#the same way that middle aged people think they know exactly what I a twenty something needs and how to fix my problems

[disregardcanon]

i think that the greatest thing about heimerdinger's characterization is that even though people irl aren't going to work with actual immortals... we do deal with people who are way older and out of touch with how the world looks now. and they DO have some wisdom and they DO care. but by god they just don't know how to connect to you, person who doesn't have an entire lifetime of knowledge and experience to draw from and who knows that your life will be and is currently and has been different than theirs.

[bweeeb]

PUPPY EYES

Synopsis: When Pedro doesn't take you to the awards ceremony for his new movie, your relationship starts to go downhill with the thought that maybe you're too young to give him everything he needs.

Warnings: nothing major, angst, couple with problems, Pedro and you are 26 years apart.

Career, projects, new movies, memories, and that topic that always left you unsure—was it negative or positive anticipation when people brought up relationships?

It wasn’t news to anyone that five months ago, when you and Pedro made it official that you’d been secretly seeing each other for a year, people started digging into every little detail. And a few months ago, the age difference between you two didn’t bother anyone in your social circle. Both of you were adults who knew exactly what you were doing with your lives.

Even your parents, who had initially been surprised by the man 26 years older than you, eventually came to accept your choice. So it shouldn’t bother you or anyone else anymore.

"So, I don’t think you’ve ever openly talked about your relationship with Pedro Pascal after making it official. Is it okay if we discuss it?"

The podcast host smiled at you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh, shrugging.

"Why not?"

"How did you two meet?"

"We worked on the same movie, so we were constantly together on set. One thing led to another."

"And you never thought, like, ‘Wow, he’s way too old for me,’ since there’s a significant age gap?"

"Twenty-six years, isn’t it?" Another host interrupted.

"Didn’t he say in an interview that he wouldn’t date anyone with more than a 20-year age difference? Doesn’t that make you curious about what changed?"

"Well, when we met, I didn’t think much about it, and I don’t think he did either. Yes, he mentioned that he wouldn’t date someone with a 20-year age gap. But I’ve always had a thing for DILFs, and he’s definitely one. One thing led to another, without either of us realizing it."

Your cheeks flushed as you spoke honestly, your eyes briefly catching your publicist’s approving thumbs-up from behind the glass.

"I think it’s much more about connection than anything tangible, you know? Our age difference is almost unnoticeable in our day-to-day life now."

"Pedro is, what, around 50 years old? Let’s not pretend it’s entirely unnoticeable." One of them chuckled, and you narrowed your eyes, frustrated at how your words were twisted.

"You’re young, clearly with the body of a 23-year-old, while he’s middle-aged. I think people are just curious about what made you stay." The other one chimed in, leaning toward the mic. You smiled politely, glancing between the camera and the hosts.

"Maybe the real question is what makes him stay. He had a firm opinion, and suddenly, it changed. Pedro has the purest and most beautiful soul in the world. He laughs at his own dad jokes, he shows me things I’d never imagined because he’s from 1975, and he’s a man with a capital M who treats me like the last rose petal in the universe. So, honestly, if he ever agrees to do an interview with you, maybe you should ask him what makes him stay.

"After the podcast aired, what you thought would be a calm discussion turned into a social media battleground. People twisted your words and intentions.

"A man taking care of a child—what nonsense."

"Really, ask him why he stays because she’s unbearable."

"Did she call his jokes ‘dad jokes’? Who does that to their boyfriend? RUN, PEDRO!"

"She’s just after his money."

"The most boring woman in the world is with the hottest man alive. How does that even happen?"

"She has nothing to offer him. Relax, ladies, it won’t last three more months."

"Dakota Johnson seemed interested in him; I wouldn’t be surprised if he ditches this corn husk for her."

"If I knew he was into younger women, I’d have listed a hundred better options than Y/N."

"Wait, guys—he didn’t even take her to the Gladiator premiere. How serious do you think this is?"

It was exhausting. Even though you avoided reading the comments, they popped up everywhere, and all the therapy you’d done to maintain a stable mental health seemed to be slipping through your fingers. But Pedro couldn’t know, so you plastered on a sweet smile whenever you saw him, even as doubts began to creep in.

Maybe you really were the worst option for him. Maybe someone older, with similar experiences, would be better. Someone more mature, less bubbly and silly.Sitting in the car, you stared blankly out the window as Pedro talked about the Gladiator premiere—the one you hadn’t attended because you weren’t invited.

"Hey, are you okay?" It wasn’t that you weren’t listening. You just didn’t have much to say, so you let him keep talking.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Go on."

Your smile didn’t falter, and you silently thanked yourself for being a good actress.

"No, you’re not fine. What’s wrong?"

"Of course I am. It must’ve been surreal, babe. Even Dakota Johnson was there, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s wrong with you?" His eyes left the road momentarily to glance at you. You shook your head.

"Nothing. You’re just imagining things." You leaned over, cupped his face in your hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips before pulling away.

"Eyes on the road, old man."

"Okay, but I thought I was your daddy."

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as if offended. You loved that about him—the way he was so expressive and dramatic, some might call it embarrassing, but you found it endlessly entertaining.

"You know when you’re my daddy," you said with a mischievous smile, swallowing the rising bitterness in your throat. That night was the last time you slept at his place. Over the following days, you insisted on being dropped off at home, and Pedro didn’t argue. He simply observed your strange behavior.

At first, he thought you might be pregnant and unsure about what to do. But then he remembered you weren’t the type to hide something like that. He considered that maybe you were overwhelmed with your new projects, but you usually loved talking about them. And then, his thoughts landed on your relationship. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t pinpoint anything.

Five days later, the two of you were at a dinner with friends. Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

"Hey, Y/N, why didn’t I see you at the premiere? I thought I’d catch a glimpse of you in a glorious dress," Lux, Pedro’s sister, asked.

Your cheeks burned, and your heart raced with nervous discomfort. Were you supposed to admit you hadn’t been invited? No. Your mom had taught you better than that.

"I…" A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you shifted uncomfortably in your chair. You didn’t dare look at Pedro beside you, though you could feel his guilty puppy-dog eyes on you. You wouldn’t give in.

"I had some things tied up with the script for the movie. It was a hectic week."

In reality, the script had been finalized, and even if the writer had faced complications, you’d have found time to support your boyfriend and contribute new ideas to the director.

"Ah, really? What a shame. I hope everything’s okay now," Lux said.

"Oh, it’s all sorted," you replied, forcing a smile.Your smile faltered briefly when Pedro’s hand tried to find yours under the table. Clearing your throat, you stood up, announcing that you needed to use the restroom.When you returned, Pedro was chatting with one of his friends, and you were grateful he was too preoccupied to bring up the earlier conversation.

"Wow, did you do something with your hair? It looks blonder, or is it just me?" Hazel, one of Pedro’s friends’ girlfriends, asked politely.

"Yeah, I did. Amelia’s amazing," you replied.

"Oh my gosh, give me her number, please. I need something this stunning."

"Of course, I’ll even book you an appointment if you want."

"It’s impressive how an older man managed to snag someone as beautiful and sweet as you," Lux teased. Normally, you would’ve laughed it off, but everything felt different that night. You chuckled falsely, smiling as you’d been doing all week.

"Oh, come on, stop that," Pedro said, sounding uneasy. He could sense your odd mood.Of course, you were acting strange.

Everything had been strange lately.

Later, in the car, your gaze rested on your hands in your lap while you felt Pedro’s eyes boring into the side of your face.

"Honey—"

"If we could not talk about this now, I’d be much happier. Can you just take me home?"

"You know I want to—"

"Pedro."You turned to him, tired of pretending. Your voice was tense, and he immediately understood how serious it was. You never called him by his name. "Stop." Your tone wasn’t angry or annoyed, just lifeless. That terrified him. Women didn’t usually scare him. At nearly 50 years old, he thought he’d learned to handle these situations.

"I’m sorry, okay."

His gaze returned to the road, while you looked out the window, waiting to get home.

As you were arriving, you realized he wasn't taking you to your house but to his instead. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh and covered your face with both hands.

"What are you doing?" The words came out muffled as you felt him slow down.

"Going home."

"This is the way to your house."

"My house is your house, darling."

"You know what I mean," you whispered, exhausted.

"I thought you didn’t want to go. That it would be too much pressure for you, that... that you wouldn’t want people talking."

You heard him lament, and biting your lip, you sniffled. You tried hard not to act childish in the situation, looking up and taking a deep breath, reminding yourself not to let the tears fall.

"I know," was all you managed to reply before your voice broke.

"I... I just need to think for a bit."

"Think... right. Think about what?"

"Can you please take me home?" Pedro nodded at that and drove to your building. For the first time, he felt a strange haze between the two of you.

"Thank you." Even in the awkwardness, there you were, sweet as ever. Pedro could never deny how much he appreciated that about you—the way you always thanked everyone for everything. You were so pure. "Anytime." You opened the car door and stepped out, but before you entered the building, Pedro got out and called after you.

"I'm sorry. And I love you." That’s what he said before you turned to look at him with sad eyes—the same expression you wore when you thought he had forgotten to pick you up for a date, only to find out he was planning a surprise trip to Chile.That night, Pedro went home with his tail between his legs. When Lux called him in the morning, he couldn’t have felt worse.

"You look like one of the infected from The Last of Us. Gross."Lux teased as Pedro rubbed his face with his left hand."What do you want?"

"Wow. Rude."

"Sorry, I didn’t sleep. Just tell me why you’re calling me at six in the morning."

"I was thinking about how you said Y/N was acting strange, and I agree. Last night, she was quieter than usual. Pero luego empecé a preguntarme: ¿la invitaste al estreno? Porque se puso muy rara después de que lo mencioné y estaba revisando los comentarios..." ( But then I started wondering—did you invite her to the premiere? Because she got all weird after I brought it up, and I was checking the comments...)

"Ya te dije que no revises los comentarios. La gente está loca". (I already told you not to check the comments. People are insane.)

Pedro rolled his eyes, sighed, and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. You and Pedro had talked about ignoring online negativity countless times. Neither of you usually cared about it. You weren’t starting now, were you?

"Lo sé, lo sé, pero se están portando fatal con ella. Y al no invitarla, la gente pensó que la estaban dejando de lado". ( I know, I know, but they’re being awful to her. And not inviting her made people think you were sidelining her.)

Lux sounded worried, almost angry.

"Eso es ridículo. Yo nunca haría algo así. Ella lo sabe. "(That’s ridiculous. I’d never do that—she knows that.)

"La compararon con Dakota Johnson. No es justo, son completamente diferentes. Dijeron que te cansarías de la 'niña'. Sabemos que es más madura que la mayoría de las mujeres, pero aún es joven". ( They compared her to Dakota Johnson. It’s not even fair—they’re completely different. They said you’ll get tired of the ‘kid.’ We know she’s more mature than most women, but she’s still young. )

Pedro propped his elbows on his knees and sighed. You had never acted immaturely. You never made rash decisions or threw tantrums over small things. You never picked fights or complained about work or friends. People didn’t know anything about your relationship—how could they?

"¿Crees que está preocupada? "(Do you think she’s worried)

"La mujer está intentando mantener la compostura y alejarse antes de que la abandones, como todos han estado diciendo". (The woman’s trying to hold herself together and pulling away before you ditch her like everyone’s been saying.)

Lux sighed and continued,

"Deberías haber escuchado cómo habló de ti en ese podcast. Nadie más sería así, no como ella. Haz algo. ( You should’ve heard how she talked about you on that podcast. No one else would be like that—not like her. Do something. )

Fuck. Pedro thought. He’d be stuck working all day, knowing you were likely asleep now. As the day went on, you ignored his missed calls. Not as an act of immaturity but because you needed personal space. You planned to talk to him eventually, but your phone felt like a weight you couldn’t bear. Instead, you threw yourself into work, ensuring every detail was perfect.Later, your group decided to go out for dinner, and you joined to keep your mind occupied. You loved them all but remained mostly a listener. Exhausted from a sleepless night, you struggled to follow the conversation, though you smiled at their stories.After dinner, you excused yourself to the restroom. As you washed your hands, you overheard two women talking in mocking tones.

"Do you think it’s a PR stunt?"

You frowned, listening as the other responded,

"It must be. I mean, it’s all over the news, and she’s playing the sad little girl role."

"Yeah, right? He used to call someone 25 a kid, and now he’s with a 23-year-old? Ridiculous."

"Did you see the photo of him with Dakota at the bar?"

"What? When?"

"Today, about an hour ago. She was kissing his cheek, and even if it’s for the movie, I doubt it. They weren’t even working."

"Think he’ll trade her in?"

"She won’t last ten days."

You grabbed your phone and opened Twitter. The first thing you saw was the photo of him and Dakota. He had that drunken smile on his face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. You weren’t the jealous type, fully aware of how PR worked in Hollywood, but it still stung.You washed your hands, turned to face them, and said,

"At least I’m more than a nameless extra without a single line. The only roles your venomous tongues will land you are in adult films, and not the Pearl kind—cheap, disgusting ones. Have a good night.

"With that, you left, hailed a cab, and went home. Fighting back tears, you repeated to yourself, Don’t cry. It’s just a picture. You ignored him all day, so stop acting like this.But for the first time, you cried over something like this.

Your head ached, and with the tip of your nose red, you picked up the phone and called him—without thinking too much, without wrestling with your thoughts. You just did what you felt needed to be done.The first call went straight to voicemail, and even though the thought of not wanting to humiliate yourself for him crossed your mind, you ignored it, knowing you were the one who had lost ground first. On the second call, your phone was answered, and the muffled sound made you swallow hard—he was out of the house.

“Hey.”

Your voice came out low, and you heard some murmurs on the other side, blending with loud conversation.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice called from the other side, and you grimaced. “Uh, hi. Is Pedro there?”

“Uh, he’s kind of busy right now,” she said.

“Busy…” you repeated softly. “Who are you?”

“Carly.”

Carly? Who the hell is Carly? you thought immediately.

“Then tell him I called, Carly.”

“And you are…?” The mocking tone in her voice irritated you, and your expression was far from pleasant.

“A friend. Tell him a friend called.”

“Great.” She hung up without saying anything else, and you wrapped yourself in your own cocoon of blankets that didn’t warm you like Pedro did.Suits was playing on TV while you avoided going to bed, eventually falling asleep without even realizing it. Around 3 a.m., frantic knocks on your door startled you awake, making you look warily down the hallway. The doormen usually informed you of anyone coming to your floor.

Cautiously, you peeked through the peephole and saw him there, rubbing his face with his two hands, five times bigger than yours. You stopped, stepped back from the door, and sighed before opening it. Once you unlocked the door’s security latch, you looked at him and almost closed it again upon seeing your reflection, still wearing his shirt.

“It’s late. What are you doing here?” Your voice came out softly, and you saw Pedro stammer as he raised his hand in a nervous tic.

“A friend?”

“What?”

“Why did you say you were just a friend, sweetheart?” Pedro asked, stepping forward. You didn’t step back, only shrugged and gave a disheartened smile

.“She said you were busy. I thought it would be more… convenient than saying something else.”

“You’re something else. You’re my girlfriend. And my fiancée. And my wife. And I don’t care if you want to be the mother of my kids when I’m a hundred years old.”

He’s so drunk, you thought.

“How much tequila did you drink, Pedro?”

“The whole bottle.” He laughed, moving closer and gently touching your face. He’d always been gentle; being drunk didn’t change that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re breaking up with me.”

“I won’t say anything to you while you reek of cheap booze and cheap women.” You closed the door behind him and stepped away, heading to the hallway and your closet to grab a towel and clean clothes for him.

“Take a shower. If you sober up, we’ll talk.”

Pedro knew what you were thinking—that he’d gotten mad, drunk with his friends, and gone out with women named Carly. But he hadn’t done anything other than stare at the karaoke machine, hating every second he wasn’t there to mock what he was hearing.

“Everything’s cheap,” he laughed, following you.

“You know what isn’t cheap, Pedro? My patience. I haven’t slept well in over a week, and now it’s almost four in the morning, which means it’s been twenty minutes since you showed up at my door, and I don’t know why the hell you’re not naked yet.”

Your words left your mouth, and Pedro smiled at you.

“One day without you, and I forget how hot you are when you’re bossy and sleepy,” he slurred, making you laugh softly as you turned on the shower and pushed him into the bathroom.

“Don’t fall in there, please.”

Fifteen minutes after you pushed him inside, your eyes were heavy, and the strange way your body associated his presence with a different kind of rest annoyed you. Without realizing it, you fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in your blanket. It was as if your body said":

— Oh, it’s okay; Pedro’s home, so we’re safe,— but was your heart safe?When he saw you asleep there, the tequila had only left him dizzy—nothing a cold shower couldn’t fix. He approached and carried you to your room without thinking twice, whispering as he looked at your face:

“I’m so sorry, my preatty little thing.”

He laid you on the bed, and as he was about to leave, he heard you murmur:

“Stay. Please.”

Without hesitation, he lay beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both in a cocoon where it was just the two of you.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you?” you murmured, burying your head in his neck and feeling his hands trail up your back.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you, sweetheart?” he emphasized, and you sighed.

“I’m scared of losing you when you realize I’m too young, too naïve, and haven’t even experienced half of what you have.”

“I don’t even know why you’re thinking that. I’m the one who’s old. You’re perfect, intelligent, hot, and extremely talented—a young woman who fell into the arms of an old man like me.”

“Yeah, but I think maybe one day you’ll want someone your own age, someone like Sarah or any of your exes. I think it’s okay if you get bored of me, start feeling ashamed, and—”

“Stop. Stop that.” Pedro cupped your face, pulling it from his neck and making you look into his eyes. Your hands rested on his chest as you stared at him, and with a disheartened smile, Pedro caressed your face, clearly upset. When had your relationship reached such a fragile state?

“I didn’t take you to the premiere because the press is cruel. They’d talk about you, probably reinforce the rumors, and talk about me—call me a disgusting creep. I was going to take you, but all of our advisors told me not to risk exposing you in a bad light. I… I would never feel ashamed of you, for God’s sake. Look at you. A woman of any age wouldn’t hold a candle to you in a million years.”

Sniffling, you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pedro sat on the bed, hugging you back, his hand resting gently on your waist.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. Whatever was written about you was a lie. God, I don’t think I even know how to live without you by my side anymore.”

You laughed, and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You don’t need to worry either. Other men lost their appeal the moment you wanted me.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.”

His hand traveled to the back of your neck, his large fingers running through your hair.

“And who was Carly?”

“A friend of the group.”

" And why did she have your cell phone?"

" It stayed on the table because I focused on looking at it for five to five minutes waiting for you to send me a message. "

“And the photo?”

He knew what you were referring to, and when he took it, he hadn’t expected it to reach you before you two made up—if you made up.

“It was to promote the movie, sweetheart. Dakota’s engaged.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Hmm, alright.” You looked at him, tracing your fingers from his hair to his beard until they stopped at his mustache.

“Stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. It makes you irresistible.”

“Like this?”

He did it again, and you laughed, kissing his lips immediately after.

“Mm-hmm, like that.”

You murmured against his lips as he smiled at you, and you whispered,

“I love you.”

“I love you more, sweetheart. Just you.”

Pedro pulled you close, laying you back against the soft mattress, kissing you as if it were the last moment of your lives. At least, that’s what both of you hoped.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

I apologize if there are any mistakes in this writing. I didn't proofread it with the best eyes.

Requests are open

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 42

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 39, part 40, part 41

“And I know he doesn’t mean any of it,” Wayne explains, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “I’m just tired of it.”

Hopper scoffs. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Wayne needed to get out of the house. Do something other than go to work. Go somewhere where he can just calm down from it all. Not have to get in the middle of a fight or have one.

Eddie doesn’t fight with Wayne as much as he does with Steve, but it’s there. Wayne’s just used to it. Knows how to bite back enough to get Eddie to stop. Has the history where Eddie knows where to draw the line. Where to stop.

But Steve just lets him yell. Lets him scream and insult and hurt. Does it right back, not giving a shit what happens afterward. It’s giving Eddie exactly what he wants.

“I know why he does it. He’s angry and in pain, so he takes it out on us. I just wish he would stop. It’s not helping anything.”

“Hey, dad,” Jim’s kid pops her head out of the doorway. “Can I go over to Max’s?”

“Yeah, see if Jonathan can take you.”

Jim’s kid, who Wayne knows by at least three different names and can’t for the life of him figure out which one is the real one, shakes her head. “He already said that he is busy.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Course he is. Give me like twenty minutes and I’ll drive you over.”

“Ok.” She lets the door swing back shut.

“Jonathan Joyce’s son?” Wayne asks. Willing to take a moment off from dealing with his own stuff.

Jim nods. “Her oldest. He hasn’t been busy since Wheeler broke up with him. Probably just getting high in his room.”

Wayne scoffs. “You let him do that?”

“He’s an adult, he can make his own decisions. As long as I don’t catch him while on the clock, I won’t do anything. I’m more worried about him.”

Wayne doesn’t know much about Jim’s personal life. Other than before he met Joyce, back when his kid was in the hospital. He knows that him and Joyce have been together for a few months now, and that they merged families. But he doesn’t know about his relationship with Joyce’s kids. Jim doesn’t talk about them a lot.

He’s pretty reserved, Wayne realized. Which isn’t a problem, Wayne can be reserved most of the time as well. But it was nice to have someone to relate to. Someone his age, who can understand his viewpoint more. They’re on the same understanding level.

Wayne’s never been the type of person to make and keep a friend. There were the people he grew up with in high school. People he worked with. His neighbors. But beyond basic friendliness, there really wasn’t a bond. It was different with Jim. Their understandings turning into camaraderie. Maybe turning into friendship.

It’s almost stupid to think of it that way. Two men in their fifties becoming friends. For some reason, it doesn’t sound right. But Wayne has liked being able to lean on someone during this. Someone that isn’t the twenty year old that he lives with.

He sees the kids all rally around each other. They way that they are there for each other. Adapting with their new lives and moving forward, together. Able to cope with the changes of their lives as a group, rather than the individual.

It would be nice to have something like that.

“What do you mean?” Wayne offers, hoping Jim will open up.

Jim exhales a line of smoke. “He doesn’t have many friends. Only this one kid that he met out in California. But no one here. Other than Wheeler, he just had his family. I just wish he had someone to talk to about all of this. But he just shuts himself in his room and gets high. And don’t even get me started when I try to ask, he just snaps and pushes me out.”

“I have some experience with that.” He flicks his cigarette. “Honestly, it just takes time. If you keep showing up for them, they eventually start to open up to you.”

“I guess.” Jim stubs out his cigarette.

“Mr. Munson,” Jim’s kid calls out the door again. “There’s someone one the phone for you.”

Wayne tosses his bud into the ash tray, nodding. He heads inside, following the kid to the phone. “Hello.”

“Hey, it’s Steve. Sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, that’s ok. What’s happening?”

Steve sighs. “Eddie hasn’t come out of his room all day. He’s locked the door and I can’t get him to come out. I thought maybe he might for you.”

Wayne rubs a hand down his face. “I’m heading back. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Ok. See you soon.”

He hangs the phone back on the receiver. Double checking that he has everything.

“That was Steve, wasn’t it?” A voice Wayne doesn’t recognize comes from behind him.

When he turns, he sees what he is assuming is Jonathan. Wearing clothes that look like they’ve been slept in. “It was.”

Jonathan scoffs. “So he calls our house now, great.”

“Jonathan,” Jim tries to scold. His voice rounding around the edges, trying not to be too harsh.

“No, I’m sick of this. It’s always Steve this and Steve that. I don’t get why he’s so great now. After all that he did. After that shit he pulled over spring break with Nancy. I don’t get what’s so great about the guy that he’s suddenly revered.”

“Oh my god, not again,” another voice comes from the living room. “You need to give it a rest, Jonathan.”

Wayne makes his way toward the door, feeling very out of place right now.

“Will, you don’t know what he said.”

“But I know what he’s done since then. You haven’t heard the things he’s done to protect the rest of us. You’re so blinded by the shit that happened three years ago to think that he could have changed.”

He hears a door slam as he makes his way to the porch. Letting out a long breath when he makes his way to his car.

“Sorry about that,” Jim apologizes.

“Do you know what that was about?”

He wants to know. Surprisingly. He’s living in Steve’s house. Trusting him with Eddie. If there was something that happened, especially whatever it was with Nancy. Considering that she and Steve seem to be really close now. With all that flirting he’s been doing with Eddie.

He needs to know that whatever Steve’s intentions are, they’re not going to screw Eddie over.

“Not really. I think it’s just an old grudge that he’s let fester.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Thanks for the smoke. I hope things get better for you.”

“Same goes for you. See you around.”

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[squirrelwrangler]

What is Wheel of Time about

Book or TV show?

The book series is 14 very thick fantasy novels with a very large cast (of which when broken down has more named female characters than male) and multiple plot lines. It helped to inspire A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones - but it is far less bleak and has way less sexual violence (a easy accomplishment). If you’re also familiar with the Dune movies/tv shows and Lord of the Rings, you’ll also see parallels. And like a lot of fantasy it has SF elements. And if you like Dreamworlds and Alternative Realities and glimpses of the past and such, yeah. Written in the 90s by an old cis straight white guy, but one that was in many ways progressive for his time, so your mileage will vary. There’s a post that answers almost exactly this same question that I wrote years ago that goes into this a little more.

But what is it actually about? It’s called Wheel of Time because the central premise is the world operates as a long circle of time with narrative-driven reincarnation. The book/show world is both the inspiration of all of our real world legends and our far far future after magic is discovered thousands of years in the future and a few calamities have leveled it. What that means is there’s a lot of Easter Eggs and familiarities if you know your mythology, in particular Arthuriana. For instance, a character hangs from a tree and sacrifices an eye to gain knowledge, has a pair of ravens symbolically important, and their personality is also very trickster-like. At no point are they called Odin, but if you know Norse Mythology, you go “oh yeah this guy inspires stories about Odin or is his reincarnation”. There’s a lot of vague Jungian and Vedic inspiration if you can’t tell.

Okay, really.

3,000 years ago was a high-tech peaceful society where some people could do magic and thus worked as public servants, very utopian. But then Evil Personified was unsealed, monsters and war unleashed, some of the wizards turned evil, long war was fought. One of the most powerful wizards, a man nicknamed Dragon, seals away both the Dark One and the top evil henchmen wizards - but it was a patch job. Evil monsters still around, people still pledge loyalty to cause evil. And as a counterattack during the sealing, the Dark One is able to place a sickness on the male half of the Power which forces every male wizard then and in the future to go mad. In their madness they destroy the world. Thousands of haywire magical nukes would do that. Female side of wizard Power is still okay, so only female wizards left. They help rebuild the world; societies that re-emerge are thus far more matriarchal than the real world. Men would can use magic are hunted down before they can go mad and start hurting themselves and others. People are understandably Terrified of Male Wizards. Only female wizards allowed. These female Aes Sedai, their Wizard Vatican City, and their factions are a large portion of the plot of both book and tv show. Do you want to see a lot of middle-aged women in gorgeous costumes fighting with magic and scheming? This is the show for you.

So, 3,000 years later, the Pattern that controls-and is created by- the Wheel of Time (lot of weaving and loom metaphor in the metaphysics) decides that the Dragon needs to be reincarnated along with a couple other key people in order to have another Last Battle against the Dark One to hopefully start a new turn of the Wheel/new age (and on evil’s side here’s the chance to reset things in their favor or break the Wheel itself).

Moiraine, an Aes Sedai, learns through a prophecy that the Dragon has just been reborn, so she spends the next twenty years trying to find them before evil does. There’s a long list of accumulated prophecies about the Last Battle and the people and events around it people are also worried about. Lot of plotting as everyone thinks they have the best idea of how to do it. Again, in comparison to Game of Thrones where almost everyone was scheming to win the Iron Throne and ignoring the White Walker invasion, think of it as here all the rulers know about the White Walkers coming and they’re fighting wars with each other to be the one to lead armies against the White Walkers because only their plan will work.

A common joke is that this very very long book series would be much shorter if characters properly talked and coordinated with each other. Teamwork is a central theme (both when you have it and when you don’t).

In an isolated community (think The Shire but instead of hobbits it’s a bunch of tax dodging Appalachian hillbillies or Elizabethan yeoman) Moiraine finds five young people that the Pattern has singled out as Very Powerful Main Characters. Okay, she thinks, one of them is the Dragon Reborn.

Problem is, none of them want to do the Magic Quest Protagonist Plot Stuff; they know that sucks. Moiraine has to get them to do it anyway. Our Gandalf figure is a middle aged queer woman (with a strictly platonic soulmate bodyguard) who has trouble with sharing the whole truth to other people (she is magically forbidden from outright lying) stuck herding a bunch of cats named Rand, Mat, Perrin, and Egwene. And later Nynaeve. By the end of book one/season one we know (but the rest of the world doesn’t) who the Dragon Reborn is - and that they need their friends and others by their side to have a chance of winning the Last Battle. All of them are main characters. Yes, the Dragon Reborn is Main Character- but more than one book in those 14 has barely any page-time dedicated to them. Plot is a Tapestry; not a line. That’s the least spoilerly explanation that I can give.

The tv show is about to start season three in a week (which will be mostly plot from book four, arguably the best book). Each season is eight episodes. Covid and recasting issues meant that the finale of season one had to be reworked and the first book was always the weakest with an infamously weird/weak ending. The show obviously had to change a lot form the monster book series, but it has imho the spirit of the books and often improved them. The casting is diverse- properly so instead of just tokenism- which pissed off a lot of racist fans. That and changes from books and that the main showrunner is a gay man means that there’s a vocal online faction of haters. My two main fantasy series, formative in fact, are Wheel of Time and the Silmarillion/Tolkien. I ADORE the Wheel of Time tv show but I could barely watch any of Rings of Power. Make of that what you will.

Hopefully, anon, this was helpful.

[deezy1478]

probably won't finish this due to agonies but here's a tiny something inspired by this post by @chainsawchuckiet, in which i fail to even meet the brief but made myself laugh:

(in My Vision dustin and zack have sneaked out onto the balcony of the hotel room a bunch of aew and nooj guys are having a big catch-up in while they're all in the same city.)

*

"How have you not aged one single fuckin' day?"

Luke chuckled. "It's the veganism."

"Huh. So you're saying if I gave up cheese I'd look like a hot twenty-six year old?"

"Yes, Dustin - that's exactly what I'm saying. And you'd be helping save the planet."

Dustin pretended to consider it. "Nah… not worth it. Honestly I think my body would shut down." Luke kept chuckling. Dustin sort of didn't want it to stop. "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in front of the fridge unwrapping a Kraft Single."

Luke started laughing, then - deeper and louder, and the way it creased the corners of his eyes made him actually look his age. Dustin sipped his drink, watching him over the rim of his glass.

"Bloody hell…" he said eventually, coming back down with a sigh. "There's no hope for some people."

He leaned his elbows on the balcony guardrail and Dustin did the same, watching the breeze pick up a few strands of Luke's hair as he looked out over the city. His face was even more annoyingly perfect in the moonlight. Marble statue lookin' ass, thought Dustin, just the wrong side of drunk to start pondering how unattainable blonde men were sort of a running theme in his life.

"So…" said Luke after a while, "… I look like a hot twenty-six year old?"

Dustin swallowed an air bubble along with his mouthful of bourbon, narrowly avoiding a coughing fit.

"Shut up," he said, nudging Luke with his elbow. "You know you look good."

"Nice to hear it, though," said Luke, nudging him back.

*

(and then zack brings up dustin's tweet. and then kisses.)

[wuxiaphoenix]

On Writing: Peering Into Another Country

“The past is another country; they do things differently there.” The (slightly mangled) quote sticks in people’s heads because it holds a lot of truth. It’s not just that any particular era of the past has different technology, culture, and customs. It’s that any people living in that era were formed by their parents’ era before that, their grandparents before that... and so on.

For example, in the Napoleonic Wars, the public perception at home in Britain was often about “our heroic soldiers crushing Napoleon’s forces!” even if the reality was an ignominious defeat. Angry generals making pointed remarks to would-be reporters had an impact. Less than fifty years later came the Crimean Wars, and the first use of the telegraph to get new reports back “home” before anyone could jump in fast enough to censor them. For the first time the public got to see some unvarnished truths about mass warfare, photos of piled bodies included, and the uproar was incredible.

Went much farther than Europe, too. American observers went to see things firsthand, and brought back their observations on how European war tactics worked. They didn’t quite grasp all the implications new tech like rifled muskets would have later... not that I think it’d have made much difference, the Civil War was going to be a bloodbath any way you sliced it. It basically took all the nastiness of the Crimean War with a near-decade of technological advances and the inherent awfulness of any civil war and... yeah.

The fallout of the Civil War had a lot of effects, but one of those knock-on effects that a lot of people don’t talk about is how slow we were to get involved in WWI.

Because we had already seen trench warfare, thank you.

Trenches, bunkers, aerial reconnaissance, mass use of trains and attacks on same. Explosives. The Gatling gun, mowing down entire regiments that didn’t move fast enough. America had already seen it all, including at least the idea of chemical warfare - chlorine gas specifically being one of the proposed weapons. 

So when World War I broke out, Americans had all their grandfathers’ stories passed down of exactly how bad things were likely to get. Is it any wonder most were really not interested in getting mixed up in that mess when it wasn’t even our own backyard?

Which is a roundabout way of getting to, when you write characters from another era? You can’t just know about that point in time. You also need to know at least the broad strokes of what happened twenty years ago, and forty. Because those will have formed the older generations around your main characters, and in any realistic society, what your elders say makes a difference. Even if you decide you’re going to do everything to spite them, you have to know what you’re against.

(And if you’re inventing a fantasy era, or one in the far future? Think more about the last fifty years, instead of adding lots of zeroes to your historical context for Extra Cool Factor. It’s all well and good to say your hero in the Fantasy Middle Ages has a magic steel sword from a century ago, but if it’s from a thousand years ago the sword’s more likely to be bronze and perform very differently than your hero expects.)

...BTW if anyone has good source suggestions on the Crimean War, I’d love to hear it. That’s another Interesting Time in history I don’t know as much about as I’d like!

[sadlynotthevoid]

I think we need at least one more bnha x dc crossover in a fusion AU way with bad parent Bruce just so we can have Trained Assassin Teen Jason go to UA in a rehab way (because I doubt bnha proheroes are really against killing in certain cases and Jason would flip that shitty distopia from inside out if given the chance, which he should have) and Stain go after Bruce's ass.

Outside Jason's interrogatory room:

Random diplomat: —and so we decided to consult with yourself, since this is... an exceptional case.

Nedzu: I knew there would be trouble to decide a punishment for the Red Hood, but I wonder what makes everyone so uncomfortable.

Random diplomat, who I'm going to call Jeff: Well, that's— why don't you take a look at him for yourself? *Activates one way mirror function*

Jason, a literal teen: *bored out of his mind, spinning in a swivel chair*

Nedzu, not a human but also in charge of a whole full school of teens: Ah. He's younger than I expected. Though that explains a lot of things.

Jeff: It does?

Nedzu: The decision of making Batman face the Joker to force him to kill him, despite his well known irrational protest against killing in all cases, instead of killing him himself makes more sense coming from a traumatized teenager in seek of safety and certainty.

Jeff: I see. Anyways, his age is one of the three reasons why it's nearly impossible for us to come to a conclusion.

Nedzu: Having in count his young age, I assume his life circumstances is other?

Jeff: Yes. The kid was interrogated by an agent with a range truth-type quirk before and— He was murdered. And resurrected, violently. Then spent a year or so under tha care of assassins.

Nedzu, smiling wide: Oho. So that's the reason.

Jeff: For his last antic, yes. Knowing this, it's hard to judge him because no one has gone under similar events before. Specially because his previous life wasn't exactly a normal one either.

Nedzu: By the way, what is the other reason?

Jeff: ...his fans would burn us alive if they discover we put him, a traumatized teen who almost got killed by his father, in prison for killing people who— under any working system— should end in life sentence or penal death.

["Sir, the crowd outside doubled its size."

"Again Ramírez? This is the third time already!"

"There's nothing I can do bout it. They aren't doing anything illegal."

"Anf onef ovf them gahve me a muffin."

"Johansson! Not eating during guard duty."

"He didn't have breakfast, sir."]

Nedzu: So that's the real reason.

Nedzu, already taking the legal papers: If we agree in a few things, then I'm willing to have him in UA to rehabilitate him.

Jeff: Of course.

Aizawa: *enters to Nedzu's office*

Tsukauchi, Jason and Nedzu already there: *turns heads to him at the same time*

Aizawa, a single father of twenty children: Oh no. What did they do now?

Tsukauchi: As far as I know, nothing yet this time.

Nedzu: Aizawa, take a seat. This is Jason, he's going to be part of your class starting today.

Aizawa: Isn't him a bit old?

Jason who has never been normal for a single day in his life: Apparently, I'm seventeen...ish. You should have seen me a week ago. I looked like 19 years old.

Tsukauchi: The doctor said it could be good for him if he could look at himself and see his real age, so recovery girl made a call.

Jason: It was a therapist. I've never had one of those before. And oh boy, wasn't she right? I only jumpscared myself twice this week.

Aizawa, already resigned to parent this kid: Hahhhhh.

Todoroki, going downstairs after a nightmare: *stops*

Jason, in the middle of a stress-baking session: *looks at him dead in the eyes while whisking cream*

Tokoyami, sitting in the dark for no reason: Revelry in the dark.

Jason, finishing yet another cake: More like a feast. Black forest, you two?

Todoroki: Sure.

Dark Shadow: Me three.

Aizawa: Class, due to recent events, you will have a new classmate joining you.

Jason: Sup.

Aizawa: This is Jason. He is—

Todoroki: An excellent chef. Thanks for the cake.

Aizawa, too used to their bs: —technically a criminal. But there were extreme circumstances and the global government agreed to let him free and give him a hero license if he graduates from Nedzu's hellish rehab program. Good luck.

Jason: Meh. Can't be worse than digging myself out.

The whole class: Hiiiih—

Aizawa: I was talking to them. They have a terrible low terror resistance and you can traumatize anyone who talks with you for more than ten minutes.

By the way, in this AU Jason has a healing quirk. Because he deserves it and I like it how it goes with his name. Plus, the angst of baby Jay trying to heal his mom even after she had already died and it's only her corpse.

I was thinking it seemed like a normal healing quirk, but after he dies, resurrect and is thrown into the pit it evolves. As time pass, Jason finds more and more phoenix resembling features in his quirk.

[ash-is-dying]

Mr. Perfectly Fine: Chap 1

A/N: Literally wrote this the same night as the preview but wanted to at least spread out the release a little. Also i’m sorry it’s kinda short I just wanted to get stuck into something.

Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Chapter 1: Mr. Pretty Face

---

Ever since you had moved into your apartment across the street your morning ritual has become visiting the coffee shop ‘Grateful Bread’. A pun which you’ve always had a soft spot for. It was an empty little place, rustic and old but it felt like home. Not many people came and went so it was relatively easy to pick out the regular customers. They were also the one place you had ever been to that didn’t make fun of your peculiar daily order of a caramel hot chocolate with a shot of espresso and almond milk. Most days you felt like the order made you seem like a bit of a snob but the workers would put on a smile and make it just as you liked it.

From the size of the place it was clear there was a small staff. There was Becky, a younger woman in her early twenties, Darron, an older man with silver streaks in his neatly groomed hair and beard, Lizzie, a middle aged woman who knew the menu and people’s orders off by heart and then the owner Wayne, he was by far the oldest and he could get grumpy at times but he was never mean to anyone. The day crew knew exactly who you were and you knew them just as well.

Which is why it was so surprising when a new face turned up behind the familiar counter. Especially one that stood out so much from the others. He was pretty. Really pretty. If anyone had asked you to guess what his name was your first one would be Mr. Pretty Face. He was young but had obviously been working hard most of his life, forehead creases and smile lines etched into his face from overuse. Other than that his skin was smooth and pale, tattoos beginning to extend down his arms, bats and band references and more detailed works hard to interpret from afar. His frizzed up hair sat in a messy bun behind his head, hardly keeping his face clear as every few seconds he had to blow his fringe and loose strands out of his way.

Your eyes had not moved in around 5 minutes due to the shock of it all. He was gorgeous and you had an overwhelming urge to find a way to slip him your number. With an unusual burst of confidence you snatched a napkin from a nearby booth and used a pen from today’s lecture to scribble it down. With the napkin wedged into your pocket you started to move towards the register to order.

Your confidence drops as you stand waiting at the register as he pays you no notice. He cleans and sorts machinery while you wait for him to even glance your way.

“Excuse me?” You managed to get out, not wanting to seem rude. His head shot up a confused look on his face. Oh God those eyes. They were a rich shade of brown, you could spend hours staring into them and watching them swirl like melting chocolate. Shaken, you don’t see his face change to one of slight annoyance.

“You got somethin’ to say or are you just gonna stand there?” He says his stance stiffening more as he stretches to his full height.

“Oh sorry.” You introduce yourself and muster up a smile. “I’m here most mornings so I just wanted to say hi.” You glance down at his nametag on which is what you think says Eddie. “Eddie is it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Please don’t use my name don’t pretend to know me.” He goes back to cleaning before realizing you hadn’t left yet. “Anything else or wanna talk about yourself some more.” He says with evident malice.

“I just- wanted to order something.”

He sighs as he places down his cleaning supplies and he leans over the register his eyes holding yours in a relatively bored expression. He stands expectantly waiting for you to say absolutely anything. “Well?”

“Well um. Can I get a caramel hot chocolate with-”

“Sorry a what?” His face looks dumbfounded.

“A caramel hot chocolate? It’s just a hot chocolate with a few pumps of caramel.” You say sheepishly as your face starts to heat up.

“You know I’m gonna have to charge extra for the caramel right? Can’t do any freebies.” He says as if you’re asking for a free drink.

“Yeah- yeah I know.” You reply softly.

“Great.” He leaves the register to start making the drink leaving you alone midway through your order. You watch as he starts to pull out the caramel and ingredients needed for the hot chocolate. You watch him as he turns on the steamer and starts piling chocolate and caramel sauce into a cup.

“Sorry just-” He glares as you interrupt. “I also wanted a shot of espresso and almond milk in that too please…” The words died off the longer the sentence dragged on. He bites his lip hard as he closes his eyes and groans.

“Does it make a difference?”

“What?”

“Milk is milk, does it change anything if its from a cow or a nut? Can’t you just drink what I make you instead of complaining about me trying to do my job.” You’re left speechless as he talks your hand fidgeting with the number in your pocket.

“Can I just… have almond milk please?” He takes the steamed whole milk and dumps it in a nearby bin. He then passive aggressively drops the used pot into the sink next to the coffee machine.

“Did you wanna maybe mention these things while you were ordering? Just because you’re a regular doesn’t make me a mind reader.” He says with a sharp edge in his voice. “Almond milk?”

You nod slowly.

He lets out a deep sigh as his hand runs over his face, and he storms out the back. Some muffled yelling ensues and he returns with a bottle of unlabeled milk with the letters A.M. scrawled lazily in sharpie on the side.

Almond Milk. The world’s biggest inconvenience apparently.

He furrows his brows and the ends of his bun fall into his eyes as he steams the milk prepared for the ‘ridiculous’ caramel hot chocolate. His grumbling can be heard from the counter which you’re almost positive is intentional. No one has upset you like this in a long time.

Once the drink is made he scribbled something on the cup before placing it harshly on the bench. His deep brown eyes that just a few minutes ago were mesmerizing are now darkly staring into yours. You pick up the cup as he turns back to the register to take a new order, on the side he’s written 

‘Almond Milk Bitch’

You can’t stop yourself from tearing up in anger and disappointment. The phone number you’d written on the napkin now torn up and discarded on the service bench. 

You made a decision then and there. You’d avoid that asshole for the rest of your life if you had to. ‘Mr. Perfect Face’ was dead and buried.

[roseofithaca]

Foundations

A mentally unstable Robin puts Silver and the newest ghost ( @idiotwithanipad 's OC) in an awkward situation.

-

"Wake up! Wake up! Fucking Christ, will you wake up?!"

Ow! Ow! OW!

Worst wake up call ever.

Silver's hand flies up to grab the wrist of the idiot slapping her around the cheeks, partly relieved when she feels that their arm is about as skinny as her own, someone she can actually subdue.

The voice hissing over her is vaguely familiar but not like the ones who have been her companions for twenty five years. The fact that they're touching her at least confirms they're a fellow ghost, however, but that would mean...

Oh. Memories begin to piece themselves together as he mind jolts awake, uncomfortably faster than normal.

"Holy shit, did it finally work?!" They ask, sounding almost pleased with themselves.

"Finally?!" Silver's eyes snap open.

A girl her own age is leaning over her. Ebony hair, kickass spiked collar, cushty looking hoodie, eyes so tense they look ready to shoot laser beams.

"How fucking long have you been slapping me for?" She asks, her face stinging as if a swarm of wasps have recently had a rave on her cheeks.

The fellow teen shrugs like it's nothing; "Hour and a half? Three? How the fuck am I supposed to know? Bastard didn't leave me a clock in this place!"

Place? Bastard? Way too many questions when she's only just woken up, to the point that Silver assumes she's still dreaming.

Because this is never how she wakes up. The symbol of her goddess is supposed to be the first thing she sees, not some fired up emo chick. The sound of owls hooting, leaves rustling in the breeze and possibly an annoying caveman barking greetings is supposed to be what comes to her ears.

And she's supposed to be outside. Which, as she blinks at her surroundings, she realises she still technically is...but also not.

A moss and ivy coated rock wall envelopes her and the other girl in a very small cave, probably no bigger than the old kitchen in Button House before the conversion. Tiny gaps through the rocks allow tiny beams of moonlight to enter and illuminate the space.

Silver stretches her stiff joints and pushes herself to sit up.

"Oh...Here we go again." She sighs.

Her companion sits back, jaw hanging open.

"Again?! You've been here before?!" Asks the spiky collared girl.

"Yep." Silver responds, casually, rolling her shoulder to try to dislodge the knot in her back muscles. Who knew cornflowers made for such a comfy mattress? It was always uncomfortable to wake on anything else.

A beat passed and the girl threw up her hands.

"You mind sharing what's going on with us newbies?" She frowned, "Like why that furry fucker who I was starting to think was one of the few cool people in this stupid place picked me up and brought me here and won't let me leave?!"

Silver groaned and sat back against the wall. Squinting, she tried to search back before the more recent and vivid memories from her dreams and back into reality, specifically the last three nights before she went to sleep.

She points at the girl; "Alice, right?"

"...Amy!"

"Ah, that's closer than I usually get."

"You already forgot my name?!"

"Well, no offense, dude, but you didn't exactly hang around long enough for us to become gal pals!"

"'The Fuck? I'm not the one who just wandered off to start yapping to the moon in the middle of a conversation!"

"Conversation?! You said about three words after Robin and Humphrey left us to 'bond' or whatever the fuck they were trying to do! And I wasn't 'yapping to the moon', I was performing my Esbat ritual! They're kinda time based! You were welcome to join in!"

Amy scoffed; "Yeah, no thanks, you're not gonna see me dancing like a lunatic for some make believe Harry Potter BS."

"Fine! Be boring! Like everyone else! I was an idiot to think you'd be cool based on those boots." Silver folded her arms.

"Y'know what? Same, bitch!" The other teen wrinkled her nose, sitting opposite and making a point of showing off her clunky heels. "At least I can remember people's names!"

"Oh yeah? What's mine?"

Amy paused.

"....Moonah Girl?"

"Nope."

"Fuck. Oh wait! Sylvia Starbeam or some shit?"

"Silver Ravenstar."

Amy snorted; "Oh, yeah, that's much less lame."

"You know if you woke me up in hopes of having some help in this situation, you're really not doing a great job of winning me over."

That seemed to make the other girl think twice, a wince flashing across her face.

"Fine. Whatever..." She sulked.

The jibes and mockery were water off a duck's back for Silver at this point. Though she was more used to it from the typical preppy Mean Girls and sports Jocks rather than her fellow Alternative peeps, not that she got along with everyone. She'd met plenty of people like Amy who just seemed to assume the worst of everyone. And Silver was usually a target for people's worst assumptions, considering she wore a symbol on her neck most commonly associated with devil worship.

In any other lifetime, she'd have happily left this girl to be by herself if that's what she wanted and not bothered her. Sadly, they were trapped in purgatory together, being two of only three young women. And they both had guardian figures who seemed to think they could just nudge the two of them together and they would instantly be buddies, like parents meeting up to push their kids into a playdate.

And now, to make it even worse, they were put into an even smaller space together. Alone. Silver took a breath, reminding herself of how daunting this must be for the new girl as it once had been for her.

"Okay...Start over." She said, calmly; "You said Robin brought you here? Can you tell me what exactly was going on? What he said?"

Amy shifted; "I was...Just going for a walk, wanted some fresh air, to get away from those losers and their so called 'music club'."

"Was Julian murdering Queen again?"

"Yes!"

"Knew it. Poor Freddy is rolling in his grave for the dozenth time. Right, carry on."

"So I'm walking around the lake and then I see Robin coming towards me and instantly he looks...off." She explains, sitting up onto her knees; "Like he's more hunched forward, he's twitching, eyes looking around like he's super paranoid. I hadn't seen him for the past few days and Humphrey said that's just sorta something he does? Like they assume he's either watching over you or hanging out with animals?"

"More or less." She confirms, reminding herself to check in on her woodland friends once this is done.

"I call to him, ask if he's okay, and suddenly he's shouting at me? Like...he never does that! Not even my mum spoke to me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like I was out past my curfew or some shit! 'What you do out alone? Past bed time! Cub go home!'" Amy imitated in an almost comical caveman voice; "I try to tell him to go fuck himself but he ain't listening, instead he's lifting me up like I weigh sod all and he carries me here and I see he's already got you lying in the corner too!"

Silver checks her hands. Skin not too grey, she's relieved to see. He can't have kept her here, away from moonlight, for too long. Her dreams hadn't suffered all that much for it. The one time she'd attempted to sleep in a normal bed inside, on Mary's request, it hadn't gone too well for her.

"Sorry, is my kidnapping story boring you?" Amy snaps.

She shrugs; "Eh. Kinda heard it before. Not my first rodeo."

"What the...You mean he does this regularly?! Acts like a fun, surprisingly wise dude most days and then randomly decides to go kidnap young girls and keep them in his secret cave?!"

"Well...not regularly. I'd say this is the...third time? Sorta. At least since I've been here." She says, vaguely.

"Oh only three times every forty years?! That's comforting!"

"Forty?! How old do you think-?! Never mind." Focus, Silv; "Look, I know it must seem really dark and messed up but it's really not what you think. I mean...it is still messed up but not in the way you're probably expecting. Have you tried to escape?"

"Yes! He just keeps finding me and dragging me back! He must be just pacing around out there." Amy hugged her knees to her chest.

Silver felt a pang of sympathy for the girl as she looked, fearfully, towards the cave entrance, as if terrified for the moment that Robin would show his hairy face again.

She exhaled; "Look. What else did he say? When he brought you back here?"

"What the fuck does it matter?"

"It matters, okay! Because I need to know what role to play when he gets back!"

"Role?! Is this a fucking game for both of you?"

"Trust me, mate, I wish it was. Now what did he say?"

Amy met her eyes, then rolled her shoulders; "Uhh...Just something about not going outside once the sun has set and...should 'look after sister'?"

"Sister. Right, that's obviously me."

"What? 'The fuck that we're-"

Silver reached to give her arm a quick thump as a warning for her to be silent as a rustle outside alerted them both to their abductor's return.

One paw rubbing at his chest, Robin seemed to scuttle into the entrance, glancing over his shoulder one last time before turning to the both of them, his smile far more forced and unnatural than usual. The kind an overworked and burned out mother puts on so her kids think everything is fine.

"Cubs play nice?" He asks.

Amy goes to open her mouth but Silver squeezes her hand. Well, crush might be the better word.

"Yes! We're playing lovely, Fada!"

Amy throws her a side eye.

"Fada?" She whispers.

"Play along." Silver orders, keeping her smile wide.

Robin grins and shuffles closer to them. Silver remains still but can feel Amy getting tense at the proximity. In fairness, she doesn't know his motivations and Silver can't blame her for assuming the worst.

The caveman brushes his cuff of wolf fur against her cheek.

"Kya finally wake! Had big long sleep! Such a lazy cub." He chides, lovingly.

Kya. Right, that's her role then. She reaches to hold his hand, interlacing their fingers.

"I sure am! How about you, huh? You look ever so tired. Maybe you should have a lie down too?" She tries to encourage, sweetly.

The man's eyes are insanely bloodshot from lack of sleep. Silver hates to imagine these past few days of him wandering outside alone with no one witnessing his spiral. No one around to spot the signs, to help before it got too bad. Before it got to this.

Don't panic, a familiar voice in her head assures her. She's seen him worse than this, he can be brought back. Just gotta be careful.

"C'mon. Why don't we all have a big nap, yeah?" She tries again.

Robin shakes his head; "Sorry, Kya. Fada gotta work. Fada guard. Fada...protect. Never sleep on guard...Not again. Not again!"

He pulls his hand away from hers and slams his fist against his temple. Both girls jump at the sudden violence.

"Hey, hey, please don't do that! I understand, I do..." She tries, reaching for his wrist; "Fada such a good protector! Fada deserves rest! Please?"

He takes a few heavy breaths, eyes unfocused as he seems to struggle to hear her.

"Later...Sleep later...Look! Look, Kya!" He grins and grabs Amy's hand, tugging her closer; "Fada found Pin sister! Cubs play together now!"

Amy balked, struggling; "Who the fuck is-?"

Silver wrapped her arms around Amy's neck, positioning her wrist in front of her mouth to silence her.

"Oh thank you, Fada! I've missed her so much! We're gonna have so much fun playing again, won't we Pin?" Silver glared down at her.

Amy shot her a deadly look and then rolled her eyes, going limp in her forced embrace. Silver uncovered her mouth.

"Hoo-fucking-ray, playtime in the cave." She murmured.

"Haha! Oh Pin is so silly, isn't she Fada!" Silver giggled and slapped her back.

Robin chuckled, a shimmer of sadness in his eyes that broke Silver's heart behind her laughter. This definitely was a bad one.

"Me leave girls to play. Fada guard. Will find brothers and Mama. Promise." He murmurs, still rubbing at his chest before turning away.

"Fada come back soon, yeah?" She asked.

He nodded.

"Fada come back. Fada come back. Fada come back." The words became a fevered mantra as he shuffled off out of the cave.

Silver took a breath and ran her hands over her face.

"'Fada?'" Asked Amy.

"It means Dad, I think. What his...kids would have called him..."

The other girl looks flabbergasted.

"...He was a dad? No one ever said...He's never said-."

"Well he doesn't like talking about it. But yeah, he had had more kids than he could count, apparently. From the sound of it, he was the Tribe Stud." Silver smirked; "'Course, all the emotional stuff he keeps bottled up until it explodes like....this!"

"And he now thinks we're his kids?!"

"Pretty much. You're Pin and I'm Kya." She explained; "Sometimes I get different roles. Sometimes he thinks I'm this girl 'Nah', one of his sisters - not the incesty one, thankfully. One time I was 'Elizabeth'. And another time I was 'Pek' who I'm sure was a boy. Must be the short hair."

Amy lets out a groan as if in agony and covers her face with her hands.

"For fuck sake! One of the two guys I actually get along with in this hellhole and he turns out to be a fucking nutcase-!"

"Don't call him that!" Silver snaps, feeling a spike of defensiveness.

Amy shoots her a look.

"Is this normal behavior for stoner hippies or something?!"

"I'm not a stoner! I got high like two, three times, and only one of those got me killed." Silver corrects; "Second, he's not a 'nutcase'. He's ten thousand years old! Most of that time he was trapped here without another human being to talk to for CENTURIES! Just get out of your own fuck-everyone headspace for a second and imagine what that does to someone?! Someone who's already lost their entire family and every time they make a new friend, they lose them too! Would you be perfectly sane after all that?!"

Amy bites her lip. She seems to take Silver's words in, if nothing else, which the Wiccan appreciates. She doesn't laugh it off like Julian or roll her eyes like Cap.

"....Sorry. Didn't realise it was that deep." She said, regretful.

"It's fine. Most people don't. They look at him and think 'there's good old Robin, nothing upsets him, he's got more bounce than Zebedee."

"Who?"

Silver cringed. Fucking young people.

"Just....same way people look at me and think if you're smiling and laughing it means everything is always fine...when really you're just putting on a mask because you don't want anyone to know you're screaming inside." She explains, holding her own arms; "Because you don't wanna be downer."

The other teen looked at her for a moment, then smiled. Just a little one.

"You should take a leaf out of my book. Just be a moody bitch twenty four seven and don't care about having to hide your feelings from others. No likes you but at least no one's hiding shit!" She advised, lightly.

Silver allowed herself a small laugh; "You might have it right, to be honest. Except you're wrong about one thing. People do like you. They told me."

"Really?"

"Well...Kitty and Robin do. The others are....getting there." Silver admits; "Humphrey adores you, dunno what you did there, but kudos."

"Don't ask me, I was just my regular foul mouthed self when I first laid eyes on him, but unlike most he didn't run away....Maybe because he didn't have legs at the time-."

"Well the Body bit seems pretty tight with you too."

"Oh, don't! I had to pry his fingers off my hood just to go for a walk alone!" Amy rolled her head back; "Fuuuuck, am I regretting that now. He wouldn't have let that furry git lay a paw on me...Sorry. I did it again."

At least she realised, Silver acknowledged.

"It's fine, you can be angry, he did kidnap you, it's just...I can't help but feel protective towards him, you know? He was the first one to find me, he's always watched over me when I sleep, always joins me in my moon rituals...Helping him through this shit he can't help is my way of giving something back." She sighs, "Sorry he dragged you into it. The others should have given you some warning."

"How long does this usually go on for?"

"Not long. It was better when Ma...when a friend of ours was here...She always knew what to do. Spotted the signs. When he first 'took' me, thinking I was his kid sister, she followed us here. Talked him through with it and...helped show me how to speak to him. Be patient." Silver tries to swallow the pain in her throat as she remembers.

Sat in this same spot. Shaking with fear, just as Amy had been, because the friend she trusted completely had changed in a heartbeat to someone unpredictable and terrifying. Mary sat between them, pretending to be the sister 'Riva' that Robin mistook her for, explaining to him that 'Nah' was sick and needed moonah light to get better. Why it was wrong to keep her in the dark. So how about Riva take Nah back to moonah flowers and "Rogh" have nice big sleep?

A tear runs down her cheek and Silver wipes it away.

"Woah...You okay? Please don't fall apart on me now, one of us needs to be level-headed, and it can't be me!" Amy nearly pled.

Silver smiled, lip twitching, "It's fine, I just.. Just missing someone who could help right now."

Be strong, little'en. Be a daughter ofs the Goddess.

She took a deep breath.

"Look. I can sort this out. I got three whole nights and it won't take that long. If I distract him, next time he returns, I should be able to give you time to run back to the house." She explains.

"...And just leave you here? Why?"

"Because you've got Humphrey there and he's gonna be worrying about you soon. But last thing Robin needs is all of them coming after him like an angry mob. Trust me, it will make it so much worse." Silver asserts.

"But...surely they're gonna wanna look for you too?"

Silver gave a sad smile; "The only one who would miss me that much is long gone...The others are my friends but they're all used to me going off on my own in the woods. Crazy Pagan girl with her animal buddies. Same as Robin."

Her eyes wandered back to the mouth of the cave.

"He's the only one I've got left who would miss me...and right now he doesn't even remember who I am." She tuts, mirthlessly; "But I can handle it. Trust me, Ames, okay? I've got this."

The other girl seemed taken aback a bit by the nickname. It just seemed to roll off the tongue. But, thankfully, she didn't seem to hate it.

Amy got to her feet and began to inch towards the opening. She craned her neck out towards the sound of Robin pacing and muttering to himself several yards away.

She looked at Silver.

"You're sure he's not dangerous? He was...pretty rough handling me here earlier."

Silver nodded; "That's as bad as it gets, believe me. He's a teddy bear. He just...really misses his kids, that's all. Once I get him to sleep, his mind will sort itself out. Always does."

Amy looked to her right and left, hesitating. Then she moved back to the wall and sat down, about two meters away from Silver.

"...What are you doing?" The Pagan asked.

"What does it look like? Sticking it out. Like you said, no reason to be afraid of the silly furball, right?" She said, rather chill.

"No but...Could be a really, really long night." Silver warned.

"That's fine. I don't usually sleep till sunrise." Amy shrugged and smiled.

"Ha! All right, fellow night owl! Did you also used to stay up till 4am watching scary movies on Channel 4?"

"Uhh, more like staying up till 4am watching creepypasta vids on YouTube."

"What's a creepy pasta?"

"No way, you died before creepypastas?"

"Bitch, I died before YouTube!" Silver reminded her, the two of them proceeding to laugh.

Amy crossed her legs and shuffled closer to the other teen.

"Okay, let's start with the most famous one. Slender Man! You've heard of him right?" Amy looked relieved beyond words when Silver nodded; "So basically the Internet comes up with these really spooky legends..."

The grim surroundings seemed to fade away as Silver listened to the sullen girl she'd (breifly) met before finally open up, sharing with her one of the few pieces of modern day lore that Alison probably hadn't been aware of.

Two hours later, Silver is sharing her own experiences with the Internet in its "wild" pre YouTube and child safety days, as well as what kids her age used to get up to before everyone had a computer in their pocket. Eventually Amy dares to ask about her witchcraft and what got her into it. Silver feels the flicker of warmth in her chest, the likes of which she hasn't experienced since Mary used to show an interest in her practice. They share their music tastes, their favorite films, what they really think of the other ghosts.

By the time Robin comes back, the two 'cubs' barely seem to notice him, having such a fun time laughing with each other. He smiles. Pin and Kya always closest out of all cubs. Happiness threatens to burst his heart at the sight of the sisters back together.

[bright-tatters]

Tatters #2

Bailey White disappeared at the age of twenty-one. The lanky youth who ran sensitive messages for the Old Kid was named Fortune, and the Old Kid laughed and allowed it.

Before anyone knew it, Fortune was one of Old Kid’s lieutenants, a brisk businessman, a clear communicator. He helped keep things running in Tatters, mostly by visiting people with one of Old Kid’s sturdier agents and making sure they were aware of their civic responsibilities. A lieutenant needed a base, so Fortune took a two-room office on Bygone Avenue. And a lieutenant needed a staff.

The first applicants to his office were a trio of women. Fortune recognized the leader in the middle; he had a good head for names and faces. “Adele, how did those shoes work out?”

“Old Kid might have given me some old shoes, but I know you made sure they were the fashionable ones.” Adele simpered. “Now, this is Oona, and this is Darla—”

Something pricked Fortune’s finger, a little gold ring on his pinky. He felt the glow of mild arousal at exactly the same time. And Fortune knew exactly the only way that a woman would turn him on.

He took his illegal revolver out from behind his desk. “Which one of you is the empath?” he said, very calmly.

Adele tittered, wide-eyed. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”

Fortune shot the mook on the left, then set his sights on Adele. “Which one is the empath?”

“Fortune!”

Fortune pointed the revolver at the mook on the right.

“It’s Darla, you already shot her, you animal!”

“Well, then.” He put the gun away. “You may send for medical attention. There is a doctor two doors east of here. I will not be hiring any of you.” He picked a paper off his desk at random and focused on it. Yes, he had things to do and think about. The empath who had intended to use him would stop bleeding eventually, probably.

That ring was the most precious thing Fortune owned. A generation ago it would have been impossible, and people like him would have been at a permanent disadvantage. He didn’t pretend to understand psionic fields, but detecting tampering with them was worth any cost. There was a set of social rules for those rare people who possessed these powers. Fortune tended to deal with the kind of person that didn’t comply.

Fortune had aimed at the arm and apparently clipped the side instead. After the mewling and the whining were over and the women were gone, Fortune set down his reading, locked up, and walked down to the library. There was always someone trying to send a message there, and the plain labor of running a letter to the telegraph office appealed to him.

The door to the reading room was open opposite the circulation desk. A calm soprano voice was declaiming something in tones so musical Fortune found himself drifting toward the door.

“And then Violetta came to the point: she could not accept a half-life anymore. She had to be with Simonides, completely, or leave him behind. For she didn’t know, she could not know, the responsibilities that pinned him to the rock, every night.”

The story rolled to a close. A room full of children dispersed, clustering around a handful of adults who conducted them out. The raconteur patted her swept-back brown hair and smiled.

“Miss,” Fortune said from the doorway.

Her smoke-couched green eyes widened. “Sir? Can I help you?”

“Getting right to it,” he said dryly. “My name is Fortune. I’m a businessman in O.K. Verity’s employ. I need a secretary, and after hearing you tonight I think I need a tutor. That was really remarkable, that story you told.”

She blushed prettily. “Classics were my life’s work before I moved to Travail.”

“Why move away from them, then?”

Her good mood soured. “I came here with my sister. She has since died.” She delivered this with a blend of class and defiance.

“I’m very sorry to hear it. Have you no other family locally?”

“Not a soul.” She seemed to wear it as a badge of pride.

“Then a well-placed employer could do you a lot of good.”

Her neatly plucked eyebrows rose. “I don’t want any funny business, Mr. Fortune.”

“My business is never funny, Miss…?”

“Le Pen. Marguerite le Pen. Does Fortune have a last name?”

“No. I’d very much like to hear more about the classics from you, and I say that with every platonic intention. Would you come work for me?”

She looked down her nose at him, a maneuver that required a fair amount of leaning backward. “I don’t think so, Mr. Fortune.”

“Very well. Good luck, Miss le Pen. Please don’t stop your efforts here. It’s a good opportunity for the children.” He gave a courtly half-bow and left, not even thinking to check the desk for messages.

That night, two shadowy figures broke into an ill-favored apartment at the corner of Quarts district. They terrorized the resident and stole what few valuables she had lying around. A thunderingly huge man in the street heard the screaming and ran in to pummel the thieves. By the time Tatters police arrived, Marguerite’s apartment was almost back to normal.

“You shouldn’t be on your own,” said the huge and impeccably dressed man, and he sat with her until she dismissed him. She slept poorly, and in the morning she put on a green skirt suit and walked down to Bygone Ave. She never had to ask where the hint came from, and perhaps she was a little desperate, alone in the Tatters.

So far as Fortune could tell, she came to like him, and their reading sessions, and the job where she could spend every spare moment reading, and the expansion to the library he managed to talk the Old Kid into. And Marguerite never had to deal with a Tatters travail without a sponsor.

[ironychan]

A Little Human (as a Treat)

Part 1/? - Un Voluntario

Part 2/? - Un Escursione

Part 3/? - Una Complicazione

Part 4/? - Una Famiglia

Part 5/? - Una Aiutante

Part 6/? - Una Ricerca

Part 7/? - Un Confronto

Part 8/? - Un'Emergenza

Part 9/? - Una Speranza

Part 10/? - Una Sera

Flavia and Perla help plan a prison break. Silvio tells terrible jokes. Ercole eats a bug. @dysphoria-sweatshirt @writer652

Giglioli returned a few minutes later, red-faced in anger and escorted part of the way by a police officer. About twenty metres from the shop door, Signor Giglioli shrugged the man's hand forcibly off his shoulder and stomped the rest of the way alone.

“A bunch of fools!” he declared as he went back inside. “I don't know how grown adults get caught up in this nonsense, but we have to do something before somebody gets hurt. Have you two heard of mass hysteria?”

Perla and Flavia shook their heads.

“It's when a bunch of people all get in on the same delusion,” Giglioli explained, “and it can lead to terrible consequences. During the middle ages they burned a bunch of people for being witches when there really weren't any such things. I'm not going to watch the same thing happen to supposed 'sea monsters' in my town. Let's get your friends out.”

“Really?” Flavia asked.

“You'll pay their bail?” Perla chimed in.

“They're not going to accept bail,” said Giglioli. “We're going to have to break them out.”

“How?” Flavia wanted to know. “There's so many people.” When she glanced throught he window, the crowd outside the police station seemed bigger than ever. Signorina Mulino's friend Felicia was hanging around in the back of it, asking people questions and getting shaking heads in reply.

Giglioli turned the sign in the window to say chiuso and locked the door, then smiled and ruffled Flavia's hair. “Don't worry, kiddo,” he said. “I know about more things than candy. Before that was the police station, it was Canepa's Drogheria. The wall at the back, where the cell is, is one of the oldest walls in town. It's a good half-metre thick.”

That didn't sound encouraging, but the confectioner didn't seem worried. He led the girls into the back room, the kitchen where the candies were made. A teenage employee was in there cleaning up, but she was focused on scrubbing burnt matter off a cookie sheet, and barely acknowledged Giglioli as he began rummaging in a cupboard under the stairs.

“That whole row of buildings backs onto the old wall,” he continued, moving brooms and buckets out of the way. “The Canepa family used to own the whole thing, but when the place went out of business after the war, they divided into separate units to sell. The police took the one on the left there to make into their station. So while the west wall could keep out an army, the north one is just a single layer of bricks.” He found what he was looking for, and turned to face the girls again, a smile on his face – and a sledgehammer in his hands.

“Are we gonna break through the wall?” gasped Perla, both terrified and delighted.

“We certainly are,” Giglioli told her.

“Won't people hear?” Flavia asked. Surely that would be loud.

“Not as much as you'd think,” the man said. “Stone walls muffle a lot of sound, but we do need a distraction, something else for all those rubberneckers to pay attention to. I believe your grandmother is looking for you, Signorina Pepitone,” he said to Perla, mock-stern.

“You think people need to come hunting for us instead of looking for the sea monsters?” Perla guessed.

He nodded.

“So we need to hide somewhere, and have everybody come find us,” said Flavia.

“Yes, exactly. Where do you two think you can go where people will believe you're in trouble and they'll all go to look for you?”

Perla thought about it. “If we were up somewhere high, Flavia would have trouble getting down.”

“I'm not going up anywhere high!” Flavia protested. She did some thinking of her own, and got an idea. “What about out on the water? If we went out in a boat on our own to find more sea monsters, people would be worried about us, right?” Children never went on boats alone – Flavia was pretty sure of that.

“That's a good idea as long as you two know how to be safe about it,” said Signor Giglioli. “Do you?”

“Yes!” said Perla eagerly. “You have to wear a life jacket so if you fall in you won't sink!”

“And you can both swim?”

“I can!” said Perla, “and Flavia definitely can!”

Flavia herself wasn't so sure about that. She had no idea how humans swam without tails, and wondered if Ciccio had much trouble figuring it out. She did know what a life jacket was, though. She'd once found one floating on the surface of the Gulf, far from land, and Papa Giorgio had told her it was something humans wore to keep their heads above the water. After nearly choking when she'd first transformed, that was definitely a good idea.

“Then let's find you a boat,” said Giglioli. “We'll also need one more person, who can tell everyone where you are. Remember, I'm going to be the one knocking the wall down.”

Perla and Flavia exchanged a glance. Who could they use? Flavia didn't have any ideas – she didn't know anybody in this town except for Perla and her family.

But Perla smiled. “I know exactly who!” she declared.

-

By this time, Signora Pepitone and her son had finished telling their story to the police. Leonardo Scorfano suspected they'd embroidered it somewhat – if nothing else, sea monsters didn't have horns and none of the kids were anywhere near ten feet tall in either form – but there was very little he could do besides stand there and wince every time Dionisia brought the subject up. When somebody actually asked him a question, he had to reply that he hadn't arrived until all this was already underway, and hadn't seen any of it.

Worse, the police were failing to keep the curious public out of things. Several people had come right into the front office using one excuse or another, and it was hard to miss that they kept sidling closer to the door that led to the cell room. Leonardo took it upon himself to make sure they got no further, leaning against said door and glaring at people who came too close.

One boy of about fifteen or sixteen was particularly insistent, coming closer and closer and watching Leonardo like a hawk. Leonardo glared directly at him and folded his arms, letting the boy know he wasn't going to budge.

“Come on,” the boy whined finally. “I just want to see the sea monsters.”

“My daughter is missing and you're worried about sea monsters?” Leonardo said.

The boy at least had the grace to look ashamed of himself.

Signora Pepitone was still sitting at the desk across from the tall police officer, and she frowned at Leonardo. “They've got to be connected,” she insisted. “That's the only other odd thing that's happened today. Don't you see it?”

“Madame, please, try to calm down,” the police officer sighed. “To find them, we'll need full descriptions of both girls...”

The boy trying to get around Leonardo looked over his shoulder. “The sea monsters took your daughter?” he asked.

“No,” said Leonardo. “Not necessarily, anyway. Nobody saw what happened so we...”

“We do know, that's what I keep saying!” Signora Pepitone interrupted. “I'm getting the idea you think I'm mad, Signor Scorfano, but I'm telling you, I know what I saw at the zoo, and...”

“It can't have been the sea monsters, though,” said the boy.

“Nobody's asking you,” the police officer informed him. “In fact, I think you should leave.”

“But I saw them!” said the boy.

“The sea monsters?” Leonardo asked.

“No, the girls,” the boy said. “At least, I saw Signora Pepitone's granddaughter, and there was another girl with her...”

Leonardo stood up straight. “Where were they?” he asked, his heart suddenly thumping.

“They were in the Signorina Mulino's French pastry shop,” the boy said. “They were in there sitting with a woman in blue. Perla Pepitone in a polka-dot dress, and a friend with short dark hair, right?”

Leonardo looked at Dionisia, and saw the shock on her face – this was the first she'd heard of this, either. She jumped up to talk to the boy face to face. “What were they doing? Was there anyone else?” she asked.

“They were eating cookies and talking to this lady... I think some friend of Signorina Mulino's,” the boy said. “She was wearing a blue dress. But it can't have been the sea monsters who took them away,” he added, “because I went in there to tell my brother, he works there, that they'd been caught. The sea monsters were already locked up, and the girls weren't with them.”

Signora Pepitone just stared at him, until Leonardo came to put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “You're sure,” he said.

“Totally sure,” the boy insisted. “I know Perla, because I've seen her bothering Pietro for free treats. She said if the sea monsters were caught, then it's safe and they could go, and they ran off.”

Leonardo let out a quiet relieved sigh. That didn't tell them where the girls had gone, but at least it was proof that Alberto and his friends weren't involved – proof nobody could deny. “What did I tell you?” he asked Dionisia.

She sat down again, eyes wide with apparent shock. “Where could they have gone, then?”

“I don't know,” the boy said. “Maybe they told Signorina Mulino.”

“We'd better go find her, then,” said Leonardo. At last, here was something to go on. “Maybe she can tell us...”

That was when the door opened, and a new person entered the room, panting and indignant after having elbowed her way through the crowd outside. This was a tall, thin woman in blue, with her hair under a kerchief. “Excuse me!” she said. “I need to get to... who is Signora Pepitone?”

“I am!” Signora Pepitone turned around.

“That's her!” the boy who'd seen the girls exclaimed, pointing to the newcomer. “That's the lady who was with the girls at the Patisserie!”

The newcomer nodded. “Céline asked me to watch them,” she said. “I've been following them half the evening but they keep getting away, but I've found them at last. They said they wanted to find these sea monsters everybody's talking about, and they've gone out on a boat.”

“What?” asked Signora Pepitone.

“What?” Leonardo said at the same time. A dozen horrible images danced in front of his eyes. Flavia had probably never seen a human swim. She wouldn't know how to keep her head out of the water. Did she even know she couldn't breath it anymore? No... no, she must know that, she'd come up gasping and sputtering when she first transformed. But she knew nothing about boats. What if she fell overboard?

What was she even trying to do? Was she hoping there were local sea monsters who could help them somehow? How was she planning to contact them when she knew she couldn't get in the water?

Maybe Massimo would notice them, but it was also entirely possible he wouldn't. What was Massimo doing right now? Had he figured out the kids weren't down there or was he still looking?

Signora Pepitone was equally distressed, but for a very different reason. “They went out on the water?” she asked, pale. “When they know there's sea monsters? Or... good heavens, were they lured.” She turned to another man, a tall fellow with red hair. “There's a painting in that museum of yours, the sirens luring the sailors!”

“That there is, Ma'am,” the man replied with a nod. He swallowed.

The woman in the blue dress, gestured for everybody to follow her. “They haven't got far yet. I'd've gone to get them myself but I can't swim. Come and see! Oh, I hope the sea monsters haven't found them yet!”

She led the way outside, with the intrigued crowd surging after her. Leonardo should have gone with them, but he kind of wanted to stay by the door, in case somebody else tried to go in and harass the kids. With everybody else gone, maybe Leonardo could have a proper conversation with them and piece this all together. Maybe he could even find the key and let them out, although he'd want to be really sure nobody was watching...

“Hurry, Signor Scorfano!” Signora Pepitone called from the street outside.

“I'm coming, Dionisia!” he replied. But once the room was empty, he went and tried the door that led to the room with the cell.

Of course it was locked – that was hardly even surprising. He had to find the key. Leonardo looked around, and his eyes went to the desk where the younger of the two on-duty police officers had been sitting until he, too, had gotten up to follow the woman in blue. When he opened the top drawer, Leonardo found it full of papers and pens. He started rummaging around, looking for keys.

As he did so, he heard the first thump.

Leonardo looked up. He was a lone in the room, and nothing seemed to have moved. Maybe something had fallen in an upper storey, or off a roof. He shook his head, and closed the first drawer before opening a second.

There was another thump. Then a third. This time, when Leonardo raised his head, it was in time to see a photo of the town's police force (all four of them) fall from the wall. Another thump made dust drift down from the ceiling. There was a sound like ceramic breaking.

With a chill, he realized that whatever was going on, it was happening in the cell room. Leonardo shut the drawer and rattled the handle again, then threw himself shoulder-first against the door. If he had to break it down to get to those kids, he would.

-

In the cell, the kids and Signor Macarello also heard a series of thumps, but unlike Uncle Leonardo, they could tell exactly where it was coming from – the wall on their left, where the police station butted up against the old greengrocers. Somebody was hitting it repeatedly with something heavy, making the whole wall shake and buckle. They got up and crowded against the other wall, worried the building would fall down on them.

After a few more thumps, a brick fell out and broke on the floor. Then a second. Then the head of a giant hammer came through, and the person on the other side used it as a hook to pull more bricks back towards himself. Soon there was a hole big enough to wriggle through, and a face appeared in it.

Luca couldn't believe his eyes. “Signor Giglioli!” he exclaimed, then immediately regretted it as somebody began shaking the door to the rest of the station. A moment later he realized that was silly – it was much more likely the sound of bricks falling had alerted them, rather than Luca's cry. It didn't matter, though. Whoever was outside shook the door harder, and then began trying to break it down.

“Hurry!” Giglioli held out a hand.

Giulia was the first to take it and wriggle through the opening. Luca came after her, and then helped pull out another couple of bricks so Alberto would fit. They dragged him through, but then the door burst open, and there was nothing they could do for Antonio. Giglioli herded the kids through an open grate in the floor, and pulled it shut after him.

“Can't stay here!” he said, reaching between the bars to replace a padlock that had been holding the grate shut. “Follow me!”

“What about Signor Macarello?” Alberto protested. He'd been nothing but helpful, even when he was obviously terrified. They couldn't just leave him.

“We'll have to come back for him,” Giglioli said. He turned on an electric torch, and ushered them through a door into another part of the old Drogheria basement, stacked with old fruit and egg crates. This door, too, he contrived to lock behind himself. “Maybe in the morning, when they've all calmed down and realized you're not sea monsters.”

The kids had begun to follow him further through the dark maze of basements, but now they stopped short. Signor Giglioli kept going and reached the next door, then realized they weren't there anymore and looked back, puzzled.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Voices could be heard shouting overhead, muffled by the stone and earth in between.

“What's the matter?” asked Giglioli.

Luca swallowed. “Um, Sir?” he said.

“We... kind of are sea monsters,” Giulia said.

Giglioli blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, in a voice half-confused, half-insulted. “Kids, I just broke you out of jail. This is hardly the time to...”

Luca's stomach sank right down to his toes as he remembered what he'd said to Flavia earlier in the day... he'd thought Signor Giglioli wouldn't mind if he found out they were sea monsters. Had he been mistaken? Should they just take it back and lie? If they did that, though, Signor Giglioli wouldn't realize just how much trouble they were in here. He looked at Alberto.

Alberto sighed and, feeling rather like one of the animals in the zoo, transformed.

For a moment Signor Giglioli didn't realize it had happened, but when he realized both Luca and Giulia were looking at their friend, he turned to see why, and the electric torch fell from his hand. It rolled a metre or so across the uneven stone floor, and came to rest at Alberto's flippered feet. Alberto picked it up and offered it back to him, and Giglioli took it without a word. For what seemed like a very long time, nobody spoke.

“Are you going to put us back in jail now, Sir?” Luca asked timidly.

That seemed to bring Giglioli back to his senses. “Of course not!” he said. “If I try I'll end up in there with you. Anyway, you haven't done anything to deserve being locked up.” He paused. “Have you?”

“No, Sir!” said Luca. The others shook their heads in agreement as Alberto let go of his transformation and resumed human form. “We just wanted to show Flavia around. She's never been on land before.”

“Really? Huh.” Giglioli thought about that. “Well, I'm honoured you brought her to my place, then. All right, let's get you back to the shop. You can hide out there until everybody goes to bed.”

“What about Flavia?” Alberto asked, as they fell into step behind him again. “Uncle Leonardo will kill me if we don't bring her back.”

“She and Perla are currently providing a distraction so fewer people would hear me breaking that wall down,” said Giglioli. “They've probably been 'rescued' by now. Dionisia Pepitone is a little odd, but when she's not wailing about sea monsters she...”

He stopped mid-sentence. Luca nearly walked right into his back.

“I guess Flavia is a sea monster, too,” said Giglioli.

“That's complicated,” said Giulia.

“Complicated?” Giglioli raised an eyebrow as he looked back over his shoulder at her. “How complicated can it possibly be?”

“You'd be amazed,” said Alberto.

“All right,” sighed Giglioli. “We'll figure something out.”

-

While all these dramatic events went on in San Giuseppe, off the coast of Portorosso Ciccio and Ercole were sweeping out construction debris that had found its way into the Donzella house earlier in the day. The physics of doing this underwater were somewhat complicated and did very much require both of them to make sure no bits got away. Worse, Signora Donzella hovered over them and watched, and Ciccio expected at any moment to be asked how he could have gotten to his age without learning how to sweep a floor.

But she didn't seem to have noticed at all. She offered a shell full of what first appeared to be gumballs, until Ciccio realized they were actually colourful, sowbug-like creatures.

“Would you like some isopods?” she asked.

“Grazie, Signora,” said Ciccio, and popped one into his mouth to see what it was like. It turned out to be much like a gumball after all, with a crunchy shell and a soft inside that was both salty and sweet.

Ercole must have figured if Ciccio ate one then it must be all right. He took a handful for himself and started to much on them, only to make a sudden muffled noise of pain and spit one back out again. Now uncurled, the little creature turned itself right side up and swam away, wiggling its many legs.

“Oh, dear,” said Signora Donzella. “You do have to bite them before they bite you.”

Ercole stared at her in utter horror for a few moments, before remembering that he had another isopod still in his mouth. He looked at Ciccio, who calmly looked him right in the eye while taking another isopod out of the dish, placing it between his teeth, and biting down. Ercole took the message, and swallowed what remained of his, whole.

Signora Donzella smiled as she surveyed their work. “That's so much better,” she said. “You know, you boys really didn't need to go to the trouble, especially after you worked so hard earlier today.”

“Yeah, we really didn't,” Ercole said pointedly to Ciccio.

“It's no trouble, Signora,” Ciccio said cheerfully. “We wouldn't want to be rude.”

“You know,” said Ercole, “when humans have guests they don't expect them to do anything. All the chores are the host's job.”

“Really? I didn't know that,” said Giorgia pleasantly, then looked a bit worried. “Arturo's aunts do have him and Silvio do some garden work in exchange for watching the football games. Is that all right?”

“Its' fine,” Ciccio assured her. “I'm pretty sure Concetta and Pinuccia work by sea monster rules.”

Silvio himself darted through the door then, and the first thing he saw was the shell full of snacks. “Ooh, isopods!” he said, and went to help himself.

“Where've you been off to?” his mother asked him.

Silvio put several of the tiny arthropods in his mouth at once and crunched on them, leading Ercole to make several horrified faces. “I went to give Signora Trota her shovel back,” he said.

“Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that,” said Giorgia. “Good job for remembering.” She moved the dish away as her son reached for more isopods. “These are for our guests.”

“It's fine, Signora,” Ciccio told her. “Like I said, we're not that hungry.”

“Then I'll put these away, or they'll all be gone by tomorrow.” Signora Donzella shooed at Silvio, and swam off into the kitchen.

Ciccio and Ercole both took advantage of her absence immediately: Ercole by theatrically coughing and gasping and spitting out isopod legs that had gotten caught between his teeth, and Ciccio by pulling Silvio closer to talk to him.

“Did you tell Giordana where we are?” Ciccio asked. He was pretty sure that returning the borrowed shovel had just been an excuse, and Silvio's actual purpose had been to let the Trota children know what was going on.

He was right. “I told Arturo to tell her,” Silvio confirmed. “He said she's worried about you.”

That made Ciccio feel a little better. “Are they gonna be allowed on land anymore?” If they weren't... Ciccio didn't know what he'd do.

“Arturo's Mom didn't say, and him and Giordana are both too scared to ask,” Silvio said. He turned his head suddenly towards the door. “Hey, did you see that?”

“See what?” asked Ciccio.

“The light in the kelp.” Silvio went to the doorway to look outside. “It flashed twice and now it's gone. Maybe it's the giant squid!” he whispered excitedly. “Did you hear people talking about it?”

Ercole scoffed. “It was the only thing the servants talked about at dinner. I think you're all making it up to frighten me.”

“We had one here once,” said Silvio. “Ages ago. I wasn't hatched yet.”

“Giordana told me about it once,” Ciccio agreed. He hadn't been consciously thinking about that when he'd chosen it was something to threaten Ercole with it, but it must've been in the back of his mind.

“Dad said he and Mom had to take my egg and hide in the forge,” Silvio went on. “Giant squid usually live in the cold water out base Gibilterra, so they don't like when it gets too warm.” He turned to Ercole. “And they're not very fast, so probably even you could outswim one. Probably.”

“Don't try to bully me, Squaletto,” said Ercole. “It doesn't suit you.”

With the cleanup done to Signora Donzella's satisfaction, she led them out to the newly roofed barn, bringing along a string of softly glowing jellyfish which she towed by the tentacles like a bundle of balloons. Inside, her husband had set out mats of sponges and seaweed, and filled an old honey jar with bioluminescent plankton so they'd have a lantern.

“Here you go, boys,” he said. “I hope you'll be comfortable. If you need anything, you can wake up Junior.”

Ercole had just opened his mouth, presumably to ask why there were three sleeping mats instead of two. With the question answered before it could be asked, he closed it again and watched Silvio settle down on the nearest mat and grin.

“It'll be like camping out!” Silvio said happily.

“Thank you,” said Ciccio firmly. “I hope you guys can come up and visit us at the bakery sometimes.”

“We should,” said Silvio. “The bread him and Giordana make is really yummy. My favourite is the kind with the olives, but the one with the sardines is also great!”

“We should try putting isopods in it,” said Ciccio, mostly to gross Ercole out. It worked.

“Nah,” Silvio said. “They go mushy when you cook them.”

Ercole covered his mouth with one had, as if afraid he would throw up.

Giorgia Donzella gave her son a kiss on the cheek and wished him a good night, and her husband reminded the boy that he was responsible for looking after their guests. Then the adults left the three boys alone to settle down and sleep. Ciccio considered the bedding he'd been given, and decided he'd better sleep on his stomach. He still had sponge pieces all over his spines, but if any of those came off he might rip the mat to shreds. That was no way to thank the Donzellas for their hospitality.

Silvio was also on his stomach, but in his case it was because his stiff, shark-like dorsal fin could not fold down out of the way. Ercole was having no trouble lying on his back, although it took a bit of squirming for him to find a comfortable position without pinning his fin under his shirt.

“I hope Papá manages to sleep all right,” said Ciccio. Ottonello had been very specific about not wanting Ciccio spending the night underwater, but here he was, doing exactly that. It sounded as if he spent a lot more time worrying about Ciccio in general than he normally admitted.

“I could go tell him you're here,” Silvio suggested. “He knows Dad and me.”

Ciccio propped himself up on his elbows to look at the younger boy. His first reaction was that might be a good idea. Just knowing where Ciccio was would probably help a lot – but there was a problem. “Is it safe to go out by yourself after dark?” he asked.

“Normally I'm not allowed,” Silvio admitted, “but Mom and Dad said you could ask me for anything you needed.” He grinned mischievously. “I could talk to your parents, too,” he suggested to Ercole, “if you tell me where to find them.”

“Don't you dare,” said Ercole immediately.

“He doesn't want anybody to know this happened to him,” Ciccio said.

“And my parents won't care anyway,” Ercole added. “I've been away overnight before. They figure I'll get home when I get home. Sometimes I think if I just disappeared they wouldn't even look for me.”

“Really?” asked Ciccio. He knew very little about Ercole's relationship with his parents, having only met them once or twice. They'd seemed very permissive, even indulgent. He would not have thought of them as neglectful. Had Ercole spent the whole day wondering whether his parents would care if he never came back?

Ercole glared at him, and his tone changed abruptly. “They trust me,” he huffed, “unlike some parents who yap at their children's heels everywhere they go and send their friends to spy on them. Anyway, don't you say a word to them or anyone else,” he told Silvio. “If anyone in the town finds out about this, I will never be taken seriously again.”

Ciccio snorted. As if anybody took Ercole seriously anymore.

“Your secret's safe with me,” said Silvio cheerfully. He wiggled a little, getting his toes into the end of the sponge mat to stretched it out a bit. “Hey, why is the ocean blue?” he asked.

“How should I know?” Ercole said. “I think it's something to do with reflecting the sky.”

Silvio rolled his eyes. “It's blue because the land never waves back!”

There was a moment of silence as Ciccio and Ercole both figured out what that meant. Then Ercole snorted, and Ciccio groaned at the pun.

“Why did the lobster turn red?” Silvio tried next.

“Because they dumped it into boiling water, still alive,” snarled Ercole.

“Why?” Ciccio asked.

Silvio giggled. “Because it saw the ocean's bottom!”

This time Ciccio could help a snicker, even as Ercole scoffed.

“What's the strongest creature in the sea?” Silvio tried next.

“What?” asked Ciccio.

“A mussel!”

Ercole let out a bark of laughter, then quickly silenced himself. “Not bad, Squaletto,” he admitted grudgingly. “Not bad.”

[downwiththeficness]

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Twenty Nine

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction.  Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his  best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty  well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run  her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life  from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings  for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed.  You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there  are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen  eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence,  and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O  dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should  not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to  other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

Word Count: ~4,200

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The cafe was very crowded. Not a single table was open and all the seats at the bar were taken. Stag Nation wailed over the amplifiers while people danced close together. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol. Above, the air conditioning struggled to keep up with the heat of bodies packed into the room way beyond capacity.

Eva sat between Josh and Alexei in their booth, nursing a glass of sour white wine in sullen silence. Her role tonight was sit there and do nothing, say nothing, be nothing. As far as anyone at the table was concerned, Eva didn’t exist.

Not so long ago, she might have been just fine with that. It served her well to be easily dismissed and forgotten in a crowded room. Eva could do her best thinking when she slipped past the notice of the people around her.

Now...now, she bristled against it.

People were laughing and talking everywhere. Liquor and wine and beer flowed in every glass. No matter where she looked, Eva saw a life she’d barely tasted. A life she would never live if she didn’t get the fuck away from Josh.

The man in question tossed back his drink, “He’s late.”

“He’s always late,” Alexei sneered, “Try to be patient, for once.”

The rift between them hadn’t been mended, leaving Eva sitting in the middle of two best friends who hated each other—which was just perfect. She finished her glass, wincing all the way, and ordered another.

Stag Nation finished their set and Lizzy thanked the crowd for being so nice. She slid off the stage, heading for their booth. As she sauntered closer, Eva wondered how much she knew about what was going on. And, if she did know exactly what was going on, who did she get her information from? Horacio? Or Josh? Both?

She didn’t have a lot of time to ponder the question. Lizzy moved quickly and efficiently through the crowd, sliding into the booth a wide smile.

“Hello!”

Josh, a little less enthusiastically than normal, replied, “Hello, Lizzy. Good to see you.”

With a coy turn of her shoulders, Lizzy said, “Same to you. Hope you’re enjoying the show.”

“The band is in fine form tonight.”

“Aren’t we? Some nights you just fall into the groove, you know?”

Josh hummed, non-committal. Alexei’s attention was on the crowd. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in holding a conversation. The burden, then, fell to Eva.

Feeling awkward, she prompted, “Did you find an apartment?”

Lizzy’s eyes lit up, “Actually, we got a record deal. Can you believe it?”

“That’s wonderful,” Eva replied, knowing that Lizzy was bullshitting her.

Leaning her forearms against the table, the blonde jumped into an explanation that was so smooth and rehearsed that even Eva believed it a little bit, “So, this guy showed up at one of our weeknight gigs. And, the place was dead. Seriously dead. But, we played anyway—its good practice.” She took a breath, “After the show he comes up to us and offers us a contract. We fly out to California next week!”

What a coincidence, Eva thought, with sarcasm, That’s when the warrant will be served.

All the players in a game that had been going on for almost six months were tying up loose ends, including Eva. She glanced around the table—was she the only person who knew all sides of it? Did that make her more prepared or less prepared for the oncoming storm?

Realizing that she hadn’t said anything to Lizzy, she managed, “That’s very exciting. I wish you all the best.”

Lizzy reached over and placed her hand over Eva’s, “Same to you.” Then, to the table, “I have to get back, but it was so good seeing you guys. I’ll send you a copy of our record when we get it pressed.”

Eva smiled, “I’ll look for it in the mail.”

Hands coming up to frame her face, Lizzy preened, “It’ll have this pretty mug on it.”

Sliding out of the booth, Lizzy waved a happy goodbye to them and spun around to disappear into the crowd. Eva watched her go, feeling surprisingly wistful. Even though her entire personality was fake, Lizzy was likable. After all was said and done, Eva thought she might miss her.

A figure moved through the throng of people, parting it wide shoulders and a confident step. Horacio was dressed an uncharacteristically subdued suit (for Diego) that flashed with navy in the lights. His smirk was not at all subdued. Horacio’s mouth curled in an expression of such smug pride that Eva temporarily forgot that she liked the man underneath. Her hands itched atop the table with the urge to reach out and slap him.

She wasn’t the only one.

The scents of the men sitting on either side of her were ripe with anger. Alexei shifted in his seat and she caught the way his hand settled over the cutlery. His eyes were on Horacio and he looked very much like he wanted to kill the man. To her left, Josh inhaled and schooled his features so that he could do what he came here to do.

Instead of sitting in the booth with all of them, Horacio veered off to the side and snapped up a chair that he placed at the far end of the circular table. His posture was loose when he sat down, as if he hadn’t grievously insulted one or both of the men at the table.

He looked good.

His hair was slicked back artfully from his face and he’d shaved. The shadows under his eyes were less distinct and his gaze was clear. Eva inhaled a discreet breath, noting the lack of stress in his scent. Eyes narrow, she realized that he had a plan for how this evening would go.

“Your meeting is in two days. On the phone, of course. My supplier won’t fly to the states.”

Josh nodded, “That’s understandable.”

“Then, I’ve held up my side of the deal,” Horacio asserted, “I expect my money before that phone call.”

Eva sensed Josh’s anger overcome his tight control a fraction of a second before it exploded out of him. The muscles along his arms clenched and his feet pushed down into the floor. His scent swirled wildly with sour fruit and salt.

“I think you’ve been paid well enough!”

Alexei spread his fingers over the knife in front of him, but remained silent. He was, apparently, willing to let his friend vent for the moment.

Horacio’s expression neutralized and he leaned forward, “You agreed to the terms, doctor.”

“The terms were—,”

“Whatever I wanted,” Horacio finished for him. “Whatever. I. Wanted.”

Josh shook his head, “Its one thing to knot the little slut, but you started a bond you son of a bitch.”

Horacio shrugged.

A hand grabbed at the back of her neck and slammed Eva forward. She managed to turn her face to the side in time to avoid breaking her nose against the table, but the blow left her wincing. She sat up and massaged the sting out of her cheekbone.

“Ah, there it is!” Josh crowed.

Eva blinked through her blurred vision to see the facade of Diego slip enough that Horacio showed through. His dark eyes were narrowed blades that cut across his face and the calm had faded from his scent. It left anger in its wake.

“That’s your mistake, Jimenez,” Josh asserted with a pointed finger, “You might have liked her before, but now...Now, you can’t go without her. Believe me, I know. We see it all the time in my line of work.” A pause, then, “You alphas are so confident until you bond and then all you are is an omega’s bitch.”

It certainly didn’t feel like Horacio was her bitch.

He might want to please her. He might do as she asked. But, Eva had no delusions about her influence on him. He would make the decision he thought was best and that would be the end of the story. Full stop.

Horacio tilted his head back so that he looked down his nose at Josh, “Where are you going with this?”

The heavy arm of her husband laid over her shoulders, pulling Eva into his side, “We’re gonna make another deal.”

“Are we?” Horacio asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes,” Josh replied, “we are. Because all I have to do is put a little pressure on this woman,” he dug a thumb into her gland, “and you’ll fold.”

Fuck, it hurt. Eva squirmed in her seat, unable to keep the cry of pain at bay. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his thumb, pulling it from her skin and holding his hand against her shoulder.

“You’re our errand boy, now,” Josh said, “You bring us product. You coordinate routes across the border. You do as I say, and I make sure Eva is well taken care of.”

Horacio sucked his teeth, “Let’s say I agree. What happens after her heat? After the bond breaks? You have to know this deal is time limited. What leverage will you have then?”

Josh smiled, “Eva hasn’t had a heat in years, Diego. Who knows how long until her next one?”

Even Eva had to admit that Josh had him boxed in. She watched Horacio think about it, watched him calculate in real time.

“I think this is a conversation that we should take to a place with fewer ears,” he said, eventually. “I have a particularly nice bottle of bourbon at my apartment. Let’s have some and discuss our deal.”

Without waiting for a response, Horacio was up and out of his seat. He moved through the crowd and disappeared as quickly as he’d come, leaving the three of them alone to decide if they would follow.

“Its a trap,” Alexei said.

“No,” Josh shot back, “He can’t risk it. Not if we have Eva with us.”

Alexei cut Josh a look, “He could have a whole army in his apartment.”

Josh returned the look, “That’s why you’re coming along. You’ve never lost a fight and you won’t lose one, now.”

“Because I know when something’s a trap!”

“Its fine,” Josh dismissed, “We’ll pay our bill, go up town, renegotiate our terms, and leave him to think about what he’s done.”

“He’s not a child, Josh.”

“No, but he does need to be taught a lesson,” was the counter argument, “And, its time he learned it.”

Eva kept her mouth shut all the way to Horacio’s building, through the lobby, and into the elevator. She remained silent as Josh knocked confidently on the door, as they entered the apartment, as they sat on the couch and accepted drinks.

Then, “I have to use the restroom.”

Horacio pointed to the hall, as if she didn’t know exactly where it was, “That way.”

Eva stood and thanked him with a nod. While she crossed the living room, a phone rang. She heard Horacio excuse himself, felt him follow her down the hall. He passed her on his way to the office, fingers brushing her forearm on the way.

She took her time, not caring what was being discussed in her absence. It didn’t matter and Josh would probably tell her about it, anyways. When she finally opened the door to head back out into the hall, she was pushed back into the bathroom by a firm hand.

“Horacio,” she whispered.

He kissed her briefly, “I need to warn you. I’m about to...up the stakes a bit.”

“What?”

“I need to scare him,” he explained, “Just stay out of the way and everything should be fine.”

Eva’s mouth hung open and she was filled with a feeling of frustration. He was supposed to be on her side and he sounded just like Josh. Stay quiet. Stay out of the way. Don’t cause a scene, Birdie. It was all the same.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she bit out.

Horacio huffed a breath, “I need to focus on this, Eva. I can’t be worried about you while I’m working.”

Brows coming together, Eva glared at him, “Oh, don’t worry, you’re not going to have to worry at all about me.”

She didn’t understand why she was reacting the way she was reacting. All she knew was that she was angry at being pushed aside—told to sit still and shut up—and Eva wasn’t going to have it.

He held up a hand, “I know this has been difficult—,”

“Oh, don’t patronize me, Horacio,” she threw at him.

“I’m not—no, listen—I’m going to have to hurt someone. Bad. I just need you to stay out of the line of fire. Just stand back and let me—.”

Eva snapped, “Stop telling me what to do! You’re not—,”

She cut off a sentence that she knew was going to piss him off. The words were swallowed back, a habit borne out of a lifetime of self-protection.

Immediately, she knew Horacio wasn’t going to let it go, “Finish your thought.”

Eva shook her head.

He stepped into her space and his voice pitched down into the order of an alpha, “Finish it.”

Holding his gaze, Eva said, “You’re not my alpha.”

Of course he was. But, something inside Eva made her want to force him to fight for it. She wanted him to prove that he could be exactly what she needed.

Horacio had her crowded against the wall in a flash of movement, “I’m not?”

Eva didn’t reply, but she also didn’t look away. He would have to rise to her challenge if he wanted her to acknowledge him.

His hands roamed over her body, arranging her as he liked, “If I’m not your alpha, then why do you carry my scent? Hmm?” He tugged up the hem of her dress, “Dime, Amorcita…”

Her breaths quickened with every lingering touch, with every kiss that he denied her. She let him step between her legs, let him guide her thigh up and around his waist. He ground against her, gave her the friction and pressure he knew she liked.

Eva tugged at his suit jacket, wiggling her fingers underneath it so that she could grasp heated skin. She ran the length of her thumb up and behind his ear. It caught on the inflamed gland and the sound he made was almost worth stirring his ire.

Horacio bit down on his lip, letting the flesh slide through his teeth. His hooded eyes focused on Eva’s mouth. She craned her neck to kiss him, disappointed when he pulled away.

“You say I’m not your alpha, but can you feel the way your body responds to me? Do you feel how wet you are, already?”

She could feel it. God, but she could feel it.

He leaned his weight into her, “You can deny it, but I bet I could make you come just like this. Time me, if you want. Won’t take more than two minutes.”

Eva struggled to breathe. Her hips rolled against his, working her arousal higher. Wildly, she thought that he might be right.

“Say it again,” he ordered, “Tell me that I’m not yours and you’re not mine.”

She couldn’t. Eva couldn’t form the words, didn’t want to.

“That’s what I thought.”

He pushed away from her and stormed out into the hall, leaving Eva leaning heavily against the wall.

“Motherfucker,” she sighed.

With shaking hands, Eva smoothed her hair and righted her dress. What the fuck had just happened? She couldn’t go back out to the living room like this, all nerves and need. It would set Josh off more than he already was and she knew it would lead to a fight with Horacio that he wasn’t prepared to take on.

Reaching down, Eva ran her fingers over the gusset of her panties. She could smell the sodden fabric, knew the reaction she would get if she sat next to Josh still wearing it. She had to get rid of them. But, how?

“Motherfucker,” Eva repeated as a plan formed in her mind.

Carefully, she opened the door and peered into the vacant hallway. She stepped out of her heels and scurried in the wrong direction, dipping into Horacio’s room silently. Standing in a place where his scent was so concentrated was difficult, but she forced herself to focus on her task.

Gathering up her skirt, Eva pushed her thumbs beneath the waistband of her underwear and let them fall to the floor. She picked them up and, just for good measure, ran them over her folds to wipe them clean. Then, she shoved them under the pillow she knew he preferred.

As she straightened, a flash of color caught her attention. Eva peered at it, smiling when she recognized the scarf she had been wearing the day they met hanging over the headboard. She reached for it, fingering the edge fondly. It never occurred to her to think about what happened to it after she sprinted away from Horacio. And, it sent an odd jolt to her heart that he wanted to keep it.

Eva brought the scarf to her neck and rubbed it against both glands to refresh her scent. Then, she set it back into place and turned to head back out into the hall.

She returned to the living room just in time to hear Horacio laugh. It wasn’t a nice laugh.  Josh was smiling a not-nice smile. Alexei was frowning. All around, it felt like a really bad situation.

Eva picked up her drink and sat next to her husband. She drank the very, very good bourbon and pretended not to care that the men in the room were talking.

“You know,” Horacio who was now very much Diego said, “I have a surprise for you.”

Josh’s brows lifted, “Oh?”

“Yes. A guest. One moment.”

Eva watched him stride to the TV room and come back with a man duct taped to a wheelchair. She didn’t recognize him, but she did recognize the look in his eyes. It was the same look Dr. Martin had before Alexei went to work on him.

“I’m not usually a vindictive man,” Horacio said as he spun his victim around so that his audience could get a good look at him. “But, I don’t tolerate disloyalty. Especially not in the men I choose to employ.”

Silence hung like a heavy curtain in the room. Eva decided that she would, in fact, follow Horacio’s request. She stood and made her way over to the island where several bottles of liquor had been set out. After pouring a bit more in her glass, she shimmied onto a bar stool and casually crossed her legs. Whatever was going to happen, Eva wasn’t going to participate.

“I want you to know,” Horacio went on, “that I don’t blame you for trying to get inside information out of my people—I’ve done it, myself, many times. But, I do blame Ivan.” He stopped and looked down at the man, “You were going by Xavier while you worked for me. Which name would you prefer?”

The man, visibly shaking, looked up at Horacio with fear in his eyes. Eva tried not to feel bad for him, but couldn’t help the little twinge in her chest.

“No?” Horacio asked, all innocence, “Alright, we’ll call you Ivan. That’s your real name, anyways.”

He drew back and punched Ivan hard in the face. Eva flinched at the sound of his fist meeting Ivan’s cheekbone with such forced that it whipped the other man’s head to the side. Blood poured from a nose that might be broken and Ivan let out a yell of pain.

Horacio looked at Josh, “Since we’re going to be business partners for a while, I’d like to clear the air between us.” He pointed at Ivan, “Is he yours?”

Eva turned her attention to her husband. From her vantage point, he looked relaxed as he sipped his drink. Beside him, Alexei’s frown had turned into a glare.

“I’ll admit that he gave information to me,” Josh replied in an easy tone.

Horacio nodded, “Thank you for your honesty.”

He hit the man again. Twice. Each blow seemed harder than the last. Ivan’s face was already swelling and one of his teeth fell from his mouth. Eva wanted to tell him to stop. Horacio had made his point and Ivan was barely conscious. She drank deeply from her cup to push the words back down into her throat.

“Now,” Horacio sighed, “we should decide what to do with him. As he is your man, I give you the choice.”

Josh leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “I take it you won’t be allowing him out of this apartment alive.”

Horacio grinned.

Nodding, Josh looked at Alexei, “I think you should decide. He’s your cousin, after all.”

Oh, you have to be kidding me, Eva thought.

Alexei was quiet for a long while. His spine was straight and his hands were curled into fists. He stared at Ivan, lips pressed together into a thin line. Eventually, he rose and approached.

“I will do it,” he said.

Horacio’s brows lifted, “He’s yours.”

They moved in tandem. The closer Alexei got to Ivan, the further away Horacio was. Eva could see the flash of a pistol tucked into the waistband of his slacks. It hadn’t been there when he met her in the bathroom—she would have felt it. Which meant that he was prepared to be attacked for beating the shit out of Alexei’s cousin.

Did he want the fight?

It was a bold fucking move to not only kidnap and tie up a family member of a known murderer, but to also force them to decide how they died. Was he hoping to circumvent the warrant by drawing Alexei into a fight?

Eva guessed that it didn’t matter. Alexei wasn’t taking the bait. He knelt in front of Ivan and spoke to him in Russian. The words were soft, reassuring. Ivan looked at Alexei with the eye that wasn’t swollen shut and nodded.

After a beat, Alexei stood and rounded the wheelchair. He got a good grip on Ivan’s head and took a breath. Eva closed her eyes against the sound of Ivan’s neck snapping. It turned her stomach, made the liquor in her belly rise up to burn at the back of her throat.

Hands clapped together in applause. Eva opened her eyes to see Horacio congratulating Alexei, “The infamous Zero finally makes an appearance.”

Alexei glared at Horacio and then at Josh, “I’ll be in the car.”

When he was gone, Josh threw back the last of his bourbon and stood, “I have to ask...when did you figure it out?”

Horacio shrugged, “Not many Americans have Russian gang tattoos.” He walked over to Ivan and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, “Especially the manacles. There’s only one other person in this city that has spent time in a Russian prison.”

Alexei’s name echoed in the aftermath of Horacio’s explanation. Josh smooth a hand over his hair and nodded. He set his glass down on the coffee table and headed for the door.

Eva debated refusing to leave—mostly because she didn’t want listen to the two of them bicker all the way back to the house. She wasn’t given much of a choice, though. Josh grabbed her arm and jerked her off the bar stool. Eva had just enough time to grab at the nearest bottle and use it to salute Horacio as she stumbled through the door.

When she slumped into the back of the car, she was pleasantly surprised that Alexei didn’t launch into a stinging confrontation. He sat silently in the passenger’s seat while Josh turned out of the neighborhood and merge onto the highway. Eva stared at the back of his icy blond head, occasionally sipping from the bottle.

Josh pulled to a stop in the driveway and cut the engine. He sighed loudly, head turning to look at his friend.

Alexei looked back at him, “He was my favorite cousin.”

“I’m sorry, Alexei,” Josh replied, “He knew the risk when he took the job.”

Eyes narrow, Alexei spit out a question, “Is this why you wouldn’t tell me about your man on the inside?”

A nod, “I knew you would be upset. But, we weren’t getting any information from our usual sources and Jimenez already knew your face. Ivan was the second best option.”

Eva’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. She kept drinking while she listened to conversation, enthralled by the absolute lack of fire within it. Neither of them were yelling, no one was getting punched. They were just...talking.

“This deal with Jimenez is done,” Alexei ordered.

Another nod from Josh, “As soon as I get the info on his supplier, you can torture him to death. I’ll even buy you some new tools. How does that sound?”

Alexei inhaled as he thought about it, “I want a chain saw so that I can cut him in half.”

Josh smiled, “Done.”

Eva swigged more bourbon.

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

The Ghost of All My Yesterdays

(Pulp Musicals 3: The Ghosts of Antikythera Theory Part 1--The Reasonable Stuff)

So I've been thinking a lot about The Ghosts of Antikythera and the excellent rambling theory post (my favorite kind of post) @its-short-for-jackalope made a few days ago (you can read it here--seriously, if you haven't already, read it--it's got so many fun and interesting ideas packed in), and slowly building up my own theories about exactly what's going to go down the next time we see our beloved Pulp Quartet.

I think it'll all come down to Episode Three's theme, which I believe is going to be the Past, and our relationship with it.

Theory under the cut (sorry it's so long lol) (this post is just gonna have the more basic, grounded stuff. The real wild swings will come in a part two).

As several people have already remarked, "Antikythera" could refer to either a Greek island or the Antikythera Mechanism, an ancient Greek device that was found in an ancient shipwreck on that same island, and was once used to predict astronomical positions and eclipses. While anything's possible in a series that just featured one character transporting four others through time, I'm of the opinion that the device is more likely than the actual island to majorly feature.

But! I’ve previously written (here) about the supposed real-life story behind the Ellen Austin and her encounter with a ghost ship in 1881. The Antikythera Mechanism, meanwhile, isn’t discovered until 1901. I can think of two ways around this time discrepancy.

First of all, it's always possible that Matt simply... changed up the timeline. He's already played fast and loose with real world history--he aged John down to match the Stratfords, put the Stratfords in the middle of the Great Moon Hoax, and even stuck a giant-ass brick satellite up in the sky to forever change the nature of oceanic voyages. It’s easy to see him just moving the discovery of the Antikythera Mechanism up twenty years or so. However, there's still the problem that the Mechanism was discovered on a Greek island far from the Sargasso Sea, where both history and Pulp find the Ellen Austin. Which brings me to the other, in my opinion more likely, explanation…

What if the device is found on the ghost ship in 1881 and then returned to the Antikythera Island shipwreck at the end of the episode?

Matt has said that every episode of Pulp has a particular theme. Episode 1 was Imagination, Episode 2 was Friendship, and Episode Three is shaping up to be about our relationship with the past. We have Margaret starting to uncover her own history while all four characters must grapple with leaving behind the lives and people and years they knew. To the people of 1881, the Pulp Quartet have been quite literally living in the past, and now our gang have to figure out how to either get back to that time, or else let it go and march into the future. How can they cast away their intense ties to 1835, when they themselves are but a manifestation of that past reaching out into the future?

You know what else is a manifestation of the past reaching into the future? Ghosts. In "Behind Me", Rose talks about how the "ghost of all her yesterdays stands beside her," introducing specters as a metaphor for the impact of the past. As such, I think the Ghosts of Episode 3 are going to be both kinds—metaphorical ghosts of our characters’ yesterdays and losses, and then also actual spirits.

What if these titular Ghosts of Antikythera are just that? Spirits that, in a thematic parallel of our four protagonists, have been taken from their homes and their time. Perhaps the Antikythera Mechanism is haunted and the ghost ship's former crew it on a previous voyage. While sailing it to America, they meet disaster, most likely caused by the ghosts of the mechanism, leaving the Ellen Austin to find the ghost ship and confront the spirits. At the end of the episode, the evil is defeated and either our protagonists, the Traveler, or even the crew of the Austin (the least likely option) return the Mechanism to its watery grave, where it will be found again in twenty years...

(Part 2 can be found here.)

[empirelead]

SHIPPING INFO

Answer the following for your muses so people know how shipping works on your blog.

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

Baavira! I know a lot of people do not like this ship because they believe there is no chemistry between them and they don't share scenes where they act like a couple, but I honestly disagree with them. It seems like they've already been together for a long time so they're no longer in the honeymoon stage, and they don't look like the type of couple that would constantly be all over each other.

I know people don't like this ship for another reason, that reason being the fact Kuvira shot the warehouse without hesitation and they all believe that is proof she never cared for him. Again, I disagree with that. Kuvira was in the middle of trying to achieve her goal, that goal being a promise she made to her people, so of course she wasn't going to emotionally breakdown or go back on her promise for her own selfish desire; if she did, the people would lose faith in her. Remember, she gain a big following because she sees things through. And if people actually paid attention, Kuvira did had to hold everything in before she steeled herself to continue on after she made the difficult decision to sacrifice the man she loves.

She was also originally suppose to cry in the scene, but that idea was thrown away since Bryke believed the impact in the Spirit World scene wouldn't be as emotional. AND the comics did confirm Kuvira still has feelings for him.

Oof, this turned into a rant. Haha. I apologize, I am very defensive over this ship.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

I do headcanon Kuvira to be twenty-five years old until stated otherwise, so I don't think she would want to date anyone that isn't even old enough to drink or still has the maturity level of a peanut; I say anyone under the age of twenty is a big no. The oldest she'll go for is someone in their fifties. As for immortal characters, they just have to look like an adult.

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NSFW?

When it goes beyond kissing, like touching and clothes starts to come off. Any moments like this would be placed under "read more", discord, or fade-to-black. Though, I don't do much smut content these days because I'm not that interested in writing them, but that doesn't mean I hate it. It could still happen as long as the ship is well established.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

Yes, like, Kuvira isn't exactly an easy person to be ship with due to her past trauma of being abandoned by her biological parents and Suyin as well, she's not going to trust anyone that comes to her way easily and will make her distrust known. There is also the fact that she can be difficult in general, she cannot be please so easily. So if you are trying to win her heart, you're gonna have to do more than giving flowers or showing off fancy tricks.

WHO ARE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?

Korra! That Spirit World scene is just so divine.

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

It all depends if you're brave enough to poke the bear, like I said Kuvira isn't easy to be with so I am picky with who I'm going to ship her with. Though, sometime, it just happens and I have that occurrences where it all work out, but it is better to ask than to assume. You may feel the chemistry, but the same cannot be said for the other person. That doesn't mean I am oppose to the idea of shipping our characters together, there's a high-chance I will give it a shot.

Chemistry isn't always instant, we can always try to build it up just by discussing it together.

ARE YOU SHIP-OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

I'm more in the middle. I do like shipping because it's fun to see what kind of dynamic Kuvira will have with other characters, but I'm not going to ship Kuvira with every character that comes to her way.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

I'll respond it with my other muse: Kai'sa, from League of Legends! My favorite ship with her is with Akali! Though, I also do like her with Ahri and Evelynn as well.

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?

Just ask or read my rules, it also helps if we interact together a lot and talk behind the scene. And I also do wanna add that I do like oc and crossover shipping as well.

Tagged by: @nameaprice (thanks~) Tagging: anyone! if you're reading this...or skimmed through it, considered yourself tagged~

[akitchensinktome]

This is a blog about twenty one pilots. More specifically, about their creations. About my interpretation(s) of the band's work.

This blog is new, but A Kitchen Sink To Me is actually a wattpad project I started back when I was a teenager, a cringey 14-year-old with a weird mind. I realized how I really like thinking about interpretations of songs, figuring out the meaning behind. And with twenty one pilots' music, I could ramble all day on that page I was writing, which I did in the project. I wrote paragraphs each on various songs, talking about the way I understand those lyrics, sometimes about the instrumentals as well. This is what happens when music that makes you think meets a person who loves thinking about music.

And with the recent release of Clancy, I feel like I have gone back to being that 14-year-old, being so absorbed into tøp (and I'll be using tøp with the slashed o as an acronym, to distinguish the band's name and the literal word "top" as in "top of the world"). And I was reminded of that wattpad project which was soon discontinued because, well I was a kid and commitment was hard for that age, especially for a project that I started without any planning. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like picking it up again. And so I started this blog, as Wattpad probably isn't the best place for personal feelings and matters. (oh i deleted the account as well so goodbye, fiction-writing platform.)

That said, this blog might not be the exact same one I wrote. I did save the stuff I have written, a prologue and four songs in total. I do plan on reposting those stuff here, because I did write some good stuff (i think at least) which I wish to keep, but I will definitely make changes on the bad stuff (like poor criticisms on tyler's vocal delivery based on lack of knowledge). And I plan on starting from Twenty One Pilots -- the self-titled album, the very first song that is Implicit Demand for Proof, to RAB, Vessel etc., all the way to the newest album, Clancy. Therefore the four songs that I've written about might appear in the middle of this journey, according to the track lists. If I feel like it, I might also talk about other aspects of the creations of the band, such as what they've talked about in interviews, posts, maybe music videos, or even live show visuals and performances.

However, this blog isn't a lore theory blog. Although their songs might tie into the Dema story in some ways, I don't intend on making theories, and will only talk about the lore based on largely accepted/proven theories/facts. I would also like to mention that sometimes my interpretations are inspired by other people's interpretations.

One last thing that's extremely important for anyone reading this to know, is that by no means I am trying to explain the actual meaning behind these lyrics. Whenever I talk about songs, I always emphasize that these are personal interpretations, and I don't mean to say that it's a definite answer to what kitchen sink is. I am not a lyric analyst nor am I trying to be one, I am simply just talking about what I think after listening to these songs. It could be as a record of the process of me understanding the songs, or just me sharing how the song relates to my personal feelings. And everyone else can definitely hold a different opinion on the same song. Even if that opinion completely contradicts my interpretation. Because to me, creative works have always been about the freedom of meaning. Meanings inspired by creations, and even more creations inspired by extra meanings.

And that concludes what I would like to talk about in the first post. I probably won't be starting with the songs right away for the next one though, because I still wanted to talk about the meaning of the name of this blog, what exactly would appear in this blog and how it goes, maybe even a bit self-introduction. I haven't even figured out the icon and header, and until I come up with one, I probably won't start talking about the songs just yet. Thank you for reading all this, to whoever out there who somehow came across this post. |-/

[varpusvaras]

Okay so, I have so much to say about this and I would need a thesis-long essay to say it all, so treat this as a part one, because one of your points alings with one of mine and I'm glad that you said it.

I don't really like Jason being depicted as massive either. The childhood malnutrition mention is a bit of a distant memory for me (as in I don't remember where exactly that statement comes from) but the point still stands, because it really does come off as adultification. I have seen a lot of people who do not like Jason at all discrediting every single reading of his character that comes with quote un quote softer values, because he is a big, white and agressive male. And I get the angle of not wanting to have those readings put onto yet another male character, but at the same time, it sometimes reads as minimasing him being a victim of serious abuse and violence as well when he belonged to a group of people that are, in real life, one of if not the most opressed class in the world (meaning children). Making him this hulking, oppressive figure reads strongly as making him look and feel the least amount of vulnerable.

And it just...as if it's not already bad enough that traumatised men are only ever allowed to show their emotions through anger, they, yet again, make a case of being a victim meaning that you will turn into an abuser yourself, on top of villanaising mental health issues. It just makes me feel kinda ill if I think about it too much.

(Maybe it hits too close to me. My baby brother is around the same age as Jason was when he died. One is a real person and one is not, but I can't help but think. What an injustice. What wouldn't I give for nothing bad to ever happen. What wouldn't I give.)

Also the depictions of Jason as Robin written after his death are honestly just baffling to me. Like am I supposed to read this as "see! this child was actually bad all along! be afraid!!"? Really? After reading all the other times he was written as Robin, and shown to be a kind, bright child who wants the world to be a better place? Really? Because for me this just reads as this child, who already has gone through a lot and carries so much within him, is being put into dangerous situations where he sees suffering again and again and again and is starting to feel like he's not enough. And perhaps Jason didn't need to be Robin. Perhaps he just needed to have a stable, loving home with a support system around him that he could trust. Instead what he got was Bruce and Bruce only. He didn't have any other family. He didn't have friends who understood his entire situation. He didn't have a team around him like Dick did. Jason's life was always one mistep away from falling apart all over again. And the thing that I am supposed to get from this is that these are signs of him being evil all along? No, I don't think so.

(Not that Jason not necessarily needing Robin makes him a worse Robin, just that perhaps teaching a child violence is not the correct way of having him deal with his emotions, and neither is then demonising him for said emotions and how he reacts to them later on)

(On the note of the height and size, my personal taste is that he is tall, a bit shorter than Bruce, and it takes a while for him to truly fill in to his body. Have him be a middle point between Dick and Bruce if you must. Boys to tend to grow a bit longer than girls, often only reaching their full height in their late teens/early twenties. He can still be growing, and I know that this is comic book logic, but it is quite absurd to have him be suddenly a goliath only a couple of years after the Pit.)

Winnick will come this close to writing a good, rightfullly angry character with BPD/CPTSD and ruin it by making him his conception of "a dangerous psychopath" because dc's understanding of mental illness begins and ends with the joker.

I like that Jason was angry i'm not gonna lie I enjoy the "bad victim who doesn't accept that they were a necessary sacrifice, who doesn't think what happened to them is something they should be expected to tolerate, like fuck your greater good, you weren't there, it isn't worth this." I think even looking at Jason's past before getting adopted he has reason to be angry, like he is poor af and starving and he had to take care of his mom and his dad is in jail because he couldn't see another way to provide and he gets trafficked -he has so many reasons to be angry. And he's not, and I love jaybin, but I think there are so many ways and things he can be angry about without it feeling classist. And I love that he can't emotionally regulate, that he has so clearly BPD/CPTSD because why the fuck would he not, have you seen his life (and that's not even counting the csa hc, which i am because willfully and consistently implying csa and then not addressing it/denying it feels like feeding into a culture of taboo that ruins lives and getting away with covert victim-blaming at the same time). The issue is that they lack finesse or any kind of understanding of anger. The think anger is a personality trait. They think angry = evil. They think being angry means you're violent at and about everything, that you shoot indiscriminately even though you've known better since you were a kid, that you're suddenly treating women like shit (which, wtf seriously) which okay maybe THEY treat women shitty for no reason when they're angry, but that'd be more of a them problem I'd say. Their portrayal of anger is classist because their conception of emotions hasn't evolved since fucking Descartes. Think anger = bad = poor and not only doesn't it occur to them that this is classist, they so instinctively assign moral value to the concepts of poor and angry that they don't realise it and just conceptualise poor=angry and end up with incredibly classist portrayals of anger. You can write characters that are mentally ill and violent without being ableist, you can write characters that are poor and angry without being classist, but that requires a level of respect for people, introspection, humility willingness to learn about the sensitive topics you are exploring that is simply not accessible to Winnick and so many other dc writers.

And here comes my very hot take that I'm too cowardly to say off anon: the pit shouldn't have healed Jason's malnutrition. Like, outside of canon I love big jay, I love big men who are emotionally vulnerable and need comfort etc. but in canon? It just comes off as another way to adultify Jason, and make the horrible things that happen to him acceptable. Jason "sleeping with Talia because he is fucked up about Bruce" because they both look like adults until you realise this is actually just rape and you can't put any responsibility of Talia taking advantage of the kid under her care (very ooc of course) on the child himself. Jason fighting Mia looking like a 40 years old beating up a teenage girl when they're the same damn age. Fucking Ethiopia 2.0. And Jason's murders as well, for the matter. Like don't get me wrong the duffle bag of doom is an iconic villain move, but it's just that: a massive shock effect and a "psychopathic" move. We shouldn't need Jason beheading anyone to be horrified, because just one murder, if written correctly, should be enough. A child killing someone is a terrible thing. A child being put in a position where they think killing someone is the only solution to ending suffering (thinking about the Garzonas case) is a terrible thing. A kid trying to kill his murderer (because fuck his death has to matter it has to) and only begging to be allowed it should be horrifying. Jason, with his unhealed malnutrition making him look a couple of years smaller and younger than his physical age, should look his mental age. It should be impossible to look away from the reality of what he is: a traumatized teenager who wasn't allowed to grow up. And he has a gun. This is already a horror story.

Make utrh!Jason a villain if you must, but have the guts to sit with it. Don't shove the fact that he was a hero and a victim under the rug because it's uncomfortable. Sit with the unease that sometimes someone is doing something bad and is suffering a lot, and maybe they're doing the bad thing because they don't know how to survive the suffering, and suddenly it's not easy separating hero from villain from victim. Your imaginary lines in the sand will not protect you from the crude reality of the complicated and shitty situations you have chosen to depict; you open the can of worms now you can't look away and let the worms roam free just because you're squeamish.

How does it feel to be psychic and be in my head and write part of my essay on Jason for me? Fuck, I have so much to say about this but I need a good night of sleep to formulate it correctly. Look for a longer answer tomorrow, but in the meantime, everyone sit down and look at this and look at it hard. Thank you.