#there's a terrible place beyond the neutral real world where he could actually end up

[decepti-geek]

the thing I keep thinking about really intensely is that yes, for like 99% of their acquaintance, Crowley was the one who had more understanding of the way heaven and hell really work. but for that brief moment in their first meeting, he genuinely was more naive and idealistic than Aziraphale. like, Aziraphale was scared, even back then, at the thought of questioning god; even right back before the beginning, some part of him knew that he was fearful and unsafe, and he realised that before Crowley ever did. 

it’s honestly almost like some kind of, Aziraphale fell first, Crowley Fell harder - he never completed the realisation the same way Crowley managed to, but he arrived there earlier. And I wonder so much what exact kind of effects witnessing the demons’ fall had on him, given that he’d already obtained some of that awareness that he perhaps was not in a very good place to be. but the only alternative of places to go, as far as he knew, was at the very least just as bad, and in some ways legitimately worse.

[robininthelabyrinth]

How will nmy react to a memory loss jgy how think himself a nie scet member ?

There were murmurs around him when he first started waking up.

“– last few times – appears he thinks that –”

“– need to avoid any disturbances –”

“ - perhaps pretend -”

“Absolutely not.”

That last one was Sect Leader Nie.

His voice was loud and piercing as always, a general accustomed to needing to make himself heard over the din of battle and never quite having adjusted to situations where it wasn’t needed, and Meng Yao found himself relaxing a little bit just at the sheer familiarity of it. Nie Mingjue was as reliable as the sunrise: once you were one of his people, he’d defend you to the death.

If he was here, Meng Yao was safe.

He went back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, the room was empty but for Sect Leader Nie, who was sitting at the desk doing paperwork. Probably paperwork that Meng Yao should be doing, but for the injury that must have led to all of this – he didn’t remember it at all, but short-term amnesia was a common side effect of certain injuries, and his head was wrapped in bandages.  

Still, he struggled to sit up. “Sect Leader Nie,” he called, and Sect Leader Nie’s shoulders tensed. “If you want my help –”

“You should be resting,” Sect Leader Nie said. He was staring at the wall in front of him instead of turning back to look at Meng Yao – a sign of guilt? Had he been involved in what happened? “Do not trouble yourself.”

“And let you mess up my filing system?” Meng Yao teased lightly, hoping to lighten the mood. “Don’t forget how long it took me to fix the accounts the way I like it –”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Meng Yao paused, then, abruptly concerned: Sect Leader Nie’s shoulders were curved inwards, as if expecting a blow – afraid of pain. Afraid of him?

Impossible.

And yet, at the same time – unmistakable.

“Why doesn’t it matter?” he asked, keeping his voice level. He always kept his voice level, no matter the circumstances; someone certainly had to, and it wasn’t going to be anyone surnamed Nie. “Are you expelling me from your service?”

It was a joke, of course. Nie Mingjue liked him, respected him, valued him – had made it clear a thousand ways that he would never listen to gossip or to slander, would never judge him by who his mother was, and Meng Yao couldn’t imagine what sort of dire mistake would be necessary to make Nie Mingjue refuse to stand by him, even against the world.

“You’re the one who will leave,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice cutting, but then the anger flowed out of his shoulders and he sighed, closing his eyes, as if he had mistakenly become angry over the wrong thing. “It is not that I didn’t know that your ambitions had always been with Lanling, not Qinghe.”

Bile and panic rose up Meng Yao’s throat, but what could he say?

It was true. He had come to Qinghe because he had heard that they respected talent there, regardless of birth; he had come because he had needed a place to rise to prominence, where he could become so respectable that even his father would be unable to ignore him.

Qinghe had always been a waystation, not a destination.

Or, if one wanted to look at it with less kindness – he had treated it as a stepping-stone.

Had Nie Mingjue discovered how Meng Yao had schemed to get his attention, his sympathy? The little tricks he’d played to get him to agree to take a chance on an unknown, all the ways he’d wormed his way into the man’s life so that it would be impossible to extract him without damage? Or was it something more recent, something hidden away in his lost memories – had his father asked him to betray some confidence of Nie Mingjue’s? Turn over some information, take some secret action…had he done it?

Was that why Nie Mingjue didn’t want to look at him?

“Sect Leader Nie…”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you about it,” Nie Mingjue said bluntly. “The doctors told me to play along, pretend not to…I told them trying to hide it from you was pointless, that you were too smart, that you’d figure it out – I assume you have by now?”

“I’ve lost my memory,” Meng Yao said. He was shivering, and it wasn’t cold. “I woke up and the doctors realized that I’d forgotten a great deal, so they wanted you not to cause me any disturbance…how much time have I lost?”

“The war is over,” Nie Mingjue said, and surely that should be cause for celebration? But Nie Mingjue’s voice was flat and neutral, as if some terrible thing had happened, and his fists were clenched in rage. “You have been recognized by the Jin sect, and now live in Lanling. I cannot speak to the quality of your life, or to your happiness, but you have at least achieved that much.”

It was not that Meng Yao thought he’d be happy in Lanling – it was that he hadn’t thought he’d be happy anywhere, and found to his surprise that Qinghe actually did make him happy. It wasn’t supposed to, nothing was supposed to; it was all supposed to be part of the plan, that was all, a means to an end.

He wasn’t supposed to become fond of Sect Leader Nie, who tried so hard and listened so earnestly; he wasn’t supposed to be friends with Nie Huaisang, a charming waste of space who ought to have been born as a roly-poly kitten instead.

He was supposed to be in Lanling, by his father’s side, and now it appeared he was – and yet the injury he suffered had driven his memories back to his time at Qinghe.

That said something, he thought.

He’d had head injuries before, memory issues, dating back to his childhood; his mother had hired a doctor for him over it, a real one and not some faker, and he’d explained that when injured, Meng Yao’s extraordinary mind would retreat to the place it felt safest, recreating the past out of all those perfectly preserved memories and sinking into it as if it were real. If this injury followed the pattern of the others, there was no need for any treatment beyond time – soon enough, he would start to remember, and reality would gradually reassert itself over fantasy.

In the past, no matter what, his memory would always return to those few months when he was eight years old, when his mother had met a possessive benefactor and they had lived free and easy under his care – it had ended horribly, of course, but at the time he didn’t know that.

This time, his memory had returned to his days in Qinghe.

And Nie Mingjue still wouldn’t look at him.

“What did I do?” he asked.

“You assume that you’ve done something?”

“You don’t want to look at me,” Meng Yao said. A moment of silence, with Nie Mingjue not giving in, stiff and quiet, so he added, quietly, “I warned you in the beginning that I was unworthy of the trust you placed in me.”

In the end, Nie Mingjue turned to look at him. He seemed tired, and his eyes were bloodshot in a way that did not speak well of his health.

“Tell me what I did,” Meng Yao said. “I want to know.”

Nie Mingjue exhaled. “You killed a captain,” he said dully. “Premeditated murder, and you excused it by saying that he had stolen your glory and bullied you; even if it was true, you never once said a word of it to me before, never sought some other means to resolve it. You then defected to the Wen sect, becoming a master torturer and Wen Ruohan’s right hand; you killed my men, tortured me, and then killed him to become a war hero. After that, you were accepted into the Jin sect, and Lan Xichen and I swore brotherhood with you.”

He paused, then, but that was not the end, or else he would not be so angry.

Meng Yao waited, his mind dancing over all the excuses, all the things he could say, belated justifications, things that would cast him in a good light, a better light – what Nie Mingjue had described was obviously a problem, but not an insoluble one, and his future self should have known that. He could still fix this.

But to fix it, he needed to know the full extent of his crimes first.

“My qi became disordered after the war,” Nie Mingjue finally said, continuing. “Lan Xichen proposed a treatment: a Lan melody known as the Song of Clarity. But he is busy, so you took on the responsibility of playing for me…”

No, Meng Yao thought. No.

But at once he knew where the story led, even before the telling of it was done. A story that started with premeditated murder, however his future self had justified it to himself, could only end with the same –

Why would he do something like that? Perhaps because Nie Mingjue turned away from him after the first murder, as he ought to have known he would – Nie Mingjue tried so hard, and thought everyone else did, too; the glimpse at what Meng Yao was really like, the creature of spite and bitterness and hatred, willing to kill the filthy way, hidden in the dark…it would have come as a shock to him.

And yet his former self had obviously salvaged it, somehow; Nie Mingjue had agreed to swear brotherhood with him, to make up with him, to treat him as an equal, and still he –

Surely no prize could be worth this.

“Do you know why I did it?” he asked quietly, staring down at his own clenched fists, hating iron for not being steel. His damaged mind was telling him that what he had had in Qinghe was dearer to him than his own mother, and he had nearly destroyed it with his own two hands.

“The Nie sect and the Jin sect are at a crossroads,” Nie Mingjue said, and at last, at last Meng Yao recognized the flatness of his tone and the lack of visible signs of fury as the signs of medicine, the sluggish pain relief that could help stymie an incipient qi deviation. The poisonous song he played must have come very near to working. “Jin Guangshan wants the title of Chief Cultivator; I think there should be none. Jin Guangshan protects Xue Yang even after he murdered an entire clan; I think he deserves to die – I asked you for his head, and you promised it to me…you never intended to deliver. There can be only one sect ascendant, and you are, as much as he hates it, your father’s heir.”

His heir. Had he done something to Jin Zixuan, then? Unsatisfied with only the name he had promised himself he would obtain, had he coveted the power, too, and sought to achieve it by any means possible?

If he had reached the point of being willing to murder Nie Mingjue, then surely he had done that, too.

“I bashed your head in,” Nie Mingjue said conversationally. “During the deviation that you provoked. Lan Xichen stopped me from actually killing you, and from dying myself, and then you awoke without any memory of what you’d done, calling yourself Meng Yao again as if you were still – as if you still –”

Someone had asked Nie Mingjue to come in here and pretend, Meng Yao realized, and with a start realized also that he was furious about it. Someone had told him to come in here and play pretend with his would-be murderer as if they were still friends.

It might even have been Lan Xichen who’d done it.

There were tears on Nie Mingjue’s cheeks. He did not wipe them away the way Nie Huaisang would have, trying to hide his pain; he only let them fall, his eyes sliding shut once more – he could not look at Meng Yao, and Meng Yao couldn’t blame him.

“I wish I could go back,” he said, and Nie Mingjue opened his eyes to look at him. “Before I made those decisions. I wish I was still Meng Yao, and could do things differently. Is it too late for that?”

With anyone else, he would know the answer already. With anyone else, he wouldn’t have asked.

With anyone else, his mind would still be back in those wonderful days of being eight and alone with his mother for the very first time and last time.

“How can I ever trust you again?” Nie Mingjue asked, shaking his head in denial. “You drove me into a qi deviation – you wanted to kill me, knowing it would leave Huaisang the position of sect leader, knowing how cruel a death it was –”

“Is it too late?”

This was not something that could be repaired easily, with words and a gentle smile. This would take action and sacrifice. But before he committed himself, he had to know if it were even possible.

If Nie Mingjue could still forgive him, even now –

If he was still one of Nie Mingjue’s people, to be defended until death.

Nie Mingjue abruptly stood up, unsteady on his feet, clearly still ill – if I am half the murderer that I appear to be in his stories, I will kill those doctors who prioritized my health, this farce, over his, and if Lan Xichen was involved I will make it clear to him what wrong he has done – and shook his head, but this time it was not a denial.

“I never know what to do with you,” he said, and it was not a no.

It was not a no.

Jin Guangyao smiled.

(At the trial, which happened eventually, Nie Mingjue spoke in his favor, and his would-be murderer was remanded into the custody of Qinghe for whatever punishment they saw fit. It didn’t last long, but it was an excellent alibi for his father’s untimely death, even though it did not solve all the questions that lingered in Nie Mingjue’s eyes. But that, too, was not an insoluble problem.)

[alch3mic]

in between. (drabble series)

chapter five (comfort.)

cheshire!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of addiction, drugs, alcohol, self deprecating thoughts and apathetic feelings.

* it’s time for our dear underlust sans, cheshire, to have his turn! if you’d like to check out more about our resident catboy, feel free to check out his tag here on my tumblr! ��thank you and i hope you enjoy!

Don't get attached.

That seems like a pretty simple motto to live by, huh?

Well that's because.... it was.

In a world that cared little for anything beyond their momentary value, it was easy to not get attached. Everything changed day by day in this fast paced life. There was always a new video to look at, or a new phone to buy. Always a new trend to jump on or a new topic to talk about. You didn't form attachments to those things, you just used them to pad out your day so you didn't have to think about your meaningless existence, and then you were done with it.

You got rid of it.

Threw it out.

Forgot about it.

It no longer mattered because it no longer entertained you. 

There was always something newer and shinier to look at just around the corner anyways, so.. why would you think twice about it?

Things were just.. easier.. when you didn't get attached...

You.. couldn't feel the pain of being let go.. if there was nothing holding you there in the first place.

.....

A shame he had to learn that the hard way, but that was life.

This world treated it's people like a commodity, always being bought and sold for their looks, money or talents.

Anything else was just worthless.

Filler. 

Like packing peanuts that belonged in the garbage after you stripped a box of its goods.

Nobody cared how you felt.

Your emotions didn't matter in the slightest.

All that really mattered is that you played your part.

You spoke your empty words.

You did your flashy dance.

..You sold your soul.

..And then.. you'd collect your earnings and leave so you could go and buy the newest phone model you had your eye on.

.....

Emotions were.. well.. 

...Worthless.

...Just like they always were..

Just like they had been.. back in his own Underground.

Which is why, on that day.. 

When that realization set into Sans' bones that the surface really was no different..

That it didn't matter what he did..

Or how he felt..

...He swore to himself...

That he'd never get attached.

......

..And that's exactly why...

He could never forgive you.

Because in a world that was ever changing.. 

Day by day...

And always moving forward... 

..How dare you stay the same.

Ah.. dammit!

Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

It just wasn't fair..!

Just what the hell was wrong with you anyways?

He went to all that stupid trouble to close all those damn doors! 

He boarded up every stupid window and stuffed everything shut as tightly as he could! 

He gathered up all those loose emotions, tied them with a lock and a chain, and then threw them into the basement to never see the damn light of day again!

He even threw away the damn key to it all  and yet...!

..And yet...

Somehow.. someway.. you still..

Weaseled your way right into his soul.

....

It just wasn't fair.

...He hated it.

..Or.. rather.. himself.

Because despite the fact that you were the one who did this, even after his multiple attempts to shove you away.... he could never say he actually hated you.

....

Maybe jokingly but..

No.. he could never actually hate you..

Despite how hard he tried.

  You were just so damn.. persistent.

Not even in the annoying way! You were just..! Always there!

Really..

How dare you.. become someone that meant something to him!

How dare become a pillar of support for him to lean on!

How dare you open your arms to him, offering your gentle words and affirmations to him like he deserved them or something, and letting yourself become such a comfort that he actually sought you out now to help mend these pieces of his broken soul.

....

H-how dare you..

...Always be there for him.

Time and time again you were.. just..! 

There!

You were always there!

Why were you always there!?

Christ, it's like you really had nothing better to do!

What, was he just your entertainment!?

A cute little show!?

Did you just want a front row seat to how much of a mess he really was because you were that bored!? Is that why you were always there!? Is that why you always picked up the phone when he called, no matter the starsdamned hour of the day? Is that why you were always there... no matter how far it was..? ..Rain or shine.. snow, hail or even when the damn wind was blowing nearly everything off its feet you were..

You were.. always..

....

There.

And that was just so damn unforgivable.

.....

There were times when he wished to himself.. that you had always been there.

...Way before.. he became like this.

Maybe he wouldn't have been such a mess if he had you in the first place but..

Life just wasn't fair, now was it?

He wanted to be angry about it still.

To blame you.

But he couldn't.

Really all he had to blame was himself.

He.. betrayed his own promise.

He had sworn to himself on that day that he'd never get attached.. and yet here he was.. more dependent upon you than he had been for anyone else in his life.

..Even to his own brother.. who had really seen him at some real bad lows.

But you..

You saw him at rock bottom.. and yet..

...You were still here...

.....

Really, you were by all accounts, an anomaly. 

An outlier. 

Someone who shouldn't be counted with the rest, because unlike the usual scum of this city.. you were...

Well you certainly weren't a ray of sunshine, that's for sure.

A little stoic and kinda stone faced, which probably worked to your benefit because people seemed to shy away from asking things of you, but..

You were.. different.

Despite the fact that you grew up here in Ebott, a vile city filled to the brim with criminals and thieves who ate people up for breakfast and then spat them out before lunch.. you.. were.. still you.

Calm. 

Insightful.

...Caring.. 

..And... dependable.

....

...And how...

How was he not supposed to get attached to you?

..When you were always there for him..

Like now, as you held him steadily in your arms while he so desperately clung on to you as if you'd run away if he let you go. Of course a part of him was always scared you would because.. why wouldn't you? 

What could someone like you possibly see in someone like him..?

Someone.. shallow and.. terrible with a whole novel's worth of issues.

Not at all good at comforting people. 

Fickle and who practically ran at the first signs of trouble.

If he were you..

Well.. he would've given up on himself a long time ago.

..So.. why did you.. stay..?

.....

He was too scared to ask that question.

Too scared of the answer that may come from your lips, even though those words might just save him...

..Because he was absolutely certain that they'd actually just be the final nail that turns him to dust..

So he pushed the thought far from his mind to the back to die with the rest of his unnecessary feelings. Not that it was hard really, Sans' mind was a bloody fucking mess, clouded by a horrid mixture of alcohol and drugs that had him feeling on top of the world just a measly few hours ago.

Stars.. it really was easy to get lost in that madness wasn't it?

..Into the pleasure and fun that came at the end of a bottle, or at the end of another hit. 

In a way.... it was just like magic.

In an instant, all those troubles that clouded your mind would seem so far away...  

For a while you'd be unburdened by responsibility or society. 

You'd let go of the constraints holding you back, you'd let loose and finally just be free. 

Your mind would let go of it's troubling thoughts..

Of things... and... 

..People...

......

You'd have fun without stress. 

You'd lose yourself to the motions

To movements. 

To the descent.

..To the fall.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down the rabbit hole you'd go.

....

But with every fall.

Came a landing.

....

Right to the very bottom... and you'd suffer the consequences of your descent.

Now that once hypnotic neon that drew him into this club seemed sickening to his eyesockets, and the smell of smoke mixed with sweat and grease made him want to hurl. He didn't want to hear anymore words spoken by anyone else, much less those so called 'friends' who invited him here in the first place. Their words had long faded away to numbing static in the background now that the intense music was gone. He was sick of their empty flattery and jealous praises anyways, all trying to catch his attention so they could use him as a footstool to higher society. The only reason they invited him here was to get some damn clout for themselves and he was lonely enough to accept the offer because...

For once, you weren't there.

.....

Well you were technically there, because you always told him to call if he ever needed you, you just weren't like... there there!

..And he was feeling sad and...!

You weren't.. well-!

It's just-! He.. just-!

....

He didn't want to...

.....

Ugh.

It didn't matter. 

He was just tired of it now. Tired of those damn pieces of trash..

They deserved to sit in the dumpster where they belong, but he was too fucked up to put them there so instead he just let it become background noise.

He wanted nothing more than to stay right here, in the only place he really felt at ease.

..With you.

So he turned his head away from it all and breathed in deep, a familiar scent washing away the muck that clung to the edges of his mind. It was fresh and a bit misty, like the scent of rain just before it fell with just a small hint of earthiness, and it brought him such a sense of..

..Comfort.

Just... like it always did.

Just like you always did, whenever you were around.

It made him clutch on to you all the tighter as he buried his head further into your shoulder, wanting to be lost in the mellow scents of your coat and the steady rhythmic beating of your heart as you spoke softly to someone else.  

He was just.. 

Tired.

Tired of this, and tired of that.

Really he was tired of everything and just wanted to.. go..

"...home," he slurred, clearly interrupting your conversation with someone but not having the slightest care in the world.

His skull could hardly make sense of what was being said anyways, still washed up in the dizzying effects of alcohol and.. whatever else he took, but he really didn't care.

He wanted to go home.

That's why he had messaged you in the first place.

So you could come pick him up, yet again, and take him back home.

At least.. he hoped that's why you were here.

Who knows, maybe you'd finally come to your senses and would just dunk him in the trash can where he belonged.

"We're heading out in just a second, alright?" you said gently, your words cutting clear through his own thoughts.

.....

He barely turned his head to peek at you, catching the vague shape of your face through the fluorescent neon.

Funny.. how just your tone settled his troubled mind, almost making him feel silly for thinking you'd abandon him. Even if he didn't understand why in the slightest, you clearly cared for him. It came through in the way you spoke, and in the way you held on to him, like he was something precious and worth keeping.

...He just really didn't get it..

So he didn't think about it, instead just squeezing his eyesockets and letting out.. a noise in response. 

..Really it was more like a painful, almost guttural groan, but he didn't want to acknowledge how unattractive it sounded, so a noise it was. 

Thankfully it was enough.

"Just hang tight."

And then you spoke again, but not to him, so he let your voice fall to the side too, the gentle rumblings steadying him as he buried his face back to his usual spot.

For right here, in the small space between your neck and your shoulder was his own personal Wonderland. It was the same place his skull always went, whenever you two were close. The place he buried his face when he cried, or where he turned his head away to escape from it all. He loved to feel the pleasant heat of your skin against his cheek, and let those soft and subtle scents wash over him once more.

He really could just.. get lost in it.

He'd stay there forever, if you'd let him.

And that's exactly why he could never forgive you.

Because.. you did.

Time and time again you gave him that place all to himself, without question or complaint.

You let him come undone in so many ways in that small space, that house he had built for himself and boarded up.. no longer felt like home.

..And the feelings that he had locked away tight..

They were always so close to just.. coming out.

They threatened to spill from his mouth and dirty your jacket with their sullied words.

His admiration.

His respect.

His... love... for you.. 

..And all that you've done.

They danced tantalizingly on the end of his tongue, sometimes escaping in the friendly ‘I love you’s you both shared, or passed through his fingertips when your hands gently brushed, sending shocks to his soul. They seeped into almost every action and he..

Well..

A part of him felt like he was going to just go crazy over it..!

Or maybe.. he always had...

But for every moment he stayed in your presence it lingered..

And it swished and swirled... bubbling at the surface and just threatening to...

Break.. loose..! 

"You doing okay?"

No.

No, he really wasn't doing okay.

Really he wasn't.

The words.. they were...

Slipping...

No...

He was...!

..Going to..!

"....i think i'm going to throw up."

"...Ah."

......

He probably would've been angrier if that wasn't the truth.

The excess magic bubbling in his soul was threatening to rush out thanks to the alcohol, and he certainly didn't want that spilling out of his ribcage so the only other option was out from where it came.

"Can you hold it?"

Ya know, normally that kind of question might've been seen as insensitive given the circumstance, but you very well knew Sans hated throwing up in public areas because it was... well kinda gross.

"..yeah.."

"Then let's go home."

And that was it. 

You looked back to whomever you were speaking to and said your goodbyes before turning and heading out of the club with him in your arms while he tried to cling to you like a koala.

The awful neon was fading away along with the horrid smells, leaving him in just the gentle presence of you..

At least until you opened the door to the outside world the city lights and smells hit him like a fucking truck. He cringed, for even in the late hour the lights were in full shine and cars honked aggressively at each other in the streets. It was overwhelming and only made him retreat farther into arms, trying to escape from it.

Oh great, here comes the nausea again.

He groaned and you thankfully put a bit more pep in your step as you headed into the musky night air, finally reaching your car after what felt like a small eternity.

He had felt the keys already in your hand when you picked him up, and now you carefully tried to unlock the car door while maintaining your hold. It was surely a fairly easy task, considering the two of you had been in this exact position so many times before, and it wasn't long before you opened the door and tried to place him into the passenger seat.

"...You know you gotta let go so we can go home."

".....no."

He could feel your breathy laugh brush past his skull and neck, nearly making him tremble, but he still held on tight.

Sans just didn't want to let you go.

"..Please?"

.........

He.. reluctantly released his grasp, slowly sliding into the seat as he already began missing your warmth. His eyes automatically slipped shut, feeling more relaxed in the familiar space of your car. The passenger side seat was still just how he left it, tilted back just enough so he could nap comfortably.

"Just a sec."

"...mmmhh."

At least it was a more attractive sound this time.

Then he waited.. for what felt like another small eternity, almost tempted to brave the bright world to look at you before he was joined by a pleasant warmth, and the soft scents of rain and earth.

You laid your jacket on him, and he quickly hugged on to it while you busied yourself with buckling him in. Another easy task, as he heard the click of the seatbelt in place, and felt your presence leave him once more. He barely cracking his eyesockets open to catch your gaze, and for the briefest of moments he was greeted by your smile

"Was it fun?"

"...no.."

You let out a snort, shaking your head at his bluntness before standing up closing the door.

One last small eternity later and you opened up the driver side door, seating yourself before buckling yourself in.

"If I remember correctly you didn't have fun the last time you went out with her either, so why go?" you asked, turning the key and starting your car.

There was no judgement in your tone, more like a genuine curiosity. Surely it must've seemed dumb to keep torturing yourself in the presence of people you didn't like.. but..

"i'unno..." he muttered.

He was lonely.

"..jus didn' have anythin' else...since you were gone.."

There was a small pause as he watched your brows furrow, but you kept your gaze ahead as you pulled out of the parking lot and into the busy streets of Ebott.

"Well I did invite you," you reminded him  and he let a small huff.

"i didn' wanna... intrude.. on your.. family... whatever."

"You know my mom wouldn't mind."

"...i know.."

Urgh.

Darn that woman for being almost as equally likeable as you were.

Really.. at first he could hardly believe the two of you were related with how bright and cheerful your mother was compared to your rather indifferent demeanor, but you both had that same tenderness that shone through in the way you cared for people.

...She always made him feel so welcome anytime he came around.

Like family..

....

And yet... 

He didn't want to sully such a happy image with someone like himself.

So instead of joining you for an evening of board games and home cooked meals with your mom, he filled his meaningless life with people who were just as meaningless. He stuffed that empty skull of his with hollow praises, and anything that'd take these vile feelings away.

He didn't deserve this.

He didn't deserve.. you.

He deserved to be used up.

Thrown out.

And forgotten.

..Just like the rest of the people like him..

So... why did you refuse to let him go?

....

Once again he was too scared to ask.

Too scared of the answer he might receive, even if there was a possibility that it could save him. He just wanted to keep holding onto this. On to you, in hopes that you'd still just always be there for him.

Just like.. you always were.

....

He let out another huff, feeling those words threatening to spill forth again as he clutched on to your jacket. His hand wandered over to the same place it always did when he felt like shit but couldn't say it, to the middle console where it waited patiently.

His patience was rewarded, one small eternity later, when he felt your hand gently settle over his.

There was nothing more he could do to keep the words from spilling forth.

"i love you..."

And he meant it, with every fiber of his soul.

"I love you too Sans."

..Not in the same way, he knew, but...

This was still just enough.

Enough to keep him here.

Enough to keep him going, with the hope that maybe some day.. you would really love him too, in the same ways that he loved you.

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 7 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

I ended up spending most of this past weekend setting up the Mermaid AU on AO3, so I do hope y’all will check it out over there!

Please note that on AO3, this Marco’s Bauble story is going under the title On the Courtship of Monkey D. Luffy. I didn’t really know where this series was going when I began writing it, and “Marco’s Bauble” was most definitely a starting point, but it’s expanded well beyond that now, as you’ll probably see in this update ^ ^; I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll rename all the parts on Tumblr or not.

BUT in the meantime, I’ll continue posting updates in advance here on Tumblr (and on Patreon even further in advance ;D), so here’s an update for this week!

In which Sabo confronts Koala.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 3

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 5

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 6

~~

Hmm, Koala thinks. So this probably counts as a "kabedon."

A kabedon, according to the young new recruits who'd explained it to her, is a situation in which one person, ideally tall and attractive, leans over a second, ideally smaller person, boxing them against a wall with their arms, essentially pinning them in place. Koala thinks it sounds like menacing posturing, but the recruits insisted that if done by the right person, it's a terribly titillating scenario, the kind you'd find in romance stories.   

It happens to be the situation that Koala finds herself in now, with her back against the side of Merry's cabin as Sabo looms over her, effectively blocking all exits with his arms braced against the wall on either side of her.

Sabo, Koala grudgingly thinks, probably not only qualifies, but is likely the recruits' very definition of tall and attractive.   

Right now, he's doing that thing where his eyes are half-mast, dark and unreadable as they peer down at Koala through the curtain of blond locks that have fallen across his face. It's a look that Koala knows has half of Baltigo swooning, and she's heard people call it Chief's Sexy Look.   

Koala feels very strongly that those are a poor choice of words, because from personal experience, she knows it's a look that's usually followed immediate, brutal interrogation that often ends in screams and excessive bloodshed. 

"Koala," he breathes, in that voice that has stolen the hearts of half the Revolutionary Army, and has convinced more than one unfortunate soul that perhaps, they might survive this encounter after all.   

But Koala knows better.   

Because his next words are, surprise surprise, "What are you hiding from me about my Luffy?"

He smiles then, and it looks misleadingly gentle, and Koala can see why strangers may mistake him for a benevolent princely gentleman.   

But Koala knows Sabo. And all she sees is the manic sadism behind the oh so very fake expression.   

She cringes, because no, there is absolutely nothing romantic or exciting about this situation at all. All she feels is Doom.   

"Hmm?" she says, keeping her hands behind her back so he can't see them twist. In these situations, Koala's more than well aware that the more she talks, the more she incriminates herself.   

Many who observe their partnership are under the impression that Sabo's just the overpowered guy who beats people up and destroys shit, while Koala provides intel. And while it's true that Koala has intel, Sabo's the one who often personally extracts it from their most stubborn sources.   

In other words, what Sabo wants, he usually gets. It's usually a comforting thought, but not today.   

"Hmm?" Sabo parrots back, eyes lazily tracing over her face, and Koala frantically tries to keep her expression neutral as he searches for an opening. 

It's like when they were children, Koala thinks, when they played interrogation games with each other as assignments for Inazuma's class. Except this time, it's not Koala's grade on the line. And while Koala knows that her partner would never actually hurt her, he's also very capable of making life pretty miserable for her if she doesn't spill.   

And right now, she has a secret she'd really, really like to keep away from Sabo.

The secret being, y'know, the fact that someone proposed to his dearest baby brother.   

And even though it's extremely unlikely that Luffy understands the significance behind the gesture, she considers the gift hers, which, for all points and purposes...means she accepted.   

Koala does not want Sabo to find out about this, from her, at least right now, before she has more information.   

But, Koala glumly remembers, she's never actually managed to win any interrogation games against him.   

"You know," he says, voice deceptively light, and Koala wants to groan because here we go. "Luffy and Ace mean the world to me. They're not just my past, they make me who I am. Even when I didn't remember, they were with me, and I was with them. They're everything to me."   

Koala won't break. She tries to look for an opening without shifting her eyes, but Sabo's not an amateur and there are no escape routes.   

"It would truly be terrible, if something happened to one of them, something that should be stopped, that I could have prevented if only I had known."   

He's poking her defenses. He wants her to say, you're blowing this out of proportion, it's not that big a deal, or maybe you're overthinking this. Possibly even lie, I'm not hiding anything, or even counter, what makes you think I'm hiding something?   

Koala knows better. Those are all traps, all openings that he'd pounce on, and she's seen him rip people apart for falling for them. Koala won't give him the chance.   

He leans in close, and whispers in her ear, voice low and dark in a way that would make his fans cry, and his enemies cry too but for an entirely different reason. "You wouldn't know something that'd prevent me from fulfilling my duties as Luffy's older brother, now would you, Koala?"  

Well, Koala thinks snidely, depends on what you consider your brotherly duties, and whether they include homicide and starting a war with an Emperor.   

She says, "Mmm."   

Sabo, or rather his mouth, smiles. His eyes are a void. Koala's not used to be on the receiving end of this particular stare, and she isn't enjoying a moment of it.   

"Alright. If that's how you want to be. Let's figure this out together, now shall we?"   

Sabo's voice is calm, exaggeratedly patient, like a therapist. He never talks to Koala like this, but Koala still recognizes this particular tone, and cringes as she realizes which interrogation pattern he's chosen. It's one she's ill equipped to counter at the moment, and he no doubt knows it.   

Koala braces herself. Blank face, she tells herself, even breathing. He's using his stupid over-powered Observation Haki to keep track of your pulse.

"Well," he begins, "I know it's already about Luffy, because you're more nervous about me talking about her than Ace." It's stated as fact, and Koala blinks rapidly to moisten her eyes because she knows the real deal's starting now, and she'll have to avoid blinking when it might give her away.   

"And it must be something you found out during your Fishman Karate sessions, because you don't have any other time together, at least when I'm not watching."   

Koala isn't remotely surprised that he's monitoring everyone; after all, she's been doing the same. She wants to sigh but keeps it in.   

"It's probably something physical, because Lu can't keep secrets if she thinks of them as secrets, so it might have been something you saw...a scar, or a mark on her body? No? Then an object she has on her...Ah, there we go."  

Fuck you, I didn't give you any tells, Koala thinks indignantly, but she knows that expressing any annoyance will only confirm his guesses, and continues to refuse to speak.   

"You've been going to the kitchen more often than usual, but not during meal times, or even prep times, but rather lulls...times that you have no business in the kitchen, and times where only cooks are present, cleaning up or otherwise doing tasks that don't require their full attention...the perfect time to chat."  

Maybe I wanted a snack, Koala thinks, but keeps her mouth shut, because Sabo already knows when and how she snacks. This interrogation really isn't fair.   

"And as for the cooks in question...well, if it were Sanji, I'd just ask him myself, but you knew I wouldn't do that, right, Koala? You know I could get it out of him, so if it was him, he wouldn't know anything of value. But I don't think he's involved at all."   

Sabo looks at Koala expectantly. Koala stares right back at him, though her eyes feel very, very dry.   

"So the question now is, why would my dearest partner want to protect Thatch, Fourth Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates and temporary first cook of the ASL Pirates?" Sabo talks as though he's asking himself, but he isn't, and Koala's not fooled. She keeps her face blank. "I doubt it's a personal thing, after all, his intentions towards Luffy couldn't be more obvious, he announces it at least once a day. And given my partner's obvious little lesbian crush, it doesn't seem in her best interests to help him, no?"   

This does get a reaction from Koala, and her breath leaves her in a whoosh. Fine, make it personal. If he's figured out this much, it's only a few more steps till the answer, and at this point what does it matter. Koala glares, relishing freeing her face from its mask, and for a moment Sabo's back to his usual self, giving her a cheeky wink as though to say told you so. But then Interrogator!Sabo is back, because he's not quite done yet.  

Whatever. She tried, alright. It's not like she owes the Phoenix anything. She leans back against the wall, bringing her arms in front of her chest, and scowls, hoping her expression projects exactly what she thinks of Interrogator!Sabo at the moment. Sabo likewise drops his arms, because he knows she's no longer going to escape.   

"You're not protecting Thatch himself, because if you were we could solve it here, and it never needs to get out of hand. So you're protecting someone connected to him. The fact that you're being so stubborn, tells me that it's not just a personal thing, but something that could cause an incident, that would likely affect the Army. Which means, obviously, a Whitebeard pirate.   

"But I don't think it's just any Whitebeard pirate. They're someone high profile enough that it would be a big deal if I were to confront them, possibly jeopardizing any potential future alliances the Army forms with them, or drawing the eyes of the World Government. Which, they're already watching us, which makes me think it's gotta be someone even bigger than Thatch..."   

Which, of course doesn't leave much.   

"It could very well be old man Whitebeard himself," Sabo says, but he's shaking his head. "But something tells me it's not. And I know that some very interesting little blue birds have been stopping by the Merry, likely with letters for Thatch, but possibly also with unsolicited deliveries for my baby brother..."  

Your baby brother, chill with your possessiveness, does rubbing it in feel that good? Koala sniffs.   

"And as for why it's a big deal...you wouldn't be so secretive over a crush. Everyone on the crew has a crush. That can be dealt with. This is a few steps beyond, something you think would make me mad, right, Koala?”

Sabo pauses a moment, but it's for dramatic effect, because Sabo knows that Koala knows that he already has an answer.   

"So tell me, Koala. What did Marco the Phoenix give Luffy to try to claim her as his bride?"   

And well, there you have it.

"Bravo," Koala says dryly. "I see you're qualified for your position, Chief. I'll be sure to inform the Boss."   

Sabo tips his hat, and even though she allows herself to relax, Koala keeps her eyes trained on her partner.   

He's taking this calmer than she expected, to be honest. Interrogator!Sabo still hasn't fully faded from his face, but he's no longer giving off sadistic vibes, and has that little frown that tells Koala he's still sorting through his thoughts. His ability to remain composed is likely affected by the fact that they're still in Paradise, and the Whitebeard Pirates and the New World are still quite a ways away.   

Which is good, because it means Sabo can't just impulsively cause a massive incident on the spot. But it's also bad, because it means he's got more time to plot, and Sabo can come up with some pretty devastating things if given the opportunity.   

"Sabo, I barely know anything myself, and neither does Thatch," Koala says, finally willing to speak. "I'm working on getting more information. Don't plan anything rash yet. It could all be a misunderstanding."   

Sabo slowly nods, still quiet. Koala sighs.   

This might be a good time to bring up a certain topic, she realizes. She'd been thinking about it for a while now, but had wanted to give him more time.   

She first thought about it when the night after he regained his memories, she sees Sabo slip away from the Merry to pursue the ship that's transporting the slavers who tried to sell Luffy at the auction house. The slavers have already been passed in the hands of Army agents, all of the enslaved have been freed and are on their way to safety, and Luffy's back with her crew. Their job should have been over.   

Sabo comes back before dawn, accompanied by Ace who had likely transported him with Striker. He seems calmer than the night before, but Koala doesn't miss that his gloves are still damp from recently being washed.   

There've been other incidents too, in the short period they've traveled together. Koala's seen Sabo dangerously close to snapping (and actually snapping) more during the past few weeks than their entire decade together. And on one hand, it's understandable, but on the other...   

"You know," Koala begins, as gently as possible. "she's no longer the child you left behind. She's an adult. Even if this ends up being nothing, she may still find someone, one day. What are you going to do then?"   

If Luffy's in physical danger, protecting her is one thing. But what if it's something that she chooses?   

The change is subtle, but Koala notices when the last of the Chief of Staff fades from Sabo, as his head tilts downward ever so slightly. And all of a sudden he reminds Koala all too much of the tiny, battered child who stared at himself in the mirror when he thought everyone was asleep, touching his scars and asking, Who are you?

"I can't lose her, I can't lose either of them," Sabo says quietly, and he overlaps completely with the lost child, and ah, Koala thinks, because she gets it.   

That child, that self who was missing for so long, is back now, inside Sabo where he always belonged, where he always existed but couldn't be recognized. That child now takes up so much space, too much space, and still hasn't been fully reconciled with the adult that Sabo's grown up to be. Simpler, childish emotions and desires that feel too vibrant and raw, clashing with the adult's more weathered world view, aggravated further by all the darkness that Sabo's seen in their line of work.   

Sabo's less concerned about Ace, Koala knows, because even though Sabo loves both his brothers, Ace is like his other half. They don't protect each other, but function seamlessly as a single unit, a unit with one priority that stands above all else.   

Luffy.   

Luffy, who as a child, Sabo was able to protect from anything and everything in their isolated microcosm. Luffy, who as an adult, Sabo knows all too well is more vulnerable than ever, as proven by the very situation in which they reunited.  

A gilded glass tank, hidden away behind dusty curtains, with a dark, motionless shape crumpled at the bottom. Chains, chains, and chains upon bruised skin, and bubbles rising from parted lips, getting smaller and smaller as she slowly fades...

That was bad enough, but Koala doubts Ace or any of the others know exactly what the fate of a captured mermaid is, at least in the way that Koala and Sabo do.   

Koala understands, she really does.   

But she also knows the importance of freedom, not just to Sabo, but likely to Luffy and Ace as well.   

"Would it be losing her?" she asks, and child!Sabo flinches.   

"We vowed to be free," Sabo says, and he still sounds lost, like he doesn't know what the word means anymore. "And we will be." His hat shadows his eyes, and Koala can't imagine how they look at that moment. "But I don't want her to go where I can't follow."   

"Then follow," Koala says, because what else is there to say? "Follow, if that's your freedom. But you can't stop hers."   

"I know."   

She couldn't have known how Sabo would take her words.

~~

Part 8, we see more of Thatch.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, any comments are immensely appreciated and help motivate me to create more for this AU! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[alexlabhont]

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter Three.

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing:  Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really

I´ll be posting this one over here because Tumblr, for some reason, thinks my secondary blog is a bot...

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

Now, about the PAIRING... I will be using choices style, kinda, because I want to give you choice at some point. If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so... i’m sorry fo the grammar errors

CHAPTERS

The beginning

Chapter one 

Chapter two

ONE-SHOTS

Just a dance (Zoey x MC)

—————————————————————— 

A truce.

That’s what she said she wanted and for a moment, all their fears disappeared.

“I really hate to admit this, but I personally asked for you to be my partner on this project. I'm familiar with your music, and I actually wanted to work with you.”

She also said. Beck didn't know how to feel, really. Poppy Min-Sinclair heard their songs, or, at least, she saw their videos.

And she liked them.

Or not? They never knew with her. She has been acting pretty weird these days. Giving them a “compliment”, smiling at them, asking for Beck to be project partners…

Open up with them.

That was beyond weird.

Beck couldn't stop thinking about what they saw back at the “Alpha-Zeta deluxe cabin” or whatever it’s called. Poppy really looked hurt… sad… like…

Like she has feelings.

“I don’t know, Beck. I don’t think is a good idea letting you guard down.” Zoey said, playing with their hair, both of them resting on the couch, Beck’s head laying on her thighs.

“Yeah, I get it. But…” Beck took a moment, remembering the sadness in her voice, the betrayal in her eyes… Did she really care about Chloe? “I wish you had been there to see it, Zo. It was so real my head exploded… Like... She was really hurt.”

“Babe, I know what you’re trying to say. And I believe you that she was in pain. But you have to remember she's still Poppy. And even if she’s a… uhm… human who feels, it doesn't mean she's not a bitch.”

Beck stood up, sitting properly while scratching their neck.

“Yeah, I know that.” They replied. Zoey had a point they couldn’t forget. From all people, Beck understood what it felt like to be judge by a cover, but as Megamind's Roxanne said once: Checking the content was what matters, and the inside of Poppy´s book was not so good.

The time on the wall clock pointed it was the moment to go, it was Saturday and Poppy and Beck agreed to meet her in front of an Animal Rescue from downtown around noon. He didn't want to be late, after all, Poppy was capable of start the project without them and argue that they didn't show up.

“Anyway, I have to go now. The sooner we end this, the better.” Beck put on their shoes and leather jacket, ready to impress thanks to Zoey fashion sense.

“I want you far~ away from trouble, Beck Hughes. Do you hear me?” The protector side of Zoey appeared and, again, they were confused by it.

Zoey always had that effect on Beck, she could warm their chest, sculpt a smile on their face. Honestly, after all these years in a toxic environment, bullying and harm, having Zoey´s concern on them was something new, something welcomed, something that made them happy.  Laugh a little if Beck thought about it closely.

“I can take care of myself.” They said. After all of those fake friends, after all of the pain they went through, it was still hard to trust completely.  However… Beck looked at Zoey, the only one who Beck felt relaxed with. Their best friend, the first one to treat them as what they were even after knowing the truth. Beck didn’t miss Farmsville at all. “See ya later, beautiful.”

“I´ll be waiting right here”

~~X~~

They won’t ever admit it, but after they heard Poppy saying that the project was in the Downtown Animal Rescue Beck was excited. Puppies, kitty cats, animals! Beck love them greatly, wholeheartedly. They were their weakness; their adoration was so much so Beck considered seriously taking the vet path almost all their life, if having not found music, their story would´ve been completely different right now. That´s why they couldn’t refrain themselves of stopping at each enclosure to coo over the animals, losing all sense of self-respect over them. Especially after a pup ugly, dummy looking like showed up with the most adorable face they ever seen.

“Oh boy, you’re so ugly I luv ya Tushie-face! Who’s a precious ugly-boy? Uhm? Who’s a precious ugly-boy~” The little pug barked happily, enjoying the attention. “You’re perfect! You’re…”

“… nice to see so many new additions.” Beck heard, stopping them at the moment. Beck was sure it was Poppy, but she sounded… “I guess that means a lot of these little guys are being adopted?” … different. Again.

“Yes, Ms. Min-Sinclair.” A young voice answered, without fear, with respect. A good kind of respect. “We have a ten percent higher adoption rate than last year” Uhh, that sounded good. For some random reason, Beck showed the thumbs up to the ugly pug, flashing him a stupid smile at which the pup moved his tail as if he understand what it meant and agreed.

But then… Poppy laughed.

A real laugh. A nice, non-threatening, actually kind of cute laugh. So honest that they felt terrible attracted to it.

“No… Oh, no, no, no… No. Don't you even think about…”

As if their body was its own person, Beck rounded the corner, wanted so badly to see how a laughter so sincere looked like in Poppy´s face, like some weird kind of siren song they had to see with their own eyes. Instead, Beck saw her talking to one of the shelter’s employees, hugging and stroking a bichon frise puppy´s tummy softly, lovingly. Their heart stopped just a second, running wild immediately after.

“God… she’s so…”

“DON´T!” And they slapped their self. Hard. Beck deserved it. They couldn't… they won’t… They refused to…

The sound where so loud it called the attention of both Poppy and the other guy, while Beck felt the stinging and burning on his now red cheek. Ok, maybe~ they didn't have to do that, actually, the expression on Poppy´s face the moment she saw them, a sour, angry one, was the only thing they needed to feel normal again towards her.

“You're late” Why, hello to you too.

“I´m sorry, it's just that I was playing with Tushie face and…”

“Tushie face?” Beck couldn’t tell if she was amused or making fun of how stupid they were. “That´s how you pet-name?” Poppy added, raising an eyebrow. Beck shrugged.

“If you have a tushie face, then you are a tushie face. Simple as that” Based on Poppy's smirk, they should’ve stay quiet.

“Uhm… Alright, tushie face.” Damn it! “Come with me.” She then gave them a wink, smiling as if they both had now a new secret, before walking toward the back of the kennels.

Fuck.

“So… how do you knew about this place?” Beck asked, very willing to replace the topic to literally anything.

“If you must know, my parents bought me this shelter when I was eight.”

“What?”

“Really? Why?”

“I wanted a dog. Mommy and Daddy didn't want pets in the house… Et, voila”

Beck looked around, the place had now a new light after what they just learned. All this place was Poppy's, just because her parents didn’t approve animals at home. Unintentionally, Beck chuckled, feeling Poppy’s gaze on them almost immediately.

“What’s so funny?” She asked, irritated.

“We’re really very different but the same at once” They said. “Ever since I was a kid, my parents taught me to work with every single farm animal. Cleaning them, feed them, love them… I even helped bring life into this world.” Beck told her, twisting their lips. “I had a lot of different pets back at home. So do you right here. You see?”

“You’re forgetting about the fact the whole point of a place like this isn't for the animals to stay forever…” She said, vulnerable. Beck did actually get that, the hollow feeling that comes after something like that.

“Well… at least they’re not dinner”

Surprisingly, that comment made her chuckle just a little and Beck felt so good to be the one to take away that fragile expression in Poppy’s face. She was definitely more beautiful when she was happy. When she was laughing.

“You are right, that's even worse.”

They both looked at each other for a moment, some complicity in their own way, as if they both shared something, a sentiment that almost nobody felt, both understood each other, at least in one little but significant thing: They both learned very young what it's like to love innocently and truly, to have an unconditional companion, just to lose it to the “greater purpose” again and again. Both learned to never get really attached to anyone.

“But whatever, it gets the humanitarians off our back.” Just as if the conversation never happened, Poppy went back to the factory mode. “Which is why we’re really here. I’m fully aware of your popularity in YouTube, especially after your little performance, so hopefully this project we’re doing will get some good press for us to get the adoption rate it to, at least, 20 percent this year.”

“So this is why you wanted to work with me…” Beck didn't know why, but a little part of themselves felt disappointed… what was them expecting anyway?

Soon they both reach the back of the room, and while Poppy walked in as if it was completely routine, Beck had to stop for a second. A whole crew was already set up, cameras, microphones, lights, everything. A lot of cute pups and cats of all ages were also there looking adorable, sure they were the real stars of all this, but Beck couldn't help but feeling intimidated.

However, it was Poppy’s attitude the one thing that took all Beck’s attention though all the day.

She was kind, professional, caring… making sure of one thing above it all: to have the best commercial of all times for an animal shelter. The way she treated the employees, the animals, people around her… it was like a completely different side of her they never seen before. Poppy even, against all odds, treated Beck as what they were: her project partner. Giving them a fair share of lines, taking care of capturing their best angle, how happy they looked between all those cute little animals. Directing Beck to make sure every detail was perfect, being polite and respectful while doing so.

She was acting as a selfless but powerful leader, and Beck couldn’t take her eyes off of her the whole time. She even managed to convince them to adopt that tushi faced puppy, pointed out that they both had choose each other right at the moment they meet.

“Just look at the way he's watching you!” She said playfully. “You two are really connected.”

“Do you really think so?” Beck asked, playing with the pup. They really wanted to take the little guy home, be able to give him a good life, having another friend in their life. One not farm related at least. Beck felt Poppy coming closer, resting her hand on Beck's shoulder while watching little tushi face with a soft smile.

“I know so. But the real question is: what do you think?”

And now, Beck had a dog named Pepes.

~~X~~

Once they knew every detail was taken care of, and the adoption paperwork were all right, Poppy, Beck and little Pepes walked out the shelter. Personally, they felt drained out, because although they were used to cameras, it was always under their own terms and time, their own edition, their own personal rhythm, but after that day, Beck was seriously considering the idea of being backstage musician, unlike Poppy, who actually looked as fresh as a cucumber.

“Damn, Pops. I have to admit it: you were awesome there.” They said, Pepes barking enthusiastic, agreeing.

“Were you expecting something less?” She said, some mischievous sparkle in her eyes Beck couldn't quite place. “Now, take me to lunch.”

“I'm sorry? Why would I do that?”

“Because…” She started to say, sassiness taking over her. “… I acted, arranged, produce and direct a fully perfect commercial to our project while you just played around with puppies and looked cute. The very least you can do is buy me lunch. I'm starving.”

“Oh, so you think I'm cute?” Beck flirted. It was impossible to let it pass by.

“Like it was a secret” Poppy smirked.

“… What?”

“I’m not blind, Hughes. You are actually very good-looking. It´s not a secret.” Beck was shocked, did they really just heard a compliment from the one Poppy Min-Sinclair that wasn’t commercial related? They looked at her, expecting some irony or double meaning, maybe some hint of a trap, but no…  She was being completely sincere. Beck snorted, it was cool they guessed.

“Now, that's a compliment.” Poppy rolled her eyes evidently, pretending to be irked, but that little smile on her lips proved to be the opposite.

“Hello? My lunch?” Beck laughed, how can she be so rude and yet so cute at the same time? Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.

Maybe.

“Whatever you want, bossy-ass”

----

Next

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Midnight Angel

Pairings: Peter Parker x Gender Neutral!Reader

Summary: There are some disgusting people in this world- people who feel the need to exert power over others in terrible ways. When victims speak up, they are ignored, or worse, blamed. When you decide to take matters into your own hands, you run into a particular superhero. 

Warnings: Violence; Repeated mentions of sexual assault, rape and abuse (though no actual depictions of any); I guess there’s like borderline torture but not really? Stapling things to people’s bodies?; Cursing; Rope around the neck (not hanging anyone but they get pulled by it, like a collar)

Word Count: 4000

A/N: All victims of the Midnight Angel (Philip Meeks and Hillary Times) are entirely made up characters! These are not based off real people and if anyone has these names, this is not an accusation of them in any way shape or form. Just a coincidence. 

_________________________________

Finding targets was always the easiest part. You had two main methods: 1) Tracking people down through the internet and 2) Hearing about them through your mother’s law firm. Going to a STEM school that emphasized proficiency with computer programming made hacking into web systems to find the necessary information simple. Since your mother specialized in representing abuse and rape victims in court, getting information from her files was a quick task. 

You didn’t think of yourself as a criminal, although you knew that by all legal definitions, you were. But was it really a crime when you hurt people who hurt others? By targeting rapists and abusers, you were only making the city safer. You considered it community service that you could never include on a college application. 

It all started when your mother came home, angrily devastated by the loss of a case her client had against her ex-boyfriend, claiming he’d been abusing both her and their son. The evidence has been solid. Multiple police reports from both her and their neighbors, along with pictures documenting the abuse and witness reports made for a nearly assured win for the client. Your mother had been so excited that the poor woman and her child could finally rest easy knowing that their abuser was behind bars. But then the ex-boyfriend’s lawyer said something that instilled just enough doubt in the jury’s mind to return from deliberation with a not guilty verdict. 

You remembered your mother coming home in tears that night, telling you how she felt like she’d failed the victims because now the boyfriend would walk free. That night, though, you decided that he wouldn’t. It wasn’t difficult to go through your mother’s computer once she fell asleep, a solo bottle of wine later, to find out where to find the boyfriend lived, though it took some digging through multiple databases. 

Once you found your target’s location, you had gotten dressed in dark but unsuspecting clothes and gloves, the face masks you were forced to wear due to COVID-19 coming in handy for concealing your identity without looking suspicious, and snuck out through the fire escape, making your way a few blocks down to the sketchy apartment building your target resided in. You climbed the fire escape up to the fifth floor and peeked in through the window before the actual attack. The man was asleep on the couch, the TV illuminating the otherwise dark room. The cans of beer scattered haphazardly across the coffee table told you that he would probably be difficult to wake up, which was perfect. 

You flicked the blade of your pocket knife out and used it to slide under the windowpane and shimmy the lock until it clicked open. Carefully, you slid the window open, watching for any reaction from the man only to see him still sawing logs on the couch. Once you were in, the first step was reaching into your backpack to remove duct tape and rope that you brought with. You grabbed a chair and carefully brought it into the center of the small living room, just far enough away to make it impossible to reach anything, before tiptoeing back to him and placing a strip of duct tape over his slightly stubbled face. 

His eyes shot open and he woke with a start, hand going up immediately to grip your wrist that dwarfed in comparison. You’d expected this reaction, though, and grabbed his wrist, using his own force to throw him off of the couch and onto the ground. 

Little known secret: Your mother had had you in judo classes since you were a young child. Though you’d never gotten into competing for any more than earning belts, you were one of the best pupils until you quit a few years ago. 

The man was caught off guard and he tried to yell at you through the tape but to no avail. You rolled to straddle him and looped the rope around his neck, albeit sloppily, but it tightened just enough when you pulled on it. Using the rope as leverage, you stood up and dragged him over to the chair. He crawled sloppily, fumbling over himself as you tugged on the rope in a sadistic yet satisfying display of power when he didn’t move fast enough. 

“Get up!” You demanded quietly but aggressively, trying to distort your voice naturally by making it a few octaves lower than it naturally sat. He sat back on his knees, prying at the rope around his throat but you just tugged on it, making him lurch forward, his hands landing on the chair. “Sit.” 

On shaky hands, he pressed himself up to obey and you used the long end of the rope in your hands to wrap around his body, tying him to the chair. The rope around his neck was loose now, mostly just there to serve as a reminder of what you could do if you really wanted to, but the rope bit into his biceps. 

Once he was securely tied in place, you walked around the front of the chair to get in his face. His brown eyes were wide with fear and confusion and a fucked up part of you loved to see it. “You like to hit little kids, huh?” You asked and he shook his head aggressively in denial, tears brimming in his eyes. 

You sent a solid left hook to his face, “You liar. You really think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know what you did?” You shook your hand, never having truly punched anyone in the face before and boy did it hurt like a bitch. 

For the finishing touch of your master plan, you reached into your bag one final time, retrieving a staple gun and a piece of paper you’d printed out that read I think it’s fun to beat women and children. Uncreative, you knew, but this was a spontaneous act of vigilantism. Next time, you’d think of something better. 

“Tell me… what is it about it that you enjoy?” You waved the staple gun around as you spoke and his eyes followed it in terror, “Is it some power trip? Do you enjoy seeing the fear in your girlfriend’s eyes when you're about to hit her? The fear in your son’s? How old is he again? Four?” Seeing somebody look so afraid of you, by what you were doing and saying honestly scared you but the rage was taking over, fueling your shaky hands as you continued your little speech, “How people like you exist in this world is beyond me. Even more is how monsters like you get away with it. But don’t worry, you won’t ever again.” 

In a flash, you stuck the paper to his chest and used the staple gun to send short metal prongs into his pectoral muscle, tacking the label to his skin painfully. He screamed out in pain as the metal curled beneath his skin but it was muffled by the tape, inaudible to the neighbors in every direction. 

“Now, you get to stay here until somebody finds you and when they do, they’ll see you for what you are. If I ever hear that you put your hands on another person again, I don’t give a damn who it is, I’ll come back and tattoo it across your fucking forehead. Or I’ll just kill you.” You shrugged before leaning in, your forehead nearly touching his, “But remember that I found you this time. Finding you again will be even easier.” 

You made your way to the window, stepping out, “Sleep tight.” 

**

“Today’s top story, another victim of the vigilante taking out abusers and rapists. This time, a woman named Hillary Times was found tied to the kitchen table of her Queens apartment with a paper that says, quote ‘Don’t trust the babysitter’ end quote, stapled to her chest. Along with the note was included multiple pages of messages between Times and several children, all under the age of fifteen. Also provided was a link to a web forum dedicated to child pornography, which has led to the arrests of not only Miss Times but four other suspects. Times sustained minor injuries in the attack and is expected to make a full recovery. She is the latest victim of what news articles are calling the Midnight Angel. Some are making them out to be a hero while others see it as a violent rampage. What is the truth? We’ll leave that up to you. Now, onto sports…” 

Peter watched the news play on his computer screen while he suited up for his nightly patrol as Spiderman. He couldn’t lie, he was actually sort of impressed by this Midnight Angel person, whoever they were. As long as they were only hurting bad people, he didn’t see a problem with it. Besides, he was no better. He was just some kid acting like a vigilante in the night, just like the Midnight Angel. Just like all the Avengers were before they were an organized collective. 

He swung out the window and out into the bustling New York City night. Even at midnight, the song rang true. It was the city that never slept. 

Peter went through his usual routine, swinging around, looking for any sign of distress. He didn’t find any after looking for at least an hour, which was actually disappointing. It wasn’t that Peter wanted anyone to be getting murdered or robbed or what have you but he always craved a bit of action. Tonight was just one of those rare calm nights where he found himself sitting on the ledge of a tall apartment building, swinging his legs over the edge in boredom. 

Or so he thought. 

It was quiet at first- so quiet that he wouldn’t have heard it without his exceptional senses. It came through at first as a tip tap tip tap of something against metal. Peter couldn’t tell exactly what it was but his senses told him it was coming from a few dozen feet below him, still in the same building. 

Crawling along the side of the building, he crept in the shadows until he saw the source of the noise. You swung your body gracefully over the edge of the fire escape and crouched down at the window before taking something from your pocket. What it was, Peter couldn't tell from where he was but it got his blood pumping in anticipation. Home invasion. It had been a long time since he'd dealt with one of these and they always got interesting. 

He watched as you slid the window open and crawled through the port, disappearing into the apartment like a shadow in the night. Peter continued crawling down the building another four stories until he saw the open window you used to enter. 

It was unnervingly quiet at first, though he could hear your light footsteps pattering down the halls, almost imperceptibly. Peaking in, he noticed the main room was empty, apart from typical living room and dining room furniture. The kitchen was directly across from the window, only separated from the living room by a little bar, but his hearing was piqued in the direction of the short hallway to his right. 

Suddenly, there was a thud and the sound of a muffled struggle from down in that direction. Peter rushed down and burst into the bedroom to see you straddling a man on the ground, who it looked like you had just pulled out of bed. He was face down and struggling as you roughly pulled his head up by a gag cloth you had in his mouth that you were struggling to tie. 

"Shut up!" You hissed, smacking the man upside the head. He didn't and only struggled more. 

Peter jumped into the action, immediately helping the man in distress. Before you could even process what was happening, the boy shot a web at you and flung you into the wall roughly. You hit it with a thud and crumbled to the ground. 

What the hell?! 

With a pained groan, you leap to your feet and lunged to grab the man you had pinned, now trying to make a desperate escape. Now that you didn't have the advantage of the target being groggy from sleep, he kicked you in the face roughly with his sock covered feet. You retracted just enough to cover your face with your arms but this allowed for him to scramble away. 

"Don't worry sir! I'm here to help!" A boy's voice called out from the doorway. When you looked up, you saw none other than Spiderman. This meant you were either going to get help or were really fucked. Sure, you had computer skills and martial arts training but he had sticky webs and super strength. 

"Get him!" You called out to Spiderman, desperate not to lose your target. 

Peter stood confused. You demanded his help as if it were an obvious move. Why would a robber expect him to help? Maybe something else was going on… 

When he didn't move, the man shoved past him, desperate to get to the front door, "Please let me go! Help me out Spiderman! This person just broke in and attacked me!" 

You ran after, quickly tackling the man to the ground. He threw punch after punch your way but you swiftly dodged all but one. The one that landed sent you to your ass, falling backwards heavily. 

“Shut up you pathetic sack of shit! You think your exes got help when you beat them?" You spat, venom in your words as you maneuvered have him pinned for a third time.

Those words made it click to Peter. "You're the Midnight Angel?" 

"Yes! Now help me or get out of my way!" Under normal circumstances, you were much nicer but currently you were struggling immensely to keep this guy under control. Manners were not your top priority. 

Peter didn't need much time to contemplate. With a flick of his wrist he had the guy caught in a web and held in place. "What should I do?" Peter didn't know why he felt so clueless. Didn't he do this crap every night? He should know how to capture a bad guy. But because you were involved, he felt like an accomplice to a crime and it made him nervous. The way you handled things seemed so much darker than the way he did. 

The guy was only held by his chest by the webs, his arms free. He took the opportunity to grab at you and pulled your mask down. You gasped in horror and your first instinct was to send a mean left hook to the man's head, effectively sending him to the ground, unconscious, before he could get a good look at you. You just hoped he hadn’t gotten a good enough look at you to describe you to police. 

"Wait, Y/N?!" You froze. How could Spiderman know who you are? And why did the way he said your name sound so familiar…

"How do you know who I am?" You asked defensively, quickly pulling your mask back over your face. 

Peter stiffened, realizing that by acknowledging he knew you put his identity at risk to, and began to babble, "Oh, did I- sorry, you just look like someone I met one time but you're not them so don't worry. My bad, all my bad." 

The rambling with the voice… it all began to connect in your head. "Peter?" 

Peter's blood went cold, "What? No. You must have me confused with someone else." 

"Oh my gosh! Peter Parker, are you Spiderman?" You whisper-yelled to make sure the neighbors couldn't hear. It all made sense. You were casual friends with the boy, both doing Academic Decathlon. Your strength was more computers while he seemed to specialize in engineering but you still had three classes together and just happened to sit by each other in all of them. "All the Decathlons you missed, showing up to school with mysterious injuries, crushing everything in gym class, and the Stark internship! Everything makes sense!" 

He stepped towards you waving his arms desperately, "Shhh you can't tell anyone!" 

You shrugged, looking almost indignantly at him, "Of course, I won't tell. You can't say anything about me either though." Did he really think so low of you? 

"No, no, of course not." He stammered. The room went silent and you both sort of shifted back and forth on your feet. 

Eventually, you gestured to the unconscious man on the floor, "Well, uh, I better finish up with all this. You can stay or go or whatever. But I'm not gonna steal anything so you don't have to worry about actual crimes being committed here if you leave." 

"As if sneaking into a guy's apartment and beating him senseless before stringing him up with rope and stapling a note to his body isn't a crime?" He pointed out, only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

Your brows furrowed, "It’s punishing bad guys. You do the same thing!" 

"I know, I know, I was joking!" He defended, making you retreat slightly. You didn't mean to sound hostile, your nerves were just high after being discovered. After a brief pause, he asked ,"So, uh, you need help with that?" Peter gestured to the man, whose face was now swelling immensely 

You shrugged, thinking of the rope in your backpack and knowing it would be easier to let Peter help, with his super strength and all, considering this particular man had to have at least a hundred and fifty pounds on you. Using the moving momentum of someone significantly bigger than you was one thing. Hoisting up the dead weight of one was drastically different. "If you wouldn't mind." 

Peter nodded, almost excited to help. "So where do we begin? This is your thing." 

"Usually I tie them up and threaten them a little. Get a few hits in if I'm feeling generous. Then I staple a list of evidence against them to their chest and run off into the night." You rubbed your neck awkwardly, looking down at the man who was on the ground with twisted lips, "This didn't quite go the way it normally does…" 

Peter thought for a moment, "I think I have an idea." 

***

The coffee shop bustled around the table that you, Ned, MJ, and Peter all sat around. A cup of jasmine tea steamed on the table beside your open AP Chemistry textbook and study guide for the upcoming Decathlon. The group felt comfortable despite it being the first time you'd studied with only them. While you had always been casual friends with all three peers, you hadn't actually started hanging out until recently. That is, until after you and Peter found out about each other's secrets. It was amazing how discovering a friend was a secret vigilante really brought a pair together. 

"How are you doing on the astronomy section, Peter?" Ned asked from across the table, leaning over his AP World History textbook. Each of you had taken a different subject to work on. 

Peter picked up his copy of the study guide, which he'd scribbled notes all over, "Uh, I have all the notes on Titan I could manage from the book and I’m moving onto the gravities of different planets but-" 

"Wait, shh!" MJ silenced the group of you suddenly without explanation. 

"What?" You asked, trying to hear what she was talking about but not hearing anything other than the shop's ambience. 

She pointed up to the TV playing in the far corner that could barely be heard over the constant murmur of voices but the subtitles were easy to read from the close distance. A woman read the newest story from the teleprompter as you all watched, “Breaking news, yet another alleged victim of the Midnight Angel has been found, this time in Jackson Heights. However, this time, there’s a twist. 39 year old Philip Meeks was found strung up hanging between his apartment building and the convenience store across the street, over the middle of the busy road by spiderwebs. This appears to be the work of Spiderman, which has never been seen before at any of the previous crime scenes. Mr. Meeks was found alive and in stable condition with a seven page long list of reported incidents against him, filed by fifteen different men and women claiming to be previous partners of his, stapled to his chest. These accusations range from verbal abuse to sexual assault. 

Mr. Meeks is now in custody and his crimes are being investigated by police. The bigger question now is who is the Midnight Angel? Has this been Spiderman the entire time? Or are they two vigilantes now working together?” 

Her co-anchor turned to her, “Well, Jill, I sure hope we find some answers soon.” 

“Me too.” She agreed, flipping through the papers on her desk. 

There was an awkward moment where you, Peter, and Ned all exchanged a quick knowing glance while MJ’s back was turned. Ned’s eyes got wide when he realized that you were in on everything somehow and his mouth opened in a silent plea for some bit of information. As far as Ned knew, he was the only one who knew about Peter’s secret. What the hell did you have to do with anything? 

MJ turned and let out a heavy sigh, you, Ned, and Peter all quickly returning to a neutral ignorant facade. “I don’t usually look up to people but I think the Midnight Angel is my hero.” 

You snorted, “Why’s that?” You questioned innocently. 

“Why wouldn’t they be? All these twisted sickos out there go around abusing and assaulting people and get away with it because of our victim-blaming ‘justice’ system,” she added air quotes, “It’s about time somebody tracked these fuckers down and made them pay,” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, looking off dreamily, “I think I want to marry them.” 

“You don’t even know who they are.” Ned’s pointed out. 

MJ just waved away the concern, “Don’t care. That’s the energy I need in my life.” 

You just chuckled inwardly to yourself and though, Alright, guess we’re getting married. Peter looked over to you with a similar look, laughing at the same thought himself. 

“So do you guys think it’s all Spiderman?” You asked, just to look less suspicious, though Ned still looked like he was catching on. 

MJ shook her head, “No, not a chance. Why wouldn’t he have used his webs in the other eight attacks then?” Suddenly, she jolted and began scribbling on a notebook page. 

“What are you doing?” Peter peeked over her shoulder to try and decipher the scribbles, failing when MJ’s hair fell to block his view. 

“I’m gonna figure out who they are.” She announced proudly. “Because I know they are not the same person.”

Peter shrugged, panicking internally, “There’s like eight million people in New York City. I don’t think you-” 

“Sure in the whole city but all the attacks have been local to Queens. Same with Spiderman sightings. I’m guessing they live here in Queens, which brings our pool down to like 2 million people. Spiderman is apparently male, which further cuts that number in half, and we don’t know about the Midnight Angel because nobody has ever seen them. From there, we can look at Spiderman’s build and eliminate people who are overweight, underweight, and super tall…” MJ continued rambling on about her masterplan to discover the identities of Spiderman and her new hero, the Midnight Angel. 

You and Peter looked across the table at each other, your leg bouncing nervously. While MJ’s plan seemed ludicrous considering the millions of possibilities she had to sort through, you knew how smart she was. There was a possibility, no matter how slim, that she could actually figure this out. Peter seemed to know this as well. 

Would it be better to come clean now or wait and see if she figured it out? Concerns for the future of the Midnight Angel whirled through your mind but one thing was for sure: regardless of whether or not Ned and MJ found out your secret, the Midnight Angel would never disappear. 

[tabby-shieldmaiden]

Another one for Friday Night Fights! The challenge hosted by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor . This one is a little weird, and admittedly was both inspired by me binging Girl Defined response videos, as well as my experiences at Church. It’s also written in second person, with the viewpoint character being a ‘nice church girl’. So, just a heads up.

Be a nice church girl. 

You wake up Sunday morning, early enough to watch the beautiful sunrise that God had painted across the sky. Cheerfully, you get out of bed. You didn’t even have to set an alarm clock, because getting up at dawn on Sunday is just a habit to you. Of course it doesn’t bother you at all. You plan out your entire week around the couple of hours you spend in Church. Obviously you’d have slept early the previous evening. It is for your Father in Heaven after all.

You brush your pearly white teeth, carefully scrubbing over each one. They were white and shiny teeth. Of course they had to be. In Church, you could only be seen smiling. And no other expression could really be sufficient there. Before God, you simply had to present your best self, and what better way is there to exist in? Happy, cheerful, a delight. You simply were overjoyed to be there.

Your hair and makeup done. Perfected. Just feminine enough to be perceived as a perfectly charming woman. But not too flamboyant to the point where you would stick out. You pick out your outfit next. A simple dress. Floral patterned. A matching baby pink cardigan. White ballet flats of a fairly modest design. Nothing too sparkly, nothing too flashy. Just something simple but feminine. After all, it’s not like you go to Church to draw attention to yourself. All of this is to simply honour God. This was what everyone in Church wore, because it was modest, but presentable. And most importantly, no one would stick out. No one would individuate.

From your dresser, you reach for a simple gold chain. Then a simple set of earrings. They were fake pearls, which did make you a little upset. Because you knew a number of the other girls in Church had real pearl earrings and you knew you couldn’t exactly afford them. You prayed that God would help you with your sin of envy. After all, at the very least you did have those fake pearl earrings. Cheap-looking and uncomfortable as they are. You sometimes wished that you didn’t need to wear them. But alas, the look simply wouldn’t be complete without it.

You subconsciously catch yourself chewing your nail, but once you caught yourself you stopped. It was a bad habit. You knew. And after all that work you put into painting your nails, taking care of them, you really wanted to keep them in good condition. Just like how every other woman in Church had nice nails. They all sported evenly painted, unchipped nails. Your hands still shook every time you painted them.

People commented on your nail biting. How it was unhygienic, unsanitary, gross. You knew they just wanted what was best for you. It wasn’t like they were unconcerned. And anyways, they did have a point, didn’t they? Nail polish smelled horrible, but you soldiered through it to apply it on anyways. Maybe someday, you’ll get good enough at nail polish, so that when you see your nails, you would not feel the need to chew them.

You eat breakfast, and when you do you don’t drink coffee. Who really needs sustenance like that? All you really needed in life was the energy which God provides you with. Every day, you can just sleep your planned eight hours, no problem. God provides you with the discipline to stick to your daily schedule. This was no problem. Nothing was impossible for God.

Hail a cab to Church. Quickly, you made it. Everyone there is smiling, dressed in their Sunday best. 

The men looked handsome and dashing in their suits and ties. The women looked beautiful and charming in their modest skirts and dresses. Everyone grins at you when you arrive. You talk about current events. Your families and your jobs; their children, nephews, nieces; sports; the weather; any gossip about other members of the congregation. All very engaging topics which you never used to be particularly interested in, but have found to be absolutely fascinating to talk about. The gossip especially, was a bad habit. But well, we all do fall short of the glory of God. He would surely forgive you.

You found it difficult to differentiate the people around you. You walked up to someone in an orange dress with shoulder length wavy hair, expecting it to be your friend Clara. Instead, it was Elizabeth. You walked up to a tall man with neatly gelled hair and a red tie, and you thought that he was Michael. But it was actually Joseph. It was a little embarrassing. But they were all good sports about it. That was something difficult you frequently had to deal with. Especially in Church. Navigating everyone, because for some odd reason you often had trouble differentiating the people around you. 

Well, some people were easier to differentiate than others. Case in point...

In the corner, reading a book with a smiling dragon on the cover, sat a young girl in a baggy hoodie and a pair of ragged jeans. Her earphones were firmly plugged into her ears. She was listening to music. No one was talking to her, and she didn’t seem particularly bothered by that.

You could only sigh when you saw her. She had been like that for a long time. There had probably been a time when she was a cheerful, sociable child. But now all she did was hang back and keep to herself, which would not do at all. God had commanded us all to be a friend. So you figured you really ought to go over and talk to her. You think you remember her name - Rebecca, if you’re not wrong - so you head over to her, a wide, pearly white grin on your face.

“Hi, Rebecca,” you say. Your voice chipper and loud enough so that she may hear you over her music. It worked to get her attention. She looked up from her book, and pulled out her headphones. You smile. That’s at least some progress. She’s paying attention to the world around her now. 

“Hi,” she said. She closes her book, but places a finger on the page where she left off. She shot you a fairly neutral expression. Neither a smile nor a frown could be seen on her face. Her lips were instead a perfectly straight line. Behind her glasses, her eyes just looked puzzled at why you were there.

You continued smiling. She smiled back, but only by slightly turning the corners of her mouth up. That was another step in the right direction! Smiling was good! Especially smiling in the house of God! Surely, no one had any real reason as to why that was supposed to be a bad thing. You slide beside her, sit next to her at the pew, and continue talking. “So, how have you been lately?”

“Okay,” she said. And then nothing else. Not a ‘how about you?’ or any other elaboration beyond that. That was upsetting. You remember a time back in your past when you were like that. But you soon learned the proper way to talk, hold a conversation. Thanks to all the people who taught you how to talk correctly. Soon, maybe Rebecca would catch on too.

You figured that, at least for now, maybe it would be a good idea to talk to Rebecca about something she was interested in. “What book are you reading?” You ask. It had a dragon on it, so it was probably a fantasy novel of some sort. Most likely a book she has owned for quite a while, since the spine was cracked and the pages were all dog-eared. 

You were never all that into fantasy. When you were younger, you very much preferred science fiction. And though you frequently found yourself yearning at the new science fiction books on display at the bookstore, you knew you shouldn't get too caught up in reading them. Years ago, you used to stay up late reading all those books. Way past midnight. You wouldn’t even crack open your Bible. But now, you’ve made a commitment towards going to bed on time and reading your Bible every day. And though admittedly, some parts of your personal Bible study made you bored, or made you conjure up some terrible questions (no doubt just Satan attempting to make you question your faith), you keep pushing on. Those science fiction novels may be alluring, but they surely aren’t nearly as great as the treasures which would await you in Heaven. 

Rebecca glanced at you, then showed you the back of the book. “It’s called ‘The Thief and The Knight’,” she said. Without any other comment.

You looked at the blurb at the back of the book, which read:

“What, no thank you? I went out of my way to help, you know, I didn’t have to.”

“You almost got me arrested!”

“But you didn’t, so there shouldn’t be a problem. Ungrateful!”

Tenia is a knight in training. Serious, clever, and an overall teacher’s pet, all the people in her life certainly had high hopes for her and her future. 

Kavlin is a mischievous young thief. With nothing but the clothes on his back and his trusty dragon, Gason, he lives every day barely getting by, stealing whatever he needs to live.

The two of them couldn’t have lived lives more different. But one day, when their paths met in a market, they soon found their fates entangled permanently. Now Tenia needs to make a choice. Follow her head and continue her knight training, or follow her heart and walk a new path with Kavlin? 

You sigh. This doesn’t sound like a particularly godly story. You recalled reading several similar stories like that when you were young, and it would always end with the obedient young woman leaving her neatly laid out life for some reckless, hedonistic man. That was definitely not how God intended for young women to live their lives. 

But maybe there’s a twist in this story. “Hm, that sounds interesting. Does she go back to studying hard to become a knight?” You ask. Smiling in as kind a way as you could. 

Rebecca shook her head, which was slightly disappointing for you. “She falls in love with him. They continue working together, she quits being a knight, and together they’re now thieves working to make the kingdom a much better, safer place for the poor.”

“But surely she could have done that while still being a knight? Without becoming a thief?” You ask. “The Bible says that we must use our gifts to help others in need. She could have done good for the poor using the gifts which made her such a promising knight, instead of going on to become a thief. There’s ways of helping others without disobeying the law.”

Rebecca looked at you, biting her lip. You hope that that’s a sign that she’s reconsidering reading something like that. God did say that we should be careful about what we read, and what we think about. If your words would convince her to stop reading something so immoral, that would only be a good thing. 

She took her book back, and held it close to her chest. You shot yet another smile at her, hoping that she understood that you were only concerned about her and the state of her spirit. Hopefully, she will get there soon. You remember how hard it had been to forgo your sci-fi novels. Even to this day, you still kind of miss them. But you could live without them. You could live only on the word of God alone, without any other book. That was something you had to remind yourself almost every day. But it was worth it. It had to be worth it, to be God’s faithful servant.

“At least consider it,” you say. “I’m only concerned for your spiritual well-being, and I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong ideas from the wrong places.” Rebecca still stared at you, her face still seemed fairly expressionless. But maybe, with some prayers, she’ll have her heart and mind changed.

You thought that you heard someone call you, and so you turned back around. “I’m sorry Rebecca,” you say. “I think I’m needed elsewhere now. So I’m going to have to go.” Such a shame. You were hoping to chat with her for a bit longer. Now what she’ll do is slip her headphones back on and bury her nose back into that book of hers. You should know. That was what you used to do back when you were her age.

You tried to recall. Why did you used to do that? Socialising with others in Church was such a pleasant thing. You loved to go every week, and listen to them talk about all the minor life updates that they have. Their new houses and cars. Their children winning participation trophies. Surely, those things were always far more interesting that any book one could bury their nose in. You try and think back, why did you like to read and hide away so much from the world. But you could not dwell on that question any further, because soon you ended up swept away by the crowd. Your train of thought halted. And you got sucked, like a whirlpool, into a sea of identical pearly white smiles and modest dresses.

[bountybossier]

Burnt Brownies | Bea & Nic

Nothing really bonds two people quite like baking brownies.

With: @beatrice-blaze

Nicodemus wasn’t social media savvy and preferred the old-fashioned tree-killing method of publicizing his services. All throughout the main streets of White Crest, he had stapled sheets of paper with tear-away phone numbers. Every call went to one of his three burner phones. Given the state of the town with its current problems, he hadn’t expected a call for any house maintenance. At all. Not within the first week or so of being there at least. When the phone erupted in the silence of his hotel room, he stared at it. At the fourth ring, he finally answered. After the encounters with lobsters he had subjected himself to, a little wrench work didn’t sound terrible and he told the client he would be there as soon as he could manage it. Within the hour, he stood outside the door of a Beatrice Vural, toolkit paired with a neutral expression. He knocked twice and waited.

There were a lot of things Bea was good at. Fixing up her house was not one of them. See she understood that things broke, but when she had been living at home all she had to do was tell her dad and then it was fixed the next day. Then when she moved into her house she was simply lost when it came to those things. Usually, she called her dad still when things weren’t working, but he was too busy to come over and she was going crazy from the constant sound of the leaky sink. She was still tidying the house when she heard the knocks and she hoped that nothing too strange was left out. If anything was she hoped the handyman would just write it off as White Crest weirdness. She bounded to the door and swung it open with a smile. “Hi! Are you here for the sink?”

His face slid easily into a ‘customer service’ smile. Polite enough but detached from anything beyond business. Nic offered a nod as he hefted the toolkit over his shoulder effortlessly. He preferred bullets and crucifixes, but he could manage with wrenches and screws for the time being. “Yes ma’am, I’m Nic,” he said. He didn’t have to fake the tired in his voice. At least the work would be mind-numbing enough for him to fade into it. Briefly, his gaze flicked from her to the inside of her house. Eccentric. He was starting to realize that eccentric would be a good way to sum up White Crest as a whole. Eccentric and headache-inducing. A hunter’s sense served as both a gift and a curse. A reminder that life balanced itself out in the end. “Is it alright if I come in? ‘Spose I have to check on the sink as it is. What’s been going on with it again?”

“Great! Come on in!” Bea exclaimed as she moved out of his way and motioned him in. She wasn’t used to having people over to help her with things like this unless it was Shiloh or her dad. It was a bit weird, but she decided to just roll with it. “Do you need anything to drink?” She offered, figuring it was the polite thing to do. She led him to her kitchen sink, glaring at it before shifting her gaze to him, though her look was much more pleasant when she looked back at him. “It just keeps leaking. I thought it was just the facet, but it’s underneath too and honestly, the sound is driving me nuts.”

The hunter nearly flinched at her enthusiasm. Instead, Nic offered a curt nod and carried on into the house. At her question, he considered whether it was too early or unprofessional to ask for something heavier than water. He went for it. “Whiskey’s fine,” he said, then to be safe he followed it up. “Or water. I’m easy.” His hunter sense prickled at the back of his neck, but the same as anything else, nothing was certain. His shoulders tensed as he turned the sink on and listened. Yeah, something was definitely wrong with. Something lower. The sink was turned off just as quickly and he knelt down, cracking open the cupboards. Immediately, his eyes became intimate with mold and narrowed. Clicking on a flashlight, he looked at the pipes that ran up and back. Loose pipes with dangling washers. They could have just slid, but it almost looked...deliberate. He glanced at the neat stack of o-rings in the shadowy corner. “Hmm. Got any friends that might like the occasional prank or two?”

That wasn’t the response that Bea expected but she kept her features cool in her pleasant host face. She didn’t want to make the situation weird, though it was odd for him to ask for whiskey. He was there to work on her sink, but she didn’t think his work would suffer too much from a single glass of whiskey. “Okay, great,” She replied before pulling out one of her glasses and then going to her liquor cabinet and pouring him some whiskey. It wasn’t like she drank it that often. She padded over to him, holding the glass of whiskey out for him. “My little sister might, but not usually when it would affect her too. Why? Was someone messing with the sink?”

The whiskey had been a bad joke, but who would Nicodemus be to turn it down? It was easy to smother a laugh as he downed the whiskey in a straight shot. “Oh, uh, thank you kindly.” He grumbled as he returned to looking at the sink with annoyance. Something was there, lingering by the sink pipes, but he couldn’t tell what it was. He could feel it though and he tapped at his bent knee. “Huh, might not be her then,” he said with a wise nod. Not gonna say you’ve got a sink saboteur. Only small child-sized hands could really pull off the shit he was looking at. And he felt their eyes on him, watching him. In a house, pulling off tricks, being a goddamn nuisance...He muttered under his breath. “Goddamn brownies.” He looked back up to the owner of the house. “Alright, this might be a weird request, but...” He sucked in a breath before he spoke again. “Do you have a fuck ton of salt?”

Bea felt like she suddenly understood why he was so cheap compared to other handymen around the neighborhood. She didn’t think the other ones would have asked for the whiskey, much less just downed it in a straight shot. Though, who was she to judge. She busied herself tidying up the kitchen a bit more as he worked, not wanting to seem like she was hovering, which she was, but she didn’t want it to be blatant. Her eyes snapped towards him as he made his request and her face automatically soured. Great, something was in her fucking house again. She quickly pulled a rather large container labeled “NOT KITCHEN SALT” down from a shelf. “So what’s down there?” She asked, her tone much less enthusiastic now.

The hunter wiggled his nose slightly before pinching the bridge of it. How was Nicodemus supposed to explain this to someone who may or may have not known what a brownie was outside of the edible variety? After this, he could go for a fucking edible brownie. He huffed in a sigh and cleared his throat, rubbed at the back of his head. “So you might have a problem,” he started, slow and trying to find the right words to aptly describe it as he went along. “With rodents. Looks like they’re unscrewing the washers and taking the o-rings off. That’s why the sink is doing that.” On purpose and with expert precision. Rats with the hands of people wasn’t a bad description of brownies. He stood up and placed his hands on his hips. The kitchen didn’t have too many entrances and the windowsill could have salt put on it. Fuck, she was going to think he was weird. “I might need to use the--” he paused and glanced at the jar. “Not Kitchen Salt for, uh, extermination means.” He quickly glanced at her and rubbed at his stubbly jaw. “For the rats.”

A smile quirked at the corner of Bea’s mouth. It was nice of him to lie to her about what was actually going on, but she didn’t believe for a second that rats needed that much salt. She debating letting him continue on, but he’d figure out she knew about the supernatural sooner or later into this endeavour. “What is actually down there?” She asked, her voice slightly amused. “I know it’s not rats unscrewing my washers.” Usually, she would have done what she could pretend to be blind to the supernatural world, but this was a situation called for honesty. “Rats don’t usually need salt.”

Nicodemus tipped his head back and released a massive breath. Alright, it felt good to have passed that. He was a shit liar to begin with when it came to critters being where they shouldn’t be. He lightly clapped his hands together. How she knew or what she knew about the things that lived behind the curtain, he didn’t know and didn’t think it was imperative to ask at that very moment. “Thank fuck. Alright, so you’ve got brownies. Ever dealt with them?” He gestured to the salt vaguely. “They’re real picky with houses and like to be real goddamn annoying. Hence the sink shit.” He walked over to one of the openings to the kitchen and measured it with his eyes. “And they can’t beat cheeks over salt lines.” He bit at his bottom lip and grunted. “...I’ll help clean, because it’s gonna get pretty bad in here to get rid of ‘em.”

“Brownies,” Bea exclaimed, with a half laugh. The universe just loved to play massive games with her. Maybe this was her karma for spilling all her sister’s secrets to Alain. “I’ve never had them before, but I’ve heard they’re annoying little things. My aunt had brownies once in her home and the place smelt bad for a week after she tried to get rid of them.” She let out a groan under her breath, “I just cleaned the kitchen.” She took a handful of salt, beginning the ring around the kitchen. “So how do you know about brownies?” She asked, curious.

“Yup, brownies,” Nicodemus echoed with an exasperated look. Naming the shits wasn’t what he was in charge of. Just dealing with them. “They’re awful and they smell once they--Yup, that’s the one,” he held up a finger and shook it; a gesture of agreement. Alright, so she knew about the brownies. A good start. “So they’re about to unleash some hell on your house and it ain’t gonna be pretty, but we can get rid of them for good and at least keep them in the damn kitchen.” He was starting to wonder what had befallen him that he was fighting the most child-sized of creatures just days apart from each other. “Put some salt along the entrances and the window, they can’t really go anywhere.” He drew himself out of hunter mode and peered over at her. “Oh. Right. I deal with pest extermination.” A fine enough explanation. “You? Was it just your aunt?”

“Awful name.” Bea remarked,”Brownies are a good dessert. They don’t deserve to be lumped with these things.” She was going to have fun telling Nellie about the brownies that were found under the kitchen sink. With their family’s fondness of brownies as a food, it was hilarious (and very irritating) that the creatures kept finding them too. “My house has been through so much already,” She said exasperated, to herself. After the whole debacle with Greg, she thought the place would be peaceful for a minute. She put the salt down carefully, trying to make sure there was no way one of the little things couldn’t sneak its way out. She hummed noncommittally. “I know a lot of things.”

“You can say that shit again,” Nicodemus huffed. Any sense of professionalism slipped out the door the minute he muttered goddamn brownies. “Feels like a bad joke, but ain’t that just the way.” He didn’t think he had any iron on him, but when he found some small cast iron washers in his box, he smiled to himself. “That right? I respect that. I know a lot of things too. Comes in handy sometimes.” Not quite brass knuckles and he didn’t expect to get into a slug fest with brownies...But he wouldn’t complain if he did. After watching her place the salt, he nodded and looked at the underbelly of the sink again. With the two of them staring at it, he hoped the brownies were getting worried. He glanced over at Beatrice with a raised brow. “You got a lighter?”

Bea let out an amused puff of air, not quite at the point of actual laughter when there were brownies just mere feet away from them. “Who names them? Half the time they have such funny names I can’t tell if they’re serious or not.” When she grew up learning about the names of different creatures, she had always had thoughts on the naming processes. “Comes in handy a lot in this town,” She muttered under her breath, wondering if she would have brownies if she was just hanging out in Portland. She looked at him for a moment,“Why would I need a lighter?” Of course, fire was always just a snap away for Bea so she had never needed to carry a lighter. She felt bad for people who had to, it seemed like so much work.

“I don’t know, but I’ll see ‘em in court,” Nicodemus muttered as he crouched down and looked into the dark under the sink. “Town’s pretty fucky in its own right, isn’t it?” Somewhere, the brownies were in there and they were watching them. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and ran down his spine. He likened it to a killing intent and if he intended anything, it was to kill the damn things. At her question, he hummed low in his throat thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t think they’ll take kindly to fire if I put it in their face,” he said. He reckoned that the brownies wouldn’t be thrilled with a mini flamethrower burning the hair off their heads. “Gonna try and smoke ‘em out unless you got something else I can use.”

“Let me know when you have your court date, I’ll join in on that.” As Bea watched him, she leaned against the counter. There was no need to crowd his space as he looked for the brownies under the sink. Quite frankly, she wasn’t all that tempted to see them herself, they were ugly little things. She hummed, debating whether or not it was worth blowing her secret. Finally, she came to the conclusion that if it got her house peaceful again, it was worth the risk. Snapping her fingers, a little burst of fire danced over her thumb. “I don’t need a lighter.”

All the brownies needed was a good scare and then Nicodemus would be able to sniff them out. The curse of enhanced senses, truly. He contemplated the mechanics of jerry-rigging a small flamethrower together and sticking it under the sink, but that wouldn’t do. Then he’d have more to do than just fix the sink. The snap and smell of flame drew his attention fast, his head snapping up. Well, that was something he could circle as a possibility for why his head was throbbing. “Well fuck,” he said plainly. Tools jostled as he pulled out a cast-iron knife from the bottom. He figured they were at a point where pulling a knife out wouldn’t be weird. “Yep, you sure as shit don’t. Y’mind waving that under there? I’m sure they probably know what’s coming.”

Bea let out a little laugh when his head snapped around. There was always pleasure in surprising someone with her magic. She knew that it wasn’t the nicest thing to find amusing, but it was just always so funny seeing how different people reacted to her. She squatted down next to Nic, glancing under the sink. It was no shock that she couldn’t see anything lurking. She stuck her hand, still with the flame at her fingers under the sink. Once again, she had to admit she was thankful that her mom forced her to put fire wards around the house. “I’m hoping that knife is for the brownies and not me,” She teased with another laugh.

"We'll see where we're at after the brown--Fuckin' Christ, there it is." The smell hit Nicodemus so damn hard he nearly vomited right there. To hell with his fucking senses, sometimes he felt he'd do better off without them. Her flame-kissed fingers terrified the brownies something fierce because the smell of death and all things awful hit. And then the scurrying started. Small hands and bodies slammed and slapped at them as they took off running. The press of something against his hand had Nic jabbing with the iron knife, a hiss and a sad snarl coming from an invisible as its face suddenly became clear, the blade wedged in deep enough to go through. The hunter frowned. As smart as they were, fear made them stupid. And they ran straight into the salt lines, tiny feet and hands scrabbling at the floor. "Huh. There's the stinky bastards."

There was nothing Bea could do to prepare herself for the smell that the brownies hit her with. “Oh my god!” She yelled as she covered her nose with her other hand. She had heard from her aunt about how disgusting the smell was, but she hadn’t imagined it would smell like this. This was goddamn awful. She hadn’t remembered that they could go invisible until the moment that she was caught stare at the space around her wondering where the heck all of them went. It took her a moment, but eventually she heard where they had gone. She aimed a tiny fireball at the noises, grazing one of the brownies’s side. “I hate that they can just disappear!”

It should have been a strange experience to shiv brownies, and yet, it wasn’t. Life was just a series of weird shit. The smell was bad for her too and Nicodemus was already dreading the clean-up that would follow. They were like skunks in that way. Singed skin alerted him to the presence of some of the invisible shits and he managed to stick one with the iron knife. He damn near prayed that no one walked by. Knife in hand and fireballs flying, they looked fucking nuts. But it was all for a good reason. “They’re the goddamn chihuahuas of the supernatural world,” he grumbled angrily. He grabbed two in one hand and ran them through clean, dropping their bodies. The smell damn near made him retch. The whiskey was a mistake and it started to rear up in him. He pointed at the longest line of salt. “The little feet, the little feet,” he repeated. “Fuckin’ bunched up.”

“They’re worse!” Bea groaned. “At least chihuahuas don’t smell this bad!” She could already imagine how long it was going to take to burn this smell out of her memory. She just hoped that her sisters would be out tonight while everything aired out. She didn’t want to hear them complain about how awful it was. She whipped around to stare at the section he pointed out. Taking a moment to try to aim, another fireball hit its mark. The smell of burnt flesh came through and a brownie suddenly flickered into view as it was too injured to keep up the invisibility.

Well, Nicodemus couldn’t argue that. As more brownies popped into view from her fireball, he cut them down until he couldn’t hear anymore light scampers of feet. He held his stomach as long as he could and tried to swallow down the smell, but their blood didn’t smell any better and shit was crispy. It was fine. It was fine. He smelled worse. He repeated that mantra as he held his nose in the crook of his elbow and breathed in the smell of his laundry detergent. “Think that’s it,” he said as he lowered his arm with a long exhale. “At least it better fuckin’ be.” The carnage of killing brownies looked entirely comical in a way it shouldn’t have and he laughed. Loud. “Well, it’d be pretty shit to charge you after all this…”

[growingpaynes-art]

The Lion King 2019 Review: What I Liked, What I Didn’t, and How It Compares to the Original

Non-spoilery overview and note to anyone debating watching this- 

If you’re looking for this film to give you something that the original didn’t, you will be disappointed. This is a nearly shot-for-shot exact recreation of the original for most of the movie. There are some minor changes, but no major differences in plot. 

However

It’s definitely worth seeing- once on a matinee ticket at the very least- if you enjoyed anything about the original. It’s pretty faithful to the source material and the hyper-realism of the animation really is best viewed on a big screen. The comedy is solid, the changes they made to the story and characters were good decisions, and as a guy that was literally raised on the original movie and grew up loving every part of it, i did legitimately enjoy seeing this remake with my mother (who introduced me to the original when I was very little) and getting to share this story that I loved with my younger sister for the first time.

If all you are here for is the “Let’s Go Lesbians” guy you will be satisfied

Spoilers under the cut

What I Liked:

The visuals of the opening sequence alone are worth the price of admission. They’ve lovingly recreated the iconic intro nearly frame for frame in astounding detail. It really succeeded in taking me back to my three-year old self seeing the original for the first time on my family’s little box tv, captivated by the visuals and score. 

Timon and Pumbaa were legitimately funny and are stronger characters than in the original.

They kept the aspects of Scar that made him sinister, conniving, and creepy without stepping into queer-coding territory. They also didn’t apply racial coding to him in the overt way they did in the original.

At first I was disappointed by Rafiki’s lack of a staff in the opening, but I was later pacified by its appearance for the final battle. I would however, have liked to see the “oh yes, the past can hurt” bit between him and Simba, which was absent in this version.

I felt that the introduction of the hyena characters in the elephant graveyard was stronger in this version, but i do wish that the chase scene had gone on for longer. It’s significantly shorter than the original, and the cubs don’t fight back like they did in the original.

The hyenas played a larger role where they had much more agency, and the relationship between them and Scar was on more equal footing. Shenzi was an especially welcome change, presenting a truly chilling presence easily rivaling Scar’s. Florence Kasumba’s performance really stands out. Additionally Eric Andre and Keegan-Michael Key’s hyena characters served as quality comic relief without any jokes straying into possible able-ism.

The ‘pinned-ya’ scenes were re-choreographed to be more like two kids wrestling and didn’t have the awkward sexual implications some people point out in the original.

This version offers a quick explanation as to why Scar is living with the pride despite the typical customs of real lions

The mouths were really animated very well, and were for the most part very expressive. They were a bit hard to track during the songs, but generally words were formed pretty believably in their mouths and expressions such as smiles or grimaces were rendered very clearly without looking foreign on an animal face. This was by far best achieved on Timon and the hyenas, but was decent on the lion cubs, Scar, and most of the minor characters as well. The other adult lions weren’t as expressive, but they’re weren’t terrible either.

The animation of Timon, Pumbaa, and the hyenas continually impressed impressed me throughout the course of the film. They were simultaneously the most consistently realistic looking and the most expressive. I honestly don’t understand why some people are coming for Pumbaa and saying he’s ‘nightmare fuel’, his design was both very friendly looking and accurate to real warthogs. He and Timon seemed to be the favorites of both the kids and adults in my theater. 

The short scene where adult Simba gleefully pounces after a pair of butterflies and invites a scared Hartebeest hang out, oblivious to his own  status as a carnivore, was pretty adorable.

Timon and Pumbaa were more or less confirmed to be a gay couple, and are shown with their own piglet during the ending sequence. This isn’t lingered on for longer than necessary, just long enough for you to appreciate how adorable the little striped piglet is, and thus it comes off as more genuine than performative allyship (it’s definitely better than Beauty and the Beast’s “exclusively gay moment” or Endgame’s Gay Joe Russo). It also helps that Timon isn’t being portrayed by a straight guy leaning as hard into the camp gay stereotype as possible. It was a moment that I, as a queer person, actually enjoyed.

What I Didn’t: 

I felt that the musical score wasn’t as strong as the original. I wanted that first note over the sunrise to shake the theater, to bang across the screen in brilliant gold, and when it didn’t, I was disappointed. I felt this way regarding the score and soundtrack for much of the film.

While much of the dialogue matched the original nearly word for word, the delivery of most of it was much more subdued. I understand that they were going for a grittier tone that was less cartoon-y, but a lot of Scar and adult Simba’s lines seemed like they were mumbled off at the end of a work day and they’d just given up on trying to get a better take. Donald Glover seemed to teeter between Marshall Lee and complete disinterest a lot of the time. 

I would have liked to have seen more of Rafiki than what we got, and I’d been hoping for an expansion on his role from the original rather than a reduction. 

The “I killed Mufasa” bit was done very well- Chiwetel Ejiofor’s delivery of the line was chilling (although not as much as Jeremy Irons’), the expression in Scar’s eyes was very sinister, the light of the fire hit him just right. The following revelation of this truth to the lionesses however was bumbly, and seemed like it was originally written to be longer but was quickly and awkwardly condensed. It really didn’t flow as well as the original.

The end battle between Scar and Simba was anti-climactic. The choreography and visuals were much more creative and suspenseful in the original. The blows didn’t really have much weight or ferocity to them, and they didn’t coincide as well with the score. There also was no sick kick move, Scar literally just accidentally rolls off the cliff. The showdown between Nala and Shenzi is far better- it’s vicious and animalistic, with a few shots having them silhouetted with fire roaring behind them, Nala’s massive teeth shown off impressively in profile. 

From the very first introduction of Scar, it’s strongly and very overtly implied that Sarabi is the one that gave him the scar after he attempted to advance on her despite her rejecting him. This is revisited again when he commands Sarabi to be his queen upon his assuming of the throne. She again rejects him. With this moment being played twice, I expected this to be a plant for a later third scene of Sarabi temporarily putting Scar back in his place, or at least threatening to take his other eye, to replace the scene from the original where he slaps her across the face. Scar and Sarabi do eventually come to blows as Simba and Nala return to Pride Rock, but it’s very brief and sort of just a clumsy grapple without a clear winner, and with no reference to their apparent backstory. This comes off as a case of planting without payoff. I expect that either a scene such as the one i described was originally planned and cut for time, or it was thought that the implications of such a scene might bring the film up towards a PG-13 rating.

I wish that in the more harrowing sequences, such as the elephant graveyard chase and the stampede scene, that we could see some real fear on the character’s faces. There’s some really good tensing of the body and some bared teeth, but there’s not much in the eyes. I feel the emotion would have been communicated better if the pupils were dilated, if the eyes were darting back and forth with the whites showing at the edges occasionally, the ears flattened down hard against the head.The child actors put forward some really believable fear and sadness through their voices, but the faces just didn’t quite match it. I do however understand that this is a kid’s film, and that showing a hyper-realistic lion cub gripped with sheer terror or coming to the understanding of the gravity of death is probably too much for most young kids. I personally just prefer to have truly heartwrenching, impactful, and emotional scenes in the media I consume, and I often walk away unfulfilled in this respect (although, i admit i am very difficult to please in this area- i’ve been a die-hard mcu fan for the better part of a decade and i left my first watch of infinity war almost completely unaffected.)

Continuing from the last point- The eyes on most of the characters were very static. They rarely blinked, only really looked straight ahead and lacked any range of expression beyond neutral and slightly squinted. The expression of emotion could have been greatly facilitated by the use of the brow muscles, dilating and contracting of the pupils, more squinting and widening, some side-eye or eye-rolling, etc. Even using some more body language would have made a world of difference (for example- an excited cub wriggling with excitement, his paws shifting and his little butt scooting in the sand because he just can’t contain himself, his shoulders shaking with high-pitched giggles) Emotion was delivered quite well through the mouths, but almost not at all through the eyes. This made the scene where Simba discovers his dead father especially awkward looking. JD McCrary delivers some heartbreaking cries and a few tear-choked lines, and the little cub body shakes and cowers, but Simba’s cgi face retains a completely neutral expression. Its a very cute, and perfectly realistic face for a lion cub, but it’s a face that feels inappropriate for this context. Adult Simba and Nala are the worst offenders in this respect. Simba looks almost like a plush doll, almost never changing expression at all. Nala looks superbly hyper-realistic, but... too realistic. She’s as perfect of a cgi lioness model you could possibly ask for, but because of this, there’s no intelligence in her eyes for some of the shots. It’s strange and distracting to hear a human voice come out as her mouth moves realistically while the eyes retain a vacant animal stare. This is really weird to me as there are multiple moments in the film where they absolutely nail the eyes- the sequence where Simba chases Rafiki through the dense jungle, several shots of Nala sneaking away from Pride Rock by moonlight, the close-up of Scar as he reveals to Simba that he killed Mufasa. The commonality between these shots seems to be strong directional lighting, where light from the moon or a fire can catch the irises and make the expression in them really pop. Closeups of Mufasa’s face showed that they had unprecedented control of the facial muscles- they moved with intricate complexity under the skin and fur- and yet the eyes were blank. It’s disappointing that they clearly had the capability to get the eyes right and apparently just didn’t allow the cg artists enough time to apply this consistently.

The slow motion zoom away from Simba’s face as he watches his father fall from the cliff face is admittedly ridiculous looking in cgi. This “long live the king” doesn’t come anywhere close to the original. Mufasa’s climb up the cliff is pretty good, but the fall feels flat and unemotional. 

The sequence tracking the wad of Simba’s hair went on for too long.

The story seemed much faster paced than the original, and each scene seemed to be too short, leaving me wanting more. Some of the scenes feel awkwardly chopped or condensed, and some of the dialogue is a bit bumbly. This movie kinda relies on you being very familiar with the original. 

[vetoing-clocks]

Decepticon!Hot Rod Anniversary Q&A

Yes! It happened! On November 13th, 2018, I posted a vignette on Ao3 based on the idea “What if Hot Rod had become a Decepticon in ‘Autocracy’ (and dated Deadlock)?”

365 days and 44,8k words later, the deceptirod AU is still going and I still have plans and ideas for it.

It’s been a huge year for me. I learned a lot as a writer. I achieved some things in my professional path. I made friends in the fandom and got some loyal readers.

I wish I’d noticed sooner that the anniversary was coming up, I would have had something written for today. Since that couldn’t be, I want to thank everyone that sent questions for this hastily put together q&a. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into this little universe I’ve been building.

Everything’s under the cut.

As usual, thank you for reading these fics. This series wouldn’t have gone beyond that first oneshot without the interest and support of all of you.

Anon: So it’s implied events pan out the same as they do when Roddy steals the matrix for the Autobots. Have you ever thought about what happens after? Would Deadlock/Drift’s arc have still happened?

Fun fact: I’ve got this whole AU planned up to the point in which “Transformers: Lost Light” ended. Saying more would be a spoiler.

@kyrinthewarrior​: How did you come up with the idea of Thunderbird and Doctor?

Last year I was writing a canon divergent TFP fic (that’s been on hiatus for over a year, I’m so sorry) in which Starscream realized that he’d never, ever win and decided to become neutral. One of the plot points in it was that Starscream accidentally inspired the Vehicons to start a liberation movement, which included taking names and picking the pronouns they felt fit each one best. Doctor is a character from there, but the name’s different in that fic (hasn’t shown up yet in that fic, actually). I didn’t see any reason to invent a new character to be the medic in Pache when I could just grab one that already existed.

Thunderbird was, like every TF OC I make, an accident. I needed a character with information that could interact with Hot Rod and tell him the things he had no way of finding out on his own (the Great Carrot knows I love Rod, but he’s not in charge of anything that would give him access to privileged information). Now, we have plenty of cold and serious calculating characters, so I decided to write someone that would purposefully try to get everyone to think he’s harmless and good. Someone you’d want to be friends with and would never ever suspect of having a mental file in which he keeps every sign of weakness you’ve displayed around them and who would sell you to Satan for a corn chip if they felt the corn chip was more important than you. Then I went to my list of potential OC names, picked the one I liked best, and Thunderbird was born. The heelys, though, are there because I find them funny (this AU, like many things I do, runs on a delicate balance of things that I love to read, things I find fascinating to explore, and things that appeal to my sense of humor).

@marsreds​: Favorite line you've published?

“I’m sorry, but I love you.”

@marsreds​: Favorite line you've written?

Oof, this is hard, but I’m gonna go with, “Because something has to matter. Because something has to be done. Because there’s nothing else I can do.”

Although I’m also terribly fond of Doctor’s lines about why Medicine’s patron is Adaptus, not Primus. I have a whole mental essay about why Primus being Medicine’s patron doesn’t work, and I’m turning it into a fic one day.

@marsreds​: What do you look forward most to writing?

In general, any bit that foreshadows unwritten fics, or any bit that’s a callback to a previus story (especially when it’s a fic I haven posted yet). Basically, bits that should be rewarding to anyone that decides to re-read the series.

@marsreds​: What even set you off to make this au in the first place?

We were on Discord and someone started talking about how easily Hot Rod could have become a Decepticon. We started talking about how some things would have gone differently, but also how we could keep the canon timeline pretty much the same, and it led to “Hot Rod realizes how messed up their faction has become, so he steals the Matrix anyway and gets shot.” That’s when a line started forming in my mind and I had to write it. 90 minutes later, “The cold” had been written, and from there I had to keep playing in the sandbox. There was too much to explore.

@marsreds​: Can you believe that we didn't know each other when you published the first installment of this?

Wait, we didn’t????????? Didn’t you link me to the server where this whole thing started?

Huh. Wow. You’ve been so present throughout all the plotting that I guess I can’t picture this without you at the beginning.

@marsreds​: What's something that surprised you while you were writing it?

How much it grew. Not as a plotline, but as a world. This was supposed to be an exploration of the progressive distortion of the Decepticon ideal disguised as a hotlock slowburn. I’d maybe throw in one or two OCs from “Such a big deal, though” to make the world seem more populated and believable. Then I was writing “Crash and burn” and I realized I couldn’t really talk about the Decepticons without the Decepticons, but I didn’t know enough about canon characters to fill the world with recognizable names, which forced me to create my own characters. They were supposed to be background characters, show up for a couple scenes, fulfill their roles and disappear forever, and instead they had personalities, alt-modes, and whole stories inside my mind that I can only hint at. It went from feeling like my little AU fanfic to my own alternate timeline, like maybe Brainstorm’s briefcase made it exist and it’s as “real” as everything that’s been published and has aired throughout the years.

Connected to that, I’ve also been surprised by the reaction to this bigger world. I’ve seen someone include Doctor and Thunderbird in their own AU. You declared Crystal Wing your favorite and get super protective of him. I’ve been asked what Thunderbird looks like, and everyone seems fascinated by him. It makes it all feel more and more like its own canon timeline that simply hasn’t been recognized by Hasbro, and that makes me happy.

@marsreds​: Something you would've done differently?

Not really? Nothing that can’t be edited, like the writing in “Alive”, or the bits I’ll eventually add to “Crash and burn” and “Nightlight”.

@marsreds​: How do you come up with names for things?

For characters, I mostly use rollercoasters. I went on Wikipedia one day, found a list of rollercoasters, and wrote down all the names that sounded like they could be used for OCs. Some have been given by others and one is a very unsubtle historical reference that made me feel embarrassed by how shameless it was (there’s a while until you see that name, though).

For places, I think of what happens in the fic in which they’re first named. Then I think of something associated to the events, or to the description of the planet, and then I pick a word that alludes to said events/description and which amuses me. Basically, every planet name is a joke/reference/unsubtle-nod-to-the-plot. All of them. Not very funny jokes, sure, but definitely things that made me feel very clever.

@marsreds​: Am i a good editor and do i actually contribute to the process or are you just humoring me?

Mars, if you didn’t contribute to the process I could just ignore you. When I disagree with your suggestions, I tell you so. When your suggestions make me cry inside but I agree they’re good, I follow them. When your suggestions add to the story, I gladly include them. You’re stuck as my editor until you get sick of me.

@marsreds​: Are hotlock gonna be invited to the thunderdice wedding?

Hot Rod and Deadlock won’t be invited to the thunderdice wedding.

But if there was any way for Hot Rod and Deadlock to be invited, they’d be invited by the groom. The bride doesn’t want to see Deadlock ever again.

@marsreds​: If you had to make a thesis statement for this au, what would it be?

Kindness. That might sound odd in what’s mostly been a slow burn set during a war, but kindness is what everything is built on here. Hot Rod cares about people, cares even when it might get him killed, because somebody has to. Back in Nyon, it was him and the other gutter mechs looking after each other. In “Crash and burn”, his kindness is what saved him, the fact that others remembered what he’d done for them. His kindness is what makes him stand out to Deadlock. It’s his kindness that makes him start doubting the cause and eventually steal the Matrix.

But it’s not only him. Deadlock doesn’t know how to be kind, but he can follow Hot Rod’s lead, follow his example until he can perform kindness on his own. Doctor is in Medicine for selfish reasons, but still goes and puts medgrade in Hot Rod’s hands when he looks like shit, and forces Thunderbird to take care of himself despite knowing he’s a bastard. Thunderbird cares only about himself and his best friend, but he doesn’t see any reason to be rude to people that might be dead the next day.

Kindness is not a weakness and there’s no mold for it. Kindness doesn’t mean never fighting, or never doing anything bad. It just means that, if there’s a good thing you can do, a good thing you know you can do, and there’s no reason not to do it, you should do it. It may never be repaid or it might save your life. You put some good in the world because somebody has to do it. And maybe in the real world kindness won’t be rewarded as it should, but this is fiction, and I’m allowed to write a world in which kindness is valued, even during something as terrible as a war, because it’s a promise, it’s hope, it’s something to hold on to and to remind you that things aren’t always bad.

The thesis is: Hot Rod was kind, and that was the right course of action.

@marsreds​: What would be this au's theme song?

Be More Kind - Frank Turner

@marsreds​: What's deadlock's favourite thing about hot rod? and hot rod's about deadlock?

Deadlock likes that Hot Rod lets him bite him.

Just kidding. Can I say kindness again? But yeah. The fact that Hot Rod cares for everyone. Deadlock came from the streets and was used to nobody giving a damn about him. He joined the Decepticons and got used to being valued for being a fighter. Enter Hot Rod, who values everyone no matter their rank, simply because they’re on his faction. The moment Hot Rod knows you’re on his side, you become one of his people. He’ll take care of you. To Deadlock, Hot Rod is a shelter.

As for Hot Rod? He likes how reliable Deadlock is. He likes that Deadlock seems to have clear loyalties and principles and he sticks to them. If Deadlock says he’s going to follow you until the end of the universe, you can be sure he will. If Deadlock decides to help you, he’ll be there no matter what. If Deadlock has decided that something is wrong, then you can be sure he won’t be looking for loopholes that allow him to do it anyway. He likes that Deadlock is there for him and will always be there for him as long as he deserves it. To Hot Rod, Deadlock is a pillar.

@marsreds​: Objectively, is deadlock considered hot in this universe? (i know hot rod's considered attractive but that's just his personality)

This one technically goes against my “How do I interact with my fiction” rules, because it refers to a detail I’m probably never showing/implying in the text.

What I’m saying is: you are free to ignore this answer if you don’t like it.

It amuses me to think Deadlock is average, physically speaking. People like his face when he’s not doing the murdercat expression, but he’s almost always doing the murdercat expression and has the social skills of a toothpick.

It also amuses me to think that the Autobots think he looks edgy. It’s the bad boy appeal. Hot Rod would find that hilarious.

@marsreds​: What do you like the most about their relationship that is present in this au but not in canon(ish) iterations of these characters?

I wrote three very salty paragraphs in reply to this and proceeded to delete them. Nobody needs that. To be brief, what I like about their relationship here is that their friendship means something to them. Even if this series ended with Hot Rod marrying Thunderbird and Deadlock marrying Doctor, you’d know for sure that there’s so much trust, companionship and love (and I don’t mean romantic love) between them that they’d be in each other’s lives as best friends until one of them died.

@squireofgeekdom: Any songs you associate with any of your OCs?

None yet, surprisingly?

Anon: What sort of key points do you keep in mind to keep track of where characters should be emotionally/in their arc when you're writing stories set at very different points in time, and not necessarily writing them in linear order? It's all very much coherent character/relationship arcs and I'm just very impressed - and the cohesiveness overall. Are there themes that you try to keep consistent across stories to build that?

Pre-Matrix stealing I have a clear idea of how things progress relating to key events, because it’s all very linear. The first relevant change in the relationship happens in “Triage” (still unwritten, sorry), so I know that any ideas for fics that happen before that will have to fit a certain pattern. The next big change is “Nightlight”, because it’s when the mutual pining starts. Before that, it’s only Hot Rod being invested in their friendship. Then it’s only mutual pining until “Declaration...”, and from then on things are mostly stable until “Home” (also unwritten, sorry again).

The hotlock dynamic progresses with their feelings. The only important thing I have to keep in mind is that they must be friends first and love interests second. If I can’t believe that these two genuinely like each other, then it’s time for a re-write. Cybertronians have long lives, which means their friendship must deepen as time passes, and so I can have them noticing or knowing more about each other the later in the timeline a fic is set.

Relating to OCs, there are key elements that will never ever change and which form the base of the interactions. For example, Doctor’s only goal in life is to survive; related to that, Doctor is unimpressed by, but extremely wary of, Thunderbird, despises Deadlock (I’m not talking funny rivalry, I’m talking a feeling that borders on disgust, of finding a person that so absolutely opposes the core of your being that you daydream of beating their face to a pulp and leaving them out for the wolves), and is fond of Hot Rod despite being certain he’ll get himself killed one day. Thunderbird likes to know things for the sake of knowing things and thinks life is one big cosmic joke and that taking it seriously is a mistake; because of that, he’s curious about Hot Rod and really wants to know what will become of him, is reluctanctly fascinated by Doctor, and the only person he loves besides himself is Crystal Wing. Crystal Wing is so slow that he knows he has to use his time wisely, so he’s always in a good mood (it takes too long to overcome a negative emotion), likes everyone immediately (it’s faster to dislike someone than learn to like them), and always says exactly what he means without adornments or metaphors.

As for plotting, I keep notes of key events and the rest is fluid. I know what’s going to happen in “Home”, so I’m free to foreshadow it when I get the chance. I know what happened in “Triage”, so I can write callbacks if I feel they fit the story.

About themes... There are a lot of things this AU is about, but off the top of my head I can mention:

Kindness

Making one (1) person the key to your emotional development is fucked up

Who we are and who we become can’t be traced back to one moment. We’re all the result of thousands of interactions and events that pile up and which we choose to see in a certain way to justify the person we are or want to be

Friendship!

Everything I write must be in accordance to these ideas. Themes and cohesiveness go before everything else, even my own ego and need for approval. Surprising my audience is not as important as feeling I respected the characters and the story.

@choomchoom: Is Hot Rod’s history as an insurgency leader in Nyon commonly known amongst the Decepticons? If not, how did Deadlock find out?

Yes and no. This might count as a spoiler? Stop reading here if you don’t want to know absolutely anything about fics that I’ll write someday.

When Hot Rod arrived, his past was used as propaganda. “Look at the mech we brought in. Someone willing to do whatever it takes in the fight against the Autobots.” Anyone who was around high command or near the area when Hot Rod joined the Decepticons knows his past. After that, it was part of the information in the starter pack. After a while, it wasn’t relevant anymore, and so newer recruits don’t know about his past and might have only heard about this crazy mech that drags injured soldiers out of the battlefield.

@choomchoom: Also if no one has asked about music yet I would love some song recs to cry and swoon to the next time you post an update.

I have a playlist that’s 95% somewhat serious and/or shippy songs (the remaining 5% is “Despacito” and I have no regrets).

Highlights from it include:

The already linked “Be More Kind”, which is this AU’s thesis

The hotlock theme is Los Tres’ “Amor Violento” (loose translation of relevant lyrics: “I’ll spend my whole life in buying yours [...] Love will have to wait for a good while to rest from you and I [...] Because a violent love blinded us / A violent love fulminated us”)

For the post-Matrix stealing to the point at which the war ends, the song is Silversun Pickups’ “Growing Old Is Getting Old”. It also fits for that point at which you realize that your faction has strayed from its original vision

For the Decepticons in the beginning, Los Prisioneros’ “El Baile De Los Que Sobran” (”Join the dance of the left overs / Nobody’s going to miss us / Nobody truly wanted to help us / When we were small we were told / ‘Make studying your game’ / Men are brothers and must work together [...] And it wasn’t so true / Because in the end those games were for others / That ended up with laurels and a future / And left my friends kicking rocks”)

A bit of a post-Nyon mood: Coldplay’s “42″

[the-light-followed]

MORT (1987) [DISC. #4; DEATH #1]

“‘Why did you have to save me?’  The answer worried him.  He thought about it as he squelched all the way home.  …As he lay shivering in bed it settled in his dreams like an iceberg. In the midst of his fever he muttered, ‘What did he mean, FOR LATER?’”

Rating: 6/10

Standalone Okay: Yes

Read First: Sure, why not!

Discworld Books Masterpost: [x]

* * * * * * * * * *

I’m just going to get it out of the way right off the bat: as much as I hate to admit it, the Death books are my least favorite of the Discworld sub-series.  (I mean, I still love them, a lot, but I don’t love them as much.)  And I know, I know—Death is an excellent character, and I love all of his cameos in the other Discworld books.  I love Susan Sto Helit, because I’m a sensible human lady with eyes and I recognize a brilliant, beautiful powerhouse of a woman when I read about her.  But the Death books just…aren’t my favorite.

And it’s doubly strange that I still think that’s true, even though Reaper Man might be my favorite Discworld book, depending on the day.  It’s definitely top three.

Mort, though, is—kind of boring.  Actually, no.  Let me rephrase that, without the italics this time: Mort is kind of boring.  The story itself is unique, and the concept is fantastically interesting, and I’m almost sad about that.  Because Mort, the character, is unimpressive.  I spend half the time reading this book wanting to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.  It might just be that he’s a teenage idiot—I do sort of have the same feeling with him (and especially all his interactions with Princess Keli) that I do any time I’m forced to read Romeo and Juliet. It’s a sort of constant, high-pitched, internal shriek of rage and distress.

Stop that!  Stop what you’re doing right now!  Grow some common goddamn sense!!

But he never does.  I am continually disappointed.

Even beyond his regrettable life choices, the kid is just dull.  Some early text flavor we get for Mort includes gems such as: “Mort was interested in lots of things.  Why people’s teeth fitted together so neatly, for example.  He’d given that one a lot of thought.  Then there was the puzzle of why the sun came out during the day, instead of at night when the light would come in useful.  He knew the standard explanation, which somehow didn’t seem satisfying.”

Yikes, buddy.  Yikes. Might as well be interested in watching paint dry.

It’s wild to me that of everyone and everything involved in Mort, Pratchett picked—well, Mort—to be his main character.  Mort, who complains that he’s not an ordinary human being living an ordinary human life.  He’s got a super awesome thing going for him, given that he’s Death’s actual apprentice, and he wants to be normal and boring?  By the time he makes this complaint, he’s already messed up reality and, frankly, a very easy job by being a lovestruck twit over a girl whose eyes he met exactly once across a crowded room—just before her father was brutally murdered.  He’s clearly already the king of bad decision-making.  It’s baffling that he wants to be even more boring, too.

We’ve got so many cool and interesting characters that we could have focused on instead!  Actual, literal Death!  Ysabell, his immortally teenage daughter, who’s been sixteen for thirty-five years!  We’ve even got Albert, a formerly great and terrible wizard so terrified of death (and Death) that he chose to become Death’s eternal servant rather than die!  Any one of those would make a cool as hell main character.  We could have had it all, but instead we focus on a dunderheaded teenager, distracted by hormones and totally lacking in common sense.

I get that Mort is acting as a sort of audience surrogate, coming from a vanilla human background, learning as he goes, and only just beginning to move in the occult and magical circles.  But I would be about one hundred million times more interested in following Ysabell’s journey from normal human orphan to the never-aging daughter of Death, both rescued and trapped by her father in his land outside of reality, where time never moves and there’s no one to interact with except the stories of the outside world as they write themselves in the library.

She’s a cool goth romantic trapped in the body of a sixteen-year-old for decades.  Her favorite thing to do is read real, historical accounts of love stories where everyone dies horribly.  Death is her dad and why is this book not about her?

Mort, I’d argue, doesn’t really get interesting himself until he and Death start picking up some of each other’s traits.  And even then, if Mort-going-inhuman is cool, it’s overshadowed entirely by Death becoming a person rather than simply an anthropomorphic personification.  It’s, just, damn.  Death’s arc is beautiful and poignant and has lasting implications for the Discworld. Meanwhile, Mort’s whole…thing…will soon be fridged so that his daughter, Susan Sto Helit, can begin her reign as unstoppable badass and also queen of my heart.

Susan is great.  On second thought, I wish this book was about Susan.

Conceptually, everything about this story is wonderful.  I love the plot elements, the concept itself is so unique and executed well, and Mort does an amazing job of setting up the rest of the Death series within the Discworld.  It’s impossible to read Mort and not think about what it means to be a person—recognizing that everyone must and will die, that there’s no rhyme or reason to it, but also knowing that fighting back against that inevitability is built into us on a fundamental level.

Not yet.  Not today. Fairness might not matter; justice might not matter.  But part of what makes us human is that we think they should.  We want them to.  

And, by the end of Mort, Death agrees.

Part of the reason I keep coming back to Mort is that I do like seeing the seeds of what Death will become in later Discworld books. Mort, Ysabell, and Albert—and eventually Susan as well—all give Death the experience and the space to become more than what he was meant to be.  Rather than just an anthropomorphic personification, just a thing, Death becomes a person.  He has wants and desires and needs, and he acts on them, sometimes despite the fact that it causes problems with The Duty—his literal, actual reason to exist.  He grows and changes.  He cares.

Compared to the Death we see in The Colour of Magic, who seems relentlessly antagonistic to poor Rincewind—who implies, several times over, that he is actually, actively, trying to kill people himself—the Death we meet at the beginning of Mort is already a relief. He’s perfectly neutral, not threatening at all.  He’s an entity who performs a necessary service without any sort of emotion at all.  But by the end of Mort, the Death we see is—well, I find him flat-out comforting.

It’s the little things.  He goes fishing.  He makes jokes, even if they’re creepy and morbid and so specific to his field that most people don’t understand them at all.  He likes cats.  He’s a good cook.

[Death’s Glory, by Paul Kidby, off his website. Shit, I love his official Discworld art. This, I think, shows his attempt at making a fishing lure that Pratchett describes in a way that seems—nightmarish at best.]

And it’s the big things, too.  Death makes mistakes.  He plays hooky from his work, which is a bit more impressive when you remember that it’s the literal reason for his existence.  He knows right from wrong, and when it comes down to it, I think it’s less important that he chooses to do what’s right over the letter of the law (though I also appreciate that he does), and more important that he can choose at all.

“THERE IS NO JUSTICE,” Death likes to say, “JUST ME.” But when Death is a person, and on top of that, a good person, it almost feels like the same thing.

You have to love the see-saw of Mort and Death going wrong in equal but opposite ways, both of them fascinating (and horrifying). Mort starts losing his humanity as he picks up aspects of Death, leaving him with more and more of the power and knowledge, but none of the steadiness and impartiality that Death has shown so far. And as Death gains humanity, gains personhood, he starts to feel and to understand those feelings.  

It’s beautiful to see, but it’s also desperately sad.  I think it’s almost cruel to give an emotional range to an undying being who must be there for the end of every life, who must be alone for most of time.

But he gets the good things out of existence, too. Over the course of the Death books, he seems to think it’s worth it more often than it’s not.  So it’s a good thing that even after everything’s sorted out and the humans have been given back their normal lives, Death keeps what he has taken.

One of my favorite quotes:

“WHAT IS IT CALLED WHEN YOU FEEL WARM AND CONTENT AND WISH THINGS WOULD STAY THAT WAY?  ‘I guess you’d call it happiness,’ said Harga.  Inside the tiny, cramped kitchen, strata’d with the grease of decades, Death spun and whirled, chopping, slicing and flying.  His skillet flashed through the fetid steam.  He’d opened the door to the cold night air, and a dozen neighborhood cats had strolled in, attracted by the bowls of milk and meat—some of Harga’s best, if he’d known—that had been strategically placed around the floor. Occasionally Death would pause in his work and scratch one of them behind the ears.  ‘Happiness,’ he said, and puzzled at the sound of his own voice.”

While Death moves more and more towards being a person, Mort goes the opposite way, and I, reluctantly, have to agree he’s right to give it all up and go back to being purely human.  As conceptually cool and interesting as it is to be apprenticed to Death, to be more powerful and more real than any other living person, people aren’t meant to live like that, and certainly not meant to live forever.  Mort understands that.

As Death says, “YOU COULD HAVE HAD ETERNITY.”  

And in reply: “‘I know,’ said Mort.  ‘I’ve been very lucky.’”

Honestly, in the course of writing this all out, I’ve almost talked myself back around to really loving this book.  It’s got everything we all want from a Discworld novel: exquisitely crafted and delivered puns, punchy and memorable quotes, unique and well-written characters in a unique and well-crafted setting, a perfect blend of humorous absurdity and heart-wrenching sincerity.  And unlike the first few Discworld books (especially The Colour of Magic, but I’d include all of the previous three novels), Pratchett is clinging less to established High Fantasy tropes and relying more on Discworld-specific flavor. Ankh-Morpork feels more and more like a real place with every visit, and even the other regions of the Disc come across less as never-explored, baffling and bizarre foreign lands (Here There Be Dragons!) and more as places that really do exist, even if we haven’t seen them personally just yet.

And, if nothing else, Mort is so, so important to the rest of the Discworld books from this point on because it establishes exactly what and who Death is on the Discworld.  He’s a person.  He is, at his core, good.  And maybe, as Death says, “THERE IS NO JUSTICE, JUST ME,” but I think it’s incredibly reassuring while reading the series to know that no matter how badly things go wrong, no matter how much danger our Discworld heroes are in or how nerve-wracking things get, the absolute worst thing that could happen is that they end up in Death’s hands.  And Death will treat them as they deserve.

I will always appreciate Mort for that peace of mind.  (And I can appreciate Mort for it, too, even if I still want to grab that ding-dong dumbass by the shoulders and just shake—ahem.  Sorry.)

* * * * * * * * * *

Side Notes:

I need everyone to read this quote about a party at the Patrician’s palace and join me in my confusion: “In fact some two hundred of the Patrician’s guests were now staggering and kicking their way through the Serpent Dance, a quaint Morporkian folkway which consisted of getting rather drunk, holding the waist of the person in front, and then wobbling and giggling uproariously in a long crocodile that wound through as many rooms as possible, preferably ones with breakables in, while kicking one leg vaguely in time with the beat, or at least in time with some other beat.”

Vetinari let them do WHAT

Sure, he’s not technically Vetinari yet, he’s never been named at all, but that’s still proto-Vetinari’s guests at proto-Vetinari’s house and he’s letting them do WHAT

Rincewind pops up briefly in this book, serving as an assistant to the Librarian.  Is this an important cameo?  No, probably not.  Does it make me smile down at my book like I’m seeing a long-absent friend, even if there’s only been one book so far in the series that does not include him? Absolutely, yes.  Hi, Rincewind!  Missed you, buddy!  See you in a minute, Sourcery is coming up next!

Ysabell and Mort have such a strange love story.

“‘I don’t want to get married to anyone yet,’ he added, suppressing a fleeting mental picture of the princess.  ‘And certainly not to you, no offense meant.’  ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on the Disc,’ she said sweetly.”

“‘Obviously we shouldn’t get married, if only for the sake of the children.’  Mort nodded.”

“DAUGHTER, EXPLAIN YOURSELF.  WHY DID YOU AID THIS FOOL?  Ysabell curtsied nervously.  ‘I—love him, Father.  I think.’ ‘You do?’ said Mort, astonished.  ‘You never said!’  ‘There didn’t seem to be time,’ said Ysabell.”

Teenagers. Honestly.

We get a lot more discussion about belief and reality in this one—Mort himself kind of embodies the point as he becomes “more real” and begins to stroll through walls, or doors, or arrows.  Nobody can see Death wandering around the mundane world (with the exception of cats and the magical community) because nobody expects to see him; they don’t believe he’ll be there, and so they don’t see him.  Princess Keli died, according to history, so even though Mort “saved” her, history (and the population of her kingdom) start to write her out.  Belief = reality.  We change the world with the force of that belief.

Favorite Quotes:

“I?  KILL? said Death, obviously offended. CERTAINLY NOT.  PEOPLE GET KILLED, BUT THAT’S THEIR BUSINESS.  I JUST TAKE OVER FROM THEN ON.  AFTER ALL, IT’D BE A BLOODY STUPID WORLD IF PEOPLE GOT KILLED WITHOUT DYING, WOULDN’T IT?”

“Let’s just say that Ankh-Morpork is as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colorful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.”

“‘How do you get all those coins?’ asked Mort.  IN PAIRS.”

“‘Are you going to send me home?’ he said.  Death reached down and swung him up behind the saddle.  BECAUSE YOU SHOWED COMPASSION?  NO.  I MIGHT HAVE DONE IF YOU HAD SHOWN PLEASURE.  BUT YOU MUST LEARN THE COMPASSION PROPER TO YOUR TRADE.  ‘What’s that?’  A SHARP EDGE.”

“They’re always telling people how much better it’s going to be when they’re dead.  We tell them it could be pretty good right here if only they’d put their minds to it.”

“It had been a long afternoon.  The mountaineer had held on to his icy handhold until the last moment and the execute had called Mort a lackey of the monarchist state.  Only the old lady of 103, who had gone to her reward surrounded by her sorrowing relatives, had smiled at him and said he was looking a little pale.”

“Logic would have told Mort that here was his salvation…Logic would have told him that interfering with the process a second time around would only make things worse. Logic would have said all that, if only Logic hadn’t taken the night off too.”

“‘Why did you have to save me?’  The answer worried him.  He thought about it as he squelched all the way home.  …As he lay shivering in bed it settled in his dreams like an iceberg. In the midst of his fever he muttered, ‘What did he mean, FOR LATER?’”

“‘I mean, friend or foe?’ he stuttered, trying to avoid Mort’s gaze.  ‘Which would you prefer?’ he grinned.  It wasn’t quite the grin of his master, but it was a pretty effective grin and didn’t have a trace of humor in it.  The guard sagged with relief, and stood aside.  ‘Pass, friend,’ he said.”

“The sword burned icy cold in his hand, dragging him on in a dance that would not end until there was nothing left alive.  And that time came, and Mort stood alone except for Death, who said, ‘A fine job, boy.’ And Mort said, MORT.”

“‘I think there’s something you ought to know,’ said the princess.  THERE IS? said Death.  (That was a cinematic trick adapted for print.  Death wasn’t talking to the princess.  He was actually in his study, talking to Mort.  But it was quite effective, wasn’t it?  It’s probably called a fast dissolve, or a crosscut/zoom. Or something.  An industry where a senior technician is called a Best Boy might call it anything.)”

[disasterhumans]

I’ve been thinking a lot about this arc, and what it means that it comes on the heels of the Iron Shepherd’s arc, and I have come to the conclusion that chasing after Fjord’s backstory/patron is the Worst Possible Storyline the Mighty Nein could have chosen to follow in the aftermath of the Iron Shepherd’s Arc as far as everyone’s mental/emotional well-being and moral inclinations are concerned.

As ever I have a million and one thoughts and accidentally wrote an essay, so the rest is below a cut.

There are some spoilers from episode 44, but they’re contained to a single paragraph which is marked at the beginning and end.

Jester, Fjord and Yasha’s kidnapping, and Molly’s death, were a huge catalyst that triggered a major shift in the group. It prompted Beau to begin questioning her moral standing, and how she approaches the world. It solidified Nott’s feelings of affection for the group, and got her to admit that she loved them. It also presented the first real moment we’ve seen her disagree with and push Caleb. It scared the shit of Caleb, and prompted him to actively consider leaving the group again (and potentially even Nott)--but it also proved how much he’s grown to care for the group, against his better judgement. For Caleb, the Iron Shepherd’s arc also led him into something of a backslide.

Fjord’s sense of responsibility for the group resulted in a huge amount of guilt, but his experience during the arc also prompted him to question the path he was on. Even without the letter about the orb, I think Fjord would have chosen to drop his quest to go to the Academy, and may have dedicated himself to finding ways to track down more information about his patron.

It’s still less obviously clear how much being kidnapped affected Jester, but it is clear that it did. And she hasn’t brought it up, and her friends have mostly not broached the subject. In the same way that Fjord takes responsibility for the group’s well-being, Jester takes responsibility for their happiness. And that means she ends up obfuscating and burying her own feelings. She experienced a small crisis of faith, but was not only renewed in it, but sent down a path to further amplify it.

And then, with everyone in various states of emotional and moral vulnerability, they immediately throw themselves into a Lovecraftian horror plot. And, yes, to some extent they accidentally tripped into the particulars of their circumstance. But even if their trip to the docks had gone smoothly and as planned, the road would have still led to Avantika eventually. And so we’re in the middle of Fjord’s story, with Nott genuinely wanting to provide unconditional support to her friends. And Caleb expressing a similar dedication, having recently come out of relying on tactics learned from Trent to a greater extent. And Beau is still cutting her teeth on the idea of wanting to leave places “better than she found them,” while also being generally ride or die for her friends. Meanwhile, Fjord is still experiencing a lot of guilt, and putting a lot of responsibility on his shoulders (and having a lot of responsibility thrust upon him by circumstance). But he’s also clearly scared of the thought that he’s “the leader,” and is not much more interested in holding that position than Caleb is/was. And Jester’s feelings for Fjord are growing, and she’s continuing to suppress any negative emotions.

The obstacles they encounter as they meet Avantika and are forced to join her crew end up pushing all of these buttons. Avantika knows what she’s doing, where she’s going, and far more about Uk’otoa than Fjord does. And leaving all else aside, the fact that Fjord is meeting someone who understands what’s happening to him is appealing, and perhaps even comforting. Between this and the fact that he’s the only sailor of the Nein, he effectively becomes the liaison between the group and Avantika, meaning that Fjord is both holding himself to extremely high expectations, and that he’s vulnerable to the group’s expectations of him. At the same time, Avantika brings out Jester’s jealousy (and I’m sure that once she caught onto it, Avantika was very deliberately riling Jester up), which in turn prompts Fjord to notice/more seriously consider the idea that Jester likes him. This puts Jester in a complicated position during this arc. She’s supportive of Fjord, and wants to help him on his journey--which means that she doesn’t want to get in the way of Fjord being with Avantika, if that’s what he really wants. Her jealousy both clouds her perception of what the dynamic between the two of them is, and prevents her from feeling like she can intervene. In the moments when Fjord could have used someone to check him on how his decisions might be impacting his own well-being, Jester may have felt like it wasn’t her place to speak up, or may have been unsure how to navigate those waters (pun mostly not intended).

Caleb, relatively fresh out of the crucible that was the Iron Shepherd’s arc, still has a lot of conflicted feelings. He hasn’t left the group, which means that in order to stay with the group he has convinced himself that they are crucial to him achieving his goals. This also means that beyond the passive deference he had with the group early on, especially post-episode 13, his deference to the group has become active. He doesn’t just go along with helping Fjord, he actively encourages him, and promises Fjord that the group is with him. He is constantly checking in and asking Fjord what he wants the next step to be. But as the group find themselves mired in a situation that is characterized by precarious power imbalances and manipulation, Caleb once again feels required to call upon his calculating tactics he learned in similar situations. He goes along with Fjord’s plans even where they might be morally questionable (because Caleb is truly Neutral in the sense that he seems not to care much one way or the other where morals are concerned), and offers up his skills without prompting (e.g. his Firebolt intimidation during their actual piracy). Caleb pushes Fjord to make calls that may be detrimental to Fjord’s mental/emotional well-being, because it serves the well-being of the group (and by extension, Fjord), in the long run.

[***Spoilers] As the situation gets more and more precarious, and they get pulled deeper into what is clearly turning into a power-quest for Fjord, Caleb reaches deeper into skills he feels he needs to survive the situation. And I think Fjord’s clear curiosity and interest in obtaining power emboldens Caleb in his own pursuits. The Blood Pact is a culmination of this tension--this arc has made it clear not only how far Fjord is willing to go, but also that Fjord understands what it means to rely on others to achieve his goals. I don’t think anyone who read that scene as Caleb being manipulative are wrong or off base. But it’s not at all possible that Fjord didn’t know what Caleb was doing. And in fact, I think the reason Caleb even approached the situation that way is because he knew Fjord would understand it and respect it. [Spoilers***]

Beau is in a complicated position during this arc. She’s simultaneously feeling supportive of her friend and his goals, and also working through her understanding of her own beliefs and outlook on the world. And I don’t think she realized that she might end up in a situation where those things were at odds with each other. Beau may not be inherently opposed to Fjord pursuing power, but I also think there’s a disinclination on Beau’s part to question Fjord’s actions, because she actually does trust him, and isn’t interested in “controlling” him. The situation also means she’s not really in a position to “leave places better than she found them.” The encounter at the docks was a disaster, and it did give her pause, and prompt her to reassess her actions. But then the group ended up effectively shanghaied, and robbed of agency in a rotation of shady/creepy situations and places. The best she could do at maintaining some control over her new moral path was committing to pirating a ship “non-violently” (or at least non-murderously), and choosing a mostly diplomatic solution (as far as pirates are diplomatic) to their Avantika Problem. Beau has not really had the capability of making choices during this arc, and has instead been perpetually backed into a place of reactivity. And Beau is a highly reactive person, and hasn’t yet worked on many solutions to problems that aren’t punching her way through them. (Also, as an aside: people sometimes make a lot of the fact that the Nein haven’t been leaving places better than they found them during this arc. But Beau is the only person who actually had this goal in mind, and I don’t think she has the capability right now to be the moral compass of the group, when she’s still sorting out what her moral compass is for herself.)

Though Cad’s general distaste for/fear of water is more recent, and manifests differently than Nott’s, I think it still gives the experience a rather negative color in Cad’s view. Though he does seem to enjoy encountering new things. Despite having been with the group for a relatively long time in-game, most of that time was spent travelling, and this is Cad’s first time Post-Shepherds seeing what the Mighty Nein look like when they’re backed into a corner. And while he’s grown to like and care for the assholes, the reality of what they’re like at their worst is also scary. Cad is off balance--he hasn’t hear from his goddess in a long time (up until the end of episode 43), and is feeling unmoored (pun totally intended that time). He also views the world with a lot of neutrality, so while he may object to explicitly Bad Deeds, his general response to them to simply put a Good Deed in its place (see: him caring for the crew, cooking food, and healing broken bones).

Lastly, Nott is having a terrible time. She is surrounded by her least favorite thing, with no chance at escaping it anytime soon, and with people who seem to entirely misunderstand how deep her fear runs (and the fact it really is a fear of water, not a fear of drowning). I’m not sure how much this is on Nott’s mind, but there is also a bitter irony to the fact that Nott similarly ready to confront her past, and is now instead surrounded by her worst nightmare. But she also Cares About Fjord, and loves the Mighty Nein, and that goes a long way for her. She’ll support Fjord in his pursuit, and she’s prepared to risk her life to do so. I think Nott would be more likely to speak up with objections to the group if there were any indication that her perspective would be respected, which despite Nott’s commitment to helping Fjord, she hasn’t really seen on his part. I wonder if the group had decided to pursue Nott’s past instead, if Fjord and Nott might have come to a better understanding of each other.

This arc has compromised everyone’s ability to make good moral judgments to some extent. By placing them in a situation where they have relatively little agency, it has also inflamed wounds left by the Iron Shepherd’s arc. The Mighty Nein are currently largely directionless, as far as morals go, but as a group are more dedicated to each other than ever. So in the absence of clearly aligned moral imperatives, their underlying creed has become protecting each other. This means they’ve been less inclined to question each other, or call each other on their actions when they seem to cross a line. This arc has, up until episode 44, been entirely about surviving. There’s no way of knowing whether the pursuit of anyone’s else past would have resulted in a similar dynamic, but this arc has seemed uniquely designed to make it as hard as possible to get through without wreaking emotional and moral harm on each other.

[tessatechaitea]

Batman Loves Superman #2

Hey DC! Stop portraying people who laugh as pure evil!

I don't know what genius centrist character speaks first in this comic book but fuck them.

People love to make statements that make them sound above it all. Statements that let them get away with sounding like a logical and rational person while really exposing the terrible things they believe. "Weapons are only tools." The "only" in that statement speaks volumes. They're defending weapons. Weapons are neutral. They're beyond blame. They're innocuous. Their follow-up statement providing evidence to bolster the first statement, "means to an end," shows that they don't give a fuck about context. What "end" are you trying to reach if your tools are weapons? Silverware are only tools as well, a means to an end, but we know that the end reached by silverware almost certainly is simply an empty tub of ice cream as opposed to a school full of murdered children. Oh no! Look at me bringing up murdered children to play on the emotions of the audience! How dare I bring in a real world example of an end that the means of these mere tools brings about! If your defense of weapons are that they're simply tools to be used to reach a particular end, you can't just ignore that the "end" you're discussing in the most general terms is violence. Weird that people who can't wait to be attacked so they can kill somebody and prove that their choice to carry a weapon was the right one often try to distance themselves from the inherent violence of their beloved weapon. The person speaking is Commissioner Gordon who laughed last issue so he's obviously a monster. I guess he's trying to point out that the real evil has been locked away at Arkham and the tools the evil people used aren't dangerous on their own which is why they've been locked in an armory outside Gotham City. He's come to liberate them with the help of a mystery person who has a sort of claw hand (Black Condor?!). A good writer would reveal who it was because they know that would get the reader really excited about Batman and Superman's confrontation with them. A good writer continually gives up surprising information. A mediocre writer hides as much as possible from the reader because it's the only way they can make a story suspenseful. Meanwhile, Shazam has begun calling himself "Earth's Mightiest Nightmare." See, he usually calls himself "Earth's Mightiest Mortal" so you can see how hilarious his wordplay is. But don't laugh because you don't want to appear wicked to the people around you.

Bullshit. Batman absolutely wants to fight him.

Shazam uses his magic lightning to try to destroy Batman but Batman just dodges because he probably trained with Himalayan Lightning Dodgers years ago. When Shazam uses his magic for evil, The Phantom Stranger's nose bleeds and Zatanna gets severe cramps. I guess magic in the DC Universe is like the Force in Star Wars. It's disturbing and shit. Superman almost gets the upper hand but, as I pointed out how the exciting battle might go last issue, Shazam turns back into Billy Batson to remind Superman he's fighting a child. So Superman is all, "Aw, shucks! I didn't mean nothing! You can fight it, Billy! Stop finding things funny!" But then Shazam is all, "SHAZAM! Fooled you!", and Superman is all, "D'oh!", and Batman is all, "SMDH." But remember! Batman is the king of the DC Universe! So he's definitely got a way to stop Shazam. I bet he's got a Bat-Monkey's Paw in his belt with two wishes left on it. Batman doesn't like to talk about the first wish and why Alfred now has to care for that tiny pianist living in the terrarium in the study. Batman doesn't use his Bat-Monkey's Paw to save the day but if you thought that idea was completely ludicrous, you'd better prepare your mind for Joshua Williamson's solution.

Batman finds the Batman Who Laughs Batwing, flies it up in the sky where Superman and Shazam are battling, and then, um, I don't know. He launches himself out the cockpit window against the g-forces of the accelerating Batwing? I suppose Batman learned to do this while training with the Sheep Hoppers of Aberdeen?

Um. Wait a second. Is Batman the greatest detective or am I because I think I just solved the mystery of the six heroes turned into Heroes Who Laugh.

The poison batarangs all have the symbols of the hero they're meant to infect on them! Just look more closely at the molds you found, idiots!

Shazam escapes because Superman held back and because Superman had to save Batman after Batman thought he could beat Shazam by crashing through the sturdy glass of a jet's cockpit while it was accelerating while only having a boomerang as a weapon. I guess Batman is only as smart as the writer writing him. He should have used his fucking Bat-Monkey's Paw. Later at the Bermuda Triangle Fortress of Solitude, Batman and Superman note that each Batarang Who Laughs has been infused with a specific Batman Who Laughs Juice based on the DNA of the intended victim. What they don't notice is that the Shazam one was a lightning bolt on it and the Superman one has the Kryponian symbol for hope (I know. Lame back story on the "S" on Supe's chest) on it and that they found the fucking molds for six Batarangs Who Laugh. Which means the answer to who else has been infected is in their stupid hands! Unless I'm supposed to believe that the symbols were carved onto the Batarangs Who Laugh after the fact. Which I totally don't even though that would probably be the way to do it seeing as how you're probably going to want to eventually make more than just six heroes laugh. My real opinion on this situation is that Joshua Williamson didn't actually think it through very well. Batman and Superman don't know what to do so they decide to pretend Superman was infected by Shazam. Shazam knows he didn't infect Superman but I'm sure he won't say anything to the Good Guys Who Laugh and ruin Batman and Superman's surprise when Superman goes undercover to work with the Batman Who Laughs. I'm sure failing to infect Superman so that Superman would have to pretend he's the Superman Who Laughs and thus free the Batman Who Laughs so he can find out the Batman Who Laughs plans is totally the Batman Who Laughs' plan. Because whatever the heroes do to stop the bad guys in the beginning of a story is always exactly what the bad guy knew the good guy would do. They're evil geniuses, remember! And Batman and Superman fell for it! Batman Loves Superman #2 Rating: C. If you didn't read this comic book yourself for a real world example, let me tell you how a mediocre writer writes a comic book: first, the bad guy attacks the heroes rather than doing something criminal or evil while trying to avoid the attention of the heroes. That's because a mediocre writer doesn't know how to write heroes discovering crimes being committed and instead need the villain to wave a lot and shout and say, "Hey! Jerks! I'm doing crime!" Or, better yet, have the criminal's entire plan simply be "I will antagonize the heroes for petty vengeance!" After that, the heroes will fail to stop the criminal. Depending on how long the story is, the heroes will either have to redouble their efforts and super believe in themselves to rally and win the day or the heroes will begin plans to defeat the villain. If they begin plans which make them seem like they're getting the upper hand, those plans will always be exactly what the villain wanted to happen in the first place. The heroes will then be defeated again just when they thought they were going to win! At that point, they'll probably need to do the rallying thing where they just fight a little bit harder than they did before and believe a little bit more than they believed before to show their strength of character and will. Because good always has stronger will and greater strength of character than evil! I really wish a writer would simply come up with a genius plan by the villain that isn't simply the villain saying, "They're falling right into my plans," after whatever the fuck bullshit the writer wrote. How these evil geniuses can plan such complicated and intricate plans that rely on knowing exactly what every hero is going to do is beyond my limited comprehension. I might even say it's contrived bullshit!

[kurtty-drabbles]

Misfit au (revealing)

@djinmer4

N/A: ideas make the world turn around. Djinmer4 give me some ideas and now, this chapter exists. Columbina is really smart, but, a bit naïve and I think that´s a combination I can like. I think that Kitty´s group still using the Suicide Squad is a bit cruel, especially as it is linked to tragedy, so, they´re now the Siren.

Captain Washington asked for help of all heroes, and in a turn of events that shocked no one, she asked Columbina´s help as well along with the others Sirens to defeat a super-villain that can control time, It was a very intense battle that highlights each one best ability. In the end, the good guys defeat the villain. (“We´re not the good guys, we´re neutral part” “Oh, my bad, Columbina”)

The side effect is that everyone is extremely tired, especially one Columbina, Blink and Warpath went together home, the couple makes no secret they are together, Polaris is behind talking with White Witch and QuickFlash, Ice Woman is showing some energy to the fire type heroine FireAngel( now making impossible for Tory to make fun of Kitty´s liaison with Creepy) and finally, Doc Croc went with Dark Claw, in few words, both will capture the rogue villain that was helping the primary villain of the week.

Columbina is far too tired to crack jokes, instead, she flies away and immediately spots her house. She weirds out a little as her house seems bigger than usually is, but, then again, she´s tired and everything looks different in the dark.

Columbina saw her couch and shirking herself as a cat would. It didn't need much to make Columbina sleep and have nice dreams, it was a shame Creepy wasn´t there in the mission, but, she can fill him in later.

Kurt Ryder wakes up in his usual time. Groaning loudly the man leave the bed and went to the kitchen to make the breakfast, as usual, except, one sleeping Columbina is in his view. And a smile plays on his face as the woman does sleep as her namesake suggests. Like a kitty.

Finally, Columbina wakes up, again, resembling an adorable cat, and looks around confused for a moment and then her eyes(still with her make up intact) search and found Kurt Ryder and quickly jumps from the couch. “What are you doing in my house? Wait, that´s not my house, what am I doing here?”

Kurt Ryder is so thankful for the acting lessons he had or else he would burst laughter now.”That´s my house, Columbina, and I´m about to make breakfast, would mind to join me?” The explanation Columbina offers is that she misses her own house, which again, Kurt is amused but is still keeping a professional look. Columbina is now trying to fix this little mistake a civilian can´t know who she is nor has any contact with Columbina.

They eat breakfast, well, Columbina had to make as Ryder is a terrible cooker. “How?” is the only question she made and without waiting for an answer is doing breakfast (Ryder manages to explode their breakfast and spoiling his own shirt) and Ryder is being really professional about it.

Once real food is put on the table, she is gazing upon him. The famous reporter of “you´re wrong” is right next to her and Kitty knows how Kurt Ryder is the type to go all the way for a new.  Time to cut the evil by its root.

“Look, Ryder” she forgets to make her fake accent and quickly adjust this situation, however, the accent seems a bit Germanic now and Kurt Ryder is being too professional, while, Kitty is blushing and pretending to clear her throat. “I mean, Look, Ryder, I´m a dangerous person and I´d admit I made a mistake last night” Kitty feels as she just had one night stand and is trying to leave this prompts her to blush again, thank god for the good make up “and I need to know you won´t babble about this. My secret life needs to be kept as a secret”

Kurt Ryder can understand that. “I can understand that. So, rest assured, Columbina, no one will know what happened last night” Kurt Ryder can play with words too.

Kitty blushes and went far beyond than what she was planning. “Look, if you break this promise I can call Creepy to visit you and he won´t like “ Kitty crosses her arms and looks intimidating enough, at least, that´s what she hopes for.

Kurt Ryder is thankful for the acting lessons. “Oh, really?! I somehow doubt you can make Nightcreeper do anything he does not want to do”

Kitty just smirks “Wanna bet? Ryder, you may be strong, but, Creepy is way stronger and the man really likes to protect me” Kitty nods remembering the last event they face together, without her knowing, Ryder is thinking the same.

“Oh, then, by all means, maybe, you should call him now. In fact, “Ryder gives her his phone “go call him now, I think this is something he needs to know”

Kitty pretends to dial a number (the art of faking pressing digits is overreacting) and pretends to call with Creepy. Somehow, there´s something wrong in this scene that she can´t put a finger on. “So, yeah, if he babbles out…you´ll kick his ass? Thanks”

Kurt Ryder is so thankful for the acting lessons.

Kitty Pryde meet Kurt Ryder in the halfway of his studio, a cacophony of sounds are being made and Kitty sees Ryder in the centre of attention of everyone. The man stops giving an order(much to the interns' relief) once spotting Kitty Pryde.

“Everyone, break of 5 minutes” Ryder suggest/order and no one is questioned the perfectionist.

“Uh, sorry, I didn´t mean to stop your work” Kitty starts once they are on a coffee and the man just waves off saying he needs a break anyway and he prefers to drink coffee with her then give orders to his interns.

Kitty is biting her lips as she summons the courage to ask. “So, anything out of normal happens to you? I mean, on my way here I saw Green Tempest fighting with her boyfriend and it was a loud fight”

Kurt Ryder is too amused now. “No, actually, nothing happens with me, my morning was pretty mundane, was the fight that serious?” Kurt asked noticing her shock face. “Oh, yes, I think they were in a love triangle, so, your morning was…normal? Nothing of extraordinary happens?”

Kurt puts his coffee down and then looks at her. “Well, something did happen” and Kitty is looking at him firmly. “I wake up and that´s extraordinary”

Kitty is speechless. Kurt continues speaking. “Actually, since we´re here, do you still want more tips for your show? Making fun of journalism should be made but…you need the right pieces” Kitty blinks and nods.

And they spend more than 5 minutes talking and Kitty is taking notes. Somehow, this begins their routine. And Kitty can say the man is trustworthy.

“You know, when I heard about you, I thought you were just arrogant, but, now, I can see you´re more than that and I´m impressed with how much you conquered in such short time” Kitty speaks and Kurt Ryder can offer a smile mixing a bit of gratefulness and smugness.

“You did conquer a lot too. Your show, for example, is rare to see a show where the humour is not based on racism or sexism. You´re far intelligent than you give credit for”

“I just make fun of Columbina, but, maybe I self-project into her…” her face is devoid of her usual smile and Kurt Ryder wants to know what happened on Kitty´s past, what she´s hiding

“Well, then, believe me, you´re far more intelligent than you give credit for,” Ryder said in a soft tone.

“So, I could be a reporter like you?”

“Uhm, with lots of training I´d not see why not” ____________________________________________________________________ Kitty is back at her place and is ready to call a day and enjoy a nice free night, however, a green furry lunatic has other plans. Nightcreeper is on the balcony on her house far too amused as the man points out the many fun spots he could find.

“Creepy!” Kitty replied happy to see the man, until, she realizes he never actually meet Kitty Pryde, so, she changes her demur to a scared woman. “Who are you, you creepy dude?” and Kitty has the broom in her hands as an improvised weapon.

Creepy is only giggling madly at this. “Cute, very cute,” he said as adjusting his boa and then sitting on her coach, he mentioned, how her coach is smaller than it should be and Kitty has no idea what he meant by that. “I´m here to see you”

“what?”

“Yeah, Columbina called me saying Ryder is may giving her trouble and I thought, hey, the best time to see how Columbina is doing on her free night” Creepy explained giving one of his smiles and is pleased that she´s sitting next to him.

“You knew I was Columbina the entire time?”

“Of course, I didn´t tell you?”

Nightcreeper is on patrol and Columbina is right along with him, Dark Claw is asking for help and the lunatic has no problem in going cartoony with the rescue plan. Columbina watches as the Hyena´s henchman flee in fear as the lunatic is giggling chasing after the criminals. Columbina is really only watching.

Bullets do nothing for Nightcreeper. Knives mean nothing.

And the Hyena even try to run over Nightcreeper, which, of course, it fails completely and the Hyena is begging to be arrested. Dark Claw and Jubilee arrive, having to take the hostages of Hyena to a safe place, and are ready to lock Hyena away for good.

“Creepy, that was amazing,” she said and the lunatic beams at her compliments. “So, Creepy, can I introduce you to Ryder? I mean, I know he won´t tell my secret but…if he sees you …”

Nightcreeper laughs and shakes his head. “No, sounds boring, let´s do something else”

Jubilee and Dark Claw look at each other. “So, she still has no clue?”

Columbina is a creature of habits, she knows that, so if Kitty Pryde has a habit of always meeting Kurt Ryder and talking with him, then, Columbina has the same one. The man is reading the news as Columbina arrives.

“If you want me to keep your secret as a secret show up in broad daylight is not the way to go” Ryder chastised her a little, but, Columbina waves him off.

“Green Tempest and her boyfriend are made up and no longer bowling, is on twitter now” and Columbina´s words are true. “I´m here to…” she stops her dark tone when she looks at the kitchen “AGAIN?”

Kurt Ryder just smiles apologetically. And once again, Columbina has to make him breakfast. Once is done she said. “Look, I talk with Creepy and he won´t do anything with you, it was difficult to convince him but he won´t hurt you, I can trust you”

“Thanks, I can sleep better now”

“But” now her eyes are a bit dark and Ryder has to admit now she looks 10x hotter “I need to know what is your intentions with Kitty Pryde” and then she amends by adding “she´s my favourite actress and I don´t see her in pain” her eyes narrow at him and again, she gets 10x hotter now. Thank god, he´s not on his Creepy form.

“My intentions with Kitty Pryde are the best. I want to date her if she wants me”

This caught Columbina out of the guard. “I ask around about your love life and well, Kitty Pryde does need to deal with any crazy ex”

“Fair enough, but, I´d want to date her, my crazy ex is just that. Crazy and my ex. There´s no love triangle here” Kurt is really good at acting “she´s cute, smart, resilient and ambitious. Many people ask me why I would want her, and honestly, those people are blind, why no one would want to date a woman like her?”

Columbina is looking away cleaning her make up as she´s crying a little. “Well, ok, I´m just making sure as you know…no crazy ex” Kurt nods “ and if you do something with her…I´ll call Creepy”

Kurt nods sagely.

“Creepy?” Columbina asked resting her face on his chest who is vibrating as the man is laughing maniacally “one, don´t do evil laughter, you don´t need, and two, what are we?”

“A physiological question to make. Maybe we´re just characters from a fanfiction, who knows?”

“No that, I mean, us. Would you be mad if I accept someone´s else invitation to a date, would you be mad?” Creepy now looks at Columbina. “Who?” his voice is showing displeasure and Columbina adds. “Kurt Ryder” and that´s the magic word as the man is back to his happy crazy self.

“Oh, no, not a problem, Katzchen” Creepy promised.

Columbina blinks.

Kurt Ryder asking Kitty Pryde is big news for the interns and works. Vera Sweet is giving all the details of the fact (“He was pinning over her, it was so obvious” “True, do you think she likes him” “Duh”)

Meanwhile, the date is going alright. Kitty Pryde is an honest person and she won´t lie to him. “Look, I´m also dating a lunatic and the lunatic knows about you”

“Really? What´s the name of the lunatic?”

“You seem far too calm, but ok, is Nightcreeper”

“You like that lunatic?”

“Yes, but, I like you too…and Oh, I must sound confusing or selfish”

“No, not really, I´m Nightcreeper and I appreciate you like me no matter what”

After an explanation and apology, Kitty understands what happened. So, of course, she throws a glass of water on his face (“really? Why you didn´t tell me this before?!” “sorry, I thought you did knew”) the couple is now talking about future.

Bonus: “So, are you telling me, she never knew you and Nightcreeper were the same person?” Logan asked in one of the hottest bars in New Gotham.

“Nope”

“But…she knew right away I was Dark Claw”

“Logan, this is not a hard thing to discover”

[mittensmorgul]

Season 13 and the Big Bad

A defining characteristic of Supernatural in seasons past was the early identification and buildup of the Big Bad character of the season, to the degree that the cosmic escalation of big bads became a running joke. And then the show itself transcended the running joke with the whole “God’s SISTER!” thing, and honestly, where the heck do you even go from there.

Demons, Bigger and Scarier Demons, More Demons, Apocalypse-starting Demons with a side of Dick Angels, Lucifer and Michael, Raphael and Monsters, Leviathan, Demons and basically the Winchesters screwing with the natural order, Angels and Bigger and Badder Demons, MoC!Dean, God’s Sister the Darkness…

I mean who else was waiting for Fuckhands McMike to show up?

Once you hit that level, the whole IDEA of a single season Big Bad just… loses the power to engage. Almost everything after that point is gonna have a Been There Done That element to it.

That’s why the whole point of s12 wasn’t about a Big Bad Character, it was about the Winchesters finally having moved out beyond the plot far enough to look back at their legacy in a critical way. The BMoL weren’t there to act as the Big Bads, despite filling in part of that role. Same with Lucifer. Same with Mary. The real Big Bad of s12 was the Winchesters’ past, their legacy, their “destiny.” And finally beginning to find some sort of resolution and a fuller understanding of themselves. And that theme is continuing full-steam ahead in s13.

The real Big Bad is the friends we made along the way.

Nah, just kidding. The real Big Bad of s13 so far is Dramatic Irony. But let’s back up and examine the players on the board so far:

(under a cut because it’s like 3.6k words and this just seems practical, if annoying) :P

--There was much speculation that Wee Lil Nephilim Jack could “grow into his power” and become the season’s Big Bad, and 13.01 certainly tried hard to make us believe it… for about 15 minutes. He’s certainly got a terrifying amount of power at his disposal, but he’s such a lil marshmallow and just wants to be GOOD so badly. Just give him some nougat and watch him struggle to understand human morality with his Beyond God-like Abilities. So while he’s definitely a source of Major Cosmic Disruption, he can’t really fit the Big Bad bill.

--In 13.02 we met the Kentucky Fried Demon, the last yellow-eyed Prince of Hell, Asmodeus. Thanks to later retconning, we’ve tied yellow-eyed demons right back to the opening scene of the entire series, and the Inciting Incident of all the drama we’ve watched unfold over the last 12+ seasons. And the last one standing has now also been referred to by Lucifer as the “least” of his creations, yet Asmodeus has had a few surprises up his sleeve-- including his shapeshifting. But for all his inexplicable raw power to even confidently best Lucifer in a head to head fight, what are his actual goals? We know he’s long wanted to release the Shedim from Hell, but to what end? What does he even want? He talks a big game, but does he even have a Big Plan? Halfway through the season, we just don’t know, and as a result Asmodeus reads more like a cartoon than an actual threat, despite his “weirdly strong” powers.

--The Empty Entity, which after 13.04 I saw numerous posts speculating that maybe the Entity would grow weary of sleeping (or of being woken up by other angels and demons who somehow began awakening as a result of Cas’s disturbance to the force). But really, the essential nature of that force is… the opposite of interfering in reality. Much as God’s powers of creation held no power in the Empty, the Empty’s eternal stasis can’t hold power within Creation. Obviously Jack’s powers are somehow capable of bridging the gap between them, the same way he’s able to bridge the gap between alternate realities, but so far, the Empty Entity seems like a one-off.

--Billie as the New Death. I, for one, am SO GLAD she’s back, and that the mantle of Death has finally passed on to her. I’d been screaming about her being the New Death since 11.02, and she’s finally come full circle and stepped into that role. As such, she’s in a position to see the full scope of the Cosmic Circumstance, and her previous insistence on what amounts to a tiny cosmic imbalance of the Winchesters’ continued existence is more like a tiny grain of sand out of place while the problems the Winchesters’ continued existence SOLVES is like an entire beach crumbling away. As the linchpins holding the multiverse together, she’s counting on the Winchesters being ALIVE now. Hardly seems Big Bad-ish to have thrown her lot in with the protagonists of the piece, yes? She still has cards to play, especially after warning Dean about the cosmic house of cards and its current precarious state due to Jack’s interference with multidimensional affairs. Rather than having an agenda to do harm, like the Old Death, Billie serves more of a bellwether role. She’s a neutral force that’s acting within her powers to at least drop hints and warnings to the Winchesters.

--Lucifer has incredibly found his way back to the story AGAIN. Like, why won’t he just DIE already? *sighs heavily* At least now he’s been officially de-powered by AU Michael to the point where he’s become rather… ineffective. Poor thing and his little stick. So far, since he’s returned to the regular universe, his function has been running around Chicken Littling at everyone. Ironic since his main stumbling block so far has been his own personal Colonel Sanders impersonator. *cue all the chicken/egg metaphors* *something something chickens coming home to roost* *finger lickin’ good* It’s hard to take those sorts of parallels too seriously.

Just as Asmodeus is the “weakest” incarnation of a Yellow-Eyed Demon who has become “weirdly strong” mostly through the emotional significance that Yellow-Eyed Demons have held for the length of the entire series, Lucifer has become “weirdly weak” himself despite the effect his mere presence has just looming over the entire narrative since he was first mentioned way back in s3. His power is now largely symbolic through the psychological trauma he inflicted on Sam (and now as of 13.12, on Rowena). His Big Bad status seems far more weighty on a personal level for the Winchesters (and particularly on Sam), in finally confronting how their cosmic destiny has truly fucked with their lives.

Lucifer himself, meanwhile, has spent most of the season impotently locked in the AU, physically locked in AU Michael’s Iron Maiden, physically depowered by AU Michael’s rift-opening spell, and then tossed around by his “weakest” creation and locked in a cell for the last six episodes. Granted this gives him motivation for taking action, but his obsession with destroying Michael still seems to be his underlying motivation. Sure, he’s still interested in saving “the last perfect handiwork of God,” i.e. the natural world, but he still doesn’t give a damn about humanity. As of 13.12, the most danger he represents is the fact that the Winchesters have no idea he’s back in this world, and that he’s not the one holding Mary captive in the AU and torturing her. Which brings us tidily to…

--AU Michael. The Ultimate Big Bad of s5, at the end of the day, was Michael. He was the one who insisted on sticking inflexibly to his “destiny.” The “good and obedient son” who was prepared to carry out what he believed he had to, despite every opportunity to resolve the apocalypse peacefully and just choose not to fight. Even LUCIFER tried to make peace with him when they finally met at Stull Cemetery, and yet Michael regarded it as yet one more act of “disobedience” from his disobedient brother. And in the AU, their version of Michael actually won the big throwdown, and as a result left the entire planet a wasteland. Lucifer may have wanted humanity wiped off the planet, but witnessing the destruction of all of God’s creation was a shocking reminder that he never wanted to destroy nature… Michael didn’t even care, as long as he’d fulfilled his destiny. How… righteous (in the worst possible sense of that term, bordering on self-righteous). That has some Big Bad makings, no?

The problem with Michael so far this season is that he’s already succeeded in destroying his version of Lucifer, and destroying his own Earth in the process. It’s a fait accompli in his world, but as soon as he stumbled across the rift and learned of another world where he’d failed in the past, he’s been rejuvenated with fresh purpose. It seems almost compulsive for him-- Find World, Destroy World. It’s like his Prime Objective, and he’s incapable of NOT living up to that destiny. It doesn’t make him a Big Bad, just based on that alone, but it does give viewers the ol’ raised eyebrow of suspicion, just based on Michael’s past history.

Not to mention, Lucifer’s pointed out several times that like Asmodeus who seems “weirdly strong” (and yes I keep harping on that phrase because the Plum Sisters were also “weirdly strong” in 13.12, and for Yockey to write such terribly awkward dialogue there HAS to be a purpose, aside from gently mocking standard Bucklemming dialogue), AU Michael is more powerful than the version that the Winchesters (including Cas) helped defeat in 5.22.

The fact that Lucifer keeps insisting that Michael is so powerful, that Michael always gets his way, for those of us actually WATCHING the show, that’s just… blatantly false. The one thing Michael wanted most back in s5 was for Dean Winchester to say yes to him. It’s the one thing he never got. Because Dean’s will proved stronger than Michael’s sense of destiny and obedience. Back in 5.22, Michael rendered himself irrelevant when TFW “ripped up the ending.” The AU where this version of Michael is from never had the Winchesters to contend with, and so has never had to confront the true power of Free Will. Honestly? With TFW 2.0 resurrected from the ashes, how big of a threat does AU Michael truly pose? Because from OUTSIDE the story? No matter how “weirdly strong” that Michael is, it looks more like he and Lucifer are playing out the same pantomime they did back in s5, with just as much chance of actual success as they’d had back then.

What Michael and Lucifer DO bring to the story right now isn’t so much their power to be New Big Bads, but their power to bring the PERSONAL trauma that Sam and Dean (and Cas, by extension) went through as a result of the original setup and downfall of the Apocalypse, and an outlet for them to finally examine the emotional and psychological fallout of what they’ve suffered through and sacrificed to keep the universe from derailing itself over and over again. Which brings me to…

--The interdimensional rifts themselves. Billie had warned Dean about the cosmic house of cards that was dangerously close to toppling as the characters become more self-aware, and realize there are actually ways to cut through to other universes where they might find a way to give themselves a mulligan… where they might be able to “start all over again,” where they made different choices that led to different results. But the stability of the multiverse relies on individual realities maintaining internal continuity, and not bleeding over into one another at random. Which brings me back around to what Chuck told Dean when he left Dean in charge of the universe back in 11.23, and which Dean referenced in his anguished plea for help in 13.01, namely…

--Dean’s not only the “firewall between light and darkness,” but he’s been set in place as the figurehead for balance in the universe. He’s been appointed the guardian of creation by proxy, and hell he really doesn’t want the job. And yet who else is even going to try? Is that what Lucifer is trying to do, at least on the surface? Is that what Cas is attempting in trying to find Jack? Is that what Sam’s attempting in trying to help Jack learn what it means to be human versus a monster?

--Heaven and their Endangered Species Repopulation Project. It seems the angels are growing more desperate as their numbers dwindle. They’ve mostly ceased their interference on the mortal plane, aside from their desperate quest to find and use Jack’s powers to replenish their numbers. But considering Jack’s power level, it doesn’t really seem like much of a real threat to Jack himself. Considering the burst of power that came from Jack’s “power up” of Kaia, that seemed to make BOTH of them “weirdly powerful” enough to tear open another rift and simultaneously nuke six angels. Something tells me that if Jack wanted it enough, he’d have the power to snuff out pretty much any threat to himself. Sure, he’s trapped in the AU right now, but even that’s effectively removed him from the angels’ grasp anyway. It’s been a non-issue for the most part, and in the overall scheme of things, doesn’t seem like a top priority concern for anyone right this second...

--and finally, after 13.12, Rowena’s true nature and full powers have finally been unbound. What is she? What will she do with her powers? What are her goals now that she’s finally been restored to her full power? Will she retain reluctant Frenemy status with the Winchesters? Will she actively seek revenge against those who wronged her, primarily Lucifer? Will she make a play for power in revenge for Crowley’s demise? What does she even want now that she’s attained the personal freedom and safety she’d been seeking since her first introduction back in s10? Right now, she’s a wild card, but we do love her dearly, and I’m glad she’s back. :)

So… who’s really the big bad?

Between the season’s major themes of “things that look like other things,” and things not being what they seem on the surface, as Lizbob’s been saying all season, the Big Bad seems to be Dramatic Irony. The story ITSELF is its own worst enemy.

It’s the narrative structure screaming, “What you don’t know absolutely can and WILL hurt you.”

And all of this is being delivered through the resurfacing of old friends in slightly “off” ways. How many characters and cases and circumstances have directly pinged circumstances from the Winchesters’ past? Going right back to the opening scenes of 13.01, and the “vision” Dean had after Jack knocked him and Sam out-- the flashback to Mary burning on the ceiling overlaid against her being dragged through the rift by Lucifer in 12.23. The entire setup of that scene was rife with flashbacks to Sam losing Jess in the pilot episode, the woman in white played by Kelly Kline, the yellow-eyed monster in the nursery played by Jack, and Cas playing the role of the loved one who was burned and therefore was supposed to “stay dead.” But Mary had already defied that assumption, because she didn’t stay dead. Cas didn’t stay dead either. And now Rowena has also defied that particular truism...

Right from the start of the season we��ve been confronted with things from the past, but which only hint at the past because they’ve now either been applied to different things, or they’ve been transformed into something different, or encountered under entirely different context.

--The “Black Spur Bar,” which had previously been Demon!Dean’s hangout during his summer of love with Crowley was transformed into an entirely different bar where Dean mourned Crowley’s death and was unwittingly confronted by a new demonic adversary (dramatic irony!).

--Donatello the prophet, now purposeless in this post-prophecy, post-God world, left to live on without his soul, and yet still doing the best he could in the circumstances he was left with.

--Literal Alternate Universe versions of lost friends-- from Bobby to Kevin, to mentions of John and Mary and their existence in that other world. There’s no bigger metaphor for “Things that look like other things” than literal alternate versions of loved ones…

--Missouri Moseley, absent from the narrative for thirteen years, returned to pass on her legacy to her granddaughter, who’d been raised to doubt her own psychic powers and has now been forced to face what having those powers means for her.

--Not to mention Patience Turner’s last name dredges up questions about who the “Turner” who gave his name to James and Patience may have been, and as I sit here watching 11.16 I’m again reminded of the speculation that maybe it was actually Rufus Turner… we may never know, but heck, it’s definitely not wild to believe it might be true.

--Buddy the shapeshifter, in the sense that nobody is GIVEN the name “buddy.” It’s a nickname, and one that Dean has used many times in the past for Cas. But “Buddy” by his very nature… wasn’t. He impersonated Dean and attempted to shoot Sam. He wasn’t their “buddy” either.

--I mentioned her above, but Billie is no longer what she was before. She’s not a reaper, nor a dead reaper, but has been returned to the story as Death.

--The reaper who comes to collect Dean (and who Dean defies) in 13.05 is named JESSICA. That name is never spoken lightly in Supernatural. It’s a name nearly as loaded with personal baggage for the Winchesters as Mary or John, and again resonates straight back to the pilot episode of the series.

--Themes of monsters and the old west and cowboys and time travel (it was an antique pocket watch that even tipped Jack off to the case in Dodge City in the first place), with Cas now fully reintegrated with TFW, all call back to 6.18, even with the same musical cues, but the themes have all been twisted around sideways and reframed to new purpose. The fight’s no longer about external monsters and stopping the apocalypse, but internal monstrousness.

--We all thought Arthur Ketch was dead until he showed back up pretending to be his own “good twin.”

--We all also thought Rowena was dead.

--Nick’s Bar, where Lucifer chose as a convenient spot to have a chat with Cas about the potential Apocalyptic Situation they may be facing… while Lucifer’s now perma-trapped in the vessel formerly known as Nick…

--The new King of the Crossroads who survived less than the run of a single episode before being dethroned… He thought he could be the next Crowley, and Dean slapped him down with the truth, calling him “Some random demon.”

--Smash, aka Alice; the human dragged against her will into matters Supernatural, who pretty much everyone saw and immediately yelled OMG CHARLIE.

--The return of the Wayward crew, Jody, Donna, Claire, Alex… but now they’re no longer victims of the narrative. They’ve got their own entire spinoff. :P

--The Bad Place. Aka Purgatory Redux.

--Darth Kaia

--A monster auction that put the Winchesters on the chopping block, run by an FBI agent who literally served the monster population, in contrast to Human Authority Figures of the past, up to and including the BMoL who’ve fairly unilaterally wanted to destroy monsters in favor of protecting humanity.

--In that same episode, we finally see a bit of Donna’s personal life-- from her care for her niece to her relationship with Doug 2.0, and Doug’s ultimate rejection of the hunting life when he’s finally introduced to it.

--Jamie, aka Dean’s temporary “soul mate” in 13.12, was also the name of the bartender in 4.05 that was symbolically Dean’s “new first time” after having been “rehymenated” after his resurrection from Hell.

Not to mention Various and Sundry Villains, the theme this season being “Not what it appears to be,” as demonstrated at its most basic visual level with physical masks and hoods obscuring identity, monsters that take on different faces like shapeshifters and ghouls, or force their victims to PERCEIVE an altered version of reality such as the wraith.

Things are not what they seem on the surface, and the entire plot, the monsters of the week, and even ALL the potential “Big Bads,” and the narrative structure itself-- which is turning around and around this central point of Dramatic Irony-- is the fact that even us as the audience to this entire spectacle, with our added insight into SOME of the dramatic irony playing out week to week, even WE still do not see the bigger picture.

I'm cautiously optimistic that a lot of the Winchesters' problems regarding what they Don't Know will resolve when Cas joins up with them again. Cas holds a lot of Important Information that Sam and Dean need. They’ve been kept as much in the dark as a result of Cas’s imprisonment as Cas himself has. But even through the early part of the season, the validity of information they’ve worked off of has been suspect at best. The info they got from Jack's Vision Download in 13.09 wasn't the WHOLE truth about Mary’s imprisonment in the AU. They’ve made several rather large inaccurate assumptions based off that quick glimpse, though. Just like Patience's vision of Claire's death wasn't the WHOLE truth either, but it let to making several Big Choices that ended up having Massive Consequences.

Even when they think they're seeing the Big Picture Truth, there's still critical info missing from that picture.

The entire SEASON is the big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing.

That’s the entire POINT.

[nonbinarysasquatch]

for the critical opinion on ships ask meme: dramione, rethaniel, joshbecca, grebecca?

Ah, yes, let’s see how many people I can piss off in one go. I’ll tackle these in reverse:

Grebecca: Maybe in some alternate universe these two could work out but not in the one we have. They were very toxic for each other and Greg, frankly, deserves better. I think It Was a Shit Show said everything about their relationship that needed to be said. It was terrible and Greg did the right thing by leaving. 

While I do think Rebecca loved him, as long her obsession with Josh and her on issues went unaddressed she would’ve continued to string him along and eventually they would’ve hated each other. I think they were a really good example of how love can’t save a toxic relationship and you shouldn’t destroy yourself trying to make a toxic relationship work.

I do think seeing all the shippers who harass Rachel and Aline have soured me further on this ship but I still love Greg as a character. He’s (in my opinion) the most realistically human character the show has had.

Joshbecca: Josh is a sweet guy but he’s not remotely emotionally intelligent enough to be with Rebecca. And frankly, they just don’t have much in common. The main way they connect at all is via his childishness but for Rebecca that’s not healthy (and I’d argue it’s not really healthy for Josh either.) 

There’s probably a universe where they could date for a few months and have fun but that’s it. They are just too different and in terms of the actual canon universe Rebecca has beyond treated him awfully and it’s only by the grace of the fact that Josh is the most forgiving and kind character on the show that he doesn’t hate her.

Rethaniel: Oh boy. Are you ever like, “Well, I’m about to say things that literally no one is going to be happy with”?

It’s been an interesting journey tracking my feelings about this ship. On my first watch through I was surprised by how much I was able to like Nathaniel, despite his flaws. But then I rewatched and was better able to analyse his actions (while watching season 3 live it became easy to forget things he had said and done and I didn’t pay attention to fan discussions at all.)

There are definitely Nathaniel moments I like. Actually, I still love his plot in Josh is Irrelevant because I really relate to him getting triggered in that episode for some personal reasons. It’s the only time I’ve found him relatable, though.

The funniest thing is that deciding to check out the CXGF fandom on Tumblr was the thing that really started to bring out my negativity about the ship. Simply because I was stunned to find out so many people... shipped them so wholeheartedly. It made me uncomfortable even though at that point I still hadn’t put an enormous amount of thought into it because frankly: I don’t care about Rebecca’s romantic life at all. It’s not why I watch the show. So my attitude has tended to be “she can have romantic stumbles and bad relationships as long as the end of the show isn’t about her romantic life.”

And I mean, that’s STILL my attitude. I know some people disagree but I’m fine with Rebecca having bad relationships and I know some people REALLY disagree but I think there is value to Nathaniel as a character (DON’T HATE ME LEAH) and deconstructing the privilege and abuses of wealthy straight white men in America.

Now, thankfully, my experience with Rethaniel shippers has all been great and most seem to be lovely people and many of them ARE critical of Nathaniel’s actions. So I don’t hold anything against them, and I’ve been forged in the fires of HP fandom where some truly gross ships are also some of the most popular so...

Anyhow, here’s why I’ve gone from kinda neutral on Rethaniel to them being actually something I’m against:

Look, before we get into any of Nathaniel’s behaviour and meta on his place on the show, I’ll just say: it’s really fucking hard to ignore that every female Jewish fan of the show I’ve interacted with hates Nathaniel. It’s not my place to comment on why that is but when an entire group is like “this dude makes us uncomfortable” I tend to listen.

Meta wise, we now know that Rebecca is Nathaniel’s Josh, aka object of obsession that he’s idealising. Which means that aside from any of his actual behaviour, once Nathaniel can get over that obsession it won’t be healthy for him to continue to interact with Rebecca.

Nathaniel sexually harassed Rebecca while they were trapped in an elevator.

He plotted to deport Josh’s father and to murder Josh’s grandfather so that he could get laid (though it’s debatable whether Nathaniel really thought he would have to go through with these things, I do think if Rebecca had been cool with them he would’ve let them happen and buried any guilt as per usual.)

He repeatedly bodyshames her.

He treats her mental health problems as cute and attractive.

When she breaks up with him he fires her out of spite (something he basically confesses to.)

Rachel Bloom has said that Rebecca is attracted to Nathaniel in part BECAUSE he negs her and that definitely tracks with Rebecca’s low self-esteem. She’s also said that her interactions with Paula’s dad factor why she goes and sleeps with Nathaniel after getting back to West Covina, so erm, unpack THAT.

For me the final clincher is “Nothing is Ever Anyone’s Fault” a song which I should note, I like (as a piece of satire and meta-commentary, which is a case for a lot of the show’s morally not great pieces.) After everything, Nathaniel doesn’t see anything he’s done as wrong. I do think he will eventually but the end of season 3 and the title being “Nathaniel is Irrelevant” to me send a clear message. 

I’m baffled that some people think “Nothing is Ever Anyone’s Fault” is a sweet, romantic song when everything about it is the opposite of the message the show is trying to convey. Rebecca and Nathaniel are saying in that moment that part of what has drawn them together is not taking responsibility for their actions and blaming everything on trauma. It’s destructive and toxic, not romantic. And this evidenced by the following scene in the courtroom where Rebecca rejects Nathaniels amorality and chooses her conscience (aka Paula.)

And like, soon I will finish my season 3 reviews and get into why the season 3 finale is genuinely one of my favourite things the show has done (as it was the next missing piece that I wanted the show to cover... they had dealt with what Rebecca’s underlying problems were but not fully dealt with her need to take responsibility for her actions.)

I think there’s hope for Nathaniel as a character. He can grow and be redeemed and learn to use his privilege to help people, rather than using it as a weapon and a shield. But he needs to stay away from Rebecca. I do think they love each other but their love is destructive.

My final thought I want to attach is that... I think there’s something to be said for the relevancy characters like Nathaniel have for Americans. In this country, our real life villains look like Nathaniel and his family. They represent white privilege and and cold, driven capitalism.

It’s not entirely surprising that so many of us find it easy to love Nathaniel and latch onto him as a character. I think it’s something we’ve been conditioned to as a way of coping with life in a capitalist hellscape.

Observe the way people like Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos are treated by many liberals. Jeff is, to be fair, a liberal but he’s also the wealthiest man in the world and his company has some serious ethical problems with how their workers are treated at all levels (it’s not just the people working in the warehouses, I’ve known Amazon programmers in the past and the work conditions are nightmarish and not sustainable unless you are in perfect health and have no personal life.)

And Elon Musk is a libertarian who has donated to Republicans who want to take people’s rights away but he still gets weirdly treated like some sort of liberal icon.

And I don’t want to poison the well too much, but I would like to at least make a cursory gesture at our president, who is a privileged straight white man who openly sexually harassed women, is guilty endless racism, antisemitism, ableism, misogyny and has of course been accused numerous times of sexual assault. A complete list of why our president is awful would require an entire novel to itself...

But someone like our president was able to get elected. Half the country voted him in. 

And obviously... Nathaniel isn’t wealthy on the level of guys like that (or he wouldn’t be pissing about with a lawfirm like Whitefeather) and he’s mercifully not a monster like our president. But I do think our need to cope with our environment contributes to liking characters like him. If people like him can be good inside and can be redeemed then maybe there’s hope for this country.

But in reality... people like Nathaniel don’t grow and change. But I believe they can. And, for me anyhow, this is the value I see in Nathaniel. They can send a message to straight, white men about privilege and learning to fight back against the patriarchy that lifts you up. He can be a good person. But his road to that might be a little harder because men like Nathaniel don’t change because privilege protects them. Why change when society itself never allows you to fail?

But I think Nathaniel will grow and change. But I think it’s important he does that on his own. Rebecca can’t be his manic pixie dream girl (even though that’s literally how he sees her.) Rebecca’s journey is her own and it’s not about the men.