#(I mean I absolutely was lying about certain things because I believe in self-preservation in the face of religious extremism

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Did anyone else used to lie on their bed or the ground and stare directly into a lightbulb and/or a ceiling fan when they were a kid?

[homo-sex-shoe-whale]

Online shipping, the fetishisation of gay men, and the romanticisation of queer trauma

An essay by me!

Word count: 2.8k

A link to the Google Doc version of this essay.

A big thank you to my friends Nathan @themeerkatnate, Mav @not-mavv , and Duke @dukedark-ness for reading this essay and giving me their thoughts as mlms on the topic. Make sure to check out their blogs and give them a follow!

So I was on a lovely website by the name of Twitter.com yesterday, just scrolling through while having my afternoon cup of coffee, when I saw that viral post of a girl reading a Larry fanfic through a classroom projector. I'm sure most of you have seen it. It's gone viral on Instagram, TikTok, and likely Tumblr too, and if you haven't come across it I'm positive you will soon.

Now, after getting through my initial reaction to that post which was, holy fuck, that's so embarrassing, I had a second reaction of... wait, this ship is still around?

And after I had some thoughts on the incredible permanence of some online ships and the weird obsolescence of others, I did get to thinking of how lots of these popular ships seem to stem from the same types of perceived relationship dynamics and homophobic stereotypes.

These online fandoms often seem to have an obsession with objects of queer trauma, such as having to hide a relationship, lying about sexuality for self-preservation, and even social rejection. So, after some opinions from my followers and the great archive that is the internet, I've decided to discuss some of the most popular examples of online shipping and the particular nuances they came with.

NOTE: Out of respect for all these people, I won't be sharing viral images or videos of them in perceived romantic proximity (or even kissing, as is applicable for some examples), but I will be describing certain moments I deem to be relevant. So even if you're unfamiliar with them, you won't be confused as to what I'm talking about.

NOTE 2: Although not all people within these fandoms were/are toxic, this essay is focused on the overall toxicity of the fandoms, and how they are toxic more so as a "hive" than as a group of individuals. When I refer to a fandom I don't mean every person involved in the fandom, but rather the collective impact of the group.

 1. Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson 

This is arguably the most popular example of online shipping. The absolute permanence of this ship, and how its fandom never seems to fully die off even beyond the lifespan of One Direction as it once stood, is downright impressive.  

I'm going to be the first to admit I was never in the loop with this fandom. My childhood best friend was actually a massive Larry shipper and asked me to beta read one of her fics, but that was before I even knew who tf Harry and Louis were! Not because I avoided the fandom or even because I rejected the online shipping, but just by coincidence, I delved into the world of pop punk music right when One Direction began gaining its popularity. I bought my first ever album, Riot by Paramore, in 2011- only a year after One Direction made their X-Factor debut. So, this fandom just bypassed me by a sort of weird coincidence.

But I don't need to be in the loop with this fandom to know the astronomical obsession with these two men, no, these two BOYS, was extremely toxic. In 2010, when One Direction made their debut, Harry Styles was only 16 years old. And Louis Tomlinson wasn't much older at 19! This made the two of them incredibly young when this unprecedented wave of shipping hit the internet, and although that must be traumatising for anyone, I cannot even fathom how overwhelming it must've been for two boys that young.  

I'm 18, almost 19 now, and I cannot begin to imagine how scary it was for the two of them to have their every interaction nitpicked within an inch of its life by thousands upon thousands of people online. I do not know this myself, but from numerous recounts by some of my followers, this massively impacted Harry's and Louis' nondescript relationship in real life, seemingly driving the two previously close friends apart. 

Now, before we move on, there's something we need to talk about. And that is the obsession with the dominance/submission dynamic within the world of gay shipping. 

With almost every popular mlm (an acronym meaning man-loving-man) ship based on real people, it seems that fandoms have a particular fascination with power imbalances in these relationships. You don't even need to look at the insane amount of fanfictions based on BDSM to figure this out. In almost all of the examples I'll be citing today, there is an age gap within the perceived relationship and a person the fandom has seemingly decided to be the top/dominant figure. 

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are 3 years apart in age. Although it isn't all that relevant now, an age gap of 3 years when you're in your late teens is a lot more significant. In 2012, for example, when this shipping really started gaining traction, Harry Styles was 18 and Louis Tomlinson was 21. That power imbalance, albeit not that significant, is enough for a fandom to latch on to. We'll see this a lot more in the coming example with Dan and Phil.

 2. Dan Howell and Phil Lester

It's impossible to have a discussion about internet shipping without talking about Dan and Phil.

 Dan Howell and Phil Lester, although being popular YouTubers individually, are arguably one of the internet's most iconic duos. The two creators published their first videos together in 2009, and while their relationship was already a motive of speculation back then, the peak of the "Phan" shipping definitely came in the 2013-2016 era of Tumblr.

Now, I'm going to admit… I was actually on Tumblr when that happened. 

The 2013-2016 period perfectly aligns with my middle school days (I started middle school in 2013 and high school in 2016), and I was not only on Tumblr back then, but I was on Wattpad too! Again, this wasn't a fandom I had much contact with as I had a huge anime phase in middle school and I was on Tumblr posting mainly photography and Soul Eater content more than anything. 

But I did watch some of Dan and Phil's videos! And the occasional "Phan" content did not completely evade me as one of my closest friends in middle school had a fanchat for them. I wasn't involved in the fandom myself but they were actually one of the few English-speaking YouTubers I watched once in a blue moon (back then I watched mainly Brazilian YouTubers). One thing I did in fact notice over the years, around 2014ish perhaps, was that the two of them seemed to grow increasingly "awkward" around each other, in a way that many folks on the internet thought was reminiscent to Markiplier/Jacksepticeye, two YouTubers who also dealt with extraordinary amounts of shipping.

I'm not the only one who thinks this. The change in Dan and Phil's relationship, at least to the outside world, was clear to almost anyone who watched their videos for a while. I cannot blame them at all. The shipping was nuts. Between the countless fan videos, speculative comments, and insurmountable number of fanfics, there's no way the two of them didn't feel the weight of the shipping. The term "demon phannie" made its way into internet vernacular and there it stayed for years. Even Shane Dawson, who was one of the largest creators on the platform at the time, made several videos speculating on the nature of Dan and Phil's relationship and their sexual orientations. 

There was even porn made in which actors with similar appearances to the creators were made to have sex on camera. 

Now, this is actually a rare example where the two people involved in the ship actually came out as gay once the shipping seemed to die down. I'm incredibly happy Dan and Phil both reached a point where they were comfortable being publicly out, but I hate to say I'm shocked this day ever came. If I'd gone through what the two of them did, I don't know if I'd ever trust the internet. 

And again, this ship's fandom definitely had an obsession with the power dynamics they thought existed between the people within the ship. Dan Howell is 4 years younger than Phil Lester, and was only 18 in 2009, when they started making videos together. From my personal understanding, the shipping was often quite focused on this dominant/submissive dynamic especially in discussions from their early relationship. And this is in no way exclusive to Dan and Phil.

This general fascination with the older man/younger man dynamic, in my opinion, plays into the homophobic stereotype that gay men are predators. The idea that gay men usually seek younger men, and somehow "convince" them to engage in homosexual relationships, is popular homophobic rhetoric. The popularisation, exaggeration, and fetishisation of these power imbalances, in age and/or in relationship dynamics, is directly harmful to the mlm community. 

Not only that, but the romanticisation of a "hidden/forbidden relationship" is also detrimental not only to gay men and the mlm community, but to queer people as a whole. Queer people face huge trauma having to hide their relationships; queer attraction is already a societal taboo. And acting like this is good, or even desirable, is harmful to queer people as a whole, regardless of whether or not it's actually applicable to the people being shipped. It normalises this trauma not only to cisgender, heterosexual people, but to impressionable queer youth who grow to believe this type of trauma is to be expected. 

3. Frank Iero and Gerard Way

This is another example where the perceived power imbalances between the two subjects of the shipping were directly exploited online. Now, this ship did precede the others mentioned above. If we're looking at this topic chronologically, this particular ship did come first in the shipping timeline. It's closer to the origin of the shipping extended universe, if you will.

In case you aren't familiar with them, Frank Iero and Gerard Way are both members of the American emo band My Chemical Romance. This ship is the first one here of which I don't recall the full popularity. It really peaked in popularity around the late 2000s, circa 2008. And I don't remember this moment online as in 2008, I was only 6 years old and believe it or not, I wasn't really all that concerned with rumoured homoeroticism as a first grader. 

However, the popularity of this ship did carry over into the 2013-2015 Tumblr shipping boom. The emo fandom (or "bandom" as it was called) involving not only My Chemical Romance but other similar bands such as Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco, and Pierce the Veil, found its hub on Tumblr. 

During this time, I did in fact listen to this style of music, but was focused a lot more on the anime side of Tumblr as mentioned earlier. Of course, I wasn't 13 years old like, "hey, this type of content might be harmful and can inadvertently perpetuate homophobic stereotypes," I just happened to care more about my silly little anime and ended up not getting involved. 

This ship does involve a discussion that the others don't, however. With Frank Iero and Gerard Way, there is quite often a certain sentiment of, "Oh, they brought this upon themselves!" as the two band members very famously kissed during a show in 2007. In my opinion, though, this doesn't really justify all the obsessive shipping. If you look at Green Day, a band often grouped in with MCR as another famous pop punk group, the members don't follow too different of a trajectory. Billie Joe Armstrong has, on numerous occasions, kissed both of his fellow band members onstage- particularly Tré Cool, the drummer. And Billie Joe Armstrong is openly bisexual, which none of the members of MCR seem to be but some, or even all of Billie's bandmates, are too. 

You'd think Green Day would face a lot more shipping as the more persistent onstage homoeroticism and Billie Joe's openness about his sexuality would warrant more "substantiated" speculation. However, Green Day faces nowhere near as much shipping as My Chemical Romance. Why is this? I actually don't know. It might've been because Green Day has been around for over a decade longer and generally has an older fandom, but I really am not that sure. 

 It could also be because of the lower lack of potential for forced relationship dynamics. The members of Green Day are all less than a year apart in age and are even similar in height. However, Frank Iero is 4 years younger than Gerard Way, who is not only the frontman of My Chemical Romance, but also considered to be the group's intellectual and creative "leader". Even beyond that, Gerard Way is quite visibly taller, and the perceived power difference between the two of them definitely did not elude their fans. 

This difference could even be partly due to the lack of a "mystery" with Green Day. There's not as much to speculate as, well… the members of Green Day are already open about their sexual orientations. It might be that shipping in the Green Day fandom has less of a forbidden appeal for most people. 

Of course, I won't just keep repeating myself, but my previous points about forced relationship dynamics still stand.

4. Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch

Better known for their roles in BBC Sherlock as Sherlock and Watson, Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch unfortunately had their roles follow them well into real life. This is the example I know least about, so have these thoughts from a follower by the name of @indubitably-a-goblin, who had the following to say:

"the main issues i had with it were:

a) they were both married at the time, freeman to amanda abbington and cumberbatch to sophie hunter (in which both had children)

b) the main reasoning for it was their chemistry in the many projects they've done together. which is, shockingly, their Whole Job. They're actors! That's what they're supposed to do! if they weren't good at interacting then they wouldn't be good actors! i don't know how people can't understand this.

c) they're real people. we don't know them. we aren't friends with them. we aren't their family members. we have zero right to be pushing this onto them and ruining their friendship by doing so. (this one relates to most of the ships you've mentioned though)

d) healthy friendships between two men are ignored so plainly in most medias and in fandom. its obvious that these two men have a relationship, but that doesn't mean it's a romantic one.

e) its fine to ship their characters, but actors shouldn't be treated as less-than-human or some sort of prop. they're doing a job, and once they are off-screen, they aren't here for your entertainment."

I believe she did a great job of summing it up on her own, and for the sake of avoiding redundancy, I'll leave it at that!

5. Corpse Husband and Sykkuno- an emerging yet subtle example

I am absolutely positive you remember how popular the game Among Us was a couple of months ago. And with the popularity of this game, some of its most prominent content creators became the targets of online shipping- as is the case with YouTubers and streamers Corpse Husband and Sykkuno. 

Although the shipping involving these two creators is nowhere near as strong as it was/is with the examples above, I do think there is once again a reemergence of a common theme here. Whilst Sykkuno is known for his happy-go-lucky, almost "innocent" persona, Corpse Husband is the antithesis of this, known for his much darker and moodier personality. 

Do I even have to mention what the common theme seems to be?

Again, although the popularity of shipping - at least with real people - seems to have died down a bit since the Tumblr shipping boom of the early to mid 2010s, I do believe this example is worth mentioning. Even though the creators are still close, they have in fact expressed discomfort regarding the shipping, and I can only hope the internet as a whole lets their friendship blossom and exist naturally without obsessive speculation. 

My final thoughts

As explored in the essay:

The romanticisation of objects of queer trauma as a part of online shipping normalises queer trauma to both cishet and queer youth. 

Online shipping, especially at a high intensity, can end up negatively impacting the very relationships they pine over. 

The relationship dynamics often forced on mlm ships perpetuate homophobic stereotypes about non-heterosexual men. 

If anyone else has thoughts on this matter, do share! This essay is moreso an opinionated observational piece and isn't meant to be taken as fact but rather just as my thoughts on the matter. I hope it was useful as a reflective piece regardless!

Date of posting: June 16th 2021

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

For the ship game: prime numbers for Lupin x Jigen!

HERE YOU GO GHOST, THIS WAS FIVE PAGES IN A GOOGLE DOC AND TOOK ME SEVERAL HOURS

Under a cut, allegedly, though mobile has been known to just IGNORE THAT. Sorry in advance if this gets goofed for anyone.

2) Who is always horny and will have sex at any time, in any place?

Lupin, obviously (and canonically). Just the horniest man you ever did see. Jigen knows what he wants and when he wants it, but he has difficulty keeping up with Don Juan Triumphant over there. Lupin is also far less picky about locations and times than Jigen is. Jigen still has a FEW standards, thank you, and also a stronger sense of self-preservation. Lupin sometimes tries to start shit in public or during a heist and Jigen is like “I REALLY, REALLY APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT BUT CAN WE NOT.” The closest to public anything Jigen will put up with is bar bathroom/back-alley hookups, and he doesn’t really tend to do that with Lupin or Goemon since they have secondary locations far more suited to such activity (or at least the damn Fiat, if nothing else). That said, Jigen is a spiteful bastard and gets a huge kick out of riling Lupin up over the walkie-talkie during jobs. He is more than happy to get jumped by his boss after they make it out and secure the loot.

3) Who is more into taking showers/baths together? Who tries to make it relaxing and who tries to make it sexy time?

Honestly, while I can totally see Lupin and Jigen doing this with their other partners, I have a harder time imagining the two of them doing this together and I’m not sure why. I feel like these two on their own both like the privacy bathing gives them, whether it’s to clean wounds or decompress from a job.

On the occasions when they do bathe together, I feel like it’s an unspoken kind of thing, where the other person quietly slips in the tub/shower with them and they just don’t bother protesting. I think Lupin is more likely to join Jigen in his bathing, but if Jigen is sleepy enough or lonely enough he might do the same. There is a lot of mutual appreciation of scars. They’ve definitely smoked in the tub before (Intricate Rituals™). Lupin is probably more likely to get handsy, because Lupin, but two can play that game if Jigen is feeling it, and also Jigen gives Lupin a run for his money in the staring department. No hat to hide behind now.

Lupin has also 100% done the whole “Hey Jigen, do you know if—stop screaming, it’s me—do you know if we have any more instant dashi? Goemon’s gonna slice up the sofa if I ruin soba night again.”

5) Who sleeps on the couch when they get into a fight?

Jigen, but to be fair, he canonically sleeps on the couch most nights (possibly to keep an eye on the door, possibly because he knows that place, at least, is always “acceptable” for him to occupy). It’s an odd night if you don’t see Jigen out there with a glass and a bottle of scotch and an old movie on TV. The main difference is that if he and Lupin have been fighting, he won’t bother with the formality of a glass and the TV will be playing far louder or not at all.

7) [A] Who said “I love you” first? And [B] who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?

I hate to take the coward’s way out here, but I think the answers are A) either one - depends on the headcanon/fic/version of the characters I’m feeling that day, and B) both.

For A, they’re both the sort of people to show their love—true love/affection, not just flirtation/infatuation, LUPIN—in action, not words. Lupin is a man of many words to a fault, generous with his verbal and physical affection, so Lupin has to find a way to make sure Jigen knows he means it and how he means it. He may rightly fear that Jigen won’t believe him (or else believe him but take it platonically) if he says “I love you” to his face, so first he’ll show him through every little action he can. Jigen is a man of few words to a fault, so saying personal stuff like that out loud is both a last resort and the point of no return. Getting him to say it at all, unambiguously, and while sober is like pulling teeth. Once one of them finally spits it out, though, I think the other is quick to reciprocate (again, if they manage to say it clearly and under good circumstances and not ambiguously/while drunk or wounded/etc. They’re both idiots and selective cowards so this is a big if). The mutual relief is palpable and immediately followed by sex, because they’re both (horny) idiots and selective cowards who do not want to talk about Emotions and Personal Things any more than strictly necessary.

For B, ohhhh man, if it isn’t that same emotional avoidance coming to bite them in the asses! Looks like talking about deep emotions is strictly necessary after all! You know it’s a Big Important Argument for them if this is what it comes to. This is going to tie in somewhat to the answers for 11, 17, and 23, so stay tuned. “Because I love you” coming from either of them should give the other pause, but if they are angry enough, they’re both quite likely to storm off after that declaration anyway. They’ll come back and have a real discussion later, but the shock or frustration of that arresting declaration dropped in the middle of an argument is something neither of them are great at dealing with. Hearing that from Jigen might be enough to stop Lupin in his tracks, but Lupin might also be so dead-set on something that he’ll steamroll right over it even if he knows he’ll regret it later. Hearing that from Lupin probably only makes Jigen angrier because of his awful self-esteem (see answers 11 and 23), and even if he’s been working on that, his instinct will be to snarl “Yeah, right” and storm out the door. I like to think that one day they are able to get to the heart of the argument sooner (because this is almost always it) and work on the behaviors that worry the other so much, but alas, they are a mess.

11) Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?

Once again, either of them depending on the day.

As you mentioned in your JiGoe post, Jigen says it partly because he thinks it’s funny (“You have a crush on me, Boss? Fuckin’ embarrassing”) but also because he’s fishing for validation. His self-esteem/confidence in anything outside his shooting skills is shit and he still can’t quite believe that Lupin isn’t lying/he hasn’t conned Lupin into something. This is rather overestimating his conning skills and underestimating his many good qualities, but, well, genuine, lasting affection is kinda new for him. Much to Jigen’s annoyance, Lupin figures out exactly what Jigen’s up to after the first few times and answers him seriously (and positively) instead of continuing the “joke”. Lupin loses patience for this particular tactic over time but I like to think that Jigen finally begins believing in the affection, too, so it comes up less and less and one day Jigen might actually play the quip straight without the self-deprecation. Ideally he would just take the damn compliment, but it’s LupJig and banter is one of their love languages.

When Lupin says it, he typically is playing the quip straight and fondly giving Jigen shit for showing an Emotion and motherFUCKER I just realized Jigen could probably be considered a tsundere. I hate this. ANYWAY. Jigen then immediately snarks back that yes, Lupin, considering we’ve been travelling the world together and actively fucking for X years, it’d be damn awkward if I didn’t by now.

13) Who initiates duets? and who is the better singer?

Lupin absolutely initiates duets, or rather, he tries to; whether or not Jigen actually chimes in is another matter entirely. Lupin is also the better singer by far (when he’s sober). He loves singing along to pop and rock in the car (“This is the reason God invented America!”).

Much as it would please me personally to give Jigen a smooth operatic baritone, there’s no way in hell he sounds good after smoking a pack a day for twenty-something years. I think Jigen can carry a tune and he’s a decent hummer and whistler, but his singing voice isn’t spectacular.

Lupin occasionally succeeds in getting Jigen to join him in car karaoke, though as in all things, Lupin is much louder and more impassioned. Jigen frequently hums along under his breath, though, and Lupin loves hearing Jigen’s a cappella renditions of classical music (complete with hand motions).

When Queen starts becoming popular, car singalongs become much more involved because it’s MY silly headcanon and You Are Not Immune To Queen. Jigen cried the first time he heard “Bohemian Rhapsody” and he will kill Lupin if he ever tells Goemon or, God forbid, Fujiko. When the four of them are in the car it’s a full-on Wayne’s World headbanging party. (Pops is the drunk guy they pick up along the way. Also, seeing Payless Shoe Source in this clip dealt me psychic damage.)

Lupin and Jigen (and Goemon) are the living embodiment of the drunk friends singing “Sweet Caroline” post, and Jigen is specifically this version of “Sweet Caroline”.

17) Who is more protective?

THAT IS THE QUESTION, HUH, GHOST? Jigen’s job and, to a certain degree, raison d’être is protecting Lupin, but (to cheat slightly and quote your own DM to me), if you think Lupin won’t raze everything to the ground to keep Jigen (and the others) safe, you don’t know him at all. They are this meme to the deepest of faults. They are both so desperately afraid of losing what they have (and in Lupin’s case, this is tinged with a bonus, even more concerning “what is his”) that they will go full self-sacrificing, scorched-earth policy. This is, in fact, my favorite reason for Lupin to do the worst thing he does: fake his own death to protect his partners. Lupin never stops to think that maybe, JUST MAYBE, he should trust his partners to fake grief and keep the secret long enough for whoever’s on their tail to give up or let their guard slip. Lupin is willing to hurt them in an effort to protect them, so in that way, I suppose Lupin is the “most” “protective”. Jigen’s self-abasement to the point of unhesitating and perhaps even hasty sacrifice is painful, too, but Jigen would never dare go to the same level of deception (except in Goodbye, Partner, apparently? But 1) I haven’t watched it yet and 2) while awful, I still feel like fake betrayal pales in comparison to very convincingly (AND MAYBE REPEATEDLY) faked death).

19) Who drives and who has the window seat?

They split driving duties, but Lupin genuinely loves driving and Jigen is more than happy to prop his feet on the Fiat’s dashboard and smoke or sleep the hours away.

23) Who thinks they are not good enough for the other’s love? and who’s more afraid of losing the other? Who thinks they keep messing up, only for the other to tell them they don’t need to worry?

HERE WE GO AGAIN!!! I think the answer to all of these is ultimately Jigen, but that’s not to say Lupin doesn’t share the exact same worries.

Jigen has a very difficult time believing that his partners’ love is genuine, and since Lupin is the one he knew first, that’s where it first manifests. Jigen has had very, very few good romantic connections in his life (if any). He doesn’t know what Lupin could possibly see in an older, prickly hired killer with a drinking problem and a head full of demons. He’s willing to believe that Lupin keeps him around for his skills, for protection, and for sex, sure, but anything past that? Doubtful. This ties into the other two parts of the question: Jigen is afraid that if he fails in his sharpshooting or his protection, he will be cut out of the gang, or worse, Lupin will end up dead because Jigen slipped up. As mentioned in question 17, Jigen cannot bear to lose Lupin and he would never forgive himself if he believed it was somehow his fault. Accordingly, Jigen takes “failure” that exceeds his usual margin of error very seriously in the early days. Later, he is better about this, but the worst-case scenario still stands.

Lupin, on the other hand, has had plenty of romantic connections, some good, some bad, though it is perhaps telling that Fujiko is his longest romantic relationship other than Jigen. He is afraid that if he doesn’t put on the world’s greatest show at all times, no one will give a rat’s ass about some scrawny grandson of an old French thief (or the perhaps unwanted/disliked son of a ruthless crime lord, because I love that fanon for Lupin the Second). He must live up to and indeed surpass the previous Lupins, he must shower his partners in money and adventure, he must always, always come out on top no matter how south the plan goes, or else what is the point of him? It takes time for him to turn his persona off for more than a few seconds, to let the quieter, sometimes contemplative side that slips through the cracks come to rest out in the open. Years down the road, Jigen finally gets up the courage and the words to tell Lupin that he would love him no matter what he did or where he went, even if that was nothing and nowhere. And again, see question 17 re: losing Jigen.

29) Who does some crazy stunt to try and impress the other and who ends up driving them to the emergency room after it backfires?

Lupin is by far the most guilty of this. He’s constantly pulling dumb shit, whether that be for World-Renowned Gentleman Thief reasons or just He May Be Stupid reasons. Case in point: the tunnel scene in The First, after which Jigen was duly impressed. Fortunately for Lupin, Lady Luck must be head over heels for him because the bastard keeps surviving, but sometimes even she can’t save him from medical consequences. Jigen bulk-ordered “Stupid Hurts” band-aids specifically for Lupin. Jigen’s bad choices are more likely to literally backfire on him, but Goemon more than makes up for Jigen’s slack in the Crazy Stunt department.

[snicketstrange]

Rereading The End Chapter 13

Chapter 13: From the moment the Baudelaire teeth bit down on the apple—first Violet's, and then Klaus's, and then Sunny's—the stalks and caps of the Medusoid Mycelium began to shrink, and within moments all traces of the dreaded mushroom had withered away, and the children could breathe clearly and easily. The hybrid apple almost instantly cures the disease caused by the deadly fungus MM. This leads me to the conclusion that Kit's death was unnecessary. Kit could have been saved if the moment Beatrice Jr had her umbilical cord cut, she ate an apple. I don't know why Violet didn't even think about it, even if it didn't work out, I think it would be good for someone to have mentioned the possibility of saving Kit. "Stockpot," Sunny said, and walked to the rack of pots on the ceiling, where the snake helped her take down an enormous metal pot that could hold a great number of apples and in fact had been used to make an enormous vat of applesauce a number of years previously." This passage makes me even more certain that Lemony had read the island book, for how else would he know that precisely that cauldron was the same one that had been used to make a particular dessert years before? Certainly he read the island book and was able to compare information previously written in the book with the new information written by the Baudelaires. "Who was playing the violin in the candlelit restaurant when the Baudelaire parents first laid eyes on one another..." This description bothers me a lot. This seems to indicate that Bertrand and Beatrice met for the first time in a restaurant, however, I believed that one of the people cited by Lemony as B in the VFD school on TBL in Lemony's childhood was Bertrand. But to think that Bertrand Baudelaire first met Beatrice a few years after she met Lemony makes more sense given that Lemony apparently didn't trust Bertrand very much. In ATWQ, the way S. talks to Lemony about Bertrand seems to indicate that Lemony didn't know Bertrand personally or at least wasn't intimate with him. Ish suggests that all islanders leave the island after being poisoned. I always imagined that Ish actually believed he could save everyone by getting to the factory that produced the poison's thinner. But rereading the chapter today, I realized that his plan was to let everyone die. Those people had failed to produce a peaceful community, and he himself had failed as a facilitator. As I said, Olaf had triumphed. Ish apparently acknowledged his defeat. But for some reason, this motivated him to let everyone die except himself. And just as some cult leaders led all the faithful to commit collective suicide by making them believe that this was the way to achieve salvation, Ish also made his faithful commit collective suicide. The deadly MM fungus wouldn't spread across the world, and Ish knew it. He would make sure everyone was dead before they reached shore.  I'm sorry for Friday... Ish has become a child killer. Friday chose to die rather than withdraw from her family's religious sect even though she was smart enough to realize that her decision would result in her own death. Daniel Handler makes the dangerous message in Ish's words very clear: "Your mother is right, Friday," Ishmael said firmly. "You should respect your parent's wishes."  This time it wasn't a suggestion: it was something Ish said Friday should do. Ish didn't want to lose any of his faithful. Ish knew that apples could heal the island people, because he had read about it in the island book. He ate the apple himself to save himself. He really decided to kill the entire colony. And everyone followed him blindly to death. But did they survive through the apple that Ink brought to them? I truly believe Daniel Handler inserted that hope here just to lessen how dark the story was. He left that question unanswered. Lemony Snicket doesn't know if they died or not. But I'm pretty sure Daniel Handler knows they're dead. People refused to eat the apple, even when they were poisoned, even with the arguments of the Baudelaires. Why would they change their minds when a serpent that doesn't speak came to the vessel? Ish didn't want people to eat the apple, he wanted them to die. Do you really think Ish would let one of the islanders eat the apple when the snake arrived? Also, how much time did the islanders have before they passed out from lack of air? The Baudelaires were infected at the same time and had almost no strength... So, in a few minutes the chance of saving the islanders through a single apple brought by a mute animal would become close to zero, considering that the only person who would still be awake and with strength would be Ish himself, who evidently didn't want anyone to eat the apple. Now let's talk about Kit again. "How reliable is Snicket a narrator?" I think this question is asked many times and there are still people who will defend one side or the other of the issue. However now I realized that maybe we were asking the right question about the wrong Snicket. Kit Snicket needs to be re-evaluated with regard to her narration being trustworthy or not. It is true that the certainty of death often makes a person very trustworthy. But there's an important detail about this: Kit wasn't sure she was going to die. Kit believed that survival was possible, precisely because the cure was so close to her. "I hope I'm half as good a mother as yours was, Violet," she said. "You will be," Klaus said. "I don't know," (Kit said)  I believe Kit's plan was to have the baby and then be a good mother to her. Despite that, she also knew she could die. Therefore, as death was not an absolute certainty, total honesty was perhaps not the only option. Now let's get back to what we actually know: 1 - Kit claimed that the Queequeg was attacked. 2 - Fernald went to Hector's mobile home with the object of attacking it and according to Lemony Snicket that's what he did. (See TPP chapter 8)- 3 - According to Olaf, the Carmelite Submarine was stolen by Fernald and Fiona. (See TPP chapter 9 In other words, while Fernald was fighting the Quagmires he had already betrayed Olaf and he had already stolen Olaf's submarine along with Fiona. Come to think of it, realize how unlikely it is that what Kit said was true. She said: "I failed you," Kit Said Sadly, and Coughed. "Quigley Managed to Reach the Self-Sustaining Hot Air Mobile Home, Just as I Hoped He Would, and Helping His Siblings and Hector Catch the Treacherous Eagles in an Enormous Net, while I met Captain Widdershins and his stepchildren." Then there's Quigley's difficult move to self-sustaining hot air mobile home. How did he do it? We don't know... But in the world of asoue amazing things are possible. But after that Kit claims that Captain W was already with his stepchildren. This contradicts Lemony's claim that Fernald was the enemy who had led the eagles to the self-sustaining hot air mobile home. So if Lemony isn't lying, (and I don't see any reason for Lemony to lie about these details when he could have just omitted it) Kit is lying. Fernald wouldn't have stolen the Carmelita along with Fiona, then gone to the self -sustaining hot air mobile home, used the eagles to attack them, then left the eagles there, returned to the submarine, met Captain W, regretted it, found Kit and then abandoned the Carmelita and then went along with Kit to help to the Quagmires. I mean... Is this possible? Yes. But this is very unlikely. Especially since Kit claimed to have been attacked. Did Kit Snicket have reason to lie? I believe so. The reason is that her hypocrisy had been exposed. When she spoke out against the mutiny, two islanders had shown the Baudelaires that she herself was also a violent woman. Now she needed to invent a story to preserve her image. In fact, even if she died there that day, she certainly wanted the Baudelaires to tell her daughter good stories about Kit Snicket. In other words, Kit wanted the Baudelaires to portray her from the best angle. So Kit Snicket lied. She denied having been attacked and taken part in a match against Fernald. If there's any truth to Kit's story, I think it's more likely that Submarine Q detected Submarine C via sonar. (After all, we saw in TGG that this is quite possible). Submarine C attacked Submarine Q. (Submarine C has tentacles that can be used as weapons at short ranges, as we saw in TGG). Kit hurt her feet in this attack, as she claimed to have happened. Fernald was on Submarine C along with Fiona. And the eagles were nearby causing problems for the self-sustaining hot air mobile home, which was right above. Then yes, the house fell on them. Then things can make sense. Both submarine C and submarine Q were hit. And then Fernald and Fiona were seen by Kit for the first time, in the water. I hope several kids also got off the C-sub in time, and Kit didn't mention them to avoid needing to give details about the fight she had with C-sub. "From the depths of the sea a mysterious figure approaching—almost like a question mark, rising out of the water." As we saw in TGG, this question-mark entity had been behind Submarine C for a long time. It was submarine C that attracted her.  An important note: I am not saying that this was Daniel Handler's intention. He probably just got confused by generating these contradictions. I am saying that, given what is written, I think this is the best explanation. "All I heard," she said, "was one of the Quagmires calling Violet's name." That phrase always made me dream. Now I understand that DH's goal was probably to somehow strengthen the love triangle between Ducan, Violet and Quigley. But he did it at such an awkward moment that it made me imagine other, more interesting things. And do you know? I still have a right to imagine. In my headcanon, one of the Quagmires saw a woman inside looking like Violet. And he got confused, thinking she was the girl. And so he asks out loud, "Violet?" to which Kit interpreted that he was screaming for Violet. And that's my big plot Twist from asoue. Beatrice was alive all along, and not even Lemony Snicket knows it. That might not be true, but for me it's the perfect ending. Chapter 13, on the other hand, goes against my selfish desires. It's a chapter devoted to accepting death, and my headcanon is the exact opposite of that. The Baudelaires and Kit mourn the death of the people they loved. And they cry a lot more than all the previous descriptions. I think Daniel Handler abandoned all ideas about the possibility that one of the Baudelaire parents could have survived, although he honestly thought about it at some point. But as I've already explained, Headcanon are valid when the author decides to let the story have a life of its own. But I have to recognize that the story is better if you just accept how the story looks. Death is surprisingly simple. So I don't think the great unknown represents death. I think the great unknown represents the open ending of asoue and uncertainty about the fate of some characters. In the end, it doesn't matter whether the Baudelaires' parents survived or not. The fact is, they never met again in recorded history. Just like they've never met the Quagmires again. All these characters are in the great unknown. And like the publication of the end, the Baudelaires themselves are symbolically in the great unknown, as it doesn't matter whether or not they survived their departure from the island: in the end we won't have access to new official adventures about them. But the beauty of the unknown is that it stimulates the imagination. And it's interesting that in my imagination, Beatrice was already inside the great unknown when one of the Quagmires saw her. So, in my own Headcanon, Beatrice's fate is uncertain. As much as I want to escape from allegories to interpret asoue, the allegory is present even though the entity in the form of a question mark is a physical entity: the name given to the entity and its shape make it a walking allegory, just like the ants are a walking allegory for organization and work. We keep thinking: if it was God who created animals like these, would he want to teach us a lesson? And if Daniel Handler is the god of asoue, did he want to teach a lesson with the question-mark entity? I think the answer is yes in both cases. So, in a universe created by someone's creativity, entities can be both physical entities and allegories at the same time. So, I think that's what TGU is. And I don't see any more problems with that. It is an interesting fact to note that Kit believed her both brothers were dead. In LSTUA we notice that Kit was trying to exonerate Lemony of the Baudelaire arson charge, even though she knew he might already be dead, which may indicate that she believed Lemony could have died in the fire itself. Kit claims that the Baudelaire family and the Snicket family needed to stay away from each other, not just Lemony and Beatrice needed to stay away from each other. These mysterious motives must surely have been detailed in the letter Beatrice wrote to Lemony.  So I don't think the wedding was canceled because Beatrice fell in love with someone else.  I don't think the wedding was definitely canceled because they were life-threatening.  I think there are organizational reasons for the Snickets and the Baudelaires to keep away from each other. Now the scene of Olaf's death. I have to say: what an epic scene! Whether it was Olaf who killed Beatrice and Bertrand we will never know for sure, but he never admitted it even when he believed he would die. He didn't seem to be willing to hide facts at the time. He seemed to me to list the things he managed to do. And Olaf always liked to brag about his murders. So for me the fire was accidental. Oalf bit the apple in order to recover from the MM fungus. He, like Kit and Ish, apparently knew that apples cure the disease caused by the fungus. He at first refused. Had he accepted death? I think so. Now: What was the relationship between Kit and Olaf? Everything indicates that it had been an old relationship. Something like a first love. Olaf did not apologize. He didn't think he was wrong. He wasn't sorry for his villainy. Kit survived for more than an hour, I am sure of it, before Beatrice could be born. A mother's willpower is really impressive. This excerpt below is for me one of the most important: "The Baudelaires would sit together in the two large reading chairs and take turns reading out loud from the book their parents had left behind, and sometimes they would flip to the back of the book, and add a few lines to the history themselves. reading and writing, the siblings found many answers for which they had been looking, although each answer, of course, only brought forth another mystery, as there were many details of the Baudelaires' lives that seemed like a strange, unreadable shape of some great unknown." This is clear proof that the Baudelaires left their own history on the island. Not only did Klaus write about it, but all three Baudelaires did, including Sunny who must have had enough time to learn to write. And Lemony knows they wrote it. I can only conclude that Lemony knows what they wrote, and it is on this basis that Lemony makes a narrative from the Baudelaires' point of view, even including an exact record of what they thought and talked privately. Another evidence that Lemony read this book is seen in the following excerpt: "As the night grew later the ould drop off to sleep, just as their parents did, in the chairs in the secret space beneath the roots of the bitter apple tree." Lemony knew details of what had happened to the Baudelaires' parents, which evidently happened when they were on the island. They themselves had written these events in the same book. Now, regarding the final section of the chapter: "In many ways, the lives of the Baudelaire orphans that year is not unlike my own, now that I have concluded my investigation. Like Violet, like Klaus, and like Sunny, I visit certain grave, and often spend my mornings standing on a brae, staring out at the same sea. It is not the whole story, of course, but it is enough. Under the circumstances, it is the best for which you can hope." I think it's pretty clear that Lemony wrote this passage while he was on the island. Lemony was visiting the same graves as he waited for an opportunity to leave the island. I will still read TBL again. So I know that Lemony wrote the letter to the editor of TBL after he learned of Beatrice Jr.'s existence. After he learned of her existence, Lemony searched for the items cited in TBL. So after that he went to the island and finished writing TE on the island. As I said, it is very likely that at this time the island was already inhabited by very nice people who did not allow apples to be removed from the island.

[kakyoinryoko]

hmm wow well i’m thinking a lot now about how kakyoin is just a bunch of contradictions all wrapped up in one person. like there’s the basic funny joke of “sweet and polite honor student who actually kills remorselessly and is very mean” but also. just. other things.

like. he’s obviously got no problem with being cruel and lying to others and whatnot, but seems to take issue with it when other people do it. one of his bios states that he hates dishonesty, yet he is the one to suggest they lie to polnareff about abdul’s “death.” i can think of at least four different occasions where jotaro is acting like an asshole and it doesn’t seem to sit well with kakyoin. first on the plane to the flight attendants, then during the wheel of fortune arc when jotaro suggests they just keep driving after he damages a truck with star platinum, again during wheel of fortune when jotaro (and i think also joseph) start beating random people at a rest stop up on the off chance they’re the stand user they’re looking for, and then once during the steely dan arc when jotaro’s solution is just to kill steely dan quickly enough to prevent any harm from coming to joseph. like kakyoin has absolutely no issue with cruelty when he’s the one inflicting it but somehow when someone else is doing it, it’s different.

or he mentions wanting to be with someone who he can both protect and feel protected by, yet he hates nothing more than the insinuation that he’s someone who can’t do things for himself and would be unhappy with the suggestion that protecting is something he needs. he wants to be protected and cared for but he hates being seen or treated as if he’s weak and helpless and it’s really hard to strike a balance between those things. like if someone feels the need to protect you it could be because they think you can’t take care of yourself, but it could also be because they don’t want you to HAVE to take care of yourself, because they care about you and don’t want you to be in it alone, but. i have a feeling kakyoin is the kind of person who would have trouble seeing it as anything other than the former considering the things he’s been through and what he’s like.

or. he’s the kind of person to really value self preservation, he doesn’t like putting himself in the line of fire if he doesn’t have to, yet he unquestioningly and without regret gave his life for a cause that he confessed himself he’d rather not get involved in. like, his revenge against dio was always secondary. if it were up to him he wouldn’t ever see dio again, not even to get revenge. but then He Does It Anyway for the sake of jotaro despite the fact that prior to meeting him he was in it for himself 100% of the time and fuck everyone else they’re below me. he’s pretty consistently self centered and egotistical and yet his final act is one of humility and self sacrifice. it’s basically the antithesis of who he is, yet at the same time it’s something that feels completely natural for him to do, both from his perspective and from that of the viewer.

basically he loves to say one thing with absolute conviction, like, he fully believes what he’s saying to be true, but then he’ll go and do something completely contradicting it. or he’ll seemingly hold two beliefs simultaneously that don’t line up when put together. or he’ll act a certain way and then suddenly do something that flips it on its head. but instead of feeling like inconsistent characterization it just feels like the way he is. yeah

[welllpthisishappening]

On This Night and in This Light (3/3)

Emma Swan knows she’s pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn’t the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there’s a lot of paperwork, but she figures she’s helping people and that’s the important thing. It’s structured. Calm, even.

Until. It’s always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma’s office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they’re really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

—-

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.5K of magic and eventual happily ever after

AN: There’s some magic here. Some kissing. Some curses. And happily ever after, of course. Thanks for reading along with this little distraction from the legitimate stress of the real world. You guys are all an absolute delight.  

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the top

—-

“Are you good?” Tilting her head up to meet Killian’s vaguely crinkled forehead and passably confused expression, Emma almost regrets the question she didn’t plan on asking. That’s the problem with him. And them, at least in the abstract sense. 

Words tumble out of her without much thought to their meaning or collective, if not slightly metaphorical, weight. Defenses she’s spent a lifetime cultivating feel as if they’ve crumbled at her feet, which is impressive since she’s laying down, but the metaphor still checks out and Emma keeps asking questions. 

Without being wholly afraid of the answers she’ll get. 

“Be more specific,” Killian murmurs, and her heart does something stupid. Skips a beat. Sparks her magic. Threatens to leave her glowing in the tangle of sheets she’s absolutely stolen in the middle of the night. 

“Just—I mean with everything.” Nosing at her cheek, Emma can practically hear Killian’s smile. “‘Fraid that’s not any more specific, my love. But if we’re going to speak in the abstract before coffee—” “—Oh, we should make coffee.” He kisses her cheek, that time. “Then I am exceptionally good.” “Pretty vast adverb.”

“Well, you asked a very broad question. But I stand by my answer, particularly when you’re not wearing any clothing. Why, am I giving off not-good vibes?” “Maybe lame ones if you keep using the word vibe in actual conversation. I just—I don’t know, wanted to make sure, I guess. Working for Mills isn’t exactly the height of luxury and it can be a weird place, and I...we never really looked at apartments for you, because we can do that if you want to, but—” Stumbling over the words, Emma wishes her hands were free. She’d like to wave them around. Use them as a distraction to whatever has settled on her face and in the pit of her stomach, and this wasn’t really the plan. Granted, the plan occurred while she was overly exhausted and reeling a bit from rather large emotional realizations, but telling him the truth about absolutely everything is suddenly a bit more daunting in the light of day. 

And they haven’t even had coffee yet. 

Killian’s hand moves. Faster than Emma’s entirely ready for, his fingers brush a strand of wayward hair away from her eyes and then he’s kissing the bridge of her nose and pulling her against his chest and—

“This was not my plan. In some great expectation for my life, I’m not sure I could have ever imagined this is what it’d be like. But,” Killian adds, as soon as Emma’s magic shifts into something far closer to dread, “if all of this ended with your freakishly cold feet waking me up every morning, then I can’t be very upset about it.”

Swooning pre-coffee can’t be advisable. Emma’s heart doesn’t care. It flips and flops and does that possible explosion thing again, and she’s a little concerned the force of her smile will have adverse effects on the paint in her bedroom. 

“You don’t think Mills is weird?” “Do you?” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, no questions for questions. This is—” “—An inquiry?” Her shoulders slump. Under the blankets, and she’s really got a shit ton of blankets. “I don’t know, Swan. Mills is...a place, a job. One where you work, and that’s mostly why I’m interested in continuing to work there. Should I not be thinking that?” The last few words come with a bit of understandable concern and maybe a hint of frustration, and she should have said something earlier. 

It’s very frustrating to realize how much smarter the part-time cricket is than Emma.

She hopes he’s enjoying his job, too. 

“My feet aren’t really that cold.”

Killian scoffs. “I promise, they are like little ice cubes attached to your legs.” “Lucky you’re here to provide external heat, then.” 

Burrowing her face closer to the crook of his neck, Emma gives herself a moment to relish in that warmth, like he’s some sort of personal sun or a battery or another bit of science she doesn’t understand and David always likes to say that science is just explained magic. Emma wonders if it works the other way, too. 

Magic is something that simply hasn’t been explained yet. No rational reasoning, or anything except the kind of gut feeling that can change everything. 

“I am,” Killian says, and it probably isn’t meant to sound like a promise. “Are you good?” Dots of light appear behind Emma’s eyelids every time she blinks, trying to come up with an answer that won’t send him running and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he runs. Energy prickles at the tips of her fingers, curling around either one of her wrists and lingering in the slight bend of her left elbow because at some point her left palm has flattened itself against Killian’s stomach. “Mills can be kind of weird,” Emma mutters, trying to pick her words more carefully now. “And that’s...there’s a reason for that, and a reason I started working there and—” A phone starts vibrating. 

Loudly enough that it also immediately falls from the nightstand it was charging on, and keeps buzzing around on the floor. Killian sighs. 

“Hold that thought.”

Emma wishes she could. But her hands are already back underneath the blankets, and she’s all too aware of how bright they’ve gone in the last few seconds and the state of Killian’s shoulders make it obvious he’s not all that pleased with whatever he’s being told. “Yeah, yeah, I can—I mean, it’s like twenty blocks the wrong way, but—God, yes, Scarlet. I can come back for a few minutes.”

He doesn’t bother to plug the phone back in, and for like a solid half second Emma gets distracted by the lack of clothes before her eyes fly up and Killian’s sighing again and the weight in the pit of her stomach grows. 

“Coffee later?” Emma blinks. “Sure. Is everything ok?” “No idea, just that Scarlet said he had to talk to me and it couldn’t wait and—” Killian shrugs, fingers finding the back of his neck. “I probably won’t be that late, but if Regina asks—” “—I’ll tell her.” Something tugs at the back of her mind, a warning Emma can’t place, but she can sense a lie with almost startling accuracy and she knows Killian isn’t lying to her. She just can’t figure out why Will would lie to him. 

Halloween’s not her favorite day. 

People assume all magical and mythical creatures thrive on this one day of the year, but more often than not Emma finds that it’s just another busy day when those same magical and mythical creatures come out of the metaphorical woodwork in droves to get jobs. And sure, some of the rumors are true. There are certain times when the fabric between realms can be a bit more flimsy than usual. Both midnights, for example. Eleven-eleven’s another big one. So, teenage girls had that one right, at least. 

And yeah, ok, Halloween also means Regina bakes half a dozen apple pies for the whole office, but when the whole office is already overrun by inquiring applicants, Emma can’t find it in herself to be very excited for a dessert she only kind of likes. 

She’d never admit that to Regina. 

Self-preservation instincts, and all that. 

Plus, days like this are always cold. Fraught with that certain nip in the air, and leaves that crunch under Emma’s boots. Only to also get stuck to the bottom of Emma’s boots, and she has to twist her wrist to get rid of her leaf-based trail on her way to her paperwork-covered desk. 

The same one David’s leaning against. 

“You tell him yet?”

She missed one leaf. Figures. Emma never even went trick-or-treating as a kid. Halloween’s a sham. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t. It’s dumb that you haven’t yet.” “Voice your opinion a little louder, please.” “Nothing is going to happen,” David says, but Emma barely hears over the sound of sudden and complete disagreement that scratches its way from the depths of her soul. Maybe Halloween makes her a little maudlin, actually. She can’t believe she didn’t get to tell him. “It hasn’t yet.” “Why are you jinxing things like that?” “There is no such thing as jinx, and c’mon, if you guys can get through today with a hundred magically unemployed people, then sky’s the limit.” “Not even clever.” David shakes his head. “You’re impressed and swayed, I know it. Plus it’s not like you’re a bad witch or anything.” “I’m sorry, a bad witch?” “Yeah, you know. None of your intentions, even when lying to the guy you’re stupid into—” “—Opinions keep coming fast and furious, don’t they?” “Because he’s right,” Ruby calls, twisting around desks to involve herself in a conversation Emma doesn’t want to participate in anymore. “You really didn’t tell him yet? That’s nuts. And you’re a good person, Em. With a very good looking face. Who wouldn’t want to make out with that? Ad nauseum.” “I’m going to be honest, using a word that sounds like nauseous isn’t helping your case much,” Emma says. “And I’m going to tell him. I am, just—things got crazy this morning.” Ruby howls. With laughter. Drawing more than a few curious stares, and rather pointed glare from Regina’s direction. David pales noticeably. “Did they?” Ruby presses. “How crazy are we talking and was it also vaguely acrobatic, because I feel like Jones could move if he had to, but that’s strictly theorizing on my part, so—” Sentences without end are quickly becoming Emma’s least favorite thing. Only slightly edging out ringing phones. The one on her desk lights up, which doesn’t happen very often, but she can’t imagine the light is supposed to be green. 

David’s talking. She’s dimly aware of it — the soft hum that sounds more like Charlie Brown’s teacher than any of the human characteristics Emma is certain they both have, and that’s another quasi-Halloween reference. Rocks appear to have landed rather forcefully in her stomach, and that’s what she gets for optimism. 

“Swan,” Killian breathes, as soon as she pulls the phone to her ear. “Swan, Emma listen to me, you can’t—” Seriously, the lack of sentence structure is becoming intolerable. Killian grunts, the sound turning into a gasp almost immediately and a few shouted no, no, no leave them alone and Emma doesn’t remember standing. 

Only that she’s knocked her chair over in the process. 

“Is this Ms. Swan?” a new voice Emma almost recognizes asks. “Because it seems I’ve got something of yours, while you have something I’m particularly interested in. Let’s make a little exchange, shall we?”

It’s disappointing that her mouth goes dry. Emma assumes that’s because she’s all but panting, bent awkwardly over her desk while her eyes scan the room for something or someone and—it clicks. The voice. 

“Zelena. This is Zelena, isn't it?” Both David and Ruby make matching noises of disbelief, but the buzzing is back and Regina is moving and the line’s gone dead anyway. “She’s not supposed to be here,” Regina says with enough calm that it grates on every single one of Emma’s already-fraying nerves, “magical control sent her back to Oz.” Emma can’t cope with this. Any of it. All she wanted was to drink coffee with her decidedly human and very normal, if not ridiculously attractive boyfriend and they’ve never actually used relationship qualifiers. 

That’s disappointing. 

“Right, right, yeah, ok, of course” Emma mumbles, and she doesn’t bother to fix her chair. “Happy fucking Halloween, I guess.”

It takes her all of five minutes and one person dressed in costume to realize that running is absolutely and completely pointless. 

Emma’s a goddamn witch.

And it’s raining. 

Drops slide down her temples, drip down the back of her neck and work under her jacket because she never even got the chance to take her jacket off. Which is something of an exceptionally small miracle now, but she’s already cold and she’s always so fucking cold and—

He called her Emma. 

He called her—

“My love,” she whispers, entirely to herself and that part isn’t really true. Shadows hover just outside the edge of her vision, what Emma knows are her friends waiting for instructions or a plan, and she’s got to come up with a plan and she doesn’t know where Belle and Will live. 

She doesn’t have to. 

Reaching her hand back, Emma’s fingers lace through Regina’s, and her soft instruction of “all instinctual,” doesn’t get lost in the hum of the city or the bustle of a holiday that requires masks and chocolate-based gluttony. It takes root. In Emma’s mind, and those same pieces of her soul, finds the tiny bits of space between her stomach rocks and spreads out from there. 

Warming her from the inside out. 

She closes her eyes. 

“What the fucking fuck?” Will shouts, Emma’s feet slamming into hardwood floor that was probably highlighted in this apartment listing. Eyes bugging, he’s plastered to the wall opposite her, and Emma’s pleasantly surprised to find he’s not gagged, but she also kind of figures it’s because Belle is and there’s something inherently villainous about allowing the love interest to make noise while their partner is being tortured. 

By a woman wearing a pointed witch’s hat. “Kind of cliché, isn’t it?” Ruby muses, and Emma’s not surprised they’ve started their rescue mission with sarcasm. She also can’t respond. Her eyes are too busy trying to take in the scene. 

Stacks of books litter the floor, half the living room furniture on its side as if it’s been knocked over in a fit of inevitably-magical rage, and Belle doesn’t look as scared as annoyed that she’s been bound in one of the few upright chairs. Emma’s heart stutters. Catching her breath is impossible, head on a swivel as she tries to find—

“Killian,” she exhales, and he’s not gagged either. No visible restraints keep him a few feet away from Will, but Emma can feel the magic rippling off him and it smells strongly of bitter lemons. Or expired key lime pie. 

Neither of those things are inherently Halloween, or all that magical. But then Zelena’s turning slowly and the green splotches on her face ensure any attempts at passably funny metaphors or desperate attempts to maintain her sense of reality disappear. 

“Huh,” David says, “that’s new, actually. We ever see anyone change color before?”

Regina clicks her tongue. “She’s not changing color. She’s giving in.” “To what, exactly?” “Jealousy. Isn’t that right, Zelena? Been the crux of the problem forever, hasn’t it?”

Emma’s head is spinning. She’s not moving. “Wait, wait, what the fuck is going on?” One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up, amusement in his gaze and that can’t possibly be right. “You are stuck to the wall, idiot!’ “Oh, Swan, you do know how to flatter a man.” “What is happening?” He can’t shrug, but Emma knows he tries and that should not be as charming as it is. Mary Margaret squeezes her hand. The one that’s almost neon. “Turns out Scarlet didn’t actually want to talk to me this morning. We definitely could have had coffee.” “Is that a euphemism for—” Ruby starts, only to snap her jaw closed when Regina gapes at her. Emma’s starting to lose feeling in her fingers. 

And she sees the exact moment any sense of teasing and entirely false bravado leaves Killian. Lips going thin, his shoulders still don’t move, but Emma swears his fear reverberates through her and that’s not the emotion she was interested in sharing that morning. “You’ve got to get out of here, love. Now, it’s—” Zelena’s hand moves so quickly, it’s not much more than a passably-green blur. Nothing else comes out of Killian’s mouth. His jaw moves, working against a shield none of them can see, and Emma’s stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. 

Even with all those rocks. 

“How did you get back here?” Regina asks, stepping towards the front of their ragtag group. Fire bursts from her hands, flames that flicker up her forearms and draw another grunt out of Will. Whether it’s surprise or just the generic sound of being impressed, Emma’s not sure. 

Bits of green cling to the end of Zelena’s mouth when she smiles. “Shall I start at the beginning, then?” “God yes, please,” Emma sighs. 

Zelena doesn’t take her hat off. Really, she’s almost making it work for her. As far as costumes go, this one’s kind of basic, but there’s no cape or a broomstick and Emma’s never met a witch who was interested in flying a broom anywhere. 

“Wanted to stay conspicuous, you understand,” Zelena says, “Draw too much attention to myself and—ah, well, that’s not what’s important now.” “What?” “Why you, Emma Swan. Obviously.” “This isn’t the beginning,” David mumbles, and both Emma and Regina shift before Zelena can so much as lift her chin. One of the windows on a different wall flies open, half a dozen pigeons descending on the living room and nipping at the ends of Zelena’s hair. They pull on the sides of her dress and peck at the green spots that are growing on her cheeks. 

Whistling, Mary Margaret jerks her head and the pigeons fly away, looking a little like an avian synchronized swimming team. “Leave him alone.”

“Shit,” Ruby says, “that was impressive and aggressive. Ignore the rhyme.”

Emma tilts her head. “Slant rhyme, right? Can’t rhyme matching sounds.” Someone makes a noise — it comes from the general direction of Killian and Will, but it can’t be Killian and Emma wants it to be him anyway. Zelena doesn’t look very impressed with any of them. That’s fair, it’s probably frustrating to have your monologue interrupted so often. 

“If you don’t mind,” she sneers, Emma waving her free hand like she’s capable of giving the bad guy permission to keep talking. “It had been quite some time since I’d been in this realm, and plenty of things had changed. More magic, a certain kind of power that hung in the air. Energy that could change the course of everything, strong enough that it could probably rewrite time itself if it wanted to. And I want it to.” “To what?” “Were you not listening? Rewrite time.”

Breathing out of her mouth is not attractive. It’s loud and makes Emma’s tongue feel larger than it actually is, especially when she has to keep using it to lick her lips. “That’s—that’s insane. You’re insane. You didn’t just want to get a normal job? I mean...you were at Mills. I saw you.” “Power of the Universe at my fingertips and you think I’d be satisfied with a normal job? No wonder you have no idea what you are. Which,” Zelena glances meaningfully at Killian, “means you, Emma Swan, are the reason I’m here.” “Speak English!” Zelena huffs. “I am. What I felt when I returned to this realm? It was you, my dear. Your power, your magic, your ability. And, yes, I could have given into the hum-drum existence of this place and the structure of Mills Personnel, but where exactly is the fun in that?”

Emma hopes she’s not expected to answer. She doesn’t have one. It’s entirely possible she’s going to snap several of Mary Margaret’s fingers in half. 

“Anyway,” Zelena continues, “locating that power wasn’t easy, but Regina Mills’ ability to make things happen is legendary. Finding a person’s niche, that’s her greatest talent. And so I did come to Mills, looking for a position that would help me get the rest of the requirements.”

Ruby keeps shaking her head. Emma can’t seem to move. Or breathe. Her eyes keep darting back towards Killian, trying to make sure he’s breathing or reacting in a way that doesn’t threaten to make her cry. Nothing. 

He’s plastered to a wall with magic, of course not. 

“You see, a time spell is one of the more complex out there. Need all sorts of things in addition to the kind of magic that can fuel it. Which is what I wanted when I got to Mills. Hoped I could get placed in a hospital or something of the sort.”

On the increasingly small scale of things that surprise Emma, that somehow makes the cut. “You need, like, an IV drip or something?” “A baby,” Zelena replies easily, and Belle whimpers against the gag. “Pure of spirit, you understand. Other things too. Courage, wisdom, maybe a heart if I could get lucky—” “—An actual heart?” Will balks. “Spend a lot of time in Wonderland, did ya?” “I mean, she could probably get the heart in the hospital too if she wasn’t picky about her choices,” Ruby reasons, and this whole thing is absurd. Maybe that’s the theme for Halloween as a whole, though. 

More of Zelena’s face is green. 

“I had hoped I’d get someone competent who could help me. Or even the source of the power. Naturally,” she jerks her head in Killian’s direction, “I ended up with this sot. Who suggested working at a clinic or agreeing to something called an orderly position. Well, I knew he wouldn’t help me, but I did get something out of it. I knew you were there, Emma. And—” Zelena’s eyes rove towards Belle, and the hands collapsed over the front of her stomach. Realization crashes over Emma in waves, the rocks disappearing only to be replaced with a bone-deep chill that douses any bit of light in her. “So I do have a few options for you all now.” “What are you trying to fix?” “Hmm?” “Fix,” Emma repeats, “or change, I guess. I mean—that’s not how life works.” Zelena hums in what can only be passing interest and something almost like an agreement. “Seems unnecessary to tell you my whole plan, but when it works it won’t make much of a difference. I want to get rid of the girl. That nasty little thing that fell in Oz and ruined everything. Robbed me of my chance to prove myself, claimed there had to be good witches and bad witches and you’re absolutely right, Ms. Swan. That’s not how life works. Nothing is quite so cut and dry as all that.”

Words hang off the tip of her disgustingly dry tongue. Want to be said and proclaimed, and for all the mistakes Emma has made — good and bad, right and wrong, trusting and the opposite, she’s happy to find she’s not particularly interested in changing them. 

Not if she ends up here. 

Well, maybe not here—with her boyfriend, they’ll get to that eventually, magically silenced and Belle doing her best to glare daggers at the half-green witch who commandeered her living room, and Ruby’s teeth are definitely getting longer. But maybe here-adjacent. With people who care about her, who followed her without question or thought and the guy who is still somehow staring at Emma like he’s got every intention of keeping her feet warm. 

Ad nauseum. 

“I’m not really interested in anything you need.”

Disappointment flashes across Zelena’s face, only to immediately morph into something much closer to fury. “Hero types, always so sanctimonious. That’s why I said several options. It’s one now, but—” Flicking her wrist, Killian slides down the wall in what Emma knows isn’t actually slow motion. Still, the amount of time it takes for his knees to crash to the ground seems to last forever and Zelena doesn’t try to stop Emma from rushing forward. 

Eventually, she’ll realize why. 

“Regina discovered what I was trying to do,” Zelena explains, “my fault. Kept coming back to Mills, demanding better placement and as much as it pains me to admit she’s smart...well, she sent me back to Oz.” “So how are you here?” Mary Margaret demands.

Emma doesn’t need that answer, either. Halloween is a bullshit, overrated holiday. Pulling Killian close to her, he’s far too limp and impossibly silent, and Emma barely spends a moment thinking about either of those things before she’s kissing anywhere she can reach, mumbling apologies and half-explanations into his skin and—

“Ah, I’d be careful if I were you,” Zelena says, a soft lilt to her voice that rattles down Emma’s spine. “See, your option is to give me your magic, Ms. Swan. If you won’t do it willingly, I’ll take it by force.” “I don’t—” 

Movement catches Emma’s attention, the soft flutter of fingers across her back and she has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. At first. All it takes is a few seconds, and that’s probably another sign. She hopes so. Tracing letters on her jacket, Killian’s eyes flutter shut like he’s exhausted and determined not to sleep and— “No,” Emma exhales, but Zelena’s smile looks victorious. It’s too late. They’re too late. And there’s nothing they can do to change that. 

Slumping against her, Killian’s eyes don’t open again. His breathing evens out, and Emma supposes that’s something of a very twisted victory because he isn’t dead, but he’s even more obviously sleeping and sleeping curses are notoriously hard to break.

“Especially when they so often require a kiss,” Zelena grins. “True Love, and all that. So let me ask, Ms. Swan. Do you think what you and the plebe have is True Love and, more importantly, will you be willing to sacrifice your magic for it? Because the only way he’s waking up is with a kiss and the next time you kiss him, you’ll lose your magic.”

To suggest that it kind of all goes to shit after that is something of an understatement. 

Light pours out of Emma, unsteady legs under her even as she juts her chin out. To her credit Zelena doesn’t back down. She stands there and she turns a bit more green, and magic is so goddamn weird. Emma’s also never been in a magic fight before. 

Spending so long hiding that part of her — certain it was going to be the reason everyone left, the opportunity never really presented itself. Fighting for the sanctity of time itself and Killian’s consciousness seems as good a reason as any to flip the script, so to speak. 

Heat races through Emma, wind swirling at her ankles as frames clatter to the ground. Shards of glass fly on the manufactured breeze, Mary Margaret darting towards Belle and David sprinting towards Will, and it’s something of a confidence boost when they’re both able to pull them away from the battle. 

Although Emma can’t really believe she thought the word battle, even in her head. 

“Not exactly the magical dominance you were bragging about, huh?” Emma quips, twirling a finger in the air. Bands of light circle Zelena’s calves, twist up her legs and turn her answering laugh into a gasp that also does dangerous things to Emma’s ego. 

“I never—” Zelena grunts, twisting against bonds that don’t even flicker. “—You were the powerful one, I thought I made that blatantly obvious.” “I mean,” David shrugs. 

Ruby nods. “She did kind of, Em. That’s true.” “Whose side are you on?” Emma snaps, but the retreat back to absurd is almost comforting in a familiar, banter-filled sort of way. 

“Please,” Regina sighs. Her hands are on fire. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I know you claimed you didn’t have to tell Killian the truth before.” “Yeah, well, cat’s pretty much out of the bag on that front, don’t you think?” “Flew out on pigeon’s wings, I think.”

Laughter has no place in a moment when Zelena’s entire face has turned green, and her own fireballs are threatening at her palms, but Emma can’t help herself and maybe the dumbest thing she’s ever done was suggest Killian shouldn’t have worked at Mills. Or that she couldn’t be head over heels in love with him. 

That helps, honestly. 

“You’re not getting my magic,” Emma announces, all too sure she sounds as ridiculous as she feels. Heroic soliloquies are also overrated, it seems. “And you’re not getting Killian or—God, were we actually talking about Dorothy that whole time?” Zelena snarls. That must be the response. 

“Well, you’re not getting her either. Sneaking back here on Halloween was dumb. Trying any of this was ridiculous and threatening Killian was the worst of all your ideas. Because—” Emma takes a step forward. Nothing shakes. If anything her knees almost lock out, the hair falling over her shoulders noticeably brighter than usual and Zelena recoils. Seriously, her confidence is through the roof. “Magical job placement might be boring, and it might have a shit ton of paperwork, but it’s also a chance to help people and that’s...that’s the point, isn’t it? Finding that sense of belonging? Giving a person a chance. Being able to—” “—Fall in love,” Mary Margaret cries, scrunching her nose when Regina and Ruby shush her. “I mean…that’s what it is, isn’t it? Love’s not a weapon. It makes Emma glow.” And that makes Emma curse. “Maybe we phrase it differently?”

“Maybe we worry about language once we actually defeat the witch, huh?” Regina challenges, and that seems like a legitimate plan. 

Balls of fire fly through the air. Ricochet off Emma’s lights, and every window flies open as Mary Margaret calls upon not only pigeons but what look like several sparrows and a few nightingales if the sounds they’re making is any indication. Leaves swirl around the room, partially from the actual wind and also from whatever Emma is apparently capable of. 

A lot more than she thought, honestly. 

Warmth rises in her spine, sets her shoulders in a straight and determined line and she gives Will an appreciative smile when he pulls Killian out of the fray. Only to immediately jump back in, ducking and twisting and there’s a lot more cardio involved than she thought, but then a flash of magic nearly singes her ear and Emma’s thankful for her own agility.

She moves. Refuses to back down, ignoring the growing ache in her muscles and the weird popping thing her hip is doing. And Zelena starts to cower. In an especially villain-type of way.

Backing into the nearest wall, she stumbles over her feet as light tightens around her. It pins her arms to her side, curls around her ankles and guarantees she can’t run away when Emma stalks forward. 

With a smile on her face. 

Oz authorities appear at eleven-eleven, which seems to suggest it is somehow still morning and Emma cannot rationalize that at all. 

They thank Emma for containing the fugitive, nod towards Regina and well—that’s that. Leaving the rest of them in a slightly singed apartment with pillows that somehow haven’t burst, and what feels like a distinct lack of oxygen. 

“So,” Will drawls, “what do we do now?” He doesn’t have to look at Killian. The still-sleeping form is the far-more-attractive-than-an-elephant elephant in the room, draped across a couch that David had to lift on his own. One of his feet is hanging over the side. “True Love’s Kiss isn’t a real thing,” Emma whispers, but the words taste like ash on her tongue and Regina makes a very obnoxious noise. 

“Dumb, dumb, dumb.” “Do you think I’ll lose my magic?” “Do you actually care?” Shaking her head, Emma doesn’t bother saying the words. Not when she knows they’re so obviously painted on her face and sudden realization is almost as annoying as not ending sentences. She knows what he was tracing on her back. 

Maybe she is the idiot, actually. 

And for a moment, Emma’s mind falters. Remembers that other moment, standing frozen as a different set of lights threatened to blind her and metal snapped around her wrists and she’d been so certain then. Never again. Nothing else would get through the defenses. No one else would know. No more mistakes. 

This isn’t a mistake. 

Careful to avoid the glass on the floor, Emma tiptoes forward and crouches next to Killian. She brushes her fingers over that scar on his cheek, the ends of lips that are somehow still tilted up into half a smirk and—

“God, just do it already,” Belle shouts. 

That’s that, again. 

Kissing at this angle isn’t particularly easy, and Emma’s knees aren’t particularly pleased with the amount of pressure she’s putting on them, but it does allow her to basically drape herself across Killian and that also makes it easier to get her hand under the hem of his shirt. And nothing else really happens. 

No sharp inhale. No tilt of his head. Absolutely no sign of his tongue, which Emma has come to find herself almost obsessed with in the last few months. She doesn’t care. Doesn’t allow herself to stop, not when there’s a flicker of hope and all that want simmering between her ribs, mixing with her magic and how ridiculously in love she is and it’s annoying that she’s the one who gasps. 

As soon as arms circle her waist. 

Emma can’t really tumble when she’s above him, but the edge of the couch digs into her thighs and Killian’s doing an admirable job of trying to get her parallel to the rest of his body. Her fingers find his hair when he arches up, his own hand roving the expanse of her back before his arm curls tightly around her like he’s trying to make sure she’s still there. Leaning into her palm against his chin, Killian’s lips drag across the back of Emma’s wrist, sparking another round of magic and even more glowing. “Oh shit,” Emma mumbles, not able to pull herself away from Killian. Because of his arm. And...other reasons. 

“Was that a response to me, or—” “—No, no, I just—well, there’s still magic. I’ve still got magic. And, uh, I’m a witch.” He laughs. Throws his head back and lets his body shake under her, which really isn’t helping Emma’s state of mind at all, but she’s admittedly preoccupied with the overall volume of the laugh and how wide his smile is. “Swan, Emma love, did you honestly think I didn’t know?”

She—

Has absolutely no idea what to do with that. 

Ruby might fall over. Regina’s eyes bug, Mary Margaret using David to stay upright, Belle covers her mouth with her hand, Will cackling loud enough for the both of them. 

“Did you,” Emma starts, but Belle and Will shake their heads and Killian’s tongue click is awfully put-upon for a guy who was just cursed. 

He taps on her jaw until she’s able to look at him. And his stupid blue eyes. “I could feel it, love. Also you have a tendency to...glow. Which I'm assuming is a compliment, for me. Or us. There's an us, right?" She nods. Can't do much else. "And you’re not very subtle. Extra cinnamon in the cabinets, moving the remote so I don’t have to look for it. Working at a job placement agency that helps the magically afflicted. Plus there was paperwork. Was Freddie really a gold statue at one point?” “Yeah, but they un-statue’ed him with water from Lake Nostos. Not True Love’s Kiss.” “So we won, then?” “Competitive weirdo.” “Absolutely,” Killian nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I figured you’d get around to it at some point and then you were talking today and—” “—We’re not such shitty friends that we’d demand Killian show up back here before nine,” Will reasons. “Plus, it’s been kind of nice to have a free couch.”

Killian gags. “Did I say congratulations yet?” “We were busy.” “Wait, wait,” Emma sputters, and she’s going to go into cardiac arrest. Or magic overload. “So this whole time. You knew.” “Well, not the whole time,” Killian objects. “Most of it though, yeah.” “But you’re still here.” “Where else did you expect me to go? Aside from your apartment now that we’ve defeated the wicked witch? I’m assuming we defeated the wicked witch.” Emma nods. “Well, then I’ll apologize for drawing you into that, too. She was half the reason I started to suspect anything, honestly. Told Regina about her and the last thing I expected when I got here was to see her, or to have her demand I get you here. I tried to avoid that.” More nodding. More aching muscles and poorly performing hearts, and Emma wouldn’t mind if Killian traced several other sentiments into a variety of different areas, but they’ve got an audience and a pregnant lady and they never did get coffee. So, it makes sense to ignore that for a second. Or several. 

“I love you,” she says instead. Shouts, really. “More than I realized I could and I—” Any other words get lost in the feel of Killian’s mouth on hers and the ability of his tongue to incite butterflies in her stomach, and she hardly hears him say I love you back. It doesn’t matter. She hears it on loop for the rest of the day, once they’re ushered unceremoniously out of Belle and Will’s apartment. Neither of them think much about getting coffee. 

And she’s just on the cusp of sleep, eyelashes fluttering and blankets halfway to stolen when Emma hears something else. Pressed into that one spot below her ear. 

“I’ve got no intention of leaving,” Killian whispers, “not because of the magic or the power that comes with it, only because I love you. A ridiculous amount, honestly.”

Sleep seems kind of pointless after that. 

He decides to leave Mills, eventually. 

“I don’t have magic,” Killian rationalizes, and Emma supposes that makes sense. “But I will need some help finding a job.”

Sliding a file with his name written in swirling script across her desk, he’s got the gall to smirk at her and Emma resists the urge to magic him into her chair. “Luckily I do have other skills, including a job offer—” “—If you’ve got a job offer, you don’t really need my help.” “Yeah, but you’re very pretty and I hear you’re real good at what you do.” “Which is?” “Moving in with me,” Killian says, which isn’t the last thing she expects but it still manages to catch her off guard. Lights erupt at the end of several strands of hair. “The reaction I was going for, absolutely.” “No, no, that’s—that’s dumb.” “Is it?” “I was going to ask you to move in with me. First.” “Competitive weirdo.” “I have an apartment,” Emma argues. “With laundry on site.” “Ah, yeah, that is a marker in the pro column. Plus, you’ll be there right?” “In my apartment? Yeah, probably,”

Pushing back on the chair he’d never really been sitting in, Killian leans across Emma’s desk. To kiss her. Hard. Magic flares in the air around them, causing bulbs to flicker and more than a few cries of get a room . “What I’m trying to do,” Killian mumbles. “If you’re asking me to move in, Swan, I’m going to accept.” “Make it sound less like a warning next time.”

He chuckles against her mouth, either ignoring the desk that must be pressing into his stomach or not bothered by it at all, and Emma tries not to throw herself at him too quickly when he brings a whole box of recently-bought blankets with him.

“So you don’t get cold, love.”

[moonknightly]

Nothing, Everything : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader 

Word Count: 2.6K

Excerpt: “His anger was coming from a place of love, that was undeniable. What he had heard you tell Finn truly scared him, and he didn’t know how to work through or process what you had said. It didn’t make any sense to him.”

Warnings: I said fuck, bad writing, my usual shit. This is really kind of heavy, so if you get triggered at any moment, please take care of yourself and stop reading immediately. I want my babies safe.

The subtle rise and fall of his chest with each shallow breath he took was the most he had moved in the last hour. You would have thought him to be asleep, if you didn’t know that he made small, melodical, almost humming sounds whenever he did decide to shut his eyes for just a brief moment of rest. No, he wasn’t sleeping, but he was completely silent, completely still, and completely pissed off.

And, though you didn’t know, completely worried that if he fell asleep, you wouldn’t be there when he woke up.

Poe was turned away from you in the bed, but you knew that if you were facing him, his nostrils would be flaring and his cheeks would be tinted red from the anger he felt coursing through his veins like a blazing, unforgiving fire. And as you laid there, staring at his naked back, covered in scars and marks that would always serve as a brutal reminder of the war that had become your lives, you realized that anger might have been too gentle of a word. Rage felt like a much more suitable term.

Normally, when he was mad at you, he wouldn’t be able to stay that way for very long, because relief would soon wash away any trace of fury he might’ve been harboring in the moment, and calm him significantly. Relief, because his anger towards you was usually caused by your own careless behavior, and your tendency to act on impulse when faced with a situation that could end poorly for you, and lead to you losing your life.

It was a cycle, really. An endless circle of close calls and almosts. A brief lecture about whatever it was you had done, a few harsh words that he never truly meant — harsh words that were usually uttered after your own smart remark about him being just as reckless when the time proved right, followed promptly by the sincerest of apologies and, depending on the day, a kiss that was either gentle and passionate or desperate and needy. And that vicious circle repeated itself more often than not, because you never seemed to gain even an ounce of respect for your own mortality, even when he begged and pleaded for you to, and he cared for you so deeply and didn’t know how else to convey how much grief you had caused him with your severe lack of self preservation.

But, you hadn’t even been in any danger that day. You hadn’t left the base for the better part of a week, and had hardly left Poe’s side at that, enjoying the time you were able to spend with him that wasn’t filled with fighting and war. It had been beyond nice, and beyond needed. But, as a commander, he did still have certain daily responsibilities that couldn’t always include you. In the few hours that you did spend apart that day, you had been with Finn, just talking with him about anything that came to mind, but at some point, the conversation had turned to something deep, dark, and personal. You talked about things you had never told anyone else before. Things that you never thought you would ever tell anyone else — thoughts that felt like poison clouding your mind, rendering you useless until they passed for a time. 

And of course, Poe had to have overheard that part of the conversation.

Part of you understood why he was mad. It made sense, really, considering the things he had heard you say. But another part of you wanted to be mad at him for being angry with you, because had you really done anything wrong by expressing your twisted thoughts and emotions to Finn? Another cycle you found yourself in.

You sighed gently, flipping to your other side so that your back was now towards Poe. He still didn’t move, and that sparked your irritation even further. Glancing at the clock quickly, noting that you had to be up in only an hour, you decided that you couldn’t lay beside him in silence any longer. A boiling hot shower sounded much more appealing.

You quickly swung your legs over the side of the bed, attempting to stand when you felt a hand close around your wrist, effectively holding you in place. Slowly, you looked over your shoulder, finding his eyes in the darkness.

He looked scared, for a reason that you couldn’t quite place. His gaze was hard, but his eyes still warm with affection for you. He wasn’t completely calm again, as his anger was still evident in the way he clenched his jaw, but he looked somewhat better than he had before.

“Where are you going?” he asked quietly, after several seconds passed in silence.

You turned away from him again and shrugged your shoulders gently, letting another small sigh fall from your lips.

“I figured you didn’t want me here.”

You could feel him shift on the bed, and then suddenly, he was behind you, though he made no move to touch you, other than the hold he still had on your wrist. He was close enough, however, that you could feel his warm breath on the bare skin of your neck.

“Stay,” he mumbled, his exhaustion evident in his voice.

“You need to sleep.”

He scoffed gently, and you didn’t have to turn to know that he was running his free hand through his disheveled hair. “As if, Princess.”

It was then that you turned to face him, a deep frown upon your lips. Poe was already looking at you, and when your eyes met his, your frown only grew.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You really think I can sleep after all of...that?” he asked, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

“Poe,” you groaned, pulling your wrist out of his firm grasp. You finally stood, taking a few steps away from the bed, keeping your gaze set on the wall in front of you. “It wasn’t even that bad.”

“It wasn’t that bad? Really, Y/N?”

“I don’t think it was, no.”

Poe stayed silent, and the tension in the room only grew as each second passed. You were at a loss for what else to say, or how to make the situation right, because you still didn’t believe that you did anything wrong. But, at the same time, you were lying when you said that you didn’t think the words he had overheard were “that bad” because you knew had you been the one to hear him say anything remotely similar, you would be feeling the same way. Confused and angry and worried. You wouldn’t have been able to sleep, either.

His anger was coming from a place of love, that was undeniable. What he had heard you tell Finn truly scared him, and he didn’t know how to work through or process what you had said. It didn’t make any sense to him. How could you even think such horrible things?

But, his anger also wasn’t truly directed at you. He wasn’t mad because you hadn’t told him of these thoughts, not at all. No, he was angry at himself for not noticing that something had been wrong for quite some time, and he would also admit that he was a little irritated with you for feeling like you had to endure it alone.

And hearing you try to tell him that it hadn’t been “that bad”? It threw him for a loop, and sent so many different emotions through his system. He was even more confused than before, and the anger that had slowly started to diminish returned. But, above all, he was scared, and that was an emotion Poe Dameron didn’t know very well.

You heard Poe stand from the bed, his heavy footsteps crossing the room towards you. You turned just as he reached you, but he kept coming, forcing you back until you hit the wall you had just been staring at. He only stopped when his chest was flush against your own, and his lips brushed the skin of your nose with each breath he took.

“Say it to my face this time,” he ordered, his voice low and dripping with venom as a new fire burned behind his eyes.

“What? Poe-”

“Say it to my face, Y/N.”

“I’m not going to-”

“Say it!” he yelled, though you didn’t even flinch at the harsh tone of his voice. He would never, ever hurt you, no matter how angry he could become. You weren’t scared of him.

When you didn’t answer his request, Poe leaned forward until his lips brushed against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Tell me exactly what you told Finn.”

He didn’t even give you a moment to respond before he was speaking again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“If you really don’t think it’s that bad, tell me. Tell me how you think that you’re nothing, and how you think I’m everything. Tell me how you think the Resistance doesn’t need you, that Leia doesn’t need you, that I don’t need you.”

You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes as you listened to him repeat your own words back to you.

“How you try to get yourself killed when we’re out on a mission, because you think you’re too much of a burden on me? How you think about crashing your X-Wing on purpose, because you think that you’re a waste of my time? You think you don’t deserve me?”

“Stop it,” you cried, forcefully pushing on his chest, trying to break away from him to no avail. He didn’t budge, and quickly placed one of his hands on the wall beside your head, the other pressing firmly on your hip, holding you tighter against the wall.

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that I don’t love you. That I wouldn’t be a fucking wreck if something happened to you. That I don’t really care. Can you really look me in the eye and say that I don’t love you?”

You couldn’t respond. Couldn’t find the words to say. It was true — they were all things you had said, and all things you had thought for some time now, but hearing such awful things flow from Poe’s mouth made it different. Because there was absolutely no way you could do what he was requesting of you, because you knew that they were all lies, and you refused to lie to Poe.

“I know you love me,” you whimpered, your voice cracking as you turned your head to the side just in time to catch the single tear that rolled down his cheek. “I know you do.”

Poe closed his eyes, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat and placing his forehead against your shoulder. All night, his head had been swimming with thoughts of you hurting yourself, or going out on a mission and not coming back to him. They were driving him mad.

“Do you have any idea what I would do if I lost you?” he whispered, his own voice cracking as images of you, bloodied and bruised and unmoving, filled his mind again.

He hit the wall beside you, and you knew his knuckles would be bruised from how hard he did so, but you still didn’t flinch.

You slowly hooked your arms around him, one hand falling to his back while the other entangled itself in his hair, holding him to you. He made no sound, but you could feel a wetness on your shoulder as more tears fell. Poe Dameron was a man who never cried, and you had reduced him to tears with only words.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” you mumbled into his hair, softly kissing the side of his head as you gently played with his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head as he tried to pry himself from your grasp, but you only held him tighter.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“But I do. I didn’t notice, all of those times I-”

“Baby, it’s because I didn’t want you to,” you assured him, pushing him back gently so you could look into his dark eyes, eyes that you wanted to stare into for the rest of your days. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“But why? I don’t understand, I thought-”

You interrupted him for a second time by placing a gentle kiss to his lips, one that he instantly returned on instinct, as if he were on autopilot. The kiss only lasted a second, and when you pulled away, he remained silent, though he stared at you with furrowed eyebrows, waiting for you to say something.

It took you a few seconds, but you finally did.

“Because I convinced myself that all of those things were true, and telling you would only burden you further.”

Poe still looked conflicted, and his hand on your hip that you didn’t realize was still there only tightened. You gave him another chaste kiss, just to try and wipe the frown from his lips, even if only for a second.

“I love you, Poe Dameron. I’m not going anywhere. I promise I’ll be more careful during missions, and I promise you’ll get to wake up to my bedhead and awful morning breath for the rest of your life if that’s what you want.”

He nodded swiftly, pulling you to him until your face was buried in his chest, his chin resting on top of your head. He simply stood there and held you, gently rocking you back and forth as he let your warmth in his arms take away the rest of his negative emotions and unwanted thoughts.

“I need you to promise me one more thing, sweetheart” he finally muttered, breaking the silence after a few short minutes.

“And what’s that?”

“That if you have these thoughts again, you’ll tell me. So I can remind you of exactly how much you mean to me instead of flipping my shit when I hear you tell someone else.”

You didn’t answer at first. You knew you would have them again, because they weren’t something that you could just turn off with the flick of a switch. The state of your mental health couldn’t just change overnight. But, you knew that there was no one else you would rather talk to about those feelings with, because now, there was no way for you to deny that he cared and loved you more than any being had ever loved another. Not after tonight.

You only nodded, pulling his face down to yours and planting a kiss on his lips that was so full of desperation and love and assurance. Poe kissed you back with just as much passion, the action speaking all of the words he hadn’t verbally expressed yet.

You mattered. To him and to Leia and to the rest of the Resistance.

You weren’t a burden, or a waste of his time. You were his reason behind everything he did. Why he woke up in the morning, and why he fought so hard in the Resistance. It was all for you.

And he thought that you deserved better than him, but he was far too selfish, and would keep you for himself until you no longer wanted him.

You were his everything, just like he was yours.

[ineffable-endearments]

“I lost my best friend” (does Aziraphale know?)

One of the most confusing moments for a lot of people, myself included, is Aziraphale’s reaction to “I lost my best friend.” I’m trying to parse out whether I headcanon that he Knows, and if he does, what his response means.

It turned into a 2000-word-plus analytical post. At first I thought Aziraphale knew, then I thought he didn’t, then I thought he did again. And there are so, so many implications for the whole rest of the story. That one line is such an important moment!

But I’ll put my thoughts behind a read more, for courtesy’s sake.

First of all:

Aziraphale definitely thought there was a chance Crowley might still want to help him out after he said he was leaving for Alpha Centauri, because he called Crowley the instant he realized Heaven was determined to destroy Earth. However, on his second contact attempt, he asked if Crowley went to Alpha Centauri. While Aziraphale probably knew, given the circumstances, that Crowley hadn’t literally left the planet, the question was an opportunity for Crowley to get out of helping. Aziraphale had to have given him that opportunity on purpose because he wasn’t 100% sure if Crowley would still want to help.

Last time Aziraphale called him, Crowley had said it wasn’t a good time to talk. “I’ve got an old friend here.” They didn’t get any time to communicate, but Crowley was playing it as cool as he could. Aziraphale, who...sometimes takes things at face value, could believe that he had an old friend there instead of an enemy.

Aziraphale does not know he’s supposed to be dead. He doesn’t know the bookshop burned down, and he has no idea about what Crowley went through inside.

All of these things together would lead me to think that no, in that moment, Aziraphale did not know Crowley was talking about him. He reacted as if he might not know, and there are several reasons that he could plausibly not know.

However.

Fast-forward to Tadfield airbase. Aziraphale realizes the best way to compel Crowley to come up with an idea for stopping Satan is to threaten never to speak to him again (or, at least, remind him that if they die now they’re never going to speak again). This would indicate that he does know what Crowley was suggesting back there: that Aziraphale is his best friend, so much so that life isn’t worth living without him. And, conversely, that he might be persuaded life is worth living for him.

This tells us with relatively little doubt that Aziraphale does in fact know Crowley’s feelings and that he was the loss Crowley was so upset about.

It’s also worth noting that in the script book, Aziraphale is given a chance to label their relationship when introducing Crowley to Madame Tracy. Aziraphale just says “He’s...well, we’re sort of business associates.” He is still reticent to label Crowley a friend (even though Crowley literally just said they were friends to the army guy). So it’s quite believable that back at the bar, he would have tried to work around accepting the Best Friend moniker from Crowley.

Initially, when Crowley said he “lost his best friend,” Aziraphale had no idea about the bookshop fire, and he probably thought Crowley was referring to their relationship being lost during their argument during the bandstand breakup. As in, the two of them had a fight, Aziraphale said “we’re not friends,” and now they’re not friends anymore. As far as Aziraphale would know, this upset Crowley SO much that he just gave up on living.

This is not flattering. This is disturbing. Aziraphale has been afraid of Crowley getting hurt by their relationship - “whatever you wish to call it” - for at least 417 years, first mentioned on-screen in 1601. Is it the only thing Aziraphale has been afraid of? Certainly not. He has been attempting self-preservation as well. But is it important? Without a doubt.

THIS IS KIND OF LIKE AZIRAPHALE’S BURNING BOOKSHOP MOMENT. Crowley isn’t LITERALLY dead, but he’s resigned himself to it...and Aziraphale is blaming himself. That awkward “I’m so sorry to hear it” is, in many ways, Aziraphale trying to keep his shit together. Just as Crowley, in the bookshop, thought he’d caused Aziraphale’s death, Aziraphale thinks Crowley’s death is the final consequence of befriending an angel.

I’d like to keep in mind the one instance in the series when Aziraphale does openly call Crowley a friend. It’s when he’s lying about not having any information about the Antichrist. When reminded to call with any updates, he says, “Of course! We’re friends! Why would you think I wouldn’t?” Given how strategic Aziraphale is trying to be, I think he’s partly nervous and losing track of his lies/accidentally letting the truth slip, and partly trying to butter Crowley up because he knows that if going to Heaven works like he wants it to, Crowley will have to accept their asylum. The one difference between this moment and all the other moments when he denies their friendship (which almost always also involve lying to other people) is at this moment, Aziraphale thinks he’s figured out how to solve Armageddon.

Anyway, Aziraphale promptly goes and feels Heaven out to see if they might just stop the entire war like he wants. When the Archangels turn the conversation to how much they all love smiting the foe, however, Aziraphale backs down and turns his Antichrist discovery into a hypothetical, choosing not to tell Heaven about it right away, either. Here, they’ve reframed Crowley once again as “the foe.” After that, Aziraphale has another fit of indecision, but agrees to meet Crowley at the bandstand, where he suggests, subtly (but not that subtly) that Crowley should join Heaven.

This tells me that he still hopes Heaven might save Earth, but if he’s going to save Crowley alongside Earth, then he’s gonna have to get Crowley on Heaven’s side so that he doesn’t get Smited. He’s so certain at this point this is the only solution that he won’t even let Crowley walk away until Crowley establishes that there is another option besides Heaven.

And that second option - the option to just leave it all and flee to the stars - is what makes Aziraphale decide it’s time to end their Arrangement and deny everything about their relationship instead of simply saying “no, I’m not leaving.” After all, Crowley cited their friendship as the reason they should go off together. As far as I can see, the only way this sudden turnaround really makes sense is if Aziraphale is being protective here, trying to remove himself from the equation in the desperate hope that Crowley will make decisions for himself rather than for Aziraphale (who is occasionally dense but is not stupid; he remembers 1862, and 1941, and 1967).

This exchange loops us back to Aziraphale’s probable assumption in the bar that Crowley’s “I lost my best friend” is referring to this fight, NOT to Aziraphale’s presumed death.

“I’m so sorry to hear it.” Almost six months later, I finally believe I have a real interpretation for that phrase. With the context that it’s Crowley explaining that’s why he hasn’t gone to Alpha Centauri to escape from the war between Heaven and Hell, why he’s so devastated, why he’s given up on survival, it’s Aziraphale responding, “I’m sorry you lost something so important to you. I’m sorry I was so important to you. I’m sorry that you decided your life wasn’t worth living without me.”***

But Aziraphale:

Is not going to apologize for the fight itself. He was harsh, but he WAS doing his best, and in this moment, I don’t think he sees any way that he could have avoided it.

Is not going to acknowledge that they’re friends. Right now, he likely still believes Crowley would be better off far away from here. And he also probably believes that calling themselves “friends” remains a bad idea, because while he’s been disabused of the notion that Heaven is worth asking for help, Heaven and Hell and their punishments are STILL looming over them. I have little doubt that Aziraphale’s ideology is playing into this as well - he believes they’re enemies and therefore cannot be classified as friends - but it’s the threat behind that ideology that is motivating him, not that he loves the ideology for its own sake.

Aziraphale always eventually turns to Crowley when he doesn’t know what to do because Crowley is fucking brilliant and also the only being in the universe who actually cares about either Aziraphale or Earth for their own sakes.

However, I’d say he avoided getting Crowley involved until he realized there was absolutely no other option, rather carefully made sure Crowley didn’t have to be involved, and gives Crowley a choice every step of the way on whether he wants to risk his life all the way until the tail end. When they’re sitting at the bus stop and he’s reminding Crowley, “my side wouldn’t like that,” it isn’t only for Aziraphale’s benefit; it is a habit, yes, but he’s likely thinking about how if the Archangels caught him and Crowley living together, they’d definitely smite Crowley because that’s what they love to do. They told him as much during the conversation in Heaven, going as far as to say “Crowley and the others were cast out, but nothing was ever really settled.” They’d love to “settle” things. So would Hell, now. And it is Crowley’s determination to stay that convinces Aziraphale it’s finally okay to believe they’re on their own side.

I think, on that bench in Tadfield, the question of whether it’s time to leave the planet was still hanging over the two of them. After all, they’re now slated for punishment. I think that by saying “I suppose I should get him to drop me off at the bookshop,” Aziraphale was gently informing Crowley that he doesn’t plan to leave Earth - he plans to die here. By saying “I don’t think my side would like that” about Crowley’s idea that they should live together, he’s giving Crowley one more chance to leave for the stars.

Good Omens is about a lot of things. One of them is opposites. Aziraphale’s faulty philosophical assumption is that blending two “opposite” things (or, in this case, people) will destroy them both. As far as he’s concerned, either one of those two people must first change, so that they’re no longer “opposite” (i.e. Crowley rejoins Heaven), or they must not mix (“I need a receptive body. It’s a pity I can’t inhabit yours! But occult, ethereal...we’d probably explode.”) The real truth is that having both of them together is the only way to win, of course. The Earth is a Libra and it thrives on balance, but not separation.

All this - the fact that Aziraphale will still ask for help with saving the world but denies his friendship with Crowley and seems to try to stay away as a protective measure - really suggests to me that Aziraphale loves Crowley, cares deeply about him, but wants him to stay only if he’s genuinely going to choose Earth for his own sake, not because he’s trying to choose Aziraphale (who, in his own opinion, is dangerous to be around; see 1601, the Holy Water, the bandstand). What he’s not taking into account is that he, Crowley, and the Earth are united as one, and it’s not only safe for the two of them to choose each other, but it’s essential.

Yeah. Leaving together on the bus is Aziraphale finally letting Crowley choose him.

***A little note about Crowley’s self-worth/will to live...I don’t mean to imply that he doesn’t have any interest in living outside of having a relationship with Aziraphale. Of course he does. But in that moment, with the incomplete information that Aziraphale has, it looks to him like that’s what is being said. In reality, Crowley’s despair isn’t just about not being friends anymore - it’s the belief that Aziraphale is dead, permanently gone. When you care a lot about someone, as hard as it is to move on from a breakup, it’s even more difficult to get over the despair of knowing that person is no longer out there at all. Combined with Armageddon, it was too much.

Crowley and Aziraphale are extremely oblivious, and yes, they do have some misunderstandings. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s not their mutual feelings that they’re oblivious to. It’s the fact that they actually do have the power to save each other. It took an act not of divine but of human intervention to get them to understand that.

[three-houses-text-files]

byleth/hubert

c-s support + paired ending + night of the ball

Hubert: Hello, Professor. You seem to be in good health.

>I am, yes. And yourself?

H: Of course.

>Do you need something?

H: Indeed I do.

H: Hm. Doesn't seem intimidated.

>Something wrong?

H: No, not at all. It's just that I find myself a little concerned for your well-being. H: You see, Lady Edelgard has taken something of an interest in you.

>It seems so.

>I think not.

>Don't be flippant.

H: She has. And it's beneath you to be so glib. H: There is something you need to understand about the role I play here. H: One of my many duties is to determine potential advantages and potential threats to Her Highness. H: If you prove yourself useful to Lady Edelgard, then all will be well. H: If you pose a threat...I shall have to dispose of you.

>Dispose of me?

H: Yes. This is no joke. While I may be a student here, I am her servant first and foremost. H: Therefore, if an untimely demise is not to your liking, you would do well to demonstrate your utility with all haste. H: I should warn you that I am far less compromising than Lady Edelgard. H: Do not be at ease merely because you stand in her good graces for the time being.

>I'm not worried.

H: Ha! Such confidence.

H: I'm beginning to see why you caught her eye.

>I'm not sure about this.

H: Don't be coy.

H: If I were you, I would take this more seriously. Your life is at stake.

H: My family, House Vestra, has been sworn to House Hresvelg for generations. H: Since the dawn of the Empire, we have worked to protect the emperor by any means necessary—both in the open and in the shadows. H: If you incur our wrath, you will see just what I mean.

——————————————————————————————

b

>...

H: It seems I am discovered. I suppose that means assassination is out of the question. At least for now.

>What do you think you're doing?

H: Merely keeping an eye on you, for the moment. Nothing to be concerned over.

>Assassination?

H: Unusually watchful—difficult to steal upon in slumber. Perhaps an odorless, tasteless poison... H: Lady Edelgard certainly took interest in a difficult one this time.

>Why are you following me?

H: I suppose that question does warrant a response, considering it may mean your life. H: The answer requires me to explain some of the complex internal politics of the Empire. H: Are you familiar with Volkhard von Arundel? He is Lady Edelgard's uncle. H: You may also know him as Lord Arundel, the Empire's Regent. H: Many years ago, he took Her Majesty and fled to the Kingdom of Faerghus. H: Then, after a time, he returned to seize power. H: Joining forces with Prime Minister Aegir and my father, Lord Arundel rendered Emperor Ionius IX... politically impotent. (pre-skip) H: Together with former Prime Minister Aegir and my father, Lord Arundel rendered Emperor Ionius IX... politically impotent. (post-skip) H: Lady Edelgard is Ionius IX's daughter. I cannot begin to fathom the depth of her sadness at his betrayal. H: I see something of Lord Arundel in you... H: When I look at you, I feel I can almost see a second self lurking beneath the surface. H: It is as if you are in constant dialogue with something inside your heart—something with desires very different from your own. H: Does that description feel familiar to you at all? H: Because to me you seem unpredictable. As though you could turn traitor at any moment.

>No, not familiar at all.

>There might be something to that.

H: The more I learn about you, the less I like. H: I had thought you might be of use to Lady Edelgard. H: But now I am beginning to think you may, through no fault of your own, present too great a risk. H: I hope you will prove me wrong, Professor. H: I would hate for this to come to bloodshed.

——————————————————————————————

a

H: Nice place, isn't it, Professor? Standing here, you can almost feel the goddess's absence. H: Discounting what dwells within you, of course. H: Do you think some punishment would rain down from the sky if this monastery were to be destroyed? H: Of course not. Even if the so-called Immaculate One came back here for revenge... H: That would only be a result of this war, not the work of a deity.

>Do you hate the goddess?

H: If it is between love and hate, then I would choose the latter. The goddess failed to properly govern this world. H: That is why it is necessary for Lady Edelgard to become the supreme leader of Fódlan. H: Those with power must use it wisely. Is that not a teaching of the Church of Seiros? H: It's absurd to preach to others what you cannot practice yourself.

>Sometimes it's necessary.

H: That is logical, but I am afraid your logic is informed by your humanity.

>You're absolutely right.

H: Yes. It is our humanity that pushes us to step up and take the lead should the need arise.

H: That is not the case for inhuman creatures with lifespans well beyond our own. H: We must fight to preserve what makes us human. H: You are the one closest to the enemy. I wonder if you will be able to maintain your humanity to the end.

>Of course I will.

H: You make it sound easy. I find myself trusting you. Even with my life.

>If I'm unable to...

H: Does that mean you know I will do what must be done?

H: You must trust me a great deal.

H: Heh. I've already dedicated my life to Lady Edelgard. H: To throw my lot in with you is inconceivable. H: But if I had two lives to give... H: I might devote one of them to you. H: Not as master and servant, but as equal partners. H: We could be a couplet of birds, flying alongside the sovereign of Black Eagles...

——————————————————————————————

s

H: You’ve kept me waiting. Where have you been? H: The war may be over, but matters of government, diplomacy, and justice remain to be dealt with. H: There is one problem in particular that must be sorted first, however.

>What problem is that?

H: You. H: Rather...you and me. H: To think, I had rehearsed a long preamble. H: Now, when it matters, it's all vanished from memory as suddenly as the morning dew. H: To the point, then. I...love you. In fact, I wish to marry you.

>You what?!

H: I know this must come as a surprise.

H: Especially in light of my devotion to Lady Edelgard.

>Yes! Gladly!

H: Your candid sincerity is...overwhelming.

H: You must have known all along that I had feelings for you.

H: I've already spoken to Her Majesty about this. She told me to follow my heart. H: She seems to prefer that you be with me rather than some dubious individual. H: So, you could say that we have her blessing. H: Then, this is yours... H: Is that...a ring? H: You came here with the same idea? H: I cannot believe I am saying this. I am truly happy. H: I am afraid you've outdone me. I've brought no such token. Not much of a suitor, am I? H: I've never done well with gifts or flattery. H: Protecting you is easy. But to be a good husband...

>No need to worry.

H: Of course such a thing doesn't bother you. H: I hope I can support you with the same tenacity. H: Thank you for doing me this honor. H: I once thought killing you would be a great challenge, but... H: The real difficulty was declaring my love.

——————————————————————————————

paired ending

After a fierce battle, Byleth and Edelgard finally brought the tyranny of a godlike being to an end. Though wounded in the conflict and stripped of divine power,Byleth continued to fight alongside the emperor to bring true peace. Hubert joined them in this fight, fulfilling his promise to confront those who slither in the dark head-on. In that darkness, Byleth and Hubert formed an unbreakable bond. It is said that, as a married couple, they were totally inseparable.

——————————————————————————————

night of the ball

H: Here for a tryst, Professor? I won't interfere. H: I shall take my leave at once. Farewell.

>Just a moment.

H: Yes, what is it? I assume you are waiting on someone.

>What do you mean, a tryst?

H: You have arranged to meet someone here at the Goddess Tower, have you not?

>No, not at all.

H: I see. Apologies for the misunderstanding. H: Then I take it you are unfamiliar with the rumors about this place?

>What rumors?

H: There is an old legend that says promises made between lovers here are sure to be fulfilled. H: If you believe in that sort of thing. H: I would have expected you to be familiar with the story already, considering how popular you are. H: I was certain that someone had asked you here.

>I am not that popular.

H: On the contrary, I suspect those who wished to ask were simply too daunted to try.

>That is not the case.

H: No need to sound so dejected.

H: I suspect those who wished to ask were simply too daunted to try.

H: But thanks to their cowardice, I am gifted with this opportunity to speak with you. H: It's clear you have never felt at ease around me, as a result of how little trust there is between us. H: I should get back to the ball, regardless. H: I imagine there would be quite a scene if you turned out to be lying.

>You don't believe me?

H: Trust is not in my nature. H: Good night.

[fingersinhisass]

hi yeah can i get uhhhhh two number nines, a number nine large, a number six with extra dip, a number seven, two number 45s, one with cheese, and all the odd numbers on that post for my best boy alphonse?

yes absolutely carly i love you

1. Which should be saved – a bus full of innocent lives or a loved one?

in principle, alphonse would say a bus full of innocent lives. but if he were ever actually given the choice, there’s no way he wouldn’t save someone he loves. he’d be real fucked up about it though.

3. If you could jump back through time to save a loved one’s life, would you? Despite what it might do to the timeline? To everyone else? Do you believe it is their fate to die regardless?

he’s never had anyone super close to him die, but he’s done a lot of killing. and i think he would definitely jump back in time to stop himself from killing his targets, so really one of the demons should’ve offered him that. because he would’ve been. so tempted. and might’ve even gone through with it (if i could ever roleplay him accurately)

5. Is it better to hurt others before they hurt you or let yourself be walked all over and hurt by others?

al’s the kind of person who would let someone he loves walk all over him for sure, which. isn’t really healthy. he’s been bitten way more times than he’s bitten back when it comes to friendships and romantic relationships. 

7. You have the key to immortality in your hands. But not for free. If you want it, as a price, your worst enemy also gains immortality. Is it worth it?

absolutely not. al has no interest in being immortal. like, none whatsoever. eternity to think over his mistakes and flaws? no thanks.

9. Can people be held accountable for things people close or related to them did or are they innocent?

even though he carries his own prejudices, i think al is a firm believer in giving people the benefit of the doubt. therefore no, they are not accountable for those things. it’s not like he blames shaelle for having a shitbag rich asshole for a dad.

11. Imagine there is a beast that craves attention. If you ignore it, despite being deadly, it will leave you alone. Could you live like that? Even if it possibly attacked others? Would you try and challenge something that unknown?

al would sacrifice himself to something like that and challenge the beast in a heartbeat. he’s altruistic to a potentially fatal degree, y’all.

13. Could you sacrifice yourself for the good of everyone else?

oops. see number 11.

15. Is lying to others to gain their approval more important than being genuine and hated?

al’s whole life and identity is kind of one massive lie in a lot of different ways – that being said, in a lot of ways he’s also very genuine about certain aspects of his personality and is a very open person. but the pool is a lot deeper than it looks, and the stuff he’s open about is very shallow. the deeper stuff is a lot more heavily guarded. that’s not even the question being asked here. anyway. he hates a kiss-ass and only butters people up if he has a legitimate investigative reason to, not just personal gain. 

17. Have you ever gotten sheer joy out of hurting someone else, either physically or mentally? To whom and why? Did it scare you?

haha yes. he offed a very high up government official once who was super corrupt and basically personified all of the things al hates about the upper class. and yes, it scared him.

19. What is more likely a thought to you – that this world is wrong or that you are wrong?

both? al is both astounded by the cruelty people are incapable of inflicting on others and astounded by the cruelty he’s inflicted on others. he’s working very hard to change it, so these days it’s a lot more often that the world is wrong. he just reminds himself very frequently that he’s a part of the world he’s working to change.

21. Are there people in this world you simply thing the world would be better without? If you could erase them out of existence without physically murdering them, would you?

uhhhh, the upper class? yes. funny because he marries a super rich girl. but no, he wouldn’t erase them from existence. mainly because it would mean erasing his wife, but also because he’s done with killing people. even if he does think the world would be better without them.

23. Could you ever become your own hero? Is that a role you can fulfill or is it something you look to others for?

nope. alphonse is his own villain. he definitely finds heroes in other people, particularly those he loves: his mother, borem (which is partially why he reacted so poorly to borem’s betrayal), shaelle. not to totally derail and gush about how much he adores shaelle on main but like. he admires her so much. he thinks she’s so, so strong and powerful and good.

25. What is more important to you? An idea of yours being used and appreciated or the credit for that idea being yours and yours alone?

definitely the idea being used and appreciated. credit is nice, but he really doesn’t think he deserves it, so.

27. How far would you go to achieve a dream or ideal? Does it matter who suffers? Does it matter if you suffer?

he would tear himself apart for a cause he believes in (which he kind of does). if someone else is getting hurt? hell no. if he’s getting hurt? who gives a shit. he has like no self-preservation instinct anymore lmao someone help him please

29. Is genius equal to hard work? Does a genius deserve praise for doing well without effort? Are they above us?

alphonse probably values hard work just a little bit more than genius simply because very little has come easily to him in life and he’s more than used to working his ass off for things. he doesn’t think geniuses are above normal people, absolutely not, but he does think they deserve praise, even if what they accomplish wasn’t as hard for them as it might be for others. they still accomplished something.

31. What is more important to you? Being respected and praised by your elders or being looked up to and championed by those younger or of the same age?

he’s not keen on being praised so ideally neither, but he absolutely adores kids and to be loved and looked up to by a child makes him happy, even if it also makes him feel a little bit guilty.

33. If you could wipe certain memories from your head, would you? Why would you? What memories?

he wouldn’t wipe his memories, even the terrible murder ones, because he believes he needs them to serve as a reminder of what he’s capable of, what he will never, ever do again, and why he’s trying to make the world a better place.

35. Is every person in this world wholly unique or can they be categorized? Can they be grouped and mentally dissected? Are you just another sheep in another flock or are you the sole unique soul?

upper class people can be categorized, says alphonse, because they fucking suck. again, he marries a rich girl. he rethinks some of his biases. in terms of whether or not he’s unique, he’d probably tend to think so, but not because he’s super cool and special or whatever, but because he’s a fucking terrible person and a menace to society. at least, like, that’s what he believes. 

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Searching

Crazy - Chapter 26 (Previous Chapters)

Fandom: TMNT 2014/16

Pairing: Raphael x April (Raphril)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: Raphael is missing. April is frantic while Leonardo searches for his lost brother in the desperate hope to prevent him from doing anything irrational.

Fanfiction.net

A03

Long, excruciating hours of anxious waiting and all April could do was silently pace around the small space of her apartment. Sending out texts and calling the red-banded brother's phone over and over again… without any response.

Hours had passed since Raphael fled her apartment like it was ablaze and the slight worry was quickly morphing into frantic anxiety. Her screams of telling him to come back went unanswered and since then, April felt nothing but a hallow hole grawing deep in the pit of her stomach.

As much as the brunette would like to believe Raph when he said he had patrol and left with hardly a word, she couldn't ignore the sensation that she was being lied to. There was also no way he was asleep since she knew for a fact if he went on patrol, it wouldn't conclude til at least four in the morning. It just - didn't feel right since Raphael wasn't one to ignore her and she hadn't the vaguest idea of what she may have said during their brief interactions that possibly set him off. Everything was perfectly fine when all of a sudden, he took off with the most half-assed excuse she'd ever heard from him.

It just wasn't like him at all...

The reporter couldn't help but be worried wondering if he went off and got himself into trouble or danger like he would frequently do. So little self-preservation if his numerous injuries and scars he acquired almost daily were anything to go by... Heart pounding, she jumped slightly when her cell 'pinged' in her shaky hands. Instant relief flooding her system was quickly diminished upon reading a text from Leo rather than Raphael and the context of the text nearly stopped her heart cold in her chest.

"Have you seen Raph? He hasn't come home yet."

April, her legs suddenly weak, plopped down on the worn couch as she tried to calm her breathing even with her stomach lodged itself into her throat. Texting forgotten and panic overtaking her system, she called him.

"Leo?" she asked upon him answering.

"Oh. Hello, April. What's going on? Did Raphael decide to stay at your place tonight? It's fine, I just wished he'd inform me of his plans ahead of time." Leo replied with a throaty chuckle, unaware of the grimace forming on April's mouth.

"R-Raph said you texted him that he had patrol."

"What?" Leo chuckled, "No, I didn't. That doesn't make sense, it's his week off."

That news had a chill echoing deep down through her spine. "...Raphael left three hours ago." April whimpered, shocked she allowed the sound to come out.

"..."

"Leo?" April asked hysterically when he didn't respond.

"...I-It's okay, April. Don't worry, I'm sure everything is fine. I'll have Donnie track his phone since he's not answering it for some reason, but it's okay - we'll find him. Raph probably went to cool off or just lost track of time; he tends to do that occasionally."

"I hope you're right."

"Hey, April...are you okay?"

"I…" she struggled to keep her voice from breaking or retelling the night's events to the eldest terrapin brother but she bit it back, "I'm alright... Just a damn headache, um, please, let me know when you find him."

"Will do. Don't worry too much, alright? Have a goodnight." with that, the blue-clad leader hung up the phone, leaving April to listen to the droning beep on the other line before she hung up and tried to quell the frantic pounding of her heart.

A sigh left Leonardo's mouth as he hung up the phone with a forceful push of his thumb before placing it back in the pouch of his belt. Pushing his shoulders back, he left the lair in search for his brother through the dark, frigid night hoping he wasn't too late…

Only one thing was certain - Leonardo despised this part of his job.

An hour had passed since he departed the lair in a desperate search for Raphael and still found nothing. A gnawing began to plague his stomach when he contacted Donnie and was informed Raphael shut his phone off close to April's apartment, meaning the red-banded terrapin could be anywhere in the city by now…

Stopping at a rooftop edge, Leo sighed at his brother's typical brash behavior for whether Raphael liked to believe it or not, he wasn't invincible.

It was as if Raph's very purpose in life was to drive him absolutely insane ever since Master Splinter gave him title of leader. The once-impenetrable bond he shared with Raphael was severed permanently as if it never existed whatsoever; it frankly didn't stand a chance with the stubborn and hotheaded brother of his who detested Splinter's decision. In its place was growing resentment and a fierce jealousy the younger brother couldn't mask and ever since that day, Raphael grew reckless; doing everything in his power to go against orders and rebel like some angry, misguided teenager hellbent on making Leo's life a living hell. Like his red-banded brother was purposefully making his job harder just for some leverage in digging his burrowing bitterness underneath his shell.

Little did his younger brother know, but Leo never wanted this position.

Truthfully, he despised the title of Leader and all the connotations it entailed but he would never say it aloud. Leonardo didn't like the responsibility of being the sole one responsible for keeping family safe and coming up with plans to disarm criminals and enemies in a moment's notice. A difficult job which Raphael tended to make nearly impossible whenever given the chance.

Yet over the years, Raphael seemed to mellow out some - especially after April O'Neil spontaneously came into their lives.

Raphael did hide a lot, but there was no masking the feelings he had for their hogasha.

It was rather sad how easily the normally stone-faced Raph let it show, but apparently, he was the only one who saw straight through the act. Mikey and Donnie had no idea (either that or they didn't mention it) and apparently, neither did April.

Leo desperately wanted to do it - to approach his hotheaded brother and flat out tell him it shouldn't happen just because of the mere shit storm it would be certain to cause. He wasn't worried for April, but for Raphael - his brother, for as hard-headed and strong as he seemed outwardly, had more of a fragile shell than Raphael would ever admit even under threat of death. As much as Raphael aggravated him tormented him, disobeyed him, and plain drove him crazy with his irrational behavior - Leo never intended to hurt his brother. All Leo wanted to do was protect him, shield him, discourage him from chasing after such a fruitless endeavor that could end up being the death of him.

So, at first, Leonardo said nothing.

As time went on, Leo merely watched the story unfold from the sidelines; seeing if anything at all would come of it other than anguish - and so far, nothing had - until the point Leo began silently rooting for something deeper to develop between Raphael and April. It took some time, but he began to witness just how inexplicably happy April made Raph. Smiles that were rarely glimpsed became a permanent fixture on his face whenever their hogasha was around. More shocking was when he noticed the slight nuances of April's behavior toward his brother; how she tended to seek him out; touch him for no reason, and always make sure to call him at least once a day and they were always texting back and forth...

...Until a year later they met Casey and Leo watched it all crumble like a house of cards.

While he personally had nothing against the masked vigilante, it was immediate chemistry between him and the pretty reporter and it was when Raphael began to spiral down a deep, dark road once again. It was only a matter of time, he supposed for as nice as it was to envision his little brother and April hook up and perhaps fall in love when the two finally stopped skirting around each other...their reality wasn't a fairytale. The two had come from such different worlds and yes, while she was vital for their lives and owed it to her, Leo knew it would ultimately happen; that she'd find someone who fit into her world... someone that wasn't Raphael.

This realization and his desire to protect his brother's heart finally forced his hand. Leo approached Raph about April, telling him he would only be hurting himself if he continued to pursue her, but if anything, it only further drove the wedge between them.

Leo would be lying if it didn't hurt to see his little brother grow colder once again; smiles weren't as easy to come by as before the masked vigilante came into April, and their, lives. The title Leader hurt worse than ever right now for it has always been his job to keep his his younger brothers safe - but this wasn't anything he could protect Raphael from and now - Leo had to reluctant accept that he ultimately failed…

Stepping into a darkened alley, Leonardo finally found Raphael.

The temporary relief upon finding him alive quickly faded upon taking in his red-banded brother. Raphael sat at the end of the dark alley, shell pressed against the wall and a look of utter despair etched into his face if the drying tear tracks streaking his bloody face weren't enough. Scanning his form further, Leo couldn't help but flinch when he took it Raphael's leg and knuckles. Dark green scales were horrifically torn apart and bleeding profusely and one of his hands was definitely broken; the knuckles of each a mesh of ripped skin and blood.

"Get fuckin' lost, Fearless..." Raph suddenly snorted, wiping his face with his injured hand, smearing fresh blood across his snout in the process.

"I'm not leaving you here, Raph. It's freezing out here, you shouldn't be out here in this weather for any long period of time. Now, get up and let's go home." Leo was stern, knowing if he let his guard down now, he'd be tempted to give his bristled sibling a hug that the hotheaded turtle definitely didn't want.

Raph grunted as he shifted on the bloody pavement, "I don't care... now leave me da fuck alone, Leo!" Raph growled, brandishing his canine fangs in a veiled threat.

"Make me." Leo replied calmly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Raphael's golden eyes flashed menacingly before he outright roared.

The massive turtle pushing himself blindly to unsteady feet and instantly attacking Leo without preamble or even a warning, but the Leader merely stepped aside. Not even breaking the barest swear while he swiftly avoided every clumsy punch and kick like clockwork. It was the same song and familiar dance they'd been doing for years and Leo could do it with his eyes closed. This was the very reason Leo stressed Raphael to control his anger because when Raph was angry, he fought sloppily, leaving enemies wide open to attack his most vulnerable areas.

And tonight, Leo was aiming straight for his pride.

One quick kick to Raphael's wounded leg, which Leo admitted was quite a cheap shot, but he didn't want to get into a big brawl where there could be people walking or living nearby to witness. Leo had to take him down - now. The swift slam of his thick leather shoe against his torn flesh had Raphael grunting loudly in pain as he gracelessly collapsed back to the ground with a thud.

"You ready to go home now?" Leo chided.

Within the blink of an eye, Raphael was back on his feet; glistening sais in gnarled fists as he launched himself akin to a runaway train headed straight for his brother.

Leo didn't even flinch; merely ducked and weaved along with every punch and kick Raphael threw his way. If Raph was in his right mind, Leonardo might have even had to draw his own broadswords to counter, but in his delicate state, Leonardo didn't dare in fear of hurting Raphael even worse.

"Raphael! Stop!" Leo demanded, blocking a sharp jab intended for his face. "There's no way you can beat me in this condition! Wait, you can't beat me anyway..."

"Shut yer fuckin' trap!" Raphael yelled, throwing himself at his brother; the blades of his sais nearly catching Leonardo's arm. "Leave me da fuck ALONE!"

"No!"

"Get away from me, Leo!" Raphael choked out in a guttural scream, his voice hoarse and actions becoming far more sloppy as he furthered his attack.

"I'm not leaving you here alone, Raph! We're brothers! Family!"

"Fuckin' shut up! Ya never fuckin cared before!"

"I DO care, Raphael! I've always cared about you! If I didn't care than tell me, why am I here?!"

"Yer only here 'cause Splinter prob'ly told ya to be - ya'd only do something like dis if he asked ya because normally, yer usually too busy kissin' dad's ass to care about me at all!" Raphael grunted, a sudden sob breaking the last word into a wail.

Leonardo froze, staring at his hunched over brother before uttering, "Raph…" Leo's voice was gentle as he watched Raphael suddenly throw his sais down, the metal clattering noisily in the dim alley. Nothing but sheer, utter agony was lacing his little brother's eyes and it shook him straight down to his very core.

"..."

"Raph, what happened?"

"..." Raphael didn't speak but he didn't have to.

The massive terrapin turned his face away from him, the darkness of the alley not hiding the glistening tears that slipped down Raph's face before they were roughly wiped away with a shaking, bloody hand.

"Nothin' happened, a'ight!?… Now, will ya kindly fuck off?" Raph growled out but all the fire was gone from his voice, "…I jus' wanna be alone…"

"I'm sorry, Raph, but that's not gonna happen…" Leo replied before knocking Raphael out cold.

Painful seconds and minutes trickled by into hours as April continued her frenzied pacing.

The reporter halfway watching a show to calm her nerves slightly while checking her phone to make sure she didn't miss any messages or calls. It was nearly 3am when she began to fly into a blind panic but still refused to call Leo back - the last thing April wanted was to look like some desperate person hopelessly obsessed with his brother.

But fuck, she was worried…

Raphael hadn't rebelled like he used to back in the day - well, as far as she knew.

Mikey relayed instances of multiple occasions where the red-banded turtle would disappear for days at a time only to come crawling back with cuts and bruises and be instantly sent to the hashi without a word. It didn't help when so many worst-case scenarios flitted around her mind even going back to the nightmare with Sack's - the insane man who was ready to dissect them and drain their blood - similar imaginings of it happening to the biggest turtle shook her straight down to her core and she couldn't help but blame herself for this.

April poured over every single word she spoke wondering what the hell she said that could make him react that way...because if anything, Raphael was a terrible liar and she'd seen straight through his bullshit when he said he had to go because he 'had patrol'.

...since when did Raph ever listen to Leo?!

When a blurry transcript of the conversation began playing in her head and how Raphael reacted with such panic upon her arrival, April instantly began regretting her less than kind words and actions toward him. Saying things she never would have had not she been suffering from a massive hangover and headache; his presence not expected after her admittedly prolonged absence…

Instantly, April's heart shattered when a flicker of Raphael's face showed up in her mind's eye from hours earlier. The utter panic and fear etched into his golden irises; the bags under them not hidden by the scarlet bandanna and it dawned on her then - what had she done? April bit her lip, heart frantically throbbing painfully in her chest when her phone suddenly pinged.

Troubling thoughts falling to the wayside, April peered down at the device and nothing could match the utter relief that flooded her system upon reading Leo's simple text of -

"He's home."

Clenching the small device in her hand, she lifted the other one up to brush back an errant strand of hair that obscured her vision. Upon doing so, she skirted her fingertips against her cheek and was surprised to realize that they were wet. The warm tears clinging to her skin before she wiped them away with a trembling hand.

Guilt settled deep in her gut, April allowed a sob of relief to escape her lips.

[quinintheclouds]

why do you think Patton uses fi? he always seemed like a total fe user to me

I totally get that! He does give out that vibe, and I did think that for a while before diving in. There’s a kind of huge set of misconceptions about Fi though, and because of that it gets mistaken for Fe a LOT. People seem to go with the blanket statement of Fe = caring about others’ feelings more than your own and bottling up any negativity; Fi = caring about your own feelings more than having a focus on others’ and embracing or wallowing in the negative emotions. Either of these can do any of these, and they do. 

Fi is more focused on what the individual believes is right or wrong (hence it often being called the “morality” function), while Fe is more socially-oriented, and therefore more often prioritizes/is subject to what a group thinks is right or wrong. Fe is happier when the group is happy - and so is Fi - but Fi users’ emotions are more (for lack of a better word) personal. Fe aims for harmony among a group, which is why it can be caring and put others before itself. Fi aims for inner harmony in the sense that it isn’t comfortable/fulfilled unless it feels that what they are doing is right, good, and true to themself. BUT Fi is also highly empathetic, while Fe users tend to be more sympathetic. This empathy makes healthy Fi users warm, loving, open, caring, put others first, and all the other things people generally attribute exclusively to Fe.

Patton is Thomas’ moral compass. Fe is less about what YOU perceive to be right/wrong or good/bad, and more about which response will provide harmony for others. Patton’s whole function (haha unintentional pun) is to use Fi to guide Thomas’ decision-making, usually around the central theme of being true to yourself (the Fi anthem). Fi strives for authenticity; Fe strives for external peace (external meaning within the framework of others). Thomas absolutely aims for both of these, but he clearly emphasizes making sure he and those he cares about are honest with themselves and genuine in their happiness. Fe users like this outcome, but generally don’t address it on such an individual or prioritized level, and when they do it’s via different methods.

Fi can be especially confused with Fe when someone’s Fi places value on helping others and being kind. Keep in mind that Thomas, a super loving and caring person, would have the kind of Fi that focuses on that, because that’s something he values greatly, and is a huge part of who he is.

We’ve seen what happens when Patton tries to suspend his feelings for the sake of Thomas (something that would come more naturally to an Fe user, who’d be better at adjusting their emotions to make things easier for everyone. When Fi users try to do this, they usually can’t hold it up for long or become uncomfortable and even distraught). In Moving On, Patton tries to stand up to Logan because he knows his room isn’t where Thomas needs to be, but Logan makes the executive decision to go, and Patton reluctantly agrees (trying to go along with the group). Once in the room, Patton indulges in easy-to-deal-with emotions that accompany the memories of all the stuff he’s kept. At a certain point he can’t hide his deeper sadness anymore, so he lashes out at Logan because he’s afraid to go back to reality, and instead marinates in pleasant memories to try and force happiness onto himself. This is exactly what Fi does when under stress. Its intense desire to (unhealthily) avoid addressing painful emotions can override logic and often attempts (futilely) to force other, more preferable emotions to happen. This doesn’t last. Only when Fi is acknowledged in a healthy, open way and is allowed to be honest about its feelings can the painful process of dealing with the issue at hand begin. Once Patton’s facade of happiness is removed, Thomas has to face what he tried to suppress.

Can Lying Be Good was all about how without Patton, they lacked a sense of direction, and Thomas was left confused and unaware of what he thought was right or wrong. The episode was Thomas looking within himself to find what he believed was right, and decided that honesty was the way to go because it was the right thing to do (a conclusion that yes, Fe users can come to, but not by this same type of inner dialogue Thomas uses). Deceit [the way it’s portrayed here] is the other side of the Fi coin. “Deceit is an inner coach that acts with the one intention of self-preservation.” It protects you from feeling you’re a bad person by corrupting your Fi and distracting you from focusing on how you actually feel about your choices and what they mean about you. It’s basically a silencer of Fi, which fits perfectly with the plot of that video.

Pretty much every video deals with delving into Thomas’ personal issues to dig in to who he is (Am I Original in particular is a very Ne-Fi dilemma), help him become a better person, deal with overwhelming emotions, or try to be someone he can be more proud of. The way he does this so regularly, and as his primary method of working out his problems, is undeniably Fi. I can’t see Patton as an Fe-user anymore, considering the way he handles emotions and his methods for self-reflection. 

Whew, this was long! You can see now why I didn’t go off about Fe vs Fi too much in the original post lol :P I’m really glad you asked, though!! Hopefully this helps to explain it! Have an awesome rest of your day; I’d love to hear your response

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 4: Thrown to the Wolves

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Turns out there have been some unusual fatalities hiding under the city surface. Nik decides to go on the defensive and find a protection spell for Taylor that requires a rare ingredient only found in the hands of the Bayou werewolves.

*this chapter contains brief narrative of Taylor’s trans experience; this is solely framed around my personal experience being an AFAB transman and does not speak for every trans experience

[READ IT ON AO3]

Mid-yawn Garrus slides something in front of him that smells like the first bitter chill of winter with a peppermint leaf for garnish.

“That’ll put a little pep in your step —” the fae hesitates, mutters something under his breath, before he gives an affirmative nod, “— yes, yes it’s the Garrus guarantee.”

“And what could it do on accident?” Ivy asks beside; pulls the concoction over before Taylor even has a chance to grab the straw.

“Why, milady, I’m not sure I like your tone!”

“And I’m not sure I trust anything sans liqueur made by your hand.”

Garrus visibly wilts and takes the drink back.

Taylor can’t help but feel like he’s somehow offended him by not drinking. Doesn’t mean he’s going to start just to make someone else happy, but —

“You look like a man on a self-guilt mission. Not necessary, my mortal. I relish the challenge.”

It’s a relief to look up and see Garrus’ determined smile. But he is tired, and tries not to yawn again with his mouth uncovered.

“Dunno why —” —yawn— “— I’m so tired anyway,” Taylor mutters, “I was passed out for a few good hours at least, right?”

Krom looks up from his notebook — now positioned at the bar with the rest of them instead of on his own. “Unconsciousness doesn’t provide the same type of relaxation that willing sleep does. You’re basically running on empty.”

“Oh,” then to Garrus, “you wouldn’t happen to have a coffee pot, or, uh, coffee cauldron?”

“Alas, no, but —”

“‘But’ there is a world beyond these walls. Or have you boys forgotten?”

Like the Stooges all three heads turn in sequence to focus on Ivy and her look of bemused exasperation. For a bespelled revenant she’s awfully expressive. Ivy insists the look is au natural but Garrus admitted to seeing her apply a little bit of rouge to her risorus†cheek muscles like a contour when she wasn’t listening.

“If you’re in the mood, Taylor, we could head out and nab you a few shots of espresso. That’ll keep you moving.”

“Or he could just go back up to Ryder’s and nap,” mutters Krom with every intention of not being heard.

Ivy scoffs. “Well that’s no fun.”

And while the thought of leaving the safety of these four still-strange walls doesn’t really appeal to what little sense of self-preservation he has, Taylor would be lying if he wasn’t already starting to feel the downsides of a caffeine addiction.

But… “Ryder said the wards of this place would protect me — that whatever attacked me is still out there.”

“Well sure it is. But it’s daylight sweetheart — and I’m gonna go out on a severed limb when I say this but I doubt that beastie has a glamour.”

He glances over to the entry door where the tails of Ryder’s leather coat had vanished hours ago. “Should we wait for him?” Aren’t bodyguards for tailing along after all?

But Ivy doesn’t seem all too thrilled with the idea.

“Let the man work. He’s a buzzkill anyway. I’ll be with you — and I’m a lot more durable than I look.”

But Taylor must still look doubtful. Because she walks around and places her purpling hands one on his shoulder and the other on Krom’s — jostles him out of his concentration with a “Hm?”

“Between Krom and I you’ll be just fine.”

“Wait — I’m coming along?” The stone troll asks in surprise.

“Are you really passing up on the chance to enter a small-town java house? All those future playwrights and lost poets just begging for you to observe them in their natural habitat?”

Judging by the look on his surprisingly-expressive (for, you know, a guy made of stone) face no; no he’s not.

If Ryder trusts them enough to leave Taylor in their company for the last few hours as he has then it’s for a good reason, right? He’s safe with them, right?

“Garrus?” Taylor throws him a look and a raised eyebrow. Might as well make a whole thing of it with no man left behind after all.

But the fae declines with a polite shake of the head. “Nah; someone’s got to be here to keep Ryder from raising an army to find you, should you be unfortunate enough to return after him.”

“And the bar.” Krom adds; earns a thoughtful look from Garrus’ sparkling eyes.

“Indeed. But maybe bring me back some of their little human product for me to experiment on, darling? I’d appreciate it.”

There’s absolutely no way Krom could miss the eyelashes being fluttered his way… yet somehow Ivy and Taylor are the only ones who notice.

Still the granite that make up his cheeks go a little rosy in color. “S-Sure.”

“You’re a shining star. A real…” he taps his chin in thought of an apt compliment, “muscovite mica?††”

Somehow it’s so bad that it works — if Krom’s duck-and-fluster is anything to go by.

Ivy packs up her bag, Krom pockets his notebook, and Taylor leaves a hand-written note assuring his competence and agreement in being whisked away to leave with Garrus. They’re even at the door when Taylor looks between them with a moment of ‘duh, you dimwit’ and uses his body as a door shield.

“Your faces.”

“What — something wrong with my tusks?” Krom claps a hand over his mouth sheepishly. Ivy though — she can’t be bothered and yanks the mortal aside with ease.

“Relax, honey. Remember that it takes — Krom your tusks are pearly as always relax — a powerful charm for the average mortal to see through glamours. To them nothing will be out of the ordinary.”

“So, wait, what will I see?”

And there has to be a certain twitch to her grin — something that ticks all of her visible muscle tissue more than average.

“You’ll see my best angle. Which, for the record, is all of them, but in all our monstrous bliss.”

Krom huffs. “Speak for yourself.”

“Less talky more walky!”

She ushers them out into the early morning light.

Not that he doubts Ivy — it only takes about twenty minutes in her presence to know her confidence isn’t just well-placed but well-earned — but it still takes Taylor a few hot minutes and some very intense stares at passersby to fully assure him that their glamours are infallible.

Which definitely doesn’t help the nerves he gets when he starts thinking about why he alone can see through them, but that’s a low-priority problem.

“I can’t believe it,” the trio turns down a familiar corner, “that you guys were so close all this time. I took this way to rehearsal once when they were fixing the pothole in my complex parking lot.”

“That’s why I picked that theatre, actually. Short walk to Garrus’.” Krom comments — doesn’t realize what he’s said until he looks at Taylor and Ivy snickering together in confusion.

“And where’s your place, Krom?”

He points somewhere off. “A few blocks that way.”

“So farther than the Shift, huh?”

Either he can’t or won’t answer. But it’s enough for them to let it go.

Another block of pensive silence before Ivy thwacks the back of his legs with her leather bag. “I could read your mind but the spell doesn’t work well out in fresh air. So drachma for your thoughts?”

“Well…” he debates saying something else but doesn’t, “I was just thinking since we’re so close to my place maybe we could stop by? I could grab a bag?”

Grab Kristin’s bag. Fuck. He still needs to go find her at the hospital. But Ryder promised to take him when he’s safe. Can’t risk her life again.

And maybe he anticipated them being against it because he’s surprised at Ivy’s greedy grin.

“Oooh, can we peek through your stuff?”

“Uh… sure?”

“Then I’m down for an adventure.”

“It’s not —”

A finger adorned in a lace glove shushes him. “Hush, little mortal boy. Let me have this.”

Lucky for him Ivy doesn’t even think to ask him to chip in for the coffee. Lucky for the baristas she’s got more than drachma in that handbag.

“Your usual, Ivy?” Asks a handsome man at the register, and it’s pretty obvious why he remembers her order. While they trade witty banter Taylor helps Krom pick out a bag of coffee beans for Garrus to play with — he’s no expert but since it sounds like he’s the only one who’ll be drinking it he’s a little selfish.

While Krom heads to the counter he snatches his drink up and chugs it with no regard for manners. Yes the steaming roast scalds the living crap out of his tongue but the quicker the caffeine kicks in the better.

Doesn’t mean he’s not sheepish when he tilts the cup for the last possible drop and Ivy’s laughing in his face. Only she’s allowed to laugh — especially since she buys him a second to savor.

There’s a second of panic when Taylor pats his pockets — keys, wallet, where is the phone — and remembers Vera high-tailing it with a cellular hoard. He debates mentioning her (and the funny difference between who and what) to his new friends but thinks against it.

Low-priority problems and all.

Immediately Ivy besets the place with exuberance. Pokes this and lifts up that and starts to rummage around his kitchen cupboards like she’s searching for the Holy Grail. Krom is slightly less obvious with his intentions but definitely zeroes in on the sole bookshelf and it’s contents.

Taylor doesn’t know what to think. So much has changed in the last twelve hours — changed in him, in the company he keeps, even in how he views the world around him — but not in here. Even Kristin’s half-drunk teacup from his dramatic confessional still rests on the kitchen island.

“You eat a lot of fish.” concludes Ivy while shutting his freezer. “I don’t know of any creatures who have a diet solely of fish that isn’t environmental.”

“I — sorry?”

“You can tell a lot about a creature based on it’s nest. But this is some pretty mortal stuff.”

There’s a snort behind them; Krom actually shady side-eyes his small collection.

“Unless you count an obsession with Oscar Wilde.”

“I just like —”

“Nah nah,” Ivy argues, “that’s still very mortal of him.”

While they continue to discuss their findings Taylor starts inching towards his room. “You guys do that. I’m gonna… uh…” They don’t seem to mind him leaving them hanging.

First and foremost — he changes. Rids himself of the smell of sweat and grave and something that’s left his jeans a little sour (he has a vague flashback to the instant before passing out and tries to tell himself it’s the body’s natural response to terror, totally normal and not at all embarrassing).

The rest is just shoving things into a bag. A crumpled-up duffel he got with a gym membership that ended up being a waste of money with the lack of inclusive changing rooms. At least it was good for something.

The circled date on his bedroom calendar catches his eye and Taylor’s so very glad they stopped by.

He’s got a needle halfway in his gut when Ivy wanders in like she owns the place. Stops and stares with wide, glassy eyes.

“Shouldn’t a medical professional be doing that? Can I watch? Does it hurt? I forget what it feels like to have flesh. Ooh look you can pinch it!”

Taylor tries not to move the syringe too much while hastily batting away Ivy’s probing fingers. “Stop—Stop Ivy please! I don’t want this to break under my skin.”

He doesn’t mean to sound so strained — but it gets her to back off in the doorway. Doesn’t stop her clinical analysis of his every move though.

“Now can I ask questions?” She asks only when he’s secured his bandaid and disposed of his needles. It feels strange to say but only because up until now there’s only been one other person to see him like that.

“I guess.”

“What is it?”

She picks up the little bottle and stares intently at the contents. Only when he’s got the rest of his supplies packed up does he pluck it from her and add it to the set.

“Hormones.”

“Are you deficient?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then why do that?”

“Because you can’t be deficient in something your body barely makes.”

“My question stands.”

Taylor purses his lips. It’s no ‘getting caught with a binder in gym class’ but it’s not exactly his favorite topic of conversation either. Ivy waits patiently, though, blinking owlishly.

“I mean — I’m trans,” that’s not the part he’s had an iffy time discussing, “I’m not shy about saying it. You — do monsters… I mean can they be…?”

“If I’m understanding right then yes.”

“Okay. So. Us mortals don’t have magic to fix all our problems; or… not on a normal day. So instead we just…” He reenacts his injection, miming the plunger in hand.

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s a needle. Kinda.”

“Does it help?”

That’s something he answers with no doubt in his mind. “Immensely.”

“Okay then,” she pops on her heels, “if you’re grabbing a bag though can we take your boxed cheesy noodles? Krom wants them but he’s too shy to ask.”

One conversation as casual as the other. Thank god — he can only monologue with a script to follow.

“Sure. You got it.”

“Great!” She squeals and claps in delight before rushing off.

Yeah, pretty great.

Less so when their quest brings them back to where they started — everything much the same except for the grim frown Ryder refuses to shake.

“See, what’d I tell you? Safe and sound.” Garrus says by way of greeting; flashes them a look when Ryder’s back is turned and rather than disposing of the rest of the hunter’s drink he discreetly knocks it back himself.

“Do you have a death wish?!”

He doesn’t give Taylor a chance to answer; rounds on the pair of Ivy and Krom instead. “In what world is it a good idea to take a kid with a target on his back on a coffee run?”

Krom shrinks back (quite well despite his size) but Ivy isn’t having it. Stands up straighter with her hands on her hips and focuses the empty fire of her eyes straight into Ryder’s soul.

“Don’t you talk to me that way, Nik Ryder. Or would you rather I take my pound of flesh owed literally?”

And judging by the look in her eye she’s not kidding. Makes Ryder falter before fixating back on Taylor.

Only Ivy isn’t done. “Oh no no no, don’t you harass him either. Poor thing was wilting in the dark here.” She throws an arm over his shoulders and pulls him in for a strangely cold hug. “We’re here and there’s not a hair out of place on his chinny-chin chin. So get over yourself.”

Now she’s done; pushes past him with a not-so-subtle shove that doesn’t look like much but sends him staggering back on uneven footing.

Taylor holds up a finger before Ryder can even try.

“I needed to get some stuff from my place. Thanks for the concern though.”

When he walks passed the hunter follows doggedly at his heels. For a guy who was content to let him leave the apartment last night he’s certainly put on a nannying personality.

“I get that,” it’s obvious he’s trying to keep a level tone, “but things are a lil’ bit different than they were last night.”

Excitedly Garrus takes the bag of coffee from Krom — ushers the troll to join him into the back to start experimenting. Taylor swivels on his stool to where Ryder stands with arms crossed.

Ivy watches with interest. “Meaning…?”

Though he was all words a mere moment ago, Ryder seems to have to come to grips with whatever needs to be said. Steels himself and sets his jaw so hard Taylor can hear his teeth grind together.

“Denna and Carlo are dead.”

The sass drains out of Ivy in one fell swoop.

“What — both of them? How—when?”

“Carlo two nights ago — vamps were keepin’ it quiet as long as they could until someone could get a word up the coast. Denna the night before that.”

“In-house hits?”

“That’s what I thought — ‘specially what with Carlo’s debts to the Smoke. But it wasn’t an ordinary killing. There’s a body.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Don’t believe me?”

“Vampires don’t leave corpses, Nik.”

“Well Izzy wants you to do the autopsy, so you can see for yourself.” He fishes a crumpled up piece of paper out of his pocket and lets Ivy snatch it from him.

If they weren’t suddenly no laughs and all hard frowns Taylor might applaud them for their character. But this was the same Ivy who laughed herself to tears when she explained to him how she became her own possessed corpse — if she’s not laughing it’s probably for a good reason.

She clutches the paper in a sinewy grasp. “And Denna?”

Ryder just shakes his head.

“It’s a miracle I got to her body before the mortals did.”

“Busy boy…” She grabs her things in a rush. Is halfway to the door when she turns back and scampers over to peck a kiss on Taylor’s cheek.

“I’ll be back later, sweets,” when her lips are close to his ear; “do whatever he tells you now. Stay safe; stay alive.”

Then she’s out like it never even happened. Leaves the air hanging uncomfortable with the woodsy scent and stale coffee on the back of Taylor’s tongue.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s happening?” he finally asks.

“That depends,” Ryder steps closer and takes a tentative seat on the stool to his left, “on whether or not you really wanna know how much danger you’re in.”

What a loaded statement. No, no he doesn’t. But… “I have to, don’t I?”

A flash in Ryder’s gaze; pride maybe — or pity.

“Carlo de la Rosa was head of the vampires in town. Nothing fancy or formal; he was oldest and had the most ties to the community. I think he was cousin to the first mayor or summin’. Either way… he’d been around a long time.”

“Old vampire was important, got it.”

“Good. So —”

“So he’s dead though.”

His sigh sounds so… defeated. Not a good look to have on a bodyguard, really.

“Yeah, yeah he is. And his kin tried to cover it up. Vampires don’t leave bodies, Taylor. They leave piles of ash. That’s one of those facts of nature things; stuff that doesn’t get messed with. If there’s a body then there’s a chance it’s still alive. But… not this time.

“Hopefully Ivy’ll have some answers. She’s pretty well-known in the local community; dunno if she mentioned. Her services cost an arm and she won’t hesitate in takin’ a leg, too, but she’ll figure out what happened faster than I could.”

No wonder Ivy is the way she is, then.

“And this ‘Denna’ chick?”

“Now that is a fuckin’ mystery,” Ryder growls, “one I almost don’t want solved. Real powerful shapeshifter — she had herself enough faces to form a one-woman zoo. Whatever was strong enough to take her down isn’t something I want to meet on a lonely night.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes Taylor suspicious. Makes him bring a leg up against his chest and hug it tight — like whatever’s hunting these people down is lurking just out of sight.

And maybe it is.

He sort of gets Ryder’s panic, now.

Ryder’s a direct guy. But right now he’s anything but.

Taylor’s a little disappointed that it takes him as long as he does to come to the final conclusion — one Ryder must have reached hours ago.

“You think that the thing that killed those two was the same thing that was after Krissy and me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“And we still don’t know what it is.”

“No, we don’t.”

“But if it did kill them… it’s —”

“It’s dangerous; but we knew that. So instead of focusing on the shit we know let’s focus on the shit we don’t. Like how to keep you safe.”

He’s not overly fond of the fact that knowing how to keep him safe is the first thing on their list of unknowns but hey, it’s on a list somewhere and that’s a good thing.

“I’m filled with equal parts terror and caffeine —”

A loud cry interrupts him; followed by a bang and light blue smoke beginning to unfurl from the bottom of the back room curtain. Somehow it only adds to the aesthetic of it all — doesn’t it?

“— so; any ideas?”

Instead of answering — you know, like any normal person would — Ryder just hops off his stool and bounds up the steps to the second floor two at a time.

“Is that a yes? Or a no?” Taylor calls; realizes just as the blue smoke starts to tickle his nose that he’s not gonna get an answer.

“Ryder?” He calls up — why does the smoke smell like a seafood restaurant? — then leaps up and stumbles after him. “Hey, Ryder! I asked — wait up!”

If he thought the outdoors smelled like Bayou before he was sorely mistaken — in the actual Bayou it’s more swamp and something peppery in the air.

“Come on. Kristof ain’t exactly a fan of tardiness.”

He jogs to catch up to Ryder’s coat-tails. Whoever Kristof is, the fact that Ryder’s devil-may-care attitude is put on hold to meet his needs says a lot about him; that he shouldn’t be kept waiting being the most vital.

Large tiki torches line the darkness around them — chase away the world beyond the well-worn earthen path they walk towards their destination. Fireflies hover around the flames with interest; who are you, bright light, and why do you tower before me? Taylor also catches sight of what look like dried flowers tied to the base where the flames are hottest.

They make the air smell sickly sweet and heavy.

“Whats on your mind?”

He looks over to see Ryder watching him instead of where they’re headed. Not like there’s much chance of getting lost with cattails walling off their winding road.

What a loaded question. “What isn’t?” He poses his own instead.

Ryder actually laughs. And it doesn’t sound laced with sarcasm or spite. He makes a note to check the hunter’s breath for that whiskey when he gets a chance.

“Well, ya got me there.”

But he also knows there’s a truth to be posed. “Uhm, I mean if you really wanna know —”

“Sure, sure.”

“Okay…” Not that it helps him narrow it down… “Well right now I’m having flashbacks to this scripted miniseries I was in during college. Part of our junior final — my first and only time in front of a camera, too. It was called Endless Summer and I’m pretty sure we bought these exact tiki sticks wholesale for the fake jungle.”

It’s a good memory and Taylor’s smiling remembering it. Only when he looks over Ryder isn’t as amused.

“Really? All this goin’ on… and you’re thinkin’ about that?”

“It’s not my fault werewolves know a good bargain when they see one.”

“Do us both a favor — don’t mention that to anyone we’re gonna meet.”

Up ahead the sounds of nature start to give way to voices and music; the tapping of lap-style bongos and a few acoustic guitar chords. Honestly he’s just glad there aren’t any moonshine jug flutes or washing board banjos.

Taylor takes a moment to get his thoughts back on the path in front of them and tries again.

“I never really thought about if there was more to the world or not, you know? Like if people asked me about ghosts or aliens or Bigfoot I didn’t actually care. I used to be really into fantasy books and movies growing up but I knew it was all stage makeup and props and green screens. And once you know how the magic is made… well for me it made it all pretty mundane.”

There’s a soft snort beside him. “That’s the problem with mortals — you get too busy searching for answers and settle on the first one you get.”

“Well no offense but I’m pretty sure the average person doesn’t automatically believe in faeries and — and Bayou werewolves.”

“What makes you so certain?”

The look Ryder gives him bores a hole straight into his chest. Makes Taylor take a second to doubt himself even though there’s never been anything to doubt before.

“I just am.”

“And look where that got you. All that certainty down the drain and a crazy unknown evil comin’ at ya.”

Speaking of… “Are you sure we’re safe here?” He looks around but doubts the flowers and their scent are more than decorative — especially not where that thing is involved. “Why wouldn’t this Kristof guy meet us at the Shift? You know… with wards and stuff.”

They round a bend; there’s a small wooden pergola at the end of their journey and louder noise beyond. What looks like the distant lights of windows on a cabin.

But Ryder stops him with a palm flat on his chest. Taylor pulls back on uncomfortable instinct. He’s sweating enough as it is.

“Make no mistake Taylor,” he warns, “whatever’s huntin’ you aside — no one is ever safe. Not even at the Shift. If something is powerful enough or pissed enough to want to get to you then it’ll find a way.

“As for the Pack…” He throws a grim look forward. “Consider everything you know about werewolves to be a lie. They can change whenever they want. The wolf is as much a part of them as it is separate.

“I wouldn’t normally fuck with this route or Kristof’s Pack but the wolves have a monopoly on most of the native plants. It’s how they keep their lifestyle intact. And in order to do this protection spell Ivy so generously gifted you — we need something only they can provide. And we’re about to bare the backs of our necks to an Alpha to get it.”

The hunter only seems satisfied when Taylor’s face goes pale. Suddenly he’s regretting not having more than coffee before their outing.

“Do you mean that, uh, literally? Or…” He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t have to. Ryder’s face says it all.

Oh boy.

Ryder gives his arm a light smack and they continue forward. “Chin up — if there’s one thing that can be said for these guys its that they know how to have a good time.”

Judging by the large bonfire that comes into view — dims the torches around them into just another speck from a firefly in comparison — heck yeah they know how to have a good time.

As a fan of city amenities himself, Taylor was expecting something a little less permanent out here in the middle of nowhere. Where even their cab driver — “why don’t you own something cool, like an off-road motorcycle?” “I do own something cool: this coat” — had a hard time finding a place to drop them off without debating charging them for getting swamp on his tires.

But the two-story cabin looks pretty permanent. As do the trailers parked around it. Some of them with wooden supports to keep the wheels from sinking in too low — some without wheels at all.

This isn’t a place for the wolves to gather — it’s where they live, and breathe, and thrive.

Taylor tries to stop at the makeshift gate but Ryder keeps going — makes him jog to catch back up.

“Can we just walk in here?” He asks in a hushed breath.

Ryder nods. “Something to remember as a mortal, kid. We’re intruding in their space on means of just existin’. So don’t half-ass it; act like you belong even if you don’t. The rest’ll follow.”

Here’s hoping he can.

“I told you to stop calling me kid.”

“You really wanna work out nicknames now?”

“No — but, I dunno — on the ride back to town, maybe.”

For the most part those gathered don’t seem to pay much mind to two strangers. Small groups sit in plastic lawn chairs around fire pits with cans and bottles. A young couple laugh together while stringing up globe lights around a trailer awning. Someone must be grilling in the distance and it smells amazing.

There’s a high-pitched squeal and from a thicket of tall grass beyond bursts half a dozen children and their dogs at play — careless youth stumbling in the earth underfoot as they play some game of chase.

Wait, are those really dogs, or…?

“Aw hell naw, I know I ain’t seein’ what I’m seein’ right now.”

So much for whole-assing their intrusion.

They’re stopped just short of the porch steps leading up to the cabin. A group of three men — more muscle than men — and an equally ripped woman stand from their chairs with all eyes focused on them.

No, not them. On Nik.

Nik who’s suddenly smiling all casual and friendly — no warmth to it or crinkle in his eyes but definitely trying his best to seem at ease. His expression and body language is totally different. That of a friendly man — maybe not the most personable, but one of those ‘its the attempt that counts’ types.

Taylor recognizes it right away; the masquerade, the donning of a persona. Playing the part. It’s impressive; disturbing, but impressive.

A flat-palm gesture keeps Taylor back while his bodyguard takes a few steps up. Well he tries; one boot on the creaking steps and the three (brothers, they look like) look ready to rip his throat out. Teeth bared and white-knuckled grips threatening to break their beer bottle necks.

“Back off, Ryder.”

“Y’ain’t welcome here. Guess you gotta death wish tho’, huh?”

“Now gentlemen,” Ryder schmoozes with a thicker emphasis on his accent than normal, “that ain’t exactly in the Mardi Gras spirit.”

“Au contraire, y’ piece-a shit,” one snarls, “the Hunt is tradition fer us. And I don’ think Kristof’s picked this year’s pelt yet…”

Taylor isn’t the only onlooker to the not-so-smooth talking, however. Shifts over slightly to watch the woman where she stands back and watches; sips her drink like they’re discussing the weather.

For a pack of wolves she’s lean in an almost feline way. Skin dark-née-umber under the yellowed porch light with muscles rippling just beneath the surface. Hair cropped close with the hint of a tattoo at the nape of her neck that fades into obscurity beneath her tank. Her nostrils flare and then bam — golden eyes on Taylor that make him shrink back and pretend he didn’t see a thing. There’s a power in her gaze. A force to push him away — to make him submit. Is she the Alpha that Nik mentioned…?

Nik realizes he’s getting nowhere with the brothers and, much on the same wavelength of thought, ducks and swerves his head to try and catch the woman’s attention.

“Octavia, now, let’s not start anything. You know Kristof’s expecting me.”

Octavia steps forward and the bodies part around her. Like they’re aware of her every movement and breath. Taylor’s never ‘studied’ animal behavior outside of brief affairs with the animal channel when there’s nothing else on but this is what he imagines pack mentality is like.

It’s beautiful — or it would be if it weren’t so nerve-wracking.

When she speaks Octavia’s voice is rich and husky — more eloquent than her companions and with the trademark Cajun swing oft imitated but never well. No — she’s the real deal.

“Oh I’m well aware, cher, just as I’m sure you’re aware of how hard I tried to dissuade him from meetin’ with you.” There’s no flirtatious edge — only hard, clipped words. Like a commander barking orders. It definitely makes the men around her back up — back down.

Nik hazards another step forward; backs off down to Taylor’s level at the twitch of Octavia’s upper lip — the flash of teeth.

The hunter’s persona is gone now. He knows it won’t get him any open doors. “I wouldn’t come if it weren’t important.”

“You shouldn’t’a come at all. Not after what you done.”

“We both know I was just doing my job.”

Something about it makes the tallest man snap. His bottle breaks in his hand and he’d lunge forward if another doesn’t hold him back.

“That’s ‘cuz ya in the business-a’ murder, fuckin’ dick!”

But it’s definitely not just Taylor who stands surprised when Octavia rounds on her own with a hand curled in the back of his mousy hair — just shy of his neck.

“Watch ya’self, pup. Don’t let an outsider get you all riled up. Control. it.”

And he’s got a pretty good idea of what ‘it’ is based on the way the man’s bared teeth look a little too sharp. Watches as he shoots rapid looks between Ryder—unmoving—and Octavia—unyielding—until he ducks his head. It must be the right thing to do because she lets go and soon the two usher their brother inside.

The tension isn’t gone but it does ease up. Gives Nik the chance to regain his two steps like he’s pressing in on territory but knows not to go too far. Octavia mutters something under her breath before looking back their way.

“I asked Kristof to meet me outside of the Pack turf to avoid this sorta mess.”

She huffs at him. “Yeah, well, it was a dumb thing to ask. ‘Specially during Mardi Gras.”

“Well… yeah. I forgot about that.”

“Whatever it is must be important then.” Her chin jerks up. “Something to do with whatever that is?”

Ryder looks back — exchanges a look of confusion with Taylor that definitely isn’t an act.

“Whate — that’s a kid, Octavia. A mortal kid.”

At least it makes her laugh; though probably for the wrong reasons. “Ha, and I’m a terrier. Half the trouble ain’t your ugly mug ‘round these parts but the stench of whatever you’ve brought ‘long with ya.”

He’d probably be a little more offended if he hadn’t seen how they treated Ryder on principle. Whatever history was between him and the wolves made for bad blood all around. Maybe it was just being transferred his way.

Maybe even after the two hours he’d spent in the dingy apartment shower trying to scrub off the feeling of moldy decay he still smelled like death.

Or maybe they were all assholes; Nik, Octavia, the werewolves too. That made for a much more reasonable explanation.

“You reek of trouble.”

Takes him a moment to shake off his thoughts and realize Octavia’s looking right at him again. Same eyes, same ferocity. Defending her pack.

But since he hadn’t said two words good or bad to her it was a little shitty on her part.

“Second puberty’ll do that to you.” He snaps back; hands on his hips, elbows sticking out. Taking up as much space as he could. Hadn’t the animal channel once said something about scaring off bears by making yourself look larger?

Not that it scares her off. But it does quirk up her lips a smidgen.

“Yeah,” her nose twitches, “that too.”

“A-hem,” Nik actually snaps to bring the attention back to him, “if we could get back to the matter at hand? I ain’t leavin’ without my meeting, Octavia.”

“I know, I know.”

She leaves her bottle on the porch railing. Doesn’t gesture for them to follow but opens the screen door to head inside regardless. “Just had to give them time to warn him, that’s all.”

“We spoke on the phone. He knows.”

“This is Kristof we’re talking about, cher. Don’t be surprised if he takes a swing for the heck of it.”

Ryder scratches his cheek — tries to cover up the somber anticipation of the thought as he and Taylor join her inside.

Most of the party is out by the trailers but there’s definitely an air of something afoot in the cabin’s wooden walls. That with old rugs lining the hallways and a small homemade bar in the corner gives the place an air of sophistication one wouldn’t expect from the outside.

If dozens of taxidermy heads mounted on plaques could be considered sophisticated, anyway.

Some, Taylor recognizes; elk with towering antlers and what has to be some sort of mock up sabertooth — a tiger’s head with a walrus’ tusks or something. He turns to ask Ryder if it is indeed a fake but they’re already ten steps ahead. He jogs to catch up.

Avoids the pointed glares of the brothers at the small bar for the sake of peace.

They stop at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Beside them a door half-open lets light and the soft melody of a piano ease out.

“He’s up in his office.” Octavia stops halfway up the stairs and jerks her head in Taylor’s direction. “Keep the pup down here; whatever you’re up to having something reek in his nose ain’t gonna help your cause.”

He looks to Nik with wide eyes. “No way. I’m coming with you.”

“Remember what I said about baring your —”

“But what if it —” he stops himself; remembers they aren’t in the same sort of friendly company the Shift provides, “— you know what I mean, Ryder.”

He does. From the look in his weathered eyes he really does. Actually makes him throw a look back to Octavia — but the she-wolf isn’t budging. Isn’t just on the stairs as a guide now but a barrier.

Ryder sighs and his voice sounds one word short of pleading. “Can he at least stay inside? He’s new to all this. Like — born new.”

Taylor plays it up; puts on his best and most pathetic face for the woman. Doesn’t know if he should be glad or a little insulted that it actually works.

She jerks her head to where the piano can be heard. “Fine; he can wait in the Trophy Room.” And fixates Taylor with a hard look when she says, “Whatever you break, pup, you best be ready to replace with somethin’ of your own.”

It’s enough… hopefully.

“Stay out of trouble.” Ryder’s warning sounds more like a fond farewell. Some bodyguard, he wants to shout back —but knows it’s something neither of them can control.

He waits until the last edge of leather coat vanishes up the steps and out of sight. Knocks on the side door awkwardly — seems like the polite thing to do — before nudging the door open with his boot.

Oh it’s a Trophy Room all right. With more mounted heads than he ever hoped to see in his life scattered around the wall with other trinkets from what must be Kristof’s victories. A tusk hung here, what looks like the tail of a human-sized scorpion there. A row of frames hanging over a small stone fireplace.

And the piano in the corner facing the drawn plaid window curtains. The player with his back turned, hunched over; fingers dancing along each key with the grace that only comes with hard work and dedication.

He finds an ottoman made from a tree stump and takes a seat in silence.

There are worse places to hang out.

He hopes.

[gingervsblondie]

Blondie on a Budget (1940)

11:31 PM, Wednesday, 2 October 2019

Here we go again. What are we watching this time? Let’s see…

Blondie on a Budget.

LET’S GET HYPED Y’ALL READY FOR-

Nah I can’t get into that wedding MC vibe. “ARE YOU EXCITED? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!” That’s because I’m at a wedding.

So! Let’s watch Blondie on a Budget like civilized people. No hooping and hollering, just a quaint suburban american family and some comedic misunderstandings. 

11:42

Alright, I just bought my ticket to go see Joker tomorrow NOW LET’S WATCH THE REAL JOKER, DAGWOOD BUMSTEAD

And we’re going to be VERY careful this time not to let Mr. Amazon spoil the movie for us.

...Never mind this one isn’t on Amazon.

11:45

Hey hey! Dick Flournoy’s back in the writer’s chair! Is that a saying? Probably not. I mean everyone has a chair if you think about it.

First shot of the movie and Willie Best is back. (For real this time.) Now instead of working at a hotel, he’s delivering newspapers. Not to be confused with the young guy who said he was gonna look for Daisy on his bike last time. Come to think of it, did anyone tell him they found Daisy? Maybe Willie Best got his job because he didn’t come to work the next day. Maybe he’s still looking for Daisy. Maybe he’s gone all noir detective, questioning dames and drinking from a flask, sitting under a window so the shades throw stripey shadows over him.

“Someday I’ll find Daisy. Or I’ll find the hoodlums that put her out of the picture. Then I’ll make ‘em pay. Until then, I just gotta keep looking. On my bike.”

11:54

Alexander wants Blondie to read the funnies to him from the newspaper. I absolutely won’t be able to tell from the picture quality, but how much do you wanna bet that there’s a Blondie strip in there? I think superhero movies can get away with comic books existing within their universe, but I can’t think of a way that Blondie the comic strip can coexist with a real Blondie and Dagwood Bumstead.

Although Dagwood’s reaction to finding his life in the funnies could lead to some interesting The Truman Show/The Matrix shenanigans.

11:58

When Blondie ignores Alexander’s plea to read him the comics, (she’s busy doing some kind of accounting) he walks away, and then she says “Get daddy to read it to you.” And Alexander says:

“Hm. Heard every word I said. That’s a woman for ya.”

Just a reminder that Gladys Lehman isn’t writing this anymore.

12:02

Dagwood just did a pretty impressive somersault pratfall. I mean, it wasn’t funny, but it was mildly impressive, so good job Arthur Lake.

12:03

HEY OKAY I LIKED A THING! Again, wasn’t laugh-out-loud funny, but:

Dagwood came in, inhaled deeply through his nose, and sincerely delivered the line “Blondie, would you believe it? I could smell that good old coffee all the way in the backyard.” And Blondie replies solemnly: “I’m sorry, dear, I forgot to make it.” And Dagwood does his “Ye-huh?” but the one where he doesn’t make any noise so I don’t mind it. The facial “Ye-huh?” we’ll call it.

Now, Dagwood being his lovably oblivious but well-meaning self, just tried to say something nice, and Blondie interpreted it as sarcasm. Which as a misunderstanding doesn’t put Blondie into any awkwardness, but puts Dagwood in the position of having tried to open the conversation with a compliment and it instead being taken as a snide jab at Blondie for not making his coffee. But Dagwood isn’t about to correct Blondie, so this goes completely unremarked.

THAT’S ACTUALLY A PRETTY NICE PIECE OF WRITING.

12:13

I think they’re trying harder this time to give Dagwood those little hair points he has in the comics. I’d probably appreciate that if I were a Blondie comic aficionado. But as I hope I’ve made clear by now, my only goal is to be a Blondie movie aficionado.

12:18

Blondie: “I was awake half the night, dreaming. I dreamed that you asked me for 200 dollars. We had a violent argument, and I killed you. Wasn’t it silly? Why would you want 200 dollars?”

I’m a little worried about Blondie. And a lot worried about Dagwood.

12:24

Haha, Alexander just did what I’m assuming is meant to be Dagwood’s double-take. It doesn’t look like his, because he’s a small small child, but what it does look like is what would happen if the makers of a Blondie movie tried to explain how to do Dagwood’s double-take to a small small child.

12:28

Um. Okay. What the fuck.

I don’t know if I really want to describe what just happened? But it’s more of “hey look a woman didn’t write this one.”

A woman showed up at the Bumsteads’ door. As Alexander answers it, he looks up at her, and catcalls, he whistles at her. He’s 6 years old in this according to math. She says “I’m an old old friend of your father’s.” He says “You’re not so old.” She says “What a lovely thing to say! I could kiss you for that. Would you mind if I kiss you?” And then she does.

I nEeD aN ADuLT

12:35

Addendum: It wasn’t Alexander, it was Alvin, who pretended to be Alexander so as to talk to this woman. That makes nothing better. Also while we’re at it, Alexander doesn’t actually look like he could be 6 in this?

Man I just had do Google “What does a 6 year old look like.” For one thing I’m absolutely terrible at telling what age any child is, and for another I’m definitely on some kind of list now.

12:36

OK BUT THE SECOND I FINISHED WRITING THAT AND HIT PLAY, it became a plot-point that Alvin is 6, but once he tells the woman that, that’s how she finds out that he isn’t Alexander, because Alexander “couldn’t possibly be 6.”

I’M VALIDATED! I WASN’T CRAZY!

12:41

Alvin just said “Baby Dumpling, meet the woman who was almost your mother,” a line which is absolutely 3000% too real for a Blondie movie, back-to-back with Daisy’s ears going up, and her running over and pushing the door shut so Dagwood and Blondie can’t hear.

Which is maybe the most anthropomorphized and funniest thing Daisy has done so far. I mean, that time she closed a cupboard door after herself was good, but that was self-preservation and fear. This is Daisy actually getting wrapped up in the drama of what’s going on and trying to prevent it from developing.

12:50

My dad just told me when he was in university, he had a picture of Dagwood in a straightjacket, screaming, on his wall.

This is just a reminder that all fan-art is appreciated.

12:55

OH MY GOD.

I just found out Alexander’s full name was revealed in the comic in 1934. It is Alexander Hamilton Bumstead.

I promise you I didn’t know that when I opened the last review with a Hamilton parody.

(I was trying to figure out at what point in the strip he stopped being a baby and started being a teenager. I couldn’t find that on the Wikipedia article.)

1:43

Took a break. Back now.

1:55

Y’know, I guess Blondie is, from a certain point of view, equally demeaning a thing to call a human being as Baby Dumpling is. I decided to check if that was her real name, and found out that it is, and also her maiden name is “Boopadoop.”

2:00

Somebody is doing an impression of Dagwood to try and fool Blondie over the phone. And it’s amazing.

...awwww, he’s just dubbed. Man, I thought he was actually doing a great impression.

2:05

The return of Snort Watch 2019:

Daisy put her hand in her mouth, in the “that’s bad” kinda way.

2:09

Decent joke: A car won’t start. Dagwood, giggling, says “Where’s the tools? I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy.” Hard cut to the car being towed.

2:11

Dagwood just did the “I’m ready to punch someone in the face at the drop of a hat” thing again, and threw his hat on the ground just to emphasize it.

2:13

Dagwood’s a little infuriating. He realizes when the situation he’s in is going to end with Blondie threatening to divorce him again, but he’s such a pushover that he’ll only ever whine about it a little, and then continue on. It somehow makes it feel even more crushing to know exactly how this is going to go when Dagwood also knows how it’s going to go, but isn’t going to stop it.

2:22

It’s also frustrating that Dagwood never learns anything. He lies to Blondie about whatever misunderstanding there is so he doesn’t get in trouble with her, and then the lying just makes it worse and prolongs the drama, and then she finds out the truth and everything’s resolved. And then there’s a new misunderstanding and he starts lying to her again like he’s a goddamn 6 foot goldfish.

2:25

Blondie just said she went to Church off-screen. I think this might be the first allusion to religion in the Blondieverse? Presumably they worship their lord and saviour Richard Flournoy.

2:29

Weird race joke just happened. Earlier Blondie I mean Dagwood (I’m still doing that) was in a movie theater, and he was looking around at people, and then they’d morph into Blondie, glaring at him and making him feel guilty. The last time this happened, it was an Asian mother with a baby that morphed into Blondie holding Alexander. I didn’t notice that they also did it that time, but this time, now that he’s home, he looks at Blondie and Alexander, and they have black hair and what looks like eye makeup to make them look Asian. And then he looks down at Daisy and she’s turned into a Pekingese (which I had to Google dog breeds to figure out was the joke.)

And now I’m concerned what post-Pearl Harbour Blondie is going to look like. (I’m looking at you, 1942’s Blondie for Victory.)

2:43

“That scheming hussy.” -Blondie Bumstead, formerly Blondie Boopadoop, 1940.

2:47

Uggghghhghghg. They just had a scene where Dagwood confessed the truth about everything to Blondie, most of which were things she’d figured out for herself. That might’ve fixed what I’ve been complaining about. Then Dagwood gets a phone call, which is telling him he won 200 dollars in a raffle that we’ve seen him tear up the ticket for, and now he’s decided he’s going to spend the money we know he won’t get on a fur coat Blondie wants. So when he goes back up, he wants to keep who he was on the phone with a secret from Blondie, and starts lying again. And Blondie knows he’s lying, and punches her pillow in frustration.

But then she goes to sleep.

AGAIN she sees where this is going and DOESN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT WHICH MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I’M GOING INSANE. EVERYTHING IS FUTILE, THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT HAPPEN IN EVERY BLONDIE MOVIE AND EVEN WHEN THE CHARACTERS INSIDE THE MOVIE HAVE BEEN READING BLONDIE COMICS IN THEIR MORNING NEWSPAPER, EVEN WHEN THEY CAN SEE THE CODE OF THE MATRIX, THEY DON’T DO ANYTHING TO DISRUPT THE LOOP. THEY KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING AND THEY KNOW THEY CAN’T STOP IT. THIS ISN’T JUST FATALISM, THIS IS OPENING A GUN, SEEING THAT IT’S LOADED, CLOSING IT AGAIN, AND LOOKING DOWN THE BARREL TO SEE IF IT’S ACTUALLY LOADED. AND THEN SHOOTING YOURSELF IN THE FUCKING FACE AND TELLING ST. PETER “yeah it was loaded.”

I’m going to bed.

10:56 PM, Friday, 4 October 2019

It’s been 2 days. Whoops! Let’s get back to it.

11:03

There’s a featured extra that just delivered a line in a way that’s funny, but the line itself isn’t actually funny. Blondie’s buying a bus ticket, I think to leave town because she thinks Dagwood’s cheating on her again. Blondie’s on the brink of tears, and the cashier selling her the bus ticket starts tearing up, and says “I know just how you feel. I wish I could sell a ticket to Niagara Falls…”

I don’t get it. Was there something going on at Niagara Falls in 1940 or is it just a total non-sequitur? 

11:09

I think… Blondie might’ve skipped town, but left Daisy.

11:13

And now Daisy is drunk, through a chain of events that left booze on the floor. I don’t know how to feel about this development.

11:19

There’s something different about the way Flournoy shows Dagwood’s loneliness in this one. I think this is the first time where Dagwood hasn’t had anything to do while Blondie thinks he’s cheated on him. He’s not in jail, he’s not off trying to get a good deal done selling property to some mogul, he’s just at home, alone, and completely defeated. A lot of it has been silent, like right now he’s stacking pillows in Blondie’s twin bed, because he can’t get to sleep without her there. The pathos is through the roof compared to the other movies.

11:30

Blondie: “Oh, I’ve been such a fool.”

Dagwood, hugging her: “Oh, that’s alright. Everybody’s a fool.”

Is that a sweet moment? I think that’s a sweet moment. Something about that is sweet to me.

11:33

A minor twist at the end involved a trout club burning down. I suspect pyromaniac uncle.

11:36

And that was Blondie on a Budget! Took me longer than usual to get through it, I’ll try not to do that again too often. Got real mad at it in the middle, but it was inoffensive and of typical quality for the second half. Maybe a little above average, because Dagwood sad and alone at home was something new.

My Dagwood sandwich rating is: one sandwich that is practically identical to a sandwich you just ate a minute ago, which annoys you, but then once you’ve finished eating it, you can appreciate the minute details that distinguished it from the previous sandwich.

[oumakokichi]

(1/4) I have a criticism of your meta, if you don't mind! You talk a lot about how Ouma is a fundamentally harmless person underneath all his talk, but with his actions in game, I really don't see that. When push comes to shove, Ouma is calculating and shrewd. He has Miu killed simply because he values his life over hers and she made up her mind to murder without even attempting to talk to her or talk to someone else about it. Though it's to stop the killing game itself, he throws everyone into

This is a pretty long ask and will require a very longresponse, so I’ll probably go ahead and insert a read more right off the bat!It’ll be difficult to talk about all of this at length without discussing hugespoilers for the whole game, so anyone seeking to avoid spoilers should onlyread if they’re comfortable with that!

In any case, I’m a little confused by this ask, mostlybecause I’ve never said that Ouma is “literally harmless.” At his core, Ouma issomeone who would prefer not to harmothers if possible. That doesn’t mean he won’t, if push comes to shove. Oumaspends most of Chapters 1-5 trying to convince the other characters and evenhimself that he is fundamentally a person who believes the ends justify themeans. I’ve talked at length in many, many pieces of meta about Ouma’scalculating nature, his cold practicality, and his willingness to make veryhard choices when his back is up against the wall.

However, none of this negates the fact that Ouma is someonewho very much detests having to hurt others. All the evidence we’re presentedwith in-game, from his motive video to his final speech just before his death,even to his FTEs where he quite literally calls himself a pacifist and alludesto how hard it is to “keep the peace from the shadows,” implies that if therewere no killing game, no danger, and no paranoia, Ouma wouldn’t hurt anyone, atall. The situation, the killing game itself, is what prompts his behavior—becauseOuma is all about facades, and posturizing himself as a cold, calculating,infallible strategist is as much a façade to protect himself as it isa genuine part of his personality.

Saying that Ouma had Miu killed “simply because he valuedhis life over hers” is a massive oversimplification of the situation in Chapter4 and shows a lack of understanding of what kind of mindset the killing gameprompted, not just from Ouma but from everyone.It is absolutely true that Ouma refused to talk to Miu or the rest of the group—becausehe was paranoid, and absolutely could not bring himself to trust any of themonce he knew Miu had made up her mind to commit murder. It’s also true that hisparanoia, while understandable, does not excuse his actions.

However, it is once again also true that this kind of behavior is something pretty much everycharacter in ndrv3 does, not just Ouma. Amami, Kaede, Miu, Kirumi, and nearlyevery other character not only in ndrv3 but even in previous DR installments haveall been driven by paranoia, fear, and desperation, because every singlekilling game is intentionally designed with the purpose of making it impossiblefor the characters to genuinely trust in one another, whatever they might havespouted about “working together” or “believing in each other.”

Trying to say that his only reason for doing what he did in Chapter 4 was because he “valued his life over Miu’s” also fails to acknowledge the fact that Miu was very, very capable. While she’s certainly not the brightest and lacks common sense, her talent is one of the most incredibly useful not only in ndrv3 but in any DR game—and it was also one of the most dangerous. Miu was capable of building remotes that could hijack Exisals, electric bombs that could disable hidden cameras, and electric hammers that could deactivate just about any electronic device.

Even if Ouma had talked to her or any of the rest of the group and managed to avoid her first murder attempt, she simply would’ve bided her time and come up with another plan. And she was absolutely, 100% willing to kill not only Ouma but all the rest of the group—she became willing to to do so the moment she decided she had to get out of the school, because winning in a school trial means getting everyone else executed in the process.

If Miu’s plan had succeeded and she had killed Ouma, she very likely would have gotten away with it. Between her full control over the VR world, the fact that she could manipulate and delete evidence at will, the fact that she was setting Momota up pretty cleverly, and the fact that, if she were alive, Saihara and the others would never have had access to the VR world programming or understood what Miu had programmed (like setting Ouma’s avatar to become immobile when she touched him), she really did stand a good chance at getting away with murder. If that had happened, then absolutely everyone, not just Ouma, would have died.

Ouma recognized her as a potential threat, not only to his own safety but to the group’s safety, the moment he realized that she had made up her mind to kill him. While what he did was still definitely cold and in the interest of self-preservation, it was also undeniably a move to eliminate a potential threat to the group. Once he decided that he could no longer trust Miu, he couldn’t ever go back to trusting her. Even if he averted one potential disaster, from his perspective, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t just keep coming back again and again with new and inventive plans.

And that is why he decided that he had to take her out of the game at all costs. But doing so and getting away with murder himself would also have meant sacrificing everyone else’s lives. He could easily have done this if he wanted to, because he was clearly smart enough. And yet, he didn’t. So we can assume that Ouma’s actions in Chapter 4, ruthless though they were, were also something he did in the group’s best interest. Paranoid as he was, completely unwilling to trust Miu or anyone else in the group, he still did what he did in order to try and keep as many people as possible alive, while making what he saw as “necessary sacrifices.” And what he did isn’t excusable, because he still got two people killed. But it is understandable.

I have seen many, many people ask why Ouma failed to talk toMiu or the other characters about her plan to kill him. I have seen almost noone ask why Miu (or anyone else in any DR game who has ever made up their mindto commit murder in advance) failed to talk to the people around her or ask forhelp before making the conscious decision to commit murder.

Ouma and Miu were bothparanoid, both desperate (Ouma to end the killing game, Miu to return to theoutside world), and yet it is interesting to me how more people seem to holdOuma solely accountable for the events in Chapter 4 despite the fact that Miuwas the one who made up her mind to kill first. Even though Miu’s actions put the entire group’s lives at risk, not just one or two people’s, almost no one seems to address the fact that Ouma was retaliating against a very real, prevalent threat which had no ready solution or easy way out.

And his retaliation certainlyisn’t excusable—but considering Miu was the one who ended their temporaryalliance, refused to build anything else for him, and told him flat-out thathis plan to fight against Monokuma and the Monokumerz wasn’t going to work, itis understandable why he could no longer trust her. It is perfectly possible to understand a character’s actionsand mindset without excusing their choices or behavior.

As for his actions in Chapter 5, yes, it’s true that hethrows everyone into a state of “suicidal despair” in order to grind thekilling game to a halt. It’s also true that he tried just about every singleother alternative course of action before getting to that point, constantlywarning them not to trust each other blindly, advising them that using theremember lights and cooperating together wasn’t going to end the game, andrefusing to tell them about the state of the outside world in Chapter 4. Butall the characters continuously kept asking, refusing to believe that it could “possiblybe that bad,” even insinuating that Ouma had been making the whole thing up.

Ouma crushed all of them with the horrible, unchangeable,depressing “truth of the outside world” in Chapter 5 for two reasons. The firstand most obvious reason was in order to eliminate all their reasons for wantingto return to the outside world; without that, there was no more incentive tokill. The second reason was because even after the events of Chapter 4, evenafter everything that happened to Gonta in the trial, the other charactersstill failed to comprehend that the truth could be painful, undesirable, and,under certain circumstances, less valuable than lies. Having been repeatedlytold to “stop lying,” and having seen the group act as though lies wereunequivocally bad and truth was unequivocally good, Ouma responded with “thetruth they all wanted so much.”

There is undeniably a certain layer of pettiness andresentment beneath his actions, despite the fact that he was doing it forpractical reasons as well. And that’s what makes him a good character, in myopinion. Being petty and resentful is perfectly understandable, consideringOuma is prideful, arrogant, and cynical. He felt as though he’d been carryingthe entire weight of stopping the killing game on his shoulders the entiretime, and refused to split the burden among others, due in equal parts to hisown paranoia and to his assumption that he was smarter and more capable thanmost of the rest of the group. He resented them for not understanding the cluesthat he’d left for them, even for ignoring his point-blank advice, and so inChapter 5 we see a lot of his flaws really brought to light, like his pride andhis arrogance.

The “truth of the outside world” was a last-resort measurethat Ouma quite obviously tried to avoid at all costs. Had he really felt no guiltover showing it to them, then he would’ve just crushed them with it as early asChapter 4, when he first saw it for himself after snatching the key card andcompleting the platformer mini-game on his own. But instead, he tried to avoidshowing it to them at all costs—because he knew it was something that Monokumahad presented to them as a motive to kill, and Ouma didn’t want it being usedas such.

Saying that Ouma “didn’t have much regard to the fact thatthey were willing to kill themselves” is blatantly untrue, and ignores the factthat he clearly didn’t want them to kill themselves, or again, he’d have justlet them use the key card for themselves in Chapter 4, or told them about the “truthof the outside world” when they asked him about it the first time in thepost-trial. He tried using many, many alternatives before resorting to thatparticular trump card because he knew the toll it would take on them. And in the end, he was willing to use that “truth”—which ofcourse demonstrates his “ends justify the means” mindset once again.

As someone who was extremely resourceful, calculating, andwho attempted to remain cold and objective at every turn, Ouma knew the damage thatthat “truth” could do to the others. The fact that he didn’t want to use it andactively avoided using it as long as he could is proof that he certainly didn’twant to use such a cruel tactic if possible. But the fact remains that he was willing to use it. I’ve called Ouma “morallygrey” many times, and this kind of juxtaposition between what he wants to doand what he’s willing to do is exactly why.

As for the accusations about “manipulating Momota,” thisseems to be the biggest misunderstanding in need of clearing up. Havingtranslated the Chapter 5 post-trial myself (you can read it here, if you’dlike), I can say pretty clearly that trying to act as though Ouma forced Momotainto his plan or manipulated him is a huge generalization and misunderstanding.In the end, Momota went along with Ouma’s plan willingly. He admits to thishimself, when Maki accuses Ouma of having forced Momota into doing it “for hersake.” Momota says that he went along with Ouma’s plan because he wanted to, because he honestly thoughtOuma’s “crazy-ass plan” had a very good chance of working.

Ouma was not the one who poisoned Momota, nor is heresponsible for Momota’s disease. While it’s true that he certainly set himselfup as the ringleader in Chapter 5, it’s equally true that he made it painfullyapparent that “the killing game was over,” that he “as the ringleader” wasn’tinterested in any of them anymore, and that they could do “whatever they wanted”because he had “gotten bored” of the game. He was directly responsible formaking himself hated and for making it impossible for the others to trust him,but he was not responsible for Maki’s decision to barge into the machinery bayin order to try and kill him.

Maki was tricked into doing so in part by the ringleader,who intentionally used the Hope’s Peak remember light in order to make her andeveryone else think that Ouma was the leader of the “Remnants of Despair” and a“Junko 2.0” figure. This retaliation was something Ouma himself admits he neversaw coming—he couldn’t have seen it coming, in fact, because he was holed up inthe machinery bay with Momota at the time, in order to make him “cool his head,”since Momota was the #1 instigator of reckless action and the one he believedwould rile the group up or potentially lift everyone’s spirits after seeing the“truth of the outside world.”

Due to Maki’s talent as the SHSL Assassin and the fact that,at least in her in-game backstory, she had lived all her life believing thatthe easiest way to deal with a potential threat is to eliminate it entirely,the ringleader knew that she would be the perfect easily-manipulated pawn tosend against Ouma. And Maki herself, due to her own recklessness and failure tothink things through, because she’s someone who has been taught to act andtake orders rather than to think for herself, carries some weight of responsibility,because she chose to go kill Oumaafter lying point-blank to the rest of the group and telling them to theirfaces that she wouldn’t.

Maki is the one responsible for poisoning both Ouma and Momota. Manipulated or not, she doesdeserve to take responsibility for her own actions just as much as Ouma or anyother character in DR does. Whether she meant to or not, she still poisonedMomota—not bringing any antidote with her at all is an oversight on her part,not Ouma’s, and it’s even more proof of the fact that Maki is far more recklessthan her seemingly cold and composed façade would suggest.

Once they were both poisoned, things quickly became a lose-lose situation. There was only one antidote, so someone had to die. Chapter 5 isan intentional parallel of the way in which Ouma’s back was up against the wallin Chapter 4, and he had to come down to a decision of either sacrificingothers’ lives in order to live on, or letting himself die. Except this timearound, he chose to die.

For all that Ouma was quick on his feet and was able tothink up a strategy to use against the ringleader in only a matter of minutesafter being poisoned, the fact remains that he had no way to force Momota tocooperate with him. He could bluff, he could smirk and pretend to be a villainall the way to the end, and he could lay out the facts as coldly as possible,but there was absolutely no way for him to force Momota’s hand.

If Momota had wanted to, he could’ve turned Ouma down at anytime. Ouma would die from the poison, and Maki would be executed as a result,for a crime she did commit and was fully, 100% accountable for. Ouma didn’t make Maki poison him—he was more shockedthan anyone that she came barging in, even asking her point-blank “do youhonestly like killing so much?”, because he couldn’t fathom why she would startthe killing game up again, until he pieced together that she must’ve beenmanipulated into it later on.

Saying that Ouma “manipulated” Momota into cooperating withhim fails to acknowledge the fact that if Ouma had really, genuinely not caredabout Maki or Momota’s lives, he would’ve just drunk the antidote for himself.He could still have pulled off absolutely everything about his Exisal plan byhimself, without needing Momota’s help for it at all. He could’ve still used theelectric bomb, and between the disease and the poison, Momota would’ve diedquickly. Ouma could’ve shot the video of Momota’s body under the press, thencrushed it under the press himself, eliminating all ways to check what Momota’sactual cause of death was. Then he could’ve easily holed up inside one of theExisals and attended the trial himself, and used the voice-changer to pretend to be both Momota and himself, posing a catbox riddle toMonokuma in order to try and one-up the ringleader and stop the killing game.

This course of action was perfectly available to him, andOuma knew it. Still, he chose to die. He chose to let himself die, in directcontrast with his attempt to keep living in Chapter 4. He knew the full gravityof what he did to Miu and Gonta, knew it was a betrayal of everything he andDICE stood for, and absolutely could notbring himself to make that same decision again. His cold practicality andwillingness to make sacrifices only went so far—while he was perfectly capableof making those sacrifices in theory and even bringing himself to do them asingle time, he couldn’t bring himself to use the same underhanded tactics asecond time.

He most certainly doesn’t “willingly send Momota to hisexecution.” If Momota didn’t want to cooperate with his plan, he wouldn’t havecooperated, regardless of the fact that Ouma saved his life with the antidote orthat Maki would die instead. Again, Momota emphasizes the fact that he went along with Ouma’s planwillingly. Momota is hardly the kind of person that can be coerced ormanipulated into doing anything he doesn’t want to do. If he hadn’t honestlythought Ouma’s plan stood a good chance at working, and if he hadn’t felt likegoing along with it, no one and nothing, not even Ouma, could’ve forced him to cooperate.

Not only that, but had Ouma’s plan actually been pulled offwithout a hitch (that is to say, if Momota and Ouma had actually been willingto put everyone’s lives on the line for real, instead of just bluffing aboutit), Momota stood a very good chance of not getting executed at all. Momota is in fact the onlyculprit in any DR game presented with a flat-out opportunity to not getexecuted—because it’s true that if Monokuma had guessed the culprit and victimincorrectly and voted for the wrong person, he would no longer have theauthority to execute anyone, since his credibility as the game master would benonexistent.

Momota was dying from his disease either way. That diseaseisn’t something Ouma caused or exacerbated; it was clearly getting worse on itsown, from Chapter 3 and onward. He didn’t have much time left, and he knew it,and that is also part of the reason he decided to cooperate willingly, becausehe knew he didn’t have much to lose, and he would rather use his life to try andtake down the ringleader too.

While Ouma had a perfect opportunity to throw Momota andMaki under the bus and keep living, he refused to do so. Instead of “willingly sendingMomota to his execution” or “manipulating him into cooperating with him,” he gaveMomota a point-blank choice: he could either let Maki be executed for a crimeshe absolutely did commit and was responsible for, or he could team up with himand they could both try to use their lives to at least make a dent in stoppingthe killing game.

Momota was able to go out a hero, beloved by the rest of thegroup, able to say his final goodbyes and make amends with Saihara. He wentout exactly the way he wanted to, knowing that he was flipping a massive middlefinger to the ringleader, to Monokuma, and to the killing game audience. WhileOuma certainly does many morally grey things and has said and done manyhorrible, awful things, Momota’s death is not something he’s responsible for.Trying to generalize Ouma’s plan inChapter 5 as something “manipulative” or “coercive” completely ignores the fact that Ouma himself died willingly so thatMaki didn’t have to, and so that Momota could at least stand a very good chanceat not being executed and could reunite with his friends and say his farewellsat the very end.

In all the meta that I’ve written, I’ve never once tried toimply that Ouma is completely innocent or harmless. Quite the opposite: I likethe fact that Ouma is such a complex character, with complex motivations. Hismoral ambiguity is what makes him fascinating, and I’ve always stressed thathis actions are certainly not excusable. They’re not supposed to be excusable;the narrative never once acts as though Ouma is some completely innocent,precious child. He’s actively called out by the narrative, especially forcrossing the line in Chapters 4 and 5. It’s absolutely true that he’s not “totallyharmless” by any means, and that to call him as such would be erasing severalvery important flaws necessary to understanding his character—and that’s why I’venever once called him such.

There is, in my opinion, a huge difference between saying acharacter doesn’t like or enjoy human suffering, and saying that they’re “totallyharmless.” It is an undeniable fact that Ouma only did what he did because hefelt the situation they were in, the killing game itself, warranted it. It’salso a fact that he chose to act the way that he did, and that many of theconsequences he suffered in the end were as a result of his own actions, a “reapwhat you sow” kind of tragic outcome where no one could ever trust orunderstand him because he intentionally made himself into an enigma and amystery.

Still, understanding that Ouma genuinely hated death,killing, and suffering is vital to understanding his entire character, notoptional. If it were unimportant, then such a fact would never have beenpresented in Chapter 6, well after his death. His motive video clearly showsthat he and DICE’s motto was to not kill people, to commit “laughable crimes”and pranks for fun. If we were truly left to interpret Ouma’s morals andmotivations however we wanted, then Kodaka could’ve have just left things asthey were in Chapter 5, leaving the question of whether he was telling thetruth when he said he hated the killing game in a catbox of sorts.

But his motive video, all the evidence he collected in hisroom, his whiteboard, and the entire trail of breadcrumbs he left in order tokeep everyone else alive even after his death, directly proves that he was, infact, telling the truth. For all his bluffs, all his facades as both an evilringleader and a cold, calculating strategist, Ouma was still someone who athis core hated the killing game and the suffering that it caused so much thathe cried from frustration as he died. He’s called “pure” by Momota in theChapter 3 trial, and is stated to have a “childish innocence that makes himhard to hate” both by Kaede and Saihara in their FTEs.

That “innocence,” if you will, is exactly why he valuedhuman lives so much, and what makes him so fascinating—because we have had verycold and calculating characters in DR before, but none who were so incrediblyhuman at their core as Ouma. If Ouma truly does have some kind of SHSL Analysisas a talent (and I still believe that all the evidence says he does), then hecertainly parallels both Junko and Kamukura on several fronts. But despite hisparallels with them, he never actually becomes someone like them. Even thoughhe constantly seeks out things that “aren’t boring,” he never once turns to “despair”as the escape from that boredom. His childishness, his fun-loving streak, and hisgenuine love of human life is what sets him apart, and what makes him the mostfascinating as a character.

It’s true that he does do and say horrible, awful things.Many of the characters in DR do, for that matter. And unlike several characterswhose flaws are never quite addressed or are given an entirely free pass by thenarrative, Ouma is constantly called out within the narrative. We’re neversupposed to excuse his actions—but we are encouraged to understand them, whichis why it’s so easy to catch underlying meanings and hints and clues in hisdialogue when replaying the game. Like Beatrice from Umineko, Ouma is acharacter who changes drastically depending on how you look at him. That’s partof the appeal, I suppose.

In any case, thisresponse has gotten very long, so I’ll stop for now, but I hope I was able toaddress all the points I needed to. I completely agree that it’s necessary tokeep in mind the fact that Ouma can be ruthless, cold, and practical, and thathe’s willing to do and say awful things in order to accomplish his goals nomatter the cost, particularly in Chapter 4. But I disagree that emphasizing hismotivations is the same as calling him “totally harmless.” Motive iseverything, after all. To put it in Umineko terms, understanding the motive andwhy Ouma does the things he does is the same as understanding “the heart.”

There’s a huge difference between acharacter who does cold and ruthless things for the sake of being chaotic,antagonistic, or hostile, and a character who does them as part of a carefullycrafted façade because they genuinely can’t stand the killing game andeverything it stands for. And that difference is exactly what sets Ouma apartfrom the many characters who he’s set up to parallel, and why I find him soincredibly interesting as a character.

I hope I explained myself well. Thanks for asking, anon!

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, MEGAN! You’ve been accepted for the role of CELIA. Megan, I knew you were right for the role before I even got to the in-character portion of your application. You made it clear from the very start that you understand Castora, flawed and bitter and vulnerable as she is, and your understanding shone through in your portrayal. Love is weakness to a girl like Cas, as you called her—a fatal illness to be avoided at all costs, and while you toyed with her reasoning for being so averse to love, you never made it seem as if having a healthy dose of it would fix her, and I loved that. In your hands, she is unapologetic—a little rough around the edges, perhaps, but not a woman in need of fixing. I trust you’ll do great things with her! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours.

                                                                          WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias: Megan Age: Old as dirt. 25. Preferred Pronouns: she/her Activity Level: I’m a full time student as well as working two jobs. I do have a good amount of free time Monday through Friday, as these are the days that I go to class in stead of working. Saturdays and Sundays would be less active for me, but during the weekdays, I have a lot more time to commit to being active and doing replies. Timezone: EST

In Character

Character: Celia, Castora Aguilar What drew you to this character?: To be honest, Celia wasn’t a character I was planning on applying for. I was actually looking for a male character, but I’d been looking through all of the open skeletons for a bit, reading every single one of their bios, and something kept drawing me back to Celia. I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for a character who is determined to avoid love at all costs. But I really enjoy how there’s more to Celia than just this stubborn phobia, and it’s not simply a reason to come out of nowhere. She’s strong and passionate and wants nothing more than to be able to make more of herself. However, I envision that a good majority of this side of her personality might be because she’s not sure of what love truly entails.

She’s been on the receiving end of what was called love from her mother, but this was a desperate and suffocating kind of love, and she was just a replacement for the one true recipient that her mother wanted more. Yet, Celia still experiences love that she doesn’t look to rid herself of - her love for her Ramona and Valentina, her love for her position within the Montague empire, her love for the feeling of blood on her hands. For Celia, she seems like a person who enjoys love when it’s only on her terms and in her most understandable of definitions, and the idea of love that she has seen and witnessed is not of her terms.

I think that’s another big reason that I found myself drawn to her, because I can relate to her in many instances. For Celia, it seems to be that she wanted to be cold and unfeeling and tough - and she equated that with becoming a soldier. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and her mother’s shadow, and in her eyes, that means being the opposite of the romantic. But despite her every intentions and every desire to show that she is nothing but strong, Celia is flawed and is human and is vulnerable. She does a better job than most of covering it up, but she has wishes and hopes and fears and worries. And for me, I think that there’s something quite beautiful of a character who tries to force themselves into a certain mold, perhaps what they believe they want everyone to see them as - but in truest form, they aren’t even sure who they are. For that reason (and many more), I would love to explore Celia’s true ambitions and character, and I think it would be enjoyable to do so in the scape of the game.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

I’ll preface these by saying that although I have a couple ideas, I do plot a little bit better when speaking to the other person(s) involved, just because I do work best vibing off of others.

THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY IS MY FRIEND: If there is one thing that is a true constant in Castora’s mind, it is the cemented hatred of the Capulets. In her eyes, they are of no value, and have caused far more destruction to this world than they should’ve. She may not know all the facts and all the minutia of their existence, but she doesn’t need to hear it - it would change her mind. They’ve already taken so much from the Montagues, and though she’s heard otherwise - she’s absolutely sure that Alivse’s death was their fault. For that reason, I think it would be interesting to see Castora step outside the Montague lines with someone who was perhaps neutral or aligned with the Spades. A THIN LINE BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE: From since she can remember, Castora has convinced herself that she does not need love, that she is above those who do thrive off of it, and that it will only slow her down in the process. She saw the way that unrequited love destroyed her mother into a hopeless and blubbering mess. Through the resentment of the woman who raised her, and  And though, for all that she might want to believe, it’s a lie that she’s been forcing upon herself for years. However, deep down in Castora’s heart, there’s a desire of affection and for mutual compassion. Steeling herself off and turning her heart cold was a self-preservation mechanism, something she told herself was mandatory to be able to continue her ascent through success. But she’s still human, and it’s in human nature to love. I have headcanoned that she herself also dealt with an unrequited love of some nature - which is the subject of my para sample. Which is I would love to see her realize that she’s not the ice queen she portrays herself to be. TRUST FEW, FEAR NONE: The position of captain is so close, she can almost taste it. With the new title and the new responsibilities looming just right with her grasp, she’s sure that the small bits of respect and approval that she’s still looking for will come flooding to her without hesitation. And she will do anything to make sure that she is the one to receive this promotion - as she’s more than certain she’s the one who truly deserves it. Because of this, I can imagine that she’d do just about anything to push or undermine the ones who stand in her way - even Ramona or Valentina. Castora is not afraid of playing dirty if it means that she will be the one who is still standing in the end. However, in the end, I’d personally love to see that she’s passed over for the position of captain, either because she made a misstep somewhere along the way, or because they believe she’s not ready for it. I feel like without this promotion at the end of her tunnel vision, it would definitely shock her, and perhaps even force her to reevaluate her life and what she’s doing. In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“The library,” she answered matter of factly, not even taking a moment to consider her answer to the question. A simple shrug of her shoulders accompanying the words, allowing her to pause and take a brief inhale on the lowly flickering cigarette that’s held between her forefinger and thumb. There’s a small quirk in her lips, and it almost looks like a smile - but in a blink and you might miss it way. At least to those familiar with her habits - to anyone else, it could easily be seen as a grimace. She sighs, as if caught in a far off and dreamy memory, but a pretty face can only hide so much, and her eyes glitter with a sort of eagerness, as if challenging to press on. “There’s something so comforting about what lay inside of it’s walls, don’t you think?” Castora poses, before looking out to the skyline, where the silhouette of the library is aglow against the sun setting in the sky.

“Don’t you agree?” she asks again. “Those walls have such power and such force lying within them, and it doesn’t even know it. I enjoy spending as much of my free time there as possible, to see what it had to offer me in information and in learning.” She lets out a hollow laugh, before raising a brow in amusement. “Books are quite wonderful in that way, after all.” The emphasis placed on the first word is alluding that there’s more to the story, but she says no more.

What does your typical day look like?

She clicks her tongue, pursing her lips as she begins to think. Her days vary in activities, as would anyone else who made a life out of bloodshed and pain. An amused expression crosses her face momentarily, before she wipes it clean, as she’s sure that this is not the sort of answer that they’re looking for.

“I’m a student,” she admits, before leaning against the railing in front of her, glancing out to the streets of Verona. Her typical day follows the rules of Verona and what it speaks to her. “There’s never a day that happens twice in that sort of life, you know? I can go some days without speaking to anyone, locked in the library and studying for the next test that’s on the calendar.” Her language was one of metaphors and hidden messages, teasing those around her to look for the true meaning in her words.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Her expression goes dark for a moment, eyes darkening and teeth bared, like an animal. Her memories flicker to cleaning blood splatter off of her face after a particularly successful night on the town - and after the not so successful. Yet, thinking of these moments warms her heart in a twisted way. Who would she be if not a soldier - what would her purpose in the world be if not to fight for the Montague name? Without the war looming overhead, and without the Capulets rearing their ugly head every day, Castora would be back in the same position that she was in before arriving at her uncle’s doorstep - stifled, stale, and of no use.

How dark, she thinks to herself, though all it brings her is amusement. She just waves a hand dismissively, lifting her cigarette to her mouth once again to inhale - and if her knuckles have gone white, that’s surely just a coincidence. “Does it matter what I think of the war? It’ll continue on no matter what I believe, after all. Thoughts and hopes are meaningless in times such as these. The two of them are going to end up killing each other before they call the war off.”

As it should be.

In-Character Para Sample:

It hits her like a ton of bricks, without warning.

She’s alone in the apartment, the shower water cascading down over her as her eyes widen in realization, her heart feeling like it’s leapt into her throat. The shampoo bottle slips from her hand, clanging down against the tile floor of the shower, but it doesn’t even phase her. Her heart is beating too heavily, a feeling that’s seemed to become a new normal for her recently.  Heavy heartbeat and sweating palms, trembling fingers and muddled words - to anyone else, they would surely believe that she had fallen ill with some sort of sickness. And if Castora had been lucky enough, she might have even thought of that herself.

But no, she had been damned enough to know the truth.

It was the same illness that her mother had suffered from for years upon years. But only her mother had reveled in the aches and pains that came along with it. It was unmistakable, the feeling of it. Castora could picture it now, the woman draped on the threadbare sofa and weeping, while her young daughter buried her head under a pillow to try and drown out the pathetic wails. She had listened to the woman waxing poetic about the laments of heartbreak, and how beautiful love could be once she found it. She could still see the way that the woman would linger by the windows of the house, looking out as if to suddenly see that he’d be coming home - it’d only been ten years, after all. She could still feel the woman’s hands threading through her hair as she plaited them into braids, speaking in a hushed voice as she told Castora of what the emotion felt like, and how luck she’d get to be when she experienced it for herself.

For Castora and her newfound realization, it was anything but luck. In fact, it felt far more like a curse.

The woman who spoke so fondly of such a feeling was an idiot, a slave to her own weak heart. Castora had thought that she knew better than to fall victim to this, knowing the true capability that this leech could have on her. Her mother had been ignorant, eager to give her heart back to a man who had given her nothing. And Castora had sworn to herself the night that she packed all her belonging into the small suitcase and left in the dark night, that she would be nothing like that woman.

She had made every attempt to seal off her heart and steel her emotions against it, but she had failed. It had seeped into her veins, and made it’s way to her heart to control it. Control her like some sort of puppet on strings.

Her stomach lurched, her mind flitting around him as she thought of how he smiled at her - of how he regarded her - and how it was suddenly the quickest way to make her knees go weak. God, she hated him now more than ever before. How could he do this to her? Her pulse jumped again, thinking of the way he spoke, and the intelligence that was knitted into his brow when he concentrated. Fool, she scolded herself. She was a fool to believe that it was something special, as he probably smiled that way any everyone. There was nothing special about what he did, and there was no reason for her to feel that she was special. She wasn’t. And more importantly, neither was he.

Maybe if she continued to tell herself that, she’d be convinced of it, and her feelings would follow suit.

But love didn’t work like that, and she knew it. She’d witnessed it enough, she’d heard enough about it. It was an all-encompassing parasite that threatened to devour her from within. It was an ugly Her hands curled into fists, feeling her knuckles go white. It felt as if her heart was laughing at her attempt to lie to herself, that she felt nothing but platonic nature towards him.

Anger swelled in her chest, a furious litany of curses leaving her mouth. This was not the plan that she had for herself, this was unacceptable.

The water in the shower had gone cold some time ago, Castora only realizing it as her teeth had started to chatter. She finally reached for the tap, shutting it off with her shriveled fingers. Her stomach felt sick, wrapping the towel around herself. She couldn’t face herself in the mirror, turning her head away as she passed by it.

Her mother had ruined her. He had ruined her.

Or perhaps, Castora had ruined herself.

Extras:

inspo blog (just a few posts and two edits)

Castora does go by Cas to a few people that she’s comfortable with, typically the people within the Montague clan that she doesn’t get annoyed by. However, if someone outside of this group of people trie to address her by a nickname, she will correct them immediately - as they haven’t earned the right to refer to her in such a way. She sometimes tends to abruptly walk away in the middle of them speaking, Castora is not a mean person - she does not go out of her way to be rude to others or say mean things for the sake of it, as she knows that doing this will only help with easing the severity of when barbs do fall from her tongue, making them less impactful. If anything, Castora is an introverted person. She prefers her own company, and who only speaks when she has something worth saying. She doesn’t trust easily, and has an even harder time connecting with people, as she doesn’t relate to them. If and when someone does cross her, then she will use her words - and sometimes even a fist or two - to show them the error of their ways. Castora’s sexuality is very fluid, as she’s attracted to the person before she is to a certain sex. Although romance may be something that her heart is looking to avoid, casual sex is something that she enjoys partaking in - and she’s not discriminatory when it comes to that. It’s the closest taste of intimacy she can get without putting any commitment into it or feelings into it, and it staves away any feelings of loneliness that might crawl into her heart - temporarily, at least. Like putting a bandaid on over a cut. In terms of romantic appeal, I envision that she’s demiromantic, and that to truly fall for someone, she’d need to trust them and feel their trust and respect in return. I left the para sample pretty open to interpretation, and obviously this is something that I might just end up putting back to an NPC - but my headcanon was that she realized that she was in love with Hiran. After this realization, she promptly avoided him until she was sure that it was no longer a threat to herself. Whether or not this feeling still exists is still to be determined. I made this pretty clear in the para sample, but I am in love the idea of Castora regarding love as an illness or a parasite - something that’s going to rob her of her strength and take away away her power. In her eyes, romantic love is to be avoided at all costs. She does feel strongly about the members of the Montague team, however, in that she is close to them and trusts them - and perhaps feels a shade of her own sense of love towards some of them. thanks for giving this a read through!! :)