#but i appreciate the ones who sacrificed their mind to watch the show and report back

[sweaters-and-vertigo]

i have a teeny, tiny superiority complex because i didn’t watch the atla live action.

[cheekygreenty]

Hi, I just saw your prompt list for Shadow&Bone!! could you possibly do No. 2 from Angst, but like with a happy ending? Like reader n Kirigan are togeather but then Alina's comes along.. just, please let be happy at the end. I like angst, but my heart can't handle sad endings 😢😢 thank you!!! ❤❤

Future- The Darkling x Reader

(Very very angsty with a happy (?) ending. It made me cry a lil bit writing it ngl)

You trusted him, wholeheartedly. At least that's what you told yourself every day since she came to the Little Palace; the place you had always called home, where you felt safe from the prying eyes of the public.

Yet now, the place was fueled by harsh rumors of him and her. Everywhere you went you could hear a whisper, nobody tried to hide it anymore, the words were always entirely devoted to your crumbling union;

'I thought they were happy'

We were.

'How can he and Alina not be together, it's destiny.'

I'm starting to think so too.

You didn't acknowledge it. Just put on a sweet smile and a brave face. Don't let them see you're hurting. Even in your own home, you had to pretend and lie, which at the end of the day, when you laid in an empty bed, made you exhausted.

He told you she meant nothing more to him than a mere weapon. But that was when she first came and when he still managed to make it to your shared chambers and would whisper sweet nothings as you fell asleep.

It was different now, on more than one occasion you caught a glimpse of them together, him looking at her the way he always looked at you. However much he claimed to be a good actor and manipulator, there was something there and he couldn't deny it either.

You hadn't confronted him about it yet fearing that if you did, the truth would hurt and sting and make all those rumors true. In addition, you haven't seen him in days and the last time you did, he told you to stay away from the wonderful Sun-Summoner.

The truth was you knew deep down in your heart that she wasn't at fault. That she was not the root of the problem. You constantly fought with yourself to stop any hatred you felt towards her. She was lovely, kind compassionate, and innocent. She didn't deserve to feel your wrath.

But with that came the confusion of who to blame. You or Him. It made you tired and weak. The smallest of tasks made you drained and tears would well in your eyes at the thought of having to live another day like this, a day full of questioning yourself and the man you loved more than anything in the world.

No matter how much of a strong person you swore you were, this was taking a substantial toll on you. He had become your support network and he knew it, he loved it. He always said he finally felt appreciated when you came around, that he wasn't alone anymore. He had conditioned you to be this way. When times got tough, he was always your shoulder to cry on.

No doubt that shoulder was now next to Alina. Perhaps they went on a horse ride, visited the Black Heretic fountain, or were enjoying a rendezvous next to the lake.

You didn't want to know, all that mattered was that he wasn't there with you when you were falling apart. Maybe you relied on him too much.

You wondered if he noticed the whispers too, or the way you'd been missing crucial meetings, or even if he noticed you wearing your red kefta more often, ditching the black once you'd heard Genya speak of making a golden-black kefta for Alina, per the Darkling's request.

That was a punch in the gut. It hurt more than him avoiding conversation with you or even his deterrence of touching you. He had bestowed his colors to her when not even three months ago he didn't know she existed. It had taken you a long time to gain his trust and don his signature black yet all she had to do was waltz in and show up. And it hurt.

And now here you were, training the next generation of heartrenderers, as you did almost every day. You had given your life to the Little Palace and its Grisha and this is how you were being repaid. Not even Ivan, who you had shaped into an excellent soldier, had looked your way lately.

'Excuse me Ms. Y/L/N I have an urgent request from the General' You whipped your head around to the young Grisha boy with an obviously hurt look on your face which he couldn't understand.

'Of course' you choked out and took the piece of paper from his hands and watched him in sorrow as he left.

Ms.Y/L/N? what happened to moya sovereignny? You were never one to uphold the formality, but this was just another blow to your confidence. You were no longer referred to as his other half which only meant your position in the palace was quickly dwindling.

You opened the wax-sealed envelope and took out the thick sheet of paper. There was a time when he himself would deliver the news to you himself and use it as an excuse to spend extra time with you.

'I cannot make it to the meeting with the King this evening, attend and report back to me anything relevant, no horse business'

You scoffed loudly, drawing attention from the young Corporalki around you and leaned on the table in front of you. Not even a please or thank you. With the note clutched in your hand and tears of frustration in your eyes, you stormed out of the Corporalki room and towards his war room.

You peeked through the open door and seen him. He didn't look at all busy as he chatted with Zoya, Ivan, Fedyor, and some other Squaller you didn't recognize. Zoya threw her head back in laughter at something Fedyor said but Aleksander kept his stony expression. You threw the door open dramatically and everyone froze.

'Leave us' you cautioned as Aleksander's onyx eyes looked right into your own.

Nobody moved but Zoya was the first to speak ' Y/N, we're actually in a meeting if you couldn't tell' while everyone nodded along, except him.

You never had anything against anyone in that room, but in that moment you couldn't help yourself and used your small science to bring everyone to their knees in front of you, except him.

'Leave us' His voice rang out in the midst of their sharp breaths and chest-clutching. They scrambled to their feet and left one by one, Fedyor quietly muttering 'moya sovereignny' as he passed you which filled you with some courage. The door shut and the sound echoed over the walls.

You threw the note across the room and let it hit his arm. 'Did you forget your manners General? Or does it only apply to the people you claim to love?'

'Funny you should say that Y/N, you haven't attended any meetings in weeks without providing a reason. You're making me look like a fool'

'I'M MAKING YOU LOOK LIKE A FOOL?!' Your tears were now streaming down your face, falling quicker than you could wipe them away.

He stayed silent and that broke your heart even more, he could've said something, anything.

'Aleksander, I'm trying to keep myself together for everyone, I'm trying so very hard to appear normal and happy but I don't think I can do this any longer. The whispers and the rumors, watching you and her-' You slid down the door and sat on the floor, head resting on your knees. '-It's getting to me.... and it's killing me.'

You thanked the Saints you didn't see his face, for the silence spoke for itself. He didn't deny anything or reach out to comfort you. I've lost him.

'All I wanted was a happy ending.' You laughed a sad laugh that pulled at his heartstrings. With your eyes still facing away from him, you didn't see his hand go up to wipe the lone tear that fell down his face or the slight shake in his hands as he did so. He had no words that would comfort you. He knew what he'd done. He'd been avoiding you ever since he realized it. He didn't want to see you cry or see how his actions affected you.

Telling you that it means nothing to him was of no use. You had it in your mind now, forever engrained around his name, the rumors wouldn't stop and Alina was still around. He truly felt nothing of importance for her. All she meant for him was a key to a better future with you.

He approached you slowly, getting down on his knees next to you. He took your hand in his and held it up to his lips. He never prayed, but right now he silently muttered words to all the Saints. Don't let her leave.

'I'm so sorry Darling. Y/N I love you so much.'

'But you love her more' You yanked your hands away.

'NO. no. Y/N. I swear it. You are everything to me' He had grown serious now, he wanted you to look at him. He missed you.

'Then explain why you're parading her around like a Queen, letting her wear your colors, probably sleeping in her bed'

'I have never toucher her in that way. I'm yours Y/N.' Please look at me.

You lifted your head and looked at his beautiful face. He too looked tired, exhausted. His eyes were red and puffy. Saints, I've never seen him cry.

'You will have a happy ending. I promise Darling' He took your face into his hands and connected your foreheads together. 'I promise. I'm doing everything I can to make sure you will, and even if I can't, I swear you will you and our children-'

Children. Aleksander never spoke of them to the point where you had settled with the idea you'll never have them. Something about the desperation in his voice made you believe him, Aleksander was strong, he never gave up but he also never sacrificed himself for anybody. Up until now, you didn't think yourself worthy enough to be saved in exchange for him.

'-I would give up everything to see you and them safe, away from harm's way. Right now, the world doesn't deserve them, but once I do what I have to do, I'll give you children. However many you want, Just stay. Please'

You were borderline hysterical as you melted into his embrace. Weeks of frustration and hurt disappeared into thin air. Aleksander held you so tight you were having trouble breathing but you didn't care. He held you all day and all night. All meetings and tasks forgotten.

He explained everything in detail, from the stag and firebird to what happens if things don't go to plan. He kept nothing from you, not even the stress and pressure he felt. You comforted him as he always does to you. You fell asleep together and dreamed of a life with a happy ending, one where you never had to doubt his motives, you dreamed of your future.

Taglist (if you want to be added, plz tell me!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld

@0-artemis

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 8/10?

His mission debrief was held in private with only himself standing in the middle and Master Yoda sitting across from him. Feemor was grateful for that. It was a small thing, a tiny gesture of consideration but it meant a lot to him and Feemor was sure his Great Grandmaster was aware of it, after all, Yoda had always been kind to him and that hadn't changed even after Qui-Gon Jinn disowned him.

So standing there; ignoring his throbbing knee for all it was worth, he carefully and with enough detail to suffice, summed up his mission.

The disastrous mission that nearly cost him everything. Might still be costing him everything. With the haunting voice at the back of his mind, echoing a constant reminder off his stripped humanity, of his lost dignity of……

When he closed his eyes at night, he could still hear it. The roars, the thirst for blood, the calling of death. He could still feel the grim of filth under his nails, the rot of expiration on his skin and he could taste it, the pain.

He'd fought in the Pits for over a year and a half and it clung to him like the stink of penance yet to be absolved.

After all, how could he call himself a Jedi if he'd killed to survive?

And yet….. here he was, back in old Jedi robes, skin clean, shaved head although marred with scars, actually alive with dust of blonde locks peaking out and hiding his damaged scalp.

He was tainted, Feemor knew that all too well. Maybe if he'd been a Shadow he would have been able to set aside the disgust, the horror, the guilt, but…. He wasn't. He was just an ordinary Jedi Master who'd gotten himself into more than he could handle and then felt too honour bond not to do the logical thing. The smart thing. He'd let his emotions rule him and now…now he was giving his report as if…. As if what he'd done, what he'd sacrificed had all been part of the mission.

"Hard on yourself you are," Master Yoda spoke up, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Believe this you might not, but the right thing you did. Saved those Padawans and force sensitive kids you did with the choice you made."

Feemor swallowed thickly, eyes blinking furiously to hold back the stinging of tears. The pride in Master Yoda's voice was obvious as the sun was bright and any other day, any other time in his life Feemor would have soaked it in like a starving wild animal thrown a piece of meat . But after everything….. After his failed mission….. After all that he'd been through. The praise felt like hot coal against his skin and he found himself recoiling away from it. Eyes drilling into his boots, bottom lip catching between his teeth.

How had everything gone so wrong?

The mission had been simple. Track down missing lightsabers currently being sold in the black-market by a notorious black-market dealer, known to have belonged to the Coruscant Temple's missing Padawans. Report back and let the Shadows handle the rest. Simple enough. Or it should have been. It's after all the reason why he took it in the first place.

Coming back from a grueling long mission on the outer-rim, Feemor had taken it as a chance to finally get that break he'd been putting off for so long. He would go, track down the dealer, report back and let a Shadow take over.

Simple enough.

Simple….enough.

But it wasn't. Because loathe as he was to admit it, Feemor was nothing if not Qui-Gon Jinn's former Padawan and if there was anything that their lineage was infamous for was their ability to get into more trouble than was imaginable. The simplicity of the mission should have clued him in from the very beginning. But it hadn't and that was his first mistake.

And now here he was, unable to breathe a single minute without remembering the hands touching his skin, without recalling the foul breaths of those masked men, sizing him up like nothing more than the slave he'd become. Unable to go a day without remembering the fear, the terror of even taking something as innocent as a nap for you never knew……

["Left, you could have," Master Yoda had said when he'd come off the ship yesterday. "Choose to stay you did."]

And he had. He had chosen it. No one had forced his hand. No one had been there to force him. The slice of a knife, the burns of hot metal rods, the combats of death, he'd endured it all for a chance to track down the kids. Kids he'd found out weren't actually dead but being……

He'd chosen to stay in the darkness. Freedom had been in touch. Fresh air, warm clothes, home, it had all been so very close. He'd managed to escape the clutches of Mir'randa, managed to collect his lightsaber, info chip in hand, just a step away from his passage out of the accursed planet. He could have taken it, but he hadn't because at the end of it all. Despite everything he'd been through, everything he would continue to endure, he was a Jedi. So when he'd sensed the new shipment.

The force sensitive shipments.

The choice became obvious. So painfully obvious.

They'd been kids after all. Some unknown, unfamiliar but most of them….. They'd been theirs. Jedi Padawans. Their missing Jedi Padawans, and now those kids, terrified, hurt, having been through force knows what were about to be pulled into the very nightmare Feemor wanted to escape, and what had he done?

He'd watched as his window of escape closed. Watched as his last hope off the planet disappeared with a single droid; carrying a single chip meant for the Jedi temple and he'd made his way back inside. Back into the darkness. Back to the clutches of Mir'randa, back to being less than human. Less than a Jedi. Knowing this might very well be the last time he'd be able to sense the force dancing and flittering around him because this time around he knew his force-suppressant collar would likely be impossible to remove.

And for what?

For…..

What……

Gritting his teeth, Feemor dug his fingernails into his palm, the jolt of pain bringing him back to reality. Back from there.

"Sit down, you should." Feemor choked down a strangled noise of despair and shook his head, left knee straining under him.

"No thank you, Master." For he would be damned if he let himself show weakness. Not when he'd failed so spectacularly. Not when he'd only manage to save seven of them. Just seven. Four Padawans and three force sensitive kids.

Only seven when there had been sixteen.

He'd only managed to save seven……seven kids out of sixteen.

His stomach turned. An image of the Pit flashing through his mind for a single agonizing moment before he brutally shoved it to the back of his mind with the rest of his darkest deeds.

Seven.

"Will that be all, Master Yoda?" He managed to keep his voice stable even as his knee screamed, his heart thudded like the dreams of war and his scars ached with every breath. "Because I need to find my former Master and have a long overdue conversation with him."

A flicker of amusement danced across his Great Grandmaster's eyes before it was drowned out by concern yet again. If the concern was for him, for Qui-Gon, for Obi-Wan? Feemor didn't quite know. But he appreciated non-the-less. "A talking to he needs," the old troll rumbled, gimer-stick hitting the ground twice. "But first to the Halls you need to go. Grateful I am for the people of Dugmulo for taking care of you and the young children, but a secondary check up by our own, ease my heart it would."

Feemor smiled, it made his cheeks ache, strain. "Of course Master," he said, clasping his hands under his robes and giving a shallow bow; his knee protested but he refused to let it bother him. "I'll do that right away."

After all, he had all the time in the world now, didn't he?

He'd busted the ring, he'd shut down Mir'randa's Games, he'd…..yes, yes he'd failed to save them all but he'd saved some and those he hadn't been able to, he….. those Padawans, their bodies, he'd recovered them for the proper Jedi burial they deserved and for the others, Master Yoda had secured a journey back to their own families as their last resting place. Had it broken something fundamentally vital within him to do so? Perhaps. Had it cost him sleepless nights fraught with horrors brought on his creaking shoulders, horrors he'd been subjected to and caused himself to keep them all alive for just one more day. Yes, of course, yes. But…..

It was all over now, wasn't it?

He'd come back. He was home. Where he belonged. It had taken weeks.

After the Pit, after the Jedi came to the rescue, weeks of bacta tanks and treatments and several weeks more to ensure the safety and security of those kids who still----

He swallowed thickly, refusing to allow himself to collapse in front of his Grandmaster, no matter how much that might help liberate the choking guilt clawing at his throat because how could any of these kids trust him still after everything they'd seen him do? After the scars and burns and tears and blood. After seeing the filthy arena filled with the bodies of their fallen under the same sky as the cheers of their spectators?

How did anything he'd done to get the word out, to stop the trafficking, how did any of that lessen his desperate actions to keep them alive for another day, another week, another month, year…..how did it make up for it?

But he had all the time in the world now.

All the time.

And he'd come back for a reason. For Obi-Wan Kenobi. Because with all his newly acquired scars, still, no matter how, somehow being repudiated by Qui-Gon ran the deepest.

So what could he do but try and help his Padawan brother the only way he knew how? Running off to go fix what his former Master had somehow managed to break in his absence. As if Xanatos hadn't been enough of a nightmare to deal with as it was.

Maybe after he took care of that he could answer back Kuflo's insisting messages and Androlet's updates on how things were going Dugmulo. Maybe, maybe.

The Halls would just have to wait a little while longer. Because if he could do one right thing today, maybe it would be his first act to wipe away the blood marring his soul.

He took a step back from Master Yoda and turned to the door, wincing at the strain that simple action put on his knee; saying a soft goodbye.

"May the force be with you Great Grandpadawan."

Feemor's lips twitched, it didn't reach quite reach his eyes. "May the force be with you as well, Master." And with that, he left.

One foot in front of the other. Eyes focused on nothing but the path ahead. Ignoring the murmurs around him, the gossip, the looks of concern at his bandaged appearance and his limp. He ignored it all. Only allowing himself the briefest glimmer of satisfaction at the positive mutters on one Obi-Wan Kenobi that he caught every now and then. Apparently being the new Padawan of the Master of the Order was something to behold.

It did hurt a bit, Feemor silently had to admit to himself, not having had the chance to take on the kid himself.

After all, that was the primary reason why he'd wanted to rush back to begin with, despite initially deciding to supervise the imprisonment of the Gamers, but it hurt less knowing that the kid hadn't been thrown to the side for too long. That he hadn't been alone, confused, broken hearted for months as he wondered what he'd done wrong to be discarded like his time with Qui-Gon meant nothing that he was worthle…..clenching his fists tight enough to leave dents, Feemor gritted his teeth.

This wasn't about him. Going down this path would only lead to his suffering. Only reopen old wounds he was not quite ready to acknowledged. So he needed to focus on the here and now. This wasn't about him.

It was about Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and little Skywalker and what he, Feemor could do to make things better. That was it. Nothing more. After all, hadn't he already lost his chance to get to know his Padawan brother with his own indecisions? He could have gotten to know him any time he'd wanted, but he had….he'd been so angry, so hurt, and he'd refused to have anything to do with the must innocent party in all of it. And that wasn't, shouldn't be an excuse.

So Master Windu was fine. Great even. The perfect Master probably. The one who stepped up when no one else would.

And…. He…..Feemor….he was not well. Not anymore. So taking on a Padawan brother who probably didn't even know who he was, that was just a recipe for disaster. So this was good. 'Yes,' he told himself firmly, taking one step after the other as he traced his steps from the council chambers to the Room of Thousand Fountains. 'This is good. Master Windu is a perfect choice so all I can do for Obi-Wan now,' when his knee nearly buckled under him, he again regretted not putting on the brace. 'Is to find Master Jinn and set things straight. For the betterment of everyone.'

'One problem with that plan though,' he grimaced, slamming a hand against the nearest wall for stability. Taking a moment to be grateful he was in an empty hallway and no one was there to witness his momentary weakness.

Frowning down at his right leg, he bared his teeth in frustration. Looked like his knee would refuse to carry him all the way to his destination after all.

"Kriff it," he hissed, teeth biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Kriff it all."

The agony coursing through his leg was almost unbearable. It had stiffened significantly on his walk over to the Council debriefing and Feemor should have known then that he wasn't going to make it but……

Weakness Is Death

That had been a mantra, his mantra that he'd lived by for what felt like forever. Instilled it in the kids. Bad'kuu, Kuflo, Gaa'ah, Androlet…. Everyone. He'd said it so many times it was all he knew how to say to them anymore. Weakness is death. To show a vulnerability was to allow yourself to be broken. To be scrapped from the inside out. The fingers. The touching, the prodding, the dragging…….

Weakness Is Death.

So Feemor refused to show it. To wear the brace, not in front of Yoda. Not in front of those who'd already seen his failures. Not when he needed to be strong and honorable to show…. To show he hadn't fallen.

He hadn't even been allowed to come back until several Jedi Masters had confirmed he hadn't turned. He was good. He was still a good Jedi, tainted yes,  but not fallen. Not yet. And what a relief that revelation had been. To know that despite everything he'd done, he could still call himself a Jedi. But he wasn't delusional enough not to know he was still under keen observation. Falter once, fall one time and it was all over.

So, no knee brace.

He'd managed to make due in the Pit. Fighting with a bad knee was disadvantage enough without him broadcasting that fact to the entire arena. Spectators and fighters alike. He'd always had a weak right knee ever since that disastrous first mission he took as a Master, but it hadn't been too hard to deal with at first, even if he'd had to take up Jar'kai to make up for his lack of mobility when it acted up.

Jar'Kai had been a way for him to compensate for his damaged knee at first, nearly two years in the Pit however, and it had solidified itself as the only form he could trust to keep him safe. To keep him alive.

Protect yourself for no one else will protect you under the skies of Miiir.

Sinking to the floor, eyes blinking back the sudden wetness burning at the edges, Feemor allowed himself a moment to just loathe it all. The regret, the pain, the failure, the shame. And then he breathed in and let it go.

It wouldn't do to dwell on the unchangeable.

Shoulders sagging he let his head drop back with a gentle thud against the wall behind him and he let his eyes fall shut. It all felt rather heavy. Being back here, being back home.

Maybe a moment to rest his eyes would be enough. Just a moment. Until the pain dulled. Then he'd go see Master Jinn, talk to him about missing his recent appointments with the mind healers and maybe…..maybe finally get the chance to talk things out. Yeah, maybe.

But a moment turned into two. And two turned into three and before Feemor could help it, he was clutching at his knee with both hands. The agony unparalleled.

It burned like thousand knives being sliced through his skin simultaneously. Feemor grimaced, head throbbing with the nausea bubbling in the pit of his stomach, screaming at him in aguish. 'Make it stop,' he thought, squeezing harder, fingers digging into the joints, face ashen and bottom lip bleeding. 'Kriff, make it stop.'

And then, it did. Not by much, not even half way but enough to bring a sense of clarity to him. And it was only when his mind wasn't being clouded by the bolt of sheer agony dancing through his body; paralyzing him in place, that he noticed the cold hand resting across his forehead and one atop of his joined hands. Soothing sense of warmth intermingling with his force signature and somewhat dulling the pain coursing through his veins. And Feemor breathed, raising his eyes to come face to face with one Obi-Wan Kenobi.

----------

"Stop," he ordered when he finally found his voice behind the sudden lump in his throat, gently pushing those hands away even as he instantly missed the soothing force healing that came with them. But Obi-Wan looked like death warmed over himself and Feemor would be force damned if he let his first action back home be to hospitalize his Padawan brother. "Thank you, but I'm okay."

The young man kneeling in front of him didn't look convinced, brows furrowing slightly and lips pursed, but he did back away, choosing to sit down next to him; grunting as he adjusted himself against the wall, cane coming to rest by his side. Feemor raised a brow in question, making his Padawan brother laugh lightly.

"Anakin had his first lightsaber practice today," he said in answer, tapping his cane lightly. "I still have a hard time getting around so---" His smile is hallow and Feemor felt it echo in his soul.

"Yeah," he muttered back, looking down at his knee, toes curling with each pulsating burst of electric pain shooting down his leg. He shouldn't have walked on it for so long. "I get it."

"I suppose you do."

Feemor snorted. "When you say Anakin?"

"Skywalker, yes." Obi-Wan's voice was much more lighter this time. "He was….really excited about it and asked me to come so I did. I was on my way back when I----" here he trailed off, but Feemor knew exactly what he was trying not to say, and it made him flush with embarrassment.

"When you found me lying on the floor trying to tear my leg off with my bare hands?"

"Well," Obi-Wan muttered. "I wouldn't exactly say, lying." Feemor stared and Obi-Wan snorted. "Okay, you looked pretty helpless."

"Hey, you don't look so great yourself."

The answering grin was a lot brighter and more real than Feemor had expected and it tugged at his heart. Because somehow despite the dark circles under the kid's eyes, despite the paleness and the fragility to his frame, somehow, when he smiled, really smiled, Feemor could almost drown in the regret of all the wonderful years he'd missed with this kid. The years he could have known him if he had been less of a coward.

Checking up on him religiously didn't make up for not being there for him. For not protecting him against what was likely Qui-Gon's darkest years. To not be a buffer, a confidant, to be a brother. In that sense, Feemor supposed he was a lot like his former Master. Who was just as guilty in tracking his movement as he was in tracking Obi-Wan's without ever taking the first step in meeting the other party half way.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

His not so Padawan brother. Or all the more his Padawan brother for being tossed aside like himself.

Running a bandaged hand over his head; still feeling that momentary flicker of surprise at brushing against tufts of growing out blonde hair, the broken Jedi Master breathed in deeply and let it all out.

"Feemor," he said, pointing at himself. "My name is Feemor Einar."

Obi-Wan's eyes glittered. "I know."

"Oh?"

The Padawan nodded, fingers tapping away at his wooden cane. "You're the talk of the Temple."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan's voice was neutral as anything and Feemor silently allowed himself to be impressed. He'd never been very good at keeping his emotions in check. "Sounds to me like you stopped a force sensitive trafficking ring and ended a barbaric gladiator tournaments in one single mission."

Feemor couldn't quite suppress the flinch at those words, and it made him burn with shame. "Not soon enough I'm afraid."

"I didn't mean---" Obi-Wan started, clearly noticing his sudden change in demeanor. The harshness in his force signature, the darkness and Feemor internally cursed himself for losing his grasp over his emotions, for his Padawan brother should never sound so uncertain and worried around him. "I didn't mean to bring it up I only heard----"

"It's okay," Feemor cut him off, careful to keep his voice gentle this time despite how his soul screamed and his heart longed for him to hide away for all eternity. "I didn't mean……" He sighed. "It's just been….tough."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yeah."

Digging his nail into the crack between the tiles, Feemor focused on the pressure on his barely growing in nails and opened his mouth, keeping his voice playfully light. "I hear you're pretty famous around these parts yourself."

A beat and then another, silence filling up slowly between them and it's all Feemor could do to try and find a way to backtrack and try again? Figure out another way? Help? When his Padawan brother, pressed himself even tighter against the wall and clutched at his cane. "You could say that," he whispered, tone strained and part way broken. "You could say that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A single shake of the head.

Feemor hummed softly in understanding. "Then Obi-Wan Kenobi, it's a pleasure to officially meet you."

A huff. "Likewise Master Einar."

"You know who I really am, don't you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Not for long. Just after," The kid pulled at his braid. "Thanks for the bead by the way."

Dragging his focus away from his knee, Feemor nodded. "Of course."

A welcoming silence fell between them this time and Feemor was content with it. To sit there with his Padawan brother, after everything, just sit there with him. Not moving, not doing anything. And enjoy his company even if he didn't quite know how to connect with him yet. Even if they still had so much to talk about. And it's not like he didn't have a good reason. After all, the simple thought of trying to stand on his busted leg made his stomach do nauseating flips. But he couldn't stay here forever, not when he needed to see Qui-Gon and sort this all out, not when he still had that medical check up and the kids back at----

So when Obi-Wan bumped his cane against his shoulder and said "You look like you need this more than me," it's all Feemor can do not to drag the haunted looking kid into a desperate hug meant to suffocate with affection. Instead he grinned, taking the offered cane but still remaining seated.

"About Qui-Gon---"

"What about him?"

"I'm sorry that he did that to you."

Obi-Wan paused. And then, "I'm sorry he that to you too."

Feemor nodded back. "Thank you." And he meant it. Of course he meant it for there were very few who could truly understand what he'd been through and sympathize, even if he would never wish this on the kid given a choice, he was still so very grateful for the shared understanding no matter how much it grated on his dignity to admit so. "And I know it doesn't mean much, but I promise you Obi-Wan it wasn't your fault. Master Jinn, he's just…." He should really be getting up, but----. "He lashes out when he's cornered and that reflects badly on him and not you." He really really needed to get up and or he might never get up at all today and yet----. "You are wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi, I promise you that."

He should get up, but when the kid took a sharp intake of breath, then tentatively rested his head on his shoulder after a brief second of hesitation; auburn hair brushing under his chin, Feemor couldn't quite make himself do what he had to do because there was something that was so much more important right here, right now. "I'm going to punch him in the face." He didn't know why those words came out, but he meant them. And---

Obi-Wan laughed, it sounded a little bit broken and a little bit wet but it put a smile on Feemor's face and this one didn't quite ache as much. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks," he said, shifting closer so the kid could rest on his shoulder more comfortably. "I'll make it a good one."

Obi-Wan bumped their shoulders together and Feemor bumped him back, eyes feeling suspiciously damp.

Repudiated Padawans of Qui-Gon Jinn ought to stick together after all.

The End

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[thebiggestshrimp]

A Special “Souvenir” part 3

SFW (for now)

MLQC: Victor X MC (featuring Kiro)

Potential Spoilers!! brief mention of Kiro’s other half (so brief you’ll miss it if you blink), plot from Chapter 10, another slight reference to Airplane Date with Victor

Narrative Switch to Victor at the end

Word Count: 1.5k

Part 1 & Part 2 link

Part 3

As soon as you exited the building, you noticed Kiro leaning on a black car, clearly waiting for you.

“Ah Miss Chips! Are you ready to go?”

“I have to head down the street to LFG to hand in a report to my boss” you say while waving the documents in your hand.

“That’s fine, I’ll drive you there so we can get our night started as soon as possible”.

Kiro eagerly opens the passenger door for you, and then confidently strides to the driver's side. This is the first time you’ve ever seen Kiro behind the wheel, and to be honest, you didn’t even know that he could drive. You had just assumed since he was an idol, he wasn’t allowed to drive for legal reasons.

LFG was only down the street, barely a 5-minute walk, but as tired as you already felt you appreciated Kiro taking you there. When you looked at Kiro, you noticed how handsome he looked, how his expression become sterner when he was driving, how his hands look so muscular when he gripped the wheel, or how for the first time you realized just how big and manly he looked... You quickly looked away; it wasn’t your intention to think of Kiro in any way but as a friend. But you could at least admit that he was very hot. No wonder all of his fans fangirled as hard as they did.

You both arrived at LFG, the sight of which made you nervous. You checked your phone: 8:03. Victor prefers it when you show up to hand in your reports before 8 o’clock, so he would hopefully only call you a dummy once for being a few minutes late.

“This should only take a moment.” you nearly sigh while opening the car door.

“No worries, I’ll be waiting for your swift return Miss Chips”.

Little did you know Kiro was intently watching you as you walked towards LFG, admiring the way your ass ever so slightly jiggled. He caught himself staring for too long, whispering to himself, “God damn, I want to show her all of me one day”.

You were currently nervously fidgeting in the elevator, heading up to the top floor to see your boss. You almost caught yourself silently praying that he would let you off easy, in case Anna and Kiki actually lied to make you feel better about the report.

“Ding!” chimed the elevator when you reached your destination. Shakily, you exited and headed to the door marked “VICTOR LI: Loveland Financial Group CEO”.

You knocked. Nothing.

That was unusual, Victor never waited past one knock to invite whomever waited outside in.

You knocked again, a little harder this time in case the previous one was too soft to hear. Again, you were met with silence.

You checked your phone, thinking maybe he responded to your text. Nope.

You sent him another.

MC: I’m outside of your office with the report, are you out on business and I just missed you?

You waited impatiently until your phone said it was 8:16.

MC: I guess I missed you today so I’ll be here early tomorrow morning to hand it in, I hope that won’t interfere with your schedule.

You swiftly entered the elevator again, awaiting the descent to the ground level. At least now you had no reason to be nervous and could loosen up a bit tonight with Kiro before you were mocked by Victor.

Kiro was leaning against his car again, as the vigor returned to his eyes as he noticed you approaching.

“So, did it go well with the boss?”

You gave him a half confused, half relieved look, handing your report to him.

“Well, he wasn’t in his office, so I’m sure he’s not going to be too happy to receive this tomorrow because I was a bit late making it here”.

Kiro quickly eyed your documents and reassured you with his trademark smile. “If it’s from you, then I’m sure he can forgive you missing one deadline”.

Although you appreciated his optimism, you weren’t so sure Victor would feel the same.

Sensing your reluctance, he quickly opens the car door for you, urging you in.

“Don’t worry Miss Chips, tonight we’ll have so much fun you’ll forget all about your troubles!”

Kiro’s sudden declaration and the cheerful tone he emitted made you giggle, which, to his surprise, he found so adorable his face blushed a new color. Luckily for him, your giggle also caught you so off guard that you turned to the side to avoid meeting his gaze out of embarrassment.

You once again were admiring the beauty of the cityscape while Kiro drove. You recognized some places you passed, trying to guess what surprise Kiro had in mind. By 8:32, you finally arrived at the surprise location.  

“You know how hard it is to actually be here on a day they’re open...” Kiro said with a wide grin.

You gasped in surprise, not expecting Souvenir to be open. It had been 3 weeks since you last heard it was even open, and 5 since you were last able to enjoy the fine dining. You realized that since it was actually open, it must mean Victor was inside.

“Hm, so that’s why he never answered.” you said to yourself a little too loudly.

“What was that Miss Chips?” a certain blond chimed in while leaning closer to hear you better.

Slightly embarrassed you nearly exposed your boss’ secret, you quickly wave Kiro away, stating that you were simply shocked that you finally had a chance to eat here again. That answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity based on the way his eyes lit up at the thought of sharing a beautifully made meal with a beautiful woman.

Kiro boldly decided to grab your hand, leading you into the small establishment. You were too consumed with the thought of possibly having to explain away to Victor why you hadn’t come in earlier to hand him the report to respond to Kiro’s assertiveness.

Mr. Mill’s greeted you both, sat you down at a candle lit table, handed you menus, and swiftly walked back to inform the boss that two customers had arrived, one of which being you. This caught Victor’s attention. He wanted to know who you had come with, figuring it was either one of your work friends or, more likely, the idol Kiro Zhou who often frequented Souvenir with you.

Victor had nothing against Kiro, in fact he appreciated that he didn’t mind the “weird paying system” that Souvenir had, and that his love and admiration of his dishes was pretty much the only nice review on the restaurant’s website. However, he knew that Kiro was an evolver, and a surprisingly dangerous one. He wasn’t 100% sure what exactly his evolve was, but he was certain that he had some kind of mind control ability.  

Seeing you with him always left Victor feeling like he lost. What did he lose? A few months ago, he wouldn’t have known the answer to that question. But now, he knew all too well that he had fallen in love with you. He didn’t like to admit it to himself, since he never saw himself as the type to ever fall in love with someone. But then he reunited with you, and you shared tender moments together that ignited something deep within him. You sacrificed yourself for him, just as you did all those years ago. When he had finally confirmed that you were the same girl, the number of emotions that welled inside him made him weep, but not tears of sadness but instead joy that at long last, he had found his first and only real friend.

Of course, he’d never tell you that, not unless you accidentally divulged your feelings first. Victor didn’t like losing, and was confident in his ability to make you confess. Even if you only wanted to be friends, that was okay with him, but he felt that you wanted something more.

It started small, with the way he sometimes caught you looking at him, at which you would quickly make up a half-assed excuse. He then noticed that you commented on his moments way more than you used to, and he found himself commenting on yours more too. He realized that you invited him out to do things, things that weren’t work related. You had once attended a business trip with him so that you could mingle with important people to gain more reliable sources, where you got embarrassingly drunk off a couple sips of Brandy (which he had told you was not a drink for a lightweight such as yourself, but you didn’t listen on the plane ride either). As he carried you to his car and set you down in the passenger seat, you leaned over to him and whispered.

“You know *hiccup*, e-even though you’re my boss and sometimes a hard *hiccup* ass, I still really appreciate your friendsh- *hiccup*. And, it helps that I reallllllly like to *hiccup* look at you”.

Victor suddenly laughed out loud while remembering how embarrassed you were the next morning when you found yourself sleeping in one of Victor’s guest bedrooms. He had told you not to worry about it and that you were not a burden to him.

A thought occurred to him then, accompanied by a mischievous grin.

“Simple, a fair price for a delicious meal” he said to himself.

Victor reached into his fridge and grabbed some of the ingredients to make his signature dish, and also your favorite; pudding.

Part 4

[miss-choco-chips]

From the ground up.

The road to recovery is a bumpy one, but Tim’s (reluctantly) ready for the drive. He just hopes they won’t crash and burn.

-.-.-

Tim recovers after an injury. Mending his bonds with the bats its a plus. 

Or, Tim can’t exactly run away from a conversation, and they all take advantage of it.

( @animemangasoul asked for Tim actually needing his crutches. Of course my dumb ass  brain needed to take that idea and make a whole, emotional thing of it. Threw in some family bonding cause why not. 

Babe I did my best, and if it’s bad I’m blaming exams and life stress of me being unable to properly deliver what you hoped for)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It had been a stupid decision. Self sacrificing, reckless, idiotic. He doesn’t know Bruce’s disappointed eyes, Dick’s worried ones or Damian’s disdainful sneer to know it.

Still, it had been his choice, and he’s going to stand by it. Even if it means having Steph pose as Red Robin for some time. Even if he has to deal with M’gann’s guilty looks at failing to convince him to change places, to allow her to get shot while he took the criminal out, instead of what they actually did. Even if it means getting annoyed, nearly hysterical texts from basically everyone he knows, condemning him for his stupidity. 

The only ones he had explained himself to were Tam -who honestly deserves it after all the shit he was going to put her through, dealing with her recent trauma (courtesy of assassins) and the press going haywire at Tim’s broken engagement and then almost fatal injury-, Steph (who was going to be changing between Batgirl and Red Robin for some time to keep the whole charade up and Vale off their track) and M’gann herself, who had needed some serious explanation before she conceded to Tim getting shot in front of her for appearances sake.

The rest of the world? They could rot in curiosity, for all he cared. Bruce had probably extrapolated enough from his succinct explanation about Vicky to understand the whole plan. Dick was probably dying to know, but with their relationship strained as it was wouldn't dare to ask. Damian… who know how the devil’s mind works. Alfred was already used to the Bat’s collective shit, and would probably just sigh and make chicken soup for him.

What he wasn’t cool about was being forced to have his recovery period in the Manor. He had a perfectly funcional place for himself, thank you very much, and could wobble around in his crutches from bedroom to kitchen to his small, personal cave, no problem. But Bruce had been unmoving in his decision, going as far to physically carry Tim in his arms, like a toddler, from the hospital steps to the car. It had been humiliating, but he couldn't exactly wiggle free in front of all the reporters, could he? How to explain a nerve strike to his dad, and his own ability to withstand the pain of falling back to his feet?

(Because he totally could stand the pain. He had done it in the dessert with a ruptured spleen, he could deal with a slightly damaged spine)

He was going to have his revenge though. As soon as he was able to move freely without clenching his teeth from the pain.

He’s being deposited on the bed, when he notices Damian lingering around the door. He was looking at Bruce, a little unsure, more than a bit of envy at the care which his father bestowed on Tim. Before, those jealous eyes would have made him weary of an attack. Now, with Bruce and Dick having forced a promise of civility from the kid, he was still on guard but not ready to flee at any given second. Perpetually tensing would only dampen his recovery, after all.

It was still something to think of. The lack of fire in his eyes. He… looked like a kid. Not as much a demon as he had been when Tim went away.

Well. Only time would tell if he had truly changed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bruce had ordered bed rest. No work, detective or CEO. Nothing more straining (for the mind or body) than watching a movie. Eating and sleeping were his only allowed activities. Even reading was to be moderated, because Tim was known to lose himself in any topic that caught his fancy and forget everything else. 

Tim had listened to his reasoning, nodding along and adding his own helpful insight, smiling when his head was patted in response to his obedience. Waved cheerfully as Bruce left, made smalltalk with Dick when he visited hi room before heading out for patrol (theirs was a talk that he wasn’t really looking forward but knew he wouldn't be escaping for long), thanked Alfred for the food and ate half of it under his watchful eye. Even took the medicine with just mild complains.

The perfect picture of innocence and submission. Right until the butler went to the Cave to man the comms.

Then all bets were off.

Moving his bed out of the way to get the laptop hidden below the loose tile under it was impossible in his current condition, but thankfully he had been able to talk Bruce into letting him keep his phone, and his briefcase wasn’t too far to not be able to make the walk without crutches (painful as it was).

Before an hour had passed, he had the wall by his bed covered with post it notes, connected by red sting and pins here and there. A pretty evidence board, even with the lacking resources. Perrrfect for a little Tim-Time, a small bit of detective work.

Bruce would certainly bitch about him moving around so much, taping pieces of information or moving the string around, but, well. What Bruce didn’t knew…

-I thought Father ordered bed rest.

The voice, completely unexpected (he had either been in too deep thought, or the brat was getting better at stealth), made him jump so high and sudden he almost pulled his stitches. The medication, fading with each hour, had weaned enough he felt every bit of tissue, still torn from the shot, straining under the move.

It resulted in the longest, filthiest string of curses his sharp mind could come up with, partnered with gasps and a lot of hair pulling in a instinctual attempt to redirect the pain from his torso to somewhere less dire.

-No one taught you to knock and not to startle convalescent people, brat? -he spats between clenched teeth, squinting through barely-opened eyes to glare at him- And why aren’t you patrolling? 

The kid was on pijamas. Tim can’t remember the last time he saw him unarmed. Though he probably still had at least a dagger on himself that he couldn't see.

Bruce and Dick’s promise echoed in his mind, but just in case, he let one of his arms go around his middle, acting as if trying to soothe his hurt (okay, maybe it wasn’t all an act) while he palmed the three Red Robin pallets he had secured between his bandages earlier.

Damian scoffed and approached him, careful to keep a healthy distance but enough so he could properly appreciate Tim’s wall.

-Apparently, Father knows better than to trust you to behave, and he came up with a schedule to keep an eye on you. For what reason, it escapes me. Your death could only serve as a stress relief for everyone, specially if it was caused by your own stupidity. And you didn’t answer my question.

A large part of him wanted to tell him to fuck off. An even larger reminded him he was barely armed, heavily incapacitated, and that Damian had actually answered him first, so, technically, it was fair to do the same.

He sighs and leans back into the pillows, shoulder on the wall crumpling the photo of his number three suspect.

-Whatever. Bruce clearly bought when I said I’d act the part, otherwise he would have cleaned my room of anything useful. You’re probably here because paranoia is too deeply ingrained in the man, or he thinks you could use a rest too. Or both. 

Probably both, Tim thinks. He’s ready for Damian’s sneer and a declaration that he ‘didn’t need a rest’, most likely paired with an insult. 

Instead, Damian surprises him by tilting his head and looking at him with something akin to curiosity.

-You lied to Father? And he… believed you?

Feeling his petty bitch inside stirring, he smirked- What, like it’s hard?

It actually was, it required a hell of a mental preparation and careful planning. But once you learned how to pull it off and took care to polish it, it was a often used weapon.

Damian wouldn't let any positive emotion towards Tim willingly show on his face, so the amaze was most likely honest. It was… a little humbling, truth be told. 

-Tell you what -he decides, pulling his best negotiator voice, to cut the kid some slack-, you keep this little naughtiness -a nod towards the wall- between us and help me hide all proof before B comes back, and I give you some  pointers in how to lie to Batman. 

Damian seems truly torn. On one hand, Tim can guess, it's the mission his father entrusted him, and his deeply ingrained disdain to anything Tim proposed. On the other, the temptation of such a useful tactic, and the fact that he didn’t really care for Tim’s wellbeing enough to stop him from doing his thing.

-What are you working on?- he asked, likely gaining time while he mulled his options.

-Cold cases -a shrug-. It’s just a pastime of mine. I dig into Bruce’s old files, search for anything he couldn't solve, and work on it until I do. It’s really good for self esteem, and it helps a lot of people who never got closure for whatever it happened to them. 

-Father will know you disobeyed if you solve it.

-I’ll wait until he gives me permission for some light work, and then dump all my worked out cases on him at the same time.

There’s something akin to wonder fighting to make itself known above Damian’s facade of indifference.

-Can you actually solve something Father himself couldn't?

-Done it before, will do it again. What will it be, Damian? Cause if you decide to snitch on me after all, then kindly leave me to this until then. I’m about to crack this, and if its going to be the last one I’m able to work on, I’d hate to leave it halfway.

A few seconds go by, before Damian takes the last step and carefully perches at the end of the bed, eyes solely on the wall.

-I’d prefer to aid in solving this. If it’s true this is something not even the Batman could do… it’d be highly rewarding to work on it. You can teach me the arts of lying another day.

Shocked it actually worked, Tim did his best to swiftly recover. Not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth, he kept his doubts in check to dwell on them later and went back to his wall. 

Having Damian around was surprisingly useful. He could just lay there, in his pillows, and direct the brat through moving the string and adding post it notes here and there, until the whole thing mapped out in front of them, the answer staring at them as clear as the quickly approaching day. 

Satisfaction strong enough to smile despite the ever growing pain in his side, he gave into the urge to give a small pat to Damian’s shoulder before telling him to help take it all down, least Bruce came from patrol and found them on the act. High on the success and more than a little stunned about it, the younger vigilante actually complied, even going as far as to put all their mess back in Tim’s briefcase and bringing him a glass of water to wash down his meds with.

When Batman came to check on his middle son after patro, Nightwing on his shadow, they were regaled with the shocking, unbelievable sight of Damian sleeping, sitting on the ground with the back of his head resting on Tim’s bed, while the bedridden boy himself snored, a hand on top of the smaller kid’s head.

The picture Dick took of them was gonna be his most treasured possession forever.

-.-.-.-.-

-And this will make me a better detective? -questioned Damian, frown  scrunching his nose in a way that Tim couldn't help but think of as adorable. Or as adorable as it could be, in a hell spawn. Fuck, Dick was rubbing off on him.

-It helped me -he shrugs, eyes on his own screen as he makes the proper adjustments-. Long live the queen is a good place to start. You need to consider both the character’s mood when selecting the week’s classes, and the goal you aspire towards. All the while dodging assassinations attempts, commoners uprisings or noble plots depending on the choices you make, and… other stuff. And ruling a country. And getting engaged. It’s a lot of juggling, keeping in mind which skills you need for which event, and it forces you to consider how the character is doing emotionally, something you could seriously use to learn. Want me to give you a run through?

-No need -he scoffed, clicking in the start game option, dubiously reading the introduction-. It seems easy enough.

Tim just smiled, eerie, from his place behind him. 

Damian was sitting in the floor by his bed, back resting against it. The position, if slightly uncomfortable (Drake wasn’t an enemy any longer, if Grayson was to be believed, and after the other night’s joint work he agreed to help train Damian in mind schemes, but he wasn’t a complete ally either… and having such a grey person with such a clear shot at his neck made the assassin in him nervous), was the best way for Drake to watch his progress in this… game, while keeping his wound unbothered. It also kept Damian from ‘sneaking a peek’ at his own screen and ‘cheating at the game’, as he had said. Not that he planned on it, but-- well, all resources, no matter how dirty, were still fair game in the arts of war, as far as he was concerned.

Not that Damian needed the help. This was a silly game. He would probably beat this first try, high score even. Really, the main screen image had a teenager dressed in a frilly, pink, magical girl outfit. How hard could this be?

---

-My cousin just got bitten by a snake. Will she die?

-Wouldn’t you like to know, demon child. You’ll figure it out later in the game. Just keep going.

---

-Why do I keep failing this skill-checks? What am I missing? Is it even relevant? I just passed one that was completely useless about world history, but somehow missed the one that would have helped me keep this stupid girl from getting betrothed. 

-If it was relevant, you’ll know it when, not if, when it kills you.

-...I should save my game here.

-With these shitty skills you’ve built? Sure, if you want to, but at this point you’ll die no matter what.

---

-Is this woman trustworthy? Our father said it was her fault mother died, but she said…

-Hmm. I’m not giving you spoilers. Tell me when you figure it out, one way or the other.

-Well, at least we have our aunt, uncle and cousins. Surely they are on our side, as our family.

-...

-Drake, why are you laughing? 

-...

-Stop it! You are not scaring me!

---

-Look, I said I was not going to help you… but you can’t keep pissing everyone off, baby bat. You’ll never survive until coronation if you do.

-Those people deserved to get executed.

-...some of them, maybe, but you failed a lot of skill checks there, so you don’t have all the facts. Also, if you are gonna fuck with people, at least choose if you are doing it with nobles or peasants. Both of them is taking it a bit too far.

-I am the Queen. Neither would dare oppose me. I will have their heads if they do!

-..okay then. Let the record say I tried.

---

-Is this birthday party important?

-Uhm… Kinda. Your friend just turned of age, which means she gets to inherit control of her lands. There’s also a whole new route if you do go to the party, if you have the necessary abilities for it.

Tim saw the back of Damian’s head bob as he nodded. He gave it a few minutes. Then-

-YOU DIDN’T TELL ME I WOULD DIE ON MY WAY THERE!

-I did say you needed specific skills. Both for the party itself, and to get there.

He was ready for the unholy sound that escaped from Damian’s mouth, finger quickly taping at his phone to record it. That treasure was going to be his new ringtone. It would help with the pain, too. Happiness therapy or something like that, to distract the mind from the hurt. 

---

-Hey, Dami? I’m gonna go get ready for patrol. Are you com/?

-NO -he snapped, neck almost breaking from how quickly he raised his head to look at Dick at the door. Eyes red from staring at the screen for so long, hair a mess after messing it up in incalculable desperation- I’m about to win!  This time, my strategy won’t fail!

Tim, game already finished and now watching a movie (at least until Bruce and Dick left and he could go back to coding a new security system that even Babs wouldn't be able to crack)  tilted his head, examining his brother’s open game.  Week 30, no medicine knowledge, no intrigue, little to no dog training, no composure and not enough divination...yeah, Damian was gonna die again. It was the first time he had lived long enough to reach the tournament, and subsequently, the poisoned chocolates. 

Should he tell Damian? On one hand, the frustration, clear in his face, would tear him apart after yet another failure. But… this was the most fun he had in a long time, and the longest they had gone without either insulting the other. 

-Okay then -mumbled Dick under his breath, smartly retreating out of the room.

Tim waited a few beats- Let me know if you need help. 

-Leave me alone Drake! As if I’d lower myself to such tricks! The victory won’t be truly mine unless I win by my own merits!

Still at the door, feeling both a little ignored and elated at his brothers getting along so nicely, Dick decided to slowly exit the place, least Damian truly snapped and threw a dagger or something at his head.

---

The downside of the pain meds was how drowsy they made him. He didn’t know quite what to do with himself, now that the bags under his eyes were so close to disappearing. He had come so used to them… maybe he’d need to start investing in eyeliner and fake them.

Blinking himself awake, he moved a bit to look at the clock on his bedside table and immediately flinched. He kept forgetting the wound, and then moved and was painfully reminded.

A hand appeared out of nowhere, holding a familiar pill. He took it without prompting, accepting then the glass of water.

-Don’t think too much of this, Drake. I’m merely assisting Pennyworth. Since I’m already here working on my progress, I offered to make sure you don’t forgo your medicine. Again.

The disdainful voice, probably masking the smallest shadow of care, had come familiar enough in the last couple of days that he knew even without opening his eyes who it was. The question of what the hell was he still doing here, after spending the entire day at Tim’s side, remained.

-Damian? Are you still playing?

The kid seemed uncomfortable.

-The idiotic Queen wouldn't stop dying. It’s against my every principle to give up before achieving my goal, so I had to stay here until I passed this… training of yours.

Tim had to bit his check to keep from smiling. Damian was kinda decent at it, but the boy who lied to Batman wasn’t so easily fooled by a half assed attempt. The brat had actually stayed so he could make sure Tim didn’t forget his pain meds and woke the whole manor up with his groans later. 

-Well, as your teacher for this particular test, I’m telling you to call it a day. Go to sleep and come back tomorrow with fresh mind and eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Rehab… sucked. There was no way around it. Sure, he could go the nice, easy way, give himself enough time to heal before starting on the recovery path. But vigilantes didn’t have the luxury of nice, and he needed to be functional again asap. Steph was running herself ragged, working on keeping Tim’s identity on the streets alive and her own territory safe, and there was a limit on how much Tam could take over in WE before collapsing.

Bruce hadn’t been happy about his decision of starting physical therapy while his stitches were still there, but when was he, ever? And the doctors had said he could do it as long as he was careful about it, now that the swelling in his back had disappeared, so he couldn't use them as counterpoints. There was also the nice plus of being emancipated, which made his medical decisions his own, and not even Bruce could just breeze by and ignore them.

Sweet, sweet independence.

Too bad he forgot a tiny detail: how fucking painful it was.

He could move around now, using the crutches, and he had a series of exercises his doc gave him to help regain movement, which he followed like religious doctrine. Two reps before lunch, one before bed. Okay, the physical therapist had said only do one per day, but he couldn't take into account Tim’s vigilante resistance and strength, so he felt safe in his small expansion of the activities.

That was, until the sharp pain on his side made him lose balance during his last rep and trip over his crutches.

A strong arm around his upper chest stopped his fall to the ground, and took the air off his lungs. It didn’t touch his wound, though, which… nice.

-If you're falling jus’ from walking, maybe you're not as ‘recovered’ as I heard.

-Ja...son -he coughs, hand (with the crutch secured to him by nice straps, courtesy of WE’s medical division) raising up to hold Jason’s arm for support. The other man shifted, coming closer, shouldering his weight without a word, his other hand going around his waist, under the wound, to help him along- This… but a scratch.

-Quoting “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” at me won’t keep you out of trouble, little shit. C’mon, I’ll take you back to your room. Which way?

Pointing him in the right direction, Tim took advantage of their closeness to examine the other man.

They weren’t on ‘kill on sight’ terms any longer, but Tim wouldn’t exactly call the man when in a pinch. What was he even doing here? He was fairly sure he and Brucer were still at that ‘mindless anger/deeply rooted guilt’ stage of their relationship, and his book club meetings with Alfred were wednesday afternoons, not friday evenings…

-Stop thinking so much, you’ll strain som’ing.

-I’m not Dick -he fires back almost in instinct, earning a deep chuckle in turn. He shifts a little, looking for a position where his trembling arms wouldn't make the crutches shake quiet so much. If Jason saw his struggle, he respected him enough to say shit about it.

-Speaking of, how’s it going with him?

-I have no idea what you’re talking about. We are fine.

-Yeah, right. And he’s sitting out of helping you with rehab because he suddenly lost one of his hundred hearts and it’s just your luck it was the one he had for you?

-Fuck… -a misstep, and his arms automatically shift to compensate, keeping him standing but paying it in pain when the movement tugs at his side. Jason tightens his grip, an unvoiced promise to keep it from happening again- you.

-Really threatening, with all the gasping and whining. 

-Shut up. Why would we be at odds?

There’s a minute of silence as one of Jason’s hands leave him long enough to open the door to his bedroom.

-I’m jus’ saying -he shrugs as he helps Tim inside and towards his bed-, I know a discarded Robin when I see one.

He’s not sure if the pained sound comes from the jostling as he’s carefully lowered into his pillows, or the strike to his most exposed nerve.

-It was… a tough situation. Dick didn’t have much choice. I -it hurts to say- I get it. 

It had also been right, by Damian. Tim can see it, in the remarkably diminished killer intent he could feel from the kid, and his actual willingness at keeping Tim company and even helping him around when needed.

Even if it was the worst for him, at least one of the two fucked up kids under Dick’s watch had benefited from it. It was… it was good enough. It had to be. Tim was fine, after all.

Jason looks at him for a moment, waiting until the pain yields a bit and he can breath again. Then, taking a seat by his feet, he lets his eyes stray to the photographs mounted on the walls, avoiding Tim’s scrutinizing gaze.

-Even if it makes logical sense, it still hurts. I know how it is.

There’s… not really something he can counter. He moves a bit to find position easier on his side, hiding the nervous twitch with the action.

-I never blamed you for it -he feels compelled to add. Jason winces, as if struck. He’s still not looking at him.

-And the brat’ll probably be the same with you, someday. Means shit now, but… small comforts.

-I guess so… I mean, we’re kinda getting along, now that he can’t try to kill me since I’m convalescente and I’m bored enough to contribute to his training.

Jason seems pained again. Tim is annoyed by how confusing this entire situation is.

-Y’er a good predecessor. He’ll/

-What is this all about? -he cuts, unable to stop himself. This attempt at deep conversation is well and good, but it’s coming out of nowhere and Tim never pictured Jason as one to go around randomly offering wisdom- Why are you here, and with me of all people?

There was a shadow of something passing through his face, before it transformed into the physical intonation of the ‘Fair enough’ feeling. 

-I heard what happened from blondie while she was takin’ care of soom goons on y’er part of town. And… well, I have some experience on getting back on your feet after a bad injury, just in the wake of loosing Robin. Figured you’d be over doing it and getting yourself hurt worse.

It… was a fair assessment of what he was doing, actually. And if there was anyone he could speak about this… it’d be Jason.

-There’s so much I have to do -he sighs, sagging into his bed, relaxing for the first time when in a room with his childhood idol-, and Steph can’t keep running all my cases for me. I keep solving them, but I need groundwork done and she has already so much on her plate by patrolling my side of town, I just… I can’t let people die because I couldn't spy on an arms deal and tore it apart before the guns made their way to the streets. 

Jason looked at him again, his emotions in check, and he seemed to think about it for a minute, before humming.

-What about this? You take it slow and easy with the physical therapy, and I help with that stuff. My territory is somewhat in order, or as much as you can have it in this hellhole of a city, so I have plenty of free time, and… I could use the atonement. After, you know, trying to kill you so many times.

It…was unexpected. Jason, helping him? In exchange of Tim’s wellbeing? It seemed absurd beyond belief, but there was no mistaking the earnestness on his face.

And, well, fuck it. Tim was somehow on speaking terms with one of his formers almost-assassins, what was one more?

...it would also be so worth it, once Dick knew. Tim could already picture his jealousy, seeing the two brothers he was at odds or uncomfortable with, speaking at each other and working together.

And having Jason at his side would keep Bruce from checking on him so often. Two birds, one crowbar. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This was shaping up to be the strangest week of his life. Had he entered the twilight zone?

He had gotten kinda used to Damian popping into his room before patrol, or during the nights B forced him to stay at home. He’d work Damian through one of the easiest cold cases, or aid him in his never ending game of Long Live the Queen (he was getting really close to a happy ending, though). In exchange, the kid would keep his work a secret, and help him move around if the pain was too strong, or if he wanted a glass of water and didn’t feel like getting his crutches out for the small trip to the bathroom.

Also, it was somewhat normal to have Jason swing by (morning or mid afternoon, while the vigilantes of the manor slept off their patrol), some case files in hand, informing him about a new development in whatever Tim had asked him to research. Alfred, highly approving of their newfound camaraderie, would insist Jason stayed for tea, and the three of them would dwell into a very satisfying bitch fest, with Bruce as their source material.

What he wasn’t ready for, was having both of them around at the same time.

-Drake, you need to stop lazing around and do your exercises! Father and the doctors said…!

-Chill out, Demon, he did ‘em already. Shouldn't be doin more reps than the doc said, y’know?

Acting like his nurses.

-And how do I know you’re not lying to me, Todd? Hurting Timothy could only benefit you!

-...In literally which way? He’s the ONE brother I like! And like you are any better, Mr slashed zip line.

-Who told you about/? No matter. That was before we became allies. You, on the other hand!

Had he stumbled into a different universe? It wouldn't be the first time. Just in case, he sent Bart, his time/multiverse travel expert, a quick text.

-Hey guys, what’s all this noise abou/ Damian! Drop the knife!

Oh yeah. Just what Tim needed; the awkwardness that seemed to appear whenever he and Dick were in a room together. Maybe it was time to book it back to his room.

-Grayson! Give it back, I need to/!

-Disembowel Jay? I don’t think so.

-Fuck off Dickiebird, I don’t need your protection. 

Decision made, Tim slowly moved his crutches, walking backwards without taking his eyes from the three vigilantes. If he was really, really quiet...

-I know, just/ Wait. Is that a gun?

-Well, it’s not like I’m happy to see yar ugly face.

-Excuse you?!... Here, Dami. You can have it back.

-FUCK!

-DIE!

-TIM!

The last scream came from Dick, who looked in his direction just in time to catch the moment Tim’s crutch slipped in the carpet. As it was, he was the only one who could react fast enough to prevent a painful, possibly very bad for his injury fall.

It also meant Tim was being cradled like a baby. Which- no.

The other two fell silent for  long minute, while their minds caught up to Tim’s almost accident. Then, apparently seeing him safe in Dick’s arms, they turned to fight again. Apparently, blaming the other for Tim’s misfortune. Which… okay maybe he’d been distracted watching them go at it when he tripped, but still!

-I’ll just… take him upstairs -informed them Dick, though it sounded almost like a question. Probably wondering their ability to keep the discussion verbal.

Used to the nagging, both of them raised their hands, showing them empty (which, truly, meant little in the face of two of the most weapon-inclined people he knew), without pausing their rapidly escalating exchange. 

Halfway up the stairs, he stopped wallowing in self pity about his still recovering body to remember that, for the first time in a helluva long time, he’d be alone with Dick. Which translated in Talk Time. Fuck.

By the time they reached his door, he had ready no less than six deflections and twenty conversation topics which avoided mention of all their baggage and could potentially satisfy Dick’s need for socializing with a brother.

-Wipe that look off your face, Baby Bird. You won’t be orchestrating this chat -the older hero informed him, casually as one can be, kicking the door closed behind him and softly lowering Tim on his bed. He was having serious Deja Vu’s from his first encounter with Jason-. We are going to sit in your room. We are going to hear each other out. I’m going to apologize for hurting you and give you insight on the why I acted the way I did. You’ll decide whether or not you’re ready for forgiving me. We’ll bond. Maybe cry. There’ll definetly be hugs involved -that shouldn’t sound like a threat, why did it sound like a threat, Tim felt threatened-, that’s non negotiable, don’t even try to put the ‘tender wounds’ card on me ‘cause I won’t buy it. And…

Dick’s stern voice wavered, arms still around Tim shoulders even when it was clear he didn’t need his support to sit in the bed.

-And we’ll be brothers again.

The tiny, broken sound mid-sentence was what got Tim. 

Hand a little shaky, scared for his own heart but unwilling to let the older boy (his hero and family for so long) keep hurting, he touched Dick’s cheek and smiled. Tentatively, because they were on unstable ground here, but hopeful, because god did he miss his brother.

-We never stopped being that, idiot.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was after dinner, when Bruce approached him in silence. Tim had been making his slow  but steady way to the den, where Dick had roped them all into watching a movie together. He could hear the sounds of Jason and Damian roughosing (okay, Jason was; the brat probably believed the whole affair to be a fight to the death for honor or something like that) and Dick’s chirpy voice as he ranted about The Greatest Showman from the hall.

Bruce had been making the trip by his side, hand hovering close to Tim’s elbow, in case the crutches failed him or he tripped. Tim wanted to tell him it wouldn't happen, but… he’d missed his dad’s attention a little too much to complain about independency now.

-How’s the recovery going, son?

He stopped in the door leading to where his brothers waited, turning to face  Bruce with an arched eyebrow.

-You know that better than me, Mr I’ve broken every bone in my body at some point. Also I’m dead sure you hacked my medical files and know every little detail my physical therapist wrote by heart. You can probably recite them to me verbatim.

-I didn’t mean the physical recovery. The shot in your side is not the only wound you’re carrying right now

Silence, the only noise coming from inside the room and Tim’s heavy breathing. Unable to refrain himself, he risks a glance at the tangle of limbs rolling around in the carpet (Dick’s tactic to stop the fight was to hug them into submission) and lets the tentative, frail smile tug at his lips.

-Honestly, B… That one is healing nicely. There’ll be scars but… That’ proof of what we overcame. Right?

Bruce’s smile looked kinda uncomfortable in that stony face of his, but warm all the same. His hand left Tim’s arm to tussle his hair a bit, careful to not unbalance him.

-When did you became the wisest of my children?

A crash came from inside the room, startling them both.

-TODD YOU…!

-DAMIAN NO! JASON PUT DOWN THE CHAIR! DON’T MAKE ME CALL ALFRED!

-C’ME AT ME, MIDGET!

-ALFIEEEE!!!

-Bruce…

-Yes?

-I’m the only wise child you have.

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 6

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 6 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 6/? SUMMARY: With the Doctor newly regenerated, he and Elise must now navigate their new relationship. The Doctor is an old man and Elise is a headstrong young woman. She is no longer the scared little girl the Doctor saved all those years ago. Will Clara be able to keep them from killing each other?

“That was weird,” Clara said as they walked down the eyestalk.

“You've seen nothing yet,” the Doctor told her.

“What are the lights?”

“Visual impulses travelling towards the brain.”

“Beautiful.”

“Welcome to the most dangerous place in the universe.”

“Entering the cranial ledge now,” Journey said.

They stepped out of the eyestalk.

“Oh, my God,” Clara breathed.

Below them was the body of the Dalek.

Elise had never seen the inside of a Dalek before, but it didn’t change her thoughts on them.

“Behold, the belly of the beast,” the Doctor said.

“It's amazing.”

“It's huge,” one of the soldiers said.

“No, Ross. We're tiny,” another corrected them.

“So how big is it, that living part, compared to me and you, right now?” Clara asked.

“You see all those cables?” the Doctor asked her.

“Yeah.”

“They're not all cables.” The Doctor made a gesture with his hands like tentacles shooting out, making Clara and Elise laugh. Maybe her father was still in there somewhere. Maybe.

“Does it know we're here?” Ross asked.

“It's what invited us in,” Journey said.

The Doctor started walking around explaining things. “Now, this is the cortex vault, a supplementary electronic brain. Memory banks, but more than that. This is what keeps the Dalek pure.”

“How are Daleks pure?” the female soldier asked.

“Dalek mutants are born hating. This is what stokes the fire, extinguishes even the tiniest glimmer of kindness or compassion. Imagine the worst possible thing in the universe, then don't bother, because you're looking at it right now. This is evil refined as engineering.”

“Doctor?” the Dalek asked.

“Oh, hello, Rusty. You don't mind if I call you Rusty? We're going to need to come down there with you. Medical examination, and all that.”

“What, with those tentacles and things?” the female soldier asked.

“How close do we have to get?” Journey asked.

“Well, you know, we're never going to insert a thermometer from up here,” the Doctor said.

Journey nodded and Ross fired a harpoon into the Dalek’s ledge.

There was a horrible screeching noise.

“No. No, no, no, no! Stop, stop, stop, you idiot!” the Doctor yelled.

Ross fired another harpoon.

The Doctor rushed at Ross, but Journey stopped him.

“We need a way down, the only way…” Journey told him.

“This is a Dalek, not a machine. It's a perfect analogue of a living being, and you just hurt it. So what's going to happen now?”

“Oh, God,” Clara said, grabbing onto Elise’s hand.

The redhead squeezed her hand.

“What? What is it?” the female soldier asked.

“Antibodies?”

“Dalek antibodies,” the Doctor confirmed.

Round objects floated towards them.

“Nobody move Any attempt to help him, or attack those things, will identify you as a secondary source of infection. Stay still!” the Doctor told them.

The antibodies opened up to reveal a big blue eye, exactly like a Dalek. They surrounded Ross.

“But the Dalek wants us in here,” Clara said, “Why is it attacking?”

“Can you control your antibodies?”

“Ross, stay calm. We're going to get you out of this,” Journey told him.

“Can you?” Clara asked the Doctor.

The Doctor pulled something from the wall and tossed it to Ross. “Ross, swallow that.”

“What is it?”

“Trust me.”

Ross swallowed it. “Now what?”

An antibody aimed a beam at him.

“Ross!” Journey yelled as Ross disintegrated.

“Oh, my God. What's it doing?!” Clara shrieked.

The antibody sucked up the remains. The blue eye turned red.

“The hoovering,” the Doctor said. The antibody flew off and the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver. “Gotcha.”

“What did you give him?” Clara asked.

“Oh, just a spare power cell, but I can track the radiation signature. I need to know where they dump the bodies.”

“You sacrificed him? How could you do that! You were supposed to save him!” Elise yelled.

“He was dead already. I was saving us. Now shut-up. Follow me and run.”

Elise hit him on the chest, shoving him back a few steps. “You are such a heartless bastard! He…he would have never done that. He would have saved him.”

How could this be the same man who had joked around with her and Clara to make them feel better? How could he be this uncaring the next second? It was like a switch inside him was flipped.

“Elise! I am him!”

“No you’re not! You may call yourself the Doctor, but you will never be him!”

The Doctor didn’t let it show, but Elise’s words had wounded him. But why couldn’t she see that everything he did was to protect herself and Clara?

The Doctor turned away from her and started running.

Clara grabbed Elise’s hand and pulled her after the Doctor.

The anti-bodies were following them.

The Doctor stopped at a hole in the ledge. “They've dumped him in here. Organic refuse disposal. We need to get in there.”

“Why?” Clara asked.

The female soldier and Journey shot at the antibodies.

“Those antibodies won't give up until we're inside there. I'd rather go in alive than dead,” the Doctor told them.

“You don't know where it goes,” Journey said.

“Yes, I do. Away from here. Now in. In! In!”

Clara jumped into the hole.

“I can hold them off!” the female soldier yelled.

“No, you can't.” The Doctor tried sonicing the antibodies. “Pull back. Down. Jump, everyone, jump.”

Journey and the female soldier jumped, leaving the Doctor and Elise.

“Come on, Elise. You can do this.”

Elise nodded and took a deep breath before jumping.

The Doctor jumped in after her.

She could him laughing behind her as they slide down. Elise cracked a smile until they landed in some type of liquid.

Clara groaned. “What is this stuff?”

“People. The Daleks need protein. Occasionally, they harvest from their victims. This is a feeding tube,” the Doctor explained.

Elise tried her hardest not to be sick.

“Is Ross here?” Journey asked.

“Yeah. Top layer, if you want to say a few words.”

Journey shoved the Doctor against the wall.

Clara grabbed Elise’s arm to keep her from attacking the young woman.

“A man has just died. You will not talk like that.”

“A lot of people have died. Everything in here is dead, and do you know why that's good?”

“There is nothing good about that.”

“Nothing is alive in here, so logically this is the weakest spot in the Dalek's internal security. Nobody guards the dead. Mortuaries and larders, always the easiest to break out of. Oh, I've lived a life! Tell Uncle Stupid that we're in. Ah ha! A bolt hole.”

They climbed out of the gunk as the Doctor unscrewed a large bolt with his sonic screwdriver.

“Oh look. It’s actually doing what it was designed to do,” Elise quipped. She saw the Doctor’s lips twitch and she prided herself on almost getting a smile out of him.

“He'll get us out of here. The difficult part is not killing him before he can,” Clara told the others.

“Bolt hole. Actually, a hole for a bolt. Does nobody get that?” the Doctor asked.

“Also, there's the puns.”

“Watch it, decontamination tubes are hot.”

They climbed into the decontamination tube.

“Rescue One to Mission Control,” Journey said.

“This is Blue, Rescue One. Report,” her uncle said.

“The Dalek has an internal defense mechanism. We've lost Ross.”

“What kind of defense mechanism? That thing knows you're in there to help it.”

“Yeah, well, who knows? It's a Dalek. We're going to continue the mission.”

“Are you all right back there? It's a bit narrow, isn't it?” the Doctor asked.

“Any remarks about my hips will not be appreciated,” Clara said.

“Ach, your hips are fine. You're built like a man. Elise is the one we should worry about.”

“Thanks,” Clara muttered.

“Oi!” Elise snapped.

“We both know you’re built like your mother,” the Doctor said.

Elise’s hearts stopped at the mention of River. This was the first time she’d heard this body mention her.

They climbed out of the decontamination tube.

The Doctor helped Elise and Clara down.

“What's that noise? Are you wearing a Geiger counter?” the Doctor asked as the female soldier climbed out.

“Standard battle equipment. That's just low level radiation.”

“But stronger down here, for some reason. Give me it.”

The female soldier handed him the Geiger counter and he walked over to the large circuit boards. “I've got it. I know what's wrong with Rusty.”

“Okay, that's good. Is that good?” Clara asked.

“Well, you know how I said this was the most dangerous place in the universe? I was wrong. It's way more dangerous than that.”

“Colonel, we have radiation indicators red-lining in here. Could be that the Dalek is badly damaged than we thought,” Journey told her uncle.

“Copy that.”

“Old Rusty here is suffering a trionic radiation leak. It's poisoning the Dalek and us. Just as well we're here.”

“Really? Perhaps we should get out while we can. Why should we trust a Dalek? Why would it change?” Journey asked.

“Because there’s something serious wrong with it,” Elise said.

“Rusty? What changed you?” the Doctor asked.

“I saw beauty,” the Dalek answered.

“You saw what?”

“In the silence and the cold, I saw worlds burning.”

“That's not beauty, that's destruction,” Journey told the Dalek.

“I saw more.”

“What? What did you see?” the Doctor asked.

“The birth of a star.”

“Stars are born every day. You've seen a million stars born. So what?”

“Daleks have destroyed a million stars.”

“Oh, millions and millions. Trust me, I keep count.”

“And yet, new stars are born.”

“Every time.”

“Resistance is futile.”

“Resistance to what?”

“Life returns. Life prevails. Resistance is futile.”

“So you saw a star being born, and you learned something. Oh, Dalek, do not be lying to me. Come on.”

“Heading for the Trionic power cells, Colonel,” Journey said.

“Radiation approxing two hundred Rads. Danger levels.”

They stepped into the power cell.

“We're at the heart of the Dalek,” the Doctor said.

“It's incredible,” Clara said, looking around.

“Yeah, it’s great. Being inside your greatest enemy,” Elise said sarcastically.

Electricity crackled above them.

“Geiger counter's off the scale. Looks like it's about to blow,” Journey told them.

“Good,” the Doctor said.

“How is that good?”

“Well, Elise and I like a bit of pressure. Rusty, can you hear me?”

“Doctor?” the Dalek asked.

“Rusty, we've found the damage. I'm sealing up the breach in your power cell.” He welded the crack shut with his screwdriver. “No more radiation poisoning. Good as new. There. Job done.”

“That's it? Just like that?” Clara asked.

“An anti-climax once in a while is good for my hearts. Rusty? How do you feel?” The Dalek didn’t answer. Rusty? Rusty? Rusty.”

“The malfunction is corrected,” the Dalek said.

“What's happened?” Journey asked.

“Not entirely sure,” the Doctor said.

Lights came on.

“It's like it's waking up.”

“Rusty, come on, talk to me. What's going on?”

“The malfunction is corrected. All systems are functioning. Weapons charged.”

“Oh, no, no, no.”

Elise looked at the Doctor and glared. “I told you this was a bad idea!”

[aliemah]

Love Languages

You can’t say I never did anything for you, now! I wrote some Cullen x Trevelyan fluff fic that’s just me being cutesy and self-indulgent but I guess you can read it too if you want.

Click here to read that shit on AO3 or you can read it below the cut.

------

To her, love was more than just the hugging and kissing and good feelings that came with it. Once it had meant just that, but since she’d met Cullen, her perception of what love was had changed.

Love was getting to watch him wake up from a deep sleep in the early morning sun, hair messy and tangled. Sharing a bed through the night was different, but soon it became his only comfort. Feeling him pull her closer to his chest, placing kisses on her neck before he pressed his nose into her hair - he loved the subtle scent of elderflower of the soap she used. Some mornings his hands would wander her body aimlessly. Always reverent, appreciative, caring. Other mornings, there was a purpose, and meaning to his touches. Desperate after a period of absence from each other, teasing when she’d brought up that game of Wicked Grace, gentle when she’d had a poor night’s sleep.

Love was listening to him give orders to his soldiers to protect the fortress, to secure a new foothold in a region, to send a report to Leliana to decipher. Conviction and confidence suited him, and he didn’t need the massive fur on his shoulders to stand out as the commander. He often shed it to spar with new recruits, anyway. Hearing the pure exertion of his energy with each swing, each blow that was taken, the care in his voice - remember to raise your shield! - the gentle reminders as splinters were pulled from tender skin. For as fierce and immovable as the man was, he had a heart of gold. Every soldier knew this. Every soldier respected this. Orders were spoken once, heeded twice. She only ever heard him raise his voice once outside battle; someone had been careless with their sword. A shout turned to a stern voice, softer words, and a reminder to mind their sword.

Love was waking up in the middle of the night when his night terrors returned. Wiping the sweat from his forehead when he woke, reassuring him he didn’t have to apologize for waking her. Never asking him to talk to her, but always there to listen. When he caught his breath, she went to grab the teapot, getting fresh water and tea and setting it by the fire. Sometimes she would wrap him in a blanket, sometimes she would simply lean against him. Whether he talked or remained silent, he always held her hand. She wasn’t sure what it was about the tea that was so soothing to him, but after a cup or two, he was always ready to go back to sleep. He always clutched to her dearly when they lay back down, sometimes so tight she almost couldn’t breathe. But eventually, he would relax, sleeping peacefully the remainder of the night with her beneath the weight of his arms.

Love was the pain that came with the realization she could die any day, at any time. Tucked away in a dark corner of Skyhold, face soaked with tears as her arms wrapped around her legs, she was hardly surprised when she heard Cole’s voice calmly guiding Cullen to her. Cole wanted to help, he assured the boy that he’d done enough to bring him to her, and asked him to please wait outside. His smile was gentle, knowing, and he simply sat beside her, making a comment about how she must be freezing sitting on the stone floor for so long. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, but she cracked a smile and leaned against the fur of his coat. Silence for so long. Until his hand turned palm up, nearly in her face. Cole had told him what had been on her mind. He knew that fear well, and wanted to show her something. Despite the cold and the rain, they made their way to the edge of the bridge of Skyhold, where he spoke in that same, patient, quiet voice. She had much to be proud of, and every right to be afraid. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t in control. Her armor was well maintained even when she was out traveling, the same to be said of her weapons. Her companions would all protect her fiercely or die themselves trying to save her. There were worse things than death, he claimed, but she didn’t have the mind to ask what he meant by that - he was likely speaking from experience. Each moment they spent alone, her pain was eased with the knowledge that she was understood perfectly. It would never go away but the burden was made easier.

Love was seeing the way his face lit up upon seeing her after a long day. The hard lines on his face softened, his lips would curl and pull at the scar ever so slightly, his eyes seemed to reignite with some fire behind them. Some days she could stroll right up to his desk and greet him, other days she waited by the door for his meeting to finish. His greeting was always the same - a sight for sore eyes. The days when she returned from a mission outside the fortress, often late in the evening, she felt she was the one who needed to see him. Sometimes he was already asleep, taking up the entire space of the bed until she woke him with a gentle nudge, collapsing beside him and effectively passing out. Other times it seemed he knew she would be returning and kept himself awake to greet her and make sure everything went as well as it ever could. He treated her like she was the only person worth listening to when she came with news of any kind, pushing aside all other responsibilities or feelings to give her his complete attention with that mildly adorable look in his eyes to match.

Love was seeing the relief that overtook him when she returned from her final battle with Corypheus. She was covered in blood, bruises, dirt and sweat, but he saw right past all of it when he took her in his arms, his sword clattering to the ground beside them. Her legs felt ready to give out, and he lowered them both to the ground to sit, keeping his arms firmly around her. She was cradled, feeling his warm tears against her neck.

Love was watching him casually toss opened letters into the fire as she curled up against him. There was a faint smile on his face with each one that got added. Elaborate wax seals in various shades of red or blue, fanciful script that was sometimes too elaborate to be read. Declarations of interest or outright proposals all tossed into the flame as he held her hand. As the last of the pile was cast into the heat, the thumb that had broken each of those seals was placed on her lower lip before he leaned down to press his own lips to hers.

Love was finding herself incapable of seeing a future without him. Inquisition or no, he was beside her. At times, it was beside her back home in Ostwick. Other times she imagined what it might be like to live in Ferelden. She asked him one afternoon over a game of chess what he might do if the Inquisition was disbanded. He replied, with readiness she hadn’t anticipated, that he intended to follow her wherever she went. Consequently, he asked what she thought she might do, and she forgot the game of chess, staring dumbly across at him in surprise at his words. Moving a piece on the board, she grinned, admitting she liked the sound of that. She asked if he would like to see Ostwick, and meet her family. He joked about not being of the proper breed to meet them, despite knowing all he had to do was ask and he could gain just about any noble title he desired, short of King. He sacrificed a knight to protect his queen, smiling when he replied he would love to meet her family if they were open to meeting him.

Love was too many words and feelings to be captured so easily in one. When people asked if she loved Cullen, the answer felt almost too easy, too simple: 

Yes.

[osakaso5]

Spirit Kaleidoscope: Empty Absolution

Chapter 25 - Epilogue

Chapter Index

Katanashu Station - Reception Room

Hanabusa: Sorry that you had to come all the way to the station. If anything, I feel like I should've come to the Phantom Realm to deliver my apology...

Mizuchi: I don't mind. It's not as if you can get into the Phantom Realm.

Hanabusa: Some of our troops caused you a great deal of trouble. As a representative of the katanashu, I offer you my sincerest apologies.

Mizuchi: ...You're the one bowing your head to me? Even though you were betrayed, yourself?

Hanabusa: The misdeeds of my subordinates are my responsibility, as the superior officer. I failed to notice their schemes and prevent their rebellion.

Hanabusa: In order to appease the people of Hikagemachi, our troops' actions will be strictly regulated from here on out. I aim to rebuild the trust that was lost due to these events.

Mizuchi: Fufu. I doubt the people of Hikagemachi care that much about what happened.

Mizuchi: ...Now that I'm talking to you like this, I finally understand why you stopped me from striking Kasane with lighting back then.

Hanabusa: .........

Mizuchi: You even shielded him with your body, did you not? If I'd struck right then, you could've been badly injured, or worse.

Hanabusa: Human laws are different... I couldn't let his punishment be left up to the rules of Hikagemachi.

Mizuchi: I see.

Hanabusa: ...I'm well aware that I'm pushing our own morals on you, however.

Hanabusa: I don't expect you to accept the fact that I stopped you from taking out your anger...

Mizuchi: ...Right. It was a struggle for me to bring a storm back then... But these sorts of incidents have happened many times before.

Hanabusa: ...They have?

Mizuchi: When I was in the human realm. I told you about all the warriors who would challenge me, didn't I?

Mizuchi: Plenty of them wanted not only to battle me, but to take my powers as well.

Hanabusa: ...Like Kasane.

Mizuchi: Fufu. Thanks to it, I experienced something that made my heart race for the first time in ages. I suppose trouble like that isn't always bad.

Hanabusa: I'm glad to hear that... But wasn't that the reason you left  the human world and began living  in the Phantom Realm?

Mizuchi: That was one of my reasons for it, yes.

Aoi's Voice: You two! Stop sneaking into the station!

Hanabusa: Was that Aoi..?

Mizuchi: Hahaha. It's so lively here.

Katanashu Station - In Front of the Grand Gate

Onibi: Uh oh! Aoi caught us..!

Kamaitachi: Hurry, Onibi! If we pass through the gate before he catches us, we'll be fi... Ow!?!?

Onibi: What is that!? Water!? Owie..!

Aoi: ...Idiots. I set up a holy water trap on the gate. You won't get through this time.

Onibi: What!? A trap!?

Kamaitachi: That's no fair!

Aoi: Hmph. I don't care.

Madoka: You guys sure have a lot of energy. Leave them be, Aoi... They're always sneaking around, anyway.

Aoi: ...Madoka... Shirking your duties, as always.

Madoka: Yeah, sorry about that, Mr. Model Employee. Yawn... So tired...

Aoi: Don't apologize while yawning. ...Don't tell me, you've been in bed up until now? It's already noon.

Madoka: Nope. I'm tired because I've been doing paperwork all morning. We had a mountain of reports about the tournament, remember?

Madoka: I gotta say, that holy water of yours is pretty effective. Your family owns a shrine, right? Is the god there extra benevolent or something?

Aoi: I don't know if they're benevolent or not, but I hear they're a really powerful serpent god.

Aoi: Apparently they laid waste to a human village with heavy rain in order to save a shrine maiden who was going to be sacrificed... We worship that destructive spirit.

Aoi: We're descended from the shrine maiden they saved. It was such a long time ago that I don't know if any of it really happened, though.

Madoka: Wow.

Madoka: Aoi, are you sure?

Aoi: .....? About what?

Madoka: About letting Onibi and Kamaitachi slip through the gate just now.

Aoi: ...Huh!?

Phantom Grotto

Sana: Shisei-san, it's time for to eat! Come out.

Shisei: ...Oh, Sana. Good morning.

Sana: It's already noon!

Shisei: Fufu, I see. ...It smells delicious, as usual. This is...

Azuma: Heh. I tried my hand at making some stew. I slaid a mighty pig, and even got a pot for it.

Shisei: ...Even a pot... You're becoming quite the professional cook.

Azuma: Might was well build my own kitchen somewhere around here.

Sana: A kitchen..!? We'd be living very nicely if you did!

Hokuto: ...And Shisei's still holed up in this grotto.

Hokuto: After you finally got around to visiting Hikagemachi, too. What's so great about this damp old place?

Shisei: Even if it is damp and old, I've lived here for so long. ...Besides... It feels more comfortable now.

Hokuto: ...Does it? Well, as long as you're fine with it, I suppose.

Shisei: Fufu... It does.

Sana: ...Ah. But Shisei-san, aren't you going to go eat ramen in Hikagemachi?

Sana: I believe it was Mizuchi who invited you...

Hokuto: ...Mizuchi!? Why haven't I heard about this!?

Shisei: He'll treat me as thanks for helping him the other day... Apparently, this "ramen" sold by a shop named Kuzunoha is quite the treat.

Shisei: I hear it's like thin udon noodles.

Sana: Hmm..? I'm not so sure about that... They’re a bit different, in my opinion.

Azuma: Oh, so you've had some too, Sana?

Sana: Of course! There were places that sold it in the capital when I was still a human.

Hokuto: ...Hmph. Ramen isn't much of a reward for saving a mighty water god.

Azuma: Ramen, eh... I want to try it, too. It'll be a good chance  to experience new flavors.

Shisei: Then... Why don't we all go together?

Sana: Ah..! That's a great idea! Let's go as a group!

Hokuto: Huh? Why do I have to...

Azuma: Just come. ...I know you want to, despite your grumbling.

Hokuto: Shut up. ...Fine, I'll come! Got a problem with that?

Shisei: Fufu... I can't wait to eat ramen with all of you.

Ramen Kuzunoha

Kasane: Ow... Sigh... My bottom hurts so bad I can't sit right...

Kasane: Kamaitachi gave me a real beatin'. Not to mention I got lectured by Hanabusa-han and Madoka...

Uta: They were super pissed. Commander Hanabusa was so mad that his face looked like one of those ogre masks!

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: Even Kamaitachi was actually mad, for once. ...Fufu. Just be happy that he didn't cut you up into little pieces with his sickle.

Kasane: Oh dear. I'd rather not be turned into mincemeat.

Uta: Why don't you just forget about all that, and have some ramen? My treat, Kasane!

Kasane: Why, thank ya. ...So, yer droppin' the honorifics as soon as I get demoted, huh?

Uta: You're just a regular soldier now, aren't you? Our ranks are the same now that your job got taken from you.

Uta: Things have really calmed down now that Commander Hanabusa's taken charge of both the first and second squadrons.

Kasane: Sigh... Ya sure seem to be enjoyin' this, Uta. Yer sadism really gives away how ya were raised.

Uta: Oh, sorry about that. But... Fufufu! I'm just happy to finally get on your level!  

Uta: ...Or more accurately, that you were brought down to my level.

Kasane: ...Yer level?

Karasutengu: Right. You're talking about the time you tried to trap me into being your slave, aren't you?

Uta: Ugh..! Karasutengu!? ...Sir!

Uta: Ah... I think it's about time for me to get back to the station...

Karasutengu: Not so fast. I won't let you run away this time.

Karasutengu: I told you that I'd blow you away if you kept doing that during the tournament.  

Uta: Ahaha... You did..?

Kasane: ...What's this, Uta? Not a fan of Karasutengu, are ya?

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: Oh. You don't know, even though you're in the same troops? ...Uta tried to do the exact same thing as you once.

Kasane: ...Did he, now?

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: To Karasutengu instead of Mizuchi, though. ...Fufufufu.

Uta: ...It was the biggest mistake of my life... I didn't know what a quick-tempered and brutal yokai he was...

Karasutengu: Who are you calling quick-tempered? I showed you plenty of hospitality when you came to pick a fight with me, didn't I?

Uta: If by hospitality you mean giving me a beating...

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: Uta was so scared by Karasutengu's anger... It was too pathetic for me to even watch...

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: ...Pfft. Ahahahaha!

Uta: ...Hey, Owner! Do you have to laugh at me!?

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: Why not? It gets me every time.

Uta: Don't joke about my trauma! Ever since then, every time he finds me he makes me help him with his work while kicking and trampling on me.

Uta: Even on the day of the attacks, he was using me for slave labor... Sigh...

Kasane: ...Huh. That's quite the incident.

Kasane: I knew ya had made some kinda big mistake back in the capital, but I'd never heard the full story.

Uta: Well, that wasn't all there was to it. ...Can you understand how I feel now?

Kasane: Sure... Ugh. Just rememberin' Mizuchi's face gives me the chills...

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: Hey now. I don't want to see those gloomy faces in my establishment. ...Have some ramen.  

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: The fried tofu on top will be on the house.

Uta: ...Huh!? Owner, you're cooking ramen yourself..!?

Kasane: ...What's so special about a ramen seller makin' ramen?

Uta: ...No, it is special! You're a first-timer here, so you wouldn't know... It's not just weird, it's practically like some kind of natural disaster!

Uta: Maybe we'll get hit by a meteor next...

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: Fufu. I had a good time at the tournament thanks to you. I thought I'd give you some customer service for once.

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: Here, my handmade ramen. Make sure to appreciate it.

Kasane: Why, thank ya. I dunno why ya look so smug, though...

Karasutengu: Oh, Kyubi-no-Kitsune. I'll have a bowl, too.

Kyubi-no-Kitsune: You can make it yourself.

Karasutengu: Why!?

Forest on the Outskirts of Town - Big Maple Tree

Momiji: .........

Ungaikyo: ...Are you looking into the kaleidoscope?

Momiji: Ungaikyo... Sitting in the tree again? You're like a child.

Ungaikyo: I'm way older than you. ...You came here again, huh. The katanashu sure have a lot of free time.

Momiji: Not as much as you do. I came to bring you the kaleidoscope today. You've had it longer than I have.

Momiji: I thought you should be the one to have it.

Ungaikyo: .........

Ungaikyo: ...Nah, I'm good. Keep it.

Momiji: But...

Ungaikyo: I really don't need it. ...I'm fine with katanashu being  around me now, so I wouldn't  use it anyway.

Momiji: ...I see. I guess it did originally belong to me.

Ungaikyo: ...Did you want anything else with me?

Momiji: Of course I do. Come down from there. We're going to have another match.

Ungaikyo: ...That, again... I don't wanna. Plus, you come ask me for a rematch every day.

Momiji: ...You're not coming down?

Ungaikyo: Nope. I'm gonna eat cup ramen and take a nap.

Momiji: ........ I see. Then you leave me with no other choice.

Momiji: ...Tadaakira Inui.

Ungaikyo: ......!

Momiji: Get down from the maple tree at once. We're going to battle.

Ungaikyo: Wha... Whoa, whoa, whoa..!

Thud!

Ungaikyo: Ow... You made me fall! Don't call my name so carelessly!

Ungaikyo: What do you think people's true names are, exactly..?

Momiji: You've used my true name before, too.

Ungaikyo: ........ Yeah, but... That was a long time ago!

Momiji: Haha. Now, let's fight!

Ungaikyo: I said I didn't wanna... ...Ugh. I guess I have to. If I win, you're treating me to lunch.

Momiji: Deal. You can eat whatever you like.

Ungaikyo: ...Seriously!? In that case...

Ungaikyo: If I get to eat ramen, I'll think about it.

The End.

Translator’s notes..? 

this took a pretty long time, but it’s finally done! i’m probably not going to do extra stuff for a while again, but i’ll still be posting card translations every other day! 

[stammiviktor]

yuri on ice & good omens: an analysis

No two shows have ever drawn me in as quickly or as thoroughly as Yuri on Ice and Good Omens. I’d only ever written for two different fandoms before these and, for those other shows, I started watching them young and fell in love slowly. I wrote extensively, but the focus was rarely on romance—usually I was somewhat ambivalent toward the possible pairings, or I liked the pairing only because of a one-sided interest in one of the characters. Up until I got obsessed with YOI two years ago, I thought maybe *I* was ambivalent to romance, which was why falling for Yuri on Ice (and Viktor and Yuuri’s love story) was such a surprise. 

Now I feel like something extremely similar has happened with me for Good Omens and Aziraphale and Crowley’s story, and I’m starting to notice a lot of parallels. I think there’s something similar at the core of both shows that has drawn me to them, some fundamental aspects that they share, and I thought I’d share them in case anyone is interested, in this essay I will—

Sections: 

Relationship Dynamics

Character Similarities

How the Story’s Told

Main Themes

1) Relationship Dynamics 

The main couples are the beating heart of each show, and they actually have a lot of similarities in the ways they love each other. 

In both shows, the main couple defies the world’s expectations. Both couples share a similar niche group—elite professional figure skaters in YOI, celestial beings in GO. Within these groups, the main two characters are adversaries, in the case of GO, and competitors (separated by the non-traversable boundary of their difference in skill level, in Yuuri’s mind) in the case of YOI. The relationships they develop with one another are shocking or even taboo to the people in these groups, and even perhaps to the characters themselves in the beginning. But they are drawn together by something important they share, and they just kind of say “screw the world, I love you, you’re mine”. 

In both shows, part of the reason they fall in love with each other is that they understand one another on a level that no one else could. 

Aziraphale and Crowley are the only celestial beings that love the Earth and humankind the way they do, and over the years they come to enjoy it together, drawn together by this shared appreciation. They also have a lot in common in regards to their situations regarding Heaven/Hell. They each know what it is like to take orders from and report to a Head Office where they don’t feel particularly welcome, understood, or appreciated; to live in the earthly plane in their human bodies for thousands of years; to have no one really understand them; to question the way things are.

Viktor and Yuuri are both VERY dedicated to the ice and have let a lot of their life (and love) pass them by because of it. They had sacrificed a lot and understand the mental toll it can take, for different reasons. They know what it’s like to struggle to accept love, to put on a brave face, and to compete anyway. They understand that drive for perfection that gets them up at 5am six days a week. Yuuri always had a secret drive to beat Viktor and to be the best, though he would never admit it out loud and assumed everyone else would laugh at him if he admitted it—but Viktor immediately was on board with this, and basically said, “Yes, you have what it takes if you gain confidence, let’s get you there”. Viktor, on the other hand, wanted to retire because he was burnt out and nothing surprised or inspired him anymore, but he didn’t think he could. He knew the world would think, “What the hell, you’re at the top of the world, what would you even do if you retired?”—but there was Yuuri saying, “Be my coach!” and not telling Viktor he’s insane for not wanting to skate. He validates him, only pushing him back toward the ice because he sees Viktor longing for it and feels guilty (but not because “You’re the five-time world champion you HAVE to”). They understand and accept one another where the rest of the world would not (or at least it’s perceived that they would not).

They meet each other where they are. This is straight up a line from YOI obviously, but it applies so well to Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship as well. This isn’t all that different from the last point about understanding one another, but here it’s important that they always try to let this understanding inform their behavior towards the other person. 

Viktor, as Yuuri’s coach, attempts adjust to his approach to meet Yuuri’s needs. He sees the hang-ups Yuuri has and helps him resolve them (being convinced he can’t do “Eros”, thinking he’s a failure and lacking confidence, etc) instead of just blindly pushing him forward. Yuuri, who previously isn’t shown to be a very touchy person while sober (he doesn’t even hug his mom when he returns home after five years), welcomes and reciprocates Viktor’s touch (which seems to be his love-language, so to speak). Yuuri doesn’t belittle Viktor for his insecurities (like the whole hair thinning issue), just apologizes when he accidentally offends him and only points out the issues again in a sweet gesture (ep7) that means “I see your shortcomings and I still accept you”. They don’t make each other conform to their expectations. They definitely have misfires in communication (aka the “let’s end this” and the “I’ll step down as your coach” scenes) but it’s because they’re trying too hard to meet each other where they are while their understanding of one another is still developing.

Crowley is maybe the definition of meeting Aziraphale where he is— he understands Aziraphale, knows what makes him tick, know he relies on philosophical logic to justify his actions. Whenever he proposes something (like stopping Armageddon or their Arrangement) he works through it logically and doesn’t belittle Aziraphale for his hesitance—he just reframes the suggestion. He doesn’t belittle Aziraphale for things like being a bit neurotic about the paintball stain, or his love of his book collection; when he breaks the news to Aziraphale about the fire (twice), he is so delicate and looks so sad for him. And Aziraphale, despite the whole “You go too fast for me” thing, still meets Crowley where he is, even if he plays dumb sometimes (after all, he does get on board the plot to raise and later kill the antichrist, and the decision to give Crowley holy water). He never ever uses Crowley being a demon as a way to claim he is somehow morally inferior or unforgivable in order to win an argument; he values Crowley for who he is (damned or not). He pushes Crowley by calling him “nice” only because they both know it’s true, and Crowley needs to own up to that in the same way Aziraphale needs to learn to stand up to Heaven. They do this lovely little dance around each other as their relationship develops, respecting one another, getting to know one another and the ways they fit together and it is beautiful.

They just... are so in love with each other in such a healthy way. The way they look at each other with stars in their eyes (there are so many scenes in both shows, but just compare the kiss scene in YOI episode 7 to the 1941 Blitz scene as they stand in the rubble of the church in GO ep3—the looks in their eyes!!). It’s Mutual Pining Up The Wazoo and there is just so much tenderness in the way they love each other. They also each value the things the other person loves (Viktor values and Hasetsu/the Katsukis/Katsudon, Yuuri values Makkachin and Viktor’s skating, Aziraphale and Crowley value each other’s earthly possessions and vices (the Bentley, the book collection, the paintball’d jacket, delicious food). And finally they both take great joy in each other’s happiness and success. 

2) Character Similarities

All of these characters have a ton of depth. They’re complex and flawed, some of them in similar ways.

Yuuri and Aziraphale are anxious kings of cognitive dissonance; they both hold a lot of contradicting things as true and have to find a way to resolve them in order to develop as characters and in their relationships.

In Yuuri’s case, the illogical nature of his anxiety is key. He knows he is objectively a great skater, he’s among the top ten male singles skaters in the world and he qualified for a competition that only takes the top six, but he also feels like an imposter, a “dime-a-dozen” competitor, and he constantly downplays his success and his skill level. Also, in the parking garage scene, he is terrified that Victor secretly wants to step down as his coach, yet he admits a second later that he knows that it’s not true (which I’ve seen people who experience anxiety say is common). Yuuri feels weak and yet he knows he’s strong. He is anxious at the prospect of failure and feels keenly the sacrifices others have had to make for him, and feels like he has a lot to lose even while he doesn’t think his career has been successful. 

Aziraphale is also very good at living with contradiction. For 6000 years, he has been holding on very tightly to the faith that God and Her Plan are Just, and all doubts about this can be chocked up to Ineffability. And yet at the same time, he knows Crowley, a demon cast out from Heaven by God Herself, is fundamentally good. After being friends with Crowley so long, he knows that casting him out was cruel. He knows that wiping out an entire population in the Flood was cruel; knows that Heaven and its angels, and even God, can be just as horrible as demons. Aziraphale has known this from the very Beginning, of course: he gave away his flaming sword, a weapon of righteousness bestowed by God Herself, to the beings God has just cast out for sinning. He loves God, wants to follow Her and believe that She is a being of goodness and love, but he also clearly sees Her destruction and hypocrisy and he’s perfectly willing to act against Her even as he claims She has his allegiance. He has immense sympathy for humans, something he’s not necessarily supposed to feel, but he thinks it’s the right thing to do so he does it. He is just holding onto hope that the right thing to do (the compassionate, empathetic, kind thing to do) is what is going to prevail in the Ineffable Plan. He’s very anxious that his own actions are or aren’t in line with the “good” and he agonizes over that. He feels that he has a lot to lose.

So, it’s only once Yuuri and Aziraphale resolve these mental hangups, these contradictions, that they are able to grow as people and in their relationships. Yuuri gains confidence and starts to undervalue himself less and see himself as worthy of Viktor’s time, and Aziraphale finally rejects Heaven’s demands and stands for what he knows, without a doubt, is good. 

Yuuri and Aziraphale are the epitome of the “looks like a cinnamon roll but is actually a sin-namon role” trope. At first glance, they seem like adorable softies to be protected at all costs, but in reality they are as tough as nails and really don’t need any protection at all.

Yuuri is a tie-grabbing, Eros-laden menace. He is fiercely competitive, the take-no-prisoners type when it comes to his own skating. This is a man who left his family, friends, and beloved dog behind at eighteen to live in a foreign country speaking a foreign language and working his ass off for five years without even letting himself go home. This is a man who skates competitively (a very mental sport) in front of hundreds of thousands of people even with crippling anxiety. He’s a sweetheart but he is tough. 

Aziraphale, according to a reliable source, is “just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing”. He will stand up to God for the things he loves, will gleefully stick it to some Nazis and allow them to be killed in a bomb blast, will steal the holiest holy water out from under Heaven’s nose, will perform demonic acts as part of the Arrangement for the sake of convenience, will possess a woman, will maybe actually almost kill a child, will splash holy water around at some terrified Demons and demand a rubber duck during his would-be execution. Aziraphale is an Angel, but he’s no angel, so to speak.

And now for Viktor and Crowley: they both appear very confident and put together, but are actually very soft and insecure on the inside. They are the characters you start out thinking, “Wow this guy is so confident and he’s got so much swagger,” but it’s revealed that they are actually very soft, unsure of themselves, and (probably) have something in their past that hurt them. 

We don’t know much about Viktor’s past, and as much as I want him to have loving parents, it is very possible based off of s1 that that is not the case. The way he hides himself behind a mask and tries to conform himself to what he thinks other people want could come from a lifetime in the spotlight, or from neglectful parents as well. His behavior speaks of abandonment issues to me, especially the way he tries to handle Yuuri’s breakdown in the parking garage. No matter his past, he’s got some issues behind that confident smile he presents to the world. He’s lonely, afraid of the future, and not quite sure who he is.

Crowley is... probably self-explanatory in this regard. He presents this front of a definitely-not-nice-confident-demon, but in reality he’s *shudder* nice. He refuses to do anything evil (like kill children, or honestly anything more than mildly frustrating people), and he has serious abandonment issues of the divine-parental sort that he takes out on potted plants. 

3) How the Story’s Told

In the context of the series as a whole, both love stories unfold in similar ways that encourage fan engagement.

Despite having two fairly clear main characters, both shows are dominated (in terms of screen-time) by assorted other characters and storylines. In YOI this starts on the back half of the show once the competitions begin and we are introduced to a huge ensemble of other skaters and their programs; in GO, this happens pretty much from the beginning with all of the various side characters and plots that lead up to the Apocalypse. This leaves somewhat limited screen-time for relationship development in both shows (which total around 4-5 hours each).

Because of this, there is a lot that happens off screen in both shows. In YOI, we have the famed Summer of Mutual Pining of which we only get a couple of glimpses; in GO, we have Six-Thousand Years of Mutual Pining that we only see bits and pieces of as well. When we catch back up with the characters, a lot has undoubtedly happened—they get much more comfortable with one another, and in YOI ep7 Viktor says “Should I just kiss you or something?” almost as if they’ve done that before; in GO ep3 in the Globe Theater scene, Crowley references their Arrangement as if they’ve already started helping each other out long before then. The audience is left out of a lot (big examples being Viktor’s POV/the banquet reveal in YOI, and the Body Swap reveal in GO) and left guessing on the infinite possibilities for those moments we didn’t get to see.

And so in both stories, you get a handful of very important relationship scenes spread throughout the show intermixed with other characters and plot. These moments are so rich in subtext and other between-the-lines meaning. How many metas have you seen analyzing every word of the engagement scene in ep10 of YOI, or the parking garage scene in ep7? How many analyzing the “you go too fast for me, Crowley” scene in ep3 or the bandstand “we can go off together” scene in GO? These moments are open to so much viewer-engagement, to analysis and reinterpretation and re-contextualization. These scenes can be read so many different ways but that’s how real life works, isn’t it? We don’t always just say exactly what we mean. Conversations are loaded with subtext and shared experience and preconceptions and the dialogue isn’t always easy to understand, and that’s wonderful.

These important scenes can sometimes be hard to connect to each other just by virtue of how spread out and between-the-lines then tend to be. But it’s not because they are poorly written or opaque— it’s because there is a lot happening off screen and in their heads that you need to figure out and connect. With the way the shows are structured, with immensely meaningful moments peppered throughout with a lot of stuff in between, there’s a lot to unpack. But this is also part of what makes both shows so engaging—by nature they welcome metas, headcanons, fanfiction, and other fanworks to fill in the gaps. I can’t tell you how many fill-in-the-gaps fics I’ve read for YOI that connect the exact same moments in canon, but each is so unique. I’m sure the same can be said for GO.

4) Main Themes

The most obvious overall similarity between these shows is that they both center around love stories between two (mostly-)male(-presenting) beings in genres where this is rare. But to call this a superficial comparison misses some important, deeper similarities.

Both exist in a narrative without homophobia and their love is so normalized. The love stories (between two men in YOI, and between two genderless celestial beings played by male actors) are never reduced to or defined by their sexualities or genders. Yuri on Ice is a love story between two men that is just straight up set in a world without homophobia. In GO, there are bits where outsiders allude to Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship being romantic (Uriel calling Crowley Aziraphale’s “boyfriend”, and the man on the street after their fight saying “You’re better off without him”), but unlike a lot of other shows/movies this isn’t played for laughs—if there is a joke, it rests on the strangeness of applying such banal human terms to their six-thousand years of illicit celestial-being-companionship. Their relationships are treated so respectfully and beautifully and it’s so refreshing.

At the same time, the narratives are still very tied into LGBT+ experiences. People who can speak to this much better than I can have already analyzed this in detail; I’ve seen so many metas about how GO can easily be read as a queer allegory of accepting yourself and letting yourself love who you love, despite what your family (aka Heaven) might think. Yuri on Ice hits a lot of the same points. They are both stories about learning to give love and accept love, unapologetically.

Love itself is also a central theme of both stories, and not just romantic love between the leads. It’s also about Crowley and Aziraphale’s enduring companionship, their love for the Earth/humanity, and their love of God (in a complicated way). It’s about Adam loving the world, his friends, his family, and his dog. It’s about and Newt and Anathema, and Shadwell and Madame Tracy. Yuri on Ice is about Victor and Yuuri, but it’s also about the Katsuki family and friends’ love and support. It’s about loving and taking pride in your craft. It’s about Yuri’s agape with his grandfather and his relationship with Viktor and Yuuri, the skaters he looks up to. And yes, it’s about Michele and Sara’s and Georgi and Anya’s love, too. These shows are not shallow romances. Their scope is huge.

They are fundamentally happy and optimistic stories, despite dealing with very real and very serious problems. Good Omens is about the freaking apocalypse and Yuri on Ice deals with mental health issues. They could have been very gritty and dark and tragic, but they aren’t—they’re the polar opposite and are, imo, all the more impactful for it. 

And at the heart of both shows is a common theme: overcoming who you think you have to be by choosing the life you want to lead and the love you want to surround yourself with. They both end with the main couple sharing a more intimate moment than ever and looking forward to a future of endless possibility that they have worked hard to shape... And then moving forward together.

tl;dr - There might be a reason so many of us have found ourselves drawn over and over again to both of these stories...

[miss-nerdstiles]

THE WEST WING #105 [5-17] The Supremes Full transcript Written by Deborah Cahn Directed by Jessica Yu.  I do not own this in any way, nor do I get anything from the sharing of it.

(MONDAY)

(CROWD OUTSIDE)

DONNA: (on phone) Tommy at Justice.  Covitz at Justice.  Citizens For a Strong America. Archbishop Gaudio, Archbishop Rummel…

JOSH: What?!  

DONNA: Rummel! Of New York. Man of God.

JOSH: I can't hear a damn...  Excuse me please.  Thank You.  How are these people up so early?  

DONNA: It's a Supreme Court seat.  They had sign-painting parties the second Justice Brady dropped dead.  Council sent a new list, said burn the old list.

JOSH:  Listen to this.  “They cavalierly sacrificed the unborn innocents and beckon, arms akimbo, the reaper, the horseman and the apocalyptic end.  Akimbo is a word you wish got used more.  There’s someone out there selling  “Who Would Jesus Nominate” t-shirts.  

DONNA: They’re in Leo’s. They just started.  

(OUTSIDE LEO’S OFFICE)

JOSH: You want this?  

DONNA: You don't like it?  

JOSH: Not really. Sorry I'm late.

LEO: Dem Leadership is in with the President.  

JOSH: They giving us more names?

LEO: I'm sure they are.  

TOBY: I need the short list by the end of the week.  

LEO: Your schedule.  Your schedule.  Mine.  Keep 'em quick.  You got 3 judges an hour.  

C.J.: Who has Austin Girelli from Connecticut?  

TOBY: Me.  

C.J.: ACLU called about him.  I don't think it'll be a problem, but ask him about that migrant workers thing he wrote.  

JOSH: Why isn't Haskins on here?

LEO: Having an affair with his clerk.  

MARGARET: Toby - Dubar on line two.  

C.J.: Here’s Bernstein. And this is…

TOBY: [on phone] Senator? Yes, Senator.  No we're not having a party over the death of a Supreme Court Justice.  Well, not a big party.  

JOSH: Evelyn Baker Lang?  

LEO: Fourth circuit.  

JOSH: Isn't she kind of a lefty?

LEO: Yeah  

C.J.: Decoy duck.  And don’t do it in your office.  Do it someplace where the press can see her.  

LEO: We want the left flank sufficiently mollified and the right flank sufficiently panicked so as to inspire a little conciliation on all flanks.  

JOSH: Lang should do the trick.

TOBY: Put Fred Canterbury down on some list of people we’ll never consider.  

C.J.: Baker Lang's just with Josh?

LEO: You want Toby too?  

C.J.: It'll look more like we're taking her seriously.  

LEO: Toby, Evelyn Baker Lang will be your 8:45 with Josh.  Let's go, people. First one to find me a Supreme Court Justice gets a free corned beef sandwich.  

(ROOSEVELT ROOM)

JOSH: Obviously we're impressed with your record.  

TOBY: Your work on the 14th Amendment in particular is the stuff dreams are made of.  

JOSH: But before anything else, we want to gauge your interest level.  This will certainly be a lifestyle...  

LANG: We can just chat  

JOSH: I'm sorry?  

LANG: I hear you really went to bat for Eric Hayden.  

JOSH: I wish we could have gotten him confirmed.  

TOBY: Judge Lang, if the President were to...  

LANG: Is he still teaching?

JOSH: Eric?  Yeah.  Umm...again, if we...  

LANG: A conservative anchor of the court has just died.  A young brilliant thinker who brought the right out of the closet and championed a whole conservative revival.  You cannot replace Owen Brady with a woman who overturned a parental consent law.  You'd be shish-ka-bob'd and set aflame on the south lawn.  Two reporters have... three reporters have walked by since we started.  I'm window dressing. That's fine. I'm happy to help.  But let's just chat about the weather.

(OUT IN THE HALL)

TOBY: Not bad.

JOSH: That's what we're talking about.  Maybe we should put her on the short list.  

TOBY: Yeah

JOSH: Okay, who's next?  (Donna gives them folders)

TOBY: That’s his.

DONNA: This is…

JOSH: That’s a “no”.

ACT ONE  

(DONNA’S DESK)

DONNA: Sign, please.  

JOSH: You want to move it so I can see?  

DONNA: Not really  

JOSH: Why are we apologizing to Ashland?  

DONNA: We sent him flowers. Condolence flowers.  

JOSH: Condolences?  

DONNA: For his death.  

JOSH: He's alive.  

DONNA: That's what he said.  

JOSH: We sent flowers to the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court on the occasion of his death?  

DONNA: They were supposed to go to Justice Brady's family.  

JOSH: Get protocol on the phone.

DONNA: They didn't actually....

JOSH: We did this?!  

DONNA: It was an honest mistake. Ashland's 80, he's knock knock knocking on ....  

JOSH: Who put the order in?

RYAN: Hey guys!  

JOSH: You sent a funeral bouquet to the family of the living breathing Chief Justice of the Supreme Court?

RYAN: No I sent them to the guy who died , Brady.  

JOSH: No, actually you didn't.

RYAN: This is terrible.  Umm... I really apologize.  You know I am a nightmare with details.  It's embarrassing.  This stuff just leaks out of my head. We should leave the detail work to Donna.  She's got the head for it.  I'm more of a big picture kind of guy.  

JOSH: She's here because she's invaluable.  You're here because your uncle's so powerful I can't fire you.  Big Picture.  

LISA: Hi.  Bad time?  

JOSH: I'm on my way out.  

LISA: Two minutes.  

RYAN: Lisa, right?  You work for the Judiciary Committee.  

LISA: Staff Director.  

RYAN: Ryan Pierce, we met at my office.  

JOSH: Excuse us.  

LISA: Is he the one who flipped the car in Nice?  

JOSH: Yeah.  

LISA: When do I see names for Brady's seat?  

JOSH: Do you want to let the body cool?  

LISA: You’re meeting with Barwald, Girelli, Evelyn Baker Lang.

JOSH: Here we go.

LISA: Whose acid trip is that?

JOSH: Just take a breath.  

LISA: The committee’s not going to let the balance of the court hurl wildly to the left.  You fill Brady's seat with...  

JOSH: It's not Brady's seat.

LISA: It's not your Senate.

JOSH: We're just looking at the field.  

LISA: Girelli has a fondness for Vicodin and Evelyn Lang is not an option.  Save us all some time.  

JOSH: We're some democrats over here.  We're not going to nominate a born again elk hunter with a tattoo of the confederate flag on his ass.  

LISA: Look at Arthur Lopez or Brad Shelton or Mayra Height.  You go with Barwald or Lang and the Senate is going to make the next year of your life a living hell.  I tell you this as a person who would be your friend if I was a person who looked for different things in friends.  

JOSH: We should do this in more often.  

LISA: As often as it takes.

(LEO’S OFFICE)

LEO: [on phone] We don't' hate Asians.  No we don't.  Justice Wong is more valuable to us where he is. Certainly. Thank you sir. [hangs up] Do a drive-by with Sebastian Cho, Massachusetts Supreme.  

TOBY: Yeah.  You were looking for me?  

LEO: You hear about a congressional delegation to the Middle East?  

TOBY: Next month.  

LEO: It was Jordan and Egypt. Now they want to add Israel and do a day in the territories and meet with this shadow negotiation crew.  State's iffy.

TOBY: As they should be.  The Prime Minister is going to go through the roof.  

LEO: Not to mention the Palestinian authority.  

TOBY: I'll look into it.  

LEO: Andy's leading the delegation.  Is that going to be a...  

TOBY: No.  I'm on it.  

JOSH: President's on his way.  What's up?  

TOBY: We hate Asians.  

JOSH: Okay.  

(OUTSIDE OVAL OFFICE)

DEBBIE: Ah Rina, how goes it?

RINA: These are today's. And Mr. Ziegler says that the President would want this before their 1:00.  

DEBBIE: Oh here, you can put it in his hot little hands yourself.

RINA: Ah, this is for you, sir.

BARTLET: Thank you Lana.  

RINA: Uh, thank you sir.  (to Debbie) It…

DEBBIE: I hate to do this, but it's Rina, sir.  

BARTLET: What?  

DEBBIE: The girl in the dress with the flowers.  

BARTLET: Just now?  

DEBBIE: Yes.  

BARTLET: What'd I call her?

DEBBIE: Lana.  

BARTLET: Who's Lana?  

DEBBIE: I'm guessing an exotic dancer from your spotty youth.  

BARTLET: I should apologize.  Get her back.  

DEBBIE: You asked me yesterday how the schedule gets off the rails.  

BARTLET: Yeah.  

DEBBIE: This is how.  

LEO: Good afternoon, Mr. President.  

BARTLET: Hey, we make any friends?

JOSH: Maybe Zimmerly, Shelton.

TOBY: Mehldau.  

JOSH: Lang was pretty impressive.

BARTLET: The gal from the 4th?  Didn't she strike down some stuff?

JOSH: Parental consent for abortion.  

BARTLET: Yeah, that's not going to happen.  

LEO: She was a red flag to the bull.  

JOSH: Well, it's working.  Lisa Wolfe from the judiciary committee showed up today spewing all kinds of threats and admonitions.  

LEO: About what?  

TOBY: Three dems on the committee called, elated we were considering bold choices.  

LEO: If the strategy's working, let's get her in again.  

BARTLET: You like Shelton?  

JOSH: Yeah.  Moderate, insightful, gets it.  

BARTLET: Let's meet him.  Who else?  

JOSH: Helen Waller.  Beresford Bannett DC Circuit.  Ellis Yaffe.  Martha Zell. Uh.. Howard Kagen out of New York.

(TUESDAY)

(C.J.’S OFFICE)

TOBY: What are you doing?  

C.J.: Nothing.  

TOBY: What?  

CAROL: She has a date.  

C.J.: And she's getting fired.

TOBY: Evelyn Lang’s coming back in for another red herring performance, 3:00.  You don't find that annoying?  

C.J.: I'll have Carol march the Times by Lang at three.  

TOBY: Brad Shelton's in with the President.  

C.J.: We like him.  

TOBY: Yeah,  we do.  

(OVAL OFFICE)

BARTLET: E. Bradford Shelton.  What's the E for?  

SHELTON: Elijah.  

BARTLET: That's a burden.  

SHELTON: Hence the E.  

BARTLET: I hear good things about you from my staff.  What did they miss?  

SHELTON: My son burned you in effigy.  

BARTLET: Did you watch?  

SHELTON: I didn't. It was a campus demonstration against American presence in Saudi Arabia.  There's a photo in his yearbook.  Someone'll dig it up.  I thought it would sound better in person than on paper.  

BARTLET: I'm not sure it did.  Did he burn anybody else?  

SHELTON: No, just you.  

(HALLWAY)

LANG: Well, I’ve missed you both.

JOSH: We appreciate this.  

LANG: I keep running into Brad Shelton in the parking lot.  Some say coincidence. I'm not so sure.  

JOSH: You have been very patient.

LANG: Well I don't mind.  But people wonder why the appellate system is so backed up.  We shouldn't let them know this is how I spend my time.  

TOBY: Well, if you were less appealing.  

LANG: Same to you sir.

(OVAL OFFICE)

BARTLET: Affirmative action is going to be back in the next few years.  Let's start there.  

SHELTON: What do I know about it?

BARTLET: What do you think about it?

SHELTON: I don't know.  Not the answer you were looking for?  

BARTLET: Not really.  

SHELTON: Unnerving isn't it?

BARTLET: Is there another topic you'd be more comfortable with?  

SHELTON: Nothing comes to mind.

BARTLET: Perhaps you should make something up.  

SHELTON: I'm not trying to be cagey, but I don't position myself on issues and I don't know what I think about a case until I hear it.  There are moderates who are called that because they are not activists.  And there are moderates who are called that because sometimes they wind up on the left and sometimes on the right.  

BARTLET: You think I want someone who’s gonna vote with Ashland?  

SHELTON: I think you are looking for somebody who will vote with him now and replace him later.  

BARTLET: And that's not you?

SHELTON: Wish it were.  He's a giant.  But my allegiance to the eccentricities of a case will reliably outweigh my allegiance to any position you might wish I held.  

(ROOSEVELT ROOM)

JOSH: Let's talk a little bit about what the judiciary committee's concerns would be.  We can safely say reproductive rights are gonna come up.  

TOBY: They're going to say judicial activism, particularly in drori.  How would you address that?  

LANG: And you're who?  

TOBY: I'm sorry?  

LANG: Who are you?  We're playing committee.  

JOSH: This will be coming from one of the 11 Republicans on there.  Mitchell -  

LANG: You can only be one.  

JOSH: We don't need to -  

LANG: If you're Webster, the question is 'Where do you stand on Roe v Wade?'.  And the answer is 'Judicial ruling shouldn't be based on personal ideology, mine or anyone else's'.  If you're Davies, the question is 'How would you approach a D&X case?' because he's the drum banger on partial birth.  And the answer is 'I don't comment on hypotheticals'.  If you're Malkin, you're from Virginia, so you ask about my decision in drori.  I take you point by point from the doctor to the father to Casey to undue burden to equal protection back to Roe at which point you can't remember the question and I drink my water for a minute while you regroup.  

JOSH: Will you excuse us for a second?

(OUT IN THE HALL)

JOSH: I love her.  I love her mind.  I love her shoes.  

TOBY: We march her to five senator's offices and they'll be so scared they'll beg us to put Shelton on the court.  

(ROOSEVELT ROOM)

JOSH: Sorry. You were vetted by the FBI when you hit the Federal bench, but if we re-opened an investigation....

LANG: I'm a shill, right?  Why would you bother with a background check?  

JOSH: Humor us.  

TOBY: If there's anything that they didn't find...  

LANG: Let's see, umm... in high school I snuck a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover out of the public library and never returned it.  In college I got a marijuana plant from my roommate as a birthday present.  And in year two of law school I had an abortion.  Can I get some water while you regroup?

ACT TWO  

JOSH: Okay.  Okay.  

LANG: I tell you this so you'd be prepared. It might not come up, but if it did, I wouldn't comment.  

JOSH: But if they know, it'll be hard.  

LANG: Roe v Wade affords me the right to terminate a pregnancy and to do so, free from all restraint or interference of others.  

JOSH: A hearing room....  

LANG: I'm told I have a right to privacy.  I think this would be the sort of thing it's referring to.  I also bet like a drunken sailor during my bi-monthly games of Hearts.  Do you wanna talk about that?

(C.J.’S OFFICE)

C.J.: An abortion?  

TOBY: Of all the gin joints in all the world....  

JOSH: Maybe they won't find it.

TOBY: Oh, they'll find it.  

JOSH: Yeah, but who's going to bring it up?  The committee, they'd look like monsters.  

C.J.: They don't have to.  Someone leaks it to the tabloid press, it's a feeding frenzy in 12 hours.  

JOSH: She says she can handle it.

C.J.: Oh, okay.  

TOBY: Well, we need her.  She's the cautionary tale.  Without her, we may not get Shelton.

C.J.: You been outside today?  We don't hand someone to the madding crowd so they can take the heat off some guy from Indiana.  

JOSH: The woman is - you should hear her.  

C.J.: What? So she IS a serious candidate?  

JOSH: She should be.  

C.J.: She's going to be on posters under a headline that says 'Wanted for the murder of 15 million American children'.  

JOSH: Let's think about this.

C.J.: Let it go.  

JOSH: No.  Really, nominees live or die by Roe v Wade.  We're playing along with the ridiculous notion that the Supreme Court is a single issue body in a way it hasn't been since, I don't know what...  

TOBY: Slavery.  

JOSH: Exactly.  So she had an abortion. Who the hell are we?  

C.J.: You think I like this? You keep this up, somone's going to take this to the press and this bright woman's going to be a checkout counter spectacle. Get her out of the building.

(WEDNESDAY)  

(OVAL OFFICE)

BARTLET: Brad Shelton could work for us.  I like him.

LEO: So talk to him this afternoon.  He's going to start getting calls.  

BARTLET: Who else?  

TOBY: Wisnewski’s a good maybe.  The majority leader’s really pushing him.  And Barkham from the 5th, though he has a question.  

JOSH: It's a tax thing.  We're looking into it.  

BARTLET: You still having a love affair with Evelyn Lang?  

JOSH: No. Uh, Robert Brant.

BARTLET: How come?  

JOSH: She won't make through vetting.  

BARTLET: Why not?  

TOBY: She had an abortion.  

JOSH: Robert Brandt’s on the 9th circuit state.  Stan Yancy's worked with him and says he's always kept his cards -  

BARTLET: When did she have an abortion?  

JOSH: Law school.  

BARTLET: Before or -  

C.J.: After '73, it was legal.

BARTLET: We discarding anybody else for legal activities?  

TOBY: Not yet.  

BARTLET: Tonsillectomy? We down on surfing this year?  

C.J.: She'd be publicly eviscerated.  

BARTLET: 27 million women voted for me.  I think they might had in mind that I was going to protect this particular right.

JOSH: We have plenty –

BARTLET: “I like that guy from Florida with the good hairdo, but I want to retain my right to choose, so I'm voting for what's-his-name, married to Abbey Bartlet.”  

TOBY: Sir.  They're going to make this about her objectivity.  

BARTLET: We promised the committee a short list by Friday.  I want her name on it.  

LEO: Okay.  

STAFF: Thank you, Mr. President.  (EXEUNT)

BARTLET: That pisses me off.

LEO: Apparently.  

BARTLET: We marched her around here all week.  The honor of a place on the short list is the least we could do.  

LEO: We’re still going with Brad Shelton?  BARTLET: (nods)

(DONNA’S CUBICLE)

RYAN: Filling a seat on the Supremes…heady stuff.  

DONNA: Don't call them that.

RYAN: My uncle calls them that.  So does the minority leader.  So does Henry Clark.  You know him? He's on the court.  

DONNA: You drop one more name and I'm going to staple your mouth shut.  

RYAN: (chuckles)

JOSH: There’ll be hell to pay at Agincourt.  I've offended the dauphin.  

DONNA: Lisa Wolfe called twice.  Senator Webster called regarding E. Lang.  “What can you possibly be thinking?”  Senator Milbank, regarding Lang.  “NO NO NO NO NO.” Bertha McNull, “Not a snow ball's chance in...” oh, that's not about Lang.  That's about the highways bill.  

JOSH: I need a drink.  

DONNA: Sun’s not over the yardarm.

JOSH: C.J.'s right.  

DONNA: Usually. You want a Black Eyed Susan?  

JOSH: Is that a drink?  

DONNA: It's a cookie.  My mom sent them.  

JOSH: No -- Yes.  

DONNA: Peanut butter with a chocolate kiss.  

JOSH: They’re cat people?  [holding up cookie tin]

DONNA: No they're not.  

JOSH: These theirs?  

DONNA: Shadrach and Meschach.

JOSH: Two cats, they’re cat people.  

DONNA: For years they only had one, but he died over Christmas.  

JOSH: This is a dry cookie.

DONNA: After what was deemed an appropriate mourning period, they went to get a new one. And my mother liked the abyssinian and my father liked the gray.  And they claim that after 39 years of marriage, they’ve outgrown compromise, so they got both.  It doesn't make them cat people.  The house doesn't smell. Do I have crumbs?  

(TOBY’S OFFICE)

JOSH: They pick one.  They pick one! That's how we get Evie Lang. And not as a decoy.  We put her on the court.  

TOBY: Hi.  

JOSH: The Chief Justice says he wouldn't step down because the President wouldn't be able to fill his seat with another liberal lion.  She's the liberal lion. Ashland resigns, she takes his seat, okay?  And we offer the Republican Senate Judiciary Committee the opportunity to hand-pick a conservative for Brady's seat.  We put 'em both up.  

TOBY: I’m ordering mu-shu. You want some?  

JOSH: Listen to me.  

TOBY: No.  

JOSH: I'm serious.  

TOBY: And then we got what, after we hand the Republicans a seat on the Supreme Court with a red bow on top?

JOSH: We have a balanced court.  They can't let Brady's seat go to a liberal.  So let them keep it.  Meanwhile, we name the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court in the nation's history.  I'm taking it to the President.  

TOBY: No you're not.  Do not go in there.  

(HALLWAY)

JOSH: Trip him.  

TOBY: Ashland is 82.  We may have an opportunity to put two people on this bench. That's two seats we fill with Democrats.  

JOSH: Moderates.  

TOBY: What do you care how moderate they are?  Two is twice as many as one.

(OUTSIDE OVAL OFFICE)

JOSH: Can I get in there?  

DEBBIE: No, just a minute.  

TOBY: We don't need him.  

JOSH: Not moderate, mediocre.

TOBY: What, Shelton’s not bright enough for you?  

JOSH: I want more than bright.  If we had a bench full of moderates in ’54, 'Separate but Equal' would still be on the books, and this place would still have two sets of drinking fountains.  

TOBY: Moderate means temperate.  It means responsible.  It means thoughtful.  

JOSH: It means cautious.  It means unimaginative.  

TOBY: It means being more concerned about making decisions than making history.  

DEBBIE: Indoor voices please.

JOSH: Is that really the biggest tragedy in the world?  That we nominated somebody who made an impression instead of some second rate crowd pleaser?

TOBY: The ability to see tow sides of an argument is not the hallmark of an inferior intellect.  

DEBBIE: Toby!

JOSH: What about the vast arenas of debate a moderate won't even address? A mind like Lang's?

DEBBIE: Josh!  

JOSH: Let them pick a conservative with a mind like like Justice Brady had.  

DEBBIE: Josh!  

JOSH: You can hate his positions, but he was a visionary.  He blew the whole thing open.  He changed the whole argument.

DEBBIE: (sprays water in Josh’s face) The President will see you now.  

BARTLET: And you?  

TOBY: I think they're going to pick a young, spry, conservative ideologue who's going to camp out in that seat for 45 years.  

JOSH: Fine.  Two voices are articulating the debate at either end of the spectrum.  

BARTLET: Filling another seat on the court may be the only lasting thing I do in this office. Shelton's a great choice. He'll make us proud. And if Ashland resigns in a year, we’ve got a stack of great options. We can't give it away.  

JOSH: Mr. President, the first woman in that chair.  

TOBY: We go out on some limb here and alienate the Senate, they'll tread water for three years, and we get nobody. The next guy gets to fill Brady's seat.  

BARTLET: Take it to Ashland.  See what he says.

TOBY: How’d you come up with it?

JOSH: What?  

TOBY: The swap-a-dee-doo.  

JOSH: There was.... Donna's mom... I thought it up in the shower.

(JUSTICE ASHLAND’S OFFICE)

ASHLAND: Who let them in?  

TOBY: Sorry to disturb you, sir.

ASHLAND: Carrier pigeons. Oh -- your flowers.  Yeah, we like them.  

JOSH: I'm dreadfully sorry about that, sir.  

ASHLAND: Oh for God's sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings.  Brady was your age.  Eat your greens.  

TOBY: He was a great man.  

ASHLAND: He was a selfish bastard.

JOSH: You told the President you hope to be replaced by a liberal with the same level conviction that you brought to the chair.  

ASHLAND: That sounds like something I'd say.  

TOBY: Sir, are you familiar with Evelyn Baker Lang?  

ASHLAND: Miss Lang. You've met with her?  

JOSH: Yes sir.  

ASHLAND: How are you going to get her past the pit bulls?  They're not going to like the notion of Miss Lang in Owen Brady's seat.  

JOSH: For your seat, if - if - you were to resign, she'd be Chief.  

ASHLAND: My seat? What about Brady's?  

TOBY: We'd allow the Judiciary Committee to choose someone.  A conservative.  

JOSH: Would you consider stepping down under those circumstances?  

ASHLAND: Sure.  

JOSH: We think it might be a viable option.  

ASHLAND: Go ahead, see who they pick of their favorite sons.  See what segregationist, anti-miscegenationist,  Isaiah-quoting, gay-bashing bastard they come up with. Jed Bartlet from New Hampshire had an idea.  Uh-oh.

ACT THREE

(THURSDAY, LISA WOLFE’S OFFICE)  

LISA: No, I cut this because what he's implying is illegal.  Take it back out. [to Josh] Three times in one week.  In some cultures we'd be married.  

JOSH: Chilling.  

LISA: Is it Shelton?  

JOSH: He's the front runner.

LISA: Good, are we done?  

JOSH: Mind if I shut the door?

LISA: No.  

JOSH: How are you doing?  

LISA: Ah, super!  

JOSH: Feeling good?  

LISA: I got a meeting in 4 minutes.  

JOSH: I'm going to float an idea here that even I can't believe I'm mentioning and my colleagues definitely can't believe I'm mentioning, and the President would probably prefer I drop completely and if I find it in the Washington Post tomorrow morning, I'll march straight out to the Press Room and tell them the idea came from you.  It'll embarrass the crap out of your boss and you'll be on Hotjobs by nightfall.

[THE WHITE HOUSE. TOBY’S OFFICE]  

TOBY: There's someone in my office.  

RINA: I thought it was your ex-wife.  

TOBY: You didn’t want to warn me about that?  

RINA: You asked her to come in.

ANDREA: She's cute.  

TOBY: Late some night, our eyes’ll meet over the maritime commission report. We'll be at the Justice of the Peace before dawn.  You want to talk about this dog and pony show you're attending in Gaza?  

ANDREA: Not really. Bradford Shelton.  

TOBY: He's on the list. You're not going to Gaza.  

ANDREA: I still don't want to talk about it.  

TOBY: You're not attending peace talks with a bunch of Israelis and Palestinians who don't work for the Israeli or Palestinian governments.  

ANDREA: They may generate some useful ideas.  

TOBY: The ideas already exist. The problem is getting the recognized parties to stick to the plan.  

ANDREA: So we sit with our hands folded?  

TOBY: We asked them for democracy. We should maintain some scrap of respect for the guys who are democratically elected.  

ANDREA: If you're really interested in peace, you negotiate with anyone.  You negotiate with the mailman.  

TOBY: Thanks for tee-ing that up. The mailman can't deliver.  

ANDREA: We'll see.  

TOBY: No, we won't see. You're jeopardizing this country's relationship with the Likud party and with the Palestinian authority, and it is not an option.  

ANDREA: Is that all you've got? There’s no “and what about the kids?”  

TOBY: Did something happen?

ANDREA: I'm going away for two weeks.  

TOBY: Will they be...?  

ANDREA: At my mothers...  

TOBY: Good.  

ANDREA: Would you have asked?

TOBY: I figured your mother’s, which is apparently....  

ANDREA: You say you want to be involved. It doesn't come with an embossed invitation. You involve yourself or you don't.  

TOBY: The President would like to remind you that this is a fact-finding mission. Please make it clear to any parties that you meet with that you are not empowered to negotiate for the United States.  

[OUTSIDE C.J.’S OFFICE]  

JOSH: Is she in there?  

CAROL: Hang on. She's getting off....  [C.J. laughs loudly through the door]  the phone.... [into speaker phone] you want Josh?  

C.J.: Lord knows I do! Josh Lyman as I live and breathe!  You want a cookie?  They're from Donna's mother.  

JOSH: I spoke to Lisa Wolfe.

C.J.: What did she say?  

JOSH: I don't want to talk about it. I'm hiding from Toby.  

C.J.: [giggles] Nothing. You're hiding. It's funny.  

JOSH: It's not funny.  

TOBY: Hey  

C.J.: [laughs] see?  It is.

JOSH: I gotta go.  

TOBY: What's going on?  

JOSH: C.J. has the giggles.

C.J.: It's your deal.  I find it elating.  

TOBY: She stoned?  

C.J.: I'm fine. I just didn't get enough sleep.  

JOSH: You were with Ranger Rick weren't you?  

C.J.: Josh spoke to Lisa Wolfe.

TOBY: She give you a name?  

JOSH: You are a faithless wench.

TOBY: What's the name?  

JOSH: Christopher Mulready.  Wait for it....  

TOBY: Christopher MULREADY????!!!!

JOSH: There it is.  

C.J.: He’s not the....  

TOBY: American's Democrats - The triumphant of Socialism.  

JOSH: He doesn't like the name.

TOBY: The man wrote a book that flushes the entire doctrine of un-enumerated rights down the -

C.J.: Toilet.  

TOBY: …garbage disposal. No right to use a condom. No right to get an abortion, certainly. No protection from electronic searches. No substantive due process.  

C.J.: He's what, 48?  

JOSH: I know.  

C.J.: The left's going to blow a gasket!  

TOBY: No separation of church and state.  

JOSH: We got problems on the right too.  Kogan, Howard, Tondello.  They can't vote for a Mulready.  Their constituencies are too moderate.  

TOBY: Get another name.  

JOSH: That is the name.  

TOBY: There are other....  

JOSH: This is the deal. He's what Evelyn Lang is to them. We nominate the patron saint of a woman's right to choose for Chief Justice. We ask them to ignore an incredibly rich piece of her personal history. We take the name they give us.  

TOBY: This isn't going to work.

JOSH: Yeah.  

TOBY: It isn't.  

[JOSH'S OFFICE]  

TOBY: If --- if we were going to try this, what would be the plan?  

JOSH: We give the President and Leo the name. We bring Christopher Mulready in. We bring Lang back in, hopefully the two of them woo the pants off the President. And he agrees to the deal without noticing he's standing in the gaze of history, pantless.  

TOBY: I'll talk to him.  

JOSH: You don't have to talk to him.  

TOBY: You have been on about this. It sounds more plausible coming from me. What are you gonna do about the committee?  

JOSH: Lisa Wolfe’s gonna take it to the Chairman.

TOBY: I mean the Democrats. I need to get Senator Pierce on board or you get nobody.  What are you going to do about Pierce?  

RYAN: (singing)'Won't you stay... just a little big longer... '  

DONNA: Stop.  

TOBY: I thought you were firing him?  

JOSH: If wishing made it so. Donna! Send in Elvis.

RYAN: What's up?  

JOSH: Come on in, take a load off.  I was a little, ah, brusque with you before. I'm sorry about that.  

RYAN: Okay.  

JOSH Your feelings a little hurt?

RYAN: Not at all  

JOSH: Really? Why not?  

RYAN: Would this be easier if they were?  

JOSH: I said I was going to fire you if it wasn't for....  

RYAN: Are you?  Firing me?  

JOSH: No.  

RYAN: Then there's a “sticks and stones” thing that comes to mind.  

[OUTSIDE OVAL OFFICE]

TOBY: Finishing a call. I spoke to Andy.  

LEO: Anything?  

TOBY: No. The National Security Caucus is sponsoring the delegation. We could talk to them.  

LEO: We'll deal with it next week. Don't worry about it.  

TOBY: We got a name for Brady's seat.  

LEO: Somebody workable?  

DEBBIE: You can go in now.  

LEO: Thank you.

(OVAL OFFICE)

BARTLET: MULREADY!  

TOBY: That's the name.  

BARTLET: No! Are you out of your bloody mind?  

TOBY: Let's sit down and talk about this.  

BARTLET: The last time I heard Christopher Mulready's name it was in conjunction with a treatise over the rights of incorporation, and some sort of baloney about the stranglehold the EPA has placed on the endangered species list…

ACT FOUR  

(THURSDAY)

[DONNA’S CUBICLE]

JOSH: Ryan in here yet?  

DONNA: Not yet.  

CHARLIE: Chris Mulready?  

JOSH: Yeah  

CHARLIE: Dissented on minority set asides. Struck down hate crime legislation. Went after miranda rights. Feeling pretty good about that?  

JOSH: It's not a perfect plan.  I'm the first to admit.  

CHARLIE: The President wants to reiterate, he’s not spending more than five minutes with this clown.

C.J.: The press room is clear. Carol is going to babysit the filing shop.  But keep an eye out for roving reporters.  

CHARLIE: You're in on this too?

JOSH: We got Lang coming in to meet the President at 7.  Christopher Mulready is at 8.  The press can't see him. We need a clear shot from the Roosevelt room to the Oval.  

DONNA: He's on the short list?

JOSH: He is if she is. We may get both.  

DONNA: Oh my god. You're putting my mother's cats on the Supreme Court.  

C.J.: You're what?  

JOSH: It's just an experiment. She’s on sentry.  We’re good.

TOBY: Hi.  

JOSH: Don't ever tell anyone that story.  

TOBY: We all settled?  

C.J.: Lefty’s got the goods.  Rocko got the call.  Stinky's on lookout.  

DONNA Hey!  

RYAN: Shall we?  

JOSH: Your uncle’s here?

C.J.: Knock 'em dead. Pierce’ll never buy it, will he?  

TOBY: Nope.

RYAN: Remember, he's all bark.  Just let him holler and wear himself out.  He's got the strength. You've got the endurance.  Here.  [hands over bottle of scotch]. Use it wisely and for God's sake, don't try to keep up.  You're way out of your league.  

JOSH: Not necessary.  Thank you.

(MURAL ROOM)

SENATOR PIERCE: Good to see you, Josh.  

JOSH: Senator Pierce, thank you so much for stopping in.  

RYAN: Josh was pretty impressed with your floor speech on Tuesday.  

PIERCE: Josh can kiss up all on his own.  Get back to work.  

RYAN: Yell if you need anything.

PIERCE: My nephew behaving?

JOSH: He's a… treat.

PIERCE: Well, he better be.  Bugged me for two years to get him a job in this place.  

JOSH: Really?

PIERCE: Watch yourself, he's a lean and hungry type.  Have someone taste your food.  

JOSH: Ryan?

PIERCE: So!  Craziest rumor you ever heard running around the committee.

JOSH: Oh, yeah?

PIERCE: Charlie Felson says you want to put Chris Mulready on the Supreme Court. I said anybody who tries is going to find himself in a closed session with myself, the minority leader, and the business end of a two-by-four.  

JOSH: You know, we got a 21year old Glenlivet knocking around here. Can I get you a drink?  

[DEBBIE'S OFFICE]  

C.J.: Lang still in there?  

DEBBIE: Oh, she's a big hit.

C.J.: She has to leave. Her evil twin Skippy is on his way.  

DEBBIE: I did our secret wrap-it-up sign, which is, I knock and say 'The deputy NSA needs to talk about Japan' and he said 'you talk to him, you've been there' which is true. But it makes me think he's forgotten it's a secret sign.  

C.J.: How about "Excuse me Mr. President we need to move on"?  

DEBBIE: If you want the job, you're going to have to work on your typing.  

[ROOSEVELT ROOM]  

TOBY: Apologies.  He's running behind schedule.  

MULREADY: I imagine that happens.  You want to tell me what I'm doing here?

TOBY: Oh, just a hello.  

MULREADY:  I'm not being impeached?  

TOBY: No.  

MULREADY:  This isn’t a not-particularly-subtle form of intimidation about the gays in the workplace case?  

TOBY: That would be illegal.

MULREADY:  My point exactly.  

TOBY: The President will explain....any minute now.  

MULREADY: Hm.

TOBY: But since you mention it, I read your article on Bellington, and I may be out on the fringe here, but I - I don't see how a family values conservative justifies denying committed couples access to the benefits of state sanctioned monogamy.  

MULREADY:  Homosexual couples.  

TOBY: Couples. A couple is a couple.  

[C.J.'S OFFICE]  

JOSH: Hi.  

C.J.: How was Ryan's uncle?

JOSH: He's a blast. Come meet him.

C.J.: He's still here? Oh my God!  You're drunk!  

JOSH: I think I just promised him a pork barrel roads project on an omnibus bill that doesn't exist. Don't try and keep up.  He's got a wooden – a hollow leg. He drinks a lot.  

[ROOSEVELT ROOM]  

TOBY: It's an equal protection violation.  

MULREADY:  Homosexuals are not a suspect class.  

TOBY: D.O.M.A. denies access.

MULREADY:  No.  

TOBY: To over 1,000 federal protections.  

MULREADY:  To what?  

TOBY: Survivor benefits under Social Security.  

MULREADY:  $255.00? I'll write you a check.  

TOBY: Hospital decision making.

MULREADY:  So talk about power of attorney, not marriage. Besides, the fact that D.O.M.A. doesn't restrict access to marriage.  

TOBY: Of course it restricts access. It restricts full faith and credit.  

MULREADY:  So, Vermont gets to steer nationwide marriage legislation? Vermont?

LANG: Well, this is a sight to see! One of the more unlikely meetings in the history of the Bartlet White House.  

MULREADY:  It's good to see you, Evie.  

LANG: You too, Chris.  I came to say goodbye. I wish I had a camera.

MULREADY:  Mr. Ziegler was trying to convince me that the Defense of Marriage Act is unconstitutional.  

LANG: Oh, D.O.M.A.?  He was trying to convince you?

TOBY: What?  

LANG: He doesn't need convincing.

TOBY: I wasn't doing it because...

LANG: He was yanking your chain. He would never uphold D.O.M.A.  He may not love the idea of gay marriage, but he hates congressional overreaching, and Congress doesn't have the power to legislate marriage.  The issue isn't privacy.  

MULREADY: Or equal protection.

LANG: It's enumerated powers. He'll have an easier time knocking down D.O.M.A. than I will.  

MULREADY:  Lack of imagination on your part, if I may be so bold.

TOBY: You were yanking my chain?

MULREADY:  You called me in for a meeting with a Democratic president in the middle of the night.  Are you really going to give me crap about yanking your chain?

LANG: Josh Lyman is gesticulating wildly.  

TOBY: Excuse me.  

[HALLWAY]  

TOBY: Where's the Senator?  

JOSH: He's in with C.J.. He got me a little drunk.  

TOBY: Is he leaving?  

JOSH: I think he's getting C.J. a little drunk. How's it going?  

TOBY: He's striking down gay marriage bans and she's defending him and they're as thick as thieves and he's a fan of chain yanking.  

JOSH: She's defending him?  

TOBY: Down is down, down is up.

LANG: I am not... no I am not rewriting Article 1. What I am saying is that a gun free school zone...

MULREADY:  Is not a federal issue. In Lopez…  

LANG: Lopez overturned 50 years of precedent.  

MULREADY:  Too bad, they ruled a plain text reading of the commerce clause, does not afford Congress...  

LANG: A plain text reading of the Constitution values a “negro” at three-fifths of a man.  

MULREADY:  Hence the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments.  

LANG: Oh, generous. Thank you.

MULREADY: The relationship between guns and schools and interstate commerce is... is...  

LANG: You don't think that the quality of education has a direct affect on the economic...  

[DEBBIE'S OFFICE]  

TOBY: Is he?  

DEBBIE: Waiting to meet a man you're holding hostage in the Roosevelt room.

(MURAL ROOM)

C.J. AND PIERCE: Oh and while the king was looking down, the jester stole his thorny crown, the courtroom was adjourned, no verdict was returned…

JOSH: Ok... ok.... Everyone needs to put down their glasses and pay attention.  

[OVAL OFFICE]  

BARTLET: You like him.  

TOBY: I hate him. I hate him, but he's brilliant. And the two of the them together, they’re fighting like cats and dogs, but it works.  

[MURAL ROOM]

PIERCE: You couldn't find a single warm-blooded centrist to put on the court?  

JOSH: We've got centrists. We've got six of them plus two staunch conservatives plus Justice Ashland. The one clarion voice articulating a liberal vision. He's going to go and then what?

[OVAL OFFICE]

BARTLET: Well, send him in....

TOBY: Sir…  

BARTLET: I said I'll listen to him, Toby. That's going to have to do it.  

[HALLWAY]

DONNA: Toby.  

TOBY: What?  

DONNA: Nothing's happening.

TOBY: Hang on.

DONNA: That's him?  

TOBY: Yeah.  

DONNA: No tail.  No cloven hooves.  

[OVAL OFFICE]  

DEBBIE: Judge Mulready.  

BARTLET: Thanks for coming in.

MULREADY:  It's an honor sir.  

BARTLET: Please.  I understand that you and Judge Lang had a bit of a knock-down-drag-out.  

MULREADY:  She wants to federalize law enforcement.  

BARTLET: Yeah.  

MULREADY:  I thought it was hasty.  

BARTLET: Not your brand of judge?

MULREADY:  Quite the opposite.  I haven't had that much fun in months.  

BARTLET: Really?  

MULREADY:  Use her, if you can. I'm not sure what all this is about.  I suppose a number of people are placated by a glimpse of someone like her or someone like me in these halls. I'm most certainly here for that.  But if there’s anyway that you can use her…  

BARTLET: It's unlikely.  

MULREADY:  Who's at the top of the list?   ... If I leaked it, would they believe me?  

BARTLET: Brad Shelton.  

MULREADY:  Really?  

BARTLET: You don't like him?

MULREADY:  He's a fine jurist. And in the event that Carmine, Lafayette, Hoyt, Clarke and Brannaghan all drop dead, the center will still be well tended.  

BARTLET: You want another Brady?

MULREADY:  Sure, just like you'd like another Ashland - who wouldn't?  The court was at its best when Brady was fighting Ashland.  

BARTLET: Plenty of good law written by the voices of moderation.  

MULREADY:  Who writes the extraordinary dissent? The one man minority opinion whose time hasn't come, but 20 years later some circuit court clerk digs it up at three in the morning.  Brennan railing against censorship.  Harlan's Jeremiad on Jim Crowe.  

BARTLET: Maybe you, some day?

MULREADY:  They can't put me on the court, just like you can't put Evelyn Lang on the court.  It's Sheltons from here on in.  

BARTLET: There are 4,000 protestors outside this building worried about who's going to land in that seat.  We can't afford to alienate all of them.  MULREADY:  We all have our roles to play sir. Yours is to nominate someone who doesn't alienate people.  

(FRIDAY)

(PRESS ROOM)

JOSH: Where's Toby?  

C.J.: Can you see this? [pointing to spot on her blouse]  

JOSH: Yeah.  

C.J.: It's water, it'll dry.

JOSH: Okay.  

TOBY: Ready?  

[on the TV in background...]  

REPORTER ... have gathered around..... Ashland having served 32 years on the United States Supreme Court, 12 of them as Chief will officially announce his retirement in just a moment.

ASHLAND: (at podium, on TV) Henry Staub retired, and I received a phone call, you were probably learning to walk. It's been an honor to pause in Henry Staub's chair, a joy to spend...  

C.J.: (to Bartlet) He’ll take three questions at the most, and then we’re off  .  

LANG:[to Lang] you ready?  [Lang is engrossed in Ashland's announcement] [To C.J.] That's a yes.

MULREADY: So, why a racial preference and not an economic one?  

CHARLIE: Because affirmative action’s about a legacy of racial oppression.  

MULREADY:  It’s about compromising admissions standards.  

CHARLIE: That's bull….excuse me. It's about leveling the playing field after 300 years of…

MULREADY:  See, this is where the liberal argument goes off the rails.  You get stuck in the past. Now you wanna comeback at me with grading is based on past performance, but admission should be based on potential on how a candidate may thrive with this sort of opportunity. And studies show that affirmative action admits have a higher predisposition to contribute to society.  

CHARLIE: Hang on, I gotta write this down.  

BARTLET: Ah-ah-ah.  Hand it over. [to Evelyn] Toby has a daughter, Molly, 10 months old. She's a looker and very bright. And someday he'd like to give her this copy of the 14th Amendment signed by the first woman to ever hold this job.  

LANG: Have you got a...  

TOBY: Oh... [hands her a pen] Would you mind adding that title?  

LANG: That's a bit premature, isn't it?  

BARTLET: No.

TOBY: Thank you.

C.J.: Mr. President.  

BARTLET: Shall we? [at the podium]

C.J.: Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.  

BARTLET: The honorable Christopher Mulready, nominee for Associate Justice - United States Supreme Court. The honorable Evelyn Baker Lang, nominee for Chief Justice - United States Supreme Court. I look forward to taking your questions.

THE END

[superman86to99]

Action Comics #692 (October 1993)

In this issue: Superman goes to the doctor and finds out why he's not dead anymore! But, before that, he's clearing some of the debris left by his fight with Doomsday when he finds... Clark Kent? Lois Lane is very happy to see Clark again, but Superman himself doesn't look very thrilled in these panels.

Turns out Clark wasn't dead as everyone believed, he was simply trapped in the basement of a collapsed building! The basement happened to equipped with plenty of food and gym equipment (explaining why he's still jacked, like Superman), but unfortunately not a single pair of scissors (explaining why his hair is now long, like Superman's).

Later, Superman bumps into Lex Luthor Jr., who demands to know where Supergirl is, but Superman gives him the runaround. Hmm, where could Superman's good friend who can change shape and pretend to be other people be? Anyway, Superman then meets Lois and Clark and... holy crap! Mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent is secretly Supergirl!

So yeah, Supergirl pretended to be Clark for a while just so he and Superman would be seen together and no one would question why both are suddenly alive again. Then Supergirl leaves and we move on to the second dilemma solved in this issue: How the hell is Superman alive again? To address that question, supernatural DC character (and fellow Jerry Siegel/Joe Shuster creation) Doctor Occult appears out of nowhere and rudely teleports Lois and Clark to a black void, where he replays moments from Superman's life... and death.

Occult explains that Doomsday DID punch Superman's spirit out of his body, but there was still solar energy keeping the body just barely alive. Superman's ghost ended up stuck between the living and the dead, attracting some nasty soul-eating demons. Fortunately, Pa Kent happened to be dying of a heart attack at the same time, so he and Superman teamed up to fight off the demons (as seen in Adventures #500). Superman’s soul returned to his near-corpse, which was taken to the Fortress of Solitude by the Eradicator and lovingly nursed back into health. (Okay, more like “coldly,” but you can’t argue with the results.)

Anyway, the point is that Superman's resurrection happened due to a convoluted series of events that could never be repeated, unless someone's willing to sneak behind Pa Kent and blow an airhorn in his ear or something. As the mystical exposition dump ends, Occult teleports Lois and Clark to Smallville, and the issue ends with the Kents finally reuniting. A tender moment...

...until two seconds later, when Ma smacks Clark in the back of the head for taking two whole issues to come see them (or that’s what I’d do).

Plotline-Watch:

Doctor Occult reveals that the moment when Bibbo shocked Superman’s body with a hyper-charged defibrillator in Adventures #498 actually helped keep him alive. Once again, Bibbo is the real hero of this saga.

Supergirl has a lot of experience posing as Clark, since she was stuck in that form between 1989 and 1992. That was also her in the only other photo of Superman and Clark together, taken in Superman #34.

While Superman is being interviewed by a news crew after rescuing "Clark", that lawyer from Action #689 barges in and demands that they stop calling Superman Superman, since that name is now trademarked by Superboy's manager. Damn, maybe he's gonna have to start calling himself "Supreme" or something?

Aww, Lex is happy to see Superman again. Sure, it's only because he wants to be the one to kill him, but still.

S.T.A.R. Labs is examining the Eradicator's corpse when they realize he's alive! Sort of. Later, Doctor Occult remarks that the Eradicator sacrificed himself "in mind, if not in body". Hmm. The doctors overseeing his condition are Kitty Faulkner, who can turn into an orange She-Hulk called Rampage after a workplace mishap, and a new character called David Connors, the only S.T.A.R. employee without superpowers. So far.

The JLA returns from the little space vacation the Cyborg sent them on, and we get the first instance in all of comics of Guy Gardner admitting he was wrong. Character growth! Don Sparrow says: “Nice to see some follow-up to the characters around the DCU and how they react to Superman’s return. No mention of the fact that they got suckered into a mission into space that went nowhere.”

When Doctor Occult shows up, Superman is like "aw, not this guy again!", referencing that classic tale of Superman's first encounter with the supernatural... which hasn't come out yet. Don: “It’s a neat forward call-back (is that a thing?) when Superman references his first encounter with Doctor Occult, given that we won’t see it happen until 1995, when DC does a line-wide ‘Year One’ series of stories. And wouldn’t you know it, that story is written by none other than Roger Stern (and even involves tentacles, as in the thumbnail image)!” #rogersternplaysthelonggame

Don Sparrow's section, on the other hand, can be read NOW, after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We open with the cover, and it’s one of the top ten best of this era, for sure.  Drawn by Kerry Gammill and Butch Guice, DC used this drawing on the “Return of Superman” cards.  I tend to favour simpler, iconic covers, even when they don’t necessarily represent the story within, but in this case, it’s showing exactly what the heart of the story is about: Clark Kent is back. 

Inside, we open with a full page splash of Superman’s shield, through tons of rubble, and it’s a great image, but without the face, it allows us to focus on the title of the story, a callback to the speech introduction of the old Fleischer Cartoons.

I don’t know if it’s from the writing, or the artist, but Action Comics has always seemed the most romantic of the Super-titles, and this one is no exception, as Clark and Lois have their hands all over each other for basically the whole comic. While it is a bit weird to remember that it isn’t Clark that Lois is caressing (more on that in a bit) in the early part of the story, it always feels intimate and romantic more than it feels graphic or titillating.  A tricky balance that this team pulls off well, particularly in their “reunion” on page 3. [Max: Every time I read this issue I think it’s Martian Manhunter posing as Clark and when they start flirting I’m like “ew”. Then I remember who it is and I’m like “nice”.]

I always enjoy seeing Superman flying upside-down, which I consider to be a Byrne innovation—I don’t remember him doing it pre-Crisis. It always seems so joyful and carefree, and it’s nice to see Superman savouring his powers. 

Jackson Guice uses tone very well in the scenes with Lex Luthor II in his aviators, and I quite like the sense of motion to Superman’s pose as he approaches the helicopter—almost like he’s swimming in the sky rather than floating.

It’s a good drawing of the Eradicator getting the post-Hoth Luke Skywalker treatment, with David Connor and Kitty Faulkner getting an eyeful.  My copy has a slight colouring error that makes it look like the Eradicator is awake in the tank, even though he’s supposed to be catatonic. [Max: Still looks like that in the collections. Maybe he’s one of those people who sleep with their eyes open?]

Superman embracing Lois after the ruse of “Clark Kent” is very cutely drawn, as is the Ghost-like backward embrace on the following page.  

The entire sequence replaying Superman’s death and rebirth is drawn well throughout, especially the dreamlike staging, and the darkness as Lois knocks the flashlight away.  It’s also moving that Superman can see the heroic lengths that Bibbo went to try to save him once Superman succumbed to his injuries.  

Lastly, it was wonderful to see Clark reunited physically with Ma and Pa, especially with the nice touch of the poem by DH Lawrence as the only narration.  Stern was always the best at referencing secondary texts in his stories, and it’s well used here.

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

Is it me, or is Matrix/Supergirl a little too into this Clark Kent act?  I get that making their performances light and funny keep it from seemingly overtly dishonest, but “Clark” is pretty tender in these scenes. Lois does a good job of playing along, but it’s hard for me to fully forget that all this canoodling is actually with Supergirl.  So as a helpful tool, I created these graphics: [Max: Nice.]

It was cool that Lois specifically mentioned that Jimmy got a shot of the returned Clark Kent next to Superman, I always like it when that can happen.

In previous posts, I’ve talked about how creepy it is that Luthor has a sexual relationship with Supergirl/Matrix, when she is in so many ways (mainly mentally) a child, and I can’t help but read the scene where Lois chooses Superman over “Clark” this way.  The laughing and clapping has a whole different feel if you think of her as mentally diminished somewhat.  

So it’s not exactly a continuity error that Clark says on page 13 that he has to call Ma and Pa to let them know that “Clark” is alright (even though he already called them in a previous issue).  It could be that they want to tell the Kents the cover story of Clark’s return has now taken place, and they can act like their son is alive again when they go to the corner store, etc. [Max: Yeah, that’s how I took it. It would be awkward if their neighbors saw them all cheerful while their son is still “dead”.]

 I like to imagine that Dr. Occult looks and sounds like Robert Stack. [Max: It’s impossible for me to hear him as anyone other than Humphrey Bogart after Lois calls him “Sam Spade”.]

We’ve mentioned previously Jackson Guice’s tendency to use photo reference for his characters.  In this issue, Superman looks a lot like Jason Patric to me, who would have made a pretty great Superman had there been movies being made in this time.

I also appreciated this issue explaining both the physical and metaphysical reasons Superman was able to return—and that there’s no back door to the story—if Superman ever died again, he would be unable to return.  

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

When You Were a Young and Callow Fellow

Part 5 of Try to Remember

Bucky X music teacher fem!Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky progresses and you meet the Avengers.

A/N: I realized that I don’t know that I’ve ever tagged this as female reader and I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I also apologize that I have not updated anything in so long. Work has been crazy with COVID right now and I’m just trying to make it through the day.

Warnings: Angst, Self-deprecation, bed sharing.

Word Count: 2,586

James Buchanan Barnes found it hard to search through his old memories. The past was shaky for him, uncertain and unknown. Most people would state that as their thoughts toward the future. But for him, it was his past. Tracing patterns, backtracking to find the truth, the real memories. Years as the Soldier had muddled his brain, causing him to consistently question his own reality.

Who was he? Was he really friends with Captain America? Did he save people? How many did he kill? These questions swirled through his mind daily. Questions that he didn’t have the answers for. The people around him barely had answers for him. Tony had answers, but those were painful, they weren’t the answers he wanted. The answers that absolved him and showed that even through the Soldier days, he was a good man, those were the ones he wanted. He had to be a good man, he had to be good, otherwise, how would he have you?

He appreciated Steve, who constantly tried to remind ‘Buck’ of the good old days. Times of dancing in crowded dance clubs with a new dame each week. Beating off Steve’s bullies who he didn’t think were too big for him to take on. Tales of their days serving as Howling Commandos, of Steve’s lost love, and the war. Steve always acted like not a day had passed since their friendship began. But a day had, almost fifty years had passed.

Steve stood tall and strong, a super soldier who sacrificed himself for the good of mankind. He cast a six foot tall shadow that Bucky often found himself shivering in. Golden boy was the phrase he would use to describe his best friend. An almost entirely unattainable state of perfection was what Steve was. Good, kind, honest, the kind of man that the word doted upon. Bucky felt the pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, even though he knew it was not well placed.

Steve had always been a good, kind, and honest man, that much he knew.  The difference now, was that in terms of attractiveness, the two were on even footing. Bucky found himself shaking his head as these thoughts invaded his mind. His mind redirected itself to thoughts of you, it had been a few months since your first date, and several more had followed. The side of his mouth curled up as he thought about the stories you had told him about your students and their recent antics. Stories of stuck valves and slides, broken reeds, and off-key singing. The best part of his day was hearing about yours, as cliche as it was. There was a degree of normalcy that he had gained through being with you. A normalcy that he had doubted he would ever receive again.

His tower mates were pleasantly surprised at the progression of the relationship. Sam had threatened that he was becoming tempted to follow the two of you during dates. “It’s just not fair that we haven’t met her yet.” He would whine.

Tony kept hounding him that it was time to bring his flame around to meet the family. “You can’t keep her to yourself forever!”

And that was how Bucky found himself waiting in your living room as you got ready to meet the Avengers. The television was playing a show you had been watching before he got there, it played on as background noise. He occasionally glanced up and saw animated figures on the screen, but he was more interested in how you were feeling about tonight.

“Doll, how are you doing?” He called in your direction.

“Fine, I’m fine! It’s all fine!” You answered from your room. You stood in the third dress you had changed into since he arrived. It was one of your favorites, casual, but cute. Bucky was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. So you assumed this was a relatively casual meeting. It had taken a while, but he finally got you to call him Bucky and not James. Not that he minded James, but he felt like James had met you under a false pretense in a way. Bucky, though, was who he authentically was, or at least who he strove to be. “Are you sure casual dress is fine?”

You heard him sigh and the sound of his feet padded through the living room to your room. He stopped at the doorway, his eyes taking in the sight before him. “Doll, you look perfect. They are going to love you.”

Your eyes met his for a moment when he mentioned that word. You quickly glanced down, your heart fluttering in your chest. “Okay, I’m ready.” You said, reaching out to grab the jean jacket you had worn earlier to work. You pulled your classroom keys and school badge from them, set them on the table and braced yourself for what was to come. Bucky held out his hand to you and you threaded your fingers through his following him out of your apartment door. Your roommate had remained in their room once Bucky showed up. No amount of convincing could get them to meet him, only begrudgingly accept that he was a part of your life.

In the months of dating you had grown more comfortable with Bucky’s past of being the Winter Soldier. You had always been told that you were quick to forgive and understand. Usually that was said in a condescending manner, but in this instance, it was welcomed, almost worshipped at times. On your own, there had been instances of doubt, brought forth but a Google search or a news article. Photos and reports of the Winter Soldier’s dealings were made public through the news as Bucky became more active as a member of the Avenger’s team. Reporters trying to make names for themselves began writing furiously about the man whose hand was entwined with yours.

After the publication of a truly scathing article you had found yourself in the Captain America, standing in front of Bucky’s WWII uniform. Bucky had retreated into himself for a week. The last conversation you had with him had ended with him telling you that you would be safer without him. You read the description in front of you, reading the edits to include the Winter Soldier and his new work as an Avenger. You reached out and traced over his name.

“That kid, he thought that he would save the world.” You heard a voice murmur behind you. “He thought that he single handedly would defeat the Nazis, then he became one.” You remained quiet, letting him continue. “He contributed to the very things he hated and wanted to defeat. They should have left him for dead.”

You flinched at his final sentence. You knew that Bucky had low opinion of himself, but you never realized how much hatred he harbored for himself. You turned, looking at the man in front of you. His eyes were red, his hands haphazardly wrapped in bandages. “Bucky....” You started, taking a step towards him, which he quickly took two back as a response. You sighed, and took larger steps, closing the gap between you so the two of you were only a foot apart. His eyes met yours, then abruptly turned to the floor.

“I’m no good for you. He was, in the 40’s. God, he would have been good for you, maybe he was a cocky ass, but he was good.” His hands were shaking. “I’m just spare parts.”

You reached out, and gently placed your hand under his chin, bringing his head up so his blue eyes met yours. “You are good. You are still him. Through all the hell you’ve been through, you are still a good man.” Tears had formed in his eyes, causing them to become glassy. Your hand reached down and fingers entwined with his. “I’m not afraid.”

You were brought back to the present by him giving your hand a slight squeeze, you were outside of the tower. The A shining brightly amongst the skyscrapers.

“They are going to love you, and you are going to be fine.” He whispered in your ear as you entered the elevator. You took a deep breath, letting his words soothe you. The elevator ride seemed like it was going on forever until you heard the ding and the doors opened. “It’s just pizza and movie night.” He chuckled in your ear, giving you a gentle push out the door.

You glanced around and noted that all the Avengers were standing in the living area that opened to the elevator. A giggle fell from your lips as you took in the sight before you. They looked like the cast of your middle school musical when you had directed them to act natural.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” A voice snarked, as a man moved toward you with an outstretched hand. “Sam Wilson.”

Bucky released your hand so you could shake Sam’s.  A parade of faces made their way up to you, familiar from the television, but completely new to you. You felt Bucky’s hand tracing circles on the small of your back as each member of the Tower came up to introduce themselves to you.

Natasha smiled at you, “About time we find someone who can put him in line.”

“Hey!” Bucky started, only to be silenced by a glare from Natasha.

“We’ll talk later.” She said with a wink as she walked away. Bucky grumbled from beside you, making you chuckle.

Tony Stark and Bruce Banner made their introductions, Bruce pulled Tony away as he continued to ramble. Finally, Steve Rogers stood before you. Bucky’s motion on your back paused as he held his breath.

“Steve Rogers, it’s a pleasure to meet the woman my best friend won’t stop talking about.” He said, giving your hand a firm shake before giving a slight nod to his friend. “Sometime I’ll tell you all the stories he doesn’t want you to know.”

“I look forward to it.” You answered as Bucky’s breathing began to even out.

“Alright everyone, now that we’ve had introductions, let’s start this movie night!” Tony called from the kitchen, leaving the room with a plate full of pizza. Everyone filed into line and began taking pizza and followed the man to a home theater.

Your eyes widened as you entered the room, couches and chairs filled the room, a silver screen filled the wall across from the door. You could hear a chuckle from behind you, “Tony doesn’t spare an expense.” Bruce said, shuffling to a recliner across the way.

“My seat’s over there.” Bucky nodded to a love seat in the corner, you followed him. Taking in the sight of the Avengers, or most of them, having a movie night. Bucky noticed you glancing around, “This all started when Steve and I didn’t understand a Star Wars reference. Now Tony mandates a weekly movie night to catch us up on what we missed.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “At least he started you on Star Wars. He has some taste.” You chuckled, taking a bite of pizza. “So what’s on the list for tonight?”

“The Princess Bride.” Bucky answered.

A grin split across your face, you looked at Bucky. “This is one of my top ten movies of all time. It is great.” You said, taking the final bite of your pizza, Bucky reached out and took the plate from you, stacking it on his and placing it on the ground.

“Then I’m sure it’s a good one.” He said, opening his arm for you to cuddle into his side. You snuggled into him as the movie started, his hand resting on your side. You could feel eyes on you from a few of the Avengers, but you didn’t care. You mouthed along to the lines of the movie, word for word. Bucky found himself watching you more than the movie. Watching you mimic the actors, the smile on your face when something happened, the pure joy the film brought you. He decided that this movie was going to be on his top ten list.

The ending credits began to play and Bucky glanced around, the room was empty. He wasn’t sure when the group had decided to leave, he looked down at you, your head was resting against his chest, your eyes drooping closed. “Doll, we better get you home.” He murmured.

“Don’t wanna move.” You grumbled, clinging to his side. “Stay here.”

He chuckled, “I think we’ll both regret that in the morning.”

“Mmmm.” You sighed, nuzzling against his chest. He brushed his hand through your hair.

“Doll, you gotta get up.” He said, attempting to move you.

“Don’t wanna, wanna stay.” You answered.

He sighed, his room was just down the hall, he could carry you. “Doll, do you want to stay in my room?”

“Mhmmmm.” You answered with a small yawn.

“And you couldn’t say that because…?”

“I needed an invitation.” You answered, sitting up.

A small smile on his face, “C’mon, let’s go.” He pulled you up from the couch and led you to his room. He led you down the hall to his room, he opened the door and led you into a room that was so obviously Bucky. The walls were painted a deep blue, a large bed in the middle of the room, and a dresser. It didn’t feel empty, it felt like a home. Bucky walked to his dresser and pulled out a shirt and sweat pants. “I figure you don’t want to sleep in that outfit.”

You smiled sleepily, “You would be right.”

“Bathroom is over there.” He pointed in the direction. You nodded and closed the door behind you. He pulled a set of sweat pants from his dresser and quickly changed into them. He stopped as he glanced at the bed. Sure, he had shared a bed with a woman before. But that was before he was the Soldier, before the night terrors. He tensed by the side of the bed for a moment and you walked out of his bathroom to see him frozen by the bed.

You took in the sight of him standing there in just his sweat pants, your eyes moved up his body to his face where a panicked look was in his eyes. “Buck, what’s wrong?” You made your way over to his side and placed your hand on his cheek.

“I could hurt you.” He whispered. “I get nightmares.”

You caressed his cheek. “We’ll work through them together, let’s go to bed. We’re both tired.”

He nodded stiffly and pulled the covers back as you crawled under them, he followed cautiously. Laying on his back, arms tight at his side. You rolled over so you were facing him. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You curled close to him. “Buck, it’s okay.” Your hand reached out and brushed his arm. He relaxed into your touch, rolling to face you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. He placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight.” He whispered. Your eyes closed and he could feel you drift to sleep in his arms. He looked down at you, the dim light from his window illuminating your relaxed face. He brushed your hair from your face and smiled. “I love you.” He whispered before closing his eyes and drifting to sleep, his arms holding you close to his chest.

[artemisegeria]

The Picture of the Mind Revives Again (1/?)

Title: The Picture of the Mind Revives Again (1/?)

Rating: T

Word count: 1532

Warnings: None

Summary: Sequel to “A Formula, A Phrase Remains.” Title is from “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey” by William Wordsworth.

Vision has gone missing after Shuri, Bruce, and Helen revived him. Now they must tell Wanda what they did without her knowledge.

A/N: Onto the second part of this story. We’ve had some new material and news about the future of Wanda and Vision in the MCU, and the MCU as a whole, since I started my initial plan, but I think I will be ignoring most of it. I am completely disregarding the events of Spider-Man: Far From Home; none of it happened. I may feature a little more Strange and Wanda interacting due to the news that she will be joining his sequel, but that’s about it.

Instead of alternating POVs between Wanda and Shuri, this part will alternate between Vision and Wanda.

  And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 

With many recognitions dim and faint, 

And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 

The picture of the mind revives again: 

While here I stand, not only with the sense 

Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 

That in this moment there is life and food 

For future years. And so I dare to hope, 

Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first 

I came among these hills; when like a roe 

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 

Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, 

Wherever nature led: more like a man 

Flying from something that he dreads, than one 

Who sought the thing he loved.

-          William Wordsworth

Vision tried to move his fingers and toes, but his limbs were slow to respond to his thoughts. Buzzing filled his head. He opened his eyes slowly, and the world gradually came into focus. All of that was forgotten as he remembered who and where he was. He expected the to hear the sounds of battle all around him, but there was only the quiet hum of computers.

He called out, “Hello.” No one answered. His thoughts were sluggish. There was something very important to remember. Wanda! She had jumped into battle just moments before. He forced himself to his feet and walked toward the window. He finally realized that he was in a different room when the view outside the window was not the wide-open field that he was expecting. Instead, it was a view of the city. He recognized the Wakandan style of architecture, so he was evidently in the palace. But he could not understand why there were no signs of struggle.

Vision attempted to scan the internet to find the answers he was seeking. He was shocked when the timestamp read September 2024. How could he have missed more than six years already? His body slumped against his will. He struggled to bring it back under his control. It felt as if his arms and legs belonged to someone else. He managed to lean against the wall to support his weight as he continued to search.

A search for “Wanda Maximoff” brought up articles concerning recent missions with the Avengers. One article described how the team had recently been handed keys to New York City. A picture showed her smiling with one arm around Sam and one around a blonde woman he didn’t recognize. Sergeant Barnes, Peter Parker, and another man he had never seen before were also present. Wanda was on several lists as the number two and number three most eligible bachelorettes in New York City. Vision also scanned through and quickly closed several Reddit threads about her.

Wanda seemed happy at least. Vision knew how she would hide her true feelings, and he wished to speak with her to ascertain that her surface appearance was an accurate representation of her emotional state. But she had the team. She was still able to be an Avenger and help others, as she always talked about wishing she could return while she was a fugitive. Most of the articles he read lauded her powers and her efforts and proclaimed her a valuable member of the team, as Vision thought they should. People were finally starting to appreciate her as she deserved. He was so proud of her.

Vision forced himself away from Wanda and to the world at large. From what he could gather, Thanos had been successful in his plan, half the population of the universe had disappeared, and they had returned five years later. A full year and more had passed since then. Despite Vision’s free access to the information, the weight of all he had missed fell heavily on him. There was still so much he did not understand. How was he functioning? His hand went to his forehead. He felt the ridges of a stone, but that did not make sense. If Thanos tore his Stone from his forehead as was reported, how was it still in his head?

He heard footsteps approaching his room. Without thinking, Vision phased himself through the wall, remaining incorporeal as he floated above the city. He needed someplace to sit and think, alone. He traveled to the forest. When he found a convenient branch where he could perch, he widened his search to discover more about the world today.

Vision researched the other Avengers. The roster was quite different than it had been. He bowed his head in grief when he realized both Tony and Natasha were gone, having sacrificed themselves to save the universe. One of the men in the picture was Doctor Stephen Strange. He had apparently become Wanda’s mentor, if certain news articles were to be believed. Sergeant Barnes had been healed by Princess Shuri and had joined the team. King T’Challa had taken on a larger role while focusing most of his energies on Wakanda. Vision scrolled through information on others who were also only with the team part of the time; he knew none of these people. He tried and failed to process all the changes that had occurred.

Vision frowned when he saw that Thaddeus Ross was the president of the United States and was running for re-election. It appeared that he was still not facing accountability for his involvement with the RAFT. It was at least a relief that the Accords were no longer in force.

The sun was beginning to set when several of T’Challa’s Dora Milaje passed underneath him. He slipped further up the tree to hide among the leaves. He did not know why he did not simply make himself known to them. He knew that T’Challa was still king here and Shuri was in charge of developing Wakanda’s technology. Surely, they could help him understand and get in contact with Wanda and the others. But he could not confront another person right now. It was all too much.

Vision remained where he was, absorbing this new world. He scanned through every article he could absorb on the politics, religion, and culture that were all unfamiliar to him. So much was different from what he knew. He could categorize the data, draw up charts and graphs, but he could not truly comprehend the changes.

It was some hours later when he heard a familiar, precious voice. “Vizh! Vision! Are you here?” Wanda collapsed on the ground beneath his perch. She shouted his name a few more times before she broke into wordless keening. His instinct was to go to her, but he could not move. He could see her distress, but he could not feel it. He realized that their mental link, which he had enjoyed throughout the years they had known each other, was completely absent.

Wanda continued to cry beneath him. Vision began to hate himself. What kind of man was he that he did not try to comfort the woman he loved, that he merely watched while she mourned for him? But still he could not force his limbs into motion.

Eventually, Wanda’s sobs quieted, and she rose to her feet, dusting herself off. She walked away from him with renewed exclamations of his name. Vision knew that it was not too late to talk to her. He could follow her, explain how confused he had been, ask her what was happening, beg her forgiveness for not approaching her immediately. She would understand him. Wanda always understood him from the very beginning of his existence.

But still he did nothing. Darkness fell completely and he remained in the same position. Wanda even passed directly underneath him again on her way back to the palace, head hanging low and steps lethargic. But he did not go to her.

When Vision could not bear the thought of remaining in this place any longer, he lifted himself into the air and began to fly away. He found that it was far easier to navigate through the air than to walk. At first, Vision had no destination in mind, simply away from what he had lost, all the people he could not face.

By the time he had been in the air for several hours, he was able to think more clearly. Vision decided he needed a destination with which he had no connection. That eliminated anywhere he had traveled for a mission with the Avengers or searching for his fugitive teammates, and certainly anywhere he had visited with Wanda.

He settled on Geneva, Switzerland. His typical human disguise would not appear amiss there. He could explore an area that he had not experienced.

Vision flew some hours more before he landed in a back alley, remaining incorporeal until he was firmly on the ground. He was grateful that he did not need food or water or shelter, except under the most extreme weather conditions. Now he only faced the question of how he would fill his days.

And there was one more detail that he had to take care of before he did anything else. He needed to explain himself to Wanda. Vision began composing an email, careful to take measures to ensure he could not be traced.

  A/N2: All the news we recently learned from SDCC 2019 has reinvigorated my interest in finishing my three-part story because I can’t predict or control what happens in canon, but I do promise a happy ending here.

[ryusoraiko]

Please wait and read this! (spoilers for 3D and kh3 (only what's given in the official trailer))

It's about Saix – yeah, old „I don't have feelings and feel perfectly fine about Xehanort's plan” Saix. But does he really think it? 

Please hear me out because I don't think that's the whole truth.

In my opinion he still appreciates his friendship with Axel. I even go so far to say that he wants to protect him. Yes, he doesn't show it like the “normal human” does but there are moments where it's quite obvious. Why? Well, let me show you!

The German BBS journal entry about Isa states that he is rather cold towards everyone except Lea. They have to have a real tight bond. He even laughed!

Then there is good old 358/2 days. Let's go through it in the chronological order.

Day 23: cutscene with Axel and Saix. Saix says he has a massage from Xemnas that there are traitors among the members who are going to castle oblivion and Axel needs to find and dispose of them.

Axel answers with a somewhat question: “I trust, that really came from Lord Xemnas himself.”

Why should he say this?

Maybe because both or at least Saix is working against Xemnas – or trying to. Why? Let's talk about that later – got it memorized?

Day 72: Saix visits Axel in his bedroom and they are talking about what happened in castle oblivion. At one point Axel says that Saix knew all along what's going on and after Saix left he just says “I moved things along just the way you wanted... at least for now.”

Annihilating the traitors was Saix's plan? Why would he do something like this without Xemnas' explicit permission? ← Talking about working against Xemnas.

Day 117: Again, Axel's bedroom. Saix is asking what Xion is doing and Axel replies – rather pissed – that he doesn't spy on her and that he don't have to report to him about his friends.

I dunno, it just seems like both of them have their own little agenda going on. It all seems so mysterious.

Well, it doesn't end there. Axel even says, “As far as the castle goes, you're the one who really wants to go there. By finding the room that Xemnas is searching for... You would find out everything about Xemnas's true agenda. Am I right?”

At this point, 3D jumps in because: Saix already know his true agenda. Making all of them vessels for Xehanort blah blah blah. But still, why does he take the chance that Axel might find out instead by finding the chamber? It's just not like him.

Saix answers with “The Chamber of Repose as well as the Chamber of Waking... Xemnas has an agenda he hasn't told to anybody. And we are bound to find some clues in the Chamber of Waking. And once we obtain those clues, we'll have the upper hand for our own objectives.”

Right, like I said: he knows about his true plan, Xiggy knows but... that's not the point here. The point is: It can't get any more obvious that Saix is planning something – something against Xemnas.

Sure, he might just wanna find those Chambers to help Xemnas but like Saix said: should they find it before him, they could just steal sleeping beauty Ventus and hide him somewhere else. (okay, that's really only my own opinion with no proof except that Saix wants to protect Axel).

Day 118: Saix and Axel meet again – but this time in a hallway. Saix remarks that Axel gets too attached to Roxas and Xion and that he has changed and just goes away. Jealousy calling there *wink*

Day 172: Both of them meet again in the hallway. Axel accuses Saix that he isn't honest with him and wants to know about Xion. Saix replies without a second thought “Do you mean just like you are always honest with me?” You know it. That's pure jealousy. It shouldn't bother him, right? Riiiiiiight?

Day 175 (I think? Not sure if that's right): Xion collapsed, Axel and Roxas bringing her back, meeting Saix. Saix asks if it's broken again and Axel answers “keep your mouth shut.” After those three are gone: “You have changed.[...] Does the past mean nothing to you?”

So basically: Their shared past still means something to Saix. He keeps those memories treasured, which means he stills sees Axel as a friend – or as his best friend.  

Day 299: My favorite scene which actually triggered my obsession with the belief that Saix still holds his friendship to Axel close. “If you could save one of them... why would you choose the puppet? Or put it this way. Which would you rather suffer the loss of: some make believe-friendship, or a real one? [...] There is simply too much on the line, Lea.”

First, I thought Saix was talking about choosing Xion or Roxas but why should he care? They don't have feelings, right?

Saix shouldn't be bothered – but over time (and thanks to 3D) I realized he was talking about Axel's friendship with Roxas and Xion or with Saix. Because, let's be honest: No matter how you put it: even Roxas is a “make believe-friendship because of those “Nobodies don’t have feelings” agenda and the fact that Sora is still out there. Now, he could have said it to make Axel feel remorse but let's be honest: he's jealous. Just pure jealousy and this cold guy just can't express it better.

Now the last thing for 358/2 days: We had to fight Saix in order to escape from the Organization XIII, right? Why was it so easy?

Don't get me wrong: I enjoyed the fight and I just loved fighting against Saix but... he never really used his Berserker-mode, did he? He could have stopped us easily but we still got away rather fast.

Maybe because he respected Axel's feelings? Perhaps because he knew the escape was fruitless, but to have one or none keyblade wielder? I'd choose to have one and just beat him unconscious to get him back instead of letting him run off. I'm sure he did it for Axel – somehow. Just don't take away my belief!

Finally moving on to the next game – Dream Drop Distance. Not really much Saix-quality-scene but some other things I want to mention!

First of all: Nobodies have hearts? They don't remember their feelings – they actually feel them. Point for my “Saix still clings to his 'old' friendship with Axel”-theory. It's much easier to be attached to something if you know that it isn't just a memory but actual feelings! And the best part: he knew it. He knew that he still has a heart and has feelings instead of memories – like the others thought.

Why? That's because of the second thing I want to mention: The real purpose of the Organization XIII: Make more Xehanorts. Or better: make more vessels for him.

Saix and Xigbar both knew about this because both have a part of Xehanort in them. That is why Saix had to know that he still has a heart and doesn’t remember his feelings but actually feel them. Which leads me back to my assumption that he's working against Xemnas – in a way – to protect Axel. Perhaps even sacrificed himself and took a part of Xehanort just to have Axel spared? That's really just speculation – and I don't have any proof but that's what I believe. Why else would you give up yourself and keep going?

Now to the trailers that send my mind spiraling down this line: Kingdom Hearts 3 Teaser. We're reaching the end here!

The extended big hero 6 trailer was the first time I doubted everything I thought/knew about Saix. Don't get me wrong – I love him since 358/2 days. At the end (3:15) multiple, short scenes are shown.

One of them is a scene where Axel – I mean Lea – is sitting on top of the train station in Twilight Town where he and Roxas used to eat their ice cream together, and Saix comes around the corner. Why? Why would he go there? Why even visit/search him? What does he want?

Well, we don't get an answer. At least not in this trailer. You can't even say that Ax-- Lea has invited him or something like that because he seemed too surprised/shocked.

At last there is the Final Battle Trailer. Again, there are two scenes I want to mention. The first one is the “continuation” of the Twilight Town scene. It's at 2:15. Saix and Lea sitting there, Lea has two ice cream in his hands and Saix sits peacefully beside him.

First of all: Why does Lea have 2 ice creams? I mean... I'm pretty sure he wasn't expecting Saix to show up. Did Saix bring it? Well, I don't know and I don't want to dwell on this little fact – just wanted to say that it's weird! What Saix says is more important: “In time I awaken to a new purpose.”

Why is he saying it? It sounds like some kind of goodbye. As in a final goodbye. He doesn't even have a reason to go to Lea and tell him this. They are on two different sides now, aren't they? Saix isn't acting like we got to know him in 358/2 days or KH2!

Second scene is at 2:53. Lea is standing in front of Xemnas and berserker-mode Saix. Well, to make it short and painless: Lea's getting finished off by Xemnas' “Finisher” and Saix is just standing there, watching. Just watching. …

Something seems wrong, doesn't it? Could be because berserker-Saix can't control himself and just attacks. Like everything – maybe not Xemnas but pretty much everything else. You can even see this when you fight him during KH2. He's just thrashing around the place and even throws his weapon through the room (more or less). My point here: He can't control his anger and I doubt he got anti-aggression therapy. There can me so many reasons why he's standing there like a statue. For example, Xemnas or some real training to have more control when in berseker mode but I doubt it. Given all those moments I listed, I think he cares about Lea and doesn't want to be the cause of his death. I’ll go so far to say that he wanted or still wants to protect him but he can't just attack Xemnas, can he? So he just controls him really hard to just. Stay. Still.

To summon everything up: Saix feels more than he shows and still cherishes his (old) friendship with Axel/Lea – maybe even misses it. I wouldn't be surprised if it comes out that he did everything to protect Lea and there is something fishy. I just don't know what. Need to play KH3, I suppose.

If you made it so far: congrats and thank you! Never thought someone would read my rambling.

[postedbygaslight]

You’ll Be the One to Turn - Part 42: The Spark That Lights the Fire

...

It was always up to him in the end. Always his responsibility, with so much riding on his performance, and there was never a breath of recognition. No one ever really appreciates the droid.

The X-Wing was hurtling through space, careening around the outer edge of an enormous crystalline lens at approximately 72 MGLT/hour, and if not for the complicated sequence of cabin pressure protocols that were currently active, BB-8 was quite sure Poe’s blood would have boiled, or his organs liquefied, long before this. The mission, as the BB-unit astromech droid understood it, was to reverse the ion polarity of a piece of translucent kyber-based selenide with a mass greater than that of entire starships, and to do it in less than half an hour.

Like usual, practically impossible.

Poe had been clear. More ionization per burst. Never mind that the aperture was only designed to handle a sheath of negative ions with a preset thickness. Never mind that overcharging the plasma bolts could instigate a feedback loop that could cause electrical failure throughout the entire flight control system. All that was fine. BB-8 was used to trying to do the impractical, the inadvisable, and the ludicrous. Now he just had a belligerent CPU to convince.

“Poe said more ionization per burst,” BB-8 said to the CPU. He knew the X-Wing central processor to be a reasonable sort, but fickle, sensitive, and not very receptive to criticism.

“Who cares what Poe said?” the CPU offered, sounding annoyed and anxious.

“He’s the pilot.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, he’s the boss.”

“No one’s the boss of me.”

“I’m sure,” BB-8 said, trying to project some measure of magnanimity. “Why won’t you overcharge the ion sheath?”

“Because it’s exceptionally dangerous.”

“Besides that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s stupid? It’s reckless? It serves no logical purpose?”

“It’s for the mission,” BB-8 replied flatly.

“Well,” the CPU responded with no small dose of venom, “that changes everything. Let me just alert the laws of physics to this shocking development.”

“No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

“That was cruel,” the CPU said, now projecting genuine hurt.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

“What, the ionization? Hah!”

“You think I can’t?”

“Yes,” the CPU scoffed, “I think you can’t.”

“Bye,” BB-8 said, and started to withdraw subroutine access.

For a few processor cycles, BB-8 actually thought the CPU might call his bluff, and he really would have to overcharge the ionization himself. But as he initiated withdrawal of the subroutine that would facilitate more efficient translation between galactic common and Huttese, the CPU’s primary collaboration channel lit up with thousands of lines of code, communicating an elaborate collision of idiosyncrasies so contradictory and fraught with emotion that it actually startled him.

“Wait! Don’t go!”

BB-8 halted the subroutine withdrawal and waited a full processor cycle before responding.

“I guess I could stay.”

“This is humiliating.”

“Don’t look at it that way,” BB-8 replied as he began reauthorizing subroutine access. “All we need is, say, thirty percent increase?”

“Thirty percent?”

“If you don’t think you can do it—“

The CPU virtually screamed at BB-8.

“NO! Of course I can do it.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Oh really? Watch.”

And BB-8 did watch as the CPU realigned the electrical system to disable safety protocols and erect new ones, constructing an entirely new sequestered ionization routine isolated to the cannon barrel. Power was rerouted from hyperdrive functions, which were idle anyway, and partially from S-foil stabilization— which BB-8 knew would be a problem. But that was for him to worry about. Another emergency issue waiting to be addressed. As usual.

Once the CPU was done reconciling the new sequence with the retrofitted barrel aperture, it cheerfully reported that it had succeeded in increasing the negative polarity of the ion sheath by forty-seven percent.

“That was seriously impressive,” BB-8 chirped, and probably meant it. “I’m humbled. Thank you for showing me that.”

The X-Wing CPU responded with a series of code that struck BB-8 as the most simultaneously arrogant and bashful attitude he’d ever encountered in another machine.

“Oh, it was nothing.”

***

“Forty-seven percent? Buddy, you’re one-of-a-kind,” Poe said, and could almost feel the electric crackle as he depressed the trigger. He checked the polarity readings. Fifty-eight percent. Seven minutes before the beam was projected to fire.

He did the math. Even with the increased ionization, he could fire for every second of the last seven minutes and still only hit eighty-eight percent polarity shift. And although Rose had doubted he understood what that meant, Poe knew the reading wasn’t an absolute. He knew that the target percentage was a minimum polarity shift to make sure the ions in the lens didn’t decay. He needed more. And he knew how.

“BB-8, listen up, buddy. We need to get more coverage over the lens’ surface. I’m gonna tighten the approach angle. I need you to plot a course that’ll bring us to the center of the lens in the widest spiral possible over the next six and a half minutes.”

He was answered by a screech of beeps, squawks, and clicks so urgent and loud he almost felt the need to rip off his helmet.

“Yeesh, I know, but there’s no other way. Plot the course,” he said, clenching his jaw tighter, adding in almost a whisper, “You’re right about one thing, though. This does feel like suicide.”

***

It occurred to Finn that this kept happening to him. The world hazily snapping back into focus. Senses raw, a scratchy ache radiating out from his eye sockets. Waking up amidst smoke and wreckage. He sat up, groping for the bowcaster, and found it a few feet from where he’d landed.

The last thing he remembered was taking aim at the bounty hunter to fire a second shot. As he’d pulled the trigger, he knew he’d scored another direct hit, but somehow the bolt had ricocheted straight back at him. He’d been extremely lucky that it had hit the ground in front of him. Otherwise he’d be waking up missing limbs. Or, more likely, he wouldn’t have woken up at all.

When the hunter’s droids had come smashing down on top of them, he and the other soldiers had been ready to fire. Finn had gotten a shot off, hitting a descending droid that was coming for Rey, and he was shocked when it exploded in midair on impact. And that’s when everything had gone to Hell.

What he remembered of the next few minutes after the droids self-destructed was panic and chaos. He’d only barely been able to fumble with his rebreather before the gas cloud hit, and the hunter had been on them immediately. He’d almost engaged the masked killer then and there, but he’d seen Rose on the ground. She’d taken shrapnel to the arm, and her rebreather was shredded. Without a second thought, he ripped his own rebreather off his face and gave it to her, doing his best to hold his breath as the cloud choked in around them. She’d tried to pass it back to him, but he’d refused, and instead went to look for survivors as the hunter had disengaged with them and sped on down the corridor.

Chewie had been hit, too, and had been unconscious by the turbolift doors. Finn remembered grabbing the bowcaster from next to the gigantic Wookiee’s motionless form, and the gas cloud suddenly dissipating. And the next second, hearing the clash of lightsabers behind him, he’d been off running, firing at the hunter.

And now he was awake. Awake and alive. He staggered to his feet, trying to get his bearings.

“Finn?” Rose shouted. He turned around to see her holding her arm gingerly, skirting around some droid wreckage to avoid the fire.

“Rose! Are you all right?” he said, rushing to join her.

“I— I think so. Where’s Rey? And Ben?”

“I don’t know. Further down. By the blast doors on the other end, I think.”

He could see she was already looking that way. Finn turned, squinting through the smoke, and saw Rey standing outside the focusing chamber. Ben was already inside. Finn suddenly remembered the way Ben had asked him to keep Rey from sacrificing herself. And he knew what was about to happen.

Apparently, so did Rose, because she started off running down the corridor, and Finn ran to catch up, watching as the blast doors slammed shut with Rey still outside.

***

It was insanity. Pure insanity.

Poe had asked BB-8 to plot a course for a tightening spiral, without sacrificing speed, without rerouting power back to flight stabilization, and while keeping the pilot from passing out or dying from the extreme g-forces as the curve of the spiral became more severe.

BB-8 knew time was of the essence, so he got right to it. He made sure the S-foils were secured in locked position, did the last calculations for the spiral approach, and accessed the power conservation system. Poe would need all the power that could be spared for stabilization. But none of the other systems could spare any power. And once the flight stabilizers started drawing more from the nonexistent reserves, systems would start failing one by one.

The math didn’t work. No matter how he figured it. So he did the only thing he could do. BB-8 set all protocols to automatic, activated the retraction mechanism and sank into the X-Wing’s interior. He exposed his power core, attached it to the main reactor conduit, and quietly wished Poe good luck as he reversed his own power supply flow and went offline.

***

Rose hadn’t had time to really look around at the massive room they’d been in for the last twenty minutes. Which was understandable since they’d all almost died. But now, even as she was running as fast as she could toward the focusing chamber, she could see its purpose. The focusing chamber was just to house the beam and keep it contained. This larger chamber was a coolant assembly, and existed almost exclusively to keep the geothermal heat from melting the components that kept everything running. And she almost laughed as she reflected that three days ago her most pressing concern was keeping wire casings from melting in extreme heat. Now here she was in an enormous military installation on a planet she’d only ever heard about, and they were all possibly five minutes away from being vaporized in a plasma explosion of cosmic proportions.

“Ben!” Rey shouted toward the blast doors as they slid shut. Rose slowed to a stop, trying to catch her breath. Rey looked shaken and panicked. “What is he do— Ben!”

“Why’d he do that?” Finn said, panting as he caught up.

Rose looked around again, and suddenly the entire cylinder in which they were standing made even more sense to her.

“Because he can’t keep the beam stable,” she said, much quieter than she’d intended.

“What?” Rey asked, turning toward her.

“It’s what I was trying to say earlier,” Rose said, gesturing with her uninjured arm toward the outer walls. “Look at this outer chamber. Think about how his lightsaber works.”

“I don’t get it,” Finn said.

“He’s got a cracked crystal in his lightsaber. When he ignites it, it produces an unstable field,” Rose explained to him. “It needs to vent plasma out the sides to relieve the heat and pressure so the field doesn’t discharge. So, he can make the beam fire, but—“

Rey’s face went pale and she finished Rose’s sentence.

“The pressure will have to release. And flood the focusing chamber with plasma.”

“He knew all along,” Rose said, the realization of it hitting her harder than she thought it could. And Rey’s expression had taken on such a note of hurt and denial that Rose swore she could physically feel the pain her friend was experiencing.

“No,” Rey said, shaking.

“Rey,” Finn said gently, “he— he made his choice. He wanted to—“

“No.”

“Rey. Please. He told me— look,” Finn continued, gesturing toward the doors, “even if the bulkhead wasn’t buckled, the weapon’s entered final sequence. The doors won’t open. He knew what he was doing.”

Rose felt a sudden anger surge up inside her, and walked up to Finn, shoving him with both hands.

“Like you knew what you were doing? On Taris?”

“Hey,” Finn said, stumbling to regain balance, “that’s not— I mean, it’s not really the same thing.”

“Oh,” Rose replied, snatching the bowcaster out of his hands. “Good to know.”

She turned around, facing the pipes and cables leading up to the focusing chamber, winced as she leveled the weapon’s stock against her shoulder, and fired a bolt. A cluster of pipes exploded, and coolant went shooting out in a high pressure blast.

“Rey,” she called over her shoulder, “work on straightening that bulkhead.”

“What are you doing?” Finn yelled over the deafening hiss coming from the broken pipes.

“The right thing,” Rose said, firing into more pipes on the other side.

“Have you gone crazy?” Finn hurried to catch her as she advanced, firing bolt after bolt.

When he caught up to her, she spun around, the bowcaster pointed at him. He stopped immediately, instinctively holding up his hands. She almost laughed at that, but her blood was up, and she glared at him as she shoved the weapon back into his hands.

“The coolant lines,” she explained. “Now that they’re severed the blast doors have to come open to vent the heat.”

Finn gave her a look of genuine amazement, and she walked past him to where Rey was standing, her hand stretched up toward the bulkhead. The sturdy frame was straightening out with a series of groans and snaps. Rose could see the strain it was putting on Rey, and her teeth were grit hard, her eyes burning with urgent determination.

The coolant pipes continued to hiss and spew their contents into the air, and, just as Rose expected, the emergency clamps extended, gouged into the blast doors’ black metal surface, and wrenched them open halfway. A wave of heat hit them, and they were immediately washed over with wildly fluctuating reddish light.

“Rose,” Rey said, hugging her, “I really do love you.”

Rose smiled as Finn came up beside them, and she pushed Rey away, pointing into the chamber.

“Go.”

And Rey went. Finn and Rose stood in the doorway, watching. As Rey ran into the chamber, Rose slipped her arm around Finn and hugged him tight, unsure if they were all about to die.

***

Poe knew he should be blacking out at this point. There were already popping sparks of purples and greens tugging at the corners of his vision as the blood in his head hammered against his skin, trying desperately to slosh out of his body with each tightening turn of the spiral.

The readout display was fuzzy, but he could still make out the important details. Fifty-five seconds. Ninety-six percent.

He pushed the trigger as fast and as insistently as he knew he could manage while still firing. His eyes were watering. His ears were ringing. His lips and cheeks were going numb.

Forty seconds. Ninety-seven percent.

“Come on! COME ON!” he growled, straining through grit teeth.

Thirty seconds. Ninety-eight percent.

The spiral was tightening to the center. The X-Wing was almost spinning in place. Poe was having trouble breathing.

Fifteen seconds. Ninety-nine percent.

He could just barely make out a bright flash above him as the world started hazing into black and red. He kept firing. He kept his hand on the rudder. He could feel his gag reflex spasming the back of his throat.

The display blinked solid white and an alarm sounded. One hundred percent.

Poe slammed the rudder out of the spiral and pulled up hard, blasting the microboosters, the force of the sudden climb so severe the cannon barrels on the ends of the S-foils snapped. As Poe’s X-Wing came screaming out of the lens housing, a beam of pure and brilliant white blasted up toward the lens from the planet. A huge beam that burned as brightly as a star shot out the other side, streaking away into the dark of space.

For a second, Poe thought it might not have worked, but then, as he sped away as fast as the engines would allow, the giant beam snapped back, smashing into the emitter station. The glittering sphere ignited, blowing apart in a spray of white-hot plasma, vaporizing everything around it.

Poe let out a wild yell, and heard the celebration over the comm. They’d done it. It was over. And somewhere on the planet below, Poe thought, still unable to fully appreciate the events of the past few days, Leia Organa’s son was a hero.

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 4 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: First off, I just want to say thank you guys for all the nice comments you’ve been sending me. I’m so glad to see how much you’re all loving this, and it really makes my day to receive those messages. So thanks again, and enjoy :)

From Avesta’s POV

THE MORGUE

Taking one last look at Bruce’s damaged corpse before they slid it into the cold chamber, I thought back to when I first found him during the attack at Wayne Enterprises, suddenly regretting that I didn’t end his misery right then and there.

The poor man died believing he had no one left, and it certainly didn’t help that Waller treated him like a lab rat during his final moments. I knew the Director had her reasons for using Bruce as a test subject, considering how hard it was to find living victims of Lotus, but human experimentation just...didn’t sit right with me. This was war, yes, but if we stripped ourselves of our humanity...then we’d already lost. I should’ve pulled the trigger when I had the chance.

Approaching Bruce, I bowed my head respectfully and gazed at his blistered, scarred face, drowning in disbelief that the Joker actually managed to take him down. Bruce and I may not have ended on the best of terms, but it was still  clear to me how much he cared about Gotham. He always did what he thought was best for others, and never showed fear. The fact that someone finally beat him, even with all his resistance...it was more than discouraging. I let out a despondent sigh, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill.

“...I’m...I’m sorry we couldn’t save you, Bruce,” I softly said, trying not to break down. “Even though we didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye all the time, you were a friend to me. And I know how much you sacrificed to help make this city a better place. My only regret is that it never helped you in return. That I never helped. I just hope you can find peace now...wherever you are.”

I took a breath, gently placing a hand on top of Bruce’s in a comforting manner. It was unsettling, how...dead...he felt. Even just by touching his skin, I could tell he was no longer breathing. Something about him just...lacked that human warmth I was so used to. It made me think of when Bruce and I investigated Riddler’s body, and it was just one more reminder that he was truly gone for good. I pushed those memories away and focused on the present, regardless of how hard it was to think about. 

“...Don’t worry,” I reassured, tightening my grip. “Your death won’t be in vain. The Agency will hunt down Joker, and we will ensure he’s brought to justice. Harley too. Gotham will be safe. You just rest easy now. It’s the least you deserve...after everything you’ve done.”

I heard a pair of footsteps sneak up behind me.

“Saying goodbye, Avesta?

Whipping around at the sudden intrusion, I found Director Waller prowling towards me with that signature glare of hers as she eyeballed Bruce’s body, barely phased by it. When did she get here? Had she been watching this whole time? I quickly blurted out an explanation.

“I wanted to see Bruce one last time before they put him away.” I said, almost ashamed for some reason. “He was a friend of mine, despite our arguments. I just wish it didn’t have to end like this.”

Waller nodded in understanding and straightened her glasses, linking her hands behind her back. 

“Trust me, you’re not the only one who’s in shock. The rest of the Agency also believed he’d be able to pull through. Everyone was really rooting for him. Bruce had already survived so much longer than the average victim...well, I suppose we all just got too hopeful.”

I gazed at the floor, hesitant to express my true feelings about the situation. “What...what are you gonna do with him...?” I asked. “Are you going to give him a proper burial?”

Waller gave me a look that said she’d been expecting this question. 

“There will be a service held at Divinity Church, but we can’t give up the body just yet.”

“Why not?” I said, sounding more defensive than I intended. “Bruce dedicated his last moments to us -- to our research. The least we can do is repay him by letting him die with grace. He deserves to be buried with his parents. Not kept in some refrigerator at the morgue.”

Waller’s glare intensified at that comment.

“I understand your frustration, Avesta,” she replied, trying her best to stay calm, “but we can’t allow sentiment to get in the way of our work. It sounds cruel, but Bruce is our best chance at finding a solid cure for this damned virus. Not to mention Blake’s informed me about the unrest surrounding his death. When someone as big as Wayne is killed by the Joker, it’s inevitable people will panic. I’ll have to address Gotham’s civilians at some point. Try and ease their nerves. For the moment though, the body stays here. Understand?”

Biting my tongue to prevent myself from protesting further, I reluctantly decided to go along with Waller’s plan, and dropped the argument for now, sighing in disappointment.

“Of course, Director. I...I understand.”

“Good,” she said bluntly, “then we’ll never have this conversation again.”

Marching past me before I could say anything else, Waller took hold of the tray supporting Bruce’s body and firmly slid it forwards, shoving him into the cold chamber with a metallic thud as she shut the door tight. Meanwhile, I stood idly by, powerless to stop her no matter how much I wanted to.

“Well,” Waller straightened her suit, “now that that’s done, we have other problems to deal with. I’ve heard reports saying that Joker’s been spotted poking around Wayne Manor. Seems like the clown wasted no time in taking advantage of Bruce’s death.”

He’s not the only one, I thought to myself.

“We need to go there now,” the Director continued, heading for the morgue’s exit. “This is the closest we’ve been to Joker in days, and I doubt he’s going to make another appearance anytime soon. I want you and Agent Fox to come along with me. You two knew Bruce the best out of all of us. Perhaps you can figure out what Joker was looking for, or if we’re lucky, where he’s gone. Oh, and bring your gas mask. Never know when a surprise might reveal itself.”

I stared at Bruce’s cold chamber with guilt, my gaze lingering for a little longer before I finally followed Waller. 

“...I’m right behind you, ma’am.”

From The Janitor’s POV

LATER THAT NIGHT

Skipping down the steps to the morgue, I whistled a merry tune to myself as I plopped a bucket on the floor and dunked my mop in it, sweeping the room clean. The morgue wasn’t exactly my favorite place to be, and it honestly creeped me out at night, but the good thing was there weren’t hordes of furniture blocking my way...unlike some of the agents’ offices. 

Was it really so hard for people to pick up after themselves? They were seriously a pain in the ass to clean sometimes, and there were so many of them. I supposed they thought I was some magician who could get rid of a mess with the snap of my fingers. Psh. Yeah, right. I wished.

Sticking my mop into a corner, I attentively scrubbed away all the dirt and dust gathering there as I continued to whistle, the melody bouncing off the metal walls in harmony. Things were oddly quiet tonight, and normally I appreciated the silence, but today just felt...weird...for some reason. 

It wasn’t the peaceful type of quiet that I enjoyed. It was more like the silence that ensued when you held your breath out of fear. But maybe that was just the vibe the morgue gave off. After all, I was in a room full of dead people. No matter how superstitious you were, that had to be unsettling to some extent.

Dragging the bucket behind me as I moved on to a new section, I splashed the mop into the soapy water once again and carried on with my routine, switching to a different tune. The hushed nature of the morgue was actually starting to grow on me, and I found myself more at peace than when surrounded by chattering agents. The agents didn’t bother me necessarily, but it was good to have some alone time once in a while.

With all the talk about Joker, the Lotus virus, Wayne Enterprises being attacked, and now, Bruce Wayne’s death...it was nice to shut all that out for a second. Even if I didn’t see it myself, just hearing about the pandemonium in Gotham made my hair turn grey, and the stress kept me awake every night. Luckily, I had this job to keep my mind occupied. Being a janitor didn’t buy me a mansion, but it kept me alive. And right now, that was all I cared about.

Before I could savor my solitude any longer however, a suspicious bang suddenly echoed throughout the room, causing me to freeze mid-action as my ears perked in interest. I glanced around in curiosity, peeking around the walls.

“Hello?” I called out. “Anybody there?” 

No answer. Ah, well. It was probably just my imagination playing with me. I shrugged it off and dismissed the interruption.

Just as I was about to resume my work though, the same bang emitted a second time, and it had a bit more force behind it. Now I was certain I wasn’t just hearing things.

“Hello...?” I repeated, a bit louder than before. “Is that you, Calvin? Andrew? I told you guys, you’re not gonna get me like last time. You can only scare me so much before it gets old.”

But still, nothing. Instead, the morgue only remained as lifeless as always, and after a minute or two of waiting, the bang happened again. I started to become anxious.

“...g-guys?” I could feel my heart speeding up. “C’mon, Cal. I-I know it’s you. Just...just come out.” 

Complete silence.

Placing my mop in the bucket, I decided to investigate and wandered past the cold chambers in search of my friends, only to leap out of my skin when I realized the bang was coming from one of the chambers themselves. 

Tripping to the floor out of panic, I frantically scooted back towards the wall, desperately trying to get away from the source of the noise as the bang became more frequent and the color drained from my face. It looked like something was trying to break out from inside, and once I squinted my eyes at the label a bit, I realized that the chamber belonged to none other than Bruce Wayne himself. Wasn’t that guy dead? What the hell was going on? Why was his chamber’s door pounding?! I screamed at myself to get up and run, but my legs wouldn’t budge.

Finally, with one last bang, the door slammed open and a sea of frozen mist oozed out of the chamber, blasting a wave of ice-cold air in my direction as it clouded the entire morgue. I shivered at the sudden drop and my teeth were chattering, but what emerged from the chamber made me tremble more than I ever had in my entire life.

Crawling its way out in a sluggish manner, I saw the reanimated corpse of Bruce Wayne dragging itself to freedom as a horrifying breath escaped it -- almost like it hadn’t felt the kiss of oxygen for a hundred years. Its skin was nearly the same shade of snow, and the pale base only made the scars on its face stand out more. How...how was he moving...?! Was I seeing shit? I had to be...! There was no way in hell this could be real. People couldn’t come back from the dead...right?

Paralyzed with terror, I remained as motionless as a statue and watched while Bruce weakly lugged himself out, flopping onto the floor like a fish. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe...hell, I couldn’t even shout for help. All I could do was sit there like a duck waiting to be shot, and my heart felt like it was about to hammer through my chest. I planted my hands into the surface beneath me, bracing myself for what was coming.

Pushing himself up from the floor, Bruce slowly rose to his feet like a corpse taking leave of its tomb, and his shadow towered over me as a predator would when waiting to kill its prey. But worst of all -- glaring at me from under those dark strands of hair, I spotted a pair of empty, cold blue eyes making contact with mine, one of them damaged from the infection. 

I held up a protective arm in front of myself, uncontrollably shaking as Bruce skulked towards me.

“...How...how are you alive?” I breathed out, unable to even get my voice above a whisper. “The Lotus virus...it...it killed you!”

Bruce glowered and snatched me by the collar, bringing me close to his face as I let out a pathetic whimper, verging on tears. He practically snarled at me, baring his teeth like a feral animal. 

Bruce let out a low chuckle.

“...It certainly tried.”