#which makes it all the more frustrating when the writing is downright bad or lazy or whatever lol

[lunar-years]

I wouldn't say Ted Lasso did any of its abuse/abuse recovery narratives "well" but I do think they did parts of all of them like really well, which is what makes it all so incredibly frustrating. Like, showing how hard it can be to intervene by having the Diamond Dogs be avoidant and non-confrontational despite their mutual concern about Beard's relationship with Jane, but then having Higgins step up and say something anyway (and even though Beard didn't take his advice, it still felt like okay, this is a good, this is a realistic and messy and complicated narrative to tell that nevertheless highlights the importance of speaking up and being there for your friends even if it doesn't always work out how you'd planned), having Beard & Roy jump in to help Jamie at Wembley and Roy respond so well to Jamie's story in Amsterdam, humanizing Rupert in International Break and giving the backstory for why Rebecca fell in love with him and offering them a moment of real connection again without once pushing the narrative that he should be forgiven or that Rebecca even considers for a second taking him back...all that shit was GOOD!!! it was really nuanced and complex and good!! andddd then it ended with the BeardJane wedding, a James Tartt Sr. forgiveness agenda and Rupert morphing immediately into an over-the-top cartoon villain like what 😭 they had the capacity...and yet!!! nooooooo.

[ladyloveandjustice]

I watched a compilation of clips of live action Zuko scenes (mostly with Iroh) because I think the actor they chose for Zuko is great and I still think he's great, but as someone who recently binged the cartoon, it's really interesting me the way they sanded off the rough edges of Zuko's relationship with Iroh, and the way it sort of damages the characters and the plot...and it makes me think of reoccurring issues in media and how the approach characters (which is exacerbated by the fans who jump the gun and think characters doing unlikeable things or being problematic means the story endorses these thing and that it makes them bad characters)

There's an intense fear of making Zuko too "unlikeable" in the live action, and that really shows in the way they play his relationship with Iroh. In the cartoon, Zuko is honestly downright nasty to Iroh a lot of the time. He's mean! He takes out his anger on Iroh a lot! A good two thirds of their interactions in the first two seasons involve Zuko being frustrated, complaining, or even directly being aggressive towards him.

He has a lot of genuinely cruel moments. You (or maybe just I) can weirdly forgive him more for hunting Aang because he's doing it for a sympathetic, heartwrenching reason even though it is bad and he's wrong. But there's no reason or goal in him being mean to his uncle, it's simply that he's an angry, traumatized, scared teenager and his uncle is someone he can safely take that out on, because Iroh has the patience of a saint and will always forgive him.

And when Iroh tries to push him to realize that chasing after his father's love is futile, he gets downright vicious, calling him selfish, shallow, lazy, jealous of his brother, he just goes right for the jugular because he's so afraid of what Iroh's telling him, he doesn't want to hear it so much that he'll lash out at him as hard as he can to get him to stop, and also to convince himself that Iroh doesn't know what he's talking about.

Zuko is not a nice person for a good chunk of the series, and that includes his relationship with the one person who unfailingly loves and supports him, who's pretty much given up a comfortable like just to help and look after him, and I think that's important. It means he actually needs a redemption arc. It gives his guilt about how he treated Iroh later on weight. And the fact the series allows Zuko to be truly nasty but we still root for him shows how good the writing is. Because despite all that, we can still see the good inside him, we want him to be a better person.

And in the show, in the beginning, Zuko shows those sparks of good slowly. Which allows the audience to feel real tension in not knowing what he'll do. Take that episode in season 1 where Iroh is captured...the viewer genuinely does not know what Zuko will do from what we've seen so far. When he says he'll leave without Iroh, as a viewer, you wonder if he might do it because he's often so mean to Iroh. But it's clear that Iroh knows Zuko's threats are totally empty and he would never leave without him, he's not worried at all when he misses the deadline, and he also knows that Zuko will be coming to rescue him. But the audience doesn't necessarily know that at this point in the series, so when Zuko not only doesn't leave without him, but goes to rescue him and even gives up his chance to capture the Avatar to do so, it's new information for the audience. We see this kid genuinely loves his uncle, and is even willing to sacrifice a chance at the thing he wants most in the world to save him. I think it's that moment that Zuko officially becomes a sympathetic character (It was hinted at with his refusal to kill Zhao and his clear happiness when Iroh praises him, but it becomes concrete here), since we still don't know his backstory yet.

When it happens in the live action though, it's not new information though, and not just because I've watched the original . It's because they never allowed Zuko to be really unlikeable. He's not that mean to Iroh in this version, it's clear from the beginning he loves and respects him. They even have the moment where Zuko sees Appa happen AFTER he's already risked his life to save Iroh, so there's no suspense, of course he's not going to abandon his injured uncle to chase Aang, we already know he'll put himself on the line to save him. It doesn't have any impact because the audience is never allowed to question whether Zuko cares.

And this hesitation to make Zuko be mean to his uncle has ripple effects on the story the live action is unwilling to deal with- it damages Iroh as the character and makes his actions not make sense. Because if Zuko actually listens to Iroh and consistently respects him, why doesn't Iroh just work harder at trying to get him to stop trying to please his abusive father, to stop hunting the Avatar? it seems like he'd be willing to listen with enough work. Live action Aang even questions this and Iroh just. doesn't answer him. Blows it off. As Big Joel points out in his video, it becomes a baffling moment.

But it's clear to me why he doesn't push Zuko harder in the cartoon. The idea that his father's love is attainable and he just needs to get it back, that he can capture the Avatar and regain the family he lost, that this is the right thing to do...it's pretty much what's keeping Zuko going. If Zuko doesn't have that, he might give up on life entirely. Iroh directly says this. 'the important thing is hunting the Avatar gives Zuko hope'. And Iroh knows if he pushes Zuko too much about this, Zuko won't hear it, he will lash out at him and probably leave him, just as he does in season 2, and then how can he help his nephew heal, give him support, and gently guide Zuko to do better?

This is especially demonstrated in the beginning of season 2 when Azula says Ozai wants him back and Zuko, so desperate to be loved, falls for her trap. Iroh tries to gently tell him that his father is not that kind of person, gently tiptoes towards "your father's love is not attainable" and Zuko immediately lashes out viciously, shuts down the conversation, and is willing to leave without him (though he's clearly ecstatic when Iroh does choose to come with him. ecstatic for him, anyway). So Iroh has to pretend to agree with him. to go along with it, all so he can protect Zuko when it does turn out to be a trap.

It's pretty easy to see the turning points in the show that cause Iroh he steps up and finally really try to push Zuko to stop hunting Aang, be a better person and find his own happiness. There's the end of season one when Zuko would have died trying to capture Aang if Aang hadn't chosen to save him. This is a wake up call for Iroh. It's definitely when Iroh realizes the fact it gives Zuko hope doesn't matter, because Zuko's fixation on hunting the Avatar is very likely going to end with Zuko dead. Zuko is so fixated on this he won't prioritize his own survival. This is directly confirmed by the show because Iroh brings it up later when he finally snaps and yells at Zuko to stop this. And there's also the aforementioned moment, where Zuko's desperation for his father's love leads him into a trap and they both have to become fugitives. I think this is when it sinks in for Iroh there's no happy ending for Zuko where he's welcomed back home, and this hope could lead him straight into danger.

(I don't know if this idea Iroh doesn't truly think hunting Aang is a good thing but won't push Zuko too hard about it because that would only shatter their relationship in the first season was actually what they had in mind while writing season 1, but I do think they made it track pretty well when they decided to make his character shift in season 2. )

So yes, Zuko being more amiable and respectful makes Iroh's dynamic with him not make as much sense, and makes Iroh seem much more baffling and callous, especially since the live action makes it very clear that Iroh believes capturing the Avatar is the wrong thing to do from the beginning.

But they don't care about story consistency, or building believable conflict, or writing coherent character dynamics, or allowing Zuko growth. No, the writers like Zuko, they don't want to risk the audience not liking Zuko, so lets remove a lot of his flaws, make his feelings toward Iroh warmer and more respectful because that's easier to watch and everyone liked how warm and loving he was toward Iroh at the end of season 3, so lets just skip to that. The cartoon trusted us to see the good in Zuko and root for him on his journey even if it was messy and sometimes painful to watch, but the live action doesn't, so it won't put in the work. And so his story becomes less meaningful and satisfying, and so Iroh's behavior stops making as much sense. I could easily believe the Zuko in the cartoon would betray Iroh out of sheer desperation to be accepted by Ozai, even as it wracks him with regret, but I wouldn't be able to believe live action Zuko would make such a decision. He's too nice! He never disdains his uncle!

Characters being allowed to do nasty, mean things even to people who love them and then grow to be better is important for writing believable stories and believable growth, especially when it comes to redemption arcs. But I've seen a reluctance to accept that in some writers and a lot of fans. Katara's moments of cruelty are removed (which fans were always less forgiving of than Zuko's hmmm i wonder why), Zuko's moments of being cruel to someone who loves him are removed, we have make it clear Iroh is good from the beginning and directly excuse Iroh's hypocrisy in sometimes prioritizing Zuko's happiness over like, the safety of the world and ending the war sometimes, rather than simply see him quietly develop to be better on that front. It sucks.

We have to be willing to be uncomfortable with characters actions and words sometimes without dismissing them as bad characters, and I....just want fans to consider that, and writers to consider that.

[essieeeeeeeee]

FUCK IT, i’m posting part 1. no title yet, so it’s just “bad touch villain fic” for now until I can get my act together enough to come up with one.

may I just start by saying that I love how we all as a fandom have collectively taken one look at our guy Shaw and thought: this boy needs to get fucked.

on a separate but equally important note, Transporter 2 may have been an absolute train wreck of a movie, but it gave me the gift of some quarter-dressed villain chick licking up the side of Jason Statham's face while he exudes such gay "I'd rather be literally anywhere else than here in this moment" energy, so there's that.

i’m fucking wheezing, man. his face.

anyways, in case it’s not obvious, I’ve stolen the T2 villain couple and threw them into here instead, so if you’re curious about what they look like, feel free to look them up (Gianni Chellini and Lola). this isn’t a crossover, it’s just me being lazy and stealing characters from other movies and playing with them.

a’ight, here we go with part 1. will get part 2 out relatively soon, I think. hopefully. god, I’m so slow at writing, guys.

----------

The bell above the door chimes merrily as Shaw pushes it open and steps into the diner, breathing in the homey scent of grease and caffeine that wafts out at him the moment he crosses the threshold. He lingers in the entryway - tucking his sunglasses carefully into his front left suit pocket, and letting his eyes drag over the establishment in a quick, practiced once-over.

American, is the first thought that comes to mind. Tacky, the second, though he supposes that’s a given, considering the first.

To be fair, it isn’t the worst diner he’s ever stepped foot in - that dubious honor went to a crusty hole in the wall in New Jersey, the name of which he couldn’t and didn’t really care to recall - but even so, the place isn’t exactly what he’d expected from a meet and greet with the CIA.

It's… lively, for starters. 

Shaw skims his gaze over the laminate red and white booths, the worn looking tabletops sticky from dots of leftover syrup. Bright sunlight peeks through the big windows, now that the storm clouds are dissipating in the frankly oven-like California weather.  Patrons chat loudly from each corner of the room. It's open and cheery and packed with parents and their tiny screaming sprogs, and all of it's already giving him a very sleep-deprived headache.

Shaw can pinpoint every word of the conversation that’s happening six booths to his left, too, which means privacy won't be much of a concept here either.

Strange choice in location, he thinks, for a debrief with top secret government information regarding a world-ending cyber death cult.

Deckard shrugs off the discomfort of it all, though. Partly because he honestly can't muster up enough of a fuck to give, and partly due to the fact that the smell of freshly brewed coffee has been relentlessly beckoning him forward since the initial whiff of it hit him from the doorway. He takes a quick moment to map out the visible exits, more habit than anything - front door, side door, likely a back one through the kitchen if needs must - and, once satisfied with his perusal, makes his way towards the bulky figure in the back right corner that’s stuck out like a mountain among mole hills since Shaw first walked into the place.

“Hobbs,” he mutters wearily, and spares a grimace at the grungy empty seat across the table. He resignedly lowers himself into it anyways.

The lawman’s eyes flick up from the plate in front of him, and he doesn’t look all that surprised; but Shaw knows it’s because he caught Hobbs’ gaze since the moment he stepped out of the rental car in the lot outside.

They’re both just a couple of paranoid bastards like that, he supposes.

And Hobbs looks - good. Better than the last time Deckard's seen him, awkwardly parting ways at a terminal in LAX, the both of them littered with bruises and scrapes that were only a small testament to the absolute shitshow they'd somehow just survived. Now it seems the bigger man's nicks are less than scabs, and the large bruise Hobbs had been sporting across his left temple at the time is nearly gone.

Shaw grudgingly notes that he's also been nursing his own wounds, and steadily healing, if slowly. His right shoulder still twinges when he moves it the wrong way, paracetamol continues to be a three times a day affair, and the spastic tick in his left hand hasn't quite let up since Brixton's electroshock therapy session, but overall - things are better.

His ribs still ache something fierce, though. Fractured, likely. Not that he's about to whine about it.

“Tinkerbell,” Hobbs greets, and then blithely stuffs another bite of the fried monstrosity that sits on his plate into his mouth. Shaw’s grimace deepens. “You’re late.”

“Blame your shitty weather. Flight delay.” Deckard ignores the insult; he's too fucking tired to pick up Hobbs' volley today. Instead, he leans forward, careful to avoid the greasy stain at the edge of the table, and gets straight to the point. “Where’s your contact?”

Because that was the obvious missing piece here, wasn’t it? Shaw didn’t come traipsing all the way to Los Angeles just to witness the Hulk stuff his oversized mug with substandard diner fare.

Two weeks out from Samoa - two weeks of very different, yet equally consequential family reunions, of settling affairs that only a forty-eight hour hotseat on every major news channel in the world can cause - and now it was time to get down to business. Hobbs’ CIA friend had promised intel. Shaw may be reluctant to forego his solo status for another team-up with Ms. America here, but he wasn’t an idiot. Information on Eteon didn’t exactly just rain from the sky.

Nine years of hunting the bastards down on his lonesome taught him that much.

Besides: the fact that Hattie’s life wasn’t on the line with this one left Deckard feeling a mite less prickly. Hobbs may be an annoyance, but he's at least a tolerable one.

“Also late,” Hobbs says, glancing down at his watch. Then the man sighs, and rubs at his temples in a way that makes Shaw wonder exactly what he’s getting into, here. “But he’ll probably show up -”

“- fashionably late and with Starbucks? You bet your perky muscled ass I will, Rebecca.”

Deckard startles a little in his seat, because where the fuck did this arsehole just come from, and his hand reflexively slides over the utensils on the table in front of him, but he smothers the instinctive urge to lodge one into the meat of the thigh that's suddenly appeared at his side. The scruffy, grinning man it's attached to seems to catch the movement, from the way his eyes dart down to the table. He shifts, just slightly, away from Shaw.

Smart fucker.

And no sensible shoes, either. That was interesting.

"Locke," Hobbs says, resigned, scooting in to make a little room as Scruffy slides himself into the seat left behind.

"Aw, don't be like that, Becky," the man whines, and Shaw can't help but mouth a bewildered 'Becky?' at Hobbs with raised brows. Hobbs only drops his head and rubs at his temples a little harder. "You know my delicate emotions can't handle the strain."

"You brought Starbucks. Into a diner."

"Never judge a man for his grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha habit, Lukas. Gosh, have I taught you nothing?"

"I can sincerely say," Hobbs grinds out, and Shaw is somewhat delighted by the disgruntled twist in the other man's features, "that the only thing you've ever taught me is the true meaning of patience."

"Don't you sass your father like this in front of company, young man. Already in the rebellious teenage phase, Christ, they grow up so fast, don't they?"

"Like mold," Deckard drawls. The disgruntlement on Hobbs' face grows deeper.

"Ha," he says, flatly. "What'aya got for us, Locke?"

"Don't rush me, sweetums, I'm famished," CIA titters, enthusiastically waving down one of the bustling waitresses. Deckard's somewhat grateful for it; he'd murder for a coffee, and that wasn't a metaphor. "And, what, no introduction? The manners on you today."

Hobbs sighs. Shaw honestly can't help but be somewhat amused by the balls this bloke must have, riling up the lawman like this. He's not sure quite yet what to think about Chatterbox - intriguing or just downright irritating - but he can at the very least admit that anyone who can put that level of utter frustration into Hobbs' eyes was worth looking into.

"Shaw, meet Locke," Hobbs says, waving impatiently at the agent beside him, who wriggles his fingers at Shaw in greeting while slurping loudly around his straw. "Locke, meet Harry Potter's uglier cousin."

Deckard scowls.

"Well fuck me sideways, but Dudley sure grew up nice, didn't he?" Locke says, and - Shaw’s actually a bit flattered to see the agent’s eyes flick over him lasciviously.

But before he can quite unravel that one, a server appears at the table edge, shooting a wide, familiar smile in Hobbs' general direction. "Can I get you boys anything?"

Locke straightens in his seat. "I'll take one of everything."

"No he won't," Hobbs snaps, smacking the idiot’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

"You're so right, snookums, gotta watch that girlish figure." Locke rubs his arm with a wince, beaming at the woman, who's started to look a bit flustered at this point, poor dove. "I'll take a number two, extra syrup, extra mayo."

She nods slowly, and turns to Deckard, as though hoping to re-establish some sort of normality.

He takes pity on her. "Coffee, thank you. Black.”

"To match his soul," Hobbs mutters around a sip from his own cup.

"To match my shoe," Shaw corrects with a tight smile. "Going up your arse."

Hobbs snorts. "Think you got that one twisted, son."

"Think you might want to start ponderin' the merits of a wing-tipped enema. Son."

"Jesus, you two are adorable," Locke interjects, resting his chin in his hands as the waitress pours out the coffee and shuffles nervously away. "Like some sort of walking, talking, opposites-attract, enemies-to-lovers, sixty-nine kay slow-burn. Is there a kudos button hiding around here somewhere?"

Shaw can't interpret even half of that. He has a strong inkling that he should probably just shoot the man for it anyway.

"You wanna get to the point, chuckles, before I put your head through this table?" Deckard says. He drums his fingers casually against said tabletop, just to make his own point that much clearer.

Entertaining as Hobbs’ little motormouth of a friend has been, Shaw has just spent the better of his last twenty-four hours on a transatlantic red eye: he's exhausted. Even a verbal spar with Hobbs isn't quite giving him the usual spike of adrenaline it deserves. The only thing he wants more right now than the coffee in his hand is his head on the pillow of a hotel room bed, and CIA here was the last obstacle standing in the way of that particular goal.

Not a safe place to be, generally speaking.

"And oddly in sync with your threats, too," Locke muses. He shifts back in his seat, though, and quickly raises his hands in surrender when Shaw leans forward menacingly. "Right, yes, ok, the point! I, ah. I definitely have one of those."

Finally, he digs into the bag at his side, hastily pulling out a few manila files. He slides them across the table towards the two of them. Shaw lets the murder in his eyes simmer down a bit as he snatches up his own.

“So, the Snowflake,” Locke starts. “Turns out the late professor wasn’t the only one with his hands in that diabolical cookie jar - ”

Scruffy keeps talking, but Shaw stops listening the moment he opens up the folder and skims his eyes down the first page.

Oh, shit, he thinks.

His stomach makes a very abrupt descent to his knees.

Because there, tucked under a paperclip in the top right corner, is a set of photographs. Generic, really. Black and whites, likely mugshots from the look of them. A man and a woman - staring straight towards the camera, little smirks nestled in the corners of their mouths like poorly hidden secrets. Shaw’s gaze traces over the sharp curve of a cheekbone, an aristocratic nose.

The faces staring up at him are jarringly familiar, in the worst possible ways.

The kinds of ways, in fact, that suddenly makes it very tempting to get up from the table and walk away, as quickly as possible.

“-ellini and Lilian Nuata,” Locke says, pointedly tapping the photos in his own file, and it’s as though the world’s volume has abruptly turned back up again. Shaw blinks, then snaps his eyes back up to the two men across the table from him. He blanks his face to cool disinterest when he finds Hobbs staring back at him.

Deckard’s not sure what kind of expression worked its way across his face while he took in the literal goddamn nightmare in his hands, but the perplexed look Hobbs shoots him makes Shaw think it wasn’t as subtle as he would have hoped.

"You know 'em?" Hobbs asks.

And fuck, but that's a loaded question. Shaw can feel his face twist like he’s sucked a lemon. It's completely involuntary, and he hates himself for the tell.

“We’ve… met,” he answers, somewhat honestly.

As if 'met' could ever sum up the amount of sheer overwhelming fuckery their run-ins entailed. Shaw covers his discomfort with a fortifying sip of his coffee.

It curdles in his stomach.

"Oh, good," Locke says, almost obliviously cheerful. "Then you probably know just how pants shittingly insane our Harley Quinn and Joker duo here are."

Bit more than you'd think, Shaw muses with faint dread. 

"Nuata's the big brain behind our little Snowflake," Locke continues. "Andreiko may have invented the capsules that carried it, but the whole organ-melting, blood-spitting, eugenics genocidal virus shebang? That's her bouncing bundle of joy." The man takes another flippant slurp of his latte. The sound grates on Deckard's nerves, but he's feeling a bit too numb to give much of a shit about it.

"And Chellini?" Hobbs asks. The lawman's still shooting curious glances Deckard's way, and Shaw figures that's his cue to stop acting the part of nervous wallflower.

"Muscle," he finally speaks up. The word somehow comes out normally, despite the fact that Shaw's throat is feeling drier than the Sahara. "But also happens to have a brain, unlike someone else I know."

Hobbs' semi-concerned expression falls back into an irritated scowl. That’s good. Deckard doesn't need the man's cautious hovering. 

They may have a somewhat decent, if not entirely amicable working relationship now, but Shaw wasn't about to dump his sordid histories into Hobbs' lap. They weren't friends. 

Deckard didn't really know what they were at this point, actually, but it certainly wasn't that. 

"Nuata can take care of herself, but they're… formidable, together," Deckard continues, before Hobbs can open his mouth. "They're sadists. Like to play with their food before eating it."

"And you've… met, huh?"

Something about Shaw's voice must have been slightly off, because the concern is creeping its way back into Hobbs' eyes. It makes Shaw's skin itch in irritation; he's not some child to be coddled and fretted over. Best to cut that nonsense off right here and now.

"Worked with 'em on a job once." Deckard shrugs, nonchalant, and leans back in his seat. "Briefly. Didn't quite appreciate their methods, so we parted ways."

It's the truth, if a heavily edited one. Either way, the mission is accomplished: the concern vanishes immediately.

"Of course you worked with them," Hobbs snorts bitterly. "Looney tunes here sound just your speed. What kind of job they end up luring you in with, anyway? Selling poison to toddlers? Murdering puppies in Tokyo?"

Ah. Well - ouch.

That one hit somewhat closer to home than likely intended, going by the expression of mild regret on Hobbs' face moments after the words leave his mouth. The sting of it is sudden, surprisingly unexpected, and altogether earned, really. It’s an abrupt reminder that even in the wake of Samoa, there’s still a decent amount of unpacked baggage between the two of them. The kind of baggage that comes with literal skeletons in closets 

Or in fiery, crumpled sports cars, smoldering vengefully on a busy street in Tokyo.

Shaw considers himself a reasonably self-aware person; he already knows he's a piece of shit. Doesn't mean he'll tolerate Hobbs shoving his nose into the fact like some misbehaving dog.

"Fucking hilarious," he snaps, narrowing his eyes. "Don't think that's any of your business, is it?" 

He leans forward, and suddenly Deckard finds that he's angry. The irrational kind: no specific target, no specific cause. Angry at Hobbs - angry at Locke - angry at every little shout and laugh in the air of the diner around him. Absolutely, completely, furiously angry that this file, with those pictures, has been dropped into his lap like a fucking grenade when he least expected it.

"You sure seem real interested though, Tiny. Maybe you get off on that kind of thing, huh? Puppy murder? Kiddy killing?" Hobbs' mouth twists, as though he knows he deserves the retort, but that it's pissing him off nonetheless. Shaw smiles grimly. Good. "'Cause I know a few people who could give you some details -"

“Yeah, I’m sure you know plenty of people -”

"Maybe we could table that steaming pile of inhumanity for another day," Locke interrupts suddenly. "Fascinating as getting in touch with our inner Cruella de Vils sounds, we're on a bit of a time crunch, darlings. Your flight to Spain to bag us Bellatrix Lestrang and her boytoy is in five hours, and we’ve still got some ground to cover here."

Shaw cuts himself off, and reigns in the bright spark of rage still flickering in his head. Closes his eyes for a moment.

What is he even doing?

He opens his eyes again, lets them flick back down to the photographs in front of him with the morbid helplessness of watching an imminent disaster just waiting to occur. Knows, with swift clarity, exactly where the anger is coming from.

Tired or not, Shaw’s aware that the abrupt flare of resentment is an unreasonable reaction to what was meant to be an innocuous comment. He attempts to tamp it back down a bit; difficult, with Hobbs’ narrowed-eyed gaze staring at him from across the table, but do-able.

Professional, he thinks. You’re a fucking professional.

"Spain, huh? Always liked Spain. Good memories," Hobbs says suddenly, voice far too innocent to be anything but deadly. Shaw watches with sharp eyes as Hobbs takes a very pointed sip of his coffee, staring Deckard down. The bigger man places the cup back on the table with a quiet thud, and smiles. "Like when we blew up your brother’s plane, for instance."

On second thought, fuck professional.

"Whoa now,” Locke says, hastily grabbing at Shaw’s wrist with a nervous laugh as the Brit's fingers spasm hard around the cutlery on the table in front of him. Lucky timing - Deckard had half a mind to jab the butterknife in his grip straight into Hobbs' hand, crowded diner be damned. “Let’s just take it easy there, Scarier Spice. We’re all friends here.”

Shaw very deliberately glances down at the hand on his arm, before letting his eyes drag back up to the agent’s.

“You’re gonna want to let go of me,” he says, slowly. “Friend.”

The hand is instantly snatched away, with frankly satisfying speed.

“So aggressive,” Locke says with another nervous little chuckle, fanning himself. “I gotta say, the fearboner I’m getting right now? I’m kinda into it.”

The ache in Shaw's temples gives another sudden, violent throb, and - yeah, no.

He wasn’t throwing himself back into the wreckage that was Chellini and Nuata for the sake of the two men in front of him.

Deckard rises from his seat. "Have fun with your little mission, Hobbs. You go enjoy knocking a couple of pissant nobodies' heads together in Spain like a good dog, while I go find some useful intel to work with."

"Yup," Locke mutters quietly. "Definitely aroused in this moment."

"Locke, shut your goddamn mouth," Hobbs snaps. "Shaw, just - sit down."

And oh, but that's rich. "In case you haven't noticed, steroids," Shaw sneers, leaning forward on the table, "you ain't the boss of me."

Hobbs just rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid, jackass. This is our best shot at getting these bastards, and you damn well know it."

The DSS agent leans forward himself, hardly backing down from the challenge in Shaw's eyes. And usually, that would get Deckard going - really throw some fuel on the fire - but now it just makes him hesitate.

"Besides," Hobbs adds, and his mouth quirks up into the beginnings of a wry grin. "Can't knock some pissant nobodies' heads together without my sidekick tagging along."

… goddamnit.

Shaw didn’t feel guilt very often, but Hobbs’ playful, friendly little smile was causing an avalanche of it. He falters; stands at the edge of the booth, half-turned towards the doorway, towards freedom, towards his ticket out and away from not-so-old wounds he’d rather take a bullet to the head for than let Hobbs be an audience to.

But. But.

He also wasn’t quite monster enough to allow Hobbs to wander into that horror show on his lonesome.

Slowly, grudgingly, Shaw sits back down.

He does not flush when Hobbs beams at him like the giant fucking golden retriever he is.

“Wonderful!” Locke says, clapping his hands together cheerfully. “Gosh, isn’t this exciting? It’s like we’re a team. Like the X-men or something. Ooooh, I call Wolverine.”

“Locke,” Hobbs says forlornly.

“Yeah, no, you’re right, Shaw definitely pulls off the brooding loner better. I think I’m more of a Jean Grey myself, too.”

“What’s the plan?” Shaw asks brusquely, flipping open the file again. He slides his gaze past the photos this time, and further on to the information on the page beneath.

The pictures still manage to haunt him out of the corner of his eye.

“They’re holed up in Chellini’s private chalet in Almeria. Real fancy stuff,” Locke says. “These two may be balls to the fucking walls bonkers, but they're not stupid. Guards and security out the ass, I’m tellin’ ya. We’ll need you two to go in, extract them, and maybe not destroy half the city in the process, because Big Daddy Government isn’t thrilled at the thought of covering your usual laundry bill.”

“Get in, get the marks, get out. Simple,” Hobbs says, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re simple. This is not,” Shaw snaps, tapping at the folder. “We need an actual plan, not your usual smash-and-grab theatrics.”

“Pretty sure my ‘theatrics’ are what threw your ass in jail.”

“Pretty sure your incompetence is what got me out of it -”

Somehow, an hour later, the smallest semblance of a strategy comes together. The stability of it helps soothe the tension buzzing at the edges of Shaw’s mind, but even so, it lingers, like a bad taste on the back of his tongue. He traces his fingers along the black and white images in front of him for a brief moment as CIA pays the food bill, before forcefully flipping the folder shut.

"Still one thing I need to get straight,” Deckard says, gaze suddenly pinning Locke to his seat. “You had me fly to Los Angeles, from London - just to fly back to Spain?"

The murder must be back in his eyes, Shaw thinks, because there's certainly a new hint of fear in Locke's.

"Ok, to be fair," Locke starts, edging back in his seat slightly, "one: I didn't actually know you were in London, because two: you're a very naughty, sneaky boy who happens to be incredibly difficult to track down, and did I mention I have a very delicate bone structure?"

Locke's voice climbs increasingly higher as he presses further back into the booth - likely because Shaw was leaning across the table with the intent of strangling him.

“Shaw, stop scaring the rabbit,” Hobbs says, shoving at Locke’s shoulder as the man pushes himself into Hobbs’ space. “Locke, let me the hell out of this booth.”

Shaw slips out of the booth himself, but not without a withering glare in Scruffy’s direction.

They make their way out of the diner, Locke scurrying off with rambling goodbyes that Shaw doesn’t bother listening to, and the sudden wave of heat as he steps out of the doors with another chime of bells above them is almost nauseating. Deckard grimaces at the bright blue sky as Hobbs siddles up next to him.

"You good?" Hobbs says, and bumps his shoulder awkwardly against Shaw's own.

And the move is just - so fucking Hobbs, so endearing (though Shaw would commit a fantastic amount of homicide before admitting that fact), that Deckard slowly, reluctantly deflates. The still-smoldering anger finally winks quietly out of existence, and just leaves him feeling exhausted in its stead. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," Deckard mutters, glancing away with an irritated little sniff. "Just -"

He looks down at the file in his hand. Thinks of the photographs.

Trepidation hits him like a roundhouse kick to the gut. 

"- tired," he finishes dully.

Hobbs pats him on the shoulder with a big hand, and then just. Leaves it there. Like they're pals, or something. Shaw hesitates, but decides not to shrug it off.

It's ridiculous that it helps his nerves somewhat.

"Yeah, well. I've got a guest room, if you need to crash for a couple hours before the flight."

The offer is unexpected - possibly for both of them, going by the slight discomfort Shaw can pick out of Hobbs' posture, and the way he won't quite meet Shaw's eyes after - but Deckard honestly considers it for a moment. 

Only a moment, though. "Already booked a place," he lies through his teeth.

Fat fucking chance he'd be able to get any sembleance of sleep, with images of mugshots seared into his mind. Shaw knows himself; in all likelihood he'll find a place to kip out, with enough caffeine to hotwire an elephant, and drown himself in research for the next three hours.

Preparation never really helped when it came to Chellini and Nuata, but it sure as hell would make him feel less like he was throwing himself into the lion's den. Again.

"Right," Hobbs says. He gives a little squeeze to the shoulder under his hand, before letting it fall back to his side. Shaw refuses to let himself acknowledge that the sudden lack of pressure there is a disappointment, because he's not a fucking child. "I should head out. Gotta find someone to watch Sam while I'm gone."

Ah. The daughter. Strange, to suddenly remember that Hobbs was a man in charge of nurturing something. "Wheels up in four, then," Shaw says, slipping his sunglasses back onto his face in the California sunshine. "Just don't bitch to me about your leg room this time, Gigantor."

"Not all of us suffer from being vertically challenged, short stop."

"Just mentally, in your case," Shaw says, and can't help the corner of his mouth from ticking up slightly at Hobbs' snort of laughter.

“Sure,” the big man says with a huff. “Guess I’ll see you in España, tonto.”

And with that Hobbs walks off with cheery little wave, Shaw following him with his eyes as the lawman hefts himself onto the motorbike and departs with a roar of the engine. Shaw just shakes his head, and sighs.

Chellini and Nuata. Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks.

Well.

If nothing else, at least he'll have back-up this time.

[noctomania]

As Someone Who Didn’t Vote For 10 Years: Your Vote Matters.

Hey. So, let’s chat. Or rather, hear me out.

I turned 18 in 2006. I did not vote until 2016. Bc even I saw through my apathy & prioritized trying to combat potential fascism. You can get an idea of how many elections one sits out of over a 10yr span here. It’s a lot & I should have done my part much sooner. Though I could say “well I was in college from 2007-2012 & &&” no. Not an excuse. I had time no doubt. I was just apathetic. I have reflections for those who continue to abstain from their right & duty to vote.

I remember my parents encouraging me to register to vote. I think it was part of applying for my license or something. I can’t remember if I ever registered with a party, but I think in TX in order to vote you have to be registered with a party. In any case, since I’ve been registered in the north I haven’t been part of a party bc I too felt the whole thing was a sham. I was still remembering the robbery that was Bush’s terms. TWO WHOLE TERMS. I remember seeing my mom cry when he won his first term. I remember hearing about all the awful shit he was doing as president from my dad & stepmom.

But I also remember thinking: “Why isn’t anyone doing anything?”

It can be incredibly disheartening & frustrating & downright angering to hear about atrocities without hearing about the forces fighting back. Death & Drama sells.

I wasn’t eligible to vote when bush was running. Then Obama came along & I was like “Great, surely my blue state I live in now is all for him & I don’t gotta bother - y'all got my order.”

Your. Vote. Matters.

Obama was an incredible victory. I will never allude to him ever being perfect bc he, just like every other president, has had to make tough decisions that do not always work out, or they make decisions you outright disagree with. He’s just part of the spectrum of what we’ve known, but he was the first Black president of a nation that was built & raised on destroying Native communities & enslaving Black people. That was & will remain significant. As you can imagine, during that time of not voting I also was not entirely involved in racial matters as much as I should have been despite what I was actively learning about in college. I sunk into apathy.

Apathy is a comfort not afforded to everyone. It is not an option for everyone as a means of survival. Were Black communities & of color to sink entirely into apathy they would be completely wiped out bc there are organized white supremacists who spend every waking hour trying to find new ways to attack in covert & not-so-covert ways - voter suppression, intimidation, manipulation, propaganda. Apathy is a privilege. A white privilege that even a kid raised on free lunches at school & hand-me-downs from neighbors could afford.

Your. Vote. Matters.

Let’s talk symbolism. “My refusal to vote is symbolic of my disgust with how this nation is run, how our elections are corrupt, to show my hatred of the electoral college, my vote doesn’t matter anyway bc ...”

You’re right. Your vote is symbolic. But not for what you think.

When you don’t vote, that is like not replying to a message. The nation poses a question to all voters: Who do you want to represent you? If you don’t reply to the email, your input isn’t counted at all. There is no footnote to say “I didn’t vote bc of such-and-such reason.” You might have been unconscious. You might have forgotten. You might have not cared. You might care very much.

But there is literally no job in the entire election process who’s responsibility is to sit in an office & contemplate why Jared in Oklahoma didn’t cast a vote.

“Gee, I sure hope Jared is ok. Is he mad at us? I guess he might want change...”

No. The way you show that you are not happy with how things are going is to vote. THAT is how you send the sentiment of “Hey so this isn’t great I’d like to try moving this way.” But we can’t really make progress without continuing to push. Even when things look like they’re going well (”Hey, we got a Black guy in office, we’re doing great with the racism stuff!”) you gotta keep pushing - which is why you need to be able to realize the ones you do vote for need to be criticized as well. Obviously, there will be myths & the ones about Obama probably hit a record tally on that with how angry a Black person as president made the racists in this country feel, but there are valid criticisms as well that should not be overlooked if we want to know how to push for a better tomorrow, or to avoid accidentally electing a new nightmare bc you aren’t getting immediate results from who you thought was going to change the world. It’s a lot to put on one president. It would take multiple terms, beyond 2, to really see a shift considering they may be combating an opposing congress or supreme court. 

The only reason your vote matters is because it is symbolic. If we all had esp we wouldn’t need to vote. Writing on a form that looks different depending on where you are yet all cumulatively results in the tallying for ONE election is entirely symbolic. That’s not an argument against voting, it’s proof as to why you should vote. Symbolism is not without consequence. Look at every book-burning that has ever happened. Our ideas are symbolic until they are put into practice. Your vote is your idea. We can’t read your mind. And the government isn’t reading your blog being like “GiantD0ngB0ng really said it best when they said ‘Fuck politicians’. That really change our perspective on how we had been running this nation. You’re right GiantD0ngB0ng, you’re right.”

If we had elected Hillary after Obama, we wouldn’t be so fucking bad with corona bc she wouldn’t have dismembered the pandemic response Obama had built due to swine flu, we wouldn’t be nearly as worried about ACA, we would still absolutely have criticisms bc no matter Woman, Black, Hispanic, Immigrant, Trans, Disabled, Homeless, or any combination of intersection of minorities, nobody is perfect. Nobody knows all the answers. Thus a decentralized government model that will only remain anywhere near as such if we stop letting fascists & bad faith actors get power by using our symbolic vote to say no.

Most everyone HATES group projects. I certainly do. If any people enjoy them, there are still likely aspects of it that rub them the wrong way like having a partner that doesn’t contribute. Guess what.

Elections are group projects.

I believe it was EvelynFromTheInternets who made me realize that, & echoes much of the same sentiment I have written in this.

And at 5:55 she says: What Are You Going To Do On November 4th bc We Are Still Fighting For Suffrage. We have to keep pushing & working towards a better tomorrow, today. None of it will amount to much if people are not voting. You can campaign & fundraising & educate all you want. But if people don’t vote it’s all for nothing. You need both.

“ As of June 2020, the United States had the highest number of incarcerated individuals worldwide, with more than 2.12 million people in prison “ This is absolutely part of the bigger problem & yet another way people have been disheartened. It’s on purpose. They don’t want disenfranchised communities to be able to vote. So we - those of us who don’t have to wait in lines for hours, those of us who don’t face racial violence, those of us who can choose apathy & laziness for a decade with little to no personal consequence - must vote symbolically for them.

If you want your vote to mean something then vote for them. Vote for the people who are still ineligible to vote even though they aren’t in prison anymore. Vote for the people who despite working more than you do, harder than you do, for less than you do, still have to pay taxes & still denied the right to vote. Vote for the people who can’t vote bc police murdered them. Vote for the people who wait 10 hours in line to vote & are turned away when they finally get to the front of the line. Vote for those who don’t have the right to relinquish in the first place. Hell you can even vote for those who do vote anyway but have been misled by propaganda. Bc if you don’t, eventually we all will sink. You may be in the upper class of the titanic but in the end the whole ship is going down & you may just have the opportunity to slowly freeze out in the dark ocean on a lifeboat with all your rich strangers with the slim chance at survival rather than swallowed immediately by the sea like those who were locked in the lower levels to keep them from access to rescue.

At 7:24 Evelyn hits another really important part that I think drives my whole point home: as a Black woman her actual life, & those who share her experience, is on the line constantly in this country & much of this world. It is not entirely as symbolic to some people as it is to the more privileged populations.

Sure, your vote is symbolic, & sure you not voting is absolutely symbolic. But the only thing not voting is symbolic of is your apathy, your own privilege to choose that & think you’ll be fine & that it’s other people who need to “wake up”. No babe, it’s you. Wake up to the wider consequences of symbolic gestures.

Your vote matters whether it’s electoral college or popular vote. Your vote matters to getting closer to an admin that will enable popular vote as the determinant & eradicate the electoral college. Your vote matters whether you’re in a “blue” state or a “red” state or a battleground state. A state is only red or blue until it’s not. I come from TX I know about that shit. The only reason “battleground” states are a focus is bc they fluctuate more often than others, that doesn’t make others ineligible to change. Your vote matters bc you may be only a portion of the overall grade, but the overall grade affects everyone. It will impact others more harshly than you.

Your Vote Matters.

I want to add one last note: voting doesn’t happen once every 4 years, & it’s never JUST about president. If you don’t go vote at all, you are neglecting the more local stuff as well which is what affects the bigger elections. If all you do during a group project is read one line during the presentation in class, the grade will reflect you lack of effort elsewhere throughout the project. If I showed up & only voted for president & nothing else it would be for nothing. Racist & bigoted GOP will vote all red all the time up & down ballot. It’s not about age either. If your vote didn’t matter then they wouldn’t sink so much money & effort into trying to prevent people from doing it.

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 22: Routine - Somethings Changed, Somethings Changed, Somethings Changed

When you make it a habit to know everything someone regularly does, even someone like Skulker will eventually find out something he’d wish he hadn’t.

*Note: Title inspired by Something Changed by Creep-P

If there was one thing Skulker made sure to know and know well, it was his preys routines. That was one thing he loved about the young halfa, his routine was easy but the fun came from just how frequently it got royally messed up. But it always had the same base structure, ‘ghost attacks, exchange witty banter, kick ghost butt, go home’. In fact it was so much of a routine that the boy could explain it to someone with practiced ease. Then there was mornings of ruffling up sleep tousled hair, shoving minty paste around his mouth and consuming food. Fifty-fifty chance of his parents devices doing something to or around him. Followed by schooling and skipping doing that for some ghost fight or another. Spending an obscene amount of time with his friends, bantering with the hunter girl, and the night patrol. There was, of course, some much more basic aspects to the boys routine. Though sleep was one thing that Phantom just seemed to shove where ever it would fit at random. And something about today just rang all the hunter bells inside Skulker. He just knew today was going to be one of the weird ones. The ones where he always learned the most.

That turned out to be quite the understatement. Because there are other unchanging facts about the whelps routines.

He gets beat up by bullies, sometimes fights back mildly. Why that was, had to be some imperceptible good guy thing. But not today, in all Skulker’s time he had never once seen the whelp, in his human skin, punch the Dash child.

Phantom always smiled at his friends, their backs turned or not. Not today, if they weren’t looking he was glaring or smirking in a way that was honestly impressively malicious.

That sister of his always made sure he got to school eventually. Not today, today she was completely missing.

He always ate his lunch hurriedly but still with enjoyment. Not today, he was lazy about it, uncaring. It didn’t even seem like he tasted the food at all.

But again, another thing Skulker knew about Phantom’s routine was that things often became incredibly strange. But here’s the thing, that was always preempted by either his parents' awful weaponry or some other ghost interfering. He’d always go back to ‘normal’ afterwards. But ever since last night the kid had been off, for no reason. So Skulker kept his distance and watched as things went from weird and off to deeply concerning.  

See normally, Phantom never did more than beat ghosts around a little, sometimes taking out his aggression problem on them, but never anything serious. Especially against that fool, The Box Ghost. Not today, which is honestly the most concerning thing yet. Skulker almost felt bad for The Box Ghost. The whelp looked like he was actively trying to destroy and hurt him, for no reason other than to inflict pain. It was, dare he say, incredibly disturbing.

But the most concerning thing of all, was Phantom noticed him. Worse than that, Phantom didn’t care. Phantom never noticed Skulker’s studying of him, never. Skulker went out of his way to make sure he got around and stayed out of the range of the boys' ghost sense. The whelp, while paranoid, wasn’t exactly observant. And Skulker’s sure the ghost child’s sense hadn’t gone off, yet the halfa was acting like he always knew Skulker followed him around and had just decided to make that fact clear. What really unnerved Skulker was that the boy would occasionally lock eyes with him and grin. That is not how Phantom ever reacts to seeing any of his ‘enemy’ ghosts, especially not the mighty hunter Skulker.

So to say the whelps normal routine of behaviour was off, was an understatement.

Watching as the boy takes his silly little human test while grinning maliciously, why the powerful halfa even bothered with human things he’ll never fully understand. Only for the sister to sneak up with weapons, which is more than a little odd. She was decidedly not a ghost hunter or one of the whelps little sidekicks. Only for her to seemingly get electrocuted, pass out and get dragged off by an invisible force. Making Skulker quite pleased with himself over staying the Hell away. He knew Phantom couldn’t duplicate, so that wasn’t the boys doing. So it was something following him maybe, potentially influencing his behaviour. Something similar has happened to the boy multiple times after all.

Skulker can’t help but raise an eyebrow, somewhat amused, at how damn aggressively the whelp hands in his paper. Then pulling a face overhearing the kid using ‘is that a problem?’ as a threat...at a human. Phantom never even threatened human hunters, none the less his own, arguably weak and pathetic, teacher. In fact he seemed quite fond of this teacher, normally. Yet here he was threatening the human and walking off like the proudest thing in the world.

Then even stranger is he’s grinning maliciously around his own family as they go to meet this teacher. Obviously the teacher is not impressed with the whelp. Yet Phantom seems happy about that, seems to eagerly be looking forward to it. Which is yet another thing that is off. The whelp hates getting in trouble, he hates letting people down. He should be absolutely miserable, a little paranoid, and maybe slightly angry. Not grinning full of pride and taking long confident steps towards his unimpressed teacher. While his shocked parents follow behind.

Skulker actually pauses and gapes a bit as the teacher flat out claims Phantom cheated and the little whelp doesn’t even deny it. He seems tickled green actually. Phantom never cheats, especially not on something mundane or schooling. The whelp won’t even use his ghostly strength to do better in gym. He might trick his opponents but he never outright cheats. Never. That is so severely outside of the halfas norm that it is jarring. And then he’s proud even giddy, over being caught. Like he cheated purely so he would be caught. That mental line makes absolutely no sense when dealing with Phantom.

Regardless of being heroes or villains, no ghost wanted to get caught for anything. Phantom included. This was downright wrong, not just off.

The sidekicks showing up and talking about things exploding only seems to make the halfa grin crueller. Like the prospect of everyone getting blown up and dying pleased him. Again, this is incredibly wrong.

Then the sister shows back up with a battle suit, which does look decently impressive, and Phantom finally gives a more normal behaviour; shock. But it’s angry almost malicious shock, which he never has and definitely never aims at a human. Phantom’s anger is the annoyed frustrated kind. Not the red hot or ice cold, ‘I want to make something bleed’, kind.

Watching as the sister blasts him with some beam, peeling off his skin, and NOPE! JUST NOPE! Skulker is not touching whatever is going on here or whatever Phantom just turned into. He doesn’t need to be anywhere near that. He actively doesn’t want to be. He can see and feel from here that that thing is powerful, malicious, cold, and not just bad but evil. And he thought Plasmius could be cruel, disturbing and rather evil sometimes. That man was evil in a manipulative calculating way, this ghost was evil in a destructive and Pariah-like way. And Skulker’s instincts are telling him that Pariah is kinder than this ghost, which is highly concerning. When Pariah had awoken, all the little warning bells in him had gone off but this creature was sending them off so harshly that it almost felt like he would break on the spot. He desperately wanted to flee but he was rooted in the spot. Not just out of abject horror but interest. This ghost looked remarkably like Phantom, colour pallet wise.

Skulker manages to take a step back, firmly stunned at the strange ghost laughing and leaping into the sky, changing the damn weather for no reason, and shouting that he is Phantom. The same Phantom as always, which is wrong. Clearly and loudly outing himself as a halfa. Which is the very opposite of one of the key aspects of the whelps routines. He’ll do near anything to keep his secret. Not today, today someone who claims and looks to be him, is shouting it for the world to hear purely to bathe in their shock. But all this gives Skulker a better look and while he could write off the black and white colour scheme as coincidence, he couldn’t do the same to Phantom’s infamous DP symbol. Whatever’s happened to his prey he definitely does not like. He’s not stupid enough to hunt that.

Skulker manages to genuinely back away some as, definitely evil, Phantom straps his own family and friends onto what his sidekicks basically said was a highly explosive bomb.

“Not until it’s time for you to be blown everywhere”.

Making Skulker realise what, exactly, this ghost was trying to do. It was actively trying to murder them, blow them to bits, kill off the people Phantom cared about most. This was every single level of wrong. On such an intrinsic level.

Skulker knew, it was obvious if you paid any attention, that his preys obsession was protection. Especially of his family and friends. No ghost ever went directly and so extremely against their own obsession. Everything in their very beings would scream against that, would destroy themselves first. For a ghost to go against it gladly, eagerly, and revel in it? That just wasn’t even possible. Just the idea made Skulker’s insides want to revolt.

Which meant that this Phantom’s obsession must be different. His obsession must have changed. But that, ghosts can’t do that either. For that, something at the very core and essence of a ghost had to have changed. Ghosts didn’t change after they formed, not in such a base way. But Phantom was a halfa. Half-formed. Skulker goes wide-eyed and really looks this evil Phantom over. He was more ghostly...This Phantom wasn’t a halfa. This Phantom had fully died. Somehow that makes Skulker recoil even more. That, the whelp, his favourite prey, not being a halfa was utterly revolting.

Watching and shaking slightly, as evil Phantom just lets the sister punch through him and spins his head around. Clearly his routine of not dodging is intact, but that isn’t currently comforting. Seeing as that confirms this is indeed Phantom further. While messed up Phantom assaults his own sister in a show of extreme dramatic flare. Duplicates, really? Just to remove a helmet and gag her? Now that’s just excessive. The whelp always had a taste for flair and dramatics but this was excessive, and was seemingly being done just to revel in others' fear. Grinning and laughing over the screaming, fear and hopelessness in their faces. Which was explicitly not something Phantom does.

Blinking as normal Phantom comes flying out of the sky and starts doing his routine, it’s honestly like a drink of cool ectoplasm to Skulker. Prey doing as prey’s supposed to be doing. But this is still different, more desperate. Normal Phantom is doing everything he can from the looks of it. But he’s firmly getting his ass kicked, brutally. Messed up Phantom isn’t even trying, he’s playing, batting around prey. Even when he gets thrown into an explosion and set on fire, he just walks through the flames like they weren’t even there. Can this psychotic Phantom even be injured?

Here’s another thing about Phantom’s routine, Phantom never gets his ass genuinely kicked. He might be on the losing side for a bit or struggling, but he’s never so plainly outmatched. This ghost, this messed up Phantom could easily kill normal Phantom but he’s not. There’s still the ever-present Phantom ‘witty banter’, from both of them. Which is jarring. Especially because the two have, very clearly, different brands of ‘witty banter’. Messed up evil Phantom is mocking, cruel, egotistical, and full of sneers. Normal Phantom tries to be funny, belittles, and masks his own fear. A level of which Skulker has never seen in the boy before.

Then Skulker blinks, remembering what messed up Phantom had said near-instantly to normal Phantom.

“You don’t get it. I’m still here, I still exist. That means you still turn into me”

Skulker’s brain shorts at that, this monster was what his Phantom, his prey, was supposed to become? How? Why? Phantom would never want this...no wonder normal Phantom, young Phantom?, was fighting against this future thing so hard. Skulker was used to weird around this kid, but fighting his own future was something else.

But that makes Skulker stop. The only reason monster Phantom was just tossing around normal Phantom was because he couldn’t kill him. This monster Phantom’s goal was literally to kill his own family and friends. There is no way this Phantom wasn’t a mass murderer then. No one like Phantom starts with their own family. Blinking, them dying...his future self killing them...that’s probably what causes him to become this. Skulker, if he survives this night, is never even considering seriously harming the halfas close ones ever again. Any trap is not worth his prey becoming this thing.

Skulker nearly flees as the, not just messed up but a damn monster, Phantom just keeps mocking and sneering at the human skinned Phantom. After he functionally pulverised normal Phantom. There’s fire everywhere, people are screaming, the air’s thick with the scent of blood, there’s no way no ones died, and normal Phantom is on his hands and knees. Battered to near nothing and this thing, this monster, doesn’t even look phased. He’s relaxed, amused, laughing. This is a level of chaos and destruction Skulker has never seen done by a single lone ghost before. And all without any power-ups, sneak attacks, items or even putting in effort beyond being unnecessarily dramatic. Skulker is goddamn screwed. He’s been following this thing, and the monster knew it. This monster Phantom could and would swallow him whole and crunch him to bits just for the show of it. Just because he could and he’d barely bat an eye at doing it.

Skulker slumps to sit on the ground, not because he couldn’t make his suit flee but because there wasn’t any point. Fleeing from Pariah had been a fool's game, fleeing from this was just suicide and asking to be destroyed more painfully.

And then normal Phantom screams or wails or shrieks or something. Whatever it is, it is utterly horrifying and destroys a building. And that’s normal Phantom doing that while clearly on the verge of collapse. Skulker is not okay with this. He knew the whelp held back, but this was a little much. And seeing monster Phantom get up from that, only looking annoyed and slightly surprised doesn’t make Skulker feel better. Skulker couldn’t have sustained such a blow. And monster Phantom could probably do that too, and was drastically and brutally stronger than normal Phantom. Which only means that this beast could easily wipe out entire cities with one attack.

Skulker can’t help but grin at normal Phantom besting and capturing the monster Phantom. Even if Skulker’s well aware he was only able to do so because the monster Phantom had to hold back.

But even Skulker freezes as the halfas family and friends perish anyway.

“You’re too late to save them”

The thing, the monster, knew his younger self was going to fail. He was just beating his younger self up....for fun. “What makes you think you can change my past?”. What indeed.

Skulker can’t even bring himself to blink or take note of the weight around his neck, as everything just freezes, like someone pushed pause on a tv show. The whelps family, friends...and teacher, suspended and safe in the air. While some strange child ghost appears next to Phantom. But then is suddenly an adult ghost.

“I see the parade from above. All the twists and turns it might, or might not, take”.

“You knew all of this was going to happen, all of it”.

Now Skulker blinks, he’s no intellect but that sounded like universal knowledge and future sight. Looking around slightly, this strange ghost, It did this. Stopped everything. Looking the ghost over closer, covered in clock imagery. It stopped time. What sort of ghost had such power? And to see the future as well.

He then gapes as this ghost smiles and winks at Phantom. Showing the whelp affection. This ghost was one of the young halfas allies...and It could control time. Stopped something that seemed completely unavoidable and hopeless as if it was nothing. Skulker almost preferred the idea of being destroyed over knowing this.

Watching as this ghost apparently sends Phantom back in time to stop all of this from ever occurring. Before looking to Skulker with a slight frown but a twinkle in Its eye. It knew he was here too. Of course It did, It was probably watching all this the same as he had. It...It knew all of this would happen, how it would end. Yet let it happen to...teach the whelp a lesson? Was this ghost Phantom’s mentor?

That thought manages to break some of Skulker’s shock making him smirk slightly, Vlad would be furious.

Which is when the ghost suddenly appears next to Skulker, making him jerk away and squint at the ghost.

“Who, what, are you?”.

“I would be known best to mortals as Father Time. Though I have been called many things. You may know me best as the Norns”, It gives a slight smile, “mortals insist on labelling me with their genders in interesting ways”.

Skulker watches as they change from old to child. The three Norns, past, present and future indeed. “Are you even a Ghost?”.

“That is one Daniel has never asked and you’d be wise to not ask that which you do not want the answer to”.

Skulker looks away and over at the frozen in time destruction, “why”, he doesn’t doubt this ‘ghost’ knows exactly what he means.

Looking away from Skulker, “the truly powerful have plenty of lessons to learn. All best taught with time”.

Skulker doesn’t miss the pun, and that is oddly grounding. It was the whelps mentor and It was like Phantom.

Skulker looks at his chest then, noticing the medallion. He doesn’t need to be told that this is the only reason he’s not frozen along with everything else. But he doesn’t dare touch it or question what they symbol means. Instead, “why me?”.

“My interference only goes so far. Should you wish to never see this-”, gesturing with Its staff at the destruction, “-again. I have a job for you”.

Skulker looks at the ‘ghosts’ adult face, finding it unreadable, “what is it?”.

It smiles then but doesn’t turn to him, “you work close to Vladimir. You will find blueprints in the future. You will choose to either ignore them or destroy them. My request is simply that you choose the later”.

Skulker nods slightly, “I will but what does he have to do with this?”.

The ‘ghost’ frowns, “Vladimir always wanted to corrupt Daniel, make him follow in his footsteps. There is little he would not do”.

Skulker stares realising what this ‘ghost’ is implying. This was Vlad’s fault. And it was, at least somewhat, intentional. And honestly, that tracked. Vlad was a mad man and just like the whelp, Skulker knew his routines well. “That makes sense. He’s a decent employer but a dangerous man”. Dangerous and powerful, not just physically either.

“Such is the way of all the hybrids. They all pose a threat to the survival of the worlds. Both with and without them. The avoidance of one cataclysmic event always sends the world down the path to another. Vladimir the catalyst, Daniel the inhibitor. Destruction and existence warring it out amongst mortal men”.

Skulker stares, incredibly confused. It seemed to be implying the two halfas were gods or something. It was incredibly odd. But odd fit in exactly with Phantom. “Why are you telling me all this?”.

“Because you won’t remember any of it”.

“But you asked me to do this job for you. I will need to remember it surely”.

“Hardly. Simply by the act of agreeing to do it, you set in motion the choice to do it. You will bear no recollection of today’s events or of me”, turning to Skulker with that twinkling in Its eye. Which Skulker recognise as something like mischief. Which, considering this creature's power, doesn’t bode well. Skulker follows Its movements as It floats to be in front of him, “to answer your earlier questionings of just what future Daniel did. You are indeed correct in your musing on him being a mass murderer. And not just of humans. The worlds fell to him, all destroyed under his fist and fang. Vladimir’s ghost half the first to fall, devoured and consumed. Daniel’s human half the second, disembowelled and decapitated. You only need imagine the rest”.

Skulker can only stare in shock. Monster had been too nice a word.

While the ‘ghost’ continues, “Daniel has seen and will remember exactly what his future self did. He will always be aware of what he’s capable of becoming. You will not. But I’ll tell you this now, so you may understand in the now. Why this was a lesson needed”, pausing to float close to Skulker’s face, which is honestly rather menacing even if It’s in child form now, “Daniel’s initial reaction to seeing his future self destroying Amity Park and obliterating an entire army was, ‘what a cool power’”.

Skulker doesn’t even need to ask to know this power was that wail thing. Which he can do with never ever hearing again.

Skulker looks down at his chest as the ‘ghost’ removes the medallion and suddenly-

Skulker’s got no clue how the whelp is just standing up now when he’d been sitting one second ago. But watching the boy talk about how he’s not a cheater and leaving to sit on the steps feels oddly comforting and extremely relieving; and Skulker’s chalking up that feeling to his hunter instincts.

Watching as his prey mingles with the sister and goes through the regular motions of his routine. This has been the strangest disruption of the whelps routine yet. Still having no clue what caused the odd behaviour and for it to suddenly disappear. But hearing the whelp yell, “guess who’s back and better than ever!”. Leaves Skulker pretty sure the Phantom he’s been following today wasn’t actually Phantom.

He watches for a while longer, feeling the need to reassure himself that his preys back to regular habits, before deciding to pay his employer a visit. It has been a while, even if his gut inexplicably knots up at the thought of the older halfa.

“Assist in separation, consume in desperation”

End.

[popatochisssp]

Hi, I love all your headcannons about the boys in a relationship. But they got me wondering, since no relationship is totally perfect, what might be some negative traits the boys have, things they do, or just behaviors in general that could put a strain on the relationship or might need to be talked out to continue?

Oh, I’m glad you asked because you’re right, they’re not perfect at all! There’s lots of habits and quirks they all have, but that’s too subjective– a habit that might bug one person could be totally fine by another!– so we’ll go with our boys’ biggest flaws in a relationship! >:3

*Especially important for the ‘fell and horror universe boys, I’ll be taking a ‘fresh out of the Underground’ lens on this, not accounting for any potential Surface growth or therapy that could take place and ameliorate some of these things!*

Sans (Undertale): He is lazy. So, so lazy. Surely, this isn’t much of a surprise to anyone, but you can imagine how it could be an annoying trait in your partner– he’s never going to do a chore or go out of his way to take care of something for you, and he’s an all-around pro at ducking responsibility. It also means that if he doesn’t already care about something, trying to spark an investment from him is…kinda impossibly unlikely, which can definitely be frustrating for his s/o!

Papyrus (Undertale): It’s not intentional, but he has a tendency to be pushy. He’s enthusiastic and has some pretty firm convictions and so sometimes, entirely without meaning to, he’ll steamroll right over his s/o and what they might want. It can hurt his s/o’s feelings to be talked over and spoken for before they can put their two cents in, but it just doesn’t always occur to him that people might have perspectives different than his own. His s/o has to be able to assert themselves when they really don’t want to do something and aren’t just being playfully shy or stubborn about it, or they might end up peer-pressured into stuff a lot.

Sky (Underswap Sans): Do you like your personal space? Want some significant amounts of time by yourself? Then you’re going to struggle if you’re Sky’s s/o because he can get very clingy. It comes from a good place, he’s a very social guy and if his s/o is his favorite person, then of course their company is going to be his favorite, too! He wants to spend a ton of time with them, whether they’re doing something together or not, and he’s hard to shake with off-the-cuff excuses about why his s/o can’t hang out with him: he’ll know they’re lying and think that something might be wrong and then he’s definitely not going anywhere. If his s/o can’t figure out how to tell him, on a regular basis and without hurting his feelings, that they need space from him to decompress, they’re going to end up exhausted.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He’s stubborn. It’s rare for him to make firm judgments on something one way or the other, but once he has, that’s pretty much it. He’ll really dig his heels in if his s/o tries to change his mind, too, and it takes a long time and a lot of arguing about whatever it is to even get him to consider changing his opinion. For his s/o, it probably feels like they’re banging their head against a brick wall, like he’s not even listening to what they’re saying and they can very easily end up feeling disrespected by this immovable object of a skeleton.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): He’s too closed off. It’s self-protective–he’d be a shaking, emotional wreck after the Underground if he’d let just anybody in close enough to see him vulnerable and open himself up to getting hurt–but it can turn around and be a very painful, hurtful thing for his s/o to deal with. When he’s going through something, his first instinct is always to hide it until it blows over so his s/o never even knows he was struggling. They’ll undoubtedly catch hints from time to time that maybe Jasper needs support, but he always hesitates to let them in, and they can’t do anything as long as they’re stuck on the outside of his emotional walls. It’s a very bad feeling thinking your loved one doesn’t trust you enough to let you help and he’ll need a lot of time and love and trust to make even a little progress at this.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Another one that shouldn’t be surprising, but he’s arrogant. He has a pretty big ego and he never easily accepts it when he may have been wrong, blustering and convoluting until it seems like he was right all along– the equivalent of a cat falling off a counter and acting like they meant to do it. He may also condescend a lot to his s/o and fall into an Underground-developed habit of treating them as an underling or an accessory more than a loved one. It’s instinctive and would probably have kept them safe from opportunist monsters if they were back down there, but on the Surface it can get incredibly tiring and even hurtful for his s/o to cater to that kind of ego all the time. If he catches their patience running out and he sees them rolling their eyes or making a snarky comment in exasperation at his narcissism, well, he’s probably going to get upset about it and the two of them will have a fight. He has a lot of acclimating to do to this relatively peaceful world where relationships can be equal without also being a weakness.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): This guy’s the definition of ‘trust issues.’ He can be downright problematically invasive and probing about…pretty much everything, if given a reason to be. It’s not an s/o-specific thing, he’s like that with everybody, but his s/o will probably (and absolutely should) take issue with how little respect he has for privacy. It’s his lingering paranoia from the Underground keeping him constantly alert for backstabbers and betrayers, so if someone as close to him as his partner starts acting secretive around him, he has to investigate. It may be innocent, like a surprise party for his birthday or something, but until he finds out what’s up, there isn’t much that’s off the table: he’ll cyberstalk social media for information, discreetly follow them in real life if they go out unexpectedly, and if they leave their phone with him unattended and unlocked, he’s definitely skimming through some recent messages, just to be sure. He’s not a bad person, he just has some very bad (survival-based) habits. The only saving grace is that his s/o probably won’t find out he sometimes does this stuff because he’s careful, but that doesn’t make it cool and he won’t really stop until he truly, fully trusts his s/o–and that’s a long time coming after everything he’s been through.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Rus cannot have an argument to save his life. He’s not what you’d call a pacifist, not entirely accurately at least– he’s been in his fair share of fights Underground, after all, and he’d fight again if his life was on the line– but he doesn’t like conflict or anything resembling it. It sounds like a good thing on paper because his s/o automatically wins any disagreement that looks like it could turn into a fight, but it’s so terrible in practice for maintaining a healthy relationship. He’ll go along with anything his s/o wants to avoid the conflict, even if it might make him unhappy because he doesn’t want them to be upset at him. It’s also at least 90% conciliatory and if it was about a behavior of his, there’s a very high chance that nothing will actually change, but he’ll nod and agree and promise to do things differently just to keep the argument from happening and then…not, actually. The idea of a constructive or helpful argument is entirely foreign to him, those didn’t exist where he came from and he just wants things to be cool, he’ll say whatever he’s gotta say to make it be cool. His s/o can build up a lot of frustration and unhappiness from that if they can’t convince him to learn some better communication strategies.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Obviously, it’s not his fault, but he’s forgetful. He generally remembers the big stuff and he does better when something feels important as it’s happening, but as a rule his level of recall is hit or miss. He’s bad at remembering birthdays and other important dates and if he forgets to write a reminder to himself about it, he’s just not going to be there for whatever his s/o needed. It can be hard for an s/o who isn’t prepared to take on so much of the mental load in a relationship without much guarantee of help, especially because they can’t get mad at him for it, not in good conscience, anyway– he didn’t ask for the giant hole in his skull, he’d love a reliable memory as much as they would! He’ll do his best to retain as much as he can, but even with notes and reminders, a lot of things his s/o tells him just get lost to the void and that’s a hard thing to be okay with right away.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s…maybe a tad too flippant about things. It’s a defense mechanism he developed Underground, a sort of gallows humor that he relied on to keep his generally upbeat attitude when monsters had to resort to eating humans and each other to stay alive, and even that wasn’t sustainable and there was a very real possibility that his entire species could go extinct in a matter of years, if not months. It was dark times and he couldn’t let himself get invested in every little thing! …but it’s also probably a little disturbing for his s/o when he, say, breaks a bone and only uses a silly, made-up curse word like, “Oh, Sugarbeans, That’s Inconvenient, Isn’t It!” or they hear the extreme, casual frankness he’ll use to discuss even graphic gore and violence like it doesn’t faze him. It’s a little sociopathic, honestly, and his s/o will probably have a lot of moments where they just don’t know how they’re supposed to respond when they see this unnervingly light attitude in their otherwise loving, gentle partner.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand now I feel a little guilty for all this trash-talking of my boys, so expect another headcanon post soon-ish, pro bono– just like this one, but about their virtues in a relationship instead of just their vices.

They are good boys who would be delightful partners in spite of these pitfalls, I promise! XD

[nokomiss]

So I've had a few days to process the Magicians season finale and basically I've come to the conclusion that:

a.) They actually killed off Quentin Like That, did their cast and crew dirty Like That, treated their fans Like That, and thought that the plotting of that story was actually decent, which, loooool.

b.) They are clumsily attempting to pull a Jon Snow, where they want everyone to believe Quentin is dead, but will bring him back at some point in the future.

If it's option A, it's supremely gross. Everyone has listed the reasons already -- the killing the 'white male protagonist' to show how edgy and subversive your show is? Gross. If you've written a show where you have a generic white male protagonist, that's the failure of the writing. And if you've written a show where the protagonist is canonically linked romantically to both women and men (even if you don't put a label on it) and is ALSO explicitly shown to mentally ill and suicidal, and you think the best solution to that is to have them heroically commit suicide, after a season of buildup to a romantic climax with a male character, and have no resolution to that?  Gross. The self-congratulatory attitude of the showrunners is really what made this such a betrayal.

AND then there's option B.

Option B was something I kept thinking about shortly after hearing about the 'oh it's permanent' thing, and then one of the actor's tweets mentioned GoT, which isn't evidence at all but does open the door for the comparison.  I'm going to speak here as a longtime ASOIAF fan/GoT viewer. (I have my own issues with Game of Thrones as a TV show that I won't get into here, but suffice to say I love it but don't view it with rose-colored glasses.)  The reason the Jon Snow thing worked and no one revolted? Was that it was earned. Jon Snow was a central character, but not the central character; GoT has a huge cast, multiple storylines, and if one character dies, even a beloved one, there's plenty of story remaining and, vitally, plenty of bonds to hold the remaining characters together. And, possibly most importantly, it was consistent with the show’s own internal rulebook.

Quentin is the emotional heart of the Magicians -- even the show itself explicitly brings his love of magic and his love of Fillory as the beating heart of the story.  Ripping that away, to use a metaphor from the show itself, will be like when Julia was severed from her soul -- still present, but missing a vital piece.  And the show has a long history of characters fighting against death, and finding ways to cheat it. It’s not a tragedy. It’s a very different kind of tale.

I have a lot - a LOT - of feelings about this, so I’m going to put them under a read more. Some spoilers for GoT ahead, and a lot of feelings about earned narratives, storytelling, characters, hope and betrayal.

Jon Snow's death didn't come out of the blue, either. The tensions and discontent in the Night's Watch were building until there was only one real possible outcome to the situation, and it made sense within context that his brothers would turn on him.  Quentin's death, as part of a really ham-handed finale, was not earned? It didn't have any build-up or gravitas. You had a character who had been depressed, put in to an awful situation with the possessed body of his ex-love, found the fire within him to fight against the Monster, and then... instead of any logical emotional arc, they had him hook up with an ex and go on the most deux ex machina quest I can remember on the show, and then kill himself over a forgettable villain. All the campfire sing-alongs in the world can't make up for the emotional momentum they lost when they took away Quentin's spine.

 When they took away his heart.

And -- here's the thing -- both of these series are based on books. And you know what? In ASOIAF, in canon right now, the last thing to happen to Jon Snow was to die bleeding out in the snow. And yet, when he died on screen, and Kit Harrington spent a year telling everyone he was done with the show, everyone still knew that Jon Snow would return. It made narrative sense.  I've honestly only read the first Magicians book, but I did read the summaries of the later two, and Quentin doesn't die. Quentin is given an ending filled with hope.

And the reason I keep coming back to the 'maybe they're doing a Jon Snow' is that his death? in that manner? Just does not make any sort of narrative sense.  Probably (undoubtedly) it's just me trying to see meaning where there is none, trying to optimistically think that the showrunners had more care for their own story than they do. But Quentin dying with no emotional fulfillment with Eliot, after a full season of fighting to save him, of being dragged through hell by the Monster, makes no sense. If they'd had the two speak at all, conclude their plotline, I would have accepted the death much more calmly. At least there would be emotional catharsis, even if plot wise I was left frustrated.

Because, here's the thing. When I read that the show had been renewed for Season 5 before Season 4 even aired, I immediately figured that it was a two-season story arc. When Season 4 was so slow to solve the Monster plot, it seemed obvious to me that they were planning on dealing with the repercussions with Season 5.  Probably -- again -- that was me putting way, way too much faith in the writers of the show.  But there are just so many dangling plotlines, and things that were dealt with so  clumsily that they might well have never been addressed at all -- the library, the hedge witches, the magic rations, the old gods, Fillory's issues, really almost EVERYTHING from the season except for getting the Monster out of Eliot's body, and even that failed to address why his growing humanity was even a THING -- that they apparently decided no one would notice because of the Shock and Subversiveness of killing Quentin.  I went into the finale with the absolute lowest of bars, because I could see there was no possible way of wrapping up everything, and I totally expected a To Be Continued at the end. Somehow they still managed to disappoint.

And that doesn’t even begin to address how they treated the other characters.  Kady, reducing herself to just Penny’s girlfriend. Alice’s own character growth stunted to shove her back into what had already been shown as a failed relationship.  Margo, beautiful fierce Margo, abandoning her own plan to save her own best friend because… she liked a dude? And had already solved the fish-issue with her fairy eye?  Penny23, reduced to just a puppy trailing after Julia, even though he had telepathy and was a traveler?  Julia, with her choices concerning her body and entire existence stolen from her again. (because a telepath couldn’t talk to her????)  Fen, totally ignored for the finale? Eliot, never getting his chance to be brave?

That doesn’t exactly inspire a lot of faith for them to make a shift to a show that focuses on diverse characters, when this is how they treat them.

Where does that leave me? With a bad taste in my mouth either way, basically.  I told a friend before the finale that "It's a universe where magic exists! They can fix things!" and it's so simple to canonically bring someone back.  All the writer's talk about realism is ridiculous, this is a show that thrives on the ridiculous and the absurd.  Even if Jason Ralph chose to not return, that doesn't mean Quentin can't. It's very in-the-box thinking if so -- I could think offhand of a half-dozen ways for him to return in a different body, hell, make it a POC one if they're actually that worried about having a White Male Protagonist -- but ultimately I felt most betrayed because this death was not emotionally EARNED by the writers.  It is lazy. It is banal.

And it's ultimately incredibly tone-deaf.  Sci-fi and fantasy stories offer escapism, and when the real world looks like it does now, literally no one wants their dumb show about magic grad school to be about death and despair. The message the fans look for is one of hope. Quentin as a character offered hope -- you could struggle with depression and still find the  beauty of all life, you could find yourself in a magical land, you could find love and friendship and bravery within you that you never realized. That you didn't have to be the hero to be important. So if his death is permanent, like the writers claim -- and at  this point I have literally no faith in them whatsoever -- then it's an incredible waste of what could have been a beautiful and groundbreaking story.  

And if they're toying with the fans... it's misguided, and just frankly has not been earned in the way they think it has, and frankly means they're blind to their own storytelling faults. It's downright mean, and I'm not sure that I would be willing to support their show even if they brought Quentin back, knowing how little they thought of their fans.

[steeledstark-blog]

some meta on sansa and arya and the evolution of their relationship through sansa's eyes?

@ofwintcrfell​ || send me stuff to meta || always accepting

Hi omg thank you so much for sending this in because look, Sansa & Arya is one dynamic I can just go on about for ages. I’ve been meaning to write this up and ew this is so long shjsgfjsf I am sorry.

 I would like to start this essay ( it literally is omfg ) with a quote, probably one MOST associated with them:

“You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you.”

& this always seemed to be applied to Arya’s end … but Sansa needed it just as much. She needed to realize that she needed her sister for strength, support, needed to RESPECT that Arya was not the perfect lady, that it didn’t mean that Arya just didn’t FIT into the narrative Sansa created for them. But I am getting ahead of myself, doing mini headers here to help organize myself better bc least organized hoe ever. see it under the cut bc fuck im getting this all out ok. 

CHILDHOOD

Look, Sansa was very much a perfectionist, so much of her childhood built on the assumptions she made on how life was supposed to be, everything fitting together nicely like in a song. Everything in her life, she tried to fit into songs and the social standards provided to her. She and Arya are very much Foils and so much tension from youth originates from Sansa, a lack of understanding that anyone wouldn’t devote their life to being liked, to making things easy for others. For being the perfect lady.

I don’t think things were really harsh between them back then though. Arya was annoying in her eyes, she was a pain and she was embarrassed by her, caring so much about what others think ( which really heightened in the pre-teen years ), but this quote, this one quote, really reflects how I think they had their moments. Moments which stuck with Sansa years later.

Things were simpler, they laughed and joked around, 

“She remembered a summer’s snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They’d each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she’d had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she’d slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn’t, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing.“ 

AND LOOK OK this is such a sisterly thing. To tease, to chase, but when things seem serious, make sure the other is okay and uninjured. When you are sure they are fine, fuckin attack them with snow, 

This pushes Sansa into embracing more of the fire which always seemed timid, meeting arya’s boldness, pulling her down, playfighting. Pulling out wolfish movements. They are laughing, this is a game to them,

This is the first instance of Arya bringing out the Stark in Sansa. And at the basis of Sansa needing her, it’s for the strength, for feeling like she can be brave too, that she can be Northern despite how people always says the South suits her. 

But then comes growing up more, and here I NEED to address something. Sansa bullied Arya. She said hurtful things, sometimes downright cruel, and it is constantly repeated in Arya’s POV chapters, clearly sticking with her. I love Sansa with all my heart but this treatment was NOT okay and it needs to be recognized. 

Why? Growing up, hormones, no adults really stopping her, Arya didn’t let it show how much the words cut. ( PSA not excusing Sansa here, she acted like most middle school girls act, my sister and I did the exact same to each other growing up at that age, we both regret it, and we both cannot tell you why, it’s that age - i know this may be a lazy excuse for it, but I really am stumped here ) 

But also after talking it out with people about sisters in general, is it a sister thing? bc i’ve heard from so many about sisters who did tease each other and it can get to that really hurtful point and yeah going to cut my ramble off here . . .

And then comes the direwolf situation, and its easiest for Sansa to place blame and frustrations on Arya, more than on the one she is convinced she can find love with and marry, more than the Queen who she admires, and most of all, it’s easier than the guilt of BLAMING HERSELF. Arya, is an unfair outlet to that, but still where she takes it out for a while.

KING’S LANDING

But you don’t realize what you have until it’s gone. Sansa didn’t. And over her time in King’s landing, she finds herself missing Arya. Finds herself constantly looking to see her. It’s not mentioned much in the books, I mean their associations has always been more mentioned in Arya’s POV chapters, but it’s here distance makes the heart stronger.

Sometimes, Sansa tries to meet eyes with the girl who is no longer there, meet eyes to be fed strength. She misses the rebellion, misses the free spirit. She believes Arya is dead and mourns her along with the rest of her household and her father.

But she can’t dwell too much, she needs to focus on survival. But this time she comes to appreciate her heritage more, regret the past, so much that she digs up what to regret and regrets it as well.

She dreams of her future, daydreams of it and when thinking of her children,

“sometimes there was even a girl who looked like arya.” perhaps showing an openness to who Arya was, an openness in her heart to try again, coming with maturing and realizing what is important. 

She dreams of seeing her family again, dreams of what she would change, and of course Arya is there. Arya, who had never deserved her blame or anger. Arya, who was different but that did not necessarily make her a bad bit in Sansa’s life. Arya, whose honest and true to self nature she much preferred to those around her.

Someone who would fight for her.

Someone, who she realized despite the cruel words exchanged, she would fight for now. 

But with Alayne Stone as a storyline as well, more of ‘ Sansa ’ is pushed down, and that includes her family, but still, Arya keeps surfacing, she cannot stop thinking about her sister.

And later on, moving into the show timeline beyond the books …

“summer is the time for squabbles” 

winter comes and the wolves come together

So upon a reunion, I imagine immediate warmth, lots of crying bc thought she was dead . .  

but a lot of uncertainty too because they are now different people, but there’s a chance actually getting to know each other? And it is something Sansa would look forward to, Approaching with an open heart.

There will be an appreciation for who she became, ( a show quote I stand by, calling Arya the strongest person she’s met, and not just by physical ability, but also emotionally and mentally ) Sansa would feel guilt for a child under appreciated and the pain she caused. And through the years she won’t stop apologizing even when told she was forgiven.

Actions would be taken to make things right between them. 

apologies, admiration, and solidarity. it is all I ask for with the future between them, and it is certain on Sansa’s end. She is never going to turn her back on family again.

And she will love Arya for all she is, and seek out the best ending for who they can become, together.

[s-r-dire]

My hunches are always freakishly accurate - I've learned to pay them mind over the years.

I had a stressful day at work today, and as I was driving up to the house, I saw my Dad's car in the driveway. My mood immediately dropped. I hate that I feel that way when I see him, and I can't deny that a part of this rift is my fault, but he undeniably plays a part as well. I tried to chastise myself for feeling my guards immediately go up the moment I saw his car, but part of me couldn't help but have a bitterly sardonic thought - "I wonder how long until he badgers me about something?"

It felt like a hunch, and I laughed at it. I don't know how, but I just knew. I could feel it. So I laughed bitterly again and thought to myself, I wonder how long? And I said I would give it thirty minutes, and I bet $10 dollars, for me to spend on myself however I may choose, that he would micromanage me or get on to me about something within the first thirty minutes of me being home. I gave him the thirty minutes time limit to be generous but we didn't even make it ten. He happened to walk into the kitchen while I had the fridge doors open. Which had been open for a solid few seconds before he walked in. I hadn't even spoken a word to him yet as he had been on the phone. And immediately he latched onto it. He dramatized it and acted like I had made a conscious choice to leave the doors open and acted as if I had done something reprehensible. Like I was an idiot. Over fridge doors.

I couldn't help but laugh. And I was so amazed and bitter that I couldn't resist spilling about my little bet. He said I have it "oh so hard" and listed all the things I do that annoy him. Pointless rules about putting the cap on toothpaste and picking up towels. I didn't realize those things defined my worth as a human and daughter but evidently I'd be better off dead.

I always think of the same memory. Of Rylee Mellon coming over one year before we left for Halloween. We were going trick or treating together, and her dad was taking us. It was supposed to be a fun night. Rylee came in for a bit since I wasn't quite ready yet - because my parents were berating me about the type of bag I was bringing to collect candy. And I was frustrated and embarrassed, and encompassed with self-loathing. Finally I left with my parents still irritated, and we got into Rylee's car. And she said something to her dad that's stayed with me for years.

"It was like everything she did was wrong."

And I sat there, in the backseat, and I felt shocked. My first reaction was to say no, they were being reasonable, they were just frustrated with me... But the more the night wore on, the comment stayed in the back of my mind. And it still does. I'm not going to pretend that I don't make mistakes. I do. I'm sloppy, and lazy, bitter, and downright selfish. And I know that it makes me a bad person. And I know that my parents deserved a better daughter.

But deep down, that comment touched the part of me that was beyond the self loathing. The part of me that was hurting and I hadn't been able to put my finger on why. Because for all my mistakes, they also saw none of my successes. For small, unimportant things, they saw major flaws. When I was confused they saw stupidity or condescension. And it really hit me for the first time, that yes, I am flawed, and yes, my parents deserve better from their daughter - but there were many things I did that weren't mistakes that they still saw me as lesser for. Because if it wasn't exactly their way, it wasn't right. And I realized that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I berated myself, it wouldn't matter. I was never going to be good enough. Everything I did was wrong.

Maybe I deserve to die. I don't honestly know anymore. Would it be better to be mourned as someone with potential? Could I make them proud only in my tragedy? Would it be better to die as an unknown flame of untapped potential than live as a constant shame and disappointment? I know it would hurt them. But they would heal. And perhaps things would fit together better then. Maybe in my absence things would make sad sense. And it would be easier for everyone - I wouldn't even mind if they admitted it. If I could relieve them of the burden. If I could just fuck up for the last time in one spectacular failure, I could, in my own twisted way, somehow make them happy. Somehow make them proud. I really don't know if I have any other way. I don't know anything anymore.

I've wrapped up everything I wanted to say. I don't know why I want to keep writing. 

I think I'm just lonely.

I don't really confide these sorts of things to anyone. I don't want to scare them or make them upset with me. I don't want to die. And it's not likely that I'll go through with it. But I do feel like I deserve it. So everyday I'm awake I just feel guiltier. Or hate myself a little more, for being a coward.

I have lots of good days, though; the emotional whiplash is exhausting.

Majority of this is my own doing. I don't know why I want pity when I'm the one who gets into these messes. It's like I said before - I want to believe I'm good but my selfishness proves otherwise. There are so many people who deserve to be here more than me. I feel awful. I feel like I've taken something from them. 

I don't really know what to do. I wish I could talk to someone. 

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @aflailureandamasterpiece!

I know you like lots of Angst, except I'm uh...very bad at that; so here's a compromise with some Light Angst. I hope you like it!

Read on AO3

*****

So we stay in this mess, this beautiful mess tonight

Stiles’ grandfather - deeply religious, incredibly annoying - had told him God had given him a soulmark, but then realized he didn’t deserve it and took it away. Stiles’ dad comforted him, saying Grandpa had lost his marbles. Stiles doesn’t blame him. They all went crazy after the accident happened. Grandpa lost his daughter, and gave up on filtering his words. Dad lost his wife, and drowned himself in whiskey. Stiles lost his mom, and with her, the desire to speak.

His dad stopped taking him to his grandpa, choosing to leave Stiles home and visiting by himself, something Stiles was completely fine with. He felt guilty enough about the accident all by himself without Grandpa putting the blame on him, or inviting God into the equation.

The fact that he would never see his soulmark didn’t even occur to Stiles until much later. The scars scattered over his arms serve as a constant reminder of the night the car turned upside down, and somewhere underneath them are the first words his soulmate will speak to him.

After a while, it stopped bothering him. It was a flawed system anyway. Not everybody has a soulmate, people with soulmarks don’t always find their soulmates, and even if you do, there’s a chance a drunk driver crashes into you and you only get to spend twelve years together.

---

Stiles stumbles down the stairs with a yawn and accepts the coffee Dad hands him when he walks into the kitchen.

“Sleep well?” Dad asks, and Stiles nods and smiles. He signs, ‘Thank you’, before grabbing some bread.

They’ve had plenty of fights in the past, of course. Dad got frustrated that Stiles refused to talk, took him to a multitude of doctors and therapists to find an explanation but they all told him the same thing. Selective mutism caused by trauma, and it was completely up to Stiles when or if he would ever talk again. They eventually agreed to both learn sign language so they could communicate when needed. Still, Stiles didn’t like to use it often, preferring to listen to his dad talk while nothing was expected of him.

He fixes up a healthy sandwich for his dad, then puts it in his lunchbox; quickly writes ‘Enjoy! ;)’ on a post-it note and throws it in there as well before he hands it over. Dad lifts an eyebrow impressively high, but he knows he has nothing on Stiles’ eyebrow powers. He admits his loss, gives Stiles a hug and leaves for the day.

As soon as Stiles has got his own breakfast and lunch prepared, he heads out towards the bookstore.

---

Derek Hale hates his fucking soulmark. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the concept of soulmates, and knowing there’s someone out there for him who he could spend his whole life with, but did it need to be this? Could he not have gotten anything more romantic? A soulmate whose first words were something along the lines of ‘Shitdamn, I think I’m in love with you’, not his own fucking name .

The swirly ‘Derek’ on his arm has been the bane of his existence for over ten years. It’s also his family’s favourite thing to bring up whenever they can. His sisters will walk into a room calling his name, then follow it up with ‘Oh no, it’s just me!’ and break into laughter. His mom will tell them off after she schools her face into a more serious expression, but Derek knows the truth. He always makes sure to throw her a suspicious glare.

The reason it’s such a big joke in the Hale house is because it has gone wrong so often for him in the past. It all started when Derek was featured in the Beacon Hills Gazette after their High School Basketball team had won big. There was a picture of the team in their uniforms, and Derek’s soulmark was perfectly visible on his forearm.

Everybody in Beacon Hills knows what his soulmark says, and Kate Argent was the first person to take advantage of that fact. Lucky for Derek, Kate wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box and had forgotten Derek had met her once before. After the third time she emphasised his name and showed off her cleavage, Derek had run home and told his mom about her. Kate left town the next day.

The second was Jennifer Blake. In her case, Derek wasn’t even sure about the first words she spoke to him, since she approached him as if they had met before. (In retrospect, Derek should have known something was up.) They dated for a few months until Derek found out her real name was Julia Baccari, and when he confronted her about it, she slapped him and ran out the door. However, since Derek, as a Deputy, had found out about her real name because there was a warrant out for her arrest, she was quickly intercepted.

It only left Derek a tiny bit heartbroken - mostly because his love life felt doomed - and so his family decided to distract him with humor. If he awarded the concept of soulmates with less importance, if he could try to ignore it and just let it happen to him, he would be much better off.

Today is Derek’s day off, and since the holidays are coming up, he’s on the look-out for gifts. After picking up a mountain of socks for Laura (per her request), he decides to check out the new bookstore in town. Well, it’s not so much new as Derek has been too lazy to check it out and now it’s six months later. Oh well.

The store is very clearly split up into different genres, and Derek decides to check out the art corner, since Cora has been getting into painting lately. The family group chat and its several sub-units during any type of gift-giving season have informed him that Laura would be buying art supplies, Mom and Dad are giving her a trip to New York to visit the Guggenheim (show-offs) and Cora is buying herself a tablet so Derek is left with art books.

He picks out three books and adds a tote bag that says ‘Wake Me Up Before You Gogh Gogh’. He walks over to the register to hand over his items, and he smiles at the young man. Derek’s never been one for small talk, and since the man doesn’t seem to be either, Derek decides to take advantage of the silence while he’s being rung up and takes his time to appreciate the other man’s features. He’s tall, but not lanky, and his skin is speckled with moles. When he turns around and faces him, Derek is struck by his piercing amber eyes that catch the light just right. He’s downright gorgeous . Derek looks down and blushes, ignores the twitch in his pants, and decides to focus on the man’s name card. ‘Mieczysław’, it says, and Derek feels zero shame as he notes it down on his phone.

Derek looks up as the man in question clears his throat, and he blushes again when Mieczysław points at the display on the register telling him how much he owes. He hands over the cash quickly, and as soon as Mieczysław hands him his bag, Derek makes a run for it.

---

‘Leather Jacket Man’, as Stiles has started calling him in his head, returns twice more that same week. Once to buy a book about knitting, which earned him a playful eyebrow quirk from Stiles, and a second time Stiles is pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to notice. L.J.M. had come in, looked at the register and ran out again, blushing like a maniac. Stiles thinks he’s adorable, but also, hot as balls , and he hopes he’ll come back soon to introduce himself.

As luck would have it, Stiles is restocking the shelves in the Young Adult section when he hears the little bell on the door ring. He turns to give the new customer a wave, and is granted the glorious sight of L.J.M. instead. Except he’s not wearing a leather jacket. He’s wearing a big chunky knitted sweater, and Stiles has a strong suspicion he made it himself.

“Mieczysław,” Chunky Knitted Sweater Man says, and Stiles’ mouth drops open. It was with an obvious accent, and the pronunciation was just slightly off, but that was his name. Someone actually tried to pronounce his name. Stiles has gotten so used to people laughing when they saw his name tag, or people saying they felt sorry for him, or the worst one ‘How could your parents do that to you?’, and no one has ever attempted to say it out loud. There are butterflies in his stomach and a grin breaking free on his face, even if he’s scolding himself at the same time because for God’s sake, it’s just a name .

C.K.S.M. is staring at him nervously, and Stiles realizes he hasn’t even reacted besides a maniacal smile.

“Was that right? Did I say it right? I googled it, and I had the little computer voice show me how to say it, but you never know with that stuff, and you’re laughing at me, oh God, I’m so sorry, I butchered it, didn’t I-”

Stiles interrupts him by showing him his hand, and quickly takes out his phone to type out a message. He presses the play button and listens as the app says, “ Call me Stiles, please .”

He watches C.K.S.M.’s face closely for his reaction, and he’s rewarded with a gorgeous grin as C.K.S.M. mutters “Stiles”. He types out another message.

“ Thank you for saying my name, though. No one ever tries. You were almost right. ”

C.K.S.M. sends him a smirk. “Then I’ll need to practise more.”

Stiles points at him with a tilted head as he blushes and C.K.S.M. startles. “Oh! Sorry! I’m Derek.”

Stiles reaches out and shakes his hand with a smile, and starts typing again.

“ Anything I can help you with? ”

“Oh, no, I’m just looking.”

When Derek’s eyes don’t move away from Stiles’ face, Stiles grins and bites his lip. He types out “ Well, enjoy ,” and turns back to restocking. He makes sure to lean down towards the bottom shelf, and is grateful he decided to wear tight jeans today. He can’t hold in a snicker when he hears the choked off “Fuck” behind him.

If Stiles is completely honest, Derek has the kind of face he’d love to sit on, and stubble that he knows would be super annoying yet oddly pleasing as the man wreaked havoc on his ass. Stiles is now painfully aware of how hard he is in the middle of his workplace and tries to will his erection into submission.

He rises and adjusts himself in his pants while Derek mutters “Oh my guhh- I gotta go.” He clears his throat. “See you later, Stiles.”

Stiles winks and laughs when Derek walks out with a slightly wider step than necessary.

---

Derek’s innocent crush on Stiles quickly turns into an obsession with him. A healthy one, of course. It just means that every day, after work (barring the night shifts), he stops at the bookstore and hangs out with him. Sometimes that means restocking, even though he does a terrible job of it, and sometimes he joins Stiles at the register. If it’s busy, he’ll read whatever’s closest to him, and if it’s not, he and Stiles can just talk.

The first day Derek had gotten up the nerve to talk to Stiles, and butchered his name, he went home, jerked off in his bathroom because he couldn’t not . After dinner he asked Laura and Cora if they knew anything about him. Laura got way too excited but didn’t actually have any information so Derek quickly tuned her out. Cora, however, had gone to school with him.

She said she had never heard him speak even once in high school, and most teachers - with the exception of Mr. Harris - had never even mentioned it. Stiles did his tests and his homework, and always paid attention during class. When there was an oral presentation, most teachers gave him a replacement assignment, so the other students couldn’t complain either. “There’s always the occasional jackass,” Cora said, “But Stiles’ friends made quick work of them.”

The mystery surrounding Stiles’ lack of voice was still in the back of his mind, but Derek discovered it didn’t matter much to him. Sure, conversations would happen a lot quicker if Stiles didn’t need to type what he wanted to say into his phone, but Derek now uses those moments to stare at Stiles unabashedly. Then, when the phone relays his message, Derek can track the emotions behind it on Stiles’ face. Basically, Derek is doing a whole lot of Stiles-watching. And later when he’s alone in his room, he can do a whole lot of Stiles-remembering as he fucks his own fist.

They both know they’re attracted to each other, that much is clear. Derek has spent enough time staring at Stiles’ ass to show his intentions, and Stiles never hesitates to trail his fingers over Derek’s stomach through his shirt as he needs to pass by. Derek has been wearing thinner and thinner shirts, even though it’s fucking December.

In the past few weeks, his shifts at the Station have been crazy, and the few times Derek had off, Stiles was busy in the store, especially during the holidays. They haven’t been able to find time for a date, let alone plan what they would do and where they’d do it. (Eventually in a bed, Derek hopes.) They haven’t even kissed yet. Don’t get him wrong, there have been plenty of opportunities, but Stiles refuses to get up to any shenanigans in the store. He has gotten into the habit of biting his lip a lot around Derek, which Derek has now discovered is his ultimate weakness.

Derek is helping Stiles out in the store, or at least he was, until Stiles pushed him into one of the armchairs after Derek had yawned for the umpteenth time. He had a late shift the night before and then didn’t sleep well, but he wasn’t gonna abandon Stiles in the store. They had developed a routine by now, and Derek didn’t want to be the first to stray from it.

He yawns again and stretches until he almost slides out of the comfy chair. There’s an odd sound coming from the register when Derek pulls his shirt back down but when he looks over, Stiles is just typing on his laptop. Must have been the radio or something. He decides to test his theory by standing up and stretching his arms up towards the ceiling. Derek watches as Stiles nearly chokes on his tea.

Five minutes later, when he’s reading some magazine, he notices that Stiles has disappeared. There’s a sign on the counter that says ‘Back in 10 minutes. Please don’t steal anything.’, and Derek is looking around for Stiles when his phone chimes. ‘That was a sign for you to follow me to the back, you idiot,’ the text reads, and Derek trips over his own feet before he runs into the backroom. The door slams behind him and before he knows it he’s pushed up against the wall.

Stiles grabs Derek’s head as he kisses him, nips at his lip and licks inside. He jumps up to wrap his legs around Derek’s waist, and Derek doesn’t hesitate to push him against the opposite wall for more leverage. The taste of Stiles’ lips is addictive, as are the tiny moans that leave Stiles’ mouth every so often. Stiles pulls at Derek’s hair until he moves back a little so he can catch his breath. They stare at each other with heavy breaths for a few seconds before Derek can’t hold himself back any longer and starts kissing Stiles’ neck, his jaw, right behind his ear, anything that can get more of those filthy sounds out of Stiles.

Eventually, Stiles pushes him back and leans his forehead against Derek’s. He nips at Derek’s bottom lip one final time before he unwraps his legs and stands by himself. Stiles clears his throat and walks towards the store. His hand is on the doorknob when he turns around and runs to kiss Derek firmly on the lips, once, twice, like he can’t seem to help himself. Derek kisses him back and then pushes him away with a last slap on his ass. Stiles’ laugh echoes through the hallway after he leaves and Derek is so, so fucked.

---

It’s a Saturday, and miraculously, Stiles doesn’t have to work today. He sent a text to Derek this morning to see when his shift ended, because they could finally spend some time together without anybody else around, for hours . Now they’re lying on the couch downstairs, letting a movie play in the background as they make out lazily.

Derek is sweet, kind, and Stiles is dangerously close to admitting to himself that he has feelings for the man. It’s not like Stiles is waiting for the one - he has hooked up with enough people in the past and never felt bad about it - but he still knows there is a soulmate out there for him. Tiny specks of black ink amidst all the scars tell him he does, even if that’s all he’ll ever know. So to be here with Derek now, and to be feeling like this, just leaves him confused.

“Hey,” Derek interrupts his thoughts. “You okay?”

Stiles nods quickly and pecks him on the cheek.

“So… I know you might not like this,” he starts. “But I wanna ask you some stuff. Is that okay? If you don’t wanna answer anything, that’s fine of course, but I’m just...curious, I guess.”

Stiles had been expecting this, of course. Derek has never once asked him to talk, or to explain why he didn’t talk, or if he ever would. And even though Stiles appreciates it so much, he also knew he’d have to explain eventually. Not everything, but some things. He owes him that.

He grabs his phone to open the app, and nods at Derek with a smile.

“I’m just gonna be blunt, so if anything bothers you, just say so and I’ll move on, okay?” At Stiles’ encouraging nod, he continues, “Can you talk?”

“ Yes. ”

“But you don’t want to?”

It’s surprisingly close to the truth, and Stiles is so glad Derek didn’t ask, ‘Then why don’t you?’

“ Sort of. ” He changes his mind and types again. “ Yes. ”

Derek doesn’t wait long to process his answers. “Do you think you ever will?”

“ Honestly, I don’t know. Doctors don’t know, science doesn’t know. If it happens, it happens, I guess? ” Stiles takes his time to type out his answer. “ I’m not doing this on purpose. This isn’t my choice. I’ve never felt the urge to speak, so I’ve never forced my voice to work or to convey anything because there was always another way for me to communicate. There’s some sort of block between my brain and my voice, as if they got a divorce when I was ten and stopped talking to each other. I don’t know if that makes sense. None of this makes sense. That’s the point. But this is where we’re at. And I’ve found a solution for it. Maybe one day I’ll say something and you won’t get me to shut up. Who knows? ”

Derek snickers at the last part. “I’m sure you’re an annoying little shit with or without your voice.”

Stiles gives him the finger but laughs.

“I like the sound of your laughter.” Derek doesn’t look like that was supposed to come out of his mouth, not with the way he’s suddenly blushing and hiding his face in Stiles’ armpit.

“ Wow. You’re a fucking sap. ”

“Shut up,” his armpit mumbles.

---

Stiles doesn’t like to drive. The only reason he even got in the car today was because Dad had left his lunch on the counter and Stiles wanted to make sure he had it in time. Dad was very likely to just grab a burger instead of heading home for it, so Stiles drove. And then he stopped. Suddenly and violently. Because a car had driven into the side of his jeep in the middle of a crossroad.

This wasn’t even a busy crossroad. Stiles can’t remember driving on this road and seeing other cars. He stares out of his windshield at the empty road in front of him and doesn’t realize he hasn’t taken a breath in a while.

Suddenly his door is yanked open and a hand grabs him, pulling him outside and throwing him against his car.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?” A loud voice screams in his face. “Did you not see my bright fucking yellow car?”

Stiles breathes in and takes in his surroundings. A twenty-something guy in a tracksuit is standing in front of him, his hand on Stiles’ shirt.

“Did you fucking smash your head when you cut me off? Or are you just an idiot? Do you even fucking hear me?”

The man shakes him and Stiles takes the opportunity to sink to his knees on the gravel. It’s like he’s in slow-motion while the rest of the world speeds ahead.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

When Stiles looks up, the man grows angrier.

“So you can fucking hear me. Do you think I’m an idiot or something?”

Stiles isn’t crazy enough to nod, but the man seems to recognize it on his face anyway.

“Say something, you fucking turd!”

When Stiles remains quiet, the angry man suddenly looks triumphant. “Wait a minute, you’re the Stilinski freak, aren’t you? My dad’s told me all about you, you fucking piece of shit. Told me you’re just a weirdo.”

It isn’t the first time Stiles has heard these words, of course. High School is full of asshole teenagers, but this time, there’s no Lydia to snap back, no Danny to laugh it off, no Scott to threaten to kick them in the nuts. He’s alone, and in danger. He’s scared.

There are sounds in the background, but Stiles hears nothing but the angry shouts in his face about how he’s worthless , he’s pretending , he’s a freak .

The voice turns quieter, and suddenly there’s a different, more familiar face in front of him.

“Derek?”

The sound of his own voice surprises both him and Derek, and after a second that seems to last forever, Derek takes him in his arms and hugs him tightly.

“Yeah, Stiles, I’m here.” He sits back and looks at his arm, and Stiles doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand, until he does.

He reaches out and drags the fabric of Derek’s sweater up, and there it is. The only word Stiles has spoken since he was ten years old, written in black ink on Derek’s skin.

“How-” His voice croaks. How are you here , he wants to ask.

“Me and my partner have been following this asshole since he ran a light a couple streets away. We would have been here faster if he hadn’t watched one too many fast and furious movies and tried to ditch us.”

Only then does Stiles notice the uniform, and he could slap himself. How did he not know Derek was a Deputy?

“I-” he tries, but Derek shushes him.

“Are you okay? Did he touch you? I swear, I’ll kick his ass if he touched you, I don’t give a fuck about the uniform.”

Stiles panics until he has his phone in hand and can type.

“ I’m okay. Sort of. But I’m okay. I’m not hurt. Just in shock. ”

Derek nods. “Okay. Good. We’re still taking this asshole in, but I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods too. He breathes in, heavy and wet, and grabs Derek’s waist so he can hide his face and cry a little bit.

---

Derek takes Stiles home after he promises Haines he’ll take care of the paperwork later. He watches as Haines drives the Harris kid to the station, then gets in the car. Right now, Stiles needs to rest, and Derek needs to take care of him, comfort him, needs to not freak out about the fact that he found his soulmate , at least until said soulmate is awake to freak out with him .

A few hours later, when Stiles has taken a nap (which Derek accidentally joined him for), he sits up with a jolt. He reaches over to raise Derek’s sleeve, and Derek can’t stop the smile forming.

“Hey,” he says, and kisses Stiles’ unresponsive lips.

Stiles clears his throat. “Hi. Fuck.”

Derek is so shocked by the unexpected swear, he laughs out loud. “Jesus, I’m glad that wasn’t the first word you said to me.”

For the first time, Stiles cracks a smile. “I didn’t know, by the way. That you were mine.” He points at his own arm helpfully. “My...soulmate.”

Derek caresses the scars and kisses them before he pulls Stiles back down onto the bed.

“Stiles,” he says. “Do you want to talk, or do you want your phone?”

Stiles shrugs. “Dunno. It’s weird.”

“Okay.” Derek smiles. “Just tell me if it gets too weird, alright?”

He nods and chuckles.

“What?”

“I just remembered your first word to me. It’s kinda fucking poetic.”

“I guess the universe is a fucking sap too.”

“Yeah, it fucking is.”

“Stop swearing,” Derek says, but he’s laughing too.

“Fuck no,” Stiles grins. “My dad once installed parental control on my speech app so I wouldn’t swear, and I came up with so many new swear words he uninstalled it himself three days later.”

“Oh my God,” Derek chuckles. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Well, it should. I‘m a fucking enigma. A mystery. No one knows what’s going in my head at any given time.”

“You want me to kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

Stiles pulls Derek on top of him and bites at his lip. “Lucky guess.”

Derek straddles Stiles and leans his elbows by his head before leaning down and slowly, torturously slowly nipping and licking and kissing inside until Stiles’ whiney moans are making him move his hips and grind into him.

He’s fully hard in his borrowed sweatpants, and Stiles’ thin pants don’t leave much to the imagination either. Soon they’re thrusting up against each other with whispered fuck ’s and there ’s.

When Derek pulls off Stiles’ shirt there’s a careless swipe of his thumbs against Stiles’ nipples, something he then does again when he hears Stiles moan. He chucks his own clothes along with Stiles’ pants over the edge of the bed and Stiles seems to choke.

“Fuck you.” He trails his fingertips over Derek’s abdomen. “No wait, fuck me. Wait. Yes. Fuck me. I’ll do you next time.”

“ Jesus ,” Derek grunts and when Stiles starts to grin, he rushes to intervene.

“Please, call me-”

“Don’t you dare.”

Stiles pulls him down and kisses him deeply before whispering. “Derek, don’t get me wrong, tomorrow I want your tongue in my ass for at least 30 minutes, but if you don’t get your fingers inside of me soon, I’ll have to take things into my own hands. And I’m a little tired of my own hands.”

“Get the lube.”

Derek slicks his fingers before reaching down and massaging Stiles’ rim. He’s stuck between wanting to take his time to watch Stiles fall apart or rushing ahead so he can sink his cock into him as fast as possible, but the sounds Stiles is producing make the decision for him. He pushes a finger inside, waits for Stiles to adapt, and starts moving it to loosen Stiles up. A few gentle thrusts later and Stiles is begging for another finger, another .

Somehow Stiles has managed to contort himself enough to grab a condom out of his drawer and throws it at Derek. “Some time today would be nice.”

He rolls on the condom, slicks himself up and nudges at Stiles’ entrance. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“You’re ridicul-oh shit!” Stiles says as Derek slips inside. He moans when Derek starts thrusting at a steady pace, and pulls his head down to kiss him stupid.

Derek takes his time to discover Stiles’ body and grins when he hears the startled groan, knowing he’s found the right spot. He starts aiming at Stiles’ prostate relentlessly until Stiles pushes him away with a whispered ‘ stop, stop, too much ’. He switches back to slow thrusts and wraps his palm around Stiles’ hard cock that’s lying between their stomachs. Stiles’ hands reach up over his shoulders and sink into his hair as he refuses to let go of Derek’s lips and Derek can’t help the fast and hard way he’s pushing inside now. He can feel it tingling in his legs, his ass, his balls, he’s close and from the way Stiles is shuddering under him, he’s close too.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he’s whispering against Derek’s mouth. One final hard thrust inside and he’s coming, releasing a groan and jerking Stiles’ cock until he grunts and comes between their skin. Derek is slowly pushing inside still as he comes down from the rush and Stiles pushes his sweaty hair off of his forehead.

“Fuck,” he says, eloquently, and they both laugh before doing a terrible job of cleaning up before falling asleep.

---

The next morning, Stiles drags a sleepy Derek out of bed.

“Stiles, please. I forgot to tell you I’m allergic to sunlight. Deathly allergic. Please ,” he whines from under the blanket.

Stiles pulls the blanket off the bed and whispers in Derek’s ear. “There’s coffee downstairs.”

Derek’s head lifts off the pillow. “Alright. Guess I’ll die.”

They walk down the stairs and into the kitchen where Stiles’ dad is already cooking up what better be turkey bacon.

“Morning, Dad.” 

Dad almost drops his mug with how fast he turns around, and a giant smile forms on his face. Derek stiffens behind him.

“Morning, son.” Stiles’ dad looks towards Derek. “Deputy.”

Derek makes a choking sound. “Sheriff,” he squeaks.

After Dad leaves for work and Stiles is done laughing his ass off, Derek grabs him by the shoulders. “You could’ve told me your dad was my boss .”

Okay, so it appears Stiles wasn’t done laughing. It’s a good thing Derek likes the sound of his laughter.

[tbogost]

Alex Garland as Auteur: Apathetic Existentialism

Film attempts to use emotion to reinforce the notion that mankind is the greatest product of the universe – that everything revolves around what we want and what we need. No matter the genre or the style, most film obeys a generic structure that, over its runtime, follows a hero’s ordinary life, a sudden conflict, and their overcoming that conflict so that the world can carry on either as it did before, or better. But filmmaker Alex Garland has a different perspective that defines his auteur style – one that is grim enough to be called cynical, but that might be intellectual enough to be termed apathetic instead. Garland’s films indicate that humans are so inherently materialistic that we cannot work together even when our own goals are the same. We are bound to turn to conflict, usually to find ways to be self-serving quickly, which ultimately leads to self-destruction instead. Garland’s philosophy combats the innate belief that humans cannot not exist, and instead offers up a different question: Is it really so bad that mankind, like all things, will eventually come to an end?

He may have only just begun to explore these ideas of existentialism as a director recently, but as a screenwriter, Garland’s themes reach all the way back to his first project, British zombie drama 28 Days Later (2002). Near the end of 28 Days, during a dinner scene in between zombie attacks, one soldier seems to dictate Garland’s philosophy out loud: “If you look at the whole life of the planet, we… you know, man, has only been around for a few blinks of an eye. So if the infection wipes us all out … that is a return to normality.” While this somewhat ominous line is not further explored in 28 Days, its message seems to glisten towards the end of Garland’s Ex Machina (2014), a film about AI succeeding humanity, and becomes the central theme throughout his most recent Annihilation (2018), which has a team of female scientists exploring a supernatural ‘shimmer’ that threatens to biologically modify the entire globe. Other aspects representative of Garland’s narrative style as an auteur are also rooted in 28 Days but become more fully fledged in these later films of his. Namely, unconventional methods of storytelling broken into a prologue, epilogue, and several sequences or chapters in between, unnecessary conflicts between characters who fail to intercommunicate, and unexpected feelings of nuanced hope in seemingly despondent situations.

At both the beginning and the end of 28 Days, not counting Garland’s signature prologue and epilogue scenes, the main character wakes up in a hospital bed, creating a symmetrical structure throughout the story. The middle of the film is vaguely divided up into two sequences, one inside London, and the other outside the city at a military house. Conflict between allies is introduced in the prologue when a scientist fights with animal activists to keep an infected chimpanzee quarantined, in the middle when survivors argue over whether to remain at or leave their current hideout, and near the end when the protagonists and the military clash with each other rather than uniting against the zombies. In all of the situations, each respective party thinks they are doing what is necessary to survive, but each is also guilty of failing to reason with the other. Every time conflict arises, no one is capable of stepping back, analyzing the situation, and communicating individual logic to placate it. Instead, chaos reigns supreme. While some might angrily disregard this as an example of lazy character design, that would be missing the point that Garland is trying to make. We are so quick to defend our actions that we do not care to be proven wrong. In tense situations, humans are prone to act on impulse, something that makes us not much smarter than a zombie anyway. It is for this reason – that humans are too selfish and too foolish – that Garland hypothesizes we should not expect to last forever.

Ex Machina and Annihilation take Garland’s narrative structure to a whole new level by using actual transitions to divide and title sequences onscreen as if they were part of a storybook. While this design choice might add a certain artistic flair to Garland’s films, it also acts to underline the significance of the beginnings and endings of his stories. If the titled sequences are the individual chapters of a novel, the first and last scenes are the hard book covers. The most important function of these sequences is to either divert from or highlight the events that take place at either end of both films. Each prologue takes place in medias res, acting as a hook to draw the audience in, and each epilogue is ambiguous and open-ended, meant to provoke controversial discussion. For example, the majority of Ex Machina focuses on Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson), an amateur programmer, performing an advanced Turing Test on an AI, Ava (Alicia Vikander), over the course of about a week. White font on a black screen orients the audience during Caleb and Ava’s meetings together: “Ava: Session 1,” “Ava: Session 2,” etc. But it is the first and last scenes, not the sequenced meetings, that embody the message of the film as a whole. The former introduces us to Caleb’s departure from life and his arrival at Ava’s birthplace, the research facility hidden in the mountains. The latter presents the inverse, with Ava escaping from her home, replacing Caleb in the helicopter, and potentially replacing humanity on the Earth. Like Ava tricks Caleb into helping her escape, the title sequences trick the audience into viewing Ava as a harmless test, allowing her to pave her way into their hearts and thus into a new civilization where AI are the rulers of the modern world.

The same exact style is used for transitions in Annihilation, but of course with more relevant titles such as “Area X,” “The Shimmer,” and “The Lighthouse.” In this case, the purpose of the titles is almost the opposite as in Ex Machina: not to divert audiences, but to assist them instead. Annihilation is so nonlinear, confusing, and obscure that at times even it seems unsure of what it is trying to say. Lest audiences get frustrated with the apparent lack of progress that the characters in the film verbally acknowledge, these titles help emphasize that there is a final act with a sufficient payoff coming in the future. Of course, this could simply be keeping with the theme of sequences that Garland employed in his previous film, but perhaps it is a continuation of his writing off the human race as ignorant and needy instead. Perhaps Garland thought that he could not hold general audiences to the end of Annihilation without offering some trail of breadcrumbs to nibble on as they anticipate Lena’s fate in The Shimmer.

Another way that both Ex Machina and Annihilation expand on themes from 28 Days is through their use of time and lighting. Both films follow a particular day/night cycle, with important exposition moving the story forward and building tension during the daytime so that one simple conversation or discovery can instantly initiate a climactic dispute amongst allies at night. In this way, Garland evolves his original theme into more than just a narrative device, but a visual one as well. The Day represents a time when new discoveries and relationships invoke fascination and wonder about the changing world, but The Night represents a parallel perspective when those same discoveries can seem unnatural, wrong, or downright evil. In other words, the day/night cycle indicates that there are no true protagonists or antagonists in either film, but that the changing surroundings and circumstances of the characters distorts their perceptions of each other.

In Ex Machina, Caleb asks Ava questions, exchanges friendly banter with her creator Nathan (Oscar Isaac), and explores the environment during the day, but it is during his intense discussions at night with Nathan that the audience feels most anxious, like they, along with Caleb, are the ones being watched and interrogated. The gradual shifts in lighting play a large role in distorting that feeling too, with the audience feeling more trusting of characters flooded by daylight or fluorescents and more anxious when pale tungsten or bright red highlights the space. In fact, the only times when Ava’s motives are directly indicated are when she turns off the main power and activates the red glow that is representative of the iconic HAL 9000. Nevertheless, Caleb is too in love with her to notice. When Nathan and Caleb finally realize that they have been meddling with each other while Ava has been playing them both, it is too late to go back and readjust their perspectives to make amends. The sheer feelings of conflict between them evoked by the surrounding circumstances have already overpowered any logic, and Caleb’s impulses to free Ava rather than to tap into his knowledge on the danger of AI leads to his unfortunate fate, even though the ethics of his decision might have seemed moral.

Correspondingly, in Annihilation, Lena (Natalie Portman) and the other scientists struggle to differentiate between their relationship with their surroundings and with each other. They travel deeper and deeper into The Shimmer during the daytime, witnessing both the strange beauty and the horror of a space with otherworldly biological rules, but at night, when darkness hides the contours of each other’s faces, the scientists cannot help but turn on one another. Garland is extremely conscious of the tone of his conversations, stressed by the overwhelming amount of scenes containing silence instead. Dialogue which begins as purely expositional gradually shifts into the realm of confrontational as the film progresses. While Lena and the other scientists do have a few run-ins with monsters, it is their failure to trust each other that ultimately destroys the team. In one particular instance, for example, a terrific beast clearly inspired by Cronenburg shrieks with the exact voice of its dead victim, the anthropologist Cassie (Tuva Novotny). As the beast kills Anya (Gina Rodriguez), the paramedic who had just turned on her own allies in a frenzied state, the triumphant screams of a Cass-long-gone remind the team that it is not the monsters, but their own inability to work together, that is leading them towards death.

Some aspects of Ex Machina and Annihilation that point to Alex Garland as an up-and-coming auteur have less to do with his fatalistic themes on the human race and more to do with the stylistic choices acquired by means of his consistent use of similar cast and crew. The director of photography Rob Hardy, production designer Mark Digby, costume designer Sammy Sheldon, set decorator Michelle Day, and musicians Geoff Barrow and Ben Salisbury, for example, were all employed in both films, and their expertise comes together nicely to create atmospheres that manage to feel melancholy yet warm and dystopian yet beautiful in each. Ex Machina is filled with juxtaposition, taking place in an exquisite home that is also a horrifying research center, surrounded by rivers but imprisoned by mountains. Likewise, Annihilation explores contrasted wildlife where stags can grow flowers on their antlers but alligators can develop the teeth of a shark in their mouths. Subtle visual effects are important aspects of Garland’s film too because they enhance a world we live in now to create subjects that are nonexistent but not implausible. Ava moves more realistically than any artificially intelligent robot known today, but we would not be surprised to see a major corporation like Amazon or Google unveil a model just like her at any time. Garland addresses this in an interview with IndieWire: “’When is this taking place, I’d say it’s 10 minutes in the future’” (Whale). Similarly, there are no actual creatures or plants on Earth like the ones in Annihilation, but the film never presents something so alien that it would be immediately dismissed as unbelievable. The only thing that is purely extraterrestrial is the meteorite itself; everything else is a product of crossbreeding between objects from our world made possible by another.

The most refined relationship on set is clearly between Garland and his DOP, Rob Hardy, since the most comparable technical aspect of the two films is the pattern of the camera. Close-ups point to the ‘threat against humanity’ in each film – Ava’s brain in the first and the cells duplicating inside The Shimmer in the second. Important artifacts like these are placed in the center of the frame as the camera slowly moves closer and closer to them, almost seductively. In a style similar to that of David Fincher, slight movements of the camera continue in other scenes as well, like a person’s slow breaths, following characters as they sit, move, or speak in order to track them without drawing too much attention to the presence of a camera itself. In fact, the only times when the camera stays immobile is during wide-shots of nature that link the main sequences but provide a bit of breathing room in between important moments in the narrative.

One of the most evident similarities bridging the connection between Ex Machina and Annihilation is through actor Oscar Isaac, who was utilized in both films for more than just his stellar acting, but for his significance in Garland’s underlying themes as well. According to The Hollywood Reporter, Isaac functions as a metaphor for higher power in each of Garland’s films: “In Ex Machina, Isaac’s Nathan likens himself to God, providing his ability to create true artificial intelligence pans out. In Annihilation, it’s once again Isaac, this time portraying Lena’s husband, Kane, who opens up the subject of the divine and leads Lena to state, without hesitation, that ‘God makes mistakes.’” (Newby). It is ironic to consider films penned and directed by someone who identifies as an atheist as being religious, but Newby has a point that can be sufficiently validated by the intense saturation of Eden-like paradises and the open-ended epilogues of all three Alex Garland films discussed in this essay. No matter how cynical Garland’s beliefs about mankind’s future might be, a certain theme of hope – not the kind of hope one expects or wishes for, but hope nonetheless – is persistent in all three endings. At the end of 28 Days Later, the protagonists finally signal their location to an overhead jet and anticipate freedom. What exactly is waiting for them outside of Britain is ambiguous (the film ends before we get a chance to see); for all they know, the rest of the world could be infected too, but there is a possibility that life still exists somewhere. The final scene in Ex Machina depicts the AI, Ava, abandoning Caleb and blending into mundane human life at an ordinary crossroad. While this image definitely provokes a feeling of existential dread at the thought of a robot transcending the role of mankind, it is also pleasing to consider that some evolved form of being might replace Homo Sapiens in the future as we did the Neanderthals before us. Annihilation’s final shot of Lena and her husband as potentially alien or genetically mutated beings conjures up a similar notion about existentialism that actually seems to reject Darwinism: it is not evolution that exists, but simply adaptation.

These films hypothesize that eventually, the world as we know it will likely come to an end, replaced by science, technology, evolution, or a divine power. But who are we to know? Perhaps the details of the next step do not matter. Of course, it is up for debate whether this apathetic ambivalence about the future of mankind is unethical. After all, should we not preserve our own species by fighting against current world dangers such as artificial intelligence and global warming? Some would say yes, and Garland might even agree, but it is clear that he believes his purpose is to raise these questions, not to answer them. In his films, just as in religion itself, the prospect of abandoning the present and moving on to some new reality, whatever that might be, is inevitable, and to Alex Garland, there is nothing wrong with that.

Newby, Richard. “'Annihilation' and 'Ex Machina' Are a Double Feature in the Making.” The Hollywood Reporter, 25 Feb. 2018, www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/annihilation-machina-are-a-double-feature-making-1088109. Accessed 8 March 2018.

Whale, Chase. “Interview: Alex Garland Talks Lo-Fi Approach To 'Ex Machina,' Auteur Theory, And Much More.” IndieWire, 7 Apr. 2015, www.indiewire.com/2015/04/interview-alex-garland-talks-lo-fi-approach-to-ex-machina-auteur-theory-and-much-more-265335/. Accessed 8 March 2018.

[cinesaver]

The Wizarding World of….. Los Angeles? : Bright Movie Review

             Last week Netflix released their surprise film The Cloverfield Paradox, which left many to wonder about the process of creating original films for the streaming service. The production value isn’t bad, but one has to question why the script isn’t on the same level. The film is simply subpar which explains why Netflix is a viable option for its creation. They simply aren’t worried about their movies quality. Rather creative ad campaigns get people to watch their films. After watching The Cloverfield Paradox I took it upon myself to do some further investigating and watch the original film Bright, which oddly enough premiered its trailer at the previous Super Bowl. Will Bright stand out as Netflix’s gem, or will it follow the trend of their other films?

The Plot

               Bright takes place in a world where magic and fantasy characters exist. Much like Harry Potter except it’s dark, gritty and takes place on the streets of Los Angeles. The Plot follows Officer Daryl Ward, who is paired with the first Orc police officer named Nick Jakoby. When a typical case leads to an all-powerful wand, it’s up to Ward and Jakoby to make sure that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.

               The first thing that needs to be said about this film is that it’s absolutely frustrating. Not only is it bad, but the ideas are there for this to be a half way decent blockbuster. The world that Bright creates can be interesting at times. That being said it will certainly leave you laughing. The smallest things like seeing a centaur dressed in police riot gear can look so silly that it literally takes you out of the scene. Characters like this are seen all throughout the film. The look of Jakoby is pretty interesting, but the design for the Elves and gangster Orcs are just plain silly.

               The writing of this film is absolutely ridiculous, to the point where it makes you question how this script was ever green lit in the first place. Just like the visuals, there are scenes where lines are said that just make you laugh, which once again takes you right out of the scene. Watching police shootouts and hearing officers yell “We got to protect the wand,” simply doesn’t sell this idea.

               The movie does actually start out pretty strong with its high concept and interesting sound track, but for whatever reason couldn’t sustain itself throughout the whole film.  The plot nose dives when the story line involving the wand kicks in.

               The film also doesn’t try to make its symbolism subtle. Its message of race simply beats you over the head to the point that you hear lines like “Orc lives matter.” The comparison to real world issues is an interesting concept, but the execution simply falls flat.

The Cast and Characters

               An obvious selling point for the film is the fact that the blockbuster star Will Smith is playing its lead role. You can tell that Smith is doing his best to hype up and really add something to this film, but at the end of the day his one liners are just awful, even resorting to Shrek jokes at one point. Watching Bright will make you reminisce about classic Smith movies like Men in Black which does what this movie is trying to do but simply better. That being said the dynamic of the two leads is the highest point of the film. Something special could have been created if a little more care was taken for the story revolving around these characters.

               Underneath all of the monster make up is Joel Edgerton in the role of Jakoby. Now Edgerton might actually be the stand out of this film due to the fact that he is sincere and simply has a struggle he must overcome. Not to mention everyone, including Smith’s character, is an absolute jerk to him. Jakoby’s back story and character is probably the best part of the film.

               The rest of the acting throughout the film is garbage be it from the villain, to the other cops on the force, or even the elf that palls around with Ward and Jakoby for a majority of the film. A lot of the time, especially with the other officers on the force, it seems like the actors are playing caricatures and stereotypes.  This mixed with some predictable and lazy writing makes for a potent combination.

The Verdict

               Bright is a down right awful film, which is disappointing when looking at the fact that it had an extreme amount of potential. This mix of Harry Potter and Lethal Weapon squanders what it has with its lazy and downright boring script. At times the movie makes you laugh when it shouldn’t. Smith and Edgerton are likable as these characters, but are given a story that will leave you saying so what. This might be one of the worst blockbuster films I have seen in a while, and should be avoided.

[rangerwriting-blog]

Excuse me for being somewhat lazy on Headcanon Day this year, but I don’t feel like typing up anything super elaborate like I have the last two. I’ve just been really busy this week which is why I haven’t made any significant contributions yet.

Instead, enjoy some of my headcanon on the legendaries.

Luseli = Ho-oh Sunivel = Lugia Kabosul = Zapdos Ludeos = Articuno Nubehis = Moltres Veshana = Cresselia

Just a fair warning: it’s exceedingly heavy character analysis information. Very little makes sense without the full context as the primary reason for these existing is mainly for my reference when I get around to writing the stories.

I also included what I’ve dubbed “minifiles.” These are small tiny profiles that list all of the above information in one place.

Please note the legendaries weren’t “born” on the days listed; they were all created at about the same time. The astrology bit is really just for me to have no blank fields on the profile form. Plus, it’s a good exercise.

I won’t be making every packet available in the future, but I just wanted to share the full extent of the handful I have right now.

I know that, condensed, this doesn’t look like a lot of work, but each packet represents minimum 3-4 cumulative hours. So this is a minimum of 18-24 hours.

Also, sorry for the excessively tiny font, but keep in mind I have 66 of these things to eventually create, print off, and cram into binders. I’m trying to conserve space for when I reach that point.

If anybody’s curious about the full process:

It actually all starts with the questionnaire. That probably takes up the majority of the time because it’s the most tedious part of all of this. That represents a good 2-3 hours at least. This is because I do everything longhand. I just really dislike typing this on the computer directly, so I have to write it out with pencil and paper, then type it up, so you can see how repetitive answering the same 40 questions can get even with the vastly different answers.

Then comes all of the analysis stuff. Before I did these, I didn’t have a methodology but I do now.

I do the Multiple Intelligences next because that’s pretty quick. Maybe 10-20 minutes. The test I use is a PDF recreation of the Birmingham Grid for Learning. I used the Way Back Machine to tease out all the questions and recreated the scoring.

I do the MBTI next which is another maybe 10 minutes for the test itself. But if the character ends up borderline on two or more types, I can spend upwards of 30+ minutes combing through the profiles to extract the traits I see. Sometimes I come back to this part after I’ve done some more work with them. The test I use.

Temperament is usually pretty quick, about 5-10 minutes since I just have to look at the profiles and see what matches best. The site I use.

The next bit is one of my most hated bits: astrology. This doesn’t seem like it would be a big deal but looking at the section clearly reveals I choose everything down to the exact day.

This process is very long and involved.

First, I look at some basic profiles to get a feel for the signs and which element they might be. Then, I look at the more expanded profiles to determine which is best due to having greater detail.

A lot of the characters end up falling on cusps because I’m lazy.

What does this have to do with anything?

Well, the next thing I do is go to a site with those birthday profiles. If I’m dealing with a cusp, I have like 5-6 profiles to sort through which isn’t bad.

But when you’re dealing with a macro sign like just Gemini or Leo, that’s where the headaches start since there are about 30ish profiles to dig through.

If this ends up being the case, it can sometimes be 60+ minutes for this bit alone. Site 1. Site 2. Site 3.

The Empathy Quotient is another really short test, maybe 10 minutes. Same with the Self-Knowledge Traits. The test.

The Trait Sheet is another very involved process. I have two character trait thesaurses (Positive and Negative). From there, I do the negative traits which isn’t too bad. The positive traits are a bit of a headache since I write down the list of all the positive traits they have. I then go back and put them in the proper categories. Then I type it. That’s probably another 30+ minutes.

Wandlore is usually another very involved process that’s half logic, half intuition. (This is the wand information from Harry Potter if you can’t tell.) I used to just use a google document but I ended up printing out everything and putting it on index cards so I can flick through them physically. I go through cores (the three official ones, then over two dozen fanon ones), flexibility (all fanon), numerology (basis was given by JKR herself but I expanded on it), then the wood.

Sometimes this can be quick because I have a good understanding of the topic and characters and my intuition guides me to certain bits that just fit so perfectly. Other times, I have to sit there and deliberate for awhile.

All in all, this process can take anywhere from 5-30+ minutes depending on how many choices I end up with (usually the wood is what kills me because there are like 40 different ones I’ve collected).

Arcana is another thing that can be easy or teeth-grindingly frustrating. Yes, this is taken from the idea of the Persona series. If you’re familiar with Persona or the Tarot, you can see why this can be one of the most frustrating things.

For me, this is one of the most important since it is the absolute summation of everything the character stands for. This is usually the hardest thing to pin down after wandlore because of it.

I’ve become fairly familiar with a lot of the Major Arcana because of how much work I do with the Tarot for character analysis, but I still don’t understand most of them. Or sometimes I get so many that might be applicable that it’s difficult to know which one to choose. I often end up using dual Arcana (primary and secondary) because of two just fit so snugly together. (Luseli’s Devil/Temperance for example)

This isn’t even getting into times when none of the Major Arcana fit so I have to dig into the Minor Arcana. (Ludeos’ King of Cups and Veshana’s Queen of Wands for example)

Again, this process can take anywhere from a minimum of less than a minute to 30+. The site I use.

When it comes to the human characters, I’m going to add in another step of creating a personal timeline for them. Thankfully, that will just be a matter of copy-pasting from my Master Timeline. But that’s going to also be involved because of involving ~*~math~*~ to deal with my calendar system. I’ll also need to summarise any and all events, then type them up to be included on said timeline.

I didn’t do this with the legendaries because it’s pointless. They’re immortals, so I’m looking at them at the macro level. Digging as deeply into their psyches as I do Summer, Solana, or anybody else would just be even more time consuming and ultimately frustrating since there would never be an end. I have a lot of experience with immortal characters, so I know when and where to cut my losses on delving into their histories. A couple of major events are generally enough to get a good feel for them. (In this case: the founding of the Temple system following the war, the Civil Flame, and the Extinction (the events of the Hero.)) I wish I could go into greater depth, but it’s just not necessary.

....I guess I kinda failed in the “not wanting to type up something longwinded” thing huh

But yeah, there you go. This is the process I go through for character creation for Ranger stuff. It’s very tedious, time-consuming, and downright infuriating at times, but I end up with extremely fleshed-out, unique characters and come out with an individual comprehensive psychological profile which feels so rewarding to hold in my hands when I finish.

[mentalvapors]

Kevin Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Back at it again. Geez, when I started my tumblr (back in 2014 I think) I had the intention to update it regularly, every week maybe. But I lost track of it, like already one week after I started it. I feel bad for not updating it. One of my biggest regrets in life is probably that I never had a diary, because my memory just keeps getting worse and worse at the moment, and when I talk to people they are able recall so many thing from their past and I don't even know how to do simple math I learned in 4th grade. I cannot remember a single event from 4th grade or elementary school in general.

Okay this is just me thinking things right now, but I also feel like the reason why I never had a diary or never bothered to write blog entries is because I'm not a creative writer. And I'm not smart and I have no skills whatsoever and it's even worse when I write English sentences. And some people actually have personality and talent to make the most trivial things sound interesting. And I just feel like a brain dead person slamming my phalanges furiously on a keyboard. But should I feel bad about it? Pretty much everyone shares their opinions on thoughts about everything on the internet nowadays. I should not care about how bland I sound to other people.

I really wanted to gather some thoughts why university didn't work out for me. I feel like I never … I tried to think about the reason why I failed, but most of the time I was in sad mode and blamed myself for everything, which always ended in a result that was not authentic to the truth and therefor not downright acceptable. And so I  never came to a real conclusion. I will try to think about it now, because I don't feel too depressed, so it should be fine, right? Right?

So first of all, going to university was mistake to begin with. It could have worked out, but the circumstances at that time were not optimal. In fact they were terrible. So it was kind of foolish to think I could pull that off, but there was also nobody who convinced me I couldn't.

A huge factor that made it hard for me to survive university was that every semester I felt some kind of anxiety because I didn’t know what was going to happen. Grades, classes, other students and just choosing things was very overwhelming. Very, very overwhelming. On some days I was just crying like the whole day, because I didn’t know what actually happens when I’m done with university. How to move on? I’ve always been a directionless wanderer, who didn’t know what he wanted to do in life. I just started university and it already felt pointless, like it would go nowhere and nevertheless I was moving on. One year passed, two years, three... and nothing changed. I collected a lot of credits (oh well... not enough for my creditors though) and still I couldn't figure out “why am I doing this?”.

My major was area studies and I wasn’t really enjoying it. I just felt lost and once again overwhelmed. This whole course of studies was missing a clear structure. Which was also the point of it: “Just go ahead and choose the things you have the most interest in”, like that kind of decree completely works against my own nature. I desperately need someone to tell me what to do. So helplessly I chose the most nonsense courses I could find. I signed up for Japanese class and it was so hard. The first semester examination I got only a fourteen, oops. I literally struggled so bad and nearly getting nothing accomplished the whole year and that’s why I ended up dropping that course and felt really bad. But I wanted to try it again, so I took the next semester very very light with only two classes, so of course that extended my university existence by some time. So many frustrating things happened during that time and to my minor, which was agricultural sciences. The readings ended up being not what I was looking for and the schedule really worked against my major.

Also some of the professors were really strict and set up their individual rules. For instance the Japanese teacher was incredibly strict. You could not miss her lessons and you could not be late. And at this time I really struggled with depression and I was crying and begging this woman I was like „I love this class, I’m trying so hard, please give me another chance next year“ and she said that it was OK and that I can be part of the class again, but a year later she was like „I changed my mind, get out“ and that was the point, where I started to give up and stopped trying, like, at all. But sometimes I would get a professor that I like and I would only have them for one semester, a lot of times I tried to take multiple classes with that person if the subject fulfilled credits for the same requirement, even though the class would not help to get a clear structure in my major. Like I took a lot of Mongolian classes. How would that help me with my Japanese Major? I don't know.

In addition I didn’t have an easy time making friends there. That’s another thing that can kinda be frustrating about university life to me. You see a lot of people who take one or two classes that you take as well and you kinda never see the same people. You develop relationships with people that are in the same class but after the semester; they’re gone. That was a big hurdle for me to jump through. I did not get used to it and I didn’t kinda like how everything felt so temporary.

None of the people I had contact with in my Japanese course did graduate by the way. All of them are still stuck somewhere. Some of them still have to pass Japanese class I (out of IV) and it has been four years since we signed up for it. Ideally you should be done with the whole thing in three years. So probably even if I managed to finish all of my major and minor courses, I would not be done with Japanese class yet, cause it's so damn hard and my creditor would get mad at me and I had cancel university either way.

So I was clueless and not doing very well and the worst part was probably that there is a lot of pressure in society (and creditors, student loan companies etc.) where they tell you „Okay you have to graduate from university in three years. Do it right. Know exactly what you want!“ and for a lot of people, including myself, this is not a realistic goal. It’s just not easy. I think it’s realistic if you fail something. I think perfection and expectation of perfection in society is really bizarre. The other thing I realized during this time was, unlike you’re going to be a doctor or a lawyer or in that sort of profession, you get a university degree and that’s awesome but how much practically do you use that degree? I wish I would have chosen something like business studies, because I think … just having more of an understanding of topics like that, would have been helpful throughout my life, especially more than the area studies.

So these are some aspects that turned university into my personal nightmare, but the truth or a big part of it is, that university just felt inconvenient. I'm a lazy piece of shit; I never felt the need to study for any exam, but spoiler: in university you won't survive without it. You need to know how to study. Studying is actually a skill, I didn't know that, now I learned the hard way.

So all I have for now is my shattered university past, a scary student loan debt mountain haunting me every night and also no job. Unemployed for over a year now. I don't know if this will ever change. The worst part of it is I feel like I'm not doing enough to get out of this misery. In fact I do nothing. I want to change but like 90% of my time I have no faith and feel hopeless and that nothing will ever work out for me.

I need to get a whole load of things off my chest first in order to move one. Also I need to find the English setting for my good friend OpenOffice because right now everything is red underlined and it's low key driving me crazy. (…) All right, I found it. Also I'm not gonna grammar correct or spellcheck anything. It's just lines I write down to remind myself of a few things and I have to get this all out before I forget it. So screw editing it!

The last few days I started to do shit I usually hate doing. It's not like I'm a messy person, but cleaning my room felt suddenly more important than ever before. I also stitched up my curtains, even though I was okay with them being way too long for years. And I built two shelves, because we had a few old planks in our yard and my walls were so empty, they felt like prison cell walls to me, so I thought “yes of course SHELVES”. They look fantastic and I'm proud of myself because I made something useful, but they remind my that I spend my time not the way I'm supposed to. They make me feel bad every time I look at them and I look at them a lot, cause they're hanging on my wall.

Yesterday I set up autumn decorations even though it is kinda too early. I also already did some of the Halloween decorations. I always get into a spooky mood, as soon as the weather gets colder, because it feels like authentically fall. I have to wear sweaters or long sleeves because I'm so cold all the time.

Also I found a keyboard in the room of the guy that lived with us, but who is dead now and I remembered how I have always wanted to learn to play piano. But I don't know if I would be very good at it. I feel like the older I get the less focus I have with things. And I also feel just like I don't ever really sit down and like do anything.

Anyway, the dead guy's name was Lutz and he died in April because of cancer. He and my mom shared the rent for the house we live in, so fifty percent of the rent fee is missing since he died. Our landlord is really mad, because he wants the money from us now and we do not have it and Lutz's family doesn't want to pay off his debts either. It's a pretty dire situation and my mom's lawyer sucks and gradually makes our dilemma worse and worse and she doesn't realize it. I don't know what comes next, my mom never talks about these things and a part of me also doesn't want to know. I'm dealing with a lot of things myself and I wish I could close my eyes and vanish from the surface of this planet forever. Just like the Avatar did. The cool one, not that James Cameron Pocahontas plagiarism. But I'm afraid this is not how it works. Suicide would be an option. But I'm just too much of a coward.

To give up or to not give up on life. Fighting the desire to just lie down and die gets harder each day. It already has been hard for a long time now. I know people get homeless. Maybe I am in that exact position right now. I never thought about it. But maybe there is a high chance that it'll happen to me next, unless I do something, even if it already might be too late. I know I can't change the mind of my mom, she will stay here, in this building, until she gets thrown out under legal authority. And I knew about this since a long time and I definitely already could have done something about it as well, like trying harder to find a new place and job, but … depression … and I chose not to. That's just the reality situation.

But I really need to get on with looking for a job now (the hardest thing though is to overcome my “little” procrastination thing whenever I'm about to do it). Two years of therapy gave me enough time to reflect and figure out what I possibly could do and maybe I really can do two or three things, besides lying in bed all day. The biggest issue right now is my low self-esteem. If you never had a real job in your whole life, you will obviously have a hard time to believe in your own abilities. This is what I got criticized for when I worked as Concierge last summer “Sorry, you're too insecure about your actions” and at job interviews I get told “You don't really convince me that you want this job”. And yeah how can I convince anyone I'm able to do something I never did before without straight up lying to their face? I guess if I want to apply for job, I need to put on a mask made of confidence and lies.

My psychiatrist once told me, that my only chance to get a job is social connections (his social connections). I already talked about how I became “friends” with my therapist some time ago. His intentions didn't feel honest to me and everyone else saw this, like, big red flag and yelled at me, to give up on this attachment, but I am weak and I don't have anyone else I can talk to. I gave him another chance and he invited me and said that we should travel to Thailand together. And I was against it, honestly, like from the beginning. But you know, he is a manipulative piece of shit and I really wanted to see Thailand, because I probably wouldn't get another chance like this, in my whole life. So I thought: how horrible can it be to fly to Thailand for two weeks, with your psychiatrist? Turns out it can be pretty horrible. He was watching me all the time, he was watching what I was eating, when I was messaging on Whatsapp. I never had two minutes for myself, he even came into the bathroom while I was changing, he was telling me what to do, when to cross the street, he dictated absolutely everything. So on day three I called him out and he said “Okay then let's fly back home” and of course I know he wanted me to beg him to stay here and that I would do better and follow his orders, cause he pays for everything. But I said “Fine, let's fly back home” and we walked to the travel agency in Thailand and the lady at the counter said a ticket back home today would be around 8,000$ each. He told the lady that we need to talk and would come back in an hour, if we still consider to book the tickets, but I didn't want to take anymore of his crap. So he had to book the tickets and I didn't talk to him the whole 24 hours we needed to get back to Germany, he tried to discuss this situation the whole time, even tried to convince me to travel with him again; this time to the Netherlands for the weekend because “It'll work out better than Thailand”. There is so much more stuff that happened, but I'm not going to elaborate more, at this point I'm so tired of all of this. I'm just glad I finally wrote it down and decided that this friendship was not good for me. Better late than never.

Oh and the worst part is, I also feel like I didn't make any progress in this two years of therapy. I didn't achieve anything, I just wasted time. I'm so annoyed and mad at myself.

All that stress I had the last few months or maybe years and the frustration and the anger I feel every day, caused my autoimmune disease to flare up again.

Short backstory: I noticed a bald patch in my beard area in 2015 and one year later it spread on my head and it was just awful. I had the worst time back then, my dog died, my relationship went to shit, I lost my job as Concierge, I felt like university was going nowhere and my hair started to fall out and it was not a cute look. I had a plum sized spot on the left side, the right side and on top of my head and two spots that molted into one big spot at the back. I went to a dermatologist, he said it's called Alopecia Areata and he told me to put some ointment on it and I did. But nothing changed. I was really desperate, I had a mental break down, including ugly crying in the shower, shaving my head, mental hospital, the whole program. I had a hard time to accept the “bald truth”.

On Youtube I found a channel, run by a girl named Stella, who made several videos about her struggle with Alopecia Areata (she wasn't the only one btw, but she was the first one who seemed genuine and did not try to sell some fake products. There are so many people on the internet, who use other people’s desperation to make themselves richer, it's crazy). In one of her videos she described how she overcame this disease with the help of the AIP diet and I was so amazed. She had all of her hair back and the solution is a diet? I was crying my eyes out for month and it's that simple? Sign me up I thought as I looked a few things up on the internet and basically AIP diet means just allowed to eat warm water. Doesn't actually matter if it's warm or not. No, but seriously almost every food is forbidden on AIP. No bread, rice, potatoes, eggs, diary, sugar, tomatoes, nuts, alcohol, fruits, nothing. All you can eat is meat and green stuff. I started in November and it was exhausting from the beginning. I felt hungry all the time and was craving for something sweet. It's funny how I can go without sugar right now for days, but when you're not allowed to have it, it's all you want. But I was missing coffee the most.

Anyway, after one month of AIP I recognized some white hair on my left patch, and a week later a few pigmented hairs. On Christmas all of my patches had small pigmented hairs growing in (except my beard, which is only thin white hairs until today) and I'm having the worst grammar right now. It's 1 a.m. Anyway during that time I felt amazing, the bald patches were still recognizable, but I felt relieved that my hair came back and I wouldn't go bald.

By march I had all my hair back and I gave a lot of credit to the diet, but also stopped the diet the same month, because although I got all my hair back, I realized that I could not live with all these restrictions forever. The AIP diet was not designed for people with AA. It was made to figure out what kind of food causes your inflammatory, but it's impossible to tell when you have AA. You can't take a bite of a tomato and be like “Oh yeah I feel it, this makes my hair fall out”. Even though a lot people in these self help groups write things like “Oh. My. Gosh. I was just drinking a cup of milk and suddenly my whole scalp was itchy”. Yeah girl, because you wanted it to be itchy. You are desperate and want to find the cause and you want it to stop. And all of this happens, even if your are not aware of it. And blaming certain kinds of food is easy, but dumb. It worked for me, but just because I thought it does. For 4 months I ate vegetables and meat on max, because Stella said it helped, she had proof and I saw it, so I thought it would help me too.

April was again a really hard time for me. My therapist was playing games, my family stressed me out, Lutz died, still no job, my personal financial crisis. And then one day I felt a smooth spot behind my right ear as I was sitting in a train and I was like “Oh god, please no, god no no no no no...”. . I recognized a tiny spot at the back of my head before, but I was hoping it was nothing, I didn't want it to be true, now with a second patch I realized Alopecia is back to haunt me.But this time I wanted it to be different. I would not let it take control of my actions again. So I made an appointment at a hairdresser and I was surprised he never heard of AA before as I told him what was going on on my head. As he was shaving the back of my head he pointed out that there actually a few more spots than expected. I accepted it. There's nothing I can do about anyway.

I revisited Stella's Youtube channel and she posted a video update. Her Alopecia came back as well, even though she was still following the AIP diet. So there was no doubt left, that the diet had little to do with the regrowth of my hair. Stella's video and her blog was again so inspirational.

The cure for Alopecia is: there is no cure. It's your emotions. It's sadness, it's anger and stress. This is easy and hard to accept at the same time. I'm still not a hundred percent sure if I can accept this as the one truth. At the moment all of the spots are on the backside of my head, which is good. I mean they are there; but at least I can't see them. The one behind my right ear is as big as my ear right now. And it worries me tbh. Last year I documented the progress of the spots and took pictures every week. Because I was so excited to see my hair grow and I wanted to see the proof that it really happens. I don't know if I should do this again. Stella said the best way to deal with this situation is simply “to not give a shit”.

And that might be true. But I know, currently it is impossible for me to reach this peace of mind. Everything's a mess right now and I feel like I can't do life and no matter how less I care about my hair, bald spots will spread nevertheless. I have to change my environment first, before I can move on mentally. And this will be frustrating. Searching for a job, having job interviews with bald spots all over my head, probably getting rejected because of it, getting more bald spots, it will be hell but I guess... it is what it is.

It's hard when you’re in a dark place and when your family sucks, and you're like in that mind set where everything is awful. Just taking that one little step up uphill is the hardest part. Maybe writing all of this down finally is a sign that I wildly succeeded and that I can keep going. Or maybe it was just another reason for me to procrastinate again. Who knows?

Well I wish I could end this post on a high note. It's 3am right now and  there was an episode of “Married... with children” on TV and it was about Kelly being the first female Bundy with a job and she worked at a diner. They made it look like being a waitress is the easiest thing in the world, but Kelly was totally overwhelmed by everything and it was just too real. Too relatable. On her first day as a waitress “Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves” was playing in the background and I will remember this on my first day of work and it'll empower me to try my best, like Kelly Bundy did. You know, be the best Kelly Bundy you can be.

[aifsaath]

The Viridian Nightmare

Because @albaparthenicevelut , @jahaliel , @bow-weaver , @asokatanos and @resistancepilots​ happened. It’s all your fault.

As always, whenever anything disastrous was about to happen, the Force fell silent. Which proved, as thousand times before, entirely unhelpful and downright frustrating for everyone involved. Obi-Wan Kenobi did not approve of this unhealthy habit of the Force. Ahsoka Tano was downright angry at the Force, regardless of the Code. They did not deserve any of this. At least a small warning would have helped them so much. They would have stayed far away from that accursed datapad! But no, no, the Force spared no mercy on its least favourite Jedi.

Anakin Skywalker just shrugged, and necked a whole bottle of Alderaanian absinth. The blissful, green oblivion welcomed him with open arms.

Green.

Anakin Skywalker shrieked.

. . .

The colour of green proved to be the colour of their nightmares, the colour of what stalked them in the backs of their minds for weeks.

The colour of green wielded a gimmer stick covered in many bumps to provide various forms of stimulations to its victims.

They should have never given to the temptations of the Holonet. They should have never doubted the rule thirty-four.

. . .

That day, right before their whole worldview was turned upside down, Ahsoka announced loudly that she was bored.

Anakin replied, loudly as well, that she was a big girl and that she should be able to keep herself entertained for kriff’s sake.

Obi-Wan asked them both, very politely, to stop yelling.

There are very few anthropological constants. This statement was proven to be very true in the Galaxy, where thousands of sentient species dwelled. But there is at least one trait common throughout the vast universe: that sooner or later a bored teenager shall flip out an electronic device, and tune out every adult in their vicinity. Whether they turn their attention to news, social media, or porn, is optional.

As the Fate condemned them to the most horrible sort of torture…

“Whoa! Guys! Guys, you must hear this! They came up with another theory on your illicit relationship!”

“I’m quite sure we are not obliged to hear that at all.”

“I’m hurt, Obi-Wan. You pay no mind to our illicit relationship.”

“Anakin, there is nothing about our ‘relationship’ that has any potential to be illicit.”

“So, when you were in bed with me….”

“You mean when I was out with fever, lost my balance, and collapsed over you?”

“Yeah, that was romantic.”

“If this is what you consider an epitome of romance, then I’m honestly worried about Padmé right now,” Obi-Wan mumbled to himself.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“No. Have you finished your report, hm?”

“No, master.”

“I thought so.”

“Guys, they think that Anakin is on top.”

“On top of what?”

“On top of you.”

“Why the hell would he climb on top of me?”

“Really, Obi-Wan? Really?”

“Oh. Oh. But that’s a complete nonsense.”

“It makes a perfect sense to me.”

“Only in your dreams, Ani.”

“Force, there are even holos, look!”

“Wow, do we really look like that?!”

“…The picture is taken completely out of the context. I had a really badly torn muscle in my back, and Anakin was, for once, helpful and massaged it.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s deeply ashamed of his unending love for me, poor man.”

“So why is Skyguy topless?”

“It was fifty degrees in a shade. Just be glad that he and the entire 501st weren’t running around naked that day.”

“Though Rex did suggest that. And you said no. You made us all boil in our own skins, you sadist.”

“We’ve got appearances to upkeep, Anakin. An army of sweating nudists wouldn’t be that effective threat to Separatists. Have you finished your report yet?”

“No, master.”

“Lazy.”

“Snips, is there anything about Mr. Stick-In-The-Ass on the ‘Net?”

“Lowly revenge. Tsk. How unbecoming of Jedi.”

“Master, if it exists, there is porn of it. Of course there are tons and tons of freaky stuff about Obi-Wan. Like… this.”

“Ahsoka Tano, in the name of The Council I command you to-“

“GOT IT!”

“Whee, that’s hot. Who would’ve guessed you’re into that, master?”

“Anakin, that’s the definition of non-hot.”

“And we all know there is no possible way you’d be caught dead naked, only wrapped in Mando’a traditional silks, hm?”

“It’s clearly photoshopped.”

“Clearly?”

“Yes, clearly.”

“Then that means someone’s got into your medical records, Obi-Wan, because there is no other way they’d know about that mole on your lower back.”

“Those nasty slicers these days...”

“You speak my mind, Snips.”

“Have. You. Finished. The. Report?”

“Nope, Master. How do we call this shade of red, Snips?”

“Kenobi Crimson.”

“Fine, Ani. You want war, you’ll get war. Ahsoka, search for Anakin Skywalker cherry play.”

“Ahsoka, don’t!”

“Too late, Skyguy...”

“It’s fake, I swear!”

“This one isn’t that bad. It’s just you nibbling cherries off the branch staring directly into the camera and scratching your chest and belly. Seriously, Skyguy, why are you so winded up? It’s so innocent.”

“No reason.”

“Would anyone please explain to me why is this tagged as ‘kenobi’s bitch’, ‘you suck’ and ‘call me master’?”

“No reason at all. I’ve got no idea what filth fills those perverts’ minds. It’s utterly unfounded slander and a complete lie.”

“Are you sure? Because I’d swear you’re blushing like mad.”

“That’s just the bad lighting, Snips.”

“Sure, master.”

“Anakin. The. Report.”

For a moment, the apartment was filled with a content silence, broken only by Ahsoka’s whispered remark on Anakin being ‘Kenobi’s bitch’ which earned her a little, harmless Force-choke.

While Anakin was typing down the boring details of their last mission, Obi-Wan used the peace to finally enjoy his long-delayed game of Sudoku. Ahsoka searched for more embarrassing holos of her masters, but too soon she got bored. She had caught them in far more risqué situations than anything that ‘Net’s fantasies could provide. Like the other day in the sauna. Obi-Wan, bless his zero-heat-resistance, had fainted, which prompted Anakin to immediately start the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while the entire Council watched with a morbid fascination. Nothing could measure to a dozen of horrified old people of various species wrapped in only towels, who were forced to observe that scene.

(And what she considered to be utterly hysterical: their relationship, though deep and loving, was as platonic as it was humanly possible. Anakin with his single-target sexuality was already taken by Padmé, and Obi-Wan, the king of denial, was Definitely Not In Any Kind Of Feelings Thing With Satine, Thank You Very Much. But they were comfortable enough with each other, that the little touches and backrubs were periodically mistaken by the uninformed observers for displays of sensuous, romantic affair. Some rumours were even instigated by Anakin himself, who justified his actions with the intent to ‘protect Obi-Wan’s chastity and fidelity to Duchess, you’ll thank me later, Master!’)

“I bet we’re the hottest Jedi on the Holonet.”

“I don’t think that’s a competition, Anakin.”

“True, I doubt Master Poof is as popular as we are. Or any other of the Council.”

“Confirmed. He’s got only five hundred twenty-four searches to your nine hundred sixty-eight million. Wonder how’s Yoda doing…”

“Thanks, Snips.”

“I really did not need to imagine that.”

“What? That… Long… Flexible… Neck?

“Shut up.”

“Does it make you feel all tickly inside, Master?”

“You’re the worst of the worst, Anakin.”

“A padawan is a mirror to his master, Master.”

“A twisted one, without doubt. Have you finished the report?”

Anakin gave him a shit-eating grin.

“Yes, Master.”

“Wow. Already? I’m speechless. A one-day mission on a peaceful planet, and it took you only three weeks, five days, and thirteen hours to write the report down. An astonishing feat.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of action. Hey, Ahsoka, why so quiet?”

“…”

The girl was staring at the screen of her datapad. No muscle in her face moving. No single twitch. Her mouth was open ajar, eyes bulging – but she was still like a statue.

“Snips?”

[cannot-decide-on-a-fandom]

I have only ever failed two tests. One in chemistry, which the majority of people failed because (no offence meant) but none of the students really found the teacher helpful.

The other was more recent, and it was a math test. It was on parabolas/quadratics, simplifying algebraic fractions, and functions. Now, all my other tests, I got 70%+ (which is an A) but I really struggled with those certain topics (mostly parabolas).

Now, considering I was generally good in maths and I’d still pass with a good grade in my exams if I struggled with those, I wasn’t too worried, which is actually strange for me as there were timers when I would not be able to think about anything else for days. Because of that, I actually felt pretty good. I realised I no longer let my grades control me. Now, of course it’s a teacher’s job to try and encourage their students and help them. What is not their job is giving them a guilt trip.

My maths teacher downright admitted that kids who get high grades often tend to have little social lives, and then went on to say that’s what we should be doing. Studying instead of having fun with friends. She kept me back after class, not to offer help, but simply try and make me feel back about my grade, despite the fact that all my other tests were great and if you were to add my scores together, I’d have gotten As (which is what it would be like in exams)

She spent the next few days (weeks, in fact) hovering over me, and when I asked a question of her, she stood there while I was uncomfortable, staring at me, and when I didn’t say anything, she’d go “is that all?” I’d say yes and she’d go “Are you sure”, as if I had to struggle with everything she was saying because I got one bad mark.

Not only that, but she told me about study group the next night after school. I told her I couldn’t go because I had panto rehearsals (With about 30 other kids, by the way) she started shaking her head, claiming I should be taking school more seriously, not my downtime. Now, one, I plan to do acting/performing as a career when I’m older, so if I have to choose between a professional performance and study group in maths, I’m going to pick the one I’m actually planning to study in college. Two, it’s not downtime. It’s work experience. You know, everything school claims they are preparing you for, not to mention it wasn’t just me, there are other kids, and organisers, involved who I can’t let down. Surely, that’s more of a responsible attitude than going to study club because there’s one area I’m struggling with.

When I eventually did go to the group (at a different time) she started “teaching” me things. I told her I already knew them, because I did, and she practically rolled her eyes and got frustrated with me when I told her my bag was down in the assembly hall (which, again, was because I was performing in the assemblies)

One bad grade in amongst a sea of good performances, and I’m automatically lazy, not taking the class seriously, stupid, doing irresponsible things because I’m trying to get work experience, and supposedly can’t understand basics. And instead of helping, my teacher’s reaction is to make me feel guilty (something which anyone who knows me knows I already do too much. I feel guilty for way too many things) about things I shouldn’t have to, and she doesn’t even do anything to help, just expects me to not have a life outside of studying.

Grades are important, but you shouldn’t make anyone feel like crap about them. Everyone has things they struggle with, so help them. Don’t try an make them feel guilty. Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses. For example, I write a lot, I’m great at essays, have a wide vocabulary, and am completely confident in that exam. However, ask me to program a computer, or do anything with it as opposed to basics, and you’ll probably end up worse off.

People struggle. They aren’t lazy, or stupid, or irresponsible, they’re just having a hard time. Respect that.

(photo by fistfullofcookies)