#except for the absolutely insane ones who still wouldn’t trust it and would rather risk getting cancer

[fitgothgirl]

imagine the cognitive dissonance anti-vaxxers will be dealing with if we got a cancer vaccine lol

[sluttywonwoo]

take it off || k.mg x reader

Pairing: mob!mingyu x fem reader

Summary: as much as you hate to admit it, jealousy looks good on your fiancé 

Warnings: swearing, light smut (18+)

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n: reworked this old blurb originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

“Mingyu, slow down,” you said with a sigh, trying not to roll your eyes.

“What was he thinking?” Mingyu spat, not acknowledging what you had just said. He gripped the steering wheel even harder.

You watched as his knuckles began to turn white and rubbed his arm soothingly. “Baby, take a deep breath. Relax.”

He just shrugged you off and cursed at the car in front of him.

“Don’t fucking tell me to relax.”

“It’s not a big deal, Gyu.”

He actually turned his head towards you and looked at you this time. “You’re joking.”

You shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve had worse.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

You winced, knowing you’d probably made it worse and that Mingyu was likely now picturing the grimy hands of ill-intentioned strangers all over your body.

“I should have him killed,” he snarled.

To most, that threat would sound completely ridiculous or utterly insane, but your fiancé was the head of the Seoul mob-the South West branch anyway- and he was no stranger to violence. Having someone killed would be as easy as snapping his fingers.

You scoffed to call his bluff.

“You think I won’t?” he challenged and you groaned.

“You promised you were done with that.”

It’s true, one of the conditions of your engagement had been that Mingyu agree to put the more sinister side of his business to rest, and although you trusted him, in all honesty, you weren’t sure how well he was upholding his end of the deal.

“I’d make an exception.”

“Well don’t. I don’t want some poor guy’s blood on my hands.”

At that, the car screeched to a stop right in the middle of the freeway. The cars behind you honked and flashed their lights at Mingyu as they maneuvered to avoid a collision.

You huffed in frustration, wanting to bang your head against the dashboard. This was exactly why you didn’t like for Mingyu to drive himself: he pulled dangerous shit all the time like this. Literally, all of his other men had drivers who took them places and you desperately wished Mingyu would hire someone, but he insisted that it was safest if he was the one driving (yet here you were in the middle of the highway).

“You could’ve fucking killed us!” you shouted, more annoyed than anything.

Mingyu took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. But y/n, he’s not just some poor guy.”

“He was trying to get a rise out of you, Gyu. He fucking hates you, of course, he’d go after me, and he was drunk.”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes at you, foot still pressed firmly on the brake. “That’s not a fucking excuse, you of all people should know that. Why are you trying to defend him?”

“I’m not trying to defend him, I’m just saying he doesn’t deserve to die. Can we please just get home?”

Mingyu relented and put the car back into motion making you breathe a sigh of relief.

Even though he didn’t say anything else you could tell his mind was still going a thousand miles a minute. You watched him chew at his lip in silence and wondered what was going on in that beautiful head of his. Nothing good, you could be sure of that.

Mingyu’s mind was darker than most. Occupational hazard. He carried so much pain that you hadn’t known about when you first met him. He’d let you in slowly, keeping you at arm’s length for months, until he almost lost you. And then he knew he couldn’t keep things from you anymore. It was still a challenge to understand his thought process sometimes, but you liked it that way. How could a ruthless, power-hungry mobster also be the most loving, family-oriented person you’d ever met in your life? How could someone who dropped a grand on a dinner like it was nothing secretly rather spend one more night picnicking with crappy Chinese food on the bedroom floor in your old apartment? You couldn’t think of an answer, and you didn’t want to.

The guy at the bar tonight had been some rival of Mingyu’s. You hadn’t seen him before, but you could tell because when Mingyu got up to get the two of you more drinks he swooped in and laid it on heavy. He looped one arm around your waist and placed his other hand on your knee and began attempting to seduce you. Sure, you were uncomfortable but more than anything you were angry. And tired. Tired of being used as bait, something to get to Mingyu.

You didn’t want to make a scene so you listened to the asshole talk about how much better he’d treat you than Mingyu until your fiancé eventually returned with your drinks in hand, face beet red, eyes dark with anger.

The man, you never caught his name, left the bar with a broken nose. Mingyu left with bruised knuckles. You’d thought it would end at that, but of course, once Mingyu got started it was hard for him to stop. It was a gift in the bedroom, but a curse in the rest of your life.

Then, so softly you almost didn’t hear it, Mingyu broke the silence in the car and said “I know what he said to you,” and it all clicked.

Normally, a hand on your shoulder, thigh, ass was enough to set Mingyu off, but combine that with the filthy words he’d undoubtedly overheard spilling from the man’s lips… no wonder all he could see was red.

“Mingyu, I-“

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to start something.”

“Start something? Is that true? Or do you think he’s right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you think he can satisfy you better than I can?”

“Mingyu!”

“Well do you?”

You shook your head and rubbed your thighs together, fighting a shiver. As irritating as Mingyu’s jealousy could be, the effect it had on you was even more infuriating. The man could already turn you on without doing anything and whenever he started acting a little jealous it was game over for you. It was pathetic, really.

“Why the fuck did he even think it was okay to look at you, let alone touch you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged finally settling in to play the game. “These big dudes with huge muscles just think they can have whoever they want.”

Mingyu whipped his head back towards you. “What did you say?”

You ignored him. “I mean he definitely wouldn’t be as good as you, but he could do some damage.” Mingyu was full-on glaring at you now, and you wanted to tell him to keep his eyes on the road, but you couldn’t give up so fast. “I mean, just one of his hands could probably wrap around my whole neck. Like they were giant, and you know what they say about guys with big hands-“

“Do you think this is funny?”

Any sane person wouldn’t even think about taunting Mingyu like this, not with his reputation, but you couldn’t be sane to be with someone like Mingyu anyway, and besides, you knew he was a big softie at heart.

“A little,” you admitted. “You look really hot right now.”

He really did. His hair was tousled with silver highlights from the moonlight streaming in through the windshield, his tan skin was flushed with adrenaline, and his white button-up was unbuttoned just a few times to show off his collarbone. You bit your lip. You were so fucking weak.

“That’s not going to work.”

“No?” You quirked an eyebrow and leaned over the console to see that he was already more than half hard in his dress pants. “Because it looks like it’s working.” You reached over and began to palm him through his trousers, smirking when he cursed and rolled his neck at the contact.

“Y/n, if I have to pull over, you’re not going to be able to walk for the next week.”

Oh no, that’d be horrible you thought to yourself and rolled your eyes. He had to know that’s what you secretly wanted, right? Right? Why were men so stupid?

Either way, you took your hand back and moved it up under the hem of your dress to where you were feeling a little desperate for some friction. You sighed deeply when you rubbed yourself over your panties, not even surprised at how wet you were.

“Fuck,” you hissed out and hiked your legs up onto the seat so you could give Mingyu a better view.

“Stop that.”

He said it so forcefully that you froze, fingers hovering over your panties, about to pull them to the side. Then you smiled.

“No.” You went ahead and did it anyway, slipping two fingers inside of yourself easily.

You weren’t one to defy Mingyu often, especially when it came to what he asked of you in the bedroom, but you knew how crazy it drove him and just couldn’t resist.

Mingyu groaned, trying and failing to maintain an angry expression. His eyes betrayed an absolutely sinful lust that made you want to melt and you wished more than anything he’d just pull the fucking car over.

“Fuck, Gyu,” you gasped, “I wish these were your fingers, you’re so good with your fingers.”

“Yeah? You sure you wish they’re my fingers? Not someone else’s?”

You shook your head vigorously. “Never. You’re the only one who knows how to make me cum that hard.”

“Is that what you want? To cum hard?”

“God, yes,” you moaned, pumping your fingers in and out of you faster.

“Take off your dress.”

“What?” you weren’t sure if you’d heard him right, you were still driving down the highway after all.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Not wanting to push your luck any further you didn’t hesitate to listen this time and pulled the loose fabric up and over your head.

“Good girl,” he praised and you whined. You were still wearing your bra and underwear and as much as you’d love to flash oncoming traffic, you hoped Mingyu wouldn’t ask you to take them off.

“You can touch yourself,” he said and you complied, knowing it was more of an instruction than an allowance.

It felt good, really good, but you still wished it was him instead of you.

“Fuck, darling you look so beautiful like that, God, I can’t believe I get to marry you.”

“If, you stop, killing people,” you managed to get out through gritted teeth and Mingyu laughed.

“I’m not going to kill him, baby. I made a promise. You’re too important to risk losing, even if he is a fucking prick.”

You whimpered, the mixture of complete head-over-heels love you felt for Mingyu and pleasure making you crumble.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, reaching over and taking you by the wrist, stalling your movements just as you were about to fall over the edge. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget you ever met that asshole.”

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[anonymouslyangsty]

What do you think Assassin!Taka would do if he figured out how much his grandfather was manipulating him? Also, what do you think of an alternative Assassin!Taka where his first kill was his grandfather?

Very good question and very good concept.

Minor derailment for a sec (i swear it's relevant), but let's talk about Takaaki and Toranosuke in this au.

(warning, it ended up not being 'a sec'. I bolded the part where I ACTUALLY start talking about your question)

I feel like Torano's downfall was a bit of a slippery slope. He needed to gain some momentum before he went to murder and child grooming, as ya do. And I think the major step towards extreme corruption came through Takaaki.

I feel like those two have a rather tense relationship early on in the au. Takaaki knows that some of his father's dealings are fishy. Perhaps not criminal at that point, but not exactly clean either.

But Takaaki is still human. He's got a wife and young son to care for. If his father's slimy actions got out, they'd ruin the Ishimaru name. Plus, he isn't hurting anyone, right? So Takaaki leaves it alone.

That kind of dismissal only lasts for so long however, especially when you're as honest as Takaaki. Eventually, he's not going to be able to turn a blind eye, even if acting puts himself and his family at risk.

Perhaps Torano does something that goes a bit too far, that actually hurts people and ruins lives. Takaaki wouldn't be able to stand for it and, even if he cares about his father, he isn't going to deny his duties as an officer because of it.

But I think that Takaaki would make the critical mistake of trusting the goodness in his father just a BIT too much. He thinks he can talk sense into Torano, get him to change his ways without ruining his whole career. All Takaaki does is give him ample warning.

Torano cares about his son. Takaaki is a decent man, hardworking and honest. But he'll be damned if he lets his soft heart get in his way and ruin his legacy. So when Takaaki threatens to release info on Torano's illegal activities, he knows he has to keep his son quiet.

Toranosuke is very careful with how he does it. He can't just kill the man. If Takaaki shared his suspicions with anyone, his sudden death would be damning.

So he does the next best thing. Torano gets Takaaki declared clinically insane and locked in an asylum. He weaves this detailed, damning story, bribing as many people as he needs to to create a false narrative. Takaaki attacked him in his office, spouting conseracy theories and accusing him of murder!

Toranosuke deeply cares for his son, so he obviously wouldn't send him away unless it was for his own good, right? And if Takaaki's wife suddenly finds herself overwhelmed with life under the camera's eye, well. What kind of grandfather would Toranosuke be if he didn't care for Taka while his mother was away visiting family? He's just looking out for his family after all.

So that's all to say that Takaaki is alive in this au, locked away from crimes he didn't commit. After so long of being told he's insane, he slowly begins to believe it. Maybe he was becoming paranoid, seeing crimes where there weren't any. Maybe he had overreacted. Did he attack his father? He didn't recall doing so, but there was video evidence, so it has to be true.

It takes years for Takaaki to be deemed sane. By that point, he's convinced himself that he really had made up all those accusations. Taka's already gone at this stage, off training for his grandfather's purposes. But Takaaki thinks he's just off at boarding school.

Now I'll get to the point of this 'little' tangent. I think Takaaki's the one who proves to Taka that he's being used. Takaaki's an officer, likely far higher in standing than in canon. So it's plausible that he'd be employed to investigate a string of strange deaths that's caught the eye of a few officials.

It would be quite interesting for Takaaki to realize that the 'string' of murders is actually far longer than they'd realized. It'd be even more interesting for him to realize that his son is the one behind the deaths.

Takaaki is a father first and an officer second. There's no way he'll allow his son to take the fall, especially not once it becomes clear that Torano placed him into the role. Takaaki would absolutely try to make his son see reason, which means making him see that he's being used.

Okay NOW I'll actually get to the point.

If Taka found out he was being used by his grandfather...Well it sure wouldn't be a pretty sight. We already know how Taka responds to his world being destroyed: denial, unresponsiveness, and manic behavior. That's how he responded upon learning that a guy he was friends with for 3 days was a killer.

Assassin!Taka doesn't see himself as a murderer. He sees himself as an executioner, dealing out capital justice to those who abuse their power. He kills those that are irredeemable, who harm others without any empathy.

But if that was all a life, if he was working for the corrupt rather than against...He'd be just as bad as the corruption he sought to destroy. He'd be a murderer.

Put that revelation onto the realization that the man who raised him since his parents left, the man he looked up to as the pinnacle of greatness, is himself corrupt. Has himself committed the same crimes Taka killed to stop. That Taka was nothing but a tool for that corruption.

Literally everything that Taka is in this au would be a lie. He's not killing for justice, his mindset isn't the correct path, his grandfather isn't fighting for justice.

I honestly think Taka would have an extreme, violent response to that revelation. He'd see both himself and his grandfather as irreparably tainted, absolutely dripping in the blood of the innocent. And Taka has known no means of removing such blots on human society but to personally wipe them out. So that's exactly what he go out to do.

Now I'm thinking about Taka and Takaaki hunting down Torano for some vigilante justice. All while Takaaki subtly tries to convince his son not to kill both Torano AND himself. It would be very hard for Takaaki to convince Taka that he was a victim of his grandfather, and not equally as guilty.

(this is also making me think of an au where Taka's hired by the FBI for his skills in a Black Widow situation)

Speaking of that, let's get to the "Taka's first kill is his grandfather" au.

The first and biggest question is: who the heck puts Taka up to it? It would not be easy. I'm thinking that, in the normal Assassin!Taka au, Torano spends YEARS grooming Taka into accepting killing. Nobody else would have that kind of extended access to Taka except his parents.

...

Except his parents. I'm literally having ideas as I type this. New idea! I'm going to make Taka's mom relevant (and evil)! Also I'm calling her Nori because I just need a name.

Perhaps Takaaki's marriage was arranged for political reasons more than love. He had to marry wealthy, and ended up marrying the daughter of a wealthy businessman.

And that's a very useful position, isn't it? Nori is in a perfect place to learn the intimate details of the Ishimaru family. She can learn what little squabbles the family has amongst one another, what weaknesses there are, anything she could need.

Her parents are well acquainted with several politicians, all of whom are more than willing to act in favor of her family's company. All of whom are itching to become Prime Minister.

So a plan is made to leave the position of PM vacant. Assassinate Takaaki, frame Torano, get someone who'll act in favor of the company in control. Maybe throw in some Yakuza connections for flavor.

Nori is nothing if not a good actor. So when a bullet comes through a window during a banquet, going straight through Takaaki's skull and spraying the table with blood, she acts just like you'd expect a loving wife to. The event falls into chaos instantly, guards swarming the area. And little Taka, who'd been so excited to wear his new suit to the event, has to be dragged away from his father.

Nori's job at this point is to act the part of the mournful wife, suddenly finding herself a single mother. She also is tasked with beginning the rumor mill, whispering of the animosity her poor late husband and his father had for one another. How she's afraid that Toranosuke is somehow involved and, if she isn't careful, will act against her and Taka.

Somehow Taka ends up hearing about it. And well, Taka isn't the type to hide his feelings as a teenager, and he certainly doesn't do it as a child. It's an unexpected complication to the plan. Taka isn't going to just let the rumor float about. He's ready to go straight to his grandfather and demand answers, which would ruin everything.

They could kill the child, it wouldn't be terribly hard. But perhaps Nori has some attachment to him, even if she knows he was only born as a prop for her role. The only other option is to make him part of the plan.

Why frame Toranosuke for murder when you can convince his grandchild that he's a horrible man? A man so powerful that even the law can't touch him? A man so powerful that only someone truly dedicated to justice can bring him down?

It isn't hard to convince Taka to poison his grandfather. The hardest part is training him to hide his anger long enough to get the job done.

So now Nori has made way for a business partner to become Prime Minister, and she's created a hitman for the company. Taka would be a much more loyal assassin than simple money could buy. He's got a vendetta against corruption and a tarnished faith in the justice system. And Nori is in the perfect position to direct his righteous anger towards those that 'deserve it'. And if her definition of who deserves death is different than Taka's? Well, he doesn't need to know that.

[samwpmarleau]

1) It doesn’t fit with GRRM’s track record to introduce something as monumental as this, let alone so late in the game, and have it be what it says on the tin. For Aegon to actually be Elia and Rhaegar’s son who miraculously appears at the 11th hour to save the day doesn’t fit at all. Also, unfortunately, GRRM’s presentation of his characters of color is absolutely abysmal. While he debunked the theory of Dany blowing up the Water Gardens (THANK GOD), that doesn’t mean he’s going to magically treat Dorne how it deserves to be treated. A lot of the “evidence” I’ve seen about Aegon being real hinges on GRRM actually doing right by his characters of color and their associated storylines, which is … not likely.

2) The Golden Company was founded by Bittersteel, the #1 Blackfyre supporter who kept trying to make the Blackfyre cause succeed even long after Daemon was dead. The GC has been faithfully pro-Blackfyre ever since, and was even led by a Blackfyre, Maelys, in the Fifth Rebellion as well, which was not all that long ago.

3) The GC has never broken a contract before — in fact, their words have been “as good as gold” since the very beginning when Bittersteel founded it — so why would they now? They would only break a contract for blood (“some contracts are writ in ink, and some in blood”), for a Blackfyre. They broke the contract so they can help put Aegon on the throne and finally complete what Daemon and Bittersteel began.

4) The GC met with Viserys and Dany and laughed them out of the room. Why would they then be all gung-ho for a different Targaryen? Viserys wasn’t even a madman or pathetic when he met with them (Dany was still “a little girl”), Robert had only recently gotten the throne and therefore it was at its most vulnerable, and Viserys was well-known in Westeros as the Targaryen heir. If they were going to support a Targaryen, it would have been Viserys. Or Daenerys. Yet they didn’t. So why support Viserys’s alleged nephew instead? They would only do so because the Targaryen was only nominally one, in reality a Blackfyre.

5) Illyrio specifically says the Blackfyres are extinct in the male line, meaning they are still around, only through the female line, such as Illyrio’s late wife Serra. Aegon being Illyrio and Serra’s son would explain Illyrio’s fondness for the boy, why he’s so sad to see him go, and why he’s so invested in putting a “Targaryen” on the throne. Additionally, he found Serra as a sex slave in a Lysene brothel — quite a long ways down from the favored son of a Targaryen king. It would make sense for Illyrio, who loved her deeply, to in her memory restore what was “stolen” from her family.

6) Illyrio has a trunk full of children’s clothes, despite the fact that he’s supposed to be childless. Good clothes, too. (Those clothes are also blue, the color Aegon dyes his hair. Maybe a coincidence, maybe not.)

7) JonCon notes that Rhaegar’s eyes were “a deep purple, darker than this boy’s,” implying to us the reader that Aegon is not Rhaegar’s. It’s also a hint that JonCon has suspicions that Aegon is not the real deal but is in denial, because if Aegon isn’t real, then that means Rhaegar really is lost to him forever and he can do nothing to avenge him.

8) I’ve seen the argument for “sun’s son” being Aegon but it doesn’t make sense. Asha is called the kraken’s daughter, for one, despite being a Greyjoy in her own right, so yes, it tracks that Quentyn can be called the “sun’s son” despite being a “sun” himself (and it just has better rhythm). Plus, if he weren’t the “sun’s son,” how would he instead be the “mummer’s dragon”? He’s not a dragon, he’s not a fake, nor is he being controlled by a mummer, whereas that fits for Aegon. And in Dany’s HOTU vision, there’s a cloth dragon swaying on poles above a cheering crowd — how would Quentyn fit that either (especially since he’s dead)? But Aegon would. This is also in the same passage as “slayer of lies,” mind you. Aegon is the lie to be slain. The other people in the prophecy are pretty clear as to their identities, so why would “sun’s sun” and “mummer’s dragon” be riddles?

9) The Blackfyres and their rebellions have been developed more and more through the years, including an entire Dunk and Egg book about the second one. Would be a bit odd to completely drop that thread, no? The Third Rebellion didn’t even happen until late in Aerys I’s reign, so it’s not like the Blackfyres will play a central role any time soon in D&E. In the main series, however, they would. Plus, GRRM wrote the D&E book about the Second Rebellion while he was also writing ADWD, and it’s in ADWD that history lessons about the Blackfyres are repeatedly brought up.

10) The parallel between Aegon and Jon. Jon is a real secret Targaryen raised without knowing his true identity, whereas Aegon is a fake secret Targaryen raised without knowing his true identity.

11) There’s plenty of the “human heart in conflict with itself” that GRRM loves with him being fake. Dany gets another family member, the son of her beloved brother Rhaegar — only to find out Aegon’s a fake. JonCon raises a child for over a decade, the son of his beloved Rhaegar, redemption for losing at Stoney Sept — only to find out Aegon’s a fake. Dorne (Doran specifically) gets a piece of their beloved Elia back — only to find out Aegon’s a fake. Aegon himself has believed his whole life that he’s Elia and Rhaegar’s son, the heir to the throne, has gone through many hardships to get where he is — only to find out he’s been lied to since day one. Those are all very real, very poignant beats.

12a) The supposition that Elia would save her son but not her daughter — Dornish Elia, who would value her daughter just as much as her son — is nonsensical to me. I CANNOT get behind that one bit. Maybe I can justify Elia being willing to sacrifice someone else’s innocent baby if it meant saving her own (though that’s a horrible and heartless thing to do), but I CANNOT see a justification for her saving Aegon yet not Rhaenys. 

Moreover, if the baby weren’t Aegon, why would Elia be so willing to die for it? If it weren’t hers, if she had been pragmatic/cold enough to trade her baby for someone else’s, why on EARTH would she not have left that baby in the nursery and gone with Rhaenys, her actual child? The men Tywin sent had a reputation even back then and had scaled the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast. Elia would be dumb as a bag of bricks to think they would spare “her” son and Rhaenys, or possibly even herself. If they were to magically spare “Aegon,” great! Everyone’s happy (except Tywin). But why would Elia take that risk? No. She would only tell Rhaenys to run away yet stay with Aegon because he was her child and she had no other choice.

12b) If Elia switched the babies, then why don’t the Martells know anything about it? They were involved in a Targaryen restoration, Oberyn even went to Essos to sign the betrothal pact between Arianne and Viserys. Yet none of them know that their nephew is alive? If Elia really did take the pains to switch the babies for her son’s safety, why would she not have involved her family? At the very least, by having whoever she sent Aegon with even just hint to her family that he’s alive? But they know nothing. Zilch. They put their eggs in Viserys’s basket, then Dany’s, who are at best Elia-adjacent.

12c) Who would even be able to do such a thing as switch out the babies without a soul being the wiser? Varys, probably, but there is no way in hell Elia would entrust her son to him. Far beyond simply being a shady person in general who is out for himself and himself alone, he was the one who purposefully whispered in Aerys’s ear about invented conspiracies and betrayals. He made Aerys more paranoid, more dangerous. To the detriment of Rhaegar, Elia, their children, and the realm at large. Varys is the entire reason Aerys went to the Tourney at Harrenhal in the first place, because he convinced him that Rhaegar convened the tourney to meet with a bunch of lords in order to depose Aerys. Varys directly and gleefully contributed to Aerys’s further descent into tyranny.

Elia wouldn’t have trusted Varys as far as she could throw him, certainly not with something as precious as her child, not even if she were desperate. Even if she did trust him for some insane reason, how is Varys so powerful as to find a lookalike for Aegon but not for Rhaenys? Surely it’s easier to find a black-haired, brown-eyed toddler than a silver-haired, purple-eyed baby, no? Or why couldn’t he direct Elia to one of the many secret passageways so she could escape with the kids rather than this convoluted baby swap? Or any number of other things? At every turn, Aegon (but not Rhaenys!) being spirited away by anyone, most especially Varys, doesn’t hold up. Hell, why would Varys help Elia? What does he have to gain by not only helping her but egregiously undermining Aerys? Aerys whose ear he’s been meticulously whispering into, Aerys who’s the only reason Varys is at court and has power at all? Agreeing to and orchestrating the baby swap runs counter to everything we know about him.

13) Aegon being real means Elia and Dorne are essentially dealt two blows. We and they spend all this time believing her son was brutally murdered in King’s Landing. But then, psych! He’s actually alive! They get their hopes up, the wound is opened all over again, only for him to … be brutally murdered in King’s Landing. (Or possibly elsewhere, but likely KL.) Why is that better? What would be the point of Aegon being Elia and Rhaegar’s son if he’s just going to die like his “cover story” says he did? Actually, they’d be dealt three blows, really, given that Quentyn died as well in the pursuit of Targaryen restoration. Things are going to be painful enough without having Aegon be the real Aegon.

14) JonCon didn’t come to be Aegon’s caretaker until Aegon was 5. In other words, he wouldn’t recognize whether or not this Aegon is the one he saw as a baby. But because he’s so personally invested in Aegon being the real deal, he doesn’t question it too much. The result is that JonCon, who is well-known to have been close to Rhaegar and thus Elia (proximally, not emotionally of course, what with him hating her and all), him caring for the boy lends viability to the story. Which we see in action by Doran believing, or at least being willing to listen to, JonCon’s letter.

15) The Toynes have a very negative history with the Targaryens (and Barristan) but a positive one with the Blackfyres. Would it not make more sense for Myles Toyne to align himself with a Blackfyre rather than a Targaryen? Myles, who was the one who put his seal to the secret pact?

16a) It’s been 84 years. Even R+L=J, which is as much of a sure thing as you can possibly get, is disputed by some in the fandom. Some people believe Ashara Dayne is alive, and a subset of those go so far as to say she’s Jyana Reed. Some people have some theory about the Boltons being vampires. Like. It has been so long since the last book that things that would have been surprises or interesting twists have been examined to death, so by now they seem “too obvious.” Ten years ago, Aegon being real would undoubtedly have been a much more believed thing, because we’d have just recently been told it. But now? There’s been ample time to parse everything out and to determine that no, he likely isn’t real. Same for R+L=J. Ten years ago, or longer, Jon being revealed to be the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna would have been a bombshell. But now? It’s obvious as fuck. So to circle back around to “Yep, Aegon is real!” ignores the fact that it’s supposed to be a smokescreen and a twist.

16b) Related to this is GRRM’s own words. There’s an SSM where he’s asked whether Rhaenys and Aegon are really dead. He affirms that Rhaenys is but hedges for Aegon. Why? Not because he’s saying Aegon is real, but because he’s introducing the Young Griff arc. If he were to say, “Aegon’s definitely dead, too,” or “Aegon’s definitely alive,” that would completely spoil the tension and truth/untruth of the storyline.

Do I know that Aegon’s a fake? Obviously not, since we don’t have the books. But the evidence points to it being extremely unlikely that he’s the real deal. Like I also said, however, I’m not sure it really matters whether he is or not. So far as he knows, he’s truly Elia and Rhaegar’s son. His name is Aegon, he was raised to be a king, he seems to be quite a decent young man (people who cite him tipping over the cyvasse board can suck it), he will probably ride a dragon at some point, and so on. At the end of the day, who he’s biologically related to doesn’t seem super relevant.

[mistersshelby]

the woman assassin | part two

part one | part two

hi!! thank you for reading part one, i hope you enjoy part two!! pls send me any feedback good or bad i like hearing from you! idk when part three will be up bc i’m kinda just fucking around with this but stay tunedddd. -S.

When they walk into his house, she tries to keep the look of awe off her face, taking in how large and grand his home is. She knew he was well off, everyone in Birmingham and even outside knew of the Shelbys… But this? 

A little boy turns a corner and starts running straight towards Tommy, yelling “Daddy!” over and over and for the first time Clara sees a smile stretch across Tommy’s face. He’s quite beautiful when he smiles.

Seconds after Tommy scoops the boy in his arms, a nanny rounds the corner with a baby girl in her arms who also reaches her outstretched hands towards Tommy. Clara has difficulty swallowing her jealousy as she watches him with his children, a hand reflexively coming to her now empty belly.

“Daddy, who’s that?” The boy asks as he looks over Tommy’s shoulder.

“Charles, Ruby, this is Miss Clara, she’ll be staying with us for a bit.” Tommy says, suddenly remembering Clara’s behind him. She warmly smiles and waves at them both.

Tommy, becoming serious again, hands the children back off to their nanny and waits until they’re out of the room to turn to Clara, “You are never to be alone with them, do you understand?” 

Clara stares at him, “Mister Shelby, I would never harm a child.” Tears burn at the back of her eyes as she thinks of her own child, killed before ever having the chance to live.

“I have no reason to believe that and I’ve put my children in danger with my work before. I won’t again and it’s not up for discussion.”

“When will I be here that you wouldn’t be?”

“Tomorrow when I go to discuss the conditions of our agreement with my family.”

“Shouldn’t I be there for that?”

“No. I will speak to you about it once the conditions have been set.”

She snorts, “Well that sounds very inclusive, thanks.”

Tommy stares at her before slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one, neglecting to offer one to Clara, “Mrs. Whitmore, you’ll do well to remember that I’m bringing you into my home generously when I could offer you up to the police who are very good friends of mine, probably for a hefty reward. I know you killed your husband and I know you’ve lied to me about your name and it would not take me long at all to discover what man you actually killed whose name is not Whitmore.”

Clara’s skin has paled significantly, but she doesn’t falter, “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m simply giving you a choice, Mrs. Whitmore. Either you do this my way and politely thank me for my hospitality or I go to the police, do I make myself clear?”

She glares at him, “Crystal, Mister Shelby.”

“Good,” He puts out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, “I’ll show you to the guest room then.”

***

Clara has been staring at the ceiling of her temporary room for a while now, trying and failing not to think of her past, but with nothing else to do while Tommy’s away, traumatic memories play one after the other like a series of Hollywood films. Except there’s no happy ending.

She was almost drifting off to sleep when there was a loud bang from downstairs. Thinking it sounded like a gunshot, she shot up from bed and ran to the window. She didn’t see anyone outside, but there was another gunshot and now crying from the children Tommy had left in the house. 

She ran to the door of her bedroom, but it was locked from the outside. Swearing, she picked up a heavy metal vase and swung it at the doorknob until it broke and she could swing the door open. There were a couple more gunshots that sounded like they were coming from downstairs. She quickly glanced around the room for something she could use as a weapon and quickly grabbed the fire poker before heading in the direction of the children’s cries.

There was a lot of silence as she traveled to the children’s room and she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. But the children were still crying, that much was true. Just as she was getting ready to put her guard down, bullets began penetrating the floor beneath her. One grazed her shoe and she tried to dampen the panic that threatened to suffocate her. The children were still crying which meant they were still alive, maybe injured. Where was the damn nanny?

When she went into the children’s room, the nanny was nowhere to be found. Just little Charles cradling Ruby to his chest in an attempt to calm her though his own face was stained with tears.

“Come, little one. I’m gonna get you both out of here.” Clara coaxed with her hand.

“Where’s daddy?” He asked miserably.

“He’ll be back soon.” She promised, “I’ll take you to him.”

“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere, little lady.” A burly voice said behind her. Clara reacted immediately, spinning and swinging the fire poker blindly. The quickness of her attack knocked her assailant off guard and off balance which gave her time to knock the gun out of his hand. She kicked him to the floor for good measure before scooping up the gun and pointing it at his head. She could hear Charles whimpering quietly behind her as Ruby wailed.

“I don’t want to blow your brains off in front of the children,” Clara cocked the gun, “But I will if I have to. You have five seconds to get out of my sight.”

The man had his hands up and seemed to be shaking with fear, “Please—“

“One—“

“I— I have a family.”

“Then you better start running home to them, two.” He scrambled to his feet, stumbling. “Three.” He looks over his shoulder at her still raised gun as he stumbles away, “Four.” The man practically falls down the stairs and Clara sighs, this is absolutely pathetic. “Five.” She hears the door downstairs swing open and shut. Walking over to the window of the children’s room, she sees him running away from the house, looking over his shoulder every now and then to see if she’s followed. She uncocks the gun and sticks it in her boot before turning to the children. “Come now, let’s go find your father.”

“We don’t know you. Daddy said not to go anywhere with strangers.”

Clara smiled and kneeled down so that she was eye level with the boy, “That’s very smart of your Daddy, you can’t trust anyone these days. But do you think your Daddy would let a stranger stay in your home? I’m no stranger, love. Promise. Wouldn’t dream of hurting you. I just want to take you to your Dad, okay?”

Charles seems to consider this for a moment, looking from Ruby to Clara a few times before nodding. “Splendid. Let’s go get a car.”

“You know how to drive? I didn’t know women could drive.” Charles says in wonder.

Clara chuckles, “Women can do anything a man can, sometimes we do it even better than them.”

***

When they pull up to Shelby Company Limited, Charles immediately jumps out with Ruby in his arms and inside. Clara takes a moment to pull herself together before entering after him.

“—Miss Clara saved us though, knocked the bastard on his arse and then chased him out with his own gun. Then she brought us here.”

“Did she now?” Tommy spoke, smiling casually at his son while everyone else looked to be in shock. Ruby was being held by a woman Clara assumed to be Lizzie. “I see you passed my test.”

Clara blinked at him, “Your what?”

“That man. I sent him there. Wanted to see if you’d save your own arse or if you’d rescue my children. If you’re a peaky blinder now, I need to know that you’re not a coward and you’d be willing to stick your neck out for the rest of the pack.”

“You put your children in danger to test me?” Clara was seething now. Lizzie didn’t look too pleased either, but apparently knew enough to stay quiet.

“They were never in any danger. But, you? I told the man to kill you if you didn’t protect the children.”

Clara scoffed, “That pathetic excuse of a man? He couldn’t have killed me if my hands were tied behind my back. And you’re insane for ever risking your children’s lives like that. The irresponsibility, the selfishness. I would do anything to have children as beautiful as yours,” She blinks away the tears in her eyes, “But you would rather use yours as pawns in whatever game you think you’re playing. You’re a disgrace.” Clara spits before storming out.

It’s a few moments and some angry swipes at her tears later before she hears someone follow her, “I don’t want to be a fuckin’ Peaky Blinder anymore, you can call the police on me, I won’t take part in endangerment of children.”

“I already told you they weren’t in any danger.”

She rounded on him, “You don’t know that! You don’t know what that man would’ve done when you weren’t there! He could’ve missed! He was shooting through the floors from downstairs, did you tell him to do that?”

Tommy swallowed, “You’re right. I made a mistake.”

“You—“ Clara stopped, “What?”

“You’re right,” Tommy leans against a wall and pulls out his cigarettes, offering them to Clara, “I’m selfish. I love my children, but… I don’t think things through all the time. Need someone to keep me in line.”

Clara slowly takes a smoke from him before he snaps his case shut, “Isn’t that what your wife is for?”

He shakes his head, “Lizzie isn’t my wife.”

She frowns, “But… your wedding ring?”

“My wife died. Grace. It was my fault. I was always putting her in danger, too.”

Clara took a long drag, “I’m sorry.”

Tommy nodded in acknowledgement, “I’m sorry about your child.”

Clara froze, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s quite obvious with the way you talk about children. Is that why you killed your husband? Did he kill your child?”

She drops her cigarette to the ground and stomps it out, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He shrugs, “Okay, I’ll find out eventually. Would you come back to the house now so we can discuss the conditions of your employment?”

“I just told you I don’t want to be a Peaky Blinder.”

“And I just told you that I need someone to keep me in line.”

“It looks like you have a bunch of people to do that for you.”

He shakes his head, “These people, I love them, but… I don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re doing. I built this company from the ground. They just came along for the ride. Why should they know better than me?”

“But you think I would know better than you? I don’t know anything about business or a company.”

“No, you don’t. But you’re not selfish. You seem to care about people, maybe too much. I just need someone to tell me when I’m unnecessarily hurting others.”

“Those are some big assumptions to make about someone you just met and volunteered to murder a man almost immediately upon meeting you.”

He shrugs, “You volunteered to murder a bad man. You saved my children. Seems pretty fair to me. You’re also the only woman I know who could beat me in a fight which means you could physically keep me in check.”

“You think I could beat you in a fight?” Clara asked, eyebrows raised.

He puts out his cigarette, “I don’t really want to find out, but yes, I do believe you could. Will you please come with me back to my house so we can discuss your employment?” He repeated again.

Clara sighed, “Fine.” Tommy pushed himself off the wall and guided her to his car, opening the passenger seat for her, “What about the children?”

Tommy shut the door behind her, “Lizzie has them.”

“You seem to trust her an awful lot and she’s the mother of your child, but you don’t marry her. Why?”

He starts the car, “Why did you kill your husband, Clara?” She swallows and stays silent as he pulls away from the building, “That’s what I thought.”

“Can I have my knife back now?” She asks absently when the car ride became too silent.

“It’s locked up in my bedroom. I’ll get it for you later.”

“Will I still be staying in your house?”

He nods, “Until you kill Sabini, then we’ll figure out somewhere else for you to stay.”

“Does Lizzie live with you?”

He shakes his head, “What is your fascination with Lizzie?”

“Just trying to figure out your relationship. I’m curious to see who the infamous Thomas Shelby spends his time with.”

He pulls up to his enormous mansion and it once again takes Clara’s breath away, “Lizzie and I fuck occasionally and it’s nothing more than that. She happened to give me a child who I’m very grateful for and so I take care of her. I give her a job, I give her a home, I give her protection. That’s all. Satisfied?”

Clara shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

Tommy comes around to open the door for her and they go inside, Clara following Tommy into his office. “Alright, the terms of your employment are fairly simple. You fight or dispatch anyone I order you to. You protect anyone I order you to. If you have reason to not want to dispatch the target I give, I’m willing to hear, but you’ll have to be very convincing. If at any point you refuse to dispatch a target and we cannot come to an agreement, I am free to terminate your employment. Understand?”

“What do I get in return?”

“I won’t turn you into the police for the murder of your husband, in fact I will order the police to stop searching for your husband’s murderer as soon as you give me a name. You’ll have a place to live and anything else you may need and you’ll be paid more than fairly every time you do a job for me.” He pushes a piece of paper towards her, “Here’s the written contract, I paraphrased everything, but it’s all there. You’re welcome to read it over before you sign, I want it on my desk by tomorrow morning. If you decide not to sign, you’re free to leave.”

“And you’ll tell the cops about me?”

He shrugs, “Haven’t decided.”

Clara bites her lip, “As a peaky blinder do I get to come to the meetings? Have a say in them?”

“No. Those are family only.”

“That doesn’t really seem fair. How am I supposed to keep you in line if I’m not at the meetings?”

Tommy eyes her carefully for a few moments before sighing and taking back the contract. He scribbles something quickly at the bottom and hands it back to her.

“‘Allowed at all meetings for Shelby Company Limited, but only allowed to speak to question Thomas Shelby’s moral decisions.’” She reads and then looks back to Tommy. He doesn’t so much as arch an eyebrow. Clara sighs, “Fine, good enough I guess.”

“This is a very generous offer.” Tommy said, sounding a bit tiffed that she wasn’t being grateful.

Clara’s pen glides quickly across the bottom of the page, she omits her last name, “Yeah, thanks.” It doesn’t sound genuine.

“I’m gonna need that name, to tell the police.”

“That’s okay, if they take me you can just come bail me out.” Clara smirked and walked out of the room.

“It won’t be hard for me to go to the police and ask them about the man who was murdered whose wife disappeared after.” He called after her.

“Then what are you waiting for, Mister Shelby?”

He stared after her shaking his head and, despite himself, he smirked.

***

okay so i’m gonna tag anyone who replied or reblogged the first post, if you want your name removed pls let me know (:

@mariamermaid @gingertaurus @tommy-scum @lil-black-heart

[bytheangell]

Comfort in the Undefined

(Read on AO3) (Flufftober Day 21: Friends to Lovers)

It starts with a smile across a dinner table. 

At first Becky finds herself wary of Maia, this girl Simon suddenly brings over to a family holiday dinner with their grandmother of all people, but she seems nice. She doesn’t run from the barrage of questioning, Becky observes, so she must really like Simon. Which is good, because after watching Simon pine after Clary for so many years all Becky wants is to see him end up with someone who will pine right back - and if the heart-eyes Maia gives Simon as they laugh at something he said is any indication, they’re doing just that. 

Which is why Becky ignores the little flutter she feels when Maia laughs at something she says, and their eyes meet, and Maia’s smile is enough to make her forget why she’s here in the first place for just a second or two. 

---

It continues with a conversation in a hospital room. The walls are so white they hurt her eyes and the constant beeping of the machinery around her is meant to be reassuring of her steady vitals, but mostly just drives her insane. When she opens her eyes to the sound of a knock on the door she expects to see her mother, or Simon, or one of the nurses. 

The last person she expects to see is Maia. 

“Can I come in?” Maia asks, adding when Becky only blinks at her in confusion, “Shit, you were sleeping, weren’t you? Sorry, I can come back-”  “No, it’s fine. Come in.” 

“I heard what happened,” Maia starts. “And I just wanted you to know that I went through almost the exact same thing. Someone I loved, someone I trusted, hurt me when they didn’t mean to… and I know you talked to Simon, and everything is okay with you two, but it’s still a lot to go through so if you ever want someone to talk to, you can talk to me. If you want.” 

Becky lets Maia’s words sink in, wondering just how much Maia knows about Simon, but decides that she’s learned enough life-altering news for one day to pry into too much more. 

“If Simon sent you to see if I’m actually mad at him, I promise I’m not,” Becky half-jokes. 

Maia shakes her head. “Actually,” she starts, drawing the word out. “Simon doesn’t know I’m here.” 

“Oh,” Becky says, trying not to read too much into the fact that Maia actually came entirely because of her. 

So they talk; first about what happened to her and about dealing with the idea of wiping her mother’s memories again and carrying that secret, and then a lot of other things. 

They talk until visiting hours are over and Maia leaves, but not without giving Becky her number  in case she ever wants to talk, not just about this but about anything. 

This time, Becky realizes it isn’t just Simon who’s lucky enough to have Maia in his life - it’s all of them. 

---

It’s Halloween when Becky finds out that Maia is a werewolf. 

She also finds out that Maia and Simon broke up. 

Her initial sisterly instinct is to hate Maia, and she’s entirely willing to leave the bar and never talk to her again if that’s what Simon wants her to do, but Simon insists that he’s fine and it was mutual. Normally Becky would question that a lot more, but the fact that she knows Maia, and doesn’t believe that Maia would choose to hurt Simon, works heavily in her favor. And the fact that she saw the way Simon and Maia interacted when they first got here and didn’t sense a single thing off between them, well… maybe she can cut the girl some slack, even if she will have a lot of questions for both of them later. 

...until later involves a demon attack, in which Becky is saved by Isabelle (and does Simon have any friends who aren’t ridiculously attractive at this point?) and proceeds to not-so-subtly send Simon off to investigate with her after realizing in those few moments that Izzy just might be the key to Simon not swearing off love forever.  

Becky tells Simon she’ll go inside and call an uber back to his place, except she never makes it that far. Once back inside the bar she and Maia get to talking in between Maia making drinks and Becky drinking drinks, and is Becky just imagining things now that she knows Maia isn’t dating Simon, or is Maia flirting back? 

Before Becky could ignore every time she found herself impossibly attracted to Maia because it was always immediately followed by guilt over the fact that she was Simon’s girlfriend, and even just having those thoughts felt like a betrayal. But now, without that barrier, it’s taking what little self-control Becky has not to lean across the bar and kiss her every time Maia leans forward to talk or slide another glass her way. 

The next thing Becky knows instead of ordering a car Maia’s offering to walk her back to Simon’s now that her shift is over. 

“I’d much rather go back to your place,” Becky says suggestively, more than a little drunk. 

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Maia says with a sigh. 

“You don’t want to kiss me?” Becky asks, stopping suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk. Everything spins a little despite her lack of actual movement but before she loses balance Maia reaches out a hand to steady her. 

“I never said that,” Maia tells her, biting down on her lower lip as she stalls. “I do want to kiss you, that’s the problem - which is why I absolutely cannot take you back to my place right now.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Becky mumbles. 

“It will when you’re sober. Now let’s go, the fresh air will do you good,” Maia insists, leaving her hand on Becky’s arm from steadying her and using it to gently guide her down the street. 

 “Can you do that thing with your eyes again? That was hot,” Becky asks, having lost any semblance of a filter by this point. 

Maia nearly chokes on air at the statement. “You’re going to be the death of me, Rebecca,” she says, shaking her head. 

When they get back to Simon’s Maia agrees to come inside just long enough to make sure there’s some aspirin and a glass of water on the table next to the sofa where Becky insists on laying down. 

The last thing Becky remembers as she drifts off is the feeling of warm lips on her forehead and a whispered goodnight. 

---

Becky wakes up and is immediately grateful for the medicine and water she finds in front of her on the table. It doesn’t take long for the memories to come back to her from the night before, followed by a strange mixture of mortification and hope. Mortification because she said some ridiculously embarrassing things to Maia, but hope because unless her memory is playing tricks on her, Maia wanted to kiss her, too. 

Maybe Maia just said that so she wouldn’t feel bad, but Becky doesn’t think so and she’s willing to take a risk to find out. She flies back out later today anyway, so if she’s wrong she can just hide in Florida for the rest of her life and never talk to Maia again, no biggie. 

But if she’s right… 

“How are you feeling?” Maia asks immediately upon answering the phone. 

“Physically? Like I got hit by a truck. Emotionally? Like I owe you approximately 300 apologies for my lack of filter last night. I’m sorry if I made things weird,” Becky offers. 

Maia laughs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You were right,” Becky says suddenly. 

“I usually am,” Maia answers. “But about what?” 

“About what you said making sense once I’m sober.” There’s a heavy pause. “I’m sorry I put you in that position last night, and thanks for not… you know. But I have to know - did you mean what you said about wanting to kiss me?” 

There’s another long pause and Becky’s worried Maia is just trying to find a gentle way to let her down until she finally speaks again. 

“Yes. But not like-- I can’t do a relationship right now. So I’m sorry if you thought-” “Okay, so no relationship,” Becky cuts in. “I just really want to kiss you. I have for a while... and I’m totally sober now with a few hours until my flight, so…” 

“...so I could text you my address?” Maia offers. 

“You could definitely do that,” Becky agrees. “See you soon.”  

It’s just an afternoon before Becky leaves again, and once and a while when she makes it up to visit Simon during her school breaks, which is fine for Becky who is almost always drowning in school work and taking care of her mother, and for Maia who is prioritizing rebuilding her pack just like she said she would. 

And if things eventually settle down, and the two of them have more time for one another, well, Becky has been thinking of moving back to the city now that her mom is doing better, and Maia has been talking an awful lot about opening a diner now that things in the Shadow World have calmed down a bit… 

But that’s all some big ‘maybe’ in the future. For now, at least, they’re both perfectly content with what they have here and now. And wrapped up in Maia’s embrace on her last day of Spring Break, Becky knows just how lucky she is to have it.

[p-artsypants]

Nine Lives (17) The Sentence

Links in Reblog

--

“I am the late Adrien Felix Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste.”

The courtroom was in an uproar, but Adrien didn’t move. He gripped the rail in front of him like a lifeline, fear closing in on all sides. There was shouting, and wailing, and he even heard someone yell, “you dirty liar!”

“Order!” Judge Boucher shouted, slamming the gavel. “I said order!”

Adrien clenched his eyes shut, feeling absolutely nauseous. There was no way in hell he would turn to look at his father.

“Mr. Noir, is this some sort of prank? Because it’s not funny.”

“No sir,” Adrien whispered into the little mic, heart in his throat. “But due to the information I received from...my—“ he hesitated, his whole body tensing. “From Hawkmoth. I felt it would be dishonest to hide my identity. And...I can’t urge you enough to lock him away for the rest of his miserable life.” He shuttered.

The judge continued his glaring, but then spoke to Gabriel. “M. Agreste, can you verify that this is your son?”

Adrien felt his eyes on him. Boring holes into his heart. But what was the look on his face? Of shock? Of hope? Surely, it was of displeasure, for being humiliated by his wayward son.

“Adrien, look at me.” His voice conveyed no clues for what prepared him.

He didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to obey. Not now, when he was finally free!

“Look at me!” His voice pierced the air, as Gabriel slammed his fist on his table. It was a command, one that Adrien’s body chose to obey, despite his soul crying out against it.

So he simply turned, and awaited judgement.

—

“You know, when faking your death, it’s usually the ‘death’ part that’s the most important.” Said Plagg, floating around the multiple boxes.

“I know. But true crime dramas didn’t prepare me for this. I know how to make a murder look like a suicide...but faking a suicide? There’s so many variables! For example, most situations would require a body, right? I could jump off the bridge, turn into Chat Noir, and maybe that would work. But my father wouldn’t rest until the entire river was dredged.”

“It’s a good backup plan, at least.”

“And what about you? You’ve lived centuries! You have to have something!”

“Hey, I’ve had dozens of kittens run away from home to be Chat Noir, but faking a death? Now that’s new to me.”

“Ugh! Help me out here!”

“You know what death I was always partial to? The Iron Maiden. Just the idea sends chills down my whiskers.”

“Oh forget it...you’re never helpful.”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and Plagg zipped off to hide.

“Come in,” said Adrien.

His father entered, looking as crisp as ever in his white suit.

“O-oh, father...I didn’t expect you.” And he really didn’t. Despite living in the same house, it was rather rare that they spoke. And even rarer for Gabriel to come to him.

“Are you busy?”

“N-No! Just packing! Did you—wanna talk?”

Gabriel nodded and stepped over to sit on the couch.

Father and son sat in silence for a moment before Gabriel spoke, “I know you’re apprehensive about Germany, Adrien.”

Adrien rubbed his arm. It wasn’t really Germany that was bothering him anymore. “...yeah.”

“But you know, it’s a very lovely country. A very rich culture, with beautiful architecture and deep history.”

“Yes, I know...”

“Well, what has you apprehensive then? The school has the best security, and Nathalie and I are just a phone call away in an emergency..”

“Father...it isn’t that. My German isn’t very strong, you know that. It was hard enough picking up all the social cues I missed...it’s a whole other country!”

“But they know you’re French, they know things will be different.”

“But I don’t want to go.”

“You don’t know what you want, you’re just a child.”

Adrien bristled, a very Chat like reaction. “I am not!”

“You sure are acting like one.”

Desperate to be heard, Adrien raised his voice. “Well, what do you expect?! You’re tearing me away from everything I know!”

“You’re just being ridiculous, and a bit hysterical.”

“Ridiculous!?” His voice cracked.

“Stop yelling, Adrien. I’m not in the wrong here.” Gabriel snipped.  

The boy swallowed his retort, tears biting at his eyes.

“You know, you’re not a normal person. You’re special. You’re extremely important to me. And I couldn’t bare to lose you. Seeing you turn into a glitter statue from that Akuma nearly gave me a heart attack. And the Akuma have only become even more dangerous since then. I can’t risk it.”

“I get it. You are concerned with my physical safety...but what about my mental wellness?”

“If you are concerned about it, I’ll have Nathalie look up a French speaking counselor in Tannenwalde.”

Adrien scoffed, but had nothing left to say. There was no use arguing anyway. “Fine.”

Gabriel sighed. “This is the best thing for you. One day, you’ll see my side of things. One day you’ll thank me.”

Adrien didn’t agree, but didn’t say as much.

“I’ll have Nathalie clear your schedule for tomorrow. You can have Mlle. Bourgeois come over, or perhaps Mlle. Dupain-Cheng? She seems worthy of conversation. And certainly a much better influence than that other friend of yours. Whatever his name was.”

Now Adrien knew why Gabriel had come to him. He couldn’t escape.

“Though, it’s not like it matters. You’ll have new friends soon enough. Hmm?”

“Yeah...”

Gabriel stood, straightening his tie. “Good talk.” Then he left with nothing else to say.

That was the last time they spoke.

—

Gabriel couldn’t believe his eyes. Yes, there was no doubt about it, this was Adrien. He had studied the boy’s face all his life.

But the makeup did nothing to hide the fact that he was disfigured, and his nervousness didn’t eclipse the absolute rebellion in his eyes.

Adrien tried to keep his teary eyes unfocused in an attempt to soften his father’s features. But the frown of betrayal was still too prominent to hide.

“Adrien...your face...”

“My sacrifice for my freedom.” Adrien answered, just above a whisper.

“Your honor,” Gabriel addressed the judge. “There is no doubt that this is my son. But his...appalling behavior is unrecognizable.”

Adrien turned away, facing forward.

“My son is dramatic and naïve, but he’s courteous and loyal, and he most definitely isn’t a liar.”

Those words triggered something in Adrien, because he swiveled back around. “Oh and you’re so blameless?! What happened to, ‘we have to trust each other,’?! You’ve been lying to me longer than I’ve been lying to you!”

The gavel slammed down again, and Adrien shut his mouth with a click.

“M. Agreste, this is not your place to make accusations.”

Adrien shrunk, sheepishly.

The judge’s voice softened. “M. Noir, if you would be so kind to explain yourself? If your action to fake your death is at all related to the defendant, I would like to hear that explanation. If not, then I must insist we move on.”

“It does have to do with him...” Adrien admitted.

“Then the floor is yours.”

Adrien nodded, swallowing thickly. His throat was tight and mouth dry, but he’d suffer through. “Back in February, my father told me I was to be enrolled in a military boarding school in Germany. I told him I didn’t want to go, he said that it was for my own good, and I didn’t have a choice. I pleaded with him several times, but he refused to listen to me. But the thing is, I’m Chat Noir too, so if I went, I’d have to give up my Miraculous.”

“And that wasn’t something you were willing to do?”

“No.” He stated firmly. “I...need to be Chat Noir. It goes beyond being a superhero...my father never let me leave the house, and the few times I did, I was to be accompanied by my bodyguard. When I was finally allowed to go to school, I had to fight for it. I had to fight for every minute of freedom. For every friendship. Being Adrien meant a rigorous schedule planned weeks in advance. It meant having your clothes picked out, your hair styled just right, your face blemish free…it meant having to be nice to people who were mean, always being polite and reserved, and always having to pretend your happy when you…when you wish you were never born!” The last words were forced out as a sob, as he clenched the railing in front of him. He cringed and swallowed his rebellion, the storm brewing in his chest. “But being Chat Noir was my ultimate freedom. I could go anywhere, do anything…I had friends of my own, I could be goofy and sad…and it was the perfect reprieve to my suffocation,” He shuttered. “When he told me where I would be going…it was like looking upon prison. To me, a fate worse than death. And I had done nothing to deserve it. I spent my life obeying my father no matter what…and he chose to drive me away.”

“And you couldn’t run away instead?”

“No. Because I knew if Gabriel ever had the thought that I was alive, he would not rest until I was home.”  

The judge frowned, thinking for a moment. “Well, I certainly see why you did what you did. But Gabriel’s actions don’t seem to reflect the word ‘insane’. Perhaps neglectful or overly strict, but this is not a domestic case. Therefore, I believe we should move on.”

Adrien nodded, willing to say his piece and get the heck out of there.

“Normally, close relatives of the accused are not allowed to testify in assize, but I will make a notable exception in this case. Do you swear to speak without hate or fear, and to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

Adrien winced, hesitating. “I can speak the truth, but I don’t know if I can speak without hate or fear…”

“Your honor,” Gabriel’s lawyer spoke up. “I have to insist having M. Agreste-or rather M. Noir be declined as a witness. Since he is very obviously biased.”

Judge Boucher sighed, glancing at the other judges. “I’m afraid you’re right. In that regard, no one else was at the final confrontation that can or is willing to speak.”

“I can.” A new voice piped up, quite loudly.

“Who said that?”

A little black orb zipped around the room, slowing down to float lazily in front of the panel of judges. He came back to Adrien and spoke into the mic. “The name’s Plagg, god of Destruction.”

No one knew what to do with that.

“I’m sorry, what?” Boucher asked.

“Allow me to explain. In essence, I am Chat Noir. I am the suit and the powers. Everywhere Adrien goes, I go. Everything he sees, I see. Everything he hears, I hear. Now, while I am certainly attached to my little kitten, I have been practicing self control for the last 5,000 years. Give or take. And I’m not a blood relative to Gabriel Agreste.”

The room was full of hushed murmurs.

“Plagg,” Adrien whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Relax kid. It’ll be fine.”

“This is...we don’t have a protocol for this.” Another judge said.

“Your honor,” Dr. Rayne spoke up, “it would be advantageous to hear him—it?—out. It is the only unbiased witness we have.”

Boucher exhaled, his jowls flapping about. “Alright. In a case with magic possession, superheroes, and super villains, it only makes sense that a god be our witness.”

Plagg had a Cheshire Cat grin.

“Monsieur...What was your name again?”

“Plagg.”

“M. Plagg. Do you swear to speak without hate or fear, and tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”  

“I solemnly swear.”

“Then we can proceed.” Boucher managed a small smile of relief. “When did you and Adrien first become acquainted?”

“That would be the first day Chat Noir surfaced. So what? Sept. 8?”

“Are you the only one of your kind?”

“Nope. Ladybug has one, and so did Gabriel. There are others as well.” Plagg floated to rest in Adrien’s hair, a loud purr cutting through the air. Adrien appreciated it immensely.

“So, in your eyes, what happened on June 7th?”

“That was the day Hawkmoth surrendered? I’m bad with dates. But basically, there was an akuma, like Ladybug had said, and we transformed into Chat Noir. There was running, and then we followed them to Hawkmoth’s lair. Gabriel reveal his identity, and we tried to use Cataclysm on him, but Spots stepped in front of us. All this is true, just as Ladybug said.”

“Alright. Then what happened?”

“Gabriel told us to take Spots to the Hospital, and that he would stay put. So, Adrien, being scared of losing the love of his life—”

“Plagg…”

“—took Ladybug to the hospital. After several hours of surgery, the doctor stated that she was somewhat stable, but no one was allowed to see her. So, Adrien decided to go back to the Mansion and retrieve the Miraculous.”

“Do you know what time that occurred?”

“Oooohhhhhhh sometime after Midnight. When we arrived, there was a bunch of suitcases sitting around. Gabriel and his secretary had been waiting for us. Gabriel just handed over both Miraculous, and stated that he would be calling the police once the exchange was over. I thought that would be it, but Chat asked Gabriel what his intentions were, and so Gabriel told him…or rather showed him.”

“Objection!” Gabriel yelled.

“You forfeited your right to confess on your own.” Boucher reprimanded. “Perhaps if it was such a big secret, you shouldn’t have told anyone.”

“Adrien please…don’t drag her into this…”

Adrien’s voice was hoarse, but he simply said. “Go on Plagg, please?”

“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted.” He glared at Gabriel. “Gabriel took Chat into a secret passage in the basement of the mansion, to an atrium. And who do we find? Adrien’s mother, asleep in suspended animation.”

The crowd gasped and shocked whispers spread throughout the room.

“No!” Gabriel shouted.

“Order!” The gavel slammed again. “M. Noir, is this all true?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“There’s more,” added Plagg. “You see, Gabriel admitted that he and his wife had the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculous. Well, the Peacock is the Miraculous of Integrity. Duusu can make people stronger…but Gabriel thought that maybe he had found the secret of immortality with it.”

“Please…” Gabriel begged again. “Please stop!”

“M. Agreste, I will not ask you again to be quiet.”

Gabriel hung his head and buried his face in his hands.

“…I talked with Duusu, after Adrien returned her Miraculous to…its rightful place. She said that Gabriel bullied her into using her powers on Mrs. Agreste to extend her life. Though, he translated the passage incorrectly.”

“Passage?”

“Oh yeah! There’s a spellbook with more information about the Miraculous, but it’s all encoded. As Duusu recalled, the passage reads, ‘fresta sálina úr verða til að ewig’ which actually means ’suspend soul from body forever’ instead of what was incorrectly translated as ‘body occurring immortally.’ Which, I feel is a pretty substantial mistake to make. You would think that a millionaire would take the time and money to hire someone to translate some Icelandic and German correctly instead of using Google translate. Honestly.”

“M. Plagg, if you would continue to the point?”

“Oh right. Um, where was I? Oh yeah! So Gabe had his wife parrot the phrase before activating her Miraculous then TA-DA her soul was ripped from her body and the Miraculous broke.”

A judge on the left piped up. “While that is awful, the quest for immortality has been going on for centuries. And it was obviously a mistake. Surely, a sane man would still take the opportunity for immortality if it presented itself?”

“That’s not his crime!” Plagg shouted.

“Do tell, and what does this have to do with him trying to get ahold of the other Miraculous?”

Plagg inhaled, prepared to continue, but stopped and leaned forward off of Adrien’s head. “Do you have any cheese?”

“Really!? NOW?! We’re in court!”

The kwami scoffed and leaned back. “Fine…you owe me some later. Anyways…” he cleared his throat. “The person who holds both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous can—essentially—grant any wish. But, it’s super tricky, because balance will always need to be maintained. So, for example, if you wanted to bring a loved one back to life, someone else would die in their place.”

“And Gabriel wanted the Miraculous to restore his wife’s soul?”

“You got it!”

Boucher scratched his chin. “But, if what you said about balance is true, then…”

“Someone else would have to lose their soul in exchange, yes.”

The Judge glanced over at Gabriel, his eyes narrowing. “Did you know this?”

“I abstain,” Gabriel bit.

“Were you willing to sacrifice someone else for your mistake?”

“I abstain!”

“Will you take any responsibility for your actions!?”

“I will serve whatever sentence you give me.” Gabriel said, darkly.

“M. Plagg, did Gabriel by chance mention his knowledge of this…wish?”

“Oh, he knew. He knew exactly what would happen. And he had someone picked out to take Mama Agreste’s place.”

“And that would be?”

Plagg laughed mirthlessly, “my poor little kitten, Adrien. He was planning on sacrificing his son. But, it’s okay!” He added sarcastically. “Because once Mommy woke up, they’d have a new baby, and Adrien would be reborn in that body. Convenient, don’t you think?”

Adrien sniffed, trying hard to keep back his emotions. His hand came up to cover his quivering lip.

“Are you alright, M. Noir?” The judge asked.

Adrien shook his head, not able to speak.

“With all that has happened, would you like to say something to your father before we end for the day?”

Adrien nodded and clenched his hands on the railing in front of him. “You…were a terrible father. I never knew any better, because I didn’t know what dad’s were supposed to be like. Until I met Ladybug’s family, I…I thought this was normal. I thought you were...like King Trident from the Little Mermaid. Strict and harsh, but honestly doing what you thought was best for me and my safety, because you loved me.” He grit his teeth as more tears fell. “But now I know that you’re really like Frollo from Hunchback of Notre Dame. Feeding me lies about the worst of the world, keeping me locked up because you—you wanted to take advantage of me! Keep me naive so I wouldn’t know any better! Use me like a tool! You—you ruined my life!” He choked. Finally, he turned and looked at his father. “And still after all of this…I can’t help but still love you. And I hate myself for it.”

Gabriel’s face remained cold, harsh, and unyielding. Disappointment and betrayal flashed in his eyes.

Adrien stood a little taller. “But I suppose that this was a wake up call. And now I can work on healing from my brainwashing.” He turned back around to face the judge.

“Well said, M. Noir. Thank you, and you as well, M. Plagg, You may be seated.”

Adrien took a massive sigh of relief and returned to the table.

Immediately, Ladybug grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“This concludes today’s proceedings. Tomorrow, we will convene with all the facts and testimonies that have been presented today. The sentencing will take place thereafter. No witnesses are required to attend the sentencing, but those interested in watching are welcome to attend. Deliberation will take approximately six hours. You are dismissed.”

The room filled up with sounds of scraping chairs and hushed conversation.

“About that cheese...” began Plagg.

“I’ll give you five pounds of cheese when we get home, okay?”

“Deal.”

Chat Noir returned, feeling much better with the suit on. Though the stares still burned on the back of his head.

Ladybug had been quiet, and he wondered if she was upset. “I’m sorry,” he said squeezing their joined hands.

“Don’t be. I told you to do what you thought was right. This information was important.” She tugged on him, to pull him closer. She cupped his cheek. “And it’s your secret to share.”

“I’m kind of banking on people not being able to recognize me still as Emile.” He winced, “but it might still be obvious who I am.”

“Well, we’ll take it one step at a time, and I’ll be with you all the way.”

“Thank you, My Lady.”

A new voice entered the conversation. “Adrien?”

Chat stood stock still, his fists clenched at his sides. This was going to be how it was for a while. People approaching him in disbelief, and having varying reactions to his lie. It made him anxious just thinking about it.

He turned around to see Chloe standing there, tense, trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Chlo…” He began.

“I don’t want to hear it!” She shouted, drawing the attention of others in the courtroom. “You were my best friend! We depended on each other! We shared secrets! I trusted you! I thought you trusted me, too!”

Guilt hit him hard, but he knew he couldn’t have helped it.

“I could have helped you Adrien…I could have saved you!”

He glanced away, unable to bear her judgement. “No, you couldn’t.”

She frowned hard, blinking against her tears. “Am I ever going to see you again?”

He offered a soft smile. “Sure you will…just, not as Adrien.”

“I don’t know you anymore…” She shrugged pathetically. “And I don’t know if I want to anyways.”

“I’m sorry...”

She sniffed, gathering her courage, and held out her hand.

He took it with a firm grasp.

“It’s been nice knowing you, Adrien Agreste.”

“You too, Chloe Bourgeois.”

With that, she nodded and left.

Nino and Alya had been watching from the other side of the barrier. “That could have been way worse, dude.”  

Chat sighed. “Yeah, still sucks though.”

“At least she knows you’re alive.” Ladybug placated. “Maybe she’ll come around.”

“Perhaps.” Chat glanced over to see a crowd of people looking at him, most likely wanting to ask questions. “I’m…going to take off. You guys know where to find me.”

Ladybug nodded, “you go on ahead. We’ll catch up in a bit.”

Chat opened a window and leapt into the city.

—

At home, Emile, now Adrien to those who knew him, sat on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest. Plagg sat on the coffee table, a pile of Camembert next to him.

“You did good today, buddy.” Adrien smiled at him.

“I know. I was on my very best behavior too, just for you! I haven’t had to talk like that in court in eons.”

Adrien frowned. “You’ve spoken in court before?”

“Yeah, like…600 years ago? When Joan was killed. I helped persuade the Pope that she was innocent.”

“Wait…Joan? As in…Joan of Arc?!”

“The Ladybug at the time, yes. And one of the only famous Ladybugs as well! Anyway, this was fun. It was great to see your dad actually look guilty for once.”

“Is that what you saw? Because I didn’t.”

“Look kid, it’s over now. You have a new family, and they like you for you.”

Adrien sighed again. He hadn’t seen Tom and Sabine’s reactions to his revelation. What if they were mad? Or disappointed? What if they kicked him out? What if they forbid Marinette from seeing him anymore!? What if—

“We’re home!” Sabine called, from the stairwell.

He needed to hide! Or maybe he should face the music now and get packing!

Before he knew it, Tom was standing in the doorway. Until that moment, Adrien had never really noticed how big he was.

“There you are, kiddo!” Tom smiled warmly. Marinette peered around his frame, smiling softly.

And just like that, all of his anxiety disappeared. It was foolish for him to be afraid of this kind family.

Tom was on him in an instant, scooping him up from couch and cradling him in his arms, petting his head.

Like a cat.

“Uh…” Adrien said smartly, too stunned to do anything else.

“Oh honey,” Sabine cooed. “You were so brave today! We’re so proud of you!”

Suddenly, a loud rumbling cut through the room as Adrien’s face turned pink.

“Are you…purring?” Tom asked, snickering.

“Yeah…I do that sometimes.”

“Aww!!” The couple sang, showering him with affection.

Tom squeezed him tight and said softly, “Adrien, we’re sorry we didn’t know you were suffering. I would adopt you this minute…but, I’d much rather have you as a son in law.”

Adrien couldn’t help but giggle as Marinette rolled her eyes with a blush.

—

The next day was better. The courtroom was just as packed, and even though his identity was revealed, Chat was okay. He hadn’t realized how heavy that secret was until now, since he felt a lot more relaxed. Last night was the best sleep he’d had since becoming Chat Noir.

And the Gabriel came into the courtroom.

Ladybug once again took his hand and intertwined their fingers. He breathed deeply, keeping his cool. No matter what, it would be okay. He had a family that loved him and that’s all that mattered.

“All rise,” bid the bailiff.  

All nine judges entered once again, all looking thoroughly exhausted.

“You may be seated.”

More chairs squeaking.

“Will the defendant please step forward.”

Gabriel stood and walked to the bench, alone. Alone as he ever was. His hands cuffed, his gazed riveted to the floor.

“We the Cour de Cassation of the State of Paris find the defendant, Gabriel Agreste, guilty of terrorism and domestic abuse. He will serve 97 months, plus two years sentence in federal prison. A month for each victim, for a total of 10 years prison time, with no chance of Conditional Liberation.” The gavel slammed down, and Gabriel’s fate was set.

[vatrixsta]

Pierced (2/?)

Siiiiigh all of your lovely comments on part 1 have forced me into this course I wanted to take anyway and I just hope you’re proud of yourself. Shout out to @csmarchmadness for the always handy gun to the head - all the ladies there are awesome and I enjoy stalking their conversations when I finally get online again at my obscene times of day and night. :D I’m going to try to update this with some regularity, so I hope you enjoy! And we’re off. 

Also on AO3

Emma had to cancel this date that was absolutely not a date.

There was just no possible way it was a good idea, date or no date. Not only were his eyes too blue and his smile too bright and his hands too… perfect when they touched hers, but she wouldn’t even be able to ruin it quickly by sleeping with him too fast because of the fucking piercing she gave him.

She was feeding Henry an incredibly nutritious dinner of Spaghettios and carrot sticks (he was going through a phase where he hated basically everything and at least she was still getting carrot sticks past his rapidly shrinking palette) when she realized that she didn’t actually have Killian’s number and would have to figure something out tomorrow, maybe ask Ruby to run interference. Except Ruby wouldn’t, the whore, because she wanted Emma to make nice with the Sex God.

She was making sure Henry took a bath (six year old boys would pay almost any price to continue smelling like street urchins, she’d found) when it occurred to her that despite his flirtations, it was possible he didn’t intend for it to be a date. Maybe he really did just want her to design a tattoo for him and he was pleased with her professionalism and artwork. God that would be embarrassing, if she told him she couldn’t go out with him and he basically responded with, who asked you?

She was halfway through reading Henry his favorite book of fairy tales when she realized all the princes (and a few of the pirates) suddenly had blue eyes and British accents in her head and you know what, that’s enough for tonight, Henry, light’s out and I’ll see you in the morning, love bug.

She was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she remembered he’d had to fill out the consent form for the procedure and would have had to put his number on there. If she got to work early enough, she could go into the client files she wasn’t supposed to snoop in unless an actual emergency occurred and tell him she was dying or moving to Yemen or anything that would stop this train before it ran straight over her heart.

She was waking up with a groan and Henry’s knee connecting with her pelvis when she realized that the idea of canceling this date that was definitely, absolutely not a date actually bummed her out. It was lunch and he was nice. She could design a tattoo for him -- he’d tipped her extremely well for the piercing -- and maybe finally be able to afford that new video game console upgrade Henry had been not so subtly hinting at for Christmas, which meant there were only fifty-two more shopping days until Black Friday.

She was walking Henry to the school bus, teasing him about the crush he had on a little blonde girl his age that he swore was not a crush at all, that they were going to be best friends forever and she just wanted to kiss his his precious little cheek so she did, glad that he only scrunched his face a little in distaste, when she seriously considered that she might be losing her mind. It wasn’t normal to think about someone you’d just met this much, to obsess over a virtual stranger (if you could consider someone whose cock you’d pierced with a 12 gauge barbell a stranger) to this degree. She definitely, absolutely had to cancel.

“His paperwork? Oh, yeah, I threw it out. I was drinking coffee while I filed last night and, well. Oopsie.”

Fucking Ruby.

Sending her friend and boss a glare that clearly communicated I do not believe you, you lying whore and glaring harder when Ruby’s unrepentant grin widened, Emma left the back office area and stomped over to her station for the only therapeutic option left to her: sketching.

The small notebook she used was the ninth of its kind since she’d started working at Red, White and Tattoo. She kept them all, tucked behind her little book of cocks, as Killian had referred to it (OHMYGOD STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!!!) and filled with some sketches that had turned into elaborate pieces that decorated backs and wrists and ankles and every other body part conceivable to little half finished works she’d never fully cracked. There were also incredibly personal drawings she’d asked Ruby to ink on her own skin -- Emma had done the buttercup herself, but it was a process she’d rather not repeat.

Killian had said he’d be by to collect her at 12:30. It was currently 10:00 and Emma was praying someone would take advantage of the early bird special so she’d have something else to focus on.

After straightening up her station (twice) and sketching an elaborate oceanscape (she refused to actually color it; she knew the waves would match his eyes as well as her supplies could manage she did not need this fuckery) Emma was ready to crawl out of her skin, pissed at herself and Killian for getting her into this state. This was why she had her rules! This was why the last date she’d gone on had been a hit it and quit it one night stand with the dorky guy who’d sold them the front desk display case. That had been... three years ago? Oh, Christ. No wonder she was insane now.

Killian was thoughtfully fifteen minutes early, as he if he could sense his date was crawling out of her skin. He entered the shop with that wide, easy smile on his face and Emma forced a smile of her own that she hoped didn’t look too forced, because she didn’t want him to take her jittery mood personally even though it was 100% his fault.

Ushering them quickly out the door (she didn’t want to risk another embarrassing moment with Ruby playing the world’s most obvious matchmaker) Emma asked where they were eating.

“There’s a place I like to go, down by the water,” he said, adorably rubbing at the back of his right ear. “It’s probably the last of the nice weather for the year so I thought we could walk?”

“Sure,” Emma said, stuffing her hands in her pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted to do something stupid like reach for his.

They fell into a slightly awkward silence that actually should have been a lot more awkward, given they didn’t know each other too well.

“Robin - my partner? - he was shocked speechless I actually went through with it,” Killian said after a few quiet minutes.

“Are you following the after care instructions?” Emma said, probably a lot more sternly than was necessary.

“Yes, Mistress,” Killian teased.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You’d be surprised how many people blow it off,” she muttered. “An infected piercing is never fun. An infected genital piercing?”

“Emma, you have my word that I shall heed your every instruction,” he said, both teasing and serious at the same time. How did he do that?

They arrived at a seafood place Emma had been dying to try but always found other uses for her paycheck - luxuries like new winter boots for Henry and electricity.

“Um, this place is a little fancy,” she said, looking down at her work outfit of dark wash denim jeans, white tank top and red leather jacket.

Killian indicated his own attire - black jeans that were a little less tight than the ones he’d worn yesterday (a good sign he was obeying her instructions), a dark blue t-shirt and a black leather jacket of his own that looked more suited to riding a motorcycle than catching criminals, but what did she know?

“Casual dress at lunch,” he assured her. “To die for lobster rolls.”

Emma mentally calculated how much a lobster roll would set back her food budget as Killian placed his hand on her lower back and urged her into the restaurant.

She was going to have to make a rule about him not being allowed to touch her because her brain short circuited and she suddenly couldn’t recall what a budget was or how one accommodated for it.

They were seated at a table by the water and the view really was spectacular, the horizon a calming sight Emma was desperately in need of. Killian had good table manners (because of course he did), filling her water glass from the bottle their server left on the table before he attended to his own, confirming with her that the lobster roll sounded good (it really, really, really did) before ordering for them both. He added a pitcher of fresh blueberry lemonade for them to split, promising her it was not to be missed. Emma’s eyes bugged at the prices but she decided to give herself this afternoon with an unfairly attractive man who genuinely seemed to like her and wanted her to eat lobster rolls with him. There was plenty of time for reality to come crashing down when she couldn’t smell the sea and watch the flickers of sunlight play in Killian’s eyes the exact same way it did on the waves.

She tried this once, the dating someone new thing. Neal had pretty much decimated the part of her brain (and her heart) capable of trusting, but she thought, maybe there was a guy out there who’d remind her they weren’t all like Neal. (Never mind that she still remembered what it had been like at the start, her and him against the world, the mischievous flicker in Henry’s eyes reminding her that she could never really hate him the way she wanted to, because the best parts of him were like a gift every time she looked at her little boy.)

Once she got settled into work at the tattoo shop, she’d gone on a few dates, Ruby and Mulan eagerly offering to babysit toddler Henry. There had been five - maybe six? - guys total and every single one of them had been visibly deflated by the news that the hot 20-year-old blonde had a kid at home. Though the one she disliked the most had been the guy who’d feigned interest in Henry so he could sleep with her.

Emma realized that she really wasn’t looking forward to watching that disappointment cross Killian’s face. No one expected the hot (now 24) year old blonde who worked at the tattoo shop to have a kid. She suspected Killian was a little older than her (she’d have put him around 30 given his job and the slight laugh lines around his eyes) but she knew a single mom wasn’t exactly a highly sought dating prospect. She just felt shitty not telling him about Henry, when he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, just so she could, what? Enjoy a hot guy eating a lobster roll?

Yeah, okay, so maybe a little bit that. Besides, it wasn’t going to go anywhere. He didn’t need to know about her life because this was a friendly meal and she was supposed to be asking him about his tattoo not picturing him naked (and she could. From the waist down, at least, all dark hair and lean muscle and definitely a shower, not a grower--STOP IT EMMA) and nervously peeling a bread roll.

“Luv?”

Emma blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Killian smiled, but it was a little forced. “I, uh, suppose you were woolgathering.”

Great and now she’d been so lost in her social anxiety that she’d completely missed him speaking to her. If this were a date, she’d have pretty much blown it.

“I don’t get much time out by the water,” she said a little lamely. “I don’t get much time out, period,” she added ruefully.

“Workaholic?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she hedged. She took a lot of shifts at work to earn enough money to keep her and Henry far from the poorhouse. Ruby’s grandmother lived in the same building and watched Henry after school most days. She also let him stay over when the shop stayed open late on the weekends. There was a little sleeping bag zone in back dubbed Henry’s corner that he’d filled with books and toys and the oldest of his handheld video games. “What about you?”

There, that was nice and sociable.

“I enjoy my work,” Killian said. “But I have other… priorities that keep me from the workaholic label. Which, I suppose, brings us nicely to the subject of this lunch.”

Right. Not a date. He wanted a tattoo and she’d broken Rule #2 for him.

She gave him a professional smile. “Tell me a little bit about what you’re looking for.”

His lips pursed in thought for a moment, then he shrugged. “I suppose that’s part of the problem. I know what I want it to convey and I know the meaning behind it, but I’m not sure I know what symbol will best represent it to permanently ink on my body.”

Her smile turned a little more personal, because she could relate. Her buttercup was easy - the other tattoos she’d had were a little less… on the nose and direct. It had taken her months to settle on them. “Why don’t we try this. Tell me why you want it and some of the ideas you’ve had and I’ll do my job to get you some sketches to narrow it down.”

He puffed his cheeks out like an adorable chipmunk with no idea how attractive it was. Damn it, she was so screwed.

“Brilliant.” He reached into a satchel and pulled out an old, battered copy of Peter Pan, then set it before her almost reverently.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Big fan?”

His smile widened. “My brother and I read the tale a great deal during our childhood - he’s older, so some of my earliest memories are the little crush he always had on Wendy Darling.”

Emma laughed. “And you?”

Killian shrugged. “I’ve always preferred the company of real women.”

“Yeah, that’s just about what I’d figure you’d say,” she muttered. Damn chipmunk knew exactly how attractive he was.

“Though I confess, the last few years, there’s really only been the one woman in my life,” he added.

That confession definitely gave Emma pause. If he had a girlfriend -- a steady one at that -- it meant this was definitely just a business thing and she was suddenly mortified at the idea that she’d tried to call off a date that wasn’t even a date. That was what mortification felt like, right? That vice like grip around her heart that felt like disappointment and the death of some possibility, some flutter of perhaps when you met someone new?

“And is that lucky lady the other inspiration for the tattoo?” Emma asked, swallowing down the disappointment - because that was exactly what it was. She should have been used to it by now.

His smile didn’t widen - it glowed. Emma kind of wanted to vomit, which was perfect timing, because the lobster rolls were delivered by their efficient but discreet waiter. The blueberry lemonade was spectacular, too, damn the charming chipmunk who was obviously not available.

He’d said he was though, hadn’t he? When they’d been talking about his after care for the piercing? She could have sworn he’d said he didn’t have to worry about any sexual partners! She wasn’t so delusional that she’d made that up.

She was about to open her mouth and say something stupid and accusatory like how dare you get a single mom’s hopes up even though I’m not really interested because I’m an emotional cripple, but seriously how dare you sir - when his phone went off.

“Damn it,” he muttered as he stared down at a text. “I’m so sorry, it’s an emergency at work - please, enjoy the food and feel free to wrap mine up and take it with you.” He was waving the waiter down and scrolling through his phone. “Are you busy tomorrow night? A mate of mine is playing at a pub and I promised I’d go, but we can discuss this a bit more then. I’ll be much less likely to be called in at night, as well.” He shot her a charming grin and she was so dazzled that she forgot all her questions and simply rattled off her phone number. He responded by sending her two emojis, one that was lifting its eyebrow and the other giving her a cheesy grin.

Seriously, who the hell did he think he was?

Then he was gone and a few seconds later she got another text with an address and the time of 7:30, tomorrow night.

She was going to have to ask Granny to watch Henry, because apparently she was a total idiot for this guy. He’d left the copy of Peter Pan so at the very least she’d need to return it to him, since it meant so much.

When the waiter returned to ask if she’d like anything else, Emma had another moment of panic - she was going to have to pay for both of their lobster rolls. But when she said she’d only like to go containers and a check, the waiter said Killian had taken care of the bill on his way out.

Sneaky, multitasking little profiler - Emma took a grudging bite of her lobster roll, then couldn’t quite muffle an involuntary moan. It was amazing and she wasn’t above gloating a little that she would get to have his for dinner. He may have a girlfriend that was getting a loving and thoughtful tattoo out of him (even though she could have sworn he said he didn’t have one) but Emma could re-prioritize. She could enjoy spending some time with a very attractive man who was apparently willing to buy her delicious food in exchange for said time while she got to design a beautiful piece of art for him.

That was the definition of win-win.

So why did she feel vaguely shitty about the whole thing?

She texted him back anyway, with a thumbs up emoji. Then she started flipping through Peter Pan while she carefully kept her lobster roll hand separate from her page turning one.

Another text dinged on her phone. Killian - yes, she’d added him to her contacts, so what, shut up.

Great! Really sorry I had to run out on you - I should warn you, this does tend to happen a fair bit. So please don’t take it personally - you are as lovely and charming as a bloke could hope for and I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.

Seriously, who texted like that? Who had a right to be so thoughtful and flirty but not over the line flirty and perfect and apparently have a girlfriend even though he definitely said he did not have one?!

Emma took an angry bite of her lobster roll.

And responded with another thumbs up text.

[thegreenfairy13]

Dog Sitter - Part 3 Hand Over The Dog Then

A Gobblepot fanfic. When Oswald loses his dog Ed, Jim Gordon finds it and does an excellent job when it comes to taking care of the mobster’s furry friend. Read it on Ao3 here. 

Five days have passed since Oswald’s unfortunate run-in with Jim and he honestly doesn’t expect to hear from the foul-tempered Captain anytime soon. Not after exchanging their latest unpleasantries that is. But here goes Gordon and surprises the gangster. Quite thoroughly.

Oswald spent the last five minutes staring at the inconspicuous box lying on his desk disbelievingly. He’s completely paralyzed. This can’t be happening, but yet it does: Jim Gordon has sent him a present. Well, not him personally but rather Edward.

The point still stands. After years of resentment, anger, rage, vengeance and playing all kinds of games, Jim Gordon has decided to something nice for the very first time. It’s the closest Oswald will ever come to receiving an apology from the impossible man.

The gangster treads carefully through the contents of the parcel: three dog-collars made of surprisingly soft leather, two more coats for Ed, two dog bowls, another doggie basket, and countless toys. Oswald can’t even fathom when and how the busy man had found the time to buy that insane amount of dog accessories. Did Jim just walk into the first store and grabbed anything and everything that struck his fancy?

Picking up one coat, he slides it over Ed’s head, and lo and behold, it fits perfectly. So Jim indeed put some care into his selection. Also, contrary to any prejudice he holds against the cop, all of these items are of immaculate quality. Of course, they aren’t as luxurious as Ed’s usual collection but they are no cheap crap either.

Zsasz saunters into the room and stares at the parcel with blunt curiosity. “Seems like the Captain went slightly overboard,” he states as his long, leather-clad fingers descend into the box. “Wow, is that a velvet frock ?” he asks while digging through the contents, eyes widening at the sight of a little black jacket complete with coattails.

“I’d prefer you wouldn’t go through my personal belongings,” the Penguin snaps, yanking the item impatiently from his minion’s hands.

“Technically, these aren’t yours,” the assassin points out, still itching to get a better look at the coat but knowing better than to test his employer's patience.

“Edward owns these, I own Edward,” Oswald retorts with a little huff while shoving the parcel underneath his desk.

“Well, that’s just the law and I can’t remember we ever cared much about that,” Victor decides, slurping his milk-shake loudly. “I very much assume dogs are able to own things,” Victor carries on, unfazed. “Don’t you think?” he asks. Raising his cup, he takes another sip while studying the mob-boss expectantly.

The Penguin only responds with an annoyed glare. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tries to remember why exactly it’s not an excellent idea to poison those god-awful milkshakes. Besides, he has no idea how he ended up discussing whether dogs are able to own things or not with his hitman. Oswald needs to change the topic.

Getting up from his seat, he pulls a face while tapping his cane impatiently on the floor. “Did you find me another caretaker for Edward yet?” he demands to know, aiming for his usual, imperious nature.

His change in demeanor has the desired effect as Zsasz returns to his professional self. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head. “None of the applicants meet your expectations. Honestly, I’m not even sure first-aid-courses specifically for Bulldogs are even available.”

When the kingpin doesn’t answer, the assassin sighs in exasperation. “Why do you even need a dog-sitter?” he demands to know, earning himself another scowl.

After all, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot didn’t rise to become a king to justify himself. It’s certainly none of his minion’s business why he can’t care for his puppy 24/7. He has other obligations too, and some of those need to stay a well-kept secret.

Like Martin. Martin, his little boy, his son, the light of his life.

None of his subordinates must ever know where his kid is being kept. Oswald went great lengths to ensure his child’s safety. And that includes absolutely nobody being able to guess his whereabouts.

The kid is currently visiting a private school in Connecticut where no one has a clue who and what his father truly is. To those people, he’s nothing but a wealthy businessman like so many others. Just another irresponsible parent who only visits their kid on the weekends.

Oswald never imagined being a father. And even if, he would have never guessed he’d be the kind of parent who can’t care for his child as his mother did.

Not being able to wrap his arms around the precious little thing whenever he seeks guidance, comfort, or just needs his dad’s presence, rips the criminal’s heart out on a daily basis. Yet, after Sofia’s attempt to take his son’s life, Oswald can’t take any risks.

First, he tried staying apart from him completely - for Martin’s own good. But the little man wouldn’t listen. And one night, he broke into the mansion, alerting each and every security system in the process.

Of course, Oswald had tried to send him away again. But when Martin broke down in tears and spoke for the first time in his life, the gangster knew he stood no chance. Not after Martin had called him dad.

And since then, the mobster drives to New Haven every Friday evening, uncaring how much his bad leg would hurt, or much work still needs to be done, in order to spend the weekend with his kid.

Gabe is certain Oswald has an affair with some sweet, innocent girl who may never know he’s a gangster. Butch thinks more or less the same. Zsasz probably assumes he tortures his enemies in a dark cellar during his free time. And thank you very much, Oswald intends to keep it that way.

If only Ed would not puke the moment he enters a car, Oswald would take him along for the ride. But after countless failed attempts to get his pet used to driving, the mobster decided to hire a dog-sitter.

Sadly, neither Gabe nor Butch can be entrusted with the task at hand. Oswald doesn’t trust Gabe’s mental abilities enough to leave something as precious as Ed in his care. Butch, on the other hand, is still hopelessly devoted to Tabitha who in turn is still in a relationship with Barbara. And Oswald is pretty certain she wouldn’t hesitate to use his dog against him if given half a chance.

As for Zsasz… Well, keeping something alive outright contradicts his job description.

“Why don’t you ask Gordon?” The assassin’s voice pierces right through the kingpin’s musings, startling him in the process. “He owes you, right?” Zsasz continues. “And you haven’t been exactly collecting your debts lately. I mean, I’d rather torture him for a couple of days but as you seem to have a soft spot for Gordon….”

Holding up a hand, Oswald interrupts his subordinate. “I decidedly do not have a soft spot for the good Captain,” he states, pulling a face and Zsasz retreats with a soft smile playing around his lips.

Oh no, the Penguin definitely does not have a soft spot for anyone except his kid and dog. And certainly not for some deceitful cop. Sure, he should kill the man who brought him to Arkham twice, and who robbed him of his position of power in the process, but killing is just too mundane.

After all, revenge is a form of art. And Jim Gordon deserves something special. A special kind of revenge. The very moment Oswald has figured out what to do with him, he definitely will. Absolutely. That’s a promise. Until then, he can still be useful.

And maybe, just maybe, he admires Jim - just a bit. In a city full of corrupt politicians and crooked cops Gordon is a refreshing exception. He still refuses to adapt to the rules of Gotham City, still believes in fighting against all evil and still only compromises if absolutely necessary.

Jim Gordon is the closest thing to a dragon-slaying knight Oswald has ever encountered. In a way, he reminds him of the heroes from his childhood fairy-tales.

Deep down, he can’t even blame Jim for his desire to put him behind bars. The mobster is well-aware of the blood on his hands. In Jim Gordon’s eyes, he is a murderer. One who will continue to kill in the future and according to the cop, he needs to be stopped. So yes, maybe he has a soft spot for Gordon.

If he only understood that in a city like Gotham some deaths are absolutely necessary, mere casualties!

But then, Jim wouldn’t be Jim if he started understanding why Oswald does what he does. In this rotten city, he’s still a shining light, a man striving to bring back law and order, blind to the fact that only the king of all crime can guarantee some form of order. That’s just the way Gotham works and nothing will ever be able to change that. This city is simply rancid to its core.

Admitted, Jim’s attempts to save the city are a tad bit endearing. Or would be if they wouldn’t cost Oswald dearly time and time again.

Heaving a deep sigh, the kingpin takes another look at the box beneath his desk. Despite all his flaws, Jim cared quite nicely for Ed. Zsasz has a point there. The question is, would Jim accept to look after the pet? After what he said to him?  Would he put up a fight again when it came to returning Ed?

Oswald doubts Jim would have really refused to give him his pet back. Sometimes the Captain simply acts like a stubborn child in his determination to keep what he loves safe and sound. A trait the mobster understands better than most people. In truth, Oswald wouldn’t have acted differently if their roles had been reversed.

The mobster regrets his harsh words deeply. He really crossed a line that day he shouldn’t have, despite his emotional turmoil. Yet, what better way to apologize than giving someone exactly what he wants? Self-satisfied with his train of thought, Oswald orders Gabe to take him to Gordon’s apartment.

When arriving at Jim’s place, the cop succeeds to surprise the mobster a second time.

Oswald remembers the place being a grimy, untidy mess. Yet when arriving, he finds Jim standing in his door frame, wearing sweatpants, holding a paint-brush and currently renovating his entrance area.

His face drops when the mobster limps closer. Clenching his jaw, he spits out his usual greeting. “Cobblepot.” Oswald wonders how he never fails to make his name sound like an insult.

“Old friend,” he taunts in return, knowing full well how much he despises the phrase.

Dropping the brush, Jim walks into his tiny flat, sure the gangster will follow. When looking around, Oswald notes a couple of major changes. The once almost gray walls are all painted white, the cheap linoleum covering the floor has been ripped out, revealing a rather nice parquet. The biggest improvement though is a big, very comfortable looking, light blue sofa in the living room. The kingpin takes all these changes in at lightning speed, keeping his face politely indifferent the entire time.

Jim follows his gaze towards the sofa. Being the good cop he is, it’s hard to deceive him. “Had to throw the old sofa out after Chester drooling all over it,” he growls but there’s no real heat behind his words.

“Right,” Oswald agrees, wondering what the real reason might be. It’s not like Ed has ever destroyed any furniture at his own home.

Walking into the kitchen, Jim pours himself a glass of water. “Want something?” he grumbles from behind the counter and the mobster wonders if he means some refreshments or the reason for his visit.

Trying his luck, he decides to ask for a cup of tea, almost certain Jim won’t have any at home. Moments later, he hears the sound of water heating up.

“Black tea or fruit tea?” comes the next question, sounding not less hostile. Oswald has to bite his tongue else he’d start lecturing Jim how fruit tea isn’t really tea but an infusion.

“Black,” he answers instead, playing absent-mindedly with his cane. “Two sugars and a dash of milk please.”

The Captain nods, jaw set so tight the mobster fears for him to get a cramp.

“What do you want from me?” Jim asks harshly and once he’s done, he pushes a cup into Oswald’s hands big enough to water an entire palm tree with its contents.

“Why thank you,” he replies smiling brightly. “I can’t recall you ever being so hospitable before.”

The cop grits his teeth. “Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, downing his own glass of water. “I’m only worried you lost your dog again.”

“I really don’t intend letting Ed roam freely a habit,” Oswald chuckles, deciding to try out Jim’s new sofa.

“I only wish that was true,” Jim retorts, rolling his eyes and clearly meaning the human Edward.

“Jim Gordon making a joke, that’s one for the books!” he exclaims, pleased the irritable man is in a somewhat good mood. Of course, Jim doesn’t respond. “Really an improvement,” he praises once he’s settled on the couch.

Heaving a sigh, the cop takes a seat opposite the gangster. “So, what made you decide my first day off in two weeks should be interrupted by your visit?” Jim asks, tapping his foot impatiently, clearly itching to throw the gangster out already.

Oswald’s polite smile never falters despite being slightly irritated by the Captain’s behavior. Can Jim not once be civil? “I simply wanted to thank you for your well-chosen presents. Ed was delighted to have his little frock back. Are you still certain you didn’t name him after me?” The kingpin could bite his tongue. Somehow he has serious troubles not turning everything he says into a jab too.

“He ruined my sofa and turned my life upside down,” Jim scoffs. “Might have reminded me subconsciously about you,” he admits with the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

“But unlike me, the dog didn’t ruin it?” Oswald scoffs in return.

“Never said you did,” Jim retorts, rendering the gangster speechless for a second.

Hiding his face behind the mug, the Penguin takes another sip from his tea. Trying to decide how to spring his idea at Jim, he finally goes for bluntness. So far, all his attempts to be diplomatic have been an utter waste anyway. “I need a dog-sitter,” he simply admits, trying to assess the other man’s reaction.

As usual, Jim stays stoic before his face gives away his emotions. For whatever reason, he’s utterly unable to control his expressions in front of the mobster. Within seconds, he goes from incredulousness to his usual anger to something Oswald can’t really assess. It might be hope but he isn’t certain.

“Last time I looked I was still a cop,” Jim remarks drily, “not one of your minions.”

“Very true, old friend,” the Penguin acknowledges with a lopsided grin. “Yet one who owes me one or two or maybe thirty-five favors. Not that I keep count,” he finishes, leaning back against the soft cushions.

Mirroring his movement, Jim contradicts him. “If you kept counting, old friend,” he starts, narrowing his eyes at him, “you would have noticed how that isn’t quite true.”

Jim Gordon’s usual self-denial was to be expected yet Oswald can’t help pulling a face. After everything he did, after bringing Sofia to Gotham, after putting him behind bars for crimes he didn’t even commit, after flying a blimp in circles for hours to save their beloved city, he would have expected at least something .

“May I jog your memory then?” he offers, the amiable facade again firmly in place.

“There’s really no need,” the other man growls. “I know what you did for me but clearly you have no concept of what I did in return.”

“So you think taking care of my dog for a week makes us even?” the mobster snaps back incredulously.

Tilting his head, Jim considers the man sitting in front of him. The silence stretches between them for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before the cop speaks again. This time, he’s barely audible.

“I was rather referring to all these times I didn’t put you behind bars when I had the opportunity,” Jim tells him in a gentle voice.

And isn’t that just the height of insolence? Wasn’t the other man happy to send him off to Arkham and throw the keys away for his own benefit? Didn’t he allow for him to get tortured without even batting an eye?

Before Oswald can so much as take a proper breath, Jim already holds up a hand. “I know what you must think,” he says. “But how many times did you stab, shot, or threaten to torture someone directly under my nose? Hmm?”

“You sent me to Arkham!” the mobster blurts out. “Twice! For crimes, I never committed! And you knew !”

“Exactly,” Jim concedes. “You were never insane, though. You would have never been released from Blackgate. And I never claimed otherwise in court.”

Slightly taken aback, the Penguin tries processing the given information. Could it be true? Was sending him to Arkham an act of mercy in Jim’s eyes? Did he rather let him go to this hellish place because he knew he would be released at some point?

Shaking himself mentally, he snaps out of it. Jim has never been soft on him. He set out to destroy his empire and only when realizing that the alternatives were much worse, he let him reign somewhat freely. Only since that ordeal with Sofia, Jim has toned his efforts to drag him to the ground a notch down.

“You ruined my empire,” Penguin accuses. “You ruined the Pax Penguina when it just worked perfectly fine,” he concludes.

“Worked just fine?!” Jim’s voice practically booms through the tiny apartment. Getting up he starts pacing the tiny place, body shaking from barely contained rage.

“You practically declared yourself a God who decides who lives and who dies in Gotham and who becomes the victim of a crime and who doesn’t. Nobody should be allowed to wield that amount of power. Not you, not me, nobody.”

By the end of Jim’s speech, the Penguin is almost certain he’ll grab his lapels and shake him again. Yet he doesn’t. Instead, the cop just looks slightly defeated despite all his anger.

“Why would you need a dog-sitter?” Jim then asks out of nowhere, effectively changing the topic. “Don’t you have an entire army of goons at your disposal to look after Ches-, I mean Edward?”

Turning the cane thoughtfully between his fingers the Penguin nods silently.

“So why come to me?” Jim urges and again Oswald decided honestly would be the best course of action.

“I like knowing who and what I love is safe when I’m away from Gotham,” he sighs. “I don’t need a repetition of what happened to my mother.”

Gordon doesn’t answer right away, just frowns slightly. “I won’t become a co-perpetrator to murder,” he finally decides. “If you want to place Ed into my care only so you can go and stab someone….”

Oswald scoffs. “Please stop painting me as some lunatic serial-killer. That’s frankly insulting.”

The Captain merely rolls his eyes.

“I now and then have to leave Gotham to take care of someone very important to me,” he admits. “And I would rather do so knowing Ed is being well cared for. But I completely understand now that going to you had been a stupid idea.”

Picking up his coat, Oswald turns to leave. “Thank you for your time, Jim,” he tells him, already reaching for the doorknob, cursing when some of the fresh paint stains his sleeve.

“Wait!” the cop mutters. “I never said I wouldn’t do it.”

[superiordragonlorde]

Broken

Another round for @fma-angst-week . This is day 5- Broken. Warnings: for your angsty pleasure we have blood, death, mutilation, gore, body horror (kinda, I guess? I mean I’m using a chimera but it doesn’t go into a lot of detail there), and vulgar language (as per usual). Ok then, I hope you find some semblance of enjoyment in this!

     Ed’s stomach still churned even hours later. The blatant lack of regret, the sick satisfaction, the twisted sense of sustentation. It all made him want to beat the bastard bloody and drop him at Truth’s feet, let the “god” sort him out. But he couldn’t. Nina made him promise not to hurt him.

     Ed bit down on the knuckle hovering in front of his mouth. He couldn’t believe there was a father out there that was worse than his. His old man had held the prize for years, but Shou Tucker had just today snatched it away. And Nina. He had to use Nina. It was bad enough he’d used a human to create a complex chimera, but to use his own daughter- 

     Ed’s stomach heaved and he pressed the knuckle he’d been biting hard over his lips, keeping whatever he had left in his stomach where it belonged. He just couldn’t understand how Tucker could go through with it. How could he not at least pause in the middle of what he was doing, look into Nina’s frightened yet trusting eyes, and not hesitate or question if what he was doing was really right? Was he truly that much of a monster? That insane of a man?

     “Edward.” Ed snapped his head up to see the Lieutenant Colonel standing beside the opened door. She inclined her head. “The Colonel wants a report on what you’ve witnessed.” Ed gave a solemn nod and moved away from the wall he was leaning against.

     “Am I supposed to come too?” Al asked, straightening up. Hawkeye’s sharp vision held him for a moment before making her decision.

     “There’s no need, Alphonse,” she replied, voice brooking absolutely no room for argument. “Your brother’s report will be enough.” With that she stepped to the side, allowing Ed access to enter. He trudged in.

     Colonel Mustang was standing with his feet shoulder’s width apart, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at something. Ed scoffed at the Colonel showing his back towards the door. It was stupid to leave oneself so exposed like that. Although he did have Hawkeye, Ed was reminded when the door shut and he heard her heels snap into attention. Mustang didn’t move from where he was standing and Ed’s patience had already been nearly spent by the “excitements” of the day. It would be better to get this report over with so he could figure out how to get Nina back to the way she was before. When she was human. So, he stalked forward, coming around Mustang’s side.

     “Alright, Mustang,” Ed grumbled. “What-?” The question was cut off by a harsh gasp when he saw what Mustang was staring at. Nina sat, trembling in a cage that had been dragged out of Tucker’s lab. He could tell from the stench that clung to it and the questionable stains that caked the bottom. She was staring up at the Colonel, whimpering. When she caught sight of Edward she shifted around to face him better, the sounds of chains following her movements. Her tail thumped once.

     “Big... brother?” she asked, voice breaking and inhuman. “... Ed?” Ed rushed to her, gripping the bars dividing them.

     “Nina,” he breathed, feeling the tears he’d fought so hard to keep down begin to rise in a heated rush. He hated feeling helpless, especially when it was obvious how much pain Nina was in. He whipped around to face Mustang, forcing out all his frustrations to the closest human.

     “What the hell, Mustang?” he roared. Nina gave off another fearful whimper and pressed her back to the bars behind her. Ed couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Flame Alchemist. Mustang didn’t flinch from the harsh tone.

     “Why the hell did you lock her up, you fucking bastard?” Mustang sighed, rubbing his temple.

     “It’s a chimera, Fullmetal,” he scolded. “We don’t-”

     “She’s a she,” Ed screamed, leaping to his feet. “And she’s just a little girl. She shouldn’t be locked up in some cage!”

     “She’s a chimera now,” Mustang growled back, voice raising. “And we can’t risk it- her hurting someone when she gets frightened.”

     “Of course she’s going to be fucking scared.” Ed threw his hands up, eyes growing wild. “You put her in a fucking cage, for fuck’s sake! And now you’re just staring at her like she’s some kind of fun lab experiment you can mess with.”

     “She is an experiment. An illegal one at that.”

     “Yeah, so go interrogate Tucker! She’s the victim here. He’s the monster made in a lab. Go fuck with him instead.”

     “I can’t.”

     “Why the fuck not?!”

     “We have to know what to do with it.” 

     “What the fuck do you mean, ‘know what to do with it’?” Ed asked, incredulous. “You fix her, that’s what you fucking do!” Mustang shook his head.

     “It’s not that simp-”

     “Yes, it is!” Ed insisted, stomping towards him. “You get someone who’s really good with biological alchemy or some shit like that and have them fix her.”

     “We need a Sewing-Life Alchemist, Fullmetal,” Mustang elucidated.

     “Then find one!”

     “Shou Tucker is the only one we have.” The sentence weighed on Ed’s stomach like an anchor. He could feel every drop of blood draining from his face and swallowed.

     “Wh-what?” he croaked. Mustang sighed, dragging a hand over his face.

     “We’d need a Sewing-Life Alchemist and Shou Tucker is the only one we have. Or,” he corrected. “Used to have. I doubt he’ll be staying a State Alchemist for long after this.” Ed dropped his gaze, staring at the hardwood floor as if the answer was engrained there.

     “Then make him change her back!” he demanded, knowing he was grasping at straws. “Make him reverse it.” Mustang shook his head.

     “He’s already told us it’s nearly impossible to do that without harming the girl’s body,” he stated, sounding like he’d repeated this multiple times already. “And even if he could, he’d rather die than undo his creation.” Ed’s skin crawled at the phrasing of that sentence.

     “Fine,” Ed growled, prowling towards the door. “You guys probably aren’t doing it right anyway. I’ll make him talk.” His hand had reached for the door handle, but Mustang had grabbed his upper arm, pulling him back. Ed twisted around, automail ready to land a punch when the click of a gun caught his attention. He chanced a glance behind him and found Riza holding her pistol out, pointed at the ground, and prepared to use at any moment. Mustang’s hand tightened, bringing Ed’s attention back to him.

     “Don’t,” the Colonel commanded, voice low and cold. “It won’t help anyone. He’s already made it clear to us he won’t be reversing what he’d done.” He leaned closer to Ed’s face, his own frigid and hard. “And I’m a very good persuader.” Ed felt his spine turn to ice and he suppressed the shiver that crawled up it. He tried to glare at the Colonel, make the heat in his gaze melt the iciness inside of him, but Mustang’s freezing black eyes didn’t waver. Ed yanked his arm out of the Colonel’s grasp, giving a soft scoff and walked past him, maintaining eye contact for a few more seconds as he passed.

     Nina whined when he came back to her, reaching her snout towards him but not daring to come any closer.

     “It’s alright, Nina,” Ed cooed, repressing every scathing comment he wanted to make under his breath. “Sorry about all that. We’re done. I’m gonna get you out now.”

     “Fullmetal-” Ed clapped his hands and transformed a plate on his automail into a blade. He turned, letting the transmuted weapon glint in the dim candlelight they had. He didn’t try to burn Mustang with his golden eyes, he didn’t let his temper seep into the stare. He let his eyes go empty, devoid of any emotion except for a hardened determination.

     He was going to let Nina out of the cage and take off all her chains. If Mustang or Hawkeye wanted to try and stop him, they were welcomed too, but he wouldn’t be holding back.

     The look must have conveyed his message very clearly. Mustang blinked, eyes widening a fraction before narrowing in calculation. They both knew that even with Ed’s skills in alchemy he was outmatched by the two of them. Especially since his concentration would be divided while trying to keep Nina safe. So it wasn’t a decision on victory if a fight broke out, it was deciding if the consequences were worth it. Ed didn’t dare to even blink until Mustang raised his hands in surrender and took several steps back, motioning to Hawkeye to put down the gun she was still holding. Ed transmuted his blade back into his automail and crouched down to face Nina.

     “Big... brother...” Nina whimpered, pressing her back further into the bars. “No more... fighting?” Ed nodded, transmuting the lock on the cage door open.

     “Yeah,” he murmured. “No more fighting.”

     “Yelling...?” she pressed.

     “No more yelling either,” Ed assured her. “We’re all done now. Sorry about that. I know that probably really freaked you out.”

     “Big... brother... mad?” she asked as Ed worked on the chains, nudging his head with her wet nose. Ed had to stop the shiver that threatened to tear through him.

     “Yeah, but not at you,” he comforted her, breaking off the last of the chains. “There’s just a lot of stupid adults, that’s all.” He tossed the chains aside and crawled back, giving Nina space to come out. She gave a small, hoarse, broken laugh at his comment. She lumbered to her feet, stiff and sore. She winced with every step she took. Once she was out, she shoved her face into his chest, releasing a shaking sigh.

     “Don’t like... new people...” she moaned softly, pivoting her head a bit to see the Colonel and his Lieutenant through her hair. Ed stroked her hair the same way his mother used to do with him whenever he’d have a nightmare or needed her soothing hands to calm him.

     “I know,” he murmured. “But don’t worry. They can’t hurt you anymore. You’re big brother Ed is here to keep you safe.” He forced cheeriness into his voice. No one commented on the way it cracked at the words “big brother”. Nina nuzzled Ed’s chest and stretched herself out on the ground, sighing in trusting contentment as she settled her head into his lap. Ed tried to keep his fingers from trembling while they still brushed through her hair. “And Al is just right outside. He’s going to make sure none of the bad people come in and hurt you anymore, ok?” He shot Mustang and Hawkeye a quick look. He must have sent a request on accident through the look alone, because Hawkeye gave a stiff nod and positioned herself quietly in front of the door, a hand resting on her hip, just above one of her holsters. Ed turned his attention back to Nina.

     “Want to.. play..., Big... brother,” Nina rasped. Ed’s hand faltered.

     “Me too, Nina,” he admitted, resuming his stroking. “But we can’t right now. How about later? I bet you’re really tired right now anyway. A lot of crazy stuff has happened today and I’m pretty sure it’s worn you out.” Nina grumbled and buried her nose into his stomach, letting out a little huff. Ed couldn’t help the chuckle.

     “I know,” he soothed. “But if you rest up, you’ll have more energy to play later.” The argument seemed to have won her over. She sank her heavy head further into his lap and closed her eyes, releasing a drawn-out exhale.

     “You don’t have to worry about a thing, Nina,” Ed breathed as her chest started to even out into a slow and steady rhythm. “I’ll help fix you and no one will ever hurt you again, no matter what. I promise.”

     Ed heaved, his stomach protesting as it gave up all it had. He couldn’t believe it. First Tucker and now... this. Some monster had come to kill another monster, but they’d also killed an innocent little girl. He couldn’t begin to comprehend it. When Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye had told him and Al what had happened to Nina he knew he had to go see it. He had to know what had happened. Even if she said he shouldn’t go and see it, he knew it had to. He had to.

     He’d snuck over the wall surrounding the house, transmuted a hole to enter and sealed it closed. Then he’d waited until the military officials had left. He’d heard Mustang, Armstrong, and Hughes’s voices, all business-like and lacking the empathy Nina deserved. When all the footsteps had filed out, Ed had crept through the house, searching each room for something out of the ordinary. He’d finally found it in the front room: a couple of tarps covering two lumps. His hands had shaken, hovering over a corner of the material. He had to know. He had to.

     He’d held a corner, took in a deep inhale, and yanked it up. A cry had caught in his throat.

     There she was. Whatever was left of her at least. Her face had looked like it had exploded apart. Her snout had hung off precariously, mouth open in an eternal, silent cry of surprise and pain. He’d been able to see her eyeballs, still attached to the optic nerve, dangling out of the fractured pieces of her skull. Bits of blood, muscles, and brain matter had been splattered across her face, body, and the floor surrounding her. Ed had found himself frozen in place, eyes unable to leave the horror beneath the tarp. His mind had scrambled to comprehend what he was seeing.

     On sudden instinct, Ed had lunged to his feet and collapsed a few steps away. He’d retched, forcing everything he could out into the open air. He’d knelt over it, stomach still roiling and heaved again, more partially digested food and bile spilled out. 

     For the next few minutes, Ed had only been able to give dry heaves, nothing left remained in him. Now he sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, numb. His body seemed to be controlled by someone else as he transmuted the bile and food into their key components, rendering them to become as useless as dust. He didn’t care if anyone found it. He didn’t care if someone traced it back to him somehow. He just didn’t care.

     He risked a glance back at the two bodies and found the tarp had blessedly fallen back to its original place, completely covering the mutilated chimera.

     His mind flashed to the transmutation circle that promised life. The one he and Al had used once, to bring someone else they loved back. He roughly shook his head, banishing the thought his desperate mind had conjured. No. There was no way they would bring Nina back just to make her suffer twice. They’d be even worse than Tucker if they tried.

     Ed staggered to his feet, leaning a hand heavily against the wall, and stumbled away from the scene. He could feel tears burning in his eyes and he bit his lip to contain the sob that clawed the back of his throat.

     He’d promised her. He’d promised her that he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her. But he’d broken it as soon as he left, stupidly believing that she would be safe.

Oh man, using the most angsty part of the entire series for fma angst week was the best/worst decision of my life. I hope you all found some form of angsty enjoyment there. Thanks for reading!

[pinksweatergettingbetter]

// The Rotten Royals - A look at how fucked up the ‘good’ Royal Family of Spirit of Justice really is.

So having finished SOJ and having had a little time to mull it over, I gotta say that I still find a lot of the antics of the supposed “good” royal family pretty fucking fishy. 

We’ve got an emotionally insensitive king-consort, a skeevy prince and a woefully useless queen, all of whom are fiercely protected by the writers’ mouthpieces in the game.

The title is a little misleading as only one of the people mentioned actually has any royal duties, but the point here is to point out how the writers accidentally made their supposed ‘complicated heroes’ into straight up assholes. 

Each section will be prefaced by a name in case you’d rather just read one section rather than all of them (cause there’s a lot to write)

So, as promised, here’s my little analysis of the Royal Family of Spirit of Justice.

DHURKE

So let’s start off with Dhurke, shall we? Because Dhurke sucks.

Now I’m going to be as fair as I can while still maintaining my grievances. As I’ve mentioned before, I can see where they were going with Dhurke. They wanted him to be the awesome rebel leader who laughs in the face of death and danger, and who roguishly rescues the poor endangered hostages. etc.

And I can accept him as that. I can accept him as a rebel leader. What I can’t accept him as is a reliable, caring or competent father figure.

Since the points are numerous, I’ll put them in bullet form and then expound. Oh look! One bullet per shot in Dhurke’s chest. Nice!

•Dhurke provided no emotional security for either of his sons, sometimes even the exact opposite 

Early on, Apollo recounts a particular story that happened in his childhood; when he was small, he and his foster brother Nahyuta were playing by a river when the two of them fell in. Dhurke quickly rushed to their rescue and scooped them out of the water, insisting that any time they need him, they should call, and he’ll come running (a little hard to pull off for a kid with a lung full of water, but i digress). However, he also proceeds to essentially tell his two toddler aged sons to “suck it up; boys don’t cry” about nearly dying. This kind of ‘manly man’ behaviour persists for the length of his character, despite the fact that he lived in a Matriarchal society that most likely wouldn’t have those kind of roles enforced on their boys.

Later on in the case, Apollo nearly drowns again, and while Dhurke saves him a second time, the moment Apollo comes to, Dhurke proceeds to make light of the situation. One could say he was trying to lighten the mood and comfort Apollo, but the fact that he allows Datz to howl with laughter at Apollo’s expense (not to mention Trucy if I remember correctly,) proves that he doesn't see the situation as very upsetting because Apollo survived, despite what Apollo might feel on the subject. 

Dhurke also appears to Apollo right the fuck out of nowhere, without a single word of warning, after FIFTEEN years of complete radio silence. Apollo is understandably pissed off, but Dhurke makes no attempt to talk Apollo’s feelings through with him OR apologize– he simply does everything he can to play off this awful behaviour as no big deal, and even asks Apollo for a favour. When Trucy gives Dhurke the benefit of the doubt, not knowing their shared history very well (and having Daddy issues of her own), Dhurke immediately suggests Apollo marry her, apropos of nothing– implying he wants nothing more than Apollo to immediately accept him, rather than confronting the emotional issues he started in the first place. 

Apollo isn’t the only victim of this either; when Dhurke interacts with Nahyuta, both his tone of voice and sprites indicate a bewildered sort of patronizing air. He asks why Nahyuta has betrayed his cause, but doesn’t seem to show much actual betrayal or hurt on the subject. The way he treats Nahyuta while talking about his motivations and morality makes it seem like he doesn’t actually care about how Nahyuta feels or thinks– he sees him as more of a piece in his game rather than a beloved member of his family. 

This seems even harsher when we take into account the fact that Nahyuta is doing all of this against his own will– so not only does Dhurke seem completely indifferent to him, but he admonishes him like a child when Nahyuta himself is going through an incredibly difficult time. 

Dhurke doesn’t even trust his own son, not for a second wondering if perhaps there are extenuating circumstances behind his supposed betrayal, despite knowing what kind of a woman Ga’ran is. 

•Dhurke often undermined Apollo’s skills, and kept glaring secrets from him

One of Dhurke’s first orders of business on arrival to America is to give Apollo a plate of sushi and say something to the affect of “wow! you’re doing WAY better than i imagined you would be, son!” which, to someone like Apollo, must sting a lot. Dhurke does say that he believes in Apollo later on, during the trial, but considering the other evidence, it seems disingenuous, and more like he was just trying to pep him up so that he could achieve his desired result. 

Continuing a point from the previous bullet, Dhurke pops right the hell out of nowhere to visit Apollo after years of neglect. Sure, he may not have been able to leave the country, but considering the stuff he did manage to do, there was nothing stopping him from secreting letters to his son. Either way, his motivation to finally visit his son was the fact that he’d run out of time to do just that. He was DEAD, and he knew he had to see his son one last time before he went. Seems kinda sweet.... until you remember that he also went to secure Apollo’s services to help him in the final trial against Ga’ran. 

And thats what brings us to his ridiculous secret keeping– the fact that he kept his death a secret made a load of the final trial an absolute chore to get through. If he’d simply explained to Apollo that he was already dead, a lot of the contradictions in the trial would have been removed, thus making it easier to come to the truth. He actively sabotaged his son’s chances of winning to keep up a useless charade. Because whether he told him then or after, Apollo would have to live with the fact that Dhurke got himself killed before he ever managed to see Apollo again. Sure, letting Apollo believe he was alive at first might have spared him a large amount of initial angst– but in the long run it was an absolutely idiotic move. It put Apollo in deep emotional turmoil while in the middle of a very sensitive case, and directly decreased his chances at surviving the ordeal. 

One could say that Dhurke simply kept the secret so that Apollo would cooperate with him more willingly, thus giving the trial (and therefor the revolution) a better chance at succeeding... but that would simply support my point by showing that Dhurke’s a cold, calculating bastard who used Apollo as an unwitting pawn. 

Either way, his decision to keep his death a secret was deeply disrespectful to Apollo’s feelings, and his refusal to grant important information nearly killed his entire family. 

•Dhurke often put people in needless danger for absolutely no reason at all and performs insanely boneheaded moves for the supposed head of a revolution. 

Let’s start chronologically with a problem that’s been glaring at me from day one. 

Upon becoming a fugitive, Dhurke sent Apollo to America to keep him safe from the dangers in his country. This, at first, seems like a kindly move on his part. But it falls apart when you consider the fact that he kept Nahyuta with him, and the consequences it had.

His decision doesn’t work emotionally or practically, because.... 

-On the practical side, he sent Apollo away to keep him safe, but keeping Nahyuta meant putting Nahyuta through the very danger he wanted to protect Apollo from. Not only did Nahyuta risk imprisonment or death by his association with Dhurke, but he was also canonically ostracized by all members of his society and affectively made a pariah until he became Ga’ran’s right hand man. This makes Dhurke look like he considers Nahyuta his property (being his biological son) rather than a loved member of his family. Sure, sending Nahyuta away to America would leave him childless, but it would assure Nahyuta’s safety, and being with Apollo would mean he wouldn’t be alone. Practically, this would also mean Dhurke wouldn’t have to actively worry about his children’s safety while rescuing Amara and getting the revolution underway.  

-On the emotional side, he sent Apollo (his adopted son, therefor not his flesh and blood) away to a place the child knew nothing of, to grow up an orphan abandoned by his birth and adoptive parents. It’s notable that during flashbacks, Nahyuta calls Dhurke ‘father’, while Apollo simply calls him ‘Dhurke’. These two together make Dhurke look like a callous man who didn’t consider Apollo his real son, or a valid member of his society, and simply sent him away to prevent him from becoming a hindrance. 

Neither option paints him in a kind light, and it makes you wonder what was going through his head at the time. To be a little more meta on the subject; the decision makes sense to the writers, who have to shoehorn this backstory into Apollo’s established past, but they failed to realize how awful it made Dhurke look as a human being.

Now onto the next point. During the trial, Dhurke keeps numerous important secrets, mouths off at the queen and generally behaves very difficultly the whole time. This would be nothing more than an annoyance during a normal trial... except this is a trial where the DC act is in place. And Dhurke knows that.

Dhurke knows full well that if they lose, Apollo, Phoenix, and his entire rebel group (if captured) will be put to death. Yet he continues to act like a roguish piece of shit the entire time.

This makes Dhurke look almost sociopathic– he cares more about being rebellious than the safety of his own son and numerous other people. Because he’s already dead, his line of reasoning appears to be “well, i’m dead! who cares if they kill me?” which once again means that he’s completely disregarding the other lives he has on the line by putting them in this predicament in the first place. 

As mentioned above, not telling Apollo about his death put major obstacles in Apollo’s way to winning the trial, thus putting him in grave danger. If we assume that Dhurke was trying to spare Apollo’s feelings for as long as possible, you just want to shout “Apollo’s life might be a little more important than his emotions right now, Dhurke!”

This leads me to my second... third? Point.

Correct me if I’m wrong, because I’m still totally mystified on this…

Why did Dhurke take Maya back to the hostage situation? 

Dhurke rescued Maya from Inga and got himself killed (in the most idiotic and short-sighted way possible– good job o glorious rebel leader) and then asked Maya to channel him so that he could visit Apollo for the last time.

Ok, that seems all very well and good. Except... why would he take Maya back to the hostage situation he rescued her from?!

This was days after he’d saved her life, and even more importantly, he knew that he had done so. It wasn’t like with Dahlia, where she didn’t realize Maya was the one channeling her– Dhurke knew full well why he was still on earth, and who he was cruising around inside (which also makes his actions in the cave a little nasty too– being pretty careless with MAYA’s body, aren’t you, Dhurke?).

Returning Maya to the hostage situation not only put her in danger, but it also allowed Ga’ran to put forth her evil plan in the first place. It’s not clear if Dhurke knew about the plan from the beginning, but if he didn’t, there’s literally NO reason for him to make the “exchange” for a girl who isn’t there. In fact, why did Inga even think he still had a hostage? Dhurke rescued Maya days ago.  What the hell was anyone thinking?!

Let’s say this does make sense; let’s say that both sides “collaborated” for different reasons to bring this sham together so that we could have the trial of our final case (Ga’ran wanting to crush the rebels, and Dhurke wanting to crush Ga’ran).

- If Ga’ran knew Maya was already rescued, what reason would she have to assume that Dhurke would return with her, rather than taking her to safety?

-If Dhurke knew about Ga’ran’s plan, why wouldn’t he try to sabotage it and expose Ga’ran right then and there?

The entire ending of the game, including Ga’ran’s plot, seems to hinge on completely backwards actions. I really cannot fathom why Dhurke would bring Maya back to a hostage situation he’d already rescued her from. 

Granted, for this point I will say that the plot is so convoluted that I may be missing something that makes sense of it... But considering the quality of the writing, I doubt it.

The final point I will save for Amara’s section, as it concerns her. But rest assured, it is an ENORMOUS plot hole.

NAHYUTA 

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi. Sad-mad indeed. Not only is Nahyuta a complete ripoff of Simon Blackquill (who in turn is a ripoff of Miles Edgeworth and Jowd) but he’s an even more unlikeable ripoff of said character.  

Right from the beginning, Nahyuta is presented as a smug, holier-than-thou douchebag who uses the excuse of “it’s my religion!” to treat people abominably. 

His accusations are shaky at best, and his reasoning seems to be less fuelled by logic and more by malice. During the two turnabouts he faces in America, Nahyuta claims the defendant would kill over incredibly trivial or easily manageable matters, and claims that he's completely right because... karma..? Yeah– his Prosecutor Power isn’t even ever explained, and rarely brought up. We know Simon is a manipulative bastard, but Nahyuta’s “karma” powers are never satisfactorily explained in any way, shape or form. 

His odious nature is amazingly difficult to deal with, and the poor attempts of Lol Foreign Guy humour they throw in barely makes up for it. Godot was an asshole, but he was charmingly eccentric and charismatic. Edgeworth was an asshole, but he showed proper logical thought in his deductions. Franziska was an asshole, but she and Edgeworth share the Von Karma excuse, as well as also being quite clever in her rebuttals. Simon was an asshole, but he had a generally good reason to keep up his nasty behaviour. 

Nahyuta? Well, he shares the same excuse– he’s trying to protect someone by acting the part of the evil prosecutor. Except... he only really has to do that while he’s under Ga’ran’s eyes, e.g., in Khura’in.

While in America, Nahyuta has NO excuse to act like such an insufferable prick. Not only does he force his religion’s dogma down others’ throats (which would be equally obnoxious if it were any other religion, say, Christianity) but he’s actively malicious for no good reason. As I’ve mentioned before, but must mention again– He directly tries to use Athena’s PTSD against her to make her unfit to act as Defence.

When we get to the reveal, Nahyuta claims he’s being blackmailed with his sister’s safety into submission by Ga’ran. However, this doesn’t explain WHY he has to act like such a terrible person. He could very well have simply acted as a devout, if civil prosecutor, doing what Ga’ran asked of him without any further malice. But let’s say he put on a horrible facade to further placate Ga’ran.

Then why does he keep up the charade while out of her line of sight? If he truly hates his situation, as he says, one would think he’d find foreign trials to be a welcome respite from his terrible, exhausting act of villainy. 

But no– he gleefully flings self-righteous abuse at foreign lawyers, while in THEIR COUNTRY, serving under THEIR LAWS. And this, combined with the fact that he only puts up a resistance to Ga’ran when Apollo already has her on the ropes makes him look like a bully who actively enjoys his power, and quickly defects to align himself with whoever is suddenly on the winning side. 

AMARA 

And at last we come to Amara, who is the least malicious and most mysterious of the three. 

Amara is held up by the people of Kura’in as a just, benevolent queen who brought them prosperity and peace. Her death is greatly mourned by her people, and much rejoicing is had when she returns to them.

But is Amara really that great? Well, considering the circumstances, no.

Amara’s excuse for siding with her villainous sister is the same as her sons; she’s scared of what will happen to Rayfa if she disobeys. 

Now, while it’s never directly stated, this is supposedly what prevented Amara from simply revealing herself to be still alive, thus dethroning her horrible sister. 

But there’s a window of time that doesn’t match up with this excuse– and that’s during her pregnancy. 

Here’s the excuse the game gives us: 

- Amara claims that she didn't trust Dhurke when he rescued her, which is why she returned to her sister’s service.

This is most likely a lie, because she says so while still under Ga’ran’s power. But if it IS a lie, it makes no sense why she wouldn’t out her sister at the nearest available moment. 

If she trusted Dhurke, it would be easy to deduce that Ga’ran was behind the initial arson. After all, the chain of events went thusly:

Amara’s house nearly burns down, but she miraculously survives. Her sister claims that Dhurke caused the blaze, and encourages Amara to fake her own death to ward of any further assassinations, meanwhile giving Ga’ran the crown. Ga’ran keeps Amara under house arrest and has her make it look like Ga’ran can channel spirits. Ga’ran puts a law in place that outlaws defence attorneys, and makes defence of criminals punishable by death.

When Dhurke convinces Amara that he didn’t set the blaze, then the only logical (or at least, deeply suspicious) culprit is Ga’ran. 

If neither Amara nor Dhurke realized this, when putting their respective stories together, they’re colossal idiots. If Amara DID realize this, then her inaction is inexplicable. And finally, if Amara really didn’t trust Dhurke... then the writers of Spirit of Justice are implying that Rayfa is a child of rape. Because I highly doubt a woman would willingly consent to sex with a man she believed tried to kill her. 

Later on, there’s a second excuse for why Amara didn’t try to challenge her sister.

- Amara was a kind soul who loved her sister, and didn’t want to hurt or mistrust her.

Well this is absolutely ridiculous. If Amara simply didn’t out her sister because she loved her, then she’s an absolute shit queen. This means that she cared more for her sister’s peace of mind than the wellbeing and safety of her own people. She was foolish enough to believe that the woman who framed her husband for murder and usurped her crown would be a fair and just ruler. And letting– LETTING her sister impose the DC act meant that she was indirectly responsible for the oppression and death of many of her people. 

Her inaction during her time on the run with Dhurke cost her country hundreds if not thousands of lives, culminating with that of her own son.

One might say that Amara might not have been safe enough from Ga’ran’s forces to reveal herself– yet, she was protected by Dhurke’s rebels, and the royal guards would most likely have still been loyal to her at that point, especially if she revealed that her sister couldn’t channel (which appears to be the only reason they follow her. what a delightful system they have in place)

Even during the time when Rayfa’s reputation (and possibly life?) is at stake, Amara makes no attempt to even try to oppose her sister. She simply sits idly by while her people suffer and die under her sister’s iron-fisted regime. Sure, it would probably be dangerous to attempt, and it would be a tragedy if Rayfa’s life was taken in the process... but compared to the hundreds of other families destroyed by the DC act and Ga’ran’s corruption, it seems like a smaller price to pay. Sometimes leaders have to make difficult decisions for the good of their people –something that is deeply impressed upon poor little Rayfa throughout the game– and Amara fails to rise to the challenge. 

So in the end, Amara’s portrayal makes her look naive and childish at best, and callous, apathetic and neglectful at worse. She is, at least, certainly not the excellent queen everyone makes her out to be.

In general, the Sahdmadhis are all kind of assholes. And what’s most depressing is that if the writers had put just a little more effort into writing them (instead of having other characters mindlessly extol their virtues), they wouldn't have been. With a few simple dialogue/story tweaks, Dhurke could have been a complicated, but ultimately sympathetic and loving father. Nahyuta could have been a deeply conflicted but ultimately virtuous person in a desperate situation. Amara could have been an intensely tragic character who tried to protect those she loved, but was ultimately rendered powerless by forces beyond her control. 

But strangely enough, it seems that all the failings the writers accidentally heaped onto these three are completely absent, or explored in depth in...

RAYFA

Little Rayfa, only fourteen years old, who has been spoiled and abused all her life, somehow manages to be a better person than all her family combined.

Once Rayfa is exposed to a different way of thinking by Phoenix as early as the third case, she begins thinking critically about her situation and actions. Despite being a child, and being raised to think a certain way and never question it on pain of... well, something horrible, Rayfa not only shows a surprising amount of compassion for her stunted moral growth, but actively defies her “mother” several times. She puts herself in a surprising amount of danger to help two people considered criminals in her country– simply because, despite her conditioning, she sees something wrong with the situation, and wishes to fix it. 

Rayfa stands tall where Nahyuta cowers, she reaches out where Dhurke pulls back, and she looks deeper where Amara looks away. 

If this were intentional on the part of the writers, it would be a deep and interesting moral. But considering the context, Rayfa is just accidentally far more heroic and sympathetic in comparison with her family.

As I said during my play-by-plays, I don’t loathe Spirit of Justice, and I think the game introduced some interesting concepts and ideas. It simply failed to play them out with any sort of competence. I don’t judge anybody for liking Dhurke, Nahyuta or Amara, but I can’t sit idly by without pointing out the piss-poor writing job the characters had. 

You can’t just write a character who makes terrible decisions, and then make them “good” just because everybody else says so. A complicated character needs effort put into their portrayal, and this effort is simply something that the SOJ writing team didn’t bother with. 

But that doesn’t necessarily mean the characters are out of luck. We’re role-players– writers! We have the power to fill in the gaps the original authors neglected or forgot. There’s hope for the royal family yet– it’s just not in the hands of Capcom.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Girl Genius Liveblog #154

UPDATE 154: Doom Bell is a Rather Appropriate Name

Last time Gil was leaving the Castle alongside Otilia and her troop of devil dogs, Theo and Sleipnir. Will he be okay? Well I guess so, since Otilia is there. Let’s continue.

It’s no surprise the Castle can’t find Tarvek, at this point he must be quite far away with Othar. What I’m a tad surprised about is that he didn’t feel Othar’s shenanigans. Maybe he just forgot about him. The only hint Agatha and Violetta will have that Tarvek didn’t leave the Castle on his own volition is that the Castle can’t feel Tarvek fighting anywhere. It’s unfortunate as a clue that’s...rather ambiguous in every way possible. Oh well. Can’t do anything other than trust Tarvek!

Hah! Well I trust Tarvek’s skills, but given that he will be in middle of Castle Wulfenbach unless he wakes up before his arrival...yeah, he’s going to be having a hard time, isn’t he? He does have a lot in his favor, such as the fact he isn’t Gil, but...Wulfenbach being “dead”, quotation marks, could be a problem. Without him, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tarvek is confined in the Silver Surfer Superblimp for a good while.

Time for Agatha to protect her town! She has quite the good track record when she has to defend stuff, I think she’ll be able to think something.

Scene jump. Vanamonde is trying to survey the situation but it’s hard to do that when, you know, he’s at risk of being shot. There are at least seven different factions out there! If it wasn’t for the fact they’re in middle of Mechanisburg, I’d even think leaving them to get rid of each other would be feasible, but nope. Better to avoid collateral damage.

This is going to be fun! But, no, that’s not Agatha taking action, that’s Gil traversing the town and being absolutely unsubtle in the process. Then again, what other option did he have? Survival comes first, stealth comes...like twelfth!

Wait, how couldn’t I think this? Gil can get Tarvek off Castle Wulfenbach! He’s not going to be happy to see Tarvek there, especially since he thinks he should be with Agatha, but it’s not like it’s Tarvek’s fault he got kidnapped and shoved in a bag. Although, to be frank, I expect Gil to not let Mr. Storm King Heir forget anytime soon he was kidnapped by Othar.

Gil’s wreaking havoc amidst the unnamed faction while everyone but Vanamonde watches with horror. I find it funny they immediately think he’s the Heterodyne heir. So this is how the past Heterodynes usually behaved, huh...Agatha’s ancestors sure were an interesting bunch, huh.

...very interesting bunch. I don’t know how the Foglios manage to whip out a new factoid every fifteen or so pages that prove even further the Heterodynes were insane. As if more proof was needed!

Oublenmach finally managed to bring that heavy hammer all the way to the top. Hm. Maybe that’s why he was given the hammer! Because by the time he managed to drag that heavy, heavy thing all the way to the Doom Bell, it’d be good for Mechanisburg it was rung! No door to a treasure will open, that much I’m sure about, but surely something is going to happen. No idea what it could be, though.

Three different plotlines – so to say – are finally converging. Oublenmach dragging the hammer, Agatha’s general point of view, and Vanamonde trying to keep the town from falling apart, all in one dynamic page. I admit, it’d be quite the dramatic effect if Agatha exited the Castle right when the bell is rung. The message would be effective: behold, world, here is the Heterodyne heiress, and she’s here to protect the town. The main plotline of Girl Genius shall be resolved!

Nobody tells Vanamonde anything, do they. ‘When all’s said and done—it’s just a bell, right?’ If this was any other place in the Girl Genius world then yes, it’d be just a bell. But this is Mechanisburg, home to the Heterodynes. It can’t be just a bell. For example, there it says it’ll hinder the enemies in the area but it’ll also cripple their own defenses. Perhaps it’ll cause some sort of psychological effect? No time to ponder the Castle takes the hammer and...

...tremble before me indeed. Wow. Not only the sound effect was ‘DOOM’ – classy as always, this family – it literally makes everyone except Agatha tremble. Even the stone of the Castle, even the metal that forms that devil dog is trembling like jello. Poor Vanamonde over there just had a heart attack.

All in all...the bell being rung is something that was being rather hyped-up, and I think this result warrants it. It’s nothing flashy, it’s not some sudden defense to crush the enemies, heck, it’s...almost subtle in a way. That’s what makes it effective.

This is pure intimidation! It’s brilliant! Fantastic! This was worth the wait!

And of course that was the end of Volume 11. Another volume finished. What’s more, for the first time in a long while I feel like Girl Genius is entering new territory. Sure, they’re still in Mechanisburg, but the situation is completely different. The Castle is repaired – almost – and Mechanisburg is under siege. Just because of these facts the volume to come is completely new! I for one can’t wait to see what it’ll bring forth.

The Volume starts...somewhere entirely different, just tangentially related, but I’m not complaining, because it is related in a way. Moloch von Zinzer and the rest who stayed behind to fix the Great Movement Chamber are almost finished. With this wheel finally being powered by the river underneath the Castle, it can gain the energy it needs to defend the Castle properly. Somehow, Moloch managed to do it, against all odds. He may not be a spark, but he is hella competent, that’s for sure.

It’s all moving! The wheel, the gears, everything is in working order! It’s almost a miracle! And just in time for them to be knocked out by the bell’s DOOOOOOOOOOM. Quite a powerful sound, if it managed to even reach underground. It pretty much knocks out Moloch and the rest. Just in time, indeed.

...hm. Just outside Mechanisburg, in what seems to be a communications airship belonging to Wulfenbach’s army...it seems the invasion isn’t going well. All the troops, the groups, the different kind of machines, none of that are communicating anymore. A secondary effect of the Doom Bell, perhaps? Does the sound from the bell drown out any waves from the communication systems? That...sounds possible, doesn’t it?

A Jager enters, all smug and not very respectful to the commander aboard, to the point where they’re accused of betraying the Wulfenbachs. They’re indeed trying to keep the Jagers on their side by arguing Agatha is a fake, but by now I suppose the generals informed all the Jagermonsters about the situation, and about what needs to be done. They’re not attacking anyone, but they’re also not obeying orders here. All they have to do is to prepare for a landing and to stroll into the town. Just what the town needs, and I actually mean that. How many Jagermonsters exist? Quite enough to be a force to be reckoned, I suppose.

Nevermind, the sound just got here. Alright! It’s party time.

...next time it will be, at least.

Next update: in two updates

[junker-town]

Can a team of 25 Ichiros win the World Series?

If you were to build a team with nothing but clones of a single player, which player would you choose? The correct answer is Ichiro Suzuki, and Kofie Yeboah is going to prove it.

When people talk about MVP Baseball 2005, two words always come out of their mouths.

“Jon Dowd.”

Yes, the EA Sports counter to Barry Bonds turned into a cult icon for many years after the series ended. The character became something people can talk about at networking events and water coolers to prove that they, in fact, also had a childhood. The reason why the 40-year-old wasn’t in the game was due to the fact that Bonds decided to individually license his likeness, rather than work with the MLBPA. So instead of getting dude with an iconic cross earring and a batting stance that oozes swagger, we got a guy that you can’t pick out of an Imagine Dragons lineup with the most generic batting stance.

Seriously, it literally says generic.

I used to do this anyway.

If you ask me, the best player in the game was not Jon Dowd, but Ichiro Suzuki.

While there aren’t official overall rating numbers in this game, Ichiro is listed as the 13th best player in the game behind Jon Dowd, Vladimir Guerrero, Albert Pujols, Todd Helton, Manny Ramirez, Ivan “Pudge” Rodriguez, Scott Rolen, Pedro Martinez, Johan Santana, Adrian Beltre, Randy Johnson and David Ortiz.

It makes sense when you look at this on screen, but when you actually play the video game it’s clear that Ichiro is even better than his already high overall ranking.

To showcase Ichiro’s talents and abilities, I’ve decided to make a team comprised of Ichiro clones to see if they can win the World Series.

But before I do that, let’s take a closer look at the elements that make Ichiro an absolute nightmare for the other team.

Hitting

First, I want to address the hitting mechanics in MVP Baseball 2005. As is the case with many of today’s video games, hitting is separated into contact and power. A hitter with good contact and bad power can theoretically launch the ball into orbit if the pitch is juicy enough. A big power hitter with bad contact can launch many balls into space, but have a higher risk of pop ups and long fly ball outs.

This isn’t the case with Ichiro.

Ichiro is so good at contact hitting that he could also in turn hit for power. Against left-handed pitching, he was given a power rating of 69 and a contact rating of 99. Against right-handed pitching, he was given a power rating of 58 and a contact rating of 97.

The power rating doesn’t seem that impressive until you look at some of the other players in the game. Miguel Cabrera, a player with 33 home runs in 2004, was given a 74 power rating against lefties.

Adrian Beltre — who hit 48 home runs in 2004, but only six against left-handed pitching — was given a 71 overall power rating against lefties. This decent power rating paired with godlike contact skill allowed Ichiro to have a different play style in the video game. According to Baseball-Reference.com, Ichiro had a home run to fly ball ratio of 3.8%. Let’s compare that to Barry Bo … I mean Jon Dowd, whose ratio was 24.5% in that same season.

Ratings aside, you could hit many home runs with Ichiro if you wanted. Of all the hot and cold zone displays in the game, Ichiro is one of the few players with more than 9 total hot zones out of the 18 possible.

Of those few, most are all-stars or legends who have to be unlocked in the game, so that puts Ichiro in elite company. If you gave Ichiro a high 2-seam or 4-seam fastball, there was a good chance he would tag it out of the park.

Ichiro’s power potential isn’t far-fetched either. His longest homer in the Statcast era is 432 feet. There’s even a dope video from the YouTube channel Foolish Baseball that investigates Ichiro’s power-hitting potential.

However, doing so would be disrespectful to real life Ichiro, a player who once said, “chicks who dig home runs aren’t the ones who appeal to me. I think there’s sexiness in infield hits because they require technique.”

With this newfound power, Ichiro could also hit the ball over the outfielders, who would play shallow against him on certain occasions. This allowed for normal fly balls to drop in for a hit, and gave Ichiro another chance to showcase his speed. In his case, if a ball hit the wall, it was almost always a guaranteed triple. Depending on the dimensions of the ballpark, it could be an instant home run.

My favorite part of the game was choosing a retro ballpark with absolutely wonky dimensions and watching Ichiro just go to town with his speed. It was amazing to watch. Let’s look at the Polo Grounds as an example. You see how the center field fence is 483 feet away from home plate? Trust me, this will come up later.

To test Ichiro’s power potential, I put him against Albert Pujols in the home run showdown. Even thought he lost most of the showdowns, Ichiro would often hit the same number of home runs as Albert Pujols. Here is one of the attempts. Yes, Albert won, but it shouldn’t be this close. At all.

This result had me convinced that Ichiro could actually win.

So close.

19 POINTS?! OH COME ON!

It took over 20+ tries, but Ichiro finally beat Albert in a Home Run Showdown.

Even if you didn’t want to go for the long ball, you could still wreck all kinds of havoc on the diamond. Because at the end of the day ...

Ichiro is still fast as hell.

Ichiro’s speed rating is a 97, which is a freaking nightmare for catchers, pitchers and the entire defense at the same time. The only players faster than Ichiro in this game are:

Lou Brock, and that’s it. Power didn’t dominate MVP Baseball 2005. Speed did.

If you started a fantasy dynasty of fast players, such as Scott Podsednik, Rafael Furcal, Chone Figgins, Carl Crawford and Juan Pierre, you could construct the most irritating lineup of all time.

With players like these, you were damn near guaranteed to make it to second after bunting, making it to first and then stealing. If the catcher wasn’t a top-tier thrower, they were screwed. If the pitcher took a long time delivering the ball out of the stretch, they were out of luck.

To put his speed to the test, we had Ichiro attempt to steal 100 bases against the best-throwing catcher in the game, Ivan Rodriguez (Henry Blanco was also an option). Here’s what we found whenever Ichiro tried to steal second base against the best.

If you didn’t throw your hardest fastball or pitch out, you weren’t likely to catch Ichiro. Now, a 57% steal success rate seems pretty pedestrian. Ichiro’s career steal success rate was 81%, including a whopping 85% of his attempts of third base. However, keep in mind that all of this data involves the fastest, most accurate catchers arm in the game.

Imagine if I’d used Mike Piazza.

Let’s not forget about bunting, either

The MVP Baseball drag bunt animation was quick and came out of nowhere, so there really wasn’t any tip-off to what the speedster was up to. When you give that quick of an animation to a player with a bunting rating of 99 and a speed rating of 97, you’re going to see some serious shit. Just look at this.

When you pair Ichiro’s speed with his insane hitting power, he could make some incredible plays. He could bunt for a hit and get down the line so fast that the defender wouldn’t even bother making the throw. They just gave up.

Let’s talk defense.

When you have all that speed, that’s one thing. When you have speed and an arm chiseled personally by God, there’s nothing that can stop you. On April 11th, 2001, Ichiro threw a perfect strike from right field to put the entire league on notice.

Anyone who has seen this clip should know better than to challenge Ichiro, but for some reason people kept testing this man.

Here are Ichiro’s fielding stats.

Remember when I said the Polo Grounds center field fence was 483 feet away from home plate? Here’s Ichiro throwing to home from that exact spot like it’s no big deal.

I think this speaks for itself.

Now, I had the idea to make a team full of Ichiros and see how far I could take them. (The first initials are there because the game forced me to enter a first name, and I wanted to tell them apart for statistical purposes.)

This leaves one unanswered question.

What about pitching?

Can Ichiro pitch? He was a pitcher in high school, but what about the professional level? The answer is yes! Luckily I had two frames of reference.

There is the time he pitched in 2015.

And the time he pitched in the 1996 Japanese All-Star Game.

Ichiro mainly sticks with the simple fastball-changeup combination, but the occasional breaking ball shows up.

So we have a three-pitch arsenal that we’re going to have to stick with for 162+ games. While it’s serviceable, I’m not expecting any Barry Zito-level performances.

Are we ready? I’m ready. Let’s do this.

Dynasty Time!

These are our team goals. I think we’re going to win more than 2 Silver Slugger awards and score the most runs in baseball.

April 2005: 16-8 (first in A.L. West)

After one month of play, the Seattle Ichiros are 16-8. In 24 games, three Ichiro clones are hitting .400 or higher, and seven are batting over .300.

SEVEN OF THE TOP 11 players in the stolen base category are Ichiros. Another Ichiro is leading the team with six wins and two saves already. He’s also 7th in the league in strikeouts. WHAT.

The team has combined for 72 stolen bases and has been caught stealing only 6 times. GOOD LORD. As expected, the pitching staff is marginally mediocre.

For this team however, that’s more than good enough.

May: 19-8 (35-16 for the season, first in the A.L. West)

For some reason, the Seattle Ichiros have regressed into the 29th-best pitching team in the league, but thanks to incredible hitting and fielding, we are tied for the best record in baseball. Nine Ichiros are in the top 10 for stolen bases. Everything is going well, except for R. Ichiro. We also had a trade offer for Ray Durham. Do we make a deal?

Hell no. We’re the Seattle Ichiros. All or nothing.

June: 17-9 (52-25 for the season, first in the A.L. West)

The Seattle Ichiros have the best record in baseball at 52-25. Seven Ichiros are hitting over .300, and eight have over 20 stolen bases. The only other players in the league with more than 20 are Carl Crawford and Bobby Abreu.

The pitching has not produced a single shutout win the entire season so far, but it looks like what’s working is working. Score a lot of runs, tank pitching, win, repeat. My manager grade is also an A- which is weird because I’m not even watching the games. Maybe I should watch a game.

*The Ichiros won 11-5*

This is a baseball game unlike any I’ve seen before. I’ve never seen such aggressive baserunning spread all throughout the roster. The Ichiros stole 6 bases and never got caught. It’s like watching all the racers in Mario Kart with endless speed mushrooms. I wish real baseball was like this. Watching this team field is similar to watching superheroes do pedestrian tasks with their powers like it’s no big deal.

This is definitely a championship team. Can the Ichiros really bring Seattle their first World Series title ever?

July: 15-11 (67-36 for the season, second in the A.L. West and 1st in the Wild Card race)

So. Apparently the Angels are really freakin’ good. See what happens when you have good pitching? Wow.

Even still, the Ichiro collective is doing their best to rectify this with some solid hitting. By the way, nine Ichiros made the All-Star Team, which if I had to guess would be the first time that’s ever happened? Nine All-Stars and they’re not even leading the division. Incredible.

Meanwhile, don’t look now but Jon Dowd is going for a Triple Crown.

August: 17-11 (85-47 for the season, first in the A.L. West)

Jesus Christ, what happened to the Angels?

Even though the Ichiros didn’t have a weird surge, the Angels seem to be going through it. Seattle has opened up a seven-game lead on the Angels. Luckily, the Angels have a chance to make up ground in September, as they have six games against the Ichiros.

The Ichiros have scored 931 runs this season; the next closest team has 767. That’s wild. They also have six players with at least 15 home runs or more, which is of note because Ichiro’s season high in the real world is 15 home runs.

We have 30 games left.

(I’m very impressed with the fact that none of the Ichiros have sustained an injury yet. I’m lying I turned injuries off.)

September-October: 16-12 (102-60 for the season, first in the A.L. West)

Thanks to four head-to-head wins over the Angels, the Ichiros were able to clinch the division and finish with 102 wins and 1,135 runs scored — 4th-most in baseball history, and most since 1894. Did they win the most games this season? Nope, the Boston Red Sox netted 106 Ws thanks to a solid lineup and *cough* good pitching *cough*

Despite being walked 139 times. Jon Dowd hit for the Triple Crown. Thanks for putting a potential hole in my argument, EA.

One of the Ichiro clones finished with a whopping 70 stolen bases. The team as a whole combined for 452 stolen bases while being caught 101 times. That’s a whopping 82% success rate as a TEAM. These were the next teams that came close.

Two Ichiros had more 200 hits while everyone in the starting lineup hit more than 170. We also achieved two of the five team goals. The two realistic goals!

ONE OF THEM ALSO WON AMERICAN LEAGUE MVP!

PLAYOFFS, BABY! My only rule going into this is that all the elimination games will be a live gameplay sim.

ALDS: Ichiros vs. Yankees

Off-screen computer simulations:

Game 1: Yankees 13, Ichiros 11

Game 2: Yankees 14, Ichiros 11

On-screen simulations:

Game 3: Ichiros 14, Yankees 5

Game 4: Ichiros 12, Yankees 3

Game 5: Ichiros 11, Yankees 3

So, something of importance that I should note: there are two types of simulations in this game. There is the quick sim that doesn’t show any gameplay, and then there is the longer simulation that showcases gameplay. Now, the quick sim was for most of the regular season and held true to the ratings and what each player would theoretically do. However, the gameplay sims showcase a different element of all of these things. You get to see just how much chaos this team can cause. I also think this sim does a better job of highlighting just how many runs a team full of Ichiros can score on offense and prevent on defense. This is the main difference between the two types of simulations.

ALDS: Ichiros vs. Red Sox

This is going to be the toughest challenge yet for the Ichiros. Not only will they have to face the best-pitching team in the league, they also have to go up against some fearsome left-handed hitters. Since all the Ichiros throw right-handed, there is no way to neutralize David Ortiz, Johnny Damon or Trot Nixon.

Game 1: Ichiros 12, Red Sox 6

The Ichiros went to town on Curt Schilling in spurts and it got so bad that Bronson Arroyo had to relieve him in the 3rd inning. You hate to see it.

Game 2: Ichiros 18, Red Sox 2

Going up against David Wells was easy pickings for the Ichiros, who absolutely destroy left-handed pitching. The dimensions of Fenway are also advantageous to the Ichiros. Normal flyouts in other parks turn into off the wall doubles/triples.

David Wells only lasted 5 outs. These Ichiros do a great job getting out on these hot starts and then jumping all over the relief pitching. It’s a magical strategy.

Game 3: Ichiros 6, Red Sox 5

After the Sox take a 5-0 lead by the 3rd inning, the Ichiros face their first test of adversity in the series, but answer back with three runs in the 3rd and three more in the 6th. The Ichiros leaned on their mediocre pitching and great defense to move one win away from the World Series.

Game 4: Ichiros 13, Red Sox 8

After scoring EIGHT runs in the third inning, the Red Sox give up 13 unanswered runs thanks to Ichiro, Ichiro and Ichiro. The Ichiros hit three home runs and six triples to keep putting pressure on the Red Sox pitching staff. Honestly, if Boston hadn’t won the World Series in 2004, I would think this was some part of a curse or something.

This was an unreal fight from the Ichiros. It’s a shame we never got to see them face off against knuckleball god Tim Wakefield. But now the Ichiros are heading to the World Series to face off against. Jon Dowd and the Giants. THIS IS OCTOBER!

World Series: Ichiros vs. Giants

Here we go. A team full of Ichiros vs. Jon Dowd and friends. Statistically speaking, the Yankees and Red Sox were both better opponents, but the Giants are still ranked higher than the Mariners because of our team’s lack of pitching. However, the Giants are one of the slowest teams in the league. It’ll be interesting to see how this dynamic plays out.

Game 1: Ichiros 6, Giants 2

Jon Dowd went 0-4. YOU LOVE TO SEE IT.

Game 2: Ichiros 17, Giants 6

A Jon Dowd grand slam couldn’t stop the Ichiro task force, which hit 5 home runs.

Game 3: Ichiros 12, Giants 1

A Jon Dowd solo home run was nowhere close to enough to stop the flurry. I never thought I would say this, but get Jon Dowd some help!

Game 4: Ichiros 9, Giants 3

GO CRAZY SEATTLE! THE ICHIRO CLONES HAVE TAKEN HOME THE WORLD SERIES TITLE!

ABSOLUTE PLAYOFF DOMINATION!

Offseason

Because we won the World Series, I have been rewarded with a team budget increase of 3.6 million dollars. However, since I put every create-a-player on a one-year contract, nearly the entire team is asking for a new deal.

I really didn’t think this through. Let’s see if I can re-sign them all.

DYNASTY TIME BABY! We made it to spring training with all of the Ichiros intact. On that note, we will end our simulation. We’ve had a hell of a run, but now it’s time to conclude and debrief.

Conclusion

When we used the non-gameplay simulation, the game stayed true to the stats that Ichiro was capable of producing. Those stats added up and allowed us to win dependently. Now, the hitting side sounds believable to a sense. When you duplicate someone that possessed a league-leading .372 batting average, you’re in for a lot of baserunners and scoring opportunities.

The shakiest part of the non-gameplay simulation has to be the pitching. A team of Ichiros giving up only five runs a game doesn’t sound that believable to me, especially when other teams full of actual pitchers in the game gave up more runs. It’s hard to tell whether the defensive prowess of the Ichiros was accounted for in these simulations.

The gameplay simulations were a different story, however, as you can see just how dominant the Ichiro squad was on offense and defense. On offense, the Ichiros barely struck out and every single ball put in play looked like it could be a hit. The Ichiros preyed on slow outfielders like Jon Dowd and middle-tier arms like Johnny Damon. Using these two advantages, the Ichiro squad could turn doubles into triples whenever they wanted. Every time an Ichiro walked, a steal seemed imminent and there was little you could do to stop it.

Now, watching Ichiro pitch in real-time made me nervous, but he does just enough to mitigate the damage. When the pitchers were in a jam, they would often get bailed out by the amazing speed and glove of an Ichiro. It’s nice to have someone with 10 career gold gloves at every position on the field.

The gameplay sims took everything that Ichiro was good at on paper and amplified them to a point where they looked absolutely unbeatable. When they faced elimination against the Yankees, I switched gameplay simulations to “document the end” but I realized that these sims make the Ichiros seem like gods. I do wish that I had done gameplay simulations of the entire playoffs so that those two Yankees losses wouldn’t be there, but at least I switched over before it was too late.

If I had done real gameplay simulations for all 162 games in the regular season, I think that the Ichiros could have won 140+ games easily. There was no way I was going to do that because that would be way too much time put into this project. I barely watch real baseball right now, you think I was going to watch weeks of virtual baseball? Hell no.

The regular season simulation allowed us to make the playoffs and that’s all that mattered to me at the end of the day. The chance to have a chance.

Ichiro is one of the greatest players in baseball history, but he’s overshadowed by most video games he’s featured in. In MVP Baseball there’s Jon Dowd, in Backyard Baseball there’s Pablo Sanchez and Pete Wheeler. In The Bigs, it was basically every power hitter in the game.

He never was a cover athlete for MVP Baseball, Triple Play Baseball, MLB 2K, The Bigs, or MLB: The Show. He never got the recognition he deserved for being OP in multiple video games. So the next time you hear MVP Baseball 2005 and someone mentioning Jon Dowd, bring up Ichiro. Bring up this article that I spent way too much on to show a video game legend the respect he deserves.

Finally, as a reward for making it through this article, here is a wholesome picture of Ichiro smiling.

Getty Images

You’re welcome.

[nehasy]

Dog Day Afternoon

Escaflowne week day 6 -in motion/penultimate.  I chose to do In motion.  Sorry it’s 25 min late, I had a hell of a time coming up with something that would work.  Thanks to those who had to listen to me bitch about not having my intended picture work out.  ^_^

Language and violence warning.  Violence against animals... sorry.  but hey! Dragonslayers!

               “Soooo, are we having lunch?”  Shesta looked down at the strips of jerky he’d been handed, unsure as to what the proper protocol was.  Next to him, Guimel was hesitantly sniffing the strips of dried meat curiously while Miguel glanced over at Gatti, the two of them sharing befuddled shrugs.

               “The captain said that this was going to be cardio training.”  Ryuun murmured, glancing around and elbowing Dallet sharply in the ribs when he noticed the brunette nibbling on the jerky.

               “What? I’m hungry!”

               “There’s likely a reason we have it.”  The taller boy muttered, flashing Viole a similar glare as he caught the long haired dragonslayer in the act of taking a bite as well.  “Try to control yourselves and trust in our captain.  I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

               Said captain was currently walking back towards them, a smug smile on his unnaturally pale face.  Those strange almost alien crimson eyes of his practically glowed with excitement. It set the newly formed Dragonslayer team on edge, no one was ever that excited about training.  Something was up, but none of them knew their new captain well enough to gauge what his plans might be.

               “Gentlemen,” The captain all but purred.  “Good morning.  I trust you all got a good night’s sleep because it’s time to get in shape.”  None of the new soldiers dared frown at the idea that the barely four hours of sleep they’d gotten could be counted as a decent sleep.  They’d spent hours going over rules and expectations for the team as well as memorizing a map for the Vione, the massive floating fortress they were now stationed on.  Granted, even if they’d been given a full night’s sleep, they were all far too excited to have taken advantage of it.  Still, that didn’t stop Guimel from yawning widely.

               “As Dragonslayers, I expect you to be in peak physical and mental shape. We are an elite unit within Copper Army and I intend to ensure that we are the most decorated unit in the Four Demon Army by years end.”  Those smoldering crimson eyes studied each youth in turn, seeming to peel away their skin and stare into their very souls.  None of them were able to meet his stare as one by one they all looked down at the ground, cowed by the powerful personality of this strange pale teenager.

“You all show great promise, but promise alone means nothing if you don’t mold it into reality.  Every morning rain or shine, I expect you all to be up and running at 0500 hours, no exceptions.  If you break your damn legs, I expect you to crawl.”  There was no doubt in any of their minds that their captain wasn’t exaggerating and it made several of them shiver slightly, wondering just what exactly they’d gotten themselves into.

               “When you can’t crawl any further, I expect your teammates to carry your lazy carcass until your exercises are finished.  There will be no complaining, no dawdling and I expect you all to give me everything you’ve got.  Showing me anything less than your absolute best will be met with brutal repercussions.  Am I making myself perfectly clear?”  His voice was sharp and demanding, his stance aggressive and those eyes of his were as sharp as swords as he paced in front of his six men, the first of his glorious unit.

               “Yes Sir!”  They all yelled out confidently in unison, staring straight ahead just as they’d done countless times at the Academy.  

               “Do you have any questions?”

               “No Sir!”  Was the loud reply from all but one.

               “Actually… Captain, I have a question.”  Shesta continued to stare forward as the albino’s head swivelled sharply in his direction and burning eyes narrowed.  He could actually feel the air shift as the captain approached him, radiating barely restrained violence.

               “What part of my perfectly clear explanation did you not understand Private?” There was a definite growl to the captain’s voice and Shesta swallowed audibly, half expecting to feel the sharp edge of steel slide between his ribs for his insolence.  Gamely continuing on despite the clear risk, the blond slayer took a deep breath and held up the hand still clutching the jerky strips.

               “I’m not sure why we have meat sir.”

               “Good question Private.”  The captain replied, his smirk practically audible as Shesta allowed himself to breathe once again.  “It’s for the dogs.”

               “Ah, understood-what?”  Looking up, he met the captain’s eyes, his own growing wider as he mentally repeated what had just been said.  Dogs!?

               “I’m a firm believer in proper motivation.”  Captain Albatou continued, walking down the length of their line, looking positively delighted at their new levels of tension.  “To ensure that you do in fact give me your best, I’m about to release six rather hungry and large dogs.  You will be expected to run towards the drop ship which is waiting for you ten miles due south of us.  In that ship you will find your weapons, water and medical supplies.  If you get there before the dogs you survive.  If you don’t…well then all of that promise you showed won’t add up to much.”

               As they all stared at him mute with shock, the captain grinned again, his eyes flashing dangerously as he raised a silvery white eyebrow in curiosity.

               “Is there a reason you’re all still standing here?  You have ten minutes before I release the dogs.  I would suggest you make the most of it. Oh, and don’t try throwing away the jerky, if you have even one less strip than you started with, you’re walking back to the Vione.”

               He was insane, that had to be it.  No normal person would sick hungry dogs on their own troops like that!! Unfortunately, that smile just grew wider and wider as the slayers all glanced at each other, hoping that this was a bluff.

               Ryuun was the first to swear softly under his breath and start running. Gatti and Guimel were quick to follow. Realizing that this was really honestly happening, Shesta followed hot on their heels and heard both Dallet and Viole coming up right behind him.

               “Is he crazy!?”  Dallet gasped out as he sprinted, his longer legs helping him catch up to Shesta, leaving poor Viole in the last position.  While the young blonde wanted to agree with Dallet that yes, Captain Albatou might very well be dangerously insane, he couldn’t risk the breath to answer. He needed it for running.  Ten miles… yes, he could run that without too much difficulty, but not with dogs after him!  They wouldn’t be able to pace themselves at all and even if by some miracle they did make it, then they had to fight for their lives? How was this supposed to help the Zaibach Empire rebuild the world?

               No dammit, he couldn’t start thinking like that!  They had to run or die, it was a very simple exercise when you got down to it.  In battle the enemy would show them no mercy, the fight wouldn’t stop just because they were winded.  They had to give it their all with every breath or they’d die.  This was the real world they were in, not the sheltered halls of the Academy with their padded mats, safety nets and blunted steel.  

               They were young, in good shape and had been provided with sufficient motivation, if they couldn’t manage this, then how could they be expected to keep going when the odds were against them?  

               His legs were already burning and his lungs ached as he pulled in great gulps of air, trying to keep his breathing steady to ensure that maximum oxygen reached his straining muscles.  In the distance, he heard the distant howl of dogs.

               “The bastard!”  Guimel gasped out loudly.  “He wasn’t kidding!  He’s gonna kill us!”  Being the smallest member of the group, he had the hardest time keeping up and sweat was already pouring off of him in steady streams but the curly haired blonde pushed himself forward relentlessly.  “When… when we get to the ship, I’m gonna beat the crap out of that freak!  Who the hell gave a psycho a command!?”

               “If… if you’ve got… the energy to… bitch, you’ve got it… to run!” Shesta panted out in warning, drawing abreast of the other boy.  

               Gritting his teeth, Guimel pushed himself forward, not wanting to fall behind where they could already hear Viole panting loudly, straining to catch up to the rest of the group.  Up ahead, Gatti and Miguel were fighting for the lead with Ryuun and Dallet close behind them.  They could see the dark speck in the distance that was the drop ship, but it didn’t seem to be getting any closer despite their best efforts.  Worse, another chorus of howls split the air.  Yeah, those dogs sounded hungry.

               Muscles strained, lungs heaved like bellows and little by little, the ground was eaten up beneath their feet but all of them knew that they weren’t going to be fast enough.  Even if they’d been on a nice smooth track like at the Academy they couldn’t have made the run in the time expected.  Here, out in the wastelands of southern Zaibach, they had to tear through bits of scrub brush and pick their way across stone beds and dried out creeks.

               By the time they figured they’d made it halfway to the ship, all of them were bleeding from various scratches and were covered in a fine layer of dirt and mud interspersed with sweat tracks.  Still, none of them dared slow down or stop despite their rapidly growing exhaustion.  The dogs were growing closer, their barks and howls sounded vicious and full of eager expectation.  While it was tempting to risk the long walk back to the ship by throwing away the cursed jerky, Shesta was pretty sure that by now, the animals were tracking the smell of their blood and fear.  They were nothing but prey now and why go for hunks of dried meat when they could have a nice fresh feast?

               There was a sharp cry from behind them and both Shesta and Guimel glanced over their shoulders to see Viole trip on a loose rock.  The long haired brunette fell hard despite throwing his hands out to catch himself and the boy rolled for several feet before coming to a stop.

               Sharing a quick glance with his friend, both of them spun around and raced back to their fallen comrade.  They knew the risks of stopping to help.  Yes, it would be safer to leave him behind and let his failure to keep his balance slow down their pursuers, but in the end, they were a team dammit, and they weren’t going to leave a man behind no matter the risk.

               “Viole’s down!”  Shesta called out to the others even as he helped the now bruised and battered boy get up to his feet.  Viole’s hands were a bloody mess and he had a cut on his forehead from grazing a rock, but he was still conscious despite gritting his teeth from the pain. Amazingly enough, the boy still quickly snatched up his jerky strips from the ground, counting them quickly.   “Can you walk?”  He asked urgently, glancing behind them, his blue eyes scanning for any hint of the approaching beasts.

               “Are you crazy?  I’ll bloody well run on broken legs if that’s what it calls for.”  Viole ground out, biting back a sigh of relief as he saw that he’d recovered all the strips of meat and earning an exhausted but impressed grin from Guimel.

               “That a boy.  Who knew you had balls under all that hair.”  The curly haired slayer grinned as the two blonds each took an arm to help support the other boy as they resumed their now much slower trek towards the ship.

               “I assure you, my balls are right where they should be.”  Viole grunted, limping slightly despite the help even though he refused to give voice to the pain he was enduring.

               Rocks clattered against each other loudly as the rest of the boys arrived, looking nervous and breathing hard.  Without a word, they surrounded their injured brother, protecting the three of them from attack as they continued forward.  Ryuun darted forward and grabbed a rocks which could fit comfortably in their hands and began passing them around.

               “Take these, keep Viole in the middle.  They’ll probably try to separate him from us so they can pull him down.” He murmured, glancing nervously behind them as the surrounding circle drew together a little tighter.

               “These are dogs, not wolves!”  Guimel spat out, earning odd looks from the rest of the group.  No one bothered to explain things to the slight youth, they were all too busy jogging forward and listening intently for an attack.  All the while, the howls grew louder and louder.

               Shesta knew the instant they found where Viole had fallen because the howls seemed to develop a new sense of urgency.  Everyone glanced at each other, their hands tightening on their rocks as they edged closer together, still moving forward as quickly as Viole could move.

               “I’m sorry guys.  I didn’t mean to get us eaten on our first day.”  The long haired brunette groaned in defeat, looking about ready to burst into tears of utter frustration.

               “We’re not going to die.”  Gatti stated in a tone which left no room for argument.  “We’re going to make it to that damn ship and we’re all going to do it together.  If we have to kill a few curs to do it, then we will because we’re not leaving you behind.”

               “Yeah, we’ll survive this so that Captain Albatou can find some other creative way to kill us.”  Guimel snarled loudly, glaring at his rock and likely envisioning smashing it against the head of a certain albino.  All Shesta could do was chuckle weakly in between breaths at the look on his friends face.  He was pretty sure it would take more than a rock and some anger management issues to take down their leader.  There was something in those strange red eyes that spoke of a life without compromises and without the allowance of even the slightest weakness.  Rather than drive him away, it made him want to see approval shine in their crimson depths.  He wanted to impress the strange youth and prove to him that he was just as capable.

               “You see the reason behind this right?”  Miguel spoke up, his pale grey eyes watching the brush covered hills off on their left, expecting an ambush at any moment.

               “Cause our new boss is a psychotic sadist?”  Guimel spat out angrily, earning a faint yet pained chuckle from Viole.  Miguel just shot him a dark glare, silencing the smaller youth.

               “No you moron.  We’re a new elite unit with no actual combat experience, but here we are with fancy armour, the best quarters on the ship and let’s not forget top of the line Alseides. They’re already talking about us at the Capitol like we’re some poster children for the new Empire.  Most soldiers would kill for our positions and I think our captain knows it.”  Shesta frowned slightly as he realized what exactly the other boy was saying.  Here he’d been thinking of outside threats they’d be facing, while Miguel was right, they could easily fall prey to their own allies if they ever dared to let their guard down.  The Zaibach military was ruthless in more than one regard.  

               “He’s making sure that we reach every one of the high expectations set for us.. We can’t afford to fail at anything. Too many people are watching.  We’re supposed to be the best of the best, but we can’t prove that unless we live eat and breathe that perfection.  Any slip up will make us into dog meat… rather literally.”

               Miguel’s words weren’t an esaggeration, they’d all seen the looks they’d gotten from the infantry soldiers when they’d set foot on the Vione. Hells, even the other pilots had glared at them resentfully, no doubt wishing they were in their positions.  A few warning glares from their captain had put the worst offenders their place quickly enough, but the Dragonslayers knew that they would have to be ready for anything if they wanted to survive long enough to live up to their hype.

               “Incoming!”  Dallet called out.  “Forty degrees, I’ve got a dog.”  Five other pairs of eyes shifted over to note the dark skulking shape moving low to the ground as it loped alongside them.  

               “Dammit, I’ve got one too, One hundred and thirty degrees.  They’re flanking us.”  Ryuum growled, readying his rock just in case the animals moved in.

               “Flanking us?  They can do that?”  Guimel looked shocked as only a kid born and raised in the city could.  “I mean seriously?  When did animals learn tactics?  I am NOT fighting mutant dogs dammit!”

               “Shut up and get ready for the rest of the pack.”  Gatti snapped as he looked around for the others.  There would of course be more than just two. Captain Albatou was the sort of guy who would want to make it a challenge for them, that meant one dog for each of them. “Can you go any faster Viole?”

               “Just watch me.”  The brunette stated, forcing his battered body to pick up speed despite the sharp pain in his sprained ankle.  With every step he promised himself a nice cold compress when they got to the shuttle, he just had to hurt for a little while longer.

               “You can do it.’  Shesta murmured in encouragement, then looked around as he heard a low and menacing growl erupt behind them.  A large dark brown dog appeared at the top of the hill they’d just passed, a slightly smaller russet furred beast stood next to it.  Both had their fangs bared in a rather threatening display and Shesta could feel the hunger radiating off of them.

               He’d grown up in a small village in the eastern edge of the country and had spent a lot of time around dogs.  He knew at a glance that these ones would have no problem attacking humans and his every instinct urged him to move faster.  The rather solid rock in his hand didn’t feel nearly impressive enough when compared to those fangs and jaws that could snap shut like steel traps.

               “Worst field trip ever… just saying.”  Viole ground out, managing a weak smile just as two more dogs approached from behind, surging out of the brush to snap at Dallet’s legs.  The tall slayer swore loudly and kicked at the closest cur, his armoured boot connecting soundly with its head, knocking the animals head to the side and causing it to stumble.  The other dog drew back slightly, suddenly wary of their prey.

               Gamely, the Dragonslayers continued forward, staying close together and watching all possible directions, ready for the next attack.  Miguel and Gatti snatched up a few more rocks, these ones small enough to hurl at the dogs should they draw too close.

               For another mile, the animals seemed to be content just to force them to run, moving in to snap at them whenever they seemed to slow down or stumble. Well placed stones sent them scurrying away quickly enough, but they always came back.  

               The next mile saw the two flanking canines drawing in closer, their bright pink tongues lolling out between sharp teeth.  The dark furred and russet dog seemed to have vanished again, but they knew that the two beasts were still there, likely pulling ahead, getting ready to force them to turn aside into an area which would favour four feet over two.

               “I see the ship!”  Ryuun called out eagerly, his pace quickening despite his exhaustion.  One of the dogs lunged at him, forcing the teenager to slam his rock hard against the beast’s muzzle.  Yelping loudly, the animal leaped back, shaking its head as a thin trail of red blood leaked from its snout.  

               As if sensing their anticipation, the dogs began to close in, growing bolder in their attacks.  Dallet was nipped sharply on the thigh and Gatti was bleeding from a bite on his arm, though at least he’d been the first to land a solid blow against his attacker. The dog in question was wobbling badly as it ran, one eye sealed shut as blood and a yellowish fluid leaked out of the beasts ear.

               “We’ve all seen the ship.”  Dallet snarled loudly at the other boy.  “Tell us how far!”

               “Five minutes at this pace.”  Ryuun replied as they all pushed themselves for a little bit more speed.  No one wanted to give up when their goal was so close. Even Viole grit his teeth and forced his injured foot to bear a little more of his weight, thankful that adrenaline was blocking the worst of his pain.

               They were going to make it!  This nightmare run was almost over!

               Two minutes from their goal, the two missing dogs appeared.  There was a clear path ahead of them, they could all see the drop ship shining like a beacon, drawing them inevitably towards it and its promised safety.  They only dropped their guard for a moment, but that moment was all it took for the trap to be sprung.  

               A swift russet furred blur darted out from beneath some bushes, snapping at Gatti’s legs.  He stumbled as he tried to avoid those deadly fangs and that’s when the huge brown beast hit him, sending them both sprawling to the ground.

               The Dragonslayer rolled with the impact, using his momentum to throw the dog off of him even as he swung his rock in a deadly arch.  Stone hit flesh and there was a sharp yelp of pain, but the rock had only bit into the beasts shoulder, the bulk of the impact absorbed by thick fur.  

               Sharp teeth snapped at the downed youth, aiming for his face this time. Gatti threw up a hand to block the bite but Miguel beat him to it, slamming his rock down on the animals head hard enough to send the beast sprawling on the ground.  A swift kick to the ribs with an armoured boot ensured that the animal wouldn’t be chasing them anytime soon.  Unfortunately, that left the rest of the pack to move in, and they did so as a single lethal unit.

               Teeth flashed as one dog bit at Dallet’s leg, catching his boot rather than flesh.  There was a horrible shriek as those sharp ivory knives scraped across armour, but it released the limb before Dallet could brain it with a rock.

               Furious, Ryuun kicked at the one Dallet had badly injured earlier, catching it across the snout and breaking several teeth before the creature stumbled back.  The kick left him open to a second dog which had slipped behind him, snapping at his legs, trying to find a place which wasn’t protected by armour.

               “Regroup!”  Gatti called out sharply.  “Don’t let them separate us!”

               “Easy for you to say!”  Ryuun snapped back, slamming his rock into the first dog again as it moved in the instant he’d gone after his new assailant.  “These things are everywhere!”

               “They’re just dogs dammit!”  Miguel yelled.  “We’re smarter than they are!”

               “Great!  You lecture them on Sungs thirty eight laws of battle and impress them with your superior knowledge!”  Guimel snapped, swinging his own rock at a dog which had taken advantage of the hole in their defense to try to take a bite out of Viole.

               “I mean, we need to keep moving forward!  There’s weapons at the drop ship, not to mention the ship itself will provide some cover so they can’t get behind us!”  Miguel shot back.  “We can’t fight them like this!”

               Shesta found himself agreeing with the other youth and he practically pulled Viole along, forcing the rest of the group to get moving again.  Their resumed momentum had the added bonus of forcing the dogs to reposition themselves, it wasn’t as easy to circle a moving target.  At least they were giving the Dragonslayers some space again; deciding that their prey was still too feisty to take down easily.  The one badly injured dog seemed to have fallen back, unable to keep up with the rest of the pack, but that damn big brown beast was still there, racing alongside them, snapping at their legs whenever it got the chance.

               As they crested the last hill, they saw the drop ship waiting for them, their swords lined up neatly on a camp table in front of it.  Standing next to said table was none other than their captain! The pale youth leaned against the hull of the leviship, looking utterly comfortable and relaxed despite the approaching soldiers and vicious dogs.  His sword still rested in its sheath on his hip and he appeared to be dozing of all things.

               At first Shesta wanted to know how the hell the other boy had gotten there before them, then he realized that he didn’t care.  What mattered were the weapons!  Just seeing them made him want to make a break for it, rush ahead from the group and grab his sword.  Common sense forced him to keep pace with his companions though.  Strength in numbers after all, and the dogs would easily cut him down before he got there.

               “Stick together.”  Miguel called out as they approached the ship.  “Keep Viole in the middle and get him against the ship’s hull.  Grab whatever sword is closest, we’ll sort out who belongs to which later!”  No one made comment about their captain lounging there without a care in the world.

               The instant Shesta felt steel in his hands, he grinned widely, fully aware of how the tables had turned.  Taking a moment to ensure that Viole was going to be safe, he spun around to face his enemies.

               “We’ve got our fangs now puppies.”  He growled, taking a moment to throw his rock at the nearest cur, knowing that it would dodge.  As it moved, he swung his sword, catching the beast along the ribs and opening up a deep wound down the length of its side.  The dog yelped loudly, its voice joined by those of its fellows as the Dragonslayers went on the offensive.

               Armed and more than ready for revenge, the teenagers stayed close together, using their neighbours to protect their flanks as they advanced on the pack. After such a long and drawn out run from hell, the final battle proved to be rather anticlimactic as the dogs proved to be unable to stand against swords in the hands of trained soldiers. Still, it was one of the most satisfying kills Shesta had ever experienced and when the huge brown beast fell with Guimel’s sword in its chest, the boys all let out a loud cheer of victory.

               Heaving a heavy sigh and turning around to make sure that Viole had made it through as unscathed as possible, Shesta was shocked to see the captain calmly tending to the boys foot as if a battle hadn’t taken place only a few feet away. Viole’s foot was already bandaged neatly and he was holding a cold pack, looking just as shocked by the developments as his teammates.

               “Good work.”  Captain Albatou stated as he straightened up, motioning for Viole to try to put a little weight on the injured foot.  “You made the distance, armed yourselves and didn’t leave your teammate behind.”  A faint smile tugged at his lips but swiftly vanished before any of them could be positive they saw it.  “Most importantly, you stuck together.  We’re a team, our strength is in our unity.”  

As he spoke looked at each of them, quickly sizing up their injuries as well as their state of exhaustion.

“We’re a single unit like that dog pack.  We’re going to fight like a pack as well, using coordinated attacks to confuse and draw out our prey.  When we get back to the Vione, you’re going to shower, change and eat.  After that, you’ll be going over the tactics both you and the wolves used before implementing them in sparring until dinner.”

Shesta wasn’t the only one to just stand there dumbstruck at the statement.  Now that his body was realizing that the time for fight and flight was over, his legs were shaking badly and he could now feel each and every one of his strained muscles. It had to be even worse for those who had bites and scratches.  To expect them to be able to spar after all of this was the height of sadism!

“How… how the hell did you get here that fast?” Guimel stammered out, forgetting in his shock to address their leader properly.  It was an omission he quickly learned to regret a fist shot out, catching the curly haired blond across the jaw and sending him sprawling down onto the bloody ground.

Before any of them could even think of reacting, Captain Albatou had his sword drawn and the point resting on Guimel’s throat.  Those crimson eyes of his were hard as glacial ice and Shesta had no doubt that he would kill the foolish Dragonslayer in an instant if he made the wrong move.

“You will address me with the proper respect at all times, is that clear?”  The albino hissed, those cruel eyes blazing and lovely face twisted into a fierce sneer. Laying there on the ground, too scared to move, Guimel squeaked out an assent.

“Yes sir Captain Albatou sir.”  He managed, swallowing nervously and doing his best to ignore how the point of the sword pricked at his throat.

“And for your information, I ran just the same as you all did.  Don’t think for a moment that I’m giving you any task that I’m not fully capable of doing myself.”  Those eyes fixed on every single one of them, daring them to step out of line.  “I expect that the next time we do this exercise, you’ll make it to the ship in half the time and less injured.  I also expect far less complaints or questioning of my sanity.  By the way Guimel, you’re on bathroom detail for the week.  Don’t ever doubt my sanity or my reasoning.  I’m in command because I’m the best, and so long as you follow me, I will shape you into the best as well.  If you don’t think you can handle that, tell me now and I’ll have you reassigned.”  

No one spoke up; they were too busy staring at their leader with their mouths agape.  He’d beaten them to the ship?  He wasn’t even winded or sweaty!  No one dared question his statement however since he’d clearly been close enough to have heard Guimel’s insulting comments.  Mostly, Shesta was impressed with the fact that the starving vicious dogs had chosen to leave the lone captain the hell alone and go after the group of six healthy soldiers.  Clearly the animals had known something they didn’t.

“Get on board, we’ll patch you all up and don’t you dare sheathe those blades until their clean.”  The pale youth motioned for them to board the ship, leaving the bodies of the dogs where they fell.  “And enjoy your jerky.”

oovZ,=�jF

[missjenmichelle]

I’m a big fan of Samantha Shannon’s The Bone Season. It’s a young adult series (arguably? like maybe  a little older than young adult, but not quite...what, old adult? real adult?) that, like MANY young adult series these days, features a pretty problematic, romantic relationship between the two main characters: Paige Mahoney (a human) and Arcturus Mesarthim (aka Warden [a rephaite]).

Paige is a clairvoyant criminal in dystopian, future London, and Warden is a high-ranking member of an otherworldly race called the Rephaim who control the puppet government of London from the ruins of Oxford. The Rephaim like to collect human slaves, both clairvoyant and not, to serve them and to fight their battles against terrifying, carnivorous creatures called the Emim. Early on in the first book, Paige gets captured and sent to their slave colony in Oxford, where she becomes property of Warden, her new “keeper.”

Later [SPOILERS] it is revealed that Warden only chose to take Paige on as his slave to prevent her from being taken by another, crueler Rephaite, who would’ve likely beaten her to death for her constant insolence and rebellious spirit. In fact [MORE SPOILERS], it turns out that Warden himself is also a prisoner in Oxford. He is one of the few remaining “scarred ones,” which are Rephaim who, decades ago, helped organize a human rebellion against the ruling Rephaite family, the Sargas. The rebellion failed, many died, and the Rephaim involved were labeled traitors and tortured extensively, leaving them with horrific, painful scars. 

Warden was chosen by Nashira Sargas, the ultimate leader of the Rephaim (the so-called “Blood Sovereign”) to be her betrothed. This allows her to keep a close eye on him, to subjugate and humiliate him, and to send a clear message to whatever traitors might still exist within the Rephaim ranks that she controls everything, even them.

So in that sense, Warden is a prisoner, yes. One might even argue that he is a slave--Nashira’s slave, ordered to kill and fight enslave others on her behalf. 

It’s important to note, though, that whatever claim to imprisonment/enslavement Warden might have, it pales in comparison to everything Paige has endured. 

Paige was ripped from her home and tortured extensively before being brought to Sheol I; while Warden’s migration there wasn’t exactly willful, it was nowhere near so traumatic. At Sheol I, Paige is constantly being reminded of her place in this new society, which is firmly at the bottom. She’s fed on, beaten, starved, left to freeze in damp, dark conditions during the night (which is still better than most of her human companions can say), forced to train, to fight the Emim; she’s branded, she’s denied proper medical attention, and even her name is taken away, replaced with a number by which everyone addresses her (except Warden, when they’re alone). 

Warden, on the other hand, though he may be a prisoner, lives quite a luxurious life. He has a room to himself in Magdalen, one of the nicest residencies in Oxford, he has numerous humans slaves to wait on him hand and foot (summoned by a bell he has in his room), he’s provided with all of the clothing and medical attention he could ever need, he feeds on humans, including Paige, whenever it suits him, and though his status as Nashira’s betrothed is more a punishment than anything else, he uses it to his advantage numerous times throughout the first book, throwing around the weight of his title to get what he wants from lower-ranking Rephaim.

Yes, Warden’s a prisoner, but Paige is much more so, and as kind as he can be to her, relative to other Rephaim, Warden is nowhere near innocent in his interactions with Paige. He calls her by her name, he never beats her, he tries to provide her with food and fresh clothing, he allows her to bathe and explore the city, he pushes her during training, but never to truly dangerous limits, he tries to help her when Nashira brands and poisons her with Flux, he brings her into the folds of the rebellion and works to ensure her safe escape back into London--and those are all great things...given the circumstances.

But Warden, particularly in the beginning, does frequently flex his power over her, ordering her to take pills that she doesn’t know the purpose or content of, feeding off of her, bringing her to Nashira when she is summoned, despite knowing what will happen once they arrive. He trains her at Nashira’s request--helps her power mature despite knowing that Nashira is waiting to harvest it by killing her--and even once Paige has virtually orchestrated her own escape and ensured her own free, even once she’s safely in Nick’s arms, about to go free, still, he brings her back to Sheol I. Back to her prison, back to her eventual murderer’s lair, back to the place where her friends--all of her kind--suffer and die regularly. And why? For his own, selfish purposes. By his own admission, he brought her back because he was too afraid to face Nashira alone. He could’ve let her go. Instead, he chooses to subject her to months and months of starvation, torture, and other, utterly despicable living conditions, to risk her life, to offer her life up as a potential sacrifice, all to win his war.

Nothing can absolve Warden of his crimes against Paige. Standing by while she’s branded, leaving her alone in woods filled with Emim, bringing her back to Sheol I when she could’ve escaped, involving her in his revolutionary plan, and--perhaps worst of all--entering into a romantic relationship with her.

Warden knows that he’s endangering not only himself but Paige, his Rephaim allies, and every human in Sheol I whose life literally depends on his successful revolt by giving into his feelings for Paige. He knows the consequences will reach even beyond Sheol I. Yet he does it anyway.

My point here is that a lot of discussion has been going on about Paige’s relationship with Warden being a classic example of Stockholm Syndrome that we should all vehemently condemn. I’ve always believed that this problematic dimension was introduced intentionally, to exaggerate, and therefore draw attention to, the insane power inequities that seem to always exist in young adult/quasi-young adult literature these days--usually (though, admittedly, not always) with with the man being the one who has all the power.

This theory, for me, was backed up by the fact that Paige, as our narrator, seems to have a lot of subtle misgivings and doubts about Warden that, though they never fully concretize in her mind, come across pretty clearly to us, as readers. For example, [MASSIVE SPOILERS]: when she and Warden are kissing the night of the revolution, she keeps thinking/hearing a small voice in her head telling her: no, no, stop, stop Paige, stop. Later, in The Mime Order, there’s a lot of tension between them. Warden’s allies distrust her and frequently scoff at the possibility that she might even consider Warden having feelings for her, and he never outright defends their connection. Rather, he smooth talks her, avoiding direct confrontation altogether. Nick expresses shock and near-outrage that she would even consider trusting him. His relationship with Terebell, who is particularly dismissive of Warden and Paige’s connection, is suspiciously...friendly, giving us the impression that might almost be using Paige. Why wouldn’t he? She’s a dream walker, for God’s sake. The only dream walker, and as of TMO, she’s led an entire, successful revolution and she [MASSIVE, MASSIVE SPOILERS] controls the London syndicate. He’s used her before; why should we believe he’s not doing it again?

Even Paige, subconsciously, distrusts him. She always notices when he puts his gloves back on, rather than allowing skin-to-skin contact between them. She is quick to pick up on and react angrily towards any attitude he gives her (which he lamely justifies by saying he’s trying to prepare her for how the other Rephaim will treat her), and when she wakes up in his arms, her first reaction isn’t a sigh of relief, a smile, or a feeling of security. Instead, she’s terrified. She leaps away from him, the brand on her shoulder stings, and she pulls out a knife, proving that whatever else might be true about her feelings, there’s at least a part of her that still associates him (RIGHTFULLY SO) with her imprisonment, her enslavement, her torture, her trauma, etc., etc., etc.

I think their relationship is absolutely an example of Stockholm Syndrome, and Warden’s own unfortunate circumstances don’t change that--don’t justify what he’s done to her/allowed to be done to her, even though he had the power to stop it (what’s that expression about two types of evil, those who do it and those who see it but do nothing?). But I also think Shannon is creating these issues to make an important point, and if it goes the way I think it will, I think The Bone Season will become one the absolute greatest modern series across all genres based on this aspect alone. 

p.s. I haven’t read the song rising yet because i just got back from studying abroad but SOON ~so no spoilers please~

[loveisaviolence3]

22) things you said after it was over ozeras. u know what's over. (sent from lingeringscars to archived blog).

meme from archived blog / not accepting.

long after she was certain christian had drifted off, tasha’s fingers continued to gently brush through his hair, the open book in her lap forgotten as she stared at the wall across from them. as far as she knew, he’d fallen asleep to a description of the moors between thornfield and morton ( classics always seemed the more appealing option when in opposition to children’s stories, which they both grew bored with. jane eyre is one of tasha’s favorites. ) 

            it was far past time she retired to her own bed, but christian’s warmth beside her was hard to walk away from – she’s felt cold ever since they lifted her up onto that stretcher, cold in-her-bones cold, but christian makes her warmer. from the outside rather the inside, different from how she warms when she summons heat to her own chest and orders it to spread like morphine, but warmer. similar to how the sun melts snow, his warmth causes the ice that has encased her bones to thaw, mitigating all that’s been made to harden.  

              the remnants of something very fragile inside her had hoped she could do the same to vinh when her nurse wheeled her down to the morgue to say goodbye. as she climbed onto the metal table to lay beside him and wrapped her own body around his, grip fiercer still when the feel of his skin wrought an uncontrollable shiver, she let herself believe for a second that she could warm and warm him until the color returned to his cheeks and his body regained lividity. she wouldn’t have cared if it drained her own body of heat, turned her pale and cold and gave her wounds that would have bled so profusely they’d leave her in his place.

when her best efforts failed them both, her thoughts took a destructive turn– circled back to the flame christian had cast that had saved them both before launching a series of ideas as to how her magic could be turned into a weapon capable of altering the sequence of events that led them here and left him like this. she’d been musing when it’d occurred to her she should set the book aside and turn off christian’s light and she couldn’t find the strength to move. 

   tasha’s been stuck in that loop so long that she’s almost forgotten their magic is capable of something as soft as warming a room or a very broken girl. 

         when she finally begins to untangle herself from him as carefully as she can, she’s surprised to feel him stir just slightly. tasha holds her breath as she slides out from under him with as little jostling as possible, and reaches to turn off the lamp beside his bed, praying she hasn’t roused him from sleep ( it hasn’t come easily for either of them since that night, and the intermittent thunder outside his window wasn’t helping him sleep. it seemed the storm was moving away from them, but it would be just her luck to have woken him up only a few hours after he’d fallen asleep. she’d rather deal with a sore neck and numb arm than risk compromising his much needed rest. )     she’s just made it to the edge of his bed when he says it, his little sleepy voice interrupting the otherwise perfectly still dark.

                            i love you aunt tasha.              tasha can’t help the look that concludes she’s just been struck, nor the immediate recoil from the words, slight and made discreet by the darkness, but still existent. as if on cue, a flash of lightning breaks up the blackness of night, casting a light on her face, highlighting the tense furrow of her brow and hard, nearly trembling line of her lips as she tries with all her might to force them together. she’s too caught in the trap of images wreaking havoc on her insides to notice or compensate for the pause or lapse in composure she doesn’t quite manage to hide before it turns into a kind of venom that spreads and spreads and spreads, infecting him as it has her. 

                      the phrase shakes loose all of the grief that’s hardened to stone inside her, pressing on her lungs until she can no longer breathe and killing her appetite but never quite breaking out of the confines of shock. ever since that night she’s walked around with it inside her, never able to set it down, never able to touch the catharsis tears might provide. which has left her freezing cold and mechanical and in a uniquely horrible kind of pain, possessed by a terrible, agonizing numbness as excruciating as sobbing would be, but able to present a front of okay-ness that is currently crumbling into dust.  ( it’s convincing enough, this steel that’s gained control of her body, that everyone believes it. except bellamy, tasha thinks, who sees past the armor without even trying. she’s been careful to avoid him for that reason. )

       when she finally finds a way to answer around the horrible lump in her throat, the low volume fails to keep the secret of how its walls have constricted so absolutely that air can just barely squeeze through. i love you too, she tries to say but finds herself physically unable, the effort itself resulting in so much pain that it nearly undoes her completely.   ( lucas’ voice fills her mind: i hope when you look back on tonight, you’ll remember how much i love you. how much we all love you. and all she can do is look back. and all she can hear is screaming. )

“oh, me too honey,”   tasha forces out instead as she leans in to press a hard kiss to his forehead, ignoring the shooting pain it sends through her still throbbing cheek, and then wraps her arms around him, pulling him as close to her as she possibly can, momentarily forgetting all the gentleness she has tried so hard to preserve, the sleep she hadn’t wanted to take him from. needing to prove to herself that he’s still here, needing to hide her face.  “so much.”   the promise trembles just slightly, shaken by the magnitude of its truth. so much so much so much. when she pulls away her eyes are as bright as they’ve ever then, the exact shade they turn after she’s been crying.  it makes her look fragile, somehow, despite everything. 

              tasha holds onto him until she can trust her voice– until she can trust her feet to carry her out of the room. for hours she’d clung to him, but now all she can think is that she has to get out, out, out – out before she completely loses it in front of christian ( and she can’t do that, can’t. she’s not his mother, she knows that, in a very deep and painful way that sinks all the way down to the pit of her stomach every time she thinks about it, but she is all he has left– which means she has to be strong for him, has to keep it together so he can believe her when she promises him that she’ll protect him, that they’re going to make it out alive of this place that wants them dead if she has to carve a way out with her bare hands and that they’ll be okay when they do because they’re together. )  when she pulls back, she can’t turn away quick enough to conceal the glint of panic in her eyes, fear that she won’t get away before she falls to pieces.   “night buddy,” she whispers in a strained voice, fingers compulsively pulling the covers up around him and tucking him inside - continuing to manically bury him beneath them once he’s more than safely tucked inside and then repetitively smoothing across the sheeted belt across his chest.     “i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”  

and then tasha, who did not run away even when her brother stared her down with red rimmed eyes and a mouth full of teeth prepared to rip her to shreds, runs away, leaving before he can answer the question. in actuality, her steps are slow, weighted – her body suddenly feels so heavy that it’s all she can do to keep it upright– but the fact remains the same. she’s too focused on making it to her own bedroom that she doesn’t shut the door all the way, his or hers. her own door hangs halfway open as she begins to rifle through the purse sitting on the end of her bed with shaking hands, looking for a pack of cigarettes she’s too distraught to realize isn’t there when the tidal wave of emotion hits, rocking her to her very core. 

christian had been instructed by her doctor to be gentle with her, careful of her severely bruised body and freshly, deeply wounded cheek, but there’s nothing gentle about the way that tasha’s hands roughly clap over her own mouth to silence the gut-wrenching sob that shakes her entire body as if she can force the grief back inside of her with nothing but her own two hands and desperation. the muffled cry of radiating white-hot pain that results from the pressure does not deter her – instead she forces her face into her hands more aggressively in an attempt to quiet the sound. all the tears she hasn’t cried over their lost family, over vinh, for the little boy just down the hall whose entire world has been shattered, angrily course down her cheeks as if they resent her for having kept them imprisoned inside her all this time. all of the terror of that night follows and is then chased by the agony of every betrayal she and christian have suffered since– every slammed door, every whisper and shout, the look in tatiana’s eyes that promises she’d get rid of them both if she had the opportunity. 

                                                                the what am i going to do, how can i do this, i can’t do this, the how, how, how, and the why, why, why, the realization that if her brother had had his way she would have woken up one morning to find that her entire family, including christian, was gone, that he would have ripped her entire world from her without so much as a beat of hesitation or regret just seconds after saying he loved her and so believably that she believed him – worst of all, still believes him. the guilt. the guilt causes her to fold in on herself, gasping for air – the rage burning through her at insane temperatures that makes her cough and gag. a hand departs from her mouth long enough to feel in the dark for the door knob, searching for what seems like an eternity before closing around it and with great difficulty, quietly pulling the door she collapses against shut behind her. 

once that’s done all there’s left to do is sink, her body sliding against it until it ends up an aching pile on the floor. for as burning hot as the pain radiating throughout her body is, the tile is so very cold – and while the heat swirls in her chest with such a vigor that she almost can’t bear it, it does nothing for her hands, for the skin crying out for contact of someone warmer than she is, someone full stop. something about that– about this coldness– catches her attention, maybe because tasha can’t ever really remember being cold before this, and now she’s like the bath water turned up so high it tricks your skin into thinking it’s ice rather than water shooting out the bottom, cutting into your skin without the slightest relent.