#i need to know how much we are willing to go with inventions in spite of immorality so i can not make any mistakes if i ever do

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

watching the eighty-six. stomach turning, sweat, walked, fought the air, air screamed, i cant.

[vampimich]

Some of my Carlo’s HCs

This is just a HC I wanted to share regarding Carlo and his interests. The idea came to me as I was playing and wearing the Workshop Master’s Workwear and realizing that maybe that is just how Geppetto always dreamt of seeing his son. And then the thought that Carlo probably dreamt for the same as a child hit me as train.

(This is basically just me rambling about how Carlo initially wanted to be a Workshop technician, and why he never confessed his feelings for Romeo.)

Being Geppetto’s son, I believe he was born with a huge curiosity, creativity and imagination. I clearly see him tinkering with every toy, radio and device in his house. Pulling them apart just to see how they worked and then putting them back together as they were or even creating new things in the process. BUUUT (and a big but) he was also interested in the stalker’s life.

He loved stories about their achievements, their great deals and how they saved others or hunted for treasure.

And I fully think that Carlo had all the potential to be an overachiever child. If life had been different for him, he would have pursued both careers. Living as a Stalker but using everything he learned as a Workshop Technician to create gadgets, weapons, equipment, anything really, to help in his line of work.

But we all know that wasn’t how the story ended, right? And that was mainly because of his old man.

I would say that when still living with Geppetto , his father used to praise him and encourage him whenever he created something or tinkered with any stuff around the house.

But even this “support” and “praise” he offered his only son was half-hearted because the famous craftsman was obsessed with puppets. And even if Geppetto himself worked in any other invention or craft, it would revolve around puppets one way or another.

And being the self-centered person that he was, he very much expected for Carlo to follow his exact footsteps. So yes, he was proud of his aptitude for craftsmanship, but he would always threw comments like: “What if you created your own puppet, son?” Or “Maybe if you modify this here, we could give a boost to puppet’s strength”.

And when Carlo stood his ground stating that his invention’s purpose was something completely different or that he was not interested in anything related to puppets, Geppetto would just be dismissive, losing all of his interest in his son’s projects and just throwing him empty compliments so he could back to his own work after that.

And this of course strained the father-son relationship even more and made the young child to come to hate puppets, since they were not only keeping his father from him, but now he also wanted to force them upon his life. And we have been told how stubborn the boy was, so I can clearly imagine him creating more things non-puppets related , or pretending he was a stalker and had completely ditched the idea to go the workshop technician route just to spite Geppetto.

Because, even if deep inside of him he craved for his dear father love and approval, there were some things for which he was not willing to back down, like his interests and passions. (But without realizing he would let his father to have some small wins like his hair style and what he was allowed to wear for example, which didn’t bother him that much and it gave him the move needed approval he was looking for).

So at this point and despite the differences in opinions and the constant bickering between the two because of Carlo’s projects, he was still on his way to become a technician-stalker but it all changed for good once Geppetto abandoned him in the Monad Charity House.

For the first few nights, in which Carlo must have been completely hopeless and heartbroken, I’m sure he considered just doing everything he could to make his father happy. Maybe if he used his talents to work on puppets, maybe if he promised to became a technician specialized in puppets, his father would take him back… spend time with him… tell him that he loved him.

But before he could completely give into this this idea he was introduced to Romeo, a boy who shared his same interests in the Stalker’s life. And for once, Carlo felt that he was not alone anymore and that his dreams were valid. There was someone else who shared his passion, and who didn’t try to change his focus. Romeo just accepted him and his ideas and plans as they were. He sometimes offered his own point of view, but he was never dismissive and he always considered what Carlo created or came up with.

So during these days Carlo’s interest in the stalkers path grew bigger and bigger. And the relationship the boy had with his father strained even more. I can imagine the old man visiting his son sporadically or taking him out of the Rose State to take him to social gatherings and special events (because of course he would be the kind of father that brags about having the perfect child even if he doesn’t even know what or how exactly that child is doing). And in those few encounters they had, Geppetto surely would throw comments expressing how he could not wait for his son to graduate and become a technician so they could work together, and this finally broke the final straw in Carlo.

His father didn’t care for his own interests. Now he was sure that it didn’t matter if he changed his focus completely to please the technician master, Giuseppe would never take him back home because he was completely focused on his own work. He just wanted to avoid parenting by so he would have more time for his puppets. It would be ideal of him if his only son became a technician as well so he could brag about how much he was like him.

And now with these feelings in his heart, Carlo would do everything in his power to go in the complete opposite direction of his progenitor’s wishes, even if that meant denying a part of himself he knew he was, and he knew he loved as much as his dreams of being a stalker.

Romeo noticed the very exact moment when this decision was taken as Carlo came back to the charity house and threw all of his prototypes and creations into the trash. And even if he tried to pretend it was only so he could focus completely on becoming the best stalker in the world, Romeo saw right through him and tried to convince him not completely ignore that passion of him, but Carlo refused. And even if he always died inside to tinker with stuff he found or to bring to life an idea he had, he forced himself to forget about it, which pained him, but at that point he just wanted to have zero common ground with his old man. (Not really, tho as he still wished things could change between them, after all he was still just a child looking for his father’s love.)

And as part of this long HC I can also add that Carlo had really strong feelings for Romeo. He kinda noticed Romeo had feelings for him too, but he didn’t acted on these feelings.

Why?

Two reasons mainly.

The first one: when he was younger, he was afraid of what his father could say about it. Geppetto had voiced time and again how he was supposed to marry a high class lady, since they were part of the high society too, and give him wonderful grandchildren.

Carlo couldn’t care less for girls at that age but it was an idea engrained so deep into his mind that he felt his father would distance himself even more from him or abandon him completely if he knew he was in love with a boy, who happened to be an orphan with no social status whatsoever. So he just pretended the feelings were not there.

But the feelings were there and they grew stronger as the spent more days together. And with time (and all the fights he had with Giuseppe) he decided that he didn’t give a damn about what others or his own father would say about him having a relationship with whoever he wanted.

But his graduation was coming closer and he needed to focus on finishing his studies. After all he needed to become the best stalker in the world so he could forge his own path and ensure that him and Romeo would not have to deal with the Stalkers faction’s bullshit going around. So he would wait after graduation to confess.

And here is where reason number 2 comes in.

Graduation drew nearer and he was all grown up now. And even if he had such a horrible relationship with his father, Carlo was still desperately looking for his approval. He wished they could somehow patch things up. He desired that Geppetto finally saw him for whom he was now, and not for who he expected him to be. Then maybe he could go back to creating and fixing stuff again, then maybe his old man would see it was worth spending time with him.

So when the date came closer, they asked Carlo what he wished his necklace to be engraved with, to which he decided to leave it blank. His first thought was to give it to Romeo, but he also wanted to give it to his father, as a token of a new start for them. He almost had it engraved with a message for the famed workshop technician but something inside of him was telling him the man would disappoint him again.

So he would left it to fate. His heart harbored hope until the very last moment, but his fears became true as Geppetto didn’t show up. This enraged Carlo to new levels, and in a fit of rage he quickly engrave the necklace himself with the famous. “To Romeo, Your friend C. Thinking that when his father found out about this, he would feel jealous and miserable for having been denied such a precious memento.

He then proceeded to give the necklace to Romeo, who was over the moon with the precious memento. He was happier than Carlo had ever seen him. And in that moment it dawned on him, that even if he had initially thought of giving the necklace to his dear friend and love interest, he had actually given it to him because he wanted to hurt his father.

And that pained him. Romeo didn’t deserve that. He thought he didn’t deserve being with someone with so much daddy issues, someone who constantly put up messing up with his father as a priority, instead of making the guy he was in love with and that made him so happy, happy as well.

So he decided to hold onto his feelings a little longer.

He promised himself that he would become more than a legendary stalker, and once he did, he and Romeo would flee Krat. They would go somewhere where he was not the son the son of Geppetto, master technician; where there were no more puppets, no social classes, no anything. Somewhere where he could forget about this burdens, somewhere where he could love his friend and live together with him, the adventures they dreamt as kids. Somewhere where maybe, he could allowed himself to be that creative child that he once was and that he craved to be.

Once he did, he would be ready to offer Romeo what he deserved. And so he made that goal his new purpose in life.

But we all know how this story ends. With a tragedy. Both taken by the petrification diseased, but both being given a second chance by that which Carlo hated so much, puppets.

And while P will never be Carlo, I believe that besides his personality he inherited some of his “feelings”. Like how he was so keen on getting Geppetto’s love and approval, or how he reacted when Romeo’s ergo called him Carlo, (or even how he proved the boy inside his P-organ wrong when he could feel his ergo feeling awashed by sadness when Geppetto died, when Carlo had tried to convince himself he couldn’t care if his father died.)

And if I might add, I think P, would spend a lot of time with Eugenie and Venigni after the alchemist’s defeat , learning everything he could from them as inventors and craftspeople, because this as well, is part of Carlo’s personality shining through and finally being able to do through a proxy what he denied himself for so long during his first life.

Well that was long but it’s finally out of my system. Thanks for reading till the end! (Also, sorry for any mistake, English is not my first language :p)

[mintyisms]

Donut County Trashopedia Starters

"Coffee rules. It burns your tongue and makes you go to the bathroom."

"Do not try to wash cotton candy in the pool. This tip will save your life."

"It's a rock. Don't try to eat it."

"How many birds are you willing to fight for a bag of chips?"

"It's one thing to own a chicken, but two chickens...that's two things."

"If your chicken doesn't have a swing...wow "

"DO NOT get spotted."

"Press the buttons on top to select your flavor."

"You can tell a fish secrets, they won't remember anything."

"Tennis balls only grow in hard to reach places."

"Tell me how to get ate by a bird. Tell me."

"Someday everything will be made of corn."

"Rocks were given to us by aliens."

"This is probably the worst place to pour milk into."

"Try washing yourself with soup. You might feel good."

"If you make a crow mad, it will steal your credit card number."

"Carrots grow underground and are therefore extremely untrustworthy."

"Imagine loving carrots so much you wanted to live inside one."

"Bunnies love to chew on stuff because of their evil nature."

"Bunnies want to destroy everything and they don't know why."

"There's no taste like fresh dirt."

"Kinda weird how large and perfectly shaped these boulders are..."

"It's like the aliens are mocking us."

"Everyone is weak to fire."

"Cliffs are a type of trap created by aliens."

"This corn has white stuff on it and spicy stuff. It's really good."

"You can't make me read. I'm not gonna do it."

"99% of seagulls are criminals."

"You can use fireworks to remove hair."

"Seagulls love french fries because it's the main crop of their homeland."

"The only good bird is a fake bird."

"The human ear can hear over 100 songs."

"Imagine if your feet were sticky all day."

"If I had sticky feet I'd walk on the ceiling and scream."

"I'm going to get sticky feet. I'm going to do it. And you can't stop me."

"I won't bow down to a chicken. Ever."

"Eggs saved my life. True story."

"Walking under a ladder isn't just bad luck, it's embarrassing to the ladder."

"This thing goes from zero to sixty in sixty seconds."

"Who will invent the next strawberry?"

"Bees are very hyper and they like to kiss their mom's butt."

"If you sleep in your shed, no one will steal your tools."

"Bees are always making dessert."

"Bees rent apartments from their mom."

"You can predict the weather based on the time between a frogs croak. Sometimes it's wrong."

"Pinecones make no sense. It's not a good fruit."

"It's out of gas."

"Soup has many health benefits if you sit in the pot long enough."

"So many houses aren't made of candy."

"Candles get better the more you have. At least 1000 is a good starting point."

"Use salt to make food taste like the ocean."

"Add pepper if your food tastes too good."

"You can let a bird cook...but don't let it feed you."

"Honk if you wish you were a goose in your past life."

"Some apartments don't allow pets but you can keep bats if you pretend to be upset about it."

"Dogs act like they own the sidewalk...they don't."

"If you get poked by a cactus you become a cactus."

"I would switch bodies with a cactus no questions asked."

"Do laptops dream of their keys falling out?"

"People aren't meant to sit at a desk all day. They're meant to sit on a horse."

"Keep your tablet charged so you don't get bored and go outside."

"Bones are like gears, but for animals. It makes them work."

"The drawers are stuffed with MREs and fake IDs."

"If you tell a scary story without a flashlight, it comes true."

"Masks are the safest way to communicate emotions."

"Pretend to be someone cool."

"Everybody wears a mask...except for me."

"Ever think about all the other types of flumes besides log? I don't."

"It's funny how we need water to live...but also to slide."

"Water balloons are like normal balloons filled with spite."

"Signs are a great way to tell people what to do without actually talking to them."

"Balloons are rude to earth's gravity."

"The secret to good coffee? Scare the beans. You gotta tell at those beans."

"I'm looking for investors to fund my drive-thru haunted house."

"Honestly I think cars are scared of everything, we just can't hear them scream through the mufflers."

"Rich people use their cars only once before throwing them away."

"Scientist may look like they're taking notes, but they're just drawing cool skulls."

"Frogs do a few questionable things but they're otherwise perfect."

"The hacker's code requires that when you hack into a mainframe you gotta say 'I'm in.'"

[neon-lights-stardust-nights]

hello i did minimal research but i needed to dump this out of my own head haha

~.~.~

The short-term effects of the fear toxin had largely worked out of faers system. Much like bringing a new pet home, Kronos was finally transitioning from a nervous period to a general state of normal. So Strange treated it as such, curious to find how Kronos was when not in such a constant state of panic and psychosis.

For a start, fae was curious as a kitten would’ve been. He checked on faer once, only to find faer looking through his bathroom cabinets. When fae noticed him, fae proudly held up a bottle—“you used this to clean out those cuts I made, right? I wanted to finally see what it was, since I couldn’t read the label before.”

Curiosity drove a lot of Kronos’ actions, he found. Faers gadgets too were a product of it as much as they were spite. “I figured time was fake. I figured it could be controlled. I like to think I was right on both accounts. Each new invention, I push what I can do with time a little further… I want to know how far it can go. I want to know the absolute limit of what I can do with this temporal nightmare.”

Perhaps the withdrawal period established more of a bond between them than he anticipated. Past interactions indicated hesitance. Though Kronos still seemed wary of him, fae was far more willing to confess things like this to his face. The whole thing made him equally curious—wanting to see where he could lead this.

So that’s why they were here.

“What’s in the syringe?” Kronos did sound a little less than enthused, but managed to swallow faers objections for now.

“Benzodiazepine.”

Kronos cocked a brow. “Benzo-what?”

“It’s a sedative-hypnotic,” he explained. Judging by the look on faers face, the explanation didn’t mean much to faer. “They can help with anxiety or insomnia, though they have other uses.”

“We already found a sedative to use for bed,” Kronos began cautiously. “So what’s with this one?”

“I thought an experiment would be interesting,” was all he said. And he waited, letting silence settle between the two of them. Kronos just stood there, not looking sure of what to do. This was a baby step to Strange—simply seeing how fae would react.

“Why?”

“Which part?”

Kronos hesitated. “Why would an experiment be interesting?”

“You interact with the world through art and technology. You learn more about it and yourself that way, don’t you?”

“I suppose,” fae responded. “So what—you’re learning more about me?”

“Precisely.”

Some of the tension eased out of faers posture. Though fae had stayed there at the other side of the room, now Kronos scampered over. “Okay, okay. So you use it for stuff like anxiety and insomnia. What does it actually do though?”

“This specific concoction? Generally, I expect to see dizziness, drowsiness, and perhaps confusion. It’s likely you won’t remember parts of, if not the entire experience. There may be other effects, but that’s what I expect.”

An unreadable expression came over Kronos for a moment, contemplating it in silence. Then though, fae met his eyes again. “You aren’t going to do something sadistic, like make me watch you inject it. Right?”

Strange scoffed. “If that is the peak of sadism, I worry for our prolonged contact.”

“It’s not the peak of sadism,” Kronos replied with an eye roll. “It’s sadism I wouldn’t allow.”

Interesting. “Triggering your trypanophobia is not on my list of experiments.” And I feel as though it would never be a boundary you properly let me press after your experiences with Crane. It would be an immediate breach of trust, further than could be bridged. I am not so stupid as to do that. He… Didn’t say that though.

He did still say something else after that, though. “Still, interesting choice of words. Sadism you won’t allow?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t trust you, not exactly. I mean,” and Kronos gestured with an open palm to the syringe. “For all I know, you’ll do awful shit while I’m under the effects of that. Cut me open, run your hands all over my insides, rearrange things I didn’t know could be rearranged, or even fuck a hole you make yourself.”

Strange felt oddly naked being this called out by someone who just a week ago was nothing more than a sniffling mess who refused to leave bed. Kronos continued regardless, “but I’ll admit, the saying is often cut short. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. You’d tell me if you were going to anyway.”

“You’re so sure?”

Kronos groaned. “Say shit like that enough, and I won’t be! But for now, yeah. You basically walked me through every little thing you did before, why would you stop now?”

To be frank, that was part of the treatment for the toxin. He wanted to leave no room for his actions to be twisted. That said: Kronos had a valid point. Fae did give him a worried face though, looking more at the needle than him. “So… What do you plan to do? While I’m on whatever trip that gives me?”

So he was honest. “Observe. You may be suggestible in this state, and I may experiment there too. I wouldn’t do anything that could cause injury or lasting damage.”

Though that was vague, but Kronos nodded. “Alright.” Without another word, fae held our faers arm. “Inject me.”

The moment he took faers arm to steady it, Kronos’ head snapped to look away. “Is it a small needle? Am I going to feel it?”

“You’ll likely feel it, but I doubt it will be more than an uncomfortable prick.” And it was. Though fae twitched as he injected faer—that was the only reaction.

When he let go of faers arm, Kronos flicked out faers wrist a few times. “Awful. They should invent a needle that isn’t scary and doesn’t hurt.”

“It’s a rather animal instinct—the fear of having something put inside you.” Yet he chuckled, humoring faer: “I do agree, however.”

“How long before this hits?”

Strange hummed. “You’re a bit on the smaller side… I expect full effects in the next ten to fifteen minutes, though you’ll likely begin to feel it well within five.”

Kronos took a deep breath. “Okay,” fae said on the exhale. “I’ll just keep busy. I suppose.”

And fae did. When he checked in five or so minutes, Kronos was at faers work station. He’d let faer set it up in some hopes he could actually watch faer building some of these chronomancy-like things. Their construction seemed completely nonsensical to him, but he tried.

Kronos was unscrewing the back of a controller for one. As fae pulled it away, wires and such connecting to boards were revealed. Fae lagged a moment, before setting both sides down. “Oh my god, which wire was I removing again?”

Clearly Strange hadn’t been noticed yet. So he lingered by the doorway, closing it carefully. Then Kronos ran a hand through faers own hair, pulling bangs away from that eye fae always covered. “No, wait… I was going to solder something?”

“Right, right.” Kronos sighed, setting the open remote aside. “I was going to compare this to the new version, and I was going to solder… Something into place.”

Fae was already forgetful. There were plenty of times where fae would briefly forget what fae was going to do if distracted, but this was a bit much. Dragging over the new remote’s boards and case, fae stared at them. When faers hand came to rest over the soldering gun, Strange finally spoke up. “You’ll burn yourself.”

As he came over, Kronos looked back at him over faers shoulder. “I mean, I haven’t yet.”

“Must I explain why some medication advises against driving and using heavy machinery after taking it?”

Kronos’ eyes narrowed. “This isn’t exactly what I think they meant by heavy machinery.”

“To be blunt: a lack of coordination and hot metal is a recipe for you to get badly hurt.” He placed a hand on faers shoulder, watching as fae put the soldering gun down. “Why don’t you come with me?”

With a sigh, Kronos got out of the little spinning chair fae practically called home. “Why not, I suppose.”

He kept a hand on faers back to lead faer away the whole time. They ended up in the bed room, Kronos left idly sitting in bed. Still though, Kronos was left restless. While Strange was in the other room, apparently “getting ready” (whatever the hell he meant by that,) Kronos was left bored. The ceiling was much less entertaining when there weren’t horrific visions sliding across them.

Well, that wasn’t fun exactly. It was simply not boring. There was a difference, but Kronos couldn’t find faerself capable of caring about it at this point. It was just as fae started picking at the skin on the back of faers left hand that Strange came back.

“Alright. How are you feeling?”

“Mostly light headed.” Kronos paused. “There’s a difference to me between various kinds of headaches.”

“Go on.”

Kronos sighed. “Well, migraines are obvious. Sometimes though, I just get so bored my head literally hurts. It’s like if static was ringing through the inside of my skull, but it was physically numbing in a painful kind of way? Then there’s the kinds of headaches I get from there being too much going on, and those honestly fill me with the most untrue nausea.”

Strange hummed, coming over to sit at the edge of the bed as fae spoke. Kronos had a habit of getting overly descriptive or poetic the moment you asked questions like this, and he couldn’t help finding it endearing. It was like a little piece of faers shame crumbled away long enough for faer to stop pretending fae wasn’t pretentious.

“This though? It reminds me of those headaches I get when I’m just that bored. It doesn’t quite hurt though. I think I associate the fuzziness so strongly with that pain that I keep expecting it, creating some phantom feedback loop of a hurt that never happens…”

“All because you’re light headed?”

“I’m also dizzy,” Kronos pointed out. “Light headed, dizzy, and trapped in headache dissonance.”

“If only my actual patients were so eloquent,” he joked. “Then you wouldn’t call these effects calming?”

Kronos’ face crinkled in some sort of annoyance. “Fuck no. The opposite. It’s become oddly frustrating.”

“Alright…” He came to actually sit next to faer now. Brushing faers bangs back behind faers ear—“you say the headaches this reminds you of stem from immense boredom. Are you bored right now?”

“I’m not exactly doing much.”

Fae sighed. His wandering hand wasn’t entirely unwelcome, though faers eyes tracked it with careful caution. He simply left a hand over faers chest, tracking faers pulse. It was certainly relaxed—though irritation was etched into faers face regardless. Kronos closed both eyes, though they opened halfway as his hand came to instead cup faers cheek. He forced eye contact. It only really lasted a few seconds. Then Kronos was looking away from the corner of faers eye, clearly uncomfortable.

“How about this: you wait a little longer, and we see if I can’t make this entertaining.”

Now that caught Kronos’ attention. “Alright, now it’s my turn. Go on?”

“When you’re more suggestible,” he muttered. “Perhaps I can find a way to make this less apparently dreadful.”

Kronos blushed, though now fae hoped fae wasn’t misreading the situation. That’d be awful to explain. The look on his face said fae was—though he laughed a scoffing sort of laugh as it hit him. “Well aren’t you forward.”

“I literally didn’t say anything,” Kronos protested. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“We can do that too,” because he honestly thought this bear was rather fun to poke.

Then though, Kronos was weakly pushing him away. “No, that’s an awful idea. You’re gonna cut me open! You’re gonna try to fuck my insides!”

“Is that so bad?”

“Hugo!”

Maybe this was fun, in its own, painfully domestic way. “Yes?”

“I know what I want.” Fae glared at him as best fae could. “I want junk food. Buy me dinner first.”

“When people say that, they usually mean something nice.” He sighed. “I get the feeling though—“

“Don’t even joke about it, you know what I want. The greasiest pizza place you can find.”

Well. He supposed fae had been rather cooperative, all things considered. “Fine.”

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Mirror Master I (Samuel Joseph Scudder)

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Samuel Joseph Scudder, also known as the Mirror Master. The patient displays a number of antisocial and narcissistic tendencies, and clearly has a nicotine addiction, but no formal diagnosis has ever been given to him, and since he, like the rest of the so-called “Rogues”, arrived at Arkham only a few days ago, I have not had the time to give him a complete psychological examination. Session One. So, Mr. Scudder, how are you today?

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of cigarette smoke) For suddenly having been sent a thousand miles away from home? Not bad, I suppose. 

Hugo Strange: Yes, I can see how that would be stressful. Believe me, having suddenly gained over a dozen new patients in one fell swoop is not an ideal situation for me, either. 

Mirror Master: Don’t sweat it, Doctor. I’ll be out of here in a few days anyway. 

Hugo Strange: I very much doubt that, Mr. Scudder. Arkham Asylum’s security has been improved considerably since the days of the unfortunate Dr. Jeremiah Arkham. 

Mirror Master: It doesn’t matter how good the security is, Doctor. The prison hasn’t been built yet that can keep me locked up. 

Hugo Strange: You are not a metahuman, Mr. Scudder. As long as we do not allow you undue access to technology, you will not be able to effect one of the fantastic escapes for which you are so well known. 

Mirror Master: (Blows a puff of smoke) You a betting man, Doctor? 

Hugo Strange: Not particularly, Mr. Scudder.

Mirror Master: Too bad. I was going to bet you that I’d be out of this joint in a week or less. 

Hugo Strange: If those are the terms of your ‘bet’, then I might be willing to relax my standards on betting. In the parlance of gambling, my victory will be a “sure thing”. 

Mirror Master: So, do we have a bet, doctor? 

Hugo Strange: Do we not need to, ah, set the terms for victory first? 

Mirror Master: You’re right. If I win, well...I’m out of prison, and you have to acknowledge that I can beat your supposedly impervious security system. 

Hugo Strange: And if I win, you will make no more escape attempts and will attend psychological sessions with me regularly. 

Mirror Master: It’s a bet. (The two shake hands) 

Hugo Strange: Now that that is out of the way, Mr. Scudder, I would like to make it clear that Arkham Asylum is not a prison. It is a mental hospital; a place of psychological healing. 

Mirror Master: Then why am I here? I’m perfectly sane. 

Hugo Strange: You call yourself the “Mirror Master” and commit crimes whilst wearing a hideous orange-and-green leotard. If that isn’t a sign of emotional disturbance, I do not know what is. 

Mirror Master: It’s a costume, Doctor. You know, like the ones actors wear while putting on a show? If they’re not insane, then neither am I. 

Hugo Strange: The two situations are not at all synonymous, Mr. Scudder. Crime is not a performance. 

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) The crimes aren’t the performance, Doctor. I commited crimes a long time before I put on the costume. The performance is being the Mirror Master. 

Hugo Strange: Ordinary criminals do not turn their crimes into elaborate performances, Mr. Scudder. 

Mirror Master: And that, my dear Doctor, is what separates the criminals...from the supervillains. 

Hugo Strange: So, in your mind, the crimes you commit as the Mirror Master, with the silly costume and the incredible technology, they aren’t for money? 

Mirror Master: Well, the money’s nice...but the real fun of being the Mirror Master is the challenge. Matching wits with the Flash, outwitting security, getting my name in the papers-that’s the real reason I became the Mirror Master. If I’d just wanted to get rich, I could’ve done that easily. 

Hugo Strange: Yes, I was just about to mention that. Your records indicate that, among other things, you have invented or discovered an alternate dimension known as the Mirror Realm, which enables you to teleport between locations, mirrors that can hold people’s reflections, a 3D printer that makes perfect mirror images of people, hypnotic technology that works over long distances, a mirror that predicts the future, a mirror that lets you switch your legs with other people’s legs, a number of laser weapons, some sort of flying car, a mirror-powered jet pack, a mirror that allows you to shrink and enlarge yourself and other people, mirrors that create a wide variety of fantastical illusions, a weapon that turns people into glass, a weapon that reverses the way that the brain perceived the world, guns that can transform stolen jewelry into light beams (and back again) for the purposes of easy transport, and a weapon that distorts people’s bodies. 

Mirror Master: (Blows out a puff of smoke) I’m a man of many talents, Doctor. 

Hugo Strange: Obviously. What’s more, when you arrived here, we administered a number of psychological and intelligence tests to you, and the results were remarkable. 

Mirror Master: How so? 

Hugo Strange: In spite of the fact that your records indicate that you never graduated from high school, your overall intelligence score was somewhere around 174. In other words, Mr. Scudder...you are a genius. 

 Mirror Master: (Whistles) Well, I always knew I was smart...but I’ve gotta admit, I didn’t realize I was that smart. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder, you are, quite bluntly, one of the most astonishing scientists of our generation. You could easily have made yourself rich and famous legitimately. 

Mirror Master: Yeah, well, here’s the thing, Doctor. By the time I made those discoveries, I was already a convict. People don’t exactly line up to hire liquor store robbers from Skid Row, even if they are geniuses. Besides, why should I try to help science and society? What did they ever do for me, except put me behind bars? 

Hugo Strange: After you had robbed a liquor store, Mr. Scudder.

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) In case you haven’t figured it out, Doctor, I’m not a very good person. 

Hugo Strange: No, Mr. Scudder, you are not a good man...but you are also a very sick man, and it is my duty to help you. 

Mirror Master: What do you mean, I’m sick? 

Hugo Strange: By your own testimony, you dress up in costume and commit crimes as though it’s some sort of grand performance. You have repeatedly ignored opportunities to make money legitimately, and even your crimes focus more on showmanship than on actually making a profit. In fact, the only times your crimes show a profit requisite to the amount of effort you put into committing them are when you are working alongside the other so-called Rogues, which, I suspect, is largely attributable to the fact that Mr. Leonard Snart puts some effort into keeping your idiosyncrasies in check when you work together. All of this suggests that you are emotionally disturbed, Mr. Scudder. 

Mirror Master: So I’m dramatic. That hardly makes me a candidate for a rubber room, Doctor. 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid I would have to disagree, Mr. Scudder. And I am the medical professional here. (Pause) So, Mr. Scudder, I repeat: why the costume? Mirror Master: I told you already. It’s part of the performance. 

Hugo Strange: And your decision to wear this costume had nothing whatsoever to do with the costumed vigilante who runs around Central City? 

Mirror Master: What, you mean the Flash? He really didn’t have much to do with it. I put on the costume before I ever met him. He makes commiting crimes more fun, but I would’ve become the Mirror Master regardless of whether there was a Speedster around to fight. 

Hugo Strange: So the Flash did not inspire the Mirror Master? 

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) No. 

Hugo Strange: Then what, exactly, inspired you to put on the spandex leotard? 

Mirror Master: Well, you’ve gotta admit it’s memorable. 

Hugo Strange: I suppose so. 

Mirror Master: But in all seriousness, I was a big fan of JSA comic books as a kid. I always thought their costumes were pretty cool; if anything inspired my costume; it was theirs. 

Hugo Strange: So the Mirror Master was inspired by the so-called Mystery Men of the 1940s and 1950s? 

Mirror Master: Yeah. Let me tell you, if anyone understood showmanship, it was the JSA. Those guys were my heroes.

Hugo Strange: In that case, is it not counterintuitive that you became a supervillain? I was under the impression that the JSA comics presented those vigilantes as unambiguous heroes. 

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) You know, I never really thought about it like that before. 

Hugo Strange: Then allow me to posit my own theory. (Strange pulls out Mirror Master’s file, papers rustle as he does so) According to your files, you were born to Percival and Martha Scudder. Your father died of cancer when you were only seven months old, and his medical bills consumed all of your parents’ money. As a result, your mother was forced to move with you to a glorified tenement building on the spot where Morrow Street and Baker Street met. The area was colloquially known as “Skid Row”, and poverty, crime, and drug addiction were rampant. Your mother, a seamstress, had to work long hours just to make ends meet, so you were often left at home alone. You and your mother never had enough clothes or enough to eat. When you were six years old, your next-door neighbor was murdered in a violent drug dispute; you were at home to hear the gunshot. When you were eight, you witnessed a violent brawl that ended in a man being sent to the hospital; when you were twelve, you watched another neighbor die of a drug overdose. 

Mirror Master: (Obviously uncomfortable) Can we please stop talking about this? 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder, until you acknowledge what happened to you, you cannot make progress. 

Mirror Master: I do acknowledge what happened! I know Skid Row was a crappy place to grow up; I’m not pretending it wasn’t! But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder, I understand your discomfort, but unless we talk about what happened to you, I will not be able to help you. (Pause) To continue: As a boy, you were very close to a young girl named Jennifer Conners, who lived in the apartment across from yours. Her father, a minister at a local church, soon became like a father to you. He even served as your Scoutmaster. You were a Boy Scout, Mr. Scudder. You even earned the title of Eagle Scout when you were fourteen. That’s highly irregular for a costumed criminal.

Mirror Master: (Trying to change the subject) Yeah, well, I’ve always been extraordinary. 

Hugo Strange: That is not the point, Mr. Scudder. The point is, until you were sixteen years old, you were a remarkably well-behaved child in spite of your dreadful environment. You got good grades, you loved comics about so-called superheroes, you were a Boy Scout-you were not a juvenile delinquent in any sense of the word. What changed, Mr. Scudder? 

Mirror Master: (Angry) Why do you need me to tell you? Isn’t it in my files? 

Hugo Strange: It is, but I think it is important that you admit it, Mr. Scudder. 

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) Fine! What changed was that I watched Mr. Conners get shot right in front of me! (Blows another puff of smoke) He was the best man I knew, and it still didn’t stop him from getting murdered by one of the Candy Man’s drug dealers. 

Hugo Strange: The...Candy Man? 

Mirror Master: Jack Monteleone. (Blows puff of smoke) He controls Central City’s drug empire. 

Hugo Strange: I see. So, your beloved father figure was killed in front of you. I’d imagine that produced a great deal of anxiety. 

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) No duh, Sherlock. 

Hugo Strange: As such, you decided to start self-medicating with alcohol and cigarettes. Eventually, this got you mixed up with the party crowd at your school. Your grades slipped rapidly, and, by the time you were seventeen, you had dropped out of school and run away from home so that you could better feed your addictions. You committed a number of petty crimes before robbing a local liquor store at the age of 19, whereupon you were sent to prison. While serving your sentence, you discovered the Mirror Realm, and upon your release, you became the Mirror Master. 

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) So, how exactly does my life story prove that I’m crazy? 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder, you are not “crazy”. What you are, however, is a child living a fantasy life. You used to self-medicate with alcohol; now you deal with your trauma by putting on a mask and playing an elaborate game of cops and robbers with your city’s scarlet-clad vigilante. By becoming this “Mirror Master”, you are reenacting the comic book stories that you loved as a child. You may be a warped reflection of the JSA, but you have nevertheless created a world for yourself where good and evil are simple and clear-cut and no one will ever really get hurt. And the Flash is enabling your fantasy. 

Mirror Master: (Blows a puff of smoke) Or-and here’s a novel concept-I do it because I like money and attention. 

Hugo Strange: Nothing is ever that simple, Mr. Scudder. 

Mirror Master: (Blows a puff of smoke) I’m really looking forward to watching you have to eat your words when I escape, Doctor. 

Hugo Strange: And when you fail to escape, I will look forward to helping you deal with your nicotine addiction, Mr. Scudder. Regardless, I think that it is time for this session to come to an end. We have covered enough ground for one day. 

[immortalcoelacanth]

Between the Walls, Chapter 5: Turtles, Bees, and Hybrids in Between

*drags self out of hole and drops chapter*

God this was a struggle to write with school but here we are! Clocking in at either the second or third longest chapter I've ever written for a fic! Please forgive me if there's any spelling errors!

... I didn't help that every time I opened the doc I use to work on this it kept opening up to the chapter that involves Dream XD

Word count: 9016 (yes, you read that right)

Summary: Tubbo sets out to reunite with Tommy, Tommy makes a new friend, and a ghost unintentionally makes their reunion harder. 

“Where did you take Tommy?!”

“Keep it down, kid, or else you’ll get in trouble!”

“I don’t care! Where is he?!”

For the past several days, Tubbo had been trying to figure out where Tommy had been exiled to. He had interrogated practically all the other borrowers who had been involved in kicking his friend, his brother, out of the only home he had ever known.

All the borrowers other than the one responsible for actually taking him to where he was exiled to, that is. Fortunately, finding the woman had not been all that hard since he knew the… wilder borrowers tended to stay near either the front gate or the market when they were trading items they had managed to scavenge. After asking around the market to see if anyone knew where she was, made tougher by the fact that he had no clue what her name was and only had a vague description of what she looked like, he had eventually been told that she was last spotted at the front gate.

Which led to the current predicament with Tubbo facing one of the borrowers responsible for his friend’s exile. His hands were planted on his hips as he glared the woman down, refusing to let her pass until she answered his question.

The woman placed her head in her hands and sighed loudly. “Listen, I can’t. I can’t tell you. I can’t take you to him. I can’t do any of those things since I’d get in so much trouble-”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Tubbo spat, the pure venom and anger in his voice causing the other borrower to recoil. “And I’ll do whatever I have to so I can see Tommy again! So, uh…”

The anger on his face faded, turning to sheepish embarrassment. “What’s your name?”

“Sara.”

“Alright, Sara,” The venom was back, albeit not as strong as it was before. “I won’t rest until I’m with Tommy again, so you had better tell me where he is! Or else!”

Even with his unusually angry demeanor, Tubbo doubted his threats would be taken all that seriously thanks to both his unfortunately short height and typically meek demeanor. He had never been all that good at standing up for himself and fighting back, Tommy had always been more confident and headstrong, willing to stick up for him no matter what.

He missed Tommy, so much.

It was like there was a piece of his heart missing. His very soul seemed to ache with each passing day and, even though some of the adults in Borrowton were a bit nicer to him, their warmth failed to chase away the cold feeling that had engulfed him. He needed Tommy, needed to see his best friend again and make sure he was okay, and he would do whatever was needed to accomplish this goal.

No matter how weak or scared he was.

“Alright, alright.” Sara sighed as she held her hands out. “How about this. I can’t take you directly to him, but I’ll drop you off nearby and point you in the direction you need to go. That sound good?”

Tubbo immediately nodded his head, his previously aggressive stance relaxing as relief flowed through him. “That would work! Can we leave now? Soon? By the end of today? When do you think-”

“Holy crap, one thing at a time.” The older borrower interrupted, looking more than a little annoyed at the sudden bombardment of questions. “Luckily for you I was gonna leave soon anyways. Just let me get all my supplies packed up and then we can go. You’ll probably want to get some stuff for yourself as well.”

Perhaps it was a bit naive of him to not question her further, drill her on why she had changed her mind so fast, but he was too caught up in his excitement to think about anything other than his reunion with Tommy. He quickly nodded once more, already thinking about what he would need to get from his… house.

Not a home, it was never a home.

“Then get outta here! I’ll meet you at the front gate.” Sara insisted as she shooed Tubbo away. “Scram before we both get in trouble!”

“Y-Yeah, and thank you!” The younger borrower called out as he quickly ran off, stumbling in his haste to reach his destination. He did his best to stick to some of the darker, more hidden paths so he could avoid encountering anyone else lest they see the hopeful look on his face.

Borrowton itself was not at that large, but it was tall. The settlement had originally been built underground before reaching upwards and connecting with a tree that grew above it. Roots had been carved to form staircases and ladders stretched down from the higher levels. There were also wood and rope pathways that connected each of the towering structures, allowing people to use them to easily cross over to other towers, or simply sit on them and rest while taking in the scenery.

He and Tommy had frequently sat up on these pathways, staring down at the ground that was so very, very far below them, or use it as a chance to annoy some of the borrowers who walked underneath them.

Fishing rods were perfect for stealing hats, and other interesting looking items.

Shorter, more typical houses also littered the ground. They were some of the oldest structures in the settlement, made long before some of the borrowers who founded this place decided to get a bit more creative and inventive with their building. And it was in one of these old, dilapidated houses that Tommy and Tubbo lived.

Well, it wasn’t really their house. It was more so a place that they had permission to live in, since no one else wanted to take them in or offer up their own place to stay. A blatant rejection by their community, but Tubbo had learned to stop caring about that a long time ago.

The second he reached his destination, he flung the door open, raced inside, and quickly closed it behind him.

“Okay, okay. Get the important stuff and don’t worry about the rest.” Tubbo mumbled as he quickly scanned the dark interior of his house. He didn’t bother to light any of the lamps and instead opted to grab a backpack and start filling it with supplies. Tools, food, some bottles of water, and building supplies were all quickly shoved into the bag, haste taking priority over organization.

Of course, with his speed and intense focus, the borrower was bound to slip up and make a mistake somewhere. This manifested in him accidentally smacking into one of the walls near the staircase that led up to the loft, knocking it loose and causing it to slide to the side-

Revealing their hidden stash of items.

Tubbo froze as he caught sight of the worn-down jukebox that had been shoved into the corner of the cramped space. The wood was chipped, he could recall the splinters he had to help get out of Tommy’s hands on multiple occasions, and the varnish had long since faded entirely.

And yet, even with all that damage it still sounded amazing.

He smiled gently as he reached out and carefully patted the top of the jukebox. This item had brought them both so many happy memories, moments of joy without having to worry about anything else. It was undoubtedly the most important item the duo had, a title shared only by the two discs that the borrowers had kept hidden from the community that had shunned them.

Such rare items that could only be found and never replicated were priceless and would have immediately been used to handle all sorts of vital trades with other settlements, but the duo did not care. The discs were theirs, and that was that. He knew for a fact that Tommy would never give them up, and he wouldn’t either.

Tubbo reached around the jukebox and carefully removed the thin, wooden container that had been hidden by its bulky frame. He quickly opened it to check and see if the items it contained were still okay. The two discs, Cat and Mellohi written on both of them to help identify which was which, immediately greeted his worried gaze. They were both perfectly fine, no scratches or blemishes to be seen, and the borrower let out a relieved sigh.

Even if he couldn’t bring the jukebox with him, at least he could give Tommy the discs once they were reunited.

The case was carefully added to the backpack, some items placed on top of it to hide it from sight, and Tubbo took one last look of the closest thing to a home he had ever known. From the low hanging ceiling and the loft that housed both of their beds, to the tiny kitchen Tommy had set on fire more than once, the house was just as worn down and broken as they were, but they had lived their best life regardless.

Discarded like the trash everyone thought they were, left in a rotting home and ignored, but he and Tommy had come out all the stronger in spite of it.

A quiet, near inaudible voice whispered that he should set the house ablaze, turn his past to ashes and rise out of the destruction that had caused, confident and victorious. To leave a remainder that they had failed to break him, break his spirit, but he quickly ignored it and instead shouldered his backpack.

No, it would be better to disappear without a trace and show them how insignificant they all were to him. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction in letting them know how badly they had all hurt him. How close they had gotten to their goal.

So, Tubbo turned and left his old house behind. The door was carefully shut and he patted it, knowing it would be the last time he saw this place. It was bittersweet, leaving like this, but he knew this was the right path forward.

He had to see Tommy again.

He would see Tommy again.

With that thought, that promise, in mind he quickly ducked back into the darker alleyways and slowly but surely made his way to the front gate. Occasionally he would have to stop and wait as other borrowers, and the occasional guard, passed him by, but he ultimately managed to reach his destination with little difficulty.

He immediately spotted Sara after making his way up the hill that connected the gate to the rest of Borrowton, having internally panicked the entire time about being seen. It looked like the guards were busy with something else, probably patrolling parts of the dark forest for any items dropped by mobs, which meant this was the perfect time for his departure from Borrowton.

Using up the last of his energy, he sprinted the rest of the way to the older borrower, dropping to his knees beside her as he took a moment to catch his breath. It was a moment that was quickly interrupted as Sara snagged the back of his shirt and dragged him towards the collection of shrubbery that surrounded the front gate, hiding it from sight.

And in turn hiding both Tubbo and the other borrower from the guards.

He let out a yelp as he was finally let go, dropping flat onto his back while Sara crossed her arms and tapped her foot in annoyance. He glanced up at her and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could start talking she turned around and disappeared into the foliage.

Taking that as his sign to follow her, he quickly pushed himself upright and raced through the last bits of greenery that helped hide Borrowton. Shoving through large leaves, and nearly getting smacked in the face by a twig, he burst into the warm sunlight that peeked between the trees.

It was weird seeing the sun, but it was even weirder seeing the large fox that must have been patiently waiting for them, bags full of supplies scattered around it. The life he lived was not a sheltered one, per say, but he rarely got the chance to leave Borrowton and really experience the world around him. He had always been good working with his hands, and the adults all told him that he would grow up to create things, to build and help their home. Whenever he asked about Tommy, about what his role would be, he had only ever seen disappointed frowns and the shaking of heads.

Like they had given up on him before trying, deciding he wasn’t worth whatever effort they were willing to give out.

“This is my fox.” Sara explained as she patted the animal’s flank, unintentionally snapping Tubbo out of his memory filled haze. “He’s gonna be our ticket to getting you to your friend, so you better be nice.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be extra nice!” He assured her as he got up and made his way over to the fox. Once he was close enough, he scratched behind the fox’s ears, grinning at the happy noises the animal made. A contemplative look crossed his face, and he decided to voice his question. “Does he have a name?” “No? He’s just a fox.” Sara stiffly replied as she started tying the bags to the fox’s sides, attaching them to the near invisible harness the animal was wearing. “And everyone knows he’s mine, so he doesn’t need a name.”

“Oh…” Tubbo mumbled, appearing downcast before perking up. “Can I give him a nickname, then? Something I can call him?”

Though she seemed incredibly confused by his question, she hesitantly nodded. “Yeah? I can’t really do anything to stop you.”

“I’ll call him Squeeks then!” Tubbo beamed. “Because he sounds all squeaky, but spelled differently! Uniquely!”

As if agreeing with Tubbo’s decision, the newly named Squeeks let out an excited squeal and bumped the young borrower. He laughed and continued to love on the energetic creature as Sara finished up their preparations.

Time seemed to both drag on and race by, and before Tubbo knew it the other borrower had finished packing up and was already climbing onto the fox, with him following behind a moment later. The fur beneath his hands was nice and fluffy, as soft as Squeeks was, and served to be the perfect distraction that stopped him from noticing the little whistle Sara let out.

“Time to go!”

That was the only warning he got as the fox started dashing between the trees and emerging into a large, open field. He winced and lifted a hand up to block the harsh rays coming from the sun. It was so… so bright out here! And all the blue-

“Is that an ocean?” Tubbo gasped, jaw dropping in surprise upon seeing the massive body of water that was apparently situated not that far from his old home. “We live near an ocean?!”

“Lived, in your case, and yeah.” Sara answered, quickly glancing back at the younger borrower before returning her eyes to the horizon. “Water and borrowers don’t really mix, so it’s more of a restricted area.”

“Well that’s a dumb rule.” He huffed. “How else are we supposed to get used to water if we aren’t around it? It just doesn’t make sense!”

“Rules don’t tend to make sense, and enjoy the scenery while you can since we gotta go pretty far inland.” The older borrower said before falling silent and focusing on making sure the fox was headed in the right direction. There were several times where Tubbo opened his mouth to speak, wanting to ask a question, but ultimately remained silent and instead opted to watch their slowly changing surroundings.

It gave him plenty of time to think, too. Think about where he was going and what he was going to do, and ask himself some questions that he knew would go unanswered.

Questions about humans.

What did a settlement of humans even look like? He had only heard about the occasional town, knew there was one close to Borrowton, but he had never been allowed to visit it. Too small and dangerous for borrowing, apparently. Would this place be like that one? Small and difficult to find a good hiding spot? What about the humans?

Would they be as cruel and cunning as he had been told, or would he find a human who was nice and wouldn’t kill him if he was spotted? He had so many questions, and the time for their answers would have to come much later…

“Here we are.”

The sound of Sara’s voice snapped Tubbo out of his thoughts and he straightened up, eyes landing on the collection of structures ahead. Some were made out of wood, others out of what appeared to be different kinds of stone, and there were sprawling wooden paths that stretched out in all sorts of directions.

It was… intimidating to say the least.

He had no idea how long it would take him to try and find Tommy. There were so many spaces a borrower could hide in. From the buildings themselves to the various trees and shrubs that could easily be used as a hiding spot, practically everywhere had the potential to house a borrower to some extent. And this was only a portion of what he would need to explore.

Tommy could be anywhere if he found him at all.

Tubbo nervously swallowed as he slid off of Squeeks, the fox immediately started nuzzling his back and nearly knocked the poor borrower over. He let out an awkward laugh, mood lightening just the slightest bit, and turned his attention to the affectionate animal.

“It was nice meeting you, Squeeks.” Tubbo said as he scratched at the fox’s ears and got that signature, laugh-like noise in response. He didn’t see how Sara’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, and it was only when she loudly cleared her throat that he looked up at her.

“And thank you for your help, Sara!” He hastily added. “I’m grateful, truly! I don’t know how I can repay you-”

“Don’t worry about that since this is the last time we’ll see one another.” She interrupted, her face rather blank and betraying none of her emotions. “So, forget about any of that and just live, alright kid?”

“Mhm!” Tubbo quickly nodded. While he wasn’t all that fond of leaving on such a note, debts were a powerful thing after all, he knew there was nothing he could say to change her mind. All he could hope was that working with her didn’t come back to bite him.

Maybe… maybe he and Tommy could stay here. There was always the chance that they could turn this place into their new home, a place they could live in without having to worry about being bothered by other borrowers. Of course, there was still the challenge of finding food, a good source of water, and actually building their home, but that was something they could work on over time.

Yes, that was it! He would build a temporary base, find Tommy, and then work on creating their own home!

With a plan in mind and hope filling his heart, Tubbo waved once more to Sara and set off on his mission. Dashing between the undergrowth and other forms of cover to keep himself from being seen by any humans, or dangerous animals, that might be nearby

Sara sighed softly to herself as she watched the younger borrower vanish from sight. It was so strange knowing that this was the second time she had done this, abandoning a child to some horribly doomed fate, but at least Tubbo had a better chance of surviving then Tommy did.

She let out a quiet snort and shook her head. It was highly unlikely he was still alive thanks to his temperament and what she knew of the Blood God. It wasn’t that she thought he was a bad person, but his habits and choices were… dangerous. It would have been all too easy for him to expose Borrowton to outsiders and humans. He never seriously considered what the consequences his actions would have when something went wrong, how selfish and immature he was.

He was nothing more than a threat to all the borrowers he interacted with, a threat to their way of life.

Good riddance.

                                                   xxxxxxxxxx

Warm sunlight shone down on the lonely cabin sitting in the middle of the empty tundra. The light brought with it an unusual warmth, making it the perfect day to spend some time outside gathering resources or fixing up the cabin.

Which was exactly what Technoblade had decided to do.

After repairing the damage that he had dealt to the porch, ignoring the borrower who had followed him outside and immediately started teasing him, the hybrid had decided to spend the rest of the day working on Carl’s stable. The least he could do was improve it so that way the horse would be comfortable in the harsh chill of the tundra.

Surprisingly enough, Tommy had trailed after him as he went from place to place using his own secret passages to keep up with the hybrid. It was fascinating being able to see the hidden doors that had previously gone unnoticed by him, and he was relieved to know that the property value of his home wouldn’t be going down.

Nothing was worse than having a bunch of holes in your house that made it look like it was infested by mice.

Still, the amount of ingenuity required to make something so simple yet complex, even if he had been taught how to do it before, was immense. Hell, if it wasn’t for naturally loud Tommy was, Techno doubted he would have ever found out about the borrower and all the passageways he had made. So, he ended paying more attention than he expected to Tommy when the borrower started making a pathway that connected to the top of Carl’s stable.

A bit unsurprising since he seemed to be very fond of the horse. He wasted no time in pointing out how much Carl seemed to like him, although Techno personally thought the horse was fairly apathetic towards Tommy’s attempts at friendship and only used it as a chance to get carrots from the borrower.

Carl was definitely the smartest being on the server, hands down.

Plus, he was immensely amused as he watched Tommy struggle to hold each carrot up, the vegetable practically the same size as the borrower. It was only through sheer stubbornness and willpower he was able to lift the thing in the first place.

And the occasional nudge from Techno that helped him keep his balance when he tipped back too far. Fences weren’t the safest of places to stand on, of course.

All in all, the day was turning out to be surprisingly productive and peaceful, even if he had to deal with listening to Tommy ramble on and on about whatever topic entered his mind. Techno was surprised to find himself actually listening more than he thought he would, occasionally chiming in with his own point or teasing the borrower. It was a welcome change after the excitement of freeing Carl.

A change that he knew wouldn’t last. Peace was an unfamiliar concept to his family, chaos was naturally drawn to them. Funnily enough, it was a trait that Tommy seemed to share. Speaking of the borrower…

“You’re just jealous that Carl thinks I’m better than you!” Tommy teased, smugly smirking at the hybrid, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head. “He knows how great I am!”

“I just think it’s pretty funny that you don’t realize your greatness,” Both the term and the heavy sarcastic tone had Tommy’s smile turning into a disgruntled frown, but Techno wasn’t done yet. “Is resulting in you getting exploited by a horse.”

“He’s not exploiting me!” The borrower objected. “We’re buddies! Best buddies! For someone who’s so smart with all his fancy words, you don’t seem to get it!”

“Oh, trust me, I get it completely.” Techno drawled, sparing a quick glance over at Carl. For as challenging as it was to pinpoint the horse’s emotions, he didn’t miss the cunning gleam in Carl’s eyes.

Suddenly, a screen popped up beside the hybrid. Tommy jumped back in alarm, nearly falling off the fence he was perched on. Fortunately, Carl quickly helped him resettle himself with a quick nudge and an exasperated sounding snort, as Techno turned his attention to the messages he had just received. Messages from Philza.

Shit.

He cursed under his breath as he began tapping away at the screen, ignoring the curious looks thrown his way by both the borrower and the horse. “Fuck, I forgot about Phil.”

“The fuck is Phil?” Tommy immediately asked, running along the stable’s fence as he tried to keep up with Techno’s strides. “And what’s with that screen thingy? You sending messages to any girls? Looking for any local hot women in the area?”

Naturally, his questions went unanswered as Techno continued mumbling to himself, something about bees and farms, leaving the borrower more than a little annoyed. Not wanting to be left behind, both literally and in terms of the conversation Techno was having with himself, he quickly came up with a plan to keep up. A plan that relied on a rapidly closing window of opportunity.

So, Tommy made his move.

He did not bother trying to get the hybrid’s attention and instead sprinted towards the end of the fence. The moment he reached the edge, he bent his knees and jumped.

For a moment, pure fear filled him as he lunged through the air, refusing to look downwards and instead remaining focused on grabbing onto the swaying braid in front of him. He could feel his heart pounding as he got closer, and closer, until-

His hands made contact with pink hair and he immediately held on as tight as he could. He crossed his ankles, locking his feet together, as he took a moment to catch his breath. He felt all sweaty and jittery, the lingering hints of adrenaline running through his veins. Once he finally felt calm enough to move, and his hands stopped shaking, he slowly started climbing up the long braid.

At this point, Techno had made his way into the cabin and was rummaging through the chests. He was completely unaware of the borrower climbing up his hair until he felt a particularly harsh tug at the back of his head followed by the sounds of Tommy cursing.

“What the fuck, man?! You nearly left me behind!” The borrower exclaimed as he heaved himself over the edge of Techno’s crown, flopping into the pink hair. He could still feel his heart racing from both the dangerous climb and the terrifying jump, but he also felt badass.

He knew of no other borrowers that could brag about such an achievement and, despite how out of breath he was, he found himself smiling as he lay sprawled out on top of the hybrid’s head.  

“Sorry.” Techno said, sounding not at all apologetic as that screen appeared once more. “Figured you could use the exercise with those twiggy legs of yours-”

“And here he goes again! Big, scary Blade acting all mean and stuff! Gotta keep up that tough guy act!” Tommy grumbled while waving his hands in the air dramatically.

He heard Techno let out an amused snort at his antics, making a grin appear on the borrower’s face. There was something satisfying about seeing a positive reaction to his antics for once instead of being scolded or told off. For as dangerous as the hybrid could be, Tommy had developed some trust towards him.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make Techno suffer for almost leaving him out in the cold. Revenge was in the cards, and he refused to miss this chance.

“... You know it’s okay to look up hot old men in your area too right-”

Tommy’s grin grew as he heard the strangled wheeze escape the hybrid, and he threw his head back and cackled. Flopping back into the soft, pink hair he rolled around as he laughed and nearly smacked into the crown surrounding him.

“You’re horrible, and your jokes are cringe.” Techno grumbled. “Phil is my-”

What words could properly describe the connection forged between them? A pact sealed in bloodshed, violence, and a level of comprehension that far exceeded anything he had ever known in his life.

The look of understanding in Philza’s eyes. A grounding voice, a source of stability in a crimson sea of death and loneliness.

A mentor, a savior, a-

“... Dad.” He finally settled on, figuring it would be the easiest way for Tommy to understand what he meant. “He’ll be here, soon.”

“What?!” The borrower squawked, his previous amusement fading and quickly being replaced with dread. He stood up, gripped the edge of the crown, and looked down into Techno’s face. “Y-You have to tell me these things! We’re roommates! And you have a dad?!”

“To be fair, he was supposed to visit a couple days ago, but then Carl happened.”

“That doesn’t explain anything!”  

A brow was raised at the shout, Techno easily picking up on the anxiety that made the kid’s voice crack and left him trembling. It was bizarre seeing Tommy so openly terrified, and at the thought of meeting Philza no less.

Philza Minecraft, who had the unfortunate habit of picking up any homeless kid he found on the street and giving them the shelter and support they so desperately craved.

Even if he occasionally left for long periods of time...

His ears twitched, the distant sounds of Wilbur’s shouts and Phil’s pleas for him to calm down ringing in his head. He glanced upwards, eyes meeting the wide, terrified stare of the borrower, and felt the neutral look on his face soften. He didn’t like the idea of the kid being scared, in general and of Phil, and it just felt… wrong.

It felt wrong for Tommy to be afraid of anything. For his arrogance and loud nature to become so quiet and muffled. To see that spark in his eyes dull.

“There’s nothing you need to be worried about-”

“Easy for you to say!” Tommy interrupted with a scoff. “You’re you! You’re all tough and mehmehmeh look at all these swords and potions I’ve got! You don’t have to be worried! You don’t have to be scared! You…”

His words trailed off with a sigh and he braced himself against the edge of the crown, eyes shutting. “You don’t know what it’s like to have to be scared of everything.”

No, Techno didn’t know anything about what it must be like to live at such a diminutive size, although he was familiar with the fear and struggle of trying to survive.

Scorching hot air, bubbling lava. Frantic running and a gold sword clutched tightly in his hands-

Perhaps that familiarity was why he found himself speaking up, repeating the words that had been spoken to him years ago.

“I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The declaration that had slipped out of Techno left the duo frozen and silent, each contemplating the meaning behind his words. While the hybrid was mentally berating himself on making such a claim, not that he couldn’t easily fulfill it, the borrower’s eyes snapped open and he looked down, meeting Techno’s gaze once more. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and spoke up.

“... Really?”

He hated it, hated how childish and weak he sounded, but at the same time he craved reassurance and wanted to know that he would be okay, that everything would turn out okay.

He just wanted to know that he’d be safe.

Techno nodded, unintentionally jostling the borrower around a bit as he struggled to figure out how exactly to word what he wanted to say. Eventually, he settled on a simple. “Yeah, really.”

A moment of silence passed, then two, and then-

“Okay,” Tommy relented, letting out a quiet sigh and nodding. “I trust you, Blade.”

“Wait over here for now. You’ll warm up to Phil pretty quick.” Techno suggested with a knowing tone in his voice as he plucked the borrower off the top of his head and carried him over to the table. Even as Tommy scampered across the surface to duck behind a book he had left out, fear and uncertainty clear in the kid’s eyes, he knew those feelings would vanish soon enough.

Phil had a way with people that he could never hope to comprehend, a skill that had come in handy when they had first met all those years ago in the scorching heat of the Nether. A skill that had equally come in handy when a grungy child carrying a broken guitar had been found rummaging through the trash.

Instinctively knowing how to soothe them and their worries, to calm their fears.

So, despite the anxious looks that were sent his way, he walked over to the front window and waited.

Tommy honestly had no idea what he expected Phil to look like. Techno had given him no information whatsoever, the prick, and the only thing he knew was that Phil was his dad, which meant they probably looked similar?

At least he now knew that he had gotten one of his first jokes about Techno right.

Simply put, it was only when he caught sight of the short, blond man entering the cabin that he realized Techno was adopted, or was most likely adopted. They didn’t seem to have anything in common based on their appearances, other than the fact that both of them looked to be fond of capes since Phil was wearing a long, black cape that stretched towards the floor.

Funnily enough, it was pretty stiff for a cape. There was none of the cool flowing he had grown used to seeing, but maybe that was because of the cold.

Anything would freeze out in the open tundra, including capes.

However, his assumption that Phil and Techno were both just cape obsessed fashionistas was quickly proven false when the newcomer’s cape moved. He heard something that sounded like the rustling of leaves on a windy day and watched in awe as the cape seemed to expand and open up, breaking into two separate parts-

Wings.  

“You’ve got wings!” The borrower exclaimed, ducking out from behind his hiding spot and pointing at Phil. Both hybrids, assuming Phil was a hybrid of some sort, immediately turned to face him. He was more than used to Techno staring at him, all analytical and like he wanted to figure out everything about the borrower, but Phil was-

Different.

Where Techno’s eyes were cold and hard, Phil’s carried a warmth and softness within them. Even the smile on his face was gentle and, for some reason, helped soothe the lingering anxiety Tommy felt. It was a look he had seen addressed to many children back at Borrowton, but never to him. From that expression alone, he immediately knew one thing.

Phil wouldn’t hurt him.

“Hello there.” The winged hybrid greeted, taking a step closer to the table but still keeping his distance. “Didn’t know someone got a roommate-”

“Infestation.” Techno quickly corrected with a snort. “I didn’t put out an add or anything. Roommates suck.”

“Aw, it’s okay to feel lonely, Tech-”

Tommy watched as the duo started bantering back and forth, Phil continuing to tease Techno while the other hybrid responded in kind with his own barbs and jests. It was weird seeing him be so openly social, and for once in his life he found himself speechless.

That is, until Phil’s eyes landed on him yet again.

He didn’t stiffen up, nor did he try to hide from the winged man’s gaze. He instead held it and waited to see what would happen next, immediately being surprised when Phil sent him that same gentle smile from earlier.

“It’s nice to meet you, mate. I’m Philza, but you can call me Phil.”

“Tommy.” He mumbled, voice barely loud enough to be heard.

He felt so out of his depth in this new situation, everything was moving so fast and he had already possibly befriended someone else? The kind look in the winged hybrid’s eyes certainly made it seem like he cared, which would imply that friendship was not far off, right?

“So, is he joining us?” Phil asked, turning to Techno and in turn missing the confused look that crossed the borrower’s face.

“Joining? What’s going on?” Tommy piped up, his curiosity helping him find his voice. “You two going out somewhere?”

“Phil and I need to make some farms.” Techno explained. “A bee farm and a turtle farm, but we need to gather the resources first. I wasn’t planning on you tagging along, but you can if you don’t bother Phil.”

Asking Tommy to behave was out of the question, he understood how excited the kid could get and in turn how forgetful and unobservant he could become. The bare minimum he could hope for was for Tommy to reign in his excitement just enough to stop him from bugging Phil and distracting him.  

Like he expected, Tommy’s eyes lit up in excitement and he eagerly nodded. “Fuck yeah! We headin’ out now? I can go grab my stuff-”

“The sooner you get ready, the better.” Techno interrupted as he shooed him away. “So, scram and get ready.”

As Tommy rushed into the nearby borrower hole that he had thankfully made the day prior, his excited rambling cutting off not long after he disappeared from sight, Techno pointedly ignored the smug look Phil sent his way.

“So, adoption-”

“Eugh, cringe.” Techno immediately interrupted, not wanting the conversation to progress any further. “Taking in an orphan? Providing emotional support? Couldn’t be me.”

“Nice to know what you think of me.” Phil quipped. He let out a laugh when he saw the concerned, almost horrified, look that crossed his adopted son’s face. “Relax! Relax, it’s just a joke, mate.”

His amusement faded and his smile took on a more concerned edge as he looked Techno over, eyes landing on the familiar blood red cape. “You’re more high strung than usual. Did something happen?”

“You mean aside from the nuisance that invaded my home?” Techno dryly retorted. “And I’m…”

Lie, lie, lie-

“... As good as I can be.” He answered, voice growing quieter. A quick inspection of his father had him noticing the dark shadows under Phil’s eyes and how dull his feathers were compared to their typical luster. “You?”

“Eh, I’m holding up.” Phil shrugged. “L’Manberg’s been busy, keeps me busy too.”

The look of disgust and annoyance that crossed Techno’s face got a laugh out of the other man. “You still got something in mind for them, mate?”

“A plan, and some trips to the Nether.”

“Nice, tell me if you need anymore help-”

One of Techno’s ears twitched and he glanced over at the borrower hole, a clear sign that their conversation was finished for now. Together, they both watched as the cover to the hole was moved and Tommy stumbled out of it, a bag now slung over his shoulders.

He looked… relatively unprepared compared to the two armor wearing and weapon carrying hybrids.

“Is that everything you need?” Phil asked, frowning slightly as he took in the simple bag Tommy was carrying. “No tools?”

“... I have my axe? My grappling hook?” The borrower hedged as he picked up a rather shoddy looking stone axe that had been attached to his belt. “Dunno what else I’d really need, old man.”

Already seeing Phil starting to get all concerned parent thanks to the look on his face combined with the fluffing up of his feathers, Techno decided to jump in and spare Tommy from the mother henning that was about to happen.

… He also stubbornly ignored the faint ache of his heart, unintentionally recalling how Wilbur had given Phil that title and teased him relentlessly with it.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got him covered.” He interjected while striding towards the chest at the edge of the room. “Armor’s still a struggle, but I finished something else up.”

“Armor?” Tommy visibly perked up and stared intensely at Techno’s back. “What armor?”

“Your hypothetical armor.”

The borrower’s jaw dropped while Phil looked more than a little interested, stepping forward and glancing at the chest that was being rummaged in. Techno ignored the both of them until he found what he had been searching for.

Straightening up and facing the duo, he presented the item he had been working on. “I was planning on giving this to you later, but now works too.”

It was a needle. A simple needle forged out of some dark metal that looked wickedly sharp to the touch. It was the perfect weapon for someone Tommy’s size, and the borrower carefully accepted it as it was passed to him. He could see his reflection staring back at him in the carefully polished metal.

Why…

“If you stab yourself I’m taking it back.”

“Wh-I won’t!” Tommy shouted, quickly looking up and glaring at Techno. “I know how to use this! We’ve been practicing-”

“And we’ll keep practicing until you stop tripping over your own feet.”

“Fuck off!”

The winged hybrid let out a contemplative hum as he inspected the weapon. “Why not try enchanting it as well? Fire aspect could be helpful.”

“I’m not giving him something that’ll let him burn down my house, Phil.”

“I bet he would’ve done that by now if he really wanted to.” Phil chuckled while shaking his head. “And you know what I mean. A bit of pain won’t scare everyone off, but some fire could help with that.”

The unspoken a needle can’t pierce through all armor and fire might deal more damage.

Techno remained silent as he thought the suggestion over before eventually nodding. “Alright, I’ll look into enchanting it once we get back. We’re far enough behind on those farms and we need to get them finished as soon as possible.”

“How about you go and get those turtle eggs while I take Tommy to find some bees?” Phil suggested, smiling to himself when he saw how excited the borrower looked. “Gives you a break and splits up the work so we can get it done faster.”

“You sure you can keep up in your old age?” Techno teased. “Make sure you don’t hurt your back.”

The wing that lightly smacked his side along with the exaggerated eye rolling made him feel both warm and cold. The familiarity of the gesture bringing back fond memories, and reminding him that those moments would stay memories no matter what.

That there would always be someone missing from their family, even with the husk that had been left behind.

He could see that lingering grief in Phil’s eyes, too, recalling times that had long since passed. An unspoken agreement passed between the duo, a promise that neither would mention the tragedy that had struck their family while Tommy was around.

Their grief was not something they wanted to share, nor did either of them want to dampen the excitement he clearly felt. So, Phil kept smiling as he replied.

“It’s been a bit, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

                                               xxxxxxxxxx

“THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING!!!” Tommy shouted, his voice quickly lost to the wind whipping around him. He heard Phil chuckle above him, and the borrower’s smile grew.

After practically begging the winged hybrid to take him flying, Phil had agreed with some conditions. The first was that Tommy was to be on his best behavior, no trying to jump out of the man’s hands or anything crazy like that. The second was that he couldn’t distract the flying hybrid, but conversations and the occasional excited exclamation was okay. As for the third…

He had to stay warm.

Part of Phil’s cloak had been wrapped around the borrower, blocking out the glacial gale. Gloved hands carefully cupped Tommy close, keeping him tucked against the winged hybrid’s chest. It was surprisingly cozy, and more than once he had zoned out and found himself unintentionally cuddling up to the man carrying him, listening to the steady beating of the powerful wings that made him soar through the air.

He wasn’t as warm as Techno was, but he doubted anyone could match the amount of heat he seemed to give off.

He was more than a little surprised at how quickly he had come to trust Phil, especially in comparison to Techno. While it had taken him some time to warm up to the pig-like hybrid, an experience that he was certain had been mutual, with Phil there had been an almost instantaneous feeling of trust he felt towards the winged hybrid.

It was honestly terrifying when he actually thought about it, how willing he had been to literally put his life in the hands of someone he had met only minutes ago, but at the same time it felt…

Right.

Like a puzzle piece sliding into place, the same feeling he had felt when Techno protected him oh so long ago. It wasn’t something he could explain with words or rationalize in any way. It just… was what it was.

A feeling that left him more hopeful than he had felt in years.

The sensation of descent that left his legs tingling and his stomach flip-flopping was enough to shake Tommy out of his thoughts, and he looked over the edge of Phil’s hands to see the snow covered ground slowly approaching them. A couple careful flaps of those massive wings slowly lowered them until Phil’s feet were resting on the ground.

“We have to do that again!” Tommy said, looking up and sending Phil a wide, excited smile. “It was awesome! And fast! Way faster than I thought an old man would be-”

“Alright, alright, settle down.” The winged hybrid chuckled. “We can’t do that with the bees-”

“Fuck the bees! Them and their queen!”

“But, we can always go flying again later.” Phil continued, fighting to keep down the laugh that bubbled up at Tommy’s words. “Probably not today though. Farms need to be made and all.”

To the borrower’s surprise, instead of being put down on the ground like he assumed, Phil lifted him up to his shoulder. He hesitated for a moment before carefully climbing over and situated himself among the folds of clothes and the side of Phil’s neck.

The man wore layers, and Tommy instinctively wrapped the outermost one around himself, unconsciously letting out a soft sigh as the heat sank back into him. He missed how the wing behind him was raised up higher, blocking out more of the brisk winds.

Phil knew he’d get a cramp at some point, but the last thing he wanted was for the tiny kid to freeze. His clothes weren’t made for the cold, something he’d have to look into later, and it was obvious Tommy had lived somewhere much warmer before ending up in Techno’s cabin.

Yet again, the man found himself wondering what events had led to Tommy winding up in the tundra. Had he gotten lost? Been separated from his family somehow? He didn’t know how much Techno knew about the kid’s situation, and resolved to ask about it once they got back.

Fortunately, it didn’t take all that long before they stumbled on some bees that had been buzzing around in the near empty tundra as they struggled to find flowers. The occasional hive could be spotted between the spruce trees as well, making this the perfect spot to abduct some bees.

The next several minutes were filled with the sounds of cheerful conversation as Phil slowly gathered up the bees and collected their hives. Tommy spent most of his time asking the hybrid about his wings and flying, while the borrower answered several questions about his own people. The answers were never too detailed, of course, just generalized explanations that wouldn’t risk exposing the location of Borrowton.

Despite the conversation bordering on some rather heavy topics, such as Tommy’s obvious lack of home and the fact that he had never heard about hybrids before, weird since he had met two before he had encountered any humans, they were able to steer it away from any risky questions.

In no way did Tommy wish to discuss the pain he had endured back in Borrowton, nor did Phil want to go into the injustices and discrimination that hybrids faced on a daily basis. Both topics were better suited for conversations much later down the line.

Unfortunately, even with his efforts to avoid talking and thinking about his old home, and the best friend he had left behind, the subject reared its ugly head eventually.

Caused by none other than a bee, of course.

It had been an especially curious bee out of the bunch they had gathered so far that spotted the borrower tucked away under a layer of green fabric. His hair had probably caught its attention, the bright blond extra visible thanks to the green surrounding him. Tommy laughed as the bee drifted closer, nearly bumping into him as it tried to inspect him. It was so large, and absolutely covered in fuzz. There had always been something about seeing bees that never failed to cheer Tubbo up-

Tubbo...

A sharp, agonized noise escaped him. Guilt surged through him as he slowly leaned away from the bee, scooting backwards and taking shelter behind Phil’s neck. He felt the man stiffen up before shooing the bee away.

“Tommy, you alright?” Phil asked, voice quiet so he didn’t accidentally upset the borrower further. “Did something happen? Did you get stung?”

“... No, it’s fine.” Tommy replied, pressing the fabric wrapped around him to his face. He could feel the chill that the tears slowly streaming down his cheeks brought on, but he refused to acknowledge them. “M’fine.”

Sensing the sudden melancholy that had taken over the borrower, the winged hybrid decided it was time to leave the snowy tundra. Carefully holding the leads in his hand, he trudged through the snow as the bees buzzed around them. “Let’s get back to Techno and see how many turtles he’s got left.”

“Got left?” Tommy repeated, mood slightly lifting at the change in topic. “You mean hatched?”

“Not exactly, mate. You’ll see what I mean when we get back.” Phil said while gently smiling at him. It was a smile that was shakily returned with one of Tommy’s own before fading a moment later.

The trip back was far more silent than the flight had been with the borrower making no jokes, nor commenting on their surroundings, and Phil not pressing and asking what was wrong. At least he didn’t have to worry about being interrogated and being forced to explain his feelings.

Explain Tubbo…

Returning to the cabin and finding Technoblade patrolling the perimeter of the turtle farm was enough to make that smile return to Tommy’s face and, when the hybrid started freaking out after the tiny turtle disappeared in a pile of snow, the laughter he let out was almost enough to make him forget about the ache in his chest.

Almost enough to distract him from the feelings of guilt that would haunt him for the rest of the day.

Tubbo.

I’ll come get you soon.

I promise.

                                                  xxxxxxxxxx

“This should be the place.” Tubbo quietly mumbled to himself, carefully hidden from sight. So far, he had barely been able to explore much of the expansive… town? City?

Whatever this place was, with all its structures made out of strange materials, it was massive, incomprehensibly large, and it made him worry all the more about how hard it would be to find Tommy in this mess of a place. To make matters worse, multiple times he had been forced to hide as people made their way across the paths.

All heavily armored and carrying shields, swords, bows, or axes.

This place was dangerous, very dangerous, and the sooner he found Tommy and got out of here, the better. The risk of being found was way too high, and what would happen to them after they were found-

No, he wouldn’t think of such things. Wouldn’t dare to think about the fact that Tommy could be dead, dying all alone-

Despite his efforts, such thoughts consumed his waking mind and permeated his subconscious. Ever since Tommy had first been forced out of Borrowton, Tubbo had not slept. Sure, he napped occasionally, but every time he shut his eyes he could not stop himself from imagining what could happen to Tommy when he was out there, all alone. It ate at him, even when he was awake, and left him far less mindful of his surroundings than he normally was.

As such, he was completely unaware of the figure looming over him until it was too late. Distantly, he noticed something blocking out the sun, a shadow falling over him, and it took him a moment to realize that the shadow was not shaped like a cloud-

He whirled around, terror filling him as he saw a pair of grey hands reaching for him, sunlight somehow streaming through them and making them seem… ghostly, as if they were not really there. He quickly stepped backwards, tripping over his own feet, and dropped to the ground. He cringed as pain raced up his wrists from his hands making impact with the ground, but he ignored it and scuttled backwards.

Unfortunately, he was far too slow to escape or find any sort of shelter to escape the towering being that had cornered him. Just as those hands closed in around him, he heard a cheerful voice ring out above him.

“Hello, friend!”

                                   xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Did Phil end up spending an unfortunately short amount of time with Tommy? Yes, but that's fine. He'll be spending plenty of time with another borrower in need of emotional support!

[giannaxmadden]

There's a sort of regret passing through her, that she hadn't told her more right off the start. Maybe then this could have all been avoided. She had no right to blame the other. For her dislike, for her distrust. But here they were, and that dislike and distrust was far kinder than what she'd really deserved. "It's not about me Billie. I know it might be hard to believe that and, I know I've come off selfish and cruel but, this -- me being here -- it's about keeping you safe. From me. Again. And I'm sorry for that. I really, really am." she finishes the water and leaves the cup on the dispenser and approaches the other. Her palms are sweaty and she doesn't know what to do with her hands so she fidgets with a ring on her right-hand finger as she goes on.

"I tried to find you. A while ago. I guess, I just wanted to make sure you were...doing alright. Having a good life I -- I always told myself that; That you were better off without me and I -- it was selfish. It was so selfish and I didn't know at the time how dangerous my...my curiosity had been." honesty, Gianna, you promised honesty. "Truth be told, I was feeling guilty. I thought maybe if, if I found you and you were...living this life I so desperately wanted to you to have then -- some of that guilt could be absolved." even in honesty, the words sounded wrong. "But I'm past that now. I don't want...I don't think I will ever want to be absolved of that guilt again. I know I deserve to live with it. I know your life has been...well, hard, to put it nicely. I know that I should never have given you up that...as much as I wish this wasn't the truth -- you'd have been safer with me. Even if I was too young. Even if I never --" wanted to be a mother? She didn't want these words to hurt the other, she didn't want them to make her feel more unwanted than she must've felt growing up. "I was scared. And after that night...I was on my own and..." she bites her tongue now, she realised she was rapidly approaching the excuses territory and that was not what this was about. "Sorry is not big enough. There is no apology I could give you, ever, that would be enough so -- I'm not here to ask that of you. It's unfair enough I am here at all."

Which brought her back to her actual reason for being here. Apart from reasons she was not yet willing to admit to herself. That in spite of her being selfish, and undeserving, and pathetic even -- she still wanted it, so bad, to be a part of her life. Even if it was no longer possible. "The selfish curiosity I was talking about? The records that these vultures have? There's more to it than just...what we already talked about." she's scared now, scared as she was explaining Briggs the exact same thing. And boy was she getting tired of living in fear. How badly did she want out. Of this life. Out of everything she'd ever done. --- But this was the true price to pay, a real price of power. Of money. Of luxury. "It took years to get to where I am. I was only seventeen when I had you, when I ran off." and there it was, the first piece of the puzzle, and she was not gonna stop at that. "First, I changed my name, I...invented someone new. Gianna Madden. A girl who would go on to do great things with her life. Gianna was smart, and resourceful, and confident. And she could achieve anything. Being her, made me bold. And reckless and greedy. And I did not care who I hurt along the way." climbing the social ladder was a dirty business. The kind of dirty she would spare her daughter from hearing about. "I made enemies. So, so many enemies. And I created an image of someone almost...untouchable. And they did not like that." she needs a drink now, a proper drink, but she doesn't go for it, she brushes her face instead taking in a deep breath and she'll look over at the other, raw and unbothered by any reaction that has come or might yet come her way. "That's where you come in. You are the one single vulnerable spot I have. An Achilles heel, if you will. --- And they will come for you. If those records come out, if the truth comes out about me, about you? They will come for you. And they will not go for the kill. And they will not be negotiated with."

She knew this all must've led to more questions than answers. But it's as much as she could reveal at the moment. "They -- the people who run this country, who fund the OEA, who make the calls behind closed doors who -- put plainly, want me out. They cannot find out you exist. They just can't. And it's not as simple as keeping the records off the news." after all, they had burnt down her fathers church, they murdered her brothers wife and child. They would not stop, not until they forced her out. And she would not be bullied. And she would not give up the fight. It was too late now to back out. "So yes Billie, you are right. If nobody found out, I would probably not have sought you out. And it wouldn't have been because I would't want to. Part of me always wanted to. But because I don't deserve to be here, in the same room with you. Much less anything else. And you don't deserve to be put in more danger because of me. I have done enough when it comes to that, don't you agree?"

The shift in Gianna’s expression was almost rapid, having taken Billie aback, but some of the residual tension did flee from her frame. Except, the relief didn't last long and as soon as the sharp words had left Billie's lips, she felt an immediate sense of guilt surge through her. For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to meet Gianna’s gaze and there was a fear, deep rooted within her, that maybe, just maybe – Gianna would bring out the worst in her. If it all came down to fight of flight, Billie wouldn't be the one to leave. “Safer" the word left her lips as a scoff, but it was quietly entwined with an exhale "– right.” The banshee had to force herself not to roll her eyes at her mothers words, but she can feel it again, the bitterness creeping throughout, almost making her bones ache. “You sure it's not just an insurance policy to keep your secret? I already told you, I won’t tell anyone. You can just – bury this.” Her next words were difficult to speak and she found herself regretting that Briggs was waiting in the lobby, as already he felt too far away. “Forget me and move on.” 

Gianna’s penthouse had the same overwhelming feel to it that the compound once had and she wondered whether Gianna ever felt herself feeling that way. Almost insignificantly small compared to the space of it all – except, unlike Billie she wasn’t surrounded by unoccupied space. Probably never had been. Never wanted for much either. Gianna was a woman of luxury, that was practically forced down Billie’s throat from the moment that she’d been picked up by a driver. The banshee didn’t allow for her gaze to wander, almost scared of glancing around and finding a point of shared interest between them. She wanted to wonder if Gianna, or her father had been artistic like she was, or left handed, whether they held any similarities beyond appearance – but now she feared that knowing would hurt more than wondering.  

As guided, Billie allowed herself to step into the penthouse, but she resisted commenting on it. For the most part, she was glancing down at her sneakers, her fingers having tugged the material of her sweater over her hands – a habit that she’d adopted when she was young. And right now, she felt like a kid again. As if stood in the foyer of a new falsely promised home, with scarce belongings crammed into a backpack. Time after time held the same tale, the family didn't take to her, or her abilities -- others just wanted to cash the cheques before they would toss her back out with a parting gift – a broken bone, a new bruise – and repeat. Her jaw had started to ache from the intensity that she was gritting her teeth as eventually, she gave in to her curiosity and looked towards Gianna. “Its fine” she lied, another habit she wondered if she got from her mother, but before she could become too lost to her own thoughts, Gianna’s own had startled her. Confused her, even. Her chest felt tight, the admission should have been joyous, those were the words she had craved to hear from her mother for as long as she could remember and now, she just felt hollow. Robbed of what could have been.

Her heart ached and her gaze wavered, uncertain how to digest the information – if she even could. “It��s not that” the words had left Billie’s lips before she could either process or stifle them. “Would you have ever done this if –” biting the inside of her cheek, Billie found her composure threatening to slip. Her arms crossed against her chest, pulling the material of a sweater she’d 'borrowed' from Briggs tighter against her frame. “If nobody found out – would you have even bothered finding me?” Like her mother, there was a fight behind her eyes, one that Billie didn’t want Gianna to see. “I came here, didn’t I?" she breathed, although the exhale was slightly unsteady. "So – talk.” The words felt sour in her mouth, the tone so far from her usual that it made even her uncomfortable. Shaking her head now at the offering of a drink, she cleared her throat before offering a quiet “No. Thank you.”

[cienie-isengardu]

K, O, P?

Thank you for the lovely ask, it was fun to write! :D

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

Hard to pick the one character, even more since the best of character development I love so much are not tied to one arc but happens through the whole story. But since I’m on OP kick lately, Roronoa Zoro gets all the honor. 

I love how at first he promised to follow Luffy as long as the rubber-man didn't get in the way of his goal (and threatened him with death otherwise) but took his commitment very seriously from day one. And somehow through the relatively short journey, Zoro literally threw away his ambitions, pride, life, everything for Luffy’s sake. And not only for Luffy, but for the crew as a whole, because  Roronoa is always ready to stay behind, to be left behind, to protect nakama at all cost. And the best part of this development is that, Zoro’s priorities changed from carrying the burden of promise and shared ambition with a dead friend being the best to giving everything to Luffy, while it does not change what Zoro is at the core. It doesn’t make him a better man in the sense of an improved attitude or outlook on life. Hell, I would say it makes him more workaholic with the need to get stronger, pushing himself harder than before once he gets to know the wider world better, but Zoro is ruthless and rude as he was. He is born killer and monster in human form that don’t give a fuck about the world, politics, what society thinks while his own moral sense does not budge at all. He was and is willing to kill, he enjoys fighting and drinking, has this ambitious as hell goal of being the best. The development does not change who Zoro is, but what matters to him the most and this growing loyalty and trust can be seen through the whole story and I don’t know what would need to happen for such dedication falter even for a bit.

And like I said, this is not something that happened in one arc, but was happening through the whole story, from earlier little occasional clashes with Luffy to being of one mind with his captain while always ready to carry the burden when Luffy can’t do it, ready to stay behind and protect nakama. What makes the final of Thriller Bark one of the coolest pledge of loyalty but not the best development arc itself, really, because Zoro’s character develops in that direction from day one and the decision made in Thriller Bark is just a result of all the previous adventures.

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

I’m going to cheat with that and instead of a random song, I will give you two I have on loop already for several days: Broken Crown and I gave you all by Mumford & Sons, because both suit Donquixote Brothers so well and could tell the same events from two different perspectives. In advance sorry for ranting but these two songs kill me emotionally so much, I must talk in length about them!

Broken Crown is all about Rosi rejecting the “crown” given to him by brother (“I'll never be your chosen one”) and yet… still caring and sadly, knowing it too well he wouldn’t pull the trigger (“but oh my heart, was flawed I knew my weakness. So hold my hand consign me not to darkness“) and the final lines, gosh:

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down

I'll never wear your broken crown 

I took the road and I fucked it all away 

Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace 

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down 

I'll never wear your broken crown 

I can take the road and I can fuck it all away 

But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate

And then, I gave you all is just so Doffy about Rosinante, it hurts. Seriously. Like, I really believe he never meant to hurt his brother (and maybe never understood he did), and the whole last lines are just so on spot:

But I gave you all 

But you rip it from my hands 

And you swear it's all gone 

And you rip out all I have

Just to say that you've won 

Well now you've won

It’s just so, so about Rosi stealing Law and Opi Opi no Mi even though Doffy already “gave [him] all” what he could. And the most ironic thing? When people usually think about their last meeting, we remember that Doffy killed his younger brother, but in fact, Rosi DID WIN in the long run. He cured Law and saved him from Doffy, he stole Opi Opi no Mi and took away from brother a chance for immortality, even if just for a while. Which is like three main victories in one strike and he did sort of say it to Doffy’s face (“[Law] is already free!!”). 

Just… so many feelings from two songs that fit well two brothers so different from each other. And the regrets and hate, and lack of understanding and spite. Seriously, it makes me think about their last meeting so much :(

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).

I have three major growing ideas, but since I’m in a good mood, I will share the happiest AU in which Donquixote Rosinante never played the role of spy and confronted Doflamingo in the open sea as a Marine Officer. 

Or more like: Doffy found out his bro is alive but part of Marine, so of course he couldn’t leave him in peace and like the maniac he is, chased after Rosinante across all the sea to recruit him into the Family - to no avail. So Doffy’s main reason to become Shichibukai was just so he could jump on Rosi’s warship and annoy the fuck of him, like an older brother should. And Rosi can’t kick him overboat, since as a Warlord Doflamingo is untouchable by Marines. Or at least in theory, because Rosi serves under Garp’s command*, and the old Vice-Admiral does not mind to punch some sense into Doffy (and Rosi) with fist of love, cause no punk like Doffy will tell Monkey D. Garp  what he should or shouldn’t do on his own ship and if bros are lucky, Tsuru may save them from this madman… or not). Despite that causing ruckus between sailors is much better than boredom, and Doffy seeks out his younger brother under all excuses and more often than not, visits just to rant about all annoying people and bitching on Kaido or Sengoku or Nobles or really, everything and maybe for a drink or two and napping between one and another business meeting, because there is no better nap than under Rosi’s silencing powers. It is worth, no matter that more often than not Garp is kicking his ass, even when in fact he acts as a good boy should. And maybe, just maybe Doffy is so bored with all his underground business going well that he is actually doing “government dog” work of hunting down random pirates. Or more likely, slaughtering every asshole who dare insult his clumsy brother.

Because no matter what, Rosi is his baby bro and he belongs to Doffy even if the dumbass stubbornly refuses to join the Family. Which is fine, one day Doflamingo will find a way to change his brother's mind and until that day comes, he will mess with Marines as much as he can. Which is all fair, because Rosi too does mess with Doffy’s underground business whenever he has a chance and the klutz set on fire accidentally himself AND so many Doffy’s stuff one may wonder if he really is that clumsy or does he do that on purpose. Trebol thinks the latter, cause somehow Rosi always drops things on him by stumbling or spilt hot tea in his face. Doffy finds that amusing as hell, even more when his little bro uses his devil fruit powers to mute half of the Family just to piss them off. At least, as long as Rosi remembers to unmute them before leaving (sometimes the lil shit does not unmute them on purpose and Doffy is forced to chase him around the sea to undo the damage. Younger brothers can be a really pain in the ass).

So Doffy & Rosi kinda have this I-hate-you-but-I-love-you-dumbass relationship over the years until Law comes into picture and of course, Law stab the younger Donquixote and of course, Rosinante kidnap the kid to find a cure and maybe, just maybe, kidnap his brother along the way, and drag Law and Doffy on forced family vacation that involves burning a few dozens of hospitals, a lot screaming at each other and some terapeutic honest talks that no one really wants but everyone needs. Law gets the Ope Ope Mi, Doffy and Rosi kinda explain to each other all the traumatic shit from childhood and made sort of peace.

So, in the end, Doffy does not take over Dressrosa but is still doing his shady business and just being himself, just with better mental stability (cause Rosi keeps muting Trebol and all his shitty talk about what king can or cannot do on every occasion). Rosi has a brother that is not complete monster but not the good man either, but he isn’t ordered to kill him or lie to, and even though they are on opposite side, Rosinante can always call Doffy on den den mushi and shout at him for hours for all the stupid shit he pulled without any regrets or fear (and sometimes, Doffy does listen). Law is saved but still decides to sail and causing havoc as pirate captain while both Donquixote brothers are doting on him and of course, allying himself with Monkey D. Luffy, while the poor Sengoku just gets constant migraine for dealing with all the nonsense of Monkey D. and Donquixote family drama (but secretly feeling relieved that his son is finally doing fine). Garp on other hand, find it hilarious as hell. The World Government does not find it hilarious at all.

 *Sengoku doesn’t like putting his precious Rosinante under Garp’s command because the Hero of Marines of course drags the poor kid into all possible troubles and chaos, but since Rosi is brother of Doflamingo and Doffy is hated by Nobles, Garp is the best protector for younger Donquixote. He will punch everyone who would dare to hurt the kid of his closest friend, including World Nobles and their armies. The side effect is that Rosi is looking after Ace and Luffy, once they set sails, because they are uncle Garp’s grandkids and he will happily save Ace’s ass before Blackbeard get his hand on him and be even kind enough to give the kid a choice: either he comes back to Whitebeard or Rosi takes him straight to grandpa Garp and so Ace ends safe under pop’s watchful eyes once and for good.

Here, a happy Donquixote Bros AU. You’re welcome!

ask meme

[500wordtheology]

Seeking Out Objective Truth

    We have now talked about the idea of aligning ourselves with Objective Truth and Reality. As I have noted a number of times now, I believe the best course of action we can take is to work toward such an alignment. And in spite of the fact that this blog has a number of posts on how to go about doing so, I am writing today towards clarity on that subject. For those who genuinely desire to know.

    How do we seek Objective Truth?

    For starters, we need awareness and acknowledgement of a little thing called Personal Bias. Personal Bias (in the form of both our human state of being and ALSO our individual-self state) is such a sneaky thing, because it naturally colors everything we encounter. We Bring with us tremendous bias, even to our attempt at unbiased study.

    Know that you are biased. Know it is probably severe. Allow this knowledge to keep things like pride in check, because if you remain humble you have the opportunity to seek much more openly than if you are unaware that you are a biased creature. (Many people are unaware.)

    From there we can remind ourselves that we may not like the truth, but if the truth is what we’re after our feelings about it should not influence our earnest search. Put another way, if you go looking for something you want to find, you will probably find it. We must genuinely desire whatever is true. Hence Step 2 is to commit to being after Truth, in full, as best as we can possibly grok it.

    Step 3 is understanding the idea of grokking truth. “Grok” is a term invented in the 1960s, and it means an intimate type of comprehension. It is not just knowing about something intellectually, but on a far deeper level. If you want to seek Objective Truth you cannot approach with only one aspect of your being. It will take your ALL. As most important things will.

    Once we have these things in place our work can begin. And know that it will be work. The mere act of trying to set aside personal bias alone can drain your energy like a car with its lights left on all night. Do not try to go too fast or you will not be able to maintain a sufficient level of seeking. To give one’s all to anything is exhausting, and we can’t do good work when we are depleted. Expect this will take time. A lifetime or more. (If you ever think you “have arrived” it is wise to rethink that idea.)

    From that point we can apply the concept of the Milk Drinker/Meat Eater idea from this post. If you are just starting out seeking Objective Truth you will need to work a certain way, with far more outside help and with lighter, beginner-level resources. It’s okay that this is the case, as we all start somewhere. But if you try to jump into the deep end too quickly, you will drown. You will become confused about things you do not yet fully understand and then use them poorly as though you knew what you were talking about. This is a form of the pride mentioned above.

    You will want a more complete method via seeking outside help in-person, rather than a 500 Word Blog or online resource. However here are a few key elements (beyond those already listed):

Read broadly. All authors, viewpoints, and topics within any sub-category of overall objective truth.

Study deeply. Never settle for shallow knowledge of important subjects, and since truth is the most important of all, doubly so.

Seek teachers who are willing to admit when they don’t know something, and help you find true answers to honest questions. (Also remember they are biased too.)

Learn what an argument is, and formal logic. Never rely solely on things like “common sense.”

Do not be fooled by rhetoricians. These are folks with a proverbial “silver tongue.” They do not make good arguments, they merely speak persuasively and SEEM to make good arguments.

Remain open. Even when you begin to know Truth, always be open for more or the possibility that you have made an error. Don’t fear mistakes, just be aware.

    And finally, be ready for Objective Truth to come directly to you. I wish I could explain this last in better detail, but I cannot. I’ve not found proper language for it. Just be aware that there will come a point where Objective Truth overwhelms the “you” aspect of things. It has the power to consume the subjective. It’s a great place to be - though again it often takes quite a long time and a great deal of giving your all.

    I hope that is helpful. Truth is absolutely worth seeking, and bias is worth setting aside. Be well and may you find great success in your continued journey.

[nookishposts]

Managing Messages

It would appear that there is a sea change going on in my brain. Self-reflection seems to be a mid-life given and I believe that has ramped up for many of us during restricted pandemic conditions. Once we tired of bread making and Netflix binges and being unable to wear anything but buffet pants, many of us got contemplative; involuntary monks in retreats that needed dusting.

As a storyteller I listen a lot and try to see the funny in the foibles and fairy-tales of everyday living. We tell ourselves whatever we need to in order to get from place to place,between frustrations and surprises, for better or worse. Case in point : “I will eat this last cookie, in addition to the two I just had, because it would be silly to put the bag back in the cupboard with just one cookie left.” Please tell me it’s not just me....

Rules of comportment have changed a lot in the last year and we have been more often confronted with the quirks of our own company.  We examine the world through a lens of a necessarily more domestic perspective, noticing the dust dinosaurs under the bookshelf from our horizontal couch-lolling, seeing the cobwebs near the ceiling, remembering that we’d promised to freshen the cupboards with a coat of paint, and scrolling, scrolling, scrolling the hours away.

There are things I promised myself last November that I would spend the Winter doing; among them squats my own personal elephant-in-the-living-room; the actual work of assembling/organising some of my writing for publication. I have promised myself this every Autumn for the last 4 years, maybe more. Not following up has absolutely nothing to do with the pandemic and everything to do with the mixed messages in my early brain-wiring that I have managed until now to avoid reconciling. No, I am not blaming my parents for my failures; but I am finally acknowledging that they inadvertently gave me a puzzlement of fears to figure my way through. Analysis paralysis. That particular writing assignment is way overdue. I guess I have to start somewhere. 

My parents, both born pre-Depression grew up in financial poverty, in families that strove to keep them fed and sheltered rather than striving for the sake of striving itself. Neither finished school because it was just not a priority next to taking on some responsibility for keeping the families basic needs of living met. They were taught to keep their heads down and noses-to-the-grindstone, to never think of aspiring beyond their “station” in life or if they did, to keep it to themselves. Which I think they did. I don’t recall either of them ever talking about having dreams for themselves except in the most self-deprecating or pipe-dreaming kind of manner, as if dreams were to be sloughed off, abandoned to the past, along with childhood.

So I grew up the eldest child of two very hard-working people whose attitudes combined in a united defensive front against those they’d been taught to believe were their “betters”; people like academics, doctors, and politicians. People of means, likely inherited. People of power and influence, genetically programmed to screw the little guy. Seriously. 

I was a dreamer from the get-go. I had a hearty imagination fuelled by a belief in magic and a natural disinclination to follow the rules, a deeply curious little kid who had a knack for remembering and a sense of wonder at the world itself. My parents, like most of their generation were more concerned that I be prepared for harsh reality than for questioning the status quo. I too was to work hard, keep my head down, and not entertain any real ambition for fear of life beating it out of me. They both knew how to laugh and were not without creativity, but all of it was directed and drained off in matters of pure practicality. 

Mixed messages have dogged me ever since, though I have long been of an age where I know it is my responsibility to  unravel things for myself. Distilled, the messages that I carry are as follows: from Dad it was “who the hell do you think you are with your book-learning and big words? You think you are better than us? The hell you are!” And from Mum it was: “Well, good for you, but don’t get used to success because it doesn’t ever last.”  Both attitudes came from fear, his from being usurped or found wanting and hers from being afraid of serial disappointment. Translated in my brain, those echoing, looping messages have kept me from believing it is okay to just take a grand leap of faith in myself. Good lord, what if I fail and embarrass us all?! The child in my brain wrestles with the adult who logically knows there are no guarantees either way, but that to do nothing is also futile.

I am a storyteller. My maternal grandparents were too. I read from a very young age and made up my own stories, even inventing a couple of imaginary friends to take along on my adventures. In school, I loved to read and write and went through systematic progressive phases of writing poetry and one-act plays and folk songs and short fiction. As an adult, I have written as therapy, for myself and for others of my generation who can relate to the things we all go through but I am willing to write and often laugh about. Writing is confession, and community, and collective consciousness. For me it’s most often spontaneous, off-the-cuff riffs about flushed car keys and public prat falls. Stories are how I make sense of the World, as well as the world of possibility. I write, I send it out like a flimsy paper airplane and hope it doesn’t crash too soon.

This past Winter I was all set to organise the many musings that I have blurted out on Facebook, in my blog, as a result of writing groups and workshops and the encouragement of kind readers. I wanted to prepare for publication a collection of mostly lighthearted observational spit-takes and rim-shots. But I didn’t do it. Every time I sat down, I would find a distraction to wander towards instead of the focus I needed to cobble my pieces (literal and figurative) together.  I have watched friends publish works over the past two years and been so very proud and thrilled for them, admiring of and inspired by what they have done. Yet, I seem paralyzed in my own attempts.  They tell me this is quite normal, this abject terror of imposter-ing, of discovering that I am just not any good at what I love so much that it is a significant part of my identity and therefore too personal to withstand the possibility of repeated wounds of rejection.

Possibility. It’s a double-edged sword  of a word if ever there was one. We could fall. Or we could fly. The net between the two is full of holes.

I hear the words again; “who do you think you are?” and “don’t get used to it” and they stop me in my tracks, they burst the shiny pink bubble of joy that comes with delicious combinations of sounds and ideas, and I drop to the ground in a heap, feeling simply foolish, embarrassed to be caught dreaming. But I am a big girl, and I know full well that the real joy is in the doing, and the real fear is in the letting go...in sending those bubbles of joyous play and pondering out to fend for themselves in a world where most are shot out of the sky with a sharp stone from the slingshot of publishers simply trying to dig through a constant avalanche of submissions to find their own diamond..a money-maker that will keep the rent paid and the doors open. It’s really  just a different degree of striving isn’t it?

I don’t ever expect to make much money from writing, although between copy-writing and biographies, I do make some. I would like to find the guts to write one really good book made up of many quirky little parts, something that other people could enjoy and relate to. (Yes,I’d settle for a bathroom book.)The very best part for me about telling a story are the stories that other people tell in response..that lovely, luscious, leveller of hearing “me too!” makes me feel like I’ve accurately described our human-ness. It’s that thing connects us all.

I’ve read lots advice from writers I admire...all the bits about getting my ass into a chair and just DOING it, letting a good editor chip the mud away from the motherlode, and suspending self-criticism in deference to those people paid to do it as their part of the journey toward publication. I have researched the publishers who accept the kind of work I think I write (that definition is hard!) and I have several versions of my elevator-pitch all ready to go. I have a ton of material to be shaped, and another ton in my head yet to be written down. What I am currently working on, the linchpin to all the rest, is courage. And perhaps a refresh button on my discipline. I really want to do this in spite of and perhaps to some degree, because of those old worn thin mixed messages. Wish me well.

[snowbellewells]

“Over the Realms and Through the Woods, to Arendelle We Go”

A @cssecretsanta2k19​ gift for @xhookswenchx​

“Over the Realms and Through the Woods, to Arendelle We Go”

By: @snowbellewells​

This is my belated @cssecretsanta2k19​ gift for @xhookswenchx​ ~ and I truly am sorry for making you wait extra days, Lovely. It was such a busy December, then I traveled home, had family engagements, and so on.  But talking with you and learning different things about the show and the holidays that you enjoyed, put this idea in my head early. I just needed the time to write it down.  I have very much enjoyed being your Secret Santa.  I hope that your Christmas was Merry, that you will have a Happy and Blessed New Year. Please enjoy this story gift just for you!

Summary: Emma and Killian take their crew on a holiday road trip to visit old friends and make new Christmas memories…   A CS canon divergent in which the realms have been joined as they were in Season 7’s finale, but Henry has not left the Land Without Magic as he did in Season 7.  I always imagined him going out into the non-magical world for college, to write books, and so on (at least once it became clear they weren’t all going to make a permanent move back to the Enchanted Forest).  So for the purposes of this fic, he is home for the holidays from college, and Emma and Killian also have two little ones of their own. I used the daughter of my fictional invention, Morgan Ruth Jones, rather than Hope.  She’s appeared in some of my other fics, and I’m kinda attached to her.  I’ve gathered you enjoy original CS kids in your writing and reading as well, so I hope you won’t mind that liberty taken. I know that Westley Graham is not as completely original as I thought it was when I dreamed it up, but I love it too (especially since the show gave us so many Liams to keep track of already without naming a son of Emma and Killian’s Liam David as I once would have done).  Westley for the character in “Princess Bride” (‘As you wish’ makes that seem appropriate) and Graham for the hero they should have been naming baby boys after in canon.  You also said you really enjoyed the “Frozen” characters in 4a, so I have tried to incorporate them - and found it to be a fun new character writing stretch.  I truly do hope you will find this fun to read!

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

“Papa, how much longer?” a tiny voice piped up from the backseat over Killian and Emma Jones’ shoulders with the wheedling tone only a four-year-old’s impatience could muster. “Are we almost there?”

Emma glanced over at her husband with bland exasperation and humor mixed together before swiveling in her seat as much as possible to look back at their daughter Morgan where she sat in her car seat behind Killian, idly alternating between swinging her feet and singing little nonsense songs she made up for herself, staring out the window at the changing scenery as they traveled from one united realm to another, heading ever steadily north toward Arendelle to visit Elsa, Anna, Kristoff, and Morgan’s best friend Sonja, Princess Anna and her husband’s little girl.

Henry, comfortably on his long winter break from his senior year at Boudoin College, had his nose buried in a detective whodunit, and though he was usually quite patient with his much-younger sister, he seemed to be craving some reading time to himself that Emma was willing to humor. She would like to keep them both fairly quiet so that Westley Graham, their youngest at just barely five months, didn’t wake up quite yet from where he was peacefully sleeping in his own backward-facing car seat between his two siblings and where Emma could reach him if needed.

Killian, for his part, chuckled indulgently, his sparkling blue gaze sliding back over to return Emma’s look before answering his little girl, seeming infinitely patient and making Emma love him even more all over again “We are getting closer, little Love,” he assured calmly. “You’ve been very good - and we should be there within the hour now.”

For a moment, Morgan merely nodded and hummed to herself in satisfaction as she watched the scenery pass by out the window. Once they had left Storybrooke behind, the buildings had given way to the forest, thicker and more wild as they had passed through the land of Emma’s birthright rule - the Enchanted Forest. Since then, the forest had thinned out, and slowly the flatter land became foothills, which then turned into snow capped mountains - something which really did seem to almost sparkle before their eyes - not to mention the imaginative view of a toddler. But it wasn’t long before she piped up again, still obviously a bit impatient and unable to hold it in. “Papa? Can you sing a song? … Please?”

Emma snort-laughed at the way her husband’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, not expecting that particular request if his expression could be any indication. Shaking his head, he admitted defeat rather easily for a once-fearsome pirate of the Seven Seas, especially when she playfully jostled his shoulder, egging Morgan on and adding the she would like to hear him as well.

It wasn’t long before Killian’s clear, strong voice was ringing out within the walls of their newer smallish SUV, having left the Bug at home in favorite of more passenger leg room and space for the wealth of presents they were bringing along, both from their immediate family and her parents and other Storybrooke folks who had come to know the Arendellian visitors when they were in the Land Without Magic some years back. The tune her pirate had selected was a rollicking sea shanty - one of their daughter’s favorites - that he and his crew had once sung on the Jolly Roger many years ago as they circled the waters of Neverland endlessly. His song and its playful, raucous melody seemed practically bouncing around the interior of the vehicle, swaying with the rolling buoyancy of its rhythm and pulling Henry from his reading to grin at the song he had heard countless times before. Thankfully Westley didn’t seem in the least disturbed, sleeping right through the impromptu serenade, and Morgan was giggling and clapping her little hands along with her papa’s song. Emma soon found herself singing along as well, watching her family in their joyous uproar, and marveling at the reality that this was the sort of cozy Christmas journey she could have now.

Killian seemed so into his song, and his children’s entertainment, that Emma couldn’t help checking to be certain he was still paying attention to the road ahead. It hadn’t really been until the last couple of years that Killian had begun to take over some driving duties for them on longer trips; having learned to drive capably well before that, but never fully becoming comfortable with - or trusting - their “horseless death traps”, as he often called them. Modern automobiles still seemed smoky, loud, and entirely too unpredictable to a person long used to ships on the sea or riding horseback and in carriages - not to mention one whose first experience with them had been being run down on the road and seriously injured.

All the same, he shot her a look of exaggerated affront as he finished singing, waggling those wildly expressive eyebrows of his at her and pressing his hooked arm to his chest in further drama. “Honestly, Wife? Don’t you trust me more than that by now?” Taking his hook from where it covered his heart, he gestured out the window to indicate the lane beside them. “I may not be as old a hand at driving as most, but I won’t drive us under a semi trailer like that Griswold fellow on the magic box.”

It was Henry who snorted his laughter then, at the reference to National Lampoon’s which they had watched the night before, prior to setting off on their journey. Shaking his head at his stepdad’s odd way of reassuring him, and humored in spite of himself, Henry placed a marker in his book and more fully joined their antics, now that they were drawing nearer to their friend’s kingdom anyway. Danger and adventure, or just taking a family trip; be it Christmas or some random everyday in between, there was never a dull moment with their little crew.

~~~~~***~~~~~***~~~~~

When they entered the Arendelle borders and pulled up to the palace’s front gates, within 45 minutes’ time just as Killian had promised Morgan, the sense of awed anticipation settled over all of them, the air inside the car going quiet at the stunning beauty that met their eyes. Somewhere within the last half hour or so, light flurries of snow had begun to fall around them, looping and twirling through the slowly purpling sky as afternoon inched closer to evening. The ground had already been covered in a picturesque light dusting of white, but it was growing deeper as the additional fluffy flakes continued.

Thankfully, ice didn’t seem to be a part of this particular snowy scene; the roads had remained safely passable and they had made good time. Four uniformed guards two on either side of the wide, silvery sparkling arch and gates of the front entrance to the Queen’s castle and grounds, bowed respectfully as the passageway opened for them. Emma had spoken to her dear friend via magic mirror that morning before they set out, and their arrival had clearly been anticipated.

Despite having been there several times before by that point, all over them sat in openmouthed adoration that overcame them for a few breathless instants. The setting sun hit the gate and front of the castle, sending glitter and sparks of light out to dazzle their eyes. It was as if the whole structure were indeed beautifully coated in ice - and yet there was none of the frigid austerity one might once have feared. Queen Elsa of Arendelle has long since found her equilibrium, allowing her the self-acceptance and open understanding to balance the cold with genuine warmth. She learned to love every part of herself - including her powers - just as she had once helped Emma to do, and as Killian had reminded her ever since.

Their vehicle had barely parked, and they were just stepping out and stretching their tired limbs when they heard familiar voices calling their names, a childish squeal of delight yelping Morgan’s in particular, the sound of several pairs of feet hurrying over freshly fallen snow (well, feet and one set of reindeer hooves) and then they were engulfed in a flurry of hugs and handshakes by the royal family themselves. Anna was predictably firing questions at them as quickly as she could voice them, about their trips, the rest of their family, Belle and the library, without even allowing them time to answer. Kristoff was shaking Killian’s hand and accepting baggage and gift wrapped boxes to lead them inside. Sven snuffled around Henry’s pockets and Morgan’s hair seeking out carrots and other treats as well as providing his own animal greeting. But through the melee, Elsa pressed through to wrap Emma in a fiercely tight hug for several long moments. When she did pull back, it was with a watery smile and unshed tears in her eyes to match those which started in Emma’s.

“I’m so glad all of you have come,” she stated fervently, that sweet, melodious voice trembling with sincerity beyond its usual poise. “Come in, come in.  We’ll get you warm and settled, then we can get caught up.”

Emma nodded, pressing the queen’s hand tightly in her own, before turning to grab more luggage and unfasten Westley from his car seat to do as Elsa suggested.

“Let me help you,” her friend offered, holding out her arms to take the still-sleepy child so Emma could reach the suitcase behind. “May I?”

Emma didn’t hesitate for even a second, easily passing her just-barely-stirring-to-wakefulness infant into her friend’s arms, moving her hand gently so Elsa could cradle Westley’s head and crooning lowly to him until he settled again, rooting deeper into the young queen’s arms as a pleased and rosy smile pinked her cheeks.

Throwing a surreptitious glance over to Killian, only to find him watching her with a comforting smile that already knew where her mind had gone and wished he could undo the old hurt, Emma shook her head to clear the memory as best she could and send her husband a small grin as reassurance that she would be fine. As much as she had tried to banish the moment from her mind, and as much as the sharpest stinging slap of betrayal had faded, Emma still saw her own mother pulling little Neal away from her, protectively fearing her magic and not letting Emma hold her younger brother. Intellectually, Emma knew her mother loved her, magic or no, realized that the knee-jerk reaction had not been aimed to hurt her… and yet… it had.

Watching Elsa as various emotions flitted across her face while cradling her friend’s youngest in her arms, gazing down at the drowsy babe adoringly, Emma knew Elsa had felt that same fear and suspicion she had, and that perhaps Elsa had almost resignedly expected her request to be denied, knew that parental protectiveness all too well, and had been thrilled when she was granted trust instead.

Little Westley Graham did nothing more than flutter his eyelids briefly without fully rousing and gave a slight coo of contentment as the Queen bowed her head to press a light kiss to the top of his downy, sandy-colored hair. “Come on then everyone,” she suggested cheerfully, looking as merry and confident as they had ever seen her and leaving Emma blessedly assured of her friend’s happiness.  “There’s hot chocolate with plenty of marshmallows in the large sitting room.”

She led the way, with Killian, Henry, and Kristoff bringing up the rear to make sure no overexcited little girls, snowmen, or reindeer were left behind. It didn’t take long to find their luggage placed in their rooms, their coats and snow boots shucked off, and all of them seated comfortably scattered around the large open room full of soft chairs and sofas, a roaring fire in the hearth at one end, and plates of toast and jam, cookies, doughnuts, scones and a whole pot of rich hot chocolate with marshmallows set out for the taking.

Conversation hummed warmly throughout the room as the kids played; Henry showing Olaf, Sonja, and his little sister how to make a chain of snow angels for the tree while the four adults caught up on all that had happened since they were last together. Westley had woken up, but to everyone’s surprise, the little boy had not cried or fussed for his mother, and so Elsa still held him gladly. His guileless blue eyes, the mirrored hue of his pirate father’s, blinked up at her curiously, looked more enthralled that concerned by the less familiar person holding him. One pudgy little hand unclenched to reach up toward her almost startlingly white braid and wrapped around the end of it, tugging gently with his tiny fist, and burbling happily as he did.

Elsa practically giggled, a musical, enchanting sound that the rest of them had rarely heard, and a light carefree look graced her face beautifully. “You really are quite a sweetheart, aren’t you?” she whispered to the little one softly.

She did eventually hand Westley back to Emma when he began to wiggle and wanted to eat. Once Emma returned with him after his feeding, she found the Queen of Arendelle seated cross-legged on the floor with Morgan and her niece watching wide-eyed beside her as Elsa effortlessly shaped and reshaped whorls and twists of ice into glittering ornaments she handed them to place on a tree they had left bare for that very entertainment. The girls let out little ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of excitement and surprise with each shape that seemed to bloom from Elsa’s hands into thin air. Each new creation brough exclamations of delight, and the two children then ran to their papas at the tree to lift them up to place them high on the branches, then hurried back to see what ‘Auntie Elsa’ would create next.

As the decorating eventually wound down, the two little whirlwinds huffing and puffing from all their trips back and forth over the length of the room, and Elsa lightly chuckling at their theatrics, Killian came to sit near them as well, gathering Morgan into his lap and nodding encouraging at Sonja until she scooted up close to his side as well. Soon he was telling them a story of the first time he saw snow fall at sea as a young lad. He remembered how it looked trailing down to rest on nearly frozen arctic water, where their captain had unwisely taken them too far north for the season.

He was relating how his older brother Liam had distracted him by encouraging his wonder at the beauty of the sight. Killian himself had not realized until much later - a similar instance on his own ship facing the very real danger of ice floes in the water and the precarious travel a ship must make in the depths of winter driving the memory home - just how much danger they had been in that night as he had simply marveled at what seemed to his young mind cold falling stars of sparkling light. “He said each one was unique - no other could exactly take the place of the one before. Like people, Liam said they were…” Killian nearly whispered this last over the sudden lump in his throat, seemingly lost in another time and place. Emma reached out a hand to rest upon his knee, and he came back to them with a bit of a start, the faroff gaze clearing from his eyes.  “Like us even,” he added. “We might have been expendable slaves to most - but we mattered, at least to each other, and he always made sure I knew that.”

Both of their daughters had drifted off to sleep by then; the excitement of the day overtaking them once they had settled in to listen to Killian’s quiet, lilting voice. Kristoff came to lift Sonja from Killian’s side to carry her to her room, wishing the rest of them goodnight. Anna followed with a contented wave as Sven trailed behind, headed outside to his barn to bed down for the night.

Queen Elsa’s gaze remained on Killian, though the story had finished. There was a melancholy, almost wistful, look within her light eyes as she seemed to consider the story yet.  “He sounds like the best sort of big brother,” she finally said to Killian softly, and gentle and a bit sad smile curving her lips. “I wish I could have met him….” This last was said almost hesitantly, as if she herself did not quite know why it had slipped out, and yet she nodded determinedly after, as if confirming the sentiment.

“I wish you could have met him too, Milady,” Killian answered fervently, his voice a bit hoarse and husky with the regret and pain of still missing his elder sibling, even after ages had passed. “Maybe it’s just something about the way a younger sibling sees a beloved older one, but at times I can see  something of Liam in you.”

Elsa smiled once more, gratefully accepting what for Killian must be the highest compliment he could give someone. The three of them settled into a sort of peaceful remembrance of those no longer with them - bittersweet but not unpleasant, as they were reminiscing of good times and not just their loss - before she rose as well to retire for the night.

Her exit left Emma and Killian seated cozily before the fire together, one last mug of hot chocolate in each of their hands and the silent beauty of the room around them, still decked out for Christmas, and snow still falling outside, weaving a lovely spell.  Tilting her head up, Emma found Killian’s lips waiting to capture hers tenderly, sipping from them as if they were even more delicious than the chocolate and twice as precious. “I love you, my Darling,” he murmured against her cheek as his kisses trailed back to the spot behind her ear that made her melt on the spot. 

Practically keening back that she loved him too, Emma held her husband even tighter, wanting nothing else she could possibly imagine in that moment. As she gazed into Killian’s blue, blue eyes she could see the future of them, and their family, together, and she knew the coming year would be their best one yet.

Tagging: @cssecretsanta2k19​ @xhookswenchx​ @searchingwardrobes​ @kmomof4​ @jennjenn615​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @thisonesatellite​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @revanmeetra87​ @teamhook​ @hollyethecurious​@winterbaby89​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @hollyethecurious​ @gingerchangeling​ @spartanguard​ @lfh1226-linda​

[galaxiesinadot]

Big Hero 6 Season 2

Okay, I just watched the City of Monsters: part 1 and 2, and I am still disappointed in the way the series is going. It feels wrong, like the creators don’t have a good grasp on any of the characters, their personalities, and their goals. It feels like they took one personality from each of the main 4 (everyone excluding Hiro and Baymax) and blew it up to an almost laughable proportion. I’m planning on explaining each of the main casts’ personalities and how they could further be developed in a later post.

Now, here are a few questions I have about the end of the City of Monsters’ arc:

What will happen to Diana?

She can’t just stay in jail and be forgotten about.

Will Liv pay for her crimes?

And before you ask, yes, she did commit a crime. She did not practice basic safety in experimentation, she made a clone (which is illegal, at least, in our universe), and she tried to blame all of what happened on something she made. I actually feel bad for Dia. She was made for a reason and was put into the world with no instructions but to save Liv, and yet she was arrested and degraded (by her own maker, no less) for doing that. I have a lot to say about how morals and justice are handled in this universe, but I won’t do it here. For now, I will say that Mel (the guy who made that invisible suit), High Voltage, and Dia should have been handled in a more just, fair, and empathetic way.

What will happen to Sycorax, and the news of what happened?

Duff Blunder simply saying, “I don’t know what happened,” does not cut it.

And lastly, where was the Karmi and Hiro relationship development?

This is going to be a bit longer. I want to first point out that I think it’s perfectly fine that a lot of people like her, and I fully support you all. However, even after seeing the finale, I couldn’t bring myself to like her. But this isn’t about exploring Karmi’s character, it’s about her relationship with Hiro. I see a lot of people saying they loved the way their development went, but I don’t see where that happened. To begin, the first time Hiro was introduced to Karmi was in:

“Issue 188”

As you all already know, she was two-faced; she only acted nice to Hiro when professor Granville was around. She frequently insulted Hiro which was mostly her saying that he wasn’t special, and that she wished he wasn’t there. I would understand this behavior if she was shown to be lacking of self-confidence or insecure, but we are shown multiple times that this wasn’t the case as she is shown to be knowledgeable and prideful (almost to an unpraiseworthy extent) of her skills and field. I would also understand this behavior if she was lacking in social skills but, again, this is not the case. We see her able to talk easily communicate with people and get along with them (i.e. Honey Lemon and Dia). Most of the things that explain her behavior (because she has no friends, she’s lonely, she was bullied before) are headcannons made by and that wouldn’t excuse her behavior. Her being young doesn’t excuse her either. Studies have shown infants able to tell right from wrong. So, all I can conclude from this is that she’s a bully.

This is fine; we’ve multiple redemption arcs of bullies who became friends with the protagonist. What really bothered me was that it was portrayed as okay, and that it was actually Hiro who needed to get over himself and make amends with Karmi. This was shown throughout this same episode with professor Granville forcing him to befriend her, and Gogo telling Hiro that he “took [Karmi’s] thing.”

I hate that they played this off as a rivalry. A rivalry has to be recognized by both parties, and it involves both people continuously rise above the other which, in turn, would cause each of those people to become a better version of themselves. This definition can not be used to explain Hiro and Karmi’s relationship. Karmi demeans Hiro until he finds a way to one-up her, and then she demeans him some more. No matter how nice he is to her, it isn’t returned (even in the latest episode, as I’ll explain).

“Failure mode”

They barely had any interaction in this episode, but it does support the fact that Karmi wants Hiro to fail as she is seen recording his project with a smile that disappears when he doesn’t fail. I know what you’re thinking, “Hiro took a picture of Karmi when she became upset about his project working.”

To this I say, “yes, he did, in retaliation, as were many of his actions throughout the series.”

“Small Hiro One”

Karmi is blatant in her criticism of Hiro. She insulted him when he couldn’t get in, and did so again when she found him with the little kids. Did Hiro insult her back? Nope. He apologized that she got kicked out.

It just angers me that she get away with this bullying with no consequences. It kind of feeds into that mentality that if a boy bullies a girl it’s wrong, but if a girl bullies a boy he just needs to suck it up and deal with it (which is what we see Hiro doing).

I’mnot going to document any more of these little interactions as they all went the same. Instead, I’ll just focus on those that are more major.

“Fanfriction”

This episode upset me the most. If someone was writing a fanfiction about how they love you, and want to kiss you, and be your partner, you would be as grossed out as Hiro. Hiro had every right to hate that fanfiction and show how uncomfortable it made him, but again, it was played off as something Hiro just needed to accept and Man-Up about. As Honey lemon put it, “she’s just having fun, Hiro. Why do you care so much?”

They all chalked it up to him being embarrassed about the crush, not that it was upsetting him and literally driving him mad. This happened all the way until the end of the episode where, when Hiro looked to them (grownups and friends) for help when Karmi hugged him, they urged him to reciprocate her feelings and give it a try.

“Big Problem”

I don’t even want to talk about this one. I hate that everyone just assumed he was jealous of Karmi when:

1.      She took his spotlight. This wouldn’t have upset me as much if it hadn’t been for the reason Hiro was so bent on impressing Dia. The only way to get Tadashi’s invention out there is to set up relations with big companies who are able to expand his connections. Hiro was trying to follow Tadashi’s wish of helping people. In later episodes, Karmi states that she knew and admired Tadashi. Why didn’t she show that here. This was a missed opportunity for relationship development.

2.      Dia completely dismissed Hiro’s invention and didn’t try to hear him out (anyone would be upset over this). It was even said that Dia came there for Hiro (yes, Baymax is indeed a work of combining biology and technology, hence “biotech.”)

3.      Karmi, yet again, degraded Hiro who was desperately trying to regain Dia’s interest.

None of Hiro’s friends have been sticking up for him and this bothers me severely.

“Internabout”

More of the same thing. Hiro is pushed by Karmi’s high and mighty attitude over getting something he didn’t, so he does something Tadashi wouldn’t be happy about. He goes to join Krei, a man who, as Callghan put it, “cut’s corners and ignored sound science.” This is still true of Krei even in the series. Obviously, it didn’t go well for Hiro. He was talked into a contract, degraded by Krei and, when she found out, Karmi.

His friends did not try to stop him.

“Prey Date”

Karmi is shown to be angry that Hiro was hanging around the labs, and she seemed embarrassed that she be seen with him. I know a lot of people voiced happiness when she asked about Hiro, and if he was safe, but like… I would have thought she was heartless along with being a bully if she hadn’t. It was a basic thing to do. After the events she saw Hiro again, but she didn’t ask him about anything that happened (which would have been a much neded development). Instead, you guessed it, Hiro asked her how everything turned out and even complemented her skills. Karmi, despite Hiro having helped her gain access the data she needed to cure the mutants, did not reciprocate.  

The episodes after this were mostly Karmi hitting (yes, hitting) and yelling at Hiro when he tried to tell her Dia was up to something. Karmi could have and should have started to trust Hiro more and believed him, especially after all their interactions thus far. This, again, was a missed opportunity.

“Nega-Globby”

Karmi insults Hiro right in front of Honey Lemon. All Honey Lemon says is that Hiro, “is actually a great person.”

No other interactions.

(Also, in a previous episode it was shown that Honey Lemon already knew the cure to Globby. Why did she need Karmi to help this time. It felt that she was forced into that situation.)

“Write Turn Here”

More of the same. Hiro is still irritated by Karmi’s obsession and everyone pretends that that’s fine and that Hiro should just brush it off (because it’s just a joke, a harmless nothing). Granville noticed Hiro’s discomfort and said nothing to Karmi. I understand that Hiro wanted to correct the falsities he was being presented by in Karmi’s fanfiction by writing his own story. It was spiteful of him, but reasonable, given the circumstances. I have seen a post in which someone said that you shouldn’t write something out of spite. In reality, that’s how a lot of great stories came to be.

City of Monsters: part 1 and 2

After everything I wrote here you can see why I would say this “friendship” seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere. Hiro initiated this friendship, having to, like many time before, swallow his pride and ask if Karmi wanted any help and if she was willing to try being friends. This time, it worked. But right after that, Karmi still complains to Liv that Hiro is “usually the worst,” but countering this by basically only saying that he was useful.

After Karmi got mutated, it was Hiro who stated that he cared about her and stroked her ego by saying that she was smartest person he knew. It felt wrong and out of the blue. I think this scene would have played out much differently, and would have benefited their development, had Hiro been mutated and Karmi was the one to have saved him (so long as the other changes I mentioned were made as well.)

Then, after everything, Karmi just leaves. I understand that it was her parents’ doing, but she didn’t leave a message for him, try to text him, or get through to him by way of social media; this is especially wrong when you see how advanced their tech is. 

Karmi never said sorry to Hiro for how she treated him, nor did she even think that what she was doing was wrong. Those small smiles she gave to Hiro, and those few times she acknowledged his kindness to her do not count. The way she treated Hiro was unfair and, since she had no DIRECT consequences to her actions, it makes it seem like that treatment was okay and can be overlooked. I say direct as in she was not called out or reprimanded for what she had been doing to Hiro (being turned to a mutant does not count). Not a good message to be sending to the younger audiences of the show.

Sorry for this long post. Seeing their relationship being talked about in a positive light bothers me as someone who knows people like Karmi. Their bullies, and their actions aren’t justified because [input reason], nor should they be encouraged. 

@baymax-hiro-hearted  I hope you like this read! Their relationship bothered and I couldn’t understand why. So, here are my thoughts in a more organized and logical manner. 

[gellavonhamster]

where the gin is cold but the piano's hot

TFOTA, the Roach/the Bomb, pre-canon & missing scene || ao3 links - eng, rus

The night he first sees her, jazz is playing – at least some kind of music he likes is playing, and he considers any decent human music to be jazz because the mortals haven’t invented any music better than jazz yet, and it’s unlikely they ever will. It’s hot and crowded at the club, and a smell of sweat and perfume is hanging in the air. The attention of those listening to music while seated at the tables is drawn to the band; the attention of those dancing is drawn to their partners, and no one notices a petite young woman stealthily pulling expensive cigarette-cases out of patrons’ pockets and taking ladies’ handbags off the backs of the chairs. No one but him. Van is in no hurry to approach her; there is no doubt she is the one he’s heard about, but first he has to make sure it pays to get involved with her. The only thing he can say about her so far is that she isn’t much of a thief. It is seen with the naked eye that she’s relying on glamour too much, and would hardly be able to snatch anything without it.      

It is later that she demonstrates her true talent, when one of the poor idiots notices his watch missing and makes a fuss. He and his buddies give chase to the thief, who makes a bolt for the back door, so Van leaves a couple of coins on the table quickly – because the music here is fine – and rushes after them. At the exit to the backyard, Van gets a chance to behold one of the stranger’s tricks that he’s been told about: a loud bang goes off, black smoke fills the doorway, and the mortals collapse, screaming and rubbing their eyes violently. All of them save for the owner of the watch, who’s already in the yard at that moment – and though he went down like a tree as well, he’s managed to seize the girl by the shoulders and drag her after him. Van would have watched her fight her chaser off – he’s almost sure she’d be able to do that – but there’s no time for that, so he decides to interfere, creeps up on the mortal, grabs the man’s shoulder, and digs into the pressure point with his claw. The mortal makes a gurgling sound and passes out.      

The first thing she attempts to do when Van offers her his hand to help her get up is to hit him.

“Hey, hey,” he says conciliatorily, holding up his hands. “I’m just trying to help, you know.”

She staggers to her feet, and smoothens down her dress reflexively.

“Who sent you?” she asks him, looking at him closely. Obviously, she can see his real appearance through the veil of glamour, just like he can see hers. She’s a pixie, though not a pure-blood, apparently. The little wings on her back tremble in sync with her uneven breathing.    

“No one. But I have matters to discuss with you. Come, let’s have a chat,” Van glances back. One of the robbed man’s pals tumbles out of the building, still squinting in pain. “And hurry up, would you?”

The bar he leads her to has worse music and simpler clientele, but they can catch their breath there, and talk everything through in peace. While he is describing the upcoming job to her (a local moneybags with no idea there were faeries in his bloodline, his great-grandmother’s charmed necklace, the people willing to pay a good round sum for that necklace), as well as what would be required from her (sleeping potions and explosives) and what she could get out of it (not more than fifteen per cent from what they were to pay him – that would be just fair), she listens to him with a light frown and fiddles with the thin bracelets on her thin wrist. She looks tired, distrustful – makes one think her life isn’t easy. Then again, would anyone with an easy life go stealing watches from restaurant revellers? She’s also outrageously pretty: a voluminous cloud of white hair; blue wings that look delicate, never mind if not too strong; warm brown skin with white spots like that of a doe; huge eloquent eyes. Van stumbles over his words twice while explaining her the proposed plan of the heist, and both times it’s because he gets carried away by the sight of her – in other words, both times because he’s a damn fool.              

“Twenty-five per cent at least,” she says in the end, having found out all the details of interest to her.

“Fifteen. At most.”

“Twenty-five, and you can saddle me with more work.”

“Fifteen, and all I need from you is to have my back with your firecrackers. No offense, darling, but you’re not that good as a thief.”  

“Twenty,” she’s toying with a fork someone has left on the table. “And don’t call me darling,” with that, she suddenly drives the fork into the tabletop within an inch of Van’s hand, and he flinches.  

It is worth it, because she smiles at him – smiles at him for the first time; a radiant, mischievous smile. Now that’s what her face has been made for, Van thinks absentmindedly. Not for anxiety, not for weariness, but for smiling.    

“Which one of these is charmed?” he asks, gesturing at her bracelets with a nod. “Or is it your earrings?”

She frowns again, and he thinks: did he really have to say that?

“There’s nothing charmed on me,” she tells him. “Why?”

Oh, Van thinks, so no trinkets that increase attractiveness. So it’s just that he hasn’t been with anyone for a while now. The only rational explanation.  

“I just thought there might be,” he replies offhandedly, and holds out his hand for a handshake before she can ask again – he cannot lie, after all. “All right, twenty it is. And how shall I call you then, by the way?”

“My name is Liliver,” she says and shakes his hand, and he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him and thinks: come on, you idiot, what are you, a boy? ��

“Liliver,” he repeats. Her name jingles on his tongue. “I’m Van.”

“Well, Van, it’s nice to meet you,” she lets go of his hand and raises her glass. “Shall we drink to the beginning of our alliance?”

They stay at the bar for a long time, paying for drinks with enchanted shards of bottles, and by the end of the evening he’s almost sure he is far gone.

 **

 The necklace theft goes without a hitch, they get their gold, and in a few days Van contacts her again: he needs a partner for robbing a mortal antiquarian whose collection, unbeknownst to him, includes some merfolk weapons.    

“Bear in mind, it’s a long journey,” Van tells her as he sits down on the edge of the table in her workshop. Liliver makes her bombs in the attic of an abandoned house on the outskirts of Brooklyn. This is also where she sleeps, and though she has smartened the attic up as much as possible with the bought and stolen knick-knacks and paintings, she still cannot help thinking that this is not a place meant for living. Sometimes she dreams about the family manor and the bedroom with rhododendron shrubs outside the window – unfortunately, those dreams are usually nightmares. “We’ll have to fly.”

“Where?”

“Louisiana. Ever been there?”

“Now I will,” she shrugs, ready to go anywhere just not to stick here all the time. Liliver knows: she can run to Louisiana or to Australia or to the end of the world, but her sorrow will tag along loyally and dutifully. Still, at least this way she’ll take her mind off that, and make some money at the same time. Van just chuckles approvingly in response.    

After New Orleans (a dagger with its hilt carved to look like a mermaid’s tale; a party on a terrace of a huge house; the high-heeled shoes she threw into the ditch; the flight back on ragwort ponies, making stops in the fields and forests and dying hick towns), they don’t see one another for almost half a year. Liliver doesn’t try to look for him: firstly, she’s got things to do as it is, and secondly, she is inexplicably sure that one day he’ll come to her himself. And so he does, with a bottle of bathtub gin and a new brilliant plan that he cannot put into action without her help.          

Some more time after that, they start working together on a regular basis, stealing from humans and faeries alike. Van teaches her to move more nimbly, makes her practice on him, having her pilfer at least one object from his pockets per day. For her part, Liliver gives up on trying to make an assistant out of him after he almost blows up both of them by accident – not that she really is in need of a helper anyway. Together they break into houses, pick locks, crack safes, together they appear in the restaurants, movie theatres, and at the races. Every so often their business brings them to Faerie, and Liviver is surprised to discover that she is able to be there again after all she’s gone through, able to breathe without hearing the cries that her loved ones died with each and every second – it appears that time is a good healer indeed.      

Usually she ensures the routes of escape or cleans out the victims’ pockets while Van distracts them with smooth talk. He has a way with words – in most cases he does not even need glamour to pitch a line to humans and even faeries. Though when it comes to mortals, a goblin and a pixie certainly cannot do without magic – after all, they cannot show their true faces to them. Especially Van, who is no oil painting even compared to some of his fellow goblins.      

In spite of that, eventually she must admit she’s head over heels for him.

Of course, part of the reason must be that before he came into her life, Liliver was lonely. Her entire family had been slaughtered; all of her friends either died or turned out to be traitors. Her new life in the mortal world was rather survival than life, a row of endeavours to make a living, not get into trouble, kill time, and not go insane from grief. She didn’t bond with any other faeries she has crossed paths with, first for fear of getting stabbed in the back again, and then for fear of having lost the ability to socialize, make friends, love. Then she met Van and was surprised to find out she was still able to trust somebody – and to laugh. Is it possible to fall for someone just because when you’re with them, you can laugh, listen to other’s stories and tell your own, tease and rib each other? Is it enough just to feel alive next to someone – and is there any need for anything else, really?        

With him, it’s easy – but it all becomes ineffably difficult as soon as it comes to giving him a clue about her feelings. Liliver knows she’s good-looking, knows that she has the ability to win others’ affection; still, she’s afraid of using these weapons of hers lest she ruin the friendship she still needs so much. He’s not much older than she is, yet something in this ridiculous awkward affair reminds her of her youth and her crush on the sprite her parents had hired to teach her and her sisters sword-fighting: it’s the same overwhelming affection, blushing and smiling stupidly at the memories of accidental touches, the same certainty that if she tries to make a step forward, nothing good will come out of it. The same fear of being laughed at.          

He does not laugh – he simply either does not understand or ignores all her careful attempts at flirting. There is no telling if it’s the former or the latter. She’s afraid to learn the truth, so she doesn’t ask.

At some point Liliver gives up and agrees to go on a date with the sylph who shops for potion ingredients at the same place as she does. A month later she dumps him, and the same evening she sleeps with a nixie that lives in the city canal. The succession of relationships in her life becomes almost continuous. The faces on the pillow next to her in the mornings keep replacing one another.

Her feelings for Van do not disappear, but as the years go by, she gets used to them, and cannot imagine herself without that bright sweet sadness, just like without the wings on her back.    

On a hot day in June 1968 by the human chronology, she and Van sit on a rock near Grand Canyon and drink mead.  

“Are you seriously planning to steal from the Court of Teeth?” Liliver asks him, holding up her face to the scorching sun.  

Van shrugs. “You think we can’t handle it? We?”

It ends up being the only time when they can’t handle it.

 **

 The Court of Teeth turns them into its marionettes, and it is his fault. Shouldn’t have tried to bite more than he could chew, some nuts are too tough to crack, and so on, and so forth. Van could have regarded it as a sort of justice – not that it would have stopped him from trying to escape captivity by any possible means – if Liliver hadn’t been caught too. They tortured her, subjected her to the same geases and curses as him, enslaved her – and it is his fault.    

Their lives are spared because they’re useful. His sleight of hand and talent for thievery, her profound knowledge of potion- and bomb-making. Their lives are spared – but now these lives are pitch-black and hopeless, with no room for rest, for respect, for freedom. The work they’re being assigned makes his skin crawl, and he’s seen quite a lot in his lifetime. He is a thief and a crook, but he has never been a murderer – before. He’s killed when there was no other way to get out alive, sure, but not deliberately, not frequently, and without excessive violence. He used to have at least some kind of moral compass. Now he can’t afford it anymore.  

He could have let that shit consume him completely, but he keeps holding on – for Liliver. Liliver, who could have grown to hate him, for it was his overconfidence that has doomed them for a life in the service of one of the most bloodthirsty Courts – but she hadn’t, she keeps talking to him, keeps sharing healing ointments with him and even applying them herself to the fresh scars on his face. He used to be quite a scarecrow by the standards of most Faerie folk even before, and now it’s way worse. But she does not look away, does not wince, she touches his wounds ever so carefully and they heal a little faster under the influence of the potions and under her fingers, and his pain is almost worth these touches.    

At times, Van lets himself imagine another life, a life in which she hasn’t become a slave through his fault, a life in which he doesn’t look like a freak next to her lovely self, a life in which he could let himself confess his feelings to Liliver and stand a chance of having them returned. At times, but not too often. Dreams are fine stuff, but one can’t live in them forever.  

And he has to go on living and looking for a way to win back freedom for himself and for the woman he loves – the more so for her.

“Tell me something,” Liliver asks him sometimes at night, crawling up closer to him on the stone floor, so he tells her whatever he can remember: tales of kings and heroes, seers and warriors, priests and knights. Tales with happy endings, because they get enough of the opposite of that on daily basis. Crooks are well-versed in pretty stories.  

At night, she presses her cheek to his shoulder and laces her fingers with his when he takes her hand – because she’s cold and miserable and wants to hold on with all her strength to whoever’s beside her, even to someone like him.

Sometimes in his sleep he feels a tender fleeting touch of her lips on his cheek or his brow and does not open his eyes, for he knows that it could be nothing but a dream.  

 **

 After the Court of Teeth, working for Prince Dain seems like a fairy tale. At first Liliver cannot shake off the thought that in a moment she’s going to wake up and find herself in a musty little room in the dungeons, her back aching after a night spent on cold stone, her fingers still gripping Van’s clawed hand so hard they’ve gotten numb. Every morning she wakes up with relief – and a little bit of regret, because she misses his warmth close to her body, his steady breath. Both of them have their own rooms now – a far cry from the royal chambers, most certainly, but good enough for her. Admittedly, she has long come to accept that even if she gave him a hint that she wouldn’t mind him spending a night in her room, he would say nothing and pretend he didn’t understand. She misses his stories and his songs and his attempts to reassure her with promises that one day they’ll get out of that nightmare, but why in the world would he continue to regale her with all that if the nightmare really is over? He must be just happy to take a break from her constant presence.      

They are still close, still exchange the jokes only the two of them understand, still get drinks together evenings, but Liliver feels like something has become history beyond recall. It might be because now that they’re spies, the unseen and faceless gears in the machinery of court intrigue, each day they become less of Van and Liliver and more of the Roach and the Bomb. What use do shadows have for names? What use for feelings and memories? It also might be because they’ve spent so many years working in pair but now they’ve found themselves a part of a trio. Their associate, a young half-blood faerie who goes by the Ghost, is friendly and reliable enough but secretive as well, and even though it doesn’t take too long for Liliver to stop feeling wary of him, it still isn’t quite the same as the life she and Van used to live in the lands of humans, back when it was two of them against the world.            

Now there are three of them: three spies of the Court of Shadows, three cards up Prince Dain’s sleeve. A king, a queen, and a knave. When Jude Duarte, their little Queen of Shadows, joins them, there is finally an ace in this deck.  

Soon after, there is a coup, Dain’s death, his father and sisters’ deaths, and then young Cardan is on the throne, and Jude is his seneschal, standing beside his throne and only officially not on the throne herself. And then she and Jude are examining the chambers of the late King Eldred, checking if it will be safe for Cardan here, if he should still watch out for assassins hiding in secret passages. And then she, Liliver, the last survivor of her family, a thief, a spy, and a former servant of the Court of Teeth, is lounging on the huge bed of the deceased monarch just because she can.  

Anything comes true; anything but the dearest wishes.

Jude and she laugh like children, sprawled across the pillows, and Liliver, for once in a while, remembers her little sisters – the way they used to climb into each other’s beds just like that and share secrets, not the way blood flowed from their slit throats.    

The secret Jude elicits from her is both a long-held one and one that is too fresh, like a non-healing would.  

“You should tell him,” Jude suggests as if she has any right to give such advice, as if there is nothing unhealthy and incendiary going on between her and the young king, nothing that causes suffering to both of them.

“Perhaps,” Liliver agrees.

She cannot promise she’ll do that because, like any faerie, she cannot lie.

 **

 His hands are shaking a little while he wipes his neck and his face with a cool damp cloth, but he feels strength coming back to him, filling his veins anew. He is still not as vigorous as before the poison dart hit him, but with each breath he takes he’s a little stronger than a moment ago. While he is cleaning up, Liliver sits on his bed and tells him what has happened while he was unconscious – about Jude’s return and how she healed him, about Madoc’s alliance with the Court of Teeth – that blasted Court of Teeth again! About the Ghost, who apparently can be trusted again. About Cardan turned into a giant serpent, which feels even more disheartening than the fact that they’re on the brink of war: Van has really taken to this boy, so spoiled and unloved at the same time.        

“So it means there’s no way to save him?” he asks, and sits down on the bed next to Liliver.

“I had nearly started thinking there was no way to save you. I didn’t want to believe that,” she smiles sadly, “yet still I couldn’t help thinking about that. And then Jude rescued you. She still hasn’t succeeded in bringing Cardan back, but now I’d rather believe that she just has to figure out how to do it than that she doesn’t have enough power for that.”

He thinks of Jude, whom he hasn’t seen yet since he came round, and smiles, too. He’d have to thank her: mortals must consider that appropriate.

“A mortal High Queen,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “We guessed it right with her code name, didn’t we? Our girl is the real ruler of Faerie.”

Liliver grins. “I know, right?”

She still has the same smile as many years ago, and she still seems made for merriment, for joy, but now he can press his lips to that smile, and now he knows that, as it turns out, he could have well done that ages ago.

“You know that you owe me, right? For all those years,” she whispers gleefully and kisses him on the lips, on the forehead, on the neck. Maybe back then, in the dungeons of the Court of Teeth, it was not a dream.

“My dear,” he replies, holding her closer, “Just like you do owe me.”

Now all that remains to be done is to win a war.

 **

 The night she first sees him, jazz is playing – at least some kind of music she likes is playing, and the only genre of human music she knows is jazz, though she likes the twenty-first century songs from the player that Vivienne Duarte got her just as well.

“Sounds romantic,” the High Queen remarks when Liliver tells her about that.

“Not romantic enough if I hadn’t tried to kill him even once, right, Your Majesty?”

“Hey, you tried to stab me with a fork the very first time we met,” Van points out.

“And I’ll try again if I have to,” she waves him away, and kisses him.  

[memoirsofratasum]

Protector Tarnn: The Eye of the North

So many people have been making their way north chasing Bangar that it’s actually kind of amazing that I never made it that far into the Shiverpeaks. My duties had taken me back to the warmer jungles of Tarir. Years ago I had done some preliminary work on copying and translating the Exalted’s tablets and now some magisters wanted to consult with me on transcribing a new set of tablets that had been found in a corridor recently cleared of debris. Not the most exciting work, but you don’t want to snub any of your higher ups when you’re looking for advancement.

Sure the job had its own share of adventures, the jungle hasn’t changed much, but it was the assignment I got after that was noteworthy.

The location of the Eye of the North was never exactly a secret. The old ruin is famous among most of the races, a place of history for all of Tyria. But in spite of that importance, the tower has been mostly left alone, even by the Priory. It’s location in the mountains was too difficult to keep excavation teams supplied. The relatively recent invention of airships alleviated that issue, but with the Elder Dragons we had better places we needed to fly too.

So imagine my surprise when I was called into Steward Gixx’s office and asked if I knew anything about the Eye of the North. As much as anyone does, the occupation by the Ebon Vanguard, the scrying pool, the battle with Primordus’ lieutenant, and that it’s been mostly left alone for 250 years. And that’s when Gixx got this gleam in his eye and I knew I was going to be trekking north after all.

I wasn’t going alone though. Gixx had a guest for me to meet. A familiar stick-in-the-mud asura, Inscriber Nivv. I haven’t seen him since Istan. I had already figured by his presence that this must involve waypoints, which Gixx confirmed before I could open my mouth. The short of it is that the Arcane Council was contacted by an anonymous client who commissioned for a waypoint and asura gate activation in the Eye of the North. Nivv, having been impressed with my bodyguard work in the past, had requested me by name. The last time this happened I was certain that he had slipped my commanding magister a sack of gold for my services, Gixx has to be getting something out of this too. He’s grinning too much like a loon for it to just be mystic coins under the table. Probably has at least one member of the Arcane Council owing him a favor. Doubt I’ll see the gains when that gets fulfilled.

Nivv on his part seemed completely unsuspicious on how this deal manifested. He was eager to work with me again. This little expedition was going to be bigger than the Istan one as it included gate technicians and enough equipment to build a new gate from scratch if it came to that. The danger assessment had it’s holes, but there didn’t seem to be any svanir or renegade charr in the region, not even a nearby kodan sanctuary. Just wild animals and the elements. The mysterious client didn’t say why they wanted the Eye hooked up to the modern teleport systems all of a sudden, though it’s easy to imagine someone rich wanting to aid in the war effort as it would make for a good base and staging ground. The only thing I can guess about their identity is that they aren’t Pact, this is well outside the usual protocols.

Regardless, we were in the air within a couple days. The Arcane Council had chartered us an airship out of LA crewed by members of the lionguard, guess Gixx was willing to lend out me but not one of the Priory transports. Not as swift and battle ready as the Pact ships, it was at least a more comfortable ride in comparison. The civilians disagreed but I was just glad to not have to sleep next to the roar of the engine.

We were scheduled to be in the air 3 days but the pilot and navigator were worried about the adverse weather in the Shiverpeaks. Since Grothmar things had apparently gotten worse and not for the first time I wondered how Sanna was holding up. I wouldn’t expect an elementalist of her talents to be overwhelmed by any sort of weather, but there have been rumors trickling down from Bjora Marches of worse things. Apparently the wind whispered to you and a curse from hunger could turn you inside out. I’m not sure what to believe and the Pact brass was not willing to discuss it. Some said that they don’t want to scare off assignees before they get there, but other quieter whispers was that no one could be certain if any charr members were in league with Ruinbringer and could leak information. This had happened with the sylvari once already, and now our charr brethren? That sort of distrust would only prove Ruinbringer right. But it’s not my call to make. The last official announcement was Soulkeeper’s fate, Alchemy keep her, when I was in the jungle. After that everything seemed to be on a need-to-know basis.

The first day in the air went by as normally as one could expect. The Sanctum Harbor soon gave way to the biting cold of Lornar’s Pass. Familiar landmarks passed underneath us but it was too cold to stay out on deck without a reason. Nivv showed me the crates in the cargo hold that held the waypoint and gate components. If it wasn’t for the asuran script stamped on the metal, you’d have guessed they were normal shipments of smithing or artificing components. Nivv wanted to impart the importance of the crates but he didn’t need to bother. Easy access to the Eye could guarantee the Pact and it’s allies were always better prepared than Ruinbringer, wars have been won with less. Nivv wanted me to check on the crates during our journey, the components were delicate and if the rough weather prediction was correct he didn’t want them to get jostled around too much.

The second day things started to feel a little...off. It had gotten colder, we were over Frostgorge Sound, and the krewe was huddling around a space heater grumbling to themselves. My wolf Valor though didn’t have the mind to join in, instead his ears were up and eye trained on one of the human lionguard crew member, an engineer whose name I didn’t know. The wind was whistling strongly through a seam somewhere and I realized the engineer wasn’t occupied with his work like I had assumed, but staring down at the cold asura with something akin to contempt in his eyes. That wasn’t going to fly. I got his attention just as the wind calmed down and he muttered something about being needed elsewhere and wandered off his with wrench.

I didn’t think much of it, some people are just jerks and its not worth wasting brainspace on them. I went to check on the crates to see if they had shifted overnight. At first glance they were just as we had left them the day before, but just as I was about to leave I noticed that parts of the metal looked deformed. Not by a lot, just some shallow dents on the top seam, as if hit by a blunt instrument. Such a thing isn’t uncommon as old crates gain some wear after being used over and over again. But I could have sworn that the crates were new. Maybe I just misremembered. It’s not worth bring up to Nivv.

This airship must be full of holes, the wind sounded like it’s in my ears.

I returned to the inner decks and found some of the krewe in an argument. Cram a bunch of self-proclaimed geniuses in one place with no easy way out and it’s bound to happen. I was going to leave them to it, I’m not here to protect their egos from themselves, but Valor was standing stiff, staring at them. That moment of hesitation gave me enough time to see one of the krewe members lash out and a trail of red appear on her opponent’s cheek.

I immediately blinked into the middle of it, grabbing her wrist before she could even finish the swiping motion, a shard of bloody glass clenched in her hand. What was her name again? Calli? Well, whoever she was blinked as if she was just waking up from a dream which turned into a growing horror as she realized what she just did. The glass shard fell from her hand, no idea where she could have gotten it from, as she started crying, claiming that she didn’t mean to do it, that a voice in her head told her too. I didn’t care about any of her stammering excuses.  Assaulting a krewe member, or anyone on your side for that matter, will not be tolerated on my watch. I had the lionguard escort her to the brig, Nivv could sort his people out himself. 

The wind started to die down.

Her victim seemed more shocked than hurt, the scratch on his cheek was shallow and I was able to use a little guardian magic to close the wound. Strangely, he couldn’t recall what the argument was about. It wasn’t over anything normal, like a theory or paper. I’m sure getting attacked by a colleague pushed it right of it his mind.

Things seemed to quiet down after that. Nivv was beside himself over Calli’s behavior. It didn’t bode well for when they got to work at the Eye. A rebellious krewe member I could handle though, so I found myself drifting off as I checked my armor while he continued to babble on about how to reassigned the work if Calli was out and then ley line nodes and molecular relays and on and on.

The wind was picking up again and his voice blended with it. Whatever he was talking about didn’t matter. I probably shouldn’t even be here playing progenysitter to a bunch of spoiled technicians anyway. Didn’t I leave Rata Sum specifically to not do this sort of work anymore? 

A low growl from Valor jerked me back to reality. I looked up from my polishing to see that Valor had placed himself between me and Nivv, his ears and hackles both up and his teeth half-barred. A warning.

Nivv looked startled and confused, as if he didn’t realize where he was, his scepter clattered to the floor. He didn’t have an answer when I starred him down and asked what was wrong. He seemed nervous and more than a little scared. As he should be. I don’t want to think one of Sanna’s old acquaintances and a person who I’ve worked with before would willing to stab me in the back, but if he was he’d have to be a lot more prepared than this. I said as much when I pressed his scepter back into his hands.

Nivv didn’t stick around, leaving me and Valor alone. My wolf nudged at me and licked my face, his tension eased.

The wind quieted and I felt like I could think again. 

What the hell was going on? I couldn’t even remember what I was just thinking about. Were we honestly going stir crazy after only a day in an enclosed space? That didn’t seem right.

Every asura on the ship tried to avoid each other for the rest of the day, casting distrusting eyes on their krewemates and myself. The lionguard seemed on edge as well. The only person who seemed to have any sense of control was the airship captain, a norn with a hammer on his back and an adherent of wolf if the tattoos are anything to go by. He stopped me in the hall after dinner under the pretense of wanting my input on flying over Bitterfrost Frontier as I had been there before. But I could tell that what he really wanted was to know more about Valor. Guardians aren’t known for their animal companions after all. The captain nodded in understanding when I told him that Valor had once been a shrine wolf, that the shaman had tasked me with healing his wounds after rescuing her wolves from the Svanir, and that he’s been with me ever since as support for my mental wellbeing rather than as a ranger companion. The captain nodded as he listened and scratched Valor behind the ears. Said that Wolf must see me in a good light to allow me one of his wolves. Yeah I dunno about that. 

The captain then asked if I had noticed anything unusual going in with the asura krewe. He seemed to have noticed that some of his lionguard acting suspicious and on edge, or being found in the cargo hold when they had duties elsewhere, or hesitating at the controls before following his orders. That didn’t sound good. Sounds like both crew and krewe are acting out when they should be more professional than this. It was worrying but the captain said that we should reach the Eye by the end of the day tomorrow and it would be easier to sort this all out once on solid ground. He bid me goodnight and that Wolf watch over me.

I think that was the longest span of time throughout the entire day where the wind wasn’t howling in my head.

The next morning we were flying over territory unfamiliar to my eyes. We had to be getting close to the Eye. Tensions hadn’t eased but nothing had exploded. Nivv wrung his hands and avoided my gaze when I asked if his krewe would be able to at least do the work when we touched down. The last thing I wanted was to essentially have come all this way for nothing. I know Gixx wanted Priory footprints in the snow, but fat lot of good that does him if the promised transportation isn’t there.

I needed to calm down, I was just adding to the tension and unease. Someone was going to snap at this rate and I couldn’t let it be me.

By midday I decided to check on the cargo hold again. The crates definitely didn’t have those dents yesterday. They weren’t the small indents that could be waved away by some rough handling. They were caved in and clumsily strewn across the floor, one spreading crystalline dust like blood out of a newly formed crack. The turbulence hadn’t been that violent. It was clearly sabotage. 

I sprinted from the hold, calling for Nivv when the airship suddenly listed sharply to the side, causing me to lose my footing. The airship swung wildly again and I slammed into a wall that was acting more as a floor. 

The wind was deafening.

Nivv’s crates could wait. I needed to make it to the bridge.

Alarms were blaring and the windows were almost a solid white from a blizzard. But that wasn’t the part that shocked me when I reached the bridge.

The human engineer from the day before was at the controls, spinning wheels and throwing switches seemingly at random. But the lionguard pilot and navigator, one with blood on his temple, were desperately trying to wrestle him away. The airship was still spinning wildly and it felt like we were rapidly losing altitude. 

And the captain just watched.

I didn’t have the time to think my actions through, I needed that time to act instead.

I rushed forwarded and wove my way in-between the struggling lionguards and threw a fist at the engineer’s solar plexus. He doubled over immediately, air knocked knocked out of him, and I was able to drag him away and allow the pilot and navigator to reassert control. 

The captain still showed no reaction.

The wind had risen to a roar.

The tension cracked when Nivv charged in, demanding to know what was going on. The blank expression on the captain’s face never changed, but his stance shifted. I moved at the same time. I slid in front of Nivv, my shield rippling into existence just in time for the captain’s hammer to ricochet harmlessly off the shiny surface. 

I had to think fast. The bridge of an airship was not the ideal place for a fight. Fire magic was out of the question and my sword could easily damage the controls. My staff might have been my best option, casting from range and drawing the captain away the bridge and the now terrified pilot and navigator.

The captain raised his hammer again but instead of falling, a mass of fur slammed into the captain, knocking him off his feet. Teeth sunk into his wrist, forcing him to drop the hammer and scream in pain, his first natural reaction out this entire encounter.

I dropped my shield and ran to my wolf. Valor had the captain at his mercy, holding him in place and tightening his jaw at any movement he didn’t like. This gave me some time to get some answers.

The captain though was worse off than Calli. He didn’t know what he was doing. A voice had been gnawing at his mind, telling him that the asuran krewe couldn’t be allowed to succeed in their mission. Why? He had no idea. He couldn’t even say who the voice in his head belonged too. But he thanked Wolf for bringing him to his senses before he did something he regretted. 

I didn’t think that was good enough. We where still hours from the eye and who knew how long before the waypoint and the gate were operational, if they could even be brought online after the pummeling their crate’s took. The captain maybe remorseful now, but there was still time for sabotage. In my opinion, he and the still dazed engineer should be thrown in the brig and LA radioed. That is if the pilot could make the landing without the captain’s instructions. 

I studying the subdued captain and mentally calculating the distance from LA for backup, when the wind fell silent and the snow stopped. Outside the windows, the sky was a glorious glow of oranges and pinks. It shouldn’t have been that late in the day yet. And unless the pilot still hadn’t gotten us on course, we shouldn’t be seeing the sunset through the bow windows. The sunset glistened and flew closer.

It wasn’t the sunset, it was Aurene!

The Prismatic Dragon circled the airship, a rainbow left in her wake. Her voice, somehow both within my head and out, gently instructed the airship to follow her to make a landing at the Eye.

The affect of the dragon was like taking a breath after being under water, everything felt calm and right. I placed my hand on Valor’s head and he released the captain from his jaws. The captain would still have to answer for his actions, but for right now I don’t think anyone will try anything while under Aurene’s shadow.

The Eye of the North was just like the stories, huge and imposing but most importantly safe. And being in a sheltered valley, the worse of the Shiverpeaks weather didn’t hit quite so hard. A few bears and wild wolves eyed us from the undergrowth, but a few demonstrations of my fire magic kept them there.

Aurene watched as we unloaded the airship into the main vestibule. As I had suspected, some of the components had been damaged. Crystalline filaments were shattered and the dust contaminated. Aurene offered to create any necessary crystal components the krewe may need and then she bidded us to her lair at the scrying pool, saying that she owed us an explanation.

As suspected by her presence here, Aurene was the anonymous client who had commissioned for the waypoint and reactivated asuran gate. She did not elaborate on how this was paid for. She then apologized to us. According to her, the voices and thoughts that had been in our heads was Jormag. Aurene had thought that with it’s mouthpiece Drakkar under threat, an airship could have slipped into the Shiverpeaks unnoticed. But she had underestimated Jormag and just how much of a threat a Tyrian foothold in the Eye would be to the Ice Dragon. The violence onboard the airship was solely Jormag’s responsibility. But now that we were under Aurene’s wings here at the Eye, we were outside of their influence. And if the campaign against Drakkar is successful, that influence would end permanently. 

However that campaign ended, Aurene still wanted the Eye up and running for Tyrian use. The krewe had a few days at most to complete their task. I have to patrol to perimeter, almost a vacation after that trip. The airship crew needed to take that time to assess for damages. And the captain...well he said he was going out into the forest to mediate on Wolf and not to worry about him. 

I hope Wolf keeps him, and all of us safe. And if not, I know Aurene will.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Superior Spider-Man #17-19, 23, 27-32 and Superior Team-Up #5, #7 Thoughts...Sorta

Because of the 2099 event coming up I have ambitions (and lord knows if I will succeed) of re-reading the 2099 centric stories published in the 2010s, chiefly Peter David’s Spider-Man 2099 solo-books. I never actually finished reading that stuff nor did I finish writing posts for each issue/arc but I’m willing to try again.

It’s been so long though and now the stuff has been collected I thought it’d be best to not simply pick up where I left off but both refresh my memory and be more of a completionist about it.

Hence I decided to skim  the Superior issues featuring Miguel O’Hara and to a lesser extent Alchemax with a mind towards the scenes featuring both. This is both to save me time (no pun intended) and because you know...fuck Superior.

As such this is far from comprehensive and I’m likely missing information but for the sake of completion I’m making these posts.

So first of all I’m not going to overly critique the inherent concept of Superior, Otto’s characterization, or anyone else’s characterization (sans 2099 relevant characters); especially as they relate to the Superior concept. It’s shit. I’ve said that endlessly before. If you are chomping at the bit to hear specifics regarding these issues then all I shall say is Slott writes Otto as cartoonish with Saturday Morning style villain dialogue whilst Yost in Team-Up, just like virtually EVERY writer sans Slott to handle the character, did better.

NO ONE hearing Otto talk as Spider-Man should be fooled into thinking he’s the real Spider-Man because he doesn’t sound anything like he did before he changed his outfit, started using more violent methods, employed supervillains as part of his Superior Six, had 4 metal arms come out of his back and had a hold gang of henchmen at his beck and call. But in spite of that at least Yost’s dialogue was more nuanced. Whilst it sounds like something Otto would say it also sounds like the Peter Parker Spider-Man merely skewed. He’s more condescending, egotistical and bluntly insulting than Peter ever was but he also doesn’t sound like a middle aged man from a 1960s comic book.

This brings us to the dialogue in general in fact. As a fan of the MC2 universe and older comics I ENJOY older style dialogue...in MC2 stories or older comics. The MC2 universe was it’s own off to the side sandbox that was deliberately trying to evoke the Silver Age, but it could break from that when appropriate. And older comics were just written by the standards of the time. Slott though his dialogue was written if anything in a more antiquated style than what the MC2 usually went for. Seriously all he’d need is to throw in some old fashioned words and social attitudes and it’d be ripped from the 1960s.

In a mainstream, main universe set title the dialogue style should be reflective of the times, whilst obviously avoiding the bad stuff regarding modern dialogue. One of my frustrations with many modern comics is that characters will speak outloud because modern standards dictate that thought balloons for anyone who isn’t the lead character of the story are bad for some asinine reason. On that front I do give Slott credit as he avoids this. He has no problem giving any character he wants internal thoughts and even still makes the lead, Otto, stand out as he has thought captions not thought balloons like everyone else. It’s just literally the word choices he makes that’s the problem. It’s inorganic even by comic book standards and is overly exposition laden. This is where editorial boxes or the recap pages could help out by getting that exposition out of the way. But instead we need to explain a story from over 20 issues earlier twice across 2 issues or alternatively just take it on faith the reader remembers the stories.

It doesn’t help that he inconsistently will use the third person narrator once in a blue moon.

The dialogue also impacts upon the characterization because frankly Miguel and Tyler Stone are...off...

In fact a lot of the characters besides Otto feel rather bland and samey because they are just actors in the plot that is being told and nothing more. Miguel is distinct for little reason beyond his use of future slang. Now I’ve only read the first trade of Spider-Man 2099 so maybe some of these terms pop up later but if Slott invented ‘bithead’ and ‘jammit’ it’s cause for cringe. The larger issue though is that Miguel’s status quo is set up by Slott but not his you know...personality. Okay in fairness he gets across Miguel has a little bit more edge to him than the regular Spider-Man and is not as prone to the same kind of humour in battle. But the latter is likely less Slott getting the character and more him just writing him pretty generically. The sarcasm, the arrogance, the sardonic aspect of Miguel is totally absent.

This is a problem if you were a 2099 fan showing up to see your fav or if this was intended as set up for a spin-off which it absolutely was. I mean shouldn’t set up for a spin-off character give you an impression of their personality. Shouldn’t you want to follow the character as opposed to the admittedly interesting situation the character is in?

But that’s Slott all over. He’s awful on characters 99% of the time but he’s good on concepts 50% of the time. The initial 2099 arc is a great microcosm of this.

Miguel wants to avert Alchemax’s evil influence in the future but we are merely TOLD that it is evil but see little evidence to corroborate that. He is willing to destroy himself, his grandfather and his family lineage to do that but then he has a change of heart. The set up for that change of heart is briefly presented and we smash cut to after it has already happened, we see none of the internal gears turning to demonstrate his mind changing, not even a quick panel of his eyes narrowing or his brow furrowing.

O the flipside (again no pun intended) though I genuinely adore the idea that Liz Allan and Norman Osborn in effect founded Alchemax and the involvement of Tiberius Stone and the conundrum of Miguel needing to protect him. In fact Tiberius comes off as one of the more interesting characters in this. I liked how he deduced his own relevance to the future and was just a sleazy asshole.

Another thing compromising the introduction of Miguel is his presentation.

The arc is rather bewildering because it introduces functionally an alternate version of the original Spider-Man 2099 but also takes it on faith you already know about Spider-Man 2099 in the first place.

Which frankly wasn’t a reasonable presumption.

Like okay sure people know OF Spider-Man 2099 because if you are a comic book or Spider-Man fan long enough your pick up there was a future version of him sooner or later, it’s just plain osmosis. And he’d been featured in two video games in the then recent past.

But not everyone plays video games, watches Let’s Plays, or would have read comics from 20 years ago, especially considering the 2099 stories haven’t even been collected in trade yet. Hell the last time A version of Spidey 2099 appeared it was in 2009 and was a distinctly different version altogether.

So Miguel’s reintroduction should’ve been handled differently, the first shot of him in action should have been the Stegman splash page not him preparing to leap off into action, we should’ve seen his supervision in action instead of just being told about it, we should’ve had his other abilities demonstrated to us. I mean I  know what they are and how they work for the most part but how would someone who’s a new/unfamiliar fan have a clue?

Perhaps the worst example of this is the fact that Slott’s stories, both in the initial 2099 arc and later, reference Miguel and Peter meeting before. There is no further exposition, there is no editorial caption referring to when this occurred (in the initial arc anyway), you are just supposed to accept this has happened before. That is until Superior #32 but more on that in a moment.

But even for new readers this is bewildering. Newer fans might in their head’s wonder if this is referencing the Edge of Time or the Shattered Dimensions video games, which it definitely isn’t because those are clearly not canon to Peter Parker. Older fans like myself might immediately jump to the Spider-Man Meets Spider-Man 2099 one shot from the mid 1990s. But that’s never explicitly referred to until Superior #32 which was published not just after Superior wrapped up but in fact after Miguel’s solo-book had been launched!

More confusingly  IIRC the one shot factors into the original 2099 series so it shouldn’t apply to this alternate version of Miguel and indeed the marvel.wiki lists the one shot as featuring the original Miguel NOT the one starring in these stories. Much like Spider-Girl #10 Slott decided to canonize something he had no business canonizing.

Anyway one final little criticism I have of these stories in terms of writing is that Miguel helped create Spider Slayers using future technology (why would you fuck up the timeline like that??????) and he was able to deduce Otto wasn’t the true Spider-Man. How the fuck can a guy from the future who met Peter Parker ONCE and very briefly tell Superior Spidey is an imposter but Aunt May, Kaine and Mary Jane can’t?

Because contrivance thy name is Slott.

Let’s briefly discuss Superior Team up and Superior #32.

Miguel’s involvement is essentially meaningless in the former and he’s absent from the latter but credit where credit is due Slott did give us a fun little jaunt through the 2099 future...which is not the setting of Miguel O’Hara’s solo book so you know...that was kind of pointless beyond setting up Spider-Worst (not my joke but it’s appropriate). I have little else to say on the issue beyond that seeing more murdered Spider-Heroes sickens me.

Finally let’s talk art.

These books were drawn by Ryan Stegman (Superior #17-19), Marco Checchetto (Superior Team-Up), Humberto Ramos (Superior #23) and Giuseppe Camuncoli (Superior #27.NOW, #28-31).

Ramos is Ramos which is to say anatomically offensive though seeing him briefly draw Miguel wasn’t too bad. Camuncoli was better but I’ve never liked his style. True he got better but still not great.

Stegman meanwhile I think was good. Now this is 2013 Stegman. His RYV, Venom and Absolute Carnage work runs rings around his work back then and before that. It’s very stylized but it’s still good. In fact the stylized look of it works for the concept behind the series. Characters look darker, edgier, in a way uglier and somewhat caricatured which fits in a series about a villain. His double page spread for Miguel though looks awesome, one of the all time great images of the character.

Checchetto meanwhile was the stand out. His work just look gorgeous to look at but it was still evoking a darker aesthetic it fit the idea of a book about a villain very, very well.

Not much to say about these issues. I am debating if I’m going to make a similar multi-issue post when I skim through the Miguel parts of Spider-Verse since I never posted about them back when it was happening, but we will see.

So I recommend reading these?

No. No I do not. I recommend flipping to the pages of Miguel in costume and looking at the art but that’s it.

[a-mountain-girl]

alright it’s venting time because I think better when I write and I can’t find anyone irl who I could talk to about all of this.

But before I begin if someone could bring me a gigantic bar of chocolate (milk pls I’m so sick of dark chocolate that’s all “santa” gave me for Christmas like... did mom forget I don’t like dark chocolate?) or a pint of peanut butter, pistachio, or moose tracks ice cream that would help.

Like, I understand that this hasn’t been a bad day necessarily just a bad hour that has since spiraled into a several bad hours and I’m more upset about underlying issues than I am about what happened. So what happened? 

Well it all seems innocuous enough. I went to my senior capstone class and met my classmates (all of whom I know from other classes) and the professor (who I’ve taken a class from before, this is important). We talked about the syllabus and class structure and I exercised an admirable amount of self-control in not excusing myself to go scream in the snow. I really, really wanted to go do that. 

The problems are 1) This is the only professor I have ever given a bad rating and for good reason. I don’t want to spend too much time on this but at first I was thinking “this guy seems pretty chill if a bit annoying” and then when he was talking about his education and specialty I realized... this is That Professor. This is That Guy. This is the one I actually called a dick in the course evaluation. Because I took the required survey of american literature from colonialism to the civil war course from this guy; this was online which made things worse. Now this was supposed to be a LITERATURE course, a SURVEY of LITERATURE. His course design was literally 50% ART, another 30% was dense paragraphs about history (I’m ADHD I absolutely cannot get through gigantic blocks of dry, useless text within a reasonable time frame), another 20% was bits of literature and media that was not relevant to the time period because his big thing was “How are these things influenced or developed from early American literature and/or history?!” Like.... I DON’T KNOW BECAUSE WE HAVEN’T STUDIED IT DIPSHIT! Then to add to it his expectations were that C is Average bullshit like, you’re setting your students up for failure when you set it up like C is the grade you expect to give them and to get an A a student has to go above and beyond like no, if a student meets expectations they should get an A. You’re just an asshole. Then his expectations for regular coursework were buried on a completely different website and never repeated, they also didn’t make sense. They were not clear. And then his idea of “feedback” is to ramble for paragraphs on a tangent and NEVER TELL ME WHY TF HE GAVE ME THE GRADE HE DID! Feedback needs to include an explanation of what the student did right and wrong so they can improve in the future. His rambling along with the lack of clarity in instructions made it impossible to get good, much less consistent grades. I’d try to follow all the instructions, even put in extra effort and get excited and I’d get a poor grade on an assignment in spite of doing everything right according to his incomprehensible instructions and then I’d half-ass a discussion post, turn it in late, and get an A and three paragraphs of this guy rambling excitedly in the comments. Like, it was impossible to figure out what he actually wanted us to do and then I was already mad enough about the lack of focus on what the class was actually supposed to be about and all this led to me throwing in the towel and either half-assing everything or just skipping assignments because I couldn’t care anymore. I have no desire to study under this buffoon’s “guidance” again.

2) One of the classmates is Obnoxious Man, who I will point out isn’t even graduating this spring and therefore really doesn’t need to be in this class and I think he shouldn’t be. I’m uncomfortable enough with the professor but I would be willing to give him a second chance in light of his whole thing about it being “student-led” and it being easier to communicate in person. But Obnoxious Man makes this impossible. The professor wants us sharing and working together all semester. I am not comfortable sharing anything remotely personal such as a reading I find fascinating or working with this man. I will not be giving him any access to me outside of the classroom. He will not be getting my phone number or my email. His vibes are disgusting and I’ve been dealing with boys and men just like him since kindergarten. I don’t care if he hasn’t actually done anything to threaten me, based on previous experience I won’t even take a chance. The second to last guy like this spent weeks harassing me because he wanted me to date him, the last guy would steal my stuff and stalk me. I had to get the school equivalent to a restraining order which he still found every excuse to violate. I can’t do this but I also can’t just drop the class because I, unlike Obnoxious Man, have to graduate this spring. I thought I could tolerate him after last semester but there’s a big difference between having to put up with him in discussion-based classes during half of the week and him having access to me.

3) I was thrown by the actual expectations laid out in the syllabus. I thought I would be doing a whole new, intensive project. I had a great idea and was actually getting excited. Instead we’re supposed to do group projects (see above for issues with that) and a personal project which will be revising an old paper like... when I finish a class I am done. D O N E. I never want to see that crap again. I don’t think I even still have half of that material! There isn’t one of those papers that I want to look at, much less expand! And how is this really challenging? The professor, Mr. Dickhead, went on and on about how important revising is to critical writing yada yada yada but maybe I don’t care?! Maybe I’m only in this degree as preparation for grad school in a different area? I hate writing critical analysis 99% of the time. It’s like pulling teeth. That’s not a great metaphor because I’m now expected to drag all these papers I want to forget about back into the horrible light of day. And I don’t know if these expectations were invented by the department or by the professor so I don’t know who to be mad at or if I could possibly request some sort of independent project.

4) Because of this and some things said by other students in their introductions (all positive things btw) I started into a reactionary spiral of feeling inadequate, childish, stupid, helpless, etc. etc. Like, one of these classmates is a finalist for a Fullbright scholarship which apparently had to be applied to in October and I didn’t know any of this?! Like that stuff is important but nobody tells me things and I don’t know how people know about all these scholarships and awards and programs and stuff that is helpful. It’s hard enough just making it through the day and doing a mediocre job on my assignments. It took me months to get up the courage to ask professors for recommendations. Filling out graduate applications has been hell and I had to tell my advisor yesterday that she’s not finished with the recs because there’s on in her inbox she missed and I still have to submit one more application that I was feeling good about yesterday and now am about ready to give up on. And the writing center isn’t open and I don’t want to be a burden on my advisor and talk to her about any of these issues...