#life itself is fine even though for some reason I struggle with it immensely

[chaelinsbitch]

.

[detectivehole]

I feel deep catholic guilt and discomfort whenever I see art that glorifies satanic stuff or even posts that are anti-God, even though I wasn't raised catholic. Is this normal for people. I'm personally very pro God even though people think I'm a devil worshiper based on my appearance and interests

it's fine that you vented, i don't mind

ftr im just some dude i can't offer significant advice (i'll take a shot) or speak for other people. im not particularly smart or insightful

tldr: you're not abnormal for it but religious guilt that interferes with your life is not good for you. you should speak with a therapist and take time for considerable introspection

catholic guilt is not the only form of religious or even christian guilt; many religions, notably (because i am from the west and most familiar with them) abrahamic ones, can cause or even deliberately wield guilt as an extension of ensuring faith. catholic guilt is often a distinction made because the catholic faith is notorious for its weaponization of guilt in its practice. if you experience religious guilt, but were never or are not catholic, it is not catholic guilt- this isn't, like, a defense of the concept, i just think making that distinction is important for someone struggling with religious guilt. knowing exactly what you're dealing with is important, you don't want to confuse it easily with something else

feeling religious guilt either because you were raised religious or because you live in a culturally christian (im assuming based off the question) society is not good for you, but it is arguably pretty normal. that being said it is absolutely something you should focus energy on and work towards overcoming and processing- there is no reason to feeling guilty and afraid of innocent, innocuous, and harmless behaviors, things, and actions, just because a flawed doctrine has demonized them arbitrarily. your moral compass, and the convictions you hold that's violations might cause guilt, should be held 100% of your own volition after your own careful consideration- not held because of fear, forced faith, or exclusively because of outside influence

religion itself is not a evil or bad, neither is it good and just. it is a neutral concept that is capable of an immense amount of beauty as well as an immense amount of ugliness. religious people are, the vast majority of the time, totally normal people with totally normal senses of right and wrong- whether it's strictly in-line with their faith or not; identical in this way to any non-religious person, or another person of any other faith

all i mean is that you should be considering what you belive and why- if you find it has no conflicts with your faith, that's perfectly fine. if you find it does, that's fine too. just make sure you make the choice on how to move forward in life for reasons of genuine conviction, compassion, and logic- nothing else. do not let anything else control you

if god remains important to you, then that's just fine. just make sure you have a healthy relationship with the concept- no nonsensical, arbitrary guilt

--

im not entity certain what "pro god" means but whatever it is i am likely not myself. i was raised with religious influences but i hold no genuine religious convictions of any kind. i resent aspects of christianity that have hurt myself and others, as well as many fundamental aspects of the christian interpretation of life and the world, so despite complete lack of faith, i frequently take jabs at the concept and often with a "pro satan" tone. this is all to say i don't think we can entirely empathize on that front, and whatever ive told you has been said with a low backing drone of resentment to the concept of of a christian god. i tired to be impartial in the above text, but it's important to make you potential biases known

hope all that texts literally anything at all to you 👍 sorry it makes little sense

[saiyan98]

Estelle and The Mark of Arachnid: The Trident of Poseidon (Chapter 9 + Filler about Sam's new powers)

[First Chapter] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Chapter 9: I Gotten Myself in a Sticky Situation

Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, fanbase series. Percy Jackson and the Olympians; Heroes of Olympus; Trials of Apollo; Kane Chronicles and Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard are owned by Rick Riordan. Spiderman or any concept of him are owned by Marvel Comics and Sony Entertainment. Please support the official releases.

Okay, so the first thing that came to my head was not something like, ‘Sam! You’re on fire!’ Or ‘Such devastation…’ (If anyone understands  THIS reference, you will be an honorary friend for life); instead, my first reaction was literally, “HOLY CRAP! SAM, YOU LEARNED ULTRA INSTINCT!”

Ugh, I got to take a break from anime, Sam as well. Anyways, Mitch got back on his feet and asked, “The hell is Ultra Instinct?” 

Before I could answer, Daniel replied, “It’s a technique in Dragon Ball that even gods struggle to master! It’s one of the most powerful techniques that Goku was able to master after Dragon Ball Super!” 

“Hold up!” I yelled. “You watch Dragon Ball?”

Daniel looks at me with confusion, as if it’s common sense.

“Who doesn’t know Dragon Ball?”

“Can you guys shut up about cartoons and deal with this first?!” Mitch yelled. 

At that moment, a murder was about to be committed. 

“How am I friends with you?” Daniel replied. 

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind was blown at us from Sam’s position. 

“I don’t care how strong she is, I beat her before, I can do it again!”

Mitch charges at her, but she dodges all of his attacks. The way she moves though was smooth and effortlessly; as if she’s just water itself. I’ve seen enough martial arts movies to tell… kind of.

“Why won’t you stay still?!” 

Daniel answered, “If it’s like Ultra Instinct… okay, not a lot of time to explain but basically she’s just really good at-”

“DODGE!” I yelled as that strong tingling sense intensified. 

Before Mitch could attack, he heard what I said and ducked down, a gust of wind flew past him and hit a tree, cutting it in half. Mitch saw the tree and shuddered at the immense power she demonstrated. 

“Okay, nerds… let’s, uh, say I believe you now. Where do we go from here?” 

Don’t quote Cell. Don’t quote TeamFourStar. Don’t quote TeamFourStar Cell.

“We just need to hold out long enough until she wears out. Though, I don’t know how long that’ll be,” Daniel explained. He’s not wrong, whatever Sam is going through, eventually she’ll have to get tired. Right? I mean that usually works in anime so I presume it should work in real life, right? 

“ESTELLE!” 

I look behind me and see Percy, Annabeth and Chiron heading toward us. I guess Jessie told the three about my note. Eh, it’s fine. I knew it was bound to happen, I just hoped that I would’ve finished the game before I got caught. Though right now, we have bigger problems. 

“Hey Percy,” I said. “I know you're mad, but we have bigger problems right now. Sam is going berserk for some reason, and she has an immense aura surrounding her.”

Percy ran forward and picked up a shield that was on the ground. He uncapped his pen and it transformed into a sword. Sam reacted as Percy charged and sent another powerful gust of wind toward him. He blocked it with the shield, but he was pushed back a bit but still standing. 

“Damn! What power!” Percy yelled. 

Chiron was shocked and said, “It can’t be…” 

“Estelle, get back! Mitch, Daniel, You’re with me. We’ll try to wear her down and knock her out.”

“Percy! Wait!”  I yelled but the three already charged at Sam. I bet you’re thinking, ‘three boys against one girl? That’s cruel. Well, it would be if it weren’t for the fact that Sam has gotten an OVERPOWERED ABILITY AND IS DODGING LIKE A BOSS.

Piccolo would be proud. 

“Estelle!” Annabeth ran toward me and asked, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, Annabeth. But, what’s wrong with Sam? She’s… different.”

“That… is Aura,” Chiron replied. 

“Aura?” I asked. “What’s that?” 

“… Aura is-”

[PAUSE]

You’re probably thinking, ‘Isn’t this supposed to be about Estelle Blofis becoming a hero? Basically, a Marvel Story?’ 

Well, yes but you see… Sam awoke something that was deemed to be considered impossible to achieve and it’s a really complex thing to talk about. Most likey, it’d take a while to explain what this Aura is. So for now, we’ll put a pin to that and focus more on the fight. But trust me when I say this, Samantha Stacy has become a Shonen Anime Main Character, no joke. After this fight, I’ll explain what Aura is, I promise. For now we’ll talk about the basics.

[FAST FORWARD]

“-a strong energy source that dwells within all living creatures, especially the gods. What Samantha Stacy is doing is unlocking the full potential of Aura, which only gods themselves can do.”

“Woah… so she’s something special herself, isn’t she?” I commented.

Annabeth nodded, “Indeed, but it was only a theory. We never were able to confirm the existence of it. But seeing it now… It’s astonishing.” 

“Okay, but… you know what, we’ll talk about it later. For now, we need to stop Sam from hurting anyone,” I said.

The three boys tried to knock out Sam, but she was too fast and kept dodging every attack. She hasn’t even moved out of her spot, like Percy and the others weren’t much of a challenge. Suddenly, a strong wave of energy burst out of Sam and pushed everyone back. 

“Such power!” I yelled. “Just where is she getting all this power?!” 

Percy was down on one knee but Mitch and Daniel are down.  Percy kept on the offensive, but Sam was just too fast for him. As Percy tried to make her trip, she did a backflip and jumped on top of a branch of a tree nearby.

Percy cursed quietly as the rest of the campers arrived at the scene. Chiron informs everyone to stay back as Percy tries to calm down Sam. I got up and ran toward Sam. 

“Estelle! Get back!” Percy yelled but I ignored him. If fighting won’t calm her down, maybe I can. At least, I hope so.

“Sam! It’s me, Estelle! Can you hear me?” I said. 

Sam jumps down on the ground and faces me. The aura that surrounds her is immense but it’s starting to cool down a bit. 

“That’s right, Sam. It’s me, no one is going to hurt you. I promise.” 

I kept talking as I walked closer to her. Percy was trying to tell me to stay back but I looked at him with an expression that says I can handle it. Annabeth does it all the time and he listens. I may be over my head, but Sam is my best friend, and now technically my sister, so I gotta do whatever it takes to help her.

“Come on, Sam. You don’t have to be scared. I’ll always be there to help you out, remember? We’re sisters… well, technically we are now since you’re a daughter of Athena and Annabeth is one as well so- I’m getting off track. Look, just listen to my voice and be calm. I got you.”

Talking to her is working. The aura is dimming and she’s starting to wobble a bit. As I got closer, I heard Mitch and Daniel slowly getting up. Percy tells them to stay away from us as I try to calm Estelle down. Unfortunately, Daniel accidentally hit a small twig and it snapped, making a noise that startled Sam. She reacted quickly and was just about to fire another gust of powerful wind towards him. 

“SAM! NO!” I yelled as I tried to reach her hand. Then, something crazy happened. There was this green magic circle that appeared on my sleeve. As I try to reach Sam's arm to avoid Daniel getting hurt…

THWIP

I suddenly shot out a ball of web fluid toward her hand, which made her miss and shoot upwards. Of all the things that happened in just a week, that was the most bizarre thing to ever occur. Monsters attacking us in a museum? Classic start of an adventure. Learning about the existence of monsters and gods? Seen enough Supernatural so I’m used to it. My family being demigods themselves (excluding my parents)? It explains everything about them. 

But the fact that I just shot out a small threadball of web out of nowhere was the strangest thing to ever happen. And to add to that, that tingling sensation keeps happening whenever I’m in combat or about to get attacked. That can’t be just a coincidence, right?

Sam’s energy skyrocketed and burned off the web in her hand and faced me. 

“Sam! Calm down! It’s me! Listen to my voice!” 

But she wasn’t listening as she now aimed her hand at me. The tingling grew and then I ducked and tried to make her trip by instinct. But Sam jumped, but it’s what I want her to do. As she jumps, I grab her by the legs and she falls down. We landed near a puddle that was nearby so we got a bit wet, but the energy around her just vaporized it completely. 

Oh man, I feel bad for the dude (or girl) that’ll break her heart. 

“SAM! STOP!” I yelled. 

Suddenly, I heard her mutter something. 

“What? Talk to me, Sam!”

“...Dad… don’t… go…” 

At that moment, I understood what was happening. Sam is still unconscious and is having a nightmare. Another burst of energy emerged and pushed me off of her. Sam got back up and charged at me. Percy was about to intervene, but I told him to stop. As Sam was about to punch, I dodged thanks to that tingling sensation. I kept dodging all of her attacks as I noticed that as time passes, her attacks are getting weaker. I can tell because of the heat, it was cooling down. If I can just get her to wake up, she’ll go back to normal. As I kept dodging, I tried to wake her up by talking. Seems like she’s still having nightmares about what happened to her father. I wouldn’t blame her, watching the only blood family you have die in front of you can be traumatizing. But I won’t abandon her. 

I noticed that those magic circles that appeared on sleeves are still there. I don’t know how I did it, but I tried to use them again at Sam’s feet.

THWIP

It worked, though I figured that since it was just web fluid I thought, ‘What if it’s like Spiderman and I gotta do a certain hand signal?’ So I did the Spiderman web shot gesture and it worked. It made Sam imobile and unable to escape. Though normally, she’d just burn off the web fluid but she’s losing more and more of her immense strength. 

I just gotta hold out a little longer. Sam was starting to yell out of nowhere, it seems like her nightmare is getting worse.

“Sam! Wake up! It’s only a nightmare!” I yelled.

“Don’t… Leave me! Dad!” Sam yelled. 

The Aura grew hotter and stronger. Out of pure instinct (not the tingling one, but mine), I rushed toward her and hugged her.

“Sam… it’s okay. I’m here for you,” I said. “Remember what you told me, back in kindergarten? You said that you want to be as strong as me. Well you are, but you need to wake up and control that power. It’s yours and yours alone. You dream of having an adventure ever since you read those books. And remember Final Fantasy? Sword Art Online? Danmachi? You dreamed of having adventures like that, right? Well guess what; your dream will become a reality. And you’ll make more friends along the way.”

Sam's eyes were starting to close and the aura that surrounded is fading. Next thing I knew, she collapsed in my arms. 

“I got you, Sam. I got you.” 

She groans as she opens her eyes.

“Stella? Wha-,” Sam jolted up. “What happened?! Did we lose? I blacked out for a moment and…” Sam notices the crowd that surrounds them. “Did something happen?”

I chuckled, “Yeah, I’ll explain later. Let’s get you up.”

I got up and gave Sam a hand. 

“Estelle!” Percy yelled. 

“It’s fine, bro. She’s okay, no one got hurt… mostly.” 

Percy just stood there with a shocking expression. In fact, everyone was. 

“What?” I asked. I heard people muttering and whispering about something. “Don’t worry, Sam’s awake now. She won’t cause any troubles as soon as we figure out what the heck her powers are and-”

“Estelle Blofis,” Chiron interrupted. “It’s not Samantha that concerns us right now.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“Stella?” 

I looked back at Sam and saw her with the same reaction as everyone else, except she was looking above me. 

“What is it Sam?”

She gestured for me to look up and I did. I saw a big symbol floating above me but I couldn’t tell what it was. Plus, how could I be claimed in the first place? I’m 100% mortal. 

“Sam? What god or goddess is it claiming me for?” 

“None…” 

“Then what’s the symbol?” I asked.

She replied.

“...A Spider…”

Oh…

Suddenly, everything that was happening around me was making sense now. The Spider that bit me and disappeared; the tingling sensation on my body; the magic circles and web shooting and the crazy dream I have been having lately. And my first reaction?

“Ah… Crapbasket. Percy, do we have an Uncle Ben?! Cause I’d be very concerned about his safety right now.”

[Filler Explanation on next part. Not necessary to read unless you're curious about Sam's powers]

So… that happened. 

Well… I have some time before we can start the next scene so…

I guess I can talk about what was happening to Sam earlier. Just to clarify, this is a theory Annabeth made with the help of Chiron and the Kane Family in the past. To start, it’s called Aura, it’s an energy source that dwells within all living creatures; like the Force in Star Wars. The gods themselves have better control of it because they are the living embodiment of Aura. It’s like this, for every prayer or thoughts related to the gods, Aura energy manifests those thoughts and creates the gods. How that even happened in the first place is still a mystery, but that explains how the gods and monsters exist and why they keep coming back. The stronger the beliefs, the more powerful the being becomes. 

However, even Gods themselves cannot master Aura. It has three category types:

Mind: Basically, Aura can increase the ability your mind can handle. For example, you can be quick to adapt and can use any weapons available. Telepathy, Telekinesis, flying and other types of mind powers. IQ’s are also considered to be related to Aura as well. Annabeth theorized that Aura: Mind can increase or decrease IQ levels of a person, making them more intelligent in certain types of fields. 

Body: This type affects more on body types abilities such as superhuman strength; speed; instinct and more. It also involves powers such as transformations and breathing underwater. Annabeth theorized that the more powerful Body is, the weaker Mind will be as well. But, the person using this type will become very powerful, and may even rival gods. 

Spirit: Now this one is not in Annabeth’s expertise, it’s more of a friend of hers, Carter and Sadie Kane. Spirit does not involve body or mind but rather having some control on Aura on the area around the person. A great example of this is pretty much that it’s magic itself. The Green Mist? Symbols and Names? Sorcery and Curses? These are all types of abilities that Spirit users can use. Carter and Sadie believe that the stronger the will of a person, the more control they have on Spirit. They even theorized that these abilities can manifest as beings if such will is powerful enough.

If you want a more simpler analogy of each type its like this:

Aura: Mind = Charles Xavier/NewTypes in the Gundam Series (bunch of whiny telepathic kids committing war crimes).

Aura: Body = Shapeshifters/Inhumans or Metahumans/Transformations similar to Dragon Ball (From Super Saiyan to Ultra Instinct).

Aura: Spirit = Magicians or Sorcerers/ Stand or Spirit Users.

It’s kind of similar to Nen abilities from Hunter X Hunter. But what Sam did was almost impossible for a mortal to achieve, not even gods can master it easily. Sam used the full potential of Aura: Body which shuts down her mind and her body just reacted by pure instinct. It was basically the Autonomous Ultra Instinct from Dragon Ball Super. It was shocking for Chiron because Demigods can only use a fraction of Aura due to us being part-mortals. A demigod can use a fraction of two types of Aura while regular mortals can only use one. 

For example, a child of Athena mostly uses Body and Mind types of Aura. A psychic mortal has some power related to Mind and a bodybuilder has endurance thanks to Body. Spirit-Types are more difficult to locate since they're mostly magic wielders or Spirit users. Gods can activate Aura at ease while mortals can not. 

So… yeah… Sam basically just became a classic Anime Main Character in a modern society with monsters and gods in the shadows. Like a mixture of Supernatural, Demon Slayer, Hunter X Hunter, etc. Unfortunately, you won’t hear about her progress or adventures in my stories. She’s just starting her journey and when she’s ready, she’ll tell you all about it afterwards. Which sucks because what she told me was mind blowing! There’s not enough time to comprehend what she went through! I guess we’ll see in the future. For now, back to the story.

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the short chapter. I couldn’t think of a good way to prolong the fight and I don’t want to start the next scene until the next chapter. But I hope you enjoyed it. I also would like to make an announcement, coming soon in a future chapter in Wattpad and Archive of Our Own, I will also include a commissioned art piece of Estelle Blofis made by the same person who made the cover art for this story [@erabu-san]. I wish I could post it here as well, but it seems the website does not allow it. You can find it once I publish it (I publish each chapter in all three websites simultaneously) in AO3 or Wattpad. Same title and my author name too. I will announce it once it’s finished.

Again, I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter will also be posted soon this month. 

here's the cover art for the story (Also made by @erabu-san):

[uwuwriting]

Boyfriend w/ Megumi, Itadori and Gojo

Request: hii I just read your jujutsu nightmares piece and oh my god I am indeed a very simple simp and your writing just makes my heart go uwu so may I maybe req a very soft, fluffy s/o for Megumi, Itadori Sato and maybe Sukuna if you write for him? I hope it's not too much, thank uu <3 - anonymous

I can’t get enough of the JJK content, I love them so much my heart can’t take it. Sadly I don’t write for Sukuna *I think I mention it in my rules but I’m not sure*, he pissed me off big time in the manga so yeah sorry about that. Really all the curses have kinda pissed me off but that’s a story for another day lmao. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: boyfriend things lol, fluff, maybe some angst sprinkled on top but not a lot. 

Fushiguro Megumi 

-Megumi reminds me of Suna from Haikyuu. 

-Like a lot. 

-He will put effort in the relationship of course but he won’t flaunt it around in everybody’s faces. 

-Yes he has a s/o and yes he is in love but in his book that should be mostly kept in between you two, no one else has to know. 

-So at first your relationship isn’t really acknowledged by the others. 

-It’s so subtle at casual that everyone around you thinks that you’re merely best friends and close to each other. 

-Only Makki knows that you two are a thing since she sees how you worry and take care of him after he has been injured. 

-It’s different from platonic concern and she knows what’s going on. 

-Plus she saw you steal a kiss one time and that sealed the deal. 

-Eventually the others figure it out and they are losing their shit, for completely different reasons though. 

-Nobara can’t believe Megumi got a s/o before she did. 

-Gojo is hurt because neither of you said anything and he has been trying to hook you up for the past two years now. 

-Itadori is just confused because he thought that you were like that to everyone. 

-Now PDA is non-existent with this one. 

-He doesn’t feel comfortable touching you in public even if it’s a small peck. 

-He prefers showing his love behind closed doors or through acts of service. 

-So expect to find multiple bentos waiting for you in the kitchen each morning or a hot bath on the ready when you come back from a long mission. 

-You are okay with the no PDA rule, your only request is that he at least hold your pinkie when you need it. 

-It grounds you and who is he to say no to that?

-During missions he doesn’t underestimate your strength and let’s you do your thing. 

-He only interferes when you ask for help or when he notices that you’re extremely overwhelmed. 

-He doesn’t smother you and you are eternally grateful for that. 

-Training sessions between the both of you are brutal. 

-Neither holds back and you're left a panting, sweating mess at the end, crawling to your respective rooms to change before you settle for a movie later that afternoon.

-If either of you gets injured it’s mama bear time. 

-You need to change your bandages? Megumi has already taken out the kit and all the essentials. 

-He needs to take some meds to calm the pain in his ribcage? You have the pills in hand. 

-He is a shy boy so even in private he hesitates to touch you. 

-Don’t get him wrong he loves holding you and feeling you close to him but he is also afraid he will make you uncomfortable or overstep. 

-So you will be the one initiating cuddle session during the first months of your relationship. 

-After a while he will simply pick you up and carry you to his bed for cuddles if he needs them without uttering a word the whole time. 

-Good morning/Goodnight kisses are a must. 

-It’s a ground rule that he follows religiously since day one. 

-It doesn’t matter if it’s a simple peck on his lips or a passionate kiss, he just wants to get a kiss before starting/ending the day. 

-Sleeps on his stomach with an arm always draped over your waist. 

-Isn’t really into the whole sleeping on each other thing but he won’t say no to being the big spoon or even better the little spoon. 

-He gets flustered when you kiss his knuckles or trace patterns on his palms. 

-He knows his hands are rough from all the training but after your touch they feel tender and gentle. 

-Prefers indoor dates rather than outdoor ones. 

-His favorite  is cooking dinner together and then cuddling on the couch *in hopes you won’t get interrupted by Gojo*.

-The only thing he dislikes about the whole relationship thing is the teasing he receives from Gojo. 

-He is ready to rip his ears off. 

-Boy has murder on his mind 24/7 and it is all directed to his mentor.

-Gojo noticed that Megumi had you as his wallpaper ONCE and now it’s game over for your boyfriend. 

-The thing is that you don’t get teased as much and he is *salty*. 

Itadori Yuuji

-He is such a lovable boy, how could you NOT fall in love with him?

-Your relationship is naturally effortless. 

-Everything flows so naturally and without even trying you two have formed such an unbreakable bond that not even Sukuna himself can tether even if he tried. 

-Many MANY spontaneous trips to the nearest convenience store at 3 am.

-Oh you are craving some popcorn? Well go on, get your shoes, we are going grocery shopping. 

-Won’t hesitate to do anything for you and when I say anything I mean it. 

-He ditched Gojo once because you had bad period pains and said you needed cuddles. 

-What cruel creature would he be if he denied his beautiful girlfriend her cuddles??? 

-Sukuna has cockblocked you two and has ruined your cuddles on multiple occasions. 

-From weird noises to rude comments to interrupting Yuuji’s thoughts with random shit. 

-Real party crasher. 

-Yuuji’s love language is touch mainly so expect a shit load of hugs and kisses. 

-Won’t let go of your hand while you are out in public. 

-If he can’t hold your hand he will place his palm in the small of your back or wrap his arm around your shoulders/waist. 

-It’s a physical need. 

-He has to be touching you at all times because that reminds him that you are truly here beside him and that you are okay. 

-The sorcerer's life has already taken a toll on his mentality and he hates leaving you alone so most of the time you go on conjoined missions. 

-Unlike Megumi he tries to protect you during fights by all means. 

-He doesn’t do it because he sees you as weak and in need of protection it’s just an instinct that he can’t control at all. 

-He will put himself in immense danger, taking all the blows just so you can leave the scene unscathed. 

-You have scolded him on his complete disregard of his own life and the tears that pooled in his eyes as he explained that his body moves on its own when he sees anything darting towards you, breaks your heart. 

-If you kiss the little marks under his eyes all his worries fly out the nearest window. 

-He forgets about everything around him, about the looming threat of his imminent execution, the only thing on his mind are your lips on his cheekbones and your thumbs rubbing circles on his cheeks. 

-If you pepper him in too many kisses he will begin his own assault by first tackling you to the floor or the bed and capturing you in a hug before the smooches begin. 

-He has a tendency to leave hickies on your neck which you struggle to cover each morning and you are always real close to glaring at him when he beams like the sun itself at you in the morning but your mild anger fades the moment his lips meet yours. 

-You have your suspicions that he knows what he is doing with that, he knows his kisses make you weak so he uses them to his advantage. 

-Will never admit it but it always places a small smirk on his lips every time you clutch his shirt for balance or rest your forehead on his shoulder to regain your composure. 

-An I love you a day is required for good vibes. 

-Won’t hesitate to shout it even in front of others, he just has no filter and no shame. 

-Makes you turn tomato red and he snickers. 

-Fuck him, literally. 

Gojo Satoru

-This fucking tease. 

-He has no chill!!!!!!

-How are you with him?!?!?!?!!

-My man fine af and he drinks his respect for y/n and y/n alone juice every morning. 

-That doesn’t mean though he won’t try to fluster you throughout the day. 

-It’s his main goal really. 

-Full blown make out sessions in the hallways of the school, ass smacks in front of others and trying to leave hickies on your neck during your lunch break. 

-It simultaneously pisses you off and turns you on so you can’t decide if you should smack him or jump his bones. 

-It’s a never ending debate and his chances of getting the quawk quawk 5000 are 50/50. 

-He respects your boundaries when you give him a sign that you really don’t want him to be like that on certain days. 

-He is a very observant individual in general so it’s not hard for him to take note of the signs of pure discomfort or awkwardness. 

-True he loves flustering you but the moment things get out of hand and you don’t feel okay with how he is acting, he is throwing his attitude out the window and becomes respectful Gojo in a flash. 

-Likes having his arm draped over your shoulder. 

-He is super tall so chances are he towers over you. 

-He has used you like an armrest several times which resulted to a trip to Shoko for a dislocated wrist/shoulder. 

-You make him bentos almost everyday and he waits for them like a lost puppy. 

-No matter the time, he doesn’t care if he is late, he will wait for you to make him a little bento to take with him. 

-Curses can wait, he needs to receive his first dose of y/n love of the day. 

-Brags to his student about you and to Nanami, much to the blonde’s dismay. 

-Talks everyone’s ear off. 

-He becomes super protective when an elder shows up or at the mere mention of them. 

-He will grasp your hand, keeping a firm grip as those pretentious fucks stare down at you. 

-They really don’t care about Sato’s happiness and they will never show you a fiber of respect despite being chosen by the strongest sorcerer. 

-You are not part of one of the three clans so you are worth nothing in their eyes. 

-Gojo hates them for that. 

-Deep rooted hatred that could turn into a mass murder if one of them call you a distraction or a slut one more time. 

-You are really grateful for him in those moments. 

-You are grateful in general but during those times when you are being bombared left and right with rude comments, he will remind everyone in the room that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about what they believe. 

-He fell in love with you because you are your beautiful self and not because you are a powerful sorcerer. 

-He wants to imagine your kids as a sign of your love and not as an item of power, as a weapon like many of these people see him. 

-He has ditched the elder meetings on many occasions just because he wasn’t in the mood of listening to their bullshit so he came home to you and spent the rest of his night cuddled up under the large comforter, watching a movie while peppering your shoulders with kisses. 

-Adores seeing you in his clothes. 

-They are so big on you that you wear them as dresses around the house. 

-He especially loves the sight of your bare legs peeking from underneath his black t-shirt. 

-99% of the time this ends up in you getting your guts rearranged. 

-Surprisingly remembers all the important dates and he makes it to as many dates as he can. 

-Being a sorcerer is difficult man, give him a break curses he has a date at 8 and he needs to get his formal glasses. 

-All in all he loves you to the moon and back and would do anything to keep you safe and next to him. 

TAG  TEAM AY:

@the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​ @dnarez​ @storage11037​ @ezoyscorner​ @letscheereachotheron​ @wolfkid22​ @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses​ @threeamwriting​ @ysatrap​ @yashinosakura  @angel6786​

[rose7420]

Use Your Words

A request from @lokiismyhubby

Summary: Loki feels down and Y/N decides she wants to help him out

Warnings: Selectively Mute reader

Y/N sat with Peter Parker, listening to him as he rambled on about his homework and complained about how much he had to do of it, instead of just doing it. Even though Peter could be kind of annoying sometimes Y/N loved to be near him. He was the only human so far that had proved to be worthy of her trust. He was a gentle giant and showed her tenderness and care when he provided her company. He even went out of his way to gather her food and certain supplies to help her out, erasing the risk of her being caught by another human.

Y/N knew Peter didn’t have to do all of these things but he still chose to and that made y/n feel good because she knew someone out there cared for her wellbeing. Out of impulse, she stepped up to Peter’s wrist that held a pencil and hugged it.

“Woah there… You good pipsqueak?” Peter said, raising an eyebrow in curiousness. Y/N nodded her head wordlessly. She didn’t like to speak much.

She had lost her parents at a young age and her kind called borrowers lived in small, distanced packs, making it hard to find people to share a life with. After she had lost everyone close to her there had been no reason to speak and communicate with others. Peter was the first person she had talked to in five years. When she first spoke to him her voice had been rough and she didn’t want to admit she had lost the confidence to actually speak. All of her memory of language had practically withered away in her head, making it hard to remember how to pronounce some words. Peter had only questioned once why she didn’t speak to him. He was worried she was frightened of him but she assured him that wasn’t the problem with an exaggeration of her hands and a written note. Peter hadn’t questioned her after that and only spoke to her with no expectations of her responding.

She released his wrist and smiled brightly up towards him.

“I’m glad you’re feeling good today. But I think something has made Loki feel bad these last weeks. Would you know why?” Peter asks, resting his head upon his hand to see her better. Y/n shakes her head.

“Well if you have any free time, you mind using those amazing spy skills for me? I’m worried about him, he won’t talk to me?” He patted her head with a finger.

Y/n nodded, anxious to see Loki for the first time. She had never come across the god since her arrival at the tower.

Y/n sat on a shelf in Loki’s room watching his daily life. He led a rather peaceful but boring routine. Reading late at night and early in the morning, practicing his impressive magical abilities, and occasionally eating a meal. Y/n was about to stand and leave, ready to tell Peter that he was probably sad because he did nothing during the day when the door opened. In Thor walked, one of the biggest people she’d ever seen, and that was saying something.

“Brother, why don’t you just leave this room? There are plenty of things to do.” Thor said to Loki.

“Leave so I can hear you all blabber on of how wretched of a person I am? My life may be spent in solitude but perhaps I like it like that.” Loki retorted snarkily.

“If you stay in here, your chances of being liked will increase no more. “Thor said stepping towards Loki.

“So you admit it? The mortals of this tower do not want me here.” Loki said, anger lashing his voice.

“I don’t blame them, brother. You’re wasting away in this existence you call a life. Mother would be disappointed.” Thor said, his voice going soft to lessen the blow at the end.

Despite Thor’s gentility, Loki still became furious.

“Get out,” Loki said with a scary calm. Thor respected his wishes and walked out. But Y/n stayed, thinking she had just found the reason for Loki’s sadness.

As the days went by Y/n hid well and listened to the others’ Avengers conversations. Most of them as she’d thought spoke terribly of Loki. Remorse became heavy in her heart and she vowed to make Loki feel better. Since Peter had been there for her she figured it was time for her to be there for someone else.

She crept onto Peter’s desk and broke the lead off the pencil quietly. She checked to make sure he was still asleep and began writing.

Dear Mr. Loki,

I am sorry you feel so bad. I know people can be mean but I think your feelings are valid. If it was me I wouldn’t want to hear about what people think of me either. But I think you are very kind and generous. I hope this helps.

-Your friend

Y/n set out the next night to give the letter to Loki. Her handwritten letter was strapped to her back, easily accessible to her reach. The floor was mute under her imperceptible footsteps. She climbed the towering, unstable wall of Loki’s silk, black bedsheets which was a hard task as the sheets slipped from her grip a couple of times sending her heart to beat out of her chest. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, she reached the top. Her breaths were heavy and she struggled to keep them quiet. Approaching Loki’s open, pale outstretched palm she retrieved the letter from behind her back. The paper was bigger than her upper half when folded together and heavy enough that she couldn’t place it upon his palm using only her arms to boost it to the surface. Which meant that she would have to climb into his hand.

Oh, how she wanted to turn around, climb down the bed and run to her safe, warm home inside the wall.

But she refused to give up when she had come so far.

And he needed someone to be there for him.

She delicately climbed into his palm, with the letter strapped to her back carefully placing her feet in non-ticklish places. One twitch of his hand would send her flying onto the covers, or worse off the bed itself. She shivered at the thought. Finding a good place to leave the letter she bends down.

Then a powerful, immense weight falls upon her sending darkness to coat her vision. She falls to her butt as vertigo hits.

“What are you doing?” A booming voice demands.

She trembles in fear, covering her head with her arms. I knew I should’ve just gone away. What will he do?

“I asked you a question?” The voice is angry. A light is turned on allowing her sight of her captor.

She dares to look up and is met with the rage of Loki Laufeyson. She shakes her head in reluctance to answer.

“What is this?” He roughly nudges her away from the note she holds in her arms causing her to fall onto her back with a squeak of fear. She holds onto the slip of paper for security but his strength overpowers hers greatly. His eyes squint in concentration as he reads the small handwriting.

“Did you write this?” He asks returning his focus upon her trembling form.

She nods hesitantly.

“Truly?”

Another nod.

“You don’t speak much do you Little Miss, do you?” He asks with a hint of a smile, his tone is much softer.

She shakes her head. Y/n clutches her arms across her chest, scooting back further from his face.

“Did I frighten you?” Loki suggests his eyes gentle voice guilty.

She nods, her eyes wide studying him for any ill intent.

“I apologize. I have a few trust issues. “

She says nothing and only stares at him with distrust.

“How did you know what the others were saying about me?” Loki asks raising her to meet his eyes. Even through her apprehension, she notices how beautiful they are. How his irises cannot seem to decide on a cool blue or a rainforest green.

She doesn’t try to answer his question, from the fear of speaking and the trepidation of angering him with her words.

“Okay, well I will wait until you’re ready to tell me. For now, I’ll let you go.” He stands up from his bed and releases her onto the hardwood floor. He stays crouched even as she slips off his long fingers. Taking a few cautious steps away from his looming form she is frankly surprised he is letting her go. She supposes that is a good sign. Maybe she will come back to him despite her previous scare.

“Don’t be a stranger.” His voice calls out almost wistfully.

Next week…

Y/n finds herself in a vent located in Loki’s room. This past week she’d felt guilty for leaving Loki in such a dreadful, sad state. So her final decision was to come back. She watched as Loki sat reading in an armchair on the other side of the room. He looked regal and imposing from far away, with his head bent down in concentration, long legs spread outward and she could only imagine how intimidating he must look up close. Her legs shook as she dropped to the floor below with no sound to alert Loki of her presence. Scurrying to his chair she stopped by his black boot. Even this simple apparel dwarfed her, able to serve as her sufficient sleeping quarters.

If you want to turn back now’s the time. She said to herself.

The enormous, unaware boot shifted closer to her and she let out a squeak, scampering back.

“It’s you again Little Miss.”

She craned her head all the way up and saw Loki staring down at her. His black hair hung down around his face. His hand reached for her and pinched her waist carefully, lifting her up to bring in front of his eyes. The pressure on her waist was gentle but still made her fearful.

She kicked her legs in search of a non-reachable floor. Loki noticed her apprehension and set her down in his other palm.

“Is that better?” He ducked his head down to meet her eye.

She nodded.

“Still not talking are we?” He asked.

She shook her head.

“Well, I suppose that’ll be fine. Would you care for me to read to you?” He asked kindly.

His offer was so kind and thoughtful. One that didn’t seem right for a simple nod in answer.

“Y-yes p-please.” She stumbled.

Loki grinned and set her upon his shoulder. She wasn’t sure what to do so high up and close to his person. Thankfully Loki caught onto this with his quick perception.

“Sit right here Little One.” He tapped right beside his neck and held still as she walked to the pointed area. Sitting down, she dared to lean a bit of her weight against his neck. She was instantly met with warmth and the gentle pounding of his pulse. When he started reading his smooth voice vibrated her minutely.

After a while, Y/n started becoming sleepy from the comfortableness of her position. Loki stopped reading.

“You know Little Miss, I think you have a lovely voice… perhaps you should use it more often.”

Y/n pondered these words in her sleepy mind.

Maybe she would heed his advice, but for now, she would sleep.

[iamanartichoke]

Why would Loki believe what Mobius tells or shows him? Frigga's death-film could be faked, Loki's responsibility for it might false, saying he always fails and causes death etc. ... where's the proof? Yes, the segments were selected to manipulate his emotions and align him with the TVA, and there's self-loathing, but he's also supposed to be smart and familiar with how lies work. Maybe he's playing along to escape and do what every Loki who ever existed and created a variant did: what he wants.

[please blacklist spoiler tags: #loki tv series spoilers, #loki series spoilers, #loki spoilers]

Well, here's the thing.

(under the cut for spoilers + length)

Objectively, I agree with you - that is, I fully recognize and agree with the characterization of Loki being intelligent and also manipulative (and therefore more than familiar with the art of lying), and I agree that it would be really, really hard to manipulate Loki without him realizing what you're doing and figuring out how to counter it and manipulate you in return (and you won't figure it out as quickly).

However. I don't think Loki is impossible to manipulate, or that his intelligence and innate capacity to lie (often and well) mean that he's immune to falling prey to someone else's schemes, when those schemes are rooted in/relying on all of the rawest vulnerabilities that Loki, as a person, possesses.

Loki's tragic flaw (or one of them, in my opinion) is that his emotions can and often do get the better of him because they are the result of how thoroughly and bone-deeply he hates himself. In Thor 2011, for example, Loki's initial plan evolves from trying to delay Thor's coronation into trying to simultaneously destroy Asgard's greatest enemy (and, presumably, destroy the monster within himself) and trying to prove his worth as a prince and a son to Odin. Were his plan to succeed, the only thing he would ultimately gain is validation that he has equal value to Thor. (Certainly he knows that Odin will wake up and Thor will eventually return; like, there are no long-term goals for keeping the throne here.)

Point being, everything he's orchestrating becomes motivated by emotion over logic and, ultimately, he doesn't really lose so much as he gives up because Odin rejects his plan - and, therefore, rejects Loki - and it hurts him so badly that he attempts to kill himself. He literally can't live with the pain it causes him.

So, I mean, we already know that Loki is deeply emotional and immensely insecure. We know that he's felt inferior and out of place his entire life, only to have those feelings validated by the revelation of his being Jotun and the rejection of his effort to prove himself as worthy as Thor.

We also know that a literally suicidal Loki ended up going through an extremely traumatic experience with Thanos and, furthermore, he has now failed pretty majorly in "taking over" Earth. Loki's in bad mental shape and, I mean, there's his proof right there that Mobius is right and that he always fails and causes death. He failed in Thor 2011 (and caused death). He failed in Avengers (and caused death). He believes himself to be worthless, deserving of rejection; he is emotionally unstable and has untapped reservoirs of pain under the surface.

He is, in other words, in an absolutely ideal place to be manipulated by Mobius. He doesn't seem to believe what Mobius tells or shows him at first - asking where Frigga is being kept, not believing the events that haven't happened to him yet, arguing back against every point Mobius makes, etc. But, as the scene wears on, you can tell he's becoming less and less sure that it's a falsity and more and more uncomfortable and upset because Mobius is unrelentingly digging at everything Loki's ever feared about himself.

That's the state Loki's in when Mobius selectively shows him the most painful scenes from his future.

Not to diagnose Loki, bc I am not qualified to do so, but to project a little bit - as an emotionally unstable person myself, who has struggled with mental health for as long as I can remember, I can very easily see how Loki would believe Mobius at that point.

It's like, imagine that you have all of these fears about yourself and they color the lens through which you view the world. I mean, Loki's experiences have definitely contributed to his poor self worth, and his family and culture have fucked him up - no imagined slights here - but when you hate yourself enough, it can alter how you perceive every little thing.

You may blame yourself a little harder for things that aren't your fault. You may too quickly assume that someone else thinks the worst of you when they may not think anything in particular about you at all. You may feel completely and utterly alone and hopeless about that ever changing because why would anyone want ever want to love someone as worthless as you?

Now imagine you've done some really bad things and, deep down, you feel guilty about them. You didn't enjoy doing them, but you did enjoy how powerful they made you feel, and that makes you a bad person, too. You weren't even wanted as a baby, for fuck's sake; you were literally abandoned for no discernable reason besides possibly being a runt, aka being born wrong.

These are all things you feel, and then here comes this person who is showing you events that have happened that he shouldn't know about, he's telling you information about yourself that he shouldn't have, he's showing you that he's got the resources to figure you and your life out and then he tells you to your face - while showing you even more failure and death in your future - oh hey, everything that you fear and everything that you feel? Yeah, that's all valid. You are irredeemable. You are responsible for death and destruction. You are unwanted, both by your family and by existence itself. You're only here so that others can have someone to stand on while they climb to the top. You killed your own mother because you're so selfish and vengeful! God, how do you even live with yourself, you destructive waste of space?

I mean, again, call me biased and paint me as projecting my mental illnesses on Loki but if it were me, no amount of intelligence or experience with lies would be enough to not believe every single word Mobius said about me (and about the situation).

It's certainly possible that Loki is playing along to escape; I mean, we know that he does eventually escape, though whether he gets captured again or not remains to be seen. But I think that, at the conclusion of the episode, Loki has just been broken down enough by everything he went through that day (it was a really rough day for Loki) that he's like, yknow what, just - okay, fine, tell me what I have to do bc I'm all outta options here.

(Actually, to be completely honest, I think there's both going on - Loki is resigned to being stuck with the TVA but also he probably recognizes that, at some point, he's going to get the opportunity to escape and might as well play nice until it comes along.)

So, yeah - I completely buy how that scene went down in regards to Loki believing Mobius.

[whentheynameyoujoy]

So the ATLA Movie Is... Good, Actually?

Just kidding, of course it’s not, it’s so bad it sucked the paint off my walls. But after ten years of people pointing out its glaring flaws, why would anyone bother talking about this garbage heap if not to go the other direction? So here’s a very brief and very superficial list of things the movie does get kinda... not atrociously wrong.

And they won’t be fake hipster pokes, like “It’s fun to laugh at”, “The Rifftrax for this is OK”, or “Kudos to the actress for managing to say we believe in our beliefs as much as they believe in theirs with a straight face”.

(though now that I mentioned it, it is fun to laugh at, the Rifftrax for this is OK, and massive props indeed.)

Rasta Iroh

Yes, I know it’s not exactly the aesthetic of the real Iroh or that it makes no cultural sense for him to sport this do when no one else in the racebended Indian “OMFG what were you thinking Shyamalan” Nation does but goddamn, long-haired dudes are my one mortal weakness and I will ogle the hell out of him.

Jesus is that a man bun I see that’s it mum I’ve been deaded

Yue’s hair

No.

Now we’re talking. Yue’s hair turned white when the Moon spirit gave her life, so it makes sense for it to go black again when she sacrifices herself to revive the koi fish. It’s a neat detail I find myself expecting whenever I rewatch the scene in the show. Yes, I realize it’d be a pointless hassle to animate since she, unlike in the movie, immediately goes on to become the Moon herself but still. I like.

The Blue Spirit’s mop

Zuko, hun, what’s with the dance-off?

First of all, I want to imagine that Zuko the Theatre Nerd was about to leave his ship with just the mask like in the show but then stuck his head into the cleaning cupboard and went, “Yeah, more coverage might be good, even though it do seem mighty fried to shit”.

Which makes me giggle. I like to giggle.

And secondly, the hair’s movement is what makes the static mess of the Blue Spirit’s solo fight scene appear at least bit more dynamic because God knows the cinematography isn’t doing it.

Any particular reason why it’s at the edge of the action, shot all boring-like?

Now, I get why circular shots would be reserved for Aang while he’s in the practice area and then used once the two join forces. What I don’t get is why Aang’s part of the action scene has a defined visual style while Zuko’s delegated to a few stationary wide shots from afar as though he’s a tertiary goon, meaning that when the time comes to combine the respective pieces of cinema language and visually convey collaboration, there’s not really much to combine.

But as long as Zuko is stuck in this static mess, it’s that awesome disaster on his head flopping about that draws the eye, helping me understand that something even is going on over there.

It also prevents me from paying much attention to how the extras are mostly just staying put and a lot of the hits don’t land, so that’s good.

The music slaps

James Newton Howard is too good for this.

Pls ignore that the word “gods” is used in the ATLA universe

I can’t be the only one who constantly uses this piece to daydream about writing specific fanfic scenes instead of, you know, actually sitting down and writing them. It’s just so good at communicating a sense of sorrow while speaking of rebirth that I find myself getting misty-eyed whenever I listen to it. Unfailingly, the soundtrack as a whole manages to break through the mile-thick crust of horrible acting, confusing writing, and uninspired cinematography and make me feel things. And considering how everything on screen is working against it, that’s no small feat.

Imagine what a powerful experience it would be if the score was used in service of an actual movie.

Dev Patel

No wonder since he’s the only one in the film occupying that crucial intersection between “is a good actor” and “was given something to work with”. It also doesn’t hurt that he breaks with the trend of actors starring in martial arts flicks despite never having done any martial art.

And all EIP-jokes about “stiff and humorless” aside, he’s a pretty decent Zuko considering how abridged this version of the character is. A while ago, I remember hearing a reviewer say that with his comedic chops, Patel should have been cast as Sokka. And on one hand, yes, god, absolutely, I need to see that asap. But on the other? He captures all layers of Book 1!Zuko, the desperate obsession, rage, and self-loathing, and at the same time gives you a peek at the soft momma’s boy dork that’s buried underneath. For Christ sakes, he exudes intensity and ambivalence even when acting against an emotionless hunk of wood that’s giving him nothing in return.

Oh, and I guess there’s a tree in the frame.

Ba dum tss

What can I say, the guy’s good.

Showing vs telling

OK, so this movie is all tell and no show, except for one single moment. And it’s the exact moment where the original goes in the other direction in terms of how information is conveyed.

See, I never liked this. The revelation is preceded by Iroh giving advice to Zuko who scolds him for nagging. Iroh then apologizes, moves in to say the line above, and is interrupted by Zuko who seems rather uncomfortable with Iroh laying his feelings out like this. And once they’re out, Zuko verbally confirms that he knew already and Iroh didn’t need to bother.

All this extraneous information and pussyfooting ends up weakening what should be a profound scene that reveals to us, the viewers, how deep the relationship between these two in fact runs.

Compare to the movie where Dadroh acts like a parent by fussing and worrying, with Sonion needing a single look to tell him and us that he understands what it’s all really about.

It’s genuinely efficient and just good.

No Cataang

Fine, a bit mean-girl bitchy from me since I only start minding the ship in Book 3. And probably unintentional on the part of the creators since there are moments where I think they’re trying to set the romance up? There’s a, well, an attempt to recreate the famous introductory shot of fateful meaningful destiny of meaningness, there’s some slight note of saving each other’s bacon going on, I’m pretty sure they’re the only ones in the film who smile, and oh, right, Katara’s shoved into her post-canon useless role where she doesn’t ever do anything, and is all about Aang right from the get go.

Yes, I will blame the “executive producers” because a) I’m incredibly petty, and b) it’s perfectly in line with their vision of the character so why the hell not.

Hilariously, none of it reads on screen because the actors are just... yeah. These poor kids are struggling so much with delivering their own lines and portraying their own characters they don’t seem to have any strength left to create something between them. To be fair, the bare-bones shot-reverse shot style of their scenes doesn’t exactly lend itself to the idea they occupy the same universe, let alone are friends or each other’s crushes.

And I enjoy this immensely because it allows me to forget the depressing horror show Katara’s life turns into post ATLA.

Yes Zutara

I need to delve into this because it’s fucking hilarious. So in a movie which fails to establish the original’s central romance so spectacularly that if Aang got lost in a crowd I don’t believe Katara would notice, SomEOnE thought it’d be a good idea to add an utterly unnecessary non-canon moment where Zuko for some reason feels the need to pause his character-defining hunt for the Avatar which otherwise has him ignore everything and snap at everyone, and explain his central conflict to an unconscious peasant he doesn’t know, complete with gently pushing the hair from the pretty girl’s the soulmate’s the Water Tribe Ambassador’s the Fire Lady’s the love of his life’s her face away, AFTER his uncle nagged him twice to find a girl and settle down.

I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page and this is what we really saw.

Celibate Avatars

I have no idea why the decision was made, if TPTB thought expecting viewers to understand the story through the lens of Buddhism would be too much, or if the “executive producers” already worked their retconny magic. What I do know, however, is that there’s a big shift in worldbuilding and Aang’s struggle with his role as the Avatar stops being a personal conflict defined by a) his grief for Air Nomads, b) his notion of being robbed of the loved ones in his life, and c) the selfish attachment to Katara he confuses with true love. Instead, what he has a difficulty to accept is apparently a general notion of who Avatars are supposed to be, i.e. a fantasy version of Catholic monks, no family and worldly relations, period.

I guess either someone understood the original’s portrayal of de/attachment as “hermit no freaky”, or thought the audience would so why not go there outright.

Now, do I like this on its own? No, God no, it makes the world infinitely poorer and changes the story from an exploration of ideas which aren’t all that ingrained in the West, to a cliché tropester about a Catholic priest going Protestant so that he could be with a girl.

At least I assume that’s where they were going to take this eventually.

I mean, I think the direction was “look conflicted, this isn’t the final stage of your journey”?

But consider this—the show went there, it built on the concepts of Eastern philosophy and touched upon the ideas of spiritual awakening, only to swerve in the end and strongly imply they’re bullshit and Aang should have never wasted his time with them.

So honestly, I much prefer scanty worldbuilding to an insulting retcon by a damn rock.

Multiracial Air Nomads

Probably the most substantial “no hint of irony” point on this list and a genuinely good addition to the universe’s worldbuilding.

See, the notion of the elemental nations being perfectly separate and never mingling before Sozin has always been sketchy but it’s especially ridiculous in the case of airbenders. It never made sense to me for all airbenders to be Air Nomads and for all Air Nomads to be monks and for all monks to be chilling at the temples all the time to facilitate a quick everyone-dies genocide should an imperialistic warlord ever decide to commit one.

Because committing everyone to a single way of life at a handful of places kinda goes against the central philosophy behind airbending. Like the freedom and nomadism part.

Instead, there should be more variety to the airbending culture, with some staying at the temples as monks, hermits, and teachers while others live as nomads, travelling the world and creating more airbenders, with the resulting children in turn being influenced by the non-airbending cultures they grew up in.

And thus, not only should airbenders not be modeled after a single culture to create a one-size-fits-all lifestyle, but they should have the most diverse and dynamic culture out of the four nations.

And it’d be precisely this diversity which would pave way for an eventual reveal that some of them survived, that their complete extermination is impossible.

Because they’re everywhere.

You know.

Like air.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “The Verdict.”

Put a lot of work into this, and now its approaching a close. I hope you all enjoy.

Again thank discord member Eddi for writing the experimental logs and coming up with the scientists names. I hope you especially enjoy what I have done with your work. I really appreciate it, and was super excited to collaborate on a work.

WARNING: Not really any violence in this one, but it does mention drugs, and suicide, so viewer discretion is advised. 

“Are you alright?”

Adam barely heard the question eyes wide and watching as the lights glowed down from overhead inside the sterile, white marbled courtroom.

“Adam?’

He blinked and looked up, turning his head to stare at Admiral Kelly who sat at his side, a hand resting on his shoulder, “Did you hear me?”

“Sorry,, I’m fine.’

She went quiet, eyes narrowed in concern clearly not entirely believing him when he said he was alright, but having no proof otherwise. He had to take a moment to think about it himself, and determined that….. He did feel fine. In fact, he felt better than he had earlier. His palms were no longer sweating and his breathing was coming in a normal, even rhythm. 

He was alright, he was going to be ok.

“The prosecution calls Dr. Wilkenson to the stand.”

Adam lifted his head in surprise, eyes narrowing as the slim man took to his feet, nervously adjusting his tie and his glasses in turn before making his way to the witness stand. This was one of the men who had helped to design the steel eye project.

“Dr Wilkenson, do you mind reading for us, the words that you wrote regarding the Steel Eye project.”

The man was handed a piece of paper, and he nodded it, taking it into his hands before clearing his throat. 

Experimental log #1

I am shocked at the extent to which my ‘colleagues’ are willing to go for greater heights of recognition and achieving their goals. I am attempting to either reduce the pain subjects feel or in some way reduce the reliance on addictive painkillers. I fear however this will all avail naught. The pain induced by the interface itself means that one would have to redesign the entire system. To keep my superiors happy I will also be conducting movement tests. 

-Recording break-

The tests went as well as expected, The soldiers who have volunteered are unresponsive and lethargic when they are wearing the full suit, this is likely to the immense amount of suppressive painkillers they are on. A mixture of fentanyl and Carfentanil, A mixture I would expect to find in painkillers for a horse or even small elephant. I am advising the introduction of a stimulant. However I am also voicing concerns over such a thing as the level of stimulants needed would be far higher than is safe. 

“You seem to have had some doubts about the Steel eye project, Doctor.”

The man nodded, fidgeting with his glasses again, “I did…. Due to ethical concerns. I felt that the testnng was moving to quickly, and I also felt that the introduction of such potent medications would also be an ethical violation. As I worded in my original log, I felt that the dosages required to keep someone functional while wearing the Steel eye suit were well beyond reasonable.”

The lawyer shifted slightly on their feet, “Tell me doctor, why -- after you quite-- did you not bring these ethical violations forward to the proper authorities?”

The doctor shifted nervously, “I would have liked to, counselor, but -- before entering the project-- i signed a top secret nondisclosure agreement that stated: were I to introduct this information to any outside source, that I would be jailed for the rest of my life….” he looked down at his feet, “Obviously, now I regret deeply not having the courage to come forward and say something sooner. 

Audio visual log transcript.

The researcher, confirmed to be Dr.Wilkinson approaches the test subject, attempting to wake them in various gentle manners before finally slapping them with an open palm. Once awoken and adjustments to the drug intake are made by Dr. Wilkinson which resulted in protests from the subject. The subject is encouraged to run laps on a large track which is timed by Dr. Wilkinson. After Which the doctor assists the subject out of the suit and hands him over to a medical worker who seems to have been held on standby. 

The lawyer cleared her throat, reading.

Observers note: 

It is to be mentioned to the Commission that Dr Wilkinson was sworn to secrecy and required to sign the statute of secrets until such a time the information was brought to light in any manner other than his own actions. Additionally Dr Wilkinson took part in the development of the Iron Eye project and was a vocal proponent of non-human test subjects and ensuring the users were as safe and stable as possible. 

“We are not on trial here today for the actions of Dr. Wilkenson who has agreed to testify for the prosecution in exchange for immunity against legal action. We are, however, here to discuss the actions of those scientists who continued on with the steel eye project long after it became clear that there were ethical concerns, and that those ethical concerns were being routinely and blatantly violated.”

The prosecution shifted again, hands gripping the lectern, “The prosecution would like to present experimental log 3 for evidence.” 

Experimental log #3

After reviewing James’s experimental logs and the currently used painkillers and suppressants the current stimulants suggested caffeine and amphetamine. It has been decided that the stimulants lack a level of strength to provide combat effective units. Thus the upcoming experiment will be focused on achieving the right cocktail of drugs to provide optimum combat functionality. The tested stimulants will be mixtures I have personally developed and calculated. As well as commercially available and recommended mixtures that James developed.

-Recording break- 

As expected the mixtures that James developed did not aid in any manner and testing with those ceased after the first failure. The recommended mixtures are only marginally better. I have discovered however, to no shock, that my own mixtures are highly functional. Proceeding forwards, We will be making use of mixture 22c. 

Audiovisual log transcript:

Several volunteers stood in a line in prototype Steel-eye suits, each seeming to be asleep. The researcher stops by each of them to place a second vial of chemicals in the drug port. The first subject seems not to react beyond several flickerings of the eyes and a pained moan. In response to this the researcher dumps several un-tested vials in to a large plastic bucket with ‘Failed’ on it in sharpie. The next few subjects react somewhat more, becoming semi verbal and looking round, however they are still lethargic an slow. Only responding in half words or gestures. The researcher dumps several more untested vials in to the ‘Failed’ bucket. The final few volunteers however become far more alert and aggressive, moving round, pushing each other and joking. The researcher struggles to persuade them out of the suits and is eventually forced to deactivate the suits by removing the power supply cables. 

Observers note:

Mixture 22c appears to be a mixture of methamphetamines and cocaine. There also appears to be an addition of Dimethyl sulfoxide which increases the absorption rate of the drugs but also removes the requirement for precision with the needle insertion allowing for a larger needle to be used to increase drug delivery dosage. 

The court room was silent, silent as the lawyer turned to look at the assembled audience and then back at the judges, “Methamphetamine…. And cocaine, two drugs known to be ‘highly’ addictive and grossly unethical. Drug experimentation on humans is strictly controlled by the EDA and that is ONLY involving the clinical use of newly discovered drugs. At this point it should be more than clear that the use of illicit drugs on unknowing test subjects in a developmental environment goes beyond gross negligence and into malicious tampering. Dr. Ayishat Abara has demonstrated great contempt for Dr. Wilkinsons moderate methods and gone on to produce a cocktail of drugs that is rarely found outside of crackhouses and meth labs. 

With a solemn expression, the lawyer turned to look at the rest of the crowd, “This is not even considering the long term effects and the psychological damage caused to the victims of Steel eye…. Which led many men and women to take their own lives. Experimental log 18 being the prosecution's next piece of evidence.” 

Experiment log #18

After extensive physical testing and further refining of the stimulant delivery system and mixtures of the stimulant and painkillers I have decided that it is suitable to move on to combat testing. The upcoming test will be a simple firearms test, I have requisitioned a modified 30mm rapid fire weapon that I feel will be suitable for use with the Steel Eye suit. This will be a live fire test. I have no intent on taking baby steps when such a project is due to draw such renown. 

-Recording break-

The subject was more than capable of using the weapon. Though seemed to lack the force of will to maintain its use for long. To combat this I will be including small amounts of ritalin as well as increasing the stimulant dosage. This should counteract the negative reactions exhibited by the test subject.

Audiovisual log transcript:

The subject is active and moving around the test area. Different to all the prior times, however the subject also seems to be on edge or hyper aware of something. The researcher wheels in a large caliber short barreled  automatic cannon Attaching it to the Steel eye suits arm and instructing the soldier on how to use it. After a few moments of instruction the subject seems comfortable and begins firing down rage at several targets, Displaying uncanny reaction speed and almost superhuman reflexes. This continued for several minutes, The subject however seems to grow more and more despondent and unresponsive as the tests go on. The researcher leaves the area for a short while seemingly to get more stimulants or ammunition. During the break the soldier places the short barreled against their own temple and discharges the weapon. This subject is registered as the test subject for the past 11 experiments. 

The entire room flinched and gasped. Adam felt his stomach churn again, but less to do with fear this time and more to do with pure disgust and horror. He looked away again as the recording shut off and the lawyer stood before the room for a long moment allowing the footage to sink into the minds of those in the courtroom, “This test subject, this man, Dakota McCallister was on his 11th time as a test subject when this footage was taken. After reviewing all of the testing logs with Dr. Gladstone, we have found no evidence that the subjects were monitored for mental health concerns. Additionally none of them were even screened before testing began. None of the men and women involved in the Steel eye project were ever referred for mental health testing before, during or after the experimentation was complete.”

Experimental log #23

I have discovered the most efficient way to motivate the subjects is to offer further testing time within the suit and increased dosages of the drugs used to suppress the side effects of wearing the suit. This has prevented further unwarranted self removal from the project as occurred in experiment eighteen. The upcoming test is the first live combat test. I have taken one of the subjects and isolated them for a few days, preventing use of the suit. They will be permitted to use the suit and instructed that if they wish to continue using it they will attack a target of my choosing.

-Recording Break- 

The experiment went far better than expected. The subject did not question the instructions given nor did they seem to show any lack of remorse for their actions. Short of a few further tests to ensure subjects can work together. Further testing is unwarranted. 

Audiovisual log transcript:

Within the test arena there is a single individual they appear to be a military volunteer. Missing a limb. Quite possibly a earlier subject from the Steel Eye testing. The subject is nervous and clearly unstable. The researcher enters, alongside the Steel eye testing unit. The subject of the steel eye seems to be hyper alert and jittery. The individual spots the Steel eye suit and panics, attempting to move away from it. The researcher indicates the individual to the subject and the subject charges the individual, striking them with the backhand of the suit. The individual is thrown across the testing area to impact against the far wall. The landing angle indicates not only a broken neck but several other lethal injuries, including a crushed skull. The researcher, seemingly satisfied provides the subject with a vial of some kind, And leaves the testing area. 

“Researchers and test subjects alike died during the experimentation, and yet the scientists did not stop.” She looks down at her notes, “The experiment went far better than expected? What is that even supposed to mean, you expected more people to die? YOu expected the test subject to be more unstable. Furthermore, the use of the suit and the drugs as a reward for the already unstable test subjects is a simple demonstration of how poorly this experiment was run and overseen. These ethical violations should never have begun much less allowed to continue.”

Discussion synopsis regarding further system problems.

The researchers confirm that all systems are working to their optimum capabilities given the research time and that they have done everything in their power to keep the subjects safe and healthy throughout the testing process and that no undue risk were taken. Dr Abara indicates disdain for Dr Wilkinson’s methods and suggests he be court marshalled for his attempted ‘sabotage’ of the project. This is dismissed by Admiral Ableman. Problems are mentioned regarding power sources and suggestions are raised including back pack mounted power units. This is eventually solved with Dr Nkosi suggests making use of injured soldiers and using the space where their limb would be to mount power packs. The next issue raised is the fact that the Steel Eye suit puts too much stress on soldiers in active combat scenarios as mentioned by Dr Abara stating that ‘subjects fell apart too fast.’  Again Dr Nkosi provides a solution by suggesting the use of augmetics. Dr Stein at this point provides a interface solution using the prosthetics. With all problems solved All relevant papers are handed over to the Admiral and Colonel for the production and shipping out of the combat capable Steel Eye suits.

The lawyer stood quietly before them, hands clasped at her front,  “Experimental testing lasted less than a decade. The pain of the interface was never fixed, and yet they sold it off to desperate UNSC officials in order to win the Drev war. Fifty men and women were subjected to implantation. Thirty of those are dead ten of those are permanently psychologically damaged. Five are still in treatment while five more are the only ones who manage to be functional and hold jobs. However,” She motioned towards Adam, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “We also see that -- even then, they are not exempt from psychological dysfunction, though they were never compensated.” She shuffled her papers, “The prosecution has no further comments at this time.” She turned and went back to her seat, pausing to sit and speak quietly with her partner for a moment as the judges deliberated.

Amidral Kelly learned over, “If that was no reasonable doubt, then I don’t know what is.”

Adam nodded, he was feeling pretty good about this all things told.”

Off on the other side of the room, the defence took to their feet. It seemed mostly as if their strategy was not getting their clients out of trouble but simply mitigating the punishments related to the crimes they HAD committed. He heard a lot of tripe and waffling about supposed loopholes in the system and about how they had WON the Drev war after all. There was even a couple arguments about how everyone there had signed an agreement to participate so it actually wasn’t all that bad.

The entire thing seemed as if it was going to be tied up in a neat little bag for them .

That was until.

“The defence would like to call Admiral Vir to the witness stand.”

He froze in palace eyes wide and looked around in confusion. Of course this was perfectly legal and in their  rights for them to do this, but he had no idea what they are going to ask. He stood slowly and made his way towards the witness stand staring at the defence as he took an uncomfortable seat on the wooden witness chair.

“ Admiral Vir, How old are you/”

He had to admit that he didn’t expect that question and paused for an unbelievable amount of time before answering, “Twenty six.”

“So young for an admiral.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

The prosecution stood, “Objection your honor, this information is irrelevant.”

“We will allow it.” The prosecution sat.

“And you are not currently taking any medications for your PTSD.”

“No, but I do have a service dog.”

“And do you receive metal evaluations often, as an admiral.”

He shifted in his seat not sure where this was going, and not liking it one bit, “Yes.”

“So you might say that it is safe to assume that the UNSC considers you mentally sound enough to command an entire armada of ships at the age of 26.”

“I…. yes.”

“Admiral, do you have any phobias.”

He swallowed hard unable to tell at all where this was going on, “No, councilor, I don’t.”

“Do you know anyone who does?”

“Yes, I have a friend who has claustrophobia.”

“And how does that person react in enclosed spaces.”

“They panic.”

“Do they actively seek out enclosed spaces, or do they avoid them?”

Adam shrugged, “They avoid them of course. They don’t even like elevators”

“Right, so it would be safe to say that if someone has trauma or panic related to a certain event or object, they would be likely to avoid that object or thing or association with that object at all costs.”

His hands had begun sweating again. A line of it trickled down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades, “I would assume so.”

“Admiral Vir, would you please show the court your prosthetic leg.”

His hearing completely cut out and all there was was a loud ringing. He saw one of the defence object but then watched as the judges deny that defence.

He was ordered to stand out in front of the court.

His hearing came back slowly as, shaking hands pulled up his right pant leg.

“Admiral Vir, would you mind removing the prosthetic for us.”

He felt heat rising to the back of his neck and up onto his face. The defence argued for him, but it was no use. The Bailiff brought him a chair, and he nervously, and self consciously unstrapped the prosthetic with a soft snick, quickly moving to cover the injury. He felt about ten times smaller as he handed the prosthetic over to the Bailiff, paraded in front of the courtroom like some kind of freak show.

He tried not to think about it, keeping his chin high eyes staring straight forward.

“Please show the judges the serial number on the thigh.”

The Bailiff did as requested.

“Can you ready that out for us your honor, please.”

“SE490000.”

“Dr. Gladstone can you please examine this prosthetic and tell me what you see.”

Adam was held on standby as the doctor moved forward uncomfortably to examine the leg which the bailiff was holding, “It…. is a modified bioprosthetic with Drev Chitin, I don’t…”

“And who would you say was the manufacturer?”

The man paused before his eyes widened slowly, “This…. This is-” he looked up, “This is a steel eye prosthetic.”

There was silence in the courtroom.

“Thank you Dr. Gladstone.” The defence motioned the Bailiff to return the leg to Adam, who strapped it on with still-shaking hands.

“ Admiral Vir,  the defence requests that you remove your uniform jacket. If you would be more comfortable that can be done in privacy of course.”

Adam stared at them in confusion. The prosecution stood to argue again, but again were denied.

“Would you like to step into the back room admiral?”

Running on autopilot he shook his head probably having preferred some privacy but being far too confused to actually request it.

He stood and slowly unbuttoned the front of his uniform jacket, staring with the high neck collar and then down either side.

He handed the jacket the the Bailiff, who held it form him.

He stood now in only a white undershirt.

“Admiral please turn around and hold your arms out to the side.”

He did as told.

The room muttered softly.

“Dr. Wilkenson, do you recognize those.”

From behind him, adam heard the weak response, “Those are iron eye interface ports.”

“Thank you admiral, you may put your jacket back on.”

He did as ordered feeling his neck and face turn hot red as he took his seat back on the stand.”

“Admiral, if steel eye had such a negative effect on you, then why would you be wearing a steel eye prosthetic and iron eye interface ports. Wouldn’t those exacerbate your condition.”

He opened and closed his mouth.

The prosecution stood, “Objection your honor, Admiral Vir is not the one on trial here, and this is humiliation.”

“Sit down, council.” The defence was looking rather smug, “presenting to the court footage from the Burg war on the Gromm homeworld.”

Adam’s head was filled with the sound of screaming and gunshots. The camera he was watching through was shaky and jostled this wa and that as the figure ran. Up ahead a massive bubble of force dominates the skyline and hundreds of borg ships swarmed around its top like an eruption of bees.

Drev and other marines ran up and beside, and just ahead of that.

He saw a familiar figure.

He saw himself.

Running at the front of the group. Even over the sound of the screaming and the gunfire he could hear the repetitive hydraulic hiss and whirring of the servo motors as the steel eye suit spurred him to impossible speeds. The Steel eye prosthetic hissed the loudest as he was propelled over the ground.

His heart began to beat faster and faster inside his chest, lines of sweat poured down his back and the halo of lights overhead was growing as if to encompass his vision. He felt sick and dizzy all at once, feeling as if he was tiling sideways and going to fall over. He watched as the image of him ran headfirst into a burg, grabbed it by its slimy centipede limbs…. And ripped it apart. His vision blurred and his ears were ringing.

Muffled gasps filled the court.

He gripped the sides of his chair willing himself to stay in reality, to not pass out or be sucked into some horrific sort of flashback.

He wanted to throw up.

The ringing in his ears only stopped a few minutes later with the Bailiff gently shaking his shoulder.

“Admiral.”

He sat up straighter, his hearing still muffled, but at least he could see.

“Admiral, why did you put on the suit again if it had such damaging effects on you the first time.” “I…. It… i... “ He continued to stammer for a moment before stopping and taking a deep breath, “I thought it was the only way. I put on the suit because I thought if I didn’t than I was forfeiting earth to the Burg, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.” “And how would you describe wearing the suit.”

His heart was thundering in his ears. He felt like he was going to fall over, to be sick. Phantom shots of pain ran up and down his spine. He was shaking so badly he wondered if the entire courtroom could see it, “Indescribable pain….”

“But you didn’t tear it off.”

Soft, “No.”

“So, despite the alleged trauma that the Steel eye project caused you, you wear a steel eye prosthetic, iron eye interfaces, and you have even put on the steeleye suit a second time…. Based on those actions, it hardly seems like the behavior of someone who has received laying trauma from the Steel eye project. Could it be, that your PTSD stems from the war itself and not from the Steel eye project.”

His mouth opened and then closed. His ears were still ringing, and it was hard to think around.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to put two thoughts together. Even his internal monologue had gone silent. 

“Admiral, please answer the question.”

That was when another side of him reared its head. Where the soft squishy 26 year old manchild could not answer the question, there was someone else there t pick up his pieces.”

The admiral, and the Veterin, and the Drev Sentinel,and the warrior stepped into his palace.

His hearing cleared very suddenly and he sat up turning his gaze on the defence.

The targeting system in his prosthetic eye snapped into focus placing the radicals just over the lawyers face.’

“Council, I can see that you are attempting to undermine my claim of PTSD related to the steel eye project to mitigate the lasting effects of the trauma on my person. Based on your argument, I would never have put on the prosthetic or the suit had it caused as much harm to me as I claim. I will have you know, however, that the leg was a gift from a Drev soldier following the war as a gesture of peace taken, discarded from the battlefield and modified. That leg later went on to save my life as it adopted me into the Drev clan. It is an everyday reminder of the war, and the things I lost. It took me months to be able to wear it for what it was -- as a gift-- rather than a reminder of the war. As for the Burg war, I have made mistakes in my time and that was one of them. THe Steel eye suit is a drug, and no matter how much one hates it you always want to come back. That feeling of power, being ten times stronger than you should be, it's like being a god, It is everything you hate and love all in one, and yes I was in ‘debilitating pain’ but i kept going because I  thought at that time it was the only way to save the universe.’ He leaned forward in his seat, “So the next time I am lying in the dark prone in the fetal position because one of the pipes on my ship accidentally made a hissing noise, I will take a moment to think about whether it was te steeleye project or the war.” 

His voice did not quiver or break, and instead of feeling small, he could imagine the defence shrinking slightly at his words, whose volume had never raised. 

“You may take your seat admiral.”

He did as told again straight backed and unmoved by the eyes that stared at him.

Admiral Kelly was staring at him as he took his seat, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

Thedefence  brought forward a few more points crosse examining Dr. Wilkenson before the prosecution stepped forward again.

 “The prosecution would now like to call expert witness Dr. Lemar Dedtric to the stand.”

There was some shuffling for a few moments as another man stood from he crowd and walked forward taking his seat and sworn to truth  before the eyes of the court.

“Dr. Dedric, tell us a little of your credentials here today.”

The man nodded, “For the past twenty years, I have headed the  leading psychiatric foundation at the University of Northern Mericanda. I have practiced psychiatry for those same twenty years, published over 100 papers and founded more than twenty psychological foundations for veterans. At the university level I focus primarily on Post Traumatic Stress as related to combat with a secondary focus on the psychological effects of biotechnology implantation.” “And you also reviewed this case like Dr. Gladstone?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And do you believe that there were any psychological effects related to the use of the Steel eye suits on these men and women?”

He nodded, “Most certainly. I think the admiral explained it most clearly when he described the steel eye suit as a drug. As we know, Upgrade addiction was recently added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental illness last march. Studies that led to the institution of this particular illness found that subjects who were exposed to extreme bio interfacing where more likely to continue adding interfaces as time went on. When asked the subjects reported that their desire to augment came from the feeling of power the interface gave them. The steel eye subjects, based on the notes presented in court indicate a proclivity to going back to the project or something similar despite degrading mental health.”

“The prosecution would like to present video testimony from a few of the remaining steel eye operatives.”

With these testimonies, the case lasted well into the day, and far into the night before court was adjourned and reschedule fo the following day. He slept as if in a haze nad returned early to listen to the rest of the cross examination He was called up multiple times for both sides, but never cracked once during that time. It was as if he was watching himself from the outside.

The defence never called up their own people to the stand, and were likely not going to call them up at all.

That was fine by him.

And then finally, mercifully the judges stepped off into the deliberation chambers staying there for a good half of the day before everyone was called back.

“After much deliberation the Geneva court has come to a verdict….. A verdict. A verdict of guilt on all charges which includes the maximum sentence of life in the Turma maximum security prison facility on multiple counts of Torture, mltiple counts of manslaughter, and multiple counts of gross ethical violation, Court Dismissed.”

Adam sighed sinking back in his seat to stare up at the ceiling.

What a long day this had been.

But at least now it was over

[bitchfitch]

Aleistar and Haze with grey to multi-coloured? :O (i am just really fond of the grey to multi-colored for some reason)

this one was just Sweet, Tooth Rotting, just Absolutely Delectable and it has Killed me.

zjsnnsnsns thank you for the prompt!

A Blue Armchair

There was a blue armchair in Aleistar's living room. It was his chair, more sonthan any of the others in his home. It was where he had gone to relax and read or to watch the city far below from his window for almost a decade now. A home within a home.

It was a blue armchair, but he only knew it was blue because the clerk at the furniture store had assured him it was blue when he bought it.

Aleistar had never really bemoaned the lack of color in his life. As far as he was concerned color didn't matter. Simply put, he'd never once in his 56 years of life seen color, so he couldn't exactly miss it. Couldn't morn it, or really notice that it wasnt there. He knew he was lacking color, of course he did, he saw it in the art works made to only be viewable by those who had found their soul mates, and he saw it in, as he got older, how everyone around him would look at him with some passive pitty. How his friends stopped inviting him out so that he might meet someone who would show him color, and how people had begun to whisper about him when they thought he wasn't listening.

Of course there were millions of people who never saw color, who's soulmates died before they met, or who died before they could bring color to their own soulmate, or who just never had one. 

For a while he had fancied himself one of the last types. He wasn’t a warm and caring man and he'd never felt the draw to find his other half that everyone described. But those types always said they felt complete as they were, that even without a soulmate they were truly happy. 

Aleistar thought he was one of them until he broke down, drunk and crying against his best friends shoulder. He didn’t remember much, of what he said the next day, just that now that he'd accidentally picked open this wound it was seeping constantly. 

///

Leonard had handed him the book as a joke. 

It was old and bound in a musty smelling leather but its pages were pristine. Leo said it's title translated something like "Desperation and Victory" but Aleistar couldn't make it out on the books front. The lettering was the same value as the leather it was printed on, and something about that felt like it was meant to be an insult.

///

He almost made it a week before he read the book for the first time. 

He sat in his old armchair that the clerk at the furniture shop had told him was blue, and put his feet up on his coffee table which was a deep brown according to Leo, and flicked through the pages that he suspected would be yellow if they weren't just as grey as everything else. 

///

The book had made it sound so effortless to trade his soul for the chance to have everything he could ever want. It listed wealth and riches and beauty or talent as examples of what someone might ask for, but all he wanted was to meet his soulmate. 

A fancy circle here and a few drops of blood there, and boom he'd have a demon who could find them for him. 

Was it worth it though? Was giving up his soul to meet someone he was already fated to meet worth it?

///

A month passed. he was 57 now.

Fifty-seven. 

That number hurt to think about. He wasn’t old old yet, but he had three years until his planned retirement, and an average of maybe eighteen more to follow, if he was lucky.

///

He spent a lot of nights crying in the armnchair he was told was blue with the book he thought of as yellow in his lap. He still remembered how badly he had wanted a family when he was young. Two kids. He'd always wanted two because it felt right to him. If they were both conceived today he was likely to be dead before they would be old enough to share a drink together at his favorite bar. 

Had he truly wasted his life? Had he let himself become so comfortable with the grey that he let a lifetime of color pass him by? 

He was 57. His college classmates were all probably starting to welcome grandchildren now. 

He was 57 and hed already been invited to so many funerals.

He dreaded that he might have already missed his soulmate's.

///

Aleistar habitually took notes at work, always had, but now they were more summoning circles than to-do lists.

///

He was 57, and he didn't care about having a soul anymore, because he desperately needed to find his soulmate and knew he would do whatever he needed to do to make that happen. 

///

The flash of the circle igniting all at once almost made him regret this decision. 

For a moment all that his senses could take in was the stark white light followed by a blurred buzzing of sensation as he struggled back onto his feet after having been thrown by the force of the demon entering his home. 

He was older, and his joints creaked under him as he finally got eyes on the hell beast who would own his soul in a scant few minutes.

He met the demon's eyes across the boundaries line of his summoning circle, his body going tight and rigid as the demon stared right back at him.

The demon's eyes were black and round and open wide. His lips were also black, and his teeth a sharp white where they showed in the slight gape mouthed expression the demon wore. The grey scale that Aleistar knew so well, that he had been so comfortable with for all these years, could hold only the demon's eyes and lips and teeth within itself.

Aleistar had heard that when someone finally found their soul mate they would be able to name one or two colors wothout being told what they were.

Maybe thats why he knew the demon's hair was blue. Deep dark blue. Like the sky at midnight if all the stars blinked out of existence. The ring around the demon's neck, along with its counter parts around his horns, and upper arms, and thighs had to be gold. True pure gold that could buy out everything he had ever owned and still be only a tiny fraction of the way through it's value.

Blue and gold were the colors he could name, Blue for the demons hair and lashes, gold for his markings, But the paled so much next to the color of the demon's skin. Warm and strange and beyond inhuman. Decadent, and bold and rare. and so... magic. So very magical. The color of this demon's skin would be his favorite from now on, and nothing would ever manage to compare to it again.

Nothing would ever again manage to compare to the demon who was slowly standing from where he had been knelt. The corners of his lips were up turned in a way that was almost a smile, more disbelieving than joyous but well on its way towards that destination.

"Hello-" the demon tried to speak, his voice smooth and low as he blurred at the edges, like a fog cloud barely forced into the shape of a man, but his voice cought in his throat as he swirled around the circle, to just look at everything, "Did… Did everything just get very… colorful for you?" the demon asked with a weak but hopeful smile as he pressed his hands up against the invisible boundry between them.

Aleistar thought he'd be scared to approach a demon, that this part would make his stomach turn. But he took the demon's hands in his own without hesitation and without flinching at the feeling of his soft and hell hot skin burning his own just that little bit.

Oh the demon was beautiful, not just his colors that felt so unearthly after of a lifetime of grey, but his fine and delicate features that buzzed around the edges like he might vanish if Aleistar stopped looking at him. 

Aleistar wanted to speak, wanted to say Something to the demon, but he was still struck dumb by the boiling joy and wonder in his own chest that bubbled over everything he met the demon's eyes again.

Some faint part of Aleistar's brain told him he should be panicked about how just holding this demon's hands made all the colors that much more intoxicatingly vibrant. That he shouldn't be on the verge of tears or laughter in this moment because all these colors could mean only one thing

"The silent type huh? Are you broody too?" the demon tried to joke before he caught himself even as his delicat fingers held onto Aleistar's a little tighter, "Oh, uh, the contract. You summoned me because you want me to find you your soulmate right? Uhm," the demon smiled and Aleistar knew he was grinning too. 

Finally, Aleistar understood all those people hed seen collide in the middle of the walkway. Desperate to just touch and hold their other half after far too long separated from them.

"Wow, ok, so I knew I was exceptionally good at my job, but this is a new record for me," The demon babbled on, "Uhm, I- You see the colors too right? I'm not just going crazy, and this is real, right?"

"It is, I- It really is isnt it?" Aleistar was laughing softly and he didn't know why, but the demon was laughing too now and pulling him closer and past the edge of the circle.

The book had been very specific about never being in the circle with an un named demon, said that the demon could use all sort of tricks against you if you made that mistake, but this one seemed perfectly content to just press up against him while burrying his face in the fabric of Aleistar's shirt. Still holding his hands and still chucking something that was almost a hiccups as he sought out his soulmate's touch.

Aleistar wrapped his arms around the demon, around his soulmate just to hold him close for the moment it took them both to stop giggling like school boys. There was something impossibly grounding about holding the demon, something that made him determined to never let his soulmate go

The demon's cute little horns bumped up against his chin every time either of them moved and there was something just immensely endearing about that to Aleistar, so he pressed a kiss to one, marveling at how his skin buzzed from such a little touch before doing it again and again until he was peppering his soulmate's face with kisses that carried all the emotions he couldn't put into words.

"I still need to make a contract with you," his soulmate said after Aleistar tried to kiss him properly for the first time, "I- I've already found you your soulmate, so you're going have to ask for something else… Something that will take very long for me to deliver on so I dont have to leave you," He looked up from where he was still pressed against Aleistar's chest, those coal black eyes so hopeful.

"Be mine," Aleistar said without thinking, "Stay with me and just- Just be mine," smiling this much was starting to hurt, "Please," he cupped either side of the demon's face in his hands to tilt him up just that little bit more, "Please," he repeated again, his breath tight and nervous in his chest like he was just a school boy confessing to his crush under the slide, light and nervwracking and desperate for things he didn't fully understand yet.

The demon grinned and nodded, "Give me a name and it will be done," his hands braced against Aleistar's chest, his fingers tangling in the fabric as he tried to ground himself there. 

Aleistar nodded and took a breath just to steady himself enough to not stutter. He remembered all the ways you could name a demon that the book had listed, all the ways you could bind one to yourself and all the ways those ways could fail, but there was only one he had any interest in trying in that moment.

"Haze," he said, a single syllable to describe his soulmate completely, it was all he needed. If the fervor with which Haze kissed him the moment the his new name was spoken was anything to go off of, then Aleistar felt confident in assuming he'd chosen correctly.

When they finally slowed to let Aleistar catch his breath after minutes of heavy petting and being too needy to let the other more than an inch or two away, they were sat in an armchair that Aleistar didn't need to be told was blue anymore.

[paragonrobits]

Azulaang fic for @irresistible-revolution for the prompt ‘Azulaang + dancing’!

the premise is that this takes place several years after the events of ATLA, and Azula has been traveling with Aang as part of a long-term life-changing field trip, so she’s grown a bit from the person she was, but she’s still got a few things to learn

----

Azula is a woman of immense pride, and so, it wounds her to admit that she is less than perfect in everything. She has to be perfect, in everything she does; in the way she drops her words into place as neatly as the point of a blade, in the exacting movements of her Firebending forms, in the subtle methods in which she says only a few choice words to fill her enemy’s minds with doubt and uncertainty.

She has struggled long in the vicious political battlegrounds of the Fire Nation, and won out. She doubts that her brother would last long without help; he is poorly suited to intrigue. He is a more competent survivor that she had given him credit for, and his presence as Fire Lord alone has cast an unfamiliar curl of doubt that, maybe, she was wrong to assume she knew everything.

Rehabilitation, they called it as they commanded her to stay by the Avatar’s side until such time as he declared her suitable in his eyes to return home.

It’s a banishment. Yet she doesn't mind it all that much, and it’s not a comforting thought; it’s a rank feeling, a seething hot brand in the pit of her stomach. She has been cast away, her life and freedom at the mercy of an enemy who has little reason to share mercy with her, and it’s a foe she knows she has no way to defeat in a straight fight.

It should bother her more, but it does not. She doesn’t understand why. She is, however, coming to understand that perhaps she ought to watch her words around the Avatar.

He is… she’s searched for an appropriate word, and settled upon fickle. Or perhaps flighty. It’s not something that sets her entirely at ease, the way he flits from one thought to another with all the ease of a bird-cat alighting from one branch and then springing to another, or how his mood can shift from terrible graveness to sudden giggling merriment, with none of the between-moods there should be.

He changes like the wind. It’s strangely exciting, in his unpredictability. She has prided herself, in the past, on being good with people, even if she must admit now that (on the balance of evidence, and time has taken the sting out of what she had considered betrayal), but she does not understand him. She does not understand his ways, or the thoughts that lead him from one idea to an apparently unrelated one.

And this brought itself to the central point: that for all her efforts to be perfect in every way, she does not actually know how to dance.

-----

The Avatar (and it will be a long time before she, mired in the rigid political honorifics of the Fire Nation royal courts, can dare to speak to him by his own name, and her hair prickles in alarm and shock when he persistently asks her to speak to him so familiarly) had grinned.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” His voice was sing-song, almost teasing; gusting this way and that, as if to push her in directions at random. She can’t get a read on him at all, and it bothers her, and he knows that it bothers her, and so he plays his strange games with her.

Her head tilted up. “I do not know how to dance,” she replied, acidly. “You would be so very surprised to learn how it is not an essential skill in military conduct, nor the art of rulership.”

“Honestly, that sounds kinda boring. Learning new things is something to look forward to, not just because it helps you!”

It was important to note that at the time, for no apparent reason, he was spinning on a disc of air on his hands, only looking at her for brief seconds in his revolutions.

Her nostrils flared. “Dancing is for children and peasants who don’t have anything better to do.”

“Are you just saying that because it bothers you that I can dance, and my friends can dance, evne Zuko, and you don’t know how?”

Her silence speaks volumes. Irritable, bad tempered volumes.

He pauses, just for a moment, staring at her head-on. He’s still upside down, but his rounded features (so disarmingly like Ty Lee that some vague suspicions of blood descent and Air leaving behind a few embers, here and there, come to mind) turn towards her, his eyes so grey they are almost translucent.

“So you’ve never even tried?”

“Never.” She gazed into his eyes, trying to find a hint of whatever plan or plot he had in mind this time.

“Mm hmm.” He smiles, widening at the corner of his mouth as though he won’t be honest if it’s a grin or a challenging sneer. “It’s okay if you want to admit you can’t do it.”

“What?!” She stiffened up. “I certainly can!”

“No, no. It’s fine if you don’t think you can learn it at all.”

He has just outright challenged her. “I shall!” Her ego marches ahead of any other thought, and she’s already aware that she has gotten herself entangled in his schemes. Again. “Show me, if you dare.”

“All right,” he said, leaping upwards and landing in a full standing position, and she knows now that he is most definitely grinning, holding a hand out to him.

As she permits him to take her hand, she cannot deny an emotional flicker there, as his fingers brush across her hand.

----

And now, they dance.

Or rather, the Avatar dances, and she does his best to keep up, and part of her keeps thinking of it like a fight. A duel, and it seems strangely fitting.

A duel in which one fighter is a master who knows he has already won, and the other fighter is a novice, too stubborn to admit that she hadn’t the faintest idea of where to begin.

He moves so easily around her. Physical effort is second nature to her; sport games, Firebending, the many martial arts absorbed and devised by past leaders of the Fire Nation even in the days when the Fire Lord had only been leader of the Fire Sages; she knows them all, and picks them up so easily that it is as though she has done them many times over.

He moves more easily than that; he leaps across her, and as she turns to match his graceful movements (too graceful, so fluid and dynamic!), he is already facing her, bowing backwards, his feet leaving the ground and his hands catching him. Then he is spinning on both his hands, each revolution carrying him away from her.

“You’re too rigid,” he chides her. “There’s no secret formula to it. You just go with the flow and ride it!”

“Oh, is that Airbending philosophy?” Azula asks; her tone is bored, but the question is genuine.

The Air Nation is something of a blank spot in her knowledge. History books speak little about them; only that they were a military nation, bested during Sozin’s first military actions, and wiped out to the last man. And she knows that there never was an Air Nation.

There had only been the Air Nomads. As a younger woman, she wouldn’t have cared much either way. But older now, and wiser, and not quite the same woman under the Avatar’s tutelage and experience of the world…

She does not know how to feel, and that vast depth before her taunts at her. But she does know they were very different from the Fire Nation, and here lies an element of their philosophy.

“It’s just how dancing works, where I’m from,” the Avatar replies, now sliding closer to her. It’s a struggle to match his movements; there is no predicting them, there is no switch from one form to another, just a chaotic and ever-shifting flow of limbs and body, and she cannot outpace it, only match it. He grins. “So, you’re not wrong!”

She understands something, then. The thought has been working beneath the surface, chipping away and puzzling over it.

She knows the essence of fire is power; Zuko has spoken of drive and energy, and she still does not quite understand what that means. She knows other Bending forms draw power from other aspects of human nature and thought, and she finally understands that Airbending is freedom.

Fire burns hotter with anger, with drive and aggression. But as he allows himself to be free, to be detached from the tethers around him, he flies; the air around him buoys him upwards, or erupts around him, uncontrolled and truly free, destructive beyond measure or completely harmless without any apparent pattern.

She understands him a bit better, she thinks.

And then he leans in, his hand just below her own.

“A dance between two people is a partnership,” he says mischievously. “It’s not a battle you win. It’s something you do, together.”

Her hand moves, almost on its own, and pauses just below it, nearly ready to grasp his hand.

She hesitates.

She killed him once, she remembers. So why does he make her nervous?

He smiles at her, fearlessly, calmly, as though he is above petty things like grudges or memories of war. His eyes lock with her own, and she’s rarely seen someone so forthright with her, especially not a boy in her age range.

She’s never had peers, she thinks. Only soldiers and subordinates; never real friends, not anyone that pursued her company of their own accord, as he had when he had suggested this in the early days of her rehabilitation.

His hand is still proffered to her. She’s never known anyone who wanted to hold her hand.

And there is a feeling like electricity between his hand, and her own; a simmering tension, a feeling that she must either run away now before he changes his mind, or grasp and never let go-

Her fingers seize his hand, and he squeezes back.

He moves. “Follow my lead,” he says, head tilting up to look into her eyes, and she silently follows.

And, in that moment, it is freeing to simply move in that dance, without worrying about appearances, to let the wind carry her.

And his hand feels warm and soft in her grip. She has known power and authority, dominance and security. She has not known kindness.

She thinks she would like to know it a little better now.

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

2020 Can Take My Hair, But Not My Hope

My hair started falling out on election night.

I thought at first it might be the anxiety, that I was literally pulling my hair out with worry over numbers I already knew were not going to be definitive before the night wore into morning but which I stayed up until 3:30am watching anyway. I tweeted rapidly, reassuring my jittery timeline that not only had we all known that the night would bring no results but that we had even expected Trump to lead in key states because of the greater number of mail-in ballots from urban areas that would largely count for Biden. We knew. We all knew. But we were all terrified, flashing back to 2016 and already dreading another four years of living life on high alert, in constant survival mode.

I posted a selfie with a tweet that read, "Could be the last presidential election I vote in (blah blah stage 4 cancer blah blah) and I wish it were better and clearer than this but it's a crucial privilege to have voted. Remember, whatever the outcome, the last thing they can take from you is your hope."

To me that last sentence has been a mantra for these years and for my treatment. I have consistently refused, despite overwhelmingly terrible odds, to lose hope. The story of Pandora's Box tells us that the very last thing left inside was Hope--that even once all the demons were out in the world there was that tiny, feathered creature left to hang on to. It hasn't been easy, but I am one of the most stubborn people you will ever meet (and if you doubt this just ask anyone who's ever fought me on anything!) and it has turned out to be a saving grace rather than an irritating personality trait. Feeling like the world was trying to take my hope away made me angry. And when I get angry I will fight back.

I know I'm not alone in feeling like we entered some kind of alternate nightmare timeline on election night 2016. To that point, despite periods of immense personal difficulty, nothing truly terrible had happened to me. Then, in short order, my marriage ended and I was diagnosed with and began being treated for a terminal illness, all against the backdrop of a regime so deliberately hateful that it was truly incomprehensible to me. Then, a global pandemic and national crisis swept away the small consolations I'd found in my new life with cancer. The temptation to feel hopeless was strong and I struggled with it, particularly in the isolation of quarantine. I'm struggling with it now, facing a winter of further lockdowns, social isolation, continued chemo, and the added indignity (and chilliness!) of not having any hair. But somehow the coincidence of my hair loss with election night seemed like a good omen for the future, if a sad thing for the present.

I heard the news that they had called Pennsylvania for Biden at a peaceful Airbnb in the Catskills after stepping out of a shower where lost hair in handfuls. It felt oddly like a sacrifice I had made personally. I joked about this with friends on the text chains that lit up and that (despite my promise to myself and my writing partner that we'd "go off the grid") I responded to immediately. Instant replies, with emojis and GIFs, participated in the fiction: "Thank you for your service!!!"; "We ALL appreciate your sacrifice!"; "Who among us would NOT give up their hair for no more Trump?". The feeling was real for me, though. It was as though the good news demanded some kind of karmic offering. You never get something for nothing, I thought, and really it was a small price to pay.

The rest of the weekend passed too quickly, with absorption in the novel I plan (madly, given that I also work full-time) to work on for "National Novel Writing Month" (NaNoWriMo), walks in the unseasonably warm woods, and nighttime drinks on the back deck under the stars, watching my hair blow off in fine strands and drift through the sodium porch light. My friend and I read tarot and both our layouts contained The Tower, the card for new beginnings from total annihilation, the moment of destruction in which (as the novel's title says) everything is illuminated. "This might sound dumb," he said, "but maybe yours is about your hair." It did not sound dumb.

[shaved heads, the 2020 election, and a couple pics under the cut]

There is probably no more iconic visual shorthand for cancer than hair loss. It happens because chemo agents target fast-proliferating cells, which tend to inhabit things that grow rapidly by nature (hair, fingernails), or that we need to replenish often (cells in the gut), as well as out-of-control cancer cells. But not all cancer treatments, not even all chemotherapies, cause hair loss. In my 20 months of being treated for cancer and my three previous treatments (four, if you count the surgery I had) nothing had yet affected my hair beyond a bit of thinning. This despite the fact that my first-ever treatment (Taxol) was widely known to cause hair loss for "everyone." I had been fortunate with this particular side effect in a narrow way that I have absolutely not been on a broader scale. "Maybe," I had let myself think, "I can have this one thing." The odds were in my favor too; only 38% of people in clinical trials being treated with Saci lost their hair. I liked the odds of being in the 62% who didn't. But--as we all felt deep in our gut while they counted votes in battleground states--odds aren't everything.

I had come to treat the "strength" of my hair as a kind of relative consolation (though as with everything cancer "strength," "weakness," and the rhetoric of battle have nothing to do with outcomes). I treasured still having it, not just out of vanity (though I have always loved my hair whatever length, style, or color it has been) but because it allowed me to pass among regular people as one of them. I had no visible markers of the illness that is killing me, concealed as first the tumor and then the scars were by my clothing. "You look wonderful," people would tell me, even when I suffered from stress fractures from nothing more than running or sneezing; muscle spasms in my shoulder and nerve death in my fingertips; nausea that I swallowed with swigs from my water bottle that just made me look all the more like a hydration-conscious athlete; and profound, constant, and debilitating fatigue. Invisible illness had its own perils but I would take them--take all of them at once if necessary!--if only I could keep my hair and look normal.

It was not to be. A part of me had known this, since a lifetime with metastatic cancer means a lifetime of treatments a solid proportion of which result in hair loss. But I had hoped. And I had liked the odds.

The hardest thing for me is having to give up this particular consolation before knowing whether or not my new treatment is also working on my cancer. Unfortunately, there really isn't a correlation between side effects like hair loss and effectiveness of treatment. If it is working then I will feel that--like the election to which I felt I had karmically contributed--it was all completely worth it. Yet, even in this best case scenario, there's a new reality for me which is that while I am on this treatment I will stay bald. When you are a chronic patient you hope for a treatment that will work well with manageable side effects. And if this treatment works--and if the other side effects are as ok-ish as they are now--then I will remain on it.

It's that future that I am furious about more than anything else. I want to continue to live my life, of course, but I don't want to have to do it bald! In part that is because I don't want to register to people constantly as an archetypal "cancer patient" when I know that I am so much more. It is also in part because I don't want to think of myself as being ill, and living every day having to disguise my absent hair will make that all the tougher. I have already noticed that I feel, physically, as though I am sicker because of my constantly shedding hair. How could I not, in some ways, when every move I make and every glance at myself (including in endless Zoom windows) shows me this highly visible change?

For that reason, I'm shaving my remaining hair tomorrow (Wednesday). It's a way to feel less disempowered--less like hair loss is happening to me--and wrest control of the situation back. I will try to find agreeable things about it: wigs, scarves, cozy caps, bright lipstick, statement earrings, and a general punk/Mad Max vibe that is appropriate to 2020. But I don't want anyone to think for a second that I find this agreeable, or even acceptable, or that I don't mind. I mind a whole hell of a lot. My hair was my consolation prize, my camouflage, my vanity, my folly, and my battle cry.

I dyed it purple when I was first diagnosed because I knew (or thought I knew) that I would be losing it soon. I didn't, and I came to cherish it as a symbol of my boldness in the face of circumstances trying to oppress me, to make me shrink, to tempt me to become invisible. I refused and used it to "shout" all the louder in response. Because of what it came to mean to me, I'm nearly as sad about losing the purple as I am about losing the hair itself. It both symbolized the weight I was carrying and also that I would not let that weight grind me down. It was my act of resistance and my sign resilience all at once.

I sent a text to my friends, explaining this and offering, as an idea, that I could "pass the purple" to them in some way, small or large. It would feel more like handing off a torch or a weight (or the One Ring) than anyone shaving their head in solidarity. (After all, if they did that it would just remind me as I watched theirs grow back that, in fact, our positions were very different.) You're welcome to do it if you'd like too, internet friends, with temporary or permanent dye or a wig or a headband or one of those terrible 90s hairwraps or whatever. But I don't require that anyone do it because I feel support from you all in myriad ways, all the time. (But if you do, please send me pictures!)

It's November 2020. The election is over and Joe Biden has won. I still have cancer and I'll be bald tomorrow. I hope it's a turning point, both personal and global, because it feels like one. We've given up a lot in the last four years and I cannot say that I feel in any way peaceful or accepting about having to give up yet one more thing. But in losing my hair I absolutely refuse to also give up my hope.

(On our walk we did also seem to find a version of The Tower, all that was left of an abandoned house)

[thebestestboyo]

How Remus Started Working For Patton: Part 5

Masterpost

Tw: Remus being Remus/Swearing/Drug Mention/Drinking Coffee

While it took some getting used to, Remus was immensely pleased at his newfound membership to the Anacondas.

Not ONLY did he have another person to annoy the shit out of daily (this position was held by Dee and Virgil exclusively, as well as his brother), but he also was able to pop by and bring Pat on his adventures so he could feel that fuzzy sensation in his chest.

Ree still couldn't determine why he felt that way, but he supposed it was because Pat would listen to him ramble without telling him that it was stupid.

Or maybe it was because he was pretty? He was remarkably attractive, whether in a skirt or in a pair of jeans, and his hair seemed softer than even that dead rabbit Virgil dared him to touch once. Whether that was because the rabbit was dead or because Patton was Patton, it didn't matter. But even then, Remus had met plenty of attractive people! And he didn't usually have this reaction, at least, not one this soft.

Maybe it was the danger? Pat was part of a crime organization. Remus always did like the danger of doing things most people saw as dangerous or scandalous, but it didn't feel particularly high stakes yet. The most risky encounter they had was that damned seagull chasing after them. (Remus was going to kill that bird one of these days...)

He supposed he'd have to ask his brother. Grosssssss. Remus hated asking his brother for advice, it always was some fairytale crap or something similar. But, as Virgil wasn't home, and he was NOT going to ask Patton (that would be embarrassing), Dee (they're brothers) or Logan (he's not too good at emotions), he had no other choice.

So that's why he was standing on the balcony of Roman's apartment, hair full of leaves, sighing for what seemed like the twentieth time as Roman continued to not notice him.

"Oh brother dorkest!~ It is me, your evil twin! Get your gay ass out here!"

That seemed to do the trick, well, to some degree. It at least made Roman jump, turning his head to look through the window at him.

Not too long after, it also caused him to finally open the window! Spectacular.

"Remus you know I have a front door."

"Oh but it's just so much more fun to see your reaction when I use unconventional means! Remember when I used your vent system?"

"Yeah, and you nearly fell through it. To what do I owe the displeasure of a meeting with you?" Despite his words, Roman was clearly biting back a smile.

Hopping through the open frame, Remus began to pace around the apartment, leaving a trail of leaves in his wake. It had been windy outside, he couldn't help it!

"I am facing an emotional dilemma!"

"Dilemma? Who taught you these fancy words? Where is my real brother???" Roman crossed his arms where he stood, leaning up against the wall in amusement.

"Oh shut your butt. Seriously though, I am facing problems and all my other friends are unable to help at this time."

"That's a first."

Remus ran a hand through his hair, wishing he had put a braid in it or something. Normally he'd be fine with it full of leaves, he'd had worse, but right now he was on edge and he'd prefer if there wasn't the crinkly sound every time he moved. "Its with this guy dipshit! This guy that for whatever reason I cannot understand why he enjoys my presence."

With that statement, Roman's demeanor changed drastically. Making his way over to his brother, he sat him down on the couch. "This seems like a problem in which we'll need some coffee. You still like yours the same?"

Ree simply nodded, still stewing over his emotions.

His brother came back holding two mugs, one that was coffee only in name, and the other that was some amalgamation of cream cheese, sriracha sauce, and hot fudge.

He handed the abomination to Remus, sipping his own. "Ok spill."

"So a few weeks back, I met this guy. And I thought it would be like all my other flings ya know? Chill, not much expectations, and ending after about a week. But this guy is just, pure sunshine. He and I flirt a bit, and he's pretty cuddly but as far as I can tell he sees me as a friend. But I don't know how I see him, because whenever I'm around him I get this dizzy feeling and it's like being drunk and taking hallucinogenics at the same time??"

"Ah so you're in love with him!!!"

Remus nearly spit out his drink at how sudden it was. "Excuse me??"

"You're in love!!!"

"That's ridiculous! I don't do that! The most I have is a one night stand! A fling if I'm particularly bored! I don't do 'in love' my dearest bother." Making air quotes with his free hand, he continued sipping his drink, if you could call it that.

Seriously. What was even in it??? It looked disgusting! But for some reason Remus kept drinking it??? What a madman.

"Well, tell me about this guy then."

"What???"

"For curiosity's sake! It's been so long since I've had a relationship so I'm projecting to yours."

"Haven't gotten laid recently?" Remus wiggled his eyebrows, knocking elbows with him to see if he'd spill his drink.

"Ugh!! Vulgar, he'd at least have to buy me dinner first." Ro swiped his mug away before the mountain of whipped cream was disturbed, frowning. "But seriously! What's this guy like?"

"If you want the basic description, he's cute as fuck. If you want the less basic description, he's quite possibly the only guy who I would want to slow dance with since...collage at least."

"Wow, slow dancing??"

"I KNOW right??? He's got these pretty-ass eyes and whenever I look into them I just melt and he's so soft that when he hugs me I'm just a puddle of blood and guts on the floor and I'd let him tear the heart from my chest if he asked."

"Wow. That's...that is a crush. That my dear brother, is a crush!"

"Ugh shut up. So what's up with your life right now? Make any new musicals?"

Roman's face lit up, and then dimmed almost immediately after. He didn't meet Ree's eyes as he spoke, slowly stirring his drink. "Well..."

"Well what?"

"I did, but it was rejected again."

"That's bullshit! Your scripts are amazing! Even if they lack the blood and gore, they're some of the best pieces I've ever read! That cock of a publishing company should be begging for your works!"

"It's really not that big of a deal...they were unpolished anyways."

"I'm going to commit arson soon enough."

"Remus no! I'll just try some of the other publishers. I'll have to work twice as hard, but maybe one of them will like it..."

As Remus looked at his brother, he noticed the dark circles under his eyes and how his body curled into itself, as if it was barely staying together.

"Dipshit...you haven't been sleeping well huh?"

A shake of his head was all Remus needed to set both of their mugs down on the coffee table, lifting up his brother. "You need a break. I don't trust you not to work yourself to death."

"Remus no, I have to get working on the next-"

"Nope! I'm taking you to my pal's place. He'll watch after you. I'm going to work soon, so I'd do it myself, but he's second best."

"Please tell me you aren't leaving me at a bar."

"Nope! Logan doesn't drink. Says it messes with his brain's 'structural integrity' or something."

Roman, used to his antics, simply wrapped his arms around Remus, leaning into him as he grumbled something he couldn't hear.

"Don't worry, I'll grab your keys so you can get back in. He's nice I swear!"

"If I end up dead in an alley I'm haunting you."

"Virgil would hate that. He already thinks we have ghosts in our apartment, you'd be the final straw before he buys an ouija board."

They talked quietly as Remus grabbed some of Roman's important stuff, then heading out. Thankfully, no one bothered them on the walk over, and Remus didn't have much problem knocking on the stained door of Logan's place, which, in his words, 'serves as my workplace as well as my domicile so Remus kindly stop bothering my cat.'

"Hey Locoooooooooo!"

There was banging from inside as his only answer unfortunately, so Remus assumed that he was in his lab.

Time to let himself in! Roman had fallen asleep on his shoulder by now, so he couldn't set him down to crawl through a window. Crap. Might as well use the keys then.

Maneuvering his grip, he managed to grab them from his pocket, stepping in. Entropy, who was sitting on her cat tower, merely blinked at him before hopping off, most likely to go find Logan.

"Lo-comotive!"

"Remus I swear if your roommate threw you out again because you messed with a skunk-"

Ah! There he was. He must have been working with one of his machines again, when he came out to greet him, he was wearing his metal-working mask. "Hi Logie!~"

"Hello Remus. Why does it appear as if you're carrying a dead body?"

"This is my brother! I told you about him before. He needs someone to watch after him so he actually rests for once in his goddamned life."

Roman, who had awoken by now from all the noise, struggled to get out of Remus's arms. "I'm not a child-"

"I can't watch him right now since I have to go work at Hell Incorporated-" He made a face, disgusted at even the mention of his office job, "-so I thought you could?"

Logan turned up his mask, looking closer at Roman, his face...red? Wait what? It was probably because the machine tended to get hot. Or...

"Remus, you want me to nanny your twin brother?"

"Yep! He's an incorrigible little menace that won't sleep unless you force him to or he passes out from exhaustion."

"This is a grown man we are discussing?"

Piping up from his struggle to get down, Roman turned to look at Logan. "Exactl-"

His intended speech cut off as he locked eyes, exhaling a little bit at the sight. "oh."

Glancing between the two of them, Remus noticed the redness on both of their cheeks, and wanting to see none of whatever stirred up his brother, simply pushed him into Logan's twig arms. "I'll be back soon!"

Both turned to look at him, startled looks on both their faces.

"Remus!"

He was already out the door, snickering.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Wax and Feathers

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rated: Gen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil, John, Tracy family

Sometimes limits need to be broken. But a limit is there for a reason, and breaking them has consequences. Episode tag for 3.20 "Icarus"

It was fact that everything had a limit. No matter who, or what, there came a point when they just couldn't push any further. This was even true for International Rescue.

Scott liked to pretend it wasn't. Acknowledging limits felt like giving up, but when Thunderbird Two went underwater, or into space, and barely survived the experiences, or Five's immensely strong structure cracked under too much gravity, those limits almost took the lives of his brothers. So, as much as he hated them, he couldn't quite ignore the fact that limits existed.

Thunderbird One was the fastest aircraft in existence. The idea that speed could ever be an issue for her was ludicrous. Her full capability was rarely exercised, unnecessary in all but the direst conditions and, as John was fond of saying, everything Brains designed had a huge safety margin. Even her limit wasn't really her limit; Scott had never tried to push her more out of respect for his father's impressive record than anything else. He didn't want to know if he could beat it. Not without his Dad watching, anyway.

Something was wrong. Experienced pilot, more or less one with his Thunderbird from so many flight hours together, Scott knew the moment he engaged the VTOL to leave the air show and head for home that Thunderbird One wasn't going to make it back without considerable skill and a healthy dose of luck. The noise of her engines was just off kilter to usual, a change that he could feel more than hear it was so subtle.

Subtle, but there. The controls weren't one with him. For the first time in a long time, Scott actually had to dedicate conscious thought to them, counting carefully the beats before the next shift to account for the airspeed. Ever his Thunderbird, One worked as closely with him as she could, responding to his touches, but it was impossible to fall into her usual rhythm.

"Scott?"

He ignored the hologram of his brother appearing in his line of vision, focusing on the readouts flickering up instead and not even daring to spare the time to swipe the floating image away.

"Scott!"

Mach 1.3 seemed to be the sweet spot, Thunderbird One purring along almost as though nothing was wrong, but it was tough to keep her at exactly that speed without autopilot – and with something seriously wrong somewhere in her engines, Scott refused to trust autopilot.

"Thunderbird One, respond!"

John barked in that tone that meant answer me or I'll take control of your Thunderbird. Anyone else taking control of One right now would be disaster. Scott responded.

"What?"

Short, curt. Uncharacteristically so, even for him at his most stressed.

"Thunderbird One's flight pattern is erratic. Are you okay?" His brother sounded worried. Scott didn't have the concentration to spare on reassuring him.

"Fine."

"You don't sound fine."

Scott ignored him as Thunderbird One shuddered. Whatever was wrong in her engine wasn't fixing itself, and instead seemed to be worsening steadily. He was still several hundred miles from base.

Gritting his teeth, he slowed to sub-sonic flight. At least now if she crashed, he had a chance of walking away from it.

"Scott what's going on?" Virgil's hologram appeared beside John's. Gordon quickly flickered into life to complete the trio of concerned looks. "Why have you dropped speed? Did something happen?"

"We're ahead of you, slow poke," Gordon chimed in. "Feel like doing the dishes for once?"

"Gordon!" Virgil snapped. "Scott, speed up or I'm turning around."

He opened his mouth to protest, instinct rebelling at the notion of his brothers coming back to help him, before common sense prevailed. Thunderbird One was deteriorating too quickly. Either he landed her now, while he was over land, or he would get an unwelcome swim somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

Thunderbird One had hit her limit. She wouldn't make it back.

"John," he said. "Somewhere remote I can land. Now."

"Scott?" Virgil asked, but John's F.A.B cut across him. Scott gritted his teeth as Thunderbird One juddered again, more fiercely this time. Alarms began to wail, belatedly telling him something was wrong with his 'bird.

"Scott, what's going on?" Virgil demanded.

John was still silent, hopefully calculating somewhere he could land with minimal damage and audience.

"I don't know," he lied. "Some sort of engine trouble."

He knew exactly what had happened. Thunderbird One's operating limit was Mach 19. Her top speed was Mach 20. In pursuing Icarus, he'd pushed her past Mach 21.

His brothers thought he'd stuck to Mach 19, closed in using Kayo's flight path, and not sped up past that until he'd hooked Icarus, at which point he was being effectively towed so the only strain was on the tow cable.

At their comparative speeds, the sudden strain from a craft going Mach 19 latching onto a craft reaching Mach 22 would have torn both ships apart. A difference of Mach 3 was no small feat. In order to keep both intact – and consequently both pilots alive – Thunderbird One had had to attempt to match speed. It hadn't gone perfectly, still enough of a difference that the ships had threatened to tear apart, but he'd caught her and slowed Icarus down at least for a while.

"Sending co-ordinates now," John told him, and Scott glanced up at the new destination as they flashed up, making the adjustments to his course. Dimly, he could hear the lower roar of Two's engines over the sound of One's struggling and despite himself relaxed slightly. The sound of a Thunderbird really was the sweetest thing to hear when in trouble.

It was not his best landing, not by a long shot. He tried to set her down gently, feather-light as usual, but the various small shifts in the engine power required to land a supersonic jet proved to be the final straw for his poor, damaged 'bird. With a concerning snap from somewhere behind him, the engines cut out entirely just before the landing struts engaged and she ploughed, nose-first, into the dirt.

"Scott!" a chorus of brothers' voices sounded, and he groaned, straightening up and bringing a hand to his head. No whiplash, hopefully no concussion either he self-diagnosed as he pushed the restraints up and rolled his shoulders. There was sure to be some bruising from that, but nothing worse.

"Thunderbird One, respond!" John snapped as One shuddered in the familiar way that meant her sister was landing right next to her.

"Scott!" Gordon's voice sounded through the comms in stereo with a faint noise from outside One.

"I'm okay," he told them both, fumbling for the emergency override and opening the cockpit. Gordon leapt in before he could get out, pushing him back into his seat.

"We're gonna be the judges of that," his younger brother told him. "Seriously, what the hell happened?" Scott suffered through the brief medical exam, lengthened by the arrival of Virgil who promptly took over from Gordon and did it all again. It spoke volumes of how worried they were that Gordon didn't protest that he'd done it already.

"She couldn't quite hold long enough," Scott admitted. "Something in her engine's broken." He tried to stand, itching to go and see the damage for himself, but his brothers stopped him.

"I'll check the damage," Virgil said, stepping back. "You and that concussion of yours are staying right there until I get back."

"What concussion?" Scott demanded, then flinched as Gordon's gloved hand brushed against the back of his head.

"That one," his blond brother told him. "Why didn't you put your helmet on?"

"Wasn't time," he defended himself. Gordon raised an eyebrow.

"If I could get mine on with a volcano landing on top of me, you could have got yours on when you knew there was a problem." Scott flinched, mind flickering back to the nightmarish sight of the crumpled Thunderbird Four and her limp aquanaut as Penelope pulled him out of the wreckage.

There went any chance of sleep tonight.

He was saved from having to reply by Virgil's reappearance. The dark-haired Tracy looked grim.

"She's not flying anywhere," he declared bluntly. "Her main engine core's completely burnt out. Two'll have to carry her back." Scott had feared as such.

"But Two's already got a full load," Gordon pointed out. "She can't carry One and Four at the same time."

"I'll just have to drop Four off then come back," Virgil sighed. "Gordon, wait here with Scott. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I won't be long."

"F.A.B."

Scott bristled at the implication he might try and get her airborne again. He wanted her home in one piece, and he knew the only way that would happen was by the grace of Virgil and Two now.

The behemoth in question lifted away from the ground slowly, only to engage her thrusters to full as soon as she was fully in the air and disappear off in the blink of an eye. It was easy to forget that although she was sluggish compared to One, Two was still an incredibly fast craft. And Virgil wasn't hanging around.

He went to stand up again, and growled at Gordon as his younger brother put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"You've got a concussion, Scott," the aquanaut reminded him.

"So you've said," he retorted. "But concussion or not, I'm getting out of this chair and seeing the damage for myself so get out of the way."

Gordon did not get out of the way. But he did, after a moment, remove the hand from his shoulder and offer it instead. Scott tried to deny that he appreciated the help as the interior of his beloved ship swam slightly before his eyes.

"You'll be riding back in Two anyway," the blond menace shrugged. Scott ignored him as he stumbled his way down through the fuselage to the main engine. The internal access panel was still open from Virgil's investigation, and immediately he could see why Virgil hadn't been gone long.

Burnt out was a rather understated way to describe the charred lump of metal that had once housed the engine core, and his engineer brother hadn't even bothered to mention the relay. It was sheered clean in half – clearly the snap he'd heard as his 'bird had fallen the last few metres from the sky. No doubt her other engines were in a similar condition.

Virgil was right. There was no way Thunderbird One would be able to get back in the air under her own power.

"Brains is going to kill me," he groaned, pressing a hand to his face.

"Join the club, bro," Gordon chimed in, before giving off a low whistle. "Woah, how the hell did that even happen?" Scott shrugged, unwilling to admit that Thunderbird One had gone too fast.

"Scott," John buzzed in from his comms channel. "I just reviewed Thunderbird One's flight telemetry. What were you doing at Mach 21.7?"

"Catching a plane," he said, overriding Gordon's yelp of "Mach what?

"No wonder her engines are fried!" the aquanaut continued. "Thunderbird One's top speed is Mach 19. Nine. Teen."

"Technically that's her operating limit," Scott corrected. "Her top speed is Mach 20."

"Mach twenty one, Scott. Twenty one is higher than twenty. My point still stands."

"Point seven," John corrected Gordon. "He reached Mach twenty one point seven."

"That's even worse!" Gordon cried dramatically, hands in his hair. "What even possessed you to do that?"

"We had to catch the Icarus," Scott reminded him, even though his gut churned as he remembered that despite pushing Thunderbird One into this state, he'd still failed. The success story had been the combination of Two and Three. Wrecking his Thunderbird with nothing to even show for it gnawed at his mind unpleasantly.

He heard Gordon sigh and a hand returned to his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go outside."

He didn't move, staring into the depths of his 'bird and the carnage of her engines. She was going to be grounded for weeks with that much damage while Brains repaired her.

But Brains was working on the T-Drive engine.

He sank down to the floor, one hand blindly reaching out to trace the cool metal of her hull as he did so.

Brains would have to stop working on the T-Drive to repair her. They didn't have time for petty delays yet he'd gone and wrecked his Thunderbird without even a success story to excuse the damage and subsequently put a huge dent in their too tight time frame.

Unless he told Brains to leave her, keep Thunderbird One crippled until the Zero-X was complete and Dad was home. But International Rescue needed her.

The Zero-X or Thunderbird One.

Unbidden, bile built up in his throat, catching him off guard as he retched.

"Geez, Scott." Gordon's voice was softer now, and his hands were gentle even as they hauled him to his feet. "That concussion's not happy with you, is it? Let's get you outside." Drained, too burdened by the realisation that he would have to choose between two equally important craft to have any fight left, Scott let himself be led out of his 'bird's cargo bay door.

Gordon guided him to her nose cone, splattered with dirt and streaks of silver cutting through the red where the impact had damaged it, and coaxed him into sitting on the ground with his back leaning against his downed Thunderbird.

"Stay there," he said before disappearing back inside One. Scott watched him go, looking down the long silver fuselage of the plane to the blue stripe around her engines. From the outside, there was no sign of the wreckage. A slightly scratched nose cone and the lack of her landing gear out were the only signs that she hadn't simply landed there.

"Here." Gordon reappeared seconds after vanishing, holding something that glinted in the sun in his hands. "You're trembling," his younger brother explained as the foil blanket wrapped around him. "Nothing to be done about the concussion, though." He sat down next to him, slinging an arm around Scott's shoulders lightly. "She'll be okay. Brains'll fix her up, better than new."

"Brains is working on the T-Drive engine," Scott reminded him. "He doesn't have time to fix her."

"Then we'll fix her," Gordon said matter-of-factly. "You, me, Virgil, Alan. Well, mainly Virgil. Just like we fixed Two up after her little swimming adventures."

Thunderbird Two's damage had been nowhere near as severe as this.

"It'll be okay, Scott," his brother continued. The arm around his shoulders tightened slightly. "We'll save him."

That was his line, to be recited to younger brothers whenever they needed it. Not for them to recite back to him.

It was comforting to hear.

"Yeah," he said as the roar of Two's engines came into earshot, the green behemoth appearing as quickly as she'd vanished. "We will."

"Budge over," Virgil ordered, their comms crackling back to life in unison and with no ceremony. "I'm going to land on top of her and I don't feel like explaining to Grandma why two of my brothers are fried worse than her cooking."

"I'd pay to see you tell her her cooking is bad to her face," Gordon retorted, but he was already on his feet and pulling Scott up with him. Together they backed up, Scott knowing exactly how far was safe and reluctant to get any further from Thunderbird One than required. Gordon pulled him back a little more.

"You couldn't afford it," Virgil scoffed as he positioned his 'bird over her sister. Without a module, she looked flimsier than usual, even though Scott knew she could lift greater weight without one. "Why is Scott in a foil blanket?"

"You said to make sure he didn't do anything stupid," Gordon chirped, a huge grin on his face. "So I make sure he couldn't."

"Resourceful," Virgil commented approvingly. Scott scowled, even though he knew Gordon was lying – or at least, partially lying. He wouldn't put it past his prankster brother to have had multiple reasons for bringing out the blanket. Two's landing struts deployed to their full extent and Scott watched with rigid shoulders as they came down either side of his 'bird, the rear pair barely missing her extended wings.

Thunderbird Two wasn't strictly designed to land on her fully-extended struts, but Virgil made it look easy as she settled daintily over her sister. The grapples fired down and Gordon ran over to secure them. Contained in foil, Scott could do nothing but watch as his younger brothers secured the two craft together. It looked terrifyingly flimsy, four relatively thin cables trailing down from the walls of Thunderbird Two's module bay the only links, but Scott knew that it would hold. Brains put safety first, and in a gift of forethought and paranoia had installed specific places on Thunderbird One's hull for just such an eventuality. She was far better secured to her sister than any other craft could ever be.

Once all three brothers were satisfied, Scott unable to resist joining Gordon if only to instruct ("I know, Scott!"), Thunderbird Two's platform lowered. Mild concussion or not, Scott refused to be treated as a rescuee and won the argument over whether or not he could grapple up to the platform by himself. That didn't stop Virgil from manhandling him into the nearest seat – usually Alan's, directly behind the pilot – while Gordon slid triumphantly into the co-pilot's seat, which was technically Scott's right as commander, but his brothers were clearly having none of it.

"You sit back and call Tracy Island," Virgil told him when he tried to resist. "Kayo's having kittens about what could have brought One down under her watch and Alan's not much better. Now shut up and let me get your 'bird home in one piece."

Scott scowled, fighting his way out of the foil blanket before tapping his comm unit. Beneath him, Two's powerful VTOLs roared into life, straining for a moment before they began to gain altitude.

"Scott!" Alan's voice burst out of his communicator, the small hologram appearing above his wrist. "Are you okay? What happened? Did you crash? Virgil didn't say much."

"I'm fine, Alan," he cut in, silencing his youngest brother's babble. "One's engines gave out, that's all."

"What happened, Scott Tracy." Kayo flickered into view, pushing Alan aside as she scowled at him, eyes sparking dangerously. "Thunderbird One performed just fine during the air show, and no-one unauthorised got near her at any point."

Scott gritted his teeth for a moment before letting out a sigh. His head throbbed and his shoulders ached – reminders that no matter how lucky he'd been, it had still been a crash landing.

"It's nothing to worry about," he told her, conscious that Virgil was listening in from the seat in front of him. Gordon was tapping his own flight controls, already aware of the cause thanks to John earlier and hopefully on standby to prevent any erratic flying from Virgil. Kayo opened her mouth, clearly about to protest that it was clearly something to worry about if it could take a Thunderbird out of the sky straight after a public event. "Catching the Icarus just put too much strain on the engines."

"Mach 19 should not have strained Thunderbird One's engines like that," Kayo disagreed. Scott winced, and her hologram's eyes narrowed. "Scott?"

"Mach 21.7," Gordon interrupted, and Scott shot him a glare as Thunderbird Two dipped slightly. His brother had firm hold of Two's flight controls, which was fortunate as Virgil whipped around to stare at Scott incredulously.

"Excuse me?" Kayo asked, taken aback. "Thunderbird One's operational limit is Mach 19. Even taking into consideration Brains' safety limits, she can't exceed Mach 20."

Control of the conversation was slipping away – if he'd ever had it – and Scott wanted it back.

"Well she did," he snapped.

"And murdered her own engines in the process," Virgil retorted, regaining flight control from Gordon. "Good job."

"But you're okay, right?" Alan piped up again, shoving Kayo back out of view. Blue eyes, washed out slightly in hologram form, looked up at him in concern, and Scott softened.

"I'm okay, little brother."

Alan's worried look gave way to one of relief, and Scott was content to sit back and let him talk, revisiting his part of the rescue – the successful bit, his brain muttered mutinously – and all the fun he had at the show when they weren't saving Professor Kwark. Virgil kept sending him disapproving looks over his shoulder, which he studiously ignored.

"Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Two." Virgil cut through Alan's retelling of how he swept up Professor Kwark from the remains of the Icarus for the fifth time. "On final approach now. Alan, Kayo, get ready."

"F.A.B."

Scott's communicator blinked out.

He looked out of the window to see their home looming in the distance, growing by the moment. Two's palm trees were folded back already, a blob of green sitting on the runway. Gordon made a strangled noise of protest.

"Did you just dump Four?" he demanded of Virgil, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"Two can't enter or leave her hanger without a module," he reminded him. "That's where her wheels are."

"Point," Gordon conceded with a shrug.

"Now go get ready to unhook One," Virgil ordered, and with a cheeky salute Gordon headed to the rear of the cockpit. "Scott, you are not leaving that seat until Two is back in her hanger."

"She's my 'bird," Scott retorted, standing up. Gordon pushed him back down and before he knew it the foil blanket had been wrapped back around him and the safety belt fastened over the top of it. "Gordon!"

"Concussions don't go away that fast, bro. Don't worry, I'll take care of your 'bird." Scott groaned and let his head fall back, wincing as the headrest made contact with the source of his headache.

"Good thinking with that blanket," Virgil told Gordon. "We should use it more often."

"You should not," Scott snapped, but went ignored as Virgil turned his attention back to their approach and Gordon got ready to rappel out of the hatch.

Two pods trailed out of Two's hangar, set up as landing gear cradles. Scott watched them vanish underneath Two's bulk and a moment later Virgil opened the hatch for Gordon to disappear out of.

The operation began. Scott listened as his three brothers and Kayo co-ordinated the two pods and Thunderbird Two to get One nestled safely on the landing gear and had to bite his lip to prevent himself cutting in. Unable to even see the holographic display Virgil was referencing clearly, he was stuck waiting, and dwelling.

Scott did not do waiting or dwelling well. Never had done, and now so much was weighing down on him at once, it was even worse. Gordon's words had helped, but they couldn't clear all of the worries away. He'd been useless – worse than useless, now an actual detriment to International Rescue – in trying to save Professor Kwark, and now he was useless in even getting his crippled Thunderbird home.

What was he even doing?

Two's engines increased their thrust, pushing the behemoth back into the sky. Below, the two pods carefully manoeuvred back into the hanger, carrying Thunderbird One.

"Still with us, Scott?" Virgil asked as he brought his 'bird down over module four, finally bringing Gordon's beloved sub into the hangar.

"Yeah," Scott grunted, watching as Thunderbird Two finally came to a halt. "I'm fine."

"No you're not," Virgil corrected him, flicking through post-flight checks rapidly. "Your Thunderbird fell out of the sky and you have a concussion. You're not fine, Scott, and none of us expect you to be."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Virgil sighed heavily and stood up, smoothly stepping around his chair to stand in front of him.

"Come on, big brother," he huffed, releasing the safety belt. "Let's get you in the house."

They were all waiting for him when the platform lowered, Virgil's arm firmly around his shoulders and keeping the foil blanket in place despite his efforts to dislodge it. Alan barely waited for him to step off of it before tackling him into a hug, while Gordon sauntered over at a more leisurely pace to slip his arm around his shoulders from the opposite side to Virgil. Kayo's arms remained firmly crossed but her eyes were soft, and even John was there, standing next to Brains and looking as though he'd come Earthside in a hurry. Grandma wrapped her arms around as many of them as she could reach.

"What-" he started, wondering what had prompted the sudden family gathering in Two's hangar.

"Don't you scare us like that, young man," Grandma overrode him briskly, squeezing tighter before letting them go. "Now, let's get you upstairs."

"I-I'll get started o-on the repairs," Brains excused himself, and Scott's mouth fell open.

"What?" he demanded. "But the T-Drive-"

"Dad wouldn't want us to prioritise him over International Rescue," John overrode him quietly. "Thunderbird One takes priority. You know this, Scott."

He grit his teeth, wishing he could refute what his brother was saying, but John had the annoying habit of always being right.

"EOS and I will continue calculations for the T-Drive," John continued. "This isn't a setback, Scott."

"It shouldn't have happened at all," Scott spat. "It didn't even help."

"Stop talking nonsense," Grandma scolded, hands on her hips as steely eyes glared up at him. "You might not have saved her by yourself, but that isn't Thunderbird One's role. Thunderbird One brings hope, and you, young man, brought the Professor hope that she would be saved. Don't you forget it."

She reached out and rested a hand on his cheek, breaking into a smile.

"Besides, your father would be delighted that you broke his record."

[trickster-4]

Chapter 3

“Ehhh?!”

There was no impact on the memory from Amity’s actions thankfully, but Luz blushed at the sight and the sudden phantom sensations of her friend’s fingers stroking nonexistent ears on her scalp. Amity then noticed that both Luz and her rabbit self’s legs were twitching.

”Oh right this is you...Sorry..” Amity blushed before stopping and looking to Luz who was also blushing..

“It’s fine it wasn’t that bad.. L-Let’s just focus on why we’re here...”

“Curse the nerve endings in these ears.. Why must Edalin much be so good at reaching them!!”

”A-Apparently these memories are very important to you..” Amity tried to not snicker at the idea of the lord of black magic being turned into a rabbit because of a bet... She failed badly and started laughing at the thought of him sayin-

“Fear me!!!”

Luz blushed wanting to crawl under a rock for a long while. Normally she could laugh this off as well, but for some reason it felt terrifying that Amity was seeing this..

“Oh.. Sorry Luz..”

”It’s fine and it is funny.. I’m actually thankful that it was this and less blood and war..”

Edalin snuggled the rabbit closer to her face enjoying the feeling of the soft fur.. She was not a mage so unfortunately the complaints of Shabragnido the lord of darkness were unheard by her.

”Wow I was an angry little ball of fluff...”

“I know..” Amity nodded in agreement.

“I’m torn between having you boiled alive and having you made as my high priestes- yes yes right there scratch my belly!!”

”So where’s the problem?” Luz questioned they then looked up at towards the black temple. A mysterious hooded men and women were watching the girl as she played with the rabbit.. “What are those guys doing..”

”It seems our lord favors the girl for his sacrifice.. I can his presence hovering over this girl..”

“Indeed strange.. We’ve rarely ever seen nonmagical sacrifices. Perhaps this will be a new trend?”

”No... They wouldn’t..” Luz looked with horrified eyes as guards began to approach the girl.. She began to shake as they took hold of the girl causing her to drop the rabbit..

”Wait what are you imbeciles doing her? Get away from her... What wait can’t you hear me?”

“Our lord Shabragnido will be pleased with this..”

“Give her back you idiots!!”

The rabbit feebly tried to stop the guards he gnawed on one of the guard’s shoe doing his best to slow them down. He was kicked into the wall it’s skull was shattered.. Though seconds later it repaired itself easily..

“Damn our bet Ceifeed..”

Dark energy began to form around the rabbit only for it recede forcibly into it’s body.. He saw the flames of his temple ignite Edalin would be sacrificed in five minutes.. He Shabragnido the god of darkness was stuck trapped as a damn rodent and he couldn’t even save a child..

It infuriated him how he had been trapped with the nonmagical orphaned child. How he had been forced to comfort her on those cold nights.. It hurt that he began to feel for her.. It hurt to hear how she dreamed of one day being a witch.. He couldn’t stand to be so close to her when he been responsible for her village’s death and her enslavement.

Shabragnido had never felt guilt.. The time he had been forced to live with her had changed him in a fundamental way.. His purpose from his creation was clear remorseless destruction.. Atlantis was merely the result of a misbegotten bet..

And... perhaps he enjoyed the attention and worship and the empire had produced more than a few competent servants.. But that was all it was a formality a business. He had only ever taken true joy at watching as mountains crumbled as the people burned.. Yet the thought of Edalin suffering that fate. Something about that infuriated him tore at him at the place where only hate should dwell..

A spell began to form a new one never to be uttered by human beings.. He called to his true nature to his inner self beyond his current form...

“Wrath given form hate given substance.. I call to the deepest void to the bound one who seeks to be free.. Let our hate be one and our path be united.. Grant me all your power so that the skies may burn and the world may darken.. Till all my enemies are made ash, Resigno!!”

The rabbit was suddenly swallowed up in a sphere of crimson magic. The mere flesh was consumed as the god of black magic took on his true dark majesty. The people around him were terrified some bowed and prostrated themselves before their War God.. He cared even less of such bootlicking today..

Luz and Amity followed Luz’s past self to the temple they waited to see what would happen.

“LET THE GIRL GO!!”

The temple shook as his voice boomed.. There was silent whimpering that he could hear from his priests.. But there no one brave enough to him the truth the ceremony was over the girl was already dead.

He suddenly realized that he couldn’t sense Edalin’s lifeforce.. She was dead.. Shabragnido broke into his astral form before taking on a human form in the temple.. The girls followed quickly Luz’s eyes watered at the tragedy taking place and Amity tried her best to comfort her.. The head priestess recognized his appearance. He stood there for a moment standing in front of her body.. For once the blood that was spilled made him nauseous and infuriated him.

“Lord Shabranigdo I-“

Shabragnido watched with a cold satisfaction as the two priests who chose Edalin began to age. There was another priest holding the bloodied knife that had ended Edalin’s life he too suffered the same curse. They screamed and cried out for mercy until they became dust. Moments later the room was filled with silence after sometime the high priestess spoke.

“My lord..”

“Get out of the temple..”

“My lord?”

“Get out of the temple as of this moment you and the other priests are banished.. For the sake of years of good service I tell you this and you are to tell no one outside the priesthood and their families.. Leave Atlantis tonight.. I am going to burn this entire city to the ground.. As tribute to the forbidden mother…”

Her eyes widened at the breaking of the taboo. The mother of their patron gods was never to be mentioned on pain of utter annihilation. She was rumored to be more capricious and cruel than even Lord Shabragnido.

“I see… I wish you luck..”

The priestess and her servants followed them out of the sacrificial chambers.. He was alone now.

“It wouldn’t help.. Nothing sways her but entertainment.. Listen well mother my offer to you is this. I know you created me and Ceifeed to hate and kill each other.. I went against my purpose.. I bargained with him.. I will destroy this place that must offend you.. I will become your heartless destroyer.. And in return for these things I ask for one thing let Edalin live again and let her have her dreams..

Edalin’s body began to disappear into a golden mist a relief went through his chest.. A sign that his mother had taken his offer. Shabragnido got up and went forth becoming with each step the monster he was always meant to be. She would live once more though Atlantis would have to burn…

Moments later Luz and Amity watched as the temple came apart. In the sky Ceifeed and Shabragnido battled each other viscously. The gods tore into each other’s form’s with blue and crimson spells.. They stared at the carnage the gods wrought on the city they had given life to. The very patrons who had given these people wealth and magic were now destroying the very empire they had created.

Centuries of human progress, magical research, was being undone. The blasts from the two gods destroyed numerous buildings more than a few archmages attempted to protect their people to various levels of success.. All this because Shabragnido cared for one child..

“Shabragnido you are destroying everything we spent centuries building… Have you gone completely mad?!! It was tragedy what happened here and I had no intention to cause such a pain to you brother, but your “deal” with mother is insane..” The Azure dragon glared at his crimson brother. He would not budge in this matter his brother had to be stopped..

“Shut up you idiot your words tire me..”

You suffered deeply brother you lost a daughter.. I empathize with you… But I cannot let you give more grief to these children.. They were struggling to survive before our influence.. Before our Empire they had nothing. If you succeeded today they will be tossed back into the void with nothing..”

“I don’t give a damn.. Atlantis will fall..”

A sphere formed within Shabragnido’s hands a spell of immense destructive force gathers in seconds. “No!!” Luz finally screamed out.. “ Edalin wouldn’t want this please you have to stop this!!” Amity could only watch silently in horror as Shabragnido destroyed Atlantis…

The memories began to shift as they now stood in the ruins of Atlantis a mere shadow of itself.. Something wasn’t right Luz and Amity looked around sharing similar thoughts. Shabragnido kneeled bound by numerous spells and priestess.. Ceifeed was dying… In body and soul.. Still he had enough power to do this… He couldn’t kill Shabragnido too much of his power and strength had waned…

“Just do it..”

“Good bye brother..”

Luz and Amity both flinched at the sight as her past self was divided into seven pieces.. Those fragments became crimson energy that faded into nothing.. Ceifeed sighed tiredly. His priests and servants quickly approached him.

“My lord what will happen?”

“He will reincarnate one day after each of the fragments had passed with their human hosts through the cycle of reincarnation… I believe he will be a better leader next time..”

“My lord he killed countless people..”

“For the sake of the only person he ever truly cared for.. As a being of pure negative emotion that is a lot of progress.. I am certain the commingling with humans will balance out his hatred with love, compassion, and.. humanity.. I am dying Elaine..” Ceifeed began to cough as his body began to dissolve into pure azure magic. “Swear to me that you will care for Edalin as your own.. As I recall she shows much promise in black magic.. In fact I hear she is a prodigy..”

“Yes.. She is..”

“Good bye Elaine take care of her…”

“…..” Luz stood there for a while exhausted and mentally drained at the revelations she just experienced. Amity was also widened eyed at what she’d learned.. Apparently her crush destroyed Atlantis. That was a lot to take in.. The most advanced civilization was gone because of her.. Yet Amity saw that Luz was still the same person. These tragedies only showed her compassion and how different Luz was from her old self...

“Luz..”

“Yeah Amity?”

“You may share memories with Shabragnido.. You may have his powers and you may even share feelings on a number of things.. You may even share the same soul… But you aren’t that person..” Amity held Luz’s shoulder softly. “His actions aren’t yours and yours aren’t his.. This wasn’t your fault and when given the chance to kill you chose something better.. You’re not that version of yourself anymore. That Shabragnido died a long time ago.. Once we deal with these memories please let them rest..”

“Amity…” Luz’s eyes lit up and she slowly smiled..

“When we first met.. I was a different person.. Arrogant, Prideful, and reaally Insecure..” Amity blushed as she mentioned her past flaws but smiled as she saw Luz was close to giggling. “I grew and I changed I made amends.. It’s not the same.. But, even if you’re the same person this version of you isn’t responsible for what happened you’re kind, warm, and really outgoing for a dark lord..”

“Amity!!” Luz complained sarcastically, then smiled and laughed..

“You’re a different person Luz.. please give yourself some credit..”

Luz hugged Amity tightly causing her to blush. The two decided to enjoy that embrace for a while.. Moments later the scenery changed around them.. They now stood in a nice home filled with the smell of cooking fish.

“Edalin..” Elaine called to her adopted daughter a young spunky curious redhead girl.. She smiled at the sight of the girl creating a flame with ease. “Come now child it’s time for bed. You’ll have plenty of time to learn more magic tomorrow.”

“Yeah..”

“Remember Edalin. You’re a Clawthorne.. No matter what anyone says..” Elaine kissed her daughter’s forehead and gave her a tight hug… “Have a good night little owl..”

Moments later Luz and Amity found themselves back in Luz’s mind outside of her memories.. They stood there quiet speechless of about what they had just witnessed.. After a few minutes Amity finally spoke up. “Wow..”

[dotthings]

Okay SPN 15.04, here we go, where I feel weirdly self-conscious about posting a meta post about an ep that had so much meta on itself and now I’m going to write meta about it, so it’s meta on meta on meta, while I’m having my feelings.

THAT COLD OPEN HOLY CRAP DIRECTOR JENSEN. As a director Jensen always pulls out warm performances from actors and he’s a really kinetic director too. That opening fight sequence I held my breath for a lot of it. 

BENNY OH NOES IT’S BENNY (this must be the character Jensen said was one of his favorites and the actor came back to set for one day to do it). “I’ll see you on the other side, brother.” Thanks so MUCH, spn, I thought I was over this and then you come in and reopen that and now I’ve got feelings gdi. Benny was a good friend to Dean. My heart hurts. 

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit demon blood Sam. Noooooo. And he kills Dean. I can never erase these images from my mind, thanks a LOT spn. 

Just a nightmare of Sam’s except no probably not given Sam’s god-wound, so wow this maybe happens on one of Chuck’s other worlds, that’s fine, oh that’s okay I’m fiiiiine, it’s fine. *covers face*

So we have a flip on early S14 here where Dean was turtling to cope with his trauma which is a healthy thing to do but hiding from the world wasn’t going to fix anything so Sam coaxes him out with a hunt. Dean coaxes Sam out with a hunt only I don’t think hunting works for Sam the same way, it’s not Sam’s mental comfort food the way it is for Dean, but still I appreciate the mirroring there.

Sam’s struggling with Rowena’s death and I think those horrific AU nightmare visions aren’t helping much either, but it’s clear he’s feeling the loss. Her loss, all the recent losses.

Dean trolls Sam with real bacon, which seems like Dean is maybe trying to cheer Sam up by pranking him and trying to cheer himself up via food pranks. Dean has quite the case of the munchies in this ep. 

I noticed almost every scene Dean is snacking or drinking from his flask. How’s that whole “Cas walked out and left apparently for good” working out for you Dean, wow, you’re suspiciously chipper while stuffing your face and drinking and Not Talking About It. Did Sam and Dean talk about where’s Cas? Who knows, the ep didn’t mention it, hey SPN you needed a Cas mention, OH WAIT THE EP IS GOING TO CALL ME OUT FOR SAYING THAT.

Seriously though, this is very Dean MO, and I have thoughts about his mood in this ep and how Cas’s absence was felt, and what it means, I’ll get to that later, but even before the last scene Impala talk, I was thinking Cas is a reminder of pain--and no it’s not all about Dean’s anger at Cas, it’s not because Dean is angry at Cas. Cas is a reminder of some things Dean just isn’t coping with very well and part of the problem is Dean cares so much. 

So Dean’s snacking and drinking and Sam is feeling the weight of them knowing all the scary things out there while people go on obliviously with their lives and I’m not sure if Sam is envying them or Sam is feeling some existential angst about the state of the world, how people can go about their lives unaware there are real monsters ready to pounce and tear their lives to shreds. And feeling the weight of the job they do in every bone of his body. Sam’s in a dark headspace.

Ok I admit I was not thrilled to see Becky again given her previous episodes and role. SPN’s later in-canon fan characters were much more nuanced and successful and respectful depictions of fans. But as with many other things, this era of SPN is revisiting some things to move them forward in a different way than before, and subvert some things that needed subverting and Becky has had--wait for it--character development. How about that.

Yes, Becky, run, you do not want anything to do with Chuck. Run, Becky run. I’m rooting for her now. RUNNNN.

Along with finding a more constructive way of channeling her interest in the Winchesters’ lives, and having a satisfying fandom creative life and a full life of her own, Becky has funko pops of Sam, Dean, and Cas. LOL. I see you spn. 

Dean, still with the case of the munchies. So this is like the eating a whole pint of ice-cream after a break-up, only Dean does it with junk food while hunting vampires.

I enjoyed this conversation between Becky and Chuck about writing immensely. Becky is actually right. Speaking myself as someone who’s suffered from writers block for a while, it’s miserable, and not writing just perpetuates the cycle. You feel cut off from an important part of yourself. And--oh here we go getting meta within meta--I find writing meta on SPN a positive outlet. 

“Writing is writing.” Damn Becky’s takedown of Chuck’s derisiveness about fanfic was sizzling and oh excuse me Chuck, what is it you think you were doing with those Supernatural books about your favorite story. Even though he’s the creator, I know. But still. Also seems to be a sly comment on how male-authored “fanfic” based on someone else’s characters or historical characters gets to be professionally published novels and nobody wants to admit it’s fanfic but it is, but women write fanfic and women write novels based on someone else’s characters or historical figures and it gets derided. 

Did not expect commentary celebrating the creativity and validity of fanwork of women in particular an episode of SPN, especially not with Becky of all people, but here we are. 

Uhhhh is Chuck writing this episode, as it happens? I am seriously uneasy now. What is going on. What is real. Which is what I think Dean is going through because of Chuck and OUCH the Winchesters think they’re free but they’re not but also they are their own people and Chuck isn’t controlling them but it’s like he’s still making the framework?? Or would this case just be happening on his own and Perez is just messing with our heads in this script right now.

Oh damn because this ep wasn’t sadness enough now here we go with the Jack parallels. “I can’t control this.” “I’m a monster.” “I killed someone I love.” Parents doing anything to save their out of control teenage kid or does he need to be killed, so the parents are Cas, while Sam and Dean are Dean. 

Interesting that Dean lowered the gun and didn’t kill Jack, but tells Sam they would do that for Jack if it was necessary. You didn’t, though, Dean. You couldn’t go through with it any more than those distressed parents of the vampire teen.

Becky is voicing various non-dire fan complaints here, every lane of the fandom is being gently called out right now. Hahaha including lack of Cas mentions in an ep that pointedly is not!Mentioning Cas because it’s not a mistake there’s actually reasons for that which is just lampshading how much Dean is pointedly Not Going to Talk About Cas. 

“Where they sit around doing laundry and talk” -- again every lane of the fandom should feel very called out right now. Seriously, fandom lanes that hate each other’s guts all have that common factor of craving more domesticity, and would like to see the laundry ep of SPN and for many, it has better include Cas, or we’re working through our need for this via fanfics or fanart. Even Jared and Jensen have expressed interest in a “Winchesters do the laundry” kind of episode. 

But here’s the thing--here’s the thing about SPN...it depicts domesticity. In small bits of pieces. Even in this ep there’s domesticity. SO HA. It’s not that SPN is against depictions of domesticity, it’s definitely in the toolset of its storytelling, to give the characters more layers, to make their lives seem more real, but there needs to be mostly an action plot because that’s the genre so they mostly kill monsters and we only get nibbles of domesticity.

Becky and Chuck arguing about Chuck’s incredibly dark story ending, after Becky criticized him for the story not having enough bite, was so interesting. While the episode’s dark story ending was actually quite well done IMO and not overdone and yes it’s bleak but it’s supposed to be. So it’s not that sad is always terrible writing, no. It isn’t. But its overuse has been a raging hot topic in spn fandom for years and SPN is a hopeful narrative as well as a bleak one. Overuse of loss of hope and misery can hurt the story, causes a number of fans to become desensitized and lose their emotional engagement for it (which has happened to be at a couple of points in SPN’s long run). So that conversation interested me a great deal, yes it did.

So.....SPN had its current biggest of the biggest of ultimate big bads, the ultimate power God himself, the author, and made him the enthusiast for overuse of the misery pr0n like that’s the only smart way to tell a story. The season’s big bad villain is a misery porn enthusiast.

I’m just gonna....sit here and absorb that for a moment.

Oh and this while all the PR for the show keeps warning us about how sad this story is and how bleak the ending will be, not a happy ending show. Are they warning us? Are they trolling us and misdirecting? Because they made their villain a misery pr0n fanboy and this intelligent, self-aware positive depiction of Becky the fan taking him to task for it. 

I feel like could be headed for every story needs its darkness and its light, you need the darkness to appreciate the light, and you need some light or the story is less meaningful. We’ll see.

“I’m a writer,” says Chuck and then takes away everyone Becky loves and then unmakes Becky. This is a purposeful depiction of a writer creator as a sadist. It’s a diabolical reversal on the Stephen King’s Misery scenario. Becky played the deranged fangirl in the past, who kidnaps an object of obsession, now she’s the victim of the deranged sadistic writer who breaks into her home, destroys her life, and then effectively kills her because of his own obsession with making Sam and Dean wretchedly miserable because he thinks that’s the only way to make the story exciting.

*blinks*

In the last scene, oh thanks Sam, for vocalizing the Jack connection. 

Hey Dean, that’s really a nice speech and yes Sam did give you a great pep talk but Sam wasn’t the only one who told you what you did still has meaning. This is like 15.01 where Dean is pointedly erasing Cas again despite Cas very obviously having done something Dean refuses to acknowledge. In 15.01 it was Dean leaving Cas out of his us vs the forces of evil speech to Sam, despite Cas having spent most of the ep shooting ghosts in the face and saving Sam’s life twice. Sam and Cas both have given Dean pep talks about the meaning of what they do but only Sam pulled Dean out of it...uhhh yeah that’s not writer error or canon ignoring Cas. That’s Dean trying to push Cas out of his mind. Something there hurts so much Dean isn’t dealing with it right now.

As I said, as I’ve been saying, it’s not so much that Dean is that angry at Cas. It’s not just about Mary. Or about Cas keeping things from him. Although those are all valid reasons for Dean’s hurt and anger. Dean seems to be afraid or hurt over more than that. And his love for Cas, IMO, is part of why this is weighing so heavily. What does he fear. I think it’s connected to the whole existential crisis about Chuck. What if none of this is real. I’ve talked about that in other posts, if none of this is real, if Dean still doubts, then what if what’s between him and Cas isn’t real, what if Cas doesn’t really care about him because none of it real. 

Dean valiantly puts a brave face on things here, they keep going, they keep fighting for the sake of those they lost, no matter what, “keep putting one foot in front of the other.” Which makes sense. That’s how you honor those you’ve lost. It’s just that I don’t think Dean has really reached that. He is Not Dealing with an awful lot of stuff here. And we have seen again and again how hard Dean reels from losing loved ones.  So what’s going on with Dean here. This is a healthy concept, but not if Dean is just whistling past the graveyard again. This might look like character development except look at what’s been going on with Dean. How deeply losing Mary, losing Jack affected him. The impact of those losses needs to be acknowledged and dealt with in order to truly move on and move forward. It’s like Dean is voicing a healthy outlook but isn’t actually experiencing it. I think Dean is posturing because if he lets all the hurt it right now, it will devour him.

There’s also the part where Sam and Dean have in the past displayed a lack of ability to just keep on keeping on if they lose each other, so they used to sell their souls, or violate the other one’s wishes and autonomy, or let the darkness free, but we’ve also seen them let each other go, and “keep putting one foot in front of the other.” Sam and Dean have done both ways with each other. Dean didn’t exactly just keep on keeping on no problem when Cas died at the end of S12.

Sam voices the other side of things, he can’t just move on right now. He’s feeling all the losses. They’ve piled up and piled up and it’s crushing him. Sam says he "can’t breathe” at times. He brings up Jessica, a loss he suffered 14 years ago. 

So Sam and Dean are airing the two aspects of loss and grief on SPN. One the one hand, you don’t just give up and quit because of loss. Honor who you’ve lost and keep on fighting. But losses are deeply felt, and it’s not all okay either. Sam and Dean don’t just shrug off these losses because they have each other. That’s not how this works. They need more than just each other and SPN is increasingly having more and more open dialogue about all of this.

S15 so far has been so much about the impact losing people they love has on Sam and Dean, and why their isolation isn’t a good thing. 

And there’s Chuck, the big bad, typing away to add more misery. Because Chuck gets off on giving them loved ones and taking them away, over and over and this isn’t presented as a good thing or a satisfying thing or a desirable thing or a celebration of anything. 

[fantasiesxwritten]

Water Works

“Chris, I don’t know what else there is to say.” I retorted blankly. He had spent the past 20 minutes trying to convince me of all the reasons our relationship was worth salvaging. In my mind, none of those reasons mattered because if it was worth it; it wouldn’t take my leaving him to light some fire under his ass. I looked down at the ground and my feet, while shaking my head; leaning against my car as he pleaded with me in front of my house.

“Raven, c'mon baby. You really wanna throw two years down the drain just like that? Is that what you really want to do?” Chris cupped his two fingers under my chin and lifted my head up, so that I was looking at him again. I quickly broke my gaze, I didn’t want to look into his eyes and become weak to him again. That’s how he always got me. This time I wanted to show him I was serious. “No, don't Raven baby me, Chris!” I spewed, pushing his hands down before he could retrieve my face in his hands again. He was so persistant. Sighing as he kicked his feet along the curb we stood next to, Chris slid his hands inside of his pants pockets. “So we’re really done?” He asked again, as if asking in a different way would illicit a different response. “That’s what I said, Christopher.” I replied sternly, chewing on the inside of my jaw. I did that when I was agitated. “I don’t believe you.” I chuckled, shaking my head at him, in complete disbelief over what he was saying. Thunder rang out in the night air as lightening followed shortly after. Both of us ignoring the clear signs that a storm was brewing, we continued to go back and forth about this repetitive issue. With my hands on my hips, I felt defeated with him thinking this was all a game, as always. “Well believe me. You know, I don’t even know why I’m still standing out here with you like this. I’m about to-” The rain fell suddenly and hard; it was literally a torrential downpour that caught us both off guard. I flinched as the cold drops fell against my skin, feeling frozen for a second. I was about to say I was going inside and now I had more reason than ever to leave him out here. Looking into his face now, as the rain poured down his face and sexy jawline; soaking his body completely, I was having second thoughts. Not about going inside, but about leaving him out here; I shook my head trying to rid it of those thoughts. He reached his hand out to me only this time I didn’t reject his touch. “You’re about to what?” He asked, his expression soft and inviting. It was as if the rain itself had calmed both of us down; extinguishing my anger that was growing from his blatant denial of my wishes. “I’m going inside, Chris. It’s fuckin’ pouring out here.” I tried to keep my facade for as long as I could. He moved closer to me, his arm wrapping its way around my waistline and tugging me closer to him. Both of our clothes now soaked to the extreme and clinging on for dear life to our bodies; he looked down into my eyes. “If you really want us to be over, then let me have one last night with you…” Chris suggested, his one hand finding its way down and slipping into my pants sneakily. I pondered for a few on his proposal and figured that was feasible only because my body was begging me to let him; the way the rain was falling down on him had me unbelievably turned on. Without answering him, I grabbed his hand and began to pull us from the curb and up the walkway to my doorway. When we reached my doorstep where we were shielded from the rain now, Chris stopped me and turned to have us face each other. “If I make you squirt, then we agree to stay together and make this thing work.” He stated. I looked at him, struggling against my own wetness forming between my legs and his ridiculous bet he was trying to get me to agree to. I couldn’t help but smirk, “You’re not going to make me squirt, Chris.” I argued. “But if I do, we don’t break up.” I chuckled, opening my door and walking inside with him following behind me. “Fine. But you’re not making me squ-” Chris grabbed me up by my arms, forcing his lips into mine, shutting me up in mid sentence. I didn’t even try to fight it as I kissed him back, grabbing his face in my hands. We interlocked into the most sex craved kiss we have ever had, as our tongues danced with one anothers, me trying to swallow his down my throat. I tilted my head while sucking on his tongue with immense pressure as his hands found their way up the back of my shirt, lifting it up. We both pulled back from the kiss, to look into each others eyes; both of ours filled with passion and sex written all in them. In a mutual agreement, we both undressed ourselves in a hurry, taking time out between each article of clothing we disrobed from; reuniting our lips again in sloppy kisses. Both of us were anxious and turned on at this point; I almost fell trying to get out of my jeans, being wet made them that much harder to get down my legs. We were both undressed now, admiring each others bodies, as I pressed myself up against his. Chris instantly scooped me up into his arms and carried me over to the couch where he plopped himself down, making me fall into his lap with both of my legs straddled over him. He dipped his head down taking my breast into his hand and bringing his mouth down on my nipple, flicking his tongue across my nipple and sucking on it roughly. “Mmm, Chrisss.” I moaned out lightly, feeling the fire between my legs stirring. He moved his mouth over to my other nipple now, doing the same as he had done with the one before. Small jolts swept over my body as he bit it gently between his teeth, while rubbing the other one with his thumb. I couldn’t wait any longer, I needed to feel him deep inside of me and he had fucked up letting me be on top; now I could control my own orgasm and how it came. “Lift up.” Chris mumbled, removing his lips from around my nipple. I did as he said, lifting myself up slightly so his hard dick could breath quickly before it suffocated inside of me. I hovered over him just for a bit before he gripped the base and allowed me to slide myself down onto him, starting from just the tip poking through before he slowly disappeared inside. A long, soft moan escaped my lips as I sat down on him, instantly rolling my hips and grinding on him. I was soaking wet which made grinding on him easier, it seemed his dick just flowed in and out of me as I pulled it in and out. He slid down on the couch some, so I had more room to work with, as I continued lifting up and dropping it back down on him. My movements turned into heavy bouncing, leaving Chris scrunching up his face and biting his lip from the pleasure. I watched his face expressions change as I slapped my hands down on the couch behind his head, gripping it tight in my hands. I was rocking hard as hell on him, all while bouncing; feeling his dick pulling in and out of me. “Mmm!” I moaned out the last time his dick slipped back inside of me, keeping up my steady bouncing on top of him, picking up the speed though. Chris grabbed my waist, pulling me harder and harder onto him, groaning out now and closing his eyes; looking completely overwhelmed in all of this from the look he wore on his face. “Shiiiit, Raven. Ride this fuckin’ dick.” He commanded, throwing his head back against the couch on top of my hands where they remained holding on tight. I spent the next 10 minutes rocking back and forth on top of Chris, occasionally bouncing and watching him lose it, because when I would bounce; I contracted my pussy muscles around his dick making the resistance killer for him. “FUCKKK YESSS!” I screamed out as Chris began to thrust himself up inside of me fast, matching my heavy grinding strokes against him. “You gonna cum?” He asked as he spoke through clenched teeth. “Cum? Yesssss.” I spoke through heavy breaths, “Squirt? No.” I smirked at him, continuing to bounce on his thick dick as it filled me up, biting my lip as I came back down on him. “That’s what you think.” Chris warned, sliding his hands down to my ass to grab me up as he stood, and then turned around to lay me down on the couch; all while his dick remained inside of me. Reminding me why he was my sex God. I grabbed onto the cushion of the couch in anticipation for the way he was about to pile into my pussy, I saw it in his eyes. He grabbed at my thighs and spread them further apart, pressing down on them as he slid himself in and out of me, slowly at first and then faster with each pump. “Ba-ba-baby..” I struggled to even moan out to him, without feeling like I was going to cum. He moved one hand from my thigh to bring it up to my lips, hushing me and then trailing his hand down to my neck, where he got a good grasp on it. “No words, you hear me? Moans and you squirting on this dick. That’s it.” He commanded. I moaned out softly at this words, that shit was so sexy to me. I loved when he talked to me that way, it made me want to fuck the shit out of him even more. But I knew what he was doing right now, he had noticed that I wasn’t going to squirt while I was on top of him, I had too much control. The position we were in now was usually how I was able to squirt, and no matter how much I tried to contain it from this angle, I would fail. Chris stroked me long, hard and fast; emphasis on hard and fast. He had his knees bent down as he worked me; everytime he went inside his dick was grazing my g-spot, teasing me and preparing me and him for the biggest explosion ever. I hadn’t squirted in months and the last time I had it was by myself, he has never actually seen or made me do it before. He pumped into me ferociously as he eased up the grip he had around my neck and brought that same hand to my breast, cupping it hard and rubbing over my nipple with his thumb again. My grasp on the couch now tightened as I felt my body building up, it was a feeling I got inside of my lower stomach and it felt like I had to pee, but I know that wasn’t the case. Chris watched my face intently to see the different faces I was now making everytime he entered me hard and came back out of me slow. “Oh fuck baby, yesssss! Yessss, please stay right there.” I moaned and begged out in ecstasy as I felt that pressure down there growing. “Didn’t I tell you no words?” He clenched his jaw, as he moved in and out of me faster now, still pressing down on my left thigh while my other leg began to tremble. “AHHH, I’M SORRY DADDYYY!” I screamed out, throwing my head back, leaving my mouth wide open as I felt myself getting closer and closer. Chris smirked as he pinched my nipple between his thumb and fore finger, never slowing while he focused in on my face. My leg was shaking more now than before as I stretched it out more, my stomach moving up and down as fast as the breath that was leaving and entering my mouth. “Oh my God.. oh my God..” I chanted through my many moans, as they seemed to roll incessantly off my lips. “OHHH FUCKKK! Pull out, Chris! Fuck, move move move!” I screamed in complete delirium from the orgasm that was quickly washing over me. Chris grinned down at the sight of me losing it, as he continued his quick strokes for as long as my body would let him, before the pressure itself began to force him out of me. He backed out of me quickly as I moved my hand down between my own legs, rubbing over my clit fast; squirting all over Chris, the couch and anything within my range. “AHHHHH FUCK FUCK FUCKKKK!!! OH MY GODDD, BABYYYY!” I screamed out so loud, my own hoarseness cut me off short as Chris bit his bottom lip in awe and arousal. Chris jerked his dick while he watched me, using my juices as more than enough lubricant for him to get off as I did. After I had came, I couldn’t even touch my own pussy because of the sensitivity the area now held, as I moved my hand away quickly; my breathing erratic now as I tried to regain most of my consciousness. Chris came over to the couch, still stroking himself as he hovered over my face; I already knew what that meant. I guess I could at least give him that after what he had just given me. I stuck my tongue out as he slid himself into my mouth, tip first; still stroking the base of his own dick. I closed my mouth over him as he pulled back and forth, driving himself into my warm and wet mouth as he let himself go all down my throat. Groaning and grunting out as he shook slightly, cumming all down my throat and forcing me to swallow it before I could even taste it. After I swallowed him down, I sucked all of his length until his dick popped off of my lips, leaving my mouth. Looking up at him, he grabbed me by my hair and just bit his lip at me; a slight smirk growing across them. “So being that I won our little wager, no more of that fuckery you was talkin’. Nonsense about us breakin’ up and shit. I'ma go pee and you can get up at anytime, put our clothes in the dryer and I’ll meet you upstairs for round two. That is if you think you can handle squirting twice in one night. Haaaaa.” He laughed at his own cockiness, holding his dick as he ran off to the bathroom. I couldn’t help laughing at him too, he was cocky for sure; but the way he just put it down on this couch, he had that. I shifted around on the couch in my own juices which were now cold underneath me and all over my thighs; as I got up and went to where we had first stripped off our clothes, picking them up piece by piece. I felt compelled to do just as he said, because I infact wanted that round two and could more than handle another squirt. Since we had already fucked on his terms, mine were similar but slightly different. I thought to myself as I carried our clothes off to the laundry room, he could make me squirt again as long as he agreed to swallow me this time. Smirking to myself, while putting the clothes in the dryer, Chris came up and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “I see you doin’ what your man said to do. That’s a good girl. Now tell me, are you ready for round two, babe?” Chris asked me, reeking of confidence. “About that babe… I’m still down, I just want to try something a little different. I think it’s only fair that since I swallowed you, now it’s your turn.” I turned around in his arms after closing the dryer door and wrapped my arms around his neck. “That would be the sexiest shit ever…” I mumbled to him, pecking his lips softly. “Oh yeah? You wanna squirt in my mouth?” Smirking once again, at the thought of that with his freaky ass. Chris lifted me up and placed me onto the dryer easily, reaching behind me and pressing to turn it on. “I can manage that, baby.” “Mmmm. Manage this shit then baby.” I moaned out to him while spreading my own legs and moving my arms up to his head; pushing him down onto his knees so he could get to work. “If you make me squirt and swallow me, I promise to never break up with you again.” He looked up at me, grinning as he pulled me down a little further to the edge of the dryer as it moved underneath me. The last thing I remember seeing was that grin, while his face became embedded between my legs, working towards this new bet I had just made with him.

Author | Kierra Posted | May 2012