#phew okay this got long but i have a Very Specific approach about all this and wanted to explain it properly

[sparring-spirals]

Thoughts on the ending of the last episode?

Hmmm.

From an as-is, the scene exclusively by itself, exciting! Kind of hilarious, in the way that only Bell's Hells can be. And of course, we all love Kiki. (I have a tendency to use "we" when I just mean I, but this time I am absolutely bringing you all in with me. WE love Keyleth. 😌) Also the cast is having a fucking blast, and you can tell.

From a broader perspective, I had my reservations before about bringing Keyleth (or any VM member) directly in for rez- a lot of them fueled by personal preference and opinions about storytelling and narrative and like. Just my personal opinions on shared universes and callbacks. Those opinions still stand. This did not mean before, and still doesn't, that the story being told now is bad or worse in some form! It just might look a little different now. Bringing Keyleth and VM folks in, explicitly and as NPC characters, to directly handle or play a part in the resurrection of a main PC in this campaign, absolutely alters elements of the narrative that is potentially being pulled together, and so I'm like. Mentally calibrating for that.

Keyleth and other Vox Machina folks are going to be NPC's now, I think. Which is good, IMO, in part so that the other cast members can focus on playing their current characters and because. They are NPC's now, in all the ways that the story reflect and in prestige and because. Their campaign ended.

It also means that now, no matter which way we squeeze the lemon, Vox Machina as characters are now irreversibly intertwined with Bell's Hells. Whether the resurrection succeeds or fails, the connection is there, the problems and goals and hopes of the characters have a tie to each other (not to mention precedence, for how future problems might be addressed or solved, although that is obviously dependent on how Matt and co decide to handle it).

And the thing is, Vox Machina are NPC's now, but they were PC's before, and so that changes things. We know they are fully fleshed out characters with backstories and motivations and we want to honor that. Even if a person hasn't actually watched C1, there's still a bit of that drive there, to look at all these little actions and words and pin them up against a bright and brilliant and fleshed out backstory, to dive into reasons why and hopes and motivations. Because they're there, and we know about them, and we're inclined to care about them, root for them, wonder about them in a way we probably wouldn't, if they were just NPC's. Even beloved ones.

In a shared universe kind of situation, this is a plus. This is the benefit, that you love many things and you could get the joy of watching them intersect and grow. Grow together, even! Or at least interact, and then you get to speculate about these characters and things you love all over again.

I, very personally, don't prefer shared universes for this particular reason. I'm not the biggest fan of- idk how to phrase it. MCU style crossovers, I suppose? Which can often lean on things like referential weight, or end up with stories where there is hefty amount of "main cast" characters you're intended to root for and know about to really enjoy it.

I love stories that stand completely on their own, where you can drop in with no real context and watch these characters grow and interact and mess up and love each other and unstand and get the weight of all of it. I am an absolute sucker for those kinds of stories. Similarly to how so much of the M9's entire... shebang was independent of the previous campaign and characters, if impacted by ripples here and there.

I was hoping for the Bell's Hells, that they would get a chance to grow and tell a story fully and completely their own, with the space that independence provides to focus on each of them, as they are, without needing to actively share stage with the previous campaign characters. Tying in previous campaign members to key moments right in front of us (and not in backstory) makes that more difficult, and I'd argue even somewhat-frequent cameos leave us in a space where we are often thinking about prior stories and external characters. The Bells motivations are tangled and weighed, in a sense, against the motivations and thoughts and hopes of these other characters and past stories, and IMO, it leaves just a little less space for us to explore the Bells, as they are, in current space.

Its arguably not guaranteed that, cameos and touch points continue, but- like I said. Getting to bring folks back in, or refer to them is one of the benefits of a shared universe. The cast- and a lot of us! Love these characters. Why not, if we have them here and invested, now, right?

so. You know. I'm just kind of recalibrating a bit, just in case. I'm still enjoying the interactions, at face value, and crossovers are cool, and again, I love Keyleth. beloved. Thinking about how this impacts Vex and Percy and Keyleth or how Pike and Grog or Scanlan might get roped in is fun.

But I'm also takin some energy to adjust some personal expectations about where this brings us in the future, esp for the Bells especially. just in case.

[heniareth]

For Astala

💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

And for Ilanlas

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

Ohohoho! The ask for Astala is such a great one because she is a pretty bad patient. Being sick reminds her that she's vulnerable and she doesn't like that one bit.

She'll often brush off any attempt to care for her (quite bruskly), until circumstance or people force her to stay down.

(One notable exception is after the battle of Denerim when the Archdemon has been slain. There Astala is the first to recognise that she needs a nap of epic proportions)

If she's really sick (or tired, or overwhelmed), she'll hide where it's darkest and warmest and probably fall asleep. Her father Cyrion knew to always check the dresser when Astala was little and he couldn't find her.

When very sick, she's a slightly better patient if only because her protests are limited to grunts and groans.

As for caretakers: when she was little, those would obviously be her parents, but sometimes also Soris and Shianni's parents, friends of her parents, or on one notable occasion even Valendrian (it usually came down to whoever could watch Astala while her parents were working).

Little Soris was tasked with keeping an eye on her once when nobody else was available, but he got so scared that something bad would happen that little Shianni had to take over.

Now that Astala is an adult, people who most often take care of her when she's sick are: Zevran (who does his best to cheer her up while not getting sick himself), Alistair (who is one of the few people capable of out-arguing Astala when she gets stubborn), Wynne and Anders (obviously, as the resident healers during Origins and Awakening respectively)

Morrigan deserves an honorable mention because I think she'd make a mean cough syrup (mean as in terrible taste but so so so effective), as well as Nathaniel, Sigrun and Velanna, who'd have to help Anders out if Astala (or anybody else of the Awakening wardens, really) got particularly sick.

And, of course, if she happens to be sick in Denerim, you can bet Cyrion and Shianny would drop by for a visit that would turn into an extended stay until Astala was back on her feet

As for how good Astala is when taking care of others: she has no medical knowledge save for your typical home-made remedies (like chopped onion for a congested nose, for example). But she is steady, makes sure everything is taken care of and the sick person drinks enough water and eats their greens, and has the patience and the endurance to help somebody through a long illness

She did have to look after her father for some time when he took sick after her mothers' death. There were adults around to handle the brunt of the situation of course, but Astala did everything from making sure Cyrion always had some water to changing the bedsheets regularly or making sure Shianni and Soris got their dinner on time

(And then, when winter was approaching and her father was getting better, she got sick in turn. That's when Soris was asked to keep an eye on her, as soon as Cyrion felt okay enough to go back to work)

If the illness gets bad, if the patient's condition is delicate or the fever is high, she will slowly lose her cool however. Like I said, illnesses are scary for her and it probably won't become not scary anytime soon

Phew, I have A Lot of thoughts about Astala and illness XD Thank you for giving me an outlet for all of these thoughts!

The question for Ilanlas is also excellent because he very much believes in and relies on his own ability to stay calm and deal with the situation at hand himself. But then, of course, come the nightmares that are part of being a Grey Warden.

For starters, Ilanlas doesn't have many (naturally occuring, aka. not linked to being a Grey Warden) nightmares, but the ones he has are terribly vivid

Normally, it goes like this: Ilanlas has a nightmare. He wakes up. He looks around and realizes it was a nightmare. He takes some moments to calm down, maybe takes a short stroll away from people (but within shouting distance), and then goes back to sleep

(This started early on out of his own volition. Little Ilanlas, who wanted very much to be a grown-up hunter already, would stay where he was instead of getting Ashalle or any other adult and seeking comfort. He took it as training for the day something really terrible would happen, and/or for the day when he got his vallaslin (he was determined to get them as soon as possible. He's a very goal-oriented guy))

However, back with his clan he was never alone. There was always somebody he could've called for if it turned out to be more than a nightmare. It isn't until he has to leave that he realizes that this had been an unknown comfort for him all along. So simply having people close by helps

If a nightmare left a lasting impression on him that really bothered him, he'd seek advice with one of the hahrens or with Keeper Marethari. It didn't happen very often, however

During the Blight, when the nightmares first came, he dealt with them as with any other. When they got worse, however, he found himself with no one to talk to. In terms of age and experience, only Wynne could in any way measure up to Keeper Marethari, and as she was human, Ilanlas didn't feel comfortable talking with her about nightmares and, essentially, allowing her to guide him a bit. So at first he had no real way to deal with them

Since this is an "All Origins Live" kind of story, Astala and Alistair would be there as well, talking about their nightmares. Since he had nothing better to do, Ilanlas would join them and just listen until he felt like he would maybe be able to fall back asleep

Until eventually, he would start participating in these conversations. The more nightmares there were and the worse they became, the more important these talks were for him

Astala is only a few years older than him and Alistair is about his same age. They couldn't offer guidance in the way a hahren or a keeper could. Even so, in these conversations, Ilanlas found how sharing a burden can lighten it, and how friends can also guide you in a way that is different (and involves a lot more stumbling) than somebody who is older and more experienced than you

Basically, Ilanlas gets to experience a bit of what it's like to be a Grey Warden in an order of Grey Wardens, surrounded by people who share your plights as they are happening and who will see each other through them if they can

(All of this is something I didn't know before answering this ask btw, but I really, really like what's come out of it)

This was a great opportunity for character development. I've never delved so deeply into what Ilanlas does when faced with a challenge that legitimately hurts and inspires fear (I did know what he does when faced with a typical challenge, which is take it on head-on after formulating a solid plan), so this has been enlightening and so much fun XD

Thank you so much for both asks!

[rpbetter]

Urgh. Okay, full disclosure, I haven't been on tumblr much over the last week or so, because I was one of the people that Raven initially called out after the COAR mess, and it was in the interest of my own mental health to fuck off for a while so I didn't stress myself out into oblivion. So I'm scrolling through most of this stuff for the first time, and talking to other people who were targeted. And pardon my French here, but I'm fucking disgusted at the lengths Raven has gone to assert themselves as a victim, how many people they've affected, and the waving around of something as serious as suicide for brownie points.

I have sympathy for people who overinterpret things in a strictly emotional and mental sense (actual reactions aside) because they lack the maturity. There's always a reason for that, and it's not their fault. And I have sympathy for people if they legitimately feel suicidal. That, too, isn't their fault. If I hadn't been blocked, I would've reported Raven in case their claims were true as well, because yeah, I don't mess around with that stuff either. But what's unacceptable is how Raven acted on those sentiments and behaved towards others, even after people tried to provide perspective. How Raven claimed to be done with the drama, but continued inciting it; how they claimed to be suicidal and had left tumblr, but wrote what amounts to a "fuck you" in their header and were still putzing around on their blog, and were apparently still editing their posts until as late as today; how they claimed to have deleted but only changed the url; how they weaponized all of this stuff and used it as a tool for guilt-tripping. Like, come on. It's okay if you're down in the dumps, but it's not okay to treat innocent people like garbage, and carpet bomb half the RPC. To me, it really feels like there was an intent to weaponize all of their hurt, offense, anger, and suicidal ideations, despite the possibility it did come from somewhere genuine, and that's so harmful to anyone who is actually struggling with depression.

Every time someone weaponizes mental illness in this way, it just makes people more and more apathetic the next time someone is genuinely just hurting, and saying they feel like they're at the end of their rope. And it makes people suspicious of whether those words are being used maliciously, or legitimately. That suspicion and that association is now there, unconscious or not. And every time this kind of stuff happens, the association gets stronger. What happens if Raven does this again? Some people will still report, but some people might just scoff and walk away - people who might've actually acted before. So in a way, that kind of behaviour impacts Raven as much as it impacts other people.

And you know what? They're not the only one dealing with serious shit. I've been suffering from MDD for the last fifteen years, and I've been in the process of changing medications and having little success for months. I've been going through hell offline. I have a shit list of people I want to yell at because they're dragging their feet on really important things I need to function; I'm constantly running a deficit on spoons. Until a week or so ago, roleplay was one of the only ways I could unwind. So for Raven to bully me by sticking that stupid post in my tags, because they needed to make a scene on COAR, which I was obviously going to comment on (like many other people), then to "like" an unsubstantiated callout about me and other innocent people related to that mess, it's only worsened my own mental health. It sounds melodramatic, but really. Someone else mentioned this too, but the fear of being in another callout, and the fear of that first callout somehow exploding, was in the back of my mind all week, despite being away from tumblr. So that was a little anxiety-inducing, much as I tried not to think about it.

And I'm debating whether to return now, or take more time off, and I have no idea what to do. Because that callout post is still in my blog's tag. I'm freaking out because I was planning on approaching some people to roleplay, which is something I rarely ever do, but now I'm concerned that I'll contact someone, they'll look at my tag to get an idea of my writing/partners/who I am, and see the callout post, and immediately dismiss me because even seeing the word "callout" on its own will send up red flags, by unconscious association with more impactful drama. And as long as that callout is up, these fears are going to be there.

That's just not fair.

And Raven's "apology" is completely unacceptable. Like you and others said, it doesn't reach anyone who needs to hear it, because they've all been blocked. I would fucking love an apology if it came from a place of honesty, but am I going to receive one? Probably not. And even for the followers who can still see that apology, it doesn't address anything. It isn't directed to anyone in particular. It doesn't mention the specific behaviours that were wrong on their part. And miss me with the "my intentions were good" part. No, they weren't; going around blocks and sticking shit in peoples' tags is vindictive and entirely intentional in all the worst ways, and shame on them for pretending otherwise, and by leading with such a poor example for many roleplayers, some of whom are in their teens. One of the people who tried to message Raven (they, too, were called out on Raven's blog) was speaking to a nineteen-year old who was completely clueless about the extent of the manipulation Raven was pulling. They thought all of it was normal and acceptable behaviour. That genuinely terrifies me. And while I imagine if Raven was genuinely apologetic, they would've gone to the callout blog and ask them to delete the callout post (attempt it, at the very least), somehow, I don't think that would've happened given all of their prior actions. God forbid something else is going on there.

Phew. Yeah, I'm angry. Maybe I'm just biased and tired. But honestly, I have a right to be. Raven's apology is a handwave, and they know it. It's a slap in the face to me, to you, and to everyone else who was involved in this clusterfuck. They're not the center of the universe. They affected real people, with real problems of their own. Anyways, I am so sorry for this, argh. Really had to get this out, and I didn't want to dump it on discord or somewhere else; I sure as heck didn't want to go to COAR with it. But hey, maybe people here will feel less alone if I added my own account to the mix. The more, the merrier? In a sense, anyways. Sometimes if you feel like you've been singled out, it's nice to know you're not actually the only person it's happened to.

Sorry for saving your reply for last, Anon. It's such an important one, I wanted to be properly thoughtful!

I think that it is going to make some people feel less alone, and there is always some relief in sharing one's trials. That might be especially true when one has been unable to share them anywhere else. It's not like you can address this on your own blog right now, COAR is definitely not a safe place to do so, it's a very isolating feeling that is made worse for having done nothing.

Coming back and being required to wade through this shit was really damn disgusting to me as well, but at least in my case, I had neither been obliged to distance myself for the sake of mental health nor was I treated to the sickening display of drumming up ideas of victimization from someone who victimized me. What I experienced was just incredulity and disgust, I cannot imagine how incensing this must be for you, I am so very sorry. If it makes me angry having a degree of removal and watching in it real time? What you're experiencing...there really isn't a single word to adequately encapsulate that, I'm sure.

You've still expressed so many of the things I've thought and felt. I found all that initial behavior uncalled for, shameful, yet another display of what's actually wrong in the RPC, but it was increasingly upsetting to me the more I looked into it because it did feel a little (a lot) too reminiscent of the sort of bullying experienced in person. It's really something else to be viciously picked at by someone who keeps upping the game until such point as it begins to cause them trouble, then get to be painted the wrongdoer and punished in some way for it because they're presenting as a sympathetic victim. A more sympathetic victim than you, that's really what I mean, I'm just going to say it.

And that was already in swing by the time I got from the launch point to the smoking crater of then current events. I got to Raven's again after bouncing back and forth between their interactions with others, largely from COAR, yes, and the shit on the callout blog...to see...everyone else being blamed in increasingly drastic ways.

Because on tumblr, unlike reality, if you throw out enough times ahead of time that you have disorders people can get behind, you're more sympathetic, not less. So long as one has set that foundation and has others to broadcast it once convenient, any horrible action one undertakes is given a pass. Anyone disagreeing, anyone not tolerating the abuse, is in the wrong now. In the worst possible way, of course.

This whole thing began with incredibly unnecessary bullshit and every, I mean fucking every, further action taken was a new level of fucked up, but the trivializing of and damage done to the perception of mental health and differences is quite possibly the worst. Are those things that need any more of that? It's already such a problem! I already see suspicion and fatigue with this, every time it's given validation, it grows.

Even if I wasn't mentally ill, with one of the disorders that gets vilified even on tumblr, even if I were not autistic, even if I never knew a single person who suffered worse than I do from the the complications they won by way of being born, hadn't anyone I loved that took their lives, this would be extremely upsetting to me. Using the idea that "whatever I do, it's got to be acceptable because I am X" while not caring that anyone else is X, Y, and/or Z. Weaponizing it for bullying and sympathy simultaneously. Way too much. Incredibly gross and harmful, legitimately fucking problematic.

I want people to be taken seriously when they choose to speak of the boundaries their mental health requires, I want muns to be able to say that they are having a difficult time without it coming off (even to the rest of us with mental health conditions) as a ploy for attention/guilting for whatever action they desire be taken by partners, and I want people to take threats of oncoming, serious harm seriously. How are they to do this, when it is continually used as tool or weaponized against others? At very best, it becomes another thing to ignore and scroll by on the dash.

As we've all had the misfortune to experience or witness so recently, once it is weaponized, it's a problem of priority. I've said in damn near every message I've gotten that Raven isn't the only person involved here who has serious shit going on, but like the absurdity with trying to spin an accident as transphobia, or having the audacity to attempt speaking from a place of peace in a way that might benefit everyone, Raven included, resulting in a callout about being against ND people...it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter that any of us are neurodivergent, have serious chronic mental health complications, or are not cisgender. Raven was swinging that around like a flaming sword to drive off bigots real and imagined before we ever got their attention.

Attention they fucking asked for.

Reblogging that post from COAR was just like posting those rules. The intention was to get attention, and it was asked for with extreme hostility. I have no idea how that is coming off to anyone as simply them defending themselves. It was a great moment to either not out themselves as the person in the confession at all, not engage with it, quietly remove the post, or to reblog it and take responsibility in a meaningful way at that point. Can you imagine what a difference that would have made then? If Raven had chosen instead to reblog it and apologize for doing what they had. Just that. No shitty, snide little comments about how they're sorry, but still absolutely correct and here are five reasons why everything they've misconstrued won't be tolerated. Just an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, an apology for doing so, and awareness gained moving forward.

Their decision to interact with that post in the way they did wasn't just more of the same nonsense, it was actively upping the game. I don't really care if it was intentional bait or just continuing to let malicious impulse run free, it was used as bait. Everyone who interacted with that post was effectively consigning themselves to harassment, and if they happened to interact on literally any other topic that group held a passionately opposing opinion on, they were attacked for it. Curiously, it became necessary for them to be harassed by way of the callout blog, but that is getting a little close to off-topic, so, I'll leave it at that.

So, while I initially really wanted to have the appeal to Raven work because their expressions of regret that I was greatly on the fence about being genuine, I'd say those flags were accurate. I cannot believe that someone who took every opportunity to do the wrong thing is genuinely sorry. Sorry for themselves, absolutely, sorry for anything they did, not so much. This constant narrative I got of "they SAID they were sorry" and "they apologized again and again and took the posts down," including from Raven, is incredible. On that last one, they, yet again, couldn't actually address me.

Appropriate response: messaging me or reblogging that post (you know, the rules snippet I found right the hell there still, despite the claim of it being deleted and the final catalyst of me needing to say something after I saw that, nope, surely was not) with the acknowledgment of a single thing I said.

Extra appropriate response: ^ plus going to everyone who could still be located that they harmed with a genuine, individual, private apology.

Inappropriate response that was had: new post, shitty, childish tone like they at once wanted to argue with me and didn't want to drop the act, restating of this apology that had already been deleted and meant exactly shit while it existed, restating of how they deleted this post and couldn't control reblogs, ignoring that I literally reblogged the original copy from their blog.

Apology neither believed nor accepted. Just as it wouldn't be if my nephew came to my house, broke a bunch of my things, said he was sorry while throwing the pieces at my pet, then threw himself on the floor screaming that he said he was sorry when I told him to go have a time out.

(Yes, I absolutely did just make a comparison to a child, y'all can shit yourselves again. It's not my problem if you want to misconstrue "this person's actions are not befitting of an adult" as "Vespertine said autistic people are children!" Fucking miss me with that. I'm an autistic adult who pays my bills, apologizes, doesn't treat people like shit while trying to excuse it by being ND. You're offensive with that shit, and contributing to the negative perception people have of those on the spectrum. Be a good ally today! Don't valid that! Free ninety-nine offer!)

Again, sorry for yourself does not equal being sorry for what you've done. The former can contribute to the development of the latter, but as I said in a response yesterday, there has been no display of that beginning to transpire. I genuinely hope that will eventually be the case because that would be the best outcome, the only "best" outcome at this point. Even if it was two years from now, if it did happen, I certainly would not be kind to people refusing them any such growth in peace, and I hope that, by some distant chance, I get to prove that.

But...stating "my intentions were good" over any part of this is not remotely promising. When? Where? At what point? Oh, right, when you took it upon yourself to label a random mun you took issue with. That's when your intentions were good. Then, when you vehemently needed to defend that point by callouts and individual attacks under the guise of it definitely not being about your pride, no! It was the defense of everyone else! Defending the community by carpet-bombing it, yes. This is not a "the path to Hell is paved with good intentions" situation.

I am so disturbed about the nineteen-year-old mun, my god. I'm telling y'all, my anger and disgust almost reach what I think is a pinnacle, then there's something new like this.

I don't even subscribe to tumblr's ideology that anyone under twenty-five is an actual infant who needs be kept in a protective bubble and forgiven for all bad behavior with infinite kindness, nineteen-year-olds deserve the agency of the adultier adults they are becoming, but it is a transitional age. Especially today. Most socialization and formative ideas take place online, and by the time younger RPers are entering the adult sphere of RP here, they've already got some really unhealthy ideas. About themselves, about others. There is such a demand for rabidly performative action that gets internalized, it shouldn't be being heartily fed by people in the community they might look up to.

At that age, someone like Raven is going to be a person looked up to. They espouse all the right ideas, and it's an age in which aggressive interaction over those things is seen as amusing and correct, no matter how wrong the actions taken are or the basis upon which they are founded. When these people foster an environment of cruelty for questioning, of course, that is not going to be the natural response. The response is now going to be the requirement of being told otherwise with adequate proof.

I have suspected that many of the hateful anons I've gotten were from Raven's even younger followers who feel like it's normal, acceptable, and that everything they're being told by Raven's sales team over at the callout blog is absolutely true. Of course, they're now morally obligated to come harass me for the things they were told I did! I think it's likely that several of the anons people got were from actual minors, which is so many levels of scary and irresponsible. Really great example all around, yes!

Because whether it is one's intention or not, that is potentially exposing minors, or muns who are still close enough to be more negatively impacted, to who even knows what. As well as violating the rules of blogs who do not interact with minors for good reason, setting those blogs up for yet another callout for treating someone they didn't know was a minor the way they did or having "freak shit" on their blog. Setting up the other party to be treated with full hostility as an adult would be. Very cool, very responsible.

There is just so much here that is unacceptable, I don't think people who were not directly impacted or have never had a callout against them understand the results, and that is one more unacceptable thing you've been good enough to talk about.

Even while taking a break from the RPC, it affects you negatively. Wondering what you're coming back to, your blog is no longer a safe feeling space, and there's nothing you can do to "cultivate your blog" to change that. They've taken away the ability to simply block and avoid others, the thing that keeps all of us comfortable here as well as allowing that to be all of us no matter how disagreeable we might be to each other. Callouts negate adult behavior. Callouts mean that one doesn't know where more potential for harassment might be coming from, or how long we might have to be worried about that.

It would be a major concern for me as well about what putting myself out there to new writing partners might bring. What the success of that might be. It's incredibly unfair that they've made finding new people precarious and more unpleasant than it can be anyway. That puts all of the future of your RP here in question, and if you're like me, just dropping a muse, picking up another, and moving to a new URL isn't going to be a good choice for you. It isn't that simple if you dedicate time to a muse for a long period of time, when that's the case, that's the RP you want to do and have laid the groundwork for.

I don't know if it will help at all, but it has seemed to me, over the past several days, that there are fewer people in the RPC who are inclined to believe or support callouts than there once was. I was hoping that was the case, since there is always so much interaction on my posts against callout culture, but until this crap went down, I had no idea just how many people are not positive toward it. It has seemed to be that the people who are inclined to listen to callouts are just louder.

I've also noticed that those people have the same set of red flags, so maybe sharing that will help you or others?

They don't have simple, basic, reasonable Do Not Interacts. It isn't simply asking that minors don't interact because the mun is over eighteen, that muns writing a triggering topic not interact, or that sort of thing. No, it's URL dropping of specific muns, outright links to callouts or "receipts," and an accusatory tone about any topics or types of muns who shouldn't interact. Such as "nasty ass proshippers" or "pedo apologists shipping incest."

Their rules are reflective this as well. A statement cannot be made that they do not write, let's say, toxic ships and left at that. There will be some morality wank present about normalizing or romanticizing toxic/abusive relationships.

There are less assured flags, but literally, anything that stands out as an interest in RPC or fandom-based activism as opposed to an interest in writing, their muses, or even their friendships with a variety of muns. I don't mean a rounded-out interest in things, I really do mean a glaring predominance of buzzword-laden reblogs and PSA's while they've not written a reply, headcanon, or answered a meme in months.

I'm not saying any of that because I feel like you, or anyone else's, judgment is terrible or that you're oblivious to warning signs! It's just that when we've experienced bad situations, it can compromise our ability to see clearly. It becomes easy to see a potential threat everywhere, and maybe that seems contrary, but it's then easy to fail to see real threats from those we're blowing up. We question whether we're being just as judgmental as the people who wronged us, putting words in other muns' mouths and thoughts in place of their own as was done to us. While we still are afraid to be wrong in giving someone an in to ruining our time again.

So, please, don't feel like I'm questioning your intelligence or speaking from a place of ultimate knowledge, never making mistakes in such a choice! I just really hate that you, and many others, are going through this, and anything at all that I can think of that might help you move forward from this utter bullshit you've been through, I've got to try to grab it.

Because, Anon, like all those sharing their experiences these last few days, you sound like the kind of mun we need in the RPC.

You're someone willing to share with others for the benefit of others. You're being honest about your feelings of anger and even the hopeless sensation of whether it's even worth it to try to return, having your progress on and offline stomped on, while still maintaining a sort of fairness and calm that I know is not easy. Because that's the mature thing to do, it's the right thing, and unfortunately, those are usually the harder things to do as well.

You did the right thing in expressing your opinion and doing what people like Raven's group love to be on about, can only do through bullying: not tolerating it. I'd hate for the RPC to lose someone like you!

Just as your message matters to more people out there than myself, I have no doubt that your choice to not quietly allow this behavior mattered to more muns than you'll ever know. I'm sure that none of them would have wanted this result for you, but so many muns have experienced such toxic, bullying behavior over the years in which not a soul spoke up.

Many of you proved something very important with challenging Raven and the callouts blog, that unlike them, it isn't necessary for good people to even know each other to do the right thing. They have to dogpile and engage in cliquish behavior, what they do isn't coming from a place of inner ethics and strength, but what you all did? It's the opposite.

So, not only do I thank you again for sharing and providing the important support of simply not being alone to others, I thank you for being the example to the RPC that people dealing in callouts and generalized shaming cannot be, no matter their platform.

I hope that, whether you choose to remain, leave, or take a very long break, everything you've been dealing with starts to look up. I know it's easy to say things made hollow for their repetition and flippant use, like telling you not to let them win, or that their bullshit just isn't that important. So, I'm not going to say them.

It doesn't work that way when you're dealing with mental health concerns! You can logically know that this is just petty bullshit not worth being run out of something important to you, but that doesn't stop the worry, frustration, or depression. You can have all the determination in the world to hang in there, even the spite to back it up, but neither is a match for the things you cannot control coming from your brain. That is the cruelty of mental illness on the very best of days.

You have all of my respect, support, and genuine sympathy that this happened to you. No one should be allowed to continually and unapologetically go out of their way to throw a wrench into someone's hard-won progress. You did nothing to deserve this, and the people out there worth interacting with are going to be the same ones who will have no question of that.

Lastly, I also hope that some of the anons sharing their experiences have helped you feel less alone, or like you're not just irrationally upset. Please know that you're seen and supported as well! And that you are always welcome to talk more, vent, share successes here.

Thank you, Anon.

[noona-clock]

Perfect Plan ❤🖖🎃

Hi there ♡ if you still accept Halloween request, could you pretty please do one with Sungjin from Day6? Like y/n and him like each other but they're really shy about it, so rest of guys somehow help them get together on Halloween party? Like they would somehow tell everybody that she likes him and she would be embarrassed but he would find her and some fluffy ending? Idk, I hope it's not too specific or anything. Anyway, THANK YOU for your amazing writing always and have a nice day 💞

I’m on it, anon! I’m going to tweak the plot just a little bit, I hope you don’t mind!

Genre: AU/Fluff

Pairing: Sungjin x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Words: 2,264

Author’s Note: This is based in @cramelot’s Delivery! and my Keep The Change world.

“I told you, we’re fine,” you assured your roommate, Becky, for probably the sixteenth time.

“Yes, but fine does not equal in a relationship,” she retorted. “You two have been seeing each other for over a month but you still don’t call him your boyfriend!”

You almost rolled your eyes, and you would have if you didn’t - on some level - agree with her. “We just... haven’t talked about it! We like each other, we’re happy, we’re both busy with work. Do we need to make it official?”

Becky pursed her lips at you, and you’d been friends and roommates for so long that you knew what she was going to say.

“I need you to make it official for my peace of mind. I have a boyfriend, and I want you to have a boyfriend, and you kind of do, but I just --”

“I know, I know,” you chuckled. And, just for the record, you had known what she was going to say.

“I have the perfect plan,” Becky said, her eyes getting wider. “Brian is throwing a Halloween party next weekend. Jae told me about it -- Sungjin is closing the restaurant for the night so they can all go. If he hasn’t asked you to go with him already, I bet he will soon.”

“...Okaaaaaay,” you replied expectantly, waiting for her to continue with this so-called perfect plan.

“You ask him to be your boyfriend at the party!”

You blinked at her, your lips curved into a very confused, very humoring smile.

...That was her perfect plan?

I mean, it wasn’t imperfect because the end result would be Sungjin as your boyfriend, and how much more perfect could you get?

But... still.

The plans you had devised for her when she was crushing on Jae the Delivery Guy (who had now been her boyfriend for several months) were way more elaborate than just “Go to the party and ask him to be your boyfriend!”.

Oh, well. You knew it had come from her heart, and that’s really all that mattered.

“Okay, you got it, Chief,” you finally replied with a soft chuckle.

Becky let out a squeal of joy as she beamed and clapped her hands in delight. But then she cut herself off and reached into her pocket for her phone.

That meant she was about to text Jae... and that was your cue to leave.

Later that evening, after the restaurant had closed, your phone lit up as it always did because Sungjin was calling you -- as he always did.

“Hey, Handsome,” you greeted, your lips pursed in slight embarrassment. You guys weren’t the kind of couple to be all cutesy and PDA-y, but you still liked to show your admiration and affection for him every once in a while. Especially if you were in a particularly good mood, and tonight... you were in a particularly good mood. For reasons we’ll discuss in just a bit.

“Hey,” Sungjin replied with a bashful chuckle. “Sorry -- Hey, Beautiful.”

“How was --”

“Wait, before we start talking,” your not-quite-boyfriend interrupted. “Brian’s having a Halloween party next weekend, and I was wondering --”

And now it was your turn to interrupt.

“Yeah, Becky told me about it,” you told him.

“Damn it, Jae!”

“I know,” you laughed. “And trust me: you’re not the only one who says that around these parts.”

Sungjin’s soft, breathy laugh filled your ear, and your heart clenched because you desperately wanted to see him right now. And you knew, in just a few minutes, you would desperately want to see him even more.

“So, you’ll go? To the party? With me?” Sungjin asked, his amused tone now sounding a bit more nervous.

“Of course,” you assured him with a wide grin. But then, just like his tone had changed, so did your smile. Your lips faltered just a little bit as your nerves took over. “Actually, uh -- Becky has come up with this little plan to, uh -- well, she thinks we need to make this -- make us official, so she’s been plotting with Jae to make things, like, more romantic than a typical Halloween party so it’ll be -- anyway, I think we should make a plan to foil their plan and just become officially boyfriend and girlfriend right now.”

And cue the longest exhale you’d ever breathed because you had managed to get everything out in one fell swoop.

“Wha -- hold on a -- did --” Sungjin stammered, and your heart began to thump with anxiety.

“I know we’ve been seeing each other for a little while, and I don’t really feel like we need to establish labels, but --”

You heard Sungjin take a breath before cutting you off -- in the best way possible.

“Yes,” he said, his smile very apparent in his voice. “Yes, of course. Let’s do it.”

Phew.

You hadn’t expected him to say ‘no,’ of course, but it was still a weight off your shoulders to hear him say ‘yes.’

“I mean, if anything, it’s a chance to take Jae down a peg or two, right?” you chuckled.

“Yes, but that’s just a nice side effect,” Sungjin assured you. “And... sorry if it sounded like I was freaking out just a second ago. I wasn’t. You just caught me off-guard is all.”

“Better to catch you off-guard when it’s just us instead of at the party next week,” you pointed out, keeping your tone light to distract from how relieved you were.

“This is true. I... I have been meaning to ask you about it, I just --”

You shook your head even though he wasn’t there, your brows knitting together gently. “No, it’s okay. I really don’t mind. I wasn’t, like, worried or anything. Becky’s just been on my case --”

“And Jae on mine,” Sungjin interjected.

“And she’s my roommate --”

“He’s my delivery guy--”

“It would just make my life a lot more--”

“Peaceful--”

“If we just made it official!”

“Exactly, I totally understand,” Sungjin finished.

...Well!

You were glad the two of you were on the same page! Not that you ever thought you weren’t, but still!

“All right, then!” you said with a content sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Tomorrow was Friday, and ever since you and Sungjin had started seeing each other, he always left work early on Friday so he could eat dinner with you, Becky, and Jae at your house. It had quickly become one of your favorite traditions in the history of ever, and it was pretty much always the highlight of your week.

“Tomorrow,” Sungjin affirmed, and you could just imagine him nodding and smiling in that earnest way of his.

“I thought Jae was dressing up as Darth Vader?” you asked as you adjusted the red crown on your head. 

“He is,” Becky affirmed.

“So... why are you dressed as someone from Star Trek? Darth Vader is Star Wars.”

“You know I don’t watch those movies,” your roommate scoffed with quite the unpleasant frown on her lips. “Too much fighting. So, I figured if he’s too stubborn to change his mind, I’ll be too stubborn, too.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you shook your head to yourself. The two of them were something else, that was for sure. Darth Vader and a Star Fleet officer for Halloween. What a pair!

You couldn’t really say anything, though, because you and Sungjin had decided not to dress up in couples’ costumes, either. Sungjin had wanted to be a grim reaper, and you couldn’t convince him to dress up as the Grim Reaper from Goblin. You had simply shrugged and decided on pretending to be a member of Red Velvet from your favorite music video.

And you had to say: you looked fantastic.

“So,” Becky needled after pinning her communicator badge to her blue uniform. “When are you going to ask Sungjin?”

“Do I have to share everything about this plan with you?”

“Well, yeah!” she cried in response. “I came up with it!”

A smirk tugged at your lips and you lifted one shoulder in a very casual shrug. “I don’t know, when the time is right, I guess.”

“You won’t do it when I’m not around, right? I want to at least be there to celebrate with you afterward!”

“Becky,” you laughed. “I don’t think Brian lives in a mansion.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Yes, I’ll make sure you’re in the vicinity,” you assured her, feeling just a little bit guilty for basically lying to her. But if you told her that you’d already asked him last week, your whole plan would be ruined.

“Good,” Becky beamed, smoothing down her bangs one last time before skipping over toward you. “Ready?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” you nodded.

“Ooh, Captain,” Becky crooned with a delighted wiggle of her shoulders. “I like that. I’ll make Jae call me that all night.”

“Yeah, and you know he’ll make you call him the Dark Lord or whatever.”

Becky immediately rolled her eyes. “He’s already texted me -- multiple times -- that he will only answer to Supreme Commander tonight.”

“Oh, good god,” you murmured.

You had only been at Brian’s house for less than an hour, and Jae had already tweeted out a picture of him and Becky in their costumes. 

We’re from two different universes, but somehow we make it work.

“Somehow?!” Becky had cried, distressed. “Uh -- don’t you think that ‘somehow’ would be love?!”

“It’s just a caption!” Jae had defended, pulling up his Darth Vader mask so she could hear him properly.

Sungjin had simply nudged your side gently, and the two of you had turned around to hide your laughter as Jae and Becky had continued on with their squabbling.

As to be expected from a party with Brian as its host, the food on the refreshment table was plentiful and delicious. Of course, he had brought mostly food from Sungjin’s restaurant, but there was also Halloween candy, chips and dip, popcorn -- usual party food.

“Are you having a good time so far?” Brian asked as you approached the table and grabbed a plate.

“Oh, definitely,” you grinned. “It’s always a good time when those two argue over a Tweet.”

Brian’s eyes shifted toward Darth Vader and the Star Fleet captain, his lips quirking with amusement. “Just wait until one of them brings up a meme --”

“Well, then maybe you should have taken me to the Area 51 raid and just left me there!” you heard Becky declare.

“And there we go,” Brian sighed, sounding very satisfied with himself.

You couldn’t stop a laugh from bubbling up in your throat, and then you felt Sungjin’s presence at your back. Before you could turn around to smile at him and request a kiss, Jae joined you.

“Are girlfriends worth it?” he asked, half-joking and half-serious. “Apparently, they get mad at you for not taking them to Area 51. Who knew?”

“I want no part of this,” Sungjin replied immediately.

“You’re lucky you don’t --” Jae began, clapping a hand on Sungjin’s back.

“Jae!” Becky hissed, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

“Oh -- whoops --” Jae murmured. He took his hand back and plastered an innocent smile on his lips. “Never mind!”

“Actually,” Sungjin said as he moved to put an arm around your waist. “I am lucky because I do have a girlfriend.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned into him -- your boyfriend -- with a shy smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“Aw, really?” Wonpil piped in, now standing next to Brian. “You guys are official?! Since when?!”

“YEAH, SINCE WHEN?!” Becky insisted.

“Since last week,” Sungjin answered casually.

“What?! Why didn’t you say anything?!” Brian asked with a chuckle. “Congratulations you guys!”

“What?!” Jae lamented, his tone conveying both his astonishment and annoyance. “Last week?! But -- what about the plan? Becky’s Perfect Plan?!”

“Yeah, what about my plan?!” Becky echoed.

You smiled at your best friend, doing your best to put every single happy emotion you felt in your eyes as you looked at her. “We came up with our own plan.”

“Well, that’s just offensive,” Jae retorted as he put a very protective arm around his thwarted girlfriend. “After all we’ve done for you.”

“Shall we duel, then?” Sungjin offered, holding out his grim reaper scythe. “Where’s your lightsaber?”

“Oh, you’re on, dude,” Jae answered without hesitation.

As the two of them stepped off to another part of the room, Becky stepped over to you with a sigh.

“Those would be our boyfriends,” she said, nodding to them as they began to fight each other with their costume weapons. Apparently, she had already gotten over being upset, though you knew that was because she loved you too much and was far too happy for you.

“Yep,” you sighed, watching as Sungjin pretended to try and slice Jae’s head off with his scythe. “Those would be our boyfriends.”

And then you looked over at her with raised eyebrows. She turned to you, matching your expression almost identically.

“What have I gotten myself into?” you asked.

“Something... pretty great,” she answered, her lips curving into a smile. And then she leaned over and put her arms around your shoulders, pulling you in for a brief hug. “Really great, actually.”

And you knew she was right.

So long as you and Sungjin never fought about Tweets and used memes in your arguments...

[heyktula]

Closer, Chapter Three: Consensual - Bonus Features

Chapter three of Closer, the first installment in Somewhere in Canada (the Terror kink AU)... is now up! It's a long one again! The author continues to not be sorry!

Same deal as last week--technical notes first, story notes after, line notes to finish it all up.

Alright, here we go.

Technical Considerations:

Language: Phew, okay. So, I've written plenty of "hard kink written hard" (and arguably some "soft kink written hard"), but with this piece, I specifically wanted to do "hard kink written soft" so, uh, language is a thing! Ie, the sentence "Edward curled his hand into a fist and punched Jopson" does not belong in this fic, because there is nothing soft about that sentence no matter how much Edward loves him positive regard Edward is feeling toward his play partner.

So in order to make this fly the way I wanted to (ie, softly), I tried to avoid over-use of words like "fist", "hit", "punch", and that type of thing. I ended up in a really interesting rabbit hole that I think helped me get further into Edward's head, because the narrative had to become more focused on the technical aspects of what he's doing, and the physical results it's having on Jopson. It also emphasizes the continual assessment of how things are going that's necessary to do this kind of play safely--especially when it's the first time doing this type of play with a partner. And, it's in-character--Edward is an over-thinker anyway.

(I think the scene would have been softer, and probably more romantic, in Jopson's POV, but it would have been far blurrier as well, because he's pretty deep in subspace.)

While I'm talking about language, I'll just mention one other thing--Edward's knowledge of trans men has been academic up to this point, and he's approaching it the same way he approaches everything else, which is listening, learning as fast as he can, and taking Jopson's lead. It also means he's using--and will continue to use--the same language for Jopson as he would for any other man.

Capitalization of Sir: There's a whole entire thing in some subsets of BDSM about capitalization. At the extreme end, all references to the dominant are capitalized, all references to the submissive are lower case, and all references to both are split-capped (is that how it's referred to? I have no idea, but it describes what I mean, so I'm going with it.). It can lead to sentences like "In the dungeon, My pet, michael, always follows the rules W/we have agreed on".

I can't see either Jopson or Little going for that, so we have the more casual version of it going on here--"Sir" is capitalized, but everything else is conventionally capitalized. In a (hypothetical) situation where Jopson was collared to Edward, but referred to someone else in a casual "yes, sir" way, "sir" would be lower case. But then, for extra confusion, for someone like Sir John, where the sir is part of his scene name, it'd stay capitalized, even though Jopson's not collared to him.

(For some reason, I can't picture Sir John not using Sir John as a scene name. James Clark Ross, on the other hand, I feel can take or leave the title unless he's entered into a formal arrangement with someone, in which case that's between him and Ann and whoever else to sort something out.)

Hard Cuts: That's right, I put a hard cut in the middle of the dungeon scene. In my defense, it takes a while to bruise someone whose skin is resistant to bruising, and it's a very repetitive process. Jopson and Edward had a perfectly nice time without us, and I documented most of the good bits for you. (I do feel a bit bad for skipping the majority of the aftercare, but imo, the story arc is fine as it is, and we see enough to know that Jopson has his jacket around his shoulders the way he wanted it, so we can assume Edward bossed it out for the rest of the aftercare too.)

Story Considerations:

Bootblacking: I am not a bootblack. Ideally, this isn't obvious, because I did Online Research, but for people who do bootblack, I'm sorry if I fucked it up.

Also, one thing that I learned in the course of my research is that there's two different kinds of boots--regular boots, which need to be polished, and then oil-tanned boots, which need to be conditioned instead. I gave Edward oil-tanned boots, because that involves a hell of a lot of leg massage via rubbing conditioner into the boot, and I wanted Edward to have a nice tactile experience. (Okay, fine, I also wanted Jopson to be able to show off his skillset.)

Consent Negotiation: I love consent negotiation. I think it's great foreplay, a great way to build hype for a scene, and I think it gives you a sense of a person before you go in and do intimate and/or dangerous stuff with them. I think Edward's initial plan for having the consent negotiation once they'd moved over to the mats was good. I think Jopson's plan of doing the consent negotiation while Edward was a captive audience getting his boots conditioned was better.

There's so many bits and pieces to consent negotiation as well--there's the physical bit (like medical conditions and whether you've had food/water recently--after all, you're putting your body through something challenging, and if you're dehydrated or fasting, that's not ideal conditions), there's the mental bit (like not liking to be humiliated, and any trigger words or actions that should be avoided), and then there's the actual activities that you're going to plan on doing. Typically, there would be an additional bit, and that would be the sharing of STI results. Edward skipped that during this negotiation for two reasons--firstly, he generally just does dry play, ie, no body fluids exchanged. And, secondly, no sex in this particular dungeon. As it turned out, it wouldn't have hurt to have done that.

(Jopson clearly did his own risk assessment on the barrier-free blowjob, and was fine with his chances--but, then, I suspect if you read between the lines on Edward's blog, the lack of a fluid-bonded partner, or an intimate partner of any kind, would have been apparent.)

Dungeon Monitors: Dungeon monitors (DMs) are present in most dungeons, except the play-at-your-own-risk-in-someone's-basement type (and sometimes even those have them). Their general function is to make sure that people are safe, that equipment is being cleaned properly after use, that medical treatment is provided if it's needed, and that type of thing. I figured the medical team was a good translation, so between Goodsir and McDonald, they're splitting the dungeon between themselves for the first chunk of the night. (Presumably Peddie and Stanley are on the later shift, or maybe Bridgens is assisting, but either way, Edward was not paying attention and did not care.)

(I bet Stanley hates dungeon shifts.)

DMs generally wear vests or some sort of gear that makes them easy to spot, which is especially important when they're almost always members of the community as well, meaning that they need to distinguish between when they're on duty, and when they're playing. The radios are handy in case an ambulance needs to be called, which does sometimes happen, but it's also good to allow them to communicate with each other.

For the majority of play, it's not necessary to talk to a DM beforehand. (YMMV, consult your dungeon rules, etc.) In Edward and Jopson's case, since they're going fairly hard, it's a good idea to give a heads-up to your DM to let them know that the scene is happening. McDonald would have been watching them pretty sharply as the play got going, and then probably less so once they settled into it.

Edward noticed exactly zero of this, because he didn't care.

(I guess an additional note there is that sometimes there's a "fear factor" involved in physical play, where the dominant/top partner is specifically and consensually trying to instigate a fear reaction in the submissive/bottom partner. So in that case, having a DM aware of what's happening and what the safewords are is real important to make sure that everything is above-board, ie, the safewords aren't being deliberately ignored.)

Dungeon Rules: They totally would have fucked if they hadn't been in Canada.

Sorry to both of them, but sorry to Jopson in particular.

Subspace: So subspace is basically an altered state of consciousness that can be dropped into during BDSM play. Every submissive/bottom gets there at different speeds and through different methods. Jopson is a masochist, so pain will get him there--but he's deeply into ritual as well, and so just the act of bootblacking for an hour prior to Edward getting there has already gotten him started on that path--though, as he notes, not far enough that he can't pull himself back out of it if it's no longer appropriate to be in it. It's sort of like a hot bath, in that way--if you've just dipped your toes in it, fine, you can go answer the doorbell. But if you've been submerged in the tub for an hour, you're not getting out unless something really pressing happens.

The general, uh, fuzzy nature of subspace means that Edward's call not to discuss facefucking was a good one, because Jopson would have just said yes, and Edward would have derailed himself wondering if it was an honest yes. As it was, Edward got the unprompted deepthroating, and I don't think he has any regrets whatsoever about that one.

Line Notes:

There’s no way for Jopson to know that Edward purchased two collars for him, but he’s showing off his neck like he’s trying to make a point of it, like he’s trying to bring out all the possessive bits that Edward is trying to keep tamped down.

That's exactly what he's doing, Edward. He's trying to gently coax you into going feral on him.

He should have adjusted his dick before he sat down, but it’s too late to do that now without being territorial about it.

Tozer wouldn't hesitate for one moment. He adjusts his dick when he feels like it. Just as an aside.

I don’t see you, Edward wants to say. How have I lived my entire fucking life without ever having seen you?

It's because you and Tozer go to the shittier clubs with louder music and younger people, and I don't think Jopson has been to a club like that in his entire life.

(God, I have, like, an entire essay worth of headcanons about Jopson and his Terror and Erebus experiences.)

“Safeword,” Edward says, after some time has passed.

Jopson looks up at him, eyes wide, and says nothing.

So, we were talking about Jopson's risk assessments earlier, re: the blowjob, and here's another point where Jopson is flirting with the possibility of playing with Edward irresponsibly.  I think there's a couple different things to observe here--and the first is that the ideal response is the one that Edward gives, which is essentially "absolutely fuck that, we'll play with a safeword that you're going to use when you need it, or we won't play at all". The other responses are...less than ideal, but Jopson might have still played with Edward under those circumstances anyways, and that's on Joppie to justify, cuz I'm not gonna bend over backwards to justify that for him. I do think, though, that there's a couple points that happen over the course of the weekend where nobody would blame Jopson if he was doing an assessment and figuring out--is there the possibility of a long-term thing here, or is this a one-weekend-only thing? And in every case, Edward is coming down solidly into the long-term possibility category.

Jopson frees the laces, runs them between his fingers. “I’ll get chatty before I get quiet. When I stop responding verbally when you speak to me, pull me back out, please—speak to me, get me something to drink. Drape my jacket back over my shoulders.” His mouth twists a moment. “I may get…affectionate, but you shouldn’t—”

There's so much here that I want to talk about! First of all, Jopson is highly comfortable with and cognizant of his own response to this type of play, and he's able to articulate that response very clearly--which is something that comes with experience. He's communicating to Edward the point where he wants the play to stop--ie, when he no longer responds verbally--and he's also clear about what needs to be done to gently tug him back out of it. (Coming back out of it isn't always required, but in this case, since they're sleeping separately and working in the morning, it's for the best.)

If Jopson had finished his last sentence, it would have been along the lines of "I may get affectionate, but you shouldn't take it seriously if I do". I pulled directly from Jopson's abandonment issues in canon for that one, and it hurts my feelings to put it here, but it's here so that Edward can respond appropriately this time. I think any feelings that Jopson has during scenes are legitimate--but I also suspect, based on this, that Jopson has been affectionate during scenes before, and had that affection rebuffed, or had it indicated to him that the affection wasn't welcome or needed, so he's used to disclaiming it. Which, ouch.

“Good job,” he says, voice low and right next to Jopson’s ear. “Pack your things. I’m coming back for you.”

Speaking of AU!Edward Littles that didn't fuck up their decisions, here's one right here.

His hand is pleasantly tingling, his mind starting to fuzz out with endorphins, and he wants Jopson to feel the same—

So Edward puts literally zero thought into his own headspace throughout this scene, because that's the kind of POV character he is, but you can see the beginning of his...actually, I don't even know the word for it. Whatever the equivalent of subspace is for doms, Edward is getting into it.

I like symmetry

Says the man with the tattoo on one arm. Alright, Ned. Alright.

"Mrf." Jopson swallows, the movement of his neck something Edward can actually feel, now that he's carrying Jopson fully. "Don’t want to derail the scene—I just—a minute—your cock is quite distracting."

I love that all the physical play was just fine, but it's being nestled against Edward's hardon that makes Jopson need a minute. (Which, fair.)

“Yeah,” Edward manages. “I can—I can do that. You, uh, the safewords?”

One of the things I really love about Edward here is that when he gets overwhelmed with how awesome something is, he reverts back to safety and checking in with his partner. (I'm pretty sure you could contrast that with Tozer, who I'm pretty sure would just talk filth until he'd gotten a grip on things again, and Crozier, who I see as pretty unflappable during play considering that he hasn't met a certain "online guy" yet.)

“I can’t believe we can’t fuck in here,” Jopson mutters grouchily.

Couldn't get ploughed in the dungeon the way I wanted, 0/10 on TripAdvisor.

Edward puts his hands behind his head, tugs at his own hair a moment to ground himself, and then curls his hands into fists where Jopson can’t see them, brings them down and around, quick and sudden, thumping the sides of his hands into Jopson’s ribs.

The very first time I was in a rough play workshop, this move was demonstrated. The demo bottom was facing the audience, and the presenter was sitting on a table behind him. They had him put his hands behind his neck and just stand there and wait while they was talking about something else, but from our position in the audience, we could see them raise their hands above their head, and knew what they were going to do, because they mimed it out for us first. I think that's where I fell in love with this kind of play, because they made it fun.

“I’ll go faster for the rest,” Edward promises. “Keep counting, and you’ll get your reward on five.”

Or, you know, on six, because one of you wanted five hits in a row and restarted the count on purpose, and the other one of you stuck to your promise of going with a verbal command of five because there wasn’t enough time to go through the whole ‘what is the correct response here’ and muscle memory won out over anxiety domming. (You can save your “oops”, Jopson, we all know it’s insincere.) 

Jopson doesn’t scream. His entire body goes stiff, breath sucking quick into his lungs and his fingernails digging sharply into Edward’s bare back, legs clenching around Edward’s thigh, and it’s like time just fucking stops for one ecstatic moment until Jopson goes limp, his hands patting randomly on Edward’s back, over the scratches he’s just left in Edward’s skin that Edward is going to treasure forever, because he did that to Jopson and he’s going to wear these scratches with fucking pride.

Y'all, Edward "so excited about the part where he scratched me that I completely missed the part where he came" Little. He'll be here all weekend.

Jopson blinks, slow and easy. “Quite lovely, thank you. Everything cleaned up?”

I'm deeply in favour of doms who look after cleaning up the space while their subs recover. I'm not convinced that Little and Jopson will fall into that pattern permanently, but I think it's a sweet gesture on Edward's part that he looks after everything for their first time. It's also a very encouraging thing for Jopson--because, say, if he was trying to make sure that he wasn't going to have his service taken for granted, this is a good indication that it won't be.

Edward feels vaguely like he should demur, out of manners, or, uh. Concern for Jopson’s knees, or—or his, um. Aftercare. Or. Or something.

I love deep POV.

Edward raises his eyebrows, deliberately puts his hands flat on the wall behind him. He’s suddenly very, very hard. “I’m not gonna stop you if you want to do it yourself,” he says, voice rough. “That’s hot as fuck.”

*eyeballs emoji*

(And we can make a note of that particular detail for the next chapter, when Edward awkwardly discloses something that Jopson already suspects--or, at least, would suspect if he weren't currently high as fuck on happy endorphins.)

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” Edward says. He swallows. “I—uh. Sorry, this is stupid, I forgot they were there—I generally do, you know, warn people in advance, this isn’t how I normally—I, uh.”

I suspect the actual issue here is that the last time Edward had his dick sucked, there wasn't nearly as much metal in it, so "hey my dick is heavily pierced" isn't a conversation that he's used to having, but Edward can excuse this however he likes.

...it’s just—he’s just—he’s never—not without his partner gagging, and there were always other things they could do, there were always—fuck—this was never a priority...

Little refuses to think of his own dick as big, because it's the dick he's always had, so unfortunately, this is the closest we're gonna get to confirmation of his dick size in his POV.

Edward can feel—oh, fuck, no, that’s not just his cock, he can feel his own piercings in Jopson’s throat, the hard balls of the barbells firm under his fingertips, and Edward’s balls tighten.

I don't want to admit how much time I spent trying to figure out if this was a legitimate thing, but it was more than an hour, I couldn't find an answer, I have no one to ask, and I liked the mental image too much to let it go, so now we're all stuck with it.

I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not.

Edward takes a deep breath, steps into the hotel room, and shoulders his responsibilities.

Edward, sweetie. Sol would be the first one to tell you that he can handle himself.

I mean, we can all agree that he clearly didn’t handle himself particularly well tonight.

But he’d be the first one to tell you to fuck off.

Phew. That's it for this week! Chapter four, Kink, goes up next Friday, and we'll touch on Solomon Tozer's no-good very-bad day then.

And if you have questions or anything in the meantime, you can always drop me an ask on tumblr or Curious Cat. I know I didn't cover everything, even in this long-ass entry, cuz there's a fuck of a lot of stuff going on in the foreground, much less the background. I honestly don't mind if you ask, it's totally cool. :)

See you next week!

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― Chapter 16: Las Vegas, 2017 (Epilogue)

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

— Las Vegas, 2017. She lost a card game. He gained a friend.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Las Vegas, 2017

In the middle of a glitzy casino-slash-hotel bar he’s usually not the first one to get attention.

He certainly isn’t the last. He’s well aware he’s conventionally attractive and when the big-wigs in their bespoke suits and five thousand dollar leather jackets have both of their arms snatched up he’s not unfamiliar with being the “next best thing.”

But this woman has been staring at him for an extremely intense fifteen minutes and for a man with eternity on his hands that kind of time doesn’t usually register. Not unless it’s important — or in this case extremely unnerving.

“If I’m upsetting you that much why don’t you just tell me to stop?”

She chooses just the right moment to make him choke on his margarita. Cadence splutters, feels the icy burn up in his sinuses but without the need to breathe it’s more uncomfortable than anything. He has to make a show of actually coughing, hacking his lungs out like… like the old man he saw choking on his martini olive an hour ago.

Had he said that out loud? Or worse… was she a mind reader?

But the woman two stools to his left doesn’t answer his thoughts — which is a really big relief for him. She just… keeps on looking. Leering; even. Head tilted to the side so the ends of her purple hair pools on the backlit bartop and makes her look a bit like a movie star. Of which Cadence has definitely seen a few since he started his night.

“Well?” When Cadence pushes up his glasses the woman laughs at him. “You know—I gotta ask. What were you going for there? Because they’re a little too thin to write you off as a nerd but your vibe is more Draco Malfoy than Harry Potter.”

What does someone say to that? “I… Sorry, miss, but I’m waiting for someone.”

“And that means you can’t even have a chat?” She holds up a finger before he can even think up a reply. “Or is that your polite way of saying you don’t want to have a chat?”

Cadence gives himself a moment and a half. “The latter.”

“‘The latter,’ said the insanely attractive tree-tall stud under the delusion he’s playing at subtle and unassuming.” And she laughs and laughs and Cadence can’t tell if he’s insulted or not because while she was possibly the mouthiest woman he’s ever met — her impression of his accent wasn’t all too terrible.

Finally the woman has laughed enough; she looks down at her tumbler and the melting ice cube carved in the shape of the hotel’s signature Cordonian apple. Maybe he can finally be left alone…?

“Cooper said you were an odd client. But I guess it wouldn’t be the first time he’s understated a job.”

Cadence stills like stone. She knows he heard her. He knows she knows because of the sly smirk she doesn’t-quite hide behind her violet curtain of hair.

But it does the trick. She has his full attention now.

His eyes sweep the length of her with a new scrutiny. She’s still in the same skin-tight dress but all the vampire can see now are potential places to conceal a weapon. Wolfsbane in the resin pendant around her neck? Poison on the blade of a small dagger accessible from her thigh? A stake… actually it doesn’t look like she could fit a stake anywhere but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“You know Cooper?” he finally asks.

“I am Cooper.”

“That’s ridiculous. Jeremy Cooper is a balding middle aged man, and a former United States Marine.”

“Shit—really? We all thought he was joking.”

“Why in the world would someone joke about that?”

Either she doesn’t care to respond or she doesn’t have one witty enough. Either way he respects her getting back to the matter at hand. She sends her drink skidding across the bar in his direction and takes up his neighboring stool possibly a little too close for comfort.

Cadence is always in control. He doesn’t have the luxury of being chained to his hunger — there are other, darker demons that bind him down. But every time he has to leave his office he’s forced to accept the fact that his isolation hasn’t been entirely to his benefit.

In summary: she smells amazing. Once he muddles through and around her perfume, that is.

“Don’t even think about it, Malfoy. Or should I call you Cullen?”

“Perhaps my name might be better?” He swallows down all the screaming parts of him and offers his hand. “I’m —”

“Cadence Smith, yeah yeah you really think I’d show up to this sleaze factory without knowing exactly who I’m looking for?” She leans in none-too-suspiciously. “Or what I’m looking for, for that matter?”

It sounds too much like a threat. Cadence falls back on his old habit of straightening his back and shoulders; owning his height rather than shying from it. “Since you are far more informed than I, then, you shouldn’t have any trouble putting us on even footing. Starting with your name.”

There’s a brief silence where Cadence genuinely can’t figure out if she’s going to answer him. Likely about just as long as she contemplates the same.

Then finally; “Katherine.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Does that particular detail matter at the moment?” Well… point taken.

He nods; a mutual agreement to move on. “Where is Cooper?”

“Dunno. I think he said something but taking his RV up the coast?”

Cadence holds up a finger and takes a moment to wave down the bartender. “Whatever she’s having, but two. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.” And only when he’s safely clutching a whiskey in hand does the finger go down.

Thankfully Katherine doesn’t judge him too outwardly. “You’re looking at your new Nighthunter-on-retainer, buddy.”

“I — what —”

“Take a sec’, let it sink in. I’m sure you’ve never gotten such good news so casually but I’m here to deliver.”

“Not… entirely what I’m thinking about.” Rather Cadence is panicking — wildly. And not as internally as he would hope. “I can’t afford this—here—right now. Kavinsky’s poker tourney starts in an hour and if I miss him before he starts…”

“Phew, okay — the one thing he isn’t kidding about and it’s how neurotic you are.”

Cadence shoots her a glare. “I am not neurotic.”

“Then prove it.” He watches with no small amount of awe as Katherine stands and swiftly downs her new glass, then reaches over and helps herself to what remains of his. “Bottle it all up and let’s get a move on. Where’s this tournament? And are we playing — because poker got me into this mess so I really don’t think it’ll get me out.”

Cadence takes a moment to pinch his brow before joining her. He grabs his jacket from the back of his stool and shoulders it on.

“There’s… a set of private suites solely for shareholder games. Just underneath the presidential suite. That’s where he’ll be.”

“And bullet point this guy for me?” She gives a sweeping gesture for Cadence to lead and he takes it — but ends up doubling back to leave a generous tip.

If only such a thing were possible. In one year the vampire will most likely not be celebrating one hundred years at this pursuit; the search for his identity. A milestone he’s not exactly proud to be reaching. But in his so-far ninety nine years at this never has he met the irksome, selfish, greedy, needling like of Langdon Kavinsky.

Careful stock investments during the technological boom have ensured that Cadence’s life will never end in the penniless way it began. One would think an offer of “whatever amount you deem appropriate, with as many commas and zeroes as you wish” would appeal to Langdon and his sole vice of greed.

Yet still the tycoon denies him. Or had denied him until three weeks ago. It would be irresponsible of Cadence not to be suspicious.

“Well that’s obvious,” replies Katherine — who has listened with rapt attention every step towards the lifts, “and you don’t strike me as the irresponsible type. Even for… one of your kind.”

“And knowing what I am still you’re bound and determined to join me?”

“I can take care of myself.” Which he doesn’t have a hard time believing at all.

They pass the hotel’s usual security with room key cards. Cautionary measures of a very specific type judging by the look he gives Katherine — but with no reason he’s forced to wave them on through.

“That one wasn’t there when I cased the place earlier,” Katherine tries to warn of the much larger secondary guard standing not-at-all suspiciously in front of the farthest elevator back. But he expected this.

He coaxes her to take his arm as they approach. The guard doesn’t bother with so much as a glance.

“Choose another elevator.”

Cadence flips his card between two fingers and holds the back up in what is apparently a very limited line of sight. The bulky fellow moves his eyes without so much as a twitch from the rest of him — he reminds the vampire of a certain stone troll from some years back.

“Mister Kavinsky is expecting me.” And though Cadence finds no small amount of amusement in contradicting the guard he can’t help but squeeze Katherine’s arm ever so slightly when she comes under his scrutiny.

“This isn’t the type of event one brings a guest to, Mister Smith. The lady can wait down here.”

“‘The lady’ is right here,” she snaps; a firecracker at his side, “and the lady can do what she likes.”

“Katherine —”

“Would you be arguing with me if Cooper had shown up?”

She doesn’t glare at him — instead seems rather smug and matter-of-fact. This is because she knows she’s right. A recurring theme in this their play in three acts.

Very well. He rounds on the guard before he can argue. “Mister Kavinsky expects his payment, I’m assuming?”

Silence. “Yes.”

“Then the lady — and all of her fine jewelry — will be joining me. I’m not such a fool that I’d bring it in cash.”

It’s with reluctance that the human finally surrenders. Presses a single ruby-red button different than the normal silver ones. The lift doors open right away, smooth and soundless; waiting at Kavinsky’s beck and call.

“Enjoy your evening, Mister Smith.” The guard pivots on his shiny heel to watch the pair enter all the way until the doors close. It’s rather jarring — such an ugly and brutish face suddenly replaced by Cadence’s own reflection.

They begin to ascend.

“You never explained why you’re here in his stead —” Cadence shrugs off her glare easily, “— you brought him up; you’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

“Yeah yeah yeah…”

By the time the doors open at their floor Jeremy Cooper is no longer in the vampire’s good graces. Hopefully the hunter knows it would be in the best interests of his continued miserable life to never find himself in New Orleans again. A card game — that’s what his identity was worth. A shitty hand at a shitty game.

If his new Nighthunter—Nighthuntress?—senses his frustration she conceals it well; tugs him along via their linked arms and down the brightly lit hotel corridor. “Hey — the means may’ve been weird but I’m not complaining. You’re still paying me.”

A statement, yes, but one she still demands answer for with a mere glance.

“Yes—Yes of course. All of Cooper’s contractual obligations are yours; as are his terms and salary.”

“I’ve already started working on my own terms — but that can wait I think.”

Thank you, he thinks wearily, though he doesn’t really know who to direct it to.

Judging by their pace and the men who appear to be colleagues of their dear friend down in the lobby who come into view around a corner — they don’t have as long as Cadence would like to go over details Cooper would have already known.

Not that it stops her.

“Just tell me what we’re here for and how we’re gonna get it.” She hisses low. But she knows how good his hearing is.

“Kavinsky is an eccentric collector of the occult. I’ve been following his purchases since last spring — some of his treasures are fakes, some aren’t; but they are all worth fortunes apiece.”

“Is he hoarding a supernatural armory?”

“Nothing so insidious that I could find. Rather totems, relics, regalia and the like. A month ago he came into possession of an extremely old and rare antique amulet.”

“Tell me this thing, like, destroys the world or something.”

“What,” thank god he catches himself before his face twists into confusion; that would not look good, “why would you think — no. The Amulet of Nero has long been rumored to contain some sort of powerful essence; the only one of its kind. An essence only of use to vampires. It’s my belief that this essence could help me regain what I’ve lost.”

Katherine stops them before they would be in the doormen’s earshot. Cadence opens his mouth to question her but finds that rather hard to do — what with her hands on his cheeks and her tongue in his mouth.

She kisses wet and noisy — somehow it makes sense for her. She grasps and tugs at his hair, makes as if to pull him aside for his body to pin her against the wall. But that is quite enough, he thinks, and pulls back just far enough to speak. That’s quite a strategically placed hand of hers that covers their lips from the eyes on them.

The vampire tries his hardest not to gag. “What—You—Why did you do that?” he asks with a choking whisper. Katherine remains unperturbed.

“Shush; I’m buying us time. How are we getting this thing?”

Right. “He offered me the opportunity to win it in his tourney. But this close and after all this time…”

Cadence’s eyes flick to the door at the end of the hall; red and bright and thankfully hidden by his mussed-up hair. But when he moves them back to his companion she doesn’t even blink. “I’ll be taking the Amulet whether I win or not. If you have a problem with that kind of work then I suggest you try and get Cooper to take back his contract.”

A strange and almost feline grin spreads on the Nighthunter’s glossy lips. She separates them and makes as if to compose herself; but the longer Cadence finds himself in her company the more he starts to notice what’s a part of her act and what isn’t.

Katherine flutters her eyelashes at him sweetly. Definitely part of the act.

“I don’t have a problem with that at all.”

Cadence, surprised but nonetheless relieved, adjusts his tie and again offers his arm. “Shall we then, Kathy?”

And like with everything else she meets him hit for hit.

“It would be my pleasure, Cade.”

[unstable-reality]

Remember to Forget

Phew! Feared I might not get this up in time (I thought I’d given myself a week to write it, but it turned out I’d misread things and only given myself two days. *facepalm*). 

Anyway: here’s Jyn, Cassian, and a significant date.

[AO3]

.

.

Jyn wasn’t one to mark anniversaries or events. She preferred, whenever possible, to ignore the passage of time. It was easier that way; made for fewer reminders. She didn’t have to think or care about the things she’d done, or the people she’d known, because there was only today, only the next meal, the next job, the next distraction, the next helmet to drive her boot into. No future, no past, and in theory, no pain.

But things had changed. A hatch had opened.

She stood in front of her locker, hesitating. She was packed and ready, her bag slung over her shoulder, but now that it was time to go, there were nerves blossoming in her belly. It was silly. The mission was a simple thing -- Cassian’s first off-base assignment since Scarif, transparently designed to ease him back into field work -- and it had nothing to do with tomorrow’s Standard date, or with the memories she’d lately had trouble holding back. Then again, the mission wasn’t really the problem.

She closed her eyes, breathed. Adjusted her bag. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything is fine. The door to her locker clicked shut. Her bunkmate had stuck a calendar to the wall. She didn’t look at it.

The corridors of Home One were bright, sterile, and nowhere near as crowded as they should have been. Jyn nodded to a soldier, was acknowledged by another, and then another. She was starting to recognize and be recognized by a surprising amount of people. Well, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, given the givens, but it still took her aback, when she paused to think about it. She’d spent years as a transient. She wasn’t sure how she felt about having place, about being known again. At times, it felt very, very good. At others, it made panic well up behind her ribs. Right now, it was somewhere in between. She stepped out onto the hangar. The patrol was changing over; one squadron was approaching the bay, marshalled by a deck crew in baggy uniforms. A second was hopping into their X-wings, dragging down their helmets. She wondered at the overlap between that and her departure time, and then she thought of Bodhi, and wondered whether he was in either group. They’d had a lot of conversations, over the past couple of months, many of them about her father. Did he know? She could talk to him, probably. Not that either of them were available right now.

Not that it mattered. Because it didn’t, and it hadn’t, in years and years and years.

Cassian was waiting outside their ship, arms crossed. He didn’t quite smile at her. It was a reserved expression, for an ordinary person, but when worn by him, it felt like so much more. “I started to think you might not be coming.”

Her fist tightened around the strap of her bag. “I’m on time.”

“You’re five minutes late.”

Ah. That explained the overlap with the shift change. She supposed she’d known that. She shrugged. Beyond Cassian, she caught a glimpse of K-2, tinkering with a control panel.

“Hello, Kay. You’re looking well.”

He stilled. His head rotated toward her, slowly. The lights of his eyes winked out, winked back on. She was needling him, and she was doing it because it was its own sort of distraction. Her heart was thumping like the stupid thing that it was. She had to take her mind off it somehow.

“Jyn Erso,” he said. Droids couldn’t sigh, but it sounded like he had. “It’s very nice of you to join us. I’m thrilled.”

She huffed. It was a shame he couldn’t remember. She’d have to offer him her blaster again, one of these days.  

She looked back at Cassian. The lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. He looked amused. His gaze bounced to her bag, to her lips, back up to her eyes. He nodded, and then turned toward the open hatch. “Let’s go.”

Her stomach churned. Her heart hadn’t slowed. She breathed deep, and swallowed, and followed him on board.

-

-

They hadn’t spent a lot of time together. She’d thought it would be more, after everything, but in hindsight, that seemed foolish. He’d been doing a lot of physical therapy, and she’d been integrating into the Alliance, and their schedules hadn’t lined up all that often, and even after he was fully healed, they’d still be on separate duty much of the time. She ought to lower her expectations. Still, when they had been able to see one another, it had been...nice, in a way that she wanted to get used to. She hadn’t wanted that sort of thing in a long time.

She didn’t want to screw it up.

She sat in the cabin. She’d wedged herself into a nook, leaned her head against the wall. Durasteel amplified the sound of the air filtration system and piped it back into her ear. She mentally inventoried her weapons. She had her truncheon, and a few knives of varying lengths. There were two blasters in her pack. She thought of the world they were headed to. She thought of the city. There was a festival underway, which would serve as additional cover: off-worlders would draw less attention. She began to think about why she’d been tagged for this -- because Cassian wasn’t 100%, so he needed back-up; because he’d specifically asked for her -- but got off it.

She thought of Lah’mu. She thought of a moment, with lights and smiles and laughter, and her mother bending to kiss her father’s cheek, and him looking up at her, from his chair, with soft, kind eyes.

She rubbed her temples. The engine hummed and rumbled up through her lower half. K-2 said something to Cassian, who responded flatly. A part of her wanted to go up front, but there was an ache in her chest, and it rooted her to the floor. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t.

He came back to her, after the craft had dropped out of hyperspace. His face was impassive. She got the impression that he was reading her, that he was evaluating. It would be just her luck, wouldn’t it, if he could tell she had shit going on. You don’t have shit going on, and it’s not the first time he’s seen you.

“We’re preparing to land.”

“Good. I’ll get my things.”

She rose, collected her bag. He watched. He extended an arm, planting his elbow on the wall and his fist against an abutment on the ceiling. “We’ll be here for a few days, as a cushion.” It was a strange thing for him to say, as if he were trying to fill the silence.

“I know.”

The air thickened. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel him looking at her, feel his stance shifting. What was she doing? It was just a day, it was just a stupid day, and it had nothing to do with him, nothing at all.

“Right,” he said. She could hear his intake of breath. He tapped the abutment, then moved past her, quickly, and gathered his own things.

-

-

Her datapad was blinking.

She sat in their hotel room, on the edge of her bed. Cassian was in the fresher. Muffled sounds of revelry drifted up from the street. Her hands curled and uncurled around her comforter. It probably wasn’t a wise move, but she’d messaged Bodhi shortly after they’d settled in. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’d never wanted, or needed, to talk to anyone before. Of course, she’d also never bothered remembering.

She reached for the device, and let out a long, slow breath.

Hi Jyn. It’s not a strange question at all. Yeah, I knew. He mentioned it last year. How are you doing?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest burned, and her throat tightened.

I’m fine. How are you?

She stared at the cursor. Shifted around. Even if he was in a position to check his messages, and replied immediately, the distance would still cause a delay. Cassian emerged, looking put-together, professional. Well-dressed. It was fine. Everything was fine. He blinked at her.

“Bodhi,” she said. “I see.”

The datapad vibrated. She glanced down.

I don’t know. Feels weird.

It was odd, but somehow, until now, she hadn’t realized how close Bodhi had gotten to her father. All the talking they’d done, and it was this that drove it home. What was she to do with that? She was still getting used to letting people be there for her, and to being there for them in return. It felt like lifting an atrophied limb.

We can talk when I get back.

Could they? Really?

Yeah, okay.

Cassian was still standing there. The exchange had taken several minutes, and he’d just waited it out. It occurred to her that that was significant. Guilt stabbed at her chest.

It had nothing to do with him. Her pulse was racing, and it had nothing to do with him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, after she’d gone for a stretch without typing.

She dropped the datapad onto the bedside table. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

His eyebrows dipped. His gaze fell to the floor. He’d read her again, at least in part, but she didn’t want to volunteer information. He sighed. “Good.” Started to take a step, stopped. His body went rigid. His eyes closed, his lips compressed into a thin line. A shadow fell over his face. He clenched his fists, and she saw his throat work, and she straightened, leaned forward, prepared to...do something. And then, as abruptly as it had started, it passed. He looked at her. Flashed a quick, tight smile.

Huh. Seemed he had his own shit.  

They took the lift down to the ground floor. The last time they’d been in one, they’d clung to each other, and she’d looked at his face, and into his eyes, and felt a deep and desperate longing. Now, they stood side by side, with a respectable distance between them. Don’t screw it up. The door opened, and she swallowed, and they moved through the lobby, and then out into the world. Something bore down on her heart. They had only to meet with a contact; Cassian had only to confirm a transaction. It wasn’t a big deal. But the air was full, and so was the street.

There were people everywhere. They were singing. There were instruments, their sounds wafting over and cutting through the crowd. There were noisemakers and streamers. There were children running and hollering. There was a familiarity to it that tickled something in her mind. It would have to be related, wouldn’t it? Of course these things would come in bunches, rather than one at a time.

Cassian’s side knocked into hers. He placed his fingertips on her lower back, and bent toward her ear. “Stay close to me,” he said, his breath washing over the side of her face. The points of contact were hot. It felt natural to lean into him and wind her own arm around his lower back. He acquiesced. She breathed.  

She thought of Eadu. Kriff.

This near to him, it was hard not to acknowledge her nerves. The reason for them was peering at her from around a corner. Her pulse raced.

It was fine. She was fine.

The ground dipped unexpectedly. Beside her, Cassian stiffened, and his breath hitched. She looked up at him, narrowed her eyes. She could have just ignored it again -- should have, really -- but her concern for him won out.

“Are you all right?”

The hand on her back went as stiff as the rest of him. “Yes,” he replied, a tad gruffly. He met her gaze. “Are you?”

Well. That wasn’t fair at all. She stared at him. They’d come to a stop; they were at the edge of the crowd, but streams of people still parted around him. Music pounded in her head. Its rhythm clashed with the beat of her heart, which was fast and foolish.

“Yeah. Course.”

He shook his head, made an exasperated noise. “Right.” His hand fell away. The spot where it had been felt cold and empty.

Why did it have to be this way? If she didn’t want to screw things up, then why did she seem to be doing just that? She didn’t know how to balance it. Maybe it was too much to hope for, nurturing whatever it was that was growing between them, while blocking off a part of herself, stalling a conversation that she dreaded.

She sighed, swallowed. He knew that she was off; she had to give him something to work with. She was opening her mouth to speak when she caught a glimpse of a woman and a man, pausing beside a building. There was a little girl between them, adjusting the straps on her boots with slow, half-practiced movements. She was very small, and very young, and on her shoulders, there lay two brown braids.

It clicked, all of the things that had been familiar. All-Species Week. She could hardly remember that day, but the few impressions that remained were more than enough. The pair of hastily packed bags. The tense, breathless walk through colorful, chaotic streets. The press of bodies. Her mother’s agitation. Her father, clutching her to his chest. The ship. The flight. Saw, and his map.

You’ve chosen a good home for us, Stardust.

Kriff. The air was heavy, and too warm. It was hard to breathe. Cassian frowned at her.

“...Jyn?”

“I need a second.” She pushed her way off the street, placed her palms against the wall of a building. The corners of her eyes stung.

This was stupid. It shouldn’t bother her so much. It shouldn’t matter, any of it. She’d been so good at not thinking about it, about leaving the past where it lay, but now… Things had changed. A couple of months ago, things had changed. She’d seen him. She’d spoken to him, and she’d watched him die. The past had mattered then. Oh, how it had mattered, so much so that it had turned her into a blubbering mess, and then it had lit her skin on fire.

Footsteps, behind her and then next to her. Cassian, his brow creased with concern. She forced herself to turn and straighten, so that they were facing each other, their shoulders to the wall.

He was very close to her. “Jyn, what is going on?”

She didn’t want to tell him. Force, there was no use turning away from it, now, because it did have to do with him. Kriff, kriff, it did. She didn’t want to tell him, because he’d almost been the one to kill him, and she didn’t want to bring that back up, didn’t want to have to deal with it. She’d been ignoring it, because not ignoring it might ruin everything. She liked him. Kriff, she liked him, she wanted to get to know him, she wanted to spend more time with him, she wanted to keep working with him, and getting anywhere near the circumstances surrounding their meeting could jeopardize that.

“Jyn, please. Talk to me.”

And then, just like that, she blurted it out: “It’s his birthday.”

He stilled. “What?”

Her throat was stuffed with balled-up linen. “It’s my father’s birthday.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

He exhaled. His shoulders relaxed and fell forward. He looked off to the side for a moment, then back at her. “I’m…” His throat bobbed. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

Yeah. He sure was. She felt her thoughts, and her heart, angle away from him. She felt a spark of old anger, the very thing she’d hoped to keep from coming back. She blinked. Tears clung to her eyelashes. His expression was so earnest. His hands were hovering, like he wanted to touch her, but wasn’t sure how, or whether he should.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not.”

“Neither is your back.”

He breathed hard through his nose. “No, but it’s where it should be, and it’s getting better.” He pursed his lips, and tapped her arm. “C’mon. We’re going back to the hotel.”

She frowned. “Your contact.”

“We arranged to meet within a window. We have time.”

She was a fool. And ridiculous. And a mess. She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him that the mission was more important, a sentiment she was pretty sure he’d get behind. She wanted to be back on a distraction. But she knew it was too late for that.

“Okay.”

He closed his hand around her arm, and she let him lead her back.

-

-

They sat next to each other, the sides of their hands barely touching. Outside, a popular song was taken up, and hundreds of voices belted out the words.

“He called you Stardust.”

She nodded. “He could be very sentimental.” Except when he couldn’t. Her memories of Mac-Vee were as washed out as her memories of the escape from Coruscant, but she knew what they meant. “And when we were on Lah’mu, he tried to make it…” Seem simple. Normal. Happy.

She recalled him sitting in a darkened corner of the kitchenette, his features sharpened by shadow. One hand had been wrapped around a glass; the other had bracketed his forehead, thumb and forefinger pressed into his temples. He’d drunk silently and alone, and she’d watched him until, at length, he’d noticed her, and pushed the glass aside. Something had passed over his face, and then it had been replaced by a half-smile. “What are you doing up?”

Wondering.

In retrospect, it occurred to her that he’d never purposely drank in front of her, after Coruscant. It had been part of the illusion.

Her head hung. Her chin touched her collar bone. It was hard to talk about this. It was terrible. It wasn’t what she’d wanted. She was crying again, and she hated it.

“He loved you.”

Her whole body went taut. Her thoughts jumped, danced, skittered. She held her breath, and everything was ready, ready, like she was on the edge of a fight.

“He would have been proud of you.”

Her head swung toward him. Hadn’t he already said that? She couldn’t be sure.

Cassian was breathing, and blinking. She considered that the spark hadn’t lit. The anger hadn’t been strong enough. He looked her in the eye, and leaned forward.

“I’m sorry, Jyn.”

It wasn’t what she’d expected. He shouldn’t be reacting the way he was. They shouldn’t be having this conversation, and even if they were, it shouldn’t be calm, and it shouldn’t be making her feel better, and it wasn’t how things were supposed to go. The past hurt. Because it hurt, people recoiled when confronted by it. People left. People betrayed. They had a past, she and Cassian, despite their short history, and that was a kriffing liability. They ought to be dispensing with it. They ought to be pretending it wasn’t anything, carrying on with all the talking and touching as if nothing had come before.

But she couldn’t live that way anymore, whether she’d accepted it or not. The hatch was open.

“I know.”

His tears hadn’t fallen, but they clouded his eyes. She folded her hand over his. He inhaled. They made eye contact. Something warm sprouted in her chest, spread outward. She realized that she wasn’t screwing it up. There was no fighting, and no rejection; he was trying, same as her, and goodness, it felt good just to say, just to have someone hear. She took it further, and heart pounding, veins burning, she realized that there was a way to distract herself and get to know him at the same time.

“Tell me about your parents.”

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Eight: Science ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

It’s a rainy day today. Not that it matters much to Sasuke: all of his classes are indoors, and he’s got a car to drive home from school when the time comes. But for now, he’s off to his last class of the day.

Home ec.

He’s about three weeks into the school year, and he’s actually turning out to be glad he has this class. The rest of his schedule has homework like you wouldn’t believe, tests far more often than he’d like, and projects out the wazoo. So, the last hour block of his day has turned into a saving grace.

There’s no tests. Very light homework. And most of the in-class work is actually...enjoyable. It’s just a very relaxing class. The old woman teaching it seems to know that most of them aren’t really there to be professional homemakers, so she takes the whole thing a bit lightly. Most days they just go over a chapter in the book, discuss a thing or two, maybe do a worksheet...and otherwise, they’re free to practice whatever falls under the proper category. For most, that’s either sewing or cooking.

Sasuke’s taken up the latter for the most part. Turns out he’s really not that great at sewing.

Naruto still gives him daily crap about it, but it doesn’t really bother him anymore. His mother, as it turns out, is thrilled he’s taking it. She’s had him help out in the kitchen several times since starting to make dinner. And...it’s nice. He can’t remember the last time he spent a lot of time with his mother. And she seems more than pleased to have him around giving her a hand, rather than buried in his room doing homework as he is for the rest of the night.

Itachi teased him a bit about being ahead of the game when it comes to finding a spouse: surely his new skills will give him an edge. But otherwise, he’s been asking him what he’s learned whenever he comes home on the weekends to see family.

And Sasuke’s been making a new friend.

Hinata’s always his partner. She’s the only other senior, and though he’s hardly done anything intimidating, the rest of the girls seem to be far too nervous to approach him. Which he...doesn’t mind. He’s not here to rub elbows with underclassmen. He’s just here to get his miscellaneous credit and be done with it.

...but given he doesn’t have anything squared up for next semester...maybe he’ll come back to it. It’s not like he has anything else lined up.

And he enjoys the class. And his current company.

“It really is just science, you know.”

“Huh?”

Noticing he’s been spacing out, Hinata laughs softly. “Cooking! It’s all chemistry, and knowing how to use it to get the results you w-want.”

Sasuke blinks. He’s...never really thought about it that way. “Yeah, I...guess you’re right.”

“I mean...I guess I don’t know the specifics of it,” she giggles, tucking hair behind her ear. “But I know generally what happens, and why it works. One of these days, w-we should make bread! But...it takes a while. Probably too long for class…”

“I can stay after, if you want.”

That earns a blink. “...well, I don’t have volleyball tonight - our c-coach is out of town. You want to try it…?”

“Sure.”

“Okay! We actually have a bread machine here, so...that takes a lot of the work out,” she replies, giving a small smile. “Otherwise the kneading and rising are q-quite the process. We’ll have to do the whole thing another time.”

“Kneading?”

“Mhm! Mixing the dough by hand, and g-getting the right consistency. Personally I find it rather calming, but...bread can be rather temperamental! Temperature and time and all that.”

“Oh…” Mikoto’s never made bread from scratch that he can remember, so...Sasuke has no idea. “Guess I’ll take your word for it for now.”

“Don’t worry, the machine does all the hard parts. Let’s see…” Digging into a cabinet, she fetches a book that looks to be all about bread. “Hm...here we go! This recipe here is for a machine this size.”

They split up and gather the proper ingredients, of which there aren’t many. Hinata measures them out, including yeast.

“See these?”

“Uh...yeah.”

“This is yeast. They’re what make bread what it is, really.” Dumping them in, she explains, “They sort of...feed off the flour. They break it down into s-sugar, which they then metabolize, which makes carbon dioxide and alcohol! Bubbles of it form, and inflate the bread, and that’s how it rises! It also helps form gluten, which makes the dough sort of...springy! Kneading does that too. But the little paddle in there will both mix the dough, a-and knead it.”

Hinata points a finger at the little menu of controls. “So, we did a recipe for a pound and a half loaf...and we’ll do light crust. Then we just push this button, and…!”

The machine gives a whir, and Sasuke actually leans back in surprise, earning a giggle from his partner. For about a minute, it gives little spurts of movement, Sasuke peering over and watching through the glass top. Then suddenly, it barrels into a constant pace.

“It’s got several steps to go through, and it’ll even bake it when the dough’s done!”

“...why does anyone make bread by hand when there’s something like this?”

She laughs. “Well, there’s a lot of different ways to make bread, and this only does some of them. But for something basic, yeah, it’s p-pretty handy. Actually doing it all by hand is pretty fun, though...and personally I think it’s more rewarding. It’s like the brownies we made the first day! Sure, you can b-buy a box mix, and it just takes a few ingredients and some stirring. But wasn’t it fun to do it all from scratch?”

“...I guess so.”

“Overall, cooking’s really not all that complicated. Just a little math, and reading directions. You can do fancier things as you l-learn, of course...but a lot of people seem to overestimate how hard it is.”

A while later, class ends, but the pair opt to remain. Left to their own devices, they check the machine every so often, but mostly they’ve got little else to do but idle.

Which leads to browsing the net and watching videos about yeast and baking.

“See the foam?”

“Huh...so those things are alive…?”

“Yeah! It’s how they metabolize stuff to make bread rise. I told you, it’s s-science!”

Sasuke chuckles. “Yeah...math, science...guess I don’t need to be taking calculus and chemistry, do I?”

That earns a laugh.

Then, for a while, they sit atop desks and just watch the rain slither down the classroom windows. Though it’s hardly late, the sky is dark enough to make it look like evening.

“This is going to be fun to walk home in,” Hinata eventually muses.

“You walk?”

“Yeah, I only live a few blocks away.”

“I’ve got a car - I’ll give you a lift.”

“Oh, y-you don’t have to -”

“I know. I want to.”

Observing him quietly with a slow blink, Hinata breathes a small sigh of defeat.

It’s then the machine beeps.

“Oh! It’s done!” Hopping down, Hinata scurries across the room with Sasuke on her heels. “Here, we need hot pads…”

Lifting the lid, the smell of bread fills the air. A perfectly fluffy loaf is revealed, golden brown and steaming. Carefully, Hinata lifts the pan out, and with a spatula loosens it from the sides. With a shake, it plops out onto a cutting board.

The pair lean over and observe before looking to each other.

“...taadaa!”

They let it cool for a few minutes before breaking out a serrated knife, carefully cutting a few pieces. Hinata doesn’t even dress it with anything, just peeling off a chunk and eating it with a happy hum. “Mm…!”

Sasuke does the same, chewing thoughtfully before nodding. “That...is the best bread I’ve ever had.”

“N-nothing beats bread fresh out of the oven. Er...bread machine.” Eating another piece, she asks, “So? Worth the wait?”

“Oh yeah. The power of science.”

“Yummy science!”

They split the loaf in half and each take a box, Hinata gathering up her things before they both sprint to Sasuke’s car. “Holy crap, it’s r-really coming down!”

“Which is why you’re catching a ride and not walking,” Sasuke replies from the driver’s seat. Once they’re buckled in, he makes his way out of the lot and following Hinata’s directions.

“I think I might eat the rest of this while I do my homework,” she laughs, smelling the box in her lap. “You better not l-let me make another one for a while, or I’m gonna get fat.”

“Worth it, in all honesty.”

Pulling up into her driveway, he waits for her to open her umbrella out the door. “Try not to drown.”

“I think I can make it.” Stepping out, she peers back into the car. “Hey, t-thanks for making the bread with me today. That was f-fun!”

“Yeah...we’ll do it again sometime.”

“Okay! Bye, Sasuke.”

“Later.” Staying to make sure she gets in okay, Sasuke backs out and heads for home.

His car’s gonna smell like bread for a week...and it’s going to make him hungry. And also remind him of today.

Which’ll make him happy.

     Phew, it's not one am for once! xD      So this is a sequel to day ninety-eight, I believe: Sasuke's introduction to Home Ec class! Turns out he's liking it better than he'd feared. I took home ec for like...a few days in high school before switching to drama. While I LOVED drama, I'm a little sad I didn't get to take Home Ec, lol - seems like it'd be a rather low-key class.      I've also made bread in a bread machine, but...I've not bravened up to doing it all by hand yet, haha - we'll both get there one of these days! I will agree though: warm, fresh bread is hard to beat.      Anywho, that's all for today! Hope you enjoyed - thanks for reading!

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: Foggy Finds Out, Part 2 (Ghost Stick Boogaloo)

[Content Warning: Severe mental health issues portrayed rather sloppily, suicide attempt, discussion of violence against sex workers.]

Last time on Daredevil 101, Matt was found in basically a catatonic state by Karen and Foggy - both of whom thought he was dead, and only one of whom knew he was Daredevil. By the next issue, Matt’s still out of it, and Foggy’s not particularly happy with anyone:

IDK why Foggy’s a redhead here but WAY TO GO, KAREN. Yes, she kept Matt’s secret from Foggy - but it was Matt’s secret to tell. Just because Matt’s not in a position to be yelled at right now doesn’t mean Foggy gets to take it out on Karen.

And Matt’s really, really not in a position to be yelled at:

Hooboy. I don’t believe anyone in Matt’s entire 53-year history has ever suggested therapy but, like...he should probably go? Right away? Honey.

Eventually, as he is wont to do, Matt decides to escape from the expectations of his two favorite people by climbing out the window and running away. It’s fairly distressing to his loved ones:

THESE TWO. HOW I LOVE THEM.

So where is Matt? Well - possibly predicting DD Season 3 - he’s gone to see his mommy:

Maggie tries to comfort him, but if confession could make Matt feel absolved of this he’d probably have gotten it over with a long time ago, repressed memory or no. (Though to be fair, I can only think of one example of 616!Matt taking confession, and that was this year.)

Leaving Maggie, Matt briefly flirts with the idea of just ending it all:

Having decided not to kill himself, Matt returns to Jack Batlin’s hovel, only to be confronted by a surprising figure from his past:

I mean, technically neither of you saw anything, and also shut up, Stick.

I’m not really sure how to take his presence here, because on the one hand, if it’s all in Matt’s head, that means that Matt’s way of coping with his mental health issues is to imagine his former mentor hitting him in the face with a cane until he feels better, which is appalling.

But if Stick’s really there, it means there’s a possibility for him to come back in DD Season 3, which is also appalling.

Anyway, Stick or Matt’s hallucination thereof goes away long enough for Matt to greet Karen. He attempts to do so with a kiss, because he is a moron:

Matt takes a beat and apologizes - for yelling at Karen just now, and for, um, faking his death at her. I like this moment because it acknowledges simultaneously that Matt is having - and has been having - a really hard time, and yet he also treated his loved ones in an unacceptably cruel way, and though his illness is a reason, it’s not an excuse.

Meanwhile, there’s one person who never really gets an apology:

Foggy looks so young and sweet in that first panel, MY HEART.

Anyway, I’ll come back to this later, but please note that Foggy’s betrayal here centers entirely on being lied to and he has no problems with the basic existence of Daredevil.

He’ll have to wait to get proper closure on this, but meanwhile Stick is still beating Matt up, this time almost definitely inside Matt’s head - and he’s brought help:

Is this the first time Matt’s been beaten up by hallucinations of his various selves? It’s definitely not the last. Oh, Matt.

Seeking some kind of closure, he goes to the brothel where he accidentally knocked the prostitute out the window, all those years ago:

Matt sort of vaguely explains his purpose, and the last woman explains that the girl in question, Lyla, was a runaway fleeing an unhappy home, and in a way maybe it’s better that she died and got out of this life young. I realize we have a little bit of an unreliable narrator situation here but I’d be okay with 100% fewer “better dead than a sex worker” opinions out there, fictional or not!

(This won’t be revealed for a couple more years, but "Lyla” turns out to not be dead, in a particularly dumb retcon. Not that her not dying is dumb, but the reveal is...well, you’ll see.)

Anyway, I guess putting a name to the accident makes Matt feel better, because he declares himself ready to put it behind him. At which point Stick drops a fairly hilarious bombshell:

Yeah, Matt’s just been killing people pretty much his whole career, it turns out. Here are the most damning phrases to me: “some beaten an inch past their lives,” “you saw them as worthless maggots who deserved what they got,” and “faceless thug.” Matt habitually beats people to death, apparently, and then forgets about it because they deserve it???

(Stick telling him that taking even one life is too many is an interesting contrast to MCU Stick, who is constantly urging Matt to kill. But 616!Stick only kills Hand ninjas, who aren’t really alive to begin with.)

Anyway I think this is a real YMMV piece of canon. Personally I feel like it’s a pretty lukewarm approach to the ethics of killing, especially since DeMatteis would leave right after this arc. It just sort of throws down the idea that Matt kills people all the time, wags a finger at him, and leaves. Either dig into what this means, for Matt and for superheroes as a whole, or leave us with the polite fiction that superheroes (and head trauma) never ever kill. Don’t half-ass it like this.

And speaking of half-assing it:

Matt just needs to accept all the parts of himself! That makes it okay to commit habitual manslaughter! Phew, what a relief. Time to eat a Pop-Tart and dance around Karen’s kitchen!

HOORAY!

(No, seriously, I’m glad Matt’s feeling better and that he and Karen are okay, but see what I mean about half-assing it? You can’t be like “Matt, you kill people all the time” and then have him immediately get over it, especially in a story about how he developed a split personality disorder due to repressed guilt over accidentally killing someone ten years ago.)

With that, DeMatteis is off the book. Our next long-running writer will be Karl Kesel, but before he takes over there’s a brief fill-in by Ben Raab and Shawn McManus, which touches on the state of Matt and Foggy’s relationship. It’s...not good, and Matt doesn’t make it better by snooping - specifically, on Foggy at work with a client named Martinique:

"Something’s not kosher here...” Please note that Matt, as always, is very upset by Foggy being attracted to someone else. Please also note Matt creeping on Foggy’s “pleasure centers.”

Matt announces his presence. Foggy’s not happy to see him:

“Things may never be as good as they once were, but they can at least be good...” That’s practically up there with “Was anything ever real with us,” my goodness.

Please note that nowhere on this page does Matt use the word “sorry.” And yes, this is the first time he’s spoken to Foggy since before his “death.” Wow, Murdock. (Also, get a haircut.)

Matt does not trust any woman who flirts with his Foggy, so he tails Foggy to his meeting place with Martinique and finds a horrifyingly trippy carnival full of monstrous puppet versions of his enemies. And at the very center:

It’s the classic superhero dilemma: Matt can only save one of his loved ones! And this time, he chooses Foggy.

All the trappings of the carnival fade away to reveal...Martinique, of course, a.k.a. Lady Mastermind:

Right, so this makes no actual sense, because it’s not public knowledge that the “old” Daredevil is back. Martinique should be operating under the impression that the “current” Daredevil would show up in a black costume and not give two shits about either Foggy or Elektra. Also how would she know how Bullseye killed Elektra, anyway?

She takes off, and Matt and Foggy are left together:

Again, this doesn’t make a lot of sense, given that Elektra’s not dead anymore, and Matt knows it. He doesn’t say that he knows Elektra wasn’t really there (in which case his choosing Foggy over her would mean very little), so is the implication supposed to be that once you die once Matt doesn’t care if you die again? This is all very silly.

Anyway, that’s...kind of it? No “Nelson v. Murdock”-style fight here, just Matt saying that he wants to be friends again with no actual apology at any point, and Foggy very slowly thawing over the next few issues. There’s no yelling, no catharsis, nothing. Feh, I say!

(I will reiterate what I noted above - Foggy’s only upset about being lied to. He has no ethical problems with Daredevil’s existence or vigilantism in general, and isn’t particularly troubled by Matt’s propensities towards lawbreaking, violence, or nearly getting himself killed. Because, of course, in the comics Matt is just one of many superheroes and is practically legally sanctioned, or at least not an outlaw - and Foggy has been friends with Daredevil for many years. Whereas in the MCU, Matt’s the first real vigilante and the first with a secret identity - the Avengers are (or have been) all government sanctioned and public, and Matt predates Spider-Man and the other Defenders. MCU Foggy doesn’t really have a framework to accept Matt’s extracurricular activities in the way 616 Foggy does.)

Next up: Brighter days for Daredevil and company as we head into the Kesel run...and finally meet Rosalind Sharpe!

[jay-java]

My silly li'l series can wait. Got some serious stuff here. You might recognize this specific selection of Mario and Sonic characters from the popular, recently rebooted, flash sprite animation Super Mario Bros Z, made by Mark Haynes a.k.a. Alvin Earthworm. I had this uneasy feeling on my mind about Mark, and once I found out his Twitter was gone and the lack of updates, that feeling only got stronger. So I wanted to direct this message for Mark in the off chance he might read it. Here I go. "Hey Mark. I wanted to say that I've been a big fan of your work ever since I was a young'un. Your sprite animations were like nothing I ever saw before and was an integral part of expanding my interests in ways I could've never known. But I know you receive these messages regularly, so I'll just get to the point. I know you've been struggling with depression for a long time, and that life hasn't been easy. I won't pretend I know the exact feeling, as I don't have depression, but one of the things I pride myself on is empathy. With as many hardships as you've been facing, I thought I would go ahead and give my two cents in hopes of helping you out, even a little. My conclusions are as follow: Many of the people that support you and your state, either don't fully grasp you, or are acting out of pity. I know it seems harsh, but think about it. Outside of your works, you don't have much of a presence with your fanbase. As in, you, in their eyes, are the manufacturer of their products. Metaphorically speaking, if you knew a manufacturer of one of your favorite products suddenly got hit with depression, of course you'd feel sad for them and wish them to get better, but at the end of the day you wouldn't even know of their issues were it not for the product they build. And I'm willing to bet many other people, knowing about the implications of depression, simply feel pity for your conditions and not much else. I won't claim that I'm the godly exception or nothin'. I also gotta be just as careful about how I'm approaching this, and I felt like giving my perspective on this would help me understand what you really need. The answer I came up with isn't anything ground breaking, but should help if you give it a shot. I propose that you take some time interacting with your fans on a closer level. By that I mean, make some videos just talking about yourself, podcasts, maybe a facecam, anything that could help us get a deeper understanding of yourself. You already did so on a smaller scale with your Twitter, and I think going all out would be nice. Of course, there are the issues of you perhaps not being very confident in yourself (Cuz you know, depression) and some assholes trying to trip you up. But you should know by now that very little of us actually dislike you, and that the vocal minority should be a small price to pay. Even if you might be insecure about what your fans will think if they know more of you, the results will surely pay off in some way of another. So tl;dr, Let us know you Mark. All of you. Whether you're a great person, a horrible person, or just a person, you can't really say you left a legacy if you're not all of you..." Phew, you guys don't know how much of a weight lift it is to say all of this. I might have been a bit harsher than I would've liked, and maybe I'm misreading Mark and depression altogether. I'm sorry if I offended someone with this, and I hope you're okay, Mark.

[thesassybooskter]

A FLAME THROUGH ETERNITY by Anna Belfrage: Guest Post & Spotlight

NOW AVAILABLE

It started 3 000 years ago. It ends now. Who survives the final confrontation?

According to Helle Madsen, being the protagonist of a time-spanning epic love story has some things going for it, primarily Jason Morris. Because seriously, meeting up with your fated lover after 3 000 years apart is not bad—at all. Unfortunately, where Jason goes, there goes Sam Woolf, yet another very, very ancient acquaintance—with the fundamental difference that Sam is not into Happily Ever After. He’s into destruction, more specifically of Jason and Helle.

Helle may believe in second-chance love, but she sure doesn’t believe in reincarnation. Okay, she didn’t believe in stuff like that until she met Jason Morris a year or so ago. By now, she has accepted that sometimes impossible things are quite, quite possible—like an ancient princess being reborn as an ambitious financial analyst. Finding Jason was like finding the part of her that had always been missing—a perfect match. But handling Sam Woolf, the reborn version of their ancient nemesis is something of a trial. No sooner do you have him well and surely beat, but up he bounces again. Sheesh, will it take an oak stake to permanently rid their lives of him?

Sam Woolf is a powerful adversary. Too powerful, even. Jason and Helle will need help from unexpected quarters to finally bring this tangled, ancient love-and-hate triangle to some sort of conclusion. Question is, will they survive the experience?

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  What makes this author tick?

When I signed up for this tour, my excellent tour host Lisa Munley from TLC told me I was free to write about whatever I wanted in my guest posts. Err… “Why not interview yourself?” she suggested, and that had me going “Err…” again. Seriously, who would find it even remotely interesting to find out stuff about me? I blame my reaction on the fact that I’m Swedish—in Sweden, tooting your own horn is NOT approved of. Nope. We have a firm “who-do-you-think-you-are” approach to our fellow men and women (at least if they’re Swedish) so even the more successful among us will somewhat bashfully downplay what we’re good at.

Since my initial reaction, I have reconsidered somewhat, which is why I am now happy to share some insight into what makes me tick. I’ve already shared one of them with you, namely my nationality.  Whether that qualifies as interesting or not, I’m not quite sure. Sometimes, people think that us Swedes are an uninhibited lot who bounce about half-naked and have lots and lots of sex—especially if we’re women. Sorry to tell you that is a huge LIE: Most Swedish people are shy. Most Swedish people will happily swim naked, sit in the sauna naked but will NOT bounce about half-dressed and as to all that sex, Swedish sin, dear peeps, is an export article rather than a thing we partake of locally. But we do have beautiful, endless forests. We have silent lakes that shimmer with trapped sunlight as the sun sets. We have stately moose, we probably have lots and lots of trolls (John Bauer saw them everywhere) and when the fogs lift from our meadows, fairies sparkle and dance for an instant or two before they quickly hide away.

Despite being Swedish, I am a major, major tea drinker – unusual in the country that ranks second when it comes to coffee consumption in the world. (Only the Finnish peeps drink more coffee, which they call Kahevi). ( like my tea black, no sugar, no lemon. With my tea, I like cake. These days, my intake of cake is severely restricted. You see, the third thing about me is that I have recently lost 50 kilos. That’s like 110 pounds, give or take. “How did you do that?” people ask. “By not eating all that much,” I reply. Duh! Let me tell you, there was nothing easy about doing this. In fact, it is probably one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life and I am very proud of myself for having achieved a leaner, meaner—err, healthier—me. The more relevant question is “Why did you do it?” I had to. It was lose weight or end up permanently immobilised, which served as a very good motivator, let me tell you! Along the way, I have become something of a health-freak. I do, however, consider chocolate to be a staple in a healthy diet. Yes, dear peeps, I am a chocolate-addict, which, IMO, adds some balance to my otherwise obsessively healthy life.

When I am not guzzling tea or writing books (more about that later) I am also a passionate walker. I love walking. My imagination takes flight as I walk, and over the course of my two hour jaunt I will be everything from a medieval knight to a dying queen (very briefly. After all, she died…) to a 19th century woman locked away in an attic to an intrepid heroine prepared to die to save her man. Let’s just say I have a lot of fun during my walks—plus I burn enough calories to be able to indulge in…taa-daa…chocolate!

Mind you, my imagination does not only go into active mode when I walk. It is very much a permanent feature in my life. It is my imagination that has me dreaming up stories like the one about Jason and Helle. They met for the first time three thousand years ago. She was eight, he was twelve, and while they were both too young to fully comprehend what love was, they instinctively recognised their other half in each other.

Obviously, it would be a dead boring story if that was all there was to it. “They met, they fell in love, they lived happily ever after” – that does not a story make. So instead, I have Jason and Helle torn asunder in that first life. I have them suffer, I have them experience betrayal, utter anguish and painful death. Phew. I had a serious one-on-one with Ms Inspiration when we got to that point. After all, I want my characters to achieve some sort of contentment. None of that in this story, not with all that blood, all that loss… “Ah,” whispered my imagination, “so let’s give them a second chance.” Which is how Jason and Helle meet up again in the here and now. He remembers every single one of all those fruitless lives he’s spent looking for her, hoping for a chance to make amends and love her as she deserves. She has no memories at all—until his presence prods some of them into vague dreams and half-snatched images. Add to this the fact that my imagination came up with the BRILLIANT (I know, I know: I am not acting as a good Swede should, tooting my horn like that!) idea to have their ancient nemesis show up as well. And guess what? Sam is as determined to destroy them this time as he was last time round…

As a consequence of all that imagining, my Jason and Helle story became a series called The Wanderer. The third book, A Flame through Eternity, has recently been released and here we have Sam using all his (considerable) dark powers to tear my loving couple permanently apart. Supposedly, A Flame through Eternity is the final instalment in the Jason and Helle story, but one never knows. You see, I fall in love with my characters and end up with a permanent case of “what will happen next to them?” This is why I write book series. So far, I have written three: other than The Wanderer, I have a nine-book series called The Graham Saga featuring the reluctant time-traveller Alex Lind who ends up at the feet of the 17th century escaped convict Matthew Graham and goes on to lead an excessively exciting life in 17th Century Scotland and Maryland. ( “I haven’t enjoyed a time-slip book so much since Diana Gabaldon’s fabulous #Outlander series” says one reviewer, which has me hop-scotching for like two hours)  I have also authored a four-book series called The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England with the honourable and handsome Adam de Guirande doing his best to navigate the cesspits of medieval intrigue that plague the court of Edward II. (“Perfect, in every sense” says a reviewer which makes me dance on the spot until I am blue in the face)

I’m guessing by now you’ve worked out I’m a bit of a history nut. I love submerging myself (and my readers) in the past. I love combining my invented characters with real-life people, I adore disappearing into a rabbit-hole as I research my periods. I emerge eternally grateful that I didn’t live back then, because life was harsh, it was often short and it was severely lacking when it comes to tea and chocolate. But still…there are moments when I wish I could at least pop in for a brief visit.

I am also an avid word collector. As I am fluent in three languages, I have a lot of words to choose from, but some of the English words I find very beautiful are “ubiquitous”, “twilight” and “incandescent”. My favourite words tend to vary depending on my mood—and what I am presently working on. If I am writing a story set in the 13th century I suddenly find myself saying words like “samite” or “destrier” out loud. And then I spend like half an hour wondering if I pronounced them the way my characters would…

I suppose the tenth thing you should know about me is that I am very productive. But then, is that really relevant? No, I think my tenth thing will be that I try very, very hard to be kind. I have this naïve belief that if more of us made an effort to live according to the golden rule— “do unto others as you would have others do unto you”—this world of ours would be a nicer, fairer place. Something to aspire to, at least.

So there you have it, dear reader. I give you Anna Belfrage who is a wannabe kind Swedish tea-drinker turned health-freak with a chocolate-addiction and who takes long walks so as to set free the imagination that spawns her book series, most of which feature history and a love of words. Does that make me sound interesting or just somewhat weird? Well that, dear reader, I leave up to you!

  About Anna Belfrage

Had Anna Belfrage been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England. She has recently released A Flame through Eternity, the third in The Wanderer series, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense with paranormal and time-slip ingredients. Find out more about Anna on her website, check out her Amazon page and connect on FB and Twitter.

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A FLAME THROUGH ETERNITY by Anna Belfrage: Guest Post & Spotlight was originally published on The Sassy Bookster