#such a good way to phrase it in a way that strikes the listener; y'know

[i-got-da-rubes]

Yeah that scene with raph in your trans fem Mikey fic did raise my eyebrows so I asked. It’s better to ask what someone’s intentions are than to assume. You are right the littlest things we say can have consequences. The axe forgets but the tree remembers sorta thing. Thank you for clearing that up. I did enjoy the fic though I am looking forward to your next fic it’s gonna be fun.

Honestly, it's really admirable of you to reach out an ask! Most people wouldn't care enough to, or would assume the worst and move on. It's nice to see there are people like you online.

I will admit that I used Raph mostly as a plot device and it was a bit much, haha, but I think it got the point across and that's what matters. I'm a transman myself, the opposite of my Mikey, but I have been told similarly harmful things that have stunted my coming out.

But! Just like Raph, my siblings have worked hard recently to be as supportive as possible. Using my chosen name, calling me their brother, ect. So I hope I also channeled some of that into his demeanor by the end.

And I'm so so glad you enjoyed it! It's super motivating to hear that you wanna see my Raph fic :D I hope to have the first chapter posted later today!

For anyone confused as to what we are referencing, here is the fic.

[uwusenpaiuwu]

Sleepovers At The Baji Household feat. A Fed-Up Chifuyu

Summary: Chifuyu just wants to sleep, man, but Baji wants to be a jealous crackhead at 2 AM.

Pairing: Sano Manjiro | Mikey x Male Reader

Note(s): I had a little free time and wrote this. So, please enjoy! ALSO, to the anon that sent me a request a few days ago, I saw it and have it filed on my to-do list!!! I will definitely get to it as soon as I get a break in my schedule :)

"Chifuyu, ya wanna see some real discrimination?"

No. No, Chifuyu does not want to see what Baji means by 'real discrimination.'

Does he tell him that, though?

Yes, actually, because it's 2 in the fucking morning and, as much as he respects the other boy, he wouldn't put it past himself to smother him with a pillow after having his dream of cuddling with a sea of puppies suddenly destroyed.

Unfortunately for his sanity, Baji either doesn't hear him or, more likely than not, doesn't give a fuck, because he's already flopping onto his belly and whipping out his phone to do God knows what.

The dial tone that sounds from the speaker a few seconds later makes Chifuyu cringe, especially since it's only ever been a calm silence fit for a good night's sleep prior to Baji bulldozing through it with his absurd question. (At the very least, he's thankful that the latter has half a mind to keep the brightness on the lowest setting, otherwise, Chifuyu would have had to fight.)

On the far end of the row of carefully-laid futons, you shift in your sleep, eyebrows furrowing together at the noise. Rotating onto your side, you unconsciously reach for Baji, and just when he thinks you're being cute and trying to cuddle him, you smack him in the head.

Baji doesn't flinch, instead, takes his pillow and shoves it in your grasp to keep your unconscious self occupied, so that he can focus on getting through to the person who reuses to pick up (understandably so).

Releasing a frustrated groan after being redirected to voice mail for the fifth time, he dials the number again, muttering an impatient, "Pick up already."

Chifuyu feels sorry for the poor soul on the other end. He would've blocked someone following the first call, because again, it's-

The blond has to squint his eyes up at the digital clock on Baji's nightstand, which confirms that it's already 2:22 A.M, further solidifying the fact that he shouldn't be awake right now. And this also applies to the ever persistent first division captain, who insists on bothering who Chifuyu soon discovers is Mikey from the contact ID that flashes across the screen.

Why Baji is so keen on bothering him is a question he doesn't have the mental capacity to ponder over. The most energy he'll expend is to listen in when the call miraculously connects.

"What...?" comes a muffled voice from the receiver, tone laced in an irked grogginess birthed from a slumber rudely interrupted.

There's an absurdly loud, almost angry, roar of Mikey's name, one that has Chifuyu curling in on himself in a futile attempt to escape a sound that should be illegal at this hour.

But you know what else should be illegal?

The fucking whiplash Chifuyu gets when Baji's deep voice takes an abrupt 180°, switching from its normal gruffness to a squeaky, ear-piercing shrill as he screams, "I love you, love you, love you! Do you love me, too, Mikey-kyun~♡?!"

The room is dead silent.

Not a word. Not a murmur. Not a breath.

Just pure, unadulterated silence as both Chifuyu and Mikey process the words that hang in the air, permeating it with a goosebumps-inducing eeriness from having heard such a...a girly, overtly cutesy screech from Baji.

Then-

"What the fuck? He hung on me!"

Chifuyu opens his mouth, thinks better of reacting to the cursed scene he had the misfortune of bearing witness to, and promptly closes it.

Other people may have sleep paralysis demons.

But Chifuyu?

Chifuyu has Baji.

With both hands partially raised in prayer, he begs for the shenanigans to be over and done with.

They are not.

While his eyes remain closed in a last ditch effort to convince himself that it's all a bad dream, he hears a lot of grumbling happening on your side of the room, courtesy of Baji, who's scrambling around in search of...something. One quick peek reveals him fiddling with a phone - yours, to be exact, as evidenced by the distinctive phone charm of your favorite anime character hanging from it.

"(Y/n), wake up for a second," he hears him whisper. It takes a bit of prompting, until he's able to successfully rouse you enough from sleep to elicit any kind of response, which is, essentially, nothing short of an incoherent, slurred mess. Although, Chifuyu is pretty damn certain he heard you call Baji a 'dickhead' for the trouble.

Unperturbed, he continues shaking your limp form, coaxing you into wakefulness with, "Repeat what I tell you, and I'll let you go back to asleep. Deal?"

You squint your eyes at him, only able to make out a vague outline of his visage in the lightless room. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die," he automatically responds with the same phrase he's become accustomed to saying whenever you two made a promise, something done purely out of habit, formed when the two of you were just kids and he wanted to get you to do something absolutely ridiculous either for him or with him. And just 'cause he knows you're more susceptible to complying if he does it, he also interlocks his pinky with yours.

"...Fine."

The approval is his cue to proceed, and it's as he's putting the phone on speaker that he turns back to a regretfully wide awake Chifuyu, mouthing a wordless, 'Watch.'

The phone rings, loud and clear, precisely once and only once.

"(Y/n), what's wrong?" It's important to note that even though Mikey still sounds tired as hell, his tone is much lighter, much happier really, than when it was Baji, which is an offense in itself to the said teen that's off to the side, attentively listening to the conversation unfold.

Then, it strikes Chifuyu, what Baji is trying to do, and fuck does it give him an instant headache.

Meanwhile, your mouth morphs into the dopiest of smiles with the pleasant surprise of hearing your boyfriend's voice, chest instantly overtaken by a warm fuzziness that never fails to make an appearance whenever he's involved. Sappy, you know, but it's true!

A light but firm nudge to your shoulder reminds you of your mission. It's too bad that, teetering along the edge of sleep as you are, the words Baji whispers are barely repeated correctly.

The initial phrase from before, the one Baji greeted Mikey with, is shortened to a simple, "You wuv I...?"

But, without missing a beat, you receive Mikey's confident reply of, "Mhm... I wuv you a lot."

There's a sleepy giggle then - a fucking giggle - before your voices drop to sweet whispers that the third and fourth wheels can't fully comprehend from where they are.

"Where the fuck was my 'I wuv you,' huh?!" Baji whisper-shouts, considerate of your conversation even when ranting and raving. "Shit, I would've taken a simple 'I love you,' too! I've known that bastard way longer than (Y/n), and this is what I get?!"

Okay. Toman's president answers his boyfriend's late night calls faster than he does anyone else's and openly expresses his love for him. So what? Chifuyu wouldn't exactly call it 'discrimination,' per se. 'Favoritism,' maybe if you wanna stretch it, but using as strong a word as discrimination, especially taking into account you two are dating; it's normal? Nah.

"You wanna say 'bye' to them? Mm. Baji and Chifuyu." A pause. "Fuyu, Mikey says 'bye.'"

"Bye, Mikey-kun."

The other person in the room waits, and waits, and waits, and when it's clear that there is no intention to address his presence whatsoever, Baji turns to Chifuyu with an almost scandalized expression, making wild gesticulations with his hands, clearly distressed. "See?!"

Blank blue eyes stare back at him, unblinking. Honestly, it's a common occurrence - Baji spiraling in a nonsensical rage - so it's easy for Chifuyu to block out the muted, jealousy-driven temper tantrum as he takes his pillow in both hands, raises it as high as he can, and-

Sigh.

-lets it flop right back onto his face.

He can't suffocate Baji. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Couldn't. After all, they're best buds, meaning he has an obligation to put up with shit like this once in a while. (Plus, he'd probably get his ass kicked before he succeeds anyway. Totally not worth the beating.)

"Did you hear? Mikey said he wuvs me," he hears you drawl dreamily as soon as you hang up, sounding very close to clocking back out for the night.

"Yeah, yeah. Cute shit. Happy for ya, dude," Baji huffs. Thankfully, he sounds like he's in a similar state to yours, if the yawn that follows his sarcastic comment is anything to go by.

"...He soooo ignored you."

That warrants a punishing punch to the arm, dulled only slightly by the combination of the thick quilt you're swaddled in and the raven-haired boy's fatigue.

"I'll fucking throw you out right now, (Y/n). Don't test me."

"You won't."

"I will."

"Won't."

"Will."

The conversation gradually dies down shortly after, the exhaustion that took its sweet time getting to both of you having reached its peak with the help of the childish bickering. It takes 10 minutes, maybe 15, before two sets of light snores fill the room.

Finally.

Let it be known that there is a lesson to be learned from tonight's events. Really, there is. Y'know, something along the lines of 'Don't agree to a sleepover with Baji, if you plan on actually sleeping,' or whatever.

Alas, Chifuyu's consciousness fades before he realizes what it is.

~~~

"Mikey, be honest. Who do you love more? Me or-?"

"(Y/n)."

"But-"

(Y/n)."

"I-"

"(Y/n)."

Baji is only momentarily discouraged, sharp eyes glaring at the blond that lays his head on your lap after hi-fiving you. He didn't want to do this, but he's left with no choice.

"(Y/n) or Babu?"

From the way Mikey stiffens up, refusing to look at either him or you in the eyes, Baji knows he has him right where he wants him, has him torn between a cute face or a sweet ride.

"Oi! Don't pretend to be asleep! Answer the damn question! OI!"

(After hours of serious contemplation - even though you told him it doesn't particularly matter - it's revealed that, of course, Mikey loves you more. Babu just happens to trail behind as a very close second.)

[benitasmorales]

Good Eatin’ | Solo

Part of Chuck’s application para, with a lot more carnage, a lot more idiocy.

~~~

There was very little that could stand in the way between Chuck and a good meal.

Violence wasn't something he was a stranger to. He'd seen dear ol' dad knock his mother around enough times to realize that it wasn't something anyone asked for. It simply was. It existed the way any creature on earth did, and like a forest fire, it could be snuffed out with the right materials - or fed by the wrong ones. And as helpless as he'd been way back, hiding behind the staircase banister, so helpless he felt against the urge gnawing at his insides. "Are you sure about this?" Chuck promptly snorted, turning a heavy lidded gaze towards the youth beside him. Jesus, this boy was jumpier than a goddamn bullfrog on a blazing skillet. He could feel every twitch and fidget and, sighing, he laid a gentle palm atop on of his shoulders. "Listen, bud. Y'ain't gotta worry about nothin'," He began slow, sure-sounding. They had been crouched in the brushes for about seven minutes or so, watching as the couple camping just a few feet away talked between themselves, canoodling and otherwise unaware of their position. "Y'know why I choose them, yeah? One, it's two on two, so it's totally even. An' three?-- Uh, two? They're city folk. I'm talkin' Upstate New York yuppie types. Don't nobody whose actually gon' campin' bring a space heater. That shit's for pussies," The boy - Andrew - didn't seem entirely convinced. "I-I guess. But, you said they'd be asleep, a-and they're still up. W-what if we get caught? What if they can hear us right now--" "But they can't," Chuck took the boy's chin in his grasp, offering an easy, self-assured smile. "I've done this so many time's, I could do it in my sleep. It's easy: We're lost, need directions, I make a joke or two, get 'em nice an' comfy, then we strike. Easy peasy, nice 'n breezy," And it would be. Those idiots still had no idea there were even people around them. Their fault for choosing such a secluded area of the woods to take shelter in. Not his problem. No, more like just his luck. Andrew swallowed thickly, and Chuck watched him glance between the branches before letting out a slow breath, shoulders relaxing. "Right. Easy. Okay... Okay, whenever you're good. I'm ready," Chuck's smile widened. "Good. Now jus' remember, be cool. An' if push comes to shove, we take the guy out first. C'mon," With that, he made a show of shoving through the thick brushes, grunting and flailing his arms about. "Damn it, Andy! I told you we should'a taken a left at the... Oho, hey there folks! Didn't mean to startle ya' none. Uh, maybe you could help us out? See, we're kinda lost..." He motioned to Andrew, who still seemed ready to burst out of his skin, but nodded quickly along with his words. "We were set up at the Green Beard site. Any idea where that is from here?" The man had already straightened up, risen to stand with his wife clutching her light pink puffer vest anxiously. Chuck zeroed in on the guy, his hands - taught, but with the slightest tremble. And with the way his lady kept glancing back and forth between them? God, this would be too easy. Clearing his throat, the fella finally spoke up. "Is that so? Well, I think there's a trail just half a mile south of here-- west? Uh, south, that has a directory of the other camp sites. You could check there," "Is that right?" His voice rose a bit in pleasant surprise, wondering if the man noticed his subtle mirroring of phrase before he turned to Andy, nodding in the couple's direction. "Ya' hear that? Guide'll get us right back on track. Ain't that a blessin'," Andrew offered a nervous smile, a soft, 'Yeah, how lucky' in response before Chuck shifted his attention to the couple. "Well, we truly thank ya' for the help. But, uh... Gosh, I hate to be a begger but, ya' wouldn't happen to have any spare food on ya' by chance? We been wanderin' around for a long time an' we're mighty hungry," "Food? Uh, well, sure we have some..." His eyes were on the pair a moment longer, until he turned to the female beside him, "Candace, could you look in the cooler, honey?" The woman - blonde, a little younger looking than what Chuck assumed was her husband, glanced back at him, then the two strangers before nodding slowly. "Of course... I-I'm sure we have some extra granola bars,"   Chuck dredged up a relieved smile, hands clasped together in front of him as he nodded once. "We're very grateful for the trouble, folks, I thank ya'," Offering a timid smile, the blonde rose from her folding chair and made her way to the side of a rather extravagant looking tent and, assuming she had gone inside, Chuck barely took a step forward-- Only to swear as Andy lunged at the man, teeth bared and prepped to take a chunk out of whatever surface he clamped down on. Apparently it was the arm the other had raised to defend himself, a wail of pain and shock escaping his throat as the two tumbled backwards. Jesus shit - why were newly mades always so damn hard to wrangle? As the two struggled, Chuck made a beeline for the tent, where the blonde was already beginning to emerge from it. The man was frantically pounding a fist against Andrew's head, trying to beat him off. "What the fuck?! You psycho, get the fuck off of me!" All in vain, however. Thank God Andrew wasn't exactly a shrimpy fella, and was apparent by his hasty move, had been far too long since their last meal. Pinning down the arm he'd taken a bite out of, he placed a hand atop the man's face, fingers digging into skin - into eyes, sockets, his screams and thrashing only increasing. Meanwhile, Chuck had gotten hold of the woman. Already irritated at Andrew's lack of patience, her screams only caused him further ire and, after a few seconds of battling her blows and grappling for a proper hold on her head, twisted it with a sharp 'snap!' that echoed into the night. A sudden shriek - not the man, Andy's - caught his attention. Dropping the dead weight at his feet, he scrambled over, only to find the man using his free hand to shove his companion's face into the fire. "Oh, fuck!" He lurched forward, grabbing the man's shoulders and tugging him back, trying to tune out Andy's wails as the trio slowly edged away from the roaring pit. Eventually Chuck managed to get the fucker off, and while Andy scrambled back, he figured his friend could wait until they dealt with the asshole who should already be dead. "You fuckers always make it more fun when ya' fight back, y'know that?" He chuckled darkly, eyes darting around before he spied what he was looking for. Fingers reached out to grasp a rock just slightly larger than his palm. The guy was on the forest floor, attempting to drag himself... well, somewhere. Not like he could see. Scoffing, Chuck planted a hard stomp to his spine, hefting the rock over his head before swinging it down with a sharp grunt. That crack was much more satisfying than a simple snap - like opening an egg over a hot skillet. In fact, once wasn't enough. Reeling back, he sent another blow to the skull, and again, again, until the entire back was a caved in mess of blood, grey matter, skull and matted hair. He chuckled breathlessly, staggering back a bit from the body, and took in the scene around him. The pulverized head, his companion's half-melted face, and the wife whose expression still looked as though she couldn't believe what had happened to her. Wait, was Andy even moving? Ah, didn't matter. There were more where he came from. Many more. "Well," The lone survivor murmured to himself, crouching down to where the husband lay, smirking to himself as he began picking through the wreckage of smashed skull. "Bon appétit,"

[softupshur]

White Christmas (Outlast one shot)

I know it’s belated as irl stuff got wild around the time I was writing this, but I still wanted to share a little holiday cheer with ya’ll! Hope you all had a delightful holiday! <3

Ao3 link if you’re into that kind of thing

---

The LED lights in Jeremy's tie flickered in time with the lights on the discount aluminum Christmas tree. Its branches wilted at the weight of the dollar store ornaments, and the angel on top dipped into the uncanny valley with her blow-up doll face paint.

Such a sorry, artificial specimen could only come from Wal-Mart, according to the gabby secretaries.

"You think that intern would have found us a more dignified tree for the occasion."

"Couldn't agree more. We gave him the 23rd! It couldn't have been that hard to find a tree in time!"

Jeremy rolled his eyes. The pitiful tree made a better view than their knock-off brand dresses. As if a company-mandated holiday party was worth dressing up for. It only happened because of some bullshit lawsuit claiming employees were entitled to observation of religious holidays. Rather than waste the money to buy off the lawyers, Murkoff put together a shoe-string budget Christmas party to quiet the complaints. Someone claimed a day off would be a more legally sound solution, but as they were found to have a previously undiagnosed mental illness, none paid them any heed.

Thus, executives and salaried workers alike strutted around the rec room as if attending a cocktail party, with three piece suits and dresses tailored to resemble designer brands. Only Rick fit the decor with his garish Christmas sweater depicting drunken elves dancing under the phrase, "Let's get elfed up".

"Hey, buddy!" Rick strolled up to Jeremy and slung an arm over his shoulders, nearly spilling his cup of tragically unspiked punch in the process. "Enjoying the party?"

Jeremy’s gaze drifted to the pile of white elephant gifts beneath the tree. Hardly any were competently wrapped, crinkled and tape unfurling. "Is that what we're calling this bullshit?"

"Ah, lighten up, Jer!" He slapped Jeremy's back with enough force to make him lurch. "Not everyday we get to fuck around on company payroll."

"Hardly worth it if illicit substances are prohibited."

"C'mon, it's not so bad! Just look at the show!" He pointed out one of the security guards dancing along with Dean Martin's "Let it Snow" beside a giggling receptionist. "Just look at that clown," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "He's been pining after the broad for month. He coulda just downed some liquid courage and ask her out like a normal schlub, but no, he thinks flailing around like he's got a fit of seizures is gonna get the girl."

The guard stopped his jig and slunk to the snack table.

Jeremy managed a chuckle. "All right, Rick, I'll give you this. Maybe there is entertainment to be found here."

Through the next hour, they heckled their fellow executives from the water cooler. To keep their energy, they broke into the store-bought cookies meant to be saved for the end of the party. Not that anyone dared scold them, even when Rick took to eating three at a time.

"Mmmphrh!" Crumbs flew as Rick attempted coherency.

"Jesus, Rick, did you forget how to swallow?

When Rick managed to do so, his words came in clear. "Shit, buddy. These cookies are like how Grandma used to make them."

"Your grandma bought them half-off at the grocery store?"

"C'mon, where's your holiday spirit! This is good shit!"

"If only we could say the same for the gift exchange." Jeremy shook his head at the collection of shoddily wrapped gifts underneath the tree. Only his looked immaculate thanks to the intern he charged with the task. The threat of a suspension guaranteed a job well done.

"Y'know what they say. Don't judge a book by its cover."

"We'll see about that."

The executives proceeded to gather around the tree at the receptionist's instructions. Rather than a traditional gift exchange, any gift could be chosen. The "player" would open it in front of everyone and the following player could either choose a new present or "steal" a gift already opened until all were chosen.

"Ah, so like Yankee Swap," Rick remarked.

"What the fuck is Yankee Swap?" Jeremy asked to which he received no explanation.

"And for the first player we nominate our very own Jeremy Blaire!" the receptionist called out.

While the tune changed to "Oh, Christmas Tree," the party offered a polite applause as if they were listening to one of his presentations in the meeting room. Usually, Jeremy would return the favor by flashing a fake smile, but now he only rolled his eyes as he made his way to the pile of gifts. According to the rules, not a single one exceeded twenty dollars. He scowled at the notion and picked the plainest package wrapped in red, as it was the only one not to hurt his eyes.

Everyone fell silent as he unwrapped it. The security guard was particularly tense as Jeremy pulled out the gift. Fresh from Amazon's warehouse was a pack of margarita cups. They were plain in design, but the back of the box described a cooling feature that promised to keep drinks ice cold for up to 24 hours.

"Damn, that's a good one," Rick said as he read over Jeremy's shoulder.

"For once, I'm inclined to agree. Apparently someone around here has some taste."

"I'll say. Way to start with a bang." His fingers mimicked a gun in punctuation.

"Was this yours?" Jeremy asked.

"Nope."

"Actually, it was mine," the security guard chimed in.

"Huh, I guess we'll never know," Jeremy said without batting an eye.

The party-goers staked their own claims, trading and stealing gifts. Scarves, calendars, and garish ties made their rounds, but no one dared touch Jeremy's cooling martini glasses.

Finally, Rick stood to take his turn. Only one gift remained under the tree, but Rick passed it by and stopped in front of Jeremy.

"You wouldn't dare," Jeremy said.

But Rick held out his hand. "The glasses. Give 'em up."

"No."

Rick tsked, shaking his head. "Sorry, buddy. I don't make the rules."

"You'll regret it if you take these."

Throwing his head back, Rick laughed. "What're you gonna do? Fire me? Fat chance! You and I both know we were hired by the same higher-ups!" He snatched the glasses and whistled, 'We Wish you a Merry Christmas" as he strolled back to his seat.

Whispers erupted in the crowd as Jeremy's jaw dropped. Now empty-handed, he scanned the party for a worthy replacement, but each item's novelty was worse than the last.

Rick pointed to the final present, covered in smiling Santa wrapping paper. "Looks like there's one last gift under the tree with your name on it, buddy!"

Sighing, Jeremy fetched it. With any luck, it'd be a hydroflask knockoff for his vodkas. He tore through the endless Santas and froze.

"C'mon, Jer!" Rick called out. "Show everyone what you got!"

Through narrowed eyes, Jeremy held up a coffee mug shaped like a toilet, complete with the handle.

Most everyone held back their snickers, but Rick cackled. "Wouldn't ya know it! That's the gift I brought!"

If Jeremy's grip tightened anymore, the handle might have shattered. Nonetheless, so long as no one looked at his white knuckles, Jeremy kept his composure as the party wound down. He offered mechanical goodbyes and rehearsed Christmas wishes to executives he couldn't name without their badges. Once the rec room emptied, Rick approached, clapping a hand on Jeremy's shoulder.

"Hey, buddy! Great party, eh?"

"Do not talk to me." Jeremy shrugged his hand off and started off, but Rick called after.

"C'mon! I just wanted to make it up to you!"

Jeremy turned around and held out the cup. "So you're going to take your shitty mug back?"

Rick doubled over laughing, holding his stomach. "That's a good one!" He gasped for breath. "Get it? Cuz it's shaped like a shitter!"

"I'm leaving," Jeremy said.

"Wait, wait, wait," Rick rushed to usher Jeremy back into the rec room. "Just hear me out."

"I'd rather not."

But Rick persisted. "Hey, how about we strike a deal." He held out his hand. "If you don't like it, you could punch my teeth out and blame it on a variant, no questions asked."

Jeremy didn't hesitate to shake his hand. "You got yourself a deal."

"I got three words for you, buddy." Rick pulled out a baggy of unidentified white powder and waved it in front of Jeremy. "Let it snow."

The track switched to "White Christmas" as Jeremy's eyes widened. "Rick...is this?"

"You know it! Purest on the market."

"Where on earth did you get this? Last I heard the only good dealer around here jumped town."

Rick chuckled. "Been saving it for a rainy day." He gave the bag a shake. "What'd ya say?"

"I say this could be a Merry Christmas after all."

[go-ldy]

Riverdale 4x09

Picture UNRELATED to this episode. But I did not have a chance to do an episode post for 4x08 last week. However, the fact that THE Gina Torres was a guest star needed to be commemorated somehow. How is it that Gina Torres is so good at striking that tone between firmness and kindness all at the same time?

The point is 4x08 was excellent and maybe my favourite episode of the season and Gina Torres was there and then 4x09 was…. well…..

I’m going to start with Dark Betty. I have feelings about Dark Betty. IN THEORY, I don’t mind the idea of Riverdale exploring Betty’s darkness. Her propensity towards self-harm, desire to explore her sexuality, the fact that she was groomed by her serial killer father from a young age… all of these are interesting things. Not necessarily things worthy of being ~Dark~ but I can understand why Betty would want to distance herself from these things. Betty wants Dark Betty to be a separate entity from herself; something that is not part of her; something that she has no control over. If instead Dark Betty is just Betty, just part of herself, then that means the Serial Killer gene is part of her too, it means that digging her nails into her palms and chasing after serial killers with reckless abandon is also part of her, and something she has to come to terms with and accept.

So if this episode was actually about the lengths that Betty will go to distance herself from those traits only to finally accept by seasons end that there is no Dark Betty, there is only Betty (who happens to be a complicated individual with flaws) then… fine.

But I would guess that is not what we are watching. Instead I think that this really is just a plot about… hypnosis and brainwashing.

Cool. Cool cool cool.

I mean it’s Riverdale so I guess a hypnosis scheme so sophisticated that it releases Dark Betty on the world is probably NOT the most unbelievable thing that has happened but it sure did irritate me!! And usually I’m here for Riverdale being off the wall ridiculous. Remember the cannibalism dinner party? I was there for that! The cannibalism was FUN!

Dark Betty being triggered with hypnotic suggestion ala Angel losing his soul from a moment of true happiness is….

I will say I did laugh out loud at the flash forward scene of Betty standing over Jughead’s bloodied and dead body with a rock. They really want us to think they killed him!!! Although maybe the TWIST is that she DID kill him after all?? Who knows.

The thing is, Riverdale can on occasion actually do complicated emotional arcs for its characters (see my thoughts on Archie below). It just chooses not to most of the time.

Some other thoughts:

I’ve seen a lot of speculation about what the show is gonna do after they graduate high school. Will there be a flash forward? Will they all somehow end up at the same university? Let me put it this way. Characters have started dropping the phrase “Riverdale Community College” with surprising frequency. Meanwhile Betty was rejected from Yale and Hiram is on a path to stop Veronica’s ambitions for higher education. I think we can figure out where this is going.

I’ve come up with a new test for Toni’s scenes. It’s like the Bechdel test. The test is: Does Toni have a scene with a character who isn’t Cheryl where they talk about a subject other than Cheryl? 4x09 failed the test. I actually can’t remember the last time Riverdale passed the test.  Sometime in season 3 with the Poisons maybe? Sad. #freeToni

Archie is a mess. But I appreciate Riverdale giving him this long emotional arc in the wake of Fred’s death and also letting Archie feel and deal with his anger. Y'know, instead of putting it down to hypnosis and brainwashing.

Man so many ppl in Riverdale get shot all the time and are back on their feet with no ill effects in like a week. Who is this surgeon at the Riverdale Hospital who has developed this groundbreaking treatment for gunshot wounds? I feel we should meet this character.

I don’t have a lot to day about Jughead’s Baxter boys arc. It’s… there… . That boy does wear a lot of rings. Like a LOT. I like when he visited FP and was like: “I leave you for two seconds and you get SHOT” while bloodied Archie lurked around the corner. ‘Cos the same sentiment could apply to Archie. Jug, you gotta come back and save your best bro from himself.

Veronica vs. Hiram round 955333551 continues! Marc Consuelos does have excellent comedic timing. I think it would be kind of fun to see an episode of Riverdale from his perspective. Just think. Former mob boss/racketeer/prisoner finally makes it back into the world, determined to go on the straight and narrow in the family rum business only to be foiled at every turn by his daughter Veronica when all he has done is try and get her into Harvard. Meanwhile, Veronica does that classic villain thing where she tells him all of her evil plans before she carries them out so he can stop her. Not that I have any sympathy for Hiram, I do not, but literally every episode Veronica goes into a tear about all the ways she is going to take him down and… listen, girl, you gotta be sneakier than that. Just try, like…. not telling him. Just try.

I will end by saying that we are going into this midseason “hiatus” (which will be like three weeks lol) with two episodes in a row with little to no Bughead scenes. That is NOT cool. Bughead being cute is like 60% of the reason to watch this show and I feel let down.

[solarbird]

Old Soldiers, Chapter 29 of 30, as we are near the end, gets a cut. Rating, novel: M (Chapter: T) Pairings: Widowtracer, Pharmercy Warnings: Intentionally unused until complete Summary: Decisions are made, some with more impact than others... eventually.

This chapter is worksafe. Click through to read. [AO3 link]

[All text in «angle quotes» translated from the Spanish.]

"Ana is safely at our facility in Algeria," Amélie informed Angela, as they loaded up for their return flight, back to Alicudi. Sombra had already headed off, job well done, to her favourite listening station in the north and some overdue snuggle time with her girlfriend flying in from the west. "She has been informed of certain new realities, and is... rather angry, as one might expect. And not, I think the phrase is, giving an inch?"

"Of course she's not," whispered Angela. "But... she is alive. At least there is that much."

"You did not cause Jack's death, Angela. He brought it to himself. Aggressively."

The doctor looked up at her oldest friend, and her once more than that, and shook her head, no, denying the comfort.

"I am not lying, Angela," the blue assassin insisted. "We do not lie, amongst ourselves."

"Amongst... ourselves?"

"Talon."

A small laugh. "Of course."

"Angela," Amélie stressed, "Jack Morrison was going to die today, one way or another. It was a certainty, a thing I know in my way - and it would have been at my hands, if no one else's. Of the options, I suspect you gave him the quickest, least painful death he could've met."

"A Mercy killing, as it were."

Amélie laughed, low, and dark. Lena would've loved that. I will have to repeat it, later. "If you insist."

"And that may all be true, but I am, still, the one who did it, the one who chose to pull that trigger." The doctor sighed. "I do not regret it, if that is what you are asking. It was not always inevitable, or necessary, but it had become so, perhaps... perhaps long ago."

"Good," Amélie said, putting on a gentle smile. "I am glad you feel that way."

She offered Angela a small box.

"This is yours, if you want it. Should you wish to be with us again, in the future."

Angela looked at the box - small and wooden, finely inlaid with gold, carrying the Talon insignia - and opened it. The twin pins she found it contained would fit the tabs of her collar nicely.

"...as a medic, and only that?" she asked, for her own sake.

"I assumed that would be your desire." Amélie smiled. "But if I am wrong, and you wish to enter as an assassin..."

"No," Angela laughed, softly. "I have killed... enough. But... as a medic..."

She took the pins, and attached them to her collar, one at a time.

"I have missed you, Amélie."

Amélie hugged her, strong and cool in her embrace. "I have missed you so much, and I am so glad you have returned. Thank you."

"But only as a medic," she said, thinking of her wife.

"Naturally."

"Good."

-----

«So, Gabe,» Laticia asked, as the Overwatch transport lumbered its way, low and slow, along the eastern coast of Mexico. «Where's that Sombra character from?»

Gabe looked over at the Los Muertos gangster. «Why?»

«'Cause I'm pretty sure I know.»

That's... bad, he thought. Goddamn, girl, have you figured out all our secrets? «Puts you ahead of me,» he said, carefully. «Let's keep it that way.»

«What. Really? Why?»

«Yeah. Really. And why is because there are several things in this arrangement we make a point of not knowing, and that's one of them.»

«...oh,» she said, thinking about it. «Oh.»

«Yeah.»

«I'll... keep it to myself, then,» she said, chewing on her lip. «Like the rest.»

«That's what I'd do,» he said, «if I were you.» He grinned, lopsidedly. «Sometimes, girl, you're a little too smart for your own good.»

She grinned, despite it all. «Not the first time I've heard that.»

«I believe it.»

The two sat together in silence, Gabe's feet up on the console, but away from the controls, making himself look more casual than he felt.

«Y'know,» Gabriel said, after a couple of minutes, «...there's no reason you have to go back to Los Muertos. I mean, you can, we're almost back to Dorado. But... we don't have to get there.»

«What d'ya mean?» the gangster asked.

«You are smart. And clever, too, which is different, in ways that matter. And frankly, you're not bad in a fight.» And you have nobody left to back to, he did not add aloud, but did think. Except the gang.

She gnawed on her response, briefly. «Where else would I go?»

«Ever been to Switzerland?»

Laticia blinked, and thought about it, and blinked again, eyes wide. It had been in the back of her mind, but she hadn't let herself consider it, not really. «...Are you...»

«It's been a while since I've had someone to train up. Been a while since I wanted to, too, but...» He shrugged nonchalantly, his hands in the air. «Look, you'll be a hell of a gangster if you want to be, and if that's what you want out of life, so be it, but... have you considered maybe stepping up a level? Signing up for the good fight?»

«...you're really serious?» she asked, sitting a little straighter in her chair.

«Absolutely.» He took his feet off the console, and sitting properly in the pilot's seat. «On my authority as Tactical Operations Director, Overwatch, I officially offer you ... let's call it an internship. Reporting directly to me.»

«Paid?» Laticia asked, pointedly.

The Strike Commander chuckled. «Paid. Yes. Of course. I could use an XO, and you're not ready for that yet, not by a damn sight, but... I think you could get there. It'll be hard work, there are a lot of gaps in your training, but...» He tilted his head, looking directly at her. «Want to find out?»

«Will I get a ride on one of those, what'd you call 'em, Sparrowhawks?»

Gabriel Reyes laughed again, and leaned back in his chair.

«Yeah. I'll get you a ride on a Sparrowhawk.»

«Aw yeah,» the former gangster said, putting her feet up on the console where Reyes's had been. «I'm in.»

Thank god, he thought, both glad she was along, and relieved he had one less thing to worry about later. But on the outside, he just gave her a stern look, albeit one with a grin not completely suppressed underneath.

«Feet off the console, ensign.»

«Sorry?»

«You heard. If we're gonna do this? We're gonna start immediately.»

«Do I have to call you sir now?»

«No,» he said, as he leaned forward, sending a message to air traffic control. «Commander Reyes will do just fine.»

«Aye-aye, Gabe,» she said, grinning, but not moving.

«What'd I say about feet?» he said, swatting her boots off the console. «You gotta learn to take orders.»

«Sorry... Commander,» she said, grinning, and straightening up in her chair.

«Much better,» he said, laying in the course to Geneva.

A moment went by, in silence.

«...is Ambassador Winston really a gorilla?»

Commander Reyes laughed, a third time. «Yes,» he said, «he is.» And I think you're gonna deal with that just fine.

-----

"Well," Angela said, as her flyer approached Geneva, and the Lunar Embassy. "Here we are."

Lena nodded from the pilot's seat, controlling the approach - back in her Tracer kit, and not even minding it a bit.

"Long way of gettin' here, but yeah, it worked out in the end... despite everything." She let out a little puff of air, a hoo noise. "So... y'gonna tell Ree?"

Angela nodded. "I must. I... could not keep such a thing from her, I think. I should not."

Lena puffed up her cheeks, making more noises with her breath. "Yeh. That sounds about right. I'd still be happy t'take the credit, but..."

"No," Angela looked down, at her hands. "If I have learned anything from this, it is... to own what I do. Including that."

"Fair cop," Tracer agreed.

"And also, on that note, I..."

"Hm?"

"I..." Angela swallowed, and tried again. "I am sorry that I did what I did, some weeks ago. I should not have acted against your stated wishes. I broke my word, and that was... wrong."

"Ah yeah," Venom thought, thinking back to the illicit bodyscan, taken against every agreement Talon and Overwatch had. "Y'did the wrong thing, Ange," agreed Tracer. "For the right reasons, but still. Could've cost us everything."

"I know." She knew Talon wasn't big into forgiveness, not generally, but she also knew she had a very large edge in that department, even if she did not wish to lean on that too heavily. "Can you forgive me, and - not just say the words, as you have, but... actually mean it? It is, after all... not what you are known to do."

"That's the funny thing, innit?"

"What?"

"I meant it, back at Alicudi, when I said I would. I'm really, really not gonna hold it against you. Not the scan, not takin' Jack down - hell, I couldn't do it, not that that point... not a whit of it. And not just 'cause why it all happened, either."

Mercy's heart kicked up a beat, as a cord of tension still held inside her released. "Really?"

"Really." Lena snorted a little. "Sorry if I was keepin' you in suspense, I had to let it churn for a while, get it all straightened out in my head. It's not easy!"

"I have also had a lot to think about, as of late, and so that, I understand. But... if I might ask... why not?"

"Well, for one thing, you're one of us, now. But more... I think... " She adjusted the flight attitude controls. "I think I kept Morrison - the old Morrison - alive in my head for a long time. Kind of my personal bogeyman for way, way too long. Even when we all thought he was dead, I was keepin' him goin', in my brain."

She shook her head, as the flyer dropped for final approach. "And that whole time, he wasn't th'... I dunno... the giant I thought he was. He wasn't that kind of monster, he was... he was just... just a bitter, delusional old bloke who'd screwed up big, livin' out what time he had left on the fringes, not really matterin' to anyone. Him and Ana both, holding on to what never had been... and I fell into it too." She looked a little regretful, at that. "What a waste of my time."

"He mattered, to some, even at that point."

"Maybe. But he didn't have to matter to me. Not like he did." She shook her head, again. "I bought into that whole statue thing, I guess. The propaganda. The Great Hero." Another dismissive noise. "I was seein' the myth, not the egomaniacal prat he actually was."

"Do you want an honest opinion?"

"Always, luv. Between us."

Angela took in a big breath, fortifying herself before answering. "I agree. You are right."

Lena laughed, nodding.

"But you are also wrong, and I mean it," Angela insisted. "He had been a hero. In the Omnic Crisis, he had lived that legend. He had done great things, before... whatever went wrong, in the years after. None of that is changed by what he later became - but.. I think...." She put her hands down, flat, on her legs. "The combination of the hero he had been, and the conspiratist he became... the terrible synthesis you were hating, and fearing, I think... had never existed at all, at least not outside of your own head. Not even if all the things he'd done were real."

Lena hummed, letting that sink in a bit, as well, clearly deep in thought. It's kinda different, she considered, if it's not some sorta great plan, innit? If he wasn't always some kind of evil demigod, or some kinda mastermind, or just a fool. If it just... happened. If everything he did, he did just because he... because he was coming apart, inside, before anybody even knew.

"That's fair," she replied, after another few moments, "and kinda sad. But also kind of deeper than I was goin', really."

"It is?"

"Yeh."

"Then I presume you will enlighten me...?"

Tracer shrugged off all the heavy thoughts, smiled, and waved through the glass at Winston and Fareeha who stood by waiting to greet them. She settled the craft down on the pad before looking back to Angela with her famous half-grin, unlocking her flight restraints.

"I just think I'm done holdin' onto grudges."

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Marks of the Soul (Chapter 6)

Summary: AU. Everyone has a mark somewhere on their body which corresponds to the moment they realize they’re in love with their soulmate, commonly referred to as a Soulmark or just a Mark. Even in space, so very far from home, the Paladins find themselves dwelling on their own Soulmarks and what their unusual forms might mean for them.

Pairings: Keith/Pidge, Lance/Allura, Hunk/Shay, and Shiro/Matt

Chapter 1 - Previous - Masterpost

Also on AO3 and fanfiction.net

Hang on, everyone. This chapter is a long one.

Chapter 6

Even after his brief talk with Lance while Lotor and Allura were venturing into the white hole, Shiro couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with him. It wasn't just because he couldn't remember what happened when he merged with his Lion, that was just the moment that opened his eyes.

There were the strange headaches, his shortened temper, how everything seemed to set him on edge. He yelled at Lance for voicing his opinion! Gone behind the backs of his fellow paladins and gave Lotor his bayard! Done it a second time by flying Lotor to the Kral Zera!

What was wrong with him?

It wasn't stress. It wasn't because he'd been captured by Zarkon's forces for a second time, though it'd be easy to put all of the blame on that.

Something was very wrong. He could feel it.

“Aha, I found you!”

Shiro visibly startled as a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned, poised to push away whoever was intruding, only to freeze when he found himself looking at Matt, who stood behind him with a smile on his face.

“The others said you've been kind of stressed lately, so I thought of a way to try and help with that,” Matt said.

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Shiro said, even as he felt his body relax at Matt's touch. He couldn't deny he was curious about what his idea was, even as his mind screamed to be left alone. He needed to get away from everyone before he hurt someone.

But there was Matt, looking up at him with such hope in his brown eyes. Shiro couldn't help but give in.

Matt beamed and took him by the hand, leading him out of the room. Warmth bloomed at the contact and Shiro's heartbeat quickened. Matt had always had that affect on him, from the very moment they met.

(When was that again? The memory was... hazy.)

Before he knew it, they were outside of the Castle. “Where are we going?”

“It's a surprise!” Matt said, laughing at the put-out expression on Shiro's face. “You'll like it, I promise. Besides, it'll do you some good to get out and get some fresh air.”

Shiro had to admit, the fresh air and sunshine did feel nice. Olkarion was a beautiful planet and the perfect place to rest while they came up with their next plan of action. Maybe he could talk to Allura about arranging a new paladin bonding exercise in the form of a forest hike, if he could get her away from Lotor long enough.

Matt squeezed his hand. “You're thinking too much. I brought you out here so you could relax,” he said teasingly. He slowed to a stop and gestured to the building in front of them and it took Shiro a minute to realize it was the Olkari's version of a quaint cafe.

It was on the smaller side, with a canopy covering the few round tables outside. The front of the cafe was transparent, and Shiro could see a few Olkari working behind the counter, while the servers were all mechanical plants scuttling about to deliver drinks or take orders.

“Maybe you're right. I think this is exactly what I need,” Shiro said sincerely.

Matt happily launched into an explanation of how it worked, still holding Shiro's hand as he led the way to one of the outdoor tables. It wasn't until they were seated, with their drinks of choice brought to them by one of the scuttling servers, that Shiro was struck by a single thought that made his heart flutter.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was reading too much into it. But it felt an awful lot like they were on a date.

Shiro studied Matt over the rim of his mug, watching the younger man animatedly weave a story of one of his recent missions with the new recruits. He tried to pay attention to what Matt was saying, but kept getting distracted by his own thoughts.

He wanted to ask, but what if he was wrong? Matt was one of the nicest people he knew. It was probably as he said; he knew Shiro needed to relax, so he brought him somewhere peaceful to take a break.

For the moment, Shiro figured it couldn't hurt to pretend. Being on a date with Matt sounded nice.

Lance took a deep breath and then went inside, reminding himself that so long as he approached it the right way, Allura wouldn't yell at him. He was just a fellow paladin, voicing his concerns before things went any further.

“Hey, Allura? Are you busy right now?” he asked.

Allura looked up from the tablet in her hand and smiled when she saw Lance. She turned it off, giving him her full attention. “Not terribly. I was reviewing my notes for the next coalition meeting while Lotor is taking care of a few things with the Galra. What can I help you with?”

Lance tried not to visibly react to Lotor's name, but he wasn't sure how well he succeeded. “I was going to talk to Shiro about it first, but then I thought maybe I shouldn't trouble him with it? Since he's been kind of... y'know.” Lance made a vague gesture and a sound to indicate he wasn't sure how to properly phrase it.

“He hasn't really been himself lately. I thought I was the only one who noticed,” she said, sounding troubled.

It was a relief to know he wasn't alone in his thoughts, but Lance couldn't let himself get off track. “Right, so that's why I wanted to talk to you first. It's... It's about Lotor.”

“Lance, I know you disagree with letting him freely walk the Castle, but as you well know, his help has been invaluable over the last two months,” Allura said, her tone shifting to something more defensive.

“I know, but-”

“Peace can't always be won through fighting,” Allura cut in, not letting him finish. “We have a chance to win this war through diplomacy and I think it could work, but we need Lotor's help to do it. I need you to trust me on this.”

“It's not you who I don't trust.”

Lance knew the tick the words left his mouth that he had messed up. It didn't matter that it was the truth. That wasn't what Allura was asking for.

Allura sighed, sounding tired. “I'm sorry, but I trust him. He wants the same thing that we do.”

Did he? Lotor's goal seemed to be unlimited quintessence for the Galra Empire, but why? What did they need all of that energy for if the goal was peace? All of the energy being used to power ships and massive weapons could be taken for something else if they were no longer using it to enslave planets, right?

Lance couldn't shake the feeling that listening to Lotor was wrong. “Allura, I... I'm with you on whatever you decide. Just be careful, okay?” He couldn't look at her as he said that, too afraid that he'd start crying if he did. He wanted – no, needed for her to listen, but he knew she wouldn't.

“Thank you, Lance.” Allura's voice was soft as she walked past him, pausing briefly to rest a hand on his shoulder. “That means a lot to me.”

He said nothing else as she left the room, likely to go meet up with Lotor. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, running through the scenario again, wondering if he could have phrased things better. Would that have changed anything, or would the outcome still be the same?

Lance turned to leave, only to run directly into a solid wall of muscle. He quickly apologize as he backed up, but one look at Shiro's face made him stop dead in his tracks.

Shiro stared down at him blankly. Unmoving.

“Uh, Shiro, are you okay?” Lance asked. He searched for some answer to the Black Paladin's behavior, latching onto the first one he remembered. “Is it your head again? Pidge mentioned something about talking to Ulaz about it. We could ask him to come back and see if it has anything to do with your arm. He'd know for sure, since he helped with it and all.”

One second Lance was standing there, seriously considering running to get help. The next, Shiro's prosthetic hand was wrapped around his throat, holding him up off the ground. He tried to scream, but the grip was too tight. Lance struggled and kicked, digging his fingernails into the alien metal as he felt his back hit the wall.

He couldn't breath. His throat was on fire. Dark spots danced across his vision, taking over.

He blacked out.

“LANCE!” Allura's scream broke through whatever spell Shiro was under just long enough for her to fly across the room and yank him off of Lance. She didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to how hard she threw him. All of her focus was on Lance's lifeless form as he crumpled to the floor.

She called his name again, dropping to her knees in front of him. “Lance, please! Open your eyes!” She pulled him closer, frantically feeling for his pulse. For any sign of movement.

There was nothing.

“No!” Allura sobbed.

From behind her, there was the sound of metal striking something solid, and then a loud thump as something else hit the floor. Had she turned, she would have seen Matt standing over Shiro's unconscious body, holding his staff up in case he had to use it a second time.

Allura shook as she cradled Lance, continuing to beg for him to wake up.

There were heavy footsteps as Hunk, Pidge, and Coran arrived, answering Matt's call for help. When the others froze at the scene before them, Coran took charge, ordering Hunk, Matt, and Pidge to get Shiro down to the cryo-pods, where they could put him in stasis until they found out what happened.

With that settled, he slowly approached Allura and crouched down next to her. “Princess, there's nothing we can do. You need to let go,” he said gently, even as his voice wavered and cracked.

Allura shook her head. “I won't! I was just here, Coran! He was just here! Talking! And... and I...” Her voice broke as a new wave of tears spilled over. She didn't care. Nothing mattered except for Lance.

“I can't lose you,” she murmured, looking down at his face.

All at once there was a strange sense of calm that overcame her, like there was something deep within her saying it would be okay – she could still save him.

She bowed down and pressed her forehead against his as her markings began to glow white. And then she felt it – a pulse, slow and weak, but still there. She closed her eyes and reached out with her soul, feeding her own quintessence into it.

Coran gasped when Lance's cheeks began to glow to match Allura's. “I don't believe it...!”

Allura slowly withdrew as the pulse grew stronger and began to match her own heartbeat. She opened her eyes to stare at his face in hope and awe, as his lips parted and he sucked in a breath of air. “Lance?” she whispered as the glow faded from both of their markings. His remained white.

Little by little, he came back to life. His breathing steadied out and he quietly groaned, before at last his eyes fluttered open to the sight of Allura's tear-stained, but happy face. “What...?” he tried to asked, but his vocal chords protested with a burst of pain. He resisted making any more sounds as Allura abruptly curled into him, still shaking. He weakly wrapped an arm around her, comforting her the best he could.

“We lost you for a tick, but Allura brought you back,” Coran told him, wiping away his tears as more streamed down. “I've never seen a Soulbond as strong as the one you two share.”

Allura lifted her head. “We're Soulmates? I never thought...” She pulled back to take a better look at him, needing the reassurance that he really was alive and awake in front of her. “I almost lost you.”

Lance did the only thing he could. The one thing he'd wanted to do for quite some time.

He shifted his hand to cradle the back of her head and leaned in, feeling a rush of giddiness that she was going along with him. And then their lips met for the first time and he poured as much feeling into it as he could, hoping she'd understand how much he cared for her.

I love you.

“We're not doing anything until Allura and Coran get here,” Pidge snapped, standing in front of Shiro's pod with her arms crossed. She fearlessly glared up at Hunk, well aware of how easily he could move her if he wanted. She had to rely on the hope that he'd rather not fight her.

Hunk shook, whether with rage or intense sorrow, Pidge wasn't sure. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. “He killed Lance, Pidge!”

“You think I don't know that!? I'm not saying we let him go free! I'm saying we need to wait and try to find out what happened!”

“Knowing won't bring Lance back! It won't make things right!”

“That's not up for us to decide! This is Allura's ship, it's her decision!”

There was a rage boiling inside of her, more intense than anything she'd felt before. She wasn't sure if it was toward Shiro, for betraying them so brutally, or at Hunk, for even considering that they remove him from the ship and keep him locked in stasis elsewhere, or toward Matt, who was standing against the wall and not backing her up!

As if he felt her fury shifting towards him, Matt finally looked up from the floor. “That's enough, both of you! All of this arguing is getting us nowhere.”

It was such a Shiro thing to say that both Hunk and Pidge were too stunned to say anything else.

They stood in strained silence until the med-bay doors opened and three people, rather than the two they were expecting, stepped inside, at which point everyone started speaking at the same time.

Coran let that last all of five ticks before he held up his hands and called for everyone to calm down. “Yes, yes, we're all very excited that Allura was able to bring Lance back from the brink of death, but he needs time to heal before you ask him anything.”

Lance shook his head at the same time that Allura said: “Not yet. I want him to be part of this conversation.” She wearily eyed Shiro, locked in stasis in a pod. “You're certain he is in there securely?”

“He is,” Matt said, his tone leaving no room for disagreement. He settled back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened up there?”

“I don't really know,” Allura said. “I was on my way to the lab and then I just had this... feeling that something was wrong with Lance, so I went back to find him. That was when...” She paused to shakily inhale. “That was when I found Shiro pinning him against the wall. I thought Lance was passed out at first. I was in such a panic to get Shiro away from him and make sure he was okay, that I didn't think about anything else.”

Matt made an understanding sound. “That must have been when I arrived. I heard you scream and came to look. That was when I saw him try to attack you, so I knocked him out. But why did he attack Lance?”

Lance shrugged.

“Were you two talking about anything when it happened?” Pidge asked.

Lance shook his head, paused, and then nodded. He pointed at Shiro, then gestured to the full length of his right arm before tapping his head.

“Uh, why are you miming everything?” Hunk asked.

“Hurts,” Lance croaked, barely able to raise his voice enough for everyone to hear.

“I was able to heal the worst of the damage, but he is still injured,” Allura explained, frowning as she tried to decipher what he was trying to tell them. “You were talking about his hand? No, his hand? His arm! And...”

“The neural link between his arm and brain,” Pidge said, looking pale. “We talked about it ages ago, but I never thought it could cause something like this.”

Hunk looked like he was on the verge of crying again. “If there was something programmed in there, hidden so deep that we couldn't find it... If he was controlled... and I said all of those things...”

“It doesn't matter,” Matt spoke up. “We can figure that out later. Right now, I want to know how Allura did it. How did you bring Lance back? And why does he have Altean markings now?”

Lance blinked in surprise, reaching up to touch the space just under his eyes as he turned to look questioningly at Allura.

“It happened when I transferred my quintessence into Lance to bring him back to life,” Allura explained, as simply as she could. Truthfully, she wasn't sure why he had Altean markings. That was just her best guess.

Coran cleared his throat. “It was the Soulbond the two shared that allowed her to do such a thing. The path was already there for her to use and without it, she never could have saved him. Those markings will fade a little, but it is likely that he'll have them for the rest of his life.”

Once again, there was silence.

Hunk broke that when he finally moved, unable to keep it in any longer. He ran to Lance, mindful of his injured state as he hugged his best friend. “I'm so glad you're okay! And Allura's your Soulmate!”

Lance was more than happy to hug Hunk back and wasn't the least bit surprised as everyone, including Matt, joined in. He relaxed, able to relax with the warmth and love of his family around him.

They'd made it back safely, against all odds. Keith was still reeling from meeting Krolia – from meeting his mom. He had so many questions to ask her, but they would have to wait until after their debriefing with Kolivan.

Thace and Ulaz met them as they stepped out of the small ship. Krolia seemed to relax at the sight of them, even smiling as Thace welcomed her back to the Blade Headquarters. Keith's attention was on Ulaz, who gestured him over and then handed over a communication device with a frown.

“It's from Pidge,” Ulaz explained.

Cold dread settled over Keith as he read the message left for him.

We need you back at the castle of lions asap. It's Shiro. Bring Ulaz.

[mahouproject-one]

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." | Farah | [RE: Basically Everyone At This Point]

In the frightening full front face of things both as illustrious and daunting as Real Death and Fucked Justice, caustic and illuminating writer F.C. Fan had largely stayed in a self-created casing of intense, watchful silence.

But it was not an unobservant suspension in silence, no no no, never fret or flutter at the fear of it being so! No, theirs were eyes which never stopped drinking up and in the details they could capture at a sweep, and clutched in their slender, nimble fingers was the ever-present pen with which they wrote as they saw it. (Three inkstrokes, and the truth-- as-seen-by-Fan, for whatever slot that might count for.) This was how they had learned to live and thrive, many lifelets ago-- as long as their heart kept a-knocking and brain a-buzzing, this was how they kept coming to grips and graps with the big wide wicked woeful world racing all 'round them. When things got as thoroughly goddamn gonzo as they could-- bang! Ding! Hey, presto! There they were, right on time with their finger on the pulse, without a doubt in the world of wherever else they might supposedly be 'sposed to be.

(Of course, things 'round here had likely quite assuredly had surpassed gonzo and had taken a magnanimous plane crash straight into just plain batshit, but ah, wasn't that just the way, hm?)

Just naturally, though, one as wordy-worldly as the ever-sparkly and coincidentally currently glitter-flecked Mx. Fujibayashi-Beauregard was hardly about to rest in the nest without so much as even a hushed chirp, and so they had to at least twitter a tad. 

On shoe size:

"Ah! Y'wanna know the flight of this sparrow's foot, mm? Me, I'm a Japanese women's size 23, if curiosity strikes a bolt in your brain 'bout that!"

On the reception of the information that it had been one Airi Inoue who had been Miyu's mystery assailant, which was certainly news to them, if nobody else:

"...Wait, Suzuki-chi, are you sayin' that it was Inoue-chi who gave you the whack back then? ...Interesting, mmhm..."

And after that? Well, the great philosophically-coined phrase "great googly moogly, it's all gone to shit" is what instantaneously came to their mind. 

But some things said into the great wide hellish confines of the trial room seemed to strike a chord with them more than others-- and eventually, they shifted, and then they spoke.

"...'fraid a bird like me doesn't have much in the way of branches to add to the bonfire blaze that haven't already been cried out-- just twigs. Most of 'em all burnt out and broken by now, much as truth can be really told. Still...is there even so much of a ghost of a chance the glitter from the stray sleeve could've been a shirt that glitters by design, could it? Or that anyone thought to give a look-see over everyone's uniforms when they poked 'round the rooms? Guess not, guess not...damn and a half. Lady Luck won't budge us so much as an inch..."

Goddamn, they were running out of precious time.

"...Still, still! Lacking the good stuff, I still got a little bit of al dente food for thought for you do-gooding folks out there, as it is, if you're listening in on a thing coming outta my beak. Underneath it all? We've all got a good dash of crook in us somewhere in our bellies. You gotta question everything you know, every last morsel. The skin's mighty good at 'guising all the guts and gore with a bit of prettyin' and panderin'. The best beast knows how to scrub away the sleaze when they got a hungry crowd to sway and seduce. While we're here-- out here with all this real goddamn death-- we can't just strike off the tallies of the obvious innocents. They don't exist, not one of 'em, not anymore. So...just...look sharp, y'know? Always look sharp. Keep those eyeballs freshly peeled. Be on the balls of your toes at every millsecond that heart of yours still pounds with blood and rhythm. Can't afford to, the way costs are imploding these days. ...Be careful."  

[theworstbob]

the thing journal, 3.19.2017

review-like bitlets of the 7+ new things i took in last week.

this week: mystery team, what we do in the shadows, quelle chris, /sigh/ ed sheeran, the lies of locke lamora, sorority noise, margo price, valerie june

1) Mystery Team, dir. Dan Eckman: This is such a small movie, and such a relatively hidden gem, that I kinda feel bad for pointing out flaws. There's so much charm that I feel the gross-out humor is, while executed well, really out-of-place, doesn’t really fit with what I thought the movie was best at doing, and I really think they should've done more with Donald Glover's boundless exuberance and Aubrey Plaza's deadpan stare; that's a quality comic pairing that I kinda think got short shrift, and for good reason, it's DerrickComedy not DerrickComedy & Friends, but that's still a well they could've explored more. (Hey Bob! maybe edit that sentence?) Nah, dude. Such a solid comedy, though. The central goof somehow never grows tiresome, is in fact never fully abandoned, and they take this concept to really interesting places; like, these characters in a gentleman's club would have been good enough, but they found an absurd angle to take that took it to a whole new level (and then they took it to... a different place? a decidedly less whimsical place, to be certain). There's a lot of imagination, and that’s this film’s saving grace. Honestly, bringing up what I don’t like about this film kind of feels like analyzing a newborn fawn’s first steps. “Yeah, see, the great ones, they strut out the womb. Birth to trot time here is pitiful, not pro-quality at all. You can tell he doesn’t have that motor. You can’t teach motor, you just c -- why is it vomiting. Goddamnit, but why.”

2) What We Do in the Shadows, dir. Taika Waititi: I'm counting this as a film I haven't seen before because I was half-asleep the first time I saw it! It's... Enjoyable, I guess, is the right word? Hey. Team. Let's real quick talk about something. Why has every comedy I've seen in 2017 had a protracted vomiting sequence? It was a good time in Santa Clarita Diet. It was at least acceptable in Mystery Team because that's about what I expected from a film of its caliber. Why did anyone need to vomit here? Or, perhaps more accurately, why have I missed what makes vomit so inherently funny? The gross-out gag didn't really fit the general vibe of this film. This film was so subtle, so deadpan it's hard to tell what the jokes were, then the dude eats a fry, "You shouldn't have done that!" BLEEEEEEEEH like why, did that advance anyone's arc in a meaningful way that i just missed, did it test so well that they would've been fools to cut it, i don't get it. That was the one thing about this movie that wasn't right up my alley, which is why I spent so many sentences talking about it.

3) Being You Is Great, I Wish I Could Be You More Often, by Quelle Chris: Because I've never smoked pot in my life, I was initially put off by the weirdness of this album, but because I'm a generally weird person, I was on this album's wavelength by about halfway through, and now I'm stoked to give this an album a shot now that I know what to expect and that it's something I feel. It's especially nice to hear something this weird and unique because I came to this on Monday and, hey, y'all know what I did over the last weekend? Listened to a fuckton of shitty pop(/country) songs from 2007. It's such a treat to come into this world where this dude's being his own dude.

4) Divide, by Ed Sheeran: In what world is "Eraser" not just an acceptable track to put on this album, but the opening track ahead of "Castle on the Hill." "Castle on the Hill" strikes a much clearer tone, sets an actual mission. "Eraser" is just the song where Ed Sheeran raps because how do you know your limits if you never push them, and not only is it a bad intro, it’s redundant because THAT'S WHAT "GALWAY GIRL" IS THERE TO DO. Ugh. Whatever. I hate how much I enjoyed "Galway Girl." I dunno, this wasn't the worst thing in the world, there were parts were I was like "enh" but parts I really dug, so I guess cheers to exactly fulfilling my expectations!, but I kinda wish it had a more cohesive sound? This was like Ed Sheeran's tour through the magical world of music. This is U2! This is dancehall! This is traditional Irish rap! This is what your exceedingly normal cousins will play at their weddings! This? is Spain!??? And it's like hey man, just be yourself. /remembers ed sheeran's early works Yeah OK this is more than acceptable, then. As something I made myself listen to for a thing no one ever asked for, I couldn't have asked for a better time.

5) The Lies of Locke Lamora, by Scott Lynch: This was a really impressive con man story told within the parameters of basic-ass fantasy. It was this Breaking Bad-esque display of a character getting out of the tightest corners possible, and part of the extrication from the corner involves a sword fight. Father Chains is one of the best, most down-to-earth characters I've ever come across in this kind of novel, and there's a short interlude toward the end between Chains and the title character that I'm still thinking about and laughing at, but it is this kind of novel, where they call chicken “capon.” You can call it chicken. No one’s gonna call bullshit if you call it chicken. Goddamnit. Like there's a Gabe Liedman bit about The Fantasy which all fantasy novelists apparently share and how boring that makes standard fantasy, and I don't 100% get why this needed to be set in a vaguely Spanish (but almost certainly British) fantasy land with an all-powerful wizard? But y'know what, if that's what's in your heart, you write your heart out, and the fact this was fantasy didn't keep me from having a grand old two weeks on the bus.

6) You're Not as _____ as You Think, by Sorority Noise: After my first listen, I immediately hit play on this thing again, 'cuz fuuuuuuuuck, y'all. One of my favorite records of last year was The Hotelier's Goodness, it was this odd little thing that I kept returning to because it kept hitting me in this certain way, felt like an album that sort of understood the special way in which I'm depressed. This album does what Goodness does, but in a more conventional way, speaking about emptiness and failure and staying in your own head, but with music that positively soars at points, like holy shit "A Portait Of" is kind of perfect? And maybe it's worth dissecting why something more conventional hit me harder than the weirdness of Goodness, but fuck it, not now, this is _____ time, and I absolutely love this. If this doesn't end up being my #1 album of 2017, I'm going to be so stoked, because I will have heard something better than this. My favorite punk album since No Closer to Heaven. I don't think I'm going to be capable of having rational thoughts about this album.

7) Midwest Farmer's Daughter, by Margo Price: hahaha you can hear the OH SHIT I DON'T WANT IT TO BE ALL DUDES THIS WEEK from a million miles away! I really dug this. I think it's probably the least interesting out of anything in the recent rash of traditional-leaning country albums, but we're talking about Big Day in a Small Town and Sailor's Guide to Earth and Traveler, that is a strong-ass chain that would see this album as the weakest link. I think, because I had this follow _____, I wasn't really in a space where I could connect to a different kind of sadness than my own? And it's not fair to this album that its evaluation should suffer because I try to binge albums.

7a) The Sun's Tirade, by Isaiah Rashad: So like I've listened to this a couple times on the bus before, so it doesn’t belong in the New Things category, but I just wanted to give this a quick shout-out, because I actually spent some uninterrupted quality time with it (previous listens have been marred by connection issues MUSIC IN 2017 HOLLA), and man, this dude kills it. It's like a Gothic OutKast, if that makes any sense. I'm really intrigued to see how he builds off of this, because man, if he can put the pieces together, he's gonna be incredible.

8) The Order of Time, by Valerie June: It should surprise no one I lurk on a website called Saving Country Music, which is where I heard about this woman, and I was intrigued enough by the description to check her out, and this is like the country version of the Quelle Chris album, where it took me a few tracks to get on the same wavelength, but once I was there, I was there, and I loved spending time in this fully-realized world. I almost feel bad calling this country; trying to fit this into a genre feels inappropriate, like, there isn't a word for Valerie June's songs, there's only the phrase Valerie June's songs. There’s this album I listened to last year, My Wild West by Lissie, this really dreamy and ethereal-feeling folk-rock album, and that’s the closest comparison I can find to The Order of Time, except The Order of Time is more eclectic, has a more interesting sound. It’s a touch slower than what I typically go for, but this is a phenomenal artist doing something crazy-unique and making it sound dope, and I appreciate it.