it, he remarks that a east wind “storm is coming.” With the help of M and the old groundskeeper, Bond sets up defenses inside Skyfall. At sunset, Silva arrives with his goons in a helicopter

Blasting Boom Boom by The Animals

Which Bond calls out by saying “Always got to make an entrance.” Silva then proceeds to fuck shit up. He opens fire on Skyfall, throws explosives, the works. Skyfall burns to the ground

Have you set everything you own on fire yet? I have Bond escaped Skyfall through a hidden tunnel (after remarking that he hated the place), but Silva and one of his men manage to catch up with him as he’s running across the frozen lake Musgrave Hall had a lake too LORD HAVE MERCY Bond struggles with Silva’s dude behind him for his gun and shoots a circle into the ice below them, making them fall into the freezing water where they fight

And Bond kills him. Bond makes it to Skyfall’s chapel, where M and the groundskeeper are hiding, and kills Silva with a knife in the back, saying, “Last rat standing.” When M sarcastically asks what took him so long he replies, “Got into some deep water.” FUCKING SHOOT ME M sadly dies from a gunshot she got during the assault on Skyfall, which devastates Bond. Bond returns to London, which is when we get the shot we all know and love:

Now what’s interesting about Skyfall is that, unlike most Bond movies, the iconic gun barrel shot is at the end and not the beginning

With the red bleed shot differing greatly in shade

Now remember that shot at the beginning I said would come back to haunt us? The one comparing Norbury and the woman in the credits sequence holding a Walter PPK, which is traditionally Bond’s gun? 

It’s especially interesting here because when compared to the ending of TLD, it is the gun used in the gun barrel shot, but the gun Eurus’ was using and fired at John is clearly not a Walter PPK

It’s a Sig Pro SP2022. So what’s the significance of the change? Why flash back to a Walter PPK?

BECAUSE MARY USED A SUPPRESSED WALTER PPK WHEN SHE SHOT SHERLOCK. If I’m right in thinking everything we’ve seen since Mary shot Sherlock has taken place entirely in Sherlock’s head, him flashing back to Norbury’s/Mary’s gun is further proof that the simulation he’s running is breaking down.

That, and he wasn’t willing to let a pesky detail like the type of gun Eurus used get in the way of him fulfilling his Skyfall Bond movie fantasy simulation because he loved that fucking movie so much. LOVED IT. Him and John have watched it at least 10 times.

It’s also not the only wonky detail about the gun barrel shot ending. You know how I said the blood color was different? Well, the red used in TLD closely resembles the red used in The Living Daylights gun barrel shot

You know, the one that featured a character named Kamran Shah played by Art Malik

Who played the governor of Sherrinford in the next episode. AMAZING

Other James Bond Movie References and Notes of Interest

Diamonds Are Forever (specifically mentioned on John’s blog (x))

The villain has faces crafted like his own and recruits body doubles to fake his death in case people like Bond or others come to kill him hello Irene/Moriarty hired Sherlock imposter in TRF When Bond “kills” him he says “Welcome to Hell” which will come to play later in another meta 

A wallet being used to falsely identify someone (John as Sherlock in TBB)

This bullshit

During a scene when Bond implies that the diamonds are hidden in the dead guy’s ass. A guy who was falsely identified as Bond. Wow. Just wow.

When the dead “James Bond” was found, Bond says “Just proves no one is indestructible.” A mirror of Sherlock saying “I’m known to be indestructible” in TEH

The dead “Bond” is carried off in a hearse. Kind of like how the title TEH implies Sherlock’s body wasn’t in the hearse because he was alive, which is the case here

Two assassins trying to kill Bond, Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd, are a gay couple

“I’m afraid you’ve caught me with more than my hands up.” A nice dick pun that plays nicely into the 8,000 dick puns on Sherlock

The chick Bond works with only has communication with her connection to the diamond smuggling ring over the phone. Moriarty stays disconnected from his crimes, except for when he talks to the old lady hostage on the phone and Irene

Bond goes into a subterranean lab to find the diamonds. Reminiscent of the subterranean lab in HoB

The Spy Who Loved Me

First of two movies featuring Jaws, a villain who tries to kill Bond

He has metal teeth (like one of the guys who tortured Ajay in TST) and is extremely tall (like the Golem in TGG). One of the more memorable Bond villains

The title could be taken literally as being about Mary loving John it’s a selfish love but you get the gist

“I need you.” - woman to Bond (”Who needs me this time?” - Sherlock to Mycroft in HLV)          “So does England.” - Bond to woman (”England” - Mycroft to Sherlock in HLV)

Woman Bond works with drugs him with powder in her cigarette so he’ll pass out, like Mary drugging Sherlock with powder in the letter in TST

Villains lair is aquarium-like and has sharks, which he points at and says “There’s death.” The pane you see the shark through is like the circle ones in the aquarium in TST and the death comment over the shot of the shark was like when Sherlock recites the Merchant of Samarra over shots of sharks in the beginning of TST

The Living Daylights (featuring Art Malik)

The woman Bond helps has a Stradivarius cello named Lady Rose, which was assembled in 1724. Eurus is said to have a Stradivarius violin in TFP. And Lady Rose, they call John’s baby Rosie

Once the crisis is averted and the woman saved, Bond sees a sign that gives the miles to Karachi. When he sees it he says to her, “I know a great restaurant in Karachi. We might be in time for dinner.” Sherlock saved Irene in Karachi

Various Other References

The numerical significance of a bomb time stop in Goldfinger (bomb in TEH)

A media mogul who uses blackmail to manipulate world leaders in Tomorrow Never Dies (Magnussen in HLV) 

“James Bond is a blunt instrument wielded by a government department.” - Ian Fleming (James Bond creator). M refers to Bond as a “blunt instrument” in Casino Royale. There was also a song titled “Blunt Instrument” on the Casino Royale soundtrack composed by David Arnold. YES, THAT DAVID ARNOLD. The one who does the Sherlock soundtrack with Michael Price. Mycroft refers to Sherlock as a “blunt instrument” in HLV

Sherrinford has the sleek glass and stone appearance that is reminiscent of several Bond villain lairs

Mycroft’s insane umbrella sword/gun would fit right in with all the other crazy contraptions that come out of MI6 development

There are two Bond movies literally titled You Only Live Twice and Die Another Day, a theme Sherlock has been fucking around with since forever

BTW I think it’s hilarious that when a critic put Sherlock on blast after TST for “slowly morphing into James Bond” (x), Gatiss wrote a poem that basically said “fuck you Sherlock can be physical too” (x). Like, that review wouldn’t have gotten nearly as much attention as it did if Gatiss didn’t respond to it. This was basically cannon fire intended for us to take notice of. Like, bro, I’m already here. I see you.... and all your James Bond references.

James Bond in Sherlock’s Canon

Between the case write-ups of ASiP and TBB, John makes a blog post titled Diamonds are forever (x) where he bemoans Sherlock not taking a case about a missing diamond because he found it “boring” shout out to John for being all excited and ready with a blog title for a prospective case Things get interesting in the comments section when Sherlock asks where he’s heard the phrase “diamonds are forever.” John responds that it’s a James Bond movie and that they’re doing a “Bond night.”

Even though Sherlock acted salty in the comments, we do know from his own blog (x) that he did watch a Bond movie with John, potentially Diamonds Are Forever since that is the one John referenced

While James Bond is not mentioned on the blog again, it is featured in ASiB when Mycroft says “Bond air is go” and Sherlock later figures out that it is connected to flight 007. We can now assume that it is because John made him watch Bond movies that Sherlock understood the references

Johnlock

Something every Bond movie features is a Bond Girl. Ever since the early Bond movies, actresses have vied for the role. There is a massive amount of publicity surrounding whoever is being considered for the role and ultimately whoever gets it. It’s a huge deal. The name of the girl always changes and so does her role, but there is one constant:

Bond always, ALWAYS, gets the girl

If Sherlock is imagining his life right now as one big Bond movie, the huge aspect of romance is currently missing, which John said in TLD would complete him. It’s not so far-fetched to think that Sherlock will also get the girl in the end

Or, since Sherlock is gay, get the guy

When Johnlock happens, Gatiss and Moffat will have, in a sense, created not only the first explicitly confirmed gay Sherlock, but Bond as well. Even for them, that’s pretty audacious. Cheers to you sirs!

tl;dr

There are a shit ton of Skyfall references in Sherlock starting in series three, reaching a crescendo in series four, and Gatiss and Moffat are creating the first explicitly confirmed gay Sherlock and Bond.

PS - A special thank you to my boyfriend who, much like John, made me watch the James Bond movies, which is how I picked up on all these references. I thought they were ridiculous but, much like Sherlock, I enjoyed the time with my boyfriend.

[thesinglesjukebox]

EMINEM - DARKNESS

[2.20]

We’ve come to talk about Em again...

Alfred Soto: Good lord -- an Eminem single called "Darkness," surprised yet? The Simon and Garfunkel interpolation and sound effects come off as cheap contexualizing for the sake of a bait-and-switch in which Em unmasks himself as Stephen Paddock. With critics paying renewed attention to the complexity of his flow, it's also worth stressing that ability tethered to self-pity deserves scorn. [4]

Brad Shoup: I swear to Christ I saw the title and knew he was gonna interpolate Simon and Garfunkel. But I also knew he and Royce were making their own "Six Feet Deep," and I was way off. Turns out it's a creative-writing assignment designed to keep the grader's pen dangling forever. What do you do with something detailed so painstakingly and painfully? The parallels Em draws are clever enough linguistically. (Has any song ever flattered Genius annotators more?) But the only ones that feel legit involve substance abuse. This is a megalomaniacal idea presented bashfully -- I should be grateful he isn't trying to do voice acting -- and framed thoughtlessly. The gunshots and screams are ghoulish enough without considering how the rest of his catalog uses them as cartoon gags. A fantastically bad idea that I will be thinking about for at least as long as the song's excruciating runtime. [5]

Kylo Nocom: Em forces the audience to endure his balladry, only to reveal that they were, like, empathizing with the Las Vegas shooter the entire time! The set-up is... intriguing (to call it "well-executed" feels like making another lame pun he'd squeeze in) yet it still sucks in many ways that don't even require public moral outcry: the sound effects spoil the twist way too early, his singing burps out remnants of emo rap, the beat samples fucking Simon & Garfunkel, and I still hate the sound of this guy's voice doing anything. To write any more on this feels like losing a game that Eminem will win -- a point he makes annoyingly often and remains true. But it's a shame that something meant to be poignant from the guy comes out as weak shock humor. [3]

Julian Axelrod: In theory, I'm not mad that Eminem is still trying to pivot to Social Commentary Anthems. I guess I'd rather hear him use his platform to wrestle with knotty issues than peddle stale punchlines about killing Honey Boo Boo or whatever. But what's really frustrating is Eminem's refusal to drop his gimmicks when it matters. You can't make a song about real life survivors and reference Saturday Night Fever. You can't condemn gun violence at festivals and condemn festival-goers concerned about gun violence. And regardless of the subject matter, you cannot punctuate a belabored alcohol-as-gun metaphor by muttering "Double entendre" like a sadistic, self-satisfied SparkNotes. That's the worst part: No one outside of Eminem's stanbase will be swayed by this, and very few within it will either. When will his reign of terror end? When no one cares. [0]

Isabel Cole: Oh, fuck you: for being tacky enough to open a limp-pulsing track called "Darkness" with a phrase that's been memed into meaninglessness and then marrying it to our particular American plague so that I feel irrationally bad about dismissing it with a flippant joke. But, fine, Eminem has put on his (boring, ill-fitting) big boy clothes, so let's do this. Being a grown-up, like being an artist, means being accountable for your choices, beginning with not just the choice to rap from the perspective of a mass shooter (although it's hard to imagine a level of artistic merit or political efficacy that would justify that decision), but specifically the choice of this shooter, this tragedy. It's easy to imagine why this particular incident would call to Eminem, from the infamy of the body count to the anxiety he must feel about the possibility of a similar event striking one of his own audiences. In choosing a mass murderer who remains so enigmatic, Eminem gets to dwell in the alleged mystery of violence, emphasizing its senselessness even to those who commit it. But it's more than the scale that makes that massacre unusual (although the scale also bears on the irresponsibility of his selection: come on, dude, how can you profess concern and not see yourself laying the groundwork for some other asshole to think "if I kill enough people someone famous will write a song about me?"); the perpetrator had no known history of domestic violence, but the majority of such men do. You can't talk about American violence without talking about American misogyny, and selecting a narrative that enables you to avoid the connection between the two marks you as someone with nothing to contribute to the conversation; implicitly generalizing this genderless narrative by layering news audio clips of shooting after shooting brings it from stupid to evil, emphasizing the pervasive danger of American culture now that men are dying too. This is of course particularly galling coming from goddamn Eminem, who has profited so handsomely from the commodification of violence against women. Galling partly because it retroactively dims whatever insights on the topic he may have laid claim to: rather than the inscrutable, almost mystical lost soul portrayed here, most of these men are something more like the narrator of "Love the Way You Lie" plus a couple years on the wrong parts of Reddit. He could have chosen to bridge that gap for his long-time listeners, to make the connection between hating the bitch who ruined your life and being self-centered enough to want to watch the world burn, but he didn't. Making me wonder what exactly he thought he was rapping about all those years, if he finds this form of violence so novel. [0]

Will Rivitz: I see Lin-Manuel's done away with his orchestra's string section. [2]

Andy Hutchins: The distance between "Hi, kids! Do you like violence? / Wanna see me stick nine-inch nails through each one of my eyelids?" and a three-verse double entendre that doesn't exactly strain itself to not sympathize with one of history's most nefarious mass murderers is not as far as one should probably walk in 20 years of life. A less clever rapper would not have found as many ways firearms buttress our vernacular; a cleverer one might have made this song about that instead of a five-minute trigger warning. A wiser one wouldn't have attempted this at all: Noble though the aim may be, there is no target audience here. [3]

Will Adams: Eminem stepping into the mind of a mass shooter is not surprising. Punctuating said narrative with in media res sound effects (shower curtains! pill bottles! loading clips! screams!), turning "The Sound of Silence" into a Talkboy sample, and making this shit five and a half minutes long? That takes extra chutzpah. [2]

Katherine St Asaph: I suspect the efforts to prevent copycat shootings were doomed ages ago, if not after Columbine then definitely after Rodger. Even if every mass shooter permanently closed off his chosen inspiration to all future comers, there are still enough sprees strewn throughout history -- hell, just through this millennium -- to produce years of trauma; and even if every media outlet declined to report shooters' names or manifestos, all of that would still circulate on chans and Discords (where they probably originated anyway) that any given proto-shooter is far more likely to read than the Associated Press, and infinitely more likely to trust. It's a failure of imagination: far easier to high-mindedly decline to acknowledge shootings than to reckon with them, to dissect and understand what makes them happen and more importantly what doesn't, and thus learn how to stop them. As a certain folk duo sang, silence like a cancer grows -- which brings us to Eminem's "Sound of Silence"-sampling, presumably cautionary foray into the Vegas shooter's mind. If your average caustic millennial isn't reading the mainstream news, he's definitely not listening to Eminem in 2020, and yet "Darkness" crumples under the burden of needing to not inspire anyone. The rapping is low-energy, the rhymes distractingly stiff or goofy -- trigger/convictions, booze/snooze -- the flow lumbering and often just bad. Where Disturbed heightened "The Sound of Silence" to Game of Thrones grandeur, Em and Royce -- perhaps building on a popular mashup -- desiccates it. The arrangement is the midpoint of Alex da Kid and "Teardrop": a smothering quicksand, meant to drag listeners into inertia and keep them there. (For all the gunshots-and-cussing masculinity of this, the piano loop reminds me most of Sarah Brightman's cover of "Scarborough Fair": delicately hypnotic.) Eminem conveys neither Slim Shady's glee nor "Love the Way You Lie"'s visceral anger, nor much but a morose slog, but give him this: It is mostly impossible to imagine someone hearing "Darkness" and buying a gun. Mostly. Why, if you're aiming not to inspire, would you musically accompany the killing-spree verse by finally moving past line two of "The Sound of Silence," to where the melody gratifyingly blooms upward? The vodka bottles in the video -- the lyrics' metaphorical gun, shown in appealing product-placement close-up -- are thankfully fake prop brands -- but then why do the close-ups at all? Most tellingly, Eminem chooses one of the few shooters with no manifesto to disseminate and few known motivations. Whether that's out of a desire to avoid spreading the truly hateful shit (which would be a recent development), to avoid the issue in general, or just to play the guy with the biggest body count, it means he gets away with lines like "you'll never find a motive, truth is I have no idea" instead of engaging with the specific kind of nihilism shooters are all too happy to tell you about -- a nihilism that is, in some part, his creation. When will this end? When enough people care what "this" is. Begrudging point for the part where, after Eminem says "magazines," the video cuts to actual magazines, like the glossy paper kind: the best trolling he's done in years, specifically of the sort of gunfuckers who were already halfway through a comment about him saying "clips." I suppose it's not the bleakest way he's made people laugh. [3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: At one point Eminem had the capacity to make jokes. He's way funnier here, his faux-double entendres and sampha-soundalike Simon and Garfunkel interpolation adding up to something so maudlin and obvious that it's almost impossible to listen to as serious political rap. It's not even disgusting. [0]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[araneaes-order]

Angels We Have Heard Ch. 4

Last Herald-Mage Fanfic

Follow up to In the Bleak Mid-winter my “fix-it” rewrite of the canon ending. (’Cause, C’MON!!!) This is several months later, because no way these two aren’t gonna meet up again.

In the Bleak Mid-winter | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |  Visit my master list

Word Count: ~2750

Rating: Mature for themes of suicide and substance abuse and stuff, I don’t know, I try to err on the side of caution, I think it’s fairly fluffy really

Tags: Canon mm, ^attempted suicide, ^substance abuse, comfort, mourning, singing

On AO3.

Chapter Synopsis: They burn some candles, sing some songs, while away a night.

Stefen opened the door and let the Herald go first into the shack.

This was already taking too long. The man needed to light his damned candles and go.

He was tired and itchy and feeling like an idiot for being caught like he’d been, doing something so stupid. The visit to the temple and that damned pushy priestess hadn’t helped his state of mind. Or knowing Berte had been there, on the other side of the wall, in the darkness. In the ground. It had taken her death to get her moved permanently across the river.

The night was still young enough, though. There was still time for more dreamerie and bed if the Herald would take himself off. He shut the door behind them and swiped at his hair.

“So how do we do this?” he asked impatiently.

For a moment the Herald looked at him, something between surprise and pity in his eyes and it made Stefen want to spit.

“The candles?” He waved. “Just…light them?”

“We need a place—”

“Only got the one,” Stefen said, already dragging the crate from the corner of the room to the center. The top of it was caked with old wax and his regular candle was already affixed to the center of the box. He waved at it.

The Herald looked uncertainly from him to the crate.

“It’s what I’ve got,” he said again, rubbing his arms. Cold here wasn’t like cold up north, but it was cold enough.

With a little effort the Herald got down to a cross-legged position in front of the crate. And how healed was he really? Stefen wondered again. Past waifish to sickly. Better for him too, to get back to his posh castle and recovering. Who’d had the bright idea to let him out in the first place, didn’t they have enough sense to take care of their last Herald-Mage better than this?

He took the place beside him, cross-legged too.

This sort of candle, glowingly white, skinny like they were, weren’t meant to be just melted to whatever was handy, they belonged in some fancy candelabra, like Stefen sure didn’t have access to, but the Herald used some of the yellow wax from the old candles to fix them there just the same.

Then he glanced at Stefen, so careful, nervous, wanting something Stefen didn’t understand and didn’t think he wanted to give anyway. “Now we just…light them. And think about the person we’re lighting them for.”

Maybe that was why he’d gotten so mad at the priestess, because she looked at him the way Herald did. Expectant. Wanting. He’d had his run ins with the temples, not in a long time granted, Dark and the brigands of the northern woods had hardly been devotees, but he remembered the uppity nuns from his childhood. More, he remembered the brothers and sisters of more than one temple they’d passed on the way north, when he’d made that first journey. Gods and prayers were for rich men, pockets flush with gold, however they’d gotten it—like the slavers and like the Herald, when he wasn’t traveling light and playing at being gutter trash.

He nodded his chin. “You start.” He wasn’t trying to be belligerent, he was just past done with the company.

The Herald bobbed his head in a subtle bow and took a twig. Lighting it from the regular candle he lit the first of the white ones and paused.

His face was grave, his gaze fixed on the little flicker of flame, its light shimmering in damp reflection on his eyes. “For Tylendel,” he said softly.

Stefen’s mouth tightened.

He held out the smoldering twig and took a deep breath. “And for Savil.” He said it as softly, but his breath caught a little as the second candle was lit. Stefen felt that flash of shame again, that when the Herald had wanted to talk earlier he’d turned it into a pissing match, and it was worse when the Herald’s eyes fell shut and his lips moved subtly, briefly, in actual prayer or…what, he couldn’t know. He’d never been that close to anyone. He didn’t understand the grief he felt from that place in his head that wasn’t quite his anymore.

The Herald hadn’t had the chance to do this for her, yet, he realized, shifting away a little from the intimacy. It wasn’t for him.

But then the Herald was looking at him again, holding out a fresh twig. He might have been able to rebuff him before—he still thought this was stupid—but there was something needy in the other man, not for Stefen himself, but just for someone to share this and for some reason he found he couldn’t deny that. He didn’t think this man, this Herald-hero of Valdemar, was the sort to reach out often. Not like this.

He took the twig and lit it from the old candle and lit the third of the white ones. “For Damen,” he said quickly, only a little guilty that the boy deserved more than this. He deserved a lifetime, a good one, a happy, healthy, long one, lived without fear and without the pain of his last hours. A candle couldn’t give him all that. He coughed to hide his sniff, and turned his head as if he was covering his mouth with his elbow to hide a swipe at his wet eyes.

His throat was too tight to move on and he stared at that candle for a moment, waiting for any hint of the peace this was supposed to bring. It was only a candle. Even the three didn’t do much to alleviate the darkness around them.

He risked a glance at the Herald, who met his gaze as if he’d been waiting for it and smiled a little, nodding.

Stupid. Fucking idiotic, this was.

He sighed, annoyed, and lit the next candle. The last two had been a bad idea. If he’d just left it to the Herald he’d already be done. “For Berte,” he said, defiantly. If there was anyone who did deserve her end—who’d deserved worse!—it was old Berte, the bitch. He sure as fuck didn’t miss her like the woman the Herald had lit his candle for. If he closed his eyes he could still feel her behind him in the shack, hear the rustle of her blanket, the wheezing of her breath, smell the dreamerie—

That… that much wasn’t her, anymore.

He opened his eyes, glaring at the light. Last one.

He lit it faster even than the others, and shook the twig out when it was done. “For Warin,” he said. He felt the Herald flinch beside him.

Well he should, he’d killed the man himself. There’d been worse folk licking at Dark’s heels, lots of them. Warin hadn’t been so bad and he probably wouldn’t have been picked out to go against the Herald if his master hadn’t known that Stefen occasionally crawled into the young captain’s bed when he’d felt an itch.

He clenched his fists on his thighs. It was a little brighter in his shack, but that was it. Wasn’t ever going to be otherwise.

They sat in quiet for a while. Stefen’s thoughts were no less dark for the light, but he hoped at least the Herald was getting whatever he’d wanted from it. He’d shut his eyes again, a relative blank in the back of Stefen’s head.

Stefen scooted himself back so he could lean against the wall, tired, leaving the candles to the Herald. He reached for his gittern and pulled it from its case, plucking out a lazy melody. At least in the music there was a sort of peace. A distance and a closeness at once.

After a while the Herald sighed and moved to join him, the two sitting on his pallet as they had earlier.

“I’m sorry. I had hoped…”

But Stefen was too tired even to fuss at yet another pointless apology. “Shhh,” –his turn to say, still playing.

It startled him when, a while later, the Herald started singing, a pensive old tune Stefen was fairly sure he’d picked up before he’d gone north. The Herald’s baritone was more than just passable…

He laughed, bitter and weary in the comfortable darkness around them. “No wonder I didn’t impress you. All you have, and this too? ‘Dreams die hard,’ yeah?”

The Herald stopped, and Stefen regretted it. “That wasn’t a lie. The Bardic Gift came later. And I paid for it, more than I would have.”

“Huh,” he said noncommittal. Then, “Know this one?”

He’d figured he would, and he seemed to take it for the olive branch it was, singing again in his more-than-passable voice. He only faltered for a second when Stefen joined him, tenor and baritone layering pleasingly over the gittern.

Two songs later Stefen handed over the instrument. “Any good with her? Trade you?”

The Herald took it, but it was a moment before he caught on and got out his old lute for Stefen.

Stefen winced, running his hands over the beat-up old thing. If anything it was worse than his, a sorry state, that. For a second he thought how he could get him better. The pawn shop had one in the window, wasn’t too pricey, and—

He hit a hard, discordant note—easy, on that thing—pretending to adjust it and shaking himself loose. The Herald could probably buy out the pawn shop, building and all, and not think twice about it. He didn’t need Stefen’s little gestures, any more than he’d needed a few coppers for a handful of useless candles. The first one had already gone out, the one he’d lit for his beloved Tylendel.

Focusing on the sad old lute, he tried out a quick run, readjusted, and went again. A few more times and he was ready to slip off onto a particularly maudlin love song—not one of his.

The Herald snorted, but joined him on the gittern. “A favorite of my mother’s,” he said, with some amusement.

Stefen smiled, as much at the skillful playing. “She has interesting taste.”

“That she does.”

Proving it though, as if he’d needed to, the Herald led the singing on that one, though Stefen was quick to join him. It was an awful song and it made him feel better to share the triteness of it. It was nice that the Herald couldn’t sing it with a straight face either and they were both laughing when it was done.

Stefen let his hands fall still and closed his eyes, to better enjoy the Herald’s serenade. He didn’t recognize the tune but it was lovely. If there were words, the Herald left them unsung.

Later, he suspected he’d be a bit pissed that the Herald hadn’t ever played for him, or at least sang, or at the very least let on that his ‘not liking music’ had been such a stupid, downright obscene lie. That voice was… well. It was a damned shame to have hidden it from him, that was all, he thought, as the Herald hummed wordlessly to his own song.

Stefen’d let his head fall back, and then turned it so he could watch him. Not only was he good, but the Herald appreciated the music, Stefen could tell. He fell into it the same way Stefen did, with a far away look in his eyes and his face gone soft with thoughts of somewhere better.

His lips twisted again at the memory of the way the man had ignored all his efforts in the guard post the first time they’d met. And then claimed he didn’t like music at all. Fucker.

It was not the most opportune moment, with those particularly galling memories in mind, for the Herald to pause and meet his gaze. He smiled, ignorant of his companion’s dark thoughts. Stefen supposed at least it meant he wasn’t eavesdropping through that weird link they had now.

“Would you sing your song for me?” He offered the gittern back and Stefen only looked at it. Now, he wanted him to sing for him. And that song.

“D’rather not,” he said, but he traded the gittern back for the lute.

Undeterred, and far too pretty for all his gauntness and his patchy beard and his shadows, the Herald smiled a little…brighter. Stefen felt it, like a current through his body, that small, sweet smile. “Please?”

He felt like groaning, but it came out as little more than a breath. He wasn’t usually an easy mark, but of their own accord his fingers were already striking notes, chords, dancing away into melody. He cleared his throat and watched the candles, four still lit and burning down the hours since they’d returned. It was probably getting on to dawn, but the darkness wasn’t gone yet and he supposed, in their way, those candles played a part in his song too. Even Berte’s. Even Tylendel’s.

He watched them as he sang, the little swaying lights, little memories, little prayers offered in the darkness. He played and he sang and he put his grief into it, and his hopelessness.

But he hadn’t written it to be a hopeless song even if the characters in it were. The Herald was a hero, unafraid of the cost of his efforts, unafraid of death. And Dark was defeated in the end. Lives were lost, destroyed, innocence burned to cinders at the frozen top of the world, but the hero won, and the kingdom was saved from that threat at least.

And the hero was now sitting beside him in a shack, in a slum, but alive. They both were, somehow, when everything in Stefen still felt like the song should have ended with everyone dead, a blood price for that sort of victory. But this wasn’t a song—and he finished his, voice and gittern going silent together.

His eyes stung and his heart hurt, but he wasn’t crying.

“You’re amazing,” the Herald said, hushed, sounding… yeah, fine, amazed.

Stefen didn’t want to hear it. He set his gittern down carefully and nudged it gently away from him before he reached for the Herald. Those silver eyes watched him, wide, surprised, but he didn’t pull away when Stefen cupped his face and held him for a kiss. Stefen breathed hard, struggling with it, but in spite of his fear the Herald didn’t pull away.

Not breaking the kiss, the soft, tentative press of his lips to the Herald’s, he managed to get up on his knees and moved his hands to the other man’s shoulders, lightly pressing him back and following him down when he allowed it, stretching out on the pallet, Stefen on top. It was only when he reached for the Herald’s belt that the man caught his hands and Stefen dropped his head from the kiss, sobbing, an animal sound of pain at the awaited rejection.

The Herald still didn’t shove him away though, instead wrapping his arms around him and pulling him closer, shifting a little so they were almost both on their sides, and he kept Stefen tucked against him like he was something precious.

Stefen held himself together, fighting all the broken pieces of his insides that were trembling with the need to come apart, until the Herald caught his head and tilted it up just enough to press his lips to Stefen’s forehead.

He didn’t cry prettily. There was nothing musical in his sobbing, or his moaning, or his hard, rasping breathing. At one point he tried to struggle free of the Herald’s arms but the man wouldn’t let him, holding on to him until he gave up and buried his face against his neck, soaking him with pointless tears.

There was a lassitude that settled over him when he’d cried himself out. Normally he’d have reached for the dreamerie and tried to lose himself after wringing out like that but he was too tired to move, and too warm, and too comfortable, pressed into the Herald’s body, arms around each other.

The room was still dark, but it stayed dark most of the day, firmly in the shadow of the big houses. He turned his head, trying to clear enough snot from his nose to catch a breath, without blowing it on the Herald’s clothes, and the last thing he saw before he fell asleep was the four candles, still burning on the crate.

Continued in Chapter 5

Or on AO3

[britishdelirium]

This rap is lyrically one of the best things ever written. Sit back, listen and read these lyrics.

[Verse 1: Akala] Yes, I grew up on the dole in a single parent family Been through a little bit of tragedy Yes I was around drugs and violence before the day that I started secondary And that’s part of it not half of it, get the picture, the rest ain’t necessary Growing up, got a little caught up, but that ain’t even half of my life Also given the knowledge of self That is all we actually need to survive If you saw me aged 9, reading Malcolm just fine Teachers still treated me stupid Students that couldn’t speak English, they put me in groups with And the irony is some of the first man to give me schooling You would call gangsters but I already explained, we know what the truth is They used to say ‘Don’t be like me’ Yeah I got a name and dough on the street Night time comes, I can’t sleep And that’s the part that rappers don’t speak We don’t hit the road cos we are thugs Don’t come out the womb, wanting to sell drugs If we got the right guidance and love Would we fight people just like us? How could I knock the hustle to get by? How do you think I ate as a child? Judge no one, done many things wrong I just don’t boast about it songs But listen to my older bars I was just as confused as you probably are But you grow and you learn, travel and fuck up One too many man you know get cut up One too many man that could’ve been doctors End up spending their whole life boxed up You learn, if you study Its all set out just to make them money No cover, it’s all about getting poor people to fight with one another So its logical that us killing our brothers, dissing our mothers Is right in line with the dominant philosophy of our time But time is a cycle, not a line Comes back around you regain your mind You be ready for the energy I channel in my rhymes Remedy the pedigree, the jeopardy of mine When the world’s this f***ed up, lethargy’s a crime We can all fight with our brothers over crumbs Far harder to fight the one who makes guns We can all talk sh** and get two dollars Far harder to be the one who seeks knowledge If we understood economics We’d know money’s nothin’ Think nothing of it Money is a means to get wealth, not the wealth itself Don’t get confused, I’m far from broke All that you see me do I own But I won’t hang what I make around my neck I know from where that the diamonds came But I do quite literally own a library That definitely costs more than your chain And businesses, and properties Far from starvin’, I eat quite properly And I don’t care, just said it for the kids Who need to know that you’re not broke to listen Don’t know an asset from a liability They’ve never been shown or told the difference So they don’t change situations Richest man in Britain is Asian That’s significant, not coincidence Asian people build businesses Not by flossin/going out shoppin’ Giving out their culture for everyone’s profit Who run’s Bollywood? Indian people Who owns our shit? So we shake our arse and dance As if racism just upped and vanished But has it? No its right on course You’re beaten so bad, you’re trained to ignore Let me not just make sweeping statements Gimme a second, I’ll explain it For small amounts of drug possession there’s more black people in jail in America than there is for rape and armed robbery and murder all put together You can say they’re just locking up thugs Imagine if they locked up every middle class kid that had ever held drugs Oh that’s right, that’d be your kids! Bigger than that what is going on with this Prison in America’s a private business They get paid 50k per year per inmate by the State, just wait… Also legally are allowed to use their prison inmates as slaves Cheap slave labour, big corporations They come out of jail, can’t get a job So when we celebrate going to jail We are LITERALLY CELEBRATING ENSLAVEMENT Add to that, that the hood that you’re livin’ Engineered social condition that breeds crime by design Where do you think you get your nine? You can say that they’re just black But I like to deal with facts In the 1920s you would’ve found in America Black towns Prospering centres of economics and education to make you proud But some people couldn’t bear that the former slaves would not just lie down So the KKK and other hate groups burnt those towns to the ground Killin hundreds If it ain’t understood You think you were always livin’ in the hood? Shit it’s only been sixty years Since they hung blacks and burned em’ And that was so cool They were your pastors’ picnic baskets Even gave kids the day off school To go see a lynching, have a picnic It’s fun to watch the little monkeys die Then people act a little dysfunctional You wanna pretend that you don’t know why If your colour means you can be killed And you’re powerless to get justice about it Is it difficult to figure out how you would then end up feelin’ about it? And that ain’t excuses Just dealing with the roots of abuses that make a reality Where a generation of young men speak of ourselves as dirt casually That’s America This Britain Some things are similar Some different In this country the first enslaved were the working class What’s changed? Worst jobs, worst conditions Worst taxed, look where you’re livin’ You go to the pub, Friday night You will fight with a guy, don’t know what for But won’t fight with a guy, suit and a tie Who sends your kids to die in a war They don’t send the kids of the rich or politicians It’s your kids, the poor British That they send to go die in a foreign land For these wars you don’t understand Yeah they say that you’re British And that lovely patriotism they feed ya But in reality you have more in common with immigrants Than with your leaders I know, both side of my family Black and white are fed ghetto mentality Reality in this system Poor people are dirt regardless of shade But with that said Let’s not pretend that everything is the same When our grandparents came here to Britain If you had a criminal record you couldn’t get in Yet that ain’t protect them from all the stupid, stupid abuses they would be livin’ Kicked in the teeth, stabbed in the street Many times fired bombed our houses Put faeces through our letter box And of course the cops did so much about it(!) Daily, up to the 80s People spittin’ into my pram cos’ I was a coon baby But of course that has had no effect on why today we are crazy And none of this was for any good reason They were just dark and breathing To ease the guilt now for all of this treatment Constant stereotypes are needed So if I celebrate how big that my dick is, bricks that I’m flippin’ Clips that I’m stickin’, chicks that I’m hittin’, I’m playing my position But if I teach a kid to be a mathematician, messin’ with the schism How they gonna fill a prison when materialism is nothing but a religion? What do you think we got now in Britain? Just like America, private prisons Prisons for profit! That mean when your kids go jail people make money off it So keep environments that breed crime Build more jails at the same time Market badness to the kids in the rhymes As long as rich kids ain’t dying its fine! Get em’ to the point where some are so lost They actually believe that if they don’t celebrate killin’ themselves off That it’s because they’re soft Was Malcolm soft? Was Marley soft? Tell me was Marcus Garvey soft? Well? Was Mohammed Ali soft? Nah, Nah I think not! But they want us to think that the road is cool Being on road is all we can do We don’t control the wholesale productions Who benefits from us movin’ the food? Or thinking there’s no way out of road life But Malcolm X used to hustle out on the roadside When Marcus Garvey organised more than 6million people With no Facebook or Twitter Why is this something you cannot equal? Shiiiiit! One of my homeboys did a ten straight in the box in yard Now what’s he doing? Passin’ his doctorate Don’t tell me that it’s too hard! Who trained you to believe that you’re inferior? Sungbo Eredo in Nigeria are the remains of an ancient moat Dug 1000 years ago 20 metres wide, 70 down Round the remains of an ancient town That’s 400 square miles around 400 square miles around Please, please don’t believe me It was a documentary on BBC! But we ain’t studyin’ history Too busy watching MTV And MTV said wear platinum Now everybody wanna go and wear platinum And MTV said pop magnums Now everybody wanna go and pop magnums If MTV said drink prune juice You would start hearing that in tunes soon ‘Hey! Today I wore my Cartier Is it now more important what I got to say?’ Oh and I drive a Mercedes by the way So everybody listen to what I got to say Huh, does that make you all happy? Ahh but shit my head’s still nappy Think for myself, still some mad at me But on the mic ain’t not one bad as me All of this here’s good for the rhymes Put us in the same place at the same time And it’s clear to everybody that I’m out of my mind Some of these guys are runnin’ out of their rhymes Clear to everybody that has got ears I’m the guy that they just might fear They wanna get near but they can’t have a peer Ah dear I’m hard liquor you’re just like beer Front on the kid for another five years Come to my shows and some cry tears It mean that much to em’, it’s a movement! I don’t speak for myself but a unit Black, white, man, woman, anyone that respects truth we put in Dudes are like no dinner with just puddin’ Yeah you’re sweet but no substance puddin’ You could never ever be with a level on Our songs get out played out there in Lebanon We speak for the people properly Not for the old fat guys in offices And the girls love him, it ain’t fair He can’t even be bothered to comb his hair Anyway that’s enough kissin’ my own arse Back to the more important task of being so shower I got half the hood screaming “KNOWLEDGE IS POWER” And I ain’t saying that will change rap But I do know this for a fact Right now there’s a yout’ on your block With his hand on his cock and his face screwed up Swear he don’t care, don’t give a fuck That he won’t let nobody call his bluff But the words go in Open up your chakra Because once that’s happened there’s no going back Once you start to see what is really happening Who the enemy you should be attackin’ is So READ, READ, READ! Stuck on the block, READ, READ! Sittin’ in the box, READ, READ! Don’t let them say what you can achieve Cos when people are enslaved One of the first things they do is stop them reading Cos’ it is well understood that intelligent people will take their freedom Cos’ if we knew our power we would understand that we can’t be held down If we knew our power, we would not elevate not one of these clowns If we knew our power, we wouldn’t get arrogant when we get two pennies If we knew our power, we would see what everybody sees, that we’re rich already! But never mind MCs go run for your mummy I’m hungry, I run for my tummy That’s enough, back to worshipping money I’m off, back to the study!