#ALSO did decide to change how i draw the code corruption

[codgod-archive]

maybe they can make it work after all

[susartwork]

Basic!S̷̗̀ả̶̰n̸̢̑s̸̰̀ 3th birthday!

This year I decided to collect everything I've never posted about Basic.

Hope you enjoy :3

❤ ACT (click) * You click "keep reading"

How was Basic's comic going to end?

[Here's the last update I did] Basic... well, his Glitch has opened a portal to Underfell without realizing it.

This is the continuation:

So, time passes and Ink and Basic become friends. Ink gifts him a sketchbook to draw on and the first thing he draws are his non-existent friends as he remembers them, as Lost Souls with a blank sprite (as we see here in the last panels)

END OF CHAPTER 1

Will I ever finish this comic? I hope to remake it after I make Underwizard's prologue! (I'd also change some scenes)

What are the other chapters about?

The other chapters had no real connection. One was about Basic meeting Classic!Frisk 99 and how they became friends.

One was about him meeting Physis!Alphys and Clone!Frisk.

I even had a chapter about him ending in Underwizard (after the ending) UW!Sans frigging kidnapped him lmao??

And one chapter was about Basic meeting Fatal_Error! After a quarrel and a fight they were going to become… friends…? Basic's code is a bit too messed up, so Fatal would've had no interest in copying and killing him.

I made a very old lazy sketch of the battle scenes, here's a part of it:

Horrible italian dialogues

And then... the final, ending chapter. (Please read Basic's current reference sheet to know better what happened to his AU)

In this chapter, Basic would've found out that his creator remade his AU from zero after all the previous files got corrupted.

He looks exactly like how Basic remembers himself before getting corrupted (it's all a bit confusing, sorry) but without his face being covered, and with Classic!Sans personality.

↑ Uncorrupted Basic first doodle

When Basic finds out his new self has a brother, friends, and a whole universe for himself, all his jealousy and sadness comes out.

As he yells his frustrations at his other self (very rare moment you'd see Basic's anger) the Glitch detects the same codes as Basic in this new universe.

It takes over Basic's body and starts spreading through the AU. The monsters he touches freeze, their codes can be seen through them, they become blurry and turn grey.

The Glitch is intersecting in this world's code, taking away from Basic his ability to shapeshift, but also the problem of glitching and bugging.

When it finishes, Basic regains control over his body and realizes what he has done.

Time passes, he lives in that freezed universe as its guardian. It attracts many curious visitors and enemies as it's glitches can be seen miles away. However, as Basic can no longer shapeshift, it is harder for him to defend it.

Finds out the Annoying Dog of that AU is the only one not freezed. It brings Basic to Gaster, in Snowdin's forest.

Surprisingly Basic can see Gaster even outside of the Void, the Glitch really messed up that universe. But now that someone who can interact with the material plane can finally see and hear him, Gaster can find a way to fix all this.

Basic has to enter the world's code and delete the anomaly, aka the Glitch. The Annoying Dog has access to everything in that universe as it is its creator, so it gives Basic access to the world's code.

He enters it (not physically, just with his mind) and finds the Glitch, a big skein of white glitches.

No attack seems to destroy it, the only thing Basic can do is take the Glitch away from the world's code. He grabs it, drags it away and pushes it back into his own body. He begins to glitch again, very hard. Then, silence.

The AU's code seem to be back to normal, and so all the monsters aren't freezed anymore.

Sans invites Basic to stay in his universe, but he refuses, he doesn't belong there.

He returns to his island, finally knowing that his AU isn't completely gone after all, and he'd start to like being so glitchy because it's not only a curse, but a power as well.

No happy ending for Basic?

This was to be his happy ending. He would finally live his life without pretending to be someone else, realizing that he doesn't need to be Sans to be himself.

But now he has Ruby, thanks to him Basic finally accepted himself for who he is. This is now his story and his happy ending.

The meaning behind Basic is, you can be yourself and still appreciate yourself and be appreciated by others without masking who you are.

How did I create Basic?

Weeeeell I was drawing a chibi version of all Underverse Sanses (ignore the fact that Fresh, Dream and Nightmare aren't Sanses °cough cough°) so before starting I made a "base" to draw on all the chibis.

This gave me the idea of a Sans that can shapeshift into all other Sans because... he's literally a base!

The first prototype of Basic had an empty soul and was emotionless, this because he was supposed to copy other Sanses personality. But I LUCKILY changed my mind and gave him his own cinnamon roll personality ♡

Looook the first drawings of Basic!

Are there more Basic!characters?

No, not in canon. However... I made these in 2021 :>

Other projects?

Ayup! I wanted to make a VS Basic!Sans fangame! … … … But this is all I got -w-"

Very bad, I know. It's not even a battle. If I had used the Undertale Engine it would've looked better -w-

You, the player, would have been Classic!Frisk 99. You would've met Basic in Snowdin (because he was spying you lol)

The two endings:

-Pacifist- No idea how the battle would've ended, this is all I wrote:

❤ ACT (check) * S̷̻͎̋͐a̴͕̻̖͐͆n̵̢̎̋̀s̵͔̖̻̚ Basic – ATK ?@1   DEF #*1                * …Sans?

(talk) * You try talking to Basic.           * He tilts his head without understanding.

(compliment) * You tell Basic you think he's cute.                           * He starts to… bluesh?

(insult) * You tell Basic to go hack himself.               * He looks away trying to ignore you.

Please tell me you got the jokes

-Genocide- After attacking him 3 times his Glitch makes him parry your attack and save his life. He saw you kill many monsters in this timeline, so he decides to stop you.

In phase 1 he dodges all your attacks and shapeshift into different Sanses to use different attack patterns.

While in phase 2 you hit him, but he turns his soul into a human red soul, this gives him 20 more HP. He shapeshifts to look more monstrous, he uses his last energy to try and stop you.

And this is the genocide ending: (fight) Basic: °miss° °he must shapeshift back to normal. now you can see the cut on his chest again. he's exhausted.° °he blocks you in a wall of blue attacks° human… i’ve never tried this hard on a fight… i think i’ve gone too far with my games…… i... i d-don’t feel myself anymore… i’m pretending to be like sans… …i mean, the one you know… t-this is SO DUMB ISN’T IT?? °sobbing° heh heh… i-i really thank you human! you gave me the possibility to… t-to be part of this! i was showing to you… to me… that i can be someone! °a crack opens on his skull° Basic: i-i can be so many people… but i could never be myself... goodbye human… p-please don’t be too hard on the other monsters around… °damage noise. he coughs° Narrator: * End his suffering =)

And with this sad ending... I thank you all for your support over the years! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)💖✨

Apologies for drawing my glitchy boy less lately, I'm finally enjoying working on Underwizard. I hope this gift satisfied you if you were looking for more Basic content :3

[herotome]

Devlog #45

Tadah, here's a screencap of Griffin I made for a thing on twitter. :)

I've been dragging my feet on sprite/CG expression work, but I'm sure I'll get around to it soon... Weird how I can care so intimately about having expressive characters, yet dread the prospect of drawing it all myself!

On the narrative front, I'm at the point where I'm about halfway done with Dart's scene, and I'm just kinda figuring out what else to add before fully moving onto Jade. I hit this exact same point while drafting Griffin and Warden, so it's certainly part of the process by this point. e_e

I alsooo didddd go back and flesh out some content to Griffin's scene - most notably adding the option to "Give Griffin a rad high-five" and to ask about his relationship to another character in the worst way humanly possible:

"Are you boning?"

In other news, I spent a full day working on the game's GUI:

Starting with research on how AAA games create intuitive buttons/navigation menus. Most notably I've saved screencaps from this fantastic article comparing Doom and Dishonored. Some of yall may know that I do not have any education in UI/UX design, so I'm doing my best to study independently.

I put in some insensitive button states into the save screen.

Added a small a highlight border and glow to existing navigation buttons (seen here on the main menu button), to bring more attention to hovered states:

I FINALLYYYY implemented that text change option and can now freely switch between OpenDyslexic and OpenSans. Took several tries and crashes... bc I didn't put "-Regular" after the names.....

Adjusted the height of the choice buttons HOPEFULLY for the final time.

I linked the Options and Save menu screens together, so you can flip quickly between the two. This, combined with the new hover button highlights, combined with me deciding to rename half the buttons... meant I had to remake a lot of buttons... @_@ Probably would've been avoidable if I did things differently, but I survived.

I removed the player name/avatar from the title screen's options menu. The title screen exists independently of the player's playthroughs, which means the name/avatar will come up as "default" every time -- could confuse someone into thinking their data is corrupted or deleted. So, player name/avatar will now only appear when accessing options in-game.

Finally, in a strange bout of success-fueled inspiration, I made a functional mock-up for the logbook! The spacing isn't perfect, but it works. :o Scrolls smoothly and everything.

And since I've alluded to it so much, here's what the Options screen looks like right now:

Almost done. Mainly I'll want to switch out the default pink renpy bars, add in the icons Alice made, and work on designing the on/off buttons to be more intuitive/cool/animated. The functionality and formatting is all there, sans finishing touches.

(... Okay no I lied bc I haven't quite coded in the "hide CGs" button yet, but I will, I will. 😂 That's the ONLY button that is just for show rn - I gotta figure out how the function will work with an eventual CG album, make sure those wires don't get crossed.)

Pffahh... okay that's enough. I might have done some other stuff but this is long enough as is. Since this update is delayed by a couple of days, I'm not sure if I wanna do next week's update on Tuesday as usual, or also delay that to give myself a full week... Ah well, we'll see!

I hope you’re all staying safe and keeping warm.

Much love,

Wudge.

PS personal note, I'm gonna try to update my language to use "need" less often - less "I need to [do XYZ]," more "I want to [do XYZ]," etc etc. Should be beneficial for my mental health.

[crystal-ball-of-ow-canon]

Reasons why Code of Violence is stupid

I’ve already done a full breakdown on why I think there is a large backlash to the idea that Gabriel was a member of the LAPD. I will concede that personally I don’t find Gabriel being a cop inherently bad (besides breaking the timeline so bad it makes me mad). 1. Gabriel is a fictional character and does not have to align with real life standards and moral values 2. I ironically like some cop shows okay? I made a shitpost about Gabriel and Martina having a Law & Order AU, I do not perfectly and flawlessly interact with all of my media.

What I think is stupid is how the whole thing was handled by the author. When you are working with a fictional world, particularly one that is supposed to be based on our current society (futuristic, current, or historic) you need to decide right then and there if it’s going to be “fictitiously egalitarian” or “realistically problematic”. Blizzard has always been horribly noncommittal in this area although they have predominantly leaned on the fictitiously egalitarian side of the spectrum where oppression and bigotry has been overcome/never existed. Which is completely fine! …until you want to include any type of real life conflicts because then you have to explain or dodge how those problems exist. Code of Violence kept talking about how Gabriel felt like no matter what he did he could never get to the root cause of all the systemic injustices in the world he saw. Well systemic injustices have histories, that’s why and how they become systemic. So then where do we as the reader draw the line as to what the author is inferring? Capitalism certainly exists, there’s reference to Vishkar and LumeriCo, but modern capitalism stems from Colonialism. Does Colonialism then exist in Overwatch? If so then obviously the effects of Colonialism also exist, and Colonialism had a massive effect on the entire world. And suddenly we’ve brought the real political climate of the American policing system into Overwatch as well and why people might not be happy to have Gabriel associated with the American police force.

And like I said, I inherently don’t think Gabriel being a cop is bad. He could’ve been a good cop. It’s not bad set up that he went from policing to the military and all he saw was systemic injustice all the way down. Becoming disillusioned with the system is a popular trope for a common reason. If you genuinely like the new lore I’m not trying to change your mind and I’m not saying that you’re wrong. Great for you! At least someone likes the new content.

But I think it’s stupid and dissatisfying that the conclusion Gabriel came to was joining Talon. Not because he himself became corrupt but because “it’s a means to an end”. Besides the fact that “woke but too woke” or “woke but going about it the wrong way” is a tired and bad trend (one that I will not get into here) why Talon? Why can’t Gabriel work on his own? Jack is, and Jack can’t turn into smoke and escape through vents. Gabriel is literally working with Widowmaker, the brainwashed wife of Gerard Lacroix, the man Gabriel assassinated Antonio Bartalotti over. Did Blizzard really forget the whole event of Retribution or is Gabriel’s mind so scrambled he’s missing whole chunks of his memory? Knowing Blizzard it could be both.

[dianaburnwood]

Power, Corruption, and Ethics in HITMAN 3

Why HITMAN: World of Assassination is about the war you never win. 

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and decided to deep dive into these themes that are overarching throughout the WoA trilogy, but really come to the forefront in HITMAN 3 and the conclusions it draws about the nature of the world.

Unlike a lot of AAA games, HITMAN takes a firm political stance. While there are plenty of games that can be described as obviously political in the themes they explore, developers tend to shy away from that label, avoiding scrutiny, and avoiding commitment to a side. 

“Neutrality is a side. It’s the side of the status quo.” 

HITMAN WoA is unapologetically political. Yet, in HITMAN and HITMAN 2, this obvious corruption, the world that has been shaped by money, power, and assassination, is largely in the background. Why? Because it IS in the background for 47. He doesn’t trouble himself with morality, politics, or manoeuvring through the murky grey of people he’s killed versus the people that have paid for it. “I know you don’t care about politics, 47.” 

By the time he meets Grey in HITMAN 2, that has to change. It’s forced to change. And, it starts out personal. 47 and Grey had made a pact, and 47 is a man of his word. Take down Providence? Sure thing, bro. They did this to us. 

But, interestingly, in HITMAN 3, it’s no longer about that bleak individualism. The partners are dead, but the story is not over. Because Providence itself is not even the real problem. Instead, it’s the power structures that allow it to exist. Diana knows this, and by the end of the game, 47 knows it too. Taking down the partners - even taking down Providence - it’s not enough. There’s work still to be done. Otherwise, the cycle continues. 

Edwards represents this corruption so well. He’s not a rich man. He didn’t come from money, or prestige. He, in a way, has always been controlled. And he believed in the meritocracy. That his loyalty would be rewarded. That he would be seen. 

And he wasn’t. 

So, he took that power he craved. And he truly can’t fathom why anyone else wouldn’t. When 47 finally comes for him, Edwards can’t believe that Diana would not be tempted by power. He says, “This is not how people work.” And in a lot of ways, he’s right. Power corrupts. 

He’s also right that taking him out doesn’t change anything. The world will continue to turn - new CEOs, same old corruption. Power never dies, it only changes hands. Grey wanted to take out the partners, but they were just replaced by Edwards, who would have been replaced by Yates, but who was then replaced by Diana - where does the cycle of power end? 

This is where we see Diana finally reject the individualism that has run her life. She has her own moral code and sense of justice, but as Vidal points out, she’s a hypocrite too. She has operated within the constraints of a broken, corrupt world of assassination, and she has not questioned it. 

And so, Diana dismantles Providence. And not like she did with the Franchise or the ICA, which were about a personal need. Dismantling Providence is about far more than a final revenge for her parents, or for what they did to 47. It’s about what Providence is to the world. A world which allowed for the creation, coercion, and control of these kingmakers. And yet, Providence is not the convenient baddie here. They are ALL as bad as each other. 

In Mendoza, this is brought to light the most. We learn that taking out Rico Delgado has had a destabilising effect on the entire region, yet Yates’ winery irrigation through re-routing water via a dam is causing huge damage to the local environment. The ICA is gone, and one party guest wonders where he’s going to get a “service provider” for his problems now. Another guest tells him to “ask for Stone” - another ICA agent who has presumably gone freelance. 

When Vidal questions Diana about 47′s trust in her, in his belief that her orders are the right ones, Diana responds, “it’s no more than what any soldier does.” Someone will always be that “executive decision-maker” - from kings, governments, and dictators across the world. Even Grey, attempting to fight the power, meant making deals with different kinds of monsters. 

So, is that your only choice? Decide what the lesser evil is? Yet, this is not your simple tale of good versus evil. Every single character involved in this is deeply fucked. 

But we finally see that Diana and 47 are not going back, blindly, like they used to. They’re not going to “win the day”, pat themselves on the back for dismantling Providence, and then wilfully close their eyes and ears again to the power that takes its place. Instead, the game recognises the work that must be done. “There will always be people like them. So, there will always be people like us.”

That’s not to say that Diana and 47 are shining examples of righteousness. Can you take the law into your own hands and not be considered corrupt? What is the line between vigilantism and villainy? Their solution is to kill more people. And they decide who the right people are to kill. 

Is that how you make up for the past? Can you? Ever? One year later, “the pact is done” - at last, Grey and 47′s pact has been fulfilled. But the work isn’t over. The world is still broken.

And that’s what I love about this trilogy, but H3 in particular. The game openly asks you, what is your responsibility to other people? Try to be whole. Try to do the right thing. You will never win, because it will never end. But you have to try. Otherwise, you allow the world to continue as it is. You are complicit. Burke’s quote of “the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” is really the essence of what Grey was trying to get at, and yet - for him that evil was subjective. It was about getting what he needed, it was about confronting his past, and, for him, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. But the world of Hitman is not black and white, and I applaud it for that. Grey wasn’t even sure what he would do after finally taking down the partners. For him, that was the end of the road.

Edwards tells 47 that freedom from choice is still freedom. Vidal firmly believes that people think they want freedom, but really, they want to be controlled. And isn’t it easier to be free from choice? Isn’t it easier to not think? To look away, and distract yourself with things rather than do the hard work of real self-examination, real reflection? Isn’t it easier to tell yourself the horrors you see in the world around you are just how the world works, rather than trying to change the status quo? 

But if power never dies, then whose hands does it rightfully belong in? Is free will a burden? Do people need to be controlled? What if they ask for it? Beg for it? What if they believe they can’t function on their own? 

What does it mean to be kind? 

What does it mean to be free? 

H3 asks the player so much more than it needed to, and I really admire it for that. 

The political apathy of 47 is truly challenged in H2, and eradicated by the end of H3. And I’d argue it challenges the player to do the same. The old revenge story is not relevant here. This isn’t about “getting back” at Providence or the partners anymore - and it would have been easy to end the story there, or at least, keep it as the focus. Instead, HITMAN 3 goes way past that, and asks the player, what can you do to fix the world? And, can it ever be fixed? 

[gumnut-logic]

John Tracy hated taking public transport.

He hated the cramped seats, the invasion of his personal space, the fact the bus stopped every few minutes to pick up more passengers and the noise.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

But the astrolabs were too far from the dorm to hike it or bike it, so bus it was.

He mapped out the most direct route, left early to avoid the crowds and handled it the best he could. Earphones helped and he never travelled without his tablet and a network connection.

He made do.

He made do for over a year. Every morning and every night.

The work was fascinating and he thoroughly enjoyed it. He considered getting a car, but it wasn’t practical and parking was non-existent, so he stuck with the bus.

Despite the fact he hated it.

Every trip he buried himself in his own world whether it be his work, research, a good book or even a movie. He shut the world out and more importantly anyone who sat next to him.

Sometimes this was not possible.

Because sometimes they spoke to him.

John had been brought up polite. His grandmother would have slapped his wrist if she found out he was ignoring people. So, he always replied. Often concisely, but always watching his manners.

That often opened the floodgates. Because if there was anything common between big cities it was the people who were lost in them, desperately alone in a sea of faces.

John liked being alone to a certain extent, but he was blessed with a close and large family.

Some people had no one.

So, ever so reluctantly, he found himself answering their call for help.

The first was Mrs Bucklin. She was a tiny woman, well dressed, but slightly scented with mothballs as if her clothes hadn’t been out of the closet in a long time.

She sat right beside him and immediately enquired as to what he was doing.

At the time he was coding a new game and her sharp voice startled him enough for his fingers to slip and enter a chain of commands he had not intended. He would have sworn if he was alone, but the program righted itself and the new commands, instead of corrupting and crashing the function, actually appeared to improve it. He frowned and hastily input some bridging structures so the code wouldn’t fragment, idly wondering if the error would improve the game, ruin it, have him need to rewrite the whole section or be the spark that would initiate sentience.

Great, his tablet would rise up and eat him while he was distracted by a random bus passenger.

She did apologise and he did reassure her that it was all okay in the hope she would let him be.

She didn’t.

He learnt she had three cats, a niece in another country (he didn’t gather which because the woman’s pronunciation defied translation), that she had lost her son in the Global Conflict, she liked his hair (that was a first) and that he looked like an intelligent young man.

He acknowledged her quietly and politely as he eyed his code and the results of an initial compile test. How did it do that?

Her cats were named Scottie, Gordy and Allie.

He did blink at that, but didn’t comment.

Eventually, she said goodbye and got off the bus at her stop.

He would have forgotten about her, except she sat next to him the next day and the day after that.

Apparently, this was her route to work, and he was such a polite young man.

Three weeks later she admitted he made her feel safe just by being there. She had been mugged three times in her life and public transport was as much a bane for her as it was for him.

He actively kept an eye out for her after that.

Gus was a different matter.

Gus didn’t have a home and he often rode the bus just for the air conditioning and comfort.

He sat on the other side of the walkway to John. He didn’t say much and would likely have never said anything if it hadn’t been for the gang of boys who decided to throw verbal potshots at him one day.

John had had an all-nighter with exams coming up, so he was cranky. His latest project had stalled – the same game he had been tackling when Mrs Bucklin had startled him. The core of the program had become a little unpredictable and he couldn’t work out why.

So, when a group of teenagers crawled to the back of the bus and started needling a fellow passenger, it was not only a situation where the innocent man appeared to need a bit of a rescue, but it also pissed John off.

There were four of them. Teenagers flocked in groups apparently. He’d never been one for that formation himself, but he knew of them, had encountered them and Virgil had kicked a few of their asses for him.

John was in college now.

He could kick his own fair share of ass quite happily.

“Leave the man alone, or I will call the police.” He raised his voice, but not his head, transmitting all the body language of how beneath his notice they were and how he might respond if they didn’t comply.

“Mind your own business, kook!”

There was always a brave one amongst the group, usually the ringleader, the head dickhead.

At least they were only teenagers.

This time he did look up and put all that communication theory into the coldest stare possible. “Excuse me?”

All four of them froze. Hell, they couldn’t be older than fifteen, somewhere between Gordy and Alan. If either of his brothers acted like this, there were three older brothers who would quite firmly re-educate them on proper conduct.

Not that he thought either of his younger brothers would do such a thing.

In any case, all four of them stared at him wide-eyed. The eldest swore and climbed out of his seat just as the bus pulled up at the next stop. He snarled at John as he stalked past, spitting profanities. His cohorts followed and they climbed off the bus.

It was lovely and quiet after that and John went back to tackling his misbehaving program.

“Thank you, sir.”

John blinked up at the unkempt man who had been the centre of the teenagers’ torment.

A small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Was this variable being changed by the program itself? How the hell could it do that?

He didn’t fail to notice after that incident that Gus, as he introduced himself the next time they met, always sat near John on his rides, morning or evening.

John met other people. Mrs Magarey and her three young children always needed a hand with her pram. John sometimes took advantage of this and stuck the pram in the footwell of the seat next to him so no-one could sit there.

That made Mrs Bucklin sit behind him and whisper her stories in his ear.

He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that either.

Two other students from his faculty took the same bus as well. Ridley was in the year behind him and always had a friend on the phone. She chattered a lot and he learnt to tune her out.

Well, until the day he boarded the bus and found her crying into her tablet.

She had lost her entire thesis in a computer crash. He was polite. He enquired and she answered, staring up at him as if she had never seen him before. Which was entirely possible. John didn’t like to draw attention to himself.

He accompanied her off the bus that day and delved into her damaged computer. He dug up her thesis and she gushed all over him, even crying into his sweater.

He hugged her awkwardly and wished her all the best.

After that, she always said hello and had a smile for him.

John smiled back, but his program was still not behaving. It acted as if it had a mind of its own and it was very distracting.

Mrs Bucklin said it sounded like cat number two, Gordy. Never behaving, but always loveable.

John stared at her when she said that, and wondered if she knew more than she was letting on.

The day Virgil landed in the seat beside him on the way to the labs startled him enough to drop his tablet.

“Hey, Johnny.”

He fumbled between the seats for the device. “Don’t call me Johnny.”

“Sorry.” But he could tell Virgil was anything but.

His fingers touched the cool metal of his tablet and he scrabbled for it. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a brother drop in on his brother to see how he is doing?”

John eyed him. If it was Scott sitting next to him or Gordon, he might have been suspicious of any double meaning his brother might be communicating. But this was Virgil and although the engineer had a sense of humour that could cut when necessary, this wasn’t his style.

“I guess he can. But why the bus?”

Virgil shrugged. “Didn’t catch you early enough. Barely caught the bus behind you. I thought your classes didn’t start until later.”

“They don’t.”

“Then why are you up so early?”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “Just avoiding the crowds, I guess.”

Virgil eyed him with a slightly worried frown.

“And who is this lovely young man who has taken my seat?”

Oh god.

Virgil stared up at Mrs Bucklin as she bustled in to sit behind them.

An internal sigh. “Mrs Bucklin, this is my brother Virgil.”

“Your brother?” She eyed Virgil as if inspecting him for sale. “Doesn’t look like you at all. Where’s the red hair?”

Virgil arched a dark eyebrow.

“Nevertheless, Mrs Bucklin, Virgil is my older brother.”

“Then how come we haven’t met before? You’ve been travelling this route for a year now and we haven’t seen hide or hair of him.” She continued to glare at Virgil as if he was a threat.

Virgil was shifting in his seat, his expression decidedly wary.

“Virgil has been assisting my father on a project. He’s an engineer. I’m unsure what he is doing here right now.”

“Hmph, well, in my opinion, he should have been here earlier.” She addressed Virgil directly. “Did you know your sweet little brother has been a bastion of this bus route, defending and assisting all?”

What?

John’s head shot up. “Mrs Bucklin-“

“Don’t you go all humble pie on me, young man. I saw what you did to those teenagers and how you help young Mollie every week. That girl is going to work herself into an early grave. And poor Gus, you’ve given him a new reason to try. Did you know he has enrolled himself in a course? Got himself a grant from the government and everything. Got help from that employment assistance group. Not to mention that doe-eyed young student who stares at you with love hearts floating about her head. I don’t know what you did for her, but I have no doubt she would do anything for you if you asked.” She turned back to Virgil, accusation in her eyes. “Why haven’t you been looking after your brother?”

Virgil’s wide eyes darted between John and the older woman.

John had no idea what to say.

“Well?” Mrs Bucklin’s glare was determined.

“Ah-“

“Is this man harassing you?”

John looked up to see Gus looming over Virgil.

You know, the Virgil who lifted weights that weighed more than his brothers on a daily basis.

John frowned. Gus had a new coat on and was looking much healthier than the last time he paid attention. “No, Gus. This is my older brother Virgil.”

And Virgil was subjected to another staring glare. “Doesn’t look like your brother.”

What?!

“I can assure you that he is indeed my caring older brother and he is not neglecting me in any way.”

Gus grunted, still glaring at Virgil. He nodded in John’s direction. “Make sure he eats more. He’s too skinny.”

That started Mrs Bucklin off again. “My goodness, yes. John you do not eat enough. Have you tried any of those recipes I recommended?”

Gus was still eyeing Virgil.

Virgil appeared to be regretting several recent life choices.

“I’m fine, Mrs Bucklin.” He raised his hands. “And both of you, Virgil is not responsible for my wellbeing.”

His tablet beeped. A glance and he found a text message from Ridley. You okay over there?

He looked up and found her at the other end of the bus staring back at him worriedly.

A sigh.

A flick of his fingers. I’m fine.

He turned back to Virgil who was literally cornered, only for his tablet to chime again.

 You free tonight?

Oh, for the love of-

“Guys, Virgil is my big brother. He looks after me. He cares. I’m fine. He’s here for a visit. I don’t know why yet. Stop glaring at him.”

Gus grunted again and wandered off to his seat. He didn’t stop eyeing John’s brother for a second.

Mrs Bucklin let off a slightly miffed sound before leaning back in her seat. “He better. Or I have a mind to bring Scottie with me next time. Or maybe Gordy. To teach him a lesson.”

What the hell?

“No need, Mrs Bucklin. I assure you.”

Virgil was staring at John as if he wasn’t sure what planet he was on.

John sighed.

Yeah, he hated public transport.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

His tablet pinged again. This time it was the program he was working on. It was claiming it was dawn despite the fact the sun had risen an hour ago. He let out an exasperated hiss.

Virgil was still staring at him.

Damn public transport.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[yetanotherfanficblog]

Elation, Trepidation, Dejection, Destruction

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Characters: Captain Jifuya, Male Xaela Aura Dark Knight Warrior of Light, Yotsuyu goe Brutus (mentioned)

Rating/Warnings: Mature (Mentions of past Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, and Slavery, Slight Gore, Minor Character Death)

Summary: Hien refuses to judge Jifuya, and the Warrior of Light decides to take matters into his own hands. It is not the first time the Dark Knights have had to punish crimes that weak little lordlings would not, and it will not be the last.

Also on Ao3

It was with slowly dawning horror that Enkhjargal heard Jifuya unfold his story - of buying Yotsuyu from her abusive parents, of using her as a doll for his lecherous customers, of his eagerness, even, to specifically exploit her trauma, a story he told not with regret, but simply with fear that he might finally face consequences. Enkhjargal cast a look at Gosetsu. It was Gosetsu's choice, first, but surely, he'd understand this man could be no part of-

"...I see," Said Gosetsu, as Jifuya still cringed before him, "Then I shall recommend that you be assigned to a new post."

Enkhjargal took a step backward, a look of shock at Gosetsu that he quickly stifled. The practice of taking prisoners in war or camp raids was one thing, but this type of slavery, buying and selling of a person? He had seen Gosetsu's code in action, respected it. Did the code truly stop here? With allowing this buyer and seller of unwilling young women to continue as if his sin had been nothing?

Perhaps he only meant to leave the judgement to his lord. Yes. That must be it. Certainly, Hien would have the wisdom to deal with this properly. It was... not the best way to deal with it, frankly, in Enkhjargal's mind, but perhaps allowing Hien to serve justice would make Doma stronger in the long run, even it delayed the justice Jifuya so clearly deserved by a few hours.

---

"I would not presume to defend the life Jifuya led before he joined the Front," Said Hien, "Nor will I condemn it. Frankly, it is not my place to judge. I will only say this: the Jifuya I know has ever been a man of courage. That he should feel driven to flee bespeaks the depth of his terror. Even now, Yotsuyu casts a shadow over the realm..."

Enkhjargal narrowed his eyes. Had Hien just suggested that he would not condemn or judge bloody slavery-

No. Not here. Not like this. Confronting Hien right now is unlikely to change his mind.

But we must do something.

It won't be the first time we must dispense justice because some pampered noble lordling either couldn't or wouldn't.

And it certainly won't be the last.

He will be alone at some point. We only need to find out when, and where, and be there when he is.

Bide your time until then.

---

Enkhjargal kept his body language as casual as possible as walked out of the House of the Fierce - to get some fresh air, he had told his comrades. It wasn't even completely a lie, although mostly he meant to put as much space between him and Hien as possible, before he said something he might regret.

But before he did, he spoke to the sentry at the entrance of house of the Fierce, where it lead out to the fields of Doma once again.

"Have you seen Jifuya since he got back?"

"Oh! He stepped out again. Don't worry though, sir, he ensured me he was coming back this time. He's only off duty for a bit, at Lady Yugiri's suggestion."

"Hm. Do you know where'd go at times like this?"

"Well. I know he sometimes likes to head out past Monzen, to gaze at the Castle. Even though it's in ruins, it's still a grand view."

Enkjarghal nodded, "Very well. Carry on, Sentry."

The Sentry bowed as Enkhjargal strode past him, out of the House of the Fierce.

When he rounded the bend, he pulled out his whistle and blew a short blast. A few moments later, his Yol swept down the sky. Enkhjargal leapt upon her, and pointed her west.

---

Not his place to judge? By the twelve, it is EXACTLY his place to judge! What is the bloody point of having lords and kings if they will not judge the sins of the common folk and ensure their kingdoms protect the weak and prevent the strong from abusing their power? What in the Seven Hells is Hien thinking? Why are we freeing Doma if it will only perpetuate the sins of the Empire against the poor and orphaned and destitute? Will he create a hundred, a thousand new Yotsuyus, poor young folk, orphans and destitute, driven to hatred and desperation by their treatment of the hand of rich old lechers and greedy landlords and cocky soldiers, because he refuses to do his bloody duty?

The voice screamed at the back of Enkhjargal's mind as he flew his Yol toward the river, and Enkhjargal let it. It was right, as usual. Whether Imperial or not, Eorzean or Hingan or Xaela or otherwise, too many of these nobles and monarchs and generals were such selfish, shortsighted fools, interested in the path of least resistance, or their own comfort, and as always, it fell to the bloody warrior of light to fix it.

And fix it he would, one way or another.

His black-scaled tail twitched restlessly, angrily behind him as he flew on. ---

A few moments more, and he landed his Yol, patting it gratefully on the neck before taking a bit of Dzo jerky from his pack, holding it out letting the Yol nibble it from his hand.

"Wait here, my friend," he murmured, "I shall not be long."

He walked toward the river bank, and soon spotted Jifuya, staring out toward the ruins of the castle as the lookout had suggested. The man did not notice him. Enkhjargal's hand went to the spare dagger at his waist. He could end it now, with a well-aimed throw, or a shove of the dagger at just the right point on his spinal column-

No. Jifuya should KNOW. He should see it coming. He should face the weight of his sins, as we have. As all should.

So Enkhjargal walked closer, drawing his sword, ensuring the sound of scraping metal was just loud enough to be heard.

Jifuya leapt with a start and turned around.

"Oh!" He said, breathing a sigh of relief, "Hello, Lord Enkhjargal. I didn't expect to see you out here. I come here sometimes. Staring at the castle helps center me when I'm feeling a bit out of sorts."

"I know. I heard one of your comrades mentioning it. I had hoped to find you here."

"You... You hoped?" Jifuya said, his face confused.

"Yes. You and I have something to discuss."

"Oh! Of course! Anything for the hero of Doma," Jifuya said, smiling graciously, simperingly, "B... But what could you have to discuss with me?"

"Your Profession."

"My-"

"Before you joined the resistance. Was Yotsuyu your only victim? Did you kidnap your other girls? Buy some of them from slave markets? Seduce a few of them off streets, convincing them their only option to avoid homelessness was to work in your dens? Or did you simply buy them all from lecherous, greedy old monsters eager to pawn a daughter or a wife to pay off gambling debts, or just to move on to their next pretty plaything?"

"Wha- What?"

"ANSWER ME," Enkhjargal said, his voice rising in volume just a bit, infused with the dark anger of his other half, as he stepped closer, now towering over Jifuya.

"I-I- I was a legitimate businessman, I had the full sanction of the Em- I mean- I... I got my girls from a variety of places! But I- It was Imperial times! We all had to survive, one way or another-"

Jifuya stopped, cringed, looked up at Enkhjargal. Enkhjargal stared back.

"S-Some of them were there by choice..." Jifuya continued, whimpering.

"SOME of them," Enkhjargal repeated his words, stone-faced, monotone, putting just enough emphasis on the first to remind Jifuya of what it implied, that even more were there against their will.

If the man means to dig his own grave, who are we stop him?

"I. I know what I did to Yotsuyu was... not my best moment," Jifuya said, "But- But- I have heard what you've done! You fought her! Rumors say you can even stare into the past of your enemies! You've seen her sins firsthand! You KNOW she's a monster!"

"I am not here to judge her, Jifuya. I am here to judge you. But how, I wonder, did she become a monster? I have seen enough of her past to know she was not born that way."

He took yet another step closer to the Doman. Jifuya tried to step backward, but his foot nearly slipped off the enbankment. He looked back at the water, and Enkhjargal wondered for a moment if he was planning to try his luck in the swift current. Yet still, he turned back to look up at Enkhjargal, cringing.

"No, she was made a monster," Enkhjargal continued, "By neglectful, hateful parents. By a cruel, callous slavemaster who saw her pain and saw in it a way to put more gil in his pocket."

"I...I already said I felt shame-" Jifuya began to stammer.

"No you didn't," Enkhjargal said, his voice a low hiss, simmering with rising fury, "You said you were afraid of your past, not sorry for it."

"I-I- I'm saying it now! I'm sorry! I swear!"

"Remorse given at the last possible second out of fear is no remorse at all."

"P-Please! Hien already passed judgement! HE forgave me, sh-shouldn't you?"

"He is not my lord," Enkhjargal said, "And thus I have no reason to be bound by his judgement."

"It's a shame, really," Enkhjargal continued, "Maybe if he had done what a king should and put you on trial for your crimes, you could have gotten something softer, something that still served some sort of justice. Maybe exile, or a prison cell, or hard labor. Or restitution paid to Tsuyu and any other of your living victims. Some sort of thing to ensure that craven, beastly men like you will not be tolerated in his new kingdom. But instead, he'll let you go free."

"B... But he DID let me go, right? I'm free. He said so..." Jifuya's voice barely sounded as if it came from a human now, broken and whining as it was.

"Yes. He did. But Doma wouldn't be the first nation I've travelled in where the upper class are either too cowardly or too complicit to reign in the wicked and corrupt. And you know what I've done in those countries?"

"W-What's that?"

"This."

Enkhjargal raised his weapon, and as he did, dark crackles and swirls of aether played around every inch of his body, around his massive sword, as his inner flame finally unleashed, fueled by the anger and rage he'd being feeling every since he found out Jifuya's crime, ever since Hien refused to judge him.

"Oh Kami!" Jifuya cringed back, "Warrior! Please! Show Mercy!"

"The same mercy you showed Yotsuyu? Your other victims?" Enkhjargal answered, coldly, as he swung his sword downward.

Jifuya opened his mouth to scream, but Enkhjargal gave him no chance to sound the alarm.

The pieces of the former slaver's body fell silently into the River, the swift current carrying them out of sight in an instant.

---

"They might find out, you know," His Dark Double, Sometimes called Fray, sometimes Esteem, murmured at his shoulder, as Enkhjargal stood at the edge of the riverbank, still staring into its churning waters.

"No," Enkhjargal said, his mouth set in a grim line, "They'll never suspect me, I'm a hero, a bloody icon. Surely I would never harm as innocent a soul as the brave Jifuya, decorated Captain of the Great and Noble Doman Godsdamned Resistance. Besides. He already tried to run once, who says he didn't do it again? He must have slipped off into the night, too afraid of Yotsuyu - or feeling too guilty at a reminder of the weight of his sins."

"You have a point," Esteem said, with a dark chuckle.

"Besides, if they do find any part of his body," Enkhjargal continued, "They'll likely assume it was someone who died in the assault on Doma Castle. Even if the fish don't eat it first, the water should wear down the meat enough that no-one could tell for sure that it was him - or that he died quite some time after the end of that bloody battle."

"So that's one problem taken care of. But there's one left. How do we deal with Hien?"

"We watch, and we wait, like we always do," Enkhjargal answered, "I thought he had the strength to lead, but if he was too cowardly to judge Jifuya properly, perhaps I erred. So we watch. And if need be, we take action."

"Yugiri will not be happy, if it comes to that," Esteem noted.

"She won't," Enkhjargal said with a nod, "But I have hopes she won't let her love for her lord blind her should he continue to allow such gross oppression, and for all her loyalty, Yugiri's always been a friend of the oppressed. A Lord can only rule as long as they have the consent of their people."

"Hmph. We both know people consent to some messed up things. In exchange for a peaceful life, many would simply ignore the corruption which festers beneath the surface. Cast aside that which is dirty and broken. Speak not of things which would disrupt their dreary little lives."

"Many. But not all."

Enkhjargal could feel Esteem's smile at his shoulder, bemused, slightly bitter, but warm and genuine all the same.

"That we still have that optimism after all this time," Esteem said with a note of wonder, before switching thoughts, "Very well. As always, I shall follow your lead. But if the truth of the matter comes out as I suspect it will, and if you need help..."

"I shall clutch my crystal to my breast, and remember,” Enkhjargal said, fiercely, every word the truth. 

"Good."

And with that, he felt Esteem simmering no longer. He turned from the riverbank, and strode back toward his waiting Yol.

---

NOTE: Text in italics is meant to be the words of Esteem in Enkhjargal’s mind, ala Dark Knight job quest text in-game.

[fuckingfinwions]

Anaire first heard about her family’s fracture from the potter.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true,. She heard about Feanor’s death the same day as everyone else, it was the only thing anyone was talking about.

She didn’t attend the funeral, as she felt no sorrow at his death, but her cook brought the news. Apparently, “the king’s reclusive brother” had been at the funeral, his first formal appearance since Feanor took the throne. Maedhros’s coronation was two days later, and Anaire scrambled to get an invitation. He would be addressing the whole city afterwards, a great speech in the town square, but she had no interest in that. What she cared about was the ceremony for the council, in front of a few hundred nobles. Unless Maedhros wished to pretend Nolofinwe was dead, her husband would have to formally cede his claim the throne. She would see him, hear his voice for the first time in decades.

Still, Anaire was cautious. Argon, for all he wished to meet his father and siblings, was not allowed to attend. She sent him out of the city entirely, to a cousin of her mother who lived halfway up the Pelori. Though none but her and Nolofinwe knew the truth, the resemblance would be unmistakable if they were in the same room. Anaire herself dressed finely but not extravagantly, in hopes of blending into the crowd, and promised herself that she would not cry out no matter what horrors she saw.

After all that effort, she only saw Nolofinwe for less than half an hour, across a crowded room. Anaire recognized the robes he wore; the had been sewn for Aredhel’s first begetting day. She supposed they had been in storage all this time, too fine for a servant but too festooned with his emblem and Finwe’s for anyone else to wear. He stepped forward, and she held her breath, not wanting to miss a word out of her husband’s lips - and hoping, perhaps, that he’d finally denounce his tormentor.

But Nolofinwe only said “I, Nolofinwe Arakano, son of Finwe Noldoran, acknowledge Maitimo Neylafinwe as the rightful King of the Noldor. King Nelyafinwe inherits his right from King Curufinwe, who inherited it from King Finwe the Wise. Myself and my house have no claim on the throne, nor shall we attempt to usurp the proper order.”

Nolofinwe left the stage, and rather than returning to his seat, seemed to be walking out the hall entirely. Anarie wondered if it could really be so simple. Was this all Maedhros demanded? Could she have her family back under one roof tonight, as long as they avoided politics for the rest of their days? She gathered her purse and started to stand up, ready to follow her husband.

Nolofinwe saw her though, and shook his head sadly. He glanced towards the doorway ahead of him, and Anaire saw that it was flanked by royal guards, one of whom already was unclipping something from his belt. Nolofinwe mouthed “Them, not me,” and went through the door, the guard reaching for his wrists and pulling him around the corner.

Anaire sat through the rest of the coronation without paying it much attention. If she paid too much attention to Maedhros, she would think about how he could’ve freed her family and had not; murderously glaring at the new king would draw suspicion. Instead she thought about Nolofinwe’s words. Presumably he was referring to their children? Had he somehow traded their freedom for his own? Or were they still captive, and he was begging her to save her efforts for them?

Anaire thought on this over the next week. She moved back into the house in the city center, as it was the only place her family would know to look for her, rather than the smaller home on the outskirts she shared with Argon. She waited for an piece of news or gossip, but there was no more about the secondary royal family than there had ever been. There were rumors about the sons of Feanor, that King Maedhros had stripped all of them from rank and then immediately given them titles. But the titles seemed to be fewer than he had brothers, rather than more as she would expect if Nolofinwe had bought status for their children.

So eventually, Anaire went to the pottery shop on the far side of town. The owner of the shop knew Aredhel was Anaire’s daughter, but had flatly refused to so much as let them go to dinner together, for fear of Feanor’s anger.

“She’s not apprenticing with me anymore. Said King Maedhros didn’t want her in the city, so she was going to Valmar. Apparently some Vanya named Elenwe was going to take her in. I don’t know why; there are a dozen better potters in the city, and someone who can clean a house can’t be hard to find either.”

The potter looked at Anaire to see how she took the news. She had never asked in detail why her student hated the palace so, but it hadn’t been hard to guess, sitting gingerly on her return and with rope marks when she rolled up her sleeves and bite marks when she tied back her hair. The potter hoped that this Elenwe would be kinder, but she very much expected Aredhel would have more of the same, and had no intention of discussing it with Aredhel’s mother.

However, Anaire was practically beaming. “Elenwe of the Vanyar? Well, then I simply must visit her, it’s been too long since I last traveled west.”

Anaire managed to compose herself for long enough to walk home, but she was overjoyed. Elenwe was Turgon’s wife, and Anaire had met her a few times. (Never with Turgon present, his absences form the city were far too sporadic for her to plan around.) Elenwe would look after Aredhel, even if there was no useful place for her in the household. And if Aredhel had mentioned Elenwe, that meant she was hoping Anaire would find her, that she thought it was safe to do so.

(Perhaps, even, there would be more of Anaire’s children there. Turgon for his wife and Fingon to lead the way on their journey. She had not seen either of them since they were children.)

- Anaire tells Argon it’s safe to come down from the hills

- They wait a month in case Maedhros is having Aredhel’s route watched

- Argon and Anaire travel to Valmar

- Introductions! Aredhel and Elenwe recognize Anaire. Anaire can kind of recognize Turgon.

- Argon is a surprise to everybody. Aredhel had relayed the “guess what we have another kid” message from Anaire to Nolo, but it was all couched in metaphor so Feanor couldn’t find out. “Tell your father I miss him very much, and the seasons seem to fly by without him to mark them even as the years drag on. It seems only yesterday it was sunny June, but now it’s dreary November and winter will be cold alone.” June and November were the months Anaire had bad morning sickness with Turgon and Fingon.

- Aredhel assumed this was some sort of code, but she’s not looking for more info about her family’s sex lives than she’s forced to know.

- Idril is around 5 or so years old. Argon is like sixteen. (using equivalent human ages)

- After initial introductions, Elenwe takes Idril to play in another room, so that the long lost families can reconnect

“So, how much does Argon know?” Turgon said to Anaire, who is apparently his mom?

“I’ve discussed the appropriate things for someone his age.”

Aredhel: “You realize that neither of us knows what that means right?”

Turgon nodded. “Elenwe and I decided that she would make all decisions about discussing sex, sexual development, and healthy relationships with Idril. Partially because I didn’t expect to see my daughter often, but also because my understanding of age appropriate information is very, very lacking.”

Argon: “I know that you two, and Dad and Fingon, were forced to work in the palace and not allowed to leave. I also know that you were - hurt - and that some of the ways you were corruptions of the marriage act.”

Aredhel: “Most of the ways we were hurt were sexual. And the groping wasn’t actually painful, but I sure as fuck didn’t want it.”

Argon: “I was being circumspect for your sake. I know what sex is, and you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a little kid.”

Aredhel looked at Anaire, who nodded in permission.

“I assume your sex ed came from a different direction than mine did. ‘You know that thing the King does to Dad? If it’s between a man and woman rather than two men, babies can happen! Sometimes it feels good, sometimes it feels painful, and sometimes how good it feels is just another way you’re being twisted up to serve them. Also, the king started doing it to your big brother, so you’re being sent away from your family in hopes that this horrible sex thing will happen to you less.’ But I guess it worked, in that the potter at least was able to explain how women prevent babies in case any of them got the idea to try.”

Anaire was shocked. “I’ve never heard you mention this before. That was why you were apprenticed?”

Ardehel: “Yeah, Dad said I shouldn’t talk about sex with anyone outside the palace. They’d be horrified and try to do something, but they wouldn’t be able to actually help. Then King Feanor would be mad we told, and take his temper out on us, and honestly the difference between him not caring if we enjoyed sex and him trying to make it hurt was pretty fucking big. So I kept quiet. It seemed fair to tell you the broad strokes of what was happening to your kids and husband, but knowing details wouldn’t help.”

Anaire: “I wouldn’t cal the fact that you were in danger of being raped at age twelve a detail.”

Turgon: “She wasn’t. None of us were actually, Feanor didn’t keep very close track of us but dd ask Dad when our begetting days were, and get around to using us for the first time about a month after we came of age. I think Fingon had it worse honestly, he didn’t see it coming.”

Argon: “What do you mean, did he not know Feanor raped people?”

Turgon: “We knew he raped Dad, we walked in on them often enough in the middle of our chores. But he mostly ignored us when we were kids, other than making sure we were around to threaten Dad with. None of us expected that to change.”

Aredhel: “But once Feanor started paying attention, he didn’t forget. Fingon told me later that Feanor used his mouth ten times in that first month.”

Argon: “Wait, Feanor used his mouth - do you mean Feanor kissed Fingon?”

Turgon: “No, Feanor didn’t go in for the fake romance. He made had Fingon suck his cock, and came in it rather than in his ass. Which is generally less painful than unprepared anal sex at least.”

Anaire: “And Fingon and your father are still stuck there? That’s terrible!”

Aredhel shrugged. “I mean, Feanor’s dead, and now there’s only two people allowed to use them instead of eight. It’s better than it was.”

Turgon nodded. “Maedhros is one of the better ones who could have ended up in charge. He goes for his own pleasure rather than pain or humiliation, and he prefers sex in bedrooms - in beds, even.”

Argon, who has not learned nearly enough tact yet: “As opposed to-”

Turgon: “Busy hallways. Up against the wall. Down in the dirt in the stable-yard - or in the woods. Inside a moving carriage. In the middle of the room with nothing to brace yourself on, but not allowed to even fall to your knees.”

Argon: “Is it hard to stay upright during sex?”

Anaire: “Yes, and you don’t need more details.”

Aredhel: “Yeah, he presumably won’t be punished for not knowing them. So Argon, what do you do?”

Argon: “I don’t have a particular craft that calls to me, so I’m still doing general studies.”

Aredhel: “Which is what? I think some of the normal servant kids had education past age ten, but not most of them. Elves are smart enough that you can be literate and know the basics of history and all the math that’s practical by then.”

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Orientation Talk

Alastor realizes he and Telly @usedhearts have, in fact, never discussed with each other how they see their sexualities. Which seems like a rather important thing to know about the person you're dating.

From there they segue into talking about their experiences with antemortem queer communities and drag.

Alastor

The door slams open. “SEXUALITY!” Apparently this is how Alastor is saying “hello” today. “That’s the word of the decade, isn’t it! Everyone wants to know what everyone else’s sexuality is! There’s thirty new labels and all of them are color-coded!” A wave of his hands and a bunch of magical miniature pride flags flutter around like confetti and then disappear. “And for all that, I’ve made the ghastly error of just—taking for granted that I already know yours! So!” He looks around. He got through that monologue confident that Telly is, in fact, in the room, without actually checking.

THERE he is. “So!!” Alastor crosses the room to plop a hand on Telly’s shoulder. “You... what do you consider yourself? Anything in particular? You ARE inclined toward both ladies and gentlemen, aren’t you?”

Sir Pentious

At the slamming door and the sudden shout, Telly's hood flares and he lets out a mighty hiss!! Look at him, how scary!!!

Oh, it was just Alastor. Alastor asking about his.... sexuality? Well, alright, that was new.

"Yes, of course. I thought that would be plain to see? I think the modern term is 'bisexual'? Yes." His head tilted. "Why the sudden interest, darling?"

Alastor

“Well, I thought you were!” A shrug! “But your alternate thought you’re only inclined toward men, so...!” ANOTHER SHRUG. “I thought I ought to check.”

Sir Pentious

There was a slight, momentary BWUAGH at that revelation-- Penny had thought he was only into men? How? But he shook away the thought to focus back on the conversation.

"For a while I thought I might, honestly-- be just into men, that is. But well...." He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Ladies...."

Alastor

Alastor nodded slowly in comprehension.

Then shook his head slowly. No. The nod was a lie. He didn’t comprehend. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Sir Pentious

"I always liked ladies, but the only one I truly fancied before I died was Olivia. But well we....you know. And then I fell for George." A shrug. "So until I died, I didn't really think of it. And then after, it wasn't really important for a good, oh, decade or so."

Another shrug. "What about you?"

Alastor

He nodded again, taking mental notes. So that was attraction without the full-blown romantic feelings? Outside of Hollywood, attraction was such a mysterious, malleable thing—

—oh, but now Telly wanted to know about *Alastor’s* mysterious malleable thing. At least Alastor’s was a lot smaller. “Well, that depends! Would you extrapolate an orientation from a sample size of one?”

Sir Pentious

Telly tilts his head, thinking about it. "Not really? If there's only one, than that's an outlier and shouldn't be counted."

Alastor

"That's generally what I think about it! And going by that, my preferences are for none of the above, thanks, I'm just fine—which these days I'm told is called 'aromantic and asexual'—you need both those terms, apparently—which, sure, fine, they get the job done. But you *do* have to throw out that outlier."

Sir Pentious

Telly thought a moment. "Am....I the outlier? Or, rather, Sir Pentiouses?"

His head tilted, his claw tapping at his chin. "Hmmm..."

Alastor

"Yes, sir, you are." A crooked smile. "So, count the outlier, and I'm stone cold gay. All the people I've ever been attracted to have been men, all one of 'em. So, it depends on the qualifying criteria for all the different terms—and that's out of my hands. The terms belong to other people, not me."

Sir Pentious

"Well, the terms are there for you to slap on yourself and say 'this is me'. But if you don't wish to slap any on, then, who can _make_ you? No one!" Telly smirked, leaning closer to kiss the tip of his nose.

"It'sss none of anyone elssse'ss business anyway! You don't want anything with anyone but me, that's fine by me." He snickered.

Alastor

Alastor shakes his head. “No, no—the terms don’t exist for slapping on yourself, they exist for showing off to other people. That’s the *only* reason they exist. It’s like a soldier wearing a uniform—you don’t wear one because you like it, you wear one to ensure your side doesn’t shoot at you and that you get let into the mess hall for food. The terms tell other people which groups you belong to. It’s the business of the groups to decide which criteria qualify individuals for membership, and the business of the individuals to learn the criteria and whether or not they qualify. So that’s the question, see. Not ‘am I gay’ but ‘would the gays consider me gay.’” He slings an arm around Telly’s neck—not for any particular reason, he just feels like hanging off of Telly. “Personally, I don’t much care, but! You asked about me, and those are the closest labels I can get without knowing how the population at large handles outlier cases.” He shrugs.

Sir Pentious

"Perhaps more research is required. I'm _sure_ you're not the ONLY person to ever exist who's been like this when it came to romance and sex." He flicked his tongue against Alastor's cheek. Get licked.

"I find the term bisexual works for me. And I say that whatever you are, I like it. The terms change so much, who's to say if we will not have new ones in a few decades anyway!"

Alastor

“What, a man who fell for one man but nobody else? Oh, I’m sure there’s been more! There’s certainly enough pulp novels about them. Although they’re usually about repressed men having their gay awakening. I don’t think that applies to me—I considered that I might be inclined toward men long before I considered that I might be inclined toward no one.”

He gets licked. That shouldn’t make his heart flutter, *and yet.* Just ignore how goofy his smile looks for a couple seconds, he’s TRYING to focus here. “Oh, I’m sure we will! They’ve got to reshuffle all the categories every couple decades or so, haven’t they? In my time I would have gone by ‘confirmed bachelor.’ Told people exactly what to expect from you without telling them a thing about what you got up to. Category X was my favorite descriptor, though—it sounds like something out of a science fiction horror picture show.”

He leans more heavily on Telly while he gestures with his free hand, like he’s indicating the words on a movie poster: “‘The Mystery of Category X!’ ‘The X Category from Outer Space!’ ‘You can run, but you can’t hide, from... Category X!’” He laughs, then glances up at Telly. “I suppose you haven’t always gone by ‘bisexual’ either?”

Sir Pentious

"I like that one, too. Category X has pizzazz!" He let out a hissing laugh, squishing his cheek into Alastor's.

"Oh, certainly not, I don't think they had a term for it in my day! I started hearing it sometime in the 1900s, I'm not sure when exactly." Telly shrugged briefly.

"I never really encountered anyone else who was like me, at least not one that I wasn't ensconced with at the time! I never had that sort of 'community', I suppose."

Alastor

“Really? No one?” Had Telly died thinking he and George were the only men in the world who wanted to sleep with other men? No, that couldn’t be possible—he was an upper-class gent, surely he’d at least read Greek poetry and such? Homer? “Never crossed paths with Oscar Wilde’s crowd?”

Sir Pentious

A slight BWUAGH at the mention of Wilde and Telly blinked rapidly. "Wilde? No? He was an artist, I was an engineer. We hardly ran in the same circles. I was also a recluse and generally only socialized, when forced, with people that my mother approved of, and she certainly did NOT approve of him."

He snorted and shook his head. "Probably thought he would've queered me up even more, if we had crossed paths."

Alastor

“Hah! I suppose that makes sense. Inventors and and entertainers aren’t frequent bedfellows, are they?” A wink; yes, he realizes the irony. “I suppose I’m the lucky one—I fell in with the *theater crowd.* From 1922 on, the only straight people I knew were my mother and my coworkers, and I’m not sure about my coworkers!” He laughs. “No, that’s an exaggeration. Not by much.”

Sir Pentious

"Ah yes, _actors_ the bane of my parents' existence! How they loved to talk about how _actors_ 'corrupted the youth' and all that hogwash! Looking back, it's funny to think about." He laughed again, leaning against Alastor.

"But tell me more about it, I'm dreadfully curious."

Alastor

“And they were *right!* Why, I hung out with actors in my youth, and look where I am now!” He gestured around himself. At Telly’s room. “... I meant ‘in Hell,’ but our present surroundings don’t quite convey that, do they.” He laughed.

“What, the theater crowd? Or the queer crowd? Granted, there’s a lot of overlap...”

Sir Pentious

"And yes, I, who never did, am also here! Though perhaps that is more because of the whole murder and blowing up half of London thing." He laughed more.

"Oh both! Or either! I don't know much about either one, both sound fascinating."

Alastor

“Well, if you weren’t hanging out with *actors,* I guess all that murder is the only explanation left, isn’t it?”

Oh, if only they had the time to sit together while Alastor told Telly every single detail of both his theater career and the queer scenes he’d been involved in—and then the rest of his life—and then get Telly to share every detail of *his* life. But for now, he’d have to narrow it down.

“When I first got involved in New York City, the scene was a little bit of both—theater *and* queer! The crowd I fell in with was very performance-oriented. You know, drag balls, that sort of thing. They started drawing in tourists, even! Straight folks would pay money to come to the balls and be entertained by the men in dresses—that was how we were referred to then, ‘female impersonators’ they were called. If I ran into the souls I knew back then today, I think some would still consider themselves that, but others by now might consider themselves transsexual women who decided to make a show out of their transformations—but those weren’t different categories yet. All of us wore trousers at our day jobs and wore skirts at parties, and that made us the same as each other, even if our private reasons for putting on a skirt were different.”

He’d let go of Telly and started pacing around as he spoke, gesturing, playing snips of party music, briefly summoning up shades wearing the silhouettes of elaborate gowns, dancing with them for a measure or two. “It was such a big tourist draw that if you showed up with a skirt and an Adam’s apple, you could get into a ball at a discount! It was a *thrilling* party scene, but... well, it was a party scene.” The energy of the music and shadows started dying, like a wound-up music box slowing down. “It got exhausting. New York wore me out. Or I wore myself out in New York—one or the other.”

Sir Pentious

Telly watched the show-- and what a show it was! Alastor was always the entertainer, even now, with an audience of one. He settled onto his coils, eyes following Alastor's every gesture, smiling when he twirled with shades.

"Yes, it _does_ sound like that would get exhausting after a while! I could hardly stand the stuffy balls that I went to in my day, I can't even imagine what ones intended for FUN must've been like, especially doing it all the time." He set his chin on his hands, now resting on his tail.

"What about New Orleans? What was it like there? More parties?"

Alastor

“No! Well, *some*—it *was* the twenties—but it wasn’t like New York’s scene. All the masculine women and feminine men sort of clustered together in the *Vieux Carré*—now *there* was where the *artists* hung out—and you’d have your speakeasies and your rowdy nights, but it wasn’t a *spectacle.* New Orleans was very laid back, always had been.” And just talking about it, Alastor looked more laid back himself—less frantically energetic and more comfortable. Like he’d actually *come* home instead of just talking about it. He even stopped waltzing around and plopped down on Telly’s coils.

“They were very French about the whole thing, which primarily meant ‘mind your own business.’” He laughed, conjuring up a shadow pantomime of a couple of gossips whispering to each other. “Try to tell one neighbor about spotting another with his tongue down a man’s throat, and the neighbor’s more likely to be offended that you’re spreading this around than they are to be offended at what the other neighbor’s been up to.” One of the gossips silently scolded the other for bringing up the subject, and then the shadows dissolved. “It wasn’t wholehearted *love,* by any means—but you get a little extra privacy when nobody wants to know about everyone else’s affairs. That’s what New Orleans was like.”

Sir Pentious

Telly hummed, nodding along. "Yes, that sounds better to me too. I like the New Orleans way, but then again, I always did like the French!"

He laughed a little. "That's not very English of me, is it? I should hate the French! But here I am, with a French lover-- or at least, French adjacent. How scandalous!" Another, louder laugh, as he wrapped his arms around Alastor's waist.

Alastor

“A *French lover!* Me!” He laughed loudly. “Well, aren’t we a pair fit for a saucy short story! You could be the unworldly English student studying abroad in Paris, and I’d be the pretty French girl who keeps throwing you come-hither looks. You’d fall for my mysterious sexual allure and I’d fall for your... you know, none of those short stories ever explain what it is the French girls see in the English students. Probably because they tend to be written by British men.”

He tapped Telly’s chest, “Did they have those stories when you were alive? There’s this *one* author I read who only wrote two things: bone-chilling horror, and artists falling in love with nubile young French girls. I couldn’t *stand* when he wrote about French girls.”

Sir Pentious

Telly couldn't help laughing at that. "Oh, sounds like every young man I knew who went to spend a year abroad. They _all_ wanted a French mistress, or an Italian one, though those seemed to be harder to come by."

His head tilted as he thought. "It's not ringing a bell, but I'm sure if I saw his name I would recognize him. I've always been a fan of horror." He flicked out his tongue. "But back on topic! You joined in with the balls and such in New York, but what about in New Orleans?"

Alastor

Alastor dragged his head back from trying to remember the name of a war story by the same author and an entirely unrelated book about a *male* French lover—to be continued later, maybe—and back to the question at hand. New Orleans balls?

“Oh, New Orleans didn’t have balls, not like New York. Not that I got invited to, anyway. There were *professional* ‘female impersonators’—they were on stages all across the country in the twenties—but that was show business. In the *Vieux Carré* bars, anyone dressed unusually was doing it for themselves rather than for an audience.”

Sir Pentious

"Did you ever join in there?" His head tilted, and he flicked his tongue at Alastor. A fully captivated snake, that's what he had on his hands right now.

Alastor

“In *New Orleans?* Goodness, no! Far too close to home! It was Prohibition! What if the Mabel men came knocking? If my mother had to see me locked up in a cell, I wanted to give her as few questions to ask me as possible!” He laughed. “Anyway, the New York scene burned me out for the next couple of decades. Once I left the North, I didn’t pick it up again until I’d been dead a while.”

Sir Pentious

"What, the 'female impersonation'? Or just generally being more openly a part of queer spaces?" Cue a head tilt, but this time in the OTHER direction. Such versatility.

Alastor

“Female impersonation—although I don’t like to call it that when I do it. I’m not trying to impersonate a female, I’m... well, whatever I’m doing.” A vague shrug. Thoughts. “I prefer ‘drag.’ It... implies less about one’s motivations, I suppose.”

Sir Pentious

When Alastor said that, something finally clicked in Telly's mind and he sat up suddenly, letting out a loud "Oh!"

"SO _THAT'S_ WHAT DRAG IS! I'D BEEN MEANING TO ASK YOU AT THE BALL BUT WE GOT, WELL, DISTRACTED!" He laughed.

Alastor

“Y... you didn’t know—?” Alastor blinked at him, then wheezed in laughter. “Telly, *mon roi,* YOU were in drag!”

Sir Pentious

Telly rolled his eyes (all of them) and crossed his arms, giving a huff. "YES, I KNOW THAT _NOW_. BUT AT THE TIME, I HADN'T HEARD THE TERM BEFORE! OR I HAD AND JUST NEVER CONNECTED IT TO THE WHOLE SUBCULTURE OR SOME SUCH THING!"

A couple more huffs. Huff huff. And then he settled. And he pouted.

Alastor

Oh no, not the pouting. Alastor tried *very hard* to stop laughing. “Well—“ a giggle escaped, “—you know now.”

Sir Pentious

He huffed again but then relaxed a little more, reaching to take Alastor's hand and play with his fingers.

"Well, you've seen ME in drag, when do I get to see _you_ in it, hm?"

Alastor

“Oh?” THAT got Alastor to stop laughing, although it didn’t do a thing to banish the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “In ten minutes, if you want.”

Sir Pentious

Telly's tongue stuck out and he blinked, before grinning. "Really? Just ten minutes? Doesn't it usually take a long time to get into drag? I mean, it took me _hours_ to get fully ready, and that was before the paint!"

He chuckled.

Alastor

“It depends on how you do it. I’m a bit more minimalist in my approach.” He was going to take that as a request to see. He winked, slid off of Telly’s coils, and ducked into the false bathroom to change. He slipped of his shoes and used them to wedge the door a couple inches open so they could keep talking. “It’s why I can’t get into the whole drag *scene.* It gets so competitive! Even more than it was in the twenties! Some crowds are laid back about it, but other crowds treat you like you’re going to get scored 1 to 10 on how feminine you are and your objective should be to hit a 12—and then other crowds still actually *will* score you. And oh, it’s a fantastic show to *watch*—but that’s not why I do it. And not how I want to do it.”

Sir Pentious

"Hmm. Yes, I think I agree with you there. I wouldn't want to be scored on something like that." He made a face-- not that Alastor could see. Telly leaned against the bed, chin resting on his arms.

"I do think it would be fun to watch, though-- maybe we can see if there's ones to watch here in Hell sometime!"

Alastor

“Oh, sure, there are drag shows and balls all the time! Competitive and otherwise. Just let me know what kind you want to see, and if I don’t know where one’s happening within a month I’ll know somebody else who does.”

Sir Pentious

"Perhaps sometime in the future, both our schedules are fairly full currently!" He chuckled.

"I never thought of drag as a performance before, but after the masquerade, I can see why some would want to put on a show! It seems fun..."

Alastor

“Maybe in a few years you’ll be the one getting on stage!” Running water sound~ He’s got to wash out and restyle his hair. In the sink, apparently. “When did you start doing drag? Surely the masquerade wasn’t your first time?”

Sir Pentious

He hummed again, giving a soft sigh.

"I wanted to, in life, but of course, Mother and Father would never allow it. They'd punish me if they saw me trying to try on any of my sister's gowns. And my elder sisters would tattle on me, too. So I stopped trying.

"But then, once I got to Hell, I realized that not only was it easier now, but also more practical, considering I don't even wear pants anymore. And there was no one around to tell me no! I had a few dresses commissioned-- they're still in my closet. But I only ever wore them in private. It was still the late 1800s and early 1900s at the time, after all, and I had a reputation to keep.

"I got more and more as time went on, and started wearing them casually whenever I didn't need to wear my suit. But still, I only wore them out a couple times before the ball. And I'd never worn one as extravagant as that costume!"

Alastor

Oh, he’s got to ask to see those older dresses sometime. “You certainly wore it well!”

The running water stopped as he got to work combing out and styling his wet hair. “And... what does it *mean* to you, when you do it?”

Sir Pentious

Telly fell silent, thinking on the question. He puzzled over it for a good bit before he answered.

"I'm not sure, really. I just like wearing them! But they're just clothes. I'm as comfortable in them as I am in my suit, or even nothing at all. I _do_ enjoy the way they swish around me, though."

Alastor

Alastor wasn’t sure what he was expecting—or even if he’d been expecting anything at all—but somehow the fact that it was that simple disappointed him. What *had* he wanted to hear?

He could wonder about that later. He kept his disappointment out of his voice as he asked, “So it’s just another fashion option, nothing more nor less?”

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I suppose. They make me happy, though, and that's what's important! Though, honestly, so do my novelty snake themed tee shirts!"

He hissed out a laugh.

Alastor

“I *am* a fan of those shirts!” And not just because he’d started stealing them to serve as his undershirts. What was he wearing now? He pulled out his collar to check. Ah! The bananaconda. One of his personal favorites. “I especially like the ones with puns! Some of them are... *hiss-terical.*”

Sir Pentious

Another, louder, and hissier laugh!!! "Oh yes! I adore them! They're so comfortable and give me a good guffaw!!"

Alastor

Okay, he was on the finishing touches. He slipped his shoes away from the door and back on, and... “Ta-daaa!”

Not a whole lot changed. He redid his hair, added eyeshadow (he was already wearing lipstick), removed his coat and bow tie, unbuttoned his top a little, and switched his pants for a skirt and his socks for stockings. Most of his time in the bathroom had been spent on rinsing out his hair, combing it into a slightly more feminine bob, and gelling it in place. It was, as he’d promised, very minimalist drag.

Sir Pentious

Oh, but the changes, no matter how small, added up to a lot in Telly's eyes-- which were currently blown wide like a cat seeing a new toy. He got up and slithered over, cupping Alastor's face in his claws.

And he just leaned in and kissed him.

Alastor

Alastor returned the kiss, then leaned back and winked. “You know, I *thought* you might say something like that.” He had a very convincing Southern Belle voice he used when fully dolled up.

Sir Pentious

Oh. _Oh._ That voice. That voice!! It did things to him. He grinned lifting Alastor off the ground, arms wrapped tight around his waist.

"Madame!!! You are lovely and charming, and I am filled with adoration!!"

Alastor

“Well, aren’t you just the most *flattering* gentleman!” Alastor pulled out a fan (the ray gun fan) to “cool off.” “You’re going to put me in a swoon, talking like that!”

Sir Pentious

"Of course! What gentleman _wouldn't_ be caught up by such a darling belle!"

Telly leaned in, kissing all over Alastor's face and neck. He simply couldn't get ENOUGH.

Alastor

*Oh—* Alastor returned as many kisses as he could, peppering them across Telly’s face and hood. When he finally started laughing, it was in his usual voice. “Amazing the difference a little eyeshadow and re-parting your hair can make, isn’t it?”

Sir Pentious

He needed a moment to come back to himself, his grin face splitting.

"Oh, yes! It's quite amazing!" And he's going to nuzzle right into the neck and start purring. He lives here now.

Alastor

Alastor will waive the rent if Telly keeps paying in purrs. It’s like a free neck massage. He laughs. “Do you like it that much?”

Sir Pentious

"Well, I think if it wasn't you, then I don't know. But it IS you and so, yes, I like it very much." He pressed kisses to Alastor's neck, still purring there against him.

"The accent is very cute, too."

Alastor

Alastor slung both arms around Telly’s shoulders to keep himself steady under the barrage of kisses. “Oh, the accent was a hit in New York, let me tell you! I never was decorated enough to turn heads, but if I could get someone in a conversation, I’d have a whole crowd hanging off of me in five minutes! It’s even better now that I can **play with my voice.**” Radio Demon, bass boosted.

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed at the bass boosting, his hood flaring out-- this time with delight! That's a new one, but a good one.

"Yes, I bet you can do all SORTS of things with your voice now, can't you?"

Alastor

Most people were freaked out by the sudden bass boost. The fact that Telly laughed gets a wide smile that crinkles the corners of Alastor’s eyes. “Truth be told, I mainly use it to discourage fights or sing a little better. Not *that* much better, mind. I’ve always been pretty good.”

Sir Pentious

"I _do_ like it when you sing, you should sing more!" He leaned in to pepper more kisses onto Alastor. Mostly on his neck. Smooch, smooch, smooch, and then....his mouth opened and he scraped his fangs against his skin. Time to be a tease.

Alastor

“Oh, *should* I!” Dangerous words around the Radio Demon A musical backing track started up...

And sputtered, and started and stopped again, as he was distracted by the teeth scraping. “... Gladly, when you’re not giving me something else to do with my mouth.” He tries to catch Telly’s mouth so he can get those teeth on his lips.

((And after this they get raunchy, so part 2 tomorrow))

[parasite-core]

You've been visited by the random OC question fairy! :D ~☆

What influences your character's morality more - their own moral code, or the moral code of the people around them?

Thank you for the ask 😊 I’ll throw in pretty much all my characters into the mix for this one because I love thinking about their morality or lack there of.

Umbrolus: Umber’s moral code is very simple because of his sheltered upbringing. You’re either nice or mean, and either bad or good. You can be mean and good, or nice and bad, but if you’re bad you have to be stopped, and are fair game to be fought against. If you’re good he can work with you and maybe even be friends, even if you’re not always nice (see: Celeste sometimes). If you hurt Kleio, you’re automatically bad. Or his other friends, but Kleio especially. And it is very hard to move from that category in his mind, he holds a grudge. He does tend to look to Kleio for moral guidance to a certain extent because he’s aware he doesn’t really know what’s socially correct in many situations, so he tends to trust their judgement on if someone should be labeled good or bad.

Kaius “Hawke” River: Kaius doesn’t so much care about morality as he does debts. You do something to hurt him or his family, and he’ll hold a grudge and seek vengeance. You do something to help him or his family, and he’ll owe you. Do something to protect his daughter and he’ll lay down his life for you. The closest thing to morality for him outside of that is that he has a soft spot for young people who made bad choices because of their situation in life but who can still turn their lives around. He very much believes in people ability to recreate themselves and to become better, especially young people, and he highly encourages it. As far as who affects his morality...just himself, and maybe his daughter. He’ll definitely try to put a little more effort into doing the ‘right’ thing if she’s around. Usually. Unless he’s teaching her to lie and steal. ‘Because those are useful skills in the real world.’

Roland Terrasold: Roland is pretty set in his ways about his morality, he follows his moral code, which is based on the teaching of Sarenrae, and changing his stance on moral questions is anywhere from difficult to impossible. He believes in redemption, and the ability for anyone who truly wishes to better themselves to do so. He believes a second chance should be offered to those who sincerely seek to atone. He also believes those who do evil gleefully and who can and will never seek to be better deserve to be destroyed before they can do further harm. He believes in protecting the weak and defenseless, and in seeking out evil and corruption and stopping it before it can spread and fester and do more harm. He’s opposed to excessive and gleeful violence, preferring to subdue an enemy or kill them in the most quick and merciful what possible, even if the enemy in question is a particularly vile person. He doesn’t believe in an eye for an eye, vengeance begets more vengeance and doing excessive harm just leads to you being more okay with violence it doesn’t solve any problems or help anyone to be sadistic or take joy in killing. This might have a lot to do with the sort of person his extremely sadistic ex Ashton was. Also due to Valoria’s teachings after Sarenrae’s death, Roland also believes that the use of necromancy is not necessarily evil by default, if used on willing volunteers and towards noble ends.

Kiyo Alvara: Kiyo is extremely set in their way about their morality. Like Roland, they believe in doing the least amount of excessive harm, although unlike Roland they don’t have any qualms about revenge. They don’t believe in harming someone who’s helpless, even if the person in question was a vile person. Although they might make an exception if Rolth Lamm were helpless in front of them. I don’t know if they’d feel bad about it afterwards. That’s pretty personal. They believe in honesty unless a secret or lie is vital to someone’s safety, or the safety of Korvosa as a whole (ie they have no problem with keeping Blackjack’s identity secret since that’s vital to keeping Korvosa safe). They are slow to trust again when their trust has been betrayed, they’ve lived for so long and seen so few people change their innate nature, that it takes a lot for them to believe someone’s changed their ways.

Sai Gwenn: Her morality is extremely black and white, and extremely influenced by Hayden. There are good people and bad people, and the bad people need to be taken care of before they can harm the good people. Failing to get rid of a bad person is itself bad, because it enables bad people to harm more good people. Sometimes good people are in a bad situation which makes them have to do bad things, and those people should be given a second chance to be good in better circumstances. Who is good and who is bad is entirely based on Sai’s perception of them. Her morality is a little fucked up honestly. She’d forgive an assassin despite trying to kill her and her friends because she was conditioned into her position her entire life, but was so angry at a gargoyle for harming her friend that she polymorphed it into a bug and kept it in a jar until her friend was healed, then released it into the wild to inevitably live a short and terrified life trapped in the body of an insect with the mind of an intelligent creature.

Lucien Anasia: Part of me wants to say Lucien doesn’t have a moral code since he decides so much on the flip of a coin due to his worship of luck. But he does have some moral qualms. He believes in helping people suffering in front of him. He believes in sharing, and trying to help people to feel happy, and in leaving people’s lives a little brighter. He wouldn’t feel comfortable doing excessive harm to people, although that’s exactly what his cursed starknife does.

Haruki Himura: Haruki’s morality has been shaken to the core recently. He used to follow the teachings of the Nameless Father, but since being turned into a drow and the Nameless Father turned His back on him, Haruki’s been unmoored. Without something to believe in, he’s pendulum swung in the opposite direction, being willing to assassinate people he doesn’t like, violently slaughter creatures with his crystalline curse, and all around give into his anger and desire to make others hurt the way he currently is. He draws the line at harming innocents. He does harm to those who did harm first. Random civilians deserve to be able to just live their lives.

Khazrae Kulata: Khazrae is an erinyes devil, and as such she doesn’t have much in the way of a moral code. She gets her morality 90% from Maxwell and 10% from the rest of the Shadow Slayers. Her morality typically boils down to ‘if I do this will Maxwell be upset I did’. She sincerely likes the party and she owes them an eternal debt for how they saved her from a millennia of torment, so despite very much being an evil creature by nature, she does sincerely want to do right by them. However since she doesn’t always have a firm grasp on human morality, she does make the wrong call on occasion and does something evil without thinking it’ll be a big deal to everyone else, such as when she helped Claudia to kill a helpless prisoner to help another devil get revenge.

Eccardian Drovenge: Eccardian’s morality is a bit grey at the moment. He spent much of his life manipulated and possessed by his infernal father Mammon, so now that he’s finally free he’s feeling out how he actually feels about things without a literal devil whispering in his ear. He takes a lot of cues from Erik on how to be a better person, and considering whether Erik would be disappointed in a choice does go into his decision making. He’s okay with grave robbing and is gleeful about getting revenge on those who have harmed him. He has no qualms about killing to remove a threat to him and his organization. However he’s not going out of his way to do harm anymore, and is actually trying to funnel his resources into doing good for the city and the country as a whole, to help make things better for tieflings like him and ‘lesser’ citizens as a whole.

Chammady Drovenge: Chammady is a pragmatist. Her morality centers her family—which in this case means her brother and the Shadow Slayers—and anyone outside of them is fair game. She took the lessons of both nobility and the thieves’ guild to heart, and is willing to do what has to be done to protect herself and hers. She is skilled at the double talk of nobility, and the necessary manipulations to navigate politics. She’s good at making others underestimate her, playing the role of vapid noblewoman and leaning into people’s expectations and biases, although she’s done that less since becoming mayor as now she has a position of true power, where a different sort of face is both expected and necessary. Like her brother, she has no qualms about killing those who might obstruct her goals or harm her inner circle. She is fiercely protective of her inner circle.

[inkribbon796]

Forgotten Light Ch. 2: The House that Thomas Built

Summary: The heroes get some information from an unlikely source.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Spade’s projection made an eerie, glitchy chuckle. “And Ranboo and Bing call me overly paranoid.”

“Is this a projection or some remnant of this psychopath,” Nate demanded. “What else did this asshole leave in our base?”

“I’ll be brief, while you are no doubt demanding questions of me,” Spade began talking, his form occasionally glitching. “Around our fifth reset, everything went so poorly that it compelled me to start making some precautions. One of them was to ensure you idiots keep your hands off of Thomas.”

“Thomas is fucking dead!” Joan told the projection. “When are people going to listen to the fact that my friend is fucking dead?”

Spade glitched, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Give me a moment, I had to make a whole program to respond to your rather inane questions. How I ever did this before is beyond me. Anyway, ask your question again if you would?”

“I didn’t ask you a question,” Joan spat. “I’m asking for some decorum for the dead, you shitbag.”

The hologram glitched. “Oh, Joan, if I’d registered you were here before, I would have been gentler.”

“What do you want?” Joan demanded.

“To stop all of you from doing something idiotic. These spells can only be undone by myself,” Spade gestured to himself with a smug smile. “Or at least your out of date version of myself.”

“So that’s why you took the camera, Logan told me that Deceit hadn’t been the one to give it to us,” Nate spat.

“My conclusion for our failures to save people is because of your ineptitude and recklessness.” The hologram’s expression crashed into a frown. “My Thomas was corrupted by the deaths of three of the Sides, I wouldn’t have killed Orange if I’d known it had such an adverse effect on him. If you are even hearing this message, I can only assume we were successful in saving Roman and Virgil. A cause to be celebrated.”

“You killed Orange?” Joan balked in horror.

“He made a couple crass remarks about Roman and Virgil, while I was still metaphorically raw, one too many times and I was already in a foul mood, so I beat him to death and absorbed his aura.” The hologram had a dark look in his eyes, his tone chillingly calm.

The atmosphere went terrifyingly quiet.

After some pause, something in the hologram’s programming was directed to say something. “Thomas is not violent, despite what the situation at hand would lead you all to believe,” Spade tried to convince. “I am more than capable of dissecting flesh from bone. Roman’s and the Duke’s weapons can kill with ease. But Thomas has been trapped for years, the camera has kept him asleep for years. I believe that is worth mentioning.”

With that the projection disappeared and the nanites that were in the camera swirled into a small cube that Jackie immediately picked up and raced over to Bing who accepted it immediately.

Jackie was back as the heroes were discussing the situation, Joan picking up the camera and looking at it.

“Trusting a demon who murdered a hundred people is a shit idea,” King shouted.

“The guy could have left an explosive charge and he didn’t,” Mare reminded, walking over to get a good look at the camera. “Pixels here didn’t even try to hurt us.”

“Yeah but a demon not trying to kill us at this second doesn’t mean that it’s lying,” King reminded.

“This doesn’t change the fact that we need Logan, but they won’t be back until Sunday,” Joan cut into the argument as they studied the camera. “There’s nothing we can do about it right now.”

King let out a frustrated groan, “You do realize that if this thing gets out it will kill the Sides as we know them. For all we know, the only reason future Logan was probably able to think for himself was because there were already so many of the Sides dead and something else probably happened to the legate. There’s a lot we’ll never get to learn about the guy because of bullshit time travel.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t drop kick this thing into the closest ocean,” Joan shot back, holding the camera to their chest as if they were trying to protect it. “I’m just saying we should wait until the Sides get here to decide.”

Looking away, King was quiet as the heroes put it to a bit of a vote. They all decided to wait, mostly because Joan refused to hand over the camera until they decided to wait. Nate put it back into holding and Jackie went to discreetly check on the Sides in his normal clothes. They seemed fine and greeted Jackie warmly.

Everything was fine, and if they suspected something was wrong, then they never even hinted that there was anything off.

So the heroes waited until the Sides came back from their vacation. As they suspected, Logan knew someone had been in their home the instant he was through the door. When they rushed over to the base, there was white-hot anger in his eyes.

“I think it’s time we had that talk,” Nate told Logan.

Logan stiffened before he started stomping over to King. “Get your hands off of that.”

The logical Side slammed into a barrier as Virgil nervously took a step back and his back collided with a magical barrier that had triggered when they all passed through it.

The anxious Side let out a sharp gasp that immediately drew his three teammates’ attention. Only when Logan was sure that Virgil wasn’t being harmed, did his head sharply whip back to the other heroes.

“What is the meaning of this?” Logan demanded. “Did you all go through our house without permission?”

“Depends,” King’s fingers drummed on the camera and Logan seemed to become angrier. “If we’re talking to Logic, Morality, Anxiety, and Princey then it was for your own good. If not, this conversation is going to turn real nasty, really fast.”

“Worry not,” Roman smiled as he pushed himself in front of Logan. “None of us are that dastardly neerdowell, Deceit.”

“Oh, trust us,” Jackie scoffed. “We’d be havin’ a much different conversation if he was here. Might e’en get better answers, ‘cause yeh all sure as shite ain’t givin’ us any.”[1]

Logan pulled Roman back and the creative Side glared at him and yanked his arm away. “There appears to be some kind of misunderstanding, dispel the barriers and hand over the camera and we can talk.”

“You do know the archives and storerooms have cameras, right?” Nate reminded Logan. “We know you have long conversations with him, so start telling us what you’ve been talking about.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan glared at them.

“Is his name still Thomas or is he telling you to call him something else?” Nate demanded.

“Thomas is dead,” Logan’s tone was especially snappish. “If I could have been in communication with him I would have been years ago.”

“But yeh have been, yeh make yer way inta the storage room an’ yeh talk ta this thin’ but whene’er we try an’ get the audio it’s just a garbled mess,”[2] Jackie accused. “So either yeh tell us, or we’re gonna have ta force a conversation.”[3]

“I have not been talking with that thing, it is an inanimate object not worth talking to,” Logan denied.

“You do,” Virgil informed.

“You kinda do, Lolo,” Patton told him.

“It is a touch unsettling, but I always rehearse lines in the mirror and I hear nerds talk to a rubber duck, so who am I to judge?” Roman shrugged.

“No, I do not talk with some useless object, my coding duck is a completely different matter,” Logan defended, as Joan was loading up something on a PAD. It was a time lapse of Logan casually sitting in the storage room, his mouth moving but the audio coming out a garbled mess.

Logan felt an uncomfortable weight settle in his stomach, “I have no memory of this.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” King scoffed. “It also explains why you don’t have any aura. All the other Sides have aura but you never had any to spare.”

Logan stared at the camera and hazy memories of feeling something in him getting drained away and nothing but empty silence in his head. “I . . . I . . . What is that thing?”

“It’s a very dangerous demon, and when Thomas was spilt he did so incorrectly,” King explained. “And voila, you became his Sides. If this demon gets out or wakes back up it will turn you all into his proper thralls. A legate’s thralls only exist to bring their legate aura and mindlessly serve it.”

“And it’s trapped in that thing?” Virgil asked nervously. “No wonder Dee hated it. How do we keep it from getting out?”

Logan was quiet, just staring at the camera.

“If it is a foe to be vanquished I won’t go down without a fight,” Roman declared, drawing his sword.

“Maybe we could just talk to this legate?” Patton suggested. “We could try it.”

“What part of: if it gets out, you’ll become mindless thralls, didn’t you understand?” King demanded.

“Is it conscious?” Logan asked, silence crashing around the room. “Because if what’s in there is awake, I will rip that camera apart with my bare hands.”

“You’ll free it,” Nate reminded.

“I don’t care,” Logan decided. “Not too long ago I was in the same position. I was trapped in that drive for only eighteen hours, and I was made to suffer in my inability to move and speak. I would not wish such a fate even upon my worst enemies.”

“He’s gonna[4] get out eventually and then he’ll just be more pissed,” Virgil agreed, more than a bit of fear in his voice.

King groaned, “Yeah, you two have a point.”

“We should make a barrier, break the camera and if he attacks, we fight back,” Silver suggested.

“I think instead of the weapons and the magic,” Joan cut in, “the first thing he sees should be me.”

“An unacceptable risk,” Logan told Joan. “If this demon is even a fraction as dangerous as you all insist, you cannot be allowed near it.”

That got Joan a little upset, that Logan was so dismissive about something that was still a part of his old friend. “No, I don’t care. The others aren’t here, and I was one of the last things Thomas saw before he died. If there’s a chance he’s still in there, I want to try it.”

“We’ll be here to move in if he even tries to strike at him,” Silver promised. “Powerful or not, we outnumber him.”

“Fine,” Logan barked dismissively. “Since I’ve unwittingly had the most interaction with him, I should be their bench test for how this demon will react to the other Sides. If it proves to be non-violent or will not consume me, it will be safe to let the other near as well.”

“No!” Virgil shouted in blatant fear.

“Absolutely not,” Roman balked. “What if he hurts you.”

“I would rather him hurt me than you,” Logan decided.

Patton had a determined frown on his face.

“You think you throwing yourself into harm’s way makes it any better?” Roman spat, pointing at Logan. “I am capable of defending myself.”

“I will not watch you die again!” Logan shouted, his glasses glitching for a second and Roman flinched, fear flashing in Roman’s eyes. “You and Virgil are to be protected at all costs, whether than threat comes from hunters, demons, or anything else.”

“Lo,” Roman said, his face a mix of terror and shock. Virgil ducking behind Patton.

“The first thing he put in my head,” Logan clutched at his temples, “was the sight of your dead body, of your lifeless eyes. It is a sight I never wish to see again. Not your death, not Virgil’s, not Patton’s. It would be my undoing. I—”

Patton cut Logan off by hitting him with a hug and held him in a vice grip. “Lo we’re here together and we just wanna[5] help you.”

That finally stopped Logan’s screaming tirade. The warm, physical reminder that someone he loved was still here. Logan’s eyes turned back to normal and Patton held Logan to him. “Hey, come on big guy. We’re all still here and we’ll do this together.”

Logan, stubborn to the end, commented, “This individual has been feeding off of me for years, if I have not been taken as a thrall yet, there is the possibility that it will recognize me and I can convince it not to harm anyone. Will you give me a chance to reason with it?”

“No risks, you wait for Joan, and you run before it can hurt you,” Roman ordered.

“There are too many variables to—” Logan began to refuse.

“The only variable that we care about right now is your safety,” Roman told Logan. “Maybe you trust us for once, yeah?”

Logan looked conflicted, turning away.

Taking his hands, Roman tried to position his head so that he could look Logan in the eyes. “We’re a team, we do things together.”

Finally Logan let out a reluctant, quiet exhale, and closed his eyes. Then he gave a shallow nod.

Patton hugged Logan tighter. “We wait for Joan and the others, and when it’s safe, we all go out together.”

Then we’ll all die together. Logan thought morosely, but he didn’t say anything. His attention instead turned to Virgil who was not doing well with the situation. Between the undercurrent of fear in the room, it was having an adverse effect on his own crumbling mental state.

He was crying, and shaking, little anxious noises coming from him. To try and offer what comfort he could, Logan let go of Roman and gently pulled Virgil towards him.

Immediately Virgil bows his head forward to hide it in Logan’s chest.

Logan leaned forward and kissed the top of Virgil’s forehead. “My darling nightshade, I would let nothing set their finger on you if I were capable.”

Virgil’s stressed shaking began to get worse and he tried to press his head further into Logan’s chest. Logan’s free hand rubbed comforting circles into Virgil’s back as he tried to be as soothing as the situation would allow.

When Virgil stopped shaking as much, Logan could stand to take his attention off of Virgil.

Jack walked over. “Maybe yeh four shouldn’t be in the room when we pop the seal, we get some ‘a yer aura Logan, an’ we can try ta keep yeh guys safe.”[6]

Logan nodded and the other three Sides let him pull away long enough for King and Nate to use his aura to undo all the enchantments Spade had placed on it. Leaving the camera, at last, defenseless. The Sides were allowed to pass through the barrier.

Roman and Patton pulled Logan back into their group as they walked down the hall, turning out of sight.

It left the other heroes to get ready in the somber mood. Joan was finally left alone with the camera and the spell to crack open the camera. Everyone else who wasn’t Joan or a side was behind a protective barrier that Nate and Mare enchanting to keep them invisible until they needed to defend Joan or the Sides.

Nate stepped out to double check the barrier before walking over to Joan. With a heavy sigh he looked down the hallways, “Ready?”

Joan nodded, Nate catching the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Alright,” Nate took a deep breath as he readied his magic. “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Behind the wall!”

Nate pulled and severed the line as Joan took the camera and it shook before it began to glow. Then the camera cracked and a soft white light came from the old device as a person dropped out of the light.

Joan immediately recognized Thomas’s face and they tried to listen for any signs of life. “Thomas” was deathly quiet and still eyes closed before his eyelids twitched and he groaned.

“Thomas?” Joan urged gently, keeping out of direct arm’s reach but moving closer. “Are you okay buddy?”

Thomas blinked open his eyes and began to weakly pick himself up, looking up at his old friend, “Joan?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. We’d be having a much different conversation if he was here. Might even get better answers, because you all sure as shit aren’t giving us any.

2. But you have been, you make your way into the storage room and you talk to this thing but whenever we try and get the audio it’s just a garbled mess

3. So either you tell us, or we’re going to have to force a conversation.

4. going to

5. wanna

6. Maybe you four shouldn’t be in the room when we pop the seal, we get some of your aura Logan, and we can try to keep you guys safe.

[fleckcmscott]

Things Past

Summary: Arthur shares a childhood memory with Y/N. She sees it differently than he does.

Warnings: Mild angst

Words: 2,645

A/N: This was an anonymous request! Thank you for sending it to me - it was a real challenge. A big thanks to Karen, too. Not just for beta-ing, but for helping with the basis of the memory in question. (I had an idea but hers was much better.) 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Y/N was clad in her robe and brushing her teeth when Arthur entered the bathroom, flashed her a half-smile, and sat on the side of the tub. A mix of nicotine and cologne hung in the air. He must have smoked half a pack if he was trying to cover up the scent. The flexing of his bare toes on the dark tile floor, and the nibbling of his thumbnail caught her eye in the mirror. Once she rinsed, she grabbed a piece of floss and sat next to him, situating herself so they were hip to hip.

They were fast approaching five years together. Arthur and she still found respite in each other's presence. In shared warmth, not only in the familiarity of their affection, but also in the meeting of lips and bodies during lovemaking and otherwise. And in their companionable silences, which continued to hold a tacit acknowledgment that he could tell her whatever he needed, whether he uttered a simple word or two, or the rare paragraph.

Arthur appeared to be somewhere in the middle of that range of need now. It was evident in the tightness of his back as she put her palm on it. Rubbing gently, fingertips tracing his spine, she sought to bring him out. Like she had back when he'd sat on her sofa with his journal, a stand-up fresh off his first performance. The morning she'd realized she'd fallen in love with him.

His sigh let her know her attention was working. "Dr. Ludlow wants to talk about when I was a kid," he murmured. "I won't know what to say. I barely remember anything."

The subject of his childhood was seldom discussed. Even after his mother had passed away last spring; he'd been silent when they'd picked-up her belongings at the home. (He'd thrown out everything besides the periodic letters and photos Y/N had sent, stating "I like reading I make you happy.") They had never gone over the details in the Arkham file. He'd told her he hadn't and wouldn't look at all of it. He'd seen the headlines, scanned the psychiatric interview, touched the adoption certificate. That had been enough.

While he'd guessed she'd looked at Penny's records, she hadn't disclosed that she'd eventually read all it contained. Had learned the details of his neglect and abuse. Had seen the photos of his emaciated, bruised body. Her throat constricted as they flashed in her mind's eye. It was a mercy he wasn't aware of everything that had occurred. Even if his unconscious knew.

Of course, if he asked her, she'd answer any questions he had. Tell him all of it. But she didn't want to burden him. Or for him to feel shame, an unwarranted reaction her experience reading family cases had taught her was common. The two of them would keep doing what they always had: deal with the residual effects of his past, the symptoms of his illnesses together, as best they could. And for what she couldn't help with, he had his doctor and his journal.

"You can say whatever you want." Y/N bunched up the floss and tossed it towards the trash can under the sink, groaning as it bounced off the rim and back at them. "You could bring back some classic parts of your act. The one about how you hated school," she said, nudging his side. "And how the other kids were too unsophisticated to see what a sweet, funny boy you were."

He retrieved the plastic thread and stood up, threw it away. At his scoff, she realized her attempt to lighten his load hadn't worked. "That was, what? Over thirty years ago?" Then he turned to her, his thumb stuck in the waistband of his pajamas. "We have our life now. Why should it matter?"

Reluctance to admit one's past affected the present was understandable. She'd denied it to herself when she'd first moved to Gotham. Burying herself in her work had been enjoyable. And it had had the convenient side effect of allowing her to avoid processing the ways caretaking had changed her. Starting a relationship with Arthur had forced her to stop and take a breath, to examine its impact. It had done her good. She was certain it would him, too.

"Arthur." He took her proffered hand without pause and stepped to her automatically. She pressed her mouth above his navel, laid her cheek against the warm skin of his belly. "I'll be right here for you." The caress to her hair was featherlight and her hold on him tightened. "You've put so much work into yourself. This is difficult but you can do it."

Bending to her, he kissed the top of her head. "Go to bed. I don't wanna keep you up."

"It's all right if you do. I happen to like your company." At last, she succeeded in getting a chuckle out of him and a playful swat to her thigh. But he withdrew and wished her good night. Heading into their bedroom, she heard the click of the lamp in the living room, the opening of the door to the fire escape. He'd be outside for some time, she assumed. Quickly, she got one of his sweaters and brought it out to him. Though he raised a brow at her, his eyes were full of fondness. She slung the wool shirt over his shoulder and pecked his jaw before taking her leave.

~~~~~

Occasionally, Arthur would call her office before leaving for an appointment. He'd never say he was thinking of skipping a session. That he was having doubts they were working at all. That tough days were infrequent yet harsh. His flat tone and pauses clued her in, though. He'd been calm when he called today, and she'd kidded with him until his mood had buoyed and he'd said he was going. Promising a date night, if he felt up to it, had helped.

Currently, Y/N was in line at Marchetti's waiting for take-out. Wanting to catch-up on the evening news, she grabbed a Gotham Journal from the newsstand. Since the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne in a robbery six months ago, Gotham's malfeasance appeared to have gotten worse. Reports of small businesses being cited for minor code violations, while establishments run by people with the right name and enough money were left to their own devices, flourished. Construction strikes had become more frequent, which she would normally support. But they had a way of ending as soon as the city placed a higher bid. The chief of police had been photographed hobnobbing with a crime boss, but the mayor had taken no action.

On top of it all, the Wayne Foundation, that thorn in her side, was drawing back many of the initiatives it had begun after increasingly austere program cuts. Including services at that damned medical center in Otisburg. They couldn't run out of funds, the board claimed. With the continuously sluggish economy, returns on their investments weren't what they used to be. The organization needed to ensure the Wayne's son would be taken care of.

Y/N didn't buy those excuses. She had nothing against the boy - she couldn't imagine losing her parents at such a young age. But how many mansions, gazebos, and toys did a child need? The skeptical part of her, the one that always suspected an angle, wondered if the increase in the city's corruption and the Wayne Foundations machinations were related...

Stop it, Y/N. Quickly, she shoved the paper back in its spinning rack. If she thought about it too much, she'd find a way to stumble into an investigation she couldn't ignore. While she'd be ready for one and relish it, she didn't want to focus on that tonight.

Their order was ready in about twenty minutes. Arthur and she had gotten into the habit of getting two individual pizzas, borne of his limited willingness to experiment with toppings. Normally, he was happy to take her recommendations, but he insisted cheese was just as good as any other kind and liked to have it to fall back on. She'd gotten Hawaiian for herself. If he was in the mood to eat, she was sure they'd split them.

Happy notes from the Sinatra live album she'd gifted him for his most recent birthday hit her as she opened the apartment door.  It was a pleasant surprise. Arthur only listened to the LP when he was doing all right. (It had prompted him to tell her of his wish to go see him in concert together, and he didn't want to taint that with negative thoughts.)

Upon peeking around the corner from the kitchen, she spotted Arthur in his writing nook, scribbling hurriedly and tapping his feet to the beat. He was obviously engrossed, but she didn't think he'd mind if she interrupted. Soon she approached his desk, plates in hand. "Knock, knock."

A gentle snort as he put down his pen, "Who's there?"

"Delivery service." She propped her hip against the edge of his desk, and placed the food next to his journal, along with a paper towel. "You owe me a tip."

"I do, don't I?" He angled his head up and pulled her in for a quick kiss. "Thanks. I've only had coffee since this morning. Just been working on my material." Swallowing, he flipped back a page in his notebook. "How did the little boy learn to get home?" His green eyes met hers, a hiccup of laughter in his throat. He allowed about three seconds before giving her the punchline. "Step by step by step by step."

Her features softened and her grin drifted away as she absorbed what he'd jotted. In the past, his act had contained references to his childhood. References which could have been based on recollections, figments, or both. This was an observation in joke form, as his jests tended to be. "That's clever." She reached to brush a chestnut wave from his forehead, deciding to ask what she'd been curious about since she got in. "I'm glad you're doing so well. I take it therapy went better than expected?"

Nodding, he gave her a tight-lipped smiled, dimples on display. "Mhm." She moved to sit more fully on his desk, straightening as she secured her paper towel to the neckline of her blouse. They munched quietly, glancing between their slices and each other. It was clear he wanted to tell her more. After he finished his first bites, he shifted in his chair. "I remembered something nice."

A weight rolled off her shoulders, and the corners of her mouth turned up. "That's wonderful."

"Yeah." His teeth worried his thin bottom lip, his gaze going to his plate. "I was at school late - maybe I got in trouble for laughing. Penny was supposed to get me. But I think she forgot, so I had to walk home... It was dark. I hadn't gone that far by myself."

With every word he spoke, Y/N's elation ebbed, replaced by sympathy. But she didn't stop him. "The next day was the same. My mother wasn't there." He still switched back and forth between her name and that title, though he used the latter less and less. "I buttoned my coat and tied my shoes on my own." The satisfaction reflected in his expression contrasted with the pain welling in her. "The steps were icy, but I didn't fall once."

A hitched chuckle left him. "Penny stared at me when she finally answered the door. She couldn't believe I remembered the way home. Then she picked me up." His eyelids fluttered. And the beam on his face was blinding. "She said I was a good boy and told me I was big enough to walk home from then on. She gave me a quarter for a movie." His voice became small, as small as the boy in the story. "I think she was proud of me."

Y/N kept her stare fixed to the floor. Her chewing had slowed, then halted completely. A question nagged at her, even as she assumed the answer would hurt. "How old were you?"

A slight shrug in the corner of her eye. "Six? Seven?"

It shouldn't have stunned her that what he'd introduced as "nice" was to the contrary. But she was gutted. The implications behind it tightened her chest. Was it the last time his mother had held him? Had he gone to the damned movie theater alone, too? Why the hell had the city given him back to Penny?

She'd spent a lot of effort helping him learn that it was okay to be angry and upset sometimes. That he didn't have to lie to her about how he felt. That he didn't have to hide if things were too much for him or he had a bad day. And here she was, doing her best to paste on a smile for him. The difference, she supposed, was that it was to protect him. Not to lie to herself.

She didn't want him to have an inkling regarding the tumult she'd experienced in the last five minutes. That this memory wasn't ideal. Telling him how to feel about it would be crossing the line from honesty into cruelty. There had to be a truth in this she could be happy about. And following some pondering, she found one. He had so few memories from his youth. She supposed he'd been fortunate to retrieve one he considered positive, even though it broke her heart.

She permitted herself to sniff once, blinked a few times at the carpet, and looked to him. "I'm glad you have that to hold onto." Thank god she'd managed to keep her voice from wavering. She distracted herself by squeezing his hand, then brought his knuckles to her lips. "You deserve it."

After a sharp exhale, Arthur moved his palm to hold her shoulder and drew her to him. "You know how you needed me to get into NCB studios? To do your job?"

Twisting to put her plate on the desk, she couldn't stop her giggle. It hadn't been her job - it had been the opposite, frankly. "Of course."

"You're like that for me when it's hard." It was a simple comparison, but she thought it was one of the most beautiful she'd ever heard. She pushed her lips to his, titling her head to deepen the connection and cup his cheeks.

He loosened himself from her grip and grabbed the paper towel she'd tucked into her shirt. Laughing, he tried to wipe away the grease she'd gotten on his face. Y/N plucked the napkin from him and weaved her fingers into his silky hair, imploring him not to care. She looked down at him, unable to stop a smile from forming.

Damn, she was a lucky woman. How did he manage to cheer her, even with the ache lingering in her breast? She'd have to be extra sweet to him in the upcoming days. Hug him tighter, longer, until he pushed her off and shook his head with a smirk before pulling her back in again. It would soothe her, allow her to deal with the mixed emotions she felt at his recollection. Ensure his joyful mood stuck around and make him happy.

She'd start tonight. "We can skip Gotham News and watch whatever you want." She tapped his chest. "You pick."  

"I like watching the news with you." He grinned, then. "But I rented a movie. A comedy from the thirties. There's dancing."

Comedies were much more his cup of tea than hers. But she'd watch anything to sit next to him, to see joy in his eyes, to hold and be held by him. She nuzzled at him and kissed his cheek. "I'm sure we'll love it."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @howdylilflower​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​@fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​

[xwestcoastwassyx]

Week #7 - DUE 07 OCT 2020

1) In creating videos on online platforms – such as YouTube – can mimicking a race and gender that is not your own be classified as having “too much fun”? Is it offensive on the gender, racial, and political spectrums?

      It is very offensive to mimic the stereotypes given to certain races and genders if you are mimicking a race that is not yours to claim. In the novel “The Social Media Handbook – Chapter 8: Race and Social Media” we learn how race can either be heavily avoided or strongly brought up on social media platforms that our everyday technologies offer. Unfortunately, when race is brought up in modern social media platforms – in this case, YouTube – we see how White men attack the Black race by creating videos that influence the harsh stereotypes given to Black women. For example, Senft and Noble argue, “The first race-related video was comedian Billy Sorrell’s “Sh*t Black Girls Say,” featuring his “ghetto” character named Peaches saying things like “My computer got an apple bit out of it” and “Ooo, Basketball Wives is on” (2014). These racist and sexist videos made by White men went more viral and got more views than the videos created by women who created stereotypical videos of “Sh*t Guys Say”. However, one Black woman by the name of Franchesca Ramsey created a video in response that mimicked the stereotypes given to White women. Ramsey’s initial intent was – of course – to make a political statement that making fun of a minority race is not okay and has gone too far. Ramsey had enough and decided to reverse the role where she would call out the White women’s racist remarks to a Black woman. It is all fun and games when a White man creates a video of “Sh*t Black girls Say”, “Sh*t Hispanic Girls Say”, and “Sh*t Asian Girls Say” until a Black woman – or any other minority woman – creates a stereotypical video of “Sh*t White Girls Say” and place it on the social media platform. Ramsey did get a large amount of praise for her video going viral and being labeled as very comedic. However, many White men and White women were very offended and claimed that Ramsey was promoting the behavior of racism and sexism when, in fact, she was creating a video to promote awareness of how it feels to have a video made about minority women with the nation laughing at them.

      It is important to understand that race is seen as the process of racialization – where people place individuals into categories that “best fit them” according to their physical state and their characteristics. Racialization makes things “easier” for people to comprehend because it allows for people to place others into a box. It is a social construct that was formed to simplify people of all different ethnicities, when in reality people are extremely complex in behavior. With this in mind, we need to realize that having “too much fun” – by making racist and sexist videos online – is extremely offensive and should not be done unless it is done by the person involved in that same race and same sex.

2) What are the dimensions of “Interpellation” and how can they be racially understood on social medias? (Pg.108)

      Interpellation corresponds with the idea of racialization because it allows people to better understand the layers that lie within the politics of race. In the novel The Social Media Handbook – Chapter 8: Race and Social Media Theresa Senft and Safiya Umoja Noble claims, “we derive our sense of identity from how we respond to the ways in which others implicitly categorize us through public speech and gestures each day” (2014). Their statement shows the underlying foundation of “interpellation” by explaining what this concept is and how it affects the identities of people. This affects people by how a certain race is represented and recognized in modern society. Interpellation comes with a variety of dimensions that include positive interpellation, negative interpellation, non-interpellation, and mis-interpellation. Positive interpellation can be classified as a school alumni or a fan of a music artist like Beyonce (Senft & Noble, 2014). This form of interpellation includes the feeling of praise or being noticed for partaking in a good – “positively associate” – social environment. Negative interpellation, on the other hand, is when people or a certain group of people are called out and made to be seen in an uncomfortable way. Senft and Noble notes, “Althusser’s famous example of negative interpellation is the person who turns when a police officer yells, “Hey you!”’ (2014). This is a perfect example to show how negative interpellation is demonstrated in our American culture by showing the negative, uncomfortable, action between the officer and the individual. Non-interpellation is explained as the state of being ignored or feeling that you do not exist or belong in a particular societies culture. This form of interpellation is important to note because in the predominant White American society, we tend to think it is okay to discriminate against those who are different from anything other than White. By discriminating, our society is ignoring individuals and the issues that arise from minority race. As for mis-interpellation, Senft and Noble state that it “results when we understand ourselves to be included in a definition of “everybody” and are later addressed in a way that makes it clear that we are not” (2014). Mis-interpellation happens every day and needs to be recognized/addressed so that our society can change this connotation.

      These dimensions of interpellation are seen through the emerging racial divisions that have been displayed both in online and offline cultures. As previously mentioned, the dimensions of interpellation are strongly correlated with the idea of racialization by categorizing people based off of their race/ethnicity, gender, socioeconomic status, and even religion. Technology has made it easier to discriminate on mass medias and social media networks by dehumanizing the minority race and placing them into categories to prevent them from growing and contributing with society. The online world has been proven to be toxic because it is primarily dominated by White, supremacists’ individuals who believe minorities should controlled and belittled. The Internet uses the dimensions of interpellation to promote negative stereotypes, colonization, and corrupt behaviors that only influence the weak minded to partake in the same behaviors.

3) Can “niche marketing” be considered a form of exploiting different racial groups and genders? What are the “illusions” that companies do to sell their products?

      Niche marketing can be considered a form of exploiting different racial groups and genders. The novel Race After Technology: Abolitionist Tools for the New Jim Code show us that multinational companies partake in discrimination by tricking their targeted audience into believing that they are benefiting from purchasing the marketed product. However, we can see that the multinational companies are corrupt and power hungry because they are placing these advertising “illusions” to reel in their targeted audience – only to profit for themselves and continue to take advantage of minority groups. Ruha Benjamin gives a superior example of the discriminatory tactics found in niche marketing through the creation of ethnicity recognition. Benjamin claims, “Consider this ad for ethnicity recognition software developed by a Russian company, NTech Lab – which beats Google’s Facenet as the world’s best system for recognition, with 73.3 percent accuracy on 1 million faces” (2019). The Russian technological company sells their product of ethnicity recognition as a “fun tool to use” because it is proven to be diverse and racially friendly. That is only an “illusion” because products like this are really created to control and discriminate against races that are not White. These products are actually used to criminalized minority groups – such as Blacks, Hispanics, and Asians – and to draw fear into them. As previously mentioned, this is an “illusion” because multinational companies who produce products like the ethnicity recognition and sold to those in power – used as a tool of destruction. Benjamin continues and argues, “This shows how multicultural representation, marketed as an individualistic and fun experience, can quickly turn into criminalizing misrepresentation.” (2019). These products are coded with inequality among race, gender, and culture to global promote faster outcomes of racism and world dominance of White power. 

4) If minority groups – such as People of Color and the LGBTQ+ community – make up more than 50% of the world’s population, why I it considered diverse (different)?

      I bring attention to this important question because I feel it is necessary to discuss. It is statistically true that People of Color – Blacks, Asians, Hispanics, etc. – and those of the LGBTQ+ community make up more than half of the world’s population combined. In the passage Race After Technology: Abolitionist Tools for the New Jim Code, Ruha Benjamin mentions this important idea and brings it to the reader’s attention to show that the American nation is ran by a corrupt White society. This corrupt White society, also known as White Supremacists, are highly known in the United States and are making their presence known and relevant on the global spectrum – leading to world domination. Minorities of race, gender, and sexuality have been criminalized by the global White Supremacists and have shut down. This can be a factor as to why we do not see minorities and LGBTQ+ individuals because White society hides them, criminalizes them, and places them in the category of “others”. White culture draws fears into society and makes people fear minorities. Benjamin makes a great point in stating, “In response to questions about her approach to shows like Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal, Shonda Rhimes says she is not trying to diversify television but to normalize it” “Women, people of color, LGBTQ people equal WAY more than 50 percent of the population”(2019). This proves that Shonda Rhimes is using her platform to “normalize” a group of people that should already be seen as normalized because they make up more than half of the global population. We need more people like Rhimes who use their platform and publicity to address these issues and make it known that minorities are actually the majority. White supremacists will only grow if we allow them to continuously draw “fear” into people; we cannot allow this racism to continue nor shall we allow the White Supremacist to consider themselves the majority when they are not.

Benjamin, R. (2019). Race after technology: Abolitionist tools for the new Jim code. Cambridge: Polity, 41-88. 

Sent,T. & Noble, U.N. (2014). Race and social media. The Social Media Handbook, 107-125. 

[calligraphist-artemisia]

The Smallest Blade (Part xvii)

Summary:  AU. Kolivan knew raising a half-Galra cub wouldn’t be an easy task, especially while running a super secretive organization dedicated to bringing down a corrupt empire. What he didn’t take in consideration was how much the boy would change his life.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

Edit: I forgot to say earlier because I was so excited to finish this, but the idea for Lance’s story was all @s1lverpaladin‘s idea and I loved it so much that I knew it was the direction I wanted to go with him.

- - - - -

xvii.

They called it Cenalenaex'ye.

It was an ancient word once used to describe the feeling of finding a home-away-from-home. Re-purposed into a name for a new planet, it no longer held the same meaning for those who lived there. Instead, it meant safety. Their hidden land beyond the borders of known space, locked behind a region of space which few dared to traverse because of the dangerous unknown which lurked there.

But as much as it kept them safe from those who wished to do them harm, it kept them trapped as well, not that everyone saw it that way.

Lance ducked into the forest and away from prying eyes, quickly making his way to the meeting spot. He didn't have much time left. The ship belonging to their so-called savior would soon be arriving and he had to be prepared for it.

“Lance!”

He relaxed when he saw his sister, Veronica, and her friend Curtis waiting for him. They were the only two he trusted to understand what he needed to do.

Veronica pulled him in for a hug the moment he was close enough. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have to know the truth. I don't buy the excuses he keeps giving every time someone asks about someone who went with him to this other colony. And why does he pick us based on whatever readings he gets from those scans?” Lance pulled away from her. “Something isn't adding up.”

“We know,” Curtis reminded him, his tone gentle. He reached into his pocket and held out what looked like a small stone with glowing runes. “I snuck into the old labs and made this for you. You can use it to communicate with us and we can send messages back. It also has a map stored inside of it so you can find your way back if you need to, though you'll need someone who's good at deciphering codes.”

Lance nodded in understanding. “I'll keep it safe.”

He could hear the crowd growing louder back in town, their excitement building as a familiar orange-and-blue ship came in for a landing. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked at them for one last time.

Veronica, who anyone could tell at a glance was related to him, with her wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes, as well as the light blue markings high on her cheeks. And Curtis, who Lance knew more as an acquaintance, whose skin was darker than either of theirs. It made his lavender markings stand out above anything else.

Lance had to go.

They spent phoebs planning for it, going over all of the different scenarios until he felt sure he could handle whatever was thrown his way. He knew from his last scan that he was close to matching the readings taken from those who were whisked away to the other colony and he wasn't going to be allowed to stay another decaphoeb.  So he would play along, acting as though he was glad to be one of the special ones.

Once he was on the ship, he would find some way to break away from the group and hide, preferably in a place where he could still see what was going on, but if that wasn't possible he would wait until their “savior” and his team were gone so he could take a look around. Lance would send his findings back to Curtis and Veronica and they would use the proof to rally their fellow Alteans against Lotor, claiming the colony for themselves at long last.

At least, that was how it was supposed to go.

Lance said his goodbyes and tried to act delighted when his scan registered as positive and he was asked to board the ship. He found himself in a small crowd, where he worried for a moment that it might be too noticeable for him to break away, but then one of the girls – Larina, he thought – tripped and everyone focused on helping her, which let him slip away and blend into the background of the ship.

He deliberately Shifted his skin to match the monochrome metal and kept to the shadows, moving as slowly as he could so he wouldn't draw attention. It worked.

As Lance feared, there was no good place to sit back and watch, so he found a hiding spot within listening distance and settled in.

The things he heard...

He curled in on himself, stifling his sobs and telling himself that there was nothing he could do. They were screaming and he could do nothing. Lance had never felt more useless.

Vargas passed before he could move again, though the screams continued to echo in his mind, unforgettable in their intensity. He moved stiffly, daring to take a look at the aftermath, and was immediately sick, gagging on bile as it rose in his throat.

“Over there!”

Lance wiped his mouth and blinding took off running. He wasn't going to stick around and wait to get caught. He wasn't going to end up like the rest of them – corpses with their very essence drained from them and captured to be used as some sort of energy source. More voices shouted behind him and Lance pushed himself to his limit, racing around corners until he found what he was looking for.

The door opened painfully slowly and he squeezed through the moment he was able, racing up the ramp and onto one of the small shuttles. His bare bones knowledge of how the old Altean ships worked helped him enough to close the door and set off, though steering turned out to be a whole other issue.

Alarms blared around him, warnings lighting up in foreign violet script, and Lance did they only thing he could think of to survive, which was find the nearest planet and drive towards it.

He crashed somewhere in a forest full of lush silvery foliage and the moment his head stopped ringing and he could force his legs to work properly, he took off running. Eventually he came across old stone ruins which were being overtaken by nature and he gladly escaped into the cooler halls, hoping it could also shield him from being spotted.

Of course, that hadn't worked and Lance was found by the Galra anyway.

His only warning was the sound of crumbling stone behind him, which gave him enough time to will his skin to change to a shade of purple that was common to Galra. He hoped it would buy him time to get away.

And then something odd happened.

The Galra looked at him and then at the squadron of ships flying low over the forest before gesturing for Lance to follow. “This way.”

Lance hesitated only for a moment before deciding to test his luck by following the stranger deeper into the ruins. The Galra's armor was different than anything he'd ever seen, so maybe he wasn't part of the empire? Did that even happen? Were there Galra who disagreed with the way things were? It seemed impossible.

And yet...

He was led to a room deep underground where another Galra waited.

“Who is this?”

“There's a scouting party on the surface.”

The second Galra, who was tall and had an impressive set of four horns, swore under his breath and turned to the computer system behind him, inputting a few commands that made the lights go dim around them. He then turned back to Lance and redirected his original question to him: “Who are you?”

Lance shifted his stance, his words sticking in his throat for a moment. The communication device weighed heavily in his pocket. “I, uh... I'm Lance.”

[headoverjojo]

I would like to have headcanons of Bruno and Leone discovering that their respectives future s / o had a "problem" with the mafia and the police (respectively).

Hi there, darling! Sure :3 Since you specified “future s/o” I went for a happy ending! A bit of joy for those boys-

And here it’s still 09/27 so HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO BAST GANG MAMA BRUNO! Zipper holiday today 💙💙💙

Bruno Bucciarati and Leone Abbacchio have a future s/o who had, respectively, a problem with criminal organizations and with police

(Under the cut for length!)

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno met his s/o when they were just arrived in Naples for work. They lived near and Bruno was such a nice neighbor, talking with him was easy and always pleasant! Sometimes, when he was home and not in his office to take care of paperworks or on mission, they invited him for an evening coffee and they talked and talked, laughing and sharing stories… Bruno, of course, was careful not to reveal anything about his real work, but, the more they talked, the more Bruno found himself enamored with them. They were special, incredible… they were the person he would have liked to be with for the rest of his life.

However, while they were talking, they came to talk also about mafia. Bruno froze inside when he heard about their troubles with mafia. He knew, of course, that his wasn’t a good and honest man. Bruno knew that he was a criminal and one of the worst kind. What he did for living wasn’t right and wasn’t honest, even if he did his best to draw something good from the world of darkness he was in. He had his moral, he had his “code of honor”, he protected his neighborhood and didn’t kill if it wasn’t necessary; still, he was and he would always be a criminal. Knowing all the troubles they have had, of course before Giorno took the power, broke his heart. He was one of the “filthy criminals” who they hated so much…

He isn’t sure about what to do, now. He likes them, he likes them a lot… but he can’t force them to stay with him, to be friends or… more, if they hate criminal organizations so much. He doesn’t know if their eventual relationship could work, in this case. He has so many doubts… but he can’t go back, not now, not when their friendship is so deep and wonderful. He’s fine also in being just their friend; what he really wishes is just to still be in their life, in a way or another. And he hopes that, hearing how and why he ended up being a gangster, may help them to understand that he isn’t a cold and heartless criminal who deliberately chose that life. And so, with this hope, he decides to tell them the truth. He thinks they deserve the world and so, also, the truth. He doesn’t want to lie to them for all the time they’ll be friends or lovers: some things need to be clarified as soon as possible.

In the end, it all works better than what he thought. Of course, it’s not easy, for them, to reconcile the sweet and kind Bruno they know to the gangster Bruno; they need a bit of time to overcome their conflicting feelings. But, in the end, the imagine of the Bruno they know, with his words about his past, convince them that he’s not like the criminals they had the misfortune to meet. He’s something totally different… and, even if they don’t like the idea of him being a mafioso, they’re fine to tone down, in order to have him in their life. He’s a good man as few they could meet around; they couldn’t give up on him. Bruno seems to radiate a positive and vibrant aura; it’s not easy to renounce to it, when you’re used to it!

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio met them in the café he was used to go to. He often just sat alone, a cup -or several, depending by the day and how much he had slept- of coffee in front of him and a book in his hand. They were usual customer too and, when seeing each other every day, or almost, they started first to greet each other, then to exchange some more words and then to sat at the same table, sharing stories and coffee. They were one of the few, if not the only one, friends he had outside Passione and he treasured their friendship. It was… nice. It was so normal to almost leave him astonished. It was a glimpse of a normal life, of a normal friendship… of a normal crush.

After a while, and when they felt they could trust Abbacchio for real, they revealed a detail about their past that involved police and a corrupt policeman. Abbacchio died inside, fearing they meant him, but, luckily, that fact had happened even before his period as policeman. Still… hearing it was painful. Abbacchio knew firsthand about the corruption in police, as he was one of that ignoble corrupt policeman and that costed his partner and friend’s life. They didn’t lose anyone, but seeing one of their relatives jailed for something they didn’t do wasn’t easy to digest. And knowing it was due to a corrupt policeman, who, instead of protecting innocents as he should have done, was taking money to cover some real criminals made everything even worse. He sincerely couldn’t blame them for their hate and distrust towards police. He too, a little before becoming corrupt, felt betrayed by the institution he admired so much, and he still feels an immense distrust towards it.

He’s a bit uncomfortable, knowing how similar he had been to the policeman who ruined their life. He doesn’t know if he has to tell them about his past or not… he’s frankly scared as hell to lose them, the beautiful friendship they have… the chance to be something more than friends. But, at the same time, he hates the thought to lie to them; they’re the first beautiful thing happened to him in a while and he values them a lot. He thinks they deserve the best from him, and lying wouldn’t be being at his best. They deserve more than blatant lies and a guilty friend. Yes, he made a horrible mistake, in his past… but he’s changed. He’s now a different person and, especially, he had already paid in the worst way. He decided, in the end, to be sincere, because they deserved his sincerity; he just hoped it would have been enough to have another chance with them and that their relationship wouldn’t have been too damaged by that revelation.

It seems that sincerity worked, in the end. They visibly grew upset, when he admitted to have been a policeman, and they darkened even more when he said he was corrupted, but their behaviour changed when he told about his partner, about the feeling of betrayal and distrust he grew to feel for the police while being a policeman, and then about that fatidic night… they can’t miss the deep regret in his eyes. They can see he’s changed and he hates who he was, even after so many years. They can see that, if he just could go back in time, he’d change everything he had done… they can’t hate him. He hates himself enough… and they don’t like it. He has paid enough; isn’t time for forgiveness? If it helps… well, they forgive him, for everything he has done. They forgive him and they want to be his friend. And who knows…

[gumnut-logic]

John hated taking public transport

For @onereyofstarlight​ because she asked for Claret: Talk about a memorable experience on public transport.

As for me...

I’m with Johnny on this one. I needs my space :D

I hope you enjoy this. Younger!Tracys :D

-o-o-o-

John Tracy hated taking public transport.

He hated the cramped seats, the invasion of his personal space, the fact the bus stopped every few minutes to pick up more passengers and the noise.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

But the astrolabs were too far from the dorm to hike it or bike it, so bus it was.

He mapped out the most direct route, left early to avoid the crowds and handled it the best he could. Earphones helped and he never travelled without his tablet and a network connection.

He made do.

He made do for over a year. Every morning and every night.

The work was fascinating and he thoroughly enjoyed it. He considered getting a car, but it wasn’t practical and parking was non-existent, so he stuck with the bus.

Despite the fact he hated it.

Every trip he buried himself in his own world whether it be his work, research, a good book or even a movie. He shut the world out and more importantly anyone who sat next to him.

Sometimes this was not possible.

Because sometimes they spoke to him.

John had been brought up polite. His grandmother would have slapped his wrist if she found out he was ignoring people. So, he always replied. Often concisely, but always watching his manners.

That often opened the floodgates. Because if there was anything common between big cities it was the people who were lost in them, desperately alone in a sea of faces.

John liked being alone to a certain extent, but he was blessed with a close and large family.

Some people had no one.

So, ever so reluctantly, he found himself answering their call for help.

The first was Mrs Bucklin. She was a tiny woman, well dressed, but slightly scented with mothballs as if her clothes hadn’t been out of the closet in a long time.

She sat right beside him and immediately enquired as to what he was doing.

At the time he was coding a new game and her sharp voice startled him enough for his fingers to slip and enter a chain of commands he had not intended. He would have sworn if he was alone, but the program righted itself and the new commands, instead of corrupting and crashing the function, actually appeared to improve it. He frowned and hastily input some bridging structures so the code wouldn’t fragment, idly wondering if the error would improve the game, ruin it, have him need to rewrite the whole section or be the spark that would initiate sentience.

Great, his tablet would rise up and eat him while he was distracted by a random bus passenger.

She did apologise and he did reassure her that it was all okay in the hope she would let him be.

She didn’t.

He learnt she had three cats, a niece in another country (he didn’t gather which because the woman’s pronunciation defied translation), that she had lost her son in the Global Conflict, she liked his hair (that was a first) and that he looked like an intelligent young man.

He acknowledged her quietly and politely as he eyed his code and the results of an initial compile test. How did it do that?

Her cats were named Scottie, Gordy and Allie.

He did blink at that, but didn’t comment.

Eventually, she said goodbye and got off the bus at her stop.

He would have forgotten about her, except she sat next to him the next day and the day after that.

Apparently, this was her route to work, and he was such a polite young man.

Three weeks later she admitted he made her feel safe just by being there. She had been mugged three times in her life and public transport was as much a bane for her as it was for him.

He actively kept an eye out for her after that.

Gus was a different matter.

Gus didn’t have a home and he often rode the bus just for the air conditioning and comfort.

He sat on the other side of the walkway to John. He didn’t say much and would likely have never said anything if it hadn’t been for the gang of boys who decided to throw verbal potshots at him one day.

John had had an all-nighter with exams coming up, so he was cranky. His latest project had stalled – the same game he had been tackling when Mrs Bucklin had startled him. The core of the program had become a little unpredictable and he couldn’t work out why.

So, when a group of teenagers crawled to the back of the bus and started needling a fellow passenger, it was not only a situation where the innocent man appeared to need a bit of a rescue, but it also pissed John off.

There were four of them. Teenagers flocked in groups apparently. He’d never been one for that formation himself, but he knew of them, had encountered them and Virgil had kicked a few of their asses for him.

John was in college now.

He could kick his own fair share of ass quite happily.

“Leave the man alone, or I will call the police.” He raised his voice, but not his head, transmitting all the body language of how beneath his notice they were and how he might respond if they didn’t comply.

“Mind your own business, kook!”

There was always a brave one amongst the group, usually the ringleader, the head dickhead.

At least they were only teenagers.

This time he did look up and put all that communication theory into the coldest stare possible. “Excuse me?”

All four of them froze. Hell, they couldn’t be older than fifteen, somewhere between Gordy and Alan. If either of his brothers acted like this, there were three older brothers who would quite firmly re-educate them on proper conduct.

Not that he thought either of his younger brothers would do such a thing.

In any case, all four of them stared at him wide-eyed. The eldest swore and climbed out of his seat just as the bus pulled up at the next stop. He snarled at John as he stalked past, spitting profanities. His cohorts followed and they climbed off the bus.

It was lovely and quiet after that and John went back to tackling his misbehaving program.

“Thank you, sir.”

John blinked up at the unkempt man who had been the centre of the teenagers’ torment.

A small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Was this variable being changed by the program itself? How the hell could it do that?

He didn’t fail to notice after that incident that Gus, as he introduced himself the next time they met, always sat near John on his rides, morning or evening.

John met other people. Mrs Magarey and her three young children always needed a hand with her pram. John sometimes took advantage of this and stuck the pram in the footwell of the seat next to him so no-one could sit there.

That made Mrs Bucklin sit behind him and whisper her stories in his ear.

He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that either.

Two other students from his faculty took the same bus as well. Ridley was in the year behind him and always had a friend on the phone. She chattered a lot and he learnt to tune her out.

Well, until the day he boarded the bus and found her crying into her tablet.

She had lost her entire thesis in a computer crash. He was polite. He enquired and she answered, staring up at him as if she had never seen him before. Which was entirely possible. John didn’t like to draw attention to himself.

He accompanied her off the bus that day and delved into her damaged computer. He dug up her thesis and she gushed all over him, even crying into his sweater.

He hugged her awkwardly and wished her all the best.

After that, she always said hello and had a smile for him.

John smiled back, but his program was still not behaving. It acted as if it had a mind of its own and it was very distracting.

Mrs Bucklin said it sounded like cat number two, Gordy. Never behaving, but always loveable.

John stared at her when she said that, and wondered if she knew more than she was letting on.

The day Virgil landed in the seat beside him on the way to the labs startled him enough to drop his tablet.

“Hey, Johnny.”

He fumbled between the seats for the device. “Don’t call me Johnny.”

“Sorry.” But he could tell Virgil was anything but.

His fingers touched the cool metal of his tablet and he scrabbled for it. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a brother drop in on his brother to see how he is doing?”

John eyed him. If it was Scott sitting next to him or Gordon, he might have been suspicious of any double meaning his brother might be communicating. But this was Virgil and although the engineer had a sense of humour that could cut when necessary, this wasn’t his style.

“I guess he can. But why the bus?”

Virgil shrugged. “Didn’t catch you early enough. Barely caught the bus behind you. I thought your classes didn’t start until later.”

“They don’t.”

“Then why are you up so early?”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “Just avoiding the crowds, I guess.”

Virgil eyed him with a slightly worried frown.

“And who is this lovely young man who has taken my seat?”

Oh god.

Virgil stared up at Mrs Bucklin as she bustled in to sit behind them.

An internal sigh. “Mrs Bucklin, this is my brother Virgil.”

“Your brother?” She eyed Virgil as if inspecting him for sale. “Doesn’t look like you at all. Where’s the red hair?”

Virgil arched a dark eyebrow.

“Nevertheless, Mrs Bucklin, Virgil is my older brother.”

“Then how come we haven’t met before? You’ve been travelling this route for a year now and we haven’t seen hide or hair of him.” She continued to glare at Virgil as if he was a threat.

Virgil was shifting in his seat, his expression decidedly wary.

“Virgil has been assisting my father on a project. He’s an engineer. I’m unsure what he is doing here right now.”

“Hmph, well, in my opinion, he should have been here earlier.” She addressed Virgil directly. “Did you know your sweet little brother has been a bastion of this bus route, defending and assisting all?”

What?

John’s head shot up. “Mrs Bucklin-“

“Don’t you go all humble pie on me, young man. I saw what you did to those teenagers and how you help young Mollie every week. That girl is going to work herself into an early grave. And poor Gus, you’ve given him a new reason to try. Did you know he has enrolled himself in a course? Got himself a grant from the government and everything. Got help from that employment assistance group. Not to mention that doe-eyed young student who stares at you with love hearts floating about her head. I don’t know what you did for her, but I have no doubt she would do anything for you if you asked.” She turned back to Virgil, accusation in her eyes. “Why haven’t you been looking after your brother?”

Virgil’s wide eyes darted between John and the older woman.

John had no idea what to say.

“Well?” Mrs Bucklin’s glare was determined.

“Ah-“

“Is this man harassing you?”

John looked up to see Gus looming over Virgil.

You know, the Virgil who lifted weights that weighed more than his brothers on a daily basis.

John frowned. Gus had a new coat on and was looking much healthier than the last time he paid attention. “No, Gus. This is my older brother Virgil.”

And Virgil was subjected to another staring glare. “Doesn’t look like your brother.”

What?!

“I can assure you that he is indeed my caring older brother and he is not neglecting me in any way.”

Gus grunted, still glaring at Virgil. He nodded in John’s direction. “Make sure he eats more. He’s too skinny.”

That started Mrs Bucklin off again. “My goodness, yes. John you do not eat enough. Have you tried any of those recipes I recommended?”

Gus was still eyeing Virgil.

Virgil appeared to be regretting several recent life choices.

“I’m fine, Mrs Bucklin.” He raised his hands. “And both of you, Virgil is not responsible for my wellbeing.”

His tablet beeped. A glance and he found a text message from Ridley. You okay over there?

He looked up and found her at the other end of the bus staring back at him worriedly.

A sigh.

A flick of his fingers. I’m fine.

He turned back to Virgil who was literally cornered, only for his tablet to chime again.

You free tonight?

Oh, for the love of-

“Guys, Virgil is my big brother. He looks after me. He cares. I’m fine. He’s here for a visit. I don’t know why yet. Stop glaring at him.”

Gus grunted again and wandered off to his seat. He didn’t stop eyeing John’s brother for a second.

Mrs Bucklin let off a slightly miffed sound before leaning back in her seat. “He better. Or I have a mind to bring Scottie with me next time. Or maybe Gordy. To teach him a lesson.”

What the hell?

“No need, Mrs Bucklin. I assure you.”

Virgil was staring at John as if he wasn’t sure what planet he was on.

John sighed.

Yeah, he hated public transport.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

His tablet pinged again. This time it was the program he was working on. It was claiming it was dawn despite the fact the sun had risen an hour ago. He let out an exasperated hiss.

Virgil was still staring at him.

Damn public transport.

-o-o-o-

FIN.