#no insult is intended by comparison to working dogs

[calandrinon]

@nothingiswrongwithyourarmrests it's not just you! I also got the impression that Hermione's narrative problem was that she was trying to help an oppressed population as an outsider to the society that was doing the oppressing, imposing her own morality without trying to understand the nuances of the context (now that I've written that out I realise I could probably have just said "the white saviour problem")

But then - in my reading of it, anyway - the solution turned out not to be "if you want to help an oppressed population, try talking and listening to them so you can find out how to be most effective" but rather "do not interfere with the natural order of things". I don't know if it's Rowling's shitty attitudes or shitty world building but either way it was disappointing.

In my personal retcon of the series the house-elves have a drive to work (possibly a magical compulsion that nobody can yet figure out how to undo) analogous to working dogs - you might think you're doing them a favour by giving them a day off, but it just gives them such bad anxiety and choice paralysis that you're likely to come home to find that all your potion ingredients have been organised by colour and seed size and the elves are now up on the roof optimising your wizarding radio reception.

I know I'm a bit late to saying this but frankly if I found out a secret society of magic-users were just playing nonsense sports and making up slurs for the rest of us instead of helping us out with famines or leukemia I think I'd apply for a job with my local witch hunters

[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 1)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, some blood, Wade being too flirty for his own good, vaginal fingering, bathroom sex, dirty talking, the relationship with Logan is a "slow" burn in comparison. More smut to come, I swear. Author's note: Damn...it's been a while huh? My last comic related fic was in 2018, funny enough also because of a Deadpool movie. I was already sappy in a post before so I wont subject y'all to it. But this was intended to be a short little oneshot and has absolutely ballooned out of control. I'm thinking this will end up being five chapters. I will upload the second chapter concurrently with my ao3 upload, so if you prefer to read there, feel free! Also as a little aside: I am so unbelievably sorry that the reader's job working in outreach to help Al is barely described and is probably highly inaccurate. I was desperate not to get lost in the weeds of research on the subject. I needed something that would keep the reader out of the apartment most of the time and let the relationship grow differently, so neighbors was out of the question. If you work in community outreach (absolute angel), please just avert your eyes.

I used to think my life was boring. It was the same day in, day out. I never met anyone interesting or experienced new things. That changed when I knocked on an unassuming apartment door in a dingy building.

I worked in government outreach, providing assistance to elderly blind clients. I had been assigned to work with Althea Sanderson. Her file had listed her as combative and she didn’t disappoint. She absolutely hated my guts at first, grumbling about how she just needed her “disco dust” to keep going. She assured me that she had roommates and didn’t need me “thundering” around her small apartment. 

For nearly two weeks, I thought her mind had to have been slipping, because no one else would come from that apartment besides me. Imagine my shock when I walked into the place and found a hulking mass of a man, only in his boxers, in the kitchen. His brown hair, streaked with white, was wet after a shower and he was half heartedly rubbing at his shoulder with a towel covered in sparkly unicorns. “Who the hell are you?” He snapped, voice gruff. He glared at me like I had personally insulted him by my mere presence. My eyes darted all over him, the thick ropes of muscles in his arms, the harsh planes of abs, the thin sheen of dark hair on his chest, the trail disappearing into his boxers. The man yanked the fridge door open and snapped me from my drooling. 

I had barely stumbled my name out before Al, as she insisted I call her when she realized I wasn’t going anywhere, came around the corner, her hands guiding her along the wall. “Leave her alone Logan. She’s like herpes and I can’t get rid of her.” My lips pursed at the comparison. The man, Logan, huffed with either annoyance or laughter before padding away, beer clutched in his hand. For how big he was, I was shocked at how light on his feet he was. In comparison, I really did thunder around. 

“Oh! Do we have a new roomie!?” The voice trembled in excitement. Its owner bounded around the corner, clad only in low slung sweatpants, nearly tripping over the scraggly dog at his feet. I drew back, sucking in a sharp breath. The new man was no less tall than the other, but lean in comparison, with a wide chest and firm arms. But I was far more distracted by his skin. It was a mixture of mottled pink and white, looking more like swirled bacon fat than anything else. He was completely hairless but I saw the skin of his forehead rise. “Al, you didn’t say you had a hot granddaughter!” 

“Oh I’m not,” I said. While I was scheduled to be here for four hours, I was already contemplating how to escape the suddenly cramped apartment. 

“Does she look like she’s related to me dick for brains?” Al growled at him. The man shrugged, a megawatt smile plastered on his face as he picked up the dog and let it lick at his face. 

“She has the same wild sexual energy you do, my sweet black Betty White.” He walked closer, carelessly dropping the dog into Al’s lap just as she lowered herself into a creaky chair. The man theatrically bowed, snagging my hand to press a too wet kiss to my knuckles. His skin was unbelievably soft as it held mine, the grip light enough that I could pull away at any moment. “Wade Winston Wilson.” 

He was so close to me that I took a half step back. I gave him my name, just my first, and wriggled my hand free. “Um, I'm assuming your Al’s roommates?”

“Roommates is such a safe for work word, I prefer to be her personal pommel horse.” A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. Wade grinned at the sound and shit, his face softened in such a charming way that I felt my defenses come down just a little. 

“I don’t think you understand what a pommel horse is.” 

“Isn’t it something you ride? Get all flexable on?” 

After that first awkward day, all four of us fell into an easy routine. Al seemed to warm to me more, though her sharp tongue never faltered. Wade was a vibrating ball of energy whenever I came over. He bounced around the kitchen as I made Al her coffee or insisted I sit with them to watch Golden Girls . I came to realize that only his right hand was so soft, the left was scratchy and blistered, which was something I refused to think about any deeper. Logan remained standoffish and reserved but he was there when I needed a break from Wade’s constant talking. I would occasionally find him sitting on the fire escape, smoking the cigar that seemed permanently stuck to his fingers. We often just sat in silence while Wade and Al argued about Ikea furniture. 

I had always found their schedule strange. They would disappear for days, sometimes weeks, at a time with no rhyme or reason. I had originally thought they might be businessmen but Logan’s quick temper and Wade’s obnoxious energy clashed with the idea. Wade often talked about going to exotic places and had brought me back a diamond that he swears up and down is not only real, but is also the tip of a woman’s finger. 

The day I found out their real profession had started horribly. The train line to Al’s apartment had broken, so I had to take a cab there. I was flustered, hungry, and in desperate need of caffeine when I trudged up the five flights of stairs to Al’s apartment, because, of course , her elevator had broken. It was customary for me to knock twice, allowing Al to respond before I used my key to come in. Today, my knocks were much shorter. “Good morning Al,” I called, slipping into the door before turning to close and lock it. I spun and nearly screamed. 

“Oh hey,” Wade said, leaning against the wall of the kitchen, a mug clutched in his hand. I was far more distracted by three massive claw marks across his chest, blood oozing down his stomach, staining his plaid underwear. 

“Oh my god! Wade!” My keys and purse clattered to the floor as I rushed to him, bracing my hands against his chest. “What happened?! Holy shit, oh fuck.” I was babbling now, distracted by how sticky and hot the blood was. But his chest rumbled under my shaking hands. I glanced up and saw a smile on his face as he failed to contain his laughter. “What are you fucking laughing at?! You’re dying here and you're laughing?!” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear. Miss good samaritan knows such nasty words.” I tried never to swear around patients but this was a worst fucking case scenario. 

“Oh fuck off! You’re dying and you're laughing ‘cause I said a bad word?!” That only seemed to make him laugh harder. 

“Calm down sweetheart,” came a rough voice behind me. Logan had started to call me that more often, but it always felt like he was insulting me with the word. It usually had a stinge of annoyance laced around it, now was no different. “He’s fine.” I peaked over my shoulder, hands still pressed against Wade’s firm chest, about to argue with the other man about how un fine Wade was. I nearly screamed again. A knife was embedded into Logan’s shoulder. There was blood everywhere . On his bare chest, his face, his hands and arms. 

“Logan!” I wanted to reach for him but couldn’t without leaving Wade to bleed out. 

“Now peanut,” Wade cooed and slid out from under my touch. “I told you, baby knife is just for the bedroom.” With that, Wade yanked the knife from Logan’s shoulder. The spurt of blood made my head woozy and I gripped the counter to hold myself steady. Logan barely reacted to the five inch blade being ripped from his skin, just a small grunt. 

“What’s going on?” My voice was thick with confusion. They had clearly been mauled and attacked in their own home, yet they walked around like nothing traumatizing had just happened.

“Target practice,” Wade said, using a kitchen towel to clean baby knife. Logan turned and dropped on the worn couch, the springs screeching in protest. 

“What?” I grabbed at his wrist before he could walk away. “Wade, please, I hope you understand how jarring that was. Now, please explain and cut all the punny bullshit out.” Wade pressed a dramatic hand to his chest like I had insulted him. 

“We’re mutants.” My eyebrows knitted together as I stalked toward the living room. Logan sat there, whiskey already in hand. He seemingly hid a bottle everywhere. Wade followed behind before collapsing on top of Logan. The older man snapped his jaws like an animal and a little snarl escaped his throat. Wade grinned, tugged at his hair, before going to the other end of the couch. 

“Mutants? Like the X-Men?” The scowl Logan shot me turned my blood to ice. Some of that shock must have shown on my face because Logan glanced away, taking a hefty swig of whiskey, and Wade tugged at my bloody pinky. 

“Ignore him, the X-men are a touchy subject for him, and never touchy in the fun way.” He scratched at his chest, some of the blood smudging. The skin was…

“You’re healed?” I knelt before the couch, hands feeling his chest. “Holy shit I thought you were going to bleed out.” It was impossible. The wounds were deep , I could have sworn I saw bone before. 

“God I’ve thought about you kneeling there for so long.” Logan’s fist cracked into Wade’s arm. My hands flinched away and I quickly stood. “Hurtful peanut. You know my arms always take too long to heal.” 

“Stop being a fucking creep,” Logan hissed. I turned to him and saw that the wound in his shoulder was also gone. Without thinking, I bent to touch the smooth skin, as if I couldn’t believe it without feeling it as well. Logan went still under my touch. I knew Wade didn’t mind the physical contact, he practically threw himself at me whenever I was around, but Logan was always just out of reach. I was too frazzled to think correctly anymore. 

“So you can heal,” I mumbled. 

“Very fast,” Wade said. He grabbed the remote and clicked on the tv. 

“You can stop touching me now sweetheart.” Once again, I snatched my hands back with a mumbled sorry , a faint flush burning my cheeks. 

“Comes in real handy with our line of work.” Wade was bouncing his leg, the couch squeaking under him. Logan’s hand shot out to still him, knuckles showing white for a moment. Wade winced and I heard another snap.

“Which is…?”

Logan answered for me, “mercenaries.” 

“Oh,” I plopped down on the rickety coffee table. The information settled like a lead weight in my stomach. My first instinct was fear. They killed people for money. Would they then turn on me now? Curiosity tugged at me as well. I couldn’t explain it but there was something so magnetic about them. The edge of danger had always been there, especially with Logan. I would have never guessed it was this. Ever since I first met them, I knew I would be fascinated. I guess I had my answer as to why they were as fit as models. “How come I’ve never seen anything? Do you guys not have…guns or whatever?” 

“He didn’t want to scare you.” Logan jabbed his thumb Wade’s way. I cocked my head at Wade, a tiny smile pulling at my lips. He actually looked a little bashful. 

“I’ve found that women don’t always respond very positively to my intestines hanging out.” My stomach flipped and I sat a little straighter. 

“Has that happened?” 

“No, but a fortune teller told me it will happen when I least expect it.” He stood with an excited jump, moving to stand in front of a small closet. There was only a faint limp in his movement. As he walked, I became incredibly aware that both men were nearly naked, only clad in thin boxers. With every step, Wade’s well defined back flexed and his legs tensed. I only allowed myself a moment to take him in before I drew my gaze away. He turned and flung the door open with flourish. “Behold! My batcave!” I glanced inside, and found a tall gun case, massive stacks of ammo, and two katanas balanced against a red suit. There was a yellow one tucked next to it as well. “Mine is the red one, a very flattering color I assure you.” 

“The yellow one is yours?” Logan just gives me a curt nod. His face is stone again, clearly done with this conversation. “Do you use any of that?” I ask, motioning to the “batcave”, whatever the hell that means. 

Snikt.  

“Woah,” I whispered. The three blades protruding from between his knuckles were shiny and looked wicked sharp. I leaned forward and pressed the pad of my thumb against the middle blade. It immediately split the skin and a drop of blood oozed down my skin. Logan watched my warily, like I was liable to jump on the claws at any moment. “Do they hurt?” There were small beads of blood around where they had pierced through his skin. With a flex of his veiny forearm, the claws disappeared. The blades slid smoothly between the bones on the back of his hand.

“Yeah, everytime.” I watch his skin knit itself together again with rapt attention. Once it finished, I ran my injured thumb over the regrown skin, our blood smearing a thick stripe across his knuckles. Logan’s hand was relaxed as I held it. Wade flopped back onto the couch, his head in Logan’s lap, baby knife clutched in his hands. Logan seemed resigned, face relaxing just a bit, and allowed Wade to rest. He withdrew his hand from mine before resting his arm across Wade’s neck. The motion was surprisingly domestic and it made my heart warm. Behind me, the Golden Girls theme played. 

“Isn’t Al in danger with you two here? Don’t you have enemies that could find her?” The briefest sad expression flashed across Wade’s face. I stood suddenly, “oh my god where is she? Did someone already grab her and that’s why you were fucked up?” 

“She’s fine, probably wandering the streets or whatever women of her age do,” Wade made a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Wade!” I stepped on his foot in my mad dash to my fallen purse. I needed my phone to do…something. Call someone? The phone call would sound ridiculous. Hi, I help a blind woman and her two mutant roommates are mercenaries and got her kidnapped. Yeah, totally believable. I had just snatched my bag up when the door opened and Al herself appeared. 

“Fucking Jesus,” she snapped as she ran into me. My body sagged in relief at seeing her. I gripped her shoulders, just to make sure she was actually there. 

“Oh my god Al, don’t fucking scare my like that.” Her hands flew up and shook out from my touch. 

“Well you were late!” I wasn’t. “Are those two done fucking yet?” I twisted to look at the men on the couch. Logan was half way out the window to smoke. I could have sworn I saw him lick at his bloody knuckles. Wade was studying me, the hint of a challenge in his eyes, daring me to say something about their relationship. I smiled, hoping it let him know I didn’t care. But that easy look might have been ruined when pieces fell together. The knife. The three slashes to Wade’s chest. Their near nakedness. 

Huh.

“Uh yeah Al, I think I ruined the mood for them.” She scoffed and shoved a grocery bag into my hands. I dutifully turned to the kitchen and began to store away the random assortment of items. She guided herself over to the coffee maker and began to load the grounds into a filter. 

“I think you are one of the biggest things that puts them in the mood honey.” I heard a growl float in from the window. 

Wade and Logan stopped avoiding me after finding out their true occupation. It never got any easier seeing their bloody bodies strew around the apartment. I slipped on enough stray bullets that I learned to watch my feet. Wade was always cleaning his guns with a concentration I didn’t think he was capable of. One night he forced me to sit down, offering his lap first and whimpered pitifully when I took the chair, and made me hold the gun, showing me how to cock it and flick the safety on and off. The name Chekhov was stamped across the side in shiny gold letters. “Do I really need to know this?” He leaned closer, cheek pressed to mine. His warm hands slid over my own, guiding me to a button that would pop the magazine out and helped me click it back into place. He had grown much bolder in his touching and I couldn’t bring myself to stop him anymore.

“Never know when you’ll need to flip the badass switch.” His bubbly finger tapped the glittering name for emphasis. I shifted in my seat to face him, my lips ghosting over his cheek. He followed my lead and our noses brushed. 

“I didn’t think I would need that with you around.” A beat passed as we looked at each other. There was something soft in his eyes that made my heart clench. “You’re going to protect me, right?” It wouldn’t take much to lean closer, to finally kiss him. I knew he was thinking the same thing and my eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation. 

The alarm for my Al’s meds broke the moment. 

I knew I was sliding into a sticky situation. I found myself staying later and later, well past my shift with Al had ended. It was absolutely forbidden for me to become involved with clients. The excuse that they weren’t technically my clients wouldn’t work on my boss. I needed to make a decision. Either stop working with Al or end any attachment to Wade, and Logan by extension. 

***

I’m not sure how Wade and I ended up on that date. He and Logan had been away on a job for a week. It was finally peaceful in the apartment but I couldn’t lie to myself, I had missed them. So I didn’t fight Wade too much when he asked “nicely”, aka demanded , he tag along while I ran errands for Al. She was the last person I had to visit for the day so I allowed him to drag me to a bar after I dropped her meds off. Logan had a dark look in his eyes when he saw Wade clutch my hand. “The old man is just jealous. He wishes someone would take him out, but he doesn’t do well in crowds, very bitey.” I smirked and let Wade choose our destination. His hand was steady around mine, giving it occasional squeezes as we rushed across busy streets. The bar he picked was properly seedy, full to the brim with haggard men with face tattoos. Normally, I would have run screaming from a place like this. But Wade was clearly well liked. He moved through the room, smiling and waving at everyone. He tried introducing me to some people but it was hard to keep their names straight. We found an empty booth tucked behind the row of pool tables. I eased onto the sticky laminate bench as Wade headed to the bar to get our drinks. I listen to the men next to my seat argue over who was supposed to break for their next game of pool while I waited. 

Wade returned with my drink, a neon green one for him, and two small shot glasses. I eyed them suspiciously as he passed me one of the whipped cream topped shots. “I thought it was only right to start our date with a blowjob.” I coughed on my laugh, examining the glass. He tapped his against mine before downing it and I followed his lead. It was pure sugar, nearly masking the burn of the alcohol. 

“Whoever made this has clearly never given a blow job. Way too sweet.” Wade grinned in that mischievous way he always seemed to when he was going to be especially gross. I had no idea why I was being so forward. But I felt light, happy. All my worries from work had melted away as Wade held my hand on our way here.

“Oh yeah? I’ve been told my cum is rather delicious. It’s all the pineapple I eat.” I rolled my eyes and matched his grin, propping my elbows on the table, head cradled between my hands. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat a single fruit. Or a vegetable honestly.” Wade copied my pose, fluttering his nonexistent eyelashes. 

“How about you taste mine and I taste yours?” I pretended to contemplate, eyes scrunching, head tilting from side to side. My hand inched across the table before I plucked the cherry from Wade’s drink. He saw me, I could tell by the minute flick of his gaze, but he let me take it regardless. I yanked it from the stem with my teeth and chewed thoughtfully. 

“Hm, I’m not sure. Don’t you think Al would talk if you were moaning my name so much?” He grabbed my wrist and dragged my hand closer. My breath caught as his lips enveloped my index finger and thumb. His tongue lazed over them before he drew back, the cherry stem between his teeth. 

“Sweetie pie, I moan it enough as is.” I blushed and my stomach grew warm. The stem disappeared, his jaw moving. “I haven’t been able to convince the old bastard to dress like you yet. But he lets me pretend.” I took a big gulp of my drink and glanced away. The patrons were starting to get more boisterous. Their shouts echoed off the peeling wallpapered walls as they called for more rounds or catcalled some of the working girls. I watched as a pretty blonde walked off with two men. Would Wade and Logan take turns? Or would they pin me between them, spreading me open on both of their- “Jealous?” My head whorled back to him but only found a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“Shut up,” I growled and took another deep drink. Wade’s tongue lolled out, in the center was a perfectly knotted stem. I shifted in my seat. This was not how I had intended the night to go. I wanted just a drink, conversation, and then home for a long awaited rest. But here I was, squirming at the mere sight of Wade’s tongue. “Impressive,” I mumbled. I reached across the table and plucked the stem from him. It looked like he was going for another kiss but my hand drew back too fast.

“I know it’s impressive. Just spelling out my name gets it all twisted like that.” I rolled my eyes with a smirk. 

“You didn't strike me as a guy who would spell his name out. I thought you might be a little more creative.” He leaned closer, eyes just a bit too wide. 

“Oh? What were you imagining I would do? I have a lot of skills and I’ll use them all on you.” Damn it . I finished off my drink and the booze buzzed down my body as it settled inside me. A small voice in my head reminded me that I needed to pick. That if I went down this road with Wade, I needed to stop visiting Al. But fuck, I craved the feeling of his hands on me. I dreamt of him and Logan anytime I saw them. My brain became more and more depraved as the weeks went on. I could barely look at them sometimes without blushing. 

“Wade,” I sighed, twirling my straw in the slowly melting ice. “If we do anything, I have to stop working with Al. It’s a conflict of-“ he held a scarred hand up and my voice died away. 

“No work talk. It’s Friday, let me show you a good time.” I sighed again but nodded. 

The night passed blissfully. Wade was a strangely great date, much better than any guy I’ve been with recently. He asked me a million questions, ranging from my childhood, food allergies, to my favorite Mexican food. He gave me half joke responses about his own childhood, but gave me enthusiastic answers to everything else . He bought me another drink after he finished his but I was careful to sip mine slowly. The last thing I needed was a hangover. He also brought some greasy fries and I dove into them gratefully. We played one round of pool, which he won by only a few points. Then he promptly annihilated me in darts. “So unfair,” I groaned. “You do this for a living, I would have never won.” 

“I thought you being sexy would distract me enough. Strip, then you’ll win.” I had that pleasant buzz running through me so his words just made me giggle. 

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” I held up my hand to cut off his next words. “Not now you horny bastard.” He pouted, lip stuck a full inch off his face. I playfully plucked at it. “Pout all you want. You gotta put more effort in to get me naked.” 

That was perhaps the wrong choice of words because he bent down, his lips colliding with mine. I gasped but grabbed at his sweatshirt, clinging to him. He kissed like he wanted to eat me, all tongue and spit. He tasted as sweet as candy from the bright cocktails he had. It made my head swirl, skin heat. His hands moved to my hips and traced the sliver of exposed skin before they dove into my back pockets, and jerked me closer. I moaned into him as I felt the hard ridge in his pants pressed against my hip. The few whoops from our onlookers made me pause. “Probably not the best place.” Wade’s voice was a little husky, lips still close enough to mine that they moved with his words. 

“No,” I mumbled. But neither of us disentangled from each other. “I should probably go home.” Wade sighed and straightened. He nodded, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear. 

“Fuck you look gorgeous.” His voice was barely audible under the conversations and the music. I opened my mouth to say something but he cut me off. “I gotta hit the head then I’ll take you home.” He removed my hands from his sweatshirt, but still held one as he guided me to where the bathrooms were, situated at the end of a long hallway. “Wait here, don’t get too many men drooling over you.” Once he disappeared into the men’s room, I let out a breath. He was overwhelming, equal parts sweet, filthy, and ridiculous. The last thing I wanted to do was be responsible. To go home and ignore all the things he made me feel. I had already gone too far, what were a couple more steps? I bit at my thumb nail and watched the bathrooms intently. I didn’t see any women come or go into theirs. I scanned the bar and only found a handful of them. I knew I would have it mostly to myself. 

Cautiously, as if I was somehow breaking a law, I walked down and into the women’s bathroom. It was empty, mostly clean, and smelled fine. Which I’m sure is more than I could say about the men’s. I propped myself against the wall in the hallway, waiting for Wade to emerge again. Two men passed before I saw him. “Aw, I don’t need an escort out of this creepy hallway.” I roughly grabbed his shirt, and backed into the still empty bathroom. “Oh wow, the promised land.” 

I slammed him against the door, far too rough from nerves, but his face lit up nevertheless, a little excited laugh escaping him. “How about you show me those skills you talked about, yeah? Consider this a trial period before I let you fuck my brains out.” He didn’t need to be told twice. He hauled my body tight against his, lips crashing against mine again. This time, I gave into his kisses completely, his teeth tugging at my lips. There was a pinch of pain each time but it only made me claw at his neck harder. Judging by the groan he let out, I think I broke through skin. His tongue prodded its way into my mouth and I moaned loudly against him. His hands slid all over my body before they hooked behind my knees and he carried me to the counter. He lifted me like I weighed nothing. My head was beginning to grow fuzzy from our kiss but I refused to part, greedily sucking air from him instead. 

Wade was the first to rear back, gulping down lungfuls of air. I wanted to drag him back and kiss him till I was lightheaded again. “Goddamn woman,” he mumbled. I just hummed, moving my desperate kisses to his jaw. My hands crawled up his shirt and littered his torso with scratches. He leaned closer, my head hitting the mirror behind me, as he gripped my hips and dragged me flush against him. My legs curled around his waist, craving the feeling of his hard cock against me. 

“Wade,” I whined while I ground my hips against his. I found a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear that made him rasp my name. He cupped the back of my neck, leading me back to his greedy mouth. His thumb brushed along my jaw before his fingers delicately laid across my throat. I arched my neck to give his hand better access to the column of muscle. But his hands slipped from me entirely so he could shove my shirt over my breasts. He buried his face between them, peppering the skin with long, sucking kisses. “ Wade,” I moaned, hips bucking desperately against him, “I need you to fuck me.” His hand went to my jeans, pulling the button free and easing the zipper down. I yelped when his teeth captured a bit of flesh and bit down, hard . But the sting of pain only made me crave him more. Finally his hand plunged under my jeans and into my underwear. 

“So wet all ready,” he hummed, biting at more of my skin. He drifted over my clit in loose, but firm circles. With his free hand, he worked the cup of my bra down and captured my nipple in his mouth. I thursted against his hand in an attempt to get him to do more, to bend me over this sink and fuck me like I knew he wanted to. Instead, he traced the tip of his finger over my entrance and had the nerve to chuckle when I tried to force it inside. 

“ Jesus, Wade , stop teasing me.” My voice was airy, tinged with desire. His teeth glanced across my nipple and I nearly wailed. “Wade!” My nails went to his head and dug into his scalp, heels digging into his ass in annoyance. 

“I love the way you say my name, pretty girl.” His finger drove into me, pumping in and out quickly. He sucked one last bruise onto the top of my breast before he was kissing and licking back up my neck. 

“ More , Wade,” I panted, “you aren’t going to break me.” He laughed, the sound sending goosebumps across my feverish skin. Another finger worked its way into me and my eyes rolled back at the stretch, a sigh catching in my throat.  His thumb moved into more controlled figure eights. My legs trembled around him as he crooked his fingers inside, hunting for that spongy spot inside me. “Wade, oh fuck.” 

“God you moan so nice for daddy Wade.” Something between a laugh and a sob of pleasure bubbled up from my chest. Heat oozed through my body, settled deep in my stomach. 

“I’m not gonna call you that. Ah, keeping doing that, so good.” 

“Are you going to call Logan daddy when he makes you wiggle like this?” He found his mark and stroked the spot deep inside me with complete focus. My hips bore down on his hand, chasing for the orgasm I sensed. “ Aww seems like you like the idea. You’re sucking me in so much.” He bit more bruises on my neck, tongue lapping at the skin after to soothe the ache. “I can’t wait to see you stretched on his big dick.” 

I whimper, the tension inside me near breaking point. “Yours first.” The coil finally snapped. My eyes squeezed shut as a stream of his name and half gasps fell from my chapped lips. His free hand pinned my hip to the counter to stop its wild jerks. He scattered soft kisses across my face and cheeks as he worked me through my orgasm. It seemed to last an eternity and the waves of bliss made my body tingly. 

Eventually, my body relaxed and slumped against the mirror, chest heaving. Wade’s fingers remained in me, lazily plunging inside. Now that the haze had passed, I could hear just how wet I was. The lewd noises echo off the cramped bathroom’s tiles. “Wade,” I mumbled, tugging weakly at his wrist. “You should get to fucking me now.” 

“ Ew , how about you guys don’t. Do you know how dirty it is in here?” I jumped at the voice, scrambling to cover myself. Wade shifted himself to block me from view as I did. His fingers withdrew with a pop that made my face heat even more. The woman idly scrolled on her phone to give us privacy. My bra was fixed, shirt back over my chest, in record time. 

Wade was fine to let us wait it seemed. His sticky fingers lingered on my stomach, running over the curves and stretch marks, before he buttoned up my pants. “Okay sugar bean, let’s get you home.” He helped me off the counter, my weak legs wobbling just a bit. He kept his firm arm around me for support anyways. I had half a mind to think it was just to keep touching me. I didn’t mind and leaned into his side, head against his chest. 

The night was cool, the slight bite of oncoming autumn in the crisp air, and I breathed it in. My head felt clearer with each one. I went to pull away first, to tell him that I would see him on Monday, but he kept walking. “Where are we going?” 

“Gonna take you home.” I blinked. 

“How do you know this is the way to my place?” He made a noncommittal noise and shrugged. 

“Is some light stalking a turn off?” I knew I was crazy, absolutely insane, because all I did was beam up at him and cling closer. We made our way to my apartment in long winding segments. First the train where he pulled my legs over his and kissed at my wind whipped cheeks. Then a stop at a late night burger chain where Wade promptly drowned his in ketchup. We walked slowly to my apartment, hand in hand. Exhaustion had finally reached me and my feet dragged behind me. The night had only grown colder, breath misting in front of our faces. I was wearing a light jacket as I anticipated being home before the drop in temperature. I drew Wade’s arm closer, pressing it against my chest, clinging to the bit of heat. “You know, if we were both naked you would be warmer.” I rolled my eyes. 

“That’s absolutely not how that works. Also, my place is just around the corner.” We only had to walk a few more steps before I saw the familiar entrance to my apartment. Wade followed me to my door, leaning against the rail, waiting for me to fish my keys out of my purse. Once I had them in hand, I also tugged my phone from my pocket. “I don’t have your number.” I oddly felt shy, like this was too much of a leap. It felt more official like this. When I held it out for him, he took it eagerly, fingers tapping quickly. Then he kept typing. I peered down at my phone and saw him adding information for Asshole GILF, surrounded by an assortment of hearts. Quite frankly, I didn’t even know Logan had a phone, I had never seen him with it. 

My stomach dropped when I saw Wade open a conversation with Logan and began typing. I was only able to read the words horny and get it up before I snatched my phone back. “Oh my god Wade!” I rapidly deleted the text, refusing to read anymore of his nonsense sexting. “I would prefer Logan to not think I’m trying to jump his bones.” 

“Aw come on! Live a little. Logan loves people who come on too strong, especially on his face.”  

“I think you are probably the exception, Wade. Logan doesn’t seem to want much to do with me.” His cold palms cupped my cheeks and drew me closer. 

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, just you and me, yeah?” I nod, arms encircling his waist. The warmth of his chest spread into mine. “Logan dreams about you. He growls your name. He humps me in his sleep like a teenage boy. Then he wakes up and fucks me for hours.” My face heated at his words. I could feel him getting hard against my hip. “He wants you so bad it makes him crazy.” He pushed against me, just the slightest bit. “ I want you so bad it makes me crazy.” I realized that I never repaid the favor at the bar before being interrupted. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Wade smirked, kissing the apples of each cheek then my nose. 

“No, I’m gonna surprise Logan. He’ll go nuts when he smells you on me.” I blinked in confusion. I didn’t smell that bad, did it? “He has enhanced senses,” he explained. “He’ll be able to smell your cum on my fingers from outside the apartment.” 

“Oh god,” I mumbled, stuck between embarrassment and arousal. “Okay, well, don’t keep Al up.” 

“She has ear muffs.” I shook my head, chuckling at the absurdity. Wade pecked at my lips but didn’t allow me more. “Goodnight baby girl. Make sure you text me so I know who you are. So many crazy fangirls, you wouldn’t believe it.” 

“Uh huh,” I teased, finding the key fob for my building. Wade left one lingering kiss on my forehead before giving me a nudge toward my door. The scanner beeped, door releasing with a click. I wedged the door open before it could lock again. “Goodnight, see you Monday.” I blew him a kiss before the door clicked behind me as I went to the elevator. I reached for my phone and searched for Wade in my contact list. Of course I found him listed as Bootycall . Instead of solely hearts, his name was circled by eggplants and hearts. 

Me: you have to send me a picture for your profile. I could have missed you 

The elevator dinged and the door slid open. I traced my usual route to my apartment, jiggling the lock open with my key. My phone buzzed on the counter as I set it down to toe off my shoes and hang my coat up. 

Bootycall: once I’m done with Logan, I’ll send pictures for the both of us. 

Bootycall: Do you have other fuckbuddies? How could you? We should be the only ones for you

I woke up late the next day to two pictures. One was blurry, but the brown hair and a pointy white tooth told me it was Logan. It seemed Wade had tried to sneak it and was caught. The picture of Wade nearly made me faint. Pearly white beads of cum were splattered across his face and dripped off his exposed tongue. 

Me: I can’t possibly make that your contact picture

Bootycall: you’re right! Make it your background!

[lifeofmysteries]

Xue Yang and the Privilege of Revenge - An Essay

How does Xue Yang’s act of personal revenge compare against the Jianghu’s wider view of revenge? When is violence of this kind deemed acceptable, and who benefits from this? I want to explore the themes within Mo Dao Zu Shi connecting classism and the privileges of revenge as explored through Xue Yang and his relationship with the Jin Clan.

Xue Yang’s major act of revenge is against the Chang Clan, the eradication of the entire family. His revenge is motivated by Chang Ci’an’s act of violence against him as a child. This act of violence involved the destruction of his hand and his childhood innocence, as far as the reader understands from the story he tells about himself.

Xue Yang actually considered this seriously. “Of course,” he replied, as if it was an odd question. “The finger was mine, but those lives belonged to others. No number of lives would’ve been enough. It was only fifty or so people—how could that be enough to pay for my finger?”

As an orphan on the streets, he was a member of society that is considered disposable, where finding justice for any crime would be near impossible when the perpetrator is higher up - worth more - in the eye of society than you. There is no over arcing justice system within the Clans, they police themselves.

In defiance of his low class position, Xue Yang places his life as more valuable than the Chang Clan and uses his act of violence to apply his personal world view on the material world. The initial act of violence taken against Xue Yang was intended to show the opposite; that his life is viewed as lacking to wider society. The fact that Chang Ci’an did not face any explicitly mentioned repercussions for this is proof that the Clans believe that Xue Yang is not someone of any importance to consider worrying about making amends with. Xue Yang’s act of revenge can be constructed as proving to them and the world that he does matter.

This dehumanisation he is treated with is repeated throughout Mo Dao Zu Shi. After working for the Jin, he is beaten and left for dead as his worth was only through his value to the Jin Clan’s research. There is no need to allow him to leave respectfully as the Jins correctly believe he would not be missed nor would anyone fight for Xue Yang’s justice in that situation. He is constantly compared to animals, and even his physical features are described as more animalistic than the other characters to emphasise his position within the narrative.

Instead, he grinned widely, baring his canine teeth in his direction.

Xue Yang reacts to this repeated mistreatment by turning it around. He looks down on the people around him, steals from them, threatens them, and turns them into fierce corpses. He takes any action to make them feel afraid or frustrated rather than superior to him. His revenge against the Chang fits into this model.

In the ‘Villainous Friends’ extra, his response of aggression is contrasted against Jin Guangyao’s response of civility. Jin Guangyao also came from a lower class background and was insulted for it. His response was to conform himself to appeal to their idealised worldview of a high class cultivator through obedience to his father and replication of their mannerisms. Xue Yang’s internal viewpoint contrasts this as he is not intending to change anyone’s mind, rather he asserts his own position that he matters through enacting violence. When the previous actions of Jin Guangyao come to light, his position within the eyes of the Jianghu shifts and they revert to seeing him as that lower class, dehumanised being, right alongside Xue Yang.

“Jin Guangyao later got rid of Xue Yang. What a perfect example of dog biting dog.”

Xue Yang’s continued comparisons with the Jin Clan illustrates the intersections of power and violence with Mo Dao Zu Shi. Xue Yang committed his first act of revenge against the Chang Clan when he was a guest cultivator working for the Jin. As we know, the Jins shielded him from the justice Xiao Xingchen wanted to have enacted because Xue Yang was helping them behind the scenes. There is irony in the fact that the Clan held most responsible for punishing Xue Yang’s act of revenge was the Jin Clan when compared against their own actions against the Wen Clan. The Jin Clan upheld the taking of the Wens clan land and the imprisonment of the remaining family members. The view of the cultivation world at that time was that the whole Clan should be held accountable, regardless of their own actions within the war.

Another guest cultivator stood up. “Of course it’s different. The Wen dogs committed all manner of evil deeds. They deserved to fall in such disgrace. All we’re doing is retaliating in kind, an eye for an eye. Giving them a taste of their own medicine. Where’s the fault in that?”

Revenge is thus seen by the Jianghu as a way of levelling the scales between two people and there is no fault in this. Xue Yang’s act falls in line with this way of thinking, and falls in line even more so with the Jin’s treatment of the Wens.

The morality of the Jianghu shows that revenge against an entire clan is justified, and that each and every family member can and should be held liable. The only ones who aren’t are those who surrendered to the Jin Clan, allying their power with theirs.

“Because the Wen dogs committed so many evil deeds, everyone with the surname of Wen can be killed without exception—do I understand you right? Many renegade clans from Qishan surrendered and joined the alliance, and they’ve since found support with the Jin Clan of Lanling. If I’m not mistaken, I see a few guests at this very banquet who used to be the family heads of clans affiliated with the Wen Clan.”

From this, the act of revenge also acts as a move to gain power, eradicating those who opposed or could future oppose the Jin sect. This Jin act in the same way that they protected Xue Yang, defending only those who benefit their interests. This also proves how shallow the ideologies of the Jianghu are. They will not stick to their prior beliefs if there is some way to benefit, or if the subject of their attention is of a lower class to them. The only ones who succeed and gain happiness in their own right are those that leave the Jianghu entirely, shown through Mianmian, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji at the end of the novel.

Through the comparisons drawn throughout the novel by Xue Yang’s close proximity to the Jin Clan, ideas of how and who is allowed to take revenge intersect with classism. Violence is used by those who have the privilege of power to defend themselves, and thus this violence becomes justified in the eyes of the people.

(Citations taken from Sevenseas edition of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation | Mo Dao Zu Shi)

[smblmn]

Ten Random Lines

I was tagged by @lizzie-bennetdarcy, thanks lovely! 😘💖 Rules: pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the midpoint, pick a line (or three), and share it! Then tag 10 people. 

(I only have 8 published works on ao3 at the moment and one of those is the collection of drabbles, so I'm putting one of those drabbles here.)

On the Outside Looking Through: David’s anger rises again, this man can’t be real. “Oh, and you expect me, what, to accept? After your amazing speech listing all the reasons I’ll never be on Patrick Brewer’s level? You insult me and my family and you assume I’ll come running into your arms just because you’re Canada’s most eligible Bachelor? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

I want to go home: Now that he’s finally said it, David can’t stop telling Patrick that he loves him. He whispers the words in his ear as they’re exiting the building and Patrick pauses –as he always does– beside the portrait and smiles sadly at the happy family that no longer can hold one another. He writes the words with his lips all over Patrick’s body later in bed.

Breathe again: A man kissed me last night. A man I’m undoubtedly attracted to. A man I can see myself falling in love with.

In the eyes of the beholder: “In her defense, I may have started babbling about how incredibly beautiful the guy was and how I had never seen anyone like him before and how anyone else paled in comparison and how maybe I was gay and that’s why nothing really seemed to work with girls…”

'Til we're running from it: Rachel watches silently as Ted takes a blood sample and touches the puppy in different places to see how she reacts. Just the water seems to have had a miraculous effect on the dog, who looks more responsive and is even wagging her little tail a little bit. She looks so small and indefensive that Rachel feels her anger spiking. “How can anyone abandon someone like that?” she blurts out way harsher than intended and only when her voice comes a little bit broken, she realizes she’s crying. “Sorry, you must think I'm crazy,” she adds. 

Right in the doorway: Coming out to Rachel once he was sure about it was easy. It was made even easier by the fact that she had first row tickets to what she described as ‘the Patrick Brewer can’t be normal around his coworker show’. It’s probably an exaggeration, but then again, Patrick has never been so happy to go to work before in his whole life, so… maybe Rachel has a point.

The Great Canadian Baking Baker Show (Off): “It’s Mom’s recipe,” he says, beaming with affection.  “Can I marry her?” “No,” Patrick smiles. He's still extremely focused, competently drawing something with a piping bag. Another check in the list of turn-ons David wasn't aware he had until he met Patrick. He stops working for a moment and looks at David teasingly before throwing his final blow, “but I’m available.”

Collection of Drabbles: Convenience/Eerie: “It's almost eerie, this silence.” Mrs. Rose says, making Patrick realize he hasn't even turned on the music in the store, too busy wallowing in self-pity. Her piercing blue eyes study Patrick, urging him to explain. “I need you to know that I never meant to use David, I wasn’t dating him out of convenience–” “I witnessed you bestowing your heart to him in this very place.” Patrick tries not to cry, but a tear escapes anyway. “He’ll return to you, dear. He’d be a fool not to.” If he does, Patrick will make sure to treasure David Rose forever.

I'm not tagging anyone because I think everyone has already done this, but if you haven't, feel free to play! 💖

[sanzu-sanzu-sanzu]

songs about toxic people 7*

Sanzu Haruchiyo X Reader

Summary: In which you are Bonten’s No. 2 and Sanzu is No. 3. Almost ten years of being stuck working together means you’re both bound to pick up on each other’s idiosyncrasies, yeah?

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*IMPORTANT NOTE: this is more like an interlude/bonus chapter actually centering more on misc bonten x reader Gen! interactions. it still ties in with the whole story, it’s just there’s less to zero sanzu in this one cus the focus will be more on the other bonten haha, so if you’re here exclusively for sanzu x reader, you may skip this if you like! 😬  

it’s just i got these headcanons that idk what to do with and also they are somewhat short 😭

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chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6

chapter 7: We may not be a perfect family but we love each other (until we don’t) - koko

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Koko thinks of cats when he thinks of you; partly from the circumstances of your first meeting, partly ‘cause of the way you sort of simply glide in and out of rooms quietly with the stealth and fluidity of one.

(Although Sanzu had insisted he thought more of ghosts and wraiths, a comment which Koko only made light of even though he wasn’t wrong.)

She even kinda fights like a feline, he’d told Inupi one time all those years ago, as he thought of the way your lithe and minimal movements were always able to take bigger guys down along with the quiet ferocity to match.

Maybe she learns from all the cats back in the shrine, Inupi responded—a joke, essentially, in his own terms. Koko suppressed a smile: cat and dog, you and her, maybe that’s why you two get along so well went his own, sad attempt at humor, because you and your second-in-command were obviously very close and very unlike cats and dogs. The joke, however, sadly did not seem to land, and Inupi’s forehead only creased, his expression dumbfounded.

That’s not how it works.

Koko never forgets the day you were first introduced by Mikey. It’s at the back of Toman’s abandoned shrine, at the edge of the thick forest surrounding the area, that their new leader had said they’ll be meeting Black Dragon’s temporary captain. He never specified what anyone would be doing in the forest at this hour in the afternoon, and neither him nor Inupi had asked, but then there you were: in your bare feet and in your school uniform, attempting to move a big pot of plant from one spot of land to another, your expression almost annoyed. (At the pot, most likely, which did not seem to budge.)

Mikey called your attention still a few meters afar:

“Hey. Whatcha up to—”

in a tone that very clearly did not seem to intend to place whatever you were up to above this particular Toman business at the moment, so really, it would not have made any difference whether you answered or not. Which you didn’t, only glancing at your president once—not with the angry expression, at least—before continuing with your ordeal.

The pot nudged just a tiny bit.

Only when Mikey finally stopped right in front of you and you noticed Koko’s and Inupi’s figures behind him did you finally stand straight, looking at Mikey quizzically. “What’s up?” Quick nods to Inupi and him. “Hello.”

Mikey briefly introduced all of you and proceeded to explain that you were to be formally placed as the Black Dragon’s new captain today, to which your eyes slightly widened.

“Oh, I thought you said tomorrow.”

Mikey hesitated at first but then shrugged. “Hm, they came here already today so I thought might as well. Come on, it’ll be quick.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and then to his two quiet companions but then so agreed anyway, and as Mikey ushered you in front nobody else aside from Koko seemed to notice your lack of shoes. You’d only taken a few steps ahead when you tugged at the sleeve of Mikey’s coat, making him pause.

“I don’t have my Toman jacket,” which was obvious but was not what Koko was expecting for you to say, if he were to be honest.

Mikey looked at you blankly. “Well, where is it?”

“Well, something happened to it,” was your only vague response, but then you turned your head to where you just came from making all three boys follow suit. On a wooden bench slightly obscured by the plants were a family of cats consisting of a mother and her kittens, all sleeping peacefully in a cozy pile on top of your balled up Toman jacket.

“Oh. Okay.” Mikey only nodded like he completely understood. Without thinking about it twice, Sano Manjiro, Tokyo Manji gang’s No. 1—feared around the streets of Tokyo, bowed to no one and stepped over everyone—took off his billowing Toman coat and draped it over your shoulders. “Here, you can borrow mine,” he simply said. “I mean, you gotta look the part.”

Your mouth stretched into a grin.

Beside him, Inupi gave Koko a quick, wordless glance accompanied by that tiny, upward curve on the corner of his mouth that anyone else could’ve missed. Inupi rarely smiled at anything anymore those days—perhaps one of the reasons why this singular, initial meeting had stuck in his mind all these years. It’s one of those memories Koko always thought he could probably live without, occupying a quiet little corner in his mind which, frankly, a much more practical or life-changing memory could have occupied, if it were up to him. But then there you were with your cats and your air of schoolgirl abandon making Inupi smile, an information that he simply didn’t know what to do about.

“Alright, boss. But please, no speeches.”

This made Mikey laugh. “Can’t promise you that, I’m sorry.” It’s only after a few more steps that Mikey did finally notice your bare feet.

“Where the hell are your shoes?”

“Oh, they got wet,” you quietly said. “I was playing with the cats…” and three pairs of eyes stared at you like it wasn’t enough of an answer. “With a hose. Manjiro, I was watering the plants.”

And so you stood atop the shrine steps while addressing the men from Black Dragons, your feet bare and covered in scratches and the Toman president’s much bigger coat over your shoulders. Nobody questioned the absence of shoes—at least not out loud—not with your leader Manjiro right by your side, in his flip flops holding a half-eaten taiyaki in one hand.

The memory comes unannounced in snips and pieces some years later as another Bonten meeting ends. There’s various movements around the table by now, but then Koko catches your undivided staring as you sat across from him, your chin propped up against one hand. He ignores you for a short while as he fixes his things, until he finally decides to look up.

“Anything wrong?”

You suddenly purse your lips in a small smile amidst the gloomy and rigid air of mid-morning Monday meetings and for a moment, it’s as if Koko is thinking of another memory.

“I just realized you kinda look like my Mr. Kaku,” is all you say. The little remark makes not-your Kakucho look up from the document he’s reading without really turning his head, while Rindou who is seated beside you squints—in curiosity or amusement, Koko can’t tell. From his own right side, Takeomi is slowly angling his head as if meaning to take a better look at Koko behind his curtain of silver hair.

Mr. Kaku, of course, is your pet cat, the one with the smooth silver fur that you’d rescued from an abandoned site during an out-of-town business trip some months ago. You and your unimaginative pet naming sense landed on “Mr. Kaku,” in honor of your then-partner Kakucho who had volunteered to keep the cat inside his bag thru the doors of the hotel that didn’t allow pets. But he looks nothing like Kaku, Manjiro had quipped, earning a few grunts of approval from your ever-biased circle, but you couldn’t have been bothered so you stuck with the name.

Koko is quick to decipher that in your-speak, cat comparisons are more or less compliments and never a form of insult—not that in your mid-20s, you all haven’t already gotten above petty verbal affronts, after all. So he humors you, eyes now back to his things but with his attention still on the matter at hand. “What, is it the hair?”

“Yeah, it’s the hair,” Rindou says before you can answer, his head lolling lazily on one shoulder. “Can’t believe no one had noticed before.”

“And the eyes,” you simply nod. “They both got these nice, sharp eyes.”

Would you have named him Mr. Koko if you thought he resembled Kokonoi before? is the one lingering question that none of the men around you bother to ask.

It’s only a couple of weeks later, after another Bonten meeting, when Koko hands you a souvenir from his weekend business trip: a red cat collar with a customized pendant, a tiny enamel engraving of your Bonten tattoo. The pendant is black on one side and gold on the other, and the small gasp you let out makes every head in the room turn—the almost unfamiliar, genuine sound of delight thawing the usual morning’s stern atmosphere.

“There’s a shop right across the hotel where they make rush engravings like that.” Koko is saying casually like it’s no big deal, but he sees the expression on your face and he can’t help but grin. “Thought Mr. Kaku might like it.”

Your eyes perk up at the mention of ‘Mr. Kaku’ like Koko is the first person to ever acknowledge that Mr. Kaku doesn’t need to be named anything else apart from ‘Mr. Kaku.’ “Oh, it’s perfect, Koko. I’ll send you pictures once I make him wear it,” you say, your attention instantly back to your hands, choosing to ignore his ‘I think just one picture might be enough.’

From the other end of the room, Sanzu is making his way towards the door. “Congratulations,” he smirks as he passes by behind you, quirking one eyebrow up at Koko. “Now she won’t be shutting up about it all weekend,” because Sanzu will be spending the next three days with you over in another city to conduct business with another drug scion, of course.

Across the table, Kakucho only sighs before shaking his head. “I still wish you could’ve picked a better name for your cat,” he says—a valid complaint, Koko thinks bemusedly, now that your own Mr. Kaku looks more like a feline version of himself.

chapter 8 >

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this one goes out to my closest friends the ones who make me feel less alien

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[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Madam Yu starts loving Wei Wuxian and showing anything like remotely well intended affection toward Jiang Cheng in fix it fics, HAHAHAHAHAHA (breaths) Hahahaha!

After all of that, let me explain why this would not work considering even before the fall of Lotus Pier and her death she had hated Wei Wuxian the moment he had been saved by Jiang Fengmian as well as instilling that Jiang Cheng was only worth as much as his title as Sect Heir of Yunmeng Jiang. They also contrast the ideologies between Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu that were never understood by the other, mirroring the underlying resentment from a forced bond and the overall message that love can not be the only factor with peaceably accepting another person as your equal and confidant.

Madam Yu convinced herself that Wei Wuxian was usurping the position of power that Jiang Cheng held all because Jiang Fengmian had taken a shine to a child that was naturally good willed and bright. She purposely uses this as a tactic to drive a wedge between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian.

She derides her son while continuing to insist he is still above others leading to his complex of superiority and his jealousy of never being able to please her or his father. His lack of actual good will towards others (like his mother who ignored smaller night hunts to help commoners) leads to his father's lecture of not understanding what the Yunmeng Jiang motto really is, " 明知不可为而为之". Usually this is translated just as "to attempt the impossible" which is correct technically, but the full meaning of this really works better as "knowing you fight against impossible odds to do what is right".

Jiang Cheng went to her side. Madam Yu squeezed his arm with her slender fingers, then slapped his shoulder loudly, scolding, “There’s isn’t any improvement in your cultivation at all. You’re seventeen already, yet you’re still like an ignorant child, fooling around with others all the time. Are you the same as others? Who knows which sewers other people will be splashing in, but you’re going to be the leader of the Jiang Sect!”

At the same time she also uses these same insults against Wei Wuxian. However, he is confident in his own skills and talents which is a confidence she herself despises thinking he is unworthy as a servant's son or the son of a rogue cultivator with no clan ties to have a right to that level of cultivation and sees it as a slight against her authority. Neither can do right in her eyes whether they listen faithfully or question her meanings.

Madam Yu, “Wei Ying, what trouble are you stirring up this time?”

Wei WuXian stepped forward, accustomed to it. Madam Yu scolded, “You’re like this again! If you yourself don’t seek progress, then don’t drag Jiang Cheng along to fool around with you. You’re going to be a bad influence to him.”

Wei WuXian looked startled, “I don’t seek progress? Why, am I not the one with the most progress in the entire Lotus Pier?”

Young people were never too patient. They wouldn’t feel satisfied unless they talked back. Hearing this, an air of hostility seemed to form around Madam Yu’s brow.

Jiang Cheng wordlessly and obediently takes the reprimand, head down and silent, deferring to her. Wei Wuxian however arrogant it may seem, talks back questioning what she means that he has not progressed when he has the talent to show. This is early foreshadowing to their exact stances during the Wen Indoctrination.

Jiang Cheng held Wei WuXian firmly. Wei WuXian asked with a lowered voice, “What are you holding me down for?”

Jiang Cheng snorted, “Don’t do unnecessary things.”

He didn’t know why, but all of the boys sent from the GusuLan Sect looked somewhat pallid. Lan WangJi’s face was especially pale, but his expression was still as frosted as usual, distancing him from everyone else. The sword Bichen on his back, he stood alone, with nobody around him. Wei WuXian had wanted to go up to him and say hello, but Jiang Cheng warned him, “Don’t cause any trouble!”

MianMian knew that if she was hung up, she probably wouldn’t be able to come back down alive. She tried to run away, but wherever she fled, the people dispersed around her. Just as Wei WuXian twitched, Jiang Cheng held him firmly down. MianMian suddenly noticed that two people remained still. She hid behind their backs at once, shivering.

The two were Jin ZiXuan and Lan WangJi.

With the rescue of Mianmian and Wei Wuxian staying to protect Lan Wangji (who had protected Mianmian in turn despite repercussions) gained the attention of Wen Chao and his ire all of which Jiang Cheng kept ordering Wei Wuxian not to do. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are thrust into the role of the Jiang leaders stance of morality. Wei Wuxian, and by mention Lan Wangji, have done a unimaginable feat along with embodying the traits that Jiang Fengmian admires. As both did the impossible along with doing what was right in the protection of MianMian and Wei Wuxian staying to aid Lan Wangji.

Wei WuXian, “Those Wen dogs are talking nonsense, they have no face. Lan Zhan was clearly the one who killed it.”

Jiang FengMian gave him a smile, “Really? What a coincidence. The second young master of the Lan Sect told me that you were the one who killed it. So who was it, really?”

Wei WuXian, “I guess both of us did something. But he was the main one. I only went into the beast’s shell and chased it out. Lan Zhan was waiting for it alone outside. It only died after it dragged on for six entire hours.”

He described to Jiang Cheng and his father the things that had happened during the past few days. Jiang Cheng’s expression was complicated after he had finished listening. He only spoke a while later, “It’s pretty much the same as what Lan WangJi said. So it seems that both of you killed it together. What’s yours is yours. Why would you give him all the credit?”

Wei WuXian, “I didn’t. I just feel that, compared to him, I really didn’t do much.”

Jiang FengMian nodded, “Well done.”

He was able to kill a four-hundred-year-old beast at the mere age of seventeen. It was much more than a ‘well done’.

Jiang Cheng, “Congratulations.”

The tone of his congratulations sounded quite strange.

Jiang Cheng is once again faced with the reality that despite doing as his mother wanted, he is met with the reprimands of his father who does place loyalty and friendship in the face of dangers. Interestingly, the way Wei Wuxian defends Jiang Cheng mirrors the excuses that Jiang Fengmian had given for Madam Yu's harsh words and rumors about himself.

Jiang Cheng, “It served you right to be bored to death. You shouldn’t have played the hero and you shouldn’t have cared for such a hell of a thing. If in the beginning you didn’t…”

Suddenly, Jiang FengMian spoke, “Jiang Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng paused, knowing that he had said too much. He was quiet at once.

Jiang FengMian didn’t look as if he was blaming him of anything, but his expression had turned from calm to more solemn, “Do you know in which ways what you just said is not appropriate?”

Jiang Cheng’s head hung low, “Yes.”

Wei WuXian, “He’s just angry and speaking without care.”

Seeing how Jiang Cheng’s mouth and heart were still at odds, how he still felt defiant, Jiang FengMian shook his head, “A-Cheng, there are some things that can’t be said even if you’re angry. If you said them, it means that you still don’t understand the motto of the Jiang Sect, that you still don’t…”

That "hell of a thing" Jiang Cheng mentions is referencing that saving Lan Wangji was a waste in comparison to an easy get away along with Jiang Cheng. He helped a person that potentially was a future problem for them. A thought that hadn't been on Jiang Fengmian's mind as he praised not only Wei Wuxian's kill but his care in putting others first in such dire circumstances. Understandable praise for decent morals. And then comes Madam Yu,

The harsh voice of a woman came from outside the door, “Yes, he doesn’t understand, but what does it matter, as long as Wei Ying understands?!”

Like a purple bolt of lightning, Madam Yu swept inside, bringing in with her a cold breeze. She was standing five steps away from Wei WuXian’s bed, brows raised, “‘To attempt the impossible’ is exactly how he is, isn’t it? Fooling around even though he knew that it’d bring trouble to his sect?!”

Jiang FengMian, “My lady, what are you doing here?”

Madam Yu, “What am I doing here? What a joke that I am asked of such a thing! Sect Leader Jiang, do you still remember that I’m also the leader of Lotus Pier? Do you still remember that every inch of the earth here is my territory? Do you still remember, between the one lying there and the one standing here, which one is your son?”

Such questions he had heard countless times throughout the years. Jiang FengMian answered, “Of course I do.”

Madam Yu laughed bitterly, “You do remember, but there’s no use if you simply remember. Wei Ying, he really can’t take it unless he stirs up some trouble, can he? If I had known, I would’ve made him stay in Lotus Pier properly and not go outside. Could Wen Chao really have dared to do anything to the two young masters of the GusuLan Sect and the LanlingJin Sect? Even if he did, it’d mean that they ran out of luck. Since when was it your turn to play the hero?”

Do you remember who is a leader? Do you know what's mine? Do you know the worth of people's lives and what it gains me over the trouble of caring for them unconditionally?

Her arguments can be answered already, "Could Wen Chao really have dared to do anything to the two young masters of the GusuLan Sect and the LanlingJin Sect? Even if he did, it’d mean that they ran out of luck."

Yes, as they had already burned Cloud Recesses and physically harmed Lan Wangi once before. Jin Zixuan was expected to die as he had been abandoned in the cave already with no weapon his consequence was already passed. She also says "so what?" if they did retaliate because it was them choosing to play a game of hero and killing themselves for putting their head up against a higher power and baiting more trouble in the future, regardless of the Wen Sect attacking the sects one by one, and Yunmeng the next to be considered the weakest.

All which is parroted later by Jiang Cheng 13 years later when he demands Wei Wuxian beg in front of an altar, to make amends for deaths that hurt Jiang Cheng even when Wei Wuxian died for those once. He deserved to die for protecting the Wens that caused everything. He was shameless for sticking to Lan Wangji instead of honoring their childhood promise choosing someone else over him and loving another from the start. "What did I gain from you doing the right thing?" is the underlying accusation Madam Yu and Jiang Cheng use as a defense constantly.

Jiang FengMian stood up, “Let’s talk when we get back.”

Madam Yu, “Talk about what? Get back to where? I’ll be talking about it right here. I have nothing to be ashamed of, anyways! Jiang Cheng, come over here.”

Jiang Cheng was stuck between his father and his mother. After a moment of hesitation, he moved to his mother’s side. Holding his shoulders, Madam Yu pushed him forward for Jiang FengMian to see, “Sect Leader Jiang, it seems that some things I have to say. Look carefully—this, is your own son, the future head of Lotus Pier. Even if you frown upon him just because I was the one who bore him, his surname is still Jiang! … I don’t believe for one second that you haven’t heard of how the outside people gossips, that Sect Leader Jiang has still not moved on from a certain Sanren though so many years have passed, regarding the son of his old friend as a son of his own; they’re speculating if Wei Ying is your…”

Jiang FengMian shouted, “Yu ZiYuan!”

Madam Yu shouted as well, “Jiang FengMian! Do you think that anything will change just because you raised your voice?! Do you think that I don’t know you?!”

The two debated the issue outside. On the way, Madam Yu’s angered voice was louder and louder. Jiang FengMian argued as well, suppressing his rage. Jiang Cheng stood blankly where he was. A while later, he glanced at Wei WuXian, and suddenly turned to leave as well.

Madam Yu and Jiang Cheng use harsh language, twisted rumors and others that are dead and gone to guilt others into what they insist is the correct way to make amends to wrongs with wild standards. Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian fundamentally could not work with the other as an equal unit. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian become the worst of what Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian had built up before them.

The luxury that was given to Wei Wuxian was that he still had Lan Wangji standing by his side to pull him away from that cycle of continued misunderstandings and refusal of seeing the other as anything other than a person that would be a constant disappointment.

[pigtailedgirl]

So dog tired but taking my time for me and catching up on some movies.

Hocus Pocus 2 and Nope.

Hocus Pocus 2 not positive. 

Nope was fantastic. 

SPOILERS

Of course, Jordan Peele’s film understands how to reference or make eerie a real example or homage something. From the western horse chases blending so well with the monster hunt, from the Akira bike slide being so cool but just a blink and you miss ref, from the Gordy and Mary Jo as the woman without a face in comparison to the real story...I love a movie that knows when and what it wants to tell you and the themes and emotions it’s driving at you. 

I loved the characters too. The brother and sister. The tech guy. The film guy. 

Jupe is not a good person, he’s as close to a villain as the TMZ guy, regardless of the backstory. But he’s fascinating to see how spectacle and his pursuit, his chase and disrespect of others, of nature and pun intended, sense or horse sense, is his killer. His undoing. Trying to force connection, be it animal or people, through artifice. A childish way for a man scarred emotionally and stuck in child fame and fear.

I loved it. The creature creepy as hell.

OJ was brilliant. His scene in the truck. His love of his Dad and sis. His quiet and frustrated straight man persona.

The beauty in some scenes.  I want to talk about this movie. To gush.

....

In contrast we have Hocus Pocus 2. Straight up nostalgia bait, cash grab, bank on nothing new in idea or execution, nothing special in the way it creates or attempts to reference or homage the original or others. But people, myself included, are flocking to it because we just wanted to see if it could for a moment bring back the feeling or carry it forward for us that OG did. No.

It’s what is most insulting to me about the film. It’s one thing to make the same basic plot points twice, to try to mimic the 93 gags while missing why it was camp or risky or off cuff then, in the way Walgreens or roombas are product placement and not, in the way it’s not as funny to hear Sarah says amok amok amok again when it is not a spontaneous fool’s glee but callback, to have them sing is not an inventive nod to Bette and fun song when it’s so forced in thrice.

Or turn it into a generic tale, to both dumb down and de-evil the Sanderson sisters, Winnie in particular. To have characters that were obsessed with sucking the life out of children for eternal life and beauty grow old without care or die without care is failing the OG theme but can perhaps be done...if it was subverted wisely. This was not. 

Winnie in OG neither loved nor cared for her sisters. That was the big contrast to the pair of Dani/Max and Emily/Thackery. 

So they return, so maybe they or her should learn to love thy sister but the movie never builds this. Or contrasts them against the three young girls as other sisters/friends/witch enthusiasts.

Disney is so obsessed with the pat and perfect boss of a woman trope, look at the perfect cool woods witch WTH, that they no longer let them have a character or arc. None get growth because the must already be right and perfect, even as the story warps around the unreality. So Winnie was right to be against the village, being forcefully separated from her sisters and to be married off. Right to want power. Let us ignore her moral usage of. Or make the Billy affair a lie. Let’s strip her of character because we can’t like an evil woman, only the boss one.

Of the younger characters, the girl’s conflict with each other is left unanswered. They just needed to work together. Ignore the question and growth that they need by being independent individuals, of asking what they actually want to do together and why, or why they were rushing to conflict and separate, or even the who they are. You know, basics of character. Glasses girl friend was as generic as leader girl as was party friend. The only young person, stupid as they were, to arc was the himbo, who sat and went from I tease, to the explained I tease out of affection, to you don’t like that and I’m sorry. 

Also the mood was a ruin. Not spooky or pretty Fall or fun Halloween. Generic.

Well, I wasn’t expecting good so I wipe it from my brain. Go back to the 90s one.

Which is my last thought. The difference in the 90s, being as vapid and consumer and full of playing on it’s era... there is a reason that remakes and the nostalgia trips of today are failing. You can’t recreate that time. You reference it by trying too hard to mimic and you look foolish because both the generation of today is far too different, far too removed to understand so it doesn’t bring them real emotion, it doesn’t connect to their experience, hell if I can even think what is today’s kids and tweens culture and their feels and fears and hopes that isn’t trapped and trying to be consumer branded by my aging failed generation... but also trying to cater to my generation, trying to bribe me with the past, to recapture my love and emotion, it only really works if you can take it and and tell me why it still matters. Otherwise all you are reminding me of is it was hollow or it and I changed. You turn me from it, or you look a poor attempt mimic without saying anything.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Okayyyy chappy seven 🤩 Here we goooo 🥳

Lord, Katniss always had nightmares 😭 even before the games, between her father’s death, her mother’s abandonment and the other traumatizing things she saw in her life, my girl never slept peacefully a day in her life 🥺.

She even indicates that she sometimes has nightmares about past hunger games 😭😭😭. Someone protect my smol child. Please. Someone.... Someone? Anyone? No? Okay 🥺

“I bolt up screaming for my father to run as the mine explodes into a million deadly bits of light.” This is such a powerful image and it really does show that Katniss has literally envisioned all the gory details of her father’s death for the last four years. This is so sad 😞

Also though. Katniss really doesn’t talk much about her father’s death after the first book and definitely doesn’t describe nightmares about it. So .... like basically, the games traumatized her so badly that, her father failing to escape the mines as the collapsed in on him, crushing him into the pits of despair, the possibility of rescuing his corpse deemed unimaginable, pales in comparison? Yes I just tried and failed to phrase that long run on sentence the way Katniss phrases her nightmares about her dad dying, yes that was over the top but you know what? So. Is. Katniss.

“Dawn is breaking through the windows” Twilight reference 😬😬😬. I couldn’t stop myself, y’all. Forgive for please.

“The Capitol has a misty, haunted air.” Katniss, you’re from the butthole of Kentucky, the air you’re used to is probably humid as all get out 😓😓💦😅😅

“I must have bitten into the side of my cheek in the night. My tongue probes the ragged flesh and I taste blood.” 😒😒😒😒 this feeling ..... is .... v v v .... distinct .... and .... familiar 😕🙁☹️

“I end up hopping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming hot water assault me.” Why is this so funny omg 😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂😂😅😅😅😅😅 Katniss is just like pressing buttons like, “Ah! Too cold! 🥶 Ah! Too hot! 🥵 Ah!!!!!” All while jumping like a .... cat 🐱🥁

Lemon foam? 🍋 Whatever. I guess there’s weirder flavors of soap we have today but like where’s the Philosophy flavors that give recipes on the bottles??? Surely they’d survive an apocalypse??? Everyone uses those???

I’m so glad Katniss didn’t forget to moisturize, even as she prepares for a death match 😅😅😅😅 even if it’s just as simple as pressing a single button, why is she even taking the time to press it?

I know, I know. She just wants to make sure her skin is so smooth for the arena that the knives and arrows just slide right off 🤣🤣🤣🤣

“This is the first time since the morning of the reaping that I resemble myself.” Lolololol which means Mr. Romantic is gonna be even more turned on by the sight of ya, since he’s crushed on you looking like this for the last decade of his life 🥳😎🤗💁🏼‍♀️. Peeta ain’t even here yet and I’m already making the shipper comments Samantha calm down 🙄😶😑🤐🤐🤐🤐🤐🤐

Seriously there where is Peeta? Did he also have to figure out the temperature controls in the shower? Did he also moisturize? I miss him I wanna know about his morning too 😔. Katty, is it too much to ask for you to go take a lil ... sneak peek into his room for me? 😏😏😏

Twenty dishes seems like a lot for like four people eating? Eh, maybe six people, if we count the stylists who magically pick and choose when they’re coming to a meal... Hmm, I’ll calculate just so no one else has to. 🤓😬🤗 No one else cares, Samantha. 🤐🥱😴😶 Twenty dishes amounts out to about five plates without the stylists and three and a half-ish with so.... idk it’s not that much food I guess but it seems like a lot for one meal, esp if people in the Capitol intend to keep their trim figures. This is why that one prep team girl is chubby. 🤐🤐🤐

Awww Katniss copying Peeta’s weird lil eating quirks 🤗😎🥳. She’s already taking interest in him, she just don’t realize it yet 💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️ shipper comment alert 🚨🚨

But also has anyone actually tried dipping bread on hot chocolate and was it good or does it taste as repulsive as it sounds to me? I hate it when my food even so much as dares to touch though 🤢😡😤😓

Oooo I always forget Prim has to be utilizing her goat, milking the thing every day until it’s dry I’m not a farmer idk how milking animals works ... so she contributes more than I give her credit I suppose.... I’m making an effort for you, Primmers. You seem useless and immature but I’m trying. 😪😶 Taylor Swift voice 🎶 *this is me trying* 🎶

Oh wow it was only two mornings ago? Man. The first book is slow moving. 😅😭 six chapters in and we’ve gotten through one point five days 🤣

“It makes me irritated that Peeta is wearing exactly the same outfit I am.” “Listen, Peeta, one of us has to change, this is getting embarrassing, you have to stop borrowing my clothes!”

“This twins act is going to blow up in out faces once the Games begin.” Ahhaahahahaha blow up 💥 💣 🔥. Get it, get it. 🥁 Because she represents fire. And she also blows things up in Every. Single. Book.

But seriously, did Cinna and Portia and Haymitch all plan on presenting Katniss and Peeta are like, tight friends or whatever, and then Peeta is like “oh b-tee-dubs, I have a massive crush on K-dog” and they just decided it perfectly fit into their plans?

I’m so jealous that their breakfast has bread baskets 😩😩😩 I know they’re headed to the slaughter but still. Bread.

if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." "Why would you coach us separately?" In case one of you ... not naming names .... Peeta .... wants to reveal your lifelong crush on live television 😎😎😎

Also Haymitch is like “make an important decision but take zero time to consider it, I’m tired and hungover, kids, idc for your drama 😒”

Which as an auntie to a wonderful little two year old ... is v relatable 😅🥲🙃🤭

“And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." I wanna make a dirty joke here so badly but the lord himself is saying no.

“Town families usually eat expensive butcher meat. Beef and chicken and horse.” Ohhh this is interesting. Katniss believing Peeta and the other merchants live high on the hog while Peeta is later is like “I eat expired bread for every meal, Katniss” I mean, better than starving like her, but also not how she’s painting the picture in her mind. 😶😭

Also Katniss never mentions horses in Twelve, where’s the butcher getting horses from to slaughter and sell? That’s why Katniss never sees them, Samantha, duh 🙄

“I can't do anything. Unless you count baking bread.” "Sorry, I don't.” This was such a quick and matter of fact brush off, poor Peeta 😭😭😭 my baby I’m still rooting for you don’t worry you got this

Also. Lowkey, highkey, that tiny exchange triggered me. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭. Those awkward moments where people brush me off or glance over me live in my head. Rent free. For life.

I wonder sometimes often times if Katniss’ father and Gale’s father knew each other? Both hunted and worked in the mines. Just a random sidebar 😅🤭🤐🙃

“She’s excellent” He’s so proud of his wife 🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧

So uh.... is it safe to say Mr. Mellark is an Everlark fan? If he likes and admires Katniss and Peeta and him apparently have some kind of close-ish bond (okay, maybe not but maybe) then perhaps he is carrying the shipper banner back in Twelve for them 🥳🥳😎😎

Katniss, you dingaling, of course he noticed you 🙄🙄🙄

Peeta compliments her and her instant reaction is “what are you doing, weirdo?” 😅😭

“Don’t underrate yourself” Peeta, love of my life, take your own advise. Stupid. 😪😪😪

“I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour” Katniss in the market, staring across the way at Peeta, 👁👄👁, watching him lift flour over his shoulder.

“He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother." This is criminally undiscussed. Peeta being a wrestler alone is undiscussed but also.... did you go to his matches, Katniss? Miss Anti-Social, Hunting-First-Everything-Else-Later? 😏😏😏 If this ain’t proof of her lil crush idk what is

“All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance.” “You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows.” Does no one else realize that Katniss and Peeta literally took the other’s advise for the first part of the games? How did Peeta get in with the Careers? The way she just said. Where is Katniss when Peeta and the Careers discover her? High up in a tree. Okay, this maybe didn’t compute right but I had a thought here so I said it

Peeta’s mother is just a monster. Who says that crap? 😔😔😔 don’t worry, baby, I’m rooting for you

“She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is” Yeah, she is, no thanks to you, Mrs. Mellark 😤. Stingy ho.

Peeta’s got pain in his eyes 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Awww, Katniss accrediting her survival to Peeta’s help 😭😭😭😭. This is so pure. Also kiss now, you little freaks.

“She has no idea. The effect she can have.” This is such an iconic line... but the can has always had me laughing. She can have an effect, if she really wants to. Or not, depending on the day.

Katniss is so stupid, how did she construe that as an insult??? 🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️ y’all ever just wanna smack her into a wall?

“In public, I want you by each other's side every minute” If Peeta didn’t have a long life crush, what was the ultimate plan with all this friendship act they’re being forced into? 🤔🤔🤔

Even Peeta’s trying to object to it 😭😭😭😭

“You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other.” You will fall in love. 🤩🥳😎

“I bite my lip and stalk back to my room, making sure Peeta can hear the door slam.” Okay, now imagine how much she’s hurting his feelings right now 😖😣 what a little brat

“But that didn't mean I wanted to do everything with Peeta. Who, by the way, clearly doesn't want to be partnering up with me, either.” Lolololololololol this is so funny in hindsight 🤣🤣🤣. Also if you showed a little enthusiasm, Peeta would probably be happy to partner with you.

“But a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way.” No, really, Katniss? A compliment? Who’d give you one of those? 🙄🙄🙄

“It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting.” A normal person at this point would put together a crush 😅

“And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. [...] I have kept track of the boy with the bread.” Anddd a normal person would figure out their own crush at this point 😅😅.

“I do a quick assessment. Peeta and I are the only two dressed alike.” We stan a matching couple in this house 😎😏

“Almost all of the boys and at least half of the girls are bigger than I am” That means 18 out of 24 tributes tower over my girl here. Smol Katniss. The movies did such erasure on this front I’m still bitter 🤐😒😤😩

“I may be smaller naturally, but overall my family's resourcefulness has given me an edge in that area.” Just a tiny muscular thing standing next to a bunch of tall, lanky kids. 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Awww “Each [Career tribute] must have fifty to a hundred pounds on me.” I mean ... let’s calculate. A muscular girl would probably weigh like 150 pounds... so basically Katniss is at most, 100 pounds. Tiny Katty.

“I'm thinking that it's lucky I'm a fast runner when Peeta nudges my arm and I jump.” This is a random, cute interaction 😍😍😍. Shipper blinders are on and tight.

“Suppose we tie some knots.” “Right you are.” I legitimately just scratched my face, who says right you are? An 87 year old man, that’s who 😅😅😅. Not turning your girl on very well, Peeta baby.

Although it does sound a bit like a backwoods southern thing soooo.... hillbilly Everlark nation rise. 🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️

“We concentrate on this one skill for an hour until both of us have mastered it.” Awww, so Peeta knows how to tie a snare? He’s not as clueless as half the fandom acts.

How exactly is frosting cakes equating to amazing camouflager in a death match? Books crack me up with these connections. “I’m an amazing artist because I write birthday cards!”

Lolololol Prim admiring her future brother-in-law’s handiwork 🥰🥰🥰🥰 too bad she dies before they can get together for real for real.

“Somehow the whole thing - his skill, those inaccessible cakes, the praise of the camouflage expert - annoys me.” Dude, you get praised by everyone and their brother while Peeta gets overlooked, give him a moment to shine. 😑🙄 jealous wife much?

Also she’s already picking up on Peeta’s eye for beauty 😅😅😅

“It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death.” "Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake-“ "Say we move on.” She’s such a little snot. 😒😒😒

But also I love that already in this point of their relationship, Peeta is noticing when she’s being a brat 😭😂😅. “Don’t be so superior.”

“Despite Haymitch's order to appear mediocre, Peeta excels in hand-to-hand combat, and I sweep the edible plants test without blinking an eye.” Lolololol their mentor’s advise went into one ear and right out the other 😂😅🤣.

But also why did the movie make a point in adding an extra scene of Peeta looking weak and the Careers staring at him? That literally took up time and served no purpose at all. 😤😤😤 I’m coming for you, Gary Ross

Awww, everyone but the careers eat alone. But Katniss and Peeta eat together 🥺🥺🥺. It’s like a forced first date 🥳🥳🥳

I like how Katniss says they include bread from every district but she then proceeds to only mention the two districts that later have relevant tributes. 😅😅😅

Lolololol their fake friendship “laugh ... now! Okay, I’ll smile, try to say something interesting”

“Ever since I slammed my door, there's been a chill in the air between us.” Well yeah, you probably hurt his feelings 🥺🥺🥺

Umm, Katniss just casually drops that she was chased by a bear.... how did homegirl live? 😬😳

Peeta knowing Rue’s name and being the one to take notice of her first 🥺🥺🥺. If the games had come down to Katniss, Peeta and Rue, y’all know Everlark would have swallowed the berries and gotten Rue home. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around.” "All right, Katniss.” He made a single comment to you, ding dong. He didn’t ask for a goodnight kiss 🙄🙄🙄.

Also anyone ever think of how lonely Peeta’s life must be? He’s not close to his family that we can see, Delly’s his only real friend, after he wins he lives in that huge house all alone... I feel sad now. I did this to myself. 😬😭🥺

Katniss’ “Oh! The weapons!” When she sees the bows and arrows is so cute 🥰🥰🥰

Katniss has such a rage built up inside of her. Let it out, girlfriend

See, I’d have done this too but in my rage, I’d probably have shot a real person and not the pig ... goodbye, Plutarch 👋🏻

Andddd I think that’s all for this chapter! Sorry my comments weren’t as interesting as usual 😬.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, JULIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of BRUTUS. Admin Rogue: There is always something about the way you write unvarnished truth that gets me, every single time. Boris is not a likable character by any means, but I still find myself curious about him when seen through your lens. You want to make ruin of him, or maybe for him to make ruin of us, and it’s so attractively despicable that I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know if we’ve ever had a character this unapologetic, not just to some but to every single person in Verona. Let them try and eat him, let them spit him back out, let them realize he will not be swallowed no matter how much he deserves it. I can already see the way he’ll burn across the dash, a torch-song I want to touch, and I couldn’t be happier to welcome you back to us in this new and exciting form! Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB. 

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Julie

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | Given that I’ll probably be stuck at home searching for a job for the next month, I figure my activity will be okay. The usual reply every other day or so situation, I hope!

Timezone | MST

Triggers | Already listed!

How did you find the rp?  | Two years ago I went diving into the LSRPG tag because I was curious and now here we are. :)

Current/Past RP Accounts | Santino, Loretta, Lucien

IN CHARACTER

Character | Brutus / Boris Kovrov

What drew you to this character? | Brutus, I think, is one of the most human characters in Diverona by default, without development, in the sense that he is so selfish it makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. It’s the same with most people: we encourage each other to take time to themselves, to put themselves first, but can feel rebuffed or insulted when they actually do that. Boris has taken that to the ultimate extreme: everything he does is for himself and no one else. He didn’t ascend within the Montagues because he wanted to further his family’s social standings, he did it because he alone wanted to succeed.

He’s not apologetic about it, either, and that’s what makes him so interesting. At all times, Boris is fully aware he is perceived as underhanded and generally disliked among the mob, but he’s so good at what he does that it doesn’t matter. He returns to Verona with a searing brand of shame in the form of his personal betrayal, and anyone could see that if they just fucking looked close enough, but they don’t. That’s where his talent really lies, and that’s what makes him so weirdly endearing to me: he makes himself valuable, and even when he does the worst possible thing a person could do in a mob, it still doesn’t undercut his worth. He makes himself out to be a friend, lies and lies and lies, and because most people don’t want to make the effort or choose not to, it’s believable.

Some might call him cut-throat, or a coward, a backstabber, potentially even brutal: he’s not ashamed of sprinkling rat poison into the food of his competition if it means he’ll succeed. He’s an opportunist at best and a manipulator at worst, and if there’s anything to be said about Verona, it’s that the manipulators usually come out at the front of the pack. The last sentence or so in his bio are what really sealed the deal for me: “The historians fail to mention that the traitors are the ones who survive, who outlive empires and kingdoms, who lay their sovereigns to rest and spread their ashes like trail markers.” God help him, Boris will come out of Verona alive, no matter how much of it he feeds into and how much of himself he lets it consume.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

• Fly not; stand stiff: ambition’s debt is paid. I’d love to see some real-time consequences for Boris’ betrayal of the Montague family. Others have been ousted for less, but somehow he gets to remain? That doesn’t seem particularly fair, but Boris couldn’t give a shit about fair if he tried. He sold his information to a mob in Russia for the purpose of a safety net. Other emissaries also deal with Russia – it’d make sense that one of them might hear about the dark dealings and try to use it to their own advantage, were they so ambitious. Or maybe it will come from someone higher up, like Castora, who knows more than they’ve let on. Maybe this will lead to his demotion, his death, Damiano’s assassination, the ushering in of a new era – who knows? These things don’t play out without someone paying the price, and I want Brutus to pay in full.

• I kill’d not thee with half so good a will. In my head, Boris has been out of the picture for some time now, working on relations between the American families and the Montagues to keep business booming. I’d love to explore the Verona Boris left a little over a year ago (totally headcanon, by the way! I’m happy to adjust wherever necessary) and how it’s changed in comparison to what it is now. Roman Montague has failed as an heir, the Witches hung in a public trial, all illusions of neutrality or working towards peace have been shot right through the middle. Damiano is unraveling at the seams, and the question of who will lead the Montagues lacks an answer entirely. It’s complete and utter chaos: messy, bloody, exactly the kind of environment Boris thrives in. I want him to wreak as much havoc as possible in his own way, and if he can’t do that, then I’d like to see him secure his seat closest to the throne when the concept of a coup becomes inevitable.

• But hollow men, like horses hot at hand / Make gallant show and promise of their mettle. He hunts Tomas Sabello and Bernadette du Pont because they are the easiest openings into both sides of the mobs. Bernadette is croquettish and manipulative but still naive, in Boris’ eyes, to the difficult path which lies ahead. I could see him trying to sway her to the Montagues if she would only listen. Grace Daly had done it for less, after all. Sabello, on the other hand, is Boris’ favorite target: throat exposed, head leaned back, weeping tears of sorrow over his wife. Boris has experience with the follies of the heart and he can see that Celeste has never loved the man, and frankly, Boris doesn’t think there’s much to the man to love. He’s hollow on the inside, scraped out with a metal spoon. His arrival so late into the act poses some difficulties, but he’s hopeful he’ll be able to pick up where he left off.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Absolutely!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

Valentina Gallo dies a violent death. An inextricable, unforgiving death. An ugly death. When they take pull her body from her brother’s arms, and she is taken in to be seen by Damiano’s own eyes, witness the violence which has laid itself across the barren field of a corpse –

This is when Boris is called home.

Exit, Viola.

Enter, Brutus.

He bids Lorenzo and the rest of the Gambino family farewell that same night over the phone: Lorenzo calls him a bastard for not shaking his hand before saying goodbye, but Boris has other things on his mind: A plane. The brisk cold mornings that give way to blustery sunshine. Damiano greeting him as a member of the family instead of an extension of his long reach, like he had a year ago. He can remember the phone call well. He’d run it through, night after night, dissecting and picking apart intonation and tone and the speed with which Damiano had dismissed him, like a dog begging for scraps hastily shoved away from the dinner table. He lets the familiarity of the conversation wash over him as he settles in his plane seat the night of the twenty-seventh. He’ll be there by morning.

I’ll be there to greet you, Damiano had said. Boris had tried not to read into it too much.

New York was intended to be punishment and apology wrapped up into one. Damiano sent him off to deal with the budding crime syndicates and crush them under the imaginary Montague heel. He would spread seeds of dissent and terror: most fall silent when he enters a room for good reason, and it is in this way that he gets them to listen when he speaks. Most would not expect a man as imposing as Boris to speak so passionately; he’s always been a fan of turning ideas on their heads. By weaving tales of just what the Montague family has at its disposal, he alone would stamp out the passionate flames of greed and light his own small fire of fear.

In his younger years this would have intimidated Brutus. When he’d received the call a year ago, he’d only felt dread.

But he’d done well. It took him five months to chase down every single lead provided to him by men paid under the table, and after that, all there had been to do was clean up the mess and socialize. Shake hands with the shattered fragments of the once-powerful mob families, reach out to the contacts he’d had in Canada and New Orleans, as they were perhaps the most influential, the ones who could sway the boat with weaponry and other fun and exciting goods that still had his heart pounding when he looked at them.

He’d thought about calling Evgeny once, and only once: when Damiano had chewed him out over the phone for something that was not his fault and hadn’t been in his wheelhouse to begin with. Boris knew, that night, what Evgeny would say. Patience, Kovrov. We’ll be here when you’re ready.

When you’re ready. Whatever that meant. For all Evgeny knew, Boris would never be ready. He’d die with Verona just out of reach.

He startles awake as the plane hits turbulence coming into Verona, heading towards the landing strip. It’s a bumpy landing, but he’s never done well in planes to begin with. He thinks, often, of his father, who had marked to Boris that all would be well just before returning to Russia. The flight wouldn’t make it, of course. Damiano had ensured it: Sasha Kovrov had been dead weight long enough. All he could’ve hoped for, Boris thought, was that his son would prove worthy of something.

And he had. He’d crawled on his hands and knees across glass and gravel, waded through blood and sweat, and tears – never his own, if he could help it – to see the Montague family through to the other side. Could he really have been blamed for wanting to ensure he had some sort of future laid out for him, even if it wasn’t in the name of the two old bloodlines of Verona? In return, he’d gotten: a usurpation of a position that should have been his, a pound’s worth of rat poison that he couldn’t use, distrust among his peers and disgust from the one man who should have seen his dedication, and a promise he couldn’t act upon until he was ready.

враки.

He exits the plane, meets Damiano on the tarmac, and just as quickly they are swept away by Damiano’s driver. There is no discussion of previous business, tasks he has completed. Craven is mentioned offhandedly, but Boris had to admit some time in September that whatever illicit ties Everett Craven had to the Capulets when it came to his dealings in America, the man kept them wound up tight. He’d been impressed. Instead, they set their eyes on the future: Damiano speaks to him of the failures and successes, trials and tribulations, and Boris takes note of the way his brow knits together when he speaks.

It is like Damiano cannot bear to look at him, but is forcing himself to anyway. Surely his betrayal had not burned so badly. It wouldn’t have left a mark.

Valentina Gallo died for less. She didn’t give nearly as much away. She’d given what she had to give. Boris had given Evgeny everything, and then offered the grounds of the coffee to Damiano in return.

Boris is lucky to be alive, seated across from a man he might have once considered a better father than his own, who looks at him with poorly-veiled discuss and tells him what to do. Boris had sold his soul – this might just be the devil’s recompense.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, watching the city pass them by, nodding where appropriate and watching the sun rise over the river as they drive alongside it. If he gets his way, Damiano Montague will be sooner dethroned, and Brutus will have his rightful place as second-in-command to some poorer, less competent man. If he is anything, it’s stubborn. They drive by the Castelvecchio, and he’s saddened to see it is still a work in progress, not at all the shining beacon it had once been of unity or pride within a place being torn in two, right down the middle. He feels a pang of something hit him in his chest. Homesickness? He’s home, but—

Boris’ flat is small, modest, tucked away in an alley. Close enough to the library that he can be there within minutes just by walking, if necessary. All the pedestrians on the street avert their eyes when they see Damiano’s car pull up outside. He grabs the one bag he’d taken with him on the plane: he’s hopeful the rest will arrive within the week, but that’s an if at best. Before he slips out, Damiano clears his throat.

He stops, and finds a single piece of paper pressed into his hand. He can only assume what it is, won’t open it – it’s deliberately folded closed. It could be anything: a name, a number, a place, a threat, a promise.

“When you’re ready,” Damiano murmurs, like some sort of sick joke, which is to say that it will be when he asks, because Boris ceded any hope at control over his own life the minute he sold all he possessed to the Russian mob, heart and mind and soul, only to crawl back to Verona just after. Some might’ve called him a fool, but he’d only seen the future, then. If only others could see the eclipsing horizon always in his sight.

It’s here that Boris is left: a small alley, out of sight of the rest of the world, the morning sun shining on his face. The future in his hand. He opens it before he has the chance to breathe in again, the vitriol in his heart already beginning to sear out through his ribcage.

Extras: N/A

[kitten1618x]

GoT Afterthoughts ep. 08x02 ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ (Jonsa Edition)

Guys this episode was sooooooo good! Okay, okay, okay, let’s unpack here! I have lots of thoughts and since this isn’t broken up into parts, this is going to be a long post, so I’m gonna drop this bad boy under a read more. 

We begin in the Great Hall. It appears Jaime is on trial. Queen Dany sits at the head of the table—and imagine having the fucken audacity to sit in Winterfell — in Rickard fucken Starks seat—and in front of his grandchildren, talking about the extermination of Aerys Targaryen like he was some noble king that was just slaughtered by the big bad kingslayer, and NOT the murderous fucken mad Targ king, whom crimes’ you just recently apologized to Jon for, and called him evil to conveniently set yourself apart from him—or did you just forget all that, Dany? Hmmm? IMAGINE the big hairy pair you have to have to actually sit in between the Starks in their own home and utterly disrespect them like that—all while claiming to be in love with one of them? Wow. Just wow. And no, I’m not even sorry for that amazingly clunky run-on sentence, either.

~

I see that Jaime still has no interest in setting the record straight on why he killed Aerys Targaryen. It appears only Brienne will truly ever know about the millions of people he saved that day in doing so. Jaime stands his ground, though, and gives up Cersei’s plans. Tyrion tries to stand up for him, but Dany cuts him off at the knees (no pun intended), embarrassing him in front of everyone, as per ush.

~

For a moment her and Sansa have common ground. Sansa doesn’t trust Jaime either because of the wrongs he committed against her family. Jamie won’t apologize for any of it— their houses were at war. But Brienne vouches for him—my courageous, yet shy bb (God, I love her), and Sansa relents, her mind changed when Brienne says she’d fight beside him. Sansa trusts Brienne with her life, therefore Brienne trusting Jaime with hers is good enough for the Lady of Winterfell.

Dany is clearly not pleased with this turn of events. She turns to Jon, addressing him as Warden of the North and asks him what he thinks — assuming he will take her side, but—

He does not.

~

Dany finally relents as well, grounding out a “very well” between clenched teeth, as Tyrion breathes a sigh of relief that his big bro will not be extra crispy or original recipe’d today. GreyWorm returns Jaime’s sword—rather forcefully, knowing his queen is displeased—as Jaime thanks Dany for her uncharacteristic mercy.

~

Scene Highlights:

Bran blurting out “the things we do for love” and leaving Jaime shooketh

Sansa immediately standing up and leaving without waiting to be dismissed by the queen, and Jon ducking his head to avoid eye contact and then dipping as soon as Dany turns to face him.

~

Which takes us into the corridors of Winterfell and Dany resorting to her favorite pastime when she’s angry about things not going her way: berating her Hand in front of everyone. Luckily for Tyrion it’s just Jorah and Varys to witness it this time. Once again she accuses him of treason, and Tyrion is pretty sure that his time as Hand in her service is fast dwindling.

~

We jump to the forge where Arya stands back admiring Gendry work his magic—a callback to their time at Harrenhall in their younger years. They have a little flirty weaponry banter, and Arya wants to know what the AotD are like. She utters the iconic ‘many faces of death’ lines from the trailer while she impresses Gendry with some dead ass accurate blade throwing. He’ll be getting right on making her that weapon, by the way—and probably walking a little funny while he does it. 😉

~

Jaime seeks out Bran in the Godswood. He apologizes for what he did and tells Bran he’s not that person anymore. “You still would be if you hadn’t pushed me out that window, and I’d still be Brandon Stark.” Wow. Jaime wants to know why Bran didn’t tell them what he did, and Bran basically tells him it’s because they need him. When Jaime inquires “what about afterwards?” Bran drops an ominous “how do you know there will be an afterwards?”

~

We jump back to the Winterfell courtyard, where the Lannister brothers are catching up and commiserating about being in Winterfell again. Dany is different, Tyrion tells Jaime, and Jaime doesn’t seem so convinced. Tyrion wants to know if Cersei lied about the baby, and Jaime tells him that was true (as far as he/we know, people). But what I REALLY love about their conversation is this part:

~

J: She’s always been good at using the truth to tell lies. Don’t be too hard on yourself. She’s fooled me more than anybody.

~

T: She never fooled you. You always knew exactly what she was, and you loved her anyway.

~

The funny, or actually ironic thing about this conversation is they’re talking about Cersei, but if you flip the dialogue between the Lannister brothers here, the same could be said for Dany—especially the bolded part. Think back to the things Tyrion said to Jorah when he kidnapped him back in season 5 — he was confused by Jorah’s blind loyalty, too. How the mighty have fallen, Tyrion.

~

They move their conversation up to the battlements, where Tyrion finds the silver lining that at least he won’t die at Cersei’s hands, and perhaps once he’s torn apart by the dead, he’ll march to Kings Landing and rip her apart too. But he’s talking to himself, because Jaime is too busy watching Brienne supervising the training of her ranks just outside the gates.

~

And my Braime heart is siiiiiiiinging!!!

~

He joins her below, and she calls him out for acting weird and not insulting her as per ush. lol It’s really just an adorable little love spat — complete with awkwardness and frustration and plenty of UST. And as the music lulls romantically, he basically admits that she’s the reason he’s here and even though he’s no longer the fighter that he used to be, he‘d be honored to serve under her command if she’ll have him—which is basically fucken a straight up declaration of love, okay? He literally just said—complete with puppy dog eyes—“I love you.” CHANGE MY MIND!!

~

Brienne is taken aback by this declaration of love and is at loss for words — and so she ducks out, leaving him to watch after her forlornly. And my Braime heart is still siiiiiiiinging!!!!

~

We head back inside of Winterfell, Dany is alone in her chambers — and they aren’t the Lord’s Chambers, that’s for damn sure. She’s not having a very good day, and her expression here certainly reflects that. Jorah enters, asking her forgiveness, reminding her that forgiveness is important. This leads into a conversation where he basically asks her to take it easy on Tyrion and give him another chance.

~

While book!Jorah might be a creep, I truly adore show!Jorah, who laments that when he found out Dany gave Tyrion this position, it broke his heart, but he still believes that Tyrion was the right choice; he’s smart, he owns his mistakes and he learns from them.

~

What I find odd is Dany’s reply: “You’re advising me to forgive the man who stole your position?”

~

Wait... what? When did Tyrion do that? I recall Dany proudly pinning that golden hand pin on a very humbled Tyrion in the season 6 finale—not some rabid dwarf attacking an unsuspecting Jorah and wrestling the position from his gnarled greyscaled hands—and what-the-ever-living-fuck kind of crazy ass dialogue are they giving this girl?

~

Jorah has one other suggestion for her, if she’ll allow him such liberties. Annnnnd now the Sansa/Dany scene makes so much more sense. Dany didn’t seek Sansa out of her own accord to try and bridge the icy gap between them because she’s just so humble and wonderful and loving and good!!!! !!!! !!!! It was actually Ser Jorah’s idea.

~

So Dany takes him up on his suggestion and seeks Sansa out, finding her in the library with Lord Royce. But ahhhh this scene is just so fucken good, so let’s unpack it, shall we?

~

Dany enters and asks that they speak in private, and Sansa cedes to her wishes, dismissing Lord Royce.

~

D - I thought you and I were on the verge of agreement before... about Ser Jaime.

~

S - Brienne has been loyal to me always. I trust her more than anyone.

~

D - I wish I could have that kind of faith in my advisers.

~

Here she takes a low blow at Tyrion again, but Sansa defends him.

~

S - Tyrion is a good man. He was never anything but decent towards me.

~

D - I didn’t ask him to be my hand simply because he was good. I asked him to be my hand because he was good and intelligent and ruthless when he had to be. (See, I told y’all Tyrion didn’t steal the position... and yes, I’m being petty lol). Dany steps closer into Sansa’s space as she continues. He never should have trusted Cersei.

~

S - You never should have either.

~

Sansa drops a truth bomb, insinuating (rightly) that Dany shares the blame here, and Dany doesn’t like this at all. She swallows, containing her anger and paints on a fake smile in her irritation at Sansa’s words.

~

D - I thought he knew his sister.

~

S - Families are complicated.

~

Dany smiles at that and pulls up a seat, indicating for Sansa to do the same.

~

D - Ours certainly have been.

~

S - A sad thing to have in common.

~

D - We have other things in common. We’ve both known what it means to lead people who aren’t inclined to accept a woman’s rule. And we’ve both done a damn good job of it, from what I can tell...

~

Sansa smiles briefly at this. Clearly, Dany is using the compliment strategy again, but not so shallowly this time. Even if she truly believes this, the commonality of them both being women ruling is where this similarity ends. We’ve seen how differently they run things via season 7’s blatant comparison of ‘the three queens’. Sansa stores food, Cersei steals it, and Dany burns it (and yes, I’m going to keep bringing this up). But honestly, who could forget?

vs.

D - (cont.) ...and yet I can’t help feeling like we’re at odds with each other. Why is that?

~

Sansa takes a deep breath but doesn’t reply.

~

D - Your brother?

~

Yeah y’all, they really did that. But again I say, no love triangle brewing here, folks.

~

S - He loves you, you know that? *(I’ll address this in a minute)

~

D - That bothers you?

~

S - Men do stupid things for women. They’re easily manipulated.

~

D - All my life I’ve known one goal. The iron throne. Taking it back from the people that destroyed my family, and almost destroyed yours. My war was against them until I met Jon. Now I’m here, half a world away, fighting Jon’s war alongside him. Tell me, who manipulated whom?

~

Y’all are you serious?!?!? This entire fucken monologue is like literally POLITICAL!JON — I mean, it’s like D&D are literally fucken trolling this relationship so hard. Nothing like hiding some shit right out in plain sight for all the world to not see it. *And if you think for one minute that Sansa is not playing the game here, and that she actually did a complete 180, then I don’t know what to tell you other than, just wait and see.

~

There was a reason that they cut that office scene between her and Jon in the last episode, and after mulling it over with a few of my comrades, I think that it’s possible that Jon came clean and brought Sansa in on it. They have been a unit since they reunited, and a major part of Sansa’s hostility in the last episode was because she felt Dany was encroaching upon that, and she was losing Jon. Romantic or platonic, no one can deny the dynamic is there between Jon and Sansa. I happen to think it’s romantic, and I will die on this hill—but political!jon and jonsa aren’t mutually exclusive!!! !!! Okay, back to our dialogue.

~

S - (releases a small laugh and looks down—and I can’t help hearing Catelyn’s voice in my head: ‘you always look at your feet when you lie’) I should have thanked you the moment you arrived. That was a mistake. 

~

D- (reaching down and placing her hand atop of Sansa’s). I’m here because I love your brother, and I trust him. And I know he’s true to his word. He’s only the second man in my life I can say that about. 

~

S - Who was the first?

~

D- Someone taller. 

~

They both giggle. I assume the other man she’s talking about is Drogo. In any event, I feel Dany is being truly sincere here. This is why people (her stans and the GA both) have a hard time seeing the darkness in her—because one minute she’s sitting narrow-eyed at a table, fighting off a tantrum while she drones on about her father—the fucken mad king—and how her and her brother fantasized about what they would do to the man that murdered him (one can only assume she wasn’t implying knitting him a sweater and mittens), and the next minute she’s all gentle heart and eyes and soft tones about loving and trusting Jon, and giggling with his sister about her ex being much taller than him. I get it. I really do.

~

But here’s the thing about political!jon that the antis and the jonerii always get wrong—at least the version I subscribe to (and yes, there are several variations of it because we aren’t a hive-mind like we’re always accused of being): Jon has every intention of fulfilling his pledge to Dany and whatever that entails—which is why he keeps trying to convince everyone that she’ll be a good queen (including himself). But he doesn’t love her. He simply used the feelings that he recognized that she had for him, to manipulate her to his cause. This doesn’t mean that he’ll throw her out of winterfell and bone his sister when it’s all said and done—because no, Jon isn’t a creep, but he is actually rather cunning when he deems it necessary.

~

However, he won’t have to keep up the charade, or boot her ass out of the north, or any of the other things the jonerii accuse us of ‘fantasizing’ about, because Dany is going to go dark, and everyone will see her for what she truly is. So, let’s return to our dialogue so I can get tf off of this scene! lol

~ S - And what happens afterwards? We defeat the dead, you destroy Cersei, what happens then?

~

D - I take the iron throne. 

~

S - What about the North? (Sansa’s tone drops here as she becomes emotional about her home and her people, the music becomes more ominous as the softness ebbs from Dany’s face). It was taken from us, and we took it back. And we said we’d never bow to anyone else again. (Her tone gets sharper, as she asks again). What about the North?

~

Dany looks angry now. She’s done playing nice, as she pulls her hand back from Sansa’s. The ominous music drones on as they stare at each other, and the maester interrupts them.~Theon has arrived at Winterfell. The music swells, and Theon looks first to a very visibly emotional Sansa, then Dany, and then back to Sansa again before customarily bowing to and acknowledging his queen. Suddenly Dany gives a flying fuck about her ally and inquires about Yara. Theon explains she’s taken back the Iron Islands in her (Dany’s) name.

~

“But why aren’t you with her?” Dany asks, confused at his presence, while the music swells again and Theon looks again, to Sansa—and not his queen. Dany of course notices this, and turns to look at Sansa as well, as Theon directly addresses—you guessed it—Sansa, and not his queen: “I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa. If you’ll have me.”

~

And oh dear god, I’m so emotional rn, as Sansa’s eyes flood with tears and she runs to envelope Theon in a hug — Theon whom through his own trauma, not only helped to get her away from Ramsay and safely to Jon — but also cared enough for her and the Starks and what he did, to come back and finish making amends!!!! And you know Sansa is so proud of him!!! And I just had a conversation earlier with my bb @scullylikesscience that Theon would likely pledge to protect Bran, and that he will also likely sacrifice himself somehow to save one of the Starks, therefore completing his redemption arc, and I just can’t even rn— 😭😭

~

Scene Highlights:

Lord Royce leaving only when Sansa dismissed him.

Dany witnessing firsthand the devotion that Sansa and the Starks inspire in people.

Also... don’t forget

We’re back out in the courtyard, where Dadvos is serving up dinner to the Northerners with a side of confidence, and Gilly is advising a woman where to go below in the crypts. A little orphan(?) girl with burns on the side of her face asks Davos where she should go and my fucken heart is shattering again because you know he sees Princess Shireen in her!!!

~

And Fuck you Bryan Cogman, you’re killing me!!!

~

She’s not sure where to go because she knows the children are going to the crypts where they’ll be safer, but both of her brothers were soldiers and so she wants to fight too. Auntie Gilly to the rescue: she tells the girl that she’d feel much safer if she was down in the crypts protecting her and her son, and with a purpose, the girl happily accepts her bowl and heads off as Gilly smiles softly at Davos. And god dammit, Liam Cunningham played this scene so well. He literally has me tearing up here!

~

The horn blows for a new arrival, and Edd is here! The last of the Nights Watch are back together again — and Tormund. lol He glomps Jon, affectionately dubbing him his ‘little crow’, and they let Jon know that Last Hearth is done for and anyone else who’s still out there is pretty much part of the AotD now. They have until sunrise to finish preparing. 

~

And the war council has commenced.~We get a little glimpse of what the NK wants, I guess??? Bran says “he wants to erase this world, and I am its memory.” —but why? And then Sam says something pretty poignant that I want @thelawyerthatwaspromised ‘s thoughts/opinion on: “That’s what death is, isn’t it? Forgetting. Being forgotten. If we forget where we’ve been and what we’ve done, we’re not men anymore, just animals.Your memories don’t come from books, your stories aren’t just stories. If I wanted to erase the world, I may not start with you.”

~

Pretty sure those that theorized that Sam is writing A Song of Ice and Fire were right, y’all —  and with such a ‘poetic’ title, to boot.

~

They strategize a plan to ferret the NK out using (a volunteering) Bran as bait in the Godswood. Theon volunteers himself and the Iron Born to stay with Bran and protect him (and jfc here comes the end I predicted for Theon and I hate it so much), as Jon shares that taking out the NK will likely diminish the entire army. They cement their battle plans and Dany insists Tyrion stay in the crypts because she intends to keep him on as Hand. Tormund announces that they are all going to die, but at least they’ll die together, and Jon suggests everyone get some rest. Avoiding eye contact with Dany, he utters “your grace,” and then quickly ducks out on her ass again, leaving her looking confused and frustrated.

~

Scene Highlights:

Jon’s commanding presence in this meeting — even so far as to dismiss everyone, despite the fact that Dany is the queen and supposed to be the one calling the shots. Even her people look to him here for leadership, which is interesting.

Aegon Targaryen and his sister-wives.

Thank you @goodqueenalys ❤️

Alys Karstark making another appearance here, standing beside Theon—yeah, I’m becoming more and more convinced we’re getting a Sansa death fake-out at the expense of this ginger beauty.

~

We head back out to the courtyard where a lonely looking Missandei attempts to befriend some northern children. Unfortunately, she came with the Dragon Queen, so they want nothing to do with her. Grey Worm joins her and the two make plans to leave for Naath after Dany takes the throne — which means that one of them is probably going to die. Sigh.

~

Way up high on the ramparts, Sam asks Jon if he’s told Dany yet. He has not, and so Sam prods him a bit — and oh look, there’s Ghost, off to the side looking like they literally photo-shopped him into the scene. 🙄

~

Edd joins them, and the last of the Watchers On The Wall commiserate, and poke a little fun at Sam. I’m very emotional as Edd says “last man left, burn the rest of us” (which most likely won’t be him) as they pan out to the northern scenery in the distance.

~

The Lannister boys are reminiscing again, this time by the hearth and are joined by Brienne and Podrick. Momma Brienne allows Pod a half cup of wine (which Tyrion overflows) and Jaime encourages her to join them (smitten fool). She does, as well as Davos and Tormund, too—who is fucken hilarious here as he tries to impress Brienne with one of his tall tales, then sloppily downs his horn of sour goats milk. It’s all rather strange. lol

~

There’s a brief scene of Arya and the Hound on the ramparts. She wants to know what he’s doing here—when’s the last time he fought for anyone but himself, as to which he replies: “I fought for you, didn’t I?” True enough. Beric joins them and Arya takes her leave, declaring she doesn’t intend to spend her last hours with these two miserable old shits. lol

~

I’m not sure where she headed off to, but Gendry finds her and presents her with her weapon. Arya wants to know what the red woman wanted with him. He tells her his blood because he’s Robert Baratheon’s bastard — which leads into Arya wanting to know how many women he’s been with. Gendry avoids the question, but Arya persists, many face gaming his ass until he relents. LOL

~

The number is 3, and Arya wants to be number 4. She wants to know what it’s like before she dies. And holy shit, they went there! They kiss passionately, with Arya taking the lead. She orders him to take his own bloody pants off and takes the bull for a ride—if ya know what I mean... 😉

We return to the group before the hearth in the hall. Tyrion remarks that almost all among them had fought the Starks at some point, and yet, here they all are defending them. But yeah, this story is about a Targaryen restoration.

~

In their battle banter, it comes up that Brienne is not a Knight—and while Tormund would happily Knight her gorgeous big-womaned ass ten times over, tradition does not allow her to be one because she’s a woman. Oh the irony that the most honorable of them all—the one who actually is a true knight, cannot be named one. Until Jaime says, “hold my beer!” (or wine, rather).

~

Okay guys, like honestly, this is probably my most favorite scene of the entire series. Everything about it is so beautiful and wholesome, as Jaime declares any Knight can make another Knight and bids Brienne to kneel. She looks to Pod who, with an adoring face, gives her a little nod of encouragement, then she looks to Jaime, and he does the same.

~

The lovely music, the proud faces of all the men who look on with awe as Brienne kneels and Jaime says the words, pressing his blade gently from one shoulder to the other and makes some fucken Westerosi history when he says proudly: “Arise Brienne of Tarth, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

~

Guuuuuuuys!!!! Omg!!!! I’m definitely ugly CRYING here!!!! Brienne’s eyes welling with tears, her proud smile, all these men clapping and their proud faces!!! Yeah, this is definitely 10/10 my most FAVORITE ever GoT scene!!! Just beautiful!

~

We jump back out to the courtyard where a very adorable and yet insanely stubborn little Lyanna Mormont is arguing with Jorah about going to the crypts. She pledged to fight for the North and she intends to, so she bids her cousin good fortune and leaves to take her place. Sadly, I think that she will not make it through the battle for Winterfell.

~

Sam has come to give Jorah Heartsbane. This is another very loaded and lovely scene, and my heart is pretty heavy, because I’m not very confident that Jorah will make it out of this battle alive, either. Sam tells him: “your father taught me how to be a man. Taught me how to do what’s right. This is right,” as he presents him the sword. Jorah accepts this heartfelt gesture and declares that he will wield it in his memory, to guard the realms of men.

~

BRYAN COGMAN!!!! I’M COMING FOR YOU FOR MAKING ME CRY ALL DAMN NIGHT!!!!

~

But seriously, the dynamic between Jorah and Sam has just been so beautiful. And all the antis can fuck right off with their shit-talking of this beautiful and wholesome creature that is Samwell Tarly!

~

We jump back to the crew before the hearth who are loathe to call it a night. Tyrion wants a song, and we are treated to Pod’s beautiful rendition of Jenny of Oldstones — and this entire montage is so beautiful, as we see how everyone is prepping for battle, spending their last hours with those they love and saying their goodbyes. The desperation in Missandei and GreyWorm’s very passionate goodbye kiss is extremely moving and makes me think this is probably their final kiss goodbye, and Jorah looks so gallant as he swings ‘round his horse, making his father proud and my heart is just swelling with love and dread and ughhhhhhhh!!!!!

~

At first I was a bit upset that none of the Starks were actually together here, but in my rewatch, I’ve come to understand why a little bit more. It seems as if they’ve all revisited their own life’s journey prior to coming home (in this episode). Jon, on the ramparts with Ghost and his remaining brothers of the Nights Watch. Arya, first sharing a brief moment with the Hound and Beric (brothers without banners), and then with Gendry. Sansa sharing a meal with Theon out in the courtyard in the home that holds both good and traumatic memories for both of them. He redeemed himself through her (as Jon said), and they share a bond of both surviving Ramsay and his horrors.

~

Bryan Cogman did NOT disappoint with this lovely episode, which has been what we will surely look back on as a bittersweet eulogy of sorts to some of the beloved characters we’ve come to know over the years. Yeah, this was beautifully done.

~

Ahhh, and lastly, we delve down into the crypts where Jon stands before the statue of his mother. Dany has very obviously (and understandably) grown tired of being avoided and sought him out. When he acknowledges her presence with a brief glance and a very faint smile, she cautiously moves closer and wraps her arms around him. And yep, here it is—the reveal. I honestly thought he would keep it from her as long as he possibly could, but I guess he figures they might all bite it anyway, so fuck it... (i’m kidding!! Or am i??)

~

Dany is taken aback by his words. She releases a shuddering breath and immediately steps away from him, denying it: that’s impossible. Jon tells her he wishes it were — and I fully believe him. Aside from the full-on identity crisis he’s been experiencing, you all know he has no interest in the Iron Throne... all this man has ever wanted was to protect his home, and the ones he loves.

~

Dany thinks there’s a conspiracy against her between Bran and Sam—and now Jon’s tone and demeanor have changed a bit. He takes a step towards her and insists that it’s true, calling her Dany because it’s informal and personal, and he knows now that she’s his aunt—that means she’s still his family—and I think he’s hoping that they’ll still be able to find some common ground with that.

~

But the fact that she’s found actual family—that she’s not really the last Targaryen alone in the world anymore—doesn’t seem to affect her as much as the fact that Jon is the last male heir of their line, and so therefore his claim for the throne overrides hers. A claim he has expressed no want or intent for, mind you. Maybe he intended to tell her no one would have to know, and he’d never contest her claim if she’d agree to leave the North independent when it’s all said and done... who knows? Certainly not Jon, because it’s clear he’s taken aback by her response here.

~

D - if it were true, it would make you the last male heir of House Targaryen (she grounds out those bolded words through clenched teeth and Kit’s micro expressions are on point—jfc, Watch his eyes!!). You’d have a claim to the iron throne.

~

And with the final utterance of Dany’s last words, the war horns sound. As if that doesn’t seem like a harbinger of Targbowl?!?!

~

But I will say, in my honest and most humble opinion, that his delivery here was all wrong. The way Jon lamented the story, it kind of came off as if it’s something he might have known all along... and therefore she most certainly will feel betrayed at this. Especially considering her earlier conversation with Sansa. Which, the crazy ass irony of it all is, with political!jon, he was actually already betraying her—just not about what she’ll think it was. Did I say that right? lol

~

They join Tyrion on the Ramparts, the dead are here. Jon looks towards Dany, nodding as if to ask if she’s ready, and she storms off ahead of him, anger evident on her face.

~

Ahhhhhhhhh, I’m really scared for Jon here, guys...!!! What are your thoughts?

~

Remember to care for yourselves and stay hydrated as we slug through this hellish week!

~

ty @farmgirlusa for your dialogue corrections. 

[avani008]

For @panur, who wanted several drabbles in the Nimaya-verse, namely: (1) canon Bhalla finding contentment in the AU he’s been shifted into, (2) canon Kattappa working out the difference in Bhalla, (3) Nimaya! Bhalla bringing about a reconciliation between Sivagami and Baahu and (4) a cracky Nimaya-based AU where Bhalla becomes an artistic Kumar Varna’s muse.

*

It’s the birth of Baahu’s brat that does it. Not that Bhalla is to be accused of any avuncular sentimentality; he would not falter to see the child strangled, and still might if it does not stop screaming—but there is something to the scene before him, Kattappa’s face threatening to split from his smile, Mother forgetting herself sufficiently to disregard the baby spitting up moments after she takes it, Mahen—the brat reaching its tiny fists trustingly (or is that challengingly?) towards Bhalla. The heir to the throne looks to have all Devasena’s mercurial temper, the crown is on his brother’s head and not Bhalla’s own, and yet his shoulders are set low, a bubble of what is not-quite-laughter centered in his chest, and this can only mean—

“I’m happy,” Bhalla discovers, taken aback, and ignores, with some dignity, Devasena’s snort in response.

*

At first Kattappa assumes Bhalla will refuse his request. Why should he not? It is for the royal family to give orders, and Kattappa to obey, rather than the other way around; but despite his fears, the prince is outside Kattappa’s quarters at daybreak.

“Yes?” He demands, not a little impatiently. “What is it? Are we under attack?”

“Nothing of the sort, my prince.” Kattappa kindly pretends not to notice how Bhalla droops with disappointment. “It was only—I wished to ask you a question.”

The prince does a poor job of hiding his surprise—you called me all this way so something so simple?—but holds his tongue, which firms Kattappa’s resolve.

“It has not escaped my notice,” he begins, before he can think better of it, “that you appear….changed, these last few months.” As ill-tempered as ever, but not as prone to the dangerous fits of brooding. Less fond of the company of his despicable father.

Almost—affectionate, in his way, towards his brother.

Bhalla does not deny any of this. Instead he laughs, almost out of surprise. “And here I thought,” he says, “that you were incapable of noticing anything that didn’t have to do with your precious Baahu!”

The bitterness, however slight, in the prince’s voice keeps Kattappa from rattling off another comparison to dogs and their observational skills out of sheer habit. True, Baahu was dearer to him in a way that defied comparison; but Kattappa trained Bhalla as well, and a teacher cannot help but care for his pupils, particularly one as gifted as the elder prince had been.

“Not so,” he says gently, “but as the change seemed to bring you happiness—seemed to have given you peace, I thought it best not to mention it.” Bhalla studies him curiously. “Then why now?”

“Because you are not the prince I knew, and only now did it occur to this fool to ask what had become of him.” Demons he had considered, and gods, too: but in none of his fancies had he wondered what had become of Bhallaladeva. He has been grateful to this new Bhalla for bringing new warmth into the Royal Family, for allowing his Baahu to be King—but not if it comes at the cost of having Bhallaladeva suffer.

The man before him considers. “I am not certain myself,” he says. “I woke up….here without notice. But I wonder—if I found myself here, might not be be left behind in my place?”

A more difficult prospect to arrange a rescue, but Kattappa will not falter. But before he does: “Is he happy there, do you think?”

Bhalla smiles. “I think he must be,” he says with sudden assurance, and for Kattappa, that is enough.

*

Mother, Bhalla decides at last, is being ridiculous.

Initially he assumed that her wrath could only last so long, but weeks have passed, still with her stony silence. She attends advisory meetings only under the greatest duress; she will not so much as answer Baahu even when he asks her opinions on the weather. Bhalla found this mystifying at first, then strangely amusing, and now outright tiring.

Therefore, he decides: no more.

The trouble is that Mother doesn’t seem inclined to cooperate. His initial efforts do not meet with success; and how was he to know that talking to her of his brother’s (and, much as it pains him, sister-in-law’s) positive traits would irritate her? Or that sending Baahu and Mother to supposed meetings where they should be the only two present would only lead to more awkwardness?

“If,” comments Baahu, “you are trying to convince me you aren’t suited for diplomacy in the slightest, rest assured you have been successful.”

Bhalla ignores him; his mental acuity is put to better use thinking up reconciliation rather than insults.

“You worry too much,” says Baahu, “just like Devasena. All will be well, once Mother sees her grandchild.”

Easy enough to proclaim, less so to believe, and outright impossible to effect when Mother, being Mother, refuses to see the newborn child. Devasena huffs, Baahu seems heartbroken, and Kattappa hangs his head. It falls to Bhalla to take action—as always!—and so he seeks Mother out where she sulks in her darkened quarters.

“Is this,” he asks, “how they will remember the Queen Mother Sivagami? Too frightened even to look upon an infant?”

He retreats before she can retaliate, but the words have their intended effect. Hours later Mother sweeps into Baahu’s bedroom, peering down critically into the cradle.

Everyone else present holds their breath, save Bhalla: are they all so ignorant of Mother’s greatest weakness? Apparently so, by the way no one else seems to notice the softening of her smile as she looks down at the infant, or the manner in which she instinctively leans closer.

“He’ll do,” she murmurs at last, and stretches a hand down to the sleeping Mahendra Baahubali, and everyone sighs as one.

Bhalla congratulates himself on a job well done.

*

“Your choice in subjects,” Devasena wrinkles her nose, almost as though she can’t help it, “is contemptible.”

“Inspiration is blind,” replies Kumar Varma loftily, though he’s a trifle unsure that he remembers the phrase correctly. “It strikes where it will.”

They stare at the painting before him together, half incomplete but still clearly showing the elder prince of Mahishmati. And whatever she might think, Kumar Varma is not to be faulted if Prince Bhallaladeva provides the most fitting subject to immortalize in paint—that it also irritates him is an unanticipated blessing.

Devasena sighs, forbearing to roll her eyes. “If you must, then—though I don’t suppose you could work in a wild beast preparing to pounce and tear him to shreds?”

[stevensavage]

A Bridge To The Quiet Planet - Religion

(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve's Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

Let's get to know more about the setting of my upcoming novel, A Bridge To The Quiet Planet.  It’s out late this fall but you can find out about the world now . . .

Religion

Religion on modern Telvaren and it's colonies is a practical affair due to the simple matter that aeons of worship, theology, magic, science, and a few confused holy wars and philosophical battles have led to religion becoming an organized, well-understood part of culture.  It's there, it has its purpose, and if you want to actually read up on it there's extensive books, theses, and scientific papers that can bore you into knowledge.

At it's core, religion essentially accepts that the gods are real (which is easy when they tell you they are) and that humanity and they benefit from the interaction.  There's several hundred gods at last count so there's plenty of gods to interact with, though they're not always on the same side, or in agreement, or understandable.  But in the end, religion provides mutual benefit, as found by aeons of work and a few centuries of recovering from the devastating event simply called The War.

Gods

Gods predate humanity.  They are conceptual creatures, a face on the abstract forces and powers of the world and of life itself.  The variable nature of reality, often called magic, seems to play a role in this, but the simplest way people are taught to think about it is that life can evolve from anything - even abstract concepts or non-living natural forces.

The gods are the masks the world puts on, life that evolves "over" the abstract.

The evolution of humanity, of thinking creatures able to conceive and dream, and conceptualize was a boon for the gods.  Human minds and emotions manifested the abstract forces of life and thought more than anything else; their ideas and thoughts enriched the lives of the gods and helped them grow and become more aware.  Metaphorically (and to an extent, accurately), humanity is the environment gods live in; creatures of life and death, industry and war, thought and art.

It's considered by many Evolutionary Theologians to be similar to how dogs and humans affected each other's evolution, though no one is sure who's the dog and who's the human in the relationship.  The Sixth Sage is noted as saying the dogs probably got insulted by this comparison, which is a very popular saying among dog owners and seen on many t-shirts by people thinking they're witty.

Gods and Humans co-evolved, with the humans providing a rich environment for the gods, and the gods happily lending their power and insights to people.  Out of this evolved worship and rituals and holidays to keep gods and humans in sync.

It is said that gods could indeed exist without humanity, and all evidence indicates this is true.  But their lives would be like living in an arid desert; you can live, but that's all you can do.  The War is said to have terrified the gods and helped re-shape their relationships with humans and each other.

Religion

Religious practices are viewed practically, but they also vary extremely with god, families, neighborhoods, and regions - gods and humans tend to take different views of "what works."  Usually this is close to, but not always the same, and when you throw a few hundred gods into the mix it's confusing.

There are enormous efforts, especially post-Reformation, to ensure organized religion is even more organized.  This sometimes actually works, but it also means there are endless meetings and sessions and attempts to codify works.  There are always newly discovered holy text that may seem revolutionary to humans, but to a god are just something they "wrote down" and they didn't think of the culture-changing impact.  The great Theopolis of Triad True is constantly abuzz with work, and boasts a bureaucracy that would make even the great historical mages of Phoenix Ascendant jealous - albeit jealous in an organized manner.

Among all this attempt to codify everything from clerical titles (which are known to change every few years) to agreements with the gods, the front line of human-god relations are clerics.

Clerics

"Cleric" is the catch-all term for a person who is in contact with a specific god, voluntarily, and has an ongoing relationship with them.  A Cleric is officially recognized by their god and their Church (or Temple, or whatever title) as being a direct line to the god in question.

Clerics provide advice from holy texts and occasionally the gods themselves.  They provide prophecy from the gods - which has only increased as Network usage has expanded and the gods took to email centuries ago.  They also provide blessings, channeling some of a gods power to the faithful.

However, Clerics also provide a service to the gods in that they are their connection to humans.  Clerics help the gods understand humanity and stay in touch with the world.  This part of the relationship is not always understood by other humans.

Clerics often have a variety of powers granted them by the god, sometimes without the god actually thinking much about it.  These are classified as:

Aspect: Almost all Clerics develop a talent or ability that reflects the sphere of their god.  A Cleric of the goddess of war may have supernatural tactical sense, a Cleric of the god of scheduling may have precognition, and so on.  These Aspects usually have to be called upon consciously, and though in theory unlimited, some "turn off" at odd moments if a cleric strays too far from their god's plans.

Glamour: Though Clerics hate this title, most Clerics have the ability to inspire people with certain emotions related to their gods - sometimes without thinking.  It is called "Inspiration" by most Clerics, but popular opinion has left them stuck with "Glamour."

Exorcism: All Clerics in theory can release some of their gods raw power to disrupt demons, malicious spirits and ghosts, and other anomolies.  Few actually use it - it's basically the spiritual equivalent of putting a lighter in front of hairspray, turning a utility into a weapon.

Many modern clerics organize in Theocades, great multi-religious structures that can have temples, rooms, and the like reshuffled.  They also act as housing and community centers.

Shamans And Spirits

Shamans and spirits are sometimes classified as part of religion, sometimes not - and there's been a concerted and not entirely well-meaning effort to exclude them from being considered religious professionals entirely.  This is an area of theological politics that many humans and most gods don't like as well as don't care about.

"Spirits" are not gods, though some have been mistaken for them and some gods employ them.  Spirits are the results of human interaction with objects, places, and ideas that, over time, shapes the magical forces of that object, place, and idea until it achieves consciousness.  Roads, vehicles, buildings, famous objects all can have spirits.

Spirits are conscious but erratic and unpredictable magical beings with a variety of powers and abilities.  They can easily be appeased and interacted with in assorted ways - conversation, attention, sacrifice of blood, food, and alcohol, and so on.  In times as spirits mature they become more powerful and more human.

Shamans are those that interact with spirits and have extensive knowledge of them.  Shamans and Clerics used to be the same profession for all intends and purposes, but over the last few centuries there's been a noteable split as religion became more organized.  Now the two are on their way to being specialist professions, and there is conflict over this, especially as Clerics wield more political and social power - and as people learn more and more about interacting with supernatural creatures in school.

All of the Great Cities have a City Shamanic Department to deal with the spirits in a city.

Triad True

Triad True is a great Theopolis, and arguably a Great City younger than Highpoint if you want to argue what constitutes a Great City, which many people do just to be spiteful.  Located in the southern part of the Central Region, it has gone from a mix of temples and hastily-assembled seminaries to a gigantic metropolis in only three centuries.  Many clerics do some or all of their training there, great libraries and reliquaries abound, museums display history, and some great publishing concerns operate.

Beyond theological and educational business, Triad True is also a popular vacation spot with beautiful areas to visit, relaxing parks, and more.  Needless to say this additional financial influx is quite popular.

There is some unspoken issues involving the Bridges that connect works - Triad True much to people's surprise does not have a permanent Bridge schedule with Godsrest.  Why is not entirely understood, and its suggested economics and politics plays more of an issue, though superstition may as well.

- Steve

www.StevenSavage.com

www.InformoTron.com

[gigageekmag]

Comic Book Review: Calico

CALICO ISSUE #1

Welcome back GiGa Community; as you all know, at fifteen years old, in 1992, I had an opportunity and pleasure of interning at Marvel Comics in Manhattan, New York; Spider-man office to be exact.  It was during that year that I had delved into the comic book industry, soaking it all in, down to my very fabric of my soul.  I loved all of the intellectual properties, their stories, and the craft; I knew I wanted Comics to be a part of my future life story.   I was a fan of some characters, and ambivalent to others, but never the less, just like family I loved them all (Some more than others of course); the environment moved my soul.  To this day, I still find being an artist to be one of my first loves, and comic books satisfied that yearning.  The culmination of efforts between a writer, penciler, inker, letterer, colorist, and editor was to me, an amalgamation of geniuses at work.  I love and respect the craft.

Sigma Comics

GiGa: GeekMagazine was contacted by Sigma Comics asking for an honest review of their newly released comic series, Calico.  I was unsure of who this new IP was that was entering the competitive arena, so I did superficial research, watched an interview, and a review; it seemed to be worth the read.   The first complimentary comic came and as busy as I am, I opened it and felt the cover art seemed acceptable for a comic book in 2021, but I didn’t have a peaceful undisturbed moment to read it, so I left it on my desk to be ready for the day I found a free opportunity to read it, then write a review.  My family and I left the house for a few hours, and when I returned I went straight to my office and hadn’t realized the comic was no longer on my desk.  A few seconds after I sat down, my daughter calls me, “Papi, look what Ivi did”!

Ivi Snow knew She really did it this time.

Ivi Snow is one of my two white German Shepherds, she is 1½ years old, so I am accustomed to finding “surprises” when we come back home; I thought it was poop again. A minute later my daughter comes to my office holding my complimentary issue of Calico in shreds.  Needless to say I was peeved and Ivi knew it. Then I remembered what the premise of the comic was.  “NYC HAS A NEW ANTI–HERO. Every day millions of animals are abused and killed. Animal rights groups and charities try to help, yet the savagery continues.”  Sigma Comics appears to be committed to fighting animal abuse. I laughed at the irony of this moment and took a picture of her with the destroyed comic, apparently, she enjoyed the comic.  I couldn’t read it, as a substantial part of the first few pages were now gone.  With that above picture attached to an email to Sigma comics, I humbly apologized and requested another review copy, I was willing to pay for it at this point, but the great people at Sigma found humor in the event as well and sent me another. When the next copy arrived I kept it in my safe this time, and that night when I was done with work, I read it before I went to bed.  I opened the cover and this time, I was able to really absorb the content.   I applauded the first impression, it was transparent in showing their allegiance to the cause, “American Humane”, as a parent to two German Shepherds, I was sold. 

The first page was gripping, showing an example of the atrocities committed upon animals and the visualization was almost too tough to bear, but I was roped in, I had to read on.  We get our first glimpse into the soul of our Anti-Hero on page two, with tears running from angry eyes, the penciler, inker, and colorist nailed the conviction this character was driven by, and we’re then introduced to Calico “A one-man arsenal of destruction in constant pursuit of justice for the smallest and weakest among us…” 

In his apartment he works his frustration on a double end bag, his thoughts speak poignant commentary as to the nature of life being nothing but conflict in every facet of existence and we see where his psychological state dwells; he’s scared and/or resentful of life and bitterly expresses this in his own twisted way.  The Boxing Gym advertisement on page 5 could easily be dismissed as fictitious until a little research clarified that it is indeed a real business; as an ex-fighter boxer, martial artist, and ex-body guard myself, I respected that blurring between fantasy and reality as it was perfectly in line with the tale that I was uploading to my brain.

The writer then takes the reader on a journey through the life of Calico, recalling childhood memories of being bullied.  This alludes to post traumatic damage; he hates bullies and had long since made the decision to suffer them no longer.  We next accompany the protagonist from his apartment to a local boxing gym where he trains and prepares for an upcoming tournament, and while there, he loses himself in the art of combat.  His thoughts become louder than spoken words; he’s a fighter with unfortunate luck, struggling skill, and lots of animosity.  Here is where the reader learns this character has no reservation about the thought of condemning the abuser to death and that animals were his only friends since his youth.

Page 8 we’re given a full frontal nude of the hero in the shower after leaving the gym, even in the shower he’s consumed by antipathy as conveyed by more flashbacks of the same bully from his youth; he’s never recovered from those years.  This memory was different, ironically, it was in this recollection where he was impressed by an alley-cat that scared off the bully and his dog, which serves as a perfect transition into revealing his super-hero outfit emblazoned with a black cat’s profile in front of what appears to be a moon.  He also has a flying robotic AI assistant named Bumble that is a metallic sphere with one camera eye. Then, we’re back to his childhood memories, this time he evokes the very first time he inflicted pain by punching that bully in the face before fleeing the scene.  Page 13 is where things escalate quickly, so I won’t spoil it for interested readers.

So here’s my honest review and rating:

Comic book Production:   I feel the writing could have been more impacting and/or expansive; a name would have been nice to have, but it served its purpose; The art is what communicated the story the most.  Lettering was great, the penciling and inking were acceptable as well, but gets a little hard to understand what’s happening during the murder scene.   

The Character: His real name is never revealed, but from how Calico was insultingly called a “Dominican York” translated from Spanish, he is likely Latino. I think the character is less anti-hero and more of a deranged, sociopathic, villain with post-traumatic stress. He’s fed a list of targets by an unknown accomplice, he intends to kill, (and/or violate) which to me is the modus operandi of a serial killer. I couldn’t see the word “Hero” being applicable to this guy in anyway.

The full frontal nude, to me, was unnecessary, but being a student at the Art Institute of Atlanta I’ve drawn male nudes before, so I respect the art, 100%.  That scene only became awkward after the second penis comment. Which helped me to get a better understanding  of the mind of the protagonist as portrayed and communicated by the writer. I think the outfit really is too similar to Black Panther.

As per the multiple male phallus related comments and insults, along with, what I found to be excessive homo-erotic language, it seemed in my humble opinion, as if there’s other unresolved issues besides being bullied that Calico has never addressed.   In one scene, I had to look at one scene under better light to understand that Calico actually violates or rapes his victim with a red hot pipe, all while making references to size; he says to his victim, “Relax! It’s only one-inch thick pipe. In penis size its only four-inch girth. You got this”.  the last unnecessary thing I read that really nailed the coffin shut for me was the statement, “F*** em. Hard. in the @ss. With no vaseline”.

Concept: I personally, don’t think the character could have longevity, and if so possibly as a novelty act; appropriate for an 8-Issue Series. He possibly may develop a fan base, but with a very niche market.  He is not a “Deadpool” type of anti-hero, I’d say this brooding character is damaged psychologically which easily could bleed over into villainy. I couldn’t see the Dark Knight tolerating this character, or working with him in any way, and would probably bring him to justice.  In comparison to other anti-heroes, such as Hulk, Ghost Rider, Blade, or the Punisher, I’d say even Frank Castle wouldn’t see his motivations, means, or ends as acceptable.  I see a more deviant sociopathic “Joker” kind of weirdness from Calico minus the smiles and laughing.

Conclusion:  It’s a comic book, it fits the criteria. I wasn’t left feeling like I want to read more, but I am only one man, with one opinion worth 2 cents.  I endeavor to say it could have been written for a broader appeal to a wider audience; for me, I feel the niche-aspect will leave some put off or uninterested.  But somehow, I’m sure this will pull the targeted audience it was meant for.  In the end, Sigma successfully this debut is a great accomplishment for the creators and production team and for that I salute and respect their creative vision, hard work, and love for the craft.  I’d give it 3 out 5 Stars ★★★☆☆ ~Jack~

Image Sources: > https://sigmacomics.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/sigma-comics-large.jpg > https://prnewswire2-a.akamaihd.net/p/1893751/sp/189375100/thumbnail/entry_id/1_gapzb7c1/def_height/800/def_width/520/version/100011/type/1

Comic Book Review: Calico was originally published on GIGA: GeekMagazine

[evergloffpress]

Bottle of Blog: Written In The Key of Wrath

Blog Entry #32

I've taken inventory of my blog output and have noticed I tend to write about the behavior of fairly unpleasant people. Well sadly this one will not be much different. Righteous indignation compels me to put fourth quill to parchment (metaphorically speaking of course) and expose the unbecoming mannerisms of an individual who slithers amongst us. Having recently returned from a less than stellar trip to Las Vegas I took a call from an acquaintance whose comparison mechanism somehow seems to be disabled. He believes that for anything to be compared to anything else they need to be identical in every way. He is fond of saying ”apples and oranges” to support his belief.

Suggesting they can't possibly be compared to one another. There are clear distinctions between them however, I can think of at least 14 things they have in common right off the top of my head.

I have mentioned him before in a previous blog about comrade Stalin and stubborn people. The person I've referenced before is in firm possession of a towering lack of creativity and vision. A bullying need to pounce on any and every grammatical violation in word usage and perceived narrative logic. He will insert himself into any tale one tells then proceeds to scold you on how you should have done things because according to him he would of done things far better. He criticizes your storytelling, process while you are telling said story.

By now some. might be wondering why do I even bother to interact with such a obnoxious individual.

The simple answer is that I am a loyal friend to a fault.

The more complex answer is that I'm a blithering idiot and a glutton for punishment.

I began my account of what occurred in Vegas using a storytelling device where one begins at the end of the story then moves back to the beginning to explain how I got there.

We were in a hospital in Vegas I commenced. Leaving ambiguously why and who needed medical treatment to drive up the sense of mystery.

Despite that it was a straight story once I started.

No excessive descriptions of mood or tone.

Not surprisingly he proceeded to interrupt repeatedly. Going as far saying I had contradicted my self numerous times before I even got a quarter through. I persisted in trying to finish my tale in spite of his intrusive input. I revealed that it was my cousin that was hospitalized for pneumonia in an attempt to finish before he opened his mouth again. Disrupting the flow I originally intended.

Then he committed the gravest of offenses. The lowest of insults to be slung at a writer. He said I was a terrible storyteller and my analogies were horrible. With my delicate ego clearly wounded I flew into a rage. I stumbled for a response. Demanding he let me finish my ”f#(%!ñ9” story without his aggressive running commentary.

”Listen dog, if you want to tell me your stories without me chiming in then don't tell them to me or or go outside and tell it to the trees. They won't interrupt”.

He calls everyone dog. Some people call others cat, dude or man. He chooses to call people dog. Many might take offense to this moniker. But I digress, by this stage, I was a stuttering fuming mess but I did not wish to let him know how furious I really was.

I should state right now that my cousin is alive and doing fine. More on the exact opposite of that statement in a moment.

I tried to compose my self and muscle my way through his assessments but he remained unflappable in his browbeating.

Raising his voice he continued to hammer in his observations.

”Your story sucks and that's why you feel the need to try and speak over me” he ridiculously commented.

”The only reason you would be so worked up would be if your cousin had died” he added.

”YES! Yes, he did. He died yesterday” I replied exhaustedly.

Again for the record, my cousin had NOT bought the farm but I had not thought of a better way to shut him the Hell up.

There was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again.

”Dog, I am so sorry. I sincerely apologize. I did not know. Now I know why you were so worked up”

He thought I was agitated because my cousin had ”fictiously” passed away and not because he was being a patronizing jackass.

I went with my fabricated showstopper and explained how I was not in a good place.

Despite how I got there (and as petty as it sounds) I enjoyed hearing him squirm. Within a few minutes, he found the need to be elsewhere phone wise which at this point was fine by me. He offered his condolences and one more apology before he was gone.

The next day he posted on his social media how sad he felt for my cousin's passing which prompted those that follow him and know my cousin to post question marks in the comment section. As of the writing of this blog the jig is still down. Though for the record I do not give a fryed rat foot if he learns that my kin is still amongst the living.

Sure I misled him and in the process, it appears I made him feel like the obnoxious heel that he elects to come across as.

Which made me realize that somehow my regret mechanism was disabled for this particular instance.

Oliver Evergloff

April-11th-2019

Postscript footnote...

14 things apples and oranges have in common

Both are fruit

Both have seeds

Both grow on trees in orchards

Both are organic

Both have nutritional value

Both are a fat free food

Both can be juiced

Both have potassium

Both have vitamin C

Both are sweet

Both contain fiber

Both are similar in size and weight

Both are edible

Both can be flung at the heads of insufferable turd buckets with remarkable ease.

[thisdaynews]

Insults, threats and the Godfather: Feds parade Roger Stone witness tampering evidence

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/insults-threats-and-the-godfather-feds-parade-roger-stone-witness-tampering-evidence/

Insults, threats and the Godfather: Feds parade Roger Stone witness tampering evidence

Jurors even heard from Credico himself, a comic and impressionist who took the stand for the prosecution and had many in the jury box chortling with his wisecracks and a slew of vintage TV and film references. His testimony also triggered repeated interventions by the prosecution and the federal judge to stop with the digressions and keep his responses from devolving into a stand-up act.

Prosecutors had called Credico to the witness stand to explain how Stone repeatedly used a reference to a “Godfather” film in urging him to clam up in response to inquiries from congressional investigators.

But in order to get to that story, prosecutor Aaron Zelinsky first sought to establish Credico’s chops as an impressionist. That meant explaining how an unusual friendship between the two men from polar opposite political camps led to Credico’s recording celebrity voices for Stone’s radio show. One character Credico was particularly good at doing was Marlon Brandon’s famous mafia boss, Vito Corleone.

“You’re tempting me to do the voice,” Credico said as the courtroom braced for a Brando impersonation. But U.S. District Court Judge Amy Berman Jackson cut him off.

“We know you’re a comedian, but this is serious business,” she declared.

“I know it is. I’m sorry,” Credico said sheepishly.

Jackson’s warning came just moments after jurors saw an email listing all the voices Credico specialized in — from politicians Ted Kennedy and Ronald Reagan to Hollywood greats Al Pacino and Rodney Dangerfield.

“Would you like to hear some? Not even Bernie Sanders?” he quipped, quickly adding: “I will not do any voices, I promise.”

Despite the laughter from jurors and courtroom spectators, the factual testimony the prosecution elicited from Credico damaged Stone by undercutting his claims to congressional investigators. Stone told lawmakers under oath that Credico was the only person he dealt with as he sought to figure out when the pro-transparency organization WikiLeaks planned to release stolen emails that would damage Hillary Clinton’s presidential bid.

But Credico testified that as investigators bore down, he repeatedly reminded Stone that he had bragged about having a “back channel” to the WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange long before ever contacting Credico about the issue. In text messages, Stone seemed to blow Credico off.

Prosecutors stressed that in dealings with the House Intelligence Committee, Stone reluctantly confirmed some of his dealings with Credico but never turned over their communications and never disclosed that he had made earlier efforts to dispatch a right-wing journalist, Jerome Corsi, to gather damaging Hillary Clinton emails from Assange.

Credico’s rollicking testimony followed a much more buttoned-down presentation from a former FBI agent who adopted a clinical tone as she read into the record a series of vulgar threats and insults Stone unleashed at his acquaintance as the federal investigations heated up.

The crass messages between Stone and Credico jolted the normally staid courtroom setting, while other evidence illustrated the degree to which Stone was in touch with Trump’s campaign during the peak of the 2016 election when the Republican provocateur was bragging and winking about WikiLeaks’ plans to dump emails that would roil the Clinton campaign.

“When I wipe my ass what’s on the toilet paper is worth more than you are. You’re an alcoholic drug addicted out of work piece of shit,” Stone wrote Credico in one message from early April 2018.

In another exchange, Credico warned Stone that he could be prosecuted for perjury for giving incorrect testimony to lawmakers. Stone replied with several threats directed at Credico and his therapy dog, Bianca.

“I’m going to take that dog away from you. Not a fucking thing you can do about it either because you are a weak piece of shit,” he wrote in one. And in another, Stone said, “Let’s get it on. Prepare to die cocksucker.”

Jurors had been warned what they were in for.

Stone defense attorney Bruce Rogow explained in an opening statement Wednesday that the defendant had a long, “strange relationship” with Credico that often included communications peppered with “odious” language. Still, they heard plenty more over the course of Thursday’s proceedings from a key FBI case agent who handled the Stone file, Michelle Taylor.

That included multiple headline-grabbing allusions to the “Godfather” movies.

Stone and Credico swapped barbed texts referencing the film’s 1974 sequel as Credico fretted over how to respond to a subpoena he’d gotten from the House Intelligence Committee in November 2017. The subpoena came after Stone told lawmakers in a follow-up letter after his own in-person deposition in September that Credico was his intermediary to Assange. Rather than appear before the House panel, Stone urged Credico to avoid testifying and pressed him to assert his Fifth Amendment right to remain silent.

“This whole thing will be worthless unless you find a place to do your Frank Cannon July 10 imitation ‘sure sure Roger Stone this Roger Stone that,’” Stone wrote to Credico. About 17 seconds later, Stone texted again: “Frank Pantsgele.”

Taylor, who recently left the FBI, explained to jurors that “Frank Cannon July 10” and “Frank Pantsgele” were intended as references to the “Godfather II” character Frank Pentangeli, who suffers a sudden bout of amnesia before Congress when they press him about the Corleone family’s mob activity.

“You’ve seen it recently?” asked Jonathan Kravis, an assistant U.S. attorney from D.C., who is part of the prosecution team.

“Yes,” Taylor replied, breaking into a smile.

Jurors also heard a comparison of Stone’s crimes to Watergate as Taylor read another text message from Stone urging Credico not to speak to lawmakers.

“Stonewall it plead the fifth anything to save the plan,” Stone wrote in November 2017.

Taylor said Stone — famous for his back tattoo of Richard Nixon — was referring to directions the 37th president gave to his aides as investigators closed in.

“It’s a paraphrase of something President Nixon said to John Mitchell and John Dean during Watergate,” she explained.

The current president was also featured again on Thursday, one day after prosecutors revealedthat Trump and Stone spoke on several occasions as the longtime conservative activist worked diligently to gain information about the stolen Democratic emails and prod WikiLeaks to release them.

Government lawyers showed jurors a chart detailing how Stone was regularly in touch with the presidential candidate and his top 2016 campaign aides at the same time the WikiLeaks document dumps rocked Clinton’s White House bid.

One colored line detailed the frequency of Stone’s contacts with Trump.

The government is also using a slew of emails and text messages seized from Stone’s accounts with search warrants in August 2018 to showcase apparent contradictions in Stone’s testimony to the House Intelligence Committee from the fall of 2017, when the panel was chasing down various leads about the Russian hack attacks.

Stone testified he had no relevant records about that critical time period, and he denied having contact with the Trump campaign about WikiLeaks. But the government prosecutors argued that call logs, email exchanges and other communications showed something else. During the late summer of 2016, for example, Stone had two calls with Trump himself and nearly 30 calls with the deputy campaign chairman, Rick Gates.

Stone was also in touch with Erik Prince, an informal Trump campaign adviser, in October 2016. They discussed the WikiLeaks document dumps, according to the documents.

“You are a great American,” Stone wrote in the exchange with Prince.

Prosecutors also revealed that before Stone and Credico had their falling-out, the Republican adviser seemed to have unsuccessfully tried to butter up his liberal sparring partner.

Stone sent Credico an inaccurate excerpt of a letter Stone’s attorneys sent to Congress in October 2017. The version shared with Credico contained a variety of flattering statements about the talk show host and activist that were not contained in the version actually sent to the House Intelligence Committee.

The draft — or potentially doctored — paragraphs said Stone held Credico in “high regard” and hailed his “landmark interviews” with Assange on the New York alternative radio station WBAI. The section Stone emailed Credico also detailed their cooperation on efforts to relax the New York drug laws and free drug convicts from prison.

“Does that language appear in the letter actually sent to the committee?” Kravis, the government prosecutor, asked Taylor.

“It does not,” she said.

Despite the profane and sometimes cruel exchanges, Credico repeatedly warned Stone that he was putting himself in legal danger by not being candid with the House committee. For months, the talk show host pleaded, unsuccessfully, with Stone to change his testimony about his intermediary to Assange.

Credico also displayed a remarkable degree of foresight that Stone seemed to lack.

“I don’t know why you had to lie and say you had a back channel,” Credico wrote, after FBI agents seized his electronic communications.

“What the fuck is your problem neither one of us has done anything bad or illegal,” Stone replied. “If you turned over anything to the FBI you’re a fool.”

“You opened yourself up to six counts of perjury,” Credico wrote, more than a year before Stone was indicted on seven felony charges, including five for making false statements to Congress. “You should go back and amend your testimony and tell the truth….I’m sure you still have time.”

At one point Thursday, out of earshot of the jury, Jackson reprimanded one of Stone’s defense attorneys for his “extremely slow” cross-examination of Taylor that “tested the patience of the jurors a great deal.”

The questioning seemed aimed at showing that whatever boasting and strutting the men were doing in their exchanges about Assange and Wikileaks, she had no real knowledge of whether there was anything to back up their claims.

Credico’s testimony proved much more lively, including a jaw-dropping story about the more rocky aspects of the relationship between the two men at opposite extremes of American politics. The liberal activist said he and Stone fell out in 2011 after Stone sent out word that Credico was dead.

“He put out on Facebook, Twitter and a blast email that ‘Randy Credico died of an overdose. May he rest in peace,’” Credico recalled. “It caused some problems. … It’s a big practical joke except by my friends and family.”

Zelinsky also sought to preempt potential defense attacks on Credico, getting him to concede that when he testified before a grand jury, he failed to recall some of his exchanges with Stone. And more Hollywood references gushed out after Zelinsky asked about the witness’ struggles with drinking.

“I was in show business for 40 years,” Credico explained. “There was also a lot of [alcohol], but I was not Ray Milan from ‘Lost Weekend’ or Otis from ‘Mayberry….’ I’ve been sober for the last year. I’ve been in and out of sobriety and AA for 34 years.”

Prompted by the prosecution, Credico described how he first met Stone during a 2002 New York gubernatorial campaign and how their relationship took a history-altering turn more than a dozen years later during the 2016 presidential campaign.

Credico explained how Stone accepted an offer to appear on his new radio show that spring, providing him a big-name voice engaged in national politics at the highest levels. Later in the summer, Stone helped Credico line up an interview with Gary Johnson, the former New Mexico governor running for president on the Libertarian Party ticket.

At the same time that they were doing each other favors — Credico said he fulfilled the “quid pro quo” by going on Stone’s radio show as a guest — the two men also seemed to be trying to outdo each other when they talked about their connections to Assange.

Credico explained how his text messages to Stone saying that he was on the verge of landing an on-air radio interview with the WikiLeaks founder in August of 2016 were his way of gloating.

Clips of Stone around that time were being played nonstop on cable TV, where the political operative boasted to a South Florida GOP group that he’d been communicating directly with Assange. “I was trying to one-up him,” Credico explained.

In reality, Credico said, he was anything but an Assange insider. It’s why he didn’t press for specifics about upcoming damaging email dumps to Clinton when Assange actually appeared on his radio show that summer. And it’s why he had little luck getting anywhere close to Assange when he visited the Ecuadorian Embassy in London later in the fall to drop off a letter offering him a regular spot on his network.

“It was like the Thing from ‘Addams Family,’” Credico said in describing what happened when he knocked on the door of the building where Assange had been holed up since 2012. “A hand came out. They grabbed the letter, but I did not get inside the door.”

Jurors cracked up at the TV reference, and they kept on smiling when Jackson cut the day short before 5 p.m., with Credico scheduled to come back Friday morning for more direct testimony and cross-examination from Stone’s defense team.

As the judge prepared to dismiss them, she made an addendum to her usual warning about not discussing the case with anyone, to do research or consuming any media reports about the trial. Given all they’d just heard, Jackson added to her spiel that it also meant “not even downloading ‘The Godfather’ on Netflix.”

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