#considering a very particular voice actor for a voice claim here

[sargent-space-dork]

Just fucking around still, I accidentally put myself on a bug kick and now wont stop drawing Scorpion till his whole story is done. So what better way then to make a fake screenshot :3 Would've been from his villain debut episode in S3. Thanking my pal Prince for that Sable ad in the background there.

[mysebacielblog]

Ciel is Trans Theory

I Need to point this out because. I have a hunch that Ciel is Trans, and fingers crossed I’m right. Honestly, I could be completely off base and this could be as close as Ancient Aliens is to History.

This might be an overreach but here is my case for it, as best as I can:

* Based on previous events and Chapters, Yana has shown that She Likes Playing on the concept of Gender from the Very First Arc. From the Very beginning we are introduced to a woman who is Jack the Ripper, challenging the male murder stereotype on its head, and her lover, a gender ambiguous (Later Confirmed Canonically!!) Trans Reaper Lady. Both unite from their desire, and hatred for the prostitutes who beg for abortions at her clinic. There are Already wombs being ripped out of women and we’ve just started.

* The Fact that Ciel is Dressed extremely effeminately not only for the period, even for EGL clothing standards might point to something as well. But when forced to wear a dress for the sake of a mission, he loses his mind. Although it could be a tween’s worst nightmare, how Madame Red laments to Ciel when dressing him as a girl that she always wanted a daughter feels like something.

* Ciel is always referred to as beautiful, which is not wrong for the period, but there are less masculine terms that people refer to him as.

* Yana herself says that she Over Masculinizes Ciel. Which is an interesting take for his effeminate nature of dress Vs masculine personality?

* Another hot take is that Yana Specifically has instructed in certain live action and anime for the voice actor to be a woman. I’ve seen a lot of talk on this particular conversation but none highlighting this as a clue on our Ciel’s Identity??? How??

* Mey Rin is also have been hidden as a boy with her previous life as a sniper, so this also shows that this is not out of the question either. The same reveal has happened with Doll.

* Ciel does not let anyone get close to his body. This is obviously because traumatic stress behaviors, however, similar flinching could allude to a different reason entirely.

* Our Lad introduces himself as the “Earl Ciel Phantomhive” Earl almost being apart of his first name. He’s already changed his name to hide his past. But Why?

* Let’s pretend that Ciel was in fact, born a boy at birth. If his brother and parents died, even if he was considered a “Spare Child”, (remember the British Phrase an Heir and a Spare). He would still be a legitimate hier due to his brother being unable to claim inheritance (because of his death) and pass on something to him. Even if another family member became a guardian and inherited a majority to raise our ciel, he would still be entitled to Something, and (might) even become Earl. This would Not be the case if Ciel was born a girl.

* Two Cultural similarities Japanese Manga and the Victorian period have in common are the troupe of “women disguising themselves as men”. I put this in quotes because, as Ciel described it, “the old him died in his cage,” pointing to metaphorical metamorphosis, and not simply a disguise for convient’s sake. Although it was common for (transgender men, queer cis women and/or Cis women) to take on a male position / pseudonym in order to establish a title, or a job position (typically in writing, this continued until the 1960’s). Now add on the popular manga/anime that were important in playing with perceptions of gender during Black Butler’s Debut (think Ouran High school host club), and there’s something there.

* The Fact that no one mourned Ciel’s Death was unfortunate, but a critical plot point of the story. Up until now, no one even acknowledged Our Ciel had ever Existed. Not a name, not “twins” nothing. Even though our Lad was an ill child, no one had even acknowledged he was there to begin with. Women and children were rarely recognized in Victorian culture, let alone a “Woman Child”. This culture was challenged somewhat through literature in the early ‘30’s with works from Jane Austen, ‘47 with Charlotte Brontë (who went by a pseudonym) and Lewis Carol’s Alice and the Looking Glass at the end of the century. (introducing a Girl Protag!! Gracious!). As sad as it may be, no one would really mourn an terminally ill girl compared to her family’s murder, unless having accomplished something amazing. It would be seen unfortunately as a lifted burden, and ultimately one less dowery or added expense. The fact that no one even bothered to notice our Ciel’s death or even the toll it might have on his twin is evident enough.

* The most Damning evidence I have for this theory is Lizzy’s reaction to figuring out “Ciel” was not the real “Ciel”. The immediate turn against Ciel. Why wouldn’t she even hear him out? What could have possibly turned her away like that, without a doubt in her mind, even if she had met with the Real Ciel? The fact that her reaction was not confusion but rather an extreme turn against him, she did not even think one minute to give Our Ciel a chance. And the only possible reason (combined with the fact that he was lying about not being his brother) is that if he was Not Cis. Not only would that mean that she was with the sick weaker sibling not heir to the Phantomhive legacy, but Ciel Could never conceive a family with Elizabeth, nor marry her like she would have wanted. And even if she married him, they would never be able to have children of their own (a really big obsession with British Aristocracy- modern day source: royals). All of her dreams would be shattered. And that shattering would bring her to turn instantly.

* The fact that everyone automatically assumed our ciel was real ciel, just based on saying so. Why?

* The fact that sick girls were often dressed like male counterparts to strengthen them during this era, as well as androgynous clothing for children being in fashion (because of less washing headaches and hand-me-downs)

* A smaller, minor detail is how Sebastian says “When lies become truth”. This is pointing towards both their façades but an interesting quote none the less on transitioning.

* I’m pointing to his teeny shoes with the high heels. It’s not that they’re effeminate women’s shoes that are iffy for the period, (which let’s be clear, they are) but. Look at him. Trying his best to be tall adult man. I’m pointing at his shoes.

* I might be missing a lot. Tell me if I am.

Reasons For Why I Am Extremely Wrong:

*Tanaka and Vincent referring to Our Ciel with he/him pronouns, (although I’m not sure on the original Japanese translation on chapter 131)

[ailuronymy]

Thoughts on the new discourse? Warrior cats naming conventions and rank names being straight up stolen from native American people? So many people seem to be... Straight up leaving the Fandom or changing all of their fan content and it feels very performative and, people not actually thinking critically and just being scared of getting "cancelled"? I feel like your opinions on these matters are very informed and well written so I wanted to ask given that this blog main theme is, well, warrior cat naming system and that seems to be the main issue of the new discourse.

This is probably going to get long, since there's sort of a lot to say about it in order to talk about this whole thing fairly and constructively, because from what I’ve seen there’s a lot of hyperbole happening, and panicking, and disavowing this series and fandom, and so on, like you say, and also some people genuinely trying to have complex meaningful conversations about racism in xenofiction, and also probably some bad faith actors in the mix--as well as some just... stupid actors. Kind of inevitably what happens when two equally bad platforms for having nuanced discussions--i.e., twitter and tumblr--run headlong into each other, in a fandom space with a majority demographic of basically kids and highly anxious, pretty online teens. I don’t mean that as a criticism of fans or their desire to be liked by peers and “correct” about opinions, it’s just the social landscape of Warriors and I think it’s worth pointing out from the start.  

If I’m totally honest with you, if not for this ask, I wouldn’t actually be commenting on it at all, because none of this is going to impact this blog or change how I run it in any way. But since you’ve asked and frankly I do feel some responsibility to try to disentangle things a little for everyone stressed and confused at the moment, because I know a lot of people look to this blog for guidance of all sorts, I’m going to talk about what I think has happened here, and how to navigate the situation in a reasonable way. 

Quick recap for anyone blissfully unaware: from what I understand, this post (migrated over from a presumably bigger twitter thread) has got a lot of people very worried about Warriors being a racist and appropriative series, and now are trying to figure out what ethically to do about this revelation. The thing I found most interesting about this screenshotted conversation is that it makes a lot of bold claims, but misses some pretty surprising details (in my opinion). If you do look critically at what is being said, here’s a few things to notice--crucially, there are two people talking. 

Person 1 says that a lot of animal fantasy fiction + xenofiction (fiction about non-human/”other” beings, such as animals) is frequently built upon stereotypes of First Nations and Indigenous people, and/or appropriates elements of Indigenous culture and tradition as basically set dressing for “strange” and “alien” races/species etc., and this is a racist, deeply othering, and inappropriate practice. This person is right. 

I’ve spent years researching in this field specifically, so I feel pretty confident in vouching (for whatever that’s worth) that this person is absolutely right in making this point. Not only is it frequently in animal fiction/xenofiction, but it’s insidious, which means often it’s hard to notice when it’s happening--unless you know what you’re looking for, or you are personally familiar with the details or tropes that are being appropriated. Because of the nature of racism, white and other non-First Nations people don’t always recognise this trend within texts--even texts they’re creating--but it’s important for us all, and especially white people, to be more aware, because it’s not actually First Nations’ people’s responsibility to be the sole critics of this tradition of theft and misuse. Appropriation by non-Indigenous people is in fact the problem, which means non-Indigenous people learning and changing is the solution. 

Person 1 offers Warriors as a popular example of a work that has this problem. Notably, this person hasn’t given an example of how Warriors is culpable (at least in this screenshot and I haven’t found the thread itself, because the screenshot is what’s causing this conversation), only that it’s an example of a work that has these problems. And once again, this person is correct. We’ll look at that more in a moment.

Person 2 (three tweets below the first) offers, by comparison, several more specious insights. Firstly, it’s really, really not the only time anyone’s ever talked about this, academically + creatively or in the Warriors fandom specifically, and so that reveals somewhat this person’s previous engagement in the space they’re talking into re: this topic. In other words, this person doesn’t know what has already been said or what is being talked about. Secondly, this person explicitly states that they “[don’t know] much about warrior cats specifically but from what I see it just screams appropriation,” which as a statement I think says something crucial re: the critical lens this person has applied + the amount of forethought and depth of analysis of their criticism of this particular series. 

I’m not saying that using twitter to talk about your personal feelings requires you to research everything you talk about before you shoot your mouth off. However, I personally don’t go into a conversation about a topic I don’t know anything about except a cursory glance to offer bold and scathing criticisms based on what it “just screams” to me. By their own admission, this person isn’t really offering good faith, thoughtful criticism of the series, in line with Person 1′s tweet. Instead, Person 2 is talking pretty condescendingly and emphatically about--as the kids say--the vibes they get from the series, and I’m afraid that just doesn’t hold up well in this court. 

So now that there’s Person 1 (i.e., very reasonable, important, interesting criticism) and Person 2 (i.e., impassioned but completely vibes-based opinion from someone who hasn’t read the books) separated, we can see there’s actually several things happening in this brief snapshot, and some of them aren’t super congruent with each other. 

Person 1 didn’t say “don’t read bad books,” or that you’re a bad person for being a fan of stories that are guilty of this. They suggested people should recognise the ways xenofiction uses Indigenous people and their culture inappropriately and often for profit. My understanding of this tweet is someone offering an insight that might not have occurred to many people, but that is valuable and important to consider going forward in how they view, engage with, and create xenofiction media.

Person 2 uses high modality, evocative language that appeals to the emotions. That’s not a criticism of this person: they’re allowed to talk in whatever tone they want, and to express their personal feelings and opinions. However, rhetorically, this person is using this specific language--consciously or subconsciously--to incense their audience--i.e., you. Are you feeling called to action? What action do you feel called to when you rea their words, despite the fact their claims are not based in their own actual analysis of or engagement with the text? It’s, by their own admission, not analysis at all. Everything they evoke is purely in the name of “not good” vibes. 

Earlier I mentioned that Person 1 is correct that Warriors is absolutely guilty of appropriation of First Nations and Indigenous people and culture. I also mentioned that they didn’t specify how. That’s because I think the most egregious example is in fact the tribe, which in many ways plays into the exact kind of stereotyping and appropriation of First Nations Americans that Person 1 mentions, and not the clans, contrary to Person 2′s suggestion. For instance, in addition to the very loaded name of “tribe”, there’s a lot of racist tropes present in how that group of cats is introduced and how the clan cats interact with them, as well as the more North American-inspired scenery of their home. It’s very blatant as far as racism in this series. 

When it comes to the clans themselves, though, I think it’s muddier and harder to draw clear distinctions of what is directly appropriative, what is coincidentally and superficially reminiscent, and what is not related at all. Part of this difficulty in drawing hard lines comes from the fact that, on a personal level, it actually doesn’t matter: if a First Nations person reads a story and feel it is appropriative or inappropriate, it’s not actually anyone’s place to “correct” them on their reading of the text. Our experiences are unique and informed by our perspectives and values, and no group of people are a monolith, which means within community, there will always be disagreement and differenting points of view. There is no one single truth or opinion, which means that First Nations people even in the same family might have very different feelings about the same text and very different perspectives on how respectful, or not, it might be. 

I’m saying this because something that gets said very often when conversations of racism and similar oppressive systems present/perpetuated in texts comes up, people frequently say: “listen to x voices.” It is excellent advice. However, the less pithy but equally valuable follow-up advice is: “listen to the voices of many people of x group, gather information and perspective, and then ultimately use your own judgement to make an informed opinion for yourself.” It means that you are responsible for you. The insight you can gain by listening to people who know topics and experiences far better than you do is truly invaluable, but if your approach to the world is simply to parrot the first voice, or loudest voice, or angriest voice you come across, you will not really learn anything or be able to develop your own understanding and you certainly won’t be making well-informed judgements. 

In other words, one incomplete tweet thread from two people who are each bringing quite different topics and modes of conversation (or perhaps gripes, in Person 2′s case) to the table is not really enough to go off re: making a decision to leave a fandom, in my opinion. In fact, I think in responding to anything difficult, complex, or problematic (which doesn’t mean what popular adage bandies it about to mean) by trying to distance yourself, or cleanse of it, will ultimately harm you and will not do you any good as a person. It is better, in my opinion, to enter into complex relationships with the world and media and other people in an informed, aware way and with a willingness to learn and sometimes to make mistakes and be wrong, rather than shy away from potential conflict or fear that interacting with a text will somehow taint you or define your morality in absolutes. 

So. Does Warriors have racist and appropriative elements, tropes, and issues in the series? Yes, of course it does, it’s a book-packaged series produced by corporation HarperCollins and written by a handful of white British women and their myriad ghostwriters. Racism is just one part of the picture. The books are frequently also ableist, sexist, and homophobic (or heteronormative, depending how you want to slice it, I guess), just to name some of the most evident problems. 

But does the presence of these issues mean it’s contaminated and shouldn’t be touched? Personally, I don’t think so. Given the nature of existing the world, it’s not possible to find perfect media that is free of any kind of bias, prejudice, or even just ideas or topics or concepts that are challenging or uncomfortable. I think it’s more meaningful to choose to engage with these elements, discuss them, criticise them, learn from them, and acknowledge also that imperfection is the ultimate destiny of all of us, especially creators.

I’m not saying that as a pass, like, “oh enjoy your media willy-nilly, nothing matters, do what you want, think about no-one else ever because we’re all flawed beings,” but rather that it’s important not to look away from the problems in the things we enjoy, rather than cut off all contact and enjoyment when we realise the problems. That doesn’t mean you have to only criticise and always be talking about how bad a thing you like is either, publicly admonishing yourself or the text, because that’s also not a constructive way to engage with media. 

As I said, there’s a lot to say here, and believe it or not, this is honestly the shortest version I could manage. There’s always more to say and plenty I haven’t talked about, but pretty much tl;dr: 

I don’t find Person 2′s commentary particularly compelling, personally, because I think it’s a little broad and a little specious in its conclusions and evidence, and I also suspect that this person is speaking more from their feelings than from a genuine desire to educate or meaningfully criticise, unlike Person 1. That’s not to say Warriors isn’t frequently racist and guilty of the issues Person 1 is discussing, because it is, but I don’t think this tweet thread is a great source of insight into the ongoing history of this problem in xenofiction, or Warriors specifically, on its own. I would recommend exploring further afield to learn more from a variety of sources and form your own opinions. I hope this helps. 

[outlawcare]

Hey y’all I am now on the second movie’s soundtrack which means it’s Uma time!

I love Uma so much, she is quite possibly my favorite Descendants character. This partly because China Anne Mclain is one of my favorite actors, but I also adore Uma as a character.

This is way less organized than the last post btw. 

So this is mostly a list of headcanons about Uma and her pirate crew, so here they are!

So we don’t really know how much of Ursala’s powers Uma inherited, but I’m gonna say she inherited the talent for magic at the least

On that note, Uma would totally help people like Ursala claimed to 

I can specifically picture Uma helping trans kids on the Isle

Like, we know that Ursala could change appearances

I think that Uma would use her powers to help trans kids feel less dysphoric by changing their voices

Uma would also probably figure out how to do the major body changes Ursala could do so that Uma could help with transitions

Also, Uma totally uses her crew and ship as a safe space

Obviously Disney toned down what would actually happen on an island of violent criminals and some kids

But I can just see Uma helping kids leave their parents

Uma probably also has a soft spot for young kids, and I can definitely see her breaking someone’s arm if they hit a kid

Also, Uma’s ship is probably considered one of the safest places on the Isle because of this

 Especially since we don’t see any adults on the boat, and the Isle kids definitely feel safer around kids their own age rather than adults

Harry, Uma and Gil are definitely best friends

I can just see them protecting each other

Harry in particular seems very protective of Uma

Honestly, Uma’s crew definitely consists of a bunch of runways and misfits 

So that’s my list of Uma (& crew) headcanons! Honestly Uma’s crew is just so fun to do headcanons for lol

[buckysgoldenheart]

Late

Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Henry has a reputation that makes you cautious and it’s caused some disagreements. Everyone thinks you hate each other, but maybe you don’t as much as you let on. (fluffy ending, and idk, maybe angst depending on your definition).

Words: 2880

Notes/Warnings: I made this like mid-20s Henry during the Tudors filming, season 1. If I messed up with tenses somewhere, I’d like it of you let me know. I started this story out in the past-tense then changed it to present so I might have missed some stuff when editing, even after reading it 100 times over.

At the sound of the doorbell, you hop up from your sunken spot on the couch. After the day you had, the Chinese food on the other side of that wood slab is the only thing with the ability to help you recover before you must face a fresh 5 a.m. morning with Henry tomorrow.

God, you want that man to fall off the face of the earth. You don’t care if his disappearance meant you would temporarily be out of a job. Being an assistant on the set of The Tudors was something you had strongly considered sacrificing in the past if it meant never having to work with one very particular, blue-eyed, temperamental actor ever again.

You almost quit weeks ago but told yourself to suck it up. You can’t afford to unintentionally cause drama at your workplace, not after your last job; and getting that kind of reputation is not what you are going for. Besides, filming for the first season is almost over, and you will gladly welcome the long break before everyone needs to report back for season two.

The smile you were fully prepared to give the delivery man falls entirely at the sight on the other side of the door.

“What the hell are you doing here,” You huff out.

Henry crosses his thick arms over his even thicker chest and frowns back at you. “I didn’t get my script.”

A headache is already forming just from his proximity and you don’t bother resisting the urge to rub at your temple. “Well, I sent it to your house a week ago.”

“And I didn’t get it, so clearly you didn’t do a very good job.”

With an eye-roll, you say, “Is there some reason you had to come all the way to my apartment and bug me for the script when I will see you first thing in the morning?”

“Everyone else will have had theirs longer, and I wanted to get a good start on learning my lines, so yes, I have a good reason for ‘bugging’ you, Y/N.”

You hate the way he says your name. It passes his lips so softly every time and makes your heart speed faster than your liking. If another man said your name like that, you’d fall for him in an instant, but no, Henry seemed to be the only man possessing that thick, honey-sweet voice.

“Whatever,” You groan and turn on your heel. In your office desk are two extra copies of each actors’ script for emergencies, but a simple text from Henry would’ve sufficed; this is hardly life or death.

‘Hey, never got my script. Can you bring a copy in the morning?’ So damn easy.

You turn your head back when Henry’s heavy footsteps hit your hardwood floors. “Hey, I didn’t say you could come in,” You snap, eyebrows drawn together.

“What kind of person would leave their guest outside?”

The sass in his tone makes you want to pull your hair right out of your scalp. “You’re not my guest,” You say, but your blatant aggravation does nothing to hinder him and his body is a foot away from yours before you know it. Inches he has on you forces you to look up just to meet the smirk on his face.

“Stop acting like you hate me,” He says as he reaches a hand to grab yours.

“Excuse me?!” You quickly swat that hand away. “I am not acting like anything! Any negative feelings you are sensing from me are one hundred percent genuine.”

Henry scoffs and crosses his arms once again. “Oh, please.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief. He is unbelievable. Everything he does, everything he says, everything he is has had the power to make your whole body shake since the day you met him. “God, I can’t stand you!”

Walking away from him for the office, he follows close behind. “You know what, you’re not all that great either!” He yells at your back as you open the drawer of your desk to shuffle through the scripts. “You yap all damn day, talking to everyone else on set and making them laugh! You shoot that pretty smile in any direction and people flock to you like deranged birds!”

“So!” You pull out the script and hand it to Henry. Without giving it a glance, he snatches it from you and tosses it back on the oak wood surface of the desk.

“So? You’re distracting them from their jobs! We could probably get things done twice as fast if you weren’t around!”

“That’s—”

“And you are annoyingly beautiful!” He harshly interrupts. “Annoyingly! The men we work with will not shut up about it and I’m sick of listening to them talk about you the way they do! I end up hearing your name more times in a day than I hear my own, and I get called upon every five seconds! I’m practically forced to think about you!”

You blink at the increase in volume that makes the thin walls of your home quiver.

“I don’t know how many times your face manages to flash in my mind in the course of a week, but it’s starting to get to me!”

Your hands rise in disbelief before they slap back down to your sides. “That’s not my fault! But you’re one to talk! You’re well aware you’re ridiculously, unnaturally hot, and I fucking hate it! The women we work with won’t shut up about you. And you think I’m annoying? Imagine being surrounded by a pack of idiots that go on and on about how amazing you are, when the truth is, you’re so arrogant I can’t stand to be within two feet of you!”

When you try to walk past him, his hand wraps tightly around your upper arm. “Hey!”

“Leave me alone! I hate you!” You snarl at the rage in his eyes and try to shake him off you.

“You don’t hate me.”

You glare up at him. “Oh no?”

He gapes at you, seemingly stunned you have the gall to challenge him. The grip on your arm loosens until you are free. Winding his fingers through his chocolate locks, Henry shakes his head and clenches his jaw. “You are so...”

“So what? So irritating? So infuriating?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“If I’m such a problem, then go.” Ignoring his words, you point a finger in the general direction of the nearest exit.

“You want me to leave?”

“Yes! Of course, I do!”

He quirks an eyebrow and cocks his head. “So you’re going to grab me with your tiny hands and throw me through the front door, is that right?”

“I can’t fucking lift you!” You yell.

“Then I’m staying!”

“I think you’re really not! You can’t just demand to stay here! That’s not how this works!”

“Why can’t you just—God damn it!” He stomps his way back into the living room, script forgotten, and reaches for the doorknob. You follow him and let out an exhausted breath of relief, but Henry whips around to you again before you have time to revel in the feeling. “You know what, no. I’m not going anywhere until we settle this bullshit between us. I’m not going to argue with you anymore. I’m not going to act like I dislike you. I’m not going to keep playing this game, because it’s clearly not getting me anywhere; in fact, it’s doing the opposite.”

“Getting you anywhere?” You mumble.

“This whole thing is fucking bullshit and I’m over it.” He swallows. “Tell me what I did.”

“What?”

“You keep saying you hate me but have never given me a reason, so what did I do?”

Your jaw drops. “Are you kidding? You were just telling me I suck at my job, yet at the same time you don’t think I have a reason to be mad. You glare at me during work, you act like I’m an inconvenience, you—”

“That’s not what I mean.” Henry grabs your hand, and for a reason you couldn’t place, you allow it this time. “At the beginning, when we met, what was it that caused a problem between us? I’ve gone over our first meeting in my head about a thousand times and cannot figure out how I upset you so much that you’re still mad after months.”

You slip your fingers out of his palm, looking to the floor.

“Please just tell me,” He begs. “Please, I--”

“You sleep with the women you work with.” You spit out.

When he stares at you in confusion, you wince and say, “I have this friend…kinda. She was an extra on Hellraiser and claimed that you slept with nearly every woman on set, herself included. When I told her I got this job she said you’d probably try to get in my pants if I wasn’t careful, and I’m not cautious enough about men as it is, so—”

“You were mad at me before we met for something I didn’t even do?” He isn’t angry or looking at you like you’ve lost your mind; more like he can’t believe that was all it was. As if he had a simple solution to the problem that planted its roots deep into the both of you months prior.

“Whether or not you did, it’s not like you’ve been an angel to me anyway,” You say.

“Because I fucking panic when someone I want doesn’t want me! And you’ve made it very clear that you do not want me! You always seem so angry and…and I’m not very smooth, ok!? I say shit I don’t mean!”

“So you do want to get in my pants?”

“No!” He says quickly, then after a beat, sighs. “Yes.”

You give no response, so he continues.

“I swear, despite how idiotic I have acted, I really like you, and I don’t know who your friend is or why she would tell you I slept with a bunch of women on set, but I didn’t.”

You have to look away from him. His eyes hold too much sincerity and all it does is confuse you. You have spent too much time pissed to feel comfortable with the idea that it was potentially all for no reason, so you hug your arms across your middle and take a step back from him.

“Y/N, we need to talk about this.”

You shake your head. “I can’t right now.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s late, Henry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You won’t meet his stare but can see from your peripherals his head slowly nod. You don’t look up until your front door closes softly behind him.

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

You spend the earliest hours of the next morning sipping coffee before everyone else arrives for work, wondering if the night before actually happened or if it had just been a very realistic messy mix of a dream and a nightmare.

The sun rises and you watch as it ascends each inch until it’s planted high enough in the sky to warm your skin. He’d be here soon, looking for you, wanting answers for any questions you hadn’t given him the chance to ask.

So, what, he likes me now? He wants me? You can’t wrap your head around it. But you suppose it makes as much sense as you saying you hate him when really what you’ve been is nervous. You don’t want to be used again by some man with more power than you. Pulling yourself out of that hole was hard enough and you have no desire to trip and fall right back in.

“Y/N. You’re here early.”

You jump at the first voice to interrupt the peaceful silence. It was the last moment you’ll have to yourself for the next fifteen hours at least.

Turning your head, you smile at your boss. “Morning, Em.”

“Henry’s here early, too,” She says. “He asked me to let him know when you came in, but seeing as you’re already here, you think you could just head to his trailer now?”

No, you want to say. I’m not ready. “Sure.” You half-heartedly smile, dumping the last of your coffee in the nearest trash can.

Each crunchy step along the gravel to Henry’s trailer feels less sturdy than the one before. Though, he isn’t in his trailer when you find him, but standing out in a grassy patch, throwing a ball to Em’s dog, Leo. It makes your heart pump hard to see him so casually soft. It’s the first time you are looking at him when his eyes aren’t already on you.

Leo loyally returns the ball to Henry three more times before you gather the nerve to step up to his side.

“Em said you wanted to see me.”

You notice him hold in a breath when he registers your voice, then tossing the ball once more, he says, “I’d have gone looking for you myself if I knew you were here.”

You nod, but you’ve yet to look at one another.

“The makeup artists are gonna have a blast today trying to make me look decent,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t sleep all night. I spent it trying to figure out what to say to you but came up short.”

You scratch behind Leo’s large ears when he nudges your legs with his head. Henry gently grins, though you don’t see it. You shrug. “At least you don’t have as many scenes today.”

Henry chuckles. “That’s true.”

“I couldn’t think of anything to say to you either,” You say.

A moment passes as he blows out a deep sigh.

“Y/N…I don’t want to act like it didn’t happen. I know that’s what is easiest, but I meant what I said. The good parts, not the shit about you sucking at your job. You’re the best at your job.”

Finally meeting his eyes, the corners of your lips curve up just a bit.

“But I don’t expect you to feel the same about me.”

“Henry…”

He shakes his head and throws the ball for Leo after the pups persistent whimpering. “I’m not going to make things hard for you. Filming is almost over anyway and if you want, I’ll try to bother you as little as I can. I’m sorry I’ve been an ass, it’s just…you like everyone around here except me, but I’ve liked you more than anyone else since the moment we met. It’s no excuse--”

“It’s ok.”

He looks at you. “It’s not.”

“It is.” Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm. He stares at the touch you give him as you continue. “I didn’t have a good reason for treating you like I hate you, not really.”

“So, you don’t…hate me?”

“…No.” You look away in shame. “And I have a better explanation for that.”

He blinks, clearly relieved that every horrible thing he figured you felt for him was not, in your heart, the truth. “You don’t owe me one.”

“I slept with my boss once,” You rush out. “And, um…got the same warning as I did with you: sleeps with the other women he works with, will try to do the same with me. He did and I let him because I thought he liked me, but…no. All it did was make me feel like an idiot in the end.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I made a mistake.” You shrug. And suddenly, admitting that out loud, confiding in someone, knocks some of the painful gears in your head loose. You’d never told anyone the truth about your past. “Look, this is going to sound really odd but,” You swallow. “…Don’t stop bothering me.”

“Wait,” He turns his body fully to you. “What?”

Your lips thin, but then you smile, inch up on your toes, and go to kiss his cheek. All you wanted to do was provide a little reassurance, to let him know that you now forgive every misunderstanding between you, but the kiss lands a little too far to the right and covers the end of his mouth.

Immediately, you pull back a few centimeters and feel heat flushing your cheeks, but Henry tilts his head the slightest. He takes a breath, giving you a chance to pull back further, but when you make no move to abandon him, he connects your lips again.

It feels good. He feels good. So good it shocks you how much you don’t want it to end. And when you part your lips and his tongue touches yours, you can’t stop your hands from sliding up his chest before roping around his neck and tugging him closer. Only then does he greedily grab at your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh through the fabric of your t-shirt.  

Leo’s bark separates you minutes later, though you’re reluctant to allow it. You glance at the dog, chuckling at his rapidly wagging tail as he watches the scene before him. But when you look back to Henry, his eyes are already glued to you, their hue a little brighter and a small smile on his face.

“I’ll bother you as much as you like,” He says and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind your ear.

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

*reposted for tag testing reasons. 

[itsallyscorner]

Hello, a chris e x reader where reader owns a cafe in Boston and he loves to cone there mainly to see her but is hesitant to tell her that he likes her because there’s a some age gap between the r and Chris 😅🥰😘

Ooooo I love this request!!! I hope you like it! 🖤☕️

💌.

Coffee Talks

The chilly autumn winds of Boston breezed against your cheeks. Unlocking the doors to your cafe, you took a deep breath in, inhaling the familiar rich aroma of coffee. You’ll never get tired of it honesty. Locking the doors behind you, you made your way towards the back of the cafe to put your personal belongings away. After clocking in for the day, you went out to the front to brew some coffee for the early wave of customers. You laid out some pre-made pastries onto a baking sheet and put them into the oven. You turned the radio on making the whole cafe feel more alive. As Harry Style’s voice echoed throughout the cafe, Henry, the delivery guy knocked on the door.

“Mornin’ (y/n)!” He greeted you after you unlocked the door. He pushed the cart of boxes filled with cakes and other treats into the cafe.

“Right back at ya, Henry. Early morning today, huh?” You asked as you helped him unload the boxes from the cart. Usually Henry would make his delivery around 7 am, it was currently 6:30 am.

“Yeah, I’ve got a half day today. Have some wedding planning with the missus before she goes all bridezilla.” He joked as he dusted his hands off.

“That’s great! I’ll get you a coffee to take with you for the day.” Before Henry could even protest you were already behind the counter pouring some coffee into a large cup. When you were done you handed it to him with a smile. Henry pulled out his wallet but was stopped by you.

“Henry, it’s on the house.” You tell him.

“You know, you never let me pay for coffee, and that’s not good for your business.” He tuts playfully. Even though he would insist on paying for his coffee every morning, you never let him. The man got up at the ass crack of dawn to deliver cakes and such for cafes, it was the least you can do to make his day better.

“I don’t mind. You need the coffee to keep you going, Henry. Now get outta ‘ere, you’ve got some delivering to do.” You say. Henry playfully rolls his eyes and takes a $10 bill out his wallet, shoving it into the tip jar.

“He—“

“Take it, you’ve been giving me too many free coffees.” He reassures you before leaving the cafe. You yell a “have a nice day” to him before the door closes.

You loved your job. In fact you were your own boss and had your own cafe in Boston. Not too far from the main streets but in a quieter area where people still passed by. You’re currently in college studying Business and Management to help you with the cafe. Some wondered how you were still in college while managing a whole business.

The building is owned by your Uncle, he’s a realtor who also had some properties on the side. He was about to sell the store building but decided against it after he overheard you talking about starting your own business. A few years later and here you were. Your cafe was flourishing and had many loyal customers, every other day there would be some new customers who would stop by because the outside looked cute or claimed that someone suggested it to them (which always made your heart swell in joy). Though there were many loyal customers, one in particular seemed to always catch your eye.

🕓 Time Skip

The morning rush had passed and it was now lunch time. Unlike most of the customers that bought their coffee to go in the mornings, lunch time customers hung around the cafe for an hour or so. Which you enjoyed because there were always customers who would greet you as you passed by.

The sound of the bell on the door rang over the music and chatter of the cafe. You were working the cash register today while the others were taking orders, restocking pastries, or cleaning tables. You looked up from the register after finishing the previous customer’s order. You were greeted by the familiar ocean eyes you anticipated to see everyday.

“Hey stranger.” You teasingly greeted him.

“Hey, how’s your day going?” A smile formed on his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“My day’s going great now that my favorite customer’s here.” You winked.

“Oh please. You’re too kind.”

“So your usual, Chris?” You asked after realizing a line was starting to form behind the tall man. Chris came by the cafe almost everyday. You see, he was an actor and would go away for a few months to film movies. But whenever he was in town he would always stop by.

Chris’ “usual” consisted of a regular coffee with a dash of caramel syrup and a croissant.

“Yup. Can you add in a cake pop?” He answered as he looked at the glass cases that displayed the treats.

“Of course. $8.50.” He handed over his card and you swiped it.

“Thanks, (y/n).” He said after you hand over his card and receipt. Before he can walk away from the register he asks, “Can you stop by my table when you’re not busy?”

“Uh, yeah sure.” You answer and he walks away with a smile. You found it strange that he would ask you to come over because you always stopped by his table. You two always talked whenever he was there. Whether it be about a new project of his, one of your classes, or about your days.

🕓 Time Skip

A few minutes had gone by before Jade insisted on taking over the register. You make your way towards the back of the cafe to see Chris nervously fiddling with a wrapper. He always sat near the back, it was more secluded and he had a lower chance of getting noticed.

“Hey.” You greeted him softly as you sat down in the seat across from him. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice.

“Hey, doll. Here.” He smiled and pushed the wrapper that contained the cake pop.

“You don’t want it?” You asked before you can take the cake pop out.

“No, I got it for you. You’re always snacking on something whenever we talk so I thought I should get you a treat this time.” He shrugged and sat up in his seat. You thanked him and took the cake pop out.

“So what’s up?”

“Uh. I just wanted to say I appreciate our talks here at the cafe and I enjoy talking to you a lot.” He began to say. You nodded along for him to continue, though he hesitated. You’ve known Chris for almost a year now. You considered him a friend since you guys always shared things about your lives during your coffee talks. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him attractive. Because you sure as hell did and he had an amazing personality to go along with his charming looks.

“I appreciate our talks too, Chris. It’s one of the things I look forward to whenever you’re around.” You hum in response. Chris slightly freezes and just stares at you. A light blush forming on his pale cheeks.

“I’m not saying I don’t like talking to you in the cafe because I like it here. It’s very cozy and the atmosphere is very relaxing. You also make really great coffee and your taste in music is really great. You’re great.” He began to ramble causing your eyebrows to scrunch in confusion.

“I appreciate the compliments, Chris. But I don’t think I get where you’re trying to go with this conversation.” You interject making him stop. He sighs and leans forward keeping eye contact with you.

“I’m saying that I would like to talk to you outside of the cafe. Maybe on a date or something.” He confessed. You eyes widened for a bit. You never expected Chris to ask you out. Because of the age gap between you two you thought he would be more into women his age. Not that it bothered you.

When you remained silent, Chris groaned and sat back in his chair.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to say yes, I probably just made you uncomfortable too. Shit.” He groaned cringing at himself.

“No, wait!” You finally snapped out of your thoughts. “I’m just shocked you would ask me out, I didn’t expect you to find me interesting.” You explained.

“What do you mean? You’re one of the most inspiring women I’ve met. You’re balancing your classes at college and running your own business! Not everyone can do that!” His hands waving in the air as he talked.

“I mean I thought you were into women your age, if you haven’t noticed I’m a few years younger than you.” You mentioned.

“Well, does it make you uncomfortable to be with someone like me? If so, you could say no, I respect your decision.” He acknowledged. You smiled at him and shook your head.

“No, I’m comfortable with the age gap. It doesn’t bother me at all.” You confirm. Chris visibly takes a deep breath in and relaxes himself.

With a playful grin on his lips he leans forward again and asks, “So, does that mean you’ll go on a date with me?”

“Yes, Chris I’ll go on a date with you.” You playfully roll your eyes, though a smile were on your face.

[shamandrummer]

Winona LaDuke: Native Environmentalism

I had the opportunity to meet Winona LaDuke and hear her speak at a conference years ago. LaDuke is a renowned Anishinaabe environmentalist, economist, writer and past two time vice-presidential candidate (with Ralph Nader), known for her work on tribal land claims and preservation, as well as women's rights. She is from the Makwa Dodaem (Bear Clan) of the White Earth Reservation in northern Minnesota. LaDuke was raised in Ashland Oregon, the daughter of Betty Bernstein and Vincent (Sun Bear) LaDuke. Her Anishinaabe father worked as an actor in Hollywood in supporting roles in Western movies before establishing himself as an author and spiritual leader in the 1980's. Her mother is an artist and writer who has gained an international reputation for her murals, paintings and sketches. LaDuke attended Harvard University, Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Antioch University. She has testified at the United Nations, U.S. Congress, state hearings, and is an expert witness on economics and the environment. She advocates primarily for the protection of the environment and the rights of women. In 1985, LaDuke helped found the Indigenous Women's Network. She worked with the Native organization Women of All Red Nations to publicize American forced sterilization of Native American women. In 1989, LaDuke founded the White Earth Land Recovery Project in Minnesota with the proceeds of a human rights award from Reebok. The goal is to buy back land in the White Earth Indian Reservation that non-Natives bought and to create enterprises that provide work to Anishinaabe. LaDuke is humorous, enlightening and above all political. She speaks with a Native voice without altering her language for non-Natives. Her words differ from establishment thinking and offer new ways of understanding the world and the solutions we need for the great issues of climate change. She conveys a beautiful and daring vision of political, spiritual and ecological transformation. LaDuke spoke at length about Native environmental issues and challenges. Despite making up a tiny fraction of the world's population, Indigenous peoples hold ancestral rights to some 65 percent of the planet. This poignant fact conveys the enormous role that Native peoples play not only as environmental stewards, but as political actors on the global stage.

All over the world, Native peoples are engaged in battles with hostile corporations and governments that claim the right to set aside small reserves for Native people, and then to seize the rest of their traditional territory. They are confronting the destructive practices of industry and leading the charge against climate change, while defending the rivers, forests and food systems that we all depend on. At the same time, they are blocking governments from eroding basic rights and freedoms and turning to the courts of the world to remedy over 500 years of historical wrongs. Native peoples are putting their lives on the line and fighting back for political autonomy and land rights. And all the while, they are breathing new life into the biocultural heritage that has the potential to sustain the entire human race.

Native Americans often articulate alternative environmental perspectives and relationships to the natural world. Indigenous mythologies and oral traditions express a non-anthropocentric environmental ethic. Indigenous groups offer ancient tried-and-tested knowledge and wisdom based on their own locally developed practices of resource use. And, as Native peoples themselves have insisted for centuries, they often understand and exhibit a holistic, interconnected and interdependent relationship to particular landscapes and to the totality of life, animate and inanimate, found there.

Perhaps the most important aspect of Indigenous cosmology is the conception of creation as a living process, resulting in a living universe in which a kinship exists between all things. Thus the Mother Earth is a living being, as are the Sun, Stars and the Moon. Hence the Creators are our family, our Grandparents or Parents, and all of their creations are children who are also our relations. LaDuke captured the essence of this concept when she said: "Native American teachings describe the relations all around--animals, fish, trees, and rocks--as our brothers, sisters, uncles, and grandpas...These relations are honored in ceremony, song, story, and life that keep relations close--to buffalo, sturgeon, salmon, turtles, bears, wolves, and panthers. These are our older relatives--the ones who came before and taught us how to live."

The industrialized West is largely unaware of how Indigenous societies have functioned, and the strengths they possess that industrial cultures have lacked. Our notions of progress are based on the idea that high tech means better and that industrial cultures are somehow more advanced socially. The current state of our threatened environment demands that communication channels be opened for dialogue and engagement with Native environmental ethics.  

When describing Indigenous environmental activism, LaDuke said, "Grassroots and land-based struggles characterize most of Native environmentalism. We are nations of people with distinct land areas, and our leadership and direction emerge from the land up." Each nation and community has its own unique cultural traditions linked to the land.

LaDuke detailed how different groups of Native people are contending with environmental issues and are seeking to address them at the local, community level. They are also forming national and international organizations that seek to help individual nations, in large part through information sharing and technical assistance. In the final analysis, however, each nation, reserve, or community has to confront its own issues and develop its own leadership. This must be stressed over and over again: each sovereign Native nation will deal with its own environmental issues in its own way. There is no single Native American government that can develop a collective Indigenous response to the crisis we all face. LaDuke emphasized that the environmental awareness of many Native American groups translates into a high level of respect for women in their communities. A good deal of evidence has shown that when women have high status, education, and choices, they tend to greatly enrich a community and to stabilize population growth. Many traditional American societies have been able to maintain balance with their environments because of the high status of women, a long period of nursing for infants, and/or the control of reproductive decisions by women. Many of the leaders in the Native struggle today are women. LaDuke pointed out that respect and humility form the foundation of Native lifeways, since they not only lead to minimal exploitation of other living things but also preclude the arrogance of colonial missionary activity, secular imperialism, and the oppressive patriarchy. She noted that: "In each deliberation we consider the impact on the seventh generation from now. Everything we have today we inherited, we are very, very fortunate today that our ancestors were strong people. We’re very, very fortunate that our ancestors took care of this land so well. We also know that those who are not yet here are counting on us not to mess this up…they’re counting on us to make sure that there will be water for them to drink, that there will still be fish, that the air will not be so poisoned or so hot that they cannot live."

Native people are not only trying to clean up uranium tailings, purify polluted water, and mount opposition to fossil fuel extraction; they are also continuing their spiritual ways of seeking to celebrate and support all life by means of ceremonies and prayers. As LaDuke told us in closing: "In our communities, Native environmentalists sing centuries-old songs to renew life, to give thanks for the strawberries, to call home fish, and to thank Mother Earth for her blessings."

[lady-of-disdain]

If you're so bothered by a cartoon ship (which... no words) still don't understand why you take it out on shippers, not like you could do much about the studio anyway, they don't care, as they should, but then being on our ass is entirely pointless... maybe that's the problem at the same time, maybe to some extent you do realise no one cares so you've decided persecuting a bunch of fan creators and consumers would be the next best thing. That said I feel it's imperative to point out, we're not Sunrise, we're not the ones with the power to shape this story, so you bullying us is frankly just devoid of any meaning other than raw intent for violence. At the very least admit that and drop the pretences, it's the only thing you've done after all, one would have to be blind not to see it.

If you're afraid a puny ship might be canon, and whatever you've twisted it to mean for you, take it up with the studio, alternatively with god since you're so into fictive characters over real life. Come to think of it didn't you guys have a friend that has a friend working at the studio? How come you're still so insecure? Why don't you tell the friend of the friend to influence the plot? Why hasn't this friend of a friend provided any other inside scoops to make themselves credible? Questions, questions.

Either way, hurting shippers will achieve nothing, we were gonna ship no matter the canon status of the ship, and I pity you people who think that shipping something has to be done because you want something canon, as opposed to just... for fun... but maybe that comes naturally with being pathetic, anyway, the possibility of it becoming canon now has nothing to do with us. Even less so as Westerners, if audience even has any sort of influence in all this, it would be the Japanese one way before it would be any Western one. Appreciate you giving us so much importance, but we don't need it, and we're just not really as important as you attribute, we'd just love it if you stopped hurting people over cartoons. You made something gruesome out of a fairy tale, that's on you, that's your problem, and we'd all be better off if you found a way to deal with that didn't rely on abusing others.

Honey, are you lost? I think there was maybe a different blog this rant was supposed to be sent to but I got it by mistake. Because I have no worldly idea what you are talking about in about half of this ask.

The first thing that confuses me: that I’m apparently “taking it out on shippers”, “ persecuting”, and “bullying” them? Please show me your receipts. I’ve literally never directly initiated contact with a sessrin blog. Hell, the one time I considered answering a post made by a pro blog, it was going to be in direct response to a question they posed in the anti tag, directed towards antis, and it turns out I couldn’t even answer the post because the user had most of the anti community blocked. (Silly, I know, but this is what we’ve been dealing with so what can I say.) Any time I want to respond to a sessrin argument that wasn’t directed to me anyways, I would usually screenshot it and blackout the names.

I can count on one hand the times I’ve even posted in the same thread as pro sessrin blogs, and in those cases, I either A) didn’t directly call out the other blog/blogs that were posting in the same thread as me, or @ them, or B) was only even interacting in said post because pro shippers were piling on and harassing people in the thread, and I was simply pointing out that there were shippers in said thread acting fools. The only time I ever even pointed out a particular blog I did it via screenshot and did it to keep a record of a blog that was admitting to flagging our posts as spam. 

If you would like to see proof of my interactions, all you have to do is check the #receipts tags on my blog, you’ll find all of my interactions conveniently tagged. (Oh and don’t worry, I’ll get back to that receipts tag shorty.)

The second thing you said that confuses me, that I have a “friend that has a friend working at the studio”? What (and I can’t stress this enough) the FUCK, are you talking about? 

I.....have never made this claim? Where have I ever said this, where have I ever reblogged this? I’ve never even read this? I need some clarification here, because either you are from an alternate timeline where I’m living a much cooler life, or like I said, you have the wrong blog.

~

Anyways, regardless of the fact that I’m pretty sure you sent this to the wrong person, I guess I can render a response to the base question you seem to be asking here: Why argue with shippers?

Really, at the end of the day, I’m not arguing with your average shipper. Hell, there are a few blogs I even follow and interact with that have said they like sessrin content, but they understand this is not an appropriate thing for a kid's show. And I can respect that because I’ve been in the problematic ship boat in other fandoms. (Here’s a hint, in one of the fandoms that I followed content for a problematic ship in, a content creator was given cookies with sewing needles baked into them, yikes right?!)

The main message of mine and many other blogs I follow is that this ship isn’t appropriate for children’s media, and what happens is a lot of salty people come out of the woodwork who feel the need to argue and say there is nothing wrong with it, which causes us to have to list the reasons why there is indeed something wrong with it (thus why it shouldn't be in said children’s media), then what happens is people like you come at us and act like all we’ve been doing is bullying shippers, and “why don’t you just let us ship in peace!?!?!?!!!??”

In fact, I shouldn’t even be surprised that I got this ask eventually, because as I’ve pointed out in the past, the shipper argument seems to be a cyclical one.

A blogger will make a statement something along the lines that they really don’t care if people ship sessrin, but the shippers really shouldn’t be making a lot of noise to the studio that they want to see this ship in the show because kids watch it, and it’s not a great message to send to kids.

A shipper will then message the blog (usually anonymously if possible) something along the lines of you’re wrong about the ship sending a bad message to kids because of xyz, or it’s a totally normal and healthy relationship, and you’re wrong, or Yashahime isn’t for kids, etc.

The Blogger will then respond with actual evidence, a well-worded response, or even just fucking common sense (like come on, some of the mental gymnastics I’ve seen people employ to try to validate this fucking ship to us is hilarious).

The blogger will then get another message something along the lines of  “why don’t you just let us ship in peace!?!?!?!!!??”

The blogger responds with JESUS CHRIST I SAID FROM THE VERY START THAT I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SHIP I JUST DON’T WANT TO SEE IT IN A GODDAMN KIDS CARTOON”

At which point the whole process is rinsed and repeated. Congratulations you’ve just witnessed a new grey hair grow out of my fucking scalp.

However, there is a new facet to this shit gem that I’ve noticed during this whole annoying cycle, and that is the fact that a lot of pro shippers are making claims that they are being harassed by anti blogs, but I’m not seeing a lot of proof of this. And make no mistake, if I see an established anti blog being terrible, or making a false claim, I have no problem calling them out, or correcting false information. Please, feel free to screenshot proof and post it in the anti tag, and see how many other blogs won't put up with this either.

And to be clear, I don’t really count anonymous asks as harassment, because people can be sending that shit to themselves. Just like I don’t mind asks I get like this one because I naively respond to them in the hopes that maybe someone will actually understand what the argument has been about this whole time. And if I didn’t like it, turning off anon magically gets rid of it, so *shrug*.

No, I’m talking about actual, out in the open harassment, or shitty behavior. 

Like oh say, Patreon art being reposted in a discord server, then when a good samaritan reports the art theft they are harassed by their fellow discord members. 

Or maybe the ongoing flagging and harassment campaigns that are going on over almost all online social media platforms. 

Or how about the time some people tried to start a Twitter smear campaign against a voice actor who has some opinions about their ship they don’t like.

Yeah, remember how I said I’ve got a receipts tag. I see ya’ll.

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Isaiah 40:31

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: well, shit hits the fan and the end is near.

***

As the boy who was most assuredly Not The Antichrist - but who had nonetheless been their charge for about the first eleven years of his life - walked towards the front door of the bookshop in Soho, entirely unaware of being stalked by a man with a pocket knife, Aziraphale stood in the bedroom of a lovely cottage in the South Downs, not far from the Devil’s Dyke.

He knew it was rather rude, being roughly seventy-five miles away from the place where you happen to have an appointment in about five minutes’ time, but surely it was not too much of an issue, given that they would be right back in the bookshop by crossing the threshold of a rather miraculous door they had installed between the two places. And besides, Crowley had really wanted to show him something. 

That something being a luxurious, huge and hugely gaudy canopy bed with gold-plated columns and red velvet drapes that wouldn’t have looked too out of place in Versailles, before revolutionaries took most of its contents to an uncertain fate. As a piece of furniture still occasionally turned up in flea markets, Aziraphale wouldn’t put it beyond the realm of possibilities.

Said bed now occupied the greater part of the bedroom that Crowley had insisted they ought to have in the cottage, against Aziraphale’s suggestion to turn it into another room for his books. 

“We already have the loft for those, and the bookshop on the other side of the door,” he’d pointed out. “We need a bedroom.”

Aziraphale, who had actually last slept sometime in the nineteenth century and solely out of boredom while watching an especially poor performance of Troilus and Cressida - in itself far from Shakespeare’s best work, and the lead actor’s lisp had done it no favors - had been slightly taken aback. “But, my dear, we don’t need sleep,” he’d said, getting a snort out of Crowley. 

“We don’t need to eat either. So what?”

Aziraphale had to concede he had a point, although he didn’t quite see the allure of laying in a semi-comatose state for several hours while hallucinating the same way he saw the allure of a slice of red velvet cake, and agreed that the cottage would indeed have a bedroom. It was only fair considering the space he had for his books, so that was a compromise he did not regret. 

Telling Crowley he was welcome to choose whatever bed he liked himself, however, was something Aziraphale did regret. He knew that Crowley’s taste when it came to furniture ranged from dreadfully minimalistic to unbearably garish, but this - the golden columns, the red heavy velvet - was… a little too much. 

“Well, what do you think?” Crowley was asking, looking as proud of himself as he had after moving that golden monstrosity he called a throne right next to Aziraphale’s old trusty armchair in the loft, entirely ignoring the way Aziraphale’s right eyebrow had twitched. 

This time, it was the left eyebrow to twitch. 

“Well, it is-- rather…” Aziraphale raked his brain for a polite way to put it. “Eye-catching.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Crowley grinned, even prouder. Aziraphale suspected his euphemism had been a little too subtle. “I remembered what you said when I came to save your butt in France.”

“... That I wanted crêpes?”

“That you had standards. French royalty standards.”

“Well, it was not quite royalty level, more along the lines of a noble--”

“This beauty comes straight from Versailles.”

Ah, of course. Of course it did. 

“Or, well, not so straight. It went around across Europe quite a bit. But here it is, as you see.”

“Yes. I… I do see.” Aziraphale managed a smile. No harm done, he thought - he didn’t have a habit to sleep as Crowley did, so he would hardly ever need to be in that room at all. He would just entirely forget about that bed. Out of sight, out of mind. 

“The mattress is new, clearly. You’ll like it. Real plush.”

Aziraphale blinked. “That sounds nice, but I am not in the habit of sleeping.”

“You should try. Nothing better than some time spent in a semi-comatose state while vividly hallucinating.”

A chuckle. “You’re not making it sound very alluring.”

“Ah, I should up my temptation game. I’m out of practice. When was the last time I tempted you into anything?”

“This morning, actually, you--”

The chiming of the grandfather clock downstairs - a very tasteful eighteenth century clock Aziraphale had long debated whether to move in the cottage or keep in the bookshop - cut him off, and reminded him of… well, of the time. 

“I believe Warlock should arrive any moment now - we should head back,” he said, and they did. It looked like the boy might get there before Gabriel popped in to return the book, and if that turned out to be the case… well, Aziraphale really hoped he had enough sense to put the book in a bag or something like it. If not, they may need to have a few words.

There were things an eleven-year-old boy really didn’t need to see.

***

“Ugh, c’mon, they knew I was coming…” Warlock Dowling huffed, taking a couple of steps away from the door of the bookshop which had stayed closed, no matter how hard he knocked. He glanced at the sign in the window; it made just as little sense as it did the first time he read it. 

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10am. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday. I tend to close about 3:30pm, or earlier if something needs tending to. However, I might occasionally keep the shop open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need some light reading. On days that I am not in, the shop will remain closed. On weekends, I will open the shop during normal hours unless I am elsewhere. Bank holidays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays, or sometimes Fridays. (For Sundays see Tuesdays). A.Z. Fell, Bookseller

Warlock briefly wondered who A. Z. Fell was, really - the founder? A co-owner? It definitely was not Brother Francis’ name, but he had claimed to be the owner, which was a leap from working as a gardener but not a claim Warlock had any reason to doubt. Brother Francis did not lie, after all. He hated lies and got really cross with him whenever he caught him lying, usually after Nanny-- after Crowley suggested he did.

“Pair of weirdos. Always been,” Warlock muttered, but it wasn’t really a complaint; they were a fun pair of weirdos to grow up around, or else he wouldn’t have tracked them down in London. After checking through the window to see if anyone was in, and seeing, no one, Warlock reached in his pocket for his phone and began looking for Crowley’s number. 

Focused as he was on the screen, he failed to notice the man approaching with a hand in his pocket, eyes fixed on him and pupils blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black. On the opposite side of the road Hastur, Duke of Hell, retreated from the mortal’s mind with a smirk and prepared to enjoy the scene with eyes just as black.

***

“... So no, I really doubt the London Dungeon holds prisoners anymore, but it would be an interesting thing to--”

“Silence,” Beelzebub spoke suddenly, stopping abruptly in their tracks and causing Gabriel to almost bump into them and drop the book, something for which Aziraphale would probably be very, very cross with him. He frowned. 

“It’s not my fault that they have stopped using the dungeons, if that’s such an issue I suppose we could change plans and--”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you sense-- ah. No, you can’t anymore,” Beelzebub muttered, and looked around with a scowl. “A demon is at work. It was my order that no one was to approach the traitors.”

Gabriel blinked. “Maybe it’s Crowley--”

“It’s not,” Beelzebub all but snarled, staring at someone some distance away. Further down the pavement stood a man that looked… wrong, for the lack of a better word; something not human who made a passingly decent job at masquerading as human, but not quite good enough. Gabriel may not be able to sense demonic or angelic presences anymore, but he could see as much.

“Hastur,” Beelzebub scoffed. 

Ah, Gabriel was vaguely familiar with the name - Hastur, Duke of Hell. Not someone he’d be pleased to meet anywhere in general, but seeing him there was especially worrying. He recalled Michael mentioning that out of all demons, he held a particular grudge against Crowley. Was that grudge really so great that he would ignore a direct order from Beelzebub to find Crowley in Soho and… and do what, exactly? “What is he doing here?”

“I’m about to find out. Wait here,” Beelzebub muttered, and walked - no, marched - directly towards the demon. “Hastur, Duke of Hell. What in Heaven are you doing here?”

Their voice caused the demon to recoil and turn his attention away from… whatever they had been staring at on the other side of the road. He was already deathly pale, but he seemed to grow just a tad paler as his gaze rested on a decidedly annoyed Prince of Hell planting themselves before him, arms crossed and clearly looking for a very good explanation why he would defy a direct order not to be anywhere near the traitorous demon that holy water could not destroy.

As he stammered some sort of reply, Gabriel let his gaze wander across the street. A man was walking towards the bookshop coming from the opposite direction, and he was… wait. Wait, he looked familiar - Gabriel had seen him before, a few months earlier, near the church where Daniel’s funeral service had just been held. He’d given him his coat because it was raining and talked briefly with him, and he had found it funny because his name was… his name…

“Noah!” Gabriel called out with a smile, walking towards him. “How are you doing? How’s your--” 

The next word - dog? - died on his lips when he got to look, to really look, at Noah’s eyes. They looked no more human than those of the Duke of Hell currently getting a tongue-lashing only a few steps away, and they were fixed dead ahead of him as he kept walking, giving no sign of having heard or seen him. Walking towards the bookshop… and towards a boy fumbling with his phone right in front of it, back turned to them all.  Something was off. Something was wrong. 

A demon is at work, Beelzebub had said. Gabriel opened his mouth to cry out, to demand that Hastur, Duke of Hell, released that mortal from whatever hold he had on him - but before he could force out a single word, Noah’s hand came out of his pocket and something gleamed in the sunlight. 

There was no time to cry out. No time for words, no time to think, no time to demand action from anyone other than himself. Gabriel knew there was one thing he ought to do now, one thing only. Ever since finding himself without plan or purpose, choices had not always come easy to him - the terror of choosing wrong often paralyzing him. But this one came with no effort: it was no choice at all. As a dark shadow fell on a boy he didn’t even know, Gabriel dropped the book he had come to return, and ran. 

“NOAH! STOP!”

Noah did not turn, but the boy did. He lifted his gaze from his phone to glance over at Gabriel, clearly confused - then his confusion turned into alarm when Gabriel suddenly grabbed his arm and yanked him away. 

“Hey! The hell?” the boy yelled, just as the knife descended on the spot he’d been standing only an instant before, narrowly missing the back of his neck. He tried to pull away from Gabriel’s grip, turning to call out for someone to get that madman off him  - and froze when he finally saw the man standing behind him, eyes all black and lips pulled back in a snarl, swinging something at him.

Somewhere in his brain, he registered it was a knife. He tried once again to scream - mom, he thought, but if he’d managed to force out his voice he probably would have said something more along the lines of ‘shit’. Gabriel, from his part, didn’t try to speak again; he could tell Noah was beyond hearing him. 

So he yanked the boy back once again, and threw himself between him and Noah. The result was, all things considered, extremely predictable.

Four and a half inches of steel buried themselves into Gabriel’s gut with a wet sound that went almost entirely unheard. There was a sense of heat, the pressure of a handle against his flesh and, at first, no pain. Gabriel found himself staring straight into pitch-black eyes for a moment before the pupils shrank to a normal size again, revealing the human eyes, light blue and filled with confusion. Somewhere behind Gabriel, the boy screamed and turned to bang on the door of Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

People around them stopped walking to turn, not quite having caught up what was going on but slowly getting there. On the other side of the road, a panicked Duke of Hell disappeared in a cloud of smoke as soon as the Lord of the Flies turned to see what the commotion was about. 

Gabriel tried to speak, to call out for Beelzebub - don’t hurt him, he didn’t know what he was doing - but a gurgling sound was all that left him, and something dripped down his chin. 

“What…?” Noah muttered, blinking at him, and looked down. “Oh-- oh God, oh Jesus Christ, oh shit-- !” he cried out, voice high and panicked, and staggered back with the knife still in hand, dislodging from Gabriel’s flesh with another wet sound.

Blood came rushing forth, coldness set in, and so did pain. Gabriel’s knees folded, and he hit the ground just as the bloodied knife did. Noah stepped back again, shaking like a newborn calf. 

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry-- someone call an ambulance, I’m sorry, oh God…!”

Don’t bother calling out for God. They don’t answer. Not for me.

“Gabriel!” Beelzebub’s voice filled his ears, drowning out all the rest. There was a hand on the back of his head, lifting it, and he opened his eyes again to see them looking down at him, wide-eyed and scared in a way he had never seen them.

And Gabriel was scared, too, filled to the brim with the most primal, human terror - the most ancient sort of despair known to man. He suddenly knew why even Yeshua had faltered that night in the Garden of Gethsemane, pleading to escape the fate before him and avoid what he knew was unavoidable.

I don’t want to die.

He tried to speak, choking on his own blood. Somewhere behind him, a heavy door was thrown open and Aziraphale’s voice reached him as though from miles away. 

“Warlock! My boy, what is-- oh. Oh dear, what…?”

“What the Heaven is going on?” Crowley’s voice was a couple octaves higher than usual, and suddenly there was silence, time itself stilled; the crowd all around them, Noah, even a bird flying past right above them remained fixed in time like so many statues. The boy was talking frantically to Crowley and Aziraphale, but Gabriel was unable to pay his words any mind. His gaze remained fixed on Beelzebub, and on Beelzebub only. 

“Heal me,” he choked out. He felt cold all over, even with the wound itself throbbing in heat and pain the way the wounds on his back had, the day his wings were torn off. “Please.”

“Hastur will pay for this, he-- I-- of course, you idiot, be still--” their hand hovered above the blood-soaked shirt, and suddenly they hesitated. Their gaze found Gabriel’s, and held it. “... Sacrifice,” the Prince of Hell murmured.

“What…?”

“You sacrificed your life for another. That’s it. It’s your ticket back home, Gabriel.”

Home. Back in Heaven, where he belonged. Not quite in his old position - a mortal soul - but still, home. Except that… except that if he returned there as a mere mortal soul...

“No,” Gabriel wheezed. “No. I can’t. I-- would never-- be able to leave it-- again.”

“You never wished to leave it in the first pla--”

“Never see you-- again--” Gabriel coughed, and let out a weak groan at the excruciating pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it down his throat, pooling down on the pavement around him; he felt his strength draining away with it. The back of Beelzebub’s free hand wiped some of it off his chin; the other still cupped the back of his head.

“... You will die either way in the end. You do not wish to reside in Hell and I will not force you.” Their plan of leaving behind Hell for good seemed to be far from their mind now. “This may be--” the Prince of Hell paused, and let out a shaky breath. “This may be your best chance, Gabriel.”

“No. Not now. Not yet,” Gabriel managed a smile. His vision was growing blurry. “I will take… all the time I can get. With you.” However little it may be. Such short life spans, but I will make it worth it. I must. I only get one shot. “So don’t-- let me die-- yet.”

For a moment Beelzebub only stared, their hand hovering above his wound. They swallowed, and opened their mouth to say something - only that someone else spoke first. Aziraphale.

“Oh, oh dear, what a dreadful mess-- Gabriel? It’s all right, hold on, I will heal you--”

“Keep away from him!” Beelzebub buzzed furiously, shooting a glare at Aziraphale, at Crowley, at the boy who was currently glued to Crowley’s side, staring with wide eyes at the scene before him and at the crowd frozen in time. The angel reared back, but did not give up. 

“I mean to help him. Heal him.”

“I can heal him myself!” the Prince of Hell snapped, and pressed their hand on the bleeding wound. Pain shot up Gabriel’s body and he ground his teeth, waiting for relief, for healing, for the end of suffering… but none of it came. 

Beelzebub pulled away a now bloodied hand, taken aback, struggling to comprehend what they were seeing. “It’s… it isn’t working. It won’t heal.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, despair sinking in his chest.

No. It cannot be. Not now, God, please. Don’t do this to me. Don’t let me die now that I have learned to live. Don’t take them from me again.

“... May I try, Lord Beelzebub?” Aziraphale spoke again, ever respectful, but the hesitation in his voice made it plain that he didn’t think they could succeed where Beelzebub had failed. Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, and felt something trickling down his temples. 

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why--

GABRIEL.

That voice, in the back of his mind and yet everywhere. Gabriel hadn’t heard it in such a long, long time, but hadn't forgotten it. His chest shuddered in a gasp, and he tried to speak again, to respond to the call - whether to cry, to beg, to curse he didn’t know. Before he could force out a single sound, another voice rose. Very familiar and decidedly concerned.

“Uuh, angel? Any idea what that is?”

“What-- oh. That might be our cue to move out of the way. Move away-- you too, Warlock, move back, my boy…”

What…?

Gabriel opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. Precisely above him, the blue of it was gone; clouds of blinding white had gathered in a circle, and within that circle was only light. The air around him seemed to crackle, and he knew what that meant. Gabriel tried to speak, to warn Beelzebub, but he could only cough up another mouthful of blood. On his tongue, he could now taste something else.

Ozone. 

From a distance, once again came Aziraphale’s voice. “Lord Beelzebub, you ought to let go and--”

“No.” Beelzebub’s grip on Gabriel tightened, vicious and desperate at the same time. The air crackled, the clouds swirled, and Gabriel’s vision began to fade. His hand weakly gripped their jacket, but he was unable to do anything else. Beelzebub’s face was but a blur, but ah, their grip was unyielding. His eyes slipped shut, his head rolled against their chest. 

“I refuse to let go. God cannot tell me what to do and neither can you.”

Don’t take them from me again. Please, please, please--

“Brother Francis, what the hell--”

“We’ll explain later, my boy - step back now, cover your eyes - don’t look, Crowley, make sure he doesn’t look--”

The crack of thunder covered his next words, filling the world, drowning out all noise. Gabriel felt the grip around him tightening, heard Beelzebub choke out something that sounded a lot like ‘you idiot’, and he opened his eyes. 

And then there was only light.

***

In the instant before lighting struck, three things happened in quick succession.

First, Crowley pulled Warlock’s face to his chest to make sure he wouldn’t be blinded as many mortals had been before Heaven learned to somewhat tone it down; second, Crowley turned his back to the scene to avoid looking himself, and shield the boy while he was at it. 

And third, Aziraphale’s wings unfolded to shield them both.

There was no heat, which was rather typical of Heavenly things: light without warmth, utterly unlike the darkness and heat - humid heat rather than raging flames, but all the more uncomfortable - that Aziraphale had experienced in his first, and hopefully only, visit to Hell.

Shielded by Aziraphale’s wings, Crowley kept his eyes tightly shut behind his glasses and Warlock’s face pressed against his shirt for several more moments after the last echo of the deafening thunder faded. 

“Is it safe to turn, angel?” he asked, while Warlock kept muttering against his shirt a litany of words that mostly sounded like ‘what’, ‘the’ and ‘fuck’, in the order. 

This time Aziraphale didn’t bother to make a mental note of talking with the boy about his language. Aside from being relieved the boy had not been stabbed, turned into salt, incinerated, blinded or deprived of his sanity, Aziraphale suspected they would have different, more pressing matters to discuss very shortly. “I’ll check. Don’t look yet,” he replied, and finally looked back.

The crowd of mortals was still around them, frozen in time, unscathed and unaware. The clouds were gone, quick as they had come - but there was a sphere of light before him, crackling with electricity where Beelzebub and Gabriel had been until moments earlier. In that light, there was… something. At first Aziraphale couldn’t make it out, but as he stepped closer and the light began to dull, he could see something all right. 

And that something was a pair of folded wings. 

At first, Aziraphale thought he must be looking at the wings of a demon and wondered how Beelzebub could survive the full might of the Lord; then, as the light pulsed and faded little by little, he realized that was not it. The wings were not the pure white of angels, but neither were they midnight black. Deep brown with a golden sheen, mottled with darker brown, black, specks of white. The wings of an eagle.  

And they did not belong to Beelzebub.

One last crackle of pure energy, and the pulsing light dissolved. Aziraphale worked his jaw a moment, mouth dry, before he finally called out.

“... Gabriel?”

The wings shifted, and slowly parted. Gabriel was kneeling on the pavement, eyes blinking open as though he struggled to comprehend what was happening. In his arms, held tightly against his chest, was the Prince of Hell; their eyes were screwed shut as though they were waiting to be smited still, but they were in one piece - shielded from the full might of God by the Archangel Gabriel himself, who seemed to be just now beginning to process precisely what had transpired. 

“What…?” he muttered, and the sound of his voice caused Beelzebub’s eyes to snap open. They pulled back from his chest, on their knees themselves, and looked up at Gabriel - and at the wings spread behind him. They opened their mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again. 

“You have wings again,” they finally said. “But they don’t look like--”

Gabriel didn’t so much turn to look at them. “You are all right,” he muttered, and cupped their cheek with a long breath, smiling widely. “Thank-- whoever there is to thank, you’re--”

Beelzebub’s hand grasped the collar of Gabriel’s shirt before he could say another word, and yanked his head down in a sudden kiss. It was definitely not something Aziraphale had expected to happen and neither had Gabriel, by the looks of it, but he seemed… far from displeased. Actually he leaned into it rather enthusiastically, arms slipping around the Lord of the Flies’ waist. 

Aziraphale stepped back, feeling just a touch awkward.

“Angel, is it safe to look or no--” Crowley finally spoke up, and turned without waiting for an answer. A rather unwise move, that. His gaze fell on the scene before him, and he let out a groan. “Uuuugh! No it’s not safe, not it’s not, for Satan’s sake it’s seared in my brain now, why didn’t you warn...”

He turned again and took a few steps away, rubbing his eyes beneath the glasses. Warlock, on the other hand, remained exactly where he was - eyes shifting slowly between Gabriel’s brand new wings and Aziraphale’s own, still in full display.

“... Brother Francis, I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” he finally said. “But what, pray tell, the fuck.”

“Well…” Aziraphale hesitated a moment, knowing he couldn’t count on Crowley stepping in for an explanation for at least another ten minutes, busy as he was trying to jab his eyes out of their sockets. In the end, he said nothing and turned to survey the scene.

Time stood still and so did every single living being in sight, including the man who had wielded the knife, a horrified expression frozen on his face. Gabriel and Beelzebub didn’t seem to plan on letting their mouths part ways anytime soon, still on the very spot where Gabriel had nearly bled out to death minutes earlier. A few steps away, in the middle of the road, was Aziraphale’s antique pornography book. 

With a sigh, Aziraphale went to pick it up and tucked it under his arm, making sure to hide the cover from Warlock’s sight. 

“I believe,” he finally spoke, “that we all could use a nice cup of tea right about now.”

***

"But those who hope in the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall soar on wings like eagles; they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not be faint." -- Isaiah 40:31

***

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jason stop dying

ooooook i just watched ditf. it was PRETTY GOOD.... i only wish there was MOOORE! watching this REALLY brought me back to 2011 times to see it and i think they did a good job with most of the character design and animations insofar as matching it to the original. (maybe i’m totally wrong but i thought it looked good for the most part... also i just really love these character designs in particular). obviously the budget is not what it would be on a feature, so there are a LOT of places where animation gets recycled and many still frames. some parts are basically a slideshow lol. but i only sort of came to that realization awhile after watching, so i think they did a fairly good job of masking this... ymmv

so let’s get into it!!! 

SPOILERS a-head! do not read until you’ve watched it because i’ll spoil everything

now obviously the thing to be aware of if you are not is the fact that this adaptation is not a panel-by-panel adaptation of the original death in the family comic. all references to jason’s mother (save one mention of her dying of illness) are completely removed, they go to bosnia instead of africa, and the circumstances around jason leaving are also heavily altered to fit the new narrative. this adaptation does slot perfectly into the universe established by the under the red hood animated movie from 2011 though, without which one would be pretty confused when watching this. it’s kind of a mystery as to why they didn’t just package this with utrh and release the entire thing as a collectors edition. instead they package it with like 4 or 5 unrelated dc showcase shorts which makes absolutely 0 sense but go off i guess. anyway

i liked that they took the time to adapt the scene from the original ditf where bruce is talking to alfred about jason! (i do not like that alfred didn’t get any lines. bad choice). tbh i can’t understand why they bothered showing us alfred, barbara and dick if they weren’t gonna give them any lines..... like come on........??

HOW INTENSE BRUCE LOOKS WHEN HE FINDS JASON IN SARAJEVO and just. grabs him lol. hes smad :)

ok so one two skip a few and we get to the first branch. instead of calling 1-900 we now get to choose whether jason lives or dies. there are 7 possible endings i think i got em all so let’s see what we got here.

“Hush” Route - Robin cheats death

hgrgdggr. i definitely think this is one of the more interesting endings, if not the most interesting one. this is also the only ending in which both bruce and jason survive the bombing. bruce is still too late, but this time jason barely clings to life and survives. as a hurt/comfort fan i was 100% on this shit from the word go but then jason? runs away from home lmao lmao i thought that was SO funny because 1) hes super messed up, how is he able to just literally run out the house that is SO funny to me and 2) implying that bruce would ever not be keeping an eye on him after that is just, lmao. it’s so zany. i call this the “hush” route because of the bandages but there are no other references to hush so ok. that’s fair. so anyway jason is now angsty for loosely explained reasons but the most fun part is yet to come.

when talia showed up, i really thought / was terrified for a second that they were gonna bring up certain “events” regarding damian’s parentage / who damian’s father is but then she mentioned bruce and i was like OH THANK GOD WE CAN STILL GO TO HEAVEN. i am so so grateful to the writers for NOT going there. cuz it was damn close ok. im not sure what the implication of this route is in terms of talia, jason and damian being a family unit but i want to believe talia sees jason as a son and damian’s brother (which is how she refers to him, damian’s brother) and not... yknow. i mean. jason raising a baby is kind of like a baby raising a baby...

no actually the reality of this scene is really dfuckin interesting like. they actually go with the “birth of the demon” (forget if it was birth of the demon or bride of the demon. one of those.) explanation for damian and that is something i’ve NEVER seen adapted so whoever wrote this can have a cookie and i kNOW this is something a certain someone will appreciate :)

not only that but the implications? are interesting? so talia’s claim is she miscarried so bruce won’t have to “choose” between damian and jason and idk if she’s supposed to be all on the-up-and-up in this universe but. i’m sitting here like GIRL YOU DON’T GOTTA DO THIS HE HAS A PRIVATE JET HAVEN’T YOU HEARD OF SHARED CUSTODY and BETTER YET HE HAS A MANSION JUST GO ON MAURY AND GET THIS SORTED OUT RIGHT NOWwwww

i’m also LAUGHING at the implications of jason thinking theres anywhere on earth that he’s going to go and hide damian’s existence from bruce. because you already know he’s just going to be tearing the planet apart looking for jason so this is actually hilarious. imagine he finds jason in one piece and also a baby. his baby. he’d be like (@ talia) “OMG WHY WOULD YOU THINK I WOULDN’T WANT THEM BOTH u are tearing me apart talia......” BUT THEN HE WOULD BE SO FREAKING HAPPY BECAUSE HE HAS TWO ALIVE SONS AND HE THOUGHT THEY WERE BOTH DEAD / (lost to crime)!!!

please lord imagine all of jason’s angst probably just originating from the fact that he has a brain injury that hasn’t fully healed and the trauma of going through all those surgeries probably gave him a lot of fear / paranoia about bruce and associating him with the joker because his neural pathways are all messed up but after he leaves he starts slowly healing back and regaining some of his lost sanity and thats when he realizes he misses bruce so much... but hes also raising his child... and every day it gets more difficult for him not to just take damian and bring him home and i ;v;

anyway i thought this route, while it had a few inconsistencies in it, was really freaking interesting and it gave me feels and plot bunnies and is probably the one i want to write about the MOST despite the fact that baby damian looks like a character from one of those web flash games in this lol

“True” End - Jason Dies

now if you select that jason dies the route basically defaults to the canon of under the red hood and the fact that utrh does not come packaged with this movie is a rather mystifying choice to me as i don’t think this adaptation would stand on its own very well. like you need quite a bit of background to really get anything out of watching this on its own, which is probably why it’s classified as a “short” and not as its own movie.

instead of showing all of utrh, it seems they took the opportunity to give a ~30 minute recap of utrh with basically entirely reused animation but they allow bruce to sort of. give his dvd commentary over it.

the biggest feeling i have on this is that it’s sad that they had to waste 30 minutes like this that could’ve been used to do something new and much more interesting, but honestly i’m not mad. it seems kind of obvious that this choice was probably made for budget and/or runtime reasons because a short does not get the same budget set aside as a full length feature film does. so they basically took the option of recycling 30 minutes of animation from the movie and dubbing new audio over it.

in evangelion they ran out of budget and that’s why the last two episodes consist of nothing more than still pencil drawings and frames while the characters engage in philosophical debates concerning the nature of reality and human connection. and i really enjoyed that. and for the same reasons, i also really enjoyed this.

i enjoyed seeing the clark kent of this universe. i enjoyed that he was basically out on a date with bruce. i enjoyed that bruce was willing to open up for once and tell clark all of what happened with jason. but what really makes this segment shine bright are bruce greenwood’s line reads. there are SO MANY good line reads in here. and i LOVED how many times he said the word “son”. very wholesome. the way he describes how he felt during the final fight with jason? probs my favorite FUCKING part.

and then him and clark joking together about contingency plans and then they’re going to work together to find jason and i ;_; this is probably the closest thing to a “good” ending but as a continuation of utrh i thought it worked really well. i really want to believe that bruce and clark did find jason in this route and that there was some closure in the end even though we didn’t get to see it.

including clark in this was DEFINITELY the right move as well, considering that he played a rather large role in the original ditf so it’s a welcome nod.

The rest of the branches exist under a separate option where Bruce makes it in time to save Jason from the warehouse... but Bruce dies......... :O

let me tell you bout it... bruce’s fucking DEATH SCENE i don’t know WHAT my man bruce greenwood is on, but the freaking LINE READS in this dialogue had me making INHUMAN NOISES. LIKE NOT ONLY WAS THE DIALOGUE GOOD, NOT ONLY DID HE SAY “I LOVE YOU, SON”, but this man is just an amazing actor. not just voice actor, but actor. he really really really really gave it the most i don’t know how else to say it....... it was very very well done and punched me sideways in the heart and i haven’t recovered and i’m not going to recover. and

ok so once we get past that.... scene.... u have to choose whether you’re going to catch the joker or kill the joker. bruce asks jason to promise not to kill the joker but technically jason doesn’t promise so........

Let’s start by choosing to kill the Joker. Jason attends Bruce’s funeral and various members of the Justice League show up to talk with him and just generally hang out. He has Alfred, Dick and Barbara as his support system, but Jason has some other plans.

This leads to a scene in a cafe where Jason meets with a man who... something something Killing Joke, flashlight, more Barbara being used as a plot device when she deserves better, Jason kills the Joker with a butter knife.

Once you do this you can choose to surrender to the police, or retaliate and escape.

Jailbird Ending

basically if you surrender to the police jason ends up in prison where he can actually attack even more criminals so.... ya

If you retaliate and escape instead you go to the Red Robin route where Jason becomes a vigilante who kills people much like the Red Hood and you get a further choice in a fight with Two Face where you can control how Harvey’s coin lands. 

Tim Ending!

If you choose the coin to land clean face up, the thing rewards you by having Tim show up and I forgot what happened (wasn’t really paying attention lol) because i was so focused on TIM!

Prolly they felt sorry for him what with Jason stealing what is essentially his outfit (ok I know it was Jason’s first, but Tim made it cool) so they let a little baby tim have an appearance :) he’s very smol

I guess in this ending Jason gets reintegrated with the family somehow and Tim becomes “Bat-kid” which is hilarious to me but you know what it’s cute. CUTE.

The one ending where the coin lands scarred side up

i honestly forget what happens if you choose to have the coin land scarred side up but let me just say this is a FUCKED route to take, not only have you had jason survive and bruce die, you’ve now chosen to kill the joker against bruce’s dying wish, you’ve chosen to attack the police, and at the end of that you really are gonna choose harvey’s coin to be scarred face up???? choosing this made me feel like a DICK because here i am supporting jason’s whole fall to madness and villainy thing the way it wants me to and now he’s gonna die HERE? i hate it here.

interestingly enough he doesn’t actually die in this route. he ends up at home with barbara and dick while dealing with the fact that he killed the joker but the route ends with jason saying “i promise” so i guess this is supposed to be kinda sad. im so confused lol ok

So that is all the options if you choose to kill the joker, I believe. You can also make the choice to just catch him instead of killing him but amazingly enough, those routes are even more FUCKED up. 

If you do this option Jason goes home, mourns Bruce with Dick, Barbara and Alfred, and becomes Red Hood BUT with a twist, he’s entirely on a bloodless operation in line with Bruce’s wishes. OR.... IS HE?

Things then follow the events of UTRH until the scene on the bridge with the van and the guys. Jason finally confronts Joker, who reveals the truth. 

Apparently in this route Jason has actually been killing and decapitating his victims just like in the original movie, but he’s repressed it so as to not even realize to himself that he’s doing it.

that is FUCKED. also. i wanna cry because jason doing all of that stuff but not even realizing it ;------; jason blocking it out, because he wanted to honor bruce’s wishes for him not to kill anyone ;______; but he’s doing it anyway ;_____; he’s actually hearing voices telling him to kill ;____; like it’s a very cheap twist in a sense and also really quite cruel but.... damn, son.

There is a branch here where you can choose to spare or kill the Joker at this point (UNDERTALE???) but from what I can tell it seems to be totally meaningless what choice you pick because you end up at the exact same point either way, I think there’s a small variation in what happens after you make the choice but after that they just coalesce back together into the following two endings. Which seems incredibly cheap to me, I mean making a choice like that should alter Jason’s path completely but, it doesn’t! So... ooook....

Either way Jason ends up on the Wayne building and Talia shows up with a re-animated Bruce from the pit. Here’s another fun blast from the 2011 past with more gratuitous Grant Morrison dreck, remember that shit? Well, they’re gonna jam it down your throat here, too.

The reanimated Bruce is the Zur En Arrh Bruce and he’s already dead so this is all meaningless but basically Jason fights him and you get to choose whether everybody lives or dies.

Zur En Arrh - Everyone Lives!

if you pick this, jason actually gets the re-animated bruce back to the batcave and they lock him up down there because he’s still pit-mad and the prognosis is not great. but i’m not sure what they expected, he is the zur-en-arrh guy so I don’t think he’s getting better. 

Zur En Arrh - Everyone Dies!

pretty much there’s an explosion and all three of them die and that’s it

I think that should be all the possible endings there are.

By the way the different ways in which black mask dies in this was actually a fairly clever running gag lollll. let that mf burn we don’t need no water.

overall there are a couple of things i would have done to SIGNIFICANTLY improve this adaptation beyond some of the obvious ones.

- the fact that all of the branching options are branched exclusively under the “jason lives and bruce dies” branch is a huge wasted opportunity. imo this is the most egregious problem with this, i was really looking for a more balanced tree / explanation of different things. i am probably super biased though being a fic writer and used to fic, we’re the ones making huge ass trees every day lol.

- the fact that there is no “good” ending here is something i kind of expected but given the context of this is lackluster. i sort of get it though because granted, the original ditf ends in an unresolved manner but it’s distinctly unsatisfying here. i secretly wanted an ending where bruce, like, figures out about the different endings and hacks reality to try to find a good ending where jason lives and everything is fine lmao. like a bat mite ending.

- i was disappointed in a sense that the narrative given in here is so basically simplistic? maybe i’ve been spoiled by games like 999 and undertale where shit gets messy and that’s not what this is supposed to be but when i play something with multiple endings in this day and age, at least play with the concept a little bit and connect some of the branches together narratively. use different devices. i was also hoping some of the choices would be a little bit meatier like you could choose to “forgive bruce” or something cool like that lol. but it looks like the majority of choices have to do with who lives or dies. and i felt like they couldve been a bit more creative with that ya know? being able to control harvey’s coin was a GREAT example of having some more fun with this.

- it is a huge missed opportunity not to have a “secret ending” on something like this. like where. the fuck. is my secret ending for completing everything. come on. and in a similar vein there should’ve been at least something in terms of bruce and jason interacting in a “true ending”. even if very brief. the closest thing to an ending this has is the “jason died” route and then the ending where he’s talking to clark which i feel like was a REALLY nice good optimistic ending as far as this goes, but it comes off as kind of disappointing i guess

there were SO many interesting nuggets locked into this thing though. i can’t deny it bugs me how many wasted opportunities there were with how they chose to structure things but i guess it’s the best you can do with limited runtime. i thought it was really well done though, makes an interesting companion piece to the original utrh, and is definitely something that i will be re-watching again soon!! overall i give it a 7/10 and some parts an 8/10+!

[beetlemancy]

Anon again: Thank you!! I appreciate you taking the time to answer me because I am kind of active in the community but very very new. I did know your opinions but being new I just wanted to know whether those recent posts held any weight. I want to be socially responsible with my media consumption and I was worried there was something I was missing, given I have seen specific call outs for certain cast members (Travis, Laura, Sam, and Liam) recently. Thanks again!!

Anon pt2: you don’t have to post this but for context the call out posts were as follows: Travis actively supports the military, Laura voiced a black character?, Sam did brown face??, and Liam is fake woke/virtual signaling (or something along those lines). Obviously I can find out information about this for myself but I have seen more anti-CR stuff lately which prompted my ask.

As with everything, I suggest you do your own reading on those topics, and any topic that comes up in regards to the media you watch. Below is simply my opinion. Note: this gets long.

Travis does support the military - but not as an institution. He has family in the military. He supports the soldiers. He works with Operation Supply Drop and I’d encourage you to look into OSD specifically. Whether you agree with the idea that we should even have a military or not, you cannot deny that our veterans and soldiers are given the short end of the stick. We cannot just abandon them because helping them might be viewed as giving money to the military. I have so many military vets in my disability groups. The VA is awful because it has no funding (I know good people who work at the VA too, but they just cannot help everyone like they’d want to). Programs like OSD are genuinely helpful to a lot of hurting folk and the people who shit on Travis and CR for promoting and helping them out have clearly never actually sat down and talked to a vet or a soldier before. 

Laura and many many other voice actors have voiced people of color in various shows. Yes, this is a legit problem. However, obviously as with most things, the problem is nuanced. The fault mainly lies with the VO industry as a whole, in that actors actually have very little control over what they do. There was a whole strike about this very topic (though the strike covered other issues in the industry as well). In the case of Laura, for instance, she was never told what her character would look like until after the fact. And that is super common in the industry. One of the things they tried to get in the strike was more transparency so that actors could make the decisions themselves whether to voice characters or not - not just based on race or culture but also based on type of work (stressful screaming vs chill dialogue) and whether the content of the game itself was something they wanted their name attached to. 

Sam’s blackface scandal is extremely old news. That’s not to say it isn’t important to note, and in fact Sam made a point to note it again back in 2018. I know people who can’t watch CR because of it, even after his apology, and that’s fine because its not my place to judge others for how they react to that kind of thing. However I know a lot of people who read his apology and the circumstances surrounding it and decided to forgive. To some people, the fact that he was asked to do so by will.i.am changes the situation. To others, it doesn’t. To some the fact that he apologized and has clearly worked to improve his behavior matters, to others it doesn’t. You have to decide that for yourself. You can read Sam’s letter HERE. 

Now. Regarding Liam. * sigh * I think, and again this is my opinion, that you cannot proclaim someone you do not know as ‘fake woke.’ I think there are parts of this fandom that have it out for Liam because of a whole bunch of gross reasons, many of which I’ve spoken about before. He is sensitive and a man - that makes people uncomfy. He plays a lot of women characters and tends to embody them in both personality and body language - that makes people uncomfy. He fully embraces the bi energy (this is not to say whether he himself is or not) - that makes a lot of people uncomfy (and angry). He loves theatre and loves to explore the human condition, warts and all - that makes people super uncomfy. Now. There are people who thinks he’s homophobic. Do you know why? Its because his bi character ended up with a woman instead of a man. That is biphobia, no matter how they twist it. Bi people being “allowed” to be bi and not ‘pick the right side’ in the LG (not BT, lets be real) community IS revolutionary because its so very hated. 

Another reason they say he’s homophobic is because of the jokes he is often involved in - some gay men in the fandom believe that joking about sex is him ‘making fun’ of gay relationships. As a bi enby, I disagree, and I read many of the jokes he himself makes as the kind of humor I use among my own friends. I think there is a definite disconnect between bi vs LG humor and I’m not entirely sure who would be considered in the ‘right’ on that. However, when LG people in the fandom claim that he cannot talk about gay relationships because he is cishet? They cannot know that. That is an assumption they are making. When LG fans say that he alone is responsible for this issue and not -literally every single member of CR- ? I have to question whether its really the issue and not just that they still hate Liam for deigning to make a bi character bi instead of gay.

Another thing re: Liam. Aside from Marisha, he is the one I see the most hate about. People on Twitter and Tumblr both have legit uttered death threats about him if he doesn’t do exactly what they want his characters to do in the game. Usually this is about shipping. I have seen people claim that they WISH he was ‘like vic mignogna’ so they’d have a reason to hate him more. I’ve seen a certain group of people and one in particular say they have ‘dirt’ on him but refuse to say what the dirt is - and yet continually bring up that it exists, but that they just cannot say. Why would you incessantly bring up information you possess just to say that you cannot divulge such information? 

Legit issues about CR that is attached to Liam is the whitewashing issue. Some say that only Liam is responsible here because he controls all the art. I would say that we actually don’t know that for sure. He is ‘Art Dad’ and clearly has some pull. I do think that CR should address this issue, but I’m not sure they can legally do what the fandom wants them to do, which is “call-out” artists by name and denounce them. Now, this too is more nuanced than the fandom makes out because its often way more about colorism vs whitewashing. Many people do not draw Beau as white, but they do draw her as much lighter skin tones than her original art. Colorism is a real problem, but white allies tend to go about talking about it wrong or making smaller things a bigger deal when POC would really rather talk about something more important to them. It was these same white allies that tore Mica Burton apart on Twitter because she liked and enjoyed a drawing of Reani, her own character, that was a few shades lighter than the drawing she herself had brought in, even after she had said that she appreciated the variety of skin tones due to seeing herself in each of them. On the topic of whitewashing/colorism in the fandom, I personally tend to wait to hear from POC over the masses of white allies.

The CR fandom is very big for a niche thing like DnD. As such, there are many many corners of the fandom that can get really jaded, really dark, and really up their own ass in regards to the discourse. There are legitimate issues in the fandom and with CR as a whole. Nothing is perfect, nothing ever will be perfect, and people should absolutely do what they can to do better and to ask their media to do better. That being said, there are also people who think that if you don’t do something exactly like they want, then you’re Problematic by default. There are also members of this fandom who have an active vendetta against certain cast members and will use any opportunity to co-opt legit issues in order to shore up their false arguments. These people are only using the real issues and it becomes clear pretty quickly that they don’t actually give a shit about the people they say they are trying to speak up for. 

There is also some fandom drama that has occurred ONLY in fandom and has absolutely nothing to do with CR other than the fact that the people involved happen to be CR fans. Certain people in the fandom think that CR should arbitrate this issue and involve themselves, call out the individuals responsible, etc. This is, I believe, a GROSS misconception of what CR’s role is and asking way too much of a source of entertainment. The fact that CR has not involved themselves in this issue has led certain members of this fandom to claim that CR is homophobic. I would caution that most callouts of CR as homophobic are directly linked to this first issue, and also a callback to the Vaxleth drama from campaign one, and is incontrovertibly tied to bi and enby-phobia and a seriously sick misunderstanding of the responsibilities a show has versus the responsibility individuals have as viewers of said show. 

That’s it for now. I could go way more in depth on this problems, but I’m tired of typing. Suffice it to say, its easy to make a list of things Problematic with CR, but once you actually delve into each topic hopefully you’ll realize how complicated and filled with nuance and Different Opinions going on back from the first episode of Campaign One... Listing problems without actually addressing them head-on isn’t a good way to deal with the problems that are true anyway, let alone tell them from the false ones. 

[flightfoot]

Divergent Points - ML Salt Ch. 4

So here’s the chapter that one anon described as “bone-chilling”. I can understand why.

AO3/FFN

“You’re just jealous! Seriously Marinette, I thought you were a decent person, but my new best friend Lila’s shown me the TRUTH.”

Nino blinked, looking around.

His classmates were all ringed around Lila. Not too unusual, though that had gone down after the first week Lila’d been back – the novelty of having her around wore off, and while his classmates found her stories interesting (though they thought they were real rather than fictional), they drifted away from her after that. She just never really connected with them, though everyone was still friendly with her (except for their own little group of course, and Chloe, because she barely got along with anyone).

Then Nino processed Alya’s words.

What the hell?

Was this some new plan to take down Lila? They’d discussed some ideas, but none had been very realistic (as satisfying as just posting a list of every lie she’d told and documentation on the truth would be, it’d be unlikely to actually get her in much trouble, and she could cry crocodile tears and claim they were out to get her – which wasn’t totally a lie.)

Alya tended to be rather impulsive and liked to improvise, but something like this? He’d expect at least a hint of a plan!

Was she seriously expecting anyone to buy this?! That she’d just turn around and throw Marinette to the curb in favor of LILA?

“You’re such a BULLY Marinette!”

“Going after poor, poor Lila? How much do you need to hurt her before you’re satisfied?”

“She only asked that you do a few little things for her! That’s what friends do! But you’re not a very good friend, are you?”

Nino reared back, staring at his “friends”. All of them glared at Marinette.

This… something didn’t seem right. Lila’d ensnared some of them before, sure, but to the extent that she’d convinced them that Marinette’s a bully? That she was a bad, malicious person?

They’d been afraid of Lila trying something since she’d made her threat, but if anything, she’d just… faded away into the background.

Maybe she’d been doing something behind the scenes? Some sort of long con that’d slowly eroded their trust in Marinette in ways they hadn’t even noticed?

But that didn’t explain Alya. Or…

He looked at Adrien. Normally he’d at least be trying to defuse the situation, calm everyone down,  restore rationality.

But he was glaring along with the others, looking vaguely disappointed. “I expected better from you, Marinette. I thought you were one of the kindest, most selfless people I know. I guess I was wrong.”

Wait, WHAT?

Ok, no.

This wasn’t just some people being tricked and manipulated, or going along with a plan. His bro was an ok actor, but NOT when it came to his feelings towards Marinette. The only reason their classmates hadn’t caught on that he and Marinette were dating was that he’d been giving Marinette those lovesick kitty eyes for awhile, long before he found out she was Ladybug. Though Nino had a feeling that at least a few of them heavily suspected – notably, they’d mostly stopped pushing Marinette to confess to Adrien, or steering her towards Luka.

(At least according to Alya. He wasn’t privy to most of the girl squad meetings, but it’s not like they were these big secrets.)

Adrien couldn’t fake anger and disappointment THAT well – not towards Marinette. Especially not with her looking so upset and withdrawn.

Which meant he was serious.

But… HOW?

It almost sounded like a sick parody of his initial advice to Alya when she tried to confront Lila for the second time, if someone had plugged their ears and only saw “Adrien says something” and “Alya backs down”.

He hadn’t wanted her to confront Lila straight-up because even if exposing her lie WORKED – and that was a big if – Lila would still probably be in their class, since simply telling a few lies to make herself sound better wasn’t exactly enough to expel her over, and while her threats to Marinette and Alya MIGHT be enough to get her suspended at least, they didn’t have any proof of those threats, so it was just their word against Lila’s. Not good enough on its own. Especially with Marinette and Alya being close friends. It would be easy to believe that they’d lie for each other.

And if they couldn’t actually get rid of her, or make her powerless to the point that she wasn’t a threat anymore… well, cornered animals tended to bite hardest, plus they’d already experienced that Lila could hold one HELL of a grudge.

Maybe if he didn’t know that Lila’d threatened Marinette and Alya, maybe if he just thought that Lila was a liar, but had no outright malicious intentions and hadn’t deliberately caused harm, maybe then he could see Adrien disapproving of Marinette going after Lila for her lies, if he didn’t know that it wasn’t JUST her not liking Lila being a liar.

But even then, Adrien mostly just tried to defuse situations, keep them from escalating out of control, tried to minimize people getting hurt. Considering the environment he’d grown up in, where conflict escalation often meant Gabriel yelling at Adrien and cutting him off from social contact and the things he enjoyed, where any wrong move could lead to the loss of everything and everyone he valued, he’d had to get good at defusing conflict.

He wouldn’t join in on dogpiling Marinette. He didn’t even approve of that with CHLOE and LILA. He might try to redirect everyone somewhere else and then try to find a more long-term way of defusing the conflict behind the scenes with as little damage to anyone as possible, but THIS? Nuh uh.

Something was very, very wrong here.

Marinette walked away, ignoring the jeers from the rest of the class, her face impassive.

Nino hurried after her. Maybe she knew what was going on. Maybe she had a plan.

At the very least, she was the only one who hadn’t been proven to be caught up in whatever this… this messed up THING was.

She ducked into an empty classroom and closed the door, giving him an appraising look.

“So. You wised up?”

He frowned. “Wised up to what? I know everyone’s acting really weird, especially around Lila. You know what’s going on?”

“Oh, I know what’s going on.”

He didn’t like the glint in Marinette’s eyes, the ire in her voice.

“’What’s going on’ is I finally realized that it’s not worth being friends with these people. For what that ‘friendship’ is worth. That I slave away for them, make object after object at their request, pouring hours and hours of my life, my money, my very SOUL into these ‘commissions’, and for what? To be ignored, to be mocked? For them to EXPECT me to do their bidding, to give them ‘gifts’, and expect to not have the barest glimmer of loyalty? They just take. And take. And TAKE.”

….What?

(Nino was getting very tired of that thought).

(He had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the last time he’d have that reaction though.)

Marinette made things for others sometimes – that was true. But it wasn’t that common!

She’d made a banner for that race Kim and Alix had a few months ago, and he’d heard that she’d fixed up Mylene’s dad’s hat for him which he’d apparently been quite thrilled with when he picked it up from her. But that was months ago as well.

But aside from that?

She’d done some commissions for Jagged Stone. Those tended to be pretty stressful, with him being such a big name. She’d worried about not making something up to his standards before and poured hours into trying to produce the perfect design. He could see that maybe getting overwhelming, but she didn’t seem to be talking about that. She specifically singled out their classmates.

Hmm… the only other thing he’d heard about recently…

“Has Kitty Section been putting you under that much pressure? I know designing and creating those costumes for them must be a lot of work, but I’m sure that everyone-“

Oh yeah, the entire class seemed to be under a mass delusion of some sort, or maybe flat-out mind control that made them think Marinette was worse than even CHLOE.

“Ok, so LUKA at least would probably back off. He’s seemed pretty nice and chill from what I’ve seen, I doubt he wants you to be under any sort of stress. Just tell him how you feel and I’m sure he’ll back off.”

She stared at him like he was insane. “Kitty Section…? Kitty Section’s fine! Luka would never do anything to put me through the slightest bit of distress! He soothes the wounds my so-called ‘friends’ have inflicted on me! In fact… he seemed up to helping me with some of my plans.”

Nino slowly backed away.

Whatever this… THING was, Marinette seemed to be affected too.

But he needed more info first.

“Then what’re you talking about?”

How deep did this rabbit hole go?

“The endless outfits I’ve created for everyone! Tailoring everything to their specifications! Repairing bags and purses and hats and stuffed animals! And do they show me any gratitude? None! They just take it and shame me if I try to say I’m too busy! And they expect me to do it for free!”

Yeah, he was pretty sure that hadn’t happened.

Well… not like that at least.

He vaguely remembered Sabrina nicely requesting Marinette to stitch together a teddy bear she’d assumed was Chloe’s, but people constantly ragging on her to make or repair or modify things for them? Not so much.

Just… stuff that’d actually happened being exaggerated and distorted with some flat-out made-up stuff being thrown in, until it became something else. Something malevolent. Something toxic.

It was a lot like with Adrien’s chastising Marinette earlier.

And… even that bit with Alya, actually.

Alya’d fallen for Lila’s lies when she first came to the school, and continued thinking she was generally truthful until she’d had the same evidence Marinette had that Lila was a liar – that she’d lied about being Ladybug’s best friend. She’d even thought that Marinette might have it out for Lila in particular because she was jealous of her getting close to Adrien.

But this being had distorted and exaggerated those actions and beliefs into her kicking Marinette to the curb entirely and practically worshipping Lila.

“Oh… but they’ll see. They’ll learn what happens when you push Marinette Dupain-Cheng too far!”

Nino quickly scanned for exits. Unfortunately Marinette was blocking the door… maybe the windows? They were on the second story though, and he’d have to break the glass. He’d have to transform into Carapace to escape that way.

…Maybe as a last resort.

He tried to fiddle with the Turtle bracelet.

And met bare skin.

IT WASN’T THERE.

Ooooooh crap.

“All those school trips? The HOURS I spent organizing them, setting up accommodations, arranging funding? Well they’d better hope that Lila’s as competent as they think she is, because she can be in charge of aaaaaaall of that. I’ll just cancel everything I’d planned and let HER handle it from scratch! Oh, and she can be the one who appeals to the school board for funding, gets everyone the best equipment in the school, gets them to approve grants! Let’s see whether the awesome and stupendously amazing Lila Rossi is anywhere near as competent as I am.”

Ok, so none of that was remotely feasible. Marinette was Class Representative, not a member of the school board or a teacher. Also, she was FREAKING FOURTEEN. He was pretty sure there’d be liability issues with her making arrangements for field trips. And she didn’t have much of a say in school funding; she could let the teacher know of any problems she’d encountered that Ms. Bustier could then try to fix, or ask a higher authority for help fixing, but appealing to the school board directly? Not so much.

“Oh, they’ll pay… they’ll PAY.”

Her eyes took on a crazed look as an insane smile spread across her face.

“Alya? She wants me to CHECK MY SOURCES? I’ll show her checking sources . She didn’t bother verifying that interview with Lila months ago, and I’m sure she’s posted more gossip from her wonderful and amazing friend Lila since then. I’ll just let slip to Nadja that the Ladyblog isn’t a completely reliable source, and she can turn the spotlight so the rest of the media and all of Paris can EAT HER ALIVE. She wants to be an investigative journalist? TOUGH LUCK. No one’ll be willing to hire her or train her, not when she posted some unsubstantiated statements when she was fourteen! This’ll follow her for the rest of her life, and she’ll DESERVE IT.”

Nino was pretty sure that wasn’t true, but reality had pretty clearly left the building awhile ago.

“Oh, and then there’s Adrien. Sweet, naïve little Adrien. Adrien who knows Lila’s a liar, but isn’t willing to out her for me! Who has the nerve – THE NERVE! – to advise on NOT trying to publicly humiliate and tear Lila down like the piece of garbage she is. To be willing to just let her lie, and not yell at her and do everything in his power to defend me against her vicious attack… I can’t believe I was so much of an IDIOT as to ever care for him.

He wants to take the high road? To sit passively by and not interfere? Let’s see how he likes it when Lila’s constantly around him, touching him and hanging off him. He wants to be passive? I’ll just suggest another seating rearrangement before I resign as class representative to place them next to each other! I know how much difficulty he has making himself shove her off. Oooh… but I can do MORE. Wonder how he’d like a rumor that he’s dating Lila? I’m sure she’d be all over it. And if that spineless pussy BITCH can’t stand up for me, and he can’t stand up for himself either… she might even get to kiss him and date him without him being able to say no! He wants to not make waves? He can just stand still and TAKE IT like a good little toy .”

“WHAT?!”

This… this being wearing Marinette’s skin (this was not Marinette, this was very much not Marinette ) took a step towards him.

He reared back, putting as much space as possible between him and the entity.

He really, REALLY wished he had Wayzz right now.

She breathed harder, her eyes bugging out. “You on my side? Are you going to grovel for forgiveness? Maybe I’ll spare you if you get down on your knees and repent for ever believing that BITCH Lila and for not doing more to stop her. Or… maybe I won’t. Depends on how I feel, and if you’re willing to help me drag everyone else into a pit of torment for all the PAIN AND SUFFERING they’ve put me through. It’s too late for Adrien – he’s known for awhile and hasn’t fought her or the rest of the class tooth and nail to defend me – but I might, just possibly, give you a shot at redemption.”

“What have you done with Marinette?!”

Because this being wasn’t just some deluded or brain-washed Marinette. Her destruction of everything Marinette was, every semblance of her self was too warped beyond recognition. At most, some other being might be puppeting her body around.

He hoped not. He already wanted to throw up just from her description of what she wanted to do with Adrien. And if she was aware of what this being was making her say…

GOD he hoped she wasn’t conscious in there.

“Oh, I’m still Marinette. I’m just not the sweet little SLAVE you were so fond of. And I can go very, very low. I wonder… all those ‘gifts’ I gave out over the years? How much do you think they were worth? Because I’ll bet it was hundreds of dollars. Time for everyone to PAY UP! Ooh, or those bake sales my parents held to raise funds for the school? What if they suddenly started demanding payment for them? Maybe then you and the others would appreciate how much I’ve done for you, how I’ve carried this school on my back when everything I’ve graciously given out of the goodness of my heart is RIPPED AWAY from you all!”

Most of that had never happened and he was pretty sure that demanding repayment for gifts already given wasn’t remotely feasible, but logic had clearly looked around, seen this insanity, and went back to sleep for six more weeks, so he wasn’t going to expect a little thing like THAT to stop this being.

He set his jaw. “You aren’t Marinette. Not really. And those people out there weren’t my friends. Not in their right minds anyway. This isn’t right. This isn’t true. This doesn’t even make sense!”

The being glared at him. He shuddered, but didn’t break eye contact.

She lunged.

He dodged.

The world shattered.

[husheduphistory]

Dedicated to Death: The End Experiment of Thomas Bradford

When the Fox sisters of Hydesville, New York claimed they contacted the spirit of a murdered peddler in 1848 the ears of the entire country listened. Suddenly there was hope that those who passed away were not truly gone and people from all over began to scramble to find ways to communicate with the dead. Later, with the horrors of the Civil War tearing the country and families apart people looked to Spiritualism and any way possible to find answers from beyond. Hundreds of thousands never came home, countless numbers were never found and the need for closure and communication drove people into the parlors and palms of people claiming they could be their much-needed bridge to the other side.  As many people that believed in life after death, there were just as many who refuted it and the divide grew. As time moved on the division deepened with both sides seeking the ultimate proof that death was, or was not, the end. It is an argument that is still actively debated to this day.

Prof. Thomas Lynn Bradford was a man of many ventures. A one-time electrical engineer, athlete, and actor, by 1920 he had begun studying and lecturing about the occult with a particular focus on the afterlife. The world had now suffered through World War I and people’s spirituality was again feeling highly tested. Bradford was a man of sound mind, but his headspace became more and more filled with his thoughts on life after death and how to prove it. He wrote “…all phenomena are outside the domain of the supernatural." He wanted to prove his theories using scientific fact, but he knew he could not do it alone.

Professor Thomas Lynn Bradford.

In the early part of 1921 Bradford placed an ad in a local Detroit newspaper under the name “Professor Flynn” and stated that he was seeking “someone interested in spiritualistic science.” It was a strange ad, which was exactly why it caught the attention of prominent Detroit native Ruth Starkweather Doran. Doran was not a firm believer in Spiritualism. But, she was an avid researcher and was intrigued with the opportunity to learn about a field so unfamiliar to her. On a whim, she responded to the ad and before long she and Bradford began meeting face to face.

The experiment Bradford presented to Doran would have sent most people running, but for reasons unknown, she stuck with the plan. Before their last meeting on February 5th 1921 Bradford finished typing his latest manuscript and laid it neatly next to his typewriter. There was much to do and once Doran arrived the details were ironed out about how he would contact her when his half of the experiment was complete and how they would then reunite. The deal was made. They bid each other farewell and Bradford shut the door of his rented room. He knew he would not be disturbed, he already informed his landlord, a Mr. Marcotte, that if anyone were to call for him to tell them he was out and would not be back until very late. He turned on his heater. blew out the pilot light, turned up the gas, and laid down in bed until the fumes took his life.

The fact that Bradford killed himself in pursuit of answers about life after death may not have come as a shock to some of his friends. It was later reported that the occult interested him more than anything in the physical world. At one point he told Mr. Marcotte, “When I die my body goes to science. It is to be sent to the Michigan Medical Institute. Anyhow, my body does not amount to much.”

When Bradford’s body was discovered by Marcotte the next day the gas was still pouring from his heater. Upon investigation police found his typewriter, with one final note never removed, “And it is through scientific facts that I propose to demonstrate clearly the phenomena of spirits and prove that all the phenomena is outside the domain of super-natural.” Baffled by the suicide, the Detroit Police Department began to look for an explanation, and the dots quickly led to Doran who escaped any legal action by claiming they had met and discussed proving the afterlife but that she did not know he was planning to kill himself that night. Now, with his lifeless body laying in his home the first part of Bradford’s plan was complete. The second part relied on reconnecting with Doran to prove there was life after death. The self-proclaimed skeptic agreed to go through with it. “I am his friend.” Doran said, “If he can cause his spirit to come back to earth I believe his spirit will come to me first.”

Newspaper headline about Bradford’s suicide.

In the days following Bradford’s suicide the eyes of the Spiritualism world were firmly fixed on Doran’s parlor where she was hosting multiple vigils waiting for her friend to reach out and make contact. Throughout the entire process though, Doran made it a point that she was not a psychic, saying that she was simply a human being there to serve as a middleman and prove Bradford’s theories. She and the intrigued masses patiently waited night after night for a connection, but the hours moved on quietly with Doran only stating at one point that she felt a “strange sensation”.

Doran and the spiritualists were not the only one wanting to hear from Bradford. Multiple newspapers waited eagerly for word, running headlines updating the masses with the New York Times reporting, “Dead Spiritualist Silent” two days after the suicide. It was a few days into a planned two week long vigil that there was finally something to report, but it was not from Doran. A woman named Lulu Mack came forward stating that during a visit with a medium she heard a voice calling the name “Thomas Bradford”, a name she claimed was totally unfamiliar to her at the time. She told reporters that Bradford could not communicate very well because his suicide made him weak, suspending him before he could fully pass on to the next realm. “Life has fled from the body of Thomas Lynn Bradford but his spirit is hovering near and calling to us to hear its message,” Mack reported. “I have heard the call of his spirit. It is calling to me even now. But I cannot hear the message it would send, because the spirit is too weak.”

Headline from The New York Times, February 18, 1921. 

Headline from  The Pittsburgh Press, February 10, 1921.

Suddenly, a week after Bradford took his own life, Doran claimed she had a feeling she was going to hear from him, but it would be difficult considering how weak he was. Papers, thirsty for the next part of their bizarre story, urged spiritualists to concentrate on Bradford and “assist” him in reaching out. To make sure it was a focused effort it was agreed that 9pm was the time to take action and focus to help Bradford and Doran reconnect.

Much to the delight of some and criticism of others, at 9pm that night Doran sat in her darkened parlor with three witnesses. Suddenly, she put her hands to her temples, commanded the lights be turned off, and told someone to start writing. According to her, Bradford had finally arrived. “I hear his voice” she said to the room, “It is faint, but it grows more distinct. It is the professor.”

As Doran spoke in broken fragments the alleged message from Bradford was slowly pieced together:

“I am the professor who speaks to you from the Beyond. I have broken through the veil. The help of the living has greatly assisted me. I simply went to sleep. I woke up and at first did not realize that I had passed on. I find no great change apparent. I expected things to be much different. They are not. Human forms are retained in outline but not in the physical. I have not traveled far. I am still much in the darkness. I see many people. They appear natural. There is a lightness of responsibility here unlike in life. One feels full of rapture and happiness. Persons of like natures associate. I am associated with other investigators. I do not repent my act. My present plane is but the first series. I am still investigating the future planes regarding which we in this plane are as ignorant as are earthly beings of the life just beyond human life.”

At 10pm the lights were brought back on and a flustered Doran looked over the bits and pieces that she claimed were given to her directly from the spirit of Bradford. Then, she suddenly fainted. Once resuscitated one of the witnesses asked her if she was positive about her message, was she absolutely sure she was speaking with Bradford from beyond the grave? She was adamant, “I am convinced. I never heard a spirit voice before. That was the professor, without doubt."

Illustration from  The Ogden Standard-Examiner, February 21, 1921.

For all of the speculation and attention leading up to Doran waiting to hear from Bradford, the aftermath was remarkably tame. Despite the accounts from both Doran and Mack, members of both the Spiritualism community and the general public were not convinced that the alleged message from Bradford was proof of anything. The headlines faded into obscurity and Doran went along with them. Later in the year Doran wrote an article claiming that she maintained regular communication with her departed friend ever since. She was now a believer, still receiving messages from Bradford detailing how one day both realms would meet.

“Through spiritualism the world will be reclaimed: sin will be vanquished, suffering will end” she claimed he told her. “The physical in man will cease to be, and physical death, and that is the only death, will be no more. Men will live on earth forever, even as they live forever in the spirit world.”

At the time of his death Bradford was near penniless. His estranged wife living in Wisconsin only learned of his death later and his body was claimed by a brother, James Bradford, who handed it over to an undertaker for interment.

The body of Professor Thomas Lynn Bradford, the man who gave up his life to prove life after death, is buried in the Mt. Olivet Cemetery in Detroit, Michigan.

[buckysgoldenheart]

Late :Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Henry has a reputation that makes you cautious and it’s caused some disagreements. Everyone thinks you hate each other, but maybe you don’t as much as you let on. (fluffy ending, and idk, maybe angst depending on your definition).

Words: 2880

Notes/Warnings: I made this like mid-20s Henry during the Tudors filming, season 1. If I messed up with tenses somewhere, I’d like it of you let me know. I started this story out in the past-tense then changed it to present so I might have missed some stuff when editing, even after reading it 100 times over.

At the sound of the doorbell, you hop up from your sunken spot on the couch. After the day you had, the Chinese food on the other side of that wood slab is the only thing with the ability to help you recover before you must face a fresh 5 a.m. morning with Henry tomorrow.

God, you want that man to fall off the face of the earth. You don’t care if his disappearance meant you would temporarily be out of a job. Being an assistant on the set of The Tudors was something you had strongly considered sacrificing in the past if it meant never having to work with one very particular, blue-eyed, temperamental actor ever again.

You almost quit weeks ago but told yourself to suck it up. You can’t afford to unintentionally cause drama at your workplace, not after your last job; and getting that kind of reputation is not what you are going for. Besides, filming for the first season is almost over, and you will gladly welcome the long break before everyone needs to report back for season two.

The smile you were fully prepared to give the delivery man falls entirely at the sight on the other side of the door.

“What the hell are you doing here,” You huff out.

Henry crosses his thick arms over his even thicker chest and frowns back at you. “I didn’t get my script.”

A headache is already forming just from his proximity and you don’t bother resisting the urge to rub at your temple. “Well, I sent it to your house a week ago.”

“And I didn’t get it, so clearly you didn’t do a very good job.”

With an eye-roll, you say, “Is there some reason you had to come all the way to my apartment and bug me for the script when I will see you first thing in the morning?”

“Everyone else will have had theirs longer, and I wanted to get a good start on learning my lines, so yes, I have a good reason for ‘bugging’ you, Y/N.”

You hate the way he says your name. It passes his lips so softly every time and makes your heart speed faster than your liking. If another man said your name like that, you’d fall for him in an instant, but no, Henry seemed to be the only man possessing that thick, honey-sweet voice.

“Whatever,” You groan and turn on your heel. In your office desk are two extra copies of each actors’ script for emergencies, but a simple text from Henry would’ve sufficed; this is hardly life or death.

‘Hey, never got my script. Can you bring a copy in the morning?’ So damn easy.

You turn your head back when Henry’s heavy footsteps hit your hardwood floors. “Hey, I didn’t say you could come in,” You snap, eyebrows drawn together.

“What kind of person would leave their guest outside?”

The sass in his tone makes you want to pull your hair right out of your scalp. “You’re not my guest,” You say, but your blatant aggravation does nothing to hinder him and his body is a foot away from yours before you know it. Inches he has on you forces you to look up just to meet the smirk on his face.

“Stop acting like you hate me,” He says as he reaches a hand to grab yours.

“Excuse me?!” You quickly swat that hand away. “I am not acting like anything! Any negative feelings you are sensing from me are one hundred percent genuine.”

Henry scoffs and crosses his arms once again. “Oh, please.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief. He is unbelievable. Everything he does, everything he says, everything he is has had the power to make your whole body shake since the day you met him. “God, I can’t stand you!”

Walking away from him for the office, he follows close behind. “You know what, you’re not all that great either!” He yells at your back as you open the drawer of your desk to shuffle through the scripts. “You yap all damn day, talking to everyone else on set and making them laugh! You shoot that pretty smile in any direction and people flock to you like deranged birds!”

“So!” You pull out the script and hand it to Henry. Without giving it a glance, he snatches it from you and tosses it back on the oak wood surface of the desk.

“So? You’re distracting them from their jobs! We could probably get things done twice as fast if you weren’t around!”

“That’s—”

“And you are annoyingly beautiful!” He harshly interrupts. “Annoyingly! The men we work with will not shut up about it and I’m sick of listening to them talk about you the way they do! I end up hearing your name more times in a day than I hear my own, and I get called upon every five seconds! I’m practically forced to think about you!”

You blink at the increase in volume that makes the thin walls of your home quiver.

“I don’t know how many times your face manages to flash in my mind in the course of a week, but it’s starting to get to me!”

Your hands rise in disbelief before they slap back down to your sides. “That’s not my fault! But you’re one to talk! You’re well aware you’re ridiculously, unnaturally hot, and I fucking hate it! The women we work with won’t shut up about you. And you think I’m annoying? Imagine being surrounded by a pack of idiots that go on and on about how amazing you are, when the truth is, you’re so arrogant I can’t stand to be within two feet of you!”

When you try to walk past him, his hand wraps tightly around your upper arm. “Hey!”

“Leave me alone! I hate you!” You snarl at the rage in his eyes and try to shake him off you.

“You don’t hate me.”

You glare up at him. “Oh no?”

He gapes at you, seemingly stunned you have the gall to challenge him. The grip on your arm loosens until you are free. Winding his fingers through his chocolate locks, Henry shakes his head and clenches his jaw. “You are so...”

“So what? So irritating? So infuriating?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“If I’m such a problem, then go.” Ignoring his words, you point a finger in the general direction of the nearest exit.

“You want me to leave?”

“Yes! Of course, I do!”

He quirks an eyebrow and cocks his head. “So you’re going to grab me with your tiny hands and throw me through the front door, is that right?”

“I can’t fucking lift you!” You yell.

“Then I’m staying!”

“I think you’re really not! You can’t just demand to stay here! That’s not how this works!”

“Why can’t you just—God damn it!” He stomps his way back into the living room, script forgotten, and reaches for the doorknob. You follow him and let out an exhausted breath of relief, but Henry whips around to you again before you have time to revel in the feeling. “You know what, no. I’m not going anywhere until we settle this bullshit between us. I’m not going to argue with you anymore. I’m not going to act like I dislike you. I’m not going to keep playing this game, because it’s clearly not getting me anywhere; in fact, it’s doing the opposite.”

“Getting you anywhere?” You mumble.

“This whole thing is fucking bullshit and I’m over it.” He swallows. “Tell me what I did.”

“What?”

“You keep saying you hate me but have never given me a reason, so what did I do?”

Your jaw drops. “Are you kidding? You were just telling me I suck at my job, yet at the same time you don’t think I have a reason to be mad. You glare at me during work, you act like I’m an inconvenience, you—”

“That’s not what I mean.” Henry grabs your hand, and for a reason you couldn’t place, you allow it this time. “At the beginning, when we met, what was it that caused a problem between us? I’ve gone over our first meeting in my head about a thousand times and cannot figure out how I upset you so much that you’re still mad after months.”

You slip your fingers out of his palm, looking to the floor.

“Please just tell me,” He begs. “Please, I--”

“You sleep with the women you work with.” You spit out.

When he stares at you in confusion, you wince and say, “I have this friend…kinda. She was an extra on Hellraiser and claimed that you slept with nearly every woman on set, herself included. When I told her I got this job she said you’d probably try to get in my pants if I wasn’t careful, and I’m not cautious enough about men as it is, so—”

“You were mad at me before we met for something I didn’t even do?” He isn’t angry or looking at you like you’ve lost your mind; more like he can’t believe that was all it was. As if he had a simple solution to the problem that planted its roots deep into the both of you months prior.

“Whether or not you did, it’s not like you’ve been an angel to me anyway,” You say.

“Because I fucking panic when someone I want doesn’t want me! And you’ve made it very clear that you do not want me! You always seem so angry and…and I’m not very smooth, ok!? I say shit I don’t mean!”

“So you do want to get in my pants?”

“No!” He says quickly, then after a beat, sighs. “Yes.”

You give no response, so he continues.

“I swear, despite how idiotic I have acted, I really like you, and I don’t know who your friend is or why she would tell you I slept with a bunch of women on set, but I didn’t.”

You have to look away from him. His eyes hold too much sincerity and all it does is confuse you. You have spent too much time pissed to feel comfortable with the idea that it was potentially all for no reason, so you hug your arms across your middle and take a step back from him.

“Y/N, we need to talk about this.”

You shake your head. “I can’t right now.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s late, Henry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You won’t meet his stare but can see from your peripherals his head slowly nod. You don’t look up until your front door closes softly behind him.

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

You spend the earliest hours of the next morning sipping coffee before everyone else arrives for work, wondering if the night before actually happened or if it had just been a very realistic messy mix of a dream and a nightmare.

The sun rises and you watch as it ascends each inch until it’s planted high enough in the sky to warm your skin. He’d be here soon, looking for you, wanting answers for any questions you hadn’t given him the chance to ask.

So, what, he likes me now? He wants me? You can’t wrap your head around it. But you suppose it makes as much sense as you saying you hate him when really what you’ve been is nervous. You don’t want to be used again by some man with more power than you. Pulling yourself out of that hole was hard enough and you have no desire to trip and fall right back in.

“Y/N. You’re here early.”

You jump at the first voice to interrupt the peaceful silence. It was the last moment you’ll have to yourself for the next fifteen hours at least.

Turning your head, you smile at your boss. “Morning, Em.”

“Henry’s here early, too,” She says. “He asked me to let him know when you came in, but seeing as you’re already here, you think you could just head to his trailer now?”

No, you want to say. I’m not ready. “Sure.” You half-heartedly smile, dumping the last of your coffee in the nearest trash can.

Each crunchy step along the gravel to Henry’s trailer feels less sturdy than the one before. Though, he isn’t in his trailer when you find him, but standing out in a grassy patch, throwing a ball to Em’s dog, Leo. It makes your heart pump hard to see him so casually soft. It’s the first time you are looking at him when his eyes aren’t already on you.

Leo loyally returns the ball to Henry three more times before you gather the nerve to step up to his side.

“Em said you wanted to see me.”

You notice him hold in a breath when he registers your voice, then tossing the ball once more, he says, “I’d have gone looking for you myself if I knew you were here.”

You nod, but you’ve yet to look at one another.

“The makeup artists are gonna have a blast today trying to make me look decent,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t sleep all night. I spent it trying to figure out what to say to you but came up short.”

You scratch behind Leo’s large ears when he nudges your legs with his head. Henry gently grins, though you don’t see it. You shrug. “At least you don’t have as many scenes today.”

Henry chuckles. “That’s true.”

“I couldn’t think of anything to say to you either,” You say.

A moment passes as he blows out a deep sigh.

“Y/N…I don’t want to act like it didn’t happen. I know that’s what is easiest, but I meant what I said. The good parts, not the shit about you sucking at your job. You’re the best at your job.”

Finally meeting his eyes, the corners of your lips curve up just a bit.

“But I don’t expect you to feel the same about me.”

“Henry…”

He shakes his head and throws the ball for Leo after the pups persistent whimpering. “I’m not going to make things hard for you. Filming is almost over anyway and if you want, I’ll try to bother you as little as I can. I’m sorry I’ve been an ass, it’s just…you like everyone around here except me, but I’ve liked you more than anyone else since the moment we met. It’s no excuse--”

“It’s ok.”

He looks at you. “It’s not.”

“It is.” Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm. He stares at the touch you give him as you continue. “I didn’t have a good reason for treating you like I hate you, not really.”

“So, you don’t…hate me?”

“…No.” You look away in shame. “And I have a better explanation for that.”

He blinks, clearly relieved that every horrible thing he figured you felt for him was not, in your heart, the truth. “You don’t owe me one.”

“I slept with my boss once,” You rush out. “And, um…got the same warning as I did with you: sleeps with the other women he works with, will try to do the same with me. He did and I let him because I thought he liked me, but…no. All it did was make me feel like an idiot in the end.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I made a mistake.” You shrug. And suddenly, admitting that out loud, confiding in someone, knocks some of the painful gears in your head loose. You’d never told anyone the truth about your past. “Look, this is going to sound really odd but,” You swallow. “…Don’t stop bothering me.”

“Wait,” He turns his body fully to you. “What?”

Your lips thin, but then you smile, inch up on your toes, and go to kiss his cheek. All you wanted to do was provide a little reassurance, to let him know that you now forgive every misunderstanding between you, but the kiss lands a little too far to the right and covers the end of his mouth.

Immediately, you pull back a few centimeters and feel heat flushing your cheeks, but Henry tilts his head the slightest. He takes a breath, giving you a chance to pull back further, but when you make no move to abandon him, he connects your lips again.

It feels good. He feels good. So good it shocks you how much you don’t want it to end. And when you part your lips and his tongue touches yours, you can’t stop your hands from sliding up his chest before roping around his neck and tugging him closer. Only then does he greedily grab at your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh through the fabric of your t-shirt.  

Leo’s bark separates you minutes later, though you’re reluctant to allow it. You glance at the dog, chuckling at his rapidly wagging tail as he watches the scene before him. But when you look back to Henry, his eyes are already glued to you, their hue a little brighter and a small smile on his face.

“I’ll bother you as much as you like,” He says and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind your ear.

tags: @dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @hawkeyeharrington @dani-si @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily @prxttybirdz @xceafh @jazzwoman897 @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999 @ufffg @anise-d-castle6 @rebelliouscat @projectxhappiness @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @lowkeysebby @notmyfault404 @jjamesbbarness @guera31 @sophiatomlinson23 @thisismysecrethappyplace @hiddles-rose @vibhati123 @mywinterwolf @picapicapicassobaby @genius2050 @lokilvrr @sunshine-seven @missjayi @agniavateira @tumblnewby @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ @defffcc​ 

[alj4890]

Christmas Prompt

(Thomas x Amanda) with the given prompt from @jlpplays1-41daysofcheerchallenge​​ for black and white

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) in a Christmas one shot

A/N I had something planned for this movie for our RCD Appreciation Week, but ended up going with another. Using it for @jlpplays1 41 Days of Cheer Challenge seemed meant to be. This isn't a part of my AU's though I had considered Thomas and Amanda meeting under simliar circumstances in Another Night, Another Dream storyline. Still, I am a sucker for fluff and first impressions. So here we go again.

Above image taken from the 1940 holiday classic Remember the Night and I do spoil most of it in this. Sorry!

@lxaah11​ @alleksa16​ @penguininapinktuxedo​ @blackcoffee85​ @stopforamoment​  @hopefulmoonobject​  @krsnlove​   @annekebbphotography​ ​ @cora-nova​ @bella-ca​ @hopelessromantic1352​. @sunflowergirl05​ @desiree-0816​ @greywitchyshots​ @lilyofchoices​ @emceesynonymroll​ @dr-nancy-house​ @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @pixieferry @lolablackwrites  @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker. @trappedinfandoms @kate-mckenzie

Masterlist

The Theater

Amanda settled into the red cushioned seat and set her soda down in the cupholder. She pulled up on the tab to open her box of Junior Mints and glanced around. She couldn't believe that hardly anyone was here for the holiday movie marathon.

When she told those back home in Cordonia that she was traveling to Los Angeles specifically to attend this week of nothing but classics from silent era to ending with 1954's White Christmas, none had volunteered to come with her. 

"If I'm going to California, I want to sightsee and party with the stars...not attend some tiny theater for old movies." Maxwell had reluctantly admitted when she voiced her surprise that he didn't want to go.

Everyone else pleaded with her to do something else. After all, she had only seen it advertised on the theater’s website.

“What if it isn’t in a safe area of the city?” Liam asked. “You will be alone, late at night in what could be a dangerous area.”

“Why are you spending money to see movies you have seen a hundred times before?” Drake rolled his eyes at her explanation of experiencing it in a movie theater.

"It's the week before Christmas." Olivia had argued. "You should be here with us where you belong, not alone in some strange city watching movies you already own on blu ray.”

When it came to things that she truly loved, Amanda's stubborn streak made itself known. They all shook their heads. If she had to have one crazy weird attribute, willing to travel for movies might not be the worst thing she could have.

And here she was on her third evening, ready to watch the first half of the 1940's classics. The evening was beginning with Remember the Night.

Amanda adored this particular one. She could remember when her mother first shared this movie with her when she was nine years old. It had been late one night when neither could sleep. They had cuddled under a blanket and only had the Christmas tree lights on.

She had fallen hard for Fred MacMurray's portrayal of John Sargent from the very beginning. His sarcastic, dry humor mixed with his gruff, morally right persona had hidden what was later revealed to be a very tender heart toward those he loved.

Barbara Stanwyck's con artist/thief was just the right person to shake him up. Of course, he managed to open her eyes and smooth out her understandable rough due to circumstances edges.

Their love story had all the elements from humor to bittersweetness. The perfect movie made even more so because it was set during a snowy Christmas and New Year's.

Amanda had secretly searched a long time for her tall, dark, and handsome Fred MacMurray/John Sargent. Most of the men she thought might be the one seemed to be lacking that one key element that made him so desirable: the tender heart. She had recently given up that long held dream. The man simply did not exist in the real world.

"I was born in the wrong time period." Amanda would say to herself each time she watched this. "That's why I can't find anyone like him."

She shook herself out of these unhappy thoughts and watched as John argued against dismissing the case of Barabara Stanwyck's character, Lee.

________________

She's back, Thomas thought when he saw the same woman come in by herself and take the exact same seat she had the past two nights. She had another box of candy and soft drink, just like she had each other time. She laid her jacket on the seat next to hers and he knew from observing her the other times that she would end up using it as a cover around the second hour of the movie marathon.

He settled more comfortably in his own chair further back. Seeing her dedication in supporting this small, independent theater made him not lose hope in people knowing and enjoying these classics. He had tried to encourage his film students to come and had even played around with the idea of offering extra credit. He decided against it in the hopes they would come simply because of what these old black and white movies contained: emotional storytelling at its finest.

There was no CGI nor any enhanced techniques. No method acting. Nothing except a story acted out with the sheer talent to draw one within the imagined world and make the individual wish they could remain.

Something about these black and white movies made the winters and snowfall seem even more shiver worthy. Knowing it was all done on a soundstage, made it even more impressive.

He was surprised that his attention continued to stray to the woman sitting a few rows ahead of his and a couple of seats over to the left. He had looked forward to seeing the movies he actually owned on various discs on the large screen.

"I was born in the wrong time period." He would mutter when reading about the golden age of film. To be a part of the beginning of not only sound in films, but also during a time of discovering a wealth of talent in actors and screenwriters, would have been a dream come true. A dream to be able to feel that excitment of making movies was something he was in desperate need of.

He had gotten burned out. After filming The Last Duchess, he felt empty. Nothing had sparked his creativity. Nothing made him want to jump back into the director's chair and bring a story to life. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of something about to happen in his life...something life changing. He hoped whatever it was would happen soon.

Being unable to sit back and wait patiently for the mystery life changing event to happen, he had decided to return to his second love of teaching. It had been going well the last few semesters. There was only one drawback to this. He didn't know quite what to do with himself now that he was on winter break.

He shook himself from the quagmire of his depressing thoughts and focused on the scene of John offering to take Lee to her mother's home in Indiana on his way to see his own.

______________

Amanda laughed at the scene of John's irritation and resulting sarcasm while dealing with the small town judge. She could hear a deep laugh somewhere behind her. She supposed it was the same lone man that had been here the last few nights.

He shares my sense of humor, she thought. Hearing that laugh didn't make her feel quite so alone in the theater. She had never minded being on her own. There were many times that she loved to escape the nobles and her friends for a needed breather. Yet something about the holiday season made being alone seem...well...lonely.

She needn't be. Amanda had a wonderful life. One day she would meet someone to share it with. It might not be her dream man that was currently on the screen, but he would be perfect for her.

_____________

Thomas watched the lone woman dig in her purse for a tissue. She had been moved to tears over how cruel Lee's mother was and how sweet John had been to tell her he was taking her to his childhood home for Christmas.

He wracked his memories and realized he couldn't recall the last time he witnessed a woman of today crying over a black and white movie of yesterday. Perhaps I've been around the wrong women, he thought.

He wished he could see the expression on her face caught up in the bittersweet emotion. What had made her cry? Was it simple pity for the heroine of the movie? Did it remind her of something from her own past? Was it John's actions that set off her tears?

He grimaced and tried to keep his attention strictly on the movie.

________________

Amanda sighed at that ending. To make such a choice...could I do that if I had been Lee?

"I must be a horrible person." Amanda mumbled as she gathered her things. She planned on getting a refill before The Shop Around the Corner started.

"Why do you think you're horrible?"

She turned around in surprise. "Oh!" Amanda stared at the famous man who had been the only other one in the theater tonight. "I..." Her smile held hints of self-depreciation. "I don't know if I could leave John and willingly plead guilty to my crimes. I would be tempted to marry him like he wanted and allow him to pull all the tricks to make the jury side with me."

Thomas nodded. "Yes, it would be difficult. I believe though that nowadays the heroine would probably do that very thing."

Amanda's grin reappeared. "Now that we no longer have the Hays Office making certain the wicked paid for every action, I imagine that someone would rewrite this to Lee not only being claimed innocent but that John was evil to continue to serve as prosecutor.”

His eyes widened. "You know about the Hays Office?"

"Of course." She stepped out into the aisle. "I love film history."

He followed her out into the lobby. "You're not leaving yet, are you?"

She turned around once more in surprise. "No. I was going to get a refill."

He hesistated a moment. Thomas couldn't help but notice that not only could she keep up intelligently conversation wise, but he also found her attractive. "Would you care to sit with me during the next film?"

"I don't know if we will be able to find two seats together with such a crowd." She teased.

He chuckled softly. "If I am able to find two side by side..." Thomas trailed off and waited.

Amanda lowered her eyes and grinned. "Then I would appreciate you saving me a seat."

______________

A few movies later and at a small nearby diner...

"Do you have any particular recommendations?" Amanda asked as she picked up the menu.

"All of the pies here are some of the best around." Thomas lifted his own menu, yet continued to glance at her over it.

She smiled when the waitress approached.

"What can I get you and your lady friend to drink, Professor?" The middle aged, slightly tired woman asked.

He nodded toward Amanda to go first.

"Iced tea, please." She replied.

"Coffee." He added.

"Are you ready to order or do you need another moment?" She asked.

"I am, are you?" Thomas asked.

Amanda grinned. "Go ahead. I make decisions for food better under pressure."

He chuckled. "Apple pie a la mode."

The waitress turned to Amanda.

"I'll have the same." She decided at the last moment.

Once they were alone, Thomas folded his arms on the table. "I have a question that has been driving me mad most of the night."

Amanda lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? And what might that be?"

"During Remember the Night, you were crying. Why?"

Her cheeks turned a little red under his steady regard. The Thomas Hunt wanted to know why she had teared up. She still couldn't believe his interest in her thoughts. Granted it wasn't like anyone else had been there to steal his attention away from her. She might as well enjoy it for what it was: a once in a lifetime opportunity. They had spent most of their time sitting next to each other in the theater, talking and pointing out various aspects of the scenes they loved in the movies they had seen so far.

"Everything about that scene when John and Lee go to her childhood home hurts. When you compare it to the first glimpse of John's it really strikes you at the differences." She explained.

"How?" He asked, wanting to hear more of her thoughts.

Amanda leaned forward as she went further into detail. "Take the lighting for example. Lee's home is cast in shadows. No lights are on inside that we can see, welcoming anyone approaching with warmth. John's had lamps shining like a lighthouse, beckoning one to safety from the cold. Lee's mother and stepfather didn't bother to step out on the porch or even invite them inside from the cold. The single light near the mother cast harsh shadows, adding even more to the foreboding sense that no love would be awaiting the prodigal daughter. John's had family coming out into the cold, wanting to hug and hurry them inside to warm up. Current joy at seeing him again and memories of happiness waited inside that bright house."

He listened to her silently in complete agreement. He marveled at her ability to cut right to the aesthetic of the two instead of focusing in on the dialogue. The words spoken were of course moving in terms of emotion, yet for her to point out something he tried to do for his students made him want to talk to her even more.

"Here you go." The waitress set their plates and drinks in front of them. "Has my nephew been behaving himself?"

Thomas nodded. "He has been doing very well this past semester. You should be proud of him."

The tiredness left the woman's face hearing that. "You really think he has a future in cinematography, Mr. Hunt?"

"I do." He said a bit gruffly. "I recommended him for a scholarship." He picked at his pie. "You should receive the letter soon about the approval."

"You mean--" the waitress teared up and tried to get the words out. "Thank you. This...this means the world to us."

He waived off her thanks. "His talent and your tenacity is what did this. I had no part in it."

She turned to Amanda who was observing their interaction quietly. "Don't let him fool you. He had everything to do with giving my Brandon his dream future."

The young lady realized that her suspicions were correct. There was a good deal more to the famous director than what he decided to reveal to the outside world. 

Thomas cleared his throat and avoided eye contact. The waitress poured his coffee and left them alone.

Amanda picked up her fork and took a bite. "You were right. The pie here is very good." She noticed relief flood his features over the attention no longer being on his kindness.

"I'm glad you agree." He took a bite of his own. "Are you planning on attending any of the other nights at the theater?"

"All of them, actually." She grinned at him. "It was why I decided to come to Los Angeles for a visit."

"I see." His brow furrowed with thought. "I plan on attending the whole week also."

She reached for the sugar packets to add to her glass of tea while waiting to hear what he would say next.

"If you are planning on being there and I am, then perhaps we could go together." Thomas looked at her over his coffee cup to gage her reaction.

"I would like that." Amanda said with a hint of color to her cheeks. "Then perhaps we could talk about the movies over pie."

His lips curved into a soft smile. "I would like that."

_____________

Last night of the holiday classics...

"Thank you, Thomas, for making this week so enjoyable. I have loved our discussions each night." Amanda kissed his cheek on impulse outside the theater.

He took her hand and cleared his throat. "I have enjoyed it also." He looked down at their fingers laced together. "When do you leave for Cordonia?"

"Day after tomorrow." She said, wishing time had not gone by so quickly.

His frown formed. "Must you go so soon?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "I suppose I don't necessarily have to." She pushed the strands of hair back that were determined to remain in her face as a breeze blew. "Christmas is a few days away though."

"You could spend the holidays here, if you would like...with me." Thomas tugged her close and slowly captured her lips in a tender kiss.

She was rooted to the sidewalk in shock over him kissing her. She had hoped he would. But as each night ended without one, she assumed he wasn't attracted to her. Now, though...

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into another more active kiss. She smiled against his lips when his hands slipped in her hair, encouraging the kiss to go on.

When it ended, she took a brief moment to gather her thoughts. "Perhaps I could stay until after New Year's, if you would like me to."

Thomas held her pressed against him and brushed his lips against hers. "I can't think of anything more I would like."

_______________

3 years later in that same theater...

"Would you like any Junior Mints?" Thomas asked, helping her off with her coat.

Amanda set her hand on her very distended belly and shook her head. "I don't believe our baby shares my love for peppermint and chocolate." She slowly lowered herself in the seat and sighed. "I can't believe you thought of coming here again."

He sat down next to her and placed his arm along the back of her seat. "I thought it might be nice to relive the night we met that led to this." He placed his hand on her stomach, smiling softly at the movement he felt.

She laughed while looking around the empty theater. "Seems to be the same crowd as was before."

"That is my doing." He explained. "I rented the entire theater just for us."

"You did?" Her smile turned tender.

He nodded, presssing a kiss to her lips. "And I have the same movies as before."

She rested her head on his shoulder and thought back to that night. "I didn't expect to end up staying here when I first came."

"I'm grateful my powers of persuasion worked so well." He gently rubbed her tense back while thinking of when he first approached her.

After spending the holidays together, he had received a script that had reinvigorated his passion for directing. He returned to Cordonia to film it and to spend more time getting to know Amanda. On the night of his new movie's premiere, he asked her to marry him. A few months after that they were on their honeymoon.

Now here they were, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their own classic film lover, who was already a week overdue in making his or her appearance.

As Remember the Night began, Thomas pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I am very thankful I met you that night."

Amanda sat up and held her stomach. "Meeting you was quite a surprise, though I believe tonight's might give it a run for its money."

His brow furrowed. "Why is that?"

She looked up at him with an excited smile. "My water just broke."

[dead-inside-mcgee]

Beyond that door - Part 2

The lesser evil

Summary:  Chase sits in silence, feeling embarrassed for no particular reason. He doesn’t even think about the fact that he never gave the man his name.

Word Count:  2028

Taglist: @rabbitsartcorner @caori-azarath @murder-schmurder 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we bring you exclusive interviews with our latest mayoral candidates. Starting with a young man coming from right here in Septic City, let me introduce you to Mr. Jameson Jackson!” 

  “Thank you Miss. Cook.,” Jameson said with a sharp, British accent. 

  No matter what you’re wrong. 

  “Now Mr. Jackson. You claim that you grew up here in this city, but your accent is British. Why is that?”

  “Well you see, my parents were British, and they had me after moving here. I simply just inherited it from them.” His voice is slightly shaky, and cracks occasionally. He clearly wasn’t made for public speaking, but he holds himself together. 

  “Interesting. Now time for a big question. Why are you running for office?”

  “Ah, now that would be a good question. Well let me think.” 

  There’s a pause. 

  “Well there’s a few reasons.” Jameson states. “When I was young I grew up without a voice. Nothing I ever said mattered. I grew up believing that nothing I ever said would matter. And I look around today and see people just like me believing their voice means nothing. So my goal is to give those like me a voice and make sure they are heard.

  “There is also the fact that I’ve always been looked down upon in my own family. My brother is a famous voice actor, my father runs a business, my mother is a reporter, and what have I done? Have any of you even hear of me before I ran for mayor?” 

  There’s a few awkward glances before the candidate continues. 

  “I want to accomplish something big. Something that people will remember me by. But most of all, I want to do what I believe it right.” 

  “You know Mr. Jackson, they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” 

  “And that’s very true! Many people who wanted what was right, did terrible things to get it. Because they thought… it’s what they had to do…” His tone shifts, along with his expression.

  “Umm… Well that’s very interesting Sir. The people would also like to kno-” He cut her off. 

  “I will not be answering any more questions.“ He states and walks off, followed by a few baffled reporters. 

  ***

Chase flicked off the TV and joined Marvin with observing their guest. After tying him to a chair the doctor passed out again, and after failing to wake him, they decided to just wait until the potion wears off. 

  “Nothing interesting on TV?” The witch asks. 

  “Not really.” He sighs.

  Marvin glances around. “Want to play a board game or something while we wait for him to wake up?”

  He glances at the clock. “Actually, I should be heading home. It’s late, I have work, and I need a new phone.”

  Marvin nods, trying not to look disappointed. “Can’t you take a day off to help watch this guy?” 

  He stands. “As much as I’d love to, it’s not worth the trouble I’d get into.”

  “Okay… At least keep an eye on that guy, Anti, you work with.” 

  “Will do!” Chase makes his way up the stairs and is greeted by the cool night air. 

  It’s about two am, his work starts at eight. If he got home in ten minutes, he could squeeze in at least five and a half hours of sleep before he has to get ready. 

  Oh, who is he kidding? There’s no way he’s going to fall asleep tonight. 

  He wonders around the town, he never noticed just how quiet it was at this time, especially considering how big the town was.  

  Chase finds himself in a small Cafe. He decides to grab a very early breakfast. 

  The Cafe is empty except for the cashier and a man in a bowler cap sitting in the corner. 

  Chase just gets a coffee and a fancy sandwich a plops down at a table. 

  He notices the man seems pretty lonely, so he gets and asks if he could sit across from him. 

  The man nods. 

  “Cool.” Chase sits down and eats. 

  “Tell me,” the man begins. Chase notes that he has a british accent. “What’s a man like you doing out at a time like this?” 

  “I could ask you the same question,” he says through a mouth full of food. 

  The man laughs. “I had a rough day. Or I guess a rough yesterday. Couldn’t sleep.” 

  “Same.” Chase blinks, noticing just how familiar this man seems. “Do I know you.” 

  “Not personally I assure you. You’ve probably seen me on TV.” He lifts off his hat. 

  Chase chokes. “You’re- you’re-!” 

  “Jameson Jackson, at your service.” He holds out his hand. 

  He takes it, his face flushed in embarrassment. 

  “You’re a cyborg, aren’t you?” Jameson says, examining his arm. There was a very faint line where the robotic part met the skin, but Chase thought no one would notice, especially with the mask. 

   “Don’t worry,” he continues, “I won’t say anything. I just tend to notice things. Are you using a mask of sorts?” 

  Chase nods, no longer trusting his voice. 

  “Interesting. I always thought masks were very interesting. I never understood why they were outlawed.” 

  “How did you-”

  “How did I see through it?” Jameson chuckles, letting go of his hand. “Like I said, I tend to notice things. Masks aren’t perfect.” 

  The politician stands up. “Have a lovely day, Mr. Brody.” 

  Chase sits in silence, feeling embarrassed for no particular reason. He doesn’t even think about the fact that he never gave the man his name. 

***

Marvin never liked the silence. The fact that he was used to it didn't change that fact. 

  He liked Chase. For many reasons, he was friendly, and worked hard, and always loved to fill that silence. But he was also stubborn. Even more stubborn than Marvin himself. 

  When Marvin was forced underground, he cut Chase off. He wanted to keep the man safe, and if cutting him off was the way to do it, then he would. 

  But stubborn, persistent Chase, found his way back into Marvin’s life, and this time Marvin couldn’t so easily shut him out.

  The witch was snapped out of his thoughts by a thump and a yelp. He turns to fine his guest had managed to tip over the chair. 

  “Wh-where am I?” Henrik asks. His voice was groggy and high pitched, like he wasn’t used to talking. 

  Marvin fixes the chair upright. “Somewhere no one will ever find you.” 

  The man shivers. “What are you going to do to me?” 

  “Nothing bad. I just have some questions. Can you answer some questions?” 

  Henrik nods, trembling enough to make the chair creek. 

  Marvin pulls up another chair and sits in front of him. “What’s the last thing you remember doing?” 

  “I remember reading. And then sleeping…” 

  “No memories of holding the mayor hostage or threatening to blow up a hospital?”

  Henrik blinks. “Noo…?”

  “Damn it!” He bites his lip and stands up to writing something on the whiteboard. “I was hoping you’d have… something.” 

  “I’m sorry?” He shifted uncomfortably. 

  “”It’s not your fault.” Marvin pulls out a book and flips through it. “Sleep potions tend to cause slight memory loss, and I doubt you were, well, you, during either of those situations.” 

  “I’m confused. Who even are you?” Henrik looked around, his voice a little shaky. 

  “Right, manners.” Deeming the other man harmless, he snaps his fingers and the ropes fall away. “My name is Marvin.” He puts the book back up and holds out his hand. 

  Henrik takes it slowly, his eyes flickering to the myriad of scars that doctorated Marvin’s hand and arm. He then notices how many scars he has on his own hands. 

  The magician notices his gaze. “Do you know how you got any of those?”

  “Papercuts.” He states, but he doesn’t sound so sure.

  “If you say so.” Marvin shrugs and lets go. 

  Henrik slowly shifts to sitting on the floor, finding that more comfortable. 

  Marvin watches him and sighs. “Do you want to play a boardgame or something?”

  He shrugs and Marvin pulls a random box off the shelf.

***

Chase ate lunch alone, as usual. Sure he’d only worked here for a few days, but it seemed like no one really liked him. Maybe he wasn’t friendly enough, or maybe he was too friendly.

  Whatever the matter, he was alone.  

  There were benefits to the loneliness. For one, he could sit back and listen to music instead of having to make conversation. And he could be sloopy without being judged. 

  He was completely fine with eating alone, are hardly lonely, he told himself. 

  He slipped on his headphones to mute his thoughts for a moment. He didn’t pack much of a lunch, just some cold leftovers from a week ago. Not that he was in the mood for anything else.

  Right as he was about to get to the good part of a song, someone tapped his shoulder. Chase grunted and turned off his music. 

  “Do you mind if I sit here?” The man asked. 

  Chase blinked, taking a moment to register his face. He gulped, his face heating up. 

  “I- uh- s-sure.” 

  The man gave a toothy grin and sat across from him. 

  “You’re Chase Brody right?” 

  Chase nods. “And you’re- you’re Anti right..?” 

  Anti chuckles. “Actually, it’s Anthony. But Anti works too. How are you?” 

  “I’m fine,” He squeaks.

  “You sure?” You look a little red.” Anti raises an eyebrow. 

  “Yeah. I’m ok, it’s just a little warm in here.”

  “I can ask someone if they can turn down the temperature.” 

  “No- no. I’m fine.” Why was he getting so flustered right now?

  “Sorry if this is a little forward, but can I have your number?” 

  Chase chokes on air.  “Yes. I mean no. I mean my phone broke last night, so I don’t have a number right now. But I have plans to get one soon.” Marvin said he’d get him a new one, right?

  “Hm, alright. Maybe later tonight I can take you out and get you a new one.” Anti smiles. 

  This time Chase really chokes, going into a coughing fit. 

  “I- I’m fine.” He says between coughs. “I appreciate the offer, but no!” 

  “Oh well. We should go out some time though.” He glances at the clock. “Welp, I gotta get back to work.”

  “But the break just started.” Chase called, but Anti already disappeared. 

***

Marvin signed, pulling out the Monopoly rules again to try and explain them. They were sitting on the floor, an array of pieces and Monopoly money spewed about. 

  “You don’t seem very into this game,” Henrik comments.

  “I’m not really. Monopoly is just boring.” He tossed down the instructions and started putting the game up. 

  “Are you okay?” 

  Marvin paused. “Why do you care.” 

  “Because I’m a human being with basic empathy that can tell when something is wrong.” Henrik stated, crossing his arms. 

  Marvin said nothing, sliding the game back on the shelf. 

  “Fine. You’re right.” He slumped back onto the floor. 

  “So. What’s wrong.” 

  “I’m not about to spill my feelings to someone I met about…” He glances at the clock., “Ten hours ago, that could be a murderous asshole for all I know.” 

  He gulped, turning away. 

  Marvin groaned, putting his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

  “Yes you did, don’t lie.” 

  “I don’t think you’re the bad guy. Or a bad guy in general. I just have too many feelings, and like I said, I’ve only known you for so long.” 

  “I understand.” Henrik looks down. 

  “I just sent my friend to investigate someone, and I'm worried that he'll get hurt. Especially since he doesn’t have a phone, which is my fault and-” 

  The doctor reaches out to touch his shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look. 

  He wipes his face, laughing weakly. “Oh, this is pathetic.” 

  “Don’t say that!” Henrik snaps. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

  “What are you, a therapist?” 

  “I’m a doctor, but I did dabble in psychology,” Henrik says with a prideful grin.  

  “Fine. If you really wanna hear about my issues.”