#its described as being so fast it looks like blurs and nobody can see what theyre doing

[snkts]

Going through comics and shows and notes to get a hang on Logan's powers REALLY makes the scenes where he spars with the younger students kind of sweet

[90spumkin]

Invisible

Request:  hi can you please do a spencer reid x bau fem reader and can it based on the song invisible by 5sos where the reader feels like she is invisible because everybody talks over her and trips her and nobody does anything.also they hate her besides spencer, rossi, penelope and hotch and they hate her because of jj because she is jealous of how the reader and spencer are close together so one day the reader gets kidnapped and is forced to read her song journal or her journal.so spencer gets mad at the team when they try to confront him

A/N: I really hope this is what you were looking for when you made the request. I hope it’s not absolute trash. Thank you for the request anon! The song that was apart of the request is Invisible by 5 Seconds of Summer

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU! Reader

Warnings: slight swearing, angst I think, description of torture 

Word Count: 1875

It was a nice sunny day in Virginia, one of its less humid days. That should be a sign it was going to be a good day, right? Wrong, y/n had a bad gut feeling it was going to be a very bad day. Worse than normal.

Y/n was sitting in the BAU parking garage watching a few people from her team walk in the building. Emily, JJ, and Morgan were genuinely nice people…except to y/n. They hadn’t always been rude or distant towards her that just started up recently, and y/n knew why. She took a deep breath and exited her car, making her way inside the same way the others had.

She knew her gut feeling was right as soon as she walked through the double glass doors. She tried to make a beeline for her desk, keeping her head low to avoid eye contact. Things didn’t go as planned.

Y/n tripped over a box of files bumping into Morgan who bumped into Emily who spilled coffee all down the front of her white blouse. Y/n instantly started to panic, “Oh my God, Emily I am so sorry! I’ll get some towels!”

Emily gritted her teeth and just said, “Don’t!”, she stormed off grabbing her go bag to change out of her now ruined blouse. Morgan just huffed and made his way to his desk.

Y/n made it to her desk finally with no other accidents. She sat down and put her head in her hands trying to choke back a sob. She felt a presence next to her but didn’t look up till she felt a hand on her shoulder, “Y/n are you okay?”

She looked up to see Spencer Reid standing before her with a worried look on his face. She gave him a small smile. He didn’t seem convinced due to the worry line between his eyebrows deepening. They stared at each other a little longer than what was probably necessary. JJ got their attention by walking by waving files and announcing, “We’ve got a case.”

Y/n saw JJ pause and look at Spencer’s hand on her shoulder and gave y/n a quick glare before continuing her way to the round table room. Spencer moved his hand and started to trail behind JJ while having a conversation with Morgan. He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure she was following and when he went to wait for her, she shook her hand urging him on without her.

Why was it so hard to push him away? She knew the others no longer liked her because of how close the two of them had gotten. They felt as if she was stealing Spencer from them when all she wanted was to be friends with them all. She let out the second sigh of the day and made her way to the briefing, falling in step with Hotch and Rossi who both gave her a warm smile.

The briefing went by in a flash. It was a whirlwind of information and thoughts being bounced back and forth, and like always y/n’s insight was overlooked. The flight went by just as fast. After going over the files and new information from the bubbly Garcia, y/n had gone to sit at the back of the plane. The entire time ignoring Spencer’s worried glances.

Once they arrived at their destination, the team split off to do their assignments given by Hotch. Y/n was with Spencer putting together the victimology. The whole time she felt his eyes on her, but she never said a word hoping some how she would become invisible to him like she was to the others.

She didn’t realize how much time had passed when they got a call from Hotch telling them they were closer to the warehouse Garcia had said belong to one of the suspects. They grabbed their vest and took off as fast as humanly possible.

The warehouse was a dark and looming building and y/n felt the hairs on her neck stand up. Spencer walked around the SUV and said, “There’s no time to wait for the others we’re going to have to split up. Meet me in the back, okay?” She nodded and went to scope out the left side of the build, but Spencer grabbed her hand and search her eyes for a moment before giving her hand a quick squeeze and letting go.

She crept around the building, gun aimed and eyes looking for any sign of movement. She thought she heard something behind her, but when she turned, she was met with absolutely nothing. She turned to continue her way towards the back of the building, and that’s when everything went black.

Y/n woke with an ache on the left side of her head and she was pretty sure there was blood running down her face. She was tied to a chair in a big empty room with a light fixture hanging above her. Once her eyes fully focused, she realized there was a camera aimed towards her and man standing behind it.

“Ah you’re awake. Time to have some fun.”, his voice was raspy like he smoked 50 packs of cigarettes a day. Y/n knew the unsub liked to toy with his victims, she saw all the videos in the time before the call from Hotch. He was going to torture her darkest thoughts and deepest secrets from her. Y/n’s lips tingled, and her stomach twisted into knots.

“I know you know what’s about to happen, but I found something that’s going to make this a little more interesting.”, the unsub walked around the camera showing it the journal he held in his hand.

----

Spencer was absolutely frantic, there was no other way to describe it. He felt so stupid for splitting up from y/n. It was his fault she was kidnapped, and it was his fault they were seeing her on the screen. The others were rushing around and he could hear them talking to Garcia trying to figure out where he was keeping her.

On the screen the unsub was waving around a book and Spencer could see the pleading in y/n’s eyes. At the sound of the smack that went across y/n’s face everyone stopped.

“You’re going to read this so your little team watching this really knows what you think of them.”, the unsub was gripping y/n’s jaw tightly. She shook her head viciously which landed another smack across her already bruised cheek.

Tears stung Spencer’s eyes and he said, “We need to find her now!”. JJ put her hand on his arm trying to calm him, but he shrugged it off, “Don’t touch me.”

He turned back towards the screen at the sound of y/n’s broken voice, “Um the first part is part of a song. No one sees me I fade away, lost inside a memory of someone's life It wasn't mine Just me and my shadow and all of my regrets Who am I? Who am I when I don't know myself? Who am I? Who am I? Invisible Wasted days, dreaming of the times I know I can't get back.”. She stopped reading which earned her a cut down the side of her neck, she let out an ear shattering scream. Spencer turned away and looked at Hotch begging him for something. Hotch just shook his head, they don’t have a clue where he was keeping her.

Y/n continued reading but Spencer could no longer watch so he listened, “I never meant to upset anyone. I wanted to belong; I want to be everyone’s friend. I guess I became friends with the wrong person first. JJ was the first to become my friend, but when I told her- when I told her I was crushing on a certain young doctor, that’s when she decided to make my life a living hell. I’m invisible now. My thoughts don’t matter, I don’t matter. I no longer know why I try.”

Y/n stopped and started to beg not to read anymore. Spencer couldn’t move, he could only glare at the woman who claimed to be his best friend. She knew he had feeling for y/n and yet she chose to be cruel to her and keep them apart.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Garcia’s voice through the speakers of the tablet laying on the table telling them she has an address of the unsub’s parent’s lake house. Just like that the team stormed out of the police station in a blur of grim faces and vests.

----

With every word she read, y/n felt as if acid was being poured down her throat. She had paused once again and this time the unsub slammed the journal shut in anger and aggravation.

“That’s it I’m bored.”, and before she knew it there was a rope around her throat and her lugs were burning as she gasped for breath. Her vision began to blur, and darkness was surrounding her mind. Before she passed out, she heard a shout ring out and saw a flash of blonde hair.

When y/n woke up she winced in pain and at the fluorescent lights above her. She let out a groan as she tried to sit up. There was a hand on her shoulder as someone said, “Hey woah take it easy.”

Y/n realized it was JJ and it took everything in her not to flinch away, “What are you doing here?”. There was sadness in the petite blonde woman’s eyes. She glanced down at the floor than back up at y/n as she said, “I’m so sorry for everything that I put you through, what I influenced the others to put you through. I don’t have a good excuse or reason to why I did it, but hearing you saying all those things it broke something in me. Can you ever forgive me?” Tears began to stream down her face as she asked for forgiveness.

Y/n finally saw a glimpse of the woman she had met on her first day at the BAU. She gave her a real smile and nod. Both women let out little chuckles which made the buddle of limbs in the chair in the corner of the room stir. Y/n hadn’t realized Spencer was there asleep. JJ stood to leave saying, “I’ll give you guys some space to talk.”

As soon as Spencer realized y/n was awake he raced to her side mumbling and repeating himself, “I am so so sorry, y/n. I should never have left you.” Y/n grabbed his hands that were clinging to her, “Spencer it’s okay. I’m okay. Nothing that has happened is your fault.”

Spencer turned his head away from her, she brought her hand to his cheek turning him back towards her, “Hey it’s okay I promise.”

“It’s not just that, I didn’t realize how much you were struggling with the others. I want you to know they aren’t going to hurt you anymore, no one will ever hurt you again. I love you, y/n.” He kissed the palm of her hand that was resting on his cheek.

She smiled down at him and she finally felt peace as she said, “I know. I love you too.”

[pony-boy21]

I have been feeling really detached from myself [not a new experience, just not in denial I guess] and have been feeling inhuman is the easiest way to put it. Here are others people experience that is very relatable (I'll bold the ones that I experience quite frequently)

“It feels like your conscious brain has detached and you aren’t attached to your body. Everything goes dull like a filter has been turned on.” — Kate R.

“Feeling like I’m not me. Like I’m looking at someone else’s body and when looking at my hands I can’t grasp that they are in fact a part of me. I could stare at myself in the mirror all day and not feel like they are my eyes looking back.” — Lydia G.

“You feel out of your body, you just feel numb, you feel like an observer… like you’re just watching a movie or a TV show about your life that you don’t have any control over. You just feel like you’re on autopilot. You look in the mirror and see yourself and you just can’t believe it’s you staring back. Everything just feels blank.” — Tayla R.

“When it starts, I can feel the things that make me human start to slip away. I lose all sense of emotion, my mind goes blank, and I feel as though my body does not exist. I go through tasks and actions like a well-programmed robot, and when I speak, it’s without my own tongue. I sound lifeless. Sometimes I scream and panic in the back of my mind, but my body won’t listen.” — Amity L.

“It feels like you are witnessing your own life behind a glass wall, like nobody sees or hears you, but you can see and hear everything very clearly, even clearer than usual actually. You see your body move and you hear your voice talk but you have zero control over what you’re saying or doing, and then you just keep banging on the glass wall hoping someone would notice you’re not really there inside the body.” — Kira H.

“You feel like your body isn’t your own body, it’s something strange and distant as a vehicle you don’t drive.” — Natasha C.

“I once described it to a friend by painting a picture. Imagine you are swimming, it’s kind of dark. You can feel what you are doing and you feel like you. As you continue, you start to see yourself from the perspective of a passerby. You move your hands but it doesn’t feel like you’re moving them, only watching. You can stare at them all you want but the longer you do it the more foreign they become. You feel trapped in this space, like your outside of your body and can’t get back in.” — Venus M.

“Depersonalization for me feels like I’m just now realizing everything around me is life. It’s like I never noticed before. And then like that, I’m lost and I’m not even sure how I actually feel. I feel as if I’m not even here. I’m a shell amongst shells.” — Chanta R.

“It’s like I’m underwater. I move, but I don’t think I wanted to. My body carries me through it’s normal motions, while I try to figure out how to come back and take control.” — Jana W.

“Depersonalization is like another version of myself takes over and handles what I’m anxious about. I suddenly become a happier person. I laugh and joke and I’m confident. Once I’m back in a secure environment, my real self appears and pieces of what happened during that time is lost. I don’t remember what happened.” — Tamasvi G.

“It’s like no longer being connected to your own body. Your mind is so overwhelmed that it just detaches from reality completely. You question whether or not you’re real. Everything about you is unfamiliar. You look at your hands and wonder whose they are. It’s almost like watching a complete stranger go about their business.” — Vanessa L.

“In all honesty, it’s horrifying. It feels like I’m not in control of my body. I feel like I’m playing out events and there is nothing I can really do about it. There’s a slight feeling of numbness. Feeling fully aware of what’s going on, but I can’t do anything to stop it. It’s almost as though I’m playing out a cutscene and I’m just there for the ride. For me, they’re the worst kind of anxiety attack I can have.” — Toby O.

“Feeling like I’m locked in a glass box but the glass is dirty and fogged up so i can only partially see/understand whats going on. I feel really disconnected from everything outside of the box so much so that i start feeling disconnected from myself too because I’m shut in and things don’t make sense. I feel spacey tired and confused and i wonder if I’m actually real. Its like my brain feels disconnected from my body.” — Sarah C.

“You’re awake, but you’re trapped mostly in your head. You think you’re in reality, but a lot of time goes by, and when you feel that sudden sense of, ‘Omg, look what month we’re in already?’ You realize you haven’t really been aware. It’s a nonstop cycle.” — Cady S.

“For me, it feels as though I’m not really in charge of my movements or thoughts. I’m somewhere not quite beside myself, but not fully me. I start to wonder if what’s happening around me is real.” — Jes V.

“Several times in the last couple of years, I have looked in the mirror and legitimately didn’t know who the girl was looking back at me. I couldn’t feel my body. I felt like I was just a void. Scared the crap out of me when I would ‘snap back’ to reality.” — Jessica H.

“Like in one of these movies, being an alien creature just inhabiting a human body and controlling it. A strong Sensation of strangeness and every move feels over-controlled.” — Stefan K.

“[It’s like] floating in a bubble just above my own head, puppeteering my body, clumsily, on strings. My physical sensations are dulled, except sounds, which are weirdly amplified and out of sync. I can think clearly as the me inside the bubble, but not as the me in the body. The me in the body feels distant, far away, like another person. My voice comes out but is strange and far away sounding. Everything is going too fast and too slow at the same time, people and cars loom up suddenly out of nowhere and things like traffic are unpredictable. My perception is oddly skewed making spatial awareness and proprioception difficult. I feel like I am piloting my body by remote control.” — Katy P.

“It’s like I’m standing just behind and a little to the left of myself. I can see and hear only me at the time. Everything else is black and silent. And if I’m in a rage, I can say and do awful things. When I come back, I remember nothing and don’t feel anything about my actions even when told how horrible I was. It wasn’t me who said/did those things.” — Caralyn R.

“I feel like I’m standing off to the side watching myself. But I feel nothing. Empty. No emotions or feelings, nothing. I’m watching people talk to me but I hear nothing. No sound. Everything is muted.” — Sheree S.

“It’s like being an alien inside your own head, but your body is a machine stuck on autopilot so you’re not controlling much of anything. You see everything, but feel nothing. And when you walk past a mirror, you avoid looking because the person you see in the reflection somehow isn’t you. It’s a hollow unrecognizable shell of a thing you remember, but can’t connect with on any level. It’s isolating too, because even if someone else does notice when you’re going through this, there’s no way in hell they could ever truly understand or relate because they haven’t ever been through this themselves.” — Devin L.

“For me it was like I couldn’t focus on anything, like my whole life was a complete blur, like I needed glasses to make it clear again, as though I was there but I wasn’t. The worst thing was that I couldn’t control it. I would look in the mirror and barely recognize the girl looking back at me. You feel unconnected with reality, you just go on auto pilot. It’s really horrible.” — Kerry F.

“It feels like you’re playing a first-person video game. You can sort of control your actions and choose to interact with objects and people, but it’s not actually you doing or experiencing any of it. You’re just watching what happens from behind a screen, completely disconnected.” — Rowan S.

“It’s like the world around me is made of Lego people and the cars are Hot Wheels. It’s like I’m the child who’s in control of how fast the cars move and how the people and trees and houses are all arranged. It’s scary really. Especially because when I finally realize I’m not the one I’m in control. I feel so confused about what happened and what I felt.” — Emmy P.

[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 4, Ch. 3

PART 4: THE YEAR WHEN EVERYONE HAS A CRUSH Chapter 3 - Care of Magical Disaster

Nova

I was lucky that Penny and Tulip gave up on asking me who my crush was as I wasn't prepared to talk about it to anyone. On the one hand, I was happy that I finally managed to figure out who I fancied but on the other hand, my Quidditch concentration went down the drain.

Being such a big Quidditch enthusiast as Murphy was, he was with us on every practice match and in the tent after every practice. If I thought that I didn't understand what Orion was saying before, I had no idea what he was trying to tell us now as I zoned out the second he started to talk.

We had quite a lot of Friendlies this year, which I, of course, didn't mind. Murphy was our Commentator for every match and every time I heard his voice through the microphone I felt my heart melt. I was happy we had to wear so much Quidditch protective gear so that nobody could see me blushing.

I think Skye was on to me, however, as she was raging every time I let the Snitch fly right past me as I was pretending to search for it but was looking at Murphy instead.

I finally understood why Charlie thought crushes were a waste of time and they were quite distracting as well. I was thinking about him ALL THE TIME. I couldn't study, I could barely focus on my homework. I dreamt about him a couple of times when I dozed off in History of Magic and I even caught myself drawing hearts on the edge of my notebook when I was trying to draw a Mountain Troll.

The feelings I got when I saw him or talked to him were great and I felt as if someone slipped me a love potion but I couldn't wait for it to pass as it was getting rather annoying. I wasn't planning to act on it as Penny did. I didn't want to go on a date and hold hands while strolling the streets in Hogsmeade and talk about how we fancy each other. I wasn't that type of a girl and I wanted to focus on more important things like my Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L. and Advanced Transfiguration which was so demanding this year that I could hardly keep up.

And speaking of Care of Magical Creatures! I couldn't wait to start learning everything about every single animal and beast that ever roamed this Earth. We were going to study some amazing and very interesting creatures this year and just when I thought the classes couldn't get any better Professor Kettleburn found a way to change my mind.

I was walking down to the School Grounds where we had our lessons with Charlie, casually wondering what would happen if an Abraxan and a normal horse would mate. Charlie said that it would be a flying horse without any magical abilities, I on the other hand thought that little to nothing of a horse would be transferred to the youngling as magic is far too powerful to just disappear.

When we got to class, we couldn't help but feel scared as Professor Kettleburn, for the first time since he was our teacher didn't look happy.

“Today we are going to be cautious, students! I accidentally forgot to lock the cage in which I had my Firecrab and now it's on the loose!” His smile started to return as if this was all very amusing to him. “As we have learned last year, they can be very dangerous as they shoot fire from where, Mr. Weasley?” He looked at Charlie.

“Their behind, Professor.” Charlie couldn't hide being proud of himself as it was the only class where he could answer the question and get it correct without a second thought.

“10 points to Gryffindor!” Kettleburn swung his claw around.

“As Mr. Weasley said, it shoots fire from its rear end so be careful while you look for it. Try to find it by smelling your surroundings. It has been outside since early this morning, something ought to be on fire by now.” If it was any other teacher we would all question his teaching methods with a confused expression on our faces. With Kettleburn, this was just another lesson.

Charlie and I decided to look for the Firecrab together and watch each other's backs in case we spot it and it would defend itself. We were walking around slowly, our wands ready while we sniffed the air around us.

At one point I lost Charlie for a second and bumped into him as I turned around. For a second I was sure I smelled fire so I deeply inhaled through my nose. Instead of the smell of smoke or fire, I got a whiff of Charlie. He always smelled so nice; like fresh air and outdoors, grass and honeysuckle which always reminded me of the Burrow.

“What are you doing?” Charlie chuckled.

“I thought I smelled smoke.” I blushed as I realized what it must've looked like to him.

“Can't get enough of me, Blackwood?” He mocked me, his cheeks red too.

“You wish!” I nudged him with my elbow and when I looked behind him for a second I spotted our target.

“Charlie, there it is!” I pointed my finger to where the Firecrab was. He was staring at me for a few more seconds before he snapped out of it and turned around. We called Professor Kettleburn and he rushed to us with the cage.

We both earned our Houses 20 points for finding the creature and just as we were about to start with the lesson, Kettleburn stopped talking mid-sentence as he was looking at something behind us. We all turned around and saw Professor Flitwick running towards us.

“Silvanus, I am sorry to interrupt...your class.” He was panting, obviously not used to running around the School Grounds.

“That's alright, Filius. Care to join us?” Kettleburn grinned at him.

“Actually, I am here to take one of your students with me.” He finally spoke normally again. “Can Miss Blackwood be excused?” I gasped. Me? Why did Flitwick want to take me out of class?

“Of course, of course! She is one of the top students in my class, missing one lesson won't do any harm. Go ahead, Miss Blackwood.” He looked at me and nodded that I should go with Professor Flitwick.

“Is everything alright?” Charlie asked him as I was grabbing my bag.

“Giving the situation and knowing how close you two are, you might as well come with, Mr. Weasley.” Flitwick sighed. He was beginning to scare me.

Charlie quickly grabbed his bag and we both followed the Professor back to the Castle.

He was really fast for someone that small as he was rushing through the corridors, us barely keeping up behind him. We stopped in front of Dumbledore's office without saying a word.

“Acid pops!” Squealed Flitwick. The Gargoyle turned and revealed a staircase. Flitwick hurried us inside. When we entered the office Professor McGonagall was standing next to Dumbledore's desk and she was talking to...to my mum.

I ran to her and she pulled me into a tight hug.

“Mum, what is going on? Why are you here?” My voice seemed louder in my head as it did coming out.

“Sweetheart, it's your dad.” My heart stopped for a second as I looked into her eyes which were all red and puffy. She was crying. “The ancient tomb they discovered this Summer, the one that your dad described in one of his letters, was more dangerous than they thought. A curse rebounded when he was trying to open a chest. They took him to St Mungo's but it's not looking good.” I could see she was trying her best to be strong for me.

“W-what?” I couldn't believe it. Tears started to blur my vision and I felt Charlie grab my hand.

“Miss Blackwood you are excused from school to go and see your father.” Professor McGonagall said gently. She then looked at Charlie. “You may go as well, Mr. Weasley.”

Dumbledore stood up, waved his wand and a fireplace appeared behind his desk. My mum hurried both me and Charlie to it and just like that we disappeared in green flames and appeared at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

I kept looking at my mum as we were rushing to the Acceptance Window. I had so many questions going through my mind and I wanted to see dad at once.

“Mrs. Blackwood, your husband is currently with the Healers.” The nurse told us. She then looked at me and Charlie. “Are these your children?”

“She is.” My mum pulled me closer to her.

“And him?” The nurse narrowed her eyes.

“He's family.” Mum grabbed Charlie with her other hand and pulled him closer as well.

The nurse nodded and took us to a waiting room where she told us we would have to wait for the Healers to tell us how my dad was doing. I looked at my mum and she pulled me in a tight hug. I have never seen her be so worried and she was worried about dad all the time since his job was pretty dangerous and demanding.

My mum went to the room they were keeping the owls to tell Charlie's parents he was out of school and what happened to their friend. I sat down next to Charlie and looked at him. His face was as serious and as concerned as mine. He spread his arms and pulled me into a tight hug, not saying a word. I squeezed him back, never wanting to let go of his embrace again.

It's been hours and we still haven't heard anything from the Healers. The nurses kept telling us to wait and that they are still trying their best to heal him. Molly came to visit us and brought us lunch and even though none of us were in the mood to eat I greatly appreciated her gesture. She also pulled my mum aside and started whispering. I think she was trying to calm my mum down and I was sure that at some point they were talking about me as they kept eyeing me, my mum's eyes watering again.

We didn't leave that waiting room all afternoon and all night. I fell asleep in Charlie's lap and woke up as Molly came to see us again. She brought us some fresh clothes. She gave my mum some of hers and I got an old jumper that belonged to Charlie which he overgrew. It smelled like him; like fresh grass and honeysuckle. That was the only thing that brought a faint smile on my lips that day, just as the doors in which they were healing my dad opened and out came two Healers that looked exhausted and by the look on their faces, I wasn't sure they were going to give us good news.

[donghyuwus]

Haechan | Trip to Trouble Pt.2

pairing: haechan x fem!reader

genre: thriller, mystery, adventure, action, drama, crime, fluff, angst and light smut (most of these will apear in future parts)

warnings: mention of alcohol addiction, blood, murder, guns and i know it is a sensitive topic right now but the y/n person is a cop, don’t worry i stand by acab (bastards not bad) but i just had to do it for this one to fit it in the story line

words: 2209

summary: this train ride usually consisted of the same people, same events and same routine. however this time it was different. you get the choice to do something that will affect one person on this train and won’t affect you, in return a whole load of cash? easy right. little did you know what you were getting yourself into.

disclaimer: english is not my first language so sorry for my spelling or grammar mistakes, i tried my best. + this is based on the movie the commuter :)

other parts: one

Donghyuck’s POV

‘What kind of person are you?’

I raised my eyebrows at the question but kept on ticking away at my phone, pretending I was caught up in my game. Instead I was typing down that sentence, maybe could come in handy later. What does she even mean by that? What kind of person are you? Quickly I looked up from my phone and glanced over when the sound of heels clicking away echoed throughout the compartment. She left after asking the girl the question one more time, I looked over at her, the girl, I bet I was showing the same expression. Utterly confused, but something in her eyes glistened like she got excited maybe hopeful. However she stayed seated and didn’t go to the bathroom were the money supposedly should be. My eyes studied her face, she was biting her lip now, her face looking stressed, like she was having an inner conflict. That’s when her eyes suddenly shot up and met mine, even though this exact scene had happened time and time again it startled me just as bad as the first time. Quickly I looked away, not wanting to look suspicious and making it clear that I knew what had just taken place there. The feeling of getting caught staring making my cheeks heat up. Fuck why did this always happen? I tried distracting myself by this time truly playing a game. There was a burning sensation to look at her one more time. Something about her is just so interesting to me and I couldn’t place my finger on what. We never had a conversation, I just don’t know how to get up to her. Funny for someone in my field who is trained to do stuff like that, why couldn’t I do it with her?

The compartment door opened and closed, I looked up to see y/n gone from her place. I shut off my phone and put it in my leather jacket, counting to 10 before getting up and following here, shooting a smile at George and Lilith who happened to notice me leaving. In the distance I could see her opening another door and disappearing trough it.

Your POV

It was small and there was an awful smell in the bathroom. Why were you even in here? Were you really expecting that much money to just lay around here? You hoped so, you really did. Quickly you looked around, not wanting to be in here for too long and maybe draw attention to yourself. Your fingers touched behind the small space between the mirror and the wall, nothing. Your eyes peaked trough the hole in the sink, nothing. You even was as crazy to think that it maybe was hidden in the toilet itself. A sigh escaped your lips when there wasn’t really any place left to search. Closing your eyes you let out another sigh, you were disappointed in yourself for even having a spark of hope in the first place. Were you really that ridiculous? There wasn’t any way you could escape your job as a cop and deep down you knew that and had to live with it. You despised it, but it was the only thing available to you which would pay decent without having a degree, you couldn’t afford to go to college. However you did have a lot to learn. The job itself was okay, you liked the thrill it sometimes had but you hated the system behind it all, how corrupt it all was, the men who would boss you around only because you are a woman and being promoted was almost impossible. It was unfair. Life itself was unfair You stood there for a few minutes in silence, trying not to cry because you were rethinking your whole life and it was tearing your down. You opened your eyes and looked up, not letting the tears that were covering your eyeballs fall down. That’s when you noticed one of the tiles in the ceiling being missed-placed. Your heart stopped for a second, it couldn’t be what you thought it was. Standing on your tippy-toes you reached for the tile and poked it which made it fall down but you caught it on time, placing it on the floor before reaching for the empty space. Your fingers touched around the space surrounding the hole, dust, dust, dust- you held your breath. Slowly you pulled it away from the place in the ceiling and trough the hole and there it was. A big bundle of green cash laying in your hand. The person on the bills staring back at you just as hard as you were.

Time. You had forgotten the time, you were in here a little too long now. Quickly you put the cash stack in the inside pocket of your coat, which you had put on again when you left your seat. You swiftly grabbed the tile from the floor and placed it back in its previous position before opening the door and leaving the bathroom. Now it was time to get off and start a new life. The joy you felt in your body was out of this world, all sorts of new plans already creating and building in your head. Slowly the train came to a stop once again, more and more people started waiting around you, also waiting to leave this place. The familiar voice spoke trough the speakers, informing people about the stop and were it would be heading next, it was only a blur on the background, your head was somewhere else. Soon after the train fully stopped, the doors opened and everybody started moving, including you. You were just about to get of the transport vehicle when you bumped into someone, who you assumed, was about to get on.

They locked eyes with you before handing you quite a heavy package. It was a girl, around the age range of 16 ‘till 18. She looked scared, really scared, terrified even. ‘You can’t leave.’ Confused you shook your head. ‘What?’ A whistle, she backed away. ‘They won’t let you do that. They will find you.’ And with that she left and the doors closed in front of your eyes, before you knew it the train was on its way again. You were standing there like a statue when you noticed how weird and suspicious you were looking. As fast as you could walk you made you way over to the last compartment, the air-conditioning was broken in that one for the longest time now and nobody every sat there because of it. You would have some time alone to think. After passing seat after seat and person after person, you finally arrived at the last compartment and you were right, there was no one there. Even the lights were shut off in here. You made your way over to one of the 4-seaters with a table and placed the package down while sitting down yourself, facing the door so you could see if anyone would come in here. For a few seconds you just sat there, staring at the brown packaging. You were curious but scared at the same time, the words of that girl never leaving your mind. ‘They will find you.’ Who is they? Was Savannah working with multiple people? People who would track you, find you and maybe.. Suddenly Savannah didn’t look as friendly in your memories as she did before. You felt a shiver go down your spine and shook your head and body. ‘Focus y/n.’ You whispered to yourself with your eyes closed. When you opened them again your hands reached for the package in front of you. Opening it very carefully and dropping the insides on the table.

Your mouth opened slightly when you saw what it had contained. A small Nokia flip phone, a gps-tracker, you recognized it from your work, you had even trained to place these things on spots they wouldn’t be noticed by the person who they wanted to track. But the thing that shocked you the most was the black handgun. What have you gotten yourself into? Just as that question popped up in your head, the Nokia started ringing. You picked it up after a few seconds of doubting to do so. When you did, a familiar voice spoke in your ear. ‘So you found the money? Great. Now all you have to do is find the person.’ Savannah sounded annoyed in a way, like she was in a hurry. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore. Why did you give me a gun? What is up with that girl? What have you done to her, she looked terrified?’ She sighed. ‘You should have thought about the consequences before taking that money y/n. Now go and find Prynne, again they have and know something they shouldn’t.’ ‘Prynne?’ ‘Yes, they go by that name. It isn’t their real name however, it is to cover their identity. You need to find them before the last stop and finish the job.’ You held your breath. ‘Finish the job doesn’t mean what I think it means right?’ Another sigh across the line. ‘Why would the gun be there otherwise, don’t make a scene, nobody needs to know you are a killer otherwise it would be quite sad of that money you did it for, wouldn’t it?’ Angry you stood up and stomped to the other side of the compartment. ‘No, I won’t do this. I am not a killer. You can have your money back.’ ‘Tsk, tsk. Again, should have thought about that. By the way Henry looks so cute in that Gravity Falls t-shirt, would be such a shame if it was smeared in blood, right?’ Your feet came to an abrupt stop when you heard your little brother’s name. Your breathing came to a stop when she described which shirt he was wearing today, you had seen him in it before leaving for work, he had given you a hug in it, wishing you a nice day. Your heart came to a stop when you heard what came after all that and when you realised you had no other choice if you wanted your brother to be safe.

‘You leave my family out of this.’ A laugh. ‘Finish the job y/n or I can’t make any promises.’ And with that she finished the call. Your heart still wasn’t working properly when you turned around to grab the belongings that were now yours. That’s when you noticed something moving away from the windows next to the doors to enter the compartment. You grabbed your stuff and quickly but swiftly made your way over to the doors and opened them, the gun still in your hand, ready to defend yourself if Savannah decided to be funny and send someone to kill you instead. However there was no one there. ‘Great now I am going crazy as well.’

Donghyuck’s POV

Just in time I could hide in the bathroom close to the doors. She was observant and I was slagging. ‘Great now I am going crazy as well.’ I raised my brows at her sentence. I dropped myself to the floor and peaked trough the small line between the door and the floor. She sighed and plopped on the ground, the gun still in her hand, holding it with a firm grip, like she is afraid of loosing it, afraid of not being able to defend herself. It went silent when she buried her face in between her knees, until I heard light sobs. My heart sank. I wanted to get away from my hiding spot and calm her down but I couldn’t, not right now. A few minutes passed by and I decided that laying on the ground the whole time probably wasn’t the best tactic, there would be a chance of her noticing me, so I got up and instead was now staring at the sink. Someone hadn’t fully turned off the tap and now droplet after droplet fell down in the sink. It was an okay form of entertainment until y/n would leave the hall. After a while I noticed the sobs had stopped, I could finally leave. Just when I was about to turn around and leave I was met by my reflection, he wasn’t alone, a girl was pointing a gun at his head. Y/n. I slowly turned around with my hands in the air and now met eyes with the girl in real life. She was standing against the door, blocking my exit. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks just as red, her hair messy. She looked hot? What is up with me today? Maybe the slight panic made me go crazy. How was I so stupid not to lock door, I was trained for situations like this, yet here I am making mistake after mistake. This mistake led to her holding me at gunpoint. Her legs were a little shaky but the hand with the gun was all steady. Her eyes were piercing trough mine, looking defeated, angry and something else I couldn’t quite place. She opened her eyes and asked me something with a soft yet confident voice.

‘Prynne?’

[shadedrose01]

Just Breathe

Ship: none, platonic (paternal) relationship between Harley Keener and Tony Stark

Summary: Harley has a panic attack, Tony helps

Tags: none (not posted on ao3)

Author note: this was a story that I originally wrote for febufluff day 7, "hugs" before realizing that it neither had hugs, nor was it very fluffy, like at all. I didnt want to just scrap it, so I figured I'd post it here. I am going to write another story for day 7 of febufluff, but it'll just come out a bit later 🤷‍♀️🤣

TRIGGER WARNING: This story is all about Harley having a panic attack due to his bullies finding out he is gay, and threatening to tell his school about it (aka being homophobic assholes). I describe the panic attack in detail, so if that's not your speed, DO NOT READ. Be safe, please, I love you all ❤

--

Click, click, click-

Harley clicks his pen unconsciously, his leg bunching up and down repeatedly, staring down at his paper with squinted eyes, hoping, begging his mind to focus on the homework.

Click, click, click-

Its math homework, Harley is good at math, he has always been good at math, so why cant he just focus? Why cant he just finish the problem?

Click, click, click-

The question muddles in front of him again, and Harley begs himself not to think about it, tries his hardest to focus, focus, focus! but his cries go unheard, the memory swarming into the forefront of his thoughts once more.

The note on his desk, telling him to be behind the school after class. The walk there, where Harley's curiosity had beat out his fear (such a stupid decision, he should have just left, should have just gone home-). The anticipation, leaning against the old, dirty brick, just waiting, waiting, watching and waiting. The group that had shown up, a bunch of bullies from his school, had surrounded him, pushed him up against that very same brick and held him there like pray, grins smug and eyes glistening, eyes knowing.

They knew his secret, they said, his secret that he was trying to hide for days, for months, for forever, trying to bury as deep into himself as he possibly could. Had said that they had caught him a few days, at the movies, with a kid from out of town, a boy from out of town. Had said that they saw them kiss, had said that they knew, knew who he really was, what he really was, had called him vulgar words, names and curses and swears, had beat him into the ground then and there, and walked away laughing.

They told him that they were telling the entire school. They were going to tell the school about his- his feelings, his sexuality, and- and everybody would hate him, hate his guts for something he couldn't control, can't control, had tried to control for so long, for so so long, and then- then the school was going to tell his mother, and his mother would hate him too, abandon him just like his father had, and Abbie would hate him, leave him too. He'd be all alone, all alone and nobody would care about him, nobody would miss him, nobody would want him and- and-

And he can't breathe.

Oh god, he can't breathe.

Harley tries to take a deep breath in, but all he can manage is a shallow gasp, his lungs feeling as if two vice grips are squeezing them on the highest setting, not allowing them to expand and contract, not allowing air to flow freely, not allowing him to breathe. He keeps trying, his faint gasps getting louder and louder, harder and harder to do, his heart beat drumming in his ears, fast and quick, and he's shaking, shaking like a leaf, and he cant stop, cant breath, his chest aches, his heart aches and oh god, he's dying, he's dying, he's going to die out here, in his garage, all by himself, all alone, his mother working and his sister with her friends, all alone, all alone-

He needs to call someone. He needs to- to-

Harley scrambles for his phone, placed beside the sheets of paper that are slowly blurring together as tears fill his eyes, and he tries multiple times to open it, failing, failing, failing every time, -nobody's going to know, he's dying, he can't- until finally, finally it opens, and he clicks on his contacts list, scrolls to the M's, and presses call, holding it up to his ear.

His other hand as made its way to his chest, having a death grip on his shirt as his chest continues to get tighter and tighter, the air feeling thicker and thicker, the room blurring and spinning and he wont make it, he wont make it until-

"Harley? Harley, I need you to breathe, kid." Its faint, Tony's staticky voice barely heard over the blood rushing in his ears, but it's there, and Harley clings to it like a lifeline (it is, it is a lifeline, his only chance at surviving-).

"I- I dont- I cant-" Harley wheezes, curling into himself, resting his head in between his knees and squeezing his eyes shut, hoping it'll help his rapidly increasing dizziness, hoping it'll stop the room from spinning so damn much, hoping it'll stop his world from collapsing on top of him like it is right now, god, please, have mercy-

Tony breaks through the white noise again, his tone softer than Harleys ever heard it, but strong, urgent. "You can, kid. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you can. You gotta try for me, okay?"

Harley just shakes his head, even though he knows Tony cant see it, his body trembling again as adrenaline rushes through his veins. "I'm dying, I'm- I- oh god I'm dying-"

"You aren't dying, Harls, I promise you, you aren't. You're having a panic attack." Harley doesnt respond to that, just sobbing in between his wheezing because he's dying, he knows he is, he can feel it, he's- "Kid, you're going to pass out if you don't breathe, so I need you to listen to me okay? I want you to breathe in for 4 seconds, hold it for 7 and then breath out for 8, you think you can do that for me?"

Harley doesnt, he doesnt think he can do it, but hes gotta- he's gotta try something, anything, he can't just go down without a fight, without giving it a shot. "O-O-O-Okay."

"Okay, follow me, okay? Inhale, one, two three, four-" He hears Tony take a deep breath, and tries to as well, shuttering with a sob as his lungs refuse to expand, refuse to listen, stopping his inhale after two, "Its okay, kiddo, you're doing good, now hold it for me, seven seconds, you got this." Harley tries again, holding his breath even as his body spasms, screaming at him to keep breathing, keep breathing, there isn't enough air, need more air, need- "and release for eight seconds," The air forces it's way out of Harleys lung in one loud push, and he immediately gasps again as soon as his lungs are empty. He expects Tony to be mad at him (he'll be mad at him, hate him just like his mom will, the school will-) , but the older man just keeps reassuring him gently, calmly, soothing Harleys worries. "There you go, bud, see? You got this, you can do this. Let's do that a few more times now, okay?"

They repeat the motion over and over again, and to Harleys surprise, after a while, the inhales start to get easier, his lungs start to open up again, relaxing and stretching again, and his heart starts to slow back to it's normal rate. He's still shaking, but its mostly aftershocks now, the last bits of the adrenaline rush draining out of his body. But now that he's calming down and he doesnt feel like he's dying, he can feel the shame and the horror start to creep it's way in, embarassment flushing his cheeks. "I-Im sorry." He whispers out shakily, running his free hand through his hand before holding it tightly, yanking at it slightly.

"Don't apologize for this, Harley, please." The man sounds tired, in more of a physically/mentally exhausted kind of way over an 'I'm annoyed and hate you' kind of way. Harley still feels a tinge of guilt though. "Are you feeling better now?"

He swallows, his throat dry and sore from heaving in and out breaths. "Yeah, yeah I think so. Thanks."

Theres a pause, a moment of awkward, long and uncomfortable silence that Harley isnt sure how to break, isn't sure he really wants know, until the question he was anxiously dreading breaks it anyways. "Kid..." Tony sighs quietly, "I know we dont normally... do this, the whole having emotional talks about our problems thing, but-" he pauses again, thinking his words through. "...do you want to talk about it?"

Harley grits his teeth, before deflecting. "Talk about what?"

"Harley." The man's tone turns stern, but still soft, still gentle, like Harley's a fragile ceramic plate placed at the end of a shelve, one from blow of wind away from falling and shattering. Then, randomly, he speaks up again, his voice sounding more defeated, resigned, "Look, bud, I cant force you to say anything, but I know from experience that talking about it can help sometimes."

Harley sighs, knowing he isn't going to get out of this, no matter how much he wants to (or, how much he thinks he wants to, even if theres some small part in the back of his brain calling out to him, longing for him to tell Tony everything, no matter the inevitable consequences-). He just shrugs, scuff his foot against the cement ground of his garage, mumbling out. "I don't know what to say, where to start..."

"That's okay. Just say something. Starting is always the hardest part."

Harley snorts, trying to lighten the mood one last time. "Since when did you become a therapist?"

"Since I started going to one." Tony deadpans, a tiny light of amusement ringing in his tone before it disappears again, back to serious. "You can tell me anything, Harley. No judgement, okay, maybe a little bit of judgement depending, but no everlasting grudges, I promise."

Harley chuckles lightly, his back of his eyes burning suddenly, randomly, a flash of warmth flowing through him. Because even with all of his self deprecating thoughts, even with all his anxiety, the one thing Harley knows about Tony Stark is that he always keeps his promises, no matter what it costs to do so.

And so, Harley tells him. Tells him his truth, shakily, nervously, painstakingly slow and fearful, only to be told instantly that it's okay, that he is okay, that it doesn't change anything. Tells him about the boys at his school, about their attack, about their plans with a few split tears and a sob or two. Tells him about how afraid he really is, about how he doesnt know how anyone will react, if his friends will leave him or not, if his family will still love him after it all. And Tony reassures him the whole time, backs him up through it all, telling him it'll all be okay, that even if the school finds out and it becomes a big deal, that it'll blow over in a few weeks, and if it doesnt, that high school is just the first part and a small portion of a longer, bigger life. Telling him that if his friends leave, that they arent truly his friends, and that he knows that his mom, his sister will love him no matter what. "Theres only a few things I know about Macy Keener, but I do know for a fact that she loves her son to death, and couldnt even imagine her life without him in it." (That caused a few more tears to be shed).

And after it's all said and done, the call ended and "The Mechanic" is shining back at him in big white letters, Harley starts back to work on his math assignment with a grin on his face, feeling lighter, better than he has in a long time.

[mindfulwrathwrites]

The Extra-mancer (part 5)

Words: 1,335 Warnings: Violence

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...

A week after Erwin Tozu walked out on me, the Summer court walked in.

The first notice I got about this was a blast of noxious pastel smoke and a kick in the chest that I assumed was delivered by a dire donkey. I hit the far wall. A lot of stuff smashed. Couldn't be sure if I was seeing stars or if whatever had just teleported directly into my heavily warded workshop had just brought a lot of glitter with it. I threw a witchbolt back at the cloud of smoke. That's usually a major deterrent for anything dumb enough to hit a tiefling.

The fae bastard stepped out of the smoke holding it between two fingers like the world's most pissed-off cigarette. She tossed it over her shoulder, where it smashed about a dozen hours' worth of soul glass. The room filled up with that particular sickly-sweet smell that comes off the Summer court, like gardenias with just a hint of burning flesh. She was dressed in green velvet, breeches and tights and a very complicated vest-shirt-jacket ensemble. She had a lot of curly gold hair—no, not blonde like you're imagining, I mean gold. Her eyes weren't real. The fae can throw down an illusion like nobody's business, and they'll glamor you right into your grave, but they can never get the eyes right. Whatever this thing was, I wasn't looking at her real face.

"Arrhenius Valxies," she said, and that's about when I knew I was in real trouble.

"And who in the Nine Hells are you?" I asked, picking myself up. I was on home turf. I had the advantage.

The thing moved so fast, I never even saw a blur. She hit me again. I hit the other wall. I scrambled. I had a half-dozen shards of broken glass embedded in my back. She stomped on about three of them. I grabbed my big branding iron and swung it. The fae was two counties away by the time it would've connected. My wrist snapped of its own accord. I dropped the iron. A patch of air picked me up and threw me clear across the room, where a nice soft shelf of glass polish and grinding stones cushioned the impact.

"Lady Hemlock of the Summer court," said the fae. "You and I have some business to settle, Mr. Valxies."

I hate dealing with the Summer court. All fae are bastards, but Winter are at least calm bastards. They don't yell. They don't blow up at you. Sure, they'll curse your whole bloodline and salt the earth and seed your forests with thrice-damned abominations from the unsaturated depths of pastel hell, but at least they won't kick your ass first.

Important also to note that Lord and Lady are gender-neutral with the fae, even if they seemed to match up here, and woe betide anybody who assumes one is lesser than the other. They're job titles. Lord is reserved for the more warlike fae, the rare kind who get a kick out of overt bloodshed and political intrigue. A Lady wrangles finances, manages lands, and—most relevant to me—enforces collections.

"Make an appointment," I said. It would've sounded better if I'd had any air left in my lungs.

Lady Hemlock grabbed me by the horns and yanked. I made a noise you might've called a yelp, if you were feeling generous, or a squeak, if you weren't. I dug my fingernails into the webbing inside her thumb. Ever tried to rip silk with your bare hands? It was like that. Real soft and real smooth and completely indestructible. I quit struggling. I screwed up my face and whimpered a little, playing it up.

Being grabbed by the horns does hurt. They're glorified skull-bones covered in glorified hair. But—and this here is the key thing—they're glorified skull-bones that are designed to smack into other skull-bones as hard as they possibly can, so they can take a little abuse. They ain't ornamental. I'd rather have her grabbing me by the horns than, say, the face.

"I can hurt you very badly, Mr. Valxies," said Lady Hemlock, and when a fae says something like that to you, you start to get a little worried.

"Yeah?" I said. "I wouldn't, if I were you. You know who my grandpappy is. You don't want to cross me."

Which is a funny thing to say when something that could kill a small dragon has you by the horns, but nobody's ever accused me of being smart.

"Even the archduke himself isn't foolish enough to pick fights with the Fae courts," said Lady Hemlock.

"Who said anything about fighting? He could clean your clock on zoning violations alone. You think you can get away with a rose garden forty paces from sundown when you're flying Summer col—"

She hit me in the mouth. It's the preferred target for most people I do business with. I saw stars. I tasted blood. It was one of the harder hits my mouth had ever taken, and from the way Lady Hemlock neglected to wince or shake out her hand or make any noise, I figured it was one of the softer ones she'd ever given.

Oh boy.

"Mr. Valxies, in order to spare myself the embarrassment of killing you, I will cut to the chase," Lady Hemlock said. "I want my songbird back. You stole him from me, so you will return him."

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. This wasn't just some collections agent. This was a whole entire archfae. No wonder she'd busted through my wards like a bead-curtain. This thing could kill a big dragon, and she still had me by the horns.

"You stole him first," I managed.

"If you fail to do so within a fortnight, I will come take him," Lady Hemlock went on, "and I will take you, and I will take your soul-tinker, and I will annex all the lands and peoples which stand between. Have I made myself understood?"

I spat blood on her perfect white cravat. She looked down at the splotch. Her hand clenched on my horn.

The keratin cracked. If you don't have horns, there's no sensation that maps onto that, except maybe to imagine that you'd been wearing a nice steel helmet since your teens, and some frilly jackass in culottes had just waltzed up, grabbed ahold of it, and squeezed, and with a nasty screeching sound you'd felt five steel bumps touch your scalp.

"Apologize, Mr. Valxies," she said softly.

I'd like to say I coughed up something witty and irreverent, told her to stuff it where the sun don't shine or sorry you're such a twit or just spat on her again. I didn't. I barely managed to get the sorry out.

Imagine your head's a pistachio, and someone's got their teeth lined up with the seam in the shell.

"One fortnight, Mr. Valxies," said Lady Hemlock. She pronounced it right. She was the only person outside of the Nine Hells I'd ever heard pronounce it right. "And that is a considerable generosity on my part."

And then—not to put too fine a point on it—she hurt me very badly.

I don't know how long it went on for. I know my whole workshop was wrecked by the time she left. I know I lay on the floor for a good long while afterwards, too, and not just because both my knees were busted.

A fortnight. See, you'd never get a timeline like that from the Winter court. It'd be a year and a day, or until or unless. Winter dealt in attrition. Summer, apparently, dealt in fortnights.

I laughed. Couldn't tell you why. I was seeing quadruple and spitting out teeth and struggling to come to terms with, for the sake of preserving at least a shred of dignity, what I will only describe as a bladder situation. I laughed.

Sometimes there's just nothing else you can do.

[erinptah]

Super Drags review (tl;dr Show Good)

The post where I do my best to spread the Good News, that there exists a saucy gay drag-queen magical-girl animated comedy and everyone should watch it.

Okay, not everyone -- I'll give some caveats at the end -- but definitely a heck of a lot more people than Netflix has bothered to advertise it to.

Look at this! Why did nobody tell me about this??

What is Super Drags?

Fast facts:

It's a 1-season, 5-episode adult animated comedy series, released in November 2018

Here's the official page, with a free-to-view trailer

It packs more explicit, unashamed queerness into those 5 episodes than any other cartoon I can think of

The only possible competitor would be if you took the whole 5000-episode run of Steven Universe and pared it down to a supercut of Just The Gay Parts

This in spite of being produced in Brazil, which (in my broad understanding, as a total non-authority on the subject) is more oppressively, dangerously homophobic than the US

The original is in Portuguese

There is an English dub, fabulously voiced by contestants from RuPaul's Drag Race

It's wrapped in "for adults only!" warnings, not because the content is any less child-friendly than (say) your Bojacks Horsemen or your Ricks and Mortys, but because Brazilian authorities tried to get it shut down on the grounds of this much gay being Harmful For Children

It was (heartbreakingly) not renewed for a second season

Here's a promo video, in which the main characters (Portuguese, with subtitles) play Drag Race judges for Shangela, who ends up voicing Scarlet in English.

And here's a beautiful flashy music video of the big musical number! (Also Portuguese, no subtitles, but the melody and the visuals stand on their own.)

Plot and worldbuilding stuff!

The elevator pitch is "What if Charlie's Angels, but also drag queens, with superpowers, because magical-girl transformations?"

In this universe, all LGBTQ people have magical energy. The Big Bad is an evil magical-drag-queen nemesis who tries to drain our energy for her own purposes. It's like if Ursula from The Little Mermaid was a first-season Sailor Moon villain.

...sidenote, in case you were worried, the representation isn't "cis gay men and nobody else." There's a butch lesbian in the recurring cast, a genderfluid person (in that specific word!) as a one-off love interest, and all the ensemble scenes are wonderful collages of different races, body types, and gender presentations.

Our heroes also fight non-magical everyday homophobes, who get written with scathing realism.

The moment I knew the show wasn't pulling any punches was in the first episode, where a newscaster complains about being Silenced by the Law of Political Correctness, then chirps "however, we have a special guest who is thankfully above the law!"

According to the reviews I've found from Brazilian viewers, it's also pitch-perfect when it comes to local queer culture, community dynamics, slang and speech patterns, even memes. All of which flies right over my head, so here's a post (with no-context spoilers) about one viewer's favorite details.

The handful of reaction posts on Tumblr have a dramatic split between "Brazilian viewers fiercely defending the show as culturally-accurate, uplifting, and brave in a terrifying political moment" and "American viewers complaining that the show is problematic because it's a comedy about drag queens with no perfect role models and lots of sex jokes."

As the Super Drags tell their nemesis (and this is also in the first episode): "How dare you try to turn the LGBTQXYZ community against each other? We do enough of that on our own!"

In between missions, our girls work sitcom retail jobs and deal with other everyday problems. All of which are written in amazingly nuanced and thoughtful ways for a show that also features "defeating an orgy monster with a lip-sync battle."

Detailed character stuff!

Our heroes are Color Coded For Your Convenience!

The Super Drags themselves go by "she" in-uniform, and a lot of the time when out of it. Like the Sailor Starlights, only more so. I'll roll with that.

In blue: Safira Cyan, or Ralph by day, an excitable college-age kid who's built like a football player and squees like a fangirl. (She's an anime fan in the original, and for some reason all the otaku references were replaced in the dub, but you can see them in the subtitles.)

Ralph lives with her younger sister (they play video games together!) and their dad, comes out to them mid-series, and is very shippable with another young guy who starts out reciting the homophobic beliefs he was raised with but whose heart clearly isn't in it.

Safira's weapon is a classic magical-girl wand that casts protective force-fields. Which are shaped like condoms. Because of course.

In yellow: Lemon Chiffon, aka Patrick, the oldest of the group and generally the smartest/most strategic. In most cases, the other two treat her as the de facto team leader -- unless she pushes it too far.

By day she's a single guy with thick thighs and thinning hair, who has some body-image insecurities on the dating scene. And this show has Things To Say about unrealistic beauty standards within the community...not to mention, about masc guys who look down on anyone too flaming or femme because straight people disapprove.

Lemon's weapon is a fluffy boa that can be used as a whip or a lasso, especially when there's a bondage joke to be made.

In red: Scarlet Carmesim, also Donizete, the loudest and most aggressive teammate with the most cutting insults, who refuses to suppress that attitude in an attempt to appease racists. (But will give it a shot when trying not to get fired.)

Donny still lives in her religious/homophobic mom's apartment, and I'm pretty sure it's because neither of them can afford to move out. Her rock-solid sense of fierce self-confidence is the reason it doesn't bring her down.

Scarlet's weapon is a fan that she uses to throw shade. Yeah, you knew that was coming.

The Charlie to these angels is Champagne, who runs operations from a cool magitech compound and breaks the fourth wall at the end to petition for viewers' support in getting a second season.

...we let her down, folks :(

So here's a thing. The show never draws a sharp line between "people who become drag queens because it's a way they're driven to express themselves as gay men" and "people who become drag queens because they were trans women all along." That's consistent with how South American LGBT+ culture works. (Again: best of my knowledge, not personally an authority on this, etc etc.)

Many of the characters, including Champagne, never describe themselves in ways that translate to one of our sharply-defined Anglo-USian identity categories. And I'm not going to try to impose any English labels on them here.

But I can say (in contrast to Safira, Lemon, and Scarlet), Champagne never switches out of her "drag" name/voice/presentation, not even in the most candid off-duty scenes, and still has the same bustline when naked in the tub. Make of that what you will.

You Should Watch This Show

If you have a Netflix subscription, watch Super Drags!

If you ever do a Netflix free trial month in the future, make a note to yourself to watch Super Drags!

It's one of their original productions, so there's no risk of missing your chance because the license expired. But it's absolutely not getting the promotion it deserves. Which means potentially interested viewers won't find it, which means Netflix will think there's no interest, which means they'll keep not promoting it...etc etc etc.

No idea if there's any chance of getting it un-canceled, but maybe we can at least convince them to release it on DVD.

And the sheer gutsiness it took for a group of Brazilian creators to produce this show in the first place -- that deserves to be rewarded with your attention.

In spite of various anti-discrimination laws that sound good on paper, the country has serious problems with homophobia, transphobia, and anti-LGBT violence (warning, article has a violent image which is only partly blurred).

Maybe the creators could've gotten a second season if they made this one softer, less sexually-explicit, more restrained...but honestly? I bet that wouldn't have helped.

Consider Danger & Eggs, an Amazon original cartoon. It was made in the US, thoroughly child-friendly, and restricts its LGBT+ representation to things like "characters go to a Pride celebration...where nobody ever names or describes the quality they're proud of."

And it didn't get renewed past the first season either.

(Note: it had a trans woman showrunner and a queer-heavy creative staff, so I blame all that restraint on executive meddling, not the creators themselves. The showrunner even liked the tweet of my review that complains about it.)

So there's something very satisfying about how Super Drags went all-out, balls-to-the-wall (sometimes literally), all the rep explicit and unapologetic, packing every 25-minute episode with all kinds of queer content that would be censored or muted elsewhere -- but here it's exaggerated and celebrated and just keeps coming.

(...as do jokes like that, and I'm not sorry.)

Okay, there are a few legitimate reasons to not watch this show

Some caveats.

None of these things are Objectively Bad Problems that the show itself should be shamed for...but maybe they're genuinely not your cup of tea.

It does have actual Adult Content beyond "the existence of gay people." This show loves to swing barely-clothed cartoon genitalia in your face. There is, as mentioned, an orgy monster. If that kind of humor is going to bother you too much to appreciate the rest of the show, give it a pass.

I wasn't kidding about how realistic the homophobes are. Opening of the first episode has a guy trying to murder a busload of people while shouting slurs at them. If that level of hatred on-screen is gonna crush your soul, even in a show about sparkly queens flying to the rescue with dick-shaped magical weapons, don't push yourself.

Any fiction with this much crossdressing and gender-transgressing is going to hit some trans viewers in a bad way. Because trans people are such a broad group, with so many different experiences, that Every Possible Trope Involved pushes somebody's buttons. (See also: "some trans readers complain about a storyline that turns out to be drawn from a trans writer's actual life experience".) If this show goes does gender things that turn out to be personally distressing for you...or even just distressing for this specific time in your life...don't feel obligated to keep watching.

It has aggressively-sassy queer characters making jokes and calling each other things that are affectionate in-context, but would not be okay coming from straight/cis people. If you can't wrap your head around that, go watch something else.

Other Than That, Go Watch This Show

For all its big heart, big ambitions, and big gay energy, Super Drags is tiny enough that I've binged the whole show 2 times in the past 2 weeks. Thankfully, it's highly re-watchable -- lots of fun background gags and subtle foreshadowing that you don't catch on the first round.

(Pausing one last time to appreciate that a show with elements like "the high-tech robot assistant is called D.I.L.D.O." can be subtle at all, let alone be this good at it.)

I've also paged through all the fanart on Tumblr and Deviantart, looked up the single fanfic on the AO3, and started brainstorming plans to request it in Yuletide next year. Someone, please, come join me in (the English-language side of) the itty-bitty fandom for this ridiculous, glittery, over-the-top, fabulous series.

[love-of-fandoms]

A Bag of Blood Please (Loki + OC + Bucky Barnes) Chapter 1

Chapter 1 of A Bag of Blood Please (Master List)

Pairing: Loki + OC + Bucky Barnes (Poly)

Summary: A human empath working at a bloodbank. A vampire coven living upstate who needs a new blood supplier. She’s the destined mate of two guys in the coven. This will go… great?

Word Count: 2118 words

Mina smiled as she got in her car and started it, looking over at the house next to her own and seeing Peter booking it out the front door.

“Wait!” he called, tugging on the passenger side door and flinging it open. Mina rolled her eyes playfully as he dropped heavily into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

“You know I wasn’t gonna leave without you, right?” she asked, a teasing smirk on her face, and a pink hue overtook the boy’s face.

“Yeah,” he nodded, entirely unconvincing. “Of course,” he made a ‘pfft’ sound and leaned back into his seat, laughing nervously.

“Peter,” Mina sighed, throwing the car into gear and beginning to pull out of the driveway.

“Yeah?”

“Relax,” she laughed, nodding to her phone. “Oh, I forgot to turn on my playlist,” she muttered, glancing at Peter out of the corner of her eye, and he perked up. “Can you just hit play,” he nodded and grabbed her phone from the cup holder which it was resting in.

“Sure thing,” he smiled, not even looking at the screen as he pressed play. A cute whistling tune came on, and he glanced at Mina, his face falling. “Seriously?” he groaned, as Bob Marley’s “Don’t Worry Be Happy” came through the speakers of Mina’s car.

“Yep,” she popped the ‘p’ with a grin. “You need to chill out,” she added, swatting his leg with her hand playfully after she shifted gears. “It’s your first day, and I promise you, it’ll be much more boring than you’re expecting,” she said, and Peter huffed out a heavy  breath.

“But what if-” Mina held up a hand.

“Ima stop you right there,” she smirked at him. “I have a ‘what if’ jar at work, and you will need to contribute if I hear those words out of your mouth,” she said threateningly, and Peter’s head tilted, reminiscent of a confused puppy.

“What if jar?” he asked, and Mina nodded.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed. “It’s like a swear jar, but for “what if’s,” she explained, and Peter sighed.

“That is aimed directly at me,” he grumbled moodily, and Mina shrugged.

“Meh,” was all she said in response.

The rest of the car ride went smoothly, with Mina and Peter throwing joking insults back and forth.

“Okay, so Josh is the tall guy with glasses, Hannah is the tall girl with glasses, Mark is the really flamboyant one, Ken is his boyfriend,” Peter paused in his nervous repetition of Mina’s descriptions of her coworkers.

“Can you not describe Ken more?” Mina shook her head with a smile.

“I’ve never actually met him, he works upstairs,” she said with a shrug, holding the door open for Peter, and he nodded to her as he walked in.

“And you don’t go upstairs?” Mina shook her head.

“Nope,” she said, and Peter shrugged.

“Mina!” all of a sudden a blur of blue ran past him and into Mina’s arms.

“Oh!” Mina gasped as she was knocked back with the force of the hug. “Hey, Bella,” she said, leaning down and wrapping her arm around the small child. Peter looked between her and the kid quizzically, before they heard panting and pounding footsteps approach.

“Bella!” a man came running out into the lobby, scooping the girl up and into his arms. “Sorry,” he said to Mina with a grimace, but she shook her head with a beaming smile.

“No problem,” she shrugged. “No school today?” the man nodded, a deep frown on his face.

“They called at three AM to tell us the building’s plumbing wasn’t working,” he groaned, and Mina smiled. His words had a slight accent, causing his ‘ing’s to sound like ‘ink’s.

“She can stay with me in reception, if you’d like,” she offered, and the man perked up.

“Really?” Mina nodded, and the man looked like he could have cried in relief.

“Thank you!” he said, placing Bella down and wrapping Mina in a hug. As he pulled away, he seemed to notice Peter for the first time.

“Hi,” the boy waved his hand meekly, and the man grinned, pulling Peter in for a short hug.

“You must be Peter!” he greeted, squeezing him before releasing and stepping back. “I’m Piotr,” he introduced himself, and Peter smiled slightly.

“Oh nice,” he said, standing a little taller at the man’s warm welcome. “Name buddies,” Piotr’s brows pinched together, and he leaned forward to peer at Peter.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and Peter leaned back. “They sound nothing alike!” he insisted, and Peter shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable.

“Oh yeah!” he stammered. “Totally different, I mean-” before he could continue, Piotr burst out laughing.

“I’m joking, Peter,” he said, patting the younger man on the shoulder, and Mina rolled her eyes with a fond smile.

“I told you to be nice, he’s nervous enough,” she said, and Piotr frowned.

“I am being nice!” he insisted. “See? That loosened him up!” he gestured to Peter, who was stood stock still, a blank expression on his face.

“Uh huh,” Mina nodded, unconvinced, before putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t you have prep work to do?” she asked, and Piotr paled, running from the lobby with an ‘oh shit oh fuck’. Mina, prepared for the profanities, had already covered Bella’s ears. The girl had stood right next to her the whole time, and she looked up at Peter when her father ran out.

“You’re new?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Uh… yeah,” he said, and she grinned.

“Great!” she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him over to the reception desk. “Now, Mina always gives me all the gummies I want, and she lets me play 2048 on her computer, and-” Mina followed them behind the reception desk and cut the girl off.

“And do not believe anything Bella tells you,” she said, patting the girl on the head when she pouted up at her. Peter’s brows raised, looking between them, before nodding at Mina.

“So anything she asks for, go to you?” Mina nodded in confirmation.

“Though I do probably still give her too many gummies,” she shrugged, sitting and throwing her bag under the desk. She pulled out a drawer and rooted around in it for a moment before pulling out a packet of gummies. “Here ya go, kid,” she said, handing Bella the gummies, and the girl grinned, immediately trying to tear open the packet. She whined when it didn’t tear, and she handed it to Peter, who tore it open without a fuss and handed it back to her.

“I like him!” she said around a gummy, and Mina nodded.

“Good,” she beamed, before turning to Peter. “Alright, so how you sign in-” and so she spent the next hour and a half showing Peter how to work everything in reception.

A bit upstate, in the middle of a dense forest, a compound sat. It stretched on almost further than the naked human eye could see, and housed quite a few… odd… individuals.

“Nathaniel!” a screech was heard, and nobody flinched when a girl, who appeared around 15, appeared in the main living area. An open space with a kitchen and a large living room with many, many couches. Her chest was heaving with anger, and her eyes zeroed in on the young man at the kitchen island. He was reading through a textbook, occasionally taking notes, but completely ignoring her. The girl glowered, approaching him until she stood right behind him, practically breathing down his neck. That is, if she was breathing, she would be.

After a moment, the man sighed, folding the corner of his page and closing his book before turning to the incensed girl.

“Yes, Morgan?” he asked, and the girl let out a low growl from her chest.

“What did you do to Lancelot?” she demanded, and a blonde man sitting on the couch looked up at that.

“Your bear?” he asked, and Morgan rolled her eyes with a frustrated sigh.

“Yes! My bear!” she whipped around, glaring at the blonde man. “Clint!” he startled at the anger in her voice. “Make your son fix Lancelot,” the man rolled his eyes before leaning back on the couch.

“Nathaniel,” he said warningly, and the young man grunted, standing from the stool and stalking off towards the bedrooms.

“Fine,” he muttered. “You guys have no sense of humor,” Morgan rolled her eyes, but followed him to her room. She opened the door and strode over to her bed, picking up a threadbare teddy bear and handing it to Nathaniel.

“Now-”

“Now-” the teddy bear repeated her, its voice at a slightly higher pitch.

“Fix him,”

“Fix him,” Nathaniel rolled his eyes before twisting his hand in a series of gestures. An orange light appeared around the bear briefly before it dissipated. 

“There,” he muttered, thrusting it back into her hands. “Back to normal,” Morgan rolled her eyes and flung the teddy bear on the bed.

“You can leave,” she muttered, eyes flashing red for a moment, and Nathaniel scoffed, but did as she bade him.

“Aren’t you a little old to be messing with a girl’s teddy bear?” Nathaniel jumped, turning to see Wanda and Pietro staring at him with disapproving eyes. Nathaniel scoffed and shook his head.

“I grew up with her,” he muttered. “I’ll prank her however I like, thank you,” he grumbled, striding across the hall and into his own room. Pietro and Wanda exchanged looks before beginning to head to the main living area. Pietro smirked at his twin.

“Race you,” he said, and before Wanda could react he sped off. Wanda groaned and followed after him. To humans, they would both appear to be a blur, but to the other compound occupants, they looked like two normal siblings racing to the kitchen.

“Pietro!” she called after him. “Not fair!” Pietro laughed, throwing his head back and tapping the kitchen counter, marking him the winner.

“Sure it is,” he said, plopping onto a couch, and Wanda shook her head as she reached the counter.

“You’re ability is being fast,” she grumbled with a pout, stomping over and falling into the couch next to her brother. “So no, it is not fair,”

“Children,” Tony muttered, flipping his page in his book, and both Pietro and Wanda’s heads snapped over to glare at him.

“We are fifty five years old,” Wanda muttered.

“We’re not children,” Pietro finished for her. Despite their words, they both appeared to be 20 years old. Tony scoffed, smirking teasingly.

“To me, you’re infants,” he said, and Pietro groaned.

“That’s not fair, you’re like,” he looked at Wanda questioningly, and she finished for him, knowing he had forgotten.

“854 years old,” she said, and Tony nodded.

“Yep,” he said plainly, and Clint chuckled.

“Dad!” a young woman came speeding in and jumped on the couch next to Clint, startling him.

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes wide as he recovered from the shock.

“I’m hungry,” she muttered, and Clint exchanged a look with Tony.

“I know, I am too,” he answered. “Buck went out to the blood bank, he’ll be back soon,” he said, and Hannah pouted.

“Why can’t I just go hunt like we always do?” she asked, and Tony shook his head.

“Because there isn’t enough wildlife around here to sustain a coven of 20 vampires,” he answered. “We need to leave the animals be for a while,” Hannah pouted, but nodded, understanding that what Tony said goes.

“I’m gonna go spar with Nat or something,” she muttered, racing off, and Clint cringed calling after her.

“I wouldn’t! Steve and Thor are-” before he could even finish, Hannah was back on the couch.

“I’ll do it later,” she muttered. “After Vision’s cleaned up the mess,” Tony perked up at that.

“What did they destroy this time?” he asked, and Hannah raised her eyebrows at him, as if to ask: seriously? “Like, everything?” she said, as if he were dumb, and Tony nodded, rolling his eyes.

“Next time, they’re paying for it,” he muttered, jumping when a voice piped up from an armchair beside him.

“Thor wouldn’t have an issue with that,” Loki said with a shrug, and Tony looked over at him in surprise at his sudden appearance. “We do come from royalty,” he shrugged, as if it were no big deal, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, let me know when you can pay for exercise equipment with gold coins,” he scoffed, and Loki rolled his own eyes this time.

“Like I have said before,” he began, raising a hand to his temple as if to stave off the headache Tony always caused. “Our currency is current,”

[maddgarbagemonkey]

DEAR EVAN HANSEN 2018 TOUR THINGS THAT MADE ME CRY

Yep. Back at it again with this nonsense. I saw this show back in November and needed to frantically rant about how much of a MASTERPIECE it is and how in love I am with every single tour cast member. Buckle-up dorks and get ready to read a novel. Its gonna get pretty out of order so yeah, and obviously, SPOILERS for Dear Evan Hansen ahead. :)

So it opens and a bunch of live feed from multiple social media accounts appear on the monitors and screens surrounding Evan's bed and they make little beeping noises whenever there's something new and it was super cool and immersive.

I took like 2000 pictures of Evan's red bed and all of them turned out blurry but I will cherish every single one of them.

The classic Evan rant about sweaty hands and ordering food will forever be my eternal monologue. Ben also said that line so fast I was amazed that he didn't lose his breath and suffocate!

"Ohhh... Good." B A B Y

Heidi (Jessica Phillips) is my M O M. I love her and Cynthia's harmonies were superb.

Ok fam. Real talk. Ben Levi Ross. Best human 2019. Superior to every other person on this planet and I am unafraid of saying so.

I think a lot of people, including me, went into the touring show thinking "That Ben Levi Ross is cute, but I don't see how he could possibly compare to Ben Platt" STOP! STOP THAT NOW! THAT'S NOT OKAY! Because I can swear to you that his performance was one of the greatest things I've ever witnessed in my entire life and I cried so so very hard whenever he opened his mouth.

Not only should actors NEVER be compared to one another (as they are all their own people with their own incredible talent) but Ben's singing and performing was BEYOND WORDS! You could tell immediately how much of himself he put into Evan and did not doubt for a second that he should be up there instead of anyone else. His singing was so powerful and moving that I physically began shaking and did not stop until I left the theater, which Ben himself even acknowledged but more on that later. He was so incredibly talented it was unreal and I just wanted to take a second and say that he deserved every single moment of applause and cheering times a million. I need a recording of him singing Waving right now. BEN LEVI ROSS, GUYS!!!1!!!

oof, anyways his "Waving Through a Window" killed me. I'm dead. Gorgeous boy. Beautiful.

The way everyone's harmonies mix together and hit you in that song are phenomenal.

Jared, played by Jared Goldsmith, had such a squeaky highschooler voice and the biggest, doofy-est smile which made his stupid comments so much better. I loved him a lot. 10/10. Classic Jared.

Also, I would die for Marrick Smith.

Marrick, A.K.A. Connor was so good at being a broken teenager it hurt! I loved him a lot.

It also opened my eyes because... how do I say this without sounding weird... BOI HE THICK!

Marrick was so tall and swol and gorgeous and sweet and I love him and that's my TedTalk. It also created such a strong physical contrast between Connor, who was tall and strong and scary who processed his emotions through anger outbursts, with Evan, who was skinny and small and shrunk into himself and processed his emotions through hiding or running away, in a way that Ben Platt and Mike Faist couldn't really do. It was different in a good way and I really liked it! :)

Y'all can take Stronk Connor and Skinny Twink Evan out of my cold, dead hands.

In the cast signing scene, Connor was overly friendly and smiley which made the point where it all slowly fades into anger at "You wrote this because you knew that I would find it" so much worse.

The little tug on Ev's arm followed by a subtle "Ow" before signing. <3

"I LoVE JaZZ!"

I love the way Evan sits in chairs by taking up as little space as possible! Its such a cool detail to demonstrate Evan's social anxiety and his need and want to not take up too much space.

I just need to take a second to squeal about Phoebe Koyabe, who played Alana, because she had gorgeous pink hair and I was just all around in love with her voice and her quirky little Alana characteristics.

Here's where things are a bit out of order and blurred because I wrote down my favorite things and then instantly lost the paper so... this is all from what I rewrote later on.

During that line where Alana retaliates to Evan accusing her of using the Connor project for her college application, she became completely hysterical and began crying. That "because I know how it feels to be forgotten" will always be my weak point.

"Connor was OBSESSED with trees!"

"We were partners for our Literature class while reading Huck Finn. He was so funny! He came up with this funny joke where he'd say, well, instead of Huck Finn.... nobody else in our class thought of that!"

OH MY GOD ZOE!

Zoe, played by Maggie Mckenna, was so incredible and loveable it was insane.

Her voice was so deep and melodic that just listening to her speak made you want to curl up with a blanket and just be comfortable. She was also so expressive and good at delivering her lines that you felt and understood exactly what she was going through whenever she spoke. I loved her so much and can relate with Evan's sentiments in "If I could tell her!"

"That's just what you do when you're rich and don't have a job, you get crazy!"

That entire scene before "If I could tell her" was so good! She was so snarky and sarcastic with every line and I fell way more in love with Zoe. I love when she's not played as the angel love interest and more of a real character with flaws and feelings and emotions and Maggie's portrayal really solidified that for me! I love this little Jazz band brat!

I also need a recording of Maggie's requiem, it was beautiful!

There was this heartbreaking moment in that song where Zoe looked at and read through Connor's emails and held them close, but at "That you were not the monster," she crumbled it up into a ball and let it fall to the ground, covering up all her sadness with anger and it hurt me.

That song just hurt a lot all around. Cynthia, Larry, Zoe. Just all of it, all of their God-tier harmonies. All.

You'd also be glad to know that Zoe's star-covered jeans were in full view the whole time along with the ones on her sneakers.

There was this adorable moment in the scene before "Only Us" where Evan freaks out because he thinks Zoe's gonna break up with him and he screams and promises he won't start breaking things and Zoe just has to stop him like "no, you tree-loving twink, I'm not breaking up with you!" And Evan just stands there for a second and then does this sweet thing where he awkwardly bends down and grabs her hands and shakes them with a little "thank you." Then Zo copies his little hand thing as responds "Don't mention it!" They're so cute together and lovable it hurts! Hopefully nothing bad happens between them...

During Disappear, Connor started jumping on Evan's bed during "And even if you've always been-" and it was glorious and Evan just regarded it as a normal occurrence.

They also did this thing where they ran on opposite sides of the stage and then rejoined in the middle where Connor helps Evan put on his backpack and then just puts his hands on his shoulders in a moment of bro trust and admiration and then yeets out of existence at "when you're falling in a forest."

BEN'S YOU WILL BE FOUND WILL LIVE ON IN INFAMY!

During the panic attack before the song began, starting when Evan dropped his notecards, you can feel it radiating off of him so vividly that everyone in the theater was holding their breath.

First when he fell to pick the cards up you could see the tears swell up and hear his breath quicken and feel the panic swell like "no no no, this can't happen. Not now. Don't do this!" And the second you think he might be able to pull it together and stand up, he slips and hits his elbow so hard on the floor, we all jump. He lets out the most heartbreaking yelp and clutches his arm, abandoning his cards and the speech and all hope of recovering. The tears finally start to fall down his face and they don't stop.

Still holding his arm, Evan pushes his body out of the spotlight and holds himself in the fetal position, refusing to look up and just all around shutting hinself away from everyone watching. AND YOU CAN FEEL IT! You can feel Evan's shame and horror and fear and anger and it's awful. You almost have to look away because the emotions being displayed are so real and raw. More real than any recording or bootleg out there. And that's why Ben Levi Ross was so incredibly perfect in my eyes, because he could so accurately depict and portray Evan and what he's going through to the point where you have to look away to avoid the risk of being pulled under with him and losing yourself to your own habits and its heartbreakingly brilliant! Again, Ben. Fucking. Levi. Ross.

During "You Will be Found" they also display all these younger and baby pictures of Marrick along with present day ones to show little Connor, which was adorable. But then Larry, played by Aaron Lazar, looks up and sees little baby Connor on the screen and instantly breaks down sobbing, the first time ever since Connor died as we hear Zoe say earlier that "he didn't even cry at Connor's funeral." Cynthia has to come over and hold him to prevent him from instantly falling apart.

Evan and Jared also have this awkward high five at that part and its very uncomfortable and great.

There's another just horrible moment in the middle of words fail where one by one the Murphys all run off stage horrified at the news that Evan was lying. First, it's Zoe with Cynthia following after, frantically trying to grasp what happened with tears falling everywhere. Then Larry, who looks disapprovingly at Evan before solemnly following the others. Then, lastly, in what could just be described as the worst thing ever, one of the screens become transparent to reveal CONNOR, looking in dismay at what has happened, tears in his eyes, before also walking away from Evan back into the nothingness. Awful. Beautifully, beautifully awful.

Evan snuggles into Heidi and stays there for what seems like forever during "So Big, So Small" then, he finally lets go and Heidi rides away on the couch, reaching for him.

Okay, fam. That was all the specific things I wanted to scream about during the actual show, but then I had the pleasure of meeting them at the stage door which led to some great hijinks!

I said something really stupid to Jessica Phillips/Heidi when she signed my playbill probably along the lines of like "You were so amazing I might faint. Please catch me" and she SQUEALED! It was the best sound on the planet.

When Marrick Smith/ Connor came out, I was frozen in shock because, not only was he shorter than I thought and his cool hair was tied in a man bun and he was wearing a cool beanie and some hair feel into his eyes like a Myspace profile picture, I was so amazed that he was real and was standing so close to me. I was so amazed that I stood there like an idiot just staring at him and shaking while he smiled at me, an awkward little baby, until my Mom had to physically nudge me towards him to which he responded by giggling and saying "Aw! Don't be scared! I don't bite!" I... I. How? How do I live after that. He signed by his picture and, get this, also doodled a little mustache on Aaron Lazar/ Larry's picture. I am also proud to say that I saw his slightly chipped black nail polish up close in true Connor fashion. Then he thanked me for coming and waved at me. He was SO incredibly sweet and I couldn't stop smiling after that.

When Phoebe Koyabe/Alana came out with her gorgeous pink hair I squealed and told her she was gorgeous to which she kindly smiled and complemented my dress and signed my Playbill. She was a goddess and I love her so much.

Right before Aaron Lazar came out, My Mom without thinking just called out "Daddy" to which my sister and I were horrified.

Lastly, Ben Levi Ross, wearing the best sweater ever, came out and signed my Playbill. At this point my legs were absolute jelly and I was shaking so bad I almost dropped everything, but he was so SO NICE and, as a response to seeing me dying upon seeing him, said "Oh no! Don't shake! You're okay! Everything's fine!" He was so unbelievably chill and sweet and upon my family showering him with all of the complements he deserved was so down to earth and appreciative. It was so incredible to get to meet him and tell him how amazing he was!

In conclusion, I knew Dear Evan Hansen was incredible and loved it before, but actually seeing it made me feel so many feelings that I didn't know existed. Its such a genius musical and I 1000% recommend! There was not a weak link in the cast! They were all so sweet and talented and just absolutely PHENOMENAL! I would die for all of them! :)

[frstbiitten]

@kathexismania 🤝 + 51 :))))

fifty reasons to touch someone. || Open

51. [ dealer’s choice / randomise ]

11…in grief.

40... because the world is ending. 

The red liquid still streams down at the side of her forehead, a small crimson river caused by the open skin where her hair begins and now is drying by the heat in the air. Red, red, it's everywhere she looks, above her head where there is this horrid sky on fire, the dark smoke casting these shadows on the wooden ground, shaking and breaking underneath her feet, chaos invading the scene in the most horrific forms possible. The ship will collapse sooner or later, the Tekunin have been finally defeated but there were sacrifices to reach the bittersweet glory, these metallic bodies were people once, now they will sink into the Sea of Blood along with the ship. A perpetual explosion caused by Sektor's command as a desperate way to kill his rivals has set the place on fire, along with the mainmast onto the deck. Everything happened too fast before her eyes.

Scrapped metal and shattered pieces of wood formed a prison for the cryomancer after the execution of the explosion, her head was hit at the moment, causing her to lose consciousness. It didn't stop her need for living, heard the fire cracking close to her ears, an erratic rhythm calling for her attention. That need for air pushed herself out of the trap of cyberized bodies, crawling from under it and being greeted by the intoxicating air of wires burning, a light blue scar in the middle of this red hell rises to see the disaster and regain the composure. Frost has only questions and more questions in her head, but the knowledge that her time is running out and won't be able to reach for the final battle against the Titan... wait... there is something out of place...

"Kuai?... Sub-Zero?... where are you?"

Nobody answers, waits just mere seconds to start asking again and prays for his voice to reply to her question. Nothing. Again?

"Sub-Zero?"

As she walks between this cemetery of metallic bodies she pushes from her path the pieces of arms, heads or legs with the little energy fueling her being still, bright lights flickering until they meet the final obscurity that greets these poor souls to their awaited destination. Oh, to be dead, wouldn't be a gift right now? Nothing but a dead leaf swaying in the wind and the slightest change in the air cracks you open to becoming simple dust? Swaying violently as Kharon's ship too, side to side to finally dive into the waters of the Sea of Blood. Removes pieces of the boat in desperation, is he here so that's why he's unable to listen to her voice? Frost repeats his name, his alias, asks to the wind now, where are you?

Can see his boots first against the deck, his legs laying normally, no, his torso presents damage, a scattered red piece of metal encrusted at his left side of his chest, the blood staining the blue of his clothes with a dirty dark purple, however, his face...

"Kuai?"

Removing the piece of metal required doing it steadily, with the eyes and perception of a hunter, her pale finger executed the task without shaking even if inside she's already trembling in fear. A lost child, where did your father go? Is he now with the angels? Older adults say that to the children when they leave just to avoid the word 'dead'. Her palm meets his emotionless face that has been sculpted by the years of grief and rebirth, death now uses the final stroke with its darkest tone. Frost has never touched the Grandmaster's face unless it was to perpetuate a hit with her fists when they sparred or trained together. Her hand slightly attempts to move his head, it simply hangs like a puppet without strings between his shoulders. If it weren't for the numbness of her skin when it comes to temperatures, she would sense how cold his flesh is now.

Now both of her hands held his face to coax him to look back at her, Kuai's eyes are merely open, the same kind of glance the dead ones see the world with. Pale lips begin to tremble at the realization of how real the inner fear has become, even if Frost doesn't want to think about the word to describe his current state, swallows heavily to ignore the annoying and useless lump in her throat and the itch at the sides of her sapphire eyes, the white turning red. The world, the universe, what else? Who cares? The thunderous noise of the outside has gone silent, futile, quiet, the fire cracking now has stopped in time from eating little by little any object it finds in its way, the sea, the violence, the gravity, does it matter now that she is alone? The sole survivor or the final girl, the only cryomancer left. Extinct.

Hasn't shed a tear, not yet, not here, that's what the Lin Kuei has in mind, yet her humanity betrays the trained warrior without consolation. Doesn't beg for him to speak or move his fingers, no, nothing, why even? Frost has accepted the truth and knew the risk of dying here too... shit... she has lost. Would it be selfish too to sink with the ship as well? Yes, very, no, is it really?

The energy comes back to her in waves, once they finish this battle, Frost must bury Sub-Zero in the sacred grounds close to the temple, which is a tradition and it must be fulfilled no matter what. The strength of a cryomancer is superior to the one of an average human being, it wasn't a problem to lift the former teacher from the ground to let him lay his arm on her shoulders, his body is heavy as she remembers. Another cracking noise, not from the fire this time but from main mast that collapses into the weakened wood of the deck, the force caused by gravity pulls the piece downwards and splits the ship in two, the real disaster wasn't just the growing gap or the chaos from screams and fire, but losing the body of the former Grandmaster from her grip, seeing it fall by the betrayal of her surprise into the Sea of Blood.

"Frost?! We have to go right now!" It had to be Hanzo and the warm grip of his fingers around her forearm, wake up woman! The war is not over. And he decides to appear now? But, she has no memory about the last time Frost saw Mr. Hasashi before the explosion, was he too near to her or too far away? The scenes will come to her soon. The cryomancer doesn't speak to him, the fingers over her skin confirm the reality of his apparition, a figure of flesh and bone and not a creation of her blurred thoughts. Moves but not under her own influence, believed to be stuck to the ground and if it wasn't for Hanzo, she might have stayed there. Not by brute force but enough with dedication to carry her to one of the remaining boats to escape from the mayhem, Hanzo is as sure of what he has seen before his eyes, his friend dead and being pulled down into the crimson sea, Frost hears him speaking as if he was too far from her to even decode the words out of the blur and the noise.

His voice is getting clearer and clearer, it repeats something she can't recognize yet, her moonlight skin is numb as much as her mind. ................... frost, frost, Frost? FROST!?

Lungs automatically fill entirely with the contaminated oxygen as is she was pulled out from the water, both of his calloused hands press the sides of her head to get her back to the Netherealm, hell, this is horrid! This click in Frost's mind warns her about what just happened in the last minutes. His voice pronounces her name, almost chanting it like a spell to wake her up from a fever dream. Out of instinct, stripped from a distant memory, the cryomancer pushes the Grandmaster with the violent strength reserved in her muscles.

"DON'T TOUCH ME AGAIN!!" The voice is almost guttural, a dangerous tiger warning about her system of defense as ancient as time itself. Composes again, where is she? Floating on a small boat with Hanzo as they return their way back to where Kronika's supposed to be. "I need to retrieve his body quickly, once this finishes, I've to take him to Arctika."

"Frost? There's no time to lose now, Kuai Liang has met his final place to rest in the Sea of Blood, he is gone." This fake calmness in his voice is completely astonishing for Frost in the worst way possibles. What? Leaving him behind? This battle can wait now, as for her eyes are jumping erratically from one tiny spot in the air from another, believed to have seen a ghost before her, the ghost of the Grandmaster perhaps, she could swear she was holding him a few moments ago and slipt from her paper pale fingers like sand. 

"No, no, no, no you don't understand it! I must do it, I can't leave him here, for the universe's sake Hanzo! He would do the same thing for me, and also for you too."

This is simply exasperating, which other turns this living nightmare could take next? The Elder Gods are dead, the world they know no longer exists, the clan, the clan? The Lin Kuei? Doesn’t even exist now and their leader is dead, all because of the selfish desires of others, perhaps they can’t see between good and evil, heaven knows very well how hard is for her too, see the whole specter and not just white and black. The silence between them is the loudest she has ever experienced, as Hanzo rows the boat through the surface of the deep uncertainty of this unknown waters, the idea of jumping into the red liquid becomes more and more like a possibility... too bad, Frost is too quick, and hasn’t given Hanzo enough time to react and stop her from jumping into the waters, does she even know how to swim? How to hold her breath underwater? Now, he’s the only lonely soul in that wooden boat waiting for answers, the death of his friend is recently carving deeply into his chest... waits... and this incredible impatience, rage, and fear become so horrific that he thinks too about jumping into the waters... no, he must wait here or continue if this wait becomes too excessive. The impotence is starting to hit as well... the water doesn’t look disturbed, not a single hint from their bodies.

A hand grips from under the red surface onto the boat, almost turning it upside down, this hand is from a survivor, Frost came back as her lungs are full of air again. Without questioning her almost too childish decision of ignoring his advice, Hanzo pulled not just the young cryomancer, but the man his friend used to be as well. it’s obvious, this timeline has lost much more than expected, they have lost an important piece for them. “The Lin Kuei are no more” Frost murmurs with her sight losing its objective on the horizon, other ships continue with their path, the goal to get the Hourglass is not so far away from them, but... it no longer makes sense for her.

“Knowing Sub-Zero almost as much as you did, he would have put his faith in you to rebuild the Lin Kuei, just like he did before when the times were too obscure, we will have our vengeance, but you must think too in the future of your clan as well. You’re the Grandmaster now.” Of course... how she could forget? His words send her back to reality, the war is not over yet, might even be over one day? Doesn’t respond, no this time, they’ll have enough time to talk in the future.

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG144!

- I’m… really fond of the statement’s atmosphere, and Martin’s reading of it: he did emphasise a few words right at the beginning, giving them more heaviness, bloating them and completely installing the crushing dragging feeling of decay/dullness/spleen/boredom and degradation.

(And then: nervous laughter about the fact that OOOOOOOOOOOOOPS, the statement itself might have reminded Martin of some elements of his own personal life, uh. Caring for a sick (unsupportive) parent, getting stuck in a situation with them but worrying anyway (+ Gary Boylan feared that he would become his father and… well, We Know That Martin Looks Like His Dad), until the parent died on them while they were getting involved with Spooks.)

- So. There was a big emphasis, in the statement, about the code itself, and the fact that what lay behind was the actually horrifying things… but there was still a “message” and things actually struck when Gary Boyle understood it.

(MAG144, Gary Boylan) “I didn’t return to the pylon for a long time, except to confirm that the numbers weren’t changing between days. I had them though, and the numbers were all that mattered. I didn’t know why. I’m sure there wasn’t a reason, not really, but… I knew it was in there…! Realistically, it would be impossible to decode it without whatever key the cipher might have been using – and honestly, for the longest time, it seemed to be. I did as much reading as I could on cryptography, and codebreaking, and all of it seemed to point me towards one simple conclusion: breaking this code by myself was… simply impossible. But I still tried. I spent weeks in my room, desperately applying every method I had available. Nothing worked. But I didn’t stop. The alternative was looking after my dad, whose recent breathing issues had left him more ratty than ever. So, I worked myself into exhaustion instead, staring at those meaningless strings of numbers until I almost collapsed, and my eyes couldn’t focus on anything. And that was when I realised: it wasn’t the numbers. It wasn’t the code. It’s what was behind the numbers, shifting, and waiting, and–and coming towards me like a tidal wave – and I knew what the message was, the urgent and terrible message. About the destruction that was coming on the heels of mankind; about the cold and cruel warmongers who play their games of code, and conspiracy, hidden behind the endless streams of numbers. And within those numbers are all of our dooms. If you know how to read them. And I read them. I read them all, and saw the doom of everyone who lives, and breathes, and hopes for life and happiness. There are terrible things coming. Things that if we knew of them, would leave us weak, and trembling, with shuddering terror at the knowledge that they are coming for all of us. We all made them, and their course is already plotted. You can see them in the numbers. If you’d only learn how to read them.”

I wonder: did Gary himself power The Extinction (or whatever it is) with his own fears? Because it’s when he understood that a disaster was meant to happen that it… happened. If he had just carried on with his life, would it have happened? Or was everything set into motion because he heard the words and spiralled into dread/doom?

Because… if the code was, in the end, relevant and important… I’m kind of super-glad that MARTIN read this statement; and there is someone who should probably not read it ever. Because, who is canonically good at breaking down codes (probably through insta-translating Beholding abilities)…?

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: … I remembered Gertrude’s notebook; we found it alongside the plastic explosives, but it rather got lost amongst the business of… [SIGH] saving the world at the cost of two lives… It… it’s borderline incomprehensible, not because of any code or cypher – there’s every chance I could read those; just simply because… most of it is… numbers or fragments of sentences that would no doubt mean something to her, but… well, not to me.

… Like, OOPS. I’m not sure it was a coincidence.

(…………. And if Martin read the numbers himself… will he be okay. Or is he unleashing… something, without being aware of it, too.)

- Aaaand we live in such a fandom that someone had already managed to decode the thing in half a day! The numbers:

593756 3058392846 4749 162830165049 564846474827

Actually formed the message “The World Is Always Ending”. Indeed less… personal than The End, here. (But the message itself is kind of… comforting? I mean, it’s like life overall: you know something is living because it’s heading towards its death. Of course the World/the Earth isn’t supposed to be permanent…? Or is it linked to the consciousness that we’re accelerating its decay, or that it absolutely disappearing would mean making things disappear as concepts, too – nobody, nothing, to remember anything, that anyone ever existed in the first place…?)

(- Amusingly, I did think of Beholding with Gary’s whole… stance:

(MAG144, Gary Boylan) “There was nothing to be done, nowhere to go – just watch, and wait, and think about the decay of it all.

And the fact that his main activity was to listen to the numbers. He kind of checked all three points of the Institute’s motto?

And why did he give his statement? It’s not always the case but, pretty often, statement-givers do explain why they wanted to share their stories – because they were seeking help, or pursued, or feared that they were suffering from hallucinations, etc. Here, it was as a… non-personal warning? But he spread the numbers and that doesn’t sound very good…)

- Gary did warn about the Danger of knowing (because it doesn’t help) but. But Beholding’s shtick is apparently also to cannibalise other Fears a bit by Knowing about them:

(MAG144, Gary Boylan) “There are terrible things coming. Things that if we knew of them, would leave us weak, and trembling, with shuddering terror at the knowledge that they are coming for all of us. We all made them, and their course is already plotted.”

(MAG032, Jane Prentiss) “There is no right word because for all your Institute and ignorance may laud the power of the word, it cannot even stretch to fully capture what I feel in my bones. What possible recourse could there be for me in your books and files and libraries except more useless ink and dying letters? I see now why The Hive hates you. You can see it and log it and note its every detail but you can never understand it. You rob it of its fear even though your weak words have no right to do so.”

Is that why Peter needed a Beholding-touched person? Because Beholding could understand the new fear and depower it a bit…?

- I did my usual relisten of “Binary”, since we got new information about The Extinction, and I’m still at a loss for that one and not… really feeling that it fits The Extinction? It feels more personal, more… people-oriented than concerning a community/the world? Or was the “message” of that one in the symbols appearing on Tessa’s computer and/or about the danger of Sergei’s fate possibly happening to others…? In Jon’s dreams, she’s seen typing furiously, trying to “fight” against the computer:

(MAG120) ELIAS: The Archivist waits, expecting to awaken, but there is nowhere for him to awaken to; no avenue of escape from these dreams. He turns to see the familiar screen, the familiar woman beneath it. She looks up at him with an expression of recognition and weary dread. She types, and types, and types her fingers a blur, flying across the keyboard, and yet never fast enough to outrun the relentless words that flow like dark water across the screen that stretches off into the sky. “It hurts.” She is shaking her head, defiant in her well-worn terror, and tries with every corner of her will to force back the rolling tide of words. “It hurts.”

Tessa’s reasoning about how a human brain isn’t made to fit in a computer, and that analog and digital operate differently, could fit The Extinction… but not the spooks she experienced herself, I feel? Was that just plain old regular Spiral, or something Web/Beholding, or The End? Or was it truly Extinction/the same larger fear that encompasses it?

- If we take “Binary” into account, there has been an acceleration of the manifestation of the Extinction through time:

* End of 1867: Garland Hillier disappears after a last publication, “Les Héritiers”, the same year Robert Smirke died (MAG134). [* 1983: According to the urban legend, Sergei Ushanka, who was dying, tried to upload his mind into a computer (MAG065).] * Some time before late 2005 (which is when Adelard Dekker heard about her): Bernadette Delcour entered Garland Hillier’s flat and witnessed the world of the Inheritors before managing to get out – Adelard suspects that she might have disappeared too, by January 2006 (MAG134). * In August 2009: Gary Boylan heard the “Numbers” track near a pylon somewhere in the English countryside; his father and neighbour were eradicated (MAG144). * Around 2012: Adelard didn’t think that The Extinction had begun to take Avatars yet (MAG113). [* Before January 7th 2017: Tessa Winters downloaded a program named “ushankasdespair.exe”, which forced her to watch him swallow his computer for 17 hours (MAG065).]

So, indeed giving the feeling that… something is getting closer and closer.

- Something that MAG134 and MAG144 have in common: the fact that the manifestations were linked to a form of communication (Garland’s diary and overall works, the numbers heard by Gary), in specific places (Garland’s flat, the pylon in Gary’s countryside), places that were specifically described as… frozen in time / unmoving compared to the world around them:

(MAG134, Adelard Dekker) “On the fifth floor of an apartment building on the rue Lagarde, near the Panthéon, some construction workers had uncovered a door, that had at some point in the past been completely plastered over. Removing the covering and breaking through the old wood revealed another apartment, one apparently unnoticed by any of the other residents, or indeed the owners of those sections of the building, each of which had assumed the space was owned by one of the others, and connected to a different part. As far as anyone was able to determine, the apartment had been sitting there, sealed and undisturbed, for almost a hundred and fifty years. It was untouched, pristine, with barely a thin layer of fine dust coating the possessions and belongings that had stayed there for so long. […] The place felt strange, she told me. Like a tiny pocket of another time. A bubble, where the world had never changed. And stepping inside, she almost felt like she would never change either. Even the light that came through the window seemed to be of a different quality, muted and gentle. The street chatter of Paris, which usually reaches all but the most remote of windows, seemed to vanish entirely. There was a sense of peace to it all, shot through with a strand of disquiet – a wrongness, she told me she could not identify, but she could almost smell it. […] Every single shrivelled ashened face was contorted in a scream of agony, every sharp and jutting jaw cracked and twisted in an expression of horror – of understanding not just of their death, but the end of everything they knew. It was clear that they had been this way for years, if not decades. Bernadette says she was sure that nothing had moved in that dead city for a hundred years.”

(MAG144, Gary Boylan) “Something kept me rooted there, sleeping in a bedroom that hadn’t changed since I was fifteen, and caring for a man who I’d rather just shut up…! [SIGH] We were both… trapped there, I think. Bound together in a sort of wordless misery. I would look at him, and see a grim sort of destiny for myself: trapped here, until I became him – any future I might have had, sacrificed to his. […] That summer seemed to drag on forever. The boredom and irritation of trying to care for my dad was only heightened by the weather, and we were both feeling it. Just didn’t have anything to do…! I don’t… really want to go into my living situation here, but it’s enough to say I wasn’t working a regular job and, while I could theoretically contact my old mates, they’d all got on with their lives without me. The world had moved on. … I was left behind.”

Places/people that feel like they can’t change or move forwards, while everything else does. (And we’ve had so many talks about people “changing” this season… Mmmmm…)

Note to self that with the beginning of the statement, I did wonder if it wasn’t Something Lonely – we were dealing with isolated places, the statement-giver was spending a lot of time alone and wasn’t… really connected to anybody, there was “the huge metal skeleton of an old disconnected power pylon” in the background – pylon which turned out to be the place where the numbers could be heard… So, mmmm… Why is Peter, avatar of The Lonely, specifically so invested in stopping that newcomer…?

- Outside of the RQ-extended-universe crossover inside-joke about “DOOOM”, I feel like Gary Boylan’s use of the word might be especially relevant because… he specifically differentiated it from “dread”.

(MAG144, Gary Boylan) “Do you know that one of the symptoms of a heart attack is literally a sense of impending doom? [INHALE] Well, I wasn’t having a heart attack, but I think I know what they mean…! What settled over me wasn’t dread; there wasn’t enough uncertainty for that. No. It was… doom. I was certain that some sort of disaster was on the horizon. […] And within those numbers are all of our dooms. If you know how to read them.”

… and “dread” was the word that Robert Smirke personally used to refer to the Fears:

(MAG138, Robert Smirke) “I have been blessed with a long life, something few who crossed paths with the Dread Powers can boast, but now… at the end of it, my true fear is that I have wasted it, chasing an impossible dream. […] I have been thinking, of late, about the first origin of the Dread Powers, if… such beings can really be said to have true origins. Are they eternal, or are they created from our own fear, by some grand accident – or, worse: some grand design? I believe the latter to be the case, as you well know, for I have in vain struggled to reconcile their creation with the existence of a Loving God.”

It's possible that Smirke’s vocabulary was… too restrictive, but I do wonder if… in context, it isn’t hinting that The Extinction-or-whatever-it-is isn’t actually a Fifteenth Fear, but something operating too differently from the others…?

- I’ll never get tired of Martin’s… little troubles when introducing statements – it never goes smoothly, he marks small pauses, has troubles reading the numbers, etc., compared to Jon’s… seamless professional voice (… except when some of his emotions are showing: sometimes impatience, sometimes… listen, when he introduced the statement in MAG129? He was still brooding SO MUCH after the disaster of a conversation he had had with Martin shortly before). In the same way, I… love how Martin’s own speculation is so awkward and potentially off the mark afterwards? Reminder that Martin barely remembered the name “Maxwell Rayner” in MAG098, and he sounded SO PROUD in MAG110 when he was able to guess that The Spooky Book Mentioned Had Probably Been A Leitner (“I mean… I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm.” mARTIN that was an easy guess… x””D); and in the same way, his conclusions in MAG138 were… a bit awkward compared to the content of the statement:

(MAG134) MARTIN: Anyway. Smirke was clearly wrong about the powers balancing each other, at least. I mean, i–it’s, [SHORT LAUGHTER] it’s obviously impossible. There’s too much variation in, in how much something is feared by people at any one time. And, and if that’s the case, I… suppose it’s… not impossible that Peter… [LONG PAUSE] might be telling the truth. I don’t know what he’s talking about when he mentions Millbank. The old prison, I guess? Tim said the tunnels under the Institute were all that was left of it, but… Jon said he’d checked them pretty thoroughly. 

(M… Martin, what “other Millbank” do you think it could be, given the discussions/researches in the Archives………………….) To his credit, he was trying to guess why Peter had given him this statement, so he had a certain Way Of Looking At Things, but. Still. Smirke’s statement wasn’t really about the “variations” of how people experience fear(s)…? And in the same way:

(MAG144) MARTIN: Statement ends. [CLEARS THROAT] [INHALE, EXHALE] … Right. Another… statement. Another side to… Peter’s “Extinction”. I think. I… Y– I– [HUFF] I, I couldn’t follow some of his reasoning, but I think it was about… nuclear weapons, or… or maybe doomsday’s weapons…? In keeping with the theme, I suppose.

Martin miiight be paying too much attention to concreteness and things he Already Knows, and failing hard to essentialise and theorise…? Obviously, yes, the symptoms evoke the destruction caused by nuclear weapons, both in MAG134 and MAG144 (destruction, corpses melting/being absolutely blasted), but the Fear itself… is something broader, probably? (So: is he accidentally absolutely spot-on? Or totally off the mark, and the fact that he went with “nuclear weapons” mean it isn’t this, at all?)

- ;; It has been a constant in season 4 when we have Martin’s statements and Jon’s statements: they… would both progress much better if they had access to each other’s statement.

MAG134’s (Smirke’s letter to Jonah) would have helped Jon to define a bit more Jonah’s whole character, after MAG127, and potentially retrace what happened to him – Jon labelled him as already “evil” in the 1830s, but turned out that he had apparently taken a step back, before falling deeper into Beholding shortly before 1867, apparently because he was afraid to die (… does that remind you of something, Jon?). Plus, indication towards the Watcher’s Crown. Meanwhile, Jon… learned that Adelard had helped Gertrude to stop The Flesh’s ritual in 2008, and could have pointed out a few old statements: MAG078 where Adelard tried to trap the Not!Them with the table and, more importantly, MAG113 where Adelard mistook an End avatar for an Extinction thing (… and we’re still not sure What The Heck  “Binary” was, but Jon could have pointed to MAG065… in case Tessa’s experience was related). And Jon could maybe just Know a few things, and help overall.

But they don’t communicate, they’re in their own bubbles, and information isn’t getting shared right now. (Though Martin was planning to communicate his tapes to Jon… MAG138, especially, could be helpful to deal with the Institute on its own…)

- I love Jon’s reading, alright, and I love Martin’s too for different reasons. He tends to put more emphasis in words, bloating some here and there? He gets so nasal sometimes? So casually sassy? Jon often has an edge, but Martin… Martin feels Less Charitable in his delivery and I love it. AND I ESPECIALLY LOVED:

(MAG144, Gary Boylan) “Something kept me rooted there, sleeping in a bedroom that hadn’t changed since I was fifteen, and caring for a man who I’d rather just shut up…!”

That. That “Shut up!” was so Beautiful And Martin.

- I’M SO EMOTIONAL OVER THE FACT THAT DAISY AND MARTIN ARE BECOMING KINDA FRIENDS WITH MAG142 AND MAG144… and then kinda nop. But the fact that Daisy was comfortable enough to come back, to share with Jon that she had talked with Martin, and that she wanted to give information about him (/them) to Martin in return… ;w;

(MAG144) [KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.] MARTIN: [SHORT SHAKY INHALE] [SILENCE] [KNOCK–KNOCK–KNOCK] MARTIN: [RUFFLING PAPER] Come in. [DOOR OPENS.] DAISY: Mind if I join you? [SCRIBBLING SOUNDS START.] [DOOR CLOSES] DAISY: They’re back. I thought you might wanna know. [INHALE] Seems like it went smooth – too smooth for Basira, sounds like. Keeps looking at Jon like she can’t believe he made it back. [SILENCE] I, uh… I mentioned our conversation to him; he asked me to check on– MARTIN: Just leave. DAISY: Sorry? MARTIN: [INHALE] Get out. DAISY: Oh. Right. Sorry, I didn’t– MARTIN: It’s not difficult! Just get out! DAISY: Fine. … Fine. Just thought you– MARTIN: No! No, you didn’t! [DOOR OPENS.] We’re not… we’re not friends, Daisy! None of us are! We’re all just trapped together, here, and–and kidding ourselves that we don’t hate it! Christ, there are more important things than, than “feelings”– DAISY: [INCREDULOUS EXHALE] MARTIN: –right now, alright, so just… leave me alone! For good! [SILENCE PUNCTUATED BY AGGRESSIVE SCRIBBLING NOISES] DAISY: … Right. You got it. [DOOR CLOSES]

The things Martin said… were very reminiscent of Tim’s own reasoning (and the overall idea that Tim… did feel trapped, and insisted on it, and was adamant about reminding everyone of that fact):

(MAG079) TIM: There is something in this place, and it’s messing up our heads. It watches us all the time. It stops me quitting. I’m pretty sure it would stop Elias firing Jon even if he decided to actually try running this place for once. MARTIN: You’re sure you don’t just want to stay? TIM: I’m. sure. MARTIN: But, like, deep down– TIM: No. MARTIN: … Oh. […] TIM: I… I’m not just going to leave you down here. MARTIN: You were all about quitting. TIM: Oh, for God’s sake, this isn’t about you. MARTIN: It never is. TIM: Alright, fine. Fine. What do you want? What’s your light at the end of these spooky damn tunnels? And don’t say “everyone happy forever”, because that’s not happening. … Well? MARTIN: I don’t know. I don’t know! I want to find out what’s going on. I want to save Jon. I want everyone to be fine and, you know what? If we were all happy that wouldn’t actually be the end of the world!

(MAG102) ARCHIVIST: Does the rest of the Institute know what’s going on down here? I mean, I never really paid attention, but… MARTIN: N–not really? I think? I mean, Tim’s been going on about it to anyone who listens, but I think they just… think he’s had a bit of a breakdown. ARCHIVIST: Well, I mean… MARTIN: I mean, they can quit.

And it also was a bit reminiscent of Gary Boylan’s own situation in his statement (MAG144: “We were both… trapped there, I think. Bound together in a sort of wordless misery.”). I’m not sure, then, that we should believe everything Martin told Daisy, especially since he pointed out to Peter that he had purposely wanted to drive Daisy away… partially to prevent Peter from wooshing her:

(MAG144) [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] MARTIN: [LONG SIGH] … Well? PETER: I’m impressed! And grateful. MARTIN: I didn’t do it for you. PETER: Even better. MARTIN: … It’s easier, this way. I’m sure you’d have had no problem sending her away. PETER: I hadn’t really thought about it. And now, thanks to you, I don’t need to. MARTIN: Yeah, well. It seems to be your go-to move for dealing with anyone.

He… did tell Daisy that there were “more important things than feelings right now”, and it’s heart-breaking when taking into account that he AGGRESSIVELY (and so beautifully snappily.) wanted people to be Happy at the end of season 2… but I want to Believe in Martin being good at Manipulating people in the direction he wants. Martin has a history of weaponising his own feelings when it served his purpose: he knows how to use them against others, and it’s precisely how he managed to make Elias do exactly what he needed, in MAG118 – it’s because he had Feelings that it worked. But at the same time, I do think a bit of truth might be sneaking out, even in this case, and that Martin’s own bitterness… might be showing some of his true feelings, too. To put it more simply: I heard the exchange and Martin making Daisy leave as a conscious move from his part, focusing on the goal… but I’m not sure that all of his words were faked and false. And that might be another danger of The Lonely, too? That Martin pushing people away and thinking he is in control… might lead to him falling deeper into The Lonely, because he’s cutting ties and working alone. There is something so dangerous in thinking that you’re friends with people, that you care for them… while you refuse to share anything anymore with them, push them away constantly, only know them from afar and dread more and more to interact with them. And I’m not sure that Martin is taking that into account as much as he should. What is the point of sacrificing himself to protect others if it makes everyone miserable in the process, including him?

- One glimmer of hope is that it had been pointed out, during their last interaction, that Daisy was “observant”:

(MAG142) MARTIN: … Yeah. [LONG INHALE] I suppose. [LONG EXHALE] You’re… you’re pretty observant, you know? DAISY: Detective, remember? MARTIN: Yeah, you did mention.

Daisy showed that she was good at paying attention, reading people and their feelings. So she might be able to correctly interpret what Martin said, and guess that… Peter was around. Martin did talk like a hostage trying to make another bystander leave before they’d get involved (he’d sounded like that with Jon, already, in MAG129).

(But I’m worried that Daisy might feel let down by him at the same time, and take his words at face value despite it all? ;;)

(… Another option: MAG142 ended with the tape recorder being cut off, while Martin and Daisy were still together and talking. So it’s possible that they strategised a bit after that about how to act/behave, and about the fact that Peter can turn invisible, and that Daisy knows a bit more about Martin’s whole situation. I don’t know ;; I’m stupidly hoping that Team Archives could finally manage to… plan together… and achieve things…)

- I’m so glad that Daisy has been around……………… She tried to act as a bridge between Jon and Martin, between the two Main Threads of the season 4, and? It’s really not what you would have expected from her when she first appeared in MAG061, and with her whole attitude in season 3, aaaaah…

(- And OOPS over the fact that Martin, who had decided to be cold and dry since the beginning of their scene (aggressively scribbling and pointedly… not making it sound like he’s available: the message was clearly that he was busy and she was bothering him and unwanted)… snapped and exploded and cut her off when she mentioned Jon and Jon using Daisy to get to him. Aouch. Is it that he’s unallowed anything Jon as far as Peter is concerned? Or because Martin really wants to prevent Peter from focusing on Jon?)

(- Also! Martin was chill with Daisy talking with him in MAG142, but not here in MAG144. Is it because now, he likes Daisy and wants to protect her, while he didn’t care in MAG142 because… he didn’t know much about Daisy’s actual personality outside of The Hunt? Or is it because Martin is beginning to be able to tell when Peter is spying on him, and when he isn’t? He directly addressed Jon through the tape at the end of MAG138, implying that he assumed that he was safe from Peter back then (he tried to lure him out and Peter didn’t manifest… but that wasn’t a guarantee). Here, he didn’t slip anything and was expecting Peter to pop up, from the start. So: can he feel it, now?)

- Peter’s logic is… so frightening:

(MAG144) PETER: I’m impressed! And grateful. MARTIN: I didn’t do it for you. PETER: Even better. MARTIN: … It’s easier, this way. I’m sure you’d have had no problem sending her away. PETER: I hadn’t really thought about it. And now, thanks to you, I don’t need to. […] Oh! Speaking of which: I’ve had a report of a workplace dispute in the library, and I would value your input. I’m trying to get out of the habit of, what did you call it…? “Sending them away”? MARTIN: [SIGH] … Fine.

It’s… really that Martin is trapped in this situation where only he can damage-control Peter, and they both know it, and Peter uses it fully to get Martin close and wrapped around his little finger, too (although Martin still snaps a lot and nags Peter and unleashes his pettiness at him in return). And Martin had already told Jon, during their last exchange:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: At least, The Eye hasn’t gone after our own. Lukas has vanished two people! MARTIN: Yeah, and if it wasn’t for me, it would’ve been a lot more. [SILENCE] This isn’t helping anything.

And… Martin was right back then ;; (And Peter probably wooshed these two people just for Martin to know that he could prevent it if he just… complied and stayed around and kept a close eye on Peter and did all his work. Martiiiiiin, you’re so absolutely stuck in an abusive relationship…)

- (not) SMOOTH, PETER, (not) SMOOTH:

(MAG134) PETER: Martin… My patron, hopefully our patron someday, doesn’t give me any sort of special insights. I’m not quite the accomplished voyeur that Elias was. I have to keep tabs on things the old-fashioned way. MARTIN: What, turning invisible and eavesdropping? PETER: If you like. But… I’m only one person, and I can’t keep an eye on everything.

(MAG138) MARTIN: I think he wants me to join The Lonely. ELIAS: Then it sounds like you have a decision to make.

(MAG144) PETER: I’m just not big on confrontation. You understand, I’m sure. MARTIN: We. Are not. The same. PETER: Of course. […] MARTIN: So what’s our next step? PETER: For you, keep researching. I’m sure we haven’t found all the statements in here that deal with The Extinction yet. One of the downsides of not serving The Ceaseless Watcher is that we have to actually look things up. Not to… mention the fact that Gertrude was distressingly good at obfuscation. The more you know about our enemy, the better.

… he slightly stressed that last “we” and it sounds like he absolutely does count Martinas being on the same side as him now and… not much as a Beholding agent? Getting hunches and being directed towards statements is Jon’s thing but the way Peter was dividing Beholding things and how he himself (and Martin alike) has to operate was a bit striking… ;;

(- On that note: I’m curious about how Peter mentions that Gertrude “was distressingly good at obfuscation” – we knew that already, right, but… Adelard’s letter in MAG113 (circa 2012) explicitly stated that Gertrude was “dismissive” of the possibility of a New Threat, and Adelard had chronologically already labelled it as The Extinction to her (MAG134’s letter is from 2009). Yet, Peter is assuming that Gertrude hid the information around the new Fear on purpose? Is it because Peter doesn’t know (yet) about the fact that Gertrude didn’t believe in it (and Gertrude might have accidentally labelled this and that statement with other Fears’ stamps), or did Gertrude… actually get more concerned about it, in her last years, and hide information on purpose…?)

- Re: Peter’s distaste for Confrontation and his implications that Martin is the same… it makes sense as a Lonely thing, but also: it… isn’t Very Martin, in fact? Because Martin held back, but he also did end up confronting people here and there – exploding at Jon in MAG039, nagging him into eating, orchestrating The Intervention, and trying to get him to talk to Tim in season 2, exploding in front of Tim in MAG079, literally confronting Elias in MAG118. But at the same time: it’s true that it Takes A Lot for Martin to finally snap.

But the thing about being non-confrontational is not exclusively Lonely and I’m reminded of these moments in relation to Martin:

(MAG138) MARTIN: … What? [HUFF] That’s it? No, no monologue, no mindgames? You love manipulating people! ELIAS: That makes two of us.

(MAG128, Breekon) “The Spider’s always an easy job – no fuss, no complication, everything planned and prepared. It knows too much to truly be a Stranger, but hides its knowing well enough to endure.”

So mmmmmm, I might be grasping at straws and I still want to hope about Web!Martin but. What Martin is doing can still perfectly be read as absolutely Web-y: not confronting and mostly getting people where and how he wants them, making them believe they are the ones in control of their own actions and decisions, while hiding in plain sight.

- I’m… so sorry for Martin, why is your life SO HARD baby:

(MAG138) MARTIN: Great. Great, great. So, what you’re [NERVOUS LAUGHTER] actually saying is that you’re gonna be… no help whatsoever! ELIAS: … Just like old times~ MARTIN: I don’t know what I expected.

(MAG144) MARTIN: You’re not just going to tell me, maybe? PETER: When have I ever? MARTIN: [LONG-SUFFERING SIGH]

Martin had to deal with BOTH of them, do you even realize how shitty his life is? He got the Worst Of Elias, and he’s been dealing with Peter for months, and They’re Just The Same. (Lonely Eyes rubbing off on each other, I GUESS? :w)

(- On that nsfw note:

(MAG144) MARTIN: And you? PETER: I have my own explorations I need to attend to. […] I’m absolutely delighted with your progress, and I feel you’ve earned some straight answers. MARTIN: But not from you. PETER: Oh, no. That sort of conversation makes me very uncomfortable.

1°) “Straight” (answers) make Peter uncomfortable 2°) Peter has his “own explorations” to take care of

… was that a reference to Elias, Peter.)

- The Dark is (presumably) dealt with so now, we’re getting new Questions in the Speculation Game, namely: who is Peter’s “friend”?

(MAG144) PETER: I have my own explorations I need to attend to. And a, hum… meeting. To arrange. For you…! MARTIN: For me? PETER: I’m absolutely delighted with your progress, and I feel you’ve earned some straight answers. MARTIN: But not from you. PETER: Oh, no. That sort of conversation makes me very uncomfortable. No, I’m owed a favour by a friend of mine. I’ve asked him to stop by, when he’s back in the country. MARTIN: You’re not just going to tell me, maybe? PETER: When have I ever? MARTIN: [LONG-SUFFERING SIGH] PETER: Oh, come now. What would life be without the occasional twist?

It’s a “he”. People we’ve heard about that I’m considering:

* Mikaele Salesa: we got reminded of his existence in MAG141, and he’s been revealed to be Officially Dead… through a third-hand account, who never saw the body, and it was after retrieving an item with an unknown purpose (but a broken camera lens… brought me to mind Beholding or Dark stuff, and something allowing you to conceal instead of revealing?). We know that Peter and Salesa were on good enough terms, back in MAG066, for them to… bet on whether someone would survive getting accidentally stuck in one of Salesa’s items, and he looked a bit relieved that the dude hadn’t died, so Peter opening the crate sounded like he was doing him a favour => could be the one Peter is referring to, or something else, but at least, they know each other, they both are Sailors People, etc., so learning a bit more about how they came to be acquaintances/them working on some projects together would make sense.

* Simon Fairchild: Peter said that his friend would be “back in the country” and we know that Simon Fairchild, who travels a lot, is actually from Hackney (if it’s the same con artist who was active in the 1930s that Jon had worked on, as he mentioned in MAG051). The Lukases and Fairchilds participated together in the Daedalus project, both “families” (Gerry told us that while the Lukases are about bloodlines, Fairchilds are… more of a brand?) are filthy rich, and, overall, Jon jinxed it back in MAG124 when he spat that “I do not think I ever wish to meet him.”

* Adelard Dekker…? I would be very surprised if he had been on friendly terms with Peter, but then, we don’t know much about Adelard (he tended to save people or prevent more victims when he was around… but it was more about neutralising threats than caring much about collateral damages: he did use explosives to stop The Flesh’s ritual). I’m kinda expecting Adelard to either have turned into an Extinction avatar by present time, or have been killed researching it, or have been killed… by Peter, hence Peter knowing so much about his researches but not asking for his help in tracking down his statements. (I had also considered at some point that MMM, what if Adelard and Peter are actually the same person under aliases…? But they’re both Rare Cases of characters who have had official descriptions: Peter is very pale even for a white man, while Adelard is a Black man. So nah.)

* Oliver Banks…? I’m not suggesting him because I love this sneaky little shit and would love to hear him more – er, not only because of it. But overall, Peter was able to explain to Martin why The End had never tried a ritual attempt and wasn’t interested in it, while he wasn’t as certain of The Web’s motivations for doing the same (and not carrying out its ritual)… so that could fit with him being actually pretty well acquainted with an End avatar as an inside source. Not banking (get it? get it?) on it, but. (Also, canonically handsome mlm Oliver never met Tim (as far as we know), which is a shame, but. Martin is still right here. And Oliver knows a bit about Jon’s dreams and overall situation with the Spiders. So could be an interesting encounter.)

* Another Lukas…? Peter said “friend”, though, but I’m pretty sure he would call Martin a “friend” to someone else if asked, and they’re not friends. (… This sentence sounds like SF’s Trexel.)

* I’m trying to “be in Peter’s head” and imagine what it would take for him to use that wording, and: I’m not expecting it at all, because I think he… won’t be relevant ever aside from what we were told in MAG118. But. But if Peter’s “friend” was actually Martin’s dad, this is probably the wording he would use, and it would be awful.

- So we got an update and Basira&Jon made it “home” safely:

(MAG144) DAISY: They’re back. I thought you might wanna know. [INHALE] Seems like it went smooth – too smooth for Basira, sounds like. Keeps looking at Jon like she can’t believe he made it back. [SILENCE] I, uh… I mentioned our conversation to him; he asked me to check on–

We technically don’t know how long it took them through Helen’s corridors, but presumably not much time. (… Martin had apparently felt like he had been stuck with Tim in Michael’s for weeks, although it was actually at most a day or two? He did spit that it had been “weeks” at Elias but we know the dates at the end of season 2 / beginning of season 3, it can’t have been weeks.)

Why is Basira surprised that Jon managed to make it back…? Is it because she thinks he should be dead from the Dark Sun…? (Because… I would expect Basira to be surprised that she herself made it back – and we had confirmation that she wasn’t planning to get rid of Jon against The Dark, since she tried to convince him to not Try To Get Himself Killed and even suggested that leave a potential threat untouched, in MAG143… So why the focus on Jon?) Daisy interacted with him and didn’t mention anything amiss, so I doubt he got blinded, in any case?

In summary: we’ve… been cut-out from Jon’s POV since MAG139/MAG140 and Jon Still Remains A Mystery – what is he thinking, when did he begin to forcefully torture and extort live-statements from innocent people (… if it was indeed him in MAG142 and not the rib he gave to Jared mutating or something)? Martin has been gradually taking more importance, in season 4: he was barely seen at first (MAG124, MAG129), began to have his moments alone/with Peter (MAG126), went back to reading statements (MAG134, MAG138, MAG144) and to having episodes solely dedicated to him interacting with people and wondering about his own researches (MAG138 when he first visited Elias, MAG142 when he received the Unnamed Female Victim’s complain). Martin’s episodes are getting more and more frequent, to the point of… alternating with “Jon”’s episodes since we came back from the hiatus. While Jon’s own thoughts are currently hidden to us, Martin has been more transparent and has received focus of his own. He’s stepping up as a protagonist, right now… and it could be the sign that we’re meant to lose Jon (whether because he would die-die or die-as-Jon) soon…?

(- Last time Martin and Jon interacted was fifteen episodes ago, in MAG129 (holy Mew) and… at this point, I’m doubting more and more that if they do interact ever again, it would go… well. Whether because Peter is in the room and Martin pulls the same thing he did with Daisy (shouting at her until she left, screaming/pretending/maybe being more honest than he thought about his own bitterness), or because Martin takes into account what he’s been told by the woman in MAG142, or… anything. Even if Jon picks up, like the fandom did, on the fact that he’s been led by Elias to experience other Fears and that the Lonely is missing… pointing out to Martin that Martin is possibly meant to be the one inflicting the Lonely on him, and that Peter’s schemes were mostly to keep Martin occupied and push him towards the Lonely to have an effect on Jon… would be devastating for Martin? It’s still a possibility (though I personally do believe that there IS indeed a new threat, whether it’s The Extinction or… something else, that they’ve all been misinterpreting), and it was brought up, whether it’d be true or not, I can’t imagine Martin reacting well to the thought that he’d have only been used and never mattered in the first place. How could Jon and Martin even interact, nowadays? Jon has already told Martin that he missed him. Daisy implied that Jon sent her to check on him. Martin knows that Jon is worried and cares – he knows, and it’s not enough, because there is the new threat and Peter to deal with at the moment. And in the meantime, Jon has apparently fallen deeper into Beholding than we previously thought. How could they even find a common ground after this…? (………………… except by sharing mourning over Tim and Sasha, I guess. I miss Tim.)

Title for MAG145 is out and OOOOH BOY. Obviously, it brings to mind the whole content of MAG139 and Jon’s tirade at the end – AND it screams “Corruption statement” (finally!! baby is maybe finally making it into season 4!!). We have a link between Desolation and Corruption through Diego’s beliefs in “Asag” (who contained both aspects), and the fact that Arthur Nolan had been “demoted” from cult leader to The Hive’s landlord and… we still don’t know the story behind that. But I’m not sure we would dig into Desolation/Agnes-related matters so soon, since Eugene had explained that they had lost their chance for their ritual for a few decades – it’s not an urgent matter for Jon, I doubt he’ll keep investigating right now, after having just confirmed that they aren’t a current threat? So, mmm, things I’m considering:

- Jon digging into Corruption/Desolation history again anyway.

- Jon digging into the Corruption to check if they got their ritual attempt – it’s missing on our list, could have been what the worms were trying to do in the tunnels but we still don’t know… and overall, we don’t know a lot about how Corruption operates past independent avatars (The Hive/Jane Prentiss, and John Amherst, Maggie/Gordie): would a ritual be carried out by a lonesome avatar, or would it need a collaboration between many?

- Another of Gertrude’s tapes, this time about The Corruption and their plans for a ritual? Because perhaps the double meaning of the title could… be about her own thoughts (since we already had a look at Jon’s own in MAG139).

- MELANIE digging into Corruption-related matters to track down (or establish what happened to him, if he’s dead) John Amherst’s moves after MAG036/MAG055’s reports.

As for the second meaning: I doubt it would be about Martin, and I’m not sure if it can be about Jon again so soon after MAG139 (unless… it’s about Something Else, ie Jon, what are your current thoughts about The Watcher’s Crown. Have you never mentioned that you wanted to stop it because you’re afraid of negative repercussions if you say it outright, or because you actually do not not want to prevent it.)… so, the assistants about Jon? Or about Martin, since he chased Daisy away? Or an overall realisation that they thought they were doing their own things, but have probably been played by Elias all through season 4?

[inhumanwhump]

[character and setting info]

cw: technical self harm; mouth trauma (teeth removal). bullying. vomiting. child abuse, not in focus. hurt, no comfort

-

Avery’s seven, when it all gets too much.

He had been excited for school. Had been looking forward to it, bouncing off the walls and spinning in the hall, and even when his Mom had yelled at him to shut up, he hadn’t been able to contain himself.

It was his first time. He hadn’t gone to kindergarten, and since Mom didn’t like him going outside, he didn’t really have any friends either. But now he was going to be surrounded by other kids! Kids that could be his friends! That he could play with, and learn with, and get to know, and Avery had not even cared when his Mom had kept dinner from him for making too much noise. He had been too excited to care.

And now, two months later, Avery feels nothing but dread.

School’s hell. Every day he drags his feet, shoulders hunched and head hung, and every day he hesitates at the door, throat thick. And every day he asks if he can stay home, please Mom, and every day he gets yelled at, because haven’t we been over this already, Avery? And he knows he should stop asking, but he’s miserable.

Because every day it’s the same. Every day he’s followed by whispers and laughter. Every day no one wants to sit beside him, or talk to him, or even look at him. He’s mocked, and he’s left out, and he’s the freak of the school. And as the days go by, he feels worse and worse.

He sits by himself in class. Eats lunch by himself. At recess, he hides in a corner and watches, envy thick in his throat, as the other kids play together. He doesn’t dare ask to join, not after the first time when one of the other kids hit him right in the face with the ball.

He’s lonely. So achingly lonely, and all because of his stupid teeth.

Avery hadn’t even realised his teeth were weird. Not before now, at least. Sure, they don’t look like his Mom’s, or anyone on TV either, but it’s not like anyone had ever told him.

His teeth are sharp. Super sharp, in fact. If he presses the tip of a finger against them, it’ll bleed. He’s bitten himself more times than he can count, always ending up with blood in his mouth, and it’s first now, after the other kids have pointed it out to him, that he realises how freaky that is.

How freaky he is.

At first he had hoped it would just go away. That eventually everyone would realise that his teeth weren’t that big of a deal, and then they’d become friends and Avery could play with them and have friends, and it would be great!

But it never happens. And two months in, Avery can’t take it anymore.

The teeth has to go.

-

He’s seven, running on emotion and not much else.

He finds a pair of pliers in a closest, in an old and dusty toolbox he’s never seen in his life. At first, he had tried with his fingers; which had been a terrible idea, because his teeth are too sharp, too wicked, and his fingers had bleed all over the place, skin torn to shreds, and he had ended up standing by the sink, water running and uninjured hand jammed into his ribs to keep himself from crying.

So. Pliers.

Avery’s not stupid- he knows it’ll hurt, probably real bad too, but he’s so tired. Every day is miserable, slow and thick with this heavy weight dragging him down, and he figures compared to that, the pain’ll be a cake walk.

He does it on a Saturday. Mom’s gone out, as she usually does, and it’s just him in the apartment. He’s supposed to be asleep, has even dressed himself in his pyjamas, had tucked himself in and laid there in the dark as his Mom got ready and then left, lights off and apartment quiet as a grave.

He hadn’t fallen asleep, of course. As soon as the door locked behind her, he had crawled out of bed, found the pliers from beneath it, and gone to the bathroom.

There’s a shower-tub combo in there. It’s lined with water-circles and dried soap bits, and Avery had figured this would be a good place to do it. He’s never been to a dentist before, but he’s seen movies, and there’s usually lots of blood, so the bathtub would probably be an ideal place.

He folds his pyjamas neatly on the toilet, shivers at the cold as he sits himself down in the bathtub, and then kind of stops.

The pliers are heavy in his hands.

Avery hasn’t really thought this far.

He squints down at them. Shifts them from hand to hand. He knows he needs to like, pull them out, but he’s not sure how to best do that. Isn’t even sure how they’re stuck in there in the first place, and Avery’s starting to doubt his great plan.

What if he can’t get them out? What if he messes it up real bad? 

Avery fiddles with the pliers, frowning and thinking hard, but-

He has to do this.

He thinks of every whispered jeer, every lonely day eating alone, every back turned to him, every instant of rejection. And his teeth are the cause of that. Because of his stupid weird teeth, he has no friends. He has no one to talk to, or play with, or learn with. He has no one, and the thought aches.

Throat tight, Avery grips the pliers properly, and opens up his mouth.

He can’t see anything. He has to guide the pliers mostly by instinct, has to bump the cool metal against his face a few times, before he gets it in his mouth.

Positioning it takes a bit of fiddling. Holding it is awkward, and getting them around a tooth even more so. But eventually he manages to grip one of them, and it’s kind of gross, the metal iron-y against his tongue, but it’s there, little bumps gripped onto his teeth.

It’s weird. He can feel it, holding onto his tooth, and he gives an experimental wiggle, a little tug.

He can feel something, pulling in his gum. Tugging on something rooted in his jaw, and it’s- hard to put word to.

He hesitates again. Sits there, heart beating fast in his chest, cold sweat prickling on his back.

He has to do this, he reminds himself. He has to, because imagining the result makes his chest ache with want, and this is something he needs to do.

He braces himself on the tub. Shifts, arches a bit, fingers going white on the pliers, and it’s happening, he’s doing this, he has to-

He breathes in sharp, and yanks.

It’s hard to describe, the way it feels. It’s like a crack, felt in his head more than heard, and for a few, blank seconds, Avery just blinks down at the pliers, his tooth held firmly in its jaws.

And then the pain hits.

Avery howls.

The pliers drop from his fingers, clatter over his knee and the tooth disappears in the tub, red smearing, and Avery bends in half, clutches at his face, eyes wide and unseeing and the scream tearing straight from his throat.

It hurts.

Blood splatters down his thigh. Sticky, thick, iron-y. Avery sobs, a gasping noise shuddering from his chest, and the pain is white-hot, has crawled up into his head and settled itself down there, raking claws across every nerve, every little bit of him.

Blood fills his mouth. Avery can’t quite breathe.

The pain doesn’t really fade. It softens, dims into a throbbing in his jaw, and Avery comes back to himself slowly, tears and blood and snot dripping down his face. The bathtub is red beneath him. The pliers are poking into his thigh.

His head is still reeling.

He chokes on the last few shaken sobs, shivering and shuddering. He blinks his eyes rapid, vision blurred and smeared, and he’s cold.

This was. Maybe not the best idea.

Avery wipes at his face. Winces, hard, when his palm brushes his jaw, pain reeling up his nerves like electric shocks. He bites down on another sob, then flinches even harder as his lips split open like butter, blood washing into his mouth once more.

He cracks like something broken.

Avery weeps. Cries hard and fast, shuddering apart like rickety houses during an earthquake. The tears run hot down his face, and he hunches in on himself, arms wrapped tight around his body and toes pushing at the slippery surface of the tub, and this was supposed to work.

It wasn’t supposed to hurt like that! It wasn’t supposed to be this hard! It wasn’t supposed to fall apart so quickly!

His jaw aches, his head throbs. Avery wails, choking on every gasping breath he takes, blood and saliva dripping down his chin like drool, and it’s been two months.

Two months of being picked at and mocked, of being alone and rejected and Avery hates it.

He had just wanted a friend. Just one! Just one person who liked him and wanted to play with him, who didn’t ignore him and yell at him and hate him!

Avery cries harder. His vision is a blur, he’s cold and he’s hungry, and everything hurts, both in his head and in his heart, and he just wants someone, anyone.

But nobody’s here.

The apartment’s quiet, dark. The bathroom light hisses, flickery and florescent, and the noise of it is the only sound beside his own sad, pathetic sobbing.

And he is pathetic, isn’t he?

The thought is hot and angry and sharp. He swallows the next sob, nails digging into his arms, heart railing against his chest, and the truth is crimson in his mouth.

He got one teeth in. One, and then he just gave up.

Avery shivers. Stares down at his knees, the smears of pink-red along his thighs and legs, collected at the bottom of the tub. His feet are painted with the blood too, and the pliers are wedged under his butt, the metal freckled with dots of red.

His breath is loud in his head. The pain is still there, throbbing at his jaw, plucking at his nerves, and Avery remembers the smack of the ball against his face, the way everyone had laughed. The way no one had cared as he tumbled to the ground, wide-eyed and mute with shock and pain.

When he picks them up, the pliers are heavy.

Avery has to breathe for a while, before he manages to get the next one out. He sits there for some time, breath shuddery and eyes wide, toes curling at the bottom of the tub. The pain is a heavy memory, a touch lingering still. His mouth tastes like iron, like blood and cold-metal, and when he yanks this time, the tooth doesn’t quite come out.

He still screams.

He still sobs.

The pliers remain in his hands, though, and he can feel the tooth in his mouth, dangling in there, and it’s way worse than last time. He screams for longer, panic pitching his voice, and he tries to twist the pliers, to sever whatever’s keeping the tooth in his mouth, and god-

It hurts. It hurts, and there’s acid in his mouth, blood smearing down his front and making his hands slippery, and his mind is spiralling apart, desperation and panic coiling together into one.

He tugs again, again, and each one makes his head jerk, makes pain play at his nerves and he can barely breathe through the whining plea climbing up his throat, through every little sob and gasp.

Eventually, the tooth comes free.

Avery nearly throws himself over his own knees, jaw clicking shut painfully, and the vomit rushes up his throat, burns at his tongue.

The pliers clatter to the tub. The teeth skids across, long root-like things sprawling out behind it.

Blood is slipping through his teeth.

Avery vomits on his own feet.

It’s thin and yellowy, streaked with vivid red, and Avery gasps, hands shaking and vision blurring. He can’t think, can’t even feel the pain howling in his skull. Can’t feel anything, really, except the way his skin is prickled with cold, and the way his hands are vibrating.

Avery thinks maybe he sobs. Thinks maybe it doesn’t matter.

He goes for the pliers again.

His hands are shaking too much. The pliers slip, end up ripping at his lip, and Avery whines, more blood getting over his hands, soaking into his underwear. He’s glad he removed his pyjamas.

He’s glad he’s doing it here, in the bathtub.

He goes for his teeth again.

-

Avery doesn’t know how long it takes.

He knows there’s blood everywhere. That he puked two more times, and tore up his lips more than that. But most of his teeth are there, lying in the bathtub, red and white and so sharp he could cut himself on them.

He’s dizzy. Shaky. He can’t feel anything, can’t think, but he knows he should clean this up. Knows he should move, because he’s pretty sure his Mom wouldn’t be happy about this, would yell at him and punish him, and he’s kind of really hungry, so that’d be pretty bad.

But he can’t quite get up.

Every time he tries he slips, banging his elbows and knees on the slopes of the tub. His palms are painted red, leaves little handprints all over as he tries valiantly to climb to his feet, and he giggles as he goes, not quite sure why it’s funny, but finding it so anyway.

Eventually, after a lot of banging and slipping and nearly braining himself a few times, he manages to get up. He’s swaying a lot, unsteady on his feet, but here’s there, upright, clutching at the shower head like a lifeline.

The hot water is a relief.

He shudders, eyes fluttering closed, pained little whine slipping out. His skin ache, cold and numb, and a tear worms down his cheek. It’s kind of a surprise.

He had figured he’d be out by now.

After a while, Avery manages to make himself move.

He unhooks the shower head, hoses down the bathtub. He stands there as the hot water eats at the blood, swaying ever so gently, staring blank-eyed as the water runs red, then pink, then eventually clear.

There’s still rings of crusted blood down there. Stripes of it, dried and stubborn, and Avery knows he should be trying to scrub them out, but-

His head is spinning. He’s really, really, tired.

He kind of just wants to sleep.

Avery shudders. Eyes closing, hands shaking. His chest rises, falls- he wants to cry, suddenly and furiously, and he’s not even sure why. It worked out, didn’t it?

He drops the shower-head in the tub. Turns it off, and then stands there for a beat, just breathing, steam swirling around him. He should probably take off his underwear.

Should probably throw out the teeth too.

Even though his skin is still red from the water, Avery feels cold.

He does manage to climb out eventually. Fights off his underwear, and throws them in the sink to soak, because he’s pretty sure they weren’t originally red. Collecting his teeth takes a while, and he ends up leaning with his chest against the side of the tub, eyes falling closed from time to time, reaching blindly for his teeth.

He makes a pile on the floor, and there’s a little puddle of vaguely pink water there, but honestly- he can’t be bothered. He finds a towel to throw over it, wrapping his teeth in it, and he figures he’ll leave them in his room for now, throw them out later when he’s not so exhausted.

His pyjamas are soft and fluffy and warm, and even though it’s a battle to put them on, Avery’s never been so thankful for anything in his life. He has to clutch at the sink for a bit, shaking and not quite sure why he’s crying again, just trying to breathe and not fall to his knees.

Everything hurts, in a vague, and distant way.

There’s still blood in his mouth.

Leaving the bathroom feels weird. It’s too clear outside it, the air fresh and sharp, and Avery stumbles his way out, teeth-towel pressed to his chest, and everything is so stark.

The pain is hurtling at him, prickling along his jaws and gums, tugging at the tears in his lips and jabbing at the empty holes in his mouth.

Closing his mouth feels wrong.

He dumps the towel in a corner of his room, closes his door and climbs back into bed. His cheeks are tender, achy. Lying down hurts.

It’s okay, he thinks, desperate. They’ll like me now. They won’t think I’m weird, or a freak.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Hugs himself tight, and hopes he’ll fall asleep before the numbness fully fades.

(the next morning his mouth is full of teeth once more)

[skyfallofcybertron-blog]

Transformers Skyfall: Chapter 2. Invisible Touch.

Cybertron, before the War, had a rigid caste system. Every form had a function, but one couldn't choose what they where sparked into. Minicons might as well have been even further below the lowest tier in the system. More often than not, we where objects. Tools and pets. Animals. Not even Cybertronian. There was a reason why Ravage and Soundwave’s other Deployers had so much to proof.

I was just like any other Deployer back then. I was cold constructed. Massed produced. There was no love forged for my birth. I relied on any affection from my carrier. Yet, in that short time span, I had already experienced what most Minicons would go through. I was bought, loved briefly, then was sold off for a few extra credits. After that, I sold second hand. Swindle did a good job scrubbing my processors clean of my former contacts.

Though, the longer I thought about it, I’m pretty positive that my former family didn’t want me around anymore. I wouldn’t have being in Swindle’s pawn shop if they wanted me.

My next carrier, Calloway, was a sad and old mech. Somebot with way too many credits and nothing to spend it on. I never learned where he got all of it. He was around for the Golden Age. A blacksmith, I believe. The old truck was massive, but was more skittish than a turbo jackrabbit. Never really held me. Let alone carried me. He’s huge servos always just hung out of reach. Like he was afraid of me.

I truly think that Calloway was trying to make me happy with everything he let me do. The old mech shook his little close knit social cycle. That’s for sure. No one at the time was letting Deployers do anything on their own. Let alone something solely for the Deployer’s own enjoyment.

Yet, Calloway let me do it. Calloway let me get an education. A real one. He bought me things. Expensive things. High grade, the latest inlays, decorations, outings, my own personal quarters within his spire of a home. In the end, I had a feeling it was just a longer, more extravagant leash.

I never could ask why he did any of it. Whenever I brought up the subject, he would just wave me off.

“Let an old fool make one more good thing before he flares out.”

Those fires never died out in his chassis they way he wanted them too. They came to end him personally because shortly after my graduation, war finally came to the streets of Cybertron. One by one, the cities around Iacon flickered out with the Decepticons advances. I was hidden in a cabinet while I watched Calloway’s spark was snuffed from existence.

The old mech was indeed a fool. He refused a order from Starscream himself.

Starscream wanted him to join the ‘Cons. To work and create more for the army. Weapons, I think. It was always weapons with Starscream.

I think Starscream really just wanted Calloway’s forge.

Starscream did get his forge. His Seekers tore Calloway’s home apart. Stole whatever they could get their collective talons on. The smug bastard just stood and preened as he let his goons work. It didn’t take long for them to realize that Calloway wasn’t living alone. To be fair, I also shouldn’t have blasted out of the cabinet. The internal screaming of my processors telling me to run was in greater control than the possibility of being murdered if I fled.

I was caught. No slag there. One lone minicon drone is not much of match a whole flock of Seekers. Starscream took personal amusement out of my thrashing and screaming. I must have looked so foolish to the Air Commander. As if my protests would actually harm any of his squad. I became just another tool for the ‘Cons to pillage. The only good thing that happened that day was that I was paired with Night Glide. I haven’t left his side ever since.

Night Glide now worked for the Badgeless. Police force isn’t quite the words describe it. They weren’t hired goons either. They could work outside the restriction of the law to keep the peace on the streets. That doesn’t sound good either. To be fair, most of the general public didn’t like how it sounded too. The Badgeless, more often than not, where just as corrupt as Metroplex’s actual police force. Nobody liked them. No one, other than me. Obviously. People liked to point that out to me a lot.

“I’m just saying,” I raised my voice a little higher over the noise of the bar. Maccadam’s was as busy as ever. Blurr was, well, a blur keeping up with orders. Though, he wasn’t struggling in anyway. The Ex-Autobot found his new talent in mixing drinks. The mech pretty much manned the bar alone. He must have saved Maccadam a fortune. “If the Badgeless and the police clean out their ranks, we won’t have the fights on the streets as much.”

“You have a screw loose, Sky.” Blurr joked.

Slug nodded in agreement, “Bots are all kinds of messed up now. You saw it first hand with that mech yesterday. War does that to people.”

I hummed softly.

That grounder from the checkpoint was still on my mind. He wasn’t a combatant. He wasn’t even from Cybertron. I read up his file later that night. He was trying to immigrate from Carcer. He wanted to rebuild. Just as much as I do. Though, if I pointed that out to Slug right now; his fair argument would still be pretty valid. The War did mess up a lot of mech and femmes. I couldn’t really argue with that.

So, I instead sat up a little straighter from my perch of stacked data pads to take a sip of my drink out of a curly straw. Being thankful I wasn’t the strangest sight in the room.

Maccadam’s attracted all sorts. Be it ‘Bot, ‘Con, flyer, groundpounder, dinosaur or bug. It was nice to not feel so out of place for once. Minicons both stuck out and blended in with the crowd. Small enough to go unnoticed. Yet, the smaller you where on Cybertron, bots would stop and stare.

I decided to let Blurr and Slug continue on with the conversation which somehow morphed into someone joining an axe throwing competition. I didn’t quite catch who was throwing axes and at what. Or how that, of all things, came out of police brutality. Yet, it was always a challenge to follow any conversation Blurr was having. He did everything fast.

I chatted with (fat) Tanker instead. He was a little rough around the edges, but we were both ‘Cons. We had a mutual understanding over that.

However, all the air was stucked out of the room like an air lock once the door opened and my carrier stood at the top of the stairs. Night Glide was still in his deep gray Badgeless uniform. The orange glass from the helmet was tucked neatly under his arm as he scanned the room.

Despite having every optic in the room locked onto him, Night Glide kept his helm and his wings held high. A Seeker’s way to show he was in control. However, for grounders, it came off as arrogant. Even something as simple as body language was a huge difference between us and them.

Blurr went to say something, but for once, I bet him to the punch.

“Hey, sweetspark. Is everything ok?” I asked as he descended down the stairs to join us at the bar.

“There was a bomb that was set off in the Blacklight Mall. I’m here to take you home and-”

“Not be dealing with a bomb threat?” Blurr cut in anyways.

Night Glide’s red optics locked onto the blue Autobot. Like an animal about to kill its prey. I scrabble from my mountain of old magazines to the bar top. Wedging myself in between the two mechs.

“Night Glide, he’s-”

“Blurr, was it?” Night Glide said, “Ah, yes, I remember Commander Starscream speaking about you. He said that you liked running your mouth as much as your tires.”

Blurr leaned over the counter. He hissed, “I might like spinning my wheels, Badgeless, but at least I do my job.”

“Whoa! Ok!” I flare my wings wide before transforming. I flew around my carrier’s helm a few times, sputtering quickly, “Yes, thank you, Glide. I appreciate you taking me home. Thank you.”

I made a point of making that thank you as loud as possible. I zipped over to Blurr and circled around him. Luckily for me, Minicons are built with their own wifi signal. I paid for my drinks.

“And thank you, Blurr,” I said, “for the service tonight. Drinks were excellent as always.”

I flew back to Night Glide’s side and added, “We all should be careful going home tonight. Right?”

I got a halfhearted response from my drinking buddies. It was better than nothing I supposed. It wasn’t like I could force them to like Night Glide. None of them knew him like I did and he didn’t care to give them the time of day. The War for Cybertron may have been over. The battle with my social life wasn’t.

My carrier’s chestplate slid open. I popped inside.

As Night Glide disappeared back up the stairs; I could hear Slug mutter how he couldn't see what I saw in him. I’m sure that Glide did too. I sent my carrier a soft ping to ease him. He pinged back. I shifted in my compartment as the Seeker transformed and raced into the skyline.

“Blurr didn’t mean it.”

“No. He did.”

“Are you off duty at least?”

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t abandon my post. You know that.”

“Blurr would know that too if you came out with me more…” I said aloud.

I was going to keep that to myself, but being integrated to Night Glide at the moment; he would know. I felt the Seeker make a gentle bank. He hummed in thought.

“Maccadam’s is not for me, my love.”

“I know… I just want you to meet some of my friends. That’s all. I can talk about you until the Knights come home, but…”

“But I’m still Starscream’s ped licker.”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“You were thinking it.”

I sighed softly, “Yeah, maybe…”

There was a beat of radio silence between the two of us. I felt Night Glide transform once again; landing cleanly on our balcony. Once I heard his heeled peds click on the concrete, I let myself out. I stood on his outstretched forearm. It was the only way I could meet him optic to optic. Said optics where dim with a long days work. It didn’t seem fair to me. Night Glide worked so hard to keep the peace and no one cared.

I took his faceplates in my tiny servos to gently thumb his cheeks. The Seeker gave me weak, albeit happy smile. I couldn’t help, but to return the favor.

“I’ll try…” Night Glide finally spoke, “I’ll try again with your friends. If it would you happy, Skyfall.”

I felt my smile only grow brighter. I hadn’t been more proud of my carrier.

[squidproquoclarice]

Fine, now that you mention it I do want commentary on ch3 of MAWAMS, you absolute menace. Also, this is hella good imagery even though it hurt me emotionally so props on that: “Suddenly the whole thing seemed to turn as one single nightmare, like a thaumatrope, that 19th century child’s toy, the disk with a bird on one side and a cage on the other. Spin it fast enough and the two pictures combined, the bird suddenly trapped in the cage.”

I…have only myself to blame for this.  Though oh shit, where do I even start.  Buckle your seatbelt because this will take a while.Since you mentioned it specifically: the thaumatrope image seemed too on the nose to not use at this point.  Lorena and Lucy, watching them die, watching them happy in love with someone else.  There’s no way it ever ends well for him with either of them, because he’ll only fail them, and he doesn’t deserve to be happy anyway.  It’s all just one big blur of pain, the bird captured and stuck in its cage.I debated skipping the scene where Denise and Garcia go see Lorena.  But it’s an important thing for him.  He’s waited for four years to see her alive again and he deserved that moment, painful as it is.  I deliberately wrote it as somewhat spare in some ways–he’s not focusing on how beautiful she is to him, or looking for too long at her kids to see how much they may resemble Iris, for example.  He’s doing his best to keep the emotions in the box and lock everything down tight.I had Lorena come over because Lorena Valaitis is tough and nobody’s damn fool and seeing this strange car and people staring at her house, she’s gonna take notice and confront them.  And honestly, because Flynn sort of needed more than to just spy on her walking her kids to the car.  This hurts like hell, but it also helps him make more peace with her situation.  And on a meta level, Lorena deserves some Goddamn screen time and a voice of her own rather than being simply a concept inspiring  Garcia’s emotions, because she’s a really great character to write.As to the house, it made sense for Lorena to live there now.  I’d written it as an inheritance from her grandparents that the Flynns used when they were stateside with Lorena’s family.  They lived primarily in Croatia, in Split, due to Garcia’s work as an Eastern Europe NSA asset, but as I wrote in the vodka confessions, they were planning to move to Baltimore permanently in the future.  So it’s a house Lorena loved.  Of course this Lorena whose life centers even more tightly around her hometown will still live there.I had the murders happen in Baltimore because it makes more sense for him to get to Brazil, especially with virtually no money and no resources, if he’s on the proper side of the Atlantic already, and from the look of the cemetery and some the names on other headstones in 1x06, they’re seemingly buried in America, not Croatia, which is what originally made me go for Lorena likely being American.  (I think the “wife” on Lorena’s headstone is an angry accusation by the Valaitises of oh look, it’s a wife and daughter taken too soon as more domestic violence statistics!)And it’s another good and bad thing for Garcia.  Seeing the house again for the first time since he ran from Rittenhouse is not easy.  But seeing it as a place where this didn’t happen, where Lorena’s family lives and it’s peaceful and good, will actually do him some good in the end.  But for now the cognitive dissonance is most definitely a mindfuck.  The fact Lorena  doesn’t seem to have even that “huh, do I know you?” moment both helps and hurts.  This is when he knows it’s truly over between them, because it never was, and he’s glad because it means she’s safe.  He probably figures Emma will never go after her because this is more or less a punitive peace treaty forced upon him on the Lorena and Iris issue.  Rittenhouse kills this Lorena, it’s game on again for him to change history to get both Iris and his Lorena back. Garcia being Garcia, he sees how happy and safe she seems and thinks about how she’s so much better off, how this is the life she should have had and he couldn’t fully give her.  At this point he’s basically Pushkin’s Ya vas lyubil as a giant sad Croatian and saying his goodbye to her, and it hurts but he’s OK with it because he’s convinced she’s better off than she ever was with him.  Because yes, Flynn has a few self-respect issues.Denise, in that moment, probably is concerned for him as a friend but seriously in awe of how he can control himself in this situation and flawlessly bluff his way through it without even a flicker of the devastation showing.  Because Garcia Flynn, albeit a Human Disaster, is also a Very Good Agent.  Seeing how the two of them readily play off each other shows Garcia a lot about the teamwork they have in this timeline where they don’t have all the bitterness and mistrust that they do in the original.  It’s weird, yes, but he’s grateful for it anyway.It would have been way too easy for Tim to be an asshole, or for them both to be Rittenhouse, and then Garcia has quote unquote the “right” to try to rescue Lorena from this, blah blah.  I didn’t want to go that route. Tim’s a good man, a good husband, and a good father.  They literally have never heard the name Rittenhouse, except maybe there’s some place in Philly named that?He’s seen Lorena and he knows he has to accept this.  But Lorena’s the easy part.  Iris is the hard one.  Denise drags him to her favorite cop bar in the ‘burbs between DC and Baltimore where she used to live, and given they’re now on the wrong side of town to easily head back to Gettysburg, and it was probably at least a half hour or forty-five minute drive to go specifically to that bar, she’s clearly spending some time and effort on this.  And he notices that.   It’s what you do with someone who’s been a partner on this years-long mission, who’s become a close friend.  You drag them to your favorite bar, buy them a beer, and just sit with them.  If they want to talk, they talk.  If they don’t, you just silently support.Side note: in this timeline, I do think Denise and Garcia have also bonded over her being a lesbian WOC born of immigrant parents and him being an immigrant, bi, and demi (though I don’t think he has the word to describe the latter–it’s maybe Lucy or maybe even Jiya that defines it eventually) and being in a profession that’s not always exactly the most friendly to non-white, non-straight, and non-native born.  And prior to noticing him pining for Lucy, she really was trying to think of a nice woman or man to set him up with.  ;) He’s trying to make peace with it so he can carry on, but he’s also kicking his own ass that he handed Emma that information because he so desperately needed an ally.  Though notice it doesn’t turn into paranoia: he doesn’t start to regard Denise with suspicion.So: Lorena is fine, but Iris is forever out of his reach.  He realizes his mother was wrong–you do have to find a way to let go, somehow, eventually.  There’s no hope for Iris.  The best he can do is not make himself a worse man trying to bring her back. But he’s struggling really hard to let go, and not feel like he’s failed her as a father. He’s got a clean slate, and Lorena’s happy, but he’ll have to live knowing he owes that to Emma.  Fine.  Rittenhouse is going to burn for this, and Emma especially, because as angry as he was in 2x07 at her betrayal, it is now 100% personal between them.  But Garcia being Garcia, and still so used to being alone and without support, he starts wandering back towards the Dark Side. That sort of cold steely rage we saw from him in season 1: Only the mission matters.  You don’t.  He’s good for killing things. All right then.  Bring it on.  He pushes himself through range clearance, and then when they get back to Gettysburg, he goes right to the punching bag to go push the injured shoulder exactly like Abby Kovac told him not to do.  Because he can’t be weak when the next mission happens.  And yeah, he’s got a few frustrations to work through right then and punches and kicks sound like a great idea.He couldn’t save Lorena or Iris.  Rufus died right in front of him.  He almost got killed himself, and he’s seeing that it was a very severe injury and he’s not 18 and able to just bounce right back from it.  And emotionally off balance as he is then, he stumbles onto the next part of it: he can’t be less than back to normal on the next mission, because he absolutely, positively, 100%, cannot fail Lucy.  He can’t lose her.  Can’t watch her die.  Realizes he almost did in Chinatown.He’s not quite at Sao Paulo levels of emotional breakdown, or season 1 levels of closed-off rage, but he’s definitely Not In A Good Place.  And he’s pushed himself so hard he’s exhausted and can’t even punch anymore.  And it’s then that Lucy shows up.  (Actually, she’d been standing there for a few minutes already trying to figure out how to handle this, and him backing off gave her the opening she needed.) And dammit, Lucy, your timing is impeccable because you’re just what’s needed here.  She came, because as much of a screwup as he thinks he is, somehow she does care.  He manages to calm down a little, enough to say he’ll go get cleaned up.  They’ll talk, and he’s hoping that somehow, she’ll say the right thing as she usually does, and show him a different way.  Denise tried, Jiya was sympathetic, but as usual, it’s really only Lucy who has that deep enough bond to get through to him when he’s on the edge of the void.

ANYWAY.  Anyone else want to join the Denny’s parking lot fight?

[jadewing-realms]

“You should have seen it.”

Fictober 2018 - Day 18

Yeah you could be Someone special You've got bright in your brains and Lightning in your veins You'll go higher then they've ever gone In you I see Someone special You've got fire in your eyes and When you realize You'll go further then we've ever gone (look) Just turn it on

~ Miracles (Coldplay)

Sasuke has been in Izuku’s room a hundred times at this point. They’re thirteen now, they’ve been friends since second grade, and they basically live in each others’ houses by now. Everything in his house is familiar to Izuku, and everything in Izuku’s is familiar to him. Sasuke can always notice if something new appears, always asks about it or admires it out loud. That said, the Midoriya household is generally very constant—steadfast, predictable. Bargain interior decorations, as Mrs. Midoriya has scruples, and more practical items than anything else. With… the exception of Izuku’s room. Every long now and again, like today, Sasuke feels the need to stop in the doorway and let his gaze drift over the overwhelming amount of red, white, blue and yellow plastered in every available bit of wall or shelf space.

The sheer volume of All Might memorabilia sometimes hits him square between the eyes and makes him feel like he needs to blink, rapidly, for a minute or two. Or several.

Sasuke shakes the compulsion away and sets his backpack down next to Izuku’s yellow one. More yellow… I forget he uses the color so much. Izuku’s already on his way back out into the main living space, squeezing past Sasuke when both of them occupy the space in the doorframe for a brief second.

“We were almost late,” Izuku huffs with obvious relief. “We made it back just in time!” He scampers off down the hallway and calls, louder here than he ever is at school. “Ready, Mom!”

With a smirk that holds more fondness than Sasuke intends, he follows after his friend.

Whenever he comes over after a long school day, it’s become a tradition of sorts to help Mrs. Midoriya make dinner. Sasuke’s never minded; not when he’s adding to her work with his presence. It’s always seemed fair that he contribute for himself. Mrs. Midoriya turns on some music—usually oldies; her music tastes are charmingly outdated, and growing up with this musical influence made it rub off on Izuku—and then she’ll assign each of the boys a portion of the cooking. Usually something simple and straightforward, like chopping vegetables, or cooking the rice, boiling noodles. She always handles the more difficult tasks, and still finds time to give them guidance with their tasks.

Then, when they’re all finished and the food is steaming and ready to serve, they all sit around the table and Mrs. Midoriya asks them how their day was. About their classes, their favorite part of the day, anything special that happened. They fill her in, give her details, leave some out—mostly Izuku refrains from any mention of whatever torment he had to endure that day at the hands of the sheep-headed masses who follow the example set by the likes of Bakugou Katsuki. Yes, today goes by much the same way every other day does.

When they finish eating, as usual, they load up the dishwasher together and, once it’s running, the boys are free to retreat to Izuku’s room. Today’s a Friday; tomorrow is Saturday and Sasuke’s gotten permission to stay the night for the first time in a while, so long as they finish their homework. They had spent the whole of the walk home from school coming up with things they could do this time.

Usually, they study, they talk Heroes, they watch YouTube videos, they talk more Heroes. Izuku brainstorms his Hero costume, Sasuke brainstorms his tech.

Again, though, Sasuke finds himself pausing a minute to look over the posters on Izuku’s walls… the figurines on his shelf… the notebooks stacked on his desk. Then he looks to his friend, who’s nose is still buried in his textbook as he does what their mothers requested, and can’t help but think…

He doesn’t need a Quirk.

Nobody else seems willing to tell him that though. Izuku’s told him (and only him) of what his mother said to him the day they found out about his lack of powers. And Sasuke’s witnessed first hand the way he’s treated in class… sometimes by the teachers themselves.

It’s true, despite his somewhat mediocre existence here at home, Izuku’s not ‘normal,’ not by a long shot. He is... unique. Fun. Outstanding, even. So he doesn’t have this One Thing that eighty percent of the population does. Sasuke understands that, understands it’s uncommon. What he doesn’t understand is why, exactly, that’s looked at as a negative thing.

Izuku has plenty of other amazing things he can do, even things he’s better at than most people.

Like homework. Izuku tears through it like a starving man inhales a loaf of bread. Every time, too. He’s as fast as Sasuke, and his grades are just as good. Midoriya Izuku is smarter than the average person.

Once they finish their studies up like good students aiming for futures in Hero work, they dive to the computer. As per tradition, the first thing they watch is Izuku’s old favorite. The classic throwback, of one of All Might’s debut rescues.

After that, they get lost in suggested views, allowing themselves to spiral deep down the YouTube rabbit hole… for science. Izuku takes notes, as usual.

Except… it’s really not normal in a general sense, is it? Sasuke’s never met anyone as dedicated to Heroism as Izuku.

Even if the likes of Bakugou Katsuki would try to insist otherwise.

Nah, Bakugou Katsuki is basic. Average. The usual. Boring. Not to mention annoying as h***, and a narcissist to boot. Why does someone outstanding like Izuku waste his efforts on somebody like that? Sasuke just shakes his head.

“Hm?” Uh oh, Izuku notices. Wait, Sasuke actually shook his head? Whoops… “What’s wrong?”

Sasuke blinks against the glare of light from the screen. He… well, now he needs to think of something to actually say. Something useful, thought-provoking, since they only do this to better their instincts and understanding of their chosen craft…

“I feel like we’ve seen all these already,” he points out. And it’s true. Everything they’ve been watching, he’s almost positive they’ve watched at least once before, if not more often. He knows what’s going to happen before it does, and as much as he does like these Heroes and their escapades captured for all to see via some idiotic bystander’s camera phone, he can’t say he’s feeling ‘the usual’ so much tonight.

Not when he’s being hounded by constructs of society like some middle-aged philosopher during a full moon.

“Hmmm…” Izuku scrolls away from the video right when Death Arms is mid-uppercut, searching for… something. Anything, Sasuke supposes. Something they haven’t seen before. Then suddenly, he sits straight, face lighting up as a thought occurs. “Oh! Did you see what happened just the other day?”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow. “What other day?”

“Oh, I dunno… it was, like, last weekend? Over in Minato, All Might took down a crazy villain. I got to watch from the street corner!”

“I heard something about that from the gossips in class, but no, I haven’t seen anything.” Sasuke shifts in his seat, tucking one foot underneath him. “We were visiting my grandma. She doesn’t have internet.”

Izuku’s eyebrows jump. “No inter—gosh, how can you even function without—”

“Nobody knows.”

With a quick headshake, Izuku hunches over the keyboard and lets his fingers fly. “Lemme see if I can find some footage; there’s gotta be something up by now.”

Indeed, when he searches ‘all might minato fight’ a great selection of results come up. Several have high view counts but are from months past, but the top result is from just a few days ago. It’s title reads ‘CRAZY All Might battle vs ROCK MONSTER (actuall footage).’

“Ah, a grammarian,” Sasuke murmurs with a fair dose of sarcasm.

Izuku giggles, but abruptly silences himself as the video begins to play. A click and it fills the screen, expanding the blurry view of a city street, from the perspective of a phone that appears to be bouncing. From the wind and puffing sounds, not to mention the violent jerking of the footage, the person holding it is running, down the sidewalk, and comes upon a crowd of people at the corner. Several others have their phones out and over their heads.

Halfway down the block, visible once the camera’s jittering stills somewhat, a massive villain made of stone looms, swinging its arm like a giant mace at the spangley hero that’s currently launching himself through said villain’s personal space. The bystanders are all murmuring, some shouting, cheering, the guy behind the camera is uttering expletives of pure awe and wonder, and above it all, All Might’s raucous laughter booms over the rumble of heavy rock.

“IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT, BIG GUY!?” the hero trumpets just before he delivers a Washington Smash to the underside of the rock monster’s jaw. The crowd goes wild. Sasuke leans forward in his seat, trying to see through the camera blurs despite knowing there’s no way he’ll be able to get a better look at the action.

Then the moron drops his phone, there’s a harried curse and the crunch of plastic on concrete, the hushed fumble of fingers, and the video ends.

Izuku whimpers a little. “Dang it, that was so short…”

“You could probably describe what happened to me better than any video.” Easing out of his investment, Sasuke leans back in his chair and levels his friend with a steady, expectant stare.

Come on. Do your thing.

Izuku laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno, probably not, but… I can try!”

With a sudden vigor belying his previous hesitation, he then launches into a detailed eye-witness account of a rock monster that tried to attack the Number One Hero’s agency building like a total idiot and of how that Number One Hero launched right out of said building to engage with the monster himself. He lays the scene out play by play, describing each of All Might’s moves and counter moves with a level of specificity that’s more than enough to convince Sasuke that it happened exactly as Izuku tells it.

“He had the thing ambling around in circles!” he says, hands splaying animatedly in his retelling. “He was so fast! The rock villain brought his arm down like a pile-driver and All Might just swung off his arm—not an ounce of fear! For every time the villain missed, All Might would land a hit like it was nothing. And he was laughing the whole time! The rock villain got so frustrated, he didn’t even know which way to look. Then All Might finished him off with a Texas Smash that threw him a whole block down the street! You should have seen it!”

Sasuke doubts Izuku notices that whenever he talks about All Might, he looks just as fearless. Whether that makes All Might a crutch… or just means Izuku’s that passionate and dedicated to this dream, Sasuke’s not sure but he’d like to believe it’s the latter. He’s used to being surrounded by… well, depression. Grim reality. That’ll happen when the brother you looked up to and idolized (much like how Izuku looks up to All Might, actually…) turns out to be a psycho killer and takes your Heroic father away from you and widows your mother.

But Izuku… it’s like, no matter what he’s been through, he can still smile and fanboy like this—without fear. Sure, he hasn’t been through quite what Sasuke has… but that’s good, he supposes. Better to be average in that area.

Izuku meets his gaze and stills his laughter, looking a bit confused at the fact that Sasuke, as he now realizes, is staring.

“What?” Izuku blinks. “What’s that look for?”

Sasuke snorts, and his answer comes a bit more easily this time. “You really like All Might, don’t you?”

“I… I mean…” Izuku glances around his room, at the computer screen, and finally at his lap, and a small smile creeps across his lips, milder and more hesitant than the grin that had beamed from his face just seconds before. “Well, yeah. He’s… he’s the reason I want to become a Hero in the first place. He’s why I keep… trying. Hoping. I just… I can only dream that maybe, some day… I can be even a fraction of the Hero he is. He’s… he’s extraordinary.”

“Hm…” Sasuke follows the path of Izuku’s previous glance. All Might’s smiling face surrounds them, to an almost unnerving degree, his presence radiating from the walls. And he thinks… that if Izuku has these in here not only as a shrine to his ultimate inspiration, but also as a ward to keep the poisonous barbs from the outside World of Mediocrity from sticking to him once he crosses the threshold of this space… that makes All Might cooler than any villain fight.

And it makes Izuku pretty d*** cool too.

“Yeah, I guess he is.” Sasuke returns his attention back to his friend, who’s staring now at the notebook he has on the desk top between them. He’s opened it to his sketch page, where his concept drawings for his Hero costume are. Sasuke taps the page. “He’d be cooler without the rabbit ears, though.”

Izuku gasps like Sasuke just uttered the bitterest of heresies and he needs a cross to shove in his face or something. “No, the ears are iconic!!”

“Izuku, the guy’s the definition of an icon, and I doubt he’d be any less of one if he nixxed the weird haircut.”

“Noooo, he needs the haircut. It makes him approachable.”

“Uh-huh. Well, in that case, don’t you think you’re bordering on plagiarism with your bunny hood, there?”

“What!? D-Do you really think—”

As Izuku launches to his own defense, Sasuke just smiles to himself. Partly in amusement, and with just a hint of fondness.

No, Izuku, I don’t really think that. I just think you’ll be fine being Just You.