#but it should never ever be 'i would rather be dead than disabled' end of story no discussion

[lavenderarts]

Full of rage and grief having gone to see that fucking godawful Ronald Reagan biopic with my parents yesterday (purely for morbid curiosity and not wanting to argue with them about why I didn’t want to go) so you get to hear about it

The movie includes this: A whopping 4 seconds total of footage referencing ACT UP/the AIDS crisis. Four seconds. Of protest footage. Sandwiched within an 80s MTV-themed montage of people burning Reagan in effigy clearly intended to make you angry and dismissive. No acknowledgment of how many of us dragged our bodies to the gates to die in front of him. About 2 seconds’ mention of his war on drugs, similarly designed to make Black people look hysterical. Only the briefest of touches upon Iran-Contra, strongly implying that he didn’t authorize anything and was innocent, someone under him simply betrayed him and he had to take the fall for their moral failing because he was a stand-up guy who admitted his mistakes and looked the American people in the eye. If you couldn’t remember Iran-Contra, as I couldn’t when I was watching, you would genuinely not even understand what the controversy was about. It’s contextless. The movie ends with him honest to God riding off into the sunset to the tune of Country Roads, Take Me Home and reading a letter thanking America for the honor of letting him be President.

It’s genuinely one of the most foul things I’ve ever seen. The utter refusal to engage with criticism of that man, to view the lives of my people or anyone in the Middle East, Cuba, or anywhere else as important or worthy of preservation. The pointed framing of anyone who said he was “an actor, not a politician” as hysterical and elitist, clearly gesturing at Trump. Like. I can’t say enough about how vile it is.

My parents said that he was one of the last Presidents who could make you feel good about being an American and that feeling is basically gone today, and they weren’t dismissive of that lack of pride but I don’t think they fully understand where it comes from or how people who feel that way really feel. I don’t really… Hate America in the way they mean. I think this country has no right to exist, I think its history is full of shame and atrocity so violent and imperialist it should disqualify us from having any illusions of moral authority over anyone. The ultimate justice would be the dissolution of all empires and the return of the land to Native stewardship and governance. But I and I think a lot of other people would like to be able to love their countries. I’d like to feel proud to be American and for that to symbolize something good and kind, I’d like to love my country, but it doesn’t love me back. Every day, as someone disabled, trans, gay, a “woman,” leftist, I’m bombarded by reminders that my country would rather see me dead than have me as a part of it. I’d like for that to change. But I can’t be proud of my country until/unless we admit our failings and our crimes and make reparations for them, and until we truly change how we interact with the rest of the world. The Reagan “Gee isn’t it nice to be American, we’re all in this together and we’re gonna make it because we’re the greatest country in the world” shit rings hollow when you’ve seen firsthand that we’ve never been the greatest at anything except maybe monstrous and inhuman cruelty and greed on an industrial scale. It’s a lie, and I can’t love that lie.

I love my home, I love my state, I love its people, I love its local culture and history and I love that it is my home, but I don’t love my country because it has never loved people like me. And as we come up on a year of funding genocides at home and abroad, the least helpful thing in the world is a movie produced by Evangelical zealots about how you used to be able to say you were proud to be American and we need to return to that time because today’s world is so full of hate and division on account of the Democrats or whatever. I said it in the group chat but I’ll say it again, I honestly think that if I had wrapped the movie screen around my dick and jerked off for 2 hours it would have been less egregiously masturbatory propaganda than this. I wish deep evil and suffering upon everyone involved in its production

[13thdoctorposts]

has anyone else noticed how reactions and consensus on 13 has been RETROACTIVELY negative? I know there's been an intensely misogynistic hate campaign since Jodie was announced but I also noticed that when you look at old posts from when s11 especially was freshly aired, there was a lot more good faith engagement with the show and genuine excitement in fandom. It seems like covid gave the bad faith actors the opportunity to take over fandom and force their narratives on everyone.

Yeah a really great example of this is if you look back to tweets from the night Rosa aired the praise was very very high, now if you bring it up in the fandom you would think it was terrible and racist.

On YouTube I was told the writers, both of them Chibs and Malorie Blackman were incompetent because they doesn’t show how bad the racism really was, yet the episode starts with one of our companions being physically assaulted and told to be careful so not to end up like Emmett Till, some one who had just been murdered acting as if the show was sugar coating what life was like back then. Oh and of course with the Chibs slander that he’s racist because he may have hired a woman of colour to write the script, but she is English not American and he should have made sure it was an American or not done the episode at all

Malorie Blackman is an award winning author claiming she’s an incompetent writer is pretty incredible accusation.

Here’s some of the tweets from articles praising the episode.

I think 2 things hurt 13 era who and they weren’t Chibs and Jodie. It was the unhinged toxicity the fandom constantly spewed and then even after things got praised as you said people would go back and nitpick to a level they never ever do with any other era and 2nd not having a big enough marketing budget and brand manger series 12 and 13 suffered most from this because the BBC did put the marketing money into series 11 even if they didn’t have a brand manager, and Chibs mentions this in the Radio Free Skaro podcast from last year that the BBC put a huge marking budget into series 11 but series 12 and 13 basically the budget was… you can only advertise on the BBC because there’s no money for anything else.

Rosa is just one example but there was a lot of praise for the work at the time of release and it’s quite possible general public viewers may have just stoped engaging on social after series 11 because they would then be piled on, and people in the online fandom knew they couldn’t go to social saying they loved an episode so they started picking it apart before putting their thoughts out there so they could be on trend with the haters who were gonna pile on if they didn’t fall in line.

Seriously if there’s ever a down fall to doctor who the ‘fans’ will be it because they would rather hate on the thing they supposedly love than love it. And ever era has its super questionable moments but if you bring them up for any other era you just being petty, or it isn’t that big of a deal, or ‘it’s of the time’ it’s just excuse after excuse.

I’ve seen people upset about the fact that RTD dead named Rose in the star beast, something very legitimate because now all the right wing idiots of the fandom use that name and the people who were upset get piled on if they say anything because they should be happy that RTD is trying to give them representation… but these same people when Chibs tried to give rep though a female doctor, or an episode like Rosa or Ryans disability, say Chibs is a right wing capitalist, sexist, racist, ablest, you don’t hear them saying hey he was really trying by getting people of colour to write their stories, by getting directors with the same heritage to direct episodes, he work with a dyspraxia organisation to help write Ryan, brought in the first 2 female Doctors and the 1st Doctor of colour who was also a woman, the 1st master of colour, the first Doctor who admitted to having feeling for a companion of the same sex and the episode where the doctor admits those feeling is co written with a queer woman, oh no Chibs gets no grace for tryi neg he did everything wrong but RTD everyone should be thankful for.

I don’t understand the level of hate. Not liking something is one thing but a part of this fandom has made 13 era who seem like the anti christ of Doctor Who, when really it tried a lot harder to involve more people in it then ever before.

[alpaca-clouds]

On Writing Healing (Physically and Mentally)

Last day of my "I complain about certain things I notice in a lot of writing" week. And last thing that kinda annoys me (well, not the last, but the last I will speak about this week) is how healing is portrayed in a lot of media. Or rather... well, how it isn't portrayed.

Because, let's face it: Physical healing is very rarely addressed in media. With this I mean... Well, usually media kinda tends to either just handwave the kinds of injuries our heroes should have. I mean, in a lot of media that is very action heavy, you can go there with someone working in trauma medicine, and they will tell you the many ways in which this action hero or heroine by now would already be dead, or at the very least bound to bed rest for weeks. But at most they have a few bruises and scratches, that look dramatic, but generally will not hinder them.

When a hero in media gets actually injured, this often happens at the very end of a fight, and either the story ends with "well, he was very injured, but he would make a recovery soon enough" with us never really having to see the character recovering, or there might be an epilogue being set after the character has already recovered. And of course this kind of recovery tends to usually be perfect. People do not have chronic pain issues or anything from any physical trauma they have gone through during their plot. There is no tinitus from having stood to close to explosions or having been present in shoot outs.

And of course, there is rarely ever a case where a character has an injury that ends up with them permanently disabled, even if it would be realistic for the kind of stuff they have experienced. Hell, even if something like that happened (like with "Rhodey" in the MCU), this will often still be handwaved or magically/technically corrected.

In reality, physical healing is often a slow and hard thing. Even if you heal completely (something that is just never guaranteed - even if it is a simple break of a finger bone) you might have a longer journey in front of you than you expect. Not always does healing work out perfectly.

It is this, that also gives me some pause in terms of magical healing abilities. Because... Look, if something heals slowly and does not heal perfectly, you can intervene. When you heal it within minutes/hours something that heals badly might leave you with much larger issues along the line. But that is something we never see. And I am kinda annoyed by that. It would be such an interesting plot point.

Or on the other hand: If magical healing is perfect always, what does this do for people who get hurt and healed a lot. Be it this one fighter who ends every day with broken bones and stab wounds, or - let's face it - someone who in that world might cater then to sadists and stuff as a form of sex worker? How would those people even relate to pain if their minds learn that injuries are nothing to worry about? Do their bodies maybe stop to show self-defense reflexes? (For those who read my Tav stories know that it is something I explore with him a lot. He was tortured and healed a lot as a kid, and because of it he does no longer show normal reactions to pain, coming across as inhuman because of it. He just no longer recognizes realistically lethal wounds as such, because he is so used to magic healing.)

And the same goes double with mental healing and healing from trauma. I kinda spoke about this two days ago, so I will not go into it too much.

Often in media trauma exists to have "a point". It basically builds towards the carthasis of a story, when the character will have this great teary recognition and then they get over their trauma and if it is fantasy they will probably get a new power to go along with it. Hurray!

And of course, the kind of trauma that the characters would have logically acquired during the plot of whatever story never really gets addressed, because usually the story will frame it as a positive experience.

I always found this so funny in regards to my original fandom - Digimon. You have those 10yo kids in a world of monsters, where they are in life threatening situations every other day with no refuge. Where they see other die, and things destroyed and what not. And the show goes: "Isn't this a good driver of character development?!" Which, like... Don't get me wrong. I love it. I love this show. I love the big emotional punches it does. But if I look at it realistically, of course... Those kids need a fucking good therapist, don't they?

And of course you can basically put in every scifi, fantasy or action story in here, as well. Usually there is nothing that involves action and epicness where the characters are not in at least one situation that would give them some PTSD. If not a prolonged situation that might lead to CPTSD.

And this does not get acknowledged in any way most of the time. And if it gets acknowledged, the healing for it gets skipped over as well.

Again, I will point back at the Wednesday blog. The messiness of mental healing is just not portrayed. The way how there are good days and bad days. Or how at times people healing from trauma will be massive assholes to the people around them, which is not fully their fault - because it is the trauma talking in the end - but it never really gets shown. Again: It is why I love Bojack Horseman so much. Because it shows this so well in a way that I rarely ever saw in media.

Generally... I just would love to see a lot more stories about healing. About the different kinds of healing, too. Because people are different - in both body and "soul". And because they are different, not two people will heal fully the same way. And I just would love to see more of that.

I mean, heck. That is half the reason why I write fics. Because I love to explore this topic so much. :P

[wodania]

i loved your dany and egg art and I was wondering where you got the idea to draw them identical?

This is long but I adore both of these characters so who can blame me 😭

I think I just loved the idea of these two being visually similar because of how similar their characters are personality and story wise. Dany and Egg are both rather untraditional leaders in that they value the opinion of the weak and impoverished over the strong and wealthy. Egg made many enemies in Westeros and was considered tyrannical by some because of his efforts to redistribute wealth towards the small folk who were dropping dead in the streets from disease and starvation, rather than the nobles who would only sit on that money and brag about how much they have. Egg was beloved by the small folk because he had their best interests in mind. Throughout Dunk and Egg, we see him learning more and more about how abusive the system of wealth and nobility is towards those at the bottom of Westeros’ social pyramid. Hell, even the nobles were wary of him after he retired from squiring because they considered him to be too much of a peasant to rule, likely afraid that having a man who’s lived a peasant life sitting on the Iron Throne would be the end of their negligent spending habits. Through his reign, we see these lessons shine through as he takes noble money and puts it towards what it should be going towards: relief efforts and care for the small folk, not parties and lavish clothing and simple bragging material.

In a similar scenario, Dany isn’t afraid to challenge the slavers and rich men in Essos when they are using their power to abuse those lower. She values slaves and impoverished lives over the lives of wealthy slavers, she’s considered tyrannical by that class of people because she’s willing to act against them and support those who are victimized by them. She’s willing to call them out on their bullshit and punish their behaviour when no one else did, whether it be from fear, lack of strength, or simply an acceptance of the slavers presence. Dany accepts those at the bottom of Essos’ social pyramid into her following with open arms, she considers them her children and she loves them. Slaves, impoverished people, disabled and sickly. Those are who Dany supports. Even when people around her tell her that she’s simply taking on dead weight that will only weigh her down, she doesn’t back down. That mindset was what put the small folk of Westeros and Essos in such a terrible position, the idea that it was only nobles and rich men who deserved to be part of a movement or support system. It’s a never ending cycle that Dany wants to finally be done with.

You also get a lot of narrative overlap between the two characters dragon wise. Egg was Dany’s great-grandfather. He hosted Summerhall for Rhaegar’s birth. He wished to hatch dragons for the celebration of the birth of Aerys and Rhaella’s son. His goal was to use dragons to further his pro-small folk laws, to use them as a tool to help the weak and protect them from the strong. Dany uses her dragons in the way Egg wished he could’ve used his; she uses her three dragons as tools to help save those who would not have had the opportunity to rebel against the abusive government they lived under. They are a symbol of freedom, of revolution against abuse. Dany, with her dragons, is living the life Egg could only dream of. She is who Egg wanted to be, she’s fulfilling her great-grandfather’s wishes whether she’s aware of it or not.

Their characters also fascinate me due to how the small folk are depicted. In many tales of nobles and kings in asoiaf, the small folk are hurdles to get around. They are depicted in a bad light, bigoted and misunderstanding of the depth of the noble class. But when Dany and Egg step down from the pedestal most of the other nobles wished to stay on, you get a much different view of them. Of course they are hateful of nobility and monarchy, what good has it ever done them? Of course they latch onto leaders who support them financially even if that leader treats other nobles poorly. Asoiaf is very noble oriented, and to see small folk as people is extremely important. The class divide makes small folk seem like a foreign nation of people, when they are supposed to be the ones the people in charge are protecting.

Plus, we also have similar themes of rebirth with the introduction and depiction of these characters. When Dunk first meets Egg, Egg is bald and naked at the inn. When Dany births dragons, she’s bald and naked. It’s the start of new lives and new opportunities. Egg sheds his Valyrian hair and noble attire and encounters Dunk, who ends up being a defining part of his later ruling as king. Dany’s hair and clothing are burnt to ashes and she births dragons, setting her on her path to become Queen Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons. I’m not even going to go into the fact that Egg’s life ended trying to birth dragons in fire, and Dany’s life began by birthing dragons in fire. But that’s there too. It’s almost like Egg’s story was put on pause for a few generations, and then came back again with Dany.

I’m skipping a lot of other stuff bc this is so long aldjskdj. I think it’s super sweet I think these characters are super neat I love them both so so much. My favourite dragon people ever.

[magnoliamyrrh]

and at some point my therapist said, well listen, if you're going to be too fucked up to be independent, than you'll just live with your parents and that is it.. and i just fucking lost it in that moment

like, thats not on the list of things that's possible. yea, i could keep living with them, and work part time if im able or do some sort of thing to bring in some money. but thats not on the list of things that's a possibility

turns out two suicide attempts later and two deadly severe eating disorders later and therapy later and running away from home at least three times for weeks or months on end, by some miracle of god my family is no longer abusive. id still much rather kill myself than spend my life living with them though. i will never be able to truly breathe or be myself, not really, ever. what is the point of a life like that? i have spend the vast majority of my life that way, i do not want a lifetime of it more....

. ... and my parents and especially my stepfather have made it very clear that they are unwilling to do such a thing. even if i had some severe mental disorder theyd be unwilling to do such a thing. made it very clear id be a burden on them. they may have in recent years pity for the severity of my physical health issues, but i know damn well underneath that, itd be a fucking burden. even with all the household help i could possibly do, even bringing in some money, id be a burden and in the way. theyd and especially my stepfather would never stop resenting me, seeing me as nothing more than a failure, or some pathetic thing which needs too much and cant give enough in return. id be ruining their retirement too, anyway, and they deserve better than having me as a burden

.... thats not a damn option here

and my grandmother who raised me, very similar situation. absolutely suffocating, and she wont take me in long term anyway, and even if i work part time ill never stop hearing the end of how much of a failure and shame i am - not like i dont hear that now

...and my other grandparents, they likely would. they would drive me insane too, theyre controlling as all hell. and id have to deal with being around my father at least every once in awhile, which sounds far faar from pleasant.... but they need help in their old age, and they would welcome having me around at least...... but i dont know how much of an option that is, either

....and what - live with a friend, get married even? thats never going to happen. by this point i should get it well in my head, im going to be single for a lifetime. i refuse to be a burden on anyone like that, anyone deserves better than someone whose already with this many issues at only 23. and most people arent exactly in the best economic situation to have someone around who cant work themselves to the bone. and those who do have that economic situation - lets say there are women who would want a housewife;; any woman deserves better than one which is already sick by this age though, who has periods of being damn near dysfunctional, who is so fragile. it would be selfish and cruel and stupid to let anyone ever be with me

....... and so, what exactly am i left with here, in the likely case i actually cant find some sort of superhuman strengh which 98% of people with this condition cant find to get some sort of decent paying job and have independence?...... ? because spending my life being a fucking burden on others isnt what i want to do. and sure i dont have this mentality when it comes to other disabled people, but i do with me. its not something i want...... so.. what exactly? ..... see if the orthodox nuns will take me in? see if some other religious sect from somewhere will take me in? ..... kill myself and be done with all this?

better perhaps anyway, for my parents to have a dead daughter than one that burdens and disappoints them for an entire lifetime

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Jonas Ballard Species: Medium Occupation: Baker at the Bread Cemetery / Medium Age: 27 Years Old Played By: Donnie Face Claim: Lee Do-Hyun

"I hear the dead and they hear me, the living though? Maybe I’m just not meant for them."

TW: Emotional abuse, domestic abuse

Jonas Ballard was born on a cold December night in the hospital not far from his father’s home in Wicked’s Rest. They noticed something strange about him almost right away. Unlike his twin, Lil, Jonas never did react to loud noises made near him, in fact he didn’t seem to hear anything at all. Being deaf didn’t exactly make for a good exorcist in his fathers opinion. It wasn’t till he was older and able to sign did they learn that he could hear, it was just the living wasn’t what he was picking up. From then on his father made him train as a medium but wasn’t happy with him in that regard either given how Jonas seemed unwilling to make pacts with ghosts in order to control them. He much preferred doing seances to send them on rather than tying them to him.

While his older siblings seemed to get praise easily, Jonas only ever heard words of discouragement and disappointment from his father, he never could match up to the image of what a Ballard should be. This did end up taking a toll on his self esteem but Lil made it better. She and his mother always seemed to have his back even if the rest of the family didn’t. Jonas was never very far from Lil since he was little. It was nice always having someone he could sign with and didn’t have to talk to to communicate. Lil also acted as a buffer between him and the people who might treat him poorly due to his disability. Oftentimes she was the barrier between him and his father’s tirades when his mother was out of the house and they weren’t at the bakery with her. Lil always had the courage Jonas desired.

Despite being able to face ghosts fearlessly, he never could stand up to his dad but that just meant he had even more of a reason to join his mother in the bakery. June’s bakery was his little safe haven. It was ghost proof and far from his father most days. While his other siblings were off training how to deal with ghosts, Jonas spent most of his time with his mom learning how to bake bread, cakes and cookies among other things. June used it as an opportunity to practice signing and lip reading with Jonas, encouraging him to talk even if he was worried it would come out weird. She never judged and did her best to make sure he would always be able to communicate with the world around him. When Lil came to him the night of their graduation ceremony asking him to leave, Jonas made sure to tell his mother they were leaving. He couldn’t bear the thought of her worrying.

At the age of seventeen, Lil and Jonas left Wicked’s Rest to roam the country. Jonas was never sure of the reason why, but he never hesitated when Lil asked him to go with her. There wasn’t much keeping him in the town. His boyfriend had broken up with him and his father was getting worse with his words so while he would miss his mom and his friends the benefits of getting away outweighed any sort of benefit staying offered. For ten years the twins traveled outside the city, Jonas made sure to paint little postcards and send them back to his mother each time they went somewhere new so she would be able to track them. It was nice, Jonas grew in power now that he was away from the constant negative feedback on his techniques. A week before their return the twins ran into a barghest. Jonas made a pact with her once it seemed like she was staying, naming her Blue after the color her eyes changed to due to the pact. Still the misfortune hit when Lil received the call that their parents had disappeared. They returned to Wicked’s Rest only to find that their siblings had also vanished. Now Jonas runs the bakery with Lil while trying to find out what took their family and if it's coming for them next.

Character Facts:

Personality: Absentminded, cautious, easily discouraged, kind of a doormat, good-natured

Jonas often uses baking as a way to express himself, from making apology baskets to baking little heart cookies for his crush in high school, when words fail him his baking never does.

Loves painting and does it as a hobby, mostly paints landscapes but also does people he’s fond of. He only ever did one painting of his father which has now since been marred with a red line going across the painting that Jonas did when he was frustrated with his father at a young age. He regrets it.

Talks out loud to people who don’t know how to sign but his words always sound a bit off. It’s taken years of practice for him to talk in a way that isn’t completely slurred and he still tries to practice a bit each day to keep how he sounds as clear as possible.

When it’s daylight out Blue hides in his shadow always giving him a shadow even in dark places. She is fiercely protective of her young master and will use her height and strength to deter anyone from harming him.

Sometimes the voices get too much, when this happens he tends to cling to Lil and the store where it’s quiet or quieter. If he becomes completely overwhelmed he tends to shut down and just sleep until the activity fades.

[drowninmiserylake]

I have so many thoughts that have overcome me as of late. at almost 11pm when I have 3 assignments due in 25 hours and over 50 pages to read to get those assignments done I'm stuck in my brain. My fingers hurt and I don't know why, do I clench them in my sleep? is it arthritis? Is it all just in my head?

I keep thinking about how I truly have nobody. I mean I have my dog, but no human. To laugh with, to make dinner with, to plan trips with. A lover or best friend. None of those things. Everyone is too preoccupied with their lover or best friend and that's fair enough, but I can't help, but long for my own. A woman or a man. Anyone.

I can't help, but think about how I messed up as a teenager or a young adult. I never wanted that committed relationship when offered because I was convinced I'd be dead by now. I didn't want anyone to go through the pain of loving someone with cystic fibrosis and see me wilt away. I think those boys loved me in the only ways they knew how, one I miss and he was never bad to me, but it was more of "what could have been?" That one was really on me. This last one I know for sure did not love me and it's my "Would've, Could've, Should've" It haunts me day and night. I'm constantly thinking about everything he put me through so it's not this longing or missing of him. It's this anguish, this pain, this grudge. I want for it to so desperately go away, but it's hard when you have OCD. I can't help but think he doesn't think about me...not even longing for me rather doesn't regret the atrocities he committed against me. He thinks he is always in the right. I know the word is thrown around a lot, but my therapist truly thinks he is a narcissist and I mean well I can definitely see that. I really think he hates women because his soulmate is a man. no shade or hate, just the record shows that among other signs I've noticed.

I can't help, but think what would be different if my father actually loved me. It drives me crazy that I decided to end my relationship with my dad and 3 months later he was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. forcing me to drown in waves of guilt for setting boundaries. even towards his death I set boundaries and he died a week later. here's a secret I was dreading his visit to me and he ended up not making it because he died. my mother turned to me and told me I got what I wanted. I'll never understand how she forgave him, sure, forgive him for cheating on you, but how can you forgive someone who traumatized your children so badly their codependent emotionally unstable individuals?

are all men cheaters? are all men that bad? you see these perfect family type pictures online and you then hear these stories about how men dog the shit out of their partners, not even just by cheating, but there are many ways they hurt and betray women. they put all the work load and responsibility on the women too. As a disabled woman I definitely need someone who would help much more than the average man I hear about puts in the work. I don't want to live like that if I end up with a man.

I'm tired, but I really need to read this content for class. I don't know why I've been procrastinating for the last 3 weeks to do my assignments the day before. It's annoying as fuck of me. I'm stressed. I worry for others. I'm frustrated. I'm lonely as fuck. I think about it often how people say we die alone even when we are around our loved ones, but I watched my dad die for 3 days I felt more alone than ever after that.

man, I really miss my Nonna, she died 3 months after my dad. In fact I lost 3 people in a year. It's hard mourning multiple people. I'm not sure what feelings are for who at times. Sometimes I wish I hadn't been so mean. I wish I got the help I needed. I wish I was actually loved as a child. maybe I'd have more love in my adult life.

anyway I should really get back to this reading. maybe I'm so committed to helping people because I am so desperate to be helped.

[witchpieceoftoast]

been warned that trek has been fucked up about disability pretty majorly lately. like, completely disregarding all the amazing things we got from geordi and bashir and sticking to worf in early tng territory, which is really distressing to hear tbh.  i’ve always thought star trek handled disability so much better than most media, but had a lot of room for improvement, especially around mental health and neurodiversity and especially after ds9.  and i get snw is before those, but when i say ‘worf in early tng’ bad, that’s Bad and i don’t want it on my tv in these times.

after talking to my fav trek friend tho, even with this warning, i’m def going ahead with watching snw.  gonna enjoy looking at ortegas and uhura. gonna probably rant on here about the disability stuff if it goes the way i think it will.  gahhhhh so excited for all the ladies tho????? so glad that at least we’re in an era where  there’s so many major female characters and some of them are gender nonconforming. so so nice.  my inner baby kiradax shipper is yelling and crying and cheering, etc

[sketching-shark]

LMK fandom: Oh, what do we do about this guy who has nothing but hurt Xiaotian, tried to replace Sun Wukong and his crew, hurt Tripitaka and ordered servants to cannibalize a monkey? Oh I know! We’ll turn him into our little meow meow~ he’s so innocent and Sun Wukong is obviously the villain!

What doesn’t help is this idea is perpetuated by multiple fan fic writers and artists for some reason. Especially some aus they make that turn SWK into a bastard for the sake of the story rather than considering cultural context and thinking they should be respectful.

And almost everyone lets them get away with it just because the art or fanfic is good and they get so popular that no one can point what is actually wrong without feeling like they’re going to get attacked.

I'm starting to feel like my blog is the one anons go to specifically to vent their frustrations about the Six Eared Macaque in his lego monkey show form & the associated fandom lmao. But I guess this makes sense, as I’ve had fun quasi-dragging him before & will in fact use this anon submission as an opportunity to have my own, to put it academically, bitch fest about not just this fandom's favorite protagonist-traumatizing meow meow, but about the way villains are often treated in not just fanon, but increasingly in canon works as well. But same policy as with the last anon; I'll post my opinions below the cut, and as fandoms love to say, don’t like don't read if you don't want to see me dunking on the six eared simian & common fandom tendencies towards villains.

Oh man I would say where would you even begin with this but anon you’ve pretty much started yourself with my main gripe with a lot of ways that the Six-Eared Macaque is portrayed in fandom; there seems to be this unspoken agreement that his acts of violence towards Sun Wukong, Qi Xioatian, and Qi Xioatian’s loved ones are either to be framed as somewhat or totally justified, to be immediately forgiven/excused, or to simply & completely be ignored. Like friends maybe this is just me not seeing the proper posts but while the fandom is inundated with art and fanfics of Macaque as a generally decent individual & a true member of team good guy, I have yet to see one person address the fact that this monkey literally kidnapped & mind-controlled Xiaotian’s best friend and father figures & forced them to brutalize Xiaotian while ol’ Six Ear looked on and laughed (X_X). Like this kind of fandom villain treatment is definitely not something that’s solely at work for Monkie Kid, but it is kind of nutty how fandoms will swing between yelling that people should be allowed to like villains without even mild critique, and then will just flat-out not address the villainous behavior, and will even bend over backwards to frame even characters who committed genocide as just poor innocent widdle victims who need a hug. At its worst, I’ve even seen tons of people in a fandom get really angry at other people who don’t like a villain, and will even start accusing those people of hating real-life mentally disabled or abused individuals all because they don’t like the fandom’s favorite literal war criminal. The Monkie Kid fandom is FAR more chill & better than a lot of other fandoms I’ve come across in that regard, but that is an exceedingly low bar, & the tendency to woobify certain kinds of villains-- as with Macaque and the extreme emphasis on his bad boy/sad boy thing--is very much at work.  

 I’ve also talked before about a kind of monoculturalization of certain character interpretations and story beats in fandoms, and one of the more popular ones that seems to be applied to Macaque a lot is the “hero actually bad, villain actually good” cliche, as observable from the general fandom assumption that Mr. Six-Ears he wasn’t even slightly lying or remembering things through a rose-tinted or skewed lens when he gave his version of his and Sun Wukong’s past. Like at this point it seems the possibility that people WILL NOT even consider is that Sun Wukong never did & still doesn't care that much about the Six Eared Macaque (in JTTW they weren’t sworn brothers & in Monkie Kid the only thing the monkey king really said to Macaque before attacking him was a pretty contemptuous "Aren't you ever going to get sick of living under my shadow?," & responds to his "beloved friend" getting blown up with "You did good, bud" to Qi Xiaotian, who did the exploding), or that their original fight may in fact have mostly been instigated by Macaque. After all, to repeat what this anon summarized & what I've said before about their original JTTW context (& in an example of the things that do feel like it's often lost in translation) is that the Six Ear Macaque was a villain not just because he beat up the Tang Monk, but because he wanted to take over Sun Wukong's entire life and identity so he could have all that glory, prestige, and power for himself. To quote the macaque himself from the Anthony C. Yu translation, "I struck the T'ang monk and I took the luggage...precisely because I want to go to the West all by myself to ask Buddha for the scriptures. When I deliver them to the Land of the East, it will be my success and no one else's. Those people of the South Jambudvipa Continent will honor me then as their patriarch and my fame will last for all posterity." And in order to do this, the Six Eared Macaque had apparently made Sun Wukong's "little ones," his monkey family, his captives through either trickery or force, and gotten a number of them to take on the appearance of Tang Sanzang and the other pilgrims. It's also made clear that in very direct contrast to Sun Wukong, he doesn't care about these monkeys beyond how they might serve him. In fact, after Sha Wujing kills the monkey posing as him the Six Eared Macaque not only all but immediately replaces him with another, but also "told his little ones to have the dead monkey skinned. Then his meat was taken to be fried and served as food along with coconut and grape wines." So this monkey is not only willing to risk the lives of a lot of other monkeys for his own personal benefit, but is also a literal cannibal. And yes yes, I know a lot of people have argued that Monkie Kid shouldn't be considered a direct sequel to JTTW & that's fair enough (for example, Sun Wukong probably shouldn't be smashing anyone into a meat patty in a children's cartoon lol). And of course, it needs to be noted that there are a buttload of really out there & really cursed pieces of media based on JTTW & that were created in China. Yet the above description is the oft-ignored in the west original facet of the Six Eared Macaque's character. And it is this selfishness, entitlement, and treatment of other individuals as tools for his own self-serving ends  that is, from where I’m standing, still very much present in Monkie Kid. Like besides repeatedly going out of his way to physically and psychologically traumatize Xioatian, with the last episode Macaque seemed to be going right back to his manipulative ways. I’ve seen people frame their last conversation as Macaque softening to Xioatian a little bit, but personally that read a lot more like that common tactic among abusers where even after they’ve hurt you they’ll dangle something you want or need over your head (in Macaque’s case, the promise of desperately needed training and information about a serious looming threat), with the implication that you’ll only get it if you do what they want you to, such as, in this case, Xioatian going back to Macaque as his student even after having been so terribly hurt by this monkey, which would give Macaque power over Xiaotian and probably Sun Wukong as a result. And it is this violence and manipulation that it seems the fandom at large has tacitly decided shouldn’t even be addressed, instead leaning more towards a (and this is an exaggeration) “Six-Eared Macaque my poor meow meow Sun Wukong has always been bad & has always been wrong about literally everything” reading. 

And while it is the case that I am not Chinese and feel that as such it would be best left to someone who actually comes from that background to provide more context into how common interpretations of the Six Eared Macaque from China may clash really badly with the stuff the western fandom creates, it also must be noted that, as much as we all want to have fun in fandom & in spite of all the out-there versions of JTTW from China, we westerners should recognize that there is a very long and very ugly history of western countries stripping other cultures’ important religious and literary works for parts & mashing them into their own thing while implying or even insisting that what they present provides a true understanding of the original piece. And while I trust most individuals in regards to Monkie Kid are able to step back and think “this is a lego cartoon and not a set guide for how I should understand JTTW” (especially given the insistence that JTTW and Monkie Kid should be considered there own separate works) there does nevertheless seem to be something of a tendency to take the conclusions people come to, for example, about Sun Wukong’s characteristic in his lego form & then assume that’s just reflective to Sun Wukong as a totality. I imagine a good portion of this is due to people not reading JTTW & especially to not having easy access to solid information or answers about JTTW’s many different facets (like geez awhile ago I was trying to get a clear answer on what is considered the most accurate translation of the names of Sun Wukong’s six sworn brothers & got like 5 different responses lmao), but that tendency to take a western fandom interpretation & run with it instead of doing any background research or questioning said interpretation is still very much at play. As such, & as made prominent in the way people have been interpreting the dynamic between Sun Wukong and the Six Eared Macaque in the lego monkey show, tbh it does seem kind of shitty for western creators & audience to sometimes go really out of their way to ignore all of this original cultural & narrative context for the sake of Angst (TM) in Macaque's favor, demonizing Sun Wukong, and shipping the monkey king with his evil twin (X_X).

And speaking of which, even beyond the potential inherent creepiness & revulsion that can be inspired by this specific ship given common interpretations of the og classic's original meaning (again, it's my understanding, given both summaries of translated Chinese academic texts I've been kindly provided with, my own reading of the Anthony C. Yu translation of JTTW, & vents from a number of Chinese people I've seen on this site, that the Six-Eared Macaque is commonly interpreted in China as having originated from Sun Wukong himself as a living embodiment of his worst traits, hence why only Buddha can tell the difference between them & why the monkey king is much more slow to violence after he kills the macaque), I'd argue that in the face of all the uwu poor widdle meow meow portrayals lego show Macaque is, especially if you include JTTW's events, still in the role of “Sun Wukong but worse” as he is very much a violent & selfish creep. Like he was basically running around in JTTW wearing a Sun Wukong fursuit, but there he had the sole reason of wanting to replace Sun Wukong wholesale so he could have all the good things in the monkey king's life without actually having to work as hard for them. But if you combine that with Macaque now claiming that he used to be best friend with Sun Wukong in his pre-journey days (something that's made funny from a JTTW context given that that status actually belongs to the Demon Bull King lol), his original violence has now blown into this centuries long and really unhealthy obsession with the monkey king. Like he's apparently gone from wanting to literally be Sun Wukong to being so obsessed with getting revenge on Sun Wukong that he's got basically nothing else going on in his life. Like he's only appeared in two episodes but...does he have any friends? Any family? A career or even a hobby that DOESN'T center the monkey king? Anything at all outside of his "get revenge on and/or kill Sun Wukong/use his successor as my personal punching bag” thing? Like dude! That is extremely creepy and extremely bad for everyone all around! As I’ve said before, this seeming refusal to see beyond the past or to do something that doesn’t involve Sun Wukong in some capacity is a trait that makes Macaque an interesting and somewhat tragic villain--he even seems to be working as Sun Wukong’s reflection in a mirror darkly, with lego show Sun Wukong pretty clearly not being able to heal from his own past which is hinted to be defined by one loss after another, and with Monkie Kid even kind of having these two characters somewhat follow their JTTW characterizations in that in the latter half of the journey Sun Wukong often gets sad & starts crying in the face of what seems insurmountable odds (& Monkie Kid Sun Wukong does seem to be hiding some serious depression behind a cheerful facade), whereas the Six-Eared Macaque retains a worse version of Sun Wukong’s pre-journey characteristic of getting pissed and lashing out if things don’t go his way--but it’s also what would make any current friendship or romantic relationship between these monkeys horrific. Although to be fair even the fandom seems to recognize this in an unconscious way, in that a lot of the art & fanfic seems to swing erratically between them kissing & screaming at each other in yet another example of bog-standard fandom adulation of romanticized toxic relationships lol.  

At the end of the day, of course, this is nothing new. You'll find versions of this dynamic across a ton of fandoms and now even canonical work. And as such, I can only look at this kind of popularized relationship dynamic with a kind of resigned weariness whenever it pops up, & my frustrated question with the popularity of this kind of pairing is the exact same one that I have for a multitude of blatantly toxic villain/hero ships, given common fandom discourse & the tendency to either ignore or justify the villain's actions & demonize the hero: if you're THAT convinced that everything is the hero's fault, if you believe THAT much that the hero is the one in the wrong for the villain's pain and their subsequent actions, then why are you so set on them not only becoming a romantic pair, but framing this get-together as a good thing? Like I know we contain multitudes but that's waaay too many contradictions for me to wrap my head around. And it definitely doesn’t help that one branch of underlying reasoning behind this kind of pairing seems to be the ever-present “you break it, you fix it” mentality, where the assumption is that if you’re in a failing, abusive, and/or generally toxic relationship (platonically or romantically), if you put in enough time and effort & attempts to compromise, you’ll be able to restore/have the relationship you dreamed of, even with someone who hurt you really badly. And this assumption isn’t limited to fandom: I’d even argue that it’s everywhere in the culture, hence why a lot of people feel like they “failed” if they have to get a divorce or make the choice to leave an unhealthy friendship. Personally, I feel like people could really benefit from more stories about how it is not only the case that the people you hurt don’t owe you their forgiveness & you can still become a better and happier person without the one you hurt in your life, & that while it can be really hard it can also be a good thing to leave a relationship, even if it’s one that once meant a lot to you. 

  But in all honestly, from my own perspective this kind of pairing is starting to read far less like enemies to lovers and far more like a horrible fantasy where you can pull whatever shit you want, even on the people you "love," & never be held accountable for your terrible behavior or even have to consider that maybe you were in the wrong. It's another facet that makes me larf every time I see people insist that fandom is an inherently "transformative" or "progressive" form of storytelling like friends you are literally just taking status quo toxic monogamy & rebranding it as somehow beneficial & romantic (X_X).

But as to anon’s last frustration, it is hard to know what is the appropriate response with this kind of thing...like for my own part I’m keeping my frustrations to my blog & now increasingly to posts that you would have to click on the “read more” button to see what I have to say, but I totally get the hesitation to give even a mild critique to big names in a fandom. Like I've now seen it happen repeatedly where someone who has a big name in a fandom will make something that's kind of shitty for one reason or another, someone will message them with some version of "hey, that's kind of shitty, you shouldn't do that," and the typical response is either to blatantly ignore the issue completely, or more popularly to make a giant crying circus that seems deliberately geared towards stoking emotions on both sides of the, for example, fiction does/doesn't affect reality issue so that something that didn't even have to be that big a deal gets blown out of all proportion, with the big name often framing what often started out as a very mild critique into a long crying jag about how the initial response to their kind of shitty thing was so mean/cruel and they're just a poor innocent & that YOU'RE the true racist/sexist/bigot etc. if you don't agree with their opinion. It must of course be noted that there have also been numerous instances of people taking it too far the other way & sending not just big names but smaller creators literal deaths threats over stuff like innocuous ships which like holy hell bells people that’s a horrible thing to do. But for the big names at least, the end result of all this fighting is usually that once the dust has settled they have more attention/fame/money/power in the fandom than before, and with anyone who might have a problem with their stuff feeling afraid to voice their opinion lest they be swarmed by that person's fans. In that way fandom does often seem to increasingly be geared towards presenting an “official” fandom perspective about various facets of a piece of media instead of allowing for a multitude of interpretations, and with criticism, no matter its shape or form or how genuinely warranted it may be, being hounded out of existence. I feel like a lot of this could be made less bad if there wasn’t this constant assumption & even drive to think that a different interpretation of or criticism of your favorite work of fiction or your fanwork isn’t a direct claim that you are a thoroughly loathsome individual (& maybe also if people cultivated an enjoyment of learning things about important works from a culture outside their own, even if what you learn clashes with your own initial understandings), but I guess we’ll see if that ever happens. 

So these are my general thinks about the Six Eared Macaque’s current fandom meow meow status & some of my bigger gripes with fandom tendencies as a whole. I stand by my idea that the most interesting & beneficial route for Macaque moving forward would be a kind of “redemption without forgiveness from the ones you hurt” arc--as I think was done pretty excellently with the character Grace in Infinity Train--and if for no other reason than gosh dern this monkey really needs to cultivate some sort of identity beyond his “Sun Wukong but worse” persona. 

[heatedinsanity]

How exactly do Zionists disprove anything I have been saying?

Also I never claimed that diaspora is an ideal situation. We, like any other minority, were oppressed and still are oppressed, and of course we live under the suffocation of a capitalist system, and before that a feudalistic one, but there are far better means to combat our oppression with than an explicitly colonialist adventure that executes in many of the same evils that have been imposed upon us, only this time condensed into not even a century's span rather than the span of millennia.

I believe Hamas' end goal is to relegate so-called Israelis to second class citizens. This is something I do not support, and I encourage people to support organizations like the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine or Fauda instead.

However, the fact that Hamas exists and pulled off an attack on this scale does not justify the extremely in-proportionate and explicitly genocidal response of the settler colony. If they wanted the hostages taken back, they should have and probably would have accepted their (extremely basic and reasonable) demands. This is not about hostages or defense. It's about extermination, occupation, and a trade show for the Military Industrial Complex.

Zionism led our brethren to this. Led them to cheer this on in ever louder tones as the Telegram channels with the dead civilians swell and the Occupation Forces steal the canes of the disabled, the clothes of women, the food of children, flatten their hospitals and deny them access to any reprieve.

Is this who we are now, as a people? Defending actions that would have made Himmler blush?

"October 7th was a failed prison break from an open air prison controlled by an apartheid state" << I respect that you're engaging in good faith and that your overall approach here is ethically grounded and consistent, but this is factually untrue. I'm not going to argue that Gaza isn't an occupied territory or that they haven't been violently cut off from most forms of peaceful protest - it is and they have. But Oct 7 wasn't a prison break and it didn't fail. The planners were not trying to get themselves out of Gaza permanently, or to let palestinian civilians escape to a free life in Israel or anywhere else. They crossed the fence with the full intent of coming back to Gaza after the attack, with their hostages. It was a planned strike on a civilian settlement intended to kill people and take (primarily) women, children, and elderly people hostage, and to provoke retaliation. Hamas has been straight-up about this. We can talk about Israel being an apartheid state without sugarcoating this.

I think it was in some sense a prison break. Gaza being a prison and those within using violent force to break out of it. Though absolutely, that statement is incredibly reductive and unhelpful. I do see that now, thank you.

[goldenraeofsun]

4:01 PM

Dean sips his whiskey and glowers across the bar at his own reflection. His wrist is burning like a brand, but it’s probably all in his head. The stupid timers don’t cause physical pain when they reach T-minus zero, Houston we have a problem. The numbers freeze, and that’s that.

Dean’s had counted down to nothing at exactly 4:01 PM, fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes of running into his soulmate, getting his number, continuing on his way to this bar, and telling the bartender to keep ‘em coming.

He refuses to look at the far corner of the room, the booth he had reserved like an idiot. Four PM, party of two, under the name Winchester.

On the bar by his glass, his phone is still lit up with Cas’s texts from the past hour.

Cas 3:11 I’m so sorry I have to move our appointment. My client just unexpectedly switched our time to 4pm.

Cas 3:21 I think I’ll be able to escape by 4:30. Can I meet you then?

Dean had responded with a thumbs-up emoji. He didn’t have it in him to say any more.

Cas 3:50 This city is impossible to navigate. How does anyone live here?

Cas 3:58 You were right, I should have rented a car.

Three minutes after Cas’s last text, Dean ran into his soulmate. Right on schedule.

As far as first meetings go, it hadn’t been as much of a shitshow as Dean had expected.

The dude was attractive, at least, and the first thing he did after bumping into Dean was apologize. But he was wearing a tailored suit and glued to his phone, so it definitely could have been better.

His soulmate would’ve run off none the wiser, except Dean had to blurt, “Wait!” because, despite his disappointment, Dean couldn’t let his soulmate disappear into the throngs of Michigan Avenue. Dean wasn't about to fall to one knee, but he also couldn't let his best shot just go.

The man stopped, irritated. His gaze refused to linger on Dean, instead fixating on a building at the end of the block.

Head swimming with too many thoughts to name, Dean couldn’t get the right words out. He gestured mutely to his wrist, pulling up the flannel to show him.

Eyes widening with understanding, his soulmate quickly tugged up the cuff of his sleeve, only sparing a second to verify his own timer stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice.” he said, distracted. “My name is James. Here,” he fished out a pen and something to write on from various pockets of his trench coat, “my number. We… should talk. Later.” He scowled, raising his other wrist to check at his watch. “I need to go.”

“Sure, man,” Dean said, mostly grateful he didn’t have to stick around and have some heart-to-heart with a stranger that was apparently meant for him. Whatever the fuck that actually meant.

“Thank you,” James said swiftly. Without another word, he took off back down the street.

Dean didn’t bother to watch him go. He had a barstool waiting with his name on it.

Sam will laugh himself silly once Dean tells him his perfect match wound up being some corporate suit. Dean once told him he’d rather microwave his own head than set foot in an office cubicle.

Sammy was the big soulmate skeptic in the family. He found his non-timer approved other half while he was protesting an illegal dismissal of a disabled employee. Three years later, when Sam bumped into Gabriel Crawford in a strip club at midnight on Dean’s birthday, he discovered Gabe was perfectly happy to let Sam live his apple pie life while Gabe continued to party like it was 1999.

Gabe made Sam promise to look him up if Eileen was ever down for a threesome.

Turned out, Eileen was.

Sam most certainly was not.

He still sends Gabe a card for the holidays, and usually Gabe sends him back candy samples from wherever he’s vacationing for the winter.

But everyone else Dean knew bought into the soulmates game, hook, line, and sinker. His parents were soulmates. Benny and Garth both settled down with theirs. Charlie and Aaron were holding out for theirs. Hell, even Jo had her weird thing with Bela Talbot.

Dean would’ve counted himself among their number - until he met Cas.

Well, until Cas messaged him on Bobby’s new ask-a-mechanic feature on the garage’s website. Cas had inherited a banged up 1967 Mustang and had no idea where to start with restoration. Apparently Gabe of all people was staying with Cas at his place in southern California, and he recommended Dean.

Why Cas couldn’t just look up a local place still baffles Dean to this day, but he has never been more grateful for Cas’s weird-ass logic.

Their relationship had stayed strictly professional until Cas’s actual car broke down on some random highway in California. Dean had tried to talk Cas through the repair himself, but it was no use. Cas either didn’t have the equipment for the fix, or Dean didn’t diagnose the right problem. Dean was about to hang up, when Cas had asked, clearly embarrassed, “Would you please stay on the line? I have this irrational fear of being murdered in the middle of nowhere where nobody can find my body for proper rites.”

Dean, almost surprising himself, didn’t laugh. Instead, he said, “Sure thing. Wanna put me on hold while you get in touch with Triple A?”

He spent an hour and a half on the phone with Cas, telling him stupid stories about the worst things people have done with their cars.

In return, Cas told him all about the stars that were just coming out in the darkening desert sky.

The week after, Bobby’s garage received a gift certificate in the mail. It was for a weeklong stay at the Chicago location of the five-star hotel chain Cas works for, in Dean’s name.

Those little chocolates on the pillows ruined Dean for motels everywhere.

At the bar, Dean signals the bartender for a refill. He glares down at his phone. The little rectangle contains his entire history with Cas, call logs, text receipts, everything.

He can’t look at it any longer. He shoves it in his pocket, and the receipt with his soulmate’s phone number crinkles in protest. With a sigh, Dean takes out the flimsy piece of paper.

James’s handwriting is neat, so Dean doesn’t even have the excuse of not being able to read a digit or two.

Maybe Dean will give him a call after his drink with Cas. Hopefully, once James finds out that Dean’s just a mechanic, lives in a shoebox apartment in Bucktown, and has never been to Aspen or the Alps, he’ll tell Dean to take a hike.

Dean flips the receipt over, and his stomach gives a sickening lurch. In pretentious curlicue lettering, the first words Dean reads are, The Nine Spheres.

James is staying at Cas’s hotel.

Fucking great. Dean crumples the receipt and shoves it back in his pocket. With his luck, James will probably want to meet in the restaurant on the first floor, the fancy-ass place with the steakhouse burger and truffle fries Dean would actually sell his soul for.

Dean actually dreamed about that burger, a few months after his Cas-sponsored stay. When he told Cas about it, Cas let out a bark of laughter.

In the next breath, though, he told Dean he does the same when he’s scoping out a new location and can’t stay at a nearby Nine Spheres.

Dean tips back his glass of whiskey. It’s stopped burning on the way down his throat, a good sign.

He was so stupid, thinking he could fuck with destiny, fate, or whatever shitty power up there decides soulmates.

Once Cas told him about his business trip to his neck of the woods, Dean had taken one look at the numbers on his arm counting down and did the math. He would meet his soulmate smack dab in the middle of Cas’s window in Chicago.

He could make Cas be his soulmate. Cas never brought up his timer, if it was still ticking, if he’d already met his other half. And Dean, coward that he was, never asked. If he didn’t know for sure, then there was that slim, slim chance that theirs matched up after all.

But no, Cas had to go and switch up their meeting time at the last second, and Dean had run into James instead.

His pocket buzzes with a new text. Mood lower than Cas’s voice register, Dean slides his phone out.

Cas 4:38 My meeting is over. Should I still meet you at the same place?

Dean 4:39 Yeah Hope its okay I got started without you

Cas 4:40 More than okay, considering my scheduling difficulties.

Dean 4:40 See you soon

Dean sighs and drains his glass.

Foot jiggling on the barstool and eyes trained on his hands clasped in front of him, Dean deliberately does not look around as the door opens.

And opens again.

And again.

Confused and irritated, Dean takes another look around. Above the bar, a chalkboard clearly proclaims Happy Hour from 4:30-6:30 PM. Dean ducks his head, scowling into the remains of his drink. He probably overlooked the sign before because of his single-minded quest to get shitfaced like a freshly-dumped senior at prom stuck next to the spiked punch bowl.

His phone obnoxiously tells him it’s 4:43.

That’s just great. Dean hops off the stool, meaning to ask the hostess if anyone’s asked for Winchester, when James pushes open the door.

Dean stops dead in his tracks.

James freezes, his eyes going wide. His trench coat swishes ominously to a stop.

Should Dean turn around? Pretend he didn���t see? Cas is going to be here any second.

Before he can make up his mind, James is walking towards him. “Hello,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

Dean swallows. “Me neither,” he says honestly.

James scans the small crowd now gathered around the bar, brow furrowing in concentration. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

Dean lets out a silent exhale of relief. He musters up a weak smile. “No problem, man. I’ll leave you to it.” As he turns back around, James steps up to the hostess stand.

James says, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the din, “I’m a bit late, but is there a reservation for Winchester? For 4:30?”

Dean could not possibly have heard what he thinks he did. But the timing is right - for once. He spins around, practically losing his balance thanks to the booze he already drank.

The hostess scans her sheet of names, shaking her head. “There was a reservation for Winchester at four PM, but that’s it.”

James’s face falls. Shoulders slumping, he pulls out his phone, squinting as the screen lights up. “He said he was here,” he mutters.

He can’t be Cas. That would be crazy - like, dingo ate my baby, crazy.

“Could be at the bar,” the hostess says flippantly, tilting her head to the crowded area. “Most of ‘em don’t check in.”

James’s lips press together. “Thank you,” he says to the hostess, his tone clipped. “I’ll wait there.”

Dean steps in front of him before James can get lost in the throng of people. “I heard you’re lookin’ for me,” he says with a confidence that’s only 99% bullshit.

James blinks. “You?”

“Dean Winchester, at your service,” he says, spreading his arms wide.

“Dean,” he echoes, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s body, drinking him in with his new eyes.

“Gotta say,” Dean drawls as his heart pounds with nerves. Doubt niggles at the back of his mind like an itch he can’t scratch, but he’s already made his memory foam bed. Might as well lie in it. “Cas is the weirdest nickname for James that I’ve ever heard.”

“My full name is James Castiel Novak,” Cas says, flushing. “James - that’s what I go by professionally. My family calls me Castiel.”

Dean can’t hold back his broad grin. “Family, eh?”

Cas’s expression takes a swift dive from embarrassed to mortified. “And friends,” he tacks on. He takes a step closer, staring at Dean’s face in wonder. “But you’re also my soulmate.”

Dean laughs giddily. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t beat around the bush. Not your style.” He jerks his head towards the bar. “I think I see an open seat. You wanna have that talk now?”

Cas hesitates. “Would you like to go to Nine Spheres instead? I’ve had business dinners every evening I’ve been in Chicago so far, and, while the food has been good-”

“It’s not the steakhouse burger?” Dean finishes for him.

The corners of Cas’s mouth turn down into a slight grimace. “Last night, a client treated us to tapas. I woke up starving.”

Dean smiles. “You know I’m always down for that burger.”

“Excellent,” Cas says with relish as he pushes open the door.

They walk onto the street, and it’s almost offensively quiet after the noise of the bar. It’s a balmy Spring evening, the sun still relatively high in the sky.

“You don’t seem disappointed anymore,” Cas says out of nowhere as they reach the end of the block.

So Cas caught on to that, back when they first ran into each other. Dean shrugs. “I just got stood up by the guy I’d specially set up to meet me at 4:01. Wouldn’t you be?”

Cas clears his throat, asking hoarsely, “You wanted it to be me?”

Dean throws him a look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Cas just shrugs. The light changes, and they step off the curb.

“Were you… disappointed?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Cas lets out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I didn’t even think - well,” he falters, casting a sidelong look at Dean, “I’m not disappointed. Believe me.”

The automatic doors to Nine Spheres open, hitting them with a burst of perfectly conditioned air. Dean hasn’t stepped foot in the hotel since Cas paid for his stay, but it hasn’t changed one bit. The same tiered giant chandelier glitters overhead. Giant pillars bracket the concierge desk to the left and the enormous staircase to the right that leads up to the second floor rooms. The tiled floor, so polished Dean can practically see his reflection, stretches the length of the lobby.

Dean sticks out like a flannel-wearing sore thumb. “Cas,” he hisses, “hold on. I don’t think I’m dressed right for this place.”

Cas sucks in a breath. “No,” he says as Dean’s heart sinks, “I suppose not.” He jerks his head towards the elevator bay. “Room service?”

Dean blinks.

“I’ve called for the burgers on several occasions at other locations,” Cas assures him. “It tastes as good.”

Was Cas actually trying to convince him to go up to his room? What a dumbass. Dean laughs.

Cas colors, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Forget it,” he mutters. “We don’t-”

“You know, if you invite me up to your room,” Dean cuts him off, “you’re going to have a bitch of a time getting me to leave, right?”

Cas stares at him.

“Dude,” Dean says, “I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice in my life. Between the food, the water pressure, and the robe that felt like I was fucking a cloud, I had enough of a hard time leaving last time.”

“I’m glad,” Cas says stiltedly. “We strive to provide the optimal experience to all our guests.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “’M saying, add you to the mix, and they’re gonna have to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming.”

“And if I don’t want you to leave?” Cas asks in an undertone as he pushes the up button for the elevator.

“Then I guess we don’t have a problem,” Dean says, winking.

Cas’s responding grin falls as the doors close behind them and the elevator starts moving. He shakes his head. “It’s a shame there are cameras in here.”

Dean leans in closer, whispering in his ear, “Doesn’t bother me much. Whaddya say to giving the peeping toms a show, then?”

Cas bites his lip, and this close, Dean can see how his eyes have blown black with want. “I - I can’t.”

It’s like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. Dean steps back, shame filling him. That’s fine. He can regroup. Hopefully Cas will be more receptive behind closed doors. It’s not the first time this has happened, anyway.

“Dean, I have to work with these people every day,” Cas hisses, wringing his hands. “The last time an executive got… busy with a coworker in the pool, the mocking didn’t end for weeks. Not to mention her rebuke from upper management.” He throws Dean a desperate look. “I would like for you to be fully clothed by the time you meet my coworkers for the first time.”

Cas is already planning for Dean to meet his people?

The elevator dings, and Cas steps out. “Are you coming?” he asks hesitantly.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says quickly. As he follows Cas down the maze of rooms, he has to ask, “You were planning on introducing me to your coworkers?”

Cas’s cheeks pink. “Unless you were opposed to it,” he mutters as he stops in front of Room 1518. He sighs, making no move to insert his keycard. Instead, he lifts his head to meet Dean’s gaze squarely. “I’ve put in a transfer request to Chicago.”

“What?”

“It was before I knew you were my soulmate,” Cas says quickly. “I’ve never felt like I fit in in California, and my parents live in Pontiac. The Chicago office is decently large, and, well, I knew you were here,” he says, his voice going quiet near the end. He straightens. “So there were many reasons.”

“You’re staying?” Dean says, his mouth dry.

Cas bobs a nervous nod. “I hope that’s okay.”

Dean grins. “Sure is.”

Cas touches the inside of his wrist, his expression turning almost shy. “Of course, when I first pictured introductions, it was strictly as a friend. I don’t really know anyone else in this city well, and I’ve told you about my difficulty in social situations, so it would’ve been more for moral support than anything else. But after this evening -”

Dean interrupts his rambling. “Are there cameras in the hallway?”

“What- oh,” Cas says, his eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips before back up again. “Yes?” He points. “They’re all the way down there, though, so they can’t -”

Dean cuts him off with a heated kiss.

[mittensmorgul]

Dean died standing up, which on one hand seems symbolic for "dying on his feet not his knees", ie. it was his choice (i call BS). but it was also like Christ's crucifixion: killed for his love (for Cas/men) and faith that life can get better - it did when he "rose" again, but it was Heaven not Earth, ie. a fantasy. Who Dean Was wasn't the only thing that was killed, it was What He Believed In/Wanted as well: a better life, full of love.

How many times over the years has Dean just begun to see light at the end of the tunnel, only to have it ripped away in a horrific cosmic twist that refuses to let him have a win, only to get back up and keep fighting and putting away that dream until it starts to look like they might finally be on the horizon of an actual win again?

Let’s just think back over the history of “toes in the sand” dreaming, specifically, which is something that really became obvious in s10 when they seemed to be on the verge of finding a “cure” for the mark, that they were under the false belief all season was merely a curse that could be undone. He started dreaming of a vacation, of being able to let go of the need to stand between humanity and cosmic fuckery, and just... relax on a beach and enjoy the peace and quiet for a little while. But that was not to be, because the mark was much more than a curse, and unleashed a whole new round of cosmic garbage to clean up.

13.23 took this to new levels of personal punishment for Dean thinking he might deserve a peaceful retirement:

You, me, Cas, toes in the sand, couple of them little umbrella drinks. Matching Hawaiian shirts, obviously.

HE WAS EXCITED ABOUT RETIREMENT and sharing this joy with his loved ones! But by the end of that episode he would have no other choice but to say yes to Michael to save Sam and Jack (and the rest of the world...), and the narrative snatched him up and used him again.

It’s what he’s been fighting for all season long in 15, too. First he had to come to grips with what was even real about his life, if anything was ever even his choice. This season pushed him to truly understand what was real-- that Cas was probably the realest thing he’s ever encountered, and the cosmic forces that had always torn that dream of retiring (or even getting a vacation) from his grasp had also actively been trying to take Cas from him, too. But despite all that, Cas kept coming back to him anyway, and isn’t that an actual miracle?

And when he finally does get the ultimate win against the cosmos in 15.19, it’s at the greatest possible cost. Cas is lost to him, but even still he tries to make that sacrifice worth something by living his life as best he can.

And then he lives like two days before being killed in the stupidest possible fashion. Like... 

wtf, on every level

“Oh but he’s got an eternity of happiness in heaven!”

NO. *smacks everyone responsible for this travesty with a rolled up newspaper*

“But that’s just how the Supernatural universe works!”

NO. *gets out the newspaper again*

That is not how *our* world works. For every person among us who has identified with Dean or with Cas, we don’t get to look forward to happy heaven forever. We have *one* life (as far as any of us know) and it’s irrevocably precious. DEAN felt his life was irrevocably precious, too, because Cas convinced him it was, that he was worthy of living and being loved for exactly who he was.

And they both died for it.

And in a world where a... how did I phrase this in another post recently... where a proto-fascist evangelical death cult that’s taken over large parts of the us government and would see all not-straight, not-white, not-wealthy, not-abled and not-them in every other way punished or erased simply for trying to exist in society, and who truly believes that life on earth ain’t shit and their real reward will come only once they reach heaven, this is a really awful end for a canon queer couple moments after that love was made textual in a confession.

Like... really bad.

There is no defense of this choice. Writing is ALWAYS a choice. And sometimes writing simply to serve the story (like showing us that Heaven is fixed and now a paradise) doesn’t serve the audience at all. And sometimes those choices are actively harmful to the audience. I don’t just mean the queer audience (or in Eileen’s case, the disabled audience). I mean THE ENTIRE audience, including people who enjoyed the finale. Because it reinforces that the disabled can simply be erased entirely, and that confessing to loving someone is fulfillment enough and merits instant death and subsequent erasure. Not just for Cas, who confessed, but for Dean who never had the chance to confess his own feelings. Never even had the chance to really live out beyond that confession. Never even addressed it in death, either. It was just a punishment for daring to want to live free of everything that had forced him back into the story over and over again at the whim of a cruel and capricious god.

(This isn’t even satisfying for Sam, who apparently ran away again to live out the half-life he’d tried to make for himself every time he’s run away from his life throughout the entire narrative. His wife was irrelevant, he lived for his son he named for his dead brother, and barely even seemed content in that life let alone fulfilled and happy. Dean’s year away from hunting with Lisa had a more positive and hopeful montage associated with it. It’s depressing as fuck that Sam finally found his way free of all of it, and it’s like he just kept clinging to life out of a sense of duty rather than of his own free will. And it’s entirely baffling in every way. Like none of the previous 15 years of growth and coming to understand the balance of his own life meant anything. What a waste.)

The finale says there is no reward in life for people like me, and that I should just be okay with that. And readers, I am not okay with that.

So... I’m happy to throw away the finale with both hands. It didn’t happen, because it’s just that horrific to me.

And if anyone reading this actually does think the finale was good, or satisfying, then I just invite you to understand why so many of us are horrified that you can. Why we might not feel like you’re trustworthy. Just a little explainer here, because for some of us, the story of Supernatural was in the hoping, and in the end the message felt way too much like don’t even try hoping, you will always lose in the end, and that’s just not okay.

Dean deserved his retirement, he deserved to be able to tell Cas he loved him too, and he deserved a long, happy life of his own free choice. He deserved to be able to follow his heart. And all of this, everything that happened instead, was a deliberate choice. Just not DEAN’S choice.

[pumpkinsouppe]

One thing that majorly frustrates me is both Zelda and link being restored to exactly how they were at the beginning of the story means there’s literally no point to the story at all. Everything is exactly back how it is before all this mess so why even write the mess in the first place if you want it to have absolutely no impact on the characters.

I agree about link having Sheikah prosthetics, the way they went about his amputated arm was really gross considering he now has a dead guy’s arm attached to him without his consent. A Sheikah tech arm also makes much more sense in terms of magic, the Sheikah could absolutely make a magical prosthetic device that has limited magic use bc link is not a Sheikah. Not to mention, it’s smth that could be attached to link when he wakes up and understands what’s going on rather than waking up in a strange place with a strange arm. A dead arm that still has magic even though the game is implying that link himself doesn’t have the magical capabilities like he did in games like OOT/alttp/the adventure of link???? It’s just an excuse to make link seem edgier without fully committing to making him a disabled protagonist, and then completely erasing any and all disabilities he might have gained in this experience bc of cowardice from the writers. The precious blond and pure of heart protagonist can’t be disabled 🥺🥺🥺 drives me crazy every time I think about it.

Not to mention, did yall ever notice how link supposedly has scars and Robbie confirmed it in game that he has scars but the devs intentionally did not model scars on link despite him having a huge scar where he was killed. Probably the most important physical feature of botw Link is just not modeled. Did you also notice how Sidon and Dorephan have scars?? Inch resting….

And as for Zelda, I completely agree about how she def should’ve returned and turned back in some way but it was lazy writing for them to constantly proclaim there’s no way to turn back. She should have also had physical repercussions to turning back human like now she has dragon features or now she’s much older or whatever. The devs were so scared of having anything happen to the protagonists… for what? I know if OOT was made today, Navi would be alive and that ending scene never would have happened. Majora’s mask never would’ve been made. They are so scared of implying anything bad will happen to their protagonists and everything has to be perfect at the end which is not how you write a good story

It’s so frustrating. It’s sad seeing a franchise I’ve really enjoyed just implode on itself for idek what reason. The sanitization in media around the world is ruining so many potentially good stories and it’s such an omen to see even Zelda fall victim to this. The same Zelda that made games like Majora’s mask and twilight princess. 😔😔😔

Man while we're talking about TotK disappointments let me share mine. The ending. The way Zelda is restored? I hated it. She goes and sacrifices herself with the understanding that there's no going back and then they just rush through magically fixing it at the end? I don't mind that they restored her, I mind that the way they did it felt like a rushed cop-out and made it feel like there were no consequences.

I am mad about Link magically getting his arm back, though. Let him stay an amputee and give him a sick magi-tek sheikah arm! It could have been so cool!

Big yes on both accounts!!! Zelda turns back from sacrificing herself... because the evil is been defeated? Ghost magic that there's no reason to think Link's arm would be capable of being a conduit for on that scale even with ghost greatgreagreatgreatgreat grandparents adding their whatever?? That's rewinding millennia when all game you could barely rewind rocks falling like a minute backwards.

I wouldn't have liked it if Zelda wasn't restored, but they way they did it just lacks feeling. Make Link go through a spirit trial. Let ghost greatgreatgreatgr- rauru or sonia show up and say that there is the power to turn Zelda back, but the cost is sacrificing all the power you've collected through the quest. Link without hesitating nods and THEN the arm glows and the thing happens but the arm is gone.

Let them be forever changed!

[gwynrielendgame]

Nyx and Isa part 4

I am feeling very uninspired these days yall. Good news though, I got a job 🥳🥳 woohoo.

"You two can go wander through the gardens now, if you'd like. Violet why don't you go with them? Someone needs to keep them out of trouble."

It was as much a dismissal if Nyx ever heard one. He rolled his eyes, but stood to leave anyways.

"I would actually like to listen in. If I am to be high lady some day, best I hear it all."

Nyx's parents shared a look. Whatever they wanted to discuss with Tamlin and the rest of the family was not information they wanted his daughter to know. Must be something about her.

"Very well. Nyx could you check on your sister, Velaris? I haven't heard from her all week."

Nyx was annoyed that he was being dismissed once again to check on his oldest sister, of all people, even though Isa was allowed to stay. She was much less trustworthy than him. He turned to leave with his younger sister in tow, but a snicker from Isa made him send a quick glare in her direction.

"Yes, run along now. Like the good little prince you are."

The sarcasm might as well have bit his skin. The entire room stopped their small talk to re-assess the situation before them. The last anyone had heard, Nyx and Isa had resolved any conflict from the recent fight they had. Although neither of them had spoken since Isa had revealed what she gave to protect Nyx.

"Stop this, Isa. Petty arguments do not become you."

"Oh look at prince Nyx. Once again taking the moral high ground. Shocker considering who your parents are."

"Did we...miss something?" Lucien interjected, clearly to lighten the mood which had zero effect on the arguing pair. They continued their banter as if Lucien never even spoke.

"You want to talk to me about my parents? What about yours? Your father abused my mother, only to impregnate, who I can only assume by your own standards, is a vile, evil witch."

She sucked in a harsh breathe. She told that to him in confidence and now he was throwing it back in her face. His anger fueled harder than his guilt. Nyx had walked back to the table at this point where he stood, glaring at his friend.

"Once again you stand on some moral high ground. The world is not black and white, Nyx. Your mother would like to convince you otherwise though, no? Must be her savior complex."

Her accent was much heavier with how vehemently she was talking. Feyre decided it was best to intervene.

"Okay, why don't you two separate and cool off. Obviously, emotions are running high."

Once again, the pair ignored anyone else speaking to them.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Isa. I am not the one that sold off my unborn first child, so of course, you do not have many moral qualms." Nyx threw back at her. She rolled her nose up in disgust.

"Would you have rather I let you die?"

"I am glad I am not dead, but what you were willing to give up for me is not something I would be willing to do for you." He crossed his arms. She scoffed.

"Maybe you should have mentioned that before you had sex with me!" She threw a roll from her plate at him. He let it bounce off his head with a roll of his eyes.

"Oof" Violet muttered while glancing anywhere but at the pair sparring off at the dinner table.

"Do not act as if I tricked you into that! I have been crystal clear about us. I am waiting for my mate, which you are not."

"Nyx," his mother tried to interject once again, but Isa stopped her.

"How do you know that? How do you know I am not your mate? The bond is hard to sense before it has snapped into place." Everyone recognized the desperation in her voice. She was pleading with him to love her in the way that she loved him. Unfortunately, it was also clear to everyone that Nyx was rather indifferent towards Isa as a romantic partner.

"Come on Isa! Be realistic. Our parents did not work out for a reason." He tried to reason. He thought they had just been having a bit of fun. Must have meant much more to Isa than she had been admitting to him.

"Perhaps you do share too much with your mother. Your self-righteousness is certainly straight from her handbook." She lashed out. Nyx recognized her feelings were hurt and that was the reason she was saying the nasty things she was. That did not mean it kept him from getting just as angry.

"Well, I am not the only one who takes after my parents. You are exactly like your father." He spit at her.

Nyx was tired of listening to her discuss his parents in such a way. She wanted to play rough? Well then he would play along.

"What is that meant to mean?"

"You are an entitled bitch who does not seem to understand when someone does not love you back. That's what I mean."

She flinched at his harsh words and he automatically wished he could take them back. She retook her seat, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. They both remembered what she accidentally admitted to him and the words he had not said back. He was breathing heavy from his own vehement yelling, but now as he looked around, he felt regret. It felt wrong to air out their grievances among family and friends, especially when he threw so much back in her face.

"Yikes..." Violet unhelpfully broke the awkward silence that had engulfed the room. Nyx noticed at the same time as everyone else that the table was shaking. It started to shake so much that he thought an earthquake was hitting Velaris. It was not until Tamlin spoke up that everyone realized who, instead of what, was making the table shake.

"Calm down, Isa."

She took a slow shakey breath. One lone tear fell down her cheek which she roughly wiped away. Nyx wanted to wrap her in a hug and apologize, but he stuck in his spot as her tattoos began to glow. They often glowed when she was using her witch magic, but never like this. This was bright, almost blinding when her normal glow was a light luminance.

"I am trying." She spoke softly. "I just want it to stop." Her hands went to her head and started clawing at her temples.

Nyx was not sure what she wanted to stop, but one glance around the room told him that this meant trouble. He wanted to help his friend, but no one moved a muscle and his father sent him a look that kept Nyx from speaking. Tamlin's reaction was even worse. He looked scared. Whether that was for his own life or because his daughter was in danger, Nyx would never know.

"Isabelle, stop."

"I can't." The word broke off at the end as she finally opened her eyes. They were glistening with tears and her expression would haunt Nyx until his last days. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Tamlin propelled forward, over the table. He wrapped Violet in an embrace as they fell to the floor.

And then a gust of power broke every piece of glass in the room. Every window, wine glass, and vase shattered. The power from Azriel's siphons reached out at the last minute and protected Nyx and Lucien from the blast of power. Nyx was still thrown into the wall from the sheer force of it. He managed to look over at his parents to see his dad protecting his mom. Tamlin must have known what was going to happen before it did because he reached Violet a second before it happened.

"Knock her out!" Tamlin yelled. "Before her eyes change."

Nyx looked up to see that Isa was still crying, but a swirl of power encircled her. She had sunk to her knees on the floor at this point and she still gripped her head as if it hurt. The power was unlike anything he had ever seen, so he assumed it must be her witch power. He knew he should get up and talk to her, but he did not want to make it worse. He watched as Lucien attempted to physically get to her, but the gust knocked him away. Both his parents tried using their daemati powers. Nyx was afraid of what would happen if that did not work. Tamlin shoved Violet behind a couch before approaching his daughter.

"Isa, you can control it. You have done it before. Focus."

She began shaking her head wildly.

"Get out of my head!" She screeched.

"I can't get in Tamlin. Whatever is happening is too powerful." Nyx wondered who was inside Isa's head if not his parents.

"Use your Night power to knock her out." Tamlin gritted his teeth as he slowly inched his way toward her. It was a physical feat unlike any other because the wind was powerful enough to keep Nyx on the ground.

"I can't. She's disarmed our fae magic."

Nyx tried to conjure his own magic, only to realize his dad was right. He did not think it was possible without the use of faebane. Isa had mentioned being able to temporarily disable fae magic, but she claimed the cost was too high for witches to use it often. He was worried she would end up killing herself before the night was over.

"Isa!" He started. As soon as he spoke, the power surrounding her intensified. "I am sorry. I did not mean it." He took a few tentative steps towards her even after his dad called out a warning. It was difficult due to the wind, but he managed to get close enough that his shouts were heard by her.

"I was lashing out because you hurt my feelings." The power started to ebb as she raised her head from her hands. "You are my friend and I did not mean to hurt you."

She looked at him for a second, her guard dropped, and when she blinked, her eyes opened again, completely black as the finest spun silk in all of the night court.

Fuck is all he could think.

Tamlin used the split second she was distracted by Nyx to make his move. She was in his grasp and being winnowed away before anything else could be said.

"Shit." His mother muttered from her spot on the ground.

"What the hell was that?" Azriel looked to Lucien for answers as he stood from the ground. It appeared everyone had been knocked to the ground from the force of her magic. Lucien wiped away blood from his forehead that kept pouring into his one good eye.

"How many witch, high lord children have you heard of?"

"None." Azriel grimaced. If he had not heard of it before, then it was likely few and far between that held that same heritage.

"Emotion is a highly sought after price by the spirits. Not many witches are willing to trade their emotions for the aid of the spirits. They feed on it which is why the children are so dangerous. They are one tantrum from killing their entire coven. Why do you think their numbers dwindle?"

"She's had how many years to get this under control?" Rhysand quipped back sarcastically only to get a withering look from Lucien.

"No amount of time prepares you for your first heart break. Especially when the cause of that embarrasses you in front of another court by declaring he does not love you back." Lucien gave a pointed look to Nyx with narrowed eyes.

"Not my finest moment." Nyx cringed as he thought back to all he said. Nyx walked back to Violet to help her up from behind the couch.

"The spirits feed on her emotions. She let her guard down, but they cannot take without giving. They gave her too much power to control with her emotions as tumultuous as they were. The more negative the emotion? The more all-consuming and dangerous that power becomes." Lucien explained. Although it hardly made any sense to Nyx.

"How can they feed if she does not call on them? Why do they not feed on our emotions?" Violet asked as she wiped dirt from her dress.

"The tattoos, a price she has paid for a past use of witch magic, acts as a tracking device. Much like you build mind barriers to keep other Daemati out, Isa needs to keep her barriers in place to prevent the spirits from taking freely. The tattoos call to spirits when they glow and the loss of her mind barrier allowed them in without her permission. As for the reason they do not feed on our emotions? Unsure. Isa jokes that regular fae emotions must taste bad." Lucien finally grabbed a napkin to press to the wound above his eye. He muttered an apology to Feyre for ruining it.

"Why did she not kick them out once she realized?" Feyre asked instead of responding to his apology.

"She probably did not realize she was giving her emotions freely to the spirits. They rewarded her with power. Mix in some fae magic, shape shifting abilities, and boom you have an uncontrollable dangerous cocktail in the form of a small female."

"The eyes?" Azriel quietly mentioned with raised brows. His shadows were moving erratically all around him.

"That is not up for discussion along with her mother." Lucien sent Nyx a glare.

"I know it was a low blow." He admitted. He would apology as soon as he was allowed.

"Isa loves her mother very much. You can love a person and despise their actions. Right Feyre?" It was an accusing statement. Everyone could see what Lucien was insinuating. His mother at some point or another loved Tamlin even if she pretended she never had. Feyre only rolled her eyes, but Rhysand sent a glare of his own back to Lucien.

"I should apologize. I do love her." Nyx felt the need to admit to everyone. "Just not in the way that she wants." He threw himself down on the couch. Violet followed his lead and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Not now. The reason witches do not readily offer their emotions is because it leaves them numb. It is a very unpleasant feeling and will be like talking to a wall." Lucien grimaced. Nyx assumed Lucien was thinking of the last time it happened.

"Has this happened before?" Azriel inquired.

"When her mother died. That's it." Lucien shrugged and dropped the napkin.

"I didn't know. I never meant to hurt her." Nyx felt the need to explain himself, but found there were no words to do so.

"If I know Isa, all she wanted to hear was that you care for her in some capacity."

"She knows that." Nyx insisted. He rested his head on top of his sisters. He was suddenly overcome with exhaustion unlike any other.

"Does she? Cause you had me fooled otherwise tonight." Lucien quickly winnowed away after that. A look around the room showed disapproving looks from everyone.

*****

"Thank you for coming." Tamlin shifted awkwardly in his chair. The Night Court inner circle looked on from their respective chairs in what Nyx assumed must be the formal sitting room. His parents, himself, and his sister squished together on one couch. Azriel took an arm chair to the left of Tamlin and the last chair remained unclaimed. Nyx stared at the chair as if he could make her appear simply from his stare.

"How is she?" Rhysand cleared his throat to ask. Tamlin gave a tight smile.

"Fine." He paused, debating whether he should say the next thing. "We lifted the ward on this room. If things should get out of hand today, you may winnow away."

Feyre narrowed her eyes at him.

"I thought you said she had it under control."

Tamlin sighed heavily and slouched in his chair. He rubbed at his temples as if this entire meeting exhausted him.

"You will see that you are in no danger. It is just a precaution."

Azriel went to say something, but stopped and looked towards the door. It was utterly silent. A few minutes later, Isa walked through the door with her head down. She looked...bad. In the kindest way possible because Nyx knew she had been through a lot mentally. It had clearly taken a toll on her physically. She shuffled to the last available seat without making eye contact. When she finally looked up, Nyx's heart lurched. She was pale with dark circles under her eyes. Her cheeks had sunken in from weight loss, leaving her looking like she consisted only of skin and bone. It was jarring considering how solidly built she had been previously. She had always been muscular; now though, he saw no hint of it. Her dress must have been fitted to her recently since it fit her well. It was a light green color similar to her eyes and flowed around her like a wedding dress. She might look beautiful if she did not look so sick. Nyx made eye contact with his sister's wide, shocked eyes. A quiet gasp left his mother's lips. Isa tried a small smile, but Nyx noticed her fingers nervously traced the new tattoos on her other hand.

"I apologize for my little display last week." She started. "I thought I had a better grip on my powers. Obviously not. I have spoken with my coven on the matter and I will be returning home for additional training."

Nyx contemplated whether he should speak or not. Last time they only exchanged spiteful words. He did not want those words to be the last she heard from him. He cleared his throat.

"Does your coven know about the first born debacle?" He felt it was a neutral enough of a statement. Isa replied simply.

"No."

"It is best if that is never discussed aloud." Tamlin interjected.

"How long will you be gone?" Violet asked. They had become friends as well and his sister looked sad at the prospect of her leaving.

"Until I need to claim my position as High Lady." Isa stared at her hands as she spoke. Violet gasped at the information.

"But that could be hundreds of years!"

Nyx frowned. He thought it might take Isa a few months to lose interest in himself and then they could return to just being friends. This seemed extreme, but perhaps they could still visit each other every once in a while. Isa only shrugged. Nyx felt dread at Isa's lack of emotional display. She had been rather devoid of anything else. The effects of the spirits must be taking more of a toll than anyone else assumed.

"That will leave you unprepared for your role as high lady. You do not have many allies or friends," Azriel started what appeared to be an oddly placed reprimand. "You should use all the time you have to form relationships with the other courts and possible emissaries."

"Lucien said he would help me when I first take over."

"That is not enough." Rhysand agreed as him and Tamlin shared a look.

"You will help me, no?" She asked.

"We may not have the time to devote to helping you run your court." Feyre said. Isa's eyes slid past Nyx's and landed on Violet's.

"I could help." His sister offered with a smile that looked so similar to their mother's.

"It would be very much appreciated." Isa tried to give a smile of her own but it only succeeded in showing how miserable this past week has been for her.

"You may want to consider marriage." Azriel felt the need to mention. "You will be at a disadvantage when you return, but a well aligned marriage could work. The prince of the Summer Court is unmarried, but you may find yourself at war with Amren over him. There is a princess of the Summer court that may be interested." His shadows tucked in tight to him.

"I shall consider that. Thank you for the advice, spymaster." No hint of her accent could be heard. Nyx realized she was focusing on disguising the accent in order to focus her attention. Her eyes kept wandering around the room as though she could not keep focus on the current conversation.

Tamlin appeared to nudge Isa subtly. He gave her a stern look before she turned back to look at Feyre.

"I apologize for the things I said about you." She said barely above a whisper. Feyre gave her a soft look which must have urged her to keep going. "Sometimes I feel angry at you because I see a life I could have had. With you as my mom. It is not fair, but it is true." Nyx could see tears in his mother's eyes that she quickly blinked away.

"I understand that sometimes we say things we do not mean. Right, Nyx?" Feyre gave her son a look. She was giving him an opening to say his piece while simultaneously avoiding responding to Isa. He should tell Isa that he did not mean it.

"Isa, I do love you. Just not in the way you are wanting." He tried to make eye contact with her so that she knew he was speaking the truth, but she did not look up from her hands.

"Okay." She gave a simple shrug.

Nyx felt his eyes brows furrowed at that. He was not sure what he expected her reaction to be, but something more than that. It made him feel something he was not ready to admit. And at this point, would never admit.

"Okay?" He asked with raised eyebrows. Isa was still refusing to look up at him, so he look towards his father who kept signaling with his eyes to go and comfort her.

"Yes, I understand I cannot make someone love me." The bland delivery of the words encouraged Nyx to move towards her. He kneeled before her in her chair and grabbed her hands, forcing her to look at him.

"I do love you." He emphasized. He did not want this to get lost in the mess of everything else. Something about that seemed to spark something in her eyes though. The sight of it made Nyx relieved.

"Not in the vay I vant to be loved. Not in the vay I dezerve to be loved." Her accent was extremely heavy and she began to grip his hands back just as strongly as he was holding hers. Tears gathered in her eyes but they did not fall.

"I vill no longer give you more than you dezerve, Nyx." And with that declaration, the last of her fight left her. She softly pulled her hands away and stood up. Her eyes were blank once more.

"I apologize once again for putting your lives at risk. It will not happen again."

And then she was drooping back to her room with slows steps.

"That went...well." Violet offered unhelpfully. "Right?"

[megalony]

Met his match

This is a new Murderer! Ben Hardy imagine that should have a follow-up imagine soon when I can get round to it, I hope you will all enjoy this one feedback is always lovely to have.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod​

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Summary: Ben is a hitman tracking his latest target, and he is getting ready to kill them but things get tricky when his conscience gets the better of him. And the situation unravels when soulmates are involved.

Enjoy.

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Reaching his calloused hand into his back pocket, Ben pulled out the phone that was vibrating to show someone was calling. Taking a scan of the phone case, he sighed at seeing it was his personal phone which he couldn't be bothered to answer right now.

He'd been in the game for a two years now and had managed to pick up many tricks of the trade. Rule number one was to have seperate phones so if he got caught, he could give the police his normal phone that was just for friends and family. The innocent phone. All the implicating and cryptic messages were on his work phone so he could keep things separate and in order. His normal phone was white and his work phone was black as a teasing reminder of his life like day and night.

Switching the rather annoying item off, Ben slipped it back into his pocket before turning his attention down to the glass resting on the shining polished wooden surface in front of him.

This was a very different experience for Ben considering that for the past three months he had been in hiding.

Laying low wasn't all it was cracked up to be and Ben hated it. He hated having to disappear underground, to go to dingy, disgusting bars for a drink and to make sure no one would find him. He hated having to scan the bars to make sure they were the kind that didn't have CCTV so he could stretch the truth about how long he was there if an alibi was needed. He hated being around the cringy, loud-mouthed people that bustled about and spilt their drinks on one another.

Ben couldn't abide by the hotels and the small B&B's that he had to go to when he was out of town and needed to go unseen.

Laying low was the part of being a hitman that he despised because in order to keep the job he had so graceously decided to take, he had to cover his tracks and give himself alibi's. He had to make sure his face was never in papers or on websites. He had to make sure only the right kind of people knew who he was so he wasn't known to the posh people or the ones in contact with the police so he wouldn't be caught. He had to make sure the people who knew what he did weren't informants for the police or traitors.

But his job was something he found great pride and achievement with, even though he knew he shouldn't. Killing people wasn't the kind of job that someone should be proud to have and yet Ben was. He had pride that he had been doing this for two years and no one had caught him yet. He was proud that people respected him in the underworld and that people paid a high price for the job that he did. People went to the trouble of finding him to get his help, they risked a lot to find him with the knowledge that he could turn them down.

The thrill that it gave him, the planning that he got to put into it and the risks he took made laying low all that much better.

But to finally be out of his hiding and back in the world of the living was something that he enjoyed immensely. Ben enjoyed being able to come to the bars and restaurants that were more appealing to the eye and soul. To be able to act as if he fit in with the higher society when really, despite how he hated to lay low, that was where he belonged.

The thin black button-up shirt he was wearing was rather itchy around the collar and he had to refrain from scratching his neck every ten seconds but he had to act formal since he was technically at work right now.

Turning his head to the left, Ben locked his bored eyes onto the man he had seen wandering around the restaurant for the past hour. He went around hitting on any girl that walked in and every time he had got rejected which wasn't surprising given that this wasn't the most high class place but it certainly wasn't of low standards. The women here were more refined and didn't take to a drunk man wandering the bar asking them if they wanted to go home with him for a 'night-cap'.

The drunk man seemed to get more riled up and annoyed with every rejection he got until he was starting to get aggressive. If the guy would take each rejection with his chin up then Ben would have said good on him for taking it in his stride but the hitman was getting fed up of the idiot's persistence with anyone in sight.

Hunching his shoulders forward, Ben leaned his head down but let his eyes lean around the idiot a few feet at his side, trying to get a look at the poor victim the man was now pestering.

Ben had to refrain himself from growling in sheer annoyance when he realised that the victim this drunk idiot was pestering was Ben's next target. Rubbing his hand over his face, Ben scratched at the corner of his eye with the pad of his thumb as he tried to stay calm and unnoticed.

It was always a surprise to Ben when he found out that his victims were women because eighty percent of the people he was told to snuff out were usually middle aged business men. With the odd exception of a young inexperienced boy who had taken something he shouldn't or who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But killing a woman was never hard for Ben, a hit was a hit and it didn't matter who it was as long as the job was done and Ben got paid at the end of it.

The only times he ever refused to do a job was if he himself deemed the hit unnecessary. Maybe there was a young boy who just didn't need to be killed or a woman who was only wanted dead because her rich husband wanted her out of the way.

Other than things like that, Ben usually didn't care the reason even though he always asked. It was part of his invisible policy that Ben was to be given all the details, the reason and half the payment up front before he went through with a hit.

For the past two weeks Ben had followed his victim, got to know her routine and what she did and he knew that tonight was the one opportunity that he had to get the job over and done with.

Tonight was a night where she was most vulnerable because she was alone, away from home and her family and friends thought she would be away for another week so the timeline for her disappearance would be vague at best. Ben had already disabled her phone signal from afar and he had ensured that he wasn't on any security tapes.

All he had to do was find her after she left the restaurant and he could pounce.

Ben knew the reason why he had to kill this girl.

She had smuggled a lot of money from her father's account and placed it into a lot of other accounts ranging from her own to her father's victims who he had complete control over. What she had done was completely legal since she had access to the account and had unsuspectingly gotten her father to sign the documents allowing the transactions. He had lost out and now his daughter was a threat to his rather secretative dodgy dealings.

She was a threat he wanted rid of and the police couldn't do anything, nor could they get rid of her in the sense that her father wanted.

But Ben could.

He applauded his victim's reasons and what she had managed to do but at the end of the day, she was a hit and Ben had taken the job.

Turning his head to the left, Ben glanced his eyes over at his victim as if making sure that she hadn't disappeared without him knowing.

His victim had her rather long hair folded and pinned to her lower head just at the top of her neck but she had two short strands of hair hanging loose framing both sides of her face. And her vibrant eyes were shining for everyone to see. Her head was tilted to the side and the distant look in her eyes made her seem as if she was in a world of her own. She had one arm resting on the circular wooden table and her other hand circled around the half empty glass of red wine in front of her.

She looked as if she fitted in so well here with her baggy button-up shirt tucked into her high-waisted trousers that skimmed over the top of her ankle boots. Her appearance and her smile and the way she held herself made her fit in so well with the upper class people in the restaurant. But there was just something about her that made Ben feel like she was an outcast. Someone desperately trying to fit in when really, she didn't belong anywhere at all.

Just like him.

The pick up line that the drunken man used on Ben's victim washed over Ben's head just like it did the girl's head because she didn't spare him a glance. She seemed to be used to people trying to gain her attention and she seemed very good at choosing who deserved her attention and who didn't.

When the man didn't persist anymore and left in a huff, Ben felt like doing the exact same thing. He had been in this restaurant for two hours now and had had no interaction or conversation with anyone but the bartender who simply kept refilling Ben's glass the moment Ben pointed at it.

As much as Ben enjoyed being at places like this, it did get boring when he had no one to talk to because talking to people could potentially ruin an alibi if he needed one. They could say the exact time he left, who he had been looking at, what exactly he had told them. Ben would never say anything to incriminate himself or make himself seem untrustworthy but interactions were just as harmful as doing the job he did.

As bad as it was that he sat and talked to no one, it was safer.

"Any good?"

The new voice broke Ben out of his consuming thoughts, much to his relief, but when his head turned to his left he felt a spark of adrenaline bursting through his stomach when he saw who it was talking to him.

"The whiskey here, is it any good?" (Y/n) pointed her finger towards the circular glass of whiskey resting in front of Ben that he was holding with a vice grip in his left hand. It was the only thing she could think of to spark up a conversation with the one person here who seemed to feel like an outcast here the same as she did.

It seemed to take him a while to respond, she could see his eyes studying her as if he didn't exactly know what to make of her or how to take her question.

Ben observed the way that (Y/n) leaned her elbows on the counter with one arm outstretched like she was trying to reach behind the bar and grab one of the bottles. Whilst her other hand was resting against her neck like she was trying to prop her head up. Ben couldn't help but let his eyes wander over her, noticing how her hips were pushing against the bottom of the bar counter and her knees were straight like she was trying to make herself look a bit taller than she really was.

"Better than most places I've been to."

Ben didn't usually talk to his victims.

In theory, Ben could tell his victims anything. He could tell them his bank details, his name and address, his age, his national security number. He could tell them anything and everything about him because his victims always ended up in the same place; a grave. And dead men tell no tales.

But this was different, Ben talked to his victims when he was about to force a bullet into their skulls or make their deaths drag out. He didn't normally jave a chat with them before they knew that he was their personal grim reaper about to steal their life and soul. He never talked to his victims like he was trying to make a new acquaintance or even a friend.

Talking to his victims could often make him feel sorry for them or make him regret killing them. Ben didn't need them haunting him in the dead of night disturbing his sleep or making him think over his life choices and his choice of jobs.

"That's enough for me." (Y/n) didn't even get chance to speak when the bartender approached them both before her new acquaintance pointed to his glass before holding up two fingers indicating he wanted two glasses this time. It always fascinated (Y/n) how people like him were willingly in places like this when they clearly didn't want or need social interaction.

It would clearly be a lot easier and cheaper for him to just buy a bottle of whiskey and take it back to wherever he resided. But then again, if he liked to be around people he wouldn't get that if he lived on his own. Some people like to be surrounded but not interacted with, they liked to people-watch but not be watched themselves. (Y/n) didn't know him or why he was here and she wasn't usually one to judge a book by its cover.

"Thank you." (Y/n) generously took the drink placed in front of her, a curious but appreciative look in her eyes to which the stranger nodded in understanding before downing his drink.

It was her last night after all, the least he could do was buy her a drink.

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Breathe.

The one thought rattling through (Y/n)'s mind was telling her to do something that she normally never had to think about. Such an automatic process that happened thousands of times every day was something that (Y/n) was now having to remind herself to do in case she suddenly forgot or held her breathe for so long that she endangered herself even more by fainting.

Breathing was the only thing that (Y/n) was certain of right now, everything else was an illusion that she couldn't see past and it was frightening to say the least.

But even breathing was becoming hard when (Y/n) could feel her lungs pushing uncomfortably against her ribs ten times faster than usual. Her chest was heaving, her body was aching and none of her muscles were back under her control yet.

(Y/n) didn't even know where she was and the more she thought about what had happened, the worse her head started to ache because she didn't understand it. One moment she had been walking down the street aiming to get back to her hotel, the next moment an arm had secured around her waist and a cloth was smothered to her lips. When she awoke, every part of her was aching and she seemed to be laid on a sofa if she had guessed right. Unsure where she was, what was going to happen or why she was even taken in the first place.

She could tell that none of her limbs were tied up, her kidnapper had relied solely on the medication on the cloth that had knocked her out and the blindfold wrapped around her head to stop her from seeing anything if she woke too early. But (Y/n) couldn't move, her body was still asleep even if her mind was now awake meaning getting away was impossible right now.

"I can tell you're awake."

A small maon escaped (Y/n)'s lips as she tried to get her body to come back under her control, but the moment those words registered in her ears she could feel her blood running cold.

She knew that voice.

"W-whiskey." (Y/n)'s voice shook and her head spun as she felt waves of horror creeping up her spine causing her muscles to shiver. It was the man who had bought her a drink at the bar. The man she had spoken very few words to and shared a drink with before heading back to her table. The man who had left the restaurant way before she herself had done.

What on Earth had she done to him to make him want to kidnap her?

"I'm honoured you remember me, love."

(Y/n) could feel the whiskey man getting closer, she could feel the way he cut through the air ever so slowly like he was slowly piercing the atmosphere with a knife. And when she felt him leering over her a whimper escaped her lips that were numb from whatever had been pressed against them earlier to knock her out. He hadn't looked the most harmless man in the bar but he didn't give off the vibes of a kidnapper. (Y/n) didn't know him, she'd never seen him before in her life, what did he want with her?

When his fingers slowly trailed against her cheek and up to her hair (Y/n) wanted to cower back in fear but the most she could do was shift her shoulders a little.

She could feel his hand slowly brushing the loose strand of hair behind her ear before he slowly grabbed the material covering her eyes, pulling it away to reveal her tired eyes that were blinking rapidly to adjust to the dim light. (Y/n) almost jumped when her vision cleared enough for her to realise that the whiskey man was crouched down on his knees in front of her. A serene yet almost intrigued look on his face as he stared at her with his lips turned up at the corners.

(Y/n) tried to move her uncoordinated limbs and managed to press her right hand down on the sofa before pressing the back of her left hand down against the cushion to try and lift herself up. The whiskey man had laid her down on the sofa as if she had just fallen asleep and he had carried her here- wherever here was. He didn't tie her up or lock her somewhere or even dump her somewhere, he had taken time and care with her. And when (Y/n) tried to manoeuvre herself up, he even leaned and placed his arm under hers with his hand resting on her back to guide her up.

Ben didn't miss the way that (Y/n) flinched when he touched her and he didn't exactly know why he had let her live so long.

He brought her to a hotel that he knew had no security in the reception or in the corridors so he couldn't be seen or caught on camera. He had the room already set up and paid for in advance and simply told the man on reception that his wife had gotten drunk and he was carrying her back. The young man believed him, who wouldn't?

But Ben could have killed her by now.

He could have put a bullet in her or even a knife if he wanted to get creative and he could have left through the fire escape without anyone knowing. No one knew she was in this hotel, it wasn't booked in her name so they wouldn't know who she was and Ben had taken her purse and phone. It would be a mystery and he could have given her some peace by killing her whilst she was asleep. It would have been kinder.

But Ben just couldn't do it.

He brought her in here, laid her down, locked the door and closed the curtains. But when he thought about just killing her and leaving, something stopped him. He had spent at least twenty minutes or so just watching her sleep, wondering what was going through her mind and when she was going to wake up and beg him for mercy.

He didn't have a problem with killing her, there just seemed to be something about her that made him want to talk to her and make her beg before he eventually took her life from her.

"What... why am I here? I don't know you..." (Y/n)'s speech was slow and her words were slightly slurred from how delirious her mind seemed to be after being drugged. She didn't know where she was but she didn't even know why she was where she was, let alone why a stranger had taken her.

"No, but I know how you are, love. We're both here on business and very soon, that business will be finished."

(Y/n) couldn't help but whimper, unsure what kind of business this man wanted with her but she had a few grave ideas. But the moment her eyes set on his right hand, she felt like she was going to be sick. He had a gun in his hand with a silencer on the end. If she tried to scream he could shoot her and no one would be any the wiser. If she tried to escape then he could shoot her before she even got off the sofa and by the looks of things, he was going to shoot her regardless of whether she tried to get away or not.

She was dead no matter what she did.

"No... no p-please... why would you kill me?"

A pang of pain struck Ben in his heart as he watched the way her lips couldn't help but pull down at the corners and when the tears fell from her eyes Ben almost felt bad. But this wasn't personal, he didn't have a vendetta against her or hate her or want to hurt her just because he randomly picked her to be his next victim. This was calculated and decided by someone else, Ben was just the paid method to get rid of her. This had nothing to do with him.

"This isn't personal, darlin'. I'm afraid this is what I'm paid to do, your daddy decided it. Don't worry, you won't have to feel anything unless of course, you want to."

He could see it in her eyes. She was desperate to beg him to spare her, to lie to her father and tell him she was dead but secretly let her live. She would disappear, she would go far away if he would spare her life. But it was clear in his eyes that he wasn't going to let that happen. As he said, this wasn't personal, this was clearly a job for him and he seemed like the kind of man that didn't stop until the job was done. The whiskey man didn't care for her and therefore her pleas were going to fall on deaf ears because he wouldn't be fazed by her begs for mercy or he wouldn't have agreed to do this in the first place.

Ben watched in curiosity as (Y/n) moved her hands to rub her arms like she was trying to give herself a comforting hug before she died, knowing it was inevitable.

She wasn't like the rest of his victims, begging, pleading and sobbing loudly or trying to attack him and make their escape. Most of the time Ben killed from afar, he stalked like a predator then suddenly shot them in a dark alley or stabbed them. Some of the worse ones were the ones he dragged out, he tortured them before leaving them to die somewhere. But just recently he started talking to a few victims or letting them wake up like now before he killed them.

But none of his victims seemed to sit and accept their fate like she was. This one was special, she was smart.

Ben let his eyes wander down to the gun in his hands as he slowly stretched up until he was hovering over her, looming like the grim reaper ready to snatch her soul. He checked the bullets left in the gun knowing full well he had five rounds though he only needed one or two at the most if he felt cruel. He then twisted the end of the silencer to make sure it was properly fitted, not wanting to make a surprising sound and let anyone know what he was up to in here.

(Y/n) needed him to do it now and get it over with.

She couldn't handle waiting and watching like this, death was always something that scared her but she always thought it would be unexpected or hoped she would pass in her sleep. Knowing it was about to happen now made her skin crawl and sent her mind reeling and this whiskey man was just prolonging it even more.

But as she watched him click the safety off the gun, her heart rocketed in her chest and started to spasm achingly when he began to whistle a quiet tune like he was preparing himself for an audition rather than a killing.

Oh God no.

(Y/n) knew that tune, she knew that tune all too well. It was the tune she had had in her head since she could remember, it was her song. That tune was the song that belonged to (Y/n).

Everyone in the world had a soulmate somewhere out there. People say that they know their soulmate from the first glance or just by looking or talking to them. But the one definitive way of knowing your soulmate is the song. Everyone has a song in their mind that is their own, not a song from the radio that they choose, but a certain rhythm, a humming or a whistling song in their head that they share with one other person in the world. Their soulmate. They are the only two that know the tune.

The whiskey man was whistling (Y/n)'s tune.

The only way that he could know that tune was if he was her soulmate. But he was trying to kill her, why would he whistle that tune if he was trying to kill her? Who whistled or even thought of their song when killing someone? She was going to be murdered by her soulmate and no one was going to come to her aid or her rescue.

Did this man even believe in soulmates?

Ben's lips curved up into a rather sinister grin that made (Y/n)'s skin crawl but she whimpered when he turned the barell of the gun towards her, aiming it at her temple. He could feel a small wave of guilt washing over him but he knew it would be taken away with the tide soon enough. His whistling grew louder as he got ready to pull the trigger, knowing he would have a lot of cleaning and tidying up to do very soon.

"It won't hurt, love. I promise."

But Ben's hand shook and his arm suddenly recoiled to his chest in horror when he heard her response.

His eyes blew wide in his sockets when he heard the rhythm she was shakily humming against her chapped lips. Her wild, rabid eyes locked with his own as she started to hum a bit louder, showing how uneven and timid her voice actually was because this was her only chance at survival. Humming his own song back at him.

"How do you know that tune? How?!"

The words bellowed around the room, resonating back at Ben as he suddenly jerked his arm out and pushed the barell of the gun against (Y/n)'s temple. Hating the way she cried out and cowered back at the feeling but still tried to hum the tune to prove she wasn't copying him, she knew what tune he had started to whistle.

"I- it's my s-song." Her chest quaked and her whole body trembled like she was undergoing an electric current before she tried humming the ending of the tune to keep herself alive, at least for now.

What the Hell was he supposed to do?

Ben's job was to murder people for cash and get away with it. He had no morals or code or rules he lived by and he certainly had no partner or wife waiting at home for him because he couldn't have any weaknesses or strings attached to him.

But that was his tune. He recalled his mother telling him about how she met his father and despite what Ben did for a living, his home life had been a good one. He knew his parents had been in love and he knew that soulmates existed purely because of the way his parents had been when he was growing up. No one had loved or appreciated his mother more than his father did.

A soulmate was not what Ben was looking for, he simply assumed that whoever out there shared his song was someone that he would never find. He wasn't looking for them and he didn't need a soulmate in his life, his life was perfect as it was right now.

But she was here right in front of him, cowering away because he was about to snatch her life from her.

But he couldn't.

If he took her life right now, all Ben could think about was what he would have done if his father had taken his mother's life. What would have happened if his father had killed his mother at any one point in their relationship?

(Y/n) didn't ask to be his soulmate, maybe she wasn't even looking for her soulmate either. Ben couldn't do it. The one thing in life that he wanted to believe in and abide by was a soulmate, he didn't necessarily want his soulmate right now but he knew it was real and he believed it happened. He couldn't ruin that by killing his soulmate, (Y/n) did not choose to have her fate be entwined with a murderer. She didn't choose to have her soulmate be a brute who was about to kill her.

"You... fuck! Fuck!" His voice suddenly rocketed around the room before the gun was launched out of his hand and violently hit the wall opposite him. "Why?! Why did you have to have my song? Why did you have to fucking hum it? I could have killed you by now- I should have killed you by now!"

"Y-you would rather kill me... not knowing you killed your soulmate? You could have killed me i-if you hadn't of whistled our song."

It wasn't just his song, it was their song. They both shared it and (Y/n) didn't know if it would have been better if he killed her because he would have gone through the rest of his life wondering why he never met his soulmate. People didn't always end up with their soulmates, they got tired of waiting around and just settled with someone else or settled on their own and made a new life for themselves. Some people chose not to believe in it and others met their soulmate and were too stubborn to want to be with them. But everyone met them at one point in their lives and knew about it.

Ben would have been more confused if he went through the rest of his life and didn't meet his soulmate.

"But I can't fucking do it now! I can't... for fuck's sake! I can't tell my client I haven't killed you because it turns out your my shitting soulmate!"

"Then kill me!"

"I can't!"

Ben all but screamed the words back at (Y/n), knitting his hands into his shortened hair before he turned his back on her so he could try and gather himself and think it through. Ben couldn't bring himself to kill her now, not now he knew there actually was someone out there for him. A soulmate was different than just finding someone and falling in love. (Y/n) was his match, she was someone that would love him and take him as he was. She was his soulmate and therefore their fates were entwined, it meant that she would love him despite him being a hitman and murdering people for a living.

He didn't deserve love but now he had a chance at it and this was his one and only moral. He couldn't bring himself to kill her, it had been hard enough to convince himself to do it before but now it was impossible.

"I can't kill you now... as weird as it seems, I just can't do it. I've failed this job and now you'll go and leave me because I've tried to hurt you." Ben smoothed his hand over the back of his head and neck before he bent down on his knees in front of (Y/n). He didn't know how else to explain it and he was desperate for her to see this from his point of view but it was virtually impossible. He had kidnapped her, told her he was going to kill her and now he couldn't because their fates were entwined.

Ben could see it now that if he didn't kill her he would have to let her go and then he would lose her because he couldn't follow and stalk her for the rest of his life. It wouldn't be right. She would leave him and he would lose her all because he couldn't kill her.

"I don't- I can't leave you... I mean, your my soulmate too."

(Y/n) had her proof that this man wasn't going to kill her, he didn't have the mind-set or the courage or the will to do that. The worst he could do was be rude because he clearly didn't intend to hurt his soulmate which meant he had some very warped morals. (Y/n) believed in soulmates, she had been waiting for him and now he was here, albeit in the worst of circumstances. She wasn't just going to walk away from him yet.

"What do we do now?" As bad as this situation was, (Y/n) couldn't quite see where they went from here.

"Isn't it obvious? I was supposed to kill you but I can't do that... now I need to protect you instead."

[tsarisfanfiction]

Escape: Chapter 1

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Gordon, Scott

An island vacation turns into a nightmare, and it’s going to take Gordon everything he’s got, and then some, to get himself and his injured brother to safety.

I am, tentatively, calling this a oneshot, but there is definitely scope for a full fic here if my muses line up properly.  It turns out they didn’t want to go a whole week without Scott&Gordon and whump, so here we go - a little something to keep them happy.

EDIT: Officially no longer a oneshot.  Thank you, muses.

“Leave me.”

Blue eyes locked with his, bright with pain but determined nonetheless.  Gordon expected nothing less from his eldest brother.  Still, Scott was asking – demanding – the impossible, and no matter that it was an order from a superior, the part of Gordon that was little brother rather than operative only had one answer to that.

“Not a chance.”

“Gordon-”

“I am not leaving you behind,” he hissed.

Scott was injured, and it was bad.  The guys had got the drop on them, their tumble over a thankfully shallow cliff hadn’t ended well for Scott, no thanks to Gordon landing on top of him, thereby cushioning his own fall, and now they were on the run.

Well.  Gordon was on the run.  Scott was another matter entirely, and there was a sick logic to Scott’s demand.

Gordon was uninjured, barring a few scrapes.  By himself, he’d have no trouble getting to safety, somewhere where he could turn the situation around and get back to their boat and off the island where they’d decided to take a day’s vacation.  With his broken leg, and Gordon suspected some busted ribs and a wrist injury on top, Scott couldn’t even walk by himself.  He was slowing Gordon down, and they both knew it.

“You have to,” Scott insisted.  “If they catch you-”

“And what about if they catch you?” Gordon cut him off.  They didn’t know what the guys’ goal was, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t for a friendly chat over a cup of tea.  “Come on.”

He’d managed to swim them across an inlet, towing Scott like a helpless rescuee – which he might as well be, at this point – but they needed to get into the treeline, out of sight and somewhere where they could hatch a strategy to get out of there.

Both of them out of there.

No matter what Scott said, leaving him behind to their pursuers’ mercy was not an option.

“I,” Scott started. His face was chalk white, emphasising just how blue his eyes were, and he was trembling ever so slightly. “I can handle it.”

The words were supposed to be reassuring, but they fell flat and empty.  They didn’t even know what the guys wanted; if this was just some sick hunting game to them, it didn’t matter how well Scott could handle captivity – he’d still be dead.

Gordon couldn’t hear immediate pursuit; the inlet seemed to have at least temporarily done the trick, although he knew it was only a matter of time before they were back on their trail.

“Scott,” he bit out, frustration born of worry sharpening his tongue more than he’d intended. Those bright blue eyes met his, and he could see the fear his big brother was failing to hide.  There was love, of course, and determination, but it was the fear that called out to Gordon.  He crouched down in front of him, getting down to Scott’s current level of struggling to sit upright.  “I am not leaving you behind.”

“You have to!” The desperation was well-hidden, but Gordon knew his brother.

He grasped his forearms, taking Scott’s weight as his brother lurched forward, unable to keep himself upright.  The skin was cool and slightly clammy to the touch.  Combined with the trembles wracking his body, and Gordon knew what he was dealing with.

“Scott,” he repeated, using the grip on his arms to hold him in place, draw him a little closer.  “Listen to me.”  He tightened his hold marginally.  “You’re going into shock and you’re not thinking clearly.”  Another concern to add to the pile he already had. “Listen to me.”

“Gordon-”

“Listen to me,” he repeated, leaning forwards and carefully releasing one of Scott’s arms so that hand could gently wind around until it was on the nape of his neck.  “Scott, do you trust me?”

In some situations, that question would be answered with an eyeroll and a smart remark about prankster squids.  In situations like this, it was answered by a reflexive swallow and a word floating out on a breath.  “Always.”

Gordon drew him in, pressing forehead to forehead and trying to ignore the clammy skin as he looked point blank into Scott’s eyes.  “I’m getting you out of here,” he promised.  “I’m getting us out of here,” because Scott would never be pacified by promises of his own well-being if it came at the expense of a brother’s. That should have been enough, was enough, but there were more words on his tongue and he let them fall. “They won’t hurt you again.  I won’t let them.”

Pain made Scott look younger, more like the young man he really was than the middle-aged commander he tried to emulate.  If someone had told him he was actually looking into Alan’s eyes then, Gordon might even have believed them.  Almost. There was still a steel there that Alan didn’t quite have.  Not yet.

Scott was still struggling to keep command, still trying to present himself as the leader and in control of the situation, but Gordon knew it was, well, maybe not an act, but more for Scott’s benefit than his own.  And he knew Scott knew he knew that.

Still, there were no more futile protests, and he held him close for a moment longer before pulling back.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, conscious that they’d stayed in one place for too long.  “Come on.”

Scott didn’t fight him this time, although there was next to no assistance, either.  That came as no surprise to Gordon, even if he hated the reminder that Scott wasn’t well, was badly injured and going into shock as a result.

There was no way Scott could walk on that leg.  Up until their swim across the inlet, he’d been leaning heavily on Gordon’s shoulder, hopping along at a painfully slow pace, but they couldn’t keep that up if they wanted to stay far enough ahead to get out of there.

He crouched down and pulled Scott forwards, cautiously slinging him over his shoulder.  It wouldn’t be easy – Scott was tall and heavy, and Gordon knew he didn’t have the strength to carry him for too long – but he could keep it up long enough.  He hoped.

“Gordon,” Scott croaked as he staggered to his feet.  Hands balled in the back of his shirt.  “Your back-”

“I’m getting us out of here,” he repeated, one arm wrapping around his brother’s waist where it bent over his shoulder, and the other clinging to his legs tightly, both for additional security and to immobilise the break as best he could.  “I’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t a bad day, thank goodness.  Gordon had never yet been put in a position where he’d have to choose between potentially re-destroying his back or saving a life, and if there was one piece of luck shining down on them, it was that he didn’t have to make that choice today, either.

He staggered forwards, one step and then another, falling into an ungainly rhythm as he pushed on, towards the treeline that promised cover.

Grunts and gasps of pain from behind him betrayed the way Scott’s leg was jostled by the movement despite his best efforts.  Gordon hoped he’d positioned him so that his ribs weren’t worsening, too, but he hadn’t had much of a choice on that matter.

Hold on, Scott, he thought, not wasting his breath by vocalising it.  He didn’t have the breath to spare, and Scott wouldn’t appreciate acknowledgement of his agony.  All Gordon could do was cling on tightly and forge forwards.

He still couldn’t hear pursuit, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any.  They wouldn’t be safe until they were clear of the area, off the coast and hopefully far into the sea.

Gordon knew there was a cove nearby.  On a good day, he could swim from there to the neighbouring, larger, island.  On a day like today, where the waves weren’t quite flat calm and his brother could do nothing more than float along, it was bordering on the impossible.

If there were no boats there to hijack, it would be their only option.

Clearly, Lady Luck had determined that Gordon’s back being fit enough to carry Scott the distance, even if his brother was gasping with every staggering step he ran, filled his entire quota for the day.  He was beyond grateful to have had that, but the sight of an empty cove when he broke free of the treeline made his heart sink.

“How are you holding up?” he asked Scott, stumbling to a halt on the shoreline and staring out at the expanse of blue-green ocean.  In the distance, the flat horizon line was broken by another landmass – the other island, and their only chance of escape.

Not for the first time since they’d been attacked, he cursed the fact that neither of their comms were working.  Disabled by some jamming bubble, no doubt.

“Holding,” Scott gasped, a word that was more lie than truth in the same way as Gordon’s conviction that he could swim the distance with his injured brother in tow.  It wasn’t true, but it had to be, because they had no choice.

“Okay,” Gordon acknowledged, his kneeling more a controlled crash to the ground than anything else.  “We’re getting out of here, Scott.”  He lowered his brother to the shingle, laid him on his back and looked at skin so white it might as well be translucent.  Scott was getting worse, trembles more noticeable as they passed through his body, and Gordon prayed he could hold on until they got to the next island, where they could shelter and he could treat the onsetting shock.

If they survived the swim.

His chest heaved, shoulders taking advantage of no longer having his brother slung over to rise and take in large lungsful of air.

Blue eyes spotted it, because Scott might be injured and well onto his way into shock but he was still Scott and he’d always notice a younger brother in difficulty.

“Gordon,” he rasped, a last-ditch attempt to change his mind.  “Go.”

“Not without you,” Gordon swore.  “Come on, Scotty.  One last little swim and we’ll be out of here.”

He didn’t give him a chance to protest, wriggling his arms underneath his brother and ignoring the way the shingle scraped at his skin.  Scott let out a reluctant groan at the movement, but Gordon couldn’t address that right then.  Not until they were off the island.

It was a lunge to his feet more than anything else, arms clutched tightly around Scott as his forwards momentum dragged them across the shingle, almost tangling his feet together and face-planting them both back on the ground.  Water sloshed around his ankles, the ocean cool.  She wasn’t inviting, but she wasn’t openly hostile either, so Gordon pushed on.

Water around his ankles became water kissing his knees, creeping up his thighs until it encircled his hips. He waded deeper, until it was up to his waist and caressing his forearms.  Touching Scott’s back.

He made eye contact with Scott as he came to a stop, disbelief and fear warring for prominence over the usual love and faith in those familiar blue eyes, and his brother opened his mouth to croak out his name again.  Gordon gave him a tight smile, lowering him until he was floating on the waves.  Strands of his hair had escaped the rigorous gelling they’d been subjected to that morning and splayed out like a miniature halo as ripples of water teased them.

“We’re getting out of here,” he promised again, the words tangling up in his throat and coming out all twisted and hoarse.

Letting the water take his weight was as familiar as breathing.  Looping his arm around Scott, he kicked off from the seabed and, eyes on the distant island, began to swim.

It was a long way, Olympic speed training useless to him.  He needed the endurance swimming from WASP, kilometres of open water with a casualty in tow.  It was reckless, stupid, even.

It was their only chance.

Chapter 2>>>