#some turn of phrase to where they have deniability

[krysmcscience]

I have some questions about karaoke night, Alex Hirsch. Very Important Questions. Which I will happily scream at a poor hapless baby triangle who can have no answers for me, and possibly also does not have object permanence yet.

Follow-up that is I guess suggestive, but let's be real here, Bill's a fucking triangle:

Dude slipped right into his birthday suit, lmao

this is so stupid :D

Anyway, I don't care what anyone says, this brilliant individual knows what's up - Bill is absolutely way more of a monsterfucker than Ford could or ever will be, full stop.

[thisisaname-whatahappyname]

fox news the absoloute Belothed fuck those bastards

[bonefall]

Now we've got all six of em, can I just say that CRIPES ALMIGHTY the titles for a starless clan suck major ass! Both separately AND as a group!!

I Do Not Rewrite Arcs Until They Are Done BUT DO YOU WANNA HEAR MY WIP RENAMES SO FAR

Remember: Don't get too attached yet, the only one I can say with certainty will show up somewhere is the title of Book 4.

ARC RENAME: A Starless Clan -> A Prayer Unanswered

The original name is really good but I'm getting a vibe that the theme of the rework is going to be... when love isn't enough.

It's about how some things can't get better. It's about how all the kindness in the world couldn't get Bramblestar to turn around as a leader. It's about how Heartstar might have had good intentions, but occupation never works out in the end. It's Nightheart's relationship to his family being salvageable, not because they don't all want to fix it, but because his life has worked out best with distance from them.

So, Prayers Unanswered is both about the religious part of how RiverClan doesn't have a leader and can't get in proper touch with StarClan, but it's also about every other wish that hasn't come true.

River -> Starcrossed One of the VERY large changes I'm considering is actually massively reducing Nightheart's POV. I'm thinking of doing this, not because I dislike him, but because I think it might actually be a better story if the audience is guessing as to his intentions just as much as the other characters are. So, until he's ACTUALLY needed later, his chapters are short and sparse. So Starcrossed would be about setting up the troubles of the Clans, especially the parts of the conflicts I want to highlight more in BB. It would be setting up the rule changes for "starcrossed lovers" (lmao) but also the brewing anger that the cats have towards code changes... and StarClan, if I do decide to keep the newest revelations and work them in better, in hindsight.

Sky -> Fracture There's a phrase in my head that is so interesting to me that I need to do something with it. "Only frozen water can fracture." I want to make the RiverClan situation worse than in-canon. First of all, there's going to be identifiable groups this time which begin to scramble for power. Instead of having the cats just... forget how to do the chores they've done their whole lives, the Clan is splitting up into factions. This is why they won't be able to win against Heartstar later, when she decides to take drastic measures. They're not fighting like a Clan; they're fighting like a bunch of disorganized teams. There should also be a bunch of needless injuries, maybe even a border aggression that lead to a death, before Heartstar barges in. I also want to make this a bigger part of the story, Erins willing. Too much time was spent on the Catnip Patrol, imo, we're going to have ANOTHER big trip and I don't want this one to eat up so much time. Rowankit is also still going to die; and maybe a couple of elders around the Lake too.

Shadow -> Snakes and Turnclaws Berryheart's hate movement has been too tame, from canon books 1 - 4 as of the time of writing. It's ridiculous that they haven't even injured anyone in the Battle Cat series. I saved Antfur from the previous arc so that she can die here. We've been seeing the Anti-Turnclaw movement rise from the first book, so now with Nightheart's boldness leading him to a place where he will be unsafe, we need to see his rusty butt in actual danger. I'm even thinking that, instead of Nightheart failing his task on purpose, Sunbeam makes him fail by stopping him from getting killed. I need to know the ending of ASC first though, because I MIGHT be having Berryheart getting her exile here. Whatever kills Antfur is either deniable enough that she's able to squeak by while Sunbeam quietly leaves (refusing to accuse her mother of anything publicly) OR it's so obvious that Heartstar casts her out on the spot. Meanwhile, we see the OTHER half of ShadowClan's conflict as RiverClan finally unites... against them, as their common enemy. Task failed successfully, Heartsy

Thunder -> The Source of the River I'm still unspeakably proud of this outline. There's so much I want to do here. She's going to come back with a DND party and I'm hoping that all of them end up in RiverClan with her; INCLUDING Nightheart. I want the fact that he accompanied Frostpaw to actually be the final straw for him. While he's away, Sunbeam is acclimating to ThunderClan and falling in love with her new home. There are parts she misses about ShadowClan, but as she's adopted by Sparkpelt, taken as a secondary apprentice by the deputy, smiled upon by Squirrelstar after she pressures Bramblestar to abdicate... this starts to feel like this is where she belongs. And that's too hard for Nightheart to ever come back to. "You come to the source of the river, and are vexed that you do not find the water that is flowing downstream" dude.... man. That's what BB's about. Change. I also really want Nightheart to choose HIS OWN NAME by the end of this series-- so at some point in this book he should finally admit "Nightheart" wasn't his choice either. (I'm thinking Deltastep. Because his journey with Frostpaw begins at the southern delta of my reworked map.)

And I haven't done them for Book 5 or Book 6 yet, especially since I might end up condensing them or chopping them up to put into the other books.

I do know I'm really love to play with the idea of a starless sky for one of the last books though, I may or may not keep Splashtail's lack of faith in StarClan (hate the Evil Atheist thing they keep doing), but the idea of a "Pitch-Black Star" absolute fucks as symbolism, ngl. Maybe something like "A Gap in the Stars" or "Constellation's Void" or "The Stolen Star"

Also also also I'm having Curlfeather come back as a Dark Forest Demon for at LEAST one scene.

I don't give a good goddamn if they don't go to the Dark Forest or not. ONE weird coincidence that could totally have been Just Good Luck but was actually Curlfeather. Let Her Drown Splashtail, she deserves it. Let her be a malevolent spirit who protects her baby. RiverClan can whine all it wants about Mothwing who ooo doesn't believe in God, Frostpaw's got a demon. Cry about it

Also I hope Frostpaw becomes leader because I'll make it go hard

[bomberqueen17]

well, it goes on

It was my birthday and i celebrated by working. well, i'd had the previous day off, my only day off in the whole two-week stretch, so i spent it lying around and trying to catch up on sleep and also, sort of against my will, writing fanfiction about minor characters from the Patrick O'Brian Aubrey/Maturin series.

I need more people to talk about this fic with, alas, I've been siloed in Witcher stuff so long that I don't know where to turn. I've been hesitant to browse the tags because the thing is I don't care about writing or reading Aubrey/Maturin fic and also I haven't seen the movie since it came out in '03, I specifically want to geek out about the minor characters and the books, LOL. So anyway if anyone is interested in cheer-reading my attempts at slashing Tom Pullings and James Mowett please drop me a line. I was going to just write a couple of drabbles but well, as these things go, it's now 15k long. (Uh, fair warning, they're super underage for the beginning bit and like not in a fun plausibly-deniable way either.)

No, I have no idea if it's any good or makes any sense, but that's a separate consideration. I just. Listen! They should fuck. But I am me and couldn't just have this be a oneshot. No. They have to have a strange circling complex relationship over the course of ten or twenty years that includes Tom's canonical wife. I can't rest unless I make this happen. No, I'm not done with my Witcher stuff either, but I've been blocked on it a bit and decided my birthday present was to let myself write some of this. So that's what I did.

But. At any rate. I listened to the whole series and now I'm going back through it in a desultory sort of fashion for my own amusement. I might liveblog this reread. I don't have time to do anything more interesting or in line with my long-term goals at this moment. But, snippet.

“I think my virginity’s grown back,” James said glumly, leaning back with his book on his knees. It was a fine day so they were laboring at their mathematics, tucked out of the wind under a grating between two of the midships guns. It was an out of the way spot but they could use the harsh light from the grating to read their figures. “It’s ages since we’ve been into port,” Tom agreed. He was nearly cross-eyed with his sums, and though he’d had the best of intentions about doing extra to practice, he didn’t think he could manage it now. He gave it up and put down his pen, carefully ensuring the inkwell was shut tight. Then he frowned. “It don’t work like that for boys, there’s naught to grow back.” James blinked owlishly at him. “I thought it was universally metaphorical, at any rate,” he said.  “No, I think it’s a real thing, but for girls,” Tom said. The phrase universally metaphorical had so many syllables he hadn’t actually parsed it at all but was operating solely off James’s dubious expression.  “That doesn’t seem right but I don’t know enough about girls to tell otherwise,” James admitted.

[antvnger]

Blood Brothers AU - "I'm not touching you!"

((LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL I love this so much. This is peak sibling behavior.

The short answer is it depends on the day, Anon. Depends on the day. Mostly Scott but it depends on the day. ⬇️))

As previously stated, most of the time that was Scott’s move to annoy Tony to no end.

Sometimes Tony would get into a funk and not want to be bothered or he’d get knee deep into some kind of project or fill-in-the-blank that he would ignore everything else for a while, and that certainly would not do at all for the younger Stark brother.

He had seen other kids in his class pull this kind of stunt before with surprising results.

And any interaction with Tony was better than nothing in this boy’s mind soooo…

Scott extends his pointer finger out to his big brother’s arm, leaving just less than an inch of wiggle room in between. And he waits.

It feels like he waits for a long time, when it’s only been a few minutes, but eventually Tony suddenly feels like something’s…not quite right.

He jerks his head to the side to see Scott not touching him. “What are you doing?”

Scott shrugs innocently. “Nothing.”

“Why are you touching me?”

“I’m not touching you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!”

“Nuh uh!”

“I can practically feel you touching me! It’s like you’ve got a force field or something, so yeah, you’re touching me!”

That was the wrong thing to say. Scott gasps. “A force field? Cool!” He slowly moves his finger closer to Tony’s arm, and he leans away from Scott’s touch. “I DO have a force field!”

“Which is why I’m saying you’re touching me, so quit it, Scottie.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Don’t make me call Mom!...or Jarvis!”

“But I’m not actually touching you, Tony!”

Tony growls and turns his head in the opposite direction and inhales deeply. “JAAAAAAAAAAAAARRVIS!!”

The younger boy pulls away like he'd been electrocuted, putting a safe, plausible-deniability distance between himself and his big brother. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

But there have been occurrences as they got older where Tony took a page out of his brother’s book to get some sibling attention.

After all, any interaction with his little brother was better than none at all.

Sometimes Scott would get in moods where his self esteem takes a blow and he’ll pull away from people, or his ADHD would throw him into such a disorganized, unfocused state of mind despite moving at all speeds that he can’t get anything accomplished.

And sometimes distracting him seemed to help the mental clutter.

It takes a while for Scott to notice the presence of Tony’s finger an inch from his ear, especially if his ADHD is not cooperating, but eventually Scott turns his head and finds Tony’s index finger right in his face. “What the–?! Tony! What are you doing?”

Tony smirks gently. “Uhh I believe the phrase is not touching you.”

He's rewarded with an incredulous stare. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’ve never been more serious today than I am right now.”

“Tony, quit touching me.”

“But I’m not touching you, Scottie.”

Scott growls and smacks Tony's hand away, only for Tony to return it like nothing happened. “See, you touched me. I have not touched you. There’s a difference.”

Scott smacks Tony’s hand away a few more times only to render the same result as the first time before he huffs in defeat. “Okay fine, what’s it going to take for you to not…not touch me? Not not touch me? Not…what’s it going to take for you to stop?”

“Have you taken your meds today?”

Scott checks the clock and sighs. “It’s too late in the day to take my meds.”

Tony suspected as much already which is why he has a contingency plan ready to offer. “Then let’s get you down to those batting cages you love so much. You can work off some energy, and I can run some data and some schematics on you having a better batting cage machine than those old dinosaurs you work with.”

“First of all, they’re calling pitching machines. Secondly, yes please.”

Problem solved for the time being.

[contentment-of-cats]

Postnarc Living: The Flying Monkey

As the child of an top-flight narcissist, it would have been easy for me to become a narcissist and even easier to remain in the codependent dance with the narcs in my family. One of the worst things you can do is to call someone who has survived a narcissist a narcissist. It hits us right where we live, it gaslights us into thinking 'well, what if I am?' The accusation doesn't even need to come from your 'induction narc' - it can come from anyone, but it is most likely to come from a 'flying monkey' or someone else who benefits from your own self-doubt and questioning. My therapist laid this one to rest, but I still need to remind myself.

A narcissist, or anyone with one of the Cluster B disorders is incapable of even asking themselves that question. A narcissist never asks themselves if they are a narcissist. They are incapable of the introspection. This is an 'everyone else' problem and not a them problem. The narc knows that the way to self-doubt is paved first and foremost with experience. Calling people a narc is one of the narc's best weapons, and getting other people to do it for them is even better.

Let's talk about the flying monkey.

In my experience, flying monkeys appear benevolent. They are concerned, but it's the type of concern that made your school principal ask what you did to piss Karen off so much that she broke your leg. Narcs achieve the kind of sociopathy excused by the phrase 'children can be cruel.' Of course, there are some flying monkeys that love the drama and others who are just as sociopathic as the narc whom they are servicing, but most flying monkeys are people of good will. They are people-pleasers, empathetic, fearful because they feel the narc has something on them or fear losing their friends, or having the narc and their friends turn on them, or they might have poor boundary setting skills because they have been previously narc'ed. Some of the drama-lovers even get into flying monkey mode because the drama has so much more going on than their own that they feel subsumed into their friend's life - like a riptide, or a big wave. Most of all flying monkeys service the narc by doing harm at a remove from the narc themselves, lending them plausible deniability. They didn't say that, so-and-so did. They didn't demand anyone do x or y, people just did it. Anything the narc can't touch without leaving their metaphorical fingerprints on it is, in fact, the flying monkey's job.

The flying monkey is usually ferociously loyal to their narc for a variety of reasons. The narcissist often employs DARVO (Deny, Attack, Reversing Victim with Offender and FOG (Fear Obligation Guilt) )to keep the flying monkey in play. The flying monkey invalidates the victim and enables the narc in such a way that the victim is made to feel like the offender, gaslit into believing that it's their own fault. The narc and the flying monkey will use the victim's own empathy against them and carve way the support needed to walk away from the narc.

It could've been worse

You're overreacting

You're too sensitive

You expect too much

You need to let it go

You shouldn't feel that way

You brought it on yourself

It wasn't personal

It wasn't a big deal

It was bad, but not that bad

You misunderstood

Emotional invalidation can cause confusion, deepen self-doubt, make you distrust your own emotions and thought processes. Your thoughts and feelings are wrong. It can even make you question your own identity, reality, and self-worth. This is what it is meant to do - make you depressed, make you anxious, remove your mental stability and worsen any issues already present.

It is a violence of the mind; scheming and choreographed, malicious and malevolent.

Above all, it is meant to do one thing - keep you exactly where the narc wants you and in the role they've assigned.

And now, for the obligatory playlist vid.

[noir-renard]

Daniel J. "Call Me Danny" Fenton was. Odd. An excellent employee. Incredibly bright. But Odd.

That he stood out as Odd in a place like Gotham was notable.

He’d joined Wayne Enterprises last fall, during the time Bruce was “dead” and Tim was “CEO”. Tim had been a bit too preoccupied with not getting assassinated or letting Hush take over WE to worry about all the new hires, so he didn’t officially get around to meeting Danny until months after the fact.

Now Bruce wasn’t dead, Tim wasn’t CEO, and Danny was still here.

“Tim, Bruce, meet Danny. He’s the new lead on the experimental engineering sector of R&D,” Lucius had said, introducing what was to become the subject of Tim’s newest obsession.

Tim hadn’t known it at the time; at the time, Danny had just been another black haired tech in a lab coat and goggles. Someone Tim would have to learn to work with and around, now that Tim was going to be the assistant head of R&D under Lucius.

The first thing Danny had ever said to Bruce (and Tim, who was standing right next to Bruce at the time), was “I always knew you’d come back some day.”

Which was support that would have been nice for Tim to have had months ago. But, no matter. 

Tim did nearly have a minor conniption when Danny continued with, “You got back just in time,” but maybe it was just a turn of phrase. He couldn’t possibly know Bruce had been lost in time and almost died for real in the process of getting him back.

But it was the first of many strange…encounters.

—

The first incident that Tim Actively Noticed as Odd was about a month after Tim had first met Danny.

"Hey Mr.Fox, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Drake-Wayne,” Danny had said, breezing into the very private meeting they were having in the third office on the fifth floor that only existed to give Lucius, Bruce, and Tim a place to meet while at work.

It was nowhere near the R&D department, where Danny apparently “lived”. Metaphorically. Maybe.

How he found them there, Tim wasn’t sure.

“Did you want that moonlander prototype ready for the board meeting this afternoon or are we pushing to next week?"

"Moonlander Prototype?" Said Bruce.

"Board meeting?" Said Lucius.

Danny blinked, squinted, and scrunched his nose, in that order.

"Oh. Have we not had that conversation yet?"

"I think we can assume no."

“Right. Different time-line.” Danny backed out of the room without turning around. “Um. Let's pretend this didn't happen, okay?" 

There had been some kind of crisis they were dealing with at the time, but Tim had noted in a passive way that it was. Well. Odd.

—

The next Odd Thing had been some time later.

Danny had walked up to Tim so silently that Tim hadn't heard him at all until he spoke.

"Ahh, so that's how you do it," he'd said.

Tim had whipped around, wondering what Danny had seen. He'd technically been working on stuff for his Night Job, but it wasn’t something that was apparently obvious…unless you knew every project inside and out. Like Danny.

Still, Tim had played dumb. Which didn't come easy.

"How I do what?"

"Well, I've been wondering how, legally, you get away with designing things for. You know." Here, he put his fingers up on top of his head, as if to imply bat ears. "I've seen tons of stuff on the servers that the locals don't use, but unless they work here I wasn't sure how they got the designs. But it's enrichment and plausible deniability all wrapped up into one, right?"

"What?" Said Tim.

"Like, they can have access to any designs they can hack into. So you can design things for them without actually designing things for them. I've been wondering how to send my stuff over. I have ideas, you know."

"Huh?"

Danny clicked his tongue and shot him a finger gun. 

"Exactly. But hey, if you wouldn't mind looking over my stuff, I'd love your input. I don't usually have to worry about people dying or falling to their death, so I might have overlooked something."

Tim had gone to look at Danny’s stuff, because he was curious.

It was good. And he wanted it. 

Technically, he could just access it directly from the WE server, but Danny was expecting someone to hack into his account to get it and he said 'he'd know' if it happened. 

Tim, by this point, had every reason to believe him.

He'd thought he could hack it no problem. As it turned out…it was a challenge. More importantly, it was fun. It'd been a while since Tim had had fun, he realized, which made it all the sadder that hacking into his co-worker's account to justify making use of the designs made for him probably said a lot about Tim.

Nothing he was prepared to admit though.

—

There were other things, too. Easily explained away but which had accumulated into a Pile of Things Tim Couldn’t Ignore.

Like the overheard ("overheard") FaceTime between Danny and two other people.

"For the last time, Sam, I know you wanted to come to Gotham, but according to Clockwork the timelines where you become Ivy's protégé all begin with you living here! Besides, you secretly love undermining Lex, don't pretend otherwise."

“You just say that because Evil Me is so much hotter than Evil You,” said Apparently Sam.

"I thought we decided Danny can't work at LexCorp because Lexy would definitely want to study him like a bug?” said Voice Number Three.

"As if we’d let that happen, Tucker,” said Sam. “Anyway, Mercy is incredible, she could do so much better than Lex. I’m gonna flip her and/or marry her."

“Well I get to work with the Stones, DILF and RILF” said Tucker, “so who’s really winning here?”

“Me, obviously,” said Danny. “But we’re all breaking rule number two.”

The other two people, based on context clues alone (as well as Tim’s totally justified research into Danny’s background), were Sam Manson, the Ethics Board Lead at LexCorp; and Tucker Foley, Head Programer at S.T.A.R. Labs Detroit.

Tim had investigated Danny for weeks after that, convinced of either corporate espionage or an evil plot.

All he found was a private group chat with a pinned set of rules: 1. We don't talk about work 2. We don't talk about or fall in love with our co-workers 3. We don’t talk about NB1-7 4. Vladposting hours are always

There was the incident where Danny, somehow, single-handedly prevented DalvCo from buying 50% stock in WE. Literally. All it took was a handshake and the deal was off. Which was good, because although Tim was sure the buyout was somehow illegal, he couldn't find evidence.

There was the time he walked up to Jerry from the mail center—one of the criminals Bruce had recruited off the street as Batman—and told him right in the middle of the break room, "your brother is proud of you for stepping up and changing your ways for his kids, and he's sorry about the tooth incident."

Jerry burst into tears and hugged Danny. Danny somehow left the situation with the broken break room microwave in his custody and thirty unreformed Gotham Goons on speed-dial “in case he needed literally anything ever, no questions asked, just say Jerry the Salamander sent you”.

Tim had watched the security footage from that day thirty times. He still wasn’t sure when the microwave even broke, much less how Danny ended up with it. There was some kind of glitch in the video.

It wasn’t obviously Danny’s fault, but by this point Tim was starting to suspect any strangeness in the building had something to do with Danny.

—

It all came to a head on what should have been a normal Tuesday, for what counted as normal in Gotham.

The whole WE building was on lockdown because of a ‘mysterious pathogen’ making employees exhibit odd symptoms, like floating, duplication, and general peevishness. Because of the unknown nature of the pathogen, the floors had been sealed off from each other and the outside.

Tim, much to his chagrin, was stuck in R&D, which was to say: The Basement. 

Where Danny just so happened to be as well.

The only good thing about being stuck in the basement with Danny aws that Tim, hopefully, might have a chance to Study Him Without Interruption.

Somehow, Danny seemed more mildly inconvenienced than worried.

“She always does this,” he grumbled, pulling up a program on his computer that was definitely not part of WE’s IP.

“Who always does what?” Tim pressed, desperate for answers.

“Spectra,” said Danny, green matrix-like text scrolling across the screen. “Good thing Technus owes me a favor.”

With an ominous click, a cube on Danny’s desk that Tim had incorrectly assumed to be raw material started to move, slowly unfolding itself to a nine foot tall behemoth not unlike what one might see at a mecha convention.

“I AM TECHNUS,” said the Robot, arms charging with some kind of green…vacuum power? In his hands? “MASTER OF WORKPLACE SAFETY AND CLEANLINESS.”

“What?” said Tim.

"He doesn't normally say that," Danny mumbled, sounding disappointed.

It wasn’t until after the whole thing was sorted out—the source of the virus having been some sort of interdimensional being? Apparently? —that Tim had the chance to ask : “Where did the robot come from?”

“From the broken microwave, obviously.”

“Why did you make a mech from a microwave?”

Danny had looked at Tim like he was the unreasonable one.

“Everyone knows you send a robot to fight a pathogen. They come preloaded with antivirus software.”

Unintentionally Mysterious Danny

No one in the Justice League/Wayne Industries seems to know much about their colleague Danny Fenton. Every time he opens his mouth, he tends to leave everyone in the vicinity with more questions than answers. That is, until they were put on lockdown.

[electricbluebutterflies]

hugging them from behind for the prompts <3

Late-era Jessica/Leto, PG-ish, also on ao3.

She hates these things. She’s good at them, but she still hates them.

Jessica has accepted most of the countless unexpected dramatic turns her life has taken over the years with surprisingly minimal complaining – the development of recurrent petty domestic fights is justifiable as long as it all stays petty – but most of the roles she has been put into still don’t feel right. Too visible, too…

Lady of the house in every way but formal title. That there is the heart of the problem.

If she were the person she is still occasionally accused of being, this would be frightfully easy to fix. She could lace her voice just so – most likely during intimacies, all her partner’s barriers already lower for her – and get what she wants. It wouldn’t even take much of a push, and she does think about it at times, and-

That is not who they are. She has promised, closest she will ever come to wedding vows, to respond in kind to how she is treated. When she made that decision she did not realize she was compartmentalizing her power, but it felt right when she did, one person kept immune to her, one person-

She is not the wife, she is not going to be the wife until they are both old enough that such a formality would only be a minor scandal, and she is still stuck vaguely supervising the preparations for one of the annual formal events. Her presence right now is optional; the protocols for this one haven’t changed in decades, but there has always been something calming about functional routines and-

This isn’t paranoia, she can claim that much. There is very little that could go wrong. Just the same decorations that have always been used, no noticeable modifications in the years that this event and its kin have been her problem, and-

Jessica is both unnecessary and distracted, and she does not realize she is not alone in her area until she feels arms wrap around her waist from behind.

Her partner likes to do this sometimes, when such rare occasions present themselves. Mess with her reflexes just a little, always affectionate, always-

“Have you hit anyone with that set of papers yet?”

She glances down at the few pieces in her hands, barely enough to use as a fan if she were so inclined. “You think this would do adequate damage?”

“More the effect of it all…”

If she were in a slightly different mood, she’d turn and demonstrate, but… current position feels too good to lose, his body molded around hers, much more public affection than she actually likes but she’ll take the intent. They have to actually talk like this, not show off how well they communicate with just facial expressions, and-

“I haven’t needed to,” she murmurs. “I don’t even really need to be here.”

“Then don’t be here. Find some other-“

“Trying to stay out of trouble, remember?” A phrase that should never need to be said by a thirtysomething woman with a stable romance and a child, but here they are and-

She turns her head just in time to watch her partner process the implications, and she normally loves how cooperative he is – there has been very little she’s ever needed to explain, he trusts his judgment of people and once he’d decided he wanted her close she ended up with far more plausible deniability than she even needs most of the time – but there’s still that moment of you’re-not-telling-me-something before it fades, compartmentalized perfectly and never to be discussed and-

“Trying to stay findable,” he repeats. “Understood.”

“Preemptive, not…”

“And you’re this bored.”

“That’s not the word I’d start with, but…”

She won’t go into how important it is for her to keep up appearances, to be everything she isn’t whether she actually enjoys it or not. There will always be rumors, but she can at least control what she does that makes people talk, and-

“You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” her partner murmurs, at least aware where her anxieties usually lead her. “Not this early in the day, at least. Later…”

“I’ll look perfect.”

“You always do.”

He lets go of her slowly, and she is reminded how much this is her exception, how intensely and intentionally their dynamic goes against everything else she is. No one else knows her well enough to sneak up on her so easily, and no one else would be able to do so without receiving a few scars for their time, and-

“You have better things to do than make sure I don’t ruin us,” she says, twirling around to face him, and at the same time she doesn’t want the moment to end just yet, and-

“If you do enough damage to this one, the petty social repercussions could last generations. Change one light fixture…”

“I forget, am I technically even allowed to do anything that visible?”

“Allowed, yes, but…”

Jessica closes the distance again and takes a heartbeat of a kiss. “Don’t tempt me, darling.”

“You don’t need that kind of motivation.”

They separate, and she can’t help the longing as she watches him walk away. Today will be one of their good days; in the evening he’ll get pleasantly distracted by a dress he’s seen her in a dozen times, and she’ll be able to cling more than usual because at least this is a smaller-scale ritual, and-

She’s doing too much. She should do something about that. She never will.

[nicnacsnonsense]

I saw a meta where the person justifies an interpretation of Stede’s actions by saying that he is the one who knows about passive aggression and how to use it and I’m like, yeah, barely. We see him attempt to use passive aggression two times in the show, and both times he kind of sucks at it to be honest.

But wait, I hear you saying, he is super good at passive aggression; he burned that whole ship down with his passive aggression skills. Oh, my dear, dear friend, just because Stede says he was using passive aggression, that doesn’t mean he’s right. Stede is using passive aggression in that scene like neurodivergent person who believes they have learned a social rule, but is utilizing it in a way that makes it clear that they don’t really understand it. Because, you know, that’s what he is.

Stede defines passive aggression to Ed earlier that episode as “cutting remarks disguised as politeness.” Which yes, but also no. Passive aggression is about engaging in aggressive behavior but in way that avoids direct confrontation. That can include either going stuff behind someone’s back (which we’ll ignore for now since that’s not the kind we’re dealing with here) or doing it to their face while maintaining some kind of plausible deniability that that’s what you’re doing.

So obviously Stede’s conversational tone and his suggestion that they play a game is his attempt at masking what he’s doing in politeness. And it could work. Look at how he starts in with Gabriel & Antoinette, asking how they met, only for them to give different answers. And if he continued to follow that thread with seemingly innocuous questions while inevitably leading to the revelation that the two of them were siblings, that would have been masterful passive aggression. But he doesn’t do that; he immediately follows that question by just outright stating they’re siblings. And with the previous two partygoers he doesn’t even try to hide it, he’s just out here like, let me reveal your dark secret by phrasing it in the form of a question. That’s not being passive aggressive, that’s just walking into a room and dropping a lot of truth bombs with the obvious express purpose of getting everyone pissed off at each other.

The other occasion Stede deliberately tries to use passive aggression is with Calico Jack, who absolutely rubs passive aggressive circles around him. The particular exchange I want to call out starts with Jack calling Blackbeard a real pirate, unlike one of these “store-bought types,” the latter part said while looking directly at Stede. This is good passive aggression. Jack has just insulted Stede by saying he’s not a real pirate, but in such a way that if called out on it he can claim he wasn’t talking about Stede or that he was just making a joke about Stede’s fancy stuff but didn’t really mean it.

Stede, despite his lack of skill at using passive aggression, is still pretty good at picking up on it when it’s directed at him (years of experience, poor baby). So he attempts to volley back by asking Jack where his ship and crew are, because you’d think a real pirate would have one of those. This is much better than the French party. If the crowd had been on Stede’s side he probably could have gotten away with it as just friendly ribbing, so I would call it actual passive aggression. But he still isn’t being terribly subtle about it and is running right up against the line into regular aggression. Which Jack takes full advantage of by starting to “cry,” turning everyone against Stede and his “bitchy” question.

Ironically, I think the closest he comes to good passive aggression (as in well done, not morally good) is after Mary’s show when he throws out there that he forgives her for sleeping with Doug. I say ironically, because I don’t think Stede was really trying to be passive aggressive there. I mean, probably a little, but I think in his (still drunk) mind, he was just putting out there that they’ve both been having a hard time of it and both messed up since he got back, and he’s sorry for what he did and forgives her for what she’s done. I mean, it’s definitely a terrible apology for a number of reasons, I just don’t think he was really trying to be aggressive there.

[lyrebirdswrites]

Shrödinger’s Nobara

So we got an update on how Nobara is doing. It was not the update I wanted to see.

My first impulse was to consider this a point blank confirmation of her death. I still think there’s a high chance she will not be recovering, and I would advise all Nobara stans to prepare emotionally for the possibility that she really is dead if you have not done so already. However, I also think it’s possible to make a case for her survival based on the information in this scene and the context from previous chapters, and I’m going to do my best to do so. Hopefully I can provide some comfort to anyone who might be freaking out over the implications here like I was at first.

Megumi doesn’t say she’s breathing or we don’t know or even it doesn’t look good - he says nothing at all. That does not fill me with confidence. But he doesn’t directly say she is gone either. This is a good time to remember the cardinal rule of character death; it’s not confirmed until we see the body. I think until we actually have indisputable proof of her death, we should continue operating under the assessment Nitta gave when he halted the damage caused by her wounds - don’t get your hopes up, but it’s not a zero percent chance.

I don’t consider Megumi’s pessimism to be indisputable proof. It’s damning, yes. But he is also highly subjective, inclined to assume the worst, and not an omnipotent force in the narrative. This isn’t me saying that the only reason there’s ambiguity is because she’s definitely still alive—that would be a wrong assumption to make. But if Akutami is still in two minds about what to do about her, or if he knows but doesn’t want to tell us, this scene is a neat way of sidestepping the need for a definitive answer right now. There’s enough plausible deniability in the framing of this exchange for Megumi’s answer to be read as she’s 100% dead, OR as she’s alive but in super fucking bad shape and it doesn’t look good. Whichever result it turns out to be, the scene can work in retrospect either way.

Which brings me to my not-retroactive interpretation of Yuuji’s immediate reaction. I think he would have been way more distressed if he perceived megumi’s silence as confirmation that she was without a doubt dead. He pulls himself together remarkably quickly for someone who full on had a mental breakdown mid fight at the sight of her injury. In the comments section over on readjujutsukaisen (credit where credit is due, not my analysis) commenter Asinine said “I think Megumi's non-response indicated the severity of her condition. I think Yuji's reaction revealed his pain followed by hope (clenched fist) she'll pull through.” That makes more sense to me than Yuuji thinking she’s actually dead and only having I get it!! to say about it before we rush on with the plot.

I’d really like to read the original raw version of this chapter, because it’s worth noting that the unofficial fan translation phrased Yuuji’s question like this: how is Kugisaki’s condition? It matters whether his question is past tense or present tense, because that positions Megumi’s answer as either past tense or present tense too. Megumi could be looking sad because, past tense, what happened to her was bad. Or he could be looking sad because, present tense, her condition is bad. I think the nuance there definitely affects how we as the audience should interpret this exchange and consequently Nobara’s chances. If anyone knows where I can read the raw scans please tell me.

Speaking of Nobara’s chances—structurally and narratively there is still more than enough room for her in the plot. When she was first taken out by Mahito, I figured she’d be fine because I thought her frequent references to people ‘messing up her beautiful face’ and her argument with Momo about scars on female jujutsu sorcerers/sexism in the jujutsu world were foreshadowing her having to live with that massive scar and a missing eye. If Akutami wants to continue exploring themes of feminism and sexism, as he has indicated through his characterisation of the broader zenin clan, Nobara now has a unique role to play in that aspect of the story: being treated differently after getting scarred.

Similarly, there are some interesting implications when it comes to her cursed technique and the current arc. Theoretically, she could use resonance on any of the newly awakened sorcerers/vessels and do some serious damage to The Brain, because they’re all strongly linked to him through the powers he gave them. She might provide an avenue to attack him later via that method—or Akutami might be deliberately sidelining her for the duration of this arc with the intent to have her recover later, because he saw this massive plot hole coming and he needs to thin out (cull) the crowd of awakened sorcerers first so she doesn’t have such easy access to a really powerful weakness in a major antagonist.

It’s also possible that he saw the plot hole coming and is killing her to fix it. But if that was the case, he wouldn’t have said in one of his interviews that he hadn’t made up his mind yet whether she was dead or not (?? That’s the translation I saw iirc, but I can’t vouch for its accuracy because I didn’t personally translate or cross check it myself).

Every other character’s death has been clear in a very gut punch kind of way, but ever since Nitta showed up this one has been SO ambiguous the whole way through. In my opinion, this scene does far more to increase the ambiguous tension than release it. It’s too vague. Akutami has been pretty good about giving his characters a fitting send off up to this point. I would be genuinely surprised if he broke the news about one of the main trio officially dying via one page in one chapter which doesn’t even give a status update though words, let alone through an actual drawing of her corpse/grave/ashes/funeral. Which loops me back to the cardinal rule of character death: it’s not confirmed until we see the body.

And let’s face it—if Akutami plans to keep Nobara alive, I am 100% sure he would drag the reveal out as long as possible and make it look as unlikely as possible in order to inflict Pain™ on his audience. Of course, if he plans to kill her off, the situation would look equally grim. But you know he wouldn’t hand us her recovery on a silver platter. Things seem bad (and like I said nobara stans this is your wake up call to start preparing for the worst case scenario now) but that doesn’t automatically mean that they are as bad as they seem.

In summary:

[whetstonefires]

Okay there are actually dialects where 'my (occasionally the) old man' is a fairly common way to refer to your husband and 'my/the old lady' for wife, usually for older people who've been married a long time but sometimes used by those who haven't, deliberately invoking the energy of a couple that's been together a long time. Also used by older people in longterm not-married partnerships who feel 'boy/girlfriend' is unacceptably juvenile.

Outside of that usage, 'my old man' does mean your dad. 'Our old man' is very much a phrase you'd expect to hear between siblings. Having it turn out that someone who used this phrase without context was not using it in that sense would count as a twist or subversion.

'The old man' when used in specific contexts (i.e. when there isn't one already a topic of discussion, and you expect your interlocutor to know you mean 'the' in the sense of 'the important one') implies a patriarch in some sense, but it could just be a autocratic boss whose employees are mostly younger.

Without the possessive, or those particular usages of the definite article, it's basically just a descriptor. Some men are old. This is an old man. It's a mildly rude way to refer to someone, so with the right tone of voice it becomes an overt insult.

Addressing someone to their face as 'old man' is not specifically calling them a dad to you.

Doing so affectionately is primarily teasing someone about being older than you and implying it's an excessive amount; there's a certain patina of fatherhood around this that reinforces an existing parent-child dynamic, because it's establishing attachment, masculinity, and seniority in one package, and sort of sideswiping 'my old man,' but it doesn't actively assert dadness if it's not already there.

You can call someone 'old man' who you don't relate to paternally without serious risk of introducing the idea, and making things weird. But it's just dad-adjacent enough that it's a fairly respectful way to be disrespectful, if there's a positive energy around the interaction.

The implication of dadness relies partly on inflection; for complicated reasons the slower you say the phrase the more dadly it sounds by default, but this isn't any sort of hard rule. The more lower-class and informal you sound, the more dadly it sounds also, regardless of speed.

So if Jason calls Bruce 'old man' that's often going to be him coming as close as he can bear to calling him 'dad,' but despite their own histories of angst on the issue, when Dick and Tim do it it's much less loaded, and more light-hearted ribbing. But it does still contain an element of reinforcing the dad-flavored element of their relationship.

Damian, who only occasionally speaks very slangily and tends toward modern youth slang when he does, is primarily shit-talking the guy as past his prime, but if he's not in an outright screaming rage is also probably faintly asserting an older-relative claim, if the old man in question is at all in that category. With Bruce yeah, especially, because he's so firmly asserted the relationship in paternal terms already.

Bruce calling Alfred that is like. Deniable dad-coding. Sort of like what Jason and Damian are doing, but for different reasons. Because the parental element is way more unspoken between them, despite Alfred having objectively parented Bruce more than Bruce did either Jason or Damian, there's more emphasis on the deny. Because both of them tend to speak in a formal register, the dad energy is less present in the phrase in this case.

Mostly it's a statement of fact, filling the role of term of affection. Sometimes he's also teasing Alfred about his age; sometimes it's more like...old man is less formal than 'old friend,' something he also calls Alfred, and therefore more intimate.

They're very weird.

Okay, can anyone explain the nuances of 'Old Man' to me?

Like, it's a way of teasing someone about ageing and the passage of time. It's both a slang for 'dad' AND 'boyfriend/husband.' It MIGHT be a way of referring to other authority figures??

I just ... I'm trying to sort out references used by the various Bats.

Dick and Damian use it for Bruce.

Bruce uses it for Alfred.

Are they alluding to the parental role these guys have? (Damian definitely is.) Just teasing them about ageing?

I'm pretty sure a 'my' in the front firmly drops it into dad territory. But how about a definite article? No article at all?

I didn't grow up with this phrase, and it is challenging me!

[witlessficcer]

Intruder Alert

A/N: This fic is based on an ask by@multi-muse-transect. The ask was for a Peggy/Nat AU in which Natasha is taken in by Wong after he defeats Drykov. While she is studying as his apprentice, Nat sees Peggy working out. I have not seen The Black Widow. I hope this somewhat meets the request. Enjoy.

Natasha Romanoff still burned with the imprint of her former training. Her Master, Drykov was a viscous taskmaster and one whom distributed brutal punishment on those who did not meet his impossible standards. Nat did not fail, but she saw plenty who did, plenty who disappeared and were never seen or spoken of again. When Wong came to Red Room, many of the girls scattered, taking the opportunity to escape, if they had the nerve. Natasha watched. She watched as the General threw everything he had at Wong. But, the peaceful looking Asian was not an ordinary man. By some power that Natasha did not understand, Wong defeated Drykov.

When the battle was over, such as it was, the man looked at her intently. She returned his scrutiny with curiosity of her own. He approached her with open hands and smile with which the young assassin could find no fault. She was looking. Hard.

“Do you want to leave this place?” he asked, like he was order lunch. “I do not think there is anything left here for you.”

“I'm supposed to follow a strange man though a glowing golden portal and hope it all turns out well for me?” Natasha answered, coldly.

“Better than a Russian Gulag or being hunted like a dog for the sake of deniability,” the Asian answered, softly, but directly.

“If we get along,” the redhead offered. “And, I'm not saying we will. I want you to teach me what you were doing. The golden patterns were...beautiful. The power in them is obviously strong.”

“It is possible that this could be done. If we get along. As you know, students get the grunt work. Are you prepared to keep working? I promise that learning form me will be nothing like this place.”

“Let's go,” Natasha said, ready to leave with the clothes on her back. “There is nothing here for me.

She watched as the portly man seemed to spin a web of light, which opened into a larger circle and showed an empty alley on the other side. Without a glance toward her, he walked through.

She stood still; considering he empty alley, the oddly content man, and potential to learning a power beyond her understanding.

“Are you coming?” he asked from the other side of the portal. His hands clasped behind his back. “The window will close momentarily.”

“Who are you?” Natasha asked, her heart rate rising.

“My name is Wong.”

“Who are you, really?” she pressed. “You will find out soon enough. JUMP! NOW!

Natasha jumped as the portal closed around her.

*****

The house in New York was old, but comfortable. Stylish, in a museum kind of way. Nat found its timeless, multicultural decorations relaxing. It was inviting in a way the Red Room complex was spartan and lifeless. Nat was also pleased that she and Wong had worked out a teacher-student relationship that was both challenging and rewarding. His positive reinforcement was a refreshing change from Drykov, but also an initial hurdle as Nat knew she was exhibiting the behavior of an abused child. It took some time for each of them to learn to trust each other. It was coming, slowly, but surely.

After three months of introductory lessons, Wong decided to give her something a little more complex. He handed her a small leather bound book with ornate decoration on the front and back cover. It could not have been more than 20 pages long. Opening the volume, she found child like illustrations and words in a language she could not read. “Study this for this afternoon. Talk to me about what you have discovered at dinner.

Nat was not one to retreat from a challenge. Sitting at table on in the library, she started to 'read'. The words meant nothing, but the pictures...

Two hours later, Nat was knocked from her reverie by the faint sound of grunting an exertion. It wasn't Wong, or anyone else she had met at the House. She could hear the unmistakable sound of fists pounding leather. Kicking too. Rising from her chair she was was surprised to see golden sparks dissipate about her. What the hell? Even the sparks couldn't keep her from following the sounds of someone beating the shit of a hanging bag. Following the exhilarating sounds lead her to a wide, carpeted stairwell leading down. Of course its coming from the gym, dummy.

Making her way down the stairs and through a longer than normal corridor, Nat pulled up short before entering Wong's work out room. Peering into the room, but remaining out of sight, Nat was amazed at what she saw. The person beating on the bag was a woman. A giant woman. She must have been...over six feet tall. Her shoulders, glistening with sweat, were broad and muscled. Her entire body was broad and muscled. In her boxing stance, Nat could see the definition in her calves, thighs, and abs. The skin tight exercise pants left little to the imagination. The woman had a magnificently tight set of glutes. It was a nice ass. Who was she fooling? Despite herself, Nat found her eyes glued to the mystery woman. For the time being she felt that observing would be the best course of action. She wished the woman would turn around so she could get a look at the rest of her, but the Amazon was positioned to only show her back.

“How long are you going to stand there and watch?” the brown haired woman asked.

For the second time in a few short minutes, Nat had been caught off guard. Lost in thought. It was unforgivable. Drykov would have beaten her and thrown her naked into a cell the size of broom closet. That was then, though. This was now. Now, was a beautiful, muscle bound woman calling her out for staring. Natasha turned on the ice.

“I was waiting to get a good look at our intruder,” she said, flatly.

“Well,” the other woman said, turning to face Natasha. “Am I good looking?"

The former Red Room assassin, trained in all manner of self control and deadly precision, blinked. Dark brown eyes, strong jaw, aquiline nose, full, luscious lips, and large breasts, that seemed to strain against her loose grey tank top.

“Passable,” Nat said, without emotion. You thought luscious lips and big boobs, you big liar!Natasha felt like she needed to leave. She wasn't thinking clearly. This woman was affecting her in a way that she couldn't control. At first sight, her training was gone and she was succumbing to baser instincts. She's a hot athlete who started flirting with you immediately.

“Better than I get from the guys on the construction crew,” the larger woman said. “I think they're scared and don't know what to do with someone who could take them in a fight.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Natasha said. “Can't be easy taking shit from guys like that.”

“They are harmless. Literally. None of the them could hurt me.”

“Nasty names can't be easy every day,” Natasha said, moving not so stealthily toward the chair where the woman's bag lay open and white towel hung over the edge. “Plus, I'm not sure sure such names are entirely accurate.”

“Changing your tune that soon?” the other woman challenged. “I didn't come here to to be hit on by little girls. I came to work out.”

“I am not a little girl and I am hardly hitting on you,” piqued by the boxer's audacity.

“That drool at the edge of your mouth says otherwise?” the intruder continued, brazenly.

“I don't drool,” Nat responded, harshly, her self control eroding further. “Who are you? I need a name to give the police.”

“I'm Peggy, and there's no need to call the police. They would come, find you unconscious, and I would be in the wind.”

This woman, Peggy, was instigating her. Why? Perhaps she thinks your cute too. Did she already know who Natasha was? Was she an associate of Wong's? Or, did she simply like pushing buttons?

“If that was a threat, it was lost on me,” Nat said, with confident cool. “I can take care of myself. I'm sure you've heard the phrase: the bigger they are, the harder they fall?”

The larger woman's brown eyes gleamed with mirth. Placing on gloved hand on her hip, she brought the other to her mouth in failed attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Did you really just say that?” Peggy said, rounding out her chuckle. “Trained assassins should be able to make better threats than that. Seriously.”

Another figurative right hook to Natasha's ego sent her reeling. “Do you need a towel? You're sweating?” That's right. Offer to wipe down her sweaty muscles while you try to recover from her owning you from the moment you saw her.

“Sure, Natasha,” Peggy said, taking the offered towel and beginning to wipe herself off. “Since you mentioned it, if I fell, which is unlikely, I would make every effort to fall on top of you so there would be no clear victor.”

Nat was sure she was hypnotized. She was a Red Room assassin and a Sorcerer's apprentice. Who did this Amazonian street thug think she was? This is getting old. You are not hypnotized. You are hot for her at first sight and just won't admit it.

“Who's Victor?” Nat said, emerging form her inner argument. “And, how do you know who I am?”

“Are you okay?” Peggy said, coming toward her. The taller woman, pulled her boxing gloves off and tossed them to the floor. She turned her hand knuckles out and reached toward the assassin's forehead. Nat blocked the strong forearm aside before the hand could touch her.

Raising her hands in surrender, Peggy said. “I'm not going to hurt you. I was trying to check your temperature. You seem out of sorts.”

“How would you know what sort I am?” Nat said, too harshly.

“You're sweating,” Peggy said. “Your face is flush. You offered me a towel. I didn't see that coming.”

“You're sweating!” Nat exclaimed, causing a small burst of golden sparks to shoot from her temples.

“Whoa,” Peggy said, shocked, as the sorcerer's assassin collapsed toward her.

Peggy caught the younger read head and scooped her up into her large arms.

“What has Wong gone and done this time,” Peggy said, as she walked Natasha up the stairs in search of her teacher.

[ashesandhalefire]

i know, you know

alex, michael, and a lonely hearts club gone slightly awry.

-

inspired by @malex-cupid day one and three themes: wooing my way into your heart and valentine’s day.

-

“Okay, here’s a nightmare scenario,” Michael says as he eases back down onto the couch with another slice of pizza in his hand. He crosses his ankles on the coffee table and bites the tip off. Alex raises an eyebrow expectantly, drawing a sip from his beer, and Michael nods. After a rough swallow, he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I once hooked up with a girl on February thirteenth. Totally lost track of the date.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “That’s not a nightmare scenario for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael takes another bite of his pizza and tries to talk around a mouthful of cheese, face twisted with playful indignation. “Someone like me?”

Alex leans his head against the back of the couch and says, “Charming people never end up in nightmare scenarios because they can, by default, charm their way out of anything.”

Brow furrowing, Michael wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called charming in my life. A few other choice words, sure, but not charming.”

“Well, I guess my perspective is a little different from the sheriff’s department. In my experience, you have a tendency to be very good at saying the right thing.” Alex wiggles his left foot where it sits, tucked beneath the center cushion on the couch, and rubs distractedly at his right knee. The knot in his sweatpants jostles close to Michael’s hip.

Entirely by accident, he’s significantly more dressed-down than Michael is in his slim jeans and crisply colored flannel. Neither piece of Michael’s outfit has the well-worn softness of his usual wardrobe, none of the torn seams or threadbare elbows, but the top two buttons of his shirt are undone like always and the collar hangs wide against his clavicle. Alex tries not to let his eyes linger.

As he chews through another bite, Michael stares back at him, and the gaze feels heavy enough that Alex turns away. “And, please, you’re sitting on my couch, watching my television, drinking my beer, and eating my pizza. If that’s not the direct result of charm, what is it?” 

“Dumb luck,” Michael says. Amusement glints in his eyes as he licks his lips. “Besides, this whole lonely hearts club thing was your idea.” 

“Yeah, but it was originally a party of one.”

Alex had quickly opted out, making his answer a polite but firm no, when Kyle mentioned the flier on the Crashdown’s front door that advertised the latest Wild Pony cash-grab attempt, but that hadn’t prevented him from running face-first into Isobel’s advertising efforts all over town for the next week and a half. General buzz at the post office and hospital implied that her reputation for event planning had drummed up some genuine interest from the locals, and that in and of itself cemented his plan for the weekend as pizza, beer, and whatever cable had to offer. His plan had, at no point, included running into Michael in the candy aisle at RiteAid at three o’clock in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day.

With an armful of personal care items marked with discount stickers, Michael had taken one look at the prescription envelope in Alex’s right hand and the box of chocolates in his left and said, “Got a hot date?”

“No,” Alex had said, wishing he’d chosen to put on something neater than his faded sweatpants. Michael rarely looked presentable by general standards, but he always looked good. “Just chronic pain and a sweet tooth.”

“You should come back tomorrow,” Michael had suggested. “Better sales after the holiday.”

“True, but then I won’t have anything to eat tonight.”

Michael had visibly perked, even though his face stayed neutral. “You’re not going to the singles night thing at the Pony? I thought Valenti would have roped you in for sure.”

“No.” Fleetingly, Alex had considered the idea of wandering through the crowded bar, equally decorated in distasteful neon and garish party store hearts, and trying to pick which of the Pony’s regular stock might like to have his drink bought by an openly gay veteran with one leg while his friends watch from the sidelines of their depressingly stable relationships. “There’s not enough booze in the world.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Michael had laughed. He hadn’t quite met Alex’s eye as they both carefully side-stepped the rest of the conversation. Alex had stopped paying attention, so he wasn’t sure if Michael had retaken to running up a tab yet. “Is is completely pissed at me, but I told her there was no way in hell.”

Alex had swallowed. “Got a hot date?”

“Totally,” Michael had said. He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I think you’ve met him.” 

In retrospect, Alex blames the rest of the conversation on the fact that he’s been unshakably in love with Michael since he was seventeen. For the better part of a month, he’s been trying to work up the courage to throw out a line. But they exist in a strange no-man’s-land of casual acquaintanceship that borders on friendship and romance simultaneously, and Alex hasn’t quite found the right way out yet. 

“If you don’t have plans tonight, you could swing by.” Michael, already at the end of the aisle when Alex called after him, had looked mildly startled when he turned around. “We can get pizza. Or something. Whatever goes with beer.”

“Everything goes with beer in my world.”

“It’ll be a lonely hearts club type of thing,” Alex had said, primarily for the deniability. 

Michael had cocked his head. His eyes drifted lower and lower until they paused and climbed back up Alex’s body at a crawl. “Are you lonely?”

“I had a nose ring, remember?” Alex had clutched the prescription bag in his fist with a crunch and forced himself to laugh, even as bashful panic squeezed at his throat. “You don’t end up with a nose ring and Danger posters on your walls at seventeen unless you’re deeply lonely.”

A slow smile had stretched across Michael’s face, and he ducked his head like it was too private to share with the open aisle. When he looked up again, he wrinkled his nose to help steady his armful of bottles with a nudge of his telekinesis. “I’ll see you at six, then. Pizza and beer.”

Now, Michael breaks a wayward string of cheese away from his last bite and asks, “You want me to go home? Leave you to your pity party?” 

“No. I’m enjoying the company. I think it’s because you’re so charming.”

Michael laughs. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Fine, don’t believe me. But hooking up with a girl who was looking for a hookup on the day before Valentine’s Day is not a nightmare scenario.”

“Alright,” Michael says, nudging Alex’s bent knee, “so give me a better example.”

“Uh, pizza and beer with a guy that never learned how to chew with his mouth closed?”

Michael tears into the crust of his slice and says, muffled by food, “I’ll leave anytime. Just say the word.”

Alex pulls his foot out from under the couch cushion and rolls his heel into the side of Michael’s thigh. “Don’t be disgusting!”

Mashing his teeth, Michael chews with his mouth open for another two bites and then relents. He drops a hot palm into the exposed skin of Alex’s ankle, holding it in place, and Alex manages not to react until Michael strokes his thumb into the hollow beside his Achilles tendon. 

“I need a refill. Do you want another beer?” he asks, pulling his leg away and turning to plant his foot on the floor. He bends down to grope beneath the couch for his crutch. 

“Yeah, I’ll take another one.” Michael stands, taking his empty bottle in hand, and says, “I’ll get it. I know my way around the fridge.”

As he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table, he drops a hand onto Alex’s left shoulder and squeezes. The touch is gone almost as soon as it starts, but Alex still lets out an audible squeak on his next exhale. 

Being touch-starved is hardly new, but it makes him feel like an especially pathetic rescue cat when his body shivers at the barest graze. Twice it happened when Kyle leaned over to look at his laptop and put a hand on his back while they worked on the salvaged hard drives together, and Alex had barely been able to hide the heated flush in his cheeks. It’s more humiliating with Michael, somehow, because Michael has always been exactly the same. He’s always turned into Alex’s touch with eagerness, always looked for the most contact he could find. Something about touch between them turning casual and unaffecting on his end while Alex is gasping like an Austen heroine is especially unsettling.

He takes three deep breaths, holding the air in his chest and releasing through pursed lips, and then Michael squeezes between the end table and the chair with two beers. He twists the tops off with a twitch of his nose, and Alex watches the bent metal land on the coffee table with a ding. 

“Show off,” he says as Michael hands him a bottle. Their fingers brush against the glass. “You’ve never fought with a jar of pasta sauce in your life.”

Michael eases back down onto the couch, snagging the last garlic knot from the crimped tinfoil on the coffee table on the way, and says, “Rubber band trick works wonders. Not that I’ve ever needed it.” 

“Smug bastard.”

Alex watches the bob of Michael's throat as he takes a long draw from his beer. 

“Oh, here. Almost forgot.” Michael pops the rest of the garlic knot into his mouth and lifts his hips off the couch to give himself room to root around his pocket. After a moment of tugging, he tosses something across the couch. It lands on Alex’s thigh. “For your sweet tooth.”

Alex stares down at the packet of SweeTARTS heart candies, emblazoned with the same sentimental phrases as classic conversation hearts. “These are sour.”

“Well, yeah, but aren’t those the ones you like?”

Fingers toying with the crimped edges of the paper wrapping, Alex nods. 

“Then Happy Valentine’s Day.” Michael sucks a spot of oil and garlic from his thumb. “I had to go to, like, four different CVS stores to find them.”

“Thank you,” Alex says. “You didn’t— I didn’t get you anything.”

Michael shrugs. “You paid for dinner. Least I could do was pick up some candy.” 

-

-

Darkness creeps up on them while they trade sarcastic commentary about the fake detective comedy marathon they found on a higher cable channel. The lone bulb still on over the sink casts a warm yellow glow across the kitchen and dining room, and the living room flickers between dark and light as the scenes change on the television. 

Alex glances down at Michael, who has made himself comfortable with one leg dangling off the edge of the couch and the other curled up against the arm. His head rests on a pillow that he laid atop Alex’s right leg, and he has Alex’s left leg stretched out in front of his chest to keep it from blocking his view.

The shift was gradual: he slumped sideways and curled his legs up; he leaned on his elbow and tried to stretch out; he whined about his neck and grabbed the pillow off the floor, checking that it wouldn’t bother Alex’s knee if he put pressure on it; and he grabbed Alex’s left leg by the ankle to straighten it out while complaining that he couldn’t see. And now Alex’s shin is pinned beneath Michael’s palm, feeling the rise and fall of Michael’s chest whenever he chuckles at one of the jokes. 

They’ve spent hours together, rolling around in Michael’s cot and the back of his truck and motel beds, but Alex isn’t sure they’ve ever been more intimate. Quiet stillness has always been difficult for them to come by, and he can barely remember the last time they spent an afternoon together without some sense of doom hanging over their heads. They’ve certainly never laid on a couch together for four hours. 

Michael shifts, rolling onto his side, and his hand drifts down towards the top of Alex’s foot. The calluses on his palm catch against the weave of his sock, and Alex listens to the faint scratch of material without breathing. After a moment, Michael’s fingers slip beneath the elastic at the bottom of his sweatpants, and he strokes absently at the ball of Alex’s ankle. 

The fears and the doubts are as present as they’ve been for the last few weeks. All of their baggage is exactly the same. 

Alex winds one of Michael’s curls around his finger, and he feels the stutter in his breathing. 

With empirical evidence like that, he has to be brave. 

He mutes the television and says, “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Michael glances up. “Is this…new information? Should we be celebrating?”

“No, I mean—” Alex swallows. “I don’t have to go out tomorrow, so if you stay over afterwards, we can talk.”

Michael stares at him. “After what?”

Alex shrugs, but his eyes linger pointedly on Michael’s mouth. 

“Oh,” Michael says. He turns onto his stomach slowly, like he thinks moving too quickly will turn Alex skittish, and then he eases up onto his knees between Alex's legs. Carefully, he pushes the pillow on Alex’s lap out of the way and onto the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, I could stay over. Afterwards.”

Light from the silent television flickers against the side of his face, and Alex reaches for the loose collars of his shirt. Michael bends pliantly, anchoring his hands beside Alex’s shoulders on the arm of the couch, and lowers himself until their noses brush. Then, he hesitates. He nuzzles against Alex’s cheek, rolls their foreheads together, and sighs out a laugh. 

Alex giggles back, a nervous sound he has no control over, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I just— I don’t wanna screw up. This has been a no-fly zone for weeks.”

“It really hasn’t.”

“It really has. I have the bruised ego to prove it.”

A missing piece slots into place in Alex’s chest, loosening every ounce of tension left in his body, and he sags down against the couch cushions. He takes a moment to look up at Michael, at the vulnerable pinch of anxiety that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and then he reaches up to smooth his thumb over the crest of Michael’s cheeks. The wrinkles worsen, so he tows Michael in by his hips and shakes his head. “No. No, you’re— you’re cleared to land.”

“That’s not— ” Michael blinks, and then says, affectionately, “Oh, fuck you.”

He laughs, deep in his chest, and finally presses his mouth to Alex’s. Alex surges into the kiss, letting it linger until the smile splitting across his lips forces Michael to pull back. He tries again, but Alex can’t relax his grin, so, for a moment, they just breathe, silhouetted in the dark. 

Then, Michael says, “No regretting it tomorrow?” 

Alex shakes his head. “No.”

“No nightmare scenario? No backslide with my ex?”

“No.”

“No… I scratched my itch, now get out of my house?”

“No!”

“Okay, good. Good. Because I’m playing for keeps this time.” He settles his weight between Alex’s thighs, and Alex is struck suddenly with the realization of how easy it is to be happy, how earned it feels after all this time.

They kiss, lazy and unhurried, until the cable box starts to idle in the background and leaves them in a nearly pitch black room. The last three buttons of Michael’s shirt come undone under Alex’s fingertips, and Michael’s unshaved jaw scrapes his mouth almost raw.

“Next year,” he mumbles against Alex’s cheek in a moment of reprieve, “I’m gonna fill this house with roses.”

Distractedly, Alex hooks his heel around the back of Michael’s calf and says, “If you somehow have a quarter of a million dollars to waste on that many flowers next year, we will not still be living in this house.”

Michael’s whole body jolts.

“We?” he teases gleefully, and he digs his fingertips into the soft back of Alex’s knee. “Did you just forget we don’t have a joint bank account? Oh, fuck, you really do like me.”

A hot flush rises in Alex’s cheeks as he squirms. “I like your fake money.”

“I think you mean our fake money.”

Alex laughs. “I fucking hate you.” He turns away, and Michael bends down to kiss the exposed line of his neck. 

“You don’t,” he says between nips. “You really don’t.”

“No,” Alex agrees. “I really don’t.”

[mmmmalo]

Reached Tagora and Vikare, got hung up on gay subtext.

Tagora's route, the first in Friendsim to mention rainbow drinkers, starts off with an angry driver calling MSPAR a "lumpsquirt chugger" -- a turn of phrase emphasized when Tagora asks you to move your "chug column", ie neck. The lumps in question are likely breasts, turning "lumpsquirt chugger" into "milk drinker" and thereby insulting MSPAR for being a mammal (not unthinkable on a bug planet). But the lumps could just as easily indicate balls, turning the phrase into "cocksucker" and bringing the drive-by hostility into alignment with earthly homophobia. These would probably overlap: centaursTesticle dranks his centaur's man-milk after all, the liquid whites were never far apart... Anyway Tagora continues the general Alternian-vampire trend of draining you (of cash, in this instance), and the twin epithets for "substance sipper" might hint at a homoerotic bent to the lawyerly cash-suck that intensifies in concert with Gor-Gor's anger (especially since the story features Tagora's gay kismesis).

Vikare is such a boundless fountain of plausibly deniable innuendo I scarcely know where to start. Let's mark some choice quotations:

1 . "I'm nothing but an avatar of baloney. In truth the myriad temptations and desires of space do nothing to tickle my biscuit. [snip] My interest lies in something a little… Lower down." This is Vikare confessing his deviance, that his heart (his "pump biscuit") prefers atmospheric flight to the spaceflight mandated by his society. But what I hear is "I am a sausage receptacle. Society's normative pathways of desire fail to stimulate my ass. I am interested in... the butt."

2. The ass fixation was perhaps first announced when he marks your trek to his hive with the imperative "let's get a wiggle on!" -- though the parallel routes seeming deployment of "lumpsquirt chuggers" to conflate milk and cum makes me squint a bit when Vikare treats the word "friend" as a euphemism and cautiously probes your response to the alternate phrasing "bosom companion"

3. Speaking of probing, Vikare's hive being shaped like a UFO might act to bring us close to the specter of anal probing, especially since he eroticizes the secondary alien-abduction activity of vivisection: "I would like to trust you a little more before vivisecting myself // And displaying my bleeding organs before your penetrating gaze // Which is a metaphor for exposing my portfolio" -- Though if we were to take "bleeding organs" literally within the context of innuendo (as opposed to the rawness of the inner body in general), it'd be more indicative of vagina...? Or I guess if trolls vomit blood for reproduction, the throat is also a match... he eroticizes vivisection again when he says he not a macho type who can "whip out" his organ-harvesting tools at a moment's notice, which turns us toward a phallic paradigm, but I still have some lingering doubts about Alternia being all-male, as put forward in Slurquest.

Anyway,

4. Turning "two shakes of a lamb's tail" into "two shakes of a baby baa beast's hindquarters" again orients us toward the ass

Listening to Brodemus's Friendsim playthrough again at work and it clicked that Ardata continues the association of the 3rd Eye with mind control -- previously established by the glowing emblem on the foreheads of the psychically intertwined and Jane's mindhack tiara.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

A Tiadrin theory

I woke up this morning with a sudden headcanon about Tiadrin, and as I poked at it, it filled out nicely, so I’m gonna go ahead and call it a theory at this point.

It gets angsty, as all good Moonshadow theories do. If your heart doesn’t weigh 6 tons by the time you reach the end of this post, I didn’t capture the feeling properly.

Several bits of detail flutter around this mysterious woman, and I’ve theorized various versions of her circumstances, her relationship with Runaan and Ethari, her former position before the Storm Spire, the reasons she went there, and the reasons Runaan was so hellbent on avenging her dishonor.

I don’t think any of them landed as well or tied together as neatly as this one, though. Hence “theory” instead of just “headcanon.” Here we go:

FIrstly, some meta information. This is a fun tweet, but in this post I’m looking directly at “belief systems as sources of both comfort and restraint” and at the “weight of guilt” and “cycles of trauma” lines, in regards to Moonshadow culture, and specifically Moonshadow assassin training.

And raise your hand if you’ve been looking further afield than the front-and-center Janaya-with-Soren nod from “ripped women who teach soft boys to stab,” because I have. TDP is full of parallels and imperfect mirrors.

So, in the spirit of soft yet angsty cycles and the ripped women who perpetuate them, Theory Part I: Tiadrin trained Runaan, because she was the leader of the assassins before he was.

She’s referred to as a mastermind. Assassin leaders need to be good with plans of all sizes. We’ve seen how Runaan silently adapts to chaos and doesn’t tell anyone what his new plans actually are. He’s a good leader. But he also had to learn those skills from someone. Whoever instructed him was a tactical genius, and also very Moonshadow, and Runaan was an adept student.

Also, Tiadrin is a goddamn badass. She’s several inches shorter than Lain, Runaan, Ethari, and Viren. But she is a powerhouse in battle. She knows her physics well enough to drag this 6′2″ human battle mage skidding across the floor. Monster thighs, monster intellect.

As a 5′4″ woman who trained in jujitsu for several years, let me just say: gender equality in battle is great, but physics does not care. It will crush your popsicle-stick ass if you try to chuck a 250 lb person across the room and your math is off. The most accurate fighters are the ones who know how hard physics hits back when you’re sloppy.

Tiadrin earned every inch of respect, and every inch of her thigh circumference, the old-fashioned way. She worked for it, all day every day. Runaan does the same thing. He might have half a foot of height on her, but he trains like the world will crush him if he’s not perfect. And that’s very Moonshadow assassin in its own right, because it will, and it tried. Tiadrin knew what she needed. And she knew what Runaan, soft boy that he is, needed. And she made sure she trained it into him, all day every day.

Tiadrin is one of the reasons that Runaan survived the fight in Harrow’s chamber. She made him the fighter he is, the person he is, and that was just enough to pull him through... so he could see his own mentor trapped in a coin. Yay, thanks Viren.

Theory Part II: Runaan’s squad was made up of all the elves Tiadrin has personally trained, or trained by proxy.

If Tiadrin was Runaan’s trainer and mentor, then her honor was his honor. And when she supposedly faltered and fled at the Storm Spire, that suddenly cast him, as an individual assassin and as the current assassin leader, in a terrible light. If his mentor was a coward, what did she teach him? Would he also duck and run when things got hopeless, and abandon his duty?

The doubt that must’ve swirled around him when the village learned the terrible news about Lain and Tiadrin must’ve sliced right through him. Thousand-yard stare, biggest internal Oh No ever. Runaan lives to serve his people, and to have them doubt him, after all he has done to train them and protect them from harm, would be the worst kind of pain. He had to make it right.

But not just him. Assassins seem to take solo missions even for their first kill, if Eljaal’s covered shoulders are any indication. You can Moonshadow your feels if you don’t have to watch your friend kill someone, if you don’t have anyone watching while you stab someone to death. You can pretend it’s all serene and just and smooth and valid and honorable. You can hold to your love of life and dance right past your embrace of death, if no one else sees it. But Runaan’s mission had 6 members. They were definitely going to have to watch each other murder people. Why?

Tiadrin’s honor was their honor. An extended family of brothers, sisters, cousins, fosterlings, anyone who was drawn to Tiadrin, or her to them, bonded together over their family feels and protective instincts. They were family. And then their leader fell, her honor crushed.

They had to make it right.

They all carried Tiadrin’s honor with their own, taught by her personally, regarded as honorable assassins. Until she seemed to have a fatal flaw in her character. Then everyone wondered if that flaw got passed down, too. The assassins had to prove that it hadn’t been, for the sake of their people, and for all of Xadia who trusted them to take out threats in the dark. They had to go set right Tiadrin’s “mistake” and take Harrow for Zym’s death. All of them. Every single one, no exceptions.

No exceptions. That’s why Rayla had to go, too. Tiadrin taught Runaan everything he knew about being an assassin, and when she moved to the Storm Spire, Runaan dutifully passed Rayla’s mother’s teachings to Rayla herself, feeling like part of the family, an essential connection between mother and daughter, between assassin mentor and mentee. He tried to get it just right, just perfect, so Rayla would feel like she’d been trained by her actual mom as much as possible. Not just because Tiadrin was Rayla’s mother, but because Runaan respects Tiadrin’s prowess so much. She was the best, and every bit of Runaan’s efforts to be his best reflects his respect for her.

You don’t get to be the assassin leader unless you’re the best there is. Runaan knows that from both sides. And just like Tiadrin did with him, he does his best to teach Rayla everything she needs to stay safe and alive, so she can do her duty too, and come home safe to her family every day.

And, in the end, part of that duty had to be avenging her mentor’s mentor, her own mother, by accompanying Runaan on his mission. Her lessons were from Tiadrin, one step removed. If there was a flaw in her training, no one would trust her when it was her turn to lead the assassins, and she’s not even done training yet! Rayla understood Moonshadow honor, assassin honor. She was driven to ask Runaan to take her with him, and he could see exactly where she was coming from. Their honor was tangled up with Tiadrin’s. They couldn’t back out. They had to go to Katolis, them and everyone else Tiadrin had trained.

That’s why the binding ribbons came out. They were in a do-or-die situation, in the most literal sense.

They could not go home in failure. If they all failed, it would take out a whole line of assassin training, possibly the same one that had lasted for countless generations (okay maybe we can count them and there are like 30) and crush the Moonshadows’ spirits. And they’d literally rather die than see that happen. They were all ready to give their lives to restore Tiadrin’s honor, and their own, because without her legacy, there would be such a crater in the assassin corps that it might never recover.

Yes, this is basically my angsty “Runaan’s found family went into battle together and most of them died” headcanon again, but this time with a solid theory behind it. I’m not sorry. I love this angsty idea, it’s horrible. Do you see the cycle of trauma? I’ve got one more part to add, which may make it clearer.

Theory Part III: Assassin leaders always go serve at the Storm Spire once they successfully train their own replacement.

In this theory’s version of Why Laindrin Went To The Storm Spire, Tiadrin was always going to end up at the Storm Spire, once she became the assassin leader. That’s where the veteran assassin leader goes, see, to liaison between the dragon throne and the current Moonshadow leader. They know the assassins’ skills far better than any Skywings or dragons do, and they know the leader in charge of them, so they can give guidance or direction as needed, or simply phrase the Dragon King or Queen’s request in such language that the assassin leader knows intuitively what really needs to be done.

Yeah, Tiadrin writing Runaan mission directives. I can see it.

Tiadrin’s mentor would’ve left for the Spire when Tiadrin got promoted to leader. The person she trusted most in the world, who had trained her, left her behind, only to communicate by long distance. Moonshadow deniability, amirite--we’re not stabbing people, we’re sending tactical correspondence, yep that’s it. But Tiadrin was still surrounded by Runaan and the other young assassins, and she bonded with them all, and life was bright.

Then, the shadow came once again. Runaan was an excellent student, and she knew he was ready. Maybe she delayed, and delayed, Moonshadowing her reasons. Maybe she wanted the chance to bring life into the world, to try to balance out some of the death she had dealt. Maybe she wanted a few more years of domestic life in the Silvergrove with all her favorite elves, to bolster her heart for the years to come. Maybe her mentor at the Spire was up to shenaniganry in dragon politics and she wanted to buy them more time to lay those plans in place.

Knowing Tiadrin even the slightest bit, I will assume it was all this and more. But eventually, she couldn’t put things off any longer. She had to go fulfill her duty to the dragon throne and join the Dragonguard as the representative of the Moonshadow assassins who had bound themselves to the protection of Xadia long ago. She had to walk away from her bright life, her family, her friends, her allies, and climb up into that misty stone tower, to spend who knows how long away from everything she knew and loved.

And she did. She chose to walk away, for love of Xadia. She took her beloved husband with her, but she left the Silvergrove, Xadia’s protection, and her own daughter’s upbringing in the hands of the elf she chose to replace her. The soft boy she’d taught to stab, who would teach her baby girl to stab, too.

Because this is The Way.

I know I’ve had an angsty headcanon that assassins don’t retire. But, consider this: maybe one of them can. One of Tiadrin’s many plans could have been counting on Runaan’s extreme prowess and devotion to Rayla. If Tiadrin knew that she could return to the Silvergrove in peace and retire there with Lain once Runaan trained Rayla to take his place as the assassin leader, then she could live in the Silvergrove again for the rest of her life, and also get to see Rayla grown big and strong and become the assassin leader herself, another proud elf in a long line of honor and tradition. She might feel that was a big accomplishment, considering the dangers they all face. And it would be.

Yes, this would hinge on the fact that Runaan would have to leave the Silvergrove to replace Tiadrin at the Storm Spire, to serve as Rayla’s liaison to the dragon throne. Cycles of trauma, remember? Tiadrin can’t have all of her family back in one place, ever again. She has to love and train someone enough to put them through the life that she’s having to live, and she has to be strong enough not to let that break her. And then, she has to choose between them. She chose Runaan first, so that she could hope to choose Rayla later. She trusted him with all the future happiness of her heart. And he did his best with it.

But they didn’t quite make it, in the end, because of Viren.

I know this has been a lot of angst. I know. But there is a moonlit lining to this theory, and I think we all need to consider it. If there is a cycle of taking the assassin leader out of the Silvergrove to serve the dragon throne for ancient promise reasons, then if that ancient promise is ever rescinded or redressed in an effective way, the family won’t need to keep yeeting loved ones out of its orbit. And if assassins cease to be a necessary evil as a result, then no one will have to leave, or stab, again. At least, not for the same angsty reasons. They could stay together and never need to leave again.

It won’t be easy to break such a cycle. It might be impossible. But if anyone can manage it, it’ll be Tiadrin, and her family.

extra headcanon for this theory:

Tiadrin, packing up for the Storm Spire: One last thing, Runaan.

Runaan, stoically attentive because what are feels on the day your mentor leaves you: Yes, Tiadrin?

Tiadrin: Ethari will need to pick an apprentice to replace him, too. He should start looking now.

Runaan: Why? Only the Silvergrove’s Master Craftsman gets to pick an apprentice, and Ethari isn’t--

Tiadrin: *wink” Not yet, he’s not.

Runaan: Tiadrin, please, what have you done?

Tiadrin: I want to come back here someday, Runaan. I want to see your good work with Rayla. And I can’t do that if you flat-out refuse to leave your husband when Avizandum calls for you to replace me. So he needs to be ready to leave, too.

Runaan: I, I, I would nev-- I couldn’t--

Tiadrin: *patting his shoulder briskly as she strides out* Mmhmm, sure thing, kid. The council votes him in next Thursday. Be good while I’m gone! I want to find this place exactly the way I’m leaving it. Lain, honey, get your coat!

Lain, in the next room: Yes, Tiadrin!

Runaan, soft-eyed, to the silence in her wake: Yes, Tiadrin.

[itsnothingofinterest]

I think this fandom needs more villainous Christmas content, and also we really need some light Villain content right now; so since the PLF were formed and Shigaraki was still with them for last Christmas, here’s what I headcanon Shigaraki & the lieutenants got each other during their tense first few days after the merger.

Shigaraki

He get everyone video games. And also personal consoles for each and every one of them. Now Hero Aca is 200 years in the future, but I’m gonna list specific games & series anyway and just say if it still exists, it’s the latest game from that series, if not, it’s something similar to that series. With that said, here’s what he got everyone.

Dabi: Doom

Toga: Assassins’ Creed

Spinner: Grand Theft Auto

Twice: Animal Crossing

Mr. Compress: Mario

Geten: Dark Souls

Skeptic: Professor Layton

Trumpet: Command & Conquer

Redestro: X-COM

Attitude after merger review: Good marks; no noticeable signs of favoring old friends over enemies turned allies. Good job hiding that animosity Tomura!

Dabi

He went to a book store and got everyone books; because they’re good gifts that still allow him the opportunity to knock everyone’s literacy skills by saying they should read more. It’s an important balance for him to strike, getting good gifts without appearing friendly in the slightest. Anyway, here’s the genres he got everyone

Shigaraki Edge action adventure

Toga: Romance

Spinner: Action adventure YA novel

Twice: Slice-of-life comedy

Mr. Compress: murder mystery

Geten: University-level math textbook

Skeptic: Sci-fi navel gazing

Trumpet: Political theory

Redestro: Suspenceful Thriller

Attitude after merger review: Would’ve been fine if not for that dig at Geten’s uneducated status. Try harder next year, please.

Toga

Reminiscent of her pre-quirk Christmases, she decided to make homemade gifts for everyone using whatever she had available. Which was a lot, actually, since she was not afraid to spend Redestro’s money on supplies. In fact she went out of her way to get the most expensive supplies available at every opportunity.

Shigaraki: A grim miniature carnival ground where action figures of All Might & other pros are tortured and mutilated.

Dabi: a miniature statue of him made out of platinum and then crudely painted.

Spinner: An origami model of Stain with a vast arsenal of origami swords.

Twice: a Hand-knitted toque just a bit to big for his head.

Mr. Compress: A collection of new masks in fancy paints.

Geten: A mountaineering pick-ax with a handle in his color scheme.

Skeptic: Just a piece of paper saying “I know about the neck snapping. I look forward to working with you.”

Trumpet: A Trumpet.

Redestro: A bust of his head made of solid gold and smiling his to-wide fake-y smile.

Attitude after merger review: Also docking points for a dig at a former adversary, and what’s worse is it wasn’t even in the form of a proper present. Also losing points for going out or your way to spend Redestro’s money, which granted, everyone else was doing too, but you were a bit upfront with it. Employ more subtlety next time!

Spinner

Spinner also got everyone video games like Shigaraki did; however he looked into indie games. Gotta support the little guys, y’know? That said, indie games 200 years in the future are nearly equivalent to AAA games now in all the ways that matter, so there’s not too much of a difference except it’s all spiritual successors, no franchises. Huge selection though, and there’s successors to everything so Spinner’s set.

Shigaraki: Metroid

Dabi: Mario Kart

Toga: Danganronpa

Twice: Rayman

Mr. Compress: Clunhouse Games: 51 Classics

Geten: Celeste

Skeptic: Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes.

Trumpet: Call of Duty

Redestro: Roller Coater Tycoon

Attitude after merger review: Full marks just like Tomura, as expected of his closest lieutenant. Excellent gifting Spinner!

Twice

Now that he has money, he just went on some Amazon-esque website and got the first thing he saw the reminded him of everyone. As such, his gifts are the most sporadic & random.

Shigaraki: A bottle of Kurogiri’s favorite wine.

Dabi: A quality pack of cigarettes.

Toga: Hairclips with characters from an anime she liked growing up.

Spinner: One of the spinning whetstone things for sharpening blades.

Mr. Compress: A new hat.

Geten: a pair of mittens.

Skeptic: Several Spools or wire + a pair of wire cutters.

Trumpet: A maintenance kit for trumpets.

Redestro: A $1000 donation to a quirkless rights movement in his name. (Can you tell he’s still mad about Giran?)

Attitude after merger review: Once more, major marks docked for taking a dig at an enemy-turned-ally that you can hardly even pretend is a proper gift. Once again; if you can’t do anything nice, be more sublet when acting mean.

Mr. Compress

He frankly wanted to see if he could get anyone into his hobbies, or at least get them something to remind them of him, so he robbed a magic store for magic trick-based toys & performance tools.

Shigaraki: One of those things where you saw your assistant in half (complete with saw).

Dabi: Those weird orb things that slid around your hand.

Toga: One of those boxes you have your assistant stand in and then stab them (complete with knives).

Spinner: Fancy deck of cards

Twice: Yo-yo collection.

Geten: Hula hoop

Skeptic: Semi-transparent Mirror

Trumpet: Bracelet things where you put one inside the other.

Redestro: Fog Machine

Attitude after merger review: Nearly full marks, but it is rather noticeable how League members got, on average, much larger presents than the MLA alumni. Still, the plausible deniability is worth something here. 

Geten

He just went to a store to get whatever he could find. He did not try very hard for the League. Or Skeptic & Trumpet for that matter.

Shigaraki: Santa hat

Dabi: Snow globe

Toga: Chocolate Bar

Spinner: Elf hat.

Twice: Bag of candy

Mr. Compress: a $20 gift card.

Skeptic: New tie.

Trumpet: A wallet.

Redestro: A Blue-Ray collection of a movie series he’d been meaning to see.

Attitude after merger review: Absolute lowest marks; the fact that he got bad gifts for fellow MLA members does not hide this fact as well as he may think it does.

Skeptic

Not really knowing enough about any of these guys enough to really think about what they want, but still wanting to show off; he hacked into the personal bank accounts of several heroes & famous figures and, using each one, got a ¥ 1 million gift card from this store franchise that doesn’t allow any kind of refunds.  Here are the corresponding accounts used to make each person’s gift (he did at least put thought into who each recipient might like to rob).

Shigaraki: All Might

Dabi: Endeavor

Toga: Best Jeanist

Spinner: Wash

Twice: Yoroi Musha

Mr. Compress: Edgeshot

Geten: Mirko

Trumpet: Some political opponent

Redestro: The HPSC president

Attitude after merger review: Both thoughtful and balanced between old & new partners, full marks for one of the last people you might’ve expected. Way to use that pride, Skeptic!

Trumpet

A rather materialistic fellow, he got everyone some new tech or item of convenience.

Shigaraki: An expensive watch.

Dabi: A temperature-controlled water bottle

Toga: A big make-up kit

Spinner: A nice suit

Twice: An Ipod.

Mr. Compress: A nice suitcase.

Geten: A mini-fridge.

Skeptic: A new laptop.

Redestro: A new phone.

Attitude after merger review: Full marks, I suppose, if only because he equally half-arsed it for everyone. Not even out of malice either, he just didn’t try all that hard for anyone.

Redestro

The richest of the lot: he also just got everyone some piece of technology/luxury rich person thing, with the difference that his presents were really big & expensive. He was rather invested in endearing himself to the new team.

Shigaraki: A kind of really big yacht, one with windows around the deck to keep people from seeing him. Imagine a cross between a yacht & a limo, actually.

Dabi: A stupidly big TV with like 10 different streaming services pre-paid on it. 

Toga: A self-driving car.

Spinner: One of those 4-wheeled dirt bikes

Twice: His very own mountain lodge.

Mr. Compress: His very own hot tub.

Geten: His own private jet, complete with a walk-in freezer installed in the back.

Skeptic: A warehouse & collection of those big data storage units; enough to back-up all the data his company had ever collected.

Trumpet: A new van

Attitude after merger review: Full marks and well earned; because even if they weren’t always the most personalized, they were too high quality for it to matter. And for once the expense wasn’t a mark against him because he was spending his own money!

Final review: Toga got everyone the best gifts, with Twice taking 2nd place, because theirs were both thoughtful and unique. Even the non-gift to Skeptic & Redestro couldn't bring them below anyone else’s score. Everyone else sucks at this. 3rd place goes to Redestro though, because “money can’t by happiness” is a phrase that doesn’t apply to poor people.