#the depths of pettiness being displayed here on both ends...

[commaclear]

I am not jealous of you Quackity apologist anon. I never will be jealous of you. So what if my darling ÆÆ mistakenly called you stormy? I mean, it’s a bit concerning because me and you have very different typing styles and I thought I made it painfully obvious who I am. But that’s okay because my lover is still learning.

At least now I know I should reach out to them to help em out a little bit. Who knows. Maybe they can help me and Wilbur semi defender with a chart or something. You’d probably be jealous of that wouldn’t you.

I’m not the jealous one here. I’m not the one who continues to talk shit about my ex to avoid them getting with new people after being divorced for longer than I can remember.

No matter how much of an act you put up, deep down you are really just insecure.

When me and you were married, I was practically ignored. You neglected me. And sure I wasn’t the most present spouse, I’ll admit that. We were both at fault. But after our divorce I found out anon marriage could be so much more.

Sure, me and Wilbur semi defender’s marriage has had it’s ups and downs. But me and them have more communication than we ever did. They saw that I had a problem and were upset and hurt, just like you. But unlike you, they didn’t quit on me. Instead, me and them talked and found a solution that worked for both of us.

One thing that I’ve always found ironic is how you reacted when you found out I was cheating and how you continue to treat me to this day. Me and you were married when I analyzed btp. Do you remember btp? Do you remember all that stuff that requires an understanding about perspective based ethics? If you don’t, here’s an excerpt from chapter 15 of bone to pick

Wilbur shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I mean… there’s a lot of reasons? Like, there’s not one, big, catch-all answer.” Quackity turned to look at him. Wilbur couldn’t tell if he was intrigued or just passing a moral judgement; either way he felt the need to elaborate. “Like- like sometimes it’s just a sex thing… like you want more sex or more variety or something.”

“That’s ridiculous though. Why don’t people just talk to their partners?”

“Well most of the time it’s not just sex. I mean you could be really drunk or something, and it’s actually a mistake. Or you’re pissed off, and you’re tryna get revenge by-”

“So change the wifi password or tie all their shoes together or some shit like that. Do something petty that doesn’t destroy all the trust you’ve built.”

Wilbur was quiet for a moment. “Or you cheat because you don’t feel loved and- and you want to feel special and wanted and… and maybe the person you’re with has something your partner just doesn’t.”

“Then why not just leave your partner?”

“Maybe because… you’re scared- No, you’re terrified of being alone and of disappointing someone or hurting them, and so you just ruin everything for everyone instead. Even though you’ve made the same mistakes before, and it never ends well, and you know that- you just can’t help but chase that feeling of being loved, even if it fucks you in the end…” He sighed. “But I doubt you’d get it. Clearly you’re just more functional than the rest of us.”

Now we revisit this in close to the bone when Quackity cheats on his partners with Wilbur. Why did Quackity cheat? You would think an anon who focuses on Quackity would understand, but apparently not. So I guess I’ll just reanalyze this shit for you.

Quackity doesn’t seem to fully understand how Wilbur’s views on cheating could possibly make any sense. Cheating was bad to him. He might’ve been bad at relationships in the past but he had never cheated before. Not until he was feeling like his partners weren’t understanding him. Not until Wilbur had something he couldn’t get from his partners. Not until his partners hurt him to the point that he felt inclined to cheat.

Quackity cheats and then has to deal with the consequences of his actions. He loses his partners and their trust, his paramour who we gave everything up for decided it wasn’t gonna work, and he essentially loses everything. He loses his husbands, he looses Wilbur, he looses his job, he looses part of his eyeballs man. He looses it all.

While he shouldn’t have cheated, when you look at things from his perspective he had his reasons. We’re they great reasons? Not necessarily. But you’re an apologist. So I’m sure you can really understand why he did what he did. And it’s weird that you able to see him as a person but not me.

Do you know why I was unfaithful in the first place? Because you never ever reached out to me. After our marriage, you were hardly around. The only person who was around was ******. And I figured since you were never fucking there you’d wouldn’t notice if I did something. Maybe it was to catch your attention. Have you ever considered that you aren’t the only person who was hurt? Or are you doing what apologists do? Because an apologist can excuse their favorite characters actions, but never would think about how others like them deserve the same treatment.

I’m an analyst. Sure, I have had moments where I failed to understand all the characters. But I’m the end i eventually realize everyone has a side to the story. Everyone has a perspective. It’s like how Htid sally isn’t a horrendous person or how btp techno isn’t a bad brother. Perspectives are important. You call me a flat character but I think you just fail to look at my side of the story.

I feel bad for you, I really do. And it’s unfortunate that me and you didn’t work out. You get Quackity and I love that. When we found each other, we loved the fact that we talked about Quackity. Because a lot of people don’t give him the love he deserves. But now I’m realizing you don’t use that logic for anyone else. Because everyone is deserving of love even if they’ve fucked up. Every character is redeemable if they chose to be.

I think I’ve changed. Maybe not in the way you like, but I’m not trying to please you. I’m with three people who love me and understand that I don’t do well being tied down. Wilbur semi defender anon, dad Schlatt anon, and ÆÆ anon seem to understand me better than you ever did. And I think you’re just trying to hide the fact that you aren’t over our relationship.

All this shit with “cooler” qaa and telling all my partners that I don’t care about them, it really just feels like a defense mechanism. You were hurt and you still aren’t over it. You want to say I haven’t changed, but something tells me you’ve changed less than I have. You just don’t want people to see that. You’re insecure. You couldn’t help me. You didn’t even try. But now that other people have done a better job than you ever could you feel the need to try and drag them down to where you are.

In the drama summary comma wrote, they said you came back from a long journey of self discovery. But the only thing I think you discovered was your reflection in a mirror. Self centered asshole. You didn’t improve shit for yourself other than building up walls and pretending you don’t have issues.

You’re more like Quackity than I am. And you sure do fucking excuse your actions. And I guess that fits. That man’s never been too good at self reflection. But maybe it’s time you try and work on that. Because we all saw how it worked out for him.

So next time you want to come for me, leave them out of this. They’ve done nothing to you. You’re just mad at me and honestly I don’t understand how you’ve still got that much anger left. You’re gonna drive yourself insane if you don’t learn to let go. But that’s really not my problem to deal with

- the Quackity analysis anon

I almost can't believe you came out here and wrote an entire dissertation complete with citations, but at the same time it's completely in character for you

Just wow, I mean great analysis as always but still.... wow

[monstermaster13]

An Aykroyd Simp’s Wish Come True.

Nathan to Were-Aykroyd TF.

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Every fan has an origin story and each origin story has a result that tells you it all, Nathan was a huge Dan Aykroyd fan and he wasn’t afraid to admit he was a simp, it started in 2020 and now he was a full-blown simp for Dan in general thanks to his friends on Discord egging him on, but that was about to become so much more. He couldn’t help but dream about Dan sometimes, to the point he dreamed about turning into him and it felt real…even though they were just dreams, at least he thought they were just dreams. But one night he had a dream/vision that he didn’t know he’d have, basically the vision had him thinking about Dan and talking about him to his friends, but the dream took on a twist when he started to morph and transform, this had happened ever since he got transformed into the Were-Aykroyd he is today and he loved it, he tried to hide it, his love 0f 80’s horror added to this.

At first he thought it would be horrifying to be like that, but eventually he warmed up to it and he couldn’t help but think about it, naturally he always seemed to get jealous of others whenever they got transformed…’Aaaw come on, why do they get to morph and not me? I’m the main Were-Aykroyd here and I feel like these people aren’t all worthy of it.’ He was just naturally petty like that, and that's alright. He had his dark moments, yes but he never intended to come across as a villain, it’s just he was the kind of person some people would avoid, and if you think this is going to be one of those anime tf stories with some random oc being turned into one of those bishounen types or a Jojo character or one of those random ones that are a garbled mashup of pop culture references that don’t make sense, this is one that has elements of horror and humor to it. Late in April 2022, the Aykroyd dreams came back to him and made him want more of it, his inner Were-Aykroyd was starting to get worried, he hadn’t been around in a while.

The night of May 6th proved to be more impactful than he thought…he had been having another dream about the Were-Aykroyd side to him, but in said dream he was being viewed as insane for believing in the Aykroyd-verse lore. ‘Look, I told you i’m not insane. There is indeed an in-depth and fascinating lore behind all of Dan Aykroyd’s movies that nobody knows of and it’s all real. I have done a Quinton Reviews style analysis on all of Dan’s filmography and have come to the conclusion that Doctor Detroit and Loose Cannons belong in the same universe.’ ‘You must be insane if you analyzed those movies.’ ‘And what’s wrong with analyzing them?’ ‘They’re both terrible.’ ‘What did you say?’ ‘I said Doctor Detroit and Loose Cannons are terrible movies.’ Without warning, he knocked the person who said that onto the ground with seemingly inhuman strength.

“Wow..how on earth did you do that?”

“You mean knocking someone down with inhuman strength like that?”

‘Yes…wait a minute, aren’t you?’ ‘The Were-Aykroyd? Uhhh…how do you know that?’ He nervously blushed as he tried to remain calm but he panicked, causing his right hand to enlarge and the skin on it to mature as hairs grew on it, his brownish Were-Aykroyd hairs. ‘No, not now…not now.’ He moaned as his stomach gurgled, making a dash for it, he made his way out as quickly as possible before hiding behind the nearest display stand.

“Excuse me for a second…”

This part always was one he could tell was bound to happen, this always happened and when it did, he always awoke to find himself transforming. A couple of minutes later after the dream ended, he woke up to a rather familiar sensation, his stomach gurgled a couple of times. ‘Here we go, it’s been a while.’ ‘Why yes..it certainly has.’ He looked over into the mirror, and he noticed he was already seeing Dan Aykroyd in place of his reflection. ‘Dan. I thought you…’ ‘That I wasn’t contacting you after a while? I’d never leave you, i’m the one true friend you have, unlike some of your previous friends who turned on you and left you.’

“That’s true..”

Nathan raised his eyebrow, this did sound suspicious but he wouldn’t doubt his twin even for a minute. ‘Yeah, i have been getting visions of you a lot recently.’ ‘Which you should be.’ He had been having a bit of an odd year so far, with all the body-snatching and alien attacks within the same area and serial killer incidents our Were-Aykroyd friend was going to be there to help him. 'I could use a break from the crime in this city to be honest, too many murderers stealing human bodies.' 'Yeah, can't they pick their own bodies instead of just picking those of their allies.' 'Some of them kill their own team mates.' Nathan was glad to see his twin and spirit animal again. ‘Do you miss turning into me?’ ‘Oh Dan, you most certainly know I do.’ ‘How would you like to give it another go?’

“You don’t need to ask me.”

“Alright, relax and just listen to me.”

Nathan concentrated and he listened to Dan’s voice, Dan began to condition him and made him feel calmer and as he did, he thought of all those good transformations and forgot about the previous episodes involving the doppelgangers lots of transformation horror and detail involve skin-shedding like reptiles, yet too much melodrama about how they hate being human like Julian for example…'I don't get why Julian hates his human form so much, I mean shouldn't he like being human as opposed to being reptile-like?'.

“Yeah, I don't get how Rachel doesn't immediately recognize him in his transformed state."

‘Yeah I don't get that as well, I hate melodramatic shapeshifters, annoying as all hell.’ ‘But luckily you’re not like them and you like the type that’s more like me, right?’ ‘Of course.’ 'I know you initially resisted and attempted to hide your transformation, but then again you had no reason to.' 'Not many people can understand my powers, I cannot understand them either.'

Nathan concentrated a few more times and as he did, he felt warming sensations spreading across his body as skin matured and lost imperfections, looking at his chest he could feel it broadening and growing as brownish hairs developed on it. In addition to this, the hairs grew on his stomach which broadened a bit as his hands enlarged. He examined his body for a bit, taking it all in as he knew now this was natural. The were-aykroyd was always going to be there for him and he was very proud of this fact, he felt a couple of sensations as his back slowly broadened and his shoulders followed suit and he shot up to the height of 6’1.

His feet enlarged as two of the toes on both of them fused at the knuckle and developed the traits of being webbed as his rear plumped up, he always did simp over this bit…it had been established before he was bisexual and his were-aykroyd side was the same way, but of course he had a particular taste. His neckline altered as his hair darkened, his forehead grew a little bit higher up as his eyebrows thickened, arching a little while one of his eyes turned greenish and the other remained brown, his nose broadened and developed a cleft in the middle as his features became more Aykroydian and plumped up as his voice altered to sound exactly like how he looked…which was to say…like he was Dan Aykroyd, which he sort of was, but he also was himself. He looked over and saw a list of plans ‘Nathan’ had set up, a couple of spells for altering characters in different universes. ‘Perfect.’

His transformation reached completion as he was in his Were-aykroyd form once more and he was glad to be back in business. He began to copy the plans for the spells and then summoned his siblings who were of course Dan Aykroyd characters. ‘Got a new set of plans set up.’

“What are we waiting for? Let’s do it.”

“Absolutely.”

He printed out the plans and got everything that was needed for the spell and he recited it, unleashing a dark blast of supernatural energy that transcended the realm he was in and entering the dimension of the tv show Herodale College, which was an Animal House style comedy about superheroes and villains, he knew of the heroes that he wanted to transform, he admired shapeshifters so he got Mr Mimicry, the team's resident morphing expert who was also an alien to morph into a Were-Aykroyd, the shapeshifter thought it would be easy to morph back to normal but he got stuck in Were-Aykroyd form, which was then followed by Hero House in general being transformed.

The Were-Aykroyd known as Dan smirked as he watched the dark energy wave spread to several other universes, before landing at the Marvel universe. ‘Not yet…but soon.’ ‘Do you have interest in going after them sometime?’ ‘Oh, definitely. After all, were-aykroyds do love heroic figures like law-enforcement and superheroes.’ ‘That’s true, you could recruit some of them.’ And thus with that Dan finished the spell and began warming up another one, this one would be a teleportation spell to bring the Avengers form the MCU over into his half of the universe.

Later on he fully organized for a few Were-Aykroyds to be sent into the MCU as part of his next plan, he would send out some of them to keep the SHIELD agents busy while he worked on his plans to do with the Avengers, he knew exactly what to do with them, and unlike a certain titan he didn’t need the Infinity Gauntlet for it, and thus the year of the Aykroydian invasion was once again kicking off in full force.

Sometimes you don’t need a complex story to tell a good tale of how your character became how they are, sometimes all you need is brainpower, not when you naturally have been developing your own original story for years. And that’s really what anyone could ask for, or even wish for.

[bxllafanficc]

A world without heroes

Summary: Loki is imprisoned after the sudden attack on New York and with that, rest of the earth. And while you always thought you would have your lover's back, you find yourself unable to forgive this one. It's time for you to decide when enough's enough.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x reader

Sidenote: This was inspired by the song "A world without heroes" from KISS. I just immediately though about a moment where reader would be thrown into a deep sea of darkness after finding out the major betrayal lingering beneath many layers of Loki Laufeyson's charismatic persona.

The cold surface of the bulletproof glass is supposed to have a large impact on your wrist as the two objects collide. It's supposed to hurt but it doesn't. The glass is meant to stand and for you to give up. You're meant to lay off and calm down; meaning, stop slamming your fist into the cell like if it was going to break if you just willed your way through.

They say that if you want something enough, you possess the power to do anything. But what do you want to such an extent? More importantly, what does he want? What did he really want? Has he ever wanted any more than a throne to sit on? Or was there something more to it? Did he even know what it really meant? And if so, did he realize the consequences of his actions; not just by the billions of lives he would have destroyed, but his family, yours and especially his own as well.

A part of you wants to believe that he was under some kind of control; that he wasn't really conscious these past days. All the lives he already stole, you want to think that if he had a choice, he would've spared them. You want to believe it all so badly. You want to throw all your common sense away and just collapse into his arms. Give him a tender kiss and gaze into his eyes with lingering warmth like you used to. To forgive and forget.

But the common sense stays where it should be. You can't. Because the past days he's been imprisoned, he's confirmed every action. He doesn't even defend anything; thinks he doesn't need to. Rock-hard believing his decision was the right one to make when he really had no right.

And your eyes are no more tender and soft; but clouded and swollen, piercing through the pair of eyes on the other side of the glass. And your mouth is not tasting the sensetion of sweet lips. Only the salty wetness of your tears pooling like mad rivers.

Your chest feels heavy and about to explode. You need to scream; feel like that's the only solution to relieve the pressure. You almost feel like you're being choked. Choked on love, choked on hope, air, trust, literally everything your life has contained so far.

And the man in front of you doesn't seem to understand how your world is seemingly falling apart before him. The pure confusion in his eyes is twisting your stomach and your feel like throwing up.

"I thought I knew you."

Your sobs has quieted down. Before, you weren't able to speak very well. You just had to wait the storm out until it came rushing back ten times worse next time.

"You do, darling. You always have."

Calm as a snake and laid back. He doesn't even seem to realize that every word spoken will matter in the following moments of actions where you will decide both your fates for him.

"Did I, really? How can you look me in the eyes and say that with your disgusting pride!" You spit at the glass; aim at his feet but it doesn't seem to faze him a tiny bit. You want to bring out a reaction from him, cause maybe then, you would get some sense of honesty out of him.

"My disgusting pride? The world we're living in is disgusting and twisted. How can you even compare midgardians brutality and greediness to Asgards prosperity and beauty?"

You don't want to hear this talk again. Only a couple of years ago, you would have ignored it as just one of his endless bitter rants and thought nothing more of it, not knowing that he was actually planning to find an end to his irritation.

"(Y/n), darling, You have agreed with me on this! We agreed that humans are short minded, only good for the cause of starting a war between their own race and assassinate each other. Their petty little lives are doomed anyway."

You can't even process the amount of irony and hypocrisy seeping through his sentences. You want to scream at him. You want to hold him. You want to cry, give him a piece of your mind. But you want to fall asleep in his arms. You miss his embrace so much. Endless tiredness since he vanished, only to find he's become a monster.

Your fists attempts to break the glass once again, aiming at his perfect eyes. Those damn eyes. The same eyes you used to adore. You still do. Torn between what you want and what you should do.

"You had no right! Who are you to choose who gets to live and who doesn't?! Why should you be any different from the humans?"

Your words are no longer contained into normal conversation. Only now, Loki seems to actually start realizing the weight behind your rage.

"I did it for us, love! For you. How am I supposed to give you everything if I'm just a mere god, son of a bastard and feared of my own people. Is that the man to give you everything? Is it?"

You don't even know where the thought process of this has sparked in his mind. Never have you asked anything unusual from him, just endless trust and honesty. You have always supported him when no one else would and when nobody wanted anything to do with him. A shoulder to cry on or an ear for venting. You've heated him up with your warmth when he was feeling cold and kissed him back to health countless of times. You used to be his. In return you only asked for trust and honesty. And the funny thing? In the end, you got none of that.

"I never wanted the world, Loki! I wanted you! Couldn't you see that you were enough?"

"Why do you care about the midgardians so much? What have they done for you? Have they given you flowers when you were sad? Have they kept you company at nights where you were haunted by nightmares? Did they do any of those? Because I recall it was me who stood by you all those years!"

Why is he suddenly so angry? It makes no sense to you. When he for once speaks from his real thoughts, anger and frustration is still the feeling behind it. Even if he got his plan to destroy earth through, it wouldn't stop his burning hate.

"You speak like they are nothing but soulless objects, pawns for you to manipulate when you feel like it!"

"They need a group of unstable mutants to protect them from dangers! A bunch of heroes that they don't even really like sometimes. The heroes gets the blame of the catastrophe happening even if they are the one fighting it! Is that a society worth fighting for? Their beloved little heroes are nothing but fools."

"Everything is worth fighting for. You don't know these people, do you? And as for the people, the heroes are a beacon of hope; a sign to stand strong and come together!"

You stand quiet for a second. Your fist lowers itself against the hard surface.

"Against people like you."

You don't want to see him anymore. Heard enough. Ready to go. You've made you decision. Because how could there ever be a change to this man? When he's been hiding his true nature behind your back for so long? Did you even know who you loved? Could you even call it love?

"Did you ever love me? Or was I just being fooled this entire time?"

Concern is now displaying on him for real. Maybe he's realize where you're going; what you're about to say.

"Why would you ask that? I love you more than anything! (Y/n), please understand this! I'd do anything for you!"

"Then tell me one single moment, just one, where you've spent time with me and thought 'I could be satisfied with this. I don't need power. I'm good with what I have'."

You heart is aching with anticipation. It's almost fatal. You don't want to know but he must realize it himself before you can finish.

And you can really see how he's trying. He's trying so hard for you, he thinks. He probably thinks he's tried doing everything for you; when he really just needed not to do anything at all. And just like you guessed, there comes no words. He knows you'll see if he's lying and knows you're right. But you don't ever think he will ever regret his attack for the right reasons. Nor for you, to get you back. No, you'll never accept that.

"I can't live like this, Loki. Can't you see you're breaking my heart?"

"I didn't mean to-"

"No. You didn't mean to do it, right? That's what you're gonna say... But I've heard enough. You have made a decision. And it's about time that I make mine as well."

The realization hits him almost instantly. And all the traces of his usually calm manner were gone in an instant. He's no longer standing with hands clasped behind his back. But they're clawing and pawning at the glass keeping the two of you apart. Loneliness is the one fatal emotion he hasn't dared himself to feel for years with you by his side. But now when it all might be taken away from him in a matter of seconds? How is he supposed to react?

He's begging, pleading, punching and screaming. Sobbing and begging even more. His silvertounge can't save him now. Nothing can save him now from the unruly fate. A path he himself had laid out beneath his feet.

"Please, (Y/n) I love you! I don't want to be here alone!"

...

"Please... It's cold and dark. I can't breathe without your warmth! Just.. Please!"

You can't stand to hear any more. His pleading is too much and you've stayed enough.

Your heart feels like it's being torn in half by your own hands as you turn around, the cold of your back hitting him in the deepest depths of his despair. And it sets him off.

You're going to leave him. The only purely good thing in his life is going to leave him. Where is he going to get his hugs? It doesn't matter because they won't be from you. Is he even going to remember your face when time has passed? Will he even remember your laugh, smile or your goofy little moments together? Will you find somebody else? Forget about him and move on.

Loki doesn't want you to move on; doesn't want you to move at all. He's ready to do whatever it takes to get you to stay.

And he would, if there wasn't a thick wall between you, keeping him from you no matter how hard he slammed it or how loudly he screamed at you.

Pleading became despair and despair led to threats; the only solution left to try.

He knew it was wrong. Wrong to threaten a loved one, especially you. But he would never accept his fate knowing that he hadn't tried anything in his power to make the only thing left for him to love slip past his hands.

But a tiny part of him knows that you won't hear him. Won't listen to him like those late summer nights under the moon on a cozy blanket, you tightly wrapped into his embrace with a content smile on your face.

Or the time when a sudden attack of sorrow and anxiety hit him in the middle of the night and you held him close to your chest while whispering sweet assurances for him to fall asleep to.

You had been his anchor to the real world.

You were the only thing to keep him sane enough.

But it wasn't enough in the end.

You had been his hero.

But not even a hero could save someone's world sometimes.

Especially when he was the one ruining it.

His love.

(Y/n)

[luxekook]

love bites | ksj

*written for the FWL luv library project*

⇥ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇥ genre: non-idol au, co-workers to lovers, smut, fluff

⇥ summary: you’re stuck working the evening shift on valentine’s day at bangtan bistro. as the city’s most expensive and exclusive restaurant, the bistro draws in couples both old and new with partners looking to propose or to impress. your tolerance for PDA and cringey lovebirds has never been lower. throw a flirty chef into the mix and you’re in for a bumpy ride that might just conclude with a happy ending.

⇥ word count: 5.4k

⇥ warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, bad puns from jin, numerous health-code violations (from fraternizing all up in that kitchen), oral (m + f receiving), protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it, folks), workplace romance, threats of violence from yoongi

⇥ beta'd by the amazing @shadowsremedy​ (thank you, heath! could not have done this without you, your feedback, and your general support!)

“Will you marry me?”

I screech to a halt, completely astounded at the goddamned audacity of the man kneeling before me. Did he really just ask that? At a time like this?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I try not to outwardly show my disgust over the scene unfolding before my very eyes.

“Oh my god, Chad!” The date of this Chad finally launches herself from her seat and into his arms, “Yes!”

The restaurant breaks into applause. My forehead breaks into a sweat.

My left arm feels like it might snap at any moment under the weight of the tray of food that I’m meant to be serving this goddamn theatrical couple. The thought of quitting crosses my mind for the umpteenth time that evening.

A camera flash temporarily stuns me, and I feel a tiny twinge of satisfaction. My looming presence in that commemorative photo will hopefully be a reminder to let servers do their damn job before launching into a whole ordeal.

God, I must have been off my fucking rocker when I agreed to work the Valentine’s Day dinner shift. At least the tip money would be worth it.

Gritting my teeth, I flash my best fake smile and offer words of congratulations to the sniffling couple who finally reclaimed their seats.

“Enjoy your meal,” my mouth says with a smile.

“I wish I could sear you like that filet mignon you ordered, Chad,” my glare says with promise.

Thirty seconds later, I’m in full whisper-rant mode at the corner server station. My friend and fellow server Tabby half-listens as she punches in an order at the kiosk.

“And then this Chad in his fucking khaki suit flails to the ground to pop the question like he didn’t see me walking towards them with all seven entrees they ordered. So then I’m stuck hovering over their table with a giant-ass tray of food while they cry and hug and kiss until, finally, finally, they park it back in their seats so I can serve them.”

I groan, hitting my head against the wall, “What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

“Kill someone, probably,” a voice pipes up from behind the station’s kitchen window, “Oh wait, you would do that in this life, too.”

Kim Seokjin, head chef of Bangtan Bistro and my partial employer, is leaning over the window’s counter, eyes full of mischief as he watches me.

“Oh, what’s this? Are you volunteering to be my very first victim?” I mirror his position leaning over the window’s counter and give him my best side-eye, “I’ll send you my application for victims on Google Docs.”

“Sounds kinky,” Seokjin grins, “Count me in. My Gmail username is Hugh Chefner. No capitals or spaces.”

“I despise you,” I say biting back a smile.

“You lo-o-ove me!” He sings, heading back into the depths of the hectic kitchen.

And, unfortunately, he’s right. Damn Kim Seokjin and his insane level of gorgeousness, charisma, and dramatics.

Against my better judgment, Seokjin has shimmied his chaotic self right into my well-guarded heart. Despite all of the prickliness my typical demeanor displays, I can’t help but melt under the warm gaze of such a handsome man.

Seokjin is the first person that has ever been able to pique my interest lately and keep it. Yes, it might have something to do with his extreme attractiveness; but, it more-so has everything to do with his genuine kindness and weird sense of humor.

Shit, I’ve gone soft. If we’re arguing Nature vs. Nurture here, this is totally Nurture’s fault.

Bangtan Bistro is co-owned by seven men - each as fine as the next. Being surrounded by good-looking and kind-hearted men day in and day out will definitely fuck with your brain, your body, and eventually even your fucking heart.

Kim Namjoon, a tall, dimpled sweetheart of a man, acts as general manager. Namjoon typically resides in the back office of the restaurant running numbers and going over other business ventures. He used to frequent the front of the restaurant to check on customers, but Jimin has since banned him from that activity after the infamous Spaghetti Incident of 2019.

Park Jimin, as the overseer of staff and servers, commands the restaurant floor with a crinkly-eyed smile and a ferocious temper. Fortunately for his direct subordinates (READ: me), his temper is most likely to be focused on rude customers and his messy business partners. Jimin honestly is the ideal boss because he has our backs and will never hesitate to help anyone out.

Late one Saturday evening, a man refused to leave the restaurant after being cut off from his bar tab. Jimin full-on squared up with him in defense of the poor server who had to break the news to the drunk patron. Luckily, the Bistro’s head of security, Jeon Jungkook, took over before Jimin actually popped off.

Jungkook, as the youngest partner, is shockingly tall and muscular. He definitely provides the intimidation needed for those types of escalating incidents. Despite his tough exterior, Jungkook is a complete softie.

I once caught Jungkook in the kitchen after close attempting to make cookies for a girl he had a crush on. I walked in to see Jungkook standing over a tray of the unidentifiable charred monstrosities and pouting in the most ridiculous way. Needless to say, I helped him bake a new batch with the oven not turned up to 500 degrees so that “they would cook faster”.

Min Yoongi had found the pair of us bickering and had just rolled his eyes and scooped a mouthful of raw cookie dough. As the head bartender, Yoongi is the absolute best at mixing drinks and the absolute worst at customer service. I swear the man gets far too much pleasure from getting people thrown out. He’s also notorious for watering down the drinks of customers he doesn’t like. He’s petty like that. I live for it.

Once, Jung Hoseok tried to take a picture of Yoongi for the restaurant’s website, and Yoongi threatened to shove a sharpened cocktail umbrella through Hoseok’s eye. I had never seen the Bistro’s head of marketing and resident sunshine flee so fast. Hoseok later ended up using an old picture of Yoongi in retaliation; rumor has it Yoongi is still plotting his revenge to this day.

Kim Taehyung often grumbles about how he’s going to be put out of a job since the restaurant naturally provides daily entertainment. As the head of entertainment and events, Taehyung helps to secure live music and special guests. He’s also the most handsome man I have ever seen - with the exception of one Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin, as head chef, is responsible for planning the seasonal menus, overseeing the kitchen staff, and preparing the more challenging dishes. He’s even taken it upon himself to be the resident comedian, which the other six partners vehemently and openly detest. Still, that backlash has not stopped him from naming each evening special with puns. His last Seokjin Special was called “Chicken Pot Bye Felicia”. It had resulted in Yoongi banning Seokjin from the restaurant for a full week. He still hasn’t dared to make another pun, but I can tell it will only be a matter of time.

Basically, Seokjin is an entirely goofy and beautiful mess of a human. Yet, I can’t stop myself from falling deeper and deeper into the trap that is loving someone outside of your league.

When I first arrived at the Bistro for my inaugural shift, I was greeted enthusiastically by Jimin, who I’d met previously in my interview. Jimin had introduced me to each of his partners - each as handsome as the last. Honestly, my eyes and nerves had been exhausted after meeting almost all of them. Then Jimin had ushered me into the kitchen.

“Hey, Jin-hyung!” Jimin had yelled over the cacophony of sizzling pans and murmured conversation. I had watched in awe as the hottest man I’ve ever seen entered my line of vision and stopped before me. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a face that could inspire priceless works of art with full pink lips, high cheekbones, and devilish dark eyes.

“You summoned me, Jiminie?” The man had laughed in a slightly squeaky manner before he noticed my presence, “Ah, who might this be?”

I had cleared my throat in hopes that my voice wouldn’t crack under the sheer weight of this man’s attractiveness, “Hi, I’m (y/n). I’m starting today as a server.” and thrust my hand out with a shy smile.

He had blinked. Slowly, a smirk eased onto his face as he grabbed my hand. Instead of shaking it, he had brought it to his lips. “A pleasure. I’m Seokjin,” he had murmured, lips brushing against my knuckles. My cheeks had felt like they were on fire as Jimin screeched at Seokjin for harassing me.

“It’s her first day, Jin! Lay off the theatrics,” Jimin had turned to me, “Sorry about him, (y/n). He’s a desperate flirt.”

“Desperate? Me?” Seokjin gasped, “Worldwide Handsome does not do desperate.”

“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘Worldwide Handsome’?” I had gaped at his open arrogance.

Seokjin proudly had puffed up his chest, “Yes. What else could I possibly be called?”

“Well, definitely not Worldwide Humble,” My mouth had said before my brain caught up.

The room had seemed to pause before Jimin erupted in peals of laughter as Seokjin spluttered, “Yah, Jiminie, you can’t let her talk to me like that!”

Still laughing, Jimin had choked out, “(y/n), you officially have a job here until you die.”

Ever since that first encounter, Seokjin and I have established a working relationship based on banter or what Tabby refers to as ‘flirting’. I refuse to believe that ridiculous notion.

Tabby finally finishes entering her order into the kiosk and turns to me, “So, any hot plans for tonight?” Her eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively.

“Does solo Netflix and chill count as hot plans?” I deadpan as I peer around the server station divider to covertly check on my tables. I lock eyes on Chad and his fiancé, who already seem to be arguing, and I make an executive decision to not go check how their meal is going.

“No!” Tabby’s whisper-yell commands my attention, “That definitely does not count, (y/n). Why didn’t you find someone on Tinder? I even made you that bomb-ass profile.”

I pointedly look everywhere but at her.

“You deleted the app, didn’t you,” she glares at me, arms folded, “I slaved over that profile! There were only so many tasteful cleavage shots of my best friend that I could stomach in one sitting!”

“What the fuck, Tabby! Since when do I have any—”

“Tasteful cleavage shots?” Seokjin’s elated voice practically shouts from the kitchen, “Let me at ‘em.”

His hands launch towards us through the kitchen window and make grabbing motions.

“Seokjin,” I tsk mockingly, “Are you trying to grab my tits again?”

“Again?” Tabby cries, whirling on Seokjin, who looks at us in horror.

“I wasn’t! I swear! I just wanted to see the pictures! I didn’t want to grab your boobs…” He trails off, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not any more than usual, anyway’.

“Seokjin-hyung! (y/n)!” Jimin blazes into the service station, “I’ve had it up to here with your bickering. You’re both on closing duties tonight - alone.”

“What?” I exclaim as Tabby slinks away. Traitor. “We’re just joking with each other! Right, Seokjin?”

Jimin’s gaze swings from me to Seokjin, who is suddenly suspiciously calm. My eyes narrow. A silent conversation is definitely happening without my participation.

Finally, Seokjin just shrugs with a grin, “Sounds fair to me, Jiminie! (y/n) and I will work hard all night if we have to.”

“Fair?” I choke, “All night?”

Jimin, following Tabby’s lead, scurries away as my attention is diverted by Seokjin’s idiocy. “Scared to be alone with me, (y/n)?” Seokjin’s lips break into a sly smile, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… much.”

With that parting remark, Seokjin winks at me and disappears back into the kitchen.

“Fuck me,” I breathe out. How would I survive this?

Five hours later, the last patron has been ushered out of the restaurant with the staff right on their heels. I curse as Yoongi waltzes out the door, fanning himself with a crisp fifty-dollar bill and winking obnoxiously. “Have fun!” He cackles, locking the restaurant doors behind him.

“No, please don’t offer to stay and help,” I grumble, sweeping stray pieces of lettuce out from under a table, “I am more than happy to stay here until the ass-crack of dawn with the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.”

“The biggest, huh?” The voice chuckles right in my ear, “How did you know?”

“Goddamnit, Seokjin!” I slap a hand to my heart, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you oaf!”

Whirling to face him, I stutter to a halt. He’s taken off his heavy chef’s coat and is now left in a tight black t-shirt that clings to his body in a manner that has to be illegal.

I swallow hard, and for a split second, I swear Seokjin’s gaze latches onto my throat.

“Is it hot in here?” I mutter distractedly, tugging at the collar of my stiff white button-down.

“Yes,” Seokjin practically purrs, “It’s scorching.”

Choosing not to acknowledge him, I spin on my heels, grabbing the full dustpan of debris I collected and head towards the back of the restaurant.

Emptying the dustpan in the trash, I walk over to the supply closet to return the broom. The restaurant floor is finished. Now, I just had to see how much of the kitchen Seokjin actually cleaned.

Pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen, I screech to a halt as I’m faced with a complete and utter miracle.

“What in tarnation?” I gasp, taking in the pristine kitchen full of glistening stainless steel and sparkling countertops. “Kim Seokjin!” I yell, “You damn wizard! How the fuck did you clean everything this fast?”

“You could say I was motivated,” his reply sounds entirely too close. I spin to face him and gape as I notice the bouquet of red roses that he’s holding out to me.

Taking in my speechless appearance, Seokjin smiles smugly and opens his mouth to continue.

I cut him off, “Tell me those aren’t the roses from the fucking table centerpieces... I threw those in the trash, Seokjin!”

His ears turn an alarming shade of magenta, “Yah, just accept the gesture, (y/n)! This is peak romance, you know!”

“They are covered in filth, dude!” I squint, peering closer, “Is that a piece of spaghetti in there?”

Seokjin yeets the makeshift bouquet back into the garbage, “Why can’t you just appreciate my efforts?” He pouts excessively, “Don’t you like me?”

Red alert. Red alert, my mind whirs.

“Sure,” I let out a nervous laugh, “We’re friends. Of course, I like you.”

He steps towards me, “Sure, we’re friends, (y/n), but friends don’t usually want to fuck each other.”

That bitch said what now?

“Did you inhale too much Clorox?” I panic, “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” Thrusting three fingers in front of Seokjin’s amused face, I widen my eyes as he suddenly grabs my hand.

“Baby,” he says lowly, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, “If you keep being so adorable, I may just have to keep you.”

Well, shit, okay. “Say less,” I breathe and then immediately slam my mouth shut.

I receive a classic Seokjin grin in return for my idiocy, and my knees shake. Honestly, who the fuck allowed him to be that devastating?

Slowly, his grin slips away, and his eyes ignite with raw desire, “Tell me what you want from me, (y/n).”

My mind short circuits, automatically reverting to my default mode of sass, “Uh, peace and quiet?”

“Really?” Seokjin murmurs, stepping even closer still, “So you don’t want me to kiss you? You don’t want me to turn you over and fuck you until you scream?”

My breathing is ragged. His eyes burn with a hunger I had never seen before, and I’m crumbling.

“Answer me,” Jin demands, desperation seeped in each word, “Please.”

“Seokjin—” I gasp, dumbfounded, “Where the hell is this coming from? We’re coworkers! You’re my boss!”

His eyes flashed darkly as he moved his head closer to mine, “That’s all irrelevant, baby.”

“Irrelevant—!” I stab a finger into his firm chest, “Oh, you little shit, you can’t just say that you want to fuck me and then say that our working relationship is irrelevant! I could get fired. You could get fired!”

“That’s highly unlikely given the fact that everyone else knows my plans to ask you out right now.”

“Hold on a second,” I narrow my eyes, “Are you saying that you purposefully planned for us to stay late tonight to clean the entire goddamn restaurant just so you could ask me out? Are you fucking insane?”

“I prefer the term ‘quirky’,” he quips, “But, yeah, I may have paid everyone $50 to leave us alone for the night.”

“Well, that explains Yoongi… that shady motherfucker,” I internally make note to plot my vengeance. “Why couldn’t you have just slid in my DMs like a normal person, Seokjin?” I groan, “I would have responded to a ‘you up’ with a ‘yes, come over’.”

Seokjin whips out his cell phone. “Does this apply to right now?” he asks, typing furiously.

My phone dings with several Instagram notifications.

hughchefner: u up

hughchefner: wyd

hughchefner: date me?

(y/n): bet

Seokjin’s eyes shoot up to mine after he reads my response, “Really? You agreed to date me by saying ‘bet’ in an Instagram DM?”

“Yup,” I shrug, “No take-backs. Also, to answer your previous questions: Yes, I do want you to kiss me with your insufferable mouth, and, yes, I do want to sit on your dick. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Say less,” Seokjin echoes my earlier statement and captures my mouth with his. I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

“(Y/n),” he groans right as my tongue swipes teasingly against his lower lip.

His hands slid down my body, pausing only to squeeze my waist gently before settling firmly on my ass. His fingers dig in hard and I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

“You like that, baby? You like when I’m rough?” Seokjin pulls his lips off mine and murmurs sinfully, “God, I want to devour you.”

I lift my chin up and challenge, “Do it, you won’t.”

His eyes flare, “Oh, babygirl, you were made for me.” Seokjin’s lips return to mine, moving at a slow but ravenous pace.

Still kissing me, he picks me up and places me on one of the kitchen’s stainless steel counters. His hands grab my thighs, tugging them apart to make room for him to stand between them. A harsh groan rises from the depths of his chest as our bodies align.

I hook one leg around his waist and tug him closer still. Pulling my lips away, I lean my head back as I slowly trace his muscles through his shirt. He watches me with his puffy lips parted, his breathing hard. His eyes are wild and I’m loving every second of it.

The room suddenly feels too hot. My hands dart up to shakily begin undoing the buttons of my shirt. Seokjin’s eyes follow my movements with fascination. “Let me,” he purrs and proceeds to rip my shirt from my body. Buttons scatter on the floor with sorrowful little bounces.

“You bitch,” I yank his hair, “That was my good work shirt.”

“I’ll buy you ten more,” Seokjin’s voice is rough and full of desire as he takes in my lacy white bra. Suddenly, his mouth descends to suck at my nipple through the thin lace.

“Damn, you are so fucking sexy,” he pulls his mouth away, “Can I take this off?”

I nod like a bobblehead in 60mph winds, reaching around my back with one hand to undo the clasp and then throwing my bra clear across the kitchen. It lands on top of one of the fridges and I shrug. I’d retrieve it later.

Seokjin tugs off his own shirt, revealing planes of tanned skin. I don’t hesitate to run my hands up and down the definition of his abs and watch in fascination as his muscles constrict under my touch. I run my hands lower, tracing his defined v-line.

No wonder they call it the Adonis belt, I muse, pondering if he’d let me lick it.

Huffing in impatience at my slow exploration, Seokjin returns his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head. He bites down gently and then blows on my nipple slowly. I moan at the sensation. I watch him through unfocused eyes as his hand slides down the front of my body. He reaches the button of my pants and pauses.

Seokjin pulls his mouth away from my nipple, his lips swollen and pink. “You have to say yes, baby.” His breath hits my ear, making me shiver.

I hold out my hand for a high-five and declare, “We stan a man who asks for clear consent.” Chuckling, Seokjin slaps my offered hand and then links his fingers with mine.

“Also,” I continue, looking into his eyes, “It’s a fuck yes.” I pull our linked fingers close to place a kiss on his knuckles.

“Cute,” he grins, “Now, can I take off your pants?”

“Take off yours first,” I order.

“So eager,” he laughs, making quick work of his black jeans. My mouth instantly waters at the sight of his hard cock straining to be released from the confines of his bright red Versace boxer briefs.

“Why am I not surprised that even your underwear is extra?” I mumble, flicking the button of my pants open.

Laughing, Seokjin takes over, tugging my pants down my legs. He then pushes my matching white lace panties aside and cups my pussy, applying pressure. I roll my hips into his hand.

His fingers trace lightly up and down my pussy, before one dips inside me. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.

“Always,” I breathe out. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away from me. I pout. Seokjin laughs at my expression and then licks his finger.

“Jesus fuck, (y/n), you taste so sweet. Let me eat you out,” he pleads.

I smirk, saying, “I thought you’d never ask,” and then gasp as he kneels before me, grabbing my hips. Seokjin moves to tear my underwear off, and I’m quick to place my foot on his forehead to stop his approach. “I swear to god, Seokjin, if you rip these, I will get Namjoon to permanently ban Seokjin Specials.”

“You’re evil,” he grins, “I love it.” He makes a show of slowly taking my panties off before throwing them carelessly behind him. He then yanks the same leg I had used to thwart his panty-tearing plans and throws it over his shoulder before returning his fingers to my pussy. Seokjin’s thumb circles my clit while two of his fingers thrust into me at a maddening rate.

My fingers grip his hair when I finally feel his tongue licking up the juices that have started to run down my thighs.

After sucking what will probably become a massive hickey onto my left inner thigh, his tongue licks a path straight up my folds until it circles around my clit maddeningly. “Goddamnit, Seokjin, stop teasing,” my voice cracks in desperation, but my plea works. His tongue flicks at my clit lightly before his lips close over it and suck.

“Fuck,” I moan, “I think I like you eating me out more than I like eating your cooking.”

He pulls back to briefly land a light swat on my pussy and I choke on air as painful pleasure shoots through me. “Take that back,” he growls, “My cooking is second only to my handsome face.”

“God, I fucking hate you,” I drawl. The emphasis in my words portrays the exact opposite.

Seokjin sends me a shit-eating grin before his tongue returns to lick at my swollen clit, up and down, and then in a slow circle. His fingers brush open my folds just enough for him to sink his tongue into me. “O-oh,” I throw my head back, one hand moving up to pinch one of my nipples while the other latches back into Seokjin’s hair.

“I’m s-so close, baby,” my words slur as I shamelessly beg, “Don’t stop.”

He immediately pulls away.

“Oh, fuck you,” I seethe. I yank his head back by his hair until his neck is stretched in a long line. His hair is a mess, and I’ve never seen anything hotter.

“I just want to feel you come when I’m inside you, baby,” he smiles, my wetness glistening on his lips.

“Fine,” I shimmy off of the counter onto shaky legs, “Two can play at that game.”

“What?” Seokjin’s brows furrow in confusion.

It’s my turn to drop to my knees. “Oh, shit,” he curses as I tug his boxers down to reveal his hard cock. It’s silky and gorgeous, and I can’t stop staring at it. Seokjin, of course, notices. “You like my cock, babygirl? Take it. It’s yours.”

It already was, I think, as my gaze darts up to meet his.

Without breaking eye contact, I lick his reddened tip, almost moaning at his taste. “Fuck, babygirl,” Seokjin throws his head back. I smile wickedly. I could definitely get addicted to ruining this beautiful boy. “Look at me,” I command, feeling so powerful when he immediately listens.

Slowly, I suck down on his length, hollowing out my cheeks. My eyes stay on his as he groans, and I can tell he’s straining to keep from thrusting into my mouth.

“Please, baby, fuck—!” He moans as I swallow around him and then release him from my mouth with a pop. My hand darts up to grip him tightly, pumping him. Moving slowly, I suck one of his balls into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it gently. Seokjin chokes, “Fuck me.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” I tug my mouth away and grin up at him.

I suck him as far down as I can. His control snaps and he begins to thrust wildly into my mouth, panting.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” his eyes scrunch up as he chants, “I’m gonna come.”

I release him ruthlessly.

“Goddamnit,” he cries, “I knew that was coming, but it still hurts.��

“Well,” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, “If only you had a pretty little pussy ready for you to fuck… Oh, wait.”

Seokjin chuckles, “I see I wasn’t able to fuck some of the sass out of that mouth. We might have to try that again later.”

“Gladly,” I grin back at him, “You have a condom?”

Seokjin picks up his discarded jeans from the floor and digs around in the back pockets. “Aha!” He yells, hoisting up the glimmering gold foil in triumph.

I roll my eyes before snatching the condom from the idiot. Tearing the foil packaging open with my teeth, I grab Seokjin’s length and pump him a few times in preparation.

“Stop being a tease,” he mumbles, thrusting shallowly into my hand.

“Stop being so hot,” I challenge, leaning down to lick his pre-cum dripping from the reddened tip of his cock.

“Impossible,” Seokjin smirks before tugging me back up to face him.

He drops his lips to mine and sucks on my bottom lip. Pulling away slightly, he tugs at it in a stinging bite. Withdrawing his mouth from mine, he spins me around and bends me over the counter.

I feel the head of his cock running teasingly over the folds of my pussy and I gasp, “Please, baby, I need you inside me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He thrusts into me in one sharp movement. We both gasp as he fills me, gliding in and out.

“Harder,” I moan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I’m trying to last over here.”

“Why? We have all night,” I pout before an idea pops into my head, and I taunt, “Wait, are you telling me you’re a one and done type of old man?”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” Seokjin mutters darkly.

His hard cock fills and stretches me, pleasure emanating within me from every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Your pussy is mine,” he growls, “I’ll fuck you from against the wall after this. I’ll fuck you until you can’t sass me anymore. And I’ll fuck you all night, baby, and every night after that.”

I clench around him as his dirty words wash over me. “Those are all great ideas in theory,” I gasp out, “But I really want to ride you first.”

“Oh, babygirl wants to fuck herself on my cock?” Seokjin slaps my ass before pulling out, “Well, come on.”

I stand upright and turn to see him walking towards the large island in the middle of the room. He hops onto it and lays down, placing one arm behind his head, and the other one slowly strokes his cock.

“You better get that hand off your cock before I decide to never let you into my pussy again,” I say darkly as I move towards him.

His hand flies off his dick at the speed of light, his eyes wide as they focus on me.

When I get close enough, I climb up onto the island and kneel with one leg on each side of his tapered waist. I slowly sink down so that just his tip is inside me and squeeze.

A garbled moan escapes Seokjin, his hands shooting out to grab my waist in an attempt to push me down further.

“Someone’s eager,” I whisper, bending down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been fucking eager since you were hired.” He smacks my ass and then groans as I reflexively sink down another inch.

“Yeah?” I question, sinking down another inch as his eyes squeeze shut, “You should have said something sooner, baby. I could have been riding you hard for months.”

Seokjin pouts, “Well, there’s no time like the present?”

“God, you’re such a dweeb,” I grin before taking him to the hilt. We both let out strangled breaths as I shift slightly, before placing a hand on his neck.

Keeping my hand there, I lift up and begin riding him hard. My body slides up and down onto his cock at a fast pace. Sweat drips down my back. Seokjin grabs my ass, his fingers gripping my skin, and pounds up into my pussy with brutal and possessive force.

“O-oh, fuck.” There’s something about riding Seokjin that just feels so good. My hips swivel and roll against his. The pleasure steadily builds, and I try to distract myself by biting down on Seokjin’s neck.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans, “Are you close?”

I pull away from his neck and sit up, arching my back to give him a deeper angle. He thrusts up into my g-spot and I gasp, “Shit, yes, I’m close. Come with me, baby.”

I clench my walls around him. Seokjin’s eyes are scrunched shut as he continues to pound into me with harsh strokes.

He shifts one hand from my ass to gently circle my aching clit, and I light up. My walls clench and pulse, locking down on Seokjin so tight that he comes, his hot seed filling the condom as he shudders.

I collapse against him and shove my face into his sweaty neck.

I can feel his laugh bubbling up from his chest before I hear it. “What’s so funny?” I ask, lips brushing his skin.

“Namjoon’s going to kill us for the number of health code violations we just committed,” his laughter causes his cock to shift within me, and I bite back a moan.

“Well,” I lift my face up from his neck to look at him, “We have nothing to lose at this point then, huh?”

I slowly lick my lips, and his eyes drop to them. The only noise left in the restaurant is our heavy breathing. “Round two in Namjoon’s office?” he suggests.

“Bet.”

a/n: this was so fun to write :) hope you all enjoyed it! happy valentine’s day!

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[chipper9906]

Third Times The Charm

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 15 (Episode 03: The Rupture, Episode 09: The Trap

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 6,508

Status: One Shot - Complete

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“Well… not… not that part,” Dean stutters out, taken aback by the fiery, spitting rage that Cas so rarely displays towards him. “If you’d just let me-,”

“No,” Castiel interrupts him, slowly rising back up with his duffel in hand. “You think you’re trying, Dean. You really do. But when it comes down to it, you’re not entirely ready to apologize to me. Not yet.” Dean couldn’t even get a word out as Cas reached into his trench-coat pocket before firmly planting something into his hand – something familiarly rectangular and thin in shape. “And even if you are… I’m certainly not ready to forgive.”

* * *

Three times Dean Winchesters attempts to "apologize" to Castiel. Except... This is Dean Winchester. Apologies aren't exactly his strong point.

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He knew he’d messed it all up the second the words left his mouth. And yet, in that moment of overboiling, long over-due anger spilling out, he simply didn’t have enough reasoning left to realize it.

So, he said it.

“Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?��

Cas had looked at him like he had physically hit him. He might as well have. But through the seething rage he felt, he just didn’t care that he had hurt Cas. A part of him felt good about it. Vindicated. Because if he was hurting, then Cas should, too.

And maybe that’s why… that’s why he can’t take it back. It’s why he can’t just apologize, tell Cas that he didn’t mean it, that it was a moment where he wasn’t thinking right. And that right there was the problem. He had meant it. He had been thinking back to all those times, all those fuck ups that have happened in their lives, and there was no doubt that Cas was involved in a lot of them. Maybe it had been something clung to the back of his mind, building, and building until he was pushed over the edge.

But it didn’t matter. He had said it, and he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t remove the pain he had inflicted on Cas.

And he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

But that was beside the point. They didn’t have time for this. They didn’t have time for petty silent treatments, and the boatload of therapy they probably needed. Mom was dead, Jack was dead, Rowena was dead, they had just barely averted yet another goddamn Apocalypse whilst simultaneously being thrown into another; this one with God himself out on a personal vendetta against them, and the entire friggen Universe, and goddammit, they didn’t have the time for Cas to go off sulking on his own!

So now that’s why he was sat here on the edge of the map table, phone in hand, staring glumly down at Cas’s name as it glowed back at him from the screen, thumb hovering just over his name. He didn’t have much faith that the call would even go through, considering the past twenty or so times he’s tried so far were sent straight to Cas’s voicemail. And not in a way that suggested his phone was off, or even that he was letting it ring out and not answering it. Dean knew that the few brief rings he heard before being cut off by Cas’s voicemail could only mean that the bastard saw Dean was calling and was rejecting the damn call.

Which is why, as he waited to be greeted by the same annoying voicemail message he’s listened to way too many times now, he’s caught by surprise when he’s instead greeted by the click of the call connecting, and the loud silence of Cas on the other end, not speaking.

“Cas? You there?”

Nothing but silence greets him. For a moment, the annoying part of him that still cares starts envisioning the worst scenarios. What if it wasn’t Cas? What if someone or something had killed him, and the killer wanted to know who the hell was stubborn enough to call someone twelve times in the span of around four minutes.

But no, it’s Cas that answers on the other end of the line with a very curt and unfriendly sounding, “What?”

Dean just about holds his tongue – pretty much has to bite down on it to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t – and takes a deep, not at all calming breath. “Any reason you’ve been ignoring both mine and Sammy’s calls?”

“I think the answer to that question is fairly obvious,” Cas’s answer is scathing, dripping with levels of sarcasm that Dean didn’t think angels could even reach.

“Alright, fine. But couldn’t you at least answer Sammy’s calls? Or even just his messages?”

“No.”

Another deep breath, Winchester.

“And why’s that?” Dean gets out through gritted teeth, hearing his phone crack and groan in protest under his vice-like grip.

“Because I don’t want to.”

Turns out, that’s all he needed to be pushed over the edge again.

“Yeah? Well, Cas, funnily enough, you don’t always get what you want. Woulda’ thought you of all people would have learned that by now, with as much time you spend with us. And you know what? Now isn’t one of those times where you get what you want. Hell, what neither of us want. But we both know that the crap going down right now is bigger than what you, or me, or Sammy, or anyone wants. So how about we both put aside our hissy fits for the time being, get over our own damn egos, and you get your feathery ass back here and help us figure out how the hell we’re supposed to kill God?”

His voice has raised perhaps a little bit too much near the end there, so much that he felt like it was ringing in his ears for a while after he had stopped talking; perhaps even enough to drown out whatever it was that Cas decided to respond with. Except, Cas didn’t respond. Not for a while, anyway. Nothing but silence – in the form of crackling white noise – emitted from Dean’s speaker, stretching on long enough that he had to take his phone away from his ear and check the screen to see if the phone was still connected.

And then Cas laughed.

He’s pretty sure he can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard Cas laugh, and this one… was not a good one. There was some amusement in it, but mostly it just sounded tired. And… a little bit bordering on insane.

“Something funny?” Dean damn near growled down the phone.

Cas’s laughter faded away at that. “No. No, I suppose there isn’t.”

A single beep emitted from the speaker. Gone was the white noise. Gone was Cas’s voice.

Cas had hung up on him.

Dean takes another deep breath, one just as unsuccessful as the last few. He holds the phone limply in his closed fist, staring blankly out into the bunker before bringing his fist down hard on the table, barely resisting the urge to launch his “too expensive to keep breaking through rage or hunts” across the room.

“You stubborn son of a bitch,” Dean grits out, balancing his phone in his lap as he massages his now sore hand. “Just gotta make this complicated, don’t you…”

The idea pops into his head right then and there, jumping down from the table and settling into an actual seat. He pulls his laptop towards him, flipping open the top and getting to work. “Fine, Cas. You don’t wanna come back home? Then I’ll come to you…”

* * *

 There were a lot of things Dean thought Cas might be doing in some small town out in the middle of nowhere.

Well, not a lot of things. Actually… Dean had no idea. The last time Cas went off on his own – admittedly, not of his fault – he had gone and tried to be a proper citizen of America with his own degrading, low-paying, soul-sucking retail job. He supposed that was a possibility, but, he doubted it. Most of the time, Cas is… well, with him, Dean supposed. Helping him and Sam with whatever big ugly had decided to rear its head for the year. Cas didn’t really get much free time, didn’t have much time for hobbies (neither did he unless you counted drinking and porn watching, but whatever), so of all the things he expected for Cas to be doing…

Fishing certainly wasn’t one of them.

Cas had managed to find himself a nice little dock to fish off as well. A cozy, hidden spot within the reeds, far out enough from civilization that Dean actually had to hike out here to find him. Admittedly, he was a little pissed to have to leave Baby behind and hike for four friggen hours in the heat whilst swiping away blood-sucking mosquitos, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

There was a single fishing rod cast out into the water, its little neon orange bobber oddly still despite drifting amidst the gentle waves created by the evening’s wind as it blew across the surface of the water. Strangely, there was an honest to God boom-box sat next to Cas, which would have undoubtedly scared away any fish in the area if it was playing music. Which… it wasn’t. Even from the other end of the dock, Dean could see the tape holder was open and empty.

Dean stands there long enough to see the little bobber start bobbing in the water, flicking left and right as fish nibble on its bait. It’s not long after that the lure disappears completely, sinking below the surface of the water and into its murky depths as a fish takes the bait. But… Cas doesn’t react. In fact, he hadn’t even been looking at the lure. He must have been holding something in his hands - what exactly that is, Dean can’t see from here – as he can tell from Cas’s hunched posture that this mysterious object must be whatever had won Cas’s attention over his bait being taken.

“You know, you’re actually supposed to catch the fish when fishing. I get that it’s supposed to be relaxing, but… you could at least try to catch something when it’s on the end of your hook.”

Cas doesn’t jump or startle at his voice, much to Dean’s secret displeasure. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Cas somehow sensed his presence. Maybe he could smell his scent or something. Hear his heartbeat. Feel his soul. Something like that.

What he does do is sigh. Loudly. Loud enough for Dean to hear from all the way over here, which kinda hurts if he’s being honest. That being said, he does put away whatever he was holding into his coat’s pocket and picks up the rod at Dean’s words and hooks the fish, reeling it in like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I thought I’d give it a try. Perhaps make some sense of my thoughts,” Cas says without looking back at him, keeping his gaze fixated on the water ahead. “Try and see why so many are invested in this past time. I suppose maybe it’d be different if I was human, but… I just don’t get quite the same satisfaction.” It seems that, in a blink of an eye, Cas has the fish reeled in and dangling in the air in front of him. He gets the hook out of its mouth just as quick, looking down to the decent-sized carp he held in his hands. “What is it about fishing that makes it so worthwhile to humans? Is it the struggle of trying to reel it in? The sense of satisfaction you get out of pulling this creature from its habitat? Some feeling of power, a superiority, that you’ve outsmarted and outmuscled a lesser being than yourself?”

“Uh… I’m not much one for philosophical debates, Cas,” Dean looks to Cas wide-eyed, taking a few cautious steps onto the dock and towards him. “I just find it relaxing, I suppose. Bobby used to take me and Sammy out a few times when dad was off on hunts. We wouldn’t talk about dad, or where he’d be taking us once he got back - - if he got back. It was nice to just sit out in the sun, Bobby and Sam next to me and… get to feel some sense of peace that I haven’t felt since I was four.”

Castiel only hums at that, gently lowering the fish back down into the water and letting it swim away. “How did you find me?”

Dean steps even closer. “Sammy put a tracker on your phone a long time ago, bud. Can never be too careful.”

“Sam did?” Cas said, sounding genuinely surprised. The first bit of emotion Dean had heard slip into his voice.

“Yeah. I actually argued with him over it, believe it or not,” Dean shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, keeping a small amount of space between him and Cas. “Guess it turned out useful…”

Cas was still refusing to look at him, which was all kinds of frustrating. “When did…”

“Not long after you came back from… y’know… the Empty,” Dean gets out. “But, uh… he brought it up after you knocked us out with your mojo and ran off with Kelly against our wishes.”

Cas tenses up at that, carelessly tossing his fishing rod to the floor next to him and finally, finally, standing up from the edge of the dock and turning to face Dean. “And if I’d have gone with your wishes, there would have been every chance that Jack would have ended up dead – perhaps before he was even born!”

“Yeah? Well, he ended up dead anyway, didn’t he?” Dean says it like the words don’t hurt him as much as it does Cas. He says it like he doesn’t see the way Cas’s face fall, the little frustration he held shifts into what can only be described as both shock and grief. And then, to make it worse – and because he just can’t his mouth shout – he makes it a hundred times worse. “Maybe we’d be better off if we had stopped him from being born. At least then mom would still be alive.”

There wasn’t any grief left on Cas’s face. No sadness, no anger. It was nothing but disgust that he held for Dean and his words, and Dean knew he deserved such a look from Cas, but it wasn’t exactly like the rational part of his brain that knows this is in control right now.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asks him, sounding too small and tired for a mighty angel of the Lord. “Did you track me all this way, come all the way out here to… what? To hurt me more?”

“No!” Dean yells, which totally defeats the point of what he’s trying to go with here. “No, that’s not why…” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut. “I… I came to bring you home.”

Castiel raises a single eyebrow up at him. “To… bring me home?”

“Yeah. You know, back to the bunker. Look Cas, I’m not stupid enough to pretend that I… that we don’t still need you.”

“That’s surprising to hear,” Castiel bites back. “Considering you think I’m the ‘thing’ that goes wrong in every mess we’ve been through.”

“That’s not-,” Dean tries, but Cas has already turned his back to him; hurriedly picking his fishing rod back up and began disassembling it. “I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying to do what?” Castiel grumbles under his breath, pulling apart the rod pieces a little harsher than he intended.

“What the hell do you think?!” Dean throws his hands in the air, letting his irritation boil over. “I’m trying to make things right, I guess. Trying to… to apologize.”

Castiel actually pauses in trying to stuff the rod back into its duffel, his head snapping up to look at Dean. “Apologize…? In what part of you admitting your wish for Jack to have been terminated before birth should I take as an apology?”

“Well… not… not that part,” Dean stutters out, taken aback by the fiery, spitting rage that Cas so rarely displays towards him. “If you’d just let me-,”

“No,” Castiel interrupts him, slowly rising back up with his duffel in hand. “You think you’re trying, Dean. You really do. But when it comes down to it, you’re not entirely ready to apologize to me. Not yet.” Dean couldn’t even get a word out as Cas reached into his trench-coat pocket before firmly planting something into his hand – something familiarly rectangular and thin in shape. “And even if you are… I’m certainly not ready to forgive.”

There was nothing Dean could do. Nothing but stand there in astonishment as Cas simply walked right by him, leaving him there standing at the end of the dock staring down at the object Cas has pressed into his hand. And honestly, this in itself was more painful than anything Cas could have ever said in return.

In his hand was a clearly well used, well-loved mixtape, his own writing staring back at him in crudely drawn sharpie on the faded white label:

‘Deans top 13 Zepp TRA XX’

“Thought I told you you’re supposed to keep gifts,” Dean just about manages to get out, braving a look up at Cas’s retreating form.

Castiel’s steps halt for just a moment. Just long enough to say one more thing before continuing on his way. “You did. But, it is to my knowledge that you only keep a gift so long as it is wanted, is it not?”

Never mind. He was wrong.

That hurt a lot more.

* * *

He was a dick.

He knew that. He got that now. But now, it seemed, was too late.

He can’t say he wasn’t angry, because he was. What he can say was that he held onto that anger for too long. That he didn’t stop for a moment to look at things the way Cas probably did. Instead, he only saw things the way his anger wanted to, to keep him steeped in that burning rage, letting himself lash out at Cas because it was easy. Because he’d put the blame on Cas so many times before, so why not do it again?

And now, Cas might be…

No. No, he refuses to believe it. Cas is fine. He’s made it out of a few bad scraps before, he’s sure Cas will find a way to take out those dick-head leviathans and… and Eve… the mother of all monsters… right?

“CAS!” His yell echoes between the trees that surround him, seemingly amplified by the low fog that swirls around him. An endlessly hopeful part of him expects to see that trench-coat-wearing idiot stumbling towards him in the distance, maybe a little bloodied and battle-worn but otherwise whole. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the odd stillness of Purgatory when creatures aren’t busy ripping each other apart.

How long had it been now? It had felt like he has been out here, wandering aimlessly for any sign of Cas for hours. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and that awful squeeze of fear clenches around his heart at the timer ticking down, making it hard to breathe.

29 minutes. That was all he had. 29 minutes to find Cas in the whole of Purgatory and get them back to the portal in time. It took him damn near an entire year to find Cas the last time. 29 minutes just wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t… He couldn’t tell Cas what’s been tearing him up inside, can’t tell him what Cas shouldn’t have to hear from him to know, and now he never will and-

“No, no no…” The words spill out of his mouth without his permission, sounding as close to a whimper of pain that actual words possibly could.

He didn’t want to do it like this. Hell, he didn’t even know if Cas even had enough grace left to hear him. But he had to try. It worked last time, didn’t it? Every damn night…

“Cas? Cas I hope you can hear me… that wherever you are, it’s not too late,” It was harder than he expected, saying this out loud. Almost like he was accepting that he was never going to speak to Cas again. Never get to say these words face to face. “I should’ve stopped you. You’re my best friend, but I just let you go. ‘Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong.”

The incessant burning in his eyes gets too much, the heavy weight in his nose forcing a shaky sniffle out of him. He reaches out a hand to the tree next to him, barely enough time to process the scratchy roughness of the bark before his wobbly knees are giving out, forcing him down to a crouch, leaning his weight against the tree.

“I… Ohh…” He nearly says it, but the words get caught in the back of his throat. ‘Not yet’ a voice seems to whisper in his head. It was at least better than the voice that would always whisper ‘Never’ whenever he let himself think those words. “I don’t know why I get so angry. I just know – I know that – I-it’s always been there. And when things go bad, it just – it comes out. And I can’t – I can’t stop it. No matter how-,” His voice catches once more. He was well past the point of holding the tears back. “-How bad I want to, I just can’t stop it.”

This was it. He couldn’t hold back now. Not when this might be his last chance. Even if… Even if Cas was no longer alive to hear this message. “And – And I – I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. And – God, Cas. I love you. You hear me? I love you. And I – I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry it took me till now, till it might be too damn late to say it. Cas, I’m – I’m so sorry. I hope you can hear me… Please, hear me…”

He can almost hear the ‘whomp’ of wings he hasn’t heard in years. Could almost envision the sight of Cas stood behind him, head tilted to the side, looking to him in genuine angel curiosity as he answers Dean’s prayers. But when he looks around, the forests of Purgatory look just as empty through his tear-filled vision as they did moments before. “Okay…” Dean forces himself up, wiping a hand down his face to wipe away any evidence of what had just happened. Reset himself back to Dean Winchester. Hunter. Son of John Winchester.

Get the job done. Get back home.

His mind seems to switch off after that. He’s sure he looked every part the stereotypical zombies in the movies and tv shows and comics as he shuffles forward in the direction of the portal, face blank and devoid of life, shotgun heavy in hand and only the barest of survival instincts keeping an eye out for any movement within the trees.

He wasn’t far now. Just up ahead was his way out of here. He would step through, and be home. Without the flower. And… and without Cas. Mom. Jack. Rowena. Now Cas? What was the point? Would the world expect him to keep fighting if he lost Sammy too? And… God, what if Cas wasn’t dead? What if he walks through that portal, letting it close behind him, and leaves Cas here to be trapped for eternity?

Maybe he still had time. Maybe he could-

No. He didn’t. The timer on his phone displaying the numbers ’00:02:56’ proved as much. There wasn’t time. Cas was-

“Dean?”

Both hands are wrapped around his shotgun and pointing it towards the direction of the voice before his mind has fully caught up. His finger slides away from the trigger as his mouth falls open, lowering the end of the shotgun down at the sight of Cas, glorious Cas, looking a little worse for wear sat at the base of a tree. He looked every bit as dirty, bloodied, and miserable as anyone would after nearly twenty-four hours in Purgatory, but it didn’t matter, as it was the best sight Dean had ever seen.

Cas looks equally as shocked to see him, grimacing to himself as he pushes himself up to stand. “You made it?”

Dean can’t help but laugh. Not really the time for laughing, but it was mostly the delirium and pure, sweet relief bursting out of him. “I made it?”

Cas stumbles towards him, a bit of a limp in his gait, and Dean quickly makes up the short distance between them, throwing his arms around Cas and pulling the angel towards him. Cas feels real and solid pressed against his chest, and Dean thumps his hands against Cas’s back almost to prove to himself that the whole of Cas is here and intact. He almost wasn’t. He almost lost one of the only people left in this world he can say that he loves.

Which... which he’s said now.

“You okay?” Dean asks as soon as he feels Cas begin to push away from him, letting his eyes scan across Cas’s form to check for any obvious wounds or spilling of grace.

“I’m fine,” Castiel insists, probably a lie if Dean knows him. But, other than the sluggishly bleeding scrape on Cas’s head, he does look fine.

“What happened?”

“They were after me, not you,” Castiel gets out through panting, pained-sounding breaths. Yeah, sure. Fine. “I figured it would be safest to give myself up.”

And there it is again. Just another goddamn slap to the face. Even after everything that’s happened, after all the awful crap he’s said to Cas, the way he’s treated him… Cas was so willing to just put himself in the firing line for him.

‘These are not just monsters, Dean. They’re Leviathan. I have a price on my head, and I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to – to keep them away from you.’

“They take you to Eve?”

“Yeah. We were en route. I waited until I… saw this,” Cas reached into his trench-coat pocket, pulling out a sad-looking excuse for a flower that looked about as beat up as the person holding it. “It… got a little smushed.”

Dean could almost cry. Again. Here Cas was, somehow having escaped from a bunch of freak leviathans before being handed over to what would likely be horrendous torture and a death sentence from the mother of all monsters, manages to find the stupid fucking flower they came all the way out here for, get all the way back to the portal where he sits and waits for him… and he looks embarrassed that the flower got a little ‘smushed?’

That’s beside the fact that he probably crushed it by hugging Cas.

“Once I had the blossom, I fought; caught them off guard,” Cas continued. “They fought back. I managed to get away.”

Dean smiles. For what feels like the first time in quite a while, he smiles. “You did it. You did it, Cas.”

And then, by some miracle by God – wait no, not him, by something or someone… Cas gives him a tentative smile back. “Well, they’re still after me. We should hurry,” Cas gestures with a small shake of his head towards the portal, already starting to move away.

“Okay, Cas I need to say something-,”

“You don’t have to say it,” Castiel interrupts, that tentative smile back on his face. “I heard your prayer.”

But that wasn’t enough. Sure, it was of some comfort knowing that the prayer had at least reached Cas, but… but something didn’t sit right with him about that. Besides the fact that what he said is something that really should be said face to face (and maybe sending a message like that over the prayer is the equivalent of sending it over text message or… or voicemail?), Cas’s reaction was just… not what he was expecting. Not that Cas was ever entirely predictable in his reactions, and perhaps basing what Cas’s reaction would be on what his reaction would be if Cas ever confessed to him like that wasn’t the best of ideas, but… still, it was odd. Dean was expecting at least something, some sort of reaction to his words other than an acknowledgment that it had been heard.

Cas was right, though. They really needed to hurry; what with a bunch of leviathans after them and probably around 30 seconds left before the portal closes behind them.

They race towards the portal, his hand on Cas’s back helping to push him forward as he struggles with that new limp of his. Dean can hear his pulse racing in his ears as they step closer and closer to the portal, watching its light flicker and shimmer as it struggles to stay open. He wouldn’t be surprised if God had somehow caught wind of their plans, and was waiting until the very last second when they were about to step through, to close the portal a few seconds earlier and laugh in their faces as the portal disappears from sight.

But that’s not what happens. They step through the portal, one after the other, neither being left behind. There’s a split second of nothing but blinding white as the portal flares, losing sight of Cas for just a moment, and then he’s there again; stood just in front of him in the bunker, the tension and stress of Purgatory already draining away from his hunched posture.

The portal gives one last pathetic flicker, and then it’s closing down on itself. The bunker is left in silence, the crackle of the portal’s energy gone, and they’re both left standing facing each other in this awkward, “what happens now” kind of stillness.

“Um… I suppose I should-,” Cas begins, taking the flower out from his pocket and motioning towards the bunker hallway.

“Cas, wait,” Dean pleads, taking an unsure step towards Cas, who freezes in place with flower still in hand. “I… I really need to talk to you, man.”

Castiel’s forehead creases in confusion, hesitantly reaching back into his pocket to put the flower back. “I already told you, Dean. I heard your prayer-,”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean cuts him off with a wave of his hand. His tongue darts out to wet his upper lip, a nervous gesture he could never quite hide. “I just… I feel like you should hear it directly from me, if that makes sense?”

“Not really.”

Dean huffs. “Look Cas, it’s… I meant it, okay? Even if I was panicking over the thought of you being stuck in purgatory again and… it wasn’t just a “I might as well say it because you might be dead” kind of thing, okay?”

“I know,” Castiel says, still looking just as confused as he did moments ago. “I know you’re sorry, Dean. It’s okay. I believe you.”

And then Cas turns to walk away again, and Dean can’t help but get the feeling that Cas isn’t quite getting what he’s trying to say here. So, he darts out a hand and grasps Cas’s arm, bringing the angel to a standstill. Cas looks down at Dean’s hand around his arm in genuine surprise, almost as if Dean had done something incredible offensive, and then brings his gaze up to meet Dean’s desperate one. “Dean? Are you okay?”

Dean couldn’t help it. He laughs, though it sounds about as humorless as he was feeling right now. “No, Cas. I’m not. But… are you… did you hear my entire prayer?”

Castiel frowns at him again, blue eyes scanning across the sudden, unexpected timidness look on Dean’s face. “Yes. I heard all of it.”

Dean returns the inquisitive gaze, searching for any kind of reaction, a give of some sort that Cas was thinking back to those words he had prayed to him. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the usual patient look that Castiel always held. “Listen man, I’m always one for avoiding big girly talks as much as the next guy, but… are you really not going to say anything about it?”

“About what?”

Damn it. He’s really gonna make him say it again, huh?

“You know… the bit about how I uh… the thing I said, after I said I was sorry?”

“Oh!” Castiel says, his tone bright in realization. “When you said you love me?”

And wow, what a way for Cas to say it. Like it was just… a matter of fact. Like he was simply stating what the fucking weather was like.

Dean must be staring at Cas with a damn right bewildered face right now, as the look of concern Castiel had worn for pretty much this entire conversation began to increase tenfold. “What is it?”

“Seriously?” Dean splutters out, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re telling me I had to discover this mind-altering revelation for myself, keep it pushed down, come to terms with it and finally get the balls to admit it to you, and your reaction is absolutely nothing?”

“But… I already knew you loved me?”

It’s enough to bring Dean’s mind to a standstill. Had he… he had somehow told Cas he loved him and didn’t remember it? Oh God, that damn memory spell… had he somehow called Cas and told him something before his memory completely went kaput? No, no, it couldn’t have been that… the counter spell regained all his memories of that shitty night, he’s pretty sure… Could Cas sense it, somehow? What if it was in his soul? Some kind of change to his soul that Cas picked up on?

“You… you knew?”

“Yes… You’ve reiterated to me many times that I’m like a brother to you, and, given your connection to Sam, I assumed that meant that kind of love extended to me as well? I don’t mean to offend you Dean, the fact that you put me in the same regard as Sam is an honor of itself-,”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, Cas. Oh, Cas, Cas, Cas. He had listened to what he had said, but he hadn’t really heard him. Strangely, it kind of hurt to think that, upon hearing his confession, Cas had just sort of automatically assumed that he had meant he loved him like a brother. Perhaps it hurt because, he wasn’t sure if Cas assumed that because of the way he’s always treated him, or because Cas could just never see Dean in any other way.

“Not what I meant, Cas,” Dean says quietly, though the words sounded loud in the quiet of the room. “Oh, Cas. You damn fool… I didn’t mean as a brother.”

Cas almost looks scared, and it’s about the equivalent of a rusty knife being twisted in his gut. Cas looked scared to be hopeful. Like he was scared to think of what his words meant. Dean reaches out a hand once more, gently grabbing hold of the sleeve of Cas’s trench coat. Cas doesn’t flinch or move his arm away, so Dean lets his hand slowly slip down, lets his fingers settle in the gap between Cas’s. Cas’s breath hitches at the feeling of warm skin against his hand, his eyes darting to their entwined hands then back up to Dean. His mouth parts, a question on his lips, which Dean answers with his own.

It’s… not what he was expecting. There’s no moment of inner panic, no feeling of wrongness that has him ripping away from Cas and furiously wiping at his lips. But it’s no “fireworks” moment, either. Cas’s lips are, confusingly, chapped and dry from the cold winds of Purgatory, and yet have a tender softness to them that has him leaning closer for more. He doesn’t taste like… well, that one Dean wasn’t sure about. He had kinda been expecting some kind of… of… soapy cleanliness taste of pure, heavenly Grace. But no, Cas tastes like dirt and sweat with a little metallic twang from what was likely a busted-up lip. It’s nothing like any girl he’s ever kissed has tasted like, and strangest of all, he doesn’t give him a damn. He’s not panicking about kissing Cas because “It’s Cas!”, he’s sinking into it, melting into the touch of Cas’s hand on his back, because It’s Cas.

But the moment can’t last forever. Cas goes tense under his hands, a sudden fear taking hold, and then he’s holding Dean at arm’s length. His eyes are wide and fixated on Dean’s face, chest rising and falling in tandem with his harsh breaths, despite the fact Dean’s fairly sure Cas doesn’t even have to breathe.

“Did you mean it?” Castiel asks, his fingers tightening their grip around Dean’s shoulders. “You… you love me like…?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says with a blissed-out smile. “Not like a brother. I don’t just love you. I’m in love with you. And listen, I know I kinda sprung this up on you at a bad time, and… I know I’ve acted like a real jerk to you lately, so you have every right to just pretend like this never happened and-,”

“Don’t be an idiot, Dean Winchester,” Castiel cut him off, but there’s no malice to his voice as he does it. In fact, the small pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth widens to a gummy smile that Dean knows means this is a really happy Cas, and considering how rare he sees that from Cas, it brings him a sense of satisfaction that he’s the reason Cas is smiling like that.

“Sorry, Cas. Being an idiot is just who I am. Especially considering I was apparently stupid enough to go and fall in love.”

And then it’s Cas’s turn to make Dean freeze up in disbelief and stare at Cas wide-eyed, because he chuckles warmly at Dean’s statement and tells him, “I suppose that makes me stupid too, then.”

“Oh…” Is all Dean can squeak out, probably the un-manliest he’s ever sounded, but considering the beaming smile Cas sends his way, he guesses Cas didn’t seem to mind. “You, uh… you don’t have to say it if you don’t-,”

“I love you,” Castiel confessed, soft and sweet, yet it punches into Dean hard. “But I thought you already knew that.”

“Maybe you should stop assuming things, Cas.”

“And maybe you should stop waiting until you think I’m dead to say how you feel.”

“Touché,” Dean settles, grabbing hold of Cas’s hand once more and tugging him towards the door. “Oh, and-,” He stops mid-stride, Cas nearly colliding into him. Dean forces down a grin at Cas’s curious head tilt as he searches in his jacket pocket, pulling out the mixtape he’s kept there ever since Cas gave it back to him and planting it perhaps a little too harshly against Cas’s chest. “Don’t you ever try and give this back to me again.”

Cas places his free hand atop Dean’s on his chest, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Cas grabs hold of the mixtape before it can drop to the ground as Dean removes his hand, fingers curled protectively around the tape as he looks down at it with a fond smile.

“I suppose I should have known,” Castiel murmurs quietly, eyes softening with realization as he stares down at the tape. “You already tried to give your love to me. It was just in a language I had yet to truly understand.”

[dannymayevent]

Great work @paper-glasses completing the daily calendar! It was great seeing all of the different art works you came up with!

This fic was created by @phandom-phriend for your day 29 prompt Heat

*tw mentions of death, parental fights

----

Ever since she saw those people on the TV screen with their loud instruments and voices, with their crazy hair colors and even wilder outfits, Ember knew she wanted, needed, to be part of that. Her parents were always quick to turn off the television when these bands came on, or change the radio station when something particularly loud or out of their comfort zones came on. But even at nine, that couldn’t stop Ember.

The second she had the chance, she found herself in the music room of her school. It wasn’t much, seeing as the school was for elementary students who couldn’t really grasp the idea of complexity quite yet, but she was desperate to get her small hands on something. Anything. The teacher was more than happy to help with her little hobby, taking the time to teach her things about rhythm and notes. Teaching her how each part worked to create the whole of what would later be heard on the radio by thousands.

Ember was entranced.

In middle school the very first thing she did was join the band. It wasn’t quite what she wanted, but even that tiny drum set served as the perfect outlet. Her parents had been fighting more and more lately, but because they were so absorbed in their own petty fights they didn’t even notice that she often returned home late from practice. It worked for her in that way, seeing as music still didn’t really seem to be their ‘thing’, but when she actually wanted for their eyes to look her way…

So Ember tried. She tried so hard to excel in all her classes, in her band performance, even in her chores to try and turn those angry glares into proud fondness like it used to be. Or maybe it was never like that and it was simply her child mind making the best of things. But it is a goal she strived to achieve in some sort of way from the moment she wakes up to the moment she goes to bed each night.

In the end, her grades slipped. Ember was still trying so hard, but it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t bring herself to focus on her studies the same way that she focused on music. No matter what she tried, she just couldn’t get the same joy from reading or equations that she got from beats and lyrics. Sitting in a classroom could never have the same appeal as being on a stage, but it seems that kind of logic doesn't work on teachers or state tests. Who knew?

In eighth grade, a friend of hers introduced her to the guitar. It was something her dad kept propped up in the living room corner. The previous times she had been over, Ember had thought the item was merely a decoration to ‘tie the room together’. But when he found Ember staring at it and offered to teach her, that was a moment she could never forget for the rest of her life.

Feeling those strings under her fingertips. The way her heart beat with each sound that strummed from the instrument with only a slight movement of her hand. The way it sent shivers down her spine with the absolute feeling of power and pride dancing in her veins with every new note. This was her instrument. The guitar called to her in a way that drums and flutes and clarinets never had. She knew that from that moment on, she would do everything in her grasp to keep this feeling with her.

At sixteen she is no longer in band, but instead choir. They had recruited her during freshman year and she found that she enjoyed singing just as much as she enjoyed the guitar. The freedom and range it gave her, the chances for solos and the spotlight. For all those eyes on her. Her parents never came to a show, but when the stage lights flashed in her eyes so that the crowd became nothing but shadows, it was easy to pretend they approved. To pretend things were okay and that she would see them after the show. To prove her worth was more on the stage than it could ever be on paper.

Now she is also working part time at some stupid diner. It’s totally not her scene with the overly stressed coworkers and the customers that pretend to know their jobs better than they do. The grease from the food and the same six songs playing during her long shifts aren’t quite the excitement she’s looking for. Not to mention the tacky uniform that totally clashes with her bright red curls…

So if she keeps waiting for a Help Wanted sign to appear in the window of the record shop across the street, who really needs to know?

But it pays well. Well enough that she finally, finally, gets what she’s been wanting for so long. An electric guitar of her very own, colors customized to shine perfectly in the spotlights glow. Holding that gem in her hands for the first time nearly brought her to her knees. This, this right here in her thin hands, is her legacy. This shop in this small town is going to be the start of something great, it’s just that no one else knows it yet.

At eighteen it’s her senior year and she refuses to graduate without doing something she deems herself as great. So without a second thought she signs up for some talent show with a grand prize of $5,000 and a record deal. She has to drive three states away and skip a few school days to make the auditions, but school work and attendance has never stopped her before.

A week later, she got an email congratulating her on making it into the first round.

And just like that she began to shoot up to the top like a rocket going to the depths of space. Ember won round after round after round. Sure, seeing the crying faces of her competition that got sent home wasn’t a good feeling. But the feeling of being so close to stardom, being recognized as one of the best, let those negative feelings be drowned out. They all may have had dreams, but she did too. And she wasn’t going to give hers up for anything or anyone.

And then

She

Won

She won the competition, driving all over the country to different venues to perform her way to the top all by herself. All those hours practicing, all those moments where she chose not to give in when the rest of the world told her to, lead up to this moment. This very moment where the gold and silver confetti falls from the ceiling accompanied by matching balloons. This moment where the judges she's seen face to face countless times over the course of this journey walk up to her with a golden trophy. This moment where she gets to choose which record label she wants to sign to.

This moment where she is truly free.

Then came time for her first live performance. Her hair all tied up, makeup done in a way to leave an impression. Outfit displaying all the power and ferocity within. This would be her debut song to the world. The first pillar after a long string of stepping stones leading her to the fame she has desired since she was small. Her parents still aren’t in the crowd, but that’s okay now. Now she has fans that watched her journey cheering her name. And the only way she plans to go is up.

Except that didn’t happen. Halfway through her song there was an… accident. One of the stage crew members didn’t properly put out their cigarette backstage and started a small fire. It could have been easily handled, but the assistant who found it panicked and fanned it with the papers they had been holding, unintentionally making the flames bigger.

By the time Ember realized the heat wasn’t from her workout of working her stage magic, but from the hidden flames backstage, it was already too late. The rope they had used in place of the rusted metal beam that once held one of the spotlights burned.

The rope burned and the light came tumbling down, down, down. All she could do was look up into it as the bulb flickered out. Look up and hope against all hope that this wasn’t it. That there would be more to her story.

“... But I woke up in the ghost zone instead of some hospital bed. Years had already passed by the time I manifested and everyone… everyone had already forgotten about me. Just another news story. Well, they did change the safety measures for stage performances after that. So I guess that’s a win.” Ember sighed, looking out at the stars above them. Sometimes it hurt to look at them, all twinkling and bright above her.

Sometimes she worries that one might fall.

“I’m… sorry, Ember.” Danny said sadly. He knew that all ghosts had their story, a reason they remained. But hearing them never got easier. The pain of having lost everything just to be stuck in some kind of in-between is a burden that feels like it’s too much to bear, but there is no escaping it either.

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not, but you don’t have to be sorry.”

“I wish I could help you.”

“Well, you could let me perform my hypnotizing show without issues.”

Danny laughed and shook his head. “Fat chance. Unless you can do it without the whole mind control thing, I don’t think that can work.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.” Ember laughed back before standing up “Well, maybe one tame show wouldn’t be so bad.”

The halfa stood up after her and smiled. “Then it’s a deal. The mayor owes me one, so I’m sure I can get you a great stadium attendance.”

“You know…. You’re not so bad, kid.”

“Neither are you.”

The two stayed silent for a moment, simply looking out to the stars, both of them thinking about their broken dreams caused by being a ghost. So many things were lost or taken from them. But that’s the funny thing about being broken, sometimes your edges line up with someone else's. Sometimes with someone you would never even expect.

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.8.4 “Authority Gains Its Power”

“Fantine had not seen Javert since the day the mayor had saved her from him. Her sick brain could not grasp anything except that she was sure he had come for her.” This makes me wonder about Fantine’s grasp on time while she’s been ill. It’s been two months since she first fell ill, but it seems like she thinks it’s been almost no time.

“Javert did not say “Hurry up!” he said, “Hur-up!” No spelling could express the tone in which this was said it was no longer human speech; it was a howl.” FMA really doubling down on the wolf imagery here translating “rugissement” as howl instead of roar. I love it.

“To him Jean Valjean was a sort of mysterious and intangible antagonist, a shadowy wrestler with whom he had been struggling for five years, without being able to throw him. This arrest was not a beginning, but an end.” This line and the one from the beginning of the chapter about Fantine thinking Javert has come for her secures him once again as a sort of Angel Of Death for both of them. This arrest is the literal end for Fantine and the symbolic end for Madeleine-Valjean.

Also this line establishes just how much Madeleine’s real identity has consumed Javert’s thoughts in the past 5 years that he’s been a major community leader. It hasn’t just been a passing “huh, this guy really reminds me of that convict Valjean from Toulon” type thing for Javert. It’s been a sort of conflict and, probably since the cart incident at least, an obsession. It’s also interesting because it seems to establish Javert as believing that Valjean was his responsibility, and coming to that belief as soon as he learned about Valjean’s theft of Petit Gervais’ coin. Like, Valjean is not an antagonist he’s struggled with only since Madeleine became mayor and this person Javert maybe suspected suddenly became more high-profile, it’s an internal conflict he’s had since the robbery was reported, which probably wasn’t more than 6 months after its occurrence (I would assume). Javert’s wasn’t just obsessing over Madeleine possibly being Valjean because maybe finding a wanted convict would be good for his name or whatever, he was obsessing over it because he fully felt it was his responsibility to find this wanted man.

Jean Valjean is no longer Madeleine to the reader. Hugo’s narration only calls him Jean Valjean, the full name, this entire chapter. His old identity has been pulled away and he can no longer wrap M Madeleine around himself. And he’s only going to be Jean Valjean or Madeleine for another chapter; the next time we see him after that, he’ll be Prisoner Number 9430. For a long time in the narration he was Madeleine, then he was just “the man” and variations thereupon, then he was both “Madeleine” and “Valjean” and now he is only Valjean.

The weirdest thing in this chapter is that Hugo blatantly states that Sister Simplice is in the room with them this entire time. She is here and she does absolutely nothing. I mean, this is understandable. Not only is she a woman, but she also doesn’t have any sort of leverage over either of them in any other way. She’s just a nun, just a woman of the church (and not even a woman, according to Hugo, she’s something else entirely), and she can’t really do anything to stop Valjean’s arrest or appeal to Javert or anything. But in the next chapter Javert is literally stopped from entering by Simplice’s Authority of Religiosity. So why isn’t he stopped by her religiosity here? Because this is a mirror of Fantine in 1.5.13, begging Javert for mercy and Javert telling her that “The Eternal Father in person couldn’t help you now.” Again, the law is above god here, and again he will not be moved to mercy, even by god.

“She saw the spy Javert seize the mayor by the collar: she saw the mayor bow his head. The world seemed to vanish before her eyes. Javert, in fact, had taken Jean Valjean by the collar.”

This is pretty obvious, but Madeleine is literally turning into Valjean before Fantine’s eyes. I love the way that Hugo says it though. I get the sense that it’s not just that Javert is seeing Valjean as Valjean now, but that Madeleine’s entire demeanor has changed. So he’s literally not taking Madeleine by the collar, because his demeanor would have been Madeleine’s; he’s taking Valjean by the collar, because he’s dropped the Madeleine act (at least at this very moment).

“Aloud, speak aloud. People speak out loud to me.” Ugh god this line is just so self-serving and shitty. This isn’t Javert being morally righteous via the law or acting as society personified. This is just Javert being petty and shitty because he was humiliated by Madeleine before, and now he wants that personal power reversed.

“Javert stamped his foot.” Is this meant to be as childish as it sounds? This is a really intense moment, but Javert is weirdly powerless as both Valjean and Fantine start talking back in their own ways, refusing to go quietly.

“Miserable town, where convicts are magistrates and prostitutes are nursed like countesses! Ha, but all that will be changed, high time!” It’s so interesting that Javert says this now, because it’s revealed later that after Madeleine left, Montreuil-sur-Mer’s prosperity crumbled. Which means that the town will go back to being like any other poor, garrisoned town, with a prostitution trade and plenty of depths of depravity. And I think we’re supposed to think that without Madeleine there to run a system that helps to uphold the morals and productivity and prosperity of the town, it’ll just fall back into corruption. Except that all of that depravity already existed under Madeleine’s leadership, it was just hidden better than maybe it would be if the whole town was failing. So once he leaves, yes, probably the prostitutes and criminals etc will be treated the way Javert wants them to be treated, rather than with any sort of sympathy or willingness to listen and mediate that Madeleine maybe offered to some but not all.

Fantine’s death is, I think, the only death in the book that gets such a visceral description. M. Pontmercy is already dead when we see him, Eponine just puts her head on Marius’ knee, Gavroche’s death is fairly poetic, all of Les Amis get their deaths described but they’re all so quick it’s like a montage, Javert’s actual death isn’t described. Mabeuf’s death might be the closest in terms of intense description, but Fantine’s definitely is the most detailed. Also, we get more drowning imagery. If Javert is the personification of the Law and the justice system, he is part of what tosses the unfortunate into the night-sea of prison and the mud of poverty. She is drowning because what killed her is also what drowns the poor. And I think it’s interesting that she looks to each of them, trying to speak, but she can’t reach anyone. She can’t speak to Jean Valjean (note that he’s not Madeleine here) because she doesn’t know Jean Valjean, and he’s no longer her savior, she can’t speak to Javert because he will not bend and has no mercy, and she can’t speak to the nun because currently authority will not bow to religion and she knows that because it didn’t bow to religion the last time. Now that Valjean has no power to free her, she can’t go to him. Also, I want to know the significance of her head hitting the headboard. Hugo doesn’t have her just fall back onto the pillow; she bangs her head first, like a strange sort of last injustice.

I also feel like the actual actions of Fantine’s death as well as Valjean whispering in her ear afterward have some sort of religious parallel that I’m not catching because I don’t know enough?

Also just ugh. Fantine dies knowing that Cosette is not out there, that Cosette is not anywhere near here, and that she will not see Cosette. It’s just such a horrible, blunt betrayal after she was so full of hope. I wonder if that’s why (later) Valjean can’t talk to Cosette about her? He doesn’t know how to confront the fact that, intentional or not, he had a hand in this betrayal? It makes sense that it is at this moment that she dies. She has been holding on for Cosette, the hope of seeing Cosette has been keeping her alive. Now, she has the realization that Cosette is not in M-sur-M, and then almost immediately after has the realization that Madeleine is not going to be able to go and retrieve Cosette.

“Jean Valjean put his hand on that of Javert, which was holding him, and opened it as he would have opened the hand of a child; then he said, “You have killed this woman.”

There’s so much child-behavior in Javert in this chapter, and I’m not sure what to make of it. The stamping of the foot, the sort of loud, frustrated insistence of respect, this opening of his hand, the way he yells at Valjean to listen to him or it’s the handcuffs and Valjean just ignores him. Javert is so impatient here and Valjean is so grave and calm. But that’s how it seems to be from now on. @everyonewasabird​ talked in his last post about how this is actually where Javert’s fall is, or at least where it begins. I totally agree with that, because it’s also where his grave, stable behavior starts to falter. In the last chapter, he was gleeful. In this chapter, he’s impatient. In Paris, we won’t see him display behavior this extreme until he’s at the barricade, but his behavior still seems different from the Javert we originally met. Much as I adore the “Would you like my hat?” line, it’s so dramatic and, I don’t know, sort of smug? Which I could see this current Javert doing, but not Javert from 1.6.2 or earlier. This whole episode has caused, as Hugo said, an inner earthquake for Javert, and I think it literally changes his entire personality. Not drastically, nothing crazy, but it does what an earthquake might do: it shifts some things around, changes his inner terrain just enough that it looks totally familiar but the ground he’s walking on is just a little rougher than before.

I’m so glad my post from a couple chapters ago included that comment about Javert and Valjean’s back-and-forth conflict because! This shift in power! Now it’s Valjean who is righteous and Valjean that is terrifying and Valjean that has the control! This chapter is just a fencing match between the two of them. Valjean starts off mildly more powerful: Javert doesn’t touch him while Fantine’s eyes are closed; it’s only when she opens them again that he again has the power over her and over Valljean. He takes Valjean by the collar and Valjean doesn’t attempt to struggle or get free. Once Fantine is dead, Valjean again assumes control and opens Javert’s hand like it’s nothing. I sort of feel like he still kind of retains the upper hand (at least morally) even at the very end when he gives himself up to Javert’s disposal. (Also, it’s interesting that Valjean has the control when Fantine isn’t looking, but Javert has control when she is. Not sure what to make of that.)

Javert’s retreat to the door is so odd. It feels so calm and detached. He doesn’t actually seem frightened or threatened by Valjean’s diy truncheon. I wonder if this is Javert’s version of the way that Valjean does things on autopilot when he’s in shock. Everything that’s happening is just so stunning that when Valjean moves away from him, Javert just automatically moves to the door. And his decision not to call the guard feels like he’s making excuses? It’s pretty obvious at this point that Valjean isn’t going to move from Fantine’s bedside until he’s ready. Except that at this point, Valjean is the one with the control, and the conflict is between him and Javert. Calling the guard adds another element and upsets the balance.

“His iron bar in hand, Jean Valjean walked slowly toward Fantine’s bed. On reaching it, he turned and said to Javert in a voice that could scarcely be heard, “I advise you not to disturb me now.” Nothing is more certain than the fact that Javert shuddered.” My first thought is: I don’t know what to make of this? Is Javert scared? Overwhelmed? Confused? Feeling Valjean’s authority? My second thought is: this is the start of Javert’s eventual change at the end of the novel. He cannot admit it to himself here, but he’s seeing Valjean act with the same selflessness and mercy that he’ll see with himself at the barricades and Marius at the sewers. His inner change can’t happen until then, but I wonder if this affects his later ability to change how he sees Valjean.

Fantine does get, like, the closest thing to a happy ending that any of the dead people in this book can get. Whatever Valjean tells or promises her, her spirit seems to hear and smiles. She suffers so much at the hands of society, at the hands of everyone, and she dies in betrayal and misery. It’s like the least Hugo could do was give her soul some sort of happiness after the fact.

[celialestial]

Okay. Well, if I’m being honest, this episode was not the greatest. This is also the first analysis I’ve made for a show, at least that I’m posting. We’ll see how this goes. Strap in, this is going to be long. 

I think we have all learned by now that Jamie-focused episodes are never the strongest. I find it a bit ironic that in a show called Jamie Johnson, the least interesting character is Jamie himself. 

We finally saw the end of the, dare I say, idiotic Under-13s subplot. The classic “arguing friends are trapped in a room together until they make-up” trope was used to its, not fullest, but decent potential. The greatest part of this episode was the fact that their eighth-grade drama was resolved; that and the ten seconds of screentime Dillon received. Liam continues to prove that he has still not grown. Here’s my analysis of his development:

[I was going to insert a clever chart of his nonexistent growth, but I’m too lazy, sorry. Here’s a paragraph about it instead:]

Liam needs to learn that manipulating people and pretending to have changed is not maturity, it’s being an asshole. He has a terrible father, that’s true, but Dillon managed to change. Nothing has ever truly been at stake for Liam. He’s been able to lie and manipulate others to get out of all the trouble he’s caused. He was given a second chance to play with the Under-13s and has continued to use those around him in order to seem, I don’t know. Big? Powerful? All he has done is made the Three Musketeers dislike him even more. He has done absolutely nothing to earn their trust. I could go on and on about Liam Simmonds, which I suppose proves he’s an interesting character (that’s more than I can say about some people *cough* Jamie *cough*). 

Eric learns that Aisha has feelings for him too. Yay! He also learns that Aisha is much smarter and more mature than him, choosing to step back and give him time to be with his friends. Yay? Freddie has been incredibly weird this season. I can’t tell if he genuinely liked Aisha as more than a friend, or if he thought he was supposed to, given how much Eric liked her. This entire storyline comprised of way too much unnecessary drama. Looking at Instagram comments, however, it seems that it was very popular among younger kids. I suppose I am a bit too old to be criticizing middle school relationship drama in a children’s show. Poor Alba was practically thrown to the dogs in favor of a petty love triangle. All of their problems were wrapped up so neatly, it felt a bit uncomfortable. Like they didn’t deserve this ending. 

I don’t know if it’s just me, but something about this episode seemed off. When comparing it to other episodes with similar premises, the lack of emotion and genuineness becomes obvious. Take episode 10, for example, there were many (and I mean many) subplots. It was a little all over the place. And yet, the end of the episode left me feeling bittersweet, intrigued, and wanting more. This episode didn’t do that. I am sick of Jamie’s bullshit and tired of this dumb love triangle. Thankfully, the latter is complete now. 

Onto Jamie’s storyline:

1) I told y’all Jetpac11 would be Jethro! These are some big brain hours.

2) This boy is supposed to be the TITLE character. His storyline is meant to be the most in depth, the most interesting, and, above all else, the most entertaining. It is none of those things. The stakes are supposed to be high, and they are, but they don’t feel like it? He supposedly lost his place at Hawkstone over a goddamn video game. Why don’t I feel anything except contempt? If not frustration at Jamie, then frustration at Ian, who I suppose I should be used to by now. Everyone says Jamie should know better than to trust him after all he’s done. That he should just listen to Mike. Obviously that’s true, but Ian was on his side, not the other way around. Ian enabled Jamie and allowed him to make a stupid decision, one that has huge consequences. Ian didn’t tell Jamie to keep playing for his own gain, well, kind of. He let Jamie keep playing because he though it would make him happy and regain his trust. It’s the same reason Mike lied to Hawkstone. Both adults displayed extremely poor judgement, Ian just far more so, as always. I must admit that I have zero interest in video games. I also have zero interest in soccer (or, rather, football). Yet this show keeps me interested in the matches and invested in the characters. They have failed at maintaining my interest in this video gaming storyline. Part of this could be because I find Jamie boring and repetitive, or maybe he simply seems that way due to the plethora of vastly more compelling side characters. All I have learned from this is that Jamie is a pretty terrible friend, a poor judge of character, and impulsive. These are all faults he has had since season 1, except he used to be a genuinely decent friend. He has grown more self-involved and one-sighted (and one-sided, as in one-dimensional, or you could take it literally, seeing as one leg is currently out of commission). I get that he was hit by a car and his leg is broken. He doesn’t see a future in soccer for himself anymore. Mike is right, though, he should be focused on getting better and being able to play again. I don’t even like Mike most of the time -- I honestly find him fairly annoying, although this may be due to the acting -- but he is the only sane one in the Johnson family right now. Both of Jamie’s parents are enabling him and Mike has too, though only for around an episode and a half. I am so happy this storyline will be resolved next week. I am sure we will still be left with a cliffhanger at the end, as with every season. 

Dillon also got a bit of screentime in this episode (wow, a whole twenty seconds!). I really do like the way the writers are portraying how conflicted he is. He is torn between living a lie or risking his future as a professional player. I understand why they introduced Elliot. He was Dillon’s first crush and I think he was necessary for Dillon to come to terms with his sexuality. Where they messed up with Elliot, however, is by entirely removing him from the show after he fulfilled his purpose of giving Dillon the strength to come out. Just as @mcustorm said, he was a plot device and it was out of character for him to out Dillon. I could probably write a whole essay about how dirty both Elliot and Kat were done. The only way using exclusively Ruby to further Dillon’s storyline would’ve worked was if they kept the whole “Ruby has a crush on Dillon” thing from season 4. Doing that would likely ruin their entire dynamic as best friends and make things awkward. If they had done that and made, say Harry or Michel his first crush, they wouldn’t need Elliot to be Dillon’s first real crush. Although, Dillon was only around 11 or 12, and most real crushes don’t hit until 13-14, at least in my experience. Also if they had ruined Dillon and Ruby’s dynamic, then Dillon would have no real support system. I can’t really see Ruby abandoning Dillon over this, though, even if she had an unrequited crush. 

Next week should wrap up both Jamie’s and Dillon’s storylines. It will also be the final episode of season 5! A lot to look forward to and a lot to be absolutely terrified of, not to mention the fact that season 6 production has been postponed for obvious reasons. 

TL;DR:

It’s the end of the Under-13s drama! And possibly the end of Aisha, knowing how JJ deals with its newly irrelevant characters.

Jamie is being stupid and probably lost his chances of getting into Hawkstone. Or maybe not, considering he’s the protagonist of a kid’s show. JJ does have a habit of dealing out real consequences, though, so who knows.

Dillon got... something? He’s feeling conflicted, which is entirely natural, especially at this stage in his coming out. 

Next week is the last episode! Stay tuned for more, I guess. Let me know if you guys enjoyed this type of proper analysis. 

[cosmicjoke]

Ash and his consistent lack of hate

It is an important point in understanding Ash’s character to acknowledge and examine his consistent lack of malice in everything he does, even when committing acts of violence.  He isn’t at all a hateful person, and this is an important and defining character trait which has a direct impact on his decisions and the events that eventually unfold within the story.  When you take into consideration all that Ash has been through, the extraordinary depth of suffering he has lived through in his young life, the absence of hate in his heart is all the more astonishing, and you understand then this lack of hatefulness can only be natural within him for it to endure through such overwhelming pain.

More striking still for how you realize all of Ash’s enemies are driven and consumed by their own hatred, in one form or another, motivated by their inherent cruelty, twisted desires, and self-serving ambition, while Ash himself never displays any sense of real venom or hatred, even towards those who have committed unspeakably horrific acts against him.

Certainly, Ash feels anger, even rage, towards those who have repeatedly and unforgivably wronged him, but never actual hate.

Let me explain.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Ash first kills at the age of eight.  It is the desperate act of a child forced to defend himself after the abject failure of the adults around him to protect him against the horrific sexual abuse he’s suffered at the hands of a monster meant to serve as a role model and guardian himself. First, in the police, the supposed representatives of “justice”, refusing to believe Ash, before outright blaming him for it happening, accusing an eight year old child of “seducing” his abuser.  And then in Ash’s own father, failing to keep his own son safe, allowing the abuse to go on, again and again, for who even knows how long.

Ash later tells Eiji that he cried afterward, because he didn’t feel anything while he did it, but Ash’s very admission at having cried contradicts this claim.  He felt deeply over the act he’d just been forced to commit, an act Ash was too young to fully comprehend the meaning of, too young to grasp it’s full implications, either for himself or anyone else, but upset enough by it to reduce him to tears afterward.  The fact that Ash cried at all over having killed a man who repeatedly and brutally raped and molested him and who would have eventually killed him, given the numerous other children he had already murdered, is remarkable.  There was no malice behind Ash’s act.  No hatred.  No pleasure.  No satisfaction.  Ash didn’t kill the baseball coach out of a sense of revenge, or because he wanted to. He killed him because he had no choice. He killed him, because nobody else was able to protect him.  Because he was an eight year old boy who simply wanted the pain to stop.  It was purely an act of self-defense.  

This connects to later on in the story, and to Ash’s relationship with his father.  

Ash has every reason and right to hate his father.  Firstly, for how James Callenreese was so neglectful and uncaring a parent when Ash was born and growing up, that he would have starved to death if Griffin hadn’t stepped up and taken responsibility for his care.  Secondly, for how it was essentially James’ fault that Ash ended up alone, at the age of eight, on the streets of New York, only to be found and captured by a twisted pedophile in Marvin, again repeatedly and brutally raped, passed along to Frog to have more of the same done by him, before being sold to another pedophile in Dino, and into an underground child sex trafficking ring, only for the abuse to continue on like that for years and years more, before he’s forced into a life of crime and violence, out on the streets again. And then, when at last Ash returns home to Cape Cod after ten years of this absolute nightmare of abuse and suffering, he is greeted by his father calling him a “whore”, accusing Ash’s friends of being “clients” of his, and proceeding to then tell Ash to “get out”. Real father of the year material here.

And yet, despite all of that, and it is a LOT, Ash doesn’t hate his father.  Why?  Because Ash, at his fundamental core, is a good person.

Ash never shows any hatred, not even any real anger towards his father, despite the utterly blatant verbal and emotional abuse James lays on him, refusing to take the bait of his father’s petty tactics of hurling insults and accusations, blaming Ash for everything that’s happened to him, because he’s too much of a coward himself to face his own guilt and accept his own role and responsibility in his son ending up like he has.  Ash only responds to James’ cruelty with a quiet resignation and acceptance of his father’s rejection and hostility, telling his friends to forget it when they express shocked horror at James’ treatment of his son, and promising to leave once he gets what he came for from the other house on the property.  Later, when James is shot, Ash shows genuine pain and concern for him, and breaks down into tears when he’s forced to flee and leave his injured father behind.  He forgives his father for his weakness and his cowardice, and doesn’t hold his rejection of Ash against him, despite, again, having every reason and right to hate the man.  Ash, in spite of it all, still loves his father, in defiance of all the pain the man has caused him.

This is a truly extraordinary display of kindheartedness on Ash’s part.  A testament to the astounding goodness innate to him.

And that innate goodness which so characterizes who Ash really is continues on in him, even as he’s thrust into a nightmarish hellscape of violence, cruelty and savagery.  

The next example to look at as proof of Ash’s inherent goodness, is the conflict between him and Arthur.

The first conflict between them arises when Arthur sets Ash up to be sent to Juvenile Detention, and then proceeds to bribe another inmate to try and kill Ash for him.  Arthur tires with very real intent to kill Ash, because of the assumption that Ash is, one day in the future, going to be a threat to him and his claim to power among the youth gangs of New York.  Because of Ash’s natural abilities and intelligence, he can see how others are just naturally drawn to this young fifteen year old boy, inclined to follow him, and he wants to eliminate Ash before his own crew members start ditching him for someone better.  He does this, even though Ash has never actually done anything to hurt Arthur up to this point. This fact is really important to note.  While in Juvie, Ash, due to those natural abilities Arthur so feared, begins to attract the other street kids to him, without even wanting it or having to try. Ash makes no attempt to win their loyalty or alliance, and is made uncomfortable when they start to give it to him, because it isn’t something he ever strove for or wanted.  Not something he ever intended to gain.  Ash shows no ambition towards that goal, and it’s even mentioned more than once by Dino in the story that Ash has never shown any real ambition or desire to be a gang boss.  The other streets kids, therefor, give him their loyalty of their own volition. They realize, after Ash’s fight with Frankie and his crew in the library, that Ash is superior, and capable of protecting them, and so they start to follow him around, aligning themselves with him, forming a gang around him.  

Eventually, more and more street punks choose Ash as their leader, and you have to assume, by the time he gets out of Juvie, he’s got a fairly sizable crew of street kids ready to follow him wherever he goes and in whatever he does.  Again, it’s vitally important to note that Ash didn’t choose this.  It instead chose him.  Ash accepts this responsibility placed on him by the other street kids, because the real reason they’ve chosen him is because they think he can protect them and keep them safe.  

This new reality for him, and the attempt to kill Ash, of course, leads to an eventual, unavoidable one on one confrontation between him and Arthur.  Ash wins.  At this point, Ash has every right to kill Arthur.  Not only would it be accepted, but it would be expected by the other street punks, and would also prove to be of great benefit to Ash, both in eliminating a legitimate threat against himself and in solidifying his newly acquired position as gang boss.

And yet, Ash doesn’t kill Arthur.  He lets him live, his only punishment to Arthur for trying to kill him and losing their fight to destroy Arthur’s ability to use a gun.  And given Arthur’s reputation for ruthless violence and brutality out there on the streets, and his obvious willingness to kill people who have never done anything against him, along with this being an act of mercy, this is also Ash’s first step in ensuring the safety of the kids now under his command.  Once again, him accepting the responsibility those same kids have placed on him.  He’s making sure, even as he lets Arthur live, that he doesn’t have the ability to easily kill anyone else.  He also allows Arthur to keep operating in the area, even when Arthur has done nothing to earn that right.

Ash’s act of mercy would later come back to haunt him, for reasons all of us already know of course.  

Arthur says to Ash, right before their final battle, “Ain’t you gonna ask?  Don’t you wanna know… why I hate you so much?  You know why, huh?”  Ash tells him “yeah”, he does know, and then he says “But that ain’t my fault”.  They’re talking about Ash’s natural abilities, his natural talent, the way people just chose him to be their leader.  Arthur admits this is true, that it’s not Ash’s fault that he has these things, or that people naturally want to follow him.  And then Arthur says “Y’know, you’re absolutely right… You prob’ly never wanted it that way.  But that just makes me hate you all the more.”.   Arthur is driven by his hatred of Ash specifically because he knows Ash doesn’t even want to be a boss, while Arthur himself wants it more than anything.  Ash is so naturally gifted and charismatic and capable, that he inadvertently draws people to him, without him even having to try, without him even meaning for it to happen.  Arthur hates Ash for this, is overwhelmingly jealous and envious of his talent, his hate compounded by Ash not even wanting the gifts that make it seemingly so easy for him.  Again, this is similar to Yut-Lung, in how we have a character who is consumed by their hatred towards Ash for having something they don’t.  The sickening irony here is that, all of these gifts and abilities which people like Arthur are so jealous of, have done nothing but bring Ash misery and pain.  His good looks, his intelligence, his physical reflexes.  They’ve all been used as excuses for others to destroy and take away his life and his choices.  It’s the very reason Ash gets into a fight with Eiji, when Eiji scolds Ash for not understanding how people who don’t have his exceptional abilities feel.  Ash gets so angry here, because Eiji is making the same mistake that everyone makes when they see Ash and everything he seemingly has, assuming it makes his life better, when in reality, all having these exceptional abilities has done is make his life exponentially worse.  Eiji eventually realizes this, realizes the mistake he’s made in judging Ash for the choices he’s had to make, and that’s when we see Eiji vow never to leave Ash’s side, and to simply accept him for who he is.

But back to the topic, Ash’s initial mercy towards Arthur, despite all of this, serves as a prime example of his lack of hate, once again, against a person who himself outwardly hates Ash, who did him and intended him very real harm.  Once again, Ash’s actions aren’t motivated by any feeling of malice, or vengeance, or to satisfy any sort of urge, but by self-defense, and defense of others.  

This is mirrored in Ash letting the two members of his own gang live after they had betrayed him by working for Dino, even as, once again, it would have served him better to simply kill them, once again his act of mercy coming back to haunt him when those two run back to Dino and rat Ash out about his knowledge of Banana Fish.  

Ash shows mercy again when letting his would be assassin in Chinatown live, telling Shorter’s guys to let him go.

Other, more minor examples, but still just as telling about who Ash is, is his initial dynamic with Max.  When Ash and Max first meet, their relationship is nearly antagonistic, the two of them even coming to blows a few times, Ash feeling deep anger towards Max for shooting Griff in Vietnam and leaving him abandoned in a state hospital afterward, Max consumed by guilt over the fact.  But even in this initial anger, Ash eventually admits that he doesn’t hate Max.  He says specifically to Max “I wish I could hate you.  I needed someone to hate.”.  Even when Ash wants to hate someone, he can’t bring himself to.  Again, further proof of how that kind of malice just isn’t natural within him.  He can’t bring himself to hate, even as he actively tries to.

The same applies to Blanca.  Blanca gives Ash plenty of reason to hate him when he initially shows up in the story. Blanca was really the only adult in Ash’s life before the main events of Banana Fish who didn’t actively abuse him, or really even use him in any way, and was thus able to gain his trust and even admiration.  It’s safe to say that Ash looked up to Blanca and saw him as a protector to at least some extent from the rest of the abusive men around him.  Blanca’s betrayal of Ash to Dino then must have been particularly painful to him.  At the start, not only does Blanca stalk Ash and work him needlessly up into a state of extreme anxiety and fear (remember, this is a kid who’s constantly having to look over his shoulder, constantly living under the stress and pressure of having his life threatened), but he then forces Ash into sacrificing everything he’s worked and risked his life for up to this point in the story, everything his friends and family have died for, his very freedom itself, by turning himself back over to Dino’s clutches, allowing himself to be held captive by his oldest and longest abuser, all because Blanca is threatening to kill Eiji if he doesn’t.

Even with all of this, and again, just like with his father, it’s a lot, Ash never shows any real malice or hatred towards Blanca, or expresses any desire for revenge against him. He only ever shows real anger and hurt, understandably, but even then, eventually, he forgives Blanca entirely, and puts his trust in him again by accepting his help.  In the end, he even wishes Blanca good luck with his life, and displays a genuine fondness for him in their final encounter.

The next, prime example of Ash’s lack of malice is in his rivalry with Yut-lung.

Yut-Lung does some truly horrific things to Ash.  Firstly, in his blackmailing Shorter into betraying Ash by threatening to kill his sister Nadia, essentially acting as the lynchpin that set the events in motion that would lead to Ash having to kill his own best friend in order to save Eiji, in turn causing Ash untold emotional and mental damage.  Secondly, by allowing his own, petty jealousy and hatred to force Ash into a position in which he has to give up everything he’s worked for in uncovering and exposing the truth behind Banana Fish, to break free from Dino, to avenge his brother, and Shorter and Skip, and to sacrifice his very freedom in order to protect Eiji, and after that, again allowing his jealousy and hatred to lead him in setting into motion numerous attempts to destroy the one good thing Ash has ever had in his life by trying to kill Eiji.  After all of this, once again, it would be more than understandable and justified if Ash hated and wanted to kill Yut-Lung.  And yet, once again, there’s never any real sense from him that he does.

We see him threaten to kill Yut-Lung immediately following Shorter’s death, when Ash’s own emotions are running sky high, dealing with unimaginable trauma and pain. Yut-Lung comes into the room Ash is being held captive in, mockingly leaving him the key to secure his escape, and Ash’s angered, threatening reaction to him at that point can only be expected.  Anyone in Ash’s position would do the same.  

After that, we see Ash confess to Eiji that he doesn’t really know if Yut-Lung is a friend or an enemy, which tells us that Ash never really meant what he said before, and that he had no real plans to go after Yut-Lung at that point, willing to simply let it go. Proven further by the fact that Ash never really makes a move against Yut-Lung until Yut-Lung himself goes directly after Ash and his allies.

Later still, after Yut-Lung has been involved in numerous situations which have caused Ash incredible suffering, we see him take Yut-Lung hostage and once more threaten to kill him.  But, once again, this isn’t an act or revenge, but a desperate gambit to get Eiji and the other hostages being held by Yut-Lung’s men released.  Ash doesn’t want to kill Yut-Lung.  He only wants to protect Eiji and the others.  He only threatens Yut-Lung here for that purpose and that purpose alone.  

After this, while talking to Cain, Ash says “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”, and his expression is, just like with his father, one of resigned sadness.  He knows Yut-Lung could very well one day be his undoing, but even in that moment, there’s no sense of hatred, or even anger towards him from Ash.  No sense, either in his words, or his expression, of wanting to make Yut-Lung pay for all he’s done, or to make him suffer.  No indication that he has any plans to go after Yut-Lung.  And this is further confirmed by Ash’s final conversation with Blanca, when he says as long as Yut-Lung leaves him alone, then Ash won’t go after him.  Even when Ash says to Blanca before that, that he would tear Yut-Lung apart if he ever got his hands on him, there’s an expression of joking amusement on Ash’s face, a clear indication that he doesn’t really mean what he’s saying in that moment.

Then of course, there’s Dino.  Dino is Ash’s greatest enemy, and the root source of a great deal of his pain and suffering.  Dino is the only person in the story who Ash shows an active desire to get revenge on, for obvious reasons that don’t bear repeating, and most certainly feels hatred towards.  But even in this, when Dino finally meets his demise, and Ash watches him fall to his death into the fire below, there’s no look of satisfaction, or happiness, or even relief on Ash’s face.  There’s no sense of triumph.  Ash once again only has that same resigned, even sad expression on his face as the person who tormented and abused him more than any other in his life finally dies. There isn’t any malice, no glee, not even any real anger, because, in the end, Ash’s desire to break free from Dino was never motivated by hate.  In the end, just like with all his other enemies, Ash’s only motivation was to be left alone.  To be free. Even for the person most deserving of his contempt, Ash couldn’t ever really bring himself to feel it fully. He couldn’t ever conjure enough hate in his heart to be driven forward by it, even against Dino.  It shows us with plain clarity the innate goodness of Ash’s heart then, that against all odds, that goodness won out against the abuse and cruelty every time, never destroyed, for how pure and powerful it lived within Ash.  For how much it was a part of his soul.

The tragedy of it all then, you realize, is how, if these monsters had only ever left Ash alone, none of any of it ever would have happened.  But of course they couldn’t, their hatred, greed, perversion and lust for power too strong within them to let a 17 year old boy who just wanted to be left  alone, be, underlining in stark and startling relief the total contrast of who these people were against who Ash was.  Monsters consumed by hate, against a boy who loved too much.

[sepulcrorum]

JUDE LAW, FIFTY, ARCHBISHOP DE MEDICI. ❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the DUCHY OF FLORENCE, ARCHBISHOP GIANCARLO DI GIAN GASTONE DE’ MEDICI, from FLORENCE. they are at best CHARMING, and at their worst IMPIOUS. whilst abroad, their ambition is to REAP EVER MORE GREATER LUXURIES FOR HIMSELF. HE seems to remind everyone of JUDE LAW & DESIRES BOTH HERETICAL AND UNHOLY : THE SONG OF SOLOMON SPILLING FORTH FROM ONE’S LIPS WHILST IN THE THROES OF PASSION ; INTELLECTUALISM SOUGHT FOR HEDONISM’S SAKE : ANTIQUATED TEXTS SMUGGLED FROM THE CRUMBLING REMNANTS OF ANCIENT ROMAN VILLAS AND DISPLAYED TO EXPECTED LOOKS OF AWE ; & HOLINESS FOUND, HOLINESS LOST, HOLINESS REVERED : A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT SHINING THROUGH HIGH-VAULTED ARCHES. ❞

introduction

Provide a blurb introducing your character generally. This should include an overview of strengths, weaknesses, aspirations, and set backs.

It has been once said by the Lord: be ye like children, for ye to enter the Kingdom of God. Capricious, selfish, absorbed only by thoughts of himself, petty, and whimsical, the Archbishop de’ Medici does not assume the dignity of his station as a member of the Church but he does assume all the qualities of a child in him, and that makes him saved by default.

His theology is quaint, bordering on unorthodox, and it’s almost tempting to call him out for heresies but he knows too much about Scripture and can run circles around any fellow servant of Christ, much more the ordinary layman. He’s either mystical or absolutely canonical: at a certain point in theology, everything becomes one and the same. Give him time, and he can justify anything—the cruellest of acts as well as the most compassionate acts of goodwill and charity—with verses pulled from the Holy Book and the most seraphic smile on his face, almost as if his lips are intoning a blessing. He’s a Devil’s advocate in perhaps more ways than one, the destruction of Rome entire as one itinerant preacher once called him, and yet he luxuriates on wealth on top of the social pyramid, secure in his position and backed by the splendorous wealth made available by his family’s support.

Yet despite all this, despite possessing all the qualities of a man who could be—intelligent, charming, sociable, and ambitious—Giancarlo ended up being the man who isn’t, by some strange (perhaps cruel) twist of fate. With his dubious origins erasing any hope for a cardinalate, much less a chance for the Throne of St. Peter, he languishes in his role as a mere archbishop. As the years pass, he has turned bitter, cruel, recalcitrant—for what does a child do when they are given what they want?

They throw a tantrum.

What are some potential plotlines you are interested in pursuing?

I’ve inserted the little nuggets of the plotlines I plan to pursue on the blurb but to expand on it:

First is I am definitely very interested in making him a Cardinal and that is very much a thing he also wants for himself, even as much as he denies it and says he never wanted it anyway. It’s a way for him to rationalise the fact that, strictly speaking, his life didn’t go the way he wanted it to go, and so he subsists on the lie that his life (as it is right now) was what he always wanted—but ultimately, I do think that he’s still on the lookout for any opportunity to finally have the red robes of a cardinal.

Second is the state of Florence and of Italy as a whole. The blemish of the riots on the Florentines’ reputation is something that must be rectified—not even because someone died (after all, very many people die everyday) but because it sends the message that they are unable to control their own people. The Church as an institution that does much works of charity can be used to pacify the rebellious masses and perhaps turn them into the better angels that they haven’t been before. Meanwhile, Italy as a whole concerns him because they are still, ultimately, disparate nation-states with differing goals and ambitions. In a world filled with empires and hegemons, Giancarlo realises that the Italian peoples must unite—far better that it be headed, of course, by the Church or by Florence, but unity itself is non-negotiable. If the Italians do not want to be swallowed up by their neighbours, they must pool together their resources and make a stand for their existence.

Thirdly is the option of interfaith dialogue. Giancarlo is by no means perfect, but I do imagine he’s a touch more tolerant than most holy men are. He’s less a crusader and more of a diplomat, far too disillusioned to really believe in any cause of holy war. Entrenched in cynicism—usually a character flaw—he’s cognisant enough of the fact that humans are going to be shitty one way or another, and religion has almost no bearing on whether one is a good person or not. As such, I do think he has a lot of plotting potential for those characters following a different faith, and it’s fun to see how that might all play out.

three bullet-points.

Giancarlo di Gian Gastone de’ Medici is born a stain of shame. Birthed by a servant-girl and the man from whom his name marks out as his progenitor, he is kept by his father as a spare heir—only to be tossed away when a legitimate one finally comes. In this act, his father has taught him the harsh realities of life: one minute, you can have everything in front of you; the next, it all comes crashing down with nothing to show for it. He is left with no security save that which his father carved out for him: mastery of an abbey at twelve years of age and, from there, the religious life. There was nothing else for him. There is nothing else to him.

Giancarlo takes to the intellectual and monastic life quite quickly. His learning under humanist tutors in the household of his father has enabled him to take quickly to reading dense texts that speak of grand contexts. It helps that he is good with languages, and that he is friendly to everyone he meets. How bright his career would be, some would say, before adding: if only he wasn’t illegitimate. And so that stain of shame that adorned the Medici family history now mars his own future: he was always going to be a mistake, and the world will never let him forget it.

He is, by all accounts, a very disenchanted man who works himself through a façade of mustered charm gathered from who-knows-where with his mind an utter repository of Scripture and theological concepts. He can quote from Papal Bulls enacted centuries ago as easily as if they had been dictated to him just that moment; yet he always says it so drily that you’d think he’s mocking the words he’s citing. He’s in the habit of mentioning what kind of sins one is doing but always concludes it with a small note of how God is a forgiving God. He delights in the company of the wicked and the infamous; truly good people disgust him. He thinks God is present more in ugliness than any kind of beauty exemplified in art and song, and that He is dirt-covered, bloody and bruised, made with mulch and rot and diseased flesh. His God is filthy; it is only natural. We all fashion God into the form that would accept us the most.

character sheet.

FULL NAME :  giancarlo di gian gastone de’ medici TITLES :  

commander of badia fiorentina ( from 1420 - 1428 )

commander and rector of badia fiorentina ( from 1428 onwards )

metropolitan archbishop of florence ( from 1446 onwards  )

master of the sacred apostolic palace ( from 1450 onwards )

BIRTHPLACE :  florence, italian peninsula

AGE : fifty, b. 10 november 1407

LANGUAGES : fluent — italian ( tuscan ), french, ancient greek, latin, arabic, spanish, german, bavarian ; conversational — english, portuguese ; learning — ottoman turkish, farsi / persian

DYNASTY / HOUSE: house de’ medici

MOTHER & FATHER : unnamed servant girl & gian gastone de’ medici

SPOUSE : none

ISSUE : none

SIBLINGS : giovanni, lucrezia, and girolamo ( half-siblings )

OTHER : lorenzo de’ medici ( tbd )

ZODIAC : scorpio sun / sagittarius moon / scorpio rising

RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION : roman catholicism

ORIENTATION : bisexual biromantic ( with a medium to high preference for his own gender )

PERSONALITY TYPE : estj-a / choleric-sanguine / enneagram tbd / slytherin

VICES : everything

VIRTUES : knowledge can be and is a virtue but not with giancarlo, babyyyyy

FACECLAIM : jude law

HEIGHT : 6′1″ or 1.85m

RECOGNISABLE FEATURES : kindly-seeming blue eyes that speaks to unfathomable depths — look too closely, and you just might find yourself falling in them; an ever-present smile that can turn earnest or mocking depending on the conversation; a smug demeanour that you can’t help but feel that he thinks he knows better than you

REPUTATION IN PORTUGAL :  a famed master theologian but also a widely known libertine, giancarlo both attracts and repulses the whole of christendom with his easy smiles, his kindly-looking blue eyes, and the power of the storied lineage that has produced him. for all those who’ve had the chance to coalesce in rome—or perhaps even the italian peninsula—his name will revoke memories of scandalised whispers erupting from people huddled in corners as soon as they see him make entry into a room. portugal as of yet is a new frontier, not for reasons of lack of opportunity but due to lack of interest. after all, why stray from that eternal city whose glory is sung in ancient ballads and whose place in the world is the envy of millions? now that he is here, however, he is more than eager to make his mark.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

i sought whom my soul loves — were giancarlo any other man, they could have been together, a couple enjoined in the warm embrace of love and unity; yet, alas, the Church has bound giancarlo to herself, and he is a weak and foolish man who cannot find himself able to stand up to anybody. ever since then, their meetings have been few and far between—but no less precious to giancarlo, no less treasured, no less sought for.  :::  (  open to anyone, preferably female but any gender can technically work !  )

a young deer on the mountains of Bether — arcadian idyll had been the theme of their shared years, wild and wandering, when responsibility had been a far off concept that seemed as foreign as greying hair and the yoke of adulthood. they frolicked in sun-kissed green-topped hills and ran as carefree as the wind. now they are old, both with their respective offices, and there is nothing else to them save nostalgia over lost innocence—if they had innocence at all.  :::  ( open to anyone of the same age range as giancarlo !  )

beautiful as the moon, clear as the sun —  a look at them and they’re like fourteen again, dumbstruck and awed, ashamed of his own lowly station and the stain of his origins—yet now they are old, and they have significantly more resources available to them now than they had before. giancarlo has always loved what he has thought is lacking within himself; he has always sought the true, the good, and the beautiful. he deludes himself into thinking he’s found it in god, but he is about to discover he’s wrong.  :::  ( open to anyone !  )  

with my royal people’s chariots — people have the propensity to think that giancarlo’s last name and relative wealth and status makes him the gatekeeper to the pope’s favour. he does not think himself as holding the keys to anything, but he lets other people do—mainly because it affords him the simulation of power the likes of which he only imagined as a child. of course, there is no real backing to the promises he says he’ll fulfil for them, but it is a merry show nonetheless and a piece of theatre that giancarlo’s keen to continue in lisboa.  :::  ( open to anyone who’s looking to curry favour with the pope !  )  

you who dwell in the gardens — there are many blooms in the garden of God’s creation and it is not a stretch to say giancarlo is absolutely besotted with the idea of experiencing all of them. this meet in lisbon might prove to be a more fortuitous moot than the one in florence, and he is always keen to start dialogue with any and all those who would like to exchange knowledge for knowledge’s sake, even those that the rest of christendom would not welcome.  :::  ( open to non-christian characters !  )  

the shadows flee away — giancarlo isn’t known for moderation and temperance; he has always been one driven to excess, and he has never toned down his appetites for the sake of any cause or person. he is a flit of a thing, a butterfly eager to sap the nectar out of any willing flower before moving to the next, willing to spill honey-laced words out of cherubic lips if that is what it took to mark one as his next conquest. in this, he has doubtless transgressed against many, and there are some whose memories run long and whose desire for correction would cover even those who are consecrated to God.  :::  ( open to anyone !  )   

[freudensteins-monster]

His Heart’s Desire (the beginnings of a Good Omens/Stardust crossover)

WARNING: This is unfinished and will probably remain unfinished. It was only meant to be a short crossover synopsis like always but it got away from me, then it made me fight for every last word for about a week until I could get it to the point where I felt I could leave it.

The idea popped into my head while scrolling through Ao3 and seeing the tag “angels used to be stars”.

Also posted on Ao3.

There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart’s Desire.

And while that is, as beginnings go, not entirely novel (for every tale about every young man there ever was or will be could start in a similar manner) there was much about this young man and what happened to him that was unusual, although even he never knew the whole of it. - Stardust, Neil Gaiman

Ezra Fell, for all the gentlemanly qualities he possessed, had always been treated as something of an outcast by the townsfolk of Tadfield. For all he was kind, and well-read, and taught the children of the village their letters with such patience and enthusiasm, they could never forget what he was: a foundling from beyond the ancient stone wall that marked the eastern border of the village, the ancient stone wall that protected them from all manner of strange and terrible creatures that surely dwelled in the forests beyond. Not that they ever mentioned it. No well-bred person spoke of such unbecoming things, but they always managed to say a lot without speaking when it came to Ezra Fell.

Their poor treatment of him had only gotten worse after the death of the local vicar, the only father figure Ezra had ever known, culminating in R.P. Tyler, his snobbish landlord, drastically increasing the rent on Ezra’s beloved childhood home-turned-library in an effort to force him out. Ezra had worried over the notice for the better part of the day before getting up the nerve to confront his landlord as he and his yappy little terror of a terrier made their way home from the only pub in the village. It was a personal attack Ezra had tried to argue as delicately as possible, tugging nervously at the hem of his brown hand-me-down waistcoat - after all he’d never raised the rent as much as a penny for as long as the old vicar had been alive. When that failed Ezra practically begged his landlord to consider some sort of arrangement which would allow Ezra to purchase his home from him. Tyler was never going to sell, and told Ezra as much, but then a flash of fiery golden light shot across the night sky catching their attention and a cruel thought began to take shape.

“The only way I’d sell to a man of your background, Mr Fell, is if you brought me back that fallen star,” he most assuredly did not slur.

“The star?”

“Aye. You present that star to me by weeks end and I’ll gladly hand over the keys to you. But if you don’t, and if you’re so much as a day late with your rent, I’ll toss you and that absurd collection of tinder you call a library into the gutter.”

An idea once planted is a hard thing to kill, and as R.P. Tyler stumbled home Ezra’s gaze turned eastwards, trying to recall the path of the fallen star and wondering just how deep into the forest beyond the wall it had landed.

Several minutes earlier in the kingdom of Etherium, many leagues beyond the wall, in the largest bedchamber in the highest tower of the Palace of Light a queen lay dying. She is surrounded by her remaining children. There had been eight of them once but one by one they had perished – accidents, she was told – until only four remained; Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, and…

“Aziraphale?” she called, her eyes struggling with the dwindling light.

“No, mother. It’s Gabriel,” the youngest of her remaining children huffed impatiently. “Aziraphale died as a babe. Raphael lost him in the forest when his camp was attacked by bandits. Remember?”

“And poor Raphael took an arrow through his righteous heart,” Michael feigned a sigh.

“Such a shame,” Uriel added, herself an excellent shot with a bow.

“Little Aziraphale was claimed by wolves, one can only assume,” Sandalphon grinned.

The queen feels the loss of her other children keenly and laments that she must leave her throne to such ill-suited heirs. Unable to choose one over the other, for they are no good choices, she gathers the last of her strength and walks to the window, looking out over her kingdom for the final time. She pours the last of her light into the pendant that had hung about her neck; a translucent crystal on a gold chain. It glows brightly for but a moment then turns cold and opaque as the queen hurls it into the night sky. It seems to hit something at its apex before careening back to earth. Her children watch on curiously, wondering if the old girl had finally lost all her marbles. She turns to face them, her skin now ashen making her look every one of her considerable years, and addresses her children.

“Whoever of royal blood can return the Light to the palace shall claim the throne of Etherium.”

Her children step over her cold body, shoving each other out of the way to get a better look at the pendants final resting place. Sandalphon accidentally falls out the window in his eagerness, or so the official report will say, and his three remaining siblings do not so much as even glance at his mangled corpse at the foot of the tower as they take their leave of their ancestral home to hunt down the pendant.

Hidden in the darkest depths of the darkest forest, someone else sees the star fall, and to them a fallen star means far more than a home or a throne. To them, a being who was old when the foundation stones of the Palace of Light were still hot and gooey, a fallen star is a means to restore her and her siblings to health and vitality and power beyond imagining. She hobbles back inside to share the joyous news with her siblings.

“A star has fallen!”

Her voice echoes through their cavernous and cluttered home but she gets no reply. She rushes about the place with a sense of urgency and a hunger she hasn’t felt in centuries. She retrieves a prized metal box from its hiding place, clicking her tongue in irritation at the three sets of bindings - one red, one black, one white - and seeks out her siblings. She finds them slumped together on a fetid sofa in what could be assumed to be the sitting room.

“A star has fallen!” she almost weeps with happiness. “One of us must seek it out.”

Her siblings rouse then, slowly. Her brother is dark and frail, and every bit of exposed skin puts his bones on display. He smiles the sharp smile of a predator, his mouth already watering. Their sibling is pale and weak, every movement disturbing the thick layers of dust that have accumulated on their hair and clothes, and when they speak the air becomes more putrid.

“A star? It has been so long,” they sigh.

“So hungry,” their brother echoes.

She shoves the metal box onto their laps and presses their hands to the knots of their respective bindings. A small spark of magic from each of and the bindings undo themselves.

“I will bring it back for us,” she declares as she pulls the box back towards herself.

Her siblings are too tired to fight her for the right, and though relieved she despises them for their weakness; they once fought all out wars to decide petty arguments, but that was so long ago now. She reaches into the box, her fingers tingling as they wrap around a glimmering scrap of the last star they found. She drops it into her mouth and almost faints in sheer ecstasy. As the power courses through her she stumbles drunkenly about the room and until she spies the silhouette of a large gilded mirror. She rips away the cloth that covers it and promptly does the same with her brittle once-red wig and the rags that covered her thin frame. She watches her reflection in awe, never tiring of the transformation, finding it just as magical as it had been the last time over four hundred years before. Her skin becomes radiant and smooth, her hair regrows cascading down past her shoulders like rivers of blood, her body fills out and she feels strong again for the first time in an age.

She runs – runs! – to their shared bedroom and digs out her favourite outfit and armour, preserved with care at the bottom of a solid oak chest. She dresses with haste but savours the feel of the blood-tanned leather on her skin, the weight of the armour, the familiarity of the sword at her hip. Her siblings have found the energy to leave the sitting room and are waiting for her by the front door. Their eyes rove over her restored form with unabashed hunger and envy, and it’s almost as heady as the star’s light coursing through her veins.

“The star lies 1000 miles to the north,” her brother tells her, handing her a leather pouch of runes stones carved from the bones of his first kill. “You must make haste for others seek it out.”

“Bring it back so we may all be young again, sister,” their sibling begs her, handing over a blade of darkest obsidian.

She takes their gifts reverently and secures them to her person. “I will find the star and cut out its heart,” she swears. “And when we are all of us restored to our full power the world will know fear once more.”

When we return to the other side of the wall, where magic and murder are not so commonplace, we will find Ezra Fells rather impulsively packing for a journey that will surely be more perilous than taking a carriage to Ipswich, or even all the way to London. Both of which he’s done precisely once.

He was second guessing himself for the hundredth time in less than an hour when there was a sharp rapping at his front door. As he went to answer it he tried not to think about how it may not be his front door for much longer.

“Anathema, my dear. What are you doing here so late?” he asked of his one and only friend, ushering her inside.

Anathema Device was considered something of an outcast herself and would tell anyone who asked (not that they dared) that she was a witch. She lived on the outskirts of town in a small cottage that had been in her family for generations and her oddness was tolerated by the townsfolk more so than Ezra’s for this very fact: there had always been a witch in Jasmine Cottage. It was downright traditional, and as long as Anathema kept curing their ailments without gossiping about them to their neighbours, and brewing her grandmother’s particularly potent spiced cider at Christmas, the townsfolk let her be.

“It’s Agnes,” Anathema groused, as though that explained anything. The woman had been dead and buried fifteen years now. “She left me something in her will with strict instructions on when to deliver it to you.”

“That time is now, I take it?”

“Right…” Anathema paused until the grandfather clock in the sitting room struck 10. “Now.”

She pulled a small parcel wrapped in waxed paper from her pocket and passed it over to Ezra. He took it gingerly wondering what on earth could be so important that Agnes would put such a plan in place. She had always claimed to have been able to see the future and doled out predictions to any who would listen. Ezra had been respectful of her claims, even helping her get a book of her prophecies published, but had never truly believed her because for all the years Ezra had known her she had never once offered him advice on his own future. At least not until this night.

At Anathema’s urging he took a seat and began to unwrap the small parcel only to find a smaller parcel inside of it with letter in between the layers.

“It’s from Agnes,” Ezra remarked before reading her missive aloud.

Dear Mr Fell,

I must get right to the pointe, for time is of the essensse: it was I who first found thee as a babe, crying in the night by the broken section of the Wall. I Saw thou were in need and sought thee out. I Saw who would love thou best in this smallminded village and left thee on the doorstep of the church for deare Reverend Andrews to find.

In the basket with thee was the enclosed parcel. I Saw that thou would be in need of it this night after thou talk with that bunch-backed toad, Tyeler, and Anathema and I have kept it safe for thee alle these yeares.

And though I’m sure thou would rather I just tell thee what to do to keep thy home, truste me when I tell thee that it will alle work out in the end, and that halfe the joye is in the journey. Now, be a dear and put on the kettle before thou opens the next parcel. Thou won’t get to drink it but the routine should steady thy nerves.

Sincerelee,

Agnes Nutter, Witch.

P.S. You tell R P Tielerr from me that if he keeps harassing thou or that poor Young boy his precious apple trees will never fruit again! Theyr going to be struck downe with a fungus come Spring regardless, but it would be a great lark if he thought I was haunting him from beyond the grave.

 “What did you talk to Tyler about?” Anathema asked after allowing Ezra a moment to digest the truths Agnes had laid out in her letter.

“Hmm?”

“R.P. Tyler. Agnes said you talked to him.”

“Oh, yes. He increased my rent – almost doubled it, in point of fact. I had been trying to reason with him, or perhaps strike a deal that would allow me to purchase my home from him.”

“Let me guess: he wasn’t interested.”

“No, he seems quite eager to see me destitute,” Ezra lamented. “But while we were talking we saw a shooting star land beyond the wall and he said that the only way he was going to sell to me was if I could bring him that star.”

“What rot,” Anathema spat. “Ezra, please don’t tell me you’re even entertaining such nonsense; he wasn’t being sincere.”

“Of that I had no doubt,” Ezra huffed. “But surely some man of science somewhere would have interest in a rock fallen from the heavens? I could sell it, and if I can’t buy my childhood home from Tyler perhaps I could buy another. Somewhere as far away as London, or even Paris. Some place where no one whispers about what I am.”

“What you are,” Anathema recited patiently, “is my friend. And I want to see you happy, I do, but not by putting your life at risk. No one travels beyond the wall outside Market Day. Not even Agnes.” She waited another moment for her words to sink in before gently prodding him. “Do you want me to stay, for when you open that one?”

Ezra broke himself out of his muddled thoughts to offer her a small smile. “I think I’d like a moment to myself, dear.”

“Of course. But I’ll be back first thing tomorrow with a warm loaf of bread to break our fast, and we can talk about that,” she said, gesturing at the unopened parcel. “And find you somewhere else to live that isn’t under R. P. Tyler’s thumb,” she added as though he didn’t play landlord to half the village.

Alone in his home-for-the-moment, Ezra read Agnes’ letter once more for good measure before following her instructions and putting on the kettle.

A few minutes later, with warm but still trembling hands, he unwrapped the second parcel. Inside was a solitary white candle peppered with gold flecks and another letter. From the moment his eyes caught the first sentence they began to tear up…

 My dearest brother,

Leaving you here is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, and though you and mother may never forgive me for my actions, please believe me when I say it is for the best. It is not safe for you here. Every day our siblings jealously of your light and the attention mother gives you grows. They will do anything to gain her favour, even eliminate the competition, and I cannot hope to both protect myself and be there to stop every attempt made on your own cherished life.

I realise this cannot be easy to read but it is my greatest wish that my decision has allowed you to live a life free of pain and fear and the greed that has poisoned our siblings souls. I hope you have found a home and a family who loves you like you deserve, but selfishly it is my deepest wish that we may meet again once you are a man capable of defending yourself. To that end I have enclosed a gift.

The fastest way to travel is by candlelight. To use it, think of me and only me.

All my love,

Raphael

It took Ezra several moments to get past the realisation that he had a brother, and a mother, and an unknown number of fratricidal siblings, to acknowledge the gift mentioned. The candle must be magical in origin, he reasoned, and thus it would make sense to wait for Anathema’s return to study it further… but if it meant finding a way to return to his brother’s side – his brother! - who was no doubt beyond the wall that she would still be hesitant to let him take such a risk. He fidgeted with the candle while his tea grew cold, all the while turning words like “brother” and “mother” and “home” over in his mind.

How does it work, he wondered. The fastest way to travel is by candlelight, his brother’s letter had said, so Ezra had to assume that one had to light it, thus creating candle light, and… just think of his desired destination. Simple enough really, he mused, gathering up his half-packed leather satchel (a gift from the late vicar), adding some rations (half a block of cheese, the last of his bread, a few apples, and a canteen of water) just in case, and seeking out a match before he realised what he was doing.

He should probably leave a note for Anathema for she was sure to be cross with him in the morning when she found him gone. But perhaps, if the magic candle worked as he imagined it would, she need never know. Perhaps the candle would take him straight to his brother and perhaps there was enough magic within it to allow a return trip?

“Perhaps, perhaps…” Ezra muttered anxiously. He quickly found a pencil and wrote “Anathema – Back soon – Regards, Ezra” in his patently elegant script on the brown paper wrapping, then pulled the long strap of his satchel over his head, fussing with it until he was comfortable. With a deep breath he lit the match and took up the candle in his other hand. He counted to three and with a trembling hand brought the flame to the wick.

“Home,” he implored the universe.

A roar like a wildest thunderstorm assaulted his ears as the world rushed by in a dizzying blur and just when Ezra thought he might be sick it all stopped rather suddenly and Ezra found himself tumbling to the ground atop of some poor bystander.

“Oh! Oh, Raphael!” Ezra exclaimed, jumping to his shaky feet and reaching out to the man he assumed must be his brother. “I’m so… I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not! And I’m not bloody Raphael, so get off me!” hissed the body on the ground.

“You’re… You’re not my brother?”

“Do I Iook Iike I’m your brother?”

Ezra properly took stock of the man he had crashed into. He was tall and lean and wore strange robes of midnight. He was fair of face, his naturally sharp features were verging on knifelike in his irritation, with long red hair that seemed to shine without a light source, like each strand possessed within itself a flickering flame, and his eyes were an unnatural shade of yellow that burned with the ruthlessness of a midsummer sun. Ezra with his stocky frame, mousy, untidy hair, and too snug second-hand suit could not imagine a man more his opposite.

“No. Sorry. I was mistaken.” Ezra glanced nervously around the strange clearing he found himself in and seeing no one else, let alone a possible long lost brother around, turned his attentions back to the man who had still not made an attempt to get up off the ground. “Well, are you all right? Do you want some help?”

“You can help by Ieaving me alone!” the man snapped, slapping away Ezra’s outstretched hands.

“Very well then,” Ezra bristled, leaving the strange man to his misery to focus on his own problems.  "Light the candle and think of me,” he muttered staring down at the candle still in his hands that was now half its original length. “I was. I was thinking of Raphael… But then the star just popped into…” Ezra spun in a circle, his eyes growing wide with the realisation that he was not in a man-made clearing but an impact site. He turned back to the strange man. “Oh, excuse me, sir. Sorry to bother you again. This may seem strange, but have you seen a fallen star anywhere?”

“You’re funny,” the man huffed, though his glare said Ezra was anything but.

“No, really, we’re in a crater,” Ezra pressed on. “This must be where it fell.”

“Yeah, this is where it fell. Or if you want to be really specific,” the man drawled, jabbing a finger towards the night sky. “Up there is where this weird bloody necklace came out of nowhere and knocked it out of the heavens when it was minding its own business. And over there is where it Ianded,” he said, pointing towards the deepest part of the impact site. “And right here,” he growled, pointing to the ground on which he sat. “This is where it got hit by a magical flying moron!”

Ezra faltered as his brain was forced to make several adjustments rather quickly about its understanding of the universe.

“You’re the star! You’re the star? Really?” Ezra babbled, the colour draining from his face as this new reality came crashing down around him.

The star was human, or at least human shaped, and he could not sell off said star to secure his childhood home (though he was not naïve enough to think there weren’t men who would desire to buy such a creature).

The candle had not taken him to his brother, though he had initially wished it. Perhaps stray thoughts of the star had derailed the candles route, or perhaps his brother was no longer living and it was not possible for the candle to take Ezra to his side. What proof did he have either way?

And the candle only had one journey left in it – how best to use it? Should he return to Tadfield and his uncertain future, or try to go to his brother again, which was filled nothing but uncertainties, or did Ezra do what the voice in his head that sounded a great deal like the vicar said and offer the candle to the star so he could return to his home in the sky?

Ezra patted his coat pockets in an increasingly erratic pattern before sinking to the ground opposite the star. In the end it wouldn’t really matter which he chose because he had forgotten to pack a second bloody match to light the damn thing with.

“Oh, fuck.”

[the-vinyl-review]

Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon, 1973, Harvest Records.

By 1973 Progressive Rock had splintered into several factions; the folk/jazz influences heard in Jethro Tull, Traffic, & to a degree King Crimson. Genesis and Gentle Giant displayed musical brilliance with literary lyrics; or Yes’ often impenetrable lengthy word-laden pieces.

Pink Floyd found themselves between their psychedelic beginnings & world stardom. They had stripped away a large amount of the early excesses & follies, the gnomes, scarecrows, & space journeys were out & a harsher reality was in. The sleeve, designed by Hipgnosis, is both sleek & stark, appealing without being confrontational, minimalist even.

The LP’s concept is one of everyday mundanity; money, greed, boredom, insanity, death, etc. Side 1 starts fittingly with the pulse of a heartbeat and confused voices (the voices throughout the album belong to the road crew, sound engineers, etc.), ‘Speak to Me’ segues into ‘Breathe (in the Air)’, & a euphoric Dave Gilmour slide guitar piece easing the tension of the opening. Gilmour’s vocals are a perfect mix of raspy English jazz & mellow rocker, while the seriousness of the lyrics are balanced by the laid-back delivery.

‘On the Run’ can only be described as an early proto-house & often takes new listeners by surprise, ending with a car crash & moving pleasingly into the heaven-like chorus of ‘The Great Gig in the Sky’. Clare Torry’s performance was so persuasive that her wailings earned her a co-credit with Richard Wright in 2006. It is a moving metaphor for death, carried successfully by Wright’s delicate keyboards, Torry’s suggestive vocals jump from powerful to nigh on mournful petering out to a whisper.

Side 2 starts with the clanging of cash registers as Waters’ funky bass-line kicks in. Perhaps ‘Money’ is now vastly overplayed, but this in no way detracts from its cleverness, both musically & lyrically. Cliched but acute. The 7/8 time signature gives it a bounce unusual to Floyd. Next up is ‘Us and Them’, a politically & socially charged song, perhaps a hint of the band’s direction. From here the album takes on a bluesy tone, with the Gilmour/Wright harmonies blending seamlessly & the female backing vocalists (a first for Floyd) give the album more depth.

‘Any Colour You Like’ provides a decent instrumental link to the closers, ‘Brain Damage’ & ‘Eclipse’, more or less a single track. Here it feels that Waters is addressing former band mate, Syd Barrett directly. While the lyrics are often downbeat the music can be uplifting so as to leave the listener with a sense of awe rather than the morbid futility than underlies the concepts.

A solid album on all fronts, it’s legendary status is well deserved, even though Waters has been critical of the lyrics, comparing them to school boy poetry (‘hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way…’ is more Rupert Brooke that psychedelia), this is the point where Pink Floyd matured, working together as a band perhaps for the last time before the enmity of petty squabbles & power struggles would undermine them.

Sleeve 10/10

Music 9/10

Record quality 8

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Halloween Special Villains

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Ah, Halloween, that magical, spooky time of year where ghosts and goblins come out to play and children dress up in the hopes of getting some delicious Halloween candy. But what about all of us who are trapped at home on the night of this pagan costume and candy festival? What do we have to keep us entertained?

Why, Halloween specials of course!

If there’s one thing Halloween delivers on almost as well as Christmas does, it’s spooky Halloween-themed episodes of cartoons, where the show is allowed to get darker and more disturbing than it usually does in some cases. And what is any special without a special one-shot villain? Gotta have someone stirring up some Halloween trouble on this spooky night. And since these characters are usually one and done with little in the way to go super in-depth about, I’d figure we’d look at five of them at once! They are:

Jack O’Lantern from The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy

Pumpkinator from The Fairly OddParents

Bun-Bun from Underfist

Fright Night from Danny Phantom

Ron Tompkins from Toy Story of Terror!

I’m sure some of you feel there are some glaring omissions. Where’s the Flying Dutchman? Where’s Stickybeard? Well, I decided that this time around I’d go with characters whose major appearances and debuts are Halloween episodes; both those guys had major roles in non-Halloween episodes as well, so I’ll be saving them for full reviews at a later date. Also of note: I am aware the story of Toy Story of Terror! does not take place on Halloween, but it is aired as a Halloween special, so I’m counting it.

Actor: So if there’s one thing these guys aren’t lacking in, it’s the actor department, and this isn’t a huge shock since when you’ve got a holiday special you want to splurge a bit, you know?

Jack has one of my favorite actors ever, the always-awesome Wayne Knight. Knight just has that sort of voice that’s perfect for smug jerk characters like Mr. Blik or Dennis Nedry, so really it’s pretty fitting for a pranking trickster like Jack, though I will say that it’s hard to match Knight’s voice to the human version of Jack when you see him in a flashback.

Ron Tompkins isn’t too far behind in the impressive VA department, being voiced by none other than Stephen Tobolowsky, who you may remember as the overbearing Ned Ryerson from GroundHog Day (and how can you forget him? You see him repeating the same scene about thirty times). He does a great job at making Tompkins cartoonishly evil and mostly enjoyable, a tall order for a character who steals toys from children to sell online.

And if you thought the list of awesome actors was done, boy were you wrong! Star Trek’s very own Michael Dorn voices the Fright Knight, and Dorn’s voice is absolutely perfect for a cool, evil, undead knight.

Bun-Bun is voiced by Dave Wittenberg who is an insanely prolific VA, playing characters such as Henry Wong from Digimon Tamers (AKA the beast season of Digimon) to none other than Kakashi from Naruto. I think it goes without saying a VA this versatile manages to make the role work.

And finally, we have the Pumpkinator, who is played by Dee Bradley Baker, and if I sat here listing all the notable roles this man has played we’d be here all night. But here’s a small sample: Appa, Momo, Squilliam Fancyson and Bubble Bass, Klaus the goldfish, Cow and Chicken’s dad, Cinderblock and Plasmus, the Alien and Predator in Mortal Kombat, Lion and Frybo, Numbah 4 and the Toilenator, Remy Buxaplenty, most of the animals in The Legend of Korra… you get the picture. This guy’s a legend. He’ll do any sort of role, big or small, so even if he’s not playing the most complex character here, he’s at least giving it a unique spin with his voice because man, this guy has RANGE.

Motivation/Goals: Jack has a rather simple motivation: revenge. You see, ages ago he managed to steal Grim’s scythe when he was about to be reaped, and bartered for the scythe’s return, asking to be made immortal. Grim reluctantly gave him this, but, as Grim is not someone who likes being tricked, also cut his head off. As anything cut off with Grim’s scythe is permanently cut off, Jack had to replace his head with a pumpkin (of course). This lead to him being shunned as a freak, which just made jis desire for vengeance even stronger; I mean, wouldn’t you want revenge if you could only go to the ding-dong grocery store to get pudding once a year?

If you want to get even simpler, the Pumpkinator is your guy! He exists simply to blow up planets. Tat’s it. He’s very much just an obstacle Timmy needs to overcome so that he can undo his wish for every Halloween costume to be “real and scary” before the consequences end up destroying the world.

Bun-Bun is rather simple as well: he just seems to be a jerk. But they don’t just make him a simple jerk, no, this is a Billly & Mandy spinoff so things have to be taken to their ridiculous extreme. Bun-Bun turns out to be behind numerous extremely petty actions that affected the lives of the main heroes, having haunted Hoss as a child and made him afraid of monsters, made Billy afraid of spiders which estranged him from his son Jeff, and, uh, sawed off Fred Fredburger’s tusks. The fiend! As you might guess, there’s no real rhyme or reason to this, it’s just goofy absurdist over-the-top sort of thing you’d expect from Maxwell Atoms.

Ron has a relatively simple motivation, but frankly it might be the most evil out of all of these: the man steals toys from the children who stay at his motel to sell them for monetary gain. Yes, this is more evil than attempting to blow up the planet, you heard me. I have no idea how sick and twisted you have to be to think that stealing toys from children is acceptable. Funnily enough, this is the same sort of motivation Al (who was played by Wayne Knight, funnily enough) from Toy Story 2 had, though Ron takes it above and beyond.

And finally that brings us to Fright Knight, Much like most of the ghosts on the show, Fright Knight seems to just want to cause a ruckus after he’s released, attempting to take over Amity Park when Danny foolishly releases him. Later in the show he is freed to serve Pariah Dark, and after Dark is beaten he joins up with Vlad. In his final appearance of any consequence he is seen serving the Ultimate Enemy in the bad future. Basically the guy is just a really cool overhyped henchman.

Personality: So let’s get the easy one out of the way first: The Pumpkinator doesn’t exactly have a personality, because it is a big generic doomsday villain meant to act as an obstacle for Timmy to overcome. However, when it returned later in the episode where Timmy goes to Unwish Island, it did have one notable personality trait: an undying hatred for Timmy Turner, It’s a pretty relatable trait the more into the series you watch.

Bun-Bun is also rather evil and simple. He’s just a petty jerk, as can be seen by his crimes listed up under motivation. There’s not much else to him, same with Fright Knight who, again, is mostly just an overhyped henchman who acts as the hardcore badass serving whatever big bad of the week is out to get Danny (or he would have, but more on that later).

Out of all of these, Ron and Jack have the most personality. Jack is an unrepentant prankster who, at least when alive, was heavily implied to just not get he was taking it too far with his pranks (“too far” in this case being tricking people off of cliffs, at the least), and simply morphed into a bitter, jaded, vengeance-seeking supernatural entity after hundreds of years of rejection by society and isolation. Jack’s honestly pretty tragic in that regard, though it obviously doesn’t excuse his actions.

Ron is just a straight-up jerk, putting up a facade of being a charming, friendly motel owner while stealing toys from under his guest’s noses. As the truth comes out about him, he becomes more cartoonish and hammy, which really doesn’t help his case at all, and in his final scene he actually does something so cartoonish he almost feels like he doesn’t belong in the Toy Story universe.

Final Fate: Funnily enough, Pumpkinator actually gets the happiest ending out of anyone here: after being unwished by Timmy, he goes to Unwish Island and, after Timmy eventually journeys there, gets to have fun tormenting Timmy clones for the rest of time.

Ron probably has the second happiest ending, for a given definition of “happy.” Bonnie’s mother calls the cops on him for his theft, and when they show up, he somehow manages to trick them, run away, steal their car, crash it into a telephone pole when backing up, and then run off before they even move a muscle. It’s ridiculously cartoonish, and there’s no way this guy is gonna be getting off easy after that little display.

Onto Bun-Bun. Bun-Bun made one simple mistake: he put any trust at all int Skarr. For those not in the know, Skarr was the “Starscream” to Hector Con Carne, always hoping to overthrow him and take over his world domination schemes for himself before he ended up retiring from that life and becoming a reoccurring character on Billy & Mandy. So, when he joins up with the villain by betraying Underfist, what do you think he does? He betrays the villain, pushing Bun-Bun into hot cocoa and melting him, using his power of treachery and backstabbing to help his team save the world. It’s pretty amusing in that classic Billy & Mandy way.

Good ol’ Jack ends up getting sent to the underworld this time since Grim wasn’t putting up with his crap anymore, and it seems Jack still hasn’t learned his lesson about pranking. When last we see him, he’s now tormenting demons, who all start moving in on him while he laughs at his dumb pranks. The screen cuts to black and we hear a squishing noise. It’s safe to say he won’t have to worry about that pumpkin head causing him problems anymore.

Fright Night is easily the most tricky one to talk about because his entire intended purpose in the show got aborted. After he was brought back to serve Pariah, he ended up under Vlad’s control by episode’s end, but for some reason, nothing ever came of this and it was never mentioned again – well, except in the “Ultimate Enemy” special, in which the Fright Knight cameos at the beginning, acting as something of the hype man for Dan Phantom, softening up Amity Park for Dan’s attack. After that, though, he’s basically out of the series, save for a couple of brief cameos here and there.

Best Scene: Jack has the flashback to his origins, because not only is it perfectly dark for a show’s Halloween episode, you have to give props to anyone who managed to outwit Grim, even if he did end up paying a steep price for it.

Ron has his aforementioned escape from the police. I do think it’s a bit too cartoonish and silly for Toy Story, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t pretty hilarious either way.

The Fright Knight has the aforementioned scene where he mentions he’s serving The evil future Danny. Considering that’s his last real role in the series, at least he got to go out on a high note, though it still sucks nothing ever came of the plotlines set up for him.

Bun-Bun’s best scene is when he revealed that he was the architect of most of the protagonist’s woes. Again, it’s just classic over-the-top Billy & Mandy silliness, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

The Pumpkinator… just doesn’t have one. Sorry.

Best Quote: While most of these guys aren’t exactly a goldmine of quotes, Jack has one of my favorite quotes from anything, ever, and I even already referenced it above: “Three hundred and sixty-four days a year, I can't even go the the ding-dong grocery store to buy pudding! And do you know why?" The why, obviously, is the fact he has a pumpkin for a head.

Final Thoughts & Score: Frankly, this batch of Halloween hooligans is a very mixed bag. We didn’t fare quite as bad as Charlie Brown did on Halloween, but we only got one King Size candy bar out of this lot.

I guess let’s just start with the black licorice of the bunch: Fright Knight. God, I wish I could love Fright Knight, I really do, but considering the overwhelming quality of most of Danny’s rogues gallery and just the fact this guy was totally shafted and everything set up for him was ignored there’s just no excusing how lame this guy looks, Michael Dorn or no. He has a great design and a cool concept, and the ideas for interesting stories with him were there, but he ends up being a 3/10, saved only by his cool first outing, great voice work, and awesome design.

Worse still is the pile of weirdly flavored candy corn that is the Pumpkinator. He has a cool design, but he’s not much of an antagonist to be honest. He’s just a cool-looking robot who wants to blow up the planet. That’s about it. There’s really not much to say about this guy, and his only other appearance doesn’t really add much. I suppose he serves his purpose, but I have to wonder, why even bring him back if he wasn’t going to do anything remotely interesting? I don’t like generic doomsday villains at the best of times, but if you’re gonna bring one back, at least try and do something interesting with them to justify their existence, otherwise they’re just gonna end up getting a 2/10.

Finally, we get into the good candy! Let’s start off with the tasty marshmallow bunny we got, Bun-Bun (isn’t that more of an Easter candy? Weird). Bun—Bun is a funy, goofy, cartoonish villain, perfect for the first (and sadly, only) outing for Underfist. The fact they went above and beyond to cement him as this ludicrous mastermind who just screwed with everyone’s lives for no apparent reason other than the fact he’s a jerk is pretty funny. I don’t think he’s gonna win any Villain of the Year awards, but I think a 6/10 is good enough for this above average nuisance.

Oho, what’s this? A… candycane? Well, it’s a bit out of season, but it’s still tasty! And that’s kind of where Ron is. I do like just how unabashedly scummy he is, and there is precedent for people like him in the Toy Story universe, but I feel he takes things to a cartoonish extreme. For crying out loud, the guy has a trained iguana that acts like a dog! He feels like he belongs in a different series than this one, but again, I don’t really think that’s a bad thing, because at the very least he is funny. He gets a 7/10, a bit higher than usual just because I love how ridiculously nasty his whole scheme is. Stealing from kids, what the actual hell.

YES! A King Size candy bar! Just what I was looking for! It’s just a generic Hershey bar, but hey, that’s a lot of chocolate, so who’s complaining? And that’s Jack, he is simply put a perfect Halloween special antagonist. Most of this comes from his voice work, since Wayne Knight is a national treasure, but his backstory and concept are worth praising too. His origin story is something of a twist on the old legend of “Stingy Jack,” the origin story of the Jack-O’-Lantern appropriately enough. While obviously there are liberties, such as substituting Grim for the devil, it’s a mostly accurate retelling, something that would go over most people’s heads unless they’re really into classical folklore. Jack’s a lot of fun as a character, earning himself a nice big 8/10, only being held back from a higher score because despite being rightfully beloved by audiences, he never really had a major role again, getting a minor shout out in Big Boogey Adventure and… that’s it. I think Jack could have been a really entertaining reoccurring antagonist in the same vein as fwllow ensemble darkhorse Eris, but alas, it was not to be. Maybe if Underfist had been picked up he could have been brought back for that, but the fact is it just didn’t happen. Oh well, might as well appreciate what we got.

And that’s it for this batch of Halloween goodies. Halloween specials seem a lot less prevalent than Christmas specials, but they’re no less important or fun, and as you can see, they do produce at least mildly interesting villains, sometimes. If only they could produce a villain so devilishly Halloweenie that he could perfectly embody the spirit of the holiday…

Hey, what’s that at the bottom of the bag…

Wait… is that…

OH NO.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 6: Set

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. 

Life was all about choices and consequences. Every action or inaction inevitably resulted in an outcome that could be either favorable or disastrous, yet, even with ample preparation, mistakes could be made, and unforeseen pitfalls and blind spots were often the undoing of many well-planned things.

The Families usually got what they wanted because they tended to be prepared for every eventuality, but nobody, least of all Steve, could’ve foreseen how easily something as commonplace as violence and heartbreak could unravel it all. Bucky had been the hazard right outside his peripheral, but by the time it had been acknowledged, it had been too little, too late.

Even though Bucky had made himself perfectly clear – said he didn’t care, wouldn’t leave, and didn’t want him -- Steve had been unwilling to accept it. He tried again because he’d thought if anyone on the whole fucking planet was worth the risk, it was Bucky. Steve had gone to his apartment; climbed twelve flights of stairs; used the key he’d been always been welcome to utilize before.

The grunts and moans should’ve been enough of a warning.

There had been no commitment between them, and yet, seeing Bucky with another man hadn’t just hurt him – it had decimated and eviscerated him. It had been an incomparable, unbearable agony, and at that moment, Steve lost both the will to fight for the man he loved, and the patience to deal with the Family and business he’d been embroiled and embedded in for his entire life.

He’d left the United States. Traded concrete and smog for tropical islands resorts and hot sand. For about a year, he bounced around between Seychelles, Maldives, Ko Lipe, Bali, Fiji, and Tahiti. In the depths of the ocean, in the bottoms of bottles, and in the beds of other men – that was how he’d nursed his broken heart and it had been liberating.

Even when the money ran out, Steve still considered himself rather fortunate, because he’d wound up in Bermuda – home to banks, tax-avoiding businesses, and the obscenely rich. The islands were the ultimate luxury destination for the affluent, and they were always coming and going without caution or care. Amongst the pink beaches, coral reefs, and pastel-colored mansions was where he sharpened his skills and discovered being a thief was very lucrative. From St. George Town in the east to Somerset Village in the west, along the the coastline, and on secluded beaches – he survived and thrived on the absent-mindedness and vices of others, but as with all good things, that, too, eventually came to an end.

Steve had always gotten away clean with trinkets and cash, but his luck ran out when a man named Nick Fury, who he would later learn was the head of his own crime syndicate in the West Indies, had caught him red-handed. Death seemed a likely outcome given what Steve had taken and who he’d taken it from, but Fury had surprised him. The man somehow knew exactly who he was, and instead of being gutted on the spot, Nick asked if he wanted to stop being a petty pickpocket and earn some real money.

Fury was an infamous man and his stock and trade was the exchange, purchase, and sale of information. He had the power to ruin lives for generations, which was why people simultaneously respected him and were terrified of him. On the off chance someone stepped out of line or tried to cross him, they weren’t given a second chance – they were made to disappear and never mentioned again.

The world of espionage hadn’t been wholly unfamiliar to him, but with Fury’s crew, it hadn’t taken Steve long to realize he wasn’t as well-versed in the art as he’d originally thought. They were superiorly cultured, uncompromisingly loyal, and possessed a combination of qualities and skills that allowed them to easily maneuver their way in and out of damn near everything. While Steve was no slouch and nobody could ever accuse the Families of being ill-educated or under-funded, the circles they ran in, the jobs they did, the information they got their hands on, the amount of money they played around with…

It made the Families look like a bunch of amateurs.

Trade secrets, favors, bribes, real estate, yachts, money, jewels, art, stocks – white-collar payments for white-collar crime. For four years, Steve earned both his way and his keep, and had gotten a taste of an entirely different way of living. They were bad people who did bad things, and he enjoyed it because it was familiar, and for once, the playing field was even. Equal contribution meant an equal split of the take -- there was no cause for anyone to feel slighted and nobody got greedy.

Steve hadn’t left everything he’d ever known with the intention of falling into a different life of crime, but he had, and it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. Fury taught him what it meant to be a true tactician, politician, enforcer, and diplomat. He learned just how powerful of a weapon his mind could be; had been whipped into the best shape of his life, both mentally and physically; was pushed to be who he was, not what anyone thought he should be; and though he’d been a stranger, Fury and his crew had taken him in, dusted him off, and shook the cobwebs out of his head. In a strange, fucked up way, they’d made him stronger and more confident.

When the job in Brooklyn had been presented to him, Steve had been more than a little taken aback. Fury had quietly expanded into the United States, but the senator he had on the hook was also in bed with the Families, which meant the man was serving and benefitting from two masters, and that couldn’t be tolerated.

Both the senator and his wife were to attend an important fundraising event, where all the city’s heaviest hitters would be gathered in one room, and the plan was to use that connection to get intel. Everything hinged on the couple being in attendance, which would allow for one of their team to easily get inside and put them down afterward, but the senator’s untimely death and the wife’s subsequent blabbing to the police had brought everything to a grinding halt.

Everyone knew about Steve’s past connections, which should have been more than enough reason not to put him in, but they were confident he could see it the rest of the way through. Steve had cautioned them; told them they’d have a fight on their hands; that the Families were not easily deterred or distracted. He’d warned them it would be bloody and messy, but in the end, they’d voted to move forward.

He’d never planned to return to Brooklyn, and every decision he’d made since the day he left was designed to take him farther and farther away from it. Yet, somehow, Steve had been brought right back to the start, and the only thing he could focus on was the finish line. The job needed to get done – no matter the cost. They were in the home stretch and the details had been finalized. The hired hands had been paid and all loose ends had been tied up.

Before readying himself for the final stage, Steve retrieved his cellphone, and made a call.

“How are things progressing?” Nick answered.

“As well as can be expected.”

“And the other matter?”

“Taken care of,” Steve replied succinctly. “She wasn’t useful.”

“Don’t get yourself into a situation you can’t walk away from,” Fury insisted. “Get the job done and get your ass back here where you belong – understood?”  

“Understood.”

After agreeing to get in touch after he cleared customs, Fury signed off, and Steve headed to the hotel spa. The barber properly shortened his hair and trimmed his beard, but the man in the mirror reminded him too much of who he used to be, and while he didn’t much care for it, it was all part of the game.

Back up in his room, he showered, and continued to get ready. The evening’s battle dress consisted of a Burberry suit, highly-polished shoes, a vest, Glocks, a karambit, and a Ka-Bar. A notification from his phone indicated the car service he’d arranged was five minutes away, and once Steve ensured he had everything he needed for a quick getaway, he headed out.

The drive to Manhattan was a pain in the ass, not only because of traffic, but also because of the fundraiser. When Steve finally arrived at Tribeca 360, he was more than fashionably late, but still had time to get things done before his flight. The guard he’d paid off beforehand met him at the back entrance, which allowed him to bypass the metal detectors.

Glass of champagne in hand, he smoothed down his tie, and casually strolled along the outskirts of the carefully arranged tables. With a 360-degree view of the room, he was able to see downtown, historic Tribeca, and the Hudson River. Steve surveyed the auction display, where the master of ceremonies described the items up for bid, and observed most in attendance had their faces buried in their smartphones. While the bidding was being driven up, he maneuvered his way closer to the employee entrance on the north side. Another payoff, another easy entry, and he was in.

With the building’s floorplans memorized, Steve easily navigated his way through the maze of hallways until he reached the server room, and the tech who manned the area was absent as pre-arranged. After he double-checked the schematics on his phone, it was a small matter of a microchip and an activation code, and within seconds, security camera footage was erased and information was being siphoned.

Most people’s lives revolved around their phones, and now, every, single person connected to the network was feeding their personal data directly to Fury’s servers. When Steve received confirmation that the data was being transmitted, the countdown was on; the emergency exit door should’ve been propped open and the alarm deactivated, but when he reached it, it was shut, and the alarm was active. The microchip only allotted for five minutes of downtime on the cameras before they would automatically be turned back on, and he needed to get the hell out, or else risk being seen by security.

There were four other emergency exits, but he didn’t have time to check them, and that meant Steve was faced with two options: either go forward or retrace his steps. Both choices were less than desirable, but he knew if he triggered the alarm, the police would be called, and the surrounding area would most likely be shut down. Unwilling to risk being caught or hauled in for questioning, Steve made his way back, and managed to get out just before the timer on his phone indicated the cameras had gone live again.

Nearly everyone was on their feet, either drinking, dancing, or talking, which made it easier to blend in. Steve kept his head down and pretended to be focused on his phone as he weaved his way to the back entrance. Along the way, he pilfered a security badge, and used it to get through the side exit. He’d gotten a few steps away from the building and was headed toward his pick up vehicle when Bucky suddenly stepped out of an alleyway and right into his path.

Steve hesitated to reach for a weapon and was made to regret it.

A crackle and a buzz, followed by a paralyzing electric current that drove him to his knees. A sharp pinch, and then, the sting and side effects of a sedative as it was injected into his neck. He was dragged some distance before he was tossed into the trunk of an SUV, and the last thing Steve heard before he blacked out was a command that chilled him to the bone.

“Do what you want, but keep him alive,” Bucky instructed. “I want to take care of him myself.”

Chapter 7: Match

Everything: @jennmurawski13​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard​ @lilliannaansalla

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Pillars of Creation ch. 1 (baon)

Summary: It's not a date, thank you. Edge only agreed to take Stretch to the planetarium, that was all. That doesn't make it a date.

Prequel to the series, set after “Seeing Stars Through Clouds’

If you were ever curious how these two got together, well, here you go, their first date outing together! It's super!

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Pre-Relationship

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

At least once a month, Edge made a point to have lunch together with Antwan. They were both busy with a variety of projects, some of which they’d worked on together, and through that they’d learned they got on well. It was good to maintain a relationship with someone that had the skills that Antwan displayed and with the Human community in general, so Edge made a point of scheduling and attending each one.

On this particular lunch, they were in a meeting room discussing an upcoming court case. A business lunch counted if one discussed minor personal details, Edge decided. Which was why he mentioned the outing he and Stretch were going to take on Friday.

Amidst the folders and papers spread across the table in front of them were napkins and coffee cups, strategically placed to avoid leaving rings on the paperwork. Antwan set his sandwich down on the waxed paper wrapper, chewing the bite in his mouth and wiping his mouth with his napkin before he said, slowly, “So, you have a date with Stretch?”

“It’s not a date,” Edge stabbed a cherry tomato in his salad fiercely enough that the innards squirted out over the lettuce. “We’re spending a couple of hours in each other’s company, that’s all. You and I do the same and it isn’t considered a date.”

“Uh huh,” Antwan said skeptically. “Except we’re working together and we’re friends. Far as I know, you two can’t stand each other and yet you’re willingly spending time with him.”

“It...” Edge hesitated. While it was satisfying to hear Antwan refer to them as friends, he found himself oddly reluctant to explain the entire situation; that Stretch had attempted to invite him and his group at the Y to the planetarium and how Edge rejected him. If he hadn’t already come to the realization, that alone was a fairly good indication that he had been crueler than he’d intended about it. Worse, he didn’t want to admit that the last time he’d talked to Stretch, he’d shown depths that Edge hadn’t expected, piquing his interest.

Instead, he said, grudgingly, “He’s not so terrible.”

From the way Antwan’s eyebrows were climbing, he was reading entirely too much into that.

“It’s not a date,” Edge snapped, and Antwan raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay, man, it’s all good. I’ve only met Stretch a couple of times and I’ve never had a problem with him. Never been to the planetarium, either,” he said speculatively. “Might be a good time.”

“You’re welcome to join us.”

“Ah, no,” Antwan shook his head, chuckling, “No, don’t think so, I’ll wait and hear about it later. I’m betting it’ll be an interesting story.”

Edge gave him a suspicious look for that, but Antwan had started in on his sandwich again.

An interesting story? Not likely. There was nothing particularly special about it. Only a couple of hours watching a program that was probably intended for children. He doubted that interesting was going to be the word for it; it was far more likely that a profane one would be more appropriate and after it was said and done, he’d be sure to let Antwan know which vulgarity suited it best.

~~*~~

Friday evening found him pulling his car into the Swap brother’s driveway. His interest in finding out more about Stretch was wavering, particularly after an exhausting day at work. In the end, he’d reluctantly changed into a more suitably casual outfit before driving over.

His promises might not hold the weight of the elder brothers in his circle, but that didn’t mean he was one to carelessly break his word.

He’d almost given in to the temptation to ask Stretch to meet him at the planetarium, the better to minimize the time they’d have to spend together. It was with reluctance that he decided it would be entirely too petty as it would leave Stretch riding the bus for close to an hour. He was the one who’d invited Stretch this time, he could tolerate his company in the car.

The front door flew open before he could even touch the handle of his own, Stretch running out, and he hopped into the passenger seat without bothering to open the door. It made Edge’s socket twitch; an open top was not an invitation to behave like a crass fool, but he bit back his irritation. If it was possible, he wanted to at least start the evening without an argument.

“well, hey, jeeves, you’re right on time,” Stretch said cheerfully. “i should have you chauffeur more often!”

Or not.

No, that was nothing more than a little teasing and far less than even Sans would offer. It definitely wasn’t fair to Stretch that his simple good mood was grating on Edge’s nerves.

He swallowed back the sour words that hovered at being spoken. This was his own idea and it was only a few hours. If nothing else came of this, Blue would appreciate the attempt.

“Seatbelt,” Edge told him shortly.

“yeah, yeah, i don’t want a ticket.” Edge waited until he heard the click before backing out. “not gonna lie, i was kinda expecting you to cancel.”

“I told you we were going,” Edge said stiffly. There was no point in telling him how close to the truth that was. “I’m not one to break my word.”

“easy, champ, i wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything.” Stretch fell silent, closing his sockets and lifting his face into the growing breeze as they sped up.

It gave Edge a chance to get an actual look at him. Instead of his normal sweatshirt, he was wearing a plaid button-up with a pair of jeans, a hint of a T-shirt showing through the open collar. A bit disconcerting; Edge didn’t think he’d ever seen Stretch in anything but a hoodie, the same as Red or Sans. Those two would reluctantly dress for Embassy events, otherwise they would be content to molder in the same clothes day in and out.

Stretch was much the same, so to see him in a nicer shirt was unusual and Edge wasn’t sure what to make of Stretch dressing up for their outing. He was freshly showered, too; his bones were always unscarred and pristine, but today they held the gloss of a good scrubbing. At his feet, he’d dropped a strange shoulder bag with picture of a chemical formula on the side.

“You needed a purse for the evening?” More of a jibe than he’d intended but it was too late to call it back.

Stretch only grinned, for once unoffended. “hey, when i run out of pockets, sometimes i need a side bag. can’t keep my smokes in this shirt. plus, i can carry all kinds of useful stuff. my phone, my lighter, my dog biscuits…”

“Dog biscuits?” Edge asked, reluctantly curious.

“yeah, dogs like me,” Stretch said wryly. “kinda have a bone they want to pick with me. literally. a biscuit or two and they're eating out of my hand instead of gnawing at my ankle.”

“I don’t have an issue with them.”

“can’t imagine why, edgelord.”

That sounded suspiciously close to an insult, but an irritated glance only revealed Stretch smiling innocently. “when you take the bus as much as i do, you meet all kinds.”

“If you got your license you could drive yourself,” Edge pointed out.

To his surprise, Stretch shifted uncomfortably. “nah. i tried when we first got up here, but my depth perception is kinda wonky,” he shrugged. “probably could’ve faked my way through the test, but i doubt driving through a bus of nuns or an elementary school or something would help the cause. i don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He grinned then, gesturing grandly to the car. “s’why i’m glad you’re playing chauffeur. you have to change buses three times to get to the other side of town.”

He…hadn’t known any of that. Edge always assumed that it was laziness that kept Stretch riding the bus. Thinking on it, riding the bus was certainly more time-consuming and inconvenient in the long run. Even Red had a license if not a car of his own.

Stretch didn’t seem to notice his introspection, droning on. “bus is usually fun, anyway. it’s a great way to meet people.”

“Humans.”

“well, yeah, human people. most humans are pretty okay.”

“Except how they treat their children and us,” Edge said sourly, thinking on a few of the children he’d met at the Y, their hollow expressions, their hastily hidden bruises.

“some of them, yeah,” Stretch said, exasperated, “not all. and humans don’t exactly have a monopoly on mistreating kids.”

Edge waited, but Stretch didn’t expand on that. There, right there, was a hint of that hidden nature that Edge had glimpsed last week. What he didn't say often told more than what he did.

He was toying with his lighter, weaving it through his fingers and making no attempt to light a cigarette. Edge made a note of that; it was some sort of tell, that fidgeting.

A point that Stretch proved by saying, a little hesitantly, “not to make this all weird or anything, but. thanks. for inviting me out? you didn’t have to and i appreciate the chance to start over, yeah?”

That brought up an immediate question. “Why would you want to start over with me?”

“that’s kind of a convoluted story.” Stretch slouched back in his seat, drawing up one leg and resting his sneakered foot on the fine leather. He winced and dropped it back to the floor before Edge could even glare at him. “not sure if all the twisty turns my head took it on would make sense to anyone else.”

“Indulge me.”

He wavered, visibly undecided. Edge could understand that. It was possibly a story that would reveal a vulnerability, and being unwilling to provide ammunition to antagonism was reasonable.

But again, Stretch surprised him.

“well. tori came to see me a few weeks back,” he started. He kept his gaze through the windshield, his eye lights averted, and didn’t see Edge’s twitch at his casual use of a nickname for the Queen. “she, uh, i wasn’t real keen on her in my world, but she reminds me a lot of someone else. anyway, she’d heard i did some sciencing, back in the day. it’s a lot for alphys to handle everything downtown, so i agreed to do a little on the side, as long as they got me a setup in new new home.”

He shrugged, a little awkwardly. “at first it was a way to get out of the house. i love my bro but he can drive me crazy. crazier. anyway, i forgot how much i liked it. it was nice to do something different, to make a difference.”

He gave Edge a glance and while Edge was certain his own expression was nothing but encouraging, Stretch swallowed hard and hurried on. “anyway, it’s like i told you. i wasn’t at my best when we first got here, but it wasn’t until our last movie night that i thought maybe you weren’t, either.”

That took him aback. Edge racked his memory of that evening, but nothing stood out. “Why last movie night?”

The lighter clicking through his finger bones was less annoying when it became obvious it was a nervous tic of some sort. “you were talking about your volunteer work. you sounded so proud of those kids and…well. i guess i never thought of you all working at the embassy as more than a way to get in tight with the people in charge. working with those kids though…that’s making a difference, yeah? you were so proud and it’s nothing that you have to do, at all, you want to do it. to help. like i was trying to do with the lab work. so how fair was it for me to give myself another chance and not you, right?”

Yes, his children at the Y. Stretch’s first assumption wasn’t far from the mark, in truth. He and Red hadn't chosen to work for the Embassy out of altruism, but practicality. Make yourself indispensable and you won’t be dispensed, as Red phrased it.

His work at the Y began the same. Asgore wanted the Monster community to volunteer within the Human one, and Edge had simply chosen the one that seemed easiest. After dealing with his own brother and the guards of Snowdin, how difficult could wrangling a few Human children be?

As it turned out, the answer was ‘very’ and ‘shockingly so’. But Edge was not one to walk away from a challenge and his brother’s unintentional lesson in dealing with those who often said one thing and meant another served him well. His group of once sullen, distant children recently chose to assist in a project to remove degrading graffiti from local businesses and replace it with murals of their own creation. The pride from their hard work, their smiling faces, was incredibly warming to his hardened soul.

Those Human children, the ones that Blue thought were so similar in some ways to Stretch.

“But I didn’t ask you for another chance,” Edge pointed out.

Stretch shrugged. “you didn’t ask me to judge you the first time we met either. figured i was safe not asking for permission.” He flapped a hand dismissively over all of it, as if he hadn’t just given Edge an entirely different perspective of him. “okay, now that that’s out there, i propose we swear an oath.”

“What?” Edge slowed to a stop at a red light. It allowed him to look sideways at Stretch, taking in his solemnness and also the amused sparkle in his eye lights. Edge had seen that expression before, but it was the first time it seemed to invite him in on the joke.

“i swear not to be an asshole tonight if you swear not to be a dick.” Gravely, Stretch held out a pinkie.

Edge stared at it in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“you don’t want to promise?” Archly but also maybe a little wounded, uncertain hurt layered beneath humor.

Oh for…Edge hooked his pinkie with Stretch's and shook grumpily. “I swear.”

“awesome! this’ll be fun!”

Edge had his doubts, but Stretch hadn’t been completely unbearable yet. It was possible the night wouldn’t be a complete loss.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Two

[taffystake]

Donny Cates’ Venom Run - Review of it so far

Written by: Donny Cates

Pencils by: Ryan Stegman

Now then, I was only recently put onto this comic after listening to Ryan Stegman’s podcast and hearing him and Donny Cates going in-depth over the first issue of this run. So I decided I would read all that they had put out for it so far and see if my excitement at hearing it described matched it when I was reading. So before I confirm or deny that statement, lets talk about the story.

Venom and Eddie Brock are once again operating as Venom, after Flash Thompson’s unfortunate death at the end of Dan Slott’s run on Spider-Man. And Eddie....is trying to handle things. Except it seems that the symbiote is even more agitated than usual and has been having episodes. And what is pictured above is what happens when it has a full-fledged episode vs the usual control issues. But before anything terrible and murder-filled can happen, Eddie gets detained and recruited by a previous symbiote user to save his fellow soldiers. Which results in Eddie accidentally freeing a symbiote dragon. So once he recovers from that encounter and prepares to go on the offensive....well, once he deals with Miles Morales.

So once Eddie and Miles get set and take down the symbiote dragon, which results in us meeting Knull. And Knull is the creator of the symbiotes, a literal elder god straight out of the Cthulhu mythos who is the reason Knowhere exists and created the All-Black sword that Gorr the God-Butcher wielded. And while Eddie eventually manages to banish the majority of the dragon symbiote, it comes at the cost of the Venom symbiote burning itself out entirely and by them leaving a small sample of the dragon symbiote alive. A scrap that results in the eventual revival of Carnage and will lead us to Absolute Carnage. Nice job breaking the universe, Eddie.

After that, we go on a small tour to San Francisco for Eddie to air some family issues, ranging from just contending with his father to the symbiote contending with the way it has helped in creating some of Eddie’s family issues. Which resulted in quite a few holy cow moments as we see exactly how deep Eddie’s issues are and the family that created them for him. And it just keeps you right alongside Eddie for the entire ride. 

Now, while I’m sure I breezed over a few plot details in this, just be aware I did so because those details hit like a truck when everything that points to them comes together. Especially with the issues before War of the Realms started up, which is where we get to see Eddie Brock more as himself than as Venom. While this story definitely uses a few retcons in order to best be able to make the story and emotional beats it wants to happen go ahead unimpeded, none of them come across as some petty shift just because Donny Cates didn’t like this part. Instead, these shifts play more like there was a lack of information on the teller’s part or an effort to keep some less than stellar things hidden by the characters in the comic. 

And the artwork.....holy cow, the artwork. Look at that above image. That isn’t the original cover. That’s a splash page in the comic, that was good enough to be made a cover and feel exactly like it should be a cover. Ryan Stegman is one hell of an artist and while he has had to be off the book for a bit so he could properly draw everything for Absolute Carnage, he delivered 11 issues of Venom that all looked to be at or above this level of greatness. Just to give one small detail that stands out for me, a bunch of the art here uses their own unique twists on sound effects and/or integrates them into the environment by having them be made of the same material as the area or same material as what is making the noise.

And all of this takes place in what feels like the creative team’s own twist on the world. Rather than the usual ‘bright, shiny New York’ that nearly every Marvel comic currently running displays, Venom shows the city at night, usually with a bit of rain or haze in the air and these deep shadows cast by the dim streetlights. Which all just adds to this feel of the comic being “Venom’s city at night” rather than the “Superhero in New York” that many other Marvel comics create the feeling of. And the story, the mood the art creates, the characters and their posing that are used, the way things are written, the villains used, they all mix together to form an extremely unique vision of Venom as his own character rather than just a character derived from the Spider-Man mythos. 

Now, to anyone still confused on my opinion, allow me to state it in all caps. VENOM FIGHTS A SYMBIOTE DRAGON AND THEN STUFFS A SYMBIOTE GOD IN A FURNACE TO THE POINT BOTH HE AND HIS SYMBIOTE ARE UTTERLY DEVASTATED AFTER GOING FULL PUNISHER ON THIS SYMBIOTE GOD IN DRAGON FORM!!!! It is metal as all hell and just the sort of set of my pants action, adventure, and drama that makes me wanna read a ton of comics. So, if you aint seen this stuff yet, go read it! Then go buy Absolute Carnage when that comes out! IT WILL HAVE CARNAGE ROAMING AROUND TO GRAB PREVIOUS SYMBIOTE USERS SO HE CAN RECREATE THE SYMBIOTE GOD EDDIE BURNED TO NEAR NON-EXISTENT!!! ITS GREAT!!!