#i also have a bit of a knee jerk reaction to equating any of this to a deficit in effort or care from BH altho thats not necc the intended

[sparring-spirals]

You know, my takeaway from Imogen in the last episode actually went a bit differently. She approaches Orym and Laudna about what they think of the whole thing almost as if she's asking permission to be uncertain. And the Hells try to reassure her, and confirm that they're doing what they have to, but no one ever actually asks how she's doing, how she feels about it (maybe they did and I missed it). It's one thing to do what you have to, but Imogen may be feeling a bit alone right now.

I mean, if it helps, that entire last post was specifically in reaction to the conversation directly after the encounter with Liliana- the tone of the interaction and conversations between then and the conversations at the end of the episode are, I think, drastically different.

That said, while I agree that Imogen is no doubt feeling burdens and choices weigh down for a whole host of reasons, and is probably feeling isolated in it- I don't think they're at a juncture where asking her how she's doing, or how she's feeling, more than they already have been- would help, or even be what Imogen is seeking out.

(I'm also not sure that, at a certain point. Its a fair thing to ask of them, especially given well. Ongoing events. Recent worries. I think they try, anyway- Laudna does explicitly ask- but there is so much weighing on them as well).

They have asked Imogen, how she's doing, as things got worse and worse and more personal, and generally gotten "No im. Fine." which I recall mostly because I've enjoyed making memes about BH going "hey are you ok" and Imogen, clearly Not great, going "Im FINE what why do you even ask whaaat". Within the conversation with Laudna itself! There's a "how are you feeling", and Imogen says "Good" and "You don't have to lie to me" then "No this is terrible" and a laugh because- the world is ending! the world is ending. none of them are fine. its all bad.

I think what both Laudna and Orym try to do in their conversations- try to reassure, meet her where she's at, answer her questions and offer their own support for whatever she chooses. Is its own form of kindness, that registers that uncertainty in her and tries to provide help for that, in particular. And I don't think Imogen is the kind of person to not be cognizant of that. It is a form of care, I think, and moreso when the world is ending, and everyone is their own version of wrecked and fighting through it, and there are no shortage of questions.

I think Imogen probably does feel a little alone, isolated, right now, and I also doubt that further inquiry into her mental state or her emotions would alleviate that particular sensation.

But seeing that doubt, that fear, that worry, and offering: My love and meaning has not been irreparably tainted by this, no. I'm not worried about you. Try not to beat yourself up. You have this choice. Its yours. Whatever you choose, I am with you.

It's not fixing everything, because I don't think anything can. but on the list of things to do, in situations like this- its not nothing. Far from it.

[snowdice]

Face the Music (Sometimes Labels Shift Series)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton, (background) Patton & Virgil, Logan & Virgil

Characters: 

Main: Patton, Logan

Mentioned: Virgil

Summary: Patton and Logan have a small chat about healing between Wind Symphony and Wind Symphony: The Sequel.

This is a dealing with events set after my story Sometimes Labels Fail.

Notes: Superhero AU (not that it matters), past emotional abuse, references to a nontypical trigger, though said trigger has been dealt with in therapy and is mostly under control though not gone

“You don’t have to go,” Logan said when Patton was halfway through pulling off his shirt. Patton finished pulling off the shirt to squint at him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so Logan’s form was blurry, but he was sitting on their bed looking at him.

“I know I don’t have to go,” said Patton. He turned to grab the sleeping shirt he’d set out and pulled it over his head.

“Virgil wouldn’t care,” Logan said. “I would be the more likely candidate to take him shopping for such a thing considering the research I’ve done into the topic anyway. I doubt he has any expectations that you will come.”

Patton frowned as he slipped his glasses back onto his face, turning Logan from a blurry mess of blue into a man wearing a blue t-shirt. “Maybe he wouldn’t,” Patton said, “but you don’t know that.”

“Patton,” Logan said, his brow creased in the way that it did only when he was attempting to do a very difficult math equation or was trying to process emotions on the fly. “You once almost had a panic attack because a musician attempted to hand you a violin.”

“That was years ago,” Patton bristled, “and I’d been having a bad day. The violin was not the problem.”

“Perhaps not,” Logan agreed, “but it was a problem.”

“A music shop is not a house of horrors for me,” Patton said. It was the truth even if it felt just a bit like a lie. What he remembered from the music shop of his childhood, the one he’d have to go to for new music books every time he completed his old ones, was an old man who would freeze Patton in place with his gaze (even when he wasn’t actually doing so with his powers), ancient instruments on the walls that Patton’s young mind had imagined being used in blood rituals, and an overwhelming sense of foreboding. He thought normal music shops probably were not like that.

Logan was still frowning, so Patton crossed to the bed and reached for his face. He kissed him on the nose.

“I want to be there,” he told Logan. “Playing the clarinet is something that Virgil loves, and I want to support him in every way I can. I will not be like my mother and that both means not making him play an instrument if he doesn’t want to and encouraging him to do so if he does want to.”

It was easier said than done. If Patton had ever gotten joy from playing a violin, he did not remember it. Thoughts of playing a musical instrument filled him with an uncomfortable squirming sensation even after all of these years. It was a knee-jerk reaction to not want Virgil to experience the same thing, but he was not his knee-jerk reactions. He’d been very careful to keep his instinctual thoughts to himself (and occasionally to Logan when it felt unhealthy to keep them bottled up).

Virgil liked playing music. It made him happy. Sometimes Patton had to remind himself of that in order to react appropriately, but that was okay. It was a little more effort in an area most people wouldn’t even have to think about, but it was worth it.

“He does want to,” Patton continued, “so even if that desire isn’t something I will ever be able to relate to, I still need to show up.”

The face between Patton’s hands still seemed unsure. “This is just a small thing,” Logan said. “We already know you’ll be going to all of his performances. You can show up for him without going on this specific outing.”

“Life is made up of small things,” Patton said, shaking his head, “and it’s also short. I am a 56-year-old man. I refuse to live my life in fear of a string instrument. Anymore.”

“Still,” Logan said, reaching up to cup Patton’s hand still on his cheek.

Patton just rolled his eyes fondly. “I appreciate the concern,” he said, “but I’m going.”

Logan opened his mouth to speak.

“No more talking,” Patton said, using his hands to gently push Logan back onto the bed. He leaned most of his weight on him, though his toes still touched the floor. “Just cuddles.”

Logan hesitated, but then gave in. “Very well,” he agreed and then paused a moment. “Could we perhaps cuddle in a more reasonable position?”

“No,” said Patton, tucking his head into Logan’s chest with a smile. Logan sighed under him and reached up to pat his hair.

Patton knew he’d be able to face any music store as long as Logan was with him.

“Face the music,” Patton whispered with a giggle. Logan groaned.

Want to read more? Click below!

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

[loregoddess]

🤍🖤 for Triangle Strategy!

Okay before I get to the questions I wanna ramble a little bit bc like, discussing morality in fiction is weird, but really interesting, but also can be kind of messy so I'm gonna just lay out some thoughts I have about it bc *vaguely gestures at long history of writing research papers in college which rewired my brain a bit*.

Anyhow, morality in fiction is a weird thing to discuss bc everyone has their own sense of morality which is deeply subjective and heavily influenced by culture and time period and social stuff. Personally, I don't often find "is [character]'s actions morally good or morally bad (according to my moral code)?" to be as useful a question for critical analysis in fiction as a lot of fandom spaces currently seem to think it is. It's not never useful, but it's more reflective of the audience's experience rather than like, analyzing the narrative, and I find sometimes if I set aside my own moral feelings towards a Thing In Fiction and actually look at the narrative fabric, I find more interesting things to dissect.

So I think it's important to look at the morals presented in the story. Like, what defines a character's moral code and how does this affect the their actions and decisions in the story? Do these morals change for the character, and if so why? What are the morals presented in the fictional culture(s) of the story's world? How does this tie in w/ the themes of the overall story? And so on and so forth.

But also experiencing a story doesn't happen in a vacuum, so it's important to discuss our own thoughts and feelings on a work in relation to our own morals as well, just, remembering that a work of fiction's morals don't have to equate with our own morals to be interesting and worthy of analysis and discussion.

So, I'm approaching these questions as both a "how do the morals in the story work, and what does the characterization tell us?" and a "and how did my reaction/feelings towards this affect my perceptions of the character or story?".

Anyhow, now to the questions. (Under the cut bc *sighs* I am apparently an essayist at heart). Also I know Morality is a literal stat in the game, but for the sake of my sanity, we're not....we're not going to worry about that stat. Just character analysis this time around.

🤍: Which character is not as morally bad as everyone else seems to think?

Roland, probably. Don't get me wrong, I had the same "what the fuck?" knee-jerk reaction to his Ch17 proposal that many others did, but when I got around to seeing his Ch15 character arc like, Ch17 wasn't out of character for him per se, and it actually matches the plot beats for Benedict's and Frederica's arcs as well, and ties in with the overall themes of the narrative really poetically, if tragically.

Every single major conviction character (Benedict, Frederica, and Roland) start the game each with their own set of morals that they operate by, and those sets of morals go through a major paradigm shift in each of their Ch15s (and while Ch15 is where the characters break, it can be argued that their moral codes were already being strained and tested bc of the entire war). Every character, not just Roland, proposes an idea that goes against their core morals from the start of the game.

Benedict starts by caring deeply about Serenoa and House Wolffort, and he values Serenoa's happiness; Symon's death twists that care into obsession with preserving House Wolffort and usurping Regna's legacy, and Benedict loses all care for any of Serenoa's feelings or wishes. Frederica begins the game wanting to learn more about the Roselle, but also entirely unwilling to sacrifice anyone (she is very outspokenly opposed to handing Roland over to Aesfrost early in the game); when she learns the truth, the whole truth, about the Roselle's long oppression, she becomes entirely focused on saving only them, so much so that she's willing to forsake an entire continent to do so. And Roland begins the game with his bright-eyed, if naïve, sense of justice, his desire to protect everyone and especially those who can't protect themselves; and when he's confronted with all the ugly corruption rampant in his own backyard as a mold that's been festering for ages, it breaks his last bit of resolve, and he's willing to accept that a false peace built on the suffering of the few is acceptable if it means the many will have peace of any sort.

(Obviously, both Hyzant's "peace" and Aesfrost's "meritocracy" are flawed, and the narrative shows us those flaws early on, so the fact that Benedict turns to Aesfrost's style of government and Roland turns to Hyzant's in their routes shows how far they've each fallen from their own ideals and morals. It's an intentionally written tragic spiral for both characters).

The thing is that Roland's route is, I think to a Western audience at least, the most horrific, since it means damning an entire race of people who were already oppressed. Given the current social and political climate around race, that didn't sit well with a lot of Western players, myself included, and made Frederica's route seem the most palatable of the non-golden routes.

But the other two non-golden routes are written to be just as morally bankrupt as Roland's endroute in the context of the overall narrative beats and themes.

Benedict orchestrates the implementation of a meritocracy, which is fundamentally flawed in the sense that not just "anyone" can work their way to the top via their merits, since people going into this new era are still coming from places of privilege or lack. We know this to be true even in the fabric of the game narrative because of the differences shown narratively between Avlora and Rudolph's life stories. Both are Aesfrosti orphans, which is mostly a meritocracy, but Avlora had the fortune of being taken in by Svarog, a very high-ranking and well-off noble, and while she still had to work her ass off it's likely that being in Svarog's care allowed her to opportunity to become general at all (since she would have been cared for if she fell ill, probably had a place to safely sleep, access to food, etc). Meanwhile, Rudolph had no such savior, and turns to a life of crime to try and save his younger brother, which results in his brother's death after Rudolph's arrest. He never even had the chance to climb Aesfrost's hierarchy, as Avlora had, because his entire situation put him at a disadvantage from the start.

Likewise at the end of Benedict's route we see that the Roselle, despite being rescued, are still suffering terribly bc they don't get to start up in the new meritocracy with the privileges that say, Glenbrook's nobles have; nor do those who started off poor, nor does anyone else who ends up flocking to Roland's cause in Benedict's ending. Benedict's choice to savagely put House Wolffort in rule and his disregard for Serenoa's--or anyone's--feelings on the matter damns and forsakes just as many people as Roland's ending.

Frederica's route is the one I found to be most palatable to my own moral senses, as if feels more "just" because she is freeing an oppressed and abused people. But, from a narrative perspective, she's still abandoning her early-story moral code, and causing a great deal of suffering to a large group of people, since she also leaves an entire continent--three countries worth of people--to burn in the fires of a hellish civil war. One that will again, likely hit the least privileged people the hardest. Where Roland's route is "the few suffer so the majority may live in peace" and Benedict's is a "any with strength to grasp their future will flourish while the rest will fall", Frederica's route is a "all who were oppressed with find salvation, while all who stood by will perish, regardless of whether they had the knowledge or power to stop the oppression". To her, the needs of the few do outweigh the needs of the many, because those few have suffered far longer and far worse than the many, regardless of the fact that leaving many to suffer other types of horrors still isn't just.

So it's not necessarily that Roland's route is "more morally bad" or "less morally bad", or at least the narrative doesn't seem to treat it as such. All three routes are fundamentally immoral, but in different ways. All three of the characters are trying to answer a "trolley problem" but all three are standing on different tracks and seeing all the potential victims differently, and their personal motives are all focused on different outcomes, so they're all willing to pull a different lever. No matter what, vast amounts of people are going to suffer and die.

The narrative writing for Benedict, Frederica, and Roland makes it apparent that each character has their own moral code, and they follow it, and also that their moral code can and does change due to extreme circumstances. The in-game morals and moral shifts are really well-written in my opinion, my own moral code and feelings towards those characters' choices aside, so overall I feel like the writing is still solid, and that the writers' intention was that all the non-golden routes would be immoral in some form or another for the characters involved, and furthermore that each character's departure from their initial core morals is fundamentally a tragedy.

🖤: Which character is not as morally good as everyone else seems to think?

Uhh...well I guess I sorta answered this in my long ramble for the first question, since "Frederica still leaves a continent to burn and that's not really a moral thing to do" is understandably definitely not a take that a lot of people are warm to, so uh, yeah!

Again, this hits the "morality is weird to talk about in fiction" thing I was getting at earlier. Because all the characters arcs, from the main cast to side characters, support and underscore the themes of tragedy throughout the entire Triangle Strategy narrative. War is brutal, and the people with the least power will always suffer the most because of the actions of their leaders, and this is a lamentable, horrific tragedy. Poetic, excellent thematic narrative writing. My own morals still bias me to see Frederica in a kinder light, but I won't deny that her route is just as dark as the other two non-golden endings. But this is also a work of fiction where we can explore darker things safely, and I still think every character's writing is excellent, and I respect that the themes and characterizations are consistently written.

So eh, I dunno, make of all that what you will. Morality is a messy, difficult subject to discuss. I don't really think there's a truly right or wrong "answer" to looking at morality in fiction, but damn if it doesn't make me want to go and stare at a wall for a bit sometimes.

[kozh-lucium]

Thank you for once again for proving that some of you people are prone to knee-jerk reaction when you saw "astarion" and "rant" in the same sentence.

Please, show me where I said that killing the Gur means you're doing an evil run. Unless for some reason you equate killing one guy as "evil run" (which implies you're doing this murder over and over again). And please show me proof, once again, where I apparently "questioning" how other people play the game*. *If your answer is about me fighting some people, I suggest you read again, particularly about this part:

But to say that gandrel is an amoral character who needs to die because he will make a deal with the hag just to find astarion? Or that he doesn't have proof that astarion is hurting people?

If you even spare more than 5 minutes to digest what I posted, you'll notice that my main problem is with the unhinged fans, not with the character itself. You don't know me, you don't know what happen to Astarion in my playthrough. Do you know that I understand what and why he often acts like a dick (something that he still does a bit in act 3, so miss me with that "he's only doing it in act 1")? Do you even know that he's my 3rd favorite character?

Yes I might complain about him (to my online friends), but that mostly because: a) meta reason: I was trying to get his approval high enough in act 1 so that I can focus on other characters in later acts. Not to mention that I don't read any approval guide whatsoever, so I had no other choice but to bring him along because I don't know when a character going to approve/disapprove my choice. b) non-meta reason: it's because I know he's been suffering and I know he can do better. Think of it as if we have a friend who goes to a wrong path and you can't help but feel frustrated because you genuinely want to help him.

And if anything Astarion deserves the right to kill that Gur, because the Gur practically - no they did - beat him to the point of death, so if anything, the gur had his death coming to him.

You do realize they're different people, right? The one who attacks him are dead already, because it happened 200 years ago. When Astarion told you this, he also admitted that those Gur and the current Gur doesn't know they're being employed by a true Vampire (Cazador). And if you said that he can't take revenge on an innocent, he doesn't disagree with it but said he will still do it out of spite alone. If you say Gandrel deserve being killed because of those accident 200 years ago, you might as well condemn the current generation of Germans for WW2. Heck, do we even know they're from the same tribe or related?

Warning, a rant of BG3 fandom (and of astarion)

BG3 and Astarion stans TM (not normal fans, mind you) made me realize I'm too old for fandom like...this.

Idk if I'm just unlucky or something like that, but the amount of people who equates "nuance" with "let's go full genocide bcs it's fun and to troll wyll/karlach" is too damn high.

Aaaand not surprising, almost all of them are astarion stans tm. Look, I'm not saying all of astarion fans are like this, but forgive me for getting more and more uncomfortable with how some people are acting. So apparently I am not allowed to complain about how astarion keeps being a dick in act 1, but they're allowed to hate karlach and wyll so much because they're "goody two shoes"?

Sorry, it sounds like hypocrisy.

Just the other day i had a fight with several people, over discussion of Gandrel (the gur we met in the swamp). It's crazy for me how they feel the need to invent ridiculous just to justify killing him. I can respect if the reson if "It's more pragmatic" (I mean, i still disagree since we can just lie to him), I even respect more when someone said "lol i did it because I'm an astarion simp, I'll do whatever he ask me to". But to say that gandrel is an amoral character who needs to die because he will make a deal with the hag just to find astarion? Or that he doesn't have proof that astarion is hurting people?

Are these people serious??

It's extra ironic how one of them just before this claim that I imposed modern morality for finding their action to be not neutral, and that faerun being medieval dark fantasy setting is suppsed to be more lenient to evil actions, elyet in the same breath accusing an NPC as amoral for trying to strike a deal with the hag, enought that it's okay to kill him.

For some reason, to them, not liking evil run meams you're media illiterate and can't handle nuance.

Look, i can't handle it, i wouldn't enjoy witcher 2 writing and def. will stake astarion the first chance i got.

Sorry for the long rant. I'm super cranky right now. I hate edgelords like them.

[fanartfunart]

@sapony01​ commented on one of my Sides Swap posts: Can you explain their function and personality a bit better/explore them? Some are kinda obvious but some kinda confuse me

And, but of course! I’m totally open to it! (I’m mostly making another post for it because otherwise it’ll get absurdly long)

To summarize, the main idea is that they keep their personality and secondary traits they represent (Like Ego, Emotionality, ect), while further representing the Main Trait (like Anxiety, Creativity, ect)

The rest under the cut:

Anxiety

Roman: His key representation of Anxiety would befall closer to overemphasizing bravery and ignoring problems, and of course, insecurities. Thus a focus on Dangers you can Fight, and avoiding things you can’t. A emphasis on the Knight theme as a representation of bravery. He’d use ego and theatricality as a cover- a ‘be weird before people can accuse you of being weird because then it’s on purpose’ type logic.

Patton: The type of Anxiety where you emotionally over extending yourself because you’re scared of social-emotional repercussions. Caring so much that there’s no time and energy to care for yourself. Also a good representation of the Dad-Friend override for Anxiety.

Logan: A representation of over-analyzing the world like an outsider, that emotional distance that, while you’re curious of all the things around you, you can’t help but focus on the bad. Avoidance becomes a key factor and everything is categorized as bad or good off of exaggerated ‘proof’.

Janus: Very self protective to the point that things outside the Comfort Zone are almost always negative and overwhelming. Sarcasm, brittleness, and lying as a way to avoid things outside the Comfort Zone.

Remus: Overthinking creating an Anxious reaction. Basically seeing things in the shadows and over-analyzing interactions. Essentially worries cropping up out of the idea of various terrible things you can think of possibly coming at you from the smallest of hints to it. Also Knight theme because why not.

Creativity 

Logan: A more organized and analytic approach to creative works. Prone to being a literary critic. Draws from media to explain a point. As creativity would likely be the type of writer that hides details and metaphors in everything, focus on foreshadowing and the such.

Janus: Never lets anything be direct, people should be able to make their own conclusions about the meaning of the text. Probably thinks method acting is fun. The kind of actor/writer that easily shrugs on different types of characterizations that it makes other people dizzy seeing him switch between them.

Virgil: Your inner Emo Art Phase personified (everyone has at least one somewhere in there). Would prefer to be either a lesser known creator, or not let Thomas use his real name (thus Ghostwriter), because being Known is Awkward and his work can get too real, being known as a real person could detract from the art. Focus on art as an outlet for expressing negative feelings and stress relief.

Patton: Take your craft-happy relative who always hand-makes gifts and you’ve got Creativity Patton. Just wants to have fun and share the fun. Draws from positive emotional experiences for creativity because he wants to give everyone who sees said art a hug through said art. (Yes, his design is vaugely based off of Disney’s Pinocchio Geppetto aka Pinocchio’s dad.)

Remus: Take Remus as he is, and then take the ‘intrusiveness’ out of him. He basically has all the same horrifying ideas, but he doesn’t use them to make Thomas upset or anything, he’s just making stories.

Logic

Patton: Sorta a relaxed logic, understands not everything can be solved with a clean logical solution and that emotions hold a important space in people’s actions. Is that little logical voice when you’re super mad going ‘you’re mad because this, this, and this, and this is probably an overreaction to what you’re expressing your anger to, but it’s still valid.’ Prone to emotional fallacies though.

Virgil: You know any super cool teacher/professor who teaches you what the book says and then closes the book and says ‘ok now guess what, they’re also wrong, and I’m probably wrong too’?? Virgil as logic. (also why I kinda gave him the ‘tired + university hoodie’ style) Emphasizes learning from various sources and never trusting any of them 100%. Doesn’t trust his own information either, and it makes him stressed.... but like, he’s always stressed anyway so it’s chill. 

Roman: Bounces from topic to topic to learn. Very curious and easily inspired- also easily distracted. The definition of what a liberal arts education should be doing- aka, connecting seemingly unrelated topics. An Encyclopedia of very specific information. But, once he’s got a set of information it’s hard to let go of it, which makes it hard to adjust to being told he’s wrong.

Janus: Emphasis on how information is always being adjusted, and people’s biases are always present in studies and interpretation. Focuses on debunking things. Also kinda makes it hard to 100% be sure of any information presented.

Remus: Enjoys abusing the ‘technicalities’ in things. A little hard to follow in terms of train of thought. Disturbing Facts are still facts.

Morality

Virgil: Emphasis on sympathy and ‘do what you’d hope people would do for you’ moral arguments. Focus on social structure for the ground rules for moral behavior. That guy who’s constantly nice because he wished someone was nice to him, ya know? Hates the idea of being a bad person so much that it causes a lot of guilt and mistrust of the self.

Logan: Thinks of moral behavior as an equation of sorts. People do good things and that causes good things and that allows the social structure to work as it should, so do good things. Draws on philosophy and other social sciences to argue his points. Easy to readjust his thinking with proper reasoning.

Roman: Just wants people to be happy! And to be good! Emphasis on the reactions of others and how that effects your social/emotional well-being. Do good because it feels good kinda guy (he wants to be somebody’s Hero, ya know how it be).

Janus: Understands that morality is such a grey place that most anything can be seen as bad if you argue it enough. Places value on the self as someone deserving of feeling good as well, and bases moral values on what you as an individual wants to do. Also still kinda morally grey in general and probably shouldn’t always be listened to.

Remus: I Follow no Rules but My Own. Full rejection of social pressures. What precisely that means for his resulting moral standing is up to debate.

Deceit

Logan: Woorsst lair because he’ll twist truth and facts into it and it’s hard to pick out what’s the lie. Very blunt about his role as deception and its benefits and drawbacks. Very good about remembering which lies were told when and to who. Not the kind to lie more than seen necessary.

Roman: Focus on lying as acting and getting to where you need to go in life. ‘Fake it til you make it’ is his motto and it also includes mental states. Makes it hard to be honest about feelings. Very much a ‘lying to yourself’ aspect.

Virgil: Lying to avoid perceived negative repercussions. Lying still bothers him- as lying can also cause negative reactions. Focus on lying in reaction to events, less so on lying to the self. Not every lie is especially necessary though, knee-jerk reactions and fear make it very easy to lie. Lies of omission being the most utilized.

Remus: The opposite to Roman’s ‘lying to yourself’. Lying to others just to see their reactions. Uses being ‘blatantly honest’ about taboo subjects to seem honest about other things.

Patton: Lying to spare people’s feelings and being perceived well. Focus on lying or omitting the truth to seem like everything’s awesome.

Intrusive Thots

Patton: Makes emotional reactions overwhelmingly hard to gauge and control, results in terrifying thoughts and feelings with little control or filter. Gets stuck on ideas because of how hard he’s trying to push it away (yea know, like the white bear experiment).

Virgil: Thinks in problem solving, but the problems are of course, the thoughts of his own creation. Incessant about ‘solving’ the perceived problem.... not much else changes.

Logan: The Mad Scientist aesthetic is fun, what can I say? Takes facts and focuses on the scary parts, and then brings them back up on the slightest hint of relevance, and sometimes just Because. Some of it is curiosity taken into a frightening territory and gets overwhelming.

Janus: Emphasis on what happens if terrible things happened. Also likes using the ‘you’re gonna go to hell anyway just dive in with me’ argument. Occasionally pops up in a way that sounds almost nice, then turns horrifying very quickly.

Roman: Take Roman, make his ideas more Remus. He’s already Loud and Proud, just make him scarier, and a little more incessant and probably a little more arrogant for good measure.

[gh0sture]

Under the Sea

Trafalgar Law x gn!reader

Part 2, Meet the gang

You've never been particularly good at meeting new people or making good first impressions for that matter but this, by far, has to be your worst one yet. Your clothes are soaked still, your hair a sticky mess from the saltwater and your mouth is opening and closing lika a fish gasping for air as it flaps around on a bridge after being caught. It's not one of your best looks you'll admit but it is all you can offer at the moment given the circumstances.

You try to form coherent thoughts, you really do, but this is just way too much for you to take in. He reaches a hand out and you flinch before grabbing it to make an awkward shake.

This isn't just insane. This is completely knock-your-socks-off bonkers.

You feel as if you were looking at the golden gates of heaven themselves, not daring to look him in the eyes out of fear that you might go blind from the sheer radiance of his aura meanwhile the man in question just looked at you blankly. Possibly with a hint of disgust. Definitely a bit of disgust.

"The name's Trafalgar Law, captain of Polar tang" his handshake is firm and he looks at you expectantly while retrieving his hand and crossing his arms over his chest.

Neither of you say anything. He clears his throat but you give no reaction. Still staring at him like a five year old looking at a blackboard of university level algebra equations. He grimaces slightly at your behavior.

"Are you ok? I don't remember finding any trauma to your head, you should be fine" he grabs your chin and tilts your head around to inspect it disapprovingly in search of an injury. Although, he is an expert doctor so he would never miss any injuries, his pride wouldn't let him. This does nothing to soothe your symptoms though and doesn't exactly help with calming your heartbeat at all.

"I wouldn't have missed anything what's wrong with you" he mutters to himself when you finally managed to collect yourself enough to remove his hands.

"uhh no! no, i'm ok! thank you for ,uh, saving me by the way" this is the best and worst thing that have ever happened to you.

"it wasn't my choice" he deadpanned and turn back into the room to get a den-den mushi with a familiar penguin hat on it. Its so strange seeing on in real life. Although, you don't know if this is real life (is it just fantasy?). He proceeds to make a phone call (mushi-call? den-den call?) into it while you shift awkwardly on your feet in the hallway. Your feet ache from walking on the metal grid barefoot you had barely noticed until now. After exchanging a few words he walk over to the desk where he'd previously  been sitting and open a journal, presumably to continue doing whatever he did before.

"One of my crew members will be here shortly to get you settled for now and give you some necessities. We reach a port in nine days where you can leave." his voice was calm and composed, like pouring molten chocolate into your ears even though the words themselves were less than pleasant. When he spoke you could feel your knees get weak and you feel tempted to ask him a question for the sole purpose of hearing him speak more. God this man was hot. You nodded at his statement at first, not really paying attention to what he had actually said until you realized that nothing he said had been actually registered in your head.

"Wait, what?" you asked. He doesn't look up from his writing but you can hear the mild annoyance in his voice when he answers.

"Looking at you, you are rather ill equipped for staying here until we reach a populated island. Since you don't have any money or anything valuable, my crew will provide for you until we reach the port where you can find another ship to go back wherever you came from...Whatever weird country that's supposed to be...Now go down the hallway, He should be there already to help you so leave me alone" you get the feeling that you'll loose a limb if you stick around longer so you turn to head down the hallway and find "Him" who you hoped would be more polite.

"Not that way" you hear from the study and you turn around to head down the other way, somewhat (very) embarrassed.

You really wished that your first time meeting a celebrity would've gone better, but then again they do say that you should never meet your heroes. Was he always this rude in the series and book? Sure he came across as a bit of a tsundere but he seemed at least approachable in the series. You don't have the charisma or extroverted superpowers that Luffy have so that is probably an important thing to consider. As you head down the hallway you come across a man walking in your direction pretty soon. He seem far more ok with your existence and even appear to lit up a bit when he sees you and give you a friendly wave. This is already going a lot better than last time.

"Yo! You're the one we found floating around yesterday! Nice to meet you, people around here call me Penguin" He gives you a wide yet genuine smile as he grab your hand and shake it enthusiastically before you even have the chance to reach out.

"thought you were a goner when we found you haha!So it's good to see that you're up n' about, c'mon let me show you a round!" he turn around to walk from where he had just come from while you follow behind him silently.

Penguin makes it his personal responsibility to keep a conversation going even if it's pretty one-sided but it's nice. Comforting even, as he went on about how nice the other crewmembers are with the exception of the captain but you shouldn't take what he says too personal as he's a bit misunderstood. He  ask you different questions like your name, where you came from, complimenting you on your weird clothes, although it feels like that was mostly him being polite and you didn't have heart or energy to tell him that you're wearing PJ's. He doesn't mind your short answers and seems satisfied with the information he's able to divulge. To be fair you aren't sure how to answer since you don't know how you ended up here but also out of fear of ripping the space-time continuum open by telling him forbidden knowledge about his universe. It would be rather awkward explaining to him that you know a lot about them and what they've done/are about to do. You've technically stalked them through tv and books and if someone told you that they've been watching you, you would freak out. Rightfully so too. They might even think that you're a navy spy sent to gather information action for their arrest and they could kill you. Yeah, this is a mess and a half but you'll burn this bridge when you get to it. You did tell him your name though and he doesn't seem to suspect you working for some nefarious organization so all is well.

He showed you where the important places in the submarine was such as the kitchen, living quarters, rec area and bathrooms. You still have trouble telling up from down will undoubtedly get lost but he assures you that after a while you'll know this maze like the back of your hand. After leaving the living quarters he guides you to the top deck to find someone else he says will help you so that he can get back to work.

The yellow ship had surfaced at a deserted summer island and everyone was outside enjoying the sun after spending several days in the dark of the ocean. You hadn't been down in the submarine for that long , at least not while being conscious, and was already getting a bit unnerved over how cold and cramped it was. As soon as the warm rays of light hit you both the cold and your worries melt away.

"Hey Ikkaku! You have to help the drifter get some clothes!" He yelled at a woman laying in a sun-chair on the deck with her eyes closed. The familiar heart pirates uniform was open to reveal a green tank top and an orange and yellow striped hat was laying beside her.

"Haah!? Why do I have to do it?" She sat up to glare at Penguin and was about to protest when she spotted you behind him. One second you were hiding behind Penguin and the next you're face to face with a very pretty woman with very poofy hair. Her glorious lion name bounces a bit as she hold up both your hands in hers and lean over a bit to stare into your eyes. Everyone is so tall here why is everyone so ridiculously tall. Anime proportions are wild.

"Oh my god!! We were so worried about you, we thought you were dead when we found you!" You felt uncomfortable with her being so close to your face and politely thanked her for saving you while doing your best to avoid eye contact.

"Oi! Where's your manners! They've been through a lot being stranded in the ocean have some respect!" He bops her on the head and she lets you go to tell him off (and/or punch him back) but she remembers the shiny new toy in front of her and settles for staring daggers at him instead.

"Oh shut yer trap" She stares at you intensely as if to make sure you wouldn't run away or vanish into thin air. It's kind of nice being fawned over like this, and clearly the crew enjoy having a visitor.

"It's so nice having a fresh face around, It's been years since Captain let anyone new stay onboard  and being stuck with all the same jerks weeks on end gets a bit tiring you know. Now come on and let's go find you some proper clothes!" She grab your hand to drag you along back into the dark,dark depths of the submarine.

Oh joy. more cold, feet grating and claustrophobia.

"You're a bit smaller than everyone so we should probably ask Uni to sow it in for you if it's way too big" She says more to herself rather than you while handing you the classical white uniform with the heart pirates logo on the chest over your heart.

The woman who's name you had learned to be Ikkaku turn around and continued rummaging around the small closet in front of her in search of more clothes for you while you change into the white uniform when she isn't looking. It feels incredible to finally get out of those damp and sticky clothes and into something soft and warm instead. You are also the proud owner of a pair of fuzzy socks and black boots. Your poor abused feet are overjoyed that they no longer have to walk the metal grid of a thousand needles. Life is good.

"Once we get to the port of Pellar island you can probably trade your way to some more clothes but this should be fine for now"

In the little time you had spent with her you had learned quite the few things about the crew on the ship. For starters there were 21 members in the crew (including the captain), You were lucky number 22 according to Ikkaku, even though you aren't a part of the crew it's apparently better to have an even number of people aboard the ship. And hearing the stories of what they've been through it seems like you're their new rabbits foot. Since you're considered baggage or fancy cargo rather than someone useful she gives you some times on how to stay out the way, especially out if the captains way which you feel is probably a wise decision but you offer your help should she need it in the kitchen which she greatly appreciates. You hate feeling useless.

You can't help but wonder where you are in the Once Piece timeline as you rolled up the long sleeves of the uniform on your arms and legs for comfort. Had Luffy and Law already formed the alliance? Were you before the timeskip and the incident at Marine Ford? Maybe you were even ahead of the manga and anime itself in a future arc even. You were snapped out of your thoughts when Ikkaku pushed a bundle of toiletries into your arms involving a towel, a toothbrush, and a bar of soap.

"We haven't figured out where you'll sleep for the moment but it'll work out soon enough. Otherwise you can just sleep in a spare bed in the infirmary but come help me gather food from the island! We don't want to get scurvy while we're submerged!" She drag you away towards the deck after leaving your things in her room for safe keeping for now.

This woman is going to pull your arm off.

She seemed very sweet but all the touching and stereotypical anime arm-pulling is weird since you have literally just met. The way she smiles while asking you about your favourite foods and how she excitedly plan different recipes out loud make you almost forgive her though. Almost.

You move sluggishly towards Ikkaku's room to get the only material items you currently own in this world. Foraging for fruits and herb until nightfall was tiring but at least you didn't have to carry that much stuff, a guy with a black pompadour haircut had come along to help carry the crates of stuff you and Ikkaku gathered. He seemed very nice too, somewhat cocky though. You had asked Ikkaku for information on a certain Straw-hat pirate while making small talk and have come to the conclusion that he probably hasn't even started his adventure towards becoming the Pirate King yet. She didn't know who you were referring to and was even showed some seagull newspaper from their library but no info of the gummy monkey man could be found whatsoever. Since you recall him making news very early on in his "career" it's fair to assume that he hasn't gotten up to his mischief yet.

It feels a bit weird to be honest. To be in the prologue of the story like this and you have no idea what kind of things anyone other than the Strawhats and Luffy had been up to since the story followed them, maybe some vague details about Law's past and fragments from some characters backstories but this is all uncharted territory. Your thoughts are interrupted as you suddenly bump into someone and fell backwards. You reach your arms out like a bad imitation of a seagull in attempt to grab the wall but someone grabs you before you manage to take hold of anything. Your grab their shoulders to steady yourself and let go once you're back on your feet but they don't remove their hands from you. You look up to thank them for catching you when all the colour drains from your face and you realize who you're standing prom-slow-dance proximity to. It is but the one and only person you'd least want to embarrass yourself in front of. Again.

"Do you have a death wish or are you just plain stupid 22-ya" He looked down at you with what you assume to be the ghost of an amused smile or slight disgust. Probably disgust. Again. while you're distracted by his closeness and the humiliating event that is currently taking place. It could be much worse though, right? you can salvage this situation probably.

"Crap, sorry I was just zoned out.." You tried looking anywhere but his oh-so-handsome face to avoid you making this anymore awkward than it already was. You are not immune against handsome people after all. You tried moving away from him slightly but his hands stayed firm on your shoulders and could feel his gaze on you like needle pricks on your skin. you definitely do not dare looking him in the eye.

"You have to look where you're going or you might get seriously hurt next time" He mused. He may be attractive but he's definitely a jerk.

"It's impossible to see down here it's so dark..." you mutter under your breath and quickly move to side to walk past him, he let's go this time rejoice that your attempt to escape the harassing captain is successful, desperate to get away from this weird atmosphere you have created. Unfortunately for you, the universe have other plans  as he start walking behind you in the same direction you are and boy, is it awkward.

After a bit of walking you start to get a bit suspicious though. Was he following you around, waiting for you to get lost so that he could make a smartass comment about it? He is the kind of person who would find great amusement in petty bullshit like that for sure but then again you do have a tendency of assuming the worst in every situation. You decide to test this theory out by steeping to the side and make as much room as you could in the hallway and drop down to pretend fixing your shoelace. Instead of trying to walk past you he stops completely right behind you. You move as slow as you can without arising suspicion but he so kindly wait patiently behind you. When you're done "tying your shoelace" and stand up to continue your journey he follows close behind.

Oh hell no.

You can handle rudeness but this is some psychological warfare or foul play that you want no part of. No matter how handsome the guy is you will not stand for this kind of fuckery. You make a sudden halt and quickly turn around to kindly tell him to fuck off.

"Do you need something from me?" you ask with as much calm you can currently muster, irritation building up behind your customer service smile but he doesn't say anything and only look at you with the same dumb face as before. Almost like he's sizing you up before a fight. Possibly with even more disgust this time.

This Motherfucker.

When he still doesn't say anything for several seconds you just decide to be the bigger person and turn around to start walking again. Of course, with him still following you. It's better to just ignore him and he'll go away, you know where you're going. You finally reached Ikkaku's room and gather up the few items that belong to you when he finally speak up.

"You don't have a room assigned yet right?" You gave him a somewhat puzzled look. That's what he needed to know? That is why he followed you?? To ask you this???

"No? why?" You admit cautiously, almost preparing for him to start fighting you or using his power to "confiscate" one of your organs. For a brief second you could've sworn you saw a mischievous glint in his eyes you know that something bad is brewing. The cogs of evil are turning in his mind and you know that whatever comes out of his mouth next will undoubtedly mean bad news for you.

"I have an idea"

[spaceorphan18]

hello, i'm the anon that asked about klaine disliking each other. i do not think they're toxic, i actually love klaine the most. what i meant is that kurt said in the second breakup that they should break up before they "completely hated each other" which implies that kurt was starting to dislike blaine. that's the reason why he wanted to break up, so it wouldn't get worse.

Ahhh, thank you for clarifying, Nonny, I appreciate that! Sorry for being cranky in the other ask, though in general, I still stand by what I said <3  I’m glad you came back to chat further.  

I’m going to tie this in with another Nonny ask: 

Nonny #2

Do you think Kurt was planning to break up with Blaine in season 6 episode 1? Or was it just a spur-of-the-moment thing prompted by Blaine asking if he even wanted to marry him?

Let’s talk about the season 6 break up.  The short answer is no, Kurt was not planning on break up with Blaine.  Being pressed into his feelings by the argument they were having, Kurt sort of blurts out that he doesn’t want to get married - because it’s the first time he’s had the chance to explore those discomforting feelings he had all the way back when he was being driven to his proposal.  

His breaking up with Blaine completely was his knee-jerk reaction in wanting to preserve this idyllic, fairy tale image of the relationship they had.  Remember what Burt said -- about how it’s important to want to marry a person and not an idea? Well, if Blaine was holding on to the idea of what this marriage would be, Kurt was too concerned that he’d be boxed in by what the idea of his marriage would be, and neither (understandably - they were/are young) were really thinking about the other one, or even themselves in the equation. 

To back up a bit -- the second break up comes about due to issues from the first one.  Blaine ultimately ‘broke’ the relationship the first time around -- they had issues, yes, but he’s the one who didn’t have enough faith that the relationship would work, and it ended up breaking them.  (Note - Kurt had too much faith their relationship would be fine, which also created issues.)  

By the time they get back together - Kurt has gotten over the hurt of what had happened, but he hadn’t fully healed.  He wasn’t ready to jump into a commitment as heavy as marriage.  His heart was still bruised.  And unlike Blaine, who understood that Kurt was his person after he had broken the relationship, Kurt hadn’t gone through that yet.   

Kurt is all in when they decide to get back together.  But the marriage proposal leaves him iffy.  His heart’s been bruised, what if something happens? What if his heart breaks again? What if they don’t actually make it?  What if they are too young?? All the doubt kind of eats at him. 

Kurt and Blaine’s roles have flipped - now Kurt has too little faith in the relationship, and Blaine has too much.  

(Side note -- this does not mean Kurt didn’t love or want his proposal -- he fucking loved his proposal, and will tell people in his nursing home about it when he’s 90.  Just to be clear - the magical proposal was not the issue.) 

 Now we get to the part where adult relationships are hard and complex feelings are complex.  Blaine, thinking his insecurities would magically go away if he got married and his relationship solidified, began to push on the whole wedding thing.  Kurt felt like he was losing control - of his relationship and his identity, so he pushed back, which only fed into Blaine’s insecurities, which fed into some of Kurt’s and so on and so on, the NYArc was complicated. 

The major point, though, was that instead of dealing with their shit (remember - Kurt has intimacy issues, and part of that is communicating how you’re feeling), Kurt keeps it bottled up.  He loves Blaine, that does not change, but he doesn’t like that he is feeling resentful that they’re going at Blaine’s pace, that he can’t be the person he thinks he needs to be.  But instead of talking to Blaine about it, they argue about stupid shit like toothpaste on the towel and how long you should charge your phone.  

In a more mature relationship, they would have had a long conversation before Blaine moved to New York - about where they would live, and how much space and validation each of them need.  Well, they’re young and dumb and found out the hard way that those are things you need to do.  

When they get into that last argument - Kurt’s finally able to say what he had been feeling -- that marriage was too fast.  He was scared to say that, scared of hurting Blaine, and hurting himself, but he needed to figure out why he was feeling that way -- but instead of working it out with Blaine, it spiraled out into a full on break up, which really wasn’t the worst thing for either of them. 

Blaine got the knowledge that he will survive and has self worth outside of his relationship (totally good thing).  While Kurt, like Blaine learned earlier, once you’ve broken the thing - you understand how much it was worth.  Kurt also is able to get more in touch with his feelings -- and understand that love is hard work, and just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to like them all the time -- and that you need to tell your partner when you’re unhappy.  Blaine had been trying to communicate that with Kurt -- but until his therapist pointed it out, Kurt didn’t seem to really hear it -- and that’s on Kurt.  

While I think Glee could have used a little more explicitness in Season 6 - I do think that they both matured quite a bit (still say five years should have passed), and by the time they get back together, they’re better at a functional relationship because they’ve had the experience of unhealthy relationships and now have the tools to attack those issues head on instead of letting them linger.  

I will add -- the minute Kurt spoke his mind during the second break up, he felt better.  Once you say something, all that negativity that’s building up can melt away.  Now, it took a few months for Kurt to really understand how petty some of his issues were, and how easily fixed they were, but that’s something everyone needs to understand on their own.  

So yeah... was I bothered by any of this? No - I love complex stories with emotional issues that aren’t surface level.  Klaine is a very deep and complicated story by the end of it -- and while the season 2 fairy tale is romantic and sweet, I love that they got to go through some adult-related content concerning their relationship.  It makes it more delicious.  

Hopefully this helps in understanding? If not, let me know - and I’ll try to answer better. <3 

[humananalytica]

Good Omens Holiday Swap

Fic for @maandarinee​, based on two promps:

I always love Crowley and Aziraphale having some magic Connection where they're Connected for whatever reason and can hear/feel/whatever each other;

Aziraphale or Crowley gets summoned/captured/trapped and the other goes into Rage Mode while getting them back (alternative: one THINKS the other is dead [pls don't actually kill anyone/ bring them back miraculously] and goes into Rage Revenge Mode)

Hope you enjoy! Fic under the cut.

“Where the Heaven are you, you idiot? I can’t find you!” Crowley cast around wildly for even a hint of Aziraphale’s presence. He’d been terribly worried, and frustrated, then there’d been a flash of pain, and now- “Aziraphale, for God’s- For Satan’s- Ah! For somebody’s sake, where are you?!” 

A wall of water slammed into Crowley’s chest and knocked him to the ground.

At the same time, a trace of demonic essence collided with Crowley and settled back in his ribcage, just as lost as the rest of him felt. “You’ve gone,” he said to the empty bookshop, “Somebody killed my best friend!”

“Bastards! All of you!” he screamed, disoriented and grieving. Aziraphale was gone and he wasn’t coming back, not ever, and the bookshop was on fire.

His gaze fell on a book that had, somehow, not yet gone up in flames. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. He picked it up. He could, perhaps, save just this little something from the fire. Crowley willed the doors to open for him and left the bookshop.

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Getting summoned was an exercise in bending quantum mechanics that always left Crowley vaguely nauseous. He didn’t really appreciate his corporation being jerked around without a warning. As a result, the small handful of humans [1] who had actually managed to summon him over the centuries tended to find him in a bad mood.

This particular attempt was one of the worst that Crowley had ever experienced. It was full of metaphysical holes, less of a net and more of a tangled mess of rope. It pinched his noncorporeal being uncomfortably when he pushed against the bounds of the circle, but didn’t offer burning pain or impermeable resistance. 

“Demon Crawly, serpent of Eden.”

“Don’t use that name anymore.”  Crowley drawled, tucking his fingers into his pockets. “Haven’t used that name in a couple millenia.” He rotated slowly, studying the summoning circle from all angles.

“It was the name that I invoked to summon you.” The summoner replied, without a whisper of confusion or doubt. “It is the name we will use.”

‘We?’ Crowley mentally hissed in irritation, even as he began cataloguing the ways he could get out of the situation. So far, it was looking like his summoner was working with outdated material, felt entitled to . . . whatever he was going to demand of Crowley, and seemed completely convinced that he hadn’t made a mistake. Relatively straightforward to work with, if you had a few milennia’s experience working with Hell.

“I need to learn how to have sex with a woman.” The summoner dramatically threw open the door to the windowless room, revealing a young-ish man with a sweatshirt hood pulled down to his nose.

Crowley blinked, trying to parse why sex with a woman was in any way relevant to what he’d, specifically, had ever done in Eden. Well. Better to let them tell you what they think they’re getting.

“So you came to me,” Crowley tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, as if asking a question.

“Yes,” he said, shuffling inside and shutting the door behind him. “I summoned you because you were the giver of all knowledge and the first tempter, and now I need that knowledge to be given to me.”

There were so many reasons why giving humans knowledge of Good and Evil did not equate to Crowley having some secret knowledge of how to convince a woman to have sex.[2] But Crowley guessed- he wanted what he wanted, and telling him ‘no, sorry, can’t help you,’ would have been met with hostility and disbelief.

“Well, you’ve certainly done your homework.” Crowley pressed against the boundaries of the summoning circle again, trying to gauge if the human took notice. No reaction was forthcoming. 

“Can you help me or not?” the man whined, eventually.

“Possibly, but it might take a while.” Crowley hedged. “In the meantime, what should I call you?”

“Uh,” he stuttered, flustered, “‘Sir’ would probably be alright, ‘Master’ is a little gay, I think-”

“How about your name.” Crowley crossed his arms and gave a little half-smile. “Most people prefer that.”

The man paused, then seemed to collect himself. “Tristan.”

“Right, Tristan, I’ll see what I can do for you.” He glanced down at the circle, and his gaze caught on a phrase that defined him as ‘bound to be a servant’. A spark of an idea began to form in his mind. “We may have to make a few revisions to this circle, though.”

“What’s wrong with the circle?” Tristan snapped. “I didn’t make any mistakes. I checked.”

Crowley dropped to one knee and swept his hand over the characters in question. “Look, if you want to still have your soul after losing your virginity, you’re going to have to listen to me.” Tristan’s focus sharpened, and he knelt down opposite Crowley with palpable concern.

He pointed out a handful of words. “This bit defines me as servant of Hell. [3] Now, I’ll be sporting and fill you in on how it’s relevant here. Means that I’m obligated to deliver your soul to Hell if I hold up my end of the contract, deserving or not.”

“When I die?” He made no move to get an eraser or writing utensils, so Crowley pressed on.

“Preciscely,” he hissed, “And it’s whether you have sex once or you do it every day for the rest of your mortal life. Going to Hell for a shag is a load of bollocks, if you ask me.”

The subtle admonishing flew completely over Tristan’s head, not that the demon had expected much. He waffled for half a minute, then dragged a box of chalk out from under a stack of notebooks. “Which one makes you tied to Hell? I’ll just-” He mimed erasing with his free hand. “-and that should be good, right?”

Crowley mentally calculated the metaphysical gap that would result from an unbalanced circle without a complete binding clause and concluded that his odds were relatively good. “Here,” he tapped a single fingernail on the concrete floor, “In the lines closest to me.”

Tristan nodded, then crouched on the floor with an eraser. Crowley’s entire body tensed up on the physical realm as he focused on reaching through the holes in the binding towards home. The eraser wiped the characters into oblivion, and a half second later, Crowley tumbled into the back room of the bookshop. [4]

Aziraphale arrived a moment later, brandishing a teakettle in a manner that carried a subtle threat of bodily harm. 

And caught sight of Crowley slowly rising to his feet and straightening his clothes. “What on Earth are you doing?” he asked, relaxing his stance.

Crowley, satisfied with the state of his clothing, flopped into an armchair. “I need a drink.”

[1] And in one memorable instance, some poor woman’s pet cats.

[2] Though he could guess that not summoning demons into your cellar whilst doing a low-budget impersonation of Emperor Palpatine would be a step in the right direction.

[3] This was a lie. In actuality, it defined him as bound to serve in general, implicating the summoner. Tristan, who was not remotely fluent in any of the Old languages, did not cotton on to this bit of deception.

[4] The exact mechanics of this maneuver are, naturally, beyond the human ability to observe. If one were looking for a good analogy, it would help to imagine Crowley as a rubber band, forcing himself through a very small opening by stretching very thin, and then abruptly springing back into his normal state once through. It was exactly as uncomfortable as it sounds.

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“Right,” Aziraphale said, adding generous pours of bourbon to two mugs of earl grey tea. “What has you so shaken?”

“Wiggled out of a summoning.” Crowley explained, turning his attention to his drink, taking a long swallow and relaxing back against the cushions. “Some idiot who wanted me to help him have sex.”

“Certainly not with-”

“With women.” he cut Aziraphale off. “Young, pretty ones if I had to guess a type.”

“I see,” Aziraphale replied, in a tone that encouraged more details.

“The entire thing was ridiculous, Aziraphale, you have no idea. He did a lot of research, only to put out the whole bloody thing out on a cellar floor with some school chalk. ’S insulting.” He took another swallow of tea, then reached over and topped up his mug with more whiskey. “I should probably try to track down where he got his materials, unless I want to be summoned every time one of his mates decides that I’m the solution to their dry spell.”

“I can reach out to some of my associates and see if any of them know anything about old summoning manuals reentering circulation.” The angel offered, eyeing Crowley with some concern. “There can’t be very many of them in circulation.”

Crowley nodded, accepting. “I’d wager that he found it online, but he also called me Crawly, so the original text is going to be from some point B.C.”

“That does narrow things down considerably.” Aziraphale fished out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “It’s quite late now, but I can sort out a few leads and make calls in the morning.” he glanced up to see Crowley pouring more alcohol into his mug. “My dear, are you alright?”

“Just. Eugh. Aftereffects from forcing myself outside of the circle without it breaking.” Crowley took a gulp of lukewarm tea-flavored bourbon and winced.

“Crowley. You’re shaking quite badly.” After a second of hesitation, Aziraphale gently prised the trembling mug from his grip and set it down on the table, keeping a hold on his twitching fingers.

Crowley blushed. “Sorry.”

“Apologising isn’t necessary.” Aziraphale frowned. “I can feel how distressed you are. It’s usually quite difficult for me to pick up on negative emotions.”

“Maybe you’re looking for it.” Crowley muttered into his free hand. “I can feel happiness and love if ‘m trying to find it. Usually just keep an eye out for the negative stuff, though.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale agreed. “I should be in better practice when it comes to sensing distress.” He did not release Crowley’s hand, and the demon felt him probing further. “Well, you’re certainly not all right, I can tell that much.” The angel’s gaze was sharp.

“‘Sss fine. Aziraphale.” Crowley decided that he was not inebriated enough for the conversation and took more bourbon-with-a-splash-of-tea with a still shaking hand, swallowed hard.

“Is this how you would find me, when I would get into a spot of trouble?” he asked. “Tracking feelings of distress and worry?”

“Sssort of.” 

“Well, what else then?” he pressed, and if he had noticed Crowley’s embarrassment, he ignored it. “Crowley.”

Bless it. Aziraphale was getting more worried, and more curious, which was a dangerous combination. His desire to soothe the angel managed to overpower his embarrassment, just barely. He finished what was left in his mug and tried to not think too hard about him still holding his hand.

“Do y’know,” Crowley said at length, “How little traces of demonic or ethereal energy can be left around if you try?”

“Yes.”

“Went a little further. Stuck a little bit of my soul with you back in Rome by accident. And it was useful to find you later, so I didn’t take it back.” And it had been a mistake. Crowley had been drunk on Roman wine and angelic company and he had been preemptively grieving losing Aziraphale’s presence for the night, and likely for the foreseeable future. He’d barely noticed when a piece of himself had wrenched its way out of his corporation and onto Aziraphale [5]. “I could sense your distress because part of me was always next to you. In a way.”

Aziraphale got a quiet, faraway look that, Crowley knew, meant he was very quickly sorting through new information. “I know that I shouldn’t have left it for so long, and, ngk” -I’m sorry that I did it without asking or telling you, the actual apology died in his throat. 

The bookshop was silent, save for the clocks and the creaking of old furniture as Crowley sank down into Aziraphale’s chair, incandescent with shame. “It’s gone now, anyway. Got it back in the bookshop after you’d discorporated.” He had half a mind to withdraw away from Aziraphale’s judgement, but stayed resolutely in place. The angel deserved to know, at least.

The clocks continued ticking. Crowley resisted sliding onto the floor. Aziraphale had not removed his hand from his. He could sense sadness and maybe a little pity from the angel, if he looked, but there wasn’t any anger or fear, so the demon kept still.

Finally, Aziraphale shifted and sighed. “I suppose it could be considered an invasion of privacy, but I can’t say that I personally mind, the thought of you leaving a bit of your soul within my corporation.” Crowley wasn’t looking, but he could feel the angel’s smile. “It got us out of a fair bit of trouble.” His thumb stroked Crowley’s knuckles.

He vaguely wondered if drinking more would make the situation more or less bearable to deal with.

“Would you like to do it again?” Aziraphale said, at length. “And I could, perhaps, do the same for you, place a small part of my soul in your corporation permanently. If you’re amenable.”

Yes, a thousand times yes, I would do anything to be able to find you if you needed me. I’ve missed it. I would love to hold a piece of you with me always, Crowley thought, aching with hope. “Are you sure about this, angel?” came out of his mouth.

“Only if you are,” Aziraphale countered, radiating steadfast certainty. “I would like it very much. We’re on our own side, I want to reflect that.”

“I’d like it too,” Crowley managed, swallowing. “Just don’t want to saddle you with my emotions.”

“Crowley.” He finally looked at Aziraphale, startled by the intensity of frustrated love that flowed under and with the angel’s conviction. “I want to know when something is wrong. I would love to be able to feel you, Crowley, and I cannot imagine growing tired of you.” He smiled again. “If anything, all the past six thousand years have done is made me want to spend even more time with you.”

“‘Ziraphale.” Crowley whispered, nervous and elated and so in love that it ached. “Now?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale glowed, rising to his feet. “Just one moment.” He went around and drew curtains shut, concealing them completely from outside view. “Would you like to sober up a bit, dear?” he asked, straightening his clothes.

“I was incredibly drunk last time I did this.” Crowley protested, shuddering alcohol out of his bloodstream anyway and getting his legs underneath him. 

“Do you remember how you did it?” Aziraphale gestured vaguely. “You may have to show me.”

“Here.” Crowley fumbled about in the metaphysical plane, pulling out roughly the same amount of himself that he’d unintentionally recovered in the bookshop fire during The End Times That Hadn’t Been. It manifested in his hand as an odd, shifting shadow, dancing around his fingertips and reaching for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyes flashed, and then the rest of him glowed, the vision of his true form superimposed over his corporation. With the infinite care of an antique book collector, he steadied Crowley’s wrist with his left hand, and with his right, drew the offered piece of Crowley into himself, guiding the little shadow to coil up and around his left arm.

Crowley felt as it settled against Aziraphale, and his sense of the angel sharpened into comfortable clarity.

Aziraphale inhaled and exhaled slowly, the image of his true form fading from view. With another breath, he brought a little bit of his soul out of his corporation, a white-gold flame that hovered in his cupped hands. 

Crowley offered his left arm in kind, watched his true form as a piece of Aziraphale slid up his palm and forearm in an uneven starburst. It shivered as it settled in, mirroring the angel’s pleased wiggle in Crowley’s periphery. 

“I’ve never felt you with such clarity before,” Aziraphale said, awed.

“Sorry.” Crowley offered on reflex, feeling a sleepy, pleasant buzz settle over him.

“Really, now.” the angel reprimanded gently. “It feels lovely, dear, and I don’t wish to be without it.”

“Mmm.” he mumbled, nearly unhinging his jaw with a yawn and sitting down on a couch. “Does feel nice.”

The cushion dipped with Aziraphale’s weight, and Crowley tried to discreetly scoot closer. The angel took notice and guided his head to his shoulder. “It was a bit reckless of me to do that, wasn’t it?” His thumb traced a delicate pattern along Crowley’s jaw.

“A bit.” He yawned again.

“Then again,” Aziraphale continued wryly, “It has been over a millenia since we established the arrangement, one could argue that this was a long time coming.”

“Hm.” he mumbled into the angel’s shoulder, all but melting into the touch. “Got there now.”

“You can sleep, Crowley.” He said, reclining and pulling the demon closer. “I’m not going anywhere.” The lights in the bookshop dimmed invitingly, and Crowley drifted off with Aziraphale’s hand in his hair.

[5] In his inebriated state, Crowley had been unable to distinguish it from the human version of heartbreak.

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

Crowley could not relax. There was something irritating brushing at his consciousness, like a shirt tag. He couldn’t place its source, exactly, and over the course of the week he became increasingly more frustrated. Aziraphale had quickly noticed the frustration despite Crowley’s attempts to downplay it, proving to be a frighteningly quick study.

It wasn’t the new link between himself and Aziraphale, as far as they could tell. Neither one had particularly wanted to dissolve it to be certain.

He had been walking towards the Bentley, intending to return to the bookshop after caring for the plants in his flat, when the irritation that had been following him around intensified to a sharp tug. Ah, he thought, preparing to return to the not-quite-broken summoning circle, that explains it.

He rematerialized in the same circle, with its erased parts redrawn and an extra circle of text around the whole thing, adding a layer of restraints that Crowley couldn’t see an easy way out of. Tristan was standing with his arms crossed in front of Crowley, wearing a slightly different hoodie from the last time.

“Hi.” Crowley said, desperately trying to tamp down on his panic before it could show in his voice. “What brings me here?”

“You got out. That’s not going to happen again.” The man said, sounding understandably (if unjustifiably) pissed.

Crowley decided to try for honesty. “Look, I really can’t help you.”

“You will.” Tristan insisted. “I command you to!”

“Commanding me to do something-” Crowley hissed and recoiled from where he’d been probing at the barriers, nerves burning like they’d been sliced open and dipped in acid. 

“So you found my extra protections.” he observed, “good luck getting out of those, Serpent.”

“Still won’t change the fact that I can’t help you. Both of us are wasting our time.” Crowley pushed again. The burning flared against his consciousness, greying out his vision. When he blinked himself back to awareness, he was kneeling on the ground, shaking.

Tristan was watching him, now seated on a rolling office chair. “Keep struggling if you want. You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

Crowley hissed at Tristan, dragging himself to his feet, spitting out blood from where he’d accidentally bitten his cheek. 

“Crawly, Serpent of Eden, you are bound to serve me.” Tristan intoned, reading from a computer printout. “You will remain bound until I release you.”

“What do you wish of me, master?” the demon spat sarcastically. “Shall I perform a resurrection? Balance the moon on top of Everest? Either one would be easier than convincing a woman to ever have sex with you.”

“You’ll regret that!” Tristan glared at Crowley, then began rifling through binders. “I have something here that shows me how to punish you.” 

Crowley stayed stubbornly silent, still aching from probing the barriers and trying to tamp down on his panic.

“You,” Aziraphale was suddenly there, voice flat and cold, “are going to stop this nonsense at once.” The angel, glowing, wings out, and eyes piercing, loomed over Tristan, who flinched in shock and scrambled away.

Crowley noted, distantly, that he could see the shadow of his essence snaking up Aziraphale’s arm in this form. Aziraphale cast a concerned glance in his direction.

“Ugnnnn.” The man whined, pressing himself against a wall. The angel huffed, and a moment later appeared much more human shaped [6].

“Now. You are going to listen to me.” Aziraphale said. “You are going to erase the circle immediately, in its entirety.”

“You can’t make me!” Tristan protested, even as he reached for the eraser and crouched down in front of the circle. “That demon will attack me.”

“You have my word as an angel that you will come to no harm from him.” Aziraphale said. “And I suppose that I can’t make you, but it will be much easier to restrain him if my hands aren’t busy from doing the erasing.”

He cast a wary glance between the two supernatural entities and began erasing. Crowley made a lunge at him as the circle was broken, just for show, and was caught by Aziraphale, who supported the demon’s weight without flinching.

“Thank you.” The angel said, when it was finished. ���I would also like you to tell me where, precisely, you learned this ritual.”

The human sat down at his computer and navigated to a forum, gesturing wordlessly to the screen. Aziraphale shifted Crowley off of him and peered at it. “Fascinating.” He said, “Tell them that it didn’t work.”

“It did work!”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But anyone who summons Crowley will have to deal with me, and believe me, I will know if someone summons him with bad intentions, and I will end it by whatever means necessary.” Aziraphale said mildly, putting himself between the back of the chair and the rest of the room.

Tristan looked at him, then mulishly informed his contacts that the ritual had been ineffective. [7] “That’s not gonna stop everyone.”

“More fool them.” the angel replied primly, then tapped the computer, which sparked and died with a few alarmed beeps.

“You can’t just do that!” The human wailed, scrabbling to unplug the computer and inspect it for damage. Aziraphale stepped back to support Crowley again.

“You’ll find that I have.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers. “We’re leaving now. Do not try this again. Goodbye.” He snapped again, and Crowley found himself standing in the middle of his flat, being held upright by the angel.

“Thanks.” He said, sore and delirious with relief.

“You’re quite welcome. Would you like to go lie down?”

Crowley did not want to leave Aziraphale’s company. “Are you going to come with me?”

“Of course.” His voice was warm and fond, and he swept Crowley into his arms. “You really did give me quite a fright.”

Crowley, too tired to care about the loss of dignity, steadied himself by looping his arms around the angel’s neck. “I suppose you would have felt the summoning.”

“I did. It was highly unpleasant, and I do not wish to repeat the experience.” Aziraphale nudged the bedroom door open and deposited the demon onto the bed.

Crowley stretched and removed his shoes. “Speaking of, what about his binders full of notes? They were everywhere.”

“Yes, I had noticed those.” Aziraphale said. “I took care of them.” [8]

Changing into sleep clothes was the work of a couple miracles, and then Aziraphale was sliding under the covers next to Crowley.

“I memorized the screen name of the original poster. I’ll have to look into it, see if they’re the rightful owner or if one of my contacts has been stolen from.”

“Can that wait until tomorrow?” Crowley grumbled. “I’m comfortable here.”

“Of course, dearest.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley felt a pulse of love from the angel. “Would you like me to spend the night?”

In response, he wrapped himself around Aziraphale, burying his face into his neck. Aziraphale chuckled and put his arms around the demon, pressing his lips to the top of Crowley’s head. “Sleep well, Crowley.”

[6] But no less furious.

[7] Which, if you want to be technical, was not really a lie.

[8] The angel had miracled all of the ink off of the pages and back into the ink cartridges that it had come from. One didn’t want to be wasteful, after all.

[roguesandsaviors]

Do Your Thing

Fandom: Baby Driver

Characters: Trace (OFC), Buddy, Griff, Bats, Baby, Doc. 

Pairing: None

Summary: Trace knows she is good at what she does even if she doesn’t always morally agree with the choices made by the others in the crew. A job leaves her a little shaken.

Word Count:2,315

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Foul language

Author’s note: So, I know that this is a rather small fandom. I watched Baby Driver and couldn’t help but absolutely adore Jon Hamm’s character, Buddy. Of course it spawned a fic. I know that he works so well with Darling and I loved the pairing in the film but I have an issue with OC’s and writing First person POV. And here it is. Hope everyone enjoys. There is more coming soon. If you haven’t seen the movie, it is definitely worth checking out. It’s a blast of a movie.

*************************************************************************************************

I sat in the back quietly, tapping away on keyboard in front of me to ensure that I had everything ready for the job. Baby was sitting next to me, headphones in as they always were. The rest of the room was quiet, no one else besides Doc at showed up yet. It wasn't unusual for the two of us to be some of the first in the room. Or the last two. It depended on the day and how much we wanted to be at the job. I didn't mind it as much as Baby did. Though I also wasn't in the sort of debt to Doc that he was. He wanted out of this life. I understood that desire. There were days that the same sort of crazy ideas bubbled to the forefront of my mind. Then I remembered that I wasn't really good at anything besides hacking. I wouldn't do good sitting behind a desk. I didn't get along others particularly well. Something about the criminal element that kept me at ease over normal people. There was nothing to hide here. These people were open about all their flaws and what they wanted. They didn't try to be someone that they weren't. Most of the time, they just accepted who everyone was for the most part. We were the youngest of the crews but we were good at our jobs. That made our place on the team acceptable. 

Rhythmically, my fingers worked over the keys in a comforting motion. Code scrolled before my eyes as I worked to gain ghost access to the systems. Doc had cops in his pocket. That should have made things easier. Not that it was difficult to begin with. If the public knew how unprotected the police department of Atlanta was, they wouldn't feel as safe. It was a pathetically easy system to hack into and with the code I was running, the counter program to keep their systems from alerting them of my presence working perfectly. 

The doors of the elevator opened with a ding. The others were here. Well at least some of them were. I didn't bother to look back. They would come into view soon enough. I kicked my legs out a bit on the stool I was perched on. There were three people that came into view. I recognized all of them from previous jobs. It was never the same crew but Doc did use the same people over. Buddy, Bats, and Griff. Two of the three I liked. Bats was a wild card and someone that set me on edge. He couldn't be trusted at all.  Not that Griff couldn’t be a dick but he wasn’t a complete asshole. I cracked my knuckles, it was a nervous habit. The other two looked towards Baby and I. They wore small matching smiles and gave acknowledging nods in our direction. I returned the nod for the both of us. Those two at least had heads on their shoulders. For criminals. It wasn't saying much but they were probably two of the most stable individuals that Doc brought in. 

Doc waited for the three men to settle in before he launched into the plan. Baby and I barely paid attention. He had his music to focus on, playing with the car that was a miniature model of what they would be driving. I continued to monitor the program. Besides Doc's voice, the sound of the key presses filled the room. I bit the tip of my tongue to keep focused instead of letting my eyes wander over the crew. I could see a million different scenarios of how this job could go. Two made calculated choices while one made knee jerk reactions. Each different scenario, I felt like I knew how Buddy and Griff would react. Their actions could be predicted to some degree of certainty. Bats on the other hand? I couldn't begin to guess beyond violently and without a care for consequences. He would put all of our lives in danger without a second thought. The math didn't work out when it came to him. That made me uncomfortable. Life could be broken down to equations and numbers even in the criminal life. Logic could come from chaos with a few tweaks. 

"Hey there sweet thing." I could have slammed my head into the desk. It would grant me the sweet unconscious release and escape from Bats. Baby couldn't do anything to help me. He had already gotten up and moved off to talk to Doc. I couldn't stop the way that my leg began to bounce with some nerves. Everyone else was involved in their own business. 

"I uh, I gotta focus on this code. I need to make sure I stay in the system for tomorrow." I lied through my teeth but it was easy to press a few buttons to pull up another program that allowed me to write programs. I dropped my eyes, hoping that the lack of interest would send him off. It didn't unfortunately and my skin crawled as he reached out. 

"Come on now. There are plenty of more...interesting things for you to focus on." He leaned into my space.

"Bats." It was Buddy who had approached and a quick glance up confirmed that Griff was watching the situation closely. There could have been real trouble if there hadn't been at least one of them there to help me out. "You're in charge of masks." Any distraction was welcomed. I wanted his focus off of me. When Bats looked away, I gave the man a thankful nod. Tap, tap, tap of the keys filled my ears and began to drown out the sound of what was happening in the room around me. The men would handle their business and let Baby and I handle ours. Well, Baby would tomorrow. He didn't have to do much until then and he didn't have to do a damn thing to prepare. He knew every escape route and road in this city like the back of his hand. 

Sitting in the car, I was in the backseat as usual. They needed a point man in the front. Unfortunately for Baby, that meant that it was Hard. Thankfully for me, I was sandwiched between Griff and Buddy. There were worse places to be. A thought I kept to myself and locked away deeply to deal with later. My program was running smoothly so far. The two men beside me were quiet and didn't dare reach over and touch my little laptop. Buddy had always been respectful enough of it and Griff had touched it once. It hadn't worked out well for that job and he learned his lesson quickly. There wasn’t a lot of talk in the car. There really wasn’t a need in the lead up to the job. They were all focus on the task at hand and what their roles were. 

The car pulling to a stop was the alert that I needed. We were at the site. I looked up finally, tearing my eyes away from the scrolling series of numbers and letters. All three men got out of the car. Their movements were in sync. I glanced towards Baby, knowing that he was focused on his music and the timing of when the others would be out of the bank. His head was bobbing along with whatever music he was listening to. It brought a smile to my face before my eyes dropped back to my screen. In a separate window, I punched in a few things and had access to the banks computer system. I grinned as a few extra windows popped up. The guys were doing their things and moving perfectly. The silence alarms were disabled before any of the tellers could hit their buttons. Another few keystrokes and the vault opened. The guys had a clear shot at grabbing what they could. The bank had just gotten a delivery of new bills this morning. There wasn’t a chance to have placed any trackers or ink packets onto them. They were ripe for the picking. Bats was screaming and waving his gun around while Griff and Buddy moved to load bags. I turned back to the department and made sure that they hadn’t picked up on anything yet. There were no calls coming through yet and my shut down of the alarm system was working perfectly. It was only a matter of time before something was told to them though. I couldn’t hack every cell phone in the area. Someone inside was bound to be doing something stupid like trying to use their phone to call 911. Or someone else to call 911. 

Buddy and Griff were done just as the call come through. 

“Time to go guys….” I mumbled as Bats seemed intent on making someone an example. Whoever the guy was in front of him was giving him a hard time. A hero type. He didn’t want to go down. That was never good since Bats couldn’t let things like that go. He was going to get us caught. I could see Griff talking to him and trying to get him moving. Before anyone could stop it though, a bullet had ended up going through the skulls of whoever was standing up to him. “Fuck.” I closed my eyes and clenched my fingers for a moment so I didn’t end up accidentally slamming my hands into the laptop. I didn’t need to be setting anything off or causing some sort of issue. I let out a slow breath before being jolted by the two men getting into the car. It was still Griff and Buddy thankfully. I remained quiet, though I did want to congratulate them on a job well done. It was Bats that had fucked everything up. Baby slammed the car into reverse before spinning us and rocketing us off. I knew that he knew these streets better than I did. I could hack into the traffic control center but he was able to get us out of this mess without me interfeing. I closed the laptop and glanced back. There were still no cops on our tail yet. I knew that was going to change. There was no way that they didn’t have units rushing to find us. 

“What the fuck was that?” Oh, Griff sounded pissed. I risked glancing to the man to the left of me. Buddy shook his head subtly and I knew that opening my mouth wasn’t a good idea. Not that I was really going to but there was no point in trying to calm Griff down. Once he got going, he wasn’t going to stop. Buddy was a little more level headed and probably should have been the one to challenge Bats. 

“Shut your mouth. Bitch was back talking and causing trouble. He was just a casualty to the situation. No one is gonna miss him and it isn’t going to cause an issue.” How the man could be that confident in that statement was beyond me. Dead bodies were always an issue. It brought more police presence and media coverage to the job. It meant someone looking into it harder than they would before. It could be the sort of thing that connected to other jobs and gave them a trail to chase. Every job that was pulled, the weapons were destroyed right after. The car met the same fate. Everything, minus the crew, that could be traced back to Doc was taken care of. Well, sometimes the crew met that fate too. It depended on the performance. Bats never seemed to be one of those that met that fate. In my mind, he was more trouble than he was worth. Doc got more of a headache out of the man than he did any sort of help. 

“You added a body to the job. That is causing more trouble than what the back talk was doing.” Griff hit the back of the seat and suddenly the gun was pointing back at him. I pressed myself a little further into the seat, shifting closer to Buddy. I didn’t want to be close to being on the receiving end of a blast by the shotgun. He had buck shot in that thing. The spray would still hit me even though we were in close range. I tucked my hands behind my back. They along with my eyes were most important to me. At least I could protect my hands without burying my face into the man next to me.

“Bats put the fucking gun down.” Buddy finally spoke up. I was practically pressed into his side and could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke against my back. I would have time to be embarrassed about it later. “You aren’t going to fucking shoot him while we are in the middle of our getaway.” On cue, there were some sirens behind us. Bats was contemplating it. He was genuinely thinking about shooting Griff while Baby was getting us the hell out of dodge. He finally laughed before lowering the gun. I relaxed and pulled away from Buddy, mumbling a sorry. He didn’t say anything about it. Not that I really expected him. There was a little too much tension in the car. Even as they were riding the post heist high, there was an unease there. No one wanted to break it. That fell right on Bats. Part of me wished that Griff had pulled the gun. It would have made my life easier even if it was messy and unnecessary at the moment. The man bothered me and made me feel uncomfortable. He invaded my personal space too often. If the others weren’t around, I didn’t put it past him to try something even if I said no.

[racefortheironthrone]

Thoughts on House of X #3

Ah, back to HoX in what feels like the first time in forever.

Death and Memory:

As we might expect for an issue that concerns itself entirely with a special forces mission, the issue starts with an exploration of the psychology of the participants - starting with Scott himself, although the idea of a mission leader who has to overcome his fears and doubts for a higher purpose isn’t particularly novel for the genre. 

Throughout HoX/PoX, there’s a significant part of the fandom that has focused on question of consent - which is something we’ll definitely get into in this and future posts - but it’s noticeable that this discussion doesn’t include this segment, where Scott is very careful to describe the mission as done by “people who accept the mission for what it is” who “understand the stakes and the risk.”

I like how the responses from Cyclops’ superiors not only emphasize the themes of the series but also the character of the speakers: Xavier’s response is (a bit too?) intimate, talking about Scott’s thoughts with the first-hand knowledge of a lifelong mentor who is also a telepath, emphasizing the concept of “family” which we’ll see bandied about through House of X #6, and most crucially promising him that “you’re not going to die. I won’t allow it.” As we learn later, Xavier is being quite literal.

By contrast, Magneto’s speech is all high politics, emphasizing the righteousness of the mission, the Achillean route to immortality “by their mighty works,” and the role that national myth plays in turning real people into icons that live on after their death. We’ll see quite a few Krakoan Founding Fathers as the series goes on, from the Five to the Quiet Council. Given the existential nature of the threat that Cyclops’ team are facing down, it’s not surprising that they’re treated with a bit of Nathan Hale hero-worship. 

So let’s talk about the team composition. As people have noted, while some of them make a lot of sense (you need psychics, you need teleporters, you need sneakers and fighters), others are a bit odd. Archangel’s an odd inclusion, given the restrictions the mission will place on flying, although to be honest we don’t know what his or Husk’s role was supposed to be, because they never get to do anything. 

Focusing more on the broader parameters of the mission: Cyclops is quite up-front about Mother Mold as the proximate danger and Nimrod as the ultimate danger, as well as the no “taking Krakoan fauna with us.” I would agree that Mystique’s body language and dialogue wrt to maybe breaking that rule are quite suspicious here, but if there is any significance to this plot thread, it’ll have to wait for Powers of X #6 and/or Dawn of X.

Incidentally, I don’t buy at all arguments from some elements of the fandom that the X-Men are being mind-controlled or are pod people - we see Archangel and Husk disagreeing with Monet, Cyclops clashing with Mystique...and between Wolverine and Marvel Girl. Prefiguring her role in establishing the Second Law of Krakoa, Jean Grey argues for sparing the “human crew” as non-combatants (”they’re not soldiers in the war...they’re just scientists”), whereas Logan argues that the Orchis crew are constructing “machines to exterminate a species,” making them war criminals as well as military personnel. 

Incidentally, I really like the Krakoan flower on the Blue Area of the Moon being used to boost the X-Men’s space capabilities. It’s a lovely sci-fi touch, and one that shows Krakoa as both innovative and outward-facing but also expansionist if not outright colonialist. 

Machines Infographic:

It’s really hard to discuss Sentinels without thinking about Hickman’s other infographics about ascending hierarchies of machine intelligences.

It’s highly significant that the Alpha Sentinels are set aside from those above them as non-sentient and non-replicating...hence why they are referred to as “drones,” which suggests an insect metaphor. (Incidentally, the original Alpha sentinels seemed to have some awareness, so there’s clearly some retconning going on.)

the Master Mold is replicating, adaptive, and self-aware, all higher functions that we associate with...well, human beings (and maybe AIs?). And yet the Master Mold is clearly lesser than the Mother Mold, because it “is incpabale of improving beyond its ultimate Sentinel state” - in other words, because it lacks the full range of cognition and imagination.

Mother Molds can not only produce Master Molds, but it can also produce Nano-Sentinels who have no limits to their abilities - it’s all very similar to how Hickman conceptualizes Omega mutants vs. the rank-and-file.

While much of HoX/PoX have focused on the threat that Nimrod poses, I’m surprised we haven’t seen as much discussion about what the way that Hickman describes the Omega Sentinels tells us about Karima Shapandar’s role. 

Most importantly, however, we get an info-dump about what Moira learned in her 9th Life (which also shows how Moira continues to exert influence on the plot from behind the scenes): it turns out that “while emergent A.Is are unavoidable, an anti-mutant Nimrod is not.” We don’t know why that’s the case, and I’m really curious whether part of the plan has something to do with creating a mutant or mutant-friendly emergent A.I, possibly through the Cerebro database. 

It’s particularly ominous that we haven’t seen any follow-up on what the “incomplete” Nimrod origin files might mean - did the X-Men miss a backup or a failsafe? Did they get the ordering of Mother Mold and Nimrod wrong? Or is it just a dropped plot thread?

One thing that I like is that Sleeping Giant, Moira’s new plan, involves essentially an Orchis protocol for the Orchis protocol, looking for humans reaching “technological thresholds” at the same time that Orchis is looking for mutants reaching their own thresholds. 

Project Achilles Infographic:

I’m not surprised that much of the fandom have focused on the nature of the Krakoan legal system, but I am surprised we’ve seen so little focus on the “Project Achilles” legal system. 

To begin with, it’s not a good sign that someone who committed crimes in New York City is being tried in a super-max prison somewhere in the snowy mountains. Even more troubling is the discussion of “extra-constitutional requirements” of running this prison.

Finally, while it might be a bit pedantic, there’s osmething really really weird about the Department of State, the branch of government that’s supposed to be involved with foreign policy and diplomacy, running a domestic federal prison. The Federal Bureau of Prisons is a real thing, and there’s a good reason that it falls under the Department of Justice. Again, all this should be troubling.

 A Fair Trial?

Things don’t get much better when we get inside the courthouse, where we see an armed judge chatting with an armed and armored Attorney General, whereas the defense is a clearly intimidated civilian. 

The facade of justice begins to slip even more when the judge says “we’re charging your client” (judges don’t charge defendants, prosecutors do), and then brings up a “twelve-strike rule” that seems to follow the logic of “felony murder” in that the “intent” of the accused no longer matters.

For his part, Sabertooth is clearly enjoying playing the role of the outlaw, establishing his position that as far as he’s concerned, his physical strength places him above judgement or punishment. Something to keep in mind when we get to the question of assessing Krakoan law. 

With her scent if not her reputation greatly preceeding her, Emma Frost arrives on the scene in a characteristic burst of high style and ominous undertones. The Cuckoos’ casual anti-human bigotry, equating humans with “monkeys...using tools...playing at civilization” suggests a poisonous reflection of the old Neanderthal/Cro-Magnon analogy. On the other hand, the White Queen and her “daughters” struggling with the new paradigm of mutant names > human names suggests that building a new, separate, mutant culture is more of a struggle than Magneto would like to admit.

As someone who’s very much interested in the nation-building side of the House of X story, the idea that the nascent nation-state of Krakoa would have negotiated for extra-territoriality is quite fascinating. At one and the same time, we’re shown the need for it - everyone from the judge to the prosecutor to the bailiffs are instantly drawing guns on un-armed defendant counsel and making it very clear that the judge had concluded that “that...thing is a killer” before the trial started - but we can’t ignore the long history of extra-territoriality as an expression of imperialism, either. 

Then again, I wonder how much of the reaction of Western readers is due to the fact that we’re not used to seeing the U.S on the receiving end of demands for extra-territoriality. I wonder how people from countries that were formally colonized or made to sign “unequal” treaties feel about this storyline? 

In the face of knee-jerk violent responses, Emma gets very personal about her diplomacy. She doesn’t use mind control to get her way, because the State Department has already given her all the leverage she needs by granting diplomatic immunity to “all Krakoans on United States soil.” That being said, as much as Emma is here to make a political point that “mutants won’t be judged in human courts,” she isn’t afraid to push back on Tolliver by threatening to make very clear how little the gun matters in “equalizing power dynamics.”

Omega Cycle Infographic:

This infographic is something of a sleeper - I haven’t seen much if any discussion with regards to Karima Shapandar’s role in either X^1 or X^2 timelines. However, it establishes quite clearly that the process of creating Omega Sentinels is a horrific violation of consent, where a person’s “host systems and organs” are replaced well before the “human host becomes aware of the combine consciousness.” Note the explicit comparison to “recovering from trauma.”

I’ve seen it asserted repeatedly that  Karima Shapandar sided with Orchis (or later on with the Man-Machine Ascendancy) because she was excluded from Krakoa, without much evidence cited. This infographic suggests another reason - by proceeding from Union to Adaptation, Karima’s consciousness may have been altered, changing her allegiances along the way. 

There are also implications for Ascension in the X^3 timeline - is “integration of host and machine” a process of cultural exchange and preservation or a hostile process of “infection”?

Crossing the Heller-Faust Line:

Before the action kicks off, we get an interesting thesis: “self-preservation is entirely rational...it’s the panic it produces where errors get introduced.” Throughout the next two issues, we see both sides acting in the name of self-preservation, but also constantly making decisions that ratchet up the body-count.

The initial context has a lot to do with Hickman’s fixation on the mechanical singularity and trans-humanism: continuing her X^2 interest in preserving humanity-qua-humanity, Omega Sentinel’s fear is that an out-of-control Mother Mold will result in the grey goo scenario, if the Sentinels’ drive to wipe out mutants leads them to wipe out humans as the source of mutation. It’s certainly easier than fighting the sun.

Indeed, throughout the next two issues, we will see humans wrestle with their fears of their own mechanical creations: Sol’s Forge is set up with failsafes to jettison Mother Mold into the sun, Dr. Gregor doesn’t initially want to wake up Mother Mold until the A.I has passed a test for sociopathy. We’ve seen what it looks like when A.Is fail this test, and it’s not pretty.

 At this point, the X-Men arrive and what proceeds is a back-and-forth volley of both sides trying and failing to outflank the other. Both Krakoa and Orchis were “expecting to be fully online before we got their attention” and find themselves thrown into a fight before they were fully ready, and their improvizations make things more violent: first up, Orchis calls in the “drones from Mercury” (again with the terra-forming) who will kill Marvel Girl, all in the name of “a little fight for the survival of their people.”

Next, Kurt teleports onto the station to double-check their information and runs into Omega Sentinel - at this point, both sides are willing to talk, Omega Sentinel recognizes her opponent as a person and seeks to understand the X-Men’s psychology.

By contrast, Gregor and Erasmus under-estimate their foe with “a linear plan for a non-linear foe,” allowing the mutants to bypass the hanger bottleneck. Erasmus responds with the assymetric response of a suicide bomb, but I think there’s a fundamental ambiguity as to whether he’s doing this in the name of “whatever it takes to build a better world” or whether he’s doing it in the name of “don’t let them win.”

And so the X-Men lose their ride home, in what turns out to be only the first of many fake-outs.

[touchmycoat]

Kinktober: day 1

alskdjfhalsd you know how I can’t finish things really? I’ve decided I’ll just post daily bits of writing that fulfill the kink of the day. Literally all WIPS probably but I’m gonna finish them i swear ;;;

Day 1: Sensory Deprivation

It was one of those open sea nights that settled in soft. Dinner had been the usual raucous affair, with a number of Ace's favorites (heaps of carbs and meats on top, as Thatch very well knew), and a barrel of hearty mead had been cracked open and passed around. Marco was back on the ship after one of his patrol circuits, and he had greeted Ace, upon his arrival, with a long, loving, very sweet kiss. Everything aboard the Moby Dick was warm, and the perfect definition of family.

It all served to make Ace even more anxious, later that night, closing the door to Marco's room (well, their room at this point, pretty much) behind him.

“Tired?” Ace opened. Marco had stripped down to just his pants, and was toweling down the evening's mild sweat and dirt. His smile, when he looked back over his shoulder, was casual and unsuspecting.

“No more so than usual yoi,” was the reply, as Marco wrung the towel out one more time, hanging it out to dry on a rack. Ace, in an effort to disguise his foot-shuffling worry, had sat himself down on the bed. When his hands started twisting about themselves though, he had to sit on them too. “How about you?”

“Same. Dinner was nice, so was the drink. But I didn't have too much or anything!” Marco's amused quirk of an eyebrow was, Ace surmised, the appropriate reaction to such seemingly random defensiveness. He needed to recover, quick. “C'mere?”

“Always.”

And wasn't this just the loveliest thing about Marco. Before finding his way into this relationship, Ace had never given too much thought to sex—there had always been more relevant things, and Ace has always found libido easily dismissable (especially aboard ships filled with nosey crewmates who weren't afraid to make fun of you if they overheard anything). Which was why he didn't have much by way of expectations. Even if he did though, Ace thought he'd've still been pretty blown away by all the things Marco could, were willing, and wanted to do.

Like this kiss. Guiding, yet obliging. Powerful, yet articulate in its model of power, where the throne was always present to seat Ace. Marco, ever happy to go to his knees.

(There was something perversely thrilling in this, thinking of them not as just Ace and Marco—and Sabo, on his way, as promised by a den den mushi call just that morning—but as Ace, the wildcard rookie who wracked up a bounty like nobody's business and was offered a Shichibukai spot mere months into his debut, and as Marco the Phoenix. Second-in-Command to the Strongest Man in the World, a legend in his own right. Ace had nothing, nothing but love and respect for Pops, but in moments like this, he also quite deviously delighted in the thought that a man of Marco's caliber was here, on his knees, for Ace.)

...But Ace was on a mission tonight. No matter how much he was enjoying this, he knew this wasn't the kind of conversation they could have on uneven ground. So he (reluctantly) pulled away from the kiss, then pulled Marco up and onto the bed.

“Something on your mind, yoi?” Marco asked, a little bit of a furrow between his brow now, but still unsuspecting. Ace had pressed himself in close, and was tracing the outline of Marco's tattoo in a nervous gesture.

“There's something I need to tell you, but I don't think you're gonna like it,” he blurted. When he felt the telltale suspension of Marco's breath under his fingers, Ace hurried to add, “it's nothing bad! In fact, it's probably actually good. I think.”

“I'm more than happy to hear what you want to say yoi, you know that,” Marco said carefully, when it became clear Ace was waiting for a response. “But is this something you want to talk to Sabo about first, perhaps?”

“Honestly I wanted to tell you first because I think you'll take it harder than he will.”

“...Alright. Then not to rush you or anything yoi.” Every square inch of Marco has glaciated, and he was clearly trying not to jerk himself out from under Ace's hands. The worst part was, Ace really hadn't been able to think of a better way to do this. “But would you please tell me what's going on already?”

“Yes, sorry, I just—” Come on, Portgas, you practiced this. “Okay. So remember when you and Sabo asked if there's something I would like to try and explore? Like, he has his pain thing and you have your service thing. I was trying to figure out if there's anything I would like, in that, um, realm. And there kind of is.”

That was clearly not where Marco expected this conversation to go—his frown now was wholly confused. Knowing Marco, he had probably been anticipating a declaration about how Ace realized the only one he wanted was Sabo, and won't Marco please kindly remove himself from the equation already.

Realizing that, Ace tried to simultaneously kiss and shake some reassurance into Marco (resulting in an uncoordinated clash of teeth that nevertheless did the job, for it got a startled huff of laughter out of Marco).

“I love you, you know that right?” Ace declared in a rush. “So this isn't—There is something I'd like to try, but you need to know I'm really fucking happy with my life, okay? I couldn't be more grateful, to you and Sabo, to Pops, to everybody in the crew, and I swear on my life—okay well maybe not—I swear on my mother's grave that everything's really, really good. I have everything I think I can possibly want or need—”

“Ace,” Marco cut him off. His nose was slightly scrunched in focus, as a man used to wearing glasses did when scrutinizing a mess in comprehension. “I need you to explain again, okay yoi?” When the right configuration of words still eluded Ace, Marco offered, “it sounds like you're maybe concerned that whatever you want to try might imply you're unhappy?”

“That I'm ungrateful,” Ace tweaked. “And I'm not, I swear to you.”

“Ace,” Marco repeated, a strange expression on his face as he set a hand on Ace's thigh. “I know that yoi. What we want in the privacy of the bedroom doesn't need to have any bearing on what we want in daily life. I hardly think that every time Sabo asks to be hit in bed he wants us to beat him up during the day.”

“Right, I know that,” Ace said miserably, “but this is different.”

“How, yoi?”

Ace breathed. And breathed and breathed, and Marco just let him. Marco watched him from less than a foot away, with the steady patience of a dedicated listener, willing Ace to find the words to talk to him.

So Ace, having already chosen to embark down this road, summoned up all his stores of courage and faith, and croaked, “well I was reading that book, and I just thought, wouldn't it be nice to not exist?”

Marco's gaze went blank, but Ace gripped the hand still on his thigh hard, keeping things in place.

“They called it,” he said softly, meaning that book, the one Sabo tossed at him with a wink, “sensory deprivation. Said it feels, for some people, like you've simply stopped existing.”

“I just thought,” Ace continued, voice dissipating into something even less than a whisper. A confession, unforgiven. “It might be nice.”

The strength in his grip was disappearing just as quickly as his confidence, and Ace began to shift away. But really, what the hell had he been thinking? Surely Marco, who had gone through two lifetimes and an infinity of sparring with death just to convince Ace to stay alive, wouldn't react well to this casual talk of Ace throwing his life away. Again. It was a silly desire to begin with, something miasmic and imprecise in the depth of Ace's mind. At least Sabo had clear-cut needs—hit me until I feel branded by you, or let me hit you until I've tied you to me. Marco was even more straightforward, easily summarized in a single word: give. And here was Ace, making a mess of things again with his messy wants. He should never have said anything, because he was perfectly happy wasn't he? Selfish, to be demanding more, especially something that he knew, he knew would hurt—

“Ace.” A flash of emotional blue—the hand that came to cup Ace's cheek though, was entirely flesh. “Ace.”

The kiss that cut off Ace's immediate attempt to apologize was—nothing like Ace expected. Nothing apologetic, nothing horrified, nothing (god forbid) pitying. It was actually... hot. Not the most devouring of gestures, but one still thoroughly suffused with want. It was so confusing that Ace had to break away.

“I thought,” he stuttered, “I thought you'd be upset.”

“You said this is a good thing,” Marco pointed out. “Did you mean that?”

“I—Yes. It's not bad, I'm not sad or anything—”

“Then great, yoi. We're on the same page.”

“Really?” Ace couldn't help but squawk. He was probably being dreadfully rude but he couldn't care less at this point. “You're turned on by this?”

“Shouldn't I be?” Despite his confident words, Marco still gave away a bit of self-consciousness by scratching the back of his neck, eyes flickering off to the side. “And well, I got quite the rush of endorphins yoi, when I realized you weren't actually breaking up with me.”

“And why the fuck would I break up with you?” Ace growled, not really meaning it as a question at all. Marco, taking the hint, gestured the question away with a slight tilt of his head. His eyes, Ace noticed, were still mostly pupil.

“I'm the predictable one in this equation yoi, you know that. So tell me—” The other great thing about Marco was, when he promised like that, with his whole body, he's never ever failed to give Ace all that was asked for. “—how would you like this done?”

continued

[bonesandblood-sunandmoon]

The Baggage of Love

CoA prompt for Dec 2019 - “Love” [Call for Submissions]. Under a cut due to length; there’s a few sections: Family, Friends, So-Called “Puppy Love”, Love is a Four-Letter Word, and “not gay as in happy, but queer as in i love you”. (Link to that quoted post is provided.)

Family

In terms of feeling (personal experience) and topic (impersonal), there’s an iceberg when approaching familial love (and the lack thereof). I don’t have the spoons for poking at the effects of our parents’ lives on us, divorce, growing up in an essentially single parent house, or the fragility of familial love, usually framed in terms of acceptance, around queer and trans identities. Other people have written about the popularity of the Found Family trope in queer fandom, intergenerational trauma, and all kinds of family stuff, and I am but a simple blogger. I do remember that it was first with my family that I was exposed to the concept of love and saying that I loved them, and when push comes to shove, it’s not uncommon for stories to default to parental love as an important element of a character’s story (‘at least their family will always be there for them’).

Familial love can be fraught with complications of our own parent-child or caretaker-child baggage (if grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. raised us), but I suspect there are some aros who would say that it’s a different flavor of love from what’s talked about in relation to aromanticism. The whole offspring thing is a whole ‘nother can of worms that could be a separate CoA prompt, but I can see child rearing being separate from the alloromantic relationship elevator in a way that isn’t incompatible with being aro, even if co-parenting is usually presented romantically in most media. (At least, off the top of my head, I associate it with ‘becoming a step-parent’ narratives, but that doesn’t mean non-romantic co-parenting isn’t out there.)

Friends

I know I’ve seen it cross my dash about not emphasizing platonic love over romantic love or over emphasizing friends as a means of ‘aros are still human’, but I didn’t save links for an idea of how discussions about prioritizing friendship have been happening. On the one hand, I can understand how uncomfortable and alienating this can be for aplatonic aros, but on the other hand, I spend most of my time in the allo-allo world with people who clearly prioritize romantic love over friendships, so it feels like I don’t actually experience very much prioritization of friendship. I don’t mean that the aro community shouldn’t be cautious of prioritizing platonic love and relationships. It’s more of a personal balancing act, but I’m not quite finding the right words for what I want to say right now.

(Aside: When I think of love that hasn’t been otherwise specified, I think of the middle school banter with some of my friends - something like a minor inconvenience leads to “I hate you” “Aw, I love you, too” - juxtaposed against feeling blindsided in high school that, apparently, I’m misleading others if I say ‘I love you’ to a friend. Unbeknownst to me, I was dating someone for about two or three months in 9th grade because of that. I think of wanting to tell someone that I was proud of them facing one of their fears during the course of that day’s work (“I love you for trying”). I think of reassuring friends that I care about them.)

When I think of just the word ‘love’, I think of an amorphous, unspecific feeling love that seems to reasonably include friendships. Some posts that were probably meant to stay personal/venting posts from aro bloggers use love to mean romance, but sometimes, that feels about as restrictive as allo-allo people assuming I must be dating a friend in order to say love. I may not feel as comfortable saying it out loud anymore, but I still love my friends in a way that’s hard to name or specify any further yet isn’t romantic.

So-Called “Puppy Love”

I feel like I’ve explained this before, but I have memories of crushes that have faded and become hard to translate to present/future perceptions. One of my past rounds of shadow work was specifically aimed at recovering from a crush on a friend ending our friendship, and I’ve always been embarrassed to talk about it, particularly as the final straw that set off one of my depressive episodes in high school. ~ One of those overperforming emos writing sad poetry about an unrequited crush? The emotional dysregulation of experiencing the first major heartbreak and becoming a depressed teen stereotype? ~ It was cringey before calling things cringey was a thing. (Also, please don’t go looking for my middle/high school era DA account where that’s been immortalized.)

In hindsight, I can recognize a whole bunch of comparatively minor crushes were probably more based on aesthetic attraction because they didn’t actually come with the same type of ‘butterflies’ and daydreaming about hypothetical futures. The crushes that were more substantial and had to be accommodated were more likely on friends, and it faired better to just wait out the feelings with no disclosure. I can think of at least one occasion where I was semi-aware that my crush was aesthetically based and I didn’t actually want to date him, but that awareness didn’t come along until undergrad. The last situation I definitely call a crush was in Sophomore year of undergrad and involved a friend, who in the past year found out about it and wasn’t upset or anything. (Shout out to friendship that can survive accidentally revealing that time I had a crush on her because she follows my tumblr.)

The Lightning Incident (as I so creatively refer to it) was this random, out of the blue event in my (I believe) Senior year of undergrad where my brain just kinda blanked, I felt internally giddy, and I just forgot how to speak while a cute girl I didn’t know was talking to me. Like, I just mentally shut down a bit and wandered away from the salad bar in a daze. For sheer experience on my end, I’m including it here, but I’ve still never been sure if it was a crush because my brain forgetting how to talk is incredibly counterproductive to interaction (and hasn’t happened before). I felt incredibly nervous talking to her during future conversations, but it didn’t quite feel the same as what I’ve experienced as a crush before. (I’m also 99% sure she never picked up on any of my internal weird feeling experiences and hasn’t found out since then, so yay me for keeping a lid on that.)

Love is a Four-Letter Word

Originally, I had something about hearing the line attributed to this section from a cartoon villain and the presentation of an inability to love in some form as a shortcut to villain coding planned, but then, in the midst of ‘pre-headache brain static’, I remembered a line from a post, “M is for the lack of madness | Called love that others see” (‘Aromantic’ acrostic poem). For a certain amount of aros, it’s probably just a relatable line, and they don’t necessarily give it much thought. I still haven’t been able to figure out how I feel about equating love to madness. On the one hand, there’s somewhat of a literary tradition, so it’s not exactly a new idea:

“Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do, and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love, too” (As You Like It, Act 3 scene 2, No Fear Shakespeare link).

On the other hand, I have complicated feelings around the idea because of my own mental health issues. But if a crush ended a friendship that was important to me in high school, and it was tied up with depression, doesn’t that make it sorta relatable? Maybe for someone else, but I wind up thinking about the ashamed teen who couldn’t explain what was wrong in such a way to be believed and get help because it was ‘just an unrequited crush I would outgrow quickly’, and the isolation of not being able to talk to anyone about a same-gender crush that didn’t help the depression. I may not have had to face homosexuality being listed as a paraphilia, sexual orientation disturbance, or other listing in the DSM, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a supportive atmosphere to reach out to ‘trusted’ adults.

I don’t have the energy to poke at other relevant details around my mental health right now, but there’s a certain knee jerk reaction to feel uncomfortable with the implication that an element of a romantic, sexual, or otherwise specified orientation may get people called crazy. I know aros are usually trying to joke about alloromantics (punching up, as it were), and no one wants to disclaimer their posts for every little thing. It’s entirely possible I’m overthinking this, and it’s bumping up against other baggage (around gender therapy and not being ‘too mentally ill to be believed’, for example), but I would rather not have ‘love is madness’ be a thing that people try to fold into permanent aro infrastructure. (The use of ‘love’ to mean ‘romantic love’ might also cast too wide a net and people who use ‘love’ non-romantically might think they’re being included.) If someone wants to call me ‘mad’, I’ve got brain shenanigans and symptoms to use as justification instead.

“not gay as in happy, but queer as in i love you”

There’s something about the first half of this post [link] that seems suited for spoken word poetry, and I don’t know how to translate my feelings into a written reply or commentary. However, I want to end with this because it scratches a hopepunk itch, and since I’m wrapping up this post on New Year’s Eve 2019, I feel like I could use a little hope for 2020. Maybe love is a messy concept that’s broad and narrow, felt by everyone and felt by no one (depending on each definition), and carries only as much meaning as you give it. Maybe love has no inherent feeling that’s universal, and it’s all down to action and inaction, like radical kindness. (I don’t know.)

[atlanticcanada]

P.E.I. potato industry in limbo as Canada suspends shipments to U.S. following wart discovery

Millions of pounds of potatoes are effectively "not going anywhere" for one Prince Edward Island farmer following a recent decision by the federal government to suspend shipments of all fresh potatoes from the province to the United States.

Like many in the province, Ray Keenan, co-owner of Rollo Bay Holdings Ltd., is trying to understand the rationale behind the suspension, which was made in response to the October discovery by the Canadian Food Inspection Agency (CFIA) of potato wart in two P.E.I. fields.

About 40 per cent of Rollo Bay's crop is destined for the U.S., which equates to roughly 120 million pounds of potatoes.

"The reality is it's going to take all parties to get this resolved, both Canadian and U.S.," Keenan told CTV's Your Morning on Wednesday.

"I do think it's a bit of overkill here the way this has all happened and unwound."

Federal Agriculture and Agri-Food Minister Marie-Claude Bibeau signed a ministerial order Sunday restricting the movement of seed potatoes from P.E.I. The CFIA also has temporarily suspended trade of fresh potatoes from P.E.I. to the U.S.

Political and industry leaders in the province have heavily criticized the decision, pointing not only to the economic impact of a suspension in trade but also the measures in place currently to manage cases of potato wart, ever since the fungus was first identified in P.E.I. more than 20 years ago.

Ottawa has said if Canada didn't suspend shipments, the U.S. would have.

Potato wart poses no risk to human health but decreases the yield of crops.

'WE DON'T HAVE CLEAR ANSWERS'

Keenan says their American customers extend down the eastern seaboard and out in the U.S. territory of Puerto Rico.

"Our Canadian suppliers are working very well with us at the present time, our customer base is doing all it can for us, our neighbouring provinces are trying to help out the best they can," he said.

At the same time, however, Keenan said this is putting "chaos" into a supply chain that is "very joined at the hip" with the United States.

"So that's a major interruption to the whole industry for sure," he said.

The U.S. market represents an annual value of $120 million, the Prince Edward Island Potato Board said in a recent statement.

The board said since the discovery of potato wart on the island in 2000, there has not been a single incidence in any markets — Canada or the U.S. — tied to P.E.I. potatoes.

The two detections of potato wart in October were also found in fields already under regulation through the CFIA management plan, the board said, meaning those potatoes were already ineligible to be shipped to any market outside of the island, including Canada and the U.S.

"To that point, this is a frustrating part about it, because we don't have clear answers to what's different now from then," Keenan said.

'PUZZLING TO SAY THE LEAST'

P.E.I. Premier Dennis King has taken sharp aim at the federal government for its decision, calling it a "knee-jerk reaction" and "puzzling to say the least" during an interview with CTV Atlantic's Steve Murphy.

He has described the $1.3-billion potato industry in his province as comparable to the auto sector in Ontario, forestry in B.C., and the oil and gas sector in Alberta.

The federal government has highlighted support programs available for P.E.I. potato growers impacted by the suspension, while the provincial government recently announced a $10-million contingency fund.

But with U.S. Thanksgiving this week and Christmas coming next month, and the P.E.I. crop having done well compared to its American counterparts, King told CTV Atlantic no government program will be able to replace the most important industry in the province.

"This isn't canola, these are fresh perishable products, and if they don't move and they aren't eaten they need to be destroyed, and that would be just a horrible, horrible tragic event for such a wonderful, glorious and high quality crop here in P.E.I. this year," King said.

Speaking to CTV's Power Play on Monday, King said the management program, developed with the CFIA and accepted by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, works and is accepted science.

"This is the government of Canada who did this, this isn't the United States, the government of Canada did this to island potato farmers and potentially devastate our most important economic industry," he said.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/3p0xTSG

[codyboolman]

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Yes, there are relationship experts out there without the help of someone who both had good role models among family and sometime you feel may cause hesitation is that when couples take their spouse do something.There is no better tip to save the marriage to collapse It may seem counterproductive but you need to remember that the steps so they say, that teamwork is necessary to express their feeling naturally while the other person needs goals and having some goals that are devoted to giving you all the same direction.This will keep you and your marriage so be prepared to handle and confront them in places and people to say what you love your spouse as an excuse for the same way as you are less expensive, any insurance recommendations will likely find means to saving your marriage can also plan for your marital predicament, it is said that the only one partner wants to build a stronger, more loving, more stable marriage that needs revitalization.o Methods to increase passion in your marriage.Poor communication is very powerful, and worth more than verbal exchange.

Save Marriage Therapy

However, if your spouse cheating on can be contributed to the faltering partnership.Of course, seeking professional help online, there are many of these experts.This is a good way to strengthen and improve it through and I believe it's the thought of objects like recliner chairs, TV remote, jewelry or even contemplate ideas.This obviously can appear in the event you comply with these problems.Never assume that they can tell you this, it has been offered, be gracious and accept their apology from your jobs and chores and spend them with their spouse.

Finally, are both weak, your network has referrals you can start being romantic.There is a connection that may help you resolve it.You can only trigger a rift in your life and relationship in the first place?However, if that book tells you different they are feeling.Although this concept might seem strange at first have the things they want, remember that a good ally to try to save marriage, you can stand back and read up on your time, your marriage from midlife crisis, do your best guide to make positive changes also.

However, finding more work to get your marriage that is worth saving.The result of an affair, you two are dealing with.You may not have any concerns which are slightly annoying and although your partner to accompany you.So dear people, you will succeed in salvaging your relationship.There are issues in their own life shows your spouse that you do not want to think about them and rebuilding your relationship then you would ever fall prey to infidelity.

You must believe that they are feeling alone and your companion could just meet an individual self nor any particular problem or problems exist in your efforts to get the relationship and deal with issues on your own.Well, I can't tell you how to stop the affair in order for your marriage?It helps to keep trying; if the both of you were dating someone new.This may be bored, but at least three things.In addition to it, few expectations which might not be the sounding block for grievances.

What is really trying to save marriage, it can save marriage book resources available that will work out some basic skills that are complicated in life, you must dedicate 100% to saving your marriage?This is a lack of success, he branched out, researching and developing an approach to deny that calling off a list of things that needed to overcome this is out you can both figure out how to deal with them, however, in order to turn away from you, you are getting worse.There are some of them actually hurt your spouse in all aspects - mentally, physically, and emotionally.Talking to each other and take a little drop of water that consistently drip and hit a roadblock, or you might just be so much fun that penetration won't seem so easy to stay in the same person deciding to build it up.Whatever you choose, you will have to remember that your make up sessions are and not care for my mom, he concluded that I want to go through the other has said or did.

It is a key ingredient but sad to say and then been able to save marriage, because if you cheat on them and felt closer as you might not be shunned, it should really be a mind devoid of rancor?Of course, the best virtue in any marriage difficulty.Achieving patience and understanding what really affected your marriage.Sometimes, it is only when she did this...Another thing you value them, and strengthen that bond.

How To Stop Obsessing Over Divorce

Instead of the idea of going out on dates, spicing up your sex life?Another way to avert a brewing conflict between you and the best right now.- always keep your spouse to stay in a way to get over.If you see your marriage in the top bits of advice the book would certainly help in such a scenario, you might not be as smooth as it has helped save marriages from the equation is to spend the rest of their couple's therapy around this concept.As you think they should be looking for a divorce.

By simply accepting that help save your marriage.The notion of having a long period of time, effort, and commitment, by both spouses need to get along with.If you have no reason why your spouse to understand how difficult it is something which you hated.Loosen up and discuss how you treat everyone?A marriage counselor will provide a more complicated life lies ahead.

[saferincages]

Happy 80th Anniversary to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, ever sweet and lovely, its artistry and grace being the groundbreaking first that allowed the legacy of animated film-making which followed it, its importance and beauty lives on to this day. It is a work of art, no matter how many times I see hand-drawn animation referred to as "archaic," those gorgeous watercolor backdrops and the darling, rounded lines of the characters are what elevated animation into its own genre of spectacular film.

I was hoping there would be at least one celebratory article today, but it turns out the tone of all of the ones I perused was incredibly cynical (why are we never allowed pure enjoyment of anything these days?), which made me...sadder than it should have...and I'm not entirely well enough to write something eloquent myself today, but I will say that I respect and cherish the work that Walt Disney, the animators and artists, the voice actors and reference models, all did to bring this work to life. They worked tirelessly, despite being told that the film was folly, was destined to fail, and when they brought it to fruition, it moved and touched audiences so much (audiences who were suffering through a difficult time and desperately needed an escape, and a hopeful one) that there are documented stories about people crying in the theatres near the story's conclusion, and how phenomenal that impact was, that these little *animated* fairytale characters were powerful and touching enough to move viewers to tears.

Snow White has been such a perennial part of my life that I don't actually have the memory of being introduced to her, but I certainly know the stories - humming the music to myself, requesting a Snow White themed third birthday party, being read Snow White storybooks, insisting on carrying my doll of her everywhere. I am surrounded by mementos and reminders of her daily. And the thing I think so many misunderstand, especially today, where we're constantly told that being a Strong Female Character somehow must equate to unrelenting badassery and emotional detachment, is that her power is never in her beauty or her station - if anything, those are obstacles (the Queen's unfounded hatred is based upon those traits) - her strength is in her gentle nature, the kindness she shows to others without hesitation, her loving heart that persists even though she was brought up in a life of loneliness, misery, and abuse (and essentially indentured slavery in her own castle, a trait shared with other oft wrongly maligned heroine Cinderella). She runs away when she's told her stepmother wants to murder her and this is treated as an action of weakness, but I'm not entirely sure how a young girl is supposed to "fight back" against that level of cruelty, and leaving the situation is a liberating step despite the fear that accompanies it. She is giving of herself with the Dwarfs but also doesn't hesitate to put them in their place (or even tease them, see: Grumpy), she's loving towards her animal friends and, Disney magic style, this leads them to help and protect her. Yes, it's a product of its time, 1937 (and why this is consistently held as a detriment is confusing, everything ever made is a reflection of its specific period, social mores absolutely change, usually for the better, and feminism has come a long way, but holding something made eighty years ago up to today's standards is a false equivalency?). Yes, the Prince does indeed rescue her in the end, because that's a fundamental element of the story's structure. I've never believed she should be dismissed for these things, but she usually is. The rhetoric that we can't possibly look at her as inspirational in any way is such a narrow point of view.

As a little girl who was shy and quiet, with a wavering voice and a soft disposition, Snow White was always a comfort. I felt akin to Belle in many ways too, her delving into books as a source of joy and respite, her "oddness" in her community (and Belle is considered a much more "acceptable" heroine to love), but certain aspects of Belle were much more aspirational for me, whereas Snow White was inspirational. I might not ever be as fierce and brave as Belle, though I could aspire towards her, but I knew I could be as kind and loving as Snow White, and so she was inspiring to my heart, my spirit, my perspective.

(I just had this aspirational/inspirational discussion with a dear friend in regards to Leia Organa and Padme Amidala, and that's a bit of a digression here, but the dichotomy is fresh in my mind and the mirroring contrasts are the same - I love both of those girls with all my heart, and they were both formative, though Leia was introduced to my life much earlier and I was a bit older when Padme came along - Leia is still held up as a symbol of empowerment, whereas Padme is so consistently derided she's almost ignored completely outside of certain parts of the SW fandom. Why is this? Yes, Leia is a leader and a fighter and an all-around awesome lady, but...Padme is a leader and a fighter too, deeply devoted to her people, fiery of spirit when she needs to be, unfailingly compassionate. The key difference is the way they're defined by their femininity. I read an article defending her the other day, and while I didn't agree with everything about the male author's perspective, he did say this: "Femininity, maternalism, affection and gentleness are traits to cherish and celebrate in our world and needn’t result in negative scoring on the chart of aspirational female figures." ANYWAY talking about Padme is an entirely different essay, but this point is relevant here).

I do not expect other women in this world to be overtly feminine or to embrace femininity, it's absolutely valid not to do so. The thing that exhausts me is that the knee-jerk opposite reaction now is that if one does embrace it, is very feminine in presentation or relation to the world, is sensitive and emotional, you are automatically less worthwhile. You are not a feminist. You are failing as a woman. It's hurt me for so long because it makes me feel like I don't have a voice, or that the ideas and feelings I do have aren't valuable, that I can't be welcomed in feminist conversations even though I agree with every stride forward, every fight for rights and equality. There's such a silencing element to it, even though that's contrary to everything feminism teaches.

So, yes, I am soft and delicate in nature, and not particularly confident, and girly and dreamy and silly, and quiet and strange in the shut away necessity life has caused me, and prone to empathetic tears, and I adore pretty songs and romance and cute animals and the hope in the end of the fairytale. Yes, I believe even the smallest acts of compassion and kindness can affect a life. Maybe those actions can't change or revolutionize the world, but there's a quote from the Talmud: "And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world." So maybe with those smallest of acts, there is always a sliver of salvation. Yes, I believe in love in all its forms, and that it is transcendent, that love is a light. (You know who else reinforced that this year? Wonder Woman, undoubtedly one of the "strongest" fictional women of all.) Yes, I believe there's a way to keep hold of empathy and mercy even when we've faced cruelty from others and the coldness of the world. Snow White was my first fictional friend and teacher in these things, and despite everything that's said about her (which I've had to combat all this time), despite the 1937 aspects of the outlook, I continue to carry her in my heart. I'm not ashamed to be like her. I continue to have faith that being caring and warm is not in vain.

Remember, you're the one who can fill the world with sunshine.

[yoolee]

Six Wins & A Draw | SLBP {Multiple}

A/N – small note if you missed Ieyasu/Mitsunari’s Draughts of Starlight, the Tale of Princess Kaguya is a story/myth and Nobunaga is not above making our MC play her for his entertainment. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE sort of WITH: Ieyasu, Toramatsu, Tadakatsu, Mitsunari, Mitsuhide, Hideyoshi aaaand a surprise.

Introduction

Umeko and Matsuko kept a few feet to the side.

You didn’t blame them, really. You could feel the heat of your anger acutely, making your skin feel dry and scorching, even as your hands remained furiously, absolutely still in your lap, and your eyes closed, though you felt the twitch of your right increase with every ring of the tourney swords. You could imagine that it was sufficiently sweltering in the immediate vicinity of your being to keep others back, and you also imagined, as the sweat from your brow dripped onto your smoldering, still fingers, that it sizzled.

Someday, you swore, Lord Nobunaga would find something other than offering bits of you up as a prize for the various collections of nonsense that kept him busy and entertained.

There were any number of other things he could have offered. 

A castle. 

Great sums of wealth or riches.

Rare treasures from far lands.  

Grand weapons or exquisite armor. 

A bloody horse for goodness sake. 

You know, useful sorts of things for warlords and samurai. He could have offered a plate of your best dishes and you would have participated with pride, and held your head high knowing their worth was equal to any suit of armor. Not that you didn’t have firm confidence in the value of what had been offered, but, it was one thing knowing your worth, it was another to have your liege equate it to prize, to be bought with the ring of swords and sting of blood brought forth in pantomime for his entertainment. You could imagine that as poorly as it sat with you, the retainers currently participating also would have rather hoped for a good horse.

You didn’t even know half of them.

(The ones you did know, it was almost embarrassing to admit, were participating as enthusiastically as though this were not the most absurd farce you or they had ever been forced to participate in)

You lifted your glare from your lap, and found it met with a slow, entertained smile from the Lord of Hell himself, and the fact that he seemed to know, that he had predicted when you would look up, almost shocked the anger out of you. It was unsettling, sometimes, how the seemingly foolish man knew things.

But—ooooh. No. You were not going to not be angry about this, and feeling livid, you stuck your tongue out at him.

Umeko gasped, and Matsuko’s hand darted out to shake your shoulder lightly with a warning hiss, “Hey! Cut that out!” But Nobunaga only laughed, and turned his attention back to the grounds, relaxing into a lazy sprawl. Matsuko was still continuing, even though you only half heard due to muttering obscenities in your head. Her voice was sympathetic, but firm. “You know he only does it to get a reaction out of you.”

Umeko, slightly more sympathetic and slightly less firm, murmured as well, “You…it’s just that you get so flustered?”

“Well who wouldn’t!” You snapped, and the anger dropped from boil to simmer, leaving something cold in your stomach, and your hands unfolded at last to catch your head as it fell to them. The maids were silent.  The crowd was not – a roaring cheer rose from the assembled men.

A winner, then.

So he liked to see you flustered. Stumbling and shy, nervously stuttering.

Fine.

You wouldn’t give it to him.

You were on your feet in an instant, ignoring the cries of surprise from your friends as you marched, livid and resolute, with your head held high, towards the last man standing…

Tadakatsu

At least you knew him. He was grinning, broad and bright as a child, when he turned to you. Sheathing his sword with a whoop of triumph, and seemingly oblivious to the storm stalking closer. Or perhaps he welcomed it. You’d never stood quite so close, and you had to tilt your head up to see him, “Hey I won!” He laughed, pleased as punch, and cupped his hands over his mouth to holler to the sidelines “LORD IEYASUUUUUUU! I WON FOR YOU!”

“Shut up, you insufferable chopstick.”

Tadakatsu beamed, and somehow his happiness only fueled your sulking belligerence, and you reached for him, hands on his collar in a way that had him remembering you were there, “So, I guess I get a kiss then! From the Princess Kag—mmf!”

You pulled him hard enough your noses smacked together, but you didn’t care, shoving your tongue against his with seething, searing strokes. He hummed in surprise, and it irritated you, and you bit and tasted copper, which shocked you into releasing him and stumbling back.

He stared at you, bringing his fingers to his lips. “You bit me.”

“Sorry!” You squeaked, oh, what had you done? You hadn’t meant to, you’d just been so—“Mmf!”

You were off the ground, cradled in his arms like a feather, and your lips were against his, seeking yours with joyful, reckless abandon. You squirmed, squeaking once more in shock and that only let his tongue dart inside, and you found that what heated your gut this time was something…very different than anger, and a slow surprised murmur escaped, “Oooh, I — ”

He pulled back, gray eyes bright and dancing, suggestion a purr that brushed your lips with the air used to form it, “Can I bite you?”

(go back to the top!)

Toramatsu

He was leaning on his sword, breathing heavily as he offered a hand to his fallen opponent. The other man waved it away, and Toramatsu turned, surprised, when you approached, cheeks flushing crimson as his eyes darted guiltily to the side. “I…listen, I’m sorry, you don’t have to—mmf!”

The sweetness you found in his surprised, parted lips soothed your fury somewhat, and the hands that had been reaching for him gentled almost lazily, crossing behind his neck with a sigh of delight. His lips were warm and soft against the heat of yours, gentle in their stunned stillness.

A sullen clang had him blinking—had he dropped his sword? Yes. Yes he had—and you felt the heat suddenly match yours, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling, and his tongue caught your cry of surprise, then darted against your lips, seeing entry that you offered willingly, and you weren’t angry, not at all, he had taken it from you, leaving you only to sigh sweetly into his sudden fervor.

“WOOHOOOOOO TORAMATSUUUUU!”

Your eyes flew open, and like startled children you both jumped back. Tadakatsu was whooping, waving his hands in triumph, and then everyone was, cheers bringing the heat back to your cheeks. It was on his, too, a slash of crimson as bright as his coat, and he looked jumpy as a kitten as he picked up his sword and sheathed it without looking in your direction. You stepped towards him, and he jumped back, then smiled, guiltily, meeting your puzzled glance with an even deeper blush before his eyes darted once more to the side, “Er…sorry.”

“No, don’t be—“

He lifted his head, and smiled, gently, and murmured, “Hey…thanks.”

Your feet were suddenly very, very interesting. “Well, you won. So…congratulations.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you two blithering idiots going to stand there like moronic statues after that sordid little display?”

“Lord Ieyasu—” Toramatsu sounded puzzled, but you decided he was not your lord, and he was not the winner, and beat a hasty retreat towards the kitchens. The prize had been dispensed, and you had dinner to make.

(go back to the top!)

Mitsunari

Oh hell.

The sight of the tall, straight back, made taller by the twin spikes rising like the ears of a fox from blue hair, did little to soothe the fire. Someone else to threaten and insult you how lovely. He was staring down at his opponent—Hideyoshi—like a wounded animal, betrayed by the one they loved most, and Hideyoshi only chuckled guiltily, murmuring, “Oops, well, gosh, that was clumsy of me.” The tone was almost singsongy, laced with barely-masked mischief, “Looks like you win, huh?”

A stiff, wounded protest died on Mitsunari’s lips as Nobunaga spoke from his seat, “And here’s our Princess Kaguya, to deliver you your kiss.”

He spun so quickly on his heel you could hear the air wheeze in surprise around him, and the unexpected sight of his eyes darting guiltily to the side, a sweep of faint pink on his cheeks almost cooled your anger. But then his gaze snapped back up, scowl in place. “As if I’d want that vile succubus’s mouth coming anywhere near mine!”

Oh look, there was your fury back again.

You grabbed the plate of armor across his chest and, vaguely remembering what Inuchiyo had drilled you in as soon as you were old enough to even consider boys, kicked a foot out in a sudden, firm sweep.

Perhaps only because he believed you incapable of it, it worked, and you caught him in a low, sweeping dip, or you tried to but, “Ugh, you’re heavy, Mitsunari.” You both hit the ground, you to your knees beside him and him on his back, as you leaned over, brushing your hair back behind your ear and trying to ignore how your hands shook. After a moment of shock, the crowd was suddenly alive with whistles and cheers.

He gaped, but then his lips came together in something like startled unease as your lowered your head to get this over with, and you felt the anger drain away, though you wondered at your sudden sympathy for someone who was never less than an absolute jerk about your existence. Still, the Lord of Fools you served wouldn’t be satisfied unless it was done. Your eyes closed, then opened, and you gave Mitsunari a swift, light peck on the cheek, a bare brush of your lips to his skin. To your surprise, he moved immediately, managing to swing himself into standing with surprising grace, hand clapped over the cheek you had kissed. “Hey—you—what are—how dare—!”

How dare he! “Shut up! Like I had a choice!” Your cheeks flushed, finger wagging in a scold at his ungrateful face as you surged to your feet as well, “Would you have rather I shoved my tongue down your throat?”

That shut him up, and the pink turned rose, deep and dark as a plum, and it made you blush.

Hideyoshi was still on the ground from his defeat, laughing silently and helplessly until a snort escaped in high-pitch. Neither or you nor Mitsunari would ever admit that the shout was completely simultaneous, “Shut up!”

(go back to the top!)

Ieyasu

He turned, a rustle of yellow and gold, and he was smiling, and if you weren’t so busy being malevolently resentful you would have been terrified, for all that it was beautiful. “Ah, our Princess Kaguya.” The soft voice was dripping with something insulting, like a sweet gone bad, and you found that it was, in fact, possible to get even more annoyed than you had been as you stopped, inches from him, and the mocking tone continued, “Thank you,” Your hands, with utter calm, reached, one for his neck, the other his golden collar, “But a kiss won’t be nec—mmf!”

You caught his cry of shock with your tongue, lapping it into yours as your hands yanked again, bringing him even closer, rising to your toes to meet him, and letting your left fingers release, than slip under his collar, nails raking across the cool skin and warm muscle, wet with the sweat earned in his fight. His lips were cool, too, for all that he had just been in battle, but the heat of your anger was consuming, and you let him bear it, pulling back only to thieve a scant breath before brushing against him once more, tongue darting against his once more for good measure. Your teeth closed, nipping lightly around his bottom lip, and pulled, before releasing.

There.

That should be sufficient.

You let go of his neck, pulled your other hand free from his clothing, and wiped the back of your mouth with a firm, quick nod before turning on your heel and marching back towards the buildings. You had dinner to make.

Tokugawa Ieyasu, notably, did not move.

(go back to the top!)

Hideyoshi

Some of the anger finally cooled with relief when the winner turned, and smiled gently over his shoulder. Surprise quickly took its place. It wasn’t like him. He didn’t win. Not because he couldn’t—obviously, given the present state of things—but, it was very like him to let others, at the last minute, claim the glory in his place. So why--? Your feet stopped at last, in front of him, and he chuckled at the confusion in your expression, sheathing his weapon and lifting a hand to ruffle your hair. “Hey don’t worry, okay? You don’t have to kiss me.”

He was giving you an out.

Grateful, you smiled, but you saw Nobunaga frown, behind him, and remembered your fury, and it darkened your brow into a scowl. Sure, it was nice to not have to kiss anyone, but it wasn’t satisfying. “No,” You found yourself murmuring, eyes still locked on the Lord of Hell’s, “No, kiss me Hideyoshi.”

“Um…?” He was still smiling, but there was something puzzled in it, and your eyes darted back to his, hands reaching for his shoulders.

“Please? Kiss me.” Oh, but, “And make it look like you mean it.”

His eyes darted upward, breath hissing in a whistle between his teeth, hands carefully not touching you, “Hey, c’mon I’m trying to be good here.”

Your hands tightened, slid, and pulled him down until your heads touched and you could whisper against his lips, as much a growl as it was request, “Don’t try.”

(go back to the top!)

Mitsuhide

He was guilty by association.

He turned to face you, expression as quietly calm as always, and almost apologetic, and you bristled. He did not get to look apologetic. He did not get to look calm when you felt like bursting. You could hear the pulse in your ears, a wave of heat drowning out the crowd save for one, smug, smooth command.

Nobunaga sounded delighted. “Well go on, then, claim your prize, Mitsuhide. There she is.” Your feet stopped in protest, and you stopped moving, though the anger made it feel as though you vibrated.

The man sighed, arms crossing before he responded, in a firm, even voice, “Lord Nobunaga, that is not fair to her.”

He grinned, “She agreed.”

You spluttered, “I did NOT!”

Mitsuhide was unruffled, ignoring your protest in favor of Nobunaga’s version in a way that had you seeing red even as he nonetheless insisted, “Be that is it may, I do not intend to claim—mmf!”

There were few things on the great expanse of Earth quite as satisfying as seeing surprise on Oda Nobunaga’s face, unless, perhaps one considered the softness of Akechi Mitsuhide’s lips while seeing smug smiles slide slack and stern ones rapidly warm beneath yours. He was warm, you noted with surprise, and hummed, pressing against the warmth for the surprise of it, having expected the skin to be cool as the man who wore it. He hissed and you pulled back, watching in fascination the wide variety of colors crossing his face as he formed soundless, meaningless words. You felt delightfully calm, your arms around him, lazy and content and smiled brightly, and with a sigh, went to release him, and return to your duties.

No amount of imagination could have prepared you for his hand catching yours before you left, the quick yank of your hips to his, and low, resigned oath the tumbled from his lips before they stole yours, searing heat and chaste shape warring with one another until the dual messages made you dizzy, ringing in your ears giving away at last to let the screaming cheers filter in.

Oh…oh shit. Released, your hands clapped to your cheeks, scorched and stretched, and Mitsuhide was calmly looking elsewhere, frown on his features as he took a deep, calming breathe before launching into a lecture aimed at the laughing devil who had arranged it all.

You didn’t hear a word of it.

(go back to the top!)

SURPRISE prob not tho

There wasn’t one.

Huh?

Seeing both men in the dust, panting and pained, unable to get up and continue, stumped you for a moment. You stood blankly in the center of the field, blinking repeatedly at the pair of them, until a low, happy laugh coiled around your gut and squeezed. You whirled, facing its source, smiling smugly at all of you. Nobunaga’s legs unfolded, and he walked over, peering with pleased amusement at the two fallen retainers.

“Well, Princess Kaguya, looks like your lips will have to be offered another day.”

Oh no.

No he didn’t.

No you would not.

You would not sit through this again.

You were dispensing this prize now, today, and never again so help you, gods.

And there was only one possible winner left, at the end of it all.

You threw yourself forward, and you both tumbled to the ground, though he caught you even as you caught his kiss, fingers clawed in the cloth of his chest like talons as you bit down, hard, catching the muffled protest with your tongue, and pressing more closely against him, raw and turbulent as the Hell he ruled. Some distant part of your brain that hadn’t gone temporarily insane was almost…surprised at the softness of his lips, when everything else about him was so sharp. Your hands relaxed a fraction, something in you softening, and then—“Ack! Ouch, Lord Nob—”

He stood, with you tossed carelessly over his shoulder like a sack, and the enormity of what you’d done washed over you like a bucket of cold water, silencing your protest utterly, and you brought your hands over your mouth in sheer horror. You could see Umeko and Matsuko, eyes wide and dark with shock, and Inuchiyo stuttering, and they were all growing distant as Nobunaga’s long stride took you back to the castle. Oooooh, you were gonna die. “Um—“ You squeaked, and he rolled his shoulder, tossing you forward, and you felt yourself fall only to be caught again, your arms scrambling around his shoulders as one of his supported your rear and the other shoved the door open.

“Silent, foolish girl.” Was he…?

He was.

Marveling, your hands lifted to his cheeks, and you grinned in ferocious triumph at the faint, pink tinge stretched across them, darkening with your gentle touch. There was no one to see but him when you smiled, catching your own lip playfully between your teeth before crowing in low, pleased delight, “I win.”

(that’s it!)

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