#it feels a bit wizard of oz pay no attention to the man behind the curtain

[decepti-geek]

I’m sure people have lots of fun with the doomed by the narrative thing but whenever I see it I turn into the project runway guy

“doomed by the narrative” shut up it’s the fucking creator making creative decisions

[dr-futbol-blog]

Sanctuary, Pt. 5

Chaya leaves them to go "consult" the deity with her Abbots. I'll draw your attention to the fact that Sheppard doesn't turn to watch her go but she looks at him as she leaves. Getting "one last look" at someone leaving is a sign of attraction. Ford, for example, glances at her as she goes. While she gets in a last look at Sheppard as she gets up the stairs, he is paying her no attention. He dismissed her with a "Thank you!" and after that, his attention was solely on McKay.

There are also no barriers between them. They're mirroring each other. Their hands are almost goddamn touching. I mean, good God. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of Athar...

The team have a private discussion:

McKay: "What Athar provides for you?" What, are you buying into this? Sheppard: Rodney… what religious people don't take their religion seriously? McKay: We didn't imagine that weapon, Major. We saw it with our own eyes, and we saw what it was capable of. Sheppard: Yes, we did.

A few notes. McKay continues to seek Sheppard to connect with him. Because he doesn't understand what Sheppard is doing, he's getting increasingly agitated. He senses that something isn't right. Yes, there's likely an element of jealousy to his behaviour but it isn't purely motivated by that. The weapon, the potential Ancient technology, isn't his main concern. He doesn't know why Sheppard is acting off but he feels the need to protect him. He is doing that by reason and rational arguments, his weapons of choice.

It seems like Sheppard is defending Chaya with the comment about religion, like we've seen him side with Rodney against other people before. But that's not really what happens. Yes, he's trying to get McKay to ease up a little bit because -- and we'll see this even better later on -- McKay's entirely valid points delivered in an unnecessarily abrasive manner are getting in the way of the angle he's working. He's trying to accomplish something, he's trying to get something from these people, and while McKay is not wrong in his observations or inaccurate with his comments, they're not helping. No, he's not buying into it but this isn't a time for debate, this is a time for telling these simple folks what ever they need to hear that will benefit the expedition, not to mention everyone else in the galaxy. Sheppard is playing a high stakes game, here.

But at the same time, he's telling Rodney that he agrees. He doesn't put much in stock with religion. He's letting Rodney know that he's not religious himself, shares his skepticism, thinks it's a charade. Religious people take their religion seriously, he's not one of them. He's with you on this, Rodney. But this isn't the time to be having this discussion. He's willing to sit through tea ceremonies and chanting if that can save his people, give all the people sanctuary.

He also agrees with McKay's observations and deductive reasoning concerning the nature of the thing that saved them from the wraith. He respects McKay's insight. He always has. But calling a person that's lying to them for some reason a liar to their lying face isn't going to get them what they need. Sheppard needs McKay to go along with this for the moment. He's even using his name, Rodney, giving him that connection he has been seeking and that he's been keeping from him to protect both of them from deleterious intimacy because he needs this that much. Needs for this planet to actually be the sanctuary he hopes it can be.

They continue:

Sheppard: All right, let's just see what Athar has to stay. McKay: So, "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain," hm? Sheppard: Exactly.

Again, Sheppard acknowledges McKay's point. There is a man behind the curtain that he's ignoring for now.

Here, McKay makes a reference to the Wizard of Oz. I'm going to write more about this later as this is by no means to only reference to the Wizard of Oz made in the show but suffice it to say that "Friends of Dorothy" is a well-known euphemism for gay men. There might be an allusion to the story in the Cowardly Lion that is actually courageous (McKay), the heartless Tin Woodman that is actually compassionate (both of them? Weir?), and the brainless Scarecrow that actually has "first rate" ideas (Sheppard). I mean, the easy thing would be to cast the four members of the team in these roles but it doesn't quite work, not in this episode. In this particular episode we might also interpret them as the intelligent one acting thoughtless and the compassionate one acting heartless.

Chaya is also very much wearing a blue and white dress. You know, like Dorothy's blue and white gingham, which makes the Munchkins believe she is a friendly witch since blue is the Munchkin national color and white is the color of witches. She's not Dorothy, she doesn't have the red slippers. But she sure is disguising herself as a good witch here.

And it should be iterated that McKay is actually right about her. McKay has her number from the start. As an audience, we are asked to sympathize with her but nothing McKay says at any point is inaccurate. And it also seems like Sheppard actually either agrees with McKay or at least trusts his judgement. Sheppard's issue is not that he somehow wants to give her the benefit of the doubt because he's so smitten by her or that he's overrun by emotion and hence disregards McKay's advice. It's that there's something she has that Sheppard desperately wants, and that is sanctuary. A place of protection for all the people he has personally put into mortal danger in this galaxy, McKay being at the very forefront of that list.

But given that by this reference and her dress we are invited to connect her to Dorothy, it is interesting that Sheppard forms a friendship of a kind with Chaya by the end of the episode (and indeed, they are much alike in their need to protect their people and their largely self-imposed isolation). And we also see McKay desperately yearn for her friendship, for her teaching.

Once the team are left to their own devices we see Sheppard do something that we rarely if ever see him do. He relaxes. He lays down on the bench to await the "deity's" verdict. We might think that he's just exhausted by the long, long journey they had to walk there (but McKay isn't showing any signs of exhaustion here). We might think that he's just so comfortable here, what with having met their lovely host and had her tea. But again, this episode is about the concept of sanctuary. We see Sheppard relax here, which he rarely does, because he feels safe. This planet has been untouched by the wraith for thousands of years, they have some kind of weapon capable of neutralizing them, they have space in their paradise for people to find safety from "the culling that he already begun."

This planet represents to Sheppard an opportunity to fix his mistake. He has a lot riding on this thing working out for them. So, yes. He feels safe. He feels relaxed. He's here where nothing can hurt him, and his team are here with him. Rodney is here, and nothing can hurt him here either. We don't often see him like this because he doesn't often get to feel like this. And that has nothing to do with Chaya. She's just some primitive country bumpkin cleric he has to talk into letting them make use of this opportunity, and if there's one thing he can do, it's to talk people into doing what he wants.

And McKay, well. He's not feeling quite as relaxed. But he sure is attuned to Sheppard's physical presence. Sheppard gets down, he automatically goes down with him. He also does this thing with his hand, tightening a fist, that he's done previously and always connected to Sheppard's presence. Nervousness? Yes, he's chronically nervous. Uncertainty? For sure the situation is agitating him. But if he was turned on here and doing that to distract himself from thoughts of that nature, I wouldn't blame him. If Sheppard was looking at what he's packing earlier, he's focused on the Major's ordnance here. This isn't a platonic bromance. Those two desire one another.

Continued in Pt. 6

[yonder-wander]

legit wonder if "Shame Itself" is doing an incredible job of branding itself to look Bigger and Spookier than it really is. i mean. it's worked? i talk about it like it's a Super Special Member Of The Brain Family, like it's the singular ghost that haunts the whole crew.

because yes absolutely, every single other part of me is scared of it. nobody wants to have shame's attention.

but i'm here a little bit like, ah, you're pulling a Wizard of Oz. my partner's here all, "hey bud uh. you wanna take a leaf out of all the books you keep recommending and work to shrink that inner critic?" and there's part of me that is a little agog, as though it's a shock to hear this beast, this shadow-creature, reduced to something as banal as an "inner critic"

isn't it, though? is that not what it is?

another young and helpless part of me that has got incredible at putting on a Spooky Monster Voice so we never do the things that it learned were Bad and Wrong? pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. it's literally playing that whole, "you don't want to talk to me, i'm a DANGEROUS ASSHOLE, look, i'm making loud noises at you and i know you're scared of loud noises ,so if i do this you'll stop trying to do the thing i'm scared of" thing. and i don't think it is, actually, a dangerous asshole.

i think it's a very standard inner critic with access to a stupendous light-and-shadow show. it's a part that is really, really good at playing the villain for the "greater good" - i expect if i do manage to enter dialogue with it, it doesn't actually feel great about the level of manipulation and threat and name-calling it uses to keep everyone else in check. i'm sure it'll probably be there all, "i don't want to do it like this, but i have to, terrible things would happen if i didn't" exactly like every single other protector.

(writing this, i can't help thinking about the dynamic between my parents - i see my mother's view of, "i had to put that pressure on you, your dad would've been worse, i needed you to [go to school/behave/etc] so he would stop telling me all these terrible things would happen if you didn't" in there.)

by framing itself as the Thing That Must Be Obeyed Or Else, it disguises what it's actually scared of: other people shaming me first. almost like it's somehow kinder because it has rules and doesn't want to hurt me really, whereas the outside world could hurt me in ways it can't control. for as long as i'm fighting to be internally accepted, there's no danger of me facing external judgement or shame. it's some really broken logic, but i can't fault its effectiveness.

literally it had this behaviour modeled to it all my life: the best way to not be scared for my wellbeing is to restrain my ability to explore or self-express. just like how my mum thought the best way to process her fear of me experiencing homophobic abuse was to question whether i should really let someone know something like that about me, and that the fear of The World Hurting Me Somehow was to convince me i couldn't manage anything without help - that way i'd never try. if it has to say to me, if you express this part of yourself, everyone will think you're a disgusting childish cringe freak weirdo and want nothing to do with you, you'll be rejected and abandoned, it doesn't consider that saying this makes it sound like it thinks i'm a disgusting childish cringe freak weirdo that nobody should want anything to do with and deserves to be rejected and abandoned. much like either of my parents, it would vehemently deny it thinks that - because it doesn't. it doesn't at all.

it thinks other people might. and that's scary. because it's not wrong - other people might! and i'm sort of working this out on my feet here, but the work is gonna be convincing "shame itself" (lmao) to consider that it's better to tell me i am okay as i am, and if someone else shames me that does not mean i am shameful, and that it wants to see me live uninhibited in the world - it's just that it doesn't want me to be taken by surprise if someone's a dick about it. not everyone is comfortable in themselves and not everyone likes to see someone else doing the things they can't do. that's the message i'd like it to learn is effective.

[oz--saffet]

He feels as if he's being assessed. Eyes on him as time ticks away and their conversation moves at a snail's pace. He's alright with that - they hadn't exactly broken up on good terms. He's lucky Rayan didn't fuck off to the authorities. Didn't have him arrested. He should be counting his blessings. But he knows this is all new. And while Oz has changed in appearance, in occupation... there's an interesting constant to Rayan. He looks similar, but. Well, a bit more muscular, but the same bleached hair, the same stubble and those sweet eyes. Shit. When did he get so muscular?

The chair is pulled up and Oz waits for the 'serious' question. He looks distant as he watches bubbles amble to the top of his champagne. He knows what's coming. It's all too predictable.

A haircut. Oz's deep-set eyes, the downturned kind that one might see in an old silent movie, flit up to the other in surprise. It breaks the cold trance of monotony and a wide smile forms before Oz can help it. And he laughs.

"Asshole." Affectionately, as the laugh, the smile splinters his cheeks and he ducks his head. "Yes, just a haircut. The only thing that's changed. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain... or, in the rolling chair." A Wizard of Oz reference is not unique to the curator, who's heard such phrases and quotes all his life in just about every iteration due to his nickname. A sip from his drink and he feels the fizz of it. "...Your date looks a bit ugly anyways. Like he's got horse teeth. I think it might be a blessing in disguise."

" The what? " Rayan blinked, hated how stupid he sounded, his brain a slow crawl while it felt everything else, every observation and new, dropped tidbit, raced by him at lightning speed. He was falling behind, stuck on answerless questions, and tripping mentally over the memories. Curator. Of course he knew what it was, two seconds after he asked; a relic of a different world, one Rayan had never been asked to participate in. How different, it seemed, Oz life had become... Rayan was, painfully in his mind, so very much the same. The new information did give him another question, though - eyes raised, glancing around with a renewed interest. " Oh. Wow, wow. Good for you, that is... that is really great. " If it sounded disingenuine, Rayan hadn't meant for it; he thought of the Godfather House of Blues, of Lux, of the front that it served. Was this another one of those situations then? Rayan should've known. Or... eyes returned to Oz once more. Or maybe this was the after. Rayan had asked it once, during their last final blowout argument - what will you do when you can't kill anymore? what then? you can't do it forever. Maybe he was now presented with the answer. It was a difficult pill to swallow.

And then, the embarrassment registered, as he caught a glimpse of the already-forgotten former date, and heat rose in a flash of crimson fury to his cheeks. No. No. He'd brought a date to his ex's gallery. There had always been a lingering fear - to look out into the crowd at Gravity, and see him snaked around the body of another, under the lights, between the glitter-dusted people. He never had; but now, he'd all but done the same thing in Oz's own face. Eyes shut briefly, a split second to breath in, gather what little sense he had left, and then... Rayan smiled. " Alright. " He agreed simply, and grabbed a small chair, flipping it around to sit in it backwards, but beside Oz's own wheelchair, like two friends, sitting in the corner. There wasn't a moment he didn't let his eyes leave Oz's face, like if he so much as blinked, he'd evaporate && it would have all been a really weird dream. " I have a question first. A serious one. " He allowed a decent pause to extend, a break - then flashed it once more, that cheshire grin, and tilted his head innocently upon the delivery. " Did you get a hair cut? It looks fantastic. "

[kali-writes-meta]

Oscar and Ironwood Part 2: The Toxic Bromance

I apologise for taking so long to post this essay. Recent events haven't been conducive to a contemplative state of mind. In Part 1 I covered the pile of rather ominous foreshadowing of Oscar and Ironwood's relationship, now let's see how it actually played out.

Oscar and Ironwood's relationship has the rhythm of a toxic bromance story. Ironwood is pining for someone else to come sweep him off his feet, and he gets Oscar instead. Ironwood makes no bones about the fact that he would prefer Ozpin, and spends their every moment together trying to turn Oscar into Ozpin. Then, at a dramatic moment, Oscar saves Ironwood by doing something that Ozpin would never do, proving that Oscar is the better man for this moment. And does Ironwood thank him? No, he's still too busy pining for Ozpin, unable to appreciate the man standing in front of him. Finally, Oscar makes one last attempt to reach Ironwood, who cruelly dumps him. It's a perfect example of a toxic bromance.

But, maybe I'm wrong. There are people who say that the final scene with Oscar and Ironwood in Volume 7 had Ironwood acting completely different from how he had previously acted towards Oscar. I didn't see that big of a difference, but maybe I missed something. Let's look at every single interaction between the two characters and see what we find.

When they first meet Ironwood warmly greets a bunch of people he hasn't seen in over a year, but doesn't ask about the one stranger in the group. It's a small incivility that could be put down to the stress of discussing highly classified information, if he didn't then proceed to discuss highly classified information in front of a COMPLETE STRANGER. Whether you see it as an etiquette failure or a security failure or both, it's clearly a failure.

Ironwood announces a new plan that will undo and replace Ozpin's plan, since Ozpin is gone and he has to use his "best judgement". Then he is introduced to the strange kid as "the next Ozpin" (Really, Qrow? You could have worded it better than that.)

Ironwood is overjoyed. He smiles broadly and quickly races to Oscar's side, even going down on one knee in front of him, at the thought that Oscar might not really be Oscar.

Let's pause on the kneeling bit. Who is Ironwood kneeling for? One kneels before a child, one's lover, or one's monarch. Ironwood might be kneeling before the child Oscar, but he NEVER kneels before Oscar again, so he's not kneeling for the child. He's kneeling before a lover or a monarch. I highly doubt it's for a lover, and "monarch" seems closer to how he was treating Ozpin earlier. But it is definitely someone for whom Ironwood feels a passionate bond. There's no doubt that this is the most emotional we have seen Ironwood to this date.

After Ironwood goes down on one knee, he learns that this is not the Wizard he has been looking for. Ozpin.exe has gone offline, and only Oscar is at home.

Ironwood is crushed. Instead of responding to Oscar's introduction and without saying a single word to the young man he's just been introduced to he looks away from him,

turns his back on Oscar,

and walks away!

If one of the main cast had been that rude to Oscar we still wouldn't have heard the end of it, but for some reason Ironwood gets a free pass.

Ironwood: Ozpin told us that too, once upon a time. (turning to face them) At least we have you, Oscar. You're safe here in Atlas. Maybe together we can figure out how to bring Ozpin back.

That's an interesting statement. Notice he still hasn't exchanged pleasantries with Oscar. He's saying that Oscar is safe, but he's not saying that he will take care of Oscar or do anything at all for him, except "figure out how to bring Ozpin back". He's setting the terms of their relationship at the start. He doesn't see Oscar as his own person, but only as an obstacle he has to get through to reach Ozpin.

Note the discrepancy between Ironwood's tone and his wording. Research has shown that some people pay more attention to tone than they do to word choice, so when there's a discrepancy between tone and wording they'll give more weight to the tone and dismiss the actual words. (It's a valuable tool for unscrupulous salesmen and con artists.) Ironwood's tone is warm and friendly towards Oscar and apparently it fooled some viewers, but his words are much cooler and less friendly.

Oscar notices the discrepancy, and it confuses him. He responds first to the warm tone and then to the cool wording.

Oscar: (grinning) Thank you, sir. (stands at attention) I mean, uh, general. Uh, Ironwood? (smiling awkwardly)

At this point their relationship is spelled out. Ironwood is deeply disappointed and dissatisfied that Oscar isn't Ozpin, and is going to try his best to turn Oscar into Ozpin. Oscar, responding to Ironwood's warm tone, is going to do his best to cooperate for Ironwood's sake. Ironwood's stance reminds me of what was said to another Atlesian back in Volume 1:

Port: "So the outcome did not fall in your favor. ...(I)nstead of fretting about what you don't have, savor what you do. Hone your skills, perfect every technique, and be... the best person you can be."

Ironwood is fretting about what he doesn't have. He isn't interested in helping Oscar be the best Oscar he can be. Ironwood just wants to turn Oscar into Ozpin as fast as possible.

We see the difference in the two mens' attitudes play out in the mine clearing story. Oscar expresses concern about how they are treating Ironwood.

Oscar: Ruby, hiding things from Ironwood, doesn't that feel like what Ozpin did to us?

But Ironwood shows a lack of concern for Oscar by not inviting Oscar to a surprise party Ironwood throws for Oscar's friends. If he was concerned for Oscar, why not invite him? But if Ironwood's only concern is turning Oscar into Ozpin, it makes sense that he would not even think to invite the young man. Such an action would not serve Ironwood's purpose, so why do it?

Later, Ironwood begins training Oscar.

Ironwood: You might not hear Oz anymore, Oscar, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to jog him loose.

Once again, Ironwood's tone of voice is warm and friendly, but his words are not. Notice that Ironwood doesn't say that he is training Oscar for Oscar's benefit. His sole stated reason for training Oscar is to "jog (Ozpin) loose". Ironwood has a good reason for believing this sparring technique will work to bring out Ozpin, but that topic deserves an essay of its own, so I'll cover it separately later. However, it doesn't work to jog Ozpin loose. Instead it helps Oscar improve and make more friends, to become more "the best Oscar he can be."

When sparring doesn't work to turn Oscar into Ozpin Ironwood falls back on the classic trope of the lovesick swain, he shows the substitute the special place where he and his idol made special memories.

Ironwood: I hoped bringing you down here might jog some memories.

This interaction is the third time that we've seen Ironwood speak to Oscar, and it's the third time he's said he wants to turn Oscar into someone else. There's no canon evidence that they have any other relationship at this point.

But, I can hear some people saying, how is this different from what the main cast did to Oscar? Didn't they treat him like a walking meat suit as well? It's true that in a fit of rage Jaune accused Oscar of being Ozpin in disguise, but he quickly dropped the delusion and apologized to Oscar at the next opportunity, and that was the end of it. There's never been another time when they have treated Oscar as if he was Ozpin when Oscar was in control of his own body. Ironwood is a different story. He persists in trying to turn Oscar into Ozpin.

For the third time, his tone of voice is warm and friendly, but his words are all about how he doesn't want to be here with Oscar. He wants to be with someone else. He seems to look forward to a day when he believes Oscar will be gone and Ozpin will stand in his place (in spite of all the evidence to the contrary) to Oscar's noticable discomfort.

Oscar: It feels strange, knowing that part of me helped come up with all this.

Ironwood: You’ll get used to it, I’m sure. Eventually, you won’t even know who’s who anymore.

Then, in that special spot, Ironwood tells Oscar his dream for the two of them.

Ironwood: We... didn’t always see eye to eye, but... I wish I could ask Ozpin what he thought of all of this.

As is common with lovesick swains, Ironwood is looking at the past through rose-tinted glasses. They didn't merely not "always see eye to eye". Ironwood was constantly arguing with Ozpin, keeping secrets from Ozpin (Penny), and going behind Ozpin's back to undercut Ozpin's authority (taking over the Vytal Festival). It's doubtful how much he would listen to Ozpin if Ozpin was there, but Ironwood is still making himself heartsick imagining the encouragement that Ozpin would give him. (You can tell he's viewing the past tinted with nostalgia, because if Ozpin were really there Ironwood would be getting a tongue-lashing.)

Imagine how dehumanizing this must feel to Oscar. It's entirely to the young man's credit that he does what he does next.

Oscar: Well, I can tell you what I think. The path you’re heading down where you’re the only one with the answers, where you do the thing you think is right no matter the cost, it’s not going to take you anywhere good.

Oscar has been giving Ironwood what he thinks Ironwood wants, to no avail. Now he gives Ironwood what Oscar thinks Ironwood needs.

And it seems to help Ironwood open up a little bit.

Ironwood: We have to stop Salem. Nothing matters more.

Oscar: Some things matter more, I think. Keeping our humanity. It’s what makes us different from her.

Ironwood: Sometimes I worry that’s her greatest advantage. Without humanity, does she still feel fear? Does she ever hesitate? When Salem hit Beacon, even with all my ships, all of my soldiers... I was no match for her. I’ve never felt so helpless. The way she told me she was there.

Oscar: It’s okay to be afraid. You just can’t let that fear control you.

Ironwood: I am not going to end up with Lionheart. Do you believe in me?

Oscar: I do believe in you, but not only you. I think the best thing you could do is sit down and talk with the people you’re most afraid to.

And how does Ironwood express his gratitude for Oscar's help?

Ironwood: (chuckles) Now you are starting to sound like him.

By denying Oscar's humanity once again.

Then comes Jacques' ball --, er, dinner party. Oscar is worried about what will happen to Ironwood there.

Oscar: Ironwood's going to be locked in a room at his rival's own dinner party. I know Jacques says he's happy to moderate, but all that really means is he'll be the one controlling the conversation.

Ironwood doesn't appear to show the same concern for Oscar, but drags the young man along into a potentially dangerous situation. Why? It's not for anyone's entertainment. It's not so Oscar can testify before the Council, which is the excuse for bringing the others. Oscar's secrets are not ones that Ironwood wants out. The only plausible reason left is so that a 14 year old kid can provide a world leader with advice and emotional support.

To everyone's surprise, that's what happens.

Jacques' treason and Watts' shenanigans come to the surface, culminating in a simultaneous cyber attack with a major DOS, riot, and Grimm invasion. Ironwood freezes in the clinch, unable to decide what to do.

Clover: Sir, we need ground support now.

Robyn: What we need is to start evacuating Mantle. If it's completely overrun, it's not going to be safe anywhere. Use the fleet to get--

Ironwood: If I move the fleet, then Atlas is vulnerable. I… I tried to keep the kingdom safe. And now we're losing everything.

It's Oscar that comes to Ironwood's rescue.

Oscar: General? Earlier, you asked for my advice.

Ironwood: I wanted Ozpin's advice.

Ouch. For the fourth time, Ironwood shows that he sees Oscar as nothing but a poor substitute for Ozpin. But then Oscar shines.

Oscar: And his advice probably would've been to keep your secrets. When we first got here, you already knew that wasn't the right course. You had a new plan.

Ironwood: It's time to give up on that plan. It's all falling apart.

Oscar: The panic you were worried about? It's already happening. The secrets you're keeping? They're about to be in the open anyway. It's time. Tell the truth.

Here is where Oscar does what Ozpin couldn't do, proving that he's not just a second-rate substitute for the real thing. This time he was better than Ozpin.

At this point Oscar has just pulled Ironwood's fat out of the fire, and what does he get? The only thanks Ironwood gives him since they first met, right before Oscar is literally told to go to his room.

Ironwood: Thank you. Oscar, I think it's time you get back to the Academy.

Afterwards Oscar tells Ruby, "He's finally choosing the truth over fear. We should do the same" and with her permission tells Ironwood the rest of the story.

Ironwood -- some folks think he took the news well. I don't. That looks to me like monumental "just this side of throwing up" shock, to be followed by monumental rage. As upsetting as he finds the news of Salem's immortality, he's even more upset that his adored hero kept secrets from him.

Ironwood: (distraught) Why? Why would Oz keep this from us? From the people who trusted him?

(You mean the person who went behind his back and undermined his authority?)

Oscar: He was worried you would lose hope. We're sorry we kept it from you, too. We didn't know who to trust. I figured you should know before you make any… sacrifices.

It's Oscar who prods Ironwood away from his pain and back to the present.

Oscar: Sir? What are you gonna do?

Ironwood: I… (collects himself) All we can do for the moment is what we can to save Mantle. That's what's in front of us.

Oscar: (smiling) He'd be proud of you. You're bringing the hope that Atlas was meant to inspire. A city in the sky is held to a higher standard.

Ironwood: You say that... like you were ther--

One again, the only compliment Ironwood can give Oscar, even after Oscar has done what Ozpin couldn't do, is to tell him he sounds like Ozpin. The man needs to work on some new lines.

Oscar goes back to JNPR's room with an escort of robot guards. Ironwood goes to deal with the crisis, and makes a good show until Cinder and Salem rattle him. The good news is that his monumental shock subsides. The bad news is that it's followed by monumental rage.

In the middle of a battle Ironwood decides to arrest the allies whom he now considers questionable, instead of using the age-old tactic of dealing with such a problem by sending them to the front line. (You can tell these boys haven't fought a war in a while.) He sends an Army unit to capture a same-sized Marines unit, and things go as well as could be expected. Meanwhile Neo goes to retrieve the Lamp of Knowledge, currently in Oscar's possession, from Oscar and JNR, and things go as well as could be expected.

Then in the middle of the Great Escape, Oscar turns back to try one last time to do what Ozpin couldn't do and would no longer have tried to do -- talk sense into Ironwood. Talking sense into Ironwood is something Ozpin had been failing at since Volume 2, and going by what he said to Oscar about Hazel during the Battle of Haven, "He's wounded in a way that cannot be healed", we can safely say that by now Ozpin would have given up on Ironwood as a lost cause. But, just like with Hazel, Oscar is going to try.

Their sixth and final interaction starts with Ironwood repeating basically what he said in the other five interactions, another variation on, " Are you Ozpin yet?" Even after Oscar has done for him what Ozpin wouldn't do, he still wants Ozpin over Oscar.

Ironwood: And... whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?

Oscar: Still just me.

Then the conversation takes a different turn. Ironwood knows he's crossed a line, and he knows Oscar knows. The warm and friendly tone is gone. But Oscar tries to de-escalate the situation.

Ironwood: It was smart of you not to bring the Lamp down here. I wouldn’t trust me either right now.

Oscar: Trust is what I’m hoping to fix. I know we can still figure this out, all of it, together. Please.

Ironwood: Do you intend to fight me?

Oscar: No. That’s exactly what she wants.

Note that Ironwood anticpates a beating for what he's done. As the adult in a room with a teenage boy, HE should be the one pointing out the importance of not being bullied, manipulated, or coerced into doing anything stupid. Instead it's the teenage boy's job to point it out to him.

I've posted about this conversation in detail before, so I just want to make three points this time. The first point is that Ironwood's refusal to admit he's afraid is what triggers his violence.

Ironwood: You still think I’m afraid?

Oscar: We all are. It’s what we do in our fear that reveals--

Ironwood: That’s easy for you to say!

The second point is that Oscar finally understands what Ozpin meant about some people being "wounded in a way that can't be healed." Whether he agrees with Ozpin is something we'll find out in Volume 8, but he understands Ozpin better now.

Finally we have the end of Ironwood's toxic bromance with Oscar. And just as he did at the beginning, he insists on being the one to set the terms.

Ironwood: I am done letting others’ inability to see the big picture get in the way of doing what’s right. Robyn, the council, this kingdom... even you.

Oscar: Then you’re as dangerous as she is, James.

Ironwood: James is what my friends call me. To you… it’s General.

That's pretty much the way I saw it play out while watching the episodes in real time. I missed the discrepancy in tone and word choice the first time around; in my defense I'm a Southerner and used to hearing violent death threats dripping from honeyed lips. But I saw no discrepancy in Ironwood's behavior from beginning to end. He always wanted Oscar to be someone he wasn't, and when it became clear that Oscar was never going be what he wanted Oscar to be, Ironwood threw him away like a petulant child throwing away a broken toy. This wasn't the man I wanted Ironwood to be, but it's the same man we've seen since the beginning -- brave, charming, intelligent, and fatally short-sighted.

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 10/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (the content warnings matter this time!)

Content Warnings: Everything from the previous chapter applies as far as the Walsh business is concerned. Other than that, a very tame chapter. 

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

A/N: So, this is the last main chapter. There is an epilogue which I will post on Sunday, and then this grand adventure will be wrapped up! Thanks for being with me on this ride and for any comments, reblogs, and likes. I’m thankful beyond words. <3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 10: Snowshine

Walsh still looks exactly the same as the last time she was here. Emma tries her best to keep her stomach calm when all she wants to do is throw up on his face, projecting an outward cool that she doesn’t feel as he enters the room and looks up at her. 

“What the - Emma? What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Taking back what’s rightfully mine,” Emma says, gesturing to the box of pictures sitting on the bed beside her.

“Oh no, sweetheart. I would hardly call all of those yours.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, asshole.”

Through all of this, James has been watching a progress bar load on the computer screen. With a noise of victory, he looks back to her.

“There you go, Emma. All done.”

“You brought David with you? Mr. Wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly?”

“Oh, buddy, believe me. You’re gonna wish I was David by the end of this. Good job hosting a whole website with a bunch of non-consensual photos on it. But shame on you for making it so easy to break into.”

“You have another brother?”

“Didn’t I ever tell you that David was an identical twin?”

At the little jingle that plays from the desk, he tries to push James out of the way. “What did you do to my computer?”

“Gave it a little tune up,” James tells him, crossing his arms with pride as a little unicorn marches into the center of the screen. 

All three of them watch with rapt attention as the unicorn stands and waves, before squatting. 

“Oh my god,” Emma says, bursting out in laughter as the unicorn defecates in the shape of an artfully written “fuck you” in rainbow colors. 

After a couple seconds, the whole thing emits a screeching noise and shuts off with a loud pop. 

“All your buddies that subscribed to your email list got something pretty similar. I mean, I don’t know if they’ll all open it but with the heading ‘Check out the brand new section!’ I’m willing to bet a lot of dudes are about to lose their computers.”

Walsh finally makes it around James, desperately trying to turn on his computer but nothing happens when he hits the button. “All of my business files were on there.”

“You kept all your shit on your personal computer? Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought.” James turns towards Emma on the tail of that thought. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Emma responds, picking up the box of photographs and handing it over to James. They manage to make it out of the bedroom before Walsh must come to his senses, and he’s after them immediately. 

His hand closes around Emma’s arm, and she spins around. On instinct, Emma swings as she breaks the hold. And while James misses taking a snapshot of that hit, he doesn’t miss the one where Emma knees him in the nuts hard enough to bring him to his knees. 

“I have the perfect new image for the welcome screen on his trash web page,” James says as Emma backs away. He holds the phone out for her to see and she just barely stops herself from cracking up. “Here, take this. I’ll be right behind you.” He hands over the box, gently ushering her towards the door. 

She doesn’t go far, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear what James has to say to Walsh. 

“Here’s the deal, you Wizard of Oz-looking monkey piece of shit. All of the accounts for that website are completely wiped out. All that money you made off of people like my sister? That money is so far offshore that you’ll never be able to trace it ever again. Got it?”

“I’ll call the cops,” Walsh says weakly.

“You won’t. You have no evidence. And if you try to do that, or ever try to do this again, I will screw up your whole life. We’re in a digital age now, Walsh Whitney Covington. I have everything of yours now. Personal records, social media, bank accounts, the password to your pretentious little LinkedIn page that lists you as a connoisseur of wood, which… come on, man.”

“That’s all illegal,” he whines back, and Emma is mostly just enjoying the snivelling tone in his voice. 

“Yeah? And? I’m sure Emma signed a consent form for those pictures you had posted of her, right? You had her sign away her financial freedoms for the profits on it, too? Don’t ever fuck with our family ever again or you’ll regret it.”

After a couple more minutes of silence, James exits the apartment and gives her a bright smile. 

“Now, that was a fun afternoon with my brother. See? We should bond like this more often,” Emma says as they make their way out of the building and back down to where he parked his car. 

“Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. Jack would kill me if she found out this is how I spent my day.”

“You’re still with Jack?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I did marry her, after all. She wanted to wait until she made partner to have a baby and so I switched gears and became a stay-at-home dad after she went back from maternity leave. It helps to have a super lawyer as your wife.”

“None of the words that just came out of your mouth are what I was expecting when I called you about all this.”

“Well, it’s not like I send out Christmas cards with updates on the family,” James says, a little resignation in his voice. 

“Did you really take all the profits from the website?”

“And refunded the money you spent on that settee you bought there back before you started dating.”

Just as he says it, Emma’s phone dings with a notification. There’s a message from her bank saying there’s been a deposit into her account. Looking at the numbers, it’s way more than what she paid for the moderately priced item, but James shrugs. 

“Maybe I got the numbers backwards in my head. Added an extra digit. Whatever. So you mentioned earlier that you have a boyfriend? You haven’t changed your status on Facebook.”

“You follow my social media?”

“Just because I don’t let any of you know about what’s going on in my life doesn’t mean I don’t check up on you.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be at a Christmas party for his company down in New York but someone insisted we do this today.”

He rolls his eyes as he opens his door and climbs into the driver’s seat. No sooner is she seat-belting in when another notification chimes on her phone. 

“Did you seriously just buy me a plane ticket to New York City?”

“I’ll hand all of that over to David,” James says, indicating the box she placed in the backseat. “Besides, he and I are severely overdue for a brotherly chat.” Without another word, he starts a route for the airport. 

“When was the last time you had one of those? When you were fifteen?”

“Something like that. Hey, text him and let him know what’s going on. I should be back there in about an hour but I don’t want him to worry.”

She shakes her head, doing as he asked and sending a message to David. 

As they pull up outside the airport, Emma turns to James. “So, what do I still owe you?”

“Nothing. I got the cash he had stashed in his desk, all the money from his subscription side of the website, and free childcare for the evening after Jack gets home from the office today.”

“Did you tell David that yet?”

“No, but I will. And you know he will - he’s David. Go on,” he tells her when they arrive a short time later. “Enjoy the party.”

“Okay then. And hey, thanks for all your help. I couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone else.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, Emma?” 

Her door is open and she’s just about to climb out when he says her name. 

“It was nice seeing you,” he admits. 

She leans in quickly and hugs him, noting how familiar yet utterly foreign it feels. “Come visit us sometime,” she tells him as she pulls away. She stands there until his car pulls away and he’s out of view before she walks through the doors. 

Somehow, James managed to get her the perfect flight so she had enough time to get through security, although she looks suspicious as hell going in with nothing but her purse, if you ask her. It’s still considered early when she lands in the city, but with nothing else with her, she has to get party-ready with nothing but the money in her bank account. Thanks to James, there’s a little bit extra to play with in there.

Emma feels like she should be in some cheesy movie montage as she struggles to find everything she’ll need to get ready. Hair and makeup come first, and she’s thankful the salon isn’t far from a decent looking clothing shop or else her charges in cab fares alone would’ve gotten out of hand. 

The dress she finds is perfect - a sleek, black number that doesn’t fit too tight but that doesn’t hide her shape. It’s similar enough to the dress she was planning on wearing to this, the one she borrowed from Ruby as a first-date possibility but put aside in favor of the soft pink she wore instead. She admires the whole look in the mirror as the shop attendant helps her clip tags after Emma pays. She buys two pairs of shoes - a cute pair of cutout ankle boots and a pair of flats - in anticipation of the point in the party where she’ll want to feel her toes again. 

It’s only once she’s fully satisfied with the total picture that she heads out, making sure everything she wore down here is tucked securely into the weekender bag the attendant helped her pick out. 

This time, she opens the rideshare app for a little more comfort, and then it’s off to the Manhattan Penthouse to finally get to where she wants to be.

-x-

Tucking away the knowledge that Robin just gave him, Killian settles into his seat with only a lone glance at the empty chair beside him. He has Henry on his other side, and the rest of the Mills-Hood family in the remaining seats. They’ve not even begun when he receives a sharp, bony elbow to the side. 

“Hey,” Henry whispers as he leans close. “Isn’t that Emma?”

He turns his head, glancing in the direction Henry is pointing, and his breath catches. Sure enough, Emma is standing there in a black dress that surely should be illegal to look so good in. Her hair and makeup are all done, and she’s scanning the room. It takes another elbow to his ribs for Killian to finally stand up, waving over his girlfriend and attempting to wipe the surprise off his face while he does.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re just in time, actually. I’m so… don’t get me wrong, Swan, but I never expected you’d be able to make it.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek and taking a moment to soak up her closeness.

“Yeah, well, sometimes when you make a deal with the devil to take down satan, you get what you want faster than you expected,” she says, and while he doesn’t fully understand, he knows he’ll get the full story later. 

He pulls out her chair for her, pushing it in as she sits. “I do believe we all know one another,” he says to the table at large. “I’d told them to cancel your meal, so excuse me while I get that turned around.”

“Emma! I’m so glad you’re here!” Henry who’d been sitting on his right, beams from ear to ear as he slides over to talk to her. 

“Hi Henry. Everyone. Glad I could make it.”

Hearing her voice and the animated conversation that sparks up between her and Henry immediately calms his nerves for the evening, and he hastens to find one of the caterers so he can return to the table. 

By the time their dinner is served, he’s noticed no less than four times Henry has pulled out his iPod to jot down something in his notes. He smiles as he watches it happen, watches the gears turn in the lad’s head and the magic take root. He manages to keep it in his pocket for the entirety of the meal, but he’s pretty sure that was due to a questioning look from Regina right as the salads were placed in front of them.

With the rest of the table occupied with their desserts, Killian takes a moment to lean over, keeping his voice low as he whispers in her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she says, a satisfied little smile on her face. There’s been a peace evident on her face since the moment she walked in, and he’s intrigued but enjoying it. She was never too tightly wound to begin with, apart from the times she got stuck in her own head. This, he assumes, is due to the business with her ex being all wrapped up. 

After the dishes have been cleared, Killian rests in his seat for a bit. There’s still a lot more networking he’ll have to do, but for now he takes the time to relax as he and Robin discuss strategy for announcements. He’s in the middle of helping figure out the order when Emma’s hand creeps onto his thigh. His words falter for a moment, and he can see Emma’s smile get just a little wider. 

When her hand travels a little higher, he reaches down, knowing full well that his ears and cheeks are both bright with flush, and takes a moment when Robin is asking Henry a question to fully turn to her.

“Have pity on me,” he whispers, pulling her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it, and she laughs quietly, turning her palm to link her fingers with his. 

“Just this one time,” she concedes, settling in with their hands clasped. 

-x-

Walking into the venue, Emma is momentarily overwhelmed. She forgot that the Storybrooke office isn’t the whole team, and that a lot of the authors would be there, so there’s just a sea of people as far as she can see across the space. But then Killian stands up, her eyes finding his as he waves her over. 

And it’s halfway between where she is and where he’s waiting that it hits her full in the gut: She is in love with Killian. She is so in love with that man that she can hardly stand it. He has never once looked at her differently or placed unrealistic expectations on her - he never set out to hurt her. 

There, with the lights of the chandeliers glittering overhead, and the backdrop of the city getting dusted in snow, Emma realizes that she is looking at the man she wants to spend all of her time with if she can. Her heart squeezes, even as she smiles and accepts the kiss he places on her cheek as they settle in.

It’s the first time she’s ever been to a party like this, and she has to think it’s going pretty well. While Killian is occupied with his duties, Emma offers to watch Roland so Regina can go with Robin as he makes rounds to greet everyone. Emma follows him as he drags her from one end of the penthouse to the other, eager to show her anything and everything he can. 

By the end of the night, her feet hurt and she’s all too happy to get her belongings from the coat check room so she can slip on the flats she bought. She’s leaning against the wall, innocently trying to pry her feet out of the booties when Killian comes up behind her, his hand warm through the material of her dress and his voice hot in her ear. 

“Are you trying to kill me tonight?”

“I’m just trying to change my shoes. It’s not my fault your eyes automatically go to my ass when you approach me.”

He looks affronted when she turns to look at him, a smile hiding behind the expression.

“Besides,” she says, “I just can’t wait for you to get me out of this dress.”

“I’m ordering us a car right now.”

It’s amazing; she knows he prefers the quiet and solitude of their little town, but he performs so well in the city - like he was built to live here - and she loves that he chooses not to. They’re both on their best behavior in the car, but Killian purposely sat on her left so his hand can rest on her knee. Rather than spiking that part in her that’s always game for another round of sex, though, it reignites her thoughts from when she entered the party and she stares at him in the dark as the city lights pass them by.

When he notices, he turns to her with a peaceful look on his face, and they smile at each other. “What?” he asks, his fingers tightening once.

“Nothing,” she replies, taking the moment to rest her head on his shoulder for the rest of the journey. “Tonight was great.”

Back at the hotel, they at least manage to settle a bit before Killian follows through with her request, with both of them sighing as the dress slips from her shoulders and drops lightly to the floor. They take their time, slow and languid, savoring each moment with each other.

“I know I’ve said this plenty of times, but I am so happy you were able to make it,” Killian tells her as their skin is still cooling. She needs to go wash the makeup from her face but she’s not quite sure her legs will function in order to do so.

“Me too.” She stares at him, her eyes roaming his face and sinking into the wonder that has been the last three months of her life, thanks to this man.

“What is it?” he asks, his expression serious as he tries to figure out what she’s thinking.

“I… want to thank you for everything. You went into this without knowing and you still haven’t pushed me to talk about what happened or anything and so I just… wanted to say thanks.”

His smile falters, still there but just a touch disappointed that the words weren’t the ones he was expecting after she set it up to be something else, and she knows how it feels. Her thumb strokes along his cheek, pushing at his smile briefly as she leans in to kiss him. 

Maybe next time, she thinks as she moves to the bathroom to clean up before climbing back into bed. Outside, the city keeps moving on as their world slows for sleep. 

-x- December 21: Saturday

As usual, Killian is the one that wakes up first. He sets about ordering breakfast and jumps in the shower in the interim. Emma is awake and sitting up in bed when he comes back out, and he leans over the bed to kiss her good morning. 

“David texted me that he’s on his way home. He has everything we took from Walsh and he’s going to drop it off at my place.”

“That’s certainly good news. Even better news is I have coffee and breakfast being delivered soon.”

She chuckles at that. “Perfect. I wish I had more clothes with me, but I suppose yesterday’s will be fine.”

“My luggage is yours, love. I always pack extra just in case, so help yourself.”

Which seemed like a good idea, until Emma walks out of the bathroom after her own shower in one of his button up shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her supple form filling out the garment better than he ever could. 

They eat breakfast in bed, the curtains flung open wide to let in the weak, winter sunshine. As they graze their food, Emma books her ticket for their return to Storybrooke, crowing in victory when she scores a seat on Killian’s flight.

“I’ll text David and see if he can pick us up,” Emma tells him when they’re getting ready for their outside adventure, pulling her hat securely over her ears and wrapping her scarf around her neck.

They brave the cold to hit some of the popular winter activities in the city, taking in the Christmas markets and strolling Fifth Avenue. In the early evening, they meet up with Robin, Regina, and the two boys again to enjoy dinner together. With the pressure from the night before long gone, they talk instead of the upcoming holidays. 

It’s clear that Henry is willing to keep the magic alive for Roland, asking the younger boy what he’s planning on asking for Christmas when they go to see Santa after the meal is over. When Killian catches Henry’s eye a short bit later, the lad smiles and gives him a thumbs up. 

After dinner, they set out on their own again to see the Rockefeller tree in person. They stand there, watching the lights twinkle and the skaters on the rink until neither of them can feel their toes and their noses are bright red. 

Sinking into their hotel bed that night, Killian makes sure to set his alarm, but Emma grabs for it before he can set it down.

“Just wanted to double check. Wouldn’t want to miss your alarm or anything,” she says, that smile hidden in the corner of her mouth. 

“Cheeky woman,” he says quietly, making sure to kiss her hard and lovely before they each burrow under the covers. 

There’s another message from David waiting for Emma when they wake up letting her know they’ll be there to pick them up. Thankfully, with no luggage, their disembarking process is much faster and they’re able to get out of the departure door right as David and Snow pull up.

While they go their separate ways when they get back to town, he and Emma have a standing appointment for later in the afternoon to take everything that was acquired from Walsh’s apartment to send it off properly, as she did with her uniform. 

He sets to work on a mission, unpacking his bag and stripping off his dirty clothes to throw everything in his hamper. There’s still time before he meets with Emma, but since he’s been out of town since Friday, he’s behind on his weekend duties and he knows he’ll feel better if he takes the time to do it now rather than waiting. He throws his clothes in the wash, opting for warmer clothes for their task ahead. Instead of sitting around and waiting for the machine to be done, he takes the time instead to pack a picnic of sorts for the task ahead of them. Those items and a blanket all go into a tote bag he got from the last publishing conference he attended. 

Shortly after his laundry is folded and put away, Emma breezes through the door with a large box in her arms. 

“Ready?”

“Aye, just let me grab my keys.”

He locks the door behind them on their way out, and then they make their way to the beach closest to his flat. There’s a fire pit that was built ages ago, large stones surrounding it and a fresh pile of logs that Killian would place money on betting that David set it up for them. 

As he sets to work lighting the fire, he hands Emma the tote to start unpacking their items. She hums happily as she finds the soup, and again when she opens the second thermos that has the hot chocolate. He’s just finishing with his task when he turns to see her pouring the drink into each mug he brought, and raises an eyebrow as she tips a generous amount of whiskey into each one. 

She shrugs when she sees his look. “Believe me, I’m going to need it,” she says after a sip to taste-test. 

They stay on the beach much longer than most people would in December, with fresh snow occasionally falling around them. But they make sure each individual picture makes it into the fire. As delicately as they can, they remove them from the box, and he hands a stack face-down to Emma for her to fold each picture so he can feed it into the fire. 

She sets the thumb drive on the rocks around the pit, making sure to give it a solid stomp before throwing that in as an afterthought. 

“I’m sure it’s terrible for the environment but I need that thing wiped from existence.”

When each item has met its demise, including the box it was all packed away in, Emma puts out the fire using every precaution he’s sure David taught her.

Back in the comforting warmth of his place, Killian pulls out every blanket he owns and waits for Emma to come out of his bedroom from getting changed into pajamas. He piles them on top of her, going to change his own clothes before joining her on the couch. He holds her while she processes the whole thing - some anger and tears, some relief, until she falls asleep on Killian’s shoulder and he has to shift around until they can both stretch out. 

He doesn’t fall asleep until long after she does, whispering a quiet “I love you” against her hair before he finally falls asleep, as well. 

-x- December 23: Monday

They’re still on the couch when Emma wakes up, if only just barely. She’s facing Killian, her back pressed against the couch, with Killian’s arm looped over her waist. She’s just opening her eyes when she hears his gasp and then he’s teetering off the edge. Now wide awake, she peers down to see Killian wincing on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy, love,” he grumbles, rubbing his head where it smacked on the floor. She’s stifling laughter when he leans up and kisses her softly. “Good morning to you, my sweet couch hog.”

“We could’ve moved at any time. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I love you and wanted you to rest more than I cared about my own comfort,” he responds, only realizing as he finishes speaking that he may have said too much. His eyes, wider and brighter blue than she’s ever seen them, meet her steady gaze.

“I love you, too. But that’s a little dramatic of a reason for why you’re now on the floor.”

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. Or time. This time just happens to be on my remarkably uncomfortable area rug.” She can’t help the laugh that slips out this time and she runs her hands through his hair. Hangover be damned, she loves this man so much.

“Thanks again for last night. I was a bit of a mess,” she says, even though it feels like a vast understatement to what she actually was the day before. He waves his hand to dismiss her words.

“Sometimes, we just need to throw a mini-rager and burn a bunch of illegally obtained pornographic materials. You sure we’ll never need any of that as evidence in case there’s some kind of criminal investigation?”

“James was pretty clear with Walsh about what would happen to him if he tried to pursue legal action. Not only that, but every picture on the website has been removed and the only thing that pops up when the site is unlocked now is a picture of Walsh clutching his junk with an expression of pain on his face.” 

“I wish I could’ve been there to see you make that hit,” Killian admits, pushing up off the cushion to stand. “Come, love, let’s sail away to the kitchen where I can recite dirty poetry to you and make you breakfast.”

She laughs as she takes his hand, because while he doesn’t recite dirty poetry, he does make her breakfast and convince her to play hooky with him for the day. And when he takes her to bed a short time later, he infuses her skin with the words of his love over and over again. 

It’s the first time in years he doesn’t stick to any kind of routine at all, and they’re both perfectly okay with that. 

-x-

Epilogue

[7deadlycinderellas]

No more math and history, ch7

Ao3 link

Second session comes to a close. 

Hide and seek only takes two hours this year (Arya long ago found the best hiding place, underneath the kitchen employees snack table behind the mess hall, but Clegane rats her out this time). The Wizard of Oz goes off with no stage fright and no flubbed lines, and only one munchkin who has to run off to the latrines prematurely. 

The dance comes, and Arya even wears a skirt for it.

The dance is over now, and around the campfire the lingering counselors have plundered the prize smuggled in yesterday in Loras’s truck - two whole cases of beer. There wasn’t enough to go around for anyone to really get drunk but most of them were at least nursing a bottle. If no one got in trouble, Brienne would be none the wiser.

Most of the unit counselors have left, begrudgingly. They’ll get their revenge when everyone at activities has to work tomorrow all day when the kids are gone. Meera had taken one bottle and snuck off for solitude. Ygritte had grumbled the whole dance, she was stuck on lights out patrol the last night of session. Bran left too, laughing that alcohol and wheelchairs didn’t mix. 

All around the campfire, everyone’s drinking their beer, laughing and singing.

Arya and her companions are off to one side, and a couple are still fixated on the skirt. 

She holds out the ends of the fabric, showing Shireen. 

“I pretty much live in jeans and sweaters and hoodies up north. I haven’t worn a skirt or dress voluntarily since my junior school days when we had uniforms. Well about a year and a half ago I tore the knees out of my favorite jeans. I was going to throw them away, but Sansa fished them out, cut the inseams and patched the gaps with one of our dad’s old flannel shirts.”

They still had a whole box of Ned’s flannel shirts, waiting for them to find a use for them. Robb and Jon were both still too slim to wear them. Sometimes Arya would pull one on, letting it fall down nearly to her knees, and pretend she could still smell him. Ned had always smelled like pine and snow to her, no matter where they were.

“I loved it, because of that and because Sansa made it just for me. But I only wore it once.”

“I forgot about that,” Sansa admits.

Arya feels herself turning red, and she knows it’s not the beer, she’s only had half a bottle. 

“I wish I could. I wore it to school once, one of the only days it was warm enough.”

She had always shaken her head at Sansa, who wore dresses and skirts to school all the time, with or without leggings or tights, no matter the amount of snow on the ground. She could be shivering under her winter coat and hat and boots, but still refuse to change.

“I didn’t really think anything of it, but everyone else sure seemed to. Mum fussed over me all morning and when I got to school, I kept hearing whispers and snickers. I even heard someone say ‘guess she really is a girl after all’. It was mortifying, and I never wore it again.”

Shireen frowns, even harder than she was before. She had taken exactly one drink of her beer and had winced.

“Why would people act like that just over seeing a girl in a skirt?”

Gendry snorts. He’s only been sipping his beer, and with a pang, Arya remembers that his mother had always said, that his father had just been some drunk. 

“They probably thought they had wandered into some teen flick and she was having a dramatic makeover into the class beauty everyone would want.”

Arya feels herself burn, and she knows it’s not the beer talking. 

“Yes, it was like they thought that just because I wore a skirt that I would stop playing sports and start hanging out at the mall and fawning over boys instead.”

Gendry starts laughing so Arya sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Nope, you’re not getting any fawning, none at all. Mum was the worst actually. She always thought that one day I would wake up transformed into the proper girl she wanted me to be, like Sansa.”

“You and Mum never did see eye to eye,” Sansa admits, quietly. Her two bottles are both empty and there’s a tinge of sadness to her voice.

Arya pulls her knees up to her chest. 

“She could never understand why I would rather go to the park with the dogs, or to White Harbour for a game, or beg Jon to teach me to drive on a Saturday instead of, I don’t know, getting my hair or nails done like you.”

“It wasn’t always perfect between us,” Sansa admits, “Sometimes I could be too much even for mum. You weren’t around that time I threw a tantrum because she said I couldn’t go clubbing with the rest of the cast after the Music Man closed, because it was after curfew.”

Sansa’s quiet for a long moment.

“I wonder if she would fight me again over this next year.”

Arya flops flat on her back. 

“You did fine on your A-levels Sansa, and you’re hardly the first person to take a gap year to work.”

Shireen frowns off to her side.

“You’re out of school already? I thought you said you were seventeen?”

Sansa nods, then giggles.

“There was some fuss with our birthdays when we both entered school. I turn eighteen in October, Arya’s seventeen in November. I just finished my A-levels, Arya’s going into her last year.”

Sansa quiets after this. Arya knows she had agonized over this. She had done decently on exams, true, but she really did want to pursue acting. The theater scene in Winterfell, indeed, in all of the North was so very small, that her only hope was to leave and move somewhere like the Riverlands, or hopefully the Reach. And all for Sansa’s confidence, leaving home like that terrified her. 

Shireen turns her attention to Arya, who suddenly feels the need to take a long swig of her beer. 

“What are you taking?’

Arya grimaces, “English, maths, biology, phys ed, and Braavosi.”

She bites her lip. 

“Mum would probably still say that’s not enough.”

The beer isn’t helping, her stomach feels like there’s a rock in it. Part of her wants to keep going, but is terrified of letting it out. Across the campfire, Loras has started making out with Renly Baratheon, the boys head counselor, and no one is paying any attention to the group in the little corner. 

“Do you remember Ned Dayne?” she asks Gendry, eye half-closed in his direction. Gendry snorts, like a bull would, not like he’s laughing. 

“I hated him.”

Arya scoffs. Ned had come to camp with them the second year, invited along as the son of a long time family friend. The rest of the Brotherhood had liked him, Gendry had not.

“You did not hate him, you were ten. Well, last year Ned came north to stay with his aunt for a few months.”

Sansa’s eyeing her oddly, trying to work out the timeline and looking wary. 

“There was a beginning of term dance. I didn’t really want to go, but Ned offered to take me because he thought I was afraid to go alone, and- Gendry wipe that pout off your face-”

His pout is extremely obvious too, even Shireen’s giggling in his direction. She had never really understood why him and Ned got on each other’s nerves so easily, having always chalked it up to them just having different temperaments.

“Ned and I are just friends, we both knew it…” her voice thins and turns rough, “Mum didn’t seem to get the memo though.”

Sansa interrupts. 

“Was that what-”

Arya nods. 

“She couldn’t stop going on about how sweet we were together, and and, how happy Dad would have been…”

That was the part that had hurt the most, that it felt like Mum had been using Dad against her, even if that hadn’t been her intention. 

“She tried to convince me to take him to this fancy charity event she was planning for the company, and I just, I got so mad…”

Tears threaten to spill out, and she wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“I told her that I wasn’t going to go to her stupid event, alone or with Ned. I told her that she was never going to understand me and that I wished…I wished that Dad was still here instead of her.”

Arya’s crying now openly, and the others are just watching her. 

“Her and Bran’s accident was the next day. Mum died thinking I hated her.”

Arya’s so lost in her words, that she doesn’t even notice when Sansa roughly tipsy-tackles her.

“She did not. You had a fight over something stupid and you lost your temper and said something you didn’t mean. Arya, it’s not the first time you’ve done that. She knew you didn’t hate her.”

Off to the side, she can hear Shireen opening her mouth.

“So much for not being in a film. Is this where we all share our deepest secrets? You already know mine.”

The tone seems almost bitter for Shireen, but Arya could hug her at this moment, for taking the attention off of her confession. 

“Then my turn is done, someone else take a turn.”

Sansa squeezes her one last time, whispering into her hair. 

“You’re so much more lovable than you seem to believe Arya,” she spares a glance in Gendry’s direction before letting go and standing up, “Maybe you’ll come to see it yourself.”

Once Sansa leaves for the other side of the campfire, it’s quiet for a few minutes. Arya studies the stars, feels the warmth of the fire at her back and breathes in the soft scent of smoke. It’s true, she does feel a bit lighter.

After several minutes, Gendry breaks the silence. 

“After we left camp the last time...the foster mother I had after molested me for most of that year.”

Arya feels her throat go dry, her mind go fuzzy. She thinks she makes some noises but none of them are words, or at least she hopes they aren’t.

“At least you’re using the word now,” Shireen comments, and Arya feels even more almost words try and get out.

“Shireen,” she starts off, “Wasn’t she the one who-”

Shireen nods, but Gendry isn’t paying attention. His voice drones on like a tape stretched out from too many plays. 

“I’m not sure if Melisandre was her given or family name either. That’s just what she told me to call her. She hadn’t been living in King’s Landing long before...I should have known she was strange from day 1. I’d never even heard of the Lord of Light before, but she made me keep the little religious rituals. That wasn’t really so bad…”

He swallows roughly. 

“She was really affectionate right off the bat. I didn’t think anything of that either, I’ve had some foster parents who freaked out if I so much as bumped into them and I thought this was better. It didn’t help that she was beautiful. “ “She really was,” Shireen admits, swigging her beer. Arya notes that it’s mostly gone now, as though Shireen had been using it to distract from the conversation. “Like, film star beautiful.”

“Then the weirdness started. She would stare into her little flame on her altar for hours, or spend most of the day speaking in a language I didn’t recognize. Sometimes she would corner me while in this state, and get way too close.”

Shireen’s finished her beer, and stood and set to leave. Arya doesn’t blame her. She feels well and truly drunk, her head swimming and her stomach threatening to turn itself over. 

“Then it got to the point she would try and kiss me while muttering some shit about the will of R’hllorr. It would be a lie to say I didn’t enjoy this at first. That’s why some of it feels like my fault, like I should have done something earlier.”

Arya hates every inch of guilt on his face. 

“You were what, fifteen then? You couldn’t have...would you have thought differently if you had been a girl, or younger?”

Gendry won’t look at her now. 

“But by the time she started saying things about bloodlines and sticking her hands down my shorts I knew everything was wrong, but I didn’t know how to make her stop.”

“I’m so sorry,” Arya starts, turning on one side to face him, “That was horrible. She was supposed to be a parent, no parent should ever do anything like that.”

Gendry chuckles roughly. 

“I had a decent reputation with the social workers. I wasn’t a problem case. I still led off with the religious ranting, because I still thought they might not believe me. They did though, and even leaving with another bin bag, I was ecstatic. I was in a boy’s group home for a few months until Davos took me in. Those months were when she went to Dragonstone.”

Arya’s eyes go wide. 

“They let her?”

“They had to build a case. They could bar her from taking in other kids or working at a school, but until they got all my statements, they couldn’t stop her from traveling within the territory and preaching.”

“Did they-” 

“It was easier after Shireen. Because of what she did to her, with witnesses, they got the order to hold her against her will within the day. She’s in an in-treatment facility now, and has been declared unfit to stand trial. Diagnosis of hallucinations and delusions, apparently they’re religiously oriented quite a lot. Until she’s not, what happened to me is just a file in a police station.” 

Arya sighs deeply. Her mother had always been very religious, and while Arya had rarely shared her enthusiasm, none of it had ever frightened her.

She remembers that Gendry never really put any stock in the barely there prayers and religious songs at camp, she always thought he was in the same boat as her. 

She watches Gendry’s face, his eyes half closed, his lips set straight. A horrible thought hits her suddenly. 

“I didn’t- nothing I’ve done when we’re...I don’t make you remember it do I?”

Gendry sighs, and reaches out to push a bit of her hair back over the side of her face.

“No. I didn’t tell you this to make you pity me, or so you’d treat me like I was going to break.”

Arya feels her eyes water as she asks, “Then why did you tell me.”

Gendry exhales roughly. 

“I guess I’m just so sick of feeling like it’s a secret. It’s not something you can just drop on people. What I said earlier this summer was true, it was much easier to focus on work and school instead of trying to date. But it’s not just that. After what she did to me, it was really hard to think of trusting a complete stranger again. It took me a long time to warm up to Davos and his wife, and even Shireen.”

Arya sighs softly, breathing in the night air. 

“But you trust me?”

Gendry runs his fingers along one of her cheeks, and even though it’s gentle and simple, it makes her skin tingle.

“I do. Besides, you’re not a complete stranger. What Sansa says was right though, you’re so much more lovable than you give yourself credit for.”

Arya scoffs, though her heart swells inside her. 

“You too,” she whispers. Gendry shakes his head.

“I think that’s just you, and maybe Shireen. I think your siblings only put up with me because of you. Everyone else seems to think I’m a giant prick.”

Arya pouts. 

“That’s not true!”

Gendry laughs. 

“It’s fine. The people who actually matter don’t.”

He flexes his arm and rolls Arya closer. She presses her nose into the side of his neck and breathes in deeply. Warm skin, hint of suncream.

They’re quiet for a time, and Arya drinks the moment in. 

“If this is a big scene in a film, any other secrets you want to let out here?” she asks with a smirk. 

Gendry breathes deeply for a moment. 

“Lem gave me some info on an apprenticeship in King’s Landing I might go out for.”

Arya purses her lips. 

“An apprenticeship? What for?”

“To be a paramedic.”

Arya’s eyes go wide. She thinks back on his uncertainty about his future.

“That’s a great idea! You already have something resembling experience too.”

Gendry smiles, though his face still looks a bit hesitant. 

“I think so too, especially after what happened during the canoe races. I just- I’m tired of not knowing what I want. I want to make something of myself, show everyone I’m worthy, that I’m not just some lost kid to be pitied and looked down upon.”

Arya kisses his chin.

“Just remember you don’t need to prove anything to be worth it to me.”

Gendry breathes softly, and rolls so they’re closer together, nearly pressed nose-to-nose. 

“It’s not a guarantee, it’s a hard spot to get. It’s not just recent grads, working adults can apply too.”

Arya smiles. 

“After this past year with Bran, I’ve been considering physical therapy.”

“That’d be a good fit, given your background.”

“I thought so. Though apparently you’re competing with a ton of failed med school applicants. I’ll have to really buckle down this year.”

She groans deeply. The two beers she had is making her blood feel hot.

“I don’t want to think about school, it’s the summer holidays.”

So after that, they don’t talk anymore about the future. 

Morning comes, with the sun, and only a few hangovers. The campers leave, and the unit counselors slack off. Out in the stables, Arya and Ygritte muck and chat. Much like her and Gendry, they don’t talk about the future. 

[consummate-deviant]

I reckon I’m gonna talk about Hordak for a minute

So, I feel the need to talk about Hordak.  This is, perhaps, not unusual.  Once upon a time ago, writing stupidly long pseudo-essays about characters I rather liked used to be my thing… and it’s still a bug that bites me from time to time.  The timing certainly seems right!  Homeboy has been the topic of conversation lately, thanks to the recent release of She-ra season 4, and the manifold feels associated with it.  I’m fond of Hordak, as it were, so I don’t mind sharing my perspective on the subject, since there’s some confusion as to his appeal.  

The two stances I see taken on Hordak most often, by those who don’t like him, I should specify, are as follows:

A.) He’s an irredeemable villain who has done terrible things, and I don’t see why anyone would like him.

And

B.) He’s a lame, nonthreatening villain.

I’m not going to be engaging with mindset ‘B’ quite as much as with mindset ‘A’ in the following post, in part because the reasons why he’s so lame and nonthreatening are kinda tied to what I’ll be discussing by implication, but mostly because my response to mindset B can be summed up with the following: “You are not wrong, at all.  However, that’s literally the entire point of his character, so while you aren’t wrong to be disappointed if you were hoping he would be a more measured, megalomaniacal sort, it’s also not a failure on the part of the writers, since his lack of suitability for the role he was trying to play was always going to be what his story was about.”

Mindset ‘A’, though... well... that’s a bit tricky.  Ultimately “irredeemable” is a personal value judgment.  The threshold a character must cross before one audience member feels they no longer deserve forgiveness can vary quite wildly from another, and while trying to pass one’s personal opinion off as an objective fact is something of a pastime on the internet, I am- and I cannot state this emphatically enough- NOT your dad… probably. At least, I hope to god…  Look, odds are really good that I’m not your dad, so… you do your thing and shine like the crazy diamond you are.  I probably can’t change your mind, and considering I don’t even know you, it’d be kinda creepy if I thought I could! What I can do, though, for those genuinely curious how anyone could consider him redeemable, is share my own perspective on the character, and why I think redemption is the direction the story is going, based on how I’ve read the text thus far… So I’m gonna do that.  Let’s go over Hordak as he has appeared in the She-Ra reboot.

Part I: Season 1 Hordak

Now see, when we kick things off, I totally get where both the ‘A’ group and the ‘B’ group are coming from.  Hordak, as he appears in season 1, seems ruthless, intimidating, and single-minded.  Hordak doesn’t carry the conflict in season 1, serving as more of a background presence while Catra and Shadow Weaver, who have a more personal investment in the central narrative, do all the heavy lifting of antagonizing the heroes and angsting.

This keeps the attention off of Hordak, which is precisely how he likes things.  When people aren’t going out of their way to interact with him, then it’s easy for him to control what few interactions he does have.  That’s what season 1 shows us: Hordak, when he has perfect control over his own narrative.    Every scene that features him is shot with a low angle, often with his form either concealed in shadows or with his face partially out of frame.  When he speaks, he’s always calm and distant… but calm in that ‘he could totally fly into a rage at any instant’ way that keeps people on their toes.  Pragmatic, taciturn, perfectly measured and groomed,… pretty tall!  By any metric a reasonable person can measure a competent, intimidating villain, Hordak circa season 1 seems like he’d pass the test.

Part 2: Season 2-3 Hordak

Here’s the thing... though... about season 1 Hordak... that we learn pretty quickly when we transition into season 2:  Season 1 Hordak is a massive fraud.  Like, seriously, he’s a fabrication created out of necessity to hide a single, prevailing truth:  Hordak is an awkward dork who is kinda terrible at being an evil overlord.  

I’ve seen some people describe Hordak’s season 2-3 character development with the expression “You thought I was Ozai, but I was actually Zuko this whole time!”  Now, I like this expression fine.  I’ve borrowed it a time or two in the past, but with regard to Hordak, I prefer to phrase it like this: “You thought I was Emperor Palpatine, but I was really the Wizard of Oz this whole time!”  The former expression gives someone an idea of the tropes of the character pretty well, but the latter does a better job, I feel, of showing the relationship between season 1 and later seasons with Hordak.  Hordak is a competent, unflappable, all-seeing leader… hey, hey!  Pay no mind to the man behind the curtain! Hordak’s past… as a mindless clone created to lead other mindless clones in a mindless clone army… has left him laughably unprepared for the task of leading others.  He’s smart, like, in a general bookish sense, but he has no charisma, no interpersonal talents to speak of, and doesn’t really seem to have any grasp of how to motivate his underlings, save to reward talent with promotion.

Out of necessity, Hordak keeps his true self buried underneath multiple layers of protection.  The first layer is the season 1 illusion: Delegate direct command of his soldiers to a single adjutant, interact with that adjutant just enough to keep them in line, and remain in his sanctum all day, like the geeky shut-in he is.

The first layer is pretty nice, and seems to have bought him quite a few years running the horde… but what happens if, say, some uppity Force Captain decides to pester him with personal status reports… or some absent-minded inventor decides to raid his lab for a six-sided hex driver?  Personally interacting with his minions for too long will reveal the illusion he’s been hiding behind!  Well, fear not... This is where the second layer of protection comes in handy.  

Yes, Hordak’s second layer of defense: blustering, shouting, and intimidating.  Threaten them with dire consequences for bothering him, let them visit the planet with nearly-enough-atmosphere for a few seconds… do everything in his power to frighten them so badly they never want to directly interact with him again.  What should happen if this second layer fails him, though? They learn of the most terrifying secret in Hordak’s entire arsenal.

...There is no third layer…

Nope. If a minion is plucky enough to peak behind the curtain of his grand illusion, and then bold enough to stand their ground at the explosion of hot air that follows… he has basically no follow-up left.  One of my favorite nonverbal scenes in the entire series is the moment where he realizes that his screaming is having no visible impact on Entrapta.  There’s a look on his face that seems to say ‘What the hell am I supposed to do now!?’… like, it’s clear the dude has never needed a third step to scare someone away before.

Ah, but you, my savvy reader, have no doubt cottoned on to the error in my argument thus far.  Establishing that Hordak is an awkward, introverted nerd doesn’t really change the fact that he built the Etherian horde.  The fact that he’s not especially competent doesn’t change the bad deeds his committed!  Well, rest assured, you beautiful person who can claim no paternal relation to me, I agree!  However, characterizing Hordak like this goes hand in hand with the other big reveal of season 3: his backstory.  

Now, cards on the table, I’ve been taking Hordak as he comes, and up until this point I didn’t really have any strong idea of whether they were going the big-bad or redeemed-bad route with him.  It wasn’t until season 3, when his origin was revealed, that I genuinely began to suspect that the redemption path was where the writers were headed, because it re-frames his actions in a subtle, but pretty important way.

With no Horde Prime, when one looks at Hordak, they see a man who orchestrated a corrupt and oppressive system for his personal benefit, who holds others in disdain due to self-aggrandizement, and is motivated by a desire to be seen as greater than everyone else. That is a character who would be very hard to convincingly redeem. While I’m loathe to raise the specter of Steven Universe discourse here, it’s a lot like the notion of redeeming the Diamonds… and, while I have no strong feelings about that show one way or the other, suffice it to say I can at least see why their redemption is controversial.  

Horde Prime shifts the context of Hordak’s actions, though.  Now, Hordak is a man who perpetuates the very system he is, himself, a victim of, because it’s the only system he knows.  His conflict with others is born from the projection of his own self loathing.  Said self-loathing comes from his chief motivation, which is to be acknowledged as worthy by an authority figure who has no interest or desire in ever offering him that acknowledgment.

Such a character is still flawed and villainous, because of course it is. If a character has done nothing wrong, they don’t need redemption in the first place.  It’s a lot easier to accept the struggles of a flawed character if they’re a victim of oppression rather than its source.  To borrow the SU comparison one final time, the Horde Prime twist reveals to us that Hordak isn’t a diamond, he’s just another one of the countless gems caught in their system.  

By the by, does “perpetuates a system they, themselves, are victims of, suffers from conflicts born of projected self loathing, and desire to be acknowledged by an authority figure who has no interest or desire in providing said acknowledgment” sound familiar?  I hope so!  It ties into my final point of the day.

Part 3: Season 4 Hordak (aka “Hordak and Catra have basically the same arc”)

  Now, implying similarity in the character arcs of Hordak and Catra has, historically, been a fraught endeavor.  Even I, Hordak stan extraordinaire, felt that we needed to see a bit more of where the writers were wanting to take Hordak before we went and made comparisons.  Then season 4 happened… and guys… the subtitle of season 4 may as well have been “Hordak and Catra have basically the same arc.”

Well, that’s a bit of an oversimplification.  Catra had people she could perceive as her peers, which granted her a social circle outside of her direct superiors whom she could feel camaraderie with, which added a dimension to the emotional turmoil she felt, but in broad strokes it seems to be a comparison that the writers are inviting us to make.  Their alliance in season 4 is based around their commonality.  They motivate one another by feeding into the insatiable hunger both of them feel for external validation… in that regard, they bring out the worst in each other, and thus season 4 ends with both of them brought to their lowest point.

At the end of season 4, if the princesses had never arrived, and Double Trouble hadn’t been there to finally force her to confront the emotions she insistently projected onto others, Catra would have assumed the mantle she claimed from Hordak.  She would have ruled the horde, devoid of satisfaction or happiness, and any children she took into her numbers she would have treated in exactly the same way Shadow Weaver treated her, and the same way Horde Prime treated Hordak.

To escape that fate, she needed her chance to face the system that oppressed her, and then the chance to face herself… and only once she had done both, could she start to move forward again.  That’s why we see the start of her recovery in the final scenes of the season.  Catra did unspeakably terrible things- by the end of season 4 her atrocity count easily rivals Hordak’s- and not everything can be blamed exclusively on others, but we, as an audience, have seen enough of what made her the way she is… that’s why most of us are onboard with her eventual redemption.

Catra is, beneath all the layers of spite and illusions of who she thinks she should be, a sweet kid who ultimately wants to reconnect with a friend she fears abandoned her, and to be respected and appreciated by the authority figures in her life. Hordak is, ultimately, a hikikomori dweeb who, not too long ago, was content to spend the rest of eternity with his gamer girlfriend in his lab, pretending to put together a portal machine. 

The villain of She-ra is Horde Prime, and the system he put into place to feed his arrogance at the expense of those trapped within it.  For those inside that system, like Catra or Hordak, they don’t cross the line and become truly irredeemable until they are given a clear and unambiguous chance to escape from that system and change their life for the better… but refuse to grasp it.   Even then… sometimes it takes them a little while to see the hand being offered to them… and sometimes that hand is in the form of a fist.

In conclusion

Look, guys, I’ll be real with you… I made a play at pretending that I wrote this for some point or another… but I kinda didn’t.  When I get into a fandom headspace, words get stuck in my head, y’know? When they do, they buzz around like bees until I write ‘em someplace… so here we are.

I’m not so arrogant as to assume I can change anyone’s mind with my 4 AM word vomit about the emaciated bat villain in my favorite children’s cartoon.  This is just a thing I wrote!  Maybe if you agree with it it makes you happy, and if you disagree with it then it doesn’t get’cha too worked up!  I was gonna include Hordak’s relationship with Entrapta into the proceedings… but honestly, that would have doubled the length of this thing, and would have been kinda tangential to the point.  I may do a more shippy essay thing later on… but if there’s one thing I learned from the last time I wrote a bunch of these… it’s that planning them out never works well.  I guess if people wanna see it I can write it though.

Anyway, I’m rambling, so I’m gonna letcha go!  Thanks for listening to my TED talk.  Remember, villains are an artform, people are complicated, and hot cocoa is the best winter beverage.  I’m going back to fanfic writing until the next bout of insomnia!

[amethyst2900]

SO, after a year of basically not wanting to write I finally got off my ass and started to write the Detective!AU again. Probably not the best time to write this AU but hey, my my mind hates me. Anyways, here’s the better version of chapter three because i hated the last one :) TW: Literally a dead body, so expect that kinda stuff. And blood, obviously.   -- Chpt 1 Chpt 2 --- Read on A03 __________ The drive to wherever Stephen was taking them was...interesting. Loki’s never ridden a motorcycle before but he could tell that the way Stephen was driving was a bit reckless. Turning corners without slowing down, running the occasional red light. (“We’re cops it’s allowed,” Stephen had said before Loki could comment on it.) And don’t get Loki started on how...uncomfortable it was. Having to hang on the Stephen so he wouldn’t fly off, plus the uncomfortable heat coming from the seat wasn’t helping. Neither did being stuck in a traffic jam. “Dammit, I hate living in New York,” Stephen said, sighing. Leaning forward so that his head was resting on the speed meter. “Then just move, it’s as simple as that,”

Stephen cast a glance back at him. “Yeah, like it’s that simple to pick up your life and move to a completely different state,” Stephen snorted and Loki forced down a frown that was threatening to come up, instead he let his face rest in the most neutral position it could. Because he had been forced to pack his life away, as a prince, as a god. All because of one fucking thing that he could’ve prevented. Instead of voicing his demons out loud he just said. “Well, I think you’ve done that before. No offense but you seem somewhat kinder than the normal New Yorker. Plus the accent is a bit off,” Stephen laughed at that, a warm chuckle that made something in Loki’s chest spark. He decided to put that spark in a little box and set it on fire. He would think about what it meant later. Probably. Yeah, he won’t. “You’re right on that one, not many people notice though. So, good on you I guess.” “It’s why Stark hired me, I guess,” For a few moments, neither of them said anything else as Stephen moved the motorcycle forward for what only seemed like a fucking inch. Norns, why did the Avengers have to make their home in New York? Why couldn’t be someplace without so many people in it? Like Kansas. Which he only knew about from watching The Wizard of Oz. That movie was a guilty pleasure of his and he would admit to no one that he watched it. “Where did you grow up?” Loki asked after what seemed like an eternity. “Sorry?” “Where did you grow up, Strange?” He asked once again, annoyed that he had to repeat himself. Stephen shifted a bit around Loki’s arms before realizing that yes, Loki was in fact still hanging onto him even though they were practically parked. In Loki’s defense, he didn’t know when they would be taking off again and he’d rather not completely fall off into the tires of cars thank you very much. “You’ve read my file, and I haven’t read yours so it only fair that you tell me where you grew up at the very least.” “Yeah, Uhm,” Stephen paused and took a deep breath like he was trying to settle his nerves. “I grew up in Nebraska, not as interesting as Norway though,” Loki hummed and nodded, trying to seem like he knew what this ‘Nebraska’ was. He really should’ve paid attention when the little spider was trying to teach them about all the states in America. He’ll look it up when he gets home. “Couldn’t have been that boring, every place has something charming about it,” That charming thing to Loki usually had been magic cults. People out in the countryside had nothing to do really. Stephen made a non-committal noise and Loki knew that it was the end of the conversation. Loki sighed and settled back a bit as Stephen started to move forward at a slow, but steady pace. All Loki managed to get from that conversation was the fact that Stephen was a heavily guarded person. Which, he already assumed, but it was the fact that he was so smart about it was what caught Loki off guard. Most people with secrets to hide would talk so much just to make you not think about it, but Stephen didn’t. Stephen stayed silent and choose his words with care. Despite himself, Loki did have to admit that he was impressed. Not all Midgardians were as calculating as Stephen was. Though, he did have the advantage of knowing that Loki could spot lies, so that dialed it back a little. As Loki felt the wind in his hair getting faster and faster as they finally picked up some speed, he decided that he definitely wanted to know what the hell Stephen was hiding. No matter the cost. He could afford to lose this job anyways, it wasn’t like he was getting paid. ___________ Ten minutes and three stoplights driven through Stephen finally parked in front of a rundown bar connected to the other buildings on the street. A glowing neon sign at the top indicated it as ‘The Wandering Glass’ though, the last part in ‘Glass’ was out, making it look like ‘The Wandering Gl’.  Policemen surrounded the bar, making sure anyone who walked by couldn’t stay there for too long. As soon as the motor of the motorcycle turned off Loki had his arms off of Stephen and was standing up, brushing his suit off. “Took long enough to get here,” Loki murmured to no one in particular as he straightened his tie. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his reflection on one of the rearview mirrors and scowled at himself. His hair, which he prided himself in taking expert care of, was messed up worse than Hel itself. “This stupid ride ruined my hair,” He said, glancing up a directing his scowl towards Stephen who glared back at him. “Sorry, princess, I’ll bring a helmet next time if that’ll make you happy,” At those words, something in Loki’s mind clicked and he felt like such a dumbass for not realizing it as soon as he got on the damn thing. Stephen wasn’t wearing a helmet. When Stark told him the basics of cars, which he once again didn’t pay much attention too but he at least caught the part where Stark talked about motorcycles for exactly ten seconds. He remembers Stark saying that it was highly unsafe to not wear a helmet, that it was basically guaranteed death if they got in an accident. “Why don’t you have one now?” Loki asked, more forcefully than what’s normally socially appropriate on Earth. He set his jaw and stared at Stephen. Stephen didn’t point out his tone of voice and instead just shrugged. “I don’t need it,” Loki stared at Stephen like he was an idiot. Because he was . What amazed him was that Stephen seemed to believe that he didn’t need one and that he wasn’t just covering up something. “You’re kidding me,” Loki said. Stephen, the bastard, just shrugged again as he started to walk towards the line of tape the police had set up. Loki quickly fell into step with him. “I’ve been driving for a while, I know when to be careful.” “How long is a while?” Loki couldn’t help but grin like a cat when Stephen steps faltered, even if it was for just a split second. Even though Stephen was smart, Loki had been alive for a thousand years. He knew how to get under people’s skin. Stephen slowly turned to look at him, clenching his jaw. 

 “Long enough,” Was all he said before shoving his hands in his pockets and heading directly for the police tape. Not caring that he was leaving Loki behind. Loki didn’t stop smiling as he ducked under the police tape and made his way inside behind Stephen.

 He only stopped smiling when he saw the crime scene, instead, that smile was replaced by a feeling of being sick as the scent of murder filled his nose. A scent he was all too familiar with. The place was littered with policemen, running around the place doing who knows what. But through all that Loki managed to notice two things at once. 

The wall behind the bar was streaked with dark red blood, whoever did this clearly didn’t care to clean up after themselves. And at the same time, he saw a young man with fluffy brown hair frowning down at the floor where the body most likely was.

 Peter Parker. Peter Parker was here and Loki couldn’t help but feel anger boiling in his chest. He knew that Peter wanted to be a forensic scientist for them all, that he wanted that to be his cover story. But he still felt angry that people allowed Peter too, he was only nineteen. He was still a kid in Loki’s eyes and he already had enough on his table between collage and being Spider-Man.  

Loki knew all too well what it was like to grow up too fast. 

Loki pushed his anger down hoping that it wouldn’t boil up here.A crime scene wasn’t a good place to be angry, even he knew that. 

He walked towards the bar as fast as he could, faster than pissed of Stephen could at least. He slipped behind the bar, just as Peter glanced up, meeting his gaze with his mouth open.

“Oh shit, uh hi Mr. Loki, and you too Detective Strange,” Peter waved to Stephen who came to rest at his side. Stephen gave a small, but polite smile to Peter.

 “Hey, Parker,” 

Peter nodded then looked back to Loki. “How’s your first day going?” “As well as it could, though I do not think it’s respectful to the dead to have small talk in front of their bodies,” Loki smiled softly, hoping that Peter knew he was joking, but did want to move everything along. Peter nodded a few times, rubbing his hands along his jacket. “Right, right, well uh I've been here for like, five minutes but this,” He gestured to the body laying on the floor. The body was of a woman with red hair which was sprawled on the ground around her. She was wearing a white dress shirt that was now smeared with blood from where the cuts on her chest had seeped into it. She had three long cuts across the entirety of her chest that looked blacked around the edges. 

Almost as if they had burned. Loki realized distantly. “-Is Laila Wood, she was thirty years old and worked as the bartender for this bar, we have two witnesses in the back room, I haven’t taken statements from them since, y’know, that’s not my job. But I’ve heard that they only heard what happened. Anyways, go ahead and take a look,” Loki stared at the body, before kneeling next to her, looking closely at the wounds, at the blacked edging around them. Definitely burns, but from what? Stephen seemed to be on the same page, but instead of kneeling like Loki had he just stared down at her before turning to Peter. “Any clue what the weapon could’ve been?” He asked, crossing his arms. Peter sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course that’s the first question you ask, well short answer, no,” Peter said as he kneeled beside Loki. He reached out and touched one of the cuts gently with his gloved hand. Loki grimaced a bit as he did, just because he’s killed things before doesn’t mean that he liked to look at the bodies afterward. “Long answer: It looks like a simple knife or something of that caliber but as I’m sure you’ve both noticed, there are signs of burning on the wounds. Which I’m pretty sure weren’t post mortem, don’t quote me on that though. Anyways, the point is, the burns weren’t enough to cauterize the wounds, so yeah,” Peter finished and he looked at Loki for a split second, as if trying to search for something, but quickly looked back down to the body. Loki raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what the fuck that was about. Before looking back at Stephen, asking him if he’s ever seen anything like this but stops in his tracks when he sees the look on his face. He looked...distant like he was thinking about something Loki couldn't comprehend. Which was absurd Loki could understand everything Earth had to offer if he actually cared too. Loki snapped in front of Stephen’s face. “Strange, are you there?” Stephen jumped as soon as he snapped, coming back from wherever his mind had been in a split moment. He frowned at Loki and slapped his hand away before turning on his heel. “I’m...going to talk to the witnesses, you got everything here? Good,” He didn’t even wait for a reply before he turned and walked away. Loki watched him go with a raised eyebrow until Stephen disappeared behind a door that a policewoman had directed him towards. He turned back to Peter. “That was weird,” “Eh, not really for him,” Peter said. “Strange is like that sometimes, he gets in his own head and kinda stares for a bit, but he usually comes out of it with something figured out,” Peter shrugged and turned to look at a little case that he carried with him. All Loki really knew was that it was for lab stuff. 

“He’s probably a little mad about having a partner so having you snap at him probably pissed him off a bit,” Loki snorted and shook his head. “A little is an understatement Spider,” Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just give him a chance Mr. Loki,” There was a heavy pause as Peter took some kind of vial with a cotton swab on the end of it out of the box. “I’m really happy that you're out of your house,” Peter said softly. The silence returned heavy and thick as Peter took the swab and opened the victim’s mouth and swabbed the inside of it. Loki didn’t know how to respond to that. So, he didn’t. Peter shouldn’t be happy about this, this was stupid and only something that he was doing to make his brother happy...right? Loki shook his head. He was at a crime scene where someone had been brutally murdered, no time to think about that. “You looked at me oddly when you were explaining the wounds, why?” He asked bluntly, hoping to whoever was listening that Peter would move on from that last topic. “Oh, well, “ Peter screwed the cotton swab lid back on the vial and moved to put it in the case. “They’re not completely cauterized but I’m ninety-five percent sure it didn’t happen post mortem right?” Loki nodded as Peter turned to look at him, a deadly serious look on his face. “Well, my first thought was Star Wars but that led me to my second thought which was,” Peter took a second and looked around before leaning into him, whispering so low that only those with super hearing could hear him. “What if this has something to do with our…..other gig? Specifically your uh, specialty” Loki immediately understood what Peter was getting at. Magic. Peter wanted to know if something magic-related was going on here. Loki turned his head back towards the wounds. He considered it for a moment trying to think of wounds like this that he could’ve seen over countless battles. But, he ended up shaking his head.

“No, none that I can think of, most abilities of that sort tend to either not cauterize at all or cauterize completely. Unless it was a type of magic I haven’t seen, which is pretty much impossible,” He whispered back. It was true, he’s been to most of the realms and has seen magic of all types. It would be hard to find one he hasn’t discovered. Peter frowned a bit and nodded. “Yeah, It was kind of a big push honestly,” Loki smiled a bit and reached over to lay a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s was a good thought though, really Spider.” Peter smiled at that. “Thanks, Mr. Loki, but, shouldn’t you be with Stephen right now? I mean it is your job to take the statements. Plus, the whole human lie detector thing you have going on would be pretty helpful,” Loki rolled his eyes at that. “Yeah, yeah, good luck with, whatever science stuff you do,” Peter laughed lightly as Loki got up, brushed himself off. He made his way to the door he saw Stephen go through, not particularly excited to see him again. He would much rather have Peter as his partner.

[huntertales]

Part One: Life Isn’t A Book. (Slumber Party S09E04)

Episode Summary: The reader and the boys call in I.T. expert Charlie Bradbury to help track fallen angels with technology found in the Men of Letters bunker. However, they soon discover something more in the form of the one and only Dorothy from Wizard of Oz. Everyone joins forces to take down the Wicked Witch and her evil plans. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader  Word Count: 4,038.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Like any other day when you weren’t working on a case, you sat in the war room with your laptop wide open and several files you grabbed from the archives spread around you. For the past hour you had been diligently working on a project while Dean left early this morning on a trip with Kevin. It had been just you and Sam in the bunker ever since, however you noticed he disappeared a few minutes ago without a verbal reason. You didn't think much of it before going back to your work, reading up on a file that you thought might have been the thing you were looking for. Before you could get a definite answer, you found your gaze lifting up from the paper and to what was in front of you after you heard approaching footsteps.

You raised your brow slightly in curiosity at what you saw the younger Winchester holding. It was a piece of blank paper and a black crayon. What he could have possibly needed it for, how or he even got a crayon in the first place, made you chuckle to yourself in amusement and catch the man’s attention. Sam stopped at the table and gave you a slightly confused expression as to what was so funny to you. 

“Are you off to draw me a pretty picture, Sammy?” You cracked a joke with the man. He lifted up the hand that was holding the black crayon in one hand, the blank paper in the other when he figured out that’s what you were focusing on. “What’s with the arts and crafts?”

"I'm gonna go talk to Crowley. See if he's willing to give us anymore names." Sam said. It sounded good in theory, but the younger man's plan made you lean back in the rolling seat and give him a hesitant look. "And obviously it'd be stupid to give him something that he could hurt us with, so...I improvised." 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” You wondered. “I mean, the only reason why Crowley gave us names in the first place was because Kevin beat the crap out of him. That’s the equivalent of getting off to a demon like him.” 

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll throw us a bone.” Sam said. He could see the confliction in your initial plan of how you wanted things to go. You wanted to let the demon sit in his own personal thoughts in the dungeon for long as you could, using what he had confessed back at the church to your own advantage. You wanted to push him to the point where he was almost desperate for any kind of interaction he would sing off every name he had up in that up in that brain. “What’s the worst thing that could happen? He gives us some side remarks?”

You quietly tapped your pen against the notepad you had next to you and bit your bottom lip. After a few seconds of deliberating you dropped your pen down to the table. Sam was right. There wasn't much you had to lose. The both of you headed down to the dungeon where Crowley had been sitting down by his lonesome for the past several days in complete darkness. Sam moved the shelves that were the makeshift doors to the secret room, the demon was blinded by the lights you turned on to see your way around without stumbling. You made your way inside first, greeting the demon with a smile as his eyes adjusted to the brightness he wasn't used to seeing.

"Hello, Kitten. Moose." Crowley welcomed you with the usual nicknames. Sam walked over to the table you provided for him and set the piece of paper and crayon down. The demon stared at the materials for a moment before back up to you. An amused look crossed his face at what you were asking from him. "You want more demon names." He suspected the reason why you were here in the first place after days of abandonment. The demon reached over and grabbed the piece of paper, only to crumple it up into a ball. "I want a room with a view." 

You and Sam exchanged a glance from the demon's demands you were expecting to hear at some point. Crowley thought you were desperate enough to give into any sort of his personal whims, or you were going to entertain a conversation with him. You felt a smirk spread to the ends of your lips, Sam chuckled in amusement. You followed behind the younger man when he began to make his way out, showing Crowley what you were going to do until he cooperated. You hoped something like solitary confinement would work on someone like Crowley, who found torture and threats nothing but something to do on a Friday night. So, you were going to do the opposite to him. No human contact. No entertainment. Nothing.

You didn't say goodbye to the demon before you made your way to the door and flicked off the lights, engulfing the room into darkness once more. The demon sank down into his seat when he heard the door slam shut, leaving him alone once more for who knows how long. 

You and Sam went back to work for a little while after giving Crowley some time to think about his limited options that he had left to participate. Sam sat across from you as he skimmed through some files you found in the archives you hoped might have been helpful for the project you had been working on all morning. The sight was no surprise to see when Dean arrived back from his trip. You looked up to see your boyfriend standing on top of the staircase after announcing his safe arrival back from the squeaky hinges of the metal door. 

"Hey." Sam greeted his brother, looking up from the case file after finishing up a sentence he was reading. "How'd it go with Kevin?"

Dean let out a sigh from the strange car ride he endured on his way to Missouri. "Oh, that little nerd is in a lovely warded motel room in Branson. He's got about forty-eight hours of pay-per-porn and Kenny Rogers ahead of him."

"How's he feeling?" You asked, curious to see how the kid was handling himself after being granted a much needed vacation a few states away from his problems. 

"Well, he stared at the angel tablet and repeated the word 'falafel' for the entire ride. Kid's cracked. I'm hoping this break will clear his head." Dean gave a small update on the prophet, making you start to worry about his dwindling mental state. Ever since you heard about his attempt at flying the coop you had been trying to keep an extra eye on him. Everyone was on high alert. You were stressed out of your mind, and it seemed Dean could sense all of you needed to pump the breaks. "You know, after everything that happened, I figured we could use a little break ourselves." 

"Really?" You asked, the tone of your voice shifting into pleasant sounding from what he was suggesting. "What were you thinking?"

"I picked you two up season one of 'Game of Thrones.'" Dean opened up the plastic bag from a store he stopped by on his way home and read off the title of the DVD he bought. "Figured we'd get a little takeout." 

"All right. Before we embark on a ten episode binge," You changed the subject to the project you had been working on during his absence away. "I think Sam and I might have found a way to help Cas." 

Dean glanced up from the details he was reading about on the back of the DVD and to you, suddenly appearing to be concerned. "Did you talk to him?"

"No. And by the way, I still don't understand why he left in the first place. I mean, the bunker is the safest place for him." You said. The reason Cas had given you before bolting still made you scratch your head. He was all for getting himself settled in here, and the next he was out the door without a proper goodbye. None of it made sense to you. "Bartholomew and who knows how many other angels are out there, gunning for him." 

"Hey, look, nobody wants him here more than I do, okay? But he felt like he'd bring trouble down on us, so he had to split." Dean's excuse made you look at him with slight disbelief. It sounded phony to you. You had faced plenty of danger in your lifetime and caused trouble with the wrong kinds of people. You could handle some angels, Dean didn't entertain your opinion for long as he threw his jacket to the table after taking it off. "But if you got a way to help him, I'm all ears."

"All right. So, Kevin said the table lit up like a Christmas tree when the angels fell, right?" You summarized the details about what happened that night. Dean nodded his head, seeming to be on the same page as you as you continued on with your theory. "So it turns out each light was where a cluster of angels fell. So I'm thinking maybe there's some way to hot-wire this, make it track angels. That way, we could help Cas steer clear of danger."

"This was...both of your ideas?" Dean looked between you and his brother, acting as if there was a third person here you were trying to steal the credit from out under them. 

You glanced around the room, your lips stretching into a small smile from how he was acting all of a sudden. "Actually, it was mine. Sam's been helping me out." You explained better to him. He looked over to his brother, as if he didn't believe you. "Do you see anyone else in here, Dean? Sometimes I do come up with good ideas."

"That wasn't what I..." Dean stopped talking when he saw you lean back in your seat, wondering exactly what he was going to say. He veered the conversation to where it belonged before he could get any more of his foot into his mouth. "So, how would it work?"

"Oh, no idea. See, at first, we thought the table was the computer, but it's not. It turns out it's just part of it. But Y/N found these cables underneath and we followed them." Sam told his brother the details you and him found extraordinary from the things you were learning about the place. Along with a history lesson on technology dated well over seventy years ago. Sam leaned out of his seat and pointed a finger to a set of red wires that disappeared into an air vent and broke out into a smile. "You're never gonna believe what we found."

The three of you headed to a part of the bunker you hadn't been to before yet. You discovered almost every chance you got. Over the months you had lived here you didn't have much time to go digging around the place, however you were given the perfect opportunity to discover what you guessed was the electrical room, filled with all sorts of different machines you had no clue did what just yet. The sight for someone like you and Sam put you at awe from the history that was under your nose. All around you was electric panels with the center of the room taken over by a dated machine with too many buttons and red lights you had been trying to figure out what they did.

"Volia." You gestured an arm to the scenery around you, stepping deeper inside the room with the boys following behind. 

"This is a computer?" Dean asked. He examined the outdated technology for a moment, still not exactly sure what he was looking at. 

"Yeah—or it was in 1951, when it was first installed. Now, here's the crazy thing. It's not plugged into anything. I mean, Y/N and I tried to figure it out." Sam said. You could hear the fascination in his voice, same as how he was when you discovered the room for yourself and showed him. "We have no idea what's making this thing work." 

Dean walked over to the back of the computer to take a better look at the thing you were working with. He placed his hand out and pressed it against the machine, his brow raised slightly when he felt warmth against his skin. It meant the thing was still working after these years, and even after the map went off. "It's warm here."

Dean found what appeared to be a flat screwdriver sitting on a nearby shelf that looked like it would be good enough to help him rip off the back panel and inspect the machine from the inside. He shoved the tool between a small crack and then began to slowly put pressure on the screwdriver, trying to jimmy the piece of metal free. When he noticed how much resistance he was getting, Dean put all of his strength into trying to get the thing to go free. He ended up stumbling back after the panel popped off and dropped to the ground with a noisy bang. He accidentally hit the shelf right behind him, and while the contents slightly shook, nothing fell. Dean pushed himself back up to a standing position, trying to pretend like nothing happened.

"Got it." He said. 

"Ya think?" You muttered. You crouched down and inspected the inside of the computer you hoped you might be able to understand if you got a peek inside. You quickly realized you had no idea what you were looking at. Sam pulled out a small flashlight from his back pocket to help give all of you a better look at what you were working with. "Huh. This isn't exactly what I was expecting."

"Well, that looks simple." Dean noted, sarcasm clear in his tone. "Does it come with a manual?"

"Nothing in the archives, and Y/N obviously couldn't find anything like it online," Sam said, telling his brother about the bump in the road you had been faced with. The both of you were pretty tech savvy. But even for you this was near impossible to figure out. "Not to mention I'm pretty sure that the Men of Letters doesn't have I.T. support anymore, either." 

"I think I know somebody who could help us." Dean said. "Come on." 

You and the boys headed out of the room and flipped off the lights, making your way back to the main area of the bunker to make a call to a friend you hadn't seen in a few months. However you didn't realize when Dean stumbled into the shelf there was something hiding back there in a clear glass jar. A pale grey goo that held something sinister for over seventy years. What you unleashed was something almost out of a book. 

+ + +

A little later into the day was when Charlie Bradbury, your favorite LARPer and tech genius, arrived in Lebanon safely after you gave her a call about the trouble you were facing. And only someone like her could come to your rescue. You didn’t realize she had arrived, distracted by Dean when he surprised you with a cup of coffee after he put a fresh pot on. And exactly the way how you liked it. You smiled in appreciation and mumbled a thank you, sneaking a quick kiss when he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, thinking you had a minute before a certain some made her arrival. 

“Hey. Get a room you two.” The both of you broke away and looked up to see Charlie was here, Sam following behind as they made their way down the stairs. “There’s my favorite lovebirds.”

“And there’s my favorite redhead.” You joked back with her. You placed down your cup to the table and got up from your seat to welcome her, pulling the young woman into a tight hug after Dean greeted her first. "Thanks for coming on such short notice. Sam and I tried figuring it ourselves, but we're stumped. Dean thought our favorite I.T. tech would be able to come to our rescue." 

"Not a problem." Charlie gave you a smile of appreciation when you thought of her. You watched as it faded away when she finished her sentence, dropping a bit of bad news you weren't expecting to hear. "especially since I got fired last week." 

"Hey, what?" Sam was surprised at hearing this. He placed her overnight bag down on the table next to him. "What happened?"

"Turns out the company I work for was outsourcing to child labor, so I took a big Wikileak all over that." Charlie was a fighter behind the screen. While it wasn't technically legal, you couldn't help the smile that spread across your lips after hearing what she had done, adding a playful wink of approval. "And, yeah. It's cool, though. It's given me more time to focus on my hobbies...like larping, macrame," she listed off a few of her favorite things you learned she liked from the first time you formally met her months back. She tried slipping one more in, hoping you and the boys wouldn't notice. “...And hunting.” 

"Excuse me?" You were taken off guard by hearing what she had been doing in her free time. Part of you wanted to be disappointed at the danger she was putting herself in. Someone like you, who had been doing this for almost a decade, knew the mental toll that took on you after a while after you glossed over the dangers of cutting your life short. But Charlie was here in one piece, and her bubbly self. Dean was alarmed and Sam appeared to be taken back at her step towards the lifestyle.

"Okay. It was a couple of little cases. I took down a teenage vampire and a ghost." She tried to explain herself while you and Dean stared at her with a scolding expression that reminded her of her parents. You had your brow raised like how her mother used to while Dean stood behind you with his hands on his hips. The disapproval was written all over your face. You wanted better things for her. But you couldn’t deny the temptation of the lifestyle. "Which sounds like a Y.A. novel if you say it out loud." 

"Charlie," Sam spoke the young woman's name, breaking her concentration away from your face and over to him. All of you were more concerned at how she was handling herself after getting a taste of danger by herself. "How'd it go?"

"It was, uh...it was intense. But I kind of wish hunting was more...magical, you know?" You let out a heavy sigh as Dean rolled his eyes from the young woman's perception of how she thought hunting was always going to be. She realized you weren’t amused as you were, causing her smile to fade away and focus on the reason why she was here in the first place. “Nevermind. So, where is this commodore sixty-four of yours?”

All of you headed down to the electrical room where you showed her the piece of machinery she would be working with. You weren’t sure if she was going to be able figure out something like this considering how dated it was. When she caught sight of the computer, Charlie’s face lit up like a kid in a candy store, she rushed over to inspect the beauty for herself. You and the boys watched as she took a minute to inspect what she could to get a better understanding of what you were about to ask of her. She crouched down to the ground to inspect the inner workings as you leaned over every so often when you heard her mumble something underneath her breath. ‘

“Sweet Ada Lovelace. This thing belongs in a museum. I mean, it’s got encryption software. It seems to be powered by something magical.” Charlie listed off a few of the things she figured out on her own after taking a peek around at the inner workings. Dean was fascinated as much as he could, but he pushed her along to the end, wanting to know what it really did. “It’s kind of an alarm system. Global badness? It freaks. This computer is what locked this place down.”

“Can we use it to track angels?” Sam asked.

You knew what you were asking from her was a lot from such dated technology. Charlie thought about the task for a second or two before she decided the challenge was something she was up to. She cracked her knuckles and grew a smirk. "All right. Let me see what I can do.”

Charlie worked her magic and figured out a system that would work. You and the boys watched as she tinkered with the insides for a little while and pulled out some wires and pulled in a few cords into an outlet. Soon enough she grabbed her tablet and began to tap the screen, finishing the final task. “All right. It took some doing, but now we can download. This beast has all the Men of Letters files. Time for a little drag-and-drop.” 

“Wow. It’s a start. Thank you. That’s great.” You were very much thankful for the hard work she had put in. While you were grateful, there was something else you and the boys wanted to try and discuss now that you had a minute free. Dean urged you to get the ball rolling when he gently nudged you in the side with his elbow. “So, you’ve been hunting. Alone.” 

“I know. Not a good idea, according to the ‘Supernatural’ books.” Charlie rolled her eyes from her amature moves that she should’ve known better after reading all the series, treating them as if they were a guide. You grimaced at the mention of those things you tried to avoid much as possible.

“You really can’t delete those from the internet?” Sam couldn’t help himself but ask, making you give him a slightly confused look. He seriously thought those things were still underground with no popularity to attract mainstream attention. Everything was digital these days. And so were those books. No matter what, they were going to haunt you forever.

“Not even I can do that.” Charlie said. “Come on.” 

“Where do you even find them?” Dean asked. 

“A top secret place I call Amazon.” You replied back to the man. While your tone of voice was serious, the sarcasm was clear enough for him to give you an amused expression. “Seriously. Get used to it. They’re gonna be in our lives forever.”

“And someone uploaded all the unpublished works.” Charlie added on to the disaster. You let out a frustrated sigh at the mention of the tale that went on farther than the finale where you and Dean died and went to hell. You would have been fine with that. For a moment you thought it might have been Chuck who uploaded his own work, but the culvert who did it was someone close to him. And was the biggest fan of it all. “I thought it was fanfic at first, but it was clearly Edlund’s work. Their screen name was BeckyWinchester176. Ring any bells?”

“None. Uh, nobody’s. Uh, no, there are no bells. Uh...no.” Sam stumbled his way to an answer. You tried your hardest to keep a smile from going when you saw him become flustered at the mention of someone who had been obsessed with him. Dean stared at his brother, slowly shaking his head from his behavior. 

“Ugh, these files are encrypted. This is gonna take a while.” Charlie said. While she was going to be here for longer than intended, she decided to make use of the time by having a little fun. “So, takeout, sleepover, braid each other’s hair?”

Sam suddenly got hit with a plan that everyone would enjoy. “I got an idea.”

[Next Part]

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[glassandmetalwings]

Wings Talks Manga: A Year in Review, Part 1 (Completed stories)

Last year, I told myself I was going to actually really more manga and watch more anime, because despite it being my main style I hadn’t actually read much in awhile. And I actually managed to get a lot done for one year. So below is a list of stories I read/watched and a few quick thoughts on them. Despite having my list open, I’m still probably not going to get to all of them, but I can try.

Be warned for spoilers.

T.egami Bachi (manga)

I love. Anyone following this tag of mine knows this has been a long journey and that I loved every minute of it. The world is beautiful, the characters are great, the emotions run high...it’s incredibly cathartic and engaging. I will never stop lauding it.

Jiu Jiu (manga)

A short series I picked up from the library that I never really covered, but that I enjoyed. Sometimes it felt a little slow to work through, but it was cute and I got really attached to the characters over five volumes. Like the mangaka, I wish there had been more opportunity to delve deeper into some of the story elements, because especially near the end it got confusing. Also I’m assuming it ended in a poly relationship? The protag grows up and has babies but you can’t really tell which love interest is the father, if either are. They’re all together in the final picture and I support it but it also bugs me bc I am confused.

Dreamin’ Sun (manga)

Mixed feelings on this one. I honestly expected a modern fantasy involving a baku going into this based on the back cover. I was wrong. I was really cute, if not overwhelmingly emotionally frustrating/full of secondhand embarassment at some points. The characters are super well-developed and continue to evolve and grow through the series. I will forever complain about the protag falling in love and centering her life around an adult man, but there were also some very touching elements that I can’t help but remember fondly.

The Wize Wize Beasts of the the Wizarding Wizdoms (manga)

The first of a lot of BL I read this year, which is honestly very new to me. My introduction to Nagabe. I’ve mentioned there’s one story I’m not too fond of, but it could be my interpretation of it. Overall very much loved it and especially love the art style.

K.amisama Kiss (manga)

I series I kind of picked up on a whim and absolutely fell in love with. Cute, funny, touching, well-thought out. There were some elements I didn’t understand (like the end), but my enjoyment overall made up for it. The one thing I wish for was a little more development for some of the minor characters. Also I love Mizuki and his development throughout the series. He makes me emotional.

Our Dining Table (manga)

Another cute, simple love story about two guys making food. I don’t have a whole lot to say about this other than it’s cute and you should read it. Although I obviously have no issues with teenage protags, it was refreshing to have a love story about two working adults that didn’t have to involve sex. Also can totally understand one guy’s aversion to eating with others, even if my own isn’t as severe.

Love on the Other Side (manga)

More Nagabe. Really, really cute. I love the story with the bird (of course). The softness of the stories and Nagabe’s art style really have stolen my heart.

B.lack Butler: Book of Circus (anime)

We all know why I watched this. Sadly the ending is as gruesome as the manga, and the one or two scenes they added didn’t play well on the DVD. But still a delight (up until the end).

The Devil is a Part-Timer (anime)

Interesting. Funny. A good world base, but I feel they could have developed it a little more, and the last episode kind of soured it a little for me because there was no really wrap-up. But I liked the characters and had a lot of fun watching it while crocheting. Wish there was a season two.

The Bride was a Boy (manga)

A brief autobiographical manga about a trans woman, filled with lots of tidbits about transgender individuals and things like HRT. Short, sweet, cute, and full of love and joy. Again, not much to say other than I recommend it.

Fractale (anime)

A lot to process. I think I would need to watch it again to fully wrap my head around it, if not more than once. An interesting world, great character, engaging story, and beautiful animation. Plus just...kinda relevant in a way that’s hard to describe. Think ease of technology verses governmental control via tech. I really loved the episode about the mysterious photographer. Plus I just fell in love with the ending song.

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (anime)

Yes, I’d never watched this before. Gonna say, not my favorite Miazaki, but as usual an excellent story with a lot of background and development. And of course I loved the creature design. Glad to finally have it watched, after all these years, but I also can’t help but wonder what the original English release was like, knowing they cut/edited a lot. Because a lot of that violence and death was...kinda necessary to understanding character motives.

H.aibane Renmei (anime)

Again, another series that’s been at the top of my list for forever. I didn’t even have an excuse not to watch is as I own the DVDs. Excellent, and touching, if not cutting a little too close to home at times (like self-harm/BFRB). Really my introduction to ABe, and I have to say I never saw the ending coming. But would definitely watch again and again. Kinda wish I could do a cosplay for this series (I’d probably be Nemu, or one of the masked characters), but I feel like you need a group for it.

G.osick (anime)

I didn’t complete this one, I’m sorry. I think the art is great, and the arcs in concept are amazing...but it falls through in the delivery. The characters don’t really feel like they have driving motives behind their actions, and sometimes the evidence and stuff are things you can’t discern from watching (’I can tell you aren’t the daughter of a coal baron because you walk short distances before turning sharply and walking the other way, like you’re pacing in a small psych ward cell’-yes, that’s a real example). Lots of potential, but not great. Sorry.

Wolf Children (anime)

Very cute. Beautiful anime. I don’t think I can say much about this that hasn’t already been said. My favorite part is the ending where she’s saying goodbye just because of how both painfully and empoweringly emotional it is.

5 Centimeters Per Second (anime)

Not bad, but probably not my favorite. It didn’t help that the version I was watching didn’t translate all of the writing, so I feel like I missed a lot of elements. While the story is definitely a sentiment I can get behind, it was also a little bit unsatisfying for me, especially at the end. But idk, maybe I just don’t like the idea of moving on when there’s the opportunity to not.

Colorful (anime)

It was...a film. About a suicide. Looking back I don’t particularly feel strongly either way about it. I think the ending was good, and giving the protag some sort of motivation, but it took forever to really get to a point where I cared about him (or he seemed to really care about the body he was inhabiting and the person he was trying to be). Some of the stuff was just...uncomfortable. It’s probably worth watching, but overall I wasn’t wowed by it.

Ibistu (manga)

My first shrink-wrapped manga. It ties together very well in the end, and the horror and violence elements did elicit some very visceral reactions in me (particularly the threat of the iron and, later, the staples). The short stories were also good, particularly the doll factory one, but I wasn’t the most fond of the one about the mangaka. Just know there’s a reason it’s shrink-wrapped and it’s not a ‘positive’ one.

A Silent Voice (anime)

Probably one of my favorite films. While I didn’t always understand the motivations behind some of the characters or their actions, it wasn’t in a way that made me uncomfortable like some of the things in Colorful did. It felt more natural for them to be irrational. Again, there is suicide, so be warned if you don’t want to deal with that. But the story is sweet and the characters are amazing. But I also have a weakness for things involving sign language and communication.

Children Who Chase Lost Voices (anime)

Very cool. Beautiful landscapes. Gave me very strong Princess Mononoke vibes at some points, but it also stood as its own story with interesting characters there are elements I wish we could have delved deeper into, though. Also...what war did the teacher fight in? It didn’t look very modern. Also also I will forever wince at the pronunciation of ‘Quetzalcoatl’. Death is a strong theme in it, so be prepared if you watch it.

The Boy and the Beast (anime)

Excellent character design. Excellent story. Excellent animation. My one complaint would be that the climax felt kind of thrown together, even though it tied back to the beginning in a good way. But overall a beautiful world with some great humor and intense elements.

The Garden of Words (anime)

Spoiler: again a story about a kid falling in love with an adult. From a platonic standpoint, the story still feels a little weird, particularly in terms of the woman’s motivations, but looking back her not getting too involved in him missing school...kinda feels like what I would do to, especially in her situation. It’s sweet, though. Maybe it’s just me and my preferences, but some elements feel a bit incomplete, and I wish had been explored/wrapped up.

Summer Wars (anime)

Probably a favorite on the films list. Again, beautiful animation. I’m not going to get over this style. But I especially liked the design of OZ and the excess of blank space in it. Characters were many but great (although I didn’t get the one baseball player was part of the family until almost the end, but that says more about me and paying attention). Even Mom got really engaged in it when I had her watch it with me (I also had her watch Wolf Children, which I thought she would like more, but apparently not). There is a character death, but if you don’t mind that it’s definitely a watch.

Beauty and the Beast Girl (manga)

A cute little story about a blind girl and a dragon girl falling in love-what more could you want? Their histories actually tie together in a really neat way. Honestly my one complaint would be that the ending feels a little too ideal and easily wrapped-up. But sometimes we need things to be that perfect, you know?

P.andora Heart (manga)

The other big story I tackled this year. There were points that were a bit slow/disengaging to me, but overall once I got hooked I really loved it. I think I need a second read to really fully understand it (if that’s possible), but equal parts cute, intense, and bittersweet. Elliot’s whole development was probably my favorite bit.

The God and the Flightless Messenger (manga)

My last story of 2020, and a very cute one at that. Another short story, with beautiful art. I don’t...really know what to say about it. It’s cute, and the love story feels both very natural and almost...secondary? Idk how to describe that. The relationship between the two of them is obviously key, but it’s the type of story where ‘I love you’ isn’t needed. It’s already there.

So yeah, there’s the list. It’s a long list. I probably still missed some. I might try to make a second list with ‘in progress’  series but I’ll be playing that by ear. I’d love to hear some of you all’s thoughts on these stories (if you’ve read/watched them), or which you now want to read/watch!

[anansislibrary]

All of my thoughts on RWBY: taken from one of my videos here

If you haven’t watched RWBY yet... I honestly don’t know what to tell you. The show is genuinely one of my favorite anime of all time. It’s got an amazing cast of interesting characters, great writing, an amazing world to get immersed in. Every character you meet sticks with you, many of the fights are fast paced and memorable, and being a lore buff like me pays off in this world.

But RWBY isn’t... perfect, and having finished the newest season and rewatched the show from the beginning... I have some issues.

Don’t get me wrong, the new season had some excellent parts. The fight between Blake and Adam was literally perfect, and side note, idk why fans are saying Adam got nerfed for this fight or made weaker, when some of his only notable feats happen during this fight. The man lands hits like mortal kombat combos.

Anyway, I don’t want to just crap on the show so before I go into what I didn’t like, I’ll get into what I did. But before then, I’ll have to give you a brief rundown of the show. But before THEN I gotta give my obligatory plug

So make sure you like and subscribe if you enjoy this video and want to see more like it, and consider donating to my Ko-fi if you’re able to to help support my channel and help me make better content.

Without further ado

Here’s RWBY

Quick basic spoiler full rundown of the show.

Rwby takes place in a world callled remnant, with a shattered moon. Why is the moon shattered you ask? Satan threw a temper tantrum

Anyway

There’s monsters

Schools for people to fight monsters

Except no Because the main character’s school gets blown up by this BITCH NAMED CINDER, SCREW YOU CINDER.

Prompting Ruby and her Gucci gang to go on an adventure.

Got it? Good.

So here’s everything I love about the series.

I really like the character designs. Every single character has an excellent design and I could really do a video on how character design helps develop character and tell a story just using this show. Every person in the show has an interesting and cool design that helps you to remember and understand them.

An easy example is Weiss. She dresses like an actual princess, her color scheme and weapons are all very elegant looking and it hints at her high class status without even having to spell it out for you.

Plus I love how characters names are based off of fairy tales or mythology. For example, Sun, Sage, and the ironically named Neptune. The motif of fairy tales is fun too, for example Ruby being Little Red Riding hood, Ozpin and Glenda Goodwich being wizard of oz references, ironwood being the tin man and Leo being the lion, Qrow and scarecrows and all of that. Weiss and Winter both have names very directly based on snow.

Every name in this show was very clearly thought out, and even abilities too.

Sun can make clones of himself just like in the myth, Blake has issues with running from her problems, so she can make clones, yang has anger issues and can go super saiyan, almost everyone’s power has something to do with their personality.

Salem is such a fun villain. I wish she could do more because she’s really sinister and scary. She’s such a fun villain to watch but she doesn’t do shit.

I also love the fight scenes, I love how bombastic and fast paced they are, and it’s really cool how every character has their own unique style of movement and fighting that vary between them. The fights in this show are quick and stick in your mind, and there’s an emphasis put often on how much a character can move in a short amount of time.

Cinder as much as I hate her is also a great villain, and that’s why I hate her.

Roman Torchwick is also a GREAT villain and The way he dies is satisfying as hell, and seeing Neo again made me scream.

The worldbuilding is my favorite aspect of the show. Now I’m weird and I like info dumps and that’s why I enjoy those World Of Remnant videos that expand on the worldbuilding so as not to bog down story with info dumps. The world is really fun to learn about, how humanity has evolved in terms of technology is fun to speculate on, for example since Grimm attacks are common and destructive, towns outside of major cities are less technologically advance because they often don’t have time to explore that and have to move from town to town quickly in an emergency.

The Grimm are excellent monsters with varying abilities that make them scary. I love the Apathy from the most recent season, and how it doesn’t just attack you like a Beowulf, Ursa, or Nevermore, but it drains away your will to fight back at all.

This show also has my favorite trope of all time MIXED TIMELINES

YOU GOT TRADITIONAL CHINESE CLOTHING AND DRESS AND ASIAN ARCHITECTURE ON TOP OF CELL PHONES TOWERS AND ALL OF THAT

this trope is so fun because it really makes a world feel unique.

The world of Naruto has all kinds of modern stuff, but until Boruto it was mixed with older tech and tradition, really selling how this is not our world.

Another thing I love: every weapon is a gun. That is SO fun.

Now as good as the show is, it does have problems. That’s inevitable though, all shows, movies, and books have problems, nothing is perfect.

Except Avatar. Avatar is flawless.

Me pointing out the issues I have with this show is by no means to say it’s bad, just to point them out.

I truly do have love for this series and I still cry about Phyrra and her death.

I love you baby.

But that being said, pointing out the issues a show has can be important for both understanding the pitfalls to avoid in our own writing, and helping creators fix issues later on.

A lot of hard work goes into making this show and I would just be an asshole if I did nothing but shit on the show.

No matter how many issues it has, I can tell the people making it love what they’re doing, and that always shines through a series no matter how many issues it has, just like a show or movie can do everything conventionally right and still be a soulless shit show.

Looking at you call of duty black ops 3.

So here’s the issues

Fight scenes

I love the fight scenes. I’ve said that, they really can be so fun to view and I find myself coming back to them a lot.

But I have issues.

Lemme just say first that I don’t like complaining against animation. Animators go through enough crap already and it feels mean to criticize them at times, but this needs to be said.

One, I hate how people throw punches in this show.

They swing so wide it’s annoying.

Okay listen. If you swing at someone with a punch this wide, and they know how to fight, it will not land. They will block or dodge. I know this because as my subscribers know, I am a martial artist. I know jujitsu and boxing, and I took taeqwondo.

This is a bad punch.

My theory is that they do it to emphasize the impact of a bit, but that’s not necessary. There are other ways to do that.

You could say “they’re animators they don’t know how fighting works.”

But Naruto exists and those animators get martial arts stuff down PAT.

Hell, avatar the last airbender depends on its animators being able to animate fights with consistent accuracy, and those characters use styles most people have never heard of like Baguazhang.

And I know this doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it is. It’s hard to really get behind fight scenes at times when the characters can’t throw a simple punch right.

And again it’s not like it’s impossible for animation to animate a fight.

There’s a scene during a fight in Naruto where Obito Uchiha kicks Kakashi, and Kakashi uses his foot to redirect the kick and pull obito off balance.

This is a real move, that people do, and it’s done accurately, but RWBY seems to struggle with accuracy in their fights. Which is fine when a character’s weapon looks like this, but not in hand to hand.

This issue comes up in sword fights too. The way Weiss fights annoys me because her sword is a rapier, and the most important characteristic of a rapier is that often times they don’t have blades, they have points, and when they do have blades, they aren’t meant for slashing. Rapiers were made to exploit the gaps in someone’s armor by stabbing them, and thus it is a thrusting sword, not a slashing one. A sword like a Katana or Khopesh would be good for slashing. Roman gladius can kind of do both, but not as good as either one.

The point is that if they’re gonna give Wiess a rapier, they need to stop animating her slashing with it. Especially when her rapier doesn’t appear to have a sharp edge.

My next complaint is wasted characters.

It’s very frustrating when RWBY takes times to show us a character, but then never uses them.

I didn’t even know sun had a full team sometimes because you never see them.

And furthermore it’s annoying when a fight scene will just stop so that a character can do a cool thing.

Oh no this robot is so hard to beat, how will we beat this dangerous and powerful robot

Oh wait, this character can solo it because the plot needs to pause so she can be cool then promptly never be seen again.

It is so frustrating and it makes it hard to actually know when a character is in danger.

It takes 20 hits to kill a Grimm in one scene, then like two in another.

And the reason for that is because the plot is being pushed aside for the sake of spectacle.

A character’s abilities will be made inconsistent for a chance to make them seem cool.

Like this scene where Tyrion is fighting qrow, he uses his tail to block bullets.

But why?

He has his Aura up, the bullets wouldn’t hurt him anyway! Then when he gets shot later after he looses his aura his tail comes off.

If he was fast enough to use his tail to block bullets he wasn’t even paying attention to, why can’t he do it now!

There is no internal consistency.

Like why are Grimm so strong if they don’t have auras? That’s not explained because they Grimm rarely serve the plot, they spectacle. Adam putting 20 kombo hits into yang to beat her makes sense. He has to wear down her aura to actually hurt her.

But 20 hits to kill a grim that then gets solo’d by a character later on?

No.

Then there’s hazel.

He annoys me.

His villainous motivation is that his sister joined a school for trained soldiers, then died because it was dangerous and now he hates Ozpin.

Dude what?

Like I get why he’s mad, but she knew the risk and someone had to sign off on her getting in for her to be able to go to beacon at all. A child can’t just register for a school especially one where it’s a known risk you could die.

Also another thing I hate is how characters will overreact to stuff in annoying ways.

This is mostly in the most recent season.

Spoiler alert here

But everyone finds out the history of Ozpin and Salem’s relationship from Djinn

And then they just all hate and distrust Ozpin.

Here’s my reaction to finding out about ozpins relationship

It’s just... not that big a deal.

Okay so he was pipping the villain at one point

Nigga so was dumbldore!

It’s just annoying how Ozpin didn’t really do anything but he still was treated like he was just a bad person when he wasn’t.

That whole plot point feels empty, and I found myself more annoyed with the characters for being mad at him and wasting time, than mad at Ozpin for wanting to get laid.

My next complaint on this nitpick fest is

Shit what was I gonna say again?

Oh yea, that annoying ass military lady and her whole reason for not letting the heroes into atlas.

That was so annoying and pointless. She really had no reason not to let them through, and her getting into a giant mecha to fight them pulled me so far away from the story because it was just too ridiculous.

The mecha is for fighting Kaiju grim but it’s taken down by like five kids and their drunk grandpa.

Which like... fine but I hate it.

I hate that whole sequence.

It didn’t have to happen like that, it was another fight purely for spectacle.

It made me mad.

Plus I really really hate mecha anime and mecha fights in general.

God I hate them.

I skipped almost every mecha fight in Voltron because I hate them.

Look the point is that rwby is definitely a good show and I love almost every part of it, but these issues really pull me away from the story at times and you can really sense how much of the story is less about progression and more about increasing drama like the Ozpin thing, or looking cool.

Please watch rwby it really is worth your time, just be aware of the issues it has.

[lainelannister]

So as I mentioned earlier today...I did some #MeToo-inspired re-writing to an old modern AU of mine, “Slayers and Stones”. You’ll find the edited version below- I’d love any feedback anyone can provide! If you’ve read the old version, I’d love to hear if the edits are working for you...and if this is your first time reading, those responses are also super valuable!

Her father calls her into his study early in the morning, a rare smile on his serious face as he passes her a laminated name badge.  “Your internship begins tomorrow.”

 Sansa looks down at the red-and-gold tag.  The Lannister Inc. logo emblazoned across the top, her pseudonym  (“Alayne Stone,” she likes the sound of it well enough) in bold font below, and beneath that...

 “Marketing and PR?”  She cannot keep a dark frown from pulling at her lips; Lannister Inc. has a top-notch corporate analysis program, and she’d hoped that she might have a chance to experience it first-hand...

 But of course, this isn’t strictly a learning experience, is it?

 “It’s the best place for you.  You’ll be privy to every nasty rumor that passes through that place, which is very, very useful to us.”  Ned Stark still wears his smile, but it has yet to reach his eyes- corporate espionage is not attractive to him, and if not for Jon Arryn’s urging, she doubts that he’d be encouraging her to do this in the first place.  

 “Besides, the PR department handles press releases, events, parties...it would be the most fun for you, love.”  

 Sansa grinds her molars together at that; she may have graduated cum laude from Bryn Mawr with plans to start at Harvard Business School in the fall, but in her father’s eyes, she’ll always be that giggly, vapid seventeen year old, throwing a tantrum because another girl wore the same dress to the prom.  

 But she just smiles back and nods.  “I’m sure you’re right, Daddy.  I’ll go and do my best.”

 “That’s my girl.”  And in spite of her annoyance, Sansa feels a flush of pride at her father’s affectionate words, and she eagerly steps into his open arms and lets him hug her tight.

-

“You’ll fit right in over at Lannister.  They’ve got a thing for blondes.”

 Sansa glares at her brother, who leans casually against the doorframe of her bedroom.  She reaches up to run a self-conscious hand through her newly-highlighted hair; auburn curls now shine strawberry-blonde, and she has yet to become used to it.   

 When she doesn’t answer, Robb steps into the room and crosses his arms over his chest, a bright smile on his handsome face.  “What are you planning to wear?”

 “That.”  She gestures to her closet door, where she’s hung the sensible pantsuit that her mother gave her right after graduation- “Classic, good for interviews,” Catelyn Stark had said.   

 Robb plucks at the fabric before shaking his head in distaste.  “Sansa, I’ve been to Lannister Inc.  You can’t wear that...you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

 It’s not like her brother to pay attention to women’s fashion; the novelty of the conversation is enough to hold Sansa’s interest.  “It’s a high-powered corporation.  You’re telling me that the women don’t wear business suits?”

 “They do...but not like that.”  She’s starting to understand his implication, and her cheeks blush, just a little.

 “Then what should I wear, Robb?”   

 To her surprise, her brother opens her closet door and begins to rifle through her clothing.  It’s a comical sight, and she laughs.

 “You seem to know your way around a girl’s closet.  Do you pick out outfits for Jeyne, too?”

 He makes some retort, but his head is buried deep enough in the closet that she cannot make out the words.  Finally, he re-emerges, passing her a set of hangers and a pair of shoes.  

 “There.  That’s what you should wear.”

 Sansa huffs an incredulous breath through her nose- her brother has selected a black cocktail dress, short and tight.  The other hanger holds a fitted black blazer, and the shoes are four-inch stiletto heels.

 “What, is Lannister, Inc. an elaborate cover for a fancy prostitution ring?”   

 Robb rolls his eyes and smirks before heading to the door.

 “Fine, don’t listen to me.  But you’ll go there tomorrow, and you’ll see that I was just trying to help.”

 When Robb leaves, Sansa evaluates her options.  And with a beleaguered sigh, she places the sensible pantsuit back in her closet.   

 - 

 When she arrives at the skyscraper that houses Lannister Inc., Sansa realizes that Robb was completely correct.  There are more svelte, leggy blondes here than there are at Conde Nast, everyone dressed to the nines.  And not just the women; every man here looks like he walked off the set of a GQ photo shoot.  She thinks for a moment of the lax dress code at Stark Incorporated: her father’s worn Frye boots, Robb’s polo-and-khaki uniform, Theon’s leather jacket.  The comparison makes her giggle under her breath.

 After a brief meeting with Kevan Lannister, the head of HR (an older, somewhat stern man, but pleasant enough), she’s ushered into the office of Genna Frey, the director of marketing.  She takes a seat beside a handsome blonde man who appears about her age; her heartbeat skips when he smiles at her and asks her name, but the excitement quickly abates when he continues to speak, and she realizes how dreadful, pompous, and unpleasant he is.  She makes a mental note to stay clear of this one ( Jeffrey, was it?) and turns her attention to the heavy-set, no-nonsense woman behind the wide mahogany desk.  

 The tasks she sets for the interns are very menial at first: archiving press clippings, calling publications to follow up on print deadlines.  Sansa is a good listener, always has been, but even her best efforts at eavesdropping reap few results.  She returns home each evening with dread building in her stomach, for she hates to look at her father and Uncle Jon night after night and tell them that no, she still hasn’t learned anything new.  Failure sits heavily on her shoulders and keeps her awake deep into the night.

 And yet she forces down coffee after coffee (even sneaking the occasional Adderall from Arya’s medicine cabinet) and throws herself into the work.  Tedious as it is, she strives to surpass the other interns, and when Ms. Frey lectures her co-workers, holding up Alayne’s work and declaring, “This is how you document.  I don’t want to see any more half-assed shit from you people, I want to see this ,” she blushes as brightly as she does at her father’s praise.

 Finally, at long last, Sansa receives a reward for her hard work.  There’s a meeting scheduled with the senior executives to discuss “the family matter”, and Genna invites her to come along and take notes.  

 (She does not invite Joffrey into the closed-door session, in spite of his Lannister blood, and Sansa feels a sudden admiration for Genna’s value of talent over nepotism.)

 Sansa is, of course, well acquainted with the PR disaster that has befallen Lannister Incorporated.  In fact, it would not exist at all without Ned Stark and Jon Arryn; they gained knowledge of the story from an executive at the Baratheon Corporation, and they’ve installed Sansa at Lannister to report on the fall-out.  

 Goosebumps prickle up and down her arms as she takes a seat beside Genna.  The CEO is not present- in the weeks since she started here, Sansa has never once seen the mysterious Tywin Lannister, and she finds herself imagining him as a disembodied head surrounded by smoke, like the Wizard of Oz.  But Kevan is here, along with CFO Petyr Baelish, Junior Vice President Tyrion Lannister, and Senior Vice President Jaime Lannister.

 Everyone at the table appears tense, but as she looks at the man seated directly across from her, she thinks that she’s never seen a person more drained and empty-looking than Jaime Lannister.  

 She’s noticed him before, of course, sauntering down the hallways in his perfectly-tailored Italian suits, golden hair neatly combed back, tall and confident and devastatingly handsome.  The junior associates whisper his legend in the break room and by the water cooler- he’s a ruthless, predatory raider, known for crushing smaller companies beneath his feet and pillaging the spoils.  “The Slayer,” they call him in tones of hushed reverence.  She’s watched with distaste as assistant after intern after associate tries to flirt with him, only to be rebuffed by a distant smile and words of cool courtesy.  He’s only spoken to Sansa once, asking to borrow a pen and Post-It.  But he winked at her when he handed the pen back, and she’s sure that the smile she gave him in reply was every bit as insipid as the ones she’d seen from all those other silly girls.

 But now he does not look at anyone.  He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes as Tyrion catalogues the leaked information.  And it is, as Genna would say, an absolute shitstorm.  The former junior vice president, Cersei Lannister, had listened to some extremely bad advice and made an absurd, careless power play for the company.  Her illicit dealings and failed investments cost Lannister Inc. millions of dollars, and reports of her questionable character and distasteful personal life brought shame and derision upon the mighty Lannister dynasty.  

 Tyrion concludes his report by informing everyone that Cersei has been removed from public view and will be unable to do any more harm to the family or the company.

 “Where is she?”  

 Jaime’s voice rings out rather more loudly than is appropriate, and no one can bring themselves to look at him.  

 (Sansa thinks of some of the more salacious rumors that Jon Arryn has drummed up about Cersei Lannister and her handsome brother, but Uncle Jon has always had a flair for the dramatic...)

 “It doesn’t matter, Jaime...”

 “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”  He turns on his brother, emerald-green eyes flashing with rage, and Tyrion, usually so poised and glib, actually appears a bit frightened.

 But the moment passes quickly, and the younger Lannister brother speaks in as even a tone as he ever does.  

 “I mean that we need to distance ourselves from her, for the sake of the company.  Any outward show of support would make us all look weaker...but if she’s just the bad egg, that’s something that could happen to any family.  She’s an embarrassment, and we need to acknowledge that.”

 Suddenly, Sansa feels a discordant twang in her stomach at the coldness of it all.  Yes, Cersei Lannister is a class-A fuck-up, but she’s still their sister, still one of them...and to just abandon her like that...

 Her voice sounds strange in her ears, as though it belongs to someone else.  “But she’s your sister.”  

 Every head whips around to stare at Sansa; Genna’s face glows red with rage as she mutters, “Alayne.  Be quiet.”

 “What was that, Miss Stone?” Tyrion asks.  

 She knows that she should shut up, that she must shut up.  But the words fall from her lips of their own accord- “She’s family...how can you just hide her somewhere and...and throw her away…?”

 “Alayne.  Go get my Starbucks order and leave it on my desk.   Now, ” Genna seethes.

 As she rises from her chair, trying and failing to keep from shaking, she happens to glance across the table.  Jaime Lannister watches her, beautiful eyes unblinking and intense.

 And then his lips curve into a smile.

 - 

 When she arrives at work the next day, Sansa finds herself immediately re-routed to HR.  Her stomach sinks; she hasn’t told her father about the disaster of yesterday’s meeting, and she has no idea how she’ll explain getting fired...

 But Kevan Lannister barely even speaks to her before directing her to a conference room.  “Go in, please,” he says.

 She mentally steels herself for an apoplectic Genna or a sneering Mr. Baelish, but she finds herself face to face with Brienne Tarth instead.

 Sansa took an immediate liking to Jaime Lannister’s executive assistant; she rejects the couture that is the office standard in favor of loose, comfortable suits (“Probably buys them at the Big and Tall Men’s Wearhouse,” one of the catty, pretty office drones once snarked), and she gives off an undeniable air of competence.  She’s calm, collected, capable, and discreet, and Sansa considers these qualities far more valuable than any pretty facade.

 “Please sit down, Miss Stone,” Brienne says, gesturing to a chair.  Sansa sits and waits for the other woman to continue.

 “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve just been promoted.”

 “Oh!  Congratulations,” Sansa replies, and Brienne’s pretty blue eyes crinkle in a grin.

 “Thanks.  It’s a great opportunity for me- I’ll be a junior associate in the Boston office.”  

 “Then you’re leaving?”

 “Yes, I move at the end of the week.  And that’s why I’ve called you in.”

 “Oh?”  Sansa lifts a brow in surprise, while her insides jiggle in a hopeful dance- maybe I’m not getting fired...oh, thank God...

 “The thing is, this all happened really suddenly, and HR’s been so backed up lately that they haven’t really had time to deal with new hires.  Finding a replacement for me will definitely be a long process, lots of interviews...I’ve been with Jaime for five years, and he’s...very particular.”  

 “Of course.”   Five years, that’s a long time...but it makes sense, he obviously relies on her so much...

 “Anyway, until we can find someone he’ll like, we need a person to sit at that desk and answer his phones and manage his calendar.  It will be a lot more hours than what you’re used to, at the same intern pay rate, so I completely understand if you don’t want to take on the added responsibility-”

 “You want me to be Jaime Lannister’s assistant?”

 She must be quite a sight- eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar- because Brienne laughs brightly before nodding.

 “He asked for you specifically.  Will you do it?”

 Sansa thinks of the locked folders on the company drive, filled with information only available to the top executives and their assistants- she imagines having access to Jaime’s calendar, intimate knowledge of the second-in-command’s comings-and-goings...she begins to salivate, and she swallows it down.

 A red-gold ponytail bobs up and down as she eagerly nods.  

 “Oh, yes.  Thank you.”

 - 

 She should have known better.  Sansa curses herself for her naivety; just because Jaime gave Brienne the password to the locked files doesn’t mean he’ll hand it over to a twenty-three year old intern he’s barely met.  She lets herself wallow in disappointment for a few brief moments, but then forces the feeling aside- there’s got to be another way.  She’ll just bide her time; she’s good at being patient.

 And so she fields phone calls and handles his e-mail correspondence and schedules meetings.  The scheduling is by far the most interesting part of the job; he’s on the board of numerous organizations, and every night is a different gala, a different opening night, a different photo op.  

 She’d seen his picture on Page Six that morning, taken at a heart-disease benefit the evening before.  He wore a tuxedo- he’s even better-looking in a tux than in a suit- and stood with his arm wrapped around his date’s narrow waist: Margaery Tyrell, the heiress to Highgarden Communications, beautiful and striking in Alexander McQueen.  The Lannister PR machine desperately wants New York to believe that Jaime and Margaery are romantically involved, but when she considers that she must always arrange for a separate car for Margaery at the end of these events, Sansa thinks it rather unlikely.

Maybe he’s gay, she thinks to herself as she returns from the dry cleaner and enters Jaime’s vacant office, hanging his tux on the door and placing the newly-shined dress shoes beneath it.   He certainly dresses well...and Margaery’s gorgeous, but he’s definitely not sleeping with her...

She crosses the room to water the little tree in the corner; Brienne schooled her carefully in the care and keeping of the plant.  

 She bends over to tip the watering can toward the back of the tree, and she does not hear the door open behind her.  When she stands upright, she locks eyes with Jaime, who watches her with a peculiar expression.  

 “I think it has enough water.  You’ve been very thorough.”  Sansa nods and places the watering can down as Jaime furrows his brow, gesturing to the tuxedo.

 “Where am I going tonight?”

 “The opera, Mr. Lannister,” she replies, taking a small step toward the door, in spite of the fact that he’s directly blocking her path.  

 “Fuck, that’s right.”  He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and sighs.  “Which one is it?”

 “’La Boheme’,” she replies.  

 “Hmm.  I haven’t seen that before.”

 “It’s beautiful,” Sansa volunteers with a soft smile.  “It’s one of my favorites.”

 “You like opera?”

 “Yes.”  She’s nearly at the door now, but he still hasn’t moved- she’s near enough to catch the scent of his cologne- musk and sandalwood- and her mouth begins to go dry... snap out of it, you’re being an idiot...

 “Duly noted.”  He grins at her, pivoting his body just enough to give her space to slide through the doorway, but not enough to keep her from brushing her chest against his arm as she tries to pass.  “I’ll get you tickets next time.”

 “I..I would like that very much.  Thank you.”

 When she closes the door behind her, Sansa falls into her chair and presses her palm to her heart.  She scowls at the quickness of the beats and restrains the urge to smack her head on the keyboard over and over again.

  -

 It’s nearly midnight, and she’s completely alone.  She’s sure of it- even the cleaning people have left for the weekend.  Still, her eyes dart about anxiously as she retrieves the zip drive from her purse and plugs it into her computer.  It will work...it has to work.

 Bran had been surprised, when she approached him to ask about computer hacking.  “I hack into gaming sites, Sansa,” he’d sighed with exasperation.  But the same principles must apply, she imagines- she adjusted the codes, tweaked the infrastructure on her own computer, saved it all to the drive.  And now she’ll be able to get into the locked files and secure her father some information far more valuable than the Cersei Lannister gossip.  

 Her toes tap and her fingers twitch with exhilaration- this is it, this is it, I’ll really prove myself now...

 So engrossed is she that she does not notice the door behind her swinging open, not until a low voice echoes through the empty office-

 “Still here, Alayne?”

 She shrieks, whirling her chair around.  Jaime stands in the doorway of his office, tie loosened and shirt untucked, a tumbler of scotch in one hand.  

 But no, I saw him leave for the museum gala, I called the car and got his tux...when did he have time to come back?  When I was in the bathroom, maybe...God, I should have checked his office first, stupid, stupid, stupid...

 She tries to push her self-loathing aside long enough to answer his question.  “Yes, Mr. Lannister.  Just trying to finish up the agenda for the next board meeting before the weekend.”

 “I appreciate your dedication,” he drawls with a smile.  “But can I persuade you to take a break?”

 He opens the door to his office wider and gestures to her to enter.  She hastily closes the open windows on her computer and complies, shutting the door behind her.  

 “Do you like scotch?” he asks.  She doesn’t really, but her brothers and uncle are fond of it, and she knows she can hold it down when necessary.

 When she nods, he fills another tumbler from a crystal carafe and hands it to her.  “It’s good, smooth.  Aged seventeen years.”  

She takes a sip, trying not to wince at the burn of the liquid as it courses down her throat.  

“Thank you.”  

He sits on the sofa at the corner of his office and nods pointedly to the space beside him.  As she lowers herself down, he removes his tie and tosses it on a side table, unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt.  Sansa fights to keep from staring at the glimpse of his chest left exposed...she takes another sip and regrets the squeakiness of her voice when she asks,

 “Why aren’t you at the gala?”

 Jaime replies with a dry laugh.  “I’m not in a very festive mood tonight.”  His eyes darken a bit, and Sansa is reminded of the calls she’d forwarded to him that day from the private investigator.   They still won’t tell him where she is, he has to hire his own detective...it’s insane.   

 She finds herself unable to keep the sympathy out of her expression when she nods.  His gaze sharpens, but his tone remains calm and still.

 “So, Alayne.  Are you enjoying yourself here?”

 “It’s a great opportunity for me.  I’m learning a lot.”

 “And what is it that you want to do?  What’s your big career dream?”

 Sansa answers with more candor than she originally intended.  “I want to go to business school, then become an analyst.  And eventually, I want to run a company like this one.”

 “Not exactly like this one, I hope,” he sniffs derisively.  “But you’re ambitious...everyone loves ambition here.  They eat, sleep, and shit ambition.”  

 He refills her glass before she has time to protest, and the hard set of his jaw prompts her to change the subject.

 She’s an easy conversationalist, and she turns the talk to music, art (he has an impressive collection), higher education.   He makes her laugh with stories of his undergrad fraternity days at Yale, recommends business schools (he went to Harvard himself, and she bites her lip to keep from revealing her acceptance and inundating him with questions).  And he keeps the liquor flowing, until Sansa drops her heavy head onto the back of the sofa, just a hairsbreadth away from his shoulder.

 “May I ask you something?”  She looks up at the clean profile of his face and breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of peat and alcohol and expensive cologne.

 “Whatever you like.”  

 “Why did you ask for me?  When you were picking an intern to help you, I mean.  Why me?”

 He reaches for her tumbler, and she relinquishes it.  After placing both his glass and hers on a nearby table, he reclines back against the sofa and runs a hand through his thick golden hair.  

 “It was what you said in the meeting that day.  About family...there are plenty of ambitious people around here, like I said.  Lots of smart people and driven people, but there aren’t a lot of compassionate people.”  He props his elbow on the back of the couch and leans closer; she can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and she inches nearer...

 “What you said...it was very human of you.  And that’s fucking refreshing.”

 Their knees are touching now; if she moves her head just a fraction, her brow will fall against his.  She sees the prickling of stubble along his jawline, the way his eyelashes become light at the tips. A lock of her hair falls across her face, and he reaches up to smooth it back behind her ear.  

 “You’ve got a lot of red in your hair,” he comments, twisting the strands around his finger.   “Very pretty.”

So, so tacky, a cutting voice reverberates at the back of her mind. Powerful executive trying to get into his young assistant’s pants...he honestly couldn’t be more cliche if he tried.

His mouth barely hovers over hers at this point. And she’s not sure whether it’s defiance against those bitter voices coursing through her head or simply a total lack of fear (a middle-aged guy acting inappropriate with an intern, even in this day and age...that’s just sad), but she figures that she has nothing to lose.

She tilts her chin up and brushes her lips against his.  Jaime cups her cheek in his hand, and the way he kisses her- soft, patient, gentle- stokes a fire in her belly, sending tingles up and down her limbs and between her legs.  

 Jaime’s tongue teases at the seam of her lips, and she opens her mouth for him willingly, knotting her fingers in his soft hair.  He massages her tongue with his, and when he wraps a strong arm around her and eases her down onto the sofa cushions, she’s almost embarrassed by the ease with which her legs fall to either side, giving him unambiguously-direct access.

 “Oh-” she sighs when she realizes that he’s settled his hips into the space between her thighs, his mouth lavishing attention on her neck, kissing and biting and sucking (enough to make her whimper and writhe, but not enough to leave marks- won’t have to break out the concealer, at least....).

It’s all moving along at an alarming pace, and the sensible side of Sansa, the one that regularly talked Arya down from her more fantastical flights of fancy and stopped Mya and Jeyne from becoming the subjects of especially-vicious high school gossip, urges her to slow things down-

“Mr. Lannister,” she begins (not very convincingly- she doesn’t actually want him to stop, although she knows it’s the right thing to do)-

“Jaime,” he pants into her skin, his tongue dipping into the groove of her collarbone.  “It’s Jaime.”

“Jaime,” she repeats- it’s a good name to whisper nearly breathless, a good name to sigh- she imagines herself screaming it as she comes, and she spreads her legs wider, quivering with anticipation.  

(And the practical part of her slinks into the wings, completely forgotten for the time being.)

Her nimble fingers slide between them, unfastening the buttons of his shirt.  Her hands roam over the perfectly-contoured muscles of his body, and she’s momentarily distracted by the thought of the personal-training appointments Jaime’s had her schedule for 4:30am every day. “Who gets up that early?” she’d asked Kevan’s assistant Joy after sharing this story at one of their impromptu mid-afternoon coffee breaks. Joy had replied with a smirk, rolling her green eyes as she muttered, “Someone with something major to prove.”

 He fingers the hem of her camisole, and she helps him pull it up over her shoulders, nearly surprised by her own lack of hesitation- she hasn’t been touched so intimately since she broke up with Harry almost a year ago, she should probably be more reluctant, more shy...

 But the way Jaime presses his face into her chest and softly kisses the tops of her breasts...the way he mouths her nipples through the thin cotton of her bra...the deft way he reaches beneath her to pull the hooks open- nothing like Harry at all.

 “You like that, don’t you?” he breathes as he scrapes his teeth over her left nipple.  She pulls his hair tight and whimpers in response, and he laughs, taking one breast in each hand and pushing them together until he can suck both nipples into his mouth at once.  

 She lets out a little peep of objection when he releases her breasts, but then his lips trail lower, skimming over her stomach, tongue swirling into her navel.  He lifts her skirt up and slides his fingers over her through her underwear, and she digs her nails into the leather of the sofa.

 When he replaces his fingers with his mouth, kissing her through her boy-shorts, she growls his name low in her throat, surprised by her own abandon. The tip of his tongue teases at her clit, and the warmth, the soft pressure, the friction of the fabric- she reaches down to grip his shoulder, scratching at the golden skin, while her other hand kneads her own breast.

 “Oh, please...”  she begins, but soon interrupts herself with a sigh of delight as he catches her underwear in his teeth and pulls them down her legs.  Jaime peppers soft kisses on her ankle, the inside of her knee, all up and down her inner thighs before spreading her folds and licking into her.  

 He’s slow and patient in his exploration, taking his time to discover the way she likes to be touched.  When he curls his fingers inside her just so, his tongue softly massaging her swollen outer lips before resting flat on her clit, she finds herself moaning just the way Harry always wished she would, bucking her hips up and feeling her wetness pool over his fingers and his lips.  

 He kisses his way back up her body and then captures her mouth- she licks her own release from his lips and tongue.  She can feel him pressed against her belly, and she quickly unbuckles and unbuttons until he’s in her hand, hot and hard.  Sansa kisses along his jaw and takes his earlobe in her mouth as she begins to stroke; her other hand pinches his nipple, and he grabs her hip tight and releases a breathy trail of obscenities.  

 Then she brings her hand to his face and looks him in the eye, those gorgeous cat’s eyes, set in this laughably-perfect face- “The Slayer”, they call him, he has no soul, no conscience...but would a man with no soul care so deeply for his disgraced sister?  Would a man with no soul place such a premium on compassion, on “human” behavior?  

 She kisses him again, hungrier than before, as she rubs the head of his cock against her.  He moans into her mouth- “Alayne”, and she tries not to feel a prick of sadness- and his hips start to shift-

 “Do you have a condom?” she thinks to ask him, just in time. His brows knit together, and she’s blessedly able to stop herself before she rolls her eyes. There’s something strangely vulnerable about him as he leans down to retrieve his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and fishes within until he finds a Trojan.

 “Not sure how long this has been there…” he begins, trying to sell the curve of his lips as a gesture of good humor...but he’s fragile in a way she can’t quite understand, and she chooses to be merciful.

She takes the rubber from him and tears the package open with her teeth, sprawling flat on her stomach to apply it with her mouth.

Once this crucial task is complete, she guides him into her and lifts her knees to her chest, savoring the deep thrusts, the hard grip of his hands on her thighs.

Jaime lifts her legs so that her ankles rest on his shoulders, and he lowers one hand to caress her, turning his head to kiss the side of her calf.  She comes again, even harder than before, and when he slides out of her, she wraps her hand around him and pulls off the condom before raining kisses over his shoulders and neck and chest until his ejaculate leaks over her fingers, pooling in the spaces between.

 They do not move right away, content to stay coiled around each other, exchanging leisurely kisses with generous tongue.  Sansa starts to truly consider what she’s done- this man is her father’s rival, a top executive in the company that Stark Incorporated is trying to destroy.

 And these facts shouldn’t make her want him more.  That’s childish nonsense...but there’s an appeal here that she can’t deny, can’t ignore.   Between the leather and the sandalwood and the musk and the scotch and this powerful, beautiful man sucking on her lower lip-

 But then she remembers the red zip drive conspicuously plugged into the side of her computer, and she pulls away.

 “I should finish up and go home,” she murmurs.  He does not object, but he keeps his arms around her as she tries to put her clothes back on, slowing down the process with his kisses and touches and wicked insinuations.

 After she slips her top back on and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, he whispers,  “Come home with me.  I want to fuck you in the back of the town car-” He brushes his lips beneath her ear- “-and in the elevator-” His stubble scratches at her collarbone as he moves down- “-and in every room in my apartment.”  He gently squeezes her breast, and she shifts closer, nearly sitting in his lap-

 But then she stops.  She pulls away and stands, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt.

 “Not tonight,” she replies with a soft smile.  He looks disappointed, but when she reaches down to brush an errant lick of golden hair out of his eyes, she can feel him smile against the thin skin of her wrist.

 “We ought to clean ourselves up,” she says, watching as he tucks his cock back into his pants and crosses toward the closet.  He drops a kiss on her shoulder as he passes her, opening the closet door and retrieving a clean white dress shirt.

 “Very sensible, I’m sure.”  He slides the shirt over his arms, and the fabric clings to his sweat-dampened chest as he fastens the buttons.  

 Before she loses her wits entirely, Sansa hastens out the door, shutting it behind her.

   She gathers her things quickly, shuts off the lights, powers down her computer (but not before ejecting the zip drive and slipping it back into her purse).  

 Jaime emerges from his office a few minutes later in perfectly-clean clothes, briefcase in hand.  He approaches her, graceful steps putting her in mind of a lion stalking its prey.  When he closes in on her, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, her lower back pressed against the desk, she feels that she wants to be ravaged and savaged and ripped apart.   Of course, she reflects as she observes a thin scratch on his neck, courtesy of her sharp fingernails, I’d be able to give plenty of my own back, too.

 “Will you let me drive you home, at least?” he asks, and she forces her head into a vehement shake.

 “No, thank you.  The cabs are lined up around the block at this hour.”  She tries to straighten her posture, but he holds her fast against the desk.  Just one more, she thinks as she pulls his face down to hers, the force of the kiss pushing her up onto the desk, her leg rising to wrap around him again-

 A clatter of metal, and they both look down- she’s knocked her stapler and tape dispenser onto the floor.  They separate, and she leans down to retrieve the supplies.  When she stands back up, Jaime places a thumb on her lips, just a gentle pressure.  

 “Good night, Alayne,” he whispers before turning on his heel and heading toward the elevator bank.  

 She waits by the window until she sees his town car pull away.  Only then does she leave; she opts against taking a cab, choosing instead to walk the thirty blocks to her parents’ townhouse.

 Sansa strolls out to the river park, walking along the water that frames the west side.  She slips a hand into her purse and closes it around the zip drive.  And then she thinks.

 Regardless of what just occurred between them (a #MeToo moment waiting to happen...she’s ashamed of the flippant nature of this thought, at the ease with which she left her own complicity out of the equation), Jaime seems to be a decent person.  And Genna is decent in her way, and Kevan and even Tyrion...is it fair, is it right to help her father tear their company up like this?  The information she’s stolen has the potential to obliterate Lannister Inc....  Can she...will she...?

 She rests her hand on the railing that separates the pathway from the water below.  The little red drive nestles in her fist, and she loosens her fingers-

 But instead, she returns the drive to the inner pocket of her purse.  Shutting the bag with a resolute zip, Sansa continues on her way home.  

[crispychrissy]

Escape - Part 1

Summary: Sam knows what he needs, and he’s lucky enough to know exactly where to get it from. Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Castiel, several OC’s Word Count: 1392 Warnings: Fluff, talk of SPN canon violence A/N: So, I didn’t really announce this because the idea attacked me out of the blue, but I’m planning on making a small drabble series about Sam’s adventures here if everyone likes the idea. I’m not going to spoil anything up here because I want you all to read it and make your own assumptions as you go. This was looked over by my two lovelies @saxxxology and @bamby0304. Please let me know if this kind of story is something you might like to see more of. :)

Sam’s sneaking out again.

It’s the fourth time this month, but he knows he needs it. Dean would judge him for it, Cas wouldn’t understand, and Y/N would probably want to know more details than he feels comfortable sharing. It’s easier for all of them to be out of the loop. It’s not like he’s going to be gone for an entire day. He can always pick up a few groceries on the way back to cover any suspicions they may have… nothing weird about going for a supply run.

Sam bought a motorcycle, thanks to one of his stolen identities, and every time he leaves, he wheels it out of the garage and down the road before starting it to make sure none of the bunker occupants hear his departure. Out of the all the memories he obtained while he was soulless, the knowledge of how to ride a motorcycle was probably the most useful. He definitely would love to forget being such a sex-crazed douchebag, though, that’s for sure.

About halfway down the long driveway to the bunker, Sam staddles the Yamaha and turns the key, making it rumble to life with a low purr. Pulling on a helmet, he throws his backpack over his shoulder and loops his arms through the straps before driving off down the road to the main street that runs through Lebanon.

The ride is usually pretty boring, the scenery in Lebanon isn’t really all that interesting, but Sam loves feeling the rumble of the motorcycle beneath him, grounding him, making his breathing even out and his mind settle. He understands now why people buy motorcycles. The feeling of the wind whooshing by and being unconfined by the metal of a car is freeing, and he wonders if Y/N would ever want to come riding with him.

His destination is only twenty minutes away, a straight drive down Route 36. Sometimes he plays a game with himself, counting trees or counting how many farmers are out riding tractors. Once, he counted how many religious billboards lined this stretch of road, smiling to himself and wondering what those zealots would do if they met a actual Angel. Or God, for that matter.

All too soon, Sam’s driving along the short worn brick road to his destination. The old sandy brown building covered in sun-faded posters sits back a bit from the brick road, and he remembers her smile when he made a Wizard of Oz joke, even though she’s probably heard them all before. Man was he lucky to find her, it’s not every day when you can find someone that’s familiar with the life, but isn’t in it. Someone who can understand the short amount of time you can spend with them, and someone who doesn’t mind being interrupted by a case that needs his attention.

Sam pulled into one of the parking spots to the right of the building and turned off his motorcycle, dismounting it and sliding his helmet onto the left handlebar. Running his fingers through his coppery locks, Sam swallows hard, trying to will the nerves away. It isn’t the first time he’s done this, but it’s the first time he’s really going to go all out. It’s the first time he’s going to share his full complicated history with her.

With a quick exhale full of nervous energy, Sam walks to the front of the building, pulling off his sunglasses and stripping off his heavy jacket as he steps inside. The cheerful blonde named Kelly behind the counter gives Sam a long look up and down before settling her eyes back on his own. She does this every time, much to Sam’s discomfort. The flirting is something he’s grown accustomed to, but he’s there for one reason and one reason only, and focuses on the woman he’s been dying to see for the last few days.

“Hey, Sammy,” Kelly chirps, making Sam grit his teeth at the high pitched frequency of the bubbly blonde’s voice.

“It’s Sam,” he grounds out, unamused.

“Come on, just admit it, Sam. One of these days you’re going to come by just to see me instead of her, right?” Kelly asks hopefully, her expression falling once Sam shakes his head.

“I’ve only got eyes for one girl here, Kel,” Sam smiles, watching her narrow her eyes at the use of her least favorite nickname.

“Kelly, leave the poor guy alone,” a male voice scolds from one of the side doorways, and Sam smiles as the man steps into the room and looks at the younger Winchester. “Hey Sam, she’s all ready for you, I’ll walk you up.”

“Thanks, Alan,” Sam nods, following the younger heavyset man as he leads Sam up the stairwell to the left of the desk Kelly sits at. She winks at him and waves as he walks away, and Sam only rolls his eyes.

They walk in silence for a few moments before Alan speaks up. “Man, I don’t know what you do that makes you so special, but she never drops everything to see anyone… except when it comes to you. One day you’ll have to tell me your secret.”

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told anyone, would it Alan?” Sam laughs as they reach the top of the stairs. Alan holds his arm out, directing Sam into the familiar room, and he takes a seat on the pull-out sofa bed, usually preferring it over any of the other furniture in the room.

“She’ll be in in just a second,” Alan turns to walk away, but stops and points an accusatory finger at Sam. “And remember, you only pay for an hour, so you only stay an hour, okay? Last thing I need is a repeat of two weeks ago.”

Sam nods sheepishly and raises his hands in front of him. “Understood, sir!” He does a lazy salute and smiles as Alan laughs and turns, disappearing from the doorway.

This room has slowly become Sam’s favorite ever since he’s began coming here. It’s warm, welcoming, and doesn’t loudly scream what kind of services go on behind closed doors like most other places do. He shifts and slides off his backpack, setting it down along with his jacket next to him on the futon.

But then he’s nervous again. It’s like the second he steps over the threshold into this room, everything becomes real. He anxiously rubs his palm against his thigh, mentally reminding himself he needs to have Y/N work her stain-removing magic on this particular pair of jeans; he’s only now noticing the dozens of faded droplets of blood that are dotted along the material from the rough vampire hunt last week.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor makes his head pop up as he looks expectantly at the doorway. The woman he’s been waiting to see rounds the corner with a bright smile on her face. Today, she’s wearing a white blouse with a navy skirt, and has her raven black hair tied up in a loose bun at the back of her head, probably due to the sweltering Kansas summer temperature outside. She nods at Sam, who also returns the non-verbal greeting, as she walks over to her desk and grabs a few supplies.

“I’m so happy to see you again, Sam,” she coos, her voice as smooth as honey on a hot day. It immediately puts Sam’s mind at ease and his body loosens up as of the tension he holds deep in his muscles fades away.

“I’m happy that you were able to see me on such short notice,” Sam replies, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“It sounded like you needed it,” she nods as she turns around and walks over to the chair across from the futon. “Vampire hunt, right?”

“Yup.” Sam pops the p, watching as she sits down in front of him and crosses one leg over the other, resting a dark brown patient folder in her lap. “It was a pretty bad one. Things got dicey at the end and now Dean is mad at me. I don't really know what else to do, Dr. Davis.”

“Well then, let’s get to it,” Dr. Davis begins, pulling a pen out from behind her ear. “How does this type of problem typically make you feel?”

Forever: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @just-another-busy-fangirl @growningupgeek @trashimaginezblog @jensen-gal @spnbaby-67 @mizzezm @there-must-be-a-lock @atc74 @mereka18 @pilaxia @supernatural-jackles @impala-dreamer @bambi95-blog @wonderfulworldofwinchester @batmmgray @brooke-supernatural16 @dwgrl1903 @hey-bxtch @turnttoverr @kittenofdoomage @leanbeankeane @emoryhemsworth @xalgaliareptx @mhnfatima @bi-e-ne @speakinvain @pebblesz892 @kararanae23 @kassablanca13 @mogaruke @tockettt @quiessilva-meriff @wildefire @waywardbaby @serienjunkiegirl @alexwinchester23 @mrswhozeewhatsis @stars-and-seas @jaremish @ellen-reincarnated1967 @nyxveracity @andkatiethings @bamby0304 @deathtonormalcy56 @winchesterprincessbride @adoptdontshoppets @moonstar86 @missihart23

Sam: @ronja-uebrick @be7van @hunterswearingplaid

[percyjaksonfanfiction]

A Lilly in a valley of dead grass

A/N: This is a Harry Potter fanfiction as requested by @gracieismydog <3 hope you’ll enjoy this! My requests are always open, for everything! Feel free to message me! Now to the story!

“Oh! Where on Merlin’s beard did I put it!” you murmured as you furiously went through your suitcase, frantically searching for your wand. 

You had this bad habit since forever, your mother always complained about it. For some reason you kept misplacing things and you could never find what you needed when you needed it. 

“Y/n! Hurry! We’re going to be late! It’s the first Quinditch match of the year, we can’t let those stupid Slytherins win!” your best friend Harley, shouted from the common room. “You know that McGonagal will not hesitate to not let us watch the game if we’re late!”

You knew that was more than true. It didn’t matter to Professor McGonagal wheather you were in Gryffindor or not. She would get mad at you and strike you with a penalty no matter what. Snape on the other hand....

“Y/n!” Harley’s voice sounded even more shriek than usual. You decided that you’d find your wand on a different time and run down the stairs.

“I’m here, God Harley, you’d say someone was murdering you or something.”

“You’re so funny.” she said without a trace of amusment in her face. 

“Okay sorry. Let’s go.”

You made it just in time and you managed to get away with just a death glare from Professor McGonagal. That was more than you had hoped for when you were running like crazy trying to get to the field. 

Harley tried to play it mad at first but since she saw that you didn’t care, she cut it out. It wasn’t your fault that your wand had gone missing!

“My wand is missing.” you whispered to Harley’s ear. 

“You can use mine Y/l/n.” you heard a voice behind you and you turned to look. As always, it was Melbi. 

Torrance Melbi. That annoying boy, thinking he’s better than everyone else. 

“How did you even get in Gryffindor?” you sighed as you turned to the match in front of you again. 

“I’m super brave.” he said and his pears laughed. 

“You’re super stupid.” you said under your breath.

“It’s weird isn’t it?” you turned to Harley. 

“What’s weird?”

“The choices the Sorting Hat makes. How can an idiot like Torrance Melbi get into Gryffindor, yet Leith got into Slytherin?”

“Leith?”

“Come on, you know Leith. Leith Snape. Snape’s son.”

“Oh. The quiet kid.”

“Yeah. He gets picked on a lot you know.”

“How is Leith our problem again?” Harley, wasn’t in the mood for conversation and you could see it.

“He isn’t our problem. I’m just saying that it’s weird.”

“What’s weird is that you’re so intrested in a Slytherin boy. Especially Snape’s son. For all we know he’ll grow a nose like his father and his hair will be filled with grease.” Harley laughed at her own joke.

“It’s not nice. What you’re saying.” you told her quietly. “The boy may get in serious trouble just for being Snape’s son. And his father doesn’t even try to make him feel safer in the school. Plus his hair are light brown, nothing like his father’s.”

“Do you wanna marry him maybe?” Harley snapped.

“What?”

“Well, if not, just shush, cause I’m trying to watch the game here. Can we do that? Or are you going to cheer for Slytherin now? Considering your new boyfriend?”

You were very annoyed but you didn’t say anything. You just sighed and turned to the game, your thoughts flying to Leith and the fact that you didn’t think he belonged to Slytherin. And - if he did belong there - maybe Slytherin wasn’t so bad after all.

                                                        ~o~

“Miss Y/l/n” Snape’s voice was bearly audible above your head, so you knew there was danger around. Well, you had seen it coming since you -well- your potion, was fluo pink and not light blue as it should be.

“Ye- yes Professor Snape?” 

“Why is your potion this colour? Are you visually impared?”

“N-no,sir.”

“Then, I take it you thought that your mind, can produce a better Potion than my instructions?”

“No Professor, I’m sorry, I-I got destructed around step 7, and then I lost it.” you admited.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “You mean, you know where you did wrong?” he asked a little bit surprised.

“Well, yeah. It’s clear you say just 2 unicorn hair and I accidentally put in 5, when I mixed the step with step 9, when you say 5 ozes of green mush.”

Snape was in awe and he had trouble hiding it. He decided to change the subject, to his advantage quickly.

“And what got you so destructed Miss Y/l/n? What is more important in your life right now, at my class?” 

Some Slytherin girls laughed at how red your face was starting to become.

“Um... I... I noticed something and... Well, I noticed that Felicia Nulis and Mason Graves, where bulling Leith Snape, again Professor. And what got me so destructed was the fact that you don’t stop them from doing so.” you said, your voice trembling a bit.

Snape’s expression was hard to read. “Five points from Gryffindor.” he then said and turned to leave.

“So, I get punished but these people harassing another kid get away with it, just because you don’t want to take points out of your own house?” the words slipped out of your mouth  before you had a chance to restrain them.

“Detention Miss Y/l/n. This Saturday. 8 o’ clock.”

Slytherins where laughing but you saw Leith genually sad about all these, lowering his gaze to his feet. 

As you stormed off the classroom the minuite the lesson ended, you heard someone calling your name.

“Yes?” you turned furiously to the sound of the voice.

There he was. Leith was standing awkwardly next to the door.

“Um, hi.” he said walking towards you.

“Hi.” 

“Thanks for... You know, what you said in class. Although I don’t want you getting in trouble for me.” he murmured.

You laughed. “Well, someone has to do it, I don’t see you talking back.”

He smiled. “Trust me. I tried. A lot. They just don’t get it. Gryffindors, bully me as well. That big kid.”

“Torrance Melbi?”

“That one. Then, Mason came next to me. I thought, good, he’s on my side we’re both in Slytherin. Well, let me tell you. It’s the first time I see an alliance between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin boy and that happened only so they cound... Well, hung me up a tall tree and leave me there, screaming for help.”

“What? What about, you know, your father.” you asked.

Leith gave you a sad smile again. “You know how he is. He tells me to man up, that he had to deal with similar stuff growing up and that if I focus on my studies time will fly.”

“That’s the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard.” you said and you both laughed.

That moment Mason Graves walked out of the classroom with three of his friends by his side.

“Well, well” he said. “Look what we have here... The happy couple of Hogwarts.”

That must have been funnier to them than to you because his friends burst out laughing.

“Go away Graves.” you said.

“Or what Y/l/n?”

“Leave her alone.” Leith said standing in front of you.

“Oh, little Leith is so brave.” a blond boy next to Mason mocked. “You weren’t so brave screaming on top of that tree, if I remember correctly.”

“Please get me down! I’ll tell my dad! I’ll tell Dumbledore!” Mason said in a shriek voice and they all laughed again. Then Mason pulled out his wand.

“You don’t deserve to be a Slytherin.” he said with a cold voice as he pointed his wand at Leith’s chest. 

You felt the air leaving your lungs. Being a muggleborn, you weren’t experienced with little hexes and stuff as witches and wizards that heard about them their whole life were.

Leith took a step back.

“Just leave me alone Graves. Why do I bother you so much?” he said in despare.

You then noticed Professor Snape. He stood by the door, not making himself noticable, not saying anything. Your blood started boiling in your veins. Why was he hesitating? Why wasn’t he standing up for his son damn it!

“You know, I always wanted to try this little hex...” you herad Mason say. “It - supposedly - makes your nose disappear. Imagine how funny that would be.”

“And how painfull to bring his nose back!” the blonde boy laughed again.

“P-please just - just--” Leith’s voice faded out.

“Pleeeease pleeeease” Mason mocked laughing. “Let’s see, if this works then.”

You had accepted the fact that Snape wan’t going to do anything about it. He looked paler than usual, and kind of.. lost. Like he was re-living a memmory.

Mason took a deep breath and  you took a decision.

The moment he opened his mouth, you pushed Leith to the side, snapped out your want and screamed: “Wingardium Leviosa!” since it was the only spell you’ve come to master so far.

Maybe it was the strength you used but Mason’s wand snapped out of his hand and his body slammed the wall, levitating a bit before falling, face first to the floor.

His friends were shocked and you and Leith burst out laughing. It was your turn to feel good now. Mason struggled to his feet, looking at you with a mix of emotions - fear, confusion and anger. Then Professor Snape emerged from the classroom making the Slytherins run away. 

Both you and Leith looked at him waiting for your penalty. To your surprise, he spoke with a -kind of- tender voice.

“Miss Y/l/n/. What you just did? We can.... overlook.”

“Professor I--”

“And about that detention. Let’s reconsider shall we? I expect more of you in class though.”

“Dad I--” Leith begun to say.

“Not now Mr Snape. You and Miss Y/l/n can go now.” 

You weren’t planing on sitting around questioning your good luck. All you cpuld thing of was about how you managed to escape detention with Snape, and that Leith was safe. 

“Let’s go.” he whispered to you and grabbed your arm. “Now that he’s in a good mood.” 

As you saw it, he didn’t need to whisper. Snape wasn’t paying any attention to you. His eyes were focused on something that was no longer there.

As you turned to leave you could swear you heard him murmur: “Take care of her son. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Girls like that.... are Lillies in a valley of dead grass. And I’m glad you’ll have your own. As I once had...” 

You turned your head and you saw a single tear escape his eyes before he regained control and desappeared inside the classroom.

You smiled and brushed it off, you were just an 11 year old after all. 

Only twelve years later, you understood what he meant, when he gave a toast in yours and Leith’s wedding, finally explaining himself about all these years. Leith’s mother wasn’t happy to hear about this, but you... you understood.

A/N: And there you have it! I did my best! I hope you like it, if not I’m sorry :( Feel free to send me requests I’ll do them as soon as I can!! I love you all thanks for all your support <3 Stay awesome! :D 

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTES: Sorry about that huge delay - that was totally unintentional. I've been trying to make a game, which I know, is a completely ridiculous thing for me to do considering I've never tried to do that before. Also, I'm terrible at it as it turns out, haha. BUT! If I ever finish it, you'll be the first to know - I'll also probably post it to AO3 if it's at all possible.

Hopefully, the length of this chapter (and the sheer amount of events set off in it) help to make up for it! We're doing a time-hop forward. Part Two is much longer, and Part Three will be about the same length as Two. Have fun!

                                                  ~ PART TWO ~

                                                  CHAPTER SIX

"Come on, Illianora, spill! What did they say, exactly?"

The round-faced girl smiled back at her friends, swinging her legs back and forth just below her chair in the corner of the inn they so often met up in for lunch. Any fool could tell that this was a unique opportunity for her to be the center of attention, and she was about to milk it for all she was worth. Not that anyone other than the barkeep and the one or two of the customers were going to pay them the slightest bit of attention — and the former only because he distrusted anyone who had not come to the age of adulthood.

"Oh, come on, you don't want to hear this boring old Emerald City gossip."

"We do, we do!"

"Okay," she giggled, relenting far too easily. Scooting a bit closer, she said, "Well. First, they were making this big proclamation about appointing Fiyero to be Captain of the Guard!"

There were a chorus of gasps. One of the other girls whispered, "Not Prince Fiyero!"

"Yes! I mean, I really wanted to go congratulate him… tell him personally how proud we all were of him. A Vinkus man being given such a high position in the Wizard's army! Put in charge of the search for the Witches themselves! But I couldn't get close, of course."

"You wanted to tell him how much you wanted to be his wife," another girl accused. When Illianora only shrugged, they all laughed. "Knew it! You're shameless!"

"Oh, stop that; you know I'm only interested in Liir. Even if Fiyero is a handsome devil." Then her eyes sparkled. "But I haven't told you the half of it! The press secretary — Marble something — she announced that after almost two years of searching all of Oz, they're finally tracking down where the other two Wicked Witches are hiding!"

More gasps, these of a different nature. Darker, more fearful; still just as excited and eager for hearsay as the ones over the guard captain, but laced with the appropriate apprehension.

"Well?" one of the girls needled, given that Illianora had taken overlong continuing. "Where?"

"Here."

"Here? You mean the Vinkus?" When she only shrugged again, she pressed, "Not in Kiamo Ko?!" They turned to each other with whispers of alarm. This was a lot more personal, more pronounced, than the quick jolt of adrenaline they felt about the vague existence of the witches. This was local.

"Well, maybe not in Kiamo Ko specifically, but in the Vinkus, at least. We all know they've patrolled our streets enough to have flushed out any two witches."

"Have they? I hear they can shed their skins as easily as a snake!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sarima," another girl snapped. "Go on, Nora, tell us what else the Marble woman said — further north? South? Or out West?"

"Might be West, because they kept calling them 'The Wicked Witches of the West'... though that could just mean in the Vinkus," she added in a thoughtful mutter.

Sarima pushed a hand into the side of her face. "I was a lot happier dreaming about that Prince Fiyero than worrying about witches holding us for ransom." The others were quick to agree.

"That was about it," Illianora reluctantly admitted. "Just to stay alert, try to tell any Animals that still speak that she and the Wizard are offering a reward for any information on where the witches went."

"Weally?"

"Weally- I mean, really. Oh, and that they're keeping a close eye on the Witch of the East; you know, the one in Munchkinland?"

They all muttered lazily about that for a moment. By now, the strict policies and threats of that particular "witch" were well-known everywhere, even if they weren't nearly as sensational as hearing about fires and explosions and freed Animals courtesy of the other two. With no more exciting news about the East to pick apart, they just muttered for a minute or so about her before letting the subject return to the more immediate threat.

"I've heard that one is green and the other is blue," a girl whispered. "And that when they get mad, they switch!"

"That's ridiculous, Nastoya. How can a person switch colours?"

"How can a person be green or blue in the first place?" Sarima cut in, shaking her head.

After a moment, Illianora asserted herself again, hoping to recapture the spotlight from her friends. "Well, they say one of them was from Gillikin; the emerald mines are near there. Maybe there was an accident, and now she's green forever! Wouldn't that be awful?"

As they continued to chatter on, a robed figure passed behind them and left a handful of coins on the counter before making good her discreet exit. For the time being, she had heard quite enough to be going on with.

                                                  ~ o ~

"...And that's the scuttlebutt."

A green chin nodded up and down as two spindly fingers stroked either side, glittering emerald eyes sharpa as they always had been. "Intriguing. Not that I know what 'scuttlebutt' means."

"It means the butt of a scuttle, of course! Come on, Elphie, aren't you frightened?"

"Why should I be?" Gesturing around at the sparkling insides of the cave, she announced, "Saint Aelphaba is safely tucked into this hidey-hole behind Wicca Falls, where none may enter but her closest companion, Glinda the Ghastly. What's to worry about? They're no closer to finding us than they were last year. I doubt they could find their hats if they were on their own pointed heads."

Glinda the Ghastly scowled as Elphaba chuckled, folding her arms over her chest. "I don't find that particularly humourous, you know. Just because I'm resigned to living like a common criminal on the lamb doesn't mean I want to joke about it."

"Who's joking? Maybe I really am Saint Aelphaba." At Glinda's eyeroll, she gave one of her own. "Fine, you aren't in a laughing mood."

"I'm not. But… I do have some good news to go with the bad." Reaching behind her, she produced a large, round disc of light-tan bread, lips pulling into a small smile. "See what I picked up?"

"Ooh, honey loaf!" Elphaba breathed, smiling in spite of herself. "It's been awhile since we splurged. By Oz, to eat something besides fish for once!" Her fingers twitched toward it, then pulled away. "But… you bought it, I should let you break the bread."

"Here, then," she giggled as she split it in two easily and passed half of it over. "Eat up. No sense waiting another hour until supper."

As Elphaba drew it closer, she glanced upward. "You always give me the bigger half."

"Well…" Squirming, she shrugged and feigned indifference. "You're taller than me, aren't you? More to feed. I'm just being practical."

"Sure," Elphaba chuckled, breaking off a small piece to nibble. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then she said, once her hunger was not so gnawing, "I'm worried about the Animals."

"This again," Glinda sighed.

"No, listen; it's been a week since I heard from their camp in the Great Gillikin Forest. The Crows were supposed to come days ago. What can be keeping them?"

For a minute or two, Glinda simply watched her companion wring her hands. It confounded her, but yet again, as she had the past several times this subject turned in such a direction, she found herself very faintly jealous. Why should she? It was because the Animals demanded Elphaba's attention, of course, but the part that confounded her was that she cared so deeply whether or not her friend had concerns outside the two of them. Perhaps it could be merely attributed to them spending far too much time together; they were becoming codependent. It was to be expected when you were living in a cave with only one other person, but sometimes, she worried that it was going to ruin her for keeping company with others. Would she remember all of her social graces, her manners, once this crisis was over?

It had to come to an end. It had to; the Wizard and Morrible couldn't possibly keep up this witch hunt forevermore! Someday, they would find a way to bargain for the Animals to be left alone, and to return the Grimmerie to its rightful owners. She had no idea how such a plan would come together, especially after two years of feeling defeated, but she was determined to make it so. Until then, she supposed she would have to put up with playing second chair to Elphaba's zealous crusade now and then.

Her friend must have sensed her displeasure. After swallowing her current bite, she said in the soft voice Glinda had grown so accustomed to over the past years, "I missed you the past few days."

"You did not. You're just sorry I didn't bring back a Pig for companionship," she griped.

"Glindie…"

Chewing on her lip for a moment, she decided not to be too mean; it wasn't worth it. "Did you really?"

"I always do. If only I didn't stick out like a green thumb, I could go with you when you head into the cities."

"Yeah, I know. Any, um… progress on degreenifying yourself?"

"Nope," she sighed, glancing over at the Grimmerie's vaunted place on a very basic table on one cave wall, next to a candelabra of wax stumps. "You know, I did manage to turn my knee orange yesterday."

"Oh, can I see?!" When Elphaba only snorted, she wilted and mumbled, "Don't joke! I don't like it when you joke about magic, it seems… I don't know."

Throwing up both hands, Elphaba began to rise, only just catching the last bit of her honey loaf before it toppled to the grotty cave floor. "No joking about magic, or Animals, or Saint Aelphaba. What can we joke about?!"

"We can joke about how ugly I'm getting, without my makeup artists and hairdressers." When Elphaba only frowned deeply at her from the "kitchen" area of their hovel, Glinda pursed her lips. "You know I stopped caring about that after the first few months, but you still won't laugh. I always thought you'd be thrilled I gave up on that."

"But you gave up on them because they're out of reach for you, not because of disinterest." Having stashed the rest of her bread for the time being, she returned to help Glinda up. "You know I would give you back those things if I had a spell for that."

"Don't turn my knees orange," she warned, and Elphaba grinned in spite of herself. "But… you're learning to do much more important things than giving me supernatural lipstick."

Glancing around the cave, as if someone would jump out and interrupt them, Elphaba leaned in and pressed her lips against Glinda's ear. The latter shivered at the feeling of air caressing her lobe and neck, at the closeness of the vibrations of sound.

"I perfected fire."

"Perfected?" she breathed, licking her suddenly-dry lips. Elphaba knew that she was still a bit skittish about being so close as that, and she often used it to tease. This time, she could tell it was unintentional, so she did not bop her on the nose.

"Yes, perfected. Here…" Raising a hand, she began to whisper under her breath; seemed she didn't even need to read the words from the Grimmerie's pages anymore. In the very center of her palm, a plume of pale green flame began to flicker and dance.

"O-oh! It's a tiny fire! You've really done it, you- and it's not even raging out of control like the last time!"

A smile ghosted into the corners of Elphaba's mouth, and she fell silent, allowing the flame to continue its presence there. After a few more seconds, she closed the hand and it vanished. "Yes. It… well, I still feel guilty about our hut down in Yips, so I promised myself I would only practice somewhere safe. The connecting caves go deep enough that it's easy to find somewhere without any wood or brush. Look how much it's paid off!"

"It's truly wonderful, and wonderfully true; your control is getting as good as your arcane arsenal!" With a little titter, she went to join her in working on getting their supper finished. Honey loaf was well and good, but it was not enough sustenance. "And I've barely mastered the flight spell; everything else, I have to read it out of the book or I'll mess it up. Even then, I still mess it up sometimes!"

"Glinda, that's alright." Perching her free hand on her forearm, she went on, "You're the one running around Oz, trying to acquire things for us, listening in on gossip. I'm stuck here all day, hiding and waiting to talk to Crows, so this is the way I can be useful. Well, other than fishing." As she stoked the fire higher underneath the several fish spitted on a stick, she added, "And anyway, you're a lot further along than that and you know it."

"Maybe," she muttered, embarrassed by the attention toward her inferior spellwork.

"Definitely. Just keep at it and you'll be floating around over Oz in no time."

Soon after, they set to plating and eating the fish. Though they were literal cave-dwellers, Glinda had still insisted they could bother to pick up kitchenware and eat as civilised as they could manage. Elphaba cared a bit less for manners, but she still did her best to maintain some decorum for her companion's sake. After all, small gestures such as those went a long way toward keeping the peace.

It wasn't until they were washing up that Elphaba announced, "I'm thinking about visiting my sister."

"Oh?" Glinda asked as they stood in the mouth of the cave, hands outstretched to let the waterfall blast away the food remnants. They sometimes lost dishes that way due to unexpectedly powerful bursts of water, but they knew now to tighten their grip against the torrent. "You… want to see Nessa? Why?"

"It's all this talk of her being 'wicked' like us. The details are so vague, I don't… what are they talking about? She never acted the slightest bit wicked in all the years I've known her, which are all the years she's had. I know it's not really the focus of what we're trying to get done, and it might not help us clear our names, either. But… she's my sister, isn't she? For better or for worse."

At that, Glinda had to nod glumly. "I might be an only child, but I imagine having a sibling must be the bestest. A very special bond, especially! So… so why should I stand in your way if you want to see her?"

"Because it's foolish," Elphaba sighed, turning away with the cleansed dishes to dry them over the table. Glinda hurried to follow. "It's a needless risk of exposure. I'd have to be careful flying almost literally from one end of Oz to the other, and for what? To have Nessarose snap at me that I've 'disgraced the family', probably."

"Oh, come on, Elphie. She wouldn't be that cruel!"

"Wouldn't she? You've met my father. She's his child."

"So are you, and I don't see you being that cruel." When Elphaba glanced at her, she shrugged. "Not that often. We have our quarrels, but we always work them out, and you're very rarely cruel without cause."

"But I am cruel, then. Right?" Glinda didn't answer right away, and Elphaba sighed. "I'm sorry, I… sometimes, I get so passionate about saving the Animals from being muted and massacred…"

"I know," she soothed with a hand on Elphaba's back. "Of course, I understand. And… even though I hate it when you shout at me, you've never struck me or… or insulted me unless I've already insulted you somehow. So I think you're quite an admirable person, overall."

At that, Elphaba snorted and patted Glinda's arm. "Such lavish praise. If you don't want me to go and see her, I won't, but… oh, I just feel like I must. Something in my gut tells me it's important."

A sigh escaped Glinda's lips as she pondered. Not that there was much to ponder at all. "Your gut has served us well a few times before now, so I feel like it would be sheer ridiculosity to ignore it now. Go to your sister; I'll hold down the fort here."

"No, no; I must wait for the Crows. But once they have arrived… shall we go together? I want her to know that we're on her side if she's being wrongly accused." In an undertone, she added, "Besides… if she isn't wrongly accused, I might need your help escaping her clutches."

"Her 'clutches'!" Glinda giggled. But when Elphaba didn't laugh, her own petered out quickly. "Oh. You really think… little Nessie? The one in the chair?"

"Just because she's in a wheelchair doesn't mean she poses no threat. You didn't grow up with her; you don't know how manipulative she can be if it suits her purposes. Maybe she isn't a villain, but she's no perfect princess, either."

Nodding, Glinda whispered, "I'm sorry. You're right, I don't know a twigging thing about her."

"No, I'm sorry," Elphie sighed as she put away the dried dishes and utensils. "No point in spreading doom and gloom about something that hasn't happened yet."

"Then it's settled. Once we hear from our fine feathered friends, we find your family for a fisit."

Elphaba had been nodding along until the very end. "You mean 'visit', don't y- oh, nevermind." But Glinda was so pleased with herself that Elphaba couldn't frown for long.

                                                  ~ o ~

Déjà vu settled upon Glinda when she spied Colwen Grounds for the second time in her life. However, it was not quite the same as the last occasion. Munchkinlander guards paced up and down the street, spears in hand. There was a distinct lack of civilian presence throughout all of Nest Hardings, now that she thought to look. How could things have changed so drastically in a couple of short years?

"By Oz," Elphaba breathed. Glinda tightened her arms around her waist to comfort the poor, shocked woman. "My home looks like a prison…"

"Or a fortress," she muttered. "Elphie, where would your sister be?"

"Upstairs, the third window from the right in the back. It's… oh, I wish I could have perfected that invisibility spell! All the rocks just turned lighter and lighter shades of grey, they never vanished entirely!"

Sighing, Glinda patted her side and whispered, "We'll just have to be quick. Act when the guards aren't looking. We can do that; I'm even wearing this hideous black cloak and it's the dead of night, it ought to be simple enough!"

"Ought to be, yes… but will luck be with us?" Neither of them dared answer.

With some relief, they found the window unlatched, and were able to slip in undetected. Of course, that didn't last long.

"ELPHABA!" Nessarose shouted. It had been so long since Glinda saw the black-haired, wheelchair-bound beauty, but she looked no less elegant now than she did in their days at Shiz. The chair squeaked as she made her way over to them, struggling to push it along with her own slender arms. "Wh-what- GUARDS! What are you doing here?!"

"Nessa, I'm sorry," Elphaba said in a stage whisper as she paced forward, their broom forgotten. "I just… I had a powerful feeling that if I didn't come soon, you…" Her gaze dropped and her voice petered out, as meek and cowed as Glinda remembered from when they met with her father.

"What? Come on, out with it!" Nessa's voice grew more terse as she went on, "You've spent the last two years terrorizing all of Oz, casting a shadow over the name of Thropp! And now, what, you want to waltz back in? To smooth things over?"

"Believe me, I'd love to smooth things over, with both you and Father. But that isn't why-"

"Oh, that's fabulous." A humourless laugh floated out of her throat. "With Father! You really must be a powerful witch now if you think you can manage that!"

Elphaba looked mildly confused. She glanced at Glinda, as if she might hold some key to deciphering her sister's words, but Glinda merely shrugged her own ignorance. Even if she did have any idea what this was about, she was smart enough not to butt into a family discussion. "What do you mean?"

"He's dead, you ignorant celery stalk!"

Glinda swooped forward as fast as she could to catch Elphaba before she crumpled to the ground, and just barely made it. Still, a struggle ensued as Glinda had to use all of her feeble muscle to support both of their weights — made all the worse for Elphaba going entirely boneless.

"Dead… no, he's… he can't- wh-what are you saying to me?"

"Dead. You know, deceased, passed on? Dancing with the Unnamed God? He's gone forever, and it's all your fault!"

"My fault?" Elphaba rasped. The accusation seemed to give her back some small shred of herself in the form of indignation. "H-how? I haven't even- I was on the other side of the kingdom!"

"Exactly." Her fists trembled on the arms of the chair as she shouted at her sister, voice turning hoarse, "After he learned what you'd done, how you'd disgraced us, he died... of shame! Embarrassed to death. You didn't have to lift a finger."

At the last phrase, Elphaba's posture went rigid. "I didn't have to- what are you implying? That I wanted Father to die?!"

"Didn't you? He told me what you said when you came begging for scraps, for protection. How you complained about me getting all of the attention! Look at me, Elphaba!" One hand swept down at her legs as her eyes bored straight through her green sibling. "How can you blame him for wanting to help me more? I am broken! But your legs work just fine; you can stand alone! Why should he help you when you can help yourself?!"

"You… you little…" Elphaba's hands worked into fists and back, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"Me, what?" A brief pause. After a moment, she bit out, "Go on, say it. Say whatever horrible thought is in that horribly wicked brain of yours."

"You think you know so much," Elphaba hissed at her. "But you're wrong. I never wanted Father to- all I wanted from him was love and acceptance. But he could never manage it. I was always treated differently because of how I look, which is something I cannot help. And he did it anyway. When you're the colour of Truth Pond scum, I guess that's how you get treated."

Nessa's expression darkened, even though Glinda would not have thought it possible given how dark it was before. "You take that back. He was always saying how proud he was of you, how you had grown up strong and independent. I don't want to hear these lies."

"He never said it to me! Never even said… that he loved me. The only things he said to me were about you, Nessa — unless he was insulting me, or telling me how much I've been fouling things up. Which, of course, was also usually about you."

"So instead, everything should have been about you?! Fine, that's rich; poor Fabala, she's green! It doesn't change anything else about her life, she can walk and dance and go wherever she pleases, but poor Fabala!"

"Don't call me that," Elphaba warned.

"Or what? You'll curse me?" A scoffing noise as she folded her arms. "You have everybody fooled that you're a witch. As if you could manage anything but weird explosions! Well fine, blow me up, sister of mine. If that's what you want, go right ahead; then you'll have both of us out of the way. The last Thropp can have Colwen Grounds all to herself."

The three of them stood in a tense silence for a long moment. Finally, assuming no one else was going to do anything to diffuse the situation, Glinda cleared her throat and asked something that had been bothering her.

"Um… I've heard the people of Oz calling you a witch, too. What's up with that?"

"What? Oh… oh, nevermind their nonsense," she brushed aside. "They don't like my policy changes."

"Policy changes? I don't understand, I thought your father… was…" Then her eyes widened slightly. "Nevermind, I get it. You're the new Munchkin Mayor."

"Eminent Thropp," she corrected.

"Whatever. So what kind of policy changes? You have to be this tall to ride?" Glinda held her hand only a few feet above the ground, alluding to how diminutive a lot of Munchkinlanders were. Not that Nessa or Elphaba were among their number.

"I closed our borders to emigration and immigration. No one goes in or out. It's a temporary measure for everyone's safety. And I increased taxes to funnel into our military, and the Lurlinist Pike Guild; you know our family doesn't believe in Lurlinism, but they're our strongest defense force."

Elphaba nodded her understanding. "Yes, I suppose you work with what you have. Why so much fearmongering, though?"

"That's you, too. What did you think would happen? You zoom around the kingdom, allegedly rescuing Animals and brushing aside the Wizard's forces like they're ants! Everyone's terrified of you!"

"You don't seem to be."

"That's because I understand who you really are; a coward. You made a mistake, got on the wrong side of either the Wizard or Morrible, and you won't face them directly. So you scurry around, using this weird thing with Animals to distract yourself. Isn't that right?"

Elphaba glanced at Glinda, who shrugged. Then she turned back and said, "Not exactly right, but not exactly wrong."

"Oh." Nessa seemed somewhat surprised by the admission. "Then… you really are afraid of the Wizard."

"Of course. Who wouldn't be? You see what he's doing to the Animals, silencing and herding them up to be slaughtered. Whether it's him or if it's Morrible's idea, they're both to blame."

Rolling her eyes, the girl tried to wheel over toward a small wooden cabinet that stood in the corner, but she was having such a hard time of it that Glinda tutted impatiently and strode over to take the handles on the back of chair, wheeling her the rest of the way.

"Thank you," Nessa said curtly. But at least she said it.

"No problem. Do you need help with anything?"

"I can take care of myself," she assured her, glaring over at Elphaba. She opened the door and withdrew a crystal bottle and a decanter, setting them on top. Then she glanced back at the other two as she poured herself a generous helping of a thick, dark liquid. "Can I offer you something? I have Qwice Wine, Gilligin, a pretty good year of Munchcatel…"

"Ooh, I haven't had a good Munchcatel in a while!" Glinda whispered. Nessa smirked slightly as she withdrew another bottle. "What?"

"Nothing. Just that you seem like the type for a sweet wine, that's all."

"Thank you, I think!"

"Nothing for me," Elphaba said flatly. "I'm flying later."

With a shrug, Nessa handed Glinda her drink and lifted her own to her lips, draining a third of it in one go. When Glinda wheeled her back over to Elphaba, she sighed as if irritated, but it seemed to be because she was getting closer to her sister and not from Glinda's actions directly.

"Alright, we've taken care of the small talk. Why are you here now? What is the point of this visit? You've gone two years without darkening my doorstep, so I can't fathom why you would now."

"Because I have a feeling something truly bad is coming. For you." When Nessa's eyes rolled, she snapped, "I don't care if you believe me or not! Or I do, but… oh, forget it. You obviously neither want nor need anything from me, and I don't care if you do. I just didn't want anything horrible to befall my only sister without trying to warn her."

"You can't give me anything I want," Nessa said softly. "You can't bring Father back, you can't make me able to stand. You can't even make Boq…" But then she cut herself off, gripping the glass tighter. "What's the point of you being a witch if you're useless?!"

Unable to stop herself, Glinda whispered, "Hey now, that's not quite fair, is it? Elphaba's not a genie, she can't just grant your every wish. Sorcery is a skill like any other skill; she can only do what she knows how!"

"Then why don't you ask yourself; what has her priority been? Me? Of course not. I've never been her priority."

"You've always been my priority," Elphaba bit out. "Ever since you were born, Father made sure you were the only thing that mattered. Only… only going to Shiz made me begin to see how much I was missing in my life. Being friends with Glinda."

"Aww," Glinda tittered softly, allowing herself a shy smile. "It's no big deal. I just wanted to help you feel pretty and popular for once."

"And you couldn't do that for me?" Nessa snapped. "What a selective fairy godmother."

Glinda turned on her, hands on hips. "That's enough, missy! You're already pretty! Prettier than me, lately! But you don't get popular by trapping everybody in their homes, do you? And speaking of Boq, I set you up with him in the first place! So don't tell me I haven't done anything for you, you, you… jerkity sad sack!"

Elphaba gasped. Nessa looked affronted, of course, but Elphie was the one most definitely shocked that Glinda had said something so hostile against another person to their face. Glinda knew she didn't do that often; it was part of being a member of high society. One didn't go around openly criticising your peers! But in this case, Nessarose was being unkind and unfair to her best friend. She had earned a little payback.

"Well, I…" Nessa took a drink to give herself an excuse not to speak for a moment. Then she said in clipped tones, "You're right, I can't deny you did encourage Boq to approach me. I'm sorry. But Elphaba… I'm not wrong about that."

"She loves you. She just… you can't be her whole life, y'know? But she never wanted to have to leave you for more than one short day. And we're here now, aren't we? You have no idea how long and hard it was for us to come visit you!"

At that, Nessa did look up at her sister, eyes narrowed. "Yes… how long did it take you? Where are you living lately? I'm curious."

"And I'm not that stupid. You'd sell that information to the Wizard in exchange for more protection in a heartbeat, wouldn't you?" When Nessa merely shrugged, Elphaba grunted, "Typical."

"Well, you can't do anything else for me. And it would be your own fault if you slipped up and told me; I'd feel no guilt over it."

"Of course you wouldn't." Elphaba folded her arms over her chest and went on, "Well, I can't bring back our father or get you out of that chair, so you'll just have to enjoy the visit for what… it… hmm."

"'For what it hmm'? What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Glinda, may I speak to you for a moment?" When Glinda merely shrugged and trotted over to join her in the far corner of the chambers, Elphaba steered her over close to the window.

"What? What is it?"

"You've been studying the Grimmerie, too, right?" At Glinda's nod, she hissed, "Do you remember anything that might make Nessa able to stand? I could put a flight spell on her underwear, but I think that would go pretty quickly awry — and she wouldn't really be walking."

Glinda's face screwed up in concentration. "You know… I have seen something, but I can't remember where! I think it was some spell for enchanted shoes, but it was for dancing, not walking."

"Yes, exactly, exactly. But as we now know, if we tweak a couple of spells… combine them…"

"The Glowing Stone," she breathed, referring to a rock that now glowed always. They actually had to stick it in a box overnight so that its radiance wouldn't keep them awake. "You're right, that was two different spells! But can you find two that will help Nessie?"

"I don't know. But…" Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder. "That unpleasant toad does not deserve my help, but I won't feel good about myself if there was something I could do for my sister, and I didn't."

"Well, that's definitely… a type of motivation, I guess," Glinda said with a weak laugh. "You start looking for the other spell, I'll stealify her shoes, okay?"

"Oh." Casting another look over at Nessarose, she whispered, "That might not work out as well as you would hope, but see what you can do. I'll get to work."

Vaguely confused by that last warning, Glinda shrugged and left Elphaba to withdraw the Grimmerie from inside her inky cloak. "Listen, Nessa?"

"Yes?"

"Uhh, hey." Her finger pointed down at the padded footrests of her wheelchair. "Do you mind if I borrow those for a moment?"

The girl's reaction was immediate. Glinda could practically see her withdrawing from the conversation a small amount, the way her hands fidgeted with the hem of her blouse, her eyes lowered, fluttered, glanced back up at Glinda. After a few seconds of this twitchiness, she asked a simple question.

"Why? If you're going to tease me…"

"We're going to try a spell. No promises!" she warned, before any hopes could be raised. "Just… a little something. If it doesn't work, at least we tried, right?"

Thoughtful, she looked down at the shoes. They were quite elegant: sueded blue slippers with small pearls trailing along embroidery that graced each side. Somehow, they had been secured well enough that not a single pearl had been lost — or else it was because they had never been walked in.

"Do you h-have to take them off?"

"Hmm. Maybe not, but it sure seems safer to me. Do you really want us to try throwing magic at them while you're still wearing them?"

"Well… alright, that is a good point. I don't trust Elphaba particularly, but I have this feeling you wouldn't lie about something this mundane." She began to bend forward, then was stopped by realising she was still holding her drink. "Oh… this is hard enough normally without being inebriated!"

Chuckling, Glinda knelt and said, "I'll get them, don't worry. Relax."

"No! D-don't…" After a long pause, she looked away, cheeks rosy with embarrassment. "Okay, but don't… don't look at my feet."

"What?"

"Please? That's all I'm asking."

The whole matter puzzled her. What was the huge crisis? Shrugging her agreement, Glinda did as she was asked; she looked long enough to get a good grip on the backs of the shoes, then slipped them off without ever glancing down. Hearing the quiet thud of Nessa's ankles into the padded rests, she whispered, "Sorry!"

"It's alright," she said with a nervous chuckle. "At least I can pretend I moved them on my own."

"If you say so. Um, be back in a minute!"

Once Glinda and Elphaba were crowded around the Grimmerie, scanning its pages with the shoes placed above it on the small table, she was able to help look for the proper spell. As they debated the pros and cons of certain choices, another question niggled in her mind. When she decided she couldn't ignore it any longer, she asked.

"So what's with Nessa's feet? She wouldn't let me look at them."

"Hm?" Elphaba was clearly distracted, her index finger running along a passage. "Oh, nothing's wrong with them. Other than the fact that they don't work, I mean." Seeing that didn't satisfy Glinda, she sighed and said, "It's… hard to explain."

"You don't have to if it's all that difficult, Elphie. I'm just a nosy-pants."

"Just… well, it's our Father's fault. Not that it was something 'bad' he did, exactly, but he was trying to make her feel better about her condition. She was having a hard time with it one day, about how everyone kept staring at her lame legs while she was out. So he told her that they were just jealous of her shoes. When I was older, I kind of realised that he had been making everything up as he went, but he told her that she looked so pretty in her chair, and her shoes were so lovely, that everyone was envious. From that day on, he kept finding newer and more intricate slippers and boots and any other kind of shoe for her."

"That's sweet of him," Glinda said softly, smiling to herself. She knew Elphaba probably didn't see it that way, but she couldn't deny the doting man had at least done that much to make his handicapped daughter feel less unsightly. "But I still don't understand."

Shrugging, Elphaba turned the page, still more focused on her work. "Nessa drew the conclusion herself. She noticed that people are told they look nice if they're wearing pretty clothes, and that it's shocking — taboo, if you will — if they're seen wearing too little. And since my father had made such a big deal about how lovely she looks in her top-of-the-line shoes, combined with already being ashamed that her legs don't function…"

"Ohhh," she breathed as the last piece fell into place within her mind, pounding her open hand with a fist. "So going barefoot is the same thing as going naked to her? How very odd, indeed!"

"Yes, it's odd," Elphaba said sharply, looking up at last. "And I'll thank you not to tease her about it. I think she's silly, but to her, it's reality. So just… don't let slip that I told you any of this, alright? I'm sure she's already embarrassed enough at being 'exposed'."

That did make Glinda squirm in secondhand embarrassment. "When you put it that way, I suppose I would feel a little strange if some old classmate asked if I'd hand them my brassiere. But okay, I won't say a word."

It was another ten minutes before Nessa asked, "How's it coming?" When neither of them answered, she did not pester them further — merely sat in her chair, anxious to have her shoes back regardless of whether or not they were any improved from her sister's efforts. Glinda had to resist the temptation to glance down whenever she peered over at her; she knew it was the mere matter of being commanded "do not look at this" that made her want to look at all. Funny how the power of suggestion could sway one's attentions.

When Elphaba began to chant, low and long and focused, Glinda saw Nessa stirring out of the corner of her eye, saw her getting closer a little at a time. Clearly, it was a struggle for her to make it there, but her curiosity at their spellcasting fuelled her actions.

"Is it finished?" she asked in a quiet whisper when the vermillion lips had fallen silent. "Have you really… I mean, is there any chance…?"

"They look… different," Glinda breathed, raising a hand toward them. At first, she felt a thrill of dread to touch the shoes, but when she truly thought about how much she trusted her travelling companion, she picked one up as Elphaba did the other. "Are they… silver now? Or red? Maybe that's just the light from the fireplace."

"It is, I think," Elphaba agreed, just as captivated by them despite having performed the spell herself. After a moment, Glinda turned to look up at Nessa apologetically.

"Um… is it alright if I put them back on?"

"Y-yes," Nessa said breathlessly, cheeks still rosy but her eyes eager as they took in the shimmering shoes. "I want to know if this has worked at once!"

So Glinda obliged. This time, she couldn't help but look because she had to guide the shoes on properly… and there really wasn't anything to see. Nessa had dainty little feet, of course, but they were no more or less remarkable than any other pair she'd ever come across. Then the shoes were on, and both she and Elphaba were standing back to observe.

But before Nessa could attempt to stand, the door squeaked open and an unimpressive figure strode inside. Short in stature and with a drab face that was not entirely unpleasant… and was a bit familiar.

"Madame, I've prepared your- oh!" His eyes went wide to see the other two. "Goodness, it's- GUARDS!"

"Shush, Boq!" Nessa commanded him with a wave of her arm. Glinda flinched, even though the guards had not come the last time Nessa herself called. "Wait a moment. I… I want you to see something."

"Madame, these are criminals! The Wizard will want to be warned wight away!"

"You mean 'right aw-' Oh, I should know better by now," Elphaba admonished herself.

"We can't waste any time! Quick, I'll go and get them while they're… still… what on Oz?"

Boq found himself unable to finish the thought. His previously-disabled mistress was now standing, pushing unsteadily to her feet from the chair. It was already miraculous enough that she was standing unaided, shoes dazzling with white and red flashes — but there would be more. One foot at a time, she began to take steps, arms out to either side. After the first few, she began to tip, and Glinda and Elphaba both dashed forward and righted her again.

"Th-thank you," she breathed as she stood. "But… I think I…" Another few steps, without their aid. "I'm getting it. I'm walking. Ozma Above, I'm walking!"

                                                  To Be Continued…