#as would the bitter feelings from everyone who knows this power exists but can’t access it bc they’re like. a farmer

[nellasbookplanet]

In the wake of FCG' fate I've been thinking about death in ttrpgs, and how it kind of exists on three levels:

There’s the gameplay level, where it only makes sense for a combat-heavy, pc-based game to have a tool for resurrection because the characters are going to die a lot and players get attached to them and their plotlines.

Then there’s the narrative level, where you sort of need permanent death on occasion so as not to lose all tension and realism. On this level, sometimes the player will let their character remain dead because they find it more interesting despite there being options of resurrection, or maybe the dice simply won’t allow the resurrection to succeed.

Then, of course, there’s the in-universe level, which is the one that really twists my mind. This is a world where actual resurrection of the actual dead is entirely obtainable, often without any ill effects (I mean, they'll be traumatized, but unless you ask a necromancer to do the resurrection they won’t come back as a zombie or vampire or otherwise wrong). It’s so normal that many adventurers will have gone through it multiple times. Like, imagine actually living in a world where all that keeps you from getting a missing loved one back is the funds to buy a diamond and hire a cleric. As viewers we felt that of course Pike should bring Laudna, a complete stranger, back when asked, but how often does she get this question? How many parents have come and begged her to return their child to them? How many lovers lost but still within reach? When and how does she decide who she saves and who she doesn’t?

From this perspective, I feel like every other adventurer should have the motive/backstory of 'I lost a loved one and am working to obtain the level of power/wealth to get them back'. But of course this is a game, and resurrection is just a game mechanic meant to be practically useful.

Anyway. A story-based actual play kind of has to find a way to balance these three levels. From a narrative perspective letting FCG remain dead makes sense, respects their sacrifice, and ends their arc on a highlight. From a gameplay level it is possible to bring them back but a lot more complicated than a simple revivify. But on an in-universe level, when do you decide if you should let someone remain dead or not? Is the party selfish if they don’t choose to pursue his resurrection the way they did for Laudna? Do they even know, as characters, that it’s technically possible to save someone who's been blown to smithereens? Back in campaign 2, the moment the m9 gained access to higher level resurrection they went to get Molly back (and only failed because his body had been taken back by Lucien). At the end of c1, half the party were in denial about Vax and still looking for ways to save him, because they had always been able to before (and had the game continued longer it wouldn’t have surprised me had they found a way). Deanna was brought back decades after her death (and was kind of fucked up because of it). Bringing someone back could be saving them, showing them just how loved and appreciated they are. Or it could be saving you, forcing someone back from rest and peace into a world that's kept moving without them because you can’t handle the guilt of knowing you let them stay gone when you didn’t have to. How do you know? How would you ever know?

[k-s-morgan]

What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D 

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Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.  

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.      

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.  

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.  

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

*** 

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.  

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

*** 

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.  

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.                              

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.  

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.  

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.  

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.  

[shirtlesssammy]

15x19: Inherit the Earth

We’re down to the end, and guys, I’m not ready. :(

Then:

THEY’RE IN LOVE

Now:

The world is empty.

Sam and Jack wander the empty streets. Dean pulls up in the Impala (still wearing his jacket with Cas’s bloody handprint. BRB CRYING.) Everyone’s gone. Dean tells the others that it’s Chuck that did this. Jack asks the IMPORTANT question: “Where’s Cas?” Dean looks down and hesitates, but eventually says, “He saved me.” He tells them the cliff’s notes version of what happened while shoving down A MILLION feelings of regret and loss and I want to hug him. “Cas is gone,” he finishes, and hahahahahahahahah NOPE. Sam, in disbelief, calls his side-ship Jody. No answer. 

They head to an empty sports bar (AND WHAT I WOULD DO TO GO TO A BAR WITH FRIES AND TVs AND BEER RIGHT NOW). Jack stays outside and prays to Cas. He gets nothing and starts walking. All the flowers start to wilt as he passes them. WHAT IS HAPPENING? 

Sam blames himself and is done. They decide to meet with Chuck.

They tell him that they’ll play his little game. They’ll kill each other. Dean demands that they put everything back to normal first, though. “The people, the birds, Cas.” All of it. (WEEPING.)

Dean, DEAN, Cas doesn’t want to be in a world where you don’t exist. 

Yeah, Chuck doesn’t care. He’s really into the brothers' suffering alone story. “That’s deep, that’s sophisticated, that’s a page turner.” Oh, Chuck, you dumb bastard. 

Cut to the bunker where they’re all suffering on their own. Jack wallows in his room. Sam wanders the halls, and Dean lays passed out on a bottle of liquor in the library. Sam finds Dean in the library, and Jack soon joins them to tell them that he’s sensing another presence in the world. 

They head to a gas station. Dean heads for the bathroom, and hears a whimpering. IT’S A DOG. And Dean’s so happy to have found him. He names the dog Miracle. 

Dean brings the dog out to show Sam. He tells him that Miracle is coming home with them. I AM DYING. Sam is shocked. Dean tells him not to worry because he’ll only let him ride shotgun if Sam is cool with it. Lol. 

Of course, all good things must end. And Miracle dusts like everything else in existence. Dean looks around and sees Chuck giving him a smarmy salute. F U C K  O F F,  C H U C K. Dean doesn’t even like dogs, so there. (The patented Robert Singer ZOOM tells me that Dean does indeed care about dogs.) 

(Sidenote: The dog is Cas, right? Dean’s beyond happy to see it. And is ready to let it sit shotgun, but only if Sam’s okay with it. And he’s REALLY upset that they can’t “save a dog”. Just thinking thoughts.) 

They head to a church. 

Once they’re in the church of very dangerously burning candles, they’re greeted by Michael. 

Michael tells them that he’s been chilling here to avoid Chuck’s notice. Adam is gone. (RIP Winchester brother that never got a chance.) Michael monologs a bit about humans and stuff. Dean recognizes a little soldier when he sees one. Michael wants to help though. 

Back at the bunker, Sam shows him Death’s book on God. Michael tries opening the book with no luck. (Sidenote: The DRAMA of the lights being lower is killing me.) 

*Dean is In Love Alert*

The brothers take a moment alone in the dark kitchen. 

Dean gets a call. 

Dean takes the call and because he’s a precious bean that actually believes what he’s hearing. Cas is at the bunker. He’s outside. He’s hurt. 

Dean takes off like a rocket AND I’M DYING. BBY BOY. NO. 

It’s not Cas. It’s Lucifer. 

UGH. 

(DOUBLE UGH.)

(INFINITY UGH.)

Yeah, Lucifer totally sees what’s between Dean and Cas and gains access to the bunker because of that. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool. 

He tells the brothers that the Empty kicked him out to finish Chuck. He brought a reaper to prove to the brothers that he’s good people (NOT.) 

Betty is bound and gagged. (Because WHY NOT DO THAT TO A WOMAN, Buckleming.) Lucifer then kills her. (Because WHY NOT DO THAT TO A WOMAN, Buckleming.) 

Betty is the new Death! 

(Sorrynotsorry for the lack of pictures. I think we all know why.) 

She asks for the book. If they give it to her, she can read it. 

They set her up in the dungeon reading room, and she doesn’t need helpers. 

Meanwhile, Lucifer is playing cards and there’s ZERO interaction with Jack and him. AND I AM LIVING. Like, it’s 100% clear that Jack isn’t his son and he does not see him as a father. Jack’s father is dead. AND I AM LIVING. (But also sad because Cas is dead.) 

Lucifer does interact with Michael though. Michael does not trust his brother.

Betty pops up with the book and the end of God. Lucifer ashes her with a snap of his fingers. 

(HOW?!>!>?)

Wherps, he grabs the book from her and reveals his hand. He’s working with Chuck.   

Lucifer and MIchael battle it out. Jack watches. Lucifer tries to convince Jack to join the losing team.

Michael stabs Lucifer with an archangel blade. Mercifully, there are no haughty speeches or further peacocking between these two. Lucifer sparks out, gone at last. GOOD RIDDANCE.

Later, Dean has a heart to heart with Michael in the kitchen. Michael’s reeling that Chuck brought Lucifer back from the dead instead of seeking him out. But he’s definitely NOT BITTER, NOPE. 

Dean reveals that Chuck’s book is open and full of mysterious Enochian symbols. Sam’s going to translate those, and figure out how Chuck dies, so they can start knocking down some dominoes!

In the library later, Sam reveals that he’s uncovered a spell to stop Chuck. (Jack was researching nephilim on the computer! Jack bby) When complete, the spell will unleash an ���unstoppable force” against Chuck. They head out to a special location, light the spell, and it sends three bright beams of power into the sky.

But the spell explodes. They look up to find Chuck standing there. Chuck...chucks the Winchesters and Jack away. He thanks Michael for tipping him off. “It’s always been my destiny to serve you,” Michael tells him. But that’s not enough for Chuck to forgive him for siding with the Winchesters even once. Chuck fractures Michael into light. The last archangel bites the dust.

He turns his attention to the Winchesters. It’s time to finish them. He’s canceling the show. At the last minute, he decides it’ll be more fun to beat them to death instead of snapping them out of existence. It’s……..YIKES PRETTY BRUTAL TO WATCH. “Just stay down,” he counsels them - practically begs them. But they won’t stop. Broken and bleeding, they hold each other up against him.

Sam laughs at Chuck’s confusion. “You lose,” he tells him. Behind Chuck, the camera pans to Jack. 

Chuck tries to snap Jack dead but his snapper isn’t working.

Jack lays his hands on Chuck and golden power streams from Chuck into Jack. Jack snaps his fingers once, and the Winchesters are healed. As they say in the industry...suck it, Chuck. 

Sam drops Death’s book in front of Chuck, but the pages are blank. Only Death can even SEE anything in the book (making the whole “can’t open book covers” thing into nothing but a drama llama move). The Winchesters came up with a plan B and spout this in a quick exposition dump.

Michael was jealous of Lucifer being “chosen” by Chuck

They made up the story of a spell, so Michael would tell Chuck

Jack’s “bomb” quest turned him into a power vacuum - thus the dying plants

When Michael and Lucifer fought in the bunker, the power exchange charged Jack back to full nephilim strength

Chuck killing Michael and beating on the Winchesters allowed Jack to absorb god-power

“This is why you’re my favorites,” Chuck gasps. He doesn’t know what happens next, but he’s ready to die “at the hands of Sam Winchester. Of Dean Winchester, the ultimate killer.”

And. Babies. Sweeties. I know that there are lots of people who have problems with this episode but THIS! THIS. This next line makes it all worth it. Because Dean tells him, “See, that’s not who I am. That’s not who we are.” He took how Castiel sees him and he planted that damn seed in his own heart and watered it even in the depths of despair and now it’s so mighty a force that he just walks away from their lifelong tormentor. GUYS. I LOVE IT. I’m so emotional right now.

Jack confirms that Chuck won’t get his powers back. “It’s not his power anymore.” And AGAIN I am emotional thinking about fanfiction and fanart and giving this show to us when it’s all done. Ahem. Anyway. Chuck’s gonna grow old and die and be forgotten like every single human. (Ooookay that got a little dark, but I’ll allow it. This is a “to the pain” speech, after all.)

Chuck begs for them not to leave him, reduced to sniveling panic in the Impala’s dust cloud.

The Winchesters head back to a small, empty town. Jack closes his eyes in the sunshine as “Get Together” by the Youngbloods croons across the scenes. People return to the world and it’s gentle and beautiful - everyone returning to their day-to-day. “Come on people now, smile on your brother!” the song implores. 

Love is but a song to sing Fear's the way we die You can make the mountains ring Or make the angels cry Though the bird is on the wing And you may not know why

Come on people now Smile on your brother Everybody get together Try to love one another Right now

And look. I know this is just a song, and this is just a show. But this is my hope for this show and these characters - steeped in darkness for so long. And this is my hope for our actual real world too. It’s hard for me to separate the two so YES I’M CRYING AS I TYPE THIS. May this song lead us into the next episode and destroy me in a fountain of hopeful light.

Erm. anyway. Miracle the dog runs into the scene! It IS a damn miracle! Dean and Sam are so proud of Jack! Jack confirms that Amara is with him and they’re in harmony. I’m so happy that Amara got a happy peaceful forever after with her nougat nephilim grand-nephew. Dean assumes that Jack’s coming back to the bunker with them. He’s top dog, “he can do whatever he wants now.” (And readers, I like that Dean says whatever “he wants” and not whatever the Winchesters want. I think it shows personal growth!)

Jack declines. He’s already home - he’s everywhere and everything. “I’ll be in every drop of falling rain. In every speck of dust that the wind blows. And in the sand, the rocks, and the sea.” Jack doesn’t want to lead people, or be prayed or sacrificed to. He wants to let them discover the truth in their own hearts, in their own time. “Chuck put himself in the story. That was his mistake. But I learned from you and my mother and Castiel that when people have to be their best - they can be. And that’s what to believe in.” I have to say, I was fervently against Jack-as-God until it happened. But just like everything to do with Jack, once it happens I just go...okay, cool. I’m on board!

In the bunker, Dean and Sam drink beer and comment on the quiet. “To everyone that we lost along the way,” Dean toasts. Sam realizes that they can write their own story now. “Just us,” he says (and it sounds like a bleak echo in the empty bunker). Behind them, the table has SW, DW, MW, Jack, and Castiel engraved and...MY HEART.

The Winchesters leave to go find out what freedom feels like and we get a montage of past scenes from the show, and characters we loved or loved to hate. Jackson Browne’s “Running on Empty” plays us off in sweet, mournful nostalgia.

The Winchesters drive into a sepia-tinged world. This episode is like my Thanksgiving plate mid-meal - all mashed together for faster plot consumption. But on a rewatch, there’s a lot to like too! It’s a goodbye to one story...

And we leave nostalgia behind. It’s time for them to figure out their own story and I AM SO EXCITED to see what happens next! (Lays some nougat candy bars on my altar for Andrew Dabb for one last vigil.)

WHERE’S THE QUOTES?

Where’s Cas?

Who’ve thought finding a dog would feel like a miracle? C’mon, Miracle!

What’s an ending?

Eternal suffering sounds good on paper, but as a viewing experience it’s just kinda...meh

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[whereisten]

ghouls just wanna have fun (A Creature Feature Story)

A Taeil fic that’s part of our Halloween Series! 

Summary: After your date ends up being a dud, you stumbled upon an unusual movie theater and its most appealing visitor, Moon Taeil. 

Pairing: Ghost! Taeil x female reader

Genre: romance, angst, pinch of smut, drama, fantasy, horror

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: gore mention, death mention, smut: masturbation mention

(A/N: Hi! Special shoutout to the Creature Feature readers. I love you...It’s almost one year to the day that I posted Part 1 (I know: where the hell is the rest of it?). Rest assured, the series will continue in November. This Halloween series has gotten me out of my funk. I hope you enjoy this story. And to newcomers, welcome! This story can be read alone, if you'd like, but I think you’d enjoy this more if you read my Creature Feature updates! Anyways: SHOUTOUT TO MY BEST FRIEND AND PARTNER IN CRIME/WRITING KRYS. SHE CREATED ANOTHER SPECTACULAR MOODBOARD FOR ME. SHE’S MADE SEVERAL FOR ME. AND I AM SO SPOILED. HER BRILLIANT BRAIN AND VISION DESERVE ALL OF THE LOVE. SEND IT HER WAY. We hope you enjoy this installment and our upcoming posts! Thank you for all of the love in our stories so far!

___

“Jaebum, I’m not going. Let me off here,” you demanded.

Well, tonight was just fantastic. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Your date that your friends set you up with ended up being a bust. He wanted to take you to a house party so he can get high and you could be his side piece for the night. Your friends were all in committed relationships and they thought you were bummed because you felt single and bitter.

No, you were just bummed at the fact that your friends had blown you off too many times for their significant others. That was the actual problem.

But they were doing better with you, you had to admit. They spent more time with you as their honeymoon stages with their significant others had finally dwindled. The set-up was supposed to be for fun.

They even thought that this date could open doors for you.

Doors to what? Well, it ended up being to the stench of weed in the back of Jaebum’s old Sonata.

Jaebum’s car, which included his two stoner friends Jinyoung and Yugyeom, came to a halt at a red light near a plaza.

“You want to leave, y/n? Then here’s your stop,” Jaebum said.

You raised your eyebrows. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Jaebum shrugged. “Take it or leave it. I got places to go.” His friends muttered over how uncool you were. The least this jerk could’ve done was take you back home.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Go to hell.”

The car sped off as you stood near the plaza entrance. It was getting colder as midnight approached. So you decided to wait outside of an abandoned Spirit Halloween store so your Uber could pick you up from there. You walked towards the plaza and suddenly…

Bright lights appeared before you that you quickly shut your eyes. You blinked them open, wondering what just transpired when you realized...

There was an active movie theater there, with a giant sign surrounded by bright light bulbs. It read “Sinema”.

What the hell, you thought.

You walked closer and closer and saw people coming in and out of the theater. And then...oh, wow, you really had lost your mind. Little human-like creatures of different colors were flying around the entrance...They were fairies! Their pixie fairy dust landed on your shoulders. You picked off the dust that had fallen on the shoulder of your dress. The texture reminded you of Cheeto dust. It was hard to get off. You were certain your black dress was permanently stained.

Then, a man walked past you and transformed into a large purple dragon before your very eyes. He blew out fire within a few feet from you, you yelped. He set off for the sky and vanished. After, another group of men walked past you, flashing their vampire teeth as they laughed about something. They were all stunning but the one with wavy electric blue hair was the real showstopper. You couldn’t think that too long as people that looked bright and transparent walked towards you.

You thought they were going to bump into you so you said. “Hello? Watch where you’re going!”

But they walked right through you and kept going. Seemed like they got that kind of comment a lot.

You blinked a few times. Did that just happen? Were those...ghosts?

A young woman in her red and navy blue uniform appeared before you. She smiled. “Welcome to Sinema, the premier theater for the supernatural! My name is Haseul. You look like you have a lot of questions. Is this your first time here?”

“I...I…” You started. “Is this really happening?”

She laughed. “Yes...All supernatural creatures and their approved companions are welcome here!”

You frowned. “There must be some mistake. I’m not a supernatural creature.”

Haseul pulled out her phone. “Your name?”

“Uh...y/n y/l/n…” You said. “Wait, why did I say that?” You answered her without even thinking. It was like she compelled you to do what she asked.

She winked. “It’s a special little skill of mine. It’s a part of the job.” She scrolled through an app on her phone. “Well, you’re not a part of the approved human companions list so...You have to be supernatural!”

You gaped. “That’s funny…This is a joke, right? Some kind of Halloween event? Well, you’re a few months too late…”

Haseul shook her head. “Oh, no, this is no reenactment. This is the real deal. Allow me to escort you inside.”

You weren’t sure if that was a good idea but you were curious. You followed her inside.

The movie theater was elegant and modern. The latest video games were available at the arcade. The concession stand was huge. It had to be with the number of creatures that were lined up for snacks. The theater was three stories high. Posters for the latest movies were up. The music that played overhead consisted of songs from the 70s, 80s, and more. Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” was playing.  Sinema seemed like any regular theater.

Well, except for the supernatural creatures, of course.

“What is this place?” You asked Haseul. “This can’t be real...I’ve been drugged. Jaebum got something in my system and I’m hallucinating. That has to be it.”

Haseul gave you a confused look. “This place is very real, y/n. I know it might be a hard pill to swallow but you belong here. To the supernatural world. A part of you is connected to this world. I’m not sure why it took you so long to discover that but...you’re here now.”

Haseul’s phone rang and she answered. “Yeah, boss?...Okay, I’ll stop calling you that...Oh? I see. Well, have fun with your boyfriend…” She teased. She hung up and she continued, “Well, y/n, I must be going but if you need anything, you can reach out to anyone who is wearing this uniform.” She showed off her uniform. She looked like a very casual flight attendant. The navy blue skirt was very flattering on her. Her white blouse had a red tie over it. Her name tag had her name written in her own elegant cursive.

“W-wait…” You started.

Haseul gave you a reassuring smile. “You can stay or leave, y/n. No one is keeping you here. But know that you’re always welcome here at Sinema. We hope to see you again.” She walked off to resume working, you thought.

You stood there, confused over what to do. Going to the movies hadn’t been in the cards for you tonight. Much less finding out that the supernatural existed in the same world you did.

Unless this was a parallel world, which just made your head spin even more.

Deciding to stay, you went back out to the main entrance to buy tickets. You heard growls among the chatter of people that stood in line before you. All kinds of creatures stood in front of you: werewolves, selkies, fairies, kitsunes, and more. You felt like the only outsider. For everyone else seemed to know their place…

According to Haseul, the only reason you could access this place was because you were a supernatural creature. And that...that just couldn’t be true. Sure you were adopted but you never displayed any kind of power or ability that would indicate you were a creature.

It was impossible, you thought. A striking young man with long silver hair stood behind you and you could feel his eyes on the back of your head. He was tall and muscular. You wondered what kind of creature he was or if he was actually a companion like Haseul described. You turned to him and his stare never wavered. “Can I help you?” You asked.

He blinked a few times to snap out of it. “I’m sorry...I zoned out…” He tipped an imaginary hat. “It’s your turn.”

“Miss?” The employee at the ticket stand asked. Like the young man behind you, she seemed human. However, the red tint in her eyes told you otherwise. You wondered what she could be.

“Oh, uh... A ticket to ‘Spider-Man: The New Kid’, please,” you said.

“That’ll be 12.50,” the employee replied.

Even if this was a movie theater for the supernatural, they certainly charged like a regular theater did. You paid the employee and got your ticket. The ticket stub was actually very beautiful. It was holographic so you could collect these stubs like trading cards, if you wanted.

You hung around too long so the silver-haired boy approached you.

He smiled at you. “Hello.”

You smiled, a little uneasy. “Hi…”

“First time at Sinema?” He asked. The man was stunning with his high cheekbones and dangerous dark eyes. A devil-may-care smile that must have won over a few women.

You nodded. “Is it that obvious?”

“The look of horror on your face hasn’t faded,” he said, chuckling.

You sighed. “Yeah...Well, I’m still pretty stunned.”

He said, “Well, you’ll get used to it eventually. Something about you makes you belong to this world, right? Do you know what it is?” His eyes widened.

It was almost as if he knew the answer. But if you didn’t know, how could he?

You sighed. “I couldn’t tell you. Maybe I’m just a fluke.”

“Oh, I have to disagree…” He started.

A ghost materialized right beside you. He stood closer to you and stared down the silver-haired man. Even if he was a ghost, he was the most alluring man you’d ever seen. Although translucent, his features were striking and not to be ignored. His undercut that accentuated his face so well was bright red, like rubies. His ears were decorated with crescent moon studs. He wore a navy button down and black slacks, like he was dressed for a hot date. His tan skin cast an ethereal glow. “Yuta, give the girl some air. She just discovered she’s not human.”

The silver-haired man named Yuta sighed. “Do you ever stay out of people’s business?”

The ghost rolled his eyes. “Do you?”

You averted your eyes from them and looked at the concessions menu. Hmmm, the Sour Patch Bats looked promising, you thought. You started, “I’m gonna go.”

Yuta was about to call your name again but the ghost boy raised his hand to stop him. “You’re already messing around here too much. Leave her alone.”

Yuta rolled his eyes. “I don’t have to listen to you. I’m the alpha.”

The ghost boy made faces as he imitated Yuta’s voice. “I’m the alpha. I eat the hearts of my enemies for breakfast. I’m Yuta.”

Yuta growled and it was so animalistic that you wondered if he was going to transform into the creature he most likely was. Your money was on him being a werewolf.

Yuta stormed off and returned to his posse of gorgeous and muscular people. They all watched you and you wondered what was so fascinating about you.

The ghost boy followed you as you got in line for concessions. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n...Yours?” You looked into his soulful eyes.

He smiled. “I’m Taeil. The eyes and ears of Sinema. And you’re new.”

“Yup...And I have no idea who I am or what the world is anymore…Well, it’s time for a snack.”

Taeil chuckled. “The Sour Patch bats are really popular but they sell out fast.”

An employee at the concession stand announced over the intercom. “Sorry, folks. The Sour Patch Bats are sold out.”

Everyone groaned and moaned and growled and wailed. Even you couldn’t help the tiny huff of disappointment that escaped your lips.

Taeil sighed. “Well, lucky for you y/n. I’m friends with the manager of this joint.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh, are you?”

He smirked. “I know where she keeps her secret stash of Sour Patch Bats. Now she normally hides those away for her boyfriend but I’m sure she won’t miss one bag…”

Taeil led you upstairs to the manager’s office.

You frowned. “Are you sure we can be here?”

Taeil winked. “Nope. But she owes me.”

Taeil moved himself through the front door and unlocked the door from the inside. You entered the office and found a bouquet of flowers on the manager’s desk.

“How did you touch…”

He cleared his throat like he’d debated what he was going to say. “With most of my strength, y/n...Anything to impress the prettiest girl to set foot in Sinema.”

Although your concept of ghosts was completely debunked (ghosts could indeed touch inanimate objects), your face warmed up at that comment. You tried changing the subject. “Taeil, maybe this is a bad idea…”

He shook his head as he stuck his hand through the manager’s desk drawer and rummaged around before he grabbed a bag of the popular candy. He threw it over to you. You caught it.

You opened the bag and ate the bat-shaped sour gummies of lime, orange, lemon, and cherry. They were the best candy you’d ever tasted and until tonight, you’d been deprived of their existence.

Your eyes grew. “These are...Oh my God.”

Taeil smiled knowingly. “I knew you’d like them. See, the supernatural world isn’t so bad, is it?”

You were touched. He was being so kind and attentive. So quickly, too. “No, I guess not…”

His beautiful lips curved upwards as he watched you enjoy the candy.

“What movie are you going to see?” He asked.

“Well, Taeil, I thought you were the eyes and ears of this place. You should know,” you teased.

He laughed. “Well, I don’t. Is it an oldie? Sinema plays throwback movies every week to appease the masses.”

You shook your head. “I’m watching the new Spider-Man. The new actor they picked is supposed to be above all of his predecessors so I’m excited.”

Taeil asked. “Can I join you?”

You pretended to deliberate. “Well, you have supplied me with sustenance so how could I say no?”

Taeil usually kept to himself, occasionally confiding in his best friend. He really was the eyes and ears of the theater. He knew of all the romantic entanglements that transpired. The current feuds between species. And more.

Typically, he was stuck facing his demons and never quite got past the last thing he needed to overcome in order to ascend to heaven.

He’d sought justice so what was holding him back?

And at the sight of you, he felt an ease in his heart that he hadn’t felt since he was alive.

___

Your first night at Sinema was the first of many where you and Taeil bonded and enjoyed each other’s company. You went to the theater every weekend and met up with him. You’d see a movie together and talk about it for hours on end. He’d even sometimes accompany you back to your dorm. And even if you could see him...no one else in the human realm could. So you would have to pretend you were on the phone when you talked to Taeil. Even as he sat closely beside you. Longing to hold your hand.

You wondered just how many creatures hid from you in plain sight. Some of them could masquerade as humans and you’d never know it. That terrified and excited you.

You loved Taeil’s sense of humor, how he showered you with free movie tickets and concessions (courtesy of his best friend’s connections), his wit, his smile, the goofy, fascinated look he gave you when you spoke.

You always wanted to push back his hair and slap his arm when he teased you. And you wondered what those soft red lips would feel like on yours.

But you couldn’t.

The most wonderful person you’d ever met.

And he was an apparition.

As for Taeil, well, he loved everything about you. Your mind. Your curiosity of the world. Your inability to shut away the unknown completely. The way you adapted to Sinema so quickly. The way you looked at him.

He was convinced that you also wanted to kiss him.

It killed you both, honestly.

You told him you were in your senior year of college. You were getting a degree as a nutritionist but you felt unsure about what you would pursue after college. You felt like nothing got your heart racing. You were just going through the motions, making your parents proud. They’d given so much to you so you didn’t want to disappoint them. So you figured getting a steady paying job was a step in the right direction and maybe one day you’d figure out your passion...and how to capitalize off of it.

Taeil could tell you were frustrated and lost and he wished you didn’t feel so down. He saw the light in your eyes. You had a whole future ahead of you. You would find your dream job someday, meet a man, settle down, have his children, and grow old together.

And him? Well, maybe at that point, he would finally have moved on.

Before meeting you, he was fixated on getting even with the man who murdered him and the woman who betrayed him and got the ball rolling.

He told you all about it...Originally, he didn’t want to because the details were too gruesome. But you’d been honest with him so it was the least he could do for you. He told you about his life in the west coast town of Luna, where he aspired to be a producer and songwriter. And he told you about how his life came to an abrupt end.

Taeil’s killer had been none other than Jung Jaehyun, the man whom his girlfriend had cheated on him with. Jaehyun was a member of one of Luna’s most notorious gangs and he detested Taeil. Taeil’s girlfriend, Lexa, didn’t know how to break up with Taeil so she could be with Jaehyun. She was frustrated because Taeil was so sweet and giving. He was so good to her that Lexa chickened out and never broke up with him. She was getting frustrated and Jaehyun was getting even angrier.

One of the nights that Lexa spent with Jaehyun, she let it slip that she wished there was a way she could get rid of Taeil. And Jaehyun was more than happy to oblige.

Jaehyun and his men cornered Taeil one night. He thought he was meeting Lexa for their 300 day anniversary. He got a text from her phone saying to meet her on the rooftop of the Nectarine Hotel because she had a surprise for him.

However, she was nowhere to be seen. Jaehyun took Taeil by surprise and pushed him off of the twenty story luxury hotel.

Jaehyun’s men lingered downstairs and made sure there were no witnesses on the scene. All evidence of Taeil’s death had been covered up. Taeil’s family and friends reported Taeil as a missing person. Lexa had also disappeared off of the face of the Earth. And many wondered if she and Taeil had disappeared to start anew.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Jaehyun, Lexa, and his men disposed of Taeil’s body off underneath an overpass. They’d buried his body and washed their cleans of him.

Taeil always thought about whether or not an afterlife existed. When he hit the ground from his fall, everything went black. The roaring pain all over his body that hit him for one moment...Quickly vanished at the next.

Taeil opened his eyes again and instead of seeing Downtown Luna...Only white surrounded him. Surrounded by golden specks.

An angel appeared before him with stunning peach-colored wings. The angel shined so brightly that Taeil couldn’t make out their face. They spoke softly… “Moon Taeil...Born June 14, 1994...Died October 22, 2018.”

Taeil sobbed then. “Please, is there any way you can save me?”

The angel sighed. “My poor child...You’ve been wronged. I want to give you the opportunity to seek justice...And once you have seeked justice and found peace, you can ascend into Heaven and join us. Our Heavenly Father awaits you.”

Before Taeil could respond, he became a ghost. He manifested into another town he couldn’t recognize. It was the city of Mystic. Jaehyun lived a life of luxury and terrorized the new city with his gang. And who reigned right beside him in a God-awful bubblegum pink wig?

The woman he’d loved and planned to propose to: Lexa.

Lexa played around with the buttons on Jaehyun’s designed shirt as she quietly thanked him for killing Taeil. And Jaehyun murmured back a thank you for giving him the idea and for suggesting a good hiding place for his remains.

Taeil felt sick to his stomach. The love he felt for Lexa had quickly shifted into hatred. And Taeil wanted revenge. He wanted to take them both down. But how, he wondered.

It took him a few more months to figure out how exactly he could enact revenge on them. Haunting them for a few weeks was a thrill but he wanted Jaehyun behind bars. And Lexa? Well, Taeil just wanted her to drown in guilt.

And then, Taeil found Sinema, a supernatural hub in the seemingly typical town of Mystic. Taeil struck a deal with the vampires to help them dig up his body. They in turn compelled the police to find his remains and track down Jaehyun.

Taeil owed the vampires a few months of haunting humans who had deceived them when they were once humans. So both parties were happy.

Taeil decided to spare Lexa from prison. Instead, her family, her friends, and everyone from Luna shunned her for having a hand in Taeil’s murder. Although she was never charged, she was as good as guilty as Jaehyun and his men.

Lexa remained in Mystic in a run-down apartment, barely making ends meet. The luxuries she was able to afford before, because of Taeil and then because of Jaehyun, were no longer accessible to her so she lived a life full of resentment.

But Taeil visited her many nights to remind her that more than anything, she should’ve felt guilt and remorse for what she’d done to him.

How she convinced him that he’d found happiness in her. How she made him out to be a fool. And how she discarded him like a piece of trash.

Lexa’s mind slowly unraveled over time and the guilt slowly consumed her each time.

Taeil ate it all up. This felt like justice and he didn’t want to ascend just yet. He wanted Lexa to get on her knees and pray to God for forgiveness for what she’d done to Taeil.

But that day hadn’t come. So Taeil frequented her apartment at night...Having Lexa think she dreamed of him as she slept.

One late Saturday night...going into Sunday morning, Taeil waited with you at the bench for your Uber to arrive to take you back to your dorm. Sometimes he accompanied you to the dorm and talked to you. You’d have to pretend you were on the phone so your Uber driver didn’t think you were talking to an imaginary friend.

Tonight, though, he wouldn’t be taking you home.

You asked, “Are you going to see her now?”

Taeil froze. “What?”

You wondered aloud, “Lexa...Do you haunt her on the weekends too?”

“Not recently, actually...I’ve been seeing her less.”

You smiled. “Taeil, that’s great. It means you’re getting over her.”

Taeil glared. “I don’t need to get over her. I despise her.”

Your smile vanished. “I know that. It’s just-”

He shot back, “Just what?”

You looked down at your hands and played with your fingers. “It’s just...You’ve sought justice...Jaehyun is rotting in a jail cell...Lexa is guilty over what she’s done...And...I hate to say this...But I think if you stop going to see her...There’s a chance you can finally ascend.”

He looked taken aback at your words. “I can ascend whenever I want.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

Taeil looked even more annoyed as he sneered. “Absolutely. Excuse me for wanting to spend a little more time with you before I leave forever.”

His words infuriated you. “Taeil, you...I’m not the reason you want to stay...You’re hung up on your ex. Even if it’s not in the romantic sense...You’re fixated on terrorizing her until what? She begs for forgiveness?”

“And what the hell is wrong with that?”

“Taeil, you’re meant to find peace. You have to let her go.”

“Well, y/n, thank you for your opinion. I never asked for it but it’s certainly never stopped you...Have a safe trip back to your dorm.”

“Fine! Manifest yourself back to me when you get a grip.” You crossed your arms around your chest in anger. He was unbelievable. You were right. He just wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t give up on seeing that...that wretched bitch.

Why did you let this piss you off so much and why were you overstepping...You had no right…

Perhaps it was because you’d fallen for Taeil and seeing him jeopardize his fate over this woman infuriated you like nothing else had.

The full moon was out that night and you couldn’t help but yell in fury at the sky.

Someone crept up behind you and with his claws, he scratched deeply into your collarbone. “Hey, what the fuck?!”

You turned around to find a werewolf before you. It was a literal wolf on two legs. His muscles protruded like that of a man’s but they were so large...You knew he could easily snap your neck with a quick movement of his hands. His tawny coat shined in the moonlight. His brown eyes watched you, expectantly.

You were about to get on your knees and beg for mercy.

You saw a group of people lingering beside the werewolf. You remembered them. They were a part of Yuta’s pack.

“Yuta?” You finally connected the dots and realized the wolf who scratched you was Yuta. You hadn’t seen him since that first time.

He had been a werewolf, after all. But why had he transformed? Why was he here? Why had he done this to you?

You winced slightly at the scrapes and monitored them as they quickly vanished. You couldn’t believe your eyes.

Yuta’s fur vanished as he transformed back into his human self. He was shirtless but his pair of jeans remained on. “Y/n, I wanted to confirm something…”

You frowned. “What?”

“The scratch of the alpha is borderline lethal to any outsider of the pack...So any pack member or...descendant of that pack member can heal from his bite…”

You laughed nervously, confused. You wanted to get the hell out of here. Where the bloody hell was your Uber? “Uh...That’s interesting, I guess.”

“Can’t you see, y/n? I’m the alpha of the Nakamoto clan. You’ve healed from my scratches...Which means…”

You demanded, “What does it mean?”  

“It means you are a descendant of this clan, y/n…”

You shook your head. “No...That’s...Impossible. I’m not a werewolf…”

“You were adopted at five months, y/n...Your parents perished in a war against the vampires...Your parents led normal lives as humans for as long as they could...Much to the disappointment of my father.”

“Yuta, you don’t know what you’re saying…”

“I do, y/n. The pack and I have uncovered everything about you and your family history. You’re a werewolf. An unawakened one.”

“No…”

“Explain how your bite healed. The only way you could enter Sinema of your own accord is if you possessed supernatural blood. And werewolf blood is as supernatural as it gets.”

“Yuta, please, you’ve got the wrong person...I don’t know why you bit me and why it healed. Maybe it’s some magic trick you pulled off to please your pack...I’ve had a shitty night so if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home,” you said, checking your phone for the arrival of your Uber. It was arriving.

“Y/n!”

The Uber pulled up and you turned to him. “Just leave me alone.”

___

You visited your parents the next day. You asked them about where they’d adopted you from. They’d always been very mum about the details.

“Someone told me something crazy the other day,” you said to them as the three of you shared dinner with your adopted younger siblings.

Your parents both looked at each other, concerned.

“He said my biological parents were werewolves!” You laughed in disbelief. “How crazy is that?”

Your parents eyed each other again.

Your mom started, “Who is this man?”

“Mom, I believe the proper response is ‘That man is crazy. Where did he get that kind of story?’”

You knew your parents were hiding something and you wanted to hear the truth from them.

Your father scratched his neck as he took off his glasses. Your younger siblings all eyed each other uncomfortably.

“Why aren’t you guys saying anything?” You asked.

Your dad said, “Y/n...We hoped for you to never find out.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Dad, you’re scaring me...Find out what?”

Your parents went on to tell you about the incidents you had when you turned eleven. After you’d had your first period, you began to experience terrible mood swings and throw tantrums left and right around the time the full moon occurred. And when you turned thirteen and the first full moon following your birthday occurred…

You’d attacked a neighbor who was walking their dog.

You’d grown teeth and hair all over your body that night. You’d become a wolf, according to your parents.

Once the night had ended, you’d transformed into a human again and fallen asleep.

Your neighbors never knew that it had been you. Your parents helped your attacked neighbor get to a hospital and they reported an animal attack in the neighborhood. Your neighbor couldn’t remember anything.

But her dog never forgot and hated you.

Your parents got a hold of the adoption agency and they had no information on your birth parents besides their names. Your parents then got in touch with a psychic, who referred them to a witch. They took you to the witch and she told them you were an unawakened werewolf. You were a fledgling. Unless you received the bite of an alpha werewolf and acquired your position in the pack, you were susceptible to these monthly full moon transformations and since you hadn’t been awakened, it would be even worse and dangerous for those around you. So the witch concocted a potion that would suppress your fledgling urges but it was critical that you consumed it each month.

Which explained why your parents were always so adamant for you to come home every month for dinner. They put the potion in your dinner. So you were able to suppress your urges up until this point.

Could this be the reason why you felt so unfulfilled? Because you never explored your true nature? Your parents never gave you the choice to control it.

Your parents had good intentions but you had the option to meet the pack all of these years...And you never knew.

You’d always felt like a part of you had been missing and your trip to Sinema had done the trick to lead you to the truth.

___

Back in your dorm and without having ingested the potion your parents had given, you’d only had a few days until the full moon. You were resolved to speak to Yuta.

You’d gotten out of the shower, letting out a shaky breath from all of the bundled up nerves you carried. You were shocked to find Taeil standing in your common room that you shared with your roommates. They were all away for the day.

“Taeil!” You started as you covered your towel more tightly around you.

“I heard,” Taeil started, worry etched all over his face, “If I could kill Yuta, I would…”

“Taeil, I’m going to him,” you started.

“What?” He asked.

“I’m going to be awakened by him.”

He looked at you in disbelief. “Y/n, what are you-”

“I’m an unawakened werewolf, Taeil. My biological parents were werewolves and if I don’t receive the official bite of the alpha, I’m going to suffer by the influence of the full moon.”

“Y/n, the full moon is in two weeks!”

“I know…” You said.

Taeil sighed. “Y/n, you have a chance to be away from the supernatural world. To avoid the dangers of these creatures. I know humans are terrible, deceitful, and cruel...But the supernatural doesn’t fare better. You didn’t grow up in this world. It could consume you and spit you right back out…”

You were resolved, though. You longed to explore more of the world and to embrace the part of you that had always been neglected. “Taeil, I’ve made my decision. My family has respected it. And I hope you will, too.”

A tear escaped Taeil’s eye. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t left you alone…”

You shook your head as you wished to embrace him. “Taeil, this isn’t on you. This opened my eyes. My path is more defined now...Who knows what awaits me once I awaken? That’s for me to find out.”

Taeil extended his hand out and pretended to caress your face. “There’s nothing I can say to make you change your mind, is there?”

“No,” you said, as you leaned closer to his transparent hand.

He smiled weakly. “Y/n, I’ve thought a lot about it and you were right...I’ve given up on visiting Lexa.”

You opened your mouth wide. “Really?”

Taeil avoided your stare as he stared at the potted plant by the window. “I...wanted to stay longer but...we’re both meant to part ways...And I’m not happy...Terrorizing Lexa hasn’t given me any sense of fulfillment. Temporary pleasure? Yes...But I long to find that peace.”

You cried. “Taeil, I’m so happy to hear that. And you will find that peace, I promise you.”

“In the meantime, I’ll be by your side as you head into your next chapter.”

You smiled at him and didn’t realize your towel slipped to the floor.

“Y/n…” Taeil coughed as he quickly turned red and turned around.

“What?” You frowned.

Without looking at you, he pointed to the towel on the floor.

“Shit!” You exclaimed. But then, you watched Taeil...He was blushing…

“Did it hurt that much to look at my body, Taeil?” You asked, quietly.

“What?” He asked, confused.

“It’s okay...You can look…”

Taeil turned and was shocked to see you still unclothed.

You gave him a flirty smile. “I know we can’t touch...But it doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, right?”

You got onto your bed and slowly began to tease your clit and Taeil’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. He adored every inch of you as he scanned your body and worked his hardest to commit it all to memory.

You could see his member grow in his pants. He immediately gripped his gorgeous length and pleasured himself alongside you.

“I wish I could feel your heavenly cock on my clit…” You told him.

He grunted. “Heaven can wait...This is real paradise...Here with you.”

You muttered sweet nothings to each other and imagined that you made love to each other that day.

___

You and Taeil were more inseparable than before. Because you knew your days together were numbered.

The full moon arrived and Yuta had agreed that this was the ideal time for your initiation into his pack. You would be able to absorb the moon’s power as you transformed from Yuta’s bite.

Yuta invited you to his mansion in the woods not too far outside of town. His pack members were present and they’d arranged a massive bonfire at the center in honor of your awakening.

Taeil was right beside you, much to the chagrin of the rest of the pack members. But what could they do? Drag him out? When they couldn’t even lay a finger on him?

Yuta was dressed in his best tuxedo as he recited the pack’s code of conduct to you and welcomed you into their pack. He transformed into his wolf form and at the brightest the full moon had been, you’d taken on your fledgling form. You howled at the moon and became rabid. Yuta knew what he had to do.

Taeil watched you in concern but Yuta had sworn to protect you. For you would be one of his family soon enough. So Taeil had no choice but to trust him.

Yuta bit into your collarbone and your eyes shifted from their usual color and into a bright amber. You felt yourself regain consciousness and became aware of where you were.

“Y/n, do you know who I am?” Yuta asked.

You nodded.

Yuta continued, “Good. You are now a fully awakened werewolf. Harness your abilities with honor and know that you have a family in the Nakamoto clan forever.”

“Hear hear!” The pack members yelled out.

You’d reverted back into your human form through your own accord. You were shocked at how quickly you could turn back.

You ran over to Taeil and he beamed at you. “How do you feel?”

“I feel...whole...Fulfilled...I have no idea what will happen next but it’s a new kind of uncertainty...And I like it.”

Taeil said, “I’m glad, y/n…”

He started to pixelate before you and his voice began to fade.

Your smile faded. “Taeil?”

“I think God wanted me to stick around for this momentous occasion...Before he summoned me…”

You couldn’t help the tears that escaped you. “Taeil, I love you.”

He cried with you. “I love you, too. I will see you up there...Soon. I’d better be the first person you look up when you ascend, you hear me?”

You wrapped your arms around him and to your shock. To everyone’s shock at the party...You could feel Taeil. He was muscular and the warmth of his body was like the fuzziest blanket wrapped around you after the worst day. He felt wonderful. And you never wanted to let him go.

Taeil longed for the day he could feel your body around his...And it was only at this time when you two had to bid farewell when he could feel you against him. You were strong but at that moment, he held you tenderly. Like you would break at any second. Because this moment was the most fragile. It was fleeting. So you both soaked in the feeling of each other’s bodies as you held each other.

Taeil kissed you and you reciprocated. His lips felt just like you’d imagined them. Soft. Perfect against yours. His kiss was the euphoria you would treasure for the rest of your life.

You released each other.

“Goodbye, Moon,” you teased. You made a play at his last name. Since you were a werewolf now, you’d be highly influenced by the activity of the moon.

He joked back. “Goodbye, Wolfie. Don’t forget to howl at me once in a while. It’s kinda hot...” The cliche of werewolves howling at the moon was actually a common practice for them.

You shook your head and laughed as he faded away. You cried hard that night, missing him already.

Yuta and his pack comforted you as you cried. They celebrated you and they mourned with you. This pack had become your family.

___

Taeil finally ascended to Heaven. It was a lot like Earth but idealistic. Paradise had everything at his disposal. He could go to the movies and have an unlimited supply of Sour Patch Bats. He finally knew what they tasted like. He could get a foot massage whenever he felt like it. He could play his music and sing to his heart’s content. God was a big fan of Moon Taeil. 

But the thing he loved most was being able to look after the loved ones he left behind.

Now that Taeil had become an angel, he would accumulate power overtime in order to send blessings to the people he loved most.

Especially to you.

____

You’d gotten a better grip on your powers but you were still a long way from being Yuta’s right hand. You’d moved into one of Yuta’s apartment complexes that he owned. You were finishing up your last year of school, as well. Since you’d stabilized your powers, you could carry on with your day-to-day activities. It’s just nighttime that would be unaccounted for.

One day, Yuta visited you.

You greeted him as you welcomed him inside your spacious apartment. He sat down on your L-shaped couch in your living room as you gave him a glass of water. “To what do I owe the pleasure, boss?”

Yuta never visited his pack member’s homes unless it was important business. Usually, he summoned them to a common area, like one of his mansions in the city.

Yuta smiled. “I see you like your new place.”

You nodded. “It beats hearing my roommates screw their boyfriends every other night, I must admit.”

He laughed. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

“What’s up? You’re not usually one for small talk...Unless you want to sleep with them...And that girl isn’t here at the moment.” You knew about Yuta’s tumultuous relationship with Sinema’s manager.

Yuta blushed then. “You...Knock it off.”

You laughed heartily, then. You two had developed an older brother little sister relationship. Yuta was able to uncover more information about your parents and your extended family. He’d been extremely helpful during this time, providing financial support not only to you but your entire family.

When Yuta said the pack was a family, he really meant it.

Yuta was mulling over his next words and he gave you a solemn look. The light, breezy mood had quickly vanished.

The power the alpha held to control the room.

He said, “Y/n, prepare your things. The war is about to begin.”

[Fin...Or is it?]

Stay tuned for the next spooky story...

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP  meme from Werewolf: The Apocalypse "Black Furies" Tribebook (Revised Version) Ch 2 "Pegasus’ Flight"

"But how can you be here?"

"I’m sorry. I’m easily sidetracked. Where was I?"

"Every day the possibility exists that you will find some great treasure — a companion, a fetish, riches, secrets or whatever is important to you."

"Divine justice is not something that can be safely left in the hands of mortal men and women — or even certain sky goddesses, as Athena’s blindness showed."

"While limits and strictures are frightening to many, I take peace knowing that purposes exist for all things."

"The problem comes when limits become absolute."

"It’s a human mind-twister — and I love mind-twisters — that the only rule to which there is no exception is that there’s an exception to every rule."

"I said before I love mind-twisters, but it’s good to know when to stop twisting your mind."

"Change hurts."

"The questions do not always need to be answered, often just asking them is enough."

"If they lead only to more questions or to simple answers (I remember well learning the answer to “What do bees smell like?”), then that also is learning and therefore good."

"Laughter doesn’t have to be mirthful; it can be bitter or rueful as well."

"How many of these stories actually happened?"

"Take from a story the wisdom that is in it; one of humanity’s biggest problems, I think, is that many of them take their legends too seriously."

"Contemplation is good, but too much of it causes the topic to become irrelevant."

"Beautiful, isn’t it?"

"The average first-time mother can expect an ordeal of fourteen hours."

"Everyone agrees that breast milk is best for babies; doctors, researchers, pharmaceutical companies, and parenting gurus."

"I am sorry for your discomfort, but you can just suffer through it a bit longer."

"A woman’s sexuality is hers, and can be a closely guarded secret or a gift to the world, as she chooses."

"Only the weak deserve pity."

"And yet we’re still spit on as often as not. Unfair, isn’t it?"

"Sex and childbearing is all about responsibility."

"There is no honor in blood for blood’s sake."

"These assaults take place far from the eyes of humanity, and the large-scale ones are most frequently mistaken for natural disasters."

"First, while faith might be eternal, religion must evolve."

"The world is often random, and believing it to be loving and fair is just as false as believing it to be cruel."

"They aren’t thieves, mind you; they just seem to know where to find things."

"I’m quite sure you’ve heard it all. Stay awake and listen again. This is important stuff, you know."

"That kind of cruelty doesn’t really help anyone, does it?"

"Note that there’s a big difference between “breeding” and “having sex.”

"My opinion has always been that announcing one’s presence and intentions when entering another’s territory is polite and proper behavior."

"A predator sees any encroachment on her territory as a threat. If the intruder nears her den, expect her to become very violent."

"If you enter another’s territory and announce yourself, that doesn’t mean you can stay. The one who lives there can still tell you to leave, and you should respect her wishes."

"Be careful when traveling."

"Look, we’ve all got anger control problems. It’s part of who we are."

"If you’re hurt, quit."

"Die to be a hero if you want, but don’t die to prove you were right."

"When the challenge is over, when the winner is declared, accept the ruling and live with it."

"Challenges are serious business — never initiate one without good cause."

"Do not look away. I hardly need to explain what that will lead to."

"We all know why it isn’t good to eat humans; for one thing, their flesh is fouled by the chemicals they eat, and for another, we’re meant to protect and avenge them, not prey upon them."

"If it becomes necessary to kill humans, do so, but remember that you are what you eat."

"From the face you’re making, I can assume you find the notion of cannibalism to be truly repulsive."

"Find other ways to hide your action."

"The problem is that humans are resilient and tenacious, especially in fear or hatred."

"Sometimes, however, we must let go."

"When the time comes for me to die, assuming, of course, that I do not die in battle, I shall walk into the sea and let the waves take me on my last journey."

"They can’t be challenged if no one can find them."

"I’m not saying that the system is corrupt, only that it could be."

"Such a small place, yet so many differing cultures!"

"Any biologist will tell you that you may measure how well an area thrives by the diversity of life it supports."

"Women are, on average, not as physically strong as men. This means that they sometimes need protection. I hardly need to tell you who should provide it."

"Unless I missed a major theological event, there haven’t been any immaculate conceptions recently."

"No matter your personal feelings on men, they are and always have been one half of the equation."

"A man is not evil simply by dint of his sex; to believe so is no better than calling women “the weaker sex.”

"Weak people produce more weak people, and since humans have virtually no method of natural selection, it is up to us to try to correct their weaknesses as best we can."

"Something is urging the citizens towards these evils, for I cannot believe that they did this themselves."

"The idiot humans continue to think that if they could just clear away the trees, they’d have wonderful land for agriculture, never once realizing that it’s the forest itself that preserves the land."

"Tell me why you think you could do better."

"So many believe the courts will do nothing — and if their attackers are rich and privileged enough, that is sadly true."

"Celebrities and advertisements show thin and unhealthy looking women being adored and generally enjoying life. So, young girls are made to feel abnormal and loathe their bodies."

"The Church decries sexuality for any reason but procreation — and women learn to fear their sexual power."

"Time may dull the memory, but we still have blood on our claws."

"It’s harsh, but good exercise."

"Don’t let their foul behavior and mannerisms fool you. These bumpkins and slum-dwellers have contacts all over the city. I avoid them when possible, but when I am left with no other choice and need information in the city, I go to them. Of course, that information does not come cheaply."

"Some of them can get a little corny at times, I admit, but I’d rather have them with us than against us."

"A more serious bunch of assholes was never born."

"They are reprehensible dogs."

"They have money, they have places to stay, they know good places to party, and they have access to guns, and explosives, and body armor, and — well, you get the idea."

"They have a lot of hate, and the near-extinction of their species isn’t something that one just gets over."

"No one ever identifies herself as “evil.”

"You will get far more than you bargained for."

"Most national leaders are ridiculed without mercy, because every mistake they’ve ever made is on display for the world to see."

"Too much time spent mucking with forces beyond their control taints these people, if you ask me."

"Bloody opportunists."

"I’m not going to say they planned it that way, but they sure didn’t stop it either."

"Sure, they got fucked, but they’re still assholes."

"A quaint story, I thought, no more than a sort of urban legend."

"However, they do learn many secrets that we miss. Getting them to give up these secrets, however, is usually more trouble than it’s worth."

"Maybe they aren’t all dead?"

"Greek myths are replete with dragons; Ladon, Typhon, Python, Hydra, and so forth. They are never cast in favorable roles; most of them only exist for a hero to kill."

"I’ve never liked practical jokes, and I don’t like the notion of pushing someone’s buttons just to teach them not to respond. You can lose your head doing that to the wrong person."

"Other creatures share the unseen world with us, and it would behoove you to know something about them."

"The spirits of the dead do not always rest easily."

"The dead aren’t staying in the ground."

"Some of them are complete pigs, so I’m told, but even so, they can be quite seductive."

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #22- If You Don’t Love Thunderclash, Get Better Soon I Guess

One last issue before we reach Comic Event Hell.

Time to use a dead man to set up the rest of the nonsense that’s got to happen, because apparently 14 issues of setup, including six issues of literal prelude, wasn’t enough.

The first bit of information we’re presented with is the fact that Chromedome and Swerve are on the opposite sides of the camera-shy scale. I guess that’s bound to happen when your spouse has had his video-cam literally connected to his brain for at least several thousand years.

The art may look really gritty and hardcore here, but this is actually due to a filter Rewind has over all his footage that he’s neglected to take off, because it made all the wartime propaganda he would stuff into people’s heads all the more brutal-looking.

No, this is the style of our artist for this issue, James Raiz, who we’ll be seeing a fair bit of over the next several issues. Raiz has worked on the Transformers franchise over the course of multiple license-holders, as well as contributed to both Marvel and DC comics. He also works in special effects, including matte painting and VFX. That’s just neat.

Anyway, the reason Swerve’s completely frozen in place isn’t because Rewind  switched out his head-mounted camera for a gun that goes off if it hears you make a self-deprecating joke, but rather because he’s conducting interviews with everyone in the main cast. We get all their introductions, Cyclonus makes a statement about his political stances, Drift sounds like he’s high as a kite, First Aid strikes a sassy pose while not being bitter in the slightest, and Ultra Magnus makes a move that would get him murdered on any given film set in the universe.

You do NOT use your bare fucking hand to clean a camera lens, mister. Go get a microfiber cloth and try the fuck again, you complete and utter duffel bag of a creature.

We get a quick cut of the speech Rodimus made back in issue #1, with an angle that implies that Rewind was in the front row of the front row, then cut over to Rodimus asking Rewind to document their Capital-Q Quest. This is where we establish that this film doesn’t only contain footage from Rewind’s personal camera, but also that of the Lost Light’s security system.

Which feels like the sort of access you maybe wouldn’t want to give some nosy little film buff, especially when you have a secret giant serial killing sadist living in your basement like a disappointing adult child.

See? He was given the job to record the adventures of the Lost Light not five minutes ago, and he’s already using his powers for evil. Eavesdropping evil. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, Rodimus, and you just handed it to the guy with a massive Dominus Ambus-shaped chip on his shoulder.

So Rewind’s got permission to film just about whatever he wants, and Rodimus figures it’ll be nonstop action from here to the finish line! Fights! Intrigue! Mild hijinks and peril! Explosions aplomb! Oh man, I can’t wait to see what kinds of crazy shit will happen on this absolute roller coaster of a Quest!

Smashcut to Swerve literally falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. Yeah, as it turns out, no quest, capital Q or not, is nonstop action. Which is good, honestly, because that kind of seems like it would be exhausting after the first week or so.

Swerve, Tailgate, and Rewind are discussing cool alt-modes, which seems like an odd topic, seeing as Tailgate and Swerve have basically the same situation going on there, leaving Rewind alone in the camp of “does not have wheels”.

I worry about you sometimes, Rewind. Internalized Functionism is a very real problem. Uh, well, in your universe anyway. Us humans have to deal with regular ol’ classism and racism.

Rung gets brought up, and it’s revealed that the wheel on his back is almost purely cosmetic; it doesn’t even actually attach to his body. The lads decide that they’ve got nothing better to do, and set up a gentlemen’s wager- first one to figure out Rung’s whole deal gets 100 space-dollars.

Throwing shit at people’s heads will be a major plot point in the climax of this comic series.

Swerve’s go at trying to win the bet involved tossing a grenade at Rung to hit him in the neural cluster, which is rumored to be able to force an involuntary mode change if done correctly. Obviously, it didn’t work this go around. Then our narrative focus switches over to the crew’s hobbies.

You were listening to Prince, weren’t you, Magnus? Not even deep space is safe from the Cease and Desist.

Skids’ hobby is meeting new people, because he suffers from the terrible curse of being so fucking good at everything he tries, he always ends up dropping whatever he picked up, because what’s the point? This acts as a segue into another flashback, to even MORE bullshit that the fellas got roped into on Hedonia.

These are the Stentarians. They’re like the Cybertronians, if they were better in every way.

And by “better”, I, of course, mean “more bloodthirsty, warmongering, and driven enough to make their civil war last about as long as the Jurassic Period”. Also, they’re all combiners by default, and Whirl seems a little TOO into their whole situation. So much so, in fact, that when the Imperial Guard of their race show up to kill them, he decides to do them a solid by single-handedly ending their entire war.

You know, in most cases you’re supposed to show and not tell for visual media. This is way funnier, though, so it can be excused.

We jump back into the interviews, and Rewind’s just asked everyone if they’re happy. This might seem like an odd question, until you remember that everyone on-board this ship has crippling depression and PTSD, and Rewind’s married to one of the saddest motherfuckers to ever exist, so he probably has this question loaded into the proverbial chamber at any given moment. We won’t cover all of the answers here, because they’ll be more poignant to reflect back on later in the comic run, but let’s take a gander at the characters who’ve completed the first leg of their character arcs this season.

Drift, is that perhaps… an honest expression of your inner thought processes happening right there? Has Rewind broken through your carefully crafted persona, if even for just a moment, with his question? Perish the thought!

Because Tailgate outed himself as being baby in issue #21, I have zero doubt he’s not exaggerating here. He was a janitor, then he fell in a hole and became Dirt-Nap Supreme for six million years; even the most boring day on the Lost Light’s got to be better than that.

And it’s nice to see Chromedome on a good day for once. Hopefully he reveled in it while he had the chance, because this interview takes place maybe a couple weeks before he fucks everything up big time and has to blow up his husband with a missile strike.

Getting back to the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode plotline, we see Rung using his backpack as a wheelbarrow- no idea what he’s actually pushing in the damned thing- and wearing the most disgruntled face I’ve seen him pull in a hot minute. Someone yells for him to come down the eerily unlit and sinister-looking hallway, which he does. Rung would not do well in a horror film.

He winds up at Swerve’s, where Tailgate, Swerve, Brainstorm, and someone who is most likely Trailcutter, given the colors, are hanging out in their alt-modes. Tailgate’s ploy to find out Rung’s deal is to do what he does best- lie! They’re having an alt-mode party, and wouldn’t Rung like to join in? There are, of course, logistical issues with being a car in a bar, especially when your drink is on the table and your head is tucked up somewhere in your torso, but never mind all that! Let’s get crazy!

This doesn’t work either. Maybe we should cut out the middle man here and just get Rung drunk enough to agree to a wet alt-mode contest.

No, I don’t have any idea how that would work.

In our next vignette, Rodimus comes into the comms room, Rewind trailing behind him like a grim shadow of death, to see what the hell Blaster wants, other than just the hugest glass of water.

Raiz’s work is very detailed, and you really feel the weight of these giant metal space robots, but everyone looks like they’ve been put through a food dehydrator.

We get a lot of build up to the character who’s about to be introduced, with a common opinion being shared amongst everyone- even Tailgate, who hates successful people like his life depends on it.

Lovely readers, put your hands together for the ideal male partner for Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals alike:

A man with so much charisma and charm that only Rodimus could hate him, Thuderclash brings to IDW what everyone wishes Optimus Prime would, making our disappointing space dad even more mediocre by comparison. He fights for justice, and freedom, and the good of the universe- and he does it all while having a chronic medical condition that forces him to stay within a certain distance of his ship that is also a life-support machine, otherwise he will die. Despite his handicaps, Thunderclash seemingly brings to others what they need most, even if they don’t even realize that they needed it in the first place.

He also, in this one scene, appeals to Drift’s religious sensibilities, does a secret best-friend dance with Ratchet (who he helped to pass his medical exams- yes, Ratchet), and congratulates Rodimus on his questing so far.

Thunderclash is one of those characters that everyone in-universe is supposed to love, and I completely buy it- because he’s completely genuine and humble about all of this the entire time.

Compare this to the last time Roberts wrote Thunderclash, in Eugenesis.

Where he was an ex-Decepticon.

And kind of an abrasive asshole.

And then he died.

Y’know, now that I think of it, Eugenesis Thunderclash and MTMTE Ambulon being basically the same character makes a whole lot of sense, even without the horrors of Roberts’ Twitter getting involved.

Thunderclash reveals that he, too, is on a quest to find the Knights of Cybertron, much to Rodimus’ chagrin. But first he needs the Lost Light to break out the jumper cables, and then for his second in command to stop threatening his life.

Turns out, not everyone is as obvious as the Cybertronians with their naming conventions. Whirl assassinated the wrong folks; I’m sure the Galactic Council is utterly thrilled. Paddox wants to steal the quantum engine technology for the good of his people, so they can kick the ass of the up-and-coming Terradore leader.

Completely unaware of the situation unfolding here in the lab, Swerve is directing Rung towards the warm, loving aura of Thunderclash for another go at winning the gentlemen’s wager- through the power of lying about having friends, Swerve’s “agreed” to get Rung Thunderclash’s autograph, in exchange for getting to check that Rung’s transformation cog is still working. Then they bump into the nightmare currently unfolding. My, whoever will save us from this dreaded menace, who holds a gun to the head of the Autobots’ greatest warrior, confidant, friend, and perhaps even lover?

How about a bartender and a giant vape pen?

Okay, so Rung doesn’t actually turn into a vape. It turns out that the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode is also a mystery to the man himself. Because Rung is old as shit, the Functionists got to see this bullshit for themselves, and ended up testing him over and over and over trying to figure it out, lest he prove to be a flaw in their fascist ideologies. Fun fact: fascists HATE it when people they’re trying to oppress don’t play to their expectations.

The Functionists were the ones who gave Rung his little wheelie backpack, to make him at least appear useful. This sort of treatment tends to warp one’s head a bit, which would explain why he’s bothered to keep it for so long- internalized functionism’s a real bitch.

At least he’s not giving teenagers nicotine addictions under the guise of being somewhat better than cigarettes.

Back with Rodimus and Cybertron’s Autobot of the Year for 40,000 consecutive years, we get the unfortunate news that jump-starting Thunderclash’s ship is going to make the Quest go a bit slower for the Lost Light, much to Rodimus’ horror, though he does his best to put on a brave face; after all, that’s what heroes do, isn’t it?

It’s at this point that it’s revealed that “Little Victories” was being screened to all the Circle of Light members who didn’t get murdered or turned into Legislators on Luna 1, and man are these guys pissy. What was meant to be a recruitment video turned out to do just the opposite, because none of these guys want anything to do with what the Lost Light’s got going on.

Too bad Rewind didn’t have time for a cleaner cut for showing. Maybe they could have at least snagged a couple of these guys to tag along.

As all of the Circle of Light leave the theatre to go call everyone’s favorite Autobot to see if he needs a more crew members, the film plays on behind Skids, back to the interviews, as everyone promises more adventures just waiting on the horizon.

You’re not even on this trip anymore, you dork.

Chromedome gives us the title drop for the movie and issue, and we cut to Rewind organizing a group photo of all the interviewees.

And then Rewind died horribly like a week later. Thus ends season one of More Than Meets the Eye!

While I’m here, I’d like to take the time to cover a little bit of cut content from this issue, a scene between Drift and Ratchet.

Drift, during his interview, recalls the time that Ratchet called him into his office for a very serious discussion about his/Pharma’s hands.

Yeah, turns out they’re haunted.

Well, no, not really, because this is a prank. But Drift doesn’t know that yet.

Ratchet demonstrates this hand-haunting by punching Drift in the face, as he screams damnation at Pharma’s ghost. Drift, because he is a spiritual man, knows exactly what to do to deal with this possession; he draws his sword and chops Ratchet’s hands off, then throws them out the airlock.

This, too, is a prank, not that Ratchet knows it right away, yelling at Drift that he’s crippled him.

Clearly, these two belong together.

This bit of cut script was lucky enough to have gotten drawn by the colorist for MTMTE Season 1, Josh Burcham. Burcham’s line art is iconic- you won’t mistake him for anyone else. It’s rough and angular, and honestly just very charming. I’m a sucker for this sort of style. If you want to see his adaptation of this chunk of script- and trust me, you do- the link’s right here:

https://dcjosh.tumblr.com/post/107665292031/its-done-the-mtmte-22-deleted-scene-in-all-its

[kirstinmaldonado]

CHAPTER ELEVEN 2.0

I got the bamboo in my backyard trimmed yesterday, like the proper adult I am. Though it’s now lost that unkept, tropical, “we could be anywhere” vibe (ya know with my suuuuper cool inflatable pool and all that staycation “make the most of it” stuff…), I’m happy that it looks cleaner overall and clears the power lines that it was getting dangerously close to..

Yet in a way, it feels bittersweet! Sweet to premeditate issues and be on the safe side, but bitter to snip away bits of its voice. Within the past few weeks, the unbridled bamboo would whistle and screech in the wind as if weeping for the bloodshed and violence that I’d also been weeping over for days. I’d lie awake at night, desperately trying to empty my brain that was already filled to the brim, but just couldn’t rest while nature literally knocked on my door.

On one of those windier nights the bamboo tapped on my bedroom window, firstly scaring the shit out of me, as if trying to lure me outside whispering secrets. My brain was an absolute mess trying to compartmentalize my thoughts and feelings amidst everything going on. The sound of its erratic movement stirred my anxiety, and I sat alone in the dark trying to decompress, but kind of nervous of its foreboding presence. I felt like a child, hearing and seeing shadows in the night. I even joked to the very asleep Ben that the wind sounded truly angry, for it wasn’t a peaceful sigh like bamboo so often does but harsh, abrupt shrieks demanding attention.

Well, Nature, you got me! I hear you!

A few days ago I walked through not one, but four different plant nurseries. Laugh if you want, but the Nursery Crawl starting at 11am was not on my to-do for that day, and no did not involve any adult beverage. I was so happy to be amongst the innocence of nature, the stillness, the beauty. 

Although I left the good boys alone longer than they’ve been used to since quarantine, I had to get out of my house and the consistent circling of helicopters. My house didn’t feel right. My backyard didn’t feel right. Nothing familiar felt right and I didn’t want to run away, but I just needed a moment to really clear my head in a space that felt unadulterated and open.

The flowers, the succulents, the trees, even the little peaceful water machines grounded me back from reeling. I walked aimlessly through the gardens, picking whatever sparked my eye, asking questions, and laughably came home with a car packed full of plants!

I’ll admit, I’ve barely been able to keep a Chia Pet alive in the past and I’ve accidentally killed anything and everything that doesn’t make noise (aka I don’t have a natural green thumb). Give me a succulent, I’m too overbearing and nervous and overwater it. Give me a plant, I forget to water her enough!  

This time is different though, you guys! I’ve obviously been doing my research and trying to re-home and love on them in the best way possible, and of course anything is easier to look after if you’re around and literally home in one place, but it also just feels so good to pour love in to something and watch it grow. I’ve even been propagating (I want you all to look that up because I had no idea what it meant a few weeks ago, haha)!

The patience and nurture it takes, the excitement when you see it root, is as lame as it sounds SO COOL. Nature is insanely beautiful and fascinating. If one would just take the time to listen, to nurture, to understand we could reap the benefits synonymously, without one taking advantage of the other. I think the best thing I’ve found in quarantine is that I want to be using and connecting with my hands: growing, cooking, painting, writing, creating. Being one hundred percent involved in the work I am putting out. CONNECTING with the work I am doing.

The past few weeks, this whole quarantine, as you know have been transformative. I feel like I’ve been shedding skin of old habits, of past hurt, of feelings or situations that I brushed aside that I am just now uncovering and understanding their brevity. Noticing scars of old burns I’d rather kept forgotten.

I feel like I was hurt and demoralized for years, so draped myself in a safety blanket of contentment, cruising happily and not pushing any major button because I was tired of conflict, anger, hate, and fear. I was blessed and happy thinking how a thousand horrible situations turned out a-okay, even brought the most amazing people in to my life, and that I was better and happy for it. I preached to be bright and positive, but was preaching it in hopes I’d latch on and the positivity would give me strength to face my days. I could wear my silence like a badge of honor, and thank the heavens that I somehow held it together.

I don’t want to be silent anymore.

I can’t, anymore.

By saying that, I also don’t intend to be irrationally brash and I’d never want to step over voices that should be lifted to be heard not spoken over. 

By saying this, I just mean I don’t want to wear my safety blanket anymore. I’m not afraid to stand up for what I believe is right. I think back a few years to the music and distant voices that soothed my soul (shoutout to my queen, Sara B). I remember in my darkest times wishing I could put in to words how I felt, the quiver of my tiny voice as I tried to stand up for myself, and wishing that someone would have just stood up for me.

That’s all I needed. An ally. A real one. Someone to be on my side. Someone to see I was suffering, and unjustly, and even at bare minimum just notice. Just open their eyes, and SEE and try to do something about it.

Again, if you really truly see, and don’t try to close your eyes, how can you sleep knowing what you saw? How can you make cruelty in any form okay?

So...has my voice gotten louder? Yes.

Has it gotten stronger? Yes.

Have I lost thousands of followers, after posts saying people should be judged on the caliber of their heart and not the color of their skin and that everyone should grow up being accepted and loved? Yes.

And I don’t care. It’s a shame, but if the above is something you don’t believe, I may be the wrong person to pour your attention in to anyway. That is said with all the love in the world.

Maybe it’s just all the La Casa de Papel I’ve been watching. Maybe it’s seeing everything with my new eyes. Maybe I’ve just been comfortably sleeping and praying that I can live in a world without conflict, knowing very well in my core that although I’d never intend to incite, I can’t brush off the bad like it doesn’t exist.

My past has made me stronger, my platform makes me accessible, so I must try to plant little seeds of goodness along the way and do everything I can as an ally for people’s rights to live, love, and be accepted for who they are. I am not perfect. I never will be. I believe I express myself well, but I’m listening and learning every day and will continue to do so. All I know is this.

I will stand by you when you are feeling down or oppressed, because you and everyone deserves to be treated with respect and love.

Yes, you.

[un-holyangels]

Pike

General Information

Michael’s demon alter ego, if you want to call him that, well that was what he was intended to be but it went a little off and now he is his own person.

Height: 210-215 cm, exactly the same as Michael

Date of Birth: 1st May

Likes: social media, skincare and being clean and proper in general, attention, sex

Dislikes: Michael, Acies, horribly scared of Hesediel but would never admit that, being ignored 

Favourite food: Peas, everything sweet but isn’t as picky as Michael

Least favourite food: hates bitter food as much as Michael, raw fish/meat

Hobbies: engaging in what he likes

Favourite Animal: Betta Fishes, can’t keep them alive for the sake of him tho so he just lurks around in pet stores.

Origin

•  was made by Michael and Acies, who stole a book with the necessary spells, so that Michael could keep a better eye on Lucifer and actually talk with him in one way since he was controlling Pike •  he is an exact replica of him, completely made by angels but supposed to represent a demon and slowly turned into one • is supposed to infiltrate RAD on their behalf • Raphael helped in the sense that he added some spells so that none would be able to recognize that it’s a copy of Michael • only Diavolo is able to smell that something is wrong with his existence, even though he is a full demon he still smells like angel and it doesn’t make sense • took some time to convince Michael to actually try and go along with this plan but also none else was strong enough to pull this off • solely Acies’ fault. • Hesediel’s the one with the orders to get rid of him if he acts up and goes out of control and he knows • he just doesn’t know that Michael’s secretly attached to him and wouldn’t let it come to that • Michael blames Diavolo again for ruining him, he thought he was fine for a demon as well, still keeping himself back and having some self restraint engaging in sins, that didn’t last long however

Personality

• was first completely controlled by Michael so essentially being the same as him  • slowly but surely turned into more and more of a true demon thanks to Acies teaching him how to blend in and started to develop his own personality, being and soul • was only supposed to by a spy and to keep a low profile, but he can’t do that, he stands out and his actions don’t help much with that • has a nice habit of bursting into people’s rooms without knocking, now matter their status • he behaves like the strongest demon and has no respect for anyone because he thinks he is • even though none believes it, he actually managed to befriend Lucifer, Michael really didn’t like that • especially thinking about how much Lucifer actually detests Michael those two get along just fine • is actually quiet cunning and the only one who can see through Acies’ plans, that’s why he started to hate them so much, he got them figured out and knows what they are up to, would snitch on them if they didn’t cover his living costs • people find him a lot more likable then Michael, he has no restraints to say what he likes and whats unlike his Original, resulting in too much confidence and Pride, but most people are actually attracted to that • used to like being tucked into bed by his parents but someone told him that’s not cool so he doesn’t do that anymore, he has his own apartment now he doesn’t need affection • was actually supposed to stay far away from Diavolo not to be found out but his ego didn’t agree with that so he just burst into his office one day to see what he even is about [found him less scary then Hesediel] • is extremely dominant and even though he is a lot weaker he made pretty much all of RAD submit to him • everyone is talking about the weird new transfer student • newspapers are after him but he has a weird habit of undressing himself if he knows someone is going to take his picture, thanks Acies • was as insecure about feeling comfortable showing himself like Mike, but the convidence training was a little excessive • has set a goal for himself to become member of the student council • is a weird and unhealthy mixture of both his parents • very sexually active but also very vanilla, he doesn't like things like orgies and is not very romantic • he's honest with himself and decided to not  have the same stupid boundaries as his maker. That probably makes him very sad deep inside, probably one of the few good things Acies taught him was to accept himself how he is and not be ashamed of it, so why is Mike rejecting him? • Pike thinks Mike is ashamed for the wrong reasons, he isn't of him but more of himself for not being able to have confidence in things like that, it gets more apparent to him seeing how easy it is for Pike to make friends. And Mike can't accept this side of him because he just sees it as wrong and bad, since that's what he's been thought all the time. Pike can't understand that since he doesn't have access to all of Mikes memories to understand him so he doesn't know where the feelings are coming from that he feel and he thinks they are against him. Maybe deep down Mike likes him in a way but just can't accept him being himself because he can't himself • but Michael actually likes him, a version of himself confident enough to take what he wants, but sadly Mike doesn't think of him like that, he sees wrongness and shame when it comes to giving in to his desires just the opposite of Acies whos all about getting what one wants,"the end justify the mean"Pike would being the middle, he knows what he wants and even though he is more prone to evil bc he is a demon, he know the way to get what he want not being as censored as Mike or as psycho as Acies • He gets what he wants with a bit more class and finesse then Acies, more like Mike does things, just that Mike never does things for purely himself :o So Mike is a bit envious of him in that way • when Acies and Michael were busy or fighting what they were going to do with him now a certain angel had to watch over him with might’ve resulted in him swearing too much and being a bit too obsessed with how he looks 

Powers

• very weak, lower level demon • they could’ve made him stronger but as a spy it was easier to hide him, well they thought that • they just didn’t know that Michaels personality, completely unhinged, made up that  • the type to pick fights and then just get annahilated • well he has other tools to win ~

Fashion

• really likes tight and revealing clothes  • edgy teenager that’s in a phase - fashion [well that’s kinda what he is] • wears leather pants two sizes too small, idk looks like he likes that • saw it in a fashion magazine and thought it was cool he couldn’t read properly at that time that the headline said that it’s the seasons no-go • actually dies his hair dark grey, would otherwise be blonde like Michael

[reliciron]

Decided to write out the important bit of my jedi consular’s backstory. 

It should be noted that he doesn’t technically want to die, he’s just very scared of his master and doesn’t see any way to escape. 

That said, at the end of the day he does try (and fail) to die by throwing himself at some jedi, so please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with that.

Go to the northern reaches of Brentaal IV. There you will find a small Jedi temple: the place where Grand Master Satele Shan first trained.

It has enjoyed relative anonymity since, but this must change.

Infiltrate the temple. Slaughter everyone within. Show the Jedi that nothing is safe from the Sith.

Do this, my clever acolyte, and I will raise you from the shadows.

You will be my apprentice.

Dust kicks up as he races across the northern plateaus on his stolen speeder bike. It will take hours to track properly, with the damage he left behind. But by then he’ll have either completed his mission…

Or he’d be dead.

He clenches his teeth.

She was mad. She HAD to be.

No.

He shakes his head.

No. His master is many things, but not mad.

Just calculating. And he may be a mere acolyte, but he hadn’t survived this long without learning some of the game.

If her words were true, the Sith would send a platoon, or at least a full squad. Make a show of the massacre to demoralize the Republic and Jedi Order both.

One lone acolyte would not be enough to guarantee victory. Indeed, it was very likely that he would not survive the attempt at all, even with 6 years of careful training from his master.

He’d been her faithful servant. Her knife in the dark. She’d liberated him from Rattatak and kindly taken him under her wing as a boy. He’d learned to wear the Force like a shroud. Hide himself from sight and strike from the shadows.

She gave the word, and he carried out the sentence. A name, a picture, a place, and they’d be dead in a matter of days.

He couldn’t be her apprentice. No matter his talent, he was Rattataki. And as far as the anyone else knew, he didn’t exist.

He KNEW this. She’d said it so many times. But now she was offering it to him.

It wasn’t real.

And the impossibility of the task only affirmed his suspicions.

He was not MEANT to succeed.

He did not exist, yet as more Sith and Imperials fell before him it became harder and harder to keep his existence secret. And she would never let him go, not when he knew so much of her secrets.

He was a liability now. One she hoped would take care of itself in a pointless attack on a temple.

He should run. He SHOULD, but he CAN’T.

His throat goes tight and he slows down a bit as the temple’s coordinates loom on the navigation computer.

He’d tried to run once, before he’d truly understood how much of a PRIVILEGE it was to have been chosen by his mistress. He couldn’t recall the ‘how’s and ‘why’s anymore, but he remembered the punishment had gone on for well over a week.

Run and I’ll find you, little one. And I will not be so merciful the next time.

If he tries to abandon his duty, he’d die all the same, but she’d make sure to make it hurt. At least the Jedi would make it quick.

Yes.

If its one thing the soft-hearted fools abhorred, it was making a being suffer.

There was no way out for him, but an end by their sabers would be better than by her hand.

–

It had been laughably easy to enter the temple. The roomy interior had given him plenty of space to cloak himself and slip through without being noticed by the guardians. He’d made it all the way into the empty training room, where he’d entered a vent near the ceiling and used it to gain access to the meeting room.

Inside there were a handful of masters and their attending padawans, likely a collection of the strongest jedi in the temple. An incredibly foolish target.

But that was the point, wasn’t it.

He could have killed a great many by now. Picked off padawans one by one has he slithered through the building. Had he actually believed the lie his master had told him, he would have.

But he didn’t. And now these Jedi were his best chance for a swift end.

As he grips his lightsaber, he wonders, not for the first time, what his mother would have thought of him. He didn’t remember her, or much of Rattatak for that matter. But he hoped he’d grown to be a strong son, one who might have made her proud, had things been different.

He muffles the sound of the grate being opened, curls his toes over the edge of the vent frame, and leaps.

–

The creature had seemed to come from thin air.

A calm discussion with his fellow masters about possible changes to the curriculum one minute, and a whirl of dark robes and red light the next.

By the time he and the others managed to pull their lightsabers, 3 padawans lay crumpled on the floor with the attacker ready to strike again.

The battle had been vicious.

Master Evren nearly had a leg taken off, and Knight Balrus fell in a burst of lightning before Ixal finally got in under its guard to slice up through it’s hood.

It screamed, bringing its saber up in mindless defense as it clutched its smoking face, but it was a futile effort. He followed through, ducking its arm and spinning around behind to carve his saber deep across it’s back.

It folded like a house of cards, crashing to the floor in a heap of dark robes.

Not dead, but also not getting up any time soon.

Healers and medical droids are called, and to everyone’s relief no one was killed. But it still left them with a host of very injured jedi, and a deeply wounded assailant who should have never made it this far.

–

Once the others have been seen to, he and the few other jedi of rank gather in the assassin’s room.

The scans the droids provided them with were both enlightening… and disturbing.

A juvenile rattataki male, approximately16 years of age. Signs of extensive, long-term electrical trauma, 18 healed fractures, and general malnutrition. And that was all underneath the damage he himself had caused in the battle. Evidently he’d blinded the man - no, boy - in one eye, and his final strike had severed his spine. He was now paralyzed from the waist down.

Stars above.

It’s about an hour more before the boy comes to, numbed heavily around his injuries but not sedated.

They needed to speak with him, and it absolutely could not wait.

Even so, none of them are prepared for the tsunami of terror that all but knocks them off their feet.

He chokes and tugs desperately at his restraints, every inch a panicked child despite the destruction he’d wrought only a few hours ago.

It makes his stomach roil to know he’d not fought a man, but a boy.

“Peace, young one,” he says softly. And the single remaining eye fixes upon him.

A muscle jumps in the rattataki’s jaw before his face goes eerily blank, at odds with the fear still saturating the Force around them.

“My name is Master Ixal. I’m afraid you’ve committed some rather serious crimes here today, but I would like to talk, if you wouldn’t mind.” When all the boy does is stare at him, he smiles, “May I ask your name?”

There’s a long stretch of silence before the answer.

“Acolyte.”

His accent is Kaas-ian, but given that he’s an alien, there’s a very good chance that he was a slave.

“Is that your name, or the one you were given?”

He blinks, as if trying to parse the meaning.

“Did you ever have a different name?”

Something small and fragile flickers across the part of his face that is still visible.

“…. Faun.”

He sighs. Good. Not so far gone that he won’t answer questions entirely, “Faun then. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

“My master sent me.”

A sith then. Were they truly so desperate as to use children?

“They sent you to attack us?”

His eye closes and he seems resigned.

“Yes.”

“Who sent you? Are there more coming? Why is the temple being targ-?”

“It doesn’t matter, kill me and be done with it.”

“What-?”

“I killed your people and infiltrated your temple, is that not enough?!”

He seems desperate then, like a frightened animal, and the fear redoubles in the Force.

“Easy now,” he assures, “You killed no one, all those who were injured survived.” He frowns, “And you will not die for it. We certainly won’t be letting you go, but you will live and be treated fairly. But I can promise you, the more you help us now, the easier things will go for you in the future.”

Instead of being assured, the young man barks a harsh, bitter laugh.

“What, future?! I failed to die! Now my master will come for me to correct my failure!” He positively whimpers and shrinks in on himself, “She’ll be so angry! She’ll make it hurt! Why can’t you just kill me!”

They’re all taken aback by the outburst, but as his words start to sink in a sick feeling begins to settle in to Ixal’s stomach.

“What do you mean you ‘failed to die’?”

“You think I am a fool?!” he spits. “What else am I to believe when she gives me such an impossible task and promises rewards I knew could never be!” He sags onto the hospital bed. “I do not exist. She cannot allow me to be tied to her, and I was no longer worth the risk.”

He truly feared this master of his so much that he would willingly undertake a suicide mission? Stars above, what had this woman done to him?!

He shakes his head. They knew the why now, but not the how.

“How did you manage to make it all the way into the meeting room? You would have had to pass several guardians.”

The boy huffs, voice still raw and wavering, but evening out as they entered more neutral territory. “Your security is poor and my master trained me well. I cloaked myself in the Force, muffled my presence, and walked right passed them.”

A hint of pride threads through the fear in the air, but already a few of their number have left, unable to take such overpowering emotions.

Cloaking is a rare gift. That this young man is capable of doing so, well enough to fool full fledged jedi, is both dangerous and intriguing. Between that, his combat ability, and the hyper-projection of his emotions, they were dealing with a powerful force user, no matter his age.

It only occurs to him now that the young rattataki could have likely killed dozens of padawans and younglings before being discovered.

But he didn’t.

An idea starts to form but he’d need to consult his fellow masters first.

“Thank you, Faun, you’ve been very helpful. Please rest for now. We will speak again later.”

The boy looks wary as they leave, but more than likely the sedatives are already being administered through his drip. He won’t be conscious for much longer.

–

The discussion is heated, with several knights and masters arguing against it, but after consulting the Jedi Council, they finally come to an agreement.

They would attempt to rehabilitate Faun.

Turning a sith was notoriously difficult, but his youth would work in their favor.

The skills of an assassin, Force-cloaking especially, where nearly impossible to teach to jedi. Too close to the dark side for many to want to risk learning. But as much as they may wish otherwise, sometimes those skills were needed, and if they could earn Faun’s loyalty they’d have an invaluable ally.

It would be a long and delicate process. Mind healers would be needed to try and break the chains his master had instilled in his mind, and the physical reconstruction and recovery would be just as taxing.

There was no guarantee that it would work at all, but he genuinely believed it was worth a try.

The poor boy had been through so much. With a bit of work they might give him a second chance at a fulfilling life.

Dark-side or no, the Force practically hummed around him in a way Ixal had not seen since young Satele. He didn’t know what part this young man might play, but he had a feeling he may yet prove essential in the future.

This would not be the end the young man had sought, but a new beginning.

======

From there it takes a long time to deprogram him, and they need to install several internal cybernetic bypasses in his spine to get around the damage. At the end of it, he’s got a pretty serious scar that runs from right shoulder to left hip, a few numb patches on his lower back, and his eye is still blinded. He learns to hide his accent, too. And he’s somewhere in his late 20s-early 30s by the time the game starts.

He was sent to Tython as a fresh start for his padawan training, since no one there would know who he was, aside from the Council.

His companions don’t find out until they’re fighting the First Son and Syo tells them to try and get them to leave or turn on Faun. Zenith almost does leave afterwards, but after a long discussion they all stick with him.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Disability and Loren

@zarohk asked for my thoughts on a Disability Studies/Media Studies perspective on the disability depictions in Animorphs.  Which was foolish, because I’m teaching an entire dang class on the subject of superheroes and mental health, so I have Many Thoughts.  [PLEASE NOTE: I am nondisabled, so if I err, please tell me so.]

Loren’s role in #49: The Diversion does a lot of things right, and a lot of things wrong.  She incurs a traumatic brain injury that results in memory loss and blindness a couple of years after Tobias is born, and lives with said injury for about ten years before Tobias finds her and gives her the ability to morph, which restores her sight but not her memory.

A few places where I commend the depiction of Loren:

It gets into the massive underemployment of disabled Americans.  Loren is smart, canny, athletic, compassionate... and working a call center job in exchange for state benefits.  Said state benefits do not afford her a decent standard of living; Tobias notes that she has few possessions and almost no time for leisure activities.  Americans with disabilities are twice as likely to be unemployed as those without, and those who do have jobs are ten times more likely to be paid less than minimum wage, e.g. in sheltered workshops.

It shows how inaccessible a lot of systems are in the U.S.  Tobias notes that Loren accidentally grabs an expired quart of milk — because nothing on the label is printed in Braille.  Putting raised text and/or Braille on food packaging is a health and safety issue, one that the U.S. ignores even though it violates its own laws (e.g. the ADA) because companies tend to do what they want and “what they want” is usually not to spend more money on packaging.  The call center and bus system are both marginally more accessible, especially when Loren has Champ to help, but they’re still clearly spaces set up for sighted people that don’t take blind users into account very well.

It shows some of the workarounds that help deal with accessibility problems.  Loren’s house is set up so that there are clear paths to and from all of the relevant spaces.  She’s doing that to allow herself to move around comfortably in that space, because she’s made it accessible for herself.  She memorizes the layout of the local store, and uses that to get around as well.  All of those details help show that she’s adjusted, and actively interacting with her own circumstances.

It drives home the difference between service dogs and pets.  This distinction is extremely important, and it gets ignored all the time by entitled ableists who want to bring their pets into stores.  Tobias and Marco both assume from the outside that it can’t be that hard to become a service animal — just do what Loren says to do, right? — but it takes Tobias 0.02 seconds to realize that it’s not that simple and that he cannot imitate Champ’s lifetime of training on the fly.  He says that he manages to get his mom home in one piece, and that that’s about all that can be said for his sad performance as a guide.  Champ has skills like ignoring interesting smells and applying exactly the right amount of pressure to the harness that most pets don’t have and also most pets can’t learn.  Champ is not a pet, at least not while he’s in that harness; he’s a gainfully employed expert assistant.

It rounds Loren out as a character, and definitely does not just make her into a lesson or problem for Tobias.  Loren is gently humorous, tolerating her coworkers’ teasing and Ax’s attempted juvenile delinquency with an eye-roll.  She’s compassionate, listening to other people’s problems on the phone with genuine concern and not swatting flies if she doesn’t have to.  She’s tough-minded and stupidly brave, chucking rocks at Visser Three’s head and flying at attack helicopters as a three-pound bird.  She’s fallible, unable to support Tobias emotionally even when he asks her to do so and unwilling to check in on him after leaving him with her sister.  She’s a fully rounded person, one whose personality is informed but not defined by her disability.

It talks about some of the unromatic aspects of a Traumatic Brain Injury.  Too often in other works of fiction, we see a person get bonked over the head and wake up with no episodic memory but all other brain functions intact (*cough* Rachel in MM1 *cough*).  Loren actually gets into the fact that she forgot huge chunks of language, forgot how to brush her teeth, forgot how to walk across a room.  She obviously lost her sight as well, and she mentions lifelong balance and coordination problems.  Even her amnesia isn’t absolute — she has some traces of recall, but can’t make anything coherent of her impressions.  Her injury isn’t 100% realistic, but it’s more so than many TBIs we see in fiction.

It focuses on the intersection of disability and social class.  Tobias notes that Loren is under a compounded threat because of her inability to move to a more secure neighborhood and her obvious vulnerability.  He feels a lot of disgust with himself when he and Marco and Ax are harassing Loren, because it’s so clear that this isn’t the first time she’s been harassed.  Tobias understands that his experience with poverty as a nondisabled male minor is different from Loren’s for those reasons.

A few places where Loren falls into the common traps of implied ableism creeping into fiction, as written about in Narrative Prosthesis: 

She gets “cured.”  Loren falls into the “kill or cure” dichotomy, like most of the other disabled characters in Animorphs.  In her case, it’s that she gains the power to morph and in the process regains the ability to see.  It isn’t a complete cure, true — she still has no memory — but it means that she’s no longer blind for the rest of the series.  Having the occasional character no longer be disabled sometimes isn’t automatically problematic; having every disabled character get either “fixed” or killed off inherently treats the disabled body as a problem that needs to be solved, through sci fi nonsense if no other way is available.

She implies that she’d rather die than continue to be disabled.  When injured by dracon burns, Loren initially refuses to morph out even though Tobias tells her she’ll die if she remains a bird, because (they both assume) to morph out is to return to her blind human body.  This moment buys into the stereotype that it’s better to be dead than disabled, again inherently devaluing the lives of actual blind individuals.

There’s a certain amount of mystery around how she became disabled.  It’s interesting that we never actually get a definitive answer on that one — Loren says she was told it was a car crash, but there’s also an implication that she was attacked by controllers, and we don’t know for sure.  However, the fact of her disability is treated as an aberrant state that needs to be explained, the book inherently asking “why are you like this?”  By contrast (for instance) she doesn’t ask Tobias “why are you in the body of a hawk?”

She views herself as a burden, and the narration doesn’t do enough to contradict her.  Loren says that she couldn’t possibly be expected to raise a child while also blind and coping with a TBI.  Real blind people raise kids all the time, however, including blind single parents, and it’d be nice to see some evidence in the story that Loren’s assumption is wrong.  Loren also apparently assumes that she can’t begin to play a role in Tobias’s life even now that Tobias is more self-sufficient, again because she views herself as relatively helpless and non-contributing due to her disability.  There are some hints that she’s wrong, but we don’t really see her either begin to contribute to the resistance or build a relationship with Tobias until after she’s become un-blind.

Tobias’s view of Loren is often pitying.  As much as Loren doesn’t initially view herself as a potential maternal figure to Tobias, he doesn’t view her as a potential mentor either.  He repeatedly expresses horror or sadness at her life circumstances, and assumes that her life must be barren due to the spartan nature of her home.  (Of course, that begs the question of why the hell a blind woman living alone would ever bother hanging pictures on her walls or putting doilies on her coffee tables, but Tobias doesn’t consider that angle.)  Again, Tobias is allowed to assume that her life must be meaningless if she’s disabled, but it’d be nice to see some contradictory evidence in the form of her having close friends or inane hobbies or some other proof that to lead a disabled life is not to automatically lead a lonely one.

Loren expresses bitterness and desperate desire to be nondisabled.  Again, it’s fine for any character to say “I wish my life was different,” and it’s a common consensus among blind writers/bloggers that being blind is often a pain in the butt.  However, views as extreme as “you need vision to have a fulfilling existence” or “vision is part of what makes us human” are ableist crocks of shit.  Loren doesn’t go so far as to espouse those extreme views, but she also doesn’t seem to view herself as having a well-rounded life in spite of her disability.  It’d be nice to see Loren talking about sight as handy or enjoyable or a thing that the designers of 99% U.S. environments assume everyone must have, rather than a necessary precondition for a minimum standard of life.

Loren’s disability is somewhat medicalized.  Same caveat as above: disabilities are by definition medical things that some bodies do or have that other bodies do not.  However, discussing disability primarily through “this is how your body is different from Implied Normal of Nondisabled Body” and focusing on doctor’s notes, diagnoses, physical differences, etc. can serve to disconnect the lived experience of the individual from their body.  It also tends to focus on the ways that the body is “the problem” rather than focusing on the ways that environments and attitudes are problematic, which then prevents anyone from asking hard questions about the environments and attitudes.  Loren’s doctor’s note, discussion of scarring and loss, and repeated physical descriptions are somewhat more medical than social.  It’d be nice to see a little more emphasis on the social factors that make blindness a disability (e.g. improperly labeled milk), and less on “your eyes are different from those of Implied Normal Nondisabled Person.”

[frooopsen]

Kyalin - Part 5

thanks to @linguini17 for beta-reading!

Running

Lin knew Kya hadn’t wanted to let her leave. Now that she was roaming the streets and the wind whipped against her skin, she wanted to return and fetch a scarf or stay home entirely. But she wasn’t done thinking and far too determined to let the most irritating element get in the way of that.

She occasionally watched her reflection in the windows she passed. You move differently. You have for a while now. She didn’t see how she moved any differently; that was just how she walked. Was there anything wrong with that?

Fear is a powerful mind blocker, Kya had said.

She had feared for Kya’s life before. She had feared for her sister and even herself in some moments. Yet she had still been able to bend on those occasions. How was this any different? There wasn’t even a real threat. It didn’t make sense. Why didn’t it make any sense? She unconsciously increased her pace as the frustration had to find some sort of outlet.

You’re trying so hard to overcome the uncomfortable feelings that you don’t give them enough room to exist for a while. When Kya talked, she understood almost every word and everything seemed so logical. But then and there, passing houses and crossing streets, it didn’t. After all, you couldn’t just sit down and decide to feel angry, then sad and then a little confused. Even she knew emotions didn’t work like that. What had Kya meant?

Just give it time. It will fall into place. “Yeah, right,” she muttered to herself. Nothing was falling into place. The only thing changing was that she had hoped the tension would fade away by talking. Instead it had increased. Now it felt like a heavy blanket laying on top of them and the feelings she had wished to resolve had taken over her thoughts completely. It had gotten to the point where she had misfiled a report earlier this week. That hadn’t happened since…well…ever.

And she hadn’t even been the one to notice, but some stupid detective. Then she had felt it again, that helplessness. She had barely finished forming a conclusion as to why that had been the case before Kya’s voice echoed again.

Talking isn’t the easy way out. It’s the hard way through. That had proved to be right. Though she wasn’t entirely sure about the ‘through’-part. What was on the other side of this nonsense?

Anger had begun to build up inside her and for the fear of once again lashing out at Kya she had thought it best to leave. Kya deserved better. Lin knew anger was her defense mechanism. Kya had said that once in a booze-induced conversation. Kya, the one willing to keep up with her shit and bothering to help – the only one to really bother.

And why did she? What did she see in Lin that she herself missed? Or rather, how did she not see her like the others? Kya called her beautiful, warm and generous. Her, the bitter and stubborn woman. Unlovable, as everyone else had never been shy of reminding her.

Lin felt her thoughts slipping into a direction she didn’t like. People calling her those things – her sister. She had enough to deal with already – she didn’t need a reminder of how horrible people had made her feel. She tried concentrating on their conversation again, but now it was like Kya’s voice was somewhere else. Too far away for Lin to hear.

What if Kya left her? Was that what the dream had really been about? Would Kya leave her if Lin couldn’t be in touch with her emotional side like she wanted? Well Lin wasn’t her. It didn't seem fair to be up against those expectations. We can’t all be carefree hippies. Lin blushed as she felt guilty for even thinking that. Saying it aloud would have hurt Kya. Lin knew Kya wasn’t as carefree as she seemed. This is exactly why she had left. To let off steam that might have left their relationship bruised.

She stopped walking and turned her head to see a familiar face looking back at her. Two scars on the right cheek – reminders. She didn’t see fear in the woman’s face. There was an even uglier emotion. Regret. She blinked but kept her gaze on the reflection. “Why are you like this?” she asked, hoping for an answer. Silence.

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

Kya sat at the kitchen table flipping through a cookbook. She usually liked cooking without recipes, but today she had already spent her creativity and energy on the conversation. Normally conversations about people’s feelings didn’t wear her out like that. She had always felt refreshed and enriched afterwards and it pained her that it was different with Lin. It was the first thing making her doubt. Not her love for Lin, but the nature of their relationship. They had confessed their love for each other a long time ago, but their paths hadn’t aligned again until a few years back. They had been apart for years and there were periods where Kya had spent weeks, months even, without thinking about Lin. She imagined it must have been the same for the other woman. Lin lead a busy life with an even busier career. And, as they had both realized, that didn’t leave a lot of time for thinking. Or feeling.

When she had sometimes thought about being in a lasting relationship with someone – and it hadn’t been often – she had always seen herself with someone she could have philosophical conversations with. Someone who wanted to know how the person they were was rooted in past experiences.

Of course she could do that with Lin. The woman was overly educated on the things that mattered. She had to be. As chief of police you had to know your politics and history, otherwise embarrassment was right around the corner. Lin had always been interested in these things, for personal reasons even. Kya admired the knowledge she had assembled over the years. They never ran out of topics to discuss or stories to tell; something that had always filled her with doubt before. At some point in relationships – regardless of whether they were romantic or platonic – it always felt like she didn’t have anything more to say or talk about. That didn’t happen and it wasn’t because they spent most of their time in silence. They didn’t have the desire to constantly share their experiences. Just being there was enough, sometimes. Both women knew that neither of them was in a hurry to know everything about one another – there was enough time for that. When they talked, they didn’t always feel the need to finish their stories. Leaving some things untold for weeks on end until someone felt like revisiting. It was so easy with Lin – just drifting.

Kya tried to fathom why Lin had problems expressing her feelings, when she didn’t lack empathy or eloquence. There was a missing link; and it wasn’t access to herself. She had seen Lin’s anger, her fear, her adoration. It was all visible and she had no doubt Lin understood the emotions for what they were. So what was it? A missing role model, maybe?

Lin’s mother had never been one for emotions. The times Kya had gotten Lin to talk about ‘the greatest earthbender in history’, the word ‘gentle’ or anything like it hadn’t appeared in her description. And her father…

Even if Lin never dwelled on the fact that she had grown up without him or that she hadn’t even known his name until a few years back, Kya knew it still hurt her. She had wanted to include him in the list of people who had left her, but she hadn’t dared. This was all so surreal. How had they managed to get themselves into this mess?

She sighed as she made her way to the fridge. Lin had left hours ago and she didn’t want to wait any longer. She hated the waiting. She didn’t know what else they had to discuss concerning the dream, but she knew for sure that Lin shutting off again couldn’t have been the end of the conversation. It wasn’t enough. Maybe for Lin, but not for her. She needed more and when the other woman came back home, she would tell her.

It was her turn to stop holding back. She loved Lin and Lin loved her. They both knew that, though it seemed to be the only constant throughout the past weeks. How on earth had this stupid dream managed to drive a wedge between them? It had seemed so innocent at first. Yet, they had both underestimated the potential for fear and pain.

Over the years, she had come to be careful not to place too much importance on dreams. After all, dreams were images the subconscious assembled. Sure, the core usually had a deeper meaning, but what if she had been wrong this time? Had she made matters worse by forcing interpretations on the matter? It hadn’t occurred to her that Lin might have had a point. Could it have been a brutal police report Lin had read and then combined with the person she spent most of her time with? Kya had been so focused on getting her to talk that maybe she had missed some of the lines she had claimed not to have crossed. “Of course she’d run,” she muttered while mixing some vegetables together, “Shit, I would have too, a few years back.”

On the other hand, they were grown adults. She convinced herself that this surely meant something and her frustration was back. Kya was tired of guessing and theorizing as to what made Lin act the way she did.

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

They were sitting across from each other at the dinner table. Neither of them was particularly hungry, yet they ate in silence until Kya cleared her throat.

“Where’d you wander off to?” She did her best to sound soft and not too inquisitive and got mad at herself for doing so. She had just decided to not to put her feelings behind Lin’s, but it changed now that they were together.

“Oh, just around the city. Nowhere in particular.”

“Oh, ok.”

Kya had stared at the earthbender pushing the food around on her plate until it was Lin’s turn to break the deafening silence. “The food is good, I’m just not that hungry.”

‘It’s alright,’ Kya tried to say.

“If you don’t want to talk, then don’t,” was what left her lips instead.

Lin scoffed, but didn’t divert her gaze from the food in front of her. “I thought all you wanted me to do was talk. Then, when I do, you’re still not happy.”

Kya put down her chopsticks. “You’re not supposed to talk to make me happy and you know that. Besides, maybe you spoke to me, but you surely didn’t talk.”

Lin felt the blue eyes looking at her, but didn’t budge. “You are kidding, right? What’s the difference?” Her voice sharp.

After Kya didn’t seem to have an answer, Lin continued. “Well I can’t seem to get it right either way, can I?” Her voice had gained forcefulness and she got up to go to the bedroom.

She froze as she heard Kya’s accusing tone, “Don’t you dare and run away again.”

You’re one to talk, Lin thought, still not facing Kya. “Well, I will not sit here and get told that I’m not really talking, when you can’t even tell me what you mean by that.”

“Oh, get a grip.”, Kya snorted, crossing her arms.

Lin finally swirled around. That was too far. “I’m trying to do that. If I had stayed earlier, I would have hurt you. Is that what you want?”

“Please, you wouldn’t have hurt me.” The dismissiveness in Kya's voice made it hard for Lin not to take the comment as a challenge.

“How can you be so sure of that?”

Kya felt the heat boiling up inside her. “I’m not and that’s the problem. If you run off mid-conversation, how can I know what you’re feeling?”

“I didn’t want to lash out,” Lin hissed before taking a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“Well, then I would have at least known what you felt.”

“What is it with you? Do you want me to scream at you? Because that is what would have happened.”

“Save your ‘would’. Scream all you want, but I need you to act.”

The harder Lin tried to  shut her out, the harder Kya felt herself push.

“You shoving down your feelings, you not reacting honestly – that’s the fucking problem. Talking doesn’t do shit if you don’t let out the feelings.”

Who does this woman think she is? “You want action? Fine.” Lin slowly stepped closer, raising her voice. “I’m angry and I’m hurt and confused and I don’t know what to do with that, other than hurt people.”

“So you push them away with your walls. Fuck that! Easy way out.”

“I. Don’t want to. Hurt you. How is that a bad thing?” Was Kya even listening to her?

Kya started pointing at Lin. “You are scared of something else and you use that shit as an excuse not to deal with it. I know you!”

Did she? “Well maybe I don’t feel worthy!”

Her breakthrough was accompanied by a fist slamming on the table.

Kya didn’t flinch. There it is, she thought. Lin seemed surprised at her own revelation.

“Of what, exactly, aren’t you worthy?”

Lin swung her arm around, trying to find the words. “All of this. You, bothering. You, asking and pushing. Your love even.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lin. Everyone deserves love.”

“Not me. Not, if you asked anyone else.”

“Bullshit!” Kya exclaimed.

Lin growled in frustration before asking, ”Why are you like this? That isn’t fair. I already have a hard time saying that aloud.”

“I know, I see that. I have, for the past week. Build your walls all you want, but not inside this house! You can’t shut me out like the rest of them.”

“Maybe I'm not touchy-feely enough for that, not soft enough. I don’t want to disappoint you. I process stuff like this on my own. Then what if you realize that I’m not the talking-kind after all and you leave – like you did in the dream? I’m afraid of losing you and you don’t have to mock me for it.”

Kya swallowed as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m not mocking you. I do want to make you feel better. However, I will not repress my needs in return. I tried that and seeing us argue right now, it wasn’t a smart choice. And we both deserve for this to work.”

Lin felt her cheeks flush bright red as she couldn’t object. They agreed. Somehow, they both knew.

“Well I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Lin settled defensively, ”I don’t have more. I’m not holding back or whatever you think it is that I’m doing.”

Kya let the tears stream down her cheeks. “Great,” she said, angrily wiping them away.

“Great,” Lin repeated holding her gaze while Kya brought herself to speak again, attempting not to let her voice break halfway through the sentence, “Are we done arguing or is there anything else you want to get off your chest?”

“I am done,” Lin emphasized, pressing at the bridge of her nose.

“Good, cause I’m tired.”

“Then get ready for bed. I’ll do the dishes.”

The argument had ended in the same harsh tone that had dominated throughout, yet the anger was fading quickly; much like the heavy blanket, Lin noticed as she picked up their plates. Like some kind of fog had cleared.

Kya ran a shower, while Lin scrubbed the dishes cleaner than she had ever seen them.

Her breathing was still heavier than usual and she felt her fingers tremble almost dropping a spoon. When she had cleaned the sink and Kya opened the door to their bedroom, Lin switched all the lights off.

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

Lin’s face was still cold from the water when she came back from the bathroom.

“You just gonna stand there?” Kya asked. Her voice soft again. The fight – if they could even call it that – felt like it had been hours ago and all that was left as Lin slipped under the blanket was exhaustion.

They lay in bed, facing the ceiling. After a few moments Lin reached out to find Kya’s hand.

“I love you,” she whispered. Kya knew.

“I love you, too,” Kya answered. Lin knew.

Lin drew her in for a kiss and felt Kya’s face relax. “I’m making breakfast tomorrow.”

“I can live with that,” Kya smiled.

[ishipeverything33]

MHA meets Ok KO! LET'S BE HEROES

So I had this idea a while ago where Izuku was born with a quirk and has similar powers to K.O.

You know where he's super strong, and his punches are super powerful and his fists light up. But Izuku's fists would have green flames.

Except one day when Izuku was about 9 years old he was hit by this quirk that split his personality.

All his negative emotions manifested into a whole knew personality.

Izuku regularly gets beaten up and bullied by Bakugo.

He and used to be friends up until Bakugo got his quirk. Bakugo then had this idea that he was somehow better than everyone else and his personality changed drastically.

He started to be mean to Deku. Deku was the last person in his grade to get his quirk and was made fun of for being a late bloomer. One day Deku is following Bakugo and his gang into the forest.

Bakugo and his gang started making fun of Izuku which got him all worked up. Izuku punched his fist in the air only for a ball of green fire to shoot out from his fist and just barely miss Bakugo's head :")

Bakugo and his gang are shocked, and Izuku is kinda freaked out himself. He apologizes profusely to Bakugo for almost hurting him. But then his guilt is quickly turned into excitement as he realized that he his got his quirk! He and his mother were starting to worry that he'd never get one.

Bakugo's gang is more than impressed with his new abilities.

Bakugo is then filled with rage and jealousy as he's not the only one with a super cool and super powerful quirk anymore.

He then starts to bully Deku even more. Putting him down, convincing him that he was weak and  his quirk was nowhere as powerful as his. Izuku soon starts to believe Bakugo and his self esteem is very wounded.

That day Izuku had just gotten beaten up by Bakugo and his group of goons and lackies. And he went home crying {poor brocolli boi o(TヘTo) }

On his way home he encountered a villain that tried to convince him to join his side. Deku refused, but was then attacked and hit by a quirk that (as stated before) split his personality.

Since he was feeling such strong negative emotions: anger, sadness, despair, longing, the personality was created from all of his negative emotions.

His new personality is similar to TKO

At random times, especially when Izuku gets overly worked up, his personality switches to T.Deku or Evil!Deku.

His other self has the personality of villain!deku

Izuku feels extremely discouraged because all he's ever wanted was to become a hero. But how can he do that with his new dark side?

He now tends to lash out on other people without being able to control himself. He can see everything that goes on but it is like he isn't in control of his body.

Sometimes he's his sweet, energetic self and other times he's violent, hot tempered, cold hearted and bitter. And there's absolutely nothing he can do about it.

Eventually Deku learns to live with his other half and takes UA's entrance exam, which he gets in with his powerful punching quirk.

Deku befriends Uraraka and Iida.

After that training excercize where they were divided into villains and heroes, Izuku's dark side is revealed to his new friends.

After he explained what happened to him in the past, they understand and accept him.

Difficulties he must face is learning to accept himself for who he is. Learning to accept both of his sides. Most of all, learning to get along with his other half and working together is a synchrony.

Much like TKO, TDeku (short for Turbo Deku) is his own person.

He has his own personality, his own flaws and his own interests.

TDeku has slightly different powers. Powers Deku can only unlock when he's very angry or emotional. He can fly, his flames are red and so are his eyes.

And like TKO, TDeku is angry at the villain for creating him and he wonders why he exists in the first place. He wants to be his own person and he doesn't like the fact that its "Izuku's world and he's just living in it."

(Original quote "its KO's world and I'm just living in it" or something like that)

As a result of Deku's personality being split by his emotions, Izuku is very happy and bubbly and kind, and TDeku is angsty bitter and mean.

Izuku doesn't want to be put back together and have his personality combined again because he knows TDeku is his own person and he feels that getting rid of him would be like murder.

There are some occasions where Izuku can get angry and some where TDeku is nice.

Despite what some think, TDeku wants to be good and he isn't evil. Just very angry. (Like Bakugou)

Eventually Bakugo hates Deku less because of TDeku. He sees that TDeku isn't weak, isn't a push over, and is willing to fight if people get on his nerves. TDeku is also sometimes seen as evil. But he can tell he isn't evil, just very angry and easily agitated (as he is the physical embodiment of Deku's negative emotions).

Bakugo prefers Deku as TDeku, and actually can't stand his overly cheery self. Too bad Deku appears more being that he's the original personality

TDeku is basically incapable of being happy yet Deku always tries to cheer him up.

Like KO and TKO they can't take control at the same time. They need to take turns being in control. However, when one is in control, the other can see what is going on through their eyes.

Eventually, they more frequently switch who is in control. To the point that they can talk right after each other. Their eyes change colour depending on who is in control (green eyes for Deku, red eyes for TDeku)

Their appearance also changes.

Izuku looks like...well...izuku

And TDeku looks like villain!deku. Red eyes and dark marks under eyes. His tone of voice it also different from Deku.

Eventually they start to learn how to work in sync.

Although it is very difficult at first

They slowly get the hang of it as plot progresses. They are more powerful when sync because they can access each others powers. (Basically Deku's full abilities.)

Their eyes also glow yellow when they are in sync (Like a traffic light, green, red and yellow.)

Oh, and Deku and TDeku have a headspace much like KO and TKO where there's basically a mini word in his head. And his eyes are like screens which he can see the outside world through when they're not in control. And there's a little control panel they can use.

Oh, and eventually all of class 1A know about Deku's other personality. And they accept them both as individuals 😌. Although some of them are a little scared of TDeku when he is mad.

_______

If you you reblog this, please don't tag it as BakuDeku. Idk what I'm gonna do with this AU yet. It's just an idea I had although I may make fan art for it in the future and write a fan fiction for it.

[nureyevv]

The Thief and The Secretary (...and the detective)

Juno Steel didn’t need to say he loved Rita. Sure, she got on his nerves from time to time but... she was also the most reliable person in his life. That had to mean something.

And Peter Nureyev? Well they’d finally patched things up, and yea, the situation still wasn’t perfect, but they were healing. Even just as a friend, it was intoxicating to have that eccentric, one of a kind man back in his life.

Those were two unwavering truths in a galaxy of uncertainty, but the reality of the first two statements did nothing to make the third fact any less prevalent.

Peter and Rita together? Seems good on paper, but in reality they produce a level of chaos previously unknown to man kind. In short, it was a lot.

So despite what Buddy and Vespa and Jet and... well all of them who said he was being to sensitive! He knew it was more than that.

Yea, maybe he was a bit put out when Rita turned to Peter instead of him to ramble about her shows. Yea, maybe he missed being Nureyev’s go to in a pinch— his partner in crime. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be rational. The two were a force to be reckoned with and he could prove it.

It started out innocent enough. Peter would paint Rita’s nails and do her make up. Rita would doodle on his arms with pens during mission briefings. And, of course, anything they did together seemed completely adorable— honestly the two could have robbed a person stupid and they wouldn’t even know. They’d be too caught up in how Nureyev stood two feet taller than Rita and she’d still found a way to snatch his glasses from his face.

The dynamic was simply too powerful and too unstable.

The thing about Rita was, no matter how level headed a person was, it was hard to say no to her. Even when Juno managed to be blunt with her it still felt like there might have been a bit of a yes in there. The thing about Nureyev was, despite his cool analytical demeanor, the man had a little crazy genius in him waiting to be let out.

They also both had a fondness for drama

This combination was nothing less than devastating.

Two weeks on the ship together and Rita had found that it was impossible to make enough popcorn for everyone on the ship with their microwave. Not enough space for that many bags. Now, if it were Juno he would have just taken turns. Sure it would have taken longer, but there was the same end result

Rita though... Rita wasn’t that patient. But she was also very smart. Smart enough to known the ships energy production system reached about the same temperature as the microwave, and smart enough to know how to get six bags of popcorn there.

And Nureyev? Well Nureyev was just slippery enough to get those bags where they needed to be.

Long story short, the ship had smelled of popcorn for weeks— not to mention Nureyev had nearly lost his eyebrows on the trip back down when one of the bags caugh aflame.

Juno liked those eyebrows, too.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how two certified geniuses could get into so much trouble. And figuring things out was quite literally his job.

They talked about him too. Nothing bad he supposed, but it was still... frustrating.

Like- like he’ll be minding his own business and Nureyev will mention his pocket toothpaste, unprovoked

It’s none of his business if Juno liked to have emergency access to toiletries? It was sanitary!

And besides, Nureyev had pockets full of junk from the outer rim to the sun and back. He had no room to judge!

Oh, and, of course, there was the peter and Rita movie nights

Rita had just about every show in existence downloaded onto her comms long before they left mars, but the biggest screen on the ship was in the public sitting area just off from the kitchen.

Ever since the two of them had started hanging around each other it seemed like they were always watching something new. With Rita, it made sense. She’d been addicted to shows as long as he’d known her. Peter, though? Juno couldn’t see the appeal of watching a bunch of reruns for a master thief.

It didn’t matter— it was harmless in comparison to their popcorn related highjinks— and yet... well it was a lot of things.

Juno hadn’t got a good nights sleep in a couple days. THEIA was long gone, as was the misfigured shape as Miasma just before she was the victim of an unknowing suicide. He’d been moving on from all that, slowly but surely. In sleep, however, it was difficult to be in control of his mind.

When he closed his eyes he still heard voices sometimes, not exactly like when the Martian pill had still be in his head, but more of an echo of searching through others minds. He saw the face of Yasmin Swift and heard Ramses’s drawl. Bad dreams, that was all they were. He was never actually back in that blood sucking chair, but in the moment before he woke it sure felt like he was.

He was used to the nightmares— their intensity would fade and fluctuate in the months to come. He could handle that. For now he couldn’t help being a bit irritable. Lack of sleep always seemed to do that to him.

So sleep deprived asshole Juno was at the wheel when he stubbled across Nureyev and Rita having one of their usual movie nights a few days after they passed Saturn. Rita’s hair was in two tight braids, platted with Peter’s expert precision. Curlers were scattered across Nureyev’s own head, leaving Juno amazed that his hair was long enough to even hold them. They both sported green face masks that looked like just another skin care tip he didn’t know the first thing about. The biggest difference between the two was that Rita’s mask had pink salmon snack dust near the mouth.

“Y’ want wan?” Rita asked Peter, mouth stuffed full with crackers. Peter’s response came in the shape of a pained smile— one that said he’d fallen into that trap once and wouldn’t go back. He just had to find a way to put it nicely.

“I’m going to have to pass, unfortunately. I’d hate to deprive you your treat.”

Rita seemed to consider this and nod in agreement. “That’s a very good point, Mistah Petah”

By all means Juno could have just kept walking. The exchange was, admittedly, very sweet. With all his complaining, he had to say he was happy to see them both enjoying themselves. But then he caught sight of their film of choice.

Andromeda, the original. He knew the story well.

That was the last straw��� Juno knew just about everyone in the galaxy had scene andromeda, but it felt... personal. Like they were watching his life story unfold on screen. It made his skin crawl, and, suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know how this pair had gotten so close so fast. Some of the most impactful people in his life were gathered in that room. He had a right to know how it’s come to be.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll bite. Someone explain to me what’s going on here,” he snapped, harsher than he’d expected.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “Just passing the time, detective.”

“That’s not what I— I mean when did this even happen?” He asked, gesturing vaguely at the two of them. How did I miss it his mind added, silently.

“It’s a small ship, Mistah Steel, we were bound to cross pathes eventually,” said Rita with significantly less snacks in her mouth. They looked at him with that look they both shared— the one that said, even though he was being an asshole, even though they’d make him apologize later, they were more worried about him for the time being. How could two people so incredibly different look at him the exact same way?

“Juno... are you alright?” Asked Nureyev when he didn’t answer. He wanted to be angry, to let himself fester in the self pity of being left out. But then again, it seemed almost natural now.

Of course— of course these two would get along. After all, if they could put up with him, they could probably put up with just about anyone.

If Juno was being honest, they were two stellar picks anyway

He let out a groan and collapsed onto the empty space on the couch right in between them. “I can’t understand what I’ve done to make you encourage her like this. I can’t stand this show.”

“Boss, weve been over this— just cause your taste is the absolute worst and you hate everything universally loved doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same way!”

Juno gave her an unconvinced look.

Nureyev chimed in: “actually, I have to agree with Miss Rita, I quite enjoy this— oh what was it called again?”

“Andromeda” answered Juno and Rita in unison.

“Ah, yes, Andromeda. We didn’t have anything like this in the outer rim.”

This seemed to catch Rita’s attention, her extensive movie knowledge kicking in. “Andromeda was a galaxy wide success, though. Surely you must have heard of it?”

There was a pause.

Juno knew Nureyev had never been in one place long enough to keep up with pop culture, and if he did stick around he wouldn’t have had the kind of spending money on him to see a movie. After that, he and Mag had been too busy trying to save the world to bother with things like that.

Rita, of course, hadn’t seen that side of Peter Nureyev. Juno thought he’d save him the trouble of explaining. “Rita the outer rim was ravaged by war. I doubt things work the same way they do on mars.”

This answer was enough to satisfy Rita. Nureyev, with a grateful half smile, nodded in agreement. “It’s a nice change of pace. I’m fond of this Andromeda, though. I can understand why she became to popular.”

Juno rolled his eyes while Nureyev continued. “Actually, now that I think of it, she reminds me a bit of you, detective.”

Rita snorted from beside him, finding the comparison immensely funny after all of Juno’s comments. She then descended into coughing, evidently having choked on one of her salmon crackers.

Juno... well he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He’d always seen Sarah Steel in Andromeda— in all of North Star’s shows, really— but ever since he had his eye removed things had been different. Not exactly better. Knowing what he did now wasn’t easy, but it also left a lot less room for being bitter over twenty year old mistakes.

And now that Peter pointed it out, he thought he could recognize a bit of his brother in Andromeda, too. They said to write what you know, and Sarah had known her boys, at least back then.

He glanced at Nureyev to his right and Rita to his left. A few months ago, thinking about the old days would have sent him spiraling into a whole abyss of Things He Didn’t Want To Think About. But now? He felt strangely ok.

“You know... it has been a while since I’ve seen it. Maybe I’ll stick around.”

Rita nearly spontaneously combusted at that sentence. Peter smiled softly in that knowing way. “You know, I believe I have an extra face mask, too, if that sounds alright.”

Juno thought that sounded pretty good.

[hanybanani]

𝑀𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑜𝓅𝒽𝓎

First of all, what is philosophy and how does it help us? Philosophy is the study of existence and reality, it helps us develop our critical thinking and makes our lives easier in terms of making better decisions and choices in life. 

Have you ever wondered how to make good choices in life?  Of course,  you would want to keep heading into the direction you want and not fall into a spiral of stress and despair. Now, as teenagers, even adults, many of us wondered about our lives, like what is our purpose, some people think they don’t have a purpose. What is success and how will you achieve it, what is good and what is bad, or how should we treat one another, ect. 

Philosophy gives us ethics. It involves “systematizing, defending, and recommending concepts of right and wrong behavior". Growing up, we often face choices, there are times when we are indecisive in life and you realize you are responsible as you set an example.

 Philosophy  in Greek means “the love of wisdom” or “the pursuit of wisdom”, and I think making mistakes can be turned into a valuable lesson to a person. Why do I think this? Well, as Albert Einstein said, “ Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new”. My philosophy in making mistakes is that it teaches us to clarify what we really want, it is a fundamental part for every understanding, advancement, and development. The correct exists because of the fault and this is what makes us human. Men is prone to error and develops, but that depends on how one responds to the error. 

Philosophy has been around since the 6th century, without it, everything we have now wouldn’t exist. We wouldn’t have freedom to have our own opinion, values, nor have equality. It helps us approach into making policies, make rational suggestions into shaping society to become better. Philosophy helps students acquire a knowledge of those ideas and its origins. Philosophy also influence teaching, and even leadership. 

Science and philosophy are pretty similar when it comes to finding out what is reality. The difference is that science is all about the natural phenomena and philosophy is understanding the nature of man and our existence. I personally think that philosophy can lead to innovation, giving fantastical inspiration to create new ideas for creating innovative solutions. 

The Noble Eight-fold Path

I’m not Buddhist but reading the Eight-fold Path helps to become calmer and be more at peace knowing what to do in times of distress, if you want to follow the Eight Fold Path  It’s a good thing to remember that it’s important to be ethical in word and in deed, and thought. To be kind to others, and being positive as much as possible and be respectful and moral person. Remembering those will surely help you to be peaceful in your mind and to everyone around you and will not let you suffer as a bitter person. Having peace within oneself makes you have the right understanding, the right intent, the right speech, right mindfulness, concentration, following all of these creates a harmony in oneself. I have learned that when you’re compassionate towards others and treat them right, you get a reward too, and it also feels good to do something good to others and they will be kind to you as well. 

Treating others the right way is good for the mental health and well being, it can reduce the stress and improve our mood and also self-esteem and of course, it makes us happy. Doing good deeds does not need much time or costs money like when listening to your friends without judgement and focus on what they need.  

Ecocentric  model  and  evaluate  personal  views  and attitudes toward nature

The environment that God has given us is truly beautiful, the air we breathe, the land we walk on and the plants and animals that live among humans are made carefully. All lives are equal to existence and ecocentrism is a pathway to  a sustainable living. Man is made to dominate the Earth and take care of it. Ecocentrism is the reason why we value the environment we live in. Life relies on geological processes and has been worldview and many countries speak about folklore. An ecocentric view holds the planet’s ecology and ecosystems, the the lives of humans, animals, the creatures the lives in the depths of the sea and all life forms. I think that we should continue to take care of our surroundings for the future generation, to look at the world with love of nature, will give the children of the future a wonderful Earth that they could still live on. With all the buidings that are being built, the trees that are being cut and the amount of garbage that is being thrown to the ocean should be reduced and think about the other living things that will suffer from the greediness of mankind. 

We should reduce, reuse, recycle to save that dying animals and reduce the pollution in the air that we breathe for the sake of the children and the children of their children. We must protect and value the things that were made to sustain life even if they cannot be used by humans as resources. 

Marcos Batas Militar

How can reason be translated into action?

An individual’s speech makes sense based on logic and facts and can be turned into action when the individual starts to act upon his visions logically and comfortably 

If there were no intellect, there would be no will. Explain.

You cannot accomplish anything without intelligence or without any practical plan, thus there is no will if you do not know how to make ends meet. 

What is a social contract and how is it reflected in the EDSA Revolution?

An agreement from the members of society. The law is reflected in the people by making an agreement.

Was freedom denied during the Martial Law? Was there free choice within the Filipino people? 

People could not go outside their houses and speak about the government or they will get killed. There was no freedom for the people who denied the Martial Law  and there was no free choice. 

How do you think this is similar and/or different from the colonization of the Philippines from the hands of the Spanish, American, and Japanese?

The Spanish people colonized the Philippines under military and religious supremacy while the Philippines is an instrument for WWII for the Japanese. America desires for opportunities that will benefit their own country and to have power over the islands from other countries, it is somehow similar to the Marcos martial law where the authority or people with access to firearms disregards the safety and needs of the people for their own benefit. 

How do you think this is similar and/or different from today’s events in the Philippines?

The events regarding for covid-19 are similar but different as people are required to stay home for their own health but similar to martial law as the media sensualize the virus to which it makes people afraid and scared, but according to a doctor in Europe, covid-19 is just like any other flu. 

My mother likes listening to classic music and because of my mother, I know about Andrea Bocelli. His music is comforting and his voice is beautiful. Andrea Bocelli is a knows as a great music artist that inspires many people around the globe. When he was still in his mother’s womb, the doctor advised his parents to abort him because him might have a disability, his mother, however opposed the advice the doctor gave and gave birth to him and when he was born he did have many issues with his sight and was diagnosed with congenital glauoma. As a young boy, Bocelli had a passion for music even with his disability, it did not stop him from playing the piano and other instruments and to be a great singer and won countless awards. He is a good model for young kids with disabilities to never stop hoping and dream big.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

 25-year life plan. 

Firsly, I want to develop my skills in arts and be able to try out and learn digital drawing since it looks super cool and fun to do and be able to do animations because I wanted to do that as a kid. When it comes to career, I want to get a good job in  software technology and be able to create applications and games  that would help many people in their daily lives and also have fun. But before I achieve all that, education is important.My plan is to get to graduate college, I want to expand my knowledge in computer programming.

I want to be able to contribute to my family, and support them with their needs, and show them love as much as possible so I guess having a decent stable job would allow me to be helpful to the family. My financial plan would be saving as much to start a business  and  also giving to charity. In life, you can’t always just be working and working, sometimes looking after yourself is more important as well, being healthy and to excercise more and eat healthy food in order to achieve your goals. Working hard and looking after yourself can take you to places and for pleasure, I would like to do my bucket list like to be able to travel and see places, to be part of an organization helping citizens and the environment, giving to charity and to meet new people and learn from them. I think this is most people’s common life plan, its a dream and a plan, but don’t call it a dream, call it a plan, make it a goal and thrive big.  

[biavastarr]

Co-Workers

Pairing: steve rogers x you (fem!reader)

Warnings: language, mild (?) violence, injuries, inaccurate medical descriptions, inaccurate passage of time

Word Count: 3,968

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the media or characters mentioned in this story.

Author’s Notes: okay so this is my first fic that I’ve written since seventh/eighth grade and since the theme is nostalgia and I’m the writer who has the power to do whatever I want I’m gonna disregard like half of canon and make this fic post-Civil War except they all got along and everyone’s alive and happy and Pietro and Bucky are living at the tower too and it’s not the compound mainly bc I want it to be in the city. reader is an ex-SHIELD agent who joined the Avengers like a month ago bc she’s been on the run since it fell. I just,, I love them both. I’m definitely being overindulgent and this is way too much exposition for stuff I don’t think really gets mentioned.

this is for @whirlybirbs and her endgame writing challenge, the nostalgic thing in this being the innocent “they all lived in the tower together” era that I loved so much. this is my first time writing for Marvel but I hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Being a former SHIELD agent left you with a lot of walls that a certain blonde super-soldier is all too good at tearing down.

This mirror, you decided, has got to go. You were staring at yourself from ten different angles and the A.I. was reciting a full rundown of your skincare routine and it was quite frankly creeping you out. Ever since you moved in to Stark Tower last month, Tony had been trying to charm you with increasingly technologically enhanced appliances and you were starting to feel like Belle, what with having to tell your fridge that no, you are not hungry but thank you for the concern.

You carefully smoothed over your dress, a black, crushed-velvet thing with a high neck and flowing sleeves, a cinched waist, and wide skirt that fell delicately at your knee. If you could appreciate one thing about the mirror, you mused, you could admit that it let you know you look damn good. You slipped on a pair of pumps and left your little pseudo-apartment as quietly as you could manage, praying that your years of SHIELD training didn’t fail you in your time of - dare you say desperate? - need.

Tragically, as though the gods themselves had it out for you - you’d curse Thor for this later - you only managed to make it down the hall before delighted crowing from one genius billionaire playboy philanthropist made himself known. You turned slowly, bracing yourself for this inevitable interrogation-slash-please-be-friends-with-us speech. The man strolled over to you with a smirk on his face, Captain America himself trailing awkwardly behind him. Your heart fluttered pathetically at the sight of the blonde soldier. No, you reminded yourself sternly. Coworkers are coworkers.

Blissfully oblivious to your sour expression, Tony clasped your hand and spun you wildly, your dress flaring out around you. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you finally gracing us acquaintances with your presence at movie night tonight?” He drawled out his comment, glancing far-too-knowingly at a certain slack-jawed supersoldier.

You winced, knowing that he’d just quoted you from a check-in report you had given Fury the other day that the other Avengers had found and pouted over. You didn’t have any specific issues with them, you knew, but they were your coworkers. The last time you had trusted the people you worked with, you had ended up with a gun to your head in a room full of Hydra members. It was easier - both for you and your heart - not to mix business with pleasure. That being said, you also knew that it’s never wise to be rude to a man who’s quite literally housing and paying you. Ever since SHIELD fell, Tony Stark had taken it upon himself to finance this whole initiative.

You sighed dramatically, faking a put-upon tone. “I suppose I can promote you all to glorified roommates, if you would like, but no, I’ve got a date.” Your eyes subconsciously drifted to Steve, drinking in his appearance as you admired his absurdly tight shirt straining over his chest.

At this, Tony lit up, his grin only widening further, eyebrows dancing high on his forehead. “Oh, really,” he questioned, “and with whom, may I ask, are you going out with? Can they really outmatch ole’ Capsicle here with his puppy eyes?” He winked at Steve, who was doing his best (which was not very successful) not to stare too deep into your eyes.

Smiling playfully, you pinched Tony’s cheek, laughing at the blush that painted his face in reaction. “Aw, Stark, that’s for me to know, and for you to never find out.” With a swish of your dress, you stepped around him, nodding kindly at a still-silent Steve Rogers, and entered the elevator.

As the doors closed, you waved shyly at the pair, trying not to think too hard about how none of the walls you had built, those defenses so painstakingly made, could ever really protect you from those incredibly blue eyes that still looked your way.

---

Steve hated when Pietro picked for movie nights. The last three time in a row had granted the Sokovian complete and utter control and he was dying, he was sure of it.

While they normally rotated turns, last week was what the Avengers had hoped to be your turn, but you had shrugged and said you had a mission, passing it off to Pietro, despite him literally picking the week before, not that Steve was still bitter about it or anything. Not at all. Tonight it was supposed to be Tony’s turn, but he had picked up on Steve’s exasperation with the speedster’s movie taste and gleefully handed the reins to Pietro once more.

Wiggling his eyebrows (ridiculously), Pietro popped the DVD for Not Another Teen Movie into the player, flopping down into the seat beside his sister with a bright grin. “Look, Captain,” his heavily accented voice drew Steve from his thoughts. “You may even like this one, it’s a play off all the other flicks we’ve been watching. Also, the guy who plays Jake is hot.” He winked unabashedly at Steve, who was now contemplating how hard it was to fake a heart attack if it meant he could leave the inevitable teasing that would come from tonight.

No, not because he was an “old man who can’t appreciate fine cinema” (Natasha’s cutting words after he said he didn’t particularly enjoy High School Musical 3), but because your absence meant that the others could safely - and loudly - tease him about you.

Bucky, whose metal arm was slung casually around the seat next to him, was currently bearing a shark-like grin, and Nat, who had draped herself across an entire half of the couch, much to Tony’s chagrin, had a smirk painted on her face as they watched everyone settle in, easily noting that you, like always, had elected not to come.

“Where’s our new recruit?” Wanda inquired with an air of fake innocence, oh, Wanda, not you too, not you, thought Steve in alarm, the young witch looking around as if she really needed to search for a person she knew was not attending.

“Oh, haven’t you heard? She’s got a date.” Tony said, drawing out the last word as if he treasured it dearly.

“No!” Wanda mock gasped. “How did I not know this!” She turned to Steve, the bowl of popcorn shifting dangerously in her lap. Sam nimbly scooped it up before it fell, and Tony mumbled something grateful about stains in his carpeting before stuffing his face with the buttery popped kernels. “Who’s she out with?”

Sam grinned at her slyly as he tossed a piece of popcorn at Natasha, watching her catch it deftly in her mouth. “It’s probably Pepper’s new assistant, Jared, I think? He’s always staring at her like she hung the moon or something, bet he finally got the balls to ask her out.”

Natasha shook her head incredulously. “No way, that kid is so nervous he rivals Steve in his eloquence around her, I swear. Maybe she met someone outside of the Tower. She does go out without us a lot.”

Steve flushed considerably, cursing his Irish skin for betraying him so. He tried to focus on the movie again, preferring the embarrassment of the whipped cream-covered protagonist to the current situation he was facing. “I do not get nervous around her,” he grumbled, more to himself than anything. Bucky’s head shot up at this, his damn super-hearing once again being the bane of Steve’s existence.

“Yeah, punk, and I don’t have an arm made of Vibranium,” Bucky snarked, throwing his metal hand up for emphasis. “What, like it’s just natural for you to fall off your chair mid-debriefing?” Steve, again, bemoaned his reddening state, doing his best to ignore the group around him smirking at the memory.

Sam patted his leg consolingly, having stretched out on the pillow-laden floor for better access to the snacks. “Look, man,” he started carefully, “you’ve just gotta say something, sometime. You don’t want to wait until it’s too late and you definitely don’t want to say it when you don’t mean to. She’s an Avenger, just like the rest of us, despite how much she tries to act like she’s not, and it’s not going to make life any less complicated for her if you’re stewing on feelings she doesn’t know about.”

Steve laughed a little disbelievingly. “What, you think I’ll tell her in the middle of battle? C’mon, man, give me some credit.” Sam rolled his eyes eerily in sync with Nat and Bucky.

“Alright, Rogers, whatever. Act like you don’t need us.”

---

Oh fucking hell, you thought, sprinting frantically through the streets of Paris as the city lights twinkled tauntingly above you.

Your date, as you had called it eighteen hours ago, was actually at a gala hosted by an arms dealer Fury suspected was Hydra, and now, with a gash carved across your leg and a head wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding, you felt that he had been quite justified.

Pausing for a moment in a flower-covered alcove, you held your breath, hoping that whoever had been tailing you had finally called it quits and moved on. You were tapping out a message on your phone, letting him know what went down, when you caught sight of the man tracking you.

Shit, you thought to yourself. It was the man whose very arm you had entered the gala on, and he was the most trusted goon of the suspect you had been investigating. You knew it was safer to head back to the Tower, check in with Maria and Fury, and then return for further evidence, especially considering the USB drive you had tucked into the pocket of your dress, but you had already gotten so much from this mission that you hadn’t expected and by god if you weren’t a relentless and slightly reckless pursuer of justice.

Narrowing your eyes as you continued to observe your oblivious pursuer, you opened up your purse, quickly wrapped your calf wound, and carefully slipped on the stealth suit and matching boots, packing away the dress and frowning slightly at the new tear in the seam. One of the surprise pains of being an Avenger was the tragically short lifespan of your closet.

Padding behind the man silently, you finished your message to Fury, punctuating it with the update of your plans to infiltrate whatever base the man was headed to. Breathing in deeply, you slid your phone into one of the straps across your thigh and winced slightly at the pain still screaming in your leg, hurrying on behind the burly man.

---

Maria groaned exasperatedly at the message blinking on her monitor, swinging her chair around to face Fury. “You see this?” She pointed at it in frustration, finding no other words for your stupidity.

“Fucking dumbass. She always does this. Thinks she can get all the motherfuckers out of sheer will.”

“God, I mean, she’s a good agent, but she has no regard for her personal safety. It is such a pain, Nick, I’m telling you, I’m going to get gray hair just from having to be her handler.” Maria tugged at her dark locks as if to display them for inspection. She and Nick both loved you, but they forgot how dumb it was to send you on a solo mission with no back-up; you were never sated with just satisfying mission objectives; with no one to stop you, you wouldn’t be finished with the job until at least an entire base was wiped out or you were carried away on a stretcher.

Nick shook his head and picked up his phone again, signalling to Maria that she needed to respond to you, well-aware that you’d ignore their protests anyways. Dialing his backup plan, he internally groaned at the voice that picked up.

“Hey, Stark. So I borrowed your new agent-”

---

Oh fucking hell, for real this time, you thought, wincing at the heavy manacles they left you in. You were a little grossed out that these things looked like they came out of a medieval torture museum, and had the rust to prove it, but you supposed that was a later issue. You had gotten your tetanus shot, you reminded yourself as a new grimace shook you when the metal dug painfully into your wrists.

No, your current issue were the two Hydra agents staring you down in the harshly lit room. You assumed it was the designated unwillful-interrogation room, but you clocked no less than three potential exit points, from the door to the vents to poorly concealed hollow panel you bet you could kick in with a hearty shove. Finishing your assessment of the room, you waited until one of the agents cleared their throat before turning back to them.

“Who do you work for?” His gruff voice ground out, grabbing the chain that kept your bulky cuffs suspended in the air. Your lips curled into an expression of disgust at his proximity.

“I mean, a) cliche line, seriously, and b) why do you even ask? If I’m from anywhere worth being from, it’s not like I’d tell you. Also, you guys should have, like, basic investigative skills. Facial recognition technology. Literally anything.”

The man growled again, rattling the chain as if he was trying to shake you around like a ragdoll. Your head swam and you were reminded of the blood draining out of you from a wound with an ever-slipping wrap.

Figuring that waiting longer would only worsen the situation, you yanked your arms up and wound the chain tightly around the agent, choking him out while his partner sprang up towards you. She shot straight at you through him, clearly not caring whether he survived this attack, but you launched yourself up and over his shoulders, snapping his thick neck with a twist of the chains. Angling your wrists up so that the next bullets hit the cuffs, you wriggled your hands out of the pinched, burning hot metal and lunged at her before she could react.

Scrabbling at her hands while trying to grab the gun, she managed to sling you over her shoulder so you landed with a thud on the ground. You kicked out at her feet and she fell heavily on top of you, but you flipped yourself over, straddling yourself over her hips. She tried to jerk her head up, but you dodged quickly, circling her throat with your hands and forcing your knee down on her thigh so you could follow the momentum and twist with a loud crack of her neck.

Letting her body slump to the ground, you dusted yourself off and looked around. Electing to exit via the vents, as it seemed to be the safest way to stay out of sight, you braced yourself against the chains hanging from the ceiling and pulled yourself up and out of the room.

---

“Barnes, Rogers, Romanoff, Wilson, c’mon, we’ve got a mission to ‘supplement,’ as Nick so delicately put it.” Tony was speedwalking through the common area, ignoring groans of protest as he smacked the whining assassins. “Shut up, Barnes, you can lose to Natasha at chess on the quinjet, we’ll have plenty of time on our way to Paris.”

“Paris?” Steve parroted, joining Tony at his side. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that this alleged ‘date’ has lasted a day and a half?”

“Relax, Cap, your girlfriend is fine-”

“She’s not my girlfrien-”

“Right, you wish!” Natasha cackled loudly, high-fiving Sam and Bucky while Steve turned and gave her the best kicked puppy expression he could. This only served to make them laugh more, and Steve once again questioned why he ever let these dorks - his dorks - all meet.

---

“Yes!” You whispered quietly to yourself, beaming at the storage room full of explosives you could see below you. Dropping down as quietly as you could manage, you let yourself land on the shoulders of the lone guard and knock him to the ground, stabbing him in the stomach with knife you had pulled out of your boots. Pausing once again to readjust the bandage you had tied around your leg, you let yourself lean against a crate for a moment, your vision wavering.

---

“Tony?” Natasha’s concerned voice rang out from the cockpit, causing everyone to worriedly look in her direction. “Was this base supposed to be on fire?”

Steve stood up and rushed to the windows, his own eyes confirming one of his biggest fears. He had a team member down there, and he didn’t know if she was alive or dead, and worst of all, he didn’t know what he could do to help her.

“Sam, Tony, you guys get out now. Fly over and try to get us visual on any activity going down. Let us know if, if you see her.” Steve shook his head at his stumble, pausing momentarily. “Bucky, Nat, as soon as we land this thing, we’re all going to split up. Cover as much ground as we can. Where’s our closest landing point?”

“I’ve got it, Cap, calm your beautiful, beefy-”

“Do not even finish that sentence right now.”

“Rogers that.”

“That doesn’t even work, Tony!”

---

It had been a whole 273 seconds since Steve had touched down on the ground and there was still no sign of you, and with the few Hydra agents stationed at this base being found dead or dropped already, this left his mind all too open to thinking up terrible situations that you could’ve found yourself in.

Don’t be ridiculous, he chided himself, the knocked out agents, the explosions are a good sign. She’s a capable agent; if she did that, she’s out here somewhere. He clenched his jaw in concern over the state of the base, though. He was guessing that it was you who blew it to near pieces, and rubble was still crumbling and settling. He just hoped he didn’t find you trapped under any of it.

Suddenly, a piercing scream curled out from around a corner, and he whipped his head in search of the chilling sound. Jogging into another collapsing room, he breathed a weighty sigh of relief upon discovering your bloody but intact body on the ground. He followed your horrified line of sight to discover a kevlar-clad severed leg, drenched in blood and soot.

He knelt before you, bringing your head to his chest and wrapping his arms gently around you, trying to quiet your panicked cries, though puzzled at the sight - as an agent and then Avenger, you certainly were no stranger to gore. Steve rocked you slightly, and your shrieks quieted enough for him to bring his face level with yours and search your eyes earnestly. You watched him, your face blank, as his large thumb brushed tenderly against your cheek, wiping the stray tears and dust from your face.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, “are you okay?” He took your hand in his, gingerly stroking the back of your hand in soothing circles, and you marveled at his soft touch despite the rough leather of his gloves.

“I,” you started helplessly, “I’m, uh.” Tears continued to escape you, and you tried to fight the humiliation of crying at work, no matter how grave your situation was. You nodded brokenly at the bloody calf across the room from you, hoping he would put two and two together, and your shoulders shook once more. Steve looked at you quizzically, fighting the urge to kiss your fluttering lashes until the unidentified pain went away.

“....What?”

“What do you mean what?”

“I, just, what?”

You wailed again, throwing up your hands in frustration and instinctively standing to go and show him yourself when suddenly you glanced down in wonder. No, your eyes did not deceive you, you were standing on the same two legs you had entered this mission with. “Oh, that’s not my leg!” You gestured excitedly at the limb you had mistaken for your own, glancing back at your own leg that had a matching gash down the back of the calf. “I had just assumed I couldn’t feel it because of shock, y’know, and-”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” Steve’s breath hitched as he realized what he just said. Oh god, he groaned internally, this isn’t technically in the middle of battle, but-

“What?” You were blinking, a lot, more so than what Steve thought was normal. He tried not to read too much into your eyes, those eyes he found himself lost in, prettily framed by those long lashes and holding a gaze he couldn’t understand.

Shit, his mind was racing, stumbling over his words once more. “I, uh, I don’t, um, know why? Why I said that? Oh, god, I mean, we’re not even there yet, not that I’m expecting you to have to be there, ever, oh god, I am so sorry, I’ll just-”

“Steve,” you cut in, gasping a little and clutching a ridiculously thick arm of his for balance. “Fuck, uh, my leg, my actual leg this time-” With a painful whine, your body toppled against his as you blacked out, warm blood still trickling down your calf.

---

You squinted your eyes open, trying to avoid the glaring fluorescent light the filled the room. The hospital room, you realized, turning your head with a wince to see a large window whose natural light was tragically obstructed by cream-colored blinds. You let your eyelids droop again, hoping that you could avoid the effort of revamping your lighting by just falling asleep, but you had no such luck. You settled for letting your gaze wander aimlessly around the area, which you assumed to be a local Parisian medical center and not the Avengers medbay you had yet to visit - Tony would never allow such an ugly tile pattern within fifty feet of his home.

Shifting carefully, all too aware of the throbbing pain that still burned in your leg, you looked to the other half of the room and stifled a gasp - the one and only Captain America was asleep at your side, leaning heavily to the side of his fragile-looking plastic chair. Your eyes fell to his still-gloved hand, which was clasped in your own, and you briefly wondered how out of it you were that you hadn’t noticed this immediately.

Dragging your free hand over to cradle his face, you called his name softly. Bleary-eyed and painfully cute, Steve blinked his way awake, coming back to you. His shoulders sagged in relief at the smile on your face.

“Hey.” You weren’t necessarily one for feelings or overaffection, but you hoped Steve didn’t notice the embarrassingly obvious adoration in your voice as your eyes drank him in.

“Hey.” His tone matched yours, sleep-husky voice still loving and velvet. You started to draw your hand away, relishing the warmth that emanated from his skin, but he caught your wrist cautiously, gentle enough to let you slip away if you wanted but firm in his request.

You stayed like that, together, for a dreamy few seconds, before he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Listen, uh, so, I’m sorry, about asking, not that I didn’t want to ask because I did, but it was unprofessional and unfair to you and-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I said yes, Steve.” He blinked at you adorably in question.

“But I thought you didn’t want anything like that with a, um, coworker?”

You swallowed and looked down at your clasped hands. You had spent far too long keeping people at arm’s length because of your fear, and you knew you could trust the Avengers. You made a tiny, tentative promise to yourself, to give people chances like they had given you. Bringing your eyes to match his, you gave him a small smile.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing that Captain America is my coworker, and it’s Steve Rogers who’s asking.”

[schraubd]

The Trouble with (Jewish) Anger

If you read contemporary political theory publications, you've probably seen that "anger" is having quite the moment as a political emotion right now. As against a skeptical literature where anger is viewed as necessarily destructive or reactionary, a bunch of theorists have sought to identify and promote the uses of anger as a tool of public mobilization, asking what anger can do or promote under appropriate circumstances. Whenever I go to talks or read articles on that subject, though, I always find myself a bit perplexed. The authors seem to concentrate on defending the thesis that anger is powerful -- they suggest that anger (again, in the right circumstances) can accomplish things that might otherwise be out of reach. But it seems to me that the classical knock on anger isn't that it isn't powerful -- virtually everyone concedes that (how many fantasy novels tie anger to a powerful dark side that allows access to eldritch magic?). The problem with anger is that it's hard to control. Anger is difficult to contain and difficult to cabin. Once it is unleashed, it is hard to bottle back up. It ends up hurting those one doesn't intend to hurt, it lashes out in unpredictable and uncontrollable directions. And, of course, anger has the difficult property of being self-generating against critique -- trying to persuade someone that they should be less angry only makes them more angry (convenient, that!). The Jewish community in America is, I think it is fair to say, getting angry. What are we angry about? Well, a few different things, I suspect:

We're angry that a community and a politics that we've long called our own seems to be increasingly comfortable with the promotion of antisemitic stereotypes, and is indifferent, at best, to our feelings of hurt and fear at that fact;

We're angry that we've been unable to muster any significant public attention towards or mobilization against antisemitism from the mainstream political right, no matter how much effort we expend trying to raise it, and we're angry that media sources who are utterly indifferent when we try to talk about right-wing antisemitism only perk up when we talk about left-wing antisemitism;

We're angry at left-wing antisemitism because we're angry about antisemitism generally but this antisemitism is in our home, and also because this is the antisemitism where we actually seem able to touch it and make people pay attention to it and make its perpetrators take notice of us, and so all the anger over the antisemitism where we can't make anyone care about it gets displaced and funneled into this one social arena where somebody will pay attention to it, even as we realize how unfair that is and we're angry about that too;

We're angry that we're blamed for how other people talk or don't talk about antisemitism, and we're angry that people seem less interested in hearing what Jews have to say than in cherry-picking the Jews whose views are consonant with the narrative they want to draw and trumpeting to high heaven;

We're angry that any time we try to talk about antisemitism in a case that's within a half-mile of "Israel", we're accused of being unable to tolerate "any" (any!) criticism of Israel, or of being in the bag for Likud, or of proving the point that maybe our loyalties are in doubt;

And, I think, we're angry that the Israeli government has been racing off to the right, busily making some -- some -- arguments that once were outlandish now plausible, and putting us in increasingly difficult positions. We're angry that we've been basically powerless to stop this decay of liberal democracy in Israel, we're angry that a community and a place that we care deeply about seems not to care about us in return and is mutating into something unrecognizable to us, and we're displacing that anger a bit.

That's a lot to be angry about. It's not unreasonable to be angry, about any or all of that. And I think it's the case that to some degree, anger has fueled some genuine counterattacks against all of these things. Jewish anger has, certainly, prompted some people to issue apologies who otherwise would've continued about their business, engendered some discussions that otherwise wouldn't have have begun, prompted some solidaristic bonding that might not have otherwise occurred. One could, I think, fairly say that Jewish anger has greased the path towards some accomplishments for the American Jewish community.

But anger, as powerful as it is, is also difficult to control. I don't like the political-me when I'm angry -- and more than that, I don't trust the political-me when I'm angry. My tactical choices are often unwise. And when I look out and say how angry we're getting, I worry. I worry that we're not going to be able to bottle it back up. I worry that it is going to burst it's bounds and rage beyond control.

People have been making a lot of (premature, in my view) comparisons between the Democratic Party and UK Labour. But this is one parallel that concerns me right now. British Jews are angry at Labour, and they're by no means unreasonable to feel that way -- I've been quite vocal in calling out the disgusting cesspool of antisemitism that has taken over the Labour Party under Jeremy Corbyn's watch. That's legitimately anger-inducing. And one could even argue that Jewish anger about this has played a significant role in forcing Labour to come to the table and take what (meager) steps it has taken to tackle antisemitism in its ranks.

But I also worry that this anger and bitterness has gotten so deep that it's almost impossible to imagine any set of steps by which Jews and Labour might reconcile. Even when Labour officials do issue statements or take steps that seem genuinely positive as expressions of the importance of tackling antisemitism, the mistrust runs so thick that they're often immediately rejected -- "what good is this statement or that commitment coming from so-and-so, who's been so terrible to us in the past?"

I'm not saying that these statements or commitments will always be followed through on or even that they're always offered in good faith. I'm saying it almost doesn't seem to matter any more, the efforts that are offered in good faith and would be followed through on are swept away just as decisively by the omnipresent feeling of woundedness and mistrust. At a certain level, what Jewish anger wants out of Labour is for it to have never done such awful things in the first place. But there's nothing Labour can promise to satisfy that demand -- and so the anger can never be placated. And that, ultimately, can only lead us to a destructive place, where Jews and the left must be enemies, because there is no longer anything that can be said or done that is interpreted to be a gesture of friendship (even the most perfectly worded statement can be dismissed as a front or a guise, or insufficient given past sins).

American Jewish anger, I worry, is pushing us towards a similar precipice -- one where we can't stop being angry, where there's no plausible pathway through which our anger can sated. 

Consider reactions to the Democratic leadership delaying a proposed antisemitism resolution, with the suggestion that it be redrafted to more explicitly tie the fight against antisemitism to other forms of bigotry. 

One interpretation of this move is that it helps dissipate the notion that Ilhan Omar is being unfairly singled out, and sends a decisive message that the fights against antisemitism, racism, and Islamophobia are united struggles -- they are not in competition with one another. Another interpretation is that it "All Lives Matters" antisemitism, implies that antisemitism cannot be opposed for its own sake but must be laundered through other oppressions in order to matter, and overall represents a capitulation to those who are upset that Democrats are acknowledging the existence of left-wing antisemitism at all.

Which interpretation is right? Well, one would have to see the newly-drafted language, first of all. But I suspect that the answer will be that there is no one right answer. Either interpretation will be plausible. 

So it's up to us to choose which hermeneutic world we want to live in. We could declare, decisively, that we view such a resolution as not excusing left-wing antisemitism but also not singling it out; not suggesting that antisemitism only matters insofar as it can be tied to racism and other bigotry but rather rejecting the claim that vigorous opposition to antisemitism in any way, shape, or form is hostile to opposing these other hatreds. 

And to some extent, our declaration of interpretation will generate its reality. If we choose to believe that this is what the resolution means, that it is an expression of solidarity and of unity, then that is what it will come to mean. If we choose to believe that it means something else, that it is an insult and a capitulation, then it will mean that instead. It is both weird and, when you think about it, not so weird that it is fundamentally up to us whether any such resolution is an act of solidarity or not.

Viewed that way, the right answer is clear. But I think anger is pushing us toward the wrong choice. Yet know this: there is no resolution the Democratic leadership could write that would make it so that we weren't in this anger-inducing reality where such a resolution felt necessary to begin with. If that is our standard, we will never be placated. So the question is how do we move forward in a damaged world? Does anger get us there?

I think not. Anger doesn't look for common ground. It doesn't look for the positive or the best in people, it doesn't offer much foothold for rebuilding. It hurts those we don't actually want to hurt. Like a fire, it rages past borders and over barriers. Even when anger does do its "job" of mobilizing or organizing or signaling the degree of woundedness a given practice is generating, it doesn't easily return to its cage. Often, anger slaps at hands that really are just trying to reach out, really are trying to figure out how to do better. Which, of course, generates anger of its own. And so a cycle emerges, that is very hard to escape from.

As I mentioned above, one of the most difficult aspects of anger as a political emotion is that telling people to be less angry only makes them more angry. Even still, and even recognizing that we have grounds to be angry, I still find myself imploring my community that we need to let go of our anger here. It's rapidly losing whatever productive attributes it has, and I fear that if we don't bottle it back up now, we will completely lose control over it. 

And that thought terrifies me, because I cannot imagine that a Jewish community that is uncontrollably angry at the political community we've long called home will be a healthy, or happy, or productive place to live.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2UobK0d