#sure they’ve got their reasoning. but actions certainly have their consequences

[zeb-z]

“bad and pierre were the heroes of today the server will never know how they sacrificed their reputation to save everyone 😞” yeah and they will never know either, what are you talking about. they made their decisions without having any of the information elquackity had - there were no heroes making a difficult decision to save who they could save. there was no honor in their actions today. bad assumed everyone would be using the same underhanded tactics he planned on using. pierre just wanted to win, survival his priority even if it meant the cost of the others. any so called “heroism” was entirely accidental.

[shorthaltsjester]

maybe this is just because it feels like a metaphor for how tlovm uses vex in general (and i could write an essay about it and have and will again) but something that i both understand tlovm choosing to do and deeply hate as a choice they made is vex no longer being the one to break thordak’s crystal even though vax was still the one to kill him. especially since the show was very explicit about thordak being responsible for killing the twins’ mother and also set it up as a sort of avenging of percy, it felt tonally weird to literally just have vex hanging out in the background for both the crystal breaking and him being killed. it’s fine (deeply upset voice) i understand that adjustments to pike’s vestige made this make sense for the plot but. glad to have vex continue to be a witness in tlovm moments that in the campaign her agency in were delicious character moments. it’s fine.

[paradisetemporarilymisplaced]

So I was being a basic bitch the other day and listening to my true crime podcasts when it occurred to me just how suspicious Nile’s “death” would look to everyone not in the Guard, leading me to a train of thought that, 2200 words later, absolutely got away from me but I can’t let go so I’m inflicting it on all of you!

To set the stage, we know the movie takes place over approximately a week. Here’s what happens to Nile from the military’s point of view:

She dies is very seriously injured

She heals without a scratch

Just before she’s supposed to be shipped out to Germany, she vanishes, leaving two men concussed (and presumably reporting being knocked out by a woman with short hair wearing civilian clothes)

She goes AWOL for several days

They get word from the CIA that she is to be reported killed in action (details unclear)

So, at the beginning of this very weird week, the USMC has to tell Nile’s family of her death critical injury. What her family was told depends on how long she was dead – a Google search tells me that family will be notified in person within 8 hours of a soldier’s death, but we don’t know how long her first death lasted. For an injury, however, they’d get a phone call to notify them and the unit would arrange for them to visit as soon as the soldier is transferred out of a combat zone. Like I remember when I was in high school, a guy from my church who was a Marine was really seriously injured in a helicopter crash in Iraq and from what I could tell, his parents were told immediately and were flown out to Germany to see him, so it stands to reason that Nile’s family would have been informed relatively quickly after her throat was slashed, one way or another.

And then, she goes AWOL. Her family would be notified while the USMC tried to figure out where she went, not least because the military would want to know if she’s contacted them. (And it’s possible that her family may have been on the way to Germany to see her since we know that’s where she was supposed to go!) So for several days:

Nile’s mom and brother have no idea where she is

They know she was seriously injured and most certainly should not have been moving around on her own

They can’t get a hold of her

The military can’t tell them anything

And the next thing they know for sure is that she was “killed in action.” After being injured and vanishing into thin air. And they presumably cannot produce her body or any concrete evidence of her death. In any case, something sketchy is going on, so they’re like. SMELLS LIKE A MILITARY COVERUP.

In a surprise to probably no one, there is a well-documented legacy of mysterious US military deaths, particularly of women of color (TW for sexual assault in these links). The cases of LaVena Johnson and Vanessa Guillenin particular have made national news because of their families’ persistence in seeking justice. Likewise, Nile is a Black woman, and her mom and brother are most certainly hypercognizant of (a) state violence against Black people and (b) these high-profile cases of suspicious military deaths. So her family are seriously side-eyeing the situation, knowing that (a) the military has a serious incentive (and a documented history) of covering up things that make them look bad and (b) nothing about Nile’s disappearance and supposed death are adding up.

And Andy’s right. Nile does come from warriors. And you know who else does? Her brother.

Don’t get me wrong. Nile’s mom would absolutely not back down. She’d know something was up and want to get to the bottom of it. But based on what I know about Gen X parents (mine), they’re not the most technologically savvy. Like they can use the internet, but they didn’t grow up with it the way we young millennials and Gen Z did. So Nile’s brother takes the lead. And what do zillennials do best?

Social media.

Nile’s brother starts going hard on any site he can, trying to get the word out to see if anyone knows what happened to his sister. He starts a Reddit thread. He starts a Facebook group. He reaches out to the media and true crime bloggers and podcasters à la Sarah Turney, getting loud and being a general nuisance in hopes of getting some answers. He gets his friends and Nile’s friends involved. Maybe eventually Dizzy, Jay, and others from Nile’s unit hear about it and reach out, telling him what they saw and how weird it all was. He’s drumming up interest, and soon “Nile Freeman” becomes a household name (at least among the true crime fans).

Copley is, of course, trying his best, but at this point there is just so much that it’s impossible for him to scrub everything. Sure, he can erase new footage of Nile and the Guard, but what can he do about Reddit threads and podcast episodes that are speculating something weird has happened? Maybe he could hack the sites and shut those things down, but honestly, that’s the last thing he’d want to do, because that only adds weight to the theory that Nile’s disappearance is a military coverup. So eventually he has to tell Andy what’s going on.

Andy, obviously, does not take the news well. However, she is also completely computer illiterate, because that’s Booker’s job and he’s the only one who ever bothered to learn what the internet is in any meaningful way. (She probably calls Booker for advice, and for the record, I think Booker would have no qualms about shutting down conspiracy threads, tinhats be damned, but Copley is too concerned about the consequences. He’s ex-CIA for crying out loud, he knows how it’ll look if they scrub every mention of Nile’s name from the internet.) Maybe she confers with Joe and Nicky but, let’s be honest, they’d be equally unhelpful. So at this point, she knows they have to bring in Nile.

But the thing about Nile is that she, too, knows how to use the internet (duh). Aside from her being a young millennial/digital native, we know from the cave scene where she’s giving Booker suggestions on how to track Copley that she clearly is even more computer savvy than the average person. And for that reason she almost definitely took over the day-to-day tech stuff after Booker’s exile. So I think it would be foolish to expect her to be unaware of what’s happening. She’s not contacting her family or posting on the message boards or anything, but she knows what’s up. So Copley and the team probably sit her down to “break the news,” but we know the girl does not have a poker face (see: literally shooting herself in the foot and not being able to play it cool whatsoever) and cracks immediately, telling them she’s seen everything about her case – she’s not interacting with any of it, she certainly didn’t instigate anything, but she knows. (And she is so goddamn proud of her brother.)

At this point, I’d like to pause and consider Nile’s role in the overall narrative of this movie. She’s set up as a foil to Andy, obviously, but she’s also a foil to Booker. Booker, who, like Andy, is a serious pessimist, but who, unlike Andy, still has very fresh memories and trauma associated with being the new kid, which have destroyed him. In his mind (and Andy’s), if Nile communicates with her family, she’ll become just like him in a century or two – bitter, alone, and stuck with her grief and memories of watching her family die and knowing they died resenting her. It’s a small sample size, but this is the only experience they have to go off of.

But it doesn’t have to be like that.

There’s been a lot of discussion of TOG being a fundamentally queer movie – a group of people brought together because of something inherent about themselves that is different, that must be hidden, that causes others to hate, fear, and reject them. Booker’s backstory is the archetypal traumatic “coming out” story – his family learns who he is, hate him for it, and attempt to cast him out of their lives. He’s stuck with his trauma, his pain, his loss, and it consumes him.

But what if Nile’s family would be the opposite? What if her “coming out” to them as immortal is met with acceptance, love, celebration? What if her family is just overjoyed to have her back, and they don’t care what the circumstances are? I'm reminded of this incredible post from @shitty-old-guard-deaths a while back, where Nile’s mother hits Booker with a frying pan because “my baby let me believe she was dead for FIVE YEARS based on your bad advice???” (which may or may not have inspired this whole tangent). Nile takes the advice of someone who did the same thing she wants to do because she doesn’t want to risk her family’s rejection. She wants the good memories with her family and is afraid that showing them her true self will bring her unbearable pain, forever replacing those memories. But, with high risk comes high reward.

Anyway. Nile and the team are trying to come up with a plan for how to handle this whole thing, but she’s not really participating because she’s too afraid to hope. Until finally, quickly, so she doesn’t lose her nerve, she suggests she reach out to them, knowing that, realistically, that’s the only solution before things snowball even further out of control. The team is shocked, but realize that she has a point. They decide that Copley should actually be the first point of contact, posing as a US government official to talk with them and test the waters.

So Copley goes to Nile’s family’s house to talk with her mom and brother. They’re probably distrustful and apprehensive, but nonetheless secretly ecstatic that their work has paid off. They talk and review all of the information that they’ve collected, including testimonials from the people on Nile’s base and recent sightings (along with photos) of Nile (with the same three people) over the last few years that people have sent them but they haven’t posted publicly. At this point, Copley’s like, yeah this is about to blow up, we gotta put our cards on the table. He convinces them to come with him to some safe house/black site/whatever he can get that is technologically impenetrable (I’m picturing them in like, an interrogation room at a police station kind of deal), takes their phones, locks the doors, and brings in Nile.

What follows is the most delightful reunion scene of all time, bringing Joe, Nicky, and even Andy to tears as they watch and listen from outside the room. With Copley’s help, Nile tells her mom and brother about her immortality and what’s been going on since she died (within reason, of course), and they are thrilled. They don’t understand why (because no one does) but they don’t question it and they see it as a gift from God – she’s been resurrected, she will live, and she has a purpose. Her mother and brother are so happy to see her again and are willing to agree with pretty much anything to stay in her life as long as they can.

So. They set up some complicated agreement (they bring in the other three for support/intimidation as needed) setting the terms of their relationship. They swear Nile’s family to secrecy, maybe bringing up the lab to show how high the stakes are, and they readily agree. They come up with some cover story for Nile’s brother to share on the message boards (maybe that the government has opened an investigation but because it’s an open case he has to shut it all down? Tells people to direct their tips somewhere else? Something to that effect). There’s still speculation, of course, but without Nile’s brother at the helm providing the energy, the hype dies down as news stories are wont to do without any movement. And Nile’s family goes to work for the team. The experience has taught them that Copley can’t possibly do everything himself, especially when it comes to social media, so Nile’s brother takes the lead on the day-to-day tracking/social media while Copley and her mom focus on finding jobs and scrubbing their traces afterward.

So there you have it: Nile gets to integrate her biological family into her found family and spend the rest of their lives with them as it should be, Copley gets some badly needed help managing the reality of social media, the team finally has a positive narrative surrounding outsiders Knowing About Them AND about interacting with people from their previous life, and the audience gets the happy ending to this very lovely and very queer story to counteract the pain associated with Booker’s family.

Plus, you know, I’m a sucker for both a good government conspiracy theory and for Nile getting every good thing she deserves.

[delioncourtes]

Thoughts about Nandermo after the most recent episode?

i mean 💀

atm i'm mainly focused on them separately, because 1) nandor needs to genuinely reflect on, acknowledge and face the consequences of his actions in order to actively work on himself, and 2) guillermo needs to once and for all realize that he does deserve better than nandor's past and current treatment of him.

i said it to a friend just a few minutes ago, i think this is seriously the lowest of lows for them; for nandor as a character, with all his selfishness and general cunt behavior, and for his relationship with memo. things have to change from here on out because i highly doubt their relationship can ever truly be the same again after what nandor pulled. and i'm pretty sure (and certainly hope) that's why the writers made this choice, that's the whole point of it. we're supposed to hate it because it just hammers home that - as we can all probably agree on - their dynamic so far, despite some of the progress they’ve made on the surface, is no foundation for anything actually good. they'd fall apart sooner rather than later and it'd only cause more pain. so i guess i'm looking at it with the mindset that sometimes things have to be broken first before they can be put together again in a different way. it's never gonna be the same, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. once you work on fixing the cracks, it can be stronger and better than before.

so yeah, basically i think there's a good reason for what happened, plus we've got at least two more seasons left, so right now i'm really not worried. tbh to me setbacks are unavoidable anyway, shit is rarely ever that simply and straightforward and you don't get from point a to point b smoothly without hiccups. and this is fiction about vampires aka mass murderers and morally not very good people, and a guy who spent almost his entire life wanting to be just like them and over a decade helping them with all the mass murdering, so said hiccups are on a hightened level of fucked up lol. looking at it with the assumption that nandermo is a slowburn, yeah, it makes sense to me personally.

[khentkawes]

Tony Stark-antis need to learn some chill and basic narrative comprehension skills. Like really? Again with this bullshit?

Dude, we are ONE episode into Falcon and the Winter Solider and people are already using it as an excuse to resurrect anti-Tony Stark bad takes. Like... WTF fandom? Do we really have to go through this with every single post-Endgame mcu project? Really? When are ya all gonna learn some comprehension skills and actually pick up on what the narrative is trying to say?

Say it with me: the bank loan scene was a not-very-subtle jab at systemic racism and the way black veterans have been treated in American for decades. It’s not an excuse to anti on about how “tOnY sTaRk DiDnT pAy ThE aVeNgErS CuZ hE’s A eVIL bILLIonAiRe!”

Are you all so afraid of talking about systemic racism that you have to blame Tony Stark for Sam not getting a bank loan? Really? After a year of BLM protests and extensive awareness-raising for systemic racism, and y’all still don’t get it?

That’s the real world issue that the narrative was trying to lay out, and it’s the in-universe explanation for that scene, which is trying to address out-of-universe real-world issues. But now let me be petty and go back to the in-universe issues of whether Sam got paid... because this whole take is just pissing me off and I have to rant. So...

Sam hasn’t had a paying job in seven years, and he chose to leave the Avengers when he defied the Sokovia Accords because he blindly follows everything Cap says without ever thinking for himself. He’s been badly written ever since he showed up at the end of Age of Ultron. And that bad writing means he’s just been playing as Cap’s lackey, and in doing so, he CHOSE to leave the Avengers, to reject a government paycheck, and take his chances on the run for two years as a fugitive. So yeah. Two years, no job, no pay. And as far as we can tell, he didn’t do a whole lot of awesome saving-the-world in those two years either. He was just hiding out with Cap and maybe punching a couple of low-level terrorists or something .There certainly weren’t any alien invasions that he stopped in that time. And after that, he was dust for five years. That’s not his fault, obviously, but no one can expect to collect a paycheck while they don’t exist. That’s why the post-Blip economy is probably a bit wonky at the moment. So in total... seven years. No job. No paycheck. Part of that is consequences of Sam’s actions and part of it was through no fault of his own. But yeah, after seven years with no paycheck, there’s a good chance he’s got money issues. Did banks seize assets of those who were blipped? Totally possible.

But now, in-universe, let’s remember that all this bullshit that antis are spewing about “Tony Stark should have set aside money for his friends and teammates” and “Sam saved the world from aliens so many times, so he deserves a pension” and “Tony could set up a trust fund for all of the avengers because they’re his friends!” Yeah. That’s all 100% BS.

First off, Sam Wilson and Tony Stark are not friends in the MCU. Never have been. In Civil War, Tony said, “I know we don’t know each other very well” because they don’t! They’ve NEVER FOUGHT TOGETHER ON THE SAME TEAM! Think about that. Tony wasn’t an active duty avenger between Age of Ultron and Civil War, and that’s the only time period where Sam was an active avenger. So they were never really “teammates” and they weren't friends. They were, at best, acquaintances or coworkers who never worked closely together.

And during that time, when Tony appears to have had little contact with the avengers, he was bankrolling the team. He says, “what, am I doing here? Running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?” He made the compound and supplied all of the avengers’ tech. He gave them free room and board. It sure looks like they had everything they needed, so it’s entirely possible (even likely) that Tony was paying the Avengers during this time. But that’s all it was. Two years when Sam was an active avenger, Tony wasn’t, but Tony was still bankrolling the team. After that... Sam was a fugitive and then he was dust. So he spent 7 years with no job, and two of those years were by choice, because of Sam’s rejection of being an avenger and refusal to accept a government paycheck. He chose to be a vigilante with Cap, and vigilantism doesn’t supply a paycheck on its own.

And finally... Sam has never saved the world! And he’s only fought aliens during Infinity War and Endgame. So where are people getting this whole, “but Sam should be paid because hE sAvEd tHe wOrLd!”? Uh, no. Not really. He helped in Endgame. He tried to help in Infinity War. And that’s good. That’s important. It’s not nothing. But it’s also not saving the world. In this first episode of TFATWS, Sam literally accepted thanks from a guy who said “you brought my wife back,” when Sam had nothing to do with that. Bruce snapped and brought back all the dusted. Sam had no role in helping for that. Now I get that Sam was probably just being polite. But it’s contributing to this narrative that Sam did more then he actually did. Naw, man. Marvel never cared about Sam Wilson until five minutes ago. So they’ve never actually shown him doing anything that was, well, important. And that’s a fail on Marvel, but if we’re looking at it from a purely in-universe perspective... Sam Wilson doesn’t deserve any more or less than any other government/military contractor. Because that’s what he is now (he’s not an Avengers because the Avengers no longer exist), and that’s what he was up until the last scene of Age of Ultron. Most of his existence, he’s been a solider. He’s a military guy. So if he’s not been getting paid, that’s on the military. Tony, at most, would have paid him for two years of his time and work. The rest is all on the military, including Sam’s current finances.

Which means, you want to blame someone for Sam’s finances and his inability to get a loan? Well, there are three reasons. 1. Sam chose to leave the Avengers to become a fugitive with Cap, which means he had no job and no paycheck for two years. That’s the consequences of his actions. 2. the military either stopped paying him at some point, or hasn’t been paying him enough/quick enough in the past six months since the Blip. Military pay for veterans and veterans’ access to benefits is a real problem, but it’s a military problem. And it’s possible that any back-pay or pension that Sam is owed is tied up in red tape, which is probably only exacerbated by his time as a fugitive (which might mean he was made ineligible for any pension). And finally 3. systemic racism. His sister was pretty clear on the fact that “people like us” are the ones who always seems to be denied loans. She was saying that there is money available for loans, but it always go to white folks first. Maybe try listening to the black character explain why they believe they aren’t getting paid. Sam (when not on the run or blipped) was living a pretty cushy life as a supporting avenger for two years. He apparently didn’t have to think about how systemic racism could affect his family because he was temporarily insulated from it. Now that layer of protection is gone because he’s not living in a cushy compound away from the real world (which, for the record, is probably a good thing. I think the Avengers being so isolated from the real world is probably partially what led to the problems in Civil War). So now Sam is going to be confronted with the reality that systemic racism is real and can affect anybody, regardless of your fame or your job. And after the past year of discussions on race, the fandom shouldn’t be surprised by this narrative.

I am so sick of every single MCU project post-Endgame being twisted by antis who just want to use it to hate Tony Stark. I mean, seriously. Give it a rest, people! Try reading the narrative the way it was intended and stop twisting it for your hate-Tony-Stark obsession.

[cassandraclare]

I'm sorry to hear that your hard work was leaked but I was curious about what happened. I hope the person faced consequences because that was a very selfish thing to do leaking your work like that :(

I haven’t taken action against the person who leaked the book. I know who they are, since they uploaded the page I signed for them, and I was able to match that against my records. 

I haven’t refrained from taking action because I feel sympathy for them. I don’t. It’s beyond shitty behavior to receive an early, signed book as a gift, and to then leak the entire book online. It’s a shit thing to do to the authors and an equally shit thing to do to other fans. However, I don’t want to put myself (and Wes) through the exhausting, grim and expensive process of legal repercussions. It doesn’t mean what this person did isn’t horrible, and it doesn’t mean they haven’t cost the entire fandom any chance of there ever being an early contest giveaway like that again. They did. There never will be. There will be no ARCs of Chain of Iron, either, and you can thank them for that, too. 

Part of what makes piracy such an issue for authors goes far beyond the individual assholes who upload and distribute and translate stolen books. It’s that the whole system is set up to make it incredibly difficult for us to do anything about it. Publishers do little to nothing to prevent piracy, and authors shoulder the entire burden of searching out and reporting illegal copies of their books. And even then, we’re dependent on whether or not the reported website feels like complying with copyright laws or not. Twitter is incredibly slow to respond, Tumblr is about fifty-fifty on bothering at all. They’re legally required to take action, but they also know that the effort of doing something about it if they do not falls on exhausted, overburdened artists who often can’t afford to follow up with a lawyer’s letter.

And like, I get being broke and wanting to read books; there were a lot of books I had to pass up reading when I was broke (I will be forever grateful to the library system of New York and Brooklyn, which is how I read books at all from about 2001-2004.) I was broke enough that I slept on a bare mattress because I couldn’t afford sheets, but I’m pretty sure if I broke into Bed, Bath and Beyond and stole a bunch of fitted percale bedding I wouldn’t have encountered much sympathy if I got caught. 

I talked about this on Twitter before, and I’ll say it again here though I know it will make very little difference: pirating books doesn’t just hurt the author of those books. It hurts everyone at the publishing company, where the margin of profit is razor-thin (and yes, publishers should do more to protect themselves against piracy; I agree there); it hurts bookstores, especially indie bookstores (I remember doing an event at a store that told me, sadly, that they were likely going to have to close because people “came into the store, looked at the books, took notes, then went home and pirated them.”) It hurts libraries, who rely on circulation for funding, and the shutting down of libraries hurts people who actually can’t afford books.

Now, I know is no way to talk people out of piracy; the internet has normalized it, and besides, people will generally do the cheaper, easier thing — you can’t talk people into not doing something they want to do by telling them it’s wrong, in my experience. They’ll find ways to justify it, whether it be that they can’t afford the book or it isn’t yet available in their language or that they find the author “problematic” and this is the way they’ve chosen to punish them. 

The reason I put “problematic” in quotes is because yes, of course you can read and enjoy work that has problematic elements. Pretty much everything has some element that’s going to be found problematic by someone — which is exactly why deciding that it’s morally excusable to steal from people you think are creating flawed work is more than problematic. Holding creators accountable for their work means critiquing that work, not stealing it.

I listen to a lot of political podcasts, and some of them review work by extreme right-wing politicians etc. who have written books that the podcasters find morally despicable but wish to, or need to, review and discuss. Since they don’t wish to give money to the authors, they buy second-hand copies or take the book out of the library. They certainly don’t steal, translate and distribute copies of the books because they genuinely do not like them and do not want more people reading them. That’s what it looks like when you have an actual moral problem with a book or author. 

However, running multiple fan accounts for a book series, naming your internet identity after characters from that book series, and talking endlessly about “your favorite parts” and how this is “your favorite book” entirely invalidates any argument that you’re doing this because you think the books are bad, evil, etc. If you claim a book is actively homophobic or racist but are so desperate to read it that you’ll steal it, so excited about it that you’ll share that stolen copy, so obsessed that you’ll illegally translate a whole book and provide that stolen translation to as many people as possible, and so dedicated to the fandom that you’ll name yourself after the characters in the books and write poetry about them, I have to tell you: the last thing that looks like is that you actually find the books problematic, regardless of what you say to the contrary. It looks like you like them but don’t want to pay for them, because in fact, that’s the case. (Either that or it looks like you’re really into racist, homophobic books, and making sure as many people read them as possible, which is your problem.)

One of the issues I have with piracy is that it teaches you to hate creators. You have to hate them, because you’re doing a fucking awful thing to them and you have to justify it. This results in lying about creators — about their process, their translations, their research — as if somehow, even if they were bad researchers, that would justify widespread theft. (It doesn’t.) Those who steal books wind up in a headspace where they are obsessed with the content of the books, and entirely unwilling to accept the reality that those books were created by a real person that they’re really harming. It encourages the mentality that I didn’t create Jem or Magnus or Will or Cordelia: they came from some kind of sparkly outerspace planet and I was just lucky enough to get to write down their adventures. It invalidates the hard work creators put into what they create, and in fact, erases their very existence. The internet attitude toward creators is already incredibly toxic (especially if they’re women, LGBT+ and/or BIPOC) and the feeling of entitlement to free content, and vicious hatred toward those who aren’t providing it (even though a lot of creators, me included, provide a great deal of free content) contributes to that. Genuinely, if you’re stealing someone’s work, the least you could do is not also be an asshole about them. (Or pretend you’re Robin Hood. He stole from the rich who had taken property and goods from the poor, and returned that stolen wealth. He didn’t steal from artists and independent bookstores and use that stealing to benefit himself and his friends. The idea is actually kind of funny.) 

 I understand there is a pressure to be up to date on the books that are being released so as to participate in fandom, and I do get that. Unfortunately, piracy has real consequences that stretch beyond just hurting me and Wes. Because LGBT+ books are pirated at such an incredible rate, and we’ve definitely seen that with TEC, I am left wondering if there will ever be an actual Spanish translation of TEC, or whether the publisher will decide not to bother because it’s already been so thoroughly pirated in Spanish. I have to wonder if there will even be a third book of TEC at all, or whether publishers will feel it isn’t worth doing. And I have to wonder why the people who create this situation so often have usernames that include Jem or Magnus or Alec or Cordelia or Julian or Tessa. What an incredible misunderstanding of those characters, to imagine a world in which Will Herondale or Magnus Bane or James Carstairs would approve of stealing books and harming writers. And why name yourself after a character who absolutely couldn’t stand you? I don’t know. I don’t get it, any more than I get hating someone who provided you with something you claim is your favorite book. 

That was a much longer answer than you were probably expecting or hoping for, and I know I’ll get yelled at quite thoroughly for writing it. Writers always do, when we engage with the issue of piracy. I know most of you reading this acquire your books honestly; most of you are not like this at all. But like most things on the internet, a small amount of people really do have the power to make things pretty rotten for everyone else.

[queerbrujas]

then it vanished away from my hands (part three)

pairing: nate sewell x eva navarro rating: T word count: 4k (10.1k total so far) warnings: angst (with no happy ending, though there’s a lot of comfort in this chapter). discussions about mortality and loss of agency. murphy trauma and flashbacks.

After discovering the reason why she can't turn, Eva tries (and fails) to come to terms with it.

part one | part two | read on ao3

this fic was originally meant to have three parts, but uh, that didn’t happen. current plan is to have it be four or five, depending on how the writing goes.

—

part three: my sense of self I lost somewhere

Eva’s eyes squeeze shut.

She’s all out of tears.

How long has she been sitting here?

This is—this is not working.

She can't be alone right now.

She can't be here right now, in this place that was once home to her and where there is nothing left that is familiar or comforting. Nothing but void, a shell filled with what’s left of the covered furniture she couldn’t get rid of.

The only thing here is—

is—

fuck.

The only thing here that seems alive and vivid is the image playing behind her eyelids of the apartment flooded with bright red smoke, the sounds of crashing and breaking, of Rebecca telling her to run, of Nate—

And a cold, cold voice that rings in her head, louder than every other sound.

She’s back outside in the rain. It soaks her to the bone, makes her shiver.

You are rather special, after all, Detective Navarro.

Why, why the hell did she think of coming here, of all places?

I do so prefer the quiet ones.

There isn’t enough air, she’s not getting enough air. She tries to gasp for it, to take deep breaths, but it’s not enough. When she opens her eyes the white walls of the apartment are closing in and her vision is blurred, hazy (not smoke, it’s not smoke, it’s not). A trapped scream tries to fight its way up her throat.

She wants to let it out. Scream. Thrash.

Tear her skin apart and climb out of her body.

This is not working.

This is not working—this won’t work.

She’s not going to be able to make it out of here on her own. Not out of the apartment, not off of the goddamn floor.

The sudden moment of clarity, tenuous and brittle as it is, spurs her into action.

Her phone. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her jacket: her hands are still shaking, and it takes her at least three attempts to get hold of it. Once she has it, it slips between her fingers and clatters to the floor.

She flinches at the noise. She’s going to start sobbing again.

She flexes her fingers. Breathe. Breathe.

Eventually, she manages it.

For just a split second, she considers calling, then decides against it. That won’t do. She doesn’t trust herself to speak without bursting into tears again.

I'm at my old apartment. Can you come over?, she writes, hits send. Then a second text: Please.

The reply comes before she’s had time to lock her phone again: there in 2 seconds.

She loses track of time again after that, closes her eyes and would not be able to say, later, how long she spent like this. What is left of her rational brain tells her not more than a few minutes can have passed before Farah is already there in a whirlwind.

Alarm is evident in the way her eyes shoot wide open as soon as she sees her, in the way she's kneeling down by Eva's side faster than her (human, human) eyes can register.

“Hey, hey.” The words tumble out of her quickly, blurring together. “Eva, what happened?”

Farah has seen her cry before, she’s seen her desperate and distressed and upset, but she’s never seen her like this.

She examines her, the way she’s sitting on the floor with her knees held to her chest, the sorry state of her—clearly looking for signs of physical injury. When she seems satisfied she’s found none, she takes a breath: the alarm fades, but the concern deepens.

“What’s wrong? Did something—” Farah interrupts herself, purses her lips and waits for Eva to answer.

Eva’s throat feels raw; her thoughts scrambled, paper-thin. Connecting them, stringing them into something so complicated as language seems a monumental, almost impossible task. Just the thought of it makes her throat start to close up again.

She shakes her head. “Don't want to talk about it.” Speaking hurts, physically—even more than she thought it would.

Farah nods, as though having been expecting it.

She knows her well, after all.

They all do.

Farah reaches out, slowly, and lets her hand hover just over Eva’s knee. She doesn't touch her, knows better than to touch her, but it's close enough that Eva feels the warmth through her clothes.

“Do you want me to just sit here with you for a while? We don't have to go back home yet.”

Eva barely manages to choke back a dry sob at the mention of home, but unexpected relief washes over her all the same. Relief and gratefulness to Farah for putting into words what she certainly wouldn't have been able to think of. Not now.

She gives a quick nod. “Please,” she croaks.

Farah attempts a smile that manages to be warm despite the evident strain in it. She moves then, with a grace that Eva has envied before and which makes something in her chest constrict now, to settle more comfortably on the floor, legs crossed under her, facing Eva.

“Then we’re not going anywhere until you say so,” she says.

Soothing. Calming. Farah always knows how to be comforting.

“Thank you,” Eva sighs. Farah hums her assent.

With her here, real and solid in front of Eva, the red smoke and the crashing sounds and the voices seem to fade little by little into what they are: a distant memory, years old by now. Not real. Not something that can hurt her now.

(Except it lives under her skin, the consequence of it, the result of it, she’ll never be free of it—

Stop.

Stop, stop, stop.

Stop that thought dead in its tracks.)

A while later, Eva’s breathing still hasn’t gone back to normal. It’s still quick and ragged, shallow.

“Hey,” Farah speaks quietly, a low whisper that barely breaks the silence.

She waits for Eva to open her eyes—when had she closed them? How long has it been?—before speaking again.

“Give me your hands?” She says it as one would a question, extending her own, palms facing up.

Eva hesitates for a second—but only for a second.

The hesitation is instinctive, but the action is conscious. She places her hands in Farah’s, and Farah smiles at her.

With the warmth of the touch she’s reminded of the few times she’s done this before, in other circumstances.

Farah taking her hands and teaching her to dance, despite her initial, half-hearted protests.

Farah dragging her to celebrate her birthday because it was on the same day as hers and of course they needed a celebration; no, sneaking away with Nate to the library did not count, what part of it’s our birthday and we should have a party did she not understand?

Farah helping her stand up after a bad injury she’d sustained during a mission, the fear in her eyes eclipsed by the quick resolve to get her away.

She’s reminded of this, of all this. Of Farah’s liveliness and warmth but also of the way she always seems to understand how she feels, long before words are spoken.

Eva doesn’t quite manage to return Farah’s smile, but her lips twitch a little.

“Good,” Farah says. Her thumbs rub circles on the palms of Eva’s hands, and something soft in her eyes seems to make them glow golden, brighter than their usual amber. Something soft and sad and old, because as young as Farah seems, Eva is all too acutely aware (especially now, especially here, with a sting that doesn’t seem to go away) that she is still close to three times her age.

“Breathe with me?” Farah asks, before Eva’s thoughts can spiral too far in that direction.

Eva nods.

Farah breathes. Eva breathes.

It’s a deeper breath than any she’s taken since she got here.

They spend a while like this, until exhaustion finally settles in, weary and bone-deep. Until she’s staying here out of pure stubbornness, and when Farah quietly asks “home?” Eva does nothing but squeeze her hand and nod.

—

She tries then, she tries to adjust to the new information.

To move forward.

It’s what she’s always done. It’s the only thing that can be done.

She lets the rest of Unit Bravo know about the results (thinks for half a second about not saying anything, but she could never hide anything like this from them) and then refuses to discuss them at all.

It is what it is. If there is nothing that can be done to change it—and it has been made very clear to her that there is nothing that can be done, not about this—then there is no point in wasting time and energy thinking about it.

Because if she starts thinking about it, she’s not sure what she will do.

If she starts thinking about it, it’ll be back to the apartment, back to the rain, back to that other warehouse.

And if she starts thinking about it, she’s going to have to think about how all the reasons she had for wanting to turn in the first place are still there. They have not gone anywhere, except that now she has no way to deal with them.

She’s not sure if she feels numb or if she only wishes she did.

She thinks about it, anyway, whenever her gaze falls on the faint, jagged marks on her wrist, paler than the light brown of her skin.

For years she’d almost forget the scar was there, the memories associated with it pushed back to the deep corners of her mind. Now it seems to exert a gravitational pull of its own, drawing her sight to it without her permission.

She thinks about it whenever she remembers—and she remembers it often these days, can’t seem to pull the thought from her mind—that the blood in her veins is not her own. The whole of her body has been made into a foreign object; unrecognizable, enactor of violence upon itself.

The nightmares are worse than they’ve ever been.

—

It takes three days for Nate to bring it up: he’d been waiting for her to do it first.

He does it as gently as ever, as softly as ever. With a kiss to her forehead and hands seeking her skin, brushing down her arms. Perhaps hoping his touch would soothe the sting.

He seems almost apologetic, as though she could break at any moment.

Who’s to say she won’t?

“Joonam,” he whispers. “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?”

(Joonam, he calls her.

He calls her many things in many different languages, but this is the one he always, always comes back to.

Mi vida, she calls him.

Not as often as he does—she was never one for pet names—but often enough.

The thought forms before she can crush it: it seems almost cruel, now, that they’ve dug so deep to call each other my life when he will outlive her by an infinite amount.)

And the look in his eyes makes her want to cry all over again. He’s pleading with her, keeping the emotion from his voice but it’s clear in the way he looks at her.

Fuck, this won’t work.

She can’t keep doing this. She can’t do what she always does, not with this.

Because being with Nate has never been easy.

It has been many things—it has been love and passion and comfort and truth, but it has never been easy or painless. It has never been natural or effortless or uncomplicated.

They don’t fit together like that.

What it has been is a choice, constant and conscious. A choice to go against her instincts—her instincts that tell her to hide, to never stop moving, to raze what’s left and never look back—and open herself up in ways that leave her raw and exposed but so vibrantly, painfully alive.

(A choice that she’d been willing to make for the rest of eternity, even if it never got easier.

A choice that he makes for her, too.)

Poke around in the wound to dig the bullet out.

Her instincts tell her to pull back, and there are words on the tip of her tongue that she swallows down.

Slowly, she takes one of his hands in hers, brings it to her mouth to brush a delicate kiss against his knuckles.

“I will,” she says, eyes closed. If she opens them the words might not come out. “We’ll talk about it, I promise. Just—give me a little time, please. Just a little time.”

Nate breathes out a sigh that sounds like relief drowned in concern.

“Of course,” he says. “Anything you need.”

—

The water in the bathtub has cooled around them; the steam dissipated long ago.

Even in the cooling air, they have not moved in a while: Eva leans back against Nate’s chest with her eyes closed, his arms wrapped loosely around her as he presses sweet, barely-there kisses to the birthmarks on her shoulders. He follows paths he has mapped and memorized countless times before, ones that feel familiar on her skin.

Ones that should be soothing.

As slowly as ever, Nate lets his kisses trail up the side of her neck. They are soft, featherlight; his lips ghost over the multiple marks that have accumulated there before lavishing her with an attention that makes her shiver.

For the longest time, this was something he would not allow himself.

For the longest time, he would shy away from Eva’s neck as though burnt, and the first time he let her see the fear in his eyes as his fingertips traced the line of her throat is a moment that remains imprinted on her mind.

(She took his hand and pressed it more firmly against the side of her neck, against the beating pulse there. Gentle, almost as gentle as he always was with her—and always offering him the choice to draw back. He almost stopped breathing, but his eyes never left hers, and that single instant stretched out into moments, into something she still struggles to name.)

A lifetime seems to have passed since then.

He does not shy away from it now. Not now.

“I wish we could stay like this,” Eva murmurs.

Just this, right here.

A single moment, endless. One where nothing else matters or even exists. One where the thoughts that have been plaguing her have no power or importance.

“We can,” Nate whispers in return. His breath is warm, still close to her skin, and he follows it with another kiss directly over her pulse. “As long as you want to.”

She lets out a sigh. It would be so easy.

God, so easy.

So easy it’s terrifying.

The temptation to never talk about it again hasn’t gone away.

But thoughts become corrosive. They seep into every last piece of her sanity that she’s tried to keep safe. Into every dream and every waking moment until nothing, nothing remains untainted.

The way she flinches when she sees the scar, when she barely paid attention to it before. The way she looks at herself in the mirror and finds flaws she hadn’t noticed, the way she sometimes wants nothing more than to open her skin and drain out the blood to get it all out. Maybe that would help.

No, it would not be that easy.

“Not that long,” she forces herself to say. The words are always stuck in her throat, and they will not come out on their own. “Not forever.”

Nate’s kisses stop, and the briefest moment of tension tightens his embrace—something Eva might not have noticed if she didn’t know him like she does. But he speaks into the crook of her neck, tenderness the only thing in the softness of his voice. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

It has only been a few days since he’d mentioned it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to talk about it,” Eva admits. “But I have to stop acting like it’s something we don’t have to talk about.”

She sighs again, sinking further against him. Her own hands come to rest on his arms, wrapping them more tightly around her. “I just don’t know what to do. Where do we go from here?”

Nate hums, a soft sound she’s come to recognize as a contradictory mix of subtle exasperation and patience, tempered by love and concern. She’s been on the receiving end of it more than a few times. “We’ll get to that part. Let’s take it one thing at a time.”

Unspoken: For now, just tell me how you feel.

Also unspoken (because it has been spoken too many times): You don’t have to solve everything by yourself. You don’t have to solve everything right away.

He knows her too well.

It makes her want to cry, that he knows her this well.

“I just never thought about this.” Didn’t think it wouldn’t work. “I didn’t even consider it.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Small. So fucking defeated.

Because if she can’t do anything—

“None of us did,” Nate says, and that cuts deep, too.

He does not have defeat in his voice like she does, but the barely concealed pain is enough to make her eyes sting.

The fact that he’s trying to conceal it at all.

For her sake.

Dammit, Nate.

Because if she can’t do anything, then what’s left?

(“Nate, I don't get to have a normal life.” She’d been trying not to raise her voice, to rein in the tremor in her words. Trying, and failing. “Not with this blood, not with these scars. Not with everything that's happened to me already. Do you think anyone can be normal after that?”

One of the many times they’d argued about this. He had tried, wanted to show her value in humanity that she could never see.

He’d turn back, he’d choose to be human, to be mortal, if only he could.

“Even if I could have that,” she’d added, more quietly. “I don’t want it. If this all went away, what do you think would be left of me?”)

She shifts in his arms, turns around until she can face him.

“I wanted this, Nate.” She lifts a hand to close her fingers around the pendant that hangs from her neck, the one she never takes off, the one he gave her. She closes them so tightly her nails dig into her palm. “I wanted us, like this, forever. I wanted it so much I don’t know how to be anything else anymore. Nothing else makes sense even if I try.”

Nate covers her hand with his own, both closed around the pendant. He hesitates before speaking, examining her with eyes that betray the depth of feeling in them, but eventually, he does. “I know nothing can dull the pain of having the choice taken from you,” he says, careful, too careful. He’s been through this. “I know that. I would give everything I have to spare you that hurt.”

“But I’m—” A soft breath escapes his lips, something that is not intentional, something that is far less controlled. “I’m not going anywhere. I will make that promise a thousand times over. It will still be… it can still be forever, for you. You still have us. You still have me.”

“And you’ll just watch? You’ll watch me get older, weaker, god knows what else? You’ll be okay with that? With watching me die?”

The questions leave her mouth like bullets, one after the other.

Harsh. Too raw. The things neither of them wants to hear.

She’s the one panicking, now.

She’s said this before.

And Nate flinches, flinches at the bluntness of it—she wants to take it back at that, even when she knows it has to be said—but it does not make his voice waver when he speaks. “I love you,” he says, as though that answers all her questions. “Nothing can change that. Every second you’ve chosen to give me has been something precious, something I have treasured, and it will continue to be, no matter what.”

One of his hands moves to tangle in the wet locks of her hair. To hold her in place, staring into the depth of his brown eyes, eyes that reflect back the same hurt she feels even if he will not say it.

“Before we talked about this, before you decided to turn, I—I knew I might not have you forever. I didn’t dare to hope I would, didn’t dare to think of it. But loving you is worth any pain that might come from it.”

Her throat constricts, and the emotion in Nate’s voice dulls the edge she’d imparted to her words. Of course Nate would say this. Of course he would think this, would feel this.

He would break himself to keep her.

He would break himself for her, without even a hint of hesitation.

(I won’t do that to you. She’d said that.)

She looks away, blinking to get rid of the tears that prickle at her eyes. She fixes her stare on the edge of the bathtub: gleaming, burnished copper misted over with condensation.

Instead of following that line of thought—she doesn’t trust herself to—she grasps at something else. Something that stabs with equal force at her chest.

It sounds like someone else speaking when she says, “I don’t want to be less than you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the way he frowns.

“Being human doesn't make you less, Eva.” Nate is resolute, his voice firm even in its warmth, echoes of a recurring argument neither of them had ever won.

“But it does,” she counters, voice cracking and desperate, turning her face back to meet his eyes. “Don’t you see it? It does, and it will always feel that way. I already have to try so hard just to keep up. What happens when I can’t anymore? What happens when my body gives up, when I'm too slow, too weak to go on missions?”

Why won’t he see it?

She has tried. Tried to make up for her lack of abilities, for her humanity. She has tried to attenuate it, to make sure it does not become a burden.

She has learned combat from Morgan and Adam, spent hours upon hours in the training room with them until she can barely stand, until Adam smiles at her after a well-placed hit, until Morgan throws a towel for her to catch and there’s nothing but pride in the look she gives her.

She has studied the supernatural world in every way she can; submerged herself in it, let it coat every cell of her body and every neuron in her brain.

It is what she breathes.

And she’s been forced out of it.

“That still wouldn’t make you less, nothing could.” The affection, the love in his voice burns. “There is so much more to you than what you can do.”

She shakes her head.

“I swore I wouldn’t be a burden to this team. And you know how I am, Nate, I couldn’t bear—I don’t want to get left behind. And I will. You’ll keep on being who you are and I… won’t.”

The tears aren’t pricking at her eyes anymore. They are falling.

The words aren’t stuck in her throat anymore.

“Everything I told you I didn’t want, all of it, that’s going to happen and there’s nothing I can do about it. And I have this thing inside me that’s making it all happen and my body isn’t mine anymore. I don’t get a say in any of it.”

She leans forward to rest her head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his touch even when it won’t, it can’t be enough. Not for this.

She is instantly enveloped in his arms, drawing her closer against him.

“I’m sorry, mi vida,” she whispers against his skin. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he answers, quiet, almost too quiet, into her hair.

And there is a thought.

Because if there is nothing she can do—

But this is one she refuses to even entertain. To acknowledge.

I won’t do that to you.

She’d said that.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Miraculous Salt: Bustier

Fair warning: There are some dark and potentially triggering things discussed. Assault, domestic violence, drug use, overdose, and attempted murder are implied if not outright mentioned.

“Today, class, I’ve asked a special guest to come speak to you!” Bustier greeted them all with a smile. She gestured to the woman next to her, a young adult they hadn’t seen before. She seemed a bit nervous awkward, but was dressed professionally and tried to appear confident.

Bustier clasped her hands together.

“Vivienne is a former student of mine from a few years back. She going to talk to us about positive examples and appropriate behavior in the classroom.”

Marinette slumped in her seat, already knowing what this was about and just whom this lecture was meant for. Bustier’s frequent looks at Marinette weren’t even necessary. The fact that several of the other students shot glances back to her made it clear they knew as well.

Apparently Bustier’s lectures to Marinette about the high road and helping her classmates weren’t enough anymore. Now it just felt like she was making a spectacle to prove a point.

The woman, Vivienne, looked to Bustier in confusion.

“I thought I was supposed to give a lecture about preparation for the future?”

“Well certainly.” Bustier agreed, smiling brightly and indulgently. “And about how a good future for everyone can be started by setting an appropriate example in the here and now.”

Several of the students around her nodded. Lila sent a smug look back at her. Marinette merely wanted to crawl under her desk.

The woman stared at Bustier in open-mouthed surprise.

“Are you joking?”

Bustier appeared startled. “I’m sorry?”

“Are you actually joking? Did you mean to tell me you brought me here. All this way. On a weekday. To give a lecture to students about your downright toxic classroom habits?”

Everyone’s eyes widened. Their mouths opened. Because…no one just talked to Bustier like that. She was a teacher! And she was so nice!

Bustier herself was frozen in shock.

“Excuse me?”

“No. No. You’re right. You had me come to give a speech to your class. Fine. I’m going to talk to them.”

She cleared her throat and turned to the class.

“Listen to me. All of you, but especially you in the back because it seems you are Bustier’s target of the year.” She said, looking around to everyone in the class though her eyes remained mostly on Marinette. “You have the right to feel angry when you are wronged. You have the right to be upset when someone hurts you. You have every right to not forgive the one who does it. It is not your fault when someone does wrong. It is not your responsibility for someone else’s choices. You are under NO obligation—ABSOLUTELY NONE to make the person hurting you feel better about it! And at some point, you need to consider what is best for yourself and your life, even if it means cutting people out of it and letting them face the consequences of their actions.”

“What are you doing?” Bustier demanded, outraged.

“Telling them the truth.” Vivienne stated flatly. “It’s the least I could do after what you did to me and my class thanks to your ‘approach’.”

“But you were a great example for your classmates.”

“No, I was their stepping stone and in some cases, their punching bag. And look how well that turned out! I’m STILL in therapy because of you!”

Bustier gaped in horror.

“Yeah, turns out that constantly pushing myself to take on the burden for everyone else’s choices isn’t actually healthy! Either for me OR anyone else.” Vivienne huffed. “And I have you to blame for a huge part of that.”

She pointed at Bustier in outrage.

“Because of you and your lessons, I lost my ability to be assertive. I became passive to the point of being a doormat, and it’s something that STILL affects me today! Because under YOUR guidance, I was taught that other people’s behaviors were MY fault. That if someone was being cruel or hurting me, it was because I wasn’t trying hard enough. That it was MY obligation to make bad people better rather than their own. And that if I tried to speak up for myself, I was the one in the wrong. Especially when you dragged my parents into things and portrayed the entire mess like it was my fault for not being okay with my treatment instead of concern over how I was being treated.”

“Now now, you’re over-exaggerating.” Bustier argued in that annoyingly placating tone.

“You made it MY job to try and better people who didn’t WANT to be better. I was thirteen! I was a student in your care! How was that supposed to be MY job? My only job was supposed to be to learn, and because of you, I’ve learned all the wrong lessons!”

She rubbed her face, frustrated and exasperated and just done with this whole thing.

“I don’t know what’s healthy or not. I don’t know when I’m being selfish or when I’m supposed to let something go. I still freeze up when dealing with people because even years later, I still have your voice ringing in my head about how I need to be ‘the better person’ regardless of whether I actually CAN.”

She stopped and took a breath. Then turned on Bustier, appearing truly angry with the woman.

“You pushed me to the point of self-destruction and said that was love.”

“I’m sorry that you apparently had a rough time of things,” Bustier fumbled. “But I can’t be held responsible for how every student turns out.”

“THEN YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE BECOME A TEACHER!”

Bustier reared back as if struck by a physical blow.

Vivienne breathed deeply, trying to get herself back under control.

“You had a position of power and authority over me. And you used it to push your responsibility on me. To push the responsibility for EVERYONE in that class on me. On top of my own schoolwork. My own issues. My own responsibilities. I had to deal with yours and everyone else’s. Their well being. Their futures. Their selfish little wants and requests I didn’t have time or energy for but was still expected to fulfill. All of that. On me. And now you’ve even gone so far as to bring me here to advocate for you doing the same thing to someone else? And you don’t see anything wrong with that?”

Vivienne gestured to her chest, agitated and hurt and just…finally letting years worth of frustration out.

“Doing what you did? Pushing things the way you did? You put an unreasonable burden on a child. All in the name of being a ‘good example’ for how other people should be. Guess what? The only thing being a ‘good example’ accomplished was showing people what to expect from others rather than anything they should expect from themselves.”

She glared at Bustier.

“I did some reading on psychology after leaving your class. Turns out the thing you missed about modeling is that it’s the ADULTS who are supposed to model for their kids, not other kids under their care and especially NOT the ones being victimized.”

Bustier forced herself to speak. “But…everyone deserves a chance.”

“You have students that struggle. It’s common. They need extra care. That’s understandable.” Vivienne agreed. “The problem is that instead of being the teacher you are supposed to be and giving them that care yourself, you instead push that responsibility on your other students when it should never have been their responsibility in the first place!”

“They can’t change and do better if everyone is expecting them to fail.” Bustier reasoned.

“Maybe so, but they’re certainly not going to change if they don’t see a reason they should. Giving bullies a free pass and then lecturing their victims on ‘being the bigger person’ after they’ve been hurt because of the bullying is NOT going to motivate the bully to change anymore than it’s going to motivate the victims to keep trying! Was it any wonder so many of your students just gave up?”

Bustier’s eyes widened in shock.

“What?”

“Yeah, it turns out that I’m not the only student who left your class with problems down the line. Big surprise, but being reprimanded for feeling hurt and being told that their feelings are less important than those of the ones harming them isn’t exactly motivation to keep going out of their way to do their best. Not in grades, which unsurprisingly fell amongst students in your class by the final year. Not in activities, which—surprise surprise! Your students stopped being invested in because you kept pushing for everyone else to work twice as hard for something that you were letting other students get full advantage of with nowhere near the same effort! Was it any wonder that I was the only one you were able to browbeat into doing anything by the end? It was because everyone else got disillusioned and stopped trying! Because you rewarded the bad students and admonished the good students if they took issue with that. They weren’t blind! They know favoritism when they see it!”

The class was staring. Unsure what to say. Or if they even should speak.

“Oh, and on the subject of favoritism. You surely remember Candace—my bully whose behavior you defended and minimized? Yeah, she’s in jail. Again. For causing a scene in a public setting. Again. And even assaulting police, which is actually a new one for her this time around. But it’s her standard behavior. It’s all she knows how to do. Because you and people like you catered to her tantrums and brattish behavior, gave her whatever she wanted, and admonished anyone who complained about how she treated them.”

“Well…” Bustier simpered. “Treating her cruelly isn’t changing her now, is it?”

“Because she’s an adult used to getting her way!” Vivienne exclaimed. “The time to teach her better was when she was young. It was when she was still a student under YOUR care! Instead, you solidified her into the messed up adult she is today! Speaking of messed up adults, how about dear old Henrik? You remember him?”

“He…he was…a perfect student…” Bustier muttered, uncertain and wary.

“Sure was. Your model student. He sure road your high horse all throughout school and even all the way to his own wedding to Delia—your OTHER favorite student to coddle. You must have been so proud of how that turned out. And even after she’s cheated on him. Among other things. He’d be the picture of domestic violence at this point…you know…if he could actually acknowledge that the relationship is even abusive.”

She sighed.

“But he still insists he can ‘change her’. That he can ‘help her be better’. And some other reasons about ‘make a bad person be good’ that sounds like the sort of tripe you fed him. You know, most of us just thought he was a wannabe stud who like having girls rubbing themselves all over him. It never occurred to us that he was uncomfortable and just didn’t know how to ask them to stop.”

Several of the students gasped in shock. Adrien in particular appeared uncomfortable, like the story was a point for him in particular. Remembering the way Chloe and Lila hung off him, Marinette had to wonder if Adrien and this Henrik didn’t have a few concerning things in common.

Vivienne, however, continued. And even started to tick off on her fingers. “Elodie joined the police force and is so caught up in her own brand of ‘justice’ that she jumps into things without thinking and a number of her arrests ended up going free regardless of the charge due to her not following procedure. Arthur was always the sort to ‘go with the flow’ rather than stand up for anything, so he ‘went with the flow’ all the way to a strip club where he spends his nights, still waiting on some new job opportunity Delia promised him years ago. Kent and Morgan were arrested for embezzlement of some charity’s funds. Michael works at a repair shop, so he has a steady job at least. Sam’s charged for property destruction from illegal street racing. Again. Vincent is claiming some close relationship with Jagged Stone that I don't even want to consider. Randall died from drug overdose last year, otherwise I’m sure you would have called him up instead of me.”

Everyone gaped at her in growing horror. Alya and Max both seemed to be looking at their phones, only to wince or appear more agitated with whatever they found—Marinette assumed it was likely proof of Vivienne’s claims. Bustier looked almost ready to faint at the news of what’s become of her former students.

Vivienne just tapped her chin.

“And you know, now that I think about it, it makes sense that you called me out of everyone to come lecture your class because I think I’m probably the only former student NOT a complete wreck—if only because I’m a few steps away from it thanks to therapy.”

She sneered at Bustier in downright disgust.

“All these people you said it was my job to save. All of them—every single one of them fell apart when I finally gave up. Though they were admittedly barely hanging on as it was while they still had me to dump on. And I’m pretty sure that I could have been a millionaire by now if I’d held firm on charging people for the things they wanted from me instead of bowing to your insistence on doing things for people for free to be ‘nice’. Or, you know…NOT wasting my time and giving up on my own opportunities to pull everyone else out of the fires they kept starting.”

Feeling the weight of everyone’s gazes on her, Bustier spoke up to attempt to defend herself.

“To make a healthy classroom—”

“Your classroom isn’t healthy!” Vivienne shouted. And it was only now that Marinette realized there was a growing number of people hovering outside the door and listening in. “It says something that we have a magical emotion-based terrorist running around and his most frequent targets other than a guy obsessed with pigeons have been your students! Hell, in the past year the majority of akuma attacks have all been from this very class! If i didn’t already know you were doing this all along, I would think you were grooming these kids to be taken by Hawk Moth!"

“They’re not...that bad...” Bustier weakly defended.

“One of your students is the girl who tried to CRASH A TRAIN! And it didn’t take me all of five minutes after entering to see you catering to what can only be a chronic liar.”

Lila immediately started the waterworks. “How could you say that about me?”

“Actually, I hadn’t pointed you out. But thanks for doing it yourself, and while we’re on the subject, GOOGLE. Five minutes is more than enough to debunk your stories. Anyone could do it if they bothered to. Which might have gone a long way in preventing the classroom from becoming toxic, Bustier, if you had helped to develop your students’ critical thinking skills so they could figure things out for themselves instead of demanding they become doormats to make other people ‘feel better’.”

“I—I—” Bustier looked almost ready to cry.

“Couldn’t be bothered to tell them they’re being lied to?” Vivienne asked, sarcastically.

“She has a condition! I didn’t want to impair her ability to make friends!” Bustier exclaimed, making the class stare at her in growing horror. Others turned on Lila in outrage at the confirmation. Lila in turn started to shrink in on herself, realizing that this had not been the best time to draw attention.

“So you protect one student by letting the rest be used and manipulated. It’s not like that can go wrong! Just ask Henrik…as soon as he gets out of the hospital.”

One student—Rose—actually raised her hand. “What…what happened to Henrik?”

“Officially, food poisoning.” Vivienne replied. “Unofficially, Delia only married him because he’s rich and good as arm candy, but she only needs him alive for one of those two things and his moral righteousness makes him less appealing as the latter.”

Bustier wobbled, her strength giving out. She quickly made it to her chair and almost fell onto it as the sheer magnitude of what was happening hit her.

“But…I don’t understand. It can’t be me. I’m…I’m a good teacher…”

“No.” Vivienne interrupted. “You’re a nice teacher. At least to certain students. For everyone else, you taught pretty words and preached about love and kindness to help build up a rose-tinted view of the world and the people in it. It’s no wonder nobody knew how to deal afterwards.”

“But…it can’t be my fault.” She insisted. “I’m only one influence! There are parents! Guardians!”

Yeah, no. Vivienne was not letting her pass the blame.

“Whom YOU spoke with. Whom YOU influenced with your position to put focus on the wrong problems—not what needed to be addressed but what you wanted to make your classroom easier for you. Parents don’t know what their kids are doing during school hours other than what they’re told is happening. And when they’re told that their kid is ‘problematic’ or ‘causing conflict’ or ‘not a team player’ but they’re not being told WHY? Or not being told that their kid is being mistreated, bullied, or outright assaulted? And those parents then turn on the kids?”

She shrugged.

“Honestly, what were we supposed to think?”

Bustier shook her head, now crying.

“I can’t fix everything!”

Vivienne stared, solemnly.

“But you could have helped. You just…choose not to.”

She looked back to the class.

“Don’t trust blindly. Stand up for yourself without pushing on others. Remember that you are allowed to have limits. And sometimes…” Her eyes fell back on Marinette. “Sometimes, it’s better to just cut out the weeds than hope flowers grow.”

With that, she turned and left the classroom, the various students and faculty listening in parting before her.

It was cold outside. Almost matching the feeling in her chest.

And yet, she let out a sigh.

“Now that’s the closure I’ve been looking for.”

And she carried on.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

- Chapter 10 -

Nie Mingjue was starting to become accustomed to the routine of the cell.

Wen Ruohan would generally visit the Fire Palace twice weekly, sometimes more if he had had a very bad day and wanted to let off some steam. Nie Mingjue would get visited on at least one of those instances, whether for a short time and a bit of emotional devastation or for a longer and much more physically uncomfortable visit, and sometimes more often if Wen Ruohan was not doing well in war.

Wen Ruohan still enjoyed asking him questions, but Nie Mingjue didn’t think he had to answer them anymore. This was a subject that came up sometimes during some of those longer visits.

The rest of the time, he was left to recover and be bored. He was not given access to his saber – Baxia had been hidden away somewhere, he thought, he could feel that she was safe if unhappy – but his spiritual energy was not restrained, the way some other prisoners were.

He spent a great deal of time meditating. Sometimes, if his physical condition allowed for it, he would practice old techniques, trying to focus on a different muscle each time to try to avoid letting them atrophy. His empty hands bothered him, but he deemed it unlikely that anyone would give him equivalent to a saber something to wield, not even if he asked.

Food was twice a day, usually just a bowl of rice and vegetables that the kitchen would otherwise have thrown away, and it was brought by the same prison guard each time.

Nie Mingjue liked the prison guard.

Possibly it was because he was the only person Nie Mingjue saw on a regular basis, other than Wen Ruohan – Nie Mingjue’s cell was a little ways away from the other prisoners, lest they infect him with something and he die too quickly, although he was still within earshot of all the screams – or possibly it was the prison guard’s pleasant demeanor, friendly and calm like a lake of still water.

They were playing a long-running game of sorts.

Nie Mingjue had guessed that Meng Yao – that was the prison guard’s name – was an outsider, recently joined, and that he had previously spent time in both the Lan and Jin sects.  This perspicacity had surprised Meng Yao, drawing his interest, and he had asked, very politely, for Nie Mingjue’s name.

Nie Mingjue had, just as politely, refused to give it.

Meng Yao, surprised yet again, had asked for his reasons.

Nie Mingjue had explained that he wasn’t sure if Wen Ruohan would react badly to other people knowing about him, and it would be a shame for Meng Yao to be murdered while he had yet to achieve whatever it was that he was seeking so strenuously to accomplish.

For some reason, Meng Yao saw this as a challenge.

“Gongzi, I have your dinner,” Meng Yao said. “Would you like me to ask the cook to give you some meat, next time? Just let me know. I would be more than happy to tell her to send more food to…?”

“Certainly,” Nie Mingjue said. “You can tell her that it’s on behalf of the last cell on the right.”

Meng Yao wrinkled his nose at him, and Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes back.

Their normal initial exchange of wits over, Meng Yao gave him the food and supervised him as he ate – a babysitter upon whose head the consequences would fall if Nie Mingjue misbehaved was the condition of giving him chopsticks. Wen Ruohan had a great deal of experience in keeping prisoners alive, and he knew Nie Mingjue’s character quite well.

“I heard that you were giving Sect Leader Wen advice on the war,” Meng Yao said casually as Nie Mingjue tried to guess what pickled vegetable he was eating, since neither taste nor appearance was definitive. “Gongzi must be very well-respected.”

“Did you hear about the part where I told him the best counterstrike would be to shove his troops up his own ass?”

“…and very brave.”

Nie Mingjue chuckled. “And you must be very competent to have made your way up to prominence in two separate sects, especially at such a young age.”

Meng Yao did not want to like him, Nie Mingjue could tell. He did anyway.

It wouldn’t help him if something more important to Meng Yao was at stake, of course – Nie Mingjue had lived too long with Qishan Wen cruelty, selfishness, and ruthlessness to miss seeing it reflected in others – but it was still nice to be liked.

“…how do you know?”

“Was that a direct question?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Be still my heart.”

“This humble servant has observed that gongzi does not answer anything else.”

“Humble,” Nie Mingjue drawled. “Yes, that’s the first thing I think of when I think of you.”

Meng Yao’s eyes were narrowing, though, so he stopped teasing.

“It’s your hair.”

“My – hair?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “The way you set it. It’s clear that Xichen must have taught you how to arrange the braids personally, which means that you must have gotten fairly high up in the Lan sect – but Sect Leader Wen referred to you as being poached from the Jin sect.”

Meng Yao reached up touch his hair. “…I never made it that high in the Jin sect,” he finally said. “Not even lieutenant.”

“In the middle of a war, with how competent you are? Does Sect Leader Jin have something against you?” A small furrowing of Meng Yao’s brow. “Did you complain that he raped your sister or something?”

A long, slow blink. “Is that a problem he has?”

“Not liking people who try to make him responsible for his actions?” Nie Mingjue snorted. “Yes.”

Meng Yao looked contemplative.

“What are you thinking?” Nie Mingjue asked, finally giving up on the pickled vegetable and handing back the bowl.

“Only that you know a great deal of gossip –”

“Involuntarily, I assure you.”

“– and that you feel comfortable calling Lan-da-gongzi by name, and are familiar enough to know how he personally styles his hair.” Meng Yao smiled. “I’ll figure out who you are yet, gongzi.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “They’ve probably already forgotten me.”

-

“This is your fault,” Wen Ruohan murmured in his ear, and Nie Mingjue was too weak to refuse to listen. “You did this – to yourself, to them. Why couldn’t you have just been obedient?”

He didn’t know anymore.

-

“I’m Sect Leader Jin’s son,” Meng Yao said.

“Your mother must be a genius,” Nie Mingjue replied.

There was a moment of silence – probably Meng Yao staring at him.

It was probably not the response he had been expecting.

“I’ve met Sect Leader Jin,” Nie Mingjue said in explanation. He was lying face-down on the floor of the cell while Meng Yao tended to his wounds; the conversation, he knew, was only to distract him from the sting of the stitches. “He’s cunning, not smart, horribly self-absorbed, and ‘competent’ isn’t the word I’d use for him; he makes do mostly by paying enough to hire good help. Given the contrast with you, it follows that you must have gotten all the good traits from the other side…I hope he didn’t rape her. Sorry about making that joke, earlier. I didn’t realize.”

“You said sister, not mother.”

“Right,” Nie Mingjue said. “I forgot.”

“Anyway, he didn’t have to rape her. He bought her,” Meng Yao said. He was tightening the bandages now and his hands were perfectly steady. Too steady, the way Wen Qing’s were when she was having to control himself. “She was a whore.”

Nie Mingjue got the feeling that Meng Yao was expecting some sort of reaction. He wasn’t sure what, though.

“Okay,” he said. Out of lack of anything better to say, he added, “Was she nice?”

“What type of question is that?” Meng Yao demanded.

He’d picked the wrong reaction again, Nie Mingjue presumed.

“I don’t know,” he said. His eyes were closed and his forehead was pressed against the cool stone. “I don’t really remember my mother. All I know is that she was a rogue cultivator, and tall –”

“I would never have guessed the latter, gongzi.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like I’ve never heard that one before. My father raised me on his own – we don’t believe in using nursemaids to do it.” He exhaled. “I’m forgetting him, too.”

“He died?”

“Sect Leader Wen killed him.” He heard Meng Yao exhale. “I know. I’m not very filial, am I?”

“I don’t think that’s a consideration,” Meng Yao murmured. “Under the circumstances.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t want to talk about it. “So, your mother,” he said. “Was she nice?”

“…does it matter?”

“Why wouldn’t it matter? She’s your mother, isn’t she?”

Meng Yao chuckled. It was not a nice sound. “Most people don’t really care to listen past the part where they find out she’s a whore.”

“I’ve never actually met a whore,” Nie Mingjue confessed. He was starting to drift off again – it was hard to stay awake. “The closest I ever got to even talking about one was when we had to put the fear of brothels into A-Chao. Sect Leader Wen was trying to ruin him.”

“A-Chao?”

“Mm. Like – a little brother, almost. I’ve got a bunch.”

Meng Yao snickered. “Yes, gongzi does seem the type.”

Nie Mingjue smiled into the floor. He knew that tone – it was just the same as A-Chao’s, in fact. “You’re welcome to join in, if you like.”

Meng Yao’s hands stopped moving abruptly.

“Assuming I’m not dead, of course.”

After a moment, Meng Yao’s hands started moving again. They were gentler.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “After a promise like that, I’ll be sure not to let him kill you.”

“Need to get your money’s worth out of me?”

“Of course.” A pause. “Naturally, it would be easier if gongzi would tell me his name…”

Nie Mingjue huffed – like Meng Yao was going to get him that easily.

“No need for such formality, A-Yao,” he said. “Just call me da-ge.”

-

“You must have some hobbies.”

“Must I?”

“Everyone has hobbies.”

“I collect younger siblings. Does that count?”

“It does not.”

-

“It’s your fault,” Wen Ruohan crooned as Nie Mingjue’s shrieks split the air. “Your fault. You turned them against me. It’s because of you that I’m going to need to kill them…”

-

“I don’t think I would have liked you, in the normal course of things,” Meng Yao said conversationally. “I usually find righteous people boring. Most of the time, they’re arrogant hypocrites, as rigid like the stiff pole that must have gotten shoved up their asses at some point. No one looks down on you like the righteous, and usually for stupid reasons, too. For something as petty and as simple as just not being them. Not having their advantages from the moment you were born.”

He paused. Cleared his throat.

“Lan Xichen was the first one I met who wasn’t like that. He really – he’s nice, I think you would put it. Kind. Everything they say about what gentlemen ought to be, he is.”

A brief silence.

“Naïve, though. Almost painfully so. I twisted him around my little finger without even trying…even when I was trying not to.”

Nie Mingjue believed him. Manipulation seemed to come as second nature to Meng Yao, even when he was being sincere. Sometimes, even especially when he was being sincere.

It was a bit like Wen Xu, actually. It was hard to throw off the way you’d been raised.

“At first I thought the problem was with me, that I didn’t appreciate him enough, that I didn’t understand how to have a friendship with a person like that. A good one. Sometimes I thought, well, no, maybe the problem’s with him – he pities me too much to see what I’m really like, and that means he’s deceiving himself, it’s got nothing to do with me. In the end…I don’t know. I don’t think I ever resolved it.”

He sighed. It was a long, low sound, almost whistling in the dead air of the Fire Palace.

“You’re not like Lan Xichen at all. You really are unbending, rigid, inexorable…I ought to despise you. You ought to despise me. I torture people most of the day, you know. I even enjoy it.”

For all his poise, Meng Yao was younger even than Lan Xichen. He shouldn’t be anyone’s prison guard. Shouldn’t be torturing anyone. How could you blame children for doing something that would win them praise?

“It’s this place that makes me like you, I think. It’s just – it’s filthy, here. Disgusting. The more I’m in this prison the worse it gets. The more bad things I do, the more bad things I think. I barely dare recall my better memories, my mother, Lan Xichen. I’m too afraid that the filth and grime of this place will stain their purity even in my thoughts.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t understand, not really - maybe he’d been here so long that the stain had sunk in already, blackening everything it touched. But he tried as much as he could to sympathize.

“And then there’s you. You, all shining steel and stiff unbending morality, the sort of person I hate the most. But when I’m here knee-deep in the muck, trapped in the dark without any hope of surfacing, I look at you and I feel – it’s almost like I can see light again, reflected in you. As if I’m breathing clean air. For the first time in my life, I think I understand why people have ethics. That they’re not some stupid thing made up by someone to fool someone else into voluntarily crippling the hand they’ve been dealt to play.”

That was definitely not what ethics were.

“I don’t know if we’d get along outside this place. Where I’m still me, with all my flaws that make me all the worse, and you’re still you, with all your imperfections that only make you better, but without this place to make us get along. I really don’t know. For once in my life, I don’t have a goal, a target, a scheme. As far as I know, you’re nobody I can use, and keeping you close to me will only tie an anchor to my legs, weigh me down. But even with all that, even if nothing I do works out and it all blows up in my face…I’d still like to find out. Find out if we would get along, if you really would treat me like your little brother even though you know what I’m really like under the smile. Find out if someone like me really can get along with someone like you.”

Nie Mingjue felt Meng Yao squeeze his hand, and wished he could respond in kind.

“So you have to wake up, da-ge. You hear me? You have to wake up.”

-

“It’s done. They’re gone. And it’s all your fault.”

He lies, Nie Mingjue told himself. He lies, he lies, he lies –

[deanswaywardgirl]

The End

A/N: Hey, okay, so this is my attempt at a re-write of one of my top five favorite episodes, including my OC. I don’t have very many of these, because re-writes are difficult and very time consuming. I do not claim Supernatural or Sam and Dean. Just my OC.  

Faith sighed as she considered calling Gabriel, pacing in her motel room. Any minute, Dean would be headed to 2014 and meeting up with his future self. Being half angel, she didn't have the power to send herself.

"You rang?" his sultry voice penetrated the silence, earning Faith's attention. "I need your help to get to 2014, Gabriel." His brow arched as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why?" he asked her, his eyes narrowing. "Because I know Dean's going, thanks to your douchebag brother, Zachariah. Look, he managed to let slip that I play some part in this pissing contest between Michael and Lucifer." Gabriel sighed and rolled his eyes.

"So, what? You want spoilers to see who wins?" he asked, pulling a sucker from his jacket. Faith squared her shoulders. "You owe me for that Wednesday Mystery Spot stunt you pulled," she reminded him, arching a brow. Gabriel smirked and shrugged. "Okay, okay, I hear you. Deal," he said and the humor faded from his features as he took her hands. "Be careful, Faith. My brother will not hesitate to take you off the board. Dean, he can't, but you're different."

"I'll be careful, Gabe, thank you." Gabriel snapped his fingers and in the blink of an eye, Faith could tell she was no longer in 2009. "Awesome," she breathed and headed out of the run down motel she was in, out onto the street. "Focus on finding Dean, Faith. Nothing else." As if on cue, she could hear heavy artillery being fired. "Dean," she said with a smile, and ran towards the noise. She ducked into a back alley and ran around the back of the building, able to see Dean. "Dean, come on! This way!" she called to him and smiled when he didn't question her.

"What are you doing here? Are you living here?" he asked. Faith shook her head. "Nope, I'm from 2009 just like you. And before you ask, I had help getting here, from a much nicer angel than Zach." she said, both of them relieved they were, for the moment, out of danger. "Who?" he asked. "Gabriel. The archangel," she told him with a shrug, not wanting to lie to him. 

Think of him as my own personal Castiel." She smiled and nodded down the road. "Come on, we need to get to Bobby's house." "You knew about this? All of it?" he asked, the pair reaching an abandoned car. Soon, they were on the road. "I'm sorry, Dean, but I've told you, I can't tell you what happens down the road. I want to, believe me. But the angels will know, and as punishment, they'll make the outcome pretty damn bad." Dean sighed and licked his lips.

"What can you tell me?" he asked, gently. "Not much. Just vague details here and there, point you in the right direction. I'm sorry, Dean, I really am." Dean sighed and glanced over at her in the passenger seat. Licking her lips, Faith shrugged. "I can share irrelevant details. Who knows, maybe they'll help." Dean couldn't help but smile at her addition. "Faith, I know you're trying to help. Out of everybody, I've always been able to trust you. You've been there to help me these last few long weeks. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that." Faith smiled softly and touched his arm, and gently squeezed.

"You can always trust me, Dean, no matter what. I guess I can tell you this. You won't find Bobby at his house, but you still need to head in that direction." "Where's Bobby?" Dean asked, slightly confused. "I don't know. He might be dead, they never clarified. There was just a bloody bullet hole in his overturned wheelchair, which was just an implication. But you will find John's journal, which is important. For now, that's all I can tell you." Dean nodded before jumping at the sound of wings fluttering.

"You wanna explain why this abomination is here?" Zachariah scowled. Faith smirked. "Tour guiding. Dean, on the left, you'll see old rusty street signs, maybe abandoned buildings. And up ahead, we have Croatoan zombies because angels are too busy watching holy porn to do anything helpful." Dean smirked proudly at the girl beside him. "I knew I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap."

"President Palin defends bombing of Houston," Zachariah read, obviously ignoring Dean's jabs. "Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports. Right, no more sports, Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum if you ask me," Zach rambled on to himself. Faith shook her head in the front seat at the angel behind them.

"How'd you find me?" Dean interrupted. "Had to tap some unorthodox resources. Human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out." Dean's eyes slightly widened in realization. "The bible freak outside the motel. He, what, dropped the dime on me?"

"Onward Christian soldiers." "Good. You've had your jollies, now send me back, you son of a bitch." "Oh, you'll get back, all in good time. We want you to marinate a bit," Zachariah told him, ignoring the insult. "Marinate?" Faith and Dean asked in unison. "Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you." Faith rolled her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, irritated. "That your choices have consequences. This is what happens to the world if you continue to say no to Michael." Faith glanced back at the paper he was holding up.

"Palin defends bombing of Houston?" she asked, then turned to Dean. "Dean, I say we hunt Sarah Palin down and exile her back to Alaska where she belongs. It'd be doing Houston a great service," she said, sarcastically, earning a chuckle from the eldest Winchester. Zachariah smirked and shrugged, clearly knowing something the two didn't. "Have a little look-see." With that, the angel was gone. Faith glanced over at Dean and smiled at his smirk. "I've always hated him. He's worse than Uriel, believe me." Soon, they were pulling up to Bobby's house, and slipped out of the car. "Bobby?" There was no answer. "Dean. No Bobby, remember?" Faith whispered. "Right," Dean replied and entered the house. Sure enough, Dean found Bobby's wheelchair with the bullethole. "I think you're right, Faith. I think he is dead. Where is everybody, Bobby?" he asked, quietly. "Hey, come here," Faith called to him, and held out John's journal. Dean took it and pulled out a picture, and glanced down at it, Bobby in the front of a group of men. "Camp Chitaqua." ************************ Dean and Faith snuck up on the encampment and noticed a rather familiar outline of Dean's beloved impala. "Oh, Baby." He took Faith's hand and led her to the broken down shell of a car. "No. Oh, no, Baby, what did they do to you?" All Faith could see was Dean go down before she was hit as well, everything going black around her.

************************* A ringing in her ears caused Faith to stir and look around before she saw Dean in front of her, and beside her. She tried to stand, but hissed as the cuffs chaffed her skin. Looking back at Dean, she licked her lips. "If I remember correctly, you should know who I am," he said, watching her as she nodded. "You're the 2014 Dean." He scoffed. "And what are you, exactly?" he asked, aiming the gun at her.

"You haven't tested me? I know you tested your past self over here," she nodded at the stirring Dean beside her, who looked up at his future self, then to Faith, and back after noting that she was okay. "What the hell?"

"I should be asking that question, don't you think? In fact, why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you here and now?"

"Because you'd only be hurting yourself," Dean replied with a huff of laughter.

"Very funny." Future Dean moved back to his table of weapons.

"Look, man, I'm no Shapeshifter, or demon, or anything, okay?"

"Yea, I know. I did the drill on both of you while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water. Nothing. But you know what was funny, is that you had every lockpick, box cutter and switchblade that I carry. You wanna explain that? Oh, and the resemblance while you're at it."

"Zachariah," Dean said, simply. Future Dean's brow furrowed.

"You remember him, don't you?" Faith asked. "You should, Dean, since it was you sitting where this Dean is because of that dick angel," Faith told him, swallowing hard, earning his attention.

"That still doesn't explain how...." Future Dean's eyes widened slightly before they fell to the floor. Faith could tell he was thinking about something or someone. When his eyes met hers, again, all she could see was a heartbreaking sadness.

"You're not a monster, either, are you? You're the Faith from the past." Faith nodded, then glanced over at Past Dean and back. "I'm not sure I like that look." The future version broke eye contact, his hazel eyes blinking. He sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

"Can you...will you come with me?" he asked and moved towards her, unlocking her cuffs.

"Whoa, hey, you're just gonna leave me?" Past Dean asked as the two moved to the door. "Yes. I have a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors with an apocalypse hanging over their heads. Last thing they need to see is a version of the Parent Trap."

"You can at least uncuff me, man."

"No, absolutely not."

"Oh, come on. You don't trust yourself?"

"Absolutely not." Future Dean gently tugged on Faith's hand and led her out of his cabin and down a barely hidden pathway. "So, are you gonna tell me what this is about?" Faith asked. Dean turned to face her and without a word, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Faith slowly melted into it and pushed her fingers through his hair. She then wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled back, breathing heavily. "Okay, I'm not sure I understand." 

Dean swallowed hard and led her further down the private path.  What got her attention was the name on the headstone. Her name. "Oh god," she whispered, unable to speak any louder. "Listen, I gotta go out on a mission right now. Stay here, and we'll talk when I get back."

******************* Faith had sat at what seemed to be her own grave for hours, unable to take her eyes off of it. Silent tears fell down her cheeks, unable to think about anything but how it might've happened. Either Croatoan or Lucifer? Every now and then, she would wonder about Dean. That kiss had seemed desperate, like he'd been dying to do it for awhile. Did they ever get together? If they did, how long before she died? Letting out a shaky breath, she let more tears fall. It wasn't much longer before she felt Dean standing behind her, and swallowed hard.

"When?" she asked, her voice cracking. "A year ago. In Chicago, I brought you here, gave you a hunter's funeral, and gave you a headstone. It was my way of seeing you when I needed to. Your ashes are in my cabin." Faith's eyes burned with unshed tears.

"How?" When he didn't answer her, she stood and turned to face him. "Dean, tell me." Dean let out a deep breath, his eyes falling.

"The Croatoan virus had spread all over, started in the Windy City. You and I headed there and got separated. Eventually, we reunited, both with a few people that had tagged along. Those people are here now, most of 'em anyway. We locked down an abandoned hotel and regrouped into two groups, and made a plan to go out and look for more survivors. After that, we moved out." He licked his lips, his brow furrowing. "When you and your group didn't show up at the rendezvous point, we went looking." He stopped and swallowed hard, biting his lip. "When-- when I found you, you were barely alive, and calling out for me. I picked you up and held you in my lap. You told me you loved me and that you'd always be with me." 

Tears fell down his cheeks before he wiped his hand over his face, clearing his face of the tears, and sighed. "And I told you that I loved you, and it was over." Faith placed both of her hands over her mouth and let out a shaky breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I never should've let you go off on your own, Faith, I am so sorry. It was my fault." Faith shook her head and moved towards him, hugging him tightly.

"No, I'm sorry, Dean. Knowing me, I probably insisted." She felt him bury his face in her neck and gently squeeze her. "That's why you've barely been able to look at me. I remind you of the Faith you lost." He nodded, then opened his mouth to talk when Chuck appeared at the end of the trail. "Sorry, Dean, its time." Dean glanced at Faith and sighed, then smiled sadly as he took her hand and led her out, back to the cabin.

"Don't tell my version what you told me. I don't want him to worry about me. That'll just get him killed."

"I'm not worth that," Faith and Dean said in unison. "I knew you'd say that," he told her, glancing at her. He smiled for the first time since she'd arrived. "Is that a smile? I wasn't sure if you remembered how to do that." Dean then chuckled, and glanced at her. "I've missed you, sweetheart. All I think about anymore is what you would do, or say if you were here. And to God, I wish you were. I find myself talking to you sometimes, and I always wonder what you'd say." 

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze before releasing her. Faith glanced up when the past version walked up to them. "Hey," she said, gently dropping Dean's hand, winking at him, then turned back to her version. "We going now?" she asked, earning a pointed stare and a nod. "Where were the two of you?" he asked, his eyes shifting between the two of them.

"Dean was just showing me what the future holds," she told him, being as vague as she could possibly be. Dean's eyes betrayed him, showing his curiosity, but Faith shook her head. "Not gonna happen," she told him, slightly smirking. "Trust me, I won't let this happen to us. Any of this." Faith watched the future version of Dean closely, especially his expressions and emotions, which were rare. But she couldn't blame him. 

He'd lost everyone that had ever meant anything to him. The only people that made him happy. Swallowing hard, her eyes fell as she wasn't really paying attention to the conversations around her, and blinked when everybody but the two Deans filed out of the cabin.

******************** "We're loaded up and on the road by midnight," Future Dean ordered, followed by an "Alrighty," from Castiel. Faith let out a breath as she was overwhelmed by all the information she'd acquired. "Why are you taking me?" Past Dean asked, not seeing any reason for him to go. "Relax, you'll be fine. Zach's looking after you, right?" Dean asked, tossing firearms into a duffel bag.

"No, that's not what I mean," he said, earning his future self's attention. "I wanna know what's going on," he commanded. "Yea, okay." He rounded the table, his eyes flickering to Faith and back. "You're coming because I want you to see something. I want you to see our brother."

"Sam? I thought he was dead."

"Sam didn't die in Detroit, he said yes." Dean's face had hardened as he spoke, watching his other self put the puzzle together.

"Yes? Wait, you mean--"

"That's right, the big yes, to the devil. Lucifer's wearing him to prom." Faith could see the sting of a future betrayal in her Dean's eyes.

"Why would he do that?" he asked, swallowing thickly.

"Wish I knew. But now we don't have a choice. It's in him, and its not getting out. And we've gotta kill him, Dean."

"Could you really do that? He's in your brother, Dean," Faith intercepted, her eyes not holding anything but sadness and empathy.

"I know, and believe me, I don't want to," he said, and Faith could see just how heartbroken he truly was, before he turned his eyes back to Past!Dean. "And you need to see it, the whole damn thing, how bad it gets, so you can do it different."

"What do you mean?" Past!Dean asked.

"Zach was gonna bring you back, right? To '09?"

"Yea."

"When you get home, you say yes. You hear me? Say yes to Michael."

"That's crazy. If I let him in, then Michael fights the devil. Battle's gonna torch half the planet."

"Look around you, man! Half the planet's better than no planet, which is what we have now! If I could do it over, I'd say yes in a heartbeat."

"So why don't you?"

"I've tried. I've shouted yes til I was blue in the face. The angels aren't listening; they just left, gave up. Its too late for me, but for you..." Future Dean was pleading for his past self to go and save a world he couldn't.

"Oh no, there's gotta be another way."

"Yea, that's what I thought. I was cocky, never actually thought I'd lose. But I was wrong. Dean, I was wrong. I'm begging you. Say yes." The two stared at each other for a moment as Dean's future self regained his composure. "But you won't. Because I didn't. Because that's just not us, is it?" he asked, rhetorically. Faith swallowed hard as she watched the both of them, the tension in the room so thick, she could barely breathe.

****************** "Dean," Faith called and ran to catch up with the future Dean, gently taking his arm. "Hey, talk to me." Finally, gaining his attention, she took his hand. "Dean, let me tell you something. On the other side of the fence, where I'm from originally, you know what happens when one of these big fish rise up? You and Sam beat it, but you never do it as two douchebag angels. You take care of it as Sam and Dean Winchester. The two most badass amazing men I've ever known. Dean, you can't give up on Sam. Believe me, I wouldn't want that in any time period."

"Faith, its too late. I've tried talking to him through Lucifer. He's either too far gone, or he's refusing to listen to me," Dean said, defeated.  "Sam's gone, he's just gone." Faith sighed and gently hugged him, threading her fingers into his hair, inhaling his scent with a sympathetic frown. ********************** "There. Second floor window. We go in there," Future Dean directed, looking back at the small group behind him.

"You sure about this?" Risa asked, her brow arched.

"They'll never see us coming." Present Dean's brow furrowed as well as Faith's as they both watched him. "Trust me. Now, weapons check, we're on the move in five."

"Hey, Dean. Can we talk to you for a sec?" Faith asked, but knew he would  know she wasn't really asking. Both Deans and Faith split off and turned to face each other."

"Tell us what's going on." Past Dean demanded.

"What?"

"I know you. You're lying to these people, and to us."

"Is that so?" Future Dean asked, shifting his weight.

"Yea. See, I know your lying expressions, I've seen them in the mirror. There's something you're not telling us."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Faith watched him closely and looked up at her version of Dean.

"Really? I don't seem to be the only member of your posse with questions, so maybe I'll just take my doubts over to them," Dean threatened and took a step in that direction.

"Okay. Whoa, whoa, wait."

"What?" Dean asked, stopping and turning to face him.

"Take a look around you, man. This place should be white-hot with Crotes. Where are they?"

"They cleared a path for us, which means that this is--"

"A trap, exactly.

"Then we can't go through the front."

"Oh, we're not. They are." Dean and Faith's gazes hardened. "They're the decoys. You two and I are going in through the back."

"You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder? Cas too?" Future Dean's eyes fell, and Faith could tell he hated his plan. "You wanna use their deaths as a diversion." Future Dean turned his head to the side and clenched his jaw. Past Dean turned his eyes to Faith before going back to himself. "Oh man, something is broken in you. You're making decisions I would never make. I wouldn't sacrifice my friends."

"Dean, stop." Faith turned to face him. "You wouldn't because you haven't lost every single person that's ever meant anything to you. You still have Sam, and me, and Bobby, and you're not the one about to kill his brother in order to save the world. Look at him. Can you honestly say, you wouldn't be as heartbroken and tired of caring as he is?" Both Deans stared at each other. "He's lost everyone, Dean. Everyone." Future Dean licked his lips as he moved his eyes to Faith and set his hand on her shoulder.

"These people count on you," he said, his voice gentle. "They trust you."

"They trust me to kill the devil and save the world, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

"No, not like this, you're not. I'm not gonna let you."

"Oh really?"

"Yea."

"Dean, stop." Faith hissed, but Dean was already unconscious on the ground. She turned to face Future Dean. "Would you please quit doing that?" she asked, her voice trailing off as the future version of Dean stepped closer to her and cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Stay here, sweetheart. I can't lose you twice, and he's gonna need you. Like I did. And thank you, in advance. You were always there, even when I thought I didn't want you there. Just remember, you mean more to him than you think. He just doesn't realize it yet. Because I didn't. By God, I wish I had." He then swallowed thickly and smiled crookedly down at her before pressing his lips to her forehead in a tender kiss. "I love you, Faith. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. For everything, okay?" he asked, slowly backing away, and heading for the back once he was sure she'd stay. 

Faith was in shock. She'd never expected Dean to say anything of an intimate nature to her. Taking a shaky breath, she forced her eyes down to the past version of the love of her life, even if he didn't know it yet. Slightly, she jumped at the sound of guns going off behind her. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she knelt down and caressed his cheek. "Forgive me, Dean. I love you," she whispered, then ran after the future version.

******************** When Dean came to, he expected Faith to be there beside him, but grew nervous when he found she was nowhere near him. Getting up, he rubbed his eyes and called out to her, only to receive no answer. Running around the back, he swallowed hard at the sight in front of him. Faith was horrifically still off to the side, while his future self struggled under the weight on his neck from a white shoe. He could then hear the sickening sound of bones breaking causing his future self to grow still and his eyes to close.

"Oh, hello Dean," Lucifer!Sam said, turning to face the other Dean, earning his attention as Dean turned his attention to Lucifer. "Aren't you a surprise? You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?" Lucifer asked, appearing behind him. Dean turned, the heartbreak evident in his eyes.

"Well, go ahead. Kill me."

"Kill you? Don't you think that'd be a little..redundant? I'm sorry. It must be painful speaking to me in this..shape. But it had to be your brother. It had to be," he said, going to place his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean stepped back out of reach. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Dean. What do you think I'm going to do?"

"I don't know, maybe deep-fry the planet?" Dean suggested, sarcastically.

"Why? Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing? Beautiful in a trillion different ways, the last perfect handiwork of God. Ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?"

"Good god, you're not gonna tell me a bedtime story, are you? My stomach is almost out of bile," Dean snarled, not wanting to listen to any more.

"You know why God cast me down? Because I loved him more than anything, and then God created you. The little hairless apes, and then he asked all of us to bow down before you, to love you more than him. And I said 'Father, I can't.' I said, 'These human beings are flawed, murderous'. And for that, God had Michael cast me into Hell. Now, tell me, does the punishment fit the crime? Especially when I was right. Look what six billion of you have done to this thing, and how many of you blame me for it?"

"You're not fooling me, you know that? This sympathy-for-the-devil crap? I know what you are," Dean whispered, angrily.

"What am I?"

"You're the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly to the ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you, is the size of your ego." Lucifer smirked.

"I like you, Dean.  I get what the other angels see in you. Goodbye, we'll meet again soon." Dean took the opportunity and moved towards Faith, kneeling beside her and checking for a pulse before scooping her up into his arms and getting to his feet. "You better kill me now," Dean called after him. Lucifer stopped and turned, his brow furrowing.

"Pardon?"

"You better kill me now, or I swear I will find a way to kill you, and I won't stop."

"I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael either, and I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up, here. I win, so I win." Tears streamed down Dean's cheeks.

"You're wrong."

"See you in five years, Dean." Lightning flashed around Dean, and in Lucifer's departure arrived Zachariah, who placed two fingers upon Dean's head and set him back to his motel room. "Oh, well if it isn't the Ghost of Christmas Screw You," Dean commented and moved to lay Faith down on the bed. He covered her with his jacket and turned back to Zachariah.

"Enough, Dean, enough. You saw it, right? You saw what happens? You're the only one who can prove the devil wrong. Say yes."

"How do I know that this thing isn't one of your tricks, huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?" Dean growled.

"The time for tricks is over. Give yourself to Michael. Say yes and we can strike before Lucifer gets to Sam. Before billions die." Dean turned and his eyes moved to Faith. "Nah."

"'Nah'? You haven't learned your lesson?" Zachariah asked him.

"Oh I leaned a lesson, alright. Just not the one you wanted to teach."

"Well, I'll just have to teach it again, because I got you now, boy, and I'm never letting you--" Dean disappeared just then, and Faith smirked at Zachariah before she also disappeared. "Son of a..."

"Faith!" Dean called and helped the girl to stand. "You alright?" he asked, earning a nod.

"I will be. I just need to sleep and I'll be good to go." Dean nodded.

"We'll get a ride. Just gimme a minute, sweetheart. I'm just glad you're walkin and talkin." He smiled down at her before gently squeezing her shouder and turning to Castiel. "That's pretty nice timing, Cas."

"We had an appointment," the angel said, simply. "Don't ever change," Dean told him, his hand on the angel's shoulder. "How did Zachariah find you?" "Long story. Lets just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?" Dean asked, dialing Sam's number. "What are you doing?" "Something I should've done in the first place." ******************** "Hey, Dean. You okay?" Faith asked, sliding out of the back seat of the impala and coming to stand beside him, earning his attention and a warm smile. "Yea. How'd you sleep?" he asked. "Good, I feel better." Dean nodded and rubbed her back. "Good, you had me worried there for a minute."

"Nah, don't worry about me. I'll be okay. I'm with you, I'm safe." Dean smiled crookedly and leaned down and kissed her cheek softly. "I'm glad you're here, Faith, really. Thank you for staying close." Faith's cheeks tinted bright red as she cleared her throat. Dean turned at the sound of a car pulling up. 

"I'll wait here, Dean. Go ahead, fix things with your brother." Leaning up, she kissed his cheek tenderly and gave his hand a gently squeeze. He winked at her, then went to meet his brother.

"Sam." Dean pulled the demon knife out and held it out to Sam. "If you're serious, you want back in, you should hang onto this. I'm sure you're rusty." The two of them sighed and took a beat. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I don't know whatever I need to be, but I was wrong." Sam nodded, his brow furrowed.

"What made you change your mind?"

"Long story. The point is maybe we are each other's Achilles' heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we got. More than that, we keep each other human."

"Thank you. Really, thank you. I won't let you down." "Oh I know it. I mean, you are the second best hunter on the planet." Faith laughed quietly, not far behind Dean.

"So, what do we do now?"

"We make our own future," Dean answered his brother.

"Guess we have no choice," Sam sighed, earning a nod before the two of them made their way back to the Impala. Faith stood and moved to Sam, hugging him tightly. "Hey, Faith," he said, smiling and hugging her back.

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior​

[minimitchell]

Thank you! I’m the one who asked about a ballum ff and there is no rush at all. It would include smut but that’s ok no 🙂 It would be Ben & callum travelling in a night bus (to somewhere) and they’d be in the very back of the bus and none of the other passengers would notice their little action time (bottom Ben straddling callum). There’s no plot lol. Callum would actually be asleep and Ben waking him, hands already all over him/under his shirt and he would have some convincing to do for Callum to be on board with it. Or something like that. Could include some funny/embarrassing moments (for Callum).Tx! .. no need to post this maybe. 😇 Or just call it the night bus request. 🚌 💕

the fantasy of you and i keeps me up awake at night (ao3 link)

sorry it took a while, anon, but here we go. also this is so outside my normal comfort zone for smut but i'm hoping y'all enjoy it anyway.

.

Taking a bus from London to Amsterdam might easily be the worst idea they have ever had.

The worst part is that there isn’t even a solid reason for them doing this. It’s not like they can’t afford a flight to Amsterdam, they definitely can. But for some reason Callum somehow managed to talk him into taking a Flixbus across the channel, just to save a few bucks. We’re homeowners now, he said. We should save money where we can, he said.

Ben kind of hates how easily he folds when it comes to his husband.

They’re about halfway through the hours-long trip, somewhere in France in the middle of the night, and the already quite empty bus is dark and mostly silent, except for that one guy near the middle who’s snoring like a small chainsaw. It seems like all the passengers are dead asleep right now - everyone except for Ben that is.

Him and Callum are in the very last row of seats; Callum in the window seat and Ben next to him. There are rows of empty seats in front of them, all the way up to the middle portion of the bus, so at least there’s some illusion of privacy. It’s definitely better than the bus being filled to the brim.

Callum is turned towards the window, a sweater bundled together to rest under his head like a pillow. He always does this on long journeys and Ben isn’t jealous of it at all, no way. He just wishes he could fall asleep in a car or on a train or on a plane, but sadly he can’t. Not like his husband can.

Ben has never been able to sleep in a moving vehicle. Ever since he was little he just couldn’t do it. It’s always too loud or not dark enough or he isn’t comfortable enough to fall asleep. Which is a pretty unfortunate circumstance when you’re trapped in a bus for hours on end in the middle of the night.

At first, he tried doing other things to keep himself entertained. He watched some videos on his phone, bothered Jay until he obviously fell asleep himself and then tried just looking out the window at the French countryside. Nothing helped alleviate his boredom and he certainly wasn’t going to spend the rest however many hours just sitting around here.

He needed something to tire him out or at least keep him occupied for some time.

And he has just the idea what that could be.

Ben leans forward into Callum’s space, letting his hand run up and down Callum’s arm, slightly shaking to get him to wake up again. He can’t have been asleep for long, or in a deep slumber yet, because he starts twitching almost immediately; that familiar crease between his eyebrows appearing like it always does right before he wakes up.

“Babe? Babe. Cal, wake up.”

There’s only a groan as a response, but Ben can tell Callum is well on his way to consciousness right now. Even if he’s probably still hoping Ben will just leave him alone if he doesn’t engage.

“What?”

Callum turns around to face him, eyes still stubbornly closed; almost like he’s planning on falling back asleep once Ben has told him whatever he wants to say. Not if Ben gets his way though.

“I can’t sleep.”

Ben can feel more than hear the annoyed sigh Callum lets out at that. He cracks one eye open, peering down at Ben beside him, and whatever he finds must convince him he’s not going to go back to sleep for a while, because the next thing he does is sit up straighter, opening both of his eyes now.

He’s probably used to it after well over two years with Ben. His inability to fall asleep on the road has come up time and time again since they got together. At first, Callum thought it was a cute little quirk; like you always do when you’re first falling for someone and everything about them gives you butterflies.

He still gets them now, the butterflies, but by now Callum is probably more than aware of the fact that Ben’s sleeplessness when travelling affects him as well. Because Ben expects to be entertained by him, or at least for Callum to stay awake with him.

For the most part, Callum is fine with that seeing as they’re never really going anywhere one of them doesn’t drive to but on rare occasions like this one, it’s pretty damn grating. Callum definitely knows they’re both going to be tired and grumpy when they arrive in Amsterdam and that isn’t really how he wants to start this little getaway.

“Have you even tried?”

Ben rolls his eyes in the dark of the bus, only illuminated by the passing streetlights outside. He’s glad it’s not enough for Callum to see his expression; he needs to be on his best behavior if he wants to convince Callum of this idea in his head.

“You could help me fall asleep, you know.”

Ben’s hand runs over Callum’s thigh and dips lower to the inseam of his sweatpants, fingertips brushing against his dick over the soft fabric. Callum doesn’t turn away from the touch, but he does lift his thigh a little so that Ben’s hand dislodges from his place against his cock.

“Ben! No.”

“Come on. No one will notice.”

He leans in close to whisper the words into Callum’s ear, making sure to dart his tongue out and trace along the lobe for good measure afterwards. He’s not above pulling out all the stops to convince Callum to do this with him right now. It might have just been a quick throwaway idea, but the more he thinks about the possibility of it the hornier he finds himself getting.

His hand dips lower again; fingers dancing up and down Callum’s shaft. This time, Callum lets him continue his actions; his dick slowly but surely hardening under Ben’s touch.

“Absolutely not.”

Callum’s protest is weak, his voice already way too breathless to be taken seriously by Ben. If he really were against this, Ben would stop immediately. But he knows his husband pretty well and he can read his body like a book. Every little reaction is telling enough for Ben.

It’s all the go-ahead he needs.

“S’not what your dick says.”

As if to prove a point, Ben tightens his hand, reveling in the hard intake of breath Callum does in response to it. He can tell his husband is trying his hardest to keep the noises in. So much so that Ben almost lets the desire to coax each sound out of Callum overtake him, damning any embarrassing consequences it could bring.

“Because you keep, hm, keep touching it.”

Ben barely manages to keep his gleeful laugh in when Callum pushes his leg out, opening his thighs wider and giving Ben better access to his dick. It means he can crowd in even closer and twist his hand just right, now firmly holding onto his husband’s length. Callum’s head tips backwards against his seat, eyes closing against the onslaught of arousal.

The taught, white skin of his neck is too inviting for Ben not to lean down and attach his mouth to it, trailing up and down.

“Ben, we can’t. Not here.”

Callum leans far enough back to catch Ben’s eyes. Ben thinks he’s trying to look stern and he’d probably succeed if Ben didn’t have his hard cock in his hand right now. The least he can do is offer him some relief.

Ben’s free hand runs up Callum’s chest, his fingers playing with the collar of his dark blue sweatshirt. He presses his nose back up against Callum’s cheek, looking up at him from under his lashes. There’s a smile playing on his face that always seems to come so naturally to him whenever he’s with Callum, even if he’s trying to be sexy right now.

“We’ll be quiet.”

“You’ve never been quiet in your life during sex.”

It’s a good point. An extremely good point considering how many pointed comments they received that period of time they were living at Stuart and Rainie’s flat. Or from Lola before that. So yeah, Callum does have a point when he says he’s not the quietest person during sex.

And it’s not like he can talk as well. Callum is incredibly noisy when he wants to be. Or rather, when he lets himself be.

Maybe Ben just needs to take it up a notch in order to get Callum on board with this.

“It’ll be a laugh. Come on, I know you, baby. You like it a little dangerous. Out in the open. Remember, I know all your fantasies, babe.”

It’s true. Ben had an inkling that there was a secret exhibitionism kink hiding behind Callum’s big innocent giant act when he had no qualms about getting hot and heavy in the park during their first intimate encounter together, but he had no idea just how much Callum gets turned on by the chance of them being interrupted or heard by someone else.

He isn’t opposed to the odd quickie in the car lot or at the Arches when Ben is supposed to be working and anyone could walk in at any time. There are times he gets his husband so riled up with little comments and strategically placed touches that he drags Ben into the toilets in the Albert to give his mouth and hands something else to do. And they’ve even revisited that park once or twice to pay a little tribute to the thing that started it all between them.

So he knows perfectly well that the thought of doing anything here, where any other person on the bus could easily wake up and figure out what exactly they’re doing, must be quite exhilarating for Callum. He can’t really play the purity card when Ben can physically feel him growing harder at his hushed words.

Like he said, he knows Callum. They’re open and honest about what turns them on and off, what they like and dislike. No one has ever known him as intimately and deeply as Callum does and Ben knows it’s the same the other way as well. Ben loves that.

It also means that he can pinpoint the exact second Callum lets himself give in and shifts into what Ben teasingly calls his sexy mode. It’s a win for Ben, for sure.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Callum wraps his arm around Ben’s waist and tugs until Ben understands what he wants him to do. He sits himself square on Callum’s lap, legs resting on either side of Callum’s hips on the plush seats and fingers immediately finding a home in Callum’s hair, combing through the strands. He hasn’t had it cut in a while, too lazy to do it so close to their little holiday, and Ben can’t find the words to say just how much he loves it like this. He looks almost prince-like when it’s all soft and flat on his head and it’s the prettiest thing in the world to Ben.

“Thought you were gonna say I should be lucky I’m so fit.”

“Hm, that too.”

Callum’s smirk tastes a lot like bliss when their lips meet in a kiss, their tongues brushing almost immediately. Ben is trying hard to keep the sighs from escaping his throat, knowing they have to be quiet for this to go any further. But he can’t help it, kissing Callum is close to being the best thing he has ever gotten to do.

Even if he tried to convince himself otherwise at the time, Ben knew that first time they kissed each other that it was different with Callum; that it felt different with him. When their lips had met that night, he had felt it in his bones. Ben knows how rare it is to feel this way and Callum has never made him feel any different since.

Ben’s hands leave their place in Callum’s hair to travel down his chest, running over the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. He can feel the intake of breath Callum does when he reaches the edge of his sweatpants, fingers dipping under the waistband. Ben looks up to see if there’s any hesitation on Callum’s face, any sign that he isn’t one hundred percent on board with this, but Callum seems perfectly fine by the looks of it, with his eyes still closed like he wants to savor their kisses and the tips of his ears turning pink.

The grey fabric gets pushed down just enough for Ben to free Callum’s still hard cock, lazily sliding his fist up and down the shaft. Seeing Callum bite his bottom lip to refrain from making any noise at Ben’s actions fills him with a surge of heat that travels all throughout his body. Maybe they have to look more into this, if Callum’s inability to make much noise gets Ben so hot and bothered.

Right now though, he’s more concerned with getting himself undressed as well, just enough to get Callum in him. It’s a tight fit back here and Ben has to move around a fair bit to get his own pants far enough down to still be able to move on top of him. Ben has had sex in cars before so he knows how to maneuver himself, but a cramped seat on a bus is still vastly different from lying flat on your back in the backseat of a Ford.

They keep a small packet of lube in the side pocket of the backpack for situations just like this one and it turns out to be a godsend again and again, this time being no different. Ben is the first to admit he used to be a little bit slutty and while he doesn’t care for sex with anyone that isn’t Callum anymore, some remnants of that time in his life still remain. Remnants, for which having lube on hand at all times proves to be very helpful.

He’s glad Callum appreciates their spontaneity as well.

At any other time, Ben would let Callum open him up. His fingers are long and slender, thick enough to fill him just right, and they’re sure to drive him positively mad each and every time. Callum knows where and when to drag, to go fast or when to let Ben catch his breath to keep him teetering just on the brink.

But space is limited as it is and it’s easier for Ben to reach down and open himself up. Besides, seeing the way Callum’s face shifts into open hunger and desire as he watches Ben touch himself more than makes up for the lack of his husband’s fingers in him. There’s so much heat and open amazement for Ben in his eyes, it makes Ben breathless with want for the man in front of him.

The air around them feels thick and stuffy; charged in the best way possible. Ben keeps his lips firmly pressed together, effectively trapping in any sounds threatening to escape; his free hand digging into the skin of Callum’s biceps, making dents in the skin. They could easily be the only two people in this bus, in the world, right now. It feels like it; it always does.

Everything is zeroed down to just them when they’re together like this, like nothing else matters except for them making the other feel good. And he wants nothing more right now than to make Callum feel absolutely wrecked.

Ben detracts his fingers when he feels like he’s at least somewhat ready, reaching out to coat Callum’s dick with the excess lube on his hand. Before he can wrap his fingers around Callum’s length though, he’s stopped by a hand on his chest, causing him to catch his husband’s eyes almost immediately.

“Wait.”

Ben is about to climb down from Callum’s lap, thinking he has changed his mind about this and wanting to give him space, but Callum keeps him seated with a hand on his hip now. Instead, he’s leaning down himself, his other hand disappearing in the backpack still sitting in the space under their seat.

“What?”

The confusion doesn’t lift when Callum eventually finds what he must have been looking for, unearthing two condoms from somewhere in the bag. They obviously haven’t used condoms in ages but they still keep some just in case. Better than throwing them away, right? Ben just doesn’t understand what Callum wants with them now.

“I’m not about to get cum on this bus. And neither are you.”

Ben doesn’t really care about it, but he’s not going to start arguing with his husband when he’s this close to getting lucky. Callum could probably ask him to wear a clown costume and Ben would do it if it meant he’d get fucked by Callum in a timely manner. He’s that whipped for his husband’s dick.

He lets Callum roll the condom onto his dick, suppressing the moan clawing itself up his throat when Callum runs his fingers up and down the length of it for good measure. Maybe having to be completely silent while he’s getting laid is going to be more difficult than Ben had first thought.

Before Callum can put the condom on himself though, Ben stops him to do the honors himself, coating Callum’s dick with the excess lube still covering his other hand. He sinks down as slowly as he can, almost drawing blood from how hard he’s biting down on his bottom lip to keep quiet.

The fabric of Callum’s sweatpants is a stark contrast to his smooth skin and the feeling is simultaneously alien and exhilarating. They don’t have a lot of clothed sex, not like this anyway, and the almost foreign feeling against his bare ass is another stimulant for Ben’s already overloaded brain, all mixing together to create a mess of heightening arousal.

Ben eventually bottoms out, head tipped back and mouth open on a silent gasp. He can feel Callum’s heaving breaths where he’s pressed against him, his chest rising and falling in quick tempo.

“You good?”

Callum mumbles the words into Ben’s own shirt, pressed against his sternum. He sounds wrecked from just those two, little words; out of breath and completely wild. It’s one of the best sounds Ben ever got to hear; topped among other things only by Callum’s uninhibited moans when Ben makes him feel especially good.

Ben’s head tips back forward to nod at his husband, sealing their mouths back together when he begins to move. The rise and fall of his hips pushes sounds from him that he stifles by pressing his firmly-closed lips against Callum’s with all his might. Callum’s hands are fisted in Ben’s shirt, bunching up the back and wrinkling the dark red fabric.

It’s fucking good - it always is with Callum, better than anything he’s known before - but when Callum moves to adjust their bodies to meet Ben’s thrusts halfway, it becomes a little too good. On the next down movement, Callum thrusts up as well and the subtle change in their position means he’s now able to hit deeper, nudging right against that spot that makes Ben see stars.

Callum must be able to sense what this is doing to Ben, must be able to read his body and its tells better than he does himself, because he reaches around to clamp a hand over Ben’s mouth, pushing one finger in for Ben to bite down on it, nipping the scream that’s about to topple out of his mouth in the bud before it can be unleashed.

It would be a miracle if no one heard his moan, even muffled by Callum’s hand over his mouth, and Ben thinks they can really count themselves lucky if they didn’t manage to wake anyone up with it. He’d be more preoccupied with it, if he weren’t so trapped in the feeling of pure pleasure overtaking every nerve-ending in his body.

He’s panting hot against Callum’s hand now; heat spreading in his belly to announce his impending orgasm hurtling closer and closer. It doesn’t feel fair to Ben that he’s the only one struggling to contain his moans though; he thought Callum would have a lot more difficulties holding back.

It’s a good thing he knows Callum better than anyone; knows exactly what makes him lose control. It’s definitely a dirty trick to play but the whole reason they’re doing this right now is because they like it a bit dirty, right? So Ben doesn’t exactly feel bad when he lets one of his hands wander down to Calum’s chest, expertly finding his left nipple. He clamps his other hand over Callum’s mouth before he pinches his fingers, reveling in the way Callum’s hips involuntarily buck upwards in response.

Callum lightly bites the palm of his hand in retaliation and Ben can’t help but smile at it, even in the midst of heavy passion. He just really loves it when Callum is being silly and playful with him. Especially during sex.

The smile quickly dies down though when Callum’s free hand wraps around Ben’s cock, setting a punishing rhythm. Ben isn’t sure when this became seeing who can make the other come first, but he isn’t complaining. Not at all.

Not when it means he gets to feel that burning sensation take over his entire body, his muscles tensing and then relaxing as the waves of his climax wash over him. He must pinch Callum’s nipple again in his haze of pleasure, because he bucks into Ben again once, twice before he’s also coming. The hand that just moments ago had coaxed Ben’s orgasm out of him now snakes around his middle to pull him closer into Callum’s body.

They’re so close they might as well be one entity, one sole person. Their hands fall from each other’s mouths, wrapping around any skin they can reach to unite the two of them in a tight hug. Ben tucks his head into the crease of Callum’s neck, waiting until the tremors subside and their breathing returns to a normal pace.

It takes a lot longer than Ben would like to admit for him to regain the feeling in his legs enough to dismount and fall into the seat beside Callum again. He has just enough brainpower to take the condom off and tie it, thankful for Callum taking it off of him because he would have no idea how or where to get rid of it right now.

He pulls his pants and underwear back up, trying to make himself look at least a bit presentable, but his movements feel slowed down; his limbs already being pulled under the mantle of sleepy exhaustion.

Ben is still too out of it to notice what exactly Callum does to get rid of the condoms but whatever it is, it only takes him a few moments until he leans back into the seat, putting on his own clothes again as well.

“You okay, darlin’?”

“Hm. Tired.”

Callum lets out a quiet chuckle, pulling Ben into his side, letting him tuck himself into his body. He’s definitely all too aware of the fact that Ben always conks out almost immediately after sex and Ben feels his eyes fall shut as soon as his head is pillowed on Callum’s chest.

The last thing he’s conscious of is Callum pressing a kiss to his forehead, mumbling something about getting Ben to shut up, before finally, finally, falling asleep for the remainder of their journey.

He’ll have to keep this in the back of his mind for the ride back.

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales Final Four: The Life and Crimes of Scrooge McDuck Review! or The Batman Trial Episode but with Ducks, Sharks, And the Fonz

Hello all you happy people and welcome to the penultimate Ducktales review... for season 3 anyway. I still have most of season 1, all of season 2 (I did cover one but I’ll probably redo it), the tie-in comics, the 87 series, and even then i’ll never really be done with ducks between all the scrooge comics and other duck related shows like Darkwing Duck and Quack Pack. But as far as covering the show as it comes out as i’ve done for the past year, that’s’ts almost done. It’s honestly just starting to hit as I type this: this is the second to last episode. After next week while there’s always fan fiction (And I certainly aim to contribute to that), a possible Darkwing Duck Reboot under frank (though that’s in doubt) where they could show up, and a movie down the road given what we saw with Phienas and Ferb and the show’s popularity it’s still not the same as getting these well animated, well crafted adventures every week with breaks or the ocasional entire week of them. The show won’t go on, and whatever happens with the property next is a mystery no amount of ducks can solve. 

So with all that in mind naturally this episode is a breather episode: It’s not unimportant: like the rest of the season it ties off a lot of loose ends, adds in some stuff we didn’t know we wanted, and in general feels necessary like every episode this season. It’s something I credit the season for immensley: They knew this would probably be it so while they had more stories to tell, they made sure if these were their last, to leave no loose ends. And outside of ones they just never wanted to address in the first place like “What happened to Donald’s parents”, “Why was every trace of Della missing despite Scrooge’s search for her having just ended”, and “What did Della thing of the decades long seperation”, they’ve tied up pretty much all of them except for FOWL and what Beakly was lying about, and I feel both are about to ducktail into one another int he finale. Could be wrong but  I applaud them for tying off almost every loose end and character arc by this episode that isn’t related to FOWL in some way. Not every show can do that: She Ra was a masterpiece but still had a few things like Scorpia and Catra’s broken relationship, Hordak’s reformation and Adora’s Parents just left up in the air due to time constraints, Steven Universe ONLY got to go back and answer a lot of questions because they were lucky enough to get an epilogue mini series, and Star Vs... was not as good as either show by the end and by the finale about 80% of things it’d brought up all had the following answer:

My point is it’s VERY hard, even when you know the end is coming to tie everything up in a neat bow. And I can’t know how good the finale be or how satsifying it will be but given how well this season’s wrapped everything up so far,  i’m betting on immensely. But we can talk about that when it finally comes around next week. For now we have a trial episode to talk about that’s mostly good.. mostly. See why the mostly under the cut as I discuss and recap the episode with full spoilers.  Count it down!

We open in the Mansion, where a bunch of tribble like Fuzzy creatures are running amok. Unsuprisingly, Scrooge bought one for Louie as a pet to teach him responsiblity.. again. And once again he instead turned into a get rich quick scheme, didn’t read the manual and now they have an infestation. 

ONCE AGAIN, Louie is written like he’s barely changed at all in the past three seasons. Anyone whose been following my reviews regularly knows this has been a pet peeve of mine for the entire season. Despite having an ENTIRE arc about Louie growing as a character and learning the human cost of his scheming and to use his angle seeing talent’s wisely, the writers keep writing him as if he learned nothing. I went back to track it and while not as often as it felt I noticed a few things. The first is that it WASN’T like this for the first half of the season. No really. He even learns brand new lessons in The Trickening and Louie’s Eleven. Granted he also exploits his uncle in Louie’s Eleven but that’s mostly played for laughs.. still not a great bit but not a major part of the episode. 

So he was fine for the first act of the season... but then for whatever reason from Let’s Get Dangerous onwards (Again I don’t count the Christmas episode as both of those are meant to slot in anywhere and chronologically take place before this season for the timeline to make any sense), he’s just...

He’s utterly insufferable in his small parts of the first half of Let’s Get Dangerous! as he berates Huey for daring to look a gifthorse int he mouse.. even though everytime he’s seemingly got something for nothing or minimal effort it’s backfired and it’s something that seeemd to stick with “The Richest Duck in the World!”. He’s fine in Impossibin and alright in split sword as while he clearly hadn’t learned lying isn’t the best policy we at least got a good story out of it. He then went right back to obnoxious with New Gods on the Block where he, EPISODES AFTER THE SOLEAGEO FISACO again thinks an easy way out is the right way, and has NO guilt over possibly killing a bunch of people with his gold powers and in fact is disapointed he dosen’t get to keep a living being turned to gold!. He spents all of Fight for Castle McDuck being a huge dick to Huey AGAIN iwth no lesson, and now has yet another family endagering get rich quick scheme he feels no remorse about. 

I will admit when I”m wrong and I DID think it was in way more of the season than I thought. And let’s face it in real life personal issues don’t just go away and you can sometimes slide back, i’ve done it way too many times and i’m not proud of it. We’re only human. But this isn’t real life, this is cartoon ducks. And cartoon duck wise most character development has stuck or if a bad trait’s come back it’s been in a new way. Webby is still trusting, but knows how the world works now and while idolizing scrooge dosen’t think he’s perfect anymore. Huey is no longer a skpetic towards the super natural and hasn’t forced a party on anyone. Dewey hasn’t craved other people’s love or thought he needed to earn his mom’s love again. And that’s just the other kids. They aren’t the same people theyw ere going in, neither is Louie. So it’s grating when an episode acts like h’es exactly the same, let alone almost a fifth of the season.

What makes it even worse though is that he had an ENTIRE STORY ARC dedicated to learning some of these lessons already. With the others if one episode were forgotten i’d let it slide as it happens with tv, i’m used to it. It’s not a great look but it happens. Mistakes happen again we’re all human. But you can’t act like an entire arc of a series didn’t exist. While they ignore Della’s history somehow being hidden for the rest of the show they don’t ignore that Dewey spent a whole season looking for her, as he never hides something like that from his brothers again nor do they, and he’s out of them the biggets mama’s boy. While they did take a while to adress Lena, partly because the episode got pushed back, they didn’t act like season 1 never happened and she was still working for her aunt. Della still isn’t on the moon and Owlson still isn’t working for glomgold. Actions. Have. Consequences. That’s the whole point of this episode, but they act like none of it got through to louie and it makes his arc feel like a giant waste in hindsight. This episode even feels like it was SUPPOSED to be in that arc: Louie is back to his season 2 characterization, Scrooge is actively trying to mentor him again.. it just feels really out of place as our second to last episode in that way and drags it down a bit.

Thankfully after Scrooge bars the door, and possibly leaves everyone to their deaths but he presumably has enough faith in the kids, the twins and Beakley to take care of it, he gets a summons to court.. and gets kidnapped. He and Louie are whisked away to a mystic court presided over by a giant statue of justice holding scales, that judges someone based on Karma. Scrooge’s foes have brought him to court, blaming him for being evil and if he looses he looses EVERYTHING. And their proscutor? 

Sadly not Droopy, maybe next continuity, but searing the same Hannibal-Esque Getup is Doofus Drake to Louie’s horror. As for why he’s like this.. he thought iht was fun. Great gag. 

After the credits we find out why he’s doing this: He’s still pissed about Louie taking half his inheritance and giving it to his family, so he’s going to take LOUIE’S inheritance. It’s.. honestly a great setup: Doofus was already a villian I liked, being a nice weird evil mirror dewey instead of a walking fat joke like last series. So I was glad to both see him pop up one last time to make it a full trilogy of apperances as an angonist and to see him take a step up from his passive roll in the past: in his first two apperances while he was evil and abusive, and still is, his evil was mostly due to his own warped logic, feeling he could put shock collars on and control people and that Louie lying to him was enough to warrant making him into a pinata. He’s still a bad person mind you: kid or not he ensdlaved his parents, tried to enslave louie and goldie and in general REALLY needs some help empathizing with people. But my point is that before he didn’t come after anyone.. so it’s a nice capper to have his final turn as antaognist be him going after our hero.. and at his most dangerous. Before someone would’ve come for Louie eventually in Doofus’ first apperance and Goldie would’ve found a way out or Scrooge, despite grumbling about it, would’ve helped.. if nothing else than to lord having to save her from a 12 year old over her. Here if he wins the family is out on the street and three of their greatest enemies are now infinitely more well funded. 

So while naturally unnerved by his rival Louie offers to defend Scrooge who denies it despite the fact that Louie is REALLY good with words, and Scrooge, while not bad with them, can’t stop shouting and keeps pissing off the baliff, played by my boy Henry Winkler whose done a lot of voice work and also played Fonzie on Happy Days, is currently on the HBO series barry and in general is just a fucking delight. The irony is also not lost on me that he’s not playing a lawyer here despite being one on arrested development. 

We get our first witness: FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD. Hell. Yes. It’s nice to see him in his full glory one last time, as I don’t know how much he’ll be in the finale. Scrooge blows of the Duke Baloney thing, which is fair given that while Scrooge screwed up there, Glomgold still stole money from him right after and then spent his whole life trying to one up him. But Glomgold has a different tale in mind as he stole something else from him: the limelight. 

It was 1980-something and Glomgold was a bonified celebrity in Duckberg for his hot dogging, grandstanding and treasure hunting loved by all and took Baba Wawa, a nice mix of Barbra Walters and the parody of her on SNL by the late Gilda Radner, to a shark shaped cave to get the gem of the shark god, a ruby tooth at the end of the cave. Naturally Scrooge popped up and easily made his way through and stole the spotlight. As it turns out he wasn’t always well loved and it makes sense: he dismises Baba asking him about how disliked he is, and dosen’t care and even in the current story, or rather season 1 of it, he dismiseed PR entirely in Jaw$. He was rich enough and enough of a job provider he just didn’t see the need for fame or glory, that just came second so it’s logical no one liked him. Fortunes naturally reverse as you’d expect though: Glomgold dashes forward and ends up putting Baba and her camerabird in danger and being Glomgold he irrationally assumes she’s working for Scrooge and leaves her to die. Scrooge however, after getting the rock, goes out of his way to save her because it’s the right thing to do. He can be selfish at times, and as we’ll see monstrously so, but at his core Scrogoe is a good man who will do right when the chips are down. So this leaves Glomgold trapped and Scrogoe getting his good press instead and realizes he likes the attention. 

As the flashback ends Glomgold fills in the gaps, pointing out he was stuck with the sharks for days, but slowly bonded with them learned from them and they became family, helping him with traps, joining him for thanksgiving and even getting a heart taatoo with a shark on it. Awww. Look I didn’t really need to know where Glomgold’s love of sharks came from, nor that he had some weird tarzan origin story with them.. but my life is 100% better knowing all of this so thank you Frank and Matt. Thank you. I’m also entirely convinced the two have had this whole part of his backstory ready to go for three seasons and were waiting to use it, along with the other two bits we’re about to get to. This episode as you can tell is also a vingette episode, but one where the wraparound is way more improtant than usual.. but it works given the setting and allows the stories to be as long as they actually need to be, and it addds some nice stakes instead of just having Scrooge’s villians gripe about him. 

Scrooge protests and the Bailiff puts a clamp on his beak, so he has no choice in the matter when Louie steps up for the defense. Louie also proves that irresponsible he may be.. he’d be a damn good lawyer, as he easily picks things apart, pointing out Glomgold was ALREADY bad by then, Scrooge had no intent to steal the spotlight and Glomgold is currently planting dynamite under his chair, with predictable and hilarious results. So he gets put on the “good” side of the scale. Next witness.

Next up is Ma, and I was delighted that as I’d hoped and theroized this episode wrapped up one little plot point that while not major, was something I was curious about: Ma’s claims Scrooge stole Duckburg from her family.  This was also likely the backbone of the episode at one point as Frank pitched a beagle trial episode at one time, but Disney nixed it. Likely the magic stuff was added both to justify it better and to distract Disney Channel’s higher ups because they constantly underestimate what a child will like. It was for the best though as the beagles are just a bit weaker here: While Character Actress Margo Martindale is a delight and was specifically cast for the role, overall it just feels like they ran out of ways to make the beagles a big threat and releigated them to muscle when needed, to the point they only appeared in one episode besides this one this season as with FOWL about, they didn’t really need villians of the week and what ones they did use like Glomgold and Mark were far more entertaining villains who needed a coda to their stories.They aren’t bad characters, but in a series where their breaking into the bin or mansion wasn’t a story the crew was interested in they served no real purpose. 

So we finally get answers about the whole Deed thing: It was sometime in Ma’s childhood, good look guessing when, and the Beagles owned Duckburg having clearly overwhelmed Fort Duckburg at some point in history between Clinton’s defense of it and now, with Grandpa “Pa” Beagle finally making an apperance. In the comics he was basically what Ma is to both series: the scheming brains behind the beagles who showed up on occasion and it was a good idea to use him as the past version of her. 

Scrooge naturally comes a calling and unsurprisingly Ma was lying: Scrooge offered to buy the place first from Pa, he refused outright, and then when Scrooge showed off the money he was offering, Pa bet the deed for it in an arm wrestling contest. Not only that but as Scrooge finds out as he almost looses, Pa was cheating having a smaller beagle boy operate pull a lever in a device attached to his arm to give pa extra force. Scroooge simply dropped a few coins to distract the guy and claimed victory and the deed. 

Little Ma is left dejected though and Doofus claims he ruined his life, but Louie steps up, at this poitn Scrooge has learned to reign himself ina nd accepted Louie as his defense without saying anything, a nice subtle bit. He probably realized that while irrepsonsible.. Louie has everything to loose her and no reason to slack off and dosen’t even relaly have to lie for his uncle to get him off: he’s simply using his ablitiy to see all the angles to poke holes in their story. 

Case in point, he orders the “tape” to continue and finds Little Ma berating her dad for his failure and forcefully taking control of the family. LIke Glomgold, Scrooge may of cost her something.. but it was something she and her family hadn’t earned and they were still on a bad road. Scrooge just made it worse. 

But suprisingly, its MAGICA, who we’ve established is an uncaring monster, who has a story Scrooge genuinely feels bad about. Like the rest she was not a good person: Long ago she and her brother Poe were extorting a villiage, and lording over it as gods, changing the population into goats, toads and other things. The only diffrence from what Magica would do to the blot and presumiibly others later, is that Poe reigned in her manical tend ices, trying to get her to think things through. The goat transformation was so they’d have milk and at least get something out of it and as to not waste all their slaves. Poe is voiced by Martin Freeman of The Hobbit and Black Panther fame. Great actor, does amazing work here.  So like the others Scrooge changed things, and fought someone with bad intentions for his own self. He talked Magica into fighting him with both amulets by playing into her ego and Poe trying to talk her down, and easily deflected her bolt with the dime to turn her into a crow with her own spell. So far it’s just like the other tales in a nice mirror.. it’s what comes next that makes Scrooge into a  bad guy too. Not as bad as Magica and Poe.. but sitll not good. Poe dives selflessly in front of the coin.. and shockingly while she cared nothing for Lena.. that wasn’t the case for Poe. Magica is truly devastated, desperatly trying to put the amulet back on and begging scrooge for help while he just ignores her and fills up his sack. And while they both deserved it... Scrooge and Louie both recognize he was wrong as the flashback ends with Poe escaping and Magica sitll haven’t having found him to this day. And props to Catharine Tate here a she takes a normally hammy terrible person who was wholly unsympathetic and manages to make her painfully human.  

What makes the act so terrible is not who it happened to, they both desrved it, but Scrooge’s attitude, utterly callous to magica’s pain with not a drop of sympathy. While she deserved it as did Poe.. he’s not doing this to her as some justice for her crimes, or because she did something horrible to him or any valid reason.. he’s doing it because he’d rather get more of her and poes gold than lift one finger to help someone who had , for all his evil, selflessly sacrificed himself for his sister. For all Poe’s evil and tyranny.. there MIGHT of been a good man in them, in both of them.. and Scrooge could’ve cared less. He shut the door on Magica ever becoming a good person, ever getting her brother back to line his own wallet and to satisfy his own ego. See that’s the true mark of a hero: how they treat others, even the worst of them. And in his lowest moment Scrooge could’ve cared less about anyone but himself. 

Scrooge feels bad and Louie does finally get the responsibility thing and this is where things start to go off the rails: he apologizes to Doofus and admits he dosen’t want an enteral rivalry and h’es sorry for any pain he caused. The off the rails part is because Doofus is genuinely not a good person, ahs done very bad things and is trying to bankrupt Louie for the crime of “taking half your fortune after you used it to torment and enslave your own parents’. It just.. dosen’t play as well as they’d like. That said I DO like both Louie deciding to bury the hatchet instead of just avoiding him and Doofus showing some nobiity in accepting it. Maybe he’ll change. 

He goes off into the night, and Scrooge genuinely apologizes and accepts repsonsiblity... and here’s where the plot finishing going off the rails and into someone’s living room: the bailiff AWARDS THEM SCROOGE’S FORTUNE BECAUSE HE ADMITTED SOME CUPLABLITY AND WAS HUMBLE. 

This just.. it makes no sense, it will never not baffle me and it hurts my brain> Yes he admitted some wrong doing and apologized for it.. but it was also THROUGHLY proven the other two weren’t his fault, and he was simply being a good man which should get him some good. Thankfully the conclusion is a bit better, as Louie points out while they made him, he made you so who made who, who made you... okay i’m getting into the AC/DC of things point is these incidents all shaped Scrooge into a better person.  His mistake with Magica. is clearly learned from. He’s stopping a group of bullies in Ma’s story and saving a life without a second thought in the second. He learned to value others, to value family all because THEY showed him what happens when you don’t. By seeing the worst person he could be.. he became the best. So the trial’s thrown out his assets are returned, and their teleported out before magica can hit them with lighting. Lesson learned.. well kinda Louie tells scrooge to do it because he got the pet. 

Final Thoughts for The Life and Crimes of Scrooge McDuck:

Great title aside.. this one is a mess. It’s not a terrible episode: the flashbacks are genuinely engaging, each one helping flesh out the villians and in Ma’s case pulling one last dangling plot thread. Glomgold’s was just entertaining , clevelry using his 80′s origns for an 80′s style news special and giving us the origin to his love of sharks that we didn’t know we needed., Ma’s tied up a loose plot threat with a fun flashback and Magica’s was genuinely heart wrenching and did the tall task of making us feel for someone that terrible. The wraparound.. was a bit weaker. Doofus was the best part, playing an excellent manipulative bastard lawyer, and being a genuine threat and his walking away peacefully was a nice touch, and Louie having to defend scrooge was great and showed him off better than ever. And Louie did get some moments to shine.. it was just wierldy bookened with him acting terribly AGAIN, in a way he should know better than in an episode where he acts fine for most of it and even then he thinks lying to a judge is a good idea! I know he’s 12 but he’s not this stupid and while as I made very clear i’ve seen this shit before, I haven’t seen it flip flop in the same episode. Louie deserves better than this. 

But it’s also in service to a responsiblility aseop that just.. dosen’t work as presented. Yes you should take responsiblity for your past, yes you should learn from your mistakes and own up to them, I have, and yes it’s all too easy to slide back> That’s all fine.. but him apologizing to Ma, whose family was terorrizing a town, and Glomgold, who he did nothing to, and having Louie apologize to Doofus, who while he tried to exploit him still enslaved his own parents and deserved to loose half his fortune AND loosing half his fortune wasn’t even the main thing Louie wanted to do as his main goal was getting BOYD a loving family.. it’s bullshit. Just pure Grade-A bullshit. Why are you booing them their right. It’s a good idea for a moral but it’s executed so overwhelmingly poorly it bogs down what was otherwise an exceptional episode, into just passable.  It’s just mind numbing and saddening to know the next to last episode wasted so much good ideas on a clumsy moral. Thankfully I have hope the finale will be better, and again at least we got some good out of this one. 

Next Time: Endgame Baby! Clan McDuck and their Amazing Friends Vs F.O.W.L. for the fate of adventure itself! One last ride! I can hardly wait!

This week on the blog: Ducks Ducks and more ducks.. and a top 12 list of my faviorite superheroines later today’s for international women’s day. But after that we have more of the Della arc, the last step in the Lena arc before Shadow War next week, and the 87 ducktales pilot treasure of the golden suns!

If you liked this review, share it around, follow for more, and you can comission your own for 5 dolalrs an issue or episode, or kick in some money on my patroen, link on my blog. Even a dollar a month helps and my next stretch goal is 5 dollars away and if we reach it i’ll review both the super ducktales mini series introducing gizmoduck AND a darkwing duck episode a month. Until the next rainbow it’s been a pleasure. 

[ourladylennon]

this is a stress rant and also I absolutely have to get these thoughts out of my head and onto something so that I can understand how I'm feeling. so pardon me.

I have some very mixed feelings about my latest tattoo experience and it has been incredibly, astoundingly stressful. For anyone who was interested in how it went.

and after typing out this whole rant and reading it back my advice is: ALWAYS make sure it is exactly what you want. ALWAYS speak up if you don’t.

I have a specific style, as everyone, but the style of tattoo I have is a bit of a niche that can be hard to find: geometric design with dotwork/pointillism/stippling techniques to create shading rather then standard fill in shading. This shading style is incredibly time consuming and taxing for the artist and I've had a lot of trouble finding people who specialize in this (and within my area).

I started with an artist about 3 years ago, whom was new to me but known to be good. Got my appt set up, he drew me an entire sleeve- it was absolutely gorgeous. Went through two sessions and his work is genuinely amazing. Clean. Precise. Detailed. Unique. I didn't vibe with him too great but it was something I kind of put aside. But without explaining the whole fucking mess that became, just know that our artist-client relationship fell through. This left me with only the beginning of my tattoo. The whole ordeal was really stressful and upsetting so I put down the goal of getting it finished to try and recoup. And I just continually hit roadblocks trying to find artists who are good at dotwork and willing to do it. Often times they live in other cities/states/etc. Obviously this involves meeting a new artist, trying to figure out if it's a good fit, driving out for consultations/redoing all that process- s t r e s s. Now with covid, it's even more difficult because almost every artist I've come across that I've considered has closed books. All of them being out of town which is fine because it would be worth it. It's expected.

But after three years of this go around of trying to find someone, I was getting really put out by the process and just wanting to get this thing going. (Mistake #1- or #2 technically cause fucking up w the first artist is where it all started and I do regret it to this day).

A new shop opened IN my town- a miracle!!! I started following an artist whose work I found to be particularly amazing. Clean lines, clean shading, artistic seeming. Didn't see any pointillism, but I just like kept seeing her work and thinking damn that's good. So I decided to reach out and told her this is what I'm looking for, a dotwork sleeve and here are some examples of the style I like. I specifically mentioned this and asked if they'd be interested in working on it because I know that dotwork is not everyone's thing. The artist replied and said they've been wanting to get into and would like to do that (we'll call this mistake #3. Do not assume the artist, even if very good at other things will be good at all things. Do not go to an artist wanting a specific style without having seen their work for THAT style).

At this point I sent over pictures of my current tattoo that we'd be adding onto for reference. In my mind this is what I thought would mean: "I am looking at what you have to see how to incorporate it into a new sleeve design and see how I can create a collaborative piece and mesh the two together." (Mistake #4: that was not the case. Do not assume. Anything. Ever.)

The appt date was relatively quick despite the fact that I figured she'd be booked out for quite some time (red flag #1: not because she wasn't busy. But because this was not a whole lot of time to come up with a design but I figured "Well she knows her capabilities better than I do and she wouldn't suggest it that soon if she weren't sure). In my previous experiences, the artist will send you a proof or have a separate appt to review the design. I never received an email with said design (red flag #2, in my personal opinion. But I thought I was just being...extra? Also just thought, okay I'll see it at the appt and it will be OK, right? <- mistake #5).

I show up, there is no sleeve design. (RED FLAG #3) There are two single mandala tattoos. Outlines only. No shading. I'd also like to say my style is much more geometric fractals than it is mandala. A lot of people find these interchangeable but...they're really much different. (RED. FLAG. #4). I genuinely did not see that coming. Maybe I'm wrong to say, but this was negligent in my opinion and experience. A sleeve design ensures that your finished piece flows, that it works together, you can see the whole picture, modify, etc. Especially with it being an addition to my existing work. Cannot stress how much of a red flag.

I'm wigging out at this point. I don't love them but I want this tattoo. I'm going back and forth thinking, "maybe it's just because the shading isn't filled in I can't picture it." (MISTAKE #6: trust your gut!!!). I tell her OK well I like this about this one and that about that one. She only nods and listens, where I was expecting feedback; perhaps an "OK well we can draw it on" or "I can rework it" etc. She didn't and I am too paralyzed to speak up. (Red flag #4)

Mistake #7: I accept it at this point. I pick between the two. She has to go resize it. I'm having a literal internal freak out and battle. I am someone who DOES NOT know how to speak up for themselves. In any way. EVER. For any reason. At any time. I am a fear based individual, in fact, I am nearly certain I have APD (avoidant personality disorder) and it effects me severely and deeply. To the point that simply speaking to someone can be hard for me.

But my brain was screaming you cannot do this! You aren't sure! This is for life! It's your body!! You HAVE to say something! (RED fucking alert)

She came back with the one design resized and my heart is thumping, my chest is constricting, the throat feels like it's closing. I make myself say it. I tell her I don't think this is what I'm looking for. I literally almost busted into tears trying to say it because I was so fucking terrified and overwhelmed. I've never been in a position where I genuinely wasn't sure whether I liked what I was looking at. She says you don't need to be sorry you should speak up this is your body. So immediately, I lost a lot of tension because of her kindness. I thought she would be angry or rude or upset, just because I'm fearful. She proceeded to kind of go in and shade in with a pencil on the stencil to give me a better idea and apologized that she should have had that prepared. I continue asking questions to assuage my concerns and feel....better....ish. she offers to redraw and reschedule but I went against my gut, gave into my desperacy to continue my sleeve, dismissed my feelings as being just my typical overexertion of fear and did something I NEVER do: turn my back on my instincts. (Mistake. Mistake #8)

She was pleasant and I genuinely enjoyed her, felt comfortable with her which is not something I can say about previous artists and that's a good chunk of why I decided to continue. I liked her, I liked her other work I've seen, I just thought that once the stippling was in that I'd see it was really nice. However, I am laying there and I'm like I do not feel poking, which is literally how dotwork is done. Dot by dot. I'd feel her do the tiniest bit of dot-dot-dot and I'm like OK OK I'm just not paying full attention and missing it. But then I'd hear and feel her shading- standard shading. I'm like why is she using a shading tip? I'm just confused honestly. I'm like I have no idea what the could be for, just assume it's necessary for something I didn't realize. But I can see because I'm laying and my arms at a weird angle.

I finally get a peek while she's pausing and its....not dotwork. It's not dotwork at all, in fact. It's too late at this point in my eyes. It was only partially done but what am I gonna do? Stop her in the middle and have an unfinished tattoo? And then what? (Try to) go to someone else to have them do dotwork and have a half unmatching tattoo? There was nothing I could do. So I resigned and accepted this as the consequences of my actions and ill choices. And that's honestly been the hardest part to deal with: I let this happen to myself because I could not speak up. The only person who could have stopped this was ME. And I could not do it. That's how deeply my issues of fear run. And that is terrifying, pathetic, sad.

I'm not saying I got the world's ugliest tattoo. It's okay. Just okay. In the words of RuPaul, meh. I don't want meh. I want astounding. And I didn't do what I needed to to make that happen or not happen.

I just have been in awe over the fact that I asked for dotwork and the artist expressed no concern over this, literally had my existing tattoo right above where they were working and continued to not emulate that style of shading at all. Most of this is my fault, 90% of it. But there was negligence on the artists side and I genuinely don't think they meant it to be. I just don't think they had enough experience, but they too should have spoke up if they didn't feel they could carry it out. They gave me no inclination that they could not or would not be doing dotwork. At any point. And I do feel upset that I don't think they put in the effort or care to work off my existing tattoo in their design, and in looking back, their design also does not look nearly anything like the designs I gave for example. It was my job to walk away and request a redesign or to cancel and I didn't. So in the end this is on me. And it has been very taxing on my mental state.

To end this shit show: the tattoo I just got costed half of what my first one did, while only having taking the fraction of time as my first and being less then half the size of my first. It is not nearly as clean, it certainly reflects their level of experience. The shop environment was not fantastic: it felt a bit like as if I had walked into a chain restaurant...but a tattoo shop. There were no private rooms, there were no tattoo chairs. They were literal stools and that's not...not professional or normal. And I chose to continue.

I'm faced with some really tough decisions moving forward. I am at least thankful it is relatively small ish and wraps towards my inner arm which makes it less visible. But I'm at a crossroads of whether I go through the whole mess of trying to find a FOURTH artist to try and finish my sleeve the way it was meant to be finished (dotwork, whole sleeve design etc) and make the best of it at the risk of having a fucking patchwork arm. Or I continue to work with this artist and see the design through myself (literally design it myself which I didn't want to do but it doesn't appear that I should leave this to them), so that at least the remainder of my arm is consistent shading and work.

And because I've made it sound like the tattoo is atrocious, be assured it's not trash by any means. It's just not what I wanted. Big sis learned a big lesson.

(the immediate center is bothering me the most. But I think it can be altered. Nonetheless. The skill/experience level shows, unfortunately. And you can certainly see the difference between the stipple shading on my first tattoo and the regular shading on the new one.)

I am trying to be positive and that's all I can do. I accept the results and I think it can be fixed to a certain extent, and I can only hope as I move forward that I make the right decision and that the end product is something I enjoy.

[plainsight6578]

aftersome.

Pairing: Mista x Giorno

Genre: fluff to angst to a tiny bit of smut and fluff

Summary: Mista and Giorno had been there for each other since that fateful day that they met.

Word count: 3,422

A/N: I don’t really remember the time-line of the anime very well, so forgive me if I made any mistake xoxo. Characters may be a little OOC but i tried my best.

aftersome

adj. astonished to think back on the bizarre sequence of accidents that brought you to where you are today—as if you’d spent years bouncing down a Plinko pegboard, passing through a million harmless decision points, any one of which might’ve changed everything—which makes your long and winding path feel fated from the start, yet so unlikely as to be virtually impossible.

(via The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

Since Giorno was little, he’d been repeatedly told he was a failure, a disappointment, and an eyesore by his loving parents. And, as little children do, he believed every word. So, he never made any friends. In his mind, he was better off alone. Other people would be better off without him. Consequently, he never had anyone to tell him that he wasn’t all those things that he and his parents believed he was.

Giorno never had any, nor thought that he needed any friends. They were useless and would only serve as a distraction from his dream. When he was feeling down, he never had anyone to talk to; since talking was also useless. He just needed to pick himself up, work harder, do better. He didn’t need someone to tell him how proud they were of him, or that he’s been working too hard and that he deserved a break. Those were all useless.

He didn’t need anyone and no one needed him. Giorno never considered himself anything other than what he was told, he never had any reason to. The words that scarred him as a child would haunt him for the rest of his life. He’d always been alone. As far as he knew, he only ever hurt those that were close to him.

So, when Mista called him his “lucky boy”, he was so shocked he could barely process what that implied. That nickname given to him by this strange man he’d just met would mean that everything he’d known about himself - everything he’d been taught about who he was - was a lie. That couldn’t be true. 15 years of bringing misfortune to everyone around him couldn’t be wrong (although, admittedly, he never had many experiences with any other people that weren’t his abusive parents).

‘What a weird guy...’ was Giorno’s first impression of Mista. That was the only way to describe him: weird, not necessarily in a bad or good way. Mista was just weird; he’d contradicted everything Giorno had stood for. 

Mista was a simple man, simply following orders from his higher-ups, doing what he had to in order to survive. He was honest and upfront. Everything you needed to know about him, you could see. Giorno was far more mysterious, hiding his years of trauma underneath a calm and collected façade. He had his underlying intentions, and never fully exposed himself around anyone.

Giorno could never understand the strange man. He certainly wasn’t a lucky boy. It wasn’t luck that allowed him to survive, it was his own intuition, taking things he’d learnt and putting them to good use. It was his own skills that had lead him to where he was, and would take him to even higher lengths. He knew he was capable of achieving that with his skills, not luck.

Giorno stopped in his tracks. This was a first for him; how did this single interaction with this man he barely knew got him to reconsider everything he’d done? It was true, though, Giorno had faith that his plan could work because he had faith in himself. He just never previously realized it. And it felt like all the work he’d put in to get himself this far was paying off, like he was starting to reap the rewards of perseverance. In an instant, he could clearly see where he was going when it had previously felt like a daze. He supposed that he wasn’t entirely a failure, if he’d made it this far. How is he suddenly coming to question everything that he thought he was?

As far as Giorno knew, he was the most unlucky boy on earth. Mista didn’t seem to see him that way. Even though they just met? What did he know? Mista was a simpleton who didn’t know anything about Giorno or his life.

Still, he’d appreciated the nickname. It felt nice to have someone call him something that wasn’t an insult.

________________________________________________________________

After Giorno had saved Abbaccio and Fugo from the Man in the Mirror and had returned safely to the gang, Mista had pestered Giorno for more detail because neither Abbaccio nor Fugo were much of the bragging-about-our-super-cool-epic-win type (and neither was Giorno, really).

“Gimme all the juicy stuff! This dude was tough to beat right?! So, why’re ya leavin’ all the cool parts out?!” He’d yelled.

Giorno had no idea what classified as “juicy”, so he’d simply given Mista a quick summary of the fight: how he’d turned that brick into a snake to find the enery stand user, and how they eventually defeated him. Giorno only realized after he’d finished that he’d been talking for quite sometime. Mista was enthusiastically nodding his head throughout the story, adding in some “wooooah!!” sound effects of his own here and there. Giorno blushed, he got too carried away.

“Man! You’re so cool, Giorno!! I’d never think to do that!” Mista said, with an almost glimmer in his gaze, he was looking at Giorno in a way that hecouldn’t recognize. Rather than hostility, he was feeling...admiration coming from the other man. He remembered a similar look coming from Bucciarati, but that was when he had beat him in a fight then. What did Giorno do to deserve this from Mista? He could almost believe that Mista actually meant what he said.

‘I’m not cool...’ Giorno thought, but when Mista was staring at him like that... Who was he to say no. He didn’t know how to respond, so he blushed and looked away. Maybe he could allow himself to think he was slightly cool in that moment, he certainly did feel... cool, if only just a little.

________________________________________________________________

The long road trip to retrieve their boss’s order from the statue that Giorno and Mista had gone into meant more time alone with Mista. For some reason, Giorno’s heart couldn’t seem to slow down. He decided it was from the paranoia of being attacked by another stand user. Since they’d started this mission, they’ve been relentlessly attacked by stand user after stand user, with barely any time to relax. That’s why his palms won’t stop sweating, and why there was a strange, tingling sensation in his stomach, and why his heart skipped a beat when Mista had called his name... Yeah, he’s just nervous about being attacked again.

Wait. Mista had called his name. He was talking to him.

“Right, Giorno?” He’d asked. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening, Mista,” Giorno replied.

“What are you overthinking now? There isnt another stand user for miles, we’ll be fine.” Mista kicked his legs up onto the dashboard, emphasizing his complete lack of anxiety. Giorno almost envied his ability to be so relaxed (although, he knew Mista was always prepared for an attack, he never really let his guard down). 

Considering how they’d had lots of time to kill in one cramped car, the pair had talked quite a bit, well, it was mostly Mista talking at Giorno. He liked it that way, though, Mista’s voice helped him unwind, and something about the way Mista’s lips moved as they talked made his stomach clench and his mouth dry.

Being with Mista, just the two of them, like this, it could almost convince Giorno to take a break and enjoy the little things in life, all things that Giorno had deemed ‘useless’. And yet, this philosophy that Giorno had held close to him as a protection mechanism was slowly falling apart. Rather, it was being undone. And Giorno didn’t know why, but he felt like a part of him was letting it happen, like, deep down, this is what he wanted: to sit back and be able to enjoy.

“Useless...” He muttered, under his breath he was getting influenced by Mista. He couldn’t afford to relax. But Mista brought that side out in him and he didn’t know why. Giorno couldn’t help but feel slightly at ease with Mista beside him, and it felt nice not to have to keep his guard up around someone all the time. It felt nice to be able to rely on someone else.

________________________________________________________________

Mista somehow always found a way to get himself horribly injured during their stand fights. After the battle with Ghiaccio and his stupidly powerful White Album stand, and after he’d made sure Mista was fully healed, Giorno made sure to give the older man a thorough lecture about his actions during the battle.

“Getting yourself injured like that is useless, Mista. You shouldn’t do useless things like that. What would the team do if we didn’t have you? You should think about that too!” Giorno rambled, “your actions were dangerous, Mista, don’t do useless things like that again.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he replied, an embarrassed flush covering his cheeks, “I had the amazing Giorno to cover for me though, so I wasn’t that worried!” He finished with a wink towards the younger boy. And something in that made Giorno’s heart beat faster. Mista is alive, he’s still with him. A feeling of relief washed over Giorno, and he released the breath that he’d been holding in. 

Giorno sighed, he could almost cry. Remembering the sight of Mista’s body filled with bullets and then seeing him here, laughing and joking like everything was fine. Giorno’s heart clenched. Without saying anything, Giorno layed his head on Mista’s shoulder, close to his heart, and listened to the sound of the blood flowing through his body. Mista was left wide-eyed, but laid his hand on top of Giorno’s, who was clenching his fists. Soon as he did, Mista felt him relax against him. 

They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, just breathing in each other’s presence. Mista was caught completely off guard by this, he didn’t know that his actions would affect Giorno like this. Perhaps they’d gotten closer than he’d thought in the short time span that they’d known each other.

“I meant what I said, though,” Mista whispered, “as long as I have you with me, I know everything will be just fine...”

________________________________________________________________

Staring at Abbaccio’s corpse, Mista waited for some sign of life from his comrade. Giorno couldn’t heal him... He was just... Gone. There was nothing they could do. Mista’s head was racing at a million miles an hour but none of his thoughts formed anything coherent.

How did this even happen? They were gone for a minute. Why did this happen? With every blink Mista expected to see Abbaccio in a different position than he was. But Abbaccio never moved. He didn’t even blink. 

“WE’RE NOT JUST GONNA LEAVE HIM HERE, RIGHT?!” Narancia yelled. Mista wanted to agree with him. Watching Bucciarati walking away from their teammate - no, their friend - he understood Narancia’s anger. But he knew there was nothing they could do. Bucciarati was probably hurting more than any of them were.

Clenching his fists, he ripped his eyes off of Abbaccio’s corpse and followed Bucciarati. They all knew the risks of this mission. They had no choice but to continue.

Back inside the turtle, the gang continued on with their mission. It would take some time to get to Rome, so Bucciarati volunteered to keep watch outside the turtle while the rest of them got some rest. Inside, Narancia had passed out on in an uncomfortable position on the couch and Trish had curled up on the floor, eventually drifting to sleep.

Mista couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. After seeing Abbaccio like that, he was wondering about his other comrades, he didn’t think he could keep his sanity if he had to see that again.

Mista was so lost in his thoughts he failed to notice that Giorno had placed himself next to him, “you shouldn’t think about useless things, Mista,” he said.

Slightly startled, his first instinct was to go on the defensive, “I’m not thinking about anything...!”

Giorno just stared at him blankly, although, Mista detected a faint hint of sympathy.

“Uh, well, I guess I am just overthinking...” He admitted. “I mean, Abbaccio died without anyone even noticing... So, I can’t help but think... That could have been any of us. If our enemy is that powerful... How many more of us are gonna die? Are we even... gonna be able to defeat him at all-”

“That’s useless, Mista,” Giorno stated firmly, “what you’re thinking about is useless. It’ll only distract you when we’re in battle.”

“Y-you’re right...” There was a slight twinge of shame inside Mista for having to be told off by someone younger than him for the second time now, “still, after everything we’ve been through, we all could have died so many times...” He adjusted his position slightly to face Giorno and then cupped both his hand inside his palms, “you amputated your own arms, for God’s sake, and... I almost died too! I just...” His tone was all over the place. Even now, he hadn’t fully grasped the concept of what it means to die. “I really don’t want to lose anyone else...” He said. 

Giorno knew how hard this must be for the him, he’d just lost one of his closest friends, they must’ve been like family, and with barely any time to properly grieve, they were going head-first into a much more dangerous battle. He didn’t know what to do or say. This is the first time he’d gotten this close to someone to consider them a friend and, frankly, he didn’t want to lose anyone either. After everything they’ve been through, Giorno felt a sense of fondness towards the gang members. 

“We’re right here, Mista,” he decided was appropriate, and leaned in to touch his forehead to Mista, “I’m not going anywhere, either.”

Mista’s hold on Giorno’s hands tightened. The look in Giorno’s eyes was so tender and soft, something Mista hadn’t seen in such a long time. Something snapped inside Mista, and he could no longer hold back his tears. Giorno didn’t know what to do as Mista sobbed into his shoulder. He just let Mista let all his grief out, if he could help Mista in any way, he would. This is his way of showing Mista just how thankful he was for him. Thanks to Mista, Giorno felt so much less of a burden to himself and others, he realized that everything he’d thought he knew as a child about himself was so much farther than the truth. 

Giorno’s chest ached seeing Mista like this. He wished he could take his pain away, just as Mista had freed him from his. He let Mista cry into him as long as he needed.

Even after Mista had calmed down, he didn’t move from his position. The way Giorno was leaning forward had exposed his star-shaped birthmark. Mista stared at it for a while, admiring how it seemed to glimmer despite the darkness in the room. He wondered where they would be without Giorno. He would certainly be dead, they probably all would be; with how many fatal wounds he’d healed for them.

Mista couldn’t really face Giorno right now. He liked the position they were in particularly because Giorno couldn’t see Mista’s puffy nose or blood-shot eyes, nor the snot that threatened to drip out of his nose. He’d always showed himself as this strong and care-fee guy; so breaking down in his teammates arms like that felt almost humiliating - or at least, it would be if this was anyone else but Giorno. Still, he didn’t want Giorno to see him in this state. So, as a thank you, Mista had placed the lightest peck right onto Giorno’s star-shaped birthmark. Giorno physically tensed up, and he blushed all the way to his ears. Giorno, being who he was and having absolutely no social skills, he couldn’t understand why.

“M-Mista-” He’d began to protest. “This is how I’m saying thank you, dumbass,” Mista answered, and intertwined their fingers, just for emphasis. “Why...” Giorno asked, what was there to thank him for? 

“Because you’re here.”

________________________________________________________________

Mista was the first one kiss Giorno’s hand after he’d taken over the organization. He experienced Giorno’s skill first-hand, there was no one better he could think to take over the organization. He was a simple man, he followed orders and was stupidly honest. That’s why he swore his loyalty to Giorno.

When the pair had finally gained some privacy, Mista immediately slumped his shoulders, no longer needing to impress his higher-ups or assert dominance to his subordinates. Though, he was still restless. He’d been like that all day, in fact. Being around all the other gang members, meeting new ones, and receiving hunderds of condolences from them, he, naturally, couldn’t stop thinking about finding his comrade’s corpses, the sight and smell of their blood...

Giorno merely stared at Mista as he paced around the room. No doubt he was stressed right now. Everything that he was used to was changing. Nothing was simple anymore. 

But everything was over now. Things would get better... Right? Giorno wasn’t sure- No! He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Abbaccio, Narancia, and Bucciarati had sacrificed their lives for this. ‘Thinking like that is useless.’ He told himself.

He had no idea what was going through Mista’s head right now, and he wasn’t sure how to ask. Giorno had inhaled, preparing to say something before Mista approached him and grabbed both his hands, “Giorno!” He yelled, “you’re still here!”

Their faces were mere centimeters apart, Mista was blinking at him, like he was waiting a response, “that’s right...”

“And you’re not going anywhere!”

“No, I’m not.”

Mista touched their foreheads together, just like they did back inside the turtle, and he smiled, “and as long as you’re with me... Everything’s gonna be alright!”

Giorno blinked. That’s what he said back then, too, and he didn’t exactly classify what had happened as ‘alright’. But, as he was being held by Mista, and seeing Mista’s unwavering smile, he just couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

“As long as I’m here,” Giorno started, lifting his hands from Mista’s grip to cup his face, “everything will be alright,” he whispered into the taller man’s mouth. Giorno also wanted to protect Mista with everything he had.

They were so close to each other... It seemed like they were slowly inching closer until the gap between them finally closed. All of their pent-up desire for each other, the feelings that Giorno had absolutely refused to acknowledge, they were all reaching their climax. They pulled away after a few seconds, before Mista swiftly closed the space between them again, and then proceeding to pull at Giorno’s bottom lip with his teeth, and placed his hands on Giorno’s hips to hold him closer.

Giorno gasped and grabbed onto Mista’s collar for support. His head seemed to be completely taken over by Mista. His scent, the way he tasted, the way his hands felt on his hips, Mista, Mista, Mista. All these new emotions he was feeling made his head spin in the most euphoric way.

Mista took advantage of Giorno’s open mouth and shoved his tounge inside his it. Giorno definitely wasn’t expecting this to heat up so quickly, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to feel Mista’s tongue inside his mouth. Giorno was losing control of himself, he moaned into Mista’s mouth, completely overwhelmed by just making out with him.

Giorno was almost completely leaning on Mista for support, his legs were about to give way any second . When they pulled away for oxygen, Giorno let out a desperate, “M-Mis...ta..” His face was entirely coated with a glowing shade of red, his eyes heavy-lidded, with Mista’s name on his lips. Mista’s lower half twitched at the sight, already addicted to it.

He did have to admit, he felt slightly weird doing this so soon after his friends’ deaths, but with Giorno being the most important thing to him right now, he wanted to feel him in every way to convince himself he was still here. He needed to feel his heartbeat, feel the warmth of his breath, feel the movement of his tongue inside his mouth, feel him moaning into his mouth... He needed to be able to feel that Giorno was alive.

Mista hugged him tight, just taking in Giorno’s presence, “you’re still here...” He whispered into Giorno’s neck, who barely had it in him to point out how, of course he’s still here, where else would he be? So, instead, he simply whispered a quiet, “I’m not going anywhere.”

________________________________________________________________

A/N: ASDKJSFHLSK OMG OMG OKAY IK THIS IS KINDA ALL OVER THE PLACE BUT I WROTE THIS OVER THE SPAN OF LIKE THREE DAYS AND I HAD THIS HUGE ESSAY DUE SO I WAS LIKE WRITING THIS AND MY ESSAY AT THE SAME TIME IT WAS SO CHAOTIC AND MY EMOTIONS WERE ALL OVER THE PLACE

ANYWAY IF YOU READ THIS FAR I RLY HOPE YOU ENJOYED TY FOR READING PLEASE LEAVE ANY FEEDBACK YOU HAVE!!!! I proofread it like six million times but if there are any mistakes I’m sorry!!! Pls lmk so I can fix them :3.

[huntresswarlock]

I am so sorry

But also no I’m not

1 for all because I am an evil bastard

Then more specifically

4, 12, 18, 24, 25, 35, 40, 42, 44, 45, 56, 63, 69 for Lady, Harmony, Nomiki, Odonys, Ione and Somnia

6, 44 and 58 for Nik and Valerie

20, 40, 42, 56, 65 for Icarus as well

💞💞💞

under a read more because i cannot shut up about my characters and i won't apologize for that!

most of these will b organized by character instead of by question but since you asked for 1 for all of em i'll put them all underneath it

1. why did they choose their class(es)? their subclass(es)?

Nik: they found a weird book in a thrift shop and accidentally figured out how to poke Ink-Treader to get certain automatic responses in the form of magic powers, which they swear are totally normal and not the result of a pact (conscious or not) at all.

Nomiki: her mother was a fighter who trained her well, and when she was a bit older she swore vengeance against that which destroyed her world, which she initially thought was the gods but then turned out to be The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar (Eldritch Edition)

Harmony: was always an outdoors-y sort of girl, so druid made sense when she was transported into The School, and then the Dictionfairy of the Summer Reading Court took a special interest in her and gave her some extra stuff on top of druidic powers!

Lady: built to be a… let’s call her a “personal companion,” whose main gimmick was that she is extremely intelligent about a great many things with a perfect memory; hence Archivist. as for the Artificer class itself, that came about primarily when she was working with an inventor/engineer named Rowan Keen, who enlisted her as his assistant in his projects. she learned a great deal about mechanical engineering and building from him, as well as receiving some upgrades like sewing/welding tools in her hands to assist her with this.

Somnia: she is very old (like, 650ish years old) and very in tune with nature already, and then the goddess of sleep saved her life with a drop of her blood, giving her the Stars circle powers

Odonys: they were formerly a Watcher Oath paladin, and took up that mantle because it's what their society set out for them. they made the choice to break away from it when offered freedom by the primal embodiment of chaos, though they have mixed feelings on this because it caused them to be exiled

Ione: she didn't have a choice 😔 nearly drowning unlocked some latent sorcerer powers

Valerie: stunt fighting training baybeeeeee

Icarus: also didn't have a choice, on account of nearly burning himself to death and then taking a deal from the god of fire to work for him in exchange for not dying

Lady

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Chaos Bolt is the meme answer, Dream (to reach out to Rowan) is the sad answer

12. have they ever been in love?

she's not supposed to have been. but. ;)

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

a follower, for the time being! she has spent a long time taking orders and fulfilling requests, and though that part of her life is done now, she is still content to leave the leading to others.

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🔥🔥🔥 it's wild and free

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

she doesn't really tell stories, but if requested, she would tell stories about things that happened to her

she likes to hear stories she hasn't heard before

35. which party member do they worry for?

Domino Domino Domino Domino Domino D

40. do they enjoy poetry?

yes! she's not really one for composing it, but it's nice to listen to

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

beautiful, intelligent, free

44. what do they need to learn?

WHEN WILL SHE LEARN!!!!! THAT HER ACTIONS!!!!!!!!!! HAVE CONSEQUENCES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

45. how do they hug people?

at 4'11", she's almost certainly going to be shorter than whoever she's hugging, so she tends to go for arms-under-the-shoulders and head-onto-chest. she gives really really good hugs, on account of all of her......... padding.

56. what animal do they most relate to?

caged bird that recently busted out :>

63. what fight has scared them the most?

before she got free will, we encountered some Crown-of-Thorns Starfish (In Space) that knocked her down to single-digit HP. though she wasn't physically able to feel fear at the time, the significant damage was deeply alarming.

69.how would they describe their party members?

Domino: "My dear friend, and a very kind and intelligent woman. I was very concerned for her when I was still under restrictions. Now I am no longer restrained in what I can think or do, but I find that I am still worried about her. She is always so melancholy when she thinks no one is looking..."

Rusty: "Something of an enigma. I only recently learned his real name: Rheneas Dolgoch. Apparently he used to be involved in various criminal activities before being framed for the disappearance of his boyfriend and then taking this portalhopping job for Dr. Horizon. I'd like to get to know him better, and have him teach me some things."

Clifton: "An honest man, with a good heart, and somewhat lacking the brains to think through his actions. Still, he tries, and he is responsible for getting Kinmati's attention with regards to my previous plight. I do wonder if adventuring across the multiverse is the best coping mechanism for the loss of his fiancée, but..."

Harmony

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

the campaign stopped at level 12, but i think she would have jumped at the chance to use Animal Shapes!

12. have they ever been in love?

yes!!!! she loves her girlfriend, Mick, very very much

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

she would describe herself as leading from the back, primarily encouraging others to be their best selves but not exactly telling them what to do

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🌎 (earth), because it's grounding and stable, like her

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

harmy likes to hear and tell stories with happy endings!

35. which party member do they worry for?

she worried about both other party members equally, really, for different reasons. they were both working through more issues than her, so she felt the need to be the emotional glue holding them together and getting them to talk things out.

40. do they enjoy poetry?

not as much as prose, but she likes a good poem or two! especially free verse stuff

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

cheerful, outdoorsy, kind

44. what do they need to learn?

over the course of the campaign she needed to learn (and did learn) when to keep trying with diplomacy and when to fight back

45. how do they hug people?

really really tightly! probably while rocking them back and forth, too

56. what animal do they most relate to?

she turned into horses a lot so....... honse

63. what fight has scared them the most?

the fight with Mr. Ciliary when Mick seemed dead-set on sacrificing herself so that Harmony and Bill could leave scared her quite a bit

69.how would they describe their party members?

Mick: "My girlfriend!!!!!!!! She's so strong and cool and pretty, and she's a really big streamer, I love her!!!!"

Bill: "One of my best friends! He's really smart, and crazy good at fencing. And he takes really good care of Mikey."

Nomiki

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Mending would be really useful for her

12. have they ever been in love?

yes, she loves her boyfriend Ramiel, the god of storms

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

a leader, even if she has to strike out on her own

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🌎 (earth) for strength and stability

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

she likes to hear any stories told by her dad

she tells a lot of myths and folktales and fables

35. which party member do they worry for?

Xiro, at least until their fighting training started to pick up

40. do they enjoy poetry?

yes, though she's no good at reading or reciting it, she likes to hear it being spoken aloud

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

big, strong, stubborn

44. what do they need to learn?

nomiki needed to learn how to trust people and open up again

45. how do they hug people?

BIG hugs. huge hugs from a huge woman with huge arm muscles (and later on huge wings). like being wrapped up in a warm blanket in the dead of winter, like the promise of safety from any monsters out to get you. like a loaf of bread right out of the oven.

56. what animal do they most relate to?

cows! pretty, large, gentle, stubborn

63. what fight has scared them the most?

fighting the King of the Storm played right into her storm phobia, so much so that she couldn't even face it properly and mostly dealt with its offshoots

69.how would they describe their party members?

Xiro: "Xiro is my friend, and my little sibling. They're a really good fighter and baker, and they've helped a lot of people.

Muire: "Muire's my friend too. She's crazy smart, though sometimes she can forget not everyone around her is as smart as she is. But she has a good heart."

Odonys

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

being able to cast Zone of Truth would come in handy when dealing with Q'ix, but since they only have two levels in paladin now, they've lost the ability to do so 😔

12. have they ever been in love?

tritons don't feel stupid things like love.

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

follower. second-in-command, sure, but still a follower. though that's been shifting, lately...

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🌊 for its adaptability and power

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

they don't really tell stories, but they like to hear the tales of myths and gods and heroes

35. which party member do they worry for?

as if they'd worry about any of their party members, hilarious! the closest thing would be mild confusion about Suvi's tangled concerns for the party's free will

40. do they enjoy poetry?

they've never had the chance to hear poetry, and i don't think they would enjoy it unless it was in the style of an epic

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

solitary, unpleasant, scarred

44. what do they need to learn?

how to exist around others, how to rely on others, what their place in the world is

45. how do they hug people?

they don't.

56. what animal do they most relate to?

a dog, a feral dog to be specific. they even resource guard!

63. what fight has scared them the most?

they have trained hard not to feel any fear when fighting, even on the brink of death. still, being chased by every shark in the ocean did get to them.

69.how would they describe their party members?

Q'ix: "Annoying. Good with their fiddle, gifted with magic, but I don't trust them at all, and I don't know if it's worth keeping them around."

Sloane: "A creature that skinny has no business being anywhere close to the middle of the fight, and yet that's where he is constantly, like Breidr when he gets underfoot. Except Breidr has more bulk. Still, he seems to know what he's doing with that sword."

Suvi: "I wonder if there's even anything underneath all the layers of falsehoods and misdirection she wears. But she has been helpful, and having a cart has come in handy."

Amber: "A woman of few words and strong convictions. I appreciate her presence."

Somnia

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Catnap, so she can cast it on Nemo and Gimmy!

12. have they ever been in love?

Somnia loves her children very much, and loves life, but in terms of romantic love specifically, no. as for the person she used to be before she died and was resurrected? ... also no.

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

a follower, mostly. she's old, and she's done enough leading that she's happy to let her kids take the lead.

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🌎 (earth) on account of druid stuff as well as dependability

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

somnia likes to tell the stories of the constellations on whatever world she finds herself on! she has an innate ability to know them and know what they mean

she likes to hear whatever sorts of stories are being told, she's really not picky; it's more important that the story is important to whoever is telling it

35. which party member do they worry for?

Nemo, constantly. they are so young and they've been through so much that she can't help but worry. Gimmy is at least an adult, though he still needs a bit of fussing over.

40. do they enjoy poetry?

i don't think she actively seeks it out, but she won't say no to listening to or reading some if the opportunity presents itself

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

motherly, empathetic, old

44. what do they need to learn?

she needs to learn that not everyone can be saved, or is worth saving, i think

45. how do they hug people?

with that good deep pressure therapy and mom bod

56. what animal do they most relate to?

tortoise, probably. old and slow and wise.

63. what fight has scared them the most?

the fight with the Found Footage when she was knocked out and wasn't sure whether Nemo and Gimmy would be okay without her. though tbh this upcoming fight with the Imago is more than likely going to take the scariest fight spot, at least until we finally face the Broken Lurker.

69.how would they describe their party members?

Nemo: "Oh, my poor little Orion... they're a good child, they really are. But they were surrounded by people who didn't know or care to realize that, and they've thought themself a nobody for so long that it hurts my heart. I wish they could see how many people they've helped just by being themself."

Gimmy: "Gimmy is very dear to me. He pretends like he doesn't care, but I know that he does. I can see it when he works on his little dragon construct, and when we were speaking to Minerva about Nemo's past. He just needs a little bit of help understanding how to be polite and kind to others, that's all."

Nik

6. which party member do they relate to the most?

tbh probably svetlana. they're both big smarties who have Simic roots! they're basically identical!

44. what do they need to learn?

how to care about other people beyond just "what can this person do for me?"

58. what do they think their role in the party is? what is their role in actuality?

they think they're the brains of this operation and the sole voice of reason, but really they're a bit of dead weight because i didn't build them very well

Valerie

6. which party member do they relate to the most?

tough to say because we've only had a couple of sessions of the campaign she's in, but right now probably Ashlyn. just two mean girls against the world!

44. what do they need to learn?

it's actually not a bad thing to be girly or to embrace femininity, it's not a weakness like she thinks she is but can be neutral or even a major strength

58. what do they think their role in the party is? what is their role in actuality?

she thinks she's the only competent member of the party and the fearless leader; she is an asset in fights for sure, especially once she gets some maneuvers, but in reality she is only one piece of the puzzle

Icarus

20. which of the five senses do they rely the most on?

hearing! icarus has always had impeccable hearing and has relied on it a lot when sneaking around

40. do they enjoy poetry?

he does not talk about the angsty teenage poems he wrote when he was younger and didn't realize he was trans. but i think if he applied himself he could be a good poet, and he likes to read and listen to it.

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

selfish, failure, coward

56. what animal do they most relate to?

prior to almost burning to death, he would have said a swan. post-burning... an ugly duck

65. what is holding them back?

what isn't holding him back tbh. he has a lot of issues stemming from being raised to think he was perfect and then tossed aside as soon as he stepped out of line. i think the number one thing though is the image he has of himself as a bad person who does bad things. he used to be a bad and selfish person who has hurt a lot of people; after his near-death experience he became really humble and considerate, but still thinks of himself in terms of his past actions, instead of what he is doing now to redeem himself. what is holding him back is his inability to recognize that he's changed.

[findapennyloseapenny]

James Ironwood is going to turn up again, and he’s going to be working for Salem. Hear me out.

So this is a possibility I toyed with in one of my first posts on this blog, and as I’ve been thinking about it more and more and rewatching the Atlas arc, it’s something that I’m becoming more and more convinced of. Let’s start with the basics. Ironwood was in Atlas when it fell, and that was, shall we say catastrophic. Enormous crash, followed by flooding. Definitely shouldn’t be survivors, right?

Except that that isn’t really how this show, or most shows, work. People survive a lot of intense injury in RWBY. Cinder got fucking flash-frozen and dropped several stories after her Aura broke. RWBY goes out of its way to signpost when someone is dead. It wants that emotional beat to hit hard. It doesn’t want ambiguity. Take Pyrrha, disintegrated before our eyes. Take Penny, first dismembered, then with that heartbreaking framing of her blood falling of Crocea Mors. Take Clover, gorily impaled. Even with Adam, who fell offscreen before his death, was obviously and bloodily stabbed all the way through his chest (twice) and hit a rock very hard on his way down. The most ambiguous they’ve ever gotten was Watts, but they made a point to show that Cinder had taken extra action to make sure he burned alive before Atlas finished falling. The show took time out of a very packed episode to show us his shadow, lit by flames as he screamed.

Notice that they did not take time to give us a similar shot for Ironwood. It’s the contrast between Ironwood and Watts that makes me most certain that he’s alive. They could’ve spared a few seconds to give us something similar for Ironwood, and they didn’t. So I’ll be astonished if he doesn’t make it out alive.

Watts actually contributes another piece of evidence to this theory. Between his death, Emerald’s defection, Hazel’s death and defection, and Cinder betraying Neo, Salem lost a lot of known, well-developed characters from her inner circle in a very short time. The only people she has going into Volume 9 are Mercury, Tyrian, and Cinder, and they aren’t exactly a well-rounded team. Tyrian and Mercury are bruisers, from a plot-perspective. They take orders and carry them out. They don’t make plans, they don’t have resource networks, they aren’t particularly good infiltrators or ambassadors. Cinder’s only slightly better - she makes plans, sure, but she’s impulsive, self-serving, and bad at seeing the bigger picture. She only brings a slightly wider range of resources to the table. This is not a team that provides a varied enough rogue’s gallery for very long, especially if Mercury or Cinder defect as well (which is extremely possible). This only stays her inner circle if the show is about to wind down or Salem is about to get blown out of the water for a bigger bad guy.

So, is the show about to wind down? Realistically, if they want to wrap up their plot threads and themes in a tidy, satisfying fashion, which I’m confident they do, the minimum number of volumes I think they could do that in is four. Volume 9 deals with Wonderland and sets the stage for RWBY in Vacuo, Volume 10 deals with Vacuo, Volume 11 sees a return to Beacon (and possibly a late game switch big bad switch from Salem to someone else, probably the gods), and Volume 12 sees the defeat of the big bad and the resolution of the show. That’s assuming an absolutely breakneck pace from a show that has consistently been content to take its time - relatively speaking at least, given how short each episode is. They spent a whole Volume dealing with the trauma of the Fall of Beacon, advancing the characters and barely touching the overall plot. I don’t think they’re going to speed run this.

All this to say, at minimum, we’re three-quarters of the way through the show, and I think two-thirds to halfway is more realistic. Salem can’t take point in any plot that involves societal conflicts, and I don’t think they can hang three more volumes of those on Mercury, Tyrian, and Cinder. Salem needs to expand her inner circle. Now, most likely, that will include at least one new character from Vacuo. Maybe people who’ve read the CFVY books already have a likely candidate in mind, I don’t know. But one person isn’t going to be enough to fill all the roles now left empty on Salem’s team, especially one person that we don’t already know, who has to be built up for us and fleshed out and sold to us as someone competent and scary and worth giving a damn about.

So why not sidestep some of those problems and dust off the perfectly good dictator they’ve still got lying around?

Let’s go beyond the fact that Ironwood is alive and without an obvious role in the plot while Salem has a job opening. What does Ironwood get out of teaming up with Salem? What does Salem get out of taking him on? What do we, the audience, get out of seeing this on our screens?

Let’s start with the first one. Ironwood has had a very taxing forty-eight hours. He has seen his precious Atlas destroyed and reduced to rubble. He has seen every one he ever counted on betray him (and with good reason, but I doubt he sees it that way). He has gone from being one of, if not the most powerful mortal man in all of Remnant, to having absolutely nothing. Who does he blame for this? Salem? Maybe, but if he puts the sole blame on her, that means he has to keep fighting her, something he has already decided is impossible. He made a desperate, terrible, appalling plan to avoid that outcome, and it failed utterly. He doesn’t believe she can be beaten. He will certainly blame her some, but there is a much more convenient target for the bulk of it - one that is easy to plaster it on, one that thwarted him directly, and one which he believes he can have revenge on.

He is going to fixate on Team RWBY and their allies. If they’d just listened to him, if they’d just fallen in line and done what he said, then Atlas would be safe and the relics would be well out of Salem’s reach. Their opposition led directly to his plan’s failure. He doesn’t even need to bend the truth for that, only ignore the parts that he has already been content to ignore - that his plan was fundamentally flawed from the start, both in its means and its ends, and that if he had instead listened to RWBY, much of this tragedy could have been avoided. But Ironwood isn’t going to blame himself. It is a very, very hard thing for someone as proud and self-assured as Ironwood to do, to look at himself honestly and acknowledge that he fucked up, really badly, and that the consequences of that fuck up will haunt him until he dies. It is a very hard thing for such a proud man to humble himself and try to make whatever amends are within his means, to apologize to those he wronged and strive to help them, even knowing that they may hate him forever no matter what he does, and be justified in doing so.

He will take the easier choice, the same kind of easier choice he has been taking the whole show, and shift his guilt onto someone else. He will blame RWBY. He was more than willing to sacrifice uncounted multitudes of people under his care to protect Atlas, and maybe the world too, for awhile. Now Atlas is gone, and as far as he is concerned, the world is doomed. What does it matter if he helps Salem hasten that along a bit, as long as he can avenge his city?

Salem, for her part, will find an exceptionally canny tactician, a deeply charismatic leader, and a man of nearly unshakeable determination, all wrapped up in a nice, emotionally unstable, easily manipulated package. Maybe he doesn’t have the tech-savvy that Watts did, but he has everything else, and so much more. She could find all sorts of uses for him.

And we, the audience, will get to see it all unfold. We will get to see the fall of James Ironwood from a principled, well-meaning, staunch defender of Remnant, a bit over confident in himself, a bit flawed, a bit narrow in his focus, but unquestionably heroic, to a dictatorial, desperate tyrant, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone on the altar of his own ego, a man who hits rock bottom through his own arrogance and cruelty and, when offered a shovel, starts digging even deeper. You thought the Tin Man lost his heart this volume? You haven’t seen anything yet. By the end of this show, there will be no one more tragically, brutally, painfully hollow then James Ironwood.

I wonder if, near the end, he’ll think about Lionheart. I wonder if he’ll still have enough of the man he used to be left to shed a single, bitter tear at the irony.