#watch canon get butchered in new and creative ways

[nanawaffles]

What is the worst thing you have done to a character? What is the worst thing you have seen someone else do to a character? Who was the one who did it?

Hmm.... worst thing... my definition is probably not the same as most buuuut I'd say was the time I stuck with a ship i had pre- planned instead of the one that suited the character better. Like that haunts me to this day to such a point that I recently came across the same issue in my new project and had to rewrite cause i didn't wanna get haunted again.

In the proper definition of "worst" however... I'd say the current thing I'm doing to a character. Her name is Mercedes and she's a seamstress, and I'm basically gonna toss her into an otherworldly arena where they put humans against various monsters for sport and if you live you get to fight another day. Literally fight, basically you're stuck killing monsters until either you die or you figure out how to escape. Oh and as a side effect of this you get what's called Orkruz or "sight" so that you see the other dimension in the main dimension as well. Aka you now see all the monsters everywhere. She's gonna nearly go insane before she adjusts. 😇

Moving on. Okay so this also comes in multiple tiers. Worst thing i believe is a writer either completely butchering a creative chance of potential because their character is just "so cool" they come across as being the absolute worst. I saw a girl write a "strong princess" this way, but it just ended up that she kept breaking hearts and decided to pursue her best friends lover in the end. Like... butcher a highly potential character why don't you.

Another special tier in my mind for those who write a good character but then for some reason decide to halfway through decide you don't want them as a main character or love interest, because person B over here is hotter, and so you do character annihilation and absolutely wreck what made them good to prop up person B. Am i speaking of a specific character? Yes. I'm still fucking salty.

Okay third bracket which is what i think you mean. I have two friends who are literally trauma twins, i s2g. What do they do? One of them had her character watch his parents get butchered at a young age, went completely wild like boyo had gone so off the deep end as a result that he killed and ate raw rabbits and his personality schismed into his regular tame self and this blood covered little boy he'd talk to in times of stress. He was a darling normally which made the crazy part of him so damn eerie and surreal, like he would get in fights and unless someone intervened, that blood thirsty part of him would come to the surface and he'd just destroy his enemy in the bloodiest of ways while talking in a child voice. I s2g, I've never recovered and it's been 10 years. Second friend has an immortal, and oh my God i swear she's got stories for this guy-- to be fair, he's a canon character who did some messed up shit, but still-- like he's an elf, right, who for example has to kill his own nephew who is impaled as a mercy killing. She's got another one that was imprisoned and tortured so long by a dark lord, that he's just very very very broken but at the same time he's also (if my memory serves me right) got amnesia and doesn't recall who he is fully. Like he got tortured into brain damage that's what you're telling me.

Who was the one who did it? .... weeeeeellllllllllllll daaamn asking me to out people. I think i pretty much outed them anyway with the exception of that one character I'm salty about. *clears throat* it was Sarah J. Maas your honor. The character is Tamlin, who I really really like-- and AM STILL PISSED CAUSE SHE MADE MY LOVE FOR HIM FEEL CHEAP AND WORTHLESS-- but who in my opinion was the victim of a lazy writer who could've gone back when she realised Rhysand was gonna be the ML (though God only knows why, that bastard BROKE FEYRES ARM Y'ALL WTF) aaand just *made him the ML* but noooooo she chose the low road of forcing Tamlin into character disfigurement turning him into first a puppet then a dick. Like...*hisses* I'll stop. I'll stop. It makes me so mad.

[strongheartmaid]

little Seiya thing

@oopsbirdficced - one of the Seiya fics I’m poking at (possibly part of the Shun raised alongside Julian one)

AN: no idea when this happens or for what fic, but when the bunnies demand you write, you write (especially when there's nothing else to do during a power outage yesterday). Inspired by parts of the '63 Jason and the Argonauts and the '81 Clash of the Titans (granted, the really heavy Clash of the Titans inspired stuff doesn't happen in this section but will probably appear in a later section). Roman names are used as well as Greek so characters that share the same name (or same pronunciation) can stand out

word count: 497

Venus made her way to the scrying chamber, the room within Mount Olympus that the Pantheon could go to gaze upon the waters and view the lives of the mortals below. It had been some time since this room had been used - as the doors to the room groaned in protest as she pushed them open and strode inside. She made her way over to the pool and settled besides it, waving her hand over the waters and watched it ripple until an image came through. A frown marred her elegant features and only seemed to deepen as she watched the images flitting across the watery screen. With a wearied sigh, she waved her hand over the water again, dismissing the images. She could feel the start of a headache form as she tried to process what she had just seen. She paused a moment and turned her head, her eyes locking on to see who joined her in the chamber. "You seem... displeased," came a soft melodic voice from the doorway before the voice's owner slipped inside the room. She made her way over to where Venus sat and settled near her. She waved her hand over the waters, intent on searching, watching something, someone. "Displeased seems a tad too diplomatic," Venus muttered darkly. Her gaze drifted back to the waters to see what her companion was viewing, before dismissing it as unimportant and raised her head to look at her companion. "Checking in on that little mortal of yours, Thetis?" she asked, a teasing tone to her voice. "He's hardly a little nor a simple mortal, Venus," Thetis returned, a slight bite to her words as she spoke. She turned her gaze away from the waters and then at Venus. "He's the mortal incarnation of my lord." A silent 'my husband' hung in the air. Venus visibly startled and stared at Thetis before her gaze returned to the waters. Her eyes gleamed silver as she read the Cosmos of the youth in question. She raised her head, her expression stunned as she looked at Thetis. "How long?" Thetis was silent for a long moment, a look of pain and sadness crossing her features. "I only just learned from our kin two months past that my lord was reborn," she said, a broken note in her voice. "Then why so sad?" Venus asked. "Rejoice for he lives, little queen of the oceans." "Aye, he lives," she began, tears streaming down her cheeks, "but he remembers naught of who he truly is." Venus sighed softly, reaching over to place a hand on Thetis's arm. Privately, she cursed the Fates for separating the pair. "That may be, little fish," she said, an affectionate nickname for the other woman. "But nothing says you can not go to his side and coax his memories back to him." "Do you think it's possible?" Thetis asked, looking hopeful. "I do," Venus said, smiling at the younger goddess. "Now, go. Be with him."

[jostenjorts]

Nathan Wesninski and Mary Hatford HC because suddenly I’m obsessed with them? AU though bc canon them are fucked

The Hatford and Moriyama families are old blood, they go back generations and can be found all over the world with connections in high and low places

So they’re bound to have shared territories that they never bothered to fight over since they were small and irrelevant

That was until multiple targets discover said territories, are made aware that the Hatford’s and Moriyama’s barely touch the ground any longer and overlook it which in turn they make it their safe haven until shit dies down

Only for the Butcher of Baltimore to find out about it and is given orders to go clear out the place

However, due to a rule agreed upon decades ago, a Hatford must accompany him to ensure it was just for a clean up and not to do anything fishy

Which ends with Mary Hatford being selected, as she had the medical knowledge that could be used if needed and had a lot of pent up frustration and anger that needed to be released

Nathan hates that he has to bring along a Hatford, despises how long he had to wait before she showed up and okay maybe his okay with the wait because she’s attractive

He’d heard of Mary Hatford before, how she and her brother Stuart were forces to be reckoned with along with being the current heads children. Nathan was almost sure that he’d met her in passing but only briefly.

Mary only spared him a glance before telling him to hurry up and move his ass along before the targets get word about them coming for them

She knew him, had heard of his talent with knives and had wondered once if he was good in the kitchen

Had wondered if he was good with his hands

It wasn’t until much later when they both got to work, Mary choosing to go round the back and be stealthy about it, taking out all the extra men and women and Nathan making a big show with his entrance to draw attention solely on him

That Mary really looked at him, watched as he grinned when several men dropped to the ground around him, couldn’t help but want to touch him when she took notice of the blood staining his clothes and hair

When she went back to work, she just missed Nathan turning to watch her gut a man, just missed him almost get hit with a bullet because he was too distracted by her

Later, when they were finished up and both covered in blood, compliments were shared between the two as they found themselves in a hotel and washing up

Taking turns using the bathroom but neither bothered closing the door because they were more concerned with washing blood out of their clothes and hair then they were about the other seeing them undressed

Mary ended up needing help with washing the blood out of her hair, since it had crusted over and all she had to work with was water that was barely warm and Nathan hadn’t hesitated to assist

Only if in return she washes his hair and she relented

This ended in them showering together, helping the other scrub at their heads to ensure all the blood was washed out and one thing lead to another

A month later, Mary Hatford was showing up on Nathan’s doorstep, to which he let her in and offered her a cup of tea while he told her to ignore the screams coming from his basement

She did, despite being curious and wanting to go down there and see what kind of creative torture was going on and if someone was down there doing it currently or if Nathan had heard her knocking and done something to leave whoever in pain while he busied himself with her

“Don’t mind them, Lola was bored and someone happened to annoy me. Letting her take out her boredom on him.”

“Whose Lola?”

“No one important. Anyway, what brings you here?”

“I have some news to share,”

Though Nathan was pleased to see Mary, after all it had been a month and since their sexual encounter all he thought of was her

How he wanted to run his fingers through her hair, wished to see her take her time killing someone, wanted to witness her be flustered over something he would say

Oh how he wished but she wasn’t his and unlike him, Mary is part of the main branch in her family, is the daughter of the current Head of the Hatford’s

Whereas Nathan was just the right hand man to the Head of the Moriyama’s.

However, hearing those words had him on edge, his heard them so many times in his lifetime and they’ve never meant good fortune on his behalf

“This should be lovely, whats the news?”

He had a drink of his tea, watching as Mary rubbed the side of her cup and flicked her eyes towards the basement door before they settled on him

“I’m pregnant, a month along at that and you’re the last man I slept with so-“

He was on her in an instant, claiming her lips with his own

Couldn’t help himself and went to pull away to apologise, only she returned the kiss and laughed, dropping her empty cup into her lap so that she could cup his face in her hands

“Glad to know you took the news well”

“Hm now all thats left to do now is to know if you’ll be mine”

“Well, I’m sure there’s nicer ways to asks but our first date was rather exciting.”

“Which part? the killing or the shower?”

“Both, shame a dinner wasn’t involved.”

He laughed, sitting besides her and trying to wrap his head around that he was going to be a father

“Would that be a yes then?”

“Yes, Nathan. I’ll be yours so long as you’ll be mine.”

“Of course I’ll be yours, Mary Hatford and hopefully one day to be Wesninski.”

[gthreepio]

i’ve been thinking about the future of the mcu and realized there’s a LOT that i didn’t know/didn’t remember in terms of where things are going so i figured i’d sum it up incase anyone else was in the same boat!! 

quick recap of (unresolved) mid-credit scenes:

doctor strange: mordo (a sorcerer that is one of strange’s mentors, who by the end of the movie becomes disillusioned with magic/the ancient one and quits) confronts pangborn (the paraplegic who healed himself with the mystic arts, who tells strange about mystic arts in the first place) and steals his magic because according to mordo, there are “too many sorcerers." of note, this guy is typically a villain in the comics but hasn’t been thus far...

gotg2: ayesha (leader of the sovereign, a golden skinned alien race obsessed with genetic purity), after spending most of the movie chasing the guardians for stealing some stuff, is revealed to have created an artificial being named “adam” which is presumably, adam warlock. (other stuff that is less relevant: kraglin appears to take up yondu’s mantle; the ravagers regroup and several old and obscure comic book characters are introduced [charlie-27, aleta, martinex, mainframe]; the watchers are watching things.) 

far from home: j jonah jameson basically tells the whole world spider-man’s secret identity, and frames him for what happened with mysterio....making him public enemy #1. ALSO, turns out nick fury and maria hill in the movie were ACTUALLY the two skrulls from captain marvel (talos and soren) attempting to do their job, while the real fury (and presumably hill) is ... up in space on some spaceship!!!

wandavision: monica (who we can assume is photon) is called by “an old friend of [her] mother’s,” up in space, which presumably means fury, talos, or carol. ALSO, wanda sits in the middle of nowhere reading the darkhold and hears the voices of her children who.. by all accounts, should not exist. 

aaaaand what we know about future movies (i’m not even going into the tv series.....): 

black widow: 

takes place after civil war

nat confronts a “dangerous conspiracy with ties to her past,” likely has to do with taskmaster who has apparently taken over the red room where nat was trained as an assassin

prominent new characters: yelena belova, who will take over the mantle of black widow after this; alexei shostakov aka red guardian, an ollllld marvel hero analogous to captain america except for the soviet union.

tony stark will make an appearance... SOBS

shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings:

shang-chi has never been seen in the mcu before, but he is, essentially, a superhero that is a master martial artist, and in some adaptations can also create duplicate (fake) versions of himself to confuse opponents

main villain will be the the mandarin who we have *sort of* seen before... he is the leader of a terrorist organization called “ten rings” whose main goal is to destroy world peace. brief history -- in iron man 1: one ten rings cell kidnaps tony stark and tries to force him to make weapons (he of course, makes his suit instead). stark and ten rings become enemies and fight a bunch. nat and nick fury fight them too. in iron man 3, the villain aldrich killian hires a dude to pretend to be the mandarin and claim responsibility for a bunch of stuff, but its not the ten rings or the mandarin at all. this makes the mandarin v mad and he has a dude kidnap the faker to punish him. they also briefly show up in ant-man, when a ten rings agent tries to buy the yellowjacket suit that darren cross is selling. BUT IN SHANG-CHI....... looks like we are FINALLY going to see the real mandarin after over a decade!! 

the villain razor fist will also show up, he is lesser known... he has no superhuman powers but he has surgically replaced his hands (1 or 2, depending on the version) with a steel blade, and is highly skilled at hand to hand combat.

besides the presence of these characters, the only bit of plot we know is “shang-chi is drawn into the ten rings organization and forced to confront his past.” so... yeah. we don’t know much at all.

eternals: 

quick explanation: the eternals are an immortal alien race who have been secretly living on earth for thousands of years. they were created by the celestials, who are most prominently in gotg2. 

more entirely new characters!!! their names are: thena, who can form any weapon out of cosmic energy; gilgamesh, who can make a super strong exoskeleton out of cosmic energy; ikaris, who has superhuman strength, flies, and can project cosmic energy out his eyes; kingo, who can shoot cosmic energy projectiles from his hands; makkari, who creates sonic booms, has super speed, and is deaf; phastos, who has enhanced intelligence, and is also gay (and married with a kid!); ajak, who has healing powers; sprite, who can project illusions; sersi, who can manipulate matter; druig, who can mind control; and dane whitman (black knight), a human with a mystical sword. 

regarding the plot... it seems the eternals have kind of dispersed, but have to come together again to fight the deviants, who are their “evil counterparts” (also created by the celestials, though i’m unclear on why). thena and gilgamesh have apparently been in exile, unclear why; sersi, who is posing as a museum curator, has apparently been in love with ikaris for centuries and it seems as if their love story may be central to the film; and kingo is a bollywood film star in his spare time. aaaaand that’s pretty much all we know.

directed by chloé zhao of nomadland fame! 

spider-man no way home: 

based on the post-credits scene in far from home, peter parker will now be known as spider-man to everyone. unclear if he’s going to be seen as a bad guy due to mysterio framing him, but i guess we’ll see! 

jamie foxx is electro, and alfred molina is doctor octopus; which is VERY interesting considering they played these roles in other spider-man franchises, once again stirring up excitement for possible multiverse. 

there have been *multiple* reports that andrew garfield, kirsten dunst, tobey maguire, and emma stone will be in the movie but tom holland has repeatedly denied this... so... who knows. 

there are also rumors that matt murdock / daredevil (from netflix) will be in several scenes! not confirmed though. 

MJ is still his girlfriend and i hope it stays that way!! 

doctor strange will be featured in the movie, taking on the mentor role now that tony stark is gone :( this will be interesting as i.. haven’t really seen them interact much before. because of this inclusion some people speculate that the film may draw inspo from some comic storylines where peter’s secret identity is restored with magic. 

doctor strange in the multiverse of madness: 

scarlet witch is essentially co-starring!!! it’s going to be really interesting to see if they bring vision or the twins into this at all, though i’m not counting on it. 

seems like mordo will be the main villain -- recall the ds1 post credits scene where he is apparently running around trying to steal people’s magic.

america chavez will make her debut!!!!!! i have no idea how this plays into anything but i am so excited!! 

regarding the plot, all we really know is that strange has been researching the time stone, mordo messes with him, and this results in him accidentally unleashing “unspeakable evil.” presumably there will also be heavy involvement of the multiverse, and who knows what kind of craziness that will bring!! 

initially was going to be directed by scott derrickson who did ds1; however he stepped down to being just EP due to “creative differences.” i am presuming this is because derrickson really wanted to make this more gothic and horror than disney was comfortable with. i REALLY hope they keep some of those elements though and don’t erase the idea entirely! anyway, it will be directed by sam raimi now (of evil dead and spiderman 2002 fame). 

the film also reportedly ties in with the loki series (will loki show up!?) and spiderman 3 (which is obvious enough, given that strange is in that movie and those curious electro and doctor octopus castings...)

thor: love and thunder

directed by taika waititi again, hell yeah!!! and he has stated, the film will be “so over the top now in the very best way" and would make ragnarok look like a "run of the mill, very safe film" .... so.... oh god

so many great returning players!!! including.... valkyrie (now the king of new asgard), jane foster, lady sif, korg, star-lord, mantis, drax, nebula, and kraglin (takes up yondu’s mantle after he dies in gotg2)

in this movie, thor isn’t thor anymore.... it’s JANE!!! she gets cancer :( and is undergoing treatment while simultaneously being thor. i’m a little nervous how this will be handled, but i’m excited. (it’s based off an amazing comic series by jason aaron) 

the big bad: gorr the god butcher, played by christian bale! the gist of it is, this dude HATES gods because nobody helped when his family was dying and in need. his weapon is “all-black the necrosword,” forged from the head of a celestial, and allows the user to create wings and fly at extreme speeds. honestly, he sounds cool as fuck. 

valkyrie is going to be made canonically bisexual!!! 

it will explore more of korg’s backstory, and also include... space sharks!?!?! an alien race from the comics.

taika has called the script “very romantic” so take that as you will 

black panther 2

will again be directed by ryan coogler

not much is known at this point, does not have an official name

t’challa will NOT be recast (which i’m happy about) so..... honestly no idea what to expect for this one. i think we can probably expect shuri to have an expanded role. all we know so far is they will be “exploring the world of wakanda.” not clear to me how this is different from the upcoming wakanda D+ series. 

tenoch huerta has reportedly been cast as a villain, but no one has any idea who. there’s also rumors that donald glover is in “informal talks” to play a role. note all of this is unconfirmed.

captain marvel 2

will be directed by nia da costa (candyman!) and written by megan mcdonnell, who is one of wandavision’s best writers! 

will take place in the present day 

will feature kamala khan / ms. marvel, monica rambeau / photon!!! this will be so interesting.... kamala is a huge fan of carol’s in the comics, she is her mentor/idol. the ms. marvel series will also resportedly lead into cm2. and monica, well, monica knew her when she was a little kid. wandavision implies that there’s some bad blood between carol and monica though, not sure why. maybe because carol left and never came back? (until endgame) 

post-credits scene of wandavision appears to tie into this, having monica go up into space at the reqeust of her “mom’s old friend.” again, not clear who that is. this could also be a tie in to secret invasion though, so we’ll see. or both.

zawe ashton has been cast as an unknown villain... a lot of people are actually speculating that she may play rogue? which would be fascinating, as there’s a comic arc where rogue steals her powers and memories. BUT there’s still no confirmation that X-men exist in the MCU so for now i remain skeptical.

they are looking to cast a ‘john boyega’ or ‘michael b jordan’ type which makes me wonder if they are going to create a new character, a “younger” war machine to be her love interest? (note: carol and rhodey are a huge thing in comics!) carol obviously does not look her age but her and don cheadle.... that just doesn’t work. which is why i wonder.

ant-man and the wasp: quantumania 

in addition to scott and hope, pretty much all the major players are returning including: luis, hank pym, janet van dyne

cassie lang has been recast with an actress 5 years older, which is really making me wonder if they are going to make her stinger in this movie! (aka one of the main young avengers)

the villain: kang the conqueror! this dude time travels. original name nate richards. in the comics, kang travels back in time to rescue his younger self (nate) from an attack that would help shape him towards a life of villainy. kang also gives him some fancy armor. his younger self actually is like, what the fuck dude? and renounces his destiny, becoming a hero. and he makes his armor look like iron man, calling himself iron lad. who is a young avenger. which also makes me wonder about cassie lang.

otherwise not much is known! 

guardians of the galaxy vol. 3

james gunn is returning, i’m mixed about this...he really does *get* the guardians though. 

based on the gotg2 post credits scene, i think we can assume adam warlock will be a HUGE part of this. there are multiple versions of him, some villainous and some heroic, but no idea how this is gonna turn out.

no word yet on whether thor will be involved, or if those ravagers they introduced will be involved. 

fantastic four 

will be directed by the spiderman guy, john watts.

otherwise we know literally nothing.

aaaaand that’s the roundup! 

[valkyrieelysia18]

My Thoughts on Reboots, Remakes, Sequels, and Spinoffs

Hey there everybody! I know that everyone and their mother have an opinion on this topic, but I just wanted to added my two cents on to to something that wasn’t going to be that long.

Part of the reason I’m doing this post is because two series I loved dearly when I was younger, Winx Club and Inuyasha, have gotten a live action remake series and a sequel series. Now I’m not here to talk on the many MANY wrongs of Fate The Winx Saga or the issues of Yashahime because other people have already went into detail on that stuff. Instead I’m going to talk about what I feel like adapting old properties as whole.

As we fully know and acknowledge, nostalgia is a powerful force with an iron grip and Hollywood and other film/tv makers are doing their best to exploit our nostalgia for as much cash as they can get from us. It’s considered less work and less risky to adapt an older project with a ready fanbase than it is come up with an original property. Most of the time these things aren’t made because there is more to expand on in either the work’s world or characters or bring a new fresh take to it, but because it would make money. Manipulative as it is, its sound business logic.

That being said: remakes, reboots, spinoffs, and sequels aren’t inherently bad. When done well, they don’t just keep to the heart and soul of the original work, they SURPASS it. There’s nothing wrong with changing things from the source material, especially if it’s to add more diversity to the line up or correct a problematic element found in the original series. Even if an interpretation doesn’t hold a candle to the original, it’s still fun to see what creators can dream up for a franchise. For example, Batman the Animated Series will always be the definitive Batman experience for me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy Batman Beyond, Batman the Brave and the Bold, the Dark Knight, Arkham Asylum, or other adaptations of the character.

The problem is more often than not, these projects are not handled well. As I said before, it’s more to make money than to actually be a good and/or faithful adaptation. I think everyone remembers the fiasco that was the live action Jem and the Holograms film from a couple years ago. That movie did the worse thing an adaptation can do for fans: used the the name for brand recognition and threw just about everything out from the original series to appeal to the modern crowd (by the way the makers of this movie didn’t even seem to understand THAT demographic), spitting in the face of the original fans. It honestly wasn’t that surprising the film was pulled from theaters so quickly. As a Winx Club fan, I can relate to Jem fans now in a way that I wasn’t able to back then.

Now some would say fans can be extremely judgmental and toxic when it comes to any changes to their beloved franchises. To an extent, I do agree. For example, I was almost five years old when the Star Wars Prequels came out and thus didn’t really get the hate for it because I didn’t have the nostalgia the older fans did. Now that I am older and have watched both trilogies, I can acknowledge that the original trilogy was better in terms of story and characters, but those films are far from perfect. And you got to give the prequel trilogy credit in that had a distinct definite vision and that it was telling its own story, not just relying on what came before. 

But in my honest opinion, I think a lot of the hate from fans of these series comes from the fact that these adaptations more often than not seem to spite the fans and butcher the things they used to love. And considering this is where the original buzz and money come from for these projects, it feels like those behind these projects are going for short term cash rather than long term gain.

I think sequel series in particular can come as off very problematic if their continuation seems to retcon or destroy a very good and satisfying ending. Part of why I can’t really get behind Yashahime is because it feels like the series kind of invalidates the really good ending of the original series and how poorly it has treated the og characters. A series’ ending is arguably the hardest thing to pull off well, it’s one thing to start strong but its another thing to carry that quality to end of the story. And even if a finale isn’t bad, it can still be controversial or divisive among fans. Ducktales 2017 is a great series, but even it stumbled in its finale. Anyone who’s seen it can probably guess what I’m talking about. 

So, how should we approach these projects? I think the best mindset to going into these continuations is cautious optimism. That way you’ll be surprised if it turns out to be good, but not too disappointed if it turns out to be the opposite.

And if nothing else there is this comfort for us who live in this time: where canon fails, there is fan fiction. Seriously, I see more passion, creativity, and quality from things I read and view for free on the internet than things that have huge production teams and tons of money poured into them.

Sorry if this just seems like a ramble to you guys, but you know sometimes that there are things you just need to get out there. And hey it turns out this my 100th post on tumblr. So yay to me.

Don’t worry for those who are here for my Rewrite post. Next time we’re going to get to Cinder....AND I HAVE THOUGHTS.

See you soon!

[ellariasand]

i’m not gonna teach him how to dance with you

pairing: frank castle x karen page summary: frank's helping karen with a story. some slight miscalculations put them in serious trouble. rating: t warnings: references to sexual situations & canon-typical violence - no actual depictions of either; swearing word count: 8.2k (sweet jesus) a/n: i’m not particularly used to posting my writing on tumblr (you can find this same piece along with others over on my AO3), so this is new for me! big props to @peoniesforfrankcastle for pitching me the softball of “what do you think would happen if frank and karen ended up in their own version of the landlord threesome situation from new girl??”, because that’s a normal thing to discuss at 1:30 in the morning on a saturday. enjoy!

“You’re sure this is the place?” 

It’s pissing rain outside the pathetic blue Jetta Frank’s sitting in — because of course it is. It’s dark, it’s wet, and the only thing he can see properly is the profile of Karen Page’s face, highlighted by soft blue dashboard lights. It’s cold, he’s not dressed properly, and he’d be at home in bed if not for her. He’d be warm, comfortable, and not packing three different pistols on various parts of his body. He’d be, for as much as the Punisher can be, safe. 

But Karen, despite every warning and caution and threat to her life, never quite knew when to quit.

She’s packing quite a different arsenal as she sits in the passenger seat, hands still covered in glitter from the bachelorette party she’d been at an hour earlier. Marci had insisted, she claimed as she checked the clip on her own gun, just an hour to say hi — but Frank knew better. Just an hour, he thinks as she makes sure her tape recorder’s working, is an hour she doesn’t have to think about what she’s about to do. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

She sounds absolutely certain as she speaks, even though Frank can see her hand shake as she stuffs the gun and the tape into her coat pocket. Her research is sound, her head screwed on straight, her plan well-equipped. (Well, perhaps not so much her plan as the plan Madani and Frank helped her make, but it’s all the same to her.) She’s Darius and Daniel all at once, throwing herself into the lion’s den without even a backwards glance. 

She’s here for a story, and she’s going to get what she wants, no matter how it scares the shit out of her. 

Or Frank, for that matter. 

“You’re dead sure?”

His voice is as deadpan as it was the first time he asked - all bite, no bark. Someone once joked that he sounds like he gargles with rocks when he does that, pulls out the Marine voice. The voice meant for giving and receiving orders, not sitting in a Volkswagen with a Bulletin reporter helping her with a story. Apparently, it’s as intimidating as the bruises perennially darkening the orbitals of his eyes - not that he’d be able to tell, the way Karen responds to him.  

“Yes, Frank.” She sounds as impassive as he does, if not more. He can’t read her expression in the low light, but he’s sure it’s as stolid as his. “Why are you so concerned about it?” 

All he can think to do is scoff as she pats herself down in a quick double-check.

“Because I’d’ve appreciated it if you’d told me we were going to a Cooley gun club instead of having to hear about it from Lieberman.” 

If he couldn’t read her expression before, he can now. It drops like a sack of bricks, and for all that his voice suddenly sounds upset, Frank can practically feel the weight of it hit his chest as the frown envelops her entire face. It dents her eyebrows, creases her forehead like some imitation of a child’s origami project. It’s a frown of surprise, not dissimilar to the ones he used to see on Lisa when he caught her reading past her bedtime. She’s been caught with her hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. 

Even if Lieberman hadn’t tattled, Frank would’ve figured it out eventually. Anyone north of 119th this late was asking for trouble, if not pointing the gun at their forehead themselves. Even he didn’t stray this far if he didn’t have to. Not if he wasn’t on a job. Once Central Park was in their rear-view, he’d gripped the Weston under his jacket a little more tightly.  

Karen’s parked herself right in the middle of a warzone, and judging by the loss of confidence in her expression, she knows it.  

“I didn’t want to lose my chance at getting you to help,” she mutters. She sounds as much of a spitfire as she did before, but the way she’s gripping her coat sleeves betrays her real reaction. “David knew?”

“‘Course he did.” Frank scoffs. “Guy can hack the NS-fuckin’-A, you think your laptop’s any different?” 

Karen’s frown deepens, the delicate origami construction of her face crumpling. 

“So that’s why you agreed to come,” she says quietly. It’s almost enough to make Frank regret his choice of words. Almost, if not for the truth of what they’re about to do weighing down on his shoulders.

“You can’t just...throw yourself in with the Kitchen Irish, Karen,” he replies, firmly but carefully. 

“I did it with Grotto.” 

It’s like she doesn’t even think before the words are out of her mouth. She’s so sure of herself. It scares Frank. Just enough. 

“Yeah,” he says, “And look how that turned out.”

“With you in the driver’s seat of my car, wearing a tape wire and helping me with a story.” Karen’s still wearing the frown, but she’s repurposed it now. Outfitted it to her advantage. Crumpled the paper and refolded it - treasure out of trash. “Not too bad in the grand scheme of things.” 

She says it with a shrug and a nonchalant glance over at him, and Frank can’t muster much beyond an incredulous laugh in response. A small part of him knows he’d walk through all seven circles of hell with weights tied to his legs if it meant helping Karen with a story, but sometimes he wonders how she does it - looks danger in the face and laughs like it’s nothing more than a carnival clown, there for her amusement. Like the few inches of column space she’s afforded can be weaponized as much as the Ruger she keeps in her purse. 

Karen dances with devils and comes out in first place every time, and Frank should know. He’s one of them. 

“We get in, you talk to the guy, we get out, alright?” 

He says it with a deadpan that hardly hides how much he’d rather taken Karen right back home, but he doesn’t stop Karen from fixing her lipstick in the mirror, doesn’t stop himself from checking that all three of his pistols are loaded and ready to go. The faster they’re in, the faster they’re out, and the less he has to feel his heart pounding in his chest like an animal trying to escape its cage. 

“No funny business.” 

Karen’s nod in response is perfunctory - she’s thirty-two, not twelve. She knows how this works. Frank knows that too, but the words come out anyway, in some vain attempt to reassure himself that what they were about to do wasn’t completely and utterly batshit. They’re more of a mantra than a command, and Karen’s response comes quickly on their heels as she pops open the door to the Jetta.

“People say my sense of humor is surprisingly dry.” 

Frank Castle has, thus far, simply been too angry to die. No other way to phrase it. He’s been shot, tortured, run through, hit by cars, and electrocuted, amongst a handful of other, unmentionable things. He’s gone through more injuries than a child’s video game character, and yet he’s gotten back up, beaten and bruised, every time, without fail. Whether it’s stubbornness or just rage, no one can ever really tell. 

But, he thinks as she smirks and hops out of the car, Karen Page might just end up being the death of him.

___________

The club they end up loitering outside of is dark, barely more than a husk of a building on the outside. It’s creative, the amount of effort these scumbags put into disguising themselves in plain sight, despite their existence being as common knowledge as the Harlem bus schedule. Decrepit storefronts, butcher shop basements, even the occasional apartment over a nail salon. Real estate in New York is slim, and Frank’s seen just about all of it - and a disproportionate amount of it with Karen at his side. 

He doesn’t understand how he keeps getting dragged into these places, these undercover ops for information held so closely it might as well be fantasy. He doesn’t understand how Karen gets herself involved, much less convinces him on nothing more than a hunch and a prayer to follow at her heels, sneaking about like Zoey when she’s trying to dart out the apartment door before Karen can catch her. 

He is, as Lieberman not-so-lightly puts it, built like a brick shithouse — sneaking isn’t particularly his style. Pretending to be someone else is something he’s done enough of in his everyday life. The life belonging to Pete. The life that doesn’t quite fit right - a present from an overbearing grandparent that collects dust in the basement from disuse. An old shirt, run through the wash one too many times that ends up stretched and worn, too grimy and ugly for everyday use. 

The only parts of that life that seem to fit right are the ones with Karen in them. Even if they involve breaking the law. 

The both of them are soaked by the time they’ve made it down the street, out of sight of their little blue getaway vehicle but in too much of a hurry to have bothered with an umbrella. Mercifully, there’s an overhang, and in some stroke of luck, the Irish at least have the courtesy to answer quickly when Karen knocks at the peeling wooden door with bare knuckles. 

She’s good at that, sneaking right in the front door instead of prowling around out back. Good enough that Frank can only stare in silence as she barely blinks  at a burly, dark-haired man opening the door, drilling her with enough questions to unsettle a Marine. He watches intently as she tosses around names Frank’s never heard, places he’s never been like she’s at some kind of fucked up family reunion. She calls him Robert and herself Harriet, and all he can think as they’re invited to cross the threshold is that at least it isn’t Pete. 

The inside of the club looks more inviting than the outside, but Frank’s eyes are too busy scanning the interior for exits to notice the furnishings. He lets Karen do all the flattering as they’re dragged through room after room, past locked door after locked door, each one more and more concerning as Karen makes inane comments his ears barely hear. He’d been primed on all the exits - and that did mean all - but the anonymity of what lay behind those dark panels of wood doesn’t bode very well for them. 

He manages to count sixteen separate doors by the time one of them opens to invite them in. The creak of it grates on Frank’s nerves, but he pays no mind as his attention zeroes in on Karen, whose blonde hair is disappearing into a dimly lit room, leaving him to chase after her like fool’s fire. 

His eyes are practically evolved for low-lighting by now, but his pupils still blow wide as he ducks past a burly security detail and into the darkened room. He could swear he’s stepped into an old-fashioned parlor, one of those overly ornate ones from the PBS dramas Karen likes to watch. Velvety couch, paintings on the wall, the works - even that awful gold gilt that old New York money people thought was pretty, rather than like they’d plastered scrapyard salvage all over their walls. Frankly, his grandmother had had better taste in decor, but clearly the new Irish have money. And they want to prove it. 

They want to prove they can defend themselves, too, based on the three men Frank clocks the instant the door snaps shut behind them. Strapped to the gills with firepower, looking like they could take a hit from a train and not move and inch, and angry to boot. Not too dissimilar from himself, in a way, aside from the way they mold themselves around the presence of a much slimmer man, in much better clothing, looking significantly more smug. 

If Frank had to describe him, he’d say the man standing in front of he and Karen looks like one of those people mothers describe as “homely” when they’re young, but is really just the kind of person women cross the street to get away from on their commute home. Pasty, skinny, unsettling to a degree that Frank can visibly notice as Karen’s posture goes rigid. The suit he’s wearing is very obviously couture, as are his cufflinks and shoes, but it doesn’t offset the alarm bells that his general presence sets off in the both of them. Not enough to truly make either of them afraid, but enough to suck all the air out of the room in less than an instant. 

Why do all drug lords remind Frank of the rats in the 34th Street subway station?

Perhaps because of the way they sneer like this one does, overconfident and cocky when Frank knows he could crush him under the heel of his boot in one step. Perhaps because of the way they carry themselves like they own the world, own the people standing in front of them and all that they’ll ever say simply because they’re on home turf. They’re leeches of the worst kind - vacuums of airheadedness and egos so big they could stop a truck. 

Frank prays this isn’t the guy Karen’s come to see.

There’s a reason he stopped doing that. 

“Ah, Miss Smith.” 

His voice is as cocky as his face, dripping with something between venom and crude oil. His hand extends towards Karen, and Frank can only watch as she accepts it with a plastic smile. 

“What a treat to finally speak in person. And this is Mister…?”

“Martin,” Karen replies. “My partner, yes.” 

“Partner.” He says the word as if considering it, as if the answer is better than he’d been expecting...which is, ironically, the best reaction Frank’s gotten to his own presence in years. Clearly the beard he’d started growing in was doing its job as a mask. “Wonderful.” 

He’s like a cartoon villain, this guy - if cartoon villains trafficked women and had bodyguards wearing enough firepower to set a building alight. All he’s missing is a mustache to twirl. Too bad he looks too young and skinny to be able to grow one. 

“We weren’t expecting a third,” he jeers, “But in that case, would you prefer business or pleasure first?”

Karen shrugs, and Frank mirrors it. It doesn’t look as friendly coming from someone as broad-shouldered as him. 

“I suppose we could do both,” Karen says. “It’s a bit late for shooting, but I’m not opposed to firing a few rounds while we talk about the--”

The laughter that cuts Karen off is even more jeering than the Bad Bond Villain’s voice. It’s high-pitched, off-key - like the vocal equivalent of nails scratching on a chalkboard. It takes a significant amount of Frank’s restraint not to flinch as he grins at Karen, far too boldly to simply be friendly. 

“Oh no, my dear,” he replies as Karen’s mouth is left hanging open. “This isn’t that kind of club. Did Georgey not tell you?”

Karen’s mouth closes, then opens, then closes again as she blinks. Frank offers a quick “no sir” in place of a response from her, despite the fact that the closest thing he’d ever heard to the name Georgey was one of Karen’s silly pet names for her dog. Whether she’d crucify him for that, he couldn’t tell, but it was better than leaving the reject Lucky Charms man hanging. The expression on the man’s face tells him that’s a bad idea.

“His loss, my gain, then.” The man shrugs, sits up straighter in his seat. “You two are...swingers, no?”

Ah. So, not a gun club then.

Frank can feel Karen tense next to him. Not enough to alarm the asshole, but enough that he hears her breathing go shallow, notices the way she sits up that much straighter on the couch. She nods, refusing to break character, but he can see how far the comment has thrown her off course. He even goes a bit stiff himself - and not in the way the creep sitting in front of them would hope for - so he’s not sure he blames her. He can do guns, he can do knives...but this was new. 

“It’s all part of the deal.” The creep sounds far too satisfied with himself, far too pleased in reaction to Karen’s nod that wasn’t any more than perfunctory. “We give you what you need, you give us...a little something in return.”

The look he shoots at Karen is enough to make Frank’s trigger finger twitch. 

The locked doors suddenly make more sense, much the same as the furnishings that seemed slightly too impeccable for a mafia den. Everything is slightly too pristine, slightly too well-oiled for a bunch of amateurs fresh out of metaphorical diapers. No criminal gives this much of a shit about appearances unless they’re trying to impress - who that is, Frank doesn’t know, but he can only imagine the kinds of clients that run through here. A gun club in the middle of Harlem is bad enough, but this? Nothing wrong with a bit of fun if you aren’t psychotic, but...

“You traffic girls and you run a swinger’s club.” Frank’s voice sounds like he’s down an entire construction site’s worth of grave, disguising the sarcasm he can’t quite keep out of it. “Clever.”

The man nods, oblivious to Frank’s train of thought. 

“We pride ourselves on it.” Pride isn’t exactly the word Frank would use, but the emotion shows on his face anyway. “The guns are a temporary cover. While we get our hooks in, so to speak. Clearly a good cover though, eh?”

He’s teasing Karen now, clearly trying to get under the thick skin of the identity she’s created for herself. It won’t budge, Frank knows that much, but the remark still makes him shift in his seat, fighting off the urge to throttle the bastard before they’ve even gotten a word out of him. 

Frank’s never been good at holding his tongue, but he’ll do it for Karen. 

She nods at the remark, a sound coming out of her mouth that’s as far from her real laugh as Frank imagines she can possibly get. It’s a hollow tittering sound, like hearing birds chirping through the metal of a roof they’ve nested on, but it’s convincing enough for their host, whose grin borders just the slightest bit on insane. 

“We’ll give you two a moment,” he says. “Only reasonable to let you get...comfortable.”

There’s that teasing voice again, and Frank hardly has the chance to let it annoy him before one of the guards is swooping in on them, an ominous black-clad raven with an assault rifle strapped across his chest. He almost reaches out when he puts a hand at the small of Karen’s back, not quite pushing her but not letting her move of her own free will either. The cold stare Frank receives when his nerves jump is enough to tell him that he should follow, or suffer the consequences otherwise. He’s not particular to following the rules - not anymore - but he chooses to make an exception this time. 

The creep stands by as the two of them are herded away, towards a door at the far end of the parlor that hangs just ajar enough to remind Frank too much of The Shining. The darkness beyond doesn’t look promising, and the results aren’t much better as they’re herded into some kind of dimly-lit antechamber, presumably a dressing room of sorts. Broom closet would’ve been a better term for it, given the fact that Frank and Karen are nearly chest to chest once the gorilla takes his hands away and leaves the two of them in relative dark, lit only by mood lighting that does about as much for Frank’s eyesight as a flashlight with mostly-dead batteries. 

He can see about as much of Karen as he could in the Jetta, but he’s hesitant to say anything. Who knows how much of the club the Cooleys had bugged for posterity - he wouldn’t be surprised if there are cameras hidden in the tiny cracks of exposed brick he can see behind the swaths of fabric covering the walls. These types didn’t seem entirely beyond a bit of voyeurism at all. 

“You okay?” 

Frank Castle is not a man to whisper, but that’s how his voice comes out anyway; low enough that it would probably be unintelligible to cameras. It’s not as though he needs to shout in this broom closet anyway. 

Karen shakes her head, less as a response to his question and more as if she’s trying to shake cobwebs from her brain that she’d missed when she dusted last. 

“I swear to God I didn’t know this was going to happen.” She’s rambling, her sentences peeling off one after the other with no way of stopping them. “There was nothing in the notes about it. Not in the witness statements, not in the police reports...fuck, somebody should have told me or else I wouldn’t have brought you here into the middle of this—”

“Hey, hey, hey.”

Frank’s hands are on her shoulders before he can think to stop them, a grounding wire for his emotions and hers. He knows how it feels to have a plan go to shit, that feeling of the ground spinning underneath you without any recourse to stop it. He can see that feeling in Karen, the way her pupils are so blown with fear he can practically see himself in them. It’s not often that anyone can strike fear into Karen Page. 

“Shhh. It’s okay.” He’s rubbing her arms now, though perhaps a bit more for his own sake than for hers. “Even Lieberman missed it. It’s not your fault.”

It really isn’t. He’s not sure how a sex club got confused with a gun league - all euphemisms aside, even Lieberman isn’t that stupid - but the Irish must be smarter than he thinks. Or, at least, clever enough to deflect attention away from themselves. It makes sense, in the long run of things, he thinks... if you’re that kind of subway track scum that traffics human beings.

“I’ll handle it,” he mutters. “You go out the back, call Nelson or Walker or somebody, get the hell out of here. I’ve still got the tape so you’ll still get what you need, I promise. I can take care of—“

“What?”

Karen’s voice interrupts the speech that he has memorized all too well, and he short circuits. Feels his hands squeeze her shoulders in place of a question. Watches her shuffle in place, shift her weight to her hip. He’s not prepared for this. This doesn’t usually happen. 

She’s got her eyebrows raised, shoulders squared under his hands. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again. He can’t focus when she’s looking at him like that. Can barely focus when she’s looking at him at all. 

“Red door down the hall takes you out the back,” he sputters. Now was not the time for thought-out tactical plans. “I’ll get you what you need. You just get out.”

He’s not sure exactly how he’ll manage that, but he will. It’s the least he could do, in return for everything she’s--

“Frank, I’m not leaving.”

He can feel Karen’s enunciation down to his bones. It rattles her shoulders and moves the curtains that swirl around them, an energy not even Red could match if he tried. It’s an energy that speaks to the reason she’s good at her job, why and how she gets herself into situations like this, cramped in a tiny dressing room in a swingers’ club well past midnight when she could very well be at home, safe and secure without a second though otherwise. It’s an energy Frank knows all too well. 

Here she is, looking as much like a scared rabbit as Frank’s ever seen, and Karen chooses now to be stubborn. 

“You kiddin’ me?” 

His arms flop down at his sides, and the air stings his palms where they’d touched Karen’s shoulders. She’s looking straight at him now, and that’s all he can focus on - the stinging and her eyes. Both of which flare when she shrugs. 

“No, I don’t think I am,” she replies. “I don’t think “coercion via the Punisher” is a printable source.  It’s my responsibility to get this information, and if takes going a little out of my comfort zone, then I’m more than willing to—“

“The guy wants you to strip down and have sex with him, and you call that your responsibility?”

It seems like an applicable moment to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, had he not broken it less than a week earlier. His definition of “responsibility” might be more muddled than the average New Yorker’s, but being propositioned for a threeway in exchange for information is certainly not in his dictionary. 

“He included you in the offer too,” Karen protests, “And I’m pretty sure I just heard you say ‘I’ll handle it’.” 

“Not by playing into whatever fucked up fantasy he’s got in mind!”

He might as well have pulled the pistol out of his waistband for all the good his words did. They ricochet off the walls like stray bullets, and he can see them lodge into Karen, though the way she rolls her shoulders and stands all that much straighter proves that she’s not in any mood to back down. She never is, and he knows it. Anyone who assumes otherwise is in for the shock of their life. 

Being around Karen is like sticking your finger in an electrical socket, and Frank is a curious kid who doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. 

“How badly do you need him to squeal?” 

He chooses the sentence carefully, measuring his words as though they can remedy the situation all on their own. He’s not good with that, figuring out what to say. Actions speak louder than words, he’d always believed that, but this is Karen’s show. Karen’s livelihood. A livelihood she’d built on words alone. 

Her expression doesn’t change. 

“Enough that I’m willing to stay,” she says. “Frank, this story could wipe out a whole new generation of Kitchen Irish before they even get started. If I get this guy to talk, they’d be busted wide open within the week. Maybe sooner.”

“Same thing could happen to your head if you say the wrong thing.”

“I’m a journalist, Frank.” Karen squirms under his gaze, but doesn’t falter. “Saying the right thing is what I get paid to do.” 

But you shouldn’t have to.

That’s what Frank wants to say. Wants to blurt it so loudly that the shit-for-brains in the next room can hear him loud and clear. Wants an excuse to bust them out of there, to avoid this situation entirely rather than subject himself to the burning gaze of this woman who doesn't know when to quit. He wants to shake some sense into Karen’s head, despite the fact that she’s about the only sensible person left in his life. 

“I emptied a clip on a man,” she says. Her words are measured, careful. “I think I can handle...that.” 

It suddenly feels like there’s not enough air in the room for both of them to breathe. 

“Fine.” 

Frank can’t tell if she’s being entirely serious, or if this is another facet to the facade she’s put on tonight - whether her bravery is manufactured entirely because she’s too persistent to walk away from a story unfinished. The room feels like it’s running circles around him, and he’s too dizzy to fight. 

“You want it?” His voice is harder now, sharper. “Let’s go in there and get it.” 

It’s not quite the Punisher persona she’s used to - it’s a little frayed around the edges, askew from being out of place - but Karen recognizes an irritated Frank when she sees one.

“I can do it by myself,” she sighs. Frank isn’t convinced - not when there’s half an army on the other side of the door and a creep who’ll undoubtedly take advantage of her the moment he turns his back. 

“Like you said,” he replies, “he said both of us.”

Karen frowns.

“You’re really going to go in there and do this just to get me to admit that I’m wrong?”

“Could do worse.”

His shoulders are too heavy with the weight of their predicament to really make his shrug convincing, but he does it anyway. Tries his hardest to look nonchalant, despite the fact that his dominant hand still burns - this time for something a bit more significant than the air it’s currently grasping at. 

“Too much longer in here and they’re going to get suspicious,” he offers. “Either we do this or we don’t. Your pick.”

He’s offering her an ultimatum. Karen fucking hates those. 

“I do the talking.” 

It’s the only thing she says while she’s shrugging off her jacket, loosening the top button on the starched, Wednesday Addams-looking blouse she’s got on. It’s the only confirmation Frank gets to shirk his own hoodie (how he’s going to finesse hiding the wire he’s wearing, he doesn’t know), before she slips out of the dressing room and back into the parlor, where Redhead Dr. No has shirked his own suit jacket, and the armed gorillas have all but disappeared. 

He can’t tell if the feeling in the pit of his stomach is regret, but it certainly makes him nauseous all the same. 

If it’s at all possible to have dimmed the already barely-lit lights of the parlor, that’s what they’d done in the time it’s taken he and Karen to argue their way into this mess. He can see the room for what it really is now that he’s removed the rose-colored glasses of playing along with Karen’s scheme: the way the room is laid out, with larger-than-usual couches, designed with open slats for things Frank didn’t even want to begin to think about. The fact that, despite being part of a much larger complex of rooms, there are no doors leading anywhere except the small antechamber, and no windows either. All that’s missing is some shitty Careless Whisper saxophone playing in the background, and even Frank wouldn’t do that song that much of a disservice. 

“Ah, the lovebirds return.”  

The phrase lovebirds makes the hair on Frank’s neck stand on end, but he beats the impulse to stir like a startled cat down just enough as their host approaches, clearly more keen than when they’d been whisked away. He’s rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, and Frank’s fairly certain he can see rope burns up and down the lengths of his arms - fresh enough that they might not even be a day old. 

That is what makes him startle. 

“It’s club policy for couples to...initiate proceedings,” their host says, with an eagerness that makes Frank want to beat it out of him. “To ensure all parties have a comfortable evening. Unless, of course, you’d like to…?”

“No, I think we’re fine.”

Karen’s face is red as she replies - not the kind of red it gets when she’s angry, but a brighter kind. It makes her look gaunt. 

“No sense breaking the rules our first time ‘round, huh?” 

The man smiles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Very well,” he sneers. “I’ll be here. Whenever you’re ready.”

Whenever you’re ready. 

The dealer’s voice is laced with the chill of dry ice, and that fact doesn’t escape Frank. This isn’t some jaunty weekend experiment, where consent is key and anybody who isn’t comfortable can bounce when they want to. This is payment, and he expects his full share, whether they like they like it or not. 

That’s the thought that ruminates in Frank’s head as the dealer fiddles with the buttons on his perfectly-starched shirt, and Karen moves into his space enough that his vision is enveloped by her. That’s the thought as she steps in close, close enough that they can share the same breath, and that’s the thought as he considers the fact that nothing on Earth could possibly be more humiliating than this. The thought of touching and being touched in ways that don’t bear thinking about is worse than any embarrassment he’s ever suffered. Worse than any hazing his Marine buddies ever put him through, worse than any and every time he’s said something stupid and gotten himself landed in the wrong place at the wrong time. He feels stripped bare, down to the bone, and he hasn’t even taken off his clothing yet. 

But for a moment, he looks at Karen, and thinks of the way his hands burned when he touched her, and a part of him thinks, Maybe if we spin this, we can get out mostly unscathed. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Not with Karen. He thinks that, of all the people he could end up stuck here with, at least it’s her. Their foreheads are touching, and he can feel Karen skate her own hands down his arms until she’s gripping his. At this distance, he could reach out and--

But then another part of him remembers Maria, remembers that he can’t recall the last time he used those hands to do anything but cause hurt. He remembers everything he buries deep inside, under layers of Kevlar and firearms and a voice so gravelly no one could ever think that it had ever belonged to a father. He remembers all the reasons why Karen shouldn’t trust him anywhere near her, and the situation morphs, molds itself into something that could only be a disaster, could only end with both of them hurt in a way that no stitches or antiseptics or trauma nurses could ever fix. It’s inescapable, and it’s all his--

“It’s the red door, right?” 

Karen’s voice is a whisper, barely audible even when she leans in close (too close, too close, she’ll get hurt); it’s easily misconstrued as sexy, but really, it’s a well-practiced way of communicating in crisis, and Frank can hear the wobble in it even as she breathes.

He nods just enough that she can feel it, without looking like he’s doing anything but...well, setting the mood. Karen nods too, and he’s sure the both of them look fidgety - like nervous first-timers, not sure how to proceed. And it isn’t far from the truth - Frank’s got no idea how he’s going to proceed from here, but he’s nothing if not good at improvising. 

“I, ah...think you should take charge.”

This she says at full volume, loud enough that their partner can hear. Like she said - she knows when to say the right thing. 

And Frank knows enough about the fear on her face that his pistol’s out of his pocket before she can blink back tears. 

And when he blows them out of there, it isn’t a euphemism. 

_________

The sun is peeking out over the horizon line by the time the two of them stumble down the sidewalk to Karen’s walk-up. It plays peekaboo with them, reminding them that they've survived to see another day as Frank watches Karen digs for her keys in her purse. It’s stopped raining now, though the air is still muggy with its aftereffects, and they walk slowly as they approach the stairs to her building. She’s got cuts in three places on her face, and he’s got at least one broken rib, but they’re out. They’re safe. 

She’s safe. 

Her hands are still shaking though, vibrating ever so slightly as she attempts to find the right key to get them into the building. The ring jingles like an out-of-tune band, and Frank can see the frustrated, tired tears in her eyes as they slip out of her hand and onto the ground.  

“Let me.”

He stoops before she can and dutifully ignores every protest from his tired, overworked muscles as he picks the bundle of metal up from the ground. They chime their high-pitched tune as he does, muffled by the size of his hand compared to Karen’s, like wind chimes in a distant open window. She doesn’t look at him - won’t look at him, maybe - as he straightens his back, but she can’t hide her frenetic blinking from him as he does. He doesn’t blame her. This is the longest night either of them has had in years. 

He’s never sure how to fill long silences between them. He’s a man of few words, always has been, and the idea of saying anything when his entire body wants to shut down is beyond his area of comprehension right now. Is he supposed to hug her? Pat her on the back, tell her it’s alright after she watched him (not for the first time) eviscerate a handful of human beings like it’s nothing? Nothing he could possibly say can erase that. Erase everything else he’s ever done to her, every layer of hell she’s been dragged through and back out again. Silence feels like the only appropriate response, the only way to avoid dragging her through anything else. 

She’s the first to speak up, naturally. Her voice comes out soft, a quiet monotone Frank suspects she uses to disguise the fact that she’s choking back a night’s worth of emotions all at once. 

“Thanks.” She’s still not looking at him, but she doesn’t move to wipe away tears, doesn’t hide behind the high collar of her jacket to avoid him. “Do you want to…?” 

She hesitates, and Frank can nearly hear her backtracking in her head as her sentence drops off. The missing word hangs in the air, heavy and loud despite the fact that it never leaves Karen’s mouth. 

Stay. 

“I’ll be up working on this damn thing to make the deadline.” She shrugs, as though overnight shootouts and going thirty-six hours without sleep are a regular part of anyone’s workday. The laugh that comes with it is watery. “Might as well have some company.”

The scoff that escapes Frank’s mouth isn’t entirely intentional, but it isn’t accidental either. He can feel the bruised muscles in his face sting as he lets the sound ring, ducking his head to fiddle with the glittering skull trinket she keeps on her key ring. 

“Almost get your head blown off and you’re worried about a deadline,” he mutters. “Should be resting.” 

“So should you. And I know for a fact you won’t sleep a wink.” 

Karen shrugs, reaching a hand out for her keys. Frank obliges, and there’s something of a smile on his face when he does. The little skull glints in the light of the streetlamp, a sly reminder of just what kind of a mess she’d gotten herself involved with. 

“I started this story,” she asserts, “And now I'm obligated to finish it. Just like any job.”

“You think you’re gonna be able to get anything outta that wire?”

“I’ll have to,” she says. “If not, I’ll pester Turk, see what else he can get me. Maybe do a ridealong or something. I know what’s there. We saw it. I just need proof.”

Frank laughs then. Not maliciously - not really intentionally, either. It just spills out, a soft, short bark of a thing that sounds off coming from him. Frank Castle doesn’t laugh, much less like that. It’s like interference on a radio; a negative side effect of pushing the wrong button or adjusting the wrong lever. The AM channel no one ever wants to use. 

“Y’know,” he huffs, “I wonder if you don’t know when to let something die.”

It’s not that he doesn’t think before he speaks - Frank’s a smart man, he knows what happens when someone backs Karen Page into a corner. He’s seen it, from the moment she shoved that photo of his family in his face while he was chained helpless to a hospital bed, and he respects it. She’s a force to be reckoned with, a hurricane of immense proportions that doesn’t give a shit who you are or how much power you say you have if you’re in the way of the truth. Karen Page is not someone to be taken lightly. 

But she’s more than that. She’s also a human being, a woman with a life, friends, family that cares about her. She’s got more than blood on her hands and a legacy so stained she can’t even use the name her family thought to give her when she was born. She’s better than that, better than this ugly, misshapen world they’ve both found themselves in whether they like it or not. She’s the best goddamn thing to happen to New York - hell, the country, probably - since god knows what, and to lose her to the storm of her own determination is something that Frank thinks might snap a lot of people clean in two. 

Himself included. 

He knows he’s said the wrong thing, knows he’s pushed that button of hers that makes her cheeks flare red and her voice hike up a few notches. He can tell as soon as the words are out of his mouth, as soon as she bunches her keys up in her fist in a way that’s got to hurt as she finally looks him in the eyes. 

“Oh, you mean the hundreds of people that would die because I put myself over the truth?” She spits the words out like they’re shitty vodka from Josie’s, like if she kept them in she’d explode. “What am I supposed to do, just let this fall by the wayside? Tell Ellison I need him to switch me to the lifestyle section this week? I can’t just let it go. That’s not how this works.” 

A part of Frank knows she’s right - knows that this shit won’t stop until the world can see the man behind the curtain - but a bigger part of him, the stubborn, protective part of him that he can never quite seem to fight down, can’t live with the idea of danger knocking at Karen’s door. 

“You could’ve been killed before the truth ever got out!” He doesn’t mean to be as loud as he is, but that hidden part of him doesn’t like the quiet. “You really want to do that again? You want to put a gun to your own head like that?” 

“I was hardly in danger of anything except hurting my own pride and you know that. I just let myself get scared.” 

Frank can see her flex her hand where her keys are digging into her palm, but she doesn’t relent. She doesn’t look angry, but he can see the way her jaw clenches to fight back another round of frustrated tears threatening to spill over. He can see how tense she is, how close her shoulders are to touching her ears. She’s got every hallmark of a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but she refuses to move an inch. 

“Don’t make this about my safety, Frank,” she says. “You can’t keep mothering me like this. I can handle myself.”

She stares at him like she bore a hole directly to his soul, and Frank’s skin burns when she looks at him like that. Not like fire, but like acid. Corrosive, stinging, sizzling. It’s a burning that seeps through his clothes, plasters them to his body so nothing he does can serve as escape. It’s the worst in his hands - pins and needles that suddenly makes that “reach out and touch faith” song make more sense. He feels the stinging down to his bones, and sometimes he wonders whether he’s just a skeletal ghost floating around anymore. Whether the rest of him matches the skull crudely painted on a vest in his closet. 

No, it’s not like fire. Fire would be too easy, too instant. One splash of water and it’s out, wiped from body and from memory. It burns brightly but shortly, in and out of someone’s life with almost no passing thought beyond treating the wounds left behind. Fire is an easy solution. Fire doesn’t come from people who matter. 

No, the burning Frank feels isn’t fire, because Karen Page never does things the easy way. 

“‘M sorry,” he says, conceding another in a long list of arguments that neither of them would ever be able to win. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do to stop the burning. Isn’t sure if he wants to stop it. “Just didn’t—I didn’t want it to be like that.”

“Didn’t want what to…” 

Her sentence drifts off before she can finish it, and he can’t be sure whether she understood what he was referring to. Her fists clench and unclench, and the burning worsens when she looks at him like she’s staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“Frank, come on.” Her voice is tired - the groan of someone who’s been through far too much, far too soon. “You’re bleeding. I’m tired. Let’s just go up, and you can crash on the couch and we’ll talk about this—“

In the morning. Later. After. That’s always how it goes. Let things settle. Let them rest. Let the blood flow out of things, let the venom run its course. Take the rose-colored glasses off and let reality settle back in before anyone does something dumb. Karen wants an after for him, she’s said as much. She wants him to be able to walk out, as unscathed as a man with blood on his hands can ever manage to be. 

What she doesn’t realize is that his after is already standing right in front of him. 

Which is his only explanation for why his hand shoots out and closes around her arm like he’s pulling her away from some invisible danger. It’s the only explanation for the way he spins her like a top, until they’re close enough that he can see her eyes dilate in surprise. It’s the only explanation for the way he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, a feral animal broken free and running down the streets of Brooklyn with wild abandon.

It’s the only explanation for the way that he kisses her on her front stoop for God, the early morning garbagemen, and the rest of the modern world to see. 

Karen Page, he realizes, is everything good left in the world. She is sun after a thunderstorm and a comfortable bed after a long day. She’s raucous laughter at a terrible joke, the kindness of a stranger when you need it most. She’s good friends and fond memories and the ridiculous way she dances to Lady Gaga whenever she finishes a piece that gives her trouble. She’s the beers they share on her fire escape after weeks away and the tight feeling he gets in his chest every time someone asks what the hell he’s still fighting so hard for. She’s everything he thought he’d given up the right to have a long time ago, and she’s everything he fights to keep. 

Pulling away from her is painful. More painful than any gunshot, any gut punch, any knife wound he’s ever received. Pulling away from Karen is like pulling the skin from his bones, the air from his lungs. It’s like the burning he feels, only a million times worse. A million hot pokers on his skin, burning away anything that makes him who he is and leaving nothing but a shell, cradling this stubborn, beautiful, terrifyingly intelligent woman in its arms. 

All that’s left is her. All that matters is her. 

Her eyes are closed when he finally moves far enough away to see her face in full. For a moment, he panics, terrified -- too close, too close, fuck, did I make her cry again? -- but then she’s opening them, something he thinks might be glee or absolute horror written on her face. He can’t tell which is which, so he improvises. 

“Didn’t want to do that in front of the Irish.”

Karen’s pupils are still dilated, and the glee-horror-something-else-maybe morphs. Becomes a little clearer. 

“Oh.”

It sounds less like surprise and more like a smug question. He shrugs. He’s still got a hand at the small of her back. 

“Didn’t want them to get a chance at it either.”

Now he sounds smug. The garbagemen can definitely see them now. He’s not sure he cares. 

“Mmm.” Karen doesn’t bother to move. Doesn’t bother to separate herself from him. “Kinda glad about that.” 

Frank quirks an eyebrow. 

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah.” She fiddles with her keyring. Glances at the tiny skull. Jams the whole thing in her pocket. “‘Cause you kinda just ruined it for me for the rest of my life.” 

“What, the saving your life or the kissing?”

“Both.” 

She taps his chest with her newly free hand, and the spaces that have been hollow there since the park feel just that much fuller. Just enough to ease the ache. 

“But mostly the latter.”

Frank can’t even remember what the latter is, but Karen’s kissing him again and that’s all that matters. This moment, on this grimy doorstep, with her hands bunched in his coat and his wrapped around her back. 

So this is what it means to finally have an after. 

[gch1995]

I want to watch new Drama/Fantasy TV series on Netflix and Hulu to get the bad taste that OUAT and TWD left in my mouth.

Here is what I want:

• A show that is more strongly driven by the characters consistently and believably, rather than half-cocked convoluted plots, and/or the creators/writers abrupt, blatantly biased, hypocritical, petty, and unfair preferential treatment of their favorite characters/ships, who they destroy other great characters/ships that they don’t care about as much to prop up their pet characters/ships up onto pedestals that they don’t deserve-

I dealt with six seasons of the continuity and logic of every rule of magic, relationships, storylines, and most of the timeline from S1 getting deliberately retconned left and right more and more inexplicably at the drop of a hat every season afterwards for (oftentimes disappointing) random plot twist convenience, and the writers completely stopped trying in 3B when they broke the rule of magic not being able to bring back the dead and decided “Fuck all the rules of continuity and realism in characterization and organic development in any of our remaining main characters, and fuck any and all sort of sort of storytelling integrity in writing a canon that consistently sticks to its timeline and rules of magic! We’re just going to reframe the entire narrative around Hook’s “redemption” arc and CS by ruining/retconning everyone else’s original characterization and development from S1-3A, and do whatever the hell we want with magic and the timeline on this show now because LOL, BOLD STORYTELLING! We’re really just too afraid to admit that we’re a team of horrible creative writers and show-runners, who didn’t know how to write more than two-and-a-half seasons of satisfying and original character development, who, thus, ran out of good new ideas for what else to do after 3x11, and who, thus,, would have done a lot better just ending the show with that episode because that’s clearly all we could handle before ruining everything that made this show genuinely entertaining to fans in the first place with our plot fuckery and character/ship favoritism!”

I quit watching OUAT after S5, but I still dealt with watching roughly four seasons of Rumple, Belle, Rumbelle, and Emma getting made OOC, and later on, outright destroyed in favor of cheaply emotionally manipulative “Gotcha” plot twists, and A&E and their team of hacks petty and hypocritical favoritism that led them to prop up Zelena, Regina, and especially Hook/CS onto pedestals that they didn’t deserve in their favor by ruining them to make them look better by comparison without really doing much to change them, or making them sympathetic characters in their own right, especially post 3A. I still kept up with the spoilers post S5, so I know about what they did to ruin all my faves to prop up Hook/CS, Zelena, and even the dark half of the EQ some more in 6A, past the point of no return this time around, basically.

It would be one thing if Hook/CS had always been a main character/ship on the show, and Rumple, Belle, Rumbelle, and Emma had always been framed/written as unsympathetic characters and a ship that the GA was supposed to consistently root against from day one. But that’s not how it was set up, no matter what A&E and these writers try to insist otherwise.

Hook was meant to be a guest villain, but A&E and these writers got distracted by him so much so that they decided to make him a regular by setting him up with Emma out of nowhere, having him take Neal’s place in the series, retconned the beauty of everyone else’s original characterizations, developments, and storylines on the show to make him look more “sympathetic” without actually doing anything to build him up that way organically post 3A, and made him the entire lead of the show.

Emma started out as a badass, compassionate, selfless, and sympathetic underdog for the little guy and the main protagonist on the show from day one until they forced her together with Hook, and ruined her to set them up post S3.

As for Rumple, he had always been written as a problematic fave from day one. I acknowledge that he had done horrible things that I could never realistically excuse, but from 1x08-3A there was a deeper sympathetic motive for why that was always explained on screen. He quickly became a fan favorite who the GA quickly sympathized with and rooted for as a sort of anti-heroic underdog, who with had a genuinely beautiful, believable, and consistent characterization and struggle for redemption that we saw, and expected to continue to see regularly once we saw his tragic and unfair backstory, and we learned about his love for Belle and particularly Bae and saw how everything he did he did out of love for them. We saw that he had a bizzarely adorable friendship with David, and we saw that he, Belle, and Neal were always willing to offer advice, compassion, emotional support, and understanding when he brokenly and honestly opened up to them for it by offering it in without enabling his bad choices, mercilessly judging him with negative assumptions without asking questions first, or giving him a chance to open up to them honestly, acting hypocritical, acting like they were so above him and incapable of having their own flaws and making mistakes, or making him feel guilty for not giving up magic for them. Belle had always had the short end of the stick on the show when they made her a regular because she often got fridged for Rumple’s man pain from S2-S3, but they outright destroyed everything that made her a great character to begin with from S4-S6 to prop up Hook/CS, Zelena, and Regina by turning her against Rumple, even when it didn’t make any sense for her to do so. When Hook/CS became the lead of the show, Neal was killed off. Rumple and Belle’s consistently sympathetic and complex original characterizations and development/redemption arcs in the narrative got so horrible butchered, and the two most important relationships in his storyline all got abruptly thrown under the bus and trashed on this show by A&E and these writers for roughly five seasons with bad writing, even in the final season when they decided not to fuck up Rumple’s redemption arc halfway through, just so they could prop up Hook/CS, Zelena, and Regina by shitting on him.

I don’t want to have to deal with watching another TV series where beautiful, complex, and relatable fictional characters and ships are abruptly made OOC, and/or outright destroyed in favor of stupid plot twists. I don’t want to deal with watching another show in which the creator(s), writers, and/or network have Gary Stu/Mary Sue pet characters/ships, who abruptly get unfair preferential treatment from the creators and writers in the narrative on the show with my personal favorite characters/ships getting abruptly, cruelly, and unfairly thrown under the bus for their benefit.

• A show that is run and written by a team of people, who don’t offensively enable, encourage, or casually dismiss ableism, abuse, rape culture, incest, racism, and sexism in the tropes they use in the writing for their individual characters, the relationships between them, the plot devices they sometimes make them use, especially if they let them get away with using them, and the plots they set them up in-

I had to watch every character and relationship on OUAT get tainted in canon with all of these offensively problematic issues in the the tropes in the writing for them in one way or another more and more from day one of this trash show of wasted potential in ways that disgusted me, including all of my faves, such as Emma, Rumple, Belle, and Rumbelle, just because A&E and their team of writers never learned from their mistakes, and refused to do so.

I don’t want to deal with that shit again on another show, or try to justify it, especially not in characters who often don’t get how problematic what they did or said is because the creators and writers behind them refuse to understand how problematic their writing for some of the things they make them do and say actually is in canon, and refuse to address it, no matter how many times the fans call them out for their shit.

I don’t want to have to deal with watching another TV series where beautiful, complex, and relatable fictional characters and ships are abruptly made OOC, and/or outright destroyed in favor of stupid plot twists. I don’t want to deal with watching another show in which the creator(s), writers, and/or network have Gary Stu/Mary Sue pet characters/ships, who abruptly get unfair preferential treatment from the creators and writers in the narrative on the show with my personal favorite characters/ships getting abruptly, cruelly, and unfairly thrown under the bus for their benefit.

• A show that is run and written by people who understand how to portray realistic reactions and fallouts to trauma and untreated mental illness in their characters by acknowledging that it exists and that it happened in the narrative, and allowing them to get help for it when they reach out for it. Instead of pretending that it never happened to vilify a character by refusing to allow them to get help, or emotional support from loved ones, even when they do try to reach out to them for it honestly, or work on being better to constantly make them feel like they have no choice but to revert back to self-destructive behavior, trying to prop up the character who traumatized them, or simply because the characters, who were traumatized in their narrative are the “good guys,” and the “good guys” aren’t allowed to have realistic reactions to trauma and mental illness because they are “strong” and the “bad guys” are “weak” from the ableist show-runners and writers point of view-

I dealt with watching this shit on OUAT for five seasons from season one, and from the spoilers I read about season six and seven after finally quitting, it didn’t get any better because A&E and these writers are hacks.

• A show run and written by people, who don’t make it so blatantly obvious that they are emotionally manipulating you with false hope by dangling a carrot before your eyes, only to abruptly snatch it away with a cruel “shock” value twist in their storytelling that becomes incredibly and disappointingly predictable when dealing with it as a viewer for five to six seasons-

Look, I get it, bad things happen in life. However, it becomes predictable bad writing and cruel storytelling when it becomes obvious that you are being emotionally manipulated by show-runners and writers with false hope for your faves. It becomes predictable bad writing and cruel storytelling when there is an increasingly obvious pattern in the narrative of the types of characters/ships that these writers abruptly and inorganically screw over out of nowhere after giving their fans false hope for them in the narrative, only to deliberately and cruelly screw them over for cheap “shock value, and/or to prop up their faves by displacing all of their shit onto their default scapegoat character through making him or her look bad without actually doing anything to have their Gary Stu/Mary Sue faves truly do anything to prove that they are reformed.

Were D&D and Scott Gimple too stupid to think to think that fans of their shows would ever realize that they often tended to abruptly kill off the purest living cinnamon rolls cruelly and abruptly in their show’s universe every season for shock value out of nowhere after giving their fans false hope on Game of Thrones and TWD?

Were Adam and Eddy too stupid to realize that Dearies/Rumbellers would ever realize that they abruptly and cruelly mostly turned their narrative against Rumple and his loved ones to prop up all their lame ass faves and CS after they killed off Neal and brought him back from the dead to make him an on-and-off-again trickster, even after spending the first two-and-a-half seasons of OUAT building up Rumple as a consistently sympathetic, emotionally complex, and redeemable character on the show?

• A show that is written and run by people who understand how to give their endgame romantic couples and familial relationships realistic, consistent, complex, healthy, in-character, and well-written conflict and resolution-

A&E and their team hacks often lacked the desire and ability to write realistic, consistent, complex, healthy, in-character, and well-written conflict and resolution between their characters, especially in later seasons. The only main living romantic couple, who remained mostly untainted in canon by their increasingly OOC, gross, unhealthy, and unrealistic character assassinating plot fuckery romantic soap opera angst in canon post 3A by S6, was Snowing, and that’s only because A&E and their team of writers didn’t care enough about them to give them any significany screen time, or any interesting storylines post 3A.

[strongheartmaid]

Tale as old as time [teaser section]

AN: well, not so much as a teaser as part of the “we’re finally in Greece after spending an ungodly amount of time in southern England trying to figure our next step (that and unpacking who’s who and who’s dating who)” plot.  Very much in progress as I’m constantly adding or reworking sections because I’m fussy with my writing. And yes, there is a reference to a particular Disney cartoon involving hockey-playing ducks. (Because, I like murdering canon like that)

“Everyone in one piece?" Lise called out to the girls as they finally found themselves in Sanctuary. The travel there had been brutal - Hera's Cosmos had altered it just enough that it had been sheer torture just trying to get in. Various calls of confirmation settled her nerves, but only just managed to do so. She still had to fight down the queasy, uneasy feeling of the wrongness that had settled into this holy place. (It was currently making Death Queen Island feel like a charming little vacation spot - of course, she planned on *never* saying that within Ikki's presence. That was something that would have the others wondering if she had a bit of a death wish). Alala glanced about before spying what she thought was a Saint in the distance, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "So, think Hera's been watching Isle of Lost Souls again?" she asked, turning her gaze to Ciri, a look of something swimming in their depths as she thought about what she would love to do to Hera. "Isle of.." Ciri started, her voice trailing off as she tried to recall why that movie title sounded so damn familiar. She promptly shot a stink eye at Alala once she recalled the movie in question - not one of her favorites. "Really? And if you must name the movie, it was Island of Lost Souls, Alala." "Are we really discussing horror classics from the nineteen thirties right now?" Eira asked as she peered around, trying to find something to get her bearings so she could go find the Temple of the Golden Ram. (And here she groaned - she really hated the cutesy names the temples of the Golden Saints had. What was wrong with just a simple "Temple of Aries" or "Temple of Virgo"? But no, Athena had to have titles like "Temple of the Virgin" and "Temple of the Golden Crab".) "I'll take the old horror classics over the more modern blood, sex and gore trite crap," Ciri answered. "I'll take horror tropes for two hundred, Alex," she teased Lise, knowing the other's fondness for that particular trivia show - and she knew enough not to even try to play against her when they were watching it. If Lise knew the category, she'd answer every question on the board. "This trope is commonly used by the cast to their complete detriment because bad things tend to happen to the heroes when they do this," Lise said absently, trying to send a pulse of her Cosmos to alert her lover, her soulmate to her being there. "What is splitting up?" Ciri asked, earning a slight but strained chuckle from the rest of the girls. "Please tell me you really aren't suggesting that we do just that," Rhosyn opined. She paused a moment when she saw Ciri's face and let out wearied and fully exasperated sigh at that. "You are," she said as she pinched the bridge of her nose, a pained expression crossing her features. Why was she getting the feeling that this was going to be a bad move to end all bad moves? "Quickest way to find the boys," Ciri said. "Send a pulse of Cosmos out to let us know once you found them," she continued. "Sounds like a viable plan." "A viable plan would be sticking together because we have no idea what the temperament of the Saints would be right now," Althaia countered, trying to act as a voice of reason - even if she knew she probably wouldn't be entirely successful at doing so. "I mean, for pity's sake, Shiryū's probably a dragon if Hera used their Cloths as the basis for her curse. Which means some of them are probably generic beasties because they don't have a specified animal, like Saga and Kanon for example." "Actually," Lise said, slanting her gaze towards Althaia, a thoughtful expression crossing her features, "because Kanon did a stint as the Sea Dragon Mariner, and since Saga is the Golden Saint of Gemini, ergo twins, so it's possible that it impacted the curse in such a way so that both twins are probably cursed to be sea dragons. But, this is just a guess, mind you." "Okay," Ciri said, holding up her hand in the shape of a t, capturing everyone's attention. "Before we go much further, let's try and figure out what we're looking at. If we go with the aforementioned theory that the curse pulls on their Cloths, that means Hyōga's a swan, Mū's a ram, Saga and Kanon are probably sea dragons if we go with Persephone's theory, Aphrodite's a fish and titans know what the curse has done to Shun." She slanted a Look at Eira. "Don't you even dare to start humming any music from Swan Lake." Eira just smiled, her pale emerald eyes twinkling with sheer mischief. "Nope, I was going to hum the theme from that one Disney cartoon Hyōga got me hooked on." Ciri gave her a flat stare as she quickly recalled which cartoon that had been. "Those were *ducks*," she said slowly, not quite believing that she was even having this particular conversation. "Ducks, Eira, quack quack, not honk." "Anthropomorphic alien ducks that played hockey and fought alien lizards," Eira said, chuckling. "Oh, to have been a fly on that wall during the pitch for that series." "Getting back on track," Lise said, crossing her arms over her chest, glancing between the small group. "As much as I hate the idea of splitting up to look for the boys,  Ciri did raise a good point. We can cover more ground if we split up. There's six of us and twelve temples, that means we cover two temples a piece." She took a small steadying breath. "All right, Eira, you'll take the temples for Aries and Taurus. Rhosyn, you'll take the temples for Pisces and Aquarius. Althaia, you'll take the temples for Sagittarius and Capricorn. Alala, you'll take the temples for Gemini and Cancer. Ciri, you'll take the temples for Libra and Scorpio. I'll take the temples for Leo and Virgo. Sound good?" The girls silently looked amongst each other and as one nodded. "Good luck and Godspeed," Lise said as she began the slow trek to where the temple of the Holy Lion or whatever the hell of a fancy title Athena gave it was - after this, she was never going to complain about her husband's realm again, at least that didn't require her to climb a gods be damned mountain! Leo came before Virgo in the zodiac so she was hopefully bound to run into the Gold saint, Aiolia, first. A minor wince crossed her features as she realized that meant he was probably half lion and half man due to the nature of Hera's curse. Well, hopefully more man than lion but her luck was never that good.. Of course, she just had to jinx herself as a raging cosmos was fast approaching. She barely had time to call on her sacred cloth in defense before it was upon her. She raised her staff in a defensive pose, barely keeping the being from landing on her before it leapt backwards, landing in a crouch, looking all the world to be getting ready to pounce again. She took a steadying breath, keeping her staff grasped tightly in her hands, her knuckles turning bone-white with the strength of her grip. She swallowed harshly as she studied the being before her - both lion and man in some unholy mixture. Well, at least she had found one of Athena's eighty-eight Saints, or rather one found her in this case. "Leo Aiolia," she said, her voice calm and steady despite herself, "stand down." The beast cocked his head as he stared at her before he slowly settled down. "You're not Hera," he said, his voice rough, raspy. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted at being thought of as my aunt," Lise muttered under her breath. "No, not Hera. Lise DeAvaon," she said, "or Persephone. I'll answer to either." She shrugged slightly, her eyes watching him to see what he would do next. She sent a small pulse of Cosmos to Ciri, alerting her to the fact that she found one of the Saints but not to come just yet. She needed more information before she'd drag the other girls to her location. "You came by yourself?" Aiolia asked, tilting his head in the other direction. "No, I'm not that insane to think I could handle however many Saints that have been afflicted by Hera's curse on my own. There's five others with me," she said, giving a small huff. "Which others?" Aiolia asked, still studying her - unused to seeing Athena's sister in her Holy Cloth, or rather, unused to seeing Athena's sister period. It was rare that she ever ventured into public like this, preferring to operate behind the scenes - which was probably one reason that Shun (or Hades, whichever, it was still hard to wrap his brain around that little fact - some year, he was going to have to have Mu sit down and explain it to him in terms that he could clearly understand) adored her. "Oh for the love of grandmother Rhea," she groaned softly. "My older sister Artemis, Rhosyn, Eira, Alala and Althaia." Aiolia gave her the flattest look he could manage given his new facial structure. "Eira. You brought Eira with you." "Well, she is Mū's girlfriend, which is something we still wonder how the bloody hell happened," Lise answered with a mild shrug. "And she's bonded so she felt his Cosmos change so you really think she wouldn't be coming?" Aiolia just stared at her. "Woman," he began slowly. "Think about her sense of humor for a moment. Now, look at me. Need I say anything else." Lise blinked a moment, her mind running over what he just said and what she knew about Eira. "Oh no," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I am so, so sorry, Aiolia." He reached over and patted her head. "I'm surprised she hasn't already started with the jokes." "Well.." Lise said, her voice trailing off for a moment. "She did threaten to hum the theme to the Mighty Ducks cartoon." "The what?" Aiolia blinked, confusion in his gaze. "You never watched Disney cartoons?" Lise answered, arching an eyebrow ever so slightly. Aiolia blinked a moment, trying to wrap his brain around what Lise was getting at and immediately groaned when he remembered catching an episode when he was visiting Hyōga during one of the rare quiet moments before another Holy War would begin. "Hyōga's a fucking swan. He go honk not quack." "Wow, that is frighteningly similar to what Arty said," Lise said, amusement lacing her words. Aiolia cast his gaze heavenward. "Lovely," he said. "So, moving on. The girls all right?" he asked, tensing a moment as he felt something approach. "As all right as one can get when your bonded one is currently appearing to be a petting zoo person," Lise answered, her pale gaze drifting about, trying to figure out where the new pulse of Cosmos was coming from. "I make no promises of not swatting at Eira if she makes one Lion King joke," Aiolia said, stepping slightly in front of Lise in an attempt to protect the young goddess from the impending threat - he couldn't quite get a good read on the Cosmos with his condition fouling things up. "What about Kimba, the white lion then?" she asked innocently, batting pale blue eyes. "We do not talk about Kimba," he snarked. He let out a minor relieved sigh when he saw who it was. "Well hello, lunch," he said, his voice full of innocent teasing. Aphrodite merely raised one hand and then one finger in response to the teasing. He peered around Aiolia to spot the young goddess that was being hidden behind him. "That's not Athena." "Her younger sister, which you should have remembered," Lise huffed, sticking her tongue out at the Pisces saint. "I only helped hook you up with Rhosyn. She's here by the way." Aphrodite was grateful that his changed appearance meant she couldn't tell how badly he paled at that pronouncement. "Here? As in here in Greece or as in she's actually in Sanctuary?" "Well, she's supposed to be checking out whatever fancy name 'Thena gave the temples of Pieces and Aquarius," she said, shrugging slightly. "And I know, I know, I already got lectured from Aiolia about bringing Eira with me." Aphrodite felt his left eye twitch. "That woman is a menace to one's sanity." "That woman's dating Mū, and she's worried about him." "I still want to know how the hell that happened," Aphrodite muttered. He had always thought Mū was married to his job as both Gold Saint to Athena and as the Cloth Blacksmith - but well, that theory had been all shot to hell when he accidentally (well, maybe not so accidentally - he had planned on dragging Mū with him and the others to lunch) entered Mū's temple and found him with Eira. There was not enough alcohol in the world to have dealt with those scarring mental images. "You and just about everyone else," Lise said, idly shrugging. "But that's neither here nor there at the moment." Aphrodite's expression softened as best it could and he made his way over, placing a hand on the young mortal goddess's shoulder. "Truth now, how you holding up?" he asked gently, concern welling up for the young woman. Lise swallowed harshly, the tears finally streaking down her cheeks as she finally broke - something she hadn't been allowing herself to do because she knew she had to be strong for the others. "Barely." Aiolia glanced at Aphrodite and the two shared a silent conversation, ending with Aiolia nodding and sending a small burst of his Cosmos towards where he knew a particular Bronze was hiding.

[strongheartmaid]

AN: Lucifer is Roy Mustang. One of the FMA/Obey Me bunnies that spawned Lucifer stared out of the window of his office in Central Command, feeling the familiar pain of a headache forming. Although, he supposed he had nobody to blame for that other than himself for maintaining this human persona for so long. He let out a soft sigh and partially turned so he could see who was walking into his office. He gave a brief incline of his head in greeting. "Maes." Maes smiled at 'Roy' as he wordlessly dropped into the chair opposite his desk. "Lucifer." Lucifer cast his eyes heavenward for a moment before a small smile crossed his lips. "Now, now, you're supposed to keep that a secret," he lightly admonished. "You and I are the only ones awake at this Godforsaken hour - no-one is going to hear my slip," Maes countered. "So, how are you feeling? Besides looking like you're suffering from the world's worst migraine." "Tired. I thought taking on this mortal life would free me from paperwork," he said, and would deny until the End Times that he was sulking, a pout forming on his features. Maes laughed at his friend's expression (not many could say that one of the Seven Lords of Sin were counted amongst their friends). "Poor you."