#are you gonna put them to human standards when neither of them are actually human?

[bloggerspam]

M’gann is making her way to med-bay with a tray full of semi-successful cookies. 

She feels particularly proud of this batch, as Robin had given her Agent A’s recommended beginner recipe and Agent A made totally amazing cookies so he’s definitely the authority on this kind of thing. 

She made these cookies because Kyn-El deserves cookies. 

She would like to share the cookies with his brother, Kon-El, too but she’s not sure if he’s able to eat solid foods yet. 

When Kyn flew off to find his brother, Robin had predicted that he would bring his brother back to Mount Justice for medical assistance. 

She....She knew Kon-El was being subjected to....horrors. Kyn had shared some of his memories with her, on those long nights. 

But even Kyn couldn’t see through the lead walls, and even Kyn couldn’t really predict what he would find. 

Seeing Kyn’s brother like that---cradled in his arms, limp, bleeding, a whisp of a man---and feeling---feeling Kyn’s anguish...

She feels tears well up, and wipes them away. 

She mustn’t let Kyn see her crying, though it’s hardly going to escape his notice. 

They maintain telepathy almost all the time now, to give each other comfort. 

Comfort for M’gann, in a strange world where thoughts were hidden.

Comfort for Kyn, who barely has the energy to even try to communicate with anyone other than his brother. 

She rounds the corner, she’s greeted by a daunting sight. 

Back to her, Superman stands imposing. He’s saying something, but she’s still a little too far to hear clearly. 

She can see Kyn facing Superman, though the Kryptonian is blocking most of her view of her dearest friend. 

She reaches out, tentatively, and is almost crushed by the sheer anger. 

Kyn is always angry, but never...she quickens her steps. 

“You will not!” Kyn roars. 

“Kyn-El...please, I understand that we...we got on the wrong foot, but we’re...we’re family, right?” A soft voice pleads. When M’gann finally reaches the two, she finds that Kara is there as well, off to the side. 

Kyn-El’s face is thunderous, and he feels cornered. She slips through to stand next to him, holding his hand in one hand, and the cookies in the other. 

“Hello, Superman, Supergirl.” Kyn squeezes her hand, and she feels his thoughts slow to molasis. 

“Oh! Hello, M’gann.” Supergirl is clearly at her wit’s end. Superman nods at her, tightlipped.

“What seems to be the problem?” She asks, though Kyn-El is already conveying to her that he doesn’t want them to step another foot into the med bay. 

“We wanted to visit our newest...member. We’ve heard it’s woken up and I wanted to...” 

“He.” Kyn-El growls, interrupting Superman. He clamps his mouth shut at that, wincing. 

“We heard he’s woken up and we wanted to meet him!” Kara says, trying to be peppy. She elbows Superman, and he flinches. 

“I will not let you meet him. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air  as him, this is why I didn’t---” Kyn clenches his teeth, before growling mussing up his hair. He’s getting worked up, but thankfully he isn’t destroying things.

“I’ve been trying. It---someone took my DNA and made two copies of me, I..I know I reacted...terribly at first, but I’m here aren’t I?” Superman says, though it feels like justification. Even Kara is looking irritated. Kyn steps closer, as if to start fighting, but M’gann pulls him back. 

“I...” Superman huffs, before starting again, “I heard it---he was being used as a...as a test dummy. I just want to make sure he’s okay. That...that he isn’t....” He glances at Kyn’s clenched fists, before glancing away. 

“What. That he isn’t angry? That he won’t try to kill you?” Kyn barks a laugh, but it sounds like it hurts. “With what energy? He barely feels anything---” He cuts himself off, as if he’s said too much.

In a way, he has. M’gann remembers the screams Kyn-El heard when he was just out of the pod. She remembers that they stopped, abruptly, that they would cut off barely a minute in as if remembering little ears were present. She remembers Kyn straining and straining to hear anything, just to make sure Kon-El was still there. 

 “If it barely feels anything how can we know for sure it can feel empathy?” Superman asks, softly. As if breaking news to a distraught mother about their child. As if he isn’t---As if he cares. 

Suddenly the anger swirling within her isn’t just Kyn-El’s. 

She’s not the only one. 

"You aren't giving either of them much reason to think better of you," Kara says. Her voice is low, dark. Pitying. 

Pure hot rage fills her when Kyn-El finished comprehending the sheer bullshit that Superman has just said. 

As if his brother didn’t do everything to teach him love, as if his brother didn’t give him everything, as if his brother---she cuts off the link, overwhelmed, and stumbles back. 

Kyn-El raises a fist, about to punch Superman, and his eyes are filled with red---but suddenly he stops. 

All three Kryptonians freeze, and turn to the door. 

Kyn-El grits his teeth, growling. Kara side-eyes Superman, but gives Kyn-El an apologetic smile, consoling. 

Superman looks both victorious, and hesitant. As if he isn’t sure he’s actually happy about winning. 

Kyn-El spins around, gently putting a hand on her lower back to guide her into the Medbay. Kara and Superman follow, though one significantly more confidant than the other. 

They step in, and greet the man sitting up on the cot farthest from the door. 

He smiles softly, and oh...

He’s a handsome man, but unlike Kyn-El he is much more pretty leaning. The three men certainly look the spitting image of each other, that’s for sure, but having them all together like this really highlights the differences. 

Superman is a classically handsome man. A strong jaw and an All American Boy smile. A coiffed, clean look.

Kyn-El is his younger twin, equally strong jaw, but a grimace like he’s ready to tear you apart--a wolf ready to protect the herd. Undercut prominent and teeth sharp. 

Kon-El, however, is the middle ground. He’s thinner, is one thing. More toned, as opposed to brickhouses the other two men boast. He’s only slightly shorter than Superman, and his hair is a mess. Long, but chopped up haphazardly. His eyes are more doe-like than the other two, and all around more delicate, a Willow swaying in a forest of Oaks. 

“Who do we have here, little one?” His voice is raspy, and low. 

Kyn-El’s entire demeanor shifts: he’s rounder, less sharp, a small child before a mother. 

“This is M’gann, brother. She’s my friend. My first friend! She’s...she’s very nice.” Even his voice is more childlike! Though she remembers that the Kyn-El she knows is not the Kyn-El his brother knows. It makes her smile widely. 

“Hello! I, uhm. I made cookies!” She proudly shows the tray to Kon-El, suddenly very shy. 

“Well, isn’t that nice? Thank you.” He smiles, reaching for a cookie, only for Kyn to snatch it away.

“You’re not supposed to eat solids yet!” The man chuckles, then, indulgent.

“Right, right, I’m sorry Kyn-El. And these two?” He asks, though surely he heard them all. 

Kara says something then, in another language. Kryptonian? 

Kyn-El blanches, as his brother flinches hard enough to almost topple over, if Kyn didn’t catch him. 

“GET OUT!” Kyn-El shouts, and in her mind he screams get out get out get out---it’s all she can do to shove the other two out of the medbay. 

The three of them stare at the closed doors, and the other two are clearly listening in. 

She keeps the link open, and feels him trying to soothe his brother, broken, angry, sad, all swirling around. 

They stay there, until Kyn comes back out, red-eyed and angry angry angry. 

Even so, his voice is soft. 

“He’s asleep. Please...please don’t speak Kryptonian to him.” He requests quietly, not looking at them.

“I thought it--” Superman flinches, “he spoke to you in Kryptonian?” He glances through the door as if he can see, and come to think of it, doesn’t he have X-Ray vision?

“He---” Kyn coughs, before shutting his eyes tight. 

Images flow through her, then. Memories she wasn’t shown before. 

Memories of hearing the soft voice speaking Kryptonian and the sound of a cattle prod in response. 

Of the soft voice carefully sounding out Kryptonian words, only to be hit with something large, something sizzling, something electric. 

Of bedtime stories brokenly told in enunciated Kryptonian. 

Of the soft voice--Kon-El, calling him his gift from another world, his star, and every ounce of Kryptonian history the voice could remember.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until Kara is asking her what’s wrong, and Superman is awkwardly giving her tissues. 

Show them. Kyn whispers. 

She does. 

A soft gasp. M’gann cannot bring herself to open her eyes, to look at Kara or Superman. 

“What--what did you say his name was? In the...in the memories...” Superman rasps. He sounds...she doesn’t know what he sounds like. Something close to regret. Pitying. 

“Kon-El.” Kyn’s voice is gruff, grinding against his clenched teeth like rocks on flint. “His name is Kon-El.” 

“Oh...” Kara breathes, shattered. 

Both Kyn and M’gann look up at her for that. 

She’s almost afraid to ask, but she does it for Kyn. “Why?” 

Kara and Superman look at each other, and she would say they looked broken, if Kryptonians could be broken. 

Except...Except one of them is barely pieced together and shaking in a cot behind them, and another is held together by the strings of rage and love. 

“Did...did one of the scientists name him that?” Kara shakily asks. Kyn-El shakes his head slowly, confusion and trepidation seeping through her. 

“He named himself.” Something cracks. M’gann blinks, unsure of what she’s seeing. 

Superman has cracked a fist into the wall behind him, though thankfully he hasn’t gone through. 

“Oh, Kyn-El.....Do you know what Kon means?” 

“What.” Kara is crying now, and beating around the bush and shaking her head, as if she doesn’t want to say. Kyn doesn’t like that, and is about to start fighting. 

“Abomination.” Superman’s voice is emotionless. Kyn-El freezes, and Kara looks away, eyes shut tight and hand coming up to cover her mouth. 

“What.” Kyn-El breathes, voice small as if not believing it. 

“It means ‘Abomination of the House of El.'” Superman is looking at his own hand now, as if seeing it for the first time. 

Kyn-El falls to his knees, tears silent raging rivers, staring unseeing. M’gann stoops down, and tries to comfort him, but his mind is blank--a torrent of blankness, in shock. 

They stay like that for a long time, weeping and hurting and regretting and angry. 

Inside the Medbay, the Moon sleeps. 

And a wolf, mournful, howls.

Like Conner, Danny was a clone of Superman. However unlike Conner, Danny was not designed to replace him. Instead he was created as a test dummy. Day in and day out, he was subjected to various injections, toxins and experiments. All for the purpose of one day using them on the real deal. Danny quickly lost track of the days and the pain as he slipped into mental oblivion. That is until one day, his brother comes busting through a wall.

[cherrielatte]

genuine question do you even understand what a proshipper is ? like youre okay with people romanticizing pedophilia and shipping minors and adults ? you think thats okay?? GENUINE question.

Hello! Judging from the way you worded this - I'm gonna be honest: I don't think you know what proshipping is. I was very close to not answering this because it was sounding a bit in bad faith ( and this isn't the first time I've gotten belligerent asks on the same topic) But well, I decided to give it a shot and give benefit of the doubt.

 I know it's common ground to jump onto proshipping with the idea that it means you romanticize pedophilia, abuse, toxicity, etc. It's the typical high ground taken when people hear that dark fiction enjoyers exist. But that's not actually what it means. It just means that YOU, as an individual, understand that a drawing is not the same thing as human being. Written characters are not the same as human beings. Harassing REAL people over a non existent character because they put them into situations that make you uncomfortable says more about the harasser than the writer/artist. Proshipping is about taking personal responsibility for your experience online. Not long ago, the idea of a proshipper was just considered having fandom etiquette (ie: Don't like; Don't read type of tag lines. ) I'm a proshipper and there are plenty of things I don't like & make me uncomfortable. But I also understand that I can easily not engage. I can filter tags so I don't see it. I can block people that make that kind of content. I can refuse to click on something clearly labeled as the content I don't like. I can control what I see. And I can also understand that that if someone draws something I don't like it doesn't mean anything about them in real life nor what they enjoy in real life. Besides, a lot of people that consider themselves proshippers are victims of abuse or have had to endure traumatic events in their lives. Engaging in what you might consider dark fiction allows people to cope and navigate through complex emotion/trauma and express themselves in ways they are not allowed to or haven't allowed themselves to. I've seen some people say "I've been through trauma and I don't engage in proshipping." And okay, I'm happy for you. But not everyone copes the same way you do. And no one should be held to the same standard. If we were all carbon copies of each other, maybe I would understand that argument. But that's not the case. I should also mention, that it's become a bit standard for people to only excuse those that have been through trauma to make dark fiction. But only if they publicly acknowledge what kind of trauma they have endured. I am 100% against this way of thinking. I do not think it is anyone's right to demand an account of my or anyone's personal traumas just to validate the existence of certain piece of art. No one is entitled to anyone's abuse story. If a person is willing to share, because they want to, that's the personal decision of the individual. But look, much of the horror genre (movies, books, tv, etc) wouldn't exist if we put these high censorship rules onto art as a whole and unfortunately, I see this happening more and more these days like discussed in this post about someone's experience in publishing gothic horror.

Going back to an earlier point, you have to really understand that the characters are fake. 100% fake. If I ship Sora ( KH) and Ash (Pokemon) neither of them are going to be upset about it because they don't exist. If I draw them kissing, it is a drawing of anime looking characters kissing. That's all. They don't look anything like real human people. Wasting energy fighting over fictional characters is just that. Wasting time and energy. Who are you saving? Ash? Sora? They don't need help, because they aren't real. Fight for real people that actually exist. I have seen people outside of the Soriku fandom genuinely upset about people shipping Riku x Sora because they are underage! Mostly because they are both male but without fail, they always slap on the argument: "they are kids, you sicko!" But you know why they go to that? Because assuming the moral high ground wins over arguments quickly. People are eager to be superficially perceived as morally good. I have seen people ship Riku x Ansem SOD, which could fall into that age gap - problematic shipping you referred to in your ask. But you know what? I get it. I see people interpret their relationship as one of abuse, metaphorical SA, manipulation, etc. I completely understand and see that interpretation and where it stems from. And unfortunately, there are many people in fandom that have had this exact experience. Honestly, without me needing to ask anyone specifically, I KNOW there are people in fandom projecting their experiences onto Riku and Ansem as a means to replay it with a bit of actual control. And even if there are people who don't. I'm not going to ask, because it's none of my business. So again, as a proshipper I am completely in control of my online experience. I can block, mute, filter, and not engage with the things I don't like or things that trigger me. But as long as it is fiction, it remains as just that : Something I don't like between characters that dont exist. I don't have to harass, bully, nor threaten people over fiction. Of course, there are bad apples in every circle. But to me, whether someone is a bad person or not is expressed through action toward real people and the intentional harm done onto them, whether it be through inappropriate interactions, abuse of any kind, exposing personal information, harassing family/at work, or encouraging harm. Those are real actions on real people and engaging in these actions is what counts to me as markers of a bad person. Not someone drawing two fictional characters that haven't aged in the last 20 years kissing or having sex. 

[fuckmeyer]

HEY i'm having unhinged carlisle/edward thoughts again and i had to come into your inbox to share them because YOU DID THIS TO ME--

but truly. like. the bond between creator and created. (this may or may not have been inspired by a conversation with su-angelvicioso about yknow. a different ship) the creator recognizes themself in the created, the created knows the creator because they were shaped so fundamentally by them...so any time they're looking at the other person they're seeing themself, but also any time they see themself they're seeing the other...there's no way to define yourself except in the differences and similarities you have to this person who you know more intimately than anyone else in the world, except really your view of them will ALWAYS be distorted by your view of yourself...like!!!!

edward thinks carlisle is perfect because he thinks of himself as a monster. carlisle thinks edward is the best of all of them, the reason to believe vampires have souls, because it's the only way for him NOT to believe he himself is a monster!!! edward hates and fears carlisle for being a standard he can never measure up to, but he loves him because he is that standard, and he keeps forgiving him...but maybe actually the forgiveness just makes him hate carlisle MORE because edward doesn't WANT to be forgiven!!! carlisle thinks of edward as his own redemption, but that means he'll never actually fully see edward and he can't actually forgive him in a meaningful way!!! they're obsessed with each other, but neither one of them can actually express that to the other!!!!!!! holy FUCK they're a MESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(sorry this is not even a question, my brain is just scrambled eggs about them now apparently)

THIS IS IT I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME THE SPACE TO TALK ABOUT CARLWARD I SWEAR I AM GOING A LITTLE FERAL OVER THIS SHIP? FORGIVE ME THIS ASK SHOULD HAVE BEEN MORE POIGNANT BUT IM JUST GONNA SAY STUFF OK

THE BOND BETWEEN CREATOR AND CREATED!!!! YES!!!!!!!

the creator recognizes themself in the created, the created knows the creator because they were shaped so fundamentally by them. [...] your view of them will ALWAYS be distorted by your view of yourself

and isn't it just so beautiful when we put Carlisle & Edward's canon relationship in this context! i wrote this in another post but:

Carlisle believes Heaven exists because of Edward.

Heaven is not a place for the damned creatures like vampires, but a place for humanity.

which means!!!! Carlisle has chosen to see his own humanity in his son. for all it entails. its light, its shadows, all the shades of gray in between. and, yes!, the scary thing is, this is the only way Carlisle can believe he himself is not a monster - to see his progeny thrive within Carlisle's philosophy.

but the beautiful thing is he accepts Edward. he loves Edward. always. no matter what. & this is what allows him to participate in society, to take the Hippocratic Oath, to live a life of vegetarianism: Carlisle loves humanity in all its forms, BECAUSE OF AND IN SPITE OF EDWARD.

and Edward!!! Edward is the physical manifestation of Carlisle's beliefs. for better or worse. on the surface, Edward is a vegetarian vampire, med school grad, etc., and who wants to believe in the value of human life. (he doesn't always live up to this in day-to-day interactions obvi.)

on a deeper level, he has grappled with questions re: humanity, especially his place within his preconceived idea of Humanity. he considers himself damned, just as Carlisle does. (perhaps, even, the darkest part of Carlisle doubts the existence of his own soul.) he spends the entire series rebelling against the idea of his soul & his worthiness of love while battling his own monstrous nature.

but unlike Carlisle, Edward has actually gone out and tested these ideas. can i still have a soul if i'm a vampire? can i still be human if i kill bad people? can i still be human if i take away life? can i still be human if i do x, think y, say z?

because Carlisle doesn't necessarily have the space to do what Edward did. not just because of his busy schedule as a doctor, but his coping mechanisms, his compartmentalization required to live this vegetarian life, his religion (/religious trauma?), & his position as a coven leader do not afford him the luxury of testing these ideas himself.

at the end of the day, Carlisle can never do what Edward did. if Carlisle is going to 'save' other vampires, he needs to be (at least outwardly) secure in the notion that he has saved himself. even if he isn't.

Edward can go further, dig deeper, and that allows Carlisle to go further, too.

and in that context, god, how beautiful is it that Carlisle just has this unwavering, unconditional acceptance of Edward? that through the darkness and mistakes, there is something worth loving? that through this acceptance, Edward finds his soul in the end?

like, the breakdown of the relationship is:

to Edward, Carlisle is a god.

to Carlisle, Edward is a man, i.e., a disciple of his teachings.

& in that context, how beautiful is it that, baseline, Carlisle & Edward share this deep, spiritual love for each other that will never be broken? FUCK that hits

[child-of-peace]

No one asked me for my opinion on why I think JK Rowling is a hypocrite, but I’m gonna give it anyway.

(This is something I’ve been thinking about for well over a year, and it’s something I have struggled to put into words until now.)

Harry Potter, and hear me out here, is the perfect allegory for transgenderness (I know, that’s not a word). To explain this, let me draw the parallels between types of wizard/witch and genders.

Purebloods: Cis women, born into the wizarding world, entirely magical.

Muggles: Cis men, born into the muggle world, no magic to speak of.

Halfbloods: Non-binary folk (like me!) or intersex folk, either raised in the muggle world like Harry (AMAB) or raised in the wizarding world like Tonks (AFAB).

Muggleborns: Trans women, born into the muggle world, entirely magical.

Squibs: Trans men, born into the wizarding world, no magic to speak of. (This one works too well, since, just like squibs, trans men are often forgotten about in conversation.)

So, by these standards:

Blood traitors: Trans allies (the Weasleys, the Potters, Sirius Black, Andromeda Tonks).

Pureblood supremacists: Transphobes (Bellatrix Lestrange, the Malfoys, in Rowling’s opinion the entirety of Slytherin house).

And now, onto the reason why JK Rowling is a hypocrite: Hermione and Lily are both “the brightest witch[es] of their age”. And yet they are muggleborns. At no point did she deny them their witchhood. In fact, she went as far as to say the people denying them their witchhood (pureblood supremacists) were bigots who were actively making the world a more dangerous place. The pureblood supremacists were spreading misinformation, claiming that muggleborns weren’t real wizards/witches and wanting them out of Hogwarts and out of the Wizarding World. Sound familiar?

Muggleborns are magical beings, that can’t be denied. They may have been raised in muggle society, but they aren’t muggles. And she points out that the Wizarding World is kept secret from the muggles because of past violence, but she shows a lot of muggles who are supportive of magical beings (Lily’s parents, Hermione’s parents, Jacob Kowalski, literally any muggle who willingly married a magical being). And in spite of that past violence, she still points out that muggleborns belong in the wizarding world. And as for our squibs, not much is said about them, but Filch is the caretaker of Hogwarts and Arabella Figg is a wonderful person who always looked out for Harry. They understand the struggles of magical beings, but they aren’t magical themselves. They look after their peers. JK Rowling tells us that these people are (for the most part) good. They may not have been born into those worlds, but they aren’t actually wrong for it. And yet it is our antagonists, the pureblood supremacists, who see them as wrong. The muggleborns “don’t belong” in wizarding society (neither do the halfbloods really) and the squibs are “defective”. Sound familiar?

Rowling is upset at being “cancelled”, when she raised us to do just that. Pureblood supremacists belong in Azkaban, right? And even the children (Slytherins) who are just spewing the hate their parents taught them belong in the dungeons, right? And everyone else (the blood traitors, the halfbloods, the muggleborns) is supposed to cheer on as they’re taken away, right?

Draco gets punched, turned into a ferret, flung around by a hippogriff and we’re supposed to see it as justice. We’re supposed to laugh. That’s what she taught us to do with bigots. But now that she’s the bigot, we’re supposed to continue to worship the ground she walks on? Not likely.

To be clear, I don’t want people doing to her what her characters did. She is still a human being deserving of basic human respect (even if she won’t afford us that same respect). Don’t buy her books or her merch (and if you have to, don’t buy it firsthand). Don’t give her more of your money. But don’t send her death threats or hate mail or turn her into a ferret either.

All I want is for her to acknowledge her role in our story. I want her to admit that she is the very villain she warned us about. That she is the monster she taught us to be wary of hiding under our beds. Because how else are we supposed to interpret her actions?

[pridepages]

Philatos: The Song of Achilles

I just finished The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. I have thoughts...

Here there be spoilers!

Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles is a classic in more than one sense. Any baby gay or ally looking for gateway LGBTQIA+ literature will inevitably find this book on every list (quite likely near the top). Its source material is classical greek poetry, and one of the most famous love stories of the mythology: that of Achilles and Patroclus. You’ve probably heard of Achilles and his infamous heel, Aristos Achaion, best of the Greeks. A demigod hero who felled mighty Trojan Prince Hector in the war for Helen--the face who launched a thousand ships and the tale of a war sung down the centuries.

You might be less familiar with Patroclus. He was, by his time’s standards, a nobody. Son of a lesser king who was exiled from his home, fully human and a shadowy figure who barely appears in the pages of Homer...but whose love changed the course of Achilles’s life.

It is said that only the love of Patroclus, and grief for his death, could spur Achilles to meet his destiny.

But there’s the debate: what kind of love was it exactly?

It seems strange after the success of Miller’s novel in popular culture that this is up for debate...but it technically still is. Search “Patroclus” in scholarly articles and you’ll find him identified as Achilles’s...friend.

His buddy. His pal.

Fucking. Yikes.

Some may say my insistence that their love is queer comes from my belief that everything is better gay. (Which...okay, yes, and I’m right!) But I’m gonna push back and point to one word:

Philatos.

This is a Greek word that Miller applies in her novel. One that was used between men in the ancient world. It means: ‘Most Beloved.’

It’s a loaded word, particularly when we consider homosexuality in the classical world which was...complicated.

People like to believe that history is as simple as: ‘the ancients were chill about homosexuality, it was only with the rise of certain religions--side-eying Christianity--that it became criminal.’

To which I answer: um...not quite.

Let’s be clear: it’s totally true that the immortal philosopher Plato set forth models that classified different kinds of love. And that one of them, eros, was desire so strong that it was akin to a force of nature. Plato theorized that eros could be harnessed and leveraged as a way to strengthen the bonds between soldiers, giving them better motivation to fight and thus making them more effective. 

For example, the Sacred Band of Thebes. You probably know them as the 300, but historians know them as 150 pairs of lovers! The best part? It worked! (At least for a while...but that’s another story.)

And how about Alexander the Great, who conquered most of his neighboring countries and amassed an empire of over two million miles? He had Hephaestion, his constant companion, of whom Alexander said: ‘He is me. I am him.’ So make of that what you will. (I’m gonna go with: gays get shit done!)

That sounds pretty straight-forward (so to speak), so what’s the problem?

Miller actually puts her finger on it in Song. As Patroclus tells us, “Our men like conquest; they did not trust a man who was conquered himself.” Let’s rephrase: being gay is chill...if you’re the top. If you’re not, then you’re the lowest of the low: Feminine. Weak. Disgraced.

I repeat: Fucking. Yikes.

So there were people then and now who would be perfectly ready to handwave away the bond between Achilles and Patroclus. They cry: why it gotta be gay? Why can’t the love of friends be enough? Why do you have to shove it down our throats?!

(I invite you to picture my eyes rolling all the way back.)

Let’s put this argument to bed: there’s nothing wrong with a love that is neither sexual nor romantic. (I see all my sibs under the aro-ace umbrella, y’all are valid!) The problem is when the existence of said love is weaponized to erase or deny other forms of queer love and make them lesser or shameful.

Because that’s what it comes down to: Honor. Reputation was everything to the ancients, and queerness put your reputation on thin ice. So much so that in Song, Patroclus even offers to hide their relationship so as not to endanger Achilles’s legacy: “Your honor could be darkened by it.” But Achilles won’t have it: “Then it is darkened. They are fools if they let my glory rise or fall on this.”

Miller saw this quiet, ever-present bond between Achilles and Patroclus in the pages of ancient texts. And she saw the unsung eros between them, the kind that drove the Sacred Band of Thebes to fight and Alexander to forge an empire. She saw how historians scoffed and dismissed it in a couple of lines to focus on the violent, tragic triumph of Achilles.

Rather than try and recast the great hero, she decided to tackle this relationship from another angle...she gave voice to Patroclus.

It’s a powerful choice to draw him from the shadows. Patroclus figures very little in the myth, and the one time he really does is when he’s disguising himself as someone else: he dies donning Achilles’s armor to rally the Greeks and rout the Trojans with the illusion that Aristos Achaion has returned to the field. One brave deed for an otherwise unremarkable life.

But was it?

Miller’s Patroclus is in many ways an everyman. He’s a mediocre swordsman, but a better healer. He’s the kind of guy who will remember your name and ask about your family, and make sure you have a comfortable place by the fire.

He’s perfectly content with his lot in life. All he really wants to do is tell you how much he loves his boyfriend.

It sounds like the stuff of ‘homeric fanfiction,’ as one boyfriend apparently scoffed at Miller’s work. (I hope she dumped him for it!) But it’s a pretty brave take for a spin on the myths. While Patroclus has respect for honor and glory, and would convince us that Achilles is the better man...that’s not the impression we are left with.

This isn’t a story of heroism by war. This is a story of the heroism of love.

Whether in a palace or on the battlefield, Patroclus’s life is defined by love. Of Achilles, of Briseis, of Chiron, of his homes, of his work, of his world.

This Patroclus says: Plato got it right. Love is what makes all of this--no matter how we live and die--a worthy endeavor.

And I think that’s what makes The Song of Achilles the philatos of queer lit. It both honors its roots, reading with prose that fits the poetic sensibilities of the Iliad, and challenges them. 

Ancient people and modern historians have something in common: an ongoing struggle to genuinely accept queer people and queer love. The Song of Achilles is a necessary book. One that bridges past and present. One that speaks softly but clearly, uncompromising in its demand that we allow gay people to be seen and honored in cultural memory.

In the words of another spin on the myths: “It’s a love song / It’s an old song / We’re gonna sing it even so!”

[glimmering-brainfamily]

hgfhgf ok this was all supposed to just sit politely in the tags but apparently tumblr has a tag limit so it's going under a readmore instead I'm really sorry

jewblog criticises op for centering their own experiences so I hope adding mine in the tags is alright. but I do think they are illustrative of jewblog's point

I'm an atheist (agnostic. its complicated), and my parents very deliberately raised me to be atheist. They'd both had christian upbringings themselves but neither of them were very pious, and my dad in particular was a staunch exchristian athiest. so growing up I was not put into a catholic school (despite those being cheaper and easier to access, and often being held to a higher standard of education than secular public schools in australia)

Even then, the secular public school had a 'religious studies' class that needed a parent's note to opt out of (which mine did). This class was pretty much just bible studies taught by a pastor. Only xtianity (specifically catholic xtianity but who's counting?).

Basically the point I'm driving home here is that my parents did e v e r y t h i n g in their power to raise me atheist. They fought the System tooth and nail. Buuut. School holidays each year revolve mainly around easter and christmas. The families of other kids all had christmas trees in their homes, and organised easter egg hunts in their backyards, so of course my parents had to do the same thing otherwise they'd feel like barbarians.

And obviously while I never had to go to church I knew what a church is. A lot of literature and media would talk about religion (xtianity) or had religious (xtian) themes, a lot of nonreligious people use religious (xtian) language and themes as a way to express really big or profound feelings or ideas... I really couldn't help but absorb a lot of it through cultural osmosis. Which is how you get to the kind of culturally christian atheist headspace where you're like, 'well even I know that cain killed abel with a rock because cain was jealous that abel gave god a better offering, everyone knows that', 'yeah abraham was commanded to sacrifice his son isaac and was gonna go through with it before being stopped by an angel. everyone knows that one'

I didn't read any of that in a bible or get taught it in school! I just know it because the entire world has been built in such a way that it's really hard not to know at least some of it!!! and you know what??? this fully does not apply to any religion other than christianity. did you know that I only just learned TODAY what a rabbi actually does??? I always thought a rabbi was roughly analogous to a pastor or priest. it wasn't until I saw a post, I think by vaspider, where it was exasperatedly but politely explained that a rabbi is more like... a professor or teacher of jewish laws. like an expert to consult about stuff you're unsure about or make sure important events adhere to jewish law. and that's it!!! they're not ordained by god to have special prayer powers or whatever, this block of tags has gotten so so so long lmao sorry well it's not tags anymore but im still sorry

but you gotta understand when people talk about cultural christianity, they're not precisely talking about you- well they sort of are but only in the sense that you exist and are part of the world, like. cultural christianity is 100% a societal thing. and the society for humans is THE WORLD. IT'S THE WORLD!!! TURN YOUR HEAD THERE'S JUST MORE WORLD TO LOOK AT!!! YOU CAN'T BLOCK IT OUT IT'S THE FUCKEN WORLD!!!!!!

and yeah it's not the whole world but unless I uproot my whole life and move to a country that doesn't speak english it's going to be MY whole world for the rest of my life. so. yeah.

it's wild because you don't start really seeing it until after you've been quietly listening to your jewish friends for a while and you realise you're living in the culturally christian matrix

Things I would prefer to be called rather than “culturally christian”

+ Raised christian

+ Has a christian background

+ Exchristian

These still acknowledge a person’s history with christianity while also respecting the fact that they have left it. Hope this helps!

[nattikay]

hmm...just thinkin’ about how to deal with Bellroc and Skrael in my headcanon, which lead to hmm, let’s try taking some of the general ideas from the movie but make them less dumb. I wouldn’t call this a rewrite per se, nor even something that I’m set on “officially” incorporating into my headcanon--just some idle hypotheticals.

Douxie uses his magic to mask Nari’s magical signature, thus making it much more difficult for Bellroc and Skrael to track her down. As such, the Titan reawakening takes place much further in the future--approximately 10 years from the events of Wizards. 

.

Jim has long since regained his half-troll form as per my headcanon, with the upgrade of being able to walk in daylight. He has probably already received the new amulet as well, and has had plenty of time with Douxie and Krel to troubleshoot and perfect its abilities.

.

Jim and Claire are married and already have their lil hybrid babies cuz heck if you can stop me. They are living in the New Jersey trollmarket, where the trolls have successfully settled after the Eternal Night. Thanks to Claire’s portal abilities, it is very easy for them to get from there to Arcadia and back whenever wanted/needed. The need to protect not only their friends but also their children puts 10x more ferocity into their determination in battle.

.

Strickler and Barbara, Toby and Darci, and Aja and Steve are all also married. Toby and Darci probably also have kids.

.

We can still even have Aja and Steve be expecting, but Steve is very most definitely NOT pregnant. And actually neither is Aja, cuz let’s flesh out this whole “seventh kiss” bs:

So Akiridions are made out of energy, and their bodies are a projection from the central “life cores”, correct? To form a new Akiridion, you need a new life core. So let’s say that to make a life core, two Akiridions must take bits of their own energies and merge them. Once merged into a new core, said core is put into a special device that keeps it safe and nourished while the projected body develops, kinda like a fancy electronic egg. Once the body is developed enough to properly take in and interact with the outside world, the “egg” is opened and boom, there’s your Akiridion baby.

Obviously this is very different from human/Earthling reproduction. If Steve is human, how is he gonna take bits of energy that he’s not made of in the same way Aja is to merge it with hers? Lucky for them, we are constantly reminded how advanced Akiridion technology is supposed to be. They take a DNA sample from Steve and use their technology to convert it into the required energy, which is then merged with Aja’s aaaaand...there you go. Because of this, while the bab(ies?) can resemble their dad in certain ways, they will be functionally fully Akiridion in that they are made of energy and fueled by a life core rather than human carbon-based biology and DNA.

So how does the “seventh kiss” play into this? Obviously the seventh kiss itself does not “make baby”; the process is much more intentional than that. BUT, let’s say that when a couple shares their seventh kiss, it means by Akiridion standards that they’re pretty devoted to each other. As such, it is the trigger that makes it possible for their bodies to split off a piece of energy to merge if they so desire. So the seventh kiss does not automatically make a baby, it merely makes it possible for a given couple to do so.

You’re welcome. Moving on...

.

Speaking of Steve, he is a knight, and has brought back a form of the roundtable as he promised Lancelot. He splits his time between Earth and Akiridion-5 thanks to Krel’s wormhole device, which has been refined over the years, and leads factions of knights/warriors on both planets.

.

Nana (who is pretty much semi-immortal at this point ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) and Barbara watch the great/grandkids during the battle, because someone has to do it, and neither of them have any particular magical powers to fight in the battle themselves anyways. This not only keeps they themselves safely out of the way while the magical heavyweights do the hard part, but also still gives them a sense of purpose in keeping their beloved great/grandkids safe. I was originally gonna have Darci with them but then I came up with a better idea:

.

Darci is one of Steve’s new knights. Inspired by Toby, she was keen to sign up when Steve started accepting applicants. As one of the first recruits, she is now second-in-command of the Earthling faction.

.

Claire is officially Douxie’s apprentice and her magic has improved leaps and bounds with a formal teacher to help her. That said, not only have Claire and Douxie not been nerfed, their power level has actually increased since Wizards.

.

Strickler doesn’t die suicide-bombing the titan because that’s dumb. He just drops the bombs onto it from above and gets the heck out of the way.

.

Nomura also doesn’t die because no one was stupid enough to let a troll try to fight a titan in the middle of the flippin’ afternoon.

.

The titan battle between Nari and Skrael still happens, but Nari is basically a distraction to keep his attention and efforts occupied while the rest of the team swoops in to take him down. Thus, Nari doesn’t die.

.

No Khronisfere bs, and therefore Archie and Charlemagne don’t get trapped in the Chinese trollmarket and are still present for the final showdown against Bellroc.

.

The showdown with Bellroc is now 10x quicker and easier as Nari is present, no one’s been nerfed, the whole team’s still kickin’, and everyone’s actually competent. Toby does not need to sacrifice himself.

.

All the good guys survive and everyone goes back to their families and live happily ever after with no more world-ending threats of for the rest of their lives because they deserve their hard-earned peace thank you the end

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 8

What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3

In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken

[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]

AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.

Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”

“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”

“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”

Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”

Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)

Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?

A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.

Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.

But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.

And grief.

Damian recognized the grief.

Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”

His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.

------

Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.

Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”

Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”

“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”

Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

------

When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.

His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.

He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”

One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.

His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”

“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.

Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”

“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”

“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”

“What?”

“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”

“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”

------

Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.

Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.

“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.

He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--

She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”

“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”

“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”

Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.

She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.

“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”

Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.

Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”

------

Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.

Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.

But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.

He only had to last that long.

Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.

Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”

Shit—

Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.

Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.

He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.

“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.

He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”

“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”

A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”

“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”

Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.

Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?

But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.

He could ask the question now.

He could.

He didn’t.

“Why did you take me?”

Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”

“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”

“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”

“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”

Use him? What did she mean by—

Oh.

Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.

“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”

“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”

Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.

No.

Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.

[qqueenofhades]

Hi, I’ve been tasked with researching Richard Plantagenet for a paper and thus far found extremely negative accounts of the king, his religious bigotry being a reoccurring theme (his treatment of Jewish dignitaries attending his coronation and his reasoning to join the third crusade etc)

I stumbled across your wonderful tag for Richard at the weekend and wondered if you wouldn’t mind sharing your informed opinion of Richard and his views on religions ? Your writing seems very well balanced regarding his attributes and flaws. Thanks :)

Oof. Okay. So, a short and simple question, then?

Quick note: when I was first reading your ask and saw "Richard Plantagenet," I briefly assumed that you meant Richard Plantagenet, father of Edward IV, or perhaps Richard III, both from the Wars of the Roses in the fifteenth century, before seeing from context that you meant Richard I. While "Plantagenet" was first used as an informal appellation by Richard I's grandfather, Geoffrey of Anjou, it wasn't until several centuries later that the English royal house started to use it consistently as a surname. So it's not something that Richard I would have been really called or known by, even if historians tend to use it as a convenient labeling conceit. (See: the one thousand popular histories on "The Plantagenets" that have been published recently.)

As for Richard I, he is obviously an extremely complex and controversial figure for many reasons, though one of the first things that you have to understand is that he has been mythologized and reinvented and reinterpreted down the centuries for many reasons, especially his crusade participation and involvement in the Robin Hood legends. When you're researching about Richard, you're often reading reactions/interpretations of that material more than anything specifically rooted in the primary sources. And while I am glad that you asked me about this and want to encourage you to do so, I will gently enquire to start off: when you say "research," what kind of materials are you looking at, exactly? Are these actual published books/papers/academic material, or unsourced stuff on the internet written from various amateur/ideological perspectives and by people who have particular agendas for depicting Richard as the best (or as is more often the case, worst) ever? Because history, to nobody's surprise, is complicated. Richard did good things and he also did quite bad things, and it's difficult to reduce him to one or the other.

Briefly (ha): I'll say just that if a student handed me a paper stating that Richard was a religious bigot because a) there were anti-Jewish riots during his coronation and b) he signed up for the Third Crusade, I would seriously question it. Medieval violence against the Jews was an unfortunately endemic part of crusade preparations, and all we know about Richard's own reaction is that he fined the perpetrators harshly (repeated after a similar March 1190 incident in York) and ordered for them to be punished. Therefore, while there famously was significant anti-Semitic violence at his coronation, Richard himself was not the one who instigated it, and he ordered for the Londoners who did take part in it to be punished for breaking the king's peace.

This, however, also doesn't mean that Richard was a great person or that he was personally religiously tolerant. We don't know that and we often can't know that, whether for him or anyone else. This is the difficulty of inferring private thoughts or beliefs from formal records. This is why historians, at least good historians, mostly refrain from speculating on how a premodern private individual actually thought or felt or identified. We do know that Richard likewise also made a law in 1194 to protect the Jews residing in his domains, known as Capitula Judaeis. This followed in the realpolitik tradition of Pope Calixtus II, who had issued Sicut Judaeis in c. 1120 ordering European Christians not to harass Jews or forcibly convert them. This doesn't mean that either Calixtus or Richard thought Jews were great, but they did choose a different and more pragmatic/economic way of dealing with them than their peers. This does not prove "religious bigotry" and would need a lot more attention as an analytical concept.

As for saying that the crusades were motivated sheerly by medieval religious bigotry, I'm gonna have to say, hmm, no. Speaking as someone with a PhD in medieval history who specialised in crusade studies, there is an enormous literature around the question of why the crusades happened and why they continue to hold such troubling attraction as a pattern of behavior for the modern world. Yes, Richard went on crusade (as did the entire Western Latin world, pretty much, since 1187 and the fall of Jerusalem was the twelfth century's 9/11). But there also exists material around him that doesn't exist around any other crusade leader, including his extensive diplomatic relations with the Muslims, their personal admiration for him, his friendship with Saladin and Saladin's brother Saif al-Din, the fact that Arabic and Islamic sources can be more complimentary about Richard than the Christian records of his supposed allies, and so forth. I think Frederick II of Sicily, also famous for his friendly relationships with Muslims, is the only other crusade leader who has this kind of material. So however he did act on crusade, and for whatever reasons he went, Richard likewise chose the pragmatic path in his interactions with Muslims, or at least the Muslim military elite, than just considering them all as religious barbarians unworthy of his time or attention.

The question of how the crusades functioned as a pattern of expected behavior for the European Christian male aristocrat, sometimes entirely divorced from any notion of his private religious beliefs, is much longer and technical than we can possibly get into. (As again, I am roughly summarising a vast and contentious field of academic work for you here, so... yes.) Saying that the crusades happened only because medieval people were all religious zealots is a wild oversimplification of the type that my colleague @oldshrewsburyian and I have to deal with in our classrooms, and likewise obscures the dangerous ways in which the modern world is, in some ways, more devoted to replicating this pattern than ever. It puts it beyond the remit of analysis and into the foggy "Dark Ages hurr durr bad" stereotype that drives me batty.

Weighted against this is the fact that Richard obviously killed many Muslims while on crusade, and that this was motivated by religious and ideological convictions that were fairly standard for his day but less admirable in ours. The question of how that violence has been glorified by the alt-right people who think there was nothing wrong with it at all and he should have done more must also be taken into account. Richard's rise to prominence as a quintessentially English chivalrous hero in the nineteenth century, right when Britain was building its empire and needed to present the crusades as humane and civilizing missions abroad rather than violent and generally failed attempts at forced conversion and conquest, also problematized this. As noted, Richard was many things, but... not that, and when the crusades fell out of fashion again in the twentieth century, he was accordingly drastically villainized. Neither the superhero or the supervillain images of him are accurate, even if they're cheap and easy.

The English nationalists have a complicated relationship with Richard: he represents the ideal they aspire to, aesthetically speaking, and the kind of anti-immigrant sentiment they like to put in his mouth, which is far more than the historical Richard actually displayed toward his Muslim counterparts. (At least, again, so far as we can know anything about his private beliefs, but this is what we can infer from his actions in regard to Saladin, who he deeply respected, and Saladin's brother.) But he was also thoroughly a French knight raised and trained in the twelfth-century martial tradition, his concern for England was only as a minor part of the sprawling 'Angevin empire' he inherited from his father Henry II (which is heresy for the Brexit types who think England should always be the center of the world), and his likely inability to speak English became painted as a huge character flaw. (Notwithstanding that after the Norman Conquest in 1066, England did not have a king who spoke English natively until Henry IV in 1399, but somehow all those others don't get blamed as much as Richard.)

Anyway. I feel as if it's best to stop here. Hopefully this points you toward the complexity of the subject and gives you some guidelines in doing your own research from here. :)

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

I got my own gears turning and you're all gonna hafta deal with that for a bit sorry. Little breakdown of how morals and ethics and villainy and all that are treated in the tf2 expanded universe, presented as tiers of ascending villainy:

All of the mercs are amoral, murderous, "bad people", because they are video game characters. The standard real-world ethics that could be ascribed to people who kill people for money cannot apply to the tf2 guys, because it inherently removes tf2 from its original context as a comedy shooter video game. Some characters like Heavy and Sniper are mentioned as killing "bad men", but not every character is given this depth. Scout just kills people, and Scout is not treated as "evil" by the text. Killing someone, in the tf2 universe, does not make someone "bad". All the mercs plus Pauling are shown killing people, and they're still understood to be "good" (the comic Mostly shows them killing robots, a common action media cop-out to avoid having your characters kill real people, but they do kill tfc team members, who are human, and also you're meant to understand that they were still mercs before the robots, regardless of how little logical sense that makes in a non-video game format).

Even among the mercs, Medic is considered particularly "evil", more violent, and more sadistic (even though I think they're all sadists, but you know). Medic is "evil", but yknow, in a fun way! He's off-putting but not morally reprehensible. This is Somewhat because of his team allegiance, he's someone who you want to have on your side, but even when he's briefly with the tfc team in the main comic he's never treated as an actual antagonist, someone to be defeated and overcome. That's just how he looks when he smiles! Smug and evil!

I'd put both Admin and Hale in this tier between Good Guy(tm) and Bad Guy(tm). Admin is described in multiple official capacities as "evil", she's clearly "villainous" in her design and diction, but she's not an antagonist in a storytelling sense. She's an evil boss of a mysterious company and she loves war, but the tf2 mercs Also all love war so it's not really that big a deal for them. Hale is also shown to be pretty shitty - he makes intentionally bad products that break, he makes the mercs pay for their own weapons even though he's employing them, he almost quite literally kicks puppies except replace "kicks" with "punches" and "puppies" with "panthers" - like I said, he's like a cross between a dumb jock and a money-grubbing capitalist. Neither of these characters are really antagonists that need to be defeated or overcome. They're shitty, they're evil, they get in the way, they're mean to Miss Pauling, they blew up a monkey and then sold commemorative plates about it, but I wouldn't consider either of them "the villains of the Team Fortress series" or anything like that. I would probably put Redmond and Blutarch in a tier slightly below this one, but I don't have much to say about them.

I'd consider the "villains" of the series to be Gray Mann, the tfc team in the comic, and Merasmus sometimes but this isn't about her. The tfc team are antagonists really only in that they get in the way of the protagonists. As established, being a mercenary and killing people does not make someone a "bad person" in the tf2 universe, so it can't be that they kill people, but that they kill the tf2 mercs specifically. I think this is a fine moral code for a comedy video game comic where a guy gives birth to a baboon to have. It doesn't hold up to a lot of scrutiny, but that's fine. Gray Mann is similarly an antagonist in that he disrupts the status quo and like. is a cool excuse to have there be robots because Valve wanted a non-pvp mode for tf2. Again, although this kind of morality doesn't hold a lot of water in an even remotely serious context (is wanting eternal life good or bad? Is only Admin allowed to have and/or want it? Why?), I think it's fine for the funny hat game

All this villain talk does of course bring up the question of the hour, which is "isn't Admin the main antagonist of tf2?" and it's like... well, is she? I think Admin is definitely considered "evil" by the text, probably even moreso than a character like Medic who is also treated as "evil" by the text in a way that the other mercs are not, but whether or not she's actively an "antagonist" or a "villain" is debatable. We really don't see enough of her to be able to make any claims like that, but from what we do see in the mainline comic I think she's in a sort of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" role, much like Hale (who in previous update comics and even installations of the main comic is not characterized as a hero but as a combination of a big dumb jock and a profit-driven businessman who sells bad products on purpose because he wants money), rather than a straight "villain" role. Pauling's continued allegiance to Admin is not villified in the same way Medic's temporary allegiance to the tfc team and ostensibly Gray Mann is, because Admin is not a villain in the same way that the tfc team and ostensibly Gray and the robots are. There are other storylines where Admin is decidedly the antagonist, of course, most notably the WAR! update and that comic, where she deliberately drove that wedge between Demo and Soldier, but the mainline comic doesn't treat her as an antagonist, because she doesn't get in the way of anyone's goals, because most of the tf2 characters as presented in the comics do not have large-scale goals besides "fight robot"

I think an important caveat to add in this kind of lore analysis is that the tf2 comic is supplemental bonus material for tf2 the video game, which is reliant on these characters continuously shooting each other in a gravel pit for the rest of time. It's tf2's status as a video game that makes "Admin being in charge and the human mercs being used to fight the gravel war forever" the desired outcome of the tf2 comic. This isn't to say that this kind of analysis is useless, I think it's a lot of fun actually, but I do think this is an important footnote to add before anyone gets too tangled up trying to think out the logistics here

[wispforever]

if youre still doing the character thing, how about spirit or marie?

I sure am. How about Spirit And Marie? Both wonderful characters. I’ll do Marie first, then Spirit. Thanks for the excuse to infodump, really. You people are too kind.

Marie Mjolnir

My first impression of Marie was the same impression I get of most female characters in anime. It’s either “why do their clothes have to look like that” or “oh god here comes the obligatory sexist heteronormative romance”. For Marie, it was more of the second. They mention in the same episode she’s introduced that Stein is her “first love”, which told me that if she had a large place in the plot, her assigned male counterpart around which to orbit would be him. Though I’ve never read the Soul Eater manga, I believe they do end up getting together there (I could be wrong). Whatever the case, I was relieved that Marie’s and Stein’s relationship (though heavily implied to be romantic, at least on Marie’s side) was left open to interpretation in the anime. I’m just very sick of cool badass female characters like Marie being reduced to the man they pine after. So, I guess my first impression of Marie and my impression of her now are largely the same. While I appreciate the moments we get to see her strengths and ability to operate on her own, I do think that her character really suffers because of the whole sexist “oh gosh all I want is to find a husband and retire” “oh my I have to take care of Stein” like okay, I had enough at the cat girl smothering Soul with her humungo-tits. I had enough at sexualizing underage girls and women in general. I had enough at making sexual harassment a punchline. That being said, when we push all of the shitty writing to the side, I admire Marie for her strength and how she interacts with the children, Crona in particular. Which leads me to my favorite moment(s).

The relationship Crona and Marie have interests me the most, since I’m really drawn to the parallels between Marie and Medusa. As parental figures (and as characters), they’re about as different as you can get. As Crona’s mother, Medusa is obviously abusive. Along with being negligent, she abuses Crona mentally, emotionally, and physically. In general, Medusa is a person who doesn’t appear to value interpersonal relationships, putting it nicely. She instead is more focused on her own interests, often to the detriment of those around her. Crona is Medusa’s only immediate family (besides Arachne who she is estranged from), and so they suffer the most from her refusal to show even a shred of human decency or warmth. They suffer especially because they are her child, meaning they’re stuck with her essentially, and repetivie abuse between family members like a mother and child often becomes complex because of the necessity of having a parental figure in your life to support you as you grow up. Medusa teaches Crona that their boundaries don’t matter and that they are only good as long as they are useful and do as they’re told. This is what makes Marie’s influence on Crona so cool to watch. Marie is caring by nature, loving and nurturing by nature. Her very wavelegnth is healing. She is kind and does what’s right reflexively. Marie is the exact embodiment of what Crona always needed but what, even upon being rescued by the academy, still felt so foreign to them: unconditional love. Crona struggles to understand why the other kids helped them, why Maka felt the inclination to stop their battle and save Crona instead by trying to understand them, why the kids are still so kind to them even after everything. They do not understand that love is not a bargaining chip. It isn’t leverage in an argument. It’s not a tool for emotional manipulation. Love is caring for the people close to you, just because. Love for the sake of love. The other kids and teachers at the academy are the ones who are able to pull Crona out of all Medusa’s lies, and Marie is a Huge part of that. Even though I have greivances with this being the largest part of her character and what that implies for female characters in general, it doesn’t stop being so beautiful to me that she could help Crona heal in this way. Marie = best mom for the win

Most of the story ideas I have for Marie involve her relationship with Crona or Stein. Say, this covers my unpopular opinion too. I don’t like Stein and Marie as a couple, but I really enjoy writing them as friends, because even though I don’t really jive with them being together romantically, I think their dynamic is an interesting one to explore because they Are so different.

Getting into that a little bit more, I’d like to start by saying I don’t care if other people like Stein and Marie being a couple. That’s great doods, keep doing you. The fanart’s adorable, the meta’s fantastic. Whoever you are, SteinMarie shippers, ffs keep kicking ASS. This is just my preference and opinion. Zero shade in this house. That said, because of my frustrations about Marie’s character I discussed in the first paragraph, I don’t like the idea of her and Stein being together romantically. It’s really a classic sexist trope: the troubled man and his sweet nurse. I’m also just fed up in general with the hetero-nonsense, so there. However, they are both wonderful characters that I enjoy very much seperately. Also, I think it’s worth mentioning that I’ve only seen the anime, so I can’t speak for the manga as far as their relationship or Marie’s character in general.

Oh shit I accidentally already talked about this one lmao [see the second paragraph]

One headcanon I like to think about when I’m writing Marie is that she likes women (in addition to men or not) and she struggles with comphet. Just something interesting I like to think about. It’s really fun for me to take characters who have been written as pining or had 10 million failed relationships and be like “say what if they can’t find a husband cuz really what they really need is a wife”. I’ll talk about that more with Spirit inevitably.

Spirit Albarn

My first impression of Spirit, obviously him being a cheater, really came with a lot of distaste. I come from a family that was torn apart by infidelity, among other things, so it really rubs me the wrong way. However, his saving grace for me was that he genuinely loves his daughter. It appears that, whether it’s played for laughs or not, he just can’t find fulfillment in his romantic relationships. The reason is left up to the veiwers. Spirit, ultimately, is not just a shitty person, which is how most cheaters are protrayed in media. “Well, they cheated because they don’t care if they hurt people”, “they cheated because they are shit and that’s it”. That’s a fine explanation if you plan to do nothing with whatever character you’re describing, but Spirit is relatively recurring and is shown to be neither mean-spirited or emotionally unintelligent. It bothers me that his cheating and routine sexist behaviour isn’t taken seriously enough to be a subject that Soul Eater tackles and deals with. But that’s fine. I’ll just do it myself. At any rate, I still feel that same way about Spirit’s character, but I find it intriguing that he seems to genuinely want to become a better father and is actually a pretty good dad when it comes to his interactions with Maka. If Soul Eater had been brave enough to develop him more, maybe delve into the reasoning behind his impulsive romantic affairs, I think Spirit as a character could have been done more justice. It seems to me that he could be suffering from some of that wonderful compulsory heterosexuality that I mentioned before, then becoming confused when the woman he claims to love leaves him feeling empty. Rattling my gay little cage

When I think of my favorite moments with Spirit, I think of his moments with Maka, but I’m gonna hold off on that until I get to favorite relationship(s). In reference to what I talked about in the first paragraph, one moment I find really interesting when I’m thinking about my interpretation of Spirit’s character is the scene where he and Maka are on the roof talking. Maka asks Spirit why he cheated on her mother if he did, in fact, love her. He doesn’t appear to know the answer, and he doesn’t really understand how to effectively communicate that, though he was shitty husband, what he really wants now is to try and be a better dad. We hear his inner monologue, and he says something like “I love you [Maka] and your mama. That’s the truth. That’s the truth. That’s the truth.” Every time he says “its the truth” it sounds more like he’s forcing it. This is actually something that is SO strange to me. Even if I didn’t project a queer narrative on to the characters I love, I would look at this and be like “huh that is a Weird thing to say in that specific way”. Why does he say it like that? Why does he have to say it more than once? He’s only talking to HIMSELF. It isn’t like he’s trying to convince Maka. Why does he have to convince himself?? Could it possibly be because he’s reached a conclusion about his romantic/sexual orientation that he’s been trying to swallow his Entire Life??? makes ya wonder, doesn’t it, queers?

Just like I said when I talked about Stein, most of the stories I have in mind with Spirit center around that sweet gayness. But also, I like to think of ways Spirit could come to terms with his sexuality, how it might have affected him when he was young, his relationship with all these women, with his wife. I love to think about him being a dad at 18 and trying his best, but how much responsibility that must have been. Lots of great ideas when it comes to Spirit.

Um? unpopular opinion would be all the standard like I said with Stein lmao. “Oh no!” scream the heteros, “that they/them on tumblr is making Soul Eater queer we canst not allow that in our church!!!111!” But besides that, maybe even the fact that I think he’s redeemable?? Idk most everyone I’ve met thinks Spirit is funny at least and just calls him a dumbass and a slut (affectionate). Doesn’t mean anybody thinks cheating on your wife 56 times is okay so. I like this fandom, it’s chill here. My favorite is when I see my art tagged like “aw the stupid man and his crazy bf” like YOU ARE RIGHT

My favorite relationship when it comes to Spirit (besides Stein cuz if I start talking about them again I’ll never finish this ask) is the one he has with Maka. If you can call it a relationship lol. I guess I just find Spirit’s approach to Maka as a parent really refreshing. Not that the parents in other shows don’t love their kids or whatever, it’s just that the loving parent always seems to be paired with some other trope that makes their character hard to approach. especially in anime. Like the perfect mother who dies in the first episode, and we spend the rest of the show mourning her. Or the father whose love is somehow everlasting even though he’s never home. It’s really the fact that Spirit is even THERE that I love. He knows what Maka is up to. He talks about her. He’s invested in her life, and he loves her. All he wants is to spend time with her, and though he’s sad when she turns him down, he doesn’t push her. god dammit I just like a dad who actually loves his kids without all the usual strings attached like. oh my kids are a huge pain in my ass, but I love them in spite of it. oh i’m a man so can’t relate to my children in a meaningful way but i try. Get the fuck outta here with that shit. I want all the dads to get so happy when their daughters wanna hang with them that they throw up like Spirit. Give me the guy who loves his daughter so naturally, whose daughter is such a huge part of his life, that it doesn’t even occur to him stop trying even if she literally wants to murder him. That’s Spirit. jfc

To end with a cute little headcanon, I really love to think that when Spirit gets older and starts losing the color in his hair, instead of getting white or grey, his hair turns a pale pink color cuz he’s such an aggressive redhead. Wouldn’t that just be adorable? late 30′s, early 40′s, Spirit starts getting little pink streaks in his hair and then bam. Little pink old man Spirit XD

There ya have it. Thanks for the ask, and feel free to send more.

[thelittlepoetprincess]

𝙈𝙃𝘼 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨(NSFW)

Author’s Notes: I promised another one of these so of course, I shall deliver. Also this’ll be a mixture of fluff and NSFW since these are more of the teasers. Please excuse the grammar, Grammarly was not working today. Hawks, Dabi, Overhaul, and Fatgum. SPOILER WARNING FOR DABI’S DANCE IN THE MANGA. If you like the Dabi or Overhaul ones get in the therapy wagon.

Word count: 1,470 words

Warnings: THE SPICE Quirk play, cockwarming, human fleshlight,consensual somno, public sex, sex with an audience, BDSM themes, body worship, hunting, degrading, and also abuse warning for Dabi and Overhaul.

Keigo Takami~Hawks

Pfft, the mans literally never has time for you, like- ever.

He’s working 24/7 so whenever he’s in the area he’s(quite literally) swoop by and give you a kiss or something then dip.

He also has to cut dates or dinner together short for work, or just make it quick. Quickies very common

The whole feather thing is very much real, it helps him keep tabs on you while giving him a way to let you know he loves you when he’s busy.

Often times he comes home to you asleep on the couch waiting for him, and he feels something stirring in him he pushed down a long time ago: Attachment.

If he comes home and he really needs to work one out of him then he’ll ask you can he use you then carry you off and thigh fuck you, but if he’s feeling frisky he’ll stick himself inside you and just feel you clench for that added bonus.

Commitment scares him, but you’re patient with him and he appreciates it. It show when he finally falls asleep around you.

When days get rough for him, you can tell. His clothes and hair are more disheveled than usual, his feathers are spread out, and he has to remind himself not to hiss when you come close(bird shit).

You insist he talk to you but he denies since he always feels he’s being watched and judged. Then you insist he takes it out on you and he refuses even harder, he’s stressed and doesn’t know how to unwind

Then you go for the wings and he will either: dodge you and scold you for trying orrrrrr. . . 

Fucking snap on you and rock your shit.

“Oh, now your playing with fire, little birdie. Touching my wings is bold, now don’t regret it. You’ve ruffled my feathers and riled me up.“

Touya Todoroki~Dabi

MEAN, MEAN AS HEELL. HE GIVES ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKS FOR YOU!

Toxic relationship built only on sex and a power complex.

He gives no fucks for you but let him catch you even looking at someone the wrong way and he’d burn the fuck out of you both. Then push you out his way so he can burn the fucker fully to a crisp.

Not gentle burns fucking third degree you need a hospital burns. Also he wouldn’t apologize.

Yandere? Fuck no, he doesn’t care that much.

He’d watch you writhe in pain with tears in your eyes and enjoy it. Then snatch you up immediately and drag you back to the base to fuck your brains out.

Why are you dating him? He loves degrading you, pride? None of that here. You are his to use, break, and throw away as he pleases.

He owns you in his eyes, and if you run your fucked when he finds you

Very much breaking down in front of you but don’t touch him, don’t try to help because again: he will cremate you in a second without hesitation.

He likes to see the fear in your eyes, it lets him know he has power over you.

Big Hunter vibes from him, please do run. He likes the games. He’ll chase you down a dark alley way and take you against the wall once you hit the dead end.

The fucking snarls and growls of this mans, dear lord.

He’ll fuck you literally anywhere, the more populated the better. Try being blindfolded and set on a stage in a club full of villains and have him dick you down for all of them to see. He’s fucked you in front of the League on several occasions.

Your so far mind-broken and gone you won’t leave even if you could. Not that he’d let you walk out, you’re his only form of stress relief. Saves him the time of finding 1 night stands then burning them afterwards.

“You wanna leave, huh cocksleeve? Go ahead, I won’t stop you all you have to do is get off of my cock first. You won’t? Then quit whining and let me break you.“

Kai Chisaki~Overhaul

HE TOXIC TOO JUST LIKE DABI

Overhaul is also super busy like Hawks but you spend a certain amount of time with him since he has his schedule specifically planned out.

You live in the base but he doesn't let you nor want you as a part of the whole Eri thing or any of his work. You are not his equal or lover.

You’re less of a partner and more as a stress reliever, you're like a concubine basically.

He has you take a disinfecting bath before he sees you just to make sure he doesn’t get sick.

Your routine is very strict and you’re guarded, rarely ever changes unless you request it or there’s an emergency.

He's really fucking mean to you and uses his quirk on you to keep you in line, he'll break you and fix you just like he does Eri just to discipline you.

He also fucks you very brutally, like just for no reason fucks you hard. Everyone just let’s it go because better you than them.

The only time other members are nice to you is when they’ve fucked up and you need to either take the blame for them or ease Kai’s anger so they don’t end up dead afterwards.

Your knocked out after every session just because he's very rough with you and doesn't care, and if you don't preform to his standards he'll break you and put you back together.

He has a bad habit of fixing you just to keep going as well.

You’re a kept woman of the Yakuza, so pretty much whatever you want is given to you on a silver plater.

You are not his first lover, and you more than likely won’t be the last.

You clean up afterwards as well. Even more so if it’s in his office.

“What’s wrong? Can’t take another round? That’s alright, I’ll just fix you up good as new and keep going. You know better than to complain, right? Good pet.“

Taishiro Toyomitsu~Fatgum

He’s a good boy, he brings you food all the time and let’s you know when he’s doing something dangerous.

Whatever you wanna eat, name it and he’s got it. Has all the popular food joints on speed dial and gets discounts literally everywhere.

He loves it when you snuggle into his hugs, but he gets worried he may accidentally lose you in his fat you would love this actually

He has no problem fucking you when he’s not patrolling, no one visits the agency often so you two have his entire office to yourselves.

This man is into food play, no surprise there. Eating off you, yes. You eating off him, yes. Food with sex, yes indeed.

The biggest cuddlebug on the planet, he’s so used to being unattractive by most standards that once you two started dating he was so touch-starved he wanted to hug you ALL THE TIME

He’s not-so-surprisingly a good combat teacher.

He’s very vanilla and gentle, he doesn’t want to hurt you but he’s a BIG BOY so no need for the extras to make it super spicy.

All giggles, you guys have tried BDSM before, it doesn’t work he’s too goofy.

The agreed safeword is. . . . meatpie. Yes. He’ll back off and you’ll be laughing to yourself about it just enough to relax once more while he gets ready to praise you like a goddess.

Butterball, butterbean, and love muffin are his go-tos for nicknames. Though when your wearing that outfit he loves so much he has a habit of calling you “Devil’s food cake”, making him want to sin in all the sweetest ways possible.

Into Cock-warming, a lot. Not to mention teasing him will result in a harsher than usual upward thrust from his hips, he’s a bucking mess.

Body positivity king, there is not a day that goes by where he does not praise your figure for hours on end.

Literally fought someone one time because they objectified you and then had the audacity to say you weren't a whole fucking snack in front of him.

Kinkiest thing he’s done: Used you as a human fleshlight, it was only once but secretly neither of you can get rid of the thought.

THE DILF VIBES FROM HIM. Everyone says Kiri and Tamaki are his hero-children, you see it. It’s lowkey highkey attractive adorable.

OH THE AFTERCARE. I’m talking fresh warm baths with your favorite scents, massages for your whole body, and food. Endless amounts of food, cuddles, and praise.

“My little butterball, you look so good. I’m gonna push all the way in now, okay? Heh, no butterbean, I’m just halfway in your little hole. You know the safeword, just say the word if it’s too much.“

[aimasup]

Maybe i'm late but, did anyone, like actually have left remus in a small place (for his claustrophobia) for like 4 hours or something just because he did something bad? If yes did anyone just stayed here and heard him suffer? Or actually tried to help him out in secret? Sorry if it is long ^^'

Deceit’s smarmy snake grin never left his confident face. Oh god, Remus was giving him the look. No one ever liked being given the look, something that no Side should ever be subject to, carrying the promise of your emotional vulnerability, a sackful of seeing through your bullshit and a dash of demented purity rivaled only by Patton. And Vir

Deceit cleared his throat, loudly and with purpose. “Well? Go on, Remus.”

Remus rolled his eyes, a childish staple of his that always looked comical. “Oh come on, Nope Rope, you and I both know you spout more shit than a bull with diarrhea after one of your nightmares. So you might as well follow it up with some tea.”

So much wrong had just come out of Remus’ mouth. The man smelled like tonsil stones on a good day yet he still managed to surprise the Sides with horrifying bouts of intellect every now and then. The slimy little bugger.

"Clearly you've remembered what I told you about calling me names."

Remus leaned happily. "Nakey Snakey."

"Remus..."

"Boop Noodle!"

"Remus."

"Dangle Fangle!"

"Remus! Shut up!"

Remus feigned offense. "I'm trying out ones that start with a D!"

"That's not my point! Now distract me with musical ditties as you were instructed, you foul wretch!"

"Slithervester Stallone-!" Remus had time to squeal before Deceit squashed his face with a pillow and snatched the remote. The game was on as if by instinct and Remus tackled him from under the pillow, shrieking muffled. Deceit whacked him on the head, hard, with the remote. Remus was distracted momentarily, so Deceit took the chance and shoved him off of him with more force than necessary, insulting him all the while.

"-you nitwit, you just can't listen, can you, you moron, you bitch, you're so thick-headed, do that again and I swear-"

"You'll what, you'll lock me in the closet?"

All of a sudden, it was like an invisible giant had drowned the room in heavy syrup. The tightness from before returned and Deceit, still breathing hard, glared at Remus with gritted teeth and panicked eyes. The Side was below him, pillow on his chest, grin gone and singlet askew.

That one sentence, although it needed no context to tell who had been on the receiving end of it, brought more distress to the deceitful side than it did to the other, strangely enough. They kept their eyes trained on each other. Neither would admit that they felt like they were breathing molasses and it wasn't sweet. The television had long ago blacked out, a deafening silence following its rather meek departure.

Remus' eyes didn't stop glowing. Deceit's didn't either. None were good signs, but Remus still said, in the rare soft tone his voice could manage at times, "That's the problem, isn't it?"

Deceit swallowed. He turned away and stared at the floor, eyes narrowed to slits. He had put down the remote with controlled harshness on the sofa. He exhaled through his nose and never made eye contact with Remus.

Everyone had their little tics. Remus hated being called scary. Roman was a compulsive perfectionist. Patton had a repression habit. And Thomas didn't want to be a bad person.

Neither did Deceit.

"You know I'm over that, right?"

"... obviously."

That could mean anything, and that wasn't even getting to which part of the question he was answering. Remus bit his tongue. His canines dug into the muscle, and he pulled them out again, breathing in the scent of his own blood. Feeling a bit better, he turned away from Deceit and stared at the black screen of the TV.

"No, really you don't have to worry about it. You worrying about it pisses me off."

Still no response.

"Deceit?" Remus couldn't help but feel a bit concerned at this exchange.

------------------

"Who--who are you?" Fun blurbled at the figure on all fours before him. Fresh tear stains still stained his cheeks, an ear-to-ear smile etched below his eyes.

Something was off. Heart had run away with someone who looked like him, and had left him alone. He'd never do that. He'd always stuck with him through anything, no matter what he said or did. But the look Heart had given him... it was as if he didn't know what to make of him all of a sudden. Less than that, even.

The figure, still cautious and poised to pounce, didn't answer. Its impossibly wide reptilian eyes glowed bright in the dark, illuminating nothing on its entirely pitch black body, and Fun could make out nothing but a few familiar features.

"Are you a--a Side too?"It flinched and hissed at him. Fun found that he didn't duck away from the grotesque mouth that opened too wide. Or more like, there wasn't anything in his head that told him it was gross. He found it cute because it was gross, in fact.

When the brown-rimmed mouth closed, it was as if it was never there. It glared at him through narrowed eyes and spat at his feet.

"Oh."

With all the pure spite radiating off of the thing, it still approached, walking perfectly on its hands and legs. It didn't look clumsy moving like that, and Fun suspected it had always been that way.

"Wh--what are you doing?"Fun tried not to find this tiny demonic thing adorable. Didn't help matters when it planted its face on his sticky, black knee (... huh.) and walked off.

Before Fun could process what just happened, it turned around with the calmest expression and stared. And waited. It wanted him to follow.

As adorable as the thing was, Fun still had his doubts. He didn't want to leave. This was where his friends were. Curious little Learning, sweet as sugar Heart, cowardly yet caring Careful. But he had a feeling they didn't want to see him again.

It broke his heart.

So with a greasy squelch, Fun struggled to his feet and went with the creature.

------------------

"Deceit, you need to stop holding yourself over that. We can't be like the Others."

The further lack of response frustrated Remus. He probably should be trying to comfort Deceit, but that wasn't his type. Tough lo--learning would have to do, it was how it always went. They couldn't afford to be wishy-washy with stuff like feelings.

"Deceit, if you don't stop feeling bad about it I'm gonna smack the shit out of you. With my bare hands. And this morning star."

"Aren't you trying too hard not to be Roman?"

Remus slammed his weapon into the pillow. "Well I think you're trying too hard to be Patton!"

"Wouldn't you think Virgil would have wanted that?" Deceit was weary. Remus breathed in sharply through his teeth and stuttered.

"What?"

"It's clear we weren't the best to him. It's not his fault he left. It was for the best. He needs better than us. He deserves better than us."

"What the fuck!" Remus threw up his hands. "What the fuck, Deceit! What happened to being your own person? What happened to not giving a shit about living up to anyone's standards?! You don't know what you're talking about, because you're tired, and you're just a hypocrite who was never able to see past your own horseshit!"

"I know."

Remus wanted to rip his hair out. Deceit's or his own, he didn't really care. "Jesus Christ! Ugh!"

He flumped into a pillow and screamed into it.

Deceit watched him.

------------------

"You know, it's kinda weird how you don't wanna be called a Side, you know? Like, you look like Heart, and we all know that Heart looks the most like Thomas. So you gotta be pretty important. If you look the most like Thomas. Next to Heart. You know what I'm saying?"

It was still silent. The quiet walk down the tattered corridor had been awkward, and now that they were up the stairs and in some padded room that was probably the creature's, Fun tried to fill the silence as the creature studied him. It prowled around Fun as he sat cross legged on the floor, leaking tar all over the place.

"And, well, Learning is super important too. And Careful. We're all super important." It brushed by his shoulder and stared at his back with interest for a good two seconds before sitting back on its haunches.

"But Learning only looks the second most like Thomas. Careful just likes his hair to be all dangly. Though he clips it back sometimes to fit in? I think? I dunno."

"Anyways, I just thought that maybe once we're done here, with." Fun looked at the creature. "Whatever this is. I could bring you back with me to the others! I just got rid of the bad stuff in me, and once I get all cleaned up, and you too, we'll be all okay again!"

The creature stopped prodding at his back and he could feel it staring into nothing. Fun couldn't help but note the lack of breath on his neck. Either it gave up trying to appear human a long time ago or it was just that short. He giggled at the thought.

But that faded away when he started feeling slight concern. It was too silent. He hated silence. Fun turned to look over his shoulder, then shuffled his body around to peer at the creature, who was now deep in thought.

"Hey bud? What's wrong with ya? Cat got your tongue?" He chuckled. "I've heard that from Learning and Heart a lot. You're gonna love em. They'll help you lighten up! Trust me, we've been through lots together, they'll like you too!"

It lifted its head up and fixated him with the saddest stare anyone could give a Side. Fun felt his excitement at meeting a new friend weather away when he felt that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

A thin line of brown appeared, and widened. It's eyes darted here and there with consideration. It was choosing its words. Fun titled his head as it strained to force out words.

"Not."

"Uh. Huh? You can talk!"

"Fun."

"Wait, what are you saying?"

It bounced in place with clear frustration. After clutching its head and shaking it, it tried again.

"You. Not." It tried once more. "You. Not! You! Not! Fun!"

Fun withered under its glare, a little hurt. "I'm not fun to be with? I'm sorry, uh-"

"No!"

Fun's heart ached for the thing, confused and intrigued. All of them learned how to speak along with Thomas. How was it that this Side didn't?

"Gone."

"..."

"Fun. Gone."

"I really don't understand."

"Fun." It drew a capital F in the air. He nodded, a little less lost. It nodded too.

"Fun. Split. Gone. You. Green. Half. Heart. You. Red. Half. You." It was closer now. It stuck a finger onto Fun's chest, sorrowful expression looking like it was supposed to be welling up with tears. Its jaw trembled. "Half. Bad. Half."

"Not. Their. Fun."

Fun wasn't so sure about anything anymore. He understood it perfectly, he just really didn't want to. "You can't be serious."

It was. It looked as if it has never been more certain of anything in its life. It lowered its head.

Panic gripped him like no other and his mind began racing. He gestured wildly.

"Then--then who's that other half?! They can't go on without Fun! Thomas can't go on without Fun!" The partial emptiness that he'd been trying to ignore a long time ago had grown more apparent as he ranted. "I can't let that happen! What will they do?"

Half. Bad. Half.

It struck. 'Fun' felt his chest drop to his stomach. "They. I'm the bad half."

The creature was still as a statue."They--they think--they think the red me is--is Fun, they, Learning, Careful, H-Heart--they don't know me."

The black and green outfitted grease blob blubbered on. "It's--it's not fair! I know them! I drew pictures with Thomas, I came up with our names, I--I'm--I know what Fun knows!"

He desperately turned to the creature in front of him. "They can't do this! I-if the other me is Fun, then I'm Fun too! I'm still Fun! I still know them! I still love them! At the very least, I'm still one of Thomas' Sides!" The creature silently stared as he kept talking, as his words blurred together with cries of anguish, as he put his forehead to the floor, bunching his sash in his hands. All tears had run out earlier, and there were only bawls of despair that dissolved into whimpers.

The humanoid grease blob didn't know what to call himself anymore. But it still wasn't fair at all. The truth was that. They thought that their Fun had returned from the battle, sword held high and rid of the beast. To them, Fun was better than ever.

But what was he?

------------------

"When you explained in your dumb loophole way that my stupid ass brother wasn't me, it was the first time you had advice you didn't follow, did you?"

"Remus, you can't pretend you don't feel the same."

"Fuck off!" Remus groaned. "I'm not pretending for anything, Dee, I've said it multiple times, I have nothing I want to hide! But you can't be serious about wanting to be like Patton!"

Deceit pondered his answer. "I may or may not have considered it."

Remus let go of Deceit's shirt slowly. He still fixated him with fierce angry eyes as his fingers loosened, setting the smaller Side down a little. So he didn't actually think it. Just a passing thought. Okay then.

Deceit straightened his collar and smoothed out the wrinkles in his outfit. And he was back to looking sullenly at the a spot on the carpet.

Remus swallowed. God, this was harder than it needed to be. He wondered if this was how Deceit felt when he was younger, rawer in his state, unable to speak in anything but opposites. He didn't have to teach Deceit how to not speak in opposites, because the more they raised each other, the more Deceit's black scales had resided and his speech freedom loosened up.

They always talked it out, they always had to stick close. So why was it so hard now?

------------------

The squeal of unbridled joy when it was introduced to noir films, the long bath chases, the practice with his creations and tentacles, the nights spent splayed out messily on the same bed after a nightmare. It was simple. So simple.

------------------

Deceit could feel the stare from Remus leaving him. God, if that moron tried to comfort him now he was going to explode. His eye would leak tears like a broken faucet and he would be a pathetic blubbering mess, and Remus would have blackmail until the day Thomas finally died.

He swore he could feel the long exhale and mutterings as Remus thought on what to say. He really didn't care, in the end. Deceit wanted nothing more than to do his job and think nothing of anything ever again. He didnt--

"Virgil's gone, and there's nothing we can or could do about it. Because of how we are. It's jackshit to say we can change our nature. Nothing. Nada. Zero." Firm hands with black acrylics gripped his shoulder and turned his tired eyes onto Remus' own.

"Feeling sorry for yourself won't change anything. Things happen, jackoff."

Deceit's breath hitched, but he didn't quite feel like crying, oddly enough. Strange that through gritted teeth and eyes that could gleam death to anyone who doesn't know Remus well, he felt more clarification than all his thoughts combined. His mind had chanted a mantra of things his whole life, and what Remus said was only one of them. Deceit had been hoping to finally hear them from an outside source. But somehow, someway, Remus had found a way to make this line of reasoning sound less harsh.

Unpredictable as always.

"Remus. I.."

He placed his hands gently on Remus' wrists, patted twice. Remus let go and studied him, an air of sternness and also nervousness apparent in his face. They simmered in the unsaid apology, sitting on the couch in their lonely, mangy living room, like it was a vague yet satisfactory ending to a movie. That was how all their arguments would usually end, but it was rarely in any way fulfilling.

Deceit thought on it. Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, he choked out a laugh. "God, we're such a mess."

Glad the tension was broken, Remus smiled, ugly shark teeth in full view. "Yeah we are. We're the Mindscape's dumpster fires."

They were delirious with more emotion than they experienced on a daily basis, and they both chortle along to Remus' weak joke. Jesus, if you could lose fat due to mental work as well as physical, Thomas would be underweight by now.

Remus shook his head. "Honestly, you can't think too much about it. Just think of all the times we battered each other in this place, and you'll feel better about the closet thing."

Deceit snorted. "How is it that I'm more affected by it than you? Like all the times you ripped out my hair."

"Or all the times you silenced us whenever you felt like it."

"Or all those times you slammed me in to a hard surface."

"Remember that one time you left me in the closet for a week?"

"I still remember how I silenced Virgil for a month."

Remus snapped his fingers. "Yeah, Virgil, I remember how many times he gave us hallucinations. Sometimes he'd give us panic attacks for the hell of it!" He laughed.

"He was always quite the hothead."

"That's not even counting his stabs. Not just with a knife."

"Knowing you, that could mean anything."

Remus swooshed his hands in a rainbow-shaped gesture gleefully."Oooooh, whatever you want it to mean!" The joke was lacking and childish, but Remus' delivery was so goofy.

Deceit chuckled, back of his hand pressed daintily to his mouth as always. Remus giggled in short bursts of high-pitched derangement along with him.

Then it dissolved into awkward silence as they pondered their situation, up at ass o' clock in the morning, sprawled over the couch in undignified manners, dim light flickering because they were too depressed to fix it, talking about unreasonable hostile behavior so casually like they were fond memories of family vacations.

"... let's go make breakfast."

"Okay, Caution Ramen."

"I'm sorry?"

"Hazard Spaghetti. Murder Spagurder."

"...what."

"Judgemental Shoelace."

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

------------------

"No! Get away!" The sobbing figure cowered away from the green and yellow-tinted Sides, if you could call them that.

Bad Thoughts put his hands out. "Woah, woah, hey, we won't hurt you! Much."

Deceit slapped Bad Thoughts as the Side, who was slowly fading into a full black and purple from the legs up, put his hands in his hair and screamed louder. "Shut up! Go away! I'm sorry! Please! I hate you! Go away!"

"Well that's a lot of mixed signals." Bad Thoughts muttered. Careful looked a lot different from what he had remembered. He was seeming more tired and grievous. A faint spark of recognition flashed across Careful's eyes when he peeked up at him, but ducked away when Bad Thoughts stretched the arm with his morning star.

Without a word, Deceit knelt down and wrapped his arms around Careful. He flinched, but he stopped sobbing at least. He was still breathing hard when BT decided to join in, planting himself as softly as he knew how to on Caution.

"You're okay," Deceit murmured. "You're alright. You won't hurt anyone. You won't do that."

Caution hiccupped, staring at the ceiling, eyes brimming with angry tears. He hissed though gritted teeth."How--how do you know? You don't understand, I cause so many problems--"

"Yeah, we do. We know that. But that's you." Remus said. "Who cares if you do? Causing problems is what we do around here. You can't blame yourself for doing what you do best."

Caution was still dubious. He was sniffling. Slowly, he put his arms on Deceit's back. "I don't want to make more trouble."

Deceit lowered his head onto his shoulder. "Just come with us. We cause trouble, but whether you want to do that is up to you."

The black was receding, but the purple still lingered a little. All four of Caution's eyes blinked.

Remus pulled away, leaving only his hand on Careful's shoulder. His old friend, who didn't know who he was, who was meeting him for the first time. "Besides, I don't think you meant to cause that breakdown."

Caution finally turned and looked, actually looked at him for the first time since they were children. "You don't?"

"Nope!"

The purple color was down to his knees again. The black was gone.

"But," Caution started, both Sides pulling back to give him space. "But, it was so unnecessary, and--and the whole damn class was watching, and the other sides were freaked out-"

"Yeah, so? It was cool! Don't you think it's some way of letting everyone know that Thomas was upset? Things were getting hairy and you pulled it off perfectly." Remus gave an exaggerated chef's kiss in the air.

"That power is something only you hold, storm cloud." Deceit said. "Like Remus said, it's who you are. It was quite the display."

Caution eyed them suspiciously. "Yeah, well, you guys would think so."

"Don't you see? If you come with us, you can learn to control that! You can choose your own rules, you can choose when you want to have influence over Thomas!" Deceit lowered his voice. "You can protect Thomas by forcing the others to hear how much you try."

Caution didn't make eye contact, finding it difficult when two people stared at once. But he was thinking about it, clearly. The others had been trying to ignore him lately, and no one had to be a genius to figure that out. The rise and fall of his chest grew a little quicker as he realized how unfair it was that he was just trying to be a Side, and Thomas didn't care. The spite and betrayal was evident in his eyes, the same that had plagued Bad Thoughts and Deceit so many times in their childhood.

It was decided.

He looked up with grim determination. "C-call me Fear."

Previous parts here and here

Claustrophobic Remus post here

[sockablock]

I’ve had a small idea for a little while now, so I’m testing the waters with a first chapter! It’s a bit long, so excuse me there, but hopefully y’all enjoy reading! :3

—

It began with a letter that arrived one morning as Essek sat alone in the kitchen.

The courier himself had seemed just as surprised to be delivering a message to the reclusive Shadowhand, but a cursory glance at the carefully-folded envelope and a less-cursory casting of Detect Magic had signaled no foul play. So Essek took the letter, settled back beside the dining table, and floated over a glass of chilled juice for the reading.

His eyes flicked over the return address, and though it did seem familiar, it did not immediately spark recognition. His first real impression of the message was simply that of crisp, neatly-printed handwriting and the faintest whiff of…hmm. Lavender.

The letter began with a standard greeting.

To Shadowhand Essek Thelyss—

I hope you have been keeping well since we spoke. It has been some time, and I admit it is strange for me also as I realize this is likely the first letter I have sent you since our meeting.

He sipped the juice.

You are a busy man, and I would not intrude on your time if my request is unwelcome or unfeasible. But you see, in the time since we have ended the war and sealed away the Chained Oblivion—

Essek nearly spat out his drink.

He managed, in the proceeding moments, to weakly swallow, and shakily set his glass back onto the table. He cleared his throat once or twice. He gently coughed.

He picked up the envelope he had discarded earlier and quickly, the pieces fit together.

The Firmaments. Eastern district. The neighborhood where once, Den Thelyss had provided a house for a ragtag group of outsiders…

He snatched the letter back into the air.

—and semi-accidentally, though certainly also purposefully toppled the Cerberus Assembly.

Essek had to pause and re-read that sentence. It still didn’t sink in until nearly a minute later. He rubbed his temples, and resumed.

As such, it has befallen on I, and by extension the rest of the Mighty Nein to rebuild some of the arcane infrastructure of the Empire. To be more specific, in our meeting with King Dwendal’s court, a lord accused us of trying to cripple the nation by eliminating a powerful institution of magic and Beauregard volunteered that I would be the best candidate to replace it. One comment led to another, and perhaps it was our past efforts in politicking, or our recent defeat of the Maw of Eternal Darkness—

Essek wondered if he had any alcohol.

—but the court ultimately, shockingly, decided that I should be put in charge of creating and overseeing a new arcane academy for the Dwendalian Empire. And so, at the time in which I am writing you this letter, I have been appointed the Headmaster of a new Soltryce Academy, though I certainly will not be keeping that name.

It is with this in mind that I am writing to you now, my friend. For you see, despite the apparent confidence of my friends and my “superiors,” I do not believe I am capable of running a school on my own. Certainly not implementing the necessary infrastructure to have a school of any repute by the next century as well. And though I have my friends, and some resources, and an idea of where to start, the destruction of the Assembly and the Cobalt Soul’s anti-corruption efforts have left our nation in a sorry state regarding reputable mages. So, my dear friend, as we have worked together in the past, I have quite a large favor to ask.

And as Essek’s eyes continued scanning further down the page, the sinking sensation gripping his stomach was not helped by the decanter of plum wine that floated over to his table.

—

Meanwhile, beneath a shining sun on what seemed like the opposite side of the world, Caleb Widogast, the appointed head of a yet-to-be-named-academy was being berated by one of his closest friends.

Beau at least had possessed the decency to shut the tent flap so the army of woodworkers outside would not hear this.

“—suspicious! Caleb, there’s no way it’ll work. And not just because he’s the Shadowhand of the Bright Queen, also because…because…well…everything!”

“I think if he carried an umbrella during the day—”

“Not what I’m talking about,” Beau said. “I’m talking about literally every other problem that asking Essek to teach will cause, good gods.”

Caleb leaned back on the small wooden crate that was currently serving as his favorite chair. The slightly-larger crate he was using for a desk said “Honigblumen Brewery” on it.

“Well, nobody will be teaching for quite some time yet,” he said, “so we will have plenty of chances to work out the kinks.”

Beau shook her head at him, then took a seat. “I’m so far down disbelief city that I’m not even going to talk about the fact that you just said kinks.”

“I meant—”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I know what you meant, and here’s what I mean. Caleb, as much as I know you like Essek, there’s no way any of this is gonna work. First of all, he’s already got a job as the Shadowhand, and I doubt he’d wanna give up a cushy position like that to come work for a nothing-at-all school in the middle of the Empire.”

“Ja, I know, I know, I’ve thought about that—”

“And did you think about the part where he’s the fucking Shadowhand and you’ve asked him to come to the middle of the Dwendalian Empire to teach a goddamn gen-ed course?!”

Caleb was quiet for a moment. And then he said:

“Actually, I was thinking of asking him to take the more advanced levels—”

Beau reached across the ale crate to flick Caleb in the head. “And you don’t see a problem with that, at all? Caleb, for the gods’ sake, use your stupidly big head to consider the fuckin’ political ramifications of that. If the Empire catches wind of this, they’re gonna hate it, war over or not over. And I don’t even mean that in a ‘there’s gonna be shitty racism’ way, which is something else you’ll probably have to deal with later, I meant that in a ‘think about his last job description way.” And speaking of that, I mean, on Essek’s side, really, are you really expecting him to really settle down and help teach after he’s spent a lifetime—a human lifetime—being a military spymaster? Not to mention the fact that he’s a power-hungry war criminal who betrayed his own nation to get ‘arcane secrets’ or whatever. Seriously, dude, there’s no scenario where this goes well for you or him.”

At Caleb’s expression, Beau’s tone eased just slightly and she added, as a peace offering, “Really, dude.”

Caleb sighed. He scratched at his head.

“I…look. I…I think you’re right, but…there are also good possibilities of having him around. He is knowledgeable, he is skilled, I know his magic firsthand, and he has always been trustworthy—”

“Ha!”

“—for us, Beauregard. I think he is one of our best potential candidates, especially as he is only one of three so far. Just…trust me on this one, alright?”

She studied his face intently. The sheerness of the tent walls let in quite a bit of light, giving both of their eyes a faint, sunny sparkle.

With these two, though, it was more of a manic glint.

“What’s this really about?”

“Was?”

Beau leaned closer. “I said, what’s this really about? I don’t think that’s your only motivation. And if I’m gonna trust you, you’ve gotta be straight with me. I know you’re not an idiot, so I believe you when you say you’ve thought about the risks. What’s made them all worth it? What do you really think, and don’t give me that crap about him being a good teacher. You’ve got good teachers. Two advanced ones anyway, and you said yourself yesterday that the rest can be trained. So what’s up? What’s your real game here?”

Caleb floundered only slightly under the intensity of her stare.

“How long have we known each other now? No, fuck that, I pulled you out of the mouth of a forsaken god. Tell me, dickwad. Come on, it’s me.”

And after a moment, Caleb pinched his nose.

“It’s…it’s… it’s partially selfish. And…”

This, Beau understood. She nodded. “And��?”

“And…well, I…was thinking last night, after dinner, about who I want on this project. Aside from you all. And I realized…thinking about everything we have been through, that…for the most part, especially after our…revelations at sea, Essek is one of the people I want around. Largely because, well…”

He gave another sigh.

“Because I want to see what has become of our Xhorhastian friend. More importantly, I want to see if he has…or…could, ah, change.”

“Change,” she said flatly.

“Ja. I…I think I need to seem him change.”

“Because?”

“Because...” Caleb exhaled. “After everything we have been through, what we have seen, after fighting against the Assembly and watching so many mages crumble, I find myself searching for…assurance. Assurance that not every wizard is bad. Assurance that we even deserve this second change. And…if at all possible, what I most would like is to know that anyone, even the most driven and ambitious, the most ruthless, cutthroat, power—as you said, power-hungry—wizard can be shown that there is another way. That…ultimately, all of us can be redeemed.”

He looked back up, and raised an eyebrow. “I want to make this school a force for change. And I want to make it a place where we change, too. I said once before, and I still believe it is so, that Essek and I have a lot of things in common. It is time to see how much we can be changed.”

Beau did not answer for a drawn-out moment, but neither did she look away.

“I think you’re pretty changed, Caleb. That should be a point in your corner already.”

“That’s true,” and this time his smile was a little brighter, “but that is largely due to our group. I think Essek has gotten some of the Mighty Nein treatment, but probably not enough.”

“So…so is he your pet project now, or something?”

“Ach, no, nothing so…no. It is more of a…the thing is, Beauregard, I do consider him a friend. And we got so caught up with the Angel in Irons cult and then the Assembly that, well…it is just, before all that happened, I did like spending time with him.”

“Me too,” she waved a hand, “he had good wine, and when we got him in the hot-tub, he wasn’t that bad. Still don’t know if he’s worth all this. He’s a war criminal—yeah, I know what you and Jester think, but that’s what I think, and Veth agrees. Seriously, you never know, he could be too far gone, and I don’t want him near this school and project if it’ll put you in danger or risk anything.”

“We are no strangers to danger,” Caleb murmured. “And I…would like to think that with enough effort, nobody could be so far gone.”

Beau sighed. She leaned across the crate again, but this time it was to put an arm on Caleb’s shoulder.

“You’re really fucking stubborn, you know that?”

“Ja, so I have been told.”

“Essek has betrayed people before. His people, before.”

“Yes, but…” Caleb shrugged. “He also will probably be betraying his own nation to join this school.”

“Oh, good,” Beau grunted. “So at least he’s had some practice.”

—

By the time Essek had managed to re-arrange his thoughts into something even mildly resembling order, the letter in his hands was so thoroughly crumpled that all its corners were bent.

He attempted to smooth them back out. When this failed to be satisfactory, he put it back on the kitchen table.

A…teaching position at Caleb’s school. Well not Caleb’s school, but a new Empire Academy that Caleb would oversee. And they needed instructors, as well as mages to help build it, and he thought Essek would be a good fit…

Idly, he wondered if Caleb wanted a teleportation network, as many of the finest institutions had. He wondered if this was something he would have to organize.

Apparently, the Mighty Nein had defeated the Chained Oblivion in some obscure corner of the world, without most of civilization even noticing. But Essek remembered the readings that morning, remembered the clamor and panic in the Cathedral, remembered the theurgists in the Conservatory practically tearing themselves apart to understand what was happening. If their claims were true, and this wasn’t an elaborate prank on the Mighty Nein’s end, a large part of Essek vowed he would draw chalk circles for them forever, if they asked.

But a small part of Essek had the needling thought: why didn’t they tell me it was happening? I could have helped them.

He glanced back at the note.

Well, they were asking for help now, weren’t they? And if nothing else had changed, it was the simple fact that Essek would still do his best to help his friends.

There were just some minor complications to be dealt with.

Namely, what to tell the Bright Queen. And his—

He made a face.

—and his mother.

—

A few days later, Essek stood in front of his bathroom mirror.

It was a beautiful piece, made from polished volcanic glass and set into an ornately-twisted frame of dark metal. It was the perfect gift for someone who regularly floated around Rosohna being called the Shadowhand, but as far as mirrors actually went it left some details lacking.

Still, it served Essek well enough, and he’d never really gotten around to replacing it.

He stared into his dim reflection and slid a hand over his chin.

—

Elsewhere, another wizard stared too, but not into any reflective surface.

Veth’s eyes hadn’t refracted light like that for nearly two years, now. But Caleb could still feel the weight of her gaze boring into his skull as she searched for answers.

Eventually, she sat back.

“Alright. How?”

“Yes, I know it’s—was?”

“How?” she repeated, and steepled her fingers. “How are we gonna do it? He’ll need a disguise, right?”

There was a long pause as Caleb processed this. He managed, “You are…not mad?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m happy, but I trust you, Caleb. You have a reason?”

“Er…yes. I quite do.”

“So…alright, then.” There was a pause, then she added, “I am kind of annoyed you already sent the letter without asking, though.”

“Sorry.”

“I feel like I should ground you.”

“That, er…you can, if that makes you feel better.”

Veth genuinely seemed to consider this. Behind them, through the thin tent-walls of the office, they could hear a delighted child running circles around adults. They were, respectively, Luc Brenatto, having the time of his life shooting the Mighty Nein with wooden darts.

They were rounded off, of course. Yeza had seen to that with great care.

“No,” Veth sighed eventually. “No, that probably sets a bad example. I don’t think a professor can ground the Headmaster.”

“Head Professor, do not forget. I trust you the most out of everyone on this project. Not just because you are my friend, but you are qualified. And you really understand our mission.”

His tone of voice suggested that this was a conversation they had had many times. The way Veth’s face colored just slightly suggested she was still having trouble with the ‘qualified’ part.

Nevertheless, years of trained suspicion broke through the treacle-sweet flattery.

“But you didn’t trust me enough to tell me you were planning to ask Essek to come earlier,” she pointed out. “What did you think I was going to do?”

Caleb winced. “No, Veth, I…scheisse. That was…I was being impulsive that night. I…the idea occurred to me and I did not even hesitate to contact him. I…in retrospect, I should have.”

At least, to his relief, Veth nodded in response. “I get that,” she shrugged. “And like I said before, I am on board. You’re lucky I like you so much, Caleb. I don’t…care for Essek, but if this is what you want, I’ll…deal with having him around.”

“I am sorry again,” he said. “And, er…if it helps, you will also be his boss.”

Veth hadn’t been a goblin for years, but her eyes gleamed.

“Please be nice to him,” Caleb added.

“Nice?” Veth scoffed. “He’s not exactly nice.”

“He was nice to us—”

“Not Yeza.”

At the tortured grimace that passed across Caleb’s face, Veth sighed.

“Look, don’t worry, seriously. I was mostly kidding—I’m kidding! I just…you know that I have complicated feelings about Essek. In a…in a sort of way, I understand what he did. And I know where he’s coming from, I do. Lots of us are...well, we were pretty sketchy too. He really reminds me of the things we’ve done. But…he hasn’t shown nearly as much remorse as I’d like. And some of the things he’s done are—” She risked a glance up into Caleb’s impassive expression, “—I don’t like that he still doesn’t seem to care. But…he is a wizard, and I guess he’s our friend. So…if you can keep him from doing anything, I don’t know, very sketchy, then I’m on board. I trust you.”

Caleb’s expression went soft. He nodded.

“Thank you, Veth. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And I do hope that…well, I hope we can stop him from ‘sketchy’ things. In fact, ah…a small part of me is hoping that eventually, he will want to stop doing sketchy things all by himself.”

“Really?” Veth sounded more than skeptical. “How?”

Caleb shrugged. “The same way you and I did, no?”

—

Now Essek stood before the iron wrought gates that led into the expansive manor grounds of his family home. He could see, high above and a bit back, the five towers that made up the domain of the Umavi of Den Thelyss, long empty after all her children had moved on.

And, Essek recalled with a grimace, after his father had most probably, definitely, died.

It was a lonely castle. A feeling he could commiserate with, even in his smaller manor.

He straightened his collar. He knocked twice.

—

“By getting rich as adventurers.”

“By getting friends.”

—

“It is a surprise to see you here,” said Umavi Deirta Thelyss, Denmother of Den Thelyss and also Essek’s actual mother. “You rarely visit outside formal events and holidays.”

She did not add that Essek had totally missed the last two get-togethers, and thus must have been in a charitable mood. The rare—albeit leftover—tea blend that Essek had brought might have tipped the scale.

“I know, Mother.”

“I worry about you, of course.”

“I know, Mother.”

“And I’m certainly proud of what you’ve accomplished thus far.” At this, she took a sip of the Blooming Grove’s best. “I trust you are finding ways to keep yourself busy even during these times of peace?”

“Of course, Mother. Er…actually, it is partially that subject which I wish to address with you.”

His mother lowered her cup.

“Ah. So this is not purely a social call.”

“Er…no.”

She dabbed at the corner of her mouth, but Essek could have sworn she’d just smiled. Or, he backpedaled, at least tactfully smirked.

“Is this about access to the Beacons again, dear? As I always say, I can try to put in a word, but we have never been the den as involved in religious matters.” She paused, and tilted her head at him. “Is this about Consecution?”

“Er…no.”

“Oh. Well, then? Speak your mind.”

Under the table, Essek twisted at the hem of his sleeve.

“I, ah…well, that is…I’ve received a letter, Mother. An offer of…professorship. From…an Academy.”

This seemed to genuinely surprise the Umavi.

“Professorship? But…why?”

“Someone out there believes in my arcane prowess, apparently.” With the first sentence out of the way, Essek managed to sip his tea. Only a true observer would have noticed it falter slightly in its trajectory.

“Well,” said his Mother, trying to meet his gaze, “what a strange request to make of one already so gainfully employed. As the Bright Queen’s master of…let us call them the more obscure matters of state.”

When Essek did not match her eyes, she continued, “What sort of Academy is this, dear? Surely none in the Marble Tomes would write you in this way, and I find difficulty imagining you taking up permanent residence in Asarius. Which must mean…”

Essek sighed. His mother certainly was a true observer.

“Yes, Mother. It is outside the Dynasty.”

“Worse than that, I am sure.”

“Er…”

There was a sweeping of long robes as his mother leaned. She wasn’t wearing her headdress, but could loom without height, her sheer imposing presence doing the work just fine.

“Essek?”

He sighed again.

“Inside the Empire, Mother.” And because they had gotten this far, and he didn’t have much else to lose, he added, “Run by Widogast. Caleb Widogast, if you remember him, as well as a number of his friends, I gather. It is the…replacement institution currently being built to fill the void—”

“That the Assembly left, yes, I assumed.” She settled back, and a shifting of fabric indicated that she had crossed her arms. “And our dearly departed hero Widogast wants you to teach there?”

“And to assist him in establishing some of its curriculum and facilities, yes.” He tactfully ignored the ‘dearly departed’ bit.

“That would certainly be an odd career move for you, Essek. And surely, foreigner or no, he has spent enough time in our country to be aware of the implications of what he is asking.”

“Surely, Mother.”

“And as we all know, he has had training in Dunamancy these last years. I do hope his teacher had impressed upon him how vitally important it is to keep such training and knowledge a secret.”

For the first time since reading the letter, Essek paused.

In all his…well, excitement was not a word ever ascribed to the Shadowhand, but certainly in his anticipation to consider his offer, it had never actually crossed his mind that he might be asked to teach Dunamancy.

A small but very significant part of him riled.

Across the table, his mother drank some more tea. She was watching her son, who to his credit, had mastered the art of freezing his micro-expressions so swiftly that they could not be read. But without his mantle on, sitting in his mother’s tearoom, his hands were fidgeting up a storm across the table.

He probably hadn’t even noticed. She took another sip.

In a matter of seconds, Essek was back. He shook his head, and reached for a dry cookie.

“I think he is aware of the gravity of the situation. And I trust him to have already, ah…weighed the pros and cons.”

“And have you?” asked Deirta Thelyss, knowing the answer.

Essek bit down.

“I believe I have.”

—

“So…that’s it? We just wait for an answer, now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll say yes?”

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

“How’s he supposed to tell you?” This one was Jester, leaning across a stack of milk crates. “He doesn’t have Sending, I’m pretty sure.”

There was a pause in the air as the Mighty Nein watched Caleb consider, and realize this.

“Oh,” he said eventually. “I, er…I had assumed he did.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Beau said. “How did you think he was going to answer back? You didn’t think Xhorhas had a postal service to Felderwin, did you?”

“I, ah, admit that—”

“Maybe you should check our mailbox in Rosohna,” said Fjord kindly. “He probably just sent it to the Xhorhouse, or something.”

Caleb faltered, and scratched the back of his head. “…scheisse. You don’t think he has been waiting all this time to answer already, has he? I had not even considered—”

“I would not worry about that.”

All of them turned as a voice outside the door drifted in through the thin walls of the tent.

Then the voice added:

“How do I…oh, there is a latch—”

But he did not manage to finish the assessment before Jester ran over, threw the flap open, and tackled Essek bodily in a hug.

—

“In that case, there is only one last thing to say.” The Umavi of Den Thelyss sat back in her seat. A thin trail of steam curled up from her cup.

“I forbid you from going.”

“Thank—you what?”

She steepled her fingers. “I say ‘no,’ Essek. I will not let you chase this Empire wizard across the continent to teach at his school.”

“I…but…that is not…Mother, why?”

The swiftness of his outburst answered the question for both of them.

She studied his gaze.

“Essek, you have a purpose here. You have a bright future, and a reputation, and glowing prospects and I will not let you squander that to go off spilling our nation’s secrets.”

Essek managed to bite his tongue just in time. His mother would not have liked his instinctual answer.

Instead, he choked out the words, “I’ll quit, then. I’ll defect. I want to do this. More than I have ever wanted anything else in my life.”

Later, he would wonder why he said that. Even later, later, he would wonder if that were true.

The oldest and nearly-youngest souls of Den Thelyss stared at each other across the tea table. Their drinks cooled, and somewhere high above, the sun began to rise over the city of Rosohna.

But down here, beneath the blanket of perpetual stars, the only light was from the low, flickering lamps along the wall.

“I would do anything,” one said.

“…is that so?” said the other.

—

He was released after the impact knocked his parasol aside and his skin very quickly, visibly, began to redden. They immediately ushered him into the tent, shouting and laughing and clapping him on the back all the way, though he noticed that despite the friendly reception from Jester, Caduceus, Fjord, and even Yasha, Veth seemed somewhat frozen in her smile, and Beau even less warm.

That was…probably to be expected, actually. He wondered if this might present an issue and was about to open his mouth, say something, until he noticed a figure striding across the tent floor, side-stepping a stack of crates, and taking him by the hand.

Essek met his eyes. It had been some time, since he saw those eyes. Then he blinked.

“By the light, Caleb, you have grown a beard.”

There was a pause, and then Caleb laughed, and that was new too. Essek always forgot how quickly humans could change.

“I had meant to shave it before you arrived,” Caleb admitted. “It is, ah, a product of sleepless nights overseeing the construction of a new school.”

“It’s terrible,” Jester said. “It makes you look old.”

“I can fix this now if needed,” said a voice, followed by the sound of an unsheathing sword.

“Er…maybe…later, bitte?”

And Essek couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “I nearly forgot how boisterous all of you are, all the time. I have…” He turned, faced the Mighty Nein. “My life has not been nearly as interesting without you in it.”

“Well then, welcome back,” Caduceus gave a smile.

And even Veth, despite their…history, stepped forward.

“I said it once before, didn’t I? Welcome to the Mighty Nein, Essek.”

She even stuck out a hand for him to shake.

—

“I want you to report back everything to me. And when the time comes, when your Headmaster is summoned to the castle, I want you to go with him.”

“But…Mother, why?”

Her voice was nothing but gentle as she addressed her son.

“It is well-known that King Bertrand Dwendal has no heirs. And rules over quite a…combative court, with an iron fist.”

She leaned in even closer.

“What would happen to the Empire, do you think, if he was removed from that picture?”

—

And somewhere else, on what felt like the opposite side of the world, Caleb put an arm around Essek’s shoulder, and grinned.

“It is good to see you again, my friend.”

Essek’s lip twitched into what could approximately be called a smile.

“Good to see you as well,” he said.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

come on in, folks, i got some kind of goof ass Beetlejuice/Evil Dead crossover for you to enjoy.

He’s eighteen, and it’s Saturday, which means that he and Lydia are wandering around Manhattan, looking for trouble to get into. Lydia, eleven and ever his little shadow, is standing next to him, as they take a moment, on the busy New York street corner, to sip their boba and think about their next move. They were meant to be watching some horror movie that had looked alright from the previews, but ended up being so stupid, it wasn’t even fun, and the Deetz siblings had found themselves walking out, one hour poorer but a bucket of overly butter saturated movie popcorn richer. “I still can’t believe how bad that was,” Lydia says, again, huffing, because they’d actually paid money to see that stinker, instead of sneaking in, which is their usual habit. “Ya get one big name attached an’ everyone apparently stops givin’ a shit. Musta figured th’ droolin’ masses would eat it up,” he agrees, and he slurps up the last of his tapioca balls, and then proceeds to eat the plastic straw. “Is it too much to ask that characters actually be interesting, and, I don’t know, behave like normal human people?” Lyds bitches, as BJ takes a bite out of his cup, too. She glances up at him, dryly. “I mean, I guess maybe my standards for normality are low, but still.”

He grins at her. “Whatever could you possibly mean, sister dearest?” he puts on a posh, almost transatlantic accent, and she rolls her eyes, and sucks boba up in her straw, then shoots the pearls at him like a pea shooter. He snorts and laughs.

It’s a good day, despite the letdown at the movies. It’s nearly that time of year, just about the start of his seasonal depression, as the sun becomes shy and things go cold and gray. Still, there’s some time left with the sunshine, so he’s drinking it up, savoring it, and it feels good, to stand here with Lyds, and talk about nothing. “Alright, come on, let’s second act it,” he grins, and she perks up. “I think Wicked’s playing!” “Wicked’s always playin’.” “Well, I’m not sitting through Hamilton, it’s a Saturday. I’m not learning if I don’t have to.” “Totally fuckin’ fair. Music Man, maybe?” “Hugh Jackman’s weirdly brick shaped head freaks me out.” “There’s gotta be a show we can sneak into,” BJ frowns, scratching at the scruff of his chin, and then he catches a scent he’s never smelled before, as Lydia puzzles through their remaining options. It’s like death, sort of, but not. Like death warmed over, or death, refried. He takes his sister’s hand, and leads her away from the street corner, following the smell, nose in the air, pupils blown wide, and Lydia laughs. “Great, time to go poke a dead thing. That’s more fun than The Last Four Years, at least.” She’s seen him go like this before, and thinks she knows what to expect.

Neither of them know how to react when they follow the scent down an alleyway and see the violent fight happening in front of them.

Parked at the far end of the alleyway is a car, some 70’s make that he doesn’t know enough about such things to name, and between it, and the Deetz siblings, is an one handed man absolutely going feral on a group of three refried dead smelling zombie… things. “Deadly-vu,” he hears Lydia whisper, as they watch the man perform a scissor kick that sends a zombie head flying. It bounces like a basketball against the brick wall that makes the alleyway, rolls, and lands at the Deetz sibling’s feet. There’s a beat, as they stare at it, and it stares back, before the head on the ground opens its mouth and speaks. “DEMON!” it shrieks, and then it makes the life ending choice to roll at Lydia, teeth bared, and his boot is going through it, crushing through the skull like an overly juicy bug under his heel. He takes a second to wipe the gore from his sole onto the pavement. “Maybe Wicked could be good,” he turns and says to Lydia, who responds by ducking behind him, because the body the head formerly belonged to seems to be stumbling at them, clutching something in it’s boiled and infected and puss covered arms, and it thrusts the thing at BJ, before falling down and collapsing into dust. It’s a book. Some kind of creepy old demon book, from the look of it. He wrinkles his nose in vague disgust, and then takes a sniff. If the zombie things are refried death, this thing is a whole fucking Mexican food buffet of it, and it makes his head spin in a way he’s never felt before. He kind of likes it. He’s about to give the cursed reading material a tentative lick before a boom rings out from in front of them- the one handed man has pulled a sawed off shotgun off his back, and dispatched another corpse thing. There’s one left, and it’s circling the man, who by this point is so blood covered, he looks like he was tricked into being prom queen, or something.

“Is it just me, or do you freaks just keep gettin’ uglier?” the man quips, and the corpse lunges, a stumbling move which earns it the butt of the shotgun to the jaw, which goes flying. The zombie is shot through the gut, and drops, but is a twitching, squirming mess. BJ’s seen enough horror movies to know that thing is getting back up. The stranger has apparently, too. He takes a moment to reload the shotgun, then double taps, blowing clean through the thing’s skull. He blows at the slightly smoking barrels of his sawed off, twirls it, and holsters it, re-slipping it onto his back. It’s a pretty cool move, actually, and the siblings watch in rapt attention. It takes the three remaining people (well, two people, one demon,) in the alley a moment to actually focus on each other, and there’s silence, before the stranger speaks. “Uh,” says the man, covered in blood, and Lydia peaks out from behind BJ, and stares at him, with big eyes. “Kids,” he hears the man mutter. “Great, just what I need, a coupla kids, gettin’ in my way.. Hey, kiddies,” he says, louder, with a smile, which might be really charming when he’s not soaked in rot and blood, but the effect at the moment is not as sincere and friendly as he clearly thinks it is. “Looks like you two little heroes managed to wrangle my book away from those deadites. You wanna do your pal Ash a favor, and hand it over?” He makes a “come here” motion with his stump arm, and then seems to realize that’s not so appealing, because he tucks that appendage behind his back, worried, suddenly, about scaring them. As if a man with a missing hand is the weirdest thing they've seen in the last five minutes.

“What the fuck,” Lydia says, and BJ can’t help but agree with that sentiment. Also, he feels a vague sense of sudden responsibility for this weird old tome. It doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing a human should have. Maybe those zombies… deadites? Maybe they were trying to get back what was stolen from them. Though he’s not charitable enough to assume that they’re the good guys in this feud. The stranger, Ash, takes a careful step forward. “It’s alright,” he says, like he’s talking to a wild animal he’s trying to tame, and not a teen and preteen, respectively. “I’m not gonna hurtcha. Just need to get my book back.”

A sudden screeching wind roars down the alleyway, and both living humans react, ducking, as it bellows and swirls around them, kicking up dust and trash and chunks of leftover deadite. “Demon! Aid us!” BJ feels a presence in front of his face, something he can’t see, but a great, ancient something, reaching out to him, demanding, begging, pleading, for him to assist in whatever macabre goal it wants to meet. He responds by sticking his unglamoured tongue out at it. “Ewww, gross. No.”

The thing shrieks again, and makes a beeline for Lydia, which is just about the stupidest thing it could have done, because he drops his glamour fully and snarls, gives the ancient being a psychic push back, and he sends the thing that cannot be seen flying, out of the shady darkness of this alleyway, past what he assumes to be Ash’s car, and out onto the city street, into the sun. It shrieks and moans and curses him. He flips it off, as it dissipates. The vibe in the air, however, tells him it’s not “dead,” just gone.

Ash straightens up and looks at him. BJ’s already slipped his human disguise back on, so the effect is that Ash has just seen what seems to be a slightly too pale and definitely overweight human teen somehow push back an ancient evil, totally unaffected. Now it’s his turn to let out a confused, “What the fuck?”

“Come on, BJ!” Lydia grabs her big brother’s arm and pulls him away, running from the gore and the confused zombie slayer. “Wait, kids-!” Ash rounds the corner, after them, but the Deetz siblings are already gone, disappeared into thin air, flash stepping the span of blocks in the blink of an eye, and they don’t stop until Lydia, sick from the teleportation, gives his hand a squeeze. They appear on a rooftop, confusing and traumatizing some pigeons that had been roosting.

“Wait, why did we run?’ BJ asks, and Lydia looks at him like he’s a moron. “Because that guy was clearly a monster hunter! And kind of really good at it!” she says. He mulls that over, and smiles. “Worried for your big bro?” he bats his eyelashes at her, and she responds by slugging him in the gut, which he reacts the barest amount to. “Last thing I want is to explain to mom and dad how you ended up with a shotgun blast through your skull,” she says, and crosses her arms, before leaning forward, to study the book he’s still holding. “So. What is that?” He grins. “Wanna open it an’ find out?” Read the rest of the first chapter here!

[aperfecttimeforscreaming]

10 reasons why a poorly adjusted adult Dib is a Valid headcanon

1. Dib is/was a neglected child

Dib doesn’t have a parent that he can lean on and go talk to for advice, his father is frequently out of the picture and doesn’t give a shit about the thing that Dib cares about. Dib is actively encouraged by his neglectful father to give up on it, actually. I believe this would make Dibs stubborn streak really bitter and spiteful. Most people reading this are LGBTQ+, I assume I don’t need to explain how a fucked up an isolated upbringing, or being unable to be yourself around a parent, hurts you in the long run. 

2. Dib is bullied for the things he is passionate about, and being bullied heavily colours your perception of other people 

The world of Invader Zim is not kind, Dib is frequently harassed by his classmates/superiors/family for his outbursts/lectures/overall investigator shtick. 

Now you might say “but, Screaming, wouldn’t Dib learn to tone it down as he got older?” and YEAH. Probably! But does that mean that he would just forgive all the people that made his life horrible before that point? Or who socially ostracized him for the things he’d done in the past? No. No one is under any  obligation to forgive anyone who hurt them, and I think Dib wouldn’t even try to forgive someone he saw as intellectually inferior 

3. Dib is a selfish rich kid

Dib is selfish. He wants to be the protector of earth- but he doesn’t do it for earths sake. He’s clearly doing it as a cry for attention/ a reason to eventually be vindicated for being spit on by his own kind.  I don’t think he would have genuine empathy for other people. If he did have it, it’d have to be something he had to work really hard at. However, I don’t see Dib putting much effort into understanding other humans. 

Dib is rich (probably). This one being more of a headcanon- in the series Dib wants for no material object, he wastes technology on his explorations like it’s something he can just pick up from the dollar store, his father is a world renowned scientist with access to crazy technology and the ears of world leaders. I think he’d feel entitled to one or two things 

4. Gaz is not her brothers keeper. 

She’s not responsible for his mental health, she’s not responsible for keeping him in line and “normal”. Most of the time she doesn’t want a damn thing to do with him. If we’re going by the standards of the IZ tv show, the only times that Gaz interfered with Dibs paranormal investigations were when Professor M. Was also involved. Either she wanted to see her dad and Dibs antics were getting in the way (forcing her to intervene), or she was directly ordered by their dad to keep Dib out of trouble.  Sure, you could argue that she would beat the shit out of Dib for doing something she didn’t like- but that wouldn’t “fix” the mind of a very stubborn person. It might even make them dig their heels in even deeper out of spite and bitterness as a “fuck you I’m right you’re wrong” 

Furthermore, as Gaz gets older she’s going to have her own life to worry about and might stop tolerating the way Prof. M uses her as a middle man to deal with his “poor insane son”. She’s under no obligation to fix any of the phases Dibs life might go through. If Dib was unpleasant enough, and Gaz had the resources to leave, I think she might just bail on him. 

5. Dib is arrogant 

He's gonna do what he thinks is the best course of action unless you physically stop him from doing so. He comes from a place of thinking that he is right, the opinion of anyone else is secondary. Dib will do “what needs to be done” for “the greater good”. Whatever he thinks that “good” is. He wants to play the white knight at any cost. He cannot be in the wrong, or that bravado towards being righteous in the end crumbles. I think Dib would subscribe to a “the ends justify the means” mentality

6. Dib would harm another person to get what he wanted

In a room with a moose, Dib debates letting himself die just to take his entire class down with him. In the unaired episode “return of Keef”, he co-operates with Zim in an attempt to make Keef explode, because he thinks Keef is irritating. Dib used Gaz to test out an ancient spell book, cursed Gaz to only taste pork, and then only helped fix the problem when threatened with physical violence. This could be the kind of thinking that gets worse over time as more people mock his attempts to save and protect them. Why care about people that don’t even give a shit if they live or die?  Dib is a smart fringe personality in his world, and the otherness that he feels for that could lead to a sociopathic way of thinking if things went bad enough 

7. Dib does not care about other peoples personal space

Dib hides cameras in Zims house. Dib ran right past the front gate at NASA Place, Dib chased a baby big foot up a radio tower. Dib bullied Zim physically on the playground using his known weaknesses against him. Dib would do anything to get the evidence he needed to prove what he wanted to prove, and that would get him in trouble. Repeatedly

8. Antisocial tendencies (like spending countless hours fused to a chair, or most of your young adult life spent hunched over a desk at a computer screen) make it difficult to smoothly socially integrate, and the world of Invader Zim is fuckin' mean

You know the world he comes from is mean. However, assuming Dib did find community somewhere, who’s to say they would agree with him? Or like him? Maybe one of them would cause problems for him that were bad enough he’d have to leave. I’ve always found that the IZ portrayal of earth to be like this funny cynical parody of a dystopian police state america. If we’re going by “what can go wrong will go wrong”, Dibs social integration wouldn’t get easier without a bunch of effort on Dibs part. Maybe Dib would have to pretend to be somebody unlike himself just to get by in his day to day adult life. If we see Dibs country of residence as a police state, the world Dib grows up in would encroach heavily on his personal privacy, and that might make him even stranger via paranoia 

9. Sadistic tendencies towards anything paranormal (obsessed with the act of dominating and exposing the unknown)

Dib is a fucking jerk to Zim (rightfully so), but Dib is a dick to pretty much every supernatural thing he comes across. Either out of an excess of enthusiasm, or using a supernatural being to further his own plans, or from an invasion of privacy, or being an irritant to the entity he’s dealing with. He LIKES to be mean to them.  He  wishes to have mastery over knowing how they work. (maybe it’s more fair to say Dib is a voyeur?)  

This is more headcanon than anything, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say he might also want to control the paranormal for his own purposes. If Dib could say- catch a ghost in a jar so he could show it to everyone, he’d do it. If he could trick a werewolf into transforming on stage in front of a large audience? He’d do that.

10. Dib is created to be Zims equal

Dib is as “evil” as Zim is and vice versa. Neither of them is good, or pure, or morally justified. It’s a nice little grey dynamic. Both characters think they’re entirely in the right when they act. That they often aren’t in the right is fun because then you get to write/draw/ think about how they’d react to the consequences. Dib could still totally be a hero in his own mind, despite setting an apartment block on fire to flush out a coven of litches.

The reverse of this is also true, Zim can do nice things, and occasionally be good as Dib can be good. I figure the Zim/Dib dynamic changes for everyones interpretations at least somewhat. Having Zims terrible actions rub off on Dib as their battles escalate is a really fun way to go about exploring their relationship 

11. I like the it

There is no right or wrong way to enjoy a cartoon character! Live to make yourself happy in fandom! If you ever thought you needed permission to create rancid content, I’m sorry you felt pressured not to do it. 

You want to make a serial killer Dib?? You want to make a basement dwelling depressed zit covered Dib?? You want to make a Dib who struggles with his trauma through substance abuse?? Go HAM!!