#the fact that you respond at all is frankly an act of compassion that no rando on your dash deserves and I in no way wish to punish it

[emkini]

Everyone who tells me not to worry so bad about grades on my university vent posts is VERY kind and I appreciate your intentions very very much, and honestly shame on me for making those posts anyway because inevitably, 20 minutes after I make them, I feel guilty about it.

HOWEVER. I do feel it necessary to stress that the requirement for continuing to live in my home is that I maintain perfect grades. I can barely manage to keep myself going with regular help and support + not having to keep a job in addition to school. If my grades drop for anything less than a nervous breakdown (which, yes, has happened once before), my life is effectively over. I cannot afford to worry less about grades.

[stellarred]

QCARD: LET'S TALK ABOUT RIKER

I watched Deja Q last night, and it suddenly occurred to me that Riker knows that Picard has an attraction and a soft spot for Q.

He does. Riker knows. He has seen moments when Picard opens himself up to Q, or gives Q the benefit of the doubt.

****

Example: Q Who:

Picard: You (Q) are part of our charter....You qualify as one of the most unique I've ever encountered. To learn about you is frankly provocative."

Riker witnessed Picard saying "provocative" while gazing at Q with that slight smile.

*****

Examples: Deja Q:

After Q was escorted to the Brig by Worf...

Picard: "What sort of jaded game is he up to this time?"

Riker: "Maybe he just wants a big laugh..."

Picard stops.

Picard: "Or, he could have nothing to do with it at all." (aka giving Q the benefit of doubt)

Riker *looks at him in disbelief *: " You honestly think Q is telling the truth?"

Picard defends himself.

Picard: "Oh, I agree this is highly unlikely, but we have to proceed as though Q is powerless to prevent it."

Riker: "And he just sits here watching us struggle?"

Picard: "I don't see we have any choice."

Picard is willing to let Q off the hook here. Riker isn't.

Example: Q is on the shuttlecraft luring the Calamarain away from the ship.

Picard:" This goes against my better judgement (He still tries to help Q, though) Transporter room, lock onto the shuttlecraft and beam it back into its bay."

Look at Riker, sitting there with a "Seriously?" look.

AGAIN, Picard *defends* himself to Riker.

Picard: "It's a perfectly good shuttlecraft, Number One."

****

Example: Qpid

We all remember Riker saying in the Ready Room "I'll alert the crew." after Picard tells him that Q wants to do something nice for him.

Riker has that head nod of awareness of Q's potential for causing trouble, but I think he has an awareness of Q's feelings for Picard, but also an awareness that Q's feelings are somewhat reciprocated somehow.

I just want to know HOW IN THE WORLD Picard explained the fact that Q put them in a Robin Hood fantasy, all so that Picard could prove his feelings for Vash.

Riker probably thought, "What is going on here?!"

****

Example: Tapestry

The last scene

Picard describes how he was surprised Q had compassion and said that he owed him a debt of gratitude.

Riker responds, shocked, "In what sense? It sounds like he put you through hell!"

Picard AGAIN defends himself to Riker.

Picard explains the tapestry allegory for his youth, but notice how Riker still looks hesitant.

Our favorite First Officer was on to something from Picard. He could tell that Q was not some evil monster to Picard, and that his captain had buried feelings and attraction to Q.

One more example: True Q:

The scene where Riker finds Q and Amanda Rogers in the lab.

Q: "Well, if it isn't Number Two."

Riker ignores him and can't get out of the room fast enough.

**I wouldn't be at ALL surprised if Q was fully aware of Riker's irritation that Picard had hidden feelings for him, and that these feelings were creating that disagreement between he and Picard. Picard and Riker work well together, and sometimes they disagree, but

but, Riker does eventually respect Picard's judgement and actions.

With interactions involving Q however, Picard and Riker are on opposite sides during these moments.

So, with Q's remark about Number Two, guess what!

Q is SO happy to be replacing Riker because he knows that Riker does act as a gatekeeper between others, including himself, and Picard, in a way. Riker is close to Picard, too.

Competition.

What satisfaction Q feels knowing that HIS capitaine does not agree with Riker The Gatekeeper. It leaves Q an opening to Picard, even if it is small.

Yes, Riker has always known something was up.

He knew.

BONUS:

I did a post last year about how in the TV special, Journey's End: The Saga of Star Trek the Next Generation, Johnathan Frakes introduced Q and John de Lancie by literally saying,

"....the evil Q."

Then, John de Lancie spoke briefly about Q as being an omnipotent being that has changed. I think he has become more human, in a way."

Nothing evil sounding there.

De Lancie even says in another interview: "Q is not evil; he's naughty..."

Oh, Riker/Johnathan.

[keshetchai]

I feel like ‘hey it’s fine for this to be how you feel, but acting as if it’s a hard and fast rule when educating doesn’t really work if you’re also acknowledging that it’s just your opinion’ should be easier to understand and yet,

Yeah. I think the original op and I kinda reached our mutual understanding on this but then other people are still going as if I was invalidating the discomfort, or making things up?

The discomfort is understandable and allowed and I respect that. The request that gentiles use specific language is great and fine. But the facts that I presented about actual Jewish mourning practice & liturgy are not obscure, unpopular, or even new, and they're also not my opinion.

My opinion is that you shouldn't mislead people (intentionally or unintentionally) or state things that simply aren't true when asking for someone to respect your discomfort or to acknowledge a preferred practice. My opinion is that educating gentiles, or resisting Christian hegemony — shouldn't mean rewriting current Jewish practice, or past longstanding Jewish history. My opinion is that we ought to genuinely take the intent of the speaker into account, and to ask ourselves if the other person is truly trying to convey kindness and compassion in a time of grief in a way that we do, in fact, also use.

And then ask myself like other things such as:

- did they do this to emphasize Christianity at me (hegemonically, evangelically), or is this simply the language they know and the way they know how to convey this care? I can be uncomfortable either way, but in one case I am uncomfortable with a unique individual enacting a system of hegemony, and in another I am just frustrated with the system itself and not the person. Sometimes articulating that difference is helpful and frankly, healing. We live in a society, idk.

- is it possible that somehow, I have been this person, saying something not technically wrong, but perhaps not the best or most comfortable thing for the person hearing me? (Almost certainly). Intent is not everything, but like, it does contextualize things! It obviously matters if I mean to be respectful but come off wrong footed due to someone else's feelings on something — that's very different than intentionally trying to condescend or diminish.

Op probably did not intend for this to blow up. Tumblr randomly promoted a jumblr post to me, and I responded to correct a fact that part of their premise rested on. Jumblr had this same old discourse back in 2020, and even before that, and like, I reiterated old facts. It floats around and isn't new - this is a common claim people make ("Jews never say rest in peace,") that other people debunk every so often on this site. I don't mind if their conclusion is still "I don't like that."

It's like...analogy: I am not asking everyone to feel comfortable with every verse or mitzvah in the Torah. I understand and appreciate that certain things in the Torah also make me uncomfortable, and those things aren't the same for every Jew. But I can sympathize even if we don't have the same discomforts. I can wrestle with those things, I can emphasize what I think is better or more comfortable within the Torah, what I think takes higher importance in Torah over the uncomfortable things, I can question how I understand the verse, I can question my own discomfort and other's comfort, why we differ and what that means — all of that — but whether or not I'm comfortable, the thing is still in the Torah.

I think I'm also just baffled by some of the responses like - not the ones from op, but everyone else responding to me? The logic is...really weird! I didn't address half the arguments made because they're just strange. And then half of them are like...what do they even intend when they say this? Like this idea that burial and memorial liturgy shouldn't count in a discussion about how Jews talk when memorializing our dead, because it's just "liturgy." That argument made me feel like I was in the twilight zone lmao. I'm not going to apologize for understanding our religion lol.

Also absolutely not a single soul addressed my citing Chabad and Shiva.com (which is expressly aimed at helping even non-jews understand how Jews deal with death, mourning, and burial!) And that is BONKERS to me.

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Tuesday, 2 January 2023:

The Darden Smith bundle.

In 1989 I bought my first, and last, Darden Smith album. It was Evidence and actually it was by Darden Smith and Boo Hewerdine. It was fantastic, but I never investigated either artists any further and I was fine with that. Sometimes it just happens, one album by an artist is sufficient enough to carry you through for the rest of your days.

But these days I tend to explore the entirety of an artist's catalog, buying everything by them and listening to them chronologically so I can hear growth, change, whatever over the course of that person or band's career.

This stack of ten CDs you see in the photo above is not the entirety of Darden Smith's catalog. This stack essentially covers his discography from 2002 to 2022 (roughly, I'll break it down at the end of this entry). That excludes his work from his debut in 1986 up to 1993 when he released six albums. I would always rather hear an artist's earlier years than their later years if I have to do an abbreviated catalog study. Quite frankly, I'd rather not even study Smith's career, no offense to him.

Here's how it happened. My brother, the original Mr Catalog Study has been doing one on Smith since last year. He will occasionally post a Darden Smith song on God's Jukebox and it is generally good. But honestly, I'm a hundred years old and I've heard Americana music to death and I'd rather not engage with a new artist (to me) in that genre at this moment in time. I have a dozen other full catalogs to explore that I've not yet heard, so an Americana artist is way down low on my list of catalog studies. Still, my brother's enthusiasm bled over into my mind. And then he told me on Smith's website he is selling ten of his albums on CD for $50. What a deal! In my greedy mind ten albums for $50 is such a bargain why would you ignore it?

I almost hit the buy it now button on Smith's site but then I came to my senses. The last thing I wanted was ten late career albums by an artist who never intrigued me beyond the aforementioned Evidence, which is so good, I pulled it out and began playing last September when my brother bought his Darden Smith bundle.

Well, I was playing Evidence a lot, late at night. Mrs Echo was gone again for a week at a time and I'll often sit upstairs late, playing albums, having a couple of Shiners and evidently, after a few beers from Brew Works, I went home and played Evidence and had a couple more drinks and then...

...I awoke in the morning to a Pay Pal receipt in my email telling me I authorized $50 to Smith. I was so unhappy with myself that I ignored the fact I did this. That was September. Quite frankly I forgot about doing that foolish act until Christmas when my brother came to town and he told me he had to write Smith because it has been four months and nothing has ever shown in his mailbox. Smith himself responded that he has had distributor problems or something, I've already forgotten because I didn't want to be reminded of my failing will power. Long story short, Smith assured my brother his package will arrive shortly. I knew that must hold true for myself, even if I no longer wanted the damn things.

I am so angry with myself, my lack of will power, my greed and my enjoyment of Brew Works/ Shiner Bock. Oh well, now I'm stuck, I'm not buying more Smith, his catalog study will include this stack of ten and then I'm done. I don't need 18 Darden Smith albums crowding my CD shelf. Ten is bad enough.

Starting at the bottom of that stack in the photo above, here are the ten albums:

Deep Fantastic Blue (Plump Records) (released in 1996)

Sunflower (Dualtone) (released in 2002)

Circo (Dualtone) (released in 2004)

Field of Crows (Dualtone) (released in 2005)

Ojo (not on label) (released in 2006)

After All This Time: The Best of Darden Smith (Darden Music) (released in 2009)

Marathon (Darden Music) (released in 2010)

Love Calling (Compass Records) (released in 2013)

Everything (Compass) (released in 2017)

Western Skies (not on label) (released in 2022)

[dreamii-yume]

How would the yans respond to a darling who confesses they've been kidnapped by a different yan before?

*sniff* You smell that? That’s high levels of toxicity in the air coming from your Yandere, Darling.

Yanderes who somehow still have their sense of moral compass would probably feel bad for you in some way—Yanderes like these are probably those that were victims themselves, people who experienced trauma enough that they could sympathize with you. They’re still somehow sane and is absolutely aware of their own unhealthy obsession and whenever they see the fear still lingering in your eyes from past experiences, they become more guilty of their actions—To the point of beating themselves up for it. They’re conflicted, different emotions running through their minds—They want to protect and to make sure something like that won’t ever happen again, but the only way that they could actually do that is to…swallow their own hypocrisy and do the same thing to you. But don’t panic! They swear they’re different! They’re never gonna hurt you, they’ll give you everything you want, they’ll talk and play with you all day! You will never be unhappy with them, look—You can even walk around the house if you really want to…Just—Don’t go outside the house, no talking to people, it’s for your own good, okay? You understand what they’re going for, don’t you? Surely…You, of all people, should understand how dangerous the world is. Don’t you…want to get out of that?

Meanwhile, we have Yanderes who uses your past trauma as a threat—They know what you’ve been through and frankly speaking, they aren’t afraid make you experience it all over again. Honestly, Yanderes like this enjoys that fearful look in your eye the moment they mention something that triggers your fight-or-flight response, which may or may not have been intentional. They like feeling in-control of your emotions, know which buttons to press to have you acting the way they want. If you don’t want to go back in being tied up down in the basement, then be good for them.

Probably will blame you for being the victim—You probably got treated that way for being bad, right? You probably wanted it, seeking attention or something. But that’s okay, people make mistakes and they’re nice, so from now—You’ll be in their care, they will absolutely make sure that no one else will treat you like this. This is about cooperation, after all—You be good to them, be on your best behavior, and be an obedient doll for them and only them and they’ll spoil you in return. Sounds like a deal, no? Wouldn’t want to experience anything worse than before, right?

But don’t get them wrong now, Darling. When they said they’re going to protect you, they meant it. In fact, they’ll be the one to actively make the effort to search for your past yandere and have a little…talk with them. You know, just to make sure they will never bother with you again. It doesn’t look like it, considering how sadistic and insane they look to you—But they feel genuine anger that something like that had happen to you before. Their pride just can’t take it, and they do love you enough to take action against that…They’re just a bit unhinged, that’s all. But if they’re willing to accept you in such a damaged state, you wouldn’t mind loving that little craziness in them, right?

[cosmicjoke]

Ya know, it gets me how in chapter 110, Levi really tries to talk to Zeke and understand where the hell he was coming from when he attacked and essentially killed all those people in Ragako village, and Zeke repays that attempt at understanding by continuing to act glib and lie straight to Levi’s face.  Honestly, Levi’s attempts to understand Zeke are more than he deserves, but Levi holds out that branch anyway.  But with the way Zeke responds, continuing to lie, and feigning confusion at Levi’s persistence in asking him, it only justifies Levi’s suspicion further.  Levi KNOWS he’s lying.  As it’s established again and again throughout the manga, Levi’s probably better at reading people than anyone.  He’s got a better grasp on human nature, and on seeing what makes people tick than any other character in the story.  He knows how people work, and has probably been exposed to more kinds of people than anyone else.  So he knows Zeke is full of shit when he tells him that he “wishes I hadn’t had to do it, but I did.”.  Levi is willing to admit to Zeke that he doesn’t know if he really wants to save Eldia or not, he can’t know Zeke’s true motivations, and he willingly says so to Zeke, but he can tell Zeke is lying about his remorse.  Levi keeps asking him why he did what he did to Ragako, because he’s trying to glean if he’s somehow misread Zeke on this point.  He’s trying to see if Zeke really DOES feel bad about what he did, if he feels any kind of genuine remorse.  He’s trying to see if there’s anything at all human in Zeke.  The fact Levi is even looking for that in him, after all Zeke’s already done to him and his friends, is frankly remarkable.  That he’s willing to extend him that courtesy, to extend him that benefit of the doubt.  But then Zeke continues to be dishonest with him, and to act snide and dismissive of Levi’s anger, and Levi flat out calls him on it.  Zeke thinks he’s super smart, that he’s just fucking with Levi and having a laugh at his expense, but he’s unaware that Levi is studying him here, paying attention to the language he uses, to his body language, the way he says things, the tone he uses, etc...  Levi’s reading him, and looking for clues as to Zeke’s true feelings.  He isn’t assuming at all, the way Zeke accuses him.  He’s trying to see if Zeke means what he’s saying, to understand if there’s more to Zeke than he’s letting on, to understand if Zeke maybe isn’t as heartless as he acted in Shinganshina that day, and he concludes from Zeke’s behavior and carriage that, no, he doesn’t mean what he’s saying at all about feeling bad, and he isn’t any different from the demented murderer who took real pleasure in killing a bunch of defenseless soldiers.  He’s telling Zeke that yeah, maybe you really did it all to save Eldia (which turns out to be a lie anyway.), but you don’t feel anything at all at having killed a bunch of innocent people who had nothing to do with anything, and who never did anything to Zeke himself.  And then Zeke’s response to this is to continue to mock Levi and make light of the whole thing.  And people wonder why Levi hates the bitch so much.  Zeke is the very definition of a conman, a pathological liar who’s willing to use any trick in the book and hurt anyone, so long as it gets him what he wants.  When you look at Zeke’s actual, driving motivation too, it’s the definition of petty.  He literally wants to wipe out an entire race of people so he can stick it to daddy, all while deluding himself into believing it’s for the greater good, that he’s doing it to “save the children”.  Bitch, please.  This guy knows deep down it’s not that, that he’s just upset ‘cause daddy didn’t love him enough, and he’s going to take out his anger and pain over that on an entire race of human beings.  The same way we saw Zeke take out his anger at his father on the Survey Corps in Shinganshina, the way he lost control of his temper and started screaming at them all, calling them pathetic and disgusting, etc...  That’s who Zeke really is.  Someone willing to murder innumerable people to satiate his own pain at having been neglected for a couple years as a child.  And running up against Levi’s blunt honesty and noble pursuit of wanting to help as many people as possible, running up against a character as selfless and non-judgmental as Levi, you really couldn’t have two more opposed characters.

What pisses me off about Zeke too is his smugness.  He accuses Levi of making assumptions about him, but it’s actually Zeke who’s the one assuming.  He assumes Levi is just a dumb soldier who’s easy to manipulate because of his compassion, and Zeke’s entire plan hinges on that assumption.  That he’ll be able to deal with Levi because he thinks he’s just some kind hearted idiot who won’t be able to kill his own soldiers once they’ve been turned into titans.  But like I said, Zeke’s the one here who’s being read.  He’s exposing himself to Levi without even realizing it, thinking he’s the one in control of the situation, pulling the wool over Levi’s eyes, and amusing himself with it.  But Levi never once falls for Zeke’s bullshit.  He knows the guy’s a lying sack of shit, knows he’s up to something underhanded, knows the words he’s spouting aren’t anything but a twisted manipulation.

Honestly, I don’t get people who complain that Zeke made a fool out of Levi, or that Levi was acting out of character by letting Zeke rile him up.  Levi isn’t riled up here.  Not at all.  He never loses his temper in these exchanges, he never gets overly angry or upset.  He’s observing Zeke, and telling Zeke exactly what he thinks of him.  Again, it’s Levi’s honesty against Zeke’s deceitfulness.  Zeke’s the one that looks like the asshole here, because, well, he is.  

[thedishonestmedia]

9/11 (long rant)

We say never forget, but it took Congress all of three days to forget, and launch a war which kill more Americans than 9/11 could have ever hoped to kill. (Shout-out to Barbara Lee for being the only member of Congress with the moral rectitude to oppose this) We called this a war in order to defend freedom and then passed the brazenly unconstitutional Patriot Act. The goal of terrorism is often not to eradicate populations but to inspire fear and promote self-destructive policy. To Al-Qaeda I say, mission accomplished. We have gladly given our government nearly unrestricted surveillance powers that have yet to foil a terror plot anywhere near on this scale 20 years out. Quite frankly we should be ashamed of ourselves for renewing the Patriot Act even once.

I am not old enough to remember 9/11, but I am old enough to remember the Boston Marathon bombings. I grew up along the route of the marathon. Locking down the metro and 24/7 news coverage of the event was exactly what the Tsarnaev brothers wanted and we gave it to them. Nor is it even clear that the likely unconstitutional house to house search worked. It was only after people began to roam freely again that a man discovered Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. Our response to 9/11, however, was a far worse moral failing. Not only did we enter a war where it quickly became clear that there would be no exit strategy, we decided to start a second one in Iraq. Instead of appreciating the intelligence failures that lead to this attack, we decided to pursue the absurd notion of a war on terror. As if global terrorism can be defeated by a show of brute force and not by the well established methods of de-radicalizing.

We were not content with these unnecessary wars, and decided to tear up our own constitution too. I will not mince words here. Guantanamo is not on American soil because the United States government knows what they are doing is unconstitutional and they know it is deeply immoral. (Pretty much every CIA director would be internationally wanted for war crimes if they acted the way they do and the United States weren't this fucking powerful but that is a separate rant in itself). We pride ourselves on being a nation of laws and due process, but are we? Are we really so cowardly as to detain people who have been convicted of no crime for multiple years without even fucking charging them? We don't know that the people at Guantanamo are even guilty. Some of the convicted detainees have had their convictions overturned. Bush officials have publicly admitted that some of the people there are innocent. Is this brazen disregard for our constitution what never forget means? Is this the freedom we are fighting for.

I also want to turn my attention to the outrage machine about the deaths of 9/11. They are an unimaginable tragedy that I will never understand. Nevertheless, I have lived through the past 18 months. I watched as more than 210x the number of people died. Preventable deaths had the Trump administration showed any leadership. If the US had responded on the level of South Korea, some estimates suggest that the government held the the power to prevent north of 90% percent of these deaths. Even Dr Deborah Birx states that most deaths after the first 100,000 were preventable. We do not see 9/11 level solidarity around experiencing this level of preventable death every 2 days at some particularly bad points. So please do not lecture me about never forget. It was never about the victims, it was about the death cult of the American flag. The pandemic made clear what, for years, I struggled to articulate. The outrage around 9/11 is of political convenience, not humanitarian concern. It is convenient to the American Empire to exploit tragedy to further the war hawk agenda. We get no such gain from taking common sense measure to respond to a global health crisis and are happy to let our population die before even showing a modest amount of compassion and solidarity. How can you say never forget when you never remembered in the first place?

I am happy to talk about the facts of this, but I do not apologize for the sentiment of anything I said here.

[bassiter2]

the more i think about it the more i think i’ll actually be extremely disappointed if there isn’t ever a gus (and max)-centric prequel series

firstly we all know that good things come in threes and even if they didn’t, gus fits into a pre-existing trifecta of men within the breaking bad universe who control it all: walt’s actions fuel the main series, which chronicles his descent into evil. saul enables much of walt’s success, and so he’s gotten his own series that chronicles his loss of a moral center as well as shows how all of his resources came together to allow walt to do what he does later.

meanwhile gus is the one who triggers all of that into motion, and he’s done it almost entirely on purpose - if you don’t count the event that all of it is responding to, of course. gus is responsible for the meth trade in albuquerque. he’s connected to saul and mike and madrigal and the cartel. he’s literally at the core of the overarching plot of breaking bad.

we of course already know the exact event that drove gus to craft the circumstances in which saul’s and later walt’s stories took place, but what i’m suggesting is not yet another series about the aftermath of max’s murder that’s simply very direct about that fact this time --

no, what i’m suggesting and more importantly what i would LOVE... is a series that would show everything before max’s murder. 

and yes, this would essentially make it so the protagonist doesn’t technically break bad until the very end - OR, possibly even, that this time the protagonist’s arc is not about him getting worse at all but in fact better. which would then make it a sort of doubly ironic tragedy bc not only do we know exactly where gus ends up, but we wouldn’t even be having to confront that fact or those themes for the majority of the series, unlike with bcs and saul’s tragedy. it wouldn’t necessarily be a very happy story that simply ends with a bang, but the decay that leads up to that bang (i’m thinking, the decay of gus’s ability or want to act without extreme forethought, or to be inconsiderate?) would just be much more subtle bc it’s not of the moral variety.

frankly it’s these contrasts with brba and bcs that i think would make a potential gus-centric prequel series really fucking good and feel even more complete. like, watching bcs is really like watching a lot of the same problems that brba put out there but then they get solved completely differently, allowing us to see all angles. imagine the angles we’d see with gus, who is already a clear foil for walt!

it would be a perfect sort of mirror-image parallel, with bcs sitting in the middle between it and breaking bad both chronologically and symbolically. consider:

walt has an established marriage that’s doomed to fail and does so rapidly. saul has a sort-of gf who quickly develops more and then their relationship slowly falls apart. and gus's onscreen romance with max would actually begin before day 1, developing throughout the series.

family. walt clings to the idea that everything he does is for them in order to justify his actions, but isn’t actually very involved with them. saul is VERY involved with his family and it’s actually that involvement that drives him to start doing more bad things out of spite. and gus would likely feel justified in doing any of the bad things he does because he has NO family.

the dichotomy of walt’s domestic life vs. his criminal life. skyler vs. jesse. for saul, kim embodies that dichotomy all herself and switches between the skyler role and jesse role at will (though at great cost to her own self). and for gus? it remains to be seen, but i imagine he could be the one successfully embodying skyler and jesse once it gets to that point. max is the one who knows how to make meth, after all.

walt dives headfirst into the criminal underground upon feeling like he’s been given the first ever opportunity to do big things, full of turmoil the whole time until he dies and takes almost everyone else down with him. saul relatively passively allows the criminal world to take him, being sapped gradually over time of a moral compass until he’s a wholly opportunistic shell of a man. gus, during bcs and brba, successfully rides the line between the legitimate world and the criminal one. something tells me he started in the realm of crime and worked his way up.

anyway even aside from all that it’s honestly just? WILD how little of gus’s past we actually know when he’s so significant to the plot??? there’s such small hints that you REALLY have to pay attention to, and even then we don’t get a clear picture. 

we know he had a reputation prior to meeting the salamancas - a reputation that saved his life. and we know it’s something military-related and likely to do with the pinochet regime. and we know that he started off in deep poverty but by the 80s was wealthy enough to pay for max’s education. but that’s it! and that’s PERFECT potential for a premise of a series! it’s only fair that we could see those blanks get filled in, and especially to do the same thing we did with walt and saul - to watch, in real time, how gus became the man we’ve known him to be since at least 1989. 

finally the fact that this potential show would surely also just be a beautiful period piece that would put gay latino representation on the mainstream’s radar.......... like PLEASE holy shit

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Christmas Event, Part Three

For you Dex/Wright Farling people who have wondered how Dex and Wright got along early on, they, uh… didn’t. But the Christmas Event is the catalyst for the way everything else will change between them, and here is Part Three! 

This is a collaboration between @spiffythespook and myself. Wright Farling and Jordan are her OCs, while Dex and Karen Renford are mine. Please heed content warnings.

Karen is 28 in this piece, while Wright and Dex are 25 and 23 and Jordan is thirteen. 

CW: Aftermath of whump involving a minor, dehumanizing language, aftermath of noncon, pet whump, noncon touching, forced drinking

PART ONE PART TWO

Karen's work was beautiful - Dex was beautiful, in his careful submission, even now, after it all.

“We should clean up,” Wright said finally, with a sigh of contentment. He didn’t move his hands from Dex’s thighs yet, though, taking another look over the man in the warm light.

Everything was beautiful in this light. 

Wright dragged a couple fingers over the mess on Dex’s stomach - aware that it was on his own, too, and not caring - slipped his thumb over the sweat where leg met torso.

Dex had been in positions like this before, with Wright, and when he realized what Wright was doing with his fingers he started to open his mouth reflexively.

He caught himself when Wright's hand didn't move, and his teeth clicked together with how fast he shut it again.

Wright lingered, but finally he had to admit it was time to end this delightful moment. “Go ahead and use the bathroom downstairs. I’ll head upstairs. It’ll be easier on your back.”

Dex paused, clearly surprised, his eyes searching Wright's face. The lack of condescension, even momentary, in his tone was more unsettling than the violence Dex was always expecting, and the chance to have just a few minutes to himself - that Wright had given even the slightest damn whether something was easier on him or not…

He swallowed against an unfamiliar, horrifying little twist of something other than hatred. Then he signed, thank you, W-R-I-G-H-T with real, if conflicted, gratitude, as he shifted to lift himself off of Wright to try and stand.

“You’re welcome.” Wright smiled and tilted his head a bit as he watched Dex sign and try to stand. It was a good moment to save, that look on his face when he was surprised and uncertain, the struggle to get up.

He didn’t help, didn’t lift Dex’s hips for him, just watched.

"Do you have spare clothes, or do you think these will do?" He gestured to what was on the floor. “I have plenty to spare if not.” Wouldn’t it be funny, for him to wear Wright’s clothes? In front of Karen and Jordan, no less.

Dex stumbled a little getting to his feet - legs still wobbly and threatening to give out, as much from the aftermath of sex as from the ache now starting back up as the post-orgasm glow faded. He kept his eyes down - he didn’t have to see Wright’s face to know he was being watched. He flushed a little more under the attention.

It took serious determination for him to lean himself over to pick up the pants without just falling back onto the floor, but he managed it, his jaw set in a grim line, face paling at the pain. He opened his mouth to form an answer, then stopped, staring at the pants.

As he hesitated, he realized he could feel the mess on his stomach going cold, the cool stickiness on the inside of his legs. He took a shaky breath in, and then bundled the pants heedlessly close so he could sign. Blood. Can’t wear. She dislikes blood.

Wright’s caning to the backs of his thighs had drawn enough blood to show on the backs of the pantlegs. He glanced back at the folded sweater - he could probably wear that. Shirt is fine, he signed quickly, hands shaking just a little, stumbling through the motions. That would at least be something. He felt a cold weight in his stomach at the idea of spending the rest of this visit walking around in Wright Farling’s clothing, like he was Wright’s kept boy and not Karen’s at all.

“I understand,” Wright nodded, a gentleness to his tone that suggested compassion. “Go ahead to the bathroom. I’ll bring you pants to match.”

He stretched a bit and stood, about to get the sweater for Dex… but one hand had lube, and on the other, stickiness and sweat. He held them up, wrinkled his nose. “Sorry, can’t help.”

Wright did pick up his own clothes, shoved them under his arm, and left the room to head upstairs - where he took a fast shower and changed into fresh, then grabbed a spare pair of pants to bring on the way down.

Dex dropped the bloody pants into the hamper in Wright’s bathroom - he could take care of it himself, later, he usually acted as Wright’s own Domestic during these visits anyway.

He made it into the shower and under the spray of hot water before he finally started to silently cry, saltwater tears mixing with the water from the tap. He never made enough sound that you could have differentiated one from the other. The first thing Karen had ever taught him was to cry like this - silent and hidden - if he had to cry at all.

When Wright came back into the living room, the faint sound of the water running could still be heard in the hallway, Dex’s shower still going. Karen was back on the couch with a brand new opened bottle of wine at the ready, Wright’s glass already poured for him, and a sparkle of pure happiness in her eyes.

Wright paused in the hall, taking in the image to save - he needed more rooms for these moments. Moments when his darling looked so happy, and the background she rested in was controlled and beautiful. As things ought to be, that they might reflect her well.

She hadn’t bound Jordan - that was Wright’s specialty, hers was to hold in place by making her trainees simply too afraid of the consequences of moving - but she had placed him right back in the spot he’d been in when they arrived.

“I took the liberty of tossing your, ah, messy blanket in the washing machine for Dex to deal with later,” Karen said brightly. She glanced over at Jordan with a cold smile. “Kindness was not particularly enjoying what he could hear, so we took a bit of a walk on the other side of your house once I bandaged him up after his discipline. We had a very productive discussion about Dex and Jordan’s mistake. Don’t you think so, darling?” She asked, lilting her voice in a bit of a singsong in Jordan’s direction.

Jordan nodded, eyes on the floor. His voice trembled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Wright smiled and leaned against the hallway wall, ankles crossed in his calm. “That’s wonderful. Thank you, love, for taking such good care of him. I’m looking forward to his scars,” he said, tilting his head a bit. He noticed Jordan shudder, and a playful glint crossed his eye.

Then he walked away - no, he danced away, back to the bathroom.

Without warning to Dex, Wright opened the bathroom door and stuck his upper half in, tossed the pants onto the counter. “Here they are,” he said cheerfully, looking over the man’s silhouette in the fogged glass. “Take your time, darling.”

As quick as he was in, he was out again, the door closed. He walked to the couch with a bit of a spring in his step and sat, took up the wine, spent a moment staring at his friend.

Karen looked… languid, as close to the aftermath of sex as anyone would ever, in her entire life, see her. The opportunity to hurt without necessarily needing to follow a protocol came up so rarely with those who didn’t already belong to her that it was a gift, in her mind, to get the chance.

She looked right back at him, giving him a hint of an impish smile as she sipped the new wine slowly, savoring its warmth down her throat. “I hope Dex didn’t cause you too much trouble while we were out of the room,” She said - playfully but sincerely, too. “He’s been a pill recently at home. I probably should have warned you.”

“Oh, he was a nightmare. He said no to a command, fought me, swore, didn’t hold position… I swear I almost got him to talk…” Wright thought back and smiled, very content. “It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Absolutely delightful.”

Wright’s gaze travelled over Jordan, taking in his wide eyes. “Hm. Eavesdropping, are we? What did you hear, Snitch?”

“N-nothing, sir,” he responded softly.

“There you go.”

Karen listened to Wright’s recitation of Dex’s sins with an expression of pure, unadulterated embarrassment. Whether Wright was happy with it or not, that was a sign that her work with Dex wasn’t truly finished, that she’d failed in some fundamental way at one of her first true success stories.  

“Wright… you of all people… I’m so sorry.” Her tone was genuine, meaningful. “I know you say it was enjoyable for you, but he should never have been able to fight back. I can’t even begin to-... in your home, no less. I’m just so embarrassed for him. I’m-... I’m so truly sorry. I need you to tell me, love.” She sat up, gravely serious, but there was the faintest looseness to her words that belied the fact that she’d always had a bit of a weakness with wine. “Were you able to discipline him? Do you believe he needs more? I, I can of course take him to my room early tonight…”

Only with Wright had Karen ever betrayed this much uncertainty in her voice.

Wright paused, sipping his wine and considering her words. He looked away, tried not to read her. Already, he had several answers formed that had little to do with Dex and everything to do with Karen. Dependency, devaluing, deception… the ways he could shatter her were endless, and he fought that. Just for a few moments.

“I… understand that you feel you’ve been… impolite. Of course I understand, but that’s… Well.” Obvious, because of who he was.

“I understand that you feel you’ve failed. I understand your urgency to correct that. I understand your embarrassment and affection-” oh, good. That was all true. Really, he had to lay all his cards on the table of what he saw in her, in order to not use them. “Frankly, I enjoy taking Dex apart. It wouldn’t be entertaining for me if he was perfect. I’m not disappointed in you, or your abilities, or in what you’ve made of him. I quite like all three.”

Another pause, another sip. Still, he didn’t look at her. Karen wasn’t for his reading pleasure. “Of course I was able to discipline him. I would actually prefer you didn’t correct him here - I have a… a little game I’ve just set up with him. I’d like to see it through. You’ll get to see the end of it - when you do discipline him, he’ll realize what I’ve told you. You should see that. His hatred - it’s beautiful. I’d like you to see it. You will, then. I think what he needs…”

Wright tapped the glass with his index finger. “He has a sense of justice which tells him he’s better than you or me. He’s protective over children-” he gestured at Jordan. “Break that, you’ll break him.”

His eyes shifted to hers, finally. And then his expression changed from the pensive, thoughtful openness to his usual charming façade.  

The embarrassment faded, watching him speak - Karen loved to watch Wright work his way through a thought, and she knew him well enough to know why he laid his thoughts out so carefully piece by piece.

Honestly, if she’d had the slightest interest in physicality, she might have tried to convince Wright to marry her despite his homosexuality, just to put herself in a place where she could see that intellect, cold and sharp as a diamond, at work every single day.

“A game,” She repeated, and then a smile returned as she tapped the rim of her glass with one fingernail, thinking. “Wright, I love your games. Fair enough. It’s gracious of you to accept my apology so readily. You know, love, what’s mine is yours when we’re here. I try to live up to the standard you’ve set with your own projects.”

Then she tilted her head and put a finger to her lips, her playfulness back in force.

Wright understood, and nodded a pleased thank-you. He tipped back his glass and poured afresh for both of them. He felt relieved that he’d managed to continue the friendship between them. One day, perhaps, he’d slip. Not today, not even with alcohol in his blood and looseness in his limbs after orgasm.

In the bathroom, Dex dried himself off carefully, slowly. He had to avoid touching his own back or thighs too much, and he knew that pulling the sweater back on was going to be absolute agony. And he’d have to do it in front of them, too.

He hissed through his teeth pulling Wright’s pants on - discomfited by how well they fit him, uncomfortable with the idea that he and Wright shared anything, even if only pants size. Even more uncomfortable when he glanced in the mirror and realized they looked… pretty good on him. But… still, he was confused and thrown off, uncertain and worried.

Wright could have let Karen see blood spots on him, and he hadn’t done that, and he’d left him alone long enough to get clean at all. As he fastened his collar back around his throat, Dex tried not to dwell too long on why.

Wright’s kindnesses were more frightening than his sadism ever could be.

Dex swallowed, dried off his face, and moved with carefully placed steps out into the hall. He could hear them talking - or Karen talking, anyway - but not quite what they said. He moved into the living room, keeping his eyes carefully off to the side. Thank you, he signed again to Wright, and went to pick the sweater up, gritting his teeth against the pain as leaning over pulled at his wounds.

“You’re welcome, Dex,” Wright smiled back, tilting his head as he observed the man’s pain, his careful movements. Bed was going to be painful for him, too. Wright was going to enjoy that. “You were very good for me in Karen’s absence.”

Dex froze - just for a second.

If Jordan reacted at all, it was to go even more still than before, in an attempt to not get caught listening, reacting. Wright noticed. He thought about sensory deprivation for later.

Dex’s eyes flickered to Wright for a second before they went back to the floor. He’d come in expecting Karen’s cold disapproval, to have some new pain doled out to teach him not to stand up to Wright again.

He hadn’t expected this - Wright lying about him.

Pulling the sweater over his head hurt, and badly, but he fought himself back from showing how much by grinding his teeth together and setting his jaw, looking more angry than anything else. Once it was pulled over his head - the cloth rubbing painfully against the marks on his back - he glanced to Karen, looking for orders.

She considered, then held up a finger to stop him right where he was and leapt up herself, disappearing back into the kitchen and reappearing a second later with a third wineglass, plus a third bottle of wine. “I have a feeling we’ll need this,” She said brightly, and poured a generous glass, pushing it across the table at Dex.

“Kneel over there,” She gestured aimlessly.

Dex looked down at the wineglass, then back up at her, eyebrows furrowing, going painfully to his knees next to the couch the two of them were sitting on, just between them and the table. I drink? He asked, his hands moving through the signs hesitantly, as he fought the pain of the stripes laid across his thighs resting now on his calves.

Karen shrugged. “Well, it is Christmas, after all, and Wright swears you’ve been exactly what he hoped for.” She sank back into the softness of the couch cushions with absolute contentment.

Dex’s fingertips touched the glass, pausing and staring into it as though expecting it to be drugged, before he lifted it to take a sip. He couldn’t remember ever having wine that wasn’t drugged.

Wright watched the entire interaction with his usual calculated interest and a large side of amusement. Karen played along beautifully. He’d never seen her drunk, because no one had seen her drunk. He liked this version of her as much as any other… perhaps more, with her boundaries down and her self unguarded.

He couldn’t bring himself to do more than sip. He wouldn’t trust himself out of control. Unguarded souls were so much fun to play with… and he hadn’t worked for what she exposed. She’d bared it to him herself.

To Wright, that was fucking romantic.

I could wreck her tonight. I could be done by morning. I know so much of her already.

No. No, no, no.

Wright focused his eyes on Dex instead. Dex, he could take apart without repercussions. “How is the taste?”

Dex blinked in surprise, that anyone was speaking to him. The first taste had been bitter but smooth at the same time - not sweet at all, so more like the dry wines that Karen drank at home. Dex never drank any of them… he took another sip, and signed, mouthing along, I don’t know. I don’t think I like it.

“I’m not particularly interested in whether or not you do,” Karen said, her voice slightly airy. “Wine is acquired, Dex. No one likes their first glass of wine. Most of us just get to remember having it.”

Dex’s eyes went away from the two of them, back to the tree, grounding himself with the way he could look at the lights and unfocus his eyes, circles of white he could fixate on against a blurry green.

“You’ll finish it, Dex.” Karen’s voice had an edge. “This is a gift.”

Dex nodded quickly - the fight he could show with Wright was buried deep down with Karen, nonexistent - and took another sip, forcing himself to take a bigger one this time. By the fifth or sixth drink, he had to admit it seemed like the wine was tasting… better.

Wright floated, a bit. He could see too much, he could do too little. He mostly focused on Jordan’s little twitches and trembles, the way the boy was trying to eye Dex at points he thought Wright wouldn’t notice. They’d made so much progress, but that boy. His Kindness and his ratting worked hand-in-hand, because they had from the beginning, because that’s the pattern he had set for himself. Ratting out of kindness on one boy, jeopardizing the life of another.

He observed Dex, too. He observed the effect Karen had on Dex, but he didn’t observe her. He wanted to observe her, but that wasn’t… no, he couldn’t observe without manipulating, and he was unwilling to do the latter.

“Better now, hm?” he murmured to Dex, eyes half-hooded. He ran his toe up the outside of the man’s thigh. He wanted his time with Karen. And yet.

Dex jumped, slightly, but then set his jaw back to something closer to grim and glanced over at him, hiding his confusion behind something like a blank emptiness on his face. He nodded, looking over at Karen, then back at Wright. There was something he wasn’t quite picking up on, couldn’t get his mind around. With Karen’s eyes on him, he drank quickly, nervously.

To break a moment that felt like a weight about to fall on him, Dex set the wineglass down and glanced between them. You want to eat? He gestured at the meat and cheese tray, still out on the coffee table. I can get plates, we forgot plates before. I know where plates are.

He needed to get out of this room.

Dex might be the only person here who had seen Karen drink enough wine to really feel it, and he was smart enough to know she was more dangerous drunk, not less.

Oh, god. Wright was slow, too busy thinking and arguing with himself. Now there was Jordan and Karen, and his fucking brain wouldn’t shut off. He looked over at Karen, briefly. Very briefly - that was stupid - and then he called Jordan over. Jordan came obediently, shuffling on his knees as he was supposed to.

He didn’t put weight on his hands, though, and that clued Wright in on the damage.

The bandages were running up his arms. Of all the things he didn’t notice in a room…

Wright blinked when Jordan was in front of him - there were his thoughts, and he was losing time to them - and he leaned forward, elbows on his legs and hands open. “Show me.”

Jordan swallowed and put his trembling hands in Wright’s, not looking at the man’s eyes.

He wasn’t God, he couldn’t see the damage under the bandages. But he could see it in Jordan. “Show me,” he said again, picking up the boy’s left hand and then pointing with his own finger at the boy’s right hand, tracing. So Jordan traced the wounds, and Wright watched them open and bleed and water rinse the blood away. He sat back when he had the picture in his mind.

Dex hadn’t been given permission to go get the plates - to do anything - and remained on his knees next to the coffee table, tensing visibly when Jordan crossed the room on his knees. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Wright force one of his projects - the innocent children he was torturing - to move on their knees, but it never stopped being infuriating to witness, to be able to do nothing about it.

Dex at least knew, to some vague extent, that his own situation was voluntary. These boys had done nothing but be born somewhere Wright Farling could reach them.

He picked up the wineglass and drank the rest of it all at once, able to ignore the taste of it if he just drank fast enough for the liquid to mostly bypass his tongue entirely. He fought the urge to slam the glass down and break out, the anger that had died out of him earlier nearly back in full force. Instead, he placed it carefully, quietly back on the table, with a hand that trembled just slightly.

Karen watched Jordan move with an entirely different expression on her face - a deep admiration, amusement. She was entertained. Jordan might as well have been a different boy entirely the first time she’d met him, but he was coming along so nicely now. “What a sweetheart,” She murmured, sipping her own glass quite happily. “He did very well, Wright. Held still as long as anyone could be expected to at his age, kept very quiet right up until the end… I was very impressed with how well-trained he is. When I told him to listen, he was very attentive, too.”

That might have had something to do with the knife she was still holding, dripping his blood, but she had definitely held his attention.

“Very good,” he murmured, slipping his hand into Jordan’s hair to pet him. Just once. Jordan flinched a little, but otherwise didn’t show his discomfort. He stared at Wright’s hand under his own. “I’m glad he was good for you, love. He’s not finished, but he’s coming along.”

Wright was silent a moment, before he realized he’d automatically cut Dex out of the room when he’d signed that he would get plates. Dex hadn’t gone to get plates, no… Dex was right beside him. He was within Jordan’s reach.

With a little laugh, Wright shook his head and set both his hands down, away from Jordan. “Pet the dog, Kindness.”

The boy’s eyes flicked up at Wright’s face, stayed just below the man’s eyes and locked on his chin. He could see from the expression that Master was not joking, even if he’d laughed along with the command. He felt frozen, though. Pet the dog? He swallowed and looked over at Dex, clenching his teeth together and feeling… sad, frustrated, upset.

Jordan hung his head a moment, then pressed his cheek to Wright’s knee - the only way he could get permission to ask a question.

Wright paused, sighed, and then shook his head. “No. You may not. Pet the dog.”

The boy wet his lips, blinked back tears, and slowly reached to pat Dex’s head. He was cautious, not wanting to hurt his hand and hoping Dex wouldn’t push him away. He had to be good.

Dex’s eyes had skipped up to Wright’s face in surprise at the command, and then dropped again. The humiliation was strong, but stronger was the anger. The same way he felt sometimes at Karen’s parties, when her coworkers came with their pets and their children in tow, the kids taught to treat the pets the same way their parents did.

Wright Farling was a disease, trying to spread. Or some kind of mold growing into the cracks inside of people, using children like toys.

If he’s a disease, he’s a disease you’ve had inside you, his mind reminded him, and Dex’s face flared red again.

He'd had Wright inside of him and loved the feeling, too. He swallowed that thought back, forced it away and behind the wall where everything he wasn’t allowed to think lived.

The rage in him dropped when he looked at Jordan, and he ducked his head, bending over even as the marks on his back became a flash of deep pain, making it easier for the boy to pet him without having to press too hard with his injured hand. Jordan pet his head gently, just a couple times, and pulled his hand back like he’d stuck it into a fire.

Karen watched in silence, considering this, something thoughtful back in her face, the impish mischief fading back to the Karen Renford most people saw - cold, and calculating, always making a new plan, looking for the parts of people that did not quite fit together.

“Good boy, Dex,” She said softly, running her finger around the rim of her wineglass until it began to hum and finally to make a real note, to nearly sing. “But I think you can be lower than that. Lay down.”

Dex stared up at her, grinding his teeth together - met by Karen’s cold, implacable certainty that her orders would be obeyed. If he was scared of pushing Wright any further than he already had, he was terrified of pushing Karen at all.

And she knew it.

Dex slowly shifted his legs out from underneath him, moving onto his hands and knees and then lowering himself to his stomach on the floor.

Jordan watched, quivering, blinking rapidly to stop his tears. He felt so bad for the other captive. He understood that he had done things wrong, that he’d hurt other people and that was awful, he wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. Wright would fix the part inside of Jordan that hurt people. But Dex wasn’t going to be fixed. He was going to be hurt, and hurt, and it wouldn’t ever stop.

He wished he could help, but he couldn’t. Maybe if he was good, if he got the freedom they talked about - Master and Karen - maybe he could help then. For now, he had to obey when Master laughed and told him to pet Dex again.

Dex closed his eyes this time, swallowing hard at the hesitant run of Jordan's fingers through his hair.

“Good boy, Kindness,” Wright murmured, when Jordan pulled his hand back a second time. He swallowed and trembled harder, his eyes tearing up. Master took a special interest in tears. “Look at me, love,” he murmured, predictably.

Jordan did, and he felt it break in him like every other time - an onslaught of tears with no sobs allowed to accompany them if he was around other people. Master hummed and stroked his cheek.

“Good boy. That’s enough, now. Go back to your room and clip yourself,” he commanded. Jordan nodded, blinking away the blur in his eyes. He was relieved that he’d get to be alone, relieved that he didn’t have to cause Dex any more suffering.

He would try to apologize later, if he got the chance.

He shuffled on his knees down the hall, to the Room, and struggled with the door handle several moments before he got inside. He closed the door behind himself and moved on his knees to his leash. The light was always on in here. The leash was very difficult to pull the clip on with his hands shaking. He tied it around his collar instead.

Wright sat back again, content.

Freshly finished with that game, he looked over at Karen and felt no desire to manipulate her. He smiled at her and drank more wine.

Dex kept his eyes closed, against the heat and humiliation, until Karen poured more into his glass and commanded him to drink.

Drink he did, and hoped the wine would wash away the sense of Wright Farling still covering his skin.

[bloody-cute-yandere]

Hello I have written a dissertation about a phrase I hate

Two Wrongs Don’t Make a Right?

 So I guess to start off this train of thought, I should explain what started it. I love listening to commentary channels on YouTube. They ARE my reality TV, except they seem to cover more important topics. One of the commentary channels I follow is CreepShow Art. I have listened to her videos for quite some time, and while she doesn’t show as much by way of scientific or empirical evidence in her videos, I do feel she is a pretty credible source because she does reference public posts as evidence for her claims, and a lot of what she talks about is readily fact-checkable. Over the past few weeks Creepshow has made a few videos about another youtuber Without A Crystal Ball (who I will abbreviate to WACB for brevity), who is another commentary channel that allegedly has questionable research tactics and reporting skills. She also is prone to being defensive and seems to have the mindset of “any criticism is hate”. Creepshow made a video first about how WACB had dug around in an inappropriate way to gain information about Tati Westbrook and then reported her findings in a more skewed way, which ended up painting Tati in potentially an unfairly negative light. WACB responded….. badly to the criticism she received from Creepshow and other channels that criticized her. She, among other things, went onto a livestream of another channel and doxed Creepshow in the chat. Also, potentially unrelated but someone has allegedly been repeatedly attempting to hack Creepshow’s social media platforms, along with several others that criticized WACB’s behavior. WACB also sent an email to Creepshow where she insinuated that Youtube itself was pushing the entire conflict between the two of them to be handled privately, but were watching the issue at hand. Creepshow responded by showing the email to her audience, which did include showing the email WACB used to reach out to Creepshow. WACB became upset that she had been “doxed” by Creepshow (though it is worth noting that the exposed email address in question happens to be attached to all of her social medias, and not any private information).

               During WACB’s most recent response to being “doxed” she used the idiom “Two wrongs don’t make a right”, and I have been stewing on that particular idiom ever since. I’m sure that isn’t an unfamiliar phrase for most people reading this, but for those that haven’t heard it before, it runs akin to the idea of not stooping to someone else’s level when in an argument. The idea is that if someone hurts you then you should be the bigger person and not react in a bad way, because that won’t help the situation become resolved. To a certain extent I believe this idea is absolutely correct; if you want to resolve a situation with another person, you don’t want to make the situation worse by lashing out if they’ve done something to you that is hurtful, because then you just have more hurt feelings you have to resolve in the process of moving forward. However, this idea also hinges upon two crucial truths that must exist in order for it to apply. One: that the two people involved in a disagreement must or want to resolve the conflict at all, and two: that the first offense is not an act done with malicious or cold-hearted intent. It also depends on a moral compass that is entirely determined by outside influences as opposed to an internal value system.

               The first assumption “two wrongs don’t make a right” depends on is the idea that both party members do actually want to resolve their current disagreement. If the two people in the middle of an argument are emotionally close (or tied together in other ways) and no one in the situation wants to (or can’t) cut ties with the other person, I would say that this assumption is valid. In the case of Creepshow and WACB, however, this is not the case. According to Creepshow they don’t know eachother. Speaking frankly, this means that there is no relationship that needs to be protected. One could argue a necessity for professional courtesy seeing as how they share the same platform and roughly the same content ideas, however the Youtube platform is so vast already that two single small to moderately sized channels having a feud shouldn’t in any real sense have any effect on the other’s job. In a more general sense, if person A cases a fight with a person they don’t know very well or don’t interact with much, there is no social consequence if person B stoops down to person A’s level (whether or not there are legal repercussions is a separate issue). Neither person A nor person B will have any sort of ripples in their own separate circles as a direct result of the negative exchange because their individual social groups will be biased to agree with their persons’ interpretation of the events. The social distance will also save person A and person B from any future unpleasantness through the mere virtue of anonymity.

A similar argument can be made for people who have no interest in maintaining a relationship they had previously had with each other; even people who had been previously close to eachother can decide to break contact with each other over egregious offenses. In these cases, there is less care about whether you’re behaving in a “good” way because you have no investment in the relationship progressing. In either scenario, it doesn’t matter if you stoop low in an argument if you’re willing to accept the consequences of that behavior, or if there won’t be any appreciable consequences for that behavior.

               The second truth that “two wrongs don’t make a right” depends on is that the first offense is not a heinous vindictive one. For example, Doxing. Doxing is the illegal spread of personal information to the public. The act of doxing can leave the victim severely vulnerable to more violent crimes such as stalking, theft/ mugging, rape and murder because their location or other personal information is now known to people that may be willing to cause them physical harm. It’s a dangerous and illegal act. Other potential heinous actions from person A include any other illegal activity (such as assault or other forms of violence, theft) or can be something that technically isn’t illegal but is a severe breaching of boundaries or someone’s own comfort level. If you know someone personally you probably know things that would really upset them, and the act of going through and performing those actions KNOWING that they will be upsetting to your victim is cold-hearted and cruel. At that point in a disagreement, person A isn’t trying to resolve a problem, they are simply lashing out with the sole purpose of destruction. That is not constructive, nor is it ok. In these cases such as these there’s a high likelihood that person B will no longer want to associate with person A if they originally did. example: I knew a person a long time ago that was TERRIFIED of gnomes. They hated them. So, what would happen if at some point this person and I got into a disagreement and I decided to give her a garden gnome as a present? It wouldn’t be illegal by any stretch; it’s a gift. However, it’s a gift that the person would have HATED, and I would have known that. Between them and I it would have been a declaration of war, not a peace-making offer. Furthermore, it would have been proof that I was willing to use this person’s personal deep fears that they confided in me out of trust against them; even if our relationship survived the original disagreement it would probably never be the same. Who, in that case, could really blame this person if they responded in kind? It would be a human response and, in a way, I would absolutely have deserved it because I had breached her trust in an unforgivable way.

               At risk of this becoming a dissertation, I happen to especially dislike the idea of the person who committed sleight A being the person to scream “two wrongs don’t make a right” after person B responds to them in the way that WACB responded to Creepshow. To me, that seems like person A is trying to put themselves on a pedestal of superiority, despite the fact that they hurt person B first. “I know what I did was wrong, but you’re not supposed to hurt me back! Two wrongs don’t make a right!” Person A is just trying to avoid consequences for their actions at that point. Because really, what happened to “treat others the way you want to be treated?” I know this begins to sound victim-blamey, but what right does a person have to be upset for (not really) being doxed after they knowingly decided to dox someone else? They’ve already shown that doxing is definitely something they’re ok with, so if they’re going to argue that the original doxing wasn’t a big deal, why is it suddenly a big enough deal to them now that they are the victim of it? I hate hypocrisy like that.

My final note on “two wrongs don’t make a right” is that the entire phrase depends on each person in the disagreement depending on an external source for their moral compass as opposed to having their own internal value system. Morality is, overall, an incredibly gray concept in any society. It is informed by each person’s individual moral ideals which can come from religion, family values, upbringing, influences from social idols and more. Even universal truths like “murder is wrong” become smudged quickly when ideas about self-defense are considered (which becomes even murkier when you begin to question what sorts of actions require “self-defense”). This means that there can be vastly different views about what is and is not ok about any particular topic within one society. There will also be some people that have a very strong internal moral compass within that society, and some people that depend more on the community to act as their compass. If a person who uses an internal moral compass to guide themselves, then they will behave in a manner that falls in line with that compass regardless of how their peers may respond. If, however, a person does not have a strong internal moral compass, their behavior will be largely influenced by those around them because they depend on that social structure to guide their behavior. For someone that has a strong internal compass that they rely on, the idea that “two wrongs don’t make a right” probably won’t have much value to them, because their morality is already determined regardless of what the people around them may say. If person A does x to them, then person B’s moral sense will determine what is and is not ok to respond with, and whether others say that response is right or wrong is irrelevant because they already believed they are justified in whatever response they had. For a person that relies more heavily on their peers for their moral compass, however, “two wrongs don’t make a right” might sort of work as an appropriate guide because it comes from an external place to encourage what socially would be considered “good” behavior, though that itself then depends on what is considered “right” and “wrong” by the surrounding populace, which has already been established to be a bit of a crap shoot.

Overall (and I cannot stress this enough), I don’t believe that a disagreement of any sort should come with responses like doxing or assault or theft or a breach of trust like the examples I gave above. I believe that all people should strive to be better and act with dignity. I always try to act as though everything I do will be posted online for the world to see, and if I wouldn’t want to receive the backlash I could get for a particular action then I tend to not do that thing in the first place. I also believe that hypocrisy is one of the more disgusting personality traits someone can have. If someone doxes another person, clearly they believe that doxing is a justifiable action, and to then have that person be upset when someone behaved in the same “correct” way (As far as person A has shown of their moral values), that is just plain gross. Don’t do to other people what you wouldn’t want done to you, and also don’t be surprised if you’re not the only person willing and capable of lashing out at your level if you decide to stoop low. If you don’t want to give someone else a pass, then don’t deign to believe that you deserve some kind of special allowance to stomp all over others.

[unwiltingblossom]

Hey there. Sasusaku may know me, but Zutara probably doesn’t. I’m not in the ATLA fandom, but I have observed enough to notice something that intrigues me about Zutara, aside from the fact I’d totally board the ship if I were foolish enough to watch a show knowing I was going to fail (actually, consider me proto-Zutara I guess because I think I liked it in the movie. Maybe I liked Kataang. Maybe I liked both. Can’t remember. moving on.)

I think it’s interesting that somewhat unintentionally Sasusaku and Zutara illustrate pretty clearly the difference between Japanese fandom and western fandom, in a way that Sasusaku already shows to a lesser degree.

There’s a bunch of fundamental differences in these two ships, I’m aware, but at their core, I feel they’re much the same. Call it ‘same energy’, if you will. Yet in one story they end up together and the writer keeps adding more things to insist that they are, and in the other one they end up apart and the writers keep trying to delegitimize the pair more and more.

In Sasusaku’s case, not only do they marry and have a child, the writer has stated that he always intended them to be together, and given various interviews and novels and mini comics for them.

In Zutara’s case, the writers seem to contradict themselves claiming they didn’t plan it, and that while it’s interesting, they mock anyone who actually thinks it would be a good idea or would happen, claiming their relationship would be unhealthy and unhappy.

Now this is interesting, because there are parallels with how fandom reacted to Sasusaku (and if ATLA ever got released in Japan I’d be curious how the fandom reacted to Zutara). In Japan, Sasusaku has always been one of the, if not the, top ships. Mostly what beats it out is slash, because fujoshi are gonna fujosh. Fans love it, went crazy for its ending, and loved all the scenes it got leading up, joking about them getting married and such offscreen.

In the west, however, while Sasusaku is still super popular, it gets a LOT of pushback. People like to insult it, insist it’s abusive and horrible, claim that Sasuke and Sakura could never be happy, and that anyone who honestly thinks they should be together should never get into a relationship for their own safety, because they’re romanticizing abusive relationships and will be hurt.

Sure sounds familiar, right?

Well, I’ll do you one better. Because you’ll see often the complaint that “I wish Sakura had just been strong and realized she didn’t need a man, becoming an independent etc” or “This is really harmful to Sakura’s character, because it forces her to abandon the things she loves and live subservient to Sasuke as some wife”

These are, almost without exception, lies. What they’re almost always saying is actually “I wish she would have grown up past Sasuke and married instead (Naruto/Lee/Kakashi/Sai/a girl), but if she couldn’t do that, then at LEAST she should have been alone!” they just cut off the first part because it reveals their bias.

And frankly, there’s a lot of parallel between Narusaku, who had a childhood crush on Sakura because a part of him thought she’d give him the recognition he needed and becomes the sage of six paths hero who saves the world from war in the end, and...well. Kataang. Which basically seems to have been a puppy crush on the first girl he met, that he nurtured into love over years as he became the Avatar hero who saved the world from war in the end. Both have a brother/sister or mother/kid relationship with the female in question through their quest (Sakura treats Naruto much like an annoying little brother and Naruto + Minato both recognize Sakura as ‘like his mother’, and Katara has a very motherly relationship with Aang most of the time until they start kissing)

Most importantly, I feel there’s a lot of parallels to be found in Sasusaku and Zutara.

Sasusaku runs on a baseline of Sasuke being extremely hostile and cold to everyone, refusing to let anyone in, and Sakura reaching out to him and through his defenses over and over despite this. She is the first person that he admits the reason for his behavior to -before Naruto or anyone else, he begins to explain to her that his brother killed everyone - and they have a mutual respect. Sasuke acknowledges her skills and smarts, and considers her to be the one light in his life, the ‘spring breeze’ and ‘the one who filled his lonely existence with love’. Despite this, he betrays her and everyone else, choosing his revenge over his happiness, but even through the many years of isolation and hatred, his response to Sakura always has a softness that isn’t there for anyone else. He saves her when he doesn’t need to, he listens to and responds to her before anyone else, and he even offers to let her go with him on his quest. Yes, it’s because she’s a healer who can replace Karin, but do you really think he couldn’t have used Naruto at his side, the other one the village rejected and turned against, who might want revenge? Juugo and Suigetsu aren’t healers, but he keeps them anyway because they’re useful. Sakura is the only person in the Leaf he offers to join him.

Anyway. Although they’re enemies most of the story, her love for him endures and she keeps trying to reach out to him. Every once in a while he responds, catching her when she falls, caring about her harm. The eventual nexus of their relationship is after his final battle with Naruto - which he puts her to sleep during, because she jumped in the way and almost got killed last time, and he doesn’t want her to do so this time - is her kneeling over him laying on his back, healing him, crying. He apologizes until she finally accepts his apology, and canonically this is the moment he realizes he loves her (though it’s much longer before he acts on this in a real way).

I won’t presume to fully summarize Zutara, because I am but an observer. However, I do know that they begin as enemies, that she is able to break through his cold shell with her kindness and compassion, so that he opens up to her about things he either never does to anyone else, or doesn’t to anyone else for a long time. I do know that he betrays her trust, and that they don’t truly mend fences for a long time because of their antagonistic relationship and betrayed trust. I also know that one of their later moments involves a scene where Zuko is on his back and she’s kneeling over him in tears, and he thanks her.

Plenty of details are different, but there’s all sorts of similar themes, notes, and visual parallels. Zuko’s appearance during later episodes looks very similar to Sasuke’s appearance after his duckbutt hair stage, Sakura’s color scheme is usually red and Sasuke’s is blue, and of course Katara is blue while Zuko is red. Sakura is a healer (I can’t think of anything water related, no), and Sasuke uses fire (when it’s not illusions or lightning). You can definitely make a convincing argument to say these relationships are pretty close to the same thing portrayed in different media with a different story shaping their behavior.

So then, why is it that one of them ended up together and has a happy family life and is considered to be the ‘good end’, while the other one didn’t end up together and is considered to be the ‘bad end’ were they to get together?

Why also did Kataang get together and become the ‘perfect’ couple that everyone should have seen coming and agree with, but Narusaku was nothing more than jokes to tease the audience with occasionally and was completely sunk multiple times in canon before they both married other people?

Well...I think it’s a difference of cultural sensibilities directly affecting the outcome of the same story.

In the west, essentially, the woman is the ‘prize’ for the hero at the end of the journey. If he finishes his homework and saves the day, his reward is the woman he’s been pining after for ages. It doesn’t matter whether she openly wants him or not, there will be little ‘checkpoints’ through the story where you see that secretly she does want him as he gets better and ‘more heroic’, so anything he does in trying to woo her is ‘acceptable effort’, essentially. And more importantly, the person who has love needs to ‘deserve’ that love. The heroine has to get with a ‘good’ person like the hero because the antihero isn’t ‘good enough’ for her. He’s the ‘bad boy’ that she flirts with but then grows out of so she can marry the nice guy instead. And it’s this to an extreme. If she marries the ‘bad boy’, then she’s consigning herself to a lifetime of abuse or unhappiness, because she can’t be happy with someone who isn’t as good as her. This is tripled if they have an antagonistic relationship, like if they’re at war with each other and have been enemies. (this doesn’t work in reverse. A bad girl can marry a good guy if she sufficiently redeems herself and goes good, because men can’t be abused in this cultural standard) Instead, the antihero generally ends up with a woman of similar morals if he marries - another bad girl turned good, another rogue figure, something like that. That’s because it’s what he deserves and in turn what she deserves.

Weirdly enough, it works in reverse for attractiveness - hot women marry down, but not hot men. But that’s neither here nor there right now. The point is, you can see how on this scale the ending NEEDS to be by western standards Kataang, Maiko, Narusaku, Sasukarin. The tarnished and dark man MUST marry the tarnished woman of ‘inferior morals’, while the good and pure hero MUST marry the heroine, because she must be his prize for his heroism and success, and  he is the only one worthy of her goodness, therefore the only one who can make her happy.

In Japan, it’s just not really like that. The hero doesn’t need to get the girl in the end as his reward, and in fact it’s often the girl who gets the man she’s always wanted by the end of the story. This is because ‘patience and dedication’ is seen as more praiseworthy and deserving of reward. Because the heroine stuck with the love she had even when that person wasn’t ‘deserving’ of it yet, her love should blossom and be returned to her. Much more focus is on enduring and quietly continuing onward in spite of difficulty, basically. Orihime must get Ichigo because she loved him from the beginning. Same with Naru and Keitaro, Hinata and Naruto, Sakura and Sasuke, Juvia and Grey. They ‘make their love choose them’ instead. In fact, who the man wants is sometimes just played off as a joke, such as in Black Clover where Asta is determined to marry a nun while there’s a princess not-so-secretly swooning over him. It’s not hard to guess how that story is going to end.

Anyway, because the qualifications of what makes an ‘acceptable romance target’ differs in  Japan, worrying about whether the girl is ‘good enough’ or the man is ‘good enough’ for the romance is less important, only whether they’re dedicated or patient enough.

It’s not saying one is better than the other, whether using the man as the prize or the woman as the prize is the correct way of writing it - and there are exceptions, plenty of Naruto’s couples are written just because they go well together, there’s western stories where the girl gets the bad boy after he’s redeemed himself and it’s fine - but the differences are there to be seen.

And, weirdly enough, I think is what ultimately determined the different endings between Naruto and Avatar: The Last Airbender.

[desperate-entwives]

For the drabble meme: Garcy and #20. :D

Okay the sad painful one okay okay 20. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” Contrary to popular belief, Flynn isn’t necessarily prone to useless acts of violence, but right now he’s wondering how much longer he can go without setting something on fire.Because on top of the already unideal fact that they’re stuck for the time being in 1918, Lucy had to go and get the goddamned Spanish flu.  

Maybe, he muses, maybe he can find a nice abandoned house to burn down. A Rittenhouse agent to strangle. Hell, maybe there’s a fascist around here somewhere who could use a good kicking. They’re holed up in the cramped servants’ quarters of a prominent family, hired as temporary help for an upcoming dinner Lucy has been certain Rittenhouse is planning to sabotage. Some sort of long-game approach to changing the dynamics of the upcoming second world war. They had been dropped a few days early in order to integrate themselves into the residence in question, and Rufus had jumped back to the present spend time with Jiya and Connor modifying the Lifeboat, which sorely needed it and would not benefit from sitting around in post-Edwardian London, unused, for several days. Wyatt was back home, off on a different assignment, and Flynn and Lucy had been confident they could handle this themselves. But then Lucy had interacted with a returned lieutenant colonel upstairs, talking him to several hours in order to get some information, and apparently the son of a bitch had been sick with what half of these men were sick with in 1918 because she’d shortly grown flush and feverish. This strand of influenza, she’d informed him the day before, had killed nearly 100 million people after World War I.Flynn would give his right arm for some fucking penicillin.The other servants had been apologetic; they had sent for a doctor but it was no telling how long it would take. Unspoken: a foreign temporary chauffeur and scullery maid (Lucy had loved that) weren’t a high priority in this contemptibly rigid class system. The fever has lasted for two days so far. Flynn hasn’t left her side (for convenience, they had posed as a married couple, so thankfully he isn’t going to be kicked out for the sake of propriety), and it only seems to be getting worse. He knows he shouldn’t risk contamination but every time he considers leaving the room, he is struck with a sense of darkening panic, a thin, cruel memory of gunshots in the middle of the night, of his wife and daughter slipping away before he could save them or even tell them how much he… Anyhow. Flynn tries to still the pounding in his chest, takes a deep breath through gritted teeth. It is sometime in the early morning, not that they have a window in this dim and dusty area of the servants’ garrett, and Lucy is still sleeping. She needs the rest. He imagines he must look like hell sitting there, slumped like some sort of grim specter, his hands clenched together to keep them from inappropriately clutching hers. Remembering how his glower had already scared off the house parlor maid, who had come by with tea, he tries to calm himself by listening to the soft rhythm of Lucy’s breath.So. He’s grown used to her. Her presence in the diary and, recently, (undeniably, frustratingly) the real thing. Her quick mind and soft heart and surprising resilience. The way she’d broken down in his arms in Chinatown, the way she sometimes sleeps in his room after their long talks, the soft sharpness in her face, her arms wrapped around herself in sleep, her breathing…Which, now, is low. Too low. As much as he doesn’t want to wake her up, Flynn finds himself gripping one shoulder and giving her a firm shake. He doesn’t excel at gentleness. “Lucy?” he says, voice hoarse from lack of use. She doesn’t respond or even stir. There is a thin sheen over her skin, the pale flush of ongoing fever, and her breathing is all too shallow for his liking and he feels like there’s a vulture picking at his chest, destroying him slowly. “Lucy,” he says again, and it’s a reprimand this time because how could she possibly be so foolish as to fall ill at a time like this? Why hadn’t she been more careful?“Dammit Lucy, wake up,” he says, shaking her again. Funny, he dimly notes, how fragile the body is, how small the bones, like a bird. The thought makes him irrationally and intensely angry. “Wake up,” he repeats again, a useless mantra, and he is suddenly gripping the cup and saucer on her bedside table and before he registers his own actions, hurling them at the wall, one after the other. A soft shatter followed by a louder shatter. The faint laughter of fine glass breaking. Hell. He needs to wring someone’s neck, blame someone for this and give them their due. “I thought you understood that we need you,” he grits out, standing, pacing. “That I– you’re a damned historian! You know the risks of interacting with soldiers in this time period! Were you thinking at all?“You don’t get to leave yet,” he continues sharply, aware of what the anger is masking, the flood of panic threatening to drown him. Before her, his mission had been dark, single-minded. Almost inhuman. But she had breathed life back into it, painted it with joy, with compassion. He hadn’t felt those things with any degree of intensity since his family was ripped from him. “Not you,” he adds. “Haven’t I lost enough?” The words are almost lost in his throat, an angry, bitter sob. There’s one more cup on the table and its shatter against the same wall (the servants might fit them with a bill if they aren’t too scared of him by now) is hollow, unsatisfying. He sits again. “Please,” he says dully, the rage wrung out. He is as dry as a piece of cloth. “You need to wake up, because… because I can’t do this without you. I lo–” He swallows, runs his tongue over his lips, stops himself just in time because saying it will make it real, make him as fragile as a pile of bird bones and he can’t afford that. He can’t afford to lose another chunk of his soul. There would be nothing left. Lucy continues to breathe shakily, but does not wake up. —She’s still holding on the next day, but it is by a thread. Flynn knows there’s a mission to be completed but his mind is in tatters. Stopping by the kitchen, he hears the butler and the cook whisper in low tones about the woman who had stopped by who wasn’t from these parts, that’s for certain, Mr. Williams, and rushes out the servants’ door to see Jiya crossing her arms and glaring at the house. “Sorry, they wouldn’t let me i– what’s wrong?” she asked at the look on his face. It takes all of his self-control to not fly into a rage, to demand why she had taken so long to return. She had no way of knowing, he reminds himself, and they’d all agreed on the details of this assignment. “It’s Lucy,” he says shortly, unable to resist a glower. “We have to go.” “What’s wrong? Was it Emma?” “No.” He swallows. “This– this mission will have to go unfinished.” Several emotions flash through Jiya’s face, confusion and concern and something frustratingly close to pity, and she nods. “Yeah. You’re explaining it to Agent Christopher, though.” “Gladly.” He steps inside to get Lucy, and hopes on hope that they’re not too late. —After two days of zanamivir (turns out influenza isn’t typically treated with antibiotics), Lucy is awake and functioning again. Flynn finds himself avoiding her; the prospect of talking to her touching her, god, feeling her heartbeat… it’s overwhelming. He has let her twine too close to him. If he’d lost her… She finally corners him in the kitchen one afternoon. Jiya, Rufus and Wyatt are off on a mission. Lucy is grounded while she recovers and he (he grimly recalls) has been told by Agent Christopher that he needs to “calm the hell down” before he’s sent on another trip. Which is just absurd, and he’d told her so to no avail. “What’s your problem?” Lucy says sharply, catching him as he digs through the fridge for beer. “There’s no problem,” he says tersely, closing it, empty-handed, and makes to step around her. She moves in front of him again and there’s something endearing about that fact that she thinks she’s a barrier. All five foot five of her. He bites back a smile and looks at her, trying to shake the feeling that grips his chest when their eyes meet. Like a desperate drink of water, like she is relief embodied in human form. She’s still pale, not all there yet, but her eyes are warm and alive. And angry. Angry, too. “What is it, Flynn?” she says, and he notes a catch in her voice. “I thought I heard… well, what, are you mad that I ruined the mission?”Speaking of the absurd. He barks out a laugh and finally dodges her, walking to his room. She follows insistently as he tries not to, what? Yell? Cry? “This is the last time I’m asking,” she’s saying, walking quickly to keep up with him. “Frankly, Flynn, I don’t have the energy for whatever this is–” “I almost lost you!” he snaps, spinning to glare down at her. She blinks once, startled. With a huff, he enters his room and she follows. She sits on his bed and he sits on his chair. Somehow, these have become their spots, no matter the setting. After a moment she speaks, and her voice is soft. “I thought… I thought I dreamed those things you said. Back in 1918.”He processes this, trying to sort the feelings tornadoing through him. “You… heard?” “Yeah,” she says. It’s almost a whisper. She looks at him and before he can even stop himself, he has crossed the room and is kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees. He is such a goddamned fool, doesn’t know how to be what Lucy deserves. He doesn’t deserve to be in her atmosphere but he’s never been good at staying away from her, has he? “Lucy,” he says, and he’s also never been good at apologizing. She’s there, and her skin is warm beneath the fabric of her clothes. He takes her hand, the fragile bones of it, and presses a kiss to her palm. “It’s okay,” she says, voice soothing as he rests his head in her lap, as she runs her fingers through his hair over and over again. He is shaking under the assault of her gentleness. “It’s okay.” 

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 10

Beverly’s is an Irish gastropub about twenty minutes from his apartment and is decorated with flags, posters and paraphernalia from his homeland. One of the two owners is an English bloke called Dave and after he catches Curly’s accent, he and Jordan get a free drink each whilst they wait for their food in a booth.

Jordan’s watching him across the table, slouched back as he inspects him. He’s shrugged his jacket off and Curly’s not used to seeing him without it, but he looks good in his black hoody; a little oversized but entirely intentional, Curly guesses.

“I should probably know your name.”

He’s always been more unnerved by the question than the answer. In England, he’d have friends that still called him by his real name; the people he’d hang out with at lunchtime; the ones he’d walk home with or see outside school at birthday parties, at shit venues where booze wasn’t allowed and the DJ played Will Young and Blue. They called him by his real name because they heard him respond in registration, saw him with a hand-written name tag during the first week of year seven, heard teachers shout him in the corridor before he ever properly introduced himself. Those friends are secondary.

Sometimes, when these friends became closer, they’d slip the nickname into a conversation, say it with parentheses like they were feeling it out until it became natural. This usually didn’t happen until they spent time with him out of school, where he and Brandon would meet up with other friends. These friends took to ‘Curly’ instantly because he was able to introduce himself and they never knew any better.

Of course, Brandon fit into every category, the two having met at the ripe age of four years old before the nickname even came to be. In fact, Brandon thought of the nickname himself, said, “your hair is like a Curly Wurly," and decided it there and then.

Here though, almost nobody knows his real name (unless he told them, in which case they’d forget before it caught on anyway) and Curly likes to cling to that, rarely even humours people when they ask these days because, frankly, they don’t need to know. He likes to leave Elliot from Essex behind because he feels both sacred and unworthy at the same time. It feels like speaking his name exposes every inch of who he used to be and how much better and worse he was back then.

When people ask for his real name, he has to decide if Elliot is safe with them. More often than not, he isn’t.

After a pause, he says, “my name?” Because that’s all he can come up with, apparently.

The man hums.

“Curly.”

Jordan laughs, just once, but the smile lingers as he leans forward in his seat, invested now. “Your mom called you Curly? I don’t buy it.”

“No, my mates call me Curly. My mum mostly calls me daft.”

“So your birth name is ‘daft’.”

“Sounds shit in your accent,” he notes. “Curly’ll do.”

Jordan seems to stand down, leaning back again, but there’s still a saturated smirk on his lips. They’d been talking about where they came from (Curly, Essex and Jordan, New York - and of course it’s New York. He hears the accent loud and clear now. Wants to make a F.R.I.E.N.D.S joke but doesn’t want to be a cliche because he’s surely heard it before) and how they ended up where they are now.

Jordan was eerily passive when he’d said, “well, my mom’s a junkie,” while on the subject of why “New York’s not all it’s cracked up to be;

“The city wasn’t doin’ her any favours. She thought things would change here, but—” He’d shrugged. “—that was six years ago.”

The ‘but’ in the statement was potent. ‘But I knew better’, ‘but she was wrong’, ‘but I’m still waiting.’

Then he asked his own questions and it was clear that he was done talking about his past for the time being.

Curly thinks it’s only fair to share some of himself, too. Even if it’s just a stupidly tiny part of him that shouldn’t mean as much as it does these days.

“Elliot.” He clears his throat, his own name feeling alien. “Elliot Michael Clarke... I know it’s… Poncey.”

“Elliot Michael Clarke,” Jordan echoes almost instantly, a smile returning as he folds his arms over his chest, looking chuffed with himself. “No, I like it. It’s a good name.”

Curly never really had to think about whether or not he liked his name, because all the people that mattered never used it anyway.

Now though, he takes a long sip of ice water as he attempts to stay cool, nervous heat rising over his cheeks. Jordan clears his throat like he realises he’s embarrassed him and is searching for something else to say.

Before Jordan can muster up a transition, Curly asks, “how did I not know about this place?” He’s speaking around a chip now, his glass back on the table as he tries to act casual.

“You do now.” Jordan looks smug as ever, arms still crossed over his chest as if to say ‘it’s no big deal.’ “You like it? You just didn’t strike me as the ‘spaghetti and wine’ kinda guy, y’know?”

“Hey, I’m an all-alcohol kinda guy,” Curly defies as the two of them both reach for their respective drinks. “But yeah. You smashed it.”

“I smashed it,” Jordan nods, amused as he smiles against the rim of his glass. “Nice.”

Curls adds, “it actually feels like England, it’s mental,” as he looks around the room and tries to forget that the people around them are American, but there’s something about them that gives it away and he’s not quite sure what. He looks back to Jordan because it’s easier to pretend when it’s just the two of them. “It’s just a bit quiet, but I suppose my mates were the loudest part of any English pub anyway.”

“Yeah? You don’t seem like the type to be…”

“Rowdy? It’s in here somewhere,” he says. Curls supposes he’s teetered more towards reckless than rowdy now, but it doesn’t help that the drugs and the alcohol are suddenly a requirement for his sociability these days. His don’t alright now though, isn’t he?

Jordan chuckles. “You gotta tell me more about that.”

So he tells him about some of the daft shit he’d done back at home, including that one time Curly and Brandon had to get an eleven o’clock coach from Reading to Essex because they got kicked out of a festival for nicking two girls’ deck chairs to get comfy in the middle of The Pixies’ mosh pit. In turn, Jordan admits that “I always used to steal condiments from places like this. I’m not talking ketchup sachets, everyone does that, I’m talking salt and pepper shakers - ashtrays, too,” which Curly finds hilarious.

When Jordan goes to the bathroom, Curly’s sure to sneak a gift from the table into man’s jacket pocket.

“Tell me more dumb shit,” Jordan says when he returns, sliding back into the booth and leaning his arms on the table.

“Neh.” Curls chuckles, shakes his head. “Your turn. I want to know about the dumb shit you’ve done. You seem… Untouchable. It’s very obnoxious.”

They both laugh and Curly’s endlessly grateful for the fact that Jordan can read his wit. He’s not sure what it is about the people around here that makes them entirely oblivious to any jest he has in him. Saying that though, he’s not sure Jordan knows how to take things seriously even when they are, so, it makes sense.

Except then he says, “my dumb shit isn’t like your dumb shit. Your dumb shit is hallucinating and bad dancing; my dumb shit is gangs and knife fights. S’not really got the same charm.” And Curly laughs because he thinks Jordan’s just being dry, but he learned early on that when he’s got that subtle kind of smile on his face, it’s not an ‘I’m kidding’ thing, it’s an ‘I’m dead serious but I’m not that bothered’ thing.

“I can’t see you in a knife fight.” At least he doesn’t think he can.

“Good. Y’never will. That was before - a long time ago.”

Curls hums. “How long?”

“New York or the gang shit?” Jordan must see the second of confusion on Curly’s face because before he can answer, he goes on; “‘cause New York was… Forever ago. We left when I was… Sixteen, Maybe seventeen. The gang stuff is complicated. Not as serious as it sounds.” He shrugs. “I guess I figured Jeff and Dean ran their mouths already.”

“Nope.” He mirrors Jordan’s shrug. “Is complicated another word for indefinite?” It probably sounded accusing, but Jordan doesn’t falter.

He hums in thought - less about what to tell him and more about how to say it, Curls would bet by the way he pouts as he considers it with no effort to hide the fact. "It ain’t like it used to be. I mean— I’m not in a gang I just… I knew a guy who knew a guy -you know how it is- and they helped us out a lot when we moved out here. I felt like I owed a few favours, so I broke even and left, but—” a third shrug in the past thirty seconds— “shit gets personal. Brockton’s a small town.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Seems to me like you're in a similar situation,” Jordan says, and it should feel pressing but It doesn’t. Just casual and curious. “What’s his name again?”

Curly chuckles, fingertips wiping the condensation off the outside of his glass. “I don’t think so.” For some reason, he feels the urge to keep his eyes down on the glass. “We broke even a while ago.”

Jordan hums; doesn’t seem to feel the need to keep the conversation going as he sits on his response again. Curls braves a glance, but the guy’s stony expression is back and he can’t quite hold it.

Finally, Jordan says, “so why was it that you chose the centre of a mosh pit to make yourself at home?”

***

At some point along the line, Curly thinks he’d programmed himself to find parts of old friends in new encounters. He supposes that’s what got him through the transition in the end; seeing Brandon’s recklessness in Oscar and his brutality in Jules, or his rawness in the likes of Jeff where Dean showed his compassion. It wasn’t just Brandon; he saw his aunt in Emily when he worked at the shop, and saw the Mill girls in Lola’s friends (but not Lola; in her, he saw his sister’s curiosity and Sarah-from-Costa’s mousy features and humour) to list just a few more.

He’s not put his finger on Jordan just yet - hasn’t quite dug anyone out of him.

The way they talk is like no connection Curly’s ever had, and it’s not particularly romantic and he wouldn’t say it’s like they’ve always known each other or any of that shite (it’s not even stronger than some he had at home) but there’s something specific that he can’t place.

They finish up their meal and are back in Jordan’s car (which isn’t actually his car, but a friend’s) by half-past-nine, and have parked somewhere between the pub and Curly’s apartment. It’s an empty carpark of an old abandoned shop. Jordan stopped without even explaining it, but they’ve been talking for almost an hour and Curly’s not ready to finish, so he supposes the other man feels the same.

“It’s just like… Some people just grow up on a certain type of music and that’s it — in fact, I was like that for ages — but how shit is that?” Curly huffs before he answers his own question; “dead shit. So I started making these CDs in high school right? Sold them for a fiver each and got through about… fifty disks by the end of my last year and now I can’t stop.”

“So you’re hoarding mixtapes?” Jordan laughs.

He nods, can’t quite find it in him to feel embarrassed. “Got a playlist for every occasion, I have. People n’all”

“You’re funny,” he leans his temple against the headrest, sat sideways in the driver's seat where he’s been for the past sixty minutes - the last ten of which he’s spent mostly listening to Curly ramble on.

“Yeah? You can tell me to pipe down.”

“No, I like it. I’ve never met anybody that listened to both The Cure and Coldplay,” the man tells him. “But I guess I’ve never met a guy that wears black trench coats and orange nail polish, either.”

“You should try it. Might suit you.”

Jordan chuckles again. “I’m not sure I could pull it off quite like you. Jeff forced me into a pink shirt once and Dean barely recognised me; said I’d been black-and-white since high school; ‘forgot I came in colour,’ and didn’t let it slide for weeks. Never again.”

The thought warms him. To know Jordan so intricately must be fascinating, he thinks - reckons he’d be a bit jealous if not for the fact that it’d be the daftest thing to be jealous of; his mates getting to see Jordan wearing salmon and him not. Does seem a shame, though.

“… Besides, I wouldn’t want to look approachable now, would I?”

He sort of laughs in the back on his throat (he does not giggle) because Jordan really does come across as so angsty but his self-awareness is commendable. “God forbid.”

They share a laugh, and then Jordan does that thing again where he doesn’t try to muster up a reply just yet, but he keeps eye contact like he wants Curly to know that his next response is brewing. Jordan is very shameless in the way that he reflects on what’s been said and sometimes, like now, thinks about what he wants to say next.

Curly wants to know (is about to ask) ‘what are you thinking,’ but then Jordan finally shakes his head, says, “it’s weird; I thought I’d gotten to this unspoken point in life where everybody I meet reminds me of somebody else.”

He says it so confidently, like he just knows that Curly get’s it, and Curls finds himself saying, “yeah. Yeah, me too.” He nods so fast he has to tuck disgruntled ringlets back behind his ears. It was like he was plucking thoughts and feelings from Curly’s daft head and putting them into actual, tangible words.

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve met,” Jordan then adds like it’s nothing extraordinary. “I feel like there’s more to you than I’ll ever know.”

The Jordan he met at that party was all cool, dark features, stone expressions and sharp angles; thick, worn denim and heavy boots. Completely intimidating. The kind of intimidating that you desperately want to overcome just to overstep the obstruction. To get closer.

Tonight he is warm details, light touches and lingering smiles; his white hair against pale skin seems soft and unattainable. Turned to his side in the driver's seat, he has one knee pulled up to his chest as he talks. He’s been playing with one of his trainers for ages without really realising until they fall into silence and both of their eyes wander to watch his fingers pull at the laces absently.

Curly wonders which side of him is the one that comes naturally.

“Have you ever just met someone and decided you want to know them more than anyone else does?”

Jordan doesn’t respond. He lets something between a hum and a laugh escape him as he ties his lace again and lets his eyes return to Curly’s. He looks like he’s thinking, only for a second, before he leans across the console between them and cups Curly’s jaw in his hand. Jordan pauses, searching for something before he leans forward. Everything is telling Curly to just close his eyes and go for it, but his body betrays him and instead he ducks when he’s so close to kissing him, and Jordan stills.

They’re silent for a while. Curly tries to think of a way to explain himself without saying ‘I’m nervous,’ or, ‘it doesn’t feel like the right time,’ or, ‘I’ve been thinking about kissing you for days but I’m only just realising it and now we’re here it’s all just a bit confusing.’

They both say, “I’m sorry,” at the same time.

“It’s just… I have this thing,” Curly says, then winces at his choice of words. “I really like you.”

“Right, but…”

“No, I do! They’re something wrong with me. I’m just… Weird like this.” He buries his face in his hands as he swears under his breath. “You said you didn’t think I did this often. You weren’t bloody wrong.”

He curses himself even as he justifies his action; for not allowing himself something that could be a massive deal or absolutely nothing at all, and kicking himself for not being able to find the words to explain it.

“I just need a bit of time, a’right?”

Jordan doesn’t falter. He says, “yeah, cool. No pressure, Curls,” and his heart is in his throat again, but then the man adds, “so, your tattoo’s weird. I wanna know what it means,” as he points to his own forearm in the same place that Curly has a lamp depicted on his, and the air fills out again.

Curly begins with, “well my sister’s name is Genie…”

And they fall right back into a conversation that brings them past midnight.

He drags himself up the steps and opens his apartment door to a room full of people he doesn’t know. He’s in too much of a good mood to go to bed anyway, so he stays up a few extra hours and drinks a few beers and, before he realises what’s happening, he’s done two lines with Oscar and is telling a girl that he doesn’t know how much she reminds him of somebody from England. She says it’s sweet and he says, “is it?”

Jordan would get it.

[eternityunicorn]

Elijah’s Eternity Part Ten

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/Fantasy/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violence, Language, Smut (Smut marked +18)

Summary: Elijah Mikaelson didn’t know what to expect when he encountered the strange archer in the night, but he certainly didn’t think his whole world would be turned upside down by it. Yet, he quickly learns that she is more than what she seems, having come looking for an Original after a large spike in supernatural being populations started cropping up on Earth a thousand years ago. Now, he must help her decide if the supernatural community should stay on their home planet or leave it for good? A task that is made more complicated along the way, as his life is changed forever.

NOTE: OC is from my up and coming novel series. Other elements from said novel series also included. 

———————————————————————————————————

The walk to the Art Institute of Chicago was frankly quick. It was just located a couple of blocks away from the penthouse, not a long walk at all. Elijah walked with Eternity by his side, her hand nestled in the crook of his arm with her other hand resting on his bicep. It reminded him of their time in Maine, just a couple nights before. 

They moved steadily toward their destination, while Elijah spoke of his few past adventure in the city. She smiled at his retelling, at the excitement he displayed whenever he would paint the imagery of the old landscape for her. She didn’t say much in reply, contented to simply listen to him speak.

His telling made the already short journey feel even shorter. It wasn’t long at all until they were climbing the steps of the Art Institute, recognizable by the green lions that stood guard on either side of the large stairway. Once inside, he took the lead in showing her around the place, having wanted to show her his favorite pieces and periods of art.

For a while, they simply wandered about, viewing this painting or that sculpture. He would tell her of his knowledge in each piece. Again, Eternity was content to let him tell her what he knew, seeming to absorb everything he said with high interest. She would comment here or there on what she had experienced in regards to the time periods each piece was from, but for the most part, she was just content to look and listen. 

One of the exhibits of the institute was that of old Viking swords and shields. Here, he stared at each piece with a certain fondness. A lot of the items locked behind the glass had been apart of his life long ago. They generally reminded him of a time long since past - of home. He began talking about the construction of the swords and shields in a step by step fashion, becoming more animated as he went. He remembered these things like they had happened yesterday and not a thousand years ago.

Then Elijah started speaking on the symbols etched into the metal. On one of the hilts was a worn etching of Loki, the Trickster God of Asgard. All he had to do was mention the figure’s name for a dark look to cross Eternity’s face. It was similar to the ones he had seen before upon her lovely features. 

She wasn’t looking at him, but at the sword he had mentioned. Her body was tense and it seemed like she was trying to light the old blade on fire with her stare. It didn’t light up, as he partially expected, which was good. It would be impossible to compel that many people into forgetting such a strange incident. Yet, he was concerned as to the cause of such a disturbed look. It didn’t settle well to see her upset.

“Eternity,” Elijah called to her, reaching to gently grab her arm.

The moment he touched her, she snapped out of it. She smiled shyly and laughed nervously at him. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

“Are you alright?”

“Aye. Just remembering...the past.”

With those words, Elijah was immediately more interested in her than the artifacts. “Explain.”

Eternity looked back at the sword with Loki on it, though this time her expression was light and animated, if not also a little sad. “Loki, along with all the figures of the old Norsemen’s religion, are real people,” she told him softly. “It is the same for some of the other mythologies too. Zeus, Hera, Hades. Anubis, Osiris, Isis. Odin, Thor...Loki. All of them are real.”

Elijah was taken aback by her words. So, there were gods amongst the immortals she spoke of. While he admitted he was surprised, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected to find out something of that nature from her. In fact, it made sense that some of the figures of human mythology would be real. But what puzzled him was why did the mention of Loki affect her so much? 

“Loki and I have history,” Eternity answered his thoughts. “He killed my grandmother, who was the Universal Queen before the duty fell to me. They hated each other and so, Loki acted as he always does: with malicious intent, slaying her before should even defend herself.”

“So, you seek revenge for this crime,” surmised Elijah. 

“No, not revenge,” she responded quickly. “I am a guardian. Revenge is not in my nature as a result. Though justice certainly needs to be fulfilled for his actions, but not with his death.”

Elijah didn’t understand. A man committed regicide and yet death wasn’t to be the automatic punishment for such a heinous crime? Maybe the laws were different for the immortals, he reasoned. Perhaps, they understood death was too swift a punishment and so, chose other methods to execute justice.

“You know, all those old Norsemen stories that you and your family grew up on were mostly complete fabrications,” smiled Eternity, changing the direction of their conversation. 

He allowed it, figuring it was best for now. So, he smirked playfully, “Is that right?”

“Aye, it is,” she nodded. “Odin, Loki, and Thor used to come here to Earth, to tell tales of their godhoods to the poor naive humans. Odin was especially full of himself when he spoke of how he created the universe and life itself to the humans. Of course, it never happened. Odin is not a creator god or any sort of god for that matter. He, like all immortals of light, are fallible creatures with only a higher calling of guardianship. Yet, he and many others, still like to think themselves gods toward those they deem lesser than; humanity being number one in that.”

“They sound delightful.”

“They are quite ridiculous. A little pathetic as well.”

Seeing how indignant she was becoming, Elijah observed, “You’re very impassioned by this distasteful attitude of your fellow immortals.”

With deadly seriousness, Eternity replied, “When they think themselves above others, you’re damned right I’m impassioned by their distasteful attitudes. Nobody is better than anyone else. No matter their station in the greater scheme of the universes.”

Elijah was impressed by the fierceness in her, in that moment. Her sapphire eyes were unyielding and intense with a noble sense of compassion for others, particularly in regard to those weaker. It was beautiful to see light in someone nonhuman like him. He had lived in darkness for so long, hoping to see light shine in on his world. Now, here she was doing just that with her value of others, of the innocent. His heart swelled for her and before he knew it, he was cupping her cheek and pulling her close. He kissed her passionately. 

Though a little surprised at first, she reciprocated eagerly, curling her hands up into his hair tenderly as she did. 

Elijah didn’t know how long they stood there wrapped up in each other, but by the time they parted, both of them were absolutely breathless. He took the opportunity to whisk them away to another area of the institute, holding her hand in his the whole way.

“You know, I’ve spent the past thousand years doing as I pleased,” he found himself telling her as they went. “Justice for the Mikaelson Family has always been based on self-preservation or selfish pursuits, including killing those that dare oppose us, humans included. Niklaus is the most ruthless of us, but we’ve all killed, maimed, tortured whenever it suited us. Even I’m not excluded from such...darkness.”

“I know,” Eternity said. “The darkness is powerful. It is easy to give into it, to let your darker nature prevail, especially when you have a brother who is a master of it; of fear, or control, of revenge. Live like that long enough and it’s difficult to live any other way, even if you wish it. But there is always light, even in you, Elijah - in Niklaus. If you can find it, then you can be different, better.”

“Maybe I just don’t believe that,” he smiled humorlessly.

“Perhaps it is simply something you have to discover on your own,” she countered, “but in the meantime, may I suggest you consider this: would I be here with you, if you were such a monster? If you are not capable of more?”

Elijah gazed at her profoundly, considering her words, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he turned back to the tour of the Art Institute, trying to turn their outing back to a happier tone.

Soon, they reached the Far East exhibit and Eternity was enthralled by the art there, as she gazed at some old Japanese artworks from the Feudal Era. Their previous talk had been abandoned for the time being.

“My family is from Japan,” Eternity informed him casually with a fond smile. “They lived in the region before the Great War. We’ve adapted many of the customs and whatnot from our ancestral home on Earth.”

Elijah looked surprised, “Really?”

“I also have a different cousin from the one I mentioned before,” she said, “whom still lives there. She runs a small shrine and tends to the wounded and sick mortals who wander into her forest. Though it’s technically illegal, she does also revive people from the dead, but usually only children. However, that should always be an exception to the rule.”

“I’ve been to Japan, years ago, and now that you mention it, I do recall hearing about a mystical shrine that performed miracles,” admitted Elijah, after some thought. “I thought it was utter nonsense, as many tales like those are. I suppose I shouldn’t have been so hasty in dismissing the stories.”

“Perhaps, it’s for the best that you did dismiss them,” Eternity replied. “Kaname wouldn’t take kindly to a vampire entering her woods. Not even one that meant no harm. Dark creatures are simply not allowed there.”

Elijah couldn’t take offense to that. It was true, he was a dark creature; a being created with dark magic. No doubt, her cousin had the same purpose in life as Eternity did; to protect others from the darkness. 

With that thought, he began to wonder why Eternity was with him? He was a being of darkness, and she was one of light. They shouldn’t be together. She shouldn’t want to be with him. Yes, they had an arrangement, a temporary partnership. But it was more than that. She had allowed more and in a short amount of time. Eternity was right by his side, as his lover - a companion. He didn’t understand it. Yet, he wanted nothing else than her by his side. He believed she felt the same way. 

“I’m with you because I like what I see in you,” Eternity told him, reading his thoughts again. “You are a complex man, to be sure. You are fiercely devoted to your family. You care about their well-beings over all others, a noble cause. Of course, you’ll commit whatever terrible sin you must to protect your family and that can lead to terrible deeds. But I can see that you are capable of love and compassion and forgiveness, qualities that are of light, qualities that I can appreciate, despite your flaws.”

Elijah gave a small smile, reaching out to touch her cheek tenderly in appreciation, before moving on.

From there, they explored other parts of the institute, their conversations resuming their lightness. Eventually, they reached the food court and decided to take a break from their wanderings. There were others around, families and couples alike, getting food or sitting about conversing. The voices echoed in the vaulted room, making each conversation blend in with the others.

Elijah bought lunch for them and they sat together, at the outside seating with big green umbrellas at every table, where it was much quieter. He had ordered a couple cold sandwiches and juices for them to enjoy; though in truth, Eternity enjoyed the food more than he. He wasn’t exactly fond of the low quality rubbish that the institute provided. 

“Human food is amazing,” Eternity hummed appreciatively. “Their cuisines are so much better than most of the immortal worlds.”

“Is that right?” He replied, amused by the way she vigorously scarfed down the subpar ham sandwich as any ordinary person might. “I would think that theirs would be the superior cuisine.”

She scrunched her nose at him, “No, it’s not. It’s because most immortal food is produced through magic. The magic makes any food created from it taste artificial, stale even. It’s not appetizing in the least, believe me.”

“Is that why you come here to this world? To have decent food?”

“One of the reasons, yes.”

He chuckled humorously. 

Before anything else could be said, the loud sound of gunshots rang out into to the air. The sound had alerted Eternity, especially when many screams accompanied the continuous sound of firing guns. Elijah was mildly curious about it, but he didn’t get involved with the affairs of humans. Human matters were of no concern to him, an Original. Though from what he knew, he could surmise that it was either a robbery going wrong or a crazed madman going on a rampage. 

“It’s coming from outside the institute,” Eternity informed him needlessly, getting up swiftly.

“So it is,” replied Elijah with slight disinterest.

She didn’t seem bothered by his reaction. In fact, she looked understanding of it. “Normally, I don’t get involved in human affairs either,” she said hurriedly, ‘but that’s mostly because I’m not around to be involved. I’d like to see what I can do to help. I simply cannot abide by any innocent getting hurt.”

Of course, she couldn’t. 

Elijah sighed, “Well, perhaps if we go to the roof, we can see what we can do without letting the entire city know about us. I do like to maintain a low profile.”

“Just what I was thinking. Shall we?”

“As my lady wishes.”

With vampire speed, Elijah got them up to the roof of the institute. They moved to a spot where they could observe whatever was going on down below without notice. From their vantage point, Elijah could see a dozen police surrounding their suspect who had a hostage in his grasp - a gun pointed to the young woman’s head. From the looks of things, it also looked like a couple of people were wonder, bleeding on the ground. The smell of human blood was strong. It was good that Eternity’s blood was still sustaining him or else he wouldn’t have been able to remain so composed. 

The scene was full of onlookers and rescue teams. There wasn’t any way from him to do anything with so many witnesses. It was lucky for the humans that they happened to had a goddess watching over them in Eternity.

She swiftly assessed the situation. “The gunman is being controlled,” she observed. “I sense weak human magic - a dark variety of it.”

“A witch.”

“Aye.”

“Well, what do you suppose we do?” He asked, finally becoming interested in the situation, but only because one from the supernatural community was involved.

Eternity smiled, “I got this.”

Instantly, her outfit shifted into the corset and leather legging ensemble she always wore when going into battle. In her hands, her yumi bow and a single arrow already notched there appeared. The arrow head glowed bright blue like her horn did when she was a unicorn. She took aim at the possessed madman and let the arrow fly. 

To Elijah’s surprise, the arrow wasn’t meant to wound the man, but instead landed at his feet. Immediately, the blue light waffled up into blue vapors that swirled around the human. The gunman ceased holding the gun at the woman in his grasp and he slowly released her in a hypnotized sort of way. Within moments, he swayed and then collapsed in a heap on the ground. 

“The spell has been broken,” Eternity informed Elijah. 

It seemed to be true. The gunman recovered from his fall and began looking around him in confused horror, wondering what was going on. Then the realization hit and the man panicked, screaming that he wasn’t responsible for the crime, just as the police were moving in to subdue him. He begged and pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.

“He’s a pawn,” observed Eternity, as the gunman was being carried off into the awaiting police car. “The lover of a vampire is he, but he doesn’t know that his lover is of supernatural origin.”

“This vampire probably angered a witch and the witch sought revenge through the human,” supplied Elijah. “I wonder if he or she is a member of the local vampire clan.”

“You refer to the one we’re to meet.”

“Yes. That very one.”

Eternity’s outfit shifted back into the lovely lavender dress from before. Her bow vanished as she changed as well. “Now I’m even more intrigued to meet this clan.” 

Elijah held out his hand to her then, “Yes, so am I.”

She took his hand without hesitation. The two of them headed down off the roof. Their exploration of the institute was over. Though the tour of the city was still on the agenda. There were other places that Elijah knew she would find interesting. 

They spent the rest of the day, going around the city, with Elijah telling her of the history, of his own personal experiences there. He also took her to the shops around town, letting her explore the human world at close range. The people they passed all stopped to stare in awe of Eternity. Some were curious and others were wary. Children were the most amusing in their admiration. They would stop and look with wide eyes and excitement. It was as if they could see what she really was, despite her human visage. Maybe they could. Either way, it was fascinating to see.

Eventually, the evening set in and Elijah took Eternity to a high end Italian restaurant, where they were served the best wine and far better food than that of the Art Institute’s food court. They sat and talked about a variety of things, nothing of great importance. It was just light talk, the same as it had been since earlier in the day. There was nothing but enjoyment in each other’s company. 

Then just as they were leaving the restaurant, Elijah felt the hunger stir inside him for the first time since he had tasted Eternity’s blood. Outside, he told Eternity, “I must feed.”

Eternity nodded understandingly, taking Elijah by his hand and leading him away toward the back of the building. Once they were concealed in shadows, she turned to him and said, “Feed on me.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. He pulled Eternity to him, embracing her tightly in one arm, while the hand of the other reached up to trace the column of her neck tantalizingly. He could feel the blood coursing through her beneath his fingertips, it caused the excitement of the feed to course at a greater pace through his own body. 

Without waiting another moment, Elijah descended up Eternity. His mouth traced open mouth kisses to her skin, his tongue reaching out to taste the soft flesh. He felt her sigh and relax against him, just before he let his vampire teeth sink into her neck. 

She gasped and tensed, but only for a moment, relaxing against him again almost immediately. She clutched him to her, a hand cupping the back of his head tenderly, while he pulled the blood from her. She moaned deliciously, the sound driving him. As before, the taste of her was exquisite and it warmed him to that same higher degree, making him feel far stronger and  completely sated than any human could. 

When Elijah eventually pulled away and looked down at the woman in his arms, Eternity had that glazed, flushed look about her again, giving the impression of drunkenness. “That was amazing,” she sighed contently. 

He grinned down at her, “You seem to enjoy my feeding on you.”

“I do,” she replied without hesitation. She smiled widely, while still clinging to him. 

Elijah chuckled, keeping his arm securely around her to keep her from falling. She simply didn’t seem to be able to support herself. “Come on, Sweetheart, let’s get you home. We can rest there until it’s time to meet with my acquaintance.”

Eternity nodded. She let him guide her out of the shadows and back out into the open. Together, they headed home to wait for the midnight hour to strike and their meeting with the vampire clan to commence. Little did Elijah know, what adventure awaited them when they arrived there.

[akatokuro]

The Inevitable StS Rewatch, Episodes 26-29

Leo Aiolia is... an angry person, you say? I never would have guessed!

- This whole Aiolia scene is REALLY interesting on a lot of levels and does a lot for his character.

- I love his whole immediate reaction to just hearing that there are deserters on the loose - Sanctuary is a brutal, awful place even without the recent setup of the Pope making things even worse. You are more than likely to get killed if you are a trainee there. It is more than understandable that people would want to escape. But Lia's response is "you fucking morons."

- Well, Lia probably has baggage about people trying to "escape Sancutary" to begin with, but...

- Lia is a decent guy, especially for a Saint, but he's determinedly and deliberately Lawful Neutral as fuck. He jumps in for the deserter babies situation, is clearly stern and unpleased, but then deliberately "softens" to urge the babies to go back. He's not going to be cruel about it, and he's more "merciful" than a lot of Saints would be, but he's also not going to let them go. His preference is resolving this without having to kill anyone, sure - but if it really comes down to it, he's going to uphold Sanctuary Law.

- And then, of course, Lia gets thoroughly disrespected and shittalked to his face by a bunch of Silver fuckwits. Lol at even the trainees calling him "Aiolia-san" vs "Algol-sama." Like, dude... yikes.

- Aiolia is even kind of weirdly meek when protesting, stammering and trailing off and all. You’d never guess this guy is a Gold Saint going from the dynamics in this scene, who could effortlessly squash everyone involved here like a fucking bug.

- And finally, Lia is clearly off-put by the blatant cruelty here, but does he actually do anything about it, whether it's against Algol and Shaina directly or the broader situation? Nah.

- yumetabibito, being the filthy Aiolia-lover she is, went ahead and checked, and this scene didn't exist in the manga, and Toei almost certainly wrote it before the reveal in the manga that Lia is a Gold Saint. It's hard to imagine that it would exist if they had known, because it revolves around Aiolia getting no fucking respect. Presumably, all they had to go off of was that Aiolia cameo from the first chapter, which they seem to have mostly gotten "likes Seiya and Marin?" from. So they’re vaguely trying to align him with them as sort of a sympathetic underdog in Sanctuary.

- But even so... they somehow stumbled into a really good and fitting scene that adds a lot to his character with future context in mind!

- yume and I have talked about, well, okay, Lia gets shit on and bullied for being a traitor's little brother - that's an important part of his characterization and his motives - but where does the hostility towards him really come from? He's clearly well-liked amongst the trainees and the regular soldiers. Among the Golds - okay, yeah, Milo, Deathmask, and Aphrodite would give him shit. (Goddammit, Milo.) But most of the rest of them either don't care or would be sympathetic.

- Getting his face spit on constantly by SILVERS, though, makes a lot of sense and would be even more rage-enducing than getting spit on by his actual peers. Because the Silvers obviously feel "safe". They know that Aiolia can't actually fight back or do anything without validating everything anyone has said about him and his relationship and his brother. He has to take it. And the fact that he just takes it leads to even less respect, with him being seen as a push-over while Aiolia quietly fantasizes about stomping on their broken arms.

- So in that way, it makes sense with the shitty crop of Silvers that around that jerking Leo Aiolia's chain is thought of as actually sort of a fun, twisted game. They get to taunt a fucking GOLD, a "traitor's brother" and wave their dicks around in his face and all the Gold can do is seethe powerlessly.

- tldr; Aiolia is very angry, has always been very angry, and even though it came together like this on accident - scenes like this give a lot of depth and context to that endless, boiling anger to the point that it is really, really fucking funny that it was almost certainly Toei writing out of ignorance of who Aiolia really was. How Aiolia is treated, and how he responds to the situation - both with the deserters themselves and with Algol and Shaina being assholes - says a lot about him.

- Meanwhile, as ridiculous as the [REDACTED] are, I can't help but find the weird sci-fi HQ Saori and the Bronzies have early on charming in a really corny way. I bet Saori really misses leading from this setup compared to that shitty little stone bed and curtain they throw at her when she's at Sanctuary, jesus.

- Man, there really is a lot more SeiShiryuu service than I remembered in these earlier eps. Will never be my ship, tbh - SeiSao is my One True Love - but lmao.

- for some reason saints on a plane always cracks me up no matter how many times i see it

- (note that once again we set up hyouga rushing in to help and then getting there too late to actually do anything. beautiful beautiful failswan)

- every time seiya whines about hitting girls i want there to be a flashback to this bit of him smashing shaina into the cliff face

- Oh for fuck's sake, the Steel fucking S--

- Wait, what was I thinking. What was I talking about. I have no idea. THANK YOU SAORI YOU ARE TRULY THE BEST.

- Shiryuu vs Algol is probably one of the more engaging fights in StS, Gold Saints aside. It's fun to see Shiryuu try to find a workaround to the shield and everything he tries blowing up in his face until he's cornered into jabbing his own eyes out. The sort of contrast between Shiryuu being the Bronzie who has the best chance at actually finding a normal life and a normal happiness with Shunrei, and Shiryuu being the one who keeps throwing himself into getting mauled like this, is probably the most compelling aspect of the character to me.

- One of the things that's also nice about Saint Seiya as a shounen is that it really feels like all of the Bronzies, not just Seiya, are equally crucial members of the team and get their own equally important fights. Like, Shiryuu legitimately gets to star here and save everyone because Seiya fucked it up. I used to like Rurouni Kenshin a lot, but I remember, like, yes - Sanosuke got his "big fight", but it was very much because Kenshin graciously "let" him because he could tell it was important to Sano or whatever. Or in Bleach, where the question of the others in Ichigo's group contributing during Soul Society is basically laughable. Neither really feels like the case in Saint Seiya.

- This is totally where CLAMP got their eye horror fetish from though isn't it. God I still can't believe Saint Seiya is directly responsible for the existence of CLAMP...

- Nothing to really say about the rest of the episode, but I do have to comment:

- Dude, what the FUCK.

- ANY of the Bronzies saying shit like this about Mitsumasa is grotesque, but fucking Ikki actually sort of makes my skin legit crawl. What the fuck, Toei. SOMEONE BRING BACK THE REAL IKKI PLEASE.

- Shunrei is such a good girl. She doesn't deserve this shit, man. What she honestly deserves is the privilege of getting to stab Dohko to death in his sleep--I mean, uh, what?

- THIS WAS COMPLETELY FUCKING UNNECESSARY. WHO THE FUCK SHIPPED THIS ON THE ANIME STAFF I REALLY WANT TO KNOW

- In seriousness, HyoShun is really darling. I love how weirdly attentive Hyouga is to Shun all the time; it's a really charming recurring detail. I IMAGINE SHUN IS CHARMED BY IT TOO. 

- Hyouga's good point is that, despite his bluster, he really is a sweet kid who is 100% sincere all the time. He acts tough but it's not like he's tsun or defensive about showing people - mostly Shun - compassion and concern either.

- lmao and then Ikki ditches these losers I like how after the HyoShun he instantly starts acting a million times more in-character. Did seeing the swan touch your little brother enrage you enough to expel the brainworms at last, Ikki...?

- Saori and Ikki are really good in this scene, though. I love everything about their quick exchange - Ikki being contemptuous and defiant of her, Saori answering without hesitation "HELL YES DO WHAT I SAY" when he asks if she's ordering him around. Both in how cool Saori is, but also her frankly falling back onto really bad habits dealing with the Bronzies when she's sort of panicking and doesn't know what to do. I love the scene of her lamenting about how she couldn't stop Ikki and obviously feeling like a fuckup by herself later, too. I really do appreciate that there is attention given to the arc of Saori learning to be a leader.

- I love Sanctuary openly referring to Saori as their leader, even without knowing she’s Athena, too. Damn right she is!

- Though I do still really think Saori should have been more involved in confronting Ikki when he was still extremely (justifiably) buttmad about everything. The idea of those two having a weird, special understanding about what Saori has to answer for would have been really cool...

- AND THEN SAORI GETS KIDNAPPED BY CROWS. YOU KNOW WE'RE BACK IN CANON, BECAUSE INSTEAD OF EVIL NEFARIOUS BUGS, WE HAVE EVIL NEFARIOUS BIRDS!

- Next time: THE SEISAO APOCALYPSE, MOTHERFUCKERS, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS: THE DESTRUCTION OF SEIYA’S BRAIN

[pyropsychiccollector]

Goodbye Despair, Chapter 1: Destination Despair (Pat 1)

            It had been three days since the start of Ultimate Despair’s incarceration on Jabberwock Island. True to Munakata’s word, Class 78 had been allowed possessions and other privileges that most prisoners would never even dream of having. Nothing dangerous was allowed, and of course there were restrictions, but in general it really was like a holiday retreat instead of a tense imprisonment.

            The main thing was the curfew. Every night, at 10pm, the Despairs had to be back in their cottages. And in the mornings, starting at 7am, everyone was required to attend breakfast, which was prepared by Hanamura. Most Despairs were allowed to freely roam the six islands that made up Jabberwock, as security cameras and announcement monitors were stationed in various locations. Exceptions included Kamakura, who was restricted to the first island for the purpose of restraining him if necessary; Asahina, who was also restricted to the first island (unless escorted to and from other islands) because she would become a threat in the ocean; and Sakura, who required a heavier presence of Foundation personnel around her because of how exceptional she was as a warrior.

            Mukuro Ikusaba would have required as much supervision as Oogami, if it weren’t for the fact that she listlessly stayed in her cottage when she wasn’t required to be present for breakfast or anything else.

            Not too surprisingly, Ultimate Despair didn’t act too excited with their freedom. In fact, they seemed pretty miserable and withdrawn, even from each other. Some even deliberately went out of their way to “break the rules” just so they would be forced to stay in their rooms as punishment. They seemed to crave disciplinary action, as more restrictions brought about a “greater” despair for them.

            This didn’t stop their senpai from reaching out to them. But progress was close to nil.

            ~*~

            “Um… What’s the problem, again?” Hajime scratched his cheek as he looked between the Imposter and the prefect, who was huddled and sulking in the corner of the dining hall.

            “He wants more ‘structure’.” The Imposter, now dressed as Munakata, crossed his arms and frowned deeply. “He likes the idea of a morning meeting and a curfew, but he wants to be able to hold… seminars.”

            Hajime blinked owlishly at that.

            “Seminars?”

            The Imposter held an index finger to his face as his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

            “He says they’re too old for high school classes, and we don’t have the materials for college courses, so he wants to hold these ‘seminars’. I asked him about what he had in mind, and he said he would start by educating everyone on etiquette, hygiene, and health. When I probed him further on these topics, he described what was essentially the exact opposite of these things… I assume this is his Despair, so I simply told him ‘no’. And to try again, when he came up with something meaningful. He’s been like this ever since.”

            Hajime sweatdropped and stared at the depressed hall monitor’s backside.

            “And… how long has he been like this?”

            “The past half hour.” The Imposter plainly responded, which earned a sigh from the brunet. He knew the Imposter hadn’t just left him here, and had likely been trying to cheer Ishimaru up, but sulking for half an hour was pretty intense.

            Tentatively, Hajime approached the dark-haired young man and placed a hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say, but he knew he didn’t want to leave Ishimaru like this.

            “H-Hey, um… Ishimaru? Did you wanna hang out?” He paused for a moment. “… Or find one of the others to hang out? I don’t mind if you think I’m boring, I just… want to help, I guess…?”

            Hajime finished off lamely, and the Imposter frowned at his self-depreciative attitude. Hinata had come a long way since becoming the Ultimate Counselor, but he still had that tendency to put himself down. The Imposter supposed all that time in the Reserve Course was to blame for this; as exceptional of an institution as Hope’s Peak was, it did tend to be elitist. Arrogant. Even to the people who paid to attend the school.

            As the Imposter considered approaching Miss Yukizome about having another pep talk with Hinata, the Ultimate Moral Compass stood up rigidly and turned to face Hajime sternly. The Imposter arched an eyebrow curiously at this development, and even Hajime’s eyebrows were raised in surprise.

            “And?! Why do you presume to be a boring person, Hajime Hinata?!” The hall monitor barked out as he crossed his arms in a huff. Though his red eyes were blazing like normal, Hajime could tell something was… different.

            “Um… Well, to be perfectly honest?” Hajime scratched his cheek sheepishly. “I… I was a Reserve Course student at Hope’s Peak. I didn’t even receive an ‘Ultimate’ talent before the world went to hell. Frankly, I’m just a boring, unremarkable kind of guy. The kind of person you’d lose sight of in a crowd and forget about.”

            “But that’s not true…!” Hajime backed up as Ishimaru raised a fist and shook it passionately as he closed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if you’re middle-class! As long as you work hard, you can get anywhere in life! I, myself, was born into a middle-class family – no, not even middle-class! And despite that…! Despite that!”

            Ishimaru shook his head vigorously before reopening his intense eyes and jabbing a finger into Hajime’s chest. The brunet continued to be shocked.

            “Listen! I don’t care if we are enemies! You got where you are today because you worked hard, right?! Then you should take pride in your achievements! Just because you weren’t born a genius, it doesn’t mean you’re worthless! The people who work hard, they’re the ones who shape society and provide food on dinner tables! Never put yourself down just because you’re ‘plain’ or ‘average’!”

            Hajime wilted under the intensity of Ishimaru’s impassioned state. Having been in the Reserve Course, Hajime never knew what Ishimaru was like, prior to the Tragedy. He’d borne witness to the cold, tyrannical Kiyotaka Ishimaru, but even when he harped on about unreasonable rules and regulations to the general masses, he’d never seemed this… energized. There was a ferocity and passion in those eyes that Hajime couldn’t quite place. Hajime was truly out of his depth.

            But the Imposter wasn’t. Though he’d only known his underclassman in passing, he saw it. A flicker. A faint silhouette of the boy Kiyotaka Ishimaru used to be.

            Cautiously, the Imposter took a step forward.

            “Oi… Ishimaru…?” The Imposter used his own voice without thinking, shocked as he was. Hajime craned his head toward his comrade at the abrupt change in atmosphere; and like a spell being broken, Ishimaru massaged his temple before shaking it vigorously and giving a wide, malicious grin, typical of an Ultimate Despair.

            “My apologies! I seem to have lost myself for a minute there. Hahaha…!” He spread out his arms benevolently. “Rest assured, Munakata-san, I shall rethink my proposal and approach you again in the near future! You better be ready for an intense negotiation~!”

            With one last boisterous, forced laugh, Ishimaru stomped away with that wide grin still plastered on his face. Hajime and the Imposter exchanged looks, both agreeing that incident was… odd.

            ~*~

            “I still don’t get what the big deal is!” Kuwata moaned as a blonde yanked him along a bridge that led to the central island. “Why have a tank all set up, if you’re not gonna use it?!”

            Natsumi’s scowl remained firm, and she cursed under her breath as she stomped along.

            “Because, dipshit, that’s for us to use in case someone like, I dunno, Ogre decides to try something!” Deciding to vent a little more, she yanked his arm harder. “How do you even go from baseball to motherfucking tanks anyway?! It’s like trading a Siamese cat for a German shepherd! Two different animals, dumbass!”

            To the yakuza’s irritation, Kuwata smiled fondly as he ran his free hand through his hair.

            “You ever seen one of those machines that spits out baseballs? Well, Enoshima suggested I should try one-upping that! So the tanks I drive around shoot out baseballs.” He then grinned madly, his eyes glowing a brighter, more ominous red. “Metal ones. Your body gets shot with those suckers, you’re a goner for sure! It’s really somethin’ to behold!”

            Deciding she’d had enough of the former baseball star’s insane ravings, Natsumi slugged the redhead hard enough in the face to knock him out, and then just dragged his unconscious body along the ground as a petty revenge. It was as she was stomping through Jabberwock Park that she encountered another Remnant.

            “Honestly, you can’t go one day without getting violent with someone, can you?”

            Natsumi growled and whirled on her heel to face the woman who was sitting under a tree, looking bored as hell. The woman flipped a strand of lilac hair behind her ear, which only caused Natsumi’s eyes to narrow further. She never did like this bitch.

            “What do you want?”

            “What makes you think I want anything?” Kirigiri asked airily, arching an eyebrow, despite Natsumi’s hostile tone. To further piss the yakuza off, the detective’s posture was completely relaxed, not tense in the least.

            But then, Kyoko Kirigiri had always been one to keep her emotions in check.

            “You’re the one who stopped me.” The dishwater blonde deadpanned. Kyoko made a small noise of understanding.

            “I was just making a casual observation. Wasn’t even addressing you. Feel free to ignore me.” Kirigiri dryly replied, craning her head away from the yakuza and staring out at the ocean. A clear dismissal, but Natsumi didn’t have the patience or control to ignore the detective.

            It was like Sato all over again.

            “Like hell you didn’t call me out just now…!” Natsumi growled as she released Kuwata’s legs unceremoniously and took one step over to Kyoko. “I dunno what bug crawled up your asshole, but you’ve always had a bone to pick with us yakuza! My big bro hated going to the same school and not being able to touch you! When that Sato bitch attacked me, you didn’t give a flying fuck until it looked like we were gonna murder her punk-ass! You were just chomping at the bit, waiting for us to give you a reason to get me and my bro expelled!”

            Kyoko had her arms crossed for the duration of Natsumi’s little rant, and her gaze remained firmly locked on the ocean. Her expression remained impassive. When Natsumi was done, not a fraction of a reaction could be seen.

            “And?” The lilac-haired girl wondered, after the silence had seeped into them for several uncomfortable moments. Natsumi snarled.

            “And?!” The blonde hissed.

            “What’s the point of dredging up ancient history?” Kyoko continued to needle the girl. “Of course the police and yakuza would never get along. Don’t act so shocked.”

            “That’s not the fucking point!” Natsumi all but screeched. “You might’ve become a crazy cold-hearted bitch, but you used to have fucking morals! You preached about the law being unbiased – hell, you threw it in my bro’s face when you thought we’d murder that bitch! – but you ignored all that shit about Sato attacking me and Hinata!”

            “… Oh. That.” Kyoko’s flippant response had the desired effect of Natsumi advancing towards her threateningly. “I guess I just didn’t care. A yakuza wanting justice is strange, don’t you agree?”

            “You bitch…!” Natsumi snarled and almost lunged at the detective, before a hand clapped firmly on her shoulder. When she fiercely whirled her head to face the unwelcome intruder to the conflict, she was only slightly mollified to see the stony-faced Munakata facing Kirigiri. And beside him was Togami, who only looked mildly annoyed to have apparently been dragged along by the second-in-command of Future Foundation.

            “That will be enough of that, Kuzuryu. Get Kuwata back to his cottage – I will be along shortly.” Munakata frowned slightly as Natsumi shook with rage. He thought he would have to call her brother to take care of her, but a few tense moments later she waspishly obeyed, notably shooting Kirigiri the middle finger that the detective naturally ignored. As the yakuza stalked off, dragging Kuwata behind her, Munakata’s full attention was once again on the Ultimate Detective. He crossed his arms disapprovingly. “I had thought you, of all the Remnants, wouldn’t need to be told to restrain yourself, Kirigiri. The rift between you and the Kuzuryu Clan aside, you’ve handled all interactions rationally and logically. You never pick fights, regardless of how annoyed you may or may not be.”

            Kyoko remained perfectly still in her seated position, and didn’t respect Munakata by returning his gaze.

            “As I recall, you’ve given us the freedom to move as we please. If you can’t handle a little hostility between obvious enemies, perhaps you should just put us on ice until the Neo World Program is complete?”

            Munakata’s frown deepened. He tapped his finger on his forearm as the steel in his gaze sharpened.

            “Being allowed freedom at all is a privilege that we can easily revoke at any time. Do not mistake our kindness for softness.” The silver-haired man warned. It seemed to go in one ear and out the other for Kyoko, however.

            “Even Izuru Kamukura?” She replied blandly.

            “Kamakura will not be a problem.” Munakata boldly asserted, causing the detective to finally turn towards him and arch an eyebrow dubiously. She was surprised his confidence held steadfast.

            Such naïve arrogance.

            “You should listen to him.” Togami spoke up in the same bland tone that Kirigiri had previously been using. “Men of Munakata’s status and character are rarely arrogant. And I should know, because he is my business rival, after all is said and done.”

            Kyoko scoffed, while Munakata scowled at the slight against Chairman Tengan. Never mind how much he wanted to deny that Ultimate Despair couldn’t compare to the Future Foundation – they did. Ultimate Despair and the Future Foundation were the only major superpowers in these apocalyptic times. The old world order was in shambles.

            Before Kyosuke could retort, however, his phone rang in his pocket, and he merely shot Kirigiri one more reproachful glare before squarely facing Togami.

            “I will leave her in your hands. Though if Kirigiri stirs up trouble again, there will be consequences for her, so keep that in mind.”

            “Duly noted.” Togami deadpanned in return, arms still crossed as he kept his head craned in a mocking manner. Kyosuke glowered warningly at this, but then strode away briskly.

            Now the heir and detective were left alone.

            “You’re a suck-up.” Kirigiri coldly pointed out, once Munakata was out of earshot.

            Togami rolled his eyes.

            “I am doing what needs to be done,” the heir’s tone was just as frosty as his jaded eyes glared daggers back at the lilac-haired girl. “There is a very real chance that program won’t be completed. If that eventually proves true, we will need to be in a position to communicate with one another. Being holed up in cottages will do nothing but hinder any possible insurrection.”

            For the briefest of moments, Kirigiri was taken aback. But Togami caught that miniscule change of inflection in her face, and there was a sad sort of vindictiveness in being able to garner such a reaction from the poker-faced detective.

            “The Neo World Program… might not get completed…?” Kirigiri whispered, aghast. “What in the hell are Matsuda and Gekkogahara doing?”

            Togami scoffed at the mixture of disbelief and rage that bubbled under her aloof tone.

            “I don’t know the full details, but apparently there really is a bug that is making the program incapable of operating. They brought in that animator to see if he would be able to offer insight to a potential solution, but I have my doubts. I knew we should have gone with the original plan of infecting the program, rather than remodifying its original purpose… We had a copy of Enoshima’s AI stored in Towa City, but now even that is lost to us, and we’re left in this hopeless situation.”

            Kyoko narrowed her eyes as her gloved hands curled into fists and she stared off into space.

            “If we can’t be the vessels for Enoshima’s return… what’s even the point of being here? We should kill everyone here before reinforcements arrive.”

            Togami tilted his head thoughtfully, index finger tapping his temple.

            “Hnn. How strange. I never would have pegged you for a coward. Haven’t you heard the phrase, ‘no risk, no glory’?”

            Kyoko scowled at the uppity tone her blond classmate had taken with her.

            “Don’t tell me Ludenberg has influenced your decision-making. Without Fujisaki, I highly doubt Matsuda and Gekkogahara would be able to fix a computer program. And there’s even less chance they would trust him to be anywhere near their computers. If our chances are close to nil, we might as well cut our losses and get the apocalypse back on track.”

            “And what if we had Kamakura actually be useful for once?” Togami sneered back, causing the detective to broil over with more rage.

            “I am not entrusting our fate to a man even more untrustworthy than the Future Foundation! If he was truly a Remnant like the rest of us, he would have joined our inner ring of leadership, rather than watch as the world burned. He is an indecisive shell of man that Hope’s Peak created, and that Enoshima used like a puppet to gain our loyalty. Nothing more.”

            Togami tapped his temple again mockingly.

            “You forget. He is entirely obsessed with watching the conflict of Hope and Despair. I am confident we can use him to our benefit. Enoshima has shown us that it can be done. You know that Enoshima’s return would bring the most Despair to mankind. You know that I am right.”

            Kyoko did not appreciate being talked down to like a child.

            “And you know that if this fails, the whole plan falls apart, and only despair awaits in our future.”

            “That is the whole purpose behind our organization, is it not?” Togami sneered. “We go big, or go home. Either way, Despair gets the final word.”

            Kirigiri clenched her fists once more as she stared down into her lap, gritting her teeth. She still disagreed on principle, and she knew for a fact that others in Ultimate Despair would side with her, just as others would rally behind Togami. Ultimate Despair would split in two, and there would be no way out for them once that happened.

            Was Togami so blind? Was he so short-sighted?

            ~*~

            “You’ve been awfully quiet since arriving, Oowada.” Fuyuhiko muttered as he leaned against the entrance to the abandoned ranch. The Ultimate Biker sat on a stump nearby, and his hands were curled into fists in his lap. His head was dipped, so Fuyuhiko couldn’t make out his expression.

            “What’s it to you?” Mondo groused. “Didn’t get enough to think about when you brought me in?”

            The yakuza heir scowled at the memory of their last encounter. It was true. Mondo had given him food for thought, and he was mulling that over.

            That didn’t mean he was going to leave his fellow gang leader to mope around. He held more respect for the fearsome leader of the Crazy Diamonds than to allow that to happen.

            “Tch. You really think I’m gonna let that keep me down? You’re more of a dumbass than Hagakure.” Fuyuhiko clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, craning his head away from Mondo.

            Mondo clearly bristled at the insult, but he didn’t lash out like Kuzuryu had half-expected him to.

            “Whatever. I guess one of us has the stones to move on with their life.” Mondo grumbled. “Then again, it’s not like you lost all that much anyway.”

            “You really think Daiya would want you to just give up like this?” Kuzuryu asked rhetorically, and that got a reaction he was aiming for.

            “Don’t go there, Kuzuryu.” Oowada growled dangerously.

            Anger fit Mondo a whole lot better, and Kuzuryu was a lot more adept at dealing with it, even if he himself was known to have a hair-trigger temper.

            “Daiya was an actual fucking leader, if you ask me.” Kuzuryu carried on fearlessly. The sound of tightening fists could be heard from Mondo’s quarter. “You put on a damn good effort, but then you ruined everything when you helped end the world…”

            “I said shut up!!!” Mondo roared head whipping up as his red eyes flared a bright, threatening red. He held a fist up furiously. “You of all people don’t get to lecture me, when you were doin’ all this illegal shit before the world went to hell!”

            “You’re a fucking hypocrite.” Fuyuhiko deadpanned, unimpressed. “We were both in the same boat before the Tragedy, and you know it. The Crazy Diamonds was knee-deep in just as much shit. The difference between us, I actually made an effort to keep the world together. You tried to burn it all.”

            Mondo’s teeth were bared, and his hand was twitching uncontrollably as his body shook. Fuyuhiko imagined the only thing holding Oowada back was the ‘despair’ of refusing to vent his anger. And that was, ultimately, Fuyuhiko’s goal. To get Oowada to pick his old self back up. Screw how unhealthy rage was – it was even worse to bottle it all up.

            “I don’t need to explain a single damn thing to you, asshole! I might be a worthless piece of shit, but at least I acknowledge I fucked up! The most you ever do is admit it’s possible you’re partly responsible for what happened! You wanna turn this into Storytime?! Why don’t you start talking first? Tell me what you assholes did against Enoshima! What you all lost!”

            Fuyuhiko’s lips curled into a deeper scowl. Oowada was still clinging to that. The fact Class 77 had been more fortunate than Class 78. The fact they couldn’t truly empathize with Class 78. And maybe he was right, to an extent.

            That didn’t justify ending the world, no matter how great the pain was.

            But before Fuyuhiko could mouth such a rebuttal, the Ultimate Biker got up from the stump and stomped away, effectively ending the conversation. Fuyuhiko’s mouth clamped closed as he weighed the pros and cons of pursuing the biker, but in the end, decided against it for now. They’d have time to get all of the Despairs to open up… They would just need to take it one step at a time.

            And that sucked. Because time was a rare luxury in this apocalyptic world.