#it's not like it has to follow canon but like... supposedly there is a way to go about it (as seen in episode ignis)

[rednightmare18]

It's not even about the vindication of calling a ship, okay. It's that the supposedly anti woke studio wrote about 3 million words of medieval fiction centering the relationship of the two main characters who are in most ways (or in all ways if you follow the obvious canon momentum of the story) meant for each other, as counterparts who help each other survive the great travails of their lives and who challenge/complete the other to become fuller, braver, kinder people. It's so clear these two people are soulmates, platonically or romantically, something observed consistently by the world around them and by themselves.

Except their society (feudalism, Catholicism) dictates that they are intended to be completely incompatible by nature and divine law. Not just for the obvious fact they are both men, but they are separated by what is arguably an even steeper chasm of social class. Their existence even as friends utterly spites, interrupts, and threatens feudal order right down to its theological and philosophical roots. They should not see each other as human and yet.

It's the fact that they do. The fact that the entire story has been about this--that these two protagonists fit together, undeniably, and grow to love each other fiercely (a love that deepens superbly from their knee-jerk playful puppy-friend-love in kcd1 to something selfless and mature by the end of kcd2). And they do so despite the immense opposition by their world, their social circles, their faith, and indeed their fandom.

And yes, it really does fucking matter that all of this culminates into a deep onscreen romantic love (if you get out of the way and allow it to) between two fandom-beloved male main characters (not just side characters rammed in for an optional gay romance but THE main characters of the duology; the "you" as in the player character and your erstwhile dick-jokes bro you have perhaps grudgingly at first been invited as the audience to love) in a historical fiction story that has been wrongly touted by the worst of our contemporaries as the holy grail of cultural conservatism.

Holy shit. Warhorse -- y'all. I'm sorry I doubted you. So few game writers understand how love works and indeed how people work, let alone translate it so well onto the screen.

Calling this an "optional romance" is not technically incorrect, I suppose, because it's true you can opt out and choose to remain platonic friends. But this language feels like a disservice, as if Henry & Hans's romance is a typical RPG wham-bam fanservice makeout with a minor fan fave character who never interacts meaningfully with the player again. Or as if it's a Bioware-style "give this NPC the right gift and do their side quest and you get to see a jankly ugly-bumpin' montage" situation.

Kingdom Come: Deliverance is so very much not that. The "main, optional" romance scene in question is just one consummation event of two people who have been growing up and falling in love in front of us over the course of some 200-300 (or god knows how many) hours. The fact these protagonists openly love each other is very much not optional.

This is, sincerely, groundbreaking storytelling in this medium and this genre. How fucking cool that we all got to see it now.

[yuurei20]

Can you compile a list that shows evidence that Crowley might induce the overlot?

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🐦‍⬛ Here are some references!

(not meant to be definitive proof of anything, just some screenshots of the support that there is rumored to be for this theory 📝 )

Riddle's Overblot The idea of Ace challenging Riddle to a duel, which led directly to Riddle's overblot, was introduced by Crowley.

Leona's Overblot Leona explains that Savanaclaw was assigned to compete against Diasomnia in the first round of the interdorm spelldrive tournament for two years in a row: Leona's first and second years as housewarden.

As a result Savanaclaw went from went from never earning less than third place in the history of NRC to being eliminated in the first round, all because of that first-round tournament-bracket assignment.

And how is that tournament bracket decided? Crowley says that he is the one who announces it, but we do not have any information on how it is set in the game. In the novel, it is a "random drawing."

The drawing for the tournament bracket also happens during the opening ceremony. It seem there was an incident last year where angry students had begun booing. Such undignified behavior must have caused quite the headache for the faculty. -Twst the second novel

If it is a random assignment, then we have precedent for the students being wary of what are supposedly "random" selections overseen by Crowley, with both Trey and Idia expressing doubt that Crowley's raffles are as coincidental as he claims.

Crowley emphasizes Savanaclaw's struggles during the Housewarden meeting of Book 2, reminding everyone--including Leona--how the failure that has followed Savanaclaw ever since Leona became housewarden is "certainly not impressing any recruiters" and adversely affecting his dormmates.

Leona asks says that he does not like being told he cannot win before he has begun to fight and Crowley says that is not his intention. When Leona asks what Crowley's intentions are, Crowley does not respond.

This is followed by the famously perceptive Vil saying that Crowley's plan to retire Malleus "reeks of some kind of unconscious bias."

Did Crowley assign Savanaclaw to compete against Diasomnia in the first round of the tournament for two years in a row on purpose? With Leona's third year as housewarden being his final chance to secure a future for many of his dormmates, he became desperate enough to do something he did not want to do: contract with Azul.

(Novel: "Leona did everything he could to avoid making a deal with Azul, but in the end, there was no other choice.")

Which connects directly to--

Azul's Overblot

Azul is so confident in Leona's disinterest in involving himself in the business of others that Azul refuses to let the twins interfere after Leona becomes involved in Book 3.

It is Ruggie who realizes why Leona presumably let himself be blackmailed ("You could just knock Prefect into next week for trying to blackmail you"): Leona was erasing proof of his contract

Ruggie explains, "This whole thing is a way for (Leona) to conveniently get rid of (the contract)," connecting Leona being forced to the brink directly to Azul's overblot.

Jamil's Overblot

Kalim did not receive his acceptance letter until a month into the school year, enrolling at NRC in November, despite being "not very bright or that adept at magic."

From what we know of Jamil's life pre-NRC there were times he didn't want to go home after school as a child where he would have to tutor Kalim in addition to his duties as an Asim-family servant.

While Jamil suspects that Crowley allowed Kalim's family to buy his way into NRC it is still unconfirmed as of this post, but Kalim's admittance is suspicious enough based on canon information, and he is the catalyst for Jamil's overblot.

And Jamil knows for a fact that Kalim's family bought him his housewarden position because he was told as much: by Crowley.

Vil's Overblot

While it is technically Rook who serves as the catalyst for Vil's overblot, the instigating moment was Vil seeing Neige's VDC performance for the first time as the leader and producer of NRC's team.

A role that was assigned to him by Crowley.

Idia's Overblot

At the beginning of Book 6 Malleus says "something unusual is emanating from the mirror that's linked to the Hall of Mirrors. Is it magic? No. No, this is..." but he does not finish the thought.

Upon realizing that the school's security has been compromised Vil asks, "But how...?," a question that was possibly answered by Ace in Book 4:

"You need Crowley's permission to use the Dark Mirror."

Was it Crowley who submitted the untraceable anonymous tip to STYX, and then let the CHARON onto campus?

But the CHARON arrested him--why would Crowley want to be brought into questioning? Questioned by parliament and...Idia's parents 👀

Crowley's arrest led directly to Idia's parents leaving him alone on the Island of Woe, so there would be no one else available to stop Ortho ("Only people with Shroud family DNA can shut down the Cerberus System") or to stop Idia when he decided to ally with Ortho, and overblotted.

Malleus' Overblot

Lilia's imminent death is the driving force of Malleus' overblot, which brings the timing of Malleus' letter into question: did Malleus receive it at the age of 176 because that is the dragon-fae-equivalent of being 16 years old?

Or is Malleus technically younger or older than even a dragon-fae would normally be accepted into the school (Malleus' emotional age in an ongoing topic of debate), and it was actually timed to overlap with the end of Lilia's life?

Losing Lilia would have been a stressful situation for Malleus even in Briar Valley, but by bringing him to NRC he is in a uniquely vulnerable position, struggling to adapt to life in a foreign country while surrounded by people who are either terrified of him or frustrated with his inability to be normal (by human standards).

With Sebek and Silver also having never left Briar Valley, Malleus now has with only one person in his life capable of understanding both him and the outside world, one link to both his home and the incomprehensibly foreign world around him: his support system of one, Lilia.

If Crowley (or someone 👀) has managed to orchestrate these overblot incidents intentionally, the question remains of why!

But with recent revelations in Book 7, it makes one wonder...(under the cut as this blog tries to pretend that main story content does not exist until it reaches EN)--

...is it possible that someone, somewhere, has been building towards something, and with Malleus' magic now weakened he will not be able to stop them? 👀 Only time will tell~ 🐦‍⬛

[jyndor2]

okay forGET the pre-andor cassian backstory being stolen from us, whatever. EVEN with the kenari backstory, even with ferrix, IT MAKES NO SENSE for cassian to "need" someone else to make him commit to the rebellion.

jesus christ just age his ass down in s1 to 16 or 17, have all of these arcs occur shortly after he joins up for real (17-19) and then it sort of works better.

the cassian we see is EXHAUSTED. holding on desperately to hope because he has been following orders, orders when he knows they're wrong as jyn says, for so long that he has to literally have a DEEPLY pivotal moment in the eadu rain to cleanse him of his "sins" and tranform into a new man, a man who rejects orders when he thinks they are wrong. THAT is why that scene is so powerful! because everything about cassian in rogue one leading up to that moment screams exhaustion and desperation.

it's bad enough that with the retcons in s1, cassian is basically a middle class guy (even if he is a refugee) talking down to a literal former child soldier who is homeless at 16, who has been let down by the rebellion time and again. for him to do that when he is supposedly way older than jyn when he FINALLY commits to the rebellion?

forget how insulting it is to have bix caleen, a literal crack comms girlie and mechanic (both skills that are seriously necessary in revolutions), basically play housewife the whole season except when she's being sexually assaulted, getting high and randomly having her girl boss 2015 era bad bitch scene that makes NO sense for her either. but to have CASSIAN, a literal indigenous refugee of genocide "need" to have anyone else explain to him the necessity of revolution (aka s1) or to have anyone force him to commit to revolution is not only insulting, it DOES NOT TRACK WITH ROGUE ONE AT ALL.

it turns him into a guy who actually is completely wrong for snapping back at jyn on eadu. in the scene, they are both wrong and both right - and they are lashing out in a moment of vulnerability and honesty. it should be a massive payoff after 24 episodes of a cassian andor prequel.

i'm not worried about MY enjoyment of rogue one after andor because i'm in the rogue one fandom - ignoring dumbass canon is like rule #1 of this fandom lmfao. i can handwave and ignore a lot of nonsense. and I will - already to me this shit is cassian as a teenager, fuck it. but I wonder if when andor fans begin to do the marathons of andor into rogue one, if we might start to hear more conflicting feelings on how smooth the transition from the show to the film is.

there are people who have never seen rogue one and who are waiting to watch it when andor ends. i mean i feel for them tbh because i doubt the payoff is actually going to work as well as it did pre-andor.

jyn and cassian are the heart of rogue one. i happen to think that it is a love story, as it clearly was always INTENDED to be one, but even if someone doesn't think that... it's clear their relationship is the core of rogue one. unless the final arc sticks the landing and jyn erso starts to haunt the narrative again (because where the fuck has her presence been in s2??? s1 had her all over it) i feel like the sudden connection between jyn and cassian is gonna come out of left field for more casual viewers of rogue one after andor.

i still have not finished this arc but i will be tonight. and im sure im gonna be mad lol

[vaos-studios]

The Toon Resistance report Cut to the Chase! Logging Co. on Walnut Way has seemingly tripled in size overnight, choking the streets with a thick, deathly smog...

Last post for today promise lol I made a lot of toontown stuff a while ago so im gonna be posting them here soon so apologies for any spamming Also real quick the toons in this artwork belong to my friends and I (my little guys are the blue deer and yellow fox to the left, named Sergeant Jellyswirl and Airfox)

ALSO some Chip 2.0 lore for yall:

He's the head of the newly made "Deforestation and Demolition Project," which involves clearing trees in Acorn Acres for construction, as well as the demolition of any structure seen as "hindering" the project. He gives orders from Cut to the Chase and occasionally arrives on-site to check progress.

His design is technically inspired by Craig (CEO) ! The similarities will be a bit more obvious when Craig's 2.0 design drops (some day. idk when but. some day.)

I wanted to make Chip's design more faithful to a skelecog in this au, considering that's what his canonical design was going to be. Which means yes, his spine there isn't an add-on, it's actually his skelecog. Now it doesn't actually hurt him, but it definitely gave him some back pain fresh out the upgrade.

Unfortunately Chip's Personality Override followed him into the 2.0 upgrade. It's a new variant, supposedly more "refined" than the last modification. It now acts as a "spring-lock," as in it can control and restrict his movements to a degree. OH and almost forgot, the Override makes him very, very fast and agile. If he's trying to catch you, he will catch you.

Chip's got embroidery on his suit jacket (left arm), in the pattern of a Venus fly trap ( higher rank suits wear fabrics instead of metal in this au ). Speaking of a Venus fly trap, his chainsaw opens up like one. It's just as horrifying as it sounds but at least he can eat normally now

In order to access the 2.0 Chainsaw Consultant fight, toons must have a Bossbot suit at their disposal. Preferably a high tier like a Corporate Raider or Big Cheese.

Also i wanted to give him some similarities to Flint. That being fire. Like actual fire. The exhaust pipes on Chip's head flare up during Override and he has a flamethrower embeded in his forearm. He wasn't happy about this addition.

i try not to make these posts so long but oops! it's all lore

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 9)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 8.1k (Whew. I thought about splitting this chapter, but nah)

CHAPTER 9: March 2014 - April 2014

April 5, 2014. 12:20 AM

I saved James for the 9th time on March 5, and I got to say goodbye.

<><><>

“…the 8th Annual Popcorn Festival brought about a thousand visitors from around the state. You could say that the smell of butter is quite…”

Boxes of clothes and dinnerware surrounded you as you sat on the couch. Your laptop balanced on your thighs while you did some last-minute edits on an article about a local sports event. You typed away as the news played in the background—a white noise you’d grown used to. The television was something you always left on as it made your home feel less empty; it made it easier to pretend you weren't so alone.

Sighing, you scratched out a comment in the margin before sipping your lukewarm coffee. You glanced out the window, taking in the beautiful day and wishing you were outside on a walk. But you groaned and looked back at the boxes; you quickly edited the last mistake and shut your laptop, closing your eyes before securing the next place to go to.

“…breaking news out of Washington D.C…”

You glanced at the television, noticing the sharpness in the news anchor’s voice. 

“The three S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarriers that had descended into the sky are now shooting at each other just above the Potomac River…”

Your laptop fell to the carpeted floor as you lunged for the remote, quickly increasing the volume. The screen changed, and you gasped at the new footage of the destruction in the air. Two helicarriers were close to landing on the ground while the third struggled to stay in the air. 

“We are receiving reports from government officials that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised by HYDRA—”

Everything inside of you went cold.

You slowly stood up and inched toward the television, watching the two helicarriers finally explode into the ground, sending debris and fire in every direction. Your hands rolled into fists.

HYDRA. You hadn’t heard that name aloud in decades. They had been a menace back in the war, sprinkling blood and chaos everywhere they went, slicing through neighborhoods like they were nothing. Followers of HYDRA enjoyed hurting those who never deserved it, making an art out of torture and death, whereas you saw it as a mess.

You thought HYDRA was destroyed—it should’ve been gone—and yet, you watched as destruction unleashed itself in the sky. Rushing away from the television, you looked out of your window, seeing the aircraft in the distance. Your fists tightened as you stepped away, telling yourself that today was definitely not the day to go out and—

“Captain America is reported to be on the remaining helicarrier, fighting HYDRA operatives and—”

You gasped, stumbling back into your coffee table and collapsing to the floor. Coffee spilled all over your carpet, but you couldn’t focus on that. Your eyes were stuck on the screen, the footage blurring as the cameraman ran away from the explosions with others. 

Your heart burned in a way that had never done so before.

HYDRA supposedly died during the war, but was now revealed to be alive.

James supposedly died during the war, but had come back as a killer.

James—

You didn’t bother to clean up the coffee, or change out of your sweatpants, or grab more than your wallet, phone, and keys. You locked the door behind you, shaking as you sprinted to your car.

You didn’t know if James would be there, but you knew you had to try and find the only person who ever made you feel alive.

<><><>

Your tires screeched as you slammed on your brakes, and you poked your head out of the window. Ahead of you was a large crowd, some running away from the paths to the Potomac River while others tried to push past the police and barricades to go towards it. You jumped out of your car and shoved past the panicked civilians and news reporters, running towards the wall of people when a loud explosion halted everyone’s movements.

Everyone looked up—some screamed, some cried, and you stared in silence as the last helicarrier collided into the Triskelion. It tore through the structure, causing shattered glass to rain down, and fire and smoke burst upward like a volcano. The air reeked of gas and ash, and the sky darkened. People ran away from the destruction in the distance, but you stood still, stunned by the sight.

“No… Fuck,” you muttered as your feet began to move. “No!”

You bolted to the barricades where families called out names of their loved ones, and journalists shoved cameras toward the officers who prevented anyone from going past them. 

“I need to get through!” you yelled as you approached them.

But a cop stepped in your way. “Ma’am, please stay back.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m looking for someone.”

“You and half the city. Stay back!”

You shook your head, trying to move past him. “Please! I need to—”

The officer pushed you back. “I said stay back!”

You threw him a glare before storming off, rushing past the crowd to find an opening of some kind. But all you saw were officers and civilians arguing, many desperate to find their loved ones amongst the festival chaos. The words caught in your throat—there was no way they’d let you in.

Stepping back, you scanned the area, searching for a sign. There was always a sign, right? Something that led you straight to James. But you only saw those after feeling the pull on your heart—when you were destined to die in a few moments.

You clutched at your chest, your lips trembling as you continued to look. “Come on. Come on…” you whispered. “Please… Please tell me where. Where is he? Where—”

You paused.

To the far left of the crowd, past the makeshift barricades and abandoned vehicles, there was a pathway leading into the woods, untouched by any form of chaos.

No officers. No civilians. Just a path.

You ran before anyone could see your lingering stance and quickly ducked into the bushes and twigs. The path was muddy and the branches whipped past your arms, but you didn’t care. You just had to find James.

Because even if nothing pulled at your heart today, there was still so much more to him that needed to be saved.

You pushed through the dense foliage, your eyes sharp as you tried to spot any unusual movement. The faint sounds of helicopters and explosions still filled your ears, joined by the crunching of sticks and gravel underneath your feet. Then, a sound broke the rhythm of your movements—men whispering and shuffling through the underbrush.

You slid to a halt, bracing yourself on a tree as you cursed under your breath. Of course, there would be police around here, keeping track of random things amidst the chaos. You quickly turned, ready to run the other way, when suddenly a man in all black stumbled out of the bushes with a groan.

You froze, meeting the gaze of the man, strapped with a bullet vest and an assault rifle. He stared at you, matching your level of surprise while a couple of more men joined him.

One of the men hissed, “We just need to find the Asset and he can take us to…”

They all stopped at the sight of you, caught in broad daylight as traitors to the nation. Your heart dropped. These men weren’t officers. They weren’t good. They were—

The panic shot through you like a bullet, and you were already running before your brain could process your reaction.

“Stop her!”

Branches tore at your skin and leaves decorated your clothes and hair as you shoved the foliage out of the way. The sound of multiple footsteps grew closer, but you didn’t dare to look behind you. You pushed yourself, your feet pounding on the ground and your breath hitching.

You couldn’t die. Not now—not until you found James and—

Searing pain sliced through your arm as a gunshot echoed. Your knees buckled as you shrieked, rolling onto the sticks and gravel. A strangled cry escaped your throat as you frantically clutched your upper arm, where a bullet had grazed your skin. It wasn't a deep wound, but it still seeped in blood. You tried to push yourself up, but your hand slipped on the dirt as pain shot up your arm again. You flipped onto your back, trembling with tears in your eyes as the men surrounded you.

One of them cursed before turning to another. “You idiot! You might've alerted the police!”

“She was going to get away!” The man snapped back, swinging his gun onto his back and pulling out a knife. 

You yelped, raising your hands. “I don’t know what’s happening,” you gasped, your voice quivering. “I didn’t see anything, I swear. I—”

The man didn’t flinch. He only looked down at you, expression hardening.

“No witnesses,” he said, voice low and chilling.

Your heart raced, your body desperate to scramble away, but the men were all around you. You hissed when another wave of pain ripped through your arm, forcing you to grip the wound while the man approached you. 

Death was never your friend, but also never your enemy. It was just an entity that you offered your hand to—to whisk you away for a few weeks while someone else continued with their life. It always just lingered by your side, and you let it stay and take you whenever it wanted.

You were fine with it…until now. No, you couldn't die until you found James or knew he was okay. You had to know. 

“Please don't,” you whispered to the man, who stood over you. “Please…”

But the man only grumbled, and your heart dropped knowing he wasn’t going to change his mind. You sighed, closing your eyes as he raised his knife over you.

It wasn't your first time dying without saving someone, but it didn't make it hurt less.

You waited for the knife, but a gunshot echoed instead.

Your eyes shot open as the man collapsed next to you, his eyes wide as blood streamed from a hole in his forehead. You scrambled away, looking at the other men who were all startled by a sudden presence. When you followed their gaze, your heart soared as another gunshot rang, making another man fall to the ground.

“Soldier!” One of them shouted, raising his weapon. “What are you—”

He choked on his words when a fist slammed into his skull, sending him to the floor while two more men got shot in the head. Your heart pounded as the remaining men scrambled, trying to pull on their puppet’s strings, but none of them realized that you were the blade that sliced through them.

James’s movements were graceful as always, with no mercy on his face as he attacked each man. 

A gunshot to the forehead.

A knife in the chest.

A snapped neck.

All for you.

Eventually, everyone was quiet except for James.

Ragged breaths left his throat as he dropped his arms, his right limb hanging awkwardly as his shoulder throbbed. He scanned the area briefly, checking for any sign of life, until his gaze landed on you.

There was no pause. No moment where James looked at you blankly. No second for his face to flicker—to show that he recognized you.

Because he already had his hand raised out for you. “Rose…”

You briefly froze when he stumbled towards you, his feet unstable. He swayed, but you quickly scrambled towards him as he fell onto his knees, and you wrapped your arms around him.

You weren’t expecting him to wrap his arms around you as well.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply as you held him closer, your eyes still wide from his reaction. It was as if all of the years between you and him had never vanished this time—locked in place and granted a visit when you both needed them. The man who brutally murdered all of the HYDRA agents was gone.

It was James Barnes who softly breathed in your arms.

You slowly pulled away, and you both found each other’s eyes.

Oh, those frost-blue eyes were always your favorite, weren’t they?

You took in his face, examining the minor cuts and blood smears, and breaking over the exhaustion underneath his eyelids. The scars on his temples were back again—fresh as if he had been wiped only a day ago. And yet, he looked at you as the one memory that survived.

Before you could speak, James suddenly moved away, crawling towards one of the dead bodies and ripping off their sleeve. You blinked as he returned to you, carefully wrapping the cloth around your gash. You winced when he tightened the knot, but then looked at him again as he kept his attention on your arm, almost as if you were made of porcelain.

Slowly, you reached for his hand, catching his gaze. “Do you remember me?” you whispered, still shocked by his gentle movements.

He stared at you, his presence quiet—not in the usual way of being stealthy to attack someone, but as if he valued every second he got to simply look at you. His gaze sent a wave of ache through your chest, and he gently brushed his fingers against your wrist, making sure you were real.

His voice was quiet—hoarse—but so certain. “I can’t forget you.”

Something skipped in your heart.

As his words sank into the deepest parts of you, you instinctively cradled his cheek, rough with stubble and sprinkled with pain. James stared back at you, his gaze heavy as he remembered the last time he saw you—when you sprinted away with a bomb against your chest.

But there you were now, breathing in front of him.

James shut his eyes, gently leaning into your touch as he grabbed your wrist, his warmth making you shiver. The feelings you’d denied—the ones you’d fought against for so long—filled in the cracks of your damaged heart. After getting your heart tugged at over, and over, and over again, it seemed that only James could mend it back together.

You quietly exhaled, your gaze drifting around as you finally took in how battered he looked. You grimaced and squeezed his arm with your other hand. “James… What happened to you?”

“Fought Steve.” His voice was so quiet.

You paused, looking back at him with a twist in your stomach. “Captain America?”

He nodded, his eyes aiming downward. “I failed my mission.”

“Oh, James… No. No, no, no…” you softly said, shaking your head. “You don’t need to go on those missions anymore, James… No more. It’s over now.”

He didn’t respond, keeping his gaze away from you. But you brought your other hand to his cheek, cupping his face and leading him to meet your eyes again.

He froze.

Since the day you two met in Brooklyn, you had saved him from the deadliest of attacks—explosions, stab wounds, gunshots, poison. For nearly eighty years, it had always been about survival and sorrow. But now, in this quiet moment...he saw something he had never seen before.

You smiled, wiping away the blood that escaped the cut just above his cheek. “You’re free. James, you’re free,” you quietly said.

It was his turn for words to sink into his heart—his cold, yet burning heart. His lips suddenly trembled as his eyes went wide, slightly darting around as his fractured mind tried to process what you said. You only cupped his face, still being gentle but firm.

Though it sounded strained, you gave him a laugh for the first time. “James…you’re free.”

The sound of your laughter made his heart beat faster. 

And your smile? 

Wow. It was beautiful.

Without thinking, James raised his hand towards the lower part of your cheek, his thumb near the corner of your lip as if he were protecting your smile. When his fingers brushed your skin, your breath hitched, but not because you were afraid—no, you weren't afraid of James. Deep down, you always knew he had this affectionate side; despite being trained to kill, he was always someone who could touch without taking.

And it took someone like you for that side to come out.

You leaned into the touch, your heart leaping in a manner you were still hesitant to name. There were these three words that you both wanted to say, but for now, the silence felt right—to be able to gaze into each other’s eyes was enough. James softly exhaled before leaning forward, resting his forehead on yours.

And you let him. After losing so much to allow others to gain happiness, you allowed yourself to have this one thing.

You allowed yourself to have James.

You leaned too, closing your eyes as you both appreciated each other’s warmth. After a moment, the nearby sirens began to grow louder. You slowly pulled away, looking up at the sky to see helicopters flying around. Your palms slipped away from James’s face but quickly found themselves in his hands. He watched you as you squeezed his hands.

“We have to go,” you said, your voice soft yet hurried.

James blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. “…We?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, nodding your head. “We. Let’s go.” You let out another laugh. “Let’s go, James.”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed his metal hand and pulled him up alongside you. You didn’t see the faint smile that James had at your words when you began to run. You both weaved through bushes and branches as you guided him back to where you came from. 

But you quickly faltered when you heard people, more than before. James then squeezed your hand and gestured to the side, and you two ran off once again. You were unsure if the police knew who James was—if they knew he was a threat—but you couldn’t risk it. You still carried the weight of almost losing him once, and you wouldn’t let it happen again.

As you both pushed through the foliage, buildings began to appear in your view. When you reached the street, you carefully looked around to spot any bystanders before pulling him in between the buildings. The sounds of people began to grow louder as you navigated the alleyways, cautious of running into anyone.

James didn’t let go of your hand once.

“My car is nearby,” you said, rounding the corner of another building. “I can go and come get you and—”

You froze when a young cop suddenly walked into view, his hand trained on his gun and the other on his radio. He caught sight of you two before you could drag James back, and you instinctively stood in front of him.

James still didn’t let go of your hand.

“S-Stop right there!” the cop shouted with his gun raised at you, and it hit you that the cop was new—just a nervous, young man donning a slightly wrinkled uniform, fresh on the job and finally on a call without his training officer.

You gulped, not daring to take a step as the cop’s eyes flickered between you and James. The glint of silver sent tremors through the man’s body, and he clicked his radio on.

“The Winter Soldier is here—he matches Agent Romanoff’s description.”

You widened your eyes, trying to take a step forward. “No—”

But James pulled you back close to him, making sure you weren't too far away. Your breath hitched as the cop lowered his radio, staring at you two with his gun still raised. You squeezed James’s hand, unable to look back to see his expression as you kept your gaze on the cop.

You lightly shook your head. “Sir…”

“Ma’am, step away from him.” He placed both hands on his weapon, though you could see him slightly tremble.

“No, he’s not dangerous,” you tried to argue. “He’s not going to hurt anyone, I swear—”

“I need you to step away from him,” he firmly said.

“No, I can’t. Please, listen to me. He’s not dangerous.”

The cop shook his head, his voice quivering. “I’m just doing my job, ma’am. Step away.”

“I can’t—”

“Step away!”

You flinched, James’s grip tightening around your hand. Taking a deep breath, you acknowledged your beating heart. You always waited for the curse to notify you of your upcoming death, but right now, you didn't need it to. You already knew. You were already saying yes.

This moment just felt like a goodbye.

You took a slow, grounding breath and looked at the officer, hoping that things could maybe change despite your intuitions. “You don’t have to do this,” you gently said, slowly taking a step back. “Please. Let us go.”

The cop’s expression turned conflicted, but only for a brief moment. “Ma’am, step away from the soldier.”

You took another step back but paused.

James had let go of your hand.

The cop took a step forward, ignoring the incoming calls on his radio as he stayed trained on you. “I’m warning you! Stay still!”

Looking up, you turned your attention back to the cop, your eyes now shimmering with threatening tears. “I can’t.”

You welcomed the tug on your heart as you quickly turned, trying to grab James to run away with him when a gunshot rang out. The sound was much louder than you expected, ringing in your ears as your knees gave out. You fell into James’s chest as he had already wrapped his metal arm around you—his hand on your head—and you waited to bleed out and vanish once again. Except…you opened your eyes with terror because…

Nothing tugged at your heart.

Slowly, you turned your head around and found the cop on the ground, quiet and still as blood ran from his forehead. You choked on your breath—an innocent man who was just doing his job was now dead. Before you could lose yourself in the brutal sight, James guided your face back to him. Your eyes instantly widened at his gun raised, and you looked up at him.

James stared down at you with a softened gaze, letting out a quiet breath, relieved you were okay, and lowered his gun. His metal arm continued to firmly lock you in place, and when you tried to look back at the cop again, he gently cradled your face with his metal hand.

“Don’t,” he whispered, making you look at him again.

Then you smelled it. Something burnt and sharp attacked your nose, and you grimaced away from his hand. You glanced at it and faltered when you noticed the circular, burnt hole on the back of his glove. You immediately grabbed his palm, examining the hole as it clicked that his hand had been on your head when the cop shot at you.

You didn’t feel the tug on your heart because it wasn’t time to die yet.

And you still hoped that you wouldn’t today.

The hole caused a tear so wide that the glove was barely intact, encouraging you to just rip it off. The crackle of the cop’s radio grew more urgent, and you squeezed your eyes shut, silently apologizing to the young man who didn’t have to lose his life. 

You then reached for James’s arm, blinking the unshed tears away before looking at him again. “Let’s go.”

He nodded, grabbing your hand before you two ran through the alleyways once again. The streets around you were still loud with chaos, sirens screaming and people shouting, and the noise was only getting worse as you neared your car. When you turned around the corner, you managed to jump back quickly enough to avoid getting spotted by a man who was gathering his family out of the back door of his store. You peeked at them running away, leaving the door ajar. Immediately, you pulled James with you towards the store.

You yanked James into the building, slamming the exit shut before locking it. A heavy breath escaped your lips as you marched further into the small clothing store, the lights off and the neon-open sign no longer shining. Racks of discounted clothes made the store cramped, while the crinkled, loose receipts and plastic lighter on the countertop somehow made the place look a bit more lively.

Quickly, you weaved through the aisles to the front of the store until your heart clenched at the sight outside. The streets were in absolute shambles; there were swarms of police officers—some helping people and some looking for James—pushing past panicking citizens and festival attendees. Everyone was navigating their way through abandoned cars that clogged the streets, and you cursed under your breath, realizing that your car must also be trapped.

You backed away from the windows, biting your lips as you tried to think of a solution. You turned around, walking past James, who watched you with such sternness as you glanced at the clothes.

Maybe you both could hide in the store until fewer people were around. Maybe you could throw civilian clothes on him and sneak him away. Or, maybe you could—

Something tugged at your heart.

Chills shot up your body as your eyes immediately began to well with tears. 

Of course. 

Of course, you couldn’t have this. 

Shame on you for believing you could live for once.

Your breath shuddered, and you looked to your side to see what the world had planned for your next sacrifice—

Something tugged at your arms.

You flinched as you looked up at James, feeling the desperation in his grasp while he stared at you with absolute horror. “Don’t.”

You froze. After seeing that look on your face so many times, James could no longer stand still when he knew you were about to die.

You shook your head. “James—”

“Don’t leave me,” he quickly said, gripping your arms tighter. “Don’t.”

“I…”

The words in your throat trailed off when you gazed past him, spotting through the windows an abandoned truck among the vehicles. The back of the truck was slightly opened, just enough for a person to squeeze in, and the side was painted with lighthearted imagery—of children and their parents smiling at the sky, decorated with the colorful rays of fireworks.

Fireworks. 

You glanced at the countertop, where the lighter was calling for you. 

James squeezed your arms, bringing your attention back to him. But when he saw your eyes, his breath hitched. You had already made your choice.

You gently pulled away, your eyes dark with acceptance as you whispered, “You need a distraction.”

You turned to the countertop, stepping towards it when James suddenly lunged, snatching the lighter with his metal hand. You gaped at his speed, and within a second, the two of you stared at each other. When you glanced at the lighter, you exhaled, your eyebrows loosening as you looked at him without an ounce of panic.

“James,” you held your hand out, palm facing towards the ceiling, “give it to me.”

“No,” he hissed, his eyes already starting to water—his humanity completely breaking out. “No, I won’t. I—”

When he went to squeeze the lighter into pieces, you quickly shook your head. “Don’t,” you softly begged, tears blurring your vision before his tears even fully fell. “Please…give it to me.”

“No.”

“James—”

“You said we.” He choked on his breath, his lips trembling with distress. “You said—”

“I know,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as tears finally ran down your face. “I know what I said, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You took a sharp breath while your shoulders bobbed, unable to ignore the pain within your chest. “I’m so sorry, but I need you to give me the lighter.”

James bit his lip as a teardrop rolled down his cheek. “Rose, please…”

“James, listen to me.” You quickly walked up to him, and he raised his hand higher, believing you were trying to take the lighter from him. But instead, you grabbed his shoulders and forced out a smile. “I’ll distract them, okay? I’ll distract them and you’ll run.”

“No—”

“You’ll run,” you repeated, your smile becoming bigger with both hope and despair. “You’re gonna get out of here, and—and you’re gonna live.”

James faltered, clenching his jaw hard to prevent any more tears from escaping his eyes. “Don’t leave me,” he croaked.

Your hands were trembling. God, they were trembling so much, but you still cradled his face as more tears streamed down your cheeks. “I have to. I have to protect you.”

He gripped your arm with his free hand. “Rose—”

“You need to get out of here before they find you, okay?” You smiled, swiping away his damp hair from his frost-blue eyes. “I’ll distract them. I’ll get them off your back, and you just run. You run as far away as you can.”

James’s face twisted as if a part of him was being torn apart. He dealt with pain before—accepted it, even. Bullet wounds, knife scars, broken bones, electricity burning into his skull—he had endured them all. But nothing had ever hurt like this.

Without realizing it, he lowered his metal hand, though his grip around the lighter was still firm. Then he whispered, his voice laced with desperation, “Come with me.”

You wanted to. You dreamed of running away and building a life with him as normal as it could be. And it was astonishing that after everything—after showing James just how broken you were and how often you could get broken—he still wanted you.

You wanted him too, but the world was never fair to you.

“I can’t,” you rasped, your voice barely holding together. 

“Why?”

“You know why. We’ve done this before. We—” You swallowed back the weight lurking in your chest. “We both know what happens if we try to stop this. So, please...”

Then you pulled away from him, quickly moving through the racks and yanking off clothes as you knew you were running out of time. A dark, worn-out jacket and a baseball cap to match it made their way into your grasp, later joined by a pair of gloves. James watched you gather these clothes, just big enough to fit him, and he didn’t move until you returned to him. You smiled through the tears, trying to look strong for him as you set down the hat and gloves on the countertop.

“Here…” You swiftly, yet also so lovingly, threw the jacket around him.

James should’ve resisted—he should’ve pushed the jacket away—but instead, he shut his eyes. His tears finally spilled down freely while he let you pull the sleeves over his arms, then tucked his head for you to adjust the cap. He should’ve fought, but he also knew you were right. He couldn’t stop you from dying.

But when you tried to put gloves on him, he still didn’t let go of the lighter.

Because, yes, he knew he couldn’t stop you from dying, but why would anyone be willing to let it happen?

James kept his gaze on the floor, unable to look at you as you held onto his metal hand, gently trying to pry his fingers off. When they wouldn’t budge, you choked on your breath again. Much to his dismay, you tilted your head downwards so he had to look at your face. Your smile was back, decorated with tears and so much warmth. James straightened up again as you squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay,” you softly said with a tremor in your voice, but he turned his head again with his eyes closed. He couldn’t accept this. He just couldn’t.

The hopelessness in James reminded you of yourself—of all those years waiting for a sense of relief, whether it’d stem from truly living or truly dying. You hate feeling hopeless, so you did your best to never have hope in the first place.

But now? You couldn’t help it. Seeing that James was so close to being free, you had to hold onto some because having hope for life was the only way for him to live again. So you broke into another rhythm of sobs, smiling as you guided his head back so he could gaze at you again.

His frost-blue eyes went wide, full of disbelief as you reached behind your neck and pulled the chain free. You had only ever taken off your necklace when necessary—to preserve its quality, not for anyone but yourself. It had some discoloration, and the chain should be replaced again, but it still held the same love your brother had for you when he surprised you with the locket more than a hundred years ago, when you were drowning in grief.

There was never a reason to let go of it, but now you stood with the locket dangling over James’s metal hand.

“Here,” you broke into another smile, “take it. Keep it safe for me.”

He hesitated.

There had been moments in which James wanted to take your locket—to have something to remember you by when he went back to prison. But as a soon-to-be free man, he didn’t need it. He didn’t want the locket—he wanted you. You were all he ever wanted, but he also couldn’t reject anything you offered.

You'd given up so much for him, so the least he could do was to accept it, right?

Slowly, James loosened his grip, revealing the lighter, and you took it. You shoved it into your pocket while placing the necklace in his palm. 

When you let go of the locket, your heart ached with both sorrow and joy. Then, when you looked at his face, your heart only ached more because he stared at the locket like it was the most fragile thing in the world. Somehow, despite the loss you felt, a wet laugh escaped your throat. Before he could say anything, you reached for the necklace again and leaned closer.

James didn’t dare to move a muscle as you fastened the chain around his neck, feeling your fingers trail on his skin—terrified that this could be his last chance to feel you this close. When the chain was fastened, you cradled the locket, opening it and reading the name that, as always, stayed so dear to your heart. With a broken smile, you let the locket fall out of your hand, watching it rest near James’s heart. 

It could stay dear to his now.

Maybe it already was.

You then grabbed the pair of gloves, quickly slipping one onto his metal hand. Then you reached for his right hand—

He grabbed your wrist.

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes again as he moved his hand to your cheek, cupping it—wanting to feel the warmth of your skin before the glove went on. Gloom overtook his expression as he memorized every detail of your face, and your breath hitched. More tears began to fill your eyes, and without thinking, you yanked him into a hug.

A simple hug. Who knew it was so difficult to get one?

Time was running out, but you both counted every second in each other’s embrace. For once, you both didn’t hold each other because one of you was dying—because one of you had blood running down your body, needing comfort as you tried to breathe through the pain.

No. You just hugged each other.

You rested your chin on his shoulder. “Everything will be okay,” you quietly said, and James could hear your smile.

He only held you tighter, desperately wanting to hold on forever, but he learned a long time ago that forever wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be normal. After all, he lived for what felt like forever, and it had just been full of pain, suffering, and violence. 

The only thing that ever kept him human was currently in his arms.

It was a big ask—to leave you to die once again. Every time, James wanted to fight to save you, but he knew this was what you wanted—that this was what it had to be. 

Yes, it was a big ask, but there was nothing in the world that he wouldn’t do for you.

So, he slowly pulled away, looking into your eyes once again. His frost-blue eyes were always your favorite, but your eyes were also his; a grounding presence that made him feel so alive after decades of being lifeless. He wanted to stare into your eyes forever, but again, forever couldn’t happen. 

You cradled his face one last time, and you smiled so wide that maybe it hurt a little bit more than everything you felt inside your chest, your stomach, and your heart.

“I’ll be okay,” you softly reassured him, but even you didn’t know if that was going to be the truth.

Finally, you took his right hand and put the glove on it. You took one last look at the locket on his chest before zipping up his jacket, hiding his dark uniform and the soldier he was trained to be. Your hand lingered on his chest, right over his heart, then you stepped away.

With a deep breath, you slowly walked to the front and paused when you watched the unraveling chaos in the streets once again. James kept his eyes on you, and then he followed your gaze. His stomach twisted when he spotted the truck, now realizing why you’d needed the lighter all along. 

Every part of him wanted to grab you again, telling you not to go into the truck—that you didn’t have to set off the fireworks. You could run away with him right now, but he knew that the world wouldn’t allow it. You turned around again and you faced him, and acceptance with all he saw in your eyes.

You smiled again. He didn’t realize how much he loved seeing it, and he hoped he could see it again in the future. 

“I’ll see you around, James,” you said with a tearful grin.

When you went to turn around again, James's murmur stopped you in your tracks. You looked back at him, confused, until he repeated himself. 

“Bucky…” He bit his lips, nervous to even say that name. “I think I’m Bucky.”

You gazed at him with astonishment, and you let out a laugh—it sounded strangled, choked by the sheer swell of emotion inside you.

“Yeah, you are,” you said, wiping away the tears even though you knew more would come. “Go and find out who Bucky is, okay? Go…live.”

He stared at you, hands curling into fists, and let out a strained breath. “Will I see you again?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a moment to fully look at him one last time, then you slowly nodded. 

“Only when you need me,” you replied with a curl to your lips.

Then you turned around, unable to linger any longer. You stepped in front of the door, deeply exhaling as you felt James’s gaze on your back. Finally, when you stepped out of the front door, James stepped out of the back door, and the two of you went your separate ways despite wanting to hold each other again.

The streets were still in chaos, but none of that bothered you. Silently, you walked towards the truck, not paying attention to any of the people running past you. Civilians and officers paid no attention to you, and you wondered if this was the world’s doing—letting you walk towards your death.

It was fine. It was all to save James.

No one stopped you from climbing into the truck, and when you stood up straight, you couldn't help but sigh. Boxes and fireworks filled your view, all cramped inside the warm vehicle, ready to bring joy to others.

But that was their purpose at this moment.

You climbed towards the middle, ripped open a box, and gathered numerous fuses into your palm before pulling out the lighter. For a moment, you heard nothing. Your mind tuned out the shouting outside—it was just you and the fireworks.

A bitter laugh escaped your throat. “You love to fucking blow me up, don’t you?” you said, shaking your head at the fuses in your hand. Then you sadly smiled, letting out a soft breath. “Whatever. Just make sure he gets away. That's all I ask.”

You lit the fuses and let go, watching multiple trails of fire make their way toward the gunpowder cases. 

“Let him escape,” you quietly begged, and you closed your eyes.

Through your eyelids, you could still see the bright colors, but the beauty only lasted for a second before you felt heat sear your skin and hair. You collapsed, letting the fireworks engulf you as they had no room to spread out.

The heat became overwhelming quickly, and you didn’t know if you were still breathing when the truck exploded.

Maybe some of the other cars also exploded. Maybe some people got hurt.

At this point, you couldn’t give a shit.

You only cared that James made it out.

<><><>

April 5, 2014. 12:20 AM

I saved James for the 9th time on March 5, and I got to say goodbye.

I think you like to see me die in an explosion because that’s the third time it’s happened with James — I don't know how many total in general. For a moment, I really thought you were going to let me go with him. Let me take him home where we can have something together. But no, you just had to make sure I didn’t get that.

When I saw James, he was already himself. He didn’t just exist behind his eyes — I saw him in his face, in his body. He wasn’t whole — he’s still made up of different pieces, but he was still there. And unlike last time, he called me Rose without an ounce of hesitation. He reached for me too — hugged me for the first time without death coming for us at that moment.

Maybe fighting Steve unlocked the part of his mind that was locked up by HYDRA. Whatever it was, he actually remembered me. Not recognized — he remembered.

I didn’t even know if he was going to be out there when I saw what was happening on the news. I had my suspicions, but nothing was certain, so I was so fucking happy when he found me.

When he did, he protected me — killed every one of those men before they had a chance to hurt me again. He looked so guilty when he saw my wound. I was always the one to save him, but I felt then that he was trying to save me too.

I thought we could go home together. Can you imagine that? The Winter Soldier in my living room, sitting on my couch and watching TV, maybe drinking a cup of tea. What an image. I'd love to see that.

But of course, you had to send me away.

He didn't want me to leave. He held onto me like a lost puppy, but I couldn’t stay. I could never stay, so I told him to run and find out more about himself. He touched my arm, my hand, and my face like it was the last time he could.

He really didn't want me to die, so I did the unthinkable — I gave him my locket. I never thought I'd meet someone worthy enough to carry my locket until now. James can protect Rose whenever he goes now, hopefully thinking of me when times get hard.

And then he called himself Bucky. He remembered his nickname. It’s cute. Really cute.

I checked the news when I woke up, even though my body burned like hell — it felt like I got sunburned 20 times. They didn’t find James.

Thank fuck.

The truck caused quite the explosion — there’s a reason why you don’t light up fireworks in a small space. A few people got hurt, but no one died. Except me, but no one ever knows that.

There's not a single trace of James — the police tried to find him, but without the proper resources or SHIELD, there’s no way to find him for now. Good. He deserves to live a little.

I wish for James Bucky James to have a good life.

You know, I never had a reason to thank you. You fucked up my life a lot — stopped me from being with my friends and family and James — so really, you don't deserve my appreciation at all. But thank you for letting me save him. I know it's mainly me who has to do it, but I can't help but think you led me to him this time. Gave me a little bit of time with him before I had to go.

He’s free now. He's free.

I know we were running out of time again, but for once we had enough time to say goodbye. Maybe next time, we’ll have some time to say hello too.

I’ll see him again. I’ll give him another hug and a smile and maybe that time, we don’t have to rush at all. We can just hold each other because we can.

I'd love to do that. He gives really good hugs.

You closed the journal and set it aside. With a soft breath, you pulled your covers up and got comfortable. You closed your eyes, letting yourself go to sleep.

<><><>

April 5, 2014. 6:05 AM

I couldn’t fall asleep, so here I am again.

A lot happened on March 5, but it's not all the action that's keeping me awake.

I keep on thinking about the way he held onto me. Like I said, he gives really good hugs, although I doubt he's given a lot of them as the Winter Soldier. But that's just proof that James was always there.

There are these feelings that I always tried to push away whenever I see him or even think about him, but when he held me that day — cradled my face and put his forehead on mine as he cried for me again, I couldn’t stop those feelings. I didn't want to if anything.

I’ve been alive for over 100 years, and over time I just learned that it was easier to live when I didn’t have anyone to care about. The more I care, the more it hurts when I lose someone. So I tried to lose connections — to be alone as much as I could.

But, James… James is different. There’s no one like him — quite literally because I don’t know anyone else who has lived alongside me, never growing old and forced to be a ghost. And despite trying so hard not to, I grew to care about him.

And then that care became something more. Something scarier, but also so...relieving and...

Exciting.

I never wanted to say it aloud, or write it down, or even think about it, even though I felt this way for decades. It's too scary to admit the truth. But after spending over 100 years pretending to be someone else — unable to be honest and connect with people — I just can’t bring myself to lie about this anymore.

I’m in

I’m

I’m in

I’m in love.

You paused.

Then something strange happened. Your shoulders shook—not with fear, but with something so unexpected that it startled you.

You laughed, which wasn't new.

But at that moment, you laughed from being in love.

You were in love.

At first, you were quiet, but as more laughter escaped your throat, you became louder. Your laughs bubbled and filled your heart with a particular kind of warmth that you hadn’t felt in over a century. Your eyes released all the tears you were holding back, but you didn’t mind at all. They weren't made from sorrow, and you tilted your head back to let them fall.

You didn't remember the last time you felt like this, and yet you felt right at home as you wrote down those three words again.

I’m in love.

You laughed harder and your hand trembled, but you continued to write.

I’m in love. 

I'm in love.

I’m in love wi

You pressed your journal against your chest, refusing to wipe your tears away as they were signs of your release. Then, with the widest smile you ever had, you opened the journal again, and finally allowed yourself to write down the full truth.

I’m in love with James Bucky Barnes.

I love James Bucky Barnes.

James, I love you.

NEXT CHAPTER >

AN: I decided to make a banner for this story and put it on every chapter just so that it's easier to spot :)

General Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @recorddust @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys 

Thanks for reading :)

[ailelie]

Installing Linux (Mint) as a Non-Techy Person

I've wanted Linux for various reasons since college. I tried it once when I no longer had to worry about having specific programs for school, but it did not go well. It was a dedicated PC that was, I believe, poorly made. Anyway.

In the process of deGoogling and deWindows365'ing, I started to think about Linux again. Here is my experience.

Pre-Work: Take Stock

List out the programs you use regularly and those you need. Look up whether or not they work on Linux. For those that don't, look up alternatives.

If the alternative works on Windows/Mac, try it out first.

Make sure you have your files backed up somewhere.

Also, pick up a 5GB minimum USB drive.

Oh and make a system restore point (look it up in your Start menu) and back-up your files.

Step One: Choose a Distro

Dear god do Linux people like to talk about distros. Basically, from what all I've read, if you don't want to fuss a lot with your OS, you've got two options: Ubuntu and Linux Mint. Ubuntu is better known and run by a company called Canonical. Linux Mint is run by a small team and paid for via donations.

I chose Linux Mint. Some of the stuff I read about Ubuntu reminded me too much of my reasons for wanting to leave Windows, basically. Did I second-guess this a half-dozen times? Yes, yes I did.

The rest of this is true for Linux Mint Cinnamon only.

Step Two: Make your Flash Drive

Linux Mint has great instructions. For the most part they work.

Start here:

The trickiest part of creating the flash drive is verifying and authenticating it.

On the same page that you download the Linux .iso file there are two links. Right click+save as both of those files to your computer. I saved them and the .iso file all to my Downloads folder.

Then, once you get to the 'Verify your ISO image' page in their guide and you're on Windows like me, skip down to this link about verifying on Windows.

Once it is verified, you can go back to the Linux Mint guide. They'll direct you to download Etchr and use that to create your flash drive.

If this step is too tricky, then please reconsider Linux. Subsequent steps are both easier and trickier.

Step Three: Restart from your Flash Drive

This is the step where I nearly gave up. The guide is still great, except it doesn't mention certain security features that make installing Linux Mint impossible without extra steps.

(1) Look up your Bitlocker recovery key and have it handy.

I don't know if you'll need it like I did (I did not turn off Bitlocker at first), but better to be safe.

(2) Turn off Bitlocker.

(3) Restart. When on the title screen, press your Bios key. There might be more than one. On a Lenovo, pressing F1 several times gets you to the relevant menu. This is not the menu you'll need to install, though. Turn off "Secure Boot."

(4) Restart. This time press F12 (on a Lenovo). The HDD option, iirc, is your USB. Look it up on your phone to be sure.

Now you can return to the Linux Mint instructions.

Figuring this out via trial-and-error was not fun.

Step Four: Install Mint

Just follow the prompts. I chose to do the dual boot.

You will have to click through some scary messages about irrevocable changes. This is your last chance to change your mind.

I chose the dual boot because I may not have anticipated everything I'll need from Windows. My goal is to work primarily in Linux. Then, in a few months, if it is working, I'll look up the steps for making my machine Linux only.

Some Notes on Linux Mint

Some of the minor things I looked up ahead of time and other miscellany:

(1) HP Printers supposedly play nice with Linux. I have not tested this yet.

(2) Linux Mint can easily access your Windows files. I've read that this does not go both ways. I've not tested it yet.

(3) You can move the taskbar (panel in LM) to the left side of your screen.

(4) You are going to have to download your key programs again.

(5) The LM software manager has most programs, but not all. Some you'll have to download from websites. Follow instructions. If a file leads to a scary wall of strange text, close it and just do the Terminal instructions instead.

(6) The software manager also has fonts. I was able to get Fanwood (my favorite serif) and JetBrains (my favorite mono) easily.

In the end, be prepared for something to go wrong. Just trust that you are not the first person to ever experience the issue and look it up. If that doesn't help, you can always ask. The forums and reddit community both look active.

[maxdibert]

You took the words out of my mouth. Yes! That is the problem with Marauders stans - they take their OCs, slap a name sticker on them and claim its canon.

Severus becomes the most evil of incels, when he was 9 years old he was already lusting after his first friend, sometimes he is rich, sometimes he is poor - but he always deserves being ganged on 4 on 1 since he was 11, maybe he kicked a puppy in Potter's vicinity, who knows? - sometimes he is even more evil than Voldemort himself (makes you wonder why he wasn’t kicked out of the school already, its not like he is a gryffindor and Dumbledore is protecting him like he did with the Marauders);

James becomes the queer hero (read a fic where he was teaching purebloods in gryffindor about labels and pronouns - Sir, this was the 70s, not 2016), defends the innocent, saving everyone from the evilest of them all: Snape;

Sirius becomes a poor baby, his mother uses the cruciatus curse on him all the time (and somehow he didn’t go mad like the Longbottoms or died) - he goes around with every girl in Hogwarts but the one he really wants is Lupin, look at his puppy eyes.

Lupin, he is brave, he is assertive, he growls, his eyes glow yellow all the time and he acts like the alpha of the group, James and Sirius trust and respect.

Regulus becomes the poor victim (he totally doesn’t have a Voldemort shrine in his room, what are you talking about? XD), he is abused by his mother, by other Slytherins, by Snape, he is prideful and goes against his mother all the time, he is a crybaby in need of a queer hero, he cries himself to sleep thinking of Potter's strong arms.

Peter, he is a cowardly rat, always snickering something evil (you wonder why Potter would ever trust him with the life of his child).

And Lily, hmmm, she a secret lesbian and is going out with Mary/Marlene/Dorcas/Pandora (chose your flavor, its the same either way, she only appears to cheer on the boys) and would absolutely loooooove to carry Jegulus's baby.

Rinse and repeat.

And they come and say they are just "exploring" with the characters - what characters? If you change so many parts of their personality and history are they the same characters?

No. They are just your OCs.

Look, it’s not about the characters, it’s not about the Marauders, it’s not Snape, it’s not Regulus—it’s not the people you see in the actual series. Not even Lily is really Lily, because they always portray her as some kind of girlboss feminist icon when Lily Evans was a girl completely alienated by the patriarchal views of her time. I mean, we’re talking about someone who chose to marry a guy who had abused people right in front of her. But not only that—she got married and pregnant as a teenager. She was a very traditional person, just like her sister Petunia, so I don’t know where this whole Gloria Steinem fantasy comes from because she was nothing like that. In fact, she doesn’t even seem to have female friends—the only one vaguely mentioned is Mary McDonald, and the only real friend she has throughout her life is Severus. After that, it's just her boyfriend/husband’s friends. She’s the furthest thing from a feminist icon, but whatever.

They just make up characters who didn’t even attend school with them. Suddenly Barty Crouch, who canonically was three or four years younger, is in their same year. And not only that—he’s portrayed as this super spicy, sarcastic icon, when canonically even the Death Eaters were shocked to find out Barty was a loyal servant of Voldemort because everything indicated he was the kind of guy who tried to blend in and pretend to follow his father’s orders. Dorcas Meadowes was supposedly a pretty powerful witch and only gets two sentences in the books, but that’s enough to infer she not only didn’t go to school with the Marauders, Snape, and Lily, but was significantly older. The McKinnons are mentioned as a family, suggesting Marlene McKinnon was older than the Marauders and probably married with kids. So what the hell are they talking about? Why are all these people suddenly the same age and in the same year? And why are we suddenly in a senseless teen soap opera with a bunch of pop culture references from 2025 in the middle of the 1970s? Why is just saying “David Bowie” and “the Beatles” considered “period accurate” when these characters clearly think with a 2025 mindset? Even if they kept some traits from canon, it would still feel totally off. You have to understand the historical context you're writing in.

James being queer or James being POC is something I’ll never understand because James Potter represents the progressive elite who, despite having socially acceptable views, are still classist, abusive, and discriminatory. James thinks he’s better than other pure-bloods because the only thing he sees as wrong is blood purism—he doesn’t realize he has a deeply classist, possessive, and dominant mindset, and he’s jealous as hell. He bullies a much poorer boy, with no resources or stable family structure, just because that boy is friends with the girl James likes. He blackmails the girl he likes into going out with him. People say Snape couldn’t be Black because it would make his “obsession with Lily” look bad, but James can be? When he literally blackmails her into dating him? When he bullies her friend out of jealousy? Like, another one they portray as a feminist ally (one of the most absurd and vomit-worthy claims I’ve seen) who was canonically a total macho douchebag. He was the average jock in your high school—the guy who bullies people out of boredom, who torments people he knows won’t fight back because there are no consequences, who behaves like a piece of shit. So I don’t get it. I don’t get why they turn him into a golden retriever, why they whitewash his actions like that. I don’t think people realize how terribly problematic that is. James Potter was not a queer ally—James Potter reeked of toxic masculinity and probably would have made the most homophobic comments. He literally gave Severus Snape a nickname referencing his failure to meet conventional standards of masculinity, and people imagine him as some kind of Che Guevara or something? Get out of here.

There’s no proof that Walburga physically abused her children. In fact, Regulus was considered “the golden boy”—Sirius’s own words—because he followed the family ideology. He had posters of Voldemort in his room, his mother spoke well of him—where is the traumatic childhood? Sirius had a really sadistic and cruel side. He tried to commit murder. He used a supposed friend as a weapon. He felt zero remorse for his actions. He was tall, aggressive, girls swooned over him—he had bikini posters in his room, for God’s sake. So where the hell did this image of him as a crying little baby come from?? We’re talking about Sirius Black, whom Rowling explicitly created as the epitome of traditional masculinity. She repeatedly described him as this incredibly handsome man that girls would swoon over. In contrast, Lupin was always described as shy, hiding behind his friends, unable to tell them to stop or speak up when he thought their actions were wrong. They’ve literally killed these characters, mutilated them, annihilated them.

But the thing is—no, that’s not what happened. What happened is they don’t know the characters. They say there’s not enough information about them, but that’s a lie. There is. You just have to read the damn books, not just watch the movies or read fics or watch TikToks. One of the people replying to the post yesterday told me she hadn’t even read the books—then what the hell are you talking about? What characters are you referring to? Because the ones in the movies don’t even match either. Movie Severus Snape is very different from book Snape, same with Remus and Sirius. In the films, we know nothing about their school days because they’re barely shown. Everything we do know, we know from the books—and it’s more than enough to work from canon and come up with headcanons that are respectful to the canon and make sense within it. Which these so-called fans don’t do. Because these so-called fans aren’t fans of the Marauders—they’re fans of a bunch of OCs someone invented and kept developing, and just slapped the names of real characters from an existing lore on them so people would read their fics. That’s it. And they have the audacity not to warn people that the characters are out of character or that the world they’ve made is an AU. And then they complain about lack of tagging? You want to talk about lack of tagging? How about their audacity to pretend something is canon when it’s not, and not tell people that what they’re doing is just an AU or completely OOC. When they respect tagging, then I’ll respect it too.

[wotay27166]

The (crappy) art of Freakycare

Much like I did in my initial 'final farewell' post (which turned out to not be final post at all because so much shit happened afterwards), I want to focus this post on an aspect that other people have not talked about - the art itself on the new freakycare blog. A lot of other people have talked about how KC refuses to take any accountability and trying to shed culpability, her refusal to acknowledge or apologize to any victims (Emsody being the only one who received so much as a 'sorry' from KC, has since been redacted with the removal of the post from the main blog), or the fact that she has very openly gone all in to publicly post her secret canon material (and pathetically begging proshippers to interact with every post, hungry for attention).

Before we continue I would like to link the donation/commission links of some of the affected victims of KC and her associates: Commission Jeremy Donate to Chaosblast Donate to Toynbeck Donate to Aobasgirlfriend

As well as the response of people KC directly groomed/victimized in light of the new blog (more may be added in the future):

Chaosblast's response (archive) Imani's response (archive) Maddie's response (archive) Fink's response (archive)

And, to any KC bootlicker supporters being like 'errm you wouldn't have found the freakycare blog unless you were looking for it, checkmate antis' I'll copy/paste what I replied to one who was harassing an anticare poster:

Related accounts get recommended to people due to tumblr's algorithm, don't be stupid now. If people follow interact with sparklecare and related tags/blogs, freakycare will come up too because a lot of you goons who post with freakycare tags also have posts on your blogs tagged with sparklecare AND cometcare (some even posting freakycare with those two aforementioned tags in the same post). If the same person is posting with the same art style and the same characters no shit the algorithm will show people. If people had to go out of there way to find it, it is unlikely it would've been found instantly by people. Also peep you, this supposedly anti harassment pro shipper going out of their way to harass and bother this person who's explicitly tagged their post as anticare. Hm! Curious! Maybe you should heed your own mantra and block/move on and curate your own experience by muting tags! But you guys are all hypocrites so who's shocked.

Without further ado, let's talk about how the quality of KC's art has taken a significant dip, especially comparing it to the initial Cometcare, which Freakycare directly parallels. I will not be going for the content itself, I'm sure I would be a broken record saying 'sexual harassment and covert incest is not cute or funny at all, and 'the way it's framed as a normal light hearted thing is abhorrent' over and over. Considering the first 'arc' is also called 'coming out' I think directly comparing being incestual to coming out as queer is quite frankly incredibly insulting.

Rushed art

We'll start with the most basic observation - the art is very rushed. There a distinct lack of care when comes to various aspects of the art that is most evidently seen in the inconsistency in how the frills on Ally's dress lines up between panels, nor how the bow does not connect properly. They are inconsistent and change wildly between panels that are right next to each other. It looks terrible.

Missing features

In various panels very basic assets of the character's design are just not there, such as Ally missing a star on her cheek so she has 3 instead of 4, the sleeves missing their frill lines, and Sly constantly missing the glasses' temples. Below you will also see Ally's whiskers disappearing periodically.

Copy/Paste job

It is actually not uncommon for artists to use the same panel with minor altercations between panels. HOWEVER, this is something that was not in the original Cometcare, as KC used to redraw the same pose entirely between asks. In Freakycare, however, this copy/pasting of panels is used extensively. Much less effort and in some cases, the erasing of the previous panel hasn't been done properly so there's distinct leftovers between them in the lineart.

Imprecise lineart

The lineart often doesn't connect properly or overshoots where it should stop. This also leads to things like weird dents in Ally's facial stars patterns.

Bad anatomy

Anatomy is of course subjective depending on style, but at the very least one would hope for consistency, or things making sense connecting to the body wise.

Cometcare VS Freakycare

Cometcare first, and then Freakycare second. I don't think it's controversial to say I think the art in Freakycare is worse in every single way. The shapes are much wobblier looking, the anatomy is worse, the character figures look stiffer, the speech bubble placement is less cohesive, etc.

In conclusion, this is quite literally slop. It is sloppy, rushed, and little care has been put into the art. I feel even if you are a proshipper incest lover, your standards should 100% be higher - this is the garbage you settle for? I guess quality doesn't matter when to someone who enjoys this content, the mere notion of incest being present is like having keys jangled in front of one's face to entertain them. It is no exaggeration to say not a single panel has any care put into it. KC is capable of better art, she just doesn't have a reason to try anymore. KC thoroughly rinsed money out of her former fanbase through patreon, and the merch drops - anyone left doesn't care.

KC gave up working on Sparklecare, and turned her back on the people who loyally enjoyed what came before for this. It is sad that the instant gratification from people who clap like seals for anything 'problematic' has caused KC's art and writing to degrade significantly. KC does not care what people think or believe, and that 100% extends to the victims of her and her associates. KC feels no remorse for doing things such as retraumatizing a fellow victim of incest in Imani, or triggering her partner so bad new alters of a traumagenic system were created to cope in Chaos, or willfully ignoring those who have reached out about her groomer pals. To KC, her fictional animals matter more than the real people she has hurt.

In addition I would argue this outright unsafe for KC to be doing, considering her family home living situation. Being back publicly to do so has further put a spotlight on her, and her actions.

Look who's in the likes, Woofles who groomed a 15 year old and is a self admitted pedophile/zoophile. Jk-tech too, who you may remember actively defended Oddballs, the real CSEM trafficking site. This is the type of person KC wants to cater to now.

And the greatest irony of all of course, is how page 161 from Sparklecare V2 directly calls out behaviour like KC's.

If you want something like Sparklecare or Cometcare to fill the void and not support KC, there's always the various projects by former fans.

In the future a few month down the line when more former fan projects are out I may make a second/continuation post promoting them.

[applestorms]

this is a very anti-early anime thing for me to say, but i actually really appreciate that demons are the most inherently Supernatural entities (well. entity.) in all of black butler.

it seems fitting that, at around the same time it's revealed that the werewolves of the forest were all a lie cooked up by a very human government agency, the backstory for all shinigami is also revealed-- specifically, that they were also all human once, transformed after death as punishment for their own acts of suicide.

paired with the fact that angels are an anime-only concept, as well as the fact that undertaker's bizarre dolls are essentially just soulless humans, the origin of every supposedly "supernatural" entity in black butler is therefore deeply rooted in humanity.

(also this, for more about how undertaker is decaying souls:)

this has interesting implications when it comes to the question of what sebastian even fucking is as the singular Demon of the series, an inherently difficult question to even begin to answer considering the following complications:

1. sebastian is the only (real, canon) demon in the entire series. sorry, claude, but if we're to follow manga canon we can only really rely on sebastian as our sole source of True information about demons-- assuming we can trust what he says about himself at all. he may be ordered not to lie, but if o!ciel never asks questions, we may truly never know.

2. by nature of the plot of kuro itself, it's to the benefit of the story if we never really know the extent of what sebastian is capable of. iirc, yana has directly stated in interview(s) before that she will never get into detail about sebastian's backstory, which makes sense, considering how much of his Mysterious Allure and Power relies on him being a mostly unknowable entity. even his true form is more amalgamation-shadow-tentacle weirdness than a singular Entity:

3. it is incredibly difficult, if not straight up impossible, to tell who sebastian genuinely Is as Himself, versus who he is in the eyes of others. frankly, you could even argue that there is no genuine entity known as sebastian outside of the expectations that others push upon him.

this is most obvious throughout his relationship and interactions with ciel, as he explicitly states near the end of EWA:

--not entirely denying that he is capable of acting like a "beast," but clearly his standards and current goals are pushing him towards something much more restrained at the current moment.

what's really interesting about this though is the fact that sebastian doesn't just act like this with ciel, in such a way that reflects the specific expectations put upon him-- he does this with william in the circus arc too, only making the move to seduce beast after will essentially calls him a seductress luring his prey into the darkness:

(and then, like five pages later:)

frankly, you could maybe even make the argument that sebastian being summoned as a “devil” at all is a result of the expectations placed upon him by the cult itself, that they kind of manifested him in his current demonic form by calling upon a demon-like entity through their child abuse rituals and sacrifice.

honestly, i'm of the opinion that there are only a few things we can truly trust when it comes to properly sebastian:

that he really really really wants to eat o!ciel.

that he is generally unreliable and cannot be trusted (o!ciel's words, at the end of EWA).

that he genuinely likes being a butler, or at the very least the game he gets to play with o!ciel in the process of taking on such a role. this is what the circus arc most clearly establishes, as well as the LLA flashback when undertaker gets into his memories.

sidenote, with regards to that last point: is it also not insanely weird that sebastian has a cinematic record of his own? like it makes sense that he has memories, and undertaker's experiments make it clear that memories are separate from souls so it's not like that confirms sebastian to have a soul of his own or anything, but still. shit's weird.

a part of me also still wonders what Exactly the reapers are cutting through when they attack him with their scythes also-- while he can clearly morph his appearance into something more demonic at will (e.g. arthur at the end of the murder arc), he must still be somewhat substantially attached to his current human body if injuries to it by a death scythe can still fuck him up as badly as it does on the campania. sebastian is certainly not all-powerful, though he absolutely should not under any circumstances be underestimated when it comes to his scheming.

ANYWAYS. this is all to say that, for all that kuro takes from a wide range of cultures and mythologies when it comes to it’s more supernatural elements, ultimately it seems like most of these aspects are still quite deeply rooted in humans and humanity. this world revolves around people, at the end of the day, with human lives (and souls) as the basis upon which everything else acts and turns.

[jesncin]

we need to talk about dc pride 2025-

PURELY from a consumer perspective!! I'm not writing this in an antagonistic way just because I'm part of the DC Pride fanzine (which I'm very proud of, you should check it out)- I just really want to talk about it and I feel I'm entitled to an opinion as gay book king of 2025 so HERE WE GO

To catch you up to speed, the DC Pride specials are usually anthologies with a handful of short stories highlighting and celebrating DC's canonically queer characters, with an all queer creative team (as is tradition). They're ordinarily self contained stories. This year though it looks like they tried to be more ambitious- and the stories are all connected to a bigger plot. In my humble opinion this was a huge mistake.

It's the nature of anthologies to have hit and miss stories! You've got a huge pool of creatives and some of those writing styles or stories aren't going to vibe with you. But that's no biggie, because you can just hop onto the next story and start fresh. It's what I've come to enjoy about anthologies! And I found this an accessible way to learn about DC's queer characters through these short stories.

BUT THAT'S NOT THE CASE FOR THIS YEAR'S SPECIAL. The overarching plot that all the Pride stories are under follow a magic plot where all queer characters across universes are trapped in a fantasy world (where they supposedly have all their desires granted) and need to snap out of it to get back into the real world. A character named Ethan Rivera, a trans man who served in the war, is usually the one to snap people out of it. This Pride Special serves as a backdoor-pilot style origin story for Ethan.

The story serves as a spiritual sequel to Alan Scott's recent solo comic. Years ago, Alan and his ex carved a heart onto this wall in a gay bar, unknowingly imbuing it with magic. In modern times, the wall and the bar its in are going to be turned into a parking lot, another gay monument lost to history. Suddenly it's doing some cosmic horror stuff where every queer character is sucked into a fantasy and regroup there.

(this dialogue is so....uh trite and on the nose I'm sorry afasdf)

This might seem like a new fun way to shake the Pride specials up- you get an overarching plot and everyone gets to interact with each other. There's a main character to help follow you through the action, theoretically giving you the opportunity to explore more depth in conflict than your usual short self contained Pride story, etc.

But no. It did the opposite for me. The overarching plot put some serious constrains on the writers, forcing them to essentially write the same plot over and over again.

Character is in a fantasy, something is off, Ethan snaps them out of it, and they all end up in a "home base of operations" where they get exposition dumped and caught up to speed with the magic shenanigans happening.

Interesting at first but very quickly overstays its welcome!! I couldn't escape the loop. I wasn't granted the freedom of a fresh start to read a new story, it was the same plot. Again and again and again.

I can sense some writers really trying with the limits they're given. Vita Ayala's The Question segment was among the stronger stories! And I felt a sense of this character's personality and history way more than the others.

Other characters weren't so lucky. Connor Hawke has been done so dirty this year. Not only was he whitewashed in a Pride illustration (that accompanies this collection), with half his face covered to add insult to injury- but he got a meager 2 pages of backstory before being cast to the side. And the writing was among the worst of the collection. Tragic.

(these panels summarize all these stories' plots. Just the same thing rinse and repeat)

Lowkey hate that the ace character's "celebration" this year is getting smooched on and then cast aside for a bigger plot. Justice for Connor.

Quick roundup of stories I want to talk about- sorry if I don't include your fav! This was just such a repetitive read that they all sort of melt together in my mind.

Any Apollo and Midnighter fan can go in more detail over how these complex morally grey characters get watered down to being sanitized Pride ads every year, so I'm going to review this on just the basic storytelling level. The premise is that the fantasy these two husbands are stuck in is a tongue-in-cheek respectable sitcom. "vigilante justice" is "legalized" but whenever someone violently threatens the gay couple, Midnighter can't really kill them. They turn into confetti.

I can sense this is trying to poke fun at respectability and censorship but it lands flat for me. Why are there people threatening them with slurs and guns if it's an escapist paradise? I've never seen a cute sitcom have that. It doesn't help that this idyllic fantasy is literally a desire for Apollo. That the reason they're stuck there is that one of them actually likes it there. If they went a more WandaVision route where they were stuck in a censored reality where they can't boink and have to dress as respectable sweater-wearing neighborhood gay dads, this could've poked fun at the company's own problems with softening edgy queer characters. Just a fascinating case study of attempting rebellion within a company.

Quick note for Harley's story. It basically says that all her modern motivations boil down to wanting a girlfriend. If that isn't a summation for how these characters lose all depth after being canonized as queer I don't know what is.

We need to talk about the Blue Snowman story. Or what I like to call, "this year's contender for "Pride is a Party""

Summarized perfectly by Dizzy on twitter as

The Blue Snowman's fantasy is that they're outed by Wonder Woman when she uses the Lasso of Truth on them. Forced to come to terms with their fluid gender identity, they imagine being graciously accepted and defended by the world against Wonder Woman, with her labeled as "Not An Ally". (we'll talk about how Wondie's canonically queer later in the conclusion)

I get that it's a joke, that the Blue Snowman is self deprecating, insecure, while also being egotistical enough to frame Xanthe Zhou as an "unimportant trans person"- who is inspired by the Blue Snowman to be queer. But it's not funny. And reads like a conservative "the gays are so fragile" comic. Again, this is presented to us as the Blue Snowman's secret desire. Much like the Apollo and Midnighter one, any commentary it's trying to make doesn't land.

Xanthe and Blue Snowman only "reconcile" in a quiet sequence of panels where Blue Snowman begrudgingly holds Xanthe's hand. The one time this comic decides to shut up, it does this. Justice for Xanthe because they barely get stories outside of these DC specials, and the one time they return it's to be insulted and barely apologized to.

The Blue Snowman story is the most trans focused narrative out of the entire collection this year (outside of Ethan exposition dumping his origin story). And this is what we got.

In between everyone's stories, we see Ethan in a dreamscape fantasy realm that is very beautifully rendered! Props to A.L. Kaplan!!

Even though I visually love these pages, I did find them disruptive to the flow of stories. It didn't help that Ethan sort of intrudes on everyone's stories to snap them out of their fantasies- I just found it all annoying to read. I couldn't really get into each character because they were mandated to follow a specific structure. In the end I still don't have a grasp of who Ethan is as a character either, despite all that screen time.

Ethan just tells us his origin, we don't experience it with him. He explains to us how he feels about everything. He is entirely a tell not show character.

He'll even explain what the metaphors represent to the reader. "Because it feels as though everything I've done since then has involved a transition of some kind. It's like I'm always transitioning. Like this place." "It's a beautiful tribute Alan. And look what you started! These carvings, this wall...it's like a monument. it represents everything you and so many others were feeling." This is real dialogue. He literally tells us what the wall represents like we're too foolish to know.

The dialogue in general was a pain to read. Everyone sounded like a Joss Whedon character. They'd say the most obvious on the nose thing, in a weak attempt to hide it as quirky charisma. It was not working.

(just because you lampshade your writing by showing characters being bored of exposition doesn't mean it's suddenly good writing!!)

It got exhausting to read hope speech after hope speech of characters talking in corporate prideisms that I found myself wanting to skim through the pages because I felt I wasn't learning anything new. And when I say these characters yap, I mean they YAP.

Godspeed to the letterer team because what the heck!!

All this text and for what? More cosmic red lantern magical nonsense.

Anyway the interconnected story ends abruptly. After yelling at the cosmic image of Alan's ex, Ethan returns to the graffiti wall in the gay bar with all the other queer characters transported back to where they came from. And the ending is...surprisingly passive about its conclusion.

There's a strange resignation to the characters. Despite being literal superheroes who have attachment to this gay bar and graffiti wall that houses generations of queer expression, they just kind of give up on saving a queer historical monument. They don't even try.

This is all lamp shaded under a "the fight never ends" speech from Alan. But like, again- y'all didn't try. You didn't fight for the place. You are just telling me that you are. "It's always been that way, and it always will be. That's what we get right? That and the privilege of hoping that, because of what we do, the next generation and the next may get more." A bit of an oxymoron to say it's always the same and hope the next generation will get it better.

I understand what this collection is going for. Deeper, interconnected conflict for its queer characters that you wouldn't normally get in its typical anthology format. It's even trying to end in a more somber note. They don't save the gay bar and its graffiti wall. They move on.

But it's lacking nuance in its garbled hope speech by the end. I understand that "It gets better" can become an irritating platitude to hear when historically, we know it doesn't always get better for marginalized people. I think if the story ended with "Things don't always get better. It can get worse if we're not careful, that's why we have to keep fighting." And show your characters being active instead of just accepting queer erasure when it happens, that could be really resonant with the current political climate. Instead we get this passive resignation. Anti-hope disguised in hope speeches.

Quick review of the Jenny Blake auto bio in the end. It's cute, though I have some thoughts. Inevitably when these collections feature an auto bio comic, they feel more authentic because they're about a real person.

I do find it ironic that Blake starts this comic by saying "just as no two human beings are exactly alike...no two lgbtqia+ stories are exactly alike" when it's featured in an anthology about queer characters experiencing the same "I'm in a fake fantasy, whoa time to wake up into the real world! What going on? Someone exposition dump me please" story over and over and over again. I had lost a lot of my patience by the time I made it to the end of this collection. And this felt like a punch in the face in the funniest way. Amazing lack of self awareness.

I have a nitpick for this later part though. Blake says "Evil reared its ugly head, and my country descended into cruelty and madness. Playing it safe was no longer an option. I needed to represent as my true self. I would not hide in the closet waiting for the bigots and transphobes to come find me!"

It's very cloying in its delivery. But I take issue with framing closeted people as shameful cowards who won't live their truth. Just "waiting for bigots to come find them". If things are hard for you in Texas (or anywhere for that matter) as a trans person, being in the closet doesn't make you any less queer. You're just protecting yourself the way Superman does when he's being Clark Kent.

NOW FOR BIG CONCLUSION FEELINGS

The DC Pride anthologies are always interesting to me for the wrong reasons. I'm fascinated by them like it's performance art. They're an annual celebration of the company's queer characters and staff. But they're also Pride ads. Sometimes there's little gems in the collection, but for the most part its watered down and corporate. I love dissecting all the ways they represent respectability, assimilation and the struggle between art and commerce.

This collection's existence is proof- evidence if you will- that queer writers don't always make great queer stories. Because they're human beings.

So this year's collection showing ambition to break away from the celebration-style writing to be more interconnected and somber, but still managing to feel corporate is a case study that my brain can't stop chewing on. Despite its deviance from the norm, it still follows DC's limitations with queer rep.

DC has so many more queer characters than those that show up in their Pride specials. And they even have huge mainline queer characters that mysteriously never show up in Pride.

Remember how the Blue Snowman comic joked about Wonder Woman not being an ally? Well. She's not. Because Diana's a canonically queer character. But DC doesn't market her that way. To the general audience, DC wants you to believe that Nubia is the queer Themysciran, the queer member of wonderfam. Despite Wonder Woman being a queer headline Trinity member, DC wants you to remember that Diana is for the boys. So they can't have her in the Pride anthologies.

Same with Selina Kyle, she may be Catwoman, she may have kissed a woman, but she's for the boys. So both her and Diana have a magical restraining order from the Pride Specials. A Lasso of Lies if you will. Catman can be here, though. Allies like Nightwing can be featured too.

Bi representation in DC is very bi-nary (pun intended). When Harley Quinn was canonized as bi, she's written like a lesbian character. Modern Harley solely hits it up with women, and has no feelings for men. Even in this collection she's being creeped on by a dude and has to reject his advances as she chases her girlfriend. It's as though DC resigned and said "fine, Harley's for the girls".

When Tim Drake came out as bi, he's virtually been written as a gay man. All his previous relationships with women are written off and discarded. Highlighting his gay relationship as the true relationship.

When Jon Kent came out as bi, he never says the word "bi". And is written to be a gay character. Yeah he's in dramatic love triangle right now, but we can't have our biggest multi-flag wearing mascot cheat and feel complex about this. That would be a bad bi stereotype! We can't have that.

The luckiest we get is bi characters like John Constantine. Who flirts constantly with men- but only has deep, character-defining romantic relationships with women. That's as good as it gets. He'll get bi jokes tossed at him though. We can't have everything.

That's only one out of the many ways corporate mingling messes with these characters. How it stops them from being truly transgressive. Because this Pride Special, for all its ambitions, just has the same foundational problems of the collection's usual offerings.

Only this time, in my opinion, there was no standout or good story. Because they were all the same story. They were forced to be. Which is deeply ironic for a Pride special.

[lexirosewrites]

For slick sunday

I am once again asking you to imagine Scream Queen O!Steve & horror fan A!Eddie,

except in this idea/AU Eddie is the co host of a horror podcast similar to Dead Meat but it's called (u guessed it) Corroded Coffin, Eddie hosts & A!Jeff co-hosts & O!Gareth mostly works with the sound while A!Chrissy & B!Felix (unnamed freak who apparently has a canon name but idc I like the name felix & using this name made me realize gender things so it has special meaning for me now) ANYWAY Chrissy & B!Felix mostly handle research

Well they talk about all horror not just movies, they discuss books & they discuss other podcasts & of course they discuss movies. Eddie & Chrissy are slasher fans through & through, Jeff is more for the supernatural stories, when Gareth comes on an episode very occasionally he's an unrepentant fan of elevated horror like The VVitch, meanwhile if felix is on an episode it's explicitly because they're talking about cosmic horror OR horror coming out of east asia (felix is a Junji Ito devotee, as am I & yes this is me projecting onto a fictional character)

WELL their podcast is fairly popular, they're considered Z-list celebrities within popular culture maybe D-list amongst horror fans, the Corroded Coffin podcast has gone on tours & done live shows. they've even established a small podcast network they call Hellfire Club & expanded to making more shows: chrissy & felix host a folklore podcast, Jeff & a new guest every week have discussions abt the new expression of horror abt being a marginalized identity (i.e. being a black person in a white supremacist society or being a beta woman/omega in an alpha centric patriarchal culture)

Then one day their business email gets an inquiry abt a new movie coming out in the next year & the executive producer wants to know if they'd be interested in a slight PR stunt/limited podcast series around this movie.

The producer in question is one Jim Hopper, a known name who's only ever produced action flicks, apparently he's dipping his toe into the horror space bc his daughter & step-son r huge fans of the genre & encouraged him to take on a script he'd normally ignore.

The movie is called Strange Times On Main Street & it follows an ensemble cast tht r meant to b the residents of a dwindling town in nowhere Indiana in the early 1980s, the horror factor comes in when the different characters start to see things tht might not b real but all seem connected to an individual who has terrorized the town for decades, culminating in a town hall meeting where they're told there's nothing tht can b done; so the situation dissolves into an eerily quiet mob tht ends up hunting down this person & the movie ends abruptly with this guy being executed in broad daylight practically in the middle of Main street.

They agree right away. The gimmick involves Eddie & Chrissy acting like the hosts of a true crime podcast who are "interviewing" the people of the town supposedly years after the incident. Everyone is excited because there r some big names involved in the movie, most notably the undisputed scream queen Steve Henderson who got half of his fame from working his way up from among stunt doubles on action movies so he's known to do his own stunts.

Well, it's a fantastic process & absolutely everyone has a wonderful time & Eddie sort of bumbles his way thru the episode w Steve (whose character is implied to have been the one to kill the supposed antagonist) but Steve finds it cute & gives Eddie his number.

The movie does well & wins not only a Screamy Award but an actual Oscar. Steve even wins the first Oscar of his career for best omega man in a leading role. He kisses his date before going up to give his speech, who's his date you ask? Eddie Munson host of popular podcast Corroded Coffin

They announce their wedding & mating a month after the awards show

horror meet cute🥰

[ilikekidsshows]

Something that really annoys me about Adrien salters is them going on and on about Adrien being irresponsible and messing up and how that means he doesn't "deserve" to get more responsibility, or know shit or even that he should have had his miraculous taken away.

Like, I'll grant that that if you look at how Adrien is written canonically and compares him to an objective standard of what makes a good hero that he wouldn't pass. But then Marinette wouldn't either. She would fail way worse than him and that's even before all thr bullshit she pulled in s4-s6.

Yet Maribug gets all the praise, the power, knowledge and authority. She's described as the greatest ladybug ever. While Adrien, her supposedly "equal partner" get shafted and thrown to the sidelines and mistreated, often by Maribug herself!

Neither of them, as written by canon, really make for good heroes compared to other heroes in other media (in large part because the writing barely lets them learn and grow). But saying that Adrien specifically doesn't deserve to be a hero while acting like Marinette is perfectly fine and there's no issue with how she failed upwards into so much power and responsibility is so insane and clearly biased.

Also, hot take but Adrien was perfetly justified in his actions in Syren. He wasn't "throwing a tantrum while people were drowning". He was trying to force answers about what the hell was going on from the only person he could while there was literally nothing he could do to stop the akuma. They already tried to fight the akuma and failed! Ladybug fucked off for someplace he had no clue about, for reasons he wasn't told (other than she's going to get help). He'd been waiting for a while now while she went to talk to master Fu, talk to him and have Fu get back to him. As far as he knew (going off previous precedent) Ladybug would show up with a new fish heroes with some kind of underwater powers who would defeat the akuma single handedly.

If he wasn't threatening Plagg with quitting (and I tend to believe it was more a threat to try and get Plagg to talk rather than a true attempt to quit considering that's literally how he used it as) then he still couldn't do anything to help the drowning people. He couldn't even prepare something and use the time effectively while Ladybug was gone because he knew fuck all about when she would be back and what help would she bring which was the problem he was trying to fix.

---

If Miraculous was an actual teen hero show that followed the structure of a teen hero show, Adrien would be a fine hero. The point of teen heroes is that they start off not fully grasping the responsibility they have and then grow into it with time. Frankly, looking at the examples of irresponsibility on Adrien’s track record, it’s nothing out of the ordinary or anything career-breaking. Hell, the stuff Marinette has done mostly includes stuff done by other superheroes.

The difference is how they react when they’re proven to have done something irresponsible. Adrien, every single time, takes responsibility for his own actions and makes amends. The whole doormat hypeman act he has going on in season 6 is specifically because he’s taken responsibility for the supposed crime of not supporting Ladybug enough. As for him giving up his Miraculous and “threatening to quit”, I will die on the hill that every time he gave up his Miraculous, it was done with good reason and in the most secure way he could while still following the secret identity rule that he knows is strictly enforced with him.

Marinette will self-flagellate and therefore accept responsibility on paper, but she doesn’t make amends. She doesn’t do anything differently with the people she’s failed even after admitting she’s failed them. She shouldn’t have lied to Cat Noir, gonna lie to him some more. She shouldn't stalk Adrien, gonna stalk any girl he talks to. Should treat Adrien as a person, gonna deny him the right to protect his free will and gaslight him about his dad. Marinette might say she accepts responsibility, but she keeps doing the same things to the same people, sometimes she does worse.

In comparison to Marinette, Adrien is a true hero. Almost anyone else who takes up a Miraculous to help others is more of a hero than Marinette. No one but Marinette needs to be told they’re the bestest, most specialest Miraculous holder to ever exist before they stop pouting at the idea of there being other holders before them. No other character is that petulant and insecure about the very idea of someone else holding the same powers as Marinette was in ‘The Pharaoh’.

It perfectly encapsulates how the writers feel about their protagonist. They’re so insecure, they have to make all the characters tell the audience that Marinette is the best, they have to keep diminishing the roles of cool characters to lessen there being any competition, and they can’t stand the idea of an episode prioritizing someone other than Marinette. Amphibia made an episode where Anne and Sprig were a throwaway gag about how they weren’t in the episode and it still felt so much like an Amphibia episode that I hadn’t even thought about how the main characters hadn’t shown up until then. The one time Miraculous tried something like that, it was a special flip episode of what other characters were doing during ‘Truth’. They made a huge deal about this being an Adrien-focused episode and, frankly, they didn’t really have him do anything interesting in it, showcasing their lack of interest in Adrien’s character (or any character other than Marinette and their precious prequel cast).

Also, this reminds me of the one thing everyone rags on and on about whenever the topic of solo heroing comes up is how Marinette has the Miraculous Ladybug healing ability, like that somehow grants Marinette inherent aptitude to heroics, and how Adrien should be Mister Bug if he was to become a solo hero. But here’s the real kicker: Marinette is the only superhero whose series I’ve watched or read who needs a magical cure-all to save the day from their own collateral damage. Like, her superpowers literally include the ability to dodge consequences for her choices. Marinette is only focused on winning, so of course she needs a superpower to make the collateral damage go away.

Meanwhile, Adrien has the literal power of destruction and is still so calculating and controlled in what he destroys in order to get the edge against an enemy. He’s the one concerned for the well-being of victims outside of merely saving the day. He argues in favor of defending Chloé, when Marinette actively abandons her to whatever Illustrator wants to do to her. He questions if there could be a morally right reason to use the wish, before deciding that "no". He’s the one who says that Bob Roth suffering no consequences for continuously screwing people over with his power and prestige is wrong, even as he also agrees that they still have to protect him from the consequences of his actions (note that the Akumas after him don’t want to harm him and always have mostly harmless powers unless you’re Bob Roth). Chloé has survived being humiliated by the Akumas she caused before is all I’m saying (but I’ll add that this show’s apologia of rich CEOs started early). The point is that Adrien actually gives consideration to what his moral duties as a hero are and what kind of hero he wants to be, Marinette does whatever she wants that’s easiest for her and then magics the damage away.

Adrien is a leagues better hero than Marinette is. I’d even go far as to say that Adrien is a good hero, period, he’s just stuck in a series where that doesn’t mean anything.

[frostyharbor]

warrior / diplomat - chapter two

F!READER/JOHN PRICE ■ EXPLICIT ■ IN-PROGRESS

SUMMARY:

You're a junior diplomat at the American Embassy in Bucharest. Even as tensions with Russia threaten to boil over, by the very nature of your job, you're more of the "ask questions first, shoot never" type. It's too bad military men don't really follow the same creed. tags: slow-burn, canon typical violence, minor character death

CHAPTER TWO

If you knew what we've seen and the things that we've done, you wouldn't begrudge us our comforts. In which we experience a flashback, you do something nice (with absolutely no ulterior motives), and a storm arrives.

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MASTERPOST

Then

The sleek black vehicle that slows to a stop in front of the barracks has diplomatic plates. Jack Surace isn't the one in the passenger's seat, so it's likely an assistant sent to act on the man's behalf.

You slide with practiced ease out of the back seat, and he takes in your slicked-back bun, tailored suit, and practical heels that nonetheless stand out in the sea of combat boots like a sore thumb. It's clear you haven't come to join the little gathering - you move through the crowd with purpose, making a beeline for the loud suit who had turned up over an hour earlier. The man had clearly been taking advantage of the several bottles being passed around and had stayed long past their begrudgingly-offered welcome. You glide through the press of bodies, stopping only when you've reached his side, and say something John can't hear but is delivered with an expression that implies urgency.

He hides a small smile behind his cigar. An extraction mission. How relatable.

"Good party, eh?" Gaz comments at his shoulder. He's sitting on a low wall, with Ghost and Soap standing just beyond his perch. Your appearance hasn't gone unnoticed by him, if his eyes straying casually to where you stand are any indication. But he only smiles in his easy way as his gaze sweeps back over the crowd. "Nice to see a bit of fun for a change."

John huffs. "Too right." The Delta boys are both painfully and charmingly American. John's willing to overlook the crassness and complete abuse of military equipment involved in shooting wild pigs from a helicopter if it means he and his boys get to take part in some of the spoils. Their friends from over the pond are always willing to accommodate, however, and hadn't batted an eye at the British invasion.

A Tennessee man with a wealth of hunting experience (apparently the brains behind the operation) had done the skinning and cleaning, handling the knife so deftly that even Ghost had side-eyed him warily. The only work left to be done by the time the rest of the 141 had trickled in was to wait for the meat to cook. Somewhere along the way, someone had produced a hidden stash of whiskey and vodka. The ending result is a sated crowd that's pleasantly full and buzzed both on drink and the opportunity to put their feet up. 

The only interlopers are Mr. VIP and his newly-arrived minder.

You clearly have some practice in handling difficult guests. The suit's been waving off anyone's subtle attempts to get him to move along for the past twenty minutes, but when you lay your hand lightly in the crook of his elbow and give him a doe-eyed look, he sputters. 

Clever.

As you're herding your visitor back to the waiting embassy vehicle, Soap snorts out a bray of laughter to something Ghost is muttering under his breath - exchanging more of their stupid jokes, no doubt - and the sound startles you into looking their way.

He watches as your eyes travel over his team. They linger on Soap's mohawk and the silly string of teeth he's laced around his neck, a gift from their American allies. The air of impatient tolerance that's hovered around you since you'd arrived hardens into something closer to disdain.

He looks at the scene from your point of view and supposes he understands - operators, supposedly the best of the best, skinning animals like wild men, getting drunk, and parading around in hunting trophies. Yet your judgment pricks at his gut, stirring a wash of irritation and resentment.

If you knew what we've seen and the things that we've done, you wouldn't begrudge us our comforts.

Soap catches you looking and calls out cheekily, and his back is to John but he can imagine the sergeant's eyes agleam with interest. They've all grown adept at reading people, after all, and Soap more than anyone enjoys any opportunity to cause a bit of trouble. Annoying some prim little ambassador after an afternoon of feasting and drinking is right up his alley. Just in case, John slips away from Gaz and sidles closer.

"Very impressive," you're saying to Soap with a politician's smile, and you sound like you've never been less impressed with anything in your life. Annoyance stabs at him again, and John suddenly catches a gleam of Soap's mischief. 

He shuffles closer still. Your attention shifts from Soap to where John looms over his shoulder, lit cigar dangling from his hand. “You’ve just arrived, love. Embassy isn’t going anywhere.”

So close, he sees the cracks in your facade. Your face is slightly flushed and your bun has lost some of its sleekness. You're frazzled no doubt from having to play the dutiful escort, especially for some loathsome swine of a man. Probably thinking about all the real work you have to do that's waiting for you back at your desk while you're subject to the company of peasants.  “Might as well eat something.”

You bristle like you're a cat whose tail he's just gone and stepped on. "I’m afraid we’re already late, sir. I need to go." Sir. So cordial. Cigar smoke wreathes through the air between his face and yours, but you don't look down. Your eyes stubbornly remain locked on his while you fight to maintain a slipping veneer of professionalism.

Experienced enough to not rise too high to the bait, but not so old that you've learned to let the impudence of others slide off your back.

John doesn't give your indignation the time of day. He only touches the brim of his hat in a mocking salute. "Safe travels, Ms. Diplomat.” He may not know your title for sure, but your slightly widening eyes indicate that he's scored a hit. He pointedly turns his back, an indifferent dismissal if there ever was one, and walks back the scant few paces to where Gaz, Soap, and Ghost are all watching keenly. 

He watches them back warily, feeling like the mockery he had just subjected you to is about to be paid back to him in spades.

Ghost puts out the cigarette he's been smoking and pulls his mask back down over his mouth. "First bird we've chatted to in a while, and you've gone an' ruffled her feathers."

One of his shoulders lifts in a nonchalant shrug. "If she bridles so easy, she's not worth the chase."

"Dunno about that." His words are a bit muffled, but because they've been working together for years, John can make them out as clear as day. "She sure reeled you over quick."

Soap chokes on his drink and Gaz loses it. Judging from the lack of response at his back, you've left. But John doesn't hazard a glance behind him until the sound of the car engine grows distant. By that time, he can't make you out through the tinted windows. The turning signal flickers as your driver maneuvers back on to the main road, and the blinking little light is the last thing he sees of you. 

He lets the cigar smoke sit in his mouth a bit too long before exhaling. 

Probably for the best.

_________

Now

If you were anticipating trouble from Price, you're disappointed.

Days after your surprise re-introduction, the most you've seen of him is a distant glimpse. Occasionally, the scent of tobacco and leather drifts into your office through an open window, but the man behind it never puts in an appearance.

That isn't to say you don't get acquainted with any of the team.

You would have thought that the operators would maintain a healthy distance between themselves and the rest of the embassy residents. Keep up the air of mystique and mystery. But, to your surprise, they turn out to be relatively sociable and, in some instances, downright helpful. The building they choose to occupy has been emptied of staff, but is still filled with a veritable arsenal of filing cabinets, desks, and office supplies. The Army grunts are enlisted to moving everything out that the SAS can't utilize. It would have been easy for the top dogs to let the little guys do all the work, but they're more than willing to lend a hand.

Because the nature of their jobs is top secret, naturally everyone wants to get in on a bit of the action. It doesn't seem to matter that the actual work boils down to hours of hard physical labor. You laugh the first day you see Chase struggling under the weight of about three boxes but still nonetheless keeping pace with the stocky soldier beside him, who carries his own stack like it weighs nothing.

The situation becomes less funny when even Jack stoops to clean-out duty as an excuse to speak with one of the Brits you had been introduced to. Sgt. Garrick, if you remember correctly. Jack follows him into the building that's been designated for storage, carrying one box to Garrick's four, and you don't see the two of them come out again for a long time. Ballcap looks unruffled, and Jack wears a pensive expression, thin mouth set in a concerned frown.

He waves you over from across the lawn one morning. The air is beginning to grow chill, but it's nothing a light blazer can't ward off. You pull yours tighter around you as you're summoned to your supervisor's side. The man has been keeping busy - you haven't seen him up this close since he's introduced you to Captain Price and his boys. The shadows under his eyes have grown darker and deeper and his face is more lined than ever. When he smiles, the expression is strained but genuine.

You exchange small talk for a few moments while you patiently wait him out. He must have something of greater import to say - Jack is a man who is greatly in-demand at the moment, and he has little time to waste. He inquires about Chrissy, and though you know he's still buying time while he calculates how to get to the deeper issue, you're touched that he thought to ask. Chrissy, as it turns out, is fine. She had returned to her home stateside and you touch base with her almost every other night.

It's true that you miss her every day, but it's nice to have someone on the outside to talk to who knows how it is. She had taken particular interest in the operators making an appearance. 

"Of course it would take a bomb to make the hot ones appear," she had huffed to you when you told her about the four particular men you were now on last-name basis with. You had been lying on your back on your loveseat with your phone crushed between your shoulder and your ear, a bottle of nail polish in hand and your foot propped up on one knee. Something about painting your nails feels trivial at a time like this, but the familiarity of routine is nonetheless soothing.

You had examined your toenails with deliberate indifference, a purposefully non-sexy act. "Never said they were hot."

The smugness in her voice had come through the phone so clearly you could practically see her smirking beside you. "Didn't have to." 

If your hand had jerked irritably and sent a gash of polish across one of your toes, you certainly weren't going to admit it to her.

The men are physically attractive - that's something you've never denied in spite of your grumblings. One doesn't get to serve with the top dogs without reason. These are all men in peak condition, well in their prime, and they wear strength and self-assuredness as easily as any gear.

It's the personality that usually leaves something to be desired. Character traits prized in a warzone or on undercover ops rarely translate well into civilian life.  Confidence becomes arrogance. Daring, recklessness. Authority, control. In the beginning, you had despaired of how you were ever going to be able to put up with them. In the days since the arrival of the SAS, you had begun to wonder how anyone put up with them.

While they were willing to help, help had to be provided their way. They always knew best - if anyone had a suggestion, they had a better one. If someone cautioned them against doing something, they did it anyways. Jack had warned you that they flaunted rules, and you had gotten the first taste of that when you had tried to politely remind one of them to keep secure doors closed - they had developed a habit of leaving them propped open when carrying things in or out, which you supposed was fine so long as they remembered to close it when they were done.

Some of them are still waiting on badge access for some of the buildings, however, and had taken to inventing very subtle doorstops to keep doors from closing all the way rather than look for a current employee to badge them in.

"This is a secure facility," you had called out when you had caught one of them doing it with a back door in your building. He had moved the carpet runner in the hall just so, tucking the corner under the door to prevent the latch from catching. It was so well-done that an employee, habituated to scanning their badge before testing the handle, would likely scan and enter as usual and notice nothing amiss.

He had just given you an incredulous look. The implied and what are you going to do about it? had been clear. Leaving the carpet tucked as it was, he left the hall and stepped outside. 

Jack had told you to play nice. But he hadn't said anything about aiding and abetting. You had stepped on the rug on your side of the hall and given your foot a sharp twitch. The corner had popped free of the doorway, allowing the door to close the rest of the way. The click of the latch was loud in the quiet entry, and it must have been audible even outside because the man stopped and looked over his shoulder.

You had locked eyes through the glass. He made an aborted movement with his arms, like he wanted to throw them up at your audacity but checked himself at the last minute. He had finally rolled his eyes and kept walking, shoulders hunched up irritably around his ears. You get a feeling that he would have liked to have done or said something more.

Looks like you hadn't been the only one told to behave.

Back in the present moment, Jack nods and smiles when you give him a brief update on Chrissy's exploits at home. 

He fishes a pack of Malboros and a lighter from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Offers you one as a joke, knowing you don't smoke, and you're half-tempted to take it. It's been that sort of week so far.

"And the men?" Jack's never before referred to any group at the embassy as the men, so you understand it to mean the new soldiers on base. You give him a quizzical look. He raises his eyebrows and elaborates. "Gotten to speak with them much?"

You don't think he'd be impressed with the door incident and keep that interaction to yourself. "Not really."

Cagey as you might be, Jack has made his career in reading others and translates immediately even the words you don't say. He squints down at you suspiciously. "Thought I said to be nice."

"I am being nice," you snip back, tone lacking all niceness. He snorts.

"Be nicer, then. I need you to be my eyes and ears when I'm not around."

Annoyance flickers through you. How are you supposed to keep an eye on men who make it their job to move in secrecy? "They deal in covert operations."

"In the city, maybe. Here, no." He tips his head very slightly to indicate where a cluster of people stand - regular Army, embassy staff, and even a few operators - all together near the gate. "They've seemed more than happy to intermingle. I'd bet all of Bucharest that they've been told to find out everything they can about everyone here, and we need to be doing the same."

You wonder what they've found out about you. "You say that like you don't trust them."

"I don't."

When the revelation sinks in, you can't believe what you're hearing. "They're here because you asked them to come."

"The Army is here because I asked them to come. I told you, the SAS is on their own business." He waves casually to a passerby who wanders by their spot. The woman smiles and bobs her head in return, continuing on the path none the wiser.

You had stopped yourself from speaking in front of her almost instinctively, and wait a few more moments for her to disappear around a corner. "That didn't seem to bother you when they first arrived."

That Jack immediately lights another cigarette when he finishes the first is telling. He's stressed, but going through great trouble to make their conversation appear ordinary. "It didn't. But these guys...they're familiar with the layout of the embassy. Familiar already with the people. They make a point to ask around for directions, sure, and play along well enough with introductions but...I think they've been watching the embassy, watching us, for a while."

His pale eyes flit to the section of the wall where the IED had been thrown over. The ground has been filled in, but the lawn is still bare there and the ugly mark it had left on the concrete is still visible. "They've sent more troops, too, than I ever requested. When I asked for more security, I didn't ask for them to send a small army. And so quickly..." He trails off.

"Almost like they were looking for a reason," you mutter, beginning to pick up the thread of his apprehension. 

"Or gave themselves one."

You glance at him sharply. He's still looking pointedly at the blackened wall.

The dots he's asking you to connect stretch the boundaries of credibility. "They wouldn't do something like that." Your estimation of covert organizations may not be high, but to attack an embassy? It could have killed someone.

He looks down at you with an expression that's half resigned, half bitter. "They would. They have. You need to remember that we're dealing with people who have ways of getting what they want. If they needed an excuse to build up military force close to the city without arousing suspicion, they'd use whatever opportunity they had."

The words hang in the morning air while you both mull over your own respective thoughts. Jack doesn't seem to be in any hurry to speak first, waiting you out as you had waited him out earlier. "But why would they?"

"That's the question, isn't it? And maybe these men here don't even know for sure." He takes a long drag, breath smoking the air when he exhales. "They don't set the chessboard themselves, after all."

Who does, then? The question that yawns in your stomach feels as bottomless as a black hole, and you feel yourself shudder. You're not so sure you want to know.

You think back to what he had told you earlier. I need you to be my eyes and ears. "And you think they'd tell me what they do know?" You knew there was a fat chance of that ever happening. The operators might be playing the part of social butterflies, but that didn't make them stupid. Or loose-lipped.

"They won't tell you outright. But if they know you, they might speak amongst themselves more openly."

That sounds to you a lot like some sort of reconnaissance assignment. You arch a surly brow. "You want me to spy?"

"I want you to listen." Jack flicks down his cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his shoe. For the first time since your conversation began, some of his frustration is visible. "It's...unpalatable. I understand. But this is my embassy, my people that they're toying with." Anger flares briefly in his face before he gets himself under control. "If I can get an idea of why they're here, we can start to prepare for whatever comes next."

He takes his leave then, and you make the walk back to the office alone. The chatter of your coworkers is muted in your ears as you sit at your desk and think, occasionally plucking away at the keyboard to give the impression of being busy.

What your boss is asking you to do troubles you. It feels - no, it is - dishonest and manipulative. But has there not always been a cunning element to diplomacy? For all that a diplomat holds an olive branch in one hand, the other cradles the best interests of his own country with guarded jealousy. To make sure one comes out on top, sometimes you have to play a nasty game.

You don't want to be a spy. You especially don't want to spy on these men of all people, who won't take kindly to attempted subterfuge. But you're also sympathetic to Jack's fear, and as one of the staff members directly impacted by whatever the hell he thinks is going on, you've got skin in this game, too.

Signing, you run a hand over your hair, smoothing back the frazzled edges of your bun. If you're going to strike up a relationship with any of the guys, you need to figure out where to start. As you haven't exactly gone out of your way to be welcoming thus far, some sort of overture will be required. Nothing too grand - that would raise suspicion. Something small, yet thoughtful. Trivial, but memorable.

You think you have just the thing.

The fastest way to a man's heart, after all, is through his stomach.

_________

When the IED incident had occurred a few weeks earlier, you had called home looking for a bit of comfort. Your family, as well as some old friends, had risen to the occasion magnificently.

The result of their attentions was no less than four separate care packages that had been shipped over the Atlantic as fast as they could possibly go. Each person had seemed to have the same idea in what would provide the most comfort: good old-fashioned American candy and snack cakes.

You had spent the first couple of nights after getting the boxes stress-eating Twinkies and Gushers, but now just looking at the mound of snack food in your kitchen is enough to make you ill. It's easy to gather everything up to bring it to a breakroom on the floor they're currently cleaning out. 

When the room goes silent and a dozen pairs of eyes turn to you expectantly, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

As the silence is drawn out, the context of a relative stranger standing in their midst holding an unmarked package dawns on you. “It’s candy!” You explain hastily. You upend the box over one of the dingy tables and a rainbow of sweets showers out. Some of the little bags of Skittles and M&Ms slide from the growing pile, and the sound of the packs hitting the floor in the otherwise quiet room makes you flinch.

For a moment, the men just blink at the pile like they're not sure what to do with it. Then one of them in the back cranes his head around the guy standing in front of him. It's the one you tiffed with over the propped-open door.

He looks right at you, and you expect him to say whatever mocking thing he had held back that day. Instead, his gaze drops to the table and his face lights up at something he sees.

“Twizzlers!”

His outburst is the only thing needed to break the tension in the room. He's the first one to reach the table, but the rest of them pile curiously in behind him. Some of the older men have had American candy before and go immediately for their favorites. But the younger ones are more careful in their deliberations. They squint at the colorful packaging and pick up two different kinds at a time, looking between them with all the solemnity of a child having to choose what candy he'll eat first after a night of trick-or-treating at Halloween.

You hear others asking for advice on what they should try first. "Hershey kisses? Those any good?"

"Nah, American chocolate's rubbish, give one of the Jolly Ranchers a go-"

You have to cover your mouth to hide your smile. When the idea had struck you to bring candy, you had thought they might be appreciative at best, indifferent at worst. But they seem to love it, arguing good-naturedly over the virtues and drawbacks of each candy and going back to the table to see if there was anything they missed on their first pass.

The door-propper, his Twizzlers in hand, saunters over to you. "This mean you'll stop closing the doors?"

The smile you give him is lethal. "No."

Someone laughs. This man's got a pack of M&Ms, which he pools out into his palm and then tips back into his mouth in one go. "Too bad, Ozone." To you, he tips an enormous wink. "This crybaby's been bitching about that door all week." 

"It's inconvenient," the one named Ozone insists, and he becomes instantly less intimidating when you hear the whine in his voice. 

There's something about their voices too that makes your brain itch, but in the din and confusion of the room, it takes you a moment to understand why. When you hit on it, you're embarrassed at how it hadn't been obvious from that start: these men are American. But Jack had said they were SAS, not Delta, and the majority of the accents in the room are definitely British. So how did these two come to be in a British special forces unit?

Frowning, you open your mouth to ask.

Your question is cut off when, beyond them, a playful scuffle breaks out over the last pack of Gushers. Ozone and his friend turn to watch eagerly, but it's quickly broken up when two of the last men approach the table.

“Lads,” Mohawk - MacTavish, you remember - tuts when he walks up, shaking his head. “It’s just sweeties.” That doesn’t stop him from taking advantage of their distraction, grinning and snatching up one of the colorful Warheads. “Always wanted to try these.”

You feel like you have to at least warn him. “Careful, they’re-”

“Sour, yeah.” He waves off your concern. “Think I can handle a bit o’ candy, Miss.” He rips open the wrapper and pops it into his mouth, and you try to keep your smug glee to yourself when his face immediately twists with displeasure.

“Jesus fookin’ wept, that’s vile.” 

Naturally, he pockets about a half-dozen more.

“Careful, Johnny,” Lt. Riley doesn’t look up from where he’s methodically sorting through what’s left, finally settling on a fun-size Milky Way. The chocolate looks comically tiny sitting in his broad hand. “Yer Mum ever teach you if you make a face, it’ll get stuck that way?”

MacTavish sticks his nose in the air. “Me Mam taught me a lot o’ things.”

Someone snickers and immediately picks the low-hanging fruit, stage-whispering, “Tav’s Mam taught me lots of things, too.”

The tiny room explodes in laughter. The color rises so quickly in MacTavish’s face that it goes scarlet in a matter of seconds, and he launches himself with righteous fury at the offending soldier. Everyone else automatically steps back to make room, and they leave the candy for the fight.

You think you’ve been forgotten about in the following chaos until someone steals up behind you. The air at your back feels suddenly warm, and a whisper ghosts over the shell of your ear.

“That was mighty generous, Miss.”

It makes you jump so violently that a few of the men look up in alarm, distracted from the ongoing brawl. Between bodies, you can make out MacTavish with his arm hooked around the heckler’s neck. Both men are on the floor, and neither of them look like they’re going to give in any time soon. The onlookers shout jeering encouragement, egging on their favorites.

Everyone except Captain Price, who has taken advantage of the chaos to give you a heart attack. You whirl about to glare, coming face-to-face with a broad chest and grinning, bearded mouth.

"My apologies," he conveys solemnly, but the glitter in his eyes as you look up at him is anything but apologetic. "Didn't mean to give you a fright."

You narrow your eyes threateningly. "What did you mean then, I wonder?"

He raises his hands in a placating manner. "Only to thank you for going out of your way for the lads." From their raised position, he folds his arms over his chest and looks down at you, tilting his head questioningly to the side. "Didn't know you liked us that much."

Shit. Ten minutes into your plan and you’ve been made.

Unless he’s throwing the suspicion out there and waiting to see if you'll give yourself away.

You’re painfully aware that this is a game you don’t know how to play, and your opponent is likely a master. But if you dwell on that, you’ll lose before you can even begin. Casually, you shrug. “My family was pretty over-enthusiastic with their last care package. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

"Ah." You can't tell if he believes you or not. He only steps past you to get to the table, peering down over his crossed arms to survey the leftovers - the pile had been thinned out rather quickly. He does a curious thing while he's thinking, rocking his weight up to his toes and then back to his heels again, tapping one of his fingers thoughtfully on his bicep.

You find yourself insanely curious over what he might pick. He's not weighing his different choices like some of the men had, and instead seems to be searching for something specific. Of course he would be a man who knew exactly what he wanted. He finally reaches down and plucks a silver-and-blue wrapped candy from the lot, shaking it at you triumphantly when he walks back over to your side.

A York Peppermint Patty.

"Used to love these when I was a lad." He peels open the plastic with relish, biting the candy in half. You can smell the mint from where you stand next to him. "None of the other kids at primary could stand 'em, so whenever we got candy, I could always trade to get what I wanted."

A wild mental image of a young boy with a full mustache and beard eating a chocolate Patty enters your mind, and you only just hold back a laugh.

You suppose kids might not hate them, but it does seem to be an odd choice for a favorite. "Why did you like them so much?"

He frowns, like he had never considered it. "I guess I just thought it was neat how it felt to eat one. Only candy I ever tried that made my mouth cold."

At that, even you can't help but smile. He catches it, watching you out of the corner of his eye. "What's your favorite then, Miss?"

You tell him, and now it's his turn to squint down at you, eyes darting between you and the table.

"Funny, I didn't see any of those with the rest."

You smirk. "I'm aware." You may have been trying to make a nice gesture, but you never claimed to be Mother Teresa. Your favorite candy is currently split into two secret stashes - one in a jar above your kitchen sink and the other scattered in one of your desk drawers under a stack of files. 

A chorus of cheers interrupts you both. MacTavish is getting to his feet, and waves his arms in the air triumphantly before reaching down to help his fellow sergeant. The latter doesn't look all that worse for wear, if one isn't counting wounded pride, and has his arm slung cheerfully around MacTavish's shoulders. Lt. Riley rolls his eyes with what you think might be fondness and ruffles the sergeant's mohawk. Candy enjoyed and fight won, the men begin to disperse to their respective rooms to finish the clean-out. The atmosphere is noticeably light; even Ozone and his companion give you a friendly wave as they leave.

As the impromptu little party breaks up, you realize for the first time that one of the four is missing.

"Where's Sgt. Garrick?"

Captain Price doesn't say a word, but you can feel the amicability that's built between the two of you vanish at your question. You could kick yourself - you had asked without thinking. He finishes the Peppermint Patty and stuffs the wrapper in his pocket. 

"He's working."

He smiles down at you in parting, but his eyes are flinty. Searching. You meet his gaze as best as you can, but it's harder to draw upon righteous indignation at his suspicion when you know that it's valid. You're the last two left in the room, and you could swear your heartbeat is audible in the silence. Mouth suddenly dry, you fight the urge to swallow.

Whatever he sees, he gives nothing away. Only thanks you again before holding open the door for you to leave before him. You take the exit that's offered, forcing yourself to walk down the hall to the main door with measured, even steps.

You feel his eyes boring into your back the entire way.

________

When you had brought in the candy, you had wisely withheld a fraction of your collection to dole out later. This you keep in one of your filing cabinets at work, though if some candies - namely Twizzlers, M&Ms, Warheads, and Milky Ways - make their way into a separate stash in your desk, well, no one has to be any wiser.

You had hesitated before adding a handful of Peppermint Patties to your own private pile of favorites. 

To your immense shock, Ozone is the one who visits you the most once he figures out there's a reward in it for him. Badge access has been approved for the remaining men, and with nothing left to pick at each other for, you find you like him very much. Occasionally, though, you find Twizzlers wrappers jammed in the latch of your office door when you go to lock up at night and know its his way of still getting one up on you. Because its not the building access door, you very graciously let it go and absolutely do not threaten to incinerate the remaining licorice. 

After a couple of days of visits, you feel comfortable enough to ask what you had tried to find out in the breakroom earlier. "So, American?"

Ozone's sitting on the windowsill, legs dangling inside and upper half leaned out so he can smoke without leaving. His friend, who's since been introduced to you as Scarecrow, is sitting in your extra desk chair and sorting Skittles by color out of boredom. Everyone else has already left for the night and twilight is setting in. 

A rumble of thunder makes you look out the window. Beyond Ozone's figure, purple storm clouds are gathering on the horizon.

"American," Scarecrow confirms for him. He seems to be using your desk as a battlefield of sorts, moving the different-colored Skittles around like squadrons. You deduce that red ones are the enemy, green is support, and purple is executing some kind of movement to flank the enemy from the left. Yellow Skittles dot the landscape at random intervals with no rhyme or reason.

"Who's yellow?"

"Casualties." He squashes one with his thumb for emphasis, scattering flakes of sugar across one of your files. "I'll clean that," he adds quickly, seeing your mouth begin to thin.

While Scarecrow's up looking for paper towels, Ozone turns to you with hooded eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"Hmm?" You look up from where you're sweeping the remaining candy off your desk and onto a paper plate. You consider throwing it out, but figure Scarecrow's eaten worse than sweets that have been contaminated by paperwork. 

"Well, we're obviously American. Accent kind of gives it away. Why do you need to ask?"

He might be half-hanging out your window like an idiot, and Scarecrow might have seconds before been playing with candy, but you remind yourself that Captain Price isn't the only operator who can read people, and you're not the only one in this room trying to fish for information.

I'd bet all of Bucharest that they've been told to find out everything they can about everyone here.

You try to pick your next words carefully. "Well, I was just curious, that's all. Jack said you were all SAS, but I thought they were British."

"They are." Ozone's looking at you, and you get the feeling that he's trying to be just as careful with what he says. They, he had said. Not we. He flinches suddenly and looks up at the sky. After holding his hand out palm-up, he curses and stubs the cigarette out, ducking back inside and moving to close the window.

"Storm's here."

You jump up to your feet and shove your laptop in your work bag, desperate to get to your apartment before it really sets in; those dark clouds had looked bad. Ozone locks the window as you shrug your coat on, crossing the office to peer into the gathering dark. Rain has begun to fleck the glass, but it doesn't look too bad - if you leave now, you might make it.

Below, there's movement in front of the building where the temporary barracks are located. The front door has been flung open, casting a yellow rectangle of light out across the dark lawn. Four lumpy silhouettes march out the door and down the steps. The door closes behind them, plunging the lawn into darkness again. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but you quickly realize that those lumps are people carrying packs and equipment. 

The one in front looks like he's wearing a familiar hat and leaves a trail of smoke where he walks. From what you can see, they're not dressed in any gear, but that isn't to say its not stashed away in one of those bags. There are two black SUVs waiting on the drive, and they each throw their packs in the back before climbing inside, two each to a vehicle.

"Now where are they going?" You mutter half to yourself, not really expecting an answer.

"Auditions tonight," Ozone replies cryptically. You shoot him an incredulous look. 

"Auditions?"

Lightning forks across the sky. The following clap of thunder is more violent than the earlier warning rumble, and it makes you jump.

A third reflection joins yours and Ozone's in the window as Scarecrow comes up behind you both, peering over your shoulders to see what you're looking at. The SUVs navigate up the drive and past the gate, their taillights growing dimmer in the increasing rain until they disappear into the night. 

He must have overheard your question and Ozone's answer, because Scarecrow snickers. "Well, sure." His eyes, as reflected in the dark glass, look completely black. "We've been looking for a man who can sing."

[will-o-wen]

what songs did these two write about each other? I saw you mention Mark (the short one?) wrote some songs about Robbie (monkey?) but I. NEED. NAMES. for science ofc. songs in the band, solo, whatever, all songs, any songs.

signed, these bitches gay anon.

Welcome back, these bitches gay anon.

Mark, the short one, yes, wrote some songs about Robbie the monkey. Let me give you a list. I'll categorise it into three groups: canon, most likely canon and most likely canon (to me). The third one means the same to me as the second and they both mean the same to me as the first because I'm insane and love being right. Terrible habit but what can you do?

(but like full disclaimer, apart from the first two this is puuuure speculation specifically written for this fandom space)

Canon:

Take That - Shine, written by Mark for Robbie during a time where Robbie was dealing with agonising mental health issues. Here's a quote: "Hey, let me know you [...] let me love you, you're all that matters to me". Robbie, the monkey, confirmed that it is about him. Mark, the short one, has still not talked about it once; he's very determined that way.

Robbie Williams - No Regrets, now this one was written by the monkey. It's not exclusively about the short one, it's about the entire band they were in, but a few of the lines were sung back at Robbie by Mark for one of Mark's solo gigs in 2005, during the time they were all separated. The lines go as follows: "Sing me a love song, drop me a line, suppose it's just a point of view but they tell me I'm doing fine. Remember the photographs? Insane. The ones where we all laughed? So lame. We were having the time of our lives, well, thank you. Well, thank you." Later in 2011, when they were all reunited, they sang almost the same lines together on their joint tour.

Most likely canon:

Mark Owen - Alone Without You, is one of Mark's songs released in 2003 for his solo album, they were separated at the time and barely saw each other. It's widely understood to be about Robbie. "The truth is you're not here and I'm screwed up again and I don't know the reason why, I don't know why it is and did I ever say? That I just need your love and I want you back again, I want you back again [...] what am I to say? What am I to do? What am I alone without you?"

Take That - Into The Wild, is a Take That song supposedly written by Mark for Robbie. This came out in 2014, so this was after their big reunion in 2010 and then also after Robbie left the band once again but this time on good terms. And I love this song because it paints a rather... interesting picture of how their reunion went and what it subsequently developed into. "Tied up again, with my one and only friend. Your voice is all I can hear, it's the music to my ears. Staying out of trouble, staying in and out of touch [...] I can never get enough. [...] We go playing with fire, then we go dance with desire, then we go into the wild again.[...] Let me run with you, my friend. Let me be with you, running through the wild again" (must've been a good reunion and must be nice whenever they reunited after that:)))

Most likely canon (to me):

My overall reasoning for assuming these are about Robbie is that thanks to Shine being confirmed, it's almost like we got the key to Mark's personal Robbie monkey code. There is a certain theme that only exists in a few songs, as it does in Shine. (the theme is very specific Robbie yearning a la I miss you, love me, let me love you, why don't you love me, why won't you let me love you)

Mark Owen - Kill With Your Smile, written by the short one in 2003 for the same album that Alone Without You is on. I have no greater explanation apart from the fact that it fits the Robbie vibe and I love the song. "You start me up, anytime. I'm a dog, I'm a slag, I'm a disco queen. You're so on that you make me shine. [...] And I dig your music [...] You just fuck me up every time. [...] Stand out, you're a chemical, come on up, sweet lord you're a miracle."

Mark Owen - Wasting Away, once again written by Mark but this time for his 2005 solo album. This one has a darker tone but the theme is actually quite similar to huge chunks of Shine, but obviously not as filtered because it was not for Take That, just for Mark. (and Robbie the monkey) "Alone, we were inseperable, you lied to me, I didn't see you coming, now I'm on my own, for the words that left your mouth were terminal. Together, we're unsuitable. [...] Murder me, why don't you murder me? [...] Who's going to run for you now? [...] Care for me, care for me why don't you care for me"

Mark Owen - Come On, this one is also off the 2005 solo album. Once again, the theme screams Robbie to me "And I want you to know, that you're all over me and I don't wanna fall so I land at your feet [...] won't you step on my bones, hey, won't you let me in and I'll kiss your palm this time and hope that you will hear. Don't wait for it, don't leave." And then the final stanza, that's the most important bit to me because he uses the same phrase as he does in Into The Wild, which is 'my only friend', it only ever appears in two songs and the implication of the reunion in ITW 'tied up again with my one and only friend', very much assumes that he must've called him that before and that before exists in Come On and only in Come On. "And then, then my only friend, you give me all you can and say you'll be my love"

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl-- Part 2

A Homelander x F! Reader fanfic

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this and hope the lenght is enough of an apology, yeah this is gonna be liek 4 parts i got too engrossed btw. hope yall like it here's the previous chapter:

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

word count: 3.4K

Part 2– Calf

As he’d mentioned before the house was an escape proof cage– every window had its hinges super glued or welded shut, glass panels thick enough to prevent shattering but thin enough to allow sound in. That night as he’d left you for the first time you kept your composure, perturbed more by the earlier events that nothing had time to sink in, you venture across the 3 bedroom home, each room old taken straight out from a vintage furniture catalog, the master bedroom smelled just like your grandmother’s, the bathroom walls covered in tacky pink tiles that you told yourself will never get used to.

By the time you explored the whole building you understood the following: The size felt deceiving, without a way to see the outside this building could’ve been 35 floors high and you wouldn’t know, the east-wing of the building at the opposite direction where you’d emerged was cut off from you by a thick metal door, an eye-scan request made its unpickable lock, looking at how it cut on the hardwood floors you’d guess this is where in the kitchen and perhaps the garage and entry hall could be found, this overall felt like an architectural nightmare, the only other oddity of this was the piles and piles of bottled water– Vought branded water… you much rather drink Dasani than this crap… It was by far the worst one in the supermarket.

There were indeed no phones or even ethernet ports on the wall, the TV was bolted in its place and so was the VHS player (and all the furniture too), there were at least 350 titles on the walls (something you bothered to count on day 5), an extremely old vinyl player your only other company... whoever had supposedly lived here was a big fan of Cab Calloway, ABBA and Bruce Springsteen, here you and Bruce could become intimate friends it seems after all you had all his vinyls, alongside an expansive jazz assortment, nothing in this selection went past 1989.

You also learned a very useful fact on day 3 you stared at one of the 18 cameras that you’d found.

“I really want some Mcnuggets! Like just a 12-pack and a large Sprite! Maybe an Oreo Mcflurry too!” You yelled into the camera waving your arms as if the circular lense would reply somehow.

Barely few minutes later the air was filled with the roaring sounds of a bike burning tires seemed the forbidden end faced some road which made you giddy, about 50 minutes later a small door at the door itself opened smoothly where the first strange hand you’ve seen in the last 3 days popped-out leaving a bag with a familiar logo… it wasn’t maccas tho, it was Vought-a-burger which was okay but that wasn’t the point, you picked your meal and your oversize ice-cream and drink and begun connecting lines– Your prison was in Pennsylvania, based on the area code on the phone number on that old pizza box, located close enough from both a pizza chain and on a 15 to 20 minutes drive from a Vought-a-Burger, the library held no maps for you to try to find your location but give or take about an hour or two by foot from any civilization… Yet as you drank the mostly melted caramel churro sundae you smiled thinking of how to steal a bike.

That Night you picked two tapes from the wall not caring one bit about what you were going to see, you stared at the camera.

“Hey can one of you check like an underrated 80s movie list from IMDb ‘cuz I seen a few of these already… at least bring me something new!” 

As always no response was ever given, you dragged your feet towards that ornate bedroom of yours, pink walls, flowery quits, a matching chaise lounge, a hardwood coffee table bolted to the ground and your private TV and VHS player, it took you an hour to remember how to use these thing that second day here. You put on a movie, curling in your bed in the dark, smelling the sweet flowery smell of fabric softener, this didn’t smell like home, pillows too soft, mattress too soft everything here was made to bring you comfort but it was making you feel like a squatter.

The cold light of the screen enveloped every surface and you slowly faded away as ‘Lady in White’ began to wrap up, eyes glued to the screen so firmly you screamed when the faint red light peeked from the corner, clutching the quilt across your body as the red faded away and all you saw was a vaguely illuminated shape.

Blurry colors with no clean shapes, standing facelessly enough blue to let you see it was humanoid, Homelander creeped closer, his body blocking the light and like a shadow he devours everything, he turned around to pause the player, draping his gloves on the dumb box as he turned around once more, your heart caught in your throat, each breath quick and sharp as he took another step closer, hushing softly and he’s there swallowing you whole he kneeled into the bed the mattress squeaked and chimed sinking under his weight pulling you in, only the faint outline of gold eagles and soft blonde locks told you with absolute certainty that he was here… that 3 days ago you indeed met The Homelander, far from the pretty blue-eyed hunk from the movies more ghoul.

You swallowed as his head rested on the pillow next to your hips, his nose burying in the cushioned pillowcase.

“I was busy with work” He mumbles softly, staring at you with the same playfulness of a guilty pet owner who’d ran out of their cat's churu treats– "I promise to visit, I got you something… left it downstairs for you.” 

He stared at your white knuckled hands and without uttering a word you understood his demands, fingers moved by psychic force alone, you welcomed him into your lap as you came undone, burying your digits into his hair, soft like cotton, so smooth you dreamt of cat’s bellies as you scratched him, he took the remote from under you lifting you with so much ease your brain struggled to compute it at first, the movie played and all he wanted was petting.

“Security told me you’ve been good… nothing crazy… am glad, "he said with a tired tone.

“What good would that do me…?” You replied with your eyes focused on the screen.

If you wanted to survive I had to get on his good side, no? you though

“I like it when you people understand your place” He chuckles softly.

‘You people’? You could easily discern the meaning behind his words by tone alone, your finger stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring up immediately.

“I think this would be more productive if you told me exactly what’s going on… I won’t try to run or scream… am just confused and scared…” you spoke bluntly as his gaze met yours in the dark.

“This is my private speakeasy and you’re the bartender… tap too… is hard being on top… and I want some relief… and a sanctum–

“To express your socially unacceptable inclinations/interests? Fair enough I can imagine the press would eat you alive if they found out you liked breastmilk.”

“You’re cute and smart too.” He pushed himself into your stomach, your body sinking to the shape he wanted, holding you tight– I’ll be a good owner and let you asks me absolutely anything you want”

“Why me?”

“Dunno.” His lips tightened into a flat line– the doctors picked you, I asked for a good provider… but all the women downstairs and you did have one thing in common” He sounded awkward as he spoke listening to your increasing heartbeat– you kept producing… I asked to have easy access to my treat but somebody downstairs came out with all of this” his hand lazily gestures around– bit extra I know.”

How simple, he didn’t even care about this to begin with, glaring at him gave you no answers or comfort.

“My family…?”

“They think you killed yourself, I've been told… your ex-hubby been on twitter acting holier than the virgin mary, absolutely devastated for likes” You bit your lips, face scrunching up ready to shout and cry– everybody suspects he murdered you even the cops”

“I'm going to kill him!!” Your tears flowed regardless – god fucking dammit!”

Your whole body rejected the news, twisting your stomach and filling you with needles

“How would you do it?”

“Bash his head in with a hammer…?? I don’t know but fuck him! I wasted 5 years of my life with that bastard!” You cried.

Homelander buried his face into your stomach, hiding the smile on his face. as you cursed outloud for a little bit, he paid no attention to your words.

“Sorry…” You cleaned your tears trying to stop this embarrassing display, the mere thought of him acting like he cared made you sick when he wouldn’t even come to his own son’s funeral– are you gonna hurt me?” you cleaned your nose against the pillow.

He moved so quickly before you knew it he’s face to face and even in this dark room only lit by rolling credits he appeared serene as a painting… It makes your blood run cold.

“Why would I hurt my comforter?”

That night he only slept for a couple hours, never moving from your stomach, holding you regardless, he snored softly, mumbling half-spoken words, lips twitching and brows furrowing, you petted him gently watching his hardened frown melt.

Some days he’d come once, others he’d come five times and then there were the days were you didn’t see him at all, leaving you awkwardly aware about how odd these exchanges felt… for it never felt truly sexual, your fears of molestation and ‘real’ assault dissuaded as you accepted that all this man was doing was come here to whine and bitch about work and suck on your titty– like right now, Homelander has been shouting, talkign so much shit about his coworkers you started to wonder if it was made up for nobody could certainly be that allegedly incompetent, about how stressful it was to do 20 plus media interviews all day, about hoq\w his latest film “Justice Serve” was a fucking nightmare already despite being only half-way thru pre-production.

“Do you even know what it's like to deal with idiots who think they’re better than you because they have an award!?” He put your nipple back in his mouth with a frown– who does Villeneuve think he is” He mumbled into your skin.

Yet he didn’t only bring petty grievances and thirsty lips– he showered you with gifts, perfumes you couldn’t pronounce filled with soft fragrances: sweet but not sugary, warm tones without too much spice. Brought you beauty products to pamper you… to watch you play with from the many cameras in the house, and dressed you like a doll in clothes you honestly wouldn't have bought in the first place, too flowery and tradwifey.

You did so with a fake smile, you’d be pretty for him if you must, keep your tongue in-check and swallow the ever increasing knot in your throat for he at least wasn’t loud towards you, he didn’t yell, he didn’t make scenes… you were just living like his newest pet.

His miniature cow standing in the living room instead of the evergreen pastures outside, VHS tapes and steel food trays made your fence.

You keep busy cleaning this house making stories of who had lived there, Bruce the only one who spoke to you.

Analysing the house inch by inch, there had to have been a spot they’ve missed you kept thinking, you figured that somehow they monitored your sleep cycle, only entering to remove dirty clothes and trash in the death of night, they knew if you were obviously awake, on day 14 you stayed up till around 5 am and not a peep was heard accross the house but as you woke past noon all your trash had been cleaned up, on day 16 you stayed awake all day felt sick passed out and same thing, you would find a way out, you would force them to take you out, all the furniture was glued in its post but if you had to cause a fire you fucking would… as you stared at your clean bedsheets you figure you could force them to come in and drag you outside but as you postulated the possibility of a faux-suicide attempt Homelander’s face flashed accross closed eyes– dare dissapointing him and lose all the goodwill you’d been building, trust, even presents more extravagant than anything your ex ever did.

Had he not kidnapped you, hold you against your will in an underground bunker, used you as a milk fountain and terrified the fuck out of you with his invisible steps in the middle of the night you would had found him charming… endearing even… at least he was still handsome… frightening but handsome.

Day 18-19-20 were the worse so far, days went by and your isolation only grew he had not come by, your meals delivered so quietly you missed them and found them cold, birds either too loud or gone but Homelander never came, every hour the anxiety only grew as you found your throat aching to speak with somebody other than a non-present 80s musician.

You made a stack of the movies you’ve seen yelling to the camera demanding more to watch, abandoning the cause to focus on the obscene collection of Danielle Steel books in the library… at least 30 books, at least it was a distraction as you woke up for the third day in a row without hearing from Homelander. 

You talked to yourself, prettier views didn’t make up for human interaction, you had isolated yourselves before… you didn’t eat, shower, answer calls, simply left yourself to rot in your bed, sinking deeper and deeper into your mattress, the calm heartbeat of the machine keeping you alive until the phone battery died, now here you were curling in the couch feeling that endless void inside you screaming back at you, nothing to distract you from it any longer.

How ironic that those days locked in the basement had been the firsts since the funeral that you’d hadn’t thought about it.

Now every sleep came with dreams of distant cries, empty halls that cooed back, and a sense of urgency as time slipped from underneath you, nothing here smelled like him, yet in your sleep you held your pillow as you once held him, swearing it smelled like him, in the silence the singing birds sound like babies, but there’s nothing but creaking floorboards, old pipes and foreign ghosts in this place.

In this endless silence your mind told you this was limbo, jazz solos disguised the pandemonium of a silent afterlife, but as your heart anguished once again you buried yourself in paltry distractions, reading out loud as to keep your vocal chords warm and delude yourself that there was some company in here, mostly to hide the nonexistent crying.

It took you by surprise when half way thru ‘The Ghost’ you heard the buzzing of the steel door, your ears perked up stretching your neck before falling into the floor, shaky knees picked you up once more with a brave kick, quick steeping into the living room– Homelander stood staring at the messy pile talking to the camera to have this sorted and for the first time since you’d been here you sawn another human, who answered his call almost immediately, a man in kevlar rushed in his gun bouncing on his back alongside a young man dragging an ikea bag.

“Homelander!” Your voice was hoarse but he still turned to smile at you.

“We got you some new movies Ms. L/N” The young man spoke dropping the bag with a heavy thud.

“Watch it!” Homelander growled and you saw a slight stain dribble down his pants– just go wait in the library kitten while these ones sort this out for you.” 

Your feet moved anyways, too excited by the presence of new faces, had he not cleared his throat you would’ve said anything just to make sure this wasn’t a dream, you looked away and that big steel door was wide open, an armed guard by the exit tho… it was an office, painted white with cool fluorescent lights. 

Run, the voices scream.

Run.

For fucks sake run!!\

but...

You stay still.

It’s a test. Run and die, run and he’d snap your spine in thirds before you understand what happened your brain would be separated from your cranium no doubt, you swallow and take a step back, slow heavy agonizing steps lead you to the library.

Homelander’s gaze softens as he watches you sit by the unlit fireplace, he follows you soon after leaving the staff to work behind, you lift your head with a stiff neck, your tongue swollen inside your mouth, he smiles gently dropping to your level, carrying a small box.

The pretty bow doesn’t catch your attention in the least.

Not that dashing smile and ever so blue eyes either.

He tickles your nose without touching.

Chamomile and oat, a pale scent, subtle and clean…

As he scoot closer to you urging you to take the meaningless box held by nude hands, he pets your chin, leaving you to catch nutty tones… his hands smell of almond oil and cream.

He’s talking as he guides your hand into opening the present but you aren’t hearing a single word spoken… all you care about is his aroma…it invides you carving an aching hollow chest, making you dizzy and the world is squeezing your whole body with a thousands of pounds of violent force but you’re still held in one piece, wrapping your neck with the necklace he’d got you, touching every exposed inch leaving traces of sweet almond on you, resting his chin on your stiff shoulder so close whispering sweet nothings to you… hair smells so creamy… milky coconut, it makes you ill– You could name every brand he wore if asked.

“You like it?” He asks into your neck.

‘Like’ what? You guessed he meant the necklace.

“Where have you been?” You asked, wanting to think of anything but that bitter scent.

He pushes you down into the carpet, your hair drapes everywhere so he moves it to give himself no chance to pull it, you can’t even argue but your surprise and discomfort still paints your face, before you can say anything he drops his head on your stomach, nuzzling your dress and pulling your hand towards his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it” his muffle words sound angry, he whined into your stomach a quiet order demanding affection.

Obeying orders before he could whined even more for now you wanted silence again.

Staying like this for as long as he needed, leaving you to speculate what brought him such distress that caused him to abandon you as a result, a part of you stared in awe as you realized you how long this man could stay still without making a sound for.

How long did you lay there in a shared repose that your eyes shut? you wondered as the orange glow of afternoon sun warmed your cheeks, his hand cleaned a falling tear off your face as you woke up with a headache.

“Had a nightmare?”

Your hand unconsciously pulled him close to you, burying his face under your chin he’d awkwardly smiled as he adjusted to your demands, talking to you but it was white noise, your kept him still bridging an arm across his neck locking him in position, your other hand buried in blond, closing your eyes as you got high on shampoo.

In your mind much like your dream you hold him so close, he was plump and giddy, his hair more than a thin tuff, you laughed with him, as you dried his back, you swore to never love the scent of coconut, you held back your pain as you held him with all your might.

“I don’t want to talk about it…”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I think malleus mentions, maybe in his dorm vig, that he tried approaching other students when he couldn't find the meeting place but they scream and run away from him in terror. If this is how people have been reacting to him approaching them then it makes sense for him to stop trying at one point. also think the senators never allowed anyone to meet him. Remember melanoir blessing. She blessed him to be feared by humans. Perhaps that is also at play. I would like to hear your thoughts on this.

One thing I take issue with is how inconsistently written the world’s reactions to Malleus are. On one hand, we're constantly told that people fear him and run away at the sight of him (which does happen with various mob students). On the other hand, we get dozens and dozens of instances of Malleus interacting with his classmates, staff, and the locals of Sage’s Island (Magicam Monsters) and other countries without issue. (Granted, the locals of other countries did not recognize him as Malleus due to how he was dressed, but the point still holds that Malleus can have normal interactions with people.) How he is received varies greatly across the main story, vignettes, and the events. You cannot have it both ways because it creates this cognitive dissonance about how we’re supposed to perceive his presence.

As for the senators, it is canon that Malleus was often kept inside the castle. However, that doesn’t mean he was entirely barred from interacting with people and that doesn’t mean Malleus never left. Clearly he still had tutors and servants around (although interacting with them would be different than interacting with peers), and surely he would have met his grandmother or foreign dignitaries as part of his training. He has also visited Silver and Lilia in their cottage which is far away from the capital city. Malleus has realistically had opportunities to engage with people, no matter how much the senators try to leash him.

Finally, on the subject of Meleanor’s blessing: firstly, there is no immediate indication that Melanor cast a spell of any kind. If you compare the scene where she utters the “blessing” (7-77) to when Lilia blesses Silver and changes his hair color (7-81), there is no sparkle effect to indicate magic. Meleanor asks Lilia to take care of her kid, hands her egg off to Lilia, summons thorns to drag him away, then vanishes away to fight, so the sparkle effect that proceeds is most likely to show her teleporting off to combat (which is finally when the sparkle effect comes in). Right before leaving, she says, “May the Night bless you/Night's Blessings (in EN)”, which is where I believe people got the “Meleanor blessed/cursed Malleus to be feared by humans” headcanon comes from. However, the phrase “May the Night bless you/Night's Blessings” is not a magic incantation as far as we know; it seems to be a saying among nocturnal fae to wish one another good luck. We see Lilia and others saying it in other parts of book 7. However, Lilia does utter “May the Night bless you/Night's blessings” prior to Silver’s hair color change, so I imagine this also plays a part in the fandom interpretation/headcanon that Meleanor blessed Malleus in a similar manner.

Even if it was a real blessing, it doesn’t work for me with how they’ve set up Malleus’s interactions with his peers. If the blessing/curse is supposedly making him feared by humans, how come there are several blatant exceptions who don’t fear him at all? This includes the light trio and arguably even characters like Leona or Rollo—because even feelings of hate or rivalry are still not fear. Additionally, Meleanor’s phrasing is that she’s sure that Malleus will be a good omen/“auspicious star” for the fae of Briar Country but a “fearsome, malevolent star” for humans. With the coming of book 7, Malleus is posing a real threat to both fae and humans alike. Furthermore, she directly follows up these lines by saying she entrusts her son to Lilia. She’s emphasizing the importance of Malleus to their country’s future before handing him away; it does not read like she’s blessing her child. This, combined with the very delayed sparkle effect in 7–77, leads me to believe that Meleanor’s words were not actually magically binding or a blessing, but rather a hope or a prayer about the kind of person Malleus would be someday: a leader that their country needs and someone who will strike fear into humans (who were enemies of the fae at the time). Until the canon says otherwise, this is how I interpret Meleanor's "blessing" for her son (ie it’s not a magical one).

I feel like none of these should completely dissuade Malleus from like... I don't know, going out of his way to locate a few open-minded people (again, like the light trio) and trying to make conversation with them? Maybe invite them over for tea?? Taking little steps like that. If he’s so insistent that he can’t insert himself into other engagements, why not be proactive and be the one inviting instead of always waiting to be invited??? I understand why he would be hesitant to try or adopt a defeatist attitude, but again Lilia is right there to help facilitate or to ask questions to. But he doesn’t really do that or seem to truly take what anyone says to heart; instead he gets moody, pouty, and sulks when he feels rejected because the situation is artificially set up for failure 💦

It sometimes feels like TWST wrote itself into a corner with Malleus’s presentation due to the nature of the original game format. His lore calls for him to be sinister and feared through all the land, but the devs are simultaneously compelled to write him in cute and silly social scenarios to show how likable he can be (so open up your wallet for him/j)… He’s supposedly always forgotten but you’d think that someone with a presence as fearsome as his would be remembered vividly or make a strong impression regardless of the contrived ways they try to keep him out of the picture… and that results in the clashing tones I notice now.