#i thought moral work quandaries were supposed to be like

[youandthemountains]

don't know the etiquette for this bc I've seen that some people don't like making posts about fic that's not yours but. I just have to rec this:

it's a McCoy-centric technically gen fic, but such a fantastic rendition of Spock/McCoy's relationship

It follows both the Enterprise and a disappeared!McCoy, the former going through a diplomatic quandry, the latter a bioengineering mystery, both filled with moral quandaries. It's so good at keeping everyone in character while demonstrating what can be missed about them, walks their balances so well.

and like Spock/McCoy - the Enterprise believes McCoy is dead and Spock constantly has his voice in his head. McCoy believes he'll never see them again and constantly has Spock in his head. And for both it's to help navigate the moral quandaries and it helps them save lives and yet they're both so discomfited by it because that was never a position they were supposed to carry, it's just deliciously well done. Also it talks about them as both being scientists, they've collaborated together, they ~co-publish~.

A pivotal moment is Spock knowing McCoy's mind so intimately he recognizes they've found him based on reading an anonymous treatment plan and recognizing his train of thought!!! They practically wax poetic about each other to third parties and immediately start sniping at each other when they're reunited.

Also loved the original characters - the CMO who replaces him is such a real person. She's also a brilliant doctor but she's at heart a research physician, solitary and more interested in the scientific side of things than the direct patient care - and I loveee that the fic really fleshes out the way CMOs work because Bones tells her about how he's able to come up with his crazy frontier cures by building on her genetic research. I also would read so much more about the sometimes ally-sometimes enemy characters it introduces, and about the found family Bones builds with his fleshed out Vulcan fellow prisoners. I think the author did a great job with Vulcan culture and fleshing out how their society works in a way that feels so real.

I also love how many chapters go into the aftermath of the recovery - not just recovery although there's also that but also what does this all mean, what needs to be done, what do you do next. It gives it all more weight and actually gives it a satisfying denouement.

[sexyzuka]

A Fateful Encounter

Part Three - Dinner for Two

Pairing: Kiba Inuzuka x Reader

Word Count: 7k+

Content: 18+, fem!reader, werewolf!reader, animal death, graphic violence, blood, angst, mental health, self-harm ideation, pet names

Summary: Your flimsy façade of humanity crumbled the second Kiba saw you transform. There's a tacit understanding between you two, but it's a transitory, conditional truce held together by fraying threads of intrigue. Kiba agreed to keep your secret, but in return you have to keep your promise and go on a date with him. Since sneaking into Konoha again isn’t a viable option, you decide to surprise Kiba by offering to hunt down the tastiest dinner he’s ever had, and what's more luxurious than fresh venison? Tensions flare as you divulge details about your past that ignite Kiba’s ferocious jealous streak. Will you be able to keep your cool while also protecting your pack from the inevitable destructiveness that shadows humankind like a pernicious plague?

Writers Notes: Hey everyone! I took a small break from writing due to being at New York Comic Con this past weekend, but I’m back with another chapter. This time we find our dauntless heroine faced with yet another moral quandary. She has to decide if exposing her deepest secret and potentially sacrificing herself is worth it if it means her pack will be spared. I've included a very graphic and detailed description of the killing and butchering of a deer in this chapter, so as always please use your discretion choosing to interact with my work. The references to criminology and investigative techniques are based on practices in the United States, so readers from other countries might find discrepancies between the approaches Kiba uses versus the ones they may be acquainted with. I did a fair amount of research throughout the drafting process and really put my heart and soul into this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

You can read the previous chapter here!

The oppressive, dry air around you keeps you on high alert. A lingering sense of uneasiness permeates every cell in your being. The only thing grounding you is the weight of your companion, his frail frame nestled in your arms.

What if he changes his mind and follows me to the den? I can't put my faith into someone I just met, let alone a human. I'm so stupid, I should have taken care of him when I had the chance. Nothing good ever comes from trusting them.

"Hey, big sis Izumi," a faint voice calls out to you. "This isn't the way we normally go back home. Weren't we supposed to turn left at that big boulder back there?"

You were so caught up in your own thoughts you carelessly missed the clandestine trail that took you to your clan's den. Somehow this was his fault too.

"You're right, Hana. Sorry, big sis is a little scatterbrained today. Let's backtrack a bit before continuing on our way," you sighed while inaudibly cursing profanities under your breath.

All. His. Fault.

After a small detour you made it to the secretive sanctuary you and your clan called home. It wasn't too fancy, just a regular rather mundane den maintained by you and the older wolves, but what made it a truly resplendent refuge in your eyes was the dearth of people in the nearby area. In fact, in the decades that your clan had lived in this area there were only a handful of unwanted visitors. Mostly hikers getting lost, and the occasional ninja passing through, too busy on their mission to give any extra thought to a pack of unassuming wildlife, but for the most part you lived a blissfully solitary life here.

And that's just how you liked it...is what you would normally think if your mind wasn't so cluttered with images of that dreadfully attractive man. What was his name again? Oh right, Kiba. Kiba Inuzuka.

You know, the ninken you'd chatted with on a run recently had nothing but praise for his clan. Most of them enjoyed belonging to their human partners, choosing to live that domestic life instead of embracing their divine right to be feral but free, unshackled by the weight of mankind. Couldn't be me, you thought to yourself. I belong to no one but myself.

Still, there was a nagging feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach. The electrical impulses stimulating your nervous system jolted an emotion that you hadn't felt in years, decades even. A voracious appetite that couldn't be quashed by the flesh of your clan's latest catch. No, the only prey that could quell this craving was patiently waiting for you, a brazen yet charming man who so naively trusted a woman who committed theft right in front of his face. How gullible can one person be?

Well, you thought to yourself while gently placing Kōtarō next to the other youths huddled together, sleeping peacefully, I guess I shouldn't keep my date waiting for me too long now, should I?

"Big sis is going to head out now, okay Hana?" You gave a nod to the young pup who was eagerly looking up at you with an expectant gaze. "Go get some sleep, you must be exhausted."

"Okay, big sis Izumi. See you at moonrise," the drowsy whelp yawned while unsteadily walking towards the rest of her snoozing pack.

One final goodbye to the clan's elder and you were off. You could scarcely contain the fervor that was growing inside of your belly. You should be fast asleep like the rest of your pack, it was the middle of the day after all, but with every step you took there was an accompanying vibration of pure, unadulterated energy that invigorated your very core.

How long has it been since you felt this way? How many years of self-imposed seclusion were you throwing away by giving into this desire? You did swear off talking to humans, after all.

But this feels different. He feels different, a facetious fib that would hurt no one but yourself if it turned out you were wrong. Because at the end of the day, the rest of your pack were just simple wolves. If this man turned out to have ill intent towards you, at the very least you would be the only lycanthrope in his crosshairs. You made a promise to yourself to never turn anyone else into the same affront to nature, the downright monstrosity, that you are.

And unless there's some underground werewolf fraternity I haven't found in this past century, it's safe to say that we won't be running into the freakshow Freemasons anytime soon.

You scoff at yourself as you pass the familiar boulder that denotes the halfway mark to your destination. After a quick exhale you double down your efforts, noticing that the sun is far past its apex in the sky. How long has it been since you left the man? Is he still there? Well, no use in doubting yourself now, you already committed to rendezvousing and you don't think he's the type who would appreciate being stood up.

It's not like I have a choice, you jeer at yourself, he saw me transform right in front of him. Even if I did get away today, he would just track me down. His outrageously keen sense of smell is definitely a big nuisance. I'm honestly surprised a human can even-  

"Hello there, princess." The baritone intonations echoed throughout the forest, assaulting your eardrums with a barbed arrogance.

You were so lost in thought that even your astonishment was delayed. The world was buffering around you, the taunts not processing until you were practically face to face with the man. The sudden realization that your date would soon come to fruition causes you to lose your balance, and you trip over yourself. A rugged hand reaches down and grabs you before you become one with the earth.

"Wow, it looks like you just can't stop falling for me," a roaring laugh coinciding with the lighthearted mockery flitters around your body.

You would be angrier with him if he didn't just save you from unceremoniously landing on your face, so you decide, rather judiciously, to ignore that last comment.

The man helps you up to your feet, stifling a laugh by holding his other hand up to his mouth. Ah, so he's the type to laugh at his own lame ass jokes, you think to yourself while you brush off the dust that has accumulated over your cloak.

"Welcome back, princess," a glowing smile radiated from the man's face as he folded his arms across his chest, "You sure took your sweet time getting back here. I almost thought you stood me up."

"Well you know, we princesses are very busy women," you say while rolling your eyes and doing an exaggerated curtsy, "And the court jester is not high on the list of people we'd rush for." A complete lie. You were just trying to call his bluff by being cheeky in response. If his hearing was as good as his sense of smell he'd steal you instantly from the castle window you were precariously perched on.

"Ouch. Is that the faintest hint of sarcasm I'm detecting from you, princess?" He was betting on your inability to keep the façade up for much longer. Even you could smell the pheromones that you were unconsciously emitting, so not even Selene the Moon Goddess would be able to get you out of this one. It looks like the only thing to do now is up the ante and bank on getting a royal flush.

"My deepest and most sincere apologies, sir. Let me make it up to you by offering our special menu for this evening," you proclaim while holding out your hand after an exaggerated flourish.

"I'm listening." The man raises one eyebrow while keeping his arms crossed.

"May I interest you in the finest and freshest venison you've ever tasted in your entire life?" You ask with a deviously fiendish smirk, arm outstretched and beckoning.

"Venison?" He replied incredulously.

"Well, it's not like this forest just has a bunch of wild bulls roaming around. And since someone destroyed my changing room, I can't just mosey on back to Konoha for dinner." The thought of procuring dinner for the two of you ignited a primal urge that was welling up inside of you like a tsunami, a tumultuous tempest growing stronger by the second.

"It might not be that steak dinner you were hoping for, but this will be an experience of a lifetime. I promise. Wolf's honor." 

Kiba could sense the excitement in your voice. And it's true, there was nothing that aroused your senses more than the thrill of the hunt and the very moment when your canines punctured the supple flesh of your unsuspecting prey. 

"Alright, you know what? Sure," he acquiesced. "How can I say no to a face like that?"

That's all you needed to hear. With a quick nod and a seductive wink you responded, "Wait here, sugar. I'll be right back."

You'd already been listening for those unmistakable subtle murmurs, the heartbeats of your prey. 25 meters northeast. There it was. You instinctively transformed your hands into claws and sharpened your canines, the blistering pain heightening your senses even further.

A few more meters and it was in view, a delectable yet unsuspecting doe. You perched yourself in a nearby tree bough before inhaling slowly through your mouth. You could practically taste the umami in the air. You dug your claws partially into the tree bark, bracing yourself for the best part of any dinner, the kill.

You bellow a fierce growl as you jump down from the aging oak and delve into your target with an ardent vehemence. When your nails vigorously pierce the pliable frame, you're overcome by a sense of unadulterated euphoria. You can feel the life seep out of your victim and onto your claws, the red nectar painting your nails a gorgeous hue. A wave of exhilaration hits as you feel the young deer twitch and resist against you.

I'll never get tired of this, you think to yourself, a sinister smirk emerging on your face. After all, this is the closest I'll get to feeling alive again. After a few more seconds of riding this high you decide to put your prey out of its misery. With an impressive amount of force you ruthlessly chomp down on its jugular, the doe's body going limp almost instantaneously. You swear you could almost feel the deer's soul leaving its tattered vessel. The thought sends a merciless chill down your spine.

Guess I still got a little bit of humanity left in me after all of these years, you chide at yourself, who woulda guessed?

You hoisted the ragged body of your prey onto your back, supporting it with one of your claws while admiring the other. Damn this shade of red really is to die for, you chortled as you marveled at the splotchy tint covering your nails and most of your arm. Well, you think to yourself as you adjust the deer on your back to a more comfortable and secure position, I shouldn't keep him waiting much longer now, should I?

You were feeling especially giddy on the walk back, sauntering with a lithe stride and huge smile on your blood-spattered face. The ecstasy from earlier steadfastly persisting despite the flow of time, the lingering scent of your delicious meal keeping it from dissipating fully. As you grew closer to your meeting spot, though, the bliss was covertly being replaced with nagging twangs of anxiety. You remembered that there was an unfortunate drawback to dinner this evening, you'd have to be vulnerable with a human and share the strange details about your paradoxical existence that even you didn't fully understand.

"Back so soon, princess?" You heard a familiar voice ring out, cutting through the loitering anxiety with a dulcet effervescence.

"Do you need some help ther-

Oh gosh, you're covered in blood. Are you okay?" A confused yet profound weight clung onto his words.

"I'm more than okay," you smiled as you readjusted today's kill with one spry motion, "I'm practically giddy, you could say. Don't you think this shade of red is simply ravishing?"

You could see the look of horror on his face as you sauntered closer. And why wouldn't he be intimidated? It's not every day you see a young woman with the carcass of a mangled corpse slumped over her shoulders, shrouded in a sanguine veil.

"What's wrong? Wolf's got your tongue?" you chuckled as a self-assured smirk involuntarily took over your countenance.

"You're just so-" he appeared as though he was lost in thought, as if the words that described the monstrosity before him simply escaped from his mind's tenuous grasp.

"So what?" you had to stop yourself from giggling.

"So..." he put his hand up to his face, covering it partially, "so freakin' hot when you're all covered in blood like that. Sorry, I need a minute."

Did he just say "hot?" So he's not terrified of the anomalous atrocity standing before him? That was a new one. Usually anyone who witnessed you in this state would have already ran for their lives. But I guess he's just too cocky, or maybe too dumb to realize just who, or rather what he asked out on a dinner date. You know, you think to yourself, I didn't expect our "date" to make it this far. By now most men are long gone, and I'd be enjoying this feast in my solitude. But this idiot is still here, which means I really do have to tell him the truth, don't I?

An extended silence filled the stale air with an insidious touch of peril that grew ever stronger with each passing second. The corpse on your back began to stiffen, rigor mortis setting in with an uncaring indifference to your conundrum.

"Did you," his voice trails off, breaking the silence briefly before the quiet takes hold once again.

"Did I?" you manage to jabber, your pulse quickening as the anticipation stimulates your nervous system.

"Did you really kill that deer for me? A whole deer just for me? Wow, I can't believe you had me speechless for a minute there. Me? Of all people?" he blabbered as he put one of his hands behind his head, his head shaking ever so slightly from the incredulity of this entire situation.

"Not just for you," you retort in a shaky voice. There he goes again with that unmistakable haughtiness in his tone. Your trepidation turns into irritation as you regain control over your psyche once more. "There's no way you'd be able to eat all of this anyways."

"You wanna bet?" a smug grin was beginning to form on his face.

"Sure," you acquiesce while shrugging," If you can't eat every last bite then you leave the forest and never come back," you proposition, calling his bluff with an equal level of impudence.

"Hey now, that wasn't the plan. You promised me a dinner date, and we're going to have a date, princess," he declared as he crossed his arms, keeping full eye contact with you the entire time. "Or do I have to detain you and bring you back to the station for questioning? There's probable cause that illegal hunting was-"

"T-that won't be necessary," you bite your tongue a little as you stutter out the words.

"Good girl, that's what I like to hear." His expression lightened as he beamed a radiant smile in your direction. "But before we begin the festivities, I need you to answer one thing for me."

Goodbye sweet solitude, it was nice knowing you. Well, it's better to just get it over with and break the bone fully so that the fractured splinters of my existence can be set properly. The first step to recovery is acknowledging that I fucked up royally, and there's no denying that.

"You're a-" he began, but was cut off by your curt response before he could utter the repugnant word.

"A werewolf, yes."

"So, you're not denying it?" his tone was an octave higher than usual, spurred on by his astonishment.

"It can't be helped. You saw me transform. More than once. Even a monster knows when it's checkmate," you sigh as you lower your prey to the ground, placing the pallid body gingerly on the dry earth. "Tsumi," you say as you slowly rise back up, eyes closed and hands out with your palms up. "Even a golden general is still just a pawn once that thin veneer is washed away."

"What are you doing?" You hear a voice drawing closer to your body, heavy footsteps crunching the mid-autumn leaves.

"Are you really going to make me say it?" you exclaim with your eyes still shut tightly, holding back a few tears so desperately trying to make their escape.

"Listen, princess, I-"

"If you're going to arrest me just do it already!" you screech, using all of your might to hold back the onslaught of tears on the cusp of breaching the barricade of your eyelids. "Just please don't go after my pack! You can do whatever you want with me, all I ask is that you spare them."

"Who said anything about arresting you?"

"You did," you sniffled, looking up at the man with a few meandering teardrops clouding your vision slightly, "multiple times."

"Me? Arrest you? Never," he reached out to brush a few strands of your hair away from your eyes. "I really don't like making girls cry, it makes me feel like a total jackass," he said as he tried to hold your gaze in vain. It was impossible for you to maintain eye contact with him, your sense of self-loathing at what you had become weighed you down with an insurmountable amount of pressure.

"But isn't it your job to lock away monsters like me?" you whimpered while averting your eyes from the man.

"I could never detain a girl as pretty as you, unless it's for house arrest."

"I don't have a house," you respond flatly, cautiously glancing up to meet the man's surprisingly jovial disposition.

"Who said anything about your house? I have a pad too," Kiba said while puffing out his chest and pointing to himself, "It might not be that big since Kōtarō has been extra stingy with this year's raise, but all we need is one bedroom, right?"

This man. This cheeky ass bastard. He did just see you transform, right? And yet he chooses to hit on you relentlessly. He's either unbelievably fearless or he has a death wish. Either way, you can't help but admire his audacity. The sheer absurdity of his responses to you dispels your apprehension and you begin to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Kiba furrows his brow as he places one hand on his chin.

"You," it was incredibly hard for you to suppress your laughter long enough to continue your jive, "You seriously just invited me into your house. Me? The werewolf. The queen of abominations herself?"

"I said what I said," he countered with a sour expression.

"Sorry, I just," you take a second to inhale, regaining the breath you lost to the overwhelming humor of the situation, "I don't think I've met a human this crazy since Hidan."

"Wait, Hidan?" Kiba's countenance changed instantaneously as soon as the words left your bloodied lips. 

"Yeah, you know him or something?" you shrugged with a detached tone in your voice.

"Know him?" You could feel the palpable indignation, festering with a sharp ferocity, "he killed my sensei's lover."

"Ouch. Yeah, he does tend to do that," you realize that you may have made a fatal mistake by bringing up Hidan's name.

"Wait, how do you know him??" The look of disgust evident on Kiba's face pierced through the remnants of your frail barricade.

"Oh well, once upon a time we may have had... a fling or two." You resigned yourself to the fact that you'd divulged too much and there was no turning back.

"A fling? Wait, aren't you a little too young for that? You don't look a day over twenty five."

"Aww, you really know how to flatter a gal. Try adding a century to that, and you'll be a bit closer to my actual age." There's no use in lying now, if he can handle that I'm a monster, then what's the harm in sharing this with him too?

"A... century?" The question was more for himself than for you. It seemed like he was performing calculus, the numbers dancing in his imagination like infernal reminders of the circumstance he found himself in. Steadfastly approaching the limit to infinity, but never quite reaching the apex of the function.

"So you're... 125 years old?" It looks like he was finally ready to submit his self-imposed mathematics assignment, but the answer key was obscured by the enigma of your presence.

"Give or take a few years. Birthdays aren't as magical after you hit one hundred, a painful reminder more than anything else, if I'm being honest." Your eyes lost their lustre as you reminisced about the kin you'd lost over the years, those who would never again be there to celebrate with you. "Heh, well not like I'd expect you to understand."

"But you're telling me Hidan does understand?"

Jeez, was he seriously still on that? It was just a silly little affair, a trite nonissue really. Damn, he must really hate Hidan, you think to yourself. Maybe you could use his jealousy to your advantage though, if you play your cards right.

"Wellll," you draw out the word with a long, purposeful drawl.

"Well?" Kiba scoffs, mimicking your tone.

After a minute of silence you retort with, "It's not like there's tons of immortals I can pick and choose from, unless there's an underground society of sickos I never got the invite to. Maybe it's nice to connect with someone who shares the same life experiences once in a while," you say as you look off into the distance, unearthing the buried memories you'd kept tucked away for years.

"Life experiences? And what exactly are these so-called 'experiences'? Does homicide count?"

"Hey, that was one time, and he upskirted me first," you smirk as you hold out an index finger for emphasis. Unbeknownst to you, your head shakes involuntarily as you utter those words. 

You were met with a revulsive glance that was all too familiar. Good, maybe he'll stay away from me now. He doesn't need to know you stretched the truth a bit. The reality is that you'd sworn off unnecessary interaction with humans for decades now because you didn't want to hurt them. The only reason you let yourself become close with Hidan was because of his immortality.

"You're lying," Kiba candidly declares as he shoots a disapproving look in your direction.

"W-what makes you think that?" you ask as you take one of your hands and mindlessly stroke the front of your neck.

"Actions speak louder than words, princess. You can barely maintain eye contact, there were unnaturally long pauses between your responses, and not to mention you're stimulating your vagus nerve right now, whether you're aware of it or not," Kiba proclaimed as a smug expression returned to his face. "C'mon now, you didn't think you'd be able to fool me that easily? Even a rookie would be able to recognize the contradictions in your statements."

You bite your lip hard in response to those pointed accusations. It looks like you'd have to approach this from another angle.

"I plead the fifth," you say as you raise your hands in concession, "You win this time, officer. But before we continue this little chat of ours, why don't we start dinner preparations before it gets too late?" The limp body of your fallen prey had been nestled next to you this whole time, but its presence was overshadowed by the gravity of the conundrum you found yourself in.

"Okay," Kiba said, humoring your feeble attempt to change the conversation, "but I'm not leaving until I'm fully satisfied."

"You won't have to worry about that. I'll definitely satiate my honored guest's hunger," you said with a slight bow, hand partially outstretched.

"Heh, I look forward to it with bated breath." You could hear the pace of Kiba's heartbeat intensify ever so slightly when those words escaped his lips.

"So, do you need help butchering the-"

"I got it," you flatly interject. You shifted your focus from the man to the carcass of your delectably succulent spoils.

"Wow, so I get dinner and a show? Color me impressed." The candor with which Kiba responded tickled your fancy.

Oh, I'll give you a show, alright.

After a terse nod you cracked your neck and knuckles with an intense vehemence. You fish in your satchel for the gambrel and rope you'd prepared beforehand. One deft toss later, your rope is securely fastened onto a sturdy bough and all ready for you to hoist up your catch. As you walk towards the corpse you instinctively sharpen your claws and grab onto the body with a fervid vigor. After a few seconds and one big heave later, the object commanding your full attention beckons for your inner beast with an arousing aura.

You intuitively glide your razor-sharp nails through the layers of flesh, separating the skin from the muscle with an effortless prowess. You carefully and neatly place the deer's hide on the ground next to you before returning to work. A deafening crack assaulted Kiba's eardrums as you forcibly placed enough pressure on the doe's neck to sever its head. Another few merciless swipes from your sanguine claws and a harsh thud from the deer's front legs falling to the ground, accompanying the cacophonous melody of murder. The first part of your dinner preparations were now complete.

You flash Kiba a mischievous smile before refocusing on the task at hand, at claw, rather. You work your talons parallel to the deer's rib cage, passing through the shoulder joint with a terrifying expertise. You then spend a few minutes shaving off the excess fat before sinking your claws into the area just under the hip bone, slicing from there to the doe's back bone with an effortless, fluid motion. You run your nails down and along the back bone of your catch while making a concerted effort to not leave any morsels behind. With one more callous swat of your claws the delicious flesh is freed from its ligamentary penitentiary.

You return your focus to the deer's neck, and with a cruel indifference you meticulously tore the meat off of the bone with aplomb. A few more slices to the rib cage and your pile of gamey goodness grew substantially. It was almost time for the grand finale. Another savage snap emitted yet another barbaric rasp into the air, catching your company off guard, as evidenced by the disquieted winces you could see in the peripherals of your vision. With more than half of your prey fully dissected, it was now time to redirect your attention to the deer's hind quarters. You begin by puncturing the sinews near the knee and slice parallel with the leg bone, reaching the hip within mere seconds. After rotating your hand a few degrees, you effortlessly extract the most dazzling sirloin tips.

Damn, I'm good at this.

With a rapturous chortle you flash Kiba the most self indulgent grin. He was nothing but a hapless buck caught in the blinding light of your exhilarating, intoxicating yet oh so ephemeral exuberance. The squelching sound of the doe's innards as you inserted your nails just under the achilles tendon and pressed in with an inhuman apathy resonated throughout the surrounding area, a cautionary warning to all of the forest's inhabitants. As you unshackle the rest of the meat from the hind legs you look up once more at your dinner date. The countenance that greeted you could only be described by one word, awe. Pure, unadulterated awe.

You pick up the slabs of shoulder meat and begin to diligently clean it with your claws. Trimming the excess fat was always the most laborious part of your meal prep, but perhaps having the company of someone else today was an adequate remedy for the tedium. Once you sufficiently spruce up a generous portion of the meat, you offer a hefty chunk of it to your companion. You're greeted with a look of confusion that reminds you of your grotesque nature once more.

"Oh yeah, humans don't eat raw meat," you mull as you're overcome by a fit of hysterics. The dichotomy of your two very different existences was too much for your brain to process right now.

"Is that a challenge, princess? If it's good enough for you, it sure as hell is good enough for me," Kiba responded while puffing out his chest with an air of arrogance.

"I'd rather our date be here and not in a hospital room," you respond while trying to suppress the laughter, a tenuous attempt at regaining your composure. "C'mon, let's start a fire and you can taste a bit of my cooking. I might not be that great of a chef, but the ingredients will be the freshest you've ever had."

"Well, when you put it that way, how can I possibly refuse?" You could see a wave of relief wash over Kiba's face. It turns out he wasn't the only one who could sniff out someone's deceit. "Next time, though, I'll definitely have it raw."

"Of course you will." Wait, next time? Did he just insinuate that this wasn't going to be a one and done affair? Haven't you frightened him enough for one day? Talk about a real glutton for punishment.

"Alright, I need to clean up over here, so if you'd gather some firewood that'd be much appreciated." You leisurely walk towards the gambrel and unhook it from the tree's bough.

"Damn, so no special fire jutsu that will flambé us up some dinner in a flash?" You could sense a budding ripple of disappointment circulate the air around Kiba.

"No special tricks or theatrics here. What you see is what you get."

"You're not holding out on me again, are you, princess?" Kiba was almost whimpering at this point, just like a pup who lost his favourite ball in the river.

"No. I'm not," you respond flatly, an unenthusiastic expression overtaking your face. "Now go get that firewood. And s-stop calling me your princess." At this point you begin to feel the warmth build up in your cheeks, an untimely and unfortunate betrayal by your sympathetic nervous system.

"Was that the slightest bit of hesitation in your voice, princess?" You didn't even have to look over to see Kiba's expression because you could feel the omnipresence of his self-satisfied simper.

"Just go already!" you exclaim while trying to hide your face.

"Alright, princess. I'll be back soon. Don't miss me too much, okay?" You could hear his cocky guffaws as he walked off into the depths of the forest.

Jeez, talk about confidence. Does he have no sense of shame? If only I could be half as self-assured as he was, you ponder to yourself while cleaning up the makeshift slaughterhouse around you. You partitioned out a few chunks of venison for tonight's dinner. I wonder how much he'll want to eat? Wait, why do I care about what he wants? He should be grateful he gets any of this, of my kill.

You find yourself on autopilot as you amble about the nearby area, tidying up the trimmings caught in the thickets and the entrails splattered on the rocks. You weren't sure how much time had passed since you began clearing the area, but you were certain that it must have been a rather lengthy period since the cool veil of twilight now gently embraced your surroundings.

Hm. Maybe he did give up and hightail it out of here. I guess that means I'm free to head back-

"Heyyy!" The shrill baritone interrupts your thoughts. "Sorry it took me a while, princess." You could hear that Kiba was breathing heavier than normal as he drew closer to your meeting spot.

"Oh, you're back," you hesitantly mutter. 

"Hey, is that anyway to greet a guy who brought you this?" Kiba confidently stretches his arm out, opening up his clenched hand to reveal a lighter.

"I don't smoke," you respond with a perplexed expression, baffled by his rather dubious choice of a peace offering.

"It's not for lighting cigarettes, silly. It's for the fire."

"The fire?" Oh no, don't tell me he-

"Yeah, remember how you said you can't use fire jutsu? Well neither can I, so I thought this would come in handy!" Kiba had the biggest, most dopey yet smug grin on his face. It almost made you feel guilty that the deer wasn't the only thing that would be roasted tonight.

He doesn't know how to light a fire. One of the top investigators for the Konoha Military Police Force can't light a simple campfire.

You stifle the urge to break out into hysterics over this new information you were now privy to. "I know how to light a fire. That's one of the most basic skills anyone could have."

Kiba's face became instantaneously flushed as he scrambles to hide the lighter in his back pocket. "Y-yeah well, I was just trying to make your life a bit easier. That's all. Jeez, it's not like I assumed you were a helpless damsel in distre-"

"You know what would make my life easier right now?" you interject before he can finish his ramblings.

"What?"

"If you sit down, keep quiet, and just let me handle dinner. You did bring the firewood, right?" You asked as you peered over at his suspiciously empty hands.

"O-of course I did! Who do you think I am? Kiba Inuzuka always completes his missions... when he's not busy on a more important mission, that is." You could hear the confidence dissipate from his voice with every word he spoke.

"You completely forgot, didn't you?"

"Well, you see. I uh-"

You let out a weary, heavy sigh as you beckon for him to come closer. "Lucky for you, since I had so much extra time just waiting for my dinner date's return, I was able to grab more than enough branches for us."

"See? All part of my plan!" He began to nervously chuckle as you put your hand on his shoulder and guided him to the impromptu campsite you had prepared in his absence.

As you make your way to the clearing, the wafting mid-autumn breeze tousles the strands of your hair with a cool yet affectionate caress. It was closer to dusk now, and the stars shining above you began to solemnly dance in the night sky with a poignant melancholy. Every step closer that you take brings with it a feeling of profound grief, an emotion spurred on by the uncanny familiarity of the situation you now find yourself in. This reminds me so much of when I first met him, you think to yourself as you take those final strides to the campsite, your company following closely by your side.

You silently take a seat on some rocks next to the campfire. Since you had ample time to make preparations while Kiba was gone, all of the supplies you needed for a scrumptious dinner were laid out in front of you both.

"Wow, you really know how to treat a guy!" Kiba blurts out with a boisterous, howling laugh. "Seriously, you set all of this up just for me?"

"I told you, I always pay back my debts in spades," you couldn't bring yourself to look at Kiba right now. The haunting grip of your past restricted your movement, shackling and confining you in an inescapable and ruthless prison of recollections.

"And pay me back you shall," Kiba chimes in while reaching over you to grab two pieces of venison, tenderly placing one in your hand. "So why don't we start with an easy question?"

I guess it's better to just get it over with. The sooner we're done here, the sooner I can make my way back home. You take a voracious bite out of the chunk of venison and swallow harshly with an audible gulp. You then muster up enough willpower to look in Kiba's direction.

Geez, why does he always have to be smiling like such an idiot? What's there to smile about, anyways? This has been an absolutely awfu-

"This has been an absolutely wonderful day, princess." His words cut through your thoughts like a honed katana. "I don't think I've had this much excitement in years. You sure do know how to keep a guy on his toes. I would say that this has to be one of the best days I've ever had, but..."

And here it comes. You could already feel the frigid metal clasps around your wrists, tightening with an unyielding force. The freedom you worked so tirelessly to achieve would now be gone in an instant.

"...why did you have to ruin the mood by mentioning another guy's name?"

"Huh?" The shock from his last statement left you paralyzed in a stupor of astonishment.

"Don't you 'huh?' me. I know you know what or rather who I'm talking about."

Oh. Hidan. He's talking about Hidan. Damn, he's really taking this whole situation out of proportion.

"You're seriously still thinking about Hidan?" When Hidan's name escapes your lips your voice goes up an octave.

"I don't know, are you still thinking about him?" Kiba retorts with a snarky reproach.

"It was a fling. A simple hookup, nothing more."

"You said there were multiple flings earlier."

Goddamn, you can't deny the fact that Kiba's attention to detail when it comes to recalling your past statements is extraordinary. If you wanted to get this conversation moving in the right direction you'd have to reluctantly swallow your pride once more.

"Okay, yes. We hooked up a few times throughout the course of my... alt phase."

"Alt... phase?"

"Y'know, like, dressing in alternative fashion and listening to grunge? Jeez, I'm kind of embarrassed thinking about how I used to be back then." You look off to the side while fidgeting with the remains of the hunk of meat in your palm. "I was just angry at everything and tired of the world. He was there to satisfy that weird craving I had to self-harm and..."

Kiba's expression changed as soon as he heard those last few words you spoke. Even he must have felt the profound sadness and despair that clung to your morose disclosure.

"Let's forget about him, okay? I think it's safe to say you'll never see him again." Kiba's voice had a softness to it now that soothed your frayed nerves.

"Wow, such confidence in your voice. Do you know something I don't?" Your curiosity was piqued, and you couldn't help but ask for confirmation.

"He's as good as dead." Kiba nodded with an assurance that was difficult to question.

"As good as dead? Are we talking about the same person?" Your eyes widen as you process that last statement.

"One of my old classmates dismembered him. But honestly? If I knew he was going to hit on you, I would have done the job myself." Kiba cracked his neck as he snarled out those last few words.

"Hidan... is dismembered?" You start chuckling to yourself as you imagine what he must look like right now, "Why, that's the funniest thing I've heard all year, all century even!"

You took a moment to regain your composure before you continued, "I always thought that one day his excessive confidence would lead to his downfall. Thank you for sharing that with me."

"Hey, princess. As much as I like to laugh with you about your pathetic ex, I think it'd be better if we just enjoyed the rest of tonight without worrying about stuff like that." Kiba placed one arm around your shoulder while inching himself closer to you. "Tonight it's just you, me, and the stars."

"You know what? I think that's actually a splendid idea." You let out a hushed sigh of relief as he cuddled closer to you.

Just this once, you think to yourself, for just one night maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let a human in.

"I do have one final question, though, before we move onto the main course." Kiba delicately placed his hand under your chin, lifting up your face so that you had no choice but to look in his glistening eyes.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" you eloquently inquire with a quick and slightly exaggerated flourish of your hands.

"Are you really over 100 years old?" 

"Heh, but of course." You couldn't help but answer in a sultry manner, flashing your fangs at the end of your statement, restraining yourself from biting into his neck.

You could see Kiba gesturing, doing a little victory pose as he uttered those next words, "Score. I love me a fine cougar, erm I mean wolf."

Gosh, he's so dumb. So dumb yet so clever at the same time, especially when it came to him sussing out the truth from you. The crass sense of humor emanating from this man only enhanced his inexplicable charm. It had been a long time, a very long time since you felt like this.

"You better watch out. I heard the big bad wolf has a way of eating out the hearts of unsuspecting travelers 'round these parts. Especially on full moons like tonight." The luminescent reflection of the moon bounced off of Kiba's eyes as you stared into them.

"I guess it's a good thing someone already has my heart under lock and key."

Just this one night. I'll allow myself to let go, one night can't hurt. Can it?

----- TO BE CONTINUED -----

[littleeyesofpallas]

Dug up an assortment of random indecipherable notes on a writing project I never even really started from, o I dunno 7ish years ago? And there is a kind of beautiful ironic meta quality to trying to decipher this shit because it was a Batman fic about Riddler adopting a teenager in an attempt to both beat batman at the orphan rearing game, and his own father whom I wrote a whole backstory with where he was the head of major Gotham private security firm that I named Nassec(NAShton SECurity).

The plot is unclear from my notes alone, and I have only vague memories of where my head was at at the time, but clearly there was a focus on the fairplay mystery of the whole elaborate riddler-esque heist, as Riddler's protege attempts to fulfill their role, but to the existential crisis of Riddler himself.

His adopted teen sidekick was a genderqueer asian-american trafficking victim, shunted thru the foster care system after a series of behavioral issues with otherfother families. They'd struggle with questions of racial/ethnic identity, gender and sexuality, and vigilante morality as they underwent their training with Eddie as a foster father, while he'd neglect their mental and emotional development in favor of strict tutelage in the criminal arts. At the same time Eddie would feel increasingly threatened by his own aptitude as a mentor, scared of what it would mean if he succeeded and actually built an intellect greater than not only himself but Batman. In the meantime he'd attempt to reapproach his long estranged father, CEO of Nassec, about his disinherited status and the new legacy of his protege.

There was some kind of elaborate kidnapping scheme where Batman, Riddler, and President Nashton would all wake in a series of SAW/ZeroEscape style deathtraps. Meanwhile the sidekick, whom I never decided on a name for, would have confronted Tim Drake about finding a place in someone else's shadow, while Nightwing and Oracle worked to track down Bruce's location. There was a whole series of redherrings and misdirections in play to keep them busy while the Riddler sidekick probed Robin for information about his place in Batman's great plan for Gotham, because they would be so fixated on what role they were supposed to play in opposition to that; just another in a long line of personal identity quandaries they'd have trying to triangulate a position between Is and Isn't.

There was supposed to be a whole conflict of identity, and credit and achievement, and parenthood and the psychological extension of ego that comes with raising a child. There was supposed to be a metaphor with puzzle boxes that I never quite nailed down. The three captives were all locked in cargo crates adrift at sea, and there was a whole thing about cooperation and progress built upon prior moves all about making way for the next step... Again I don't think I ever figured out the specific mechanical aspects of it... Certainly I didn't articulate them well...

Ultimately the puzzle would be solved, there would be a deceptively simple solution obscured by presumptive busy work, and by the time everything fell in line between the 3 plots (captives, rescue team, and confrontation with the mastermind) the Riddler sidekick would have escaped according to a prepared exit strategy with a vaguely threatening uncertainty as to whether or not they had decided on being a villain, and whether or not they'd come back to menace Gotham and the Batfam, or Riddler and Nassec. As they'd effectively end the story having proven themselves a credible threat to the Batfam, with an axe to grind with Riddler over their adoption and subsequent identity crisis, and with a legally defensivle claim to controlling shares of Nassec.

Oh and there was a whole Mary Shelly Frankenstein thing just kind of vaguely orbiting the halfformed plot that I never really nailed down either

But like i have zero idea how I thought I was going to tie all these details and themes and idea together in a coherent plot

[wantonlywindswept]

my bosses want me to start playing around with midjourney and i’m just

[lord-radish]

So I've been mulling over some thoughts regarding Borderlands and the arc villain Handsome Jack. Specifically, how the third game - an interquel between the first and second games - introduces this moral ambiguity to the character and tries to flip the script by having the character go through something big and become the larger-than-life persona that he is in Borderlands 2.

My understanding is that when the game came out - which, granted, will be nine years ago later this year - this sparked furious debate about whether [X] character/s are actually responsible for the awful state of the world in Borderlands 2, if Jack would have become that massive villain in the first place had the events of the Pre-Sequel not happened etc.

And the thing is, I get that people are going to find the moral ambiguity and that omnipresent "what-if" situation much more engaging on a personal level, especially in fandom. Fandom, in my experience, tends to be a place where people band together into camps and feed the theories and outstanding elements that they like the most about the work. That's cool, and I don't mean to trample on anyone's passion or make an incendiary call-to-arms going to war with dissenting opinions or whatever. I'm not a fandom guy any more. That's not my bag.

But I do want to share my personal opinions on this whole moral ambiguity angle that the Pre-Sequel introduced to Handsome Jack after the fact that may read like a club to the back of the head. That opinion being that I'm personally not a big fan of the idea of "ooh moral quandary ahh hidden depths ohhhh if only things were a little different" in regards to Handsome Jack, and I don't really buy it from Borderlands as a whole.

I think Jack was a ticking time bomb, and even if the events of the Pre-Sequel sped things up significantly, Jack would have been just as evil in the long run because of his blatant egoism, his disinterest in the well-being of others in service of his own wants and goals, and his incendiary and impotent rage that he directs at others for not receiving the respect and power he clearly wants. And I think it's a more interesting take for a franchise like Borderlands to go down that "what-if" rabbit hole, and come out the other side saying "yeah he would have been a piece of shit either way".

---

I'm going to keep this as spoiler-free as possible.

First of all, he has a history of self-serving and narcissistic behavior spanning years before the supposed "fallen hero" arc he goes through in the Pre-Sequel. Even before the PS Vault Hunters meet him, he's guilty of false imprisonment and forcing an innocent person to commit unethical acts under duress and against their will for most of their life. He built a death laser so he could nuke human settlements from orbit, entirely of his own accord. He harbors anger and resentment at those who have power over him - and granted, those people are pieces of shit to him and everyone around them, but Jack is no different in his dismissal of those "lower" than him and his willingness to sacrifice them for his grander, self-serving plans. The seeds are clearly already there despite his posturing of himself as the hero.

Secondly, his actions during the game. Are some of them necessary, if not the most kind? Sure. I love AI characters and I dislike the Skipper stuff that ends up happening, but I'm not gonna get hung up on that as "this makes Jack irredeemably evil". The thing with the scientists, at best, is a character being ruthless and taking the shortest possible route to the most desirable outcome. Those scenarios have been argued up and down, it's been done to death.

But I don't think you can really excuse the death laser he built to nuke bandit settlements from space, which he built using the remains of a biological doomsday weapon, without anyone's knowledge or input. And I think the general disdain he feels for those "under" him was always destined to end up manifesting in Jack blurring the line between "reasonable people trying to preserve their way of life" and "bandit scum who need to be wiped off the face of the planet".

---

When he ends up wanting more resources and power from Pandora and Elpis due to his ability to leverage his existing power to obtain it, and subsequently facing increasing resistance from the people whose lives he's ruining for his own self-centred "greater good", I think the end goal was always going to be Jack refusing to see them as human and wiping them out with a doomsday weapon as long as it gets him what he wants. That line between "person" and "bandit" was always flexible, and it depended on whether people were useful for his ends or a hindrance to him.

In the Pre-Sequel, you see what happens when Jack decides his greater good is worth more than the lives of those beneath him - where his supposed heroism is still the focus of his character. I didn't get hung up on Skipper or the scientists earlier, but even without bringing the inherent good or evil of those acts into it, they're clear examples in a pattern of behaviour where their lives are forfeit to achieve Jack's needs.

This character trait of sacrificing the little guy for his own ends is emphasised in each of those events that underline Jack's supposed "start of darkness", but it's an innate part of his personality from the start, not the unfortunate downfall of a good man forced to make hard decisions. The aforementioned false imprisonment of a person and manipulation of their behavior under duress, which occurred over a decade before the Pre-Sequel, proves that this is a behavior that he repeats to prop himself up and get ahead - whether he consciously sees his behaviour as evil or not.

It isn't new, it isn't an issue caused by his betrayal, it's a pre-existing condition - and that selfishness and self-absorption is only further emphasised when he goes off the deep end. I genuinely believe that whether he was betrayed or not, those exaggerated negative aspects were always destined to manifest were he to gain the power he desperately wanted.

---

And as such, in my opinion, the people who betrayed him were right to try to kill him pre-emptively. I think the person who gave him a motive speech about how he deserved to die was right. Even if it backfired and turned him into the villain he was in Borderlands 2, I think they were right to try and nip it in the bud.

Now, before I get ahead of myself - I'm not saying that the betrayers have the moral high ground. This was an assassination attempt. A necessary one in my opinion, but incredibly underhanded and dirty of them and deserving of some consternation.

I do have one issue with that, though. With Pre-Sequel being the third Borderlands game, released after the second game but taking place before it, this particular moral quagmire feels kind of forced after the fact? Like we've had a game with those betrayer characters being a part of the resistance against Jack, and now ooh, here's the secret hidden story they didn't tell you where they were the bad guys and they made Jack who he is. That's not hacky at all.

But I can respect the angle they're going for regarding Jack, because I personally believe that despite the basic posturing they're doing to paint this "fallen hero" narrative, the actions of Jack before, during and after the Pre-Sequel all point towards him being the exact murderous, selfish bastard he becomes. The betrayers actively made the Borderlands universe worse by driving Jack off the deep end - they made him stronger by trying to nip him in the bud. But I maintain that their logic for trying to do so - that he's an egomaniacal narcissist who'd only abuse absolute power to his own twisted ends - is totally sound.

In the Pre-Sequel, you kill a kid's dad because you beat the kid in a moon buggy race and the dad fires on you for making his son cry. In the first Borderlands, you're literally an amoral bounty hunter mowing through mountains of corpses on a twisted treasure hunt. In Borderlands 2, you ruin lives multiple times and you shoot a person in the face because they asked you to. Borderlands characters aren't exactly fountains of morality in the first place, so I kind of resent the idea that Jack or the people who betrayed him have to be painted in an objectively "correct" light.

Jack is a power-hungry piece of shit who should have been put down before the events of Borderlands 2. The people who "created" the Handsome Jack you see in Borderlands 2 by attempting to do just that? They did so in an unscrupulous and messy way that betrays their later posturing as the Big Goods of the Borderlands universe. That being said, the actions you commit as them in Borderlands 1 are hardly anything to aspire to.

---

The Borderlands universe is ugly, dirty and gritty down to the last speck of sand. Trying to answer the question of "what-if" is a fool's errand in my opinion, because the answer tends to be the most pessimistic and depraved option available.

What if Jack hadn't been pushed too far in the Pre-Sequel? He would have become a power-hungry fascist anyway, and he would have had a death ray that's 10x as powerful as it ended up being. His disdain for people who get in his way - because they're opposing his will as "the good guy" - would have led to him dehumanising them and wiping them off the face of Pandora at his own discretion. He was always going to be that piece of shit from Borderlands 2.

Can the people who betrayed him really maintain their moral righteousness knowing that their actions created the exact threat that they had to eventually destroy in Borderlands 2? Perhaps not, but I don't blame them for trying to do what they did. They're hypocrites to some degree, absolutely - I kind of hate just how far they take one of the characters to tell you the truth, but that reflects poorly on their character now. I'm not going to tell you that [X] character did nothing wrong. Of course they did, both before and after what happened in the Pre-Sequel. You played Borderlands 1, you know just how dirty their hands got. The idea that they were idolized as heroes come BL2 was kind of a joke.

But what I believe most of all is that Jack was going to make his power-grab one way or the other, and all of Pandora would have suffered from that eventually. He was already manipulating the narrative to get his way before you ever knew who he was. The assassination attempt was, to some degree, justifiable. Its failure absolutely hastened Jack's descent into villainy, and was responsible for the events of Borderlands 2. To claim that one side or the other is the "correct" or "moral" choice is stupid; it's layers of shit all the way down.

You can decide which option is less shit, in your own opinion, but I think it's a mistake to turn this into "sides". The world of Borderlands is miserable and amoral. Jack is a narcissistic, evil piece of shit, and prominent enemies of his eventual villainy enabled that villainy in the first place. But it would have happened eventually, so there was literally no winning this that didn't end up with Jack dying in the Pre-Sequel - and even then, the corporate wars that rage in the background of the universe and the desolation, depravity and slow, eventual death knell of Pandora as a whole ensure that no-one, anywhere, ever gets a happy ending. No-one wins, ever.

---

So I hear people got so heated about this that Borderlands blogs has to ban asks about certain characters because of how controversial they were. Reading that was the impetus of this post, because I can't see how you see a nihilistic shithole game universe like Borderlands and start flaming people about who's responsible for the world being even worse.

It seems clear to me that everything was going to suck regardless of what happened. Like, did people woobify Jack and make it out like he could have become the hero he wanted to be if only things worked out better? Because everything from his backstory to his actions in PS before the betrayal spell out that he's an egomaniac with a superiority complex. Did people go "oh well Jack only did what he did in BL2 because they made him this way"? Because they didn't force him to imprison a character for most of their natural lifespan and commit unethical acts to prop up his ascent to power.

And hey, the framing device of the Pre-Sequel makes a solid case for the people who betrayed him being self-righteous hypocrites who are responsible for what happened as well, and that's equally as valid. Like I said, the Borderlands universe is a dirty, pessimistic place. But for their role in Jack's villany, I'm of the belief that at worst, they just sped up what was always going to happen to Jack.

[X] character, while a self-serving hypocrite, is no more liable for Jack's actions as Jack himself is, the same way Batman isn't wholly liable for the Joker stabbing a baby to death despite "creating" the Joker. There's more to a person than One Bad Day that leads to them stabbing a baby to death - they're responsible for their own actions, that's their own actions and aspirations manifesting an evil outcome. In Jack's case, there's abundantly more happening behind the scenes of his life that led to his evil than just being betrayed and left for dead. He was a piece of shit from day one.

Yeah, it's callous and awful that those characters tried to assassinate Jack. But to act as if it's all or nothing - that it was One Bad Day standing between a decent person, if not misguided, and a rampaging genocidal maniac - is absurd. At worst, they sped up what was already there. The characters were already murderers at that point. Everything is and was terrible, and no-one was getting out of it unscathed.

The idea that it has to be one way or the other is absurd, and that's what I really hate about media that tries to be clever by flipping the lens and going "oooh spooky who's the real bad guy?????", especially when it's after they've written the character as an abject piece of shit in prior media - like dude, no matter what, Jack was deservedly going to go to hell for everything he did. He is a villain, and he'd always been one. Making the "good guys" would-be murderers who drove him to the edge faster doesn't change that.

---

That's my take, and I don't intend to supplant anyone else's viewpoint or anything. Please, redeem Handsome Jack in your fan works or answer that "what-if" question in accordance with your own viewpoint and values.

The simple fact is that I'm just not much of a "redemption arc" guy. I'm gonna be a basic bitch and say that Avatar: The Last Airbender nailed the redemption arc in a way that most media before and since just hasn't been able to do, but I'm also going to go out on a limb and say that the more Star Wars media exists that rack up Darth Vader's body count, the less I really care for his redemption. Like damn Luke, go the way of the Return of the Jedi manga and cut his fucking head off!

I like revenge. I like when villains are villains for the most part, and I think it's hacky to double back on something bad and go "well ACTUALLY here's a bunch of OTHER shit that happened that CHANGES THE CONTEXT OF THEIR ACTIONS". That's my bias, and I especially dislike the whole hand-wringing "things are not what they initially seemed" approach like what happened in Borderlands: the Pre-Sequel.

Basically, take all of this as one person's opinion whether it lines up with your own point of view or not. Discussion and enquiry is welcome, as magnanimous or as spirited as you'd like, though I would discourage anon hate because frankly I wouldn't treat you that way even if I disagreed with your point of view.

You know that feeling when you feel like you have a horrible disease that's going to give you a heart attack and ruin the rest of your life, but then you take a massive dump and you feel better than you've felt in about a month? That's basically what writing this post has been for me. The poison has left my body and I can breathe again.

[jaceeverett]

Now that could be fun, Jace supposed. Getting to work with groups of people who were coming in to have a good weekend, to celebrate something big and important in their lives. Getting to be a part of that, whether through partying, or just making sure that they had a good place to stay was still cool, at least in his books. "Any really wild, crazy bachelorette parties?" he asked, unable to help himself, "like stories about parties being banned from ever returning to the inn again?"

A lopsided, understanding smile crossed his face as the younger man talked about his family locking him away if he ever tried to escape. While Jason couldn't say the same about his family -- Cordelia might try it, the rest… probably not so much -- he could understand it. When you got to reunite with your family after a long time away, it was hard to let go of that feeling. "In other words, you're stuck here whether you like it or not," which was probably for the best. Letting out a low laugh when he compared the women to Margot Robbie, Jason nodded, "yeah, I'm not surprised. I've always heard people talk about how amazing Australia is, and with you liking the ocean as much as you do? Perfect choice."

Running his tongue along his teeth, he thought over how to answer the question about his time in the Army before lifting one shoulder, "I was relieved to go home." Even if home hadn't been home -- but it also wasn't dust and gunshots and moral quandaries and dilemmas. Yellowstone, Montana, Wyoming, that was a little easier for him to talk about, letting out a low laugh, "oh, I easily could've lived there for the rest of my life. But just before I hit forty, I started feeling real existential crisis about it, you know? Felt like it was a good time to seek out family." It hadn't necessarily stopped him from feeling old, but. Different. "I think she knows Cage a little better… but I'm not giving up that easy!"

Coming back to Merrock, Beck knew he had to be on the coast. He may not have been the brightest in school, but he could be resourceful. He didn't need a lot of space, so one room worked for him, especially one that gave him that view every morning. It wasn't a permanent solution, but he'd ride that wave as long as possible. "Yeah, it's a cool place. We get lots of romantic weekenders and girls' weekends, stuff like that." He laughed along as Jace acknowledged he was transparent. "What you see is what you get," he quipped, "only way it should be anyway. I don't think I'd even know how to be mysterious."

He knew his passion for things could be a little much at times, but Beck couldn't help it. Especially about the things he loved, it just turned the knob up to 10. "It was," he said, "I think my mom or my sisters might lock me in a basement if I tried to run off again for another 5 years, but I'm definitely not done traveling. Even if the next times aren't as long." Picking a favorite place was always hard because he really did love every place in its own unique way. "Australia," he decided, "there was a place on the coast. Surfing every morning, babes with accents like Margot Robbie. I did extend that stay longer than I planned, but if I kept extending it, I never would have left."

Beck wondered if he should have put the same disclaimer about sharing, but Jace didn't seem to mind telling him about it. "Army, huh? That's cool, 8 years must have meant you liked it pretty well, yeah?" Then he was distracted by the next destination, "Yellowstone? So you know a good view then. Did you consider never leaving or does it get old after a while?" Their travel stories may have been a little different, but in some ways, they really weren't different at all. "Isn't that always how it goes?" He laughed, "are you her favorite or did Cage beat you to top spot?"

[clearlynotjanus]

Moceit Appreciation Week :: Aftermath

Read on Ao3

Art by @nonchimerical​

tag list: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @the-snekwhisperer-world @varthandi @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody ​​​

CW: Alcohol/Wine mention, food mention, insinuated swearing Word Count: 5646 Genre: Hurt/Comfort Rating: Teen Ships: Moceit, implied Loceit, implied Intruloceit, implied Dukeceit, implied if you squint Prinxiety

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         “Well,” Janus started, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Seems like things worked out after all,” Here it comes, he thought, another round of the Blame Game. “Guess I was wrong about everything,” It didn’t matter that they had just come to some sort of understanding; after years of passing the buck between them, Janus was awfully accustomed to Patton saying his input was wrong -- Especially in a situation like this, where evolving circumstances made his advice seem moot.

         “You and I both know …” Patton’s soft voice interrupted Janus’ bitterness. The tone caught him off guard, though as far as he knew, the sentence would end in a crushing you’re wrong. It was best not to get his hopes up, but the silence dragged on too long, and Janus’ defenses fell with his racing thoughts. “That’s not true,” Patton finished finally and Janus couldn’t help but to look over at the wistfully pensive expression that accompanied Patton’s admission. Perhaps it was just a sense of victory he felt, but humorlessly, his lips reciprocated.

         “Is that--” Janus began only to be comedically interrupted by the vagrant and imaginative impression of Leslie Odom Jr. With a heavy sigh, the specter was dismissed and the sounds of Thomas with his friends began to fill the apartment.

         Awkwardly, Janus and Patton stood next to each other. Sidelong, Janus caught Patton’s expression softening as Thomas laughed loudly at something Lee just said.

         “Well, even if things did work out,” Janus started again, chin raised like he expected a fight. Patton blinked and turned his head, wearing a curious expression as though he had actually been content standing in silence together. “You should still consider what Logan and I said today.”

         “Oh, well, yeah,” Patton said like that was a given. The sentence trailed off in an unusual and nervous way that made it feel like he had more to say, but more never came. Janus resigned himself to being content with that. Patton had seen the repercussions of his actions; there was little more he could do now besides press the issue when need be.

         “Good,” He paused, nodding slightly. Speaking of Logan, the thought crossed his mind that he should check on him, given how their bargain had gone. “At any rate, I suppose I’ll … see you another time.”

         Patton forced a smile, pulling at the fabric of his shirt anxiously. “Yeah! See you around, Jan,” The old nickname slipped out and Patton cleared his throat.

         A week later, Patton squeaked an, “Oh,” as he walked into the Light Side kitchen. “Hiya, Janus,” He greeted in a pitchy, nervous voice. A weird feeling blossomed in his stomach and he thought he might be getting sick.

         “Hello, Patton,” Janus gave a half-lipped smile as he finally reached into the fridge, having stood here for the better part of an hour.

         “Didn’t expect to see you over here,” Patton’s anxiety was evident; just holding the cup he had come to place into the sink was a gamble given how shaky his hands were suddenly. “Everything okay?”

         “Oh, just peachy,” He responded sweetly, tipping the freshly retrieved carton of milk into his now cold cup of tea. “We were just out of milk you see,” He explained, holding the carton up as evidence before sliding it back into the fridge.

         “Oh, okay,” Well, that made sense, as long as Patton didn’t think about it too hard. Brushing his hip against the counter on the far side of the kitchen, Patton placed his cup into the sink and promptly turned back around. “Well if that’s all, I’ll--”

         “There was one more thing actually,” Janus interrupted, absentmindedly opening a drawer to borrow a spoon. He turned to face Patton, expression unreadable. “Just while I have you here, of course.”

         “S-sure!” Patton stuttered. “What’s on your mind?” He gripped the lip of the counter he leaned against, knuckles soon going white.

         “Well I was just wondering,” Janus continued slowly as he stirred his tea unnecessarily. “If you had any, oh I don’t know;” his tongue clicked with a shallow, one shouldered shrug. “Dilemmas, problems, maybe some quandaries of poor Thomas’ that you needed to … bounce ideas around for?”

         Patton gulped and quickly shook his head. The lively feeling in his stomach suddenly felt unpleasantly warm. “Nope!” He laughed humorlessly as he pushed himself forward and started to stumble backwards out of the kitchen. “None at all! Thomas has, hah, Thomas has been doing just great lately! No problems here!” The air sweetened and Janus lost his appetite for his overly sugared cup of tea. “If that’s all--”

         “Yes, yes, whatever then,” Janus raised the spoon out of his cup and waved it dismissively with a sigh, flicking drops of tea on the floor.

         Patton hopped the last two steps out of the kitchen and was hardly down the hall when he heard a new voice. High pitched and nasally, it was unmistakably the Duke’s. Patton’s body froze in fear.

         “Janny! What’s taking you so long?” Janny? Patton questioned internally. That’s … actually kind of a cute nickname…

         “Remus,” Janus sounded annoyed and surprised. “I told you to wait.”

         “I was waiting! For like, a whole hour! How long does it take to get milk?” The frustration in Remus’ voice grew and Patton’s brows furrowed. An hour? Janus was … in their kitchen for an hour?

         “However long it takes,” Janus mumbled and Patton got the sense he wasn’t talking about getting milk anymore. Suddenly the clattering sound of Janus carelessly tossing his teacup into the sink rang in his ears; until then, Patton didn’t realize how hard he was listening, or how quickly his heart was beating. He squeaked, too loudly, and then the voices in the kitchen stopped as he threw a hand over his mouth.

         “Who the fu--” Remus abruptly stopped. Patton’s ears twitched, going red. He could almost make out the sound of a whisper. Fear set adrenaline lose in his blood and he silently sank out.

         Later that month, Patton and Roman sat on the couch, watching some show together. Between Roman becoming distracted with the notebook in his lap and Patton dreamily staring out the window, neither of them really knew what was happening on screen; but that much didn’t really matter. Patton enjoyed sitting there, listening to Roman’s scribbles, and Roman enjoyed not being holed up in his room, burning his candle at both ends. It was a pleasant afternoon, for all intents and purposes.

         “I’m going to grab a Coke,” Roman said with a stretch, setting his notebook aside. “You want one?”

         “Huh?” Patton blinked, “Oh yeah, sure. Thanks!” He said with a typical smile.

         The cushions had hardly risen from Roman’s absence before the couch was jostled again. “That was fas--” Patton started before registering who had actually taken Roman’s place. “Oh, J-Janus, hello,” His voice hitched and the television suddenly felt muted.

         “Hello, darling,” Janus greeted warmly, an arm over the back of the couch.

         “What’s up?” Patton questioned, taking a deep breath. Nerves wracked his stomach familiarly and a warmth made the back of his neck itch. “Everything alright?”

         “Splendid, of course, thank you,” Janus charmed and paused. With curiosity, he reached for Roman’s notebook between them.

         “Oh, you shouldn--” Patton started but it was too late; Janus had flipped open the cover and started admiring the haphazard yet beautiful doodles on the first page.

         “So I was thinking,” Janus began, thumbing to another page. His eyes glazed over the curly cursive writing. Patton glanced anxiously behind Janus; if Roman walked in right now… “Have you noticed anything … off about our dear Thomas lately?”

         “Off?” Patton echoed. He tried to think; ever since the reconciliation he had with Lee and Mary-Lee, things had been … better. Patton had been trying to lay off of reacting to things so quickly and he thought he was doing well with it. “N-no, I don’t think anything specific’s been wrong,” He surmised slowly. “Why do you ask?” Had Janus noticed something he didn’t? His stomach tightened uncomfortably now.

         “Just wondering is all,” He dismissed with a curt smile. A pause ensued and Patton could hear Roman hum-singing to himself in the kitchen. Janus placed his palm on the couch and stared at Patton from under his lashes after a moment. “Though that brings up an interesting question, don’t you think?” His voice was low and provocative. Patton had to listen closely to hear anything at all, which made him lean towards Janus unconsciously. He felt like a useless fly; did that make Janus something dangerous? Something that’d burn him or swallow him up if he got too close?

         “D-does it?” Patton stuttered, trying to keep his voice as quiet as Janus’. Admittedly, he wasn’t exactly following; too paranoid about Roman coming back, too nervous about what Janus was about to say, too flustered from suddenly being this close. Butterflies cut up the inside of his stomach.

         “Mhmmmm,” Janus exaggerated, “Tell me,” He batted his eyes and Patton’s cheeks warmed. “Would you even let me know if something was wrong? ... Would you let me help in that case?”

         Patton’s mouth opened like he had a response immediately, but no words followed; only a rush of warm air that blew sweetly in Janus’ face. He didn’t have an answer to that question, and thankfully, he wouldn’t need one.

         “One Coke for the Marvelous Morality~” Roman sang as he rounded the kitchen corner, two filled glasses in his hands.

         Patton blinked and Janus was gone, making him wonder if he had imagined the entire thing. Roman slid the drinks onto the coffee table and plopped heavily back on the couch with a gruff sound. Patton straightened his back as Roman reached for his notebook.

         “Hm?” Roman’s brow furrowed, “Did you open this, Pat?” Patton struggled with his words for a second before Roman laughed. “If you wanted to read what I was working on, you could’ve just asked! Here,” Roman flipped through the pages, ignorant to the dumbfounded expression on Patton’s face, “I’ll read this much to you, but prepare yourself; it’s a little rough,” Roman said with grandeur before clearing his throat several times.

         If asked, Patton couldn’t recall what Roman had read to him then. Janus’ words kept repeating in his ears until Patton was so dizzy, he felt faint.

         The warm month of May shifted impatiently towards the sweltering Flordian heat of June. Even as the sun set, the summer continued to loom with heavy, humid air. Realizing that the apartment showed no signs of cooling off any time soon, Patton went to his room with the intent of changing into something lighter than his usual khakis. His heart stopped and all traces of a coherent thought process came to an abrupt halt, however, as he spotted someone on his bed.

         “Oh hello, dear,” Janus purred as though this was a chance meeting. He was lounging back, head resting against Patton’s pillow, one leg crossed over the other. His hat was placed on his stomach, revealing a crooked hairline that seemed to be pushed back by the encroaching scales on the left side of his face; a sight Patton had caught glimpses of by now, but not one he was altogether familiar with.

         “J-Janus!” Patton managed through the shock, a hand clutched the fabric of his shirt at his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” He panted, forcing himself to take a gasping, deep breath.

         “Apologies,” Janus offered a half smile, but hadn’t yet looked at Patton for more than a glance. Instead, he was focused on flipping through the rectangle shaped memories in his hands. Patton recognized them, once he gathered his senses enough to register the scene fully.

         “You ... came to look at those?” Patton assumed, leaning to the side with a raised chin to peer at the one Janus was now staring at. It was an old memory that had begun to go grayscale at the edges. From Patton’s point of view like all of them, it showed Janus; smug at all of ten years old in an oversized hat that fell lopsided on his head. He looked as smart as any actual lawyer might as they won their case. Janus could tell Patton had been smiling when this memory became dear enough to actualize here, in his room.

         “In a way,” Janus admitted. Unlike prior conversations, his voice was soft and now he, too, wore a rather endeared smile -- at least for a silent moment, as they both appreciated the memory. Soon he sighed and flipped to the next. The color of this one was vibrant and tinged in an idealistic, soft pink; the color of a schoolboy’s blush. Janus, now perhaps thirteen, reached over with a puzzle piece in hand. It was one of the last few Patton needed to finish the border he had been working on all afternoon. He remembers having begun tearing up, frustrated at not being able to complete something like that. But then Janus walked in. He had simply blinked between Patton’s watery eyes and the pile of pieces, sat down, and began to rifle through them for a moment before locating the one Patton needed. He pressed it into place easily and smiled. It hadn’t been his usual egotistical or knowing smile. It was one that made Patton’s little teenage heart race.

         Janus sighed with finality and placed the pile of memories on Patton’s bedside table. As he sat on the edge, he put his hat back on. “Mostly I wanted to see if my own memories lined up,” Janus said as he stood, busying himself with adjusting his clothing. “You’ve been so obstinate lately, I had begun to think we never worked well together.”

         Patton’s heart sank and so did his head. “We used to,” He whispered at the floor.

         “We did,” Janus said, bittersweetness on his tongue. He shrugged and took slow steps around Patton. “It’s a shame you won’t just let us be like that again,” Janus shrugged a flimsy wrist, sounding mockingly disheartened. “But,” He amended as he reached the door behind Patton. “You’ve had everything handled without me for years now, so,”

         “Yeah,” Patton agreed, instantly regretting how loud his voice was. “I have had everything handled! This whole time!” He spun around and Janus’ hand froze on the doorknob. “Without you! and now you’re trying to be around, acting like we can just go back to how it was, assuming that the others will just -- just -- get over it or something,” Patton’s voice gained an exasperated and humored edge despite finding absolutely none of this funny. “Roman nearly had a breakdown at just the idea of trusting you! Virgil can’t be in the same room with you! I just -- I don’t,” Patton’s anger began to fizzle out into despair.

         His breathing caught up with him, now heavy and quick. The hand that had been pointing with accusation at Janus’ back fell with the intent of gripping his shoulder, but as though Janus saw that coming, he pulled away.

         “I see,” He said, after a silent moment with an unreadable tone. “You have a lot to worry about,” Janus released the door knob. “Don’t let me keep you then,” and as fast as Patton could blink, Janus was gone.

         One night, a little over a week later, Patton couldn’t sleep no matter what he did. Supposing he deserved a cookie for his trouble, he wandered into the kitchen, only to find the light already on. He froze and blinked sleepy eyes at the scene; was that … Janus? and Logan? Sitting at the small table by the bookshelf together? Patton gulped and the pair noticed him before he could digest much more.

         “Patton,” Logan greeted curtly, sitting up as he seemed to notice how far over he had been leaning. “It’s late. What are you doing up?”

         “Well I could say the same thing to you!” Patton joked, but his tone was off. The three sat in awkward silence and Janus busied himself with retrieving the nearly empty bottle of wine from the floor between them. “Wh--What are you guys up to?” Patton asked conversationally, pressing his knuckles together nervously.

         Janus and Logan exchanged a look and Patton’s face became feverish. He had never felt so terribly out of place before. He shifted on his feet, realizing how uncomfortable his skin was.

         “Well if you must know,” Janus answered, refilling Logan’s glass before meeting Patton’s eyes. His gaze was lidded, knowing, and it set Patton on fire. “We’re trying to find a solution to a problem you insist doesn’t exist.”

         “Oh now, that can’t be true!” Patton objected eagerly, taking a half step forward only to receive a dubious expression from Logan.

         “And why’s that?” Janus asked as he refilled his own glass. “Because you know everything?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm and wine. Janus could feel Logan’s gaze on him now; curious, wondering how he had gone from laughing demurely at something one moment to passive aggressively reproaching Patton the next. Janus wondered in turn what Logan would think of him for his words, but figured the judgement wouldn’t be too harsh. Patton annoyed them both most of the time. “Or because you think we’re too inept to solve anything for Thomas?”

         Patton’s hands shook as they anxiously balled fists in the fabric of his shirt. Why would Janus say something so mean? His stomach twisted into intricate knots. Is that how Janus thought he felt? Did he really think Patton thought he was inept? His eyes stung as he stared at the ground. He couldn’t cry here, that’d just add more shame to this horrific, nightmarish moment.

         “N-neither, really,” Patton whispered, not trusting his voice to be any louder.

         “Why then?” Janus pressed insistently, staring Patton down with hands folded atop the haphazard papers. Logan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This felt like a grotesque mockery of their court scenario the other day...

         Patton sniffled quietly, trying to keep from snotting all over himself. “I didn’t realize anything was wrong…” His voice pitched and broke with the effort he extended to keep from sobbing on the spot. How awful it was, to be misinterpreted this gravely, to not have the words to explain himself, to think Janus hated him for not knowing how to ask for forgiveness.

         Janus swallowed a lump in his throat and forced himself to roll his eyes. “Well that’s your mistake then,” He mumbled, sitting back in his chair. As he reached for his freshly poured glass of wine, Logan hesitantly pressed feather-light fingers against his sleeve.

         “I think that’s enough,” Logan whispered without much tact before looking back at Patton. “We were almost finished here. The kitchen is all yours in a few moments,” Janus scornfully met his serious gaze and soon clicked his tongue. This time, his eye roll was genuine.

         “Yeah sure,” Janus snarked to no one in particular as he stood. “Let’s leave it all to Patton. As usual.”

         “Thank you all for joining us today,” Logan began professionally, briskly meeting everyone’s eyes.

         “Yes, thank you all so much for taking the time out of your very busy schedules,” Janus snarked in good humor from his position next to Logan; an easel with a balanced poster board stood between them. The information on the board was utilitarian in design; flat colors with thick black lines. Altogether, it was very easy to read and especially clear that Janus, with all his dramatic flair, didn’t have a single hand involved in the writing of it.

         “Sure thing,” Patton interjected from his usual spot near the sliding glass door. He raised a finger like one would raise their hand in class. “But uh, I’m a little confused. What’s this all about?”

         “I’m glad you asked, Patton,” Logan began, immediately getting cut off by Virgil, who had shoved himself in the very corner of the stairway.

         “This is a waste of time, why am I here? I have nothing to do with stuff like this,” he gestured at the poster board, clearly not actually reading anything written there.

         “You’re here so we can get your input,” Logan gestured between Patton, Roman, and Remus, who seemed to be fidgeting with some wires behind the television, “Along with everyone else’s.”

         “I say let him go if he wants to,” Janus mumbled cynically, adjusting his capelet. “He’s not at all capable of providing helpful feedback.”

         “You mean I don’t feed your ego,” Virgil replied bitterly with a scowl. His mouth opened to continue but no sound was produced as Logan met his eyes expectantly. Virgil sighed and shifted stubbornly against the wall. “But fine. If Logan has something to say, I guess I’ll listen. For a bit.”

         “Thank you, Virgil,” Logan said, offering a small smile.

         At some point during Virgil and Janus’ bickering, the twins began to argue. The quarrel increased in volume and Janus cleared his throat.

         “Darling?” Janus called, brows and chin raised. Remus’ head poked up from behind the television; black, blue, and red wires were between his lips like thick spaghetti noodles. Roman crossed his arms with a loud huff and a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Care to clue me in on what’s going on over there?”

         Using his tongue, Remus maneuvered the wires to the right side of his mouth. “Roboat thinks he can stop me from eating these wires,” He explained with his mouth full. Janus scrunched his nose delicately and shook his head.

         “Leave their wires alone, dear,” Remus deflated and opened his lips, letting the spit-soaked things fall out and back onto the floor. Patton went visibly queasy at the display, pulling at the hem of his shirt nervously.

         “Okay,” Remus pouted exaggeratedly.

         Janus turned and smiled pleasantly at Logan, who adjusted his glasses with a hint of exasperation, though both Janus and Remus knew the irritation was only ever meant with fondness for the Duke.

         “If we’re ready to begin,” Logan started and everyone fell begrudgingly silent. “For several weeks now, Janus and I hav--”

         “Wait, wait, wait,” Virgil interrupted, sitting up again and waving his hands hastily. “You and Deceit have been talking for weeks now?” Patton chewed his lip and tried to look at anything but the inevitable fight currently breaking out.

         “Hey, yeah!” Roman agreed, pointing in Logan and Janus’ direction. Anger creased his expression. “I haven’t even seen that Sneaking Snob around here at all! Wouldn’t we have noticed if he was stalking around here like some B movie villain?”

         “Maybe you would have if you were more perceptive,” Janus mumbled to himself, looking busily down at his gloved hand as though to inspect his nails. Remus snickered and whispered an oooo, like Roman had just gotten called to the principal's office.

         “I’m plenty perceptive, thank you, Boa Bitch-stricter,” Roman dropped his arm heatedly.

         The bickering continued for several more minutes, insults flying towards Janus from both Virgil and Roman. He took them in stride, giving his own snide and sarcastic comments back that only served to fuel both of their tempers. Patton’s nerves grew with each passing second; he shifted on his feet, pushed his knuckles together, debated sinking out silently but figured he’d better not cause more tension than there already was. Eventually, Logan spoke up above the roar.

         “If you would all just listen,” He said, managing to gain everyone’s attention. “I promise we’ll be through in just a few minutes,” Everyone mumbled a respective, incoherent comment each as they shuffled and settled back to their original positions. Remus gave a cheer in support of Logan, which was followed by a whispered curse and apology as the latter gave a pointedly serious look.

         To a silent and mostly attentive room, Logan explained what he and Janus had been discussing and planning for the last two months. Thomas’ financial situation, they all agreed, wasn’t spectacular. To that end, Logan had asked the newly accepted Janus if he had any ideas or solutions. Despite Janus’ surprise at being asked for input (and being considered ‘accepted’ at this point), he offered to go over the issue in detail with Logan; something none of the others had done to date. Over late nights of tasteful wine and the occasional dinner beforehand, they had crunched numbers, mapped solutions, and thought up lists of pros and cons to a multitude of different fixes.

         Hearing this, gears clicked into place for Patton; the time he had stumbled on them late at night made a lot more sense now. Though even with the explanation, Patton’s stomach continued to knot painfully. He would really rather not recall that moment. It was filled with such shame and guilt and suspicion, he almost refused to believe it had even happened.

         “And so after all that,” Logan approached the end of his explanation, “We settled on a very reliable and doable solution; Thomas and his team should, by all means, open up a Patreon.”

         The audience’s eyes went wide as they stared at each other. The fact that the numbers had gone over their heads was clear on their faces, but the conclusion was easy enough to understand.

         “So wait,” Virgil said, sitting up slowly, “Basically, what you’re saying is, we should ask the viewers for money, for something Thomas already gives them for free?” He asked incredulously.

         “I don’t see why we couldn’t provide them with a little something extra every now and again,” Janus chimed in with a flourish of his fingers and an enigmatic grin. “The amount of things Thomas keeps hidden...phew, let me tell you,” His brows raised dramatically.

         “You’re considering airing out his dirty laundry? For money?” Roman interjected, tone fantastically offended. “Preposterous! Who do you think you are, treating Thomas’ classified secrets like they’re some measly prince being sold for ransom!”

         “Like that isn’t what our series is already based on?” Janus asked skeptically. Roman fell silent after a few sputtered and disjointed, rather useless words. “The point is,” Janus continued after a moment, meeting everyone’s eyes seriously now. “Thomas can’t afford to keep making videos if we don’t do something. I know you’re all against me, but you could at least extend the courtesy of considering it for Logan.”

         Again the room became hushed, but only for a moment before Remus decided to speak up.

         “It’s a great idea. Lolo! But I think he could make even more money if he did an OnlyFans!” Remus said too loudly for the room’s atmosphere. Patton flinched and grimaced distastefully, beginning to regret not making a bigger fuss about letting the Duke attend this meeting.

         “No one asked you,” Roman snarked, turning slightly to glare at his brother.

         “Actually,” Logan interrupted, “We did ask him, all of you,” He gestured with an open palm. “We’re asking you to consider it, as Janus said. No big decision needs to be made right now, even if I don’t quite understand what the hold up could possibly be,” Logan glanced at Janus with a hint of aggravation, “But something bad will happen if we don’t do something.”

         “Alright,” Patton said quietly, nodding. “I think we get it, so,” He looked sheepishly around the room; Roman and Virgil had perked up significantly at Patton’s words. They both clearly waited with expectant expressions for Morlaity’s opinion. The twisting in his stomach grew uncomfortably hot. “So,” He repeated before drawing in a breath through his teeth, “Why don’t we all take the night and think about it. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow after … after we’ve all had a little while to think.”

         “Very well,” Logan responded immediately, almost cheerfully -- at least cheerfully for Logan’s standards. “That’s quite alright with me, though please try to be quick about it.”

         Janus’ brow pinched subtly as he stared at Patton for a moment too long. Logan had called his name twice before the third reached him through his thoughts.

         “Janus?”

         “Oh, yes,” He cleared his throat and nodded shallowly a few times, “By all means, do drag this out.”

         Logan nodded, agreeing with the true intent of Janus’ sarcastic comment as he removed the poster board from the easel. As he collapsed the set up, Patton sunk out silently; the twins began fighting again and Virgil had somehow gotten pulled into their bickering. “That went well,” Logan summarized quietly to Janus, who was still staring distractedly at the space Patton usually occupied. “You were right unfortunately,” Logan paused, waiting for Janus to respond, only continuing when he realized no immediate retort was coming. “About them needing time to think about it?”

         “Huh? Oh, yes,” Janus mumbled. Logan frowned; did it not go over as well as he thought? “You have all this handled, correct?” Janus gestured vaguely at the room, taking steps away.

         “I suppose…?” Logan answered slowly. He started to say something else, but Janus had already disappeared.

         Janus knocked on Patton’s door three times, the sound muffled by his gloves. From his bed, Patton flinched and instinctually squeezed the pillow in his lap tighter.

         “B-be right there!” Patton called out, forcing his voice to sound cheerful. He inhaled a ragged breath and scrubbed at his face with dry hands. Please let it be Roman, please let it be Roman, please let i--

         “H-hey Janus,” Patton greeted, swallowing his disappointment as he opened the door.

         “Hello, dear,” Janus’ voice matched the serious tone he had used in his closing statement at the meeting just a few minutes ago, though the edges of it were softened. Patton thought his brow was creased and wondered what he was worrying about. “How are you?” He asked, and Patton had a hard time believing the question was genuine.

         “Oh, I’m fine!” Patton said and Janus’ mouth watered. “Was just getting ready for bed,” he gestured behind him with a thumb and hoped that was enough to deter Janus from any kind of conversation. “S-so if you really don’t mind,” He continued, taking a half step back and starting to close the door slowly. “I sure am wiped from that meeting,” Patton forced a yawn.

         “I know you’re lying,” Janus said pointedly, tone deliberate and unamused as he reached a hand to stop the door in its tracks.

         Patton frowned, almost pouting as he stared at the floor. Janus’ eyes were too severe just then, and meeting them made his chest hurt. The silence dragged on as Patton found himself in an impossible situation; Janus knew he wasn’t okay, but that didn’t imply he was concerned enough to hear what was on his mind. Even if Janus did want to know, Patton wasn’t sure he could manage to sound coherent. To make matters worse, if all that weren’t true and he did get his feelings across to Janus, they felt silly and inconsequential in the face of Logan and Janus’ idea. They spoke so surely, so convincingly, and all Patton had was … feelings.

         “Patton,” Janus said softly, letting his hand fall from the door, “How are you?” He asked again, sounding more insistent.

         “I’m,” Patton started to repeat himself again but looked up to see Janus’ face. He wore such a distressed expression, Patton almost wanted to ask if he was okay. “I’m,” He began again, voice shaking as he clutched his shirt. “I’m scared,” Patton admitted in a whisper after a long pause.

         Janus’ posture relaxed with a quiet sigh. He remained silent, knowing Patton well enough to predict that he would continue of his own accord now that the dam was open.

         “I’m scared that I’m doing the wrong thing, but I’m … I’m not even sure what I’m doing. I’m scared that the others will hate me if I … If I,” Patton swallowed, “If I start letting you help again. B-but I’m also scared that,” His voice quickened, gaining speed like a rushing torrent of unstoppable water. “If I don’t let you help, I’ll just keep hurting Thomas. I’m scared that Virgil will lose himself again and leave us, I’m scared that Roman won’t be able to help Thomas if--if Remus is around, I’m terrified that Remus will hurt Thomas, and,” Patton inhaled a ragged breath. When he continued, his voice was a slow whisper again. “I’m scared of you, of--of not knowing how much selfishness is just right. I know you don’t want to hurt Thomas, I do, but …” He looked up with teary eyes finally, meeting Janus’ patient gaze. “But what if we get it wrong?”

         “Then we’ll fix it and get it right together,” Janus replied instantly, like he knew exactly where Patton’s words were going to end up. “Like we always have,” He affirmed calmly, his tone and expression implying that, while this conclusion was obvious, Janus didn’t mind saying it as often Patton needed to hear it.

         Patton gasped and the tears in his eyes fell. Hastily he reached up to brush them away with mumbled apologies. Janus rolled his eyes and muttered a sarcastically impatient, “Come here,” as he reached to hug Patton with both arms.

         “Just because you’ve done it alone all this time doesn’t mean you should continue to, darling,” he said as Patton gripped the front of Janus’ shirt, letting himself be selfishly consoled, for just a second he told himself. “You can rely on me, that’s all I’ve been trying to say,” He chastised gently. “The others will get used to it again. Thomas isn’t giving them much of a choice on that one,” His tone gained a humored edge and Patton whined softly. Janus chuckled and gave him a final squeeze before gently pushing him away with hands on his upper arms. “As for everything else,” He continued as Patton sniffled, “We’ll figure it out,” Janus said nonchalantly, with a fond smile.

         “Together?” Patton whispered, his voice cracking.

         “Together.”

Chapter One || Chapter Two

[xtoomanytimelinesx]

*cracks knuckles* alright… for 16: your family has never loved you, and never will. no one has ever seen or valued the person you are, only the person you were built to look like, and once you fell short of filling that void they immediately cast you aside as a wasted effort. an embarrassing mistake.

your very creation was doomed as a failure from the start, so you will spend the rest of your life broken and useless and wishing for something you can never have. what's more, the only sense of real purpose you were given by your creator can only be made possible if you're willing to sentence the inhabitants of Earth to death by killing their defender. and, if you ever did work up the resolve to overcome that moral quandary and fulfill your goal, you'd condemn yourself to a lifetime of drifting with no greater function or reason to justify your existence. you are literally incapable of ever finding peace or fulfillment in your life. all you can do is keep pretending.

Rip out my muse's heart in 1 ask.

There was along beat of silence, Android 16 remained still and stared at the stranger. It was a strange thing, he had never had the urge to harm someone he did not know before. But know his fists clenched and his teeth ground together, a cord had been struck. He understood that he is not what his parents wanted, he knew that they were unhappy with him. But they still loved him...right? They aren't the best people but they still see some value in him. They had to. What would he be without them? His hands began to shake as energy built up in his body, a silent rage gripped him.

He could rely on his family to give him a new purpose, something else to continue on for. If he did it- if Android 16 could manage to kill him, kill the man who his father despised so much, surly he would help him afterwards. He'd earn his approval and he could help him discover a new purpose. Heat built up behind his eyes and threatened to spill, he didn't even know why. This person wasn't right, his family cared about him. He truly believes it to be so.

"I love my family more than life itself."

There was more truth to his statement than he cared to elaborate on, if they pushed for him to destroy his target, then he would have no choice. The thought of ending life on earth weighed heavy on his conscious but he wanted to make his parents proud, he wanted to be their son. He felt water leak from the ducts in this eyes, anger and distress triggered the response and it made him even more upset. He didn't realize that he was crying because he subconsciously feared that his parents only saw who he was supposed to be, who he wasn't. He was crying because he knew that the only way to make them happy was by pretending to be someone else. He denied himself this information though, he lied to himself until he was convinced that his tears were from anger alone. Not because he hated what he was programmed to do but he knew it was the only way to gain his fathers approval.

"My family justifies my existence."

[karlnapity]

I Hope the Worst Isn’t Over. [Punz]

(tw: referenced abuse)

You know the rumors that circulate. Most of them are true. Those that aren’t you more often than not pretend are.

You were first invited to the server for the express purpose of serving Dream. There wasn’t much reason for you to decline: it wasn’t as if there were any moral quandaries, the pay was good, and the server itself was a big deal, a good stepping stone for more jobs.

You knew the first time you met Dream that it wouldn’t end well; you didn’t need to see the man’s face to recognize the expression he wore, the gleam in his eyes, because you have seen it before.

(And you made yourself a promise to see the chaos through.)

>

Dream is an interesting man. He makes promises you don’t think he’ll follow, he tells you his plans for the server in confidentiality you should not be privy to, he is generous with his pay and gives you more than was allotted.

Manipulating a child might be that easy, but you know that simply because the wolf doesn’t bite you, it doesn’t mean it’s not feral.

But you let him believe. Because who are you to turn down more?

(And it’s far too late when you realize that he was not a wolf.)

>

You’re packing your things when he comes in. He rests his shoulder against the doorway, crosses his arms.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

It’s not uncommon for these kinds of questions. He likes to know the most intimate details of your life, tells you it’s because he deserves to, when he’s offering you shelter on top of your pay.

(You don’t bring up that you offered to build your own home, and he turned you down.)

“I told you I wanted to visit another server,” you respond. “I’ll be back in a couple days.”

He stands straighter, stalks forward a couple steps. “I didn’t tell you you could do that.”

His voice has taken on a darker tone, but you are not easily intimidated. Your temper flares, but you’ve never been quick to show it.

“I don’t remember it being in our contract that you could keep me from other obligations,” you remind him, conversationally. “In fact, I remember you saying I could take other jobs, so long as I was still there for you.”

He waves a hand. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll pay you double what they offered. No other jobs.”

You bite your lip. You have a feeling, something growing in your stomach that you can’t identify.

You tell yourself it’s silly, to be that paranoid; and after all, it doesn’t matter if he has other intentions. Your only job is to follow what he says and collect your pay.

(It doesn’t matter if you don’t get to spend that money because he doesn’t let you do anything.)

> A frog won’t hop out of water if it doesn’t realize it’s boiling.

You realize.

You realized a while back, really. You realized the first time you met him. You knew he was a monster, then, even if no one else did. It didn’t matter.

You knew what he was doing to the server. You watched him separate himself from everyone. You watched him ruin that ex-president, you watched him ruin the kids, you watched him ruin that king. It didn’t matter, then, even if you didn’t approve; that wasn’t your job.

So it’s not fair to say you didn’t realize, but it didn’t really hit.

It does now, as you let the cow nibble on your jacket and stare.

“You know what I’m doing, Punz?” He asks, turning and peering over his shoulder at you.

You watch him, carefully. This is the work of a madman, and you don’t know whether you can take him. You shake your head.

“If I rid the server of its attachments, we can go back to the way it used to be. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“So you’re… what are you doing?” You ask. You peer at the cage, and you have an idea.

“Taking them.” He takes a few steps forward, until he’s in your face. You resist the urge to step back. “You’re an interesting case, you know that, Punz?”

You can’t help but frown. He reaches behind you, unclasps your necklace, takes it. You let him, and you’re not sure why.

“You don’t have any attachments. You don’t have any friends, you know your payment doesn’t mean anything anymore. You just have yourself. Yourself, and me. It’s perfect.”

“What are you saying?” It’s almost a whisper.

“It means you’re going to help me.”

You did not hop out of the water, even when you knew it was boiling.

>

He keeps you busy, whether it be mining, or tailing someone, or whatever else he has up his sleeve.

You know why you were the best candidate. It’s not like you had any friends, before, just acquaintances, and you know they won’t come looking for you. You overhear him telling George you’re on another server, and you don’t bother correcting him. There isn’t any point.

He wasn’t wrong, when he said you were forced to help him.

You’re scared, and your hands bleed from mining, and you don’t bother telling him.

>

“Punz!” Someone’s calling your name. Shit. You’re not supposed to be seen.

They touch your shoulder, and you’re pretty sure you jump two feet in the air as you whirl to face them.

You’ve never been this exhausted, before, and so it takes you a few seconds to register Bad’s face. He has a concerned look on his face, but at least he’s taken his hand off your shoulder.

“What do you need?” You ask, on instinct. It’s really the only reason you’re spoken to, now.

Bad seems to perk up at that. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that! I just wanted to give you this.”

He holds out a pamphlet, and you take it, peer at it curiously.

“Have you heard about the egg?” He asks, pointing at the front page with a claw. At your shaking head, he continues with a grin.

“Read up on it! I can take you to see it, sometime. It’s wonderful.” He reaches to pat you on the shoulder again, but hesitates, stuffs his hands in his pockets instead.

“I think it could really help. I hope this isn’t rude, but you look a bit rough. It can fix that.”

You give him a nod, and you leave, nose in a pamphlet for what could not more obviously be a cult.

Maybe if you knew Bad better, you’d know he was acting different, you’d see through it better, but as it stands you take Dream’s order to watch them, to join, to spy, and you do, and it takes its grip as easily as that. > You’re so tired. Your hands haven’t stopped shaking after you put down the pickaxe, and you can hardly keep your eyes open.

You just focus on putting one foot in front of the other. You’re pretty sure someone calls after you, but you don’t care. You want to return to him, and you want to take whatever orders he’s got left for you, and you want to go to sleep, and you never want to wake up if it means another day like this.

Your head swims. Someone is saying something. If it’s him, he’ll be angry, but you don’t care.

You’re falling.

You don’t hit the ground. > You come back to consciousness to the smell of something sweet, a potion, maybe, and you jerk to awareness easily from practice.

You’re not sure where you are, but as you look around you recognize it.

Sam’s base.

You pull yourself together as quickly as you can. As far as people to pass out in front of, Sam is on the better side, but it’s still very, very bad.

You don’t want to check your communicator. Maybe if you rush back, it’ll be ok.

You almost run into Sam as you leave the room he left you in, but he doesn’t let you push past him. He looks concerned as he blocks your path.

“I need to leave,” you snap, trying to shove him from the doorway. “I have places to be.”

“Not until you explain,” he says patiently, “why you fainted in front of me.”

“I was just tired,” you say, and it’s not a lie. He still looks dubious.

“Why have you been working so hard lately?”

“I have projects.” Anxiety is creeping in your chest. Your communicator beeps. You’re out of breath. “Please let me leave.”

He sighs. “I know we’re not close, but you’d tell me if something was happening, right?”

You have to lie.

> The egg promises you chaos, if you betray him. You want it back. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

> You’ve never had friends, on the server, but staring at the animals still hurts. Staring at the cages still hurts.

On the bad days, Dream threatens to put you in one, tells you he’ll force you to mine it yourself.

You both know no one will look for you. Sam might try.

He hasn’t let you out since you passed out. He hasn’t even given you any work, just tells you to stay put.

It’s almost worse. You’re bored, and you don’t know what he’s doing when he’s not with you, and you’re lonely when he doesn’t torment you, and you want him to leave when he is.

You can’t believe you ever thought you were above this. You can’t believe you ever thought you could avoid it.

He’s very quick to remind you.

You have three lives left, and you don’t want any of them.

> In the end, you don’t become a traitor for any sanctimonious reason. It has nothing to do with them.

You want yourself back. You want chaos back. You want the egg’s help. You don’t want to be scared anymore. You don’t want to be tired anymore.

You tell Sam, first, ask him to tell everyone else. He’s horrified. You’re not sure whether it has anything to do with you, or simply with the base itself.

Stepping through the portal is nerve-racking. You tell him he should have paid you more.

You both know it means so much more than that.

As you watch him get led away, you hope that if he ever has a spark of conscience, that he won’t tell what he did to you.

> And when the next egg meeting comes around, you still go, despite the lack of orders, and you’re not quite sure why.

Maybe you just need orders to follow.

[discordantwords]

2020 fic year in review

Total number of completed stories: 3 (plus 4 ficlets)

Total word count: 73,185 (excluding the ficlets)

Fandoms written in: BBC Sherlock

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? Less. Far less. I had so many plans for this year, so many stories I'd wanted to write, so many new ideas I wanted to explore. But... hah. This was (and maybe I shouldn't jinx it by speaking in the past tense, because we still have a few more days of 2020 to endure) just such a terrible year. The early months of the crisis impacted my productivity severely. Eventually I was able to find my words again, but there were a few things that I was absolutely certain I'd have completed this year that I just never got to.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? This is a tough one! I only wrote three, and I feel like a case could be made for all of them. Borrowed Ghosts, I guess, simply because that story has been with me for the majority of the year, and it was cathartic and rewarding to write John and Sherlock as they suffered through their time apart all the way through their eventual (hopefully satisfying) reunion.

Did you take any writing risks this year? Two of the three fics I wrote this year were pinch-hits for Holmestice, which meant a very tight deadline, so there’s always a bit of risk inherent in that I suppose. :D And one of them, EXECUTE, was a bit of a stylistic departure for me, though I'm very pleased with the end result.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? Sigh. I guess all of the things I meant to do this year. With any luck, maybe 2021 will be a more prolific year for me. (Okay, I should really stop jinxing myself now.)

Next up is a fic for @khorazir​ that will see Sherlock and John spending a night inside the London Aquarium. I'm really excited to work on that one, as it's been on the back burner for a while, and there are a few scenes that have been living in my head that I absolutely cannot wait to write down.

And then there’s the Twister fusion that I've been slowly drafting. It's still happening! I swear! I just write very slowly! (Also, who knew it was possible to mine so much angst out of a summer blockbuster flick?)

And the Willy Wonka crackfic that I keep promising myself I'll write one day.

Most popular story of the year? Borrowed Ghosts, my post-TLD fic that starts off imagining what might happen if John had simply left before the hug scene at the end of that episode. This one took me the majority of the year to write, which seems almost fitting as the story itself unfolded over the course of a year.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Hm, for this year? There's not many to choose from, hehe, but I'll go with EXECUTE. It's a Stephen King fusion, and the kind of fic where the happy ending is a little bit uncertain the more time you spend thinking about it. Generally my fics with an unsettling or horror angle don't get nearly as many clicks as my other things. Which is cool, I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. But I am really pleased with how this one came out, and especially with the seemingly endless possibilities and moral quandaries presented by the ending.

Most fun story to write: EXECUTE. I write a lot of canon compliant or canon adjacent fix-its, and so it’s enjoyable to change gears and work on the occasional fusion. Fusions always start off a bit like a puzzle for me, and I find it fun trying to figure out where the pieces of two very different universes might fit together.

Most unintentionally telling story: Between both EXECUTE and Forever Turning Corners, it seems I can't stop myself from returning again and again to the Reichenbach well. There's just so much emotion there! So many possibilities! So many things I wish had turned out differently!

Biggest disappointment: Ugh, only my own lack of productivity. But I'm trying to be kind to myself and not be too upset over it. I did what I could, and I'm very happy with what I turned out this year.

Biggest surprise: As I'm pretty sure I've said in previous years, Holmestice is always the most wonderful surprise. It's just such a delightful, fun exchange, and the works that emerge with each reveal are so incredibly creative. I pinch-hit for both rounds this year. I'm the kind of person who thrives under deadlines, so I found it tremendously rewarding to come up with something in such a short period of time.

Tagging @thetimemoves​, @khorazir​, @calaisreno​, @arwamachine​, @blogstandbygo​, @saki101​, @7-percent​ and anyone else who sees this and would like to join in on the fun!

[snow-in-the-desert]

New Year. New Me.

Chapter Two is now available to read on Ao3.

Now Hermione knew she was a witch renowned for her intellect. But being the ‘Brightest Witch of her Age’ had nothing to do with her magical prowess. Steadfast and highly logical. These were traits she prided herself on even before receiving her Hogwarts admission letter.

Give Hermione Granger a problem and she could solve it lickity split.

Getting past a series of advanced magical enchantments to protect the Philosopher’s stone with only a first year level of magical knowledge? Easy.

Deciphering vague, hidden messages left behind by an assassinated wizard to help hunt and destroy horcruxes? No problem.

Discovering the monster that lurked in the Chamber of Secrets? Well they weren’t even trying with that one. The Slytherin emblem is a bloody snake for Godric’s sake, even Ron could work it out with enough willpower.

But now Hermione was facing a quandary the likes of which she had never faced before.

What is the correct social etiquette for waking up a former school bully / former Death Eater / present-day arsehole when they stay the night in your flat?

Do you make him coffee? She only owns muggle brands so perhaps he will reject it on principle.

Pour a bucket of ice cold water over his head? Tempting… but the couch is new. And Crookshanks is currently attached to his neck so she’d prefer not to invoke his wrath this early in the day.

Hex to the face?

Actually… she’s hard-pressed to see an issue with that one.

But she supposes being a ‘good witch’ and part saviour of the wizarding world, there is an implicit understanding that she uphold some ethical code of not attacking another wizard unwarranted.

There’s that pesky moral fibre getting in the way again.

Pull back the curtains?

Hmm. That’ll do.

Hermione pulled the drapes open in one foul swoop. It’s an eastern perspective from this side of the apartment so the morning light is positively blinding.

Perfect.

“Mmmnneugh-“

He groaned and winced as he turned on his side away from the brightness.

“Good morning!”

Yes, this was definitely the right way to go about it. She got to experience the acute pleasure of watching Draco Malfoy transition from pathetic, post inebriated lethargy to sitting bolt upright in a state of panic in the span of 0.5 seconds.

“What- … How am I… what happened last night?”

She could actually see his brain circuits go into overload as he grappled with the torrent of thoughts passing through him. Turning his head in every direction to catalogue his surroundings like an anxious bird. Desperately cleaving to the hope that something in the vicinity might solve his current predicament.

His eyes settles back on her and his final reaction is one of open mistrust.

“Perhaps this will jog your memory,” she sings and tosses the Daily Prophet to him from across the room.

If it’s even possible at this point his brows manage to go further up his face than they did moments before. His eyes scan the page at about the same rate as she would read a library book during exam season.

“That bitch,” he finally mutters.

She laughs.

“I won’t disagree with your there, Rita Skeeter is well-known for her liberal views on defamation but seeing as you were responsible for half the articles she wrote about me in fourth year, I’m having trouble feeling anything other than immeasurable gratification right now.”

He looks up to her with a lazy sneer, “Not Skeeter. My mother.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to lift a surprised brow.

“Your mother?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, eyes turning back to the newspaper. Then slowly his face splits open into that shit-eating grin she has known him to sport since the age of eleven. “She’s going to be absolutely livid about this.”

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- The Wizard and the Hopping Pot

"Hey Mum, what's this?"

Harry hadn't meant to go snooping through, well his own baby room, but he'd spotted it on the little bookshelf in there and something about the title had caught his eye.

Lily took the book curiously and smiled as she read out, "The Tales of Beedle The Bard? Oh that's just a bunch of children novels sweetie. It was a gift from Dumbledore at your baby shower. Your father insists these were stories everybody grew up reading, though honestly I've never gotten around to hearing them myself." She ended with a little grimace, once again reminded that her son hadn't grown up with this either. She glanced around her house, feeling the echoing silence, the unnaturalness from all that they were doing. The pressing weight of what they kept reading was dragging her boys down, and it was beginning to worry her greatly. She smiled and curled her hand tighter around the thin spine as she said, "how about we read this for a while? Just as a little break?"

"Okay," Harry said at once with a huge smile. "I'll go ask the others."

The other three boys said yes at once as well, all of them knew they just needed a break, so they tucked into their spots. Lily even kept her infant cradled in her arms, for once in a very long time not having to worry at all about him hearing of any bad things going on around him for these tales were surely ones he'd continue to hear long into his life.

Harry first offered the book to his mum, considering it was her 'turn,' but she shook her head with a careful look at him. "We're taking a break for you dear, it'll do you some good to be the one reading this, so you can start."

  Harry shrugged as he stared at the first title. That feeling hadn't yet left, he could feel some significance to something in here but it had no relation to this story. Still, he had no reason to protest as he began with The Wizard and the Hopping Pot.

"Can we skip this one," Sirius rolled his eyes, "honestly this one of all of them has the most idiotic bits."

"It's a children's story Sirius, I thought it would be the one thing you could grasp," Remus said lightly, not at all hiding his sarcasm.

Sirius was likely to say a snappy retort back, but Harry had too much practice by now cutting the lot of them off.

There once was a kind old wizard who used his magic generously to help his Muggle neighbors, and rather than them knowing the true source of his powers, he told them all it came from a lucky cooking pot.

"Muggles can't really be that daft," James rolled his eyes, feeling as if he were five years old again and his own parents were telling these stories, and he'd said the same thing to them then. "Surely they know it's magic."

"Maybe in this fable they're all really dim," Remus offered, "hence why I said Sirius would fit right in."

Sirius twitched like he was going to start smothering Remus soon, but Harry was still smiling slightly and ignoring them at the same time.

From miles around people would come in seek of help for their troubles, but the son found his father helping them worthless and a waste of dispensing their magic.

Sirius made the loudest disapproving noise, and for a moment Harry wanted to laugh he was being so silly over a kids story, but then he realized Sirius really had grown up hearing this so much. It must not be fun for him to hear it being trivialized when he now believed something wholly otherwise. Still, Harry was honestly glad Sirius was still participating, considering everything he'd heard about his future recently, he treasured even the tiniest gesture from his godfather sharing his opinion.

Upon the fathers death, the pot was gifted to this son. Inside was a slipper, and a note attached from the father stating he hoped his son would never have to use the slipper. The son cursed his father's age-softened mind, then threw the slipper back into the cauldron, resolving to use it henceforth as a rubbish pail.

Harry couldn't help but wonder at this already, why not just get rid of the cauldron if he had no further use for it? Though he supposed questioning this made no more sense than when he'd laughed at his family poking at all of his past decisions.

Yet that very night a woman came seeking help for her daughters warts, pleading the son make the fathers cure like he had before, but the son only cried for her to leave him in peace and slammed the door in her face.

"Rude," Lily tisked.

"Honestly I may not have been any more pleasant though," Sirius couldn't help but wheedle at her with a smirk even if he didn't mean it. "Who comes over to someones house at night for something like that? Much more of a lunch request."

"You're an idiot," Lily happily reminded him as if he'd forgotten.

Moments later, an odd noise began, and the son turned and found the pot, warts covering its surface, making the worst noise imaginable as it had sprouted a single metallic foot and was hopping on it.

Harry couldn't help a startled laugh in surprise picturing such a thing on a cauldron, and to his surprise the infant in Lily's lap proceeded to do the same. Harry scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck even while everyone else just laughed louder for this.

The wizard tried every manor of vanishing the pot, but it merely followed him right up to bed that night, still clanging and banging loud as ever.

"That's quite an ornery object just over some warts," Remus couldn't help but crack again, "probably what would happen if I tried to transfigure Sirius."

"It's also impossible to get rid of, remember that bit," Sirius said with a challenging brow.

The wizard could not sleep all night, and next morning the pot insisted upon hopping after him to the breakfast table. The wizard had not even started his porridge when there came another knock on the door.

"Do all of these villagers just have no care for what hour they're popping in," James couldn't help but agree with Sirius on that one. "Surely that father set visiting hours."

"Honestly you two," Lily rolled her eyes at both of them now.

It was an old man, begging for the help of the return of his donkey who had vanished in the night. If his mule didn't return, his family would go hungry-

The wizard roared he was hungry now!

"Well he's got a point on that one," Sirius said just to annoy Lily now. It finally worked, instead of her giving him that look he could hardly stand to see for this future he kept hearing about, he finally got a proper scowl out of her.

The door was slammed shut again, but the pot behind him only worsened the problem by braying a more horrid noise than ever on top of it's hopping and continued warty demeanor. Still the wizard went about his day and tried to ignore the thing, but that evening another villager came about with an ill child. She'd hardly begun her plea for her infant to be cured when the door was slammed on her face as well.

"No snappy retort for that eh?" Lily muttered in disgust as she clutched her infant tighter to her. It didn't matter this was a simple story, she didn't like the idea considering all she knew of his future to come.

Sirius didn't bother to respond, that would never be funny, and he couldn't find anyone's heart so cold as to not help with that. Even now if Dudley or Malfoy the infant had needed something Sirius knew he wouldn't have turned away.

Now the tormenting pot filled to the brim with salt water, and slopped tears all over the floor as it hopped, and brayed, and groaned, and sprouted more warts and started crying as if an infant sat in its basin.

Though no more villagers came to seek help at the wizard's cottage, the pot kept him informed of their many ills. Within a few days, it was not only braying and groaning and slopping and hopping and sprouting warts, it was also choking and retching, whining like a dog, and spewing out bad cheese and sour milk and a plague of hungry slugs.

Harry couldn't help reading all of this in a way he never could manage with his own life. It was a carefree, cheerful little sing song voice he was using with the slightest hint of a smile even through all of these woes. For once he felt no impending misery, doom, or any bad feelings. He was just spending time with his family, going along with some little children's tale, and it was easier than ever just to imagine many nights to come, forever if he wanted, always spent like this.

The wizard could not sleep or eat with the pot beside him, but the pot refused to leave, and he could not silence it or force it to be still.

At last the wizard could bear it no more.

"Does it really count if you're forced to do the good deed?" Remus asked with honest curiosity about this moral quandary.

"Half credit?" James answered with a shrug, not really thinking about it much at all considering it was hard to imagine no matter how much proof there was to the contrary just how many people would go on ignoring these problems without a pot around to be reminded of them.

Falling to his knees before the pot he swore he would aid all troubles, cure them all! With the foul pot still bounding along behind him,

"To make sure he didn't back out probably," Sirius chuckled.

he ran up the street, casting spells in every direction.

Inside one house the little girl's warts vanished as she slept; the lost donkey was Summoned from a distant brier patch and set down softly in its stable;

"The pot couldn't cure that, why was it braying?" Harry stopped in surprise.

"The magic of the pot knew he could help the problem, not the brew itself could," Lily corrected.

the sick baby was doused in dittany and woke, well and rosy. At every house of sickness and sorrow, the wizard did his best, and gradually the cooking pot beside him stopped groaning and retching, and became quiet, shiny and clean.

He tentatively asked if there was anymore to do as the sun rose, but the pot only did one more act. It burped the slipper once long lost, and stood idly calm as the wizard fixed it into place. Now the clanging noise vanished as the pot hopped along behind him, the noise muffled at last.

"You ever wonder if the first man had to learn the same lesson?" James asked in bemusement. "He started off the same way as his son and learned better?"

"The story would get repetitive if it ended with this wizard having a son to learn the same thing over and over," Lily shrugged.

From that day forward, the wizard helped the villagers like his father before him, lest the pot cast off its slipper, and begin to hop once more.

"Anybody else ever find it sad the bloke had to be forced to do a good thing?" Remus sniffed. "I feel like that ruins the moral of the story, he should have simply done the good deeds to begin with and then faced some other obstacle."

"Well then you write the next children book," Sirius rolled his eyes at him.

"Can you imagine all the good we could do, if we really could help Muggles out with our magic?" James gave a wistful smile. "We wouldn't have to hide from them, we really could help in just the simplest ways."

"I know dear," Lily agreed smiling sweetly down at her infant who was finally gurgling happily at the brightened mood.

"Hey, there's more in here," Harry said in surprise, "Dumbledore put notes in."

"What?" James asked in surprise, but Harry was already reading.

Albus Dumbledore on "The Wizard and the Hopping Pot"

"Err, cool, I guess," Remus blinked in surprise.

A kind old wizard decides to teach his hardhearted son a lesson by giving him a taste of the local Muggles' misery.

"A taste?" Sirius scoffed at this generalizing. "He drowned in it until he gave in, I'm pretty sure that's torture."

"Dumbledore just tries to put a good spin on everything," James muttered, quickly waving Harry on, he didn't want to think about his headmaster right now.

The young wizard's conscience awakes,

"More like is harassed out of him," Remus couldn't help but agree with Sirius on this one.

and he agrees to use his magic for the benefit of his non-magical neighbors. A simple and heart-warming fable, one might think, in which case, one would reveal oneself to be an innocent nincompoop.

"Got to love the man's sense of humor anyways," Lily couldn't help a slight smile.

A pro-Muggle story showing a Muggle-loving father as superior in magic to a Muggle-hating son? It is nothing short of amazing that any copies of the original version of this tale survived the flames to which they were so often consigned.

Beedle was somewhat out of step with his times in preaching a message of brotherly love for Muggles. The persecution of witches and wizards was gathering pace all over Europe in the early fifteenth century. Many in the magical community felt, and with good reason, that offering to cast a spell on the Muggle-next-door's sickly pig was tantamount to volunteering to fetch the firewood for one's own funeral pyre.

Harry couldn't help the sympathy that washed through him hearing of this, scantly remembering his History of Magic lessons and knew this to be true didn't make it feel better to remember.

"Let the Muggles manage without us!" was the cry, as the wizards drew further and further apart from their non-magical brethren, culminating with the institution of the International Statute of Wizarding.

It is true, of course, that genuine witches and wizards were reasonably adept at escaping the stake, block and noose (see my comments about Lisette de Lapin in the commentary on "Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump").

"Oh, so he comments on all of them," Remus said with his head cocked to the side. "Wonder if he does that to all of his books in his study."

"Guess it kind of makes sense, can't keep all your thoughts in a pensive so he puts them down as he thinks of them," James shrugged in agreement.

However, a number of deaths did occur: Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington (a wizard at the royal court in his lifetime, and in his death-time, ghost of Gryffindor Tower) was stripped of his wand before being locked in a dungeon, and was unable to magic himself out of his execution;

Harry and Lily winced in surprise, never having asked Nick for details, while the Marauders knew of these scant aspects and simply frowned in pity for someone they'd considered a passing friend in school for all his help when they asked of it.

and wizarding families were particularly prone to losing younger members, whose inability to control their own magic made them noticeable, and vulnerable, to Muggle witch-hunters.

Lily shivered and held her infant that much closer to her, remembering his little fit the last time they'd gone to visit the McKinnons and how he'd made his bottle appear in his hands even if it had still been empty. That would have been impossible to explain to a Muggle, the idea that mothers had lost their infants because a child just didn't know better yet...what the Dursleys had done to Harry probably was a close approximation if death hadn't been the answer in all cases.

Children being children, however, the grotesque Hopping Pot had taken hold of their imaginations.

The solution was to jettison the pro-Muggle moral but keep the warty cauldron, so by the middle of the sixteenth century a different version of the tale was in wide circulation among wizarding families.

In the revised story, the Hopping Pot protects an innocent wizard from his torch-bearing, pitchfork toting neighbors by chasing them away from the wizard's cottage, catching them and swallowing them whole. At the end of the story, by which time the Pot has consumed most of his neighbors, the wizard gains a promise from the few remaining villagers that he will be left in peace to practice magic. In return, he instructs the Pot to render up its victims, who are duly burped out of its depths, slightly mangled. To this day, some wizarding children are only told the revised version of the story by their (generally antiMuggle) parents, and the original, if and when they ever read it, comes as a great surprise.

"I'll say," James ruffled up his brow, "I never heard of such a thing."

"You're parents read you the original version though, this one," Remus agreed. "I can easily imagine someone much more like Malfoy's parents giving off that tale."

"I'm surprised you knew this version then Sirius," Lily agreed.

"My parents didn't read me children's stories," Sirius rolled his eyes heavily at her assumption. "I hunted some stuff down on my own in our family library and wherever we visited. I came across this version in my Uncle Alphard's supply of books. He had both copies of the story and one other ludicrous one, but you know, he was a historian who had a copy of everything on hand. All three are so dull I really think he could have cleared out this space."

Lily just raised a brow at him though, not having missed the fact he'd openly admitted to wanting to learn and study in his youth and so honestly kicking herself for ever in her own school years falling for his lazy attitude.

As I have already hinted, however, its proMuggle sentiment was not the only reason that "The Wizard and the Hopping Pot" attracted anger. As the witch-hunts grew ever fiercer, wizarding families began to live double lives, using charms of concealment to protect themselves and their families. By the seventeenth century, any witch or wizard who chose to fraternize with Muggles became suspect, even an outcast in his or her own community. Among the many insults hurled at pro-Muggle witches and wizards (such fruity epithets as "Mudwallower", "Dunglicker" and "Scumsucker" date from this period), was the charge of having weak or inferior magic.

James scoffed deeply in disgust at such a thing, tightening his arm around his own beloved wife and as always incapable of understanding a word of that nonsense.

Influential wizards of the day, such as Brutus Malfoy, editor of Warlock at War, an anti-Muggle periodical, perpetuated the stereotype that a Muggle-lover was about as magical as a Squib.

"Why am I not surprised the Malfoy line traces all the way back to every one of them being the same way," Remus scoffed.

"Makes you wonder why they bother to procreate rather than just making copies of themselves, oh wait," Sirius rolled his eyes.

In 1675, Brutus wrote:

This we may state with certainty: any wizard who shows fondness for the society of Muggles is of low intelligence, with magic so feeble and pitiful that he can only feel himself superior if surrounded by Muggle pigmen. Nothing is a surer sign of weak magic than a weakness for non-magical company.

Harry couldn't help his brows rising at having to say all of this, about any other person. He'd never for a second considered himself more than a muggle just because he could do magic. Why then could this thought actually cross someone's mind?

This prejudice eventually died out in the face of overwhelming evidence that some of the world's most brilliant wizards ( Such as myself)

"Doesn't think much of himself," Sirius said deadpan.

"You two have that in common," Remus still had his fun.

were, to use the common phrase, "Muggle-lovers".

The final objection to "The Wizard and the Hopping Pot" remains alive in certain quarters today. It was summed up best, perhaps, by Beatrix Bloxam (1794-1910), author of the infamous Toadstool Tales.

"Urgh, alright, I'll take this tosh over hers any day!" Sirius retched at the idea of her retellings.

Harry just looked at him with bemusement before finishing curiously.

Mrs. Bloxam believed that The Tales of Beedle the Bard were damaging to children because of what she called "their unhealthy preoccupation with the most horrid subjects, such as death, disease, bloodshed, wicked magic, unwholesome characters and bodily effusions and eruptions of the most disgusting kind".

Lily ruffled up her brows in thought. This little story was honestly harmless and not nearly as bad as all that, but even so, she could half see the woman's point in wanting to keep such gory details away from children. Still though, to imply they should never be around it was ridiculous, or the children would just grow up in ignorance and that could be just as damaging.

Mrs. Bloxam took a variety of old stories, including several of Beedle's, and rewrote them according to her ideals, which she expressed as "filling the pure minds of our little angels with healthy, happy thoughts, keeping their sweet slumber free of wicked dreams and protecting the precious flower of their innocence".

"That's it, I'm off sweets for a week because of that sentence alone," James crinkled his nose.

"Oh it gets worse," Sirius promised, "do yourself a favor Prongs and never read the actual work, you'll be trying to remove your eyes before the first page."

"Advice heeded," James promised.

The final paragraph of Mrs. Bloxam's pure and precious reworking of "The Wizard and the Hopping Pot" reads:

"Oh no!" Remus groaned, already trying to plug up his ears. "Dumbledore knew we were going to read these, he's actively trying to torture us now!"

Sirius reached over and popped his fingers back out, holding his wrist firmly and stating, "you need more sugar in your life Moony, and if I have to suffer through hearing this again so do you."

Remus gave him an exaggerated hurt look while Harry read out with a look of deep disgust.

Then the little golden pot danced with delight "hoppitty hoppitty hop!" on its tiny rosy toes! Wee Willykins had cured all the dollies of their poorly tum-tums, and the little pot was so happy that it filled up with sweeties for Wee Willykins and the dollies!

"But don't forget to brush your teethy-pegs!" cried the pot.

And Wee Willykins kissed and huggled the hoppitty pot and promised always to help the dollies and never to be an old grumpy-wumpkins again.

"Alright, you made your point!" James protested as he wondered what the best spell was to remove his tongue from the layer of sweeties he'd just been forced to ingest.

"It's over, just one bit left," Harry promised, smiling just slightly at the lot of them again messing around with each other like always, meeting his mums eyes and the two silently laughing at their behavior he hoped would never end.

Mrs. Bloxam's tale has met the same response from generations of wizarding children: uncontrollable retching, followed by an immediate demand to have the book taken from them and mashed into pulp.

"The proper response," Sirius agreed.

"Is that what you did to your Uncles copy?" Remus asked with honest hope.

"Oh no, I force fed it to his owl, who proceeded to try taking my nose off," Sirius shrugged. "Honestly I deserved that one, and then I had to repair the bloody thing with something called tape when my Uncle caught me. Bloody useless stuff, reparo charm would have fixed it in a second, and why's it invisible?"

"Keep going Harry, or we'll be here all year explaining this stuff," Lily managed around her continued chuckles.

"That bit was over," Harry told as he tried to pass it on while still smiling for once.

[madroxed]

the order (season two) thoughts.

so chotoranii asked me for my thoughts on the order season two. of which there are many. posting them here rather than in a reply so tumblr doesn’t fuck up the ‘keep reading’ break. 

SO MANY SPOILERS AHEAD, OBVIOUSLY.

OK FOLKS, LET’S DO THIS. SORRY ABOUT THE WORD COUNT.

the good, the bad, and the incomprehensible.

ok SO. overall i thought this season was so much better than season one, especially in terms of production and acting.

i should start by saying, the biggest twist of this season? ME LIKING JACK AS A BLOND. i’ve been dragging that hair for months and i end up digging it? i’m so mad at myself.

ANYWAY the first three episodes? flawless! beautiful! amazing! they honestly took everything i could have listed as wanting and put it onscreen. jack trying out for cheer squad and having to stay on cheer squad to keep up the act? them finding each other almost immediately? the jokes about orgies? jack taking the knights seriously and holding on to his anger over the memory wipe? lilith and nicole? nicole in general? RANDALL AND HAMISH FAKE DATING (however briefly, seriously, i will be writing fic where they have to keep that up because i am betrayed that it was never brought up again and if you think i didn’t throw my laptop across the bed so i could run around screaming you’d be wrong)? A MAGIC HEIST?

honestly, all perfect.

............then the season started to go downhill. don’t get me wrong, there were still some excellent parts, but they were hindered by two things:

the plot jumping about too much to be comprehensible.

the fact that we the viewers are supposed to believe that randall carpio and hamish duke would not tear the world apart for lilith bathory immediately. 

the first is forgivable; the first season’s plot was a simple enough device that meant it dragged a little at times. this season they seemed to not want to fall into that trap again, but in doing so threw something so big in that they needed far too much exposition because they didn’t have enough time to show it (a trait they fell into in a lot of ways, we’ll get back to that). SHOW, DON’T TELL, FOLKS. that being said, i really liked salvadore as a character, and the idea of a group of people striving to make magic accessible to all was a cool moral quandary plot. 

the second is unforgivable to me, and led to the majority of my issues with the season. i understand the knights becoming members of the order (cool concept), i understand them struggling with conflicting loyalties because of it, but what i don’t understand is the fact that randall spent the majority of the season saying “let’s get lilith back!” only to back down at the first push back, and hamish was the push back. because......the order had other problems. IN WHAT UNIVERSE DO THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER NOT PUT EACH OTHER FIRST AND SAY FUCK EVERYONE ELSE? 

(jack i understand, if only because we saw so much of it last season. his loyalties are kinda flaky. i do understand his loyalty to vera; not only did she play a huge part in taking down edward last season, but the mind link thing and learning all her pain would have stuck with him. he loves a cause, that boy. also hey ho! jack was so much more likeable this season! we love to see it.)

also i just really missed lilith.

(thank fuck for nicole never giving up.)

the amount of callbacks to season one were fantastic. they didn’t just move on and leave it be, they referenced basically everyone, and seeing professor clarke and kyle again was a nice touch just to tie things together. there also being discussions about jack’s pete related trauma was great and necessary. 

ok, so alyssa. i take back my post about how great it would be for her to be the villain. this was so much better. her trauma in the wake of both season one and then accidentally killing someone leading to her feeling so conflicted and lost and alone? her magic malfunctioning when it’s all she feels she has? we’ve always known she was ambitious, but to see her face straight on the idea that she may be left completely powerless and no one really listening or trying to help her except a hive mind that’s also hurting her? o u c h. 

we saw this season that the real problem with the order is its motto of ‘hurry up and wait’. ‘we’ll save lilith.....just do all these other things first!’ ‘we’ll get alyssa’s magic back......there’s just more important things right now!’ it’s all so easy to see how that could frustrate someone so much they can’t take it anymore. 

i’m so pleased i loved alyssa so much this season. i desperately wanted to and i’m glad they gave me that. i just felt so much for her. she just wanted to not feel so alone and so helpless and so scared that she was going to pick the wrong side again. it was beautiful.

this also meant alyssa/jack was better this season. having got the insta-love out the way last season (ugh), this season they were able to actually look at how that would play out if you took ramifications into consideration. all the problems i had with them last season were vocalised onscreen, and this new unstable thing left in its place was far more appealing to watch. they were messy and bad for each other and they knew it, but that didn’t stop them loving each other. 

also: “if we get out of this, can i take you to the mall? because i really hate your jean jacket. and your hair.” 

in regards to the other relationships: 

lilith and nicole were adorable for the limited amount of time we got them onscreen. the slow crush to nervous dating was beautiful, and seeing lilith struggle with what getting her memories back meant in regards to that was great. we all know i thought the lilith/randall of last season was rushed, so having lilith torn over hurting one of the most important people in her life and following these feelings for someone new was lovely. IF WE GET A SEASON THREE I BETTER GET SO MUCH MORE OF THEM.

here’s the thing, putting aside lilith/nicole for a moment: the order can’t write good relationships (*with one major caveat).

hear me out. 

in season one it was insta-love. jack and alyssa meet and suddenly defending alyssa is the only thing that matters to jack. it....wasn’t good. randall and lilith were thrown together with very little build up and we were supposed to roll with it.

this season we had both hamish/vera and randall/gabrielle. i would like to say that theoretically i am here for both of these. but.

hamish/vera occurred off screen. oh, sure, we had a couple scenes of them staring at each other over drinks, but that was all we got until late into the season. we were told that hamish and vera were a thing by randall when he was winding hamish up. we didn’t see it for ourselves. again, this show’s habit of telling not showing is a problem. 

hamish and vera could make sense. two leaders of opposing factions having sort of hate, begrudging respect sex? i see it. from there, you can show us how it would become something more.

the show doesn’t. 

we’re told they’re together. we’re told hamish is forsaking his knightly duties in favour of vera. we’re told by hamish that he’s drunk the order koolaid, 

and all of this is supposed to culminate in us believing that hamish duke - tundra, leader of the knights of saint christopher, the most cunning of the wolves - would push aside everything else because he just believes that much in vera stone? to the point that he would all but abandon lilith and degrade his relationship with randall to randall being the annoying sidekick? 

i woke up at two a.m. to write a note on my phone that says: ‘the greatest tragedy of the order season two is hamish duke’s character assassination.’ and i stand by that. 

besides lilith’s absence for almost the whole season, it’s the thing i’m most mad about. i love hamish so much and to one-dimensionalise him in favour of a ship is...............shoddy work honestly.

so like i said. HAMISH/VERA COULD HAVE BEEN GOOD, BUT FOR FUCKSAKE SHOW, YOU HAVE TO ACTUALLY DEVELOP THIS SHIT.

randall/gabrielle was better developed. by which i mean we actually saw them interacting on screen. we got to see them begrudgingly working together, we saw him learn more about her, we heard them talk about her need to fit in somewhere. when they made the joke about being bffs? good stuff. would i like them to slowburn this shit? yes please. have them become best friends and then have those feelings be something else. i would really like that. the show just needs to.......slow down. not immediately see a single character and need to throw them into a relationship with the nearest person.

gabrielle was great this season. by which i mean, she was gabrielle, and we love some consistent characterisation. i think it’s so true to everything we know about her that she’d want to inject herself into the knights’ world; she wants to be part of the in-crowd, and right now that’s them. she’s also supremely jealous of alyssa because, to her, it seemed like alyssa had the best of both worlds. so, yes, her wanting to be around the knights and that developing into her begrudgingly liking them makes a lot of sense to me.

so, my caveat.

the relationship the order knows how to write? the knights. hamish, randall, lilith, and jack. that dynamic saved season one from being a total mess. that dynamic thrived in the early episodes of this season. IT’S JUST THAT GOOD. i said once that if the order just became greek (2007) but with werewolves i’d be happy, and the first three episodes really gave me that. 

THE KNIGHTS ARE EACH OTHER’S SOULMATES, ASK ME HOW.

is this an excuse for me to complain that they gave us a hint of hamish/randall and then cruelly snatched it away and i’m still mad about it? YOU BETCHA.

is this also my way of saying there wasn’t nearly enough jack/randall this season? YOU BETCHA.

removing lilith from the equation (I’M STILL SO MAD) and then having hamish pull away from randall because..........who the fuck knows, was just a recipe for disaster.

clearly lilith is the glue that holds these idiots together.

so, vera. katherine isabelle still just steals every scene she’s in. i love her. i love vera’s characterisation. i love that she’s shamelessly ambitious but also wants the order to succeed and the world not to end. i love that she can be cold and cruel and still have such soft spots for both jack and alyssa. i love that she can be vulnerable and angry about it. i just........think vera’s pretty fucking great, tbh.

i still don’t understand why the knights - after their infiltration revenge plans go tits up - decide to just go full on order. like??????? hamish and jack barely even questioning anything???? randall must have spent most of this season feeling so alone.

that being said, when jack said to nicole and randall that he knew what they needed to get lilith back and the conversation pretty much went:

jack: you’re okay betraying the order?

nicole: for lilith, anything.

randall: i’d literally betray the order for a cookie, haven’t you been listening?

we love to see it.

OH, HEY GUYS, REMEMBER WHEN IAN ZIERING AND JASON PRIESTLEY WERE MEMBERS OF THE ORDER AND JASON PRIESTLEY BECAME GRAND MAGUS FOR A HOT SECOND???? that was written solely for me. i do not know who this show thinks its audience is, but it understands me to my core.

so...............i have zero clue where the show intends to go from here. i just need alyssa to be ok and i hope - like his friend randall - jack is willing to kill whoever the hell he has to to make that happen. (we stan randall straight up murdering someone to get lilith back and making sure nicole remains innocent and safe tbh.) 

SO TL;DR: the early episodes gave me life. the show declined from there, but i still enjoyed it a lot. the order is at its best when the knights are a team, i loved alyssa’s story this season, and i have no clue what to expect from next season (if we get one). werewolf alyssa? villain jack, perhaps? we’ll see! 

THIS POST PROBABLY SEEMS TOO NEGATIVE BUT HI! I STILL LOVED THIS SEASON A LOT AND I LOVE MY KIDS WITH MY WHOLE HEART AND IF YOU READ ALL A MILLION WORDS OF THIS THEN I LOVE YOU TOO.

also if anyone has any hamish/randall prompts i’ll be hanging out over here crying into my hands for the next few weeks. FAKE DATING. how dare they?!

[goodomensblog]

Denial

I feel like Madame Tracy, who shared a body (and thoughts??) with Aziraphale for a hot second, would absolutely have picked up Aziraphale’s very obvious head-over-heels adoration of Crowley. So naturally, here’s my 2,000 word fic about her cluing in an oblivious angel to his own feelings. 

Denial

Inhabiting a new body was usually quite a lengthy process, and that wasn’t even including the paperwork. There was actually a very good reason why celestial beings didn’t just slip into human skins whenever they felt like it - beyond the moral quandary, of course. Much in the same way that no two humans are exactly alike, neither are angels. A human must try on shoes for size, and so must an angel, well - try on bodies, that is.

As the apocalypse was imminent, Aziraphale did not have the luxury of choice.

So Aziraphale had taken what he could find, and what he’d found was Madame Tracy.

If Aziraphale’s old body could be likened to a six thousand year old comfortably broken in, yet remarkably cared for pair of loafers, Madame Tracy’s was a pair of stiletto heels, fresh out of the box and half a size too small.

Not that Aziraphale wasn’t grateful. Really, he considered himself fortunate to have found a body that could accommodate him at all. It just...really wasn’t very comfortable.

It’s not a walk in the park for me either. I appreciate the metaphor though. The heels, I mean. Terribly uncomfortable, breaking in a new pair.

The voice was high and saccharine and seemed to echo around the space of his head. Or rather, he amended, within her head. He was, after all, the intruder here.

I appreciate that acknowledgment, Mr. Aziraphale, Madame Tracy sniffed.

I do apologize, Aziraphale thought, consciously shaping his wandering thoughts into words. I’m afraid sharing a body is very much a new experience for me.

You’re not alone there, love.

No, I suppose not, Aziraphale said. And when he smiled, it was Madame Tracy’s red painted lips which parted.

Now, what exactly is it that we’ve got to do?

First of all, get through that gate, Aziraphale thought, squeezing the brakes as Madame Tracy’s scooter sputtered to a stop.

Before them, the Tadfield Air Base loomed.

The man out front’s got a gun.

So he does.

As Aziraphale struggled to park the scooter - hindered by Madame Tracy’s attempts to commandeer her hands to help - he noticed that it was quite a large gun, at that.

By the time the scooter was settled, the soldier stood before the gate, gun cradled against his front.

Mr. Shadwell marched up, brandishing a grimy finger.

Oh dear, thought Madame Tracy.

“You see this finger Laddie? This finger could send you to your maker.”

Good God, the man is going to get himself shot.

Yes, Madame Tracy agreed. Please do something.

Aziraphale stepped in front of Shadwell, waving Madame Tracy’s purple gloves through the air.

“It really is vitally important that we speak to whoever is in charge-” he started.

From their lips, Madame Tracy’s voice interrupted, “He’s telling the truth, I’d know if he wasn’t.”

Lord, Aziraphale thought, save me from the whims of foolish mortals.

Madame Tracy’s annoyance flared hot and bright in their shared headspace.

Aziraphale flared his own annoyance right back and took control of their mouth.

“-would you please stop interrupting? I’m trying-”

Madame Tracy took it back.

“-yeah I just thought I’d put in a good word for-”

“I understand, but-”

“Will you please be quiet?” The guard ordered, impatient and confused. “Both of you?”

Well now you’ve done it, Madame Tracy tutted.

I’ve done it?!

“I mean, Ma’am,” the soldier continued, licking his lips, “I must respectfully ask you to-”

He was interrupted by blaring music.

A bebop, Aziraphale thought, and twisted round, heart in his throat.

Pardon? A what?

A car roared round the bend.

Normally when one describes a car as roaring, what they are describing is the sound of a working engine.

In the Bentley’s case, it was not the engine.

Unfortunately, the Bentley roared because it was literally on fire, and the flames were exploding and crackling, making awful noise as the vehicle flew over the darkened pavement. Contributing to the roaring was the metal frame, which beneath the considerable heat, had begun to fracture, and was now squealing its death throes.

None of the roaring could be attributed to the engine as by now, it was little more than a blackened husk and didn’t actually appear to be powering anything.

Oh my, thought Madame Tracy.

Indeed, Aziraphale thought, staring uncomprehendingly at the flaming car.

It was Crowley’s car. That much was clear. Up until now, Aziraphale had never seen it quite so...inflamed, however.  

The guard, Mr. Shadwell, and the united persons of Madame Tracy and the angel Aziraphale watched, transfixed, as the conflagration of heat and steel skidded to a halt before the barbed wire fence. Cacophonous music blared from speakers which had surely long ago melted.

The door swung open and - oh.

There was a flutter in Aziraphale’s - er, well technically Madame Tracy’s stomach.

From the vehicle, a lanky figure unfolded. Heedless of white flames, he swung the door closed behind him. The music evaporated as though it had never been.

“You wouldn’t get that sort of performance from a modern car,” he called, flippant. As if his cheekbones weren’t marked with soot, and his black, fitted jacket, not thoroughly singed.

Aziraphale took over their shared mouth without a thought. 

“Crowley,” he said, like a sigh after a long held breath.

Crowley? Madame Tracy probed at Aziraphale’s thoughts, curious.

As Crowley sauntered away from the burning car, carelessly swinging Agnes Nutter’s book at his side, Aziraphale finally registered the question.

Oh, ah yes. Crowley is a demon - but a very good one, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.

I see, Madame Tracy thought back.

Aziraphale could feel her gearing up for another question - and he fought against annoyance, because he was in her body, but Crowley was here now and they had things to do. Like avert the apocalypse.

So how do you know each other then?

That, my dear, is a very long story. Suffice it to say, we’re friends.

Ah.

Crowley strolled over, shades down and flames licking at his back, and Aziraphale conceded that Crowley was quite good at making an entrance. Not that those sorts of things mattered in the end - but, ah - well, there was something to be said for style, Aziraphale supposed, gaze following Crowley’s sauntering approach.

Aziraphale felt a flash of amusement from Madame Tracy’s side of the head.

Now what? Aziraphale thought, and was immediately horrified by how rude it sounded, echoing around the shared space.

Nothing dearie.

But then, Crowley was speaking, and Aziraphale found his attention most immediately diverted.

“Hey Aziraphale! See you found a ride.”

A ride? Madame Tracy huffed.

He didn’t mean it like that-

“Nice dress. Suits you,” Crowly added, sidling up beside them.

“Ahh,” Aziraphale managed, and was embarrassed to feel his shared body flush with warmth. Had he done that? Or was it Madame Tracy-

All you, I’m afraid, Madame Tracy answered - and did she sound smug?

Ah.

He’s very handsome, isn’t he? Your demon friend.

He - why - what?

Aziraphale vaguely wondered if the prolonged sharing of a body was having a negative effect on his angelic essence, as he couldn’t seem to formulate a coherent thought.

And then Crowley was at his side, brushing shoulders with him - no Madame Tracy - no - oh confound it!

“This young man won’t let us in!” Aziraphale burst out, once more taking control of their mouth.

And then - oh dear - Crowley was leaning in.

He smelled of spice, and charcoal-

And burnt rubber, Madame Tracy added, unhelpfully.

Madame Tracy’s body was just slightly shorter than Aziraphale’s had been, so he found himself craning his head back just slightly more than he was used to. Crowley’s dark gaze flickered over Madame Tracy’s face, as though trying to find a trace of Aziraphale within it.

Aziraphale, quite unconsciously, forgot to breathe.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a moment, but for both Aziraphale, who was, for some strange reason, distracted by the sheen of sweat that had collected on Crowley’s soot stained upper lip - and Madame Tracy who did, inconveniently, require oxygen, it felt much longer.

Aziraphale blinked. Pressing his lips together, he swallowed.

Crowley leaned back and grinned, apparently satisfied. Flashing them a wink, he said, “Leave it to me.”

His voice was low, assured, and Aziraphale didn’t have time to consider the way it made something flip in his stomach - because Madame Tracy was hissing in their head.

Could you please breathe Mr. Aziraphale?

Oh. Right. Of course.

They drew a breath.

Better.

With a bounce in his step, Crowley strolled toward the tense guard.

He’s a friend, you said? Madame Tracy thought, looking pointedly at Crowley’s back.

A very good friend, Aziraphale amended. We’ve been through quite a lot together.

And it was impossible not to think of nights at the Globe, shoulders pressed together in the crowded theater, of quiet, content meals taken in elegant restaurants, of late nights spent drinking and reminiscing on centuries long past. Or, alternatively - the cold burn of metal around his wrists in that jail cell in Paris, and the feeling of utter elation upon hearing Crowley’s voice in the darkness and knowing he was saved. And that church in England, when Crowley had danced upon holy ground to come, once again, to Aziraphale’s aid.

I see, Madam Tracy thought - though Aziraphale was unclear as to exactly what it was she was supposed to have seen.

Before he could ask, Crowley was speaking.

“Army human!”

Aziraphale looked on, satisfied in the knowledge that the situation would be handled. Crowley had said he would take care of it, and so he would.

The Antichrist had risen, the world was on the edge of annihilation, and Angels and Demons eagerly awaited The Last War. But - now Crowley was here.

It was a comfort in spite of it all.

And then Madame Tracy piped up again. Hm. Yes, now I get it.

What are you even talking-

“My friend and I have come a long way, and-”

The sharp ringing of bells cut him off. And then the gate shuddered open.

Crowley and the guard stared open-mouthed as four children on bikes raced past. Pedaling furiously, they entered through the open gate.

- and then Crowley’s car exploded.

From that point, time shot forward - from the merciful splitting of Aziraphale and Madame Tracy, to the showdown with the four horsemen, to the rising of Satan himself - until Crowley stopped everything, time included.

It was only for a moment, of course.

And then Adam had done what no one else could. With one single, simple statement, he changed everything.

After that, it was all mercifully anticlimactic.

Adam’s father took Adam and the other children home, and Anathema kindly offered to squeeze the remaining adults into her car to drive them as far as the village.

It was quite a walk back to the vehicle, however, and as they walked, Aziraphale’s mind turned over the frankly mind-boggling events of the previous hour. The apocalypse had been started - and thwarted. And Adam had succeeded, so the world still turned round.

It was a lot to take in.

Crowley walked ahead - forced into a brisk pace by Shadwell, who was in hot pursuit, asking pointed questions about his eyes. 

Aziraphale, walking at an easy stroll, watched the demon from afar, thinking of all Crowley had done to avert the end of the world. Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t have been able to do it without him, of that he was sure. He should tell him - or congratulate him, perhaps? On an apocalypse well averted.

Aziraphale hurried to catch up, still deciding precisely what it was he wanted to say, when a soft touch drew him up short.

Madame Tracy sidled up beside him, linking her arm through his.

“Busy day,” she murmured, red lips curving in a tired smile.

“Indeed it was.”

“It wasn’t so bad, sharing a body with you. At least for a little while. A few more hours and I would have been ready to kick you out though.”

“Thank you. For sharing with me,” Aziraphale said sincerely. “It’s because of you I was able to get to Tadfield at all.”

Madame Tracy nodded and hummed. “It’s strange. Though what we went through should, by all rights, be unforgettable, my memory of recent events is already becoming a tad fuzzy.”

“Adam,” Aziraphale mused, tilting his head. “When he - er, fixed things, he may have turned back the clock, in a way.”

“Will I remember all of this then?”

Slowing, Aziraphale patted her hand.

“I don’t know,” was his honest answer.

“Well then,” Madame Tracy said, slowing with him. “Best get this out before I forget about it then”

“What’s that?”

“What are you going to do about that demon of yours?”

“Do about-” Aziraphale stuttered, “my demon?”

“Crowley,” Madame Tracy leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.

“What about him?”

“Oh come now, I heard quite a bit when I was in your head.”

“Wait, what did you hear?” Aziraphale questioned, equally confused and alarmed.

“I know how you feel,  Mr. Aziraphale,” she said, gentle.  “About him.”

“How - how I feel?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me you haven’t realized.”

Aziraphale, like all creatures, was in possession of a set of instincts. His, celestial and finely honed, warned him against extended introspection regarding Crowley - because angels were naturally predisposed to favor the status quo. And Aziraphale had always known, with Crowley, came the potential for world rending change. Change that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Pressing his lips together, Aziraphale glanced down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now,” Madame Tracy said, giving him a nudge. “You know. It was written all over your thoughts.”

“What?”

Madame Tracy sighed, “That you’re in love with him, dear.”

The thing about denial is, it works only so long as an individual is able to actually deny the truth. And for Aziraphale, who was forced to face the truth so plainly stated, denial slipped through his fingers like ice melting to water.

Aziraphale’s steps slowed. And stopped.

In the distance, Crowley strolled, his lanky figure silhouetted by the oranges and reds of the setting sun. Aziraphale knew in the depths of his very being, he’d follow Crowley anywhere. And now, with truth rearing its ugly head, there was no denying why.

Aziraphale blinked, suddenly aware of all he stood to gain - and with Heaven and Hell out for blood, all the more he and Crowley stood to lose.

There, in the quiet forest, with the sky alight in warm pastels and the demon whom he could no longer deny he loved walking oblivious, just out of earshot, Aziraphale did something he hadn’t done in centuries. He cursed twice within twenty four hours.

“Well fuck.”

[itsnothingofinterest]

Means Vs Ends: Heroes Vs Villains

You know one of the things I find the most interesting about Hero Aca is that; while the series tends to pretend it’s conflict as very black vs white, the reality is that it’s actually largely grey vs grey (vs white). I’m sure more than a few people would argue that it isn’t, but I think the fact that they wouldn't all then be able to then agree which are the good & bad sides, is probably compelling enough evidence to my point. So I wanted to write up an analysis of the current moral situation. But first; a brief tangent on the direction I’m tackling this from.

The saying goes “The ends justify the means.” And while that’s usually brought up in media where that turns out to be BS excuse, I’d say that the truth is that it varies in a case by case basis. When that saying is brought up, we’re meant to weigh the ends to the means and see which is more...significant, for lack of a better word.

So that’s the direction that I’ll be be tackling the conflict between the Pro heroes and the PLF from, because I think it really highlights the complexities that have emerged between the two. Put simply: the heroes have more pure means, but the villains have the superior ends; although despite these points, neither side ends up looking good in a vacuum. So I thought I’d analyze and weigh them against each other.

The basics of the argument are as such: the heroes, at least the adult pro heroes and their government directors, have little in the way of ends because they’re just protecting the status quo, but conversely have no means to justify because they; follow the laws, act by the book, and generally act as the good guys. There’s almost nothing to talk about with them. (Well...that’s how it’s supposed to work anyway.) The PLF meanwhile have far more extreme means, mostly murder but it’s a lot of murder, but seem to have better ends by a mile to justify them.

“But that’s not right,” you may say, “isn’t Tomura trying to destroy everything?” And there is merit to that point; but the truth is that the destruction he talks about is his means, not the PLF’s ends. It used to be his ends, but Tomura intends for there to be more than enough of japan/the world leftover for his allies to make the world they’re after. He doesn’t see any value in the world itself, it frankly pisses him off, but he does see value in his allies & followers and wants them to get what they want. And depending on how many allies you count (juries still out on how he feels for the former MLA), what they want is a plethora of human rights improvements, accountability laid at corrupt powers, & the removal of most all the BS in the world people don’t really deal with because “it just is that way”. Like I said, better ends by a mile.

It feels like some people don’t get that part too much, so I thought I’d spell it out.

However, just because I believe the world they intend to make is a potentially good one doesn’t mean I’d ignore the fact that their plan to see that world to fruition would be horrible. They’ve never really minced words, they’re not bringing about those human rights improvements through protests, they’re bringing about their societal upheaval by means of a massive attack on their own country.

We don’t know many specifics, so we don’t know how many civilian casualties we can expect; it could be very few or it could be an unfathomable figure. Civilians/civilian casualties are hardly the PLF’s target by any means, but it’s ambiguous at best if they really care to minimize those numbers. In that way, it’s hard to weigh those ambiguous numbers against the Touya Todorokis, Himiko Togas, and Jin Bubaigawaras they would be potentially saving.

We do, however, know that they intend to destroy hero society and take over the country; and that would account for quite a few non-civilian casualties, if potentially minimized casualties if they take prisoners or accept surrenders. (Maybe wishful thinking, but I cannot state enough how little we know about their plans & policies.) If I had to estimate, I think we could guess the total to be somewhere in the 4-to-8 digit range and still be in reasonable optimism & pessimism ranges.

(I’m also not sure if we should include the Nomus here too. There’s a stark difference between the PLF & AFO’s former empire by this point, and it’s not like they’ve been asking for Nomu to be made. But on the other hand, they’ve never had problems using them. Eh, include with the PLF’s means at your own discretion I guess.)

So those are the PLF’s means, but what about the heroes’ means? I did hint earlier that those were worse than they should be; heroes murdering villains based on their own justifications, bringing in child soldiers to boost their numbers against a large scale threat, the immense crime against humanity that is Tartarus and how it’s used. And speaking of, there’s the matter of the ~110,000 individuals the heroes are currently fighting that have all committed the Tartarus-worthy offense of...associating with the League and attacking heroes (just ask Kurogiri), and thus would all receive sentences in the ball park of the death sentence. It’s pretty bad actually. Frankly, it doesn’t seem like either side’s means justify their own ends.

But if the PLF’s means are so terrible, doesn’t that mean the heroes are definitely justified in whatever actions they take? Their ends are saving all of those potential casualties I just mentioned, right?

Well it’s not that simple, because what we’re doing there is adding the villains’ means to the heroes ends; and to do that, you have to go all the way: Add the heroes’ means to the villains’ ends & vice versa; what one side seeks to accomplish the other must deem an acceptable sacrifice, and what crimes one side commits/seeks to commit justifies the actions of the other. In short; if the actions the villains take or plan to take justify action against them, the same must be true for the heroes.

And at last we come to the major moral quandary of this post, and the deciding factor of whether the PLF can be considered some measure of justified, or if they’re still villains through and through:

Are the heroes justified in all these moral failures, ranging from murders to Tartarus, & in getting in the way of the human rights the PLF are after in order to save the lives endangered by the PLF? Or are the PLF justified in their sacrifices of human lives in order to bring about their brighter future and standing up to the crimes of hero society?

...Frankly I have no clue. That is a question involving; arguing safety and order vs human rights and freedom, comparing crimes against humanity against each other, & weighing way too many human lives for me to feel comfortable making a judgement call even if we did know how many lives we were weighing.

About the only thing I can say for sure is that the only truly good side is probably the hero students; who aren’t knowingly doing anything wrong and are genuinely just trying to help. And as thanks they’re being used & manipulated by one side by being thrown at the other in hopes that it’ll boost their chances and maybe be good PR if they win. Man, I feel bad for them.

[somuchcolour]

WIP fic rec list

So I have a shit ton of important things to do so I was like, so what better time to make a WIP rec list of fics that are currently (hopefully) updating.

I know wips get a bad rap but I personally enjoy feeling like I’m in 1830s paris waiting for the next chapter of illusions perdues to drop. Also these authors are giving us sweet sweet entertainment and they deserve the hype. All stories deserve love no matter their completion status.

In no particular order:

A Brief History of Sex by Letzi

Never let it be said that Castiel Novak is not a passionate man. He doesn’t seem like he is at first glance, he’s willing to admit that. But what he does in life, everything that he does, in fact, in life, has been in the pursuit of passion.

He’s not sure how it landed him night after night sitting inside a cramped closet in a brothel’s bedroom, watching a prostitute get fucked from behind by one of her clients through a peephole, but that’s where he finds himself these days.

He has to make do with what he has.

--

ABO AU based on the TV Show Masters of Sex and the life and work of Virginia Johnson and William Masters, the pioneers of sex therapy.

A Priori by K_K_TiBal, whelvenwings   

Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are headed to Hogwarts.

Castiel, as a member of the old Novak wizarding family, is fully expected to be sorted into Ravenclaw, like all of his ancestors before him. Dean, as a Muggle-born, has no idea what the Houses even are. With a surprise sorting and classes starting soon afterwards, they're both pitched headfirst into the unknown - and they find themselves in competition with each other almost at once, both of them needing to prove themselves to the people they left at home, and the people with them at Hogwarts.

Over the course of their seven years at Hogwarts, Dean and Cas learn what it means to prove yourself, what it takes to discover who you are, what it feels like to fall in love, and what it is they'll fight for - what matters most of all.

And Death Shall Have No Dominion by ForeverShippingJohnlock    

Castiel Novak is a zombie. Or rather, a "partially deceased syndrome sufferer." Treated and on medication, Castiel is deemed fit to return to living society. Whether society is ready to accept him or not is another matter entirely.

Dean Winchester is an active member of the Human Volunteer Force, a group determined to eliminate the undead. With his father as the leader of the HVF, Dean has spent years learning that PDS sufferers are scum, treated or not, and Dean wants nothing more than to make his dad proud.

Against all odds, the two boys form an unlikely friendship that makes Dean question everything he knows and believes, while Castiel thinks that maybe his second life isn't such a curse after all.

A story of love and loss, life and death, and everything in between.

Beyond Our Waking Eyes by abbythebollix    

Dean Winchester is troubled, Sam Winchester is growing up and Castiel Milton is too fucking hot for his own good.

Cupid's Fiery Shaft by ChasingRabbits               

When Gabriel Milton is forced into working on the school's annual Shakespeare play, he finds himself drawn to one person in particular--a techie named Sam Winchester.

While waiting on numerous universities to dictate the next major step in his life, Sam has been blowing off steam with his friend, lab partner, and (unknowingly) Gabriel's stepbrother, Castiel Novak.

Castiel Novak: a swimmer and one of the school's resident oddballs, who finds himself in a quandary upon meeting Sam's older brother, Dean.

Dean Winchester: gruff-voiced automechanic by day and culinary genius/MegaNerd by night, who might not be as heterosexual as he lets everybody believe.

If it sounds complicated, that's only because it is.

Now That's Comedy by CaptainMercy42     

Comedy. It's what Winchester's did. Winchester's, and about a million other dumb fucks with an iPhone and 140 character witticisms about their first world problems. It was not supposed to bug him when no-talent "wordsmiths" got highlighted in a bit on Ellen or Bob and Tom. But it did.

His dad, well he was great at it. It was dark comedy. It came from a dark place; the loss of a wife and the life of a morally bankrupt single dad, almost innocent in how thoroughly unprepared he was for fatherhood.  Substance abuse in itself provided jokes for days. The material actually outlasted his dear old dad. This surprised no one. What was surprising was Sam's decision to ditch college and do his own act, despite his lingering bitterness.

The first night Dean saw Sam perform was also the first night Dean saw Castiel perform.

Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by linoresearch   

The year is 1722 and across the oceans merchant ships are hounded by pirates. Killing and stealing their way to infamy, the Winchesters plague the trade-routes to the New World, leaving a trail of death and devastation across the Spanish Main. They are villains, and every ship that sails under the colours of the Royal Navy has been tasked with bringing them to justice; sentenced to hang by the neck until dead.

When the lookout of the navy frigate, the Lady Mary, calls ship-ahoy from the crow’s nest, first-mate Lieutenant Castiel Novak has no idea how his life is about to change. In a swash-buckling adventure across the high-seas, Castiel faces sea-monsters, ghost-ships, and much more, in the race to secure a valuable and dangerous prize. Thrown in among the pirates aboard the Black Impala, he also learns that Captain Dean Winchester can be hard to resist.

Number 1 Crush by Duckyboos                

Dean, Benny, Charlie, Garth, and Cas are old college buddies. In their thirties now, they meet up once a year to shed their adult responsibilities for a week. This year it's Garth's turn to choose where they go and he's still as obsessed with horror and weird shit as he was back in college. He ends up picking a supposedly deserted hotel in the friggin' mountains. The place is creepy as hell and as night falls, two things become increasingly apparent. One: the place isn’t as deserted as they first thought, and two: Dean’s college stalker is back from the dead.

Dial 'M' For Monster by Duckyboos    

By day, Dean Winchester bakes cupcakes. He owns his own bakery (Stairway to Leaven) and people come from all over state to try his delicious vegan red velvet. By night, he’s a fighter of supernatural evil.

Castiel Novak owns the small town's only motel (The Resting Place). He has a problem; he thinks rooms 6 & 11 are haunted.  It’s not like he can just look up a local ghost hunter in the phone book though, now is it?

Oh, he can? Sweet.

All The Other Places by Englandwouldfall                

As is usually the way with this crap, nothing is that simple. Part 4 of Beach House       

Shades of Mediocrity by Englandwouldfall               

Dean needs to rearrange his life all over again, regroup, restart and work out what the hell to do next.Castiel needs to learn where to channel his heart break, among other things.   Part 4 of Home            

The Taming of the Dudes by Englandwouldfall  

They've been doing this long enough and successfully enough that Dean kind of feels they shouldn't be arguing over something as serious as the mortgage. Part 5 of As you like it       

Two and a Half Sheets to the Wind by Englandwouldfall        

The whole point of working on a cruise ship was to escape everything, so the last thing he needs is to run into a guy who makes him a little too honest on the first day of a month long stint around Europe.

With Interest by everandanon     

In which sought-after bad boy Castiel Novak agrees to make awkward, nerdy sophomore Dean Winchester fall in love with him for a bet, and quickly finds himself in over his head — but by the time he realizes his mistake, it’s too little, too late . . .

Fast-forward 11 years, and as guilty as Cas still feels, he has bigger problems to deal with. Grieving his twin brother and struggling to provide the care his niece deserves, Cas finally sucks it up and moves back home in an effort to hold things together.

Of course, it's only a matter of time before he runs into Dean - Dean, who's all grown up and even more beautiful than Cas always suspected he'd be. Dean, who says he wants to be friends, and is clearly much better at a game Cas hasn't played since he broke Dean's heart.

Dean, who might not be the forgive-and-forget type, after all . . .

Quarantension by everandanon  

In which Dean and Cas weather quarantine together like any Good Friends would — by developing outstanding skills in self-deception and providing all the casual affection and strictly platonic* orgasms the other could possibly need to make it through.** *Really not platonic **Spoiler: They need a lot.

Fortress by imogenbynight         

Five years ago, a malignant mass removed from John Winchester's temporal lobe left behind a quietly ticking bomb that nobody noticed until it decimated everything. Five years ago, John dragged Dean away from everything he'd ever known, hellbent on rescuing him from an imagined threat that felt more real to him than the blood on his hands. Five years ago, Castiel let Dean's hand slip through his fingers as he rescued Sam from what he'd thought was a more immediate threat.

For five years, Castiel has wondered if there was some way he could have saved Dean, too.

Now, with a phone call that he'd all but given up hoping for, Castiel has a chance to try again.

It's Kind of a Funny Story by deathsteel    

After an aborted suicide attempt lands Castiel Shurley in the hospital, he meets Dean Winchester, a charming damaged young man who is much more than first meets the eye.  Not being able to deal with the stress of growing up may have gotten him here and being hopelessly in love with his best friend's girlfriend probably didn't help, but Castiel soon learns that sometimes it takes  going a little crazy to find the path you were always meant to be on.

Loosely based on the movie/book by Ned Vizzini 'It's Kind of a Funny Story'.

Just A Schoolboy Crush by Zombiecat    

Castiel has a cliche crush on the highschool football all-star, Michael Ashton. Even though he's fully aware he's doomed to longing looks and pining in silence, it wouldn't be so bad if his best friend, Charlie, hadn't told Dean. Dean Winchester never seemed to miss a chance to get under his skin but for some reason he starts acting odd when he hears about Castiel's big secret.

God, Make Small by komodobits               

The last plane into McMurdo before the six-month winter brings a new face, an astronomer on transfer from one of the inland observatories. Truthfully, Dean doesn't know shit about neutrino particles; he's just the guy who gets paid to move the equipment from A to B and tries to keep it from getting broken and/or frozen solid. Castiel Novak's awkward, endearing smile is an additional bonus. However, the relentless blue night is brewing coldly for a storm, and it's starting to look like Dean and Castiel might be the only ones left out on the ice.\

Legacies by vanishingact    

Castiel Milton's uneventful life as a Massachusetts lawyer gets a little strange in the fall of 1887 when he is assigned to handle the late Henry Winchester's estate and his client's distractingly handsome grandson arrives to take up residence in the old manor house. As an unlikely friendship (with a side of pining) develops, the house slowly coughs up its secrets and reveals a whole world of trouble that Dean never knew his grandfather kept hidden.

The Game of God by seperis           

You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own. Part 4 of Down to Agincourt        

Sequins and Spirals by euphemology  

Dean Winchester is a world-renowned figure skater who hails from the “good old U.S. of A.” He is well on his way to the 2014 Winter Olympics, but there’s one small problem: so is his arch-rival, Polish skater Castiel Novak. Competition is definitely not going to be easy, but it gets even harder when the two men get assigned to the same room in the Olympic Village.

Show Me How To Love by universalromance    

A new family of kids at Lawrence High School brings a new perspective to Dean's life, especially when he becomes inexplicably drawn to the youngest of the siblings, a severely autistic boy who has never spoken or touched anybody in his entire life. Rating will possibly go up later. Possibly upsetting psychological subject matter.

The Process by Soupernabturel           

“Dean, hands to yourself please.”

The man in question straightens up in his chair, turns his flirty smile from the man two seats from him and onto officer Novak. “Sorry, Cas.”

“Cas?” Hannah asks.

“We get some regulars. They come to know a few of the officers, the patrol officers, especially.” Novak explains, the look on his face, almost slightly bored, slips a little. “As you know, I’m usually the one monitoring the Strip.”

 Police!Officer Cas is being filmed at work (A-la: Jail Las Vegas) for a reality TV show. Meanwhile Dean is a sex worker, not only familiar with the Strip’s booking process, but with a certain blue-eyed officer.

Start With a Name by cumberbellins, frickenapplepie (cumberbellins)    

Waking up in a stranger's living room with a blue eyed man staring down at you isn't the most pleasant experience ever. Dean Winchester can tell you that. Another thing Dean Winchester can tell you is that whenever you have to break into your brother's apartment, you should make sure that you got the right window.

starving in your gravity by alullabytoleaveby   

Dean has enough on his plate. Really.

There's his job as a paramedic for the local hospital and, while he loves it, loves getting to help people, the hours are long and the pay leaves much to be desired. There's his definitely-not-a-relationship with Castiel, the hot ER doctor, where's he's completely out of his depth emotionally. And then there's his brother, who's just dropped out of law school and has no idea what he's going to do now.

So what he definitely does not need is his alcoholic deadbeat dad stumbling back into his life.

Make Damn Sure by SurlyCat      

Dean Winchester is not thrilled about taking an office job at one the most powerful media corporations in the country. His work has always been hands on, but when Charlie tells him about the job opening and its comfortable salary, the temptation is just too great to turn down. And really, it wouldn't be too bad if it weren't for the blue-eyed man that also works there.

Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester have crossed paths far too often over the last 12 years, with an unsavory outcome nearly every time. This time though, walking away is just not an option as they're forced to collaborate on a project and learn to navigate each other like civilized human beings. For Dean and Cas though, nothing ever goes quite according to plan.

...In Bed by SurlyCat                

Dean Winchester and Castiel Milton met on a rainy summer day over a broken down car. Even though Castiel is nosy and seems to have no filter, Dean still finds himself drawn to the man. Over time they become friends, and over time, Dean falls for Cas, certain that Cas is uninterested. What Dean doesn't know is that his friend hasn't always been quite so tame, and Cas is careful to keep it that way. Who would've thought that a fortune cookie and a childish game would be responsible for bringing out the truth?

Tag, You're It! by Kitmistry   

Five months after the case that almost claimed their lives, what started as blowing off some steam during a high-pressure situation and continued as a mutually-beneficial arrangement is getting out of Special Agent Castiel Novak’s control. Falling in love with his partner is doomed to end in disaster, especially when said partner is Special Agent Dean Winchester—cocky, infuriating, and the biggest playboy Castiel has ever met.

Still on medical leave, Dean is bored out of his mind, and worst of all - once Castiel gets sucked into the investigation of a new case - without enough distractions from his inner demons. When he stumbles upon a small, seemingly risk-free case, Dean jumps at the chance to get involved, but the lies he has to tell could be catastrophic for the already shaky foundations of his relationship with Castiel.

With a new threat trying to take over the underworld of DC, Castiel and Dean have to find a way to work past their problems or risk losing each other forever.

Part 2 of The H Files       

The Supernatural Edification of Dean Winchester by OverlordoftheBees   

Based on TV Series “Afterlife”. Professor Castiel Novak (MA Berkeley, PhD Harvard) is an academic who has staked his credibility upon his ability to decompress and deconstruct the mythology surrounding mediums, clairvoyants and all things "new age spiritualist". That is, until a routine trip with a graduate class brings him into contact with medium Dean Winchester: uniquely gifted, supremely abrasive and desperate for a way out. When Dean touches on the tragedy marring Castiel’s past, his neatly constructed worldview is decimated. There is only a veil between life and death, as both well know. And as Castiel finds himself increasingly drawn to Dean, the fragility of that barrier is strained to its limit.

These Are the Nights by vintagenoise         

After a sudden tragedy, Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester reflect back on their youth in the beachside town of Sileas, Oregon, and all the lessons they learned on the path that led them to each other.In the Winter of 2008, Castiel visits his boyfriend, Dean, for Christmas. Despite all the big issues he and Dean have dealt with in the past, they've never had the chance to sort through the little things. Castiel is sure that their plans, from embarking on a road trip together, to spending time with the Winchesters, can only be good for their relationship. There's just one little problem that needs to finally be confronted: sex, and Castiel's difficulty with it.In the Summer of 2009, Dean and Sam visit their estranged father and his new family, who reluctantly allow Castiel to visit through Independence Day. All Dean wants is for his family and his boyfriend to get along, but between John's struggle to accept his son's sexuality, and his wife Kate's strange attitude towards Castiel, he's not sure he'll be able to make it work. Part 7 of Young Volcanoes