#AND WHEN IT'S PASSIVE VOICE IT FUCKING CENTERS THE RECEIVER

[izvmimi]

cw: smut. minors dni. fem!reader is a brat and izuku’s kind of a bully tbh. brat taming energy. there’s a fair bit of dialogue. horny then turns soft.

izuku won’t tell you this up-front, but he secretly loves it when you’re mad at him.

not if he’s truly done something to wrong you in some way - he would never dream of wanting to hurt your feelings after all - but when you’re throwing a sometimes silent, sometimes not-so-silent tantrum that falls just short of making any damn sense, it gives him a little bit of glee, hidden in the sparkle of his green eyes.

“say that again, sweetheart?” 

you’d started all of a sudden, as usual, sighs that were a little too heavy as you sulked around the house, short responses, a furrow in your brow. he’s been tolerating your mood all evening, because as usual, he is far more patient than you are, and now you’ve run out of passive and are leaning heavily into aggressive.

your snippy reply comes without hesitation.

“i can’t stand you,” you hiss. your voice is sweet venom when you rack up a fuss over something silly, and your tantrums, especially when they’re thinly veiled bids for attention, are terribly amusing to him. 

the scrunch and twist of your features to portray contempt right now as he watches you declare your discontent... they awaken something in him; there’s a fair bit of excitement at the prospect of mollifying you into appropriate behavior.

he’s going to enjoy breaking you down.

“oh, is that so?” he asks, his tone inquisitive and slightly condescending.

“yes.” you keep your voice even and clear.

you’re folding laundry now, refusing to let him help, but keeping your eyes focused on the television in front of you, and he’s given you a healthy amount of distance poring through a set of worn notebooks at the dinner table. he sits directly in your line of sight and he can feel the intensity of your pout.

he sighs but the sound is light. leaning back into his chair, he throws a look at you over his shoulder and his goading grin is wide and obnoxious.

“you know if you want me to fuck you, you can just ask. use your words, honey.”

a pillow goes sailing through the room in the direction of his face blazingly fast.

“fuck you.”

he’s caught it, eyes playful and predatory. 

“i’d love to.”

your voice is warning as he moves quickly, just faster than you can perceive. one minute he is seated several feet away from you and he pisses you off more than anything you can imagine at the moment, and the next minute he’s knelt in front of you, eyes level with yours. your heart pounds.

“get away from me,” you warn, your face warming up as you draw your legs in.

“make me,” he says, sweetly. 

you mean to push only semi-roughly against his chest, but your arm goes through the space between his chest and his arm and he clamps down with his bicep just enough to trap you, and when you gasp in surprise, he grips you by the chin with his other hand.

the action is too smooth and too earnest. dark eyelashes bat at you playfully and he pouts as though he is the most innocent lamb in existence. he really is too pretty and it only makes you angrier.

“you really don’t like me?” he says in a sad voice, a playful frown. 

“i hate you.”

izuku smiles even wider, ready to play.

---

your whining is incessant now but at least this time the whining is of the more sexual kind, the high-pitched cries and wails of someone who is receiving just a bit more stimulation than she can handle, legs spread firmly apart as you sit in his lap and back pressed against his broad chest. his fingers pump quickly in and out of your center, and you melt against him with every pant as his fingers work you to unfair amounts of pleasure. it’s the exact reason why you hate him, the fact that he can so easily play you like putty, begging him for more - more love, more love, more love. 

izuku bites your ear gently as your back arches against him, the hold he has you in with his arm around your midsection unbreakable. sucking, nipping at your neck and shoulders with soft, repetitive touches of your clit with the tips of his fingers unrelenting. 

“you don’t sound like you hate me,” he teases. 

you are breathless, working yourself into a frenzy onto his thick fingers. 

“i-izuku! you-” you hiss his name, and he’s still unsatisfied with the defiance in your voice. his fingers curl and you see white, and he rubs your back as you cum with no reservation onto his digits, onto his calloused hand. 

your head spins, but he’s not done breaking you down as you come down from your high. quickly he lays you onto your back, leaning just a little bit of his weight onto you as he rests above, chin propped up by his elbows on either side of your body.

you’re a curious sight. messy, your complexion deepened by lust, the smallest tears in the corner of your eyes. cute. his.

“are you still mad?” he asks tentatively.

“stop making me cum every time you annoy me!” you argue, then close your eyes shut in embarrassment as you see him stifle a laugh. you sound silly.

“stop being a brat and i won’t try to fuck it out of you,” he replies simply. you give him a fierce look and he smiles again and before you can realize your mistake, he’s poking at your center again with his thick cockhead. 

he plays with your puffy pussy lips, the leak of pre and your wetness allowing him to glide playfully against the labia, teasing you. you shudder as you wait for entry; it doesn’t come.

in fact, he’s taking his time, humming a tune under his breath even. your blood boils.

“stop playing with me, ‘zuku!” you complain again.

“behave,” he whispers. his breath tickles your face as he draws in close, kissing your forehead.

you would open your mouth to say something sassy, but the craving is there to be filled already, his heat against your heat forming a knot in your stomach. he watches you contemplate, entertained. 

his fingers trail the side of your face.

“don’t you have something to say, love?”

you begrudgingly shake your head.

“so am i going to fuck someone who’s mad at me or someone who loves her ‘zuzu very much?” he asks. he’s still playing with your hair and your head and shifts back, so that you no longer feel his cock against your entrance but rather laying hot and hard on your lower belly. you physically ache.

fidgeting under him, you wrap your arms around his neck.

“p-please.”

horny desperation looks adorable on you, he thinks, but a little more folding is necessary.

“p-please, what?”

“please...” you mull the nickname in your mouth again,” please, ‘zuzu”

he smiles.

“and what does my sweet baby girl who isn’t throwing tantrums want?”

you furrow your eyebrows.

“izuku!”

he frowns back. “that’s not very sweet,” he tsks. “bad girls don’t get cock, unfortunately.” he starts to pull back and your legs tighten around him in a panic.

“no! don’t.” you grit your teeth. “fine!” you force yourself to soften, then look up at him again with the sweetest, most pacifying look you can muster. “can you fuck me ‘zuzu? please? want your cock to fill me up, please?”

he’s obviously pleased that you’ve broken once again.

“of course, sweetheart.” there’s a soft caress of your cheek that comes with the realignment of his hip against yours, that press of his cock flush to your folds that makes your stomach flip.

you murmur his name again, softly, gently, and his heart softens too.

a precious little headache you are.

he slips inside you, groaning a little in time with your mewls as he nestles inside, making space for himself as he fills you up. even if you’re obnoxious at times, you still give way to him, even if he has to be a little forceful. you’re as soft as your insides around him, tender and gentle as your skin dampened by sweat and desire, and as sweet as the tastes of your juices on his tongue.

"do you love me?” he whispers into your skin as he cradles you in his arms. he’s no longer teasing but asking for real. and you always respond the same.

“more than anything. no matter what i say.”

he feels the same.

more than everything. no matter what.

[dizgreen]

WORKING CLASS COMPENDIUM:

TANK

Although not as fast or skillful as other class types, their true strength lies in their unflappable demeanor. This is the person you want on your front lines, dealing with customers, front and center with a smile and a greeting.

The Tank is invaluable for any team, because they help pull the attention away from the other members which helps to mitigate damage to the team overall and increase efficiency.

Tank’s tend to be very hard working and self reliant, but this can also be a downside because they have a tendency to overwork themselves without direction. Since they rarely show their damage outwardly, it can build up pretty high, and it may be too late by the time you notice.

Remember, a tank is strong but they are by no means invincible. Even the most unmovable tank will crumble to dust if they aren’t given proper support from their allies.

TANK SUBCLASSES:

Paladin

Customer service personified. Your smile is your shield and your soothing voice is your sword.

Paladin’s excel at dealing with difficult or unruly customers. Their ability to put customers at ease is unparalleled, and they make the workplace a much easier place to be. Thanks to this, they can also effectively step in to break up conflicts between customers, team members, and other unexpected enemy types when they need to.

Bonus skill: Soothing Aura

Your presence offers a bonus to passive regeneration for all members of your team.

Warrior

You’re here to do a job and by the gods you’re going to do it. It may not be glamorous, but it’s honest work.

The Warrior is notable for how unspecialized it is. Although still classified as a tank due to their high resilience, the Warrior is equally comfortable serving as a DPS if necessary. Warrior’s may come across as simple at first, but their straightforward methods can often prove to be the most effective.

Bonus skill: no passive abilities, but receives a +1 to efficiency, strength, and speed.

Black Knight

You’ve mastered the art of not giving a fuck. It’s not because you don’t care, it’s just because it doesn’t actually matter.

The Black Knight is the most unconventional tank subclass by far. Their smile may never quite reach their eyes, but the fire smoldering behind those eyes is what makes them so effective. Black Knights have managed to channel all their deep rooted cynicism and rage into pure efficiency. They take almost no damage from customer interaction. Even the bad ones.

Bonus skill: Just a Scratch

Black Knights are so good at shrugging off damage, their allies take less too!

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

“press a kiss to [body part]” > “kiss their [body part]”

“he was being kissed” > “[name] was kissing him”

[lightphieric]

Fluffuary Prompt #3: Trust

AO3

Fandom: Zero Escape

Ship: Dio/Luna

CWs: Robot gore

Requested by @kiichu and @caramellum!

When Dio got teamed up with a pretty girl, it was the beginning of the end.

It wasn’t about trust for either of them, really. Luna had no choice but to ally. Anything less would be risking human lives, one of them innocent. And Dio already had an inkling of what Luna really was. Brother’s briefing had informed him there would be a robot inside the Rhizome, although it didn’t mention who it would be. Luna’s passivity in the infirmary was telling; she stared blankly at the puzzles with no intention of even trying to solve them, stepping aside politely when Dio or Quark offered to help. And it wasn’t like she was stupid. She was a repository of medical knowledge and answered every question Quark had about their surroundings with teacherly enthusiasm. But she wasn’t to interfere with the humans’ progress, was she? She would have been easy BP.

So why didn’t he take that easy BP? At the time, Dio had tried to create a false memory for himself: he’d been overpowered by a child. Yeah, that was it. Something far less humiliating than the truth.

His weakness for pretty girls had sabotaged him again. A sweet voice, an adorable face, and a charming dress had made him throw his mission early. Over his extended stay at the Rhizome, he’d come to accept this. Luna could get him to do the stupidest things, from allying in the AB Game to paying a visit to the GAULEM bay. The place gave him the creeps, with all those lifeless, skeletal robots hanging off the walls, staring ahead with glowing red eyes and looking like they could come to life at any second. The fact that they all looked identical reminded him a little too much of his Myrmidon brothers, and he was trying to put that behind him.

But when he received a phone call informing him “Moony” wanted “B.O.” to meet her in the GAULEM bay, he practically bolted there. The door was open already, and he worried he’d find Sigma working inside. But it was just Luna in there, laying peacefully on the workbench with her back towards him. There was a wire poking out from her neck. Was she powered off? Dio didn’t know how to turn her back on.

Luna heard him clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Dio?” she murmured, drowsily pushing herself up to sitting. Her hair was mussed and falling from its braids.

“Were you napping?” Dio chuckled.

“I was just resting my eyes,” Luna explained. “Recharging makes us sleepy.” She turned to face him with a smile and a horrifying visage that made Dio shout and step back.

“Fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?”

The scene before him was grotesque. Half of her face was gone – not gone, but pulled away, dangling off a hinge behind where her ear was supposed to be. Underneath was cold gray skull with an eyeball still stuck inside. Even her nose was missing, revealing a gaping socket in the center of her face. The left side of her face was still there, but next to the skull it only made her look more psychotic – only one of her eyes could blink, and when she tried to frown, the right side of her mouth stayed smiling.

No doubt in his mind – he never would have allied with her if she looked like this.

“I-I’m sorry!” said Luna. The right half of her jaw chattered shapelessly as she spoke. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just…”

Dio turned his head. Her voice was as soft and sweet as ever; maybe if he could just hear her, then he could keep his composure. “Why do you look like that?”

“Dr. Klim had to do maintenance. There’s a control panel on the side of my head, and he needed to remove my faceplate to get to it… Are you angry at me?”

There were tears in her voice. Fuck if that didn’t make him feel guilty. “No. No, I’m not angry.”

“You don’t hate me because I look like this?”

“What?” Incredulous, he turned back to her. Seeing her again made him jump involuntarily, but he took a breath to calm himself. “Of course I don’t hate you, Luna. What are you talking about?” As if to reassure her, he stepped forward and sat next to her on the bench. Really, he was hoping it would be easier for him to just see her left side, but when he looked at her, he could still see the inside of her hanging faceplate and the mess of artificial nerves and muscles that lined it. He put a hand to his mouth to suppress a gag.

“Good.” Luna flashed half of a melancholy smile. “I’m always so afraid of anyone besides Dr. Klim seeing me without ABT. But of all people, I thought you should know what I really look like.”

“And that’s why you called me down here.”

“Yes. I love and trust you, Dio. I hoped you would be able to accept me for who I am.” She placed a hand over his. It felt warm. Even though it was clearer now than ever that said warmth was artificial, the emotion and metaphorical warmth underlying it was real.

They were far from the two AB Game opponents who allied with each other based on technicalities. That Dio would never have allied with a creepy robot skeleton, but that Dio was a shallow son of a bitch. This Dio was smart enough to see that the kind and thoughtful woman he loved existed with or without ABT.

Her appearance was still shocking, but wouldn’t it be shocking to see anyone with half their face missing? He shut his eyes in preparation before placing a hand under her chin and gently turning her to face him directly. He kissed her on the bridge of her nose, just above the seam that normally connected her two faceplates, and she giggled, resting her forehead on his shoulder. He felt both warm skin and cool metal against him. A contradiction to be sure, but if anything was a sign of growth for him, it was his ability to accept contradictions.

[ladyeliot]

Damn melody.

Request: @mostly-marvel-musings​ : Well hi there!! If you’re up for it, could you do a no. 1 and 7 with Tony Stark from your Superhero prompts please?!

Pairing: Superhero!Tony Stark x Villain!Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been trying for a long time to get the documentation that explained the creation of his AI, and that time you almost succeeded.

Warnings: SMUT⚡(+18). Touching, unprotected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 2186

A/N:  This is the first time I write a smut, I’m afraid. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Superhero vs Villain!Reader Prompts

The confrontation had made your insides scream in pain. You prayed that nothing and no one would stand in your way as you drove to your lair at extreme speed. The meeting with Iron Man had been planned from the beginning, your chances to get the documentation where the process of development of his AI based on his own genetics was located had been scarce during the last months, but that day you almost made it. The word “surrender” was not in your vocabulary and never would be.

You arrived at your hideout on the outskirts of New York County with barely a breath. Your body was full of bruises and you felt how blood could wash over your face. Your radar sense could do little at that time, Tony had prepared for your arrival and his AI had restricted the electromagnetic emissions that helped heighten all your senses. So that confrontation was catastrophic, little could your martial arts and combat strategy skills do against the legion of drones that awaited you.

As soon as you stepped on the floor you stood in front of a mirror, your appearance was sickly, your right shoulder was dislocated and that was accompanied by the cut on your forehead, making you look like the ruin personified. You slowly lowered the zip of the black lycra suit that was sticking to your body, preventing the pain in your shoulder from making you squirm even more.  You left the upper part of your body uncovered, covered only with a bra, which showed a series of hematomas covering the abdomen. Internally you found yourself cursing that person and his power, and you imagined the day when you would finally finish with him.

You took a breath and looked at yourself again in front of the mirror, your eyes had darkened from the rage you felt, that was the best time to place the dislocated shoulder bone, but your internal receptor regions, which were slowly recovering, emanated a signal in your body. You quickly grabbed one of the knives hidden in the back of your ankle and stood on guard. The house was dark, all silent, but a slight breath came into your ears, and it was not yours.

You came down the stairs slowly, the breathing could be heard more clearly, that meant you were approaching it. Your sense of smell quickly discovered who it was and where it was. It was impossible for you to return after what had just happened and better still, how had she found you and how had she overcome the security measures?

“Why do you have a room full of pictures and articles about yourself?  you opened the door very carefully and there he was.

He wasn’t wearing the Iron Man suit, instead he was wearing a black Tom Ford suit, accompanied by a red tie, but even so, you knew perfectly well that that didn’t mean he didn’t have his Iron Man suit on him. Tony was in the middle of your small private laboratory, specifically observing a corner where there were photographs of you analyzing facial changes when your emitting and receiving regions were set in motion. The hand holding the knife was shaking from the pain in your right shoulder, and when Tony looked away from you he noticed.

“An interesting sight,” he said, gazing at your naked upper body. He reached into his Tom Ford’s pocket. “Just like this place.”

“What are you doing here?” you spit out those words as if the life in them was gone.

“I only care about you,” he approached the center table and picked up a small gadget in his hands. “External receiving regions, very interesting. Is that what has kept you away from my lab so far?”

Your breath accelerated as you contemplated the behaviour of the person in front of you, he walked around as if nothing had happened and his indifference made your blood boil. Finally he stopped and watched you pointing at your shoulder passively.

“That looks painful,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “I think I’d better put that on you.“ 

"Don’t you dare come any closer…”

“Okay,” he raised his hands and put them back in his pockets. “I just wanted to be nice.”

His tone of voice definitely contained hints of impassivity, but also of disdain and arrogance, all of which shaped that man. So, thanks to your own pride, which gave you strength, you took a breath and in one quick movement put the bone back in place, hiding the moans of pain while clenching your teeth very tightly. The last thing you wanted was to give him the satisfaction of seeing you suffer in front of him again.

“You’re enjoying it,” you said, getting your breathing back to normal. “What do you want? Have you come to gloat over your success?”

“No, that’s not my style,” he said without hesitation and then pointed to the knife you were holding in your left hand. “Why don’t you put down that knife so we can talk like civilized people?”

“Do you think that after today I’m going to be in front of you without a weapon?” you held your breath, chin up.

A smile of arrogance spread across your opponent’s face, causing your body to quiver. Tony, noticing the event, smiled slightly and took a step towards you, which caused you to step back away from him. The tension of the environment was evident, and your uninvited guest had the ability to take control in such situations.

“Are you scared?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Scared?” you stood firmly keeping your gaze fixed on his. “Why do you think I should be afraid?

"Perhaps because if I had wanted to, you would have been dead…” he looked at his watch indifferently. “Two hours.”

You mumbled, clenching your fist around the knife and wanting to stab him as soon as he got a slip.

“And if you’re so sure of it, why didn’t you?” you asked, leaving your lips half open and arching an eyebrow, as Tony continued to approach with airs and graces.

“And what are you waiting for to finish up and put that knife through my neck?” he asked, leaving his lips half open a short distance away. “Stop flirting and kill me.

How could he dare to think what you were flirting with him about? You knew you had all the power at that very moment, as he had said you could put an end to that story, but your body was extremely blocked, and his last words didn’t help either. All your senses were heightened at that moment, you felt the touch of the dried blood on your forehead, you listened to his breathing intensely as it crashed into your face and you could smell his woody perfume mixed with the whiskey emanating from his mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tony whispered, drawing a smug smile on his face that caused your gaze to turn to his lips. 

“You’re not taking me to bed,” you spit out the words finding some lucidity in your brain. "Ever.”

Tony’s lips opened to show how his tongue slowly danced to his lips. You knew what his game was, you had seen it on several occasions in the charity galas he organized, and you were not willing to fall into it, as it was surely a distraction to achieve something. He was only a few inches from your body, your breasts were almost touching, a subtle movement from one of you and the contact was made. He was teasing you, gloating while keeping his gaze fixed on your lips.

“Who said it had to be on the bed?” 

You felt his fingers touching your naked belly, slowly caressing each of the bruises that the dispute with Iron Man had caused you. He turned his gaze to them but quickly turned it back to your lips. Your jaw tightened but when you felt Tony’s lips fall slightly on your right shoulder the tension in your body dissipated. You closed your eyes and let his lips run down your neck, making his tongue come into play as well. Although all your senses were on his actions, you held the knife firmly in your left hand. 

“Look at you…” he whispered a few millimeters away from your neck. His voice was hoarse and it was killing you. “Two hours ago you wanted to kill me and now you’re moaning at my touch.”

With your eyes still closed, your mouth curved into a smile of arrogance.

"Look at you…” you imitated his words. “Two hours ago you wanted to kill me and now you can’t resist putting a hand on me.”

You opened your eyes to meet Tony’s dilated pupils, radiating uncontrolled lust. In one swift movement he guided you to the nearest wall behind you, causing your body to collide with force and severe pain in all your contusions. You couldn’t stop a small moan from coming from inside your throat, a mixture of pain and excitement.

“I think thats the first time I’ve heard you moan…” he said, brushing his teeth against your skin before biting you.  “It was like a fucking melody.”

Another groan came from between your lips. You wanted to touch him, you needed to touch him. The knife slipped from between your fingers leaving a dry sound when it hit the ground. As soon as you were free of it you reached for his tie, but he quickly spun you around hard preventing you from having any chance to touch his body. You could have easily gotten rid of his tether, especially when his defenses were so low, but you did not. Tony quickly unzipped your suit leaving your whole body exposed.

Your legs opened up in need, and he soon realised that gesture, unsubtly holding his hand so that his fingers touched your clit, while he brusquely brought his length to your ass.

"I haven’t even touched you and you’re already this wet.” His voice was so dark that it caused your wetness to intensify.

“I haven’t even taken your clothes off and you’re already this hard” you gave a half smile as you bit into your lower lip, feeling his fingers dancing on your folds.

“Oh baby, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me,” he muttered, bringing two of his fingers inside you, causing both of you to groan.

You didn’t know if it was Tony Stark’s possessive behaviour, or the intensification of all your senses, but your body began to tremble. As if the marks he’d made on you that day weren’t enough, his tongue was marking your neck.

“You take my fingers so well don’t you?”

“Shut up and take your pants off.” You ordered to blindly reach out to meet his cock, which was begging to be released.

“Oh honey, you sound so needy” he mocked increasing the speed of his fingers inside you while his thumb stimulated your clitoris. “Let’s see how quickly you can cum.

You moved your hips to intensify the friction, while he, with his other hand, unzipped his trousers and released his erection. You felt that the climax was near, your legs could barely hold you and your breath, which was broken between moans, informed you that you were going to fall down in just a couple of seconds. It was just when you were on the edge that Tony withdrew his fingers leaving you empty, but not for long.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to his body to slide into you with one blow. That feeling of pleasure that you experienced when you felt him completely inside and heard his moaning in your ear, made you free yourself from all the accumulated tension. Tony brought his hand back to your clitoris, slowly rubbing your thigh, sending you to the edge.

You groaned in desperation, calling out his name as if life were your own, which caused you to squeeze his cock even harder.

"My name sounds so good when it comes from your lips,” Tony intensified the speed of friction, crashing into your hips with more force. “Shit, you’re so adorable that I think I could even forgive you.”

The warmth of your interior continued to be latent until you felt it overflow inside you, filling you with all its pleasure and desire. Your breaths were completely out of sync at a frantic pace. Tony held you by the waist, avoiding putting his fingers on the bruises.

“Please remind me again why we are having sex,” you said leaning your forehead against the wall and trying to return to your normal breathing.

“Do you really need me to explain?"  Tony whispered, kissing your naked back as he pulled his cock out from inside you, causing a soft moan in your throat.  "There’s that damn melody again…”

Tag list: @imerdwarf @mycosmicparadise @lavendertales

Requests/Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

The Revived - Chapter 18: Exceeding

This is chapter 18 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Sapnap, George

Word count: 3,121

Cw:  Violence, getting shot, spiraling, pain, crying, tension between characters, brief discussions of lying

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Sapnap stood in the entryway of Tommy’s house, expecting an answer.

Wilbur smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. His voice remained passively cheery with something reserved behind it, “We were just having a talk. A private one.”

Sapnap took another step into the home, “I’m not leaving you here with him. You're looking super… off right now." Something was held back in Sapnap’s words. 

Wilbur took a second to reflect on the moment. The moment wasn’t that abnormal by itself. He pulled a fun harmless prank with George and the two were simply chatting inside a vacant home. It wasn’t necessarily his fault George had too many attachments to his Dream and refused to tell him anything as a result. Wilbur growled out, "It's nothing that concerns you. Leave." 

Sapnap kept his eyes centered on Wilbur. "George, come over here." Wilbur flickered his eyes back for a moment, seeing George try to side-step out of his way. His mind momentarily switched him with Tubbo as their actions mirrored each other. He wasn’t letting another person leave him. He wasn’t letting more information slip through his hands. He couldn’t afford it.

Wilbur harshly exhaled, “We just need to finish this up, then both of you can go do whatever." He really despised how difficult people could be. Simply blinded by a lack of understanding- one Wilbur shared- that was destructive if not properly taken care of.

And how Sapnap was a destructive fool. So easily swayed by his emotions. He pulled out a loaded crossbow, aiming it at Wilbur. His finger rested gently over the trigger, twitching occasionally. “Step the fuck away from him. Hands where I can see them.”

Annoyance filled Wilbur’s eyes. “Sapnap, don’t do anything rash. We can talk this out.” Wilbur gestured to the man in front of him, “I haven’t done a single thing wrong, isn’t that right, George?”

He looked back towards George, who immediately refused to meet Wilbur’s gaze. George was painting him as a villain. The one that cornered him until the heroic Sapnap came to save the day. The one that needed to be taken care of. The one that died to his own flaws. Heroes never died to their flaws. Heroes loaded a crossbow to protect the ‘innocent.’ 

Wasn’t Wilbur just as innocent himself? All he needed was answers to fix the mind of his. The one that insisted to be nicer and embrace the little parts of life. The child in his brain who could be removed if he simply knew a little more. Just a few more minutes of conversation and he would have all he ever needed. But with Sapnap present? He had to turn those minutes into quick moments that would pass before the man holding the crossbow even blinked. 

He placed his hand firmly on George’s shoulder, slightly pushing him back into the wall. He didn’t even intend to. He didn’t apply much pressure. “George-” He was sharply cut off by the stabbing pain in his leg. He jumped onto the other leg to avoid the painful pressure as he was tackled down by someone he couldn’t see.

A punch hit him square in the jaw, landing on top of a bruise he received from Niki not too long ago. He hissed out in pain and tried to throw the person off of him. When he caught a second to look, it was Sapnap on him, but the moment it took to realize that, he whipped his head to the side after getting punched again. 

He wiggled his arms from underneath him and weakly punched him back, unable to move his body into the motion. After more hits that made Wilbur almost dizzy, he knew he couldn’t play fair. He took his fingers and poked them into Sapnap’s eyes, making the man on top of him stop for a moment. Wilbur took the opportunity and punched him as hard as he could, flipping their position and making him on top. 

He prepared to hit Sapnap again, not even thinking about why. All he knew was he was getting attacked, and he wasn’t going to be on the losing side of history. Just as he was going to hit the man under him, a blue blur pushed him off, Wilbur’s curled up fist connecting with George’s arm with half the force he aimed for Sapnap. 

Still, he made a grunt from the impact and muttered something Wilbur couldn’t hear. George seemed to take a small, hesitant step away, but Sapnap didn’t follow suit as he rolled over and grabbed the collar of Wilbur's shirt. Sapnap must’ve pushed on the pulsing pain in his leg as he groaned from the dizzying sensation. Sapnap took it as his chance to hit Wilbur again. It didn’t just happen once, but Wilbur lost track. He just felt his head jerk back and forth and he closed his eyes from the pain. 

When the punches stopped, he opened his eyes slightly. He saw George telling Sapnap something, holding his shoulders firmly. He felt like he could see Sapnap pulling against George’s pull with an anger in his eyes. 

“He’s not worth it,” He heard George mumble. 

Despite being on the floor and writhing in pain, he hissed out at George, “Fuck you.” He felt pain connect with his face once more. He laughed bitterly. The day was saved. The hero put the villain in his spot. He wouldn't do anything bad now. The innocent people could finally live in peace.

The peace that thrived off of the villain being put to a permanent retirement. The stories he heard from a young age painted it so simply. If only he could have a permanent rest. A permanent rest from this routine he lived in. Besides, everyone else needed a break from him anyway. Just a couple of days alive, and they already needed a break.

Sapnap got off of him. Kicking the place where the pain lay in his leg as Wilbur curled up. “Shit,” he whispered, barely able to acknowledge the people still in the room as the pain throbbed once more. He whimpered quietly to himself as he heard footsteps slowly grow fainter and fainter. There was a distinct sound of voices but he didn’t bother paying attention as he closed his eyes.

“-bur! Wilbur?! Please, please respond, Wil.” Panicked whispers filled his mind. “Oh no, oh no, he’s dead. What happens if he’s dead? Do I die and get put into limbo two: electric boogaloo? Does he get put in limbo? Oh no this is bad.” 

A moment of silence was followed by a slightly calmer tone, “No trains coming. That’s good.” Ghostbur cried out in pain, “Wilbur, what did you do this time?” The question wasn’t meant directly to Wilbur, despite him being the subject of it.

Wilbur only managed a groan in response as Ghostbur excitedly gasped, “Wilbur! Can you hear me?”

Wilbur pushed himself up to where he was sitting up. His head spinned as he mumbled, “Yeah, I can hear you.”

“That’s great, because I’d like an explanation of everything that just happened. I thought you said George was your friend! And George didn’t even try to stop all of that. While I don’t think I’ve personally met him, he sounds a little rude.” 

Wilbur tried to stand up but he cried out in pain along with Ghostbur at the sensation in his leg. He muttered, “Oh shit.”

“Language,” Ghostbur bitterly mentioned.

“I got shot with Sapnap’s crossbow.” He frankly should have connected the dots earlier, but he just assumed he got kicked really hard. The blood trickled down his leg, slightly staining his pants along the way.

“Oh! Okay… how- how do we fix this?”

“Prime, Ghostbur, I have no fucking clue.” Wilbur sighed quietly to himself, “I’m not cursing at you or anything. I’m just upset that all of it happened.”

“The feeling is mutual.” 

The comment took Wilbur off-guard, “What did you say?”

“I said the feeling is mutual. Do you not know what that means? It means when-”

Wilbur cut him off, “I know what it means. I just- I really didn’t expect that out of you.” A light astonishment slipped into Wilbur’s voice.

Ghostbur sighed, “That doesn’t really matter right now. We need to focus on your- well I suppose it would be our- leg.”

Wilbur nodded vaguely. “Right. Okay step one…” Wilbur’s voice died as he tried to think of a vague-ish rule that would apply to any injury. “Get out of immediate danger.”

Ghostbur asked, “Is anyone with you?”

Wilbur shook his head, “It’s just you and me. And me and you. We got the whole place to ourselves.” Wilbur chuckled at the familiar jingle. 

Ghostbur didn’t laugh though. His voice stayed firm in a way that frightened Wilbur more than Sapnap did. “What’s step two?”

Wilbur let out a shaky breath, “Um… assess the damage taken.” Wilbur thought for a moment, “There’s gonna be swelling in the face and eventual bruises. There’s also the arrow in my right calf. The injury is on the exterior, about the middle of the leg.” He slightly moved his leg closer, making him wince in pain in company to Ghostbur’s hiss. “It doesn’t seem too deep.”

“You’re doing good so far,” The praise sounded dull, as if it was just supposed to keep Wilbur busy as his mind ran. “Now step three.”

“I’m guessing that would be taking inventory on your medical aid and equipment. As far as medical aid, I-” It was quite pathetic to say that he didn’t have anyone, so he settled on an alternative, “I don’t think anyone is nearby to help.”

“We could go to someone and get help?”

Wilbur quickly feigned an excuse, “I don’t want Sapnap or George seeing me again.”

Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgement, “Good point.” He thought for a moment. “We can’t go to Tubbo or Ranboo either?”

“George or Sapnap might see me and I don’t want to risk going into the nether.”

Ghostbur frustratedly sighed, “So no one wants to help us.” It was stated so matter of factly that Wilbur almost agreed. Instead, he slid himself up one of Tommy’s walls, standing mostly on the leg that wasn’t injured.

Wilbur tried to sugar coat the situation the best he could, “I’m sure people want to. They’re just…” Only helping him out of pity. “Unavailable.” 

“Sure. Alright, what supplies do you have?”

“I doubt I’d find much, most of the useful stuff Tommy had was transferred to Pogtopia.” Before Ghostbur could speak again, he added on, “Ghostie, are you alright?”

“It’s-” Ghostbur took a shaky breath, “You need medical attention. Focus on that first.”

“You’re just as important as I am,” Wilbur reassured.

Wilbur hated the silent response more than the arrow in his leg.

He restated, “You are just as important as me.”

The quiet voice filled his mind once more. It was hesitant and small compared to the pain that persisted in Wilbur’s head. He could hardly focus on the words themselves. "I'm not. I'm really not.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, "Woah, where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just don't feel happy right now." The voice lingered in a dull disappointment that stabbed Wilbur in the heart.

Wilbur pulled a cheery voice, "Uh, you can think about Friend?"

He expected a happy rant about the shade of his wool, or the time of day the little sheep ate. He couldn’t expect anything else out of the happy little ghost. He couldn’t expect Ghostbur’s actual answer. "But then I think about things I shouldn't."

"Like what?"

"I…” Ghostbur took a shaky breath, “I feel like you lied again. No- I know you did. I just don't like to think about it too much."

“I didn’t li-” Wilbur cut himself off at the realization that he promised Ghostbur they were going to see Friend. The talk was still fresh in his mind, remembering the exact part of the cobblestone bridge he was on along with how he shifted in his clothes uncomfortably. “Oh shi- shoot. Ghostie, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you that I didn't see Friend. I tried looking for him, but he wasn't at L'Manberg like last time."

Ghostbur bitterly laughed, "Do you really think that's all you've lied about?" Wilbur thought for a moment before Ghostbur continued, "I know I have memory problems from time to time. But I've been remembering things really clearly ever since you got revived. And nothing makes sense anymore. You said we would go to Tubbo, but now we can't. You- you said Tommy was coming back, but he never did. And- And you rarely tell me things anymore!" Ghostbur’s voice wavered with a saddened anger. It teetered in a way that made him sound like he was crying, "I thought you were my friend." Wilbur’s vision seemed to messily blur at the final words.

Somehow the ghost that loved everyone he met and named a sheep ‘Friend’ was against him. 

One could easily look at Wilbur and see him in those history books. Slightly tint the photos of him a dark gray color or a crimson red if it was recent. State so loudly that no one could stand him. Source all the lives he ruined, and explain how Ghostbur should be in the overworld instead. Let the innocent person run free as the villain rots, cold and alone. Stuck in a train station. That was where Wilbur belonged.

While part of him thought he wasn’t the villain, he was just on the wrong side of history, he knew he was lying to himself, because the two were much the same. It was a habit he developed years ago. He had to believe the best would happen and it would come. So he tried to believe the best, his tone coming off as sarcastic and uncaring, "Oh, we totally are friends! Best friends forever, y'know?" 

Ghostbur’s voice shook with such confidence and resentment, "A best friend would tell me things and stop the pain from constantly hurting." A melancholic gray filled his vision for a moment, before flickering away.

Wilbur shifted on his uninjured leg and hobbled towards the entrance of Tommy’s house. Ghostbur wanted to be told the perspective of the world. Simple. There was the wretched villain looking out of an abandoned home, squinting into sun, attempting to help a ghost trapped in his mind. Wilbur spoke in a hushed tone, “I can tell you things. There's an apple on the ground. It’s bright red-"

Ghostbur cut him off, his words rushed and eager to escape him, "Tell me the important things! The details about clouds and trees mean nothing if I'm in pain!"

Wilbur hummed in acknowledgement, “You’re right.” He hopped once more out of Tommy’s house, using the exterior of the wall to act as a support as he limped towards a familiar direction. The world was closing in on him, when he realized who he was once more. Wilbur Soot. Creator and destroyer of L’Manberg. The villain who had been slayed yet again. A repressed genius, who had been holding back for far too long. He let out a breath as he felt his entire being soaring towards the sky, out of the pain, and into the sky that belonged to him as much as his sunrise. “We’re- I’m going to Pogtopia.”

He heard sniffles echo through his mind accompanied by hisses of pains and quick apologies. It turned into white noise as he centered his mind on his throbbing leg, well- as he tried to center the pain there. His mind still ran, telling him about all the things he grinned at. 

It felt nice to be above it all. He was simply a mastermind, a work of art that no one else understood. The walk was moderately quick, but peaceful. The adrenaline must have been kicking in as his limp lessened. 

He coughed once, as he supported himself on the walls of Pogtopia. His hand ran over the buttons, and while he didn’t press them, he could hear them clicking faintly. They weren’t mocking him anymore, he thought. They were shaking underneath his grasp, and it sent a laugh through his body. “I’m here,” he said out loud.

“Great,” Ghostbur said sharply, though it was clear he had a hard time saying it.

He threw back his head a little, as if he was bored. “I’m not sure where they put the medical equipment.” He thought about his last trip to this place. “Ah, perhaps Tubbo brought it to that little bunker of his.” The name seemed to sting his tongue, but everything else stung him more, so it was hardly relevant.

“We…” Ghostbur tried with a shaky voice, “We’re not allowed to go in there without him. H- he said-”

“You were the one who said medical attention was the first priority,” Wilbur reminded the ghost, continuing to walk ahead. He received no response.

Whatever.

He remembered where the bunker was, fortunately. He soon found himself in there, and while it felt forbidden just before he walked inside, Wilbur never cared much about what he was supposed to do. The world wasn’t going to keep him down. He had been staying at the train station, with little to no light, and hours, days, years ticking ahead. He had let the comfort of tolerance, and connection that would be broken at the slightest misstep, overwhelm him. He had forgotten everything he had learned last time he was in Pogtopia. A silly little shell, who was far too easy to keep down. But Wilbur wasn’t anyone’s shell anymore.

He looked at the books and the little farms for food. One could stay there for months or longer, and remain perfectly intact. “Huh, I could do some reading while I’m down here,” he said.

“Please- please take…” Ghostbur’s voice wavered, though the next part came out harshly, “Please take care of the wounds.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I will.”

Ghostbur responded to that with a hiss of pain, but Wilbur barely noticed as he walked to the nearest chest to pick up some bandages. There was thankfully a potion of regeneration, and something that would disinfect the wound. He wished it was an instant health instead, or even just having more potions in general. 

Regardless, he sat down on a chair, feeling the pain slightly more as his leg changed position. He looked at the arrow. “I’m going to remove the arrow now. Brace yourself I guess.”

Ghostbur held his breath, and Wilbur ripped it out with as much quick force as he could, knowing full well that it would be less painful to get it done quickly. “There we go.” His smile wavered for a moment, though he settled on the most confident expression he could muster. He’d done this countless times before. Ghostbur sobbed, and Wilbur huffed. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Ghostbur didn’t respond though. Instead, Wilbur heard the sound of muffled cries and whimpers echoing through his mind.

[mintchocohip]

sub!bts as pillow princesses [headcanons]

╺  requested | the ot7 as pillow princesses!

pillow princess ~ somebody who prefers to receive. 

╺  note | sub!bts x domme!reader. see each member for any other kinks and warnings.

👑 TAEHYUNG | other kinks: spanking, princess endearment | ↬   

Squeezed, cuddled, kissed onto the nearest flat surface, adored from head to toe; breathlessly hoping you’ll slide your hand back around his throat next time your lips move along the crest of his ear—Taehyung needs to feel loved. Happiness compounds until his mind is spinning so hard he can’t reciprocate. He’s too dreamy not to act bratty over complex instructions, but Taehyung can follow simple commands to arch his back, put his arms over his head, or roll over. 

Eventually, your generosity emboldens Taehyung. On lazy sun-streaked afternoons spent in bed he curls up against the pillow and whimpers when you tell him to get on top. "Demanding princess,” you sigh out the frustration. Taehyung stops whimpering instantly. Hearing that word dazzles him. Thankfully, you sense how much he likes it. Your typical clicks of “naughty boys only learn from spankings,” become “this spoiled princess needs to be taught a lesson”—and Taehyung finally has a title that makes him blush.

👑 YOONGI | other kinks: mommy kink, biting | ↬   

！ warning: body image  

There are several positions Yoongi prefers in life. Sitting is comfortable. Laying flat on his back is serene. Yoongi smiles faintly when you tell him you want to do the work. Still, he understands the value of luxurious treatment. It’s exhausting. Yoongi doesn’t slip. He’s your angel, and it’s his duty to be cute for you every day. Pious grooming that unholsters the tweezers, coffee scrubs that make him soft, exercise, a dab of makeup, a hint of your favorite cologne between his pecs, and pretty selfies on-demand are efforts to tempt somebody who already adores him. Nonetheless. Yoongi earns it. He needs to. It embarrasses him to think you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off even if he didn't look like your dream boy.

“I’m amazed,” you smile up at Yoongi, “that my little slut can keep his hands to himself. I look pretty down here, don’t I? You know Mommy likes using her toy without interruption,” a kiss on his cock punctuates the admiration, “smart boy.” Yoongi presses his fingertips into his collarbones politely. He doesn’t necessarily enjoy how lazily you suck his cock when he’s forbidden to squirm, stroke your hair, and beg for more. Yoongi does love the praise. He’s just glad his nervous giggles aren’t on the list of bite-worthy transgressions.

👑 JUNGKOOK | other kinks: collaring, pegging | ↬

In public Jungkook kisses your hair and slips his hand into your jeans pocket with an easy confidence. Everything changes when bedroom doors close. During the early, uncollared days of the relationship you wondered if Jungkook was shy—awkward; or just inexperienced. Now, the collar hugging his throat tells Jungkook it’s okay to shut out every confused instinct. He’s yours. That’s all he needs to be.

Jungkook lurks in lifestyle group chats. He never thought much about his obsession with pegging before reading grievances about entitled subs neglecting the person behind their favorite toys made him put down his phone, stare at the wall, and question everything. He struggles to talk about it. “When I want something I take it,” you comfort Jungkook by digging a fist into his hair after he stutters through another reminder that he’ll do something different if you prefer, “and I want this.” Jungkook smiles and chokes on a faint sound of understanding. He’s breathing into the mattress and the strap buried in his ass, but he needed to check before he lets go completely. 

👑 HOSEOK | other kinks: objectification, marathon sex, toys | ↬

Cleaning your home, shopping for you, and wearing more of the outfits you like are ways to please you that Hoseok understands. Sacrificing his naked body is equally sensible. He knows he has a handsome face, lithe curves, and a generous cock to provide. Calling this an act of service for the moments when you need to burn off frustration or relieve excess hyper joy helps him curtail the embarrassing reality that he gets off on being used. How you exploit this passivity isn’t too important. You make Hoseok feel good by enjoying him however you need.

"My chewy-oowie gingerbread cookie,” the affliction of Hoseok’s post-orgasm uselessness keeps you by his side after the silence clears from his ears and his fucked-out world of blurry darkness becomes light, “why are you so sweet? So soft,” you trace circles on his tummy, “very squishable.” Hydration, 3 A.M. homemade pancakes with steaming hot coffee, massage, and baby-talk fill the long, long gaps when Hoseok’s senses are returning. Spoiling such a good boy with the Hitachi and your hand feels correct to you. Whether or not he feels spoiled after his orgasms have turned dry and birds are singing outside doesn’t negate that you’re doing this is out of love.   

👑 JIMIN | other kinks: bondage, gags | ↬ 

！ warning: topdrop

Jimin knows exactly what he needs. If it feels like you spend more time sitting on the living room floor talking to your boyfriend about sex than actually fucking him—you aren’t wrong. If he’s going to trust you to tie him up and make him feel good, though, Jimin needs you to understand everything. Finding that balance between your fantasies, his fantasies, and folding them together is the confidence that allows him to surrender. When you're sitting at your desk tomorrow evening trying to get some work done while Jimin’s crawling all over you and kissing your neck for attention—all you need to do is remember his vivid confessions, roll up your sleeves, and let intuition fill in the blanks.

Flow state settles into quiet numbness while Jimin cozies up to your side and nestles like a kitten. Feeling a little empty when you've given so much is inevitable. “I’m glad I have you,” Jimin sounds extra sweet after ribbons of used bondage tape are kicked off the bed and his gagged voice has reappeared in a crystalline sigh, “you’re amazing. You make me feel… transcendent. Tell me how it felt for you. Please.” You sip the coconut water Jimin just offered you, sigh, and think. You dedicated every ounce of energy in the air to showing Jimin exactly how you feel. Loving him is instinct. This is reflection—and Jimin is an amazing listener.  

👑 NAMJOON | other kinks: general roughness, edging, somnophilia | ↬ 

All Namjoon can give you is instant surrender. Attempts to pretend he won’t tremble the moment you put a little pressure on him are endearingly futile. There are simple things that dig under his skin. Having his wrists pinned is nice. Mostly, Namjoon is just flattered that, apparently, you really like it when he turns his head to the side and closes his eyes like that’ll protect him. You’re bullying him with pleasure, of course. Namjoon is still learning lessons in denial. Until he masters that art, you can tease him with unpredictable ebbs of gentle touch and say evil things to unlock the cute helplessness that only motivates you to handle him rougher.

“Why are you leaving?” Namjoon’s stomach sinks when he wakes up to feel you slide off the bed. “You fell asleep. It’s okay to prioritize sleep.” Weekly edging sessions can stretch for hours. Tonight, you were only touching him for a few seconds before Namjoon’s sleep-deprived brain convinced him it was safe to relax. “Sorry. I don’t want you to feel insulted.” “I’m not insulted. Would you be insulted if I didn’t stop after you fell asleep?” “No.” A few clothed, fully awake talks make it clear. You can smack his thighs to keep him awake during the pre-determined time he gives to you. On nights when he’s swimming through pleasant dreams while you’re needy and bored because he fell asleep before you there’s no reason to wander out of bed and watch porn on the couch. You’ll try your best not to wake him up. Namjoon is more than happy to be available 24/7.

👑 SEOKJIN | other kinks: toys, lingerie, elements of cfnm | ↬ 

Before you met Seokjin dumping a pile of expensive silicone and cheap clothespins on a partner who barely reacted was a recipe for disappointment. Seokjin appreciates novelty. He won’t complain if you want to experiment on his body for hours. Laser-focus in your gaze tracking every audible shiver that starts at his eyebrows and ends in his curling toes makes him want to hide inside himself; yet, he can’t truly feel shy when he only feels grateful to entertain you.

“Couples should match.” Seokjin states it with a twinge of irony. Wearing matching shoes in public gives him butterflies. Your suggestion of matching lingerie underneath sweatshirts and jeans gives him so many butterflies it hurts. Being the center of attention isn’t painless. Following protocol after you arrive home from a date doesn’t make it easier. Undressing while his girlfriend watches and waits fully-clothed makes his ears burn. When he’s finally down to bare necessities the kisses of crimson lipstick you cross up his skin mapping your favorite places around his pantyline and skimming close to the trim of the bralette disappear in red-on-red. His whole body is glowing hot. If he defended his pride by undressing you and kissing you back his hand might be less shaky when you hold it. Telling Seokjin to lay down on the floor and focus on nothing more than the beautiful view while you undress to do your work is absolution. He did enough. Right now, he just needs to relax.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Duplicity

An AU where Kaidan joins Cerberus for the events of ME2.

Chapter Eight: Visitors

"You could have changed first," Mary's eyes flickered to the man, "it would have made a better impression."

This was the Commander on her best behavior, attempting not to scorn the man she once loved. The man that had carried her broken body from the field and into safety. The man that blushed and rubbed at his forehead under her scrutiny, unconsciously buying himself further slack with a motion that brought her back to the old days. She thought reaching him was impossible then; now it was somewhere between impossible and a nightmare. The dissonance firing off in her skull was astounding, painful.

"I was worried about," he choked out, in the husky tone that made her heart flutter, " you."

"We should worry more about ourselves- really, Kaidan? Mouthing off to the Illusive Man?"

Honestly, she was proud of him. Other than the one time he killed a superior, he was quite mellow toward most authority figures. The point value tripled because it was toward the Cerberus ring leader. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, fiddling a while before he would answer.

"Commander, the writing's on the wall here- he sent you... us into a trap. It was negligent at best, he could have easily told us. Given us a chance to prepare-"

"Leave that sort of thing to the three billion dollar asset."

"Four billion," Kaidan smirked, "that also happens to have a death wish."

Mary's eyes fluttered away, losing her will to act brave. Her heart was allowed to fear for another, "maybe I was aiming for you."

His dark eyebrow raised.

"Besides, I can at least try to end my life in the way I see fit."

It was a harsh kickback from the moment of vulnerability. It was too easy for her to return to a level of comfort with Kaidan; why wouldn't it be easy? They had spent nearly a year together more than enough time to grow close, to learn all the ticks and what they meant. Plus, she was bitter. Angry, he had a part in bringing her back to this fucked reality. One where she was shackled to Cerberus. Where her autonomy was a fading illusion, Mary was trapped, and rattling at the bars wasn't enough. Whether it was the nuclear option or falling into submission wasn't entirely clear, both paths still fought.

His other eyebrow joined, creasing toward the center. Reflexively frowning at Shepard's insinuation, a hand returning to massage at his temple, he had no defense. Nothing that would change her mind anyway. He loved her; that was obvious. He couldn't stand to lose her, but he had already told her that. It was in the galaxy's best interest to have her around and kicking Reaper ass, in that there was no doubt. Mumbling and fumbling over words wouldn't budge the Commander. There was no reason even to attempt such a thing.

"I won't apologize for bringing you back."

"What about working for Cerberus?" Mary spat.

Kaidan barked, the aggressive tone an accidental exhaling of emotion, "did Chakwas or Joker get this lecture too? Or is it just me?"

"Does it matter?"

"So Joker gets a warm welcome, you end up drunk with Chakwas, and I end up dodging crates? How is that fair?" he questioned with folded arms.

"They didn't see what they did first hand," she reeled, "they... you... didn't... you knew they killed my unit. You met Toombs."

"And hearing about it wasn't enough?"

Mary's throat bobbed, "it's different."

"Don't BS me, Commander," he retorted sternly, "we're way past that."

"I expected better of you."

"Why? Why just me?"

"You're a good man, Kaidan. I don't like being wrong," Mary went cold, folding her arms over herself, "I don't like thinking I misjudged you."

"Let me get this right...because of our relationship, you expect me to live up to a lofty standard?"

"Hardly lofty. Terrorist organization hardly seems your style," Mary's eyes barbed him with daggers.

"Yet you stick with them."

"What choice do I have? Can I just leave? They've brought in everyone I care about, the Illusive Man has already proved he doesn't mind using anyone connected to me as bait," she looked away, "I'm trapped here."

Kaidan lowered his arms, daring to close a portion of the distance between them. He wanted to assure her, to assuage Mary that she was not the only one caged. It wasn't the time, "I felt the same way when the Council... the Alliance threw me aside. Knowing the Reapers are coming is terrible stuff. Instead of waiting around, I did something."

"You went too far, Kaidan."

"The same could have been said when we mutinied."

"We didn't experiment on people."

"Yeah, Cerberus has a lot to answer for," Kaidan retreated.

Mary didn't answer, watching him coldly. He was sure if she could move from that bed she would have decked him hard on the way out. But she was stuck- tied to the bed by medical tape. She seemed in fine condition to anyone else, but he could see the subtle wince when her breath drew too deep, or her volume grew too loud. Kaidan knew Mary better than anyone.

"What am I supposed to say, Mary? Surviving tore me apart. You, you already know what happened at first, but I had the chance to do something. To fight against what I knew was about to happen," Kaidan stepped forward, "maybe we'll never be what we were. But don't judge me, and let me help. I know how this looks-"

The biotic finally dared to meet her gaze- just in time to watch the tears spring from her eyes," just stop," Mary pleaded, looking at anything else that could distance her, "it may have been two years for you, I get it. You've mourned me. It's only been a few weeks, I felt myself die... just to wake up, and everything is... different. I'm still not sure if I'm in hell or not. Cerberus wasn't even a place I'd be in my nightmare."

Mary's bright eyes suddenly caught him, "and you're with them."

Kaidan moved forward, a hand extended as the Commander curled into herself, pulling up the blanket in vain, hoping it would hide her. Sheild her from the vulnerability she was not willingly presenting. It leaked, and it was unfair of him to take advantage of her. In a previous time her guard would have dropped; now she fought to keep it up—only a part of her struggle to keep sane in this new life. His hovering arm dropped, retreating several paces to force himself to stop.

"I didn't want to believe it," Kaidan stalled, looking at his feet, "but I've been thinking, realized that some of these people are good people. Maybe misguided, but... good."

Mary nodded, keeping her head turned away from him.

"Look, I didn't come here to lecture you," Kaidan sent over a dossier from his omnitool, "I brought some good news. If pulling in someone else we know into this mess is good news."

She shook her arm free of the blanket, the orange illumination of her face revealing a subtle shift in her state. The corner of her lip pulling up after the initial pass of regret filtered over her face, at least the tears he should do nothing about slowed to a trickle.

"There are more dossiers, but I knew this one would be most the important."

"Send them over."

Mary scanned the other two, far more passive in her reading of the other potential members of her crew. This was his cue to leave, so he moved to do just that.

"Just be more careful next time," Mary murmured, following his path out of the medical bay.

Kaidan paused, nodding before ducking out of sight.

~~~

"Thanks Shepard, I will," Liara smiled warmly.

"I'll talk to you later, Li Li," Mary stood, acknowledging Miranda's sideways look with a lop-sided smile. Trotting down the stairs from the administrator's office.

"Jealous, Lawson?"

"No, I-" Miranda smiled nervously, "you aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"Not until I find the perfect nickname."

"Oh god," Miranda muttered, massaging her temples, "Miri and nothing else will be acceptable."

"Really?" Mary prodded but gently offering concern rather than utter mirth.

"Is it not embarrassing enough?"

The Commander grinned smugly, "no, it's just-"

"Just what?" Miranda blew with hands moving to her perfect hips.

Mary didn't avoid the conversation out of pettiness- Joker's voice drowned out the moment, pulling away from the lightness of her mood.

"Shepard, we, uh, have a visitor? Some Kai Leng he claims to be Cerberus."

"You let him on the ship?"

"Let is not the word I'd use."

"And everything was going so well," Garrus quipped, the quicker of her companions to read the shift of Shepard's energy.

"Mr. Moreau is correct, Mr. Leng is here on the Illusive Man's orders," EDI pipped in, "I had to let him in."

"You better hurry; he already pissed off Tali."

"I'm on my way, Joker."

"A stowaway problem, Shepard?" Garrus asked with a cock of his head.

"Miri," it was too grave for a lighthearted nickname, "do you know a Kai Leng?"

"That bastard."

Mary cocked her head, her smile fading into a frown, "Miranda?"

"This isn't good news, Shepard. He's the Illusive Man's personal pet," she spat.

"Threat level?"

"Ten."

Mary picked up her pace to the Normandy, ignoring the sideways glances and concerned looks she received. The doors to the ship were open for her, and an over-the-shoulder call from Joker directed the party to the shuttle bay. The elevator felt like it took centuries, and neither of her companions wanted to say a word. Not even a half ignored news clip to pass the time. Leaving her to claw at her vambrace, annoyed to be tramping through her ship in unclean armour. It was a minor detail, but she hated bringing unnecessary germs onto the belly of her ship. She had a quarian to consider.

As if that was her greatest worry at the moment.

Mary stormed into the cargo bay, surprised to find three figures, and notably the lack of a certain Quarian. The krogan presence was less of a surprise, if there was a fight Grunt would find it. With his space overlooking the bay, he didn't have to pry, and furthermore, Jack's latest biotic blast wasn't easily ignored.

"If you think I'm letting you take me now," Jack heaved, dodging a projectile and returning a side-stepped shockwave, "you're fucking wrong!"

"Jack!" Mary screamed, breaking the biotic's concentration, and then her head swiveled to the stranger, "you must be Kai Leng."

"Shepard," the dark-haired stranger drawled, sending an instinctive shiver down her spine.

She wouldn't be intimidated, ignoring the gnawing sense this man would as quickly kill her as he would shake her hand, but it couldn't stop the protect folding of her arms over her chest, "why are you tormenting my crew?"

"Lawson," he continued, the smug smile leaving as he examined the turian, "and this must be the one known as Archangel."

Mary stepped in to partially block his view of Garrus. She knew that look.

The mixed heritage man extended out his hand- Mary had never wanted to do anything less, but this was a power move. Declining would give him the literal and figurative upper hand. Fuck, his grip was tight, overbearing.

"I was sent here to help; after all, the fate of humanity is resting on your shoulders," Shepard felt the omitted words from his saccharine tone.

"I don't need the kind of help that torments my crew."

"I corrected your blatant disregard for Cerberus' confidentiality."

A chuckle escaped Garrus's airway, on inspection, Miri sported a fleeting smirk. Spurring Mary on to laugh in his face, "yeah, from stolen Alliance and Turian designs."

"This wasn't part of the deal, Shepard," Jack butted in.

"You'll get those files back."

"Will you?"

"You'll learn soon enough that Shepard gets her way, Leng."

Kai Leng took his turn to chortle, "so quick to betray Cerberus, Miss Lawson?"

Miranda exhaled slowly, "what's the harm in a few classified files," her tone almost defeated. Mary and Jack meeting each other with a curious look.

"I'm sure you can find your way to temporary quarters?" Mary returned her attention to the stranger, "The Illusive Man and I need to have a chat in the meantime."

[fruit-teeth]

Matters of Time and Fate (Chapter 21)

The clock up on the office wall ticked in a slow, repetitive rhythm as Joann’s heels tapped against the floor. As she stared at the door to the backroom, she could hear Phoenix Sage inside, no doubt making himself presentable.

Finally, the door opened, and he emerged: dressed in a clean suit, blonde hair combed back, and with the gold watch still hugging his slender wrist. Phoenix gave Joann a nod as he sat down at his desk, just a few feet across the room from where she stood.

Joann took a shaky breath, stepping closer. “Sir – can you tell me what’s going on? You said you were declaring war on Mann Co., but you’ve invited…” she shuddered. “You’ve invited those…bounty hunters here. Don’t you remember what happened the last time you had them here?”

Phoenix scoffed, laying out a few folders onto the desk. “Please. That situation was completely different. Now, they won’t kill our target, I only need her brought to me,”

“I’m not sure I trust them,” Joann advised. “Sir, you have to understand that—”

Before she could finish, the buzzer rang outside. Phoenix looked up, and he called out, “Come in!”

The door opened, and in they came, one by one: nine people, dressed in dark clothing, with symbols printed on their clothing. Their presence filled the office immediately, causing Joann to shrink back towards the wall.

Phoenix grinned at the sight of them, approaching with his hands clasped together. “My friends! How lovely it is to see you again!”

The leader of the group, a burly bearded man, crossed his arms and moved to meet Phoenix in the center of the room. “Sage: was there a reason you couldn’t just phone us this target? Explain to me how you had to call us out here at this time of night. With all due respect, we’re busy people.”

“Oh, Rust, Rust, my dear man,” Phoenix shook his head with a chuckle. “That’s because this is a different job. For this job, the target must be brought to me alive.”

Another man, this one skinny with bug-like eyes, piped up, “Alive!? Man, what do you think it is we do!?”

“Shut up, Grudge!” Rust snapped at the skinny man. He turned back to Phoenix and looked him up and down. “What’s the deal, then? You got a union organizer you want us to go after? Someone who needs to sign something?”

“Not quite,” Phoenix turned out, pulling out some photos from one of the folders. “Are you familiar with a man named ‘Gray Mann’?”

“Yeah,” a woman with shark-like teeth answered. “He died, right?”

“Yes,” Phoenix confirmed, and he held out the picture for them to see. “His daughter is still alive. I need you to find her and bring her to me – this is where she was last seen in public, at a shopping center. She was accompanied by men who are believed to be the mercenaries of Mann Co.”

As Rust took the picture to get a better look at it, Grudge asked, “A lil’ kid? Man, I don’t know about this…”

A short but muscular woman grunted, “Fuck them kids. How much are we getting paid?”

“How’s ninety grand sound to you?” Phoenix offered. “Reasonable?”

“Reasonable.” Rust agreed, glancing to each of his teammates’ faces for confirmation. “We will do our best to bring her back in one piece.”

“See to it that you do,” Phoenix nodded, passing the folders to Rust. “I never thought I would see myself turning to a ransom situation, but…when push comes to shove, you understand?”

As Phoenix briefed the bounty hunters with extra details, Joann stood towards the back, watching with discomfort in her eyes. Phoenix was in too deep, but she couldn’t stop him, now.

At the same time, in the attic bedroom of the townhouse, Olivia had gone to bed for the night. She laid there, curled up in the quilt with her stuffed cat cuddled beside her, yet it was in this state that she began to dream.

Olivia saw herself walking through the long, winding hallways of a strange building. Harsh lights flashed from above, but she tried not to look at them as she searched for some sort of way out.

Finally, she came upon a door. She tried the handle, finding that it was unlocked. Upon opening the door, however, the sight of something she hadn’t anticipated faced her.

In a slate-colored office room, seated at a dark wooden desk, was her father. When Olivia locked eyes with him, he stood up, holding his arms out to her.

“Olivia,” he sounded gentle in a way Olivia wasn’t used to. He moved from behind the desk, approaching her.

Olivia stood completely still for a moment, and something in her told her to run away. She pushed the feeling away, though, and went straight to her father’s arms.

The way he hugged her was very business-like, but she welcomed it all the same. She buried her face in his chest, holding him for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, and she felt him brush his hand through her hair.

A long moment of silence passed, but it dissipated when Gray began speaking. “You ran from me last time, Olivia.”

Olivia lifted her head to look at him, her eyes burning with tears. “What?”

He stepped back, breaking the embrace and putting her hands on his shoulders. “The last time I saw you, you ran away.”

“Oh,” Olivia remembered the dream she’d had about him before, and that she had, in fact, run away when she saw him. “I…I’m sorry, daddy, I won’t do it again…”

“No need to apologize,” he assured her, his hands retracting from her. “All I noticed is that you’re losing yourself.”

Olivia wiped at her eyes, sniffling. “What?”

Gray went on. “You’ve become so…passive. So afraid.”

The tears quickly turned to anger, though Olivia bit it back. “I’m not afraid! I’m not afraid of anything!”

“Oh, but you are,” Gray countered. “I can sense it in you, you know: you’re scared of the people who are coming to attack this place.”

“No…” Olivia knew he was right, but she still denied it. She didn’t want to feel small.

“Don’t lie to me,” he reprimanded, though his voice started to get quieter and further away. “Remember yourself.”

Olivia suddenly realized he was fading from her, and she desperately scrambled to try and cling to him. “Daddy!” she shrieked, though her hands only met air. “Daddy, I’m sorry! Come back!”

At that moment, the floor beneath her disappeared, and she tumbled downwards into nothingness. She felt unable to breathe, her gasps for air coming slower and slower, as if she were submerged in some sort of liquid.

The darkness split, revealing a pathway of light, and she struggled towards it, reaching both hands outwards.

Finally, she was out, and she coughed for air as she fell down upon something cold and hard. The darkness was gone, but now the bright light was oppressive, causing her to press her eyes shut.

A pair of big hands grasped her shoulders just as she got up, and she yelped in distress at the unexpected sensation.

“Olivia?”

Olivia could feel her hands shaking as her senses returned. She was in bed still, and the sun was just beginning to rise outside…had she really been dreaming?

She jolted again when someone touched her back, but when she looked up, she let her guard down. It was Medic, and he looked rather concerned.

“What happened?” he wanted to know. “You were shaking in your sleep, I walked by and you seemed so restless…”

“Oh,” Olivia sniffled, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She hugged her arms, before admitting, “I had a bad dream…”

Medic sighed. “Oh, dear. It must have been the fact you ate right before going to sleep, that tends to happen,” he cleared his throat and stood up off the bed. “It’s still early, would you like to go back to sleep?”

Olivia blinked, just as a yawn stopped her from answering for a moment. “Um…” she rubbed her eye again. “Yeah…I’m still tired.”

“All right,” Medic nodded, going to the door. “We will see you in a few hours, then.”

As Medic left, Olivia settled back into bed. Despite her best attempts to tune them out, her father's words echoed in her ears as she clutched her stuffed cat close to her. She was strong, she knew she was…she’d always known it.

She fell asleep again at some point and dreamed another dream, though she didn’t remember this one. When she woke up again, she could hear the sound of the phone ringing downstairs.

Olivia sat up, rubbing her eyes as someone answered the phone. She got up when she heard speaking, and padded down the hallway and into the stairwell. From where she stood, she could see Miss Pauling standing by the wall, the phone’s receiver tucked beneath her chin.

“Hey, Hale,” Pauling greeted. “Yep, it’s me…no, no one’s come around yet. That might just mean Phoenix is biding his time, or that he can’t find us.”

Pauling paused, listening, and Olivia wondered what Saxton could be saying.

“Okay,” Pauling replied after a moment. “Yeah, we’ll call you for back up if anything goes wrong. Okay? Okay. Talk to you later.”

She hung up, and it was then that she noticed Olivia watching. “Oh!” Pauling straightened up, clearing her throat. “Hey, good morning.”

“Good morning.” Olivia greeted back, walking down the stairs. “Are those guys coming to the house?”

“I don’t know,” Pauling confessed. “We haven’t heard any signs of danger or anything yet. Maybe they can’t find this place, but I have no idea.”  

Olivia began to feel uneasy again, her mind going back to the possible danger looming over them. She took a step forward and rooted herself to Miss Pauling's skirt, where she remained for a moment.

Miss Pauling paused, looking down at her in surprise. “Uh…hi? Are you okay?”

Olivia released her grip, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “Um…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Pauling knelt beside her, watching her with concern.

Olivia shifted anxiously from foot to foot, before admitting, “I had a dream about my daddy.”

Miss Pauling took a long breath. “I see…was it a bad dream?”

“Yeah,” Olivia confessed, staring at her feet. She then looked back up at Pauling. “Am I weak?”

“What? No, of course you aren’t weak.” Pauling placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. “You’ve been really brave this whole time.”

“Have I?” Olivia smiled a little.

“Yeah – I mean, you’ve been through a lot for a kid your age,” Pauling went on. “I can’t even imagine how stressful it must be to just…” she trailed off, before clearing her throat again. “Anyway: come have breakfast, everyone else is in the dining room.”

As Olivia walked in, Scout was in the middle of telling everyone else in the dining room a very animated story.

“So, picture this, right?” Scout took a swig of orange juice before continuing. “My hand is totally stuck in there, my piano teacher is layin’ on the floor screaming, and my ma is knocking at the door like crazy!”

Olivia hoisted herself up on the chair, looking up at Scout, watching how amusing he was when he spoke.

“What then?” Soldier prompted from where he sat, intrigued.

Scout set his glass down. “Then, my teacher takes the vegan chili and wips it all around the kitchen! Floor, ceiling, everywhere – and then she points her bony finger at me and says I have no business playing the piano!”

Spy just rolled his eyes, while Demoman gasped in outrage. “Oh, lord!”

“I know, right!?” Scout shook his head, taking a big bite of eggs. “Anyway, never went back to her again! My brother Joey mailed dead slugs to her house like a week later. Funny stuff.”

Heavy grunted. “Americans. Hm.”

As Engineer noticed Olivia at the table, he passed her a plate of scrambled eggs. “Howdy, Olivia! We got eggs here, there’s potatoes too.”

“Okay,” Olivia accepted the plate, but then she spotted a television in the corner of the room that she hadn't seen before. “What’s that?”

“Oh – yeah, that’s a screen I’m gonna hook up to a new camera,” Engineer explained. “So, we don’t have to be on lookout constantly, we can see what’s going on outside from here.”

Olivia glanced back at the TV. The screen was black for now, but she imagined what it would be like when it was a working security camera. “Shouldn’t we have more cameras so we can see the whole yard?”

“One thing at a time, lass,” Demo assured her patiently. “Besides, Jane and I did a full lookout. No one’s been snooping around here!”

“For now, anyway.” Sniper commented from where he sat, before noticing the look on Olivia’s face. “I mean, uh – everything’s gonna be fine. Trust me, we know what we’re doing.”

Scout reached over, pushing a glass of orange juice in Olivia’s direction. “Yeah! We’ve been doing this for years, kid. Now drink some juice! Like my ma says, it keeps your bones strong, or whatever…” he paused, thinking. “Or was that milk?”

“Milk!” Soldier corrected him. “It’s why my bones are unbreakable!”

Olivia couldn’t help but giggle at the answer, while Medic huffed. “You have broken bones before! You – oh, never mind…”

At this point in the morning, everything seemed to be going all right.

After Olivia finished breakfast, she went upstairs to shower, only to find that someone else was in there. She lay against the shower door for a few moments, listening to the shower sounds and recalling the morning when she slept in the laundry basket while the shower ran. This time, though, something pulled her attention away from the door: down the hallway, she could see that Helen’s bedroom door was wide open.

Olivia pulled herself away from the bathroom door, realizing she hadn’t actually been in Helen’s room before. She checked to make sure no one was around, before slipping in the room quietly.

It was a very tidy room, with a neatly made bed, a well-organized makeup shelf, and old record player in the corner. However, there were a stack of boxes sitting in the corner, something that enticed Olivia’s curiosity right away.

She reached into the box on the top, rooting around until her hand hit something solid. When she pulled it out, she realized it was a very old, framed photograph of a horse. It was a huge, black horse with a white, diamond-shaped marking on the center of its head. A plaque with the name "BLACK IVORY" and other awards could be seen beside the horse. Olivia thought back to the bonfire the night before: Helen had mentioned this horse, how it had been shot for throwing her off. The thought made a nagging, dark pit form in Olivia’s stomach, and she had to put the picture back before the feeling grew worse.

She reached inside again, finding another framed picture. This time, it showed a young man with a beard and a scar on his forehead – something about him seemed very familiar to Olivia, but she couldn’t understand why. He had a very pleasant, gentle face, and she felt comforted just by looking at him. She felt something pinned to the back of the frame as she held it, so she flipped it over to investigate.

On the back sat a note. It was old, though it had been laminated to keep it safe. It read:

For Helen, my darling angelfish –

Always remember me and keep me in your heart. May the rivers of time never separate us, and just know that I will always love you.

With all of my heart,

Your father, Garrett.

Olivia read the note over again, blinking. Helen had a father? Well, she must have had one, obviously: everyone had a father. He called her ‘angelfish’…he really must have loved her, if she had a nickname as nice as that.

As Olivia stared at the portrait of Garrett, she tried to imagine Helen as a little girl. Did Garrett train her for work, too?

Olivia set the portrait back into the box, yet it was then she noticed the box sitting closest to the floor: her name was on it. She stared for a moment, confused – why would Helen have a box with her name?

Now intrigued, Olivia knelt down and reached for the box, beginning to move aside the other boxes so she could just –

“What are you doing!?”

Olivia jolted, head snapping up to see Helen looming above her. Helen had clearly just showered, as her hair was damp and she was in her bathrobe.

There was pause, before Helen repeated herself. “What are you doing? Is this what you do? You snoop around others’ belongings?”

“That box has my name!” Olivia pointed to it, indignant. “My name! See?”

Without warning, Helen scooped Olivia up, carrying her out of her room. “It’s not important! You are not allowed in this room!”

Olivia shrieked, squirming to get away from Helen’s grip. “Stop! Put me down!” When Helen did not comply right away, Olivia turned right around and hissed in her face like an animal.

Helen set her down on the floor, scolding her, “Do not hiss!”

“Do not hiss!” Olivia repeated back to her, mimicking Helen’s voice.

“Oh, you…!” Helen stopped herself, taking a long breath. “I’m going to get dressed, and you are going to calm down. Understood?”

Olivia crossed her arms, scowling. “You’re mean to me!”

Helen’s eye twitched, but she said nothing, rising and storming back into her bedroom. As the door slammed, Olivia stamped her foot in anger, her fists balled in rage. It wasn’t her fault Helen left the door open! If Helen didn’t want anyone in her room, she could have closed the door…Olivia then realized her own door was open, meaning that anyone could walk into her room as well. Maybe it was wrong to sneak in there, to some extent. In any case, she did not care for the way Helen spoke to her.

Right then, someone else walked up the stairs, and Olivia turned around to see Pyro approaching. They greeted her with a little wave, their energy as bouncy as always.

“Hi.” Olivia greeted back, still a little on edge from what had just occurred. She rocked back and forth, trying to soothe herself.

Pyro noticed right away, and they sat down on the floor beside her, tilting their head as if to ask what the matter was. Olivia stared up at their shiny, dark lenses, before clarifying, “I made Helen mad because I went into her room. She yelled at me, and now I’m mad too.”

Pyro took a moment to process this, then mumbled something sympathetically to her while ruffling her hair with affection. They then stood up, gesturing for her to follow them.

Perplexed but fascinated, Olivia followed them down the hallway and into what was obviously Pyro's bedroom. There were a few stuffed animals on the bed, as well as their weapons, such as the axe and a flamethrower. Olivia noticed that having stuffed animals and heavy-duty weapons on the same bed was quite a contrast, but she liked it for some reason.

Pyro opened a small box, retrieving a pad of paper and a handful of colored pencils, and they sat on the floor. Olivia sat beside them, and they gave her a sheet of paper as well as a few of the pencils.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” she wanted to know, looking to Pyro for answers.

Pyro picked up a pencil, getting a paper out and drawing a frowny face. They then scribbled a series of what seemed to be tiny hills next to it with a different colored pencil. Next to that, they drew a happy face.

Olivia thought for a moment, trying to decipher it. “Hills make people happy?”

Mumbling, Pyro shook their head and pointed to the frowny face. They then drew a picture of a little stick figure drawing, and then pointed to the happy face.

It then clicked for Olivia. “Oh! Drawing would help me feel happy?”

Pyro nodded, enthusiastic. They pointed to the colored pencils, and then at Olivia, as if prompting her to draw.

“Okay…I can try.” Olivia picked up a pink colored pencil, beginning to draw. She drew a little flower, and then next to it, her toy cat and rubber duck. Feeling bold, she then drew herself, not really caring what it looked like.

She found that it helped her feel better – something about it was relaxing to her. She added more flowers, feeling herself smile.

Olivia glanced over, seeing that Pyro was still drawing as well. They had drawn two little stick figures side by side, one with a mask on its head, similar to their own, and the other with a bow drawn on its head, much to her delight.

“Is that me?” Olivia asked, pointing to the drawing.

Pyro nodded, adding a skirt to the figure as well. Olivia couldn’t stop herself from grinning, and she looked back at her own drawing.

Beside herself, she drew Pyro, paying attention to their mask and making sure it was accurate. Once she’d drawn Pyro there, she got bold, beginning to sketch out a few of the others as well.

Pyro paused what they were doing, leaning over Olivia’s shoulder to watch her draw. Olivia noticed, but she didn’t stop. She sketched out the rest of Scout’s leg, before moving on to Demoman. She wondered if she could fit everyone onto the notepad, but the only way she’d know was to try it.

At the same time, Helen got dressed for the day, the interaction with Olivia still on her mind. She felt…regret, for yelling at her. She knew she had every right to be angry about the girl looking through her belongings, but as she reflected on the situation, she realized she should have handled it better.

Her mind wandering, she glanced back over at the box, reaching inside. She pulled out the framed portrait of her father, taking a moment to just observe. His calm gray eyes returned her stare, and a flame in her heart rekindled as she recalled all the days those gentle eyes had looked at her with patience and love.

Helen couldn’t help but ask softly, “What would you have done?”

Of course, he did not answer. She tucked the portrait back into the box, and she pushed the feeling of longing yet again. The present was what she needed to focus on, not the past.

Unbeknownst to her and the rest of the others, this quiet would not last long.

The bounty hunters from the group SHDW (what this acronym stands for is unclear) had narrowed down the location of the townhouse by gaining access to surveillance cameras from stores and traffic lights. Miles away and deep in the woods, they stood on a hill and looked out, seeing the shape of the house beyond the thicket.

“You’re sure this is the place?” the small and muscular woman questioned as she approached Rust.

Rust lowered his binoculars, staring out at the house. “This has gotta be it. Only big place for miles.” He gestured to the woman. “Go get the others, Shell. We’re gonna break in.”

[charmandhex]

Part one/previous.

Where are we going? Taako thinks insistently. Thinks because someone, not naming any names (because he doesn’t know it - right?), but she’s absolutely a Red Robe who came out of his umbrella, has possessed his body, and currently Taako is just along for the ride in his own corporeal form.

There’s someone we need to talk to. Somehow spooky Red Robe lady can do a decent Taako impression, or else Avi, Carey, and Killian all need a reminder of what the original is like.

Someone on the moon? Who do you know on the moon? Taako asks as they leave the hangar. And what do you mean WE? SOMEONE whose body this is NOT is calling all the shots right now.

Calm down, Koko; sharing means caring.

Taako sputters. Not sharing BODIES.

Why not, we- somehow the static is louder when she’s speaking inside his head.

Can you NOT?

We’re going to talk to the one person who can fix that.

Then by all means, lead the way. Taako would throw up his arms in exasperation, but he currently can’t do that. And judging by the snort he receives in projecting the feeling out at her, she remains unimpressed.

I am sorry about the whole ass-kicking thing by the way. Figured you would be, uh, less than amenable to the whole possession thing.

I let you win. Taako grumbles.

Sure you did. She seems to smile. But, uh, really am sorry about the, uh, the six Magic Missiles. We’ll get Merle to fix you up. Ego might take a bit longer though.

It’s Taako’s turn to snort. Uh, yeah, what’s your passive perception, because, uh, you’ve been around since fuckin’ Wave Echo Cave and you haven’t realized Merle’s a shitty fuckin’ cleric?

Mmhmm. How the FUCK she conveys that she knows something Taako doesn’t in just two syllables, Taako has no idea. Listen, we’ll do the whole reunion tour shit as soon as we get this ball rolling.

But why do you want to talk to the Director? This about the whole destroying your Grand Relics thing? Cause cha’boy only did the grabbing, not the smashing. Taako asks as they enter the large hall at the center of the Bureau of Balance. She doesn’t answer as they walk across the large, echoing, empty hall. It doesn’t surprise Taako that the hall is empty; Madame Director doesn’t exactly strike him as the type to wait around on a dais for dramatic arrivals.

She doesn’t answer as she, and by extension Taako, walks past the empty dais to the door at the end of the hall, the one Taako knows leads to the Director’s office from the previous time Tres Horny Boys had gotten chewed out for talking to to a Red Robe.

Which seems rather ironic, considering.

She pauses at the end of the hall, and Taako watches as his hand rises to knock at the door.

“Wha- ah- yes?” The Director sounds frazzled, like she’s struggling to regain her usual gravitas, apparently not used to visitors. “Ah, that is- come in.”

The door opens, and the Director, quickly adjusting a few stacks of paper and books on her desk, looks up, surprise readily apparent on her face. “T-Taako! What a surprise. Ah... how are- Taako?” Her voice takes on an entirely different tone as the Red Robe lady walks in, and the Director is staring at Taako hard, in a way that makes him suspect she knows something’s up.

Oh. The Red Robe lady has their eyes, or rather, Taako’s eyes, locked on the painting behind the Director. She sounds... sad.

What’s your deal? It’s just a self portrait.

But it’s not.

“Taako?” Madame Director asks again, and they look back to her. She’s pale, wary, one hand wrapped tightly around her staff. Oh.

The Red Robe lady uses Taako’s mouth to say, “Lucretia.”

Whatever Madame Director -Lucretia?- was expecting, Taako’s pretty fuckin’ sure that wasn’t it. She goes paler, like, call the cleric pale, and her eyes are wide as she stands slowly.

“How- Taako, how do you know that name?”

“Wrong-“ nothing comes out, and Taako feels for a moment as though he’s choking on static rising in his throat like bile. “Oh. Huh. Voidfish works even with me talking. But, uh, yeah, Creesh, Taako doesn’t know. I do.”

There’s a long, long moment.

“Lup?” The Director breathes, staring at Taako as though she’s seen a ghost.

“In the flesh. Or, uh, Taako’s flesh; say hi, Taako.”

And Taako feels as though she pulls to the side, giving him enough room within his own mind to say, “What the FUCK?”

“Eh, close enough, I’ll forgive you.”

“You’re the one possessing me.”

“It’s just borrowing!”

“You don’t borrow-“

“Oh, also, Creesh? Caaaaaaan you maybe get rid of that lich ward you have going on? I’m starting to get a headache, and I didn’t even know that was possible without my own corporeal form.”

“Y-Yeah, but- uh. Um.” The Director breathes out. “Can you... no one living should know that name, but-“

“But I’m not the only lich in the biz. Gotta say, Creesh, voidfish makes that harder...” The Red Robe lady hums. “The Gauntlet. I was with the Gauntlet. My Gauntlet.”

The Director drops into her seat. “It really is-“ and then she scrambles upright. “I’ll- one second.”

And, shit, apparently the Director must have a secret office inside her not-secret office, because she disappears out through a hidden passage.

YOUR Gauntlet? Taako says when they’re alone. Not that he really needed to be alone to have privacy when this conversation is all in his head, but the habit holds. You make that one all on your own?

In a way. I’m almost surprised I could say that much. And that you could hear it. She sounds fainter, pained, in a way that Taako now realizes has been creeping up in her voice over the course of their conversation on the moon base.

You’re a lich?

You didn’t figure it out?

I mean, listen, most of the liches you hear about in the ol’ wizard school are examples of what not to do and how not to become a magical implosion.

Yeah, but I still think- oh thank the gods. She sighs, the relief flowing through Taako’s mind like the smallest of ocean waves spreading over the shoreline.

Anti lich ward down?

Yeah. Perfect timing, you were about to get hit with that shit too.

I was WH-

And then Director is back, breathing as though she’d run the whole way.

“How is this- where were you- how did this- what’s going on?”

“Uh, yeah, hi, Taako, actual occupant of this body chiming in here to also say: what the fuck is going on?”

“Excellent question, both of you. But I think we need everyone here first.”

Part three.

[emsartwork]

What are your winx couple headcanons?

Other questions about relationships also answered below

Like how they interact? I talked a little bit about the canon dynamics in an ask-dump here but I’ll write a little more and copy paste stuff here lol

BLOOM AND SKY:  so bloom and sky aren’t the most stable couple, and in my version it would take bloom a little longer to be ok with dating a prince. Bloom is fairly insecure in her relationships because of self worth issues, and tend to run away from problems instead of dealing with them. Sky on the other hand is confident but doesn’t really know how to handle people’s feelings and tends to push confrontation. Bloom is also prefers to move a little slower than Sky would maybe prefer, like he’s good with their relationship and tries not to push Bloom or make her upset but he’d probably like to be married already lol. Bloom and Sky have figured out that if they’re having conflict issues, one of the best things to do is for them to write out whats bothering them and send letters/texts/emails back and forth. This gives Bloom a safe space and time to process her emotions, and lets Sky express his opinion with out getting to intense and pushing for Bloom to talk to him. They’ve taken to doing this with non-conflict thingies too, like its not out of the norm for Sky to receive a wax sealed envelope with a beautifully calligraphied message on parchment that simply says Bloom saw a super fluffy dog that day lol

STELLA AND BRANDON:  They love each other so much its the best omg. Stella finds her worth in her appearance but she always seems to take Brandon’s complements in a less…. arrogant way? if that makes sense? like she truly appreciates them and wants his support. I wish we knew more about Brandon but he’s legit such a good boyfriend. I think they fight mostly when Stella is being a little selfish, or when Brandon is too busy to meet her emotional needs. I think Brandon and Stella are the kind of couple that could be married for years and still feel like they’re on their honeymoon, They would probably get married because of societal pressure but if Stella wasn’t a princess they wouldn’t bother with the ceremony since it wouldn’t change their devotion to each other. They flirt with other people pretty casually but neither would EVER cheat or go any further than idle compliments. Stella’s fear of being alone/disliked is still present, but Brandon will generally just pick up some chocolate, put on a movie and let Stella do his nails or hair or make-up whenever she’s feeling down. Stella was perfectly fine with Brandon not being a prince, she came to terms with the situation a lot faster than Bloom did. However, she does try to make sure Brandon knows she’s with him for him. One of Stella’s main love languages is gifts, and Brandon does appreciate it, but his main love language is actually acts of service, so sometimes he feels a little underappreciated (if Stella doesn’t pick up on this Sky will and let her know). In which case Stella will sneakily figure out what he needs and will take care of it (shopping for a new coat? done. its super flattering and makes his eyes pop. mess hall cleaning duty at Red Fountain? she’ll do it(with some magical assistance). he doesn’t have time to make himself lunch? she will try her best but it might be safer for her to order him some take out) Like Stella is silly, excitable, and can be self centered but she loves her people and wants to make sure they know that.

FLORA AND HELIA:  So Helia is more of a drama queen in the comics but we’ll ignore that for right now lol. Flora and Helia are probably the least problematic couple in the entire show. They met. Flirted a little. Confessed. and started dating with out any major problems. I think both Helia and Flora’s love language is quality time so they’re fairly low key and just like to be in the same space with each other. Unfortunately their issues stem from both of them being passive aggressive. Like Flora doesn’t want to cause problems or upset anyone, and Helia just doesn’t freaking talk. This can lead to slow simmering fights that build until one of them blows up. They learn to catch the signs of that starting earlier and earlier tho, so they’re both learning its better to bring up an issue earlier if its gonna be a problem later. Flora thinks Helia would be happier as a full time artist than as a warrior or mage, but knows he needs to come to his own conclusion.

TECNA AND TIMMY:  They’re super cute honestly. I think Timmy was probably the one to instigate the relationship and bonded with Tecna over technology since she wasn’t super emotionally available at first. They have issues when Tecna is unable to voice her emotions and Timmy needs to know what she’s feeling mostly, but after the first few times they’ve both learned to give the other space to figure their stuff out. Timmy will ask Tecna to use Emoji’s if she’s having a really difficult time figuring out what she’s feeling. He knows its not fair to Tecna but Timmy sometimes feels a little resentful because she’s had a fairly easy life, access to top rate tech, rich parents, stable environment, and barely had to study, while Timmy scrapped and saved and had to learn fast because of his environment.(his home isn’t exactly unsafe, but asteroid colonies are nomadic by nature which mean a certain level of instability is part of living in one)  

MUSA AND RIVEN:  Ok so, ignoring the several times Riven was LITERALLY MIND CONTROLLED his character is still difficult to deal with. I think Musa and Riven are both very intense people, and while that can be super fun and develop into a good relationship, it can also lead to LOTS of problems. For their relationship, I think they wouldn’t even start dating until like season 3 era at the earliest.(this is partially why season 4 is so rough for them, its a new relationship) a lot of their issues would stem from their attachment issues and how they respond to insecurity. Riven’s mom left him, just fucking dropped out of his life while he was a young kid, leaving him with an emotionally distant and dismissive father he could never please. So Riven responds by pushing people away before they can reject him, becoming controlling, or dismissing them in anger and pretending not to care about their opinion. Musa’s mother was taken away from her by illness.  I think it happened in Musa’s early teens, since it’s clearly still a tender subject in the first season. A parents death is painful no matter the circumstance, but a sickness that slowly steals the person you love away from you must be incredibly painful. As a result, Musa experience a lot of anxiety about the people she loves leaving her(whether by their choice or not), and becomes clingy, emotionally demanding, and sensitive. When Riven pushes her away to protect himself Musa tries to force her way back to him, when Musa wants Riven to act certain way or do something to ease her anxiety (even if its irrational and she is at fault) Riven dismisses her needs because it means he can keep himself safe from failure. They have similar problems but the way they respond to it ends up escalating every issue. They do eventually grow and become vulnerable with each other, Riven tries to express his affection more(even if it’s not through words) instead of hiding them in fear of rejection, and Musa tries to explain when her feelings are hurt more clearly instead of just assuming Riven knows what he did wrong. They also clash a bit over parentage, both only have their dads left, but Musa’s is involved and (now)supportive, while Riven’s is still distant. Musa has positive memories of her mother and misses her a lot, but Riven has very few memories and is terribly angry at his mother. I think that Riven still left at the end of season 6, but they didn’t exactly break up, they both recognized that Riven needed some time away from the specialists to work on his own shit and gain confidence in his own skills and self worth, so it turned into a low key long distance thing. (if he hadn’t come back in season 8  they would just decide to break it off but lol he’s back)

AISHA AND NABU:  ugh perfect couple. minus the kind of sketchy beginning lol. Aisha and Nabu generally don’t fight once they get used to each other. Nabu is a focal point that Aisha is kind of bungee corded to if that makes sense? like obviously not in a restricting way. Its just Aisha is hella active/independent and needs her own space to explore and grow, but Nabu is her solid ground that she relies on and always comes back to. Nabu and Aisha are both smart, but Nabu is a little more of a nerd than Aisha and has a lot of book knowledge. Nabu sometimes gets irritated at Aisha’s impulsiveness, he tries to let it go and jump with her sometimes but generally just lets her do her own thing, of course on the other hand, Aisha can get irritated at Nabu’s resistance to change, she knows pestering and pushing him won’t help tho so she tries to slow down and walk through it with him when she can. 

AISHA AND NEX:  So like I said Aisha is an active, independent woman, and if Nabu was a separate, stationary, focal point for her, I think Nex is related, moving, counter point. So like Nex can actually keep up with Aisha, and push her and challenge her. Which isn’t a bad thing in relationships so long as a mutual respect is there. Nex is aggressive and can be hot headed but I think he actually takes life at a slower pace than Aisha who is a master of multitasking. Aisha admires Nex’s drive but wishes he would be a little more directional with it. When they’re not being competitive, they have a very weird calming effect around each other. Aisha and Nex don’t seem to notice this, but the rest of the group picked up on it one day and could not for the life them figure out how two such intense people could have such a chill vibe. 

Daphne and Thoren actually met when they were kids, but didn’t spend much time together because it was at a formal event. Daphne is technically 20 years older than Thoren(only a few years older than Sky), but they’re the same physical age because Daphne spent so long as a spirit. I also like to think Thoren met her as a spirit(with out recognizing her) during his paladin training. They probably wouldn’t get married as quickly in my version, especially with Daphne’s trauma. Daphne was actually receiving physical and mental therapy on Ohm when Thoren visited the planet as part of his paladin duties. They didn’t hit it off right away, but didn’t dislike each other or anything. They actually bonded over scars, Thoren has scars from some paladin related incidents, but also has a scar from when he attempted suicide. Daphne asked him about his first, she eventually explained hers to him but since they were more recent it took a little longer for her to come to terms with what happened to her. Thoren finds her scars beautiful, partially because they’re a part of Daphne, but also because they mean she survived and that she’s healing. Daphne will have nightmares sometimes and Thoren has a whole routine for comforting her and helping her feel safe and grounded. Thoren gets anxious easily, and Daphne will use her magic to subtly change the environment so he feels more comfortable. They like to watch reality tv together and yell at stupid dramatic people. Daphne is terrified of losing her loved ones and can be over protective of Thoren even though he can take care of himself, and Thoren hesitates to ask her to do anything for him because he’s (irrationally)nervous about overwhelming her. In the future, Daphne is a little unsure about asking him to marry her, not because of their relationship, but because he would assume the role of King of Domino and that’s a lot of pressure but they discuss it and work through everything together. Neither of them are good at gardening, but they have a little section of the Domino castle gardens they like to try and grow things in. Thoren also does fine metal work with wires. 

Their families are very pleased with the relationship. Thoren’s mom and Daphne are pretty different but vibe together really well. Thoren and Oritel take up sparing together and Oritel has no problems with Daphne’s choice of partner. Thoren’s dad finds Daphne to be a very fine young lady, though he has concerns that his son is with some one who has so much recent trauma and he worries it’ll kick start Thoren’s depression again. Marion doesn’t think anybody is good enough for her girls but Thoren comes pretty close, Thoren has expressed interest in learning magic, and Marion is eager to teach him, though he may regret letting her once the lessons actually start lol. 

Oritel and Marion like Sky well enough, and they recognize he’s still young and is growing, but they privately think Bloom could do better. Erendor and Samara are concerned about Bloom’s civilian background (how will she handle ruling a kingdom when she has no political training?) and though the Dragon flame would be a huge asset to Eraklyon in power it could also draw unwanted attention and attacks so they’re also concerned about that. But besides those issues, Erendor actually really likes Bloom. Samara.... is very stiff and formal so its hard to tell if she likes Bloom or if she’s just being civil and tolerating her. 

Brandon’s parents LOVE Stella, they think she’s hilarious and cute and they dote on her whenever possible. If Stella and Brandon ever broke up they would probably still invite her to family events and stuff lol. Luna and Radius, when they’re not dealing with their own relationship issues, enjoy Brandon’s company. They kind of wish Stella had chosen a Solarian partner, but its customary to let Solarian children follow their heart and pick their own partner. 

Timmy’s mom hasn’t met Tecna in person, but Timmy talks about her all the time and Timmy’s mom thinks she sounds wonderful. Electronio and Magnethia were unsure of Timmy at first. They ran the numbers through the Zenithian Compatibility and Success in Relationship Indicator and Timmy + Tecna didn’t do so well on paper. However, Tecna was absolutely firm in her decision to be with Timmy even if it didn’t make sense to her parents, which was unusual for her. They like him a lot now, even if they don’t fully understand how he works lol. 

Helia’s dads think Flora is a total catch for Helia like “damn son how did you convince her to date you???” Helia just groans and rolls his eyes. Magic dad likes to talk nature magic with Flora and Warrior dad is always trying to teach her some new self defense tactic when she visits, much to the embarrassment of his son. Alyssa and Rhodos like Helia, even if they think he’s a little out there. Like Flora, they try to encourage his pursuit of art. Miele likes to mess with Helia and pull pranks on him, Helia pretends to be horribly offended but he actually thinks she’s hilarious.

Aisha was a dream match for Nabu’s parents, they cared more about her status as princess than her as a person at first. After Nabu’s death they blamed Aisha and rejected all of her attempts to contact them. In the process of healing, they’ve reached out to her and are trying to appreciate/get to know her as some one their son loved and not just a rung on the social ladder. Aisha’s parents liked Nabu, they didn’t really get to know him very well, but thought he was a smart, capable, and well mannered young man. They saw Aisha was happy with him and left it at that. 

Aisha’s parent’s were less sure of Nex, Andros is a fairly planet centric culture, and Nex, as a Mare Lynphean especially, didn’t quite fit into their Land/Sea dichotomy. Aisha of course, isn’t one to follow social norms if she doesn’t want to. Nex is a little worried about her parents approval, but Aisha insists that the only approval he needs is hers. Niobe and Teredor are currently leaving the relationship as is, knowing fighting Aisha will just make her dig her heels in more. Nex eventually wins them over with his bravery, charm, and devotion to Aisha. When Nex told his parents he was dating a princess, they were kind of surprised. They were also surprised when Aisha turned out to be an athletic, independent, and brash young woman instead of a delicate, dependent, and prissy princess. They absolutely approve and love spending time with her.

Musa hasn’t met Riven’s dad. Riven and his dad aren’t close, they talk maybe once a month and its usually a text from his dad with “update request; academics, physical health, extra curricular, and relationships statuses.” and Riven usually just responds with “update; fuck off.” Riven’s dad does know he’s dating some one but doesn’t have a lot of information. Musa’s dad DID NOT like Riven at first. He didn’t like his look, his reputation, or his attitude. however, Ho-Boe comes from a warrior background, though he prefer(ed)s musical pursuits, he came to respect Riven’s discipline in those areas, and eventually was able to relate to Riven’s rejection of his heritage.  

Bloom and Daphne are a little.... one sided, at least in the beginning. When Bloom first meets Daphne (that she remembers) Daphne isn’t even a real person, she’s a dream or at most a spirit. Even after Bloom learns her name Daphne is a mystery, and its not until like end of season three that they start talking regularly. On Daphne’s side, Bloom was a toddler, and then is suddenly grown up. Daphne still thinks of her like her baby sister, even tho the two of them are, physically, almost the same age now. Daphne also always knew she had a sister, while Bloom thought of herself as an only child for the majority of her life at this point. So while they love each other and get a long pretty well, they have misconceptions and don’t always view the other person as they actually are.

Sure! Stormy likes cream puffs, like A LOT. She owns only dark red lipsticks. She likes doing her makeup but has no patience for her hair, she usually chops a lot of it off every couple months and just lets it do whatever it wants. Stormy has a “worry stone” made of metal she keeps in her pocket. She’s got adhd and Darcy sometimes magically helps calm her brain down when she needs to focus. Stormy of course, loves thunder storms, she gets little electric shivers when they’re getting close. She collects static like nobodies business. Stormy is primarily Omegean and Androsian, tho a little Dominian, Zenithian, and Melodian blood runs through her veins as well. She likes cats. 

yaaaaaaas, ok so I actually gave his dads names finally Vaonaaj dad is Bi’ran (bee-ran) and Lynphean dad is Reed (last name is Deshene). When Helia was born Bi’ran used magic to like float him around and keep him out of trouble and stuff and it annoyed the hell out of Reed (like “for natures sake please don’t hex my son” “im not hexing him its just a floating spell!!”) Reed gave Helia a little sword really early and Bi’ran was appalled ( ”why would you give him a weapon he’s like FIVE” “good he can learn early”) When Helia started to express interest in art his dads were confused af because neither of them have an artistic bone in their bodies. They try to be supportive but honestly have no idea what Helia is doing lol. Helia really wants to please them both so he spent a year at Lynphea College in the basic magic course. When warrior dad(Reed) started to pressure him to learn to fight as well, Helia’s grandfather Saladin offered him a place at Red Fountain, partially because he could see Helia needed his own space to figure himself out and partially because it would appease Reed. Helia was only planning on staying at Red fountain for a year but his relationship with Flora and his friendships with the rest of the group extended his stay. Bi’ran and Reed know they need to let Helia make his own path, but they worry and just want the best for him so they tend to stick to what they know and are comfortable with when advising him(magic and fighting respectively). Bi’ran and Reed have a standing date night every week, and usually they get really out of hand as they try to outdo the other in excitement and romance (dinner and movie one week leads to a 5 course meal and an play the next which leads to a private chef, a one of a kind meal, and an entire theater rented out for a personal performance etc etc etc) until they both realize they’re being ridiculous and promise to keep it simple from then on and the cycle repeats itself. Bi’ran really likes to play with Reed’s hair. Helia always beats them both at card games.  

[blissfulalchemist]

A little Lance Powell cause well he’s still new and won’t ever have a ton written about him but a little intro I guess. We’ll see how this goes.

Lance looked to the fading green wall of the veterans center phone receiver in one hand the other hesitating above the number pad. “All if you should take this opportunity to spread the joyous news of your new found faith.” Those were the words John used after Lance’s group went through confession. There was only one person he had to call more for their safety than anything. He pushed the first number of the Washington area code, the action needed to dial the rest of the number he knew by heart. 

The phone started to ring, he didn’t want there to be an answer. Two rings, better that way then he wouldn’t have to hear the disappointment. Three rings, no he wanted her to answer. He had to hear her voice one last time. Halfway through the fourth ring, “Hello this is Sage Powell.”

Lance shut his eyes, “Hey honey it’s me. Dad.” He really didn’t want to tell her what was happening but she needed to know she couldn’t visit him. 

“Hiya dad. What’s up? Why are you calling from a different number?” Despite the giggle Sage gave Lance could hear the disappointment in her voice already. 

He inhaled, “Uh right yeah. Look there’s no easy way to say this but,” he looked to the ceiling, “you and your boyfriend can’t come and see me this summer like you planned.” Lance’s voice was gruff and leaving very little room for arguments, but this was his daughter she knew him.

“Why?” Lance looked in silence at the phone screen, watching the seconds pass, “Dad, does this have something to do with that religious compound?” Sage let out an exasperated sigh when he didn’t respond, “I told you before, and I’m telling you again, I’m not scared of that Eden’s Project or whatever it is. They can’t convince me or Ben to convert.”

She was wrong. This was no longer a fear of having pushy bible thumpers come to your door, he didn’t want to lose her. Lance saw the slow descent in how this cult was taking power...and he stood by. They all did until it was too late. Now it didn’t matter if you wanted to convert or not, you were taken by force and drugged. If you fought back you were either killed or turned into an Angel, though there was no difference in Lance’s eyes. 

Lance pinched the bridge of his nose trying to stop himself from crying, “Look sweetie things have- well they’ve gotten more complicated up here.”

“How much more?” Sage’s words were short. 

“Sage they,” Lance opened his eyes, noticing someone out of the corner of his eye. They were looking away from him but Lance could see their head tilted just enough to have been listening in.

“They, what dad? What could be so bad?” Her anger was rising, Lance could hear another muffled male voice on the line.

Lance gave one last look to the eavesdropper knowing what he had to do, “Sage I found faith. I decided to join them and follow the word of The Father.” The poison of the words’ falsity coated his tongue.

Sage gasped, “I- No. You-you can’t be serious?” She stammered surprised at the news, “Dad, please tell me you aren’t serious?”

Lance hardened his tone, “Yes I am. I-,” he took a deep breath in, “I was wrong about them. They have all the answers. The collapse is coming.”

“Fuck the collapse!” Lance pulled the phone away from his ear with her yell, “Dad you can’t do this. Please don’t do this.” Lance bit the inside of his lip hearing the choke in her voice. “Dad I need you. Reconsider please.”

“It’s too late,” Lance looked back to where he saw the figure, the space they had occupied was free now. “Look, you've made it very clear where you stand on this. I can’t waste my time with non-believers.”

“Don’t push me away! Come here to Washington. We can talk this out,” Sage pleaded with him. Lance hated this, he loved her and missed her. 

“I can’t,” Lance huffed. “I must follow the will of The Father,” he clenched his jaw, “and that means I can’t associate myself with sinners like you.” There was silence on the line, “Goodbye Sage. I-”

Sage cut him off, “Don’t say you love me, you traitor!” She let out a haughty laugh, “Nice to know that the man who taught me that I should fight for what I believed in would be so passive when it came to fighting,” Lance held his tongue wanting to tell her that he was going to fight still. He just had to be smart about it, he was outnumbered. “What happened to your spine? The one that you had when I was a kid,” Sage was crying, he could hear the wavering in her voice, “I can’t believe when things got hard you let them take it from you. I hope fruit basket guy labeled you with the right sin, dad. Enjoy your new life. Don’t ever contact me again.” Lance’s ear was met with the dial tone. He let out a breath as he placed the receiver back on the base. 

Eden’s Gate was a topic they had talked about many times over, he always told Sage he would fight and refuse to join. Sage’s anger wasn’t unwarranted, Lance hated having to hurt her. Even if she figured out later that he had to protect her, this still was going to affect their relationship. It was those Seeds, Jacob the most. If Jacob was out of the picture Lance wouldn’t have had to do this, Lance would have fought. 

Lance looked past the desk, his mind wandering to the memories of his time in the Middle East. He had heard rumors of a young recruit that was excelling in everything he did, but had no conscience. Lance was sure that wasn’t the case, there had to be something that kid cared about. Until the day Lance overheard two guys singing his praises for running over enemy soldiers that were buried alive with a bulldozer. Lance only ever saw a picture of the soldier, never wanted to know the name of a person so heartless to do such an act. Even if they were enemy soldiers, he didn’t want to think that kind of person could even exist. Seeing Jacob pace in front of Lance and his colleagues the day their ranger station was ambushed, Lance believed it, the red hair distinct.

“Powell!” Lance stood straight at attention, his hand wanting to come up in a salute with the sound of Jacob’s voice, “Time to start training.” 

Lance may have been older than Jacob by a few years but here in the Whitetails Lance was out ranked. “Yes sir,” turning on his heel Lance made his way to the training compound. 

[katsukisbeatingheart]

from the bitter cold

In which Katsuki falls in love with a stranger, where chance and passivity are cruel things.

warnings: angst, character death (or not, you can decide)

song inspiration: palace (sam smith), call out my name (the weeknd), follow my voice (julie byrne)

word count: 2468

ao3

It took him all of three seconds to understand what was happening before it was too late.

The sun set and stained the riverbanks a crimson, mingled with grieving fallen leaves. Withered blades of pale yellow grass stuck the powder of snow beneath park benches and cracks in the asphalt.

a hero in impatient waiting grew exhausted by the lethargy of the evening, anxiously waiting to burst into some kind of trouble. His resolve carried him through almost all of patrol, as he gruffly tipped his head at a few admiring fans (mostly the kids; not that he’d ever admit that to anybody). His eyes wandered to a coffee shop perched comfortably between a wax figure/candle store, and a cake shop—spotting a figure swaying their way out the door. They stopped to prop it open with their foot for the next couple strolling in—wafting the steam from a mug they carried.

Bakugo felt the strongest, dumbest inclination to stare after the figure, as if he had nothing better to do.

Like, patrol maybe.

With an uncomfortable shiver, the pro hero turned his attention, and stomped forward to chastise a couple of kids playing around in the streets.

•.              •.              •.

Another long day of nothing but petty crimes and peaceful patrols, another dollar; Bakugo slowly slipped into routine. It didn’t really matter to him one way or the other—though, he really preferred more action. He silently urged for something to happen, and soon; he was starting to feel a little restless.

The precipice of winter bit at the sleeves of his pro hero suit, and Katsuki turned down a familiar block, searching the line of shops for somewhere to pop in for a quick break. He spotted a little studio establishment, set with windows in the very front. They let the foliage peak in and bend toward the warmth flooding through and out the cracks. The plants directed him to the next door over, to the front of a bakery. His eyes swept over the lights, but his nose took in the buttercream and glazed doughs before anything else could register.

Bakugo’s stomach rumbled in anticipation.

It’s not exactly like he could say no to that.

•.              •.              •.

The door bell jangled as the hero entered, quiet chatter buzzing through the warm atmosphere. He placed an order with a gruff, ladened-with-exhaustion voice, doing his best to subtly hide from the obvious stares he got from the passersby in the cafe. Their googly eyes should be something he’s used to, but he didn’t think he’d ever get over it.

The ogling barista had heard his order enough by then, he practically had it memorized—he did—and it was ready in under a minute. Katsuki briefly wondered if he’d had it ready before he’d even walked in.

“I saw him mixing it up as you crossed the street a moment ago.”

Bakugou swiveled in his step, throwing a glance at the person who had spoken.

You tapped the rim of your steaming mug, slouching comfortably forward to give the hero a teasing smile.

“You come here often?”

•.              •.              •.

The crowd cheered around the scene of Katsuki triumphantly planting the sole of his boot on the back of an assailant most deranged and self-pitying. He leaned in with popping and sparking hands, focused completely on staving the thrashing person underneath him, their quirk whipping in and out to grab whatever they could to get them out of this defeat.

It was all for naught, of course, but Bakugo had to give them props for spirit.

He straightened upon the arrival of the authorities, their forces moving in to restrain and book the weakly hostile villain. Bakugo gravitated toward The Guy with The Clipboard to give his verbal report, hardly sparing the swelling crowd a sideways glance. The cheers of the police and eased onlookers grew, and beat an already ironclad mantra into the shoulders of the Pro Hero.

Though their praise did absolutely nothing to hurt his ego, Katsuki itched to move along on his way and pick up patrol. Villains wasted no time at all in seizing any opportunity they could—he couldn’t afford to be complacent for even a moment, knowing anything could be happening the more time he wasted thinking about it.

He was just about to give a short nod and placating two-fingered wave to the adoring people before launching over the rooftops, when he stopped.

A familiar pair of eyes twinkled awe-stricken, and an annoyingly captivating still smile jumped out amongst a crescendo of his name chorused in eagerly coarse voices. You clapped your hands together gently, silently cheering for the hero at the center of it all. 

It wasn’t a moment Katsuki would ever be able to put into words; just knowing that it probably felt like what the first grain of sand falling in an hourglass did, the first snowflake of an avalanche—the first fallen petal of autumn.

His hand twitched at his side, the muscles in his wrist moving all of their own accord. Katsuki fixed you with a stare to hold a planet in place, raising his fingers in the most miniscule waves as his mouth twitched in an even smaller smile that was thankfully not lost on you. 

You beamed brighter.

Of all of the shouts of his name and the raging reverie from the crowd, your quiet veneration left a noticeable thump in his chest.

It took him all of three seconds to understand what was happening before it was too late.

Katsuki broke free of the shared spell and leapt into the skyline.

•.             •.             •.

There was a marked secret between one of the Top Heroes and an ordinary person such as yourself existing in a palpable way only the two of you could experience. Whether one could accredit it to fate or chance, the overlap in routines left an unusual intimacy not unlike falling in love with a song one would hear at that one specific part of the day, or growing attached to that one smell of freshly baked something on your way to work. 

Like how you’d never learn what the song was called, or what it was the shopkeepers were baking, for fear of losing the magic behind knowing it so personally at an alluring distance.

There were some days though, where the song would come on in a completely different setting than ordinary, the smell catching and making Katsuki’s head turn sharply as though his name had been called. 

He’d heard your voice not but a few times in passing, but it was strikingly familiar enough to pick out at any decibel of din, he was sure.

Your discernible figure stood lightly curled over potted plants lining a white linen clothed table. Children with lopsided caps and too-big mittens reached eagerly for the pale lilies and snowdrops you sifted through.

It was cold—even by Katsuki’s standards—but he swore he had never felt so warm just looking at something. You were smiling like you had the sun in your chest, the rest of the world a foolish mortal realm all the more unawares of such divinity on Earth. 

Bakugo had a rare moment off. Unable to sit still at home, he threw on a hoodie and a pair of jeans—the epitome of casual wear—tucking his hair into the hood, and began to leisurely traipse the streets he would usually be blasting through. He’d sworn he’d seen every nook and cranny they had to offer, but he was finding the value in slowing down to be rather worthwhile.

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised to see you standing there, as if he expected to know what you did with your time. But he is.

It’s like finding a patch of wildflowers growing through a crack in the sidewalk. Something so mundane and plausible, yet nonetheless stunning.

You laughed at the completely innocent demands of the children beside you, elated as they received little pots of hope of their own. The old man and woman accepting your payment chuckled good naturedly, eyes crinkling at the different stages of joy darting in and out of their booth. 

Katsuki watched as you exchanged final words of goodbye, turning to observe the group of kids at the end of the street whoop loudly, floundering arms in the air to convey their thanks. Your head tilted in modesty, accepting their happiness with a graceful radiance Katsuki wondered if he was the only one seeing.

As though you could feel his attention, you spun around to meet his eyes directly. 

He gave you that look again and you leaned forward invitingly, waving the hand that held a lily and snowdrop pinched between your fingers. Katsuki smiled and you didn’t realize his eyes could set you on fire too.

•.             •.             •.

It was a quieter morning when Bakugo saw you again. You held a fabric bag in your hands, strolling with purpose down the sidewalk towards the marketplace. He almost lost you amongst the sea of people and swooping buildings that gradually bled into the city’s shopping district. You paced yourself carefully, weaving in and out with a precision he found to be delicate.

It was unnerving how quickly you had stolen his focus, especially now, when he should be focusing on patrol.

He scanned the area, assessing the biggest problem to be traffic—foot and vehicle—before deciding tedious urban affairs were not his problem.

Bringing his eyes back to you—you had made it further down the street than he was ready for—and realised his time was ticking by.

“Fuck it,” he growled, and started off down the walkway, pursuing a very heroic duty to briefly involve himself in the life of one particularly maddening citizen.

•.             •.             •. 

To little too soon, there was a deafening BOOM somewhere in or around the street. The asphalt rumbled beneath the wave of foot traffic, a congregation stumbling in all directions—anywhere to get away from the thunderous cacophony. 

Bakugo cursed the timing, but readily welcomed the opportunity to do his job. His reflexes were quick, and he was heading in that direction looking for you anyway.

He paced the streets at neck-breaking speeds, zipping in projectile leaps from building to building. This not unfamiliar break in tedium brought him to the scene in record time.

It was a shaker quirk—not unlike Shindo Yo’s, with notably less expanse and control and still no less dangerous—coupled with a man unleashing thorns like bullets shot out of a gun from his skin. Some were long, some were short, but altogether undeniably gruesome.

The latter pelted the way with needles projected from his twisted visage, while the former rumbled along behind, teetering already precarious parts of buildings. They rampaged a warpath straight through to a park, filled with scrambling targets.

Katsuki caught up with them easily, but remaining close was the problem. He wordlessly dodged and evaded, controlled explosions at his feet and sides growing into a dissonance the two villains couldn’t ignore.

It was quick and unforgiving, the shaker’s hands coming down into the earth, her silent impudence maligning the aptitude of the Hero hot on her tail. Katsuki certainly hadn’t forgotten about the Porcupine firing wildly beside her, but became increasingly aware of his corralling civilians in with crossfire. 

Bakugo leapt in an arch over their heads, cutting them off amongst the sparse trees dotting the area. The duo had apparently agreed on the fight reflex, and kicked an unfounded bravado into high gear. With a rumble here and a spike there, they tactfully split. Katsuki felt the tightrope at his feet.

Where are the trees? The people?

Clambering cries for help and screams of terror tumbled around them—Katsuki assessed the minimum of bystanders within radial distance, and counted on his fellow Pro Heroes to handle evac. He had to keep the minacious attentions on himself.

He listened for the crunch of leaves as their shoes hit the shattering earth. They stilled, feeling proud of catching the great Pro Hero Bakugo Katsuki in a standoff, one on either side to tear his attention. All felt quiet, a juxtaposition to the chaos dripping from the conviction of the villains before him.

Until a figure moved from behind a tree trunk. It dashed soundlessly to a small figure on the other side of the clearing, a grand enough gesture to catch the eye of the Porcupine. 

It took Katsuki all of three seconds to understand what was happening before it was too late.

A bloodcurdling scream fractured Katsuki’s burning calm, and the hourglass shattered. 

He wished he could say time slowed down, that he could freeze and burn each movement where they lay and move quicker than they could exist. He wished he could say time slowed down, that his taciturn life with you extended even a few measly seconds. He wished he could say time slowed down.

The large spike pierced your chest in a flash and the world stopped.

Villains had leeway to be unpredictable, morals and laws and ethics and sentiment damned in pursuit of their goals, no matter how destructive and mindless. Break, break, break.

Heroes danced on the controlled precipice of power and righteousness, a duty to cater to law and order and justice and truth. 

Katsuki incinerated the trees in a vengeful explosion, vaulting the two villains with force that landed them in an embankment. A series of deafening crunches, and they slumped. Useless.

The job was finished, and Katsuki leapt beside you. The small figure was a child, shoved away into the snow, their tiny body shaking with utter fear. You knelt down, crimson cascading onto the pale white that had looked so inviting when the day started. You smelled of that something that bakery always made, warm and rich and safe. Now faded. Katsuki didn’t know what it was called.

He gently gripped your shoulders, pulling you into his arms like he’d held so many wounded before. Not the same, though. You fit perfectly.

“Hi there. You come here often?” you managed a weak laugh, blood staining the corner of your lip.

His throat was tight and his voice cracked, but he managed to speak anyway. He had to.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

Your breath shuddered and you told him and he imagined a sky spilled with color. He felt a breeze on his face. There was that song, that smell again. Snowdrops and lilies. 

“A little cold out, huh?” 

He had found and lost that something all in a moment and you made small talk. He ground his teeth, his body shaking.

  You smiled at him like the first time all over again, now an evanescing sun.

“Will you keep me warm?”

[artificialqueens]

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 1: The Institution: 1, Katya: 0 (Vatya) 2/2 - Maeve

A/N: It’s Maeve again! I’m so freaking surprised and overjoyed at the positive reception Girls Interrupted has received. All of you who have such kind things have truly inspired me to keep going on this. I can now say I'm rewatching seasons in the name of research! As always, feedback is welcome. I write because I enjoy it but also so other people can enjoy it, too. So, really, I’d love to hear any feedback or suggestions.

P.S. I’m having so much fun writing the interactions between Katya and the other queens, but I think my favorite part of this chapter is either an especially cheeky Sharon Needles line or the gym teacher/coach that is very loosely based on a straight Santino Rice

This chapter picks up right where the last chapter left off: Violet and Katya’s ice breaker activity…

Fortunately, Violet realized that she would—at the very least—have to cooperate with the menial activity. “Violet,” she supplied cooly.

Katya tried and failed to stifle her laugh. The raven-haired girl looked at her challengingly.

“Tha-that’s a good choice. Very good. I love every color!” Katya stammered as she wrote down Violet’s response. She couldn’t be sure if her partner was filling out her own worksheet, but Katya couldn’t bring herself to care that much. She just wanted this over and done with. Each moment she spent next to the cheerleader made her feel more and more inadequate. Violet was judging her; she felt small enough on her own.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Katya continued.

This one Violet was quick to answer, “Literally anywhere but here.”

Her passive face told Katya she wasn’t going to get a better answer. I’ll just put down ‘Everywhere. She loves to travel.’, she resolved. “I think it would be really cool to go to Russia,” Katya offered.

Violet’s eyes left her phone screen. They searched the face of the blonde across the table, traveled down to Katya’s communism-inspired name card, and finally met her partner’s ocean blue eyes. “No?” Her face contorted in mock shock. “Let me guess,” she pandered, “If you could have lunch with any famous person dead or alive, you’d choose Putin.”

“Good guess,” Katya shook her head with amusement, “But it’s actually Maria Bamford.” It was obvious that Violet had no idea who Maria Bamford was. However, a quick glance at the clock told her there wasn’t enough time left in the class for her to go off on another tangent. “What about you, Violet?”

“Dita Von Teese. Next,” she urged.

“What are your favorite TV shows?” Katya continued eagerly, excited that Violet was finally being an active participant.

Violet’s response was almost instant, “Forensic Files and Sex and the City.” Everything about the brunette screamed confidence and certainty—something that came through in everything that she did. Katya wished it were that easy for her.

“I really like Game of Thrones, The Heart She Holler, and Storage Wars: Northern Treasures…..It’s the Canadian version,” Katya trailed off. There was an unspoken ‘and?’ in Violet’s expression, but she couldn’t produce a single reason for why that mattered. But it had mattered. “Anyway…What’s next?” Katya pushed through her embarrassment. “Something I’m good at? Sleeping, I’m good at sleeping. I guess I’m very bendy. Flexible. I can do theater, too…”

“Just put down cheer for me,” Violet ordered without looking up from her own worksheet. The blonde hesitated at the instruction, and Violet let out an impatient huff. “What?”

Katya was quick to apologize, “Sorry, it’s just that I thought you might say something about fashion.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m-I’ve seen you in the halls before, and you look good. Great. Your clothes. You clearly put a lot of effort into your appearance, and I thou—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Violet spat. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend like you do.”

The blonde hurriedly scribbled down the word cheer under question five on her page and grabbed both of their papers. “Right. I’ll just go turn these in,” Katya fled the table without a thought. She had clearly angered Violet. Didn’t the popular kids like it when you stroked their egos? Katya wondered. She hadn’t meant to come off as judgemental. It was obvious that they weren’t on the same level, and hopefully Violet would understand that she hadn’t been trying to judge her. She only wanted to get to know the girl better, but she knew know how stupid she’d been to think that possible. No one like Violet would ever waste time on her. Sighing, she placed the two worksheets in a plastic turn-in bin labeled ‘4th’, and made her way back to her desk.

Katya had been disappointed that she had double A Lunch, but the forty minutes were the perfect break before pre-calculus. While it meant she could eat earlier, it also meant that she had no friends to eat with. Ginger and Bianca both had B Lunch. So Katya found herself on the steps of the stairs in the courtyard by the fine arts wing, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich. There was beauty in the simple things, though, and Katya could appreciate the warmth of the sun and the slight breeze that late morning.

Mrs. Hugh’s room was stuffy. Katya’s funfetti extravaganza was clinging to her yet again, but she couldn’t adjust the fabric too much without disrupting those around her. She wasn’t willing to risk it. Unlike in all her other classes, the blonde always sat front and center in math class. All of the numbers made a mess in her head, and it was easier if she had fewer distractions. No one else felt the same way, though. So when Alaska tumbled in just before the tardy bell, Katya was forced into yet another less than ideal situation.The sunny cheerleader didn’t share that sentiment. Alaska flashed Katya a hundred watt smile and whispered a hello.

Katya didn’t get Alaska. Alaska wasn’t your stereotypical dumb blonde. She struggled in some areas but always kept up with the pack. So she was smarter than she looked? Big deal. What Katya failed to understand was why such a kind, sincere, and smart person would allow herself to be bullied by her peers. The cheer squad clearly didn’t think she had brain cells; Alaska was practically their punching bag from what she’d observed. So why hang around?

Miss Honard, you are an enigma, Katya assessed.

Katya’s continued curiosity over the duration of  Mrs. Hugh’s introductory speech gained her a very important piece of information: if she couldn’t get the lanky blonde out of her head, she was going to have to let her in. And Katya would not be friends with a cheerleader.

Katya praised Marx for the district employee who put Bianca Del Rio in her history class. She and Bianca were unlikely friends—a high school mascot and a theater kid didn’t really run in the same circles—but made an unstoppable duo. Coach A., their teacher seemed to get a kick out of them too.

Bianca was an unexpected constant in Katya’s life. The self-proclaimed bitch was Spartacus, the high school mascot, and the two would never have overlapped if not for their shared love/hate relationship with theater. She was a year younger than Katya but that didn’t stop her from providing Katya with the tough love she needed to keep her head screwed on. Keeping her head on straight was out of the question; Bianca did what she could.

The two girls schlepped over to the far side of the school where the gym was located. Katya, who had made the dumb decision to postpone getting her PE credit for as long, was not looking forward to an entire year of physical activity. Bianca, on the other hand, basically earned herself a double off campus by taking on the role of mascot. And yes, she definitely took pleasure in rubbing the fact in Katya’s face. Sucks to suck.

The other shit thing about a 7th period gym class was that Katya would be in uncomfortably close proximity to the cheerleaders. It felt wrong—almost like she was breaking a nonexistent restraining order. What sick bastard decided the plebs in “team sports” should be forced to observe the pretty girls in peak physical capacity while they drowned in their own sweat? Katya didn’t know the answer, and you certainly couldn’t hold her accountable if they were suddenly beheaded.

One locker and a stack of unisex uniforms later, Katya found herself entertaining the musings of Sharon Needles, resident goth girl.

“‘I look spooky, but I’m really nice,’” Sharon had said when they were assigned lockers next to each other. The witchy teen had a thing for reading people—not that an anxious Katya was hard to see through—and took one look at her and saw a kindred spirit. The funfetti dress and clown shoes didn’t scream normal, either. Katya had been uncharacteristically optimistic about befriending Sharon for all of ten minutes before everything went to shit. Phi Phi O’Hara, Sharon’s mortal enemy, also happened to be in the class.

“I’m surprised you took gym, Party City. Wouldn’t want you to melt in your own sweat.” Phi Phi snarked. The playground bully reclined herself against the row of lockers across from them and examined her nails.

Katya groaned inwardly. Sharon groaned outwardly.

“Fuck off, Phi Phi,” Sharon begged. “Don’t you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice? My ears are bleeding and not in a pleasant way.”

“Eat shit and die, Shar Bear,” Phi Phi called over her shoulder as she skipped off to bother some other poor shmucks.

Phi Phi the schoolyard bully reminded Katya of the villain poodle in one of those Open Season movies. Ironically, that poodle was also named Fifi, which was funny because the poodle was also a boy. Fifi the poodle was groomed like a pretty purse dog and had a little blue bow in his hair. Katya was inclined to take Phi Phi O’Hara—who was not incredibly dissimilar to a trophy pet—just as seriously.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” Katya scrunched up her face.

“If you find out, let me know,” Sharon deadpanned. “I need a smoke.” Katya watched in amusement as the locker room’s resident goth chick removed a pack of Marlboro’s and a lighter from her leather jacket. Sharon caught the blonde’s expression and raised her fist in response. “Fight the system,” she stoically decreed. Katya shrugged as if to say “what can you do?” and gestured for Sharon to walk back to the gym with her.

Their gym class had been banished to the wooden bleachers so the cheerleaders could practice for that Friday’s Back-To-School Pep Rally. The two girls tucked themselves into a far corner on the top row, and Sharon finally lit up.

Coach Rice, who had taken attendance at the beginning of class, had stepped in to assist Coach Calhoun with cheer practice.

Katya and Sharon were fortunate enough to have an unobstructed view of the girls shamelessly throwing themselves at the older man. The majority of the bimbettes were faces she expected: Detox, Roxy, Willam, Courtney, Adore, and Laganja. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for one Violet Chachki to be the leader of the pack. Stratford’s mean queen never sought out attention, let alone fought for it. Miss Chachki was a one of a kind collectible, and the entire student body knew it. You either wanted her or wanted to be her.

Today, it seemed her flavor of choice was Santino Rice.

Katya udged Sharon with her elbow. “What do you make of that?” She consulted the other girl.

Sharon took a moment to complete her assessment. “I bet a girl that tightly wound is a real screamer in bed,” she answered smoothly. Katya had not been expecting any response of the sort and physically toppled over as she was seized by laughter. Katya’s wheezing drew the attention of those nearby, and Sharon had to hold her cigarette in her mouth so she could flip them off with both hands. They could mind their own fucking business.

Katya was still clinging onto Sharon’s thigh when her fit died down. “You bitch!” She shrieked.

“I’m not wrong,” Sharon defended, taking another long drag from her cigarette. “Ten bucks says she’s hitting on him right now.” In her best Valley Girl impression she crooned, “Oh, Coach Rice, can you help me with my form?”

Katya wasted no time in contributing to the impression. “Can we go to Red Lobster?” The blonde begged in her best Violet-esque bedroom voice.

The absurdity of the request and the thought of Violet, herself, saying those words caused Sharon to half cackle and half choke on her own smoke. Her throaty laugh bounced off of the walls, and this time, it wasn’t just a few pairs of eyes that turned to them.

Uh oh, Katya cringed, busted.

“Sharon Needles, put that shit out and march your ass on over to Assistant Principal Visage’s office!” Coach Rice demanded.

Katya facepalmed hard. What is wrong with you, you stupid whore? She groaned. It’s your fault she’s in deep shit, and she’s never going to speak to you again. The blonde was about to lose herself in an abyss of despair when Sharon’s voice filled the room again.

“Oh no!” Sharon drawled, “Whatever shall I do?” Katya had brought her head up to witness the spectacle and was met with Sharon’s shit-eating grin.

Katya raised her fist in solidarity, referencing Sharon’s anti-establishment words in the locker room. Her spooky new friend shot her a cheeky wink before saluting her corporate whistleblower and unhurriedly leaving the building.

Katya’s eyes left Sharon’s retreating form just in time to catch Violet glaring at her.

The blonde did her best not to worry. It wasn’t like Violet could have known they were talking about her, right?

The bell rang at 3:00, and Katya still hadn’t managed to put the captain of the cheer squad out of her mind. She spent her entire 8th period dodging Bianca’s questions and pleading for some all-knowing entity to tell her just where in life she had gone wrong. Definitely new year, same bullshit. Katya had attempted to begin her junior year with a more optimistic attitude, but after a first day for the history books, she was ready to call it quits.

You win, Stratford, you win. I am but a shell of a man. Woe is the poor soul who dare enter thee, Katya scowled.

The rest of Katya’s will to live vanished when she finally reached her trusty blue Beetle in the junior lot.

“Mother, I am want to commit death,” she muttered.

The cherry red convertible parked next to Katya’s car belonged to none other than Violet Chachki. The bright red exterior was blinding under the afternoon sun, and Katya had to squint to make out faces. A swarm of girls in uniform short skirts and halter tops formed a green and white sea around her only means of escape. Not wanting to engage with Violet for a third time that day, the blonde chose to turn on her heels and pop a squat on the curb.

It was going to be a long year.

[ourkinfolx]

No. 1: Fania

Fania Noel is a woman with plans. And not just the vast, sweeping plans like the dismantling of capitalism and black liberation. She also has smaller, but no less important, plans like brunch with friends, hitting the gym. 

“Every week, I put in my calendar the times I need to be efficient,” she explains. “So I put what time I work out, with my friends, my time to watch TV shows, to read. And after, I can give people the link to put obligations.”

The link she’s referring to is her online scheduling system connected to her personal website. It’s one I’ve become well acquainted with after our first two failed attempts to schedule interviews. We had plans to meet in person, in a Parisian Brasserie she’d recommended, but between canceled flights and buses, Skype turned out to be the most practical option. Our disrupted travel was just one in a long list of inconveniences brought on by the virus safety measures. It might even be said that the coronavirus also had plans. 

The global pandemic and subsequent slowing of—well, everything comes up a few times in our conversation. Like some of the other activists I’ve talked to, Fania sees a silver lining, an opportunity.

“This might be the only sequence of events in the history of humanity that you have the whole planet living at the same tempo, being in quarantine or locked down or slowed activity,” she says. 

“So we all have a lot of time to think about how [society is] fucked up or the weight of our lives in terms of this society. And I think we have to ask if we want to go back to this rushed kind of living. It’s really a game changer.”

I first heard of Fania, a Haitian born afro-feminist, earlier in the year, while talking to a Parisian friend about the need for more black spaces in the city. She angrily described how a few years ago, Fania tried to have an event for black women, only to be met with fierce backlash and derision from not just right-wing groups, but anti-racist and anti-Semitic groups. The event wasn’t actually Fania’s alone; it was an effort by Mwasi Collective, a French afro-feminist group that she’s involved with. 

Either way, it was a minor scandal. Hotly debated on French TV and radio. Even Anne Hidalgo, Paris’s mayor, voiced disapproval. Critics claimed the event, called Nyansapo Festival, was racist itself by exclusion because most of the space had been designated for black women only. 

Despite all the fuss, the Nyansapo Festival went on as planned. Several years later, following the killing of George Floyd and the international movement that followed, Anne Hidalgo published a tweet ending with the hashtag #BlackLivesMatter. I found it curious, she’s always struck me as more of an #AllLivesMatter type. 

I ask Fania if, given the tweet and possible change of heart from the mayor, she thinks her event would be better received in the current climate. She points out that there had been two Nyansapo Festivals since, with little to no media coverage, but seems overall uninterested in rehashing the drama. 

“We’re way beyond that now,” she says, shaking her head. She ends it in a way that will be familiar to anyone who’s ever been almost imperceptibly corrected by a black woman, and I quickly move on to the next topic. 

It’s not until later, when reading some of her other interviews, that I’m able to fully contextualize our exchange. It’s common for activists, especially those working in or belonging to a culture where their identity makes them a minority, to be asked to view their work through the lens of conditional acceptance of a larger group of oppressors and/or gatekeepers. Asking feminists what men think, asking LGBT how they plan to placate heterosexuals. In her dismissal, Fania resists the line of questioning altogether, and in another interview, she makes the point more succinctly when explaining why she doesn’t believe in the concept of public opinion: 

“As an activist, the core ‘public’ is black people and to think about the antagonism and balance of power in terms of our politics rather than its reception. It’s normal in a racist, capitalist, patriarchal society that a political [movement] proposing the abolition of the system is not welcomed.”

One might argue if you’re not pissing anyone off, you’re not doing anything important. 

Rolling Stone’s July cover is a painting featuring a dark-skinned black woman, braids pulled into a round bun on her crown. She has George Floyd’s face on her T-shirt and an American flag bandana around her neck. One of her hands is raised in a fist, the other holds the hand of a young black boy next to her. Behind her, a crowd, some with fists also raised, carry signs with phrases like Our Lives Matter and Justice For All Now. 

According to Rolling Stone, they tasked the artist, Kadir Nelson, with creating something hopeful and inspirational and he “immediately thought of Eugène Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading the People,’ the iconic 1830 painting that depicts a woman leading the French Revolution.”

Regarding his choice to center a black woman in the piece, he explains: “The people who were pushing for those changes were African American women. They are very much at the forefront in spearheading this change, so I thought it was very important for an African American woman to be at the very center of this painting, because they have very much been at the center of this movement.”

During our call, I mention the painting and ask Fania her thoughts on why, so often, we find black women at the forefront of any social justice or human rights movement.

“Women have always organized,” she says simply. “Women work collectively, they run organizations.” She points to the church and organized religion as an example. 

“Look at the composition of church. Who’s going to church, who’s going to ask for help from God?”

Anyone who’s spent time in the houses of worship for a patriarchal religion has vivid memories of the very present men in the room. From the booming voices and squared shoulders of the pulpit to the stern, sometimes shaming looks of brothers, uncles, fathers. But the women, often more numerous, run the councils and the choirs. Around the world women pray more, attend church and are generally more religious. And the men?

“In a context of church, it’s really acceptable to ask for help from God. Because it’s God,” Fania says. “But you don’t have a lot of black men, a lot of men in any kind of church.”

That isn’t to say that men, especially black men, are complacent. Fania notes that traditional activism goes against the patriarchy’s narrow view of masculinity. 

Activism, she explains, requires one to acknowledge they’ve been a victim of a system before they can demand power. And for a lot of men, that’s not an option. 

“They want to be seen as strong,” she says. “As leaders. They want to exert control.”

In short, both black men and women acknowledge the system would have us powerless, but while women organize to collectively dismantle it, men tend to stake out on their own to dominate it. 

Black capitalism as resistance isn’t new, and was more prominent during the civil rights movement, which was largely led by men. In 1968, Roy Innis, co-national director for the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) opined, 

“We are past the stage where we can talk seriously of whites acting toward blacks out of moral imperatives.” While CORE’s other director, Floyd McKissick, reasoned, 

“If a Black man has no bread in his pocket, the solution to his problem is not integration; it’s to get some bread.”

More recently the dynamics of this played out in real time on Twitter as Telfar, a black, queer-owned fashion label, sent out notifications of a handbag restock only to be immediately descended upon by a group of largely black, male resellers. Telfar describes itself as affordable luxury for everyone, and for many of the black women who buy Telfar, it exists as proof that class and fashion need not be so inextricably linked. But for the men who bulk purchased the bags just to triple the price and resell, these were just more items to wring capital out of on their quest to buy a seat at the table. 

Of course, it’s not unreasonable to argue that the purchase of a product, regardless of who makes it, as a path to liberation is still black capitalism. And in another interview, Fania specifically warns against this type of consumption. “Neoliberal Afrofeminism is more focused on representation, making the elite more diverse, and integration. This kind of afrofeminism is very media compatible. Like great Konbini-style videos about hair, lack of shades of makeup, and [other forms of] commodification.” But, she explains, “The goal is a mass movement where our people are involved, not just passively or as consumers.” 

But can consumption be divorced from black liberation if it’s such a key aspect in how so many black people organize? I bring up all the calls to “buy black” that happened in the wake of George Floyd. Some of it could be attributed to the cabin-fever induced retail therapy we all engaged in during quarantine. And for those of us who, for whatever reason, were unable to add our bodies to a protest, money seemed like an easy thing to offer. Buy a candle. A tub of shea butter. A tube of lip gloss. But what did it all really accomplish, in retrospect?

“We have to think about solidarity,” Fania explains. “Solidarity is a project. When we say support black-owned business, we still have to think about the goal, the project. So if we support coffee shops, bookshops, hair dressers that have a special place in the community and are open to the community and in conversation with the community, it’s good and it can help. But if it’s just to make some individual black people richer, it’s really limited.”

Black capitalism vs anti-capitalism remains an ongoing debate, but shouldn’t be a distraction. In the end, everyone will contribute how they best see fit and we still share a common goal. Besides, we’ll need all hands on deck to best make use of our current momentum. And that’s something Fania underscores in one of the last points she makes during our conversation:

“Something we have to repeat to people is that these protests: keep doing them. Because you have years and years of organization behind you. People came out against police brutality and a week later we’re talking about how we move towards the abolition of police, how we go towards the abolition of prison. How we move towards the end of capitalism. And this is possible because you have a grassroots organization thinking about the question even when no one else was asking it. So now we have the New York Times and the media asking if these things are possible. But that’s because even when we didn’t have the spotlight, we were working on the questions about the world after. And every day radical organizations, black liberation organizations, are thinking about the world after and the end of this system. And when protests and revolts happen, we can get there and say ‘we have a plan for this.’”

[starberry-cupcake]

Overall thoughts on Les Mis BBC

I decided, after all those summaries I made, to write what I hope can be a more coherent opinion on what I thought of the adaptation as a whole. I wanted to make sure to state that my critical reactions weren’t for entertainment purposes only or exaggerated for the fun of it but based on real concerns I’ll expand in this post. This is like the “serious companion”, if you will. 

I don’t know if anyone cares about it at this point, but I feel that even though my summaries helped me go through the immediate frustrations in a (mostly) lighthearted way, it’s the distance from having watched it all what gave me a little bit more clarity to order my thoughts. 

I’ve established my opinion isn’t worth a damn, I’m not smart or knowledgeable enough for this fandom and, needless to say, these are all my personal opinions, take them with a grain of salt or a bathtub of it. I’m a worthless nobody and my words have no value, but the internet is still (sort of) free, so here I go.  

Introduction: the initial news, Andrew Davies & the PR mess

BBC announced the adaptations of 2 media phenomenons which started as books that I love so much I’m considering tattoos of both. And, for both of them, my main concerns were on the person adapting the script. 

On the one hand, there’s His Dark Materials, a book series that made me the person I am today, pretty much. One of the directors is none other than Tom Hooper (what are the odds) and the script adaptation was in the hands of Jack Thorne. Cursed Child Jack Thorne. Yeah, not thrilled about that. 

Surprisingly enough, His Dark Materials was given a projection of 3 possible seasons, rather than just one, the 3rd hasn’t been yet confirmed but the fact that the script was made thinking on one season per major book on the series, and that each season has 8 episodes planned, at least gives me a bit of hope, even if the person adapting it isn’t in my favorites list. 

Les Mis, on the other hand, went to the hands of Andrew Davies, another person I don’t trust. 

I’m one of those folk who was never too fond of the ‘95 version of Pride and Prejudice, mainly because of how Darcy was made into a sort of sex symbol, where his flaws were seen as “attractive marks of broody character” rather than vulnerability and with gratuitous sexualizing fanservice. I know a lot of people love it for that and that’s cool, you do you, but it’s not for me. 

Then, when he adapted War and Peace, he talked about adding more sex to it and had the Kuragin siblings shown explicitly sleeping together from the get-go in episode 1 and that’s when I stopped watching (there were other things I didn’t like but that one was my limit). 

To make matters worse, it made me weary that Les Mis was getting an overall amount of only 6 episodes whereas HDM was getting a potential 24-ish. That was an odd choice. 

So, as you can guess, I knew coming in that Davies writing the script, a script with a limited time-frame for the story, was a huge risk. 

But, on the other hand, as the cast was announced, I got excited. Especially for people like Archie Madekwe, Turlough Convery, Erin Kellyman and some famous actors like David Oyelowo. Their filming logs on social media, how nice they all were and how much fun they had filming made me happy. I felt that maybe these great folks could turn around whatever the scrip had to disappoint me. 

But then came all the PR stuff. 

The more I read Davies & co. talking about the show, the less hope I had for it. Talking very badly about the musical and the 2012 movie, calling female characters “not complicated”, insulting Cosette, saying that Javert’s lack of explicit heterosexual sex in the brick was reason enough to push a homosexual narrative centered on an unhealthy behavior, patting themselves on the back for having a diverse cast as if no other adaptation of Les Mis had ever done it before...even their talks about Fantine’s make up made me weary. And, let’s not forget their ridiculous insistence on not having songs. 

By the time the show premiered, my hopes had dwindled. The excitement I had upon knowing there would be another Les Mis adaptation so soon, a BBC one at that, and with a cast I had hopes for, was blurred by all the nonsense of PR and I was more afraid than hopeful. 

In the end, after having watched it completely, and as you can see for my summaries, I was heavily disappointed. I’ll try to list some of my biggest concerns, in no particular order. 

I can’t be super extensive about it, because there are a lot of points to go over, but there are a lot of amazing opinion pieces out there about specific issues, so you don’t need me for that. 

Anyway, let’s delve into some of my biggest problems with BBC Les Mis.

Problem #1: The portrayal of femininity

Solely by the fact that Davies stated that women on Les Mis “are not terribly complicated” you know that things are not going to go all too well on that front. 

I’m going to pick 3 characters to showcase how badly women were portrayed in this: Fantine, Cosette and Éponine. I’ll leave other characters for another section. 

1. Fantine

I’ve talked about Fantine before, upon receiving some questions on my summaries, but I’ll try to explain it all in a more understandable way. 

The lens in which Fantine was seen was sexist from the get-go. The way in which the story was framed made the audience complicit in the choices she was making, choices that were negatively regarded by the narrative perspective alone. Her “fall to disgrace” was framed as her own decisions being incorrect, silly mistakes that were easily avoidable, and never regarded as the result of living in a society that was unable to contain her and see her as a valid human being. But we’ll get to that when we talk about the politics (or lack thereof) on this show. 

Like I said in my response before, the way in which Fantine is portrayed, even in the musical itself, varies greatly performance to performance. Patti LuPone performing I Dreamed a Dream after Fantine gets dismissed isn’t like Anne Hathaway performing it after she has become a prostitute and neither carry the same implications as Allison Blackwell in the Liesl Tommy’s Dallas modern production, influenced by her experience in apartheid South Africa. 

Still, the key element to developing Fantine’s portrayal, when it comes to sexism and the showcasing of her environment, has two layers: the actual oppression showcased in the source material and the contemporary interpretation or lens in which an adaptation will view it. 

In this version, Fantine’s character was toned down in her attitude. She was less reactive than in the brick, a lot more passive, a lot more of a tragic figure, which paired up with the fact that this adaptation covered her entire “fall to ruin”, from meeting Tholomyès onward, made her a victim of everything that happened to her. 

A victim of her own bad decisions, though, not of a social context that was failing her. 

But the worst part is in how the focus of the show is placed. You can have Fantine being a summarized version of herself, with less spunk, and still showcase through her that the circumstances she was in were permeated by an escalating force of social disadvantage and oppression. 

This adaptation made, like I said, the audience complicit in Fantine’s decisions as if she was a princess in a movie, unaware of the threats she was getting herself into by her own naive foolishness. 

Tholomyès is blatantly shady, clearly dishonest, not at all charming or in any way trustworthy and Fantine gets a “voice of reason” on a friend who tells her various times that he will eventually leave. There are a lot of red flags, blatant for the audience, that Fantine chooses to dismiss. The show focuses less on why Fantine trusted Tholomyès and more on her making a clear bad choice we all knew was doomed from the start. 

This becomes a problem once again when she chooses to leave Cosette with the Thénardiers. They are very clearly shady, very blatantly aggressive and ready to take advantage of her, visibly manhandling Cosette in front of her and asking for more money on the spot, and Fantine again naively ignores all of this. 

They do it again when she enters employment in Montreuil. She talks to Valjean himself in this version, and is asked repeatedly and with kindness if she has a family. The scene makes it seem as if she could have easily told the truth, especially because we were previously given a scene in which Fantine hears a speech talking about how Valjean is the Best Person Ever and could potentially help her. Still, she chooses to repeatedly lie and the show makes it seem less for necessity and more for a sense of pride of some sort. 

(Also, as a foreshadowing of creepy Valjean to come, there are some insinuations from her co-workers that she could seduce Valjean, which is confusingly placed and awkwardly added where it is.)

Then, after she’s dismissed, there’s a man in a post office who asks her, after receiving letters from the Thénardiers (to which she reacts a lot more passively than in the brick), why she doesn’t bring Cosette to live with her, in a condescending tone, as if he was stating the obvious. Fantine responds again as if she was doing it out of pride. The same man is the one to suggest her to start selling her body and then tell her she should have done it before selling her hair and teeth because “nobody would pay for her after that”. 

Every turn we’re met with ways in which Fantine’s decisions are seen as foolish in the eyes of the viewer. It’s like Blue’s Clues or Dora the Explorer when they ask stuff to the audience for the kids to say they shouldn’t do something. It’s patronizing as fuck, is what it is. And, yes, sexist. 

These narrative choices are sexist because they erase most of the social and political situation which made Fantine vulnerable in the first place, to push the tragic drama as if she was a victim of being “too naive”. It’s sexist because it makes the audience know from the get go that what Fantine is doing is a “bad choice”, easily avoidable mistakes that whoever writes is smart enough to sense are bad but poor naive Fantine can’t understand. 

It isn’t just that she’s called a whore a lot of times, that she’s smashed against walls and the ground hard enough that Lily Collins was actually hurt, that she’s shown explicitly being used by a patron on the street. It’s that all of it is done with the added layer of her having “chosen wrong”. That everything is framed as the consequences of actions that the narrative voice, as well as the audience, are smart enough to know are wrong, but poor little Fantine can’t handle.

Like many things in this adaptation we’ll see later, Fantine’s journey is framed more like the tragic end of a woman who didn’t know how to choose right and was punished for said choices rather than the result of an unfair society which didn’t allow women any freedom to choose and didn’t see them as worthy human beings. 

2. Cosette

When Andrew Davies called Cosette a “pretty nauseating character” in need of change, I knew I was up against one of those people. 

Cosette is probably one of the most underestimated female characters in literature, and adaptations tend to do her dirty very often. I’m not even fond of her interpretation in the musical all that much, which goes in tow with the interpretation of Éponine. I’ve seen my fair share of men on youtube claiming Gavroche should be the face of Les Mis rather than Cosette, I’ve received my fair amount of messages claiming she’s The Worst, I’ve seen it all. 

This adaptation does with Cosette something that, out of context, I would have thought impossible. They manage to somehow attempt to make her more “active” (they would call it “strong” but I have problems with that denomination) while making her even more of a helpless victim. It’s a pretty impressive oxymoron. 

Let’s begin with little Cosette. 

This adaptation does something very weird in that it only showcases Cosette’s storyline as a child when it serves other characters, but then intends to build upon the abuse by mentioning it or making it clear that adult Cosette remembers it well. 

So we see Cosette when she’s important to Fantine’s storyline, the Thénardiers’s storyline or Valjean’s storyline, but not much about her on her own, aside from one time she’s looking at dolls and another time when she’s being beaten up by Madame Thénardier, which could be also a moment for the Thénardiers and not solely for Cosette’s narrative. 

What I mean with this is that the view on her is reduced to a side character rather than a main one and, with that, her perspective on her own abuse isn’t taken into account. You don’t know how Cosette feels about things, you don’t see her perspective on it, you only see what others do to her but never get to see her side of it. For all the musical erases of her narrative, at least they give her Castle on a Cloud. 

It’s with little Cosette where we start to see this weird sense of sexually charged perception towards her relationship with Valjean. 

For some inexplicable and highly alarming reason, it’s implied by various witnesses in different occasions that Valjean’s intentions with Cosette may be inappropriate, and I would have let it slide as just people thinking The Worst out of living in a social context in which The Worst is most often the truth, hadn’t that perception carried throughout the series and mixed with Valjean’s erratic and possessive characterization. 

When Cosette grows up, she gains a bit more focus, but she also starts to be charged a lot more sexually. 

Both Cosette and Éponine are sexualized and objectivized in this adaptation. This will be addressed later, but most often than not this sexualization acts as an accessory to a narrative about masculinity. 

Cosette’s virtue, beauty and body are talked about and even exposed in various moments. They tell her she can’t be a nun because that would be “a waste of her beauty”. In that dreadful scene in the dress shop I talked about in summary 4, the shop assistant again implies that Cosette is Valjean’s lover and lets him see her in undergarments through the curtain, with clear intentions. Valjean’s erratic persona is intent on separating her from Marius, explicitly telling her he’s worried that she will be taken advantage of by men, bringing up Fantine’s history to her with that in mind, while putting her in danger and in the company of the Thénardiers again, in more than one occasion. 

Adult Cosette has visible signs of the trauma she suffered, which is an interesting direction to go. I haven’t seen an adaptation taking such a big route on her remembering her past abuse, and is a change that worked in performance, Ellie did some great visible responses like covering herself when Valjean wakes her up or going fight or flight every time she sees Thénardier. She is visibly upset when Marius gives him money and looks both angry yet still hesitant when she sees the man for the last time. 

But all that kind of loses its importance when the men around her not only don’t give a shit but also do their worst. 

Valjean manhandles her, harms her even, pushes her to the limits of her emotional state by taking her to see the prisoners intentionally after she mentioned prison, acting more possessive than caring and more erratically violent than conflicted and concerned. 

Marius has a somewhat wet dream about her and then again dreams with her in confusing ways when he’s out of the barricade, with his grandfather talking about her as if she’s a piece of meat even after he meets her and she’s right in front of him. 

They tried to make Cosette more aggressive, I think, more reactive, which in some moments worked. But when the lens in which she’s viewed is objectivizing, when she’s being commented on, offered and treated as an object, then it isn’t enough. It makes it worse, actually. 

I’m sorry for Ellie, though, she did good. 

3. Éponine

Much like Cosette, Éponine’s childhood was all but a few cameos. It’s very often that adaptations try to “tone down” Éponine in order to pull a narrative of her as an underdog in a love triangle, the “friendzoned” girl who tragically dies. The musical does that, for example. 

Some of Éponine’s most controversial actions in the brick tend to be most often deleted or changed, except for adaptations in which she’s an “enemy” to Cosette’s narrative of a classic heroine. 

It isn’t easy to find adaptations that are able to make Éponine showcase the complexity of her canon character not as a problem but as what makes her character so good and important in the overall story. Hey, even fandom sometimes tends to romanticize Éponine as if she had to be “redeemed” in order to be seen as a worthy character (but that happens a lot with female characters in general). 

Éponine doesn’t exist for Marius’s narrative, as the other girl in a love triangle, or for Cosette’s narrative, as an enemy, she’s her own character with her own reason for existing and complex human dynamics that are extremely permeated by the social circumstances she’s immersed in and represents. 

I’d say this adaptation is on the group that uses her for Marius’s storyline.

Added to that, it’s one of the worst I’ve seen on that case, because in this one, Marius is complicit of Éponine’s intentions, which are sexualized to a degree I don’t feel comfortable with. 

We’ll talk a bit more about the Marius side of things later, but for Éponine, it meant she was reduced to a character that exists to sexually awaken Marius rather than a tragic figure on her own or even a piece of a love triangle. So, basically, this is the worst I’ve seen in a while. 

This is clearly seen in that interview when Davies explained why he added that “wet dream” scene, saying:

“One of the best things Hugo does is to have Eponine tease Marius with her sexiness because he is a bit of a prig. So I have introduced a scene where Marius, even though he is in love with Cosette, has a wet dream about Eponine and feels rather guilty about it. I think it fits into the psychology of the book.” Source

Let’s leave out the part where he considers that to be “one of the best things Hugo does” because I cannot deal with that right now. Let’s focus on the other bit.

Like this quote suggests and I said before, Éponine was rather reduced to a tool for Marius’s sexual awakening. In this version, it isn’t only the “wet dream” which precedes more crucial interactions between Marius and Éponine, there’s also a scene where she strips for him through the hole in the wall and another where Courfeyrac is commenting on her and Azelma as Marius moves into the building for the first time. 

By the time Marius gives her his money and any sort of bond can occur, it’s evidently clear in this version that Éponine has been teasing Marius and he is fully aware of it. He looks at her through the peep hole licking his lips and then has that disturbing dream where she’s kind of forcing him onto her in a very questionable way. 

So, this Marius is by no means unaware of the fact that Éponine was attracted to him in some capacity and has played along her seduction, which makes his dismissal of her and his request for her to find Cosette a lot like he is using her for his own gain and replacing her for another girl. 

Éponine’s attitude, much like Cosette’s, tries to be more active at times. She’s confrontational to her parents, seems protective of Azelma and is pleased to see her mother stuck in jail. 

However, much like with Cosette, any kind of agency is compromised for having her narrative be serving a male character’s development rather than her own. Her involvement in the barricade is also somewhat modified but, by that time, her journey has already been substantially affected. 

Much like Ellie, Erin was a very good Éponine when she was allowed to perform at her best and I wish she had been involved in an adaptation that was able to portray Éponine with more justice. 

I’ll talk a bit more about women on the show in general in problem #3 but, for now, let’s move on. 

Problem #2: The portrayal of masculinity

1. Javert

I am not the best person to write an essay on Javert, there are a lot of people more capable than me for that, and I may be called out for this and mess everything up, but I can’t write overall opinions without mentioning my issues with his characterization, at least summarized. 

Javert is a complicated character. He is, as much as everyone else, affected by the circumstances and a man who goes through a huge emotional impact and sees his values questioned and compromised. His and Valjean’s journeys have a lot in common, in different ways and with different outcomes. 

Sadly, Javert tends to be seen as a villain in a lot of adaptations. It’s a way to simplify the plot in the way movies tend to do: something is defined by what the other isn’t, if Valjean is the protagonist, then Javert must be his antagonist. I was worried that this version was going to fall into that trap, because of time restraint and Davies’s tendencies of simplifying complex characters. 

Javert’s characterization was erratic, much like Valjean’s. His attitude was blurred by fits of rage and moments of confusing violence, followed by charged pauses in strange cadences which tended to fluctuate. I don’t think his attitude was as all-over-the-place as Valjean’s, but it was certainly not as well defined as other Javerts I’ve seen through the years. 

This Javert, however, had a choice made for him that separates him from other versions: 

Over tea in central London, Davies tells me that he was surprised to discover that, in Hugo’s 1862 novel, neither character [Javert or Valjean] mentions any sort of sexual experience, leaving the 82-year-old screenwriter wondering, at least in the case of Javert, whether it was indicative of a latent homosexuality. Source 

There is a lot to unpack there. 

First, there’s this idea of masculinity in which the lack of explicit heterosexual intercourse in canon is directly representative of homosexuality. I’m not gonna delve a lot in the brick but there are a good bunch of characters you can easily read as gay. Hell, there’s that whole thing going on with comparing Enjolras and Grantaire to greek couples. And if you want to write Javert as gay, go ahead, there’s a lot of fanfiction out there who is with you on that and I’m here for all interpretations, no problem at all.   

But if you’re going to take that route, you need to be careful with your optics. 

This Javert is, at the end of the day, in this adaptation, a gay man of color. He is also explicitly obsessed with Valjean in a way that exceeds his sense of justice. He looks at him undress in prison, is all over his personal space while he’s in chains and later interrogates him believing Marius is his lover, clearly attempting Valjean to confess to him if he was. He receives a lot of comments from an officer who touches him and looks at him strangely in the last episode, prompting an immediate rejection from him. 

Everything points to Javert’s homosexuality being in the plot only as a further motivator for his need to capture Valjean, which makes for both a problematic portrayal of predatory homosexuality and a subsequent narrative of police abuse, both very problematic aspects to portray through a gay man of color. The way he acts and the way in which people act around him make it seem like his obsession with capturing him is fueled by the fact that Valjean represents his closeted feelings and that is all kinds of messed up. 

He is also clearly not as involved in other aspects of the law as he is in capturing Valjean, since Thénardier ends up being a secondary worry to him, even explicitly knowing he has been mistreating and abusing a child, and he also explicitly doesn’t care about his achievements or the ones of his other officers as long as Valjean is on the loose. He lets Thénardier escape prison on his watch and doesn’t take care of it himself, prioritizing Valjean. 

It isn’t about what happens in canon or not but in how all of this, in this version, is framed under this idea that Javert is also gay and has an obsession with Valjean that seems predatory in part, rather than fueled by his beliefs. And that is a dangerous optic to write a gay character under. Especially a police officer who is also a man of color. 

I’m not the one to talk about that, it’s not my experience to tell and I’m not going to speak over those whose experience this is, but as a content creator, I’d question if my need to diversify is stepping over the lines of problematic aspects that may ill represent the identities I’m trying to integrate. Just saying.

David’s performance hits some very good moments, especially when Javert starts contemplating suicide. That is a very important scene in every adaptation and a very amazing chapter in canon and David does well in performing the turmoil in Javert’s decision. They also add, as a voice in off, the notes he left to improve the service, which is a great touch. 

But, much like the other characters I mentioned, his performance is blurred by these writing choices in which Javert has been added this sort of predatory sense in which Valjean in jail symbolizes also keeping his identity hidden away. Davies would probably say his “desires” because that’s the kind of guy he is. 

I hope my opinion isn’t overstepping anyone’s voice and I’ll leave the further of this discussion to someone more appropriate, but I felt it was an important matter to include and something we all, as media consumers, must pay attention to. 

2. Marius

I had higher hopes for this boy, I really did. 

The good thing this adaptation does for Marius is give him a bit more room than others do. They touch more on his relationship with his father and his grandfather, they bring up the Thénardier connection to his dad, they introduce Mabeuf, and they bring him on as a kid in the beginning, which even though questionable in comparison to him having more development as a child than Cosette and Éponine, at least helped to introduce him as another key character of the whole story. 

I had hopes that this earlier introduction, albeit unfairly unbalanced with Cosette’s and Éponine’s, would allow for his character to develop more strongly, especially since politics were very present in his conversations with his grandfather and the ideals of his dad. I thought that by introducing politics through Marius that would allow his connection to Les Amis de l’ABC be more profound when the moment for revolution came. 

Yeah, no, that didn’t happen. 

Les Mis is a book where people are the heart and soul of it. With that in mind, characters aren’t like each other, they aren’t repetitions of the other’s attitude, they are diverse reflections of the complexity of humanity. The portrayal of masculinity in characters like Javert, Valjean, Gavroche or each individual member of Les Amis aren’t the same between each other, and neither are the same as Marius’s. 

Marius represents a very wide emotional spectrum. He’s sensitive and vulnerable, passionate and driven, but at the same time can take action into his own hands when he has to and fight, even at the cost of his own life. There are layers in Marius. Like a Rogel cake. 

I don’t want to generalize but a problem I have often with older male writers is that they see emotional complexity as weakness, especially when it comes to the portrayal of masculinity. There’s this idea in which something that is undefined or conflicting isn’t “strong” enough and therefore requires forcing. 

Remember that quote I brought up for Éponine’s characterization? we’re going back to that. To Davies calling Marius “a prig” in need of being seduced. 

Like I said, this version made Marius complicit in Éponine’s advances and aware of her sexually charged intentions, and this was made in an attempt to “upgrade” Marius’s masculinity and make him “less of a prig”. Because in order to be a Man, Marius needs to objectivize women. Apparently.  

Like I mentioned, the gesture of Marius giving Éponine the little money he had ended up being a lot less effective by the fact that he had already fantasized about her more than once, and with her knowing that. He is taken to a brothel by Courfeyrac and Grantaire in which women pretty much throw themselves at him while he looks for Cosette. The “wet dream” he has is a very eerie combination of idealization and assault, in which Éponine, taking Cosette’s place, forces him onto her (much like Davies is forcing this onto Marius).

It isn’t about sex or eroticism being introduced to Marius’s storyline, is that they appear forced and almost violently thrust upon him in order to validate him in this idea of masculinity the adaptation seems to have, which seems to be very narrow. 

And, with that in mind, we’ll move on to the last bit of this section.

3. Valjean

I am unable to write a piece about how many layers of wrong this Valjean embodied. 

There are a lot of good tumblr scholars and Les Mis experts talking about it already, they can explain better than I ever could, but we need to, at least, try to glimpse at the mess this was, because this is a post on problems and this was a major one. 

There are a lot of interpretations of Valjean, some of which are astronomically awful. He’s a character that can be easily fucked up, maybe because he also represents a very complex range of emotions, a very wide spectrum of masculinity, and is inserted in a wide variety of social contexts and spheres during his lifetime, which permeate his way of living as well as his agency to do things. 

Any adaptation of Les Mis from the get go starts with the challenge of representing all of this in a limited time frame and with a limited perspective. It’s very difficult to translate not only all of this complexity but also all the thoughts the narrator can rely, all the feelings and conflicts and internal turmoil that we can get from the book because it’s written. 

The musical, in that sense, has some elements from its medium that help, like the soliloquies, the changes of key, the ability for characters to bear their souls through song without interrupting the believability of the story. 

Representing Valjean without a medium that allows a peek inside his head is a big challenge. He is a character whose turmoil is most often interior, so showcasing that externally poses difficulty. 

Still, you can’t fuck up this much, my dude.  

I’ve seen bad Valjeans in my life, this one is...complicated. He’s not good, don’t get me wrong, but he isn’t as clear-cut godawful as others I’ve seen, he’s too erratic to be easily described. 

I think this adaptation tried to showcase complexity through visible emotional distress and physical violence. Instead of having a soliloquy or symbolism, we have Valjean shouting or screaming or burning his hand with a coin and staring at it for a while or shouting at nuns or carrying Cosette by force so hard her arm is in pain. 

Everything gets even more confusing when everyone around him treats him weirdly. 

You get years of exposition clumsily thrown at you via a speech Fantine hears when she arrives at Montreuil and he’s been elected. You get girls looking at him naughtily and suggesting Fantine to try to seduce him. You get inkeepers and Thénardier suggesting his intentions with child Cosette aren’t appropriate. You get women in dress shops thinking his intentions with young adult Cosette aren’t appropriate. You get Javert thinking his intentions with Marius aren’t appropriate. Everyone wants to talk about Valjean’s sex life or something, I don’t know. 

His attitude towards Cosette is also muddled by this erratic behavior and the very strange way in which he sees her and Fantine. 

He is visibly more worried about men taking advantage of her, of “defiling” her, than other dangers she could be in, like his identity being found out by the police or her falling in the hands of the Thénardiers again. He forcibly removes her from Marius’s presence and has a fight with her about it that ends on him taking her to see the prisoners. He knows she still, as an adult, visibly flinches when she’s approached harshly yet manhandles her when he wants to keep her locked up. 

There’s something possessive about this Valjean that ties in to how Cosette is portrayed as an object. He talks about Cosette as if she was something he needs to keep, says Marius will “rob” her, not because he wants to be a good father or see her happy but because she is his to have. 

This Valjean feels as if Cosette was his attempt to get rid of the guilt he feels for having failed Fantine more so than anything else. She’s less of a person and more an object he needs to keep for himself like a third candlestick. That’s the impression I got of their relationship with his characterization. 

By the time the series ended, I felt upset with Valjean. 

I didn’t care if he died, I didn’t care if he suffered. And that’s pretty shitty for a Les Mis adaptation to prompt. He made me feel uncomfortable, uneasy, as if he was the last person I would trust to take care of a young girl. And whatever internal journey he was going on wasn’t developed well enough to understand any of these choices. 

I don’t know, like I said, I’m not an expert of the subject of Jean Valjean, but I’m pretty sure this is not how you adapt him. 

Problem #3: Diversity without optics

This show hadn’t even started and it was already patting itself on the back for being diverse. 

Now, if you haven’t been in the world of Les Mis for too long, let me tell you there are a lot of adaptations which are diverse, and not only of the musical. In itself, it wasn’t a pioneer move, but I was nonetheless happy that they were going to pay attention to that. At the end of the day, Les Mis is about society, about oppression, and adaptations of it should represent the diversity of the social landscape of the time and place they’re created in. 

That being said, diversity in a highly political storyline needs to be carefully worked through, because without optics you can make questionable choices. And, you guessed it, questionable choices were made here. 

I can’t and won’t go over all of the issues with this that there are, but I can give a few examples. 

There is, of course, the always present argument of casting Fantine and Cosette white and the majority of the Thénardiers and Éponine as poc. And of casting the majority of Les Amis as white and the majority or most visible part of Patron Minette as poc. People have discussed this at length so I won’t go over that. 

There is also how constantly woc were cast in roles of service, some of which were questionable given the context. Simplice, for example, is cast this way, which I overlooked at the time but as it kept escalating with other characters like Matelote and eventually Toussaint, it grew a bit more complex. 

Toussaint was...a very problematic choice. 

When you present the character of a “housekeeper” in a period series which is meant to represent France in the 1800s, and she is a woman of color, some alarms start ringing. I don’t specialize in French history, but my instincts were proven correct when I checked various sources on dates, after seeing the episode, and I’m quoting wiki for easier access here: 

Slavery was first abolished by the French Republic in 1794, but Napoleon revoked that decree in 1802. In 1815, the Republic abolished the slave trade but the decree did not come into effect until 1826. France re-abolished slavery in her colonies in 1848 with a general and unconditional emancipation.

This series has a weirdly set timeline in comparison to the book but, for all intents and purposes, we’re in the early 1830s at the time she’s first introduced, correct? There was still an unstable situation regarding abolition at the time. The general emancipation hadn’t been yet stated in the colonies and the decree had just been starting to hold effect. 

I know this show is casting in a general way as a suspension of disbelief of some historical facts and I’m all for diversity in casting in period dramas, regardless of anything else, if it’s allowing for representation in media. 

But, at the same time, you need to be careful with your optics. She could have been cast as anyone else.

I don’t wanna go over this a lot because I don’t know enough about these parts of French history nor is it my story to tell, but the problem is in the erasure of conflicts or racism altogether as a way to prompt a shallow sense of diversity in a story that is directly linked with the subject of oppression. 

Let’s continue with another similar optics problem involving “diversity” to exemplify this issue further, so that I can clarify. 

This barricade had women on it and didn’t have Combeferre. 

Now, here is the thing about that. In the barricade my man Combeferre gives an amazing speech about women and children. 

In case you weren’t aware, the 1800s were the moment when European women and children barely started to be seen as separate members of society and not only “men but worse” and “men but small”. There are a lot of good articles about that, including one by Martyn Lyons about the new readers of the 19th Century, which changed the course of the editorial market, those being women, children and working class men, who didn’t have access to literature or literacy before that. The idea of childhood as we know it started then, and the later editions of the Grimm fairy tales was one of the first published books of fairy tales explicitly aimed at children’s education. And since a lot of us, in other places of the world that aren’t Europe, were colonized af or barely getting free from colonial governments in the 1800s, we kinda had to go with the flow, regardless of the social structure of native peoples, because colonialism sucks. 

But you all came here for Les Mis so, let’s get back to that. 

As this terrible and summarized dive into history implies, women and children were vulnerable to the fucked up state of social strife. Education was scarce and only accessible to some, employment was scarce and only accessible to some, food was scarce and only accessible to some. Most often than not, “some” did not include women and children. 

In comes the the sun to my moon, Combeferre, with his speech. 

He talks about all of this. Basically he talks to men who are the main providers of families, providers of women and children who depend on them and goes (I’ll paraphrase) “it’s our fault as a society that women can’t be here now, it’s our fault they don’t have the same possibilities and education we do, so at least do them a solid and don’t die today here if they depend on you to live, because the only possibility they have without your support is prostitution”. It was a fucking power move to include that on Les Mis. I mean, the entire book is a call out to the social and political situation, but damn. 

So yes, there aren’t women there but the reason for it is that patriarchy sucks and the consequences would be disastrous for them. 

Davies & co. pretty much didn’t give a shit about this. But, at this point, considering Problem #1, who’s surprised. 

They removed Combeferre, his speech and placed random women on the barricade, as if nothing of that was going on and the patriarchy didn’t exist. Because ~diversity~. 

The fact that they thought more woke to put some random women there on the barricade to die fighting instead of acknowledging the existence of sexism altogether pretty much sums up what this whole show thought diversity was. 

For them, diversity wasn’t a political and social standpoint born from reality, a way to represent the dynamics of oppression that are at stake even on this day, but an aesthetic. 

And, talking about speeches, let’s move on to the next bit. 

Problem #4: Where are the politics?

1. The social and political landscape

Les Mis adaptations have a fluctuating balance with politics and social conflicts. 

That is, at the end of the day, the very core of the existence of this story, the reason why still, to this very day, it is relevant and quoted, adapted and regarded is the fact that we still need it. 

All of us, as human beings living as members of society, are always immersed in political decisions. It’s not only unavoidable, it’s part of our lives as people living together. 

In the same way, the personal narratives of the characters of Les Mis are intrinsically linked to this landscape. They are set in different places of the social spectrum and hold different power dynamics and actions that relate to political standpoints. 

Adaptations tend to work this in very different ways. 

Some focus less on the politics and more on the social strife, with a greater focus on the characters. Others re-insert the characters in other different historical moments with the same levels of social and political strife. Others just copy-paste the situations and put them in another context, without really explaining what revolution it is, what they’re fighting for and why they’re being killed. The focus varies. 

It seems, for how this adaptation starts, with Waterloo and a subsequent argument between Gillenormand and Baron Pontmercy about Napoleon, that politics are going to be important. This doesn’t last very long. 

My biggest issue with the introduction of these circumstances is that they don’t bother on them but then attempt to use them for gratuitous self righteousness. It isn’t that they abandon them altogether, they overlook them but then attempt to use them for shock value. 

There is a constant use of exaggerated, almost cartoon-y, stagings of social depiction: 

- You have Gillenormand dining with his boys, in a luxurious and incredibly flamboyant scenery, while dissing political views in an almost comical fashion 

- You have beggars downright assaulting Valjean and Cosette on the street right outside the convent, as a means of shock to Cosette’s expectations of the world outside of it

- You have Fantine’s entire sequences as a prostitute with higher and higher degrees of abuse 

- You have the streets before the barricades, in some sort of confusing clamor that loses focus in favor of Valjean’s storyline 

- You have a god awful last scene which attempts to say something socially compromising by showcasing the kids Gavroche was helping (I don’t think they’re siblings in this version), as a means to say “the revolution wasn’t successful and social strife will always continue” I guess, I don’t know, because it’s not like they gave a shit about it all before, so this kind of Perrault-ish moral of the story at the end makes no goddamn sense

They are exaggerated snippets of things without context, with very little exposition, that are used more as props to shock than they are to actually take a stand on what the original story is trying to tell. 

Even the reality Fantine has to suffer is blurred by the fact that the social situation isn’t seen as much as a reality in itself but a combination of Fantine’s “choices” and Valjean’s “guilt”. 

But, in order to delve more into the non-political aspect of this adaptation, let’s focus on some specific characters. 

2. Enjolras

Well, I’ve seen a lot of Enjolrai in my life (is that be the plural of Enjolras? yes? no? can it be?). 

Enjolras has very different characterizations, even within fandom itself, but we can all agree that he’s a) highly political, b) highly committed to the cause and c) extremely charismatic. 

And when I say “charismatic” I mean it in the sense that his speeches are so beautifully crafted, so certain and commanding, that you just wanna listen to what he has to say, regardless of your views. They’re political discourse but also very poetic, which is a very interesting literary opposite to Grantaire’s voice, but I digress. 

Still, Enjolras doesn’t stand on his own. 

He represents a part of a whole, an important part, but a part nonetheless. Les Amis are a very diverse mixture of individuals, and the main triumvirate represents different stances on the same political action that coexist together. 

Without others to stand with, Enjolras loses context. Not because he can’t support himself as a character, but because his biggest value is within other people. 

This Enjolras is confusing, angry and loses a lot of steam when most of the people who should be around him aren’t really paying attention. 

Courfeyrac, although performed really well, doesn’t really get a chance to show his political ideas without Enjolras around, and that makes it seem like he’s being convinced to participate rather than doing it for his own reasons and being one key part of the group. 

In the barricade, Enjolras acts as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, and the other half he doesn’t give a shit about killing soldiers, smiling and laughing while shooting people. 

It isn’t just that the scene with Le Cabuc doesn’t exist, Enjolras doesn’t seem to have empathy, which is all given to Grantaire instead. 

By taking away Enjolras’s vulnerability, his complexity, they make him seem more shallow overall, and in tow, make his cause lose importance. 

And without a clear political standpoint, because his expositions about the situation are very shout-y and unclear, and his speeches are summarized with some actual quotes but without their meaning and true feeling, he seems to be fighting just because, rather than having strong ideals. 

Enjolras in the brick is eloquent enough, humane enough, that you understand what he’s doing and why. This Enjolras is a mess that I couldn’t understand at all. 

I don’t think people who have never seen, read or heard of Les Mis before will understand Enjolras as a character through this. He’s just a very angry student with weird facial hair (why?) who rants in a cafe while his friends are playing games and making jokes, who is friends with some workers and is the leader because he shouts the loudest but doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing. 

And, worst of all, doesn’t seem to care for human life. Which brings me to the next bit...

3. Grantaire

Man, was I excited with this casting choice. 

When I heard Turlough was playing Grantaire, I was delighted. And, at the end of the day, his performance was very good, but for a character who wasn’t quite Grantaire at times. 

I mean, he wasn’t as off as Enjolras, but he was also so erratically written. 

They decided to make Grantaire hesitant rather than a cynic. He didn’t get to express his cynicism or his attachment to his friends (what friends though? only Bossuet had a name other than Courfeyrac and Enjolras) and his involvement with the fight was shown as insecure rather than questioning of ideals. 

He is shown conflicted when he decides to fight with them, he doesn’t have any of his long speeches, the Barrière du Maine scene or anything of the sort. He is just...hesitant about death, I guess. About dying and killing people. That’s his conflict. 

This has, to me, two big problems attached to it. 

First, it’s a simplification of the entirety of Grantaire’s thoughts. It’s taking the cornucopia of drunken philosophy that Grantaire’s voice in the brick represents and replacing it with a single fear, which while very valid doesn’t reflect Grantaire’s true extensive complexities. 

Second, it takes away from Enjolras’s humanity. Enjolras is showcased as an indiscriminate machine of shooting soldiers while Grantaire is conflicted about having to do this and, in tow, makes Enjolras’s rejection of him when he leaves and gets drunk like a jerk move of an insensitive asshole. 

There isn’t a clear instance of Enjolras giving Grantaire a chance to do something before the barricade and Grantaire failing at it, with all the dominoes symbolism and all the stuff it implies. There isn’t a complementary set of complexities between each other. Grantaire seems to care about human life more than Enjolras does in this version, at the end of the day, because Enjolras’s speeches, even if carrying canon quotes, are inserted in a context in which he laughs while shooting people, knowingly sends Gavroche into danger and chastises Grantaire for being conflicted about human lives at stake.  

So, instead of representing Grantaire’s true complexity as a character, they chose to give him something else that they think makes him more dimensional, when, in reality, takes away from his (and Enjolras’s) worth as a character. 

All of this is very weirdly intersected with drunken jokes. Sometimes, the jokes and the behavior pays off and is inserted in good moments, sometimes they just don’t know when to stop and they kind of ruin their death scene with them, which is even worse considering it’s one of the few where they’re actually holding hands. 

Overall, I think this was a simplification of Grantaire, in a way, a simplification which falls apart without a solid context to exist in. And it’s a pity, because Turlough was good. 

4. Gavroche 

The only reason I’d want an immediate new adaptation of Les Mis is so we can cast this same Gavroche in a decent one. He’s one of the best Gavroches I’ve ever seen, hands down. 

In this case, the problem isn’t with his interpretation or how he was written, necessarily, and all time frame and socio-political simplifications aside, the problem is in how the context reacts to him. 

A lot of Gavroche’s agency is deleted in this version. 

For starters, his age is kind of all over the place at the beginning. He’s fine by the time of the barricade, but before it’s kind of a mess. As a result, he lives with his parents for a bit longer than necessary and the few times we see him on his own, being his independent self, are in conflict with how his involvement in the main events come to happen. 

It feels as if he’s been used in the barricade. When he’s off to find bullets, only Marius tries to get him back to safety, while the rest cheer him and laugh. 

His character is well performed and we get to see his personality and his situation when he’s allowed to act on his own, but within the context he’s inserted in, he seems more like a prop than a character. 

This makes it so that when he dies, you’re upset more so than sad. It doesn’t feel like a tragic circumstance born out of a lot of layers of social strife which culminate in a dead end for a kid who deserved a better life. It feels like every adult around him, every person he encounters, either neglects him, mistreats him or sends him into danger. It feels, much like with Fantine, like an easily avoidable situation. 

And things get worse with this guy:

Like I said in my summary, this David Harbour-ish soldier is the one who is shown to mercilessly kill both Gavroche and execute Enjolras and Grantaire. 

This is another layer in the modus operandi of an adaptation who uses social oppression and political strife as shock value rather than commentary and discourse. 

By personalizing “evil” in one stern, mean, unreasonable, power-hungry soldier, they’re villanizing (and trivializing) the social context as a whole. It isn’t about how Gavroche got to that point, how we as a society failed so hard that he has to die in that way. It’s just one bad guy. 

But then, they try to be fake deep about it, by doing that last scene with his brothers or by placing him alongside Mabeuf and Éponine but not explaining what that means, why those juxtapositions are socially relevant and important to the plot (maybe they don’t know why). 

Overall, this was such a waste of a great Gavroche that I just feel really bad. Reece deserved so much better. 

5. The barricade

Needless to say, this barricade was more of a mess than you would have expected. 

The lack of proper introduction to the political landscape, the clumsy exposition, the out of context shout-y speeches and the erratic behavior of its characters, paired together with the fact that it ends about 1/4 into the last episode, giving more time to personal drama than any of what happens in it, makes it one confusing mess. 

It’s also in the barricade where it’s super clear how visually similar this series is to the 2012 movie. A lot of visual choices are extremely similar, even when they didn’t need to be (Fantine’s and Cosette’s hair choices? the shots in the hulks? the scaled down yet very similar camera angles and movements during the entire fight? the color schemes of some particular scenes?), and it’s pretty heightened in this barricade. 

Which I wouldn’t care about hadn’t they talked crap about the movie during their entire PR campaign. 

Like I said, there were so many issues within the people involved in the barricade. With the women, with the characters, with the soldiers. There was also a very strangely set line between workers and students that they were very clumsy about setting yet didn’t get to do much aside from having the leader of the working class men leave when Enjolras prompted it. 

By the way, Enjolras was a lot less convinced about the whole ordeal in this version, which made his characterization even more confusing. 

The barricade had a lot of messed up ingredients and not enough time to even simmer. At least the musical, which doesn’t have a lot of time dedicated to the students either, has Drink With Me, which doesn’t only serve as a way to characterize different students and their beliefs and personalities (“Is your life just one more lie?”) but also brings some melancholic change of pace, a pause between the action. 

The highlight of this barricade, though, is Marius going apeshit with the torch. 

But, all in all, there’s no much we can expect from a barricade born of confused ideas and even more confusing characterizations. This barricade feels less like a climax and more like a thing they had to do because it was in the book. 

And don’t even make me talk about how they butchered my favorite speech. I’d rather not have it there at all, tbh. 

Conclusion: A writer’s ego

We arrive to the end of this long and boring trip through my thoughts. If you’re reached this point, thank you for your time. 

All in all, I feel like a lot of the issues of this adaptation stem from the fact that Davies thinks he’s better than everyone else and other men around him agree so much that they let him do as he pleases, without questioning anything. 

I can’t really understand how you’re going through the script of this and see some of these choices (like the dress shop scene, the carriage scene and let’s not even mention the peeing in the park scene) and you go, and I’m quoting Shankland here:

“Andrew’s scripts made these characters feel modern. That was nothing to do with having them speak in a very modern way or changing their behaviour, he just found the humanity and earthiness of it,” Shankland says, recalling a scene in which Fantine and her companions urinate in a Paris park. “I thought, ‘Oh god, they’re going to pee in Les Misérables, that’s exciting.’” Source

That just sums it all up, doesn’t it? 

After I watched this, I let some time pass. I watched all 3 fanmade adaptations that are currently out at this moment (back to back), revisited some of the ones I had seen before, read fics, read people’s articles and rants, looked into other adaptations on stage, from the classic ones to the more interpretative versions, and other current tv adaptations being done in other countries. 

All of those things are vastly different. Some are more similar to each other, some are widely different, but they’re all different points of view on the same canon. 

This is a canon that has some of the wildest possible interpretations coexisting. You can have a play centered on one specific character told through the songs of a specific album, a tv drama in modern times with a lawyer Valjean, a coffee shop au starring Les Amis, a parody comedy set in 1832, all happening at the same exact time. 

And that’s great. That’s fascinating. That means this book is still alive because we need it still today. 

Some days you’re in the mood for a heavily political adaptation which gives you goosebumps for setting canon in a context that is closer to your everyday reality, other days you just want all the Amis to live and have movie marathons cuddled together. It’s all valid. 

But what all of those adaptations have in common is that they aren’t trying to be more than they are. They aren’t acting brand new, they aren’t pretending they’re re-inventing the wheel or that they are smarter than Victor Hugo himself because what Hugo didn’t know he needed in the “psychology of the book” was a soulmate au or a documentary series. 

This adaptation, through what they said and how it was written, acted as if it was going to be the ultimate Les Mis adaptation to end them all. It presented itself as smarter than us all, as holding the keys to the meaning of Victor Hugo’s thoughts, as being able to fix his “mistakes”, fix other adaptation’s “mistakes” and deliver the best interpretation of canon possible. 

And it managed to be a sexist, socially insensitive, problematic, un-political, homophobic mess. 

Which, is a problem in itself, but even more so when the canon you’re adapting should be, first and foremost, against all that. It isn’t about how many brick quotes you use, it’s about channeling the soul of the story.